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bitsandbobsofwriting · 4 years ago

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Merlin accidentally becomes Legolas/Katniss/Merida… you know the type;

He may be shitty at sword fighting, but Merlin begins to use a traditional bow and arrow and… actually becomes very good at it??

I imagine the first time he does it, it’s a complete fluke.

The five knights, The King, and Merlin are on their way back from yet another (frankly, ridiculous) quest.

They have been, of course, ambushed by a group of bandits, twenty to their six (six plus Merlin, though no one bar Lancelot knows about his magic, so he isn’t counted as a fighter). Though the knights outweigh them in skill, their sheer numbers makes it a… challenging, fight (meaning that they are winning, but far too slowly for their liking, and no one wants to admit it).

Now normally, Merlin hides behind a tree or in a ditch, and performs his spells quietly without being noticed, slowly helping and speeding up the fight. Except this time, the Gang was in the middle of a barren, open field, the bandits had disguised themselves with magic until the moment they attacked, and Merlin was right in the middle of all the action.

Everyone worried for his safety. There was nowhere for him to hide here, so they had to keep an eye on him, lest he get hurt (and Arthur sulked, or kicked off, depending on how badly he was hurt).

With nowhere to hide (and no branches to drop, or roots to trip people with), and one of the knights throwing a glance his way every ten seconds, he couldn’t use his magic.

He was currently on his hands and knees, Leon directly in front of him, Percival to his left, holding off four attackers between them (Merlin would marvel at how impressive that was if he weren’t otherwise preoccupied).

He keeps trying to get to Arthur, crawling between legs and over the groaning, injured bodies of bandits (he made a point to land sharp elbows and harsh knees into the more… sensitive areas), but with everyone moving around so rapidly, and the vicious swinging of swords and axes and maces inches above his head, he kept getting side-tracked and blocked and almost knocked out.

With a frustrated huff, he notices yet another bandit rounding on The King. Said huff turns into a pained gasp when he realises that Arthur hasn’t seen him yet.

The bandit raises his weapon in the air, seconds from bringing it down on Arthur’s back, but Leon is right there, and there are no branches to drop on him, and Arthur still hasn’t noticed!

The noise is too loud, grunts and yells and clashes of metal drowning out any sort of warning yell that Merlin could throw Arthur’s way, and he scrabbles around on the floor desperately; hands raking through sharp grass and over bloodied bodies as he stares in horror at the triumphant smirk on the future-King-killer’s face.

Time seems to slow (no magic, just adrenaline) as Merlin’s hands find purchase on a smooth, curved piece of wood. He picks it up without looking, at first intending to throw whatever it is as hard as he can in the bandits direction, before something (magic, instincts, periphery vision, who knows) tells him to look down.

He obeys, and widens his eyes as he sees the longbow gripped tightly in his right hand, and a stray arrow on the floor next to his left.

Merlin is no expert, only having actually hunted once or twice back home in Ealdor, when he was younger, but that was just enough knowledge for him to know roughly how to notch the arrow and fire. He pulls the two up quickly, a plan formulating in his head:

Step 1) Notch arrow.

Step 2) Close eyes.

Step 3) Magic? Hope?

Step 4) Come up with some sort of lie that explains how he managed to make the shot from sixty yards away, through a crowd.

Thankfully, it would appear that Merlin’s bad luck has given him a rest today; the first three steps go off without a hitch (the fourth will come a little later, when the battle is over), but he doesn’t have time to congratulate himself before he’s thrown into the fray, the bandits now obviously seeing him as some sort of threat.

Arthur finally defeats his own attackers, looking behind him in shock to see his unknown enemy lying on the floor, gurgling up blood and grasping weakly at the arrow through his neck. His head whips to the side, trying to find whoever had made the shot; his bewildered gaze meets Merlin’s for only a second before the servant is dragged to his feet, and promptly punched in the face.

He stumbles back and can just about hear Leon yell something from beside him but he pays it no mind, righting his balance once again and swinging his arm back, before bringing it down harshly on his newest attackers head. The resounding crack echoes over the field as the wood of the longbow splits in two on the bandit’s skull, and he drops like a sack of potatoes.

The fight doesn’t last much longer, each knight taking advantage of their enemies' fatigue, and Merlin using his now broken longbow to whack them in the shins or trip them up when they weren’t paying attention.

He was sad to see it broken, but two of his closest friends literally owned a blacksmith's, and he had easy access to the Castle’s armoury; he could get a hold of another one easily enough, as long as he survived the journey back home.

The battle finally came to a close. Everyone was exhausted, and each of them was sporting more than one hefty bruise, but they were all alive and there were no serious injuries, so they could be grateful for that. After Arthur had counted his men, and generally taken stock of things, he traipsed tiredly over to Merlin, who had abandoned his broken bow in favour of cleaning a still weeping cut on Elyan’s temple.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Merlin.”

The servant ignores him at first, biting his lip in concentration as he carefully wipes the grime away from the wound. It was small, so an infection wouldn’t be too worrying, but it wouldn’t be comfortable and would make the scarring worse, so best to avoid it if at all possible. He hums in satisfaction as he leans back on his heels, Elyan gives him a grateful smile, and Merlin finally throws a glance Arthur’s way, before focusing back on threading the needle in his hands; it would only need two or three stitches, thankfully:

“Hmm. I'm not fond of hunting, but we had to for food back in Ealdor. Except we didn’t have fancy crossbows or hunting dogs, so we had to make do with hand-whittled longbows.”

Arthur nods, frowning slightly:

“Still, if I’d known you were that good, I would’ve demanded you had a bow of your own; that way us lot wouldn’t have to spend so much time making sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Merlin smirked and quirked an eyebrow, but doesn’t look away from Elyan’s stitches, whispering an apology at the man’s wince before he speaks slowly, concentrating:

“Careful Sire, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

Elyan snorts out a laugh, but Merlin tuts and lightly slaps his leg disapprovingly, and he stills again. Arthur rolls his eyes with a huff:

“As if. Hurry up, I want to get moving as soon as possible.”

Arthur wasn’t the only one that noticed Merlin’s outstanding shot, and over the course of the next few day’s journey home, he received a multitude of compliments from the other knights.

Including an hour long excited infodump about the history and use of longbows from Leon, which Merlin eagerly hung onto every word of, a fond smile on his face (Leon was a noble, and had it practically beaten into him to not ramble, so Merlin always did his best not to discourage the man. That, and the fact that it was actually very interesting, and useful, if he were to keep up this charade that he was an expert marksman).

When Merlin finally had a moment alone with Lancelot, a few days after they had gotten back, he burst:

“Please please tell me you know how to use a longbow??”

Lancelot raises his eyebrow from where he was sat on the bed in Merlin’s room. Merlin was staring at him with unconcealed desperation, and the knight chuckled as he answered:

“Why? It’s not like you need any more training, that was a cracking shot.”

Merlin huffed loudly, running his hands through his hair as he looked back at the knight:

“I used magic!! I closed my eyes so no one would see and I guided the arrow with magic! Now everyone thinks I’m some master marksman! This is bad. What if next time I can’t use magic, or what if someone notices that I have my eyes closed when I fire?”

Lancelot clamps a hand over his mouth in a poor attempt to stop himself from giggling, but he gives up quickly, bursting into laughter at the younger man’s panic. Said younger man fumes, sputtering as he picks up one of the knight’s discarded boots and throws it at him:

“It’s not funny, Lance! I’m being serious, this is an actual issue!”

Lancelot calms himself, rubbing the mirth from his eyes as he takes a deep breath:

“Ok ok, sorry. Yes, I can teach you to use a longbow properly. Have you ever actually used one before, or was the hunting thing a cover?”

The red fades from Merlin’s face slightly as he realises the other man is intending to help him, his panic lessening:

“Sort of. Yeah, I went hunting with a bow a couple times, but not enough to be that good at it.”

Lancelot sighs fondly and nods his head:

“Well, that’s a start at least. Come on, I’ve not got patrol until after dinner, and Arthur thinks you’re busy helping Gaius, so we’ve got a few hours.”

So I imagine that’s how it goes for a while.

After their last big adventure, Arthur was reluctant to head out as a group again, wanting to give everyone time to recuperate and get back into the swing of things.

Merlin’s skills with a bow were bought up constantly by everyone, news had even reached Gwen (who gave him a proud smile and a cute little dance to congratulate him) and Gaius (who raised an eyebrow, and had much better skill than Lancelot at holding in his laughter).

Gwaine, Elyan, and even Percival were desperate to set up targets and watch him shoot shit (their words), Leon wanted to talk about the specifics of technique and crafting, and Arthur... well. Arthur sounded like he was taking the piss, but there was something else in his tone that Merlin couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Affection? Pride?

Probably not, probably jealousy and annoyance that Merlin is so effortlessly good at something that Arthur himself was average at at best.

Merlin manages to avoid it for a while, showing his “skills” off, but he and Lancelot are running out of excuses, and Arthur is starting to accuse him of being a fake who got lucky. Normally, things like that didn’t bother Merlin, and technically Arthur wasn’t wrong... he had got lucky, and cheated with magic, but that wasn’t the point. It was nice for Merlin, to be good at something, really good.

He was good at plenty of other things. Magic for starters, though not even Lancelot knew the full extent of his power in that area. But he cooked well (shown by the fact that the knights always scoffed the lot), he was a good physician (shown by the fact that the knights trusted him just as much as Gaius when it came to treating injuries and sickness), and he was a BRILLIANT servant, if he did say so himself.

But he never got any actual praise for that. Merlin hated to think badly of the knights, his friends, but they only complained when Merlin wasn’t there, never praised him when he was. Well, apart from Lancelot. And that had just started a bunch of rumours that they were... uh... boinking.

(False. Anyone with more than two braincells could see that Sir Lancelot was head over heals in love with the newly-promoted Housekeeper, Guinevere, and that The King’s Manservant had an affinity for certain a blond prat-King.)

ANYWAY

It was nice for Merlin to have a skill that others thought worth complimenting, and with Lancelot monitoring his practice sessions, correcting any mistakes and offering congratulations whenever he did well, he hoped it wouldn’t be too long before he no longer had to come up with excuses.

Luckily, Merlin picked it up very quickly.

Despite being clumsy by nature (though Lancelot is starting to suspect more and more that it’s all for show), the dark haired servant can consistently hit bullseyes from fifty yards within a month. The further away from the target he got, the less astounding his aim was, but that was to be expected, and another month later he could successfully hit a moving target from seventy feet.

A training session, around three months after he started properly practicing, he finally “gave in” to Gwaine’s begging. Lancelot helped him set up a bunch of targets, and fetched a bag of apples to throw.

Merlin put on quite the show, grinning at the uproarious applause he got from the knights when he hit every single bullseye, and every single thrown target. Thankfully the knowing, proud smiles between the servant and Sir Lancelot went unnoticed, and even Arthur gave him a clap on the back and an impressed nod.

The first time Merlin met the knights in the courtyard to find Leon holding a longbow and quiver of arrows out to him, he panicked slightly, but one reassuring smile from Lancelot boosted his confidence, and he took them with a quiet thank you.

(After the fifth time, Arthur huffed, and told him to just keep them. He was the only one that regularly signed them out of the armoury anyway, so it would just be easier if he just took possession of them.)

It settled everyone’s stomachs, knowing that not only did the group have a master marksmen, hiding in the trees and taking out enemies that they didn’t see coming, but that Merlin personally now had more than his frankly horrifying (or... horrifying as far as they were concerned) stealth skills to keep him safe.

And that (a master marksmen in the trees) is exactly what happened.

In the early days, it involved a lot of bruises; Merlin could fire well, but firing and balancing at the same time? Took some getting used to, and involved a lot of falling out of trees at inopportune times.

The knights, Gwaine and Arthur especially, laughed endlessly at that, but quickly stopped after a particularly tired and irate and bruised Merlin fired an arrow so close by Gwaine’s crotch, that it stuck his trousers fast into the tree just behind him.

At first, it was meant to be just as back-up; Merlin was no knight. He still refused to wear armour, and Arthur didn’t want his manservant to make himself a target... at least that was his excuse.

Really, it was because (as far as Arthur was aware) Merlin had never deliberately killed before. Even now, years into his Kingship, and even longer into his knighthood, Arthur hated killing; it made him sick, and took a lot of practice at compartmentalization before it no longer bothered him as much.

Merlin was his manservant, his (best) friend, the love of his life (secretly). He was not a warrior, he was not meant to kill, he was meant to be protected from that.

But alas, Merlin did not get the memo, and the first patrol he went on with his bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, he killed at least five bandits.

After the fight, it was Leon who approached him first, a concerned look on his face despite Merlin’s nonchalant expression as he checked over the string for wear and tear:

“Are you feeling alright, Merlin? You got a few good shots in there, you’re not feeling sick?”

Merlin looked up at the hand on his shoulder and the soft words, a confused look on his face:

“Why would being good make me feel sick?”

Leon tilts his head in sympathy, which just makes Merlin even more confused:

“The man you killed the other month was spur of the moment, protecting your King. But you... you killed a fair few men today, Merlin. I know that can be incredibly difficult at first, I just wanted to check in.”

The others had finally walked over to join them; Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and Arthur looking equally concerned, whilst Lancelot hid his proud smile. Merlin just raised an eyebrow at them:

“You seem to be under the impression that I’ve never killed anyone before?”

Everyone (bar Lancelot) looks taken aback at that, and Arthur frowns whilst Leon drops his hand in shock. The King speaks slowly:

“Merlin, are you telling us you’ve killed people before?”

The manservant clenches his jaw at that and looks back down at his bow, resuming his checking of the string and its knots. He speaks lowly, and the knights can tell it’s not a topic he’s fond of:

“Hmm. It’s a tough world, Sire. I’ve done what I had to, to keep myself and the people I care about safe.”

At his dark reply, conversation stopped, and didn’t resume for the rest of the day as everyone contemplated Merlin’s words.

That is, until he was the first one to successfully catch dinner later that evening. At which he got an incredulous look from Arthur when he made it back to camp with his half of the patrol:

“I thought you despised hunting??”

Merlin didn’t look up from the hares he was skinning, and the rest of the knights tuned in, curious:

“No. I hate hunting for sport; it shows hubris and cruelty. Hunting for food is not only necessary and natural, but humbling, if you do it right and honour every part of the creature.”

Arthur, ever the eloquent one, stared at him blankly, and said, rather dumbly:

“...What?”

Merlin huffed, finally looking up:

“Going after helpless animals on horseback with crossbows and hunting dogs is like giving yourself a huge pat on the back for winning a tournament against an unarmoured, unarmed, unconscious opponent, and then calling yourself strong and brave for daring to fight in the first place. It’s an egotistical act of violence for no other reason than cruelty for the sake of cruelty.-”

The knights looks on him with shock, Percival and Leon at least having the decency to look a little ashamed. Merlin looks back down to the hares, and everyone notices the careful way he cuts at the fur:

“I’ve taken these lives to feed us as a necessity. The meat will be eaten, but that isn’t all. I’ll take the bones home for Gaius, the marrow is useful in a lot of medicine. The fur can be repurposed for winter gloves or socks. The organs and other bits that we won’t eat: I’ll take for the pigs in the farms, or the dogs up at the castle. In using every part of them we are... honouring them, in a way. As a thank-you for their... sacrifice.”

Arthur looks a little dumbfounded. As royalty, he of course had never really considered the waste that comes about with hunting, but Merlin, a farm-boy from a rural village who barely scraped by every winter? Of course he saw a deeper meaning in hunting. He would have to.

Elyan is the first to break the silence:

“You almost sound religious, Merlin.”

Merlin looks up at him, a strained smile on his face. As magic incarnate, he has a particularly strong, temperamental relationship with nature and her creatures, a bond that some might call faith. To be wasteful or cruel in any way hurts him in more ways than one:

“Not really, I just have respect for nature, is all.”

No one mentions the thinly-veiled insult, but everyone creeps closer, wanting to see the way he disassembles the creatures for future reference.

It’s been eight months since that first, perfect shot.

Merlin’s skills with a longbow had become a normal, expected part of The Gang’s experiences, but the knights never stopped praising and thanking him when he saved their lives (something that Merlin still hadn’t quite gotten used), and The King had apparently not stopped thinking about it for barely more than a second.

Yule was approaching quickly: Merlin, Gwen, and the Steward being constantly busy with preparations in the castle, the knights being run off their feet escorting emergency aid to the border villages for the harsh winter, and Arthur himself having every minute of the day taken up with speech writing, invite sending, and his other general King-during-Yule duties.

That however, was all to be expected, and of course did nothing to keep Arthur and Merlin from their annual traditions.

It wasn’t official, it wasn’t even spoken of, but the last evening of Yule, the night before the new year, the two of them always spent together.

The last feast of the year would finish, Arthur would stay to see his guests off, thank the staff for all of their hard work, and finally retire to his chambers, his tired manservant barely a hair’s breadth behind him. They would sit in front of the lit hearth (in comfy chairs that only they used), work their way through a jug or two of wine, exchange small gifts, and fall asleep in front of the fire. Their hands, dangling over the side of their chairs, seem to be creeping closer and closer with each passing year; though have yet to become entangled by morning.

This year was somehow no different, and very different, at the same time.

The King and his Manservant settled in their chairs, tired and already a little more than tipsy from the wine drunk during the feast. Arthur looked up at Merlin, the fond smile dropping from his face when he sees the other man’s features pulled into a contemplative frown:

“What’s on your mind, Merls? I don’t think I’ve seen you this serious since the start of the celebrations.”

Merlin looked up at him suddenly, his eyes wide, but he smiles and shakes his head:

“Nothing, nothing. Just thinking is all.”

Normally, Arthur would raise an eyebrow and let a scathing tease on the state of Merlin’s intelligence fall from his lips, but not tonight. This is the only night of the year that The King allows himself to entertain the idea that perhaps he and Merlin were more than friends, or at least could be. So instead he resumes his smiling, and looks back to the fire, taking another sip of his wine before responding softly:

“What about?”

Merlin hums, copying Arthur’s wine-sipping, before taking a deep breath:

“The future, mostly. You, me, Camelot. Secrets and truths, and when one might turn into the other. Soon, I think... yeah. Soon.”

Arthur huffs slightly in amusement. He knows that Merlin hides a great deal of himself, but he always becomes more cryptic after a few glasses of wine, like he desperately wants to say something and doesn’t have the power to stop himself from hinting at whatever it may be.

He asks his next question good-naturedly, a smile sweetened by wine gracing his face:

“The hell does that mean?”

Merlin lets out a short laugh, looking up at the other man:

“Oh, you know. Thinking about spilling all my deepest darkest secrets to you, at some point soon.”

Arthur snorts, saying, only for the sake of keeping up the charade they’ve built:

“You don’t have any secrets, Merlin. Certainly not any that are deep or dark.”

Once, Arthur would have believed that. Then, when he stopped believing it, he was angry about it, and now? Now, he finds he doesn’t mind so much. He is confident, he has faith, in both himself and in Merlin. He knows that those secrets are there, and Merlin knows that he knows, but that’s ok. Nothing either of them could reveal would tear them apart, at least not for long, so Arthur was happy to wait until Merlin was happy to share.

Merlin chuckled at Arthur’s response, shaking his head slightly before reaching down and picking up a small wrapped parcel that he’d stowed away before the feast:

“Come on, I’m a little nervous about your gift this year, so let’s get it over and done with.”

Arthur nodded, accepting the change in subject, and set his wine down so he could pick up the (much bigger) parcel by his own chair.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. After the first gift-exchange happened, Merlin had put his foot down and made Arthur swear to not go overboard on the expense side of things. Arthur may have been a prince, and now a King, but Merlin was still just a servant/physician; he could hardly afford anything worthy of a King.

He had a feeling that Arthur might’ve broken his word this year, but where Arthur had likely gone overboard with expense, Merlin had definitely gone overboard with sentimentality.

They swapped parcels, Merlin placing the large, heavy box carefully at his feet as he gestured Arthur to open his first. Arthur got to it, tearing the paper off without a second of hesitation, and Merlin allowed himself to smile fondly at the child-like excitement on the blonde’s face.

Arthur’s brow creased as he dropped the paper to the floor, stroking soft fingers over the worn leather of an old, well-loved book. Merlin took deep, fortifying breaths as Arthur carefully opened the first few pages, butterflies in his stomach as Arthur’s eyes wandered the yellowed paper in curiosity.

The King looked up at him, amused confusion on his face as he asked:

“Is this yours? I didn’t know you could draw, Merlin.”

Merlin gulped, and shook his head as memories of the exquisite sketches filled his mind; detail-perfect renditions of the castle, the town square, waterfalls and knights in action and people that Merlin didn’t recognise (for the most part. Arthur evidently hadn’t gotten to any of the pages with young Uther on them).

“No, not mine. This one requires a little explanation-”

Arthur nodded, carefully closing the book and holding it protectively in his lap as he gave Merlin his undivided attention:

“-I mentioned off-handedly to Leon a few months ago that I thought the lack of... of paintings of the late Queen in the castle was odd.-”

Arthur gulped at the mention of his mother, but nodded with a small smile when Merlin paused:

“-He said that when she passed, The King had everything to do with her moved to the vaults. He couldn’t force himself to destroy any of it, but looking at it, day in and day out, was too painful. We found the keys, with the help of Geoffrey, and went down to have a look, see what we could find. We didn’t tell you about it because we didn’t want to disappoint you, in case we couldn’t find anything.-”

Merlin once again looked a little nervous at this, and reached a hand out towards Arthur. When the man didn’t flinch away (if anything, he leaned into it), he moved to grip his shoulder blade, running his thumb over the exposed skin at the base of The King’s neck.

“-We found... a lot. Old clothes and paintings mainly, some jewellery. But then I found that;-”

He nodded at the book in Arthur’s lap, and tightened his grip on his shoulder. Merlin spoke his next words so quietly that Arthur almost doesn’t hear him, a soft smile on his face:

“-your mother was quite the artist, Arthur. I knew you had to have it.”

Arthur gasped softly, his eyes widening as he looked down at the book:

“You... you think my mother drew these?”

Merlin smiled at him, moving his hand to squeeze Arthur’s wrist slightly, before dropping it entirely:

“Check the back page.”

Arthur took a deep breath before doing what Merlin said, handling the book with even more care than he had before now that he knows who it belonged to. He turned to the very last page, to see an inscription written in beautiful cursive. Merlin recited it aloud, having memorised the words weeks ago:

“My dearest son, my silly sketches are able to hold only a fraction of our Kingdom’s beauty. I know one day that you will see what I see, treasure it just as much, and make it your own. You have my support, forever and always, your loving Mother.”

Arthur bites his lip harshly, lifting the book to press his forehead against the words as he shuts his eyes tightly, though that does nothing to stop the tears. Merlin replaces his hand on The King’s shoulder as the man shakes. He sniffles slightly, putting the book back in his lap, though keeping his hands wrapped around it securely, as he looks to Merlin:

“Merlin, I... I don’t even know what to say. This is... amazing. I... Thank you.”

Merlin smiles, shaking his head slightly:

“Technically, it wasn’t even mine to give, it’s always been yours. But I thought it might make a nice surprise. There’s plenty of other stuff down there, I’ll show you in the morning.”

Arthur nods his head, wiping his tears as he carefully places the book on his side table and gestures to the box at Merlin’s feet. He was itching to scour through the book, dedicating every single line to memory, but whilst Merlin had been nervous about Arthur’s gift, Arthur was buzzing about Merlin’s, and he was desperate to see the man’s reaction.

Merlin huffs out a laugh, but picks the box up, noting once again how heavy it is. He sets about removing the paper, much calmer and more methodical than Arthur had been, with his face pinched in concentration.

He frowns in curiosity as he sets eyes on the wooden box. It had a hinged lid, and a logo that he’s certain he recognises burned like a brand into the corner. He can feel Arthur bouncing in his chair slightly, and looks up at him in amusement, laughing once again when he nods excitedly back down at the box.

He lifts the lid, and takes in a shocked breath.

Inside was a beautifully crafted long bow; the wood smooth and varnished and carved, and a leather quiver. The patterns embossed in the leather and carved in to the metal at the base, match those carved into the wood of the bow, and Merlin traces soft fingers over the intricate swirls, stopping with a teary smile at the Pendragon crest, carved just next to a Merlin bird.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding as he looks up at the excited King:

“Arthur this is beautiful. Gods I almost don’t want to touch it, I feel like it should be on display behind glass.”

Arthur lets out a laugh, obviously pleased with Merlin’s reaction:

“Nope. It will be going with you every time you leave the city, and considering how much trouble we always seem to attract, I have no doubt that it will see a lot of use.”

Merlin laughs, closing the lid carefully and setting the box back on the floor, before launching himself bodily at Arthur. The blonde laughs, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s middle with no hesitation as the other man mutters endless thank-yous in his ear.

The servant finally pulls back, settling in his own chair again, and the two of them hope that the other puts the flush on their face down to the wine, and nothing else. They look to each other with wide grins on their faces, and Arthur breaks the stare first, taking another gulp of his wine before laughing jovially and speaking:

“Well. Here’s to an amazing year, and hopefully an even better one, starting in a few minutes.”

Merlin nods, lifting his own goblet to tap it against Arthur’s:

“Here’s to the past, that guides us-”

He gestures to the book on Arthur’s table:

“-and the future, that calls to us.”

He gestures to his new bow, and they both finish their wine off, a healthy flush to their cheeks and fond smiles on their faces.

They fall asleep in their respective chairs, the same as every year.

In the morning, they wake with pounding headaches, a promise of a golden future, and hands intertwined.

THE END!!

We love a cutesy/hopeful ending😌

Like always lads, you wanna write it out in full, go for it, credit and tag me✌️

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struggling-with-time · 4 years ago

Text

Cousin of a cousin’s wedding [Corpse x reader]

Paring: Corpse husband x Gender neutral!reader

Series: And they were roommates

Summary: “Fake dating au” requested by anon

Warnings: angst

Words: 2.2K

A/N: I��m sorry this took so long, it was supposed to be around 750 words...

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

You barely remember the conversation leading up to the now 7-hour drive. Corpse had asked you to be his date for the cousin of a cousin’s wedding, he didn’t want to feel awkward all night so bringing you along would help a lot.

However you were now sitting in the car packed for the weekend about 2 hours down the road when Corpse had dropped the bomb.

“Could you pretend to be my partner? I just don’t want my aunts to bother me all night about dating, and then when you don’t leave my side all night won’t be looked upon as weird.”

You had never met more than his initiate family so of course you would be staying close to him, but this was a bit unexspected, and now you were going to be in love with him for a whole weekend only to have it ripped out of your reach Sunday afternoon. You knew you should say no, this could only end in catastrophy. But your voiced betrayed you, as you heard it answer him.

“Of course, I don’t mind.” Yes you did, you did mind a lot. What were you doing? You were screaming at yourself on the inside, while kindly smiling to the squirming Corpse beside you. You observed a wave of relief hit his face.

“Thank you, Y/N you’re my savior. I own you one.” He breathes out, why was he so stupid? Oh god now he had to act like he didn’t want to kiss you badly behind closed door but be able to express it free in the open. Why could he not just have kept his mouth shut? At least his aunts will be easier to deal with. They were the worst part of any family gathering.

The two of you got lost in music, both needing to escape from the impending doom each of your minds was trying to show you was going to happen.

You finally pull up to the estate of the wedding, Corpse looking as out of place as you feel. It was bright and everything was baby pink and baby blue. You have by now realized, you have no clue who the bride and groom are, and Corpse doesn’t seem to completely be sure either. This is going to be a rollercoaster of a weekend.

The two of you grab your bags, as you close the car Corpse is standing beside you, now packed with both bags and a hand outstretch. Oh yeah, couple. You have to be a couple for the weekend. This is fine. Totally. You can keep your cool. You look away as you take his hand, trying to keep the blush creeping up to you a bay.

Corpses eyes are fixated on your hand together, your hand just fit so perfectly in his, he knows he’s going to be keeping it in his now for as long as possible the rest of the weekend. He stands by watching as you check the two of you in under Corpses name, he can hear you ask if there is a possibility to get room service. He doesn’t register the answer, just the squeeze of your hand, as you can feel him start to lean back and forth on his feet.

Corpse lets out a breath as he puts your bags down on the bed, it’s a double bed. You’ve slept together before. It has been some time, but it’s not something that has never happened before. Corpse falls down onto the bed feeling how soft it is.

“Corpse! You can’t sleep now, we still have to greet everyone, but I wouldn’t mind missing it.” You sigh as you begin to open your bags and take out your outfits for tomorrow, and the rehearsal dinner tonight. You hang them up next to each other on the closet door. You admire them, how in the world are you going to be paying attention to anyone but Corpse?

Corpse has pushed himself onto his elbows curious at your sudden silence, looking at your two outfits for the weekend, mirroring your thoughts. How in the world is going to be paying attention to anything but you?

“You’re…” He swallows “You’re going to be wearing that?” You turn around beaming at him

“Yes! Do you like it?” You take off the rehearsal outfit of its hanger and does the same with his. You’re excited to see him in a suit for the first time. It’s going to be a sight for ages, and you know it. You don’t notice Corpse flops back onto the bed.

Y/N is going to be the death of me. That is the only thought running through Corpses head as you begin to get ready for the greetings and the rehearsal dinner.

“You’re going to look very… Nice?” Why did you say it like that Corpse? He nearly smacks himself in the head out of regret.

He finally rolls off the bed as you throw his outfit at him, ignoring his comment, not knowing how to take it, was it a compliment?

The two of you finish up, both trying to subtly check the other out, too busy to notice the other checking them out. You can smell the tension three doors down the hall.

He offers you his arm, and you happily take it after locking up the room you’ve been lodged into. You relish in the feeling of him leading you for as long as possible until you end up in the now bit crowed area of the lounge. You can feel Corpse tensing, so you do the only thing you can think of.

“Baby, it’s okay, I’m right here.” You reassure him. He smiles down at you. clearly already feeling calmer from knowing you’re there.

Baby?? Baby?? Y/N called you baby, and you didn’t do anything. Corpses thoughts are running wild of other nicknames he can suddenly hear you call him in the next two days.

He introduces you to a couple of cousins he vaguely remembers meeting when he was young. But a lot of the people there, he hasn’t met either. You were the more outgoing of the two of you. Which was kind of like being the tallest dwarf. You to what everyone tells you, and you nod at the right time. Corpse hasn’t been listening to anyone else since you came down here. You’ve invaded all of his mind in that outfit and by just being there, hearing you call him your partner, and baby. He’s whipped and you’re not even his.

The rehearsal dinner goes well, you’re seated between some people Corpse hasn’t met either, so the two of you keep to yourself. You’re chatting along, and having fun, both enjoying the couples part, having a bit of fun trash talking some of the others when you can see them be rude to the servers.

After dinner you greet the bride and groom, they seem nice, the bride like so many others vaguely remembers Corpse from that one family gathering back in that aunts house ages ago. They tell you they’re happy that he has finally found someone to take care of him, you thank them. Corpse is clearly embarrassed by the whole ordeal.

Another half an hour of mingling goes by before the bar is open and you tell Corpse you’ll be right back with something to drink.

You try to get the bartenders attention, but he seems preoccupied with flirting with an elderly woman down the bar, seemingly willing to give him tips. That’s when a man approaches you, he’s cleanly shaven and like so many others in an expensive suit.

“Here let me help you.” He tell you, before whistling, making the bartender come over.

“Thank you,” you tell him, before you give your order to the bartender.

“What’s someone like you doing hanging over by the bar?” He asks

“The same as you,” you can already tell where this is going, and can feel the dread creeping up on you for having answered.

“Then have the drink with me.” He offers ever so politely, you glance after the bartender. Hoping for him to come back soon.

“No thanks, I’ll be alright.” You tell him, and starts looking for Corpse in the crowd, but you can no longer see the place where you left him standing.

“C’mon it’s just one drink.” He persist, “it’ll be on my tab.”

“I’m sorry, I’m here with someone tonight.” You decline once again. Hoping for the drinks to be finished soon.

“One drink, just one.” He offers again.

“I think my partner here made it very clear. No.” You can hear the deep voice behind you, you lean into his arms as they embrace you from around the stomach. If you weren’t wrong you could hear a hint pf possessiveness in his voice, and that sent the right kinds of chills down your spine.

The man puts his hand up. “It was just a lighthearted offer, nothing to be making a fuss about.” He walks away.

You look up at Corpse, your drinks forgotten, the two of you just wanting to rest. You head for the bedroom, knowing there will be an even longer day in front of you tomorrow.

As you strip down in the bathroom you call out to Corpse.

“You know I could have handled that myself, right?”

“I know, doesn’t mean that you always have to though.” He calls back.

The two of you settle comfortably into bed, you can feel Corpse pull you into him, and you let him do it.

You’re awakened by the sun streaming in through the windows. Corpse is already up and showering, you yawn as you get out of bed, and look over the outfits for the day. There was a breakfast buffe, but the two of you settle with room service, and a nice silent morning together.

You take your time to get ready, as the two of you aren’t invited to the church, which is understandable. You have no clue how many you are here, but the small church attached to the large manor, doesn’t seem to be able to fit everyone attending.

You fix Corpse tie, as you finish up and check over yourself. The two of you linger close, before you pull away and dust down his jacket with your hand.

The dinner is what Corpse has been dreading the most. His aunts. They’ll be seated at the same table as you. Which means every aspect of his life will be scrutinized with certainty.

You let him lead you to the table, minimizing the amount of time you must mingle with others. The couple gets introduced and then the first course is served. This is when the first of the 4 aunts around you starts to question your life. What jobs do you have? Did you ever finish college? Why aren’t you more like my children?

You put your hand on Corpses thigh, and you can feel him melt underneath your touch. He puts his hand on top of yours, as he tries to calmly answer every question that gets thrown at you. but his mind keep wandering to the hand that’s burning a hole through his trousers.

The speeches flies by as the two of you go back into your little couple bubble, as you have dubbed it in your own mind. You know by tomorrow noon the spell will be broken, but you will enjoy every bit until then. By the time desert rolls around, both you and Corpse have gotten a bit of alcohol inside and is ready to hit the bar when desert finally gets taken off the table.

You giggle at something he said as he whispers it into your ear. You’re both drunk, and both having forgotten the couple thing was to help Corpse calm his nerves. The next thing you remember is the headache you had when you woke up.

You remember waking up and realizing you had significantly less on than usual when heading to bed. The scared look on Corpses face when you met his eyes explained enough for you.

The two of you packed your things in silence, only talking to each other, when thanking the newly weds for their hospitality, before heading to the car. Riding 7 hours in silence back to your apartment in San Diego. The spell certainly broken.

How you both wished that it had been real, and how you both wished you knew how to bring up what had happened and tell the other you wouldn’t mind continuing like that. Instead you both kept your mouths shot, with your minds running more miles per hours than the car.

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse husband fic #corpse husband fanfic #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband imagine #delias own writing

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harper-hook · 4 years ago

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Into The Woods | Harry Hook x Reader

Request: Can I request a Harry X reader where the reader is Peter Pan's daughter and they hate each other at first but then things get really heated between them and it turns into full on smut?

Warnings: Oral sex

Author’s Note: This almost killed me to write tbh

The familiar scraping of metal on metal made you groan mentally and slam your locker. “what do ya want now, Hook?” You snapped, unfortunately used to your father’s enemy's son bothering you. “Just came to see me favorite little sprite.” He replied with a wide grin, seeing how it got under your skin.

You stopped yourself before you yelled at him and caused a scene. It was the day right before Spring Break and you didn’t want to damper your spirits by earning after school detention as soon as you got back. “Well you saw me. Now back off.” You ordered.

Harry stepped back, faking a wounded look. “My plans don’t involve backing off.” He smirked. “Quite the opposite in fact, seeing as you’re heading back to Neverland.” You groaned and rolld your eyes. This again.

“If you let me tag along, I’ll make it worth your wild.” He practically purred, getting up in your personal bubble. You sneered at him. “Listen, Hook and listen good.” You poked him chest with your finger. “You will never! Set foot in Neverland if I have anything to say about it!” You hissed.

Harry’s smirk dropped and he adopted an angry glare. You were a bit nervous but you couldn’t back down now. “Then we’ll just have to hope nothing happens to ya!” He hissed. You growled, getting in his face and bawling your fists.

“Hook! Pan!” You snapped out of your rage as Fairy Godmother came bustling around the corner, catching you both. Uh oh...

One long and infuriating detention later, you were finally packing up. “Stupid Hook and his stupid face...” You ranted to Ben over the phone. Ben sighed as you leaned against the side of your car, trunk still open. “Didn’t you think he was cute when he first came here?” Mal asked, joining Ben on the other line.

The good thing about being over the phone was no one could see you roll your eyes. "That was before he opened his mouth." You huffed. “So you’re gonna talk to Tiger Peony about the trade deal between Neverland and Auradon, right?” Ben changed the subject.

“Yeah I’ll do your job while on my spring break, Ben.” You rolled your eyes. "I appreciate it, you know?" He said. "Uh huh. See if you can lower my detention sessions when I come back." Ben sighed, confirming that he said he would see what he could do.

You said your goodbyes and promised to call once you arrived; Ben always the worrier. Hanging up, you quickly slammed your trunk shut and climbed in the driver's side.

Taking one last look at Auradon Prep in the mirror, you pulled out and started on your long 6 hour drive.

-----

The first couple of hours of the drive you didn't mind. Plenty of sunlight and good music made the time fly. But thanks to Fairy Godmother's detention, you'd left 2 hours late and now the sun was going down quick.

Driving at night didn't bother you but driving through Summerwoods at night bothered you. You turned your music down and took a deep breath, trying to keep calm. Now you really regretted turning Herkie’s invitation for a ride. “(Y/N), you’re a fucking moron.” You hummed to yourself.

Then it sounded like a gun shot went off. You let out a small shriek, thankfully not swerving your car off the road. You slowed considerably, still confused and terrified. Then you heard it, what sounded like a horse’s snort, the spluttering of air. Your heart sank, grip tightening on the steering wheel. “Are you fucking serious right now?!”

Slowly limping your car to the side of the road and putting it in park, you practically threw yourself out of the door, mood souring at the telltale signs of a popped tire. You glanced to the right and saw the back tire, flat as paper.

You groaned, you held your head in your hands. Ok, keep yourself together, you thought. I’m a strong independent woman and I can change a tire, that’s what I keep a spare for, you reminded yourself.

You ran to the back and popped the trunk open again. “Hiya!” You screamed, stumbling backwards and falling on the ground. You laid there in complete shock, breathing heavily and heart thumping. You could hear Harry wheezing in laughter.

After a few seconds, you sat up, gasping for air. “What the fuck?” You rasped out. Harry climbed out of your trunk, still shaking in mirth. Shakily, you stood to your feet, narrowing your eyes at the boy in front of you.

“What in the actual fuck do you think you’re going?” You screamed, no longer shaking in fear but in anger. “I’m going to Neverland, what does it look like?” He said with a slight eyeroll like you were stupid. This just pissed you off more.

“It looks like you’re some kind of fucking stalker!” Harry stopped laughing, looking at you with a positively poisonous glare. He stomped up to you, clearly trying to intimidate you. You were too angry to care.

“You might wanna loose the attitude, lass. We’re all alone out here.” He sneered. It was your turn to roll your eyes. “Just get out of my way.” You pushed past him, peering into your trunk. “Where’s my spare tire?” You questioned, looking back at Harry who looked like a pouty kid caught in the cookie jar.

“Was awful cramped in there with that thing.” He muttered. He continued at your deadpan look. “Threw it out at the school.” You took a sharp, deep inhale, fists clenching and unclenching. You turned and slammed your trunk shut, putting your arms and head down on top of it.

You couldn’t help but laugh. The whole irony and bullshit of the situation was honestly laughable. It would’ve been funnier if it hadn’t been you. “Pan?” You heard Harry call. “What?!” You snapped, raising your head.

“Ya okay?” Your eyes widened as you spun around. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just ask me that when you literally ruined my entire evening!” You screamed at him. Harry marched up to you, forcing you back against your trunk. “I thought I told you to loose the fucking attitude.” He snapped. He grabbed the hair at the base of your neck and practically bent you over backwards on your trunk.

He leaned in close to you, cocky smirk on his face. You snarled and bared your teeth, leaning closer to his face. “Am I supposed to be scared of you? There’s 1000 things in these woods alone that are scarier than you.” You and Harry’s gazes locked. His eyes were so... blue. You really hadn’t noticed before.

His glare softened slightly and he released his grip on your hair, stepping back. You straightened up, keeping a close eye on Harry. You’d never admit that he scared you a bit. Never.

It was silent now. You looked away into the forest. It was completely dark now. Crunching sounds from the forest made the hairs on your arms raise. You and Harry shared a look to confirm you both heard it. A nearby wolf’s howl made you gasp and reach out, a firm hold on Harry’s shirt. He held your wrist.

“C’mon. C’mon.” He ushered you to the backseat and practically shoved you in and climbed in after you. You sighed and tucked your knees under your chin. Fuck, this was bad. “Call Princey. See what kinda magic he can work.” Harry murmured, like he was afraid to talk too loud.

“Hey, finally a smart suggestion from you.” You said with a sarcastic smile and leaned forward to your car’s center panel. You had both knees on the middle storage compartment, waiting on the phone to ring.

“Hello?” Ben answered after three rings. “Ben!” You were instantly filled with relief. “I need some help. My car blew a tire in the Summerwoods.” You explained. “What about your spare?” He asked. You turned to glance at Harry who gave a sarcastic wave. You flipped him off and turned back around. “It was a bad spare.” You lied. “Can you send help?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s gonna be a couple of hours though.” Ben said. You groaned at the fact you already knew. “Thanks, Ben. I’ll make it up to you one day, I swear.” You smiled at Ben’s laughter. “Yeah, just hang tight.” With that, he hung up and you tossed your phone back into the center console.

You moved to sit back down in the backseat, instead moving into something solid. While you were preoccupied, Harry had slid into the middle seat right behind you. “What are you-” You squeaked as Harry pulled you down into his lap.

He wound his hand into your hair again and bent you backwards, leaving your neck exposed. His other hand had a firm grip on your hip. You gasped as he licked a stripe up your neck, blowing on it to make you shudder. “W-what are you doing?”

“I can see it, ya know? I saw it earlier. Ya look at me the way I look at ya.” He murmured, low and close to your ear. “You lie and say you hate me but have still fantasized about this. About me.” He placed a kiss on your neck. Your shaking hands found their place on his knees.

“Say you want this. Say you want me. Or I’ll let you go and we never have to speak again.” Your heart hurt in an unexplained way. This bickering love-to-hate routine you and Harry had fallen into naturally, for it all to stop one day? It seemed Harry Hook had somehow managed to worm his way into your heart.

“Harry...” You murmured, looking up at him. “I want you. Now.” You said with more confidence that you’d anticipated. He looked surprised but quickly adopted his signature cocky grin. “Atta girl.” He helped you turn around to straddle him.

You bent down to kiss along his jawline before planting one on his lips. It started innocent but quickly turned rougher and more passionate. Harry raised his hand and brought it down hard on your ass. You gasped into the kiss and pulled away, looking at Harry with an indignant look.

“That’s for the fuckin’ attitude you’ve been giving me for the last 4 months.” He growled, voice deep and husky. “You’ll get a lot more later.” He said, his tone of voice making you realize you were in for a world of hurt later.

He tugged on the bottom of your shirt before pulling it off. He grinned and pulled you back for another kiss, slowly grinding his erection against your leg. You scratched his shoulders as you pulled away.

“I’m not fucking you on the first date.” You said matter-of-factly. He looked at you, confused and a bit annoyed. “Technically it’s not even a date. More of a car invasion.” You crossed your arms, smirking at Harry. He narrowed his eyes before grinning himself.

“Either way, I’m still gonna rock your world, luv.” He smacked your ass in the same spot, making you hiss in pain. You climbed off his lap and leaned up against the door, Harry right on top of you.

You gripped the seat as Harry kissed down your neck, teeth scraping your skin. Your head was tossed back as he moved lower and lower. "Look at me." You glanced down and could barely make out Harry kneeling between your legs.

He started tugging on your jeans and you lifted up to help him. In one fluid motion, your jeans were tossed into the front seat. You whimpered, feeling exposed. Harry shushed you, breathing close to your lower belly. "Trust me."

Your heart lurches in shock as cold metal dragged its way up your leg and hooked into your underwear, tugging them down. You felt like your face was on fire.

You took a deep breath as Harry threw one leg over his shoulder and the opposite leg was pushed to dangle over the floor boards. You flushed again as Harry kissed gently up your thigh. You shrieked as he nipped your inner thigh.

"Fucker..." You stammered. Harry laughed before he leaned down close to your heat. He slowly dragged his tongue up your slit. You moaned loudly, one hand reaching to Harry's head, pushing him down.

You sighed and moaned into your hand as Harry continued his ministrations. "I- I wanna hear you." Harry murmured into your thigh. "I wanna hear how good I'm making you feel." His voice barely more than a whisper.

"Harry!" You moaned loudly as Harry blew cool air over your slit. "That's my girl." And he went back down on you, more aggressive this time. The air in the car felt thick and foggy, just like your thought process.

Harry moved to your clit, clearly tracing a pattern. He used one hand on hold your bucking hips down as he continued. "Are you-" You trailed into a high pitched whine. "Tracing your fucking name?" You shook violently.

You could feel Harry grin against you. He moved up into your face, noses nearly touching. "Yeah. And what are ya going to do about it?" He sneered, attack your neck again with a rigorous fever. "Mine." That one word sent a fire burning through you.

One of Harry's hands moved you your slit, two fingers slipping in easily. "Harry..." You moaned, tears coming to your eyes. He was still sucking and biting at the base of your neck and collarbone, clearly trying to leave a mark. You dug your nails into the back of his neck, making him let out a few curses.

Harry curled his fingers against your G-spot relentlessly, your legs shaking and your hips bucking wildly. "Harry!" You sobbed as you finally came, back arching and world going still.

It was quiet for a moment and the only sound was both of yours heavy breathing. Harry pulled his fingers out and wiped them on his pant, sitting back on the other side of the backseat. You sat up and pulled your legs back to you.

You winced, pain shooting through your body. "What the fuck did you do to me, Hook?" You muttered. Your legs and back were cramped up and it felt like you'd been punched in the neck. He laughed heartily. "Fucked ya up good, huh?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help but agree. Between your dried tears on your cheeks and messy hair from rubbing against the window, not to mention all the bruises.

You glanced over at Harry who was looking at you curiously. "What?" He asked. You smirked at him, leaning over him. You ran you hand down his chest and iver the bulge in his pants, making him buck into your hand. "It's my turn now."

#disney descendants #descendants #descendants imagine #descendants harry #harry hook x reader #harry hook imagines #harry hook

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her-golden-hair · 3 years ago

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Quotes in IWTV I came across while doing my research that are so raw they stick with me to this day:

IDs under the cut

[Begin Photo 1 ID] “If I can live from the blood of animals, why should I not live from the blood of animals rather than go through the world bringing misery and death to human creatures!”

“Does it bring you happiness?” he asked. “You wander through the night, feeding on rats like a pauper and then moon at Babette’s window, filled with care, yet helpless as the goddess who came by night to watch Endymion sleep and could not have him. And suppose you could hold her in your arms and she would look on you without horror or disgust, what then? A few short years to watch her suffer every prick of mortality and then die before your eyes? Does this give happiness? This is insanity, Louis. This is vain. And what truly lies before you is vampire nature.” [End Photo 1 ID]

[Begin Photo 2 ID] “And did you lose her? Did she go?"

“Go! Where would she have gone? She was a child no bigger than that. Who would have sheltered her? Would she have found some vault, like a mythical vampire, lying down with worms and ants by day and rising to haunt some small cemetery and its surroundings? But that’s not why she didn’t go. Something in her was as akin to me as anything in her could have been. That thing in Lestat was the same. We could not bear to live alone! We needed our little company! A wilderness of mortals surrounded us, groping, blind, preoccupied, and the brides and bridegrooms of death.” [End Photo 2 ID]

[Begin Photo 3 ID] “It struck me suddenly what consolation it would be to know Satan, to look upon his face, no matter how terrible that countenance was, to know that I belonged to him totally, and thus put to rest forever the torment of this ignorance. To step through some veil that would forever separate me from all that I called human nature.” [End Photo 3 ID]

[Begin Photo 4 ID] “I’m not certain,” I said, unable to keep my eyes off that awful medieval Satan. “I would have to know from what… from whom it comes. Whether it came from other vampires… or elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere…” he said. “What is elsewhere?”

“That!” I pointed to the medieval picture.

“That is a picture,” he said.

“Nothing more?”

“Nothing more.” [End Photo 4 ID]

[Begin Photo 5 ID] “It seemed more than ever absurd to me that Lestat should have died, if in fact he had; and looking back on him, as it seemed I was always doing, I saw him more kindly than before. Lost like the rest of us. Not the jealous protector of any knowledge he was afraid to share. He knew nothing. There was nothing to know.” [End Photo 5 ID]

[Begin Photo 6 ID] “I heard his words just as if he were speaking them again: 'All I want here is a certain space, a certain peace. Or not to be here at all.' And I felt a longing for him so strong that it took all my strength to contain it, merely to sit there gazing at him, fighting it. I wanted it to be this way: Claudia safe amongst these vampires somehow, guilty of no crime they could ever discover from her or anyone else so that I might be free, free to remain forever in this cell as long as I could be welcome, even tolerated, allowed here on any condition whatsoever.” [End Photo 6 ID]

[Begin Photo 7 ID] “Don’t you look away from me! I am sick at heart with your looking away, with your suffering. You understand nothing. Your evil is that you cannot be evil, and I must suffer for it. I tell you, I will suffer no longer!” [End Photo 7 ID]

[Begin Photo 8 ID] “No. I must make contact with the age,” he said to me calmly. “And I can do this through you... not to learn things from you which I can see in a moment in an art gallery or read in an hour in the thickest books... you are the spirit, you are the heart,” he persisted.

“No, no.” I threw up my hands. I was on the point of a bitter, hysterical laughter. “Don’t you see? I'm not the spirit of any age. I'm at odds with everything and always have been! I've never belonged anywhere with anyone at any time!” It was too painful, too perfectly true.

“But his face only brightened with an irresistible smile. He seemed on the verge of laughing at me, and then his shoulders began to move with this laughter. “But Louis,” he said softly. “This is the very spirit of your age. Don’t you see that? Everyone else feels as you feel. Your fall from grace and faith has been the fall of a century.” [End Photo 8 ID]

[Begin Photo 9 ID] “We can even go so far as to love each other, you and I. And who else would show us a particle of love, a particle of compassion or mercy? Who else, knowing us as we know each other, could do anything but destroy us? Yet we can love each other.” [End Photo 9 ID]

[Begin Photo 10 ID] "I knew the real answer to my quest before I ever reached Paris. I knew it when I first took a human life to feed my craving. It was my death. And yet I would not accept it, could not accept it, because like all creatures I don’t wish to die!" [End Photo 10 ID]

#this book is The Queer Book #i'm telling you #i have never read a more queer story #in so many different way too #the rhetoric is *chef's kiss*#iwtv #interview with the vampire

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neonthewrite · 4 years ago

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Washed Up Winchesters 2

Jacob has brought the waterlogged strangers to shore, where his smaller friends can help them get back on their feet. There's only one issue ... we're not in Kansas - ehhh, Blefuscu anymore!

Cowritten with @nightmares06, the writer behind the @brothersapart multiverse!

Reading time ~10 minutes.

( 1 ) -2- ( 3 ) ( 4 ) ( 5 ) ( 6 ) ( 7 ) ( 8 )

Story Tag

~~~~~

Jacob looked down just in time to see that exhausted lean. He paused his trek through the now-waist-deep water to move his hands even closer to his chest. The tiny knife rested precariously on his knuckle, no longer clung to as a desperate defense by the tiny little person in his hand. Now both of them were out cold, reminding him how much trouble they’d been in when he spotted them.

If he hadn’t rushed out to get to them fast enough …

He didn’t let himself dwell on it. Instead, as carefully as he could, he moved his hands together so he could gently settle the second guy down on his palm next to the first. They lay exhausted and unconscious, hopefully getting plenty of warmth from his hand. For all he knew, they could have been out on the water for hours before he wandered by. That knife tumbled to rest near the first of the two, and he hoped they wouldn’t wake up and decide to put it to use on him.

Hunting monsters. Does that include giants?

On his way back to shore, Jacob kept his eye on the pair of them, but they didn’t stir. By the time the water was barely up to his knees, he worried they might be worse off than he thought.

He was so preoccupied, he missed a small voice calling out for him at first. Back on dry land, with water rushing off of him and almost creating a small lagoon, he didn’t know what approach to take next.

“Jacob! What the hell!”

He finally glanced down to find a familiar, tiny shape waving frantically at him from the seaside cliffs. Those didn’t even come up to half his height, so he squatted down to put himself closer to Chase’s level.

“Chase, they were just floating out there on the water,” he explained. His voice pitched higher with worry, and he held his hand out to the cliff edge for Chase to see.

Chase, normally always ready with a joke or a cheesy remark, was serious as he beheld the bedraggled forms collapsed on Jacob’s hand. “Holy shit!” he hissed, hopping onto Jacob’s fingers like a ramp. He gingerly stepped around the pair and knelt down to see them closer, but frowned. “They were out in the water? How far?”

Jacob leaned closer as if he might see the pair as well as Chase could. “Pretty far. I couldn’t even stand up.”

Chase shook his head and his pitch black hair waved messily. “O-okay. Well. We should probably get them some help. Bring us all back to the house, alright? They probably need blankets, and stuff, or something. I dunno.”

Jacob nodded. “Let me know if they look like they’re gonna wake up before we get there,” he said, before rising to his feet with three tiny people on his hand.

~~~

The first thing Sam noticed, upon waking up, was how dry his mouth was.

Drawing in a raspy breath, Sam turned his head to the side and coughed. His throat was scratchy and dry, as though he'd had no water in hours. Squinting his eyes open, he blinked a few times, the unfamiliarity of his surroundings keeping him confused.

"Dee--" Sam only got the first sound of Dean's name out before his voice gave out and he coughed again. Licking his lips, he tried again, this time forcing out a "Dean?"

“Oh, shit!” a voice from somewhere else blurted. Footsteps followed, echoing slightly in the room lit mostly by tall windows on one side. Thin curtains wafted in a slight breeze, creating a gentle but bright view above where Sam lay.

Until suddenly someone was leaning over him to check on him. Sam balked back, deeper into the pillow his head was resting on.

“Hey, dude,” Chase greeted quietly. “Take it easy, okay? Your guy is on the other couch,” he leaned back and glanced over his shoulder to indicate the couch sitting opposite the one Sam occupied. Dean was there, wrapped in blankets and towels just like Sam, after their prolonged dip in the ocean. “It’s uh. We couldn’t get you guys to any beds to rest, so. Couches it is.”

He belatedly realized that he had a glass of water in his hand. “You probably need this, right? Man, I’m glad to see you’re awake. Had us worried there.”

Before anything, Sam glanced in the direction indicated to see Dean sprawled out, a boot sticking out of the blankets wrapped around him. Relieved to see that his brother had survived their short attempt at infiltration, Sam sank down into the cushions, accepting the water and tenderly wetting his mouth so he could talk. "Thanks," Sam managed. The water had helped. He was left with a thousand questions about just how they'd gotten here, though, considering the last he recalled, they had been floating in the ocean, long abandoned by the ship they'd taken out. Trying to condense those questions into one, all Sam could get out was "Who are you?"

Chase grinned. “Name's Chase. This is my house. My friend pulled you guys out of the water clear out in the bay and brought you here since he, ah, doesn't go into town much. Ta-da!” He held his hands open to grandly display the tidy, modestly-decorated living room.

Quickly enough, a more serious look replaced his bemused expression. “Other than, yknow, almost drowning … are you hurt or anything?”

Sam shook his head quickly, then paused to actually check. Other than the general aches and pains that came from hours keeping afloat in the ocean, nothing stood out to Sam as abnormal. “No, but Dean took the fall harder,” Sam admitted. He sipped at the water, then pushed himself up. He needed to check on Dean and make sure there weren’t any injuries.

So far, Dean hadn’t roused or budged since Sam and Chase had started talking. Much like Sam, he was still in the same clothes as when they were on the boat, with the towels and blankets bundled around to keep him warm.

When he got over, Sam checked to make sure Dean was breathing steadily. The leather jacket his older brother was known for was bundled up nearby, drenched with salt water.

“Dean’s not gonna be happy,” Sam commented dryly when he saw the state the jacket was in. He looked over at Chase. “How’d we get here? Last I knew, we were stranded with land too far off to see.”

Chase’s smile was more subdued this time as he tried to figure out how to approach the topic. From what he’d heard, one of these guys was quite freaked out when Jacob had found them, and he didn’t want to cause more upset while they were still in his house. “My friend Jacob actually spotted you and got you out of the water in the nick of time,” he hedged. “He was pretty worried, we had to send him on a walk so he wasn’t just pacing in the backyard wondering if he’d let you drown.”

He glanced at the curtained windows. “Guess you were already passed out when he showed up,” he said more gently. “I can get my sister to go find him, if ya want?”

“Yeah, if you could,” Sam said offhandedly, the importance of Chase’s statement not really sinking in. He wanted to thank their rescuer for himself, as soon as possible.

After, he would need to get Dean up to see what he remembered. They were on a case, after all. If they kept getting held up, by the time they caught up to the ship there’d be a trail of bodies to follow.

They had started out ten steps ahead on this case. How had it all gone so wrong?

"Just a sec," Chase agreed, before retreating to an arched doorway leading somewhere else in the house. He spared Dean one last glance, then nodded at Sam and disappeared through that doorway.

Even out of sight, it would be hard to miss the footsteps moving away. Even tougher to ignore was the shout that followed as Chase called up the stairs. "Hey, Minnie!"

"What?" Her voice from far away would be muffled to Sam, but still easily heard in the otherwise empty house.

"Go get Jacob back here!"

"Why can't you do it?"

Chase sighed in the most put-upon way he could manage. "Because, I have to be a good host and stuff!"

Minnie appeared at the top of the stairs, eyes narrowed and mouth turned down in a frown. "Then why are you yelling at me?" she countered, even as she hurried down to join him. Chase smirked as she had to step around him, before she shoved lightly at his side and made him stumble against the railing.

He followed her into the living room just as she reached it to check on their would-be guests herself. Her stern look softened when she saw that only one of them had woken up yet. "He gave you some water, right?"

Sam was bemused by the sight of the siblings' argument. It reminded him sharply of several arguments with Dean that had gone in nearly the same direction.

“He did,” Sam confirmed, getting Chase off at least one hook. He had a suspicion that it wouldn’t take the kid long to get himself in trouble yet again, much like Dean managed on an hourly basis. “We’re just waiting for Dean to wake up now.”

Minnie nodded, glancing once more at Dean with a small glimmer of concern in her eyes. “Alright. I’ll go get Jacob. Chase,” she fixed him with an almost accusing look, “will get you guys whatever you need.” She could see in his face that he had yet to explain who Jacob was, and if this guy was unconscious when the resident giant showed up, he wouldn’t be expecting his return now.

Chase gave Minnie a thumbs up as she left again, and then wandered closer to where Sam stood by Dean. Privately, he rued how tall both these guys were; they could barely fit on the couches in the living room, and had required every extra blanket he and Minnie could find in the house.

On one hand, they had the right build for sailors. On the other, it would be weird for sailors to be out floating in the bay, so far from shore that only a giant had a chance of spotting them.

“Won’t take him long to wander back here,” Chase said mildly. “Do you, uh. Why were you in the water?”

Sam sat back on his heels, continuing to hover close to Dean. “We’re on a job,” he explained. “It’s… complicated. Suffice to say, we got tossed overboard when our cover was blown.”

There was a lot about that nagging at Sam. His lips turned down as he thought over the events leading up to getting tossed overboard. Nothing, right up until the moment they were grabbed, stood out to him as out of the ordinary. They went undercover all the time, and on that ragtag ship of passengers and personnel, they’d blended right in even in their standard outfits.

“We just don’t know how they found us,” Sam mused.

“You were undercover?” Chase echoed, his eyes widening with intrigue. Jacob would be shocked to find out that he’d somehow rescued a pair of … well, whatever these two were to require undercover work. It was probably super cool. “Dude, so that means me, Minnie, and Jacob are helping out your, uh. Mission?”

Amused, Sam gave a half-shrug. “Uh, I guess?” he said. “It’s not like we’re government agents, after all…”

Dean stirred on the couch, mumbling in his spot. Sam was up in a flash, offering the cup of water before Dean tried to say anything. He remembered the raw, dry feeling in his throat from being stranded at sea for so long and didn’t want Dean to go through that any longer than he had to.

While he watched to make sure Dean didn’t spill the cup, Sam frowned. “We need to make sure no one gets hurt, and this whole thing will just get covered up if anyone else in Blefuscu finds out--”

“Blefuscu?!” Chase blurted, only reining in his volume on the last syllable of the word. He glanced at Dean, still barely conscious, before fixing his surprised look on Sam once more. “You’re from Blefuscu?”

They weren’t even from Lilliput. Blefuscu, the neighboring land across a wide bay, had a storied past with Lilliput. They weren’t really at war anymore, but even with some tense trade moving back and forth across the bay, the two countries weren’t exactly best friends. Chase wasn’t sure he’d even told Jacob very much about Blefuscu yet.

A distant rumble sounded, far enough to seem like a simple gust of wind if one didn’t know what it really was. Jacob must have wandered quite far, but he could cover distances like no one else. As this Sam and Dean were about to find out. “Anyway, uh. I guess you oughta know … Jacob brought you to Lilliput. Surprise?”

#mywriting #collab #washed up winchesters #jacob andris #chase lisong #g/t #g/t handheld #gullivers travels fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #chase in lilliput au #sam winchester #dean winchester

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cuinaminute229 · 4 years ago

Text

Like no other

....

Take a breath. Calm down. In and out.

One, one thousand

Do not panic. Do not over-analyze. Do not get caught.

Two, one thousand

Think about your next move. Think about the goal. Think about the end result.

Three, one thousand

You have the USB stick with the intel; you have your gun. Now you just had to get back to the rendezvous point and get the hell out of here.

But there was a problem.

The light from the alarm illuminating the room in red and the ear-piercing sound ringing out is definitely not part of the plan. The smoking hole in the monitor of the computer you were just working on and the unconscious guard on the ground didn't help either. "What the hell?" You mutter to yourself as you pocket the USB stick. "You didn't have to shoot the computer." You tell the guard as you take his gun, put the safety on, and toss the weapon across the room. You shake your head because, of course, something like this would happen; the universe couldn't spare a moment and give you a break? No, of course not.

You counted seven when you entered the building with a stolen keycard, seven armed guards who were more preoccupied with their own thing than they would care to admit. Two who look barely over eighteen chatting softly. One snoozing against the wall and the others playing poker on the concrete floor. None paying attention to their surroundings, too busy in their own little worlds to notice you slipping past without a sound.

Now they were down one and with fingers on the trigger. You make one wrong move, turn down the wrong hallway, run into the wrong person, and they won’t think twice before shooting.

Six guards, 2 minutes and counting to get out of here, clearly not enough time to sneak out the way you came before reinforcements show up. You did not want to be surrounded when you were so close to ending this operation. Get out and make one phone call, that's all you had to do and then you would be homebound.

"Stop!" You don't stop. Not even when the sound of bullets leaving a gun barrel seems to echo off the walls. You chance a glance behind you as you round another corner, it was one of the two rookie guards, just great. You were not in the mood to deal with this.

......

You shift your balance from left to right impatiently as the ringing continues, it’s after the 5th ring and you're just about to hang up and try again when the person answers. "Do you know what time it is?" The voice on the other end sounds slightly irritated but not a trace of drowsiness. "No idea." You grin when you hear a sigh through the phone and you just know she's shaking her head at you. "What do you need agent?"

Business tone, as usual.

"Well," You absentmindedly lean against the phone booth while you think. "I would really like a hot shower and a bottle of vodka." She ignores your comment because she's professional like that. "Do you have the flash drive?" You take said flash drive out of your pocket and fiddle with it for a moment. "I'm looking at it." You examine the shiny silver very important USB stick. "Good, keep it safe and secure. It's too important to get into the wrong hands again." You nod a little at her words before speaking. "Yes, I know."

You tap the USB against your chin as you wait to see if she’s going to continue. “I have a bottle of vodka with your name on it when you get back.” You smile at that because she knows you so well. “As long as you keep Tony away from it. You know him and alcohol.” You joke and you hear her snicker at your comment. “Tony knows not to go anywhere near my stash.” Her voice is very serious and you smile. “You don't even let Fury near it.” You add because it’s true, no one goes near Maria’s alcohol. A moment of silence goes by and you’ve realized how much you’ve missed talking to her.

“Thank you.” Your voice is just above a whisper and you hope she knows what you mean. “Don't mention it, I’m here if you need me.” She responds in a soft tone and there is a short moment before she clears her throat and goes back to being the professional person she is. "Your flight will be ready tomorrow." You hum in response and you're about to ask her something when Maria says your name which causes you to pause. "She wants to talk to you when you get back." You know what she's doing, a simple warning, be prepared. Your grip on the phone tightens enough to make your hand almost cramp up and you have to remind yourself to relax.

"I don't want to talk to her." The flash drive goes back in your pocket. "I'm just the messenger." She adds because she knows you don't, she knows that you'd rather do anything else but talk to her.

You hang up the phone after a very quiet "See you soon." from the other end, knowing you weren't meant to hear it. But that doesn't help your sour mood now as you pull your coat tighter around you, it's raining outside this glass box.

The walk back to the place you're staying takes longer than you would like, the rain has only increased and the sidewalks are sleek and reflect the streetlights. Your fingers play with the USB that’s hidden in one of the many pockets of your coat as you try to keep your anxiety at bay. There were a handful of people walking despite the rain, people with umbrellas, parents and children, men with fedoras and suitcases going god knows where. The sky is dark and your hair is damp but you ignore the chill that seems to seep into your bones from the ice-cold rain, you need a shower, a first aid kit, and a warm bed.

......

The apartment you’re staying at is dark and quiet, the air is stuffy and warm, the place looks familiar and strange at the same time. With the door locked and the USB in a secure place, you drop your coat over the couch and unclip your gun from your belt.

After a hot shower that does nothing to help you relax and patching up your shoulder with what little there was in the first aid kit, you figured you had about 4 hours of sleep before having to be on the plane. You rub the back of your neck before sitting down on the edge of the queen bed with simple white sheets, glancing around the room as your fingers fidget with the handgun that's in your lap. The one she gave you when you first joined the team, said it was a gift. You believed her and despite yourself, you still can't find it in you to get rid of it.

You put the gun in the drawer of the nightstand and set the alarm clock that's sitting next to the lamp which doesn't match the aesthetic of the room, it looks too old. The sounds that should be familiar by now are anything but, the ticking of the clock that hangs above the doorway, the occasional creak in the hardwood flooring and the rattling from the window unit keep your senses on alert.

As you lay against the cold sheets staring at the white ceiling, you can do nothing to keep the memories at bay. Red flowing hair and sparkling emerald eyes, a smile bright and full of joy. You remember how nervous you were when you first asked her out. You kept fumbling over your words and almost didn't even go through with it, but then she took your hand and told you she would love to go with you to the little café you suggested because you knew she wanted to go to it but hadn’t gotten the chance.

Taking a deep breath you close your eyes as you try and ease the ache in your chest. You promised yourself that you wouldn't let it get to you. She doesn't deserve your tears.

You don't want to remember what happened, you don't want to relive it again. Why did Maria have to remind you that she's waiting for you? That she wants to talk to you?

You know that she was just looking out for you, Maria was the one who was with you when you asked for this assignment, she was with you during the first six months before Fury asked for her to return and you to stay and finish the mission. She was the one who helped you through your pain when it was all you could feel, when you thought that you would drown, she was an anchor in many ways. You thought it wouldn't bother you anymore after some time.

Now here you are clutching a pillow tightly against your chest as tears escape without permission. Forget about the physical burn of your muscles and the bullet wound in your shoulder, no that's not what hurts. You feel like someone is trying to tear your heart from inside your ribcage. Your eyes sting as tears fall, the fabric of the pillowcase damp from your tears and your pain. It's been a year, she shouldn't be affecting you like this. You told yourself that you were done crying.

The last conversation the two of you had before you left hurts more than you would care to admit.

"Don't you get it, Nat?" You can’t help your nervous chuckle as you look everywhere but her. Another argument has stolen the fire from you, that's all the two of you did lately. She seemed to like picking fights with you over the littlest things, stuff that shouldn’t be the start of arguments. "You're it for me," You pause because it's the first time you've admitted it out loud, this is more than an ‘I love you’, especially for you.

"There is no one else, there will never be anyone else." It's a whisper and you can't help it, but you also don't care because this entire conversation is making it feel like there's an iron grip on your heart and it just keeps squeezing and squeezing. You take a deep breath to give yourself courage. "I don't want anyone else." You finally look up and you're not surprised that she's still facing the door, she won't look at you.

"You can't keep pushing me away because you feel like you don't deserve to be happy." You take a small step towards her. "I love you." You've told her time and time again, you've shown her how much she means to you. Why doesn’t she believe you? With a deep breath, because you know you’re not going to win this, you square your shoulders and wait as you give her the chance at breaking you with her next words if she so chooses.

You wish the length of silence wasn't so long before she speaks and when she finally does, she doesn't turn around to look you in the eyes.

“I don't want you to assume something that isn’t true." She grabs the doorknob tighter and turns it with a subtle click. “Please…” The tone of your voice makes her pause. “I don't want what you want.” She still won't look at you and you can’t help but feel like you're losing something extremely important. "Now leave me alone and let's not talk about this again."

She's out the door faster than you can process her words.

“Okay."

......

The alarm ringing out through the room jolts you from your slumber and reminds you what time it is, time to suck it up and pretend like it still doesn't bother you, time to go home. You grip the pillow tighter and refuse to move as the annoying sound continues, your head hurts, your shoulder is throbbing and you remember why you don't want to face her. The small dark velvet box that’s been gathering dust on the dresser, the tiny ring box that’s slightly paled in color and is covered in a layer of dust, the one you refuse to acknowledge is right there.

It was after you bought that ring when your relationship started going downhill. All of a sudden she started avoiding you and going out of her normal routine to make sure the two of you weren't alone together.

Did she know? No, of course not. There was no way she knew that you were planning on proposing. You made sure to keep it close to your chest, not even Clint knew. It's not like you made a split decision, the two of you had talked about it before in the past. The only person that you told was Steve because he was great with giving advice and the only one you could think of that would keep it secret no matter what, you even gave him the ring at one point to make sure that there was no way she would find it by chance.

Turns out that she still found out. She was a spy after all.

Wanda was the one who ended up telling you why she was avoiding you and you couldn't help but apologize to her for being sucked into the drama that you felt was your fault.

Seeing her again after being gone for so long, it's going to be weird. You'd much rather run in the opposite direction, but Maria made you promise. You smile a little at the memory because she refused to walk out the door until you promised her that you would stop running. She then gave you a hug and a kiss on the cheek when you reassured her that you’d keep your word, come home when this mission is done.

When you’re overly annoyed with the alarm blaring and telling you to get out of bed you stab it with the combat knife that you usually keep under the other pillow, the one you didn’t realize was in your hand until you're staring at it impaling the poor alarm clock.

“Damn it.” You mutter as you finally sit up leaving the knife in the now broken electronic. That’s the fifth alarm clock you’ve destroyed since Maria left. She usually turned it off before you woke up and since she’s been gone the cashier at the store kept giving you a weird look whenever you had to buy a new one, it’s not like you mean to murder the alarm clock when it’s being annoying, it kind of just happens.

The floor is cold against your feet when you finally get out of bed and get ready for the day ahead. Packing your stuff is easy, you didn't take a lot when you left just the essentials and your choice of a few weapons. You did steal Carol’s scarf though, the one that you always borrowed and refused to give back, you loved the way it felt and that there was a chance even if it was a slim one that the scarf that was Carol’s favorite had seen the stars firsthand. You didn't know but that also did not squash the possibility.

You shut off the light to the bedroom and toss the duffle bag full of your stuff on the couch as you head to the kitchen to make something to drink before you leave. Coffee was never your favorite drink in the morning but it did help you wake up when you needed to be aware during a meeting.

As you're leaning against the counter waiting for the coffee you can't help but think about her. How she always made sure that you had a cup before Clint took the entire pot, or how she figured out how to beat you at cards, found out that you hate it when someone folds your socks, she knew why you kept a knife in the bathroom, she even knew the only reason you played billiards was to keep everyone else from winning.

You remember the first time she told you that she loved you. It wasn't something special or out of the ordinary, you weren't even expecting it but that didn’t matter because for the rest of the day you couldn’t stop smiling. And you loved her, you still love her, like no one other.

Taking a sip of the coffee you make sure you have the keys to the front door and the USB stick. No matter how much you want to stay you know you can't.

......

You slip your hands in the pockets of your coat as the pilot greets you, his name was Daniel, an agent of shield, one of Phil's friends if you remember correctly. You didn't know him personally and he seemed like a nice guy but that doesn't mean you trust him. He keeps talking about his wife and his car and you didn't have an interest in reminding him that it's best to keep personal things unsaid in this line of work.

You drop your bag next to you as you take a seat, Daniel is still talking and you have half a mind to listen when your hand grazes the small box in your coat pocket that you just couldn't leave on the dresser no matter how much you wanted to.

Closing your eyes, you take a breath to calm your nerves and heart that won't slow down. The plane starts up and you have to remember to breathe.

Your fingers curl around the box that at one point held a happy ever after and now it’s just a reminder of a whole bunch of what ifs.

This job isn't easy. You don't sit at a desk all day or stare at a computer for endless hours either, you don't work at a bank or a hospital. There was no white picket fence waiting for you.

You are an agent of shield, you've worked side by side with the avengers.

Not a lot of things scare you.

But going back, seeing her again, that terrifies you.

......

Part 2

click HERE if you wanna read the prequels

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff fanfic

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cudan2 · 4 years ago

Text

We’re Only Human

Spring Break Shadowing Part 4

Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Word Count: 2,040

Summary: It’s the last day of shadowing with Dr. Cullen, but you’ve come to realize a little more about how you feel towards him. Cue crushes and a little bit of chaos along the way.

A/N: I finished the semester and can actually dedicate time to writing this again because instead of being on spring break, I’m now on winter break. I also chopped this part in half because it was probably going to be over 6,000 words otherwise and that’s just a lot compared to the previous ones. Bear with me, guys. Another note - I’m thinking about posting this on Ao3 but will rewrite it because I don’t know what I was thinking when I wrote this in present tense lol.

Anyways, this is #8 on my headcanon list.

Masterlist

XXX

You don’t know how it happened, but time is on your side and you’re running early this morning. The sun has just risen and casts a warm glow across the hospital as you make you way to the Starbucks, determined to be the one to buy Doctor Cullen his drink for once.

Meeting him here every morning has become a tradition, a tradition that involves him getting you breakfast every day you’ve shadowed him this week. The two of you would chat about various topics while walking to where ever he had to be next. Sometimes you would prod his brain with more medical-related questions, occasionally he would tell stories from his past, but regardless, his every word had you captivated.

Alright, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to finally admit that you may or may not have developed a tiny crush on Doctor Cullen. To be fair though, this is your last day shadowing him and it’s not like you’re ever going to see him again anyways. You feel a pang of disappointment at the thought, but it soon disappears when Emily greets you at the counter.

“Hi, Y/N! Where’s the doctor today?”

“I was running early today, so I figured I’d grab both of our drinks.” You place your order and ask the barista what Doctor Cullen’s “usual” was.

“Oh that?” she laughs. “He gets boiling water. It’s a little weird, but I just assumed he makes tea with it.”

Boiling... water? You think back to the last several days and try to remember what Doctor Cullen even did with his drink. He definitely never made tea with it. In fact, you don’t think he’s ever taken a sip out of the cup before throwing it away.

“Then I’ll be adding a grande boiled water to my order,” you tell Emily and thank her before she moves on to the next person in line.

You wait to the side for your food and see Jaime standing there too. He’s wearing a backpack and a faded college sweatshirt thrown over his scrubs, and you’re reminded of how many years left of school you have before you can even call yourself a doctor. You wave to him, and he pulls an earbud out from his ear with a sleepy smile.

“Hey, what’s up?” he greets you.

“Nothing much, just grabbing something to eat before the day starts. I’m surprised to see you here though. What happened to morning rounds?”

Jaime lets out what you can only discern as a mix between a hollowed laugh and a groan and tells you about forgetting his coffee at home. “Don’t even get me started on this morning. My car died on me, so I had to get an Uber. Lo and behold, there weren’t any Ubers around either, so ya boy eventually took not just a taxi, but a taxi and the train. By the time I got here, I realized my coffee was still on the counter at home, and so now I’m here.”

Damn, and you thought mornings were rough for you.

“Sorry to hear that! Did you get in trouble for being late?”

“I called Doctor Cullen myself and told him what was happening. He was so understanding, god bless, so I’m in the clear for now.

At the mention of the doctor, your thoughts instantly go back to blond tresses and a brilliant smile you already know you’ll miss when you leave the hospital for the last time today.

“Yeah, he’s pretty great, isn’t he?” you say a little too dreamily. Jaime gives you a knowing look and you rein it back in, hoping you haven’t exposed yourself already.

“You know, I think he’s going to miss you the most when you leave.” You don’t even get the chance to react when Jaime continues on, “Don’t get me wrong, Lily and I will definitely miss having you around, but the man really took a liking to you a lot faster than he did with us.”

“What do you mean?”

“He always kept us at an arm’s length before you came around. All of that personal stuff you get out of him would have taken him weeks to tell us before, and that’s if we’re lucky. He just seems more comfortable around you,” Jaime shrugs. His coffee is then called out, cutting off anything he wanted to say next. “That’s my cue. I’ll see you later!”

You take a moment to mull over what Jaime said. From your perspective, Doctor Cullen has treated you exactly the same way he does with everyone else. You don’t dare to over think what Jaime could be saying – over thinking never leads to anything good. And yet, the damage is done. The seed has been planted and now you can’t help but wonder about what made you stand out to the doctor.

Your own order is called, and you’re pulled from your thoughts with the smell of warm food.

Now armed with two beverages and a pastry bag sandwiched between your fingers, you make your way to a nearby table to wait for Doctor Cullen. Your wait is soon cut short though, as you see him walking towards you out of your peripheral vision. The clouds shift and the sun shines through the windows again. Its golden rays pass over the doctor, and for a second, you swear you could see him shimmering in the sunlight.

You squint strangely and blink a few times. Get it together, you tell yourself. Over thinking is clearly playing some weird psychological tricks on your eyes, and you still needed to be on your A-game.

“Hey you,” he flashes that familiar smile once more when reaching the table you are settled at. “You’re early today.”

“I am. It even gave me the chance to get you your water.” You hand him the cup with a smirk, having made sure to put a sleeve on it earlier because unlike Doctor Cullen, you actually have hands that hold the risk of being burnt.

“Ah, I see Emily has divulged one of my secrets with you. Thank you, Y/N, you really didn’t have to.”

“It’s nothing,” you insist. Seriously, water is free at Starbucks. “Think of it as a small thank you present. It’s the least I could do for the amazing surgeon that let me follow him around for the week.”

“Hmm, I think you may have meant the amazing, extremely kind, highly skilled, and not to mention, quite dashing–”

“Okay! No need to flatter yourself,” you laugh, trying your best to refrain from rolling your eyes. In all honesty, you can’t describe him any better. Add in attractive, intelligent, compassionate, way too humble sometimes, and it would be the perfect recipe to recreate another Doctor Cullen.

From there on, your daily routine at the hospital continues without a hitch. It’s a morning filled with back to back surgeries and question after question thrown at you from the doctor. There is no doubt that he is keeping you on your toes – literally and figuratively. You have to admit though, you are pretty proud of yourself for being able to answer the majority of his questions.

Your feet swing aimlessly while you spin around in a padded chair in Doctor Cullen’s office. Your laptop is open on his desk, displaying a blank document that’s meant to be your personal statement. It has been a little over an hour since he left you here to attend a mandatory meeting and you are starting to get antsy.

Aside from several stacks of files and other various papers, the desk lacks the small trinkets you would expect to see. As a matter of fact, the office itself is surprisingly void of anything personal. There aren’t any pictures of family, friends, pets, not even of a possible wife. There are no decorations on the wall either, and if it weren’t for the leather briefcase leaning against the side of the desk, you’d never believe this office belonged to him. No wonder he spends as much time as possible outside of this dismal room.

As you continue spinning in the chair, you bring up a paper fortune teller made earlier from a sticky note. You choose a color, two subsequent numbers, and flip open the flap to reveal the fortune.

Brunch date with Dr. Cullen.

The things you do to kill time. Your friends would never let you live this down if they could see you now.

Just as you’re about to go another round with the fortune teller, the door opens and Doctor Cullen walks in. The fortune teller goes flying out of your hands and onto the floor next to you as you jump in surprise and halt the spinning.

“Sorry about the wait, Y/N. I’m afraid the meeting took longer than expected,” he says, his words laced with a hint of bitterness. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice you nearly jumping out of your skin. Not wanting to draw attention to the fortune teller on the floor, you leave it there for now and start packing up your stuff.

“I presume you found a way to entertain yourself?”

“Kind of? I tried starting my personal statement again. It’s really not coming together,” you laugh dryly. Too preoccupied with turning off your laptop and putting it away, you don’t notice that Doctor Cullen walking around to the head of the desk where you are until it’s too late.

Oh crap, the fortune teller. Of course, he just has to notice it too and picks it up with a curious expression. You look up, and he’s standing there with it in his hand.

“Did you make this?”

You leap up from the chair and snatch it out of his hand before he can examine it any closer. There is no way in hell you’re letting him open it.

“Uh, yeah... It’s just something we used to make in elementary school – nothing special!” You try to play it off as cool as possible and slip the fortune teller into the small trash can underneath his desk. “So what’s next on the schedule?”

He takes a moment before answering you. You see his eyes study the way your fingers nervously fidgets with a loose thread on your shirt. He seemingly brushes off the interaction that occurred and responds, “Pre-op. I believe this one will be much different than the others you’ve observed this week.”

“What’s different about it?” you ask. Doctor Cullen starts to leave and holds the door open for you.

“You’ll see.” You don’t have to look at him to know he’s smirking.

He shuts the door and you start walking towards to the surgical department when a hand abruptly pulls you back just a little too hard. You trip over your own feet in the process and in some miraculous, but also really unlucky, sadistic, cruel-of-the-universe sort of way, land in Doctor Cullen’s arms. Goosebumps form up your arms where he’s holding you, and you can’t tell whether it’s from the temperature difference or the fact that your face is only an inch away from his chest.

You are absolutely mortified to say the least. Heat begins crawling up your cheeks and if there was a witness, they would have seen you quite literally jump out of the doctor’s arms.

“I’m so sorry, Doctor Cullen! I didn’t mean to trip and fall and–”

“No, no, please, Y/N. It was of no fault of yours. I admit, I wholly underestimated the extent of my strength in that moment.” You stare at him, still dismayed at what happened, but it seems you aren’t the only one feeling like a deer in the headlights. “Can you find it in yourself to forgive me?” he asks, smiling meekly.

“It’s fine, these things happen. We’re only human after all, right?”

“...Right.” There’s a moment of silence that goes on for longer than you prefer, and you can’t help but feel like you’re the punchline of some inside joke. You don’t dwell on it though. There’s really only so much social embarrassment you can handle in one day. “Now, if there aren’t any more near-accidents,” he points in the opposite direction and says, “we’re headed to the children’s hospital.”

Oh.

#carlisle cullen #carlisle cullen x reader #carlisle cullen imagine #twilight imagines #twilight fanfiction #twilight saga #twilight #twilight renessaince #twilight revival #twilight reboot #it's like 3:30 am #school ended but my sleep schedule still sucks #maybe it's cause I still feel the need to be productive #the next part is the one i struggled with for the last 7 months #which is why i just chopped the part in half #ugh i jsut have to get through the next part and ill be in the home stretch #the quality of my writing really declines when i have to write actual plot LMAO #doctor daddy cullen #twilight renaissance

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tomthesoftie · 5 years ago

Note

Oh ok yeah thanks #57

taken for granted

a/n: this came out longer than expected, it’s almost 3000 words... this is probably super angsty, maybe... also, i’m going to work on ‘nothing can go wrong’ soon but i have to write two essays for school so i’m sorry if there is a delay... enjoy xx

pairing: mob!tom x reader

warnings: swearing, angsty shit, fluff at the end, mob!tom is a dick

masterlist prompt list

57. “Stop pretending you’re okay ‘cause I know you’re not.”

Tom rarely spent any of his time with you now. He was always too preoccupied with his mobster duties. On rare occasions, he would join you in your shared bed, but by the time he arrived, you were already fast asleep. You always tried to fit with his schedule to at least say goodnight to him or wake up to see him by your side, but all your attempts failed. So when Tom said he had a free day, which he could have whenever he wanted seeing he was his own boss, you jumped at the opportunity.

You woke, bundled in the white sheets, yawning and stretching before looking to the usually empty space beside you. Tom laid there, curls tousled and chest heaving peacefully. You felt a warmth in your core, and you smiled.

You decided to get ready for your day with your boyfriend, preparing brunch and a list of things you could do together in your single day together.

things to do:

1. eat brunch together

2. go out on a romantic walk

3. have afternoon tea

4. come back home and make cookies together

5. watch a movie

6. make a surprise dinner for tom

7. snuggle and let the rest of the night flow as it goes

Tom sat up on the bed, stretching his arms while letting out a loud yawn. He hadn’t slept this well in a while.

A delectable aroma blew into the room, tickling his nose. He breathed in the scent, following it to its source. He stared at the table of his favorite foods displayed in front of him.

You entered the dining room holding another plate of food. You placed the platter neatly between two other plates, finishing off your first surprise for Tom.

“Christ, darling, what’s all this for?” Tom spoke.

You jumped, not realizing he had been standing there, “Oh my goodness, Thomas, you scared me,” you looked at the food, “It’s all for you. I wanted to make your day off enjoyable. Besides, we haven’t spent much time together in a while.”

He smiled, “I love you so much.”

Blushing, you replied, “I love you, too. Now let’s eat.”

Brunch was pleasant but awkward. You didn’t know what to talk about with him, so you resorted to staring at him while he ranted about problems. It wasn’t that you didn’t care for his problems, but you wanted this day to be about the both of you. You plastered a genuine smile on your face, though it began to falter.

“I was thinking that we could go out to town and just walk around, that is if you want,” you suggested when the two of you finished your meal.

“O-Oh, um, sure. Let me go get ready, love,” he walked over to you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead before quietly thanking you.

His small signs of affection were enough to erase your worries. You told yourself you overreacted about him talking about himself at breakfast. He did care.

Hand in hand, you and Tom strolled through the crowded streets of Kingston upon Thames. You admired the beautiful city, feeling lucky to be able to live there.

More than you wanted, Tom’s attention went to his phone. He laughed and smiled at whatever was on his phone. He typed away, glowing with happiness.

You felt a pang of jealousy.

Who could be making Tom feel like this? He seems to be enjoying his day more with the person throw his screen than the one right beside him. You thought to yourself, grip loosening on his hand.

He didn’t notice the change, and you frowned. Your boyfriend was glowing with happiness, and you would be a bad girlfriend if you ruined it. You put on a fake smile, hoping it would convince him even though he hadn’t looked at you at all since brunch.

He cares, you convinced yourself.

“Um, Tom?” You asked, seeing the tea house you were planning to get afternoon tea at.

“Mhm?” His eyes were locked on his phone.

“I was thinking that we could get some afternoon tea. We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” you tried to look him in the eyes, only to fail miserably.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you want,” he mumbled.

Still holding his hand, you pulled him to the building. The receptionist looked at Tom then to you, noticing the lack of attention he was giving you. You tried to smile it off, but she gave you a look of sympathy before bringing you to your table.

It was a shame Tom’s eyes were glued to the screen of his phone. The table you’d gotten had a perfect view of River Thames.

“Tom,” you squeaked.

He didn’t respond.

“Tom,” you said louder.

Still no answer.

“Tom,” you said in a demanding voice.

His head snapped up, “What?”

You sighed. This day was definitely going unexpectedly. The worse part about it all was that you wanted the day to be over. You were mad at yourself for that. He cares about you, so why couldn’t you care about him?

“D’you like how the day’s going?” You asked in a softer tone.

“Mhm, great,” he said flatly.

You didn’t know what else to say, so you let him go back to ogling his phone. You wanted to cry. The only day you had with him, wasted.

Tears filled your eyes, feeling ignored by Tom. To avoid tears from rolling down your cheeks and exposing your true feelings about how the day was going, you dismissed yourself to the ladies room.

Tom heard the rawness in your voice and looked up. Your head was down as you excused yourself. He carefully watched you as you quickly scattered away. He heard a sniffle but doubted that it came from you. You were the one who dragged him along, anyways.

You were thankful to be back home. You didn’t feel like preparing a grand dinner anymore. You felt like going to sleep and end the day.

Goddamnit, Y/N! Pull yourself together. He’s always putting you on top. You need to put him on top now, you scolded yourself.

Trying to muster up all the remaining sanity in you, you headed to the kitchen and worked away.

Hours passed as you prepared the meal. You made sure nothing went wrong, working slowly. With precision, you plated each meal. Your hands shook, and you droplets of sweat rolled down your forehead.

“Done,” you murmured to yourself, smiling.

Everything looked beautifully put together, as you were an amateur. You gave yourself a small pat on the back. Then it struck you. You missed some things on your list.

4. come back home and make cookies together

5. watch a movie

You slapped your forehead. Where had the time gone? You felt terrible. You missed a couple hours of spending time with your boyfriend. Hopefully the dinner would make up for it.

Unsurprisingly, dinner wasn’t much different from the rest of the day. You were thrown to the side while he enjoyed himself.

No, he hasn’t had the time to relax and enjoy himself in a while. I can’t blame him for that, you sighed, I just wish he would enjoy and relax with me.

“Thanks for the dinner, darling. It was... delicious,” he hesitated.

Your attention moved to him. You gave him a small smile, feeling slightly offended by his hesitation.

He left the room, moving to the living room. You were left to do all the dishes and work by yourself.

Great.

You stepped out of the shower, drying yourself off. You slipped on Tom’s oversized shirt, wearing a matching set of lingerie underneath. You hoped it was enough to grab his attention.

You heard murmuring downstairs. You walked down the stairs, seeing Tom on the couch with Tuwaine, Harrison, and Harry.

“H-Hello, boys,” you said, catching their attention. “Sorry about my - um - improper outfit. I didn’t know you’d be coming over.”

“S’alright, love. Mind getting us some wine, though?” Harrison asked, smirking.

“But-- I-- Sure,” you said pathetically.

You brought them four glasses and an expensive bottle of wine, opened of course.

You settled beside Tom, who inched away from you. It struck your heart.

“Don’t you think you should at least go get properly dressed before joining us?” He glared at you.

“O-Oh, sorry,” you whispered, feeling a tug at your heart. “I think I’ll be heading to bed now. Goodnight,” you announced, walking away in a rush.

You rushed up the stairs only to hear Tom complain, “She gets so clingy and annoying.”

Tears poured down your cheeks. A silent sob ripped from your lips. You ran to the room, tripping over yourself several times.

He didn’t care at all. He cares about himself. Only him, you realized.

“Mate, she’s your girlfriend. She cares about you. You shouldn’t say that shit about her,” Tuwaine said, feeling sympathy for the girl.

“It’s true, she’s been clinging to my ass all day,” Tom groaned.

“Have you gone out with her recently? Talked to her, at least?” Harrison asked.

Tom didn’t respond, keeping his eyes trained on the bottles of wine ahead of him. That answered enough.

“Tom, did you think that she just missed you?” Harry interrupted the silence.

“Just drop it, guys,” Tom snapped, starting to feel slightly guilty.

You laid in your shared bed, holding yourself in your arms. The blanket wrapped around your body as a shield.

Quiet sobs escaped your mouth, tears rolling onto your pillow. You were offended Tom would call you ‘clingy’ and ‘annoying.’ You tried so hard to make this day good for him, and he thinks you’re clingy.

You cried yourself to sleep that night, happy that Tom didn’t come to bed before you fell asleep for once.

Tuwaine, Harry, and Haz left after a couple wines. They tried to convince him to treat you better but only received the response, “Let’s talk about something else.”

Tom had seen his own faults after a long, irritating talk with the boys. He was being an ass to you for no reason.

He hurried up the stairs after putting all the dishes into the sink, hoping to catch you awake. To his dismay, you were already out. Tear streaks decorated your puffy face while some new tears slowly moved down your face.

He placed a pained kiss to your forehead. You stirred, moving into his familiar touch. A small smile danced on your lips. His hand moved to caress your cheek, admiring your beauty even when you were in pain.

Without waking you, he slid into the space beside you in bed. He held your waist, nuzzling his face in your neck. You pressed against him, attracted to the heat. He smiled and leaned to kiss your head again.

“Goodnight, darling,” he whispered before drifting to sleep.

You woke up with a pounding headache. You tried to sit up but something, or someone, held you down. You looked at the warm figure holding you and saw Tom with his arms wrapped around you. You felt a sting in your chest and tried to pull away.

You were able to maneuver out of his arms without waking him.

Dizzily, you made your way to the kitchen. You got yourself a cup of water and took some pain relievers. You plopped onto the couch lying on your side. Your legs tucked, and you curled your body into a ball. Without knowing, you fell asleep not too long after.

Tom noticed you were out of bed when he woke.

“Darling?” He mumbled, looking around.

With no response, he assumed you had gone to the kitchen for breakfast.

He dragged himself out of bed and headed to the kitchen. Surprisingly, you weren’t there. He saw a cup and pain relievers lying on the counter.

“Princess?” He looked around, still no sight of you.

He walked over to the dining room then to the living room. He saw your limp body on the couch, letting out soft sighs. You were cuddled into a tight ball, shivering from the cold. Picking up a blanket from the room, he draped it over your shaking body. He sat on the couch with you, rubbing your body warm over the blankets.

You felt a weighted cloth enrapture you, giving you warmth. Instinctively, you snuggled into it. A pressure rubbed up and down your arm, further warming you.

You opened your eyes to see Tom hovering over you. You looked closely at him, believing this to be your imagination. Under the sheets, you pinched yourself and felt sharp pains on your arms.

“Ow,” you mumbled.

“Are you alright, love?” Tom asked, worry flooding his features.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you sat up and began to put some distance between the two of you.

“Where are you going?” He scooted closer to you until you had no where else to go.

“I gotta get ready. You should, too, ‘cause, y’know, work,” you fidgeted uncomfortably.

“Wait,” he grabbed your wrist as you began to walk away, “I don’t have to do anything today. I can stay with you.”

“No, it’s alright. Besides, there must be someone to interrogate today,” you snapped, pulling your wrist from his grip.

He didn’t know why your mood had changed. Just yesterday, you were so loving and warm to him.

Did you overhear him last night? He worried.

“Love,” he knocked on the door, “can I come in?”

He heard a couple of sniffles behind the closed door and frowned to himself.

“Just a sec,” you called out with a pained voice.

Tom could hear your tears in you voice and concerningly asked, “Are you okay in there?”

“Yeah, just fine,” you squeaked, slowly feeling your composure falter.

“Darling, open the door,” he demanded.

“Wait a moment, please,” you said too weakly.

“Open the do-”

“I will,” you snapped, “I’m trying to get ready, s’all,” you replied with a calmer tone.

You heard no response from him and expected that he left, so you jumped when the door was thrown open. The brunette stood in the doorway, staring at your red rimmed eyes.

“Tom, I’m fine,” you wiped away a stray tear, smiling, “See? Perfectly fine.”

“No, you’re not! Stop pretending you’re okay ‘cause I know you’re not,” he growled.

“It’s not much of your problem, is it?” You glared at him, beginning to lose your patience.

“Not much of my problem? How is my girlfriend not my problem? It’s my duty to protect and care for you. Why are you-” He was infuriated.

“Well I wouldn’t want to come off as too clingy! Maybe I don’t want to annoy you!” You shouted.

So you did hear him, Tom sighed.

Seeing the evident guilt and shock in his face, you continued, “That’s right, I heard it. You couldn’t’ve even waited for me to get back to the room! Some boyfriend you are,” you mumbled the end, pushing past him.

“Wait,” he called after you, “I didn’t mean what I said. It was just in the heat of the moment. I was just stressed with everything going with the mob.”

“Right,” you nodded unbelievably.

“Haz and them helped me see that I was the one in the wrong. I shouldn’t have called you that. I’m sorry, love, truly, very sorry,” he pouted at you.

“You really hurt me, Tom. I planned a whole day out for us yesterday. You ignored me for practically the entire day,” you hiccuped, a rush of disappointment filled you.

“I know. I’m so sorry, love. I was such an asshole. You deserve to be treated better. I’ll fix that, I swear. I’ll spend more time with you. We could go on dates again. I’ll even make sure that I’ll go to bed with you,” he carefully walked over to you as if you would run if he got too close.

“But how would I know if you were talking shit about me to your mob cronies?” You asked, doubtful to trust him.

“I’ll personally have Haz, Tuwaine, or Harry slap me if I do, but no need to worry, love, I won’t take you for granted anymore,” he placed a gentle kiss to your head, “Now, would you like to join me for a day of just us?”

You giggled, “No, I wouldn’t,” hurt filled Tom’s features, “I would love to.”

“You’re such a tease,” he chuckled, “but I love you for it.”

You smiled up at him, “I missed having you around, Tommy. I spent so many nights yearning for you.”

“No more nights like that, alright? I’m here til the end of the line,” he answered softly.

And so, Tom kept his word. Everything has changed. He became the same Tom that you had met at the coffee shop. You obviously still disagreed with him running the mob, but he would always reassure you, telling you that he wouldn’t leave you.

He didn’t did care after all. He cares about himself the both of us. Only him us, you realized.

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gallavictorious · 3 years ago

Text

I was delighted to be tagged by Our Lady of Words and Joy @howlinchickhowl Cheers, dear!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Earlier today it was 40. Now it’s 39. WHAT GIVES? Did someone eat a story? Which one? I am so confused.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

137 098. At least that hasn’t changed...

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Highs, and Your Lows (i will weather them)

This Time (We'll Be Fine)

Teenage Tales

To Keep Your Gentle Heart

Captive Look

Huh. Would you look at that. All Gallavich stuff!

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Eh. Well. Listen, I always want and mean to respond to comments, because as a commenter I always love a response from the author, but I am procrastinator supreme so a lot of the time I just... don't. Not for a great long while at least. Then, two years AFTER you left a comment, you might get an e-mail notification about me responding. It's horrible, really, because I keep the comments in my heart and treasure them so much and the lovely people taking the time to leave a few words on my silly stories really do deserve better.

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Life, Still to Come has the one main character Jim Moriarty killing himself and his lover Sebastian Moran after he's diagnosed with incurable brain cancer, so I guess that's pretty angsty? The tone of the fic, however, is... kinda soft and peaceful, really. It doesn't feel so very sad, I think.

For Gallavich, I've got Chapter 7 of my ficlet collection Highs, and Your Lows (i will weather them). It's an Wild West AU kind of deal, where Ian Gallagher is visited by the ghost of the young fiend Mickey Milkovich after his dad beats him to death. That one is sad, but there's the glimmer of a promise that they might meet again one day, in a better world.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

My fics mostly end on a happy note, and I have a hard time pinning down which is the happiest. Hm. I'm gonna say Pressure or possibly Foreign Country, if only because the happy endings there are offered in contrast to the otherwise angsty story and so seems all the happier for it.

7. Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I have, once. Well, started one, really. Notes Regarding the End of the World is a crossover between Sherlock BBC and Mark Lawrence's The Broken Empire trilogy. I still feel there's a bunch of potential there, but I'm very hesitant I'll ever finish it.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not to my recollection, no. Back when I posted my SW fic on the Jedi Council forums you might receive critical comments at times, but no hate.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not really, no. I'm not very interested in reading it, and so see very little point in writing it. There's been a few semi-explicit depictions of sexual acts – most notably in Claim – and I'm not averse to writing kink fic, even if they don't typically include actual sex when I do. For instance, I did The Ways We Bend and Break and Mend for X-Men, and the whole point was Charles first whipping Erik and then cuddling him – except in the end it turned into a character study with lots of emotions, and I think any attempts to write smut would be like that for me. Accidental character drama. XD

I might have a Gallavich thing for kinktober that is likely to be pretty explicit and kinda messed up. We'll see.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so. There have been a few instances of stuff popping up bearing a strong resemblance to things I've written, but there's also been times when I realize that things I have written bear a (very much unintentional) strong resemblance to other stuff that predates them, so I really think that's the nature of the beast. In any big fandom, the same ideas are likely to occur to multiple people, and we are all, often unconsciously, inspired by the same things and by each other.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah, to Chinese and Russian.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! Pathoftheranger and I co-wrote (How to Break the) Alibi Armistice, which was fun!

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

I'm a creature of ever-changing affections, so I'm not so good with ”all-time favourite” and to be honest, I mostly tend to have favourite characters and ship them with everything in sight... Currently it's all about Gallavich but pretty much all ships including Jim Moriarty is forever gold to me (though MorMor is The Best. Or is it Sheriarty? Or maybe Mormorlock? Or Moriadlock? Or Johmlock – notice the 'm'?). Cherik's a big one too!

Ask me again in six months and my answer might well have changed!

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

The aforementioned Notes Regarding the End of the World. And I have this superlong Star Wars fic I started writing when I was 16 and wrote for years and years and then just... stopped writing, when I was maybe 20 pages from the end? It's currently at 180k words. This one I DO have some hope that I will go back and finish one day, although it's likely to be a jarring experience since I'm very much not 16 years old any more and my ideas about writing and the characters and everything have shifted quite a bit.

15. What are your writing strengths?

I do pretty well with the short format, I think. And with dialogue? Finding the voice of the characters (some more than others, certainly). Writing in my native Swedish, I think I'm pretty good at offering decent prose – I'd like to think I have a fairly developed ear for the flow of the text, and the melody of it? But when writing in English, that gets quite a bit harder. This really annoys me, because I'm rather preoccupied with the stylish elements of writing – though I've found that a lot of people seem happy enough to overlook clunky writing as long as they find the story otherwise engaging, which is a huge blessing for me. I believe I can build a decent plot, but since I can't write anyting longer than a few K these days there's no telling, is there?

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Primarily getting any writing done at all. Mostly, I stare at a blank page and despair and then I give up. This is why I no longer write long fic. I also tend to reuse favorite phrases or themes far too often. And there are so many subclauses... Proofreading happens to other people (I'd like it to happen to me too, but I'm terrible with it). I'm not good at accepting constructive criticism, even when I ask for it. I will often favour style over efficiency, and I'll stubbornly refuse to admit that this can be a problem.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

This question makes me feel like I ought to have developed thoughts on this, but I don't so much... I don't mind it? I've used it. Uh. It's a good idea to do a bit of research and not just rely on Google translate for it? If you don't like it, don't use it. Those are my thoughts.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Star Wars. <3

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

Buffy/Angel/Spike. The Book of All Hours. Heroes. Maybe something based on The Coldfire Trilogy... ? Oh, and the Bible. I'm sure there are others.

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I really don't have one. There are a few I'm particularly happy with, but no one that truly stands out... That said, I was quite chuffed with how the first ficlet in Or Else Into the Light, my (tiny) collection of Anakin redemption one-shots, turned out. And Claim. I’m very pleased with Claim.

Tagging @dreamylyfe-x @fiona-fififi @pathoftheranger @abundanceofnots and @captainjowl

#tag games

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nicb0723 · 4 years ago

Text

Find Your Worth

John Wick x Reader

Summary: You meet John in an unconventional way.

Word Count: 10,789

Read Chapter 1

Read Chapter 2

Read Chapter 3

Chapter 4

The Continental is the most lavish hotel you’ve ever seen. You’re not even sure it’s a hotel, it might just be a resort if there was a beach outside instead of the city. It’s like you’re on a different planet.

John parks right in front and collects his bag from the trunk while the valet comes around. You feel particularly modest with your small duffel bag and glad that you decided not to bring your backpack like some teenager. At least you’re wearing some of your new clothes, but you still feel out of place. John looks sexy in his slacks and a black button up shirt. He walks with a confidence that you envy and you’re not the only one who can’t keep your eyes off of him.

The massive doors are opened by a hotel employee, and he nods to John as you both walk inside. All you can see is a polished marble floor down a long hallway with high ceilings and gorgeous chandeliers. It’s breathtaking.

“Hey, I should probably tell you something.” John steers you into a corner and puts his back towards the lobby, so you’re hidden from the room.

“What? Right now?”

“Yeah, sorry. I just…” He’s crowding your space, towering over you and leaning in close to whisper. “I sorta have a reputation. People will know me.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, not knowing what he expects you to do with this information. “Okay?”

“And with you being here… you’ll now be associated with me.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

He shakes his head, hair falling into his face. “No… I don’t think so.”

You’re still unsure and then a thought dawns on you, making your hands sweat and suddenly you’re extremely hot. “Oh, you’re embarrassed to be seen with me?”

John’s concerned eyes instantly turn to confusion. “What? God, no, not at all. I just meant people might ask you questions. I don’t know how you feel about that.”

“Ah, I think I’ll be okay.” You reassure him and smile. “I’ll just tell them I’m your assassin secretary.”

He chuckles and gives you one last look, studying your eyes before he walks towards the check in counter. You hang back and look more into the lobby, careful to avoid any eye contact that you can feel from everyone. It’s not really any effort though, you’ve gone most of your life looking down at the floor.

You feel a strong hand on your back and John asks if you’re ready to go upstairs. He does know a lot of people and he gives a nod to practically everyone you pass in the hallway. You sigh some relief in the elevator once you’re both out of sight and give John a small smile.

“A reputation, huh?”

“Stop.”

“What kind of reputation?”

The elevator dings on the fourth floor and he motions for you to go first. “A scary one.” He tells you on the way to the room and you can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“Is that what they call you? Scary John Wick?”

“Not exactly.” The door opens and it’s a suite with a living room and kitchenette, and two beds. Well, this is new. John takes the one closest to the door and you put your bag on the other bed. “I hope this is okay, I didn’t know if you would want your own room or not. I probably should have just asked you.”

“This is great, are you kidding? It’s like a vacation!” You’re thrilled because you can’t even remember the last time you were in a hotel. You just wish the reason for being here were different.

John grins, but shakes his head. He starts to unzip his big leather bag and hangs up a dark suit in the closet. “This is hardly a vacation. But the wedding next month is in the Hamptons, which might be nice. Have you thought about going?”

“Yeah, I thought about it.” You stretch out on the bed and it’s like heaven. “I’ll go if you want me to.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, why not? It could be fun.”

“Don’t sound so excited.” John laughs and tosses a pillow onto your stomach.

You lift your head and lean your hand on your chin. “Honestly? I will be nervous, but it’s a good kind of nervous. It’s good for me to do things out of my comfort zone.”

He sits on his bed and tilts his head thoughtfully. “Is that what your therapist said?”

“No.” You throw the pillow back to him. “Well, maybe. In a roundabout way. She somehow makes me think doing these things are my own idea.”

“She sounds good. I’m glad you have someone to talk to.”

“Me too. It’s nice to know I’m not completely crazy.” You pick at a thread on the bottom of your knit sweater absentmindedly as you talk. “Or at least I’m the way I am because of how I grew up. And that there's hope to change.”

John sits forward and leans his elbows on his knees. “You know that you can talk to me too?”

“I might be realizing that.” You want to tell him that he can talk to you too, but you also don’t think it will matter to him. He’ll talk when he’s ready and not a minute before. Plus, you don’t think he has the same trust issues as you do. He definitely has a wall up, but you think it’s for different reasons. You’re both two kinds of crazy.

He smiles and stands. “I hope so. I have to go see some people about work, and then I’ll have to get ready and leave soon.”

“Okay.” Shut up, don’t ask him a million questions.

“There’s a card key for you on the desk. Will you be okay here? Order some room service if you want or you can go down to the restaurant. I think there’s a hot tub and pool, but I’m not sure.”

You can’t help but be disappointed. “John, do you know how good a hot tub would feel on your sore muscles?”

He winks at you playfully. “You obviously didn’t see the tub in the bathroom.”

Instantly you’re off the bed and squeal when you see the bathtub with jets. “Best hotel ever!”

You hear John laugh as he closes the door.

A few hours later it’s getting dark and John finally comes back with another duffle bag, except this one is longer. There’s really only one thing that could go in a bag like that.

You turn off the TV and sit up on your bed with your legs crossed under you. The towel on top of your head and the fluffy bathrobe must make for a sight, but John just nods in your general direction and doesn’t say anything. You decided when you were soaking that you’re just going to observe tonight and not ask any questions. You really don’t want to distract him and even though the curiosity is getting to you, you keep yourself composed.

He’s very efficient with getting all his equipment neatly placed on the bed in an order that only he must know. John keeps quiet and it’s like he’s doing math equations in his head, he’s so laser focused. Maybe he’s counting bullets or thinking about where he has to go? You have no idea. You just watch.

When he steps in the bathroom for a shower you peek at all the guns laid out and you wonder what each of them does and why he needs so many different kinds. There’s also plenty of clips and a few knives too, two holsters that look worn but the leather still shines. The shower turns off and you haul ass back to your bed and look normal.

Stunning, is the only word that comes to your mind when he comes out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. His hair is slicked back and you love that you can see his face, stern and powerful. His beard is shaped and trimmed. You see the appendix scar on his stomach and it’s really not that long, but still very fresh. He quickly pushes a pair of boxers under the towel and drops it to the floor. It’s like you’re not even there and he’s in his own world. You stay completely still to not spoil his train of thought.

Pants are next, then a thin undershirt, a bulletproof vest, a white button up shirt, a sleek tie, his leather belt, his gun holster around his waist and then the one around his arms, followed by the guns and clips. He puts the knife in his pocket and gets something from his bag. Cufflinks. That’s interesting. The last thing he puts on is his suit jacket.

It was as if you just watched exotic porn and you wish you could save the last few minutes in your brain forever.

He looks at you, and suddenly remembers that you’re there. “Hey, I’ll be back soon.”

You nod and take the towel off your head, letting your wet hair down around your shoulders. It’s like he’s really seeing you for the first time again and he smiles once he notices you’re in a bathrobe. He’s preoccupied though and the smile disappears, but he walks towards you like he’s on autopilot and bends down to kiss your forehead, and then your cheek.

“Thank you for being here.”

There’s no where you’d rather be.

The later it gets the more nervous you feel. What if he doesn’t come back at all? What if he comes back and he’s so hurt you can’t help him? What if he comes back and he doesn’t talk to you? What do you say? What do you do?

You think about all the times he’s had to do this though, without someone to come back to. How he would walk into an empty room and have to process whatever he just went through completely by himself. You think about the kiss on the forehead before he left and how it seemed foreign to him, like having you in the room was something so different than anything he's ever had before. You think about the kiss on the cheek and his words, and how just in those small actions showed how much he appreciates that you’re waiting for him. You’ve seen him be vulnerable before, but never like this.

The TV is on low and you’re trying to entertain yourself until he gets back. You’re trying not to think too much because the questions in your mind won’t stop. You can’t just google how to take care of an assassin.

The door opens and you feel your heartbeat flutter. You sit up in bed and hold your breath. Suddenly you feel a chill down your spine, the pajama bottoms and thin shirt you’re wearing suddenly not warm enough.

Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out.

The lights are low and you click off the TV for silence, leaving only the bedside lamp turned on. He finally enters the room, walking slowly and the first thing you see is bright red all over his clothes.

Blood.

Lots of blood.

He’s in a trance when you get to him and he’s looking over your shoulder as you push his hair out of his face. Your eyes scan his skin. There’s a gash over the bridge of his nose and small cuts along his temple. His hair is matted, but it’s just dirt and sweat.

You start to take off his tie as gently as you can, but you cannot believe the amount of blood soaked through his white shirt.

“It’s not mine.”

His voice is deep and it startles you. He’s looking at you now and he’s back with it, you can just tell.

“What’s not yours?” You’re trying to make your fingers not shake as the tie finally comes loose.

“The blood. It’s not mine.”

Relief floods your body and you take a breath you’d been holding. “Oh, well. That’s good. Let’s still get you out of this, huh?”

“Okay.”

You smile at him agreeing with you so easily. “Okay.”

No big deal. He lets you slide the suit jacket off over his arms, but you need his help getting the holsters off of him. They land on the bed and you notice they’re a lot lighter than when he left. He must have used all the bullets and lost the guns because the very full belt is now empty. The shirt is very sticky and disgusting, and you swallow thickly. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.

“Are you going to puke?” He’s watching you with interest and seems genuinely concerned with a hint of teasing.

“Nope, I’m totally fine with this. No problem.” You close your eyes. Does blood smell? You feel like it smells. You’re queasy and sweating. Maybe you’re smelling your own sweat. The blood is such a bright red. From some person. A dead person. Or maybe it’s blood from multiple people.

You feel strong hands on your arms steer you to sit on the bed as you start to sway.

“I think I got this.” He tells you and starts to undress himself.

You feel like a fool. “I’m sorry. I’m useless.”

John smiles as he takes off the shirt. He grabs a garbage bag and puts it in. “Why’d you get near it?”

“I wanted to help.”

He stops taking off the bulletproof vest, which has about 5 holes in it, to look at you. “You are helping, you know that?”

You peer up at him and sit back on the bed. “I am?”

“Of course. It’s usually very lonely after business is done.”

“Oh. I didn’t think you noticed that I was even here before, not that I blame you.” You watch as he starts to take the vest off again and throw that in the bag too. “You just seemed so focused before you left.”

“I was focused. That doesn’t mean I forgot you were here. The opposite, actually.” He kicks off his shoes and unbuckles his belt, but leaves it on. He does take off his t-shirt though and struggles out of it slowly, obviously hurting. You see the bruises forming all over his chest, where the bullet holes were in the vest. “I kept thinking about you. It was nice. It kept me going.”

You don’t quite know what to say. “As opposed to stopping?”

He shrugs. “I got done a lot faster. I’m going to take a shower.”

“John?”

“Yeah?”

You want to give him a hug, but you feel frozen in place. “Wouldn't you rather soak awhile?”

“Maybe tomorrow. I’m too tired.”

“Are you hungry? Do you want anything to eat? To drink?”

He stops to think and says, “There should be some bourbon in the fridge.”

“Sure, of course.”

He says thank you and closes the door to the bathroom behind him. You can hear the water start and finally you can move. What an intense experience. You wonder what he did and who he did it to, where he went and what happened to all of those guns. Are you allowed to ask?

You think about it while you get a glass and put some ice in it, and then pour a finger’s worth of bourbon. You set it on the table beside his bed and get into your own, pulling the sheets up to your chin and wait.

The door opens a few minutes later and you close your eyes to give him an illusion of privacy. You’re not sure if he puts on any clothes, but you assume that he does. You hear the bed creak under his weight and he settles. He must grab his drink because the ice clinks against the glass. You only open your eyes once he lets out a soft sigh.

“Are you okay?”

He’s leaning back on the headboard and takes another sip. “Starting to feel better.”

“How’s your appendix scar?”

“Just sore. Doesn’t feel like anything ripped open though.”

“How can you tell?”

He pauses and sets down his drink. “Let’s just say I know where to put sharp objects to make them hurt the most. And I also know what it feels like.”

You hope that John doesn’t see your nose crinkle. Ouch. “Like where?”

John chuckles and shifts to look at you in your bed. “You want an anatomy lesson?”

“Are you a doctor too?”

“Just an assassin.”

You smile, sitting up a little. “Okay, Mr. Wick. I’ll take a lesson.”

He pats the bed. “Come over here.”

It sounds like a move to get you into his bed. “Why?”

“You want to be my secretary or not?”

Sighing loudly, you fling the covers off and crawl over his legs to lay down. “Okay, teach me oh wise assassin.”

He sits up more but scoots a little closer. “Let’s say you’re being attacked, but you have a knife--”

“I’d probably cut myself.”

His eyes meet yours and he has a small smile. “I know, but that’s a lesson for another time.”

“Okay.” You look back to the ceiling. He’s a lot closer than you thought and you can see he’s wearing a soft t-shirt. His hair is slicked back from the shower and the cut on his nose isn’t as bad as you thought now that most of the blood has been washed away.

“So if you get a chance…” John gently moves your hair away, then his thumb rubs at your temple. “Right here would be good or here.” His finger touches under your eye.

“Gross. The eyeball?”

“Yep. Or here.” His hand moves to your throat, right at your pulse point. Fingers move to the back of your neck and he presses at the top of your spine. “This is a hard place to get to, but effective.”

“Mmhmm.” You let your eyes close shut. You haven’t been touched by someone else in a long time and it feels so good. You might as well enjoy it. Until he pokes you in the armpit and you let out a squeak. “What the--”

He chuckles and scoots even closer. “There’s actually a large artery in the armpit. Hardly anyone knows about it.”

“Have you ever stabbed anyone in the armpit?”

“Well yeah, I usually just twist their arm until it breaks and then that’s when I’ll do it.”

You gulp. “Right.”

“Anyway, these are obvious but the heart and the lungs.” His fingertips trace down the middle of your chest and you feel goosebumps form on your arms. “The aorta.”

“The aorta.” You repeat softly and let your eyes close again.

“Yeah.” His voice is rough now and you wonder what he’s thinking. If he’s excited to be touching you like this. “Then there’s the liver.” You feel his palm on the right side of your stomach. Your shirt lifts up from the movement and he pulls it back down for you. “The next one is in the crotch.”

Your eyes fly open and he laughs, his hand sliding down your hip. “It’s called the femoral artery and lethal if you get it right.”

“Sounds painful.”

“Luckily, I wouldn’t know.”

You side eye him. “Yes, luckily.”

“The last one…” He’s leaning over you now and shifting down the bed. “Is behind the knee.”

“Really?”

It tickles and you squirm away, but John quickly moves and grabs at your thigh to keep you close. “That one’s called the popliteal artery. Also difficult but if you’re on the floor, manageable.”

“If I’m on the floor?”

“It happens.”

You stifle a yawn and it’s late, but John doesn’t seem tired. You roll to your side facing him and tuck a pillow under your head. “Well that was a very interesting lesson, Mr. Wick. I feel very informed of all the places to stab a bad guy.”

He takes his hand away and gets comfortable. “Good. There will be a pop quiz tomorrow.”

You grin and bite your lip. “Do I get to use your body as my model?”

“Whatever it takes for you to learn the material.” He finally yawns too and his eyes are growing heavy. You reach over him and turn off the light. He catches your arm when you pull back and it’s as if he knew you were going to get up and get in your own bed. “Stay?”

You don’t say anything and push at the covers so you can lay down. His hand is around your wrist, holding your arm across his stomach.

“Do the bruises hurt?” You smooth your hand over his chest.

“Not enough to have you stop.”

Smiling to yourself in the dark, you can’t help it. “Want me to kiss it better?”

“You’re such a tease.”

You laugh softly and close your eyes. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too.”

He doesn’t let go of your hand.

The next morning you wake up to a text alert from your phone across the room. John is dead to the world and he has you trapped between his body and heavy arm. You can’t get up without waking him, but it’s time for the day to start anyway.

The text is from Carla that there’s someone sick and she’s wondering if you can work the afternoon shift.

You text her back that you can and you’ll see her later.

“Just five more minutes,” John mumbles and turns on his stomach.

You toss your cell phone to the side of the bed and kneel back on the mattress, turning your attention to John’s back. You slowly lift his t-shirt up and he eventually shifts his weight to help. Damn. The bruises are ugly and you can see more down his arms and on his shoulders. It looks incredibly painful, but you suppose it’s better than being covered in his own blood.

You wish you had some lotion or something. What helps bruises heal? Ice helped the bruise on your foot, but there might be something else. You grab your phone again and google it. Ice, heat and arnica. Well, there’s plenty of ice in the room, that won’t be a problem.

The mattress is so nice that John doesn’t even stir when you get up. There’re clean towels left and you grab one from the bathroom, filling it with ice and crawl back in bed. You stop and look closely at his tattoos. The wolf and the flames are dotted with bruises, but the hands holding the cross is oddly untouched.

There are old scars all over, however, and your brow furrows with sympathy, especially when your eyes track over the cross shaped brand in the middle of his back. The sight makes you swallow thickly, you had avoided looking at it before. But now here it is, right in front of you and thoughts jumble in your mind of what it might mean. It’s too much to process and you put the towel on the deepest of a dark red color, waiting for John to wake up.

“What’re you doing?” It comes out muffled, his face pushed against the pillow.

“Good morning to you too, Mr. Wick. I’m healing your bruises.”

“I’ve never had someone heal my bruises before.”

“Does it feel good?”

He turns over to his side and looks at you sleepily. You fix his unruly bedhead hair and tuck it behind his ears for him. “That feels good.”

You set the towel on his collarbone, which is currently blue and green. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really. Are you?”

Nodding, you raise his arm to lay over his head. There’s another bruise on the inside of his bicep. You delicately trail your fingers over it. That makes nine bruises total. “Yeah, I’m going to order some oatmeal and fruit.”

“And coffee?”

“Yes, and coffee. And then I’m afraid we have to go. I have to go into work today.”

“Was that the text you got?”

“Yep.” You get up and dial room service, then place your order for a bowl of oatmeal knowing John will surely eat at least half. There’s a pamphlet on the table with all the hotel services and you take it back to the bed. John has his hands behind his head now, just watching you. “Ohh. You should go to the spa and get a massage.” You tell him, flipping through the pages. “I’ve never had one but I bet it’s amazing. Oh! A facial and a pedicure! Wow. And you can get champaign… so fancy. You should totally spoil yourself.”

“Why would I do all that when I have you to put ice on me?”

“John.” You fold the little plastic book and tap his stomach with it. “I don’t think ice in a towel is the same as a massage.”

He takes it from you and opens it up, squinting at the words.

“Do you need glasses or something? Readers?” You hide your smile, but his shocked glare makes you laugh.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I like the grey. It’s very distinguished.” You rub at his beard and smile wider when he gets more annoyed.

“Distinguished?” His hand moves to your ribs and his fingers dig in, starting to tickle you.

“And handsome!” You shriek, laughing and squirm away before he gets under your armpit.

“What? I can’t hear you.”

You try to pull his hand away, but he’s too strong. “Handsome! I said you’re very handsome.”

His fingers stop and you lay out on the bed panting, exhausted from laughing so hard. “John, I almost peed my pants.”

He shrugs. “Accidents happen, it’s okay.” He picks up the booklet again and points to a section. “You want me to get a massage? This is the only one I’ll get.”

You’re curious so you pull the book away from him and read Couple’s Massage. You roll your eyes and toss it back on the table. The doorbell rings and someone calls out room service from the other side. The coffee smells amazing and you roll the tray to John who is sitting up in bed, still looking tired. You feel bad for him so you quickly make his coffee the way you know he likes it and bring it to him. He smiles, a silent thank you, and you grab your oatmeal to eat in bed.

John sips his coffee carefully and closes his eyes. “You should come with me to all my jobs.”

“Why’s that? I was freaked out all night.”

He opens one eye. “You didn’t enjoy the bathtub?”

“I did enjoy the bathtub, but I was thinking of you the entire time.”

He opens both eyes and his eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

You take a bite of kiwi and swallow wrong when you realize what you said. “Not like that. I just started to think about you having to work and it sucked. I wish you could have enjoyed the tub too… in a very platonic way.”

“Hmm.” He sips his coffee some more. “Well, having you here was a morale booster for me.”

“No one has ever stayed with you before?” You think about the tan line that was around his ring finger. You assumed that maybe his partner would have been with him. From the way he was acting before and after leaving, you couldn’t be sure.

“Never, unless you count the doctor stitching me up and then leaving when I’m about to pass out.”

You slowly shake your head. “I don’t count that at all.”

“That’s why this was nice. I don’t usually smile and laugh the morning after work.”

You offer John a spoonful of your oatmeal and he takes it. You don’t know why he always says he isn’t hungry when he usually is. “Well, just tell me when your next assassin assignment is and I’ll clear my calendar for you.”

John swallows quickly. “You would do that?”

“Yeah, of course. But just because the tub is so nice.” You tease and he smiles.

“I could get you your own room next time. I know you like your space.”

You pause and look at him questionly. “And how do you know that?”

He shrugs and the towel falls off of his collarbone. You move it to the bruise on the side of his ribcage. “I can just tell.”

Well, he’s not wrong but still, you can’t imagine not being close to him on a night like last. “And how would I take care of you if I’m in a separate room?”

“Take care of me? You almost threw up all over me.”

Your mouth gapes open. “That’s not true! I would have been fine. I just needed to sit down for a minute.” Before you fainted. He’s just smirking and nodding. “Uh huh.”

“And this was the first time, I didn’t know what to expect.” You frown and look at him with big eyes. Did you really do a bad job?

“Hey, I’m just joking. Come here.” He pulls on your arm and you move to sit next time, offering another bite of oatmeal. You feed him a few times before you put the bowl on the bedside table. “You’re the best nurse slash secretary I could ever ask for.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t know anyone else.”

He laughs. “I know a lot of people. I wouldn't want anyone else.”

“Alright fine.” You move to get up and leer at him, eyes tracking up and down his body. “I do know where to stab you, so you should be nice to me.”

“You’re very scary.”

“Thank you, I know!” You laugh at your own joke and grab some clothes to change into for the day. “So, Mr. Wick, what do you usually do on a day after work? Rest?

“It depends on how I feel. And I have to replenish.” He tilts his chin towards the empty holster on the desk.

You keep your voice light, not knowing if you should ask. “Did you lose the guns?”

“Sorta. Had to use one of them to knock a guy out. I ran out of ammo.”

Curiosity is getting to you. “Knock a guy out?”

“Guns can hurt if they hit you in the face.”

You can almost imagine it. John throwing a gun as hard as he can at some guy’s head. “Well, that’s creative.”

He slowly gets up and puts the towel full of ice on his shoulder. “Should we go soon?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I can catch a ride into town if you want to stay here?”

Shaking his head, John goes into the bathroom and grabs his clothes on the way. “No, it’s fine. I just need to get dressed and I’m ready.” He leaves the door open and you can see him struggling with his shirt.

“Do you need help?”

He doesn’t say anything and just gives you the shirt instead. You slip it up his arms and over his shoulders, walking around him to button it. He’s staring down at you as your fingertips work across the fabric and buttons. When you’re done, you slide your palms up to his shoulders and before you lose the nerve, you push his hair out of his eyes. You comb his strands through your fingers and then tuck it behind his ears again.

“There, now you look presentable. I wouldn’t want to damage that reputation.”

It’s very quiet and he’s just watching you, but you can’t bear the thought of making eye contact. Because if you did, you don’t know if you could hold back kissing him. Instead you take a step back and breathe deeply. If John is disappointed or relieved, you’ll never know.

You park next to Carla’s car and you’re glad she’s still here. Sam’s bicycle is also chained to the side of the building and the sight brightens your day.

John dropped you off a little over an hour ago at your apartment. He was fairly quiet on the ride home but it was comfortable. He kept sneaking glances over at you while you pretended not to notice.

“Hey! Thank you SO much!” Carla is working in the back office and she’s very happy to see you. You’re glad that you were able to help out.

“Is everything okay?” You ask, hoping no one is too sick.

“Yes, Sarah has cramps.” She tells you, lowering her voice. “Sam is here for a few hours and he’ll leave after you take your lunch. I really appreciate you coming in, I would have had to come back.”

“It’s no problem. Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you a question. Not about work or anything.”

She points to the chair next to the desk. “Yeah, of course you can. What’s up?”

“Well, I know you’re in the city more than I am and remember I told you about that wedding I’m going to? I need a new dress and I have no idea where to get one.”

A pen taps at her lip as she thinks. “Hmm… there’s so many good places.”

“Yeah?” You had hoped that she’d be able to help you. You have no idea where to start. ”I figured you would know.”

“Well, plus you need a purse, and shoes. Do you need to get a present?”

Crap. You hadn’t even thought about a present. You’ll have to ask John. “I don’t know about a present right now, but I might need to find something.”

“Okay, I know the perfect place. It’s a little boutique but they have lots of options. How about I go with you? You drive up on your day off and I can take a long lunch.”

Carla is in charge of four other gas stations in the city, overseeing all operations. “Really? You’d be willing to do that?”

“Oh yeah!” She tells you enthusiastically. “I’d love to go with you. I’ll text you the address of the station I’ll be at that day and we can go from there.”

“That’d be so nice. I think I’m off next Friday if that works?”

“It’s perfect. And I’ll take you to my favorite sandwich and coffee place for lunch. You’ll love it!”

All you can do is smile and nod as she’s talking. You can’t remember the last time you had a girlfriend to go shopping with. After a few minutes you excuse yourself and go give Sam a break. When he comes back he talks your ear off about a girl he likes and asks your advice about dating. You have no idea what to tell him, but try your best at answering his questions.

You can’t help but smile when you give him a simple suggestion. “Just remember to open the car door for her. That’ll make her feel special.”

How are the bruises?

Fine.

You sigh at your phone. It’s been a few days since the hotel and while you haven’t seen John, he’s been texting every day to check in. He’s asked you out to an Italian restaurant that he wants to go to but you’ve been dodging an answer. You want to go, but you don’t want to give him the wrong idea. You don’t want to give yourself any wrong ideas either.

I don’t believe you

A few minutes pass and you decide that you need to get back to buying books for school. The wedding is in two weeks and then school starts right after that, so you want to be ready. Books are expensive though, and so is a new dress, but you can afford it now and that makes you proud. Your nerves have been on fire lately, about the wedding and about the classes you’re taking. You wonder if you can go to campus early, so you can find all the rooms without getting lost. Like a test drive.

An image pops up on your phone and John is in his bathroom, taking a picture of his reflection in the mirror without a shirt. The bruises are purple now, much better than deep red you saw at the hotel. You zoom in to look at his face and you see how he hates taking a selfie by his grumpy expression, but it’s still cute. You look closely at the appendix scar and it looks almost healed, from what you can tell. His hair is soft and he’s wearing jeans low on his hips. It’s a really sexy picture, even if he didn’t mean it to be.

Just to be fair, you take a selfie and send it back. It’s the first one you’ve sent him. The late evening lighting at your kitchen table is really good right now. You have a pencil stuck in your hair and a tinted gloss on your lips. Your skin looks good against the black tank top you’re wearing and it dawns on you that you’re actually getting a tan. Usually that never happens because you don’t go anywhere except work. You have the next two days off though and can’t wait to get outside while the weather is still warm.

He calls you immediately.

“Hi, John. How are you?”

“I would be better if you would let me take you to dinner tonight.”

You smile and push your laptop closed on the table. “I can’t tonight, I have to finish getting my books for class and I wanted to read about orientation.”

“Doesn’t a girl have to eat? I can make something instead.”

“I had a late lunch actually.” You tell him, getting up to clean the kitchen. “Sam likes the girl who works at the Thai place across the street from work, and he makes me get lunch there so he can go pick it up. I’ve had Thai food every day this week.”

“Damnit, Sam.” John mumbles, his tone teasing. “Always getting in my way. I might need to have a little conversion with him.”

“Poor Sam.” Laughing, you start to put dirty dishes in the dishwasher. “You’d scare the crap out of the poor kid.”

“He needs to learn a lesson.”

“I don’t think--” There’s a knock at your door and you tell John you’ll call him back. You hang up and you’re still grinning when you answer, half thinking John will be on the other side wanting to take you out. Your smile fades when you see that it’s Max.

Fear floods your body, but you stand your ground and you look at him dead in the eyes. “What’re you doing here?”

He smells like cigarette smoke and he looks disheveled, with a dirty black t-shirt and stains on his pants. The baseball cap he has on casts a shadow over his eyes, but when he moves into the light you can see they’re glazed over. And then you smell the alcohol on his breath. “Came to see you.”

“You could have just called.” You tell him sternly, your hands shaking. You tightly grip your cell phone, trying to think how you can call Jimmy. Your mind is blank. You're frozen.

“Didn’t want to call.” He takes a step to come inside, but you block him.

“You can’t come in.”

He pushes your body easily out of the way. “Don’t remember asking.”

“You need to leave, Max. Now.” Your throat is dry but at least you don’t feel like you’re going to cry. You’re too angry.

The kitchen looks so tiny around his big frame and he takes up practically all the space in your apartment. He’s disgusting and all consuming. He slowly walks around the kitchen island, like he owns the place, stopping at the table and chairs.

“That’s not very polite. Aren’t you glad to see me after all this time?”

You don’t close the door. Maybe Francis or a neighbor will walk by and be able to help you. Or at least hear you scream. “No, I’m not. I thought you were staying at your mother’s. What happened?”

“Mama don’t like me and my friends no more. Said I needed to get a job n’shit.”

You try a different tactic and walk more into the kitchen, putting your cell phone on the island but it’s hidden from Max’s view by the toaster. You casually look down, like you’re nervously playing with your hands while you find your contacts. “Well, that’s too bad. Why don't you get a job?”

“I got better things to do than work at some shitty gas station like you.”

I’m an assistant manager. You want to say it, but you play the sympathy card. “Yep, it’s so shitty. You would probably hate it. You’re too smart for a job like that.”

He’s leaning on the chair with John’s suit jacket laid over it. Crap. You hadn’t forgotten it was there, but you haven’t given it back to John for no other reason that you liked having something of his at your place.

“What’s this?” Max takes the suit jacket and lifts it up to look at it. You take advantage of the distraction and call Jimmy, leaving your phone open and on silent.

“I don’t know.”

His face pinches and his jaw ticks with irritation. “A dumb bitch like you got a boyfriend?”

“What? No.” You laugh shrilly like it’s a ridiculous idea. But is it? You were able to block out a lot of the abuse from Max, but now the doubt and shame are starting to feel familiar. “Look at me. No one would want me.”

“Yeah, let’s look at ya.” Max throws the jacket on the floor and stumbles across the kitchen. As he comes closer, your courage takes over and you try to make an escape out of the apartment, but he slams the door shut and grabs your arm tightly. “You look different.” His eyes trail up and down your body. It makes your blood run cold.

“I got my haircut. Hey, do you want some coffee?” You try to pull away, but his grip is painfully solid, and you move to stand in front of your phone so he doesn’t see it. “I was just going to make some.”

He’s staring at you now, silent. You look over his shoulder and don’t make eye contact, but you try to seem calm. It seems like forever that you’re both standing there, but he finally releases your arm and goes to the fridge. “I need a beer.”

“Yes! Let’s go to the bar! It’ll be good, right? To see everyone?” You desperately want him out of your apartment. Anywhere in public would be better than this.

He smacks you across the cheek effortlessly, like he’s done so many times in the past. It stings, but it doesn’t surprise you. “And tell them what? I just got out of jail for pushing you ‘round a little bit? Nah, I don’t think so.”

“You’re right Max, I’m so stupid.” You can feel a drop of blood on your cheekbone and it makes your hands turn into fists.

“Dumb bitch.” He mumbles, turning to get a beer. You take it as your chance and grab your phone before running towards the door again. He’s quick though, he always was, and his height gives him advantage of pushing the door shut. You dunk and try to run to the bathroom instead, but he takes a handful of your hair and pulls, yanking you down to the floor.

“Stay there.” He points down at you.

Don’t crumble. You can do this. The palm of your hand is cut and you realize your phone cracked when you fell. It’s broken and useless. You sit on the floor and put your arms around your knees in an attempt to make yourself small. You feel small but your mind is telling you to get up. It’s a mental battle and you don’t know what to do.

The door bursts open, breaking the wood frame and Jimmy is there. Jimmy is here and you can hear him yell at Max to get back. You put your forehead on your knees and rock back and forth, trying to tune them out. Jimmy pauses when he gets to you and you peer up at him from the floor. There are tears in your eyes and you're struggling to hold them. Jimmy must decide you look okay and moves closer to Max. You know that you need to stand so you haul yourself up and Max is sitting at your kitchen table, smirking like a douche bag. He’s looking at you, and then past your shoulders when his eyes widen in fear.

You feel John’s hand on your back, instantly knowing it’s him and you can suddenly breathe. He walks straight to Max and now Jimmy is trying to tell John to stop, but he doesn’t. He punches Max in the throat with a quick jab of his hand. Max chokes and John’s elbow is now flying through the air at the side of Max’s head. He immediatly slumps in the chair, unconscious.

Jimmy sighs loudly and puts his hands on his hips. “Hi, John.”

“Hi, Jimmy.”

“You uh… slipped and tripped?”

John nods, his voice is calm. “Yeah. I slipped and tripped.” His white shirt is dotted with Max’s blood and he’s breathing heavily, like he ran up three flights of stairs.

“Hi.” You whisper and give a weak wave. “Thank you, both.”

John and Jimmy share a look and John runs to your side. “Let’s get you out of here.” He wraps an arm around you and holds you close to his body, shielding you from having to look at Max. You're trembling and he pulls you closer as you get to the elevator. He doesn’t say anything and you don’t either. It’s almost a state of trance that’s come over you. The farther away you get from the apartment, the more your heartbeat steadies.

John opens the door to his car and helps you, guiding you gently until he’s satisfied that you’re all the way in and he reaches over your lap for the seatbelt. You stare ahead, mind blank and you can hear his voice, but you have no idea what he’s saying. Finally, you turn to look at him. He’s kneeling on the cement and his hand is on your knee.

“What?”

“I’m going to grab your things.” He explains softly. “You can’t stay there until the door is fixed. Anything you want besides your clothes?”

“Um…” You try to think, processing what’s going on. “My purse. It’s on my desk.”

“Sure, anything else?”

You look down at John now. His eyes are searching yours, and you wish that you could reassure him that you’re fine. But you can’t. Because it’s not true. “I don’t know.”

“That’s all right. I’ll be right back.” He stands up a little, leaning over you to put the keys in the ignition and turns it so the air comes on. “I can take you to the hotel if you want or to my house. I’ll take you wherever you want to go, okay? Just think about it.”

You probably nod but you can’t be sure. He closes the door anyway and you watch as he jogs back to the entrance of the building. You take the time you have to yourself and try to calm your nerves. You do some deep breathing. The tears are about to fall, but you suck in some air and close your eyes.

A few minutes pass and John comes back out with your purple backpack on his shoulder and your purse in his hands. If it wasn’t for such a crappy situation, you’d smile at John carrying all of your stuff. He hands you the purse through the open window and puts your bag in the trunk.

He gets in the car and starts the engine. Then he waits for instruction, not hurrying you to make a decision but patient and kind.

You know where you want to go, but you don’t want to be a burden either. He could just drop you off at a hotel and then he wouldn’t have to deal with your problems. But that’s not what you want and he probably wouldn’t have offered to go to his house if he didn’t mean it. He would have never mentioned it, right?

“Can we go to your house? If that’s okay.”

He smiles, seeming relieved. “Of course it’s okay.” John pulls out of the parking lot and he lets his hand drop to the middle of the seat. “I’m just gonna leave my hand right here, just in case anyone wants to hold it. No pressure though.”

It’s a sweet gesture and you take his hand, folding his palm over your knee and holding it there. You stare out the window as he drives. The sun is sinking in the sky and all the buildings you pass are nothing but a blur. The adrenaline is making your body tense and all of your muscles hurt. Your head is pounding.

John only lets go of your hand when he parks the car at his house. He helps you get up slowly and you appreciate that because everything is still a little fuzzy. He leads you into the living room and you sit on the couch. Pooch can sense your mood and puts his head on your lap, looking up at you with big doggie eyes.

“Pooch, up.” John says and the dog jumps on the couch, laying next to your side. You feel instant comfort and pet him until he starts to fall asleep.

The garage door is going down and you hear John walking in the hallway, setting your backpack and purse on the coffee table. He disappears again, but comes back shortly carrying a glass of water and a first aid kit.

He sits next to you and doesn’t say anything, but you know he wants your hand to clean the cut. It’s nothing but a scratch, but you let him look at it anyway. He smooths it with his thumb and dabs some ointment on the irritation. The cut on your cheek is next and he gently moves your hair behind your shoulders. This one stings a little more, and you let out a low hiss.

His voice is so quiet, you almost don’t hear him. “You’re going to have a black eye.”

“I know.” You figured as much. You’ve had many back in the day to know what one feels like.

“You have to tell me what else hurts.”

You turn your head, gathering your hair so John can see the back of your scalp. “He pulled my hair. It’s throbbing.”

It must be bad because John murmurs something under his breath and parts your hair so he can see better, his fingers gentle as he moves over your tender skin. “There’s some blood. And some of your hair is missing, but it’s not that noticeable.”

You feel sick. How dare Max do this to you. How could you let this happen again.

“Did he do anything else?”

“No.” You sigh, shoulders slumped in defeat and exhaustion. “I guess not.”

John doesn’t touch you more than he has to and he gets up, quickly coming back with some tylenol and two bags of frozen peas. “One for your eye and one for your head.”

“Thanks.” You take them and use one of the bags as a pillow to rest the back of your head, and press the other one to your swollen cheek. You take the pills and John sits on the coffee table, looking lost.

“What do you need? What can I do?”

You close your eyes and focus. The cold is burning on your wounds. “What’d Jimmy say?”

“He’ll be over later to take your statement.”

“And Max?”

His voice is low, unwavering. “Back to jail. For now.”

You take a deep breath and blink a few times. Your vision is getting a little better. “I should probably call my therapist.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I broke my cell phone. I don’t have her number. I don’t have anything.”

John sits forward and reaches to cup your face, cradling your chin. “We’ll just google her website and find the number. You can use my office. We’ll figure it out, don’t worry.”

You nod and get up slowly, John moving to help you upstairs. He grabs all of your stuff too and Pooch follows closely. You’re not surprised that he puts your bags in his bedroom, doubting he’ll let you out of his sight anytime soon.

His office is classically decorated, with a dark oak wood desk and a leather chair that you sink into. There’s various paintings on the wall and the last of sunlight is flooding the room. He leans over your shoulder, opening his laptop and you type in Beth’s information, the number to her main line coming on the screen. John hands you his cell phone and you leave a message with his phone number, knowing she’s probably in a session or finishing up for the day.

While you both wait, John goes to put on a fresh shirt. You curl up in the big leather chair and look at the things on his desk. There’s a calendar and a small globe, some paperwork, and a few books. You pull the chain on the lamp since it’s starting to get dark.

“I’m going to order dinner.” He tells you, coming back to the room. “You’re probably not hungry but you might be in a bit.”

“Okay.”

“Do you feel like anything?”

You shrug, not knowing. “Comfort food?”

“That sounds perfect.”

Pushing his cell phone towards him, you ask if he needs it.

“No, I have another line downstairs. You’ll be okay up here?”

It’s then the phone rings and you recognize it as Beth’s number. “Yes, I’ll be fine.”

He closes the door behind him to give you some privacy.

You take a deep breath and wish you could fast forward the conversation. Beth gasps a few times when you tell her what happened and you let the tears flow. The image of Max standing in your open doorway is haunting. You don’t dare think of what could have happened if the guys hadn’t showed up. Finally, you finish and you feel completely worn out.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you.” Beth says, sincerely. “And you’re at John’s house now? For a few days?”

“Yeah. I guess. I haven’t really had time to think of anywhere else to go.”

“From the sound of things, I think John is glad to have you there. Do you feel safe now?”

Your fingers travel under your eye and trace the dried blood. “I do.

“Good,” She tells you and her voice turns serious. “Every time you start to think about what Max did, every time you start to play it over in your head… I want you to close your eyes and say to yourself that you’re safe. Can you do that for me?”

“Right now?”

“Yes. Close your eyes. And then say ��I am safe.’” You do what she wants, but she makes you repeat it three times. She lets that sink in before she asks, “Tell me what else you’re feeling?”

It comes out shaky. “Just that it’s my fault. That I deserved this.”

“Do you think anyone deserves to be abused?”

You close your eyes. “No.”

“Then why would you deserve this treatment?”

“I don’t know.”

Beth takes a minute and then continues, “Look, I know this is hard right now but I need you to think back to when we talked about worth. Remember? You decided that you are worth caring for.”

“Yes.” You remember. It was like something clicked on in your brain, all that time it was on the off switch.

“It’s okay to forget sometimes, especially after something traumatic. With some self care, you’ll start to remember again. I promise you’ll get through this. I’m glad you called me.”

“Me too. I’ll see you next week?”

“Yes, and if you need anything else in the meantime, please don’t hesitate.”

You hang up and take John’s phone with you to his bedroom. There’s a light on in the hallway and downstairs where you hear the low sound of the TV. You grab your backpack, wanting to change into some sweatpants and you unzip it having no idea what John would have packed for you.

Your heart skips a beat when you see your pill container right on top. Well, he knows. You could care less right now though and move to your clothes. You recognize them from a pile of clean laundry you hadn’t put away that was on your bed. John must have grabbed it all and stuffed it in the bag. There’s a handful of panties, a bra, and a few t-shirts. No pants. You sigh and put everything back, then go downstairs still wearing your jeans.

“John?”

“Hey, how’d it go?” John clicks off the TV and sits up.

“Fine, I feel a little better. Thanks for letting me use your phone.” You hand it back to him. “Do you have any shorts or pajama bottoms I can borrow?”

He looks disappointed in himself. “I didn’t pack any? I’m sorry.”

“Stop, it’s not your fault..” You tell him, squeezing his arm. “You got everything else I need.”

“Really?”

You think about your toiletry bag with your soap and shampoo, your mini blow dryer and perfume, but you nod and give him a true smile. “You’re the best.”

“C’mon. I should have something that fits.”

He doesn’t. You have to roll the top of the pants so they’re not so long, and they’re still pretty baggy, but at least they don’t fall off. You go back downstairs and find the kitchen table full of take out food.

“What’s all this?”

John stops and smiles when he sees you’re wearing his clothes. “They fit okay?”

“Yeah, kinda.” You pull up your tank top to show him how many times you had to roll the cloth over and he chuckles.

“I guess that’ll do. Are you hungry?”

There’s macaroni and cheese, chicken, and green peas in containers and it smells amazing. You sit down at the table, trying to gauge your stomach if you’re hungry or it’s still rolling with adrenaline. “The mac and cheese looks good.”

“Yeah? You got it.” John hurries to get a plate and fork for you. You take a few bites before your stomach turns and you begin to pick at your food.

John’s watching you. “You don’t have to eat. I’ll put it in the fridge in case you want it later.”

“I’m sorry,” You tell him. “I’m just tired. When does Jimmy want to talk?”

“In the morning.”

That surprises you and you give John a look.

“It’s true, he said there’s plenty to go on even without your statement for right now. Max can’t drink while on parole so that was enough to hold him.”

You yawn, not being able to hold it in and your eyes become watery with the need to sleep. Nodding, you accept his anwer.

“Do you want me to take the couch?

You give John another look, but this one is entirely different. Just in case he doesn’t get it, you simply shake your head.

He’s finished cleaning up the kitchen and starts to turn the lights off. “If you want to take a shower, I got some stuff that you like in my bathroom.”

You’re going up the stairs and nearly trip. “What?”

“Hold on.” He lets Pooch back in and grabs the bottle of tylenol. He jogs up the stairs and meets you at his bedroom door. You both walk in and he turns on the bathroom light, pointing out the same shampoo and conditioner you have at home. There’s a bottle of perfume near the second sink, a comb, face wash, a toothbrush and a bar of soap.

You blankly stare at him for an explanation. John blushes and crosses his arms over his chest, his long hair falling into his eyes as he looks down. “I um… I took note of what you had at your apartment when I stayed there.”

You pick up the bottle of perfume. “And these things are here because?”

“I got them a while back, hoping… Anyway, they seemed useful now.”

“John, you would’ve had to go to the beauty store to get this.”

“I did.” He says simply.

You sigh, not believing how sweet he is. When he hangs a woman’s flannel bathrobe in your size on the back of the door, you tear up.

“I swear, it’s not weird. I just saw it and thought of you.”

Smiling sadly, the tears drop and you try to push John out of the room so you can shower.

He stops you though and brushes your cheek. “Hey, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

You nudge him out of the way and he takes a step back. “Then stop being so nice to me.”

The door closes and you let yourself cry through a shower. You don’t wash your hair because it hurts too much. The cool water is refreshing though and you know you’re probably puffy from crying so much. You think of the bags of frozen peas on your face earlier and feel lucky John still wants you around. What a complete hot mess you are.

Getting dressed, you avoid looking at yourself in the mirror. It’s the first time in awhile you haven’t been able to face yourself, but you’re too tired to overthink it. You’ll try again tomorrow.

John is in bed when you open the door with his usual sleep clothes on and watches with concern as you crawl in beside him.

“How are you feeling?”

You sit up and rub at your temples. “My head hurts.”

John places a warm hand on your shoulder and squeezes gently. A moan escapes you, unconsciously, and instantly some of the tension bleeds out.

“Can I give you a very platonic back rub?” He asks you innocently. When you peer sideways at him he looks innocent too and you give him a small smile.

John takes that as a yes and sits up to lean against the headboard. He motions for you to sit in between his spread out legs and while yawning, you drag your heavy limbs and sit with your back towards him.

His fingers brush through your hair, moving it to the side. “Can I look?” You nod and feel him delicately touch your scalp. “It doesn’t look any worse.” But it doesn’t look any better. You exhale, your shoulders falling forward as he traces along your spine, pressing and pushing at the bones and muscles. When he gets to your neck, his hands move under the straps of your tank top and he rubs in soft circles until you’re able to relax.

You’re not entirely sure how it happens, but he somehow gets you to lay back against his chest and he presses his lips to your temple. His fingers are sliding up and down your arms, almost tickling but with enough pressure to feel good. He stops suddenly and you feel him wrap his arms around your waist in a hug. You lean your head on his shoulder and exhale, letting yourself be surrounded by John. It feels so good.

You remember about his injuries and feel bad you haven’t even asked how he’s doing. “Am I hurting your chest?”

“No, not at all.”

You laugh softly. “I can’t believe you sent me a selfie.”

He pulls away, pretending to be offended. “I thought you’d like to see the progress of your ice healing.”

“Oh, I wasn’t complaining.”

A few seconds of silence pass and then he says softly, “You sent me one too.” He tightens his hold around you.

“You should delete it. I don’t know what got into me.”

He chuckles and you feel his beard on your forehead. “No way, I’m going to print out a hundred copies and put them all around the house.”

“You do that and I’ll kill you.”

“That’s really mean.”

You smile and turn in his arms, getting more comfortable and using his chest as a pillow. “Thanks for letting me stay with you.”

He shifts in the bed too and lays down the best he can with you on top of him. “Stay as long as you want. Stay forever.”

“That’s very friendly of you, John.”

“We do make really good friends. We take good care of each other.”

You close your eyes and take another deep breath. “That, we agree on.”

TBC Chapter 5

#John Wick #Keanu Reeves #john wick x reader #keanu reeves x reader #john wick x you #keanu reeves x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x y/n #romance #slow build #fan fiction #find your worth #chapter 4

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spaceskam · 4 years ago

Text

From A Whisper To A Scream (7/10)

Summary: Michael caves.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: syringes, blood, etc

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

ao3

Coach pulled Michael aside after debatably the worst game of his life.

“What’s going on with you?” he demanded.

Michael stared at him, blinking slowly as he tried to reorient his mind. Ever since he discovered that Eff was really a Manes, that this “family business” they had was torturing aliens, he hadn’t been functioning very well. It’d only gotten worse after Alex called him out and Michael couldn’t tell him no, suddenly having to balance a very hush-hush relationship on top of everything else. He adored him, but fuck. Now he was just paranoid and tired. That was it. Everything else, every other feeling or brain wave, fell to the wayside because he didn’t have the energy.

That meant playing a shitty game of football where he nearly broke his nose from tripping over the ball.

“I’m just… off day,” Michael said, avoiding eye contact as he took out his mouthguard. He then moved to start taking off his jersey and his shoulder pads. He usually wouldn’t do that while in the middle of the conversation with his Coach, but they felt ridiculously heavy and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay upright with them.

“Off month, more like it,” Coach said, eyeing him, “You know you’re my responsibility, right?”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Then tell me what’s going on,” he said. Michael stayed silent. He couldn’t tell him what was actually going on and he didn’t have the brainpower to come up with a good lie. “Is this about anything that happened with your whole… coming out process? You’d tell me if any of the guys were messing with you, wouldn’t you? And if it’s your dad that ain’t responding well, then I can have a talk with him too.”

Michael blinked at him and it took him a few seconds to realize he had tears in his eyes. It wasn’t even a heartfelt speech, it was just too much. Too much to know another person cared about him enough to say something, too much to know that his list of people who would be hurt by his stupidity was a bit longer. He was beginning to think that maybe he should just tell everyone he was an alien so they’d stop giving a shit about him.

“It’s fine, I’m just off. Distracted,” Michael said. Coach didn’t look satisfied.

“You got scouts out there,” he said, “So you better stop being distracted.”

And that sounded a lot more like Coach.

When Michael walked out to his truck, he found that it was already preoccupied. It wasn’t too uncommon for him to find a Manes in his passenger seat. This just happened to be the Manes he was dreading.

“I thought you were good,” Eff said as Michael carefully climbed into the driver’s seat. It felt like a trick, but maybe he could drive off a cliff and fix everything. Ah, but that was just wishful thinking.

“I am,” Michael said, “Usually.”

“Guess you should’ve thought about that before you tried to corrupt my baby brother,” Eff said. Michael stared out the window and made a point not to say anything about how Eff had been screwing him over before he realized he was with Alex. He seemed to momentarily forget that this had all started because Michael was born. That was it.

“Shed?”

“Yep.”

Michael stayed silent through the drive as he had been these days. For a while there, he’d sort of accepted his fate and was starting to be a bit more talkative. Hell, he’d even gotten to a point where he thought Eff might give a shit about his well being. Now he knew that was just wishful thinking. Every conversation they had that may have given the illusion that Eff didn't hate him was just a figment of his imagination.

“Is your dad gonna question where you are?” Eff asked. Is yours? Michael thought.

“No,” he said instead.

Eff huffed a laugh, “My dad would kick my ass if I showed up later than I said.” It almost felt childish at that point, like Eff was trying to get him in trouble with his dad. It was so stupid.

The longer Michael drove, the more he thought that perhaps he shouldn’t be driving. His eyes were heavy and each blink seemed harder to come out of. Still, he somehow made it to the shed without driving off the road.

They entered the shed in silence and Michael sat on his chair-of-hell where all of his injections and electrocutions took place. Maybe whatever Eff had in store would wake him up.

“Here,” Eff said. Michael lulled his head to the side to look at him, seeing him holding out an energy drink that had already been opened.

“Did you poison it or something?” Michael asked. Eff laughed softly.

“No, just drink it,” he said. Michael hesitantly accepted it and took a sip, deciding that if it was poisoned he wouldn’t really care. Eff sat down across from him and stared at him for a moment. Somehow, it was infinitely less uncomfortable than all the times Michael looked over his shoulder in school and expected to see him there when he wasn’t. “Look, I hate even saying this, but credit where credit is due. I appreciate you ending shit with my brother. Alex is great, I get it, and it took balls to break up with him when I know he probably didn't make it easy."

Michael felt a bit frozen in his spot. That was an understatement. Such a massive understatement that Michael hadn't been able to pull it off at all.

"I don't like knowing that aliens have, like, feelings and shit," Eff continued, looking to the side as if this conversation was just that unbearable. And he had no idea how unbearable it was for Michael himself. "But I do know you care about him which I can respect. But that shit's not safe, not with you being what you are and not with my dad being who he is. You get that, don't you?"

"Why does it feel like you're being nice to me?" Michael asked. He was beginning to wonder if he really had no self-preservation skills at all. Eff rolled his eyes.

"You just picked the wrong guy. I wanted to keep Alex away from all this," Eff elaborated, "So pick someone else."

Somehow, as genuine as he sounded, it still felt like a low blow. Michael couldn't pick someone else. Even if he had broken up with Alex, even if he never liked him in the first place, he was still a personal experiment for Eff. Anyone who got close to him wasn't safe. So that was that.

"Yeah," Michael said.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Michael sipping tiredly on his drink and Eff just watching him like he was trying to decide where to start. Who knew what kind of shit he had up his sleeve that he hadn't done yet.

Eff eventually stood up in silence and Michael's eyes followed him, watching him open up the small mini-fridge and pull out a vile of something. Dread pooled in Michael's stomach. He wasn't sure what Eff had dosed him with that time where it had him fucked up for a solid week, but he wasn't interested in a repeat.

"When's the last time you slept?" Eff asked. Michael shrugged because he didn't have a proper answer. He slept all the time, but he wasn't sure the 10-minute sleep session due to sheer exhaustion before he woke himself up in a panic actually counted as sleep. "Yeah, that's a problem. This is gonna help you sleep."

"Here?" Michael asked, eyes widening just a little.

"Does it look like I have a place for you to sleep? Take it and I'll take you home, it should kick in by the time you get to bed and it'll knock you out for, like, eight hours," Eff said. Michael didn't have the energy to say no. Sleeping for eight hours straight sounded amazing.

He turned his head as Eff rolled up his sleeve and wiped the spot of his arm like he was actually concerned for him. He stuck him with a syringe and Michael could feel the moment it started to set in.

"I'm driving," Eff said as if that wasn't already obvious.

Michael tried to stand to his feet, but he felt woozy and held onto the chair to steady himself. Eff eventually stepped up to him and grabbed his arm, carrying the brunt of his weight.

"Jesus, what did my brother see in you?"

Eff got him into the passenger side of his truck and closed the door and Michael couldn't find it in himself to care that Eff was driving his truck. He was just tired.

The drive home passed in a blur and Michael felt himself being pulled out of his truck before he could even register it. He leaned on Eff without thought and let himself be all but carried inside and placed in bed by the man who had made it his goal to torture him. He was covered up and his keys were placed on his desk and the doors were all locked back.

Michael fell into a dreamless sleep for the first time in a long time.

The next morning, Michael was left running over the night before in his head.

Truly, none of it made sense. Eff wasn't just empathetic like he'd been on occasions when he realized Michael had feelings, he'd actually been kind. Was it his small payback for Michael ending things with Alex? Was it something else entirely? He probably wouldn't get an answer.

Michael stayed in bed for a while, letting his mind torture him with too many thoughts as he tried to analyze Eff's actions. It didn't work. And, in fact, the sleep didn't help him feel any better. It just made him alert enough to be back to panicking. There were so many things that could and would go bad. He was on borrowed time. Before he knew it, shit would hit the fan and he just wasn't excited for that.

Sanders kept quiet, just watching him and making sure he didn't become a disaster before his eyes. The day slid by at an agonizing pace. But it was fine.

He texted Alex a little bit--through an app instead of on his actual phone which had taken more than a little convincing than he wanted to admit, but he wasn't about to risk Eff finding out.

Alex: you ignoring me again?

Michael: no, how could I?

Alex: big talk coming from you

Michael: :(

Alex: when can I see you? I feel like I've earned at least a couple blowjobs

Alex: payback for being a dick to me

Michael: I'll do whatever you want. Maybe we can meet up somewhere tomorrow night?

Alex: my dad isn't going to be home until Tuesday just sneak in

Michael: idk if that's a good idea

Alex: okay.

Michael: don't be mad

Alex: not mad, all I said was okay

Michael: which is code for mad.

Alex: okay.

Michael: I'll see what I can do. I miss you

Alex: I miss you too

And it was fine. Alex got a little less upset and it was fine. Or it was until he got a text from Eff. All it said was: Rest. Tomorrow is a full-day affair. And that was enough to scare the shit out of him.

He didn't know what classified as a full-day affair to Eff, but it didn't matter. Whatever it was, it wasn't good. It was going to be a day of misery. How many more things could he get through and survive it?

As much as he tried to rest, it didn't work. Michael was nervous and dreading whatever was to come. By the time morning came around once again and that car was outside waiting for him, Michael hadn't slept.

"Are you ready?" Eff asked as he mindlessly climbed into the passenger seat. He took a deep breath.

"Yeah."

"Michael. Michael, wake up."

There were very few times in Michael's life where he'd describe himself as overworked. Out of all of those times, he'd never drained himself to the point that he passed out. He supposed there was a first time for everything.

When his eyes slowly dragged open, he was more than a little surprised to see Eff over him and almost looking concerned. It almost had him laughing if he wasn't so disoriented.

"You can't fucking die on me yet," Eff said once he opened his eyes. Michael didn't move. His body felt weak and he was pretty sure his muscles had melted into the ground. He wanted to go home.

"Sorry," he murmured.

"You've only been doing shit for a couple of hours, you've strained yourself more than this before. That sedative I gave you on Friday shouldn't still be in your system," Eff said. He grabbed Michael's arms and hauled him into a sitting position, but Michael couldn't hold his own weight up and Eff eventually let him lay back down. "What are you good for if you're just going to let yourself be this useless?"

Michael's eyes slid closed and he tried to think of anything except for this.

He expected more scolding, more yelling, possibly an injection of whatever sort of wild alien steroid he had today. Instead, Eff pressed the back of his hand against Michael’s forehead then to his cheeks. He might’ve opened his eyes to look at him like he’d lost it if he wasn’t so fucking exhausted.

“You’re overheated. Your nose bled a little, but not as much as I would’ve expected before you passed out, so I guess that’s a good thing. We’ll take a break,” Eff said, voice careful. He stood up and walked away, leaving Michael on the floor.

Sometimes, if Michael really thought about it, he wondered if Eff knew that he was basically making him stronger. Yes, draining him in the moment and making him feel weak and out of control, but Michael had never had someone push his limits before when it came to this. Maybe if Michael played nice, he’d be able to overpower him one day, hide the body, and get his normal life back. He could. It was an option.

It was an option. Huh. That was nice.

A hand grabbed the back of Michael’s neck, supporting him as he was dragged into a sitting position once again. That hand stayed there as a cup of water met his lips and he was all but forced to drink. He had a million questions running through his head, all tying back to wondering why the hell Eff was treating him nicely all of the sudden. Maybe he actually felt bad for once. Probably not.

“If you die, my brother will probably be more upset than he already is, so I’m gonna need you to drink,” Eff said dryly. Michael obeyed.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Eff let him rest for a short amount of time before dragging him outside again to push his limits again. A little electrotherapy here, a bit of pinpricks there, and he had Michael throwing shit with his telekinesis over three hundred pounds. Michael would’ve been proud if his body wasn’t aching and his brain wasn’t pointless.

When he finally got to go home and the day settled in, Michael was back to being a mess. Eff was being nice to him. Too nice. He was planning something, he had to be. Was he going to kidnap him anyway? Was this just the beginning of the end, trying to make him trust him?

Michael forgot all about meeting up with Alex until he found himself outside his window which would’ve been a lot less worrisome if he remembered anything in between leaving the shed and ending up there. Even when he tried to remember, he couldn’t.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to come over,” Alex said, leaning against the windowsill and blocking Michael’s way in.

Truthfully, Michael had only been to Alex’s house a total of two times, both just to stop by so Alex could grab something and they didn’t stay long. Now knowing what kind of business his family was in, Michael was glad he hadn’t stayed. And yet, today, all he wanted was to be in Alex’s bed. He was going to get fucked over anyway.

“Can you just hold me for a while?” Michael asked. Any sort of antagonizing Alex had in mind went away and he nodded, moving out of the way. Michael climbed in and nearly fell twice in the process, not even able to laugh it off when he needed Alex’s help.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, Michael was pulled into Alex’s arms. His head was cradled against Alex’s shoulder, he was tugged down onto his bed, he was held and he was warm and he was safe. Safe enough. As safe as he would get.

They laid there for a long while, nothing but the sound of their breathing as Alex combed through his hair. Michael faded in and out of consciousness at the sensation, secretly hoping to just let his mind fade away forever into the feeling. That would be a good way to go.

But, then again, he couldn’t have anything nice.

“Michael,” Alex whispered, “When are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

Michael didn’t respond, but his grip on Alex tightened a little and that seemed to be all Alex needed to know there was, in fact, something going on. He readjusted himself a little and touched Michael’s cheek. It took a few seconds to successfully get him to meet his eyes.

“I’m not stupid. Something’s been going on, but I’ve stayed quiet. How much longer are you gonna leave me having to assume? Because my assumptions are getting wilder,” Alex said, trying to tease a little to lighten the mood.

The issue was the truth was wild. How do you tell your boyfriend you’re actually an alien from the 1940s and you’re currently being used as an experiment by his big brother who he loves? Alex would laugh in his face or just leave him. Or maybe Eff was wrong and Alex did know and Alex would start experimenting on him too. He could take a lot, but he didn’t think he could take that.

Michael sniffled and focused on Alex’s collarbone, reaching out to touch it. He ran his fingers over it a few times and hoped Alex would just drop it.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Alex said softly, “But you know you can trust me, don’t you? I’m not going to hate you or be disgusted by you or anything. I might even be able to help?”

Michael’s throat began to tighten and he swallowed hard. He thought about Eff and his weird niceness and how he’d probably make him disappear soon, how Michael probably didn’t have much time left with Alex at all. How did he get in the position where he once had all the time in the world to having none at all?

He dragged his hand up to touch Alex’s lips. They were as soft as always and his breath was warm against his fingertips. He couldn’t remember the last time he kissed him. Hell, he could barely remember the last time they’d been able to spend this much time together in person. Then again, this had been one of the longest weeks of his life. Longest few months. Or, just nothing before it felt real.

Michael moved up to give him a kiss, one that was hardly a kiss at all and seemed to only be reciprocated because of how long it’d been. Alex broke it seconds after it started, shaking his head.

“Michael,” he whispered, “You‒”

“I love you,” Michael said earnestly.

Alex let out a shaky breath. It shouldn’t have been such a hard thing to say and he probably could’ve said it sooner. He knew most of the people he’d been friends with who said ‘I love you’ within the first month of dating someone‒the first week, even.

This just happened to be a bit more serious than that.

“I’m not saying that because of… I’m saying it because I mean it. Because I don’t know when or if I’ll get to tell you later. I want you to know just in case,” Michael said. Alex’s eyebrows only tugged together more and he scooted closer.

“Just in case? What do you mean? What’s going on?” Alex said, worry lacing his soft and sweet voice. God, he was so good. He couldn’t possibly know. He couldn’t possibly be in on the bullshit his family enacted.

“I should go.”

“What? No, stop,” Alex said, his knee wedging between Michael’s thighs to lock his leg around his at a weak attempt to keep in place. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Michael said, relaxing back into his bed. He was too tired to really try to leave even if he wanted to. And he really, really didn’t.

“It’s obviously not nothing and you’re freaking me out,” Alex said, looking him over, “I was assuming it was something to do with your adoption or something and you were playing it straight for your social worker, but that’s obviously not it.”

Michael sighed and blinked slowly, tempted to just keep his eyes closed. When he opened them again, Alex was just staring at him.

“Next assumption was that you got into drugs. Have you? And if you have, let me help you,” Alex pressed, “Let me and your dad help you. You know he asked me what was wrong with you, right? Like, everyone’s noticed. So, just, like, stop talking like you’re never going to see me again. Let me fix it.”

Michael laughed dryly and turned his face into the pillow before he started crying where Alex could see. What was it with Alex and Sanders both being so eager to fix what they had no hand in? It didn’t make sense.

“Did you like accidentally fuck over a drug dealer or something and that’s why you’ve been staying away from me and distant and paranoid? Because we can go to the police and, and figure it out,” Alex continued, “You’re worrying me and I don’t like it.”

Michael took a few breaths until he could trust that his voice wasn’t going to embarrass him. “I’m not doing or dealing drugs and I haven’t pissed off any drug dealers.”

“Then what is it?”

“What happened to not pushing?” Michael murmured. Alex didn’t respond as he let his head hit the pillow.

They laid in silence for a bit longer, tension between them that wasn’t there before. Michael should just tell him. What was the worst that could happen? He was already living in the worst timeline, he might as well just say it.

But that was easier said than done. It was something he needed to talk to Isobel and Max about‒if he could even talk to Isobel and Max without anything bad happening. The idea of it made him feel like he was being choked. Everything made him feel like that recently.

Alex’s hand suddenly touched the back of his neck and Michael was brutally hit with the comparison to the feeling of his brother’s hand on his neck. Eff was rough and firm while Alex’s touch was soft and warm. He wouldn’t mind if that touch stayed there indefinitely. And it seemed to stay there for a while, simply working into his neck.

When Alex pulled his leg away from Michael’s, he almost broke the silence to say something to keep him there. But Alex was pulling Michael onto his stomach and climbing onto his back before he had the chance. His hands worked into the multitude of weeks worth of tension in his shoulders and his neck, carefully trying to make him pliant under his fingers. Michael wasn’t sure it’d work, but he wasn’t going to tell him no.

The longer that went on, however, the more Michael found himself feeling guilty. He was a shitty boyfriend. He tried to think of the last nice thing he’d done for Alex out of the sea of nice things Alex had done for him. Sure, Michael was going through his own shit, but he was letting Alex worry and pushing him away and then letting Alex take care of him after it all. This wasn’t what he had in mind when he thought about getting Alex for real. It was supposed to be Alex parading around in his letterman jacket, it was supposed to be racking up tardy slips because he was late after blowing Alex in his truck, it was supposed to be good.

And Alex had stayed good. Michael was the one who was fucking him over.

“Alex,” Michael said softly. He hummed in question, pressing into a knot in between his shoulders that nearly had him crying all over again. “Alex, what would you say if I told you the truth?”

Alex paused for just a moment before getting back to it.

“I already told you.”

“Even if I say I’m an alien and there’s a guy who found out and is basically using me as a science experiment and I can’t do anything about it because he’s got military connections and I can’t go to the cops because, again, alien,” Michael said in one breath, half into the pillow. Alex stopped for a much longer moment this time.

“That’s not funny,” Alex said softly.

“I didn’t think it was.”

More silence, more breathing, more waiting. Michael was sure he was going to be thrown out of his house. It was the logical next step.

“Science experiment?” Alex asked slowly. Michael nodded. “Like, cuts you open?”

Michael huffed a laugh, “Not yet, thank god.” Alex didn’t laugh. “Usually sticking needles into pressure points that set off shit in me and electrocution. Sometimes injects me with, like, alien steroid type things.”

“Michael.”

“Could be worse, though, ‘cause he hasn’t cut me open,” Michael said. Alex made a pained little noise and then laid on Michael’s back. It was distinctly different than being kicked out. “Aren’t you freaked out? I’m an alien.”

“I’ve had sex with you and I didn’t find a zipper,” Alex murmured into the back of his neck. Michael breathed a sigh of relief that mixed with a laugh. If more tears came, they met the pillow immediately. “Don’t worry, I’ll help.”

“Alex, you can’t‒”

“I can,” Alex said firmly, “Give me a few days to come up with something.”

Michael didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. Later, he’d find a way to tell Alex that wasn’t an option. Currently, though, he’d stay right here.

Here, he was safe and warm and that’s all he cared about.

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #verse: from a whisper to a scream

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robininthelabyrinth · 5 years ago

Note

If you’re taking more prompts, would you write What Happens at Cloud Recesses for the “JGY kills NHS and NMJ goes on a warpath” au? And perhaps more importantly, Nie brothers reunion ft. fierce corpse!Nie Huaisang? I need to know that it turns out okayish...

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5 (Blackened!NMJ aka Digging Graves)

Home wasn’t quite the same home anymore.

Oh, the familiar contours were unchanged: the thick stone walls, the warmth from the tapestries, the intricate decorations on the few pieces of furniture – the Unclean Realm was beautiful and familiar as ever, and seeing it made Nie Huaisang’s non-functioning heart feel warm.

But the people –

The first shichen of Nie Huaisang’s triumphant return home were spent settling Lan Xichen into his usual guest quarters – he asked about a cell and was told they were all occupied with Nie Huaisang’s spare fans, which very nearly made him look amused for half a moment before he remembered how terrible everything was – and putting Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian into another set of guest quarters so that they could work out their little hand-holding-and-abrupt-realization-of-feelings dilemma in private.

The next three were spent dealing with the fact that Nie Huaisang’s entire Sect wanted to talk to him.

Or even just look at him, with expressions of such deep and intense relief – as though staring at a priceless spiritual treasure that could save their lives – that Nie Huaisang felt deeply uncomfortable. Yet the ones who stared at him were still better than the ones who seemed to need to find a reason to touch him, as if they could rub good luck off of him.

It was bizarre.

He was a fierce corpse. The sabers’ instinctive attempts to obliterate him felt much more natural.

It took him until late in the evening to finally escape the crowd.

Luckily, sleep was now apparently optional - or possibly not an option at all, he wasn’t sure, he hadn’t really quizzed Wei Wuxian about the exact details of fierce corpse-hood yet and anyway when he did he intended to bring up a list of complaints and suggested improvements he’d started working on in the back of his mind – so he still had energy to do what he’d wanted to do all along.

Talk to Nie Mingjue.

Nie Huaisang’s da-ge had been by his side every second until they reached the Unclean Realm, eventually retreating to go rest at Nie Huaisang’s urging and eventual ordering, but he hadn’t – he hadn’t said anything. He’d had one of Nie Huaisang’s fans on him, he’d brought out the sabers for him, destroyed the Jin sect for him, he’d done so much –

But he hadn’t said anything.

Nie Huaisang went to find him.

It took a while, since Nie Mingjue had apparently taken refuge in Nie Huaisang’s bedroom instead of his own and Nie Huaisang wouldn’t have guessed that in a thousand years – though perhaps he should have.

“Da-ge?” he said hesitantly, walking up to where Nie Mingjue was sitting on the bed, vacantly staring at one of the walls without seeing a single one of the paintings Nie Huaisang had put there.

Nie Huaisang still wasn’t used to the way his brother’s face seemed vacant of emotion. His brother had always been full of life, always angry or glad or something – even if he tried to control himself he couldn’t, his eyes always giving him away, and even those who didn’t know him, the ones who mistakenly thought he was nothing but angry, which couldn’t be further from the truth, even they didn’t think he was…

Like this.

“Da-ge?”

Nie Mingjue seemed to hear him at last, turning to look at him.

“Huaisang,” he said, and there was the slightest tremor in his voice: fear and pain and loss, and so much of it that it was overwhelming him.

Nie Huaisang sat next to him, leaning over until their shoulders were touching.

He felt helpless.

He’d known his brother loved him, of course. They weren’t like the Jiang sect, where one side tried to show their affection by lecturing and the other side tried to show it through acts of sacrifice and neither side understood the other; they weren’t like the Jin sect, all smiles hidden behind daggers and not one of them actually liking any of the others; they weren’t even like the Lan sect, two brothers so closely attuned that they might almost have been twins born a few years apart, rarely butting heads over anything.

No: Nie Mingjue chased and Nie Huaisang fled; Nie Huaisang complained and Nie Mingjue scolded; Nie Huaisang teased and Nie Mingjue pretended he didn’t laugh. Through it all, his brother always tried to do right by him, sometimes spoiling him and sometimes being too strict with him – a child raising another child, fumbling through it clumsily but earnestly, determined to do the job because to give Nie Huaisang to anyone else to raise would have been to give him up entirely.

Because the Nie sect only believed in adoption when it could be done whole-heartedly. Giving Nie Huaisang to be the son of some cousin or another would have made someone else the heir, and that had always been unacceptable to Nie Mingjue. Not once, no matter how useless Nie Huaisang proved himself to be, had Nie Mingjue ever wavered in his belief that Nie Huaisang deserved everything good in the world.

No matter what things were said about them – that they were only half-brothers, that it was odd that Nie Mingjue kept him by his side, that it was such a shame Nie Huaisang was such a waste of time – it had never mattered one bit.

Yes, Nie Huaisang had always known his brother loved him.

He’d lived a happy life, for the most part, felt safe and content knowing that no matter what happened, he had his brother to hold up the world for him. And now his brother needed him, not the other way around, and he didn’t know what to do.

Helpless to help, again.

Nie Huaisang had only just turned seven when their father had died, but he remembered more of it than he would like. The person Nie Huaisang had known as his father had been lost forever the moment his saber shattered, Wen Ruohan’s poisonous touch and smug smile a looming shadow behind it, but in fact it had been another six months before he’d actually passed away. Six terrible months of madness and pain, which to Nie Huaisang were mostly just faint snatches of angry voices and bruises littering his arms because his father no longer had the ability to remember that he was just a child that couldn’t fight back – Nie Mingjue had kept him as far away from it all as he possibly could, taken the brunt of it in a way Nie Huaisang hadn’t really understood as a child, but there was no escaping it.

Nie Huaisang remembered it being a relief when word had gone out that the Sect Leader had died: he’d been too young to properly understand filial piety back then, to understand that there would be three years of mourning and a lifetime seeking revenge awaiting them; all he’d thought was that he could finally stop hiding in his room all the time, keeping his voice down to try to avoid anyone noticing that he existed – Nie Mingjue had locked and barricaded the door so no one (one person in particular) could get in while in a frenzied rage, and the only way in and out being the high window that his brother smuggled him through for a few short outings in the middle of the night when it was a little more safe.

He’d made his way out of his room on his own, somehow, and run to find his brother, foolishly thinking of sharing the good news that the monster was gone.

Instead, he’d found his brother kneeling on the floor in one of the inside rooms that had once been their father’s. There had been blood everywhere, Nie Mingjue’s precious saber discarded on the floor as if it were nothing but trash, and his brother’s arms had been wrapped around himself as if he’d been cold, his whole body shaking uncontrollably as if he were suffering from some sort of fit.

Nie Huaisang had run up to him and asked him if he was all right, if something had happened, if it was going to be okay, and the only thing his brother said in response, repeating it over and over again as if it were the only words he knew, was I don’t know…

Nie Huaisang hadn’t been able to do anything back then – and now he was fully grown, having lived and even died, and he was just as helpless to help his brother’s pain as he’d been when he was a child.

He’d never felt more useless than he did now.

“Da-ge…”

His brother suddenly moved, pulling Nie Huaisang into his arms as if he were a little child again. “Huaisang,” his brother said, and his voice was truly shaking now. “Huaisang, forgive me.”

“Forgive you?” Nie Huaisang asked, astonished, even as his arms came up around his brother, letting him bury his face into his shoulder as he shuddered and wept as if he were the child. “For what?”

“I lost you,” his brother whispered. “I lost you, I failed you, you were gone –”

“You didn’t lose me, you didn’t fail me, you didn’t! I’m here now, aren’t I? You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t know what would happen. You had no way to know that he would violate his oath to you – that he’d fix his attention on me. You even avenged me – okay, perhaps you overdid it a little bit –”

It was more than a little bit.

Nie Huaisang’s brother had achieved in a single murderous night what Wen Ruohan had struggled for years to accomplish and still failed: with the Wens gone, the Jins gone, the Jiang and Lan sects still rebuilding, there was only one sect with any power or influence left, and now everyone knew it.

As he’d learned from the countless hours he’d spent with his sect, the world had already started changing even while they’d all been preoccupied with their own personal dramas: Nie sect commanders were already starting to be asked questions as if they were everyone’s commanders; their forces had been forcefully swollen by any number of overly-eager volunteers, who were currently being sent out to sweep the land for evil if for no other reason than to keep them too busy to ask the aforementioned questions; and one of the inner sect disciples in charge of correspondence had casually mentioned to Nie Huaisang the truly monstrous pile of applications from small sects seeking to officially register as loyal subordinate sects under Qinghe Nie.

There was even, it seemed, a very stiff one from Jiang Cheng himself, asking for a formal acknowledgment of the new state of affairs –

If Nie Huaisang had known about everything, he might have been a little less eager to take Lan Xichen into custody. He didn’t actually think Lan Xichen was to blame for his sworn brother’s actions, but he did think it was a good idea to have a proper trial on the subject. Lan Xichen needed the cleanness of a trial, of judgment and punishment, to wash away the filth that his sworn brother had left him covered in – it was the ambiguity, the questions, that would be the true torment. Only once everything was acknowledged, the burning light of the truth shining on all the dark places, would he be able to accept that his only crime had been trusting the wrong person for all the right reasons.

Only then would he be able to move on.

Only then would Nie Mingjue be able to move on, from the role he had also played: Jin Guangyao had been his sworn brother as well, and he’d been the one to give permission for Nie Huaisang to go.

Only then would Nie Huaisang be able to forgive himself for having not figured it out in time to stop – all of this.

He’d been stupid. He’d known Jin Guangyao’s loyalties were with the Lanling Jin, that tensions were escalating – he’d even known, as his brother had learned the hard way, that Jin Guangyao was more ruthless than he appeared. And yet he’d liked Jin Guangyao’s indulgence, his little gifts, his sympathy, and that had been enough for him to ignore the rest; he hadn’t thought for one minute to be worried.

He’d never thought Jin Guangyao would kill him.

Just as he’d never thought Jin Guangyao would hurt Nie Mingjue in such a vile way, slowly driving him insane with insidious poison. Based on the little the Lan brothers had said on the way back, the song would have been forcing Nie Mingjue back, step by slow step, into a qi deviation, the ultimate fate of their family, and the mere thought of it put the taste of bile and ashes into Nie Huaisang’s mouth.

If he hadn’t been just that little bit too curious, his brother might have one day – might have ended up just like –

He didn’t want to think about it. As a child, he’d had nightmares about it for months, both during and after – panic attacks during the day, triggered by loud noises or sudden movements or not seeing his brother for too long, and terrors at night that kept him awake and trembling even as he took up space in his brother’s bed, keeping the exhausted newly appointed sect leader from getting any rest himself.

He’d spent hours staring at his brother’s face, afraid that if he blinked, his brother’s eyes would become bloodshot, his cheeks flushed, veins pulsing even as they shattered from the strain of ceaseless rage –

Jin Guangyao would have done that on purpose.

And Nie Huaisang had very nearly missed it – for what? A smile? Not having to train? Some pretty fans?

He would rather they had all been burned.

Yes, they needed a trial. They all did, to wash themselves clean.

Perhaps insisting on a trial was just Nie Huaisang finally living up to their family heritage. After all, their sect had always put justice first and foremost, justice and its close cousin revenge; it was only once justice was accomplished, the scales balanced, that they could move on to healing and purification, to building up again from a new and better foundation.

But putting aside what the trial would mean to them all personally, Nie Huaisang had to admit that he hadn’t thought about the impact of it, the wider implications. How did this all look to the rest of the world? The Lan sect’s leader, willing submitting himself to trial at their hands – acknowledging the Nie sect’s right to lay judgment on his head –

Even if they didn’t want to be in charge, they weren’t going to have much of a choice.

“…we’re going to have so much work to do,” Nie Huaisang said out loud, reaching the conclusion with a grimace. They had a responsibility, now. He knew his brother: his brother would never accept the right to rule without the duty of care, and that meant that they had to care about the whole world…

He thought he knew his brother, anyway –

No. No.

He still knew him.

This was still his da-ge, still Nie Mingjue – a little broken, a little damaged, all those shattered pieces put back together in a way that would never be the same again, but still his brother.

(It wasn’t like their father again. It wasn’t.)

His brother huffed, his own quiet version of a laugh; his breath was warm against Nie Huaisang’s neck, and Nie Huaisang knew that if he embraced his brother the same way, it wouldn’t be the same. “You would be most concerned about the prospect of paperwork, wouldn’t you?”

It wasn’t what Nie Huaisang was most concerned about, not by a long shot, but he’d put years of effort into being a shameless dandy that he wasn’t going to throw away, so he forced a laugh and said, “I mean, can you imagine? Our ancestors would roll over in their graves to think of a fierce corpse filling out orders on behalf of the sect –”

“I broke open the graves,” Nie Mingjue said, and Nie Huaisang stopped, because yes, he had, hadn’t he?

He’d desecrated the tombs of their ancestors, and all of it for Nie Huaisang.

“I don’t regret it,” Nie Mingjue said. “Let me be punished or cursed as an unfilial child or a disgrace to our name; I don’t care. It was worth it to give them what they deserved – that and more, for what they did to you. We all deserve to pay.”

He was going to have to be very cautious in the sort of things he said or did for a while, Nie Huaisang realized. Whether it was because of what had happened to him, or maybe the poisoned music had already pushed Nie Mingjue too far down that road to the dead end – yes, his brother was still his brother, still beloved, but there was a streak of bitter madness in him now, one that would have to be very carefully tended to if Nie Huaisang wanted to see his brother fully restored to health and sanity.

If he didn’t want to see more devastation.

If he didn’t want to see his brother turn Baxia onto himself, in the end.

“You avenged me,” Nie Huaisang finally said. “You avenged me, and you had Wei-xiong bring me back – you did everything you needed to do. You did it, da-ge. You can – you can rest now, okay? You did everything you needed to do, and now it’s my turn to handle things for a while.”

His brother laughed a little at the thought of Nie Huaisang handling – well, anything, and Nie Huaisang supposed he deserved that, but in the end he managed to coax his brother to finally get some sleep, lying down beside him on his own bed like they hadn’t since he’d grown out of childhood.

Nie Huaisang was pretty sure it was the first actual sleep his brother had had since he’d died.

He himself did not sleep.

He looked up at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom, and for the first time in his life –

He began to plan.

#mdzs #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #digging graves #warnings for memories of child abuse #tanoraqui

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yeah-klave · 4 years ago

Text

A Short History of What Happened - Chapter 4

Written, with love, for EnKlave Fest 2021.

Catch up with the story so far: Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3

Prompt: Omegas aren’t allowed to join the army, but then Omega!Klaus gets dropped into Vietnam and has to pose as a Beta. He manages quite well, right until he goes into heat. Alpha!Dave is protective and incredibly aroused/horny.

Genre: Omega verse, smut, developing relationships, slow burn, undercover, misunderstandings, secretly in love.

Word length: This chapter: 2.1k

Warning: Implied, canon-compliant abuse. The entire work, when posted, will contain explicit sexual content. (Also, my knowledge of the Vietnam war is almost non-existent. I’ve tried to keep historic/military references throughout this fic to a minimum, but I’ve had to take a few liberties in this chapter to provide the right context for this conversation. Please just roll with it.)

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of The Umbrella Academy characters or settings.

***************************************************************

Fate, that fickle mistress, dealt a blow the following morning.

The unit had been redeployed and were heading out to a new location that day. Most of their airborne unit were to be dropped in directly. A select few, however, were required to provide ground support to the convoy of trucks. Dave had been selected. And so, as it turned out, had Klaus.

Most of the men were to ride in the back of the trucks, ready, in case of an ambush.

Dave – less than enthusiastic at the thought of several hours caged up in a hot, metal tube – had offered to act as rear guard and follow the convoy on foot as it made its way through the marshy, inhospitable landscape.

He had already turned to begin checking his pack, when he heard a light, musical voice volunteer to join him. Head bowed, large, strong hands pausing in their methodical inspection of his rifle clips, Dave felt a physical thrill run through his entire body, a tingling jolt that started in his stomach, then radiated out to his fingers and toes and the tips of his hair.

As the trucks began their slow progress, Dave took his position next to the small man in the borrowed clothes. Keeping a reasonable distance from the convoy, they began their hike.

Dave focussed hard. He tried desperately to keep his mind clear of the intoxicating scent and not let himself become distracted by the most beautiful face he had ever seen. He held his gun at the ready and kept his eyes on the landscape around them, vigilant of the dangers.

Klaus was not as diligent. He held his gun loosely in his hands, as though it was a weight he was unused to carrying. In his peripheral vision, Dave noticed that Klaus looked around him with wide eyes, a look of curious wonder on his face that any significant amount of time in the field would surely have dampened to a resigned acceptance.

Dave took a deep breath, holding the conversational ball close to his chest for a final moment, before readying himself to take a swing and serve it into Klaus’ court.

“You’re lucky, you know,” he said quietly. A thwack of rubber against taught lattice strings. He kept his eyes forwards, watching the terrain and his words and the progress of the ball.

Klaus looked over at him. Dave shot a glance his way and Klaus immediately lowered his gaze, then looked up again shyly through his long, dark lashes.

“And why’s that?” he said, his voice light and breathy. He raised one eyebrow slightly, eyes twinkling and the corner of his mouth curling up into the beginning of a smile. Slowly, he parted his lips a fraction and gently bit his bottom lip. Dave could see the tiny, white press of pressure as Klaus’ teeth slowly dragged over the blood darkened skin. Still looking up into Dave’s face, Klaus opened his mouth a little more and gently ran the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip.

Dave swallowed hard and snapped his eyes forwards again. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath that smelled like something sweet and musky and unfamiliar, and replied, “Well, out of all the units you could have stumbled into, you managed to pick the one made up entirely of betas.” He paused, then added as an afterthought. “Well, except me, of course.”

Dave heard Klaus give a snort and turned his head quickly to catch Klaus swotting at a mosquito.

“Shut up,” he said in an undertone, “he isn’t.”

Dave eyebrows crinkled in confusion. “Pardon?” he said.

Klaus bared his teeth, hissed and swotted again.

“Got it?” Dave asked.

“What?” Klaus said distractedly, looking back over at Dave. His brows were knitted together and he had a pained expression of concentration on his face. His eyes wandered over Dave’s shoulder.

“Fuck tests!” he said abruptly.

“Klaus?” Dave said, concerned, “are you okay?”

Klaus snapped his eyes back to Dave’s face. “Peachy,” he replied, but it still sounded a bit sad. Or sceptical.

“I think,” Klaus blurted suddenly, “I think you mean you’re lucky.” If those words were a creature, they would be something with a sting.

Dave frowned again, suddenly feeling as though there were more balls in play than he had originally thought.

Dave tracked the conversation back, then frowned deeper. “But… that’s… what I said.”

“No, no, no,” Klaus waved his hands in frustration. Dave’s eyes followed the movement of Klaus’ arms and the purple shadow of bruising that ringed his wrists. Dave’s stomach churned and he felt the prickle of anger take root in the base of his skull.

Klaus’ eyes were raking over Dave’s face. “No, you think you’re the lucky one.” He paused, then added with a little shrug. “All betas means no competition for you.” He paused and frowned, his nose scrunching adorably. “I mean,” he added, “no competition for me. Over me. Lucky old you.”

Dave could hear his heart pounded in his ears.

“So, big boy,” Klaus held Dave’s gaze, “which one of these trees are you going to pin me against while you wrap your hand around my throat and fuck me so hard I’ll barely be able to walk?”

The pounding in Dave’s ears turned to a roar. In a sickening rush he thought of bruises and bloody towels and wide, scared eyes and a fear so strong and deep he could smell it.

“Oh no,” he said firmly, “no, no. Just no. That’s not… I’m not like that.”

Crash. Bang. There it was. The slip of the tongue. The fork in the road. The miscommunication.

Klaus’ face had turned to stone. His expression was unreadable, but the air around them had soured. If Dave hadn’t been so preoccupied, he might have recognised it as the bitter smell of disappointment.

Dave ploughed on. “We’re not all aggressors, you know? Not all egocentric pricks who think the world owes us sex and submission.” He wasn’t sure Klaus was listening. His eyes had slipped over Dave’s shoulder again.

“Oh,” Klaus said in a small voice. “So, you’re just being kind to the queer, little omega freak out of the good of your heart, are you?”

Dave felt his stomach twist and a pang of guilt washed over him. Beautiful, he had thought. Heartbreakingly beautiful. This was going so wrong. So utterly, completely wrong.

“It’s,” he started. “I mean… Some of us are just decent, you know? We’re not all dicks. I mean, really, the primary role of an alpha is as protector and caregiver.”

Klaus snorted again. It smelled like sadness and derision and disbelief.

“Yeah,” he huffed under his breath. “Well, not in my experience.”

And Dave’s heart clenched again. Clenched for every bad thing that had ever happened to this man to make him react like that.

“I’m not like… that.” Dave said, slowly and clearly. Whatever, that was exactly. He just knew he wasn’t. He would never be the type of alpha who would make any omega scared or uncomfortable. Or worse. “I just want to help you,” he said simply.

Klaus turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “Really?” he asked, the scepticism thick in his voice.

“Really, really.” Dave said earnestly, holding Klaus’ gaze. He determinedly ignored the butterflies of desire in his stomach and resolutely refused to register the utterly enchanting shade of Klaus’ green eyes.

Klaus held his gaze for a moment longer, his brows furrowing slightly his questioning stare flicking between Dave’s eyes, as though trying to read something behind them.

“I don’t think I thanked you for the clothes before,” he said slowly.

Dave breathed a sigh. Of relief? He wasn’t sure. “No problem,” he said instead. “Although,” he added slowly, “I should probably ask you why you needed them.”

Klaus looked him straight in the eye and deadpanned, “Because all I was wearing was a towel.” He held Dave’s gaze. It felt like a test.

“Really,” Dave added composedly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Klaus’ face fell. Dave had thought that was the right answer, but at the sadness in Klaus’ eyes, he still felt like he had failed somehow.

Klaus took a resolute breath, then added with a straight face, “So used to following your nose, did you forget how your eyes worked?”

Klaus appraised him stonily for approximately three seconds before his face cracked into a small, lopsided grin. It still looked a little sad, but the tension broke between them.

“Very funny, smart ass.” Dave huffed, grinning back. He was definitely not thinking about how dazzling Klaus’ smile was. “Get in there quick with the big, dumb alpha jokes. Typist humour. Very witty.” But there was no bite to his words. They were like the roughhousing of an old, familiar, family dog – more fluff and licks than nips and barks.

“Sometimes you guys just walk straight into them,” Klaus smiled, giving Dave a quick wink. Dave’s stomach flipped over.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dave rolled his eyes, playing along, “that’s why they make us so big, right? Extra cushioning for when we’re so dumb we bump into things…?”

“You said it, not me!” Klaus giggled. Actually giggled. The butterflies in Dave’s stomach did a few somersaults.

Quite settled around them like a blanket. But it was comfortable silence. Warm and weighted. An old familiar blanket that got brought out, year after year, to chase away the bite of winter. The kind of blanket you wanted to keep in your life forever. A patchwork that only improved with age.

After a while, Dave turned back to Klaus. “So,” he ventured tentatively, “do you want to tell me why you were only wearing a towel?”

Klaus sighed deeply and looked down at his fingers which had started fiddling distractedly with the strap of his gun.

“That’s a long story,” he sighed, “and I’m not quite sure how to tell it.” He went quiet and Dave thought he might have lost him. Shut him down. Pushed him too far. Stupid, Dave thought. Just as he was starting to relax around you. You went and pushed too far, expected too much.

“Would it help if I tried to fill in the blanks a bit?” Dave asked gently. “You could just answer yes or no?”

He smelled the relief on Klaus before he saw it reflected in his eyes. Distantly, he wondered when his sense of smell had developed so much. He couldn’t remember ever being able to smell emotions as clearly or as strongly as this from any other omega. It must be because I haven’t been around omegas for so long, thought Dave. He must just smell extra strong to me now, or something, because of prolonged lack of exposure.

“Yeah,” Klaus croaked. “That’s probably a good idea.”

Dave took a deep breath and began. “Were you running away from someone?”

“Yes.” Klaus replied. Dave’s brain filled in the blanks, supplied a series of images of an amorphous ex.

“Were they hurting you?” he asked.

“Yes.” Klaus confirmed. An abusive amorphous ex. The images got progressively darker. The prickle of anger at the base of Dave’s skull grew teeth.

“Are they gone for good?” he asked.

Klaus swallowed. “No.” He paused for a long moment. “I don’t think so.” Another pause. “I don’t know.”

“Do they want you back?”

Klaus snorted. Ahead of them, one of the trucks revved its engine and Dave almost missed Klaus’ answer. But, under his breath, Dave though he heard Klaus mumble, “Nobody wants me.”

Dave could hear his heartbeat again. It was hammering a drumbeat rhythm in his ears. He was almost convinced Klaus must be able to hear it.

“Is here better than… anywhere else?” Dave paused. “Wherever else you have?”

Dave watched Klaus considering his question and weighing up his answer.

“I don’t know.” Klaus said eventually. “I mean… I am, what I am, where I am. But really… here, there, anywhere. It’s all the same really. I have about as much connection here as I would anywhere else.”

Dave nodded. A fresh start. He could understand that. He could understand that more than anyone.

“So,” he pitched his voice low and calm, his kept his eyes forwards, “do you want to stay?”

Dave could feel Klaus’ eyes on him, but he didn’t look over. He gave Klaus the space to study his face.

Finally, Klaus replied. “Yes,” he said simply, “Yes, I think that maybe I do.”

Dave tried to suppress a smile. He failed.

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Yeah-Klave Master List

#klave #klaus hargreeves #dave katz #the umbrella academy #tua #klaus x dave #klaus/dave

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