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dameronology · 4 years ago

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never doubt me {cassian andor}

summary: after falling into the hands of the empire, a situation of life and death forces you and cassian to finally talk about your feelings {for @megmeg-chan and i am sO sorry it’s taken me so long to do this}

summary: language, mentions of injury, talks ab death/loss in a canon kinda way

enjoy!! i haven’t written for cassian in so long and i forgot how much i loved him, so expect more of him in the future😌

- jazz

Cassian Andor was a filthy liar.

No, deep breath. He wasn't that bad.

The situation was just really fucking irritating and, in all likelihood, making your anger towards him a little more irrational. It wasn't really even his fault either. He'd told you incessantly that the mission was going to go well, and that you both going to be fine. Like, totally fiiiine, and that you would both get into the base without trouble and reunite in the middle, near the Imperial comms system. It was just that neither of you had planned for or expected stormtroopers to be present -- he'd gotten away in one piece, but you hadn't been so lucky.

That brings us to now: a cell, with two stormtroopers parked outside and quite literally no sign of Cassian anywhere. You knew he'd be looking for you; in fact, you didn't doubt it once. There was a sort of unspoken pact between you that you would always rescue one another; always have each other's backs and never leave the other behind. It was born from the fact that friendships were hard to forge in your line of work, and what you and Cassian had was rare. Not even just in the Rebellion, but rather life in general. On the surface, you teased and ripped into one another to no end. The chemistry was almost suffocating for the people around you, because they could never get a word in edge ways. Then, if you dug a little deeper, there was something more. Something sweeter, something more supportive. You knew him better than he knew himself and in return, he could read you like his favourite novel (though, admittedly, it did sometimes feel like you were missing a few pages. Human complexity and all that).

‘Do you feel like speaking now?’ The modulated voice of one of the stormtroopers came from the other side of your cell door.

‘I’ll die before telling you jackshit.’ You muttered. Hopefully that was more of a statement and less of a prophecy.

The trooper snorted. ‘Okay, sweetheart-’

‘- call me that again and I will shove that blaster sideways up your ass.’ You spat.

‘The only thing you’re doing is rotting here.’

With that, he turned his back to you again.

You slumped further down the wall, ignoring the feeling of the cold concrete etching through the thin fabric of your shirt. It was cold in here. Really, really fucking cold, and Cassian had said you wouldn’t need a jacket. Then again, he’d said a lot of things. And again, none of it was his fault, but you cursed yourself for so blindly listening to him. It was nice that you took everything the other said as gospel, even if it came back to bite you in the ass every so often.

‘A word of advice-’

‘- I don’t want any advice.’ You turned away from the trooper, pulling you knees to your chest.

‘The sooner you talk, the less painful it’ll be.’ He ignored your refusal.

You didn’t need to ask what he meant by it. You’d been part of the Rebellion long enough to have heard stories -- stories of torture, stories of war and the the kind of horrors that people often took to the grave. You had a fair few of your own, and so did Cassian. That was probably why he’d become so important to you. He was one of the only people in the galaxy who truly understood the downfalls of being a Rebel spy. Your cause was more important to you than anything (well, almost anything) and you wouldn’t have changed it for the world, but there were times like this where you wondered if it was all worth it. Would there ever come a day where the Empire truly fell, once and for all? And would you even be around to see it? Would Cassian?

Speaking of the devil, where the fuck was he? He never usually took this long. A few hours at most, but you’d long surpassed that. You could only very barely see the sky through the tiny window, but the sky had faded from powder blue to a dark navy, signalling it had been well over half a day. That was bad for multiple reasons -- the first being that the longer you were here, the more likely Cassian was to assume the worst and stop searching. Secondly, and perhaps most hauntingly, was that each passing second brought you closer to the Imps dragging you out the cell and taking you for questioning. And questioning, in their books, didn’t involve much talking. Go figure.

The injuries you sustained in your capture were bad enough; a bust lip, bruised eye and twisted ankle never made for much comfort. Even less so when you couldn’t get medical attention. The fact you knew it would be the least of your problems in a few hours made it all that much worst.

You’d never doubted Cassian Andor before. Not once. Couldn’t even fathom it, truth be told. He always came through for you; always saved your ass, whether it be from yourself or from Imps. He was your person. That’s the only way you could have put it.

But, above all, he was a human being. Not a super hero, or a miracle worker. He could only do so much and you knew he would. He would follow every lead and every clue to try and get to you, but that’s all he could do. If he couldn’t find you, that wasn’t him on him. You doubted that he would think the same, and when you heard the lock to your cell open, you could only hope and pray that he knew that. That you weren’t going to blame him for what was about to happen, or hold it against him.

‘It’s time.’ The stormtrooper announced. ‘Hope you can handle a bit of pain.’

You took a deep breath. ‘I can handle anything.’

‘I wouldn’t count on it.’ He guffawed. ‘Hands out.’

‘C’mon, man.’ You murmured. ‘My legs gone, my lips bust and my head feels someone’s dropped an iron anvil on it. You don’t need to cuff - ouch!’

You let out a squeak as he grabbed your wrists, tugging them forward and shoving a pair of metal cuffs on them. Was this really it? The end? Was your name gonna be the next one on the list of people lost in the Rebellion? That was if anybody even noticed.

Cassian would. Of course, Cassian would. It hurt your heart to think that you wouldn’t see him again, or get to say a proper goodbye. The last time you’d seen him, you’d been dragged away from him kicking and screaming. He’d been so close, and if he’d been just a little nearer when they’d got you, he might have been able to save you, to stop you from falling into the hands of the Empire. You always figured that if you were gonna die in the field, he’d be by your side. The dumbassery you so often found yourselves in usually happened together.

The walls of the Imperial base were dark - as if you’d expected anything else. It was hardly like the place was going to look like a bright, airy Ikea showroom. The only light came from the thousands of tiny red and blue buttons flickering on the wall, illuminating the hallways in what would have been a pretty glow if the circumstances weren’t so fucking miserable. Talk about a high way to hell.

You took another left, the trooper’s grip on you tightening as you neared some double towards the end. Yep, here it was. This is where you met your maker. And from what you’d heard, the six-foot-something guy in a black mask did not take prisoners. Not that he was the one you were thinking of. No, that was Cassian. Completely and entirely Cassian; just his face and his presence and his everything at the back of your mind, the last thing you could think of before you were about to die for your cause-

-you let out an oof! as the stormtrooper suddenly pulled you to the ground, practically using you as a human shield against the blaster fire and smoke grenade that had just come from behind you. You tried to use your elbows to push him off, but with the cuffs and your already existing injuries, he easily overpowered you. Also, you were too busy coughing from the smoke to even think about making a getaway.

Tumbling forward, you fell onto your hands and knees. The trooper’s gun clattered to the ground, and you used your good leg to kick it further out the way, eyes not moving from the cloud of smoke that come out of the grenade. The red and blue lights were beating down on it, casting a purple glow over the shadow of whoever had thrown it, acting as a guide as they finally emerged. With a blaster in one hand and the other curled into a fist, your best friend had never quite looked so handsome, especially under the violet illuminations.

‘Cassian!’ Despite everything, you couldn’t help but grin.

‘Duck.’ He demanded.

You did as he said, flopping back to the floor. Squeezing your eyes shut and covering your head, you stayed there for a moment. There was another blast, and then the trooper’s body fell beside yours with a dull thud!

Then, in what must have been two of most contrasting feelings ever, a warm pair of hands found yours. Cassian’s, undoubtedly. You would have known them anywhere. He pulled you up from the cold ground, warm palms finding your face as they ghosted over your cheeks.

‘It’s okay.’ His voice was soft. ‘You can open your eyes.’

You took a deep breath. ‘I know. Thank you.’

‘How badly are you hurt?’ He asked. ‘Because we need to move fast.’

‘My foot’s pretty wrangled.’ You said.

Without another word, Cassian threw an arm over your shoulders, tucking it under your arms to support you.

‘Lean against me.’ He instructed. ‘The exit isn’t too far-’

‘- what about the other troopers?’ You asked.

‘I dealt with them on my way in.’

And dealt with them, he certainly had. The men were practically laying in unconscious piles (he only ever intended to maim, but never kill), working as some kind of fucked up map out of a twisted and horrible maze. The pain in your leg only grew worst as you moved, your good leg beginning to ache from carrying all the weight. With all your attention focused ahead of you for potential enemies, you didn’t even notice how close you were to stumbling over -- not until you fell back onto the cold lino floors.

‘Hey.’ Cassian dropped beside you. ‘Look at me, okay, just...look at me.’

You glanced up, tired eyes meeting his warm, brown ones. ‘It really hurts, Cass.’

‘We’re really close now.’ He said. ‘Two more minutes. Can you do that? For me?’

‘Yeah.’ You took a deep breath and nodded. ‘I can.’

(Because really, for him, you’d do anything.)

Cassian helped you back up, pressing one of his blasters into your hand. His arm returned to hold you by the waist, gripping you a little tighter this time. Your leg was practically screaming in pain, a dull ache shooting from your ankle up to your knee. You had to remind yourself that in a few minutes, it would all be over - and not in the way you thought it was going to be over an hour ago. Over, as in this whole ordeal would simply be something to report back to your bosses at base, and not your final moments. The fact you ever let yourself accept that fate and think that Cassian wouldn’t come for you was something else entirely in itself.

You almost cried with relief when you saw his battered old ship docked outside the base. You normally cried for other reasons when you saw it - usually ones to do with the rusty old engines and creaking sound it insisted on making whenever it flew - but right then, you had never been happier to see it. Even if the insides smelt weirdly of petrol and oil, and the seats in the cockpit were made of uncomfortable cracked leather, you practically threw yourself on board.

Neither you nor Cassian said anything for a while. His attention was completely on getting away from the base and avoiding TIE fighters - something he did without ever moving his hand from your thigh - and yours was on steadying your breathing and heartbeat. It had been a rough twelve hours to say the least.

Once the ship had lurched into hyperspace, he turned in his chair to face you. He held your gaze for a moment, before opening his arms out and letting you flop from your own seat and into his chest. They tightly wrapped around you, one hand softly your head to his body and the other gently rubbing up and down your back. You had to squeeze your eyes shut to stop your tears from spilling.

‘I’m sorry.’ He murmured.

‘For what?’ You peered up at him with a frown.

‘Not finding you sooner.’ He replied. ‘Or for even letting you get caught in the first place-’

‘- Cassian, stop.’ You pulled back and tangled his hands in yours. ‘Once I get some bactaspray, I’ll be totally fine.’

‘But you almost weren’t.’ He shot back. ‘If I was just a few minutes later and you could have been a thousand times worst, or even...gone completely.’

‘That’s beside the point.’ You softly sighed. ‘It’s doesn’t matter would have beens or could have beens. I am here and I will be okay.’

‘You’re right.’ He nodded. ‘I’m sorry. I just...I want to protect you, you know? And I failed.’

‘You don’t need to protect me, Cass.’ You shook your head with a soft smile. ‘Actually, no, today I did but you pulled through.’

‘I don’t need to, but I want to.’ Cassian murmured.

He’d done a pretty good job at sitting on his feelings for the last few years. Pushed them down when he felt the urge to tell you, and ignored them entirely when they got really intense. But that had been when the threat of completely losing you was just that: a threat. A distant possibility, and one that you were both too busy living your lives to fully consider. Now, however, you’d come close. Too close. Cassian had come face-to-face with a reality where you were gone, and one where he’d never actually told you how he felt.

‘You know I love you, right?’ He quietly said.

‘Yeah, I know.’ You nodded.

‘No, I mean I love you.’

You peered up at him, realising what he was getting at. You did know. In fact, it had very much been an unspoken thing between you for a very, very long time. It was really just a matter of saying it - but that was always the hardest part, right?

‘I know.’ You repeated. ‘I love you too.’

‘You do?’

You softly laughed. ‘Of course I do.’

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple and pulled you back against his chest, chin resting atop your ahead. ‘Good.’

You stayed like that for a few minutes; it was undoubtedly a deeper conversation you were going to have later on, but it felt good to have it out in the open. So good, in fact, that it momentarily made you forget the last day entirely. Instead of pondering on it, you let yourself get lost entirely in Cassian’s presence, and the feeling of his body against yours and and his arms holding you. If you could have it your way, you would have stayed like this forever. The rest of the galaxy could wait.

‘I’m sorry if you thought I was going to make in time.’ He said quietly.

‘I didn’t.’ Your voice was slightly muffled by his chest. ‘Not once.’

‘I love you.’ Cassian said it more firmly this time. It still completely felt weird to say, and even more so to see you smile and say it back.

‘I love you too.’

He dipped his head down, capturing your mouth in a soft kiss. The feeling of your lips against his was familiar and foreign all at once; it was something he’d gone over in his head a thousand times, but it was nothing like either of you had imagined. It was better. Sweeter, in the kind of way that gave you butterflies in your tummy and made you feel giddy. It was worlds away from the usual dread and bloodshed that came with being in the Rebellion.

But that was quintessentially Cassian. He was everything that the war wasn’t: sweet and constant and warm. Somebody as beautiful and as caring as him both did and didn’t belong in the Rebellion. Did, because he was a good man who wanted to fight for the right thing. Didn’t, because he constantly risked his life for the greater good and you couldn’t quite stomach that idea.

‘I’ll always come back for you.’ He lightly brushed his hand against your cheek. ‘Never doubt me.’

‘I won’t.’ You promised. ‘Not ever.’

tags: @megmeg-chan @karasong @bb8sworld @marvelinsanity @poestardust @etherealsanakin @bo-kryze @punkbach @phoenixhalliwell

#cassian andor x reader #cassian andor imagine #cassian x reader #cassian imagine #cassian andor fanfiction #cassian andor fanfic #star wars x reader #star wars imagines #star wars fluff #cassian andor fluff #rogue one imagines #star wars angst

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triptuckers · 3 years ago

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Two Homes (part 3/7) - Nikolai Lantsov

Request: nope Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x reader Summary: you’ve successfully escaped the ball room, but you run into someone you had been trying to avoid when you’re in the gardens Warnings: lil angst, mentions of gunshots and blood Word count: 2K A/N: hehe he is here !! finally lol enjoy reading! PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART TAG LIST (two homes and/or all grishaverse fics): @godsofwriting @im-constantly-fangirling @ayushmitadutta @mrs-brekker15 @dancingwith-sunflowers @thegirlwiththeimpala @parker-natasha @story-scribbler @romanoffstarkovs @daliareads @meiitanoia @itsnotquimey (if your name is in bold it means I couldn’t tag you) add yourself to my tag lists here

You can faintly hear the music in the ball room. But the closer you get to the gardens, the more you have to concentrate to be able to hear the music. You can’t help but to smile to yourself. You made it out of the ball room.

All you had to do was wait until the ball was over and you would be on your way back to Ketterdam. Your father would probably be furious at you. But it was about time he learned he couldn’t continue to control your life.

As you’re walking through the gardens, the many different flowers take your breath away. You didn’t have a ball room like the one you just left in Ketterdam. You also certainly didn’t have a garden like this.

You walk the paths, amazed by the plants around you. You had never seen something like this before. If King Nikolai would have invited you to this garden instead of a ball, you might have seriously considered accepting his invitation.

Time passes as you admire the extraordinary flowers surrounding you. The palace has long since vanished from your eyesight, and the sun is almost gone. You can see some stars in the sky already.

Even though you didn’t want to come here, even though you spent the entire journey getting here wishing for Ketterdam, you couldn’t deny you’d be upset if you had missed out on the beautiful gardens.

You wonder if the ball has already ended, and want to make your way back to the palace, when you see a silhouette in the distance. Did someone else escape the ball to go to the gardens? Or worse; did someone follow you when you leapt from the balcony?

Though you’re in the gardens near a palace and not in the streets of Ketterdam, you’re still on edge by a stranger’s presence. You stop walking and listen closely to their movements, ready to strike should they attack you.

You watch from a distance as they walk closer. Hands behind their back, slowly walking through the garden. You notice the way their shoulders slump a little. Tired of the dancing maybe? Or trying to deceive you?

When they walk closer, and the last bit of sunshine falls on their face, you see blonde hair and a pair of hazel eyes.

A look of surprise finds its way onto his face when he spots you.

‘Well, hello.’ he says, sounding genuinely surprised to see another person in the gardens. ‘I believe we haven’t met?’

You shake your head. ‘No, we haven’t.’ you say.

He looks up and down your dress, sending goosebumps along your bare arms. You couldn’t deny he was indeed as handsome as described in the stories.

‘I’d say you fled the ball.’ he says. ‘I’m Nikolai, I don’t think you were introduced before the ball started.’

You notice how he introduces himself as Nikolai, and not as the king.

‘I didn’t flee.’ you say. ‘And no, I wasn’t introduced.’

‘Oh, that wasn’t a question.’ says Nikolai. ‘Merely a statement. I’d remember a dress and a face like that.’

Your lips slightly part in surprise. ‘Do you flirt with every woman you meet tonight?’ you ask.

‘Do you flee from every ball you attend?’ he says without missing a beat, making you chuckle.

‘This is the first ball I’ve ever been to.’ you admit.

‘Apparently it’s not a very good one, given that you left before it even started.’ he says.

‘It’s not about wether or not it’s a good ball.’ you say. ‘I just didn’t want to be in Ravka.’

‘But you are here.’ he points out.

‘Because my father basically dragged me here.’ you say, crossing your arms.

‘Your father, is he a Kerch merchant? There was one who didn’t introduce his daughter because she wasn’t there. So, that would mean you’re Y/F/N /Y/L/N, right?’ says Nikolai.

‘You’re good.’ you say.

‘I’m good at a number of things.’ he says with a wink.

‘Clearly.’ you say.

Nikolai smiles and holds out his arm to you. ‘Do you want to go for a walk?’ he says.

You look at him extending his arm to you, smile on his lips and a twinkling in his eyes. You were dying to know why he had left the ball as well, and you actually didn’t mind the company. It made you curious and eager to find out if the stories you had heard about him are true.

So you nod with a smile, and lay a hand on his arm.

‘I’ll take you to my favorite spot in the gardens.’ he says, steering the two of you onto one of the paths.

‘Can I ask you a question?’ you say.

‘Of course.’ says Nikolai.

‘Why did you leave the ball?’ you say.

Nikolai looks at you and smiles. ‘Because even though I’m an excellent dancer, I also need breaks.’ he says. ‘I needed some fresh air.’

‘Are you really good at dancing or are you trying to impress me?’ you say.

‘Take your pick.’ he says.

For someone who didn’t want to be here and who had no intention of meeting the king, you found yourself starting to like him. He’s easy to talk to, and seems genuinely interested in you. And he’s not offended to find you in the gardens instead of the ball room.

‘Was it your idea to throw this ball to pick a bride?’ you say as you walk past a plant with particularly large orange flowers.

Nikolai sighs softly. ‘No.’ he says. ‘It was a decision made by Zoya and Genya, two of my triumvirate.’

‘Because they wanted you to marry?’ you say.

‘Because they wanted me to form an alliance and because I couldn’t establish one through politics, they thought I should try getting one through marriage.’ he says.

You look at him, trying to read his face. ‘But you don’t want that.’ you say.

Nikolai looks at you and raises an eyebrow. ‘I personally don’t want to marry someone I don’t know for the sake of an alliance. But it’s what’s best for Ravka. And I like to put Ravka’s needs first.’ he says.

‘Spoken like a true king.’ you say.

‘Well, I try to be a good one.’ he says as the two of you sit down on a bench.

‘From the stories I heard, you are.’ you say.

‘Really?’ says Nikolai. ‘Fancy telling me one of them?’

You laugh and shake your head. ‘I’m sure you’ve already heard them.’ you say.

‘What would it take for you to tell me one of those stories?’ says Nikolai.

You shrug. ‘A ticket to Ketterdam?’ you say.

He frowns. ‘You really want to go back that badly?’ he says.

‘No offence, but yes. I’ve been wanting to go back ever since the ship sailed away. Don’t take it personal, but I never had any intention of going to Os Alta in the first place.’ you say.

‘I understand.’ he says.

You look at him, confused. ‘You do?’

‘What, you think people haven’t made decisions for me my entire life?’ he says. ‘I know what it’s like not being able to make your own choices. I do appreciate you actually coming, though. You’re the first person I've talked to tonight who doesn’t throw themselves at me before I can even say hello.’

You laugh at his words. ‘Sorry for not throwing myself at you. Though I’m sure you’re used to it by now.’ you say.

Nikolai laughs as well. ‘Don’t apologise, it’s refreshing.’ he says.

The two of you are silent as you look at the plants that surround you. It’s rather peaceful, being away from the buzzing ball room and just sitting on a bench to have a conversation.

‘Why is this your favourite part or the gardens?’ you ask him after a while.

In response, Nikolai points to a bush of bright yellow flowers. ‘Those are my favourites.’ he says. ‘Native to Novyi Zem, but Grisha can make sure they can grow here as well. They bloom for very short periods of time, mostly it’s just one week during summer. That’s why the Zemeni call them Summer’s Week. They’ve always been my favourite flowers. I always visit this spot during each summer, to see them bloom.’ he explains.

‘They’re beautiful.’ you say. ‘Such a shame we don’t have gardens like this in Ketterdam. I would have loved to spend more time here.’

‘I’d invite you to stay, but that would mean I'd have to propose and you made it very clear you want to go back to Ketterdam.’ says Nikolai.

He gets up and walks over to the bush with the yellow flowers. You watch as he carefully picks one and walks back to you. He smiles as he hands it to you.

‘You can have one.’ he says. ‘If it still looks good when you get to Ketterdam, you can dry it, keep it between the pages of a book or something.’ he says.

You smile as you take the flower from him. ‘Thank you.’ you say.

Nikolai looks back in the direction of the palace, though you can’t see it from here.

‘I should go back.’ he says. ‘They’re probably wondering where I am, and I’d rather not have Zoya organise a search party.’

‘She’d do that?’ you say.

‘You have no idea what she’s capable of.’ says Nikolai, offering you his arm once more. You accept it and rise to your feet.

As you start to walk back to the palace, Nikolai looks at you and smiles when he catches your eye.

‘This has been nice.’ he says.

‘The gardens?’ you say.

‘I can visit the gardens any time I like. No, talking with you. You allow me to be Nikolai. Everyone in that ball room only thinks of me as a king. They only think of themselves as future queens.’ he says.

‘But they are potential queens.’ you say. Nikolai looks at you and you remember his words. ‘Right.’ you say. ‘For Ravka.’

You see the palace appear in the distance, and by the looks of it the ball is still in full swing. You sigh softly, not looking forward to reuniting with your father and having him yell at you.

‘Well, here we are.’ says Nikolai, stopping in front of the palace. He motions to your left. ‘The doors are that way.’ he says. ‘And even though there are no gardens over there, we do have a lake which is also very nice.’ he says while motioning to your right.

You let go of his arm and frown. ‘You don’t want me to return to the ball?’ you say.

Nikolai merely shrugs. ‘Why would I? You don’t want to go there, and I’m not your king so technically, you don’t have to do anything I say.’ he says.

‘You really are an extraordinary king.’ you say, making him smile. ‘I see why your people love you so much.’

‘Hearing anyone say that means a lot to me.’ says Nikolai. He moves to stand in front of you. ‘Are you sure I can’t convince you to come and have one dance with me?’ he says.

You smile. ‘I think I’ll check out the lake.’ you say.

‘Alright then.’ says Nikolai, walking away toward the doors. ‘But watch out for the sea monster, though.’ he adds.

Your eyes widen. ‘You have a sea monster in your lake?’ you say.

But you never found out the answer. Before Nikolai can say anything, you hear a sound you know all tho well. How could you not recognise it after living in Ketterdam for years?

Gunshots. Two of them.

You watch as Nikolai falls to the floor, blood soaking his shoulder and stomach.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

#he is here !!!#nikolai lantsov #shadow and bone #grishaverse #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov fanfiction #nikolai lantsov fanfic #nikolai lantsov fanfics #nikolai lantsov fic #nikolai lantsov fics #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone fanfics #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone fics #two homes series

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solinarimoon · 3 years ago

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Fields of Wildflowers - Chapter 11

Fields of Wildflowers

Chapter 11

A Sihtric x OC story

AN: The story will start to get a little bit off canon/timeline here and in the final few chapters. Just a heads up. The previous chapters are here. And my master list can be found here.

Warnings: Typical TLK violence and drama but nothing else I can think of at the moment.

Word Count: 3366

Once the decision had been made by both Cwen and Eadith to travel with the company to Winchester, plans moved quickly. Horses and provisions were purchased and goodbyes were made.

Lady Aethelflaed did not come to see the journeyers off. She must maintain a certain level of propriety now and cavorting with her former lover would not rank high on that scale. Cwen also imagined it would be too painful for her to watch as Uhtred rode away. But Aelfwynn did come, accompanied by Wyllath.

Cwen said her final goodbyes and helped Aethelstan into the cart to ride alongside his grandmother.

“I am glad for your company, Cwen,” Lady Aelswith said once she had settled next to Aethelstan in the cart. “I would like to offer you a place in the palace to help me with Aethelstan, should you wish it.” The former queen’s words struck Cwen quite a shock.

“My Lady, it is a very kind offer. One that I do admit is tempting. But,” she trailed off. Her eyes gazed across the courtyard towards where Sihtric was readying the horses, “my future lies elsewhere, I am afraid.”

Lady Aelswith followed Cwen’s gaze and pursed her lips in disapproval.

Before allowing her to make any disparaging statements, Cwen interjected, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Lady?”

After being given a tight lipped shake of the head, Cwen reached her hand to take Aethelstan’s own.

“Once we are stopped for the night, would you like me to sing you another song, Aethelstan? Maybe one I can teach your grandmother?”

“Yes, please,” came his gentle voice as he smiled before turning his attention back to the book in his hand.

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

After a full day's travel, the group settled on a place to make camp for the evening.

Sihtric helped Cwen to dismount her horse and took the opportunity to steal a kiss from her.

The pair chuckled and Cwen hid her face in Sihtric’s chest when they heard Uhtred call,

“Sihtric, I saw that.”

“Sorry, Lord,” Sihtric called back, chuckling and landing another kiss along Cwen’s lips.

Cwen could not help the girlish giggle that came from her and the feeling like a bird was fluttering against the inside of her chest, trying to break free.

In all her years, she could not remember feeling as light and as happy as Sihtric had made her feel since they’re reunion at Aylesbury.

On the road and on the run, Cwen had felt pulled to him. But the feeling had been more dense. Marred by something more grave, somber, serious. Sihtric’s eyes had always been on her. Studying her and assuring her safety. Cwen had begun to look for those eyes and found comfort and security in them.

But the dangers of their last journey had passed. And that curtain, now pulled back from their relationship, shed light on entirely new and exciting aspects of each other they couldn’t wait to explore.

Since their night together in the glade, Cwen found her mind often returning to thoughts of Sihtric’s hands on her body, his lips on her skin. Her body’s response to him being near her, to feeling his presence excited her.

“I miss our night in the glade,” Cwen whispered as she looked up to meet his eyes. The look she found there left her knees weak.

“Well,” the tembur of his voice rumbled in his chest, “while you’re out gathering wood for the fire, if you notice a nice secluded spot,” his words trailed off suggestively.

Swallowing thickly, Cwen took a step away from his embrace and replied, “I’ll keep my eyes open.”

“What you do to me, woman.” Cwen heard him reply as she turned to stride away in search of firewood.

Cwen had walked several paces when she found Eadith at her side. The two women helped each other collect several pieces of wood before returning to the campsite only to be sent off once more since it would apparently not be enough for Lady Aelswith.

“It’s her way of showing she likes ya,” Finan told Eadith as the ladies walked past him into the forest again. Eadith chuckled in reply and continued walking, while Cwen quirked her brow up at Finan.

“Well…?”

“Well what, Cwen?”

Sighing exasperatedly, Cwen replied “You still haven’t talked to her?”

“Hush,” Finan gestured with his hands for Cwen to quiet her voice. “And no… at least not yet. Now go get more firewood, Cwen. The Lady Aelswith is cold.” he chided her away.

Smirking and shaking her head, Cwen turned on her heel and followed after Eadith into the woods.

“So how does it feel?” Eadith pried after the pair had been silently collecting wood for several minutes.

“How does what feel, Eadith?” Cwen smiled over at her friend.

“Oh you know, just embarking on a new journey with a new lover?”

“Oh you cheeky..” Cwen trailed off after kicking up a small stick at Eadith and managing to not drop the pile of wood balanced in her arms.

“Honestly, Eadith, it just feels right. It feels like I have found a piece of myself that was missing... that I did not even know was missing. But now it is reunited with me and I am whole.”

“Well I am very happy for you, my friend.”

“Thank you, Eadith. Now let us head back and see if this is enough wood for Lady Aelswith’s cold bones.”

Laughing, the two women turned to trek back along their path to camp, but their voices fell silent as they got closer and saw many horses and warriors surrounding their camp.

“What is this?” Eadith hisses while the two crouch low behind a tree.

“I do not know. I can not make out any words.”

Cwen gasped and clasped her hands over her mouth as she watched men grab Aelswith and Aethelstan and march them over to climb into a cart along with Stiorra.

She can only watch in terror as the cart ambles away only to then have her attention caught again as she heard Finan cry out and the Dane’s crowd in around the men.

“What are they doing?” Cwen whispers harshly as their men are tied and strung upside down from tree branches.

Eadith does not respond, only stares ahead.

Cwen can see Sihtric fighting against his restraints and feels a steely resolve in her mind.

“They will die. We must do something. A..a..a diversion.” Cwen rambles as she formulates a plan.

“What sort of diversion?”

“Anything! Anything to bring the guards away from the tree.” Cwen hissed while she looked around for any sort of idea.

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

At the tree, Sihtric struggled and fought against his restraints, only succeeding in wearing himself out and increasing his blood flow.

His vision began to get spotty and he could feel himself beginning to fade.

“Sihtric,” he heard Uhtred’s voice. It sounded far away and slow. “Sihtric, stay awake.”

“Cwen,” Sihtric groaned. “They can’t find her…” he mumbled.

But his thoughts were interrupted by Osferth dangling next to him from the tree.

“Hey, it will be alright. They don’t know about her. Just stay awake, eh? Stay awake for her.”

At that moment, Sihtric heard a strangled, terrified scream come from the surrounding forest. As one of the Danes guarding the tree ran off to investigate, Sihtric felt the panic set in that it was Cwen screaming.

Meanwhile In the woods Eadith was crouched over in the forest floor with her back turned to the approaching Dane. Cwen stood over her, clutching at her shoulders and feigning panic.

“What’s this?” Cried the Dane as he got close enough to touch the two women.

“It’s my sister. We were out collecting mushrooms and I don’t know what happened. She’s with child and just fell and screamed. Please help us!”

Her pleading worked as the Dane rushed to Eadith’s side.

Cwen stood back as he approached and allowed him to come between herself and Eadith. Once he was on a knee and therefore lower than Cwen herself, she grabbed a knife from his belt and before he could turn to learn what was happening, she plunged the knife into the side of the man’s neck. Quickly, Eadith stood and backed away searching the woods for signs of the second guard.

Cwen pulled the blade out of the man’s flesh with a sickening squelch, but seeing him continue to struggle she forced the knife into his throat once more.

A look of horror crossed her face while she watched the burly man fall to bleed at her feet, his mouth gaping open and shut like a fish.

“Orm…. Orm,” Cwen was startled from her horror as Eadith clutched at her and the two women knew they must move or else be found by the second guardsman. Eadith grabbed the axe from the dying man’s belt as Cwen held on tightly to the bloody knife.

The ladies crept through the forest silently, skirting the edge of the treeline and avoiding the Dane.

As soon as they knew he was occupied searching in the distance, Eadith ran forward clutching the axe while Cwen rushed to Sihtric, cutting the bonds at his wrists.

As she cut, Cwen tried to rouse him, “Sihtric, wake up. We’re cutting you down, so you have to wake up! Please wake up!”

Cwen breathed a little easier when she heard him begin to groan in response to her shouts.

“Eadith the axe!” Cwen gestured to the rope at Sihtric’s feet.

“Hold him steady,” Eadith rushed while swinging the axe upward, striking at the ropes.

After several cuts, Sihtric’s rope frayed and snapped and he dropped onto the ground and into Cwen’s arms.

Eadith moved on to help free Father Pyrlig next while Cwen tried to shake senses into Sihtric.

As he sat up, Sihtric gasped, regaining some of the feeling in his upper extremities.

Then, before Cwen could register what was happening, the other Dane was back darting towards them. Sihtric was up and moving away from her to keep the man back while Eadith continued to cut the men down.

But Sihtric had not fully recovered from being strung upside down. The Dane overpowered him after a few moments, but it did not last long as Cwen tackled the enemy off of her lover.

By that time, Eadith had been able to free Father Pyrlig who rushed to Cwen’s side, forcing her away to safety as Sihtric grabbed the Dane and shoved him backwards, held tight against the tree. Cwen watched as Pyrlig grappled with the man now too, restraining his arms while Sihtric used a knife to stab at his belly repeatedly.

Cwen turned her attention now to helping the others cut their ropes and regain the strength to stand.

She was supporting Finan who was rubbing at his legs when she felt Sihtric’s hands grasp desperately at her shoulders.

He cupped her face then grabbed at her hands holding them up to inspect them, “Are you hurt, Cwen? Did they,”

Stilling his panic, Cwen hushed his fears, “It is not my blood. It is the first guard’s. I...I killed him.” As soon as the words left her lips, Cwen could feel her own panic begin to rise. Her breathing became erratic and her eyes locked on the blood covering her hands and wrists.

“Hey, hey, hey. We are alive. Breathe. Cwen, look at me.”

Cwen did as he said and found his eyes as they both continued to try and regain control of their breathing.

Their moment was broken when Cwen realized Uhtred and the others were rapidly discussing plans.

“What happened? We could not hear anything. Only saw them take them.”

“It was Haesten, an old enemy who wishes me dead. While we were all in Mercia, the Danes have taken Winchester. That is where they are taking my daughter.”

Cwen could only stare in shock at this news.

“Lord,” Finan interjected, “they do not know who she is. They don’t know she is your daughter.”

Uhtred growled but Cwen watched as he immediately began to strategize. Ever the lord and leader.

“Pyrlig, find Edward and inform him of what has happened here. The rest of us, we go on to Winchester. They will not take what is not theirs. Not while I live.”

The next moments are a flurry of activity as swords are retrieved and everyone begins a quick run following the route the enemies had taken.

Cwen grasps for Eadith’s hand who was still clutching the axe.

“We have to move,” she breathed although the conviction in her own voice fell short.

As if breaking from a trance, Eadith meets Cwen’s eyes, nods and Cwen sees her resolve return.

Sihtric grasps her shoulder as he takes the axe from Eadith and they begin to run.

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

They seemed to run endlessly, hours and hours. Cwen’s breath was ragged and her feet ached. But she knew they must make it to Winchester.

There is a good chance that the Danes do not know they have Edward’s first born son as prisoner, but the idea that Aethelstan may be harmed or worse gave her the stamina to continue until nightfall and beyond.

Eventually they did stop for rest and to recuperate for a short while when the night became too dark.

Too tired to do anything more than flop to the earth, the group lay down, all panting, and stretching, and aching.

Sihtric moved himself to lean against a tree and Cwen placed her body between his knees, relaxing into his arms.

She felt as his hand rose to brush his fingers through her hair and he kissed the top of her head before resting his forehead against it and taking deep, steadying breaths.

“I can feel your heart,” she whispered softly.

“It still beats because of you, lady.” He replied, not moving his head, his mouth mere inches away from her ear.

Cwen smiled silently and focused her attention on listening to his heartbeat and continuing to catch her breath.

“You were wonderful, Cwen.”

“I was terrified,” Cwen revealed. “I still am. If anything happens to Aethelstan,” she trailed off.

“I know.” Sihtric did not try to tell her it would all be alright. There was no way to know that it would be. And Cwen appreciated him all the more for that.

Instead, Sihtric continued to stroke her hair as they both listened to their breathing returning to normal.

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

After what felt like an eternity of running, they approached the gates of Winchester and took stock of the situation while regaining their breath under a large tree.

Cwen craned her neck to look up to the ramparts where men were pacing and spikes had been placed. Spikes with the heads of dead Saxon’s adorning them.

This new Dane, Sigtryggr, seemed to be utilizing different tactics. It appeared the city was preparing for a siege. Something the Danes had not done in the past.

Cwen sat and listened while Uhtred discussed ideas for what to do.

“We are known here,” Osferth reminded them all.

She felt Sihtric tense next to her, “Yes. Someone would give us up for their own safety.”

“But I am not!” Cwen spoke up forcefully.

The eyes of her friends all turned to her and she felt Sihtric’s gaze burning into her.

Cwen glanced his way for a moment before continuing. “I am not known here. I haven’t been back to Winchester for many years. No one will know me. I can find them and”

“We can find them,” Eadith interjected. Cwen turned to face her friend. “Neither of us will be noticed. Cwen is right. We could hold out in the siege. Keep eyes on our people. If possible let them know you’re here.”

“Exactly,” Cwen agreed. “When the time comes that you can enter the city and retake it, it will help to know where they are being kept. And it will bring them comfort to know you are here.”

Finan looked at Eadith and Cwen in turn and Uhtred mulled the idea over.

“You do not have to do this,” Finan spoke.

“There will be no protection for you. There is no way to know what you will find in there.” Cwen heard Sihtrics' low voice.

“You are right. Both of you,” Cwen looks at the men in turn. “But we don’t really have any other options. And if there is something I can do to help the people we love in there then I will do it.”

“You are sure, Cwen? Eadith?” Uhtred asks.

��Yes,” both ladies reply.

“Then we will find you some provisions to bring in with you. You can not enter the city empty handed. Let’s go.” Uhtred finishes while standing and retreating back with the others to search for food or other useful items left along the road by those fleeing to the safety of the city walls.

As Cwen stands, she feels Sihtric’s hand reach out to take her wrist, holding her back as the others leave.

“I do not like this plan.” His words are honest and slow. Cwen looks at him and has difficulty deciphering the tone of his voice.

“I know you may be angry, but I can not stand by and do nothing.”

“Doing nothing might be better than doing something foolish,” Sihtric hissed while looking down at Cwen’s feet.

Cwen took a step back from him, the shock at his words written on her face. Sihtric allowed her wrist to fall from his hand and he brought his eyes up to see the hurt in Cwen’s eyes.

“You are not the only one who can protect those you care about.” Cwen hissed in reply to his words. “I have cared for Aethelstan as I did for Aelfwynn. They mean the world to me and I meant what I told Lord Uhtred. If there is a chance I can be of help inside those walls then that is what I will do.” Cwen’s words came out clipped and tight as she drew her arms tight around herself. Farther from his reach.

She winced when she saw him scoff and run his fingers through his hair then down his face, leaving them resting in front of his mouth for a moment.

“You will need this on you.” He said taking a knife from it’s sheath on his belt.

“Keep it hidden but on you at all times.” His words were methodic and instructive now. The matter-of-fact instructions directed both of their attention away from the harsh words they had each spoken.

“If you need to use it, aim for one of the areas that is likely to do the most damage and allow you to get away.”

Sihtric brought his body close to hers now and demonstrated where to place the blade and how best to hold it.

Once the impromptu lesson finished, the others had returned bearing a basket with a small amount of food and a large earthen jug.

“Thank you,” Cwen looked up at Sihtric through her lashes to find something unreadable on his face. He spoke no more words, instead closing his eyes and resting his forehead against hers. A gesture Cwen had come to realize held special intimacy for her Dane and his companions.

Cwen breathed deeply hoping to quell the frustration in her head at his words earlier, but it only dulled the ache.

After a few silent moments, Cwen pulled away and placed the knife in the pocket of her skirt before turning to head back to meet the others by the large oak, leaving Sihtric behind her and standing next to Eadith.

She took the jug, filled with water from Osferth’s grasp and then the two ladies walked towards the walls of Winchester.

Neither knowing what danger they may find inside. Or what enemies may lie within.

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

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#the last kingdom #sihtric #fanfiction #fields of wildflowers #sihtric x oc

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mythicamagic · 4 years ago

Text

Unorthodox: a Sesskag oneshot

Summary: Kagome is pleasantly surprised to receive a present from Sesshoumaru for White Day... until she glimpses the contents inside her gift box.

AN: Written for the Sesskag 2021 Big Bang event on tumblr! @chierafied

I was paired with @milomai-art and here’s their lovely artwork: https://milomai-art.tumblr.com/post/648766972634513408/unorthodox-mythicamagic-inuyasha-a-feudal

Rated K+

Words: 3,000

You can read it on Ao3, Dokuga or fanfiction.net.

Unorthodox

Valentine's day had come and gone, with a notable difference this year for Kagome compared with the last lonely three;

Her return to the Sengoku Jidai.

To celebrate reuniting with her beloved friends, she'd gone all out. Everyone received gifts, right down to Myoga and Jaken; no one had been excluded.

For all her efforts, however, she expected nothing in return. Though she'd explained the concept to the Inutachi, Sango and Miroku were much too busy looking after their children to keep track of dates, Shippo was often away at Kitsune school and Inuyasha had been absent as of late. Besides that, since their relationship had ended, the subject of Valentine's had become an awkward one. She'd had to stress the platonic intent behind her gift to him.

Therefore, Kagome had pretty much forgotten all about White Day by the time it rolled around.

Exiting Kaede's hut with a tub of water in her arms, intending to give the old miko's horse a good scrub down, she dug in her heels the second exquisite silks, armour and a fur pelt registered- having blinked into existence before her. Kagome gaped, swaying. Water sloshed, some spilling to their feet.

"Uh hi," looking up at grave, handsome features, she arched a brow. Sesshoumaru stared at her fervently. "Nice to see you, Sesshoumaru," adjusting her grip, Kagome sidestepped him and flashed a warm smile, used to his minimalistic approach to conversation by now. "Do you need something? Inuyasha isn't here. I think he's helping the next village over repair a-"

"I am not here for him."

Kagome noted his succinct tone, sounding more defensive than usual. Setting down the wooden tub carefully, she straightened, tilting her head. "Then what are you here for?"

"White Day."

"White... ah!" Kagome gasped, "that's right! How did you know about that?" she blinked, noticing he looked extra grumpy today. His jaw ticked, golden eyes narrow. Slowly, the miko brightened. "No way. Did you... get me something?" she breathed, strangely touched.

Of all people, Sesshoumaru had remembered? Was she dreaming?

A hand thrust out stiffly towards her, balancing a small box upon his palm.

Accepting it with thanks, heat touched her cheeks. Weird. She really shouldn't be indulging this- or feeling kind of happy. It didn't mean anything to be pleased, right? Was she even allowed to feel warm and fuzzy towards her ex's brother?

Opening the lid, Kagome tried to squash her excitement- peering down. Slowly, she reached in, retrieving a silky soft thing.

It appeared to be made of something long, silver and fine, the material woven into a pretty design. A bracelet of silk, if she could hazard a guess.

"Um, thank you," Kagome raised her gaze. "What's it made of, out of curiosity? It's very soft."

Sesshoumaru appeared pleased, preening a little. "Only the finest material."

"Really?" she stroked it. "I hope you didn't go to any trouble on my account."

He scoffed, midsummer gaze smiling slightly as his tone became haughty and prideful, "it was no trouble to use this one's own hair."

Kagome dropped the bracelet back into the box. "Whut?"

Lithe fingers combed indulgently into his fall of lustrous silver hair, "you need not be alarmed. The strands grew back quickly."

That isn't what's alarming me, Kagome silently screamed. Now that she was paying attention though, the pale bracelet really did resemble the demon lord's long flowing locks.

Her hand recoiled a little from the box. "W-well, um... thank you very much," Kagome said thinly. "It's a very thoughtful gift. Truly."

Sesshoumaru's keen, piercing eyes roved over her strained features, voice deepening. "If you do not wish to accept it-"

"N-no, I do! I'll wear it right now!" Kagome grabbed it madly, fiddling with the thing while repressing a shudder. She tried and failed to secure the clasp, stiffening when large hands closed over her hand.

The demon lord leaned forward- that same hair currently being secured around her wrist falling free from behind a pointed ear. Silver strands draped down like a gossamer curtain, tickling her flushed, sensitive skin.

Sesshoumaru tilted his head up, expression unreadable.

Shifting her wrist, Kagome observed the threads of hair wrapped around it. His bracelet felt odd, the concept totally foreign. However, she could feel how much the gesture meant to him. She didn't fear offending him because of his dark temper- more because she cared about his feelings and wanted to nurture any hint of a bond between them.

"Thank you," Kagome said. "No one else brought me anything today, so I'm...I'm grateful."

Even if it was the weirdest thing she'd ever received. A bracelet made of hair wasn't exactly traditional.

Straightening, Sesshoumaru's lips thinned as his eyes flickered with confusion.

Kagome blinked, wondering what else he'd envisioned her saying.

"Hn," inclining his head regally, he pivoted sharply and began stalking away quickly, giving a swift kill to the conversation.

---

Without a frame of reference for how long he desired her to wear it, Kagome tugged her sleeve down to hide the bracelet from curious eyes during the next few days. She tried to ignore the sensation of hair continually brushing her skin.

"I wonder if it means something important," Kagome examined it while sprawled out upon a grassy hill, taking a break from her miko duties Kaede had started dishing out ever since her return.

Sesshoumaru had seemed extremely serious while giving it to her. Then again, the gift could've meant nothing. Maybe his hair was just THAT valuable in the Daiyoukai's opinion. She snorted, twisting her wrist and watching silver threads catch on sunlight, making it shine white. "His ego is big enough. I'd believe it. Heh, maybe he'd also give me one of his eyelashes, or a fingernail or..."

Why was Sesshoumaru heading towards her?

Sitting up and fussing absentmindedly with her hair- removing a few stray leaves- Kagome felt heat flood her face.

Okay, no- she shook herself, putting a firm lid over the butterflies taking flight in her stomach. Too strange. Enough of that.

The Daiyoukai stopped a few feet away, expression detached. Kagome knew by now to ignore it in favour of looking into his eyes. They were intent and unblinking today, hinting at his seriousness.

"Hi," she said, patting a spot next to her. "It's rare for you to visit the village again during the same week. What's up?"

Sesshoumaru cocked his head to the side at her odd term. Kagome bit her lip, finding it endearing. Her attention strayed, noticing yet another box sitting innocently upon his hand.

She paled. Oh no.

Gracefully sweeping himself down onto one knee- he thrust the new box out towards her, giving Kagome a dizzying sense of Déjà vu.

I was joking about the fingernails. Please be something normal. Please.

Accepting it gingerly, blue eyes flicked up towards him. "White day is over, you know."

"This one is aware."

"So...why the new gift?"

Sesshoumaru pretended to be interested in the gentle bubbling stream not too far away. "Because it pleases me to give it to you."

He was so difficult to figure out. Not wanting to squash his newfound sense of generosity, Kagome carefully removed the lid.

The contents did not look promising.

Trying not to jump to conclusions, she reached in and removed the long necklace. A single solitary tooth hung from the chord.

"Ah," Kagome squinted. "Open your mouth a sec."

Sesshoumaru's lips parted wordlessly, mouth opening wider to reveal a gap where one of his sharp canines used to be.

"This...is yours?" she asked weakly.

Sesshoumaru closed his mouth and nodded primly. "It will serve you well, should you have need of it."

In what way would I ever have need of a tooth? a wrinkle marred her brow as she considered it, coming to a small realisation. "To make a sword from?"

"Hn."

Well, that explained a small piece of the puzzle. In a very 'Sesshoumaru' way- it almost seemed a little sweet, practical even.

However, this did not help assuage her naturally squeamish reaction while looking at the freshly plucked tooth.

"Thanks," she said lamely. "I-I'm sure it'll be very useful if I visit Totosai in the future."

Her answer didn't seem to be what he was looking for. Sesshoumaru's gaze flitted from her to the dangling fang. "Females... prefer jewels, make-up or clothing, I suppose."

Kagome scratched her cheek, "depends on the lady- but you really don't have to worry, Sesshoumaru," laying a hand over pale knuckles resting upon his knee, she gave a squeeze. "I'm touched you're being so thoughtful. There's no need to give me anything else though, I have more than enough."

His nostrils flared, jaw setting stubbornly. He drew himself up to stand, "you are too modest."

Feeling thoroughly discombobulated, Kagome could only watch as he pivoted with all the grace of a dainty dancer, stalking away with billowing sleeves.

---

For two weeks, Sesshoumaru continued visiting the village at random intervals. His flair for turning up at the most unexpected times made it difficult for Kagome to anticipate his visits. Sometimes he'd arrive bright and early, others- nearing nightfall. Occasionally he'd visit Rin, but their interactions seemed distracted. Rin would whisper fiercely to him while gesturing in Kagome's direction, but he'd ultimately leave without speaking a word to the miko.

It was odd, confusing. She'd used to think of Sesshoumaru as a fairly straightforward demon. As of late, he'd been downright unpredictable and... flakey. She kind of missed their previous easy interactions when she'd pick herbs and prattle on while he occasionally offered a word or two. His silence had felt comfortable rather than awkward.

I don't know how to get that back, Kagome thought sadly.

A chilly wind passed by, breeze rushing around her exposed neck. Adjusting her miko garb, she sneezed, shivering a little. Autumn would soon be on its way.

The heat of an intense stare sent a new chill down her spine. Kagome turned, sensing it- only to find Sesshoumaru gazing at her intently.

Was it her imagination, or did he seem absurdly pleased? As though struck by a revelation.

As was typical behaviour for him, the demon lord began walking away without a word.

---

Trudging back from training in the woods, Kagome shouldered her bow while walking around a thick tree- only to quickly stop, almost bumping straight into polished armour.

Sesshoumaru stood before her, holding another box. This time it was larger, more of a rectangular shape.

"M-more?" Kagome squeaked. Her heart thundered. It felt like so long since they'd last spoken.

Sesshoumaru inclined his head gravely, "hn."

Biting her lip and somewhat dreading what cast-off part of him could be inside this time, Kagome grasped the lid and removed it- only to slam it abruptly back down.

"What… what is that?" she asked thinly.

Sesshoumaru's lashes fell shut and slid open in an unruffled blink.

"My fur."

I thought as much.

Kagome removed the lid with trepidation once more, lifting out the lush, soft coat. Even while her hands sank into the cloud-like material, blue eyes remained wide with distress.

Sesshoumaru seemed to guess her line of thinking. "It is discarded fur that I have shed, not cleaved off. Do not worry."

"O-okay," she said thinly. It's still weird though. Too weird. Imagine if I'd made a coat of shed skin.

It was so odd that Kagome felt a line needed to be drawn, placing it back into the box and numbly accepting it from him. "Sesshoumaru… I have to put my foot down now. I appreciate your gifts but I can't accept any more."

He stiffened, the burning embers in his eyes freezing into glassy orbs.

Kagome rushed to explain, "it's very sweet of you, and I appreciate the thought. I'm just not, uh…sure they're suited for a human. Besides, you seem to be worrying about what to get me instead of talking to me. I'd rather we just spoke like old times instead of this awkwardness."

"I see," he said stiffly.

She took a step forward, eyes widening when he took one back and turned. "This one did not intend to give you things deemed inappropriate and unwelcome. Farewell."

"Wait-!"

Too late, Sesshoumaru blurred away from her outstretched hand.

Kagome grit her teeth, sighing and balancing the box on one hand. Damn it.

Slowly, Kagome lowered the box onto a tree stump and gingerly lifted the coat. It felt lush and divine, her hands disappearing within the sheer volume of fur. Sliding her arms into the sleeves and putting it on, Kagome wrapped it around herself, feeling like she were enclosed in a giant fluffy cloud. His static youki brushed her skin intimately, fanning out from the strands.

It was big. It was a little ridiculous. It was wonderful.

Kagome groaned, burying her face in her hands. Sure, the idea of him collecting his shed fur to sew into a coat was strange by human standards, but actually wearing the coat, she now understood his simplistic intent.

He'd just wanted her to be warm.

"You're such a weirdo," she grumbled, blushing and dipping her nose into the fur. It smelled like him; wild forests, with the hint of refined smoke from a pipe.

Maybe she was weird too.

---

He was absent for an entire month.

Sesshoumaru figured it would help ease the sting of rejection. The second he caught Kagome's fragrance, however, it was like an old wound had been ripped open again.

His lips thinned, firmly keeping all emotion locked tight behind a placid mask as he visited Rin.

Chatting with the girl allowed him to soothe his stung ego for a while, distracted by Rin's news about the village and her training. Occasionally she would mention the miko and his chest would tighten again. How pathetic of him.

Once his cup lay empty and Rin mentioned the need to leave in order to assist the older miko, Sesshoumaru took his leave.

Stepping foot outside Kaede's hut, however, he froze.

Kagome stiffened before him, swathed in furs- his furs- he dimly noted.

More than that, lithe fingers curled around the fang resting at her collarbone. The silver bracelet of his hair caught the light before disappearing beneath the length of her sleeve.

Kagome's cheeks heated, and she thrust out a box, letting it rest on her palm.

"I asked around," she muttered. "Inuyasha was clueless, and Shippo kept laughing whenever I tried to ask him what was going on. Luckily Myoga happened to stop by," blue eyes pinned him in place. "You could've told me what all the gifts meant instead of leaving me in the dark."

Sesshoumaru did not accept the box just yet. "I thought my intentions were achingly clear."

Embarrassingly so, for a proud demon.

"Not for humans!" she huffed, lowering her hands a little. "I was confused the whole time! How was I supposed to know that you were giving me a betrothal bracelet, or that the fang was for any half-demon children I might have when they need a sword? I kind of figured out the coat, but I didn't know it represented your intentions to provide for me."

Sesshoumaru stared. Oh. Perhaps he should've listened to Rin about courting the miko after all.

Cheeks scarlet, Kagome sighed, lifting the lid of her box off and removing something from inside.

"May I?"

Sesshoumaru nodded dazedly, golden eyes widening. His entire being thrummed, heart picking up speed.

Shifting closer, Kagome pushed some dark locks behind her ear, the length slightly shorter than usual. Sliding a black bracket around his striped wrist, Kagome swallowed. Her hair had been woven into a band much like his, though nowhere near as intricate.

The demon stared at it, fixated. Baser instincts purred.

Molten gold eyes slowly raised to pin her with a disarmingly reverent look. He spoke no words of poetry, no love or longing, but it was there, he hoped. Abundantly clear. Kagome seemed to recognise it for what it was now.

She smiled a little, hugging her arms and scuffing her foot. "Don't get the wrong idea; I'm not saying I'll jump into marriage with you, but it turns out I'm kind of interested in dating you. Really... interested," Kagome forced out, obviously embarrassed but soldiering on. "If it's okay, we could...do that," she finished lamely.

Sesshoumaru took a step forward, invading her personal space. She blushed exactly the way he'd hoped she would, babbling. "So the uh- think of the bracelet as a dating bracelet! Maybe down the line it could...it could become an engagement thing," she murmured, voice dimming in the wake of his proximity.

"Hn," honeyed eyes smiled, careful claws unfurling to find her chin. "That would be pleasing," he uttered in a faint rumble, tipping his head down. "I accept."

Satisfaction rolled through him fiercely as she tilted her head just so- lips meeting and brushing feather-light against his. Emboldened, Kagome's hands found the collar of his hankimono just as he took her by the waist as though entering a dance, tightening.

Sesshoumaru let his eyes flutter shut, inhaling sharply through his nose. He could smell her so bright and clear—the sweetness of tangerines, faint, exotic soaps—and her mouth so warm. Kagome kissed him, firmer, hand finding his hair- fingers curling. His breath began to roughen the longer their kisses went on. His heart chanted the truth of it all- 'yours.'

If the foolish woman wanted him, he'd already given himself to her. The ticklish brush of her hair claiming his wrist made him smirk against her mouth, glimpsing his own band of white around hers and revelling in a plume of possessive pride.

Perhaps it was unorthodox by her standards, but they were not exactly normal themselves. And so, Sesshoumaru drowned himself in the curious, raw newness of the strange miko, surrendering to all the oddities that would likely follow during their strange courtship.

End

#sesskag #sesshomaru x kagome #sesskag big bang 2021 #inuyasha #sesskag fanfiction

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bokutosworld · 4 years ago

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a wish come true | oikawa t.

pairing: oikawa tooru x f!reader

wc: 1.6k words, fluff. domestic husband and wife relationship with my fave pretty setter <3

summary: Oikawa loves Christmas. And what better way to celebrate his favorite season than with his avorite person in the world?

this is part of the winter wonderland collab! masterlist here

Oikawa honestly believes that Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year. Ever since he was young, he has looked forward to waking up to snowy mornings and the sounds of Christmas carols playing in the house.

The holidays made him feel happy, warm, and blessed. More so now that he will be spending his first Christmas married to you.

Always the first one to wake up, Oikawa opened his eyes with a content smile on his face. A glance to the window on his right side and he sees the tiny snowflakes falling down, he can already imagine how they have painted the streets in white.

His eyes then land on the picture frame sitting on the bedside table. Stretching a hand to grab it, he admires the joyous moment where he has you engulfed in his arms, the two of you looking at each other with so much affection. It's like he traveled back in time as his body remembers the overwhelming feeling of joy from your wedding day. He recalls how he teared up seeing you walk down the aisle, smiling from ear to ear and looking gorgeous in your dress. He thought that you were an angel that descended from the heavens. Most of all, he still feels emotional, his heart beating twice as fast when he thinks back to the first kiss the two of you shared as husband and wife. It was a gesture that sealed a promise of a lifetime, the beginning of forever with the one and only person that completes his life.

He returns the photo in its place when he hears the rustling of the blanket and quiet groans as you slowly come awake. Oikawa shifts and admires your sleeping face, bringing a finger to gently trace the outline of your features starting from your eyebrows to the bridge of your nose and hovering over the shape of your lips.

You murmur softly, opening one eye to look at him. It never failed to make you warm when you are greeted with Oikawa's smile first thing in the morning. Groggily, you cup his face and tenderly stroke his cheek, "Good morning, love."

"Merry Christmas." He hums and leans closer, showering you with morning kisses. He has you trapped in his embrace as he continues to pepper you with love, and just like that the first few minutes of the Christmas Day are spent tangled in the sheets and enjoying each other's warmth.

While this was your first Christmas as a married couple, Oikawa didn't have that much expectations as how the day would go by. As long as he had you by his side, any activity became extra special - whether it's watching classic holiday movies, making a snowman on the park, or sipping on hot chocolates by the fireplace together. But there is one thing that he would like to make as a tradition for the Christmases to come.

"A Christmas market?" You ask when he shows you the event poster on his phone. Oikawa enthusiastically proposed the idea of heading down to the city and spend the evening in the annual Christmas market. Back when you were still dating, weekend bazaars and community fairs were events that you and Oikawa enjoyed. While these places were often crowded, the two of you managed to have fun and act lovey-dovey in your own little world, much to the envy of the people around you.

"I heard there will be a string quartet that will be performing later this evening," he suggested. "There's also an illuminations show near the square where a massive tree is located. And of course, our favorite food booths and vendors will be there." He takes your hand and looks at you expectantly, "What do you say?"

With the way Oikawa presented the idea, he seemed like a child talking about what he wants for Christmas. And how could you say no to that?

Which is how you and Oikawa currently found yourselves decked in your coats and matching red and green scarves, hand in hand and standing in front of the brightly-illuminated arch that served as the entrance to the market. From your position, you can see the park bursting with life as many people came to enjoy with their loved ones. You can already see the different booths that were lined up in the path and Oikawa excitedly tugged you to the first stall that was selling gingerbread cookies in a box.

"Love, can we take a 10 minute rest? I'm tired." You begged after spending the last 30 minutes upon your arrival, walking around and going from one booth to another to either play parlor games or stuff your stomachs with whatever food and snack you find. Of course, Oikawa didn't pass up on buying the Christmas gifts that he thought he could give to his former teammates.

Sensing your exhaustion, Oikawa relented and brought you to the nearest bench. As you sat down, he put the shopping bags by your side and bent down. He slid off one of your shoes and massaged the heels that were starting to hurt. Oikawa looked up at you inquisitively, "Is this helping? Am I doing this right?"

You chuckle, "Very much so. Thanks." He continued his ministrations for a few minutes, the joyful sound of Christmas carols filling the silence between the two of you. When he's done, he takes the space beside you and instinctively, you lean your head on his shoulders.

However, the quiet atmosphere didn't last for long as it was replaced by the loud wailing of a child who sat alone near your bench. Worried, you both stood up from your place and accompanied the little girl.

"Ssh, hey, princess, stop crying." Oikawa consoled her, gently patting the kid on the head as she continued to sob. Her frail body was shaking and you quickly brought her to your chest and embraced her,

"Where are your parents, sweetheart?"

Her answer came in a hushed tone, "I lost them. I let go of my mommy's hand. I'm scared." She was really terrified with the way her tiny hand gripped the lining of your coat. You glanced at Oikawa and he was also close to crying, his lips quivering as he was trying to stop the tears from flowing down his eyes.

Wiping away her cries, you comforted her, "Alright, don't worry. We're here for you, okay, sweetheart? Let's go find your parents. I'm sure they are looking for you right now."

You get up and offer your hand to the girl, but she surprised you when she clung on to Oikawa, hiding her face in his coat. His heart warmed at the action so he carried her in his arms all the way until she was reunited with her mom and dad.

Luckily, the search wasn't as difficult as you thought it would be. When you arrived at the customer service, a couple was already standing in wait. Their eyes widened when they saw you and Oikawa walking over with their daughter, and they couldn't be more thankful for keeping their little girl safe and returning her to their side.

Now, you and Oikawa were taking a stroll along the sidewalk, the cold evening breeze fanning over your faces and the lights decorated on the trees guiding the path. Oikawa's mind seemed to be somewhere distant as he simply looked straight ahead. You remember how he reassured the child when she hugged him tightly, and you thought that Oikawa would be a great father someday.

Oikawa suddenly stops in his tracks, turning to you with a look as if he has realized something. "Have I told you that I love you lately?"

So this was what he was thinking so seriously about. You smiled, "I don't know. You could always tell me again."

He nods and pulls you close to him, burying his face in your neck. He exhales your familiar and comforting scent, and it's like a fog clears in his head. "I'm so lucky to have you. You're everything that I have been wishing for and more."

"You're my dream come true," he murmurs. You were too stunned to say anything in response to his surprise confession. It's not like he hasn't openly declared his love for you before, but when he has outbursts like this, you were always bound to be speechless. Laughing awkwardly, you ask about what brought this on.

"I don't know," he sighs. "I just got too attached with the little girl earlier and I thought about how her parents might be feeling when she got separated from them. I realized I don't ever want to lose you." He stares at your eyes, hopeful as he says, "Or our future kid."

You blinked at his statement, mouth agape in shock as you thought about what he was implying. The gears were running in your head and when they finally clicked, that's when you found the courage to speak. "Are you saying-?

He lifts your hand and kisses it, "I know it’s too soon. We just got married seven months ago. But, I already want to start a family with you."

And as if on cue, you started tearing up uncontrollably. Probably out of happiness. Or maybe it was the raging hormones that you felt as you thought back to a morning two weeks ago, when you were sitting in the toilet and waiting for the results of your pregnancy test - two lines. Positive.

And here you were now, you couldn't think of a better time to share the good news with Oikawa. You were smiling through your tears as you looked at Oikawa, bringing his face close to yours as you whispered, "Looks like your wish came true earlier than expected."

His initial reaction was confusion, replaced by shock, then happiness as he unraveled the meaning of your words. He tackles you in an embrace, lifting and twirling you around as the snowflakes danced in the air. He already can't wait for next Christmas where there will be the three of you celebrating.

FIN. taglist - @aii-channn @peteunderoos @jungtoast @nekoclysm @our-tall-slytherin-queen @isabella5 @slippinglasses @yhyucklee @rowley-with-ackerman @lilacnoodles @ineedsomefoodpls (can’t tag those in italics!)

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #oikawa x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuucreations #haikyuu fics #haikyuu x you #haikyuu one shot #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa fluff #haikyuu oikawa #hq x reader #hq x you #haikyuu!!

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the-girl-in-the-box · 3 years ago

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Not Today XXXVI

A/N: So! Another update a week later! Unfortunately, due to my schedule, this seems to be about what I am capable of at the moment- an update of this somewhere around Saturday night or Sunday morning, and an update on Can You Imagine? somewhere around Tuesday afternoon. As that is the case, please be on the lookout for new chapters following that schedule until things calm down on my end! If things slow down, or if I somehow manage to get ahead, then I will HAPPILY begin to post more often once again! However, if that does not come as soon as I would like, this does seem to be doable, and it does seem to be doable for the near future. With that said, another pretty major canon divergence has begun in this chapter! Hopefully, I’ve hinted at it well enough without outright spoiling it ;) And, either way, I hope you enjoy the chapter, and look forward to updating this again next weekend! Skål!

Summary: When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.

Masterlist

Oleg wasted no time. Little more than a day passed after they’d managed to get Hvitserk cleaned up, and he, Ivar, and Asta were being called to court before him. Well, before him and Katia, of course. Asta and Ivar were, understandably, a bit nervous about this meeting. Oleg had proven himself unpredictable, and though they both knew they’d not let him touch Hvitserk, they didn’t exactly want Oleg and Katia to know they were plotting against him just yet. So, they would have to be careful, and pray that Hvitserk was as well.

Just before they went into the room, Asta stopped Hvitserk, looking up at him seriously. “You warned me once to be careful of Ivar,” she whispered. “Now I’m warning you, be careful of Oleg.”

“Were you careful, Princess?” Hvitserk asked her with a pointed smirk and a small chuckle, and she rolled her eyes amusedly.

“I was,” she answered. “Until I no longer had need to be. But Oleg isn’t Ivar. I know what happened to Sigurd, but I know Ivar regrets what he did that day. Oleg killed his brother Askold, and I truly do not believe he could care less. He treats his nephew horribly, and Ivar and I have done all we can to stand between them, but there’s only so much we can do.” Hvitserk nodded a little as Asta let out a small sigh. “And that doesn’t even reach Katia,” she said.

“Katia?”

“Katia, Oleg’s wife.”

Hvitserk’s eyes grew large. “She is more dangerous than Oleg?” he asked in disbelief.

“In her own way,” Asta answered vaguely. “She’s cunning, I see that in her eyes. That, and beautiful, seductive, attentive…”

Hvitserk lifted a brow now. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Ivar needed to be warned that you were going to leave him,” he joked, and Asta chuckled.

“I’m not,” she assured Hvitserk. “But as good as those traits sound, that is why they’re the problem. They are good, and she’s almost too good. I can’t help my suspicions.”

“Suspicions that…?” Hvitserk prompted.

“That she’s hiding something.”

They spent little more time talking about those who currently ruled over Kiev, and soon rejoined Ivar to step into the throne room, looking up to where Oleg sat on Igor’s throne, Katia lounging by his feet. What Asta didn’t notice was the way Hvitserk’s eyes widened just a bit upon seeing her. Ivar was the first of them to speak up.

“Prince Oleg,” he greeted. “Princess Katia, your Highnesses. Allow me to present my brother, Hvitserk, just lately risen from the dead.” Asta had to keep herself from giving a roll of her eyes. Ivar was dramatic, even without watching him on the other side of Hvitserk, Asta could see that.

Hvitserk gave a simple, small bow, and greeted the pair, “Your Highness.”

“Another son of Ragnar Lothbrok,” Oleg commented curiously. “You are most welcome.” Hvitserk gave something of a small, half smile as Oleg informed him, “You arrive at interesting times.”

“So I understand,” Hvitserk answered. “My brother has told me that you intend to attack our homeland.”

Ivar glanced between the two men anxiously, and Asta noticed this, having glanced over toward him to see what he thought of Hvitserk revealing this, that they had talked. Clearly, he was wanting to know Oleg’s thoughts on this, far more than he was having any of his own thoughts on it at the moment. And so, her eyes turned instead to Oleg, in time to catch him almost laughing.

He hummed, before answering Hvitserk, “It was once my homeland. I’m only reclaiming the past. I trust you will be happy to join King Ivar and myself in this great undertaking.”

So, he went with the lie. She and Ivar knew the truth, that any papers giving Oleg claim to Kattegat were forgeries. There was an assumption then, Asta realized- Oleg didn’t believe Ivar would have told Hvitserk this, nor did he believe she had done so, herself. Interesting.

Hvitserk chuckled a little. “I have nowhere else to go,” he confessed, and all but Asta laughed slightly- though, she did give something of a small huff, emulating laughter, as not to tip anyone off. Truthfully, she hated that Björn and Ubbe had turned their backs on him. Sure, he had killed Lagertha, who they had both loved, but this was their brother, their little brother. A part of herself whispered that Ivar was too, and she found herself suddenly far less surprised.

“Hearing this just makes me all the more glad to know Ivar found you,” Asta said, turning and putting a hand on Hvitserk’s arm. “That, and the simple fact that we have been reunited.”

Hvitserk offered her a small smile, and replied, “Yes, I am also very happy to see you again, and to be reunited with you, Asta.” Asta smiled at him sweetly, and squeezed his arm before releasing him as he turned back to Oleg. “And, I am at your service, Prince Oleg. I, too, need to reclaim my past.”

“The Prince and I are so happy to have you at our court, Hvitserk. Ivar has spoken a lot about you.”

Asta hadn’t expected Katia to speak up when she did, and turned to her with a curious expression. She watched her stand, and start to make her way down the stairs, moving in such a way that she demanded all attention be on her. Freydis hadn’t moved like that, Asta remembered. Even as a Queen, she had just moved like any other woman. Katia was good, Asta wanted to believe, but Freydis had been sweet, and warm, and gentle, in ways Katia was not. She swallowed hard as she remembered her, and closed her eyes briefly to stem any tears which wanted to leak from them.

When her eyes reopened, Katia was standing with Ivar now, and continuing, “When you were children, when you jumped ship… He told me that you always believed you were fated to be together, however many times fate itself seemed to pull you apart.”

She smirked up at him knowingly, and Ivar met this with a tight smile, nodding slightly to acknowledge what she was saying was true, and then she was moving on to stand in front of Hvitserk.

“I find, myself, that fate works in… mysterious ways,” she said, and rested a hand against Hvitserk’s chest. Asta lifted a brow as she watched the two lock eyes, a million words seeming to pass between them, and yet not one could she translate for herself. Looking then to Oleg, Asta found it curious how truly, deeply unsettled the man appeared.

Katia had behaved similarly with herself and Ivar for quite some time now, and yet Oleg had never seemed all that bothered. But, he believed them to be married. Perhaps it was, then, that he believed neither of them to be a threat to his own marriage? And with Hvitserk being unwed and also unattached… Who knew what concerns were beginning to work their way into his mind, as Katia finally returned to him. Both his eyes, and Hvitserk’s, followed her, until she returned to her place at Oleg’s side, lounging on the dais just in front of him.

“Our army’s assembling,” Oleg began, clearly wanting to return to a more professional topic. “Tonight, you will watch some of it parade past the Palace.” He paused in his speaking to reach down and run a hand through Katia’s hair, and she seemed to almost pull away from him, though not quite, an uncomfortable expression crossing her face. So, there was trouble brewing between them. “It should be an interesting experience,” he finished, and nodded to dismiss the Vikings who stood before him.

Ivar and Hvitserk exchanged a look which was unreadable to the Prince, but Asta… that woman was harder to read than the two men combined. He could see her looking into the eyes of his wife, seeming to silently communicate with her. How troublesome this so-called Prophet was, and yet, how bold. He slid his hand through Katia’s hair once more, trying to draw her attention away from Asta, and it worked. But there was something distant in her eyes now, and he looked up again to watch as Asta followed her husband and his brother from the room, wondering what thoughts the little witch might have just put into his beloved wife’s mind.

It didn’t take five minutes, once Asta had reached Hvitserk and Ivar, for her to grit out, “I want to choke him.”

“Who, Oleg?” Hvitserk questioned, tilting his head a little.

“Who else?” she almost hissed.

“Well, he’s the obvious choice, but I couldn’t blame you if you meant Ivar-” He was interrupted by a grunt as Ivar elbowed him in the ribs.

“Say what you want, but Asta would never do that to me,” Ivar said confidently. “She loves me too much for that.”

Asta’s cheeks turned a slight shade of pink, and she rolled her eyes. “Just for that, you’re dead by morning, Ragnarsson,” she teased, though her tone held very little levity to it. Ivar laughed, and Hvitserk found himself chuckling as well.

“So, you two for real then, hmm?” he asked curiously. “I mean, I saw it back in Kattegat, but I wouldn’t have thought after everything that happened…”

“Who else did we have?” Ivar pointed out, looking over at Hvitserk. “Who else did I have, hmm? Asta is the only one who did not ever leave me, who never betrayed me. There is no one else I would have trusted enough.”

Asta smiled softly at his words, and slipped a hand into his, wrapping her free arm around it and holding him a little closer as they walked. “Nor I, darling,” she replied, and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Ivar turned to her with a soft smile.

Hvitserk realized as he watched the pair that he hadn’t seen Ivar look at anyone that way aside from Freydis, nor Asta. Though he hadn’t known her long enough to know if she’d looked at someone that way before, he knew it was quite a special look. It was love, he saw in their eyes as they looked at each other, and he smiled slightly. With all luck, and the favor of the gods, he hoped he might also find someone to share that sort of look with one day.

They decided shortly after this that they were hungry, and seeing as they had not been to see Igor yet that day, busy as they’d been with Oleg, Asta and Ivar agreed they would go and fetch him. Hvitserk, having liked the boy well enough the previous time they had met, had no complaint about this.

Once they had him, they went to one of the smaller dining areas, and were served a meal, which they all sat around the table to eat. A light conversation was kept up for most of the meal, until it seemed to die out naturally. That was all well and good, though, as Ivar had something he’d been meaning to bring up. And, he did. He looked up at Hvitserk, who was still eating, and opened with a casual, “So.”

His brother looked up from his meal and prompted him, “So?”

Igor also looked up now, glancing between the two curiously as Ivar questioned, “What do you think?”

“About Oleg?” Hvitserk asked, a bit confused. Hadn’t they discussed him just a few hours prior?

“No, not about Oleg,” Ivar replied as though it should be obvious. “About his wife.”

“I thought she was… attractive?” Hvitserk said. “Rather provocative.” Asta smirked.

But Ivar was clearly not satisfied, and in fact, seemed a little irritated almost at Hvitserk’s response. “Nothing else?” he pressed.

“No,” Hvitserk answered. “What else?”

Ivar was stunned. Asta couldn’t keep herself from chuckling quietly at that expression of his. She recalled once likening it to a startled duck. He hadn’t quite believed her, but she’d still had a good laugh about it with him. She wondered if Hvitserk would find it amusing, as she did.

“You look like a startled duck again, darling,” she told him, and Hvitserk choked.

“You do,” he agreed easily.

Ivar now looked at Asta as if she had betrayed him, and he was deeply hurt by this. “You said you would never tell!” he accused, and she giggled.

“I still haven’t,” she defended. “In fact, I don’t think Hvitserk or Igor would even think there was something to tell, had you not just given it away.”

Ivar tried to stammer some kind of answer about that out, but only met the expectant eyes of both his brother, and Igor. She was right, he definitely brought that one on himself. “Ah, she said I looked like a startled duck one time, and I said we should not let it out that I was so easily stunned by her. There,” he said. “Anyway, Hvitserk.” Asta giggled at how eager he was to move on. “She didn’t… remind you of anyone?”

“Katia?” he clarified, and Ivar nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “You saw her. You know who she looks like.”

“I do?”

“Of course you do, brother,” Ivar replied. “Freydis.”

Hvitserk blinked a few times, and Asta realized the ‘startled duck’ face might just have been hereditary. “Your… wife?” Ivar nodded and made a small sound as if to confirm this. “Freydis is dead, Ivar, I- I saw her body-”

“Yes, yes, yes, I know,” Ivar said nonchalantly. “I killed her. But they are identical. So much so, Asta and I at first believed she had come back somehow.”

Hvitserk nodded slowly as he took this in, seeming to think for a moment, before he finally said decisively, “You’re still crazy, Ivar.”

Ivar deflated a little. Before, whenever Hvitserk had said that, he’d let it roll right off his back like water off a startled duck’s wings. Asta decided to step in.

“It’s true, Hvitserk,” she said. “Take a closer look at her, next time we are all together. I know you didn’t know her overly well, Freydis, but… the resemblance is uncanny, at the least.”

Hvitserk sighed as he heard Asta backing Ivar up on this, not just letting him claim she believed it as well. Without truly believing it, he doubted the Princess would have said anything. “Alright,” he conceded. “I’ll take a better look next time we see her.”

Asta nodded, and offered him a small smile as a way of thanking him. But, the smile turned into a smirk, and she chuckled. “I don’t think you’ll mind doing that anyway, will you?” she teased. “I saw the way the two of you looked at each other.” She lifted her brows a bit, pressing her lips together in a knowing smile as Hvitserk tilted his head confusedly.

“What do you mean?” he asked, and Asta laughed lightly.

“Come on, really?” she questioned. “I could have drawn my sword right then and cut the tension between you, it was so thick.”

“No, you’d just have cut off her hand,” Hvitserk countered, which only made Asta laugh more.

“Indeed I would have!” she agreed. “Which makes one question, why was she touching you in the first place?”

Hvitserk paused, sitting back and blinking a few times as his brows creased together. It was a good question. Why had she touched him? She hadn’t needed to. Asta was right about all of this, wasn’t she? Katia had touched him unnecessarily, and in doing so, had proven her unpredictability. She really was just as dangerous as Asta said. But, did she truly look like Freydis?

When that night came, he was dumbfounded to say the answer was a resounding yes. Katia did bear a very uncanny resemblance to Freydis, and he suddenly found himself wondering just how hard that was on his brother and his not-wife. With all the talk of the other Russian prince, one whose name had been funny to Hvitserk, as it had sounded much like the word animal to him, and Ivar’s alliance with him to overthrow Oleg, it had slipped his mind to be on the lookout for. But, when they were confronted with her, it had slapped him in the face. If someone had told him they were twins, he’d have believed it.

Now, he stood on the complete opposite side of her, with Asta to his right, Ivar to hers, then Oleg, Igor, and finally Katia on his other side. He wanted to take another look, but the army had begun to march out, and he knew it would be suspicious if he was watching Oleg’s wife, instead. So, he turned his attention to the massive army, and tried to pay attention to what Oleg said as they marched by.

“Who can resist such an army?” he was currently questioning. “Nobody. Not King Harald. Not Björn Ironside. They are like children. They, and their gods, will be destroyed. This, my good friends, is the end of paganism. The end of the pagan gods.”

Asta whipped her head around to look at Ivar, concern for him and this endeavour filling her. This was quickly shaping up to seem like a horrible idea, and she could see the same thoughts circulating in his mind behind his watering eyes. This, if Oleg was to be believed, was meant to be the end of his gods, and Hvitserk’s, and all those of the people of Scandinavia.

She turned back to watch the army, a newfound look of horror in her eyes. The Vikings had brought a Heathen army down on her home once, and killed many people simply for being Christian. Now, Oleg would bring a Christian army down on the people of Kattegat, and many would be slaughtered, simply for being Heathen. Once more, she turned back to Ivar, and as soon as she moved his eyes landed back on her. For once, both were perfectly readable, and their expressions revealed quite the same train of thought.

What have we done?

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 3 years ago

Text

After Each Midnight Begins A New Day

Extra #10b (chapter 3 of extra #10)

[Masterpost] [AO3]

Wei Ying and Lan Zhan have both officially arrived in their childhoods after their time travel array, now they finally get to see each other again <3

To the untrained eye, Lan Zhan knows he looks as stoic as ever. There’s nothing at all in his face or his utterly correct posture to reveal that he feels ready to fly apart from the rush of adrenaline coursing through him and the painful knife’s edge of uncertainty that leaves his fists shaking where they’re curled into his sleeves. He has no idea if he’s going to get what he wants or not and that’s a strange combination of exhilarating and frustrating.

There is, thankfully, enough to focus on besides his own roiling emotions to make them somewhat easier to ignore, at least for the moment. It’s Madam Lan’s first attempts at venturing out into the Sect for business that includes other Sects, and he is acutely aware of this. Her re-entrance into the Lan Sect has gone disastrously so far even after making her case to the elders that she has served her penance and provided two heirs for the Sect. But neither she nor Lan Zhan are discouraged. After all - few people understand the unbending rigidity of the current generation of the Gusu Lan better than the man who had been whipped nearly to death by the elders for the sake of ‘righteousness’ and the woman who had once died in captivity enforced by many of those same elders - and for painfully similar reasons.

True acceptance within the Sect is going to be a long time coming, but Lan Zhan is patient and utterly determined down to his bones to see it through. There are few things he can’t accomplish when both of these traits are put to use.

“Zhan-er,” Madam Lan says softly at his side now and he looks up to meet her eyes, full of warmth and fondness that still melts his heart, as he’s sure will be the case for the rest of his life. “Don’t be nervous. He’ll come.” If Lan Zhan were the blushing type, he might have at that. Living with his mother over the last year or so - ostensibly to be raised by her while in actuality to hide the truth of his condition and make plans to improve the future - has been better than he could have ever imagined. It has also, however, resulted in another person (besides Wei Ying) who’s actually perfectly capable of reading him in ways that make him feel unexpectedly exposed, and while of course he trusts his mother to be kind and understanding in her knowing of him, it’s still a strange feeling. He’s getting used to it though - he’s overjoyed to have the chance to get used to it.

He nods once and reaches up to take her hand as movement down the path from the gate becomes visible.

“Lan-furen.”

Lan Qiren’s voice is cold behind them and Lan Zhan doesn’t even bother turning to look at him. He only has eyes for the Jiang delegation making their way up the stairs, his eyes straining to find a hint of the only person from Yunmeng he cares about seeing. Lan Qiren’s surprisingly petty disapproval of Madam Lan is a familiar irritation by now, one not nearly as deserving of his attention as the possibility of being reunited with his husband.

“Grandmaster,” Madam Lan replies, utterly serene as if she can’t even hear the edge of anger in Lan Qiren’s tone. “You didn’t bring Huan-er with you.”

“He has lessons. It is not appropriate to bring young children to formal greetings.”

“Oh dear,” she replies so dryly Lan Zhan very nearly finds the will to look away from the Jiang Sect still making their way up the stairs to look at her and share in the joke instead. Almost. “I was under the impression that Zhan-er’s manners are so lovely already, he should get a chance to practice with others outside of the Sect. He’s been working so hard, it only seemed fair.”

If Lan Qiren has a reply to that, propriety demands he keep it to himself as the Jiang Sect representatives have finally drawn near enough to make casual conversation too difficult to keep private.

Lan Zhan does not crane his neck nor does he start trying to push his way through the gathered cultivators, but to be entirely honest that has more to do with his mother’s hand still wrapped around his than any thoughts of exhibiting proper behavior. For a handful of anxious moments he can’t help but take note of the fact that Jiang Fengmian is, oddly, not at the front of the delegation. The reason becomes clear when the cultivators part to reveal their Sect Leader trying and just barely succeeding to contain a wriggling toddler with as much dignity as one can muster when wrestling with – and losing against - an extremely determined child.

His heart feels ready to leap out of his chest and straight into his husband’s tiny hands, currently curled into fists in the front of Jiang Fengmian’s robes as he pulls and tugs at them, crying something about not wanting to be apart from him. He desperately hopes that it’s for show. If he has somehow lost his husband through this experiment of theirs of course he will love this Wei Ying as desperately as he ever has, but he won’t be able to keep himself from mourning for the version of him that he lost. Again.

“A-Ying, you have to let go,” Jiang Fengmian is pleading quietly as everyone goes still and the silence that descends quickly turns awkward for everyone who is not Jiang Fengmian and Wei Ying. Or Lan Zhan, for that matter - he couldn’t care less if they all just stare at each other in silence for the entire afternoon, though it would make for a remarkably unproductive first day of a discussion conference. That is, thankfully, not his responsibility anymore.

“Oh dear,” Madam Lan tuts again, but this time it’s much softer than just moments ago. “Jiang-zongzhu,” she calls and offers a salute, though she doesn’t release Lan Zhan’s hand to do it so it ends up a bit lopsided. “Might myself and my son be of some assistance?”

“Your -“ Jiang Fengmian’s puzzled look only grows as he glances down at him, no doubt wondering just who he and Madam Lan are and why they’re at the gates along with Lan Qiren to escort them beyond the wards. “Oh. Thank you. Perhaps. A-Ying?”

Lan Zhan watches with his hands clenched once again into tight fists and his knees tensed as if to run as Wei Ying lifts his head reluctantly from Jiang Fengmian’s shoulder to look down at him, his cheeks wet with tears and his eyes red-rimmed.

“Uncle Jiang,” he whines, sounding like he’s on the verge of beginning to cry again, but Jiang Fengmian can clearly see that as well and he hurries to try to soothe him.

“It won’t be for long, A-Ying, and you can have a new friend, just like A-Cheng and A-Li. Alright?”

Wei Ying sniffles and scrubs his face on his sleeve before he peeks tentatively down at Lan Zhan again standing there practically vibrating with the desire to drag Wei Ying into a hug and never let go. His mother’s hand around his is a gentle restraint but after a moment she lets go and puts a hand on his back as if to ‘coax’ him forward, though naturally he needs no convincing. Lan Zhan steps forward and he only manages to maintain a measured pace by force of habit, and because his knees are shaking so much he’s afraid he would trip if he were to move any faster.

When he reaches the pair he looks up and, after a moment, he holds a hand up as well as he searches desperately for a sign that Wei Ying is just putting on an act for the sake of their ruse. If he is, Lan Zhan can find no fault in it and an interesting mix of dread and deep-rooted affection tangle messily together in his chest. He can do some things alone to fix what went wrong the first time, but he’s afraid that what only he can accomplish won’t be enough to give Wei Ying - and everyone else - the gentler, more carefree life they had intended.

Wei Ying scrubs at his face again and hides in Jiang Fengmian’s shoulder for a moment before he starts wriggling again, this time with the clear intention of clambering down out of his arms. Lan Zhan lets his hand drop again and takes a step back to give Jiang Fengmian room to set Wei Ying down and he somehow looks even smaller like this, standing there hunched inwards and scrubbing at his face even as he reaches out to take Lan Zhan’s hand in his and hold it in a death grip.

Whatever the rest of the adults say over their heads is lost on Lan Zhan as he patiently guides Wei Ying to Madam Lan’s side, his heart hammering in his ears loudly enough to drown everything else out. Whether this boy is ‘his’ Wei Ying or not is utterly irrelevant in this moment. Wei Ying is Wei Ying, and Lan Zhan is utterly devoted to him in any circumstances, in any life they may find themselves in. And right here, right now, he has the chance to love him wholeheartedly from the start, and so he will.

“Let’s go home,” Madam Lan ushers gently, herding the two of them in front of her with careful hands on their backs. They leave the cultivators behind quickly as they take the path that branches off to circle around the main areas of Cloud Recesses and head directly for the residences.

They’re walking along a relatively secluded part of the path and Wei Ying’s sniffles have slowed when Lan Zhan glances at Wei Ying in concern as his hand somehow tightens in his grip even further. All the breath is punched right out of his lungs when he spots that achingly familiar mischievous smirk on Wei Ying’s lips and then, as if that wasn’t enough evidence, Wei Ying winks.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan hisses and the three of them stop dead in their tracks, Wei Ying’s eyes going wide as he darts a wary glance towards Madam Lan still behind them.

“Lan Zhan?”

“Oh wonderful,” Madam Lan says, her smile so wide it warms her voice as well as her features. “That was quite a show, Wei Wuxian, I would expect nothing less after what Zhan-er has told me.”

“...What!?”

“Wei Ying.” Wei Ying’s eyes are still wide and beginning to look a little panicked as he turns his gaze sharply on Lan Zhan again. Lan Zhan glances around to make sure they’re otherwise alone before he steps forward to wrap his arms tightly around Wei Ying’s waist.

And just like that he’s got a Wei Ying-shaped burr clinging to him with every trembling limb, which Lan Zhan is certainly more than okay with.

“Mother knows,” he says as succinctly as he can. “It is alright, Wei Ying.”

“O-oh, okay,” he wavers. Lan Zhan holds him tighter and lets the rabbiting of Wei Ying’s heart calm his own.

“Missed Wei Ying,” he says quietly into Wei Ying’s shoulder and his husband laughs wetly.

Madam Lan delicately clears her throat and cautions, “I don’t want to break this up but we are still on the path, Zhan-er.”

“It’s okay Lan-furen,” Wei Ying is quick to reassure. Lan Zhan releases him with enormous reluctance when he tries to pull away enough to at least put his feet back on the ground. “I’m sorry, I just -“

“You do not need to apologize.” Lan Zhan has the absolute privilege of watching Wei Ying - so small, so cute - blink owlishly up at Madam Lan as he reacts to her affectionate soothing. She takes advantage of his stunned silence to continue. “You two have done the impossible, and I imagine it was as difficult for you to be apart from Zhan-er as it has been for him. There is nothing at all for you to apologize for.”

Lan Zhan is alarmed but not exactly surprised to see Wei Ying’s wide eyes go shiny with unshed tears as he looks up at Madam Lan, his chin wobbling dangerously. Lan Zhan is, after all, well aware both of how deeply Wei Ying’s emotions run under his cheerful veneer as well as how difficult it is to keep such strong feelings in check in these young bodies not yet equipped for it.

“I know that you are technically a grown man and you are capable of a great many things I can’t really imagine, but may I carry you back to the Jingshi?” Madam Lan says next when it’s clear that Wei Ying isn’t going to be able to reply. In the fraction of a second it takes Lan Zhan to blink Wei Ying practically flings himself across the space between them and Madam Lan hurries to scoop him up and put him on her hip, where he immediately burrows into her shoulder like he had been doing with Jiang Fengmian.

Lan Zhan settles in at her side as they begin walking again, one hand stretched up to curl around Wei Ying’s ankle as a silent reassurance for both of them that they’re together again, that this time fate has, against all odds, been merciful.

----

If his companions were anyone else, Wei Ying would have never allowed himself to break down like this. But it’s Lan Zhan, and actually he’s pretty sure that even were Madam Lan not his mother-in-law, even had he not gotten some sort of understanding of her from the few soft recollections he had managed to coax out of Lan Zhan over the years, he still might have been this helpless in the face of the soul-deep kindness she wears openly like an extra layer of robes, warm in the chill of Cloud Recesses.

His relationship with Madam Yu is infinitely better than what it had been in his first childhood, but considering what that had been, that isn’t exactly a glowing endorsement. She doesn’t hate him at least. She is polite to him on occasions that are about half as frequent as her few gentle moments with her own children, but her corrections to his behavior and theirs are always similar. So far she also seems to be uninterested in comparing him to Jiang Cheng, which is truly all he could have thought to ask for, and he’s infinitely grateful for these changes.

But this strange sort of tentative truce with Madam Yu can’t hold the flicker of a candle to the understanding and kindness Madam Lan has already extended to him - he thinks it’s only natural that he would gravitate towards such a presence, even were he not related to her by marriage. For as much as Lan Zhan so clearly loved (and loves) her, his halting moments of extolling her virtues had not prepared Wei Ying for the truth of her. And, much the same as a year ago when he had first allowed Madam Yu to pick him up and hold him - he is still very small, though certainly not as tired as he had been then, and it feels just as wonderful now as it had then to be picked up and held by a mother-figure. No one will ever be able to replace Cangse Sanren and he will long for his mother for the rest of eternity, but he can soothe some of the ache like this.

They reach the Jingshi and Wei Ying doesn’t protest as he’s set down on his feet again, mostly because it leaves him free to turn his full attention to Lan Zhan, standing there in his little robes and his ribbon, appropriately sized for a toddler. He feels giddiness slip in where he had been feeling raw in response to Madam Lan’s kindness and he allows it to take over, to stretch his lips into an impish grin as he darts forward to smash Lan Zhan’s face between his hands.

“Lan Zhan!!” he can’t help but shout, an almost manic joy curling through his chest. He wants to hug Lan Zhan, he wants to run circles around him, he wants to squish his cheeks and gobble him up like a steamed bun. Lan Zhan accepts the full force of his unfettered excitement with his usual fond exasperation, standing still to let Wei Ying walk circles around him to poke him and pinch him and exclaim, “Lan Zhan you’re so cute!! Look at your little hands! And your cheeks!! You’re so small!”

That earns him Lan Zhan’s version of an eye-roll, which means Lan Zhan squints at him with his eyes that are still slightly too big for his tiny features, overwhelming and arrestingly adorable even as he narrows them and says, “Wei Ying is smaller.”

“Aiyah, I know isn’t it ridiculous? At least we already know we’re both going to grow up to be nice and tall. Oh! Lan Zhan!! Let me check your core. Do you feel okay? Any side effects from the array? Did it hurt? Were you scared? Has it been hard to get used to being so tiny? Does anybody suspect anything?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t even bother to try to answer Wei Ying’s rapid-fire questions, he just lifts his hands to pull his sleeve out of the way of his wrist so Wei Ying can press his fingertips to his pulse. The overwhelming strength of his core nearly knocks Wei Ying flat on his ass - not only has he maintained his previous level of cultivation, he’s somehow significantly stronger, and Wei Ying laughs aloud to feel the thundering pulse of it echoing along his own meridians before he withdraws his hand again.

“Lan Zhan you show-off,” he teases as he cackles. “You’ll be an immortal by 15 at this rate!”

“Not by 15,” Lan Zhan sniffs with a bit of disdain, but Wei Ying of course notices that he doesn’t deny that he will at some point stop needing to measure his age as he will simply…continue existing.

“We’ll see - do you do anything at all but meditate?? It feels like you’ve added years to it already.”

“Meditation is an acceptable activity when the Sect expects me to be taking my lessons from Mother.”

“Oooo so smart, Lan Zhan, I should have come up with a way to get out of mine. They’re so boring but I get to take them with A-Cheng so it’s okay.”

Lan Zhan, seemingly reassured that Wei Ying is done poking and prodding at him, chooses that moment to step forward and fold him into another hug and Wei Ying instantly melts into it with a sigh, his arms tight around Lan Zhan’s waist.

“I missed you so much, Lan Zhan,” he whispers softly, such a far cry from his happy yelling of a few moments ago. “I hate being apart.”

“Mn. We will not be so again.”

It’s pretty enough to hear but Wei Ying knows that they’ll have to part again eventually - when this discussion conference is over, for instance, and he’ll be expected to return to Yunmeng with Uncle Jiang. He doesn’t see a need to spoil their reunion with such technicalities, though. Instead he just tucks himself into Lan Zhan and lets himself be held for so long they only pull apart when his stomach growls.

“You need to eat,” Lan Zhan says instantly and Wei Ying laughs, a happy giggle as Lan Zhan pulls him by the hand over to a table and sits him down, a very determined look on his serious little face. And Wei Ying knowsthat they’re adults, they’re grown, they’re fathers - but Lan Zhan is so adorable like this! He can’t resist reaching out to pinch his cheek like he used to do to A-Yuan, which Lan Zhan thankfully allows with very minimal glaring.

“Oh dear,” Madam Lan suddenly laughs and Wei Ying jerks his hand back as he remembers they have an audience, and that said audience is his mother-in-law. “Zhan-er, I didn’t know anyone was allowed to pinch your cheeks. May I?”

“No need,” he harrumphs and retreats, cheeks and ears bright red, and Wei Ying laughs until he falls over onto his back, too relieved and happy to be back with his husband in their home to think about containing himself.

“Lan-furen -” he begins once he has finally composed himself a little, but she immediately waves him off.

“There’s no need for that here. From what I hear you’ve been family for quite some time, and this is just as much your home as it is mine. I believe such official titles are unnecessary here.”

Wei Ying blinks at that, unsure of what exactly he’s supposed to say to that. Thankfully Lan Zhan chooses that moment to return to the table with congee (Lan food, Wei Ying thinks with a mental sigh).

“You are my husband,” Lan Zhan begins with the smallest hint of a smile twitching in his cheeks as he says it. “She is your mother-in-law. Her name is..” Lan Zhan trails off rather uncharacteristically and Wei Ying instantly widens his eyes, eyebrows ticking up with open concern as he makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat. “Her name is Wen Yun. You should call her Yun-gu.”

Wen.

WEN?!

“Wen Yun?!” he yelps once his higher brain functions have marginally returned. “Wen?” he asks again, turning his shocked stare on Madam Lan, who looks as serene as she had before this earth-shattering revelation.

“Zhan-er has told me I have you to thank for providing protection for some members of my family,” she says softly and Wei Ying is unsurprised to find that he’s choking on tears again – he cries a lot these days both for show and simply because it’s difficult not to when his emotions run so high. “Your kindness and your sense of justice will not be forgotten, though I sincerely hope they will not be needed again for this purpose.”

And just like that Wei Ying is sobbing. With the Jiangs and now Lan Zhan returned to him, it seems it’s finally time for him to have the space to grieve for the Wens all over again. He’s done it before, of course - too many times to count. But it hits him anew that this time he hopefully won’t need to, he can save them too this time like he couldn’t before, and his mind suddenly floods with memories he’s been fighting hard for years to keep at bay for his own sanity’s sake.

Wen Qing brushing her slender fingers over the ropes and talismans holding her brother in one piece while Wei Ying had called for his wandering soul over and over. Wen Ning and his gentle face splattered in mud and gore in stark flashes of lighting, his lifeless visage suspended in glistening drops of rain each time the sky lit up. A-Yuan clinging to his legs too many times to count, calling him ‘Xian-gege’ and holding his little arms up to be held. Uncle Four and his wine and his hands so accustomed to farming after a lifetime of coaxing a living from the earth. Granny Wen’s gentle fussing over any- and everyone, her kindness and love for the broken remains of their family. The small cluster of aunties mending everybody’s rough, workworn clothes the best they could with needles he had carved for them out of bones he found while cleansing the planting fields.

“Shh Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan murmurs softly in his ear and Wei Ying becomes aware that he’s not alone, his husband’s tiny arms are wrapped around him and his forehead pressed to his temple. “They are alive, it’s alright. You will see them all again.”

It takes a while longer for the worst of his surge of grief to work its way through him but he manages it eventually. It helps that Lan Zhan – who by now knows well the shape of his grief - refuses to let go of him the entire time, his arms tight around him to hold all the broken pieces of him together until he can do it for himself again. Madam Lan for her part, simply watches and waits with the sort of calm patience Wei Ying has only ever seen in Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen. At least now he knows precisely where it came from.

“I’m s-”

“Do not apologize to me - I can see it in your eyes, ” she says when he can finally muster up the strength to speak. He snaps his mouth shut with a little click and leans heavily into Lan Zhan’s chest, suddenly tired. He has to say, that’s his least favorite part about being a kid again so far - he’s full of energy, full of energy, full of energy, and then all the sudden he crashes with almost no warning. His stomach is still growling though and so he frees one arm to reach out and dutifully start eating the congee Lan Zhan had brought him, his other hand curled tightly into Lan Zhan’s sleeve to keep him right there while he eats.

“We have to save them,” he says quietly when he’s about halfway through his little meal. “I don’t care what it takes. I failed them once, I can’t again.”

“We will,” Lan Zhan soothes. “We will make it so they do not need saving at all, they will flourish.”

Wei Ying finds that he really has nothing to say to that so he simply nods and snuggles closer to Lan Zhan as he finishes eating. He can’t keep himself from yawning widely almost as soon as the last spoonful is gone and Lan Zhan, being Lan Zhan, immediately bullies him up and over towards his bed despite Wei Ying’s laughing protests. In hardly any time at all he finds himself wrapped up in a little blanket burrito too tightly to move.

“Hey,” he protests weakly, already well aware that when Lan Zhan is in a mood like this there’s no swaying him.

“Rest,” he says in a tone that brooks absolutely no argument.

“You can’t really expect me to be able to sleep when I finally found you again,” Wei Ying retorts, though his argument would probably be more impressive were he not blinking long and slow and fighting not to yawn again. Thankfully Lan Zhan just blinks at him for a long moment before he clambers up to join him, laying down on his side facing him to press their foreheads together, the metal cloud in the center of his ribbon warm with his body heat.

“Rest,” he says again, his voice gentle and sweet. Wei Ying can’t help but smile at that, Lan Zhan’s cute little child’s voice, and he loses the fight against his eyelids (and the adrenaline crash) as Lan Zhan reaches up to stroke his hair back from his temple.

He’s not quite sure how long he sleeps for, but when something disturbs his rest it’s still light outside at least, and Lan Zhan is still laying with him with his eyes shut, though whether it’s in sleep or in deep meditation is impossible to tell.

“The boys are sleeping,” Madam Lan says softly. “A-Ying was tired when he calmed down and Zhan-er needed a nap as well, come back for him later.”

“Lan-furen I apologize for the intrusion,” a low voice replies and Wei Ying wakes up a little further as he recognizes it as Jiang Fengmian. “A-Ying has been very afraid of being apart from me since he learned of the discussion conference, I only want to make sure that he’s doing alright.”

“Zhan-er helped distract him from his distress,” Madam Lan replies smoothly and Wei Ying has to duck his head to hide his face in the blankets so he can giggle too quietly for anyone but Lan Zhan to possibly hear. “They’re quite taken with each other, thank you for bringing him with you. I understand that it is not typically done.”

“Thank you for offering to take him for the day. I didn’t think that word had reached ahead that we would have A-Ying with us, it was a…last-minute decision.”

Wei Ying has to hide another giggle as Jiang Fengmian so delicately dances around the truth, which is that the morning of his departure two days prior Wei Ying had clung onto his robes like a burr and wailed and wailed until he and Madam Yu had agreed that his separation anxiety was too strong for him to stay in Lotus Pier while Jiang Fengmian left. It wasn’t entirely a lie, anyway – he still struggled with having any of his family out of his sight for too long. He can’t help but fear that each time will be the last, though he’s getting better with it. He just…hammed it up a bit, just enough to be brought along.

“Oh I didn’t know to expect him,” Madam Lan deflects. “I wanted Zhan-er to practice greeting people he hasn’t met before, we were simply lucky that we were there and that they seem to approve of each other.”

“May I see him?”

“How long does he usually sleep when he naps?”

“A few hours.”

“Ah he should wake soon then. Alright,” Madam Lan allows and Wei Ying closes his eyes again to watch surreptitiously through his lashes as she lets Jiang Fengmian into the Jingshi. It’s…extremely strange to see the man in the space that Wei Ying very much still thinks of as his home despite having lived in Lotus Pier for the last year since the array. Perhaps ‘jarring’ is a better word for this collision of his past and present and…future?

He no longer knows how to think about time. It doesn’t move in an easy, linear fashion for him anymore. His past has become his present and yet he also longs for the things that he and Lan Zhan had left behind when they did this, the things that no longer exist how he knows them. He misses their son and their rabbits and everything that they had been sharing with each other since he woke in Mo Xuanyu’s body. He is a child of Lotus Pier, he runs and laughs and swims and plays with his siblings as any child should. He is the Yiling Laozu, he still remembers the screams of the dead and dying. He has nightmares full of blood and corpses, some of them friends, most of them strangers. He can usually ignore this strange doubling of his life, but here in Cloud Recesses with Jiang Fengmian, the face of Lotus Pier, in the midst of it, it’s…he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Whether it’s because he heard his mother talking, or he’s responding to the sudden tension in Wei Ying’s entire body, or perhaps simply because of lucky timing, Lan Zhan’s eyes flutter open just in time for Wei Ying’s breathing to grow a little too erratic as his heart pounds in his chest.

Lan Zhan nuzzles closer and sneaks a bare ghost of a kiss to his lips, soft as butterfly wings and nothing but sweet, chaste reassurance. As far as Wei Ying is concerned, it shows just as much love and care as every other kiss they’ve shared over the years and it works to remind him that at least he’s not facing this alone. Lan Zhan must be subjected to the same sort of confusion as well, living in their home with his once-long-dead, now-very-alive mother and reconciling the past he remembers with the present they had left behind to become their future once again. Or is it still their future when it won’t happen again?

Wei Ying has spent hours thinking himself in circles worrying over the same questions, his natural inquisitiveness unable to leave the problem alone even though he recognizes that answers to such things are impossible. As far as he’s aware, after all, this has never been done before. He and Lan Zhan only have each other to rely on in this, and while he doesn’t need anybody else it is sometimes disconcerting to realize that for perhaps the first time in either of their lives they are truly alone together against the world.

At least in this one way, he amends, because as Jiang Fengmian approaches the bed and reaches out carefully over Lan Zhan to run a hand through his hair Wei Ying is reminded that though his family will never know or understand what he has faced, they’re still his family. They’re still here. He and Lan Zhan can have their families back at least, even if their loved ones will never know or understand what has happened to them before.

He stirs as if waking and blinks one eye open to squint up at Jiang Fengmian with a little moue, bottom lip sticking out and a frown pinching between his brows.

“A-Ying, it is time to go to our own rooms.”

“No,” he pouts and wriggles one of his arms far enough out of his blanket cocoon to curl his fingers tightly in Lan Zhan’s robes. “Staying with Zhanzhan.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes narrow at him and Wei Ying just barely manages not to crack up at his obvious disapproval of the nickname.

“A-Ying –“

“Zhanzhan is my husband!” he declares and that earns him a wide-eyed glare from Lan Zhan that finally does break his pout into a wide grin. “I want to stay!”

“Oh dear,” Madam Lan tuts from behind her hand and Wei Ying is positivethat it’s to hide a smile. “I did say they were quite taken with each other. Children say such silly things every once in a while, Jiang-zongzhu, I am not offended.”

“A-Ying you are too young to marry. Lan-er-gongzi is not your husband.”

“My husband!” Wei Ying protests and he lets go of Lan Zhan’s robes to instead take his hand, and because Lan Zhan can’t deny him anything he wants he tangles their fingers together, turns onto his back, and sits up and look up at Jiang Fengmian with his solemn little face. Wei Ying watches him blink a few times and then give a decisive nod, slow and ponderous.

“Married to A-Ying.”

It takes everything in his little body not to burst out laughing at the utterly nonplussed look on Jiang Fengmian’s face – in fact he’s trembling with the effort of keeping himself mildly under control, though his grin has certainly crossed over into ‘manic’. He looks at Madam Lan halfway across the room only for her to wink at him and he loses his battle of wills. With all the renewed energy from his nap he manages to squirm out of the blanket Lan Zhan had wrapped him in to throw his arms around his husband and hug him tightly, squishing their cheeks together and looking up at Jiang Fengmian with laughter dancing in his eyes.

“Married to Zhanzhan!”

Jiang Fengmian sighs and closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing at his eyes. Wei Ying has absolutely made himself known as a mischievous little sprite of a child over the last year so he’s sure that Jiang Fengmian isn’t surprised, but he’s also quite sure that he’s currently thinking of the propriety and stuffiness of the Lan and wondering just how he’s going to get out of this one. Wei Ying, of course, has no intention of letting this get swept under the rug like a standard childhood affection might.

“Lan-furen,” he begins, sounding pained as he turns around to face her, and Wei Ying takes the opportunity to sneak a quick, silent peck of a kiss to Lan Zhan’s chubby cheek as thanks for humoring him. “I apologize for imposing further but may I leave A-Ying here while I fetch Lan Qiren?”

“May I ask why you would like to involve my brother-in-law?”

“If you are…amenable, it is..not outside of our practices to arrange a betrothal.”

“Really? So young?” she asks and this time she sounds genuinely surprised. Wei Ying is less so as he is, of course, aware of Jiang Yanli’s betrothal to Jin Zixuan since their infancies, but that had been arranged by the close relationship of Yu Ziyuan with her sworn sister, not the choices of the children in question. The idea that a betrothal could be proposed for him and Lan Zhan based first and foremost on their affection for each other isa bit of a surprise, but he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“If you are opposed of course we need not pursue it, it’s childish fantasy on their part. But I don’t see a reason why we shouldn’t secure a strong allyship between our Sects. If the children are already fond of each other it may one day bloom into a good match.”

Oh Uncle Jiang you have no idea, Wei Ying thinks to himself with poorly-disguised glee.

“Married to Zhanzhan!!” he shouts, practically vibrating with the joy of the idea of being able to make that true literally as soon as physically possible. Of course he knows that that probably means they’ll have to wait until they’re teenagers at least, but that’s worlds better than how long he had made Lan Zhan wait the first time.

“No yelling,” Lan Zhan reminds him softly with a squeeze of his fingers and Wei Ying allows the correction with a nod as he lays his head down on Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

Whether Lan Qiren agrees to a betrothal now or later doesn’t matter. Whether Jiang Fengmian is willing to humor him now with the expectation that he’ll forget about Lan Zhan when they’re no longer in the same place together is irrelevant. What matters is that he has his husband back, and while he knows that he’ll have to leave him behind briefly to return to Lotus Pier, now that he knows they have an ally in Madam Lan he’s sure that he’ll be able to sneak Lan Zhan some letters, and receive some in return. And they’ll grow up together, and they’ll help everyone they can, and Wei Ying is going to get a lifetime to love him with everything he has.

#the untamed fanfic #wangxian #Wei Wuxian #Lan Wangji #Madam Lan #Jiang Fengmian #I know that this is a pretty big time jump from the last two to this one - a whole year!#But I cannot stress this enough that if I get bogged down in actually writing all the details of both of their lives #this will become an impossible project to manage and it would get abandoned probably #So I think I said this in the first extra but I'll say it again - this is much less narrative than AEM because it has to be #Just gonna be hitting the highlights basically

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the-silentium · 4 years ago

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The Lost Future Pt.1

Masterlist Part 2

Pairing: soulmate!Five Hargreeves x Reader

Summary: Soulmate AU where the soulmates share their wounds. || Along with your brother, you are transported into the 1960's with a bunch of kids you don't know. Turns out they are trying to stop the 2019 apocalypse and you are playing a key part of it.

Words: 4590 words

Warnings: Violence, blood, swears, racism.

A/N: Hi readers! This fic' was too long to be posted in one part, so I divided it in three distinct part. The next part will come out pretty quickly, seeing as it it already written but not proof read yet. Please, let me some comebacks in the comments or send me a request!

Groans erupted from your throat, a clear indication that your peaceful slumber has been disrupted by some unknown pull. Your heavy eyelids fluttered open with difficulty, the need to sleep omnipresent in your system. A bright blue light forced you to squint while tears formed slowly thanks to its harsh brightness. Before your foggy brain could comprehend what was happening, the glow intensified in a blinding flash and the sudden feeling of free-falling gave you nausea.

The fall was brutal, your whole body crashed on the ground like an inanimate puppet. Your hands flew to your face with a pained cry, covering the painful spot that was your nose in an attempt to soothe the suffering nerves. To say that you were confused was an understatement. One moment, you were peacefully asleep and the next you were… where? You removed your hands from your face, a pounding sensation still beating under your skin and shrieked as your eyes landed on a disgustingly big spider weaving its web between two oversized blades of grass. You jumped aside, eager to put distance between yourself and the arachnid, when your eyes met the magnificent blue sky, as clear as ever, with the sun nearing its peak. The warmth of its rays touched delicately your cheeks achieving to bring a smile to your lips. It has been a really long time since you last sunbathed and today would have been a perfect day to do it if it weren’t for the strange situation you just found yourself in.

At the foot of a nearby tree laid a brown-haired boy cursing under his breath. He must have scratched his knee somewhere, looking as he was slouched over himself trying to alleviate the pain as you did moments ago. Your eyes traveled up, analyzing the familiar form. His outfit resembled yours, his tousled hair the same shade as yours… You jumped to your feet in a hurry when his green gaze met yours.

"Roo!" You exclaimed, running toward your twin. The teenager only had a second to prepare himself before his body was tackled to the ground by an incredible force. His yelp made you laugh before he pushed you aside, adding another fall on the list of today's activities. Once he got a good look at you, Andrew’s eyes widen. Some tears formed in his eyes, but before they could escape and run freely down his cheeks, he threw himself at your neck, hugging you with all his might.

"Y/N!" His strangled voice was muffled by your neck. Your arms wrapped around his body, mirroring his grip. "I missed you too, Roo," You whispered in his neck. Finally, you reunited with the only person in the whole world that understood you more than yourself.

Pushing you at arm length, Andrew’s eyes scanned you like an awk. "How is that possible?" He mumbled, eyebrows furrowing. "You-" Your laugh made him jump and clearly, he was beginning to think that you came back missing some brain cells. Patting his shoulder, a smirk stretched your lips.

"Don't sound so disappointed." You flicked his forehead, just like you used to do when you were kids and you were teasing him. "I might think that you don't like me."

Andrew groaned and pushed you off. Getting up snickering, you brushed off the dirt on your clothes. You had missed it, this perpetual teasing. You both could bicker and argue all you wanted, but you would always recover in no time, never holding a grudge against the other without having to talk about it.

"What the fuck!" Andrew's yell made you look up. He pulled his clothes forward, examining and patting his body like he never saw it before. "No, no, no… Why am I thirteen again?" His head shot up, his green gaze back on you showing his confusion. "What did you do?"

Taking a step back, you put a hand on your chest. "What did I do?" You replied in a defensive tone. "I didn't do shit! Four minutes ago I was-" Your sentence died as your eyes caught on your surroundings. Old cars you’ve had only seen in movies rolled on the streets, ladies walked by wearing old fashioned dresses of various flashy colors and various patterns, different stores displayed proudly their retro signs for all to see. Were you in one of the small American towns that were stuck in time?

"What the…" You heard your brother mutter in sync with yourself. The thought to pinch yourself passed your mind, after all, you did have some really weird dreams recently with all the stuff that happened in your life. Or maybe you watched too much Supernatural in the last months.

Turning around to try and make sense of the scenery, you noticed high buildings beyond the line of trees. If they were anything to go by, you would say that you ended up in a urban park in some random city. The transportation method was still unknown, but that was something you could figure out later.

Women in colorful dresses walked slowly talking to each other on a stone walkway. Some of them pushed baby carriers around while others looked in the twins direction, a hand flying to their mouth, eyes growing as wide as saucers. Looking down, you felt your heart accelerate. You were wearing a pair of black basketball shorts along with a light grey tank top that said: "If I was a bird, I know who I'd shit on". Clearly, you didn’t have the proper attire for this period of time. Andrew was in the same predicament as yourself, with his basketball shorts and his "I play hockey because punching people for no reason is frowned upon" shirt.

Getting a hold of Andrew's wrist, you started to walk away from the outraged women who seemed to be harshly whispering between them, their manicured fingers pointed at them. Would it have been your own modern age town, you would have assumed entirely your choice of clothing, but here, where you didn’t know jack shit about how the people would react? You kept it in and walked away.

"Hey! You two from the 21st century!" Shocked, you stopped in your tracks and turned to meet a brown-haired boy running in your direction. His school uniform was vaguely familiar, although you couldn’t put your finger on where you knew it from. "You guys got transported too!" The boy finally reached them. He was all smile and his bubbly presence made you relax immediately. You noticed six other kids wearing the same uniform walking after their comrade. It reassure you that the majority of the group seemed as lost as your brother and yourself. Maybe you could stick with them for a while. You noticed that they had an unconscious girl with them. You wondered if her state was caused by a fall or by another unknown reason.

"Transported? What are you talking about?" Andrew stepped closer, positioning himself right beside you. He was three inches taller than you and surpassed the new boy by a good one inch.

Bubbly guy turned around, pointing vaguely at one of his approaching friend. "Five time-traveled us here. In the past! So we could stop the a-," a hand on Bubbly's mouth prevented him from saying more.

Before you had time to question the sanity of Five's parents for choosing such a name or ask how one could time-travel back in time, cold blue eyes glared holes in Bubbly's head while maintaining pressure on his mouth. "Shut it. We already have enough attention on us like that." True to his words, people were watching their little group intently, some of them stopping in their tracks to openly stare at them.

The steady rhythm in your ribcage was quickly disturbed by the harsh blue gaze falling on you. A beat or two were skipped, your body too entranced to remember that this muscle was indeed vital to your survival. "We can't talk here." A smirk stretched his lips when his eyes trailed down to your tank top. For a completely unknown reason your body answered to his apparent approval by creating some butterflies in your belly. Swiftly, he removed his jacket and handed it to you.

Eyebrows furrowed, you stared at him, then the jacket and back at him. "I'm not cold thank you." You said confused. Rolling his eyes, Smug Face kept handing you the piece of clothing. "If you walk around looking like that, you might get arrested. People in this decade aren't that open yet." He clarified in an impatient tone.

You didn’t know much about "this decade", but you can feel that he was definitely right. The people around seemed extremely judgemental and unappreciative of your appearance. Sighing, you uncrossed your arms and took the jacket, making sure to not touch the boy's finger in the process. The last thing you needed was your heart stopping indefinitely because it short-circuited at his contact.

"Fine." The black jacket was surprisingly comfortable and light on your shoulders. The coffee scent that lingered on it was quite enjoyable and you found yourself gripping the slightly too long sleeves. Looking down, it seemed like you were wearing a weird looking black dress. If you kept your legs close to each other, that is. Smug Face looked satisfied of your appearance and nodded. His mouth opened to speak again, only to be cut by another.

"Wait. How do we know we can trust you?" Oh, Andrew. Always there to protect you from any harm. Speaking of which, his right arm found its place on your shoulders while his query gaze was fixed to the unconscious girl in one of the boys’ arms.

At that, Smug Face stared at him, seemingly getting colder. "Really?" He rolled his eyes once again and scoffed, turning around. He took off toward a street, muttering to the others to follow him. Some of his companions followed right behind him after sending them curious and apologetic glances. Bubbly and a girl stayed behind, waiting for the newcomers.

The girl sighed and offered her hand to shake. "I'm Allison. Sorry about Five, he's a bit rude." Bubbly scoffed at that, muttering something about a grouchy old man. "The girl is our sister, Vania. She fell unconscious before we time-traveled. Look, I know you don't have to, but you can trust us." Deep inside you, you knew that they were trustworthy. Anyway, if you were proven to be wrong, all you had to do was use your power and get the hell out of there with Andrew. Smiling, you shook Allison's hand before pointing to your brother.

"That's Andrew, I'm Y/N. And don't worry," You pointed at the nosey people still watching their little group, "between the old-timers and you guys, I choose you guys."

Allison chuckled while Bubbly, who presented himself as Klaus, cheered and led the way to catch up with their siblings.

The walk to a small isolated house took a good 20 minutes. In this time, you talked with the rest of the group, getting to know them a bit.

You learned that the familiarity you found in their uniform was caused by their worldwide superheroes reputation. You remember watching the news one day, 6 of them displaying in front of a crowd, proud faces daring someone or something to come at them and try and beat them. You remember feeling proud of being born on the same day as them. You were all special after all.

However, they weren't as invincible as you once thought in your young innocence. Apparently, they failed in preventing an apocalypse in 2019 and ended up travelling through time to survive, which failed once again because you all were back in your early teen age. The idea of being stuck in the past for your whole life was weird to say the least and you hoped that you would find a way to get back home.

Most importantly though, you learned that Klaus was your favorite out of the group. He was carefree, almost too much sometimes, and was not afraid to be himself. You laughed along with him during a big part of the walk, the both of you mocking the outraged faces of the 1963 grown-ups when they got a good look of Andrew's shirt or Allison's too short skirt for their time.

Luther clearly didn't trust the two addition to their little group. He shot some glances your and Andrew's way from time to time, clearly trying to judge if you were a threat or not. At one point, he asked Allison to walk with him. It may have sound innocent but you knew he wanted to protect her from you. You didn't need a power to find out, his eyes were talkative enough.

Diego was at least approachable. He didn't talk much, but didn't reject you either. He seemed funny on first glance and you hoped that you would have a chance to talk to him more.

Finally, there was Five. For you, he was a total mystery. He didn't turned around once, too concentrated to get to his destination and not once did he answer his siblings when they asked where he was leading them. He totally ignored the people watching him like he had two heads, sometimes glaring at those who were too close to him, but mainly kept his eyes right ahead.

You reached a cute little yellow house with rows of beautiful purple flowers framing the door. Pansies you think they are named. You were sure that there would be a lovely old lady greeting you at the door with a nice smell of cookies floating in the air, but to your disappointment, a musty smell gripped you at the throat instead, along with dust entering your lungs.

You coughed a bit just like everyone who entered before you minus Five. He seemed immune to his environment, still walking like he hadn't reached his destination yet.

"Five, the hell are we doing here?" Diego's voice echoed through the silent rooms. You wandered into the little living room, barely dodging Klaus who just threw himself on the first couch he saw. A cloud of dust erupted of the old cushion, like an explosion suffocating the brunette who quickly got back on his feet. You laughed at his antics when a hand got a hold of your arm and pulled you toward a door.

"Come on Panda. They went this way." Andrew released you when you followed after him. The door lead to a basement, where everyone was gathered around Five.

"Thank you for finally joining us." The sarcasm caught your attention, your eyes travelling to the source only to find his gaze on you, reanimating the flutters in your belly. Damn butterflies, you'll need to find a fly swatter soon. "Now we can concentrate on stopping the apocalypse." You froze. The what now?

"The hell?" "Did you just say a-" both yours and Andrew's voice died in your throat when Five lifted the corner of a carpet, throwing it at your feet and gripped two wood planks. If he hadn't lifted the two planks like he did, you would never have thought that they were movable.

"Holy shit! You have your own batcave?" Klaus jumped before Five in the hole in the ground. Five followed suit, threatening Klaus of mutilation if he touched anything. Luther moved his unconscious sister in his arms and entered the hole. Your curiosity to see what was down there got the best of you, so you did one step toward the hole before you were stopped in your tracks.

"Woa. We can't go down there. We don't know them." Roo's uneasiness was clear. He didn't trusted them and being stuck underground wasn't helping. "No offense," he watched Allison and Diego, who stayed behind waiting for them, "but you guys might be killers for all we know!"

A blur passed in your field of vision, passing under your brother's chin and hitting the wall.

"Don't you fucking dare call us killers. We save people." With each words, Diego got closer to Andrew, growing the tension in the room as he went.

"And you think that they'll trust us when you throw knives at them?" Allison grabbed her sibling's arm and pulled him back, away from Andrew's face.

"They have to if they want to come back from here." Five's voice coming from behind you made you jump. You hasn't seen him exit the hole nor did you hear his steps. "And we don't have time to waste. The clock is ticking." His tone let no place to negotiate. He was losing patience. And fast.

"To stop the apocalypse?" The hope of returning home, to your family and friends was relieving. If you could do something to save them in 2019, you would definitely do everything to make sure that happened.

"Yes and if we want to have a chance to do it, we must start to plan. Now." A sigh on your left made you relax. Andrew finally admitted defeat, allowing you to follow Five who disappeared under the ground again.

You stopped in awe at the underground living room. A bunker. The perfect hideout to plan to stop an apocalypse.

…………………………….

Your brain felt like it was going to explode at any second. After Five had thrown spare clothes to everyone, the Hargreeves had taken an hour or so to explain what happened in 2019 and you were now trying to elaborate a plan against an organisation named the Commission. Sadly, every ideas were quickly rejected by an impatient and highly irritated Five.

Klaus' whines about his empty stomach was getting on the boy's nerves for the last half hour, but you couldn't stop yourself before finally agreeing and proposing to go get some take out. Thinking with an empty stomach was too much to ask for and by the looks of it, Five would never be satisfied by anyone's idea.

Cheers resonated in the room making you chuckles while Five rolled his eyes.

"I'm coming with!" Klaus cheerfully tapped your shoulder and lead the way out of the bunker.

"Me too! You'll need someone to "pay" for the food." Allison chuckled along with you. You shot a questioning glance at your brother, only to be answered with a shake of his head. You knew he would probably use this time to snoop around the bunker and get to know who he was plotting with. Just as you were about to exit the house with your 2 new friends, a blue flash on your right caught your attention.

"I'm coming." Every damn time! The second you hear that damn melodious voice, your heartbeat accelerates! Were you ill? Was your body trying to tell you something? Warn you against him?

"Believe me, old brother dear! We really don't want to know!" Hands moving in the air like a lunatic, Klaus turned on himself to face you, walking backwards. You barely had time to slap a hand on your mouth to stop yourself from laughing at the boy. "You just want coffee, say it." He added on a more serious tone.

"I'm here to make sure that you newbies don't alter the timeline more than it already is." Allison ignored Five's irritated comment and nudged your arm.

"Hey, sorry about Diego earlier. He really takes his vigilante work seriously." You shrugged it off, it wasn't a big deal to you. You were a bit carefree but not careless. You had good instincts and you knew that you could trust your guts telling you that they were good allies.

"It's fine. Sorry for my brother, Roo really crossed a line, calling you killers like that." You paused, trying to find the right words to describe your situation. "He's just really confused. One minute we are relaxing at home and the next we are back in our teenage body in an old american city." You frown, looking at the ground. A delicate hand found your shoulder and squeezed softly.

"I forgot to ask!" You jumped at Klaus' sudden exclamation. "Where are you guys from? I can't place your accent!"

You scratched your neck, an embarrassed smile forming on your face. "Sorry for the accent." A nervous laugh escaped your lips. "My brother and I are French Canadian. We grew up learning French and English, but I'm way more fluent in French as it's my mother tongue." You were not embarrassed of your country in the slightest. You loved Canada, it was just that a certain piercing blue pair of eyes was glued to you ever since you left the house and they started making you nervous.

Klaus gasped before reaching your side to throw an arm around your shoulder and pull your smaller form into his side. "Our polite neighbors! You don't have to worry, your English is impéccable so far!" You giggled, happy to know that your nationality won't be an issue.

"So you were in Canada and you still time-travelled?" Five's sudden question surprised you. During the whole way to the nearest diner, he had remained silent, listening and analysing. His incredulous tone made you perplexed. Was it wrong? You opened the door to the others before answering the question.

"Looks like i-" A fist hit the counter in front of you, making you jump. Your heartbeat accelerated for a second, the silence in the diner deafening to your ears and rising your nervosity. Every pair of eyes in the room was directed at you, more so at Allison. You perceived her anxiety and immediately, your hand found hers in a weak attempt to appease her. The way her fingers tightly interlaced with yours despite her keeping a strong exterior alerted you that she was shrinking inside.

The looks on the patrons faces made you sick. You recognized those looks. Disgust. Anger. Superiority. For a moment, you had forgotten that a lot of people in these years hated the people of color and that they suffered great injustices.

The clerk behind the counter with his haughty air, pointed a sign behind him. The sight made you gnash. Whites only. Oh how you wanted to show him how colourful he could get if you hit him hard enough. You opened your mouth at the same moment as Klaus, but the both of you were interrupted by none other than Five.

"We're leaving." Your eyes went wide, quickly turning to him to yell at him instead, but were cut off by his hand pulling you out harshly along with Allison. The second you were outside, you pulled your hand back as hard as you could, nearly elbowing Klaus in the stomach when Five let you go.

"Why are you letting them win?" You spat. Some patrons were still eyeing you through the front window, contentment dripping from their features. You nearly decided to get back inside and speak your mind.

"There's nothing we can do about that. Drop it." Your blood was still boiling in your veins. You wanted justice. You wanted to punch the clerk's and patron's smug faces until their thick skull understood that people of color or not, everyone had the same rights. You were all humans. You were all sentient beings.

"It's fine. Let's go." Allison's weak smile didn't even reached her eyes. As much as you hated to, you dropped it nevertheless. Pushing the matter wouldn't do anyone any good so you followed Five towards another diner, your morale at its lowest. He and Klaus went inside to get the food while you waited with Allison outside. You two settled on a bench near the diner so the boys would find you easily and started softly passing rocks at each other with your feet.

"You must miss them." You frowned at the affirmation.

"Who?"

"Your soulmate and your family." Her sad eyes met yours. It was at this moment that you realised that she looked utterly tired. It pulled at your heart to see her in this state.

"I never met my soulmate. But I do miss my family a lot." You recalled your mom who stroked your hair when your weren't feeling good, your dad who would always figure out a way to cheer you up and your dog who would always be a sunshine and sleep over your covers to keep you warm whenever you felt cold. Lowering your head because of the tears forming in your eyes, you blinked several times to subtly kept them at bay. Years of hiding your tears caused you to improve your own technique and become an expert.

"You'll meet him, one day." You slowly nod your head, keeping your gaze low. "You say "never" like it was definitive, but when we get back in 2019, there's still a chance that you'll find him." She pat your shoulder, smiling softly. You returned her smile. You were about to ask about her own soulmate when something shiny caught your eyes. The sun reflected off a metallic surface, which you quickly attributed to a knife.

Before you could register what happened, your brain forced your hand to move and grab the knife in a strong grip. The pain was excruciating. The feeling of a thousand paper cuts all happening at once, cutting through your flesh and leaving a burning feeling in your palms and fingers made you grunt. As much as you wanted to drop the knife, you couldn't. Because if you were to release your grip on the weapon, the moron who tried to stab your friend would get what he wanted.

Only when he pulled back on the knife, cutting deeper into your flesh, did you screamed and fell on your knees. You heard your name but you were too focussed trying to keep the pain at bay, squeezing your wrist in vain. The burning intensified, along with your heartbeat resonating into your hand. A soft touch on your back brought you back to reality. The moron had apparently took out, leaving you with Allison, Klaus and a disheveled Five.

"Wait, you're cut too?"

You couldn't concentrate. Your head along with your hand were pounding, blood pooling between your fingers and tainting your newly acquired old pants. For a moment, all you could see was the deep red of your blood, slowly oozing from the deep gashes in your palm and phalanges. It was mesmerizing and terrifying. You haven't been hurt to the point of bleeding in… years? It wasn't something you missed in the slightest.

Then your world became blue. The most beautiful and calming shade of blue you've ever seen. It happened in a flash and suddenly you were back in the bunker under the yellow house. No more calming blue, no more street, no more cars. No more bubble.

"What the hell happened!?" Andrew's body filled your vision while his beaming voice filled your ears.

"Stop screaming. That's unnecessary." You were certain that if Five hadn't knelt on your side and showed you his hand, Andrew would have definitely jumped at his throat and strangled him. Your eyes widened when you noticed the blood on his hand. Both your cuts were 100% identical. "That explain why you got teleported from Canada." The tiniest of smile graced his features. "Hey soulmate."

You didn't know how you two being soulmates allowed you to time-travel, but you knew two things: you were screwed and the butterflies will keep dancing in your stomach for the rest of your life.

Part 2

#five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #my fic #the umbrella academy #tua s1 #klaus hargreeves #allison hargreeves #diego hargreeves #luther hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #soulmate

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lisinfleur · 4 years ago

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Buble Gum, Time is fun!

The request:

Author’s Notes | Two of my favorite things reunited: Sigurd and time travel plots! I love it! I decided to post it like this, because you said you liked it how it is, love. But I’ll probably use this request later for a bigger work! It really has potential! Universe | Vikings Pairing | Sigurd x Reader Info | Time Travel plot, Viking Age AU, Modern AU, prepared for the Patron’s Holiday Event Words | 3706 ⁑ Warnings: Cursing a lot.

Damn foggy night.

Damn stupid idea of accepting your co-worker's invitation into his house for a Christmas celebration!

Of course, you should've noticed his intentions! Of course, he was luring you into a trap!

What were you thinking? Ivan had tried to lure you into going out with him through the whole year! How could you think he was serious about a party with his family?

In the end, it was just a lie to "finally get some time alone with you, pretty..." Oh, GOD! You hated so much his stupid way to make that word sound doughy in his voice!

And there you were, walking away from his house, all alone on Christmas' Eve - because OF COURSE, he refused to drive you home since you wouldn't give him a chance... Asshole.

The problem is: it was easy to reach his cottage exactly because he was driving the 4x4 through the woods to take you there. On foot, the trail would surely allow you to see Santa Claus' reindeer flying through the sky, going away and coming back home before you were able to finish that God damn way!

"Wonderful!" you cursed when your eyes found a bifurcation and the plaque that should indicate the way was broken, leaving you without a choice but betting which way would take you down, back to the town, which would take you deeper inside those woods into some wolf lair or something like this.

With your luck?

You would end up frozen in the middle of that stupid fog!

Walking into that fog, you caught yourself thinking. Sadness taking your heart... If you weren't all alone... If your family wasn't a bunch of assholes like Ivan... Perhaps you wouldn't have accepted his invitation. Maybe you would be celebrating with her instead of all alone, lost in those woods.

Where was the trail?

"Oh, crap!" you cursed, looking around, trying to find yourself again, anything but trees that could serve for you to locate yourself.

Your heart clenching inside your chest.

If you were to disappear that night... Who would miss you?

Damn Ivan! It would be perfect to know he would probably be arrested since you were last seen entering his car but you didn't want to disappear!

Even less into those woods!

"Shit... Shit shit shit!" You cursed.

Your feet, lost, stumbled on some roots and you fell straight to the ground, rolling down a small hill and hitting your head against a tree.

You weren't sure, but you saw a silhouette right before everything blanked out.

You remember you thought it was better to freeze in those woods than being found by Ivan in that place.

You couldn't precise how long did you blank out. But it was warm when you woke up. There was some strange cloak over your body, with a marine perfume that resembled the sea right after the dawn, or the dew evaporating on the first hours of the mourning.

"You woke up," a strange voice, kinda hoarse, with a heavy accent spoke to you.

And you turned yourself to see a blonde man sitting near a fire, noticing you were somehow into a cabin. A pretty rustic one! He was shoving the pieces of wood into the fire, making it warmer. But his clothes were so strange!

You could bet they were handmade!

He was dressed beautifully, like those medieval peasants from old Scandinavia. His hair had braids with leather straps decorating it and beautiful curls you couldn't stop yourself from admiring.

You sat, observing the beautiful handmade embroidery of the cloak over your body. That man wasn't a peasant. Such beautiful work wouldn't be made for someone that wasn't noble.

But why the fuck was he dressed like that?

"My head is aching..." you mumbled.

"You must've hit it against the tree I found you near. Your clothes are strange... Too thin for the cold. What is your name?" he asked with that strange accent, coming closer to sit beside the fur you were laid upon.

Too thin for the cold?? Those were your best warm trousers!

"I'm Y/N," you answered, confused. "Excuse me, but where am I?"

Everything around was so realistically rustic! You felt like waking up into a movie!

"This cabin is mine," he answered, "A small secret place I use as a refuge when I don't want my brothers to find me. I'm Sigurd, son of Ragnar Loðbrók. You must've known about my father." he sighed.

Sounding so genuíne for someone who was speaking, for sure, a scripted line for any stupid theatrical spectacle that was - for some reason - including your dizzy self. Right?

Cause there was no living way for you to be speaking to a son of THE Ragnar Loðbrók he was talking about. No-living-way!

You chuckled, looking at him.

"Fine... You're pretty good, for real. But I'm seriously lost here and... Can we leave the characters behind for a moment and give me some real information?" you said, looking at him "I'm lost for real, you know? I got lost in the woods while fleeing from a night into the house of the biggest asshole I've ever known in my whole life, so... Could you be gentle to me and tell me how I can reach the town so I can take a bus and go back home?"

The more you spoke, the stranger was the frown in that man's face.

"What is a bus?" he asked, looking at you as if that wasn't the most absurd nonsense someone could ask you at all!

"O-k... A persistent actor uh? So... Let us do it your way, ok? I need to go back to the town, uh? Where can I find a... a chariot?" you tried.

"You must've hit your head too hard... Come. I have a horse outside, I'll take you back to the village, but I suggest you visit a healer," he said.

Genuinely looking as confused as you were.

You got up, looking around. It was really a small cabin, seeming to be handmade as well, for a single person. Maybe you just invaded some kind of fantasy for him or anything, you thought. But the horse outside his door was pretty real.

"Fuck," you mumbled.

He really had a horse. And you would really go back home... In-a-freaking-horse. How the heck could that night become stranger?

Never doubt life.

It can ALWAYS overwhelm your expectations.

"What in the actual fuck?" your mouth mumbled when his horse reached the streets of what was an entire Scandinavian village. "Is this a joke? What kind of... Look, Sigurd uh?" you said, looking back at him from upon your shoulder as he guided the horse forward into that village.

A lot of other people like him were finishing putting things inside, the houses were decorated. It was Christmas night in that place as well... But how the heck?

"I need to go to the real town. Like, the real one! Not this scenographic thing for whatever you guys are filming ok? I need to go back to Kattegat!" you insisted.

Just to see his frown becoming even bigger.

"Woman, what is your problem? We ARE in Kattegat!" he said, convict.

"Then take me to the bay!" you demanded, almost as a touché.

They would never be able to reproduce the bay perfectly! It was a beautiful natural arch of mountains where the sea would make a pool, almost a beautiful natural circle of water you saw yourself stunned looking at a few moments after your ask.

"You see? We are in Kattegat, woman. I'm Sigurd, son of Ragnar, fourth among the princes of this place. And I demand you to visit a healer right now!" he said, full of himself.

But you'd barely heard his voice.

Your heart was pounding, your ears were throbbing along with your whole head. How the fuck was you standing in Kattegat's bay?

How in the actual fuck was that place a Scandinavian village again?

How hard did you hit your head?

"Be patient, son of Ragnar," a hoarse voice came out of nowhere and you turned yourself too quick, falling at the sand, afraid of that black-cloaked figure that looked at the two of you - and seemed not to scare Sigurd at all! "A strange thing happened and sometimes it happens, indeed..."

"Who are you? Where am I?" you asked, fully scared.

But that burned man looked at you calmly. You could feel he was looking at me although he had no eyes.

"The correct question would be when are you, Y/N, future’s child. You are where you think you are. You are in Kattegat such as he was. Time is not what you think it is."

Your heart started racing.

If what he was saying was real then you were far away from home now!

"But if you were to disappear tonight, who would miss you?"

That sentence in his hoarse voice seemed to shock both of you, you and Sigurd, cause you could see the same surprised expression in Sigurd's eyes as well.

"Time is a spiral... It swirls and swirls and sometimes its rounds touch each other. Two thought like one, two desired like one. One was heard by the night and its mysteries," that burnt man continued. "You shall be back to your time, back to your life, when the night is over and the magic with it. Unless your desire to come back is not strong enough to take you out of here," he said, starting to walk away.

Leaving you at that beach, sitting on the sand, almost panicking.

"So... You came because of my desire?" Sigurd mumbled, breaking the silence first.

And you looked at him.

"He said... Two thought like one. What were you thinking, Sigurd?" you asked, trying to rationalize.

To avoid freaking out.

"I didn't want to be home with Ivar being the usual spoiled brat he always is. But I didn't want to be alone... After all, it's Yule."

After all, it was Christmas...

"It makes sense..." you mumbled. "I didn't want to be with Ivan... But did not want to be alone either."

Sigurd crossed his arms, sighing. And you looked at him with your heart clenching. Maybe he was as lonely as you were. And if it was strong enough to throw you into that situation then... Then why not?

It would be over in the morning.

"We could keep each other company..." You suggested.

"Then none of us would be alone." Sigurd completed. "Come. It's cold here... I have some food in my cabin we could share and you can tell me about this future you come from." he said, extending his hand for you to get up.

Sigurd didn't seem to be a bad guy at all. And what choice did you have, anyway?

He walked you back to that cabin, pulling the horse by its reins but walking beside you at a slow pace. It wasn't such a short path, so you had some time to know each other properly. The craziest it was sounding; Sigurd was indeed a Viking prince who definitely sounded like everything but a Viking. Whether your time's acknowledgment of his kind was awfully wrong or he was something different from the barbarian raiders his mutuals were described to be.

Instead, Sigurd was gentle, helping a total stranger he found wounded in the forest, taking you inside his cabin, ensuring you would be warm and cared for. He lighted a campfire in front of the cabin where he placed a piece of meat to roast intending to divide what was supposed to be enough for himself with you, and you noticed he just didn't ask for his cloak back - somehow he was really apprehensive about how cold it was for your "thin clothes".

Sigurd's presence was completely different from Ivan's and despite being a total stranger for you, soon it became more comfortable than having your co-worker you worked with for a whole year beside you.

To be honest? It was better. Way better.

Sigurd's curiosity about your shoes was funny, his surprise seeing your elastic hair tie was the most innocent and sweet thing you've ever seen and you could laugh for hours at his funny face when the thing escaped his hand being shot against his nose.

When you started talking about your time's music, he entered the cabin and brought back some kind of guitar he called an oud and played for you some amazing songs you wish you didn't have lost your cell phone so you could record to hear again later.

When he wouldn't be there to play...

For a moment, that sensation made you think about your loneliness and how it had just vanished with Sigurd's presence there. His gentleness was able to make you forget completely you weren't in your time and even more, that you were alone.

The two of you shared the food he made and when the night became colder he made the fire higher to warm the two of you as you sat at the door of his cabin, looking up to the sky.

So much more stars!

"The sky is not this beautiful where I come from," you said.

"Did the stars fall from the sky?" he asked, looking at you.

Making you smile with that sweet innocence he seemed to have.

"No. There are too many artificial lights. The night is not dark enough for us to see them all..." you explained.

"Your time seems to be amazing, but at the same time, it seems colder," Sigurd said, looking up once again.

Silence landing between the two of you like a solid wall his voice broke once again.

"I'll miss you, Y/N. When you go home, I'll miss having you here."

You thought about your lonely life. It would be so good to have the chance to stay... But at the same time, you were so far away from your time! And you couldn't just be impulsive and stay in a place and time you barely knew just out of your need for company... You would come back at the end of that night, you knew that. But your heart would be broken.

"I'll miss you too..." you mumbled.

Feeling when something touched your hand, looking to see Sigurd was messing with a leather strip around your wrist.

"What is this?" you asked when he finished, showing you the wooden beads with runes he had tied to your arm.

Lifting your eyes, you could see one of his braids was undone: he had turned the leather strip from his hair along with his beads into a bracelet for you.

"A gift, so you can remind me," he said, "A Yule gift."

You smiled with tenderness looking at that loving gift. Nothing was ever so sweet in your life.

You would miss him so hard...

You weren't as good as he was with the crafting, but you took off your necklace - a golden chain with a small butterfly pendant - And you placed it on his neck, watching as he touched the delicate piece.

"A Yule gift," you repeated, smiling at him.

Feeling his fingers touching and caressing your face.

Silence was made as you laid your head on his shoulder. There was nothing to be said anymore. You wanted his embrace around you. He wanted you to stay forever.

Both of you woke up alone the next morning...

The magic of that strange night was gone when you woke up sitting against the tree you had fallen near the previous night. You lifted your hand to touch your head searching for any kind of wound, thinking that the whole night could've been a dream.

But something was weighing on your hand and your eyes filled with tears when you saw the leather strap with his beads there. You touched your neck, your necklace was gone.

It was real.

He was real!

And now it was gone...

You found out you had fallen out of the way and into the woods some few meters before reaching the road. You went back home with that knot on your throat.

You searched for anything about his story just to find out Sigurd had died one thousand years ago, murdered by his own brother's ax.

The following days made no sense for you. Everything was missing color. You wanted to cry every time your eyes would look at the beads on your wrist. You never took that bracelet off.

When the third night came, you decided: You had to change that! You had to go back, to find a way to make his fate different.

To be with him once again.

But how?

The following days you passed searching for any information, finding anything that could help you, getting yourself more and more despaired with the hopelessness of that journey. When New Year's Eve came, you made your last try...

You came back to those woods, you went away from the trail, you tried to find the ruins of his cabin or that location. But all you could find were some stones placed in a specific way that could resemble that house.

You sat in the middle of it and you felt the tears pouring down your face. Your fingers caressing the leather strip on your wrist.

"You were such a gentle man... Such a sweet company. You killed my loneliness and... And you found such a terrible fate," you cried, thinking about him, the sweet smiles you exchanged, his laughs from that night.

"I wish so bad I could change it... I wish so bad I could come back one more time..." you closed your eyes, lowering your head.

"It's a one-way trip this time. And you know you can't change the cycle of life. He will die. You will die. Each must die someday," the hoarse voice of that burnt man you knew now was the Seer from his time invaded your ears, startling you up.

If he could be there, then...

You could come back.

"But I can make it different!" you said, looking up to see the black-cloaked figure standing where it was supposed to be the door of that cabin.

"What if you can't?" he asked, looking at you.

"I can!" you yelled, getting up.

"What if you can't, woman?" he repeated.

Remembering you maybe Sigurd's fate wasn't changeable...

Maybe you would go back just to lose him that awful way.

"Then I can make his life different," you mumbled, looking at the Seer. "Then I can send his loneliness away. And kill mine. And make it better as long as he lives."

"Cross the line... And find your fate. Time won't touch itself once again. Don't look back, future's child. Everything forward is lost for you now."

With his scepter, he traced a perfect line on the ground from one stone to another at the entrance of the cabin's ruins, turning his back to you and vanishing in the middle of the trees.

You swallowed dry.

You could just jump the stones and go back to your life.

But time wouldn't touch itself again, he said.

You could cross that line and everything you knew would be lost.

But who would miss you anyway?

You touched the leather bracelet on your arm and took a deep breath, walking forward and crossing the line without thinking any longer. And then... His voice filled your ears...

"... and I don't know where or when you are now. But I wish you were here. It would be good if time could swirl that strange way one more time."

Your eyes caught Sigurd's figure sitting beside a campfire. Almost the same scene from the Yule night you spent together. Except, you weren't there, and his hands were messing with the necklace you gave to him, tenderly caressing the pendant. He missed you. He wanted you back.

And it filled your heart with love to think someone would care.

He cared.

"Maybe two thought like one once again," you mumbled from the door, startling him, watching as he jumped up, standing to look at you, first scared, then, with the most beautiful smile you've ever seen on someone's face.

"Y/N!"

Sigurd came closer, without a warning pulling you into his embrace. Such a tight embrace, so full of that feeling only he was able to make you feel!

You embraced him back, maybe as tight as he was embracing you. And Sigurd cupped your face, touching your foreheads.

"You came back... I wanted so hard to see you again!"

You went on your tiptoes, following the will of your heart, and touched his lips with yours, surprising Sigurd with a gentle and loving kiss, full of that need you had inside your heart to change his life. To make his fate different.

"Y/N?" he mumbled your name when the kiss was over.

Looking at you full of doubt in his eyes.

But you caressed his face gently, smiling at him.

"I came back for you, Sigurd. For you..."

His tone changed as you felt his hands gently pulling you closer. His forehead touched yours and you saw as he sighed, almost in relief, nuzzling his nose to yours.

"You took my heart with you when you left..."

He felt the same. That need, that sensation you were everything he needed and he had lost it. Sigurd fell in love with you as well. And it was good for him to notice he wasn’t alone.

"Tell me you'll stay this time." He asked.

"I'll stay," you answered, nestling your face against his neck, hiding into his embrace. "I'll stay, my prince."

"That's good..." he mumbled, kissing your hair, embracing you tighter. "That's good, my love."

You knew everything you ever knew was lost for you now and you would've to learn everything about life in his way. You knew you could lose him not far from that day. But you would fight to change his fate and if you had to lose him then, at least, you could say you loved him till the end.

And Sigurd loved you back. Like anyone else before.

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fortuitous-juxtapositions · 4 years ago

Text

Art of Deception Part 6 (Orlo x Reader)

Summary: An Orlo x Reader slow burn. You and your uncle have just arrived in Peter III’s court from the Colonies. You uncle has warned you of the debauchery of the court and devises a plan to keep you safe, but the Emperor has other ideas. You find yourself thrown to the wolves and you must keep your secret while while fighting the growing feelings you have for the one person in court you who you would tell the secrets of the universe to if he would only ask.

Note: Anything in Italics indicates the characters are speaking English as opposed to Russian

Also available to read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25566277/chapters/63156886

The first thing you became aware of was the debilitating pain in your head that worsened each time your heart beat. You groaned, trying to regulate you breathing in effort to slow your heart rate. You had nearly lowered the speed and intensity of your pulse when you felt a sharp sting at the crook of you left arm. You fought to crack your weary eyes open, blinking a few times against the light. When your eyes finally adjusted you were greeted with the face of a man you had never met before.

His wide, startled eyes met yours for a moment before you retched you arm out of his grasp and pushed yourself against the headboard. You reached under your pillow where you had hid a knife your uncle had gifted you. You raised it at the man, pushing yourself further into the headboard as a means to steady yourself.

“Who the fuck are you?” you growled and brandished the weapon at the strange man.

“Serf!” he cried out and raised his hands. “Serf!”

Vera came rushing into the room and stopped dead still as she took in the sight before her.

“I am not a serf.” Her hands came to her hips as she glared at the man.

“Right, apologies” his hands were still in the air “can you assist? She is in hysterics.”

“Oh, I wonder why,” Vera snarked. “Poor girl just woke up to a strange man hovering over like a right creep.”

“Can you just settle her down?” he glared at the woman of a small pair of spectacles that sat perched on his nose. “I was in the middle of a phlebotomy treatment”

You quickly glanced down, noticing the for the first time the pool of blood that had started to collect on your sheets. You looked to your arm, where you had felt the sharp sting earlier to see a slowly weeping wound.

“(Y/N), love” Vera stepped forward, pushing the man out of the way. “Please, do not stab the doctor, he is the only one we have.”

She held the front of her skirts up and stepped up into the bed. You lowered the knife and she grabbed it from your hand with a wide grin.

“Oh, Lord help the man who decides to share your bed,” she winked at you and slid the knife back to it’s hiding place “one wrong move and he’ll go from stallion to gelding with a flick of your wrist.”

She helped you to the edge of the bed, a dizzying wave overtook you and the pain in your head increased.

“We must finish the treatment, then make her a drink of cocaine and juniper berries.” The man began to take a step towards you and your hand shot back towards the hidden blade. He froze and held his hands up once again.

“I think that is her subtle way of telling you to ‘fuck off,’ Chekov” you could hear the laugh in Vera’s voice.

The man sniffed and strode quickly over to a case that sat on your vanity. He grumbled to himself as he packed up several glass vials and jars before shutting the case with a resounding snap.

“Well, if she gets worse and decides to take the advice of a well-respected physician” Vera rolled her eyes and mouthed the words as he spoke them. The man glared hard at her and stomped out of the room. Vera held a finger up as a sign for you to wait until a loud bang was heard, the man having exited the apartments with a slam of the doors.

You looked down at your arm and huffed, grabbing the skirt of the ruined white underclothes that you were wearing and pressing firmly to the still seeping wound on your arm.

“Archaic” you muttered as you tried to staunch the flow of blood.

Vera sat next to you and looked you over in concern.

“Are you alright, love?” she asked as she took over the task of applying pressure from you. Your free hand came up to your forehead and rubbed at the temples.

“I don’t know… what happened?”

“Do you remember anything of last night?” her brows were furrowed.

“I remember leaving here, arriving at the dining hall and being immediately scooped up by Elizabeth,” Vera groaned, “She fed me wines and spirits. She tried to force food onto me, but I don’t think I ate much of it. Then Peter” you blanched as the memory of the Emperor forcing you to speak and dance like some trained dog surfaced. You shivered “and that was all I remember.”

The cut on your arm had stopped bleeding and Vera dropped the skirt back to your lap before sighing and running her hands through your hair.

“From what I heard, he forced you to dance with him and then began to spin you around in circles until you nearly tripped over your own feet. That is when the Empress gained his and Elizabeth’s attention, believed to be a deliberate action on her part, and you very wisely made your escape,” she started to braid the hair out of your face. “You were found a short distance from the dining hall and brought back here.”

“Found?” your head jerked over to face her; your eyes wide. “What do you mean found? Who found me?”

Vera bit her lip, “General Velementov and Count Orlo,” you groaned and flung yourself back onto the bed, not caring that you were laying across blood stained sheets. Vera’s eyes followed your movement. “The wear practically carrying you when they arrived here. I had them take you directly to this room-”

“Please, no more,” you moaned in self-pity. “If I hear any more, I fear I may throw myself out the window and be reunited with the gown you tossed out yesterday.”

“You’re being dramatic” very tsked.

“I think I am allowed to be a little dramatic” argued back. “I have just gone and made a fool of myself in front of two of the more powerful people in Orlo’s court.”

“Peter’s” Vera corrected you with a smirk. “Peter’s court.”

“… that’s what I said,” you sat up and blinked owlishly at her.

“No, you said Or-”

“Never mind,” you waved away the conversation as her smirk grew. “I have made myself vulnerable in front of two very powerful people! Whose to say they will not use this against me in the future?” you rested your head on her shoulder.

“Well, then there is nothing else for it,” she rested her head on your own. “You will have to seduce them, invite them into your bed and stab them with that miniature sword you have hidden there.”

You snorted and felt Vera grin against your head.

“And then what? Become and enemy of the state? Disguise myself as a man and runaway from the palace? Catch a boat back to… actually, this might just work.” A loud bark of laughter burst from Vera’s lips and you couldn’t help but chuckle along.

“Well, now that that’s settled, let’s get you some food and then a nice warm bath.”

Vera helped you stand from the bed, steadying you as you stumbled slightly, and escorted you out of the room.

“For what it’s worth,” she led you to your seat at the table were a mass of different breakfast foods were set out. “I do not think Velementov or Orlo will use last night against you.” She piled a plate with eggs, fruit and a breakfast bread. “They both seemed rather distraught at your condition. I practically had to shove the Count out of the door.”

______

You sat in the window seat, having been fed, cleaned, and dressed, the memories of last night had started to fade. The book you had been reading sat on your lap, while your face was turned to the open window, the breeze ruffling your hair as you closed your eyes and soaked in the sun.

A throat cleared.

“Lady (Y/N),” your slowly opened your eyes as Vera spoke your name. Turning, your eyes fell upon the familiar dark-haired man that stood beside her. You felt your heart speed up “Count Orlo is here to see you.”

You nodded a greeting to the man, fighting to keep your face steady and not show the emotions that were toiling beneath the surface.

“I uh-” Orlo stuttered before taking a deep, calming breath. “I wanted to check and see how you are feeling today?”

He took a few uncertain steps towards you. You slid to the side and gestured to the spot beside you on in the window seat. He smiled nervously and took a seat. You smiled at him before dropping your head to your lap in embarrassment.

That’s when you noticed it.

The book you had been reading…

It was written in Russian.

Your hands shot to cover the title of the book, hiding it from Orlo’s sight. You glanced up and sighed in relief, his gaze was firmly on the floor and you were certain he had not seen the title of the book.

… Almost.

You shot a look over to Vera who stood to the side, near your bedroom door. She looked at you confused before you glanced down at the book before looking back to her. Her eyes widened and she realized the point you were trying to make.

“I’m sorry,” Orlo started and looked back up to you. You met his gaze and smiled brightly at him, hoping he would not take notice of the stupid little red book. “I-I should have h-helped you sooner.” He turned his back to you with a sigh of frustration.

You shot a look over to Vera who nodded to you. Making sure the Count was still turned away from you. You took the chance and threw the book to Vera, noticing too late that Vera was right within his line of sight now. You held your breath; certain you would be caught.

Orlo groaned and turned back towards you as the book flew over his head. Vera caught the book with wide eyes and quickly hid it behind her back.

“I’m such an idiot,” Orlo finally look back up to your face and you quickly molded your face into a mask of confusion. “I should have done something to help you, I’m such a dick.”

He placed his hand over his forehead, blocking your view of his eyes.

“I always balls these things up.” He brought his other hand to his head and held firm. Your mind drifted back to that first night he had escorted you back to your rooms, how he had held your small hands within his larger ones and attempted to warm them. A smile slowly started to creep its way across your face at the memory.

“I was just, so shook up after you-” he turned to you and your smile fell back to the quizzical expression before he could see it. “You hugged me.”

It was spoken in a near whisper. It was as if he were awed at the gesture, amazed that anyone would want to hug him.

“You hugged me,” he reached for your hand and you felt yourself drifting in the sea of deep, silky chocolate that matched the shades you saw in his eyes. “You hugged me.”

His eyes dropped to your hand that he held softly cradled in his own. He rubbed his thumb across the top of your fingers, and you felt what was almost an itch, a need for him to hold your hand tighter, to feel more of his skin against your own.

“You hugged me and I stood there like a fucking moron,” he dropped your hand and brought it to his head, smacking himself with the heel. “I’m such an idiot, I am not well versed with… this.”

He was again speaking his private thoughts aloud and your breathing sped up, knowing you should not be listing to what he was saying, that you should stop him from saying anything further.

You quickly grabbed the hand, stopping him from hitting himself in the head again. He remained deathly still as you pulled his hand down, brining it to his knee and holding it tight to keep him from his self-flagellation. You could hear his breathing as it started to speed up, but the rest of him remained staring at the floor. You patiently waited until you felt his hand tighten around your own as his eyes slowly met yours. The concern you had for him dropped and you felt a warm smile crossing you face. His face, screwed up in self-hatred, lightened and a smile slowly curved his cheeks upward, his eyes glistening with and unsaid emotion you couldn’t quite place. It gave you a glint of the man you had seen yesterday. The confident man that strode next to the Empress like he had always belonged there.

A lead weight dropped in your stomach as your remembered. He was the Empress’s lover.

You quickly pulled your hand from his and stood up, taking a quick step back from the man. How could you be so stupid? You could not afford to have such a powerful enemy as his lover was sure to be. You already had the Emperor and his aunt tearing at your heels, you didn’t want the whole match set!

“I’m-I’m so sorry!” Orlo quickly stood up at the same time you turned to face him. You nearly collided with him, but you both reached out to each other to steady yourselves. You gulped as you felt his warm breath blow across your face, a searing heat started where his hands had gripped your arms and spread up to your neck and cheeks. You were eye level with his chin and you couldn’t help yourself from tilting your head up. His already dark eyes seemed to darken further as they met yours. You could feel your breath start to speed up, a pressure in your chest formed and you knew, if you would just raise yourself slightly on your tip toes and press your lips to his that the pressure would explode into a glorious heat that would consume you both.

“Ahem,” Vera cleared her throat from her post by your door and you were immediately brought back to reality. You hastily stepped out of the Counts grasp, putting space between your bodies.

What were you thinking?

You weren’t thinking.

At least not with your head.

The precipice between you and the Count felt so much bigger than the two steps it would have taken him to meet you once more. You mentally begged for him to take those steps, willing him to show you that what you felt was felt by him as well.

“I… I should go,” the Count skidded around you like you diseased and dashed through the doors, not even bothering to close them completely in his rush to get away from you.

Vera quickly ran over and closed the doors firmly before turning towards you and leaning throwing her weight against the doors.

“Fuck!” You slapped your forehead and threw yourself into one of the highbacked chairs. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuck!”

“Agreed.”

______

You and Vera sat drinking spirits and discussing what had transpired between you and the Count.

“Whew!” a fairly tipsy Vera exclaimed. “That was so… woah!” She took another shot. “I mean, I felt it. I really felt that, in here” she gestured sloppily to her abdomen. You groaned and raised you glass, frowning when you noticed it was empty.

“I mean… what the fuck?” You grabbed the bottle whiskey and poured another glass, nearly overfilling it in the process. “What the fuck was that?”

“Hot.” Vera refilled her vodka. “That was hot.”

“But,” you groaned and took a drink. “But, he is off limits.”

“Says who?” Vera nearly yelled. “A man who is off limits does not look at a woman the way the Count was looking at you!”

“He is!” You threw back the rest of your whiskey. “He’s fucking the Empress!” Vera gasped.

“He is?” she refilled your glass. “Well fuck.”

“Indeed!” You sighed and slunk down in your chair. “You are an idiot (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N). You had to go and fall for the one person who you cannot have!”

“Love is a fucking cunt.” Vera growled as she leaned forward.

“I will simply have to keep a respectable distance from him and hope to whatever deity that is out there that the war ends soon so we can go home.” You felt tears welling up at the thought.

“Huzzah!” Vera tossed back her drink.

“Huzzah,” your voice did not match the intensity of the word, it was somber as you felt something within you crack.

You shook yourself from your misery and threw back the rest of your whiskey.

The sound of shattering glass faded into the night.

------

Taglist: @startrekkingaroundasgard @aryn-the-bearheart

#orlo #count orlo #orlo x reader #count orlo x reader #orlo/reader #count orlo/reader #sacha dhawan #hulu's the great #the great #slow burn #fanfiction #multichapter

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heyitsani · 4 years ago

Text

I Keep My Eyes Wide Open All the Time Chapter 7

Word Count: 11,458

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major character death, Mentions of past rape/non-con (eventually)

Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne/Jon Kent

Notes: I’m sorry! Just it’s really sad, so I’m sorry. There’s some cute fluff in there, but it’s still really really really sad.

If you have not read When You Move I Move, this one won’t really make much sense. So you can read that here: WYMIM

You can also read this chapter on AO3 here

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Damian hesitated outside of the small shop Victor had directed him to as Madame Xanadu’s storefront and home. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was expecting to happen in there, but he was nervous all the same. This woman knew secrets that Victor and his father had been unwilling to share. His father had said there was no point in burdening his heart and Victor had simply said it was not his secret to share.

So that was how he ended up making his way into the lower levels of the city with Victor just behind him.

“You do not have to do this,” the guard told him, looking at him from his post near the door. “Your father is not wrong. You do not need this burden.”

“And what would you do in my place?”

Victor was silent for a beat before sighing, nodding his head in agreement. “I, too, would want to know. But knowing what the truth is, I would also wish I didn’t.”

“You are entirely unhelpful.” Victor shrugged before reaching out and opening the door for Damian, taking the decision out of his hands. With a glare and then a sigh, Damian slipped into the shop and straightened his spine in preparation.

“Your Highness,” a gentle voice greeted him. Turning he spotted the woman with pale skin and kind eyes. “I did wonder when you would make your way to me. I could not see that future very clearly. But at this time, it does make sense.”

Damian considered her closely, frowning at her words. She didn’t look exactly like he had imagined, but he wasn’t really sure what he had been expecting to begin with. He could feel the power coming off of her though and wondered if everyone could feel how strongly it resonated with her. Glancing around the room, he took in the various potions and vials. There an entire wall covered with powers and other items, that he assumed she used to make her goods. A small portion of wall was comprised of books and Damian was curious what was written within their leather bounds.

“Have you come to me for a reason, Your Highness?”

Clearing his throat, Damian pulled his eyes away from her belongings to look at her again. “Yes, I have come to discuss my father.”

“Hmm,” Xanadu hummed, nodding sadly. “The country will be in heavy mourning sooner rather than later.” Damian’s jaw clenched. He knew that, but no one had been willing to say it up until now. His grandfather had been silent on all of it and the doctors had tried to give them hope. But Damian knew the truth. He had been watching it happen for years.

“It is a broken heart, isn’t it?” The woman hummed again, and Damian felt as though a hand had gripped his heart. “Ever since that day, he seemed to be only a shade of the man he was with Ser Jason. He did try so hard to keep it hidden. To remain strong. Those nights we sat together were not enough to quell his pain.”

“It never is,” she confirmed. And Damian had figured. Though he had never addressed the man as such, he had always thought of him as another father. And it had been difficult to light his pyre and mourn him. To this day, his heart still ached with that loss. But he knew it was so much more painful for his father. Damian had never known that kind of love, not yet at least, but he had seen its rarity and beauty through the two of them. “But this is not why you have come to see me, is it Your Highness?”

“It is not,” he confirmed. “Do you have somewhere more private we can discuss this? Or is it safe here?” She tilted her head and he waited, watching her watch him. Then she waved him forward and he followed her through a curtain covered doorway into a back room.

The first thing he noticed was the smell of fresh rain. It was so striking and so surprising, it made him pause. It was all he smelled despite the two separate tables covered with various substances and mixing bowls. The next thing he noticed was the fact that he could no longer hear the outside world. It was silent.

“An enchantment,” Madame Xanadu explained when he turned questioning eyes onto her. “The scent can be too strong most of the time and the sounds distracting. No one can hear us either. So, you may speak freely here.” She gestured to a stool as she sat on another one. He nodded and took a seat, back ramrod straight as he steeled himself. “Now, what is it you wish to know?”

Taking a deep breath, Damian let it out slowly. “My mother,” he started, watching her closely. “She had a part in Ser Jason’s death.” The woman only nodded. “Did you?”

“No,” she said simply.

“But you knew of her involvement in his death?”

“Not until after it had happened. She went outside of our city in order to seek the help she needed. I do not have the kind of power required and none, including myself, in Gotham who do would have done what she wanted.”

Damian considered that a positive at least. His father and Ser Jason were at least loved enough to inspire that kind of loyalty.

“And before you ask, Your Highness, I do not know who she got to do her bidding. I would have told your father if I had. They, too, should be brought to justice.” Sighing, Damian slouched slightly in defeat. He thought maybe he could make something right in a situation where he had no control. “Do you want to know the whole story of your mother’s deeds?”

“I do, if you would be willing to tell me.” The woman regarded him for a moment before nodding and gesturing for Damian to sit on one of the stools. Once he was comfortable as he could be, she went to her table and began sorting through some dried plants.

“Your mother came to me when you were about the age of eleven,” she talked as she worked with her items and Damian’s eyes tracked her movements with thinly veiled curiosity. “Though disguised, I am skilled at the art of aura reading and hers was always quite…demanding, I suppose you could say.” That seemed about right. The woman had been known for her headstrong nature. “But I played her game and listened to her woes.

“She spun a tale of a man she wed and gave an heir, a man she had fallen in love with but who had not fallen in love with her. She made mention of a man her husband loved but could not be with for family and duty. She said she knew her husband could love her if only this man were not around. That was when I told her I would not kill for her, no matter what she paid me, and she asked for a compromise. She asked for a curse that would destine them to always be within reach of the other, but never be allowed to really be with one another.”

Damian gripped the edge of the seat he was on and clenched his jaw. He knew his mother was mean spirited, but he had never known her to be outright cruel. She had asked to strip two men who loved each other of the chance to love each other freely and wholly. “And you did what she asked?”

“I did,” she looked up at Damian with a sad nod. “I did because I knew she was desperate enough to go to another if I did not.” His shoulders lowered as he sighed and nodded. She certainly would have. “I gave her what she wanted with a stipulation attached to it.” Straightening his spine back up, Damian held his breath. This sounded like hope.

“I told her I would make the curse for her but should one of them fall before the age of ten and six that the curse would be broken and they would be reunited.”

Furrowing his brow, Damian tried to decipher that. “Reunited as in the next life?”

“That is not for me to say.”

“But you do know?”

“I do,” she confirmed. “But as I told your father, they have many lifetimes of suffering between them before they will finally be allowed to be together. From that day and all lifetimes after it.” It was a minor comfort to know she had at least seen it. He was sure his father had felt the same. “I did do your father a favor when I told him of his wife’s hand in his lover’s death. I gave him a potion to take that would separate the thread between him and your mother until the lifetime they are to be reunited.”

“And he took it.” It wasn’t a question. Damian knew there would be no chance his father would not want his former wife’s presence gone from his world for as long as possible. But that left his existence in question then. “What does that mean for me?”

Xanadu didn’t answer immediately. Instead she placed her various plants she had been grinding down into a fine powder into a vial before adding some liquid to it and stirring it together, whispering words that seemed to ignite whatever was in there and turned the liquid from clear to blood red.

“For you, my future king,” she said as she capped the vial with a small cork, “it means that you will not be of his blood. But your presence is in as many of his lives that I have been given insight to.” She rounded the table and Damian slipped off the stool to stand when she stopped in front of him.

“Will they remember? Will any of us remember?”

“To an extent all of you mortals remember your previous lives. Perhaps not always evident, but they linger just below the surface of your minds.” The act of keeping herself out of the “mortals” comment did not surpass him, but he knew better than to question. Instead, he thought about the pain his father and Ser Jason were to face with lifetimes of loving each other but not being able to be with one another.

“Can you make us forget? Can you spare them the pain that would come with the curse?” He questioned her, though part of him wondered if she already knew he was going to ask. “Please, I’ll pay you whatever you require. Please do not make them carry that pain into each life.”

She held out the vial of blood red liquid and Damian hesitated a moment before he took it into his palm. It was warm to the touch and the power within the glass made him clench his jaw. He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew this was the answer he sought.

“Your payment?”

Holding up a hand, Madame Xanadu shook her head. “I require nothing. But be sure you give this to him before you are crowned. I do not know how much longer he will be with us.”

Clenching his hand around the vial, Damian gave her a bow. “Thank you.” Her soft laughter caused him to jerk upright in surprise.

“I apologize, Your Highness. I just see so much of your father in you. Bowing to a lowly healer, imagine.” She chuckled as she moved toward the entrance that would take them back out to the main shop and Damian followed. “Before you are crowned, do not forget.” He gave a nod as they stepped into the main room and toward the exit where he knew Ser Victor would be waiting.

“Thank you for telling me, Madame. You owe me nothing, but now I owe you much. Please call on me should you find yourself in need of my service.” He gave another bow, much to her apparent amusement, before stepping out of the store. “Come, Ser Victor. I desire some tea with Father.”

The soldier looked at the prince before looking back to the shop in confusion. Damian raised a brow in question and watched as the man shrugged and gestured for Damian to lead the way.

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

“Richard, honestly,” Damian could hear his Uncle Timothy berating his father on the other side of the room, but he tried to block the two men out as he continued to run his quill across the parchment. He had started and stopped the letter to Jon far too many times now and had decided to simply write whatever came to mind and hope that it made sense to the other man.

He had been putting off requesting the other man’s presence since finding out about his father’s illness, but he wanted the older man there when he was crowned in less than a week’s time.

“Nephew, please. I require your assistance…” His uncle’s voice came closer until he was standing beside where Damian was seated. When his words trailed off, Damian glanced up and found the man’s blue eyes on the letter.

“What do you require of me, Uncle?” Damian asked, not bothering to hide the contents of the letter. He did not for a moment think his uncle wasn’t aware of Jon’s feelings and what had transpired between them when Jon had shown up before abruptly leaving the same day.

The man looked at him with a sort of understanding in his eyes and Damian held his breath for a moment. “He will not hesitate to come once you ask him to. But I do not know that he will make it in time for the crowing, Nephew. Not if your rider does not wear his horse out.”

Damian nodded, knowing the rider needed to leave soon if there were to be any hope, but he didn’t say anything.

“Now, I cannot for the life of me get your father to eat.” Damian frowned and looked over at the man. His father was wrapped in a warm blanket despite the warm early summer day and him being on the window seat, basking in the sunlight. “No matter what I try, he tells me he is not hungry. I do not think he has eaten since yesterday morning.”

“No, he probably hasn’t,” Damian spoke softly. “And I do not know that I will be able to influence him any more than you can, Uncle. But I shall try. Might I finish this letter first?” His uncle smiled and squeezed his shoulder before walking back over to where the king was seated.

Damian watched them for a moment longer before turning back to finish the letter begging Jon to come. Father is sick and I am to be crowned early and would like you there scrawled across the page, conveying his pain and desperate need for his best friend. He did not mention the change of law his father had done for them or the fact that he had figured out his own feelings for the man. He simply requested his presence in one of the most painful and trying times of his life.

“I shall be back in a moment,” Damian called to the two men, who nodded in response, before hurrying out of the room to find his usual rider. He spoke quickly with the man and requested he take the fastest horse, even if it were one of Damian’s or the king’s. The man agreed and accepted the letter before turning to head back to the study where his uncle and father waited.

“Your Highness!” Frowning, Damian turned to see his rider rushing back toward him with someone just behind him. “Perhaps you might give the letter to Prince Jon yourself,” the rider teased, handing the letter back just as Damian realized it was Jon who was there.

He stood frozen with the letter in hand as his rider made his exit and Jon closed the remaining distance between them. There were no words, no vocal greeting, and no warning before Jon was engulfing him in a tight embrace. Damian didn’t hesitate in returning the embrace, sinking into the familiar feel of Jon’s lithe form and the familiarity of his scent. He took the comfort he didn’t allow others to give him.

The silence stretched between them but felt comfortable and familiar.

But eventually Damian’s sense of duty took over and he pulled back to look at Jon. Though having hit his final growth spurt and gaining his final inches that put him above his father’s height and just below his grandfather’s, Damian found he still had to look up at Jon.

“What…how…?” Damian tried to think of the right question, but he wasn’t sure what he was trying to ask.

“Your father wrote to me,” Jon told him, placing a hand on Damian’s cheek. Damian’s eyes slipped shut at the feel of his thumb brushing against his cheekbone. How had he never noticed this…this energy between them? How had he never felt this charge to his heart that felt so familiar? Had he been feeling it all this time without realizing? Perhaps that was why it didn’t surprise him. “Damian…” Blinking his eyes open, he looked up to see the sadness he felt reflected in Jon’s eyes.

Raising his hand and gripping Jon’s wrist, Damian turned his face and kissed the inside of Jon’s wrist. “Thank you for coming,” he whispered against the delicate skin there. Turning to look back at Jon, he smiled softly at the look of shock that had taken over his features. “The rider who led you here was on his way to deliver you a letter,” Damian told him, holding up the parchment folded and sealed with his personal seal and green wax. “We have much to talk about, but it was I who required your strength this time.”

“You have it,” Jon said immediately, no hesitation as his eyes searched Damian’s. And Damian knew he was probably desperate for answers, but he also knew he needed to get back to his father and uncle before his uncle came searching for him.

“I need to return to my father and our uncle. Will you join us? Perhaps your presence will do him some good.” Jon nodded but Damian could see the question in his eyes. “After…we will talk. I promise.” Though it wasn’t much, it appeared to be enough for Jon. Sighing, Damian pulled Jon’s hand away from his face and laced their fingers together before leading them back to the study where the other two men were waiting.

“Jon!” His father called out as soon as they stepped into the room. Damian watched his uncle rush to help his brother stand to greet the prince but Jon released Damian’s hand and rushed forward.

“Please, Your Majesty,” he chided the older man, pushing him to sit back down. The king laughed softly but followed the silent command.

“Nephew,” Damian’s uncle greeted Jon with a hug before sending Damian an amused look. “That letter worked more quickly than I thought it would,” the man teased Damian and Jon let out a laugh of his own when he glanced over at the other prince.

“Yes, well,” Damian cleared his throat and moved over to his father’s side. “I am famished. Shall we call for lunch?” He gave his father a look that was met with amused annoyance, but a nod.

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

“Thank you,” Damian said quietly to the servant who had brought the tray with tea for himself and Jon to share while they had the talk Damian had promised they would.

“Do you require anything else, Your Highness?” Damian glanced at Jon who was seated across from him in the study. The man smiled but shook his head.

Damian looked back to the woman and shook his head as well. “Please tell Ser Kyle not to allow anyone to disturb us unless it is about Father.” The woman looked at him sadly, but nodded her head before bowing and exiting the room. He kept his eyes on the door for a moment before leaning back in his chair with a sigh and looking toward Jon. He wasn’t surprised to find the prince regarding him closely, but he didn’t have the energy to try and discern what exactly the man was thinking. “I am glad you have come,” he broke the silence.

“I would have rushed if your letter had been the first to reach me, to be sure I arrived in time.” And Damian knew he would have. It was why he had written to begin with. Damian would have done the same, had done the same. “I find myself unable to say no to you most of the time.”

“I can say the same in regard to you,” Damian admitted, a small smile slipping into place. “I can say much of the same things you seem to be able to say about me.” Jon’s eyebrow raised and a curious look took over his features, but he remained silent. It was as if he knew Damian needed to be able to get this out in his own time. “I should have sent word to you the day you left. I should have called you back then, once I had come to understand what it was I felt toward you.” Perhaps then he wouldn’t have felt so alone when he learned it was only a matter of time before he lost his father.

He watched Jon lean forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. Damian tracked the movement with interest. “And what have you come to understand?”

“That you are the very air I breathe,” he spoke softly, but with surety. This was his moment to prove to Jon that it wasn’t a passing fancy and that no one had influenced him to feel this way. That he was being more honest and open than he had ever allowed himself to be. “That the mere thought of you looking at someone else the way you look at me would be as painful as if you were to steal my heart from my chest. I do not know how I missed it and I cannot for the life of me figure out for how long I have been blind to that…look upon your face.” He watched Jon’s smile grow, a laugh slipping easily from his lips and Damian felt his own smile grow to match it.

Sitting up straighter, he looked at Jon earnestly. “I am in love with you Prince Jon of House Kent. I am in love with you and would be foolish to allow you to ever think I am anything less then completely lost without you.” And though he saw it coming in the tensing of his body, Damian still allowed himself to be somewhat surprised to have Jon pushed out of his seat and pull Damian out of his. There was a split-second moment where Jon smiled down at him, open and happy, before he pressed his lips to Damian’s.

And though there was so much going on in his world, he allowed Jon to pull him into this moment of oblivion. He allowed himself to get lost in the feeling of Jon’s soft lips and warm body pressed against him. He allowed himself to enjoy the shiver of excitement he felt at the feel of Jon’s hand gripping the small hairs at the back of his neck. He let his own hands grip Jon’s hips, pulling him even closer.

“I didn’t want to hope,” Jon whispered, pulling back just enough for them to breathe and look into each other’s eyes. “I didn’t dare hope you would come to this conclusion because I did not think I could survive it if you didn’t.”

Damian raised one of his hands and brushed his fingers along Jon’s cheek before letting his hand cup the side of his face gently. “How could I feel anything else? How could I do anything but love the one person who is not obligated to love me, but does so freely and willingly?” Jon’s eyes turned watery and his laugh was enough to send Damian’s stomach tumbling and a terrible fluttering to overtake his chest.

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

Damian remained still while Stu finished the final alterations to the royal robes and just watched the man work. He listened to him go on about his grandchildren and how he was fairly sure this would be his final crowning ceremony he worked on because his old bones ached. Damian laughed and told the man he would outlive them all, but the older man just waved off the words and gathered up his things to put back into his case.

“I do believe my work is done,” the man said, looking over his work with a nod. “You will make a wonderful king, Your Highness.” Damian looked at himself in the looking glass and swallowed down the tears that tried to push forward. “I do wish it were under better circumstances, but I am certain he has no doubts about what great things you shall accomplish.”

Looking down at the man, Damian gave a weak smile. “Thank you,” voice hoarse and tight. The older man just smiled, gave his cheek a pat and grabbed his things. Soon enough Damian found himself alone in the room just off the main hall where the ceremony would be taking place. He could hear the servants bustling about the halls as they prepared for tomorrow and all Damian wanted to do was curl up in his father’s bed and give into the tears that so desperately wanted to fall.

“Look at you,” a voice broke through his inner turmoil and Damian turned quickly to find his father in the doorway. He was surprised at how healthy the older man looked, but Damian wasn’t fooled. He knew Madame Xanadu had visited him the day before. He knew the healer had probably given him something to help him get through the next few days. “I thought we might have a talk since neither of us is needed elsewhere until dinner.”

Nodding, Damian moved over to sit on the plush bench in the room. He watched his father shut the door behind him and move over to sit down next to him with a tired smile. Whatever the woman had done for his father might have those who did not know him fooled, but the rest of them could tell. They could see the weariness and pain in his eyes. The pinched look of his smile that was usually so open and bright. He was a fraction of the man he used to be, the man Damian worshiped and strove so hard to be like. The best kind of man that he could only hope to make proud one day.

“Are you nervous for tomorrow?” His father questioned, watching him closely as he always did when he wanted to be sure Damian was telling him the truth.

But Damian didn’t need to lie about this. “No, I have spent too many years with this as my goal.” That seemed to shift something in his father’s eyes and Damian wished he had chosen his words more carefully. “I only mean to say that Mother was so focused on preparing me for the crown it would be surprising if I felt unprepared to take the throne. So no, I am not nervous to be crowned.”

“I sense a but coming.”

“But I am nervous to not have you here to look to when I am faced with something I am not certain how to handle. Father,” Damian leaned forward and gripped the older man’s hands and looking him straight in the eye, “is there nothing to be done? I know Madame Xanadu called upon you yesterday. Surely there must be something she can do. All that power and she cannot find a way to heal you?”

The king remained silent for a few moments before sighing and Damian knew. He just knew he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear. “I do not want her to,” his father admitted, and Damian pulled his hands away as if he had been burned. “Please do not be angry with me, My Son. I couldn’t stand that.”

“Then why? Why would you be perfectly fine with leaving your family behind before your time? How can you be okay leaving me behind?”

“Because I know you will be okay.” Damian shook his head as tears burned his eyes. Tears he had only allowed to fall a small handful of times in the private company of his father or Jon. No one else had been allowed to see them fall thus far. “I am broken, Damian. I have been for some years now. Even before I lost your father. I tried to shield you from so much and there is much you have no inkling of that has done nothing but worn me down over the years. When Jason was here, I had someone to share those…woes with. But since he has been gone, I have not wanted to burden anyone with that weight.”

“But it would not be a burden for your family. Please, Father,” Damian begged. He closed his eyes when one of the king’s hands came up and cupped his cheek. “Please.”

“I would stay for you if you asked it of me and truly meant it.” Damian’s eyes snapped open and his brow furrowed. Was that not what he was currently asking his father? Was that not exactly what he had been saying? “You do not mean it. I know you think you do, but I know your heart. I know you would regret asking this of me in a few years’ time and that guilt would eat away at you.”

Damian didn’t say anything, but he processed what his father was saying. Would he feel that way? Would he feel guilty for asking the man to stay just so he would have him around? But that just spurned more questions. Did his father not deserve to rest? Did he not deserve to have the weight of all he had endured over his lifetime lifted so he might start anew?

“I see the truth in your eyes.”

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Damian blinked back the tears that still threatened to fall. “Do you know when? Do you know how soon you will leave us?”

He couldn’t bring himself to look at his father when the man sighed and let his hand slip away from Damian’s cheek. “I do know, and I will not tell you. I do not want you focused on that. I want you to enjoy what we have remaining.”

That was fair. Even Damian knew he wouldn’t be able to think of anything else if he knew.

“I know it is not fair,” his father spoke softly, and Damian was surprised to see tears brimming his father’s eyes. “But I am glad to leave you with someone like Jon to love you. I am glad I was able to remove the obstacle keeping you from being with him. And all future rulers, whoever they may be.”

Leaning forward, Damian embraced his father tightly and closed his eyes tightly. “Thank you for being the best man I have ever known. Thank you for protecting me and loving me as you have. I can only hope that my children will feel as loved as you always allowed me to feel.”

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

He had never noticed the intricate details carved into the wood of the doors to the grand ballroom where his crowning was about to take place. Dragons and knights, crowns and scepters all seamlessly coming together as they surrounded the crest of Gotham. He wasn’t sure how he had never noticed it, but it was hard to miss as he stood waiting for his entrance to be announced to the full room. A room filled with royals, commoners, and everything in between. And the courtyard of the castle was filled with even more, the sounds of them excitedly waiting for him to step out to greet them as their king. His father had made a passing comment about how he was fairly certain Damian had drawn a larger crowd than Richard himself.

Damian didn’t believe that for a moment, but he appreciated the effort.

“It is time, Your Highness,” Ser Kyle said as he came up beside the prince. Damian looked over at him and nodded. “Good luck.” And with that the two doors were opened to reveal the inside of the ballroom.

“His Highness, Crown Prince Damian Wayne of Gotham,” the Herald called out as Damian steadily made his way down the center aisle of the room with his head held high. He made eye contact with a few familiar faces before his eyes landed on Jon, who was beaming from his spot next to his father, the former king of Metropolis. With a slight quirk of his lip, Damian turned his eyes to the two people waiting him at the top of the small set of steps that led to the rostrum.

The Archbishop stood with his hands clasped in front of his familiar gold and white robes, embroidery of Wayne blue making intricate patterns along the thick material. The man was one Damian had been familiar with since he had been the one who had crowned his father and grandfather. And Damian knew this would likely be his final coronation.

Next to him, his father stood in his royal robes that were not so dissimilar to the ones Damian wore currently. Though his black and blue were a contrast to Damian’s chosen green and black. The wink of red clasping both of their cloaks in place at the base of their throats was a decision made just between the two of them. A nod to the man who should be there with them but was taken from them. Damian let his eyes slide up to the crown adorning his father’s head that would soon be resting on his own head and steeled his spine.

He came to a stop at the foot of the steps that would take him up to where the two men stood with the all too familiar throne between them. The throne that, like the crown on his father’s head, would soon be his. Though, thankfully, not something he would have to sit on all that often. Only for ceremonial and formal affairs, two things that happened particularly sparingly in their kingdom since his father had taken the crown. From what his father and most of the others said, his grandfather had been much more formal with his proceedings. Damian was not yet sure where he would fall on that scale. He could see the appeal in formalities, but he also enjoyed the more friendly state of things he had experienced over his eighteen years.

“Prince Damian, please join us,” the Archbishop said as Damian gave the formal bow of respect. He took the stairs on steady feet and head held high. He could see the look of pride on his father’s face and it just steadied his resolve even more. “Please place your hand on the Book of the Law of Old.” Raising his right hand, Damian set it carefully on the book of the original laws of their people. Recite after me.” And so he did. He repeated the promise to protect the people as though they were his own blood. He repeated that he would be just and rule with the knowledge that the entire kingdom was important and not just the ones who could contribute. He promised to care for the elderly and raise up the poor. He promised to follow the laws laid down by the rulers before him. And lastly, he promised to put Gotham before his own pride always.

“Damian of House Wayne,” his father said in a strong voice, “I grant you this crown before your time as my own time has come to pass. I bestow upon you the faith of the people and the love of the kingdom. I crown you in good faith that you are the rightful ruler of the people and will love them above all else.” Damian looked at his father with a nod before turning to face the crowd that was watching them. He sat down on the throne and waited for his father to place the crown upon his head.

“I, Damian of House Wayne, accept this burden and promise to wield my power justly and wisely. I thank the people for trusting me with this crown and acknowledge that they are the true power in this kingdom,” he spoke calmly, letting his voice carry. He watched his father descend the stairs and join the rest of his family.

“All hail Damian, King of Gotham!” His father called out, smile wider and brighter than Damian had seen in a long time. The rest of the crowd followed suit and called out the hail, but his eyes remained on his father.

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

His room was dark and silent when his eyes opened, unsure of what had startled him into waking. But there was something, an irritation on his mind that demanded his attention. Sitting up, Damian tossed the thin sheet covering him to the side and turn to allow his legs to hang over the side of the bed. Scanning the room, he couldn’t find anything that would have caused him to awaken.

But he knew there was a reason. He knew it.

So he slipped out of the bed and grabbed his robe, wrapping it around himself and making his way over to his door. With a firm tug, he pulled it open and was surprised to find Ser Kyle there with his hand raised to knock.

“Ser Kyle!” Damian exclaimed, sounding as surprised as he was sure he looked.

“Your Majesty, your father is calling for you.” His tone was grave, full of sorrow and Damian hated it. He hated that he knew exactly why his father would summon him in the middle of the night. But he also knew this was exactly why he had awoken. He was to get his final goodbye. “Your Majesty?”

Swallowing, Damian gave a nod of his head and followed the knight through the halls toward his father’s rooms. They had moved the man from the King Chambers the day before the coronation despite Damian having told them it was unnecessary. But his father had only laughed at him and told the staff to continue on.

“You are to be king, you must uphold tradition and move into the King’s Chambers. I will not hear otherwise. And neither will your grandfather and we all know how he can be about tradition.” His father had whispered the last part to him, but the effect was ruined with the laughter in his voice. And though Damian knew he meant what he said, he also knew his father did not want to die in those rooms. He would be selfless enough to not ruin Damian’s future room with his death.

And Damian had appreciated that.

“Will you inform Prince Jon,” Damian requested when they had reached his father’s room. The knight looked uncertain but gave a nod. “Tell him to remain where he is, but inform him of what is happening.” With a bow, Ser Kyle gave him one last look of sympathy before he turned and headed toward the guest rooms where Jon and his father were staying.

Taking a deep breath, Damian gave a gentle knock to the door as he pushed it open and slipped inside. He took in the sight of Healer Thompkins as she spoke softly to his father, but her lack of equipment just served to confirm his suspicions.

This was the night he would lose his final parent.

“Your Majesty,” the healer greeted him softly, bowing as well as her older body allowed before straightening and moving forward to his side. “I can see in your eyes that you understand why you have been summoned in the middle of the night.”

Damian nodded.

“I do not know how much longer, but he is certain it is to be soon.” The tears burned his eyes and he welcomed them like an old friend. “I am sorry I could not prevent this from happening, My King.”

Damian shook his head and took a deep breath. “He wouldn’t have allowed it,” he spoke softly, glancing over at his father who was watching the exchange from his place on the bed. “This was his wish.” The woman gave him a sad smile and nodded. “Thank you for caring for him as well as he allowed.”

The woman gave another bow before she glanced back over to the former king and then headed for the door. Damian waited for the click of the door closing to sound before he closed the remaining distance between himself and the bed where his father laid.

“My Son,” his father’s voice sounded weak, as though it had been unused for quite some time. It was a stark contrast to how it sounded just at dinner earlier in the evening. The former king offered up a hand and Damian immediately latched onto it with both of his as he sat on the edge of the bed. ��I do not have much left to say to you except that I am so very proud of the man I see in you.” He watched his father take a few stuttering breaths and Damian clung to his hand more tightly, silently willing the older body to take strength from his younger one. A few beats passed before it looked like his father would be able to speak again, but he remained silent and simply smiled at Damian.

Damian didn’t deny the tears that came forward, not this time. There was no reason to hide them, no reason to be strong in this moment. So he let them fall with a quiet sob as his chin dropped to his chest. Saying goodbye to Ser Jason had been hard, but he had already died. He had never thought about how it would be to watch the life of someone he loved slipping away from them with each passing moment. And now that he was facing one of those moments, he wasn’t sure he could actually watch it happen. His entire body begged for him to flee, to run away and not stop until this moment could no longer haunt him. But his heart told him he would suffer this a thousand times over because it was his father. It was the one man who had always done everything he possibly could for Damian. The one man who had put him above all others and never expected him to be more than he was and loved him as he was.

And now he was expected to go on without that love in his life. He was expected to just move forward and be the king the country needed when he just wanted to be an eighteen-year-old who needed his father.

“Please Father,” he sobbed, falling forward so that his forehead was pressed into the older man’s ribs. “I am not ready to say goodbye. I have not…please…” He begged, though he wasn’t quite sure what he was begging for. Because he knew he had relented to his father’s wishes of this being his time to go, but he still found himself unable to say that final goodbye.

Damian turned his face to looked at the man when a hand fell heavy onto his head. “You are more than what she wanted you to be, Damian. Do not ever forget that we choose who we are to be.” Damian nodded through his tears, his cheek rubbing against the sheet covering his father’s body. “Be strong and just like your father but remember to love those around you even when they seem to fall short.”

“I will. I will strive to be like you. To be kind and generous.”

“Strive to be like you, My Son. Be who you are in your heart. I would not leave if I thought you were not perfect just as you are.” Damian wanted to argue, but he remained silent. He was not his father, but he could strive to be no matter what the older man was saying. “Marry Jon, okay? Do not wait, do not hesitate. Give him the ring in the top left drawer of my desk in my study. It was one I gave your father many years ago even though we were not as fortunate as you. To be able to be with the one you love. Do what I could not.”

“Yes, Father.”

“I love you more than words could ever say. Remember that in the remainder of this life and all the ones to follow.”

Turning his head to bury his face in his father’s side again, Damian’s sobs came out in gasping breaths. “I love you,” he cried into the sheet. “I love you so much.” He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know how else to vocalize his devotion to the older man. The man who had given everything to make sure Damian grew into a good person. Who had sacrificed his own happiness for so many others. The man who had changed so many lives at the sake of his own. “Tell Father I love him as well,” he whispered, turning to look at the man, but finding his eyes closed.

Pushing up, Damian looked down at the man and took in the stillness of his body. He looked where the hand that had been resting on his head had fallen onto his father’s chest and noticed the lack of rise and fall.

“Be at peace,” he choked out, dropping his chin to his chest again as the tears came in earnest once again.

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

Jon’s presence just behind his right shoulder was solid and steady, something Damian appreciated greatly in the moment because he was certain he would have collapsed already without it. The crowd that had gathered for his father’s pyre was no surprising in the least and far larger than the one they had done for Ser Jason. Not because his father was more loved, but because he was a great king and news of his death had drawn in villagers from all over the kingdom.

“How am I to address these people here?” He asked Jon quietly, glancing at the man briefly before looking back out to the crowd. The Archbishop was giving his blessing over the body before it was time for Damian to speak and light the pyre. But he had no idea what to say.

“Just say what is in your heart, Love.” Just like that. Such a simple concept but his heart was too heavy for simple. “They are hurting, and they just want to hear that their emotions are valid. You are their king, but they all understand that you were also a son.” Glancing over at Jon, Damian furrowed his brows, but Jon just raised a hand and let it fall heavy, comforting, onto the back of Damian’s neck.

“Grandson,” his grandfather’s bulking form came up beside him. “I can make the speech if you need.” It was the out he craved, the excuse to keep his grief quiet and only shown to those who knew him best. But he could hear his father’s voice in the back of his mind that this ceremony was not about his grief. That he would have the raising of the effigy with just the family for that. This ceremony and the Feast were about the people.

“No,” Damian looked over at the older man. “It is my duty, and he would not want me to turn my back on the people.” His grandfather regarded him carefully before giving a nod and stepping back over to where Selina and the other members of the family were standing. He could see his uncle watching him, eyes sad in a way Damian had never seen. But Damian couldn’t focus on that right then. He had to focus on the task at hand. He had to focus on putting the hearts of the people at ease when his own heart was in turmoil.

With a glance from the Archbishop, Damian gave a bow of his head in respect before he stepped forward. The movement pulled Jon’s hand away from his nape and Damian immediately missed the comforting warmth of it, but instead of rushing back like he wanted to he pushed forward. He could do this and then Jon would be there at the end.

Stepping onto the raised platform, Damian looked around at the faces of the people who had gathered. As far as he could see, in every possible space between here and the walls, there were people who had loved his father. People who had known him for the good man he was, the kind and giving king. The man who had loved his people enough to walk among them as if it were nothing. The man who had raised his son to regard the people in the same manner.

Glancing back at Jon, he clenched his jaw when the man simply held a hand over his heart and gave him a nod. But he still had no idea what that meant. Turning back to look at the expectant faces below him, Damian shook his head. “I have not a single idea of what to say to all of you who have gathered here. I am not eloquent like my father was and I am not experienced the way my grandfather is. I wish I could say beautiful words that would warm you in this cold time, but I do not know them,” he admitted, his voice carrying over the crowd as they stood silent. He could see the looks of confusion, but there were also looks of understanding. And he could latch onto those. “My father was the best man any of us have ever had the pleasure of knowing. He was kind and he was generous, but more than that he was love. And he had so much love to give. Not just to me or the others in our family, but to each of you as well.

“I cannot convey how much he cared for each and every one of the citizens under his rule. He sacrificed so much so that he could be the ruler you, the people, needed. Most of all, he gave to everyone without expecting the same in return,” Damian swallowed, taking a split second to push back the tears that were trying to force their way out. “The loss we have suffered is great. And I know it might seem like things will never be the same or that we have lost…some of the color in the world, but we will recover.” He lifted his chin and took a deep breath.

Reaching for the torch that Ser Roy held in hand, Damian stepped up to his father’s body and looked at the familiar face. “We can never replace someone like Richard of House Wayne, there is no one else who can come close to the kind of man he was. He is irreplaceable. But his influence and his teachings live in all of us and through that we can strive to be just as good and kind as he was. We can strive to be what he knew we could be.” Lifting the torch high into the air, Damian looked out at the people who watched him with rapt attention.

“To King Richard, the best of us all. May we spend each day striving to be the person he believed each and every one of us could be.” May I be the man he thought me to be. With one last deep breath, Damian looked back down to his father’s resting form and touched the torch to the hay lining the pyre. He took a moment to watch the fire burn before he turned and found his grandfather already waiting to take the torch from him.

The man gave him a firm nod, his face a mask of strength that his eyes did not fall in line with. Through them Damian could see the grief the man was feeling, laying his eldest son to rest far too soon. But there was an unspoken understanding between them. A father and a son, both grieving one of the most important people in their lives.

With the torch passed, Damian made his way back to his spot, Jon immediately slipping his hand into Damian’s. And though it was not necessarily proper, Damian couldn’t find it in himself to care. Instead he focused on the comfort it provided as he watched the pyre light consume it’s victim.

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

The cold air hit him like a slap to the face, but it was a feeling Damian welcomed in that moment. The ballroom was crowded with citizens and travelers who had come to join in the Feast of the Seven, and the warmth had been almost suffocating. The spirit of the room was joyous, as a Feast always should be, but he had been struggling to really feel the same joy the others were experiencing as they celebrated his father. So, he had excused himself from the room and stepped out into the gardens, a place his father had loved and often could be found tending despite them having staff members to do just that.

Tilting his head back, Damian took a deep breath and closed his eyes as the cold air chilled his lungs before he slowly released it.

“Your Majesty,” a voice greeted him, causing Damian to stiffen as he opened his eyes and looked behind him to see who had joined him. He watched the woman give a bow but something about her presence told him he should probably be bowing to her. He took in her raven hair, cut so it just brushed the tops of her shoulders, reminded him of the color of his father’s hair. And though it was fairly dark with only a few torches lighting the walkway, he could see the deep blue, almost purple color of her eyes. But it was the jewel resting just above the space between her eyebrows that really caught his eye.

Even from where he stood, he could feel its power. And the blood red color of it said it wasn’t gentle power either.

“Do I know you?” He questioned, eyes narrowed.

The woman shook her head and took a few steps closer. “I am called Raven,” she told him. Damian’s eyebrows raised at the strange name and lack of any kind of surname or name of her family attached to it. “I came here seeking Madame Xanadu and she pointed me in your direction to deliver my knowledge. I had thought it best to have a familiar face give it to you, but she disagreed.”

At least her connection to the healer of the city explained why Raven did not bother with any family names or titles. But he couldn’t imagine what kind of information she might have that the healer thought he would like to know.

“What knowledge have you come to bestow on me?” He kept his tone even, not sure he should trust this woman or not. But he knew his guards were close and he was more than capable of defending himself. But if she were a practitioner like Madame Xanadu then he wasn’t sure anyone would be able to save him.

“I have traveled from Nanda Parbat with news of your great grandfather’s rule.” Damian sucked in a surprised breath and waited, knowing this was important. That despite evidence, it was Ra’s who had ordered him to be killed. “Your grandmother’s sister, Nyssa, has dethroned him and he has been laid to rest. The magic keeping him alive has been destroyed.”

Considering what this meant, Damian felt a small weight lift off his chest. A weight he hadn’t noticed sitting there under all the other things burdening him. “So the order…”

“The one for your life?” Damian nodded. “Nyssa has rescinded it and sends her word that peace remains between Gotham and Nanda Parbat for as long as she is on the throne.” A folded parchment was held out to him and he immediately recognized the seal of Nanda Parbat. He took it from her and held it by both ends, looking down at it. “Nyssa has also destroyed the legacy of Ra’s by removing the title of Ra’s Al Ghul and stating that the ruler shall hence forth be called by their own name or one of their choosing.”

“Was a strange tradition,” he muttered and was surprised when a laugh slipped past Raven’s lips. She seemed equally as startled and quickly cleared her throat, but it was too late. Damian was smiling and had relaxed the remaining tension in his shoulders. “Thank you for bringing such glad tidings during such a…” He looked past her toward the crowded ballroom and frowned.

“Yes, I was saddened to hear of Richard’s passing. The few times I had spoken to him, he was exceedingly kind. The world shall be a little darker without his aura to brighten it.” Looking back to Raven, Damian nodded sadly. “You have such an aura as well, Your Majesty. Do not let this dim it. He would not want it.”

“No, I do not think he would.” Glancing down at the parchment in hand, Damian sighed before looking back to Raven but jerked when he found himself alone. He glanced around, finding no trace of the woman at all.

“Damian, there you are!” Jon’s voice called out as he came walking out of the ballroom. “Damian? Is everything all right?” He asked as he neared the younger man, but Damian wasn’t sure how to answer him. Did he tell Jon about Raven? Would he believe him? And even as he thought it, he knew it was ridiculous to question. Of course Jon would believe him.

“I just had a strange encounter with a practitioner who knew Father,” he explained, looking up at Jon with wide eyes that expressed his bewilderment. Holding up that parchment, he showed Jon the seal.

“That is Nanda Parbart.”

“It is,” Damian confirmed. “She brought tidings from Queen Nyssa and word that the order for my life has been lifted.” Jon’s eyes widened in shock before a relieved smile broke out over his face. And soon enough, Damian found himself encased in Jon’s arms.

“That is wonderful news!” And it was, it really was. “A bit of light in a dark time. I wish I could thank this messenger,” Jon said as he pulled back and glanced around as if he would spot Raven where Damian had been unable to. “I do believe we should drink to this news, yes?”

Looking at the letter again, Damian found himself nodding and feeling a bit lighter. “Yes, a drink would be suitable.”

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

The sun was warm for the time of year, but Damian found himself welcoming it. And enjoying it at the insistence of Jon, who had shown up at his study with Titus and a basket full of food and a blanket. And though Damian knew he had much more he needed to get through before Council later in the day, he allowed Jon to pull him away from it and take him on a picnic.

Now he found himself relaxed on the blanket while Titus and Jon chased each other around the field and for the first time in the weeks following his father’s death, he felt joy. The sound of Jon’s surprised laugh when Titus tackled him into the tall grass brought an easy smile to his face that didn’t feel as though it was a lie or a façade.

“What?” He questioned when he found Jon regarding him from where he was still seated in the grass, Titus having gone off to chase a bird. He watched the older man shake his head as he stood and brushed himself off.

“I think that is the first smile I have seen on your face since…” He made his way over to the blanket and dropped down next to Damian, not bothering to finish his sentence. But Damian understood all the same. “It has been missed,” he commented softly, raising his hand and brushing the backs of his fingers across Damian’s cheekbone.

Ducking his head at the affection from Jon, Damian attempted to get his emotions under control. But the warmth that had bloomed in his chest at Jon’s words and meaning was something he had yet to get used to and it caught him off guard every time. It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling, but it was not something he had yet come to terms with. And Damian was not good with things that he was unsure of how to handle. Not when he was still struggling to get out of the constant vigilant headspace his mother had conditioned him to be in.

“I have been meaning to ask you something,” Damian changed the subject, thankful for the understanding he saw on Jon’s features when he looked back up at the man. The single raised brow gave Damian to go ahead to ask what he had been thinking of. “How long will you stay? I know you mentioned new duties for Metropolis, but I was not certain when they might pull you away.”

He watched Jon smile easily as he leaned back onto his hands and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Trying to be rid of me, Your Majesty?” And though Damian knew it was a joke, he still cringed at the playful accusation. “I am only joking, my love. But I hadn’t really contemplated it yet,” he admitted with a shrug of his shoulder. “Kon told me he would send for me if he required me, but Timothy told me it was not likely it would happen.”

Damian considered the answer and what exactly it could mean for them. If Jon’s duties were easily set aside, then it was likely he wouldn’t be missed if he remained away for a long period of time. At the same time, Damian felt a little bad about keeping him from his family for as long as he had. Even if his father had been here for the coronation and then the death of the former king.

“Is there a reason you ask?”

Shrugging a shoulder, Damian tried to think of an answer that didn’t give his personal desires away. Did he admit to Jon that he never wanted the older man to leave? Did he tell him that it was his intention to have him stay at his side forever? “I was simply wondering…” He attempted to say, but even in his own eyes it sounded like a lie. And the snort Jon proved that the other man didn’t believe it for a moment.

But instead of calling Damian out on his lie, Jon simply gave him a knowing smile and got back to his feet. He called Titus over as he stepped away from the blanket and took a large stick the dog had managed to find and threw it out into the distance for the dog to chase. Damian remained in his spot, watching the two repeat the action over and over and allowed his mind to drift.

He allowed himself to think of what it would be like to have to bid farewell to Jon when he finally needed to return to Metropolis for his duties or family. He thought about the loneliness that would surely follow in his absence and how he might handle that. But then he thought about what he could do to ensure that Jon stayed. He thought about just asking him outright to remain at his side and abandon his duties back home. Though Damian knew that unless he had a good reason, Jon would never just abandon his family. And Damian could never ask that of him just because he would miss the other man. But still the thought of going about his daily tasks without Jon, without the unfailing support the other had been providing since his arrival, struck him hard and fast in the heart. The dread was almost palpable. He could practically taste it. And that frightened him.

When had he become so dependent on Jon? When had he lost his ability to stand on his own?

When you fell in love.

The thought appeared out of nowhere and the voice in his mind sounded just as his father would have. And the more he considered what his father might have to say about this moment, the more sure he was of exactly what his father would tell him. He knew precisely what his father would offer up as a solution. But were they ready? Was he ready?

Looking over to Jon, where he stood laughing as Titus jumped in an attempt to get the stick out of Jon’s hand, Damian knew the answer. How could he consider any other option?

And he was reminded of the band he had taken to carrying around in his pocket since retrieving it from his father’s study the morning after he passed. The silver band with an intricate pattern and red jewels was one he had remembered Ser Jason wearing but hadn’t know his father had given it to him. But Damian had admired it then and he would feel even stronger about it should it rest on Jon’s finger.

So, he pushed to his feet and made his way over to where Jon stood waiting for Titus to chase after the stick he had just thrown. And when Jon turned to look at Damian as he approached, the smile Jon gave him further solidified Damian’s resolve. And he didn’t hesitate once he reached the other man, taking his face between his hands and pressing their mouths together.

It wasn’t their first kiss, it wasn’t even close to being their first at this point, but it was their first that had such a big meaning behind it. At least to Damian. And he tried to convey that meaning to Jon through the kiss, through the press of his body against Jon’s.

“What was that for?” Jon’s voice came out breathy, quiet as he gasped for air when they had separated by mere inches.

“Marry me,” Damian responded. It wasn’t romantic and it wasn’t memorable, but it was honest. “Do not leave me ever. Stay with me in Gotham and help me look after my kingdom. Make it our kingdom.”

Jon’s face went from dazed to shocked as Damian spoke and the words sunk in. “But…” Damian allowed him to work through whatever it was he was thinking, waiting. “What of the law?”

“Before Father passed, he had it abolished. He asked the Council, based on what happened with him, Mother, and Ser Jason, to abolish it and allow all rulers to marry the person they see fit and not someone who would just be an heir producer.” Jon’s eyes went wide, and Damian tried not to laugh at the fact that he could basically see the thoughts running through his mind. “He did it for me, for us. Before he died, he told me to find this,” he said, pulling back to grab the ring out of his pocket. He held it up in his palm and looked from it to Jon. “He told me to find this and to give it to you. To have what he was not able to. To marry someone he loved.”

He watched Jon’s blue eyes look down at the ring, a look of familiarity passing over his features, before he looked back to Damian. “This was Ser Todd’s?” Damian nodded. “You trust me with this?”

“I trust you with my entire world,” Damian admitted. “Will you trust me with yours?”

“I already do,” Jon laughed and quickly pressed his mouth back to Damian’s in a quick, but heated kiss. “My best friend, my partner, my King, my…husband,” he whispered against Damian’s mouth and the younger was certain his heart was moments away from beating out of his chest.

“Is that a yes?”

“How could I say anything but?”

#past lives au #jaydick #DamiJon #jondami #damian wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #anikah writes

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schrijverr · 4 years ago

Text

Reunited

Tim and Bertie had fallen in love with Jonny on the moon, but when Bertie died Tim had left Jonny behind. He realizes how much he regrets it when he’s getting mechanized. After he finds out Jonny is alive, he vows to make it up to him and does his best to mend their relationship again.

On AO3.

Ships: Gunpowder Tim x Jonny d’Ville

Warnings: grieving and working through some issues. Tell me if I missed anything or if you want me to tag something!!

~~~~~~~~~

It was dark when Tim woke up.

He didn’t think he would wake up again when he had confronted the Moon Kaiser, so the fact that he was alive in the darkness was strange. He tried to move, but found his hands and feet were tied down to the surface he was lying on.

“Stop wiggling.” a voice said.

Tim did not know who the voice belonged to, but his head swiveled in the direction it had come from in an attempt to see who it was.

The person snorted and said: “I don’t think that will help, since I’m currently making you a pair of eyes. I’m Doc Carmilla, by the way, a pleasure.”

“What happened? What do you want from me.” Tim now really started to struggle against his bindings as he tried to get away.

“You were in an explosion.” the voice, Doc Carmilla apparently, told him gently, “You lost your eyes and I’m making you new ones. All I ask is cooperation.”

The fury from before was reignited in his veins as he continued to struggle fiercely. He wasn’t about to become an experiment of the Moon Kaiser or anyone else. He was Gunpowder Tim and if he’d had enough righteous anger to cut through thousands of Lunar Men, he would have enough to break out of here.

Doc Carmilla sighed and Tim felt a prick in his neck. As he started to loose his grip on the world, he heard her say: “Only people who cooperate get progress.”

When he woke up again a few days had passed, not that Tim would know since he’d lost his sense of time in the darkness. He startled, but before he could do anything Doc Carmilla spoke: “Don’t struggle again, it’s already been slow going since my help was emotionally compromised and I can’t work on your face if you struggle.”

“I don’t even know what you’re doing to me.” Tim protested.

“I’m giving you a second chance at life, away from everything that has brought you such misery. A new family to call your own that will be there forever. Don’t you want that, Timothy? Don’t you want that new beginning away from there?” she asked.

Tim thought about that. He didn’t really know the answer, he hadn’t thought about a future since he’d lost Bertie. His only focus had been to kill the Kaiser or die trying, no matter the price. What was he going to do now that it was over?

“It’s alright if you need time to think.” Doc Carmilla told him, “You’ll get plenty of time to think anyway.”

Then she started to work and most of the pain from getting metal shoved into still healing wounds took over for coherency.

But it came back to him when she left him, apparently done for the day. He pondered how he had avenged Bertie, how he could heal now, but the more he thought about it, the more he had failed him.

While they might’ve already been in love before they arrived on the moon and had known each other since they were little, it hadn’t been just the two of them, not anymore. There had been a fierce soldier, who really shouldn’t have been enjoying himself that much, that they had loved as well. His name had been Jonny, Jonny d’Ville. And Tim couldn't help but feel like he had abandoned him.

Jonny might have been manic from time to time with too much bloodlust for his tiny body, but he had also been soft and insecure.

Tim could remember the nights, where they had held Jonny between them as they whispered reassurances to him, while he was overwhelmed with the unfamiliar praise and affection that they heaped onto him.

But then Bertie had died and Tim hadn’t been able to see through his own grief. He’d gone on a rampage, leaving Jonny to fend for himself without a shoulder to lean on.

It felt like a punch to the gut and a bucket of cold water over his head. He had allowed himself to loose someone he cared about, someone he loved. He still had someone left and he hadn’t cherished the love he could have had.

Bertie would have killed him if he knew. The other man had taken to Jonny so quickly that Tim would have become jealous if he hadn’t trusted Bertie so much. Bertie took joy in figuring out what made Jonny blush or smile softly, just like he’d done for Tim so many years ago.

Tim missed that, missed Bertie, missed the three of them in a heap next to the campfire while Jonny softly sang of worlds far away.

Jonny never told them how he knew those songs and he would only sing them for Tim and Bertie in those quiet peaceful moments. Tim had learned to look forward to them and hold them near to his heart, but it seemed he had forgotten this lesson and now he would never hear Jonny sing again.

It was only then that it hit him that he might have been the one who killed Jonny. If he was here and did his duty then the moon was gone, along with everyone on it.

He had not only abandoned Jonny, he had murdered him as well.

That was what he thought about for the days that followed. Doc Carmilla would come in and work on him and he’d just lay there, mind somewhere else. He had failed both his lovers and he would do anything to make it up to them, but it was too late. He’d never be able to make it up to them again and that hurt deep to his core; the fact that he would never get to say sorry.

Then Doc Carmilla stopped coming and Tim was all on his own in the darkness once more.

Tim didn’t know how long he’d laid there before he heard a noise in the chamber he was in. He turned his head towards it, even though he couldn’t see and called out: “Who’s there?”

“Hmm, she’s farther along than I thought.” a heavily accented and slightly disappointed voice said.

“Who are you? What are you doing?” Tim was getting slightly nervous.

“Sadly, I have to fix you up.” the voice said coolly.

“Uhm, why?” this person obviously didn’t seem pleased of that and he was scared and confused in this never-ending darkness.

“Carmilla had to depart.” the voice answered, picking each word carefully “And I would have someone hound me if I didn’t and they found out, so here I am.”

“You don’t sound so happy about that.” Tim was getting worried the person would hurt him and he would be stuck and helpless here.

“I’m not, but you’re one of us now.” the voice sighed, “I’m Nastya, the engineer.”

“Oh, I’m Tim, Gunpowder Tim.” Tim replied.

“I know.” Nastya told him and after that she was silent, the only noises that of whatever project she was working on and the dripping of the IV keeping up his strength.

Tim tried to think of what he could have done to earn her anger, but none came to mind. What she told him also didn’t make sense, because who here knew him? He was still pondering that when she left, with a curt goodbye.

This awkward existing in the same space went on for another three days, before Nastya announced: “They’re ready. This is going to hurt, but then it’s over.”

He nodded and braced himself. For a second nothing happened, then something connected and his eyes started to burn. He screamed as his vision flashed white, a sharp contrast with the darkness from the past weeks, before his world went dark again as he passed out.

When he awoke this time, it was to a metal lab with contraptions and experiments everywhere. He was no longer bound and sat up in surprise. His eyes saw everything so clearly and it was hard just to take stuff in, but after a few moments he got used to it enough to walk.

Slowly he got onto his feet, still unused to walking after so long, and set out to find anyone who might want to tell him more about what was happening.

Tim was about to just start yelling when he heard voices further down the hall. He made his way to a doorway into a room with a few couches where five people were sitting and talking. He didn’t know who the metal man was, nor the red-haired woman, nor the other person, but his eye did fall on The Toy Soldier. It could be TS, who Nastya had referred to even if it didn’t like to be a someone. He was about to call out to it when the last persons face was revealed.

Jonny.

It couldn't be anyone else, even if Tim thought his brain was tricking him. It was the same face that would grin at him in the trenches or smile up at Bertie while laying in his lap. The same face. Jonny had lived, there was a chance Tim could make it up to him.

“Darling, you’re alive!” he yelled, racing forward to envelop a startled Jonny into a hug.

He squeezed him tight, before cradling his face in his hand and checking him over. Jonny looked completely unharmed, if Tim still had tear ducts he would have cried, instead he hugged Jonny again and said: “God, I was so worried about you, love, I’m so so sorry for leaving you, you didn’t deserve that I’m so sorry. How can I ever make it up to you, angel?”

In his arms Jonny looked very surprised, he’d gone still when Tim hugged him and now just sat there quite shocked. Then he softly asked: “You still like me?”

Tims heart broke, it got shattered in a thousand pieces that lodged themselves into his insides and tore through him. He assured him: “Of course I still do, I love you, I’m sorry I made you feel anything different, cupcake.”

Jonny sagged into his touch and Tim could feel his shoulders shake as his clothes got soaked in tears and nails dug into his back as Jonny clutched his coat tightly.

“Tim, Ol’ Sport, It’s You! I Did Not Know You Had Made It.” The Toy Soldier exclaimed, finally recognizing the familiar face.

“Tim, as in broke Jonnys heart Tim? Left him crying for days Tim? That Tim?” one of the people he did not know asked.

A stab of guilt went through Tims heart and he held Jonny closer as he kissed his temple and whispered: “I’m so sorry, bean, so so sorry.”

Jonnys grip only tightened in return, while in the background TS answered: “That Seems Like The Description Of Tim, Mx. O’Reily.”

“Who ordered you to call me that, go back to just Ashes.” the person, apparently Ashes, said then their look turned dangerous, “So, how do we know we can trust him to not do that again?”

“Hold on, Ashes, maybe let him explain first, we can threaten him later.” the metal man told them, he then smiled at Tim and introduced himself: “Hi, I’m Drumbot Brian, most call me Brian and I am the Pilot of this ship. Nastya did talk about finishing something, but she hadn’t mentioned what, has she explained what happened?”

“I don’t think she expected me to wake up yet.” Tim told him, not letting go of Jonny for a second, “She wasn’t there when I woke up and she’s mostly been giving me the cold shoulder.”

“That’s to be expected, with how we found Jonny over you.” the woman with the red hair said, “I’m Ivy Alexandria, pleasure.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m Tim, Gunpowder Tim, but most just call me Tim.” he didn’t extend a hand, too focused on the warmth of Jonny safe in his arms.

“Can we go back to focusing on what’s really important?” Ashes asked loudly, “Namely making sure this guy here doesn’t break Jonnys heart again.”

“I’m right here you know.” Jonny mumbled, “And he didn’t break my heart.”

Ashes raised a brow at him and said: “You cried for the first time in centuries and blubbered on about him enough for the Doc to not even tell you she picked him up. Not to mention this current limpet show.”

A flush overtook his features and he was about to let go, much to Tims dismay, when Brian stopped him and gently explained: “They didn’t mean it like that, Jonny, stay put, it’s obviously helping. They’re just pulling the overprotective card, let them do their shovel talk, then we’ll leave you guys alone to talk.”

Jonny kept holding on, relief clear as day, while Ashes pouted: “It’s not a shovel talk, Brian, it’s a proper intimidation act.”

Ashes turned to Tim and crossed their arms, from their standing position they looked down on Tim with disdain as they began: “If you hurt him ever again, I will cut you to pieces and make you watch as I burn those pieces to ash. I will kill you repeatedly in many increasingly painful ways and I will not stop until you beg, beg, me to please make it permanent and then I will kill you a few more times again, before I defy everything you are and murder you, before feeding you to the octokittens. Are we clear?”

Tim swallowed thickly and he could feel Jonny tighten his grip, before he softly whispered: “Don’t leave me, I’ll make sure to protect you from them, please stay.”

“Of course I’ll stay, baby.” Tim assured him with a kiss to his temple, before meeting Ashes gaze, “Nothing will make me leave or hurt you again, no matter how hard they try, I promise.”

Ashes scanned his face, but seemed content with what they found. They nodded approvingly, before ushering the others out while saying: “Come on, lets let these two catch up.”

With them gone Tim focused on what was most important, Jonny. Those others were obviously his family, so he’d felt the need to impress them, but now that was over and he had a cuddling lover to take care of.

Jonny was still crying a bit, although it seemed the heaving sobs from before had ceased. It was clear that Tims departure after Berties death had had more impact on Jonny than he could handle and Tim felt so incredibly guilty over ever leaving him. He’d known how much Jonny could doubt himself and their affection and still he’d left him in the middle of a war zone, alone, to cope with the fact that one of his lovers was dead and the other had apparently left him.

It seemed impossible, but Tim hugged Jonny closer, pulling him into his lap. He rocked him back a forth as he hummed softly.

After a while Jonny sagged even more into his touch, so TIm softly said: “I know we probably still need to talk about a lot, but right now I would love nothing more than to cuddle and sleep, if you’re agreeable, marshmallow.”

“Yeah,” Jonny mumbled into his neck, “I’d like that.”

“Good.” Tim told him, before scooping him up into his arms, half concerned and half glad he was still able to do that, as he asked: “What way, princess?”

A recognizable blush spread over Jonnys face as he pointed into a direction and Tim smiled to himself, some things never changed. Tim started walking while keeping up a constant stream of soft chatter, only pausing to ask for more directions that Jonny provided silently.

The room they arrived at was clearly Jonnys, the messy décor reminding Tim of his equally disorganized pack, while the belt and guns scattered around screamed Jonny.

Against the wall stood a big bed with a ton of pillows piled on it and Tim filed the soft nest away in his mind with new things to learn about Jonny in this new setting, as he gently put Jonny down between the blankets and other plush on his bed.

When Tim put him down Jonny whimpered slightly and Tim whispered: “I’m just taking off my shoes and outer layer, it’s a bit dirty and I want your bed to stay clean. That alright, sweet pea? Want your boots off too?”

Jonny nodded and Tim set to work. He kicked off his own shoes uncaringly and shrugged off his coat and trousers easily, but when he got to Jonnys boots he knelt down and softly undid the laces, before sliding the boots off gently.

He looked up and smiled at a now completely red Jonny and asked: “Do you want the belts off too, dove?”

After biting his lip, Jonny nodded and Tim undid his belts and slid them off, being mindful of keeping the same gentleness throughout the entire progress.

As Tim climbed onto the bed Jonny wiggled out of his own trousers as well and shrugged off his waistcoat. Then he rested his head on Tims chest, who instantly wrapped two arms around him and held him closely as he drifted off, the entire day finally catching up to him.

It took Tim a bit longer to find sleep. He didn’t know if it was because he’d woken up just over an hour ago or because he was still reeling over the fact that Jonny was still alive. It was frankly a miracle, but now that he thought of it, he should have seen this coming.

Back on the moon Jonny used to make a lot of immortality jokes, but he would get rather defensive if anyone called them that or didn’t believe him. Bertie and Tim just humored him and tried to keep an eye out, but The Toy Soldier always seemed 100% agreeable over it, which made sense after seeing it here. So the logical conclusion was that all those jokes along with the forever family comment from Doc Carmilla meant that Jonny really was immortal and after Ashes’ shovel talk it wouldn’t surprise Tim if he was now too.

That was quite a lot to take in, but Tim didn’t really have time for an existential crisis, he had to focus on Jonny and making things right between them. Apparently they were going to have forever and he needed to be his best for his beloved right now, so compartmentalizing it was.

It took a while, but Tim fell asleep too, listening to the soft breaths coming from the small figure in his arms. He’d studied Jonnys face closely, it was still as lovely as he remembered, even with ruined eyeliner covering it.

When he awoke it was Jonny who was studying him. He had been hovering over him when he’d opened his new eyes and had startled back when he’d realized Tim was awake. He said: “Oh, hi, good morning, Tim.”

“Good morning, sunshine.” Tim smiled, “How did you sleep?”

“Great, fine, better.” Jonny mumbled, looking a bit embarrassed, “It was nice to have you here.”

He had always been a terrible sleeper and Tim knew his and Berties presence had made it easier for him to sleep and it was nice to know that it still did. Tim smiled: “That’s good to hear.”

Jonny bit his lip, started to say something and then stopped. He looked at Tim again and Tim grabbed his hand, lightly squeezing to silently let him know that he was there and that it was okay. Jonny softly asked: “You are here, right? This is not just in my head?”

“Yeah, I’m really here.” Tim looked Jonny in the eye, but Jonny adverted his gaze, so he gently took Jonnys cheeks between his hands and said: “I mean it, Jonny, I’m going to do everything in my power to make you realize that I will never leave you again. What I did after-” a deep breath, “after Bertie died was stupid and hurtful and I have to live with the fact that I did that to you when you didn’t deserve it. I love you, Jonny, you’re my everything, and I will stay by your side and tell you that as much a possible for as long as you’ll have me.”

Jonny was crying again, Tim didn’t know if this was a good thing or a bad one, but he held him nonetheless, whispering sweet nothings into his hairline and leaving soft kisses along it.

“I’d- I’d like that.” Jonnys voice cracked, but he sounded so relieved and all Tim could do was squeeze him tightly and hope Jonny would understand.

They sat there for a very long time, Tims stomach was rioting, but he didn’t dare disturb the peaceful air around them. Jonny was playing with his fingers while Tim rubbed his back. After making one of his fingers crack, Jonny seemed startled for a moment, then he asked: “Have you gotten a tour of the ship yet?”

“What?”

“A tour, of Aurora, the- the ship?”

“Oh, no. I just woke up and wondered around a bit.”

“Then I’ll give you one, get dressed.”

Jonny was out of the bed and pulling on clothes, suddenly bustling with activity as he fluttered around the room. He turned and looked expectantly at Tim, who smiled softly and said: “I don’t have clean clothes, poppet.”

“Oh, of course.” Jonnys face got an understanding look on it as he began to dig through his closet, “I think I have one of Brians sweaters here from when I stole it and I must have a pair of sweatpants that can fit you. It will be too short, but it will have to do. And we have to ask Ashes to make sure they’ll get you some new clothes when we land some place habitable.”

The clothes thrown over his shoulder hit Tim, who took them and put them on. The sweatpants were indeed too short, but the sweater was oversized. It reminded him of Berties sweaters that he used to steal.

“Are you alright?” he asked, unsure what brought on the sudden need to move after Jonny had seemed perfectly content to just sit on the bed for the entire day not even a minute ago.

“You need to know where you’re going to stay, right? I mean, you can’t be expected to be with me the entire time, so I need to show you.” Jonny explained.

It sounded like watertight reasoning, but Tim couldn't shake the feeling that Jonny just didn’t want to come across as clingy, which had always been a fear of him. Tim put his arm around Jonnys waist and said: “I think I’m not going to leave your side anytime soon, but I do love to hear you talk, chipmunk, and a sense of direction would be nice. So lead the way!”

He saw a small smile flit over Jonnys face and couldn't help, but pat himself on his back for the excellent reply he had given.

They walked through the halls as Jonny rambled on about the different places behind closed doors, sometimes opening them to show Tim. He was not a very good guide, his talking was chaotic and all over the place and the route never really became clear. But Jonny seemed happy to talk and Tim was perfectly content to listen.

Jonny opened another door as he said: “So this is the kitchen, me and Brian mostly cook, because Ashes tends to burn anything and Nastya and Ivy can’t cook to save their life, you know, so we make the best of it and- oh, hi Nastya.”

“Hello, Jonny,” Nastya crossed her arms and gave Tim a judgmental one over, “Tim.”

“Hi, you must be Nastya.” Tim stepped forward and held out his hand, “We kind of did meet, but, you know, a face to the name.”

Nastya didn’t shake his hand and Tim dropped it. He could feel the nervous energy radiating of Jonny, from what the others had mentioned they must be close and it pained Tim that Nastyas anger at him had this impact on Jonny.

“I know you don’t like me.” he sighed, “I get it, I really do, I feel terrible about leaving Jonny too and I wish I could go back and slap me for it, but I did what I did, okay? I can’t change that and it seems like we’re stuck here together for forever, so you being mad isn’t going to make things better. I’m trying to make it up to Jonny, please, please, give me a chance.”

He didn’t see how Jonny made pleading eyes at her behind his back. He needed Nastya to be okay with Tim, he needed her to give him a chance and he needed her to be there and still like him if it went wrong.

Her shoulders sagged and she warned: “If I ever, and I mean ever, see Jonny cry over you again, I will cut off you genitalia and throw you in Aurora’s engine.”

“Nastyaaa.” Jonny whined, she raised a brow at him: “What, Jonny? It’s not like he won’t deserve it then.”

“I agree with Nastya, dear, full responsibility and accountability.” Tim said.

Jonny rolled his eyes and groaned: “Why is everyone suddenly so overprotective off me. I’m the crazy one and the oldest, I am the protector, not some damsel in distress.”

“Which is exactly why.” Tim and Nastya said in unison, they both looked at each other and Tim felt a slight victory at Nastyas small smile.

“Whatever, I still need to show Tim the couch room.” Jonny started to walk away, before Tim could follow Nastya stopped him and said: “Jonny isn’t the best guide, if you ever need to find anything, just ask Aurora.”

“The starship?”

“Yes.”

And with that Nastya walked away, while Jonny called out to him from where he had walked off in the other direction. Tim quickly walked over and they continued the tour.

Dinner that evening was provided by Brian and quite an awkward affair. Tim tried to get to know the others, but it seemed they had all decided to see if he proved himself worthy, before they accepted him. Brian did offer polite conversation, but that bled dry rather quickly.

In the end he just gave up and ate his dinner in silence, Jonny fiddling anxiously besides him.

The next few days went on quite similarly. He spent most of them with Jonny, who would alternate between too much energy and silent and sullen. Tim tried to keep up with him, but he was starting to get concerned about it and the stares at dinner, which was still violently silent, weren’t helping at all.

So, when they were lying in Jonnys bed, he still hadn’t gotten around to asking Ashes for his own (not that he wanted that), he asked: “What’s going on in that head of yours, munchkin?”

“What- what do you mean?” Jonny asked and Tim could hear the vulnerable defensiveness in his voice.

“I’m just concerned for you. You never want to talk and in some moments you bounce around and in others it seems the world could burn and you won’t move. I just want you to be alright, okay? I want you to talk to me, so that I can try and help.” Tim said, sounding a bit desperate, “I love you, sweetheart, I don’t want to see you upset.”

“Well, I don’t need your concern, I’ve been doing just fine without you.” Jonny spat.

Tim should have seen the outburst coming. He knew he couldn't just walk in and have everything be alright again, but it still hurt. He bit his lip, trying to keep a sharp retort in, but failed: “And I’ve really been seeing that independence lately.”

He knew it was a low blow, but Jonny was already replying before he could take it back and apologize: “Maybe if you weren’t smothering me so much, you would.”

“I- Me? Have I been smothering you?” inside Tim screamed at himself that this was just what Jonny did, he pushed people away and got defensive as if to prove to himself that they wouldn't stay if they saw him. But Tims already fierce soul had turned snappish and angry in the war and he couldn't help, but let false venom spill from his lips.

“Yes,” Jonny crossed his arms, sitting up, “you’re always around, a guy needs his space. I’m not some fragile child that will break the moment you leave me. I survived you leaving me already, I survived a lot without you before that. I don’t need you, but maybe you should think about how much you’re clinging to me.”

The words were a punch to Tims gut, he was trying so hard to be better, to stay, but the hurt was still there in Jonnys mind and that wouldn’t just disappear with Tim here. Maybe Tim deserved to be pushed away.

He got up out of the bed and stated: “Alright, if I’m smothering you that much, then I’ll give you some space.”

And with that he walked out the room. If he had bothered to turn around, he would have seen how Jonnys face crumbled as he curled into a ball on the bed, contemplating if he should call out, but the door was already closed.

Outside Tim realized he had nowhere to go. He still didn’t really know the way and no one aboard Aurora liked him enough to help. Fuck, he really did need Jonny. Why was he so stupid? Why did he let his anger get the best of him?

He suddenly had no energy to do anything and just collapsed on the floor outside of Jonnys room and leaned against the door. He wanted nothing more than to go back in and apologize, but he still wasn’t sure if Jonny was serious about the smothering and he didn’t want to risk angering him even more.

Maybe if he was nice and stayed out of the way tonight, Jonny would want to talk to him again next morning and then he could apologize.

Tim felt like such a dumbass, sitting against the door in his nightshirt. He probably ruined all he did so far. Jonny didn’t need him, not really. Here he had a family that loved him and would die for him, even if they did come back, but Tim still wanted to be the one to tell him how much he was worth and how much he loved him.

It might be selfish, but Tim wanted to be the one to make Jonny blush and smile. He wanted to be there when his brain got the better of him and he needed someone to hold him and tell him it was alright. Tim wanted to be the one who made him happy, just like before.

But now he might have ruined that, just because he snapped back at Jonny even if he already knew Jonny didn’t mean it, that he probably did it out of an insecurity that Tim only fed into instead of banished.

Like an idiot.

He never thought he would miss crying, but now he wanted to do nothing more than give himself over to heaving sobs and hope strong arms would hold him, that Bertie was still here and would make it all better again.

Yes, Bertie would have known what to do and what to say. Bertie was always better about these sort of things, about Jonny. As much as Jonny had him wrapped around his little finger, Bertie could get Jonny to do what he wanted just as easily. Always the right words and smiles ready.

Tim sighed and slumped further against the door and tried to get comfortable on the metal floor, Bertie wasn’t here and the hole in his heart felt deeper than when he was with Jonny. He needed to make it up to the other, but he didn’t know how.

What would Bertie do?

He pondered the question. Bertie would respect Jonny, not be stupid and push him when he was already upset, but if it did go wrong, he would catch him the next day. So that’s what Tim would do now. Tomorrow he promised to himself and Bertie, tomorrow he was going to apologize, grovel if he needed to, now he would just give Jonny space, just in case.

When he woke up, it was because he felt like he was falling. How he had managed to fall asleep, he did not know. He groaned and looked, only to find that it hadn’t been just a feeling, but that Jonny had opened the door he had been leaning against, causing him to fall backwards.

Jonny was looking down on him, a surprised look on his face, red rims around his eyes. He frowned: “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, well, you see, I, uhm,” Tim think of what Bertie would say, but he was not Bertie, he would never be that, so he just had to be himself as he confessed: “I had nowhere to go and I felt really bad about snapping at you, but then I thought that maybe I was smothering you, so I didn’t want to bother you, so I decided to apologize in the morning, because I am really fucking sorry and- are you crying, pumpkin?”

“You- you stayed.” Jonny sniffled, “I got really mad at you, but you still stayed here and tried to listen even if I’ve been really mean to you and you still tried to be nice and I don’t even know why I did that.”

Jonnys knees buckled and he collapsed next to Tim, who quickly sat up to wrap his arms around him. He rocked them slightly back and forth and whispered: “I promised to myself that I would make it up to you, honey. I’m never making the mistake of leaving you ever again.”

After a while Jonny said: “I’m sorry for getting mad at you.”

“I’m sorry for snapping at you, I know you didn’t mean it.” Tim replied, “I just worry about you and I got frustrated, but I shouldn’t have gotten angry with you. I never was the one who was good at that and I just didn’t think.”

Jonny was silent for a moment, then he whispered: “I miss him.”

“Me too.” Tim squeezed Jonny tightly, to reassure him and to remind himself that he was still there and not alone.

“I feel bad, because you’re here and that is already a miracle, but I still miss him.” Jonny was crying and Tim would be concerned about how often he’d seen Jonny cry these past few days, if his own eyes didn’t ache to join him.

All he could do was hold on and say: “It’s alright, well, it’s not, he should be here and I fucking wish nothing more than to have him here with us, but you’re allowed to grieve, dear, just let it all out.”

“Just- Why him?” Jonnys voice cracked, “Why did he have to die? I should have- should have protected him, but I was too late and it’s all so fucking unfair.”

“It is unfair.” Tim agreed, “It’s so unfair, but it’s not your fault, Jonny, it’s not. He would never blame you and neither do I.”

“I hate it, I just hate it.” Jonny pouted, cheeks and eyes wet, but his eyes full of rage, “I fucking hate it.”

“Yeah, I do too, teacup, just don’t hate it so much that it will ruin you, because he wouldn't want that for you.” Tim hated telling Jonny not to let the anger consume him after he had abandoned everything for his own rage.

“You got that perspective now?” Jonny asked, quirking a brow at him, a bit of a sharp edge to his voice.

“I know, it’s too late. Lying on a table in the dark gives you time to think, suddenly realized how pointless it all was and how badly I treated you and how much I wished I could make it better, to just be able hold you again and apologize.” Tim said.

The anger drained out of Jonny and he sighed: “You’re right, of course, you’re fucking right, I just wish anger or violence could be the answer that’s what I do. I can’t- I don’t- Not this. I’m not made for this.”

He sounded so frustrated and broken at the end and Tim just wanted to take all the anger, all the frustration and hurt from him, but he knew he couldn’t. Instead he kissed his forehead and sadly smiled: “No one is made for this, precious. I wasn’t, I’m still not.”

Jonny thought about that. Then he kissed Tim, it was soft and desperate and not really what Tim was used to, but he welcomed it nonetheless. When Jonny pulled back he asked: “What was that about?”

“You’re just so good for me and I know you feel guilty about what happened after B- you know? But you don’t have to feel guilty about it.” Jonny said, it was clear that he’d thought about it for a while, “It hurt, of course it fucking hurt, but I get it, I get it and I can’t be mad at you for it, as much as I want to blame you, I can’t.”

“Jonny-”

“No, let me talk please, because I don’t know if I can say all this again.” Jonny cut him off, “When I went- when I got here, no, before I got here, I- I was angry at my home and I burned it to the ground and it felt good to be angry and do that even if it was pointless, so I get it.”

“But can you forgive me?” Tim asked, scared of the answer, but needing to know.

“Someday, yeah, I can, just- just not now, not yet.” Jonny told him, “But we’re getting there and I still love you.”

The doubt that had been gnawing on him, disappeared with that. It was the first time Jonny told him that he loved him since he’d gotten here and he had been scared that the other didn’t anymore, that he had been too late. He breathed out in relief: “I love you too, starling.”

Jonny let out a small giggle, breaking the sad tension that had hung over them. He smiled: “You with your silly pet names.”

Tim laughed too and promised: “I got a whole lot more, Jonny-boy, don’t you worry.”

“Well, I’d like to hear them.”

“I will try my best, m’lady, but first breakfast!” Tim said, a weight off his shoulder as he pulled Jonny up. This conversation had been what they needed, a bit of clearing the air so that they could move forward and be sure where they stood even if a fight had brought it on.

They walked to breakfast hand in hand. The past few days they had been close, but the barrier of uncertainty was gone now and the contact now felt more natural. A happy bubble floated up in Tims chest as Jonny chattered on about a stupid dream he’d had.

Entering the dining room everyones gaze fell on them. Ashes stood up, butter knife in hand, and asked: “Has Jonny been crying? What did you do to him?”

Where before he would sit silent and say nothing, just send them pleading glances to keep their mouth shut, Jonny now snapped: “Don’t do this, Ashes. If he could, he would have been crying too. It was good crying, now shut the fuck up before I shoot you.”

“Are you sure?” Ashes asked. Tim noticed Nastya had stood up as well, hand at her holster.

“Yes, I’m sure. You could all be a bit nicer to Tim, it’s not like he doesn’t belong here. He is family too now, it would do you good to get to know him at least.”

Ashes looked a bit unsure at that, but they did sit down again and so did Nastya. With that done, Jonny seemed a bit more awkward, thorn between Tim and his other family. Tim just dragged him to his chair and said: “Come on, eat something. You get cranky when you’re hungry.”

“I do not.” Jonny replied indignantly.

Tim rolled his eyes playfully and smirked: “So that time you forgot to eat and then complained about the soil for two hours and threatened to shoot me over telling you to calm down, was just you being happily full, eh, bubbles?”

Jonny blushed a bright scarlet and mumbled something that was drowned out by Ashes chocking loudly. They now registered the pet names that they had missed in the surprise back when Tim had first arrived and exclaimed: “Bubbles?”

The flush got darker and Jonny gritted out: “Shut up.”

Some of the others laughed as well and Tim felt kind of bad for the embarrassment he was causing Jonny, but it really wasn’t his fault. He’d tried to keep the pet names on the down low with everyone hating him, but, with the more relaxed atmosphere between him and Jonny, it had just slipped out.

Tim had been about to save Jonny when The Toy Soldier asked: “What Is So Weird About Tim Calling Jonny Bubbles? He Always Uses Strange Names That Aren’t Jonny To Refer To Him.”

Multiple people at the table began to grin as Jonny tried to disappear into thin air with no success. Interested Nastya asked: “Really, TS? What sort of names then?”

“Well, I Remember Dearie, Gorgeous, Sweetie, Jellybean-” The Toy Soldier was cut off by Jonny, who shot it before glaring at everyone and saying: “Not a goddamn word.”

“Ahw, are you embarrassed about me, missy?” Tim teased, knowing the last time he’d used that particular moniker Jonny had spluttered for a full minute or two.

The effect was the same. The already prominent blush spread further and further as Jonny waved his gun haphazardly around and gaped like a fish. There was more laughter and in the end he just dramatically draped himself over Tim as he exclaimed: “Why do you hate me?”

Carding a hand through his hair Tim said: “I could never. Here, I’ll even make you coffee.”

“‘M gonna need something stronger than coffee,” Jonny pouted, still hiding his face, “but you’re making a strong argument.”

Tim decided he liked the new vibe in the room with the others, as it allowed Jonny to be softer and him to be more himself as well. He gently reminded Jonny: “I thought we had all agreed first coffee then something else, cuddle bug. Remember?”

With his face still hidden Jonny couldn't see the others biting their lips at the pet name. All wanted to see if Jonny would actually do it. They of course didn’t know how Bertie had made the most convincing puppy dog eyes as he played up the concerned boyfriend act when they made the agreement.

“Alright, but I’m drinking something stronger right after.” apparently Jonny was going to honor the agreement, even if the other party wasn’t there anymore.

With a smile Tim got up and went to make coffee after he had gently pushed Jonny off of himself. While he was away, Brian leaned over and softly said: “He seems nice. You look happier, Jonny. That’s good. I’m glad for you.”

Nastya and Ashes nodded. Jonny couldn't help but smile at that, he’d been so worried when everyone had seemed mad at Tim. He didn’t like to see his family members fighting and a part of him had feared that the animosity would never fade.

The moment was ruined by Ashes who asked: “How many times will you kill me if I ever refer to you as bubbles or cuddle bug or missy? And how mad will you get when I tell him you used to be a cowboy?”

They were answered by a shot through their head, however it was too late, because Tim had entered just in time to witness the murder. He raised his brow and asked: “I’ve gathered the immortality thing, but is this a regular occurrence?”

“Sadly, yes, there is 67% chance that someone will not survive the day when everyone is in a good mood, this rises to 91.5% when someone isn’t.” Ivy told him.

“Great.” Tim said, handing Jonny his coffee, which he took gratefully, before making himself a bowl of cereal as well as one for Tim.

Ashes and TS didn’t wake up during breakfast and Tim had a pleasant chat with Brian about string instruments, apparently the other played banjo. Meanwhile Jonny and Nastya seemed to be having an in depth conversation about whether Ashes would be mad if Jonny stole their tongue.

When the last spoonful was in gone, Tim got up and stated: “I want to see this observation deck that I’ve heard about. Come on, cowboy, lead the way.”

“Oh no, you heard that?” Jonny groaned, but he got up anyway to show Tim.

“I almost get the feeling that you’re ashamed of my pet names.” Tim told him, then more dramatically he went on, “The light of my life, my own little gremlin and cutie pie, ashamed of little humble me.”

“Oh come on, you dork. That’s enough teasing material to last them a few centuries, the vultures.” despite his words Jonny had a smile on his lips and Tim hadn’t seen him happier in a very long while.

He ceased his pet names onslaught and just let Jonny drag him away from the others to the observation deck where they both sat down to watch the stars.

Tim had wrapped his arm around Jonny, who leaned into him gratefully. It was oddly domestic after most of their experiences together being in the middle of a war, but Tim found that he quite liked this opportunity for a new them.

There was still a lot to do, a lot to work through and talk about. Tim had to adjust to an immortal life and fully win over the others, even if he was already on the way. He’d have to get used to living again, for the first time actually function without Bertie there. There was also Jonny, whose forgiveness and trust he still had to earn, despite the love he already had. It all seemed very daunting, but with Jonny under his arm, safely tucked into his side, it didn’t seem so bad anymore.

“I love you, nugget.” he told Jonny softly, planting a kiss on the top of his head.

“I love you too, Tim.” Jonny replied, shifting to make himself even more comfortable next to Tim.

Yeah, this wasn’t so bad. Tim could get used to this.

#RR writing #tw: grief #tw: emotional issues #The Mechanisms #the mechs #Jonny d'Ville #gunpowder tim #jonny d'ville x gunpowder Tim #Bertie x gunpowder Tim x Jonny d'ville #bertie (the mechs)#doc carmilla #carmilla #Ashes O'Reilly #Nastya Rasputina #jonny d'ville & nastya rasputina #the toy soldier #drumbot brian #toy soldier

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phantompearlsalt · 4 years ago

Text

Sour Cherry, Chapter 3

This one is much different from the others — I like to believe Kuvira feels deeply and fiercely, particularly for the person she loves. So of course, your first kiss is very much of that nature. Feel free to follow on AO3!

“You first learn of her in the city newspaper. Her elegant features grace the cover of the front page, announcing her promotion to captain of the city’s guard. For a moment, you don’t think much of it until you observe the photograph with greater attentiveness.

It’s the mark on her right cheek that suddenly distinguishes her. She is the young woman from Suyin Beifong’s dance troupe. Having attended a fair number of their performances, you slowly start to recall your fascination with the anonymous dancer.

Kuvira. Your finger traces the printed name with wonder.

Aside from the mark, you recognize the beautiful, heavy braid that sinks past her shoulders and falls to her waist. As exquisite as all the performers are, there is something about Kuvira in particular that has always captivated you.”

Being a non-bender, you are profoundly enraptured by the elegant movements of the dancers, the bird-like motions of their limbs that simultaneously allow them to orchestrate fantastical structures of metal. Having been surrounded by the more practical uses of the material, seeing the delicate side of metalbending is almost dreamlike.

But you often find yourself mesmerized by the braided dancer. In fact, she later becomes the reason you attend these recitals with such determined consistency.

---

“Here are the design drafts you requested,” you say, accompanied by Zhu Li whose arms are equally filled with rolled up papers. Kuvira nods once and angles her chin towards the desk across the room. “You can set them there,” she responds coolly, returning to her conversation with Varrick and Baatar.

You sigh internally and join Zhu Li at the table, carefully unfolding the most pertinent documents. Work is work after all.

You and Kuvira have gotten significantly closer over the past few months, finding times to share meals together away from the sergeants and corporals. Those are the only moments you get to steal her away from the daily commotion of building an entire empire and you cherish those conversations immensely. Often replaying them in your head, you lose yourself in the sonorous lull of her voice and the stories of her upbringing.

Nevertheless, you don’t expect this newfound closeness to disrupt your daily duties.

Bolin joins you soon after from across the room, as spirited as ever, and peers over your shoulders to catch a glimpse of the diagrams. “Ohhhh! What are these?” he asks. You shoo him away and scowl.

“Nothing we need to concern ourselves over,” you respond. “Zhu Li, Bolin,” Kuvira calls. “Accompany Varrick and Baatar to the engineering room. There are some developments that require your assistance.”

“You got it, boss,” Bolin replies promptly, clearly thrilled to have something to do. Zhu Li merely nods and quickly makes her way to Varrick’s side, who instantly starts babbling about whatever new invention Kuvira’s got him working on.

You continue organizing the documents and are just about to leave when you feel a muted pressure on your lower back. It’s so mild you almost question whether it’s actually there. But then you feel the warmth of another human and your breath catches in your throat.

“Thank you,” Kuvira murmurs. “You have been an indispensable asset to this endeavor. I don’t believe we would be making such progress were it not for your efficiency.”

You chuckle nervously and pray she can’t sense how on edge her proximity puts you. “It’s my honor to serve the Great Uniter,” you offer weakly. Kuvira steps away and you mourn the loss of her touch but it allows you to turn around and face her.

You can’t quite look her in the eye so you stare directly at her cheekbone instead. “Call me Kuvira. I’d think we’re at that point, don’t you agree?” she inquires coyly. “I suppose so,” you stammer.

There is a moment of awkward silence during which you have to chew into your cheek to avoid saying something horribly embarrassing. Finally, Kuvira breaks the stillness and says, “Let’s see each other tonight. Come to my tent after nightfall.”

You blink once, then twice, before the words actually sink in and you ask, “Is something the matter? Perhaps Baatar or Varrick would be better suited—”

“No,” she interrupts. “It is no...professional matter. I only wish to see you. We have been able to spend some time together recently but there is rarely time beyond the occasional rushed meal. I have made time tonight and I...want to see you.”

It takes everything in you not to let your jaw drop to the floor. You’ve never seen Kuvira stumble over her words this way. It’s strange to hear the obvious discomfort at the end and you would chuckle if you weren’t a.) so thoroughly intimidated by her or b.) completely and undeniably dumbfounded with the present scene.

“Oh,” you breathe out eventually. When you manage to look Kuvira in the eye, they widen almost imperceptibly but she doesn’t break the gaze. “I’d like that,” you finish, allowing the faintest smile to crack the nervous line of your mouth.

“Alright, then it’s settled. I will see you later this evening,” she says. “As you were.”

You bend your back just enough to bow slightly, quickly making your way out of the room. You make sure you’re far enough into the hallway before falling back on the metal wall and exhaling shakily.

What the hell?

---

“Suyin Beifong’s hypocrisy will be the downfall of the Earth Kingdom. Between the archaic nature of the Beifong rule, and the ineptitude and inaction of the United Republic of Nations, the anarchy that has taken control of Ba Sing Se will spread to the neighboring Earth states, wreaking violence and despair in its path.

We have lived and served in the city of Zaofu as birds in a cage for too long, and now we have the opportunity to truly realize our potential by stabilizing the Earth Kingdom capital and reuniting the kingdom at large. Suyin Beifong and the government of Republic City are unwilling — and incapable — of exercising the leadership our people need.

I vow to be the one who unites our lands, restores peace and order, and oversees the emergence of a long-awaited Earth Empire! We will usher in a new era of technology and innovation, leading us into a new and forward-thinking future.”

A wave of applause swells through the crowd, straining to maintain the extent of their excitement for fear of being caught by outsiders. You stand in the corner of the room and watch Kuvira with unabashed admiration.

Between the city guards and wealthy citizens, everyone is captivated by the nearly-tangible force of Kuvira’s speech. She evoked a palpable sense of ambition in each individual, stoking their desire to see the Earth Kingdom stabilized and modernized.

You see Baatar Beifong, Jr. join her side, grinning proudly and murmuring something near her ear.

Your heart immediately sinks.

---

Dinner is a painfully stagnant affair. You eat with Bolin and a pair of nameless corporals, attempting to appear engaged in their frivolous conversation while internally begging for nightfall to come soon.

Eventually, people begin yawning and Bolin is the first to return to his tent. “Gosh, that was a great time you guys,” he sighs happily. “We gotta do this more often.” You nod a bit too enthusiastically, hoping your response encourages Bolin to take the hint that the evening is over.

He is such a kind young man but so often fails to recognize when you’d prefer to be alone. You don’t have the heart to confront him about it so you suffer in silence.

Luckily this time he gets it and is on his way off, accompanied by the corporals who politely dismiss themselves and say their goodbyes to you. You stay in place, silently observing the sky and your fellow members as they disperse for the night.

In an attempt to avoid bringing attention to yourself, you make your way to your tent as well, quietly sliding the door shut without turning the lock. You lean against a metal panel, listening to the bustle of conversation slowly diminish until it’s entirely silent.

When it’s clearly time to head back out, you inhale deeply, straighten your shoulders, and quietly step outside, gradually sliding the door behind you to avoid making any sound. Kuvira’s tent is instantly recognizable from your position — it’s shaped exactly like everyone else’s but significantly larger.

As you near the structure, you see guards posted and the resulting uneasiness nearly turns you away. But with each tentative step closer, a shadowed figure starts to appear before you. You’re just about to consider walking away entirely when you realize it’s Kuvira.

“I assumed their presence would distress you. It appears I was correct,” she chuckles, her face illuminated under the dimmed lights of her tent.

You let out a single, almost wheezing laugh and let your shoulders drop. “No, it’s fine,” you respond. “I knew they’d be here and I should’ve assumed you told them...just sort of went over my head, I guess.”

“Careful now,” Kuvira says. “I rely on your excellent memory. Can’t have me questioning that anytime soon, can we?” You gulp and shake your head. “No...Kuvira,” you answer, reminded of her insistence on being called by her name.

While her expression remains generally stoic, you can’t help but notice the way her jaw clenches infinitesimally. “Come, let us walk,” she says, turning away from you and walking towards the rocky mountains that surround your campsite.

You follow closely behind, switching between watching your feet and her back to ensure you don’t get too close. You want to ask her about her day, whether she’s been resting, but you’ve never been completely alone this way. Even during meals, the mass of Empire soldiers is always somewhere nearby. This is new and daunting.

Kuvira calling your name makes you look up at her and she’s watching you curiously. “I’m afraid the past few months have done little to assuage your discomfort around me,” she notes. “No!” you counter, perhaps too fervently. Her eyebrow lifts and you sigh.

“It’s not discomfort,” you assure her. “You’re my leader and I respect you. Immensely. It’s like I said this morning: it’s my honor to serve you and I’m going to demonstrate that any way I can.”

She stops walking when she reaches a stony mound, turning so she’s facing you entirely and sitting on it. “You know, aside from Baatar, your loyalty to me and the Empire is unparalleled.”

The mere mention of Baatar’s name immediately sets you off but you manage to keep a straight face. Or so you think.

“Is there some bad blood between you and Baatar I should be aware of?” she inquires, bending a stone from the ground and letting it float above her hand. “No. He’s my superior and we work well together,” you reply simply.

“Hm...I’m not too sure about that,” she responds. “You’ve never been too fond of him, even in our early days.”

---

“You are one of Zaofu’s most prominent and well-respected political historians. You intimately know the inner workings of the Earth Kingdom states. Your expertise will be invaluable for our stabilization and reunification efforts. It is a major task but I want you to consider joining my forces,” Kuvira explains.

“It is no question,” you say. “I have aspired to serve your cause since the beginning. If you would have me, I would be eternally grateful to lend my skills to this great venture.”

“Thank you,” Kuvira responds, but she is quickly overtaken by Baatar, who joins from the side and begins shaking your hand. It’s not lost on you how Kuvira’s face twists into evident annoyance but she restrains herself quite well.

“This is a major addition to the Earth Empire forces. With your expertise and our technological innovation, there is certainly no bounds for the transformation our vision will bring!” Baatar boasts. You smile amiably but feel tempted to yank your hand away.

You don’t care for Baatar. He’s a somewhat mousy fellow who rides off Kuvira’s confidence. He spends nearly all his waking hours with her and you know she favors him greatly. They did grow up together after all and you can’t deny his intelligence. If anything, they actually complement each other quite well...

Regardless, he gets on your nerves. But you do your best not to show it.

---

“I recognized your distaste for him from that moment on. You are talented at concealing your emotions, though you can’t seem to do so around Baatar,” she observes, flicking the stone somewhere behind her.

There’s an uncomfortable lump forming in your throat that you try to swallow down. You absolutely loathe being put under a magnifying glass this way. Kuvira’s right: you are excellent at hiding how you feel.

Which makes it all the more frustrating when someone catches on.

“Well, that’s human nature, isn’t it?” you ask. “That’s to be expected anywhere. Our personalities just don’t mesh...but we work well together. Clearly.”

Kuvira hums pensively. She’s watching you with an expression you can’t quite label and it makes you want to squirm under your uniform. It almost feels like she’s dissecting you with her eyes alone.

“Join me,” she finally says, shifting her weight so there’s a wide space beside her on the stone. To stifle the anxious mewl that threatens to leave your throat, you bite your lower lip and hope the night obscures the gesture.

As you sit by Kuvira, you realize how little space is actually between you two. Her hands are supporting her upper body weight, angled just below her hips. If you moved yours from your lap, you’d inevitably touch the edge of her fingers.

For a single second, you consider it but ultimately manage to hold yourself back. Given the context, it feels like a massive feat.

“I hope you know how much I meant what I said,” Kuvira says quietly. Your brow furrows in confusion and you turn to face her. She’s gazing straight ahead at the mountains surrounding you, the cool beam of moonlight casting a pale glow across her impassive expression.

“You know these governments better than anyone. These negotiations have succeeded at such high rates largely due to your mastery of the subject. I am truly grateful,” she continues.

You fold your hands together against your legs, holding them tight. “I believe in this mission. I believe in you,” you remind her. “I saw how many people you inspired back in Zaofu. It was incredible. I didn’t think I’d be able to contribute much...I’m just an academic. I read books and write papers for a living, for crying out loud. But you gave me a greater purpose. You broadened what I thought I could do.”

“I am glad,” Kuvira replies. It looks like she’s going to continue talking but her mouth suddenly tightens into a straight line and she pauses. You sit with the silence until the tension is unbearable. It’s so thick Kuvira could probably bend it.

“Kuvira...I hope I’m not being out of line for asking but...do we need to talk? I know you wanted to hang out but, um, if I’m going to be completely honest you don’t seem like the type for these kinds of things.”

Your thumb digs into the back of your hand as you wait for her to respond. You fear you’ve crossed that unspoken boundary Kuvira has with everyone when she finally speaks.

“You always waited for me at the corner of Salai and Third Street,” she states. Her voice barely pierces through your otherwise silent surroundings. Your heads tilt to the side in confusion and you dig through your thoughts until a vivid image of a recital hall flashes through your mind.

“The dance recitals,” you gasp.

“Indeed. I can’t say I know when it started but there was one evening where the troupe decided to go out for drinks,” she recalls. Something akin to melancholy touches her voice but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“You were sitting on the bench by the lamppost. I didn’t think much of it until the next time. I made it a point to exit through the front door from there on out and sure enough, you were almost always there. You caught me each time because within seconds you’d run off.”

If only the spirits had graced you with the privilege of bending because at that moment you desire nothing more than to drown yourself in the ground below. This time you can’t help it when your face sinks into your palms in absolute humiliation.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you groan. “I can’t believe you still took me on after that. That’s ridiculous! You probably think I’m some kind of creep!”

Kuvira’s face softens and she presses her hand against your shoulder. Despite the thick layer of fabric, her touch sets a flaming heat across your skin. You’re grateful for the darkness that conceals the inevitable blush spreading across your face. “Not quite. I was rather intrigued.”

You turn to face her and her hand stays in its place. You want nothing more than to enfold her fingers with your own but you resist the temptation. It doesn’t feel right.

“You didn’t even know me,” you return.

“You’re right, I didn’t. But that made it all the more fascinating,” she explains. A low breath filters out of her nose as she exhales slowly. She turns her gaze away from you, staring into the space beyond your shoulder but you can tell she’s not quite here anymore.

“Suyin raised me...but I never knew if she could really see me beyond a wayward child who just needed guidance and structure. She trained me, she perfected my bending. She gave me dancing and the guard. But I always wondered if that’s all I was to her. Her protégé. Baatar is a close friend but...he may be expecting something of me I cannot give him.

Then you appeared and I couldn’t understand why on earth you kept showing up. The recitals, the secret gatherings. And now we have these meals together and we actually talk. You ask me about my day, how I’m feeling. And it’s genuine.”

Kuvira’s hand trails down from your shoulder to your forearm, where she curls her gloved fingers around the muscle and squeezes gently. Her eyes refuse to meet yours, instead moving to the place where your bodies touch. The hairs on your neck rise as her thumb rubs a circle into your sleeve.

“No one has ever truly asked about me. Not in that way,” she whispers and for the first time ever you hear an unmistakable twinge of sadness in her voice.

You have known Kuvira to be predominantly fierce, commanding, and stoic. She is calculative and difficult to read. Even in the moments where you dare to ask about matters unrelated to the Empire, she is usually quite distant. She is an unyielding woman and you deeply admire that about her.

So to see this side of her is astonishing in a way you can’t quite name. You anchor yourself in the grounding touch of her palm and wade through her words as they hang in the air.

The sound of your name pulls you back and she’s continued speaking. “I need you to know that there is no one here I trust more than you,” she confesses.

The revelation collapses on you like an unexpected rainfall. It’s almost as if a part of you sensed it coming, saw the grey clouds swaying in the sky.

But it stuns you into stillness nonetheless, the weight of the words falling like thick drops of water that coat your skin and make it hard to move. The silence of the evening is somehow drowned out by roaring in your ears.

“Kuvira…” The syllables fit differently in your mouth now, a supplication more than a name. You don’t know what you’re asking of her.

She instantly removes her hand from you and stands, taking a step forward so there is more distance between you. “Don’t give me that,” she rasps. She’s facing away so you can’t see her face but the shadow of her figure is completely stiff. “I ask nothing of you and I certainly don’t need your pity. My only desire is that you keep this conversation between us.”

“What are you talking about?” you fret. The snag in your voice causes her to turn towards you, watching you with a semblance of resentment and distress.

“I don’t pity you,” you continue. “This just...I can’t wrap my head around it, okay? Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for the betterment of our people, yes. But I also do it for you. Don’t you see that? I want to be there for you.”

You laugh humorlessly at the stunned expression on Kuvira’s face. “It’s always been you, Kuvira,” you reveal. “From the minute I saw you in that newspaper, it was always you. You’re brilliant and intimidating and strong and powerful. But you’re human. You deserve to be treated like one.”

“Why?” she asks, voice tight. You stand up and force yourself into her space, tossing all reservations aside. “Because every human being deserves that, Kuvira. Including you. Especially you,” you tell her. With a small step forward, you close the gap between you both and shakily rest your palms on her arms.

“You don’t need a reason to be cared for, Kuvira,” you say, letting your hands rub in what you hope is a reassuring movement. “Yes, you are the Great Uniter. You are leading this massive and historic movement that will be remembered for generations. But you get tired. You get stressed. You feel anger and disappointment. I see it. I don’t know if anyone else does but I do. And I want you to hold space for those things.”

At this point Kuvira’s eyes have closed completely and it’s evident that she’s holding her mouth closed with great force. You wonder if anyone has ever told Kuvira these things but the tautness of her body indicates otherwise.

Moments that could be seconds or hours pass before her eyelids flicker open and she’s looking directly into you. She’s looking at something deep inside you and you feel exposed, vulnerable. But this time it’s not dreadful at all. You let her search for what she needs and hang onto her arms as she does.

Without moving her gaze, her hands lift from her sides and pull away her gloves, dropping them to the ground. She moves towards your face, cupping your cheeks with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. Out of its own accord, your head allows itself to sink into her touch and your eyelids flutter close.

The next moment is absolutely surreal. You can’t see it but you feel her face drift towards yours until her steady breath washes over your senses. Her scent is soft and fresh, much like the mist that has settled around you. Her presence is much like the earth itself — firm, crisp, invigorating.

Kuvira’s mouth rests just above yours and you both stand totally unmoving before she finally asks, “May I?”

The “yes” is out of your mouth before you can register the question and then a gentle yet ardent warmth touches your lips and spreads throughout your limbs. Kuvira’s hands tighten ever so softly around your face, pulling you closer yet holding you like a sacred treasure.

Her bare palms against your skin evoke an overwhelming sensation of euphoria — it’s so tremendous it nearly causes your legs to give out beneath you. The initial touch of your lips is tentative as you both process what’s actually happening. You leave your eyes closed so you can focus entirely on every point where Kuvira’s body connects to yours.

Her fingertips resting on your cheekbones, her palms cupping your jaw, the pleasant tickle of her hair skimming across your forehead.

Deep in the most secluded burrows of your mind, you have fantasized over this exact moment so many times but the reality is so much more intoxicating than you could have ever imagined. Kuvira’s mouth is supple and warm, whereas you had always imagined it to feel much cooler. You don’t anticipate the reverent way she holds you in place, with a sweetness that fills your mind with some ethereal haze.

When Kuvira’s lips hesitantly move against yours, the shock in your body collapses completely and you fall against her chest, draping your arms around her neck with a soft whimper.

The pressure appears to set her off as well. Her hands shift slightly so one is twisted in your hair, pulling you closer while the other cups your jaw. A visible shiver ripples through your bones when your lower lip is tugged by the slow drag of Kuvira’s teeth.

She is slow and gentle, gauging your reaction with each deliberate movement. When your embrace tightens, she takes this as encouragement to sink her teeth ever so lightly into the soft flesh, making you gasp. You feel her mouth curl into a grin before she lazily sucks your lip, effectively turning your muscles into a quivering mess.

When you pull away it’s with a great deal of reluctance. You keep your eyes closed, afraid that if you open them you will lose your grasp on the excitement that vibrates through every inch of your body. You feel Kuvira’s forehead rest on yours and her arms settle somewhere along your back. There is silence for a while and you can tell she’s waiting for you to break it.

But the words don’t come, because in your mind a single sound could shatter this magical space in time you’re in. So instead, you let your eyes open and look into Kuvira’s eyes. They are brewing with an endearing combination of uncertainty and bliss.

You smile reassuringly, leaning up just enough to press your lips to the corner of her mouth. A low sigh eases from her chest and her face begins to glow with unquestionable delight.

“Thank you,” she murmurs eventually, pulling your hands into her own and bringing them to her mouth. She speaks the words into your fingers once more, pressing a deep kiss against your knuckles.

You simply nod and don’t bother to conceal the smile her gesture produces. Pulling your hands away, you wrap yourself around her once more, resting your face against the soothing crook of her neck.

With a single kiss to her throat, you seal a silent promise between you and Kuvira. When her arms encircle your head, pulling you closer as her face sinks into your hair, you both revel in the gleaming excitement of what’s to come.

#kuvira #kuvira x reader #kuvira/reader #kuvira headcanons #kuvira legend of korra #avatar lok #x reader #drabbles #also if you go on AO3 you'll get the link to my Kuvira playlist 🤭#sour cherry

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