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imonthinice · 3 years ago

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The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 2/?

Word Count: 2k

Author’s Note: Y/N - your name, A/N - any name (your best friend’s name)

Warnings: Swearing, no beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

Welcome Back! I have, once again, written more of Jason Todd because he’s a fucking teddy bear and I love him.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

Y/N and Jason both returned from that date feeling all giddy about each other, but trying their dammed-est to not let their hopes get too high about the other. However, that was extremely, extremely hard for Jason to do with family like Dick in his life. It’s like coming home to a hopeless romantic of a shipper as a nosey bitch. Lovingly, of course. No one’s like Dick.

“So, Y/N?” Dick asked Jason immediately as he entered the Manor.

“Yeah, what about her?”

“So, many questions: Was that a date? If no, will there be a date? Is there going to be a second date? Do you like her? Do you think we’ll like her? Does she know you’re Bruce Wayne’s son?” Dick rambled at his little brother.

“Okay hold on god damn, yes it was a date, yes there will be a second, yeah I think she’s cool and I like her, slow your roll Circus Boy, I don’t know when she’ll meet you lot, I don’t think she knows who I am, she’s from Metropolis, so I don’t think she knows the Waynes well.” Jason answered Dick with confidence.

“So you like her!” Steph mocked as she entered the hallway, probably heard her brothers talking about Y/N, so she wanted in on it. Somehow she had evaded Jason’s gaze though, so she startled him immensely.

“Jeez, how many of you will scare me today? And yeah, dumbass, I like her. But I’m doing this magical thing called ‘Not getting my god damn hopes up about her since it’s only the first date’ you hopeless romantic fucks.” Jason barked at them.

“Yeah, but you love us.” Dick said.

“That might be true, but your meddling is only going to cause chaos, Dick and Steph.”

“What about my meddling, Jay?” Bruce asked. Once again, he had heard the talking about Jason’s new crush and decided he’d parent the boy on his girl. Jason jumped out of his skin, because, he had once again, not seen Bruce enter the hallway despite his best efforts to not get startled again.

“You, are going to give me a heart attack.”

“Looks like this girl let your guard down.”

“Can we just go on patrol and stop badgering me?” Jason muttered under his breath.

“Nope!” Barbara exclaimed. Clearly, there’s a pattern with Waynes escaping Jason’s attempts to not get startled today, “We’re still going to badger you, Jay,” Barbara finished.

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

When Y/N made her way back to A/N, she couldn’t help but turn her radio as loud as she could and try to take the longer journey back home. Pieces of quiet and tranquility always surprised and drew her in. Like a good book on a Sunday morning before the rest of the bustling city of Gotham or Metropolis awoke itself. If New York never sleeps, she thought, then what the hell do Gotham and Metropolis call themselves. She laughed.

There were a few good things about Gotham, like the people you’d meet on the street at 4am were some of the weirdest but kindest people you’d ever know. It’s like the city radiated off of the energy of the people in it, and in spite of the villains constantly hitting the city with their worst, somehow everyone never let it get to them. It was admirable. Metropolis was the same in that avenue, but it didn’t feel like the cold Gotham streets.

Y/N thought Jason was one of the kinder people she had met in her travels and classes. And she never thought that she’d meet someone she liked this much in her criminal psychology class of all places, but hey, the universe had different pen strokes for her.

She went and parked her car in the driveway of the rental house she and A/N shared. Only the two of them shared it, but if either of them lost their jobs, they’d be looking for another roommate immediately. Pulling out her bag which was full of notes written by Jason, the original notes written by her, and binders upon binders of criminal cases she was looking into at the time, she would get out of her car and begin walking to her door.

Of course, like most people, she would kick off her heels the minute she walked through the doors of the house, to which, A/N paused her music and went to go question Y/N about Jason.

“So, you know how this works, babes, lay it on me, how’s hottie? Is he kind?” A/N pondered.

“He’s so kind, he paid the printing fees for my notes and rewrote all of them, I guess it’s a system for us now. I write the notes in class while he tries to take it all in, we meet up, and he rewrites them all and pays the printing fee.”

“He paid the fee?! At that college?” A/N said, completely shocked.

“Is that shocking?”

“Well, the printing fees are so fucking expensive, hun. Mans must have daddy’s money to do that.”

“Really? Well regardless money doesn’t matter, he’s kind and I can make a name for myself if I graduate at the top of my class.” She said, fully believing this. Smart woman. She knew she could do it.

“I believe in you, do you have homework tonight? I can make dinner for you so you can study.” A/N offered.

“Nah, I’m just going to go file my notes and shower, I’ll come join you and help after.”

“Well, don’t drown.” A/N joked.

“Do you know how much effort that would take?” She laughed as she walked towards her room, once she got there she pulled out her papers and began the slow filing process of them into her desk.

About 2 minutes into this, she got a text:

Hey stranger.

If someone had a heart monitor hooked up to her, they could have bet their last penny on her heart skipping a beat.

Hey Jason. She sent back.

I had a fun time today with you, do you want to do the same thing tomorrow, I could use your fast writing skills to get by in classes. And I just like talking to you. What do you say?

She thought. Maybe something legit is here, hopefully I’m not just used for notes. She worried about that, since she was just a tad insecure about him. He was pretty. She knew she was a looker, sure. But he was something more.

I would love to go on another budget date with you.

Budget? Actually yeah, I guess it is budget lol. Maybe next time I’ll actually take you out to lunch like I said I would.

I, honestly, completely forgot you said you’d take me to lunch, I was just having fun as we were talking.

Me too. You’re a hoot.

A hoot? That’s a book nerd statement if I’ve ever heard one. She joked. She didn’t actually know if he was a book nerd at this time, but they had been joking the entire time when she was filing her notes. She was no where near done filing her notes, Jason was a distraction from that, it wasn’t that important, she would end up finishing it later. She just liked some semblance of organization so she didn’t have to put it off.

I’ll have you know I’ve probably read more books than you.

Well book nerds are cute.

Eventually the messages from Jason and Y/N started slowing, Y/N assumed he was tired or working so she took her chance to file her notes and start running her shower.

Sorry Y/N, this has been fun but I’m going to get really sparse with replies, I got work to do.

That’s fine! Where do you work, by the way?

And she got into the shower. Halfway through her shower her phone pinged, she assumed Jason was texting back, so when she finished her shower, before she even got her towel on, she decided to answer him:

I work at Wayne Enterprises with my dad. It’s quite fun. He had said.

Oh! I’ve heard the owner of Wayne Enterprises is a lovely man, have you met him? She asked him back.

And within an instant, he answered.

He’s my dad, so yeah.

You’re the Jason Todd? Heir to the Wayne Manor and Wayne Enterprises? She started thinking back on what A/N had said. Yep, she thought, Daddy’s money indeed. She started to slip into her pajamas, which were literally a mess and not put together, because this is the real world, not every girl has matching sets, when he answered:

I hope that doesn’t change much, Y/N.

Explains the camera I saw but didn’t mention, and that’s about it.

You saw the cameras? Damn it. I tried to shield you, they may have pictured us together, sorry.

Worth it for a lovely date. I’ve seen worse, my mum works with Clark Kent, who I guess you probably know since he’s Bruce’s best friend, and the paparazzi loves to take Clark’s picture.

Oh yeah, Uncle Clark. Yeah, the pap love him. You get used to it. I guess you somewhat know my family lol.

Nah, that’s about all I know. Wasn’t really interested in drama about you lot because it’s just not my business. Probably not a shared ideal with the general public.

She finished getting dressed and went to go cook with A/N, and share the news.

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

“Girl! You were right about daddy’s money oh my god,” Y/N said when she entered the kitchen.

“Go on,” A/N urged.

“You know Jason Todd? Guess what. That’s hottie from Crim Psych 101.”

“Are you serious? That’s insane. You’re probably plastered across the internet right now for that date,” A/N laughed, “are you scared to date a famous man?” She asked.

“No, he’s really sweet and if this gets serious, I can just block out the flashes.”

The two of them laughed and started cooking. A/N was Latina, so, of course, she was in charge to cook most nights. But Y/N made killer desserts and pizza. Tonight was fajitas, so Y/N kind of sat bat and let A/N do her thing. Trying to know more so one day A/N wouldn’t have to do all the work, Y/N went onto the internet and the first thing she saw?

Globally Revered Son of a Millionaire, Jason Todd, out on a DATE with a Mystery Girl?

Like clockwork, Jason answered:

I guess I have a lot to teach you, and I hope you haven’t been on the internet recently.

I have. Globally Revered Son of a Millionaire. She texted back.

Fuck those damn tabloids. He said, she couldn’t help but agree, the paparazzi seem like they’re very invested in stories that aren’t theirs to tell.

Can’t agree with you more. We should put on a show for them tomorrow, actually give them something to write about.

I like your thinking.

You’ve opened up a lot today.

Is it your turn now?

What do you want to know? You asked him before turning to A/N.

“Tabloids talk too much,” you sneered at her.

“Cat should get their tongue and choke on it,” she finished, “did you at least look cute in their pics?” she asked.

“Somehow. Wasn’t even posing,” Y/N finished.

“Well, food’s done, are you still hungry?”

“Always.”

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

Jason turned to his brother, Dick, Nightwing, and said,

“She knows now.”

“That you’re rich?” he asked.

“Yeah, I guess I have to be more wary of her now,” he sighed, “I hope she’s not in it for the Wayne fortune.”

“Doubt she is if she agreed the tabloids can suck it, Red Hood.”

“I pray you’re right.”

He then drew his guns and fired at the ground underneath their laest venture into crime-fighting. This was gonna be one hell of a ride Y/N embarked on, not even knowing what she was getting into.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x fem!reader #red hood x y/n #red hood x you #batfam #batfamily #batbros #jason todd fluff #red hood fluff #dcu #dc #dceu

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s4ijoh · 4 years ago

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meet me halfway (across the globe). suna rintarou

SUNA RINTAROU X GN! READER

GENRE: slice of life; facetime call; fluff

WORD COUNT: 1.4k+

WARNINGS: established relationship; mentions of stress

in which suna is somewhere far away…

[10:22] rin: “you up?”

[10:23] rin: “big game tomorrow morning.”

[10:23] rin: “cant’ sleep. need to see u.”

the phone buzzing on the bedside table startles you out of your morning somnolence. the empty spot in bed next to you feels a weird type of unfamiliar. you drowsily stretch your arms out, reaching for the ringing device while dragging out a loud yawn.

you are taken aback by surprise once you take a look at the numbers displayed on your phones lock screen: 10:25am. its already past midnight in his timezone. he shouldn’t be up this late.

swiping through your phone's screen, you waste no time in dialling his number once you come across the green facetime icon and luckily, it is only a brief moment until he is picking up and oh boy are you met with a sight to behold. if it werent for your concern, you could’ve just stayed there, marvelling in awe at your boyfriend, sitting shirtless against the headboard in all his glory. his pale skin is gleaming a beautiful shade of orange under the dim light of the table lamp thus reminiscing a statue made of gold; his tousled, black feathery hair sticking in all different directions yet with just a few loose strands cascading down the sides of his temple and framing his face in such way that made him look effortlessly handsome.

he looked as beautiful as ever. however, despite the apparent picture perfect scenario, you would be a fool not to notice the clear signs of restlessness showcased on his features nonetheless.

“sorry, did i wake you?” suna apologizes tenderly with a doting frown on his face once he notices your lids still heavy with vestiges of somnolence just barely peeking from the bottom of the screen. your phone is propped up on your chest, the lower half of your face hidden away from him as you refuse to get up from your comfortable position laying under the warm blankets.

“dont worry about it, baby.” you hurriedly push his apologies aside whilst rubbing the sleep off your eyes to try and not make him feel too bad about it “you know you can call me anytime. im always waiting for you on the other end whenever you need me”

he offers you a subtle smile, although its odd — its weak, not sincere. it is not the usual signature smirk with a teasing remark on the side you earn whenever you say something cheesy. it is also hard to miss the darkening spots growing under his tired eyes, his usual sparkly green orbs now nearing dull, heavy with underlying frustration. it made it all crystal clear.

rintarou is not an outwardly emotional person and definitely not one to voice his concerns. his pleas for help were often left unspoken and it takes a sharp eye to see through his unwavering surface. for the most part, the blank expression he's seen wearing most of the time did a pretty good job at shielding his feelings yet his eyes often betrayed him.

he had taken off a couple days ago to somewhere foreign for an important match. you know how sometimes, before a decisive match takes place, he lets pressure get to that pretty head of his and relies on you to keep him grounded and soothe his racing mind. for the longest time, he had been capable of keeping his emotions at bay and deal with his troubles on his own but ever since you came around, rintarou found himself growing selfish and craving your comfort, finding solace in your reassuring words and warm embrace.

you miss the old days when your lover was just at an arm's length and all it took was for him to say the word for you to drop everything and come running to his house, to hold him in your arms and make it all feel better. you remember people in highschool claiming suna was bound to fade into the background given his lazy tendencies and lack of enthusiasm. (what a waste of potential, they would say) suna would shrug. he never payed any mind to it — you praised him on his unshakable nature. it should be a major ego boost for rintarou to know that, not that many years later and against the spiteful tongues of some of your classmates, he made a name for himself as a first division professional volleyball player, thus proving them wrong.

however, he still has quite a few demons to tame inside his head. one of which was self-doubt.

you let your eyes roam his tired features for a moment. “you need to get out of your head, rin”

suna knew you could read him like an open book. you made him feel vulnerable under your scrutinizing gaze. he felt exposed. to have you stare directly into his naked soul was intimidating, more so than to have you stare at his nude body, like you have done dozens of times before. but just like you did with his body, you had taken your time to get to know every corner of his soul. you knew him like the palm of your hand — both mind and body.

“i know.” he tears his gaze away from yours, looking down while running a hand through his disheveled hair and down to scratch his neck in frustration. “tell me how have your days been?”

the silence of his hotel room was eating him whole and he needed you to distract him. most of the time, suna was fond of the silence. after a rough day he found comfort in laying down in his bed and basking in the quiet. he found peace in it. sometimes it was in the quietness of his own little world that he found the solution to his problems. but upon your arrival to that mysterious world of his, your voice soon became his favorite sound. he craved you to fill in the silence that he once treasured.

and so he listens. suna listens as you talk throughout the night (who would’ve guessed you had just woken up), rambling on about your days as other trivial things — namely how you could never get used to starting the day without his morning cuddles. he found it endearing how you seemed to speak enough for the two of you. he was a man of few words so he was lucky to have found someone to fill in the silence for him. and so he listens until his eyes start progressively feeling heavy, your voice lulling him to sleep.

“hey, baby” he calls in a barely audible raspy voice. suna lays down on his side under the cold unwelcoming bed sheets, holding his phone next to his face on the pillow “put your pretty face on the phone”

a soft smile crawls its way up to your flushed face at his sugar coated words, his voice although drowsy sounding sweeter than saccharin. you were so lost in the lovely image of him that you failed to notice that your face was barely on the frame, just your eyes peeking shyly from the bottom of the screen.

you shuffle in bed, turning on your side to mirror his position. its almost as if you’re not a hundred miles apart and he's lying right next to you, if you squint hard enough.

“there you are” he mumbles weakly under his breath, a loving smile on his pillowy rosy lips that you miss dearly.

his eyes appear weary through the screen yet he never fails to look at you with the utmost love. dumbfounded, you wordlessly stare at each other as you fall into a comfortable silence that is however, filled with a hundred unspoken words.

his love is quiet, hesitant at times but never shallow. he felt deeply and feared he wasn't the best to put it into words so sometimes, his love, it hides beyond lingering stares and shy touches. it remained unuttered most of the time but words are futile when he has shown his devotion to you countless times before.

“hey rin. you think you can go to sleep, now?” you notice him fighting the urge to let his eyes close shut, battling to stay awake for a little longer to try and memorize your face for later so he can dream of you tonight.

he simply nods with his eyes shut, too sleepy to pronounce a single word.

“call me tomorrow after the game, alright?” he nods yet again, noticeably starting to drift away at last but not before muttering a quiet i love you before the last hint of consciousness leaves his body, eliciting a tender smile from you.

“i love you, rin. ill meet you in your dreams tonight.”

[a/n]: so! writing this fic made me realize that im undeniably in love with suna and he now owns a 51% share of my heart. (oikawa. ill never forget you. its not you its me (suna) maybe its time i move on. 🤒 jk jk ill have both pls and ty 🥰)

anyways ye i guess im back from my mini hiatus (as a full suna whore) :))

this is honestly a word dump, initially this was supposed to be like... what.. 500 words long? i just thought of the prompt “put your pretty face on the phone” and the rest is just me pouring my love for him into words ah-ha. (you probably noticed how it is unnecessarily cheesy 🙄)

just for the record!! i havent finished season 4 just yet 🐸 lmao. i took inspiration off of nooras (@/inarzki) characterization of suna because she was the one who made me fall in love with him in the first place.

#suna rintaro x reader #suna rintarou #suna x reader #suna fluff #suna rintarou x reader #suna rintarou fluff #haikyuu x reader

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swaps55 · 4 years ago

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Eulogia

With MELE imminent, sharing a scene I wrote a long time ago, in which Kaidan Alenko mourns Ashley Williams after Virmire, and discovers he isn’t mourning alone.

From here.

The cargo bay was quiet when the elevator doors opened. Most of the crew had dispersed to the Citadel, leaving Kaidan mercifully alone in the cavernous space. Slowly he made his way towards the lockers, the scar tissue and healing sinews in his abdomen like a knot that someone had doused with gasoline and set on fire.

But still healing.

(This is it. This is how I’m going to die.)

Kaidan exhaled.

If he closed his eyes he could still see the numbers in his HUD, always hovering right above zero, a perpetuating terminus never quite reached, never quite avoided.

When he reached the lockers he stopped, hand halfway to the one marked, Williams, A.

If he went by the book this should be Gladstone’s job. There was no reason it shouldn’t be Gladstone’s job.

(You know it’s the right choice.)

But it wasn’t Gladstone’s job.

The click of the locker door echoed loud enough that he flinched before drawing in a deep breath and pulling it all the way open. She hadn’t lied about her uniforms. Every shirt hung crisp and straight on its hanger, in sharp contrast to the chaotic pile of belongings tossed heedlessly on the ground below it. The pile was so impressive he was actually afraid to take anything out, for fear it would cause an outright avalanche. In spite of himself he shook his head and smiled a little.

“Somehow this is exactly what I expected from you,” he said under his breath. He heard a creak behind him and whipped his head around, heart rate thudding as though he expected to find her peering over his shoulder, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. A flush crept up the back of his neck.

Of course there was nothing. Ashley was dead.

His gripped the locker door until his knuckles whitened, leaned his forehead briefly against it. The metal felt cool and hard against his skin. He swallowed once. Twice.

Eventually he straightened with a sigh, tugging at his uniform and rolling his shoulder, as though he could somehow shake Ashley off like working out a crick in his neck. By the time his fingers brushed the cloth of her fatigues their subtle quiver had been swallowed up by the hard-earned discipline he’d practiced so diligently ever since Jump Zero.

(Kaidan Alenko. Always looking for the sure thing. Everything needs to be perfectly defined and spelled out for you, doesn’t it? Sometimes the unknown can be a little exciting, too.)

A static spark stung his finger as he emptied the hangers. He jerked his hand back, muttering, used to the burn, never the timing. Slowly he reached back in, painstakingly folding each shirt with precision he hadn’t employed since Basic.

(You find a wrinkle in my uniform and I’ll clean your pistol for a month.)

He made each crease razor sharp. Not a wrinkle to be found.

Once the clothing had been stored, he began taking apart the pile she had accumulated in her locker. Datapads with poetry. She liked Cummings and Yeats, Plath and Elizabeth Bishop. He remembered Joker saying something about Heinlein. Kaidan hadn’t intended to look through them, but shortly he found himself cross-legged on the floor, skimming through lines and verses. It was easy to tell her favorites – she’d annotated them heavily. Underlined phrases, personal reflections. In some cases she’d made notes that he didn’t understand, such as the one beside a line from a poem by Elizabeth Browning that simply read, Josh, and in parenthesis (the little shit).

She also had a copy of the Bible, which gave him pause. It wasn’t a datapad either but an actual book, pages dog-eared, corners bent and turned down, small makeshift bookmarks such as scraps of paper, paper clips, even a hair tie, sticking out at all angles. Like the datapads it was covered in notes, but all of these handwritten, in scripts of multiple hands. Some tiny and neat, others broad and flowing. Though he didn’t think he’d ever seen a sample of Ashley’s handwriting he immediately found one he thought had to be hers – small but hurried, with the occasional loopy flourish. It tended to start out neat, but quickly deteriorated when her hand couldn’t keep up with her thoughts, until it was nearly illegible.

The inside cover contained four handwritten paragraphs, each in a different script that he recognized from the subsequent pages. Each a note from parent to child, passing the heirloom on with messages of faith and love. Four generations of Williams, right there on one page.

Kaidan ran his fingers across the script, tracing the shallow grooves the pen made against the paper. General David Williams, of Shanxi infamy, bequeathing it to his son Matthew Williams, with a note.

Our faith is our legacy. We keep to it and carry on, no matter the cost. And when that task is difficult, remember those who’ve walked a harder road with lesser reward. We are blessed. I am blessed. Because I have you.

Serviceman Williams then wrote to his daughter, There’s a great wide universe out there waiting for you. I hope you explore it to the fullest. If you ever get lost, look here and see if you can’t find your way. Remember, kiddo. Ad aspera per astra.

Kaidan’s hands loosened, allowing the book’s spine to droop. A few pages whispered past his thumb. The hair tie bookmark fell out, ghosting to the floor without fanfare.

He snatched it up with a hot flash of guilt and held it aloft. What page did it come from? What place had he lost? How important had it been?

He didn’t know.

There was so much he didn’t know. So much he’d never learn.

He stared at the hair tie. Nothing more than a simple strip of dark blue elastic, still twined with a few strands of long, dark brown hair. She probably had a few dozen just like it. She’d worn two in her hair, at all times. One to pull it back into a ponytail, one to wrap around the thick twist of her bun and secure it in place. Usually she kept a third around her wrist, just for emergencies.

But they were never enough to hold back those few stubborn, errant strands that inevitably pulled free to waft about her face.

Moisture burned the corner of his eyes. His fingers curled around the small token, and he put his newly formed fist to his mouth to stifle the sound brewing in his throat. One choked sob got through before he swallowed the rest back, chest aching from the effort. He wicked a thumb across his eyes, hastily tucked the hair tie back between the pages and set the book aside.

This wasn’t his. The grief and memories trapped within the Bible’s covers were for her family, not for him.

But it shouldn’t be for anyone. It should be his things exposed to the harsh light of the cargo bay, meticulously sorted and stored, itemized on a manifest and marked for shipping back to Vancouver, care of Marc and Lora Alenko.

His throat tightened, hitching breath loud against the silent backdrop of the cargo bay. Not even the sound of the engines to provide some white noise.

Nothing like this would be found among his own belongings. He spoke to his folks a couple of times a year. Hadn’t been back to Vancouver in almost three. When he did it tended to be strained small talk and careful avoidance of anything to do with the mutated eezo nodes lurking under his skin. He’d actually thought running off to the Alliance might help. Follow in his father’s footstep. Give them something in common. That, of course, and he’d had nowhere else to go.

Would his own family have mourned him the way Ashley Williams’ would mourn her?

Would she?

Stop.

He raked a hand through his hair, fingers eventually coming to rest against his forehead. His head felt heavy. Too heavy to hold up, like a lead weight.

(They’re more important. We’re as good as dead up here anyway.)

He wondered who would inherit the Bible now that Ashley was gone. One of her sisters, maybe. Sisters who probably had yet to learn about what had happened down on Virmire.

(Kaidan, what the hell are you doing?)

(This bomb is going off! No matter what.)

No matter what. 0.00. He’d been ready for it. Ready for anything. Except Shepard’s hand, grabbing him by the arm.

Further down in the pile he found smaller items. Toiletries. A stuffed hanar, of all things. A bottle of liquor she must have picked up on Noveria.

(Just for the record, I’d look damn good in a dress.)

He swallowed against a lump in his throat, chest constricting. He could see her so clearly, standing at the railing in Port Hanshan, alternating between slouching and gripping the rail with her hands and leaning back on her heels.

(I’m not most people.)

No. She hadn’t been.

He found some packing material for the liquor. It was scotch, an asari brand, maybe purchased to share with Liara. Why it hadn’t been drunk he couldn’t say. Maybe she just ran out of time.

Next was a holo album containing a few photos. People he didn’t recognize. A woman that looked too much like her not to be her mother. A young girl with a grin he recognized from those brief moments in the comm room. Before…

Stop!

Kaidan put the holo aside, then rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. Took a deep breath in. Let it out slow. Clamped his eyes shut. For a moment, everything shook. His hands. The air in his lungs. His skin felt hot, but prickled with gooseflesh.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Eventually he opened his eyes. Went back to the pile. Finish it, marine. Don’t leave her hanging.

In all her possessions were scant, just what she’d been able to obtain or accumulate since they’d picked her up on Eden Prime. In fact, how the Bible and holo album had even managed to catch up with her struck him as a bit of a mystery.

But when he got to the bottom of the pile his hand froze, mouth dry as a shock of white hot cold strummed the length of his spine, numbness dulling his fingers until they felt thick and clumsy.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. After all, she’d died in her combat gear. Not her fatigues. Of course they would be here.

This time no amount of discipline could overcome his shaking hands as he picked one up and turned it over in his palms.

A neon green boot with matching laces, so bright they nearly glowed in the dim light of the cargo bay.

His gut clenched, chest so tight he couldn’t breathe, the edges of his vision blurring until something hot and wet spilled over onto his cheeks.

(Come on.)

(Whoa, where are we going? Anderson said to wait here.)

(Come on, LT. Think we’ll ever get to poke around here again? Live a little.)

Only he hadn’t. She’d been right there. Right there. And he hadn’t.

(Tell me you haven’t thought about this.)

(Thinking’s not the same as doing. Maybe, once all this is behind us…)

He dropped the boot, back slamming against the lockers as he buried his head in his hands, the grief that he’d stored down deep in his chest ever since that timer reached zero breaching the damn in a flood of hot tears. He wept himself hollow, hot, swollen and aching, exhaustion creeping in until he felt it laying heavily over his skin, behind his eyes, in the pit of his stomach. Then he just sat silent, eyes red and heavy, arms resting on his knees.

A hulking shape appeared above him. Had he not felt so drained he might have cared more about discovering he hadn’t been alone after all. But when Wrex’s red, horny crest came into view he met the krogan’s fierce stare without shame. Whatever the krogan had to say, he was beyond giving a damn.

“She was a warrior worth mourning,” Wrex said.

Kaidan straightened his posture with mild surprise, but said nothing.

“Shepard chose his companions well. Even those I at first didn’t give him credit for.” He offered a scaly hand, which Kaidan accepted warily. Wrex hauled him effortlessly to his feet, and gave him a brusque nod.

“You are krantt.”

Kaidan wasn’t sure how to respond, but Wrex saved him the trouble by ambling away without further comment. The krogan had been nearly invisible since their return from Virmire. After finding him here Kaidan wasn’t even sure if he’d even left the ship.

He hadn’t considered the possibility that a krogan might mourn a human soldier. But Ashley…had that effect on people.

With a wipe of his eyes Kaidan began piling Ashley’s things into a crate. Once the locker was empty he sealed it, then closed the crate up as well and entered it into the ship’s inventory for the requisitions offer to offload and send to her family. By the time he finished, his grief had been replaced by grim, dogged resolve.

We’re coming for you, Saren. May God help you, you bastard.

#mass effect #kaidan alenko #ashley williams #ashley x kaidan #not quite willenko #but almost #my fic #me legendary countdown #i'm so used to writing in present tense #that reading my own stuff in past tense is WEIRD

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thoughtsonhurtandcomfort · 4 years ago

Text

Alex meets Ari, epilogue

Content Warnings: demon/incubus character, romance, established relationship, car accident mention, injuries, bruises, arguments, angst, emotional whump, caretaking, consensual kissing and touching, happy ending

Tag List: @deluxewhump @grizzlie70 @gatheringofsuffering @xmonster-under-the-bed @emreads @whumpingmydarlings @endless-whump

Author’s Notes: I can’t believe I actually finished something I started!! Once again, thanks so so much to everyone who’s read these. :)

----

Dating Alex is like dating the weather. There are storms and dreary skies, calm overcast days, days of warm sunshine. Getting to know him is like diving into a lake he thinks is shallow only to find unexpected depths of thoughts and feelings, of humor and intelligence. In spite of the relatively mundane life they lead, Arinn finds he is never bored.

All of it is a novelty. Staying with the same person, of course, takes adjustment. Arinn had such a set routine and methodology when it came to finding sustenance that he feels a little lost when it’s gone. But that void is always quickly filled. They binge shows, they try recipes, they take walks. They go to movies and restaurants and, yes, the mummies exhibit and other museums. It’s the closest thing to a normal life Arinn has ever had, yet it feels strange and exciting.

Perhaps the most astounding thing is the lack of pressure to have sex. Before this he was in bed with a new person a couple times a week. Often someone he didn’t particularly like, just to scrounge for the smallest touches to keep himself going. Worse than that, sometimes he would end up discovered, captured and tormented, with no one to help, not like that day Alex found him. The things that were done to him, that he had to bear alone…

But now he only has sex when he actually wants to, and it feels like a small miracle. He enjoys sex well enough, but is more than happy with cuddling, kissing, even lying with his feet across Alex’s lap. And if the kissing gets heated or Alex looks particularly gorgeous that day, well…Arinn certainly isn’t going to complain if they end up in bed.

A little over eight months into dating, Arinn’s lease ends and he moves in. He spends most nights there anyway, but still, it’s a little daunting. But between their jobs and Alex’s therapy and workouts, it doesn’t feel like they’re constantly around each other. Arinn adjusts to it quickly. He can’t deny how incredible it feels to know without a doubt that he won’t go to bed alone each night.

They both work early shifts, starting before dawn and getting home in the early afternoon. So Arinn isn’t prepared at all when Alex comes home telling him he’s going to have to work an evening shift for a couple of weeks.

During the first week, Arinn returns from work only an hour before Alex has to leave to catch the bus. Other than that single hour and when Alex crawls into bed at night, they have no time together. By Friday, Arinn is beyond ready for the weekend. He works Saturday morning, but he doesn’t care. He’s prepared to stay up late just to greedily take in a little extra time with Alex.

“I’ll be home by 10:30,” Alex promises as he gets dressed.

Arinn has the restraint to wait until he’s finished buckling his belt to go over and kiss him. “10:30. I’ll be here.”

Alex’s smile warms him like nothing he’s ever felt. “Good.” He kisses Arinn once, then again, then a third time. He’s contemplating a fourth when Arinn nudges him towards the door.

“Go on,” he says reluctantly. “Have a good day. Night. Whatever.”

Alex laughs as he slips his shoes on. “I’ll try.” And then he’s out the door.

----

10:30 rolls around. Arinn has showered, tidied up the house, and threw together a small meal for Alex to heat up if he’s hungry. Then he plops onto the couch and waits.

At 10:37 he assumes the bus is running late. At 10:49 he wonders if Alex missed the bus and had to catch another. He bounces his leg impatiently and checks his phone every couple minutes in case Alex calls or texts.

He doesn’t.

By 11:00 Arinn is up and pacing. He calls Alex but gets no answer. He leaves voicemails, his voice shaking. He texts him. Where are you? Are you okay? Did work run over? Please answer me.

He said 10:30, Arinn thinks. He said no later than that. He promised. But he isn’t here…

Arinn doesn’t know what to do. He flips between worry and anger and hurt. What if something happened? What if he went out for drinks with coworkers? What if he lied? The possibilities spiral through his mind unchecked.

Then, at 11:43, there’s a key in the lock. It clicks, and the door creaks open.

Alex steps - stumbles - inside and closes the door slowly behind him before leaning back against it with a long sigh.

He looks like hell. His hair is a mess. There’s a bruise on his cheek. His jacket is torn and his clothes are dirty. He’s got one arm draped across his opposite side and he’s breathing raggedly.

Arinn can’t process this. Alex said 10:30, he wasn’t here, Arinn was going out of his mind, and now he shows up looking like this. It’s too much. Before he can stop to think, he explodes.

“Where the hell were you?! It’s been over an hour! Did you get into a fight or something? What the fuck, Alex?”

Arinn is shaking. If he could just stop and think he’d know he isn’t really angry, just shaken. He would see the hurt in Alex’s eyes. He would reach for him with care rather than lash out with accusations.

Alex’s face hardens. He kicks off his shoes and hangs his keys up on the hook.

“Bus crashed,” he mumbles. “Driver had a stroke or something. Ran off the road and rolled onto its side. None of us could leave until we were all looked over by the paramedics and questioned by the police.” He winces as he removes his jacket. “I was lucky I guess. Just some bruising. Got cleared and got a ride here from a cop. Some people left in ambulances.”

Something sinks inside of Arinn. His resolve crumbles and he’s left at a loss for words.

“Why didn’t you call?” he manages weakly. “I would have - have - “

“Have what? Picked me up? We don’t have a car.”

“You still could have told me! Or at least answered my texts!”

“My phone fell out of my pocket!” Alex bursts out. “It’s probably still in the bus being towed halfway across town by now. It’s not like they were going to let me go look for it while they were trying to pry out people who were trapped!”

He begins to walk stiffly toward the kitchen, past Arinn without so much as looking at him. Arinn follows numbly. He watches Alex take a pack of frozen veggies from the freezer and hold it to his side while he leans on the counter for support. His back is to Arinn.

“Fuck...” he whispers. “Alex, I - god, that’s - I don’t know what to say…” Say sorry you idiot! “Thank god you’re alright...I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you…”

Alex huffs. “Guess you’d have to find a new meal ticket,” he snaps.

As soon as he says it the room feels colder. Tension hangs over them like a dark cloud. There’s a hesitation from Alex. For a moment it seems like he might speak. Might take it back. But he only sighs and carefully makes his way into the living room. Arinn hears him groan as he sits on the couch. He continues staring at the place where Alex was just standing.

Arinn’s feet are moving before he knows what he’s doing. He throws his shoes and coat on over his pajamas and is out the door.

He hears it slam behind him.

He hears “Ari, wait! Shit - “

He keeps going.

He doesn’t look back.

Arinn is a block from the apartment building before he finally slows down. He can barely see the sidewalk ahead of him through the blur of tears.

I fucked up. I fucked up. It’s over. I fucked up.

He’s angry, but only at himself. If Alex meant what he said it has to be because Arinn screwed up, didn’t show him enough that he cared, wasn’t good enough at communicating. He should have known he was in over his head. That it was too good to last.

“Arinn!”

Arinn stops walking. It can’t be…

He whirls around to find Alex staggering after him. Even in the dim light from the street lamps Arinn can see that he’s struggling to remain standing, let alone walk. Yet here he is.

“What are you doing?” Arinn croaks. “Y-you’re hurt, you need to be resting…”

With considerable effort, Alex catches up to him. He’s panting heavily. Arinn can’t decide if he wants to turn and run or pull Alex into his arms. He does neither.

“I’m - sorry - “ Alex gets out between breaths. “I didn’t mean it. I swear. I was angry - it, it just popped out - “

“I don’t blame you,” Arinn says quietly. “Given what you know about me. But if it means anything, I - I don’t see you that way. As just a - a meal.”

“I know,” Alex says, putting his whole heart into the words. His eyes are shining. He looks desperate and fragile and Arinn just wants to gather him close and make it all okay again.

“I know that,” he says again. “Please believe me. I shouldn’t have said that, it was so stupid. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Arinn asks a little too harshly. He flinches and softens his tone. “I attacked you the minute you walked in the door. After the night you had that’s the last thing you fucking needed. I was just scared.” He puts his face in his hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Alex. I don’t know how to do any of this.”

When Alex speaks again he’s a little closer. Just a few feet from Arinn, but still not close enough to touch.

“Me either,” he says. “This is the first time since coming here that I’ve had to actually use the things I’m trying to get better at...it’s like, therapy was just training but this is the real deal. And I’m so scared I’m going to fuck it all up. Like I did tonight.”

“That makes two of us,” Arinn whispers. He lowers his hands and wraps his arms around himself, feeling cold and brittle. “This - us fighting - is what I was most afraid of. I can’t help what I am. If - if it goes wrong, if we spend time apart or - or - “ he can’t bring himself to even say the words break up aloud for fear they will manifest as real. “ - or separate, what am I supposed to do? I can’t just go sleep with someone else if we’re still together, or if it’s unclear! I’m a lot of things but I’m not a cheater. I - I wouldn’t, I couldn’t…”

Alex listens. He always listens. Even when he’s tired or stressed or angry. Even now, when he’s injured and shouldn’t even be out here.

“You’re right,” he says when he’s sure Arinn is finished. “You can’t help who you are. And I won’t ever really understand what that’s like.” He takes a shaky breath. “What if we made some kind of deal or something. Like, if...if it ever comes to that, you can do what you have to do. No questions asked.”

Arinn’s chest feels tight. He’d do that? He’d let me do that? He knows the depth of Alex’s abandonment issues, between parents who were never around and friends and boyfriends who left him when he needed them most.

And yet he’s willing to look past Arinn sleeping with someone else, willing to trust that it’s nothing more than for his survival. It’s an offer that so many others would happily exploit. The amount that Alex is putting his heart on the line is daunting.

“I don’t want that,” Arinn replies, his voice cracking. “I don’t want anyone but you.”

As soon as he says the words he knows that they’re true.

Alex steps a little closer. His expression is indecipherable. His bottom lip is trembling.

“Really?” And oh, the disbelief in his voice is the most heartbreaking thing. Arinn feels a swell of hatred toward every person who made Alex feel like no one could ever want him.

“Yes, really.” Arinn steps a little closer, too. “Alex…”

The next words terrify him. He feels as though he’s hanging off the edge of a cliff, and if he doesn’t make his move, however risky, he’s going to fall to his death. The truth is all he has now. It could ruin everything, or save it.

“Alex, I love you.”

Fragile silence follows, filled only by the soft chirp of crickets, the hum of someone’s television from a house, a train off in the distance.

A car comes up the road. Its headlights illuminate Alex’s face for a moment and Arinn can see the deep sea of emotion in his eyes.

Arinn is tensed so tight he feels like he might snap. He can feel his mind seeking a way out, the walls he’d let down going up -

“I love you too, Ari.”

With those softly spoken words the walls crumble to dust. He stares, dazed, at Alex.

“Don’t say it just because I said it,” he begs. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

Alex is shaking his head. He’s searching for words.

“No, no - you don’t understand, I-I do. I have. For a while now. But I was scared, I didn’t know where we stood. Or if it was too soon.”

“For...a while?”

“Yeah,” Alex says, hanging his head like a chastised child. “Don’t even know exactly when. I think maybe...I was a little in love with you right from the beginning. Which sounds crazy, I know.” He shrugs. “I’m a little crazy, I guess. And a lot to handle. But I know what I feel. And I love you.”

Arinn starts to speak but chokes on a sob. He throws his hand over his mouth. Tears stream from his eyes as he stares at Alex. Alex loves him. No one has ever loved him. He’s never loved anyone. It’s so much all at once, he can’t even get a word out. His sobs grow harder, everything he’s feeling boiling up and spilling over.

He doesn’t see Alex move closer, but he feels it when Alex’s arm wraps around him. He’s right here, warm and solid and real. He loves me…

Arinn finds himself pulled in by his gravity, leaning closer until he can bury his face in Alex’s shoulder. Alex tips his head to rest against Arinn’s.

“Please come home,” Alex whispers. “Please.”

Something between a hiccup and a laugh bubbles out of Arinn. “Of course I’m fucking coming home,” he says, the words half muffled into Alex’s shirt. He slips his arm around Alex’s uninjured side and holds on desperately. Alex kisses his head. Arinn doesn’t comment on the tears he feels drip into his hair from Alex’s cheek.

They stay like that until Arinn’s sobs cease and Alex’s breathing calms. By then it must be near one in the morning. A chill runs through Alex and his breath hitches as the movement jostles his injuries. The sound finally spurs Arinn into action.

“Come on,” he says, gently easing Alex’s face up. Alex looks like he could fall asleep where he’s standing. Arinn cups his cheek and kisses him deeply. “You’ve had a long day. Let me take care of you.”

Alex nods gratefully. He remains glued to his side, leaning heavily against Arinn as they slowly make the walk back.

----

Arinn’s hands shake as he prepares two cups of tea. In the quiet of the apartment there’s nothing stopping him from turning over the events of the night in his mind.

Tonight things came too close to ending, in more ways than one. If Alex hadn’t followed him he doesn’t know if they could have salvaged things the next day or not. He’s never done this. He doesn’t know when to keep fighting and when to give up. Tonight...tonight he gave up too quickly.

But what has him more shaken is the crash Alex was in. What he said was right: he was lucky. Arinn hates that he’s hurt at all, but it could have been so much worse. He could have been hospitalized, paralyzed, concussed, killed…

Arinn shudders and nearly drops the kettle as he goes to put it back. He stops and takes a few deep breaths to calm himself. He’s okay. He’s okay.

He sets the cups on a tray - a real tray, not the baking pan Alex once brought him breakfast on - and carries them to the bedroom, trying to appear more together than he feels.

Alex is resting on the bed with his eyes closed, breathing softly. When they got back he managed to remain sitting up long enough for Arinn to peel off his ruined clothes and get some boxers onto him, then he flopped back against the pillows with a groan while Arinn maneuvered his legs onto the bed and pulled a sheet up to his waist.

Arinn sets the tray on the bedside table and looks at him. He focuses first on the slow rise and fall of his chest. He’s okay. He’s okay. It’s impossible for his eyes not to wander to the deep bruising that mars Alex’s skin, from the left side of his face trailing down over his shoulder and arm, his chest and ribs and side, fading out at his hip.

It’s a fucking miracle that nothing is broken. Something must have padded his fall somewhat. Arinn tries not to think about it too hard, because if he does, he imagines Alex’s body being tossed like a ragdoll against unforgiving metal and he wants to scream.

“Hey,” he says. He sits at the edge of the bed and strokes Alex’s cheek until his eyes open. As soon as he sees Arinn he presses his cheek into his hand. Arinn smiles. If he didn’t know better, sometimes he’d think Alex was the one who survived on touch.

“Tea’s ready. I have medicine, too. Tomorrow I’ll go get you something stronger but this will have to do for now. And then we can go to sleep.”

Alex nods, blinking slowly. He turns his face and kisses Arinn’s palm. “Thank you…”

“Stop that. You don’t have to thank me.” He reluctantly takes his hand away from Alex’s face. “Can I prop you up a little?”

Alex nods again, reluctantly. He draws in a sharp breath when he tries to sit up a little so Arinn can put another pillow behind him. “Ah...fuck, it hurts…”

“I know...I know, babe…” Arinn gets the pillow back there as quick as he can and then eases Alex gently back against it. He kisses all over his face in praise. “Just think, if it was worse and you went to the hospital, some nurse could be doing this right now.”

Alex chuckles. “Guess you’re my nurse instead.”

“Hmm. I don’t think nurses are supposed to do this to their patients…” he dips in and kisses him. Alex’s eyes slip shut and he sighs as their lips part.

“No, you’re right,” he agrees. “That has to be against some kind of protocol.”

Hearing him joke around lightens the weight in Arinn’s chest. He kisses Alex one more time and then takes his teacup from the tray and holds it up for him. “Here…good arm only, remember.”

Alex takes the cup with his right hand and takes a sip. He hums with approval.

“This is good.”

“This is how tea is supposed to taste when you don’t over steep it,” Arinn teases gently.

“Guess you’re making the tea from now on.”

“Gladly.”

While Alex sips at his drink Arinn looks through the things he pulled from the medicine cabinet. There are a couple different varieties of pain pills and some sort of bruise relief gel he’s never heard of.

“That’s for work injuries,” Alex says when he notices Arinn holding the bottle. “Doesn’t happen often but sometimes I drop something on my foot or lose my footing and fall. A coworker recommended it. It does help. I’m not sure I’ll be able to move enough to put it on, though…”

“Who said anything about you putting it on?” Arinn turns the bottle over to read the back. “You aren’t moving an inch. I’m taking care of you.”

When Alex doesn’t answer he looks up. His breath catches when he sees the open fondness on Alex’s face.

“What?”

“Nothing...I’m just...really lucky.”

Arinn feels his cheeks heating and he can’t do a damn thing about it. “Well...I am your nurse, right?”

“Mmhmm. My hot nurse.” Alex winks suggestively. In his weariness the gesture is clumsy, but it still makes Arinn’s blush deepen.

“Good lord, you’re already loopy and you haven’t even taken the pain meds yet.” Arinn pops open the bottle and puts a pill in his hand.

Alex reaches for it, but Arinn decides it’s only fair to turn the tables a little. He shakes his head and holds the pill up. Alex’s eyes follow it as Arinn slips it onto his own tongue.

His brow pinches. “What are you - oh - “

Arinn leans forward and kisses Alex slowly. As he does, he slips the pill into his mouth. When he pulls back, Alex is the one blushing.

He fumbles a little with the tea cup and drinks down the last of it, swallowing the pill. He lets out a shaky breath when he’s finished. “Holy shit Ari, you can’t just do things like that. I’m too banged up to - to - “

“To bang?”

Arinn grins. Alex groans, but he’s smiling. “You’re worse than I am.”

“And yet, you love me.” The words are still as foreign on his tongue as they are in his mind.

Alex’s expression turns soft, almost shy. He takes Arinn’s hand and squeezes it. “Yeah. I do.”

Arinn could drown in that deep gaze. To stay afloat he busies himself with opening the bottle of gel and squeezing some out into his hand.

“Alright. Last bit and then you can go to bed.” His hands hover over Alex’s heated skin. He chews his lip. “I don’t want to hurt you…”

“It’ll only hurt at first,” Alex reassures him. “Then it’ll help.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Okay…”

He starts small, rubbing a tiny bit of the gel onto Alex’s bruised cheek. That goes fine. He rubs it onto his arm and shoulder as carefully as he can and Alex barely flinches.

The bruising on his side is the worst of it, though, and Arinn dreads it. But that’s also where he needs this the most.

Arinn gets some more gel onto his palms. Slowly, gently, he smooths it over the tender skin, flinching himself every time Alex makes a pained sound. “Hang in there…” He makes sure he’s covered every inch before finally moving down to his hip. When he’s done he presses an apologetic kiss to Alex’s chest. “All done…”

Alex breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you…” He closes his eyes as Arinn continues trailing comforting kisses up his neck and cheek, avoiding the bruised side.

When Alex’s breathing has evened out, Arinn gathers everything onto the tray and brings it to the kitchen to deal with tomorrow. He makes sure the door is locked, shuts off the lights, and then finally slips into bed beside Alex.

He lies there a while staring at Alex’s silhouette in the darkened room. Alex is so still, his breaths so slow, that Arinn assumes he must be sleeping. So it’s a surprise when his eyes open and he turns his head to meet Arinn’s gaze.

“You’re too far away,” he mumbles sleepily.

Arinn exhales. “I can’t exactly sprawl on top of you right now,” he whispers back.

“Then just…” he pats the small but notable empty space between them.

How can he not give in? At least it’s Alex’s uninjured side. He presses up close to him and holds his arm like a child holding a stuffed animal. “Better?”

“Better.”

After another stretch of silence, Arinn can’t help himself. “...Alex?”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t...can’t stop thinking about how it could have been so much worse…”

His tail curls over his hip, brushing against Alex’s hand where it lies on the bed. Alex cradles it and strokes it with his thumb.

“But it wasn’t. I’m right here, Ari.”

“But if you weren’t...if you hadn’t made it...you never would have known...” he nearly chokes on the whispered words.

“Known?”

“That I love you.”

“...neither would you,” Alex replies.

Arinn holds his arm a little tighter. He hadn’t thought of it the other way around, but Alex is right. In their fear and insecurity they both held in something the other desperately needed to hear.

“But now - “ Alex’s words are broken by a big yawn. “ - now we know…”

Arinn kisses his shoulder, overwhelmed with relief, gratitude, and love. “Yeah. Yeah, we do.” He kisses again and again, each one slower and sleepier than the last. “Get some rest,” he whispers against his skin. “I’ll be here in the morning.”

And the morning after that...and the next, and the next...

...and every morning after, for as long as you want.

-- The End --

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thebibliomancer · 4 years ago

Text

Archaia’s Jim Henson’s The Dark Crystal Age of Resistance #9

The Journey into the Mondo Levidian Part 1

And back to Archaia’s Jim Henson’s The Dark Crystal Age of Resistance for the last arc!

It makes me sad.

With Netflix deciding not to renew Age of Resistance, the boom of new Dark Crystal material is probably over for a while. I’ve still got this arc and two of the YA novels and that upcoming tabletop game.

But I’ll miss having all this stuff on my to-do list.

On the plus side, this arc is about All-Maudra Mayrin. Much like Ordon, she’s a character ripe to be explored outside of the context of being a parent to a main character. See what makes them tick, what shaped them into the people they became.

And the title is “The Journey into the Mondo Levidian”! That’s a heck of a title!

So let’s get started!

When Pre-Maudra Fara was the co-star of the first arc, she wasn’t the Stonewood Maudra until the last issue. Mayrin starts this story already All-Maudra’d.

Actually. Her mom died just before the story starts. And Mayrin is... still coming to terms with it.

Mayrin: “They told me that I’d never conquer the winds of Raunip’s pass. I can still hear their voices... Especially hers. I can feel her presence. The All-Maudra -- hm -- the former All-Maudra... My mother. Even though Thra has reclaimed her, I can still feel her dancing around me. Inspiring me. Taunting me. Because -- mother, you were the wind.”

Its like mother issues all the way down. Mayrin’s mother gave them to her and she’ll eventually give them to Seladon. And Seladon’s kids.... will live in a world where the Skeksis send out horrible crab monsters to harvest the population.

So, anyway, Mayrin feels like she has a lot to prove, being the new All-Maudra and the daughter of her mother who was apparently just the best.

Mayrin: “No one really knows my true nature. But I will defeat those who doubt my determination. Who call me reckless. Who see my courage as a weakness. I’ll prove them all wrong. Including you, mother. For I am Mayrin, the newly crowned All-Maudra and protector of Gelfling-kind!”

And Mayrin has bigger problems than people just doing things the traditional way without consulting her because thats the way her mom did it.

There’s a growing Sifan separtist movement and wouldn’t you know it, an untested new All-Maudra is the opportune time for them to kick their rhetoric up a notch.

The leader of this movement is an advisor to the Sifan Maudra named Fenth. Apparently he’s such a charming bugger that he made a credible claim to the Sifan crown, which is pretty outstanding considering all the matriarchy the Gelfling got going on.

The takeaway: he is a singular individual.

Fenth is advocating for the Sifan to separate themselves from the other Gelfling clans.

And he’s got kind of a point. Due to the Chamberlain’s wily words, the Gelfling clans view each other with disdain and distrust. But the Sifan are notable in welcoming non-Sifans and prizing individualism over clan loyalty.

They’ve got a good thing going on the sea so what do they need of an All-Maudra?

But going ‘we don’t think we’ll listen to you anymore kthx bai’ is being seen with great alarm among the Vapran, with Mayrin’s advisors urging her to act immediately, don’t even think about it, diplomatic repercussions and trade sanctions!

Mayrin: “ENOUGH! I need time to understand what exactly we are struggling to avoid. Thra will not break apart because of my mother’s passing. Because of me... So... Please, quickly. Tell me, what do I do?”

I think her train of thought jumped the rails right there.

Although, its more likely that she swiftly lost confidence in her own decisiveness halfway through.

Definitely confused the advisors who think she should come up with a plan since that’s what her mother used to do.

But after declaring the meeting done with and then beating herself to hell in the mommy metaphor of flying Raunip’s Pass, Mayrin decides she has a plan.

She’ll just meet with the Sifans and Fenth on neutral/Skeksis ground and tell them she cares about them! Good plan!

Mayrin and her advisor Dot go to the docks, stopping to pick up some goodwill gifts, and meet Captain Kam’Lu of the Scalene Anchor.

Hello, other half of the requisite odd couple!

Kam’Lu and Mayrin do not endear to each other off the bat.

Possibly because when Mayrin shows up at the ship, Kam’Lu is shouting stuff about how the Age of Sifan is here.

Or perhaps its because Dot’s idea of great diplomatic gifts are some kitschy Vapran miniatures that Kam’Lu is just baffled at.

Either way, Mayrin tries to talk about how the Vapra and Sifa clans are alike and should be cool friends but Kam’Lu dismisses it.

Kam’Lu: “Listen. You are the All-Maudra. Sure. Fine. I get it. But I am the captain. And right now, I have to finish loading.”

Mayrin: “I am trying to be your friend!”

Kam’Lu: “These are my friends... You’re just cargo.”

Oof.

Dot breaks up the discussion but they are off on the wrong foot.

Mayrin goes and takes a nap in the cargo hold, out of spite, but Dot convinces her to try again to mingle with the Sifan sailors and prove herself.

Of course, she comes up right when Kam’Lu is talking about how cool Fenth is and how he’s going to lead the Sifa to a bright new beautiful tomorrow.

The Sifan will be the guardians of the waters of the Silver Sea! Masters of the tides of Thra! The ones who’ll inherit Aughra’s wisdom!

Mayrin just sasses back that its a nice, canned speech. A flustered Kam’Lu has to admit that yeah he’s just parroting Fenth’s words.

Mayrin: “Fenth sounds like quite the figure, and I’m sure he inspired you all to have pride in being a Sifan. And I’m not here to ruin your pride and confidence. Just to convince you that alone we are weak, and as Gelfling united, we are stronger!”

And this much better attempt from Mayrin is spoiled when it immediately starts raining and a giant sea monster shows up.

Ain’t it just the way?

The fearsome beast’s tentacles start battering the ship and the Sifan sailors all jump overboard to swim to relative safety.

But Kam’Lu is knocked overhead and is unconscious when he hits the water so Mayrin jumps in after him.

Mayrin: Whenever I jump -- I fall. No matter how hard I try, I always fall. But I must try again. It will hurt, and I may die. I may never succeed. But it doesn’t matter. I can’t control the outcome, but I’m still responsible. I won’t let anyone down...

She pulls Kam’Lu out of the depths onto some floating debris. Seeing the sinking ship, Mayrin has the sinking feeling that her mission is already failed.

And I mean. Its not going great so far?

But on the other hand, there’s three issues left. Lot of time to turn this around!

So right off the bat we have very strong characterization for Mayrin who has a mother-sized chip on her shoulder and a lot to prove. She’s that fun combination of insecure and reckless.

That’s how you get that fun swing between yelling at the advisors for telling her what to do and then asking them what she should do.

And she’s got a lot of determination. She keeps throwing herself at Raunip’s Pass even though she keeps crashing and injuring herself. As Dot notes “I’ve watched as you fail to fly the same treacherous cliffs your mother would fly with ease... But I’ve watched you get back up and try again. And that is why you are powerful.”

Too stubborn to quit.

I have less of a sense for Kam’Lu. He bounces off Mayrin entertainingly enough but he’s been more of a mouthpiece for Fenth’s views than his own person so far. Looking forward to seeing more of him.

Also, skekSa is in this. SkekSaaaaaaaaaa.

I wonder what possible role she could have in this story where the stakes are the Sifan clan’s future!

#dark crystal #the dark crystal #dark crystal age of resistance #Archaia's Dark Crystal #a prequel to a prequel #All Maudra Mayrin #Captain Kam'Lu

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mopeytropey · 4 years ago

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a beer bud series: chapter 11

author’s note: times are tough. stay safe. read some fluffy fic. take care of each other.

Timeline: this is set just before Lincoln and Octavia's wedding, probably in the realm of chapters 11 and 12 of apu, after Clarke has given Lexa a key and asked her to move in (because they are both too gay to function)

Beer: La Ferme Urbaine FARMHOUSE ALE

Influenced by the Belgian saison style, La Ferme Urbaine features a complex blend of German hops, pilsner and pale malts, wheat, rye, oats, and spelt. The beer pours a hazy straw color and delivers a spicy, dry finish.

ABV 7.8%

Posted to AO3 here, or below the cut:

:::

“This is going to require some intense renovations.” Lexa stands with her hands in her front pockets, neck craned towards a dilapidated two-story house on a small corner lot. Its Victorian architecture is nearly eclipsed by peeling paint, broken windows, and a sagging porch, but the way Lincoln’s face beams, it’s as if the house shows no signs of disrepair. “You sure you’re up to task?”

“Hell, yeah.” Lincoln’s confidence is as strong as the late afternoon sun, glaring in a burning orange glow as it reflects off the windows of the historic city buildings surrounding them.

He then launches into an animated diatribe of improvements and restoration projects, pacing the perimeter of the property as he gestures to certain aspects of the house with broad hands. He and Octavia have likely discussed these visions of their future home endlessly as they await inspection reports and closing signatures to make everything final. Their initial offer had been accepted almost immediately, and Lexa has to believe it is thanks to, in part (if not entirely), the authenticity of her good friend’s charming demeanor.

“It’ll be a massive undertaking, but with the right help—”

“You planning to swing a sledge with me during the demo stage?” Lincoln grins.

“God, no.” Lexa nearly shudders. “Though I imagine Clarke might enjoy the destructive release of aggression after some of her more challenging bar shifts.”

Lincoln chuckles and returns to stand by Lexa’s side as they continue to gaze up at the house. “Yeah, Octavia too.”

“I’m so excited for you.” Lexa smiles up at him, nudging their shoulders together as Lincoln meets her eye with a grin of his own. “About everything.”

His upcoming nuptials (which have explicitly been banned from being referred to as a wedding) are less than two months away, and Lincoln hopes to have the keys to their new house in hand before the ceremony. He and Octavia seem happier than ever—real life exemplars of a healthy, supportive relationship between two friends in love. Lexa feels a kindred satisfaction at having found something similar with Clarke. Perhaps no one would have predicted these outcomes, but she and Lincoln have done rather well for a couple of kids who spent years feeling unwanted and unloved.

“What can I say: I’m living my best life.”

“Truly,” Lexa laughs, leaning into the nook of Lincoln’s armpit as he wraps an arm around her shoulders.

Even for early April, the weather has warmed, and the sun hangs in the sky for longer intervals. There’s no longer a bite in the air, even in the cooler, evening temperature. The breezes coming in off of the harbor have a fresh scent, like rejuvenation in the air that will soon breed blossoms on all the trees and fresh shoots of grass beneath their feet.

Lexa is perfectly comfortable in her jeans and a soft, grey henley layered with a pastel flannel that she has permanently borrowed from Clarke’s side of the closet. A closet that they now share in an official capacity. Lexa’s mouth slopes into a stupid grin at the thought of their now shared space. Her stomach swoops because of the new gold key in her pocket that she can feel between her fingers.

“I could say the same for you,” Lincoln tells her, somehow reading her thoughts. “You get all your stuff moved in yet?”

Her breath stutters at the mention of it, at the vision of scattered boxes and her random belongings that have slowly infiltrated Clarke’s space. “My lease isn’t up until the end of the month, so I’ve been moving things gradually.”

“Not ready to fully commit, huh?” Lincoln jabs with a teasing grin.

“I feel exceptionally confident about it, thank you very much.”

“What? Just like that?” Lincoln laughs. “Where is the torturous, internal Lexa struggle? Where are the mountains of anxiety about making the wrong call or moving too fast? Is this what four months as Clarke’s girlfriend has done to you?”

Lexa shrugs as if her chest hasn’t just snapped like a rubber band at being called Clarke’s girlfriend, a title that still sparks jittery excitement. Particularly when she is still grasping the house key that Clarke has recently given her. “Apparently.”

“Well, it’s a good look on you.”

“Thanks.”

They’ve stopped at the house Lincoln intends to buy with Octavia on their way to food and beer at Dockside, having fallen into the habit of visiting the girls during their longest shift of the week. With the mention of Clarke and the newest development in their relationship, Lexa feels a sudden wave of impatience to continue their walk to the bar where she knows Clarke and Octavia will be waiting to greet them.

Lincoln releases a long, contented sigh. “Should we head down to see the girls?”

Lexa exhales in turn and attempts to answer in a measured and completely unhurried manner: “Sure.”

:::

It’s just shy of six when Lincoln pulls open the front door of Dockside, allowing Lexa to walk through into the familiar establishment. Her eyes perform a practiced scan of the room, but Clarke isn’t immediately visible as she and Lincoln head straight for the half-empty bar counter.

Octavia is chatting with other customers as Lexa and Lincoln approach, but she winks at Lincoln, her mouth curving just so, mid-conversation, which has him beaming as he slides into a bar stool.

“That’s my future wife,” he stage whispers, and Lexa can’t help but smile at how ridiculous being in love with Octavia has made him.

They’d been more than halfway to the bar when Lexa had received an S.O.S from Clarke about caffeine and sudden fatigue and exaggerated pronouncements of loyalty, commitment, and sexual favors if Lexa would bring her coffee. Of course, it strictly goes against her better judgement to enable Clarke’s reliance on caffeine in unhealthy measurements.

Then again, Lexa has lost almost all ability to ever actually tell her no because being in love with Clarke has made her better judgements ridiculously feeble.

As such, she stands beside Lincoln with a small half-caf drip in a paper cup from Clarke’s favorite roaster, a generous concession without fully giving in to her girlfriend’s unredeemable habit.

“Clarke’s in the back if you want to bring that to her,” Octavia says as she approaches.

“Oh. Okay.” Lexa starts for the black swinging door of storage before Octavia calls out again.

“Sorry—not the stockroom. The other back.” She’s jutting her thumb over her shoulder when Lexa turns around, indicating the narrow corridor behind the bar counter that leads to Clarke’s office and the back entrance.

“Oh. Right. Thanks,” Lexa smiles. “I’ll be right back,” she says to Lincoln.

“I’m starting a timer on my phone,” he calls after her. “Just because I’m curious to see how long it takes you to deliver a cup of coffee.”

She just manages to stop herself from flipping him off before pushing through the door, leaving him with a meaningless scowl.

:::

Clarke looks up from whatever she’s been working on as Lexa steps into the open doorway with a smile she intends to curb by biting her lower lip.

“Hey.”

“Oh my god, I can't believe you actually brought me coffee. I love you.” Clarke says it offhand, a bit theatrically even, but Lexa’s stomach flip-flops all the same.

She enters the office with a slow stride and gently places the paper cup onto Clarke’s desk. “That’s half decaf, by the way.”

Clarke’s face falls as she eyes the beverage with sudden disdain. “Oh my god, I can’t believe we have to break up.”

“Ouch. It’s nice to see you, too.”

“Get over here.” Clarke has already snared her wrist with a widening smile, pulling at Lexa’s arm so that she is forced to lean across the desk and meet Clarke’s waiting grin. “Hi,” she almost whispers after their lips part.

“Is this how you typically break up with people? Because it’s actually pretty enjoyable,” Lexa murmurs into the space between their lips.

“Shut up,” Clarke laughs before they are kissing again, Lexa’s palms flat against the desktop while Clarke’s fingers thread into her hair.

It’s still a soft greeting and nothing obscene—two people happy to be in the same space again after a short time apart—but Lexa feels the quickening of her pulse all the same.

“Thank you for my fake coffee.”

“Clarke.”

“Lexa.”

Never before has she felt so unapologetically mocked by a single person yet utterly enamored in spite of it. Lexa pinches her lips together and looks away from Clarke’s teasing smile.

“I have to get back out there,” she announces, finally pulling back to stand at her full height. “Lincoln thinks he’s being clever by setting a timer for my return.”

Clarke stands with a laugh. “I’ll come with you. I need a break from these orders anyway.” She holds her fake coffee with one hand and finds Lexa’s fingers with the other. She kisses Lexa’s shoulder cap and regards her fondly. “I’m never getting this shirt back, am I?”

“Especially not now that we’ve broken up.”

The genuine hurt that immediately darkens Clarke’s eyes coupled with her protruding lower lip stops Lexa from moving towards the office doorway.

She stills her movements entirely as Clarke says, “I don’t want to joke about breaking up anymore.”

“It was your joke to begin with,” Lexa softly reminds her, nevertheless smoothing the pad of her thumb over Clarke’s lower lip.

“I know,” Clarke says, frowning still. “It was a stupid joke, and I don’t like to think about it.”

A soft press of her lips to Clarke’s forehead has her leaning into the touch, releasing Lexa’s fingers to curl an arm around Lexa’s waist.

“If you think you would be able to get rid of me that easily, Clarke, we might need to revisit some previous conversations about my intentions in being with you.”

“I seem to recall some very persuasive measures that we engaged in alongside those conversations,” Clarke says, her smile pressing into Lexa’s neck where she has tucked her head beneath Lexa’s chin.

Lexa hums through a smile of her own. If she didn’t know Clarke so well, it would be easy to mistake her perpetual, single-minded focus on sex as a complete lack of sentimentality.

But, Lexa isn’t fooled.

Clarke thrives on crass innuendo and well-meaning objectification (both of herself and Lexa), but she can also be openly sensitive and affectionate. Vulnerable in her need to be near Lexa—to feel safe and connected—as often as possible.

Lexa can’t say for sure if they will always be so desperate for each other’s company, if small fractions of time spent apart will continue to breed an urgency for reuniting. She has been in enough relationships to know that attachments usually fade and the needs of each person most often change over time.

Still, something tells her that when it comes to this relationship, Clarke will break the mold of every truth Lexa has previously known.

“The point is: I’m not going anywhere,” Lexa tells her, and Clarke looks up at her with a renewed smile. “Although, you’re still not getting this shirt back.”

Clarke kisses the underside of her jaw and tightens the hold she has around her waist. “You can keep all of my shirts as long as I get to keep you.”

“Deal,” Lexa answers, finally leading them out of the office.

Lincoln will roast her for having taken an exorbitant amount of time to deliver Clarke’s coffee, but having Clarke hugged against her side, Lexa finds she doesn’t exactly care.

:::

In an hour’s time Lexa has been fed no less than six times—small plates of food from the kitchen’s rotating menu like an assembly line in front of her and Lincoln—and an empty beer glass is no sooner bussed than another full one appears. As it turns out, dating a bar manager and sustaining a lifelong friendship with her business partner’s fiancé is a pretty good gig for libations and keeping well fed. By 8:00, she’s not necessarily sober, but the continuous parade of appetizers that Octavia and Clarke slide in front of Lexa and Lincoln keep her from tipping over the edge into properly drunk.

“This one is my favorite.”

“You’ve said that about the last three.”

Lincoln crunches into his charred nopales and street corn tostada as if to be sure. “Nope. This is the one.”

Lexa smiles around a second bite of her Korean short ribs and savors the balanced marinade—a perfect blend of smoky sweetness and tangy spice.

She is washing it down with a saison from Rhode Island as Octavia swings out of the kitchen and approaches their end of the bar.

“How good is that corn?”

“The whole thing is amazing,” Lincoln tells her.

Octavia swipes an avocado off his plate without hesitation. “What about the Kalbi?”

It sounds conversational, the way that Octavia, as a friend, is asking Lexa about her meal. But, in spending the past year of her life in proximal relation to her, Lexa has determined that, in some capacity, Octavia is actually always working.

“These are easily some of the best short ribs I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah,” Octavia grins. “I’m obsessed with them. Jane has been on staff for less than two months, and she’s already killing it back there.”

“Be sure to extend my compliments to the chef. Beer is incredible, too,” Lexa adds.

“What did Clarke bring you this time? The Foolproof?”

“Their farmhouse, yeah.” Lexa’s attention is drawn to the kitchen doorway again as Clarke exits carrying plates of food. She doesn’t glance in their direction as she drops the plates farther down the bar, but her smile is warm and bright, and Lexa can’t look away.

There’s a generous crowd strung along the bar counter, plus a few of the nearby tables that keep rotating with guests who stay for a drink or two before heading off into the night. Clarke is engaging with the three men who have just received their plates of food, and Lexa’s ears attune to the friendly pitch of her voice while Octavia and Lincoln momentarily hold their own conversation.

Lexa sips her saison and enjoys the way Clarke handles herself in conversation—confident, approachable, friendly, but with a distant professionalism. It’s not until she registers the distinct tone of patriarchal arrogance coming from a few of Clarke’s guests that Lexa realizes Octavia and Lincoln have also clued into the nearby exchange.

From what Lexa can gather, over the din of other surrounding patrons, the men are attempting to challenge the accuracy of Clarke’s knowledge on one of Dockside’s pours. Clearly first-time patrons, to these men, Clarke is easily mistaken as the beautiful bartender in a nice dress with a friendly demeanor who pours their pints and delivers their food. They would never suspect that she is also the unassuming curator of every beer offered within the establishment and a well-read expert in the field of craft brewing.

If she didn’t find misogynistic biases against women in male-dominated fields to be nauseatingly unforgivable, Lexa would almost feel bad for what these guys have coming to them.

“This should be good,” Lincoln mutters with a deviant smile, and Lexa flicks her gaze to find Octavia looking half-amused, half-poised for lethal intervention.

In short, Clarke absolutely eviscerates the men’s inflated egos by seamlessly rattling off a short history on the brewery in question, explaining their evolution of kettle sours and dry-hopped IPAs with thrilling precision, all while maintaining her hospitable smile. The cohort of sexist men are left silenced and stunned as Clarke moves on to tend to the rest of the bar, leaving their gaping jaws in her wake.

“What a bunch of fucking morons,” Octavia grumbles with an eye roll just before another table of guests catches her attention and she is pulled away.

“I love it when she does that,” Lexa says, smiling in Lincoln’s direction.

“It is really gratifying to watch someone’s fragile masculinity skillfully shattered,” he agrees with a satisfied smile. “I’ll never understand it, that intrinsic need to be an expert on everything, but it’s entertaining as hell to see O and Clarke flex on these random assholes who waltz in here and mistakenly try to out-beer them.”

Lexa's smile widens as she and Lincoln clink their beer glasses together. “It really is.”

:::

“One strand of lights.”

“No.”

“A single banner. A classy one.”

“No.”

“Candles. Come on, O, no one can say no to candles.”

“Watch me.” Octavia, who up until this point had been withholding eye contact, gives Clarke a pointed glare. “No.”

Lexa smiles at Clarke’s frustrated groan while sipping her glass of water. Three-and-a-half pints of beer and countless plates of food have left her feeling fully satisfied if not also ready for bed. Clarke won’t close the bar for another few hours, and though Lexa acknowledges this is the reality of their chosen professions, she also wishes to steal Clarke away and take her home for a cuddle.

“Think about Lincoln,” Clarke continues, beating her dead wedding horse, much to Octavia’s dismay. “You’re depriving him of this fanfare, this pizazz, this well-deserved—”

“Don’t drag him into this,” Octavia interjects.

Clarke’s jaw drops. “He’s literally one half of the reason we’re celebrating! And honestly, with how difficult you’re being about this whole thing, it might be more like 70/30.”

Octavia rolls her eyes and starts to walk away, busying herself with clearing empty glasses from a table whose guests have just vacated. “When you two leave, will you take her with you?”

Her voice carries across the now mostly empty bar, and Clarke scowls at Octavia from where Lexa and Lincoln sit at the far end of the counter. They often lay claim to this section of the bar during their Wednesday night visits, and it always feels like a sacred, little huddle.

“That’s a tempting offer,” Lexa answers as Octavia breezes past them to deposit the empty glasses into her bus tub behind the bar.

Her comment successfully erases the look on Clarke’s face as their eyes meet, and she watches Clarke’s frown melt into a dopey smile.

“I’m not leaving you to close by yourself. Stop being so dramatic,” Clarke admonishes, though she is still smiling as her eyes leave Lexa to look over her shoulder at Octavia.

“I’m not by myself,” Octavia grunts, hoisting her black bin of glassware and dirty plates off a low shelf. “Jane and Murph are in the back. Take the orders home and finish them there. You know the last two hours of the night are the slowest midweek. I’ll be fine.”

“Stop trying to get rid of me just because you’re throwing a fit about candles,” Clarke shouts after her even though Octavia has already pushed through into the kitchen.

Their small end of the bar counter temporarily swells with music blaring from the line cooks and back-of-house staff, a stark contrast to the lo-fi hip hop Clarke has playing on a lower volume in the main room.

“I should get home either way,” Lexa admits with a short stretch of her arms, pulling taut the muscles of her back. “You fed me too well, and now I’m sleepy.”

“You’re a grandma every night of the week—in bed before ten or cranky as hell the next day.”

Lexa furrows her brow at Clarke’s unnecessarily accurate depiction of her sleep routines, but Lincoln laughs openly while nudging her shoulder.

“This one’s never been able to burn the midnight oil. Needs that beauty rest to maintain her cheerful disposition.”

“I’m officially breaking up with both of you.”

“Hey.”

Clarke’s pout is back, the color of her eyes saturated in renewed hurt at Lexa’s bad joke. Three-and-a-half beers have also made her forgetful, apparently.

“Sorry, sorry.” She reaches for Clarke’s wrists across the glossed wood of the bar and is gently rubbing her thumbs across Clarke’s pulse points when Octavia reemerges. “Just Lincoln then.”

Lincoln offers a good-natured shrug. “That’s fair.”

“See?” Octavia eyes the affectionate gesture between Clarke and Lexa with a practiced look of exasperation. “You could be doing this loved up shit in the privacy of your own home.”

“Says the one who is about to profess her undying love and commitment publicly in front of all our closest friends,” Clarke argues.

“I feel like if you keep reminding her, she’s more likely to back out,” Lincoln muses, and Lexa wonders if he is only half kidding.

Octavia pins him with a look. “Never.”

It’s a charged moment just for them, despite the fact that Clarke and Lexa are caught in its crosshairs, Lincoln grinning as he catches Octavia’s crooked smirk.

“I really should go,” Lexa reiterates quietly, not wanting to interrupt. Her day will start early the following morning with a delivery just south of Boston, and traffic will be nauseating through Sumner Tunnel. “Are you sure you don’t—”

“Seriously, get her out of here,” Octavia interjects. “She overworks and stays late out of guilt and loyalty, and it’s entirely unnecessary.”

“Keep insisting, and I’m gonna say yes,” Clarke shoots back, almost threatening if not for her smile.

“Good. Then you can stop badgering me about fucking tea lights.” Octavia flicks the side of Clarke’s head and smacks her ass as she passes by to clear more tables, and somehow Clarke is charmed by the violent affection.

“I’ll stay and keep her company,” Lincoln offers. “You guys should take off. Enjoy the early night.” He then leans in closely to them both, his head bent in conspiracy. “And, I really do like those paper lanterns that you guys string up on the deck sometimes.”

The way Clarke’s entire countenance glows, eyes sparkling in victorious mischief, has Lexa’s smile growing in kind.

“I. Love you. You wonderful, wonderful human.” Clarke places her hands affectionately on either side of Lincoln’s face and looks as if she might actually plant a kiss between his eyebrows. “I will not let you down or betray your confidence.” Her tone is gravely solemn as if they are alluding to something far more serious than wedding decor.

“Give me a second to gather my things from the office?” she then says to Lexa, her voice shifting to that delicate timbre that turns Lexa’s beating heart to a useless puddle.

She tells her, “Take all the time you need.”

“I’ll be quick.” Clarke reaches for her fingers, giving them a quick squeeze, and disappears into the back hallway.

“Did I mention we did very well, ending up with these two?”

Lexa looks over to catch Lincoln’s giant grin and feels her own lips stretching into a smile. “I’m proud of us.”

Lincoln very nearly giggles. “Me too.”

A beat or two of amicable silence passes between them, in which time Octavia has returned behind the bar to tend to her few, straggling guests.

“What are the chances Clarke already has a shitload of decorations she’s been stockpiling for this party?” Lincoln contemplates aloud.

Lexa’s response comes without hesitation.

“Oh yeah, without question.”

:::

#a beer bud series #apu #a pleasant undoing #brewkru!

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omniswords · 4 years ago

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Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 14

Happy Chronicles Update! I promise I'm still trucking along on this baby. I think?? We've also officially reached the halfway mark on this installment, which is kind of. Wow. That's WILD.

anyway, I hope you enjoy!

welcome to today’s episode of Luka’s Word to the Wise: whatever it is, it doesn’t have to be perfect. it just has to be good.

thanks, I.

Ivan is right. And technically, so is his Ma, who’s been telling him and Juleka this for as long as he can remember. But Luka will give them the gratification of saying I told you so when this is all over. Even though he could take a stab in the dark and guess that only one of them would take him up on that offer. And it wouldn’t be Ivan. And it wouldn’t be his Ma.

In between messaging back and forth with Bubbles over the next couple of days, Luka puts together a flyer. It’s not exactly the best—just something he threw together on one of those free graphic design websites, definitely nothing like a Gabriel billboard. But it’s punchy, and it fits the vibe, and it gets the overall message across. And more importantly, Juleka doesn’t give him The Look for it. In fact, she smiles over his shoulder when it’s done, and she rubs her fist in his hair, and she affectionately says, “Now can you chill?”

Luka only grins and throws her into a fireman’s carry for another round of ping-pong. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t know how to be totally chill any more.

They pool pocket money, leftovers from past paychecks, to put in an order for copies at the local print shop. Only Rose has ever been; she tells them she’s tagged along with a couple of old friends from an art club to print issues of the comic they’ve been working on together. It’s nice to see her take the lead, point out the best paper stocks and finishes and spot colors, whatever those are, based on what she’s overheard. It certainly beats the alternative: four barely-adults standing awkwardly at the counter, pretending they know what they’re doing.

Even if, according to Luka’s Ma, that’s most of what adulthood is, anyway.

They decide on something glossy because it makes the colors pop, and admittedly Luka has to thank his lucky, anxious stars for saving the file in every format imaginable because he wasn’t sure which one they’d need. Before he leaves them and heads to work on his bike, Juleka gives him another smile, and Ivan manages a single, subtle nod, and Rose’s eyes sparkle. And it’s starting to feel a little less like a thing he needs to do. It’s a thing he wants to do. With them.

And, well. Any bonuses are just that. Bonuses.

These days, Luka’s made it a point to bike past the bakery on his way to work, because if he’s as much of a regular as the Dupain-Cheng family claims, then he might as well act like it. To be fair, he doesn’t always stop in to talk or buy something; in fact, most times he doesn’t. maybe it’s some silly sense of hope that he’ll be seen. That Marinette really did talk to her parents about picking up an extra shift or two behind the counter. That there’s still room on the bulletin board for him—them. And most times, it is just Mrs. Cheng at the storefront, organizing displays or chatting with a friendly customer.

But sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes it is Marinette, idly staring at the window with what he can only assume is her sketchbook at her side and her apron tied around her waist. And sometimes, she looks up at him. And sometimes, she waves and smiles with all the warmth and none of the sweat of July.

That’s why he does it. For the sometimes.

The flyers, once they’re printed, are nothing short of gorgeous, but Luka can’t bring himself to take any of the credit for it. More than anything, he’s just happy to see his bandmates all in on this, even if he did jump in with both feet. Even if they do still rib him during practice about how he’s way too invested in this. (At least Mylène has only nice things to say. He’ll have to remember to order a few extra pastries just for her.)

They split the flyers into four stacks, because of course Mylène insists on helping and of course Rose and Juleka insist on going together. They run or pedal off in different directions once they’ve put a game plan together, and at least Luka can credit them for not teasing when he offers to take the third and fourth arrondissement. They all know it’s where the bakery is, in spite of how he talks up the Place des Vosges. They know, and they don’t have to say anything.

He’s still trying to figure out whether it’s a blessing or a curse to have your real-life friends on your social media accounts.

Even as he’s hanging the flyers in downtown coffee shops, in libraries, on signposts and public bulletin boards, Luka can’t stop staring. With every flyer he pins or tapes up, he finds something new to love about it. A splash of neon color in the top left corner. The jagged, cutting edges of the lettering. The blurred glow of a spotlight. Every time he looks, he gets the feeling that he’s already there. Music pounding in his ears, stage lights burning so bright and hot they make him sweat, fresh calluses on his fingertips that he’ll regret and adore later. He doesn’t think of stardom often, but he imagines this is something close to it.

At the very least, it’s what he would want to make of it.

It’s close to closing by the time Luka arrives at the bakery-patisserie; the usual lingering smells of fresh bread and sugary frosting and the easygoing music are both conspicuously absent when he walks in. But Mr. Dupain and Ms. Cheng are both missing from the storefront, and he has to double check the time on his phone to make sure he didn’t accidentally arrive too late, or that he’s not interrupting some closing routine. It shouldn’t take long; he spent almost the whole bike ride over rehearsing what he needed to say. He looks around cautiously, even clears his throat in case it gets someone’s attention.

It does. Marinette pops up from behind the counter with a squeak, and it startles him so much he nearly drops the stack of remaining flyers in his arms. And that would’ve been a pain in the ass as much as it would’ve been straight out of one of Rose’s cute romcoms for Marinette to round the counter and help him pick them up until their hands brushed over the same one.

Jesus. He really needs to get out of the house on his sister’s date nights.

He really needs to have a date night.

He also really needs to stop thinking about date nights when the person he’d actually consider a date night with is right in front of—

“Luka?”

He blinks to attention, standing awkwardly in the quiet. God, he really hopes he wasn’t staring at her when he zoned out like that. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

Marinette shrugs it off with an apologetic smile. “We’re fresh out of napoleons, you know,” she says casually, slipping past him to flip the sign on the door. “Guess you’ll just have to come first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, I guess I will—wait—” He shakes his head. “No, that’s not why I’m here.”

Marinette pauses at that. Even seems to stand a little taller, intrigued. Hopeful? “Oh…? Then why… are you here?”

Meekly, Luka holds up one of the Kitty Section flyers and nods toward the bulletin board. Here’s hoping he—it— isn’t too much of a disappointment.

Marinette squints at the flyer for a second, and then her eyes widen and spark in delight. She looks… impressed, at least. which isn’t to say she’s never seemed impressed by him before. It just makes all the things he’s been working for a little more worth it. “Wow,” she says. “You really weren’t kidding about being in a band, huh.”

“You know it,” he says with what he prays is a casual shrug; this… wasn’t part of the script. “I don’t wear this thing on my back just to look pretty.”

She stifles a laugh, then claps a hand to her mouth immediately. “Sorry, I didn’t—I wasn’t implying that you’re not handsome—pretty— “

Oh God. She’s stammering. And it’s adorable.

Marinette composes herself with a deep breath and her arms folded over her chest. “There are pushpins in the corner,” she says. “Hang it up wherever you want.”

Except Luka can’t help feeling like she’s got her eyes on him the whole time. Either she’s coming to terms with the fact that he was telling the truth all along, or she’s… judging him. Or the flyer. And honestly, he can’t tell which is worse. “What’s wrong?” he asks once he notices she’s still staring. “Did I put it up at a funny angle or something?”

“No, just… thinking…” Her voice sounds distant, perhaps somewhere he might never find her. But then she snaps her fingers, and she says, “That’s it!”

“Uh.” Luka’s brow furrows. “What’s it?”

“Oh, just… sorry, my thoughts just ran away with me, I guess.” Marinette steps toward the flyer, brushing her fingers over it and wincing. maybe it’s just from the finish; his nails have scraped over then more than once, and it felt just as bad as a chalkboard. “I was just thinking, well… you’ve been good to my parents and all. Why don’t we help you with promotion? You know, put postcards in the boxes or bags. It couldn’t hurt, could it?”

Luka nearly spotters, but the only thing he can manage to say is, “Where am I gonna get postcards?”

“I can make ‘em.” She says it like the simplest, most obvious thing in the world, and looks him up and down when he falters. “If… you and your band are okay with that, I mean. Cause I, y’know… dabble, in graphic design. But I don’t want to impose, if you’re okay with this. It’s your band and all.”

“I can,” he starts to say; then he stops himself, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “I can ask them?” Idiot, he thinks. That wasn’t supposed to be a question. “I’ll let you know what they say. Have to come in bright and early tomorrow anyway, right?”

Marinette only smiles. It’s faint, almost absentminded, but that sweet little tug at the corner of her mouth is hardly lost on him. “You don’t have to.”

“Ask them?”’

“Come by.” Her bag is hanging on a peg by the register, and she’s off rummaging through it before Luka can ask what she means. He gravitates toward her more than he actually walks to her, and by the time he reaches the counter she’s fishing a card out of her wallet. It’s pink and black, decorated with the same spray of flowers and monogram as her apron. when he turns it over, there’s her name at the top, and below that, two email addresses. And two phone numbers.

He looks up, wide-eyed.

“So,” Marinette says. “Unless you’re coming all this way for a napoleon, a pear tart, and my pretty face, I think you’re good.”

“I—” Luka turns the business card over and over as though it will teach him now to speak again. “I guess so.” Does she know he thinks her face is pretty? Wait—of course she does, he gave her that note. Oh, Jesus, does she still have that thing? It’s been weeks. “Well,” he says, scuffing his heel against the tile. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll come anyway.”

Okay, that was definitely not part of the script.

But then, neither is the way her eyes are sparkling. “Well,” she murmurs. “Maybe you will.”

“I should, uh—” He jerks a thumb toward the door. “Go, um. Happy closing?”

She laughs behind a hand, glancing between him and the tacked-up flyer before she grabs a broom and sends him off with a delicate wave. And to be honest, Luka’s never been angry with nature before, but he curses the wind for being so loud that he can’t hear that giggle in his head, over and over. Almost as much as he thanks it for drowning out all the stupid things he said, and the lingering questions of why she offered at all.

Luka’s Word to the Wise, Part 2:

Progress isn’t linear but it sure as hell doesn’t mean you can’t stutter your way through getting a girl’s number and succeed.

#miraculous ladybug #lukanette #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #fic: chronicles of a parisian dumbass #HELL YEAH LUKA THAT'S MY BOY

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vinnwinters · 3 years ago

Text

Draco Malfoy and the most Forbidden of Curses - Chapter 2-

Moments passed as they followed Harry down the cluttered isles of the labyrinth. And then Harry stopped in front of an old cupboard, staring up at a dusty old wig.

What is Potter looking for? It doesn't matter. Nothing Potter does matters anymore. His journey ends here, and mine is just beginning, Draco thought, his lips curving into a sinister grin. Let's start this battle with the most menacing thing I can say, something that will send a shiver to Potter's core.

"Hold it, Potter," Draco said.

Harry Potter stopped and turned around to face them. Crabbe and Goyle stepped forward, their wands already raised.

You failed! Draco thought. That sounded so much more intimidating in my head! Aloud it sounded weak! He doesn't even look scared, only surprised! And you haven't even raised your wand yet! I need to make up for lost ground, I need to —

"That's my wand you're holding, Potter," Draco said, lowering his voice as he raised his wand between the two goons in front of him.

Better! I think he's really scared now, Draco thought, partially satisfied.

"Not anymore," Harry panted, squeezing the wand in his hand.

Draco's wand.

"Winners, keeper, Malfoy. Who's lent you theirs?"

That cocky little — He thinks he can talk to me like — I'll show him, Draco thought. I'll tell him off once and for all, I'll —

"My mother," Draco replied.

Harry laughed and then said something else, Crabbe replied; but Draco heard none of it. Harry's laughter echoed in his mind, repeating like a broken record.

He thinks he's better than me, he thinks he's — Draco thought.

"So how did you get in here?" Harry's voice broke through the fog of laughter entangling Draco's mind.

"I virtually lived in the Room of Hidden things all last year!" Draco blurted out, in a desperate attempt to appear like he was still part of the conversation. "I know how to get in."

Goyle said something, but his words were still muffled in Draco's mind. And then he heard another voice in the distance, Ron's voice.

And then there were shouts, and a loud crash

"Descendo!" Crabbe's voice brought Draco back to the moment.

"No!" shouted Draco, grabbing Crabbe's arm. "If you wreck the room you might bury this diadem thing!"

"What's the matter?" said Crabbe, breaking free of Draco's grip. "It's Potter the Dark Lord wants, who cares about a die-dum?"

These two are useless as always, Draco thought with furious irritation. And now they're going to prevent me from delivering the die-dum to the Dark Lord, and they're going to get everybody killed!

"Potter came here to get it," Draco explained, in a tone as if he was talking to an infant, "so that must mean —"

"'Must mean?" Crabbe snarled as he turned towards Draco, "Who cares what you think? I don't take your orders no more, Draco. You an' your Dad are finished."

"We're taking them as our prisoners," Draco countered. "Not killing them."

"Harry, I found this weird book that —!" Ron's voice came from the other side of the junk wall. "What's going on?"

"You're othing', Draco. I'll kill Potter and his friends. And you're going to watch me do it, starting with that Mudblood," Crabbe snarled. "Crucio!"

The cursed soared through the air, barely missing Harry but sent the stone bust near him flying into the air.

I can't let this happen, Draco thought. I can't let this happen.

And then Hermione darted around the corner, her wand pointed in their direction.

"There she is," Crabbe said with a vile sneer.

"Stupefy!" Hermione shouted with a wave of her wand.

"I can do better than that, Mudblood scum," Crabbe snarled, "Avada Kedav —"

Crabbe hesitated and turned to Draco, who had grabbed his arm and held it tightly in a lock.

"Merlin's Beard Draco! What the hell are you —"

The Stunning Spell struck Crabbe smack in the side of his head, sending him flying backwards into the adjacent wall of rubbish.

"What did you do?" Goyle cried out to Draco as he flung a curse at Ron, nearly missing. "We're on the same side! We're on —"

"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted.

Goyle's wand flew high into the air, vanishing into the sea of clutter about him. Goyle desperately looked around; trying to retrieve the wand, but another Stunning Spell from Hermione sent him flying through the air. Draco watched as Goyle landed in the vast pool of junk, disappearing beneath its surface.

Draco turned back to see his three rivals spread out, with Hermione in the middle, each facing him with their wand out.

"You're all alone now, Malfoy," Harry said. "No one else to hide behind."

"I wasn't hiding behind anyone," Draco snapped.

"You've always been hiding," Harry replied.

How do I get out of this one? I can't kill Potter, and Granger is probably prepared to defend herself, Draco thought. So that leaves…

"I'll take you down myself you cowardly bastard!" Ron bellowed as he charged towards Draco.

"Ron, what are you doing?" Harry shouted.

"Ron, don't!" Hermione said, rushing to stop him.

Excellent, I can always count on a Weasley to provide the perfect opportunity, Draco thought with a grin.

"Crucio!" Draco yelled, sending a bolt of light towards Ron's chest.

"Finite!" Hermione screamed, nullifying his spell.

"Hermione, get down!" Harry shouted, trying to position himself so she was out of his line of fire.

Ron was halfway to Draco now, his face red with rage. Hermione ran frantically to protect him. It was a brief moment of vulnerability in their attack, a moment Draco was not going to let pass.

"Crucio!" Draco yelled again.

"Finite!" Hermione's spell countered his again.

Ron lifted his wand.

"Stupify!" Ron yelled.

"Expelliarmus! Harry yelled, finally having a clear shot.

"Protego!" Draco shouted, and a bright white shield flashed before him a moment before the two bolts of magic could hit him. The attacks bounced off the shield.

"Fini—!" Hermione began, but stopped as Harry's deflected attack knocked the wand from her hand.

She turned as Ron flew by her, knocked backwards by his own reflected attack.

"Ron!" Hermione screamed, watching helplessly as he soared through the air.

Harry hesitated, in shock of what had just transpired.

This is it, Draco thought, this is only chance I'll get of escape!

He lunged towards Hermione, grabbing her and pulling her between himself and Harry.

"Let me go!" Hermione screamed, but her struggling stopped when she saw his wand pointed at her.

"Well, Potter… if I'm going to be accused of hiding, best to play the part," Draco said with a spiteful tone, pressing his wand up against her neck.

Please let this bluff work, he begged silently. Her skin felt warm against his; Draco was afraid to admit that it actually felt nice.

"Release her, now!" Ron roared as he rushed back into the fray. His wand was raised in one hand, and he was holding a large, old book with engraved black leather binding in his other hand.

"Weasleys apparently bounce back quickly," Draco mocked.

"Malfoy, you'll pay for this!" Harry said.

"Not this time," Draco replied, tightening his grip on Hermione. "I think this is the time that I get one of those miraculous 'Harry Potter narrowly escapes the consequences of his own actions' moments. It feels like it's my time to shine."

"Please, Malfoy…," Hermione breathed. "Please let me go and we can talk this out."

"When I get my hands on you," Ron boomed. "I'll —"

"You'll do nothing," Draco snapped. "Nothing or we'll be fighting above your girlfriend's corpse!"

Hermione gasped softly.

I can't believe this bluff is actually working, Draco thought. Now I just need to get to the exit and —

"You harm her and this will be the last place you ever cast a spell!" Harry shouted.

"I'll make sure of that," Ron growled. "I won't let him harm you, Hermione!"

"Care to back up that threat?" Draco snarled back at the two of them.

"Don't worry about me, Ron," Hermione replied weakly. "Just protect yourself!"

"We're getting out of here," Draco said. "And if you two try anything I'll —"

Draco felt the air leave his lungs as Hermione elbowed him in the stomach.

"You Mudblood brat!" Draco snapped, and then moved his mouth like he was going to speak an incantation.

"You won't hurt her! Alvedios Domrehehala!" Ron shouted.

Hermoine's mouth fell open. Draco's eyes widened. A bright flash of blue light engulfed them both, and they were gone.

Silence fell over the room, as Harry and Ron stared at the empty spot where their friend and rival had both been.

"What the bloody hell did you do to them?" Harry shouted, turning towards Ron.

"I cast a spell!" Ron replied, the pitch in his voice higher than normal.

"Well I can see that," Harry countered, "but what spell was it?"

"What? How was I to know? I didn't want Hermione to get hurt, so I cast the first spell I read in this book!" Ron protested.

"You mean a book you just found?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Ron quickly replied.

"You mean a book you just found… here?" Harry pressed.

"Of course, where else would I have found the book?" Ron responded in a tone that suggested that Harry had asked a dumb question.

"That's probably one of Tom Riddles's books, our enemy!" Harry snapped.

"I had to do something, or else he was going to kill her! I couldn't let him kill her!" Ron yelled.

"So again, what exactly did you do to them?" Harry asked.

"That is… well… a good question," Ron admitted, his eyes frantically scanning the book. "I only understood the first few lines; the rest is in a language I don't understand."

Harry looked over Ron's shoulder; at the pages he had open. The incantation itself was easily legible, but the rest was written in a text that looked more like runes than words. The one other line that he could read said "Of new beginnings in a different time."

"Look, I panicked, okay! You can't make me feel any worse than I'm beating up myself," Ron explained, his tone filled with regret.

Harry closed his eyes, and clenched his teeth.

"We need to go, Ron," Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What, no. I'm not leaving her here!" Ron argued.

"We don't even know if she is here!" Harry countered.

"I said I'm not leaving her here!" Ron shouted.

"You can't save her if you're dead, Ron!" Harry yelled.

Silence fell over the room again.

"Look, if we're going to have any chance to figure out what happened, we need to first make sure that Voldemort doesn't destroy everyone at Hogwarts first," Harry said, his tone softer. "First thing we will do after that is try to find Hermione, okay?"

Ron nodded, swallowing hard. The look on his face broke Harry's heart.

"Okay…" he replied slowly. "Save the world, then save Hermione."

"Exactly," Harry said, putting his hand on Ron's shoulder. Author's Note: Thank you for checking out my work! Some of my published books are free to read now with Kindle Unlimited. If you find yourself enjoying my style of writing, then check out my profile to access my original published works, available via my website:www.vinnwinters.com.

#draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #dramione #harry potter #fanfiction #dark #magic #magic realism #adventure #harry potter fanfiction #draco fanfiction #hogwarts

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mason-knight-retired · 3 years ago

Text

Ethan cracks one eye open just in time to see Mason pulling on his clothes.

“Where are you going at this ungodly hour?”

He reaches out, planning to swipe his hand over a curve of bare flesh before it disappears behind a tight black workout suit but Mason steps too nimbly out of his reach.

“It’s three in the afternoon. We’ve been asleep most of the day.”

“Wasn’t that much sleeping, as I recall.”

Mason pauses to throw a meaningful glance over his shoulder. “No, that much is true.”

He watches Mason dress, the other man’s movements confident and comfortable in a way they haven’t been for a long time. Muscles ripple across his back as he pulls on the top part of the suit and Ethan refuses to acknowledge the newly formed scars that paint puckered red lines across Mason’s reinforced skin. He has already spent hours mapping them with his fingers and mouth and in spite of them, Mason looks strong. Confident and comfortable and a far cry from the tired, battered shell dragged halfway across the galaxy following his escape from Omega.

Perhaps, Ethan considers grudgingly – very grudgingly - those alliance scientists weren’t entirely useless after all.

He inches his palm over the sheets towards Mason, contemplating how he’d much prefer to peel the suit back away from Mason’s skin than see him leave. Mason had been warm and responsive under Ethan’s hands earlier, and Ethan wants to do it all over again.

He props himself up on one elbow. “You should come back to bed.”

Mason’s hands pause for a moment then he shakes his head. “Can’t. Marie’s waiting.” Mason pulls on his shoes. “We’re going to go for a run and I need to shake off the cobwebs.”

“There are better ways.”

Mason looks over. “You could come with us, you know.”

Ethan wrinkles his nose delicately. A run seems pointless to him. Where were they running to anyway, on a space station in the middle of space? Ridiculous. Besides, there was no love lost between the commander and himself. He’d sooner spend his time with a chatty volus. At least they might have something useful to offer him.

“This skin wasn’t made to sweat.”

“Says the phoenix,” Mason laughs then and it transforms his face into something beautiful. “Alright, suit yourself.”

“I always do,” Ethan murmurs as Mason finishes dressing. He’s on his way to the door before he stops and turns back, crawling across the mattress briefly to lean down to press a parting kiss to Ethan’s mouth that tastes faintly of mint. Mason draws back and his throat bobs in a rough swallow, as though he’s embarrassed at his domestic show of affection and he’s about to pull away before Ethan captures him, curling his fingers around the back of Mason’s neck to hold him in place as he kisses him back.

Ethan doesn’t stop to dwell on why.

Mason finds Marie waiting for him under a tree by in the Presidium commons.

“Hey, phoenix,” she grins as she leans up to give him a hug. He returns it easily.

“Hey yourself, alliance.”

She taps her wrist and raises her eyebrow. “You kept me waiting long enough.”

Mason clears his throat roughly as he glances away. He doesn’t let himself think about why he was late. “Sorry, we’re a bit looser on schedules than what you’re used to. Afternoon run, though? Still can’t get yourself out of bed before midday, huh?”

“Nope,” she grins apologetically and throws her arms up in a stretch above her head. Her cropped top rides up, baring the smooth skin of her midriff. Even after all these years, Marie is as fit and as gorgeous as ever. Time has been good to her. “So, are you ready for this?”

He grins and bounces lightly on the balls of his feet. He’s warmed up already and ready to put Marie through her paces. “Yep. We’ll start up here in the presidium and make our way to the wards.”

“That’s a long way,” she frowns.

“What’s the matter, Miller,” he taunts lightly. “Don’t think you can handle it?”

“Please,” she scoffs and hip checks him with a roll of her eyes and all of a sudden, they’re fifteen again with the sunlight streaming over their shoulders on the school track. “I’m more concerned about you. All those Cerberus parts rattling around. Wouldn’t want anything to come loose after we just got you all fixed up.”

Mason snickers at that. “Let’s go.”

It feels like they run for days but eventually Mason has to remind himself that Marie doesn’t have the same augmentations he does and he cuts it somewhere near Apollo’s Cafe. Marie has kept pace with him admirably but after a few laps of the Presidium tracks, he can see she’s started to tire.

It felt good though. It felt good to run and fall into the rhythm of his feet against the paths under the Citadel’s artificial sky. It wasn’t the same as Sol’s sunlight and they had to dodge and weave through the population milling about, but it was still pretty damn good.

Not for the first time, Mason finds himself grateful for Marie’s tenacity in pulling together a team to help him. Him, and whatever was left of Project Phoenix that were still human.

“Zeus isn’t going to get pissy at me for monopolizing your time, is he?” Mason asks later, long after they’ve slowed to a walk and grabbed something to drink. It’s been a few hours now and the night tones of the artificial sky were starting to leak through, creating a twilight that had them sitting together at the edge of the lake to watch the changes.

Marie rolls her eyes. “Of course not.”

“Are you sure? You know how he gets. He knows I’ve seen you naked, right?”

Marie blinks then lets out a peel of laughter. She tries to slap his shoulder but he leans out of her reach. “But the question is, do you even remember?”

Mason taps the side of his head. “Better now,” he grins but the smile slips after a moment. “I have you to thank for that, Rie. If you hadn’t brought together that lab…”

Surprisingly, Marie flushes slightly and glances away. “I’d do anything for you boys,” she says softly. “Well, almost anything. But you are looking better. Better than when I first found you, anyway. I never asked… Does this mean… your memories? Do you have them back?”

“Clearer, although there’s still parts missing. Ethan says I should be grateful, there’s three years of hell there that’s better off staying repressed.”

“But you remember everything else?”

“Most of it. I think.”

“So you remember telling my Nonna to kiss your ass?”

“I what?”

“Yes. That first night I brought you home after we started dating.”

He cycles back through his memories but it comes up blank. “No…. wait, are you testing me? That didn’t happen.”

“Mmmhm, it did.”

“Nope. I don’t believe it. I would never say that.”

“You did,” she insists. “You looked her right in the eye and said bacia il mio culo peloso, Nonna.”

“I did? Wow, what an asshole.”

She laughs, leaning in against him. “Michael pranked you. You thought you were thanking her for the food.”

Mason’s heart pangs roughly in his chest as he tries to remember. Michael, Marie’s younger brother, had been cheeky and bright and while Mason doesn’t remember much but a wide smile and the same brown eyes that he shared with Marie, he remembers the warmth and affection he had for him.

“I’m sorry, you know. About what happened. I don’t think I ever said that before. I might not remember everything, but I remember I loved him.”

Marie doesn’t really answer but she loops her arm through his and tucks in against him. She’s warm as the sky dims and the breeze licks away their sweat but their silence is comfortable. He thinks he might even catch the scent of apples in the air.

“We have to make this a regular thing,” she says after a few long moments. “Workout, run, eat… debrief about who’s boyfriend is hotter? Definitely mine by the way.”

Mason wrinkles his nose at that. Nico was passable, if you liked the bulky, broody sort with bad attitudes. “In your dreams, Miller.”

She pounces at that. “Ha! So you admit it! He is your boyfriend! Mads was right!”

“Ajax?” Mason scoffs. “Ah, no. It’s not-“

“Bullshit, Mase. God, the way Maddy tells it, you two have been married for years.”

“No… It’s not… It’s not like that.”

“You need to lock that down.”

Mason lifts an eyebrow. “The fastest way to guarantee Sabre never looks twice at me again would be to-“ Mason wiggles his fingers as air quotes, “’lock that down’… So no, not doing that. What the hell are you listening to Ajax for anyway?”

Marie gives him a look like it should be obvious and he’s a few tools short of a tool shed. “Uh, best friend.”

Mason places a hand on his heart, wounded. “I thought I was your best friend?”

She smiles sweetly and pats his cheek. “Mase, you are my oldest friend.”

“Yeah,” he grins. “So suck on that, Maddy.”

She laughs again and bumps him with her shoulder. “Seriously though, Mase. Do us all a favor and lock that down with Sinclair. Or not.”

“We are not talking about this.”

“You could do better you know. Maybe I should introduce you to someone new. Maybe Harris has a friend-“

“I will pull you down by your hair, Miller,” he threatens.

“Please, I could run rings around you,” and she shoves at him for good measure only this time, his body doesn’t budge. She rolls her eyes and he snickers smugly.

“Damn phoenix.”

“Come on, Commander. Let’s go try this fancy coffee equivalent you’re been harping on about before Zeus shows up and yells at me for stealing his girlfriend.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” but Marie’s expression turns playfully unsure. “I think. He probably would enjoy the chance to yell at you though.”

Mason pulls a face as he climbs to his feet. He sticks a hand out to help her up but she slaps it away with a laugh. “I don’t need your help.”

“Sure you don’t. So where are we going?”

“There’s this amazing place down in the wards Maddy found…”

Mason is eying the brightly colored concoction that Marie swears black and blue is maple flavored ice cream coffee suspiciously as they’re strolling through the market area of the wards when the fight breaks out.

Marie stops dead in her tracks, eyes wide.

“….Isaac?!”

#marie miller #mason knight #maddox gibbons #ethan sinclair #oaslkdjals mason really wanted some marie bro time so i just let them go #also feel free to ignore if it doesn't suit #sometime after lab techs get Mase right #he's almost happy now what the hell #or maybe thats just because hes back in ethans bed idk #this is so self indulgent oh my god

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mypoisonedvine · 5 years ago

Text

Double-Edged Sword: Capt. Syverson x Reader (Chapter 2)

(read the first chapter here)

Word Count: 5.5k (oh lordt I need to be stopped)

Taglist: @fantasygirlsuniverse @agniavateira @fcgrizi @stillreadingfantasy @itsjusttaralove @radaofrivia @p3nny4urth0ught5 @mary-ann84 @snatchedbylele @cheyentjj @maan24 @littlefreya

(emetophobia tw for this chapter)

You had no idea how you were going to survive meeting with him alone after this. Of course, you realized now that this was one of many reasons why what had happened was against the rules, but the realization came just a bit too late.

“Good morning, Captain,” you nodded.

“Call me Sy,” he requested.

“I’d rather not.”

“Alright, well, just know that every time you call me ‘Captain,’ it reminds me of the way you said it when you were bent over that desk,” he explained simply.

“Right,” you nodded. “So, Sy, tell me what you want to do with this mission.”

“You know what I want to do,” he shrugged, and for some reason your mind interpreted that very differently than he meant it. “Divide and conquer.”

“Of course,” you agreed. “I suppose that works.”

“I thought you hated that idea,” he recalled.

“But I really hate having to argue with you about it. Normally I’d fight harder for what I think is the best way. But I’m losing that motivation, suddenly.”

He gave you an over-dramatic pouty look, as if he was mocking you, and you frowned in return. “Aw, you don’t want to argue with me? Is the magic really gone so soon?”

You rolled your eyes. “The idea of any romantic sentiment between us is so outrageously implausible that it doesn’t even work in a sarcastic context.”

“Do you always talk like you’re readin’ an essay?” he frowned.

“You’re making fun of the way I talk?” you responded with an incredulous laugh. “You can’t see it, because it’s clear, but you’re currently sitting in a glass house. I would recommend against throwing stones.”

He laughed, and it sounded halfway between genuine amusement and mockery. “Were you up all night studying your vocab words, so you could better insult me?”

You know what I was doing last night, you instantly thought.

“Insulting you is so painfully easy. I don’t lose sleep over it, in fact, I bet I could do it in my sleep,” you said instead.

“I’m not sure you should be so proud of that. It’s like you go out of your way to make my life miserable,” he groaned.

You sighed, rubbing your temples in frustration. How had it only taken thirty seconds for the conversation to turn into mud-slinging once again? It seemed like no matter how hard you tried, you fell into this dynamic with him. Considering how it went last time, you wanted very much to end it here.

“I apologize. That’s not my intention,” you clarified. He seemed taken aback by that, clearly having prepared for another witty comeback (or at least, an attempt at one).

“Well,” he began, but then trailed off.

“Well?”

“Well, alright,” he finished.

“Well, alright, what?”

“Let’s discuss the mission,” he further explained, saying it as if it were obvious what he meant. You ignored the condescending tone and sat across from him at the table.

“Sit closer,” he offered.

“Not necessary,” you rebuffed.

He unrolled a map of the area for review, and it was incredibly small, so small that you couldn’t see it at all from your seat.

“You’re sure you don’t wanna come closer?”

You got up and moved, closer but still a seat apart from him. Suddenly you felt very aware of his presence-- not to say you somehow weren’t before, just that it was overpowering, that you felt like you could feel heat radiating off of him even though he wasn’t actually that close to you. You were also very aware of how large this room was, and how empty. It was just the two of you and a table, one clearly intended for larger conferences.

You had a somewhat civil discussion of the mission, but you were struggling to focus more than you possibly ever had before.

“You listenin’?” he prompted, and you jumped out of a daydream. The content of the daydream was irrelevant, of course, but it was thoroughly distracting.

“What? Um, yeah, sorry,” you mumbled.

“I’ve never been lost in thought about a mission before,” he chuckled.

“Well, it’s a complex issue…” you trailed off.

“What’s a complex issue?” he pressed.

“From which side to enter the compound,” you remembered.

“Almost had ya,” he frowned.

“I was paying attention,” you defended weakly.

His hand suddenly brushed against your waist and you jumped. You turned and realized he had leaned towards you, though you had no idea why.

“Don’t-” you began, and instantly he moved away.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and you were a little surprised at the complete lack of sarcasm, and the apparent presence of guilt rather than guilt-tripping.

“It’s alright,” you soothed.

“Is it?” he asked with a slightly confused expression.

“It is. It shouldn’t be,” you smirked, “but it is.”

“That describes a lot of things these days.”

You decided not to investigate that topic.

“Anyways, the method of entry…” you redirected the conversation, and even that triggered some gutter-brained aspect of your psyche.

“Right, of course,” he nodded, turning back to the map.

The open-air “gym” (more like a bunch of random benches and assorted free weights, not much of a gym by your standards) was usually housed by only a few soldiers at a time, but as you walked by that afternoon, it was pretty busy. Getting closer you observed that nearly everyone was watching two guys- one Marine, one Army- do push-ups. Each group was cheering on their own, and you realized it was a competition of sorts. And nothing got you excited quite like a competition.

“I can’t, I’m out,” Private Jones, one of yours, weakly announced as he fell to the ground. The Marines booed and groaned but the Army soldiers cheered.

“How many was he at?” you asked one of the Marines.

“Just over a hundred,” he told you. You nodded in approval, even if he’d lost.

“Looks like Army takes the lead, again,” one of the soldiers announced to the crowd. “Next up, sit-ups.”

“There’s so few of us compared to them,” the Marine told you, “we are going to have to start sending in people who already competed.”

“I’m too tired, I don’t think I can go again,” Private Cooper sighed in exhaustion.

“There’s no way I can beat them at sit-ups, that was my weakest category at boot camp,” Private Jones added to the discussion.

“I can compete,” you offered. Everyone, including the Army guys, turned to you. “Are officers allowed in?”

The soldier you were supposed to go up against-- Private Hess, you were pretty sure was his name-- seemed incredulous.

“Fine by me,” he encouraged, clearly seeing it as a perfect opportunity since he was confident he would beat you.

“I need someone to hold my feet down,” you requested.

“I’ll do it,” you heard a Southern-twanged voice behind you, and lo and behold, there he was.

“I’m shocked you’re willing to help me,” you admitted.

“You’re going to get your ass handed to you,” Captain Syverson grinned, “and I want to see that up close.”

You and Hess laid on the ground a few feet apart, and the Captain took his spot in front of your legs, a hand on each boot. You hoped they were extra dirty just to spite him, but then again, he didn’t seem to mind getting dirty very much.

“Sy, you mind counting hers?” the apparent referee asked.

“Sure,” he grunted.

You saw Hess start so you did too, and the Captain counted them for you. You tried not to worry that he would miscount to try to set you back- you liked to think a guy like that believed in the sacred nature of exercise, even if he was a bastard.

It was weird to feel his touch on you, even through boots. It was much, much weirder that each time you sat up, your face was so close to his. Perhaps weirdest was how it made you feel to lay on your back and look up at him basically between your legs.

It was about 50 that you really started to feel it. At 100, the jeers of the crowd fell to silence as they watched closely for any signs of faltering. You heard Hess beside you, and he seemed to be staying pretty consistent, not even breathing that hard. Meanwhile, you were starting to remember why the requirements for men and women were different in this category.

150 was a turning point. You had a pretty good poker face, so everyone else seemed sure that the two of you were still neck-in-neck, but you knew Sy could see the cracks.

It must have been 200 that you heard yourself start to whimper and groan, while Hess was only just beginning to breathe heavily. You didn’t want to make noises of stress but at a certain point you had no choice.

You fell back to the ground at 237 and even though you were barely there a second, somehow the Captain figured out you were considering quitting.

“Keep going,” he whispered to you. You wanted to ask him why he was encouraging you but you didn’t want to give him away, since you could tell he hadn’t wanted anyone else to hear. You fought harder to keep pushing, though each time you came up was a little shakier, and accompanied with a louder noise of pain.

“Come on man, she’s about to quit,” you heard someone say to Hess.

“I don’t know, I’m starting to cramp up,” Hess told them in reply, and you almost laughed because you had been cramping up since 145.

You pushed through the pain and you were afraid your body would fail before your mind did, that you would reach the point of being physically unable to lift yourself. Your core muscles were so tired that pain began to radiate to your thighs and back, and you forced your eyes shut so you wouldn’t have to see your vision go spotty.

You tuned out all the noise except his voice counting. 263, 264, 265…

“I can’t,” you heard Hess groan.

“Come on, she’ll give out any minute!”

“Dude, it hurts!” he complained.

“You can take him,” Sy whispered to you.

“I know,” you whispered back.

It was 300 that he finally gave up.

“What the hell?! You were so close!” the Army boys protested.

“Fuck off,” he groaned as he stood up and pushed them away.

The Marines clapped and you smiled, falling back onto the ground and letting your arms rest.

Sy stood up, extending a hand to help you get up as well. You made a point of standing up without his assistance, even though your entire midsection was literally shaking. Thankfully it didn’t show through the loose-fitting fatigues. He looked like he had something to say, but apparently he didn’t, as you two just stood there in silence for a second.

“That was amazing, Major!” one of your Marines said, and you turned to him.

“Oh what? That was nothing,” you pshawed, even though you were beginning to feel dizzy and a bit nauseous.

In fact, you were suddenly feeling a lot nauseous. You made an excuse to get out of the conversation and slipped out of sight, finding a nearby building to duck behind. Instantly you fell on your knees and retched: you’d heard of this happening to poor enlisted at boot camp, where the constant movement of the abdominal muscles disturbed the stomach to the point of vomiting. Thankfully it wasn’t that severe, though you were very much looking forward to drinking some water and not moving for an hour or two.

Just as you wiped your mouth and stood up, there was Sy-- of course.

“Are you following me or something?” you asked him.

“I just came by to tell you you did a good job,” he explained, “but seems like it took a toll.”

“Sorry I’m not as strong as you expected,” you sighed.

“If you kept going long enough to lose your lunch on the ground… then you’re actually a lot stronger than I expected,” he disagreed.

You paused, not sure how to respond.

“What you think of me isn’t something I prioritize.”

“I know,” he replied. “I didn’t say that it was.”

“And yet, I’d guess that your caveman brain can’t comprehend that what I do has nothing to do with you,” you frowned.

He laughed and you fucking hated that. He never seemed to take you seriously, and he must have been able to tell how angry that made you.

“If you think that what you do has nothing to do with me,” he countered, “then you are much, much dumber than I expected.”

“You are so self-obsessed,” you groaned as you rolled your eyes.

“Maybe, but it doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” he shrugged, and walked away.

As you grabbed your tray of dinner and turned to face the mess hall, you suffered the same dilemma that you’d had basically every day since high school: is there anywhere I can sit?

You were never the sort of person who had a welcome seat at a table.

You saw room next to some of the women in your unit and figured it was the best you could do.

“Hey, I heard you out-crunched Hess today,” Private Feng greeted you, “congrats!”

“It was sit-ups, and he’s a pussy, but thanks,” you smirked. She smiled back.

The two Marines across from you were whispering to each other and giggling. “What are you two talking about?” you asked them as you sat down.

“Oh, nothing,” Private Gonzalez answered, but she couldn’t even keep a straight face and started blushing.

“The hell is this, summer camp?” you groaned. “Seriously, you two are Marines, not Girl Scouts.”

“Fine, fine,” the other-- Private Matthews-- relented, “we were talking about the hottest guys on base.”

“Maybe you actually are Girl Scouts,” you scowled.

“Stop being a Major and just be a woman for five seconds,” Gonzalez requested. Feng and Matthews seemed to react strongly to that, like they were afraid to get in trouble for speaking freely. You sighed, and motioned for them to continue the conversation.

“What do you think of Captain Syverson?” Matthews asked Gonzalez, but somehow you found yourself butting in.

“Syverson?!”

“Yeah, he’s totally sexy, right?” Matthews prompted.

“He’s totally an asshole,” you frowned, putting on a slightly-condescending impression of Matthews’ voice.

“Okay, yeah,” Gonzalez admitted, “but aside from that. I mean, look at him.”

“Aside from that? I’m supposed to just ignore his personality?”

“Honestly,” Matthews began, looking over to where Sy was sitting and looking at him with eyes that were hungry for a lot more than what was on her plate, “with a body like that, he doesn’t need a personality at all, let alone a good one.”

The other girls giggled but you felt an unfamiliar sensation burn under your skin. Jealousy? No, never.

“Don’t you agree?” she prompted you, and the girls looked to you for a response as if it were something deeply important.

“You didn’t hear it from me,” you whispered, leaning in so as not to be heard by others, “but I’m pretty sure he’s gay.”

The girls all sighed and slumped down, going back to their food with a lot less joy than they’d had before. You, meanwhile, enjoyed your food in silence.

Normally you were the sort of person who worked late into the night, but after such an exhausting day, you wanted to get back to your quarters and slip into bed as soon as humanly possible.

The one thing you probably hated most about deployment was the showers. Normally a hot shower sounds great, but when you keep in mind that the water for the showers was heated simply by the outside temperature, you realize that it’s not refreshing at all. Very rarely did you feel truly clean out here.

Your strategy was to let yourself air dry, something that only worked when you had a private bedroom which, thank the heavens, you did at this base.

Of course it’s when you’re naked and dripping all over the floor that there’s a loud knock at your door.

“Gimme a sec!” you shouted out, dashing to grab the nearest clothes-- a tank top and athletic shorts, more revealing than you would normally go for but significantly less revealing than nudity-- and throw them on.

You opened the door the second you were decent, and at this rate you weren’t even surprised to see him.

“Just can’t seem to shake you, can I?” you groaned. He looked at you with wide eyes.

“You look so different in civilian clothes,” he observed.

“It can’t be that different.” “I’m more flustered by this than seeing you naked,” he admitted.

“Is that an insult?” you asked.

“No,” he said quickly, and you nodded. “Can I come in?”

You honestly thought about saying no. He still hadn’t said why he was here. But the way he looked at you had apparently corroded your judgment. You stepped aside and he entered; you let the door shut behind him.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” he observed.

“Yeah, well, neither are you. And your tits are bigger than mine,” you smiled.

“Touche,” he chuckled.

“Can I… help you?” you prompted.

“You did a good job, earlier today,” he congratulated.

“You already mentioned that,” you pointed out.

“I shouldn’t have volunteered to hold your feet down,” he admitted. “The sounds you made were… distracting.”

“Shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise to you,” you smirked, “you’d already heard me sound like that. Could’ve just searched your memory for it.” “Well, the memory is pretty distracting, too,” he smiled.

“Your poor attention span is not my problem, Capt- uh, Sy,” you mumbled nervously.

He stepped closer to you and you stepped back.

“Are you scared of me?” he asked.

“No,” you answered.

“Then why’re you runnin’ away?” he pressed. You wondered if he was being literal or metaphorical.

“I’m not running away,” you explained, “I just don’t want to make the same mistake twice.”

“I’m not so convinced it was a mistake,” he explained.

“You can’t- ugh, you are so…” You started over. “You can’t just keep being a shit to me 23 hours a day, and then suddenly decide you have some love-hate crush on me and expect me to spread my legs.”

He stepped forward again and you were forced to press against the wall. He leaned into you until you were pressed into the corner; It must have been a minute that you two just stood there in silence, his eyes scanning you with fierce intensity, and you looking back with what you hoped wasn’t the deer-in-the-headlights expression that you almost certainly had. His body against yours was such a strange and addictive feeling, and the short sleeves of his t-shirt made it hard to ignore the enormous arms that blocked you into the cramped space.

“You want me,” he said, and you couldn’t tell if it was a statement or just a deadpan question.

“Yes,” you agreed with a raspy voice, squirming against the wall.

“You need me to fuck you, right now,” he continued. You nodded. “Say it,” he demanded.

“Please fuck me,” you begged, swallowing nervously.

He weaved a hand into your hair, his thumb rubbing over your cheek. He leaned down to kiss you and you closed your eyes, but just a second later you felt him step back and his hand pull away.

You opened your eyes in confusion to find him grinning at you with crossed arms.

“Looks like I can,” he announced. Realization dawned, and quickly turned to fury. As always, it was all a part of some fucking game for him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“So, so much,” he smiled.

“You get off on humiliating women, is that it?”

“Not women,” he corrected, “just you.”

“Well, congrats,” you frowned, “because you won! Nothing could be more humiliating than being attracted to you.”

“You know, I really only just wanted to take you down a peg because Marines always act so high n’ mighty,” he explained, finally looking a little frustrated which was comforting for your own anger. “I wasn’t planning on taking it this far. But it’s just too fun.”

You scoffed, but decided his backstory just didn’t add up.

“Hmm, I don’t think that’s it,” you announced, and he quirked an eyebrow in anticipation. “I think you have some horrible achy feelings, and you’re just trying to prove I need you as bad as you need me.”

He didn’t say anything, but his jaw clenched. You smiled.

“Well, newsflash, I don’t. You’re just some underclassman to me, a very out-of-character blip in my sexual history.”

He started to speak but you spoke over him.

“I mean, good for you! You get to say you lived the fantasy, fucked a higher-ranking officer, had some wild desert sex. And me? Well,” you grinned, “I won’t say anything. Because you are just… humiliating.”

You saw the anger in his eyes and had to fight back the desire to laugh. The upper-hand was always shifting between you two, and even if you knew it was temporary, it felt really good to have it back.

He stormed up to you and grabbed you by the neckline of your top, pulling you into an intense, aggressive kiss. Your hands instantly flew to his hips as you pulled him closer by his belt.

Goodbye, upper-hand, you thought to yourself, it was fun while it lasted.

His hands roamed your body as if he’d been waiting a thousand years to touch you again even when it had only been less than a day. The two of you stumbled back until you sat on your bed, but he stayed standing and towered over you, having to bend down to keep from breaking the kiss.

One hand slipped down between your legs and even though it stayed outside your shorts, he still managed to find your clit instantly and press his fingers against it. You whimpered, the sound lost into the kiss, and the fingers just had to push the fabric of your shorts to slide over your clit. You were embarrassed at how wet you were, but somehow the embarrassment just made you feel even more aroused so it was a vicious cycle.

He pressed two fingers into you and you moaned, breaking the kiss.

“Humiliating?” he remembered. “You wish it was someone else doin’ this to you?”

“Not someone else,” you corrected, “anyone else.”

He growled and pressed his fingers deeper into you until you whimpered. His touch was rough but not painful, aggressive but not forceful, and it made you feel something you’d never felt before (or if you had, you’d forgotten).

“Get on your knees,” you commanded him. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t move. “Did I stutter?”

“Or what?” he asked.

“Get on your knees, or leave.”

He dropped instantly, kneeling on the floor in front of you. You sat back as he grabbed the waistband of your shorts and pulled them off. You spread your legs and he instantly dove into you.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, your head falling back. His tongue explored you and his hands gripped at your thighs to pull you closer. He moaned and grunted against your skin and the vibrations shot straight through you.

Your hand grabbed his head just as your hips bucked against his face, pushing his tongue deeper inside you.

“Yes,” you gasped. You felt him smile against you and his teeth grazed your clit sending jolts and shivers up your spine. “Oh, god, fuck,” you groaned.

A few guys had done this to you before, but none of them had done it with this much enthusiasm, certainly. He looked like he was having the time of his life down there-- he looked back up at you and your eyes met, and you wondered if you looked like you were having the time of your life, because you were.

His mouth worked you with such precision, taking you apart piece by piece with mastery and expertise, to the point that you couldn’t believe how well he knew your body already.

“I-I’m close,” you whimpered.

He glared at you as if to say ‘I know.’

You felt your legs start to shake but his hands gripped them to keep them still. Every sensation became so intense, too intense in the best possible way, and Sy showed no sign of stopping.

You weren’t sure if you came more than once, or if you just came for a really, really long time. What you were sure of, sadly was that this was going to make staying away from him so much harder.

His lips moved away from your clit and kissed the inside of your thighs. It was a disappointment and a relief simultaneously, somehow.

He slapped your leg suddenly-- not very hard, but hard enough that you yelped in surprise. He came up from kneeling and started to work on his belt. You just watched him as you tried to catch your breath, and involuntarily bit your lip as he freed his cock from his jeans.

“Want me to fuck you?” he asked in a low growl.

“Last time you asked that, it was a trick question,” you remembered, “so I’m a little hesitant to answer.”

“Alright,” he whispered as he leaned close, his breath warm against your ear, “I’m going to fuck you, Major. Would you like that?”

“Take your shirt off,” you demanded suddenly. He growled, leaning back and quickly pulling it over his head. You smiled.

“Are you done bossin’ me around?” he asked with a frown.

“Just fuck me,” you begged.

“Well, I can’t say no to that,” he grinned, roughly pulling your hips forward and kneeling on the bed between your legs. He used one hand to hold your face up, forcing you to look at him, as the other slid his cock into your folds. He pressed into you slowly, excruciatingly slowly, in fact, and you felt very self-conscious as he watched your face closely.

Even as you tried to suppress your reaction, you were sure you could feel every detail of him as he entered you and the effort was futile.

“You look beautiful like this,” he murmured, and you felt yourself blush.

“Like what?” you managed to ask through heavy breaths.

“Desperate.”

When he was fully inside you, you were confident there was none of you left to take, literally and metaphorically. The way your body accepted him with just enough ease that there was no pain, and yet he pushed you to your limits until your head began to spin… it felt like you were made for each other.

“Yeah,” he agreed, and you hadn’t realized you had said the last part aloud.

As he moved inside you, you started to process that it was all a little too slow, a little too… sensual for your tastes. Not to say you didn’t love it, because you did-- it was that you loved it too much, it made your heart ache in a way you preferred not to deal with at the moment.

“Faster, please,” you whimpered.

“No,” he sternly replied.

“Please,” you begged again. You tried to give him your best doe eyes and pouty lip, a face nobody could say no to.

“Say my name,” he demanded in reply.

You still had some shred of defiance left, apparently, because you were trying to make this less personal and here he was turning it into something it wasn’t.

“Make me,” you whispered.

His hand wrapped around your neck and you uselessly gasped for air, already feeling your face tingle from the lack of blood flow. He didn’t stay long though, pushing you back onto the bed and, finally, fucking you hard.

“Yes!” you yelped.

“Say my name,” he demanded again, grabbing your hips.

“Fuck you,” you growled. He probably realized that he was giving you what you wanted by punishing you for that, but he didn’t seem to mind, roughly rubbing his thumb against your clit.

“Oh god,” you groaned, arching your back.

"So fuckin' good," he groaned.

You felt your orgasm coming on way too quickly, even when you’d already gotten off when he ate you out.

“Say my name,” he asked one last time,

“Sy,” you moaned, “Sy, baby, don’t stop.”

You started to lean your head back but he grabbed your face and forced you to meet his gaze.

“You’d better look at me when I make you come,” he instructed.

You obeyed but it made it so much harder to keep from screaming which was rather inconvenient with enlisted sleeping not too far away.

“You’re so fuckin’ cute,” he announced, and the severity of his tone was mismatched with the sensitivity of his words, “and all mine.”

Your gut twisted in the most delicious way. “Yours,” you agreed fervently, “I’m yours, Sy.”

He smiled as if he was actually surprised, when you thought it had been pretty obvious.

"Sy, I- I'm gonna-" you stuttered.

"Come for me," he said darkly and you weren't sure if it was a command or if he was just finishing your sentence. Regardless, it was very effective.

You unintentionally held your breath and your orgasm hit you so hard that you feared you would pass out or something. Instead your entire body quivered and jerked and you made a noise you were confident that you had never made before in your whole life. He fucked into you as hard as ever, but leaned down, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. Your nails dug into his shoulders but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Inside me,” you managed to beg through the haze of pleasure, “please come inside me.”

He growled and held you so tight that you couldn’t breathe very well but it was worth it as you felt him flex inside you and heard him moan-- not a grunt, not a sigh, but a true, proper moan, and it was the best thing you’d ever heard.

His movements slowed to a stop and you just listened to the sound of his breathing. He rolled off of you after a moment and you laid side by side, staring at the ceiling.

“Is this the part where you kick me out?” he asked quietly after a moment.

“I mean, it’s not like you can stay,” you replied. He sighed and sat up on the bed, and if you didn’t know better you’d say he looked dejected-- heartbroken, even. “But, you don’t have to leave right now,” you offered.

“That’s my reward? I don’t have to leave thirty seconds after we fuck?”

You swallowed. “I… I didn’t realize you wanted to stay.”

“I can take a hint, Major,” he frowned, looking back at you. “I’ll go.”

“No, Sy-” you began, and he relaxed a bit. “I just meant that you couldn’t stay the night. It’s just too risky, you know, we could get caught-”

“Right,” he nodded.

“But I don’t want you to leave,” you admitted.

He smiled and leaned down over you, brushing a hand through your hair.

“Do you want me to stay?” he pressed.

“Just for a while, we can just… talk,” you shrugged.

“Then say it,” he requested.

It wasn’t until that moment that you finally understood why he was always asking you to say that you wanted him aloud. You had just assumed it was a dominance thing, one more tool in his “ways to piss her off and make her feel like an idiot” kit. But you saw now that he was insecure, that he wouldn’t believe you wanted him unless you made it abundantly clear. Now, what would make a guy like him insecure, that was a mystery for another day.

“I want you to stay, Sy,” you said firmly. He kissed you, and it was oddly sweet, sort of domestic even. You had to force yourself not to tense up when you processed that this was a boyfriend/girlfriend sort of kiss, rather than a fuck-buddy kiss or an enemies-with-benefits kiss. You let your hand reach up and wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him in even more. Of course, that was the exact moment he decided to pull back.

“Don’t get greedy,” he scolded with a grin.

“Don’t get snarky,” you returned.

And when he kissed you again you felt that part of your brain screaming at you. This is a terrible idea, you can’t come back from this, all your relationships get fucked up.

But there was another part of you, perhaps your heart, that responded, at least this one can’t get fucked up, because it started fucked up.

#my writing #syverson x reader #captain syverson x reader #henry cavill x reader

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aniray · 4 years ago

Text

Hold Me While I Shatter

Based on Prompt #34 from this list

Mature Content. Please read the tags and proceed accordingly.

For @shakehandswithdevils aka my first Tommy/Lizzie friend

~*~

They were careful.

Her hips rolled over him, cunt clenching tight around his cock.

They wanted to wait a bit.

He had her on the bed and his cock inside her in the span of two heartbeats. It was desperate- this need to be in her, fill her, claim her. He couldn’t wait, couldn’t go slow.

They’d talked about this- the one thing in their marriage they’d actually agreed on.

God, he couldn’t take her moving like this- driving him mad. “Now, Lizzie, fucking right now!”

“Please, please Tommy... Like that…Just- Oh, oh!”

He always pulled out.

His hips drove up plunging his cock in deep. She was so fucking tight. He couldn’t breathe from how good it felt. His hands held her tight against him, locking them together as he filled her, marked her, owned her.

They were always careful- except that night. God, that night.

“You belong to me. My property. No one touches my property.”

“Tommy? Just say something, will ya?”

He blinked, slow, trying to make sense of what Lizzie’d just said. Wasn’t much to say, though, was there? What does a man say when his wife tells him she’s pregnant? When they’d agreed to wait until things had calmed a bit. When they both still remembered the way things had gone last time. He’d almost lost her. He’d almost lost Ruby, too. Made a man rethink the number of children he wanted, watching his wife nearly bleed to death in their bed. And she was thinking it too, Lizzie was.

He watched some emotion flit across her features and knew. Then he looked at her a bit more closely. It always caught him off guard- how lovely she was. Like in this moment when there was so much fear in her green eyes. When she had her head held high, neck long and graceful. When he could appreciate the curve of her cheeks and the plushness of her mouth. Didn’t know what it was exactly. Didn’t know why he was always so surprised when his cock got hard for her as often as it did.

(He knew why. Fuck if he’d say it, but he knew.)

“You’re pregnant. Assume you wanna keep it or you wouldn’t be telling me.” She folded her arms across her chest, like she was angry. But she wasn’t. He’d learned, hadn’t he, her way of hugging herself. His eyes narrowed a bit seeing it. She’d never done it with him before. Always when talking about rough johns or her father- when she felt unsafe but didn’t want it to show. “Lizzie?” She blinked at him, green eyes bright with fire now- to hide the fear. “Not our first go, eh? It’ll be alright.”

Slowly, like she wasn’t quite sure, her arms went back to her sides. She gave him a firm nod and turned to leave. But she’d gotten no more than two steps before she turned back. “If- if you’re gonna leave-” His mind went back to that field- Dangerous and Grace and mist and a gun. And then Lizzie- warm and gentle and asking for a walk home. “I don’t wanna bring another kid into this world just for their father to leave ‘em. I don’t ask much, but...” She took a deep breath and he braced for a blow. “Stay with us?”

It was the hardest blow she could’ve thrown at him.

He stared at her for a long moment. Then his eyes went to the picture of Grace he kept on his desk. Beside it was a picture of Ruby, Charlie and Lizzie. He didn’t look at that one. ‘Come home to me.’ Her voice sent chills along his spine. Her cool fingers ran across his neck. He welcomed both. But he forced himself away from her, forced himself to look at Lizzie. Her eyes said she didn’t expect him to agree. They said she was preparing herself to get rid of a kid she wanted to keep.

“I know my responsibility.” The words came out harsh and begrudging and accusatory. Like it was her fault Grace was gone. Like it was her doing that he couldn’t be with the woman he truly wanted. Like she’d not been willing to let him go- even if it meant letting her child, their child, go in the process. But she didn’t flinch, Lizzie. Because she was still waiting, he realized. For his word. He wished he could hate her, then. Wished that more than he wished Grace back, and didn’t that say everything. “I’ll stay,” he seethed. “Now get out.”

She did.

He bent over his desk, head falling into his hands. Hadn’t he said, after the rally, hadn’t he said he’d be better? Hadn’t he said he’d learn to treat her right? ‘Can you walk me home, Tommy?’ Fuck. “Fuck,” he whispered. Silence answered. Grace had gone. She never stayed long- she hadn’t when she was alive either, though. Didn’t know why he expected any different. It’d always been Lizzie. She’d always stayed, even when he’d pushed her away with both hands.

And now…

And now.

She was smiling.

It pulled him up short seeing it. Oh, he’d caught a smile here and there since they’d gotten married. But usually it died when she saw him, not got wider. Not this one, though. She rushed over to him, grabbing his hand. His brows furrowed in confusion for a second, as she lifted his hand to her stomach. But then he felt it. Barely anything, but there. He watched her eyes light up, brighter than he’d ever seen them. “You felt it?” He nodded. “I’d been nervous. Felt Ruby earlier than this. Thought maybe- Well, doesn’t matter, does it?”

He’d wondered, too, but hadn’t asked. He’d seen the worried look in her eye. He’d watched her- hands pressing against her stomach, concentration etched across her features. But to ask seemed too big a risk. Like if he wanted it, too, fate would take it from her to spite him. The baby kicked again. He felt a small smile of his own work itself free. Lizzie didn’t see, her head bent as she whispered something to the baby.

He pulled his hand away but she barely noticed. She turned, hands cupping her belly, and wandered down the hall. He could hear her voice, soft and happy, chattering all the while. It was…nice. He took in a deep breath and let out a sigh of relief. She was more than halfway through her pregnancy. A few more months and there’d be another Shelby in the family. He glanced at the portrait of Grace hanging on the wall.

Maybe…

He stopped before the thought had even finished. Guilt crept into his veins. He turned to his office. He didn’t even startle when he saw Grace leaning against his office door. ‘Has she taken my place, Thomas?’ He took an unsteady step forward, shaking his head. But she was already gone. He paused on the threshold of his office. He heard the click of Lizzie’s heels coming close again. Turning his head he watched her, lost in a haze of joy- like a mother should be. She glanced up and caught him watching her. And wasn’t she a vision. ‘Has she taken my place?’

He stepped into his office and closed the door.

Too quiet.

The house was too quiet when he got home. It had him reaching for his gun. Had him walking the house room by room. The kitchen was empty, though he’d gotten home in time for supper. His office was locked- as he’d left it. The rest of the downstairs rooms were in order, nothing broken or missing. He made his way upstairs. He checked each bedroom, fighting not to pass them all and go straight for the nursery. But it was empty, too, only the usual mess on the floor.

Finally he went to his room. Glass crunched underfoot when he stepped in. Lizzie’s perfume. The sheets had been ripped from the bed. Lizzie’s vanity mirror was broken, the brushes and hair things were scattered about on the floor. He felt his breathing grow heavy, fast, painful. Because someone had gotten her. No other explanation. Someone had come into his house and taken his fucking wife, taken his kids.

There was blood on the carpet, too much of it. He followed the trail, mind fracturing with every step, to the bathroom. She’d been barefoot. For a moment he could do nothing but stare at that one bloody footprint. Stare and imagine. He blinked. Took in the rest of the room. They’d grabbed her here, then. There was nothing broken, just a bloody handprint on the edge of the tub. He could see her, tired and hurt. She hadn’t been able to fight anymore.

He rushed down the stairs, pulling his key from his pocket. His hands shook as he opened his office. He ran to the phone, mind going through who to call, who to threaten. Because someone had his family. Someone had come into his house, his fucking home, and they’d taken his family. He collapsed into his chair, hands pressing hard against his head. He couldn’t think. They needed him and he couldn’t fucking think. It had to be Mosely. Who the fuck else? Who else could it be? Michael? The Billy Boys? Fucking who? He stood up, hand shaking hard, and reached for the phone.

And froze.

For a moment he thought it was a hallucination. Thought that in the panic he was seeing Lizzie instead of Grace. But when he blinked, she was still there. And he knew- in some dark, broken place he didn’t like to touch- that this isn’t how he’d see Lizzie in a hallucination. He’d see her as she’d been on their wedding day. The day that still haunted him for reasons he couldn’t (he could. He fucking could) name.

“Lizzie?” She didn’t move. She was in the dress she’d worn to Aberama’s funeral. Black, heavy… For mourning. Her face was pale, bloodless in a way that scared him. Her feet were bare, and he could see red staining her toes. “Lizzie?” She didn’t blink. Only reason he knew she was alive was the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

“I scared the kids.” He made his way around his desk. Slowly, so not to startle her. She wasn’t looking at him, wasn’t even sure she really knew he was there. She seemed…so far away. But he nodded anyway, told her to go on. She did. “Thought I’d pissed on myself.” He slowed even more- barely moving, him. “Then I saw the blood. So much blood.”

He’d almost reached her, was a step away when her head fell back. Her eyes fluttered closed. He moved then, wrapped his arms around her and picked her up. It was awkward, she wasn’t so little as she’d been a few months ago. But he managed. He rushed out of the office and up the stairs. He almost carried her to their room, but stopped himself in time. He laid her in a guest bed just as a banging came at the front door. He hesitated, eyes tracing over his wife. He didn’t want to leave her- not like that, lost in this much pain. But…He pressed a kiss to her head, “Not leaving. You stay, too.”

Then he was heading back down the stairs. His hands had blood on them, Lizzie’s blood. It made his chest tight and achy to see it. He opened the door to find Polly and the doctor they kept on payroll. He motioned for them to follow him and led them to Lizzie. He turned to his aunt as the doctor stepped into the room. “Driver showed up with Frances and the kids. Said she’d fired them all. Frances told me she’d lost the baby. But,” She nodded towards the doctor. “Tommy, it still has to come out.”

He nodded, eyes going to Lizzie. She was stirring a bit. He moved into the room and settled onto the bed beside her. Her hand went to her stomach and she smiled a bit, before her eyes opened. For a moment- a spilt second- she looked at peace. Then he watched her remember. Watched the light drain from her eyes. Her hand pressed hard into her stomach- like she could force life back into the child.

“Doctor’s here.” Tears welled in her eyes and Tommy thought he’d never breathe without pain again. She nodded, resignation clear in the dull green of her eyes. A single tear slipped free. Tommy leaned over and kissed it away. Pulling back a bit, he let his forehead rest against her temple. It hid her pain from the doctor’s eyes. It hid it from him, too. His hand found hers between them and he tangled their fingers together. Gave her all the strength he had. It wasn’t much- she was the one who usually kept him together when he was falling apart. But it was all he had, so it’d have to do.

He felt her take a shaky breath, felt her tense beneath him and he knew. “I’m ready.” She wasn’t, but he stayed quiet. He pressed another kiss to her hair and pulled away completely. Except for their hands, he didn’t let go of her hand. “The kids?” He nodded towards Pol. Lizzie met his aunt’s eyes and Tommy watched something unspoken- something closer to the mystic than this realm- pass between them.

The doctor motioned towards Tommy. “If you’re gonna stay, get behind her. She’s weak from having lost so much blood. Prop her up against you.” He felt Lizzie tense at that. Saw the way she turned her head. Things had been better between them. But now- when she was vulnerable, when she needed to trust him with herself and not the kids- she still expected him to let her down.

So he pretended not to notice her surprised gasp when he settled behind her. And he pretended it didn’t fucking break him open the way she was so hesitant to lean into him. Then there was no room for thinking. Because Pol was saying Lizzie was ready. The doctor was telling her to push. And Tommy could feel the strain Lizzie was under. Her entire body tensed and fighting. Every bit of strength she had going into bringing a child into the world that would never see it.

And when she was exhausted, when she said she couldn’t do anymore, he held her up. He whispered that she was strong, that she could do it, that he was proud of her. And maybe it wouldn’t mean anything after all this- maybe she wouldn’t remember any of it- but he meant every word and he could give her that if he couldn’t do anything else. He could fucking give her the words.

She deserves more than words. She deserves fucking more than words.

Lizzie stopped pushing.

The doctor handed Pol a small, messy, blue baby.

Tommy- tears in his eyes he wouldn’t let fall- held his wife while the world fell apart.

She didn’t speak for a month.

Not one word. Not to Charlie or Ruby or Ada or Polly. She slept in the room she’d delivered the baby in. It’d been a boy. She’d whispered the name 'John' before handing him back to Polly. She hadn’t spoken since. She’d not cried since, either. And he’d asked- the staff, the children, Pol and Ada. But it was always the same answer.

Fucking terrified him.

Stepping into the Garrison, Tommy scanned the room for his brother. He didn’t come to the Garrison much anymore. Too many memories. Too many of them with Grace. But he’d gotten a call. Barkeep said his brother was looking for him- that it was urgent. And with Arthur ‘urgent’ could mean fucking anything, couldn’t it. He spotted his brother at a back corner booth. Someone was with him, but Tommy couldn’t tell who from where he was.

Weaving through the throng of people took a bit longer than he would have liked. Shaking hands and shit was annoying before it’d been his career. Now it was just another thing keeping him from being able to take a full breath. By the time he’d got to the booth Tommy’d almost forgotten about the other person sitting with Arthur. But when green eyes blinked up at him in anger, the rest of the room fell away.

“You called him?” He almost flinched at the animosity in Lizzie’s voice. Might have been talking about her worst enemy the way she spat out ‘him’. Arthur opened his mouth to answer, but she was already standing, climbing over him to get out of the booth. “Fuck you, Arthur Shelby. Fucking- fucking- You just couldn’t-” But she was crying now. Arthur had his arm wrapped around her, keeping her from going over him. And Tommy hated what he was seeing. Because she was in pieces, his Lizzie. Falling apart and scrambling to catch the broken bits.

Tommy stepped forward as Arthur slid out of the booth. His brother passed Lizzie over to him. Their eyes met over her head, and Tommy could see the protective side of Arthur coming out. Didn’t happen much, but… Well, they all had a soft spot for Lizzie, his family. “I’ve got her, brother.” A solemn nod from his older brother was the only response Tommy got before Arthur straightened his jacket and walked out of the pub. “C’mon, Lizzie girl. Let’s go home, eh?”

She didn’t fight him. He almost wished she would. That bit of fire, that anger she’d greeted him with, was the first bit of real emotion he’d seen from her in a month. Bad as it was, it was something. And he’d take fucking anything. But she was quiet again now. Still and locked inside herself. Pulling her coat around her tight, he brushed the tears from her cheeks and kissed her forehead before leading her out of the pub.

The drive to Arrow House was both too long and too short. Tommy wasn’t sure if he was relieved to be back or not when they arrived. He got out of the car and went around to open Lizzie’s door for her. He led her into the house and to his office. He couldn’t quite convince himself that she’d be alright alone just then. He was settling in at his desk before he realized that Lizzie hadn’t moved from where he’d left her just inside the closed door.

“Lizzie?”

She blinked. Then she charged him. He’d barely gotten his feet under him before she was swinging at him. Fists pounding against his chest. Legs kicking out, trying for his shins. Nails scratching at his arms. And through it all, screaming. It killed him. This was it. This was what he’d been waiting for- what he’d been terrified of. Because she sounded like she was dying. Like the pain had swallowed her whole and this, this broken desperate voice, was all that was left of the woman he knew. And the tears. God help him. He’d seen her cry, but never like this. Not even that day.

Finally he caught her arms and spun her around. Her back was pressed to his front and he was wrapped around her. She fought him, she fought him hard. But he didn’t let go- couldn’t risk her hurting herself. “Oh, Lizzie,” he sighed. “My Lizzie. Let it out, love. I’ve got you. I’m here. Let it out.” Her head fell back against his shoulder, and he pressed a kiss to her throat. Tears came to his eyes as sobs wracked through her.

“I don’t know what I did wrong.”

His eyes fell closed. “Nothing, love. You didn’t do anything wrong. You loved him. And he knew it. Yeah? He knew.” She let out a sound that sent chills though Tommy’s veins. A keening sound that seemed to hold every bit of the pain she’d not let out before. His arms tightened around her as his eyes squeezed tighter against her pain. “There. There you are. Let go for me, Liz. Let it go.”

It was a long time before she went fully quiet.

Even longer before he let her go.

Later, they laid in bed together. He stared at the ceiling listening to Lizzie breathe. She wasn’t asleep, he wasn’t sure she slept anymore. Words were tumbling around in his head, slipping into his mouth, locked behind his teeth. He’d been swallowing them. But the louder the silence grew, the heavier the space between him and Lizzie got, the harder it was to hold the words in. And she’d asked for words, hadn’t she? Before?

Before…

He barely recognized ‘before’.

“Can you give me a hug?” Her voice was barely anything. He almost missed her words, they were so quiet. “Just once? Not when I’m screaming at you or pushing out a dead baby or nearly getting raped at a race. Just once can it be something-” Her voice broke and something in Tommy broke with it. “Can it be something nice and easy with no hurt to it?”

He pulled her into his arms, wrapped them around her as tight as he dared.

“Don’t know if I should say this. Don’t know if- if now’s the time, but…” He took in a deep breath, air full of the scent of vanilla and Lizzie. “I miss him, too. You- fuck, Lizzie- you weren’t alone, alright, in the hurting. You’re not alone in it.” She pressed closer to him, fists holding tight to his shirt, and nodded. “You tell me, alright? When you’re ready- if you want to try again- I’ll give you another, Lizzie. It won’t replace this one, but…” She shook her head. He wasn’t sure how long she’d feel that way, but he’d not push her. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Alright.”

The silence returned. She didn’t break it this time. But she didn’t pull away and he didn’t let her go. And when she fell asleep it was in his arms. He let himself enjoy it. He let himself sink into the warm weight of her body pressed against his. And when he was sure she was sleeping, sure it couldn’t hurt her, he let the words out.

“I was scared, Lizzie. Thought someone had taken you- taken the kids. And then I was scared I’d lose you- first to the blood, then to the…pain.” His arms tightened around her, just a bit. He was careful not to wake her, though. Couldn’t do this with her awake. (Not yet, but soon. Soon.) “I promised myself- after the field- I promised I’d treat you better. I didn’t. And then again, when you got pregnant, I promised myself I’d do better. And I did that time. I tried, Lizzie. Now I’m promising you. Alright? I’m promising.”

He let the silence rise around them- not so loud this time.

Then he fell asleep, his wife tucked securely in his arms.

It wasn’t perfect.

It wasn’t easy.

But things got better.

#miscarriage #grief #blood #tommy x lizzie #tommy shelby #lizzie stark #lizzie shelby #peaky blinders fanfic

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stevesnailbat · 5 years ago

Text

waiting for (another) girl like you | steve harrington x wheeler!reader

summary: Steve didn’t plan on falling in love with his ex-girlfriend’s little sister, but shit happens.

warnings: angst, past trauma, self-doubt, mentions of death

word count: 2.3K

a/n: this fic was inspired by the ST1 scene where Steve and Nancy were in his bedroom bc waiting for a girl like you by foreigner is one of my favorite songs at the moment and it played during that scene. it might be a little dumb but i enjoyed writing it so enjoy! also the gif used isn’t mine, it’s from google :)

It wasn’t unusual for the Wheeler household to have family dinner on Sunday with the whole family and the kid’s boyfriends and girlfriends. Most of the time, the dining room was filled with happy chatter amongst everyone at the table. The table was still happy for the most part, but it was different for Steve and Y/N this time.

Steve wasn’t sure what was wrong, but Y/N had been dead silent since they started dinner. He felt like he had done something, but he wasn’t sure what it was. She could feel him glancing over to her every few minutes as she stared at her half-eaten food that she lost interest in. She knew he was confused but so was she.

“Y/N, are you alright? Aren’t you hungry, sweetie?” Karen asked from across the table, making everyone look in her direction.

“I’m—I’m fine! I’m really not hungry, that’s all.” she replied quickly, giving her mom a small smile even though she knew she could see right through it.

Her mom gave her a knowing look before turning back to Holly, who was tapping her shoulder frantically. Y/N couldn’t bring herself to look up at Steve, but she knew he was still looking down at her. She nearly winced when his hand reached for her thigh, giving her a comforting squeeze as he finally looked away. It was killing him that he didn’t know what was wrong, but he didn’t want to start something in the middle of a family dinner that could potentially end poorly.

The only thing on Y/N’s mind during dinner was Steve and Nancy, and the fact that she felt like a second pick to her sister in anything and everything. It was enough to make her appetite go away. She couldn’t look at him or her sister without feeling sick, her stomach tying itself into a tighter knot with every minute.

The rest of dinner felt like it took an eternity, and she only stared at her plate for the rest of the time. Steve tried to carry on a conversation with Jonathan while dinner finished up, but Y/N’s sad demeanor was distracting. She was the first to leave the dinner table, excusing herself without letting anyone know. She rushed up the stairs and into the bathroom she shared with Nancy, sliding her back down the wall to sit on the floor next to the toilet.

For the first time all night, she let out a quiet sob. Her thoughts made her dizzy and she felt like she couldn’t see straight, purely out of anger and spite. She knew she didn’t have much of a reason to be so upset, but the thoughts of Steve settling for her had been eating away at her mind for days.

A small knock on the door made her jump as she choked on another sob, her full attention going in that direction.

“Y—Yes?” she said, trying to make herself sound as put together as she could in the situation.

“Y/N, it’s me.” Steve said from the other side of the door, his ear on the door to hear her. “Can I come in?”

“No! Don’t!” she yelled, blocking the door handle quickly as she heard him sigh in frustration. “I—I think you should just go home, Steve. I don’t feel good right now.”

“You felt fine earlier, seriously, Y/N. What’s wrong?” he insisted, but got radio silence in reply. “Well, if you don’t want to tell me, I’ll just wait out here until you decide to let me in.”

“S—Steve, just go home, please.” she whimpered, leaning against the door as she spoke through it.

“I told you, I’m not going home! I’m not leaving you when you’re upset, even if you won’t tell me what I did wrong.” he said, settling down on the floor outside of the bathroom. “I’ll wait for you, even if it means I’m out here all night.”

In that moment, she hated how good of a boyfriend Steve actually was. She felt like she was punched in the gut when he suggested that he did something wrong but couldn’t figure out what it was because she knew he was eating himself alive about. She didn’t really know why she was even mad at him, but she couldn’t help it. Steve truly was wracking his brain for any small details of what he could’ve done wrong in the last day, but couldn’t think of anything. On one side of the door, Steve listened to his girlfriend struggling to hold back sniffles and small sobs. On the other side of the door, Y/N was listening to the words for Waiting for a Girl Like You replay in her mind.

Minutes turned into an hour as they sat on the floor, neither of them daring to acknowledge the person on the other side of the door. Jonathan and El were gone by this point and Mike was in the basement while Karen was trying to get Holly to bed finally. Nancy walked up the stairs to see Steve leaned against the bathroom door, a feeling of guilt running through them both.

“She won’t come out.” Steve sighed when Nancy gave him a sympathetic smile.

Nancy only shrugged when he looked in her direction, not wanting to upset the girl on the other side of the door who was listening intently. Steve ran his hand through his hair and leaned his head against the door as Nancy walked into her bedroom, listening for any sign of Y/N wanting to come out.

“Y/N, please. I just want to talk! We can talk, right?” he pleaded.

“We can talk right here.” she said bluntly as she stared at the wall in front of her, not wanting him to see her tear-stained cheeks and red eyes.

“No, please, baby.” he begged, reaching up for the door handle but stopping himself from trying to open it. “I want to see you, I can’t understand what’s going on unless I can talk to you face-to-face.”

The other side of the door was silent for a moment while Y/N thought about what to do next. She knew how stubborn Steve was, and she knew he wasn’t giving up any time soon. It was useless for her to tell him to leave again, even though she was afraid to tell him how she really was feeling. But, she pushed past her doubts and opened the door, curling up into herself as she did to hide her face.

“I can talk to you face-to-face if you won’t look at me.” Steve joked, nudging her arm softly. “Please look at me. What’s going on?”

“It’s stupid.” she mumbled. “It’s just a bunch of bullshit.”

“W—What?” Steve stammered, taken aback by the word bullshit being muttered to him by another Wheeler sibling.

“This! It’s stupid! Pretending like I don’t think about you dating Nancy? Pretending like I believe that you love me? Pretending like everything’s okay?” she said, finally looking up at him as she threw her arms in defeat. “Do I look like everything’s okay?”

“No—No, you don’t. But I—“

“Are you over Nancy?” she asked abruptly, watching him cautiously.

“Of course I am!” he said immediately, making her sigh in relief that he didn’t take a second thought.

“Do you still love her?” she questioned, the words harder to force from her throat this time.

“No. No. I don’t.” Steve said desperately while staring at her as she stared blankly at the wall in front of her, emotionless. “I love you.”

“Today when we were on the way to my house for dinner, that—that Foreigner song that I love was playing, Waiting for a Girl Like You. I was trying to remember who showed me the song, but I just—I just couldn’t remember for the life of me. But then, you turned the radio station and I saw the look on your face. You looked sad, like someone had just killed a puppy in front of you.” she began, not daring to look at him as she spoke. “That’s when it clicked, Nance showed me that song two years ago. She played it every damn day after things were good again.”

“Y/N, I don’t—“ Steve started, but she held her hand up to cut him off.

“I want to finish, Steve.” she sighed and he nodded quickly, recoiling against the wall. “That was the song you played for her when you guys—you know—did whatever on that night she snuck over with Barb. She was so in love with that song because it was so special for you guys, she told me that she’d never stop listening to it. But—But she did stop. And when she did was when she realized she fell out of love with you. But you—you never fell out of love like she did. You loved her until the end and—and you hate that song because you think that maybe there’s a possibility that you still love her, not me. I was just the closest thing you could get to her.”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh under his breath as he shook his head. As much as he wanted to deny it, she wasn’t completely wrong. He didn’t realize that he had continued laughing until he looked up to see the broken expression on his girlfriend’s face.

“Why are you even laughing right now?” she asked, shaking her head as she watched the small smile fall from his face.

“Because—I don’t know, honestly. Maybe because you’re halfway right?” he said, not knowing the answer to his own question. “But, not about still being in love with Nancy, of course. I don’t love her and I haven’t for a while now. I do hate that song, though. But it’s because it reminds me of the last time that my life was good.”

The words bit into her heart like a goddamn demogorgon, hungry to hurt her in any way possible. Steve didn’t mean it in the way that she took it, though. She could tell he didn’t by the look on his face, so she stayed quiet while he paused to take a hitched breath.

“It was that night that I thought my life was on the up and up, but it really wasn’t. It went to shit after that day. We—we killed Barb—“

“You didn’t kill her—“

“Yeah, we didn’t kill her. But we let that thing, that monster, take her because I was stupid and didn’t think of anybody but myself because I was an asshole. Then everything went downhill and my girlfriend fell out of love with me, I didn’t even notice but you know why?” he asked bitterly and she shook her head. “Because I was still holding onto what I thought I had with her. But I was really just holding onto that god-forsaken night, the last night when everything my life alright. And I’d listen to that song too, even after the end I did. When I stopped listening to it was when I realized I had found better things, when I found you.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” she seethed, clenching her jaw to hold herself together.

“But I’m not! Once Nancy broke things off, I—I believed that nothing would ever go right for me. Everyone thought everything was fine, right? Because I had to put on a show for the sake of my family.” he confessed.

His voice finally showing signs of pain as he spoke this time, but he didn’t want to hold back. He was rambling at this point, but it was comforting for both of them in some odd way. His sanity was hanging on by a thread that unraveled just a little more with every tear she let slip, but they were slowing down now.

“I acted like things were okay and held onto that damn night like my life depended on it. Because after that night, I became the best damn actor, I became the best stupid, happy teen boy that Hawkins had ever seen; I even believed the act I was putting on.” he sighed, leaning his head against the wall to stare at the ceiling.

“You were looking for a distraction from your acting and I was convenient.” she replied quietly. “The naïve little sister of your ex who wouldn’t take a second glance at the bigger picture of how stupid it all was, right?”

“No—No. You weren’t convenient at all, really.” he laughed, reaching to graze his fingertips across her knuckles. “It wasn’t easy when everyone was telling me it wasn’t worth it, that it’d be too weird to try to even talk to you, that you probably didn’t want me like I wanted you. But I didn’t listen because I saw that look in your eyes when you smiled at me, you looked happy and—and like you wanted to be with me; I ignored everyone because I knew it was worth it. So no, you weren’t convenient. You were far from it, you kinda still are. I think you’re worth it.”

She still stared at the wall in front of her as she let his words process in her mind, the feeling of his fingers against her knuckles soothing her. He watched as she tore herself apart inside, trying to find her own answers.

“You know you’re not my second choice, right?” he interjected, making her eyes flicker in his direction as he squeezed her hand. “If Nancy wanted me back, I wouldn’t care. I know she came first, but that doesn’t mean shit. I didn’t realize that you were right in front of me and that you’d bring so much happiness to my life.”

“You’re so cheesy.” she scoffed as her heart fluttered when he smiled in her direction.

“It’s true! I swear, it really is, Y/N. I love you.” he said as he moved towards her, taking her head in his hands to look into her eyes.

“I love you too, Steve.” she said softly, smiling at him for the first time all night as she leaned over to kiss him softly.

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clintbartonswife · 5 years ago

Text

lips that sing

Pairings: Geralt of Rivia x Jaskier, Cirilla Summary: Now that Geralt knows it’s Jaskier, he’s scared he’ll be rejected again. Geralt just wants his damn bard back. Notes: part two of eyes that plead masterlist

Geralt would later deny the wounded noise that escaped his lips as he stared down at Jaskier, his hands hesitatingly hovering over his body.

“What - how?”

The wolf seemed to sigh, his head lolling back on to the dirt ground defeatedly. The expression on it’s face one he had seen many times before, mostly accompanied with the phrase ‘destiny’s a bitch’.

Deciding to put aside questioning until he could receive what he was sure would be extremely lengthy answers, Geralt returned to kneeling at Jaskier’s side, placing his sword in the sheath on his back before carefully picking him up in his arms.

Jaskier let out a half hearted growl, body tensing in his arms.

Geralt frowned at this, confused. Jaskier knew who he was - knew that he wouldn't hurt him - so why was he acting defensively? He checked his hold on the wolf, making sure he wasn't hurting him, before standing up and heading back to the clearing, mind racing.

Now that he was this close, he could smell it was Jaskier - the familiar scent of honey and wildflowers dulled behind that of wet dog , but still there all the same. Another scent, less pleasant than those Jaskier usually smelt of, one which had his nose scrunching up in distate was that of sour rotting lemons, one which he had never scented on the bard before.

Fear.

The sense of unease from earlier only grew in Geralt’s chest as he lay Jaskier down on his bedroll, eyes quickly darting to Ciri to make sure she was alright.

Jaskier had never smelt of fear around him before, he was sure of it. Not even -

He stopped mid-thought, remembering the previous night, and Jaskier’s growl when the mountains were mentioned. The repressed memory brought with it the knowledge that he had smelt it on his bard before: the exact day he ruined everything.

Jaskier was afraid of him.

As soon as Jaskier was back in human form, he had decided the first thing he would like to do is smack a tree. Or destiny, if possible. Or both. Because fuck destiny.

He had been so close to freedom when that tree - probably prompted by destiny, damn that bitch to hell - decided it was a good time to shed a branch, right on to his head, no less. As he lie there, cursing at the skies above, who else would show up but Geralt, the very man he did not want to see.

Fear washed over him as the realisation filtered through the Witcher’s eyes, his name escaping his lips in a shocked gasp, stilted questions following.

‘Fuck’ he thought, head lolling back in defeat, ‘if he wasn't going to kill me before, he’s definitely going to now. Why couldn't I have just left as soon as we found him’

He withheld his shock as Geralt leant over to pick him up, almost cradling him in his arms, tensing in shock.

‘Is he going to throw me?’ Jaskier thought wildly, mind racing as they began to move back through the forest, ‘Chuck me in a lake? Feed me to wolves? - Wait’

Jaskier’s thoughts were cut off as he noticed the clearing, Ciri’s sleeping form entering his sight. His body sighed in relief, slightly relaxing as he was placed gently on the bedroll.

Jaskier, feeling slightly less like he was going to die at any point, resigned himself to watching Geralt. The Witcher seemed to be lost in thought, eyes absent but body moving on autopilot to prepare for when Ciri woke up, stoking the embers back into a roaring fire and beginning to place stray objects back into Roach’s saddle bags.

He was halfway through picking up Ciri’s cloak when he seemed to snap back to the present, focus returning to Jaskier with newfound urgency.

“You’re hurt” he mumbled to himself, kneeling back down by Jaskier’s side, “I need to check for any damage”

Through his anger at the man, Jaskier couldn't help but feel a little sympathy for him as he watched his urgent motions, Geralt looking the most discombobulated that Jaskier had ever seen him.

He tried to stay still as Geralt’s fingers ran across his body, checking for any breaks or cuts hidden under the fur.

“I’m sorry Jask” he whispered, voice sounding frail - something Jaskier had never heard from him before.

He felt his eyes widen slightly, looking at him in disbelief. Before he could react, the moment was broke as Ciri stirred behind them.

“Geralt?”

“I’m here”

The princess grunted her assent - ‘already learning bad habits from Geralt’ Jaskier noted - and sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Where's Dandelion?”

Jaskier let out a yip from where he was half-hidden behind Geralt.

“He’s a bit injured” Geralt explained, “We're going to have to find someone to help”

“Oh no -is he okay?”

“He’s fine, we just need to get him properly checked” Geralt assured her, dodging the whole ‘I’ve been magicked into another animal’ bit that would probably freak her out.

“A Mage? Like Yennefer?” Ciri asked excitedly, “I saw her in my dreams too, remember? Are we going to meet her?”

Jaskier’s stomach dropped at the mention of her name, dread returning to his person as he watched Geralt nod, seemingly reluctantly.

‘I don't see why’ Jaskier thought bitterly, ‘It’ll be a lovely family reunion. All three back together again, and me flung out on my ass again’

“Excellent!” Ciri squealed, scrambling out of her covers, “Let's get going”

“How much further do you think?” Ciri asked from upon Roach, her eyes shining.

“Not long”

Jaskier could feel the rumble of his words from where he was pressed against his chest, the sensation surprisingly comforting. To his shock, he had to grit his teeth to restrain what could have been a purr escaping from his throat.

‘This just keeps getting weirder’ the bard thought to himself, discreetly looking at the Witcher above him, ‘I wonder what will happen once I’m back in human form’

“She’s close” Geralt said suddenly, head snapping to his left, spotting a small path diverting off from the main road, “Down there”

Ciri just looked at him in awe as Roach followed the direction, “How do you do that? Know where she is, I mean”

“We’re … connected in a way” he sighed, eyes darting around uncomfortably, “I can feel when she’s near. It’s like somethings tugging me towards her”

“Like soulmates?” Ciri asked innocently.

Jaskier barely restrained a growl, though it looked as though Geralt caught it, the sides of his mouth tilting up almost unnoticeably.

‘I’m glad my pain amuses you’ Jaskier huffed in his mind, glowering at the Witcher.

“No, not like soulmates” Geralt corrected eventually, the humour gone from his face, “I made a mistake - a long time ago - that bound us together. It wasn't fair on anyone”

As he finished his sentence, Jaskier could swear Geralt looked at him, eyes swimming with hidden meaning.

‘Stop being ridiculous Julian. You’re reading too far into it again’

“Oh”

The rest of the walk was quiet, Ciri and Geralt both brewing on the earlier conversation, until a small cottage appeared in front of them on the path. When they were a few feet away, the door swung open, unimpressed violet eyes surveying them.

“What do you want Geralt”

“Just one favour, please. Then I’ll get out of your hair”

Yennefer’s frown didn't waver, staring at the witcher with something akin to disgust in her eyes.

“Please?”

Her expression melted as she took in the sight of Ciri, finally nodding and gesturing towards the cottage with a sigh.

“One favour”

“Fine”

“So the wolf’s new” Yen eventually said, frown intensifying as she stared at him, “And magical - did you know that Geralt?”

“Of course I knew that, why do you think I’m here”

Yen shot him a glare, though stepped closer to Jaskier, hands moving through the air as if clearing cobwebs.

“This was an enchantment done out of spite, and quite a strong one at that. Where did you find him?”

“I didn't. Ciri did, said he protected her until they found me”

Yennefer just hummed, “It’s the bard isn't it?”

“How did you know?”

“Why else would you come to me? Come on now Geralt don't take me for a fool. What did he do this time?”

Jaskier huffed, getting quite annoyed at being talked about as if he wasn't there, and let out a growl, narrowing his eyes at the witch.

“Still a drama queen it looks like”

Geralt just sighed, crossing his arms, “Can you help him?”

“I’ll need to try and figure out what kind of curse was used, and from that I should be able to figure out the counter-curse, or at least what needs to be done to break it” Yen said, moving a stool next to the table where Jaskier was lain, now turning her attention to him, “I need to know who did this to you. Can I search your mind?”

‘Certainly not’ Jaskier thought, appalled, rearing his head back as he tried to shuffle away.

“I don't know why I asked” she sighed, rolling her eyes, “Just stay still, this may hurt”

He just huffed, ‘As if she cared about that’

An intense tingling sensation started to crawl over his head, reminiscent of pins and needles, intensifying to the point of incomprehensible pain, making Jaskier whine as his body seemed to convulse slightly.

Ciri, hearing the noise of distress, entered the room, eyes widening at the sight before her, “You’re hurting him!” she cried, “Stop it!”

The pain stopped almost immediately, leaving his struggling for breath. Ciri ran to his side, stroking a hand over his head soothingly. Yen just stared down at him for a few moments, a new understanding clouding her eyes, mixed with something suspiciously close to pity.

‘Shit’

“It’s a curse - though it wasn't meant for him specifically” Yen explained, slightly breathless herself, “It’s made as a punishment for somebody else”

‘Yeah, Geralt’ Jaskier wanted to shout, still annoyed that they thought he had done something dumb.

“Can you break it?” Geralt sounded almost desperate, eyes flicking between him and Yennifer.

‘Desperate to get rid of me’

Yennefer just glared at him, ignoring the question and turning back to Jaskier, her hand moving a few inches above his body, as if scanning him.

“The curse is strong, but I have no doubt I can break it. I’ll need a few days, but yes” She turned back to Geralt, “You’ll have your bard back soon enough”

“Bard?”

All eyes turned to Ciri, still stood in the corner of the room.

“You haven't told her?”

“I was going to -”

“When? When he was a fully grown man again?”

“...No”

Yennefer sighed, throwing her hands up in the air, “You’re unbelievable. Explain to her for gods sake”

The next day, Jaskier having being moved to a pile of pillows on the floor for the night, Yennefer was confident that she could break the enchantment.

Geralt was stood in the next room, Ciri crowded in his arms as they waited for the counter-curse to be enacted, the whimpers of the wolf slowly turning into more human-like screams of pain.

At one particularly strangled cry, Ciri broke, pressing her forehead against Geralt’s chest as hard as she possibly could. Not knowing exactly how to help, Geralt simply placed one of his hands on the back of her head, murmuring low promises of it being over soon.

The sudden halt to all noise was not as reassuring as Geralt thought it would be, his body tensing as all the worst scenarios ran through his mind.

“He’s back” Yen said, walking out of the room, wiping sweat from her brow with a proud look on her face. Ciri rushed to give her a hug, knocking her back slightly with the force of collision, “thanks”

“Thank you” Geralt said, sincerity clear in his words.

She nodded once, with a depth of understanding that unsettled the Witcher.

“You should check on him” she nodded towards the door, eyes drawn to the girl held within her arms, “I’ll send her in in a few minutes”

Geralt did as she instructed, opening the door softly, eyes immediately latching on to the familiar figure of Jaskier curled up on the bed.

“You’re ok”

The bard’s head whipped up at the sound of his voice, wincing slightly at the sudden movement.

“Yes, it appears I am” he replied, giving a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, “if it’s alright with you I’ll be here for a few more hours before I get out of your hair - changing forms like that is quite painful”

Geralt frowned as the scent of fear assaulted his nose once more, this time not dulled by that of wet dog. In his confusion it took him a few seconds to register Jaskier’s words.

“Leave? Why would you leave?”

The bitter laugh that escaped the bard cut Geralt to the core, a pain starting to bloom in his chest.

“I’m only doing as you wished, my dear. I believe it was your life’s blessing to be rid of me. Alas, I didn't mean to come across you again so soon, though I suppose that cant really be blamed on me considering the mage wanted to target you”

Geralt blinked. Jaskier kept talking.

“I mean, really, the one time I didn't actually do anything wrong was the one time I got myself in a mess I couldn't get out of - awfully ironic don't you think? Then I found Ciri and I knew I couldn't just leave her, surely you understand that”

He had started using hand gestures now, apparently feeling better by the second, “and I did try to leave when I found you, I really did, but then Ciri kept calling for me and I’m weak when it comes to that girl - you know she reminds me of my niece, always getting what she wants”

“Jaskier-”

“I did try again yesterday but then the tree dropped its branch on me because destiny is a bitch so that didn't work either. Anyway now I’m back to normal I suppose you’ll want me out of here - I promise I will after a nap”

“Jaskier” geralt growled, stepping closer to the bed.

The fear scent spiked, “Or - or not. It’s fine, I didnt really need a nap anyway. I’ll just get going then, yeah?”

Geralt stopped at the edge of the bed, placing his hand over the younger man’s mouth, “Shut up Jaskier”

A squeak came from behind his hand, so he removed it, taking a deep breath as he prepared to speak.

“I am sorry for what I said on the mountains. It was wrong of me to take out my anger on you. None of those things were your fault, you were just there when I made the decisions”

Jaskier watched in awe as Geralt spoke, eyes widening as the scent of fear started to lessen.

“I missed you, afterwards. I didn't think you’d want to see me so I didn't look for you - I should have and for that I’m sorry Jaskier”

The bard just sat there, stunned.

“I don't think I’ve ever heard you speak so much in one go” he eventually said, hesitantly teasing. Geralt could see it for what is was - testing the waters.

“Perhaps I would’ve said more if you had let me get a word in edge wise” he retaliated, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Seemingly all the reassurance he needed, Jaskier sagged in relief, leaning forwards until his forehead rested on Geralt’s lower stomach.

“I missed you too, my dear Witcher”

They were quiet for a few moments, just enjoying their closeness.

“So you don't wish me to leave?”

Things finally clicked in the Witcher’s mind - the fear was not of him, but of being rejected by him again. With that sudden realisation, Geralt placed a hand in Jaskier’s hair, running it through his locks soothingly.

“Never again, bard”

The moment was interrupted by the door opening, Ciri launching herself at Jaskier with a delighted squeal.

“You were my wolf?” she asked incredulously, “I know you! You came to see me every year”

Jaskier’s grin was back in full beam on his face, “I’m honoured that you remember that princess”

Ciri giggled as Jaskier bowed his head theatrically from his where he was sat on the bed. Geralt stood back and watched the two interact, both full of smiles and laughter, a new lightness in his chest.

Yennefer leant against the doorframe, watching him with a surveying expression.

“Be careful with them” she said, eyes straying over to the pair, “Especially the bard”

Geralt raised his eyebrow questioningly.

“I’ve seen into his mind” she explained, “And that man would do anything for you”

Geralt looked back over to Jaskier, amber eyes meeting cornflower blue, “Hmm”

It took them another two months before they realised they were meant to be, the realisation occurring after a particularly rowdy bar fight in which Jaskier ‘defended Geralt’s honour’ by launching at two men who were speaking ill of him. (Geralt had dragged him into the alley - Ciri was in their room - and kissed him heavily against the wall. He insisted it was mostly to shut him up about his win)

And if Jaskier sometimes still purred when he was happy, or bared his teeth when seeing his ‘pack’ threatened, then who was Geralt to judge? He certainly wasn't complaining about the marking in bed either.

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