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keilemlucent · 4 years ago

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pretty eyes & starshine: iii

(Mostly SFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i || part ii || part iii (epilogue)

word count: ~2.2k

Nothing ever really ends. It just grows in different ways with different parts.

warnings: description of post-injury, reader and hawks being traumatized but coping, a soft epilogue

the ending folks :’^) thank you for reading this far. here is something gentle for all of us, with some future, past, and the present for sweet starshine and keigo :’^)

enjoy loves 💞!!

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Keigo doesn’t break promises.

He loves white lies, the silly kind where he can rib you for a minute or two before soothing any ruffled feathers with quick kisses. He never leaves big wounds, nothing gaping or jagged, just loving pokes in your sides to get you to laugh and quip back at him.

He never goes back on his words that count.

His journeys out of the house remain short and rarely surprising. He never leaves without a goodbye, whether that’s a sleepy fuck or two, or a hand-written, tooth-rotting note on a scrap of paper next to a steaming cup of coffee on the kitchen island.

Keigo’s used to the open skies, rolling forever. The curve of the horizon is his primordial friend that he never got to say goodbye to, but he still chases it a few times a week. Little drives he takes by himself, hikes, and things that he let him feel a bit of that free wind in his shaggy hair.

It takes you a while, but you don’t look forlornly at the door anymore.

The awareness that of his absence from your little bastion lingers as you move throughout your day, but you know he’s good for his word. He always returns, bearing a toothy grin, and usually an armload of snacks or takeout.

It’s better, and you’re both a bit more alive.

...

Spring in the mountains reminds you of something you can’t place.

The memory of it is foggy, far-off and untouched. Probably a bit dampened from, you know, a year of trauma, but the feeling of it makes your quirk burst to light without fail.

It comes when you notice the little patches of wildflowers that spring up in new grass that rings around the porch. Heat flares in your eyes when you see the little seedlings you and Keigo planted into the window boxes begin to bud and flower.

The days get longer, sweeter, and the summer comes easily.

...

The bad days never cease, but you both learn to cope to some degree.

Your scar... cracks one day. You’re doing some half-assed stretches in the living room (mostly arching your back so Keigo gets a good peek of your ass) when it happens. Your right leg bends at the knee, and a resounding ‘crack’ and shatter echo off the walls of the cabin.

You both panic.

Keigo instantly urges you on the couch, trying to soothe your own panic with little coos from the back of his throat. You feel numb as Keigo shoves up your pant leg, looking for any damage.

The scar looks relatively unchanged. It hasn’t writhed since your days at the hospital, and its edges have only faded a shade or two with time. It’s long, obtrusive, and something you still avoid looking at.

All the same, Keigo traces the gnarly flesh, nimble fingers searching for the source of the sound. Any bit of pain he can identify and soothe, ideally, remove. The pads of his fingers drift to the crook of your knee, pressing against the shiny, black seam of the scar.

His eyes go wide before awe shines through, without a lick of fear.

He warns you to take a deep breath, ‘breath with him’, before pinching at the glassy center and pulling. There’s a bit of resistance as he pulls, you’re not sure what he’s doing, and you see ‘it’ before you really put it together.

Keigo holds ‘it’ up for you to see.

The inky glass of the scar.

Literal rock. Inky obsidian pulled from your flesh, about the size of your pinky and painfully jagged.

“W-what is that?” You asked, grabbing his wrist to examine the bit. “That’s... the scar?”

Keigo nods his head, scrutinizing it with you, pinching at it, “Weirdest scab I’ve ever seen.”

Scab.

You have never thought about calling the ugly root of the scar a ‘scab’ but looking at the way it so easily was pulled away, it makes sense. After a bit of examination and tender prodding, the tissue around it looks healthy, albeit thick and burned. The scar goes deep into your flesh, feels raw to the touch, but the skin that’s beneath it is somewhat alive. Maybe too alive, given how sensitive it is.

Nonetheless, you marvel at the little piece of volcanic glass that Keigo had pulled from you like it’s the most precious stone in the world.

...

It takes a long time to convince both of you.

Keigo never receives another call from Suits, ‘president’, what the fuck her name is. Thank fucking god. His snap seemed to have scared her and her crumbling organization away. You can only hope that it was for good.

The potential return comes from kindness rather than demands.

Calls from both Endeavor and Miruko, ‘Enji’ and ‘Rumi’ as they insist you call them. Rumi chatters on the phone for hours with Keigo every few weeks, puts the phone on speaker, and has you give your piece as well. You like her, she’s funny and loud and Keigo smiles when he talks to her.

Enji actually visits.

Once or twice, maybe more. You stop counting when the extra bodies in the cabin don’t have you breaking into a cold sweat anymore. It had taken a great bit of coaxing, but you opened your cabin up for the former pro and his entourage.

He brings along his daughter and the ‘Three Musketeers,’ as the media calls them. The boys train in the mountains nearby, never lingering too far based on the shouting from the blond one that echoes against the hills.

The rest of you settle into the walls of the cabin whenever they come to visit. It feels warmer than normal; it makes sweat gather under your arms and in droplets on your forehead. Even if you wanted to attribute the heat to the old flame hero’s presence, it wouldn’t account entirely for your thumping heart.

You work through it, slowly.

You like watching Keigo and Enji. They both look worn. Keigo’s a bit too young for grey hair, but Enji has more than his fair share around his temples. The beard around his jaw glints silver in the lowlight of the cabin whenever he tilts his head to sip at his tea.

They smile like old friends, talk like it too.

You end up in the kitchen a lot during their talks, distantly cooking and observing. You’re always listening to their stories, the banter. It’s hard to keep up with, a lingering vestige of Keigo’s old persona that clings to him and his mannerisms.

You don’t mind it, even if it feels foreign.

...

“Can you pass me that honey, dear?” Fuyumi asks, voice sweet and close.

You nod, sliding her the jar across the corner top. She carefully spoons a glob of the thick liquid into the four waiting mugs, humming just under her breath.

The cabin feels warm, and it’s not just the ambient heat Enji gives off.

The ‘three musketeers’ plan to camp in the mountainside and ‘rough it’. You couldn’t imagine the freshly-greened hills giving them too much trouble. They bicker, you have found, constantly. Blunt jabs from Enji’s son, met by explosive remarks from the blond one (why is his hero name so long? You can never remember it well.) Consider your growing aversion to loud noise, you like Deku the best. He seems like the peacekeeper (and peacemaker) of the trio and compliments your cooking. What a gem.

The guest room has been polished into an actual guest room. Fuyumi takes it, and Enji, bless his heart, takes the creaky fold-out couch. He doesn’t mind, he tells you, something about enjoying tending to the hearth at night.

Keigo calls the nights where they fill the house ‘sleepovers’, and he adores them.

They’re a bit overwhelming for you if you’re being honest. But Enji is far less intimidating now that you’ve seen him nodding off and slack-faced on your couch. Fuyumi has patience you’ll never fully understand, and babies you a bit, which you don’t welcome but don’t refuse either.

She does just that, scooping up three mugs after pushing your own toward you. You regather and sit next to Keigo at the kotatsu, slipping your legs under the thick blanket and sagging with the heat. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he presses you into his side, pressing a few kisses to the top of your head. It’s an idle action, habitual and welcomed as the conversation flows.

(Something about one of Keigo’s old sidekicks. Another about Endeavor’s agency, still chugging along with him at the helm, albeit not as an active hero. The new hero charts, the new rules established, legislation. Things are getting... safer, a semblance of order being re-established now that much of the League has been apprehended.)

(Things are settling, as horrifying as the change is.)

The thought of so much makes you sleepy, long-standing exhaustion heavy in your bones. You nod off at some point to the kind, safe voices.

Keigo coaxes you awake once the conversation dies down.

“Love,” he purrs, rubbing your side, “let’s get up now and get you to bed.”

You follow him, the way he rises and guides you to the bathroom to help you ready for bed. Enji is settling on the couch, tugging a few throws over himself on the futon. You give him a shallow wave with half-lidded eyes, meeting his own.

Eye contact feels hard, but you manage to hold it for a few seconds.

In the bathroom, you pop onto the counter and slowly brush your teeth. Sleep clings to you, and you know it’ll return quickly, but the process of moving and interacting wears you down so easily. Your toothbrush almost slips from your grip.

“Just a little more, and then you can rest, dove,” Keigo urges, reverent as he finishes his own routine in tandem. You watch as he splashes water on his face, wetting the tufts of hair that fall around his face.

The cabin feels warmer.

You notice it as you enter the bedroom, Keigo already hopping into bed to assemble the ‘nest’ as both affectionately refer to it. The old throw, a few extra soft blankets, and a buttery soft duvet must be arranged just right before he is satisfied.

Keigo knows it’s a remnant.

He carries plenty of them, little chunks of him that are old and worn, old and unused. He can shake them, can’t bury them, they just simply are.

The birdish ones are nice, he thinks. He likes that he can preen you. He loves that you can preen him. That you’ll indulge him in that way, running your hands through his overgrown hair. You detangle any knots, soothe the snarls and rub at his neck until he’s liquid in your lap.

He likes nesting. The cold of the cabin can be almost forgotten in the little nests he makes. The mountains of bedding and pillows that you both can settle in. It’s peaceful, and it's shared, and things are okay.

It’s all slow, and a bit tedious, things that the remnants of ‘Hawks’ scream and thrash at. But, really? Keigo has no reason to listen to a ghost. He tries not to let himself be haunted.

He indulges himself for the first time in his life, probably.

As Keigo nestles you into the sheets beside him, he gives you a bit of room to get comfortable. Adjusts your pillows how you like, tangle your legs together in the comfiest way. Your own version of nesting that makes his palms sweat and his words turn to mush.

You settle together, chest to chest, Keigo’s chin hooked over the top of your head.

“Did you have a good day?” You ask, soft and sleepy.

Keigo nods easily, “I did. Enji doesn’t seem to quite as much of a square as he was a few years ago.”

You snort, muffling a giggle into his chest, “He’s definitely a little bit of a square. But I like him.”

“He offered to host us at the estate if we ever want to go back.”

You swallow, thick and slow, and try to bury yourself deeper in him, “... Do you want to go back?”

“No.” He pauses. “Maybe. Not yet, and not anytime soon. But the offer is on the table. It’s nice to have, even if we don’t take it.”

It’s insurance, somewhere else to tuck yourselves away if the mountains stop favoring you.

The thought of the future makes your head spin, as it tends to. The scar aches, but maybe it’s a tad duller than it was a few months ago. The pains only last a few moments, only stab so deeply. The place where the little chunk of obsidian fell out doesn’t feel quite as tender.

You lay your cheek on Keigo’s chest, your breath coming in time with his.

“‘M tired,” You murmur into his chest. “Can I sleep?”

“Of course, starshine.” He pushes back your hair, clears your forehead to press his lips to the skin, lightly. Little kisses piling up on top of each other. “Get some rest.”

“You too, pretty eyes.”

You both need it. For more than just a day with the folks who stuck around. You and Keigo need more rest than a being can responsibly accumulate during a human life. There are things to be stitched, worn parts of you that need tending to, and burns that’ll need salve until the day you die. It’s not any less than it was in the month’s past.

But it’s easier to manage.

You snuggle into Keigo’s chest, drifting off to the thought of fresh coffee and crackling heat.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

thank you for reading!!💞

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #my hero academia #mha fanfic #mha x reader #hawks imagines #wow :'^)#thank y'all for reading

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pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years ago

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Not You (500 Celebration)

500 Celebration Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Prompt: From the Quotes category: “You are shaking fists and trembling teeth. I know: you did not mean to be cruel. That does not mean you were kind.”

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Ivar (he is a warning, idk what to tell u). Angst. Graphic descriptions of violence. Blood. Death. My shitty writing.

A/N: I’m slowly getting back to writing, I’ll try to get to the requests and challenge entries soon. I am so so sorry for being so slow lately. Thank you for being patient, and for your support!

Also, this isn’t very good (I was in between two paths to take with this, and fitting the quote into it was tricky lol) so I apologize in advance, I just really need to push forward w/writing, so you’ll have to bear with me with some shittier than usual stuff for a while lol. Love ya!

There’s something you have learned a while ago, long ago enough that you cannot recall when it was that the realization dawned on you.

You’ve learned there are countless different ways Ivar tells you he loves you.

He tells you quietly, a whisper against your lips, as he prepares to leave for the spring, as he leaves behind your home to lands unexplored, as he leaves your embraces for battles to fight. You savor those times with the bittersweetness of goodbye, with the promise of yet another reunion; and each time he promises one last I love you, barely audible over the winds of the coast, you taste the salt of the sea on your lips and save your words, the silent order to return to you if he wishes to hear it back. He always does.

He tells you fervently, words stumbling over one another, as you make each promise he asks of you, as you promise to be by his side for as long as the Gods let you, as you promise to become his wife before the Gods and any who may be present. You can almost hear the same promise of his own being made as he repeats those three words; and each time he vows his love in between starved and frantic kisses broken by words and too-wide smiles, you still the fervor with but a touch as you always did, promising the same love with the lowest of voices, hoping he can hear. He always does.

He tells you hoarsely, a litany accompanied by your name as his voice gives out, as your hands and lips trace over every inch you wish to and remind him of what hunger feels like, as you put him at your mercy and remind him of what being yours feels like. You feel power running through your veins like lightning with each of those prayers in the shape of your name, in the cadence of an I love you; and with each breathed truth and each jagged moan that speaks without words what you already know, you press yourself as close as you can to him, and promise the same with reverent kisses over fever-warm skin, with sighs of his name, with the certainty he can understand, can see it in your eyes, how much you love him. He always does.

He tells you hesitantly, with the sudden fear of who jumps not really certain there will be a safe spot to land on, as a years-old certainty is dragged to the front of his mind and happiness is nothing is a truth more than your love for him could ever be, as the self-loathing that still surprises and catches you off guard makes itself known in his voice and in the blue of his eyes. You always feel your heart break a bit more at each of those times, at each admission that love like this after a lifetime of pain can only mean that it will leave -and you hear the words he doesn’t say, you will leave- and bring forth agony when it does; yet you still promise your love and pray he believes you. He always does.

There are countless different ways he tells you he loves you.

The door to your rooms opens, and your hands clench into fists in the rose-colored water you were washing them on. You don’t turn around, but the familiar sound of Ivar’s steps stopping a fair distance away from you tells you that he knows you are aware of his presence.

You refuse to look at him until you can get the blood of your hands, though. For a moment you are afraid you never will be able to wash off the stain.

Emir’s words, accusing, biting, true, “You look at a monster like him and you choose to love him, at all the monstrous things he does and you choose to love him despite them. You are worse than he is.”

With the dark eyes of the man you were once married to set on you, you didn’t feel anything other than anger, than the familiar ire and drive to defend the man you love. And even now, with the evidence of the monstrous things the man you love does still staining your hands, you don’t feel any regret, any shame.

You shake the water off your hands, and the instinctual movement to dry them haphazardly on the front of your dress is jarringly stopped when you notice the blood still staining the sleeves of it. You grab a linen instead, and count your breaths before you turn around.

Ivar is sitting near the door, head turned to the side as he watches his thumb run over and over, almost compulsively, over a ridge on the top of his crutch. You linger for a few breaths watching him, the uncharacteristic nervousness of the man that killed without second thought and would again, the jarring humanity of someone capable of such cruel things, and the truth behind Emir’s words doesn’t bother you at all.

Ivar takes a breath, but doesn’t look at you, still following with his eyes the repetitive movement of his hand, when he says, “I love you.”

There are countless different ways he tells you he loves you, and now, now it sounds like an apology, like an apology and something else, something more fragile. Like a request, like a plea, but you don’t know what for.

Taking a deep breath, you step forward.

Big eyes look up at you as you approach, but he doesn’t move, he doesn’t say anything else. Heart heavy, you have to curl your hand into a fist to keep traitorous fingers from falling into the temptation of tracing the slight furrow of his brow, of soothing the lines of worry you see etched in the angles of his face, to follow the line of his jaw and remind him not to grit his teeth like that.

“I know you do,” You whisper quietly, and it isn’t the answer you usually give. Past the flare of anger in his eyes, you see something else, something that looks like fear and makes acid churn at your stomach. You swallow thickly, “Ivar, I-…”

“No, no, just…just-…you know I wasn’t thinking,” He interrupts, and though there’s a frantic edge to his words, it is quickly overshadowed by that anger particular to him, that anger at feeling unmoored, that resentment at being vulnerable. “Anger overcame me, it wasn’t-…what would you have done, hm?”

“What?”

“He was trying to take you away from me, he was trying to convince you to leave me. I know that.”

He doesn’t mind the look you give him, pushing forward, “When we were children you would risk punishment by stealing to feed the hunting dogs, remember? Now you help Ivar the Boneless raid our land, overthrow our King, your brother? You’d burn the world for a man like him?”

Your eyes fall closed, and all you can offer is a sigh that gets halfway stuck in your throat.

Ivar stays silent, mercifully. Or cruelly, maybe. You aren’t sure you know the difference anymore. You aren’t sure you care.

Emir and you parted ways a long time ago, a marriage of convenience that blossomed into friendship, but that once your parents and his guardian were dead had no reason to continue to be so. Seeing him earlier tonight on the feast was not something you were expecting, and not something you thought would end the way it did. And his presence, his absence, beg the question he asked last and you are afraid to answer, what would you be willing to do for him? What would you forgive, what would you condemn?

His hands settle on the sides of your hips, a grounding touch, you aren’t sure if for your benefit or his own. Ivar pushes on when you remain silent for maybe too long.

“I need to know you can forgive me. I can make it better, I can…I can do that,” You don’t know if he is reassuring you or himself, and at your silence Ivar lifts big eyes to you again. There’s no hiding the fear now. “I l-love you.”

The scream is caught on your throat as Emir drops to the ground, the axe grotesquely stuck on the base of his neck. Your hands tremble, your whole body does, as you try helplessly to stop the bleeding as he gasps and chokes on his own blood.

A few involuntary jerks of his body as death grips him, and you lift your eyes and find Ivar’s unwavering gaze. He doesn’t give away anything other than cold fury, just the ruthless glare of the man Emir saw and was killed for speaking against.

You squeeze your eyes shut, “Stop saying it.”

“It is true, you know that,” He says, swallowing once before attempting, “And you love me.”

“You killed him, Ivar.”

“I had to.” He insists, searching your gaze as he uses his hands on your hips to tentatively bring you closer.

“You didn’t have to, you chose to.”

He grits his teeth, and there’s the clear tell of anger, of stubborn affront; but he doesn’t argue. Instead, searching your gaze for a few breaths, he asks,

“Can you forgive me?”

And it is at his words, at the answer that you can so easily give, that a pit grows in your stomach and ice runs through your veins. You can. You have already.

By all the Gods, if Emir is right and Ivar is a monster…what does loving him make out of you? What does forgiving the horrible things he does make out of the girl that would steal to feed hungry dogs?

Maybe the answer is in all the ways he tells you he loves you, in all the ways he promises devotion and protection and love. Maybe the answer is in how it has only felt real, it has only felt true, when it is Ivar the one telling you he loves you.

Maybe because you are not something other than that girl by loving him, but just by who you are, by growing past the desire to keep the world and learning to choose to let it burn for the sake of those you love. Maybe because you love him because of who you made out of yourself, not the other way around.

The ghost Emir’s voice becomes one with your brother’s, who still lives but not for long -not when his head holds a crown you are interested in and the man you love is willing to grant you-, and at what you made out of yourself they ask if you are content with your decision.

Searching his gaze, you mutely nod your head, both to his question and the one your ghosts ask.

“I can’t lose you,” Ivar admits past the clear tell of gritted teeth. He shakes his head, almost imperceptibly. “Not you.”

Torturously slow, the tips of your fingers dance over the side of his face, tracing the scar on his cheekbone

“You won’t.”

At your promise Ivar sighs, the first deep breath you have heard from him in a while, as if he were holding his breath; and leans forward, burying his face against your stomach and holding you even closer.

“Tell me you love me.” He beseechs, no longer attempting to hide the need to hear you say it.

You are sure there are countless ways you tell him you love him too, you are sure in times like these you tell him you love him like a promise to never leave him, like the assurance that he won’t ever lose you; and he needs to hear you say it.

“I love you,” You promise him, your arms around his shoulders as best as you can. Your eyes fall closed and you wonder if the words should taste like shame when you offer yet another truth, “Nothing could change that.”

Quietly, so quietly you are half-convinced it is imagined, he whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“He was our enemy, he would have died in battle anyways.” You tell him, and it is true, and maybe worse. Emir would have died fighting against an invasion you are part of the reason for, he would have died defending a kingdom Ivar will claim because it was once your home, he would have died alongside an army whose weaknesses you whispered in Ivar’s ear a long time ago.

He would have died, and you would have been the reason why. And it would have mattered to you as much as it does now.

But Ivar shakes his head, “I’m sorry, for…for all that I do.”

You wonder absently if he apologizes now not for Emir’s murder but for something else, something more human. You wonder if he apologizes for craving your gentleness, for needing your reassurance, for asking for your love. You wouldn’t put it past those worst thoughts he has about himself to make him believe he ought to seek repentance for something as simple as humanity.

Your fingers tracing absently over the short hair at the nape of his neck, you take a deep breath, but say nothing, certain it isn’t words what he needs from you now.

After an eternity, or maybe a moment, Ivar speaks again.

Solemn, he promises, “I love you.”

There are countless different ways he tells you he loves you. Sometimes, sometimes an I love you is just that, an admission, a declaration. A truth.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @1950schick @ietss @peachyboneless @encounterthepast @maggiescarborough @chibisgotovalhalla @fae-sedai @zuxiezendler @crazybunnyladysworld @stupiddarkkside @northumbria @sagyunaro @aprilivar

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar #500 fucking hell thank you ily

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marrys-dream-world · 3 years ago

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if we’re bound to be something, why not together? (chapter six)

Read on AO3

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Notes: I will finish this, I promise. Don't worry. Day six: clown. @ladynoirjuly

Chat Noir noticed right away that Ladybug was in a bad mood.

Considering the increasing burden of protecting the city from the now duos of Akumas and Sentimonster, plus the frustration of not getting anywhere particularly telling to find Hawk Moth with the help of the grimoire, it shouldn’t be a surprise. But his Bugaboo had been in high spirits in the last few days, Alya’s support and his own making a dent into the stress that was piling up on her. So when she showed up to an akuma fight all frowns and curt words, he did a double take.

Caught up in his thoughts, he was nearly hit by a bunch of small, red balls, only dodging because Ladybug’s yo-yo wrapped around his wrist and pulled him away.

“Thanks, my lady!” He grinned. “That was a nice je-”

“Not now, Chat Noir.” She snapped, with an angry flush to her cheeks. “We have to end this now. Lucky Charm!”

The smile dropped away from his face as red and black cotton candy fell on her hands, making her angrier, if possible. He could admit that he wasn’t very fond of this akuma, either. Not that he actually liked any, but some were easier than others. The Jester was proving themself to be a problem, though, with the weird ability to infinitely take off their clown nose and turn whoever it hit into a laughing mess that can’t do anything else. It looked right up his alley at first, puns making his tongue tingle, but since the akuma was too fast, he didn’t have the time he needed to quip.

“Chat Noir!” He heard Ladybug calling and cursed himself for getting distracted again. When he looked over, she saw her throwing an object at him. “Cataclysm it!”

It was one of those plastic flowers that squirts water. “On it! Cataclysm!”

The flower came undone and the small black butterfly flew out, barely flapping it's wings before being capture by Ladybug's yo-yo. Uncharacteristically, she purified it quietly and sent it away.

"Miraculous Ladybug!" She called out, releasing the healing lovely that shut down the hysterical laughter from the affected citizens on the streets.

"W-what happened?" The plain-looking girl sitting on the ground stuttered. Chat Noir did a double take when he realized that it was the akuma victim.

"You were akumatized." He explained softly. "You were-"

"I-I don't really want to know, Mr. Noir." She said, cheeks flushed red. "Can you please get me down to the streets? I wanna go home."

"I can take you-"

"No, really, it's fine." The girl said, withdrawing into herself further.

He sighed. "Okay, climb on my back."

She did just that, hiding her face against his neck. As soon as they were on the ground, she climbed down as fast as she could and stammered a "thank you" before running down the metro steps, leaving her now fixed joke flower in his hands. His heart hurt, he hated when the victims weren't even willingly to talk about their problems by the end, it was much harder to help that way.

"Tough akuma, huh." Chat said when he arrived back at the top, Ladybug waiting with an annoyed expression. "Pound-"

"What were you thinking?!" His partner shouted and he took a step back.

"What are you talking about?"

"You almost got hit today just because you were joking around! I told to stop doing that, Chat Noir!" She snapped and he shrugged, trying to keep a nonchalant stance.

"Couldn't let the akuma outshine the true comedian of the hour, huh."

"You can't let the akuma hit you just for a stupid joke!"

"It's not stupid, bugaboo. I know you love them, you already confessed." He cooed, pleased.

She turned even redder, if possible. "Not all of them are funny! Some are just stupid!"

He started to laugh, before it quickly faded away. A memory came to mind, one which he tried to suppress because it haunted-

"It's not funny!"

"Yeah, I know." He supposed the muted tone of his voice was jarring enough, because Ladybug deflated.

"... Chaton? Is everything okay?" She asked and, if it wasn't for the growing pit of regret growing in his stomach, he would have found the fast change from annoyance to concern in her voice funny.

"Of course, why wouldn't it, my lady?" He tried a smile but her face didn't change.

"You're doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

"Smiling, but not really." At her words, the smile dropped from his face. "C'mon, you know you can tell me anything. Is it your dad again?"

"No, not right now." He said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just remembered that my jokes really aren't all that funny. A friend of mine would certainly agree with you."

She clicked her tongue. "I told you loads of times that you aren't funny sometimes, that can't be it."

"It's not that, it's just that I played a joke on this friend of mine and she didn't think it was funny. She cried, Ladybug. I felt awful and she did forgive me, but maybe I'm just not good with jokes at all."

Marinette had been incredibly upset when he pretended to be a statue in front of her and he could see her hurt blue eyes as if she were standing in front of him.

Ladybug frowned. "But she did forgive you, didn't she? Was the joke that bad?"

"Well, I didn't think so." He said, having spent tons of nights thinking about what exactly went wrong that day. "It was a simple prank, really, but she got really upset. Maybe she just doesn't like pranks."

Marinette had been extremely upset when she found the gum on her seat on the first day. Then again, it was because she thought it had been Chloé's doing.

"Yeah, your friend could be a downer." His partner teased. He was acutely aware of her elbow nudging his arm.

"Nah, she's the best." He said fondly, thinking about Marinette's kind nature and bold personality. "I'm probably not that funny, really."

"If you say so." Ladybug said and he caught sight of a sour frown on her face.

He raised an eyebrow. "It's okay, really, my girlfriend didn't think I was funny either."

"Well, it doesn't matter. I think you're funny." She said firmly, seemingly unaware of what it did to his poor heart.

"If my lady says so, it must be right." Chat grinned, elated. "Hey, did you feel that? Think it's going to rain?"

"What? I didn't feel-" Ladybug sputtered as water squirted on her face from the flower in a laughing Chat's hand.

He waited for her to shout an angry "Chat!" and turn red, but she just stole the toy from his hands and aggressively squirted water on him, laughing when he hissed. It was a loud, beautiful laugh.

He could listen to it for days.

#ladynoirjuly #ladynoirjuly2021 #Ladynoir #ladybug #chat noir #my stuff #ml fic #if we're bound to be something why not together

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saviorinsilk · 4 years ago

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No More Secrets

Ship: Cordelia Goode x Reader

A/N: This is one of my favorite short stories I have written!

"Come here," Cordelia's voice broke the silence that held the greenhouse in its tight grasp since I had walked in minutes before. It was mid-afternoon on a Saturday, the Louisiana sun thankfully hidden behind clouds, just the way I liked it. I had been relaxing in the kitchen, starting to plan dinner for that night, when the noise from the girls chitter chatter and giggles coming from the other room became too much for me. Before I chopped off a finger I decided a break was needed. I knew Cordelia was in her greenhouse and she had been in there working for hours, so I figured maybe she needed a break as well.

The last few weeks had been hectic with All Hallows Eve coming up very soon and the time Cordelia and I had spent with each other wasn't even half what we usually did. Cordelia had been busy planning lessons about the holiday, as well as grinding herbs and plants for spells and rituals that night.

When I had walked in, she was sitting at the long wooden table in the middle of the greenhouse in an ornate metal chair, as she ground leaves in a small black ceramic Bowl. I smiled to myself, remembering that we had hung those exact leaves weeks before, to dry them in preparation for All Hallows Eve. She smiled at me when I walked in but had dropped her eyes back down and continued her work in silence. I saw that she was still busy so I smiled to myself and walked to the back of the greenhouse. I had picked up a small watering can and had started to water the few dry plants when I heard her call my name.

I turned around, my eyebrows raised. Her tone was strict, the same voice she used with the girls when they were in trouble. Cordelia had turned her chair around and now sat facing me as she wiped her hands on a tan cloth. She held my gaze, her face cold. Confusion filled me and I felt my heart drop as I racked my brain for some answer as to why my girlfriend would be angry with me. She raised her hand beckoning me with the "come here" motion of her fingers. My mind wandered and I subconsciously bit my lip as I recalled that that was the same motion her delicate fingers made when they were inside of me. It had been a while since we had been intimate, due to the high workload and it didn't take much to turn me on lately. I shook my head, tossing the dirty thoughts away as I placed the watering can back on the counter with a thud. I made my way over to her, stopping a few feet away so I could look at her without having to crank my neck down.

"How many times do I have to remind you to clean up after yourself?" Cordelia's lips were tight as she spoke and I cursed under my breath. Of course, that's what it was. I could have sworn I had remembered to put everything away last night but I wasn't going to argue with her, not with that look on her pale, beautiful face.

"Dammit, I'm sorry Delia. I swear I'm trying, I just keep-"

"Forgetting?" Cordelia interrupted. I gulped and nodded fighting the urge to drop my eyes to the floor.

"We share this workplace Y/N. It's not right that you use it, and leave it in shambles and I have to come and clean up before I can start my work." She talked with her hands and I couldn't help but follow them with my bright eyes, daydreaming about what they would feel like against my skin. I shouldn't have been thinking that way, not at a time like this but I couldn't help it. I was lost and the devil had taken my soul. Corruption had run through my veins since the first time she had touched me. It was all I wanted and the only thing I ever yearned for or thought of for that matter.

"Since nothing has seemed to help you remember I have no choice. I am going to have to spank you." Cordelia's words had barely left her plump lips before they flew forward and slapped me across the face.

"W-What?" I stumbled over the one simple word, feeling like ants had suddenly begun crawling over my now flushed skin. She hadn't just said what I thought she had said, she couldn't have. She didn't know and there was no way she could know. Unless she...SHIT. I wanted to flee, dose myself in gasoline and burn myself at the stake for my crimes. Who wrote a dirty letter to their girlfriend that they NEVER intended for them to find, and left it in plain sight? An idiot, that's who. My carelessness had really come back to bite me in the ass.

How could I have forgotten to tuck the paper in my notebook before I left the room this morning? I should have at least remembered that. I had barely been able to write my thoughts down on paper out of the shame and embarrassment I felt but somehow it had slipped my mind to hide the absence letter I had written my sweet Delia?

A smirk spread across Cordelia's face, only causing my red cheeks to burn brighter. She seemed so satisfied, like humiliating me was somehow equal to having to clean up a few jars I had left after a late night of work.

"It was a sweet letter, Darlin." She practically sang. I was stunned and frozen in shock.

"Cordelia, I-I never meant for you to read that." My lips shook as I stuttered my words. She tilted her head slightly, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe you shouldn't have left it on the bed then? It was addressed to me after all. But Y/N I didn't know you had such, particular tastes." I wanted to hide my face but I stood still, my eyes wide with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry. I'm sick, I know. Please, can we just burn that fucking thing and just forget this ever happened?" I asked as I felt tears prick at the corner of my eyes. Cordelia looked confused but she held her stern facial expression and held her hand out to me. I reluctantly took it, the feeling of her skin against mine calming me down a bit.

"Why would we do that? Desires are never something to be embarrassed about Darlin. Why didn't you tell me? I thought we were always honest with each other?" Cordelia pulled me close to her, her dark eyes peering up at me as she wrapped her hands firmly around my wrist. I wanted to answer her but as her fingers slipped under my shirt and brushed against my bare sides, my mouth opened in a small groan, my head hanging back slightly.

"Tell me Y/N, what is so wrong with wanting me to dominate you?" She pried. Cordelia slid her hands gently across my skin to my back, jerking me roughly against her.

"I'm not weak," I mumbled, pain in my words as I revealed the reason why my fantasies cause me such anguish. Cordelia gripped the waistband of my black long skirt and before I realized what she was doing she tugged it down, the soft fabric pooling at my ankles. The warm air felt cool as it hit my bare legs. I gasped, my eyes meeting hers as she looked up at me. I opened my mouth to protest but she spoke before I could comment on the fact that someone could walk in at any second and see me in my underwear.

"I know you aren't. You're a strong woman who wants to lose control for a while. You want your lover to take control so you don't have to and there is no shame in that." She spoke as took her hands off me.

I groaned in protest, my eyes pleading her to embrace me once more but Cordelia just patted her lap a few times.

"Now, be a good girl and lay yourself over my knee so I don't have to make you." It was incredible how well Cordelia slipped into the role I had always pictured her in and I squeezed my thighs together, the fabric of my light pink underwear damp with desire. I felt so bare in the daylight of the greenhouse and I wished I had swung the door closed behind me as I had entered. Cordelia didn't seem to bother though and who was I to argue with the supreme. I did as she asked, carefully bending and laying my top half over her silky high waisted back pants, my feet planted firmly on the ground, ass in the air. I couldn't help but hide my face in her legs, the situation both severely embarrassing and exciting to me all at the same time. My stomach twisted into knots and I tried my best to steady my breathing as I closed my eyes, the darkness helping me concentrate on not losing my mind. I jumped slightly as her soft fingers tickled the goose bump ridden skin of my thighs. I knew she was smirking as she traced a trail to my backside. I didn't need eyes to see that. I may have felt that I loved her more than she loved me but every time we had sex, Cordelia took her time with me. She looked at me as if I was artifact she was studying and if it wasn't for her delicate fingers, I don't think I would have learned to love my curvy body as much as I currently did. The swirls she drew across the smooth skin of my ass caused me to step up on my tiptoes, my body begging for more contact, not that I was really in the position to make any demands. I felt Cordelia trace the waistband of my thong and pull gently at the delicate fabric.

"Did you wear this for me, baby?" I nodded my head, smiling to myself at how seductive her voice sounded. Cordelia loved it when I wore thongs. She said she liked to see my pale cheeks and there was never a reason to cover their beauty. I had brought a crazy amount of silky and lacy thongs after that and understandably so.

"I'm going to hit you 10 times and I want you to count. You understand me?" Cordelia's voice was icy and that alone was enough to send shivers up my spine.

"Yes Ma'am," I gripped the legs of the chair as I spoke, bracing myself. It did no good though, as the moment her hand came in contact with my bare ass I yelp loudly, shock nipping at my mind. I hadn't excepted her to hit me that hard, not that I was complaining but I just didn't think she had it in her. My skin stung from the impact and as her hand lingered, my skin tingled under her warm hand. I blinked a few times, sucking air in through my teeth. I was so shocked that silence filled the room once more.

A few moments passed and I felt the desire in my centre grow as the effects of the slap spread outwards from her touch. I felt Cordelia lean down slightly, her wavy blonde hair tickling the back of my neck.

"You just earned yourself another one Sweetheart. When I ask something of you, you follow my orders. Now we are going to start again and you are going to count this time. You need this punishment more than I thought. Your memory is horrid." Her words sunk into me and I would have cursed if I could have spoken. Her strong hands had shocked me so much I had forgotten my only instructions. I quickly nodded as she straightened back up. She was getting a kick out of this and I longed to see the seductive look that adorned her face, the one that did every time she touched me. But my face was buried in the fabric that covered her stunning legs. It was probably better that way. She couldn't see the humiliation on my face or the fact that it was the humiliation itself that made the experience much more delicious for me.

Cordelia's hand came down once more, this time on the opposite cheek. The fresh skin stung sharply but this time I was more prepared and I bit my lip to stop my verbal expression of how much I was enjoying this.

"One," I said, making sure my voice was loud. I was strong and I was going to show her that. Her hand came down again, hitting the previous spot and my teeth dig deeper into my bottom lips.

"Two." She hit me again.

"Three." This time both cheeks at once, the loud slapping sound echoing through the building. I couldn't help but feel that that counted as two but I sure wasn't going to say anything to her.

"Four."

"Five,"

"Six,"

"Seven," My voice began to tremble along with the shakes of my body.

"Eight." She alternated, her hand coming down harder each time. I squirmed against her, my core burning as I felt my thong practically dripping by the time she delivered the last two spanks, one after another, to quick for me to catch my breath in between.

"Nine, Ten." I moaned the last words loudly, my head clouded with arousal. I let out a shaky sigh and dung my nails into the cool metal of the chair legs as I tried to calm my breathing, but it was pointless.

Cordelia dragged her short nails gently over my hot skin and I rolled my eyes back in my skull as she placed a soft kiss on each cheek.

"Now are we going to forget to clean up after our selves next time?" Cordelia asked her hot breath on my neck, leaving goosebumps. I shook my head lazily.

"No Ma'am. Never again." My words were shaky and my southern accent was thick with desire.

"That's a good girl." A gasp escaped my lips when I felt my lovers hand wander, caressing the fabric that covered my throbbing clit. She groaned at the discovery of my wet thong and she quickly hooked her finger under them and with one swift movement pulled them down my unstable legs. I mindlessly stepped out of them and moved my hands from the legs of the chair to her legs underneath my chest. As her hands took their place back between my legs I roughly gripped her, my teeth biting into the fabric that covered her flesh. She cursed but made no attempt to stop me.

She plunged her fingers into my dripping folds and I lost my mind as she slid her fingers against my delicate skin effortlessly. She attacked my clit, her fingers rubbing harsh circles around my swollen nub. She didn't need to read my thoughts to know how desperately I needed her. She wasn't wasting her time, her eagerness matching mine, as if getting me to my breaking point satisfied her as much as it did me. I melted into her relaxed body, no longer able to hold my moans in. She could tell I was coming undone and she tangled her free hand into my long hair and to shock me once again, she fisted her hand in my locks and tugged my head back roughly. Simultaneously she gently but abruptly inserted two fingers inside me. One of the actions alone would have driven me crazy but both of them together evoked a noise from my lips that was so animalistic that when I looked back at it now I was brutality ashamed. Normally I was quite quiet. I wasn't like a porn star, screaming and crying from pleasure but there was something about this whole experience, Cordelia spanking me, acting like a badass dominatrix; not to mention the way she pumped her fingers in and out of my tight entrance, it all forced me to turn into clique that I hated so much.

The dramatic way I was reacting only made Cordelia's own arousal grow and she groaned in response, letting me know that seeing me this way was enough for to bring her to the edge of her own pleasure.

I fought hard against the growing tension in my core, not wanting to reach my peak yet. I wanted to savour the bursts of white-hot pleasure that Cordelia filled me with, with each curl of her magical digits. It was no use though and I felt my chest begin to ache and my lungs struggle for air as she rubbed my clit and slowed her fingers, pushing them deeper and harder into me, proving that speed wasn't everything.

"Delia! Oh god I-I'm gonna..." I couldn't even finish my sentence as my breath was stolen as she copied the same "come here" motion she had beaconed me with before. It sent me crashing off the rocky cliff, all the muscles in my body clenching violently as I plunged into the cold water that was my orgasm. I was silenced by the overwhelming pleasure and I held Cordelia's legs in a death grip, my hearing temperately shutting off, my vision going grey.

Cordelia knew better than to still her fingers and she continued to move them, the action helping me ride through the feelings that she caused me. My body began to relax and I jerked as the pressure from her thumb burned my now painfully sensitive clit. I whined at the feeling but she ignored me and continued to gently tease me as I came down from my high. My breath returned to me and I gulped the air desperately, light headed from the lack of oxygen.

Ever orgasm I had with Cordelia Goode was intense and incredible but this one was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was exactly the way I had imagined it all those nights when I had pleasured myself in the dark, imagining Cordelia's soft hands touching me roughly. The reality of my daydreams definitely didn't disappoint me this time.

I cried softly as Cordelia withdrew her fingers from me, my inner walls clenching at her absence. Her hand relaxed in my hair and before I knew what was happening she pulled me up, guiding me to straddle her lap. I felt vulnerable in her arms and as if the wind could have blown my fragile body on the ground. I leaned into her, my legs shaking against hers and I held myself up by wrapping my hands around her neck.

Cordelia's face was flushed, her eyes black and wild and I couldn't help but feel the tug of arousal back in my core. I leaned forward and pressed my lips against hers, my bottom lip swollen from the marks my teeth had created. Cordelia cupped my cheeks with her hands and kissed me back with a hunger that resided deep inside her. I breathlessly pulled back, our foreheads pressed together, hers feeling amazing against mine which was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Our lips were so close that they touched as we breathed heavily. I pressed myself against her thighs and let out a long deep breath.

"No more secrets. I want to know everything and anything that makes you tick Y/N. I live to see you this way Darlin'." Cordelia muttered against my lips, her voice hushed.

"Yes, my Supreme," I whispered, reconnecting our lips with a wide smile. The melded perfectly together and it felt as if that was the way we were meant to be, limbs intertwined, lips pressed together, our lung sharing oxygen. Our hearts beat as one and time slipped away from me. Nothing else mattered and as I made my way down my lover's body, caressing everything inch of her as I repaid the favour, Cordelia shuttered against my touch, her dominance fading away; pleads of pleasure replacing them. I wouldn't have it any other way and no matter much I ached for her hands on my body, there was nothing like the sound of my name leaving her swollen lips.

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babbushka · 4 years ago

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Biting Dust - Ch.3

Life ain’t too easy for a woman, ‘specially not a woman on the run like you. With a bounty on your head and gunpowder in your nose, you’ve grown adjusted to a life of solitude away from the hustle and bustle of civilization. That is, until you meet one particular man who’s got a face you’d only ever seen in your dreams – or on wanted posters. And when he offers you a proposition that sounds too good to be true, well. You don’t think your life will ever be the same again…

Outlaw!Kylo Ren x Reader

Tumblr Masterlist | Available on AO3

5.5k ; Content Warnings: Mentions of scars, mention of injury, mention of blood ; NSFW (Masturbation [Kylo jerking off], leather kink, scent kink/turned on by smells, mild praise kink)

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

You wake up with the sun, with the earth. The sky blazes in a pink and purple blanket of clouds, cacti juttin’ up proudly from the ground, a black silhouette against the pale light of mornin’. The birds are your first call, the alarm mother nature herself has set for you, the one which you’ve obeyed every day for as long as you can remember. There’s too many of them, the chirps, all of them in an off-beat harmony that goes on echoin’ over the gorge.

The water is your second alarm, the soft rush of the river as it twists and turns ‘round the bend a thousand feet below. The sound of it alone has you sighin’ with relief, knowin’ you’ve made it to water. Water wasn’t too easy to come by out in the desert, but the chicken scratch on that map had done you good, had led you straight to where you needed to be.

The sound of footsteps approachin’ is your third alarm – and this alarm was one felt deep in your gut. Sittin’ upright real fuckin’ fast and holdin’ the gun steady in the direction of the sound, you blink away the sleep sand from your eyes and level a glare so mean it coulda killed the sonofabitch stranger on the spot.

But then you open your eyes a little further, and you focus on just who the sonofabitch is, and you sigh.

Oh right, you can’t help but think with a groan. Kylo Ren.

He looks well rested, if a little scruffy. Scruffy, you think with a scowl, how the hell does he look so sleep mussed and yet still handsome? That wasn’t right, not one damn bit.

The events of the day prior come slammin’ through you all at one, and you toss the gun down lightly as you fall back onto the bundle of sacks that you’ve called your pillow, stretchin’ your limbs way high up over your head. Kylo is chipper, a mornin’ person it would seem, and he’s standin’ over you blockin’ out the sun from your eyes like a gentleman.

“Mornin’ Angel.” He greets you, offerin’ you a hand. “Sleep tight?”

You regard the hand, regard him.

The fact that you woke up at all is a surprisin’ one – a damn surprisin’ one. You’d’ve thought, well, you were almost certain he woulda left you stranded, if he left you alive at all. But there he was, his hand outstretched, and you take it, allowin’ him to help haul you up onto your feet.

“You didn’t kill me.” You say instead of a proper greeting, and Kylo rolls his eyes.

“Well that would go directly against the proclamation I gave to offer my protection, now wouldn’t it?” He replies sarcastically, puffin’ on that same cigarette he had worked on last night.

You try not to think about how good it looks between his crooked teeth.

“Those were just words.” You shrug, avertin’ your gaze and regardin’ the horses. Agnes and Sam seemed to be chumming up real nicely, the both of them grazing side by side on the few desert plants that managed to grow near the gorge. “I didn’t think you’d actually meant ‘em.”

“If there’s one thing you should know ‘bout me, it’s that I say what I mean and I mean what I say.” Kylo is serious in a way that makes you raise a brow, and he continues, “Too many tragedies get born from mis-communicatin’, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t know.” You lie, not feelin’ like divulging anything about yourself to this man, not yet. You don’t know him, don’t trust him, how could you?

Yes he didn’t go killin’ you when he had the chance but what if that meant he was savin’ it up to kill you later? What if --

“Are you hungry?” Kylo interrupts your train of thought before you can spiral down into a paranoid place. It was just strange, so damn strange, the way he regards you so calmly. Even up in the tree he had spoken to you like he’d known you your whole lives.

You were sure you’d never met him, a face like his wasn’t one folks seldom came across, and one even less likely to forget.

Dusting off the beautiful Hopi blanket and folding it neatly, you think the question over. Really, your stomach was still pretty full from the meals you’d enjoyed at the hotel, and you knew that the earlier in the day you started eatin’, the hungrier you’d be later on. It was a tough life, and on your own you’d gone too many days without food at all in your belly, so the thought of givin’ any of it up now didn’t sit too right with you.

“I’ve got some dried fruit and nuts in the knapsack,” You say anyway, because really energy was good and you would need it to deal with him, this man. Kylo nods once and makes to rifle through the knapsack, and you don’t know what comes over you but you offer, “We’ll split it.”

Kylo looks at you with an expression you can’t quite place. He looks caught off-guard by that, by the offer. And maybe he was, food bein’ so scarce out here in the desert the way it was, particularly for a coupl’a outcasts like yourselves. You try not to think about those two dollars you gave up the day before.

You wonder if Kylo’s got any money, what might be in his knapsacks he rides around with.

“I boiled us come coffee.” He blinks, and you blink too – well, you think, there’s one thing he carries on him.

The fire from last night must’a smoldered out while the both of y’all were asleep, because there’s fresh brush smokin’ up into the morning sky when you turn to take in the sight of the tin coffee pot bubblin’ away. As a matter of fact, Kylo moves over there now with the fruit and nuts in his hand, fixes a cup while it’s nice and fresh and so it don’t get scorched. You’ll have to drink from the same cup, you realize, because you don’t have one. The only thing you’ve got are the canteens for water, and you can’t go pourin’ coffee into that.

“How long have you been awake?” You ask, gratefully accepting a big handful of nuts and some dried apricots.

“Before the sun, wanted to get the coffee started, and needed to go lookin’ for some salve, for this here burn.” Kylo tilts his head to the side and exposes the nasty red gash that winds itself ‘round his throat. He grumbles and scowls, “Hurts like a bitch it does.”

You toss back a big swig of the coffee and crunch down on a couple pecans before you pull one of the bags over and begin openin’ up the different pockets and pouches, lookin’ for the jar of ointment you know is there.

“C’mere.” You wave him over when you do find it.

It ain’t a big jar or nothin’ like that, but it’s still good, smells just fine. If anythin’ was gonna soothe that burn it would be this. You had purchased it from a medicine man some months back as a precaution, and though you know you’d have to use the whole thing on him eventually, it beat lettin’ the ointment spoil and wastin’ the money.

Kylo sits close to you, real close. Too close, the way he was yesterday, in your personal space. You’re wary of him, but he sits real still, eyeing the ointment. It’s now that you actually take time to look at what he’s wearin’, as you push his clothes out of the way.

He’s got a long coat somewhere, you remember seein’ it hangin’ around his body up in the tree. He’d been hidin’ a smartly fitted pair of brown corduroy trousers and heeled boots, a white button down with billowing sleeves, and a dark red waistcoat underneath it. There was a gold chain peekin’ out of one of the waistcoat pockets, and you’re pretty sure it’s a watch.

You wonder if he’s got someone’s picture in it.

Somehow, this close to you, he’s enormous. Absolutely the biggest man you’ve ever seen, his hands alone are longer than your face, you can tell just by the way he runs his fingers through his long dark hair.

He sits still, real still, and closes his eyes. Ever so gently, you scoop up a little bit of the salve and hold your breath as it makes contact with his neck. Kylo doesn’t wince, doesn’t do anything as you smear the ointment against his angry skin, and you have to admit, you’re impressed. Even if this were another exaggerated display of toughness, you’re impressed.

You make sure to cover every bit of the rope burn, mostly because you don’t want it to get infected. It’ll likely scar, but Kylo’s got bigger and badder scars to concern himself with, you doubt that this one will bother him much. And if it does, well, too fuckin’ bad, at least he ain’t dead.

“Thank you.” Kylo says softly, his voice deep in the quiet of the morning. He’s so close, too close, as you close the little jar and put it back in your knapsack for when you know you’ll have to reapply it for him. Kylo watches as you do so, bringin’ his cigarette back up to his lips and humming, “You’ve got magic in that bag or somethin’?”

“Not magic, just a lifetime of shit.” You say, and for the first time that you let him see, you smile at him.

Kylo’s still too close, and he doesn’t go movin’ away once the bag is closed and you pluck the cup of coffee from his hands, bring it up to your lips and take a sip of the bitter brown brew.

“I reckon we’re goin’ down to that there river, ain’t we?” Kylo nods in the direction of the bend, and you smack your lips, the coffee coating the roof of your mouth.

“You’d be reckonin’ right. It won’t take long, maybe only an hour on account of havin’ to be real careful the horses don’t slip, and then we can move along the river.” That was the plan anyway.

Yesterday you’d been privy to a nice long soak, and it had done your muscles wonders, but you had a bundle of bloodied clothin’ you needed to get washed and get washed ASAP. You were still in the blue dress, and you knew you’d feel much more comfortable in your ridin’ clothes, except the ridin’ clothes were stained through with dried blood right about this time.

That was going to be a bitch to get out, you think as you sip your coffee, but you try to remain optimistic about it. Really it only mattered if the blue dress stayed nice, that was the only one townsfolk were liable to see.

“Where are we headed, when we follow the river?” Kylo takes the cup of coffee back and pulls a deep swig out of it.

“I’m going to Colorado.” You make a point of emphasizing, and he only frowns with something like concern.

“Central City or Victor?” He chews on his lip, his good eye a little too bright, a little too interested.

“I’ve heard nice things about Victor. I think there might be a good chance of gold there.” You shrug with one shoulder, feigning interest.

Whatever Kylo might be after, whatever he might want, you don’t want him to know that you want this more, more desperately than anything anyone could ever want.

“So it’s gold that you’re after.” He muses, and you snap your head to glare at him.

“It’s freedom I’m after.” You’re real quick to correct him, not wantin’ you to think that you’re just some greedy person wantin’ to get their hands on every last penny they can. You knew people like that – had known – and you never wanted to be anything like them. It’s just that, “Freedom don’t come cheap, and gold’s the best place to start with something like that.”

Kylo looks down into his coffee for a long while, contemplatin’ what you’ve just said. You wish you could see inside his head, wish you could hear what he was thinkin’. Was he the same? Was he itching for a plot of peace and quiet and calm?

Where had he been headed, when you’d found him?

“I can take you there, to Victor. I’ve been before, so I know the way. Shortcuts through the canyons and everything, I swear.” Kylo pinches out the cigarette and sticks it back in his pocket, clears his throat a little. “I’m good for it, you’ll see. Besides, it’s less conspicuous to go travelin’ in pairs than for a woman to go ridin’ into town alone, ‘specially a rough town like Victor.”

“I can handle myself just fine, thank you.” Unless yesterday, you’re not quite so venomous with the way you respond. In fact, you find yourself in a rather teasin’ playful kinda mood now that the caffeine is perkin’ up your system. “I seem to recall between the two of us, I was the one cuttin’ you down.”

Maybe Kylo’s in a playful mood too, because that almost gets a smile out of him.

“Fair enough. But seeing as you’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future anyway, might as well take advantage of my good sense of direction.” He points out, and you have to ask:

“What’s in it for you?”

Kylo hesitates on that for a little while. He looks over to the rising sun, now well into the sky. It’s no longer purples and pinks, but the pale blue you’ve grown so used to seein’ hanging over your head. Birds fly high above you, their wings spready wide.

You wish you could fly.

“My gang’s waitin’ for me there. We got separated few weeks back, and that’s always been the meet-up spot. I’m hopin’ that, if they’re alive, they’re there and waitin’. I’d like to at the very least get there to find out.” Kylo says finally.

“Those would be the Knights of Ren.” You muse, still not really believing him. You’ll call him Kylo and you won’t kill him for it, but you’re not convinced, not really.

“That they would.” Still he sticks true to his story, and something changes in his voice with the way he talks about him, “They’re the closest thing to family a guy like me could ever get, and if I’m bein’ honest with you Angel, I’d very much like to get home to them.”

You sigh and get up, brush off the sand from the skirt of your dress and offer him a hand.

He looks at it, looks at you, then back at it, and with a hopeful glimmer in his eye, he takes it.

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

The journey down the canyon is done in silence, mostly outta concentration. Neither of you want to distract the horses as they make their way down the perilously narrow pathways carved out of the canyon by millions of years of rivers flowin’ through these parts, so you stay quiet.

It’s nice, the quiet, gives you time to appreciate the beauty of it all. You’re surprised Kylo manages to shut up for two seconds, with how chatty he seems to be. You can’t go blamin’ him too bad though you suppose, if he’s been on the run as long as you have, if he’s been alone as long as you have, a fresh face to talk to was probably the most welcome thing Kylo could’ve asked for.

Eventually, you do get to the bottom of the gorge, and Agnes and Sam both make a beeline to the river’s edge. You and Kylo have to yank on the reigns and get them to slow down, they’re too excited and it would be really shit to have all your bags soaked.

An hour or two after breakfast you find yourselves face to face with Horseshoe Bend, the lush vegetation that grows right along the bank. The water is a rich blue, and the land around it is a deep green, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen something this magical, so refreshing after eons of red and orange dirt.

The first plan is to fill the canteens, which you do right away. You fill them all up until there ain’t no air left, and then you fill ‘em up some more. Then, you decide, you have to wash the blood outta your clothes.

Kylo watches you do that right on the bank, doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t ask any questions, and for that you’re grateful. You wouldn’t have the answers to go givin’ him. He leaves you to your own devices as a matter of fact, walks away from where you’re kneeled over the steady stream of water to go tend to Sam.

Something comes over you, and idea, a notion poppin’ into your head.

You begin to strip down to nothin’, not a stitch of clothing on you, and you tiptoe into the river.

It’s a risk, of course.

But it’s also a challenge.

He wants you to trust him. Trustin’ means vulnerability, and you can’t think of nothin’ more vulnerable than this. If he wants you to open yourself up to him, well shit. He’s gonna have to open himself up to you too. So there you are, naked in the river. The water is cold against your skin, the current whooshing between your legs. Every now and again a fish bumps into your shin, and you suck in a small breath of surprise as it passes you to continue its journey down the river.

Your back is to Kylo, givin’ him time to make a decision – join you or not. You haven’t decided yet what you’ll do if he joins you, but you hold your breath and wait.

A few moments and some rustling later, you hear the light splashing of Kylo stepping in too, and your pulse pounds. You’re not quite right next to one another or nothin’, but definitely close enough that he should be able to hear you when you chew your lip, the inside of your cheek, and ask,

“Are you lookin’?”

You don’t know what answer you want him to give.

“No.” Kylo says, says it hesitantly. He doesn’t say it like it’s a complete sentence, like there’s more he wants to tumble out of his mouth, but nothing comes.

“Do you want to?” You whisper, turning to face him.

You smile briefly, because he’s turned away from you too.

Only for a moment though, before he’s glancing over his shoulder and lookin’ at you, really lookin’ at you.

Exposed, is how you feel, in a word. Your shoulders are squared and your chin is raised in defiance, your tits out above the water. It’s almost a dare, seeing how long it’ll take him to glance down, to break the staring contest you’ve found yourselves in.

He breaks first, you find with a small thrill, as you watch him look at you, take in the sight of your body. His is…a marvel. Incredible, really. He’s so wide? Impossibly broad, the kind of shoulders you could sit on with no problem. And he was wide all the way down, stomach not tapering down to trim hips – no, this man was sold through and through.

Solid, and covered in scars. He shows them off proudly, the same way you show yourself. It’s a challenge, a dare, a plea. You don’t know what you’re askin’ for, but it’s a plea nonetheless. Hesitantly, he takes a step towards you. He’s askin’ for permission in this silent way, a hand outstretched. You bite the inside of your cheek and take a step towards him.

This dance continues, one step after the other, the both of y’all coming to meet in the middle.

It’s the water, you reckon. The cooling river washing away your sins, your crimes. It took the blood out of your clothes, will it rinse the very same from your hands?

Suddenly, somehow, he’s too close again.

This time, for some reason, you don’t mind.

You tilt your head the barest bit, and whatever you’re askin’ for, he seems to be answerin’, by resting his forehead against your own. He hunches down and curls himself around you to fit, to make up the distance from bein’ so much taller than you, and he lets out a contemplative sigh.

Silently, you stare into each other’s eyes. This close, you focus on the mangled and marred one he’s got, the scar that goes with it. It starts from his browbone and carries all the way down to his shoulder. How did a man go about gettin’ something like that, you wonder. He’s sure to have a story for it, somethin’ like that, somethin’ as big as that always had a story.

“I like the way your leather smells…when you’ve been ridin’ all day.” He says abruptly, doesn’t break his gaze from yours, lookin’ from your left eye to your right with the only one he’s got left.

You blink rapidly, unsure what to do with that information. Unsure what to do with him.

Unsure what to do with yourself.

“What’s it smell like?” Your ribcage expands when you take a deep breath, a steady breath.

“Like sweat, the earth.” He replies hungrily, his eye darkening with what you know has to be lust, “It smells warm, like it’s still alive. It smells like you.”

“And what do I smell like?” You stare him down, making him sweat even there in the cool of the river. It’s fulfilling, seeing him sweat under your gaze.

“I – I don’t know.” He admits, voice faltering.

“Do you want to find out?” You whisper, eyes wide, terrified.

When was the last time you did this sort of thing with someone? You can’t remember, not as far back as your memory goes – and it goes pretty damn far. You’ve never done this, not with another person, not in broad daylight. And what would you do, if he said no? If he thought you a cheap loose woman now, if he –

“Please.” He whimpers, and oh.

Oh.

He was the kind of man you’d been dreamin’ about, wasn’t he? The kind who needed a firm hand, who wanted to be put in his place. Made sense, it did, if this was really Kylo Ren, surely no one would dare try out of fear of bein’ shot. Well, he’s not got his pistol on him, and your hands are already smoothin’ up his chest, already draggin’ up to his shoulders, around his neck, fingers weavin’ into the hair at the base of his skull.

Giving and encouraging little nudge, Kylo ducks his head down and shoves it into the crook of your throat, already taking in deep gulpfuls of breaths, smelling you. He must like it, must like the way you smell, because in seconds you can feel his cock filling out hard and thick, pressing against your stomach. It’s huge, and that shouldn’t surprise you given the rest of him, but it still does.

Without so much as a second thought, you let one of your hands wrap around it, and Kylo immediately moans.

“Your cock’s hard for it?” You lick your lips, curious, wanting to see where this takes you, where the two of you will go.

“Yes.” He replies straight away, and something about that trips your brain up. He likes answering your questions, he likes doing what you say, he likes when you’re pleased with his answers. You can tell by the way his cock gets harder harder harder, and you give it a squeeze.

“For me or the leather?” You whisper, mouth run real dry. You shake your head and speak low in his ear, makin’ goosebumps shudder through his flesh with a groan when you say, “You can take care of it, if you’d like. If’n you need to.”

Releasing his dick, Kylo groans at the loss. His hand replaces yours, and he begins a slow stroke. His face is still tucked into your neck, and he’s still breathing hard, breathing you in. You can’t see much because of the way he’s shoved himself against you, you can’t see past the wall of muscle that is his shoulders and back, but you can feel it.

His hand speedin’ up, twistin’ the muscles in his arm twitching and spasming as he grunts softly, groans. Your ego swells at the thought that all of this is because of you – before your mind catches up and scolds you for the thought. You were probably just a body to him, to Kylo. Just another pair of tits, a naked woman for him to feast his eyes on.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, voice wobbly with how he’s workin’ at his dick, jerkin’ himself off.

“No.” You shake your head, your mood souring just the tiniest bit. Him wanting to kiss you helps soothe your thoughts, so you keep your tone light, “But you can taste me. Come on cowboy, taste me.”

It was the right thing to do, to say, because the moment your words leave your lips, Kylo’s tongue is pressin’ against your pulse. He moans outright, his hips bucking up into his fist, shoulders curlin’ in on themselves so they can press him closer to you. Your arm curls around his waist, friction against your nipples as he shudders and shakes against you, laves his tongue and licking up the sweat that’s started to collect.

Your pussy throbs, so turned on by him, too turned on – but you won’t let him watch you do that, not today. You’ve won this battle, this test, this challenge for trust, he will win another day. You’ll find some secret time to touch yourself, to slide your fingers between the folds of your cunt and rub at your clit and come around your fingers like you spend so many nights doing; although this time, you’re sure you’ll be doin’ it to the memory of him,

“Angel, oh – ughn, that’s good.” He moans, voice gravelly and deep, the back of his throat clickin’ with want. Your name, your name sounds divine comin’ outta his mouth, and you want to hate how much you love it, how it makes the pit of your stomach flutter.

Ain’t nobody ever said your name that way before, not like this.

“I’ve got you.” You soothe him much like you used to soothe the childr—no, you shake your head, not the time, not the place. Kylo’s whining and crying, you can feel the wetness against your neck as he licks your throat, sucks on it, worries it between his teeth as he tastes you.

He comes before he can give any warning, aside from the way his body tenses up all of a sudden.

“Mmm, ah, ah,” He shudders as he spills over his hand, his fingers blockin’ it so it don’t go arcin’ up onto you. You appreciate that, the consideration, even though you wouldn’t have minded one bit. You’re in the river after all, and the river washes everything away. He winces and sighs and groans out a little, “Fuck.”

“Hm?” You don’t step away from him yet, you don’t go nowhere. You stay close, right there, too close.

“Probably shouldn’t’ve done that in the water we’re supposed to drink.” Kylo grumbles, slightly slurring his words.

Something about that makes you want to laugh, and you only rub his shoulder. He looks up at you with that big brown eye, the other one milky white, the reflection of the universe, everything and nothing inside of it all the same.

“I’ve already filled the canteens, but the current will take it.” You say like it’s no problem, because it ain’t no problem, not really. You don’t know what to do next.

What comes next, in times like these? You don’t have the know-how, not really, you don’t know what to say. So you simply grab a bar of soap that’s been resting on a rock that justs outta the river, and wade deeper into the water, tossin’ over your shoulder, “Next time aim somewhere else.”

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

Later, much later, when your clothes have dried and you’ve changed into clean outfits, the both of y’all walk a great long distance against the river’s bank. Sam and Agnes must be thrilled, you think, to be out of the immediate blaze of the sun, the cliffs of the gorge sheltering y’all as you keep close to the river.

Kylo doesn’t say much, but he does walk beside you and not in front of you, and he’s earned a shred more respect from you for that.

“What were you doin’, stealing the sheriff’s horse?” You ask, the question havin’ been on your mind all day.

For the first time, he doesn’t react well to your questions, stops straight in his tracks with a murderous scowl, and for a second, you think he really could be Kylo Ren.

“I didn’t go stealin’ no fuckin’ horse!” He fumes, hands wavin’ all wild like as he talks, as he explains, “Sam had gotten herself all interested in the town and wandered off in the middle of the night. I had to walk eight miles followin’ her fuckin’ prints in the sand only to find her integrated into the town. When I tried to explain that she was mine, they didn’t believe me and strung me up.”

There’s a lot of questions there that you could ask, but the one that blurts out before you have a chance at a real thought it,

“You tracked her prints for eight miles?”

You stop walking too, impressed. You hate to admit that you’re impressed. You were so used to runnin’, so used to avoid bein’ caught that you never really learned how to chase.

“It’s easy when there ain’t no wind.” Kylo doesn’t move, regards you carefully as he explains, “Nothin’ to blow ‘em away.”

“What about when there is wind?” You demand, not sure why you’re suddenly so interested. Maybe you’re jealous, is that what this is? Jealousy? Maybe he’ll teach you, you think, maybe he’ll show you.

You think about your wanted posters, how yours is only 25,000 and his is 100,000. You wonder what else he might be inclined to show you.

“I’m real good at that sort of thing, my uncle taught me. Tracking, trapping, hunting, herding, you know.” Kylo says, “When it comes time for dinner tonight, I’ll show you.”

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

He hunts a cottontail, for dinner.

You’ve never been able to catch a cottontail, you think, as it roasts slowly on a spicket over the fire that you and Kylo built once you’ve settled in for the night. You’re a long way away from Horseshoe Bend now, but you haven’t left the closeness behind. Further along the river you and Kylo have set up camp for the evening, and this time, you don’t worry too much about him guttin’ you in your sleep.

You still worry about it o’course, but. Not too much.

“Shit.” You sigh as your teeth rip into the meat when he hands you your portion, and Kylo’s chest puffs with pride.

“At the rate we’re goin’, we’ll be headin’ into a small town tomorrow.” He replies quietly, biting into the rabbit he serves himself, “Smaller than the last one, by a lot. I think they got maybe three public buildin’s, the rest all houses and farm. We’ll need a cover story, because there’s gonna be questions.”

“You wanna be my brother or my cousin?” You hum, and Kylo looks at you funny.

“I’m too old to be your brother.” Kylo’s quick to respond and he says that too harshly, a sour subject that you didn’t know. Well how were you supposed to know, you think, trying not to get angry with him for snapping at you.

“How old are you?” You wonder, because really, you know so little about him, you know so little about anyone in the world, you realize.

“Too old to be your brother.” Kylo whispers, and you nod in resignation. There was enough sharing today, you think, enough testing the waters as it were.

“Cousin it is then.” You finish the last few bites of the small rabbit and begin to settle down atop your pillow made from the knapsacks and satchels, fishing out your favorite blanket and tugging it around your arms, “We’ll figure the rest out in the morning, I’m tired.”

It’s quiet, for a while.

Nothing but the sound of the river, and the fire that separates you and Kylo, a wall between you. You listen as he rustles and shifts around on the hard ground, no pillow and no blanket again. He puts his hat over his face as a cover against the light from the flames, you watch discreetly from the corner of your eye.

“It’ll be cold again tonight.” Kylo whispers.

Come sleep next to me.

“Goodnight, Ren.” You reply.

I can’t. Not yet.

Not yet.

#kylo ren/reader #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/you #kylo ren x you #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren fanfic #adam driver character #adam driver fanfiction #adcu #kylo x reader #kylo x you #reader insert #my writing #historical au #wild west au #outlaw!kylo ren #biting dust

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chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky · 4 years ago

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This was a prompt I received that I stupidly responded to the ask already, but here is the fic! The prompt was that Joe has nightmares from a time when he and Nicky were separated for a week. It was a crazy coincidence because I had been writing in my large WIP IN EXILE, SEEING YOU OUT, Nicky mentioning that a week was the longest they’d been apart, after being shipwrecked. So, here is the fic, my lovely Anon!

Usually sleeping was nothing more than a utility. Joe always found being awake was far more entertaining, the only good parts of being asleep was being able to hold Nicky as close as he possibly can. It was like slotting into place, holding Nicky. Nicky also insisted on being by the door, his hands wrapped around Joe’s and a gun hidden beneath the pillow. It was a solid, warm presence on his chest, and it always reminded him that Nicky was here with him.

It was good to be reminded.

It was very rare the two were separated. In fact, he could count on one hand the amount of times they were away from each other for more than a day. Sometimes because of a mission, once because of a poorly timed ferry disaster.

And once because of an actual disaster.

Joe tries not to think of it too much. It’s a painful memory, and a terrifying one. Except after long battles and long fights, Joe holds Nicky a little closer. As tightly as he can. If it ever hurts or bothers Nicky, the man never says anything. If anything, Nicky clutches his hand tighter, as if he knows. Knows that Joe needs the grounding. Knows that he has to hold him close.

The nightmares don’t come often, but usually after a particularly difficult battle, it’s all that’s his subconscious can conjure. So when they are back in a safehouse, blood washed away from their skin, clean sheets, clean clothes. So when his eyes close, face nuzzling into Nicky’s neck, he stills his concern by listening to his loves heart.

He wants it to be enough.

His mind has other thoughts.

They’re on a tradeship in 1623. Joe had managed to talk his way on board, even though he was pretty sure these people were one step above pirates. Fortunately, Nicky stopped his concerns with traveling with the wrong people somewhere in the 1200s, and merely watched amusedly as Joe got them safe passage. The two of them are topside, Nicky always insisting that they are near the water.

“It is a beautiful night, isn’t it my love.” He says quietly, moving closer. The two are not touching, having experienced the wrong end of poor manners in that regard. Nicky said he didn’t care and Joe said fuck em, but neither of them can steer a ship by themselves. So, they put their anger aside and stand close enough for their shoulders to touch. “The moon is particularly beautiful.”

Joe looks up where at it, bright and sharp in the sky. “It is. Thought I’d much rather watch you talk about the sea.”

Nicky’s face scrunches into something fond and loving, turning back to face him. “But you know how much I love hearing your voice.”

“Well, you can’t be selfish, Nicolo. Watching you talk about the sea is like speaking to God, only I find you much more desirable.”

Nicky can’t help but laugh, bright and clear. Joe always is amazing when he laughs. If starlight could make a sound, it would not have a chance against his love.

So Nicky tells him about growing up on the water. The way he would fish in the summers and would dip his feet into the water. Neither of them have been able to go to their hometowns, hundreds of years later. They both have fond memories with the places and aren’t sure if they’re ready to change that. It was who they were, not how they move forward.

But Joe does like this. When he hears Nicky think about the things he loves. It makes him want to go, but it’s for Nicky to share, just as it is his to share his home. He can’t help it, he reaches out and wraps his hands in his loves and listens.

The rain starts to pick up and Joe frowns, watching it roll down his cheeks. “I know you like sleeping topside my love, but I think we should go to drier land.”

“I think you are right.”

The events that happen next are too quick for Joe to comprehend.

After the fact, he unscrambles them to try and put the pieces together. The events, he realizes later, go like this:

One: lightning strikes.

It strikes against the cloth of the sail, a fire lighting up the sky. Nicky and Joe turn quickly at it, eyes wide. “My god,” Joe breathes, the fire soon engulfing the entire ship. He instinctively grabs Nicky’s arm – to pull him close. “W-We—”

Two: the ship hits something.

It’s a sharp, jarring throw. The two of them break apart by the force of nature, the only thing strong enough to do so. Joe launches against the railing, a sharp pain in his gut as he feels a few ribs break. They start to snap back, but not before he sees Nicky sprawled across the ship, trying to get his bearings. The lightning is all around them, illuminating Nicky’s face as he looks across the ship to Joe.

“Yusuf!” Nicky calls from across the ship, his words terrified in a way he rarely hears.

Three: he loses Nicky.

It’s slow and fast all at once. Joe’s noticed that time has a tricky way of doing that, speeding up and slowing down at the most inconvenient times.

The ship is thrown, the fire rages, and a wave washes over the railings. Joe wraps his wrist around a rope and is tossed a but manages to stay aboard. He shakes his head dazedly, blinking a few times to get the world back in focus. He looks over to where Nicky was on the ship’s deck, sprawled out.

He’s gone.

“Nicky,” he chokes out salt water, the worlds barely understandable. “Nicolo!”

Unwrapping his arm from the rope, he sprints across the ship. “Nicky! Nicky, where are you? Nicky!”

He shouts his name hundreds of more times.

Nicky never answers.

***

The next time Joe is conscious, he’s on a beach. The sand is in his hair, his skin feels bloated, and he’s far too hot. He lets out a strangled cry, but its so raspy. He screamed himself hoarse for Nicky. Then, he found himself in the sea, salt water filling his lungs. Then he died. He died again and again and again. He hasn’t moved from the hot sand.

He died once more.

After a while, he manages to clamber to his feet, his skin on fire and singed. His limbs feel broken and messy, Joe lifting his head to the sky. “Nicky,” he calls, but his voice barely registers.

So he tries again.

And again.

Joe isn’t sure of a lot in life. But he is sure of Nicky.

And he’s sure he’ll find him.

***

It’s the first night he hasn’t had Nicky pressed against him in two hundred years. Joe can’t fall asleep. The sky is clear and the moon is out, as innocent as a night can be. He looks at the moon, the same bastard moon the two of them were looking at the night before. His eyes water. “Fuck you!” He shouts at the moon. “Fuck you!”

He’s not entirely sure how sane he is if he’s yelling at the moon.

But he’d trade it.

He’d trade the fucking moon to have Nicky back. To have him pressed against him.

The moon doesn’t offer a trade.

Joe curses at it some more.

***

On the fourth day, Joe is losing hope.

Nicky would be so ashamed. He wanders the island, trying to find him, forgetting to drink water and sleep. He died a few more times, almost hearing his loves voice whenever he came back. “This is so reckless, Yusuf. How can I find you if you’re dead?”

“Ah, my dear love, I am trying to find you. How can I think of things like water and food when I am focused?”

“Oh my love,” he would be so exasperated. “I need you alive. A little help would be nice.”

“Then why don’t you come here and help?”

Joe is on his back, talking to the sky.

***

On the seventh day, he goes to the edge of the island. “Nicky!” He shouts.

Like all the other times, no one answers.

A light rain starts, just like that night. It starts to rain harder, and Joe’s desperation and anger grows with it. “What do you want?” He calls to the sky not for the first time since being alone.

The rain is heavy. He can barely see bast his own hand, his entire body chilling to ice. He wonders what they did to deserve this. If it was a cruel twist of fate to have someone, only for them to be taken away. Joe looks to the left where his blade is.

Maybe humanity didn’t deserve what they were trying to do. They would try and protect, and this is what they got in return? Blinking, a few tears roll down his cheeks. “What do you want—” he says, broken. “What do you want in return? To bring him back to me?”

“I do not know?” A voice says behind him. “I would imagine it is what I want.”

Joe shuts his eyes.

He can’t handle this being fake. He turns and there’s a silhouetted figure ahead of him. He lets out a broken sob. “Please.”

Before he can even lose it, there’s a pair of hands on his face and a pair of lips against his. Nicky kisses him with a ferocity that takes his breath away. The man pulls him close, hands gripping tightly at his shirt and pressing his hands against his back. It’s as if there is no space small enough for him.

And there isn’t.

As Joe reciprocates, he thinks that the moon has nothing on the man in his arms.

***

He sits up with a jolt, a thin layer of sweat on his brow. Nicky startles under him, propping his head up on his temple. “My love, what is it?” Nicky asks sleepily, turning so that he can see him.

Joe is breathing heavily, the taste of salt water on his tongue. “It’s nothing, I’m sorry for waking you.”

“It’s not nothing.” Nicky says, brushing Joe’s curls aside. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Joe sees the fire. He sees the waves. He tastes the ocean. He feels the despair. “No,” he says quietly, his voice raspy. “I would… I would just like to hold you.”

Nicky surveys him for a moment, his attention fully on him, sleep nowhere in sight. Joe looks back, his mind on that ship. When whatever examination Nicky is doing is over, he grabs Joe’s arm and wraps it around his chest. “I’m here.”

He says it, but Joe doesn’t realize how much he needed to hear it.

So he plays it over his head like a mantra, until sleep takes him to a kinder shore.

#the old guard #the old guard fanfiction #joe x nicky #joe #nicky #yusuf al kaysani #yusuf x nicolo #nicolo di genova #fic prompts #lindsey writes #drabbles #I hope you liked it anon!

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stachmousworld · 4 years ago

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The Sun

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Black!reader

Phew. I don’t even know how to tag that. You will cry and laugh and cry and be happy.

Tags: angst with happy ending, which includes self-deprecation, low self-esteem.

She entered the communal room with a greeting on the tongue

“Pictures of my...” Bucky pointed his groin. “Really?”

Deciding to eavesdrop, she tiptoed near the couch and hid behind a wall. She leaned and peeked at them. From her hiding place, she could see all of them. It was a chance they hadn’t noticed her.

“Yes, women love that,” Sam said, nodding with confidence. He turned to Clint who also nodded.

“Really? It is…” Bucky trailed off, his voice getting smaller. “…something that women like?” He asked unsure.

“Bucky, you gotta trust me – us. We are happy you came to us for advice and we would never lead you astray,” Clint told him, without any hint of his usual snark.

Doubt crept in her mind. What the hell did they tell him and why did Bucky not come to her first? He knew that Clint and Sam were not reliable. She thought he’d be comfortable with her. After all, she was the closest to him.

“So…when I have her number, I’ll send her a picture of my…” He didn’t dare say the word, which seem too...not so him. “And she’ll like it?”

Pictures of…? Realization dawned her. Bucky had found someone. And this someone wasn’t her. She wiped her dry cheeks and took a big breath. She was his best girl and as such, she’ll be there for him, even though he didn’t love her.

“Y-”

“What the hell is going on here?” She uttered.

All of them jumped. Bucky spun around, a hand on his chest. He looked somewhat guilty and awkward. She smiled softly at him and muttered a small hello. Bucky sputtered a few words. His ears were getting red and his eyes rounder with panic. She repressed her chuckle. He looked like a kid who’s been caught the hand in the cookie jar.

Sam and Clint, though, sported a smug smile. She narrowed her eyes, suspicious.

“I don’t know what you’ve been telling him, but if I find out it’s bullshit…” She threatened, eyes staring deep into Sam’s, who cowered. He jumped to his feet, grabbed Clint and scrambled away. She smiled, with complete satisfaction. The “stare” always worked on Sam and sometimes on Clint, when he wasn’t reckless.

A few months ago, while they were both, Sam and her, talking about their moms. Sam had revealed how he was still scared of his mom’s stare. Even now, as an adult, his mom was able to make him feel like a kid. This information, unfortunately for him, had been stored. In fact, she would have gladly kept this weapon locked in her memory, but since Sam loved to prank Bucky, she’d make sure to keep him in check.

Some pranks could be triggering for Bucky, whether Sam was aware of it or not, and since Bucky didn’t like people to pity him…Let’s just say that the following months she had taken a great pleasure in making him squirm.

Bucky coughed and looked around, still a little awkward.

“What did they talk to you about?” She asked, nonchalant.

“Hm…nothing?”

“Are you asking me?” She laughed, a little nervous.

Bucky huffed and shook his head. She decided to change subject. The last thing she wanted was to make him withdraw.

“I’m going in my room, do you w –.”

Before she could finish her sentence, Bucky jumped to his feet and quickly made his way to her. She shut her mouth close and started walking toward the elevator.

They made their way to her room in silence. Bucky had clearly something on his mind. He was looking straight ahead, moving his hands as if he was talking to himself. Whatever the others told him it really perturbated him. And, if she was to believe what she heard, she hoped they hadn’t plant bad seeds into his head.

She tried not to think of the picture of his – she licked her lips – dick. She had long imagined how it’d be. Long, large with a little curve, the tip would be a reddish color…She had seen him in boxers before and had glanced a few times without getting caught, which has been difficult. Bucky had the bad habit of looking at her, even when they weren’t talking.

At first, she’d thought that there was something wrong with her. Maybe something on her face, or else. But no. Bucky loved to look at her. He could spend up to an hour, not moving, eyes on her. And when she’d turn to face him, he’d not even blush. She didn’t know if it was something common back then, but she’ll have to tell him not to do that with a stranger.

Imagine the lawsuit, she cringed. She could see the title on the first page “The Winter soldier harassed a strange.”

She shook her head and opened her door.

“I’m going to take a shower and I’ll come back,” she signaled, closing the bathroom door behind her.

She took a shorter shower than planned. Her head was buzzing with thoughts that even the hot water couldn’t disperse. She dried herself with her fuzzy towel, relishing in its softness and warmth.

She would forever thank Tony for those heated closets. Surprisingly, he hadn’t known about them. She had even thought he was pulling her leg. But no. Tony Stark, billionaire and genius, hadn’t known about hot towels. It hadn’t been long before he upgraded her own heated closets and set them on every floor. Steve and Natasha had been the first to use them, despite their skepticism and they’d love it.

Bucky had not outright told her he liked the new installment. She even thought he’d never used them, until she received a box full of first editions of her favorite books and records. The love and affection for him had grown tenfold.

She shook her head, a peaceful smile growing on her face. Bucky was really a man of few words.

She put on a boy shorts, and a strapless top before leaving the bathroom.

Bucky was sitting on the bed, looking at his phone. Her smile disappeared. Oh, yeah. He wasn’t interested in her and was talking to someone. She pretended to tidy her paperwork, glancing frequently at Bucky. He had not looked at her once. She didn’t let the disappointment overcome her joy.

“So, I heard what the others said, and I wanted to tell you that if you need an ear I’m here,” she said, nervous.

“No, it’s okay, thanks,” he replied, curtly.

Why wasn’t he looking at her? And what was it with this tone? She didn’t want to force him to open up and seem like a clingy girl. She grimaced. Yep, not a clingy girl.

“Ok. But you shouldn’t send a picture of your penis to no one, unless they ask you. And even if they ask you, you have the choice. And you should also be careful…” Bucky raised his head and looked at her for the first time since the communal room. “…because you also are an Avenger.” She finished, feeling lame.

Bucky tilted his head, pensive. Her confidence was steadily crumbling. He had to say something or she…

“Come here and sit down,” he ordered, calmly.

She released her breath and walked over bed. Bucky tutted and pointed the floor. She raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll do your hair,” he replied, as if it was the most obvious answer.

She sat down legs crossed. Bucky scooted forward, her box containing all of her hair products next to him. In her turmoil, she didn’t even notice it. She placed her hands underneath her butt to stop them from trembling.

Bucky slowly took off her wig making sure to be gentle where the glue was still holding on dear life. She grimaced in pain when it finally came off. Her forehead was burning, and she wanted to pat and press the irritated skin to sooth the pain.

Bucky stopped moving behind her.

“What have you done, again?” He asked, annoyed.

She raised her eyebrows. He couldn’t have found out. Her heart started to beat faster. There was no way he had noticed what she’s done.

“You know that I can see you, right?” He whispered in her ears.

She raised her head and met Bucky’s grey eyes in the mirror. She grimaced guiltily and avoided his intense gaze.

Bucky tilted her head back and observed her forehead. He pressed a metal finger across the mark on her face making her hissed in pain, which didn’t deter him. He kept on massaging the same spot over and over again until she couldn’t feel the pain.

“What have you done?” He asked again.

She sighed. “I wanted it to be more glued.”

He flicked her ear, making her wince. Ouch, she thought, pressing her hand on her ear.

“You are lying.”

“’am not,” she declared, pouting.

“Don’t make me tickle you,” he warned, before starting unbraiding her braids. His nimble fingers worked with practice ease and rapidity.

“I…” She stopped talking. The last thing she wanted was to appear weak in front of him. Not again. She didn’t like to complain or be ungrateful but sometimes her insecurities were too heavy for her to overcome. So, some days, she’d stay in bed, mulling over all the criticism she received. ‘You are not skinny enough.’ ‘You skin isn’t smooth enough.’ ‘You should consider surgery for your horse teeth.’ ‘Your boobs are big but if your waist was slimer you’d be body goal.’ ‘You’d be more beautiful if you had a bigger butt.’ ‘Your legs are too muscular.’ ‘You should wear your hair straight all the time.’ ‘You are too dark.’ ‘You speak white’ etc.

She could go on and on about the things she heard from colleagues, friends or even relatives. She could, most of the time, ignore these thoughts and move one. But the other days, like today, she hadn’t been able too.

There had been an annual brunch at work. She had wanted to be perfect. Not too loud, not to silent, straight hair, clothes that masked or accented what they wanted to see. She hadn’t spoken when not spoken too and didn’t try to be angry at their comments on her blackness.

She has tried. So hard and for so long…

She blinked trying to repress her tears. She sniffed and wiped her nose. But the more she tried and the less she felt like herself. Like this girl coming from a hard-working family. Her parents had made sure she went to the best schools, even if it meant sacrificing their own happiness. She had seen them work their entire life and save enough money to open a restaurant. Money, which ended up in her university fees. And now they were back to square one.

So, she couldn’t fail them. She was working so hard not to become a disappointment. And the worst is that they would never tell explicitly that she was a burden. They’d smile gently and encourage her to find another work, or to maybe go back to university…

“Baby Girl, are you okay?” Bucky asked, putting a halt to the train wreck in her head.

She nodded.

“You do know that I can see you, right?”

She quickly dropped her head, wiping her tears.

“Was it about your brunch?” He asked, now worried.

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Did something bad happen? Did someone do something to you?”

She shook her head.

“Does it have to do with why you glued your wig on your forehead.”

“It’s too big,” she wailed. It was ridiculous, she knew it. To have a complex so insignificant. But how many times people had made fun of her about it. She had been able to straighten her teeth and whiten them, use makeup to refine her nose, and lighten her skin, but there was nothing to do for her forehead. It was too damn big.

“What?” Bucky leaned and embraced her tightly. He let her cry and sob without interrupting her. She felt herself fall apart. She was so weak, and Bucky didn’t deserve that. He had already a lot on his plate.

She tried to push him away, which had the opposite effect.

“Don’t push me away, baby doll.” His voice cracked. “Don’t. I’m here for as long you’ll have me.”

“Not true…” she retorted. Her voice came out muffled. “...got a girlfriend…gonna leave me.” She sobbed harder.

“What? What do you mean I have a girlfriend and why would I leave you?” He asked, confused.

This time, when she pushed him away, he let her. He grabbed her face with his hands and pressed their foreheads together.

“What do you mean?” He repeated, his eyes glistening, filled to the brim with tears.

She sniffed, unable to look away.

“I heard your discussion with the other –.” Bucky suck a breath. “And you implied you are interested in someone.”

Bucky stayed silent for a second.

“And…why would I leave you?”

She bit her lip hard enough to make it bleed. Bucky wiped slowly the blood with his finger.

“You really love hurting yourself,’ he complained, half-joking.

He released her and sat back down on the bed. He leaned and pressed a kiss on her forehead. She froze. From one kiss came many more on the sore mark left by the wig. She sighed, not moving one inch.

“For a small head like yours, you really are thinking too much.”

He took some oil in a bottle and started applying it to her roots. She shivered at the cold oil dripping on her scalp.

“You still didn’t answer me,” he reminded her.

She chose to answer to the least painful question. There was no way she could explain why she was afraid he’d leave her.

“Kids used to make fun of me,” she explained, vaguely.

Bucky hummed. There was some oil running down her neck. She didn’t have to notify him that he wiped the nape of her neck with a small towel.

“If it wasn’t my forehead, it was my horse teeth. If it wasn’t the way I talked, it’d be my skin color. Then I hit puberty, and criticism on my breasts size, waist, butt, hair, nose…” She took a shaky breath. Bucky was now massaging her scalp. Usually she’d enjoy it. After all, Bucky was an expert. He would release the tension in her scalp and help her relax, until he braided her hair again. But now, she felt more vulnerable than ever.

He was already twisting her hair into vanilla braids, when she blurted out, her voice full of pain and incomprehension. “Bucky, why am I not enough? Why don’t any of my efforts work? I try so much…I swear Bucky. I promise, I try so hard to fit in…but nothing works. My parents have worked so hard for me to be here and I don’t understand why I am such a failure.” She took a quick breath. “I wear straight hair because my natural ones are not professional. I smile, I try to look less menacing, less smart, less cocky, less…less….” She let out an ugly cry. A sound coming from the deepest part of her chest. She leaned forward and heaved.

She felt Bucky’s arms lift her. He laid her on the bed, embracing big spooning her. He held in his arms and kissed the oily top of her head. She was so lost in her pain to notice.

It took her what felt an eternity to come back. Even if the ugly monster in her brain roared and trampled her defense, she fought to come back.

“’m sorry,” she mumbled.

Bucky stayed silent. The only evidence she had he heard what she just said was how he tightened his arms around her, cutting her oxygen supply. She let him. It was probably her last hug from him. He would probably leave her now he witnessed her breaking down. And maybe…and maybe he’d have the courage to say the words her parents couldn’t. He’d be the one to tell her she was a burden.

“Don’t ever…” He said, harshly. “Don’t ever say that you are a failure, or not good enough.”

She shrugged.

“No!” He screamed suddenly making her jump. He rolled her over and face her. She stood still. Bucky was…he was crying. She had made him cry…She thought her own tears and guilt. She was really a burden. Her weakness brought pain and suffering to everyone around her.

“’sorry. Didn’t want to make you cry.”

Bucky’s face turned into a painful grimace. More tears came out of his eyes.

“I fucking love you.” He whisper-yelled “I fucking love you and hearing you saying those words...it’s like you’ve put me in the electric chair again and again and again.”

She tried to apologize but he pressed a finger on her lips. Guilt gnawed her inside.

“Don’t you ever degrade...” He spat the word. “...yourself like that. Ever.”

He kissed the tip of her nose, closing briefly his eyes.

“If you could see yourself with my eyes, you’d see how amazing you are. Hell! If you could see yourself through every Avengers’ eyes, you’d see that you are gorgeous, smart as hell, snarky, sarcastic, but also kind with a golden heart.”

He caressed her cheeks.

“I love you. And I want you to love yourself for yourself. I want you to tell the colleagues of yours to go to hell. I want you to do everything that pleased you. And not everyone else.”

He kissed each wet cheek.

“Your parents love you. They believe in you. You could never be a failure. Never. And I’m sure they’d agreed with me that you need to find another job.” She shook her head, disagreeing fervently. “Yes, you’ll change job. I have seen you, baby doll. I have seen you wilt and become more depressed. You always told me you wanted to work as a librarian. I know you have enough money to quit and you can become what you truly wanted.”

She opened her mouth to shut his idea down. It was true that on one particular night she’d express her dream of owning a library. But it was…crazy! A mere dream. She could…She should keep working and give her saving to her parents to help them open their restaurant. That was the goal since she was 18.

She didn’t notice Bucky leaning forward and she barely registered the pressure on her lips. She blinked slowly before closing her eyes. She sighed in the kiss. He didn’t try to push deeper. He backed away, then kissed her again. Just a press of two lips on their twins. There again, her thoughts disappeared.

“You need to shut that brain of yours.”

“What about your girlfriend?” She asked, dazed.

“What about her?”

“Wouldn’t she be mad that you just kissed me?” She frowned.

“Are you mad I kissed you?” He asked, a small amused smiled appearing on his face. His eyes were still red and the grey of his pupils were darker.

“What?”

“Are you mad I kissed you?” He reiterated, patiently.

“Why…I don’t understand.”

He brushed his nose against hers.

“You asked me if my baby doll would be mad at me for kissing you. And I just asked my baby doll if she was mad because I kissed her. Clear enough for me.”

Her brain short circuited. She spluttered some unintelligible words.

“Are you?” He asked.

She raised an eyebrow. Her heart was beating to fast and her brain wouldn’t catch up with the situation. One moment she was crying, then he was crying, then they were both crying and then kissing, and now…wait! He said he loved her. She didn’t imagine it, right?

“I love you,” she blurted out, blushing profusely. Let it not be a dream. Please…

“I love you,” he replied with a happy smile. “Took you long enough. I thought you’d never catch up.”

Their body sagged against each other, the pressure and tension leaving their body. All the benefits from the early head massage was gone. Her neck was stiff, and her heart was beating so hard she could feel it through her skull.

“So, I’m your best girl?” She teased him

“If you had opened you eyes before, you’d notice it since the beginning,” he retorted on the same tone. “I have never been one to be good at hiding my feelings. Everyone could see my love for you.”

“Since the beginning, really? I’m sure I’ve loved you longer, though.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You were always talking about this Jeff from work.”

“Jeff?” She frowned. Seeing how sulky Bucky was, he had probably botched the name, as usual. “Do you mean Jeremy?”

His eyes grew comically wide. Why did she had to fall in love with such a kid.

“You see! You remember his name and his been out of the company for more than a year,” he stated, indignant.

She laughed. “Babe, you are unbelievable. I remember his nam –.” She stopped talking. Bucky eyes were now half closed and is grin…oh his grin…

Warmth pooled in her heart as her lips reciprocated his. A tender smile. Full of love and longing.

“Babe,” he repeated slowly, like he was tasting the word on his tongue to see if it was right. His smile grew wider.

“Well, you call me baby doll so…”

He suddenly laughed and grabbed her. She slapped his chest to show her disapprobation.

“I’m not a ragdoll. You’ll have to treat me carefully. And hey! You didn’t even finish my hair!” She exclaimed, in fake outrage.

Bucky doubled and laughed harder. She soon joined him.

Later…later, they’ll discuss again.

Later, he’ll show his love to her.

Later, he’ll help her stand her ground and raise her head high.

He’ll let her shine for the world to see.

And if…And if one day, as she rose high and beyond, she decided to let him go. Bucky would let her. Because his love for her would burn like a thousand suns. No matter what. And she’ll forever hold his heart.

Two years later, it felt inevitable to him. After she opened her library, after she met new people, after she got away a few months overseas, Bucky hadn’t dared hope.

And then she came back. The little box in his jacket felt too heavy. She looked heavenly in her little black dress. A few years ago, she’d have never worn it, but now she was confident. She talked freely and with animation. Her hands had yet to touch the silverware near her cold plate.

She mentioned a few people, fondly. And Bucky knew he wouldn’t be able to stand besides her. She was shining so hard and he was a shadow. But the Sun never needed one. She needed a strong man, who’ll support her through everything.

So, his box stayed in his jacket.

After their date, they wandered around. She had pressed him to talk about his life, in vain. The more they walked and the less they talked, until the silent came. Loud and heavy.

She was cold, he noticed. Without even thinking he gave her his jacket. She barely protested and snuggled in.

Bucky stayed in his thought thinking on how he would break up with her before she did.

“Bucky?” She asked, unsure.

He stopped walking and turned to her. She was holding the box in her hand.

“What is it?” She asked in a small voice.

“Nothing!” He tried to grab the box, but she was too fast. How ironic. Him the Winter Soldier was too slow.

She quickly opened it and…and…time stopped. Bucky had many words, explanations…all of them died before leaving his mouth. He waited with bated breath her reaction. Her eyes widened and…

“Yes!” She screamed, jumping around then in his arms.

Yes? She had said yes. He…Bucky spun her around barely believing his chance. She didn’t want to break up with him. He sighed, breathing in her scent. She was there she still wanted him…

“Of course, I want you, dummy,” she replied in his ear. “You’ll forever be my King. My knight in shining armor…”

Tears of gratitude pooled inside his eyes. His doubts slowly dissolved under her warmth.

His Sun.

“My Sun,” she whispered on his lips.

He tensed at the nickname, thinking it came from him.

But no.

As he stared deeply into her whisky orbs, he finally realized it. He finally realized that they were two pieces from the same sun.

And they’ll burn until the world ended.

Fin

Mother masterrliiiisssstt ✨✨✨🐱‍🏍

#friends to lovers #love story #being a black woman is exhausting #woc #bucky barnes x poc!reader #bucky barnes × black!reader #bucky barnes #bucky is the best #daily racism #low self image #building confidence #angst with a happy ending #bucky barnes insecure #Clint and Sam are little shits #mcu fic #black female character

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years ago

Text

We All Still Die (part two)

[The Walking Dead AU]

Part 1

sorry about all the chapters so far being Really Short. it’s not like me to write only two thousand words :/

Word count: 2113

TW: Blood

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

-Bloat-

In an instant, the powered down hockey table on one side of the ski lodge was cleared and the child was placed upon the top of it. Jane bustled over, moving a bit too fast than Aragon would like, and began barking orders, already rolling her long sleeves up. A flurry of motion stormed around her.

“What happened?” Aragon demanded.

“W-were you bit?” Kitty stammered.

“Where did she come from?” Maggie asked.

“Who is she?” Maria joined in on the questioning.

“Everyone be quiet!” Jane roared, making them all jump. “Cathy, get some water!”

Cathy nodded and scurried off to the well outside the ski lodge. Jane turned her head back to the patient, her jaw set firmly. Instead of bothering to try and remove the stained hospital gown the girl was wearing, she just took a pair of scissors and cut down the middle. When the fabric was parted, a small gash on the girl’s forearm was revealed, the edges inflamed and crusted with infection.

Candles lit up around the lodge, thanks to Maria dutifully lighting them. Aragon handed Jane a bottle of clear liquid labeled only by a crude sketch of a cross on it and then another bottle that smelled faintly of alcohol when opened. Jane flushed out every inch of the wound on the girl’s arm with the clear liquid, then drenched the whole length with the second liquid. The reddish-brown fluid streamed down the girl’s bare chest and abdomen, along with the bubbling of the blood that got washed out by whatever was in the first bottle. The young stranger whimpered in her half-daze.

“Shh, shh, little one,” Jane murmured softly, but didn’t touch. She kept her hands in the air like a surgeon and, indeed, Aragon saw that she was holding a needle and stitching. “Anna,” She eyed the woman hovering nearby, “Come here, will you please?”

“What can I do?” Cleves asked, stepping over.

“Grab a candle and angle the glow on her belly. I need more light.”

Cleves nodded and then retrieved a candle, doing as he was told.

“Cathy, hold her wound shut for me. And Catalina, keep the child calm. Distract her if she starts to get worked up.”

The close candle was necessary, but the light of the other fires was growing, too, flickering helpful warm yellows and oranges over the girl’s pale face and down her exposed body as Aragon, Cleves, and Cathy situated themselves in a comfortable position. Unlike Jane, this was clearly a first time for all three of them.

Before the outbreak, Jane had been a veterinarian at the animal hospital in her city. One of the best, too. She may not have been a human doctor, but she knew how to sew wounds and treat infections, and she was trained to not be bitten by things, so she was a very valuable asset to the group.

Jane bent over the child and started the stitches. The girl gasped and jerked out of her daze, looking to the source of the pain and finding a woman she didn’t recognize at all.

“It’s okay, sweetie, it’s okay,” Aragon said softly. Jane is hovering over the girl, waiting, letting her get her bearings and settle. “We’re not going to hurt you. You’re getting stitches.”

The girl looked up at Aragon, and Aragon saw that her eyes were a startling moon silver color. They were so pale that she may have mistaken them for the glazed blankness of Walker eyes at a distance.

Then, the eyes fluttered shut. Aragon could see a light sheen of sweat developing along her nose, cheeks, and forehead.

“Child, stay awake.” Jane ordered, noticing somehow, even though she was supposed to be stitching. She swiped away an oily lock of the girl’s sun-bleached blonde hair that was sprawling into her work zone.

“She’s just resting.” Aragon said, a little defensive, but when she earned a hard look from Jane, she opted to obey the professional and lightly shook the girl’s good shoulder. The girl shuddered too much, jarring Jane’s meticulous work and making the woman lean back to mutter obscenities, something Aragon thought she would never hear.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” The girl sobbed, sensing the frustration around her. “Don’t hurt me... Please don’t hurt me… I’m sorry…!”

At the “don’t hurt me”, Aragon and Cleves exchanged worried looks.

“Nobody is going to hurt you, sweetheart,” Aragon said. “You’re safe.”

“D-don’t send me back, please…” The girl babbled on, panting as if she were stricken with a burning fever. “Please, please, please… C-can’t go back…”

“Calm her, Catalina.” Jane ordered, readying the needle again.

“You are not in trouble, dear,” Aragon said, softening her voice to a more velvety tone. She lifted a hand and stroked strands of sweaty blonde hair out of the girl’s face. “Just stay calm. Don’t move.”

The girl’s strange, wide eyes looked up at Aragon again, then she nodded ever so slightly. Her head flopped over and she glanced around blearily before grunting in pain.

“Where did you find her?” Cathy asked Cleves, glancing up from the puckering wound she was squeezing shut.

“Down in the forest,” Cleves answered. “Anne and I killed that one Walker you saw and then she came staggering out of the trees. I have no idea where she came from.”

“N-no bites?” Kitty stuttered, stepping over. She was very pale and looked like she was going to faint.

“No bites.” Cleves confirmed.

“Strange that she was wearing a hospital gown,” Maria observed, sidling over to watch the wound treatment. “How far is the nearest hospital?”

“We’re out in the middle of fucking sticks,” Maggie said. “So probably pretty far.”

“Swear.” Kitty said softly.

“Sorry.”

“There’s no way a kid this young could survive out there on her own,” Anne said. “Look at her. She’s barely older than Kitty.”

Aragon gazed down at the child, and could confirm that she had to only be twelve or thirteen.

“She has to have a group around here.” Anne went on.

“What if they think we kidnapped her?” Maggie worried.

“Maybe they won’t,” Aragon said. “I mean, we are sewing up her wound.”

“Yeah, but still.” Anne said. “You know how people are nowadays.”

Suddenly, the girl gasped as Jane pulled the thread through. She let out a sob, her eyes screwing shut as tears spilled free.

“Only a little more to go. Keep her awake.” Jane directed to Aragon.

“You’re okay, darling.” Aragon whispered to the weeping child. “It’s almost over.”

For a while it was just silence broken by the occasional noises- the fire cracking, one of the group member’s murmuring, the wind blowing, the child’s whimpers and rapid pants. If the girl were to squirm, Aragon would always stroke her hair and shush her gently.

Finally, Jane clipped off the end of the stitches. They were expert-level precise.

Before anyone can say anything, however, the woman is moving again. After cleaning her hands of the child’s blood in a basin, she retrieved a wet rag and began washing off her patient’s arm, then wrapping it with some torn fabric.

“There,” Jane finally said. “The hard part is over.”

In an instant, she was moving again, feeling the girl’s rib cage and stomach, pursing her lips in deep thought as she did so. She checked her legs and neck and other arm, and Aragon saw smaller cuts, bruises, and whited out scars in jagged patterns splattered across areas of her grimy pale skin.

“She’s starving and malnourished,” Jane rattled off, not looking up from where she was kneading the sinkholes in the girl’s belly. “Dehydrated, too. She’s also suffering from exposure. She must have been outside for awhile.” She examined the girl’s feet, which were so cut up and blistered that simply standing on them must have been excruciating. “She’s got some cuts and bruises from being out in the woods, but nothing as bad as her arm. She must have gotten caught on something or maybe attacked.” She pried open one of the girl’s eyes, earning a weak whine of protest. “Exhausted, sleep deprived, over exerted… She’s going to need some rest and a meal, or at least some water, as soon as possible.”

Aragon nodded. “So she’s going to be okay?” She asked.

“Yes, I believe so,” Jane answered with a small smile. She waved Anne to come pick the girl up. “She can sleep on the couch, that way she can be comfortable and close b--” Suddenly, she gasped in horror. Anne looked down and then cussed loudly, unceremoniously dropping the child back onto the air hockey table and eliciting a sharp yelp of pain. Aragon was about to demand what the hell they were doing when she noticed it.

The bite on the back of the girl’s shoulder.

“Oh fuck!” Anne yelled, bringing her hands to her head.

“Sh-she’s bit!” Kitty screeched, looking ill and horrified at the same time.

“You said there were no bites!” Maggie cried.

“We didn’t see it!” Cleves reprimanded.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” Anne was muttering, pacing back and forth. “I can’t kill a kid!”

“I’ll do it.” Jane said and pulled out her revolver, aiming for the girl’s head. All the warmth and care that was in her just a few seconds ago was now gone, replaced with stony coldness.

“Jane, no!” Aragon grabbed Jane’s wrist and pointed the gun away. “You can’t do this! She’s just a kid!”

“She’s bit!” Jane said, looking at Aragon is disbelief. “I just wasted some of our medicine and a needle and thread on a girl who’s just going to turn.”

“Jane, you can’t kill a child,” Cleves said.

“Yes she can!” Maggie said. “She’s not a child anymore, Anna. She’s a monster. And you know what those things do.”

Kitty whimpered and began to cry. Anne rushed over to her and pulled her baby cousin into her arms.

“Maybe it’s not a Walker bite?” Cathy suggested, although there was doubt in her voice. “It looks a little old. Maybe it was just an animal.”

“I know what animal bites look like,” Jane said, shooting a glare at Cathy. “We need to protect our group, and the best way to do that is by getting rid of the threat.” She raised her gun again, but Aragon shoved her arm back down.

“We’re not killing her.” Aragon growled.

“Are you fucking serious?” Maggie gaped.

“We’ll chain her up,” Aragon went on, ignoring Maggie’s protest. “And we’ll gag her. If the fever sets in, then we can put her down, but until then, nobody touches her.”

There were scattered agreements and disagreements, but nobody actually tried to oppose the plan. Cleves went to grab the chains, while Aragon walked into the main office to retrieve the gag. Jane stormed in after her.

“What’s going on with you?” Jane snapped. “Why are you letting her stay? Why didn’t you let me shoot her?”

“She’s a child.” Aragon said.

“She’s bit. Just like I said before.” Jane clarified. “You know what we do with people who are bit. We put them down. That’s always been our rule!”

“She’s just a kid.” Aragon said, and there was a growl in her voice. She narrowed her eyes at Jane. “What’s gotten into you? Do you just want to blow this girl’s brains out or something?”

“What’s gotten into ME?” Jane scoffed. “You were out there loving all over that kid like she was your first born child or something! What was that all about? Using pet names and stroking her hair—you don’t even know her name!”

“Jealous?”

Jane clenched her jaw and growled. “She’s a stranger.”

“She’s barely older than Kat!” Aragon reprimanded. “She’s wearing a hospital gown, Jane. No shoes, no bra, no underwear, no weapons. What possible threat could she bear to us?”

“She’s going to turn and kill us all! We’re all going to die because you want to keep some stray in our home!” Jane yelled.

“We’re already dead, Jane.” Aragon hissed lowly. “We’re all time bombs just waiting to be bit and infected, so what makes you any different? You’re as dangerous to us as I am and as that girl is and as everyone is! We’re all monsters. And it’s only a matter of time before the muzzle comes off.”

A moment of silence descended upon the two.

“What about our baby?” Jane asked, setting her hands on her pregnant belly.

Aragon looked at her, picked up the refined iron gag from inside a drawer, and said, “It’s not mine.”

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yeojaa · 5 years ago

Text

SUGAR HIGH, chapter viii. (w. JJK)

You're not entirely sure when it happened, though you'd come to terms with it. You'd counted the days, waiting for the inevitable. You'd truly thought you'd be okay, but by the broken, half-beating thing in your chest - you knew you'd never really been prepared.

alt summary. You thought you’d known real love and maybe you had - it just wasn’t with who you thought.

pairing. jeon jungkook. mentions/involvement of ot7.

tags. angst, break up, post-break up, comfort, OT7, slow burn, friendship, moving on, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, emotional baggage, fluff, canon compliant, jeon jungkook is bad at feelings, jeon jungkook is a good friend, jeon jungkook is a sweetheart.

rating. general (for now?)

word count. ~2000

chapter 8. Boy With Luv

You find yourself stepping out of your shell, stopping to smell the roses again. Has life always been this sweet?

“Who are you and what’ve you done with the Soomi I know?”

You know he’s only teasing but somehow, you’re blushing scarlet, apples of your cheeks turning as red as their namesake.

“‘You need to get out more,’” you answer verbatim, even adopting the low rasp of Yejin’s. You realize you sound more like Batman but run with it anyway, small hand shielding your mouth in some sort of makeshift voice changer. “‘You’re going to keep mopping around until you put yourself out there. And I don’t mean with the boys.’”

Hoseok is scandalized, his expression morphing into one that screams ‘how dare she!’ and ‘what the hell!’ in equal parts.

“Yah - you tell her to respect her elders!”

The way he says it makes you think Seokjin’s been parroting the same phrase around the apartment and it’s now drilled into the dancer’s brain.

“She’ll tell you off.” Spoken sagely and yet so very matter-of-fact. It didn’t matter that he was beloved by millions or her older - Yejin mocked him like he was her little brother. No one was spared.

Something about growing up in America, she’d say.

“Whatever,” he huffs before the sound is descending into a laugh, feet shifting until he’s knocking into your hip. “If it got you here, then I don’t mind.”

Here being a dance studio. A place he’d normally never catch you, unless dragged along by your over eager best friend or as a patient observer.

This time, you were here of your own accord. You’d even cracked a joke about inheriting Hoseok’s dance skills by osmosis, asking for a good luck sweatband.

(You’d tried not to cringe when he’d slipped it over your head, only marginally relieved when he insisted it was new.)

“You’ll have fun. I promise.” You don’t lock pinkies and you don’t press kisses to your thumbs, sealing it in forever, but you still believe him. He would never lead you astray, that much you knew. He’d maybe make you trip over your own two feet or blow a lung from exhaustion, but you’d be giggling the whole time.

You try to shake the nerves, will them away from the tips of your fingers. It’s hard when there’s a handful of people around you, all eagerly drawn by the chance to dance with Jung Hoseok.

Honestly, you probably owe him a flat of Sprite after this. And a jar of your dad’s kkakdugi.

"Okay, now that everyone is warmed up, let's get ready to begin." You've never heard him like this, authoritative yet gentle, his words a warm reassurance as he settles beside you. "We'll be going through the chorus of ON. We'll be jumping right in on count eight and land on one."

The way he moves should be illegal, the grace with how he runs through the motions a god-given gift. Even the simple act of bracing arms over one another - right above left - and jumping, feet spread wide, is done with a practiced ease you could never manage. The rotation of his arms is hypnotizing, a forelock of slate grey catching beneath the light as he readjusts in a single, fluid motion. You're not quite sure if his eyes are even open or if this is as easy as breathing.

He'd been guiding your group so easily that you'd nearly forgotten he was speaking. "Soomi-ya, you need to do it too," he chides sweetly, breaking the spell.

"Oh, right. Sorry."

"It's fine, just relax. Pretend it's just us."

So you do, doing your best to memorize the patterns he taps out and the direction of his arms. It's harder than you remember, but maybe that's your nerves. Still, you try, apologizing around laughter when you accidentally drag yourself in the opposite direction, swinging your arms into the crags of Hoseok's shoulders.

You let the warmth radiate through your body and when your lungs are on fire, you push harder (and remind yourself to do some more goddamn cardio).

You're dying. You have to be. There's no other explanation for the way you're laying on the floor, what used to be your legs but you're sure are now just jelly sprawled out beneath you. Your head is swimming and your chest is heaving but you feel oddly light, as if the air's filling you and lifting you above the immobile shape of your body.

"Stop being so dramatic." God, he sounds like he hasn't even broken a sweat. He doesn't even look bothered.

You gulp once, twice, and try to speak but it comes out like a half-whine, half-groan. "Can't. Dying."

"Do you need water?"

If you'd been paying attention, you might've noticed the change in tone, the distinctly different voice.

But instead, you're barely alive and reaching for the shadow of the water bottle. Hands scramble across the surface, all but yanking the offering from a loose grip. You manage a polite 'thank you!' before you're chugging the contents, all semblance of civility temporarily forgotten.

"Thank you, Wooram-ssi."

Your head snaps up. Who was Hoseok speaking to?

"No problem. I don't think a heart attack in class would go over well." You'd laugh if you weren't so mortified.

You gape up at him for a second longer before you're throwing yourself up, ignoring the way your right knee begs to give out and steadying yourself with the help of your friend's arm. You're certain you look like a complete mess - in fact, you can see it reflected back at you in the mirrors of the dance studio.

Baby hairs wild, ponytail no longer deserving of the name. Pink sits on your cheeks, seemingly permanently burnt there.

"I'm Kim Wooram." The stranger is offering a hand and a grin. You don't know him but you feel immediately at ease when he lays that smile on you. He has kind eyes and a soft face, the angle of his jaw and the slope of his nose working to harden the otherwise baby-faced contours. The piercings in his ear reflect the incandescent lights, gleaming as his head cocks to the side in curiosity. You wonder how old he is to have been speaking to Hoseok so casually.

It takes you a moment to respond but when you do, you're quite proud of how level your voice is. "Park Soomi."

Your hands meet and you swear you hear bells.

( 6:13pm ) paksom: sorry i missed your call!

( 6:13pm ) paksom: everything okay?

It hadn't been bells but the dinging of your phone, nestled into your bag and forgotten.

( 6:15pm ) jeon jungkook: come over?

( 6:15pm ) jeon jungkook: we're cooking tonight

( 6:16pm ) jeon jungkook: samgyupsal!!!!

You can practically hear his excitement through the little device, a sticker of his BT21 character popping across your screen.

"Hobiiii." The way you're singing his voice catches his attention and Hoseok's at your side in an instant, peering down at your phone expectantly. "We're cooking tonight! Let's go pick up some extra stuff on the way back."

You've definitely bought too much. Between the two of you, you're carrying five bags or rather, he's struggling with four and you're happily trailing behind with one. Not that you hadn't offered - you had, arguing in front of the store before you'd thrown your hands up in exasperation.

"Can you open the door?" He's sidestepping, allowing you access to the door handle. The keys in your hands jingle, little acrylic KAWS figure swinging from the small set. You turn the lock carefully before edging in, the welcome aromas of fat and spice wrapping you in a warm hug before you're consumed in real, physical heat, the smallest member somehow engulfing you.

"Hi, Jiminie." The greeting is lost in the collar of his sweater as he squeezes you. "You should help Hobi-oppa with the groceries."

All at once, you're able to breathe again, Jimin having released you in favour of taking two bags off his hyung's hands. So eager to help, you think. "What did you get?

Scratch that. Just hungry.

"A bunch of random stuff we thought everyone might like. I bought squid for osam-bulgogi, since you like seafood now, right?" He'd mentioned it in a V Live recently but he's still surprised, the biggest smile stretching his perfect lips. You can't help but return the expression of joy, proud in being able to bring such delight to one of your favourite people. "I also brought a bunch of banchan I made earlier this week. And soju and makgeolli!"

"And kkakdugi, but that's mine!" It's a booming proclamation as the three of you shuffle into the kitchen, goodies dropped unceremoniously on the kitchen counter and everyone's attention now caught.

"You didn't have to bring so much stuff!" Seokjin, flabbergasted as snacks spill out and a glossy green bottle nearly rolls off the edge of the island.

"Welcome back." Namjoon, from his seat, headphones around his neck as he taps away at his laptop.

"Yes, I did! A guest can't come empty-handed." Both of you know you're right but neither you nor Seokjin relent, huffing adorably at each other. He breaks first, turning his attention to the things he needs to immediately start preparing and instructing Jimin to put away anything else. Watching them, it truly is like being among family. It makes you feel fuzzy inside as you take a seat beside Bangtan's leader, dragging your attention from the now-bickering members - something about 'that's not the right place!' - to survey the apartment. "I saw you guys last week."

Namjoon doesn't even look up when he answers, "No, you saw us on Wednesday. It's now Saturday of the following week."

You almost snort, giving him a heavy dose of side-eye. "Joonie-oppa, are you my abeoji?"

It's clear he isn't expecting that when he nearly knocks his headphones off with the force in which he turns to you. "Yah! It's not me. Jungkook--"

And then there are hands on his shoulders, long fingers tensing and pressing perhaps a little too hard. The maknae has appeared out of nowhere, seemingly conjured by the sound of his name. His hair's still wet, water droplets darkening the grey of his tee shirt and dripping down the curve of his ear.

"Yes, hyung?"

"You can't just sneak up on people like that."

"I heard you say my name so I thought you were calling for me."

"No, I was telling--"

There's that subtle flex of fingers again. You're watching the two of them like some weird tennis game, attention bouncing from one face to the other's.

"You guys are being weird."

Even weirder is the way they're refusing to meet your eyes, instead boring holes into each other's like they're going to find gold buried somewhere.

When Namjoon finally relents, he goes back to his computer like nothing's happened and Jungkook's transferring his weight to you, arms locked comfortably around your shoulders. You can feel the moisture from his hair sliding down your cheek and you resist the urge to pull away once it's seeping into the cotton of your top.

"Hello to you, too." You muse, twisting your neck to meet his stare.

"How was dance class with Hobi-hyung?"

The chance to answer is torn from you as the man in question appears across the island, flicking the faucet on to wash his hands and assist with dinner. He's got a great big grin on his face, cheeks puffed out like the literal cat ate the canary.

"She did really well, though I think I'm going to be bruised from where she stepped on my foot." A tongue wagging at you. Had you thought he was going to give a compliment without wrapping it in mockery? "Wooram-ssi saved her from dying at the end."

He's wiping his hands before returning to his spot, taking up the easy task of chopping carrots. He seems so focused that you think he's done speaking, about to resume your conversation with your best friend.

"He asked for your number, by the way."

You're not sure whether it's you or Jungkook when you tense. What?

notes. hahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahaha. that's all I can say.

this was a super fun chapter to write so i hope you enjoyed it as much as i did.

#bts fluff #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #work.zip #bestfriends.zip #sugarhigh.doc #jungkook.doc

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hirayaea · 5 years ago

Text

ikesen fic - the inevitable correction of treading through time (chapter 2)

Summary: You and Sasuke decide to make the timeline as close to your reality the only way you know how: by making sure the the Tokugawa Shogunate happens, no matter how many tries it takes.

— ieyasu/mc — "Ieyasu-sama has always been so ambitious," Mitsunari's tone is praising, but there is a mettle in his voice you cannot recognise.

[AO3]

[Prologue] [Chapter 1]

正しい時代

"There was a timeline where Nobunaga became Shogun," you tell Sasuke one night, after the adrenaline from the assassination attempt had passed. Ieyasu and Masamune had gone out to reassign guards, and you were left under Sasuke’s care.

The candlelight emphasized the dark circles under Sasuke’s eyes, but still they lit up in interest. “That would be quite a timeline. Nobunaga-sama was known not to respect the authority of the Imperial Court, and being Shogun would have meant he had to be at least civil with them.”

You laugh. “Oh, he still wasn’t.” You remember participating in meetings where the Imperial Adviser would be livid; half the time he would be storming out of Azuchi with smoke coming out of his ears. It was mildly funny until they attempted to burn down the castle.

“The court probably got tired of the power struggle and they poisoned him,” your chest tightens at this memory; Nobunaga was never easy to let go of, and you remember cradling his head on the night he took his last breath.

“It was the sake. From the Emperor himself. Although he probably didn’t have anything to do with it. Ieyasu didn’t sleep for a week, trying to make an antidote,” you pull the memory into color, trying to erase the hurt that overwhelms you as you feel Nobunaga’s touch cradling your face. “But not even Nobunaga is immortal. He told me to take care of Ieyasu because I’m, apparently, the most capable person in Azuchi.”

The purse of Sasuke’s lips are grim. “Nobunaga’s death seems to be a consistent event in all timelines.” He adjusts his glasses. “It is interesting how he always leaves his final will to you, the creator of the original time paradox. By accepting Nobunaga’s death, we bring closer this timeline to our original one.”

You’ve come to realize this truth ages ago, but that doesn’t mean you’ve accepted it. “Ieyasu will never become Shogun if Nobunaga is alive.”

“That is logical.” Sasuke tilts his head. “Will it happen with Hideyoshi still alive?”

You shake your head. “I’m not sure. I’ve never been to a timeline where Hideyoshi died.”

“Historically they both died before the events leading to the Tokugawa shogunate even happened.”

Of course you knew that; it was ingrained in you in every history class: stories about the Three Great Unifiers. The three rays of light of the Sengoku period, whose efforts paved the way to make Japan the country it was in your future. Nobunaga dreamed of peace, Hideyoshi fought for it, and Ieyasu attained it. The political intrigue of the period was the favorite subject of scholars and artists alike. Yet you’ve never heard of the events of your current timeline come to pass. “Did Hideyoshi ever try to have Ieyasu assassinated?”

“Not that I recall. There were rumors that the Tokugawa retainers wanted to assassinate Hideyoshi, not the other way around. But Ieyasu-san wouldn’t have it.”

“Of course he wouldn’t,” you say, because it is the truth. You know Ieyasu best, after all.

別の時代

It was almost winter, and yet Nobunaga has shown no sign of replying to the Emperor.

The Allied Azuchi Forces (a term Sasuke coined) are torn.

Hideyoshi, Mitsunari and surprisingly, Mitsuhide, seem to be all for the idea. Masamune, unsurprisingly, just said he didn’t mind no matter what happened as long as some action came out of it.

And Ieyasu? He was the only one vocally against it.

“It’s not right to go against the Ashikaga at this point,” he explains over dinner. “They’ve secured the seat of the shogunate and Nobunaga has endorsed them. Accepting the Imperial Court’s offer would be dishonourable.”

“Even if it’s the order of the Emperor?”

"They would just think we're making excuses." He pokes at the boiled fish on his plate, tasting a piece before making a face. "Besides, what is honourable is the same, no matter the circumstances or the situation."

You can't help but smile; that was such an Ieyasu thing to say. You open the small jar of spices and pinch some between your fingers.

"Teach me," you say, sprinkling the spice over his fish, "About honour."

Ieyasu scoffs, but you see the embarrassment he is masking. He spreads the spices on the fish using his chopsticks. "What needs to be taught? That's something even a young boy would know."

You glare at him. "In case you forgot, I didn't grow up here," and you make sure to emphasise the words, as if he would forget what they meant. "Besides, my honour and your honour might mean differently."

"That shouldn't be," he says before he takes a bite. You're sure he's content on how spicy it is because he doesn't even glance at the spice jar when you put it down.

You're not sure how to get your point across, so you start with the most uncomfortable thing you can think of: "People during my time don't kill themselves for honour, anymore."

That makes his chopsticks stop in mid-air.

"That just means," he begins, suddenly looking pensive, "That you come from a time where honor can be regained."

Ieyasu begins eating again, but his words have made you pause. “I...” you trail off with a tight feeling in your chest—then, with a burst of color, you recall 21st century Japan: modern, unique, full of opportunities. You think of your first job, fresh out of college, as a clerk in a department store, folding clothes, dreaming of cutting them up and creating something new. You think of your younger self, drawing clothes in the dark corner of a small apartment, knowing someday someone would recognize your work. You think of the day you got transported to the Sengoku, the day you felt your honor was restored because amidst all the discouragement and disbelief, you landed the job you always wanted.

That fateful day, your chest was white-hot with confidence. I'm becoming a fashion designer! But it was more than that.

That day, you felt like you could be anything.

People of the Sengoku had no opportunities to rise to the top. The chances they had in life were decided according to their social class, something unchangeable the moment they were born.

“I never thought of it that way,” you say honestly. "I feel a little silly for taking my Japan for granted."

To your surprise, Ieyasu brightens. "If yours is the future we are fighting for... then these wars are worth it. I would like to see my country have lasting peace, where people can grow and be honorable while being themselves."

The rare, soft smile on his face almost makes you cry.

You take his hand. Your throat is tight, but still you say, "We'll get there."

Ieyasu closes his eyes. His hand tightens around yours.

"Yeah."

正しい時代

Ever since you told them who the mastermind behind the assassinations were, you knew you entered uncharted waters again; a new timeline you have to live through for the first time. You stare at this new Ieyasu, the Ieyasu who proposed his intent make you his wife, and feel the fatigue of time traveling ebb away. All the moments together from this point on feel like accomplishments, and you wonder how much more you need to do in order for this to become your everyday.

Correction: now, you actually know what to do.

You present your ideas to Ieyasu, who, as always, takes working with other people with great reluctance.

"I don't understand," he tells you again, "Why we need ask help from them. They're practically the enemy."

There are many retorts you can say to this, but you choose: "They're not, in the greater scheme of things." You know choosing the high road will win an argument with Ieyasu; after all, he's always righteous... despite the thick sarcasm. "Besides, I don't know everything anymore. The more allies we have in this timeline, the better."

You squeeze his hand, trying to look casual as the two of you wander through the marketplace. Summer rains have made the ground damp and the air cold, but Azuchi is as lively as ever.

You see a familiar stall of women's accessories at the end of the merchant's row.

"Sasuke-kun! Yuki-san!"

As you approach, you see the two men turn towards your call. Sasuke does a small wave. Yukimura's eyes brighten when he sees you, but it all goes south when he spots Ieyasu.

"What the hell is he doing here?"

You hope Ieyasu won't take the bait, but he and Yukimura have always been able to get on each other's nerves even during peace negotiations. "I should be asking you that question. You're the one infiltrating Azuchi."

"Yeah, well, it's not that difficult to."

"Please. You only haven't been captured because you're not worth the time."

"What, you wanna go?"

You know you should break up the fight and tell them to behave, because there are more important things going on right now, but no anger swells in your chest. Instead, you look at Yuki’s scrunched eyebrows and at Ieyasu’s pursed frown and laugh out loud.

“I forgot how similar you two are,” is what you say first.

“W-what are you saying?!” and “Please, I’m not an idiot.” are the responses to your fond declaration. From the corner of your eye, you see Sasuke smile.

“Is this a constant?” He asks you, while Ieyasu and Yukimura bicker in the background.

You close your eyes.

Masamune. Sasuke. Yukimura.

In every repetition, you have determined who to trust.

Masamune would never betray Ieyasu.

Yukimura would never betray Sasuke.

Sasuke would never betray you.

It may be imperfect logic to determine your allies based on what the Sengoku period considers as loyalty, but you remember what Ieyasu taught you: what is honourable is the same, no matter what the situation.

You smile at Sasuke.

Maybe it works the same for a concept like friendship, too.

思い出

The clues that led you to discover Ieyasu's nemesis were scattered throughout the timelines.

In one of the your repititions, you decide to put more of an effort in understanding how Sengoku politics worked.

Perhaps, you thought, having a tactician's knowledge of how clans plotted against each other would give you an insight of who was trying to assassinate your most important person.

Mitsunari was the obvious option for a teacher. It was difficult to explain to him why you wanted such detailed backgrounds on every clan known to Japan, but when you visited him in the Azuchi library, he took the work with his usual academic enthusiasm.

"Ieyasu-sama's history is quite complicated," he begins, "He was sent by his family to become a member of the Imagawa. The Imagawa educated him, but didn't treat him as one of their own. In the end, he felt no loyalty to them, and became allied with Nobunaga-sama because when the Oda opposed the Imagawa."

You nod. You know this part by heart, thanks to Sasuke's occasional bursts of Sengoku 101 facts. Facts about Ieyasu were far by his—and, unashamedly, your—favorite. At the back of your mind, you wonder if you should have invited him when you approached Mitsunari.

"Ieyasu-sama has always been so ambitious," Mitsunari's tone is praising, but there is a mettle in his voice you cannot recognise. "His ideas and leadership prowess cannot be questioned. His strength, however, has always been his patience. He waits for the opportune moment to move. Waits for the right moment to create allies."

Mitsunari stills, and for a moment you think he will hesitate, but with the professionalism of a scholar he continues.

"He also waits for the right moment to betray them."

Every fibre in your body wants to argue, to be on the defensive. However, at this point you knew that any crack in your demeanor could work against you. Against Ieyasu. Instead of making a fit, you clench your hands and rise.

Mitsunari is not wrong.

You knew, of course, that like all clans in this era, the Tokugawa shifted through enemies and allies as fast as gamblers traded cards. Mitsunari was probably referring to the time Ieyasu had fought wars for the Imagawa before betraying them for Nobunaga.

He was called a traitor to Mikawa by many. But you knew the truth. Ieyasu loved Mikawa. His eyes were calmer when he saw the soft light of the eastern sun hit the farmlands. His eyes lit up when he saw the glittering of Aichi's sea.

Out of all his conquests, Ieyasu fought against the Imagawa because he was loyal to the people of Mikawa.

Once Ieyasu decided he would be loyal to something, you knew it in your heart—he would probably be loyal to it forever.

Turning away from Mitsunari, this certainty is what makes you finally say, "Ieyasu would never do that to the Oda."

The silence is thick until you hear him close his book. He settles it atop of the table you both used. When you glance at him, you could see the lines of a general on his face, deep wrinkles of knowledge that were not there before. When was the last time you saw his sweet angel smile, you absently think, as you watch him remove his glasses and stand.

You realise the conversation had turned dark. You decide to change the topic, hoping Mitsunari would accompany you for some afternoon sweets.

The invitation never leaves your lips.

"I believe you," he finally replies, looking you straight in the eyes, "but don't expect everyone to."

正しい時代

"Teach me," You say again, like a lifetime before, "About honour."

This time, Ieyasu's cheeks turn red. You sense his urge to brush you off, but you suppose after his proposal he realises that it would be futile to try and push you away. He lies on his back on the futon you two share and takes your hand from under the sheets.

"Right now, you're chatelaine of Azuchi," he begins, "and Nobunaga has entrusted you with not just the castle, but also the town."

"Well, that would be stretching it a bit," you reply, "He entrusted me to take care of you and the others, whom he entrusted the castle and the town to."

Ieyasu shakes his head. "He sent his will to you, and no one else. Among all of us, that makes you the bearer of his ambitions."

The weight of your role has not been put in words this clearly before, and you realise it is probably because this is the first time you've had this conversation.

Then, he continues, "You, the bearer of his will, and I, the one tasked to accomplished it... we're, well," he looks away, covers his mouth with a hand, and coughs, "involved."

You laugh. "I believe you called me your future wife."

The flush is still on his cheeks. "What? I'm not taking it back."

“And I'm not going anywhere until it happens."

He looks at you as if he didn't expect you to say that, but instead he says, "I know that." Then, still red-faced, he continues, "Anyway. The point is, we both have power in Azuchi."

"Also we're lovers."

Ieyasu sputters, but agrees. "And right now, we're probably the two most influential people in the castle."

You nod; that much was true. With everyone except Masamune back in their own domains, you and Ieyasu made all the major decisions—based on Nobunaga's will, of course.

Ieyasu was getting somewhere with this exposition. "Now, Azuchi has a farm to feed it, an army to protect it, and people to live in it. If you were to give up two of those and only leave one remaining, which one would you choose?"

"That's easy: the people, of course."

"You'd be surprised how it's not so easy for others to make that answer." Ieyasu pursed his lips. "Alright, you've chosen to protect the people. As a leader, that's honourable. What if someone you respected decided otherwise?"

"Well, that depends."

"Depends on what?"

"On who it is."

You can sense his frustration with your tangential answers, but his patience with you does not falter. Pinching his nose, Ieyasu clarifies, "What if it was Masamune? He wants to prioritise the farm."

You scoff, "I don't think he'd want to do that..." but the look on Ieyasu's face reminds you to stay on topic. "Well, I'd fight him on it."

"Good. What if it was Hideyoshi?"

"I'd still fight him on it."

"What if it was Mitsuhide?"

"I'd be scared, but I'd still fight for the people to be the most important."

Ieyasu looked pleased. From his lying position, he turns to you and curls his fingers by your cheek. Your breath hitches as he leans in. You expect intimacy, but instead, in quiet voice he continues,

"What if it was me?"

別の時代

"Run, Princess!"

Masamune's voice is shrill throughout the gunfire. Heat from the flames burn your skin and your senses are overwhelmed by desperation.

"Ieyasu," you're able to shout, "Where's Ieyasu?"

It's not the first time you've been in the heart of a battlefield, but the fatigue is catching up to you. The hands that hold your bow and arrow are shaking, and your lungs feel like they're grating against your ribcage.

Your eyes dart around the area quickly. The smoke is so thick, you can barely see past what your hand can reach.

Panic slowly fills up in your chest.

You're not ready to give up this timeline, you think. You don't want to go through Ieyasu dying again.

"Are you okay?"

Sasuke suddenly appears next to you, kunai at the ready. He casually throws a knife to an enemy soldier five feet away; the knife lodges in the man's forehead, and he drops dead. "Did you get separated from Ieyasu?"

You nod. "When the first gunshot blew up the carriage, he pushed me out of the way. I was with Masamune for a while, but..."

You don't need to say anything more. Sasuke takes your hand and pulls you from the battlefield, into a small clearing covered by trees.

"The next wormhole will appear in Rinzaiji Temple in three days," he says matter-of-factly. As if you were conversing in a safe place, Sasuke cautiously removes his glasses and wipes them against his gi. "If you leave now, you will make it in time."

The suggestion is logical, but you instinctively rebel against it. "We're not even sure if Ieyasu is dead yet," you grit out. "We're so close, Sasuke. Just a little more, and I think I can find out who—"

Several gunshots interrupt your thought, and your head snaps back to the carnage.

You will forever remember that moment. How, with lightning clarity, you saw him. The smoke and the flames parted, and by some god's will there was a straight path from you to Ieyasu. Everything else was white noise. Suddenly nothing else mattered.

You take in his outline: his arm is bent in an odd angle and there is blood spilling from his shoulder. His hands are empty and his sword is nowhere to be found.

He got shot, is what you first think, and your knees automatically brace for a run.

"Princess," Sasuke holds you back, "This timeline may be a lost cause."

You rip your arm away from his grip. "Even if that may be true, I can't just leave Ieyasu."

"The statistical chances of saving him right now are close to zero. However, if we proceed to Rinzaiji and you time jump, we start on a clean slate."

A part of you is angry you are wasting time conversing with Sasuke, but the experienced time traveler in you rationalises the idea.

Before you are able to process any decision, however, you notice there has been a change in the background noise of the battle. A part of the field has gone quiet, and you see three samurai on horses approach Ieyasu.

You feel yourself go cold. "Who... who is that?"

They carried Nobunaga's flag and wore armour so black they would blend in with the night. Their kabuto helmets were the color of a dark void. Their outlines would have been unfamiliar, but you lived long enough in Azuchi to recognise mannerisms and movements.

Your heart cannot believe who they are, but your mind acknowledges it to be true.

You can see Ieyasu's lips moving, can see the proud tilt of his chin stay firm as he speaks to his enemy. His opposite hand is attempting to compress the wound on his shoulder, but the blood gushes out of its own accord, dripping down to the soil. Despite this, he stands up with all the regality and grace you have come to know him for.

Sasuke senses the danger that you refuse to acknowledge. "I do not advise we stay around to watch," his voice is soft as he takes your hand. He attempts to guide you away, but it lacks his actual strength. You imagine he also cannot tear his eyes away.

As the next events unfold, you think of a million things.

Maybe it would be different if you listened to your heart minutes earlier.

Maybe this timeline was the one you shouldn't have given up on.

Maybe you could've saved him.

Maybe this time, Ieyasu could've lived.

You wish you could say you ran to him. You wish you could say you broke through the bushes and tried to stop what was about to happen.

But you did nothing.

One of the samurai drew his sword.

正しい時代

"What if it was me?"

You're not sure if this is a trick question. You and Ieyasu have always been similar-minded when it came to policies, and it was rare you disagreed with each other in a war council.

"I would convince you to see my point," you answer finally.

He shook his head. "Negotiations are noble, but often fruitless. And if I stood my ground?"

You lean into his touch. You're not sure what he wants to prove, but your answer is set.

"I am your future wife. If you go astray, it is my duty to protect the integrity of your ambitions."

If Ieyasu is shocked by your answer, he doesn't show it. Instead he smiles, and it is gentle and true, so much like when he brought you on the flower field and admitted he loved you.

He kisses your forehead.

"Good."

思い出

Everything was a blur after, when you ran towards Rinzaiji, towards the wormhole.

Still, you remember screaming when Hideyoshi took Ieyasu's head.

[/Chapter 2]

[Prologue] [Chapter 1]

#ikemen sengoku #ikemen sengoku fanfiction #fanfiction #tokugawa ieyasu #sarutobi sasuke #date masamune #ishida mitsunari #sanada yukimura #toyotomi hideyoshi #ikesen #cybird #the inevitable correction of treading through time #psychedelic aya #aya writes

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aliceslantern · 4 years ago

Text

Grow, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 2

Suddenly human and abandoned in the Keyblade Graveyard, Demyx struggles to survive and come to terms with what his life is. Only by chance is he saved from exposure, and brought to Radiant Garden to recover. Unsure of who he is and where to even begin, Demyx finds a kindred spirit in Ienzo, and before long finds perhaps he isn't the only one lost in this new life. But how can they move forward with so much holding them back?

Roughly canonverse, Zemyx, hurt/comfort. Started for Zemyx day (9/6). Updates Wednesdays until it's done.

Chapter summary: Demyx begins to recover from his ordeal, and plan for whatever comes next.

Read it in FF.net/on AO3

---

Dark, for a long time, actually.

What he was aware of first was the pain. His muscles and back were screaming, forcing his eyes open. There was so much to take in he actively had trouble sorting all the stimuli.

Pain, a bed, cool air, a window with white curtains. Something pinching his hand, a plastic lead. A tube?

Demyx thought he saw a person. His eyesight was weak, and he squinted. White coat, slate-gray hair. Was this all another hallucination? He tried to sit up, but it was so painful he just flopped back down weakly.

The person turned. “Oh, you’re awake,” he heard. They crossed over to him, and Demyx could see the vague outlines of Zexion’s face.

“Zex?” He cleared his throat. “Zexion? No…” He coughed a little. “Ienzo… I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“Are you real?”

“Yes, I’m very real. Much to my chagrin.”

“Am I dead?”

“No. Not quite.”

Demyx thought. His mind seemed slow to process information. But if he were dead, why would he be in so much pain? “H-hurts…”

“I’m sure it must. Do you want me to get you something for the pain?”

He looked at the ceiling, trying to decide. Did he want to try and clear his head? Or did he want the agony to stop? “Okay.”

Hazily, Demyx watched him get up, cross over to a cabinet, pull out a blob (a vial?) and what had to be a syringe. Demyx felt something stinging injected into his hand, and a few moments later the pain began to subside to a throb. His vision was still not quite clear. “Is that better?”

“T-thanks…” It was difficult to speak. “W-where--?”

“Radiant Garden. Isa and Lea brought you in here in a panic. They were looking for clues to help Sora in the Keyblade Graveyard. You were horrifically dehydrated. Your kidneys failed, and Even suspects you may have had a seizure at some point--”

“...Yikes.”

Ienzo chuckled a little. ““Yikes” is right. You’ve been unconscious a few days--we were worried at first you might not wake at all. But then you started to rebound.”

“I’m… a-alive?”

“Yes.”

For a moment, Demyx just looked up at the ceiling. “Now what,” he murmured.

He thought he saw Ienzo smile. “Recovery,” he said. “It’ll probably be a while before you feel fully back to yourself.” A sigh. “And there may yet be lingering effects.”

“Like… what?”

He shook his head. “Even would have to examine you to be sure.”

“Am I human?”

Ienzo knotted his hands together. “Yes. Perhaps not yet technically fully--the data is still inconclusive. It is only you and Even who are going through this. Right now, it is imperative you rest, receive enough fluids, and try not to get too anxious.”

“Even.” Demyx tasted the name. “You mean Vexen?”

“His Somebody, yes. Which reminds me. What is your name?”

He hesitated, and strained to think. But it was like hitting a mental brick wall. Demyx couldn’t remember; he suspected he hadn’t been able to for a long time. “I… I don’t know.”

He thought he saw surprise on Ienzo’s face. Then, “perhaps… you’re simply disoriented, with all that your being has experienced. It may come back to you.”

He was feeling tired again, now that the pain was subsiding.

"...Why don't you get some rest," Ienzo suggested.

"Okay."

Ienzo got up and headed towards the door.

"Zex?"

"...Yes?"

"Thanks."

A sigh. Demyx could not read his expression. "Sure, Demyx."

---

Demyx dipped in and out of sleep for a long time. When he woke up for real, he was less sore, but he was shaky and somewhat nauseous. His vision was still weird--did his Somebody just need glasses?-- and he squinted hard. He felt sticky and gross. Maybe they'd let him take a shower. How much time had he lost? He got up slowly. With the IV, it was hard to maneuver, but he was able to peek out the window, to the town of Radiant Garden below. He'd been changed into loose linen pajamas. His body felt odd; he flexed his hands. He had to have lost some weight.

"...Oh, good, you're able to get up."

Even's voice startled him; he gasped aloud and his heart gave a weird, quivery beat. "Frightened you, did I? My apologies. Here, sit." He gently eased Demyx back onto the bed and took his pulse with two cold fingers. "...That was all quite hard on you, wasn't it?"

"I don't feel well."

"Of course you don't. I'd be shocked if you did," Even said. He felt at the glands on Demyx's throat. "It's a miracle you were found. A few hours later and you would've been no more." He took a pen light out of his jacket and tracked Demyx's eyes for a moment. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Sore. My eyesight's kinda funky."

"The soreness is part of the dehydration. It should pass in a few days. I'm more concerned about your kidney functioning. It's improving, but it's not where it should be. Eyesight… well, that could possibly be again due to the kidneys, but you might've naturally needed glasses anyway. Strange problems the Nobody status hides. We'll keep an eye on it, pardon the pun. There's some medication I want you to take daily and you must rest . I'm sure you need no excuse to be lazy." He scoffed a little.

"Why did you save me?"

Even seemed genuinely confused by the question. "Was I to let you die, then?"

"I just…"

"You helped me," Even said. "But regardless I think that you being another living thing is reason enough."

Demyx felt his eyes watering.

Even sighed. "At some point we must let past conflicts lie."

"You became human like me."

"Ah… yes."

"Did you forget things?"

Even cocked his head. "No," he said slowly. "What can't you remember?"

"A lot of things. ...My name."

Even stared deeply into his eyes, as though looking for something. "Of course brain damage is possible with dehydration but--"

" Whoa, wait, what--"

"--but I don't think you've experienced anything that extensive. Perhaps… it could be…" He put a hand to his chin. "...I so wish I had access to a working MRI…"

Demyx swallowed.

"You're stable enough to be talking to me, at least," Even said quickly. "We will look into what we have." A pause. "Do you know how long you were there alone? What happened?"

Demyx explained about Xigbar. "He broke the phone so I couldn't call you guys. And then he knocked me out so I couldn't escape in time. I had no power-- I couldn't…" His eyes were watering again, and he felt it break free.

"It is traumatizing," Even said, almost gently. The gentleness was so jarring Demyx started crying in earnest, pressing a hand to his mouth. "Surviving such a thing and dealing with this new humanity on your own."

"I'm pathetic."

A sigh. "No, you're not. How long were you there alone, Demyx?"

He tried to remember. "At least three days… after that it's hard to remember. I… I knew I was going to die…" the tears were hot on his face. "He left me there to die."

Even sighed. "Leaving it to the fates," he muttered. "Alas, you seem to be lucky."

"Ha. Hardly. It's total coincidence they found me."

Even hummed. "You're alive now, whatever that means to you."

"What do I do ?"

"I'm afraid you must answer that question for yourself." He stood. "Do you feel up to trying to eat?"

"...I guess."

"I'll get you something light." He left.

Demyx considered the interaction, hiccuping. Even had never been so kind to him before. Was this because of the vessels? Or did humanity just make him different ?

He looked at his hands blurrily. "Am I different?" He asked out loud. He had a new lease on life, free of Xemnas and Xehanort and he was dubiously human. Everything he'd ever wanted. But it was a hollow victory.

He lay back down. Even brought him rice, and he was able to keep it down. The man didn't want to remove the IV line just yet, and Demyx was feeling vaguely tethered. He said he could shower, though, so gladly Demyx did, shedding days of desert. He almost started to panic when he saw clumps of hair gathered in the drain, but Even reassured him through the door it was a stress reaction and the hair would likely come back.

He'd never been so painfully aware of his body, its aches and pains. Shouldn't have been proud of himself for being able to go to the bathroom, or found so much pleasure in brushing his teeth. Once he was clean and dressed (in clothes other than a cloak?) he returned to his bed, exhausted already.

"Lea wants to see you," Even told him. Demyx thought he saw his jaw tense, a glint of fear in his eye--but why? "Would you even want that?"

He shrugged. "I owe the guy a thanks, at least."

Even sighed and put a hand to his brow. "Alright."

A few minutes later Lea bounded in, followed by Isa. They weren't wearing black cloaks after all, just black clothes. "Good to see you're okay," Lea said, grasping his hand. He almost looked like he would move in for a hug. "That was scary. "

"Sorry for going all zombie on you," Demyx said. He found it hard to meet his eyes. "And… thanks for saving me." He bit his lip. "You didn't have to."

"As though we would leave you to die?" Isa said levelly. It was odd to see his teal eyes. "I think I owed you ."

Demyx scoffed. "For carrying two empty dolls?"

"For taking the initiative. As it were."

Lea slung an arm around Isa. "It's because of you that Roxas is up and about. We gotta thank you for that."

Demyx shook his head. The praise didn't feel good. He just felt weepy again.

Lea sat next to him on the bed. "You alright?" He asked a bit more softly. "The eggheads treating you okay?"

"Everyone's been… really nice," he said. "I don't get it."

"Humanity has afforded clarity," Isa said in a low voice. "None of us treated you very well."

"Because I was a bastard."

Lea snorted. "I think we all were. 'Sides, you were only a pest at the absolute worst."

His lips twitched in a hesitant smile.

"It seems you have quite a story to tell," Isa said.

The smile faltered.

"Only if you wish. I imagine it was very difficult."

Demyx took a deep breath. "I felt pulled there," he admitted. "The… graveyard? Then Xigbar showed up--"

Lea put up a hand. "Wait, wait, wait, he's alive? "

Demyx frowned. "Yeah."

He groaned. "He must've faked us out."

Demyx touched his chest. "When Xehanort died both Even and me lost his heart. The same must've happened to him."

"It's still worth bringing up to Riku and the others," Isa said to Lea.

"I don't know where he went," Demyx said honestly. "He knocked me out, broke my phone. So when I woke up I was human."

"And trapped." Isa shook his head. "A sadist way to go out."

"Yeah. I sort of… wandered, just trying to find water, and then you guys found me. But not before I got all sorts of fucked up."

"We weren't sure you would make it," Lea said. "You stopped breathing a couple times on the trip over."

"I did?"

Isa nodded. "Never have I missed the corridors more. But we're… human."

"I really owe you one," Demyx admitted to his lap.

"Think nothing of it."

"What will you do now?" Isa asked.

"I have no idea," Demyx admitted. "I… never thought I'd get this far."

Lea chuckled. "Well, it's nice here, and it's nice in Twilight Town. Feel it out. I think our landlord had an empty apartment in the building."

"You guys have an apartment? In a building? In a town?" He sighed. "Why does that feel weird?"

Isa smiled. "It does, doesn't it?"

"Am I going to have to get a job?" He asked, and groaned.

Lea laughed. "At least you can pick it this time."

"And not until you're well," Isa added. "Take your time recovering."

"...I'll try."

Lea patted his shoulder. "We gotta go. Just wanted to check in on you, is all."

"...Thanks."

"Ienzo has our numbers. Give me a call."

Demyx watched them leave. Their faces seemed pleasant until they were in the hallway, and he heard-- “... Xigbar. I knew it couldn’t be that easy.”

Demyx decided not to worry about it, because he was feeling tired again. He lay back down and went to sleep.

#grow #demyx #ienzo #zemyx #even (kingdom hearts)#lea (kingdom hearts)#isa (kingdom hearts)

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fairly-small-love · 5 years ago

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Fairly Small Asks (15)

just-some-gt-trash asked: I’ve been trying to tell them to not hurt you and they didn’t listen, why do you think it’ll be any different if I tell them to free you so that you could shrink them and capture them again

“Cause they are mine! Tell them now!”

Dee’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out. “So the votes are in and-”

“Can we slice off his wings!?” Roman squeaked, his mouth full of the delicious pizza.

“We cannot. The majority voted no,” he explained, shrugging. “Oh well, I guess we will have to wait.”

“Dammit.”

AN: Thank you too: @just-some-gt-trash , @poppyflowerlesbian666, @tiny-peter-rabbit, Lupis (Wolf Anon), and Ghosty (Ghost Anon) for voting!

Anonymous asked: Patton, buddy, that's not going to happen. You know the way you're feeling right now? The fear and anger? You made them all feel that way for a long, LONG time. You're lucky they're having so much restraint. You're lucky you that you aren't dead yet. -👻

“I want them to be mine!” Patton hissed, pushing the jar towards the edge. “I am done! I want them I want them I want them now! They need to be punished and they were bad!”

Anonymous asked: Dude, i am late to the party. But things seem a liiiiil messed up. What did i miss? 🍭

An: A Lot. A whole, whole……WHOLE Lot

Anonymous asked: There's nothing you can do. You have been set apart from the rest of your kind, but you are not the first, nor is this a damnation. You are not alone and still have people who are willing to stand by you, some even share your fate and understand. And if a human life weighs heavy on you, then my halls will always welcome another ~ 🍁

“T-thank you….I think,” Virgil mumbled, sighing. “And I’m not like you…..I’m a dirty, dirty halfbreed.” he mumbled, rubbing his ears, which were slowly growing pointier. He tensed, fighting back tears. “What am I gonna do?”

just-some-gt-trash asked: But they won’t listen *sighs* at least be grateful they’re not going to slice off your wings yet Pat

“I want them now!” He hissed, giving it a hard shove and knocking the jar off the counter.

just-some-gt-trash asked: Oh shit, guys you should check on Patton

“Why?” Roman mumbled, sighing. “I don’t even like him.”

Anonymous asked: You think you are the only half breed? There is a reason i do not fall sway to fae charms. I am both one of them and yet not. And people like us, dear Virgil. We forge our OWN paths. We do what we can to make some good where we go ~ 🍁

“That is true I guess……..You’re okay, Riddler,” he mumbled, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I……I can’t believe I fell for Patton’s charms, I’m an idiot.”

Anonymous asked: Um... Hate to tell you guys, but your pixie dude just took a dive 🍭

“W-what?” Dee asked, running to the kitchen.

The jar smashed against the ground, covering Patton in shards.

Anonymous asked: NO IMP. IT IS YOU WHO HAVE BEEN BAD. You test my patience. Are you incapable of even basic empathy? -👻

“I am not bad!” Patton squeaked, trying to get the shards off of him.

Anonymous asked: What happened to Patton!? - 💚

“N-Nothing!” Patton squeaked, whimpering when the glass cut and tore open his wings.

Anonymous asked: Patton? I don’t want them to hurt you, but what you did really hurt them, very badly. You remember when you threw Virgil to the wall? Now think about it that happened to you at your size. Wouldn’t it really hurt?-💚

“I’m allowed to h-hurt them! They are mine to do as I please!”

Anonymous asked: Guys morality broke the jar don’t let him escape 🐺

“On it!” Dee cried diving down and grabbing Patton up in a towel. He didn’t want to get cut by the glass after all.

Anonymous asked: Patton you couldn’t possibly have thought that was a good idea right? 🐺

“I don’t care!” He squeaked, thrashing and cutting his wings open more. At this point were they even wings?

just-some-gt-trash asked: It’s not that you’re entirely bad, you just do bad things, and you don’t even realize when you do them, and that’s bad

“Shut up!” Patton cried out, yelping when the towel was pulled away.

“Guys?” Dee mumbled, looking at the torn wings. “We…..might have to cut them off anyways.”

Anonymous asked: People aren’t pets or possessions Patton. 🐺

“Yes they are! The are mine!”

just-some-gt-trash asked: I won't! Not this time! It doesn't matter if I care about you, you need to understand, what you dis was wrong and hurt them, you probably even traumatized them!

“Shut up!” Patton cried out, sniffling. “I-I NO!”

Dee had Laid Patton out on the counter, his back up in the air. “Roman, get me the scissors please.”

just-some-gt-trash asked: Pat... ngh, I don't want to argue with you right now, They're about to cut your wings...

“Stop them! Stop them!” He sobbed, thrashing and squirming around.

Roman handed Dee the scissors, humming. “I thought we took a vote?”

“We did, but if We don’t take them off now they will get infected. And in my…..personal experience, wings are too fragile to bandage.”

Virgil started back to the house, just wanting to get home.

just-some-gt-trash asked: Patton, they're already torn, there's not much they can do, the best option is to cut them

“No No No No No!” Patton screamed out, but it was too late. Dee took the scissors and, with careful precision, snipped them off.

Anonymous asked: Virgil, please, Goldenleaf. And his charms ARE almost irresistible, especially when he uses you weaknesses against you. He is a master manipulator. You either have to be very old or very wise to the ways of the fae to resist ~ 🍁

“Yeah that is true…..still gonna call you the Riddler till you speak-” He heard a loud scream, causing him to run into the kitchen. There were torn fairy wings on the counter, a crying Patton, Dee, who looked pleased with himself, and Roman and Logan, who both wore matching smirks.

just-some-gt-trash asked: Okay, they're off, are you happy now?

“Very,” Roman purred, nuzzling closer to Logan. Logan, who never usually liked physical touch, wrapped an arm around Roman.

“Extremely pleased.”

Dee shrugged, looking at his nails. “Had to be done……but I am also satisfied as well.”

Virgil watched as Patton screamed louder when Dee put the shredded wings into a plastic baggie. “W-What the fuck?” Morality shut up!” He snapped, sighing in relief when Patton went deathly quiet.

Anonymous asked: Haaaaa! Dude! He looks like a borrower now! You know you can probably just stick some bug wings on him and he'll be fine, right? 🍭

“A what? And no, it doesn’t work like that sadly,” Dee mumbled, humming. “I suppose that he will have to walk everywhere from now on…..shame.” He didn’t sound sorry at all.

Anonymous asked: Are all humans this messed up? Because yeah, you want to get payback, and he sort of shredded his wings on his own first but... you don’t have to look so happy about it. 🐺

“You try being murdered a million times by a giant winged prick. Then you tell me we are messed up,” Roman snapped, hissing. “He took me away from my family! I had a little sister you know! And guess what? She’s dead!”

just-some-gt-trash asked: Virgil? Isn't this what you wanted?

“I-I mean yeah but I……..I kinda didn’t,” He mumbled, cringing. “W-What the fuck do we do with him now?”

Anonymous asked: Can we glue some on anyways and see what happens? For "science"? 🍭

Dee shrugged, grabbing Patton and washing him off with cold water. “Maybe, we will see. But for now, I’m done with him.” He dropped Patton into another jar, a plastic one. Then he put a giant phone book on top it.

just-some-gt-trash asked: The only option that I see is to keep him as a pet, take him back to the fae realm is dangerous

“That is true…..but if we take him back he is out of our hair. Fucking fae, jesus,” Roman mumbled, his confusion growing with Virgil flinched violently. “What?”

“N-Nothing!”

just-some-gt-trash asked: By the way, Virge do you feel better?

“I feel…..well I’m alive,” Virgil mumbled, shrugging. “And I blew off some steam so…I’m better.”

Anonymous asked: *sigh* Look... if you continue to put him through pointless suffering, without any regard for what will happen, you may lose your humanity. And that is something that you can’t let happen. 🐺

“We won’t………and what will happen if we keep this up?” Dee asked, curiously, sighing. “Red, blue. If you too could like…….chill with the lovey dovey shit for a second I will take you to your room.”

Anonymous asked: There are ways to fix him. But whether he deserves it is a different matter. He will be alright as he is. Despite his complaining ~ 🍁

“What are the ways to fix him?” Dee asked, taking Virgil’s hand and dragging him along as he lead Roman and Logan to his room.

“You know we have names, right?” Logan asked, sighing. “I’m Logan and my companion is Roman.”

Anonymous asked: I'm just waiting till Roman and Logan are introduced to the internet

“Who’s the internet?” Roman asked, cocking his head to the side. “Are they nice?”

just-some-gt-trash asked: *smiles* I'm glad, oh Roman, I just remembered, there are some sites online that allow you to search for relatives, in case you want to know about your family, Dee and Virgil can explain the wifi to you

“R-really?” Roman asked, looking up. “D-Do you…think anyone remembers me?”

Anonymous asked: (Psst, goldy, you aren’t talking about That, are you?) Do you guys think it’s best to leave Patton alone again? 🐺

“Why shouldn’t we?” Dee asked, dropping Logan and Roman off in their new room. “I mean, the jar is plastic. and He can’t go anywhere because the idiot had to get his wings removed.”

Anonymous asked: Oh dear, this is quite a dilemma. Patton dear, I know you can't currently speak but remember when I asked you if you can feel pain? You know the situation you're in right now? Lorded over by beings far larger than you? In constant pain? You feel pain and so did they. They were scared and trapped and HURT for so, so, long. You're scared now. I can tell. Stop behaving like an impetuous child, ignoring our words. Learn and grow and maybe, just maybe you'll eventually earn forgiveness someday.-👻

Patton glared and he waved the spirit away. He turned his back, pouting and kicking at the jar to try and get out.

Anonymous asked: I know your names, dear ones. I try not to use them overmuch in case i cause discomfort on your part. One of magyck with the knowledge could easily mend him. But as i said. He must redeem himself to your satisfaction first. Until then he is fine, it is painful at first, but it does not last ~ 🍁

“….Yeah no way in hell can he do that,” Roman hissed, flopping onto the massive bed in the room. “If given the chance he would turn us into his little dolls again. Fuck that.”

Anonymous asked: Roman, Logan, take my advice. Stay away from the internet. 🐺

“Who’s the internet and why do you hate them so!?” Roman whined, pouting. “Come on, they can’t be that bad, right?”

Anonymous asked: The internet is made up of millions of separate sentient beings. Some are kind where as others... not so much. So much information that is better left alone is thrown in your face. Just... don’t bother. If anything let Dee and Virgil deal with it. They have more experience. 🐺

“Okay! Jeez the internet sounds really neat! I still wanna meet them…..and ask them not to throw things in my face.”

Anonymous asked: Also Roman it’s possible your family passed down stories of you. My family has a famous story about my great-great-great-great-great grandfather who fled his homeland because he thought he killed someone. Only to become extremely successful in other lands and eventually find out that the person he thought he killed wasn’t who he thought he was but also didn’t die. 🐺

“R-Really?” Roman asked, his heart swelling with hope. Maybe he wasn’t forgotten!

just-some-gt-trash asked: I don’t know if anyone remembers you... but some families talk to the young ones about their ancestors, an when they grow up they pass that knowledge to the next generation

Am I really worth talking about?” Roman asked hesitantly, biting his lip. “I….don’t really think so.”

Anonymous asked: It is up to you when his punishment is complete, dear Roman, i will not sway you either way. Justice is in your hands now ~ 🍁

“I will take justice!” Roman called out, huffing. “I will take justice for everything he did to me.”

Anonymous asked: Uh- woah. What exactly is going on here? -❄️

“Hell if I know,” Virgil mumbled, shaking his head. “What I do know, Is that Dee’s bed is comfy as hell.”

Anonymous asked: I remember my grandma talking me about her cousin Logan! She said he was the smartest person she knew!

“I don’t believe I had any cousins. My mother and father were only children I’m sorry to say….but thank you for trying.” Logan gave a small smile, nodding. “I have accepted the fact that I am forgotten, I accepted it long ago. I just hope that….with this second chance at life I make something of myself…..even if I can not be myself to do it.”

Anonymous asked: My pal, the internet is both awesome and horrifying, i spend most my time there. Plus, take it from me, friendo, you get used to being forgotten 😝 🍭

“I don’t want to be forgotten though,” Roman mumbled, sighing. “I wanna be remembered.”

Anonymous asked: How are all your sudden house guests doing, Dee? 🐺

“I think Roman and Logan are alright…..they aren’t yelling.” He reached over, running a hand through Virgil’s hair. “Virgil is fast asleep….poor raccoon,” he mumbled fondly, sighing. “And Patton is……in the jar where he belongs.”

Anonymous asked: Just be sure not to go too far. But you will find he is still quite resilient. And worry not, Logan. People are not so easily forgotten, and you shall make new memories with those around you ~ 🍁

Logan flushed, nodding. “I-I well I suppose that’s true…….makes sense.”

just-some-gt-trash asked: The internet is also a way of communication and entertainment, yeah some of it is weird and maybe dangerous, but most of it is fun and interesting, you can now things that are happening at the other end of the world in a matter of seconds!

“Oh gods the internet is cool! Make Virgil and Dee show me! I wanna see!”

just-some-gt-trash asked: Dee what do you say? Do you want to show them?

“Maybe tomorrow….for now I would like to rest.” He laid down, letting Virgil grab onto him, hugging him like a teddy bear. It was almost as if he knew Virgil was a sleep cuddler.

just-some-gt-trash asked: Roman Logan, are you tired too?

“Very,” Roman mumbled, flopping down with his face in a pillow. “This is like a fucking cloud.” Logan sighed, carefully climbing into bed. “It’s okay I suppose……better than what Patton gave us.”

Anonymous asked: What’s the plan for tomorrow? 🐺

Dee shrugged, sighing. “I dunno……feed them that’s for sure. Maybe make documents for Roman and Logan……so they can actually get jobs and shit…….or maybe not.”

Anonymous asked: Awww frick yeah! Sleepy sleep time! *yeets self onto a pillow* 🍭

Dee shook his head, an amused smirk on his face. “I’m glad you seem to enjoy my….pillows. But yes, it is sleepy time.”

Anonymous asked: They should be given the opportunity to decide their future. I am not so sure, however, how well they shall adjust to the modern world ~ 🍁

“I know, I know that……I’m just scared they would like…..get hit by a car or something……or get sent to a mental hospital.”

Anonymous asked: GAVE you Logan. You aren’t it that situation anymore. You can have a real life now! A full life! With happy feelings!! -💚

“Can We?” Logan asked, looking up. “Can we all honestly have a real life….a good life in a time period that isn’t our own?”

roseof-alltrades3 asked: Of course you can have a good life! You're all incredibly adaptive, resourceful, smart people! It might take a while but I'm sure you can do it!

“But we have no knowledge of anything. Roman doesn’t even understand what the internet is!”

just-some-gt-trash asked: You'll get used to it, and Virgil and Dee will help you right?

“I hope they will……or at least I hope they don’t get sick of us.”

just-some-gt-trash asked: I’m sure they wont, and we’re here to help too

“Thank you,” Dee mumbled, before he tensed. “Thank you for the offer but I can’t accept. This is my responsibility now.”

Anonymous asked: There’s been a ton of scientific discoveries since Logan was taken. We even have a picture of a black hole. But I hate to tell you Roman that almost no one uses swords anymore. Unfortunately. 🐺

“A picture of a black hole!?” Logan asked, his eyes wide. “You’re joking!”

Roman groaned, flopping back. “I will bring it back! It is called……trending, right? Logan tried to teach me about that once….he failed.”

((An: So Sorry about the disappearance, I had so much school work))

Anonymous asked: You have friends around to help you, dear ones. You will find a way to live again, rather than just survive ~ 🍁

“Is that possible when me and Roman are supposed to be dead?” Logan asked, but he felt a soft blooming in his chest. Maybe there is a bit of hope.

Anonymous asked: It'll be fiiiiiine, dudes. The world's changed a lot but it's better than living in a box, eh? 🍭

“Yeah I guess,” Logan mumbled, sighing. “I just……I hope that somewhere, somehow me and Roman find a place where we can be happy.”

#afsl #infinitesimal!sides #infinitesimal sides #Tiny!Virgil #tiny!patton #tiny!roman #tiny!logan #tiny!deceit #giant!patton #giant!logan #giant!virgil #giant!roman #giant!deceit #fae!patton

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