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thefallenbibliophilequote · 3 years

Text

The Asgardian Way

Loki x Reader

Summary: you get your period on the most unfortunate time- on date night with Loki. Embarrassed as you are of the topic from past experiences with boyfriends, Loki shows you that unlike mortal men- Asgardians view this time of the month for women in a much better way.

Word count: 1,849

Warnings: period talk, fluff, shade on Christianity, some shade on human men, Loki being the ideal boyfriend we all deserve.

A/N: this was requested by @the-departed-potato and while I do not take requests I just really had to do this one because this was like just perfect for me specifically to do. Sorry it took so long! Sorry if this sucks!😅 I also truly had to hold myself back from giving even more shade on Christians of old times because damn I could write a whole essay about those people and how they spread misinformation that changed real history to fake mainly bc of witchcraft. This is not beta read so all mistakes are by yours truly!

No one is allowed to repost my writing or steal or copy my work! Reblog on tumblr is fine.

Masterlist

It's been going on for months now, the shameless flirting, the gentleman behaviour, and the devious looks he sent your way that completely contradicted his actions and left you a blushing mess even when he only opened the door for you- then he would wink at you.

It wasn't until one night that you gathered up courage to ask him out.

You were staying late at the Avengers Tower, you wanted to finish working on the new gadget you had built with Tony at the lab so he sent you to bring the two of you some coffee- he knew it was useless to tell you to go home and sleep- last time he tried to do it you called him a hypocrite and conditioned one of his suits to blast him if he gets close to you. You found it hilarious. He made sure to update the security of his code.

You went to the kitchen when you happened to overhear a conversation of two gods.

"Why have you not taken her on a date yet, brother?"

"I wish to court her properly, she deserves to be treated like a lady." You heard Loki respond to his brother. You leaned on the wall, trying not to get hopeful and to get the butterflies to calm down.

"Y/N is a fine lady, however, I heard from Stark that midgardian women might mistake courting like ours as mere jest." You smiled a bit at the scoff they both let out.

"Mortals continue to baffle me." Came Loki's comment, before Thor continued- not letting the subject go.

"Ask her on a date, I'm sure she will appreciate it." He encouraged his brother who wasn't as sure.

"I think, brother, that she is different- she will appreciate the old delicate arts of courting." He was not wrong- you were always old fashioned. But now at his admission, you stepped out of the shadows and into their view.

"While I do appreciate the courting, I'd love it if you would ask me out." Loki turned around at the sound of your voice.

"How long have you been standing there, darling?" he fidgeted with his hair.

"Long enough," you stepped down the stairs to stand in front of him. "What do you say about this Friday night at six? There is an art exhibit at the museum, I think you'll like calling out all the inaccuracies."

"Yeah, I'd like that." He gave you a small shy smile, and you completely forgot about Thor who stood on the side, watching it all unfold.

"This is great," he said. "You two are finally going on that date, see brother I told you-"

Thor stopped when he looked at Loki who sent him daggers at ruining the moment. You only chuckled.

"I have to go get Tony and I some drinks, so I guess I will see you then." You were about to turn around to head towards the kitchen when Loki took your hand in his, making you turn around, then he kissed the back of your hand lightly, bowing with a small smile at the blush on your cheeks.

"I look forward to it."

It took you a couple of second to function after he did that, mumbling a quiet goodbye you turned around and refused to look back at the smirking god.

•

You have gone with the god for a couple of dates now and then, sometimes you didn't see him for a whole week because of meetings in Asgard and while you were sad that you didn't get to see him-you were glad he was gone on that exact week every time.

You have been seeing him for about 2-3 months now and it was great- up until your period decided to come early. Right on your scheduled date.

You were nervously pacing your apartment thinking how to tell Loki that you can't go out with him tonight. You didn't want him to see you like this- he is a god, and you- you are a mortal woman who was having trouble getting out of bed because your body decided to punish you for not being pregnant this month.

Your body was so sexist.

Suddenly, a knock on the door.

Groaning, you got out of bed and headed for the door, checking who was there you were puzzled when you saw Loki there, dressed to the nines. Surely you didn't waste so much time, he must be early.

"Dear, are you okay there?" he called you.

"Yes, I'm fine- just a moment!" you tried to make yourself look presentable in a rush just so you could open the door to the dashing prince who was awaiting you.

You opened the door with a smile, which he returned.

You were used to acting like you were okay while your cramps were killing you from the inside but it seems like the god of lies could not be so easily fooled.

"Hi Loki, I was not expecting you this early." You laughed courtly, "And I was actually meaning to call- I'm not feeling so well today, I'm afraid I have to postpone our date tonight."

Loki walked into your apartment, kissing you on the cheek before pulling back to study you.

"I wanted to see you sooner, so here I am. But now that I am here- well tell me what is wrong, dearest?" he frowned when he saw you slightly clench your fists.

"Oh, I'm just not feeling well, I won't be good company and I won't be able to enjoy a lovely night with you I'm afraid."

"I'm a healer my love; you always seem to forget my magic," he smirked slightly causing you to laugh- which was not good right now for you.

"I remember your magic powers very well when you prank me." You countered. "But no, this is not something you need to worry about."

He reached out and took your hand with a small laugh. The door locked itself with a wave of his hand as he took you to the couch.

"I'm afraid you will have to do better than that to fool the god of lies." He took both of your hands in his and you were sure he could see your embarrassment with the way he was gazing into your eyes, "Now tell me, what is wrong?"

"You really don't need to- it's kind of embarrassing-" you started to mumble, lowering your head.

"I'm still here, aren't I? What kind of man will I be if I am not taking care of those I care about?"

You pulled your hands away from him, embarrassed as you mumbled something he couldn't quite put together.

"What was that?"

"I'm on my period." You closed your eyes- not wanting to see his disgusted look. "See, so you don't need to be here, I can take care of it myself and we can reschedule our date to a week from now."

It was not a problem to you- you knew the drill- but having to explain it to a clueless god felt humiliating to say the least.

"Is that all? Why didn't you tell me sooner?" You opened your eyes to a puzzled god.

"Because it would make you uncomfortable," you replied, suspicious of his reaction.

"Why on Odin's beard would it make me uncomfortable?" He frowned at you and looked you over. He started peppering kisses on your hands.

"Because it is my period?" You knew he is a god, but maybe asgardians women didn't get that. "Here on earth, men tend to be disgusted by it, they don't like to get involved in it or talk about it."

He huffed out in surprised anger- that you did not expect. The god in front of you did not know how human males could be so awful.

"Well that is preposterous! Women are to be worshipped at those times!" you stared at him-he had always treated you differently, unlike anything you have seen on earth before. You knew Asgardian ways of manners were much old fashioned and yet so different all the same.

"Then tell me, how do asgardians see it?" you leaned on the back of the couch, facing Loki and pulling a blanket over you. You liked how safe he made you feel, but this still felt weird to you- you were not sure how to react- to what extent it goes. So, curiosity got the better of you, "because if I'm being honest, this is kind of embarrassing."

Loki sent you a smile with a twinkle in his eye.

"Darling there is nothing to be embarrassed of! You are naturally as powerful as a thunder storm, a tornado- lightning cowards before you and your power!" he was going to make sure you understand it, he had never been so baffled by humans before. "You hold the ability of life- eternal life- in every drop of blood that falls from you- from the most powerful being in all the realms. For a couple of days each month- you are being shown your true power even through your suffering- and in that time you, my dear, are more powerful than a god. You should be nothing but worshipped. That is what the gods of Asgard know it to be true."

"Do they really all think that?" you felt a sharp pain suddenly and Loki came closer to you, put his usually cold hand on your stomach and you felt comforting warmness ease your ache.

"They know it. The people of midgard knew it too at some point, but then some people who thought themselves gods- I think they called themselves Christians- decided that the bleeding was a show of witchcraft and called it a sin and spread many lies about it, which now I see are still believed to this day. You see, they were quite stupid." You laughed at the disgusted look he gave you, which in turn made him smile. "You know, I probably shouldn't tell you this but…"

"You never obey such rules." You laughed and put your hand over his one that was comforting you on your stomach.

"In one of Thor's travels he bathed in a river filled with the menstrual blood of the powerful Giantesses. That was to give him enlightenment and eternal life."

"Ew, did he actually do it?" you scrunched your nose and Loki kissed it.

"That is not disgusting- that was powerful and very well respected. When he came back, he was the smartest I have ever seen him."

"I hope he took a good bath after it…" you chuckled and smiled at him, "Thank you for this, the Asgardian way of thinking is way better than that of earth."

"Now, dear, while I do have a preferred way to help take away the pain-" you blushed under his gaze. "Tell me, what is it that you desire? Tell me, so I can worship you as I should."

You kissed him then and you knew right then when he kissed you back that the Asgardian men are way better.

•

Taglist: : @callmeluna @sstanbarnes @buckys-other-punk @drabblewithfrannybarnes @easygoingtheatre @that-one-person @justab-eautifulmess @onceupona-happilyeverafter @wipplogg @supraveng @samwilsons-pillowpecs @ayybtch @kitkatd7 @chrissquares @make-me-imagine @jessalyn-jpeg

803 notes · View notes

paperpocalypse · 4 years

Text

significance.

50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 26. Cuddling in comfortable silence before murmuring “I love you” + 47. “I’ve been in love with you for years”

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4,118 words

Warning: Swearing, violence

His head feels like it’s been split open, the rest of his body feels like one giant bruise and the Handler’s daughter has her fancy leather boot on his fucking throat.

Five couldn’t be less surprised by his luck.

“Doesn’t feel so good, does it?”

He forces in just enough breath to answer her. “Eat shit and die …!”

The reaction is worth it. Lila lets out a furious cry, gritting her teeth and bringing her foot down even harder – and in doing so, changes her center of gravity. Opportunity. Five digs his nails into that damned shoe and pushes upwards. The sudden force sends her flying, and he can breathe again.

Fighting the ache in his bones, Five stumbles to his feet as she does the same. “Come on,” he pants, readying his stance as the woman turns to face him again. “What are you waiting for? Let’s finish this thing.”

She shakes her head. “No,” she whispers, sniffling. “This isn’t gonna be quick. You are going to suffer for what you did.”

Suffer? For Christ’s sake – Five scoffs and drops his hands. “Lady, I got no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Ronnie and Anita Gill.”

“Mean nothing to me.”

“1993, East London.” Lila continues to stare at him like he knows what the hell she’s talking about. “You hog-tied them and you shot them in the head.”

Five narrows his eyes; it’s very possible that she’s just bullshitting him. But despite the rationality of just ignoring her and going for the kill, he searches his memories anyway. 1993, East London. Hog-tied. Tables overturned, the pleas of a couple inside a tiny flat in the middle of the night. Yes, wait – he does remember. 1993, toys strewn everywhere – he told you to close your eyes but you didn’t – East London, two quick shots –

“We had no choice.”

“I know. But …”

“The flower merchants,” he murmurs. Five looks at her with wide eyes. “They were your parents …!”

“And they never did anything to anyone. They didn’t deserve to die like that.”

The Handler ordered him to kill Lila’s parents. Lila, who has powers like them. That couldn’t have been a coincidence.

Absorbing this newfound information, Five attempts to talk the woman down as he fills out the rest of the picture. “You’re right, alright? I killed them. But I killed a lot of people over the years. It was all just a job. Alright? That was never personal.”

At that, Lila laughs. “‘Never personal,’ my ass,” she sneers. “Yeah, I’ve killed – it’s always, always personal.”

“That’s why you’re not cut out to be an assassin.”

She yanks a knife out of her boot as soon as the sentence leaves his mouth. “Bet your life on that?”

Right then, a shadow moves in the doorway to the barn. Five immediately knows who it is, and his heart seizes in his chest.

“Lila!” Your voice is firm and taunting.

Shit. Shit!

Without hesitation, Five lunges for the knife, only to find himself grabbing at air as Lila reappears behind you. The blade is pressed against your neck before he can even shout your name.

Five clenches his fists as he meets your eyes. Your expression is stony, hands stiffly grasping at Lila’s arm. Jesus Christ, just a little energy to blink – nothing –!

Fucking shit!

“Let her go.”

—

The bearded man smiles. “Sorry, no can do.”

The alley is frigid and dark, the air damp and rotting. He doesn’t move a muscle. In front of him, you breathe steadily, in and out, not saying a word. The steel barrel pressed flush to your temple mirrors the one against his.

“Just hand over your valuables and that briefcase, and we can be on our way.”

“Sorry,” you say, voice steady and cold. (It makes him proud.) “Everything stays with us.”

He looks at you. You blink.

Within the next half-second, he’s knocked your captor to the ground and the two of you are aiming the guns at their previous owners. They raise their hands almost immediately. Exactly like the exercise from his youth.

Another half-second, and both of you pull the triggers.

Five stares down at the corpse now lying on the ground. Then he straightens his tie and turns to you.

You’re still pointing the gun at the other target. His frown softens.

“[Y/n].”

Putting a hand on your arm, he notes how you stiffen, snapping out of whatever zone you had been in. You meet his eyes and breathe in sharply, then relax.

“We’re done.” You frame the question as more of a statement as Five takes the former thief’s gun from you.

“For the night,” he affirms, holding your gaze curiously. “You good?”

You wet your lips and tuck your weapon away. “I’m okay,” you eventually reply. He raises an eyebrow; your mouth twitches. “I just – well, you’re taking this whole assassin thing a lot better than I am. Pointing guns and shooting and killing for real, and – and all that pizzazz.”

“I was a member of the Umbrella Academy,” Five points out dryly. “Thirteen more years of formal training and being able to spatial jump gives me somewhat of an advantage.”

“… That’s true.” Still, you seem unsettled. “Five, you’re okay with this? We’re … killing people.”

“No. But we have no other option,” he says. “It’s only until I figure out how to get us back, alright?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Alright.”

The pair of you leave the alley, leaving the targets there to be found by the police. The fact that they had a gun pointed at your head should make him feel better about it. They were already criminals, too. Self-defense instead of cold-blooded “corrections.”

There’s still a bitter taste in his mouth anyway.

“You hold your own pretty well,” he murmurs after a while, trying to distract himself.

You grant him a small, knowing smile. “Thanks,” you say, taking his arm as the pair of you walk the rest of the way to the motel. “I had a good teacher while I was stuck in the ruins of the apocalypse.”

He hums. “Weren’t you lucky?”

Your hand tightens around the sleeve of his tailored suit.

“The luckiest.”

—

He’s going to kill her.

Teeth bared, Five starts toward her, only to stop short when Lila presses the blade harder against your throat.

“Not another step, Five,” she warns him, her grip tightening. “Or you’ll both regret it.”

“She’s not responsible for what happened. I was the one who killed them!”

“But she didn’t stop you, did she?”

Five struggles to control his rage. The knife is sharp and black underneath your jaw, ready to draw blood at a moment’s notice.

You inhale shallowly. “Lila,” you rasp.

“Don’t speak.”

“Look,” Five forces out as evenly as he can, catching the woman’s attention again. He can’t take his eyes off that goddamn knife. Five can almost feel the edge cutting into his own skin. “You wanna blame someone, blame the Handler, alright? She faked the kill order.”

“Bullshit! I saw the kill order. AJ Carmichael ordered it, and you and [Y/n] carried it out.”

“Lila, listen to what I’m telling you, alright? The Handler gave us the kill order. She came on the job, which she’d never done before.” He unclenches his fists with unwilling, trembling fingers. His mind is reeling. “You’re Commission. You know execs never go on jobs, but that day in London, she was there. Ask yourself why –”

“Stop trying to muddy the waters.”

Five swallows, pulse racing. He rips his eyes away from your neck to gauge Lila’s expression. Doubt is beginning to bleed into it, and he manages to keep his tone level.

Focus on completing the picture. No sudden movements.

“Think about it, Lila. It all makes sense.”

Lila’s grip on the knife relaxes by the smallest amount. She hesitates for a moment before speaking. “What?”

“She never cared about your parents. She was looking for you.”

What little is left of her anger melts off Lila’s face. For the first time, the girl looks completely vulnerable. And it’s not a farce.

“Why?” she whispers.

Come on …

“‘Cause you’re one of us.”

Lila whips her head around when Diego cuts through the silence, holding you even more tightly against herself. Five’s gaze snaps back to the knife again and he swears internally.

Dammit, Diego, you better have a plan!

“The Handler stole you, Lila. Just like our asshole father took all of us,” his brother explains carefully.

“No. It’s not the same thing.”

“You’re right. Because he didn’t have our parents murdered.” Diego approaches her, staying low to the ground, hands outstretched. “Listen to me, Lila. You were born October 1, 1989, the same day as all of us.”

The rest of his siblings close in on Lila, slowly, warily. The movement sends her into a panic, and she cuts a little into your neck. You let out half of a gasp and swallow the rest of it, but it’s enough.

Five sees red.

“Get your fucking hands off her!”

“STAY BACK!”

“Five! Back off!” Diego shouts. Chest heaving and blood roaring in his ears, Five looks at him and then at your sweaty, frozen face – and against every fiber of his being, he listens and backs off, glaring venomously as his brother then turns to Lila again. “Lila? Lila, stop. Let her go.”

She turns her head from side to side, knuckles white as she keeps the knife against your throat. “No,” she chokes. “Diego, you don’t understand. They killed my parents. They took my life away from me.”

Five seethes. “For the last time, it was nothing personal –"

“And it was wrong. I know.” Diego’s eyes flit to Five’s, silently reprimanding. “You want to make them pay for what they did. But killing [Y/n]’s not gonna bring your parents back. You know that.”

“It’s not about bringing them back.”

He nods once, softly. “You’re right. It’s about justice. Honoring their memory.” Diego’s voice is gentle. “Trust me, Lila, I get it. I lost someone to the Commission too. She wasn’t family, but she was my friend, and I cared about her. She wasn’t supposed to die. She didn’t deserve to die. But she did.”

As Diego continues talking, Five keeps his guard up on the other side, watching and waiting for a contraction of a muscle, a single forewarning of violence. If another drop of your blood stains that blade, shit, he’ll kill the woman with his own two hands, Diego’s feelings be damned.

Tightening his jaw, Five shifts on his feet as he looks at you. You stare back with calm eyes – just like that night in the alley, but this time, with no signal for him to make a move.

Goddammit, they should’ve gotten you to safety by now!

“… Just think about whether taking another life would honor their memory. [Y/n] deserves a chance to start over, live a peaceful life with people she cares about. And so do you.”

Lila’s trembling. Yet, she refuses to budge. “If it weren’t for her and Five,” she whispers, “I wouldn’t need that second chance. I would have been all alone if Mum hadn’t found me that night.”

“But there’s a reason she found you. She’s using you, Lila. The Handler.”

“You’re wrong. She raised me.” Lila pauses, then asserts, “She loves me.”

“She’s dangerous,” Diego emphasizes. “And you’re scared of what she’ll do with all that new power. That’s why you dragged me to the Commission. Because I know what it’s like to love dangerous people.”

—

“Oh, my.” The Handler puts a hand on his shoulder, hovering behind him. “One hundred and forty-three kills on the simulation? That’s a new record. Very, very good, Five.”

Five bristles at her closeness, but he doesn’t move away, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of unnerving him. “Thanks,” he says tersely.

“Tell me, Five. From what I’ve seen during your training, you’d be a lot more efficient in the field if you were a one-man team. Working alone is when you work best.”

“I’m partnering up with [Y/n].”

“And you’ve filled out the paperwork and everything, I know. I know. But I implore you to think about it logically,” the Handler tells him, leading him down the hallway. “[Y/n] has highly marked assessments, but frankly, they’re nowhere near your level.” She raises her eyebrows at him and blows out a stream of smoke. “Forgive me for assuming, but perhaps this is less about a partnership that would benefit the Commission and more about your personal … relationship.”

Five smiles thinly at her. “With all due respect, we’ve worked together for years. Almost forty years, in fact. I can assure you that our partnership will deliver more than satisfactory results.”

The woman just hums serenely, eyebrows still raised and cigarette holder between her lips as he faces her. Behind her, he sees you approaching.

“Excuse me,” he says politely.

As he sidesteps the Handler to meet you halfway, your shared employer calls out to him, voice ringing through the sparse crowd of Commission drones. “You’re a dangerous man, Five,” she drawls, “and this is a dangerous job. If you want to protect someone, we won’t stop you, but don’t let it endanger this opportunity we’ve so generously provided. To the both of you.”

“Duly noted,” Five replies over his shoulder, walking away with you. He can hear the Handler’s heels click against the floor as she goes on her way as well.

“She’s suspicious about us partnering up, isn’t she?” you ask him lowly.

He frowns. “I would be too if I were her. But we have to stay together.”

“Well.” You reach up to adjust his hat, tilting it slightly. “In any case, I’m pulling my own weight in the field. Just like in the apocalypse. No one-sided protection.”

“[Y/n], this is different from the apocalypse. We’re not dealing with food shortages or bad weather – we’re dealing with people.”

“All the more reason for you to trust me.” Despite your usual controlled tone and mien, he sees the way that your eyes glint. “I’m kinda dangerous myself, Five. Especially for the people I love, and I’ve been in love with you for years.”

Five sighs.

“You’re so sappy, you know that?”

(Nevertheless, he finds himself mumbling those four words, just loud enough for only you to hear.)

—

“Difference is …” Diego glances around at their siblings, then looks down, “they love me back.”

“Shut up.”

“The only thing she loves is power. Now, the minute she can’t use you, she will turn on you, and deep down, I know you know that.”

She tilts the knife against your neck. Five sucks in a breath, his heart pounding.

“You don’t know me, Diego.” Lila’s voice is hoarse.

Diego steps closer. He lifts a hand to cover hers over the knife.

“Don’t I?” he whispers. “I know that we can be your family. If you just let us.”

Lila’s eyes are glossy with unshed tears. Hesitantly, she turns her head to look around at his family, and in that moment, Five has a cautious inkling that Diego’s words actually got through to her. She doesn’t resist when Diego pulls her hand gently.

When she releases you, he almost feels weak with relief.

Five murmurs your name as you stagger over to him; you grab his arms, and he raises his hands to hold your face between them.

“Shit,” he breathes, “[Y/n] –”

“I’m okay,” he hears you say, but his ears are ringing and your skin is cold and shit, your neck – delicately, Five tilts your head back, and you attempt to brush his hands away. “Five, it’s – it’s just a scratch …”

His fingers brush against a wetness on your skin. You wince, almost imperceptibly. He draws back to look at his hand, and when he sees the blood on his fingertips, your blood, the wave of relief crashing onto him abruptly morphs back into rage.

Before you can pull him back, Five lunges at Lila.

Gunshots echo throughout the barn.

—

You’re smiling.

—

He wakes up, gasping for breath.

“Oh, good! You’re still alive,” the Handler says, looming over him. Her lipstick is bright red through the dizzying blurs. “Lucky you. You got to see how this all played out.”

Grappling for air, Five tries to speak – tries to give one last word, to finally tell the damned snake to fuck off as he stares into the barrel of her automatic. But it hurts to breathe and he can’t. Fuck, it hurts. It hurts. His tongue feels like lead and his throat is closed up. All he can do is look.

But before she can pull the trigger, he hears gunfire.

Bullets rend flesh that isn’t his. Five’s eyes widen, stunned; the Handler gasps sharply. She turns. More gunfire.

She falls.

Shit, that could only mean.… Five struggles to lift his head, almost blacking out from the pain as the gunman approaches, crushing straw underfoot. A shadow falls over him.

The Swede silently tilts his gun down at his face, and he realizes: they are both the last ones. Everyone else is dead. The Swede’s brothers. The Handler. Lila. His siblings. You.

This is the end.

(This doesn’t have to be the end.)

… Five blinks, numb.

(You’re the one who got us stuck here.)

Unless …

(Seconds. Not decades.)

Seconds.

His lungs burn. Hope blooms in his chest.

(C’mon, Five.)

Concentrate. Hands clenching sluggishly, Five focuses on gaining back the feeling in them. Seconds, not decades. A familiar, electric buzz thrums through his bones, warm, crackling with energy. His hands begin to glow. Blue envelops them like they had so many times before.

It happens slowly, time reversing itself like molasses oozing back into a jar. The Swede lowers his arm and retreats. Bodies begin to rise. Five feels himself getting pushed up, and his feet touch the ground; he presses forward, running, refusing to look back. The sharp pains recede to a singular ache.

Seconds.

He breaks through behind the barn door with a gasp. Air fills his chest, full and crisp.

Immediately, Five looks back at you and everyone else, standing and breathing, and pats himself just to make sure.

Holy shit.

Spotting movement outside, Five leaps at the Handler just as she walks in, seizing her weapon and turning it on her. His finger curls at the trigger. She raises her hands in surrender, lips pursed.

Got you, you son of a bitch.

“It’s true, isn’t it? What Five said,” he hears Lila ask. He doesn’t dare look away from her mother, meeting her poisonous glare with an equally cold one. “Answer me! Is it true?”

The Handler takes in a breath. “Well –”

Before she can finish her sentence, blood sprays out from her chest. She collapses. Dead.

The Swede. Five stares at her body, gun lowering. There’s a pregnant pause, void of any air – and then in his periphery, Lila shoots forward.

Luther charges after her. “The case!”

“No!”

Diego tackles him to the ground. Lila disappears in a flash of blue.

One dead, one missing. Neither of which are you or his siblings. There might be hope for them yet. Rolling his shoulders, Five turns his attention to the rogue assassin, cocking his gun and pointing it at him. The Swede reciprocates.

Nobody utters a word, for fear that it may be their last. But as Five feels the weight of the automatic in his arms, he wonders, suddenly, just how much he has in common with this man. A forgotten humanity. The death of their families. The force of a person with nothing to lose.

Except in the Swede’s case, he has no chance of gaining back what he had lost.

This is the end.

Five takes his finger off the trigger, then after a brief hesitation, lets go of the gun.

“Enough,” he says.

Nothing happens at first. The only sign that the man heard him is how he looks away from Five, surveying the rest of the barn’s occupants.

Five returns his gaze firmly, muscles tense, when he meets it again. The Swede regards him for another moment, then finally speaks.

“Inte mer.”

He drops his weapon. No more killing.

—

After Vanya helps the kid and calms him down, she goes with him and Sissy to help them pack up. Everyone else exits the barn as well to rest up and say their goodbyes before leaving, save for Diego, who talks to Herb and Dot with you and Five before joining the rest of the group at the house.

As soon as everything seems like it’s on track, Five brings you straight to the bathroom before you can protest.

“Five, it’s just a scratch.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

In a familiar turn of events, you’re sitting on the edge of the bathtub, sulking as he cleans the rest of the dried blood from your neck. Five scowls as he inspects the thin, rough scab underneath your jaw. For shit’s sake, it’s more than a ‘scratch’ – but at the very least, the cut wasn’t deep enough to cause too much bleeding.

Obviously, he’d have preferred it if you hadn’t gotten cut at all.

“She could’ve killed you.”

“I know,” you murmur. He glares at you softly, and you reach over to hold his hand. “Sorry for worrying you.”

Five scoffs, shaking his head. “Worrying me? I was damn well past worrying when she –” At that moment, he makes the mistake of seeing the guilt in your eyes, and he sighs. “What the hell were you thinking?”

You shrug quietly as he opens a large Band-Aid. “That I had to do something to keep you safe.”

“At your expense?”

Your miniscule smile changes into a grimace for a split second when he sticks the bandage on, but it returns immediately after. “You would’ve done the same thing, Five.”

All he can retort with is a displeased huff.

Silently, you stand up and turn him around, urging him to sit down this time as you pluck another hand towel from the stack that Vanya had given the two of you. Five sits still, mouth shut and eyes watching, as you start cleaning his face. Your expression is tender. A familiar feeling wells up inside of him.

Suddenly, you chuckle.

“What?”

“It’s just – if I didn’t know any better,” you say, scrubbing at a particularly grimy spot on his cheek, “I’d think that you were a schoolboy that just got into a fight and lost.”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, good thing that you do know better, because I obviously would’ve won.”

“Obviously.” Your eyes glint, like they have so many times before.

—

“How bad does it hurt?”

Your hand is soft in his as he glances at his wrist, propped up on a stack of books, then into the small fire burning a few feet away. “Not that much,” he answers. “Thanks for splinting it.”

“Thanks for talking me through it.” You breathe in, head on his shoulder, testing the words on your tongue before you continue. “I was worried. I’m glad it’s feeling better.”

A wrist sprain is nothing to write home about, figuratively speaking. It’s more of an inconvenience than an actual concern; Five figures that the injury will heal in a week, a week and a half at the most. Frankly, he’s more concerned about how much longer it’ll take to complete daily tasks in the meantime.

… You, on the other hand – well, he wonders if you��ve ever gotten anything more than a few cuts and scrapes growing up. The closest he had ever seen you get to panicking was after he fell today, and you’ve been wandering around with him for years.

In a strange way, Five thinks, he was glad for it. He is glad for you. Glad for your presence, your level head. He is glad for the way you hold his hand and talk to him during the day and after dark. And he is glad, secretly, that you want to protect him just like he wants to protect you.

“I love you.”

The words slip out, rough and unbidden.

Five holds his breath when they echo in his ears. You stop tapping your fingers over his skin. Perhaps that’s a bad thing. It was not a mistake, of course, and he isn’t going to take it back, but if that wasn’t what you were saying this whole time – shit. He lets go of your hand, his throat scratchy and strangely closed up.

But then – your fingertips brush his face. He swallows.

“I love you too.”

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katieraven · 3 years

Text

sleep is so tough

Summary: your attempt at dealing with losing Bucky is unsuccessful and results in a sleepless night - for several reasons.

Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes/female reader

Warnings: angst!!, happy ending (because I can't write sad endings for the life of me), a lot of metaphors, thoughts about death, loss and grieving, a tiny description of a panic attack

Word count: 3227

Notes: @babycap you wonderful human! 600 followers is huge and i am very happy about this fic. the prompt was: "I wanna be in your touch / Sleep is so tough" - James Bay, Chew On My Heart and I wrote a lil something that i'm kinda happy with. do enjoy!

love,

katie

It’s the same nightmare. You recognise it from the last three weeks, you’ve been here before. Doesn’t make it easier to shake out of it. You watch him convulse, face torn and twisted somewhere between pain and the desperate attempt to keep his free will. The fight against the venomous words the HYDRA agent hurls at him. They’re like daggers, needles stuck into his brain, rewiring him. And all you can do is watch. You are frozen in place in the torture your subconsciousness puts you through. Again. And again. And again.

You can’t will your eyes to tear away from him. He snarls like a cornered animal at the agents around him. Then the final words. “грузовой вагон“. Freight car. You don’t know Russian, but those ten phrases have been burned into your brain. You could recite them in your sleep.

Bucky stills. He slowly stands up from his crouched position, cold stare fixed onto the speaking agent. “Я готов отвечить“.

You startle awake, the nightmare finally loosening its grasp on your consciousness. Immediately, your hands fly to the other side of the bed. It is cold and empty and your stomach drops when realisation hits you like a punch to the gut.

This is not a nightmare. At least not entirely, no. It is a memory. Because you saw the footage. You saw Bucky convulse and bend and snap and straighten. And you saw Steve, heard his scream as Sam pulled him away, forcing him to leave his best friend in the hands of his torturers. Steve knows it was the right thing to do. You do, too. The thought of Bucky being all alone behind enemy lines still makes your breath hitch in your throat, though.

They didn’t want you to see the footage, it wasn’t supposed to be something you get confronted with. But you slipped into the room, originally meaning to talk to Natasha about some software to try out in the next mission. They didn’t notice you entering, eyes trained on a screen, FRIDAY running facial recognition in the background. They kept playing the footage over, and over, and over, and again, looking for any kind of clue as to where they could find him, until your knees gave out under you and you fell with a whimper leaving your throat. Natasha was the first to understand the situation. Steve let out a string of colourful curses you would have never stopped teasing him about, hadn’t you been trying to wrap your mind around what you just saw.

If you had known they were back already, you would have noticed him missing and asked. But you didn’t even know they were back. And then he was gone.

You finally open your eyes. The New York night tints the white ceiling a blueish sort of grey and you feel like someone painted the inside of your heart onto the concrete. A perfect replica. Grey inside. Empty. Broken and alone, left to try and fail to put yourself back together.

Your fingers curl into a fist around the cold and empty bedsheets. They have been empty for three weeks now, and your body has no tears left to give. So you lie there, silent sobs violently breaking free from the void that is your chest. Sometimes you don’t know if your heart is beating, still, and your hands can’t find it in them to check. It wouldn’t be so bad to die, you think. There’s not much keeping you here.

Steve visits every few days. He carries the same hollow look in his eyes, like someone snuffed out the light behind them and carelessly forgot to turn it back on. With the sole difference that he is better at hiding it. It is only when he thinks nobody is watching that the sticky navy blue ink that is grief seeps into his face and turns his eyes empty and his face pale. You don’t mention it.

You know it’s supposed to help, sharing grief. Which is why you open the door when he visits, and don’t turn him away. He needs it, too, you suppose. So you sit on your sofa in front of the tv and watch something stupid and mindless that none of you pay attention to and both of you pretend to find acutely intriguing whenever the other is looking.

It’s all a giant game of pretend. SHIELD is feigning confidence in finding him. Everyone else oozes positivity whenever they talk about the mission. But it’s false, and hollow, and the truth of it sneers at you through translucent optimism.

You turn your head to look at the alarm clock on your bedside table. 4:36 a.m. That means you slept an astonishing three hours. That’s two more than yesterday. You’re not afraid of the nightmares anymore. You know they will come. The terror shaking you night after night has become a companion, just as the grief following closely in everything you do. It looms over you at night, hides in the shadows behind the furniture in your living room, joined by Steve’s whenever he’s there.

You were afraid to fall asleep, yes. Pulled two all-nighters in the first days after. By now you have learned to read the signs your body so openly presents you with and you know you will not fall asleep again tonight. So you lie there, hand splayed over the empty right side of the bed, eyes staring through the ceiling.

Fuck, you miss him. It rolls over you unexpectedly and your body seizes, curling up into a fetal position as your obviously alive and beating heart pumps sharp agony through your veins. He is gone. You know, of course, you understood before and this feeling is familiar, but for the first time, it truly settles inside you. Bucky is gone.

The man you imagined a future with, who handed you his broken and bruised heart and trusted you to fix it, is gone. The charming wooden home near the sea you always talked about when his nightmares were too much and too real slowly turns to dust between your grasping fingers. You feel it slip. The bell-like high pitched laughter of a young child evaporating in your mind.

You feel your heart break. There has been a dull ache in your chest for weeks. You’ve gotten used to it, embraced it into your menagerie of demons and ghosts, grief and loss. But it betrays you, right now, as you feel your heart pound against the cage of your ribs, and it burns. You still lie curled into yourself, blanket tangled between your legs. You will explode. You feel it with a new certainty, this will kill you. You breathe in and out, you know you do, but none of the air arrives in your lungs. It leaves you desperately gasping for oxygen.

Until you realise none of it is real. Because your heart is not here in your room with you, your heart lies in the mismatched hands of a broken soldier somewhere between here and the sea. It can’t kill you here, because there is an organ-sized hole in your chest and the coldness of the world tears at your exposed ribcage with icy shrapnel-sharp claws. Does it bleed? If so, you can’t feel the warmth. Blood is warm, right? Bucky always said it is.

You exhale slowly. Will your seizing muscles to relax, to let you go. To your surprise they do, and you inhale again, cold night air. It doesn’t yet escape through the wound in your chest. The hole hasn’t reached your lungs yet. But you know it will consume you, leave no part of you untouched, unbroken, will rip you apart for all your demons to finally feast on what is left of you.

Maybe he will find you first, you muse. Maybe HYDRA will find the last bit of mercy in them and send him after you, to cut his strings. You know you will not fight when he does. It would be a sweet oblivion with his eyes the last thing you see. Grey irises like molten silver when the sunlight hits just right.

Your arms fold against your chest. The skin is whole, not a scratch, no bleeding wound. You know it can’t be true. It is simply your minds way of processing this pain. Your imagination fixed the hole but you know it’s still there, still gaping. You can feel the edges burning where the hole ends and the marred skin starts. But you live. Still this broken body carries you on, one day after another.

You sit up in your sheets, hair plastered against your forehead by the thin film of sweat covering your body. As your back straightens, the metallic clinking of dog tags root you into this reality and you pull them out from under one of Bucky’s black shirts you’re wearing.

“Keep these,” he murmurs and presses something hard into your open palm. You look down and see the two thin pieces of metal piled on top of each other, embossed letters spelling his name, his full name. Your stunned eyes flicker back up into his and you open your mouth to protest, but he shushes you with a finger.

“It’s not like I need them. If I die, this thing” – he gestures to his arm – “will tell everyone who I am. But I want you to have these.”

Your thumb smoothes over the plates, shoving them against each other. “I mean … I won’t complain, but why do you …?”

He shrugs, embarrassment tinting his cheeks. “I don’t know, I guess it feels like a part of me stays with you, y’know? A physical part. So that you have something real to hold onto until I’m back.”

It hits you, then, that he’s leaving. He picks the tags up and puts them around your neck and you reach for his hands, fingers closing around his forearms. “Don’t leave me, Bucky. Please, I can’t lose you –“

He puts his hands on either side of your face and kisses your nose, before looking directly at you. “You won’t lose me, you hear? I’ll always be with you. Always.”

But now he’s gone, and you close your fist around the metal tags until they push into your palms, and harder until they cut the delicate skin. You want to be angry at him but you can’t. It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault he couldn’t keep his promise.

You steady your breathing. Eyes wander to the red numbers on your alarm. 5:23. No use trying to sleep anymore, you decide, and sit up. Might as well make coffee. Maybe you can get something done today. Clean the laundry up at least, so Steve doesn’t have this awfully concerned look on his face next time he visits.

It takes you a couple of minutes to actually, physically, move. In your mind you’re already in the kitchen, filling the coffee maker with water and watching the coffee slowly dribble into the pot below. It has something therapeutic, one drop at a time. Almost meditative.

But, well, you do have to walk over into the kitchen to reach this point of short-lived meditative oblivion. So you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, and your eyes fall onto the covered mirror in the corner. It’s floor-length, and you used to love being able to admire your whole outfit in there without having to stand on your tiptoes.

Like that one time before one of Tony’s extravagant galas, when you tried to get a good look at yourself and the glamourous dress that, as Natasha had pointed out, would look amazing on your figure. She had been right – naturally. But the tiny mirror in your bathroom hadn’t shown the whole thing and so you were leaning over the sink to try and look. Which was exactly the moment Bucky chose to walk into the room, only to promptly wear an affectionately amused smirk on his face, assuring you of your otherworldly beauty (“Oh come on, Buck, don’t mock me – “ “I’m not, you are otherworldly, doll, dazzling even!”) and pointing out that you were in desperate need of a floor-length mirror.

In the first few days of Bucky’s absence, you hung a bedsheet over it because you couldn’t bear the memory. In fact, you can’t recall the last time you actually looked at yourself. With utmost certainty, though, you can say that your skin must be grey and sunken and the darkened circles under your eyes a deeper shade of purple than when you were knee-deep in college finals. God, that time seems ages away. If you hadn’t gone to college then maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation – you would have certainly never ended up at SHIELD. For a second you wish you hadn’t. This pain would not be part of your reality, then.

But then again, you wouldn’t have met him at all. And as much as this, right now, hurts, you wouldn’t trade it with any reality in the universe if it meant not knowing him. Not loving him. Not knowing his deepest, darkest secrets that he only opened up about after one particularly bad nightmare, with his head in your lap, not daring to meet your eyes.

No, if this pain is the price for his love then you will take it. You will let it eat at you until there is nothing left except your hollowed shell of a body because it will have been worth it.

You walk past the covered mirror and open the door, bare feet against the cold kitchen floor. You go to reach for the coffee maker when something registers with you. Something out of place, a slight inconsistency in your regulated, never-changing surroundings. You barely see it in your periphery.

Your movements still and your head slowly turns toward what is undoubtedly someone sitting in your living room. The moonlight glints on his left shoulder and you realise, within the smallest fractions of a second, who it is.

The hollow excuse for a heart that sits in your chest sputters and stills, before springing back into action twice as fast. He came back.

A steady stillness settles over you as you understand the situation. They sent him. Loose ends and all. Yet you’re not afraid, this death will be quick and quiet. It gives you an odd sensation of peace, to know that his will be the last face you see – even if it is the Winter Soldier’s face. But they’re still Bucky’s eyes.

“It’s okay”, you whisper.

His intent gaze never leaves you as you slowly, deliberately walk towards him, step by step. You know that Bucky is in there, too, and you need him to understand that you accept this. That it is not his fault. That you are ready to die if it is at his hands.

There is an unusual uncertainty in the Soldier’s eyes. You have seen footage of him, cold expression, a sort of stone-hearted efficiency about his movements, never a step too much. He has not moved yet. You feel every bit of skin on your feet connecting to the wooden floor as you move towards him, slowly, but steadily. If this is how you are meant to go, then you will.

You’re only three feet away from him as you stop. His eyes followed you all the way there. Now they start to flicker over your face, your body, confusion slowly but definitely showing in the crinkles on his forehead. He opens his mouth and you hold your breath.

“I –“, it comes out croaky, like he hasn’t used his voice in forever, so he clears his throat and starts again.

“I know you.”

Your lungs deflate, shakily. He hasn’t killed you yet. If he hasn’t killed you yet, why is he here? The Winter Soldier doesn’t hesitate. The uncertainty in his face sparks something deep, deep inside of you that you thought dead by now. Hope.

His eyes find their way back to your face and he is searching it now, not the stoic, cold mask of the Winter Soldier. You don’t dare speak. The fingers of his left hand flex with an electric whirr.

“I know you, but …” he trails off.

His right fist opens, fingers seemingly involuntarily reaching out. You step closer and lower yourself down, bare knees on the wood flooring, eyes not leaving his.

“I remember you.”

His voice is steadier now, more confident that he does, in fact, know you. That there is something inside his brain, something more than just the Soldier. More than just the missions. Just the trigger.

His hand, the real one, reaches towards your face and you close your eyes upon contact, a shaky breath leaving your lips. His index and middle finger trail across your cheekbone. Follow the curve of your lips. Trace your eyebrows. Your eyes flicker open and your breath gets caught in your throat because there he is, there he is, his eyes his own.

“Bucky –“

His name leaves your lips, a choked sob partially escaping. He blinks. Still, his eyes are his own. His lips part and then he whispers your name and you are certain this is a dream. A change of pace from the violent nightmares of late, but still a dream, because this can’t be true. How could it be.

But the hardwood floor is rough against your knees and his hand is warm against your cheek and he is there. He slides off the chair onto the ground before you and you feel hot tears spill from your open, disbelieving eyes. His other hand reaches for your face and then he’s holding you there, so unbelievably gentle, his eyes tortured and lined in purple but undeniably his own.

“You came back”, is the first real thing you say to him.

His thumb smoothes over the dark bruise under your eye, proof of sleepless nights and tired days.

“I’m so sorry”, is the first thing he says to you in his own voice.

You close your eyes, lids pushing tears over the edge and you let them drip down onto your bare thighs as you shake your head, a soft smile on your lips.

“There is nothing you need to be sorry about. None of this was your fault.”

“I – you’re hurt”, he states, matter-of-factly, and your eyes open again.

You try and put everything into your eyes, everything you feel, the hope, the relief, the love. Most of all the love.

“But you’re back. That’s all that matters. Do you hear me?”

His grey irises swim with regret and pain and fear and yet you see love in them. You gently touch your forehead to his and he sighs, eyelids fluttering closed.

“I love you, and you’re back, and that’s all that matters.”

The cold seeps into your body from the floor, your knees scraping against the hardwood. Neither of you dares to move, the calm of the situation too delicate, neither sure if this is real or just a particularly cruel dream. But it is too beautiful to disturb and so both of you remain where you are, hands gently touching the other. Thankful for this moment of peace.

Forgot my taglist consisting of one wonderful person: @mannien

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dokidokey · 4 years

Text

trace in the raindrops

summary: your relationship with keigo has been rocky for the past few weeks and your mind hasn’t been quiet in so long. what the both of you would give to take some things back.

pairings: takami keigo / hawks x reader

bingo slot: never got to say goodbye

genre: angst

warning/s: swearing, insecurities, depression, blood, death

word count: 4,989

notes: sixth bingo piece yay! i needed to get this out i’m sorry ehe if you’re uncomfortable with the topics this story is going to discuss, please don’t read. my event masterlist can be found HERE.

Raindrops are pattering against the window as you trace the frazzled lines it makes from the other side, awed by the way a droplet hits the glass like an explosion, breaking apart into tinier little drops like frail branches. You force yourself to listen to the rain as it rages outside, blocking out the soft padding of Takami’s feet on the carpet. You don’t want to see him go with this hell of a storm going on.

“Hey,” his murmur battles with the harsh noises outside, and you tilt your head just the slightest to let him know you’re listening. “I’ll be back soon.”

You nod curtly, not bothering to say anything because you’ve been like this for the past two days, gazing back at the gray scenery on the other side of the window pane. You’re expecting he will at least go over to you to pat your head like he did before, or maybe kiss you if you are lucky, but no. The muffled click of your bedroom door closing, soon followed by the rattle of the front door, is the only thing you got.

There’s a drawn out exhale from you, the tips of your fingers leaving blurred lines as it cascades down the glass along with the rain, settling in a fist on the sill as the ache in your chest feels like it’s crumpling your heart. Cheers to his girl friend for specifically asking for him to pick her up in this weather, and cheers to your boyfriend for agreeing instantaneously with a laugh as he gently pried you off him earlier.

The universe just isn’t with you today, huh? At least the mad pelting of the water seems in time with your heart, beating erratically against your ribcage. How you wish it’s caused by Keigo’s blinding smile or his crazy jokes, but it isn’t. You don’t even remember the last time he did that. You don’t remember the last time he faced you with the brightest and most genuine smile.

At least you get a glimpse of it when he’s with his friends. Right? That’s enough, right? At least somewhere outside the walls of your home, Keigo has a place where he is happy and truly himself. Even if it is not with you anymore.

You don’t know when the prickling feeling of jealousy, or maybe it was envy? You aren’t sure, it feels more like a mixture of both － a heterogeneous one too, so that is why you can’t seem to drown out the feeling. Something heavy settled on the pits of your heart and it grew its roots there, becoming one with your veins. You aren’t sure when you started feeling that, but when you understood the fact that your Keigo isn’t the same Keigo to his friends, that was when you welcomed the feeling in your heart, letting it grow and bloom inside you.

You never told Takami though, too afraid that in the early haze of his love for you, he would drop his friends and stick by your side. You’d probably be happy, not until you drown yourself of the guilt that he chose you over them － over the people he’s a different kind of happy with. You’re willing to destroy yourself inside to keep that little something of real happiness for him.

It’s not that his friends intentionally hurt your feelings because when they pass you both together, they would smile at you or nod in your direction. But there are some though, who goes straight to clapping Keigo in the back without acknowledging your existence. It made you feel small. What’s worse and caused the prominent bitter taste in your mouth was that Keigo never bothered to introduce you. He’ll go on talking to his friend, or friends, and you’re left standing beside him awkwardly, not sure if you should look at them or not, or kindly excuse yourself away.

There’s a bright flash in your line of sight, electric roots crawling down the gray clouds to find a home on the ground, quickly followed by a giant clap of thunder that shakes the walls. It resonates in time with your hurting heart, the drizzling rain like the salty tears slowly painting a shiny streak on your cheek.

It scares you how aware you are of yourself. The self-destruction is just on the very tips of your fingers. Only a little more, you keep chanting in your mind like a broken cassette tape as you push yourself upright. The digital clock bleeds the numbers 03:18 AM in bright red, creating a crimson glow on the surface of your table.

You didn’t mind that there’s a pounding ache blossoming on the back of your head. It lessens your guilt somehow. To you, at least, it feels like the proper apology Keigo deserves. You’re not even sure anymore if you’re guilty because you refused to answer his questions earlier or because you let the same insecurities get to you again.

Class ended early and as always, Takami is waiting outside your classroom. It takes a lot of effort to pull your cheeks up to give him a tight-lipped smile. His hands are gentle as he pats your head, and your heart constricts at the action, because your mind has been plagued with thoughts that made Keigo cry when you opened up to him. The feel of his hands cradling your cheek that day still lingers, the ghost of a promise that seems to be fading as time passes by.

He takes your bag in his and slings an arm loosely around your shoulder, steering you clear of the swarm of bodies littering the hallway. You’re floating again as he leads you, your surroundings turning into a blur as you let your thoughts drown you away.

You learned nothing today. Your professor had called you twice on two different occasions, and the embarrassment of not being able to answer his questions just added to the monstrous pile of negativity lounging in your head. Your mind keeps flitting back to your boyfriend, who you very much love. You think about how disconnected you are to him sometimes, more so to the world, and it feels like you’re taking his love for granted because you don’t know how to return the same intensity of his feelings.

You’re uptight, too. He didn’t really say that, but you know he thinks you are, because you are. You’re not in the same level of fun as his friends. Hell, you know your fun and their fun aren’t synonymous. You’re so different from Takami and his friends. It is like, if you look at a chart depicting Keigo, everything is stellar except you. His standards drastically dropped when you came into the picture

It further proves just how much you don’t deserve Keigo.

You’re shaken awake when Takami’s hands abruptly leave yours, caused by the force of a body colliding with your boyfriend. It was the girl who asked him to pick her up in the middle of the sky’s wailing two weeks ago, and your heart is rolling down your body towards the ground as Keigo’s hands swiftly latch on her arms, steadying her.

“Oh! Sorry Kei!” She giggles, and if the sound is a thing, it’d be the blinding sunshine. It tinkles like a lone wind chime, the melody being carried by the wind like a frail dandelion. Her eyes are twinkling as she takes a step back, gaze fixed on Takami, the brightest smile you’ve ever seen adorning her beautiful face.

Kei. It’s a cute nickname, you will admit. You never had the privilege of calling him nicknames though. And the fact that she’s standing there in front of your boyfriend, with you, his girlfriend, by his side, and uttering that word is just. . . She’s so much more than you, and jealousy sinks its green claws into your heart like a fork to a toaster as the pain surges in your chest like high voltage.

You’re not existing in Keigo’s world once again. You stand at his side, panicking a little because what are you supposed to do? Look at them? Smile at his friend? Make yourself known? Definitely not.

When Keigo wraps an arm around you again, you’re startled. Your head bumps on his chin when you abruptly look up from your phone, and there’s a soft hiss of pain from him.

“Sorry,” you squeak, quickly pocketing the device on your hand and cradling his face. “Sorry, sorry. Does it hurt?”

He shakes his head and you notice how long his hair is now. The soft tuff of ash blonde is kissing the back of his neck and without thinking, your hand moves to feel his hair. There’s a melancholic look swimming in your eyes as you do.

Keigo kisses your forehead then, and suddenly, your heart is in your throat. It was enough to make you cry, but you tell yourself no, you can’t cry, because when you cry, Keigo will ask questions. Questions mean answers, and your answer is his friends. All of them. How the mere thought of his friends break your heart so bad. How even the sight of them makes you feel so worthless in comparison.

You aren’t ready to tell him that, and you’re afraid you never will be.

During the car ride home, he keeps asking you if you’re okay. Are you sick? You don’t know. Maybe you are. Sick of his friends, sick of how they make you feel. Sick of this world. Sick, sick, sick. Sick in the fucking head for being like this. Why aren’t you like a normal person with a normal brain with normal feelings? Were those too much to ask? Was it that hard to give you that?

All you give Keigo are shrugs and shakes of your head and silent whispers of denial. Eventually, he grew tired of asking and of your worthless answers, releasing an annoyed huff and scrunching his eyebrows together in irritation.

There’s a bubbling guilt brewing in you from his reaction, and out of the blue, you wrap an arm around his and ask, “Are you mad?”

His expression doesn’t change as he shakes his head no, but the way he shrugs off your touch is enough answer for you. He is quiet for the rest of the day and his irritation sticks to him like a leech, seeming to suck him dry of his love for you as he didn’t even bother to bid you good night when he went to bed.

It all feels too fast, too much of a whirlwind. You feel like a candle nearing its end, your flame dangerously close to the other end of the wick.

The guilt of making Keigo feel bad is perched heavily on your shoulder. There’s an unbelievably massive emptiness inside you as you realize you’re just another version of Atlas, carrying the world alone. It’s insanely frightening that somehow, in some way, Keigo is your world. You’re carrying him and all his feelings and everything in your hands, and you can only take so much what with your thoughts piercing you like fire-tipped arrows.

So your way of forgiving yourself is this: depriving yourself of sleep. Maybe you won’t eat the whole day tomorrow too to make the guilt vanish like it’s never even there. Your hand is absolutely numb as you force yourself to move it. There’s only one last paragraph left of your homework and as you come to end it with a period, a relieved sigh bubbles out your lips and your head smack down harshly on the table, eyesight spinning.

By the time a hand is soothingly rubbing your back and another one is shaking you awake, your digital clock glares 04:02 AM to you. Keigo pushes stray hairs out of your face as you blink at him wearily.

“Come to bed,” he murmurs, and you revel in the softness of his words, the gentleness of his touch. There are tears brimming behind your closed eyelids as you lean in on his touch. When Keigo laces his fingers with yours to help you up, you oblige. When he tucks you in and wraps an arm around your waist, you smile, a lone tear trickling on your temple.

You’d sacrifice endless sleepless nights for this kind of affection again. If all this is caused by Keigo’s drowsy state, it’s okay, you won’t complain. At least like this, in the quiet of your home and the chaos in your head, you found a little solace, even just for the meantime.

Your spacing out during lectures is taking its toll. Yesterday, when your professor suddenly announced a pop quiz, the number and equations on your paper didn’t make any sense. You failed the quiz and, today in history, you fail another pop quiz. The nearing exams don't calm your frazzled state of mind. The constant fights with Keigo is only adding up to your stress and you’re not sure where to go anymore.

You find him unfair. In times like this that you and him aren’t on good terms, he has his friends to run to. You? What about you? You have nothing except him, and it’s sad to think that you can’t be honest of the one person closest to you. It’s heartbreaking that he’s also the cause of your constant sadness.

You appreciate Keigo’s efforts, really. There’s nothing like the way your heart swells whenever he approaches you to try and mend whatever it is that’s broken between you, but the swelling of your heart causes your throat to close up, and he’s left with choked breaths and stuttered out words. In the end, he let it be.

It’s a Saturday and the exams are over, and you sleep in just for today, trying to catch up on the consecutive all-nighters you pulled to study that didn’t help you out in the end, because most of your answers are just blank spaces on the paper. It’s late and sunny, the window to your right cresting slanted patterns on the wooden floorboards.

The bathroom door opens and comes out a freshly showered Takami, drying his hair with a towel and clad in denim. He halts as he sees you awake, but continues just as quick to pull out a shirt from his cabinet.

“We’re going out today, the guys and I,” he informs you in a cold voice, and it’s like being pricked by the sharpest icicle. He doesn’t bother looking at you as he puts his shirt on and grabs his spare keys for the front door. “I’ll be out late so keep the door locked while I’m gone.”

The heaviness in your chest is unmatched by Keigo’s ignorance and icy attitude as he lets himself out of your shared bedroom without another glance. You try to convince yourself that no, he just needs to get something outside and he’ll come back to bid you goodbye, maybe even kiss you or at least pat your head, but you can’t stomach the chilling sound of the door slamming shut in this eerily quiet house.

You didn’t bother getting up to eat, proceeding to just sleep and hoping your slumber would slowly dissipate the clawing jealousy and envy brooding in your chest. You wake up some time at night with the constant buzzing of your phone. You’re greeted by numerous texts from Rumi, a close friend of yours.

[rumi 08:17 pm] y/n i swear to fucking god is this your boyfriend

[rumi 08:17 pm] 927482.jpg

[rumi 08:17 pm] im going to break this mans neck y/n im telling you

[rumi 08:18 pm] RESPOND Y/N WHERE ARE YOU

[rumi 08:18 pm] it really IS your fucking boyfriend

[rumi 08:19 pm] whos that bitch on his lap

[rumi 08:19 pm] y/n if you dont respond asap im dragging these two by their necks outside

[rumi 08:20 pm] Y/N I SWESR WHERE ARE TOH RESPONS TI MY TEXTS FFS

Your heart is mad against your chest as it beats erratically, dainty fingers shaking as it taps on the attachment Rumi sent you. You have to increase your phone’s brightness because all you can see are the neon lights in the background but alas, after the settings panel lowered, there he is, with the same girl sitting on his lap.

“O-oh,” your breath stutters. You stare at the photo longer, hoping that it will magically transform into another man’s face because hell, that cannot be your Keigo. No. But it is him. That’s the same shirt he was wearing when you woke up. The way his eyes are shining and the quirky smile on his face is a clear giveaway that yes, it really is your boyfriend. You don’t miss the hand lazily draped over the small of her back.

That is the same hand that used to pat your head, rub your back, comb through your hair. That is the same hand that used to hold yours, although you can’t remember when was the last time.

Your chest physically aches at the thought of Keigo in there, with her, without you. He’s out there and you’re here after he left you with nothing. He has some audacity. And he’s going to come home to you in, say, three or four hours? For what?

But hey, who says he will come home tonight anyway?

The first thought finds it home inside your brain immediately, quickly followed by more as they try to take up the spaces in your head. What if Keigo doesn’t come home? Would he kiss her? Is he cheating? Does he love her? Is she better? What is wrong with you? What happens if Keigo doesn’t come back tonight? Does he tell her the same soft I love yous he tells you? What if they. . . ?

A wracking sob shakes your body heavily, fists tight against the comforter you’re slowly pulling up your knees, trying to shield yourself from what, you do not know. The betrayal feels like no other － like a bitter something that is slowly crawling down your throat and heart, sitting heavy in your stomach, ruining you inside.

The embers of your hate for his friends flares up, the flames licking at your chest as it aches. And no one even cares to remind him he has a girlfriend? That letting another girl sit on your lap while you’re in a relationship means you might as well break up? They know of your existence and stance in his life yet they let him anyway?

Keigo let her anyway.

Another sob tumbles out of your mouth, somehow it is the only comforting sound inside the tense silence in your room. What you’d give for Keigo to be home, wrap you in his arms, and assure you everything will be alright. What you’d give to take back all your confessions about the absolute chaos in your head, feeling like a fool for letting your defenses down and being vulnerable in front of him just to treat you like this.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there when the front door rattles open, and soon there’s a drenched Takami standing on your bedroom’s doorway. The rain is raging outside and you didn’t even notice.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, chest heaving, taking cautious steps toward your slumped form. You’re not sure why he’s saying sorry. Maybe Rumi did drag him and that girl out of the club.

You wipe the back of your hand to your cheek, erasing the evidence of your crying. You plast on a wobbly smile at him. “It’s okay,” you assure, despite the fact that you’re not assured. Pushing the comforter off you, you make a way for the pile of towels on the corner, and approach your boyfriend.

There’s a pained look on his face as you brought the cloth to his face, gently drying the rainwater dripping on his skin. Keigo sighs and angles his face away from you and grabs your wrist.

“Stop.”

You shake him off, the sides of your eyes burning, placing the towel on top of his head and drying his hair. It hurts to see him right now, but at least he’s home. Right? At least he’s here. With you. He came home.

“Y/N,” he stresses, hands gripping your arms hard like hot ice and shaking you adamantly. “For fuck’s sake, Y/N, I said I’m sorry.”

Keigo’s voice cracks.

You smile again, a little crooked, a little hurt. Your breath is hot against his cheek when you say, “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Keigo exhales, something dark looming on his face. He pushes your hand away, and a tear slips down your cheek, but you’re quick. Your hand swipes it away as fast as it fell down, and there’s only a shadow of the trail it left.

The man in front of you sighs in exhaustion as he runs a shaking hand through his hair, the sound heavy on his chest. He sounds so tired. Fed up. Done. Is this how he will break up with you? The thought alone breaks your heart, and there is another trickle of tear down your eyes, and a choked sob escapes you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Keigo murmurs in remorse as he slowly pulls you in his arms, and you immediately latch to him, uncaring of the voice inside your head saying this is the same man who has his hands on another girl. He came home. He’s here with you. That is all that matters. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m sorry.”

There’s no stopping your tears as it soaks the neckline of his shirt. Your breath is hot against his neck, contrasting his skin that is cold from the rain. “I know Rumi told you. She talked to me,” he explains, lips grazing your temple in a way that hurts so good. “I’m sorry, baby, it’ll never happen again.”

You pull your head away from his neck, breathing in through your nose, voice croaky. “I－ I’ve never－ You don’t see me sitting like that on other men's lap, Keigo,” you lament, the image flashing before your eyes again. “I feel so cheated.”

His hands are caressing your back and the pressure is a nice reminder that you aren’t alone anymore. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

Though you know no amount of sorrys can mend that little piece of your broken heart, you let it slide. You let it go. You just relish in this moment you manage to steal away from his friends, snuggling against his neck despite the cold bite of his wet clothes on your skin.

When Keigo suggests both of you clean up now that you’re also drenched in rainwater, you oblige. The soft feeling of his hands rubbing your scalp and his whispers of countless I’m sorrys is kept behind the tiny area of your bathroom. When you’re cuddled up to him right before bed, you don’t understand the difference of I love you and I’m sorry anymore.

It’s raining again.

Keigo decided to take you out today, saying it has been so long since the last you did. There’s a bitter remark in the back of your head saying, that’s because you don’t pay attention. It’s always your friends over me. It’s always her over me. But you ignored it, too elated by your boyfriend’s proposals because finally, after so long, it’s you and him again.

You look up at your transparent umbrella, eyes transfixed on a raindrop that lazily glides over the curve of the plastic, rejoining the ones that had built up at the ends. It falls down the puddle at your feet, the echoes of its fall waving in the water. You smile and pull out your phone to call Keigo. He was supposed to be here ten minutes ago.

He picks up on the second ring. “Sorry,” comes his greeting, “I’m on my way, I promise.”

“It’s okay.” There’s nothing to be sorry for. You move the tips of your shoes to tap the puddle, and your reflection on the water dances. “I’ll be waiting here. Take care, okay? I lo－”

You don’t see it because you’re looking the other way, totally oblivious of the car reeling towards your direction. There was no beep or honk or anything. All there was was the screeching of tires on wet asphalt, but it’s too late.

You make eye contact with the wide-eyed man behind the wheel. Touya’s eyes look about to fall, and it would have pulled a good laugh out of you because this usually calm and collected friend of Keigo is panicking, but you know you can’t do that. Not anymore. Not ever.

The pain comes at full blow on your chest and your breath is knocked out of your lungs from the impact. You manage to register the fact that after that excruciating hit, your body is thrown back and hits the shed’s post. Something cracks through the happenings of it all.

Your phone is not in your hands anymore, your umbrella is gone. The rain is pattering against your face, mixing with the blood slowly pooling under your body. You barely understand Touya’s words as he runs off to you, lips moving in frenzy as he talks on his phone.

Keigo’s heart drops. What the fuck was that?

“Y/N,” he calls, dread sitting tight on his chest, “Y/N? Hello? Can you hear me?”

You don’t answer. He wants nothing than to get out of this fucking train and go to you. This seems too slow. Too slow.

Faintly, he hears it. A voice. His friend’s voice, to be exact. What the hell is Touya doing there with you? He picks up a few words, like accident and ambulance, and it feels like his heart is about to fall.

What happened to you? God, if anything bad happened to you, Keigo might lose his mind.

He’s out of the train when his phone rings again, and his heart skips with the thought that maybe it’s you, but when it displays Todoroki’s name, he almost throws the device away. “What?” He snaps, wiping the raindrops falling frantically on his face. His irritation and anxiety heightens. It’s like the raindrops are there to tell him to move faster, walk faster, get to you faster.

“Keigo, fuck, fuck, fuck,” comes Touya’s voice in Takami’s ear, and he abruptly stops at the distressed tone of his voice before moving again, mind wrapped around the thought of getting to you immediately.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Touya moans, “I’m so fucking sorry, I swear, I didn’t mean it, man.”

Keigo refuses to accept it. No. He ends the call and his rushed walk turns into a sprint, the soles of his shoes beating in time with the drops of rain. Maybe this is all a dream － a vivid one at that, because when he sees the familiar shed where you told him you’ll wait, it all feels too real.

His legs are straining from the effort he’s exerting to get to you faster, yet at the same time, he doesn’t want to. Seeing you will make it real. Keigo cannot accept that. He doesn’t want to accept that.

But there you were, eyes toward the sky and unseeing, arms splayed. Fuck. He skids to a stop next to your body, ignoring the bite of the concrete against his knees and Todoroki, who is looking at him wide-eyed.

“No, no, no, no,” Keigo rasps, hands hover over your body. The fear of touching you is sending alarms off inside his head. No. This cannot be true. This isn’t you.

But you’re wearing the necklace he gave you on your first anniversary, the gold lace hanging crooked on your neck.

He doesn’t mind the mix of blood and rain seeping into his clothes as he carefully, carefully places a hand over your forehead, and he wants nothing but to shake you awake but the dead look in your eyes is killing him.

“I’m so sorry, love,” he whispers, closing your eyelids and resting his forehead on yours, and he cries. Is this what he gets because he’s been neglecting you? Is this in exchange for the act he pulled yesterday night? Is this the universe taking back the greatest thing in his life because he didn’t appreciate it enough?

You didn’t even get to say goodbye.

Keigo has it etched on his mind － your little phrases over the phone whenever the call is nearing its end. Take care. I love you. Bye. With the last word drawn out, childlike and wondrous. You weren’t even able to say those things. One last time.

But Keigo is aware of all the times he did not bid you goodbye. Every instance is eating away at him every day, his pride too big for him. It feels as though he took your for granted, and yes, maybe he really did.

What Keigo would give to turn back time and love you the right way you deserved.

He doesn’t realize when the medics came. He didn’t respond when a voice asked him to step back, thrice, until arms were lifting him off his feet. He didn’t say anything when somebody asked his name. All he can see is your body, drenched in water and blood.

You always did love the rain, so maybe that is why he’s so transfixed with the webs of crimson slowly mingling with the water on your skin. He watches as it becomes one with the rain, dripping down the pavement, and he knows soon it will disappear, all evidence of how once upon a time, Takami Keigo lost the love of his life in this very place.

more notes: i don’t know why i do this to myself heh this was supposed to be way darker and sadder, but i changed it last minute jskdl hope you enjoyed!

671 notes · View notes

enigma-im · 4 years

Text

Fifth Day of Christmas...

Trope: Snowed in (NSFW) Relationship: Goliath x Human Word Count: 7,808

Swords clash in a symphony within the Mid-lands woods. The Goliaths have come from the mountains to ambush our camp. We never assumed we wouldn't be safe, especially with winter coming. Who would have guessed the Goliaths would be so bold as to challenge an incoming blizzard just to slaughter a few of us. It's truly too bold, too stupid.

I look out at the cluster of people, the Goliaths standing high. It's clear we have the number advantage, but they have strength. Men and women surround a single giant just to be beaten away with a single blow. It's ridiculous. The cold bites at my lungs as I charge into battle, joining two others attempting to befall the seven-foot man.

Together we swipe and swing at the revolting beast, aiming low in hopes of knocking him down. One soldier gets a jab in as the goliath blocks a blow from another. We both take the chance to cut at the knees. The goliath falls to a kneel, growling in frustration before swinging wide and knocking the other two away. I manage to stumble back into the cold dirt. Attempting to get back to my feet I see the goliath has beaten me to it, standing above the two fallen soldiers with a triumphed sneer. He reels back, aiming for the closest one. With a fatal swoop, he befalls the first one, spilling their blood to the dirt below.

I can't be shocked anymore, the sight an unforgettable one. It's almost numbing now. I quickly stand, gripping my sword in a harsh grip. The goliath reels his arm back for another blow to the woman at his feet. Working on pure adrenaline I launch at him, digging my shoulder into the wound on his side. The goliath cries out, pushing me aside as he cradles the bleeding wound. I don't let him get an edge, doing what I can to get him away from the injured soldier still laying at his feet. Stomping towards him I kick my leg high, digging my booted heel into the cut on the back of his knee. He falls to a kneel once more.

"You petulant worm," he snarls, reaching out for me. I try to step back, failing as he grabs my heel. He drags me towards him, standing to dangle me headfirst above the ground. My sword falls from my grip, hitting the dirt with a soft thud. I can't pay it any mind as this behemoth pulls me higher in the air. Not bothering to think I do the first thing I can. The wound on his side catches my attention. I drag my fist bag, launching it towards his side for a quick jab.

He wails again, dropping me harshly to the floor. My shoulder pops as the dirt gives no resistance. I watch the man stumble, breathing heavily as he clenches his side. Our eyes meet for just a moment, a few flurries dancing between us. I don't take the time to listen to whatever hateful words he wishes to spit my way. I can see the bloodlust and fury in his eyes, I am his sole target now and nothing is going to stop him.

I shuffle off the floor quickly, trying to look for my sword before the man can react. He swings for me, growling like a beast as he does. I stumble back, still having no sight of my sword. At his next attempt at my life, I give up the search. Knowing the losing battle before me I do what a soldier should never do. I run.

Twisting away I book it away from the fight, running through the tree with the cold air stabbing at my lungs. A voice screams 'coward' in my head but my will to live is stronger. I hear mighty footsteps follow me, calling out with grotesque promises. I don't make it far till I'm knocked on my stomach, my shoulder throbbing with the impact and weight. I'm twisted to my back, the man hovering above with a sadistic grin and sneer of pain. I can feel his blood dripping onto my clothes, the only warmth to be found in these woods.

"I have you now," he grabs at my throat," such a poltroon to run from battle." his fingers dig into my neck, choking me easily. I scratch at his arm, pry at his finger, reach for his face. Nothing works, the corners of my eyes darkening. With a last-ditch effort, I writhe and kick, aiming for anything to get some leverage. I don't want to die, please don't let me die here alone.

I kick at his hip, him wincing a bit. With that last bit of focus, I jab the toe of my boot into his side, blessing the fallen soldier for the well-aimed wound. He barks out a cry of pain, his fingers loosening enough for me to take a greedy gulp of biting air. I kick again, screaming a war cry as I push him off. It's a feat in its self to get him off.

I roll onto all fours, breathing hard to get the black dots out of my vision. Coughing while he wheezes, it's the only moment we have. Getting to my feet first I look over to him, he's kneeling by a decline. I take a few wobbly steps towards him, exhausted at this point. He looks up to me, trying to get to his feet with an angry growl. I'm surprised he makes it, walking on equally uneasy legs.

"I'm going to enjoy spilling your blood, little human," he seethes," it has become my right."

"Shut up," I pant.

With the last bit of energy, I have I run to him. I thud against his stomach, grab at his knees, and dig my nails into his still bleeding wound. He falls back, taking me with him. His back takes the brunt of our weight, me being launched off as he tumbles backward. We roll and skip down the steep incline of the hill, hitting every rock, root, and tree to be found. My shoulder aches as do other parts of my body. As my head meets a rather pointed rock do I wish for death.

A groan breaks through my haze. I open my eyes, looking up to trees and fat snowdrops. A few land on my lashes, my eyes flickering shut. I feel like shit. My body is throbbing, my view rather fuzzy, and my fingers numb. Another groan catches my attention, coming from above me. I tilt my head back, looking at the man trying to sit up. I startle at the blue marking curling down his bald head. My stomach lurches as I launch upwards, barely getting to my feet with the small amount of energy I have left. I know once I'm somewhere safe I'll be down for the count.

"Worms, all of you," the man whimpers," bested by a worm, me?" I watch him pathetically try to move. He looks worse than I feel, his side leaking life into the frosty debris below. The wound has grown since I last remember, stretching over his stomach. He tries to sit up, clenching his hands in the dirt, and seething every attempt.

He finally just lays there, looking at me with such disgust. I nearly feel nothing at the sight, just numb to this whole experience. He will die soon, bleeding out or freezing from the elements. I may do just the same, looking to the unclimbable incline and empty woods. Perhaps I could be so lucky to find shelter somewhere, a journey that may cost me much. I sigh.

"retched, the lot of you," he spits," may the gods damn you to the foulest parts of hell. To have your inners stood across miles. Be cursed for what you have done to me today!" it's almost sad to watch him like this. The final words of a dying man.

"Shut up," I look around some more. My best bet is to just start walking, look for some shelter. If the gods could bless me today. I start walking. The man curses and snarls at me, shouting his last bit of distraught like a pathetic animal. I walk on.

It isn't long until I come across a cabin, boarded up for the winter. It's promising. I walk up to the nailed in planks, reaching out to attempt to pry them. My shoulder screams in protest, as I do I. cradling my arm I look to the door. I can't get in. I look to the windows, they too are boarded. This close to shelter and I'm left to perish.

In the distance, I can still hear the shouts of the stubborn man. Surely he was to die by now. I shake my head, admiring his strength even in death. Thinking of a plan I circling the building, finding nothing but stacks of firewood resting against the side.

"Bollocks," I grumble. I'm not strong enough to get in…but someone else might.

I snap my head in the direction of the insolent man. Could he help me get in? no, he is too wounded. But if I treat said wounds, maybe he could be of some use? Would he be strong enough though? I cry out in frustration. It seems it's the only chance I have. Why not spend my last few hours with an enemy?

I hobble back towards the hill, hearing the man before spotting him. He is left exactly where he started. It seems he hasn't tried to make any progress. His head snaps to me, baring his teeth as I near.

"Come to finish me off, human," he barks.

"If I help you, do you think you can pry out some nailed boards before we freeze to death," I ask, not bothering to waste any time. He scoffs, turning away.

"Why should I accept help from you? Do I offer my assistance just for you to stab me in the back the first chance you get," he asks, sounding awfully stupid. I'll let myself think it’s the lack of blood causing his idiotic suggestion.

"Wouldn't you rather take that than dying in the dirt like a forgotten man," I ask, shivering as a breeze flows by.

"I rather die with my honor than betray my kind to help you," he barks a laugh," I'm faithful to my people unlike you, you poltroon scum-."

"Shut up," I interrupt," pride on the shelf, help or don’t?"

He glares at me, fingers clenching and unclenching at his side. The offering was rather nice in my opinion, even if the lack of trust is there. For now, I need him and he needs me, let's not make it more complicated than that.

"Fine," he grunts," if you can help then so will I."

I don't bother with words, collapsing to my knee with a wince beside him. The minimal supplies I have attached to my person is unceremoniously dropped to the ground. I don't bother cleaning his wound, taking a small amount of time to wrap it instead. He groans and whimpers like a child, nearly reaching for me to stop. I ignore him, stuffing wrapped bandages against his side before covering it all with wrapping. I hope the pressure is enough to forgo any more blood loss on the way to the cabin. I just need him strong enough to pull some wood, nothing more.

I'm little to no help getting him off the ground. I try to tug him up with my good arm but the jostling runs to the other anyway. He manages mostly on his own to get up, standing on his own two feet. His hand covers his side and he stumbles onward.

We walk like a bunch of drunks towards the cabin, nearly collapsing as we stop at the door. I watch as he easily pries the boards off the door, ripping them off as easily as ripping paper. With the wood cast aside, he opens the door and walks in. I follow after, annoyed at the equally cold interior.

"I'm going to get a fire started, you can rest for a bit. You have done enough," I say as I rub at my arms. I look around the room, spotting the heath with stacks of wood on the side. Before I can even take a step there I heard a loud thud. I jump, looking towards the goliath in fear. To my surprise he isn't standing, having collapsed on the ground.

I sigh," I thank you for your help but if you die in the middle of the room I'm going to be pissed."

That night was the longest in my life. Nearly getting killed in battle, then nearly dying from exposure, and now trying to start a fire with a broken shoulder. Hauling the wood was a challenge in itself, now trying to spark the flint. I would give anything to be able to roll over and rest but there is still much to be done.

I start a fire, warming myself for a bit before searching around the cabin. Finding a bedroom with blankets and a kitchen with jarred food. I send praise to the gods above. I drag all the linen to the main room, making two cots for the goliath and myself. I don't bother trying to drag him closer to the fire, exhausting all my courtesy towards him. Wrapping him in a blanket after checking his wounds is all I can bother within one night.

With my vision tunneling, I lay down in my cot and take a well-earned rest.

I startle awake the next morning when I catch the Goliath watching me sleep. His gaze is contemplative, to my surprise, but still rather brutish. I stare at him as he stares at me, not sure what his mood is this morning.

"you didn't kill me," he starts bluntly.

"That I did not," I answer.

"Why," he demands.

"it would not have benefitted me," I snuggle further into the warmth of the blanket.

He huffs," didn't think killing your enemy before they get the chance to kill isn't beneficial?"

"depends," I shrug," are you planning on killing me?"

He regards me for a few moments, his jaw ticking," No."

The goliath begins to stand, looking steadier than last night. His blood-soaked shirt is stiff and ripped. He takes a large step towards me, I flinch. Though I reluctantly trust his words, the years of fighting have left much ingrained. The recoil jostles my shoulder, making me bite back a whimper.

"Hurt," he asks, walking around me towards the fire. I can't pay him any mind as I breathe through the pain that has worsened from last night. Rolling onto my back I try all I can to remain still, the throbbing starting anew.

"I asked you a question," the goliath growls.

"Yes," I bark.

He chuckles," good. I'd hate to be the only one." I glare at his back. Slurs begin to roll towards my lips but I hold them back. Though he was near death before, I am in more pain now.

I hear the goliath poking at the fire, throwing another log in before stomping towards me. On reflex, I flinch, wincing again. He crouches down beside me, grabbing at my arm and jerking me upright. I spit out a curse, whimpering like a child. His meaty fingers poke and prod till I'm near tears.

"Stop," I shout. He glares, taking his hands off me.

"it's dislocated," he sneers," it has to be popped back into place." he reaches for me again, I twist away.

"Don't you fucking touch me," I snarl, shuffling farther and farther away from him. He remains kneeling by the cot, scoffing at my departure.

"Fine," he slaps his hands to his thighs," deal with it yourself."

I watch him trot off somewhere out of sight, stomping all the while. His heavy steps echo around the cabin, shaking the walls a bit. I'm impressed he hasn't knocked some of the decorations off the walls. Hell, I'm impressed he can stand up straight without hitting his head. I hear some clanking of glass, telling me of his location. With him out of the room, I breathe easy.

My arm makes me feel useless and I try to keep busy. Sorting out supplies and checking the fire becomes tedious with one arm. I take to looking at the piling snow outside, it already reaching around a foot high. Even without the blizzard out there, I had no intentions of leaving, it seems neither did the goliath as he licks his wounds in the main bedroom. We keep to ourselves most of the day, him coming back as the day grows to night. Even then he remains in the farthest corner from me. Not that I mind, keep the brute away less we break this unsteady truce.

I try to head to the cot, struggling to lay down with every angle hurting my shoulder. I try to bite back whimpers, not letting him get the satisfaction of hearing them. The hardwood is uncomfortable, so much so that I consider going to the bedroom to sleep on the mattress. The threat of freezing keeps me where I am.

I wiggle around enough that the goliath lets out an annoyed sigh," if you would let me pop it into place then you would have a better time getting comfortable."

"Piss off," I grumble.

He huffs again," you humans are too damn stubborn for your own good. I'm sure this war would have been dealt with years ago if your people would stop acting like children."

I scoff under my breath, not falling for the bait. He continues anyway.

"I'm tempted to see how long you'll keep use of your arm. With us snowed in I'm sure you won't last till the sun melts it all. As weak as you all are I'm nearly impressed with your resilience to help. At this point I believe killing you would be a mercy as amputation would get you dropped from service," he rambles on. I never knew goliaths could be so mouthy, saying nothing of importance in a conversation. He grates on my nerves till the pain of hearing him is worse than the pain in my shoulder. His constant insults nearly make me consider taking my chances outside.

As he goes on his next spiel I sit up, glaring at him as I stand. With a stubborn amount of determination, I charge at the nearest wall, slamming my shoulder against it. A loud pop echoes around the room, silencing the annoying goliath. I wheeze against the wall, panting hard as I slide down to the floor. Tears roll down my cheeks as a sob wracks over my body. My whole arm throbs, telling me of my success and idiocrasy.

I look to the goliath, blowing a loose strand of hair out of my face. He looks surprised, then impressed. It's short-lived though as he looks down at the sword he is fiddling with, having found it on the wall.

"It seems humans are stupid above all else," he mumbles. I huff, thunking my head against the wall.

The silence begins to bug me as the days go on. After his baiting, he hasn't said much else. During the day he sticks to the bedroom, coming back to the main room at night. I try to keep busy, running out of things to do besides count rations and look out at the white landscape. The fire has been kept lit all day, our woodpile beginning to run low. I know there is a large stack outside but the idea of going out there chills me to the bone. At some point I'm going to have to, that thought keeps me busy.

We sit in our cots one night, staring off into space.

"Our fire is going to die before the snow melts," he says casually. I lazily look at him, watching him look to the heath. The glow of the fire gives him a beautiful glow, lighting his markings like a painting.

"there's some chopped wood outside," I answer. He nods.

"I'll retrieve some tomorrow morning, give it enough time to dry out," he states.

"no," I glare at him," I'll grab it, you can't be trying to get your giant self through that snow. Besides, you can reopen your cut lifting those logs."

He glares back," like you can do any better with your arm?"

I sit up," I can do better than you getting through the snow. So what I lack in strength I make up in time."

"by the gods woman," he shouts," can you cease your insolence for one day? Your fire is admirable but it will get you killed. You will rest, do I make myself clear?"

His scolding demand boils my blood. Who does he think he is making such commands? I'm not his to push around or control.

"No, you don't. I will go out there with or without your permission because you aren't my father or commander," I shout. I nearly get up to grab the wood that second, my ire demanding action.

"This is the thing with you humans, we try to do something kind and you basically spit in our faces," he slaps his hands on his thigh," there is no more discussion, I will get the wood in the morning."

"No, you-," he interrupts me.

"End of discussion, now go to bed," he scolds. Before I can say anything more, he rolls over in his cot. I want to scream in frustration, feeling like a child at this moment. Reluctantly I roll over and go to bed as well, fuming as I do.

I aim to wake up early, sneaking out before he can wake up. He still rests in his cot as I roll out of mine. I smile in victory as I make my way to the door. Wrapping my blanket around myself I head out to start the mission of carving a path through the snow. As I reach for the handle the door swings open, forcing me back a step.

"Morning," the goliath greets me, holding an armful of wet wood. I scowl up at him, blowing a stray hair out of my face. He snickers, walking past and setting the wood down by the hearth.

"How'd you wake up before me," I throw the blanket down in my cot. He organizes the already large stack of wood, spacing them out to dry faster.

"Your snoring kept me up, I was already awake," he shrugs.

I sulk, dropping back in my bedding with arms crossed. He looks over his shoulder, laughing as he catches sight of my scowl.

Today he actually spends time in the main room, warming up by the fire and checking on the wood. Minimal words are exchanged but still better than before. The reluctant truce feels less reluctant now.

Night falls and the logs still aren't dry. The small amount we have left can barely keep the fire blazing through the night. We both stare at the hearth.

"We can bundle up more," I offer.

"There aren't any more blankets," he says.

"We can lay closer to the fire, that might help," I try. The idea of freezing during the night isn't an ideal one. The small fire could keep us warm, but just barely. We can try to use the wet wood but it risks snuffing out the flame we already have. I can't think of much else to do.

"we're going to have to huddle for warmth," he sighs. I snap my head towards him, confused by the suggestion.

"Huddle for warmth? Like, share a cot," I ask. He nods. "Well, that's definitely out of the question," I shut him down.

"excuse me," he barks," why is that?"

"I'm not going to share a cot with you. Not even a few days ago you tried killing me, cursing my name to the gods in hopes that they will gut me and spread my entrails for miles," I shake my head," so no, I don't trust you."

"so, you trust that I won't kill you in your sleep but sharing a cot is where you draw the line," he asks, a smile curling his lips. I glare up at him, not appreciating his tone.

"It wasn't like I had a choice," I snide back.

He grins," it's not like you have much of a choice now, too."

I squint at him," you're enjoying this aren't you?"

"not at all," he fights back his smile," having to cuddle up next to my enemy isn't the highlight of my week."

"then it's settled," I clap my hands," we don't share a bed and we just risk the chance of freezing. I love it, glad we're on the same page." I stand up to walk away. He snatches my hand, tugging me back to the floor.

"No, not agreed. I can swallow my pride enough to do this and so can you. I'm not so stubborn to put my wants over my needs," he bites back. I glare daggers at him, he gives it right back. The battle of will begin, me debating on the weight of his words. I'd rather share the damn cot and keep warm but the problem is doing it with him. This truce is only here long enough for us to survive then get back to the war. I won't let myself sit here and pretend that we could be friends. No, that's out of the question. Still, we don't have to be friends to survive. I just have to bite my tongue and get on with it.

"fine," I shout," grab your bedding, it's larger than mine."

He jumps up, piling his sheets in his arms before dropping them in front of the fireplace. We sort it all out, layering some on the floor to keep the chill out. I snuggle under the blanket, looking up at him as he removes his shirt.

'Whoa, whoa," I yell," don't do that." he throws the dirty rag away and crawls into bed. His body gives my heart pause. The wound on his side has healed very nicely, looking more healed than I would have figured for only a few days. His stomach is toned, along with his chest. The fire allows shadows to dance over his torso, adding another level of appeal to his massive frame.

"skin to skin is better to keep warm. Don't have to waste time warming up the clothes," he explains, reaching out and tugging at my shirt. I slap him away, feeling more girlish at this moment than at any point in my life.

"No, no, I'll be keeping mine on," I curl my arms against my chest. He snorts, letting me be as he drops beside me. I watch him, still conflicted on letting this go on. Everything is so confusing. The goliath looks… well, attractive, lounging against the bed. His angry features look softer at the moment, almost relaxed. I don't like seeing him this way.

I lay upon the blankets, turning towards the fire. I jump when his hand curls over my stomach and tugs me against his body. He is so warm. It takes a considerable amount of effort to relax, trying my damndest to fall asleep. I close my eyes and try to pretend the warmth coming from my back isn't his.

Sleep eventually tries to take its claim. My mind fading in and out of rest. As I nearly give in I feel something press against my shoulder, foreign words being mumbled near my ear. His hand fists at my shirt, his head nuzzling against mine. I feel him kiss the back of my neck, mumbling more soft words to my back. I gasp at the feeling, my cheeks tingling from more than the fire. He stiffens behind me. Neither of us moves, neither of us makes a sound.

Nothing is said as we both pretend it never happened. Falling off into tense sleep.

The next morning is…awkward. He wakes up before me, jostling me awake as he runs out of the room. I believe he holds up in the bedroom but I can't tell or gain the courage to check. I'm in a flurry of thoughts as the tingle on the back of my neck remembers his lips. Why did he do that? Surely he hates me, or the most tolerates me. His constant disrespect to my species as a whole has shown his true feelings. For fuck sakes, he tried to kill me not even a week ago.

I circle on the thought the whole day, trying to make some sort of sense of the small bout of affection. It isn't till later that I think about my feelings towards him. I don't hate him, that's clear. I just have a bit of distrust for him. The war has been going on for years now, starting over something as trivial as land. It's grown into this hatred that's on sight. I've killed a few of his people and he has killed a few of mine. As is life as a soldier. But is that a factor now? This little bubble we have created seems to have made those rules disappear. He is domineering but kind, loud but sweet. I don't hate him, I just don't trust him.

He doesn't come back in as the night falls, staying in his room. The wood has dried enough to be used, keeping the fire large. I end up going to bed without seeing him that whole day.

The next morning I wake expecting to see him. I actually hope to see him, to get some sort of guidance on what to do around him. I look around the room, not seeing any evidence of him being here. I sigh, a bit sad at the fact he locked himself away. It's weird to be so disturbed at his absents. I ignore it and get on with the day.

The snow outside has begun melting, the sun shining brightly through the trees. It's still a good two feet and dangerous to venture in but the time here is coming to an end soon. As I watch the water drip off the roof, I grow nervous. I'll have to try to head back to my platoon soon, getting back to the war. That thought ruins my day.

The sun sets and the goliath still isn't here. Nearly two days now and I've heard nothing but some stomping around. At least I know he's still alive. I feel antsy now, tossing and turning in my cot. Why is he still avoiding me? It wasn't that bad what happened, is he embarrassed? Maybe I should go break the ice, make some peace before we part ways.

I shuffle out of my cot, wrapping the blanket around myself. Walking further into the house I stop in front of the closed bedroom door. What am I doing? Perhaps it's better to turn back and pretend nothing happened. Pretend that he didn't hold me close and whisper sweet-sounding words. A lapse of judgment happens to us all. I sigh.

Grabbing the knob I open the door. I shuffle into the darkroom, the light of the moon guiding me towards the bed. A figure sits up in the bed, glowing partially in the light. I walk around the bed, crawling in beside him. His large hands grab my hips to tug me closer. All thoughts evade me as I follow his lead. I throw my leg over his hip, straddling his lap. His hand glides up my back, petting over my braid. He digs his fingers into my hair.

"I wante-," he tries to speak. Words aren't important now. Without much thought I quiet him with my lips, taking his for mine. It's his turn to gasp, freezing while I slant my mouth against his. His fingers clench, tugging on my hair, reacting swiftly. His kiss is sweet. It's a warmth I've craved all day. I pet at his chest, touching the cold skin peeking out the tears of his shirt.

"you're cold," I mumble against him. He forces me back, licking at my lips. I trace his tongue with my own.

"you're so warm," he smiles.

His freezing fingers dig under my shirt to send a chill down my spine. I shutter in his hands, relishing in his touch trailing up to my chest. He kisses me as he twists our positions. Slowly, he guides me onto my back as he crawls over me. I don't bother thinking, wanting to focus on his touch.

He removes his shirt while I shove mine off. We smile at one another, leaning back into another kiss. I pull him close, straying off the cold with his heat. His hips slant against mine, grinding hard into my crotch. His hardening cock brings a zap of need to my body, craving more and more.

We can't wait a second more, peeling our pants off and guiding his large cock to my wet heat. I'm almost hesitant in taking him, his length and girth way bigger than I'm comfortable with. When he pecks my cheek I trust him to be gentle. I take his cock with a choked cry, his grunts playing around the quiet room. As he bottoms out we both take in a much-needed breath.

"Varoth," he says suddenly. I look at him bemused.

"What," I ask, grabbing at his arms.

"My name," he smiles," Varoth." I almost laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. This whole time I never knew his name.

I chuckle," It's nice to meet you Varoth, I'm Evelina. You can call me Eve." he grabs my hand, holding my fingers in his palm as he lifts my knuckles to his lips.

"it's a pleasure, Eve," he presses a kiss to my skin. It's silly and sweet, I want to hit him or kiss him.

With our introductions out the way, he begins to pump. His hips slowly undulate, grinding into my hips with every descent. The feeling of him is beautiful, warm, and intoxicating. Part of me realizes the taboo of it all, sleeping with the enemy. Yet, I can't bring myself so care.

He fucks me like he cares, petting along my sides and worshipping every inch of me with his touch. His lips press every space he can reach, sucking and nipping to his heart's content. I can't look away, watching in awe as he lazily pumps his hips and kisses my chest. Not being able to take it any longer I drag him up, meeting his eyes with a smile. My thumb pets at his cheek before I slant my lips against his.

"you're so beautiful," he purrs against my mouth," so strong and determined."

"Yea," I ask, licking his top lip," I thought you hated how determined I was." his hands trail down to my hips, gripping them to buck harder in his next thrust.

"I hated how it pleased me," he groans," everything about you draws me in. That's the only thing I can hate about you." I flutter around him, twitching at his praise. His face clenches up for a moment, showing his blissful torment.

We make love this night, no doubt about it. Our slowly climbing peaks don't need to be rushed as we just enjoy one another. We kiss and bite, mumbling praises to the other as the fire inside stokes to an inferno. I break first, almost startled by the sudden pleasure. I writhe and cry out, clenching around him. He doesn't falter as he watches me fall apart. It's not till I'm laying exhausted in the sheet does he take his own end. His hips clap against mine, taking his fill before spilling in me. He groans long and loud, collapsing atop of me.

Sometime later we lay cuddled in bed. He curls around my back, hugging me at the waist. His arm pillows my head, allowing me to play with his hand. I compare our sizes, amazed at how easily he can fit my hand in his. His large fingers please me, them curling over mine.

"Were you embarrassed about the other night," I ask as I trace the lines of his palm.

He hums," I didn't know you were still awake."

"so you decided to hide in here till the snow melted," I tease. He grabs my hand in his, intertwining out fingers.

"It sounds childish when you say it like that."

"Well, it was," I say. He nips at my shoulder in retort.

"You have a power over me that makes me act like a whelp. I can't help but act a fool when you're near," he pecks my shoulder. I hum, smiling to myself.

We fall asleep in the cold room, keeping each other warm. It's the best sleep I've gotten since we got here. Though my toes feel near frozen and my thighs feel sticky, it's the most restful night.

Come morning I wake to a breeze ghosting over my back. I shiver, rolling over to snuggle into Varoth. Cold is all I'm met with. I stretch my arm out, feeling the empty bed. Confused I bolt upright, looking over the vacant area. I look around the room. His clothes are missing along with him. Perhaps he is already by the fire.

I get dressed and walk out into the main room. The only thing that greets me is a blazing fireplace, even the cots are cleaned up and put away.

"Varoth," I call out.

Nothing.

I search the whole cabin, an unsettling feeling curling in my chest. When I open the front door I get my answer. The snow has melted through the morning, coming to a manageable height. In the snow is footprints leading out and away. My jaw ticks as I slam the door shut.

Guess it's over now.

I pack up my things numbly. The hike through the woods is lonely, not even the birds keep me company. It's well towards sunset when I finally find civilization, a small town a few miles away from the woods. I make contact with the crew stationed here and get back to my life before everything.

The next few weeks feel hollow. Working has lost its appeal, it's passion. I fought for a purpose, to be free of the goliath's anger. To reclaim the lands they stole from us. It was a solid following, but now? Every fight I can't even bother to look at them, seeing the humanity in every single one. What's the point of reclaiming the mountains? Why try to take that away from them when it's all they have?

It's a month later when I resign from the war, dishonorably discharged. I try to live out of the path of the war but it seems there it's not much of an escape. The people still rant and rave about the goliaths. I pick up and leave, making it to a neutral town far away from it all. Starting a new life in a new land.

I make a career for myself as a blacksmith's assistant. The years of hard labor in the service have toughed me up for such back-breaking work. I offer the large orc my help in fetch tasks, at least till I learn enough to be of actual use.

"Eve," the orc grunts," you don't mind heading over to the lumbermill to get me some wood for handles?'

"Of course not," I jump up," anything to not be sitting in this sweltering heat."

The older man laughs, wiping sweat from his brow," you're telling me."

With an objective, I make my way down the village. The small hunting village is home to a melting pot of creatures. It's almost a haven for all. Orcs and dwarves work together along with humans and elves. It's nice living somewhere so accepting.

I make it to the mill at the edge of town. The saw is heard from down the road, the crew already hard at work. I walk around till I spot someone chopping wood in the center of a pile of logs. He is a pasty man, large and strong. I call out to him.

"Excuse me, sir," I shout over the saw. The man launches his ax down again, splitting the log easily. With that done he glances over his shoulder. I almost recoil at the sight, my traitorous heart lurching.

"Evelina," Varoth gawks. His deep gravelly voice nearly calms my nerves. It's nice to see him, at the same time that it isn't. I almost contemplate running.

"Varoth," I growl. He tosses his ax, walking over with his loud steps. His quick movement startles me into taking a step back. He comes to me fast, grabbing at my arms before I can race off. I fight in his hold, angry and frustrated with him. He left and it still stings. I never let myself think about it, labeling the memories as forbidden in my mind. He pulls me flush to his sweaty chest, my feet dangling off the ground. His mouth captures mine in a fierce embrace.

For a moment I can forget my ire, melting into his touch like a lovesick woman. I give myself that few seconds, and only that.

I push him away, shaking out of his arms and falling to the ground before slapping him across the face. He barely flinches, his head staying still.

"You don't get to do that," I stab my finger into his chest," you have no right!"

"I know," he grunts, looking at me with awe. He doesn't look mad or confused, but happy. It plucks at my nerves and my heart.

"Fuck you, Varoth," I spit," you don't get to grab me like that and kiss me as nothing happen. Like you didn't leave me alone in that bed, confused and worried. Do you understand how much it hurt to see your footsteps in the snow that morning? I had to suck it up for weeks, pretend that what happened never happened. I had to fight on like my enemy doesn't look just like you." a frustrated tear rolls down my cheek. I wipe it away and continue, letting out the anger and hate I've hidden for weeks.

"You made me so confused! I knew what I was before we fell off that hill, I knew what I fought for. Then you came and fucked me up, fucked me over. I was left conflicted and scared as I walked back to the life I knew. But it really wasn't the life I knew, it was all wrong. I had to drop everything I used to know and start all over again because you fucking kissed my neck and whispered sweet words. So fuck you, Varoth," I vent," fuck you."

Speaking felt like opening an old wound. I always imagined what would happen if I saw Varoth again. I thought I would just walk by him and pretend that nothing went on between us, to hold my head high and ignore him. I wanted to be better than this, to care as little as he did when he left. I hiccup, snorting back snot. I can't do that. That night meant more to be than him it seems.

I shutter as sobs try to wrack my body, the months finally catching up to me. Varoth tugs me into his arms, petting at my back as I cry. I beat at his chest, wanting to be angry, but all I feel is tired.

"I'm sorry, Eve," he crouches down to his knees, burying his face against my hair," I couldn't stay, we both know that. Saying goodbye would have been too hard for me. I was a coward, and for that I'm sorry." I let him hold me, stealing his comfort as it's what I'm owed.

"You should have said something," I mumble, exhausted, against his shoulder," I felt so used that morning. Like that night meant nothing to you. I could only think that you truly saw me as some low life human to be used and discard."

He recoils at my words, reaching up and cupping my cheeks. His eyes dart between mine, his brow pinched in concern.

"That night meant everything," he says sternly," I am just a coward who couldn't face the consequence of the next day. Do not think any longer that I wanted to use you because that is the biggest lie I can think of."

I can't help but snort in amusement," I guess you're the real poltroon."

He smiles, softening as he speaks," yea, I guess I am."

We stand in the lumberyard just staring at one another, so much left to be said. Yet, all I can think about is kissing those plump pale lips.

"Varoth," I cup his hand against my cheek," why are you here?"

His thumb pets under my eye," I moved here shortly after the snow completely melted. I couldn't fight in a war I no longer believed in."

"I understand that," I nod bitterly," should I be so bold to assume I'm the reason for that change?"

He smiles, leaning down to drop his head against mine," of course you are. Every change I've made since meeting you is your fault." I choke out a laugh, more tears rolling down my cheeks. Nothing stops me from reaching up and kissing his cheek, his nose, his lips. I've missed him. He returns the gesture, making a smile curl up my face as he kisses me everywhere.

"I have yearned for you every day," he kisses my cheek," scolding myself for being such a fool ever since."

I giggle from his attention," you have been known to be an idiot, but I've missed you too."

He stops his kisses, rolling his forehead against mine," do you think I'd be allowed to make up for lost times?"

"I don't know," I look to him with a teasing glint in my eye," you still have to make up for leaving me cold and alone in bed."

"That I do," he shuts his eyes," perhaps spend my whole life making up for that mistake."

It's a long while before we can gain the courage to split apart, making plans to meet up after work. He helps me carry the wood to the blacksmith, catching me up on his life since he found the village. I can't stop the smiling that graces my lips.

I think everything is going to be a-okay.

#12 days of christmas #12 tropes for christmas #Enigma-IM #exophilia #monster boyfriend #goliath boyfriend #snowed in

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killuaisaprincess · 3 years

Text

Mi Amor

Gon isn't surprised to be woken by a blood-curdling scream. He isn't, but when amber eyes snap open, his sternum aches with how choked out it sounds. The way the scream lingers in the air, pained, so desperate. It cuts right through his muscle and skin and smashes through bone, making him jump out of the bed, instincts taking over.

He shouldn't have let Killua convince him they should sleep in different rooms. Sure, outright confronting him wouldn't have worked. Killua had been especially cagey all day... but Gon could've used something, anything... three different rooms would be too expensive. Then again, Killua had already accounted for that, and Alluka ended up in the same room with Gon, Killua a separate one. Gon should've pushed harder. Killua had been distant and weirder than normal... his smiles clearly fake for Alluka's sake.

His heart is pounding so loudly in his ears, fear, and rage trickling down in pools of sweat, hands clenched in fists of iron, veins popping. He was terrified someone was actually hurting Killua... with how he sounded... even though Gon knows Killua is more than capable of taking care of himself, in his sleep even...

Gon doesn't waste time. His adrenaline is spiked with fear; he punches a hole straight through the wall to Killua's room. It probably wakes everyone in the little motel up, including Alluka, but Gon doesn't care.

"Killua!"

Gon steps over debris from his newly created door, panic rising in his chest. His best friend was slumped over in a heap on his bed, legs entangled in a sheet, and slim digits grasping at his thin tank top as he gasps for air.

Gon pads across the room, trying to temper how loud his footsteps are as he rushes over, dipping a knee into the creaky bed, before settling down. He's slow with his movements, despite how much he wants to grab Killua and pull him into a bone-crushing hug. He tentatively brushes his fingertips against Killua's shoulders, lifting him up in hopes that'll help him breathe easier, ever so gently looking into those scared, broken eyes.

Those giant blue eyes blown wide open in fear, tears pooling at the corners, making Gon swallow his rage. To kill whoever hurt Killua this much a thousand times. Seeing that fragile look, feeling Killua shake under his light grip, and hearing his mumbles is enough to make Gon's heart split clean in two.

"No... no, please... I'm sorry... I'll be the perfect assassin... no more... please. It hurts. No more... please... I don't want to. I don't want to. I'm scared. I'm scared."

Like a mantra over and over, every word is another knife plunged and twisted into Gon's chest, making it hard to breathe. Killua... knowing Killua was in so much worse pain, had been in so much worse pain...

How.

Dare.

They.

He has to bite back every urge to tighten his grip.

Gon's hands are strong, strong, and rough; they have been since he was little, running around Whale Island, climbing trees, and befriending animals much larger than him. He makes sure to be as gentle as possible with every touch. Tugging his fingers up to brush some of Killua's sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes, the pad of his thumb pressing under Killua's cheek. Softly, tenderly wiping away some of those tears. There's a flicker of recognition in Killua's eyes, one that makes Gon's heart soar. He presses Killua flush to his chest, fingers draping across the younger's thin waist, protectively. Every touch is strong, but not in the way Killua is used to. Not strength that would restrain him and hurt him. Strength that would protect him, gentle, profound strength.

Gon rubs light circles against Killua's back through the soaked fabric of his over-shirt. Killua doesn't say anything, but Gon listens carefully, full of intent to every breath Killua takes. The heavy gasps like he's being plunged underwater, choked with sobs, slowly start to calm down. If it didn't get better Gon would have used the techniques he asked Leorio about.

Killua seems so tiny in his arms, pressing his face into his chest like this and sobbing. Despite the fact that they are relatively the same size, he seems impossibly small and fragile, and Gon tugs Killua closer, squeezing his eyes in pain, burying his nose in Killua's hair.

It hurts more than anything that he can't do anything more for his best friend; Gon wishes more than anything he could go back in time, go back and time and save Killua. A small broken child, crying on the cold dark floor, bleeding out. They are fifteen now, but whatever small time they have left of a 'childhood,' Gon won't let Killua suffer anymore... he won't be selfish this time.

"It's okay. I've got Killua... I won't let anything happen to him. I'll protect him, I promise. I've got Killua..."

His own mantra repeated over and over. He wouldn't let anyone lay a hand on Killua.

Killua's sobs eventually reside to a stop, only a few sniffles. Gon's heart still feels heavy, but when Killua shifts under him and Gon pulls away, offering Killua the biggest brightest smile he can.

The ashamed look on Killua's face as he rubs the heel of his palm under red puffy eyes makes Gon's heart break again.

"Kil-"

"I'm fine."

Killua snaps, voice hoarse, eyebrows pinched together, tears slowly welling up in his bloodshot eyes, and Gon can't take it. That pretty face being scrunched up in pain. The kind, gentle soul he loves more than anything distraught. When a sob tears from his lips, that's all Gon can take.

Gon tugs Killua right back, ignoring how he squirms, even weakly hits Gon in the chest. He shushes Killua will all the love he can, running featherlight touches against his spine. Killua shivers under him, and Gon's shirt is a mess of snot and tears by now, and Gon doesn't care. He just mummers soft reassurances to Killua. Over and over.

"It's okay. I've got Killua... it's okay, my love, it's okay."

Killua stiffens, and Gon freezes, his breath catching in his throat as Killua looks up, confusion flickering in those perfectly beautiful eyes. Gon's heart feels like breaking again because Killua is confused. He's staring wide-eyed and dumbfounded.

"W-what? My... love...?"

Gon can't take it. That Killua would be confused by something Gon feels so truly. It's because of them, them, and their sick, twisted, hateful love.

"Did you bonk your head, stupid?"

Gon shakes his head, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against Killua's, grinning widely, his small dimples showing, fingers tugging Killua in closer and never letting go.

"Nope! Killua is my love! Killua's my everything! My sunshine! My moon! My stars! My sun!"

Every word he fills with strength and love, love they never gave him, as Killua's blotchy cheeks, pale ivory, and pink, go red. It's beautiful. Killua's beautiful. Gon doesn't want him to be in pain anymore. Some might think it nothing more than childish adoration, making him say something out of a romcom. That's not it at all. Despite what it seemed, his childish nature, and baby face, Gon was intelligent, and he knows with all his heart he loves Killua.

Killua blubbers, those long slim beautiful fingers, digging into Gon's shirt as he buries his head into Gon's shoulder. Gon smiles so softly, fingers petting Killua's locks of hair. Killua is light as a feather, really, but the weight of his head and body craning into Gon makes Gon's heart skip a beat. He hums happily, tracing circles around Killua's bony shoulder blade. He isn't even sure how long they stay like that... Gon feels his eyes get heavy a few times before he shakes himself awake.

Killua's light breathing and drooling all over his shoulder makes Gon peer down fondly as he lifts Killua up with ease, warmth ebbing in his chest. He wouldn't let Killua have any more nightmares, not tonight, not ever; he'd never let the Zoldyck's touch Killua again.

Gon walks through the hole in the wall, sort of sad he can't see the cute little blush that will bloom across Killua's features when he tells him he punched a hole through the wall for him, but Gon supposes he can wait. To alas also be scolded too... although he might already get scolded as big blue eyes stare at him, Alluka standing there in her pink pajamas, worry pooling in her eyes.

Alluka must have heard her brother's screams, now and before; she probably always worried about him... So Gon grins, ending up on the side of the bed almost falling off, Killua pressed against his chest, Alluka on the other side, hugging her brother from behind. Gon lovingly caresses Killua's cheek, and Alluka yawns, peering at him through sleepy eyes.

"You really love big brother, huh?"

"Mmm. I love him lots."

Alluka grins, slowly closing her eyes.

"Nanika's glad, so am I."

Gon smiles, although she or Killua can't see, reaching over and tugging the sheet over her and Killua more, leaving one of his hands to rest on Killua's waist, the other Alluka's shoulder.

He was glad too.

#killua zoldyck #hxh Killua #killua hxh #gon freecss #hxh Gon #hxh #gonkillu #hunter x hunter #;windy’s stuff #killua #gon #gon x killua #i probs won’t get around to writing smth for Ki’s b day precious babey 😭😭😭🥺🥺but I wanna make a few more edits but I’ll repost smth for #him give him the love he deserves and carry him and protect Ki and hold him #ask to tag

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abstracthappiness · 2 years

Text

microfiction, April 3 - 9

You never say my name until it’s too late. Then you speak it, scream it, weep it like a spell, like a wish, like an oath—anything to bring me back. You whisper it one last time at my funeral, like a prayer. I am naught but ash on the wind, bitter in your mouth.

The rabble stare up at the house. The house stares back, watching them gather by the black iron gate. They’re safe, as long as they don’t trespass. But they will. The house knows this, like the house knows there is space for a few more bodies in the garden.

The birth of the royal twins resulted in a division of power, breaking the kingdom into east and west. When the heirs came of age, they took their separate thrones. Their father, seated in the central capital, thought them content. But not everyone was content.

—I have your special order. He sets a vial on the counter. The blood inside glitters. —Didn’t you know? Gods bleed gold. One drop on the tongue to become invincible. Two drops to die. Three, it’s said, will bring you back from death—but you won’t come back the same.

The morning air felt still enough to make my teeth ache. It was the sort of day one received bad news. The visitors arrived with covered faces and red hands. Mother received them in the parlor. I stood by the back door, watching the storm roll in, ready to run.

While serving out his sentence at Blackwood Penitentiary, he sent a single letter to his sister. In it, he apologized, recalled childhood memories, and begged for her forgiveness. It took her no time at all to decode his real message: It’s buried at the farm.

We exited the toy room, filled with shelves of staring antique dolls. As we walked down the hall, there was a clattering sound, and a doll’s head rolled out of the empty room. Which was eerie enough, until the eyes blinked open, and the mouth started shrieking.

The gentleman orders a slice of pie and a cup of coffee, and digs in with gusto. His companion laughs. —I can’t believe a Death God has such a sweet tooth. The gentleman grins, skull-like. —Is that stranger than an angel having such fondness for chicken wings and beer?

The gates are revealed when a full moon rises. The warden stands guard, silent as stone. You must present something precious to barter your passage. This time, you offer up a key to that place you can never return to. The gates open, and so you descend.

Everyone in town warned you: Don’t go into the woods, for there are one hundred strange sights to see, and if you come across one, you’ll be doomed to search for the others… ~ You do not heed this advice, and find a salt-crusted boat, beached at the top of an oak tree. ~ The next night you are lured further into the trees by the sound of chimes. On the far side of a clearing, you spot a giant deer with the face of a woman. A blue sash is tied around her neck, stitched with golden bells. She looks at you and smiles.

Her mother read fairytales and snacked on seeds when she was pregnant, so her daughter’s imagination bloomed. Wildflowers grew from her scalp, tangling in her hair. When a teacher tried to trim back her curiosity and creativity, the girl disappeared into the woods.

“Your transfer request was declined.” He glares at the report. “Is it that distasteful for you to work under a cyborg?” No, it’s the way you feel when he fixes you with his mechanical eye. Having a crush on your superior officer is surely frowned upon.

read more on twitter: kattra | prompts: FromOneLine / vss365 / VSSmicro / vssHauntedHouse / vss365tbt / whistpr / SciFiFri / SciFanSat

#microfiction #vss #flash fiction #writing #my writing #kattra #magical realism #horror #paranormal #supernatural #sci fi #magic #dialogue #little stories #twitter prompts #twitter

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xjoonchildx · 5 years

Text

danger | ksj x reader chapter two: like attracts like

summary: kim seokjin is a rich asshole. you are an ambitious attorney. smut ensues when he just won’t leave you alone.

pairing: seokjin/reader word count: 8.6K (Part 2 of 2)

rating: 18+

genre: smut | pwp | okay fine, porn with a thin plot | but it’s really thin warnings: hate sex, language, terrible ethical decisions, blatant misuse of office furniture

Chapter 01 | 02

******************************

Kim Seokjin has no respect for a well-made suit.

You resist the urge to say excuse me sir, this is Italian when he yanks your tailored jacket open, tearing the silk blouse underneath and sending a button scattering. He slips his large, warm hands under your shirt and sends both garments to the floor.

He assesses you, skating his fingers over the tops of your breasts, down the lace of your bra, onto the sensitive skin of your stomach. You stand there and take it, breathless -- awaiting his next move and too uncertain to make a move of your own.

“Like attracts like,” he says, fingers moving to toy with the tiny gold pendant at the base of your neck. The place where you are certain your pulse is visible to the naked eye at this point. “I knew from the moment I saw you what you were looking for.”

You clear your throat. “And what is that?”

Seokjin smiles but ignores your question and strokes the back of his fingers against your cheek. The sensation is tender and entirely at odds with what he says next.

“I’m going to bend you over my desk.”

Your knees nearly buckle at that casual declaration. You shake your head as if to clear it as he turns away from you.

It’s like an out-of-body experience, watching Seokjin calmly stack papers and methodically move files like he’s getting ready for a meeting instead of getting ready to fuck you. The wetness between your legs is obscene, soaking through your panties and onto your thighs.

“Come here,” he says after a moment.

He shrugs off his suit jacket and pulls off his tie.

You have no idea what comes next, apprehension and arousal bleeding together in a way that makes you feel lightheaded. But you do as he says, moving slowly until you are standing in front of him.

You are suddenly mindful of the giant, open windows and glad for the darkness in this office right now. Seokjin looks dangerous like this, shadows and light playing across his black eyes and angular face as he reaches out with those long fingers to touch you.

“You are really something,” he says softly, reaching out to rake his thumbs over the delicate fabric that still covers your nipples.

“Stubborn….” he starts, burying his face in your neck and kissing softly along your jawline.

“...spoiled...” he continues, pillow-soft lips stopping for a moment at the place where your pulse beats wildly in the curve of your neck. You let your head fall back, take in the scent of his cologne. Whatever it is, it’s heady and masculine and it makes him smell expensive.

“...coddled,” he says, lips sliding up your sensitive skin. Goosebumps bloom all over your skin when his teeth take hold of your earlobe. His breath is warm against your ear.

“And I’ve been wanting to fuck that smirk off your face since the very first time I saw you.”

As if punctuating his words, Seokjin presses the length of his body into you, lets you feel exactly how much he means what he says. You’re certain he can feel the way you shudder at the feeling of his very hard cock grinding into your belly.

“What sm-- “

“Quiet,” he warns. “I’ve had more than enough of your smart mouth these past few weeks.”

He pulls down on your bra, freeing your nipples but leaving the garment intact. The straps fall down your shoulders and he immediately takes one of the straining buds into his mouth, worries it between his teeth. Your hands grip into his hair and you lean into him, using him for balance as a strangled moan escapes.

He enjoys you like that for a moment, hands slipping down to circle your waist while his mouth continues the onslaught on your breasts.

“I watch you tie these other men in knots,” he says in between not-so-gentle tugs on your aching nipples. “But you won’t get away with that with me. We understand each other, right?”

You nod slowly, afraid to test your voice at this moment.

He pulls away from you then, seems to drink in your stunned silence as you watch him roll the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows.

“Ass up,” he says, motioning to his desk.

“I -- what?”

“I said I was going to bend you over my desk and I am a man of my word. Ass up, please.”

He’s dead serious you think for one wild moment when you catch sight of his face. His jaw is tight, eyes dark and unreadable as he waits for you. It feels like you are moving in slow motion when you lean over and present yourself just as he’s asked. The heat that’s burning in your face is a stark contrast to the feel of the cool, dark wood on your cheek.

You know why he’s doing this. He’s stripped you of any control this way, made it impossible for you to anticipate what comes next. He uses the position to his advantage, letting the suspense build while he takes his time deciding his next move.

“I quite like you this way,” he says after a moment, hands going to your waist, fingers ghosting across your ass and the backs of your thighs. You feel the zipper of your skirt pull open, feel him shove it down your legs and off your feet. Your muscles tense when his fingers stroke the material of your panties.

You know without a doubt they are soaked and the heat in your cheeks becomes even more intense.

“No...” he murmurs on a deep exhale, pulling the damp garment off. “No, I don’t think I was wrong about you at all. Did I say something that you wanted to hear?”

You’re instantly mortified but don’t have enough time to think on it because Seokjin slides one long finger deep inside of you, testing the feel of your wetness and heat. You whine at the pressure, instinctively pushing back against the heel of his hand.

The touch is not enough -- not nearly enough -- not when your entire body is tense and throbbing for some kind of relief. But Seokjin takes his time before making another move, leaving you aching and anxious.

“Do something,” you demand after a moment.

Seokjin chuckles darkly.

“At some point, you are going to have to learn to be patient.”

You’re certain he can hear the huff of frustration you let out against the desk because only a heartbeat later his hands grip your legs and pull them apart. You feel him move against you but without being able to see him it’s impossible to know what he has planned.

Your entire body jolts at the first flick of his tongue.

The shock pushes the air from your lungs with what sounds like a squeak. Seokjin is pressing his face into you from behind and from this angle he has to be on his knees. You can’t help the strangled fuck that escapes as he pulls you further apart, positions you so he can reach your aching clit with his fingers and tongue. Your back arches deep, thighs shaking.

His long fingers are zeroed in on your clit, while his lips and tongue lap against you and the effect is disorienting because you can’t see him, can’t do anything but press your sweaty palms against the desk and moan out your frustration and pleasure.

“Think someone out there is watching us right now?” he asks, and fuck if that doesn’t add another level of anxiety and excitement to this entire ordeal. “Think they realize it’s Bai and Byun’s star junior attorney on my desk right now, getting fucked with my tongue?”

You shiver.

“Shit, Seokjin, I -- “

“You what?” he taunts, tweaking your clit between his fingers, eliciting a high-pitched sound you’re certain you’ve never, ever made in your entire life.

“You’re going to come for me?” he murmurs. “Or are you going to fight me on that, too?”

His lips are so wet and soft but his tongue is unyielding and insistent and the back and forth assault between the two is making you dizzy. Your entire body is strained, muscles taut and you feel ready to snap.

“Come for me,” he demands. “Do as you’re told for once.”

And you do, because the stimulation between your ears is just as powerful as the stimulation between your legs and you can’t fight back a second longer. You sob through the orgasm that hits you, shuddering from head to toe as your mind blanks and then slowly reboots, gradually comes back into focus.

You slump off of Seokjin’s desk, down to the floor, boneless and useless. Just as the roar of your pounding heart and heavy breathing starts to subside in your ears, you hear another sound. You realize it’s the sound of Seokjin’s own ragged breaths.

You turn to find him reclined into his plush desk chair, palming himself roughly through his dress pants. His dark eyes bore into you, the intensity you see there enough to make you shiver. You are on your knees looking up at him and the implications of your current position do not slip past you.

He’s trying to compose himself you realize as you watch him breathe deeply through his nose and out of his mouth. After a moment, the rise and fall of his chest seems to slow.

“Come sit with me,” he says quietly, motioning for you to join him.

You are still bare from the waist down when you slip into his lap. He has the most beautiful lips of any man you’ve ever seen, enviably full and soft and pink and you can taste yourself on him when you seal your mouth to his. He kisses you so gently you almost forget he’s the same man who’s made you beg for him, the same man who’s manhandled you from the moment you’ve walked in the door.

You remember though, the moment he winds a hand into your hair and pulls, forcing your head back and exposing the column of your throat.

“What is it about you, hmm?” he groans, lips slick against your pulse point. “Why do you drive me so fucking crazy?”

He’s far less tender when he takes your mouth this time, mouth possessive and hot against your own. You are still slick from your release and making a mess of his pants because you can’t help but rut against his thigh, can’t help but search for more of the friction you so desperately crave.

Your hand slips between your bodies, to where you can feel him hot and hard and wanting. His tongue skates along the line of your ear when you reach for his belt, undoing the clasp and freeing his stiff cock from his slacks and boxers.

Seokjin’s hand clamps down over yours the moment you move to touch him.

“I say when,” he sucks gently on your neck, “And I say how.”

“God, you’re annoying,” you huff.

He smiles.

“I’m half-tempted to make you get down on the floor and suck me off,” he says, words sending a bolt of arousal straight up your spine. “But that will have to wait for another time.”

He captures your mouth again in an unhurried, thorough kiss.

He settles instead for taking your hand in his and wrapping them both around his cock. He is velvety and warm to the touch, thick and throbbing and you hiss when he bites down on your collarbone.

Another time echoes through your mind and the thrum between your legs intensifies. You grind against him harder.

“Right now,” he whispers against your mouth, “I intend to fuck you in front of this entire city.”

You suck in a sudden breath.

“You can’t,” you protest on the shaky exhale, simultaneously freaked out and turned on by his words.

“Sure I can,” he whispers casually, guiding your hand faster up and down his rigid length. He groans when you capture the moisture that’s started to gather at the tip of his cock and smooth it down his shaft.

He steals another thorough kiss before coaxing you to your feet, patting you on the behind as if to send you on your way.

“Go on.”

You walk on shaking legs to the large window and swallow thickly as you take in the lights above and below. What are the chances that someone is watching you right now? Slim. But just the chance is enough to set off a tension that runs the entire length of your body. Behind you, you hear Seokjin shedding the rest of his clothing and ripping open a condom as you stare down at the cars racing up and down the streets below.

His breath is warm on your neck when he finally joins you, the heat of his body welcome in this cool office air. He puts one hand on the nape of your neck, lifts your hair and places a kiss behind your ear.

“You like being watched, don’t you?” he whispers, just as you feel his firm cock against the curve of your ass. “In court, at bars…”

One of his arms wraps around you, deft fingers slipping low and finding your clit immediately. He applies a light pressure that makes your eyes fall shut.

“You like putting on a show. They can’t keep their eyes off you, hmmm?”

“What do you want me to say?” you manage weakly, moving your hips to chase his touch. “I like winning.”

“I like to win, too,” he whispers back. “But it doesn’t mean anything to me unless it’s a fair fight. And you,” he kisses the curve of your shoulder in between words, “are more than a fair fight.”

You tense when you feel the head of his cock at your entrance.

You curve your back to encourage him to sink inside but instead he slowly rubs the length of his cock against you, coating himself in your wetness but never slipping inside. You grit your teeth at the slow torture, body nearly vibrating with the need to be penetrated, to be possessed.

“Enough, Seokjin,” you whisper finally, catching sight of his reflection in the dim light playing off the windows. His eyes are shut, mouth open as he revels in the sensation of teasing you to the very limits of your self-control.

He grabs for your hair again, pulling your head close and arching your back even further.

“You are an impatient little brat,” he laughs, finally pushing forward and easing his way inside.

You are still swollen and sensitive from your orgasm and you feel every inch of what he’s giving you. You make a pathetic, strangled sound when he bottoms out, hips flush against your ass.

“Fuck --” he grits out, pulling out to the tip and slamming back inside.

The sheer force of the thrust makes you keen, your head dropping low between your shoulders as you use your palms against the glass to steady yourself against the assault.

He may have drawn out the buildup to fucking you, but now that he’s inside you, he wastes no time. He sets an unforgiving pace, fingers digging into your waist and ass as he pumps deeply.

“Oh, god --” you cry, arms locked and thighs shaking as you fight to keep up with him.

“You are so goddamned tight,” he groans, stroking to the hilt. “You are going to be a fucking problem for me, aren’t you?”

You whimper, at a loss for words.

The sound of skin against skin is obscene in this quiet office, and it only serves to arouse you even more. By the time Seokjin slips one hand down your stomach to where your bodies meet and starts rubbing rough circles across your already overstimulated clit, you are so close to coming for a second time you nearly beg him to stop.

But Seokjin -- the clever asshole -- can already sense it.

“Oh no you don’t,” he hisses, hips still pumping hard against you. His hand falls away from your clit and you’re not sure if the whine you make in response is out of frustration or relief. He drops his mouth to your back and bites hard. You yelp, bucking backward and he grips your hips to keep you from throwing him off and ruining his rhythm.

You are a mess -- hair tangled, skin moist, legs and thighs burning with the exertion. You raise your chin to get a look at Seokjin in the glass and get a small sense of satisfaction at how disheveled he looks. Picture-perfect Mr. Kim looks completely wrecked, hair falling into his face, chest heaving as he continues fucking you at a brutal pace.

“Every time you plant this pretty ass in a chair,” he pauses to pull in a breath through gritted teeth, “I want you to think about this.”

He makes his point with another punishing thrust and now you are beyond gone, beyond controlling the build of your orgasm. The sound that bubbles up your chest and out of your mouth is pitiful, something between a whimper and a whine.

“I can’t Seokjin,” you gasp, “I can’t stop.”

You brace for the firm reprimand you’re certain you’re about to hear, but it seems Seokjin can’t stop either. He thrusts faster, pulling from some untapped reserve of energy and hits you somehow deeper and harder than before. Your legs nearly come out from underneath you when your orgasm hits you, your palms slick with sweat against the glass. You sob as the tremors run up and down your spine, causing you to jerk uncontrollably.

Seokjin follows you right off the edge, groaning loudly as he comes. His fingers are digging into your hips so savagely, you know he’s leaving marks. He whispers filthy things, unfiltered and uncensored praise as he rocks through the last waves of his orgasm.

Then the room stills for a moment as you both pause to catch your breath.

Seokjin catches you off guard when he gathers you close and drops a soft, chaste kiss at the nape of your neck. The contrast of the touch to the way he’s just fucked you is disorienting. He’s done this too many times tonight, handled you with care only to do an about-face that pulls the rug out from underneath you.

He drops back into his chair with a heavy sigh, shoves a hand through his disheveled hair.

“Not how I anticipated ending a Monday at the office, but you sure are pushy.”

Your post-orgasm bubble immediately bursts.

You may have been under the influence of hormones for the past hour but the fog has cleared now. You hate this man and you just fucked him in his office and this has not been one of your brightest ideas. You can’t get out of here fast enough.

“This --” you say, walking quickly to grab the pieces of your suit littered across his office, “ -- was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

“Didn’t feel like a mistake when you came for me,” Seokjin replies casually, shrugging on his own shirt and pants. “Twice, if I recall?”

A furious blush spreads across your face because, of course, he’s right -- but you’d rather eat a bowl of glass shards than admit you just had the best sex of your life with Kim Seokjin.

You throw your clothes on haphazardly and pray the office is completely empty by now because anyone who stopped to get a look at you would know exactly what you’ve been up to.

“This never happened,” you say, reaching for the office door.

Seokjin smiles.

“Be sure to call me if you want it to never happen again, okay?”

You slam the door on your way out.

**********************

You’ve been avoiding Nari for days and she knows it.

She’s sent you more than a few texts demanding details of what she assumes was some kind of showdown. You’ve been carefully putting her off, telling her you’ll chat about it later but you’re really just buying time.

You’ve got to come up with a very intricate lie because you’d rather die a thousand slow deaths than tell her how it really went down. Everyone in this town would know Kim Seokjin bent you over his desk and had you six ways to Sunday by the time happy hour hit.

At least it’s a Friday.

You’d planned on skipping out early after lunch but the senior partners called a firm-wide staff meeting for this afternoon.

You slide into a chair in the conference room and look up just in time to see Nari slide in next to you.

“You think you’re slick, huh?” she whispers, ever-present cup of coffee in one hand.

“Not slick,” you whisper back. “Just not that interesting.”

You decide a change of subject is in order.

“What do you know about this meeting?” you say, watching as the rest of the staff files into the room and into available seats.

“Nothing,” she whispers with mock outrage. “Can you imagine? I have zero tea on this. Maybe we’re all getting fired.”

Your stomach tenses with uncertainty. Most of the time Nari knows what’s going on in this place before even the most senior partners do.

Very, very strange.

A flurry of activity at the front of the room brings you back to the moment.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” Byun Doyun announces. “I’m sorry to have put all your plans to get your weekend started early on hold,” he jokes. “Don’t think I don’t see all those golf bags shoved under your desks.”

The room laughs with him. You don’t.

“This announcement couldn’t wait, though. It’s a very big step forward and an exciting acquisition for this firm.”

Nari pulls her phone out and shoots you a text.

nari: ??? [ 2:45 PM ]

you: no idea [ 2:45 PM ]

“As you know, Bai and Byun has had an amazing year. Billing is off the charts, we’ve won a lot of big cases, clients are happy. We are very excited about the future of this firm. That’s why we are so excited about this.”

The door to the conference room opens again and Bai Hajoon walks in with Kim Seokjin, both men smiling widely.

There is bowing, there are handshakes, there is clapping.

There is nausea.

The quick microwave meal you’d tossed back just a couple of hours ago seems to come to life in your stomach and you think you might be sick, right here, right now.

Your phone starts buzzing frantically and you dive for it, slip it under the table as Nari’s messages pop up one after the other.

nari: the FUCK [ 2:48 PM ]

nari: hello? what is going on? [ 2:48 PM ]

nari: my god, answer these texts [ 2:49 PM ]

Bai Hajoon proudly shows off his new toy.

“We are so excited to be bringing Kim Seokjin onto our team. He is going to help usher this firm into a new age of prosperity. He and other senior leaders will be stepping up as we old guys --” he smiles knowingly at Byun Doyun, “-- make our plans to step back.”

Your chest suddenly feels tight, your throat dry and you would give anything to disappear at this moment.

nari: kim seokjin is your boss [ 2:52 PM ]

nari: kim seokjin is in charge? [ 2:53 PM ]

nari: i’m going to keep texting until you say something [ 2:53 PM ]

“Of course, it’s just the icing on the cake that we’re drafting away the top talent at our rival firm,” Byun Doyun cuts in, fawning over Seokjin like he’s a hot date and not a new hire. “So let’s hear a bit from the man himself.”

Seokjin smiles warmly from the front of the room as the staff applauds. You clap woodenly along with your colleagues, all of whom are anxiously waiting for Seokjin to share his thoughts.

This is a fucking nightmare.

“Thank you so much for the warm welcome,” he starts easily. “I’m looking forward to joining this team and I know we’re going to accomplish a lot of big things together.”

Seokjin pauses a beat to allow a moment for thunderous applause, like a politician on a campaign stop. You could almost swear you hear one of the paralegals squeal.

nari: kim seokjin works here now [ 3:05 PM ]

nari: you have to see him every day [ 3:05 PM ]

Nari is not helping because now you are certain you are going to be sick. You are going to leave this meeting and probably wretch into the potted plant next to your desk. You shut your eyes for a moment, take a deep breath and tell yourself this will be all over soon.

Of course, after that, there’s the issue of working with him all day, every day.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“There is a lot of work to be done,” Seokjin continues, “Byun Doyun and Bai Hajoon have specifically asked me to work with the junior staff to help hone the talent we already have in house.”

Oh, God.

None of this -- taking cases against you, sitting in your hearings, the unsolicited critiques -- none of this has been an accident. A deal to bring over Kim Seokjin did not happen overnight. He’s been playing you for weeks.

nari: that’s why he was in your hearing? [ 3:06 PM ]

nari: makes sense now? [ 3:07 PM ]

Seokjin seems to look around the room for a moment before his eyes settle on you.

“And I am very much looking forward to working with each of you one-on-one.”

#seokjin smut #seokjin x reader #kimseokjinsmut #kimseokjinfic #bts fanfic #btssmut #bts

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undercoverwizardfanfiction · 4 years

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A Winter Night: A ROTTMNT Holiday story

Rating:G

Word Count;2358

for: @snakeeyesdraws

Characters: Donnie, Leo, Kendra

pairings: [takes breath, pulls out sword] LISTEN

update; i accidentally uploaded the draft the first time ^^’ i fixed though this is the finished version

An overtly saturated neon sign of a Santa selling sandals catches him in the corner of his eye. He uses his forearm to protect his aching eyes as he passed the sign. When he passes the blinding neon of Santa, the turtle takes a deep breath, a soft mist escaping his mouth. Honestly, he is grateful the streets aren’t more crowded. But not for his slowly numbing hands. He stuffs his hands into his unlined pockets and moves forward. Grateful more than ever that he had updated Shelldon with a heating unit so he didn’t have to weigh himself down with a heavy coat. It was making the walk to Hueso’s a bit more tolerable. He’d have to remember to update his brothers’ gear to include a heating unit like his. Course knowing them they’d probably use it to heat up marshmallows in their pockets and that was a mess he was NOT going to clean up for-

He is so wrapped up in the nightmarish scenario of having to clean marshmallows out of circuitry when a loud shriek of anger followed by a trash can flying past his line of vision causes him to jump on one foot with a shriek of fear

“Stupid AIDEN!!”

It takes Donnie a moment, and another trash can flying by his vision to realize he is not the source of anger, or in danger. He blinks and peers down the alley before having to duck in time for another trashcan to get stomped in the middle with enough strength to crunch it in half before, in a mixture of amazement he blinks. “Kendra?”

In a feral rage Kendra stomps a trashcan nearly in half before swerving around and glaring at him snarling. Her thick purple hair twisted in half ragged tangles, her beret lay on the ground as though she had thrown it to the ground before deciding that wasn’t enough to help vent her rage. Her half-crazed eyes narrowed at him. “What do YOU want?!” she bites and for a moment Donnie wishes he hadn’t stopped, “Are you here to ruin my day again?! Wreck my plans?!”

“Um,” Don blames his lack of ability to come up with a snappy come back on his even more urgent need to survive the next five seconds, or at least not end up like that trashcan. ”Are you doing something that should be stopped?”

Kendra narrows her eyes at him. “NO.”

“Do you HAVE an evil plan that I should stop? Again?” With a snarl Don worries he might have said the wrong thing.

But then she lets out an angry sigh, “No, not now.”

“Um.” He really didn’t want to end up a Donnie shaped hole in the wall, “Then, no?”

Kendra narrows her eyes at him, Donnie could barely see the little puffs of steam burst out of her nose like a bull trying to figure out if he was a matador worth charging. But then she lets out an angry growl, ”Fine, go away then,” she says, crouching down and yanking the trash can back into a standing position kicking at it a few more times to try and un-dent it. Donnie glances back at the trash cans in the road and sighs. He pulled off his gloves, cursing the fact that he didn’t bring any extra rubber gloves, and pulls one of the trash cans off the street. Kendra glares up at him before eyeing the trashcan in confusion, “What do you want?”

“To not see cars hit trash cans? Is that supposed to be a hard question?” he asks, again berating himself when Kendra narrows her eyes at him, but lets him stand his trash can next to the one she had ‘undented’, she doesn’t thank him when he drags by the other one too. But to be honest he doesn’t really expect it. But he does finally notice that, even though she traded out her leggings for sweatpants, she’s lacking her purple dragons' jacket and is wearing a dark grey sweater and boots. All signs indicated she had not been planning on being outside in December and is using all the anger she had been trying out on the trash cans to not shiver, “Where are you going?”

“What’s it to you?” she demands.

Donnie raises his hands in mock surrender. “Honestly? I was just trying to help but if you’re going to keep acting like a jerk, I’ll-“ he wasn’t sure how he was going to finish that thought. ‘Walk away?’ ‘Blog about it angrily later?’ But it ended with someone shouting ‘heads up’ and something hard slamming into the back of his head, his vision exploding in bright colors and the breaking of a snowball contacting with his head. Off balance he finds his world spinning and himself on his knees, hands holding his head trying to make sense of the pain and his disorientation.

“Hey!” Kendra’s voice was far away, but that could be ‘cause she had stormed over to yell at the kids who had thrown the snow ball. “The hells your problem?! That was basically an ice ball you weebs.” Don could barely make out their mumbled sheepish apology. He pulls off his hat and touched the soaking bandana underneath. Any hope that it had just been snow went out the window when he drew his bloody fingers off his head.

“Holy-“ Sounds like Kendra was back, his vision was spinning so bad that he assumed the spinning purple mass by his side was her. “Hey how many fingers am I holding up?!” she said holding out her hand. He could barely make out her fingers but gave a weak, “Four?” with strength surprising for someone her size, she took his arm and lifted him to his feet, pulling his arm over her neck, “Come on there’s a hospital nearby-“

“NO,” he answers quickly.

“Are you kidding me you’re HEAD is BLEEDING.”

“And I'm a giant talking turtle which do you think will matter more to a hospital staff?!” He often wondered how Yokai managed in the city without access to a hospital. He had been meaning to ask Hueso about-. He blinks, there was no way he could let Kendra take him home. But he was already close to the pizza place “I have a place I can go. But you can’t go with me-“

“Again, your HEAD is BLEEDING,” she snaps. “I’ll take you where you need to go but I won't get any closer got it?” Donnie knew she wouldn’t take no for answer and only answered with a sigh and a nod. She pulls harder on the arm wraps over her neck and took more of his weight. Despite their height difference he barely touches the ground which only added more to the feeling of being disoriented.

“Thanks,” he muttered weakly.

“Don’t thank me til we get there.” Donnie struggles to keep his eyes open but his swirling vision forces him to keep his eyes closed, a hand slaps his face lightly. “Hey stay awake nerd.”

“Pot calling the kettle-“ Donnie bit off the end of his statement as he tried not to dry heave. He could feel Kendras frozen bare arms through his coat and feels even worse for being out in the first place. “H-Hold on,” he says, stiffening his legs up to drag her to a stop. He manages to pry her arm off him long enough to peel his coat off leaving him in his long sleeved dark pink Atomic Lass shirt. “You’re obviously cold.” As callous as he is sometimes, he finds it’s better to be honest than to dance around the subject, “Shelldon has a heating unit that’ll keep me warm.” Though it wouldn’t help his arms, he could handle a few blocks though. Thankfully his vision is returning to some extent, enough that he notices Kendra looking to his pack and for a moment Don struggles not to shift to put the pack out of her sight, “That’s Shelly right? Is he still mad at me for tricking him?”

“Oh definitely. He has a stack of crayon drawings dedicated to his revenge on you.” He feels the shoulders on his back tighten as though Shelldon was reprimanding him for revealing his secret plans.

Kendra lets off a small shrug “Yeah fair enough, I’d probably do the same thing” before smirking directionally at the pack, ”But for the record little buddy, blue prints are a much better way to plot out revenge.”

Don tries to grin before dizziness settles in again. Kendra must have noticed since she ducked under his arm. “Hold on nerd, keep talking to me.”

He manages a nod, mentally keeping track of their location. “Wh-what were you doing out here kicking trash cans?” he asked. “And who’s this Aiden guy who has you so mad? Not that it's any of my business, but I’m kinda hurt there’s someone out there you currently hate more than me,” he says with an added offended tone that makes her glare at him in confusion. ”I mean not to brag, but I sorta consider it a pride and joy to have an enemy worthy of my intelligence.”

Kendra narrows her eyes. “Please, he’s not worthy of my time,” she says through her teeth. “There’s this guy in the robotics club with us, Aiden. A loser who couldn’t tell a snickers from a soldering pen. There was a contest to submit the best blueprints, and who ever won would to be our project for the semester.”

“I’ve seen you build stuff on your own though. “

“That wasn’t the point,” Kendra lets out an angry huff, “I won, like I knew I was going to. But he got second place, I checked the points and he was twelve points away from wining. Twelve! The loser pretty boy who had his private tutor help him.”

“But you still won-“

“-He shouldn’t have gotten that close. I did all my work by myself. Didn’t ask for help, spent nights coding and drafting. I should have left him in the dust a broken swaddled nerd with broken dreams. But no. I made sure he knew how I felt about it, but the creep tattled on me. Freaking snowflake got freaked out because his blue prints ended up on his front porch on fire. Since when is that illegal.”

“I mean,” Don pauses, “I think always.”

“Anyway, I got kicked off the club and that’s why I'm out here.” She shrugs. “If my Dad or step mom saw me getting this mad then they’d make me do the ‘breathing exercises,’” she said with air quotations, “Being all ‘Kendra we’re worried about you’ ‘Kendra we love and support you we just don’t want to see you go down a bad path’ and ‘Kendra where do you keep getting access to all this fire!?’” Her frustrations forced her to kick out at a sign they passed but thankfully not hard enough to knock it over, “So as soon as I’m done helping you, I’m going to see my Mom. She’s the only one who gets me.”

Donnie blames his concussion on being so surprised Kendra had a mom but tried to keep it off his features. But judging by the quiet scoff from Kendra he hadn’t done a very good job, "How about you Greeny? Why did you come out here if you already had a concussion? Don’t pretend like you didn’t have one, I saw the bandages when I was checking your scalp. You already had a head injury before you got hit in the head.”

Figures his hat would blame him, and his own disorientation for forgetting that Kendra had checked his scalp. “It's complicated.”

“More complicated then plotting revenge on a spoiled white boy in a Vanilla Ice t-shirt?” she says in a tone that tells Donnie she’s trying to make a joke. And despite his best efforts not to, he snorts slightly, “No, I'll agree it’s not that complicated.” But it still feels weird to share with a certified enemy who once tried to steal the Spirit of Labour Day (don’t ask can’t explain). Thankfully she doesn’t rush him as he tries to collect his thoughts. “I got into an argument with my brother.” He still doesn’t want to let her in on too much information. “My brothers are all protective of each-other but he's’ protective in a way that makes me nuts. He thought it was too soon for me to go out with this whole situation,” he said gesturing to his head bandage, “And I disagreed. Except I didn’t really do it in the best way.”

“I think I know what that means,” Kendra says. “Did you say something bad?”

For a moment, it takes all of Don’s remaining mental energy to not think about Leo’s face, watching his concerned features fade away to one of hurt. So hurt in fact he hadn’t even called after Donnie when he stormed out. He lets out a sigh. “I did. I wish I had a reasonable excuse for it, but to be honest I don’t like feeling like I'm depending on people. I don’t like feeling like he’s always concerned about me. I especially don’t like him being right about it.”

“Sucks when it feels like you’re under-appreciated huh?”

“Yeah.” He could make out a familiar sandal store that housed Hueso’s alley. “We’re here,” he says.

Kendra looks around, and for a moment Donnie is concerned Kendra is going to insist on taking him ‘inside’ but she ducks from under shoulder. “You sure?” she asks, “I can take you further.”

“I’m good, thanks though.” He tries to give her a confident smile but his lips only twitch in response. She gives a half shrug before she starts pulling off his coat. “Keep it. You have a long way to walk and I still have Shelldon to keep me warm.”

“Thanks,” she says pulling the coat back on. “I’ll catch you later Greeny,” she says. She looks like she's’ about to walk off when she pauses. “But for the record, it still must be nice to have brothers who have your back.”

“It is.” Don nods. “And honestly Aiden sounds like a little bitch.”

For the first time since their strange encounter began Kendra put on a full smile. “Thanks,” she says before walking off.

(#)(#)\/(#)(#)

Leo didn’t snore.

So when his phone went off amongst his makeshift ‘pillow floor’ in the living room he did not ‘snort’ awake. He made a strangled noise before sitting up. Patting his sweatpants and hoody pockets before diving into the mass of pillows. Breaching a moment later like a whale with his phone in his teeth. Hueso’s ID is flashing across his screen. With a scoff he answers. “For the last time BONE man I don’t work today-“

“First of all, that is NOT how you politely answer a phone,” Hueso starts with a snap of his teeth. “Second that’s not why I'm calling. Your brother is here with me.”

Leo blinks, he blames his previous hibernated state on why it took him so long to remember which brother had left the lair. “Donnie? Is he ok?” he said already going to his room and looking for his sword under his bed.

“He is alright, but it looks like he got hit on the head pretty hard-“

That’s all it takes for him to charge out of his room, lingering only long enough to grab the toolbox he used for a first aid kit, and grabbing his portal sword from the kitchen (vaguely remembering he had used it to cut some cheese for his peanut butter and cheese grilled sandwich earlier) and slicing the sword down to activate a portal to Hueso’s office. Without saying bye, he hangs his phone up and jumps through.

The aforementioned skeleton, who had been glaring at his phone as though offended Leo had hung up on him, gave a shriek as the turtle appears by his side. “BAH! Leo, I hate it when you-“

Leo immediately tuned him out when he saw Donnie laying on Hueso’s couch with an ice pack over his forehead, he hurried forward and knelt down. “You ok buddy?” he asks.

Donnie looks up at him from under the ice pack with a weak smile. “I don’t know, are you really uglier than the last time I saw you or is that my head talking?”

Leo couldn’t help but grin. “I thought brain injuries were supposed to make people nicer,” he says. He turns to the toolbox and starts going through the first aid supplies inside. “Thanks for letting him rest. In your office,” he tells Hueso as he sets aside a pen light and some new bandages.

“Why wouldn’t I? Out of your brothers he’s most definitely my favorite.”

“Wait you have a favorite?” Leo looks to him. “Then who's your least favorite?”

After a pause, Hueso gives a wide and strained grin. “I will leave you two to it. If you need me just call me,” he says before ducking out quickly.

It’s only then that Leo turns his barely contained worried energy on Donnie “What happened? Who did this? Do you have their address and sleep schedule-“

“Leo,” Don starts in a pained voice, “Please, my head feels like someone tried to split it with an ax. It was an accident. Some kids hit me in the head with a snow ball.“

Leo was about to start on another tirade of questions when he forced himself to take a deep breath, “Yeah, ok, I'm sorry,” he says. Also trying to ignore Donnie’s missing coat. He looks back to his supplies and pulls out a pen light. “I’m going to check your pupil dilation, but only if you're up for it.” He waits for Donnie to give a slight nod before he lifts the pen and carefully pushes the ice pack away from his eyes. Using his thumb to cover Don’s opposite eye without actually touching him, with a flash the pupil constricts and dilates as it should. He does the same process to the other “Well that’s good at least,” Leo says. “How’s your vision?”

“Spinning, but I think that’s from the pain.”

That would make sense. The red slider turtle rose to sit on the edge of the couch, carefully unwrapping Don’s scalp as gently as he can, checking his facial expression for any signs of increased pain before he lets out a sigh of relief. “It's just a surface bleed. It doesn’t look like the actual injury itself reopened.”

“That’s good,” Donnie says with a soft sigh. “You’re doing a good job.”

“I had a good teacher.” Leo made sure to give Donnie a soft smile that the turtle barely returns. “Let me just change the bandages and we’ll head home when you feel up for it. Maybe we can order some pizza; I've had a monster craving for anchovy and chocolate syrup pizza for days-“

“I was wrong.”

Leo blinks, pausing from unwrapping the new bandages with his hands. It takes him longer than he should to realize what Don’s apologizing for and when he does, he only returns to digging through his kit. “You were a little right,” Leo says quietly putting aside a bottle of alcohol, “I mean it's kinda right, right?? You're usually right-“

“No, Leo.” Donnie tries to sit up but fails to get up more than a few seconds before Leo’s grip on his arm forces him back down. “Leo I was wrong. I was angry, my head was killing me I would have said anything to hurt you. You don’t mess everything up-“

“Except I do?” Leo lets out a soft laugh. “I mean I do. Between the minotaur's pizza and Big Mama I'm surprised I get anything right-“

Don’s hand grabs his shoulders and before Leo can stop him, the soft-shell forces himself into a sitting position with pure grit alone (judging by the pain filled grimace on his face, “Would you listen to me?!” Donnie demands shaking him by the shoulders, “I shouldn’t have even said it but I would have said anything. I was angry at feeling so helpless and dependent. I was angry because you were right for trying to stop me from going out. I did need your help and I shouldn’t have been so difficult. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-“ his last sentence is interrupted with a sob that helps him notice the tears running down his face. Donnie lets out an aggravated huff as he presses the heel of his hands against his streaming eyes to help spare his dignity in some way.

He feels the couch shift as Leo shifts closer, wrapping his arms around him. “Ok, ok you were wrong. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing Leo,“ Donnie manages to say from his brother’s shoulder. “I’m the one apologizing not you, idiot.”

“Alright, alright I apologize for apologizing. You were wrong I was right. Is that what you want to hear?” he asks. Don nods into his shoulder. Leo rests his cheek on Dons’ shoulder rubbing his shell for a few moments as Don’s erratic breathing finally starts to calm down.

After a few seconds Don lets out a small sigh, “Damn it, I was doing so good too. I can't even tell anymore if these are meltdowns or panic attacks.”

“As long as you don’t have to deal with them alone when you don’t want to, that’s all I care about.” Leo gives him a final squeeze before reaching up and taking Don’s shoulders, gently guiding him down to lay down again. “Ok buddy. I’m going to rewrap your head, and then I'm going to go order us some food and portal us home. You just relax ok?” He waits for Donnie to nod before Leo starts applying some alcohol to a cotton ball. “I’ll be honest though, I’m sorta surprised you made it here safely.”

Don for the first time since Leo entered Hueso’s office looks him with his tired blood shot eyes. A soft smile forming on his face as he relaxes. “Yeah,” he whispers. ”Me too.”

#rottmnt #rottmnt fanfiction #Rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #leo #donnie #kendra #christmas #gift #what a long year

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

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The First That Will Live: Killan

As always, Killan’s universe and the details of fae biology + meta belongs to @wildfaewhump - all hail the Vic!

CW: GORE (lots of blood and graphic description of bleeding wounds, cutting, scarring, stitching), death of character, somewhat callous treatment of a corpse, dehumanization, self-loathing, forced self-injury (through a magical compulsion)

Hurtling through the space between stars at speeds the boy could not comprehend, the world felt like a snowball flung by a giant. Lying on his back with his wings spread wide on either side, the uncomfortable pressure of them pressing slowly into the stone table beneath the cave’s open ceiling, he could feel the spin of the planet.

His fingers pressed tightly into the stone in some desperate, terrified attempt to keep himself from being flung into the sky, beyond the blue and to the deeper black he knew lurked behind it. The sun had set, and above him he could see the twinkling stars.

He could hear them, a rushing whispering array of mysteries, growing louder with every drop of life that bled into him.

Talons smacked into the back of his right hand, gouged lightly across, and he jerked, letting out a cry of pain and fear, only to hear Calon Nie’s soft laughter. “Too tight gripping, you. Bleed much.”

The cave reeked of blood, and the boy could smell iron in it, a jarring rusty note in the salt-sweet copper, and had he ever been able to smell the layer of iron in blood before? Had he ever known that blood had layers of scent at all?

The whispers in his ears grew louder.

His right arm bled, and stomach, and ribs. On his left side, though, something entirely different. On his left side, blood did not pour from him, but in. There was a twitching, cool arm tied tightly to his own, both of them slit from below the palm to the join of their elbow and then wrapped with a rough thorny vine that sparked new pains every time Killan moved. The pale arm had talons, not fingers, that went tight around Killan’s hand and then loosened, again and again.

Each time they tightened their grip, it was a little less firm than the time before.

The smear of pearlescent blood, pooling on the stone, over their skin, mixing with Killan’s own in a shimmer of colors that repelled each other, marked the connection between Killan and the newest life being given to the madness of Calon Nie’s desires.

“I w-was, was bleeding be-... before.” The boy spoke in a gasp, voice thin and strained. His throat still ached from the screaming he’d done when the cutting began, but by now he had no energy left for that kind of sound. All he could do was whimper. “Pl-please, it’s-... y-your, the other f-fae… they’re dying-”

“Know this, me. Dying, them, yes, yes.” Calon Nie waved one hand in dismissal of the fact. “Must die, to bring dream to life. But not dying, you.” Calon Nie’s voice was low and pleased. “Will survive this, too.”

Lying beside Killan on the large stone table beneath the starlight, the trapped fae brought here to be murdered sobbed weakly, low and soft, as their pearlescent blood fed endlessly into Killan’s veins.

They had tried to chew their own arm free, at one point, but the thorns on the vines that tied them together were dipped in some kind of poison and all it had done was make them weak. They had no color to them now, grayish skin, wide eyes that stared into Killan and far beyond him.

They babbled, sometimes, in a language he didn’t totally know, only knew a few words of. He couldn’t… he couldn’t help them. He could barely keep himself awake, and the new blood in his veins burned when it met his own. He’d been crying, weeping tears nonstop, for so long he had forgotten how it felt to be doing anything else.

The fae whispered, lips moving. There was no strength left in them for sound - or if there was, the other sound he could hear but did not understand drowned them out.

“I’m sorry,” Killan whispered. “I’m so sorry, I don’t want this-”

Talons raked across his bare chest and Killan’s back arched as he screamed again, his eyes wide and white-rimmed as his scream traveled up to be given to the starlight, just like the rest of his pain.

Next to him, the dying fae hissed and hid their face against their arm.

“No talking!” Calon Nie snapped the words and brought his talons down again, in another vicious swipe across Killan’s collarbone, leading to another hoarse desperate cry. “Must listen to starsong, them, so they ready to go. Buachaill del, silent!”

Killan collapsed back against the stone slick with his blood and the fae’s, coughing and whimpering as each cough lit the bloodied new wounds with fresh fire. The pain in his body was overwhelming, but even stronger was the sense of a spinning earth that might not hold his body any longer.

Louder than his own screams and the dying sounds of the fae was the slowly growing roar of harmonies, a song made of stars, that his mind had never been made to comprehend.

His wings shuddered and bristled, aching where they had been joined to his back, trying to stretch in some weak, worthless attempt to give him the strength to flee. To fly, farther up, closer to the-... to the-... to the mysteries.

The starsong roared deafening in human ears, wrapped itself around the folds of a human mind. He shook his head but it only grew louder, with every drop of blood he took unwillingly from the creature beside him. They were getting colder and colder by the minute - Killan felt feverish, blistering-hot.

Pearly blood raced through his veins, and magic moved with it, fed through his veins. His heart stopped - one second, two seconds, three seconds, four, five, how long until I am dead, how long can a heart refuse to beat - and just as panic settled into relief and acceptance, it started again.

Killan understood that when his heart began to pound inside his chest again that the fae blood had made its way there, and it wasn’t the same heart it had been before. In the time span between the last human heartbeat and the first of… whatever he was now… the roar of the stars began to separate, like peeling back the surface to find the sound had layers and he could separate them, now.

He could hear the song of the fae tied to him, the unique harmony they carried within them. He could hear them dying, their song winding down as the larger song grew stronger.

Killan’s body took their harmonies and forced them underneath his own, off-key and clashing, two lives forced together.

I was never made to hear this.

I was never made to know this. They are dying because of me. Just like the last one.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered once more. “I’m so sorry.”

The fae’s lips moved, but they said nothing. Those wide slit-pupiled eyes locked on his, gasping breaths coming shallowly, their sharp teeth on display as their mouth hung slack. Their red hair was clumped with their own blood and his where it had soaked it up from the pools beneath them on the stone.

Killan swallowed, felt the blade-sharp pain that came with all the screaming he had done, and with the world still spinning in a woozy terror around him, he forced himself to let go of the stone and swung his arm up and over, to rest his palm against their pale, bloodless cheek.

They were so, so cold to the touch.

“T-t… teigh-... o’réaltaí,” Killan whispered. He knew so little of their language, he had to hope this would be enough for a deathbed blessing. To the stars.

Calon Nie glanced up from his work down near Killan’s stomach, yellow eyes traveling back and forth, considering the dying fae and the strange new thing he had made of the human boy. “Not dead yet,” He said, finally.

“Soon, though,” Killan whispered. The fae whimpered and closed their eyes, and Killan watched a single crystalline tear, like starlight made liquid, travel over their cheekbone and drip to be lost with the blood already below them.

“Will take to the mountains,” Calon Nie said quietly. “Honor, to give life to greater things.”

This isn’t greater. This is just death.

He didn’t dare speak the words out loud. Killan stayed silent and instead listened to the slowly fading starsong of the fae bleeding their life into his.

Calon Nie watched for another moment - Killan could feel his eyes on them, even though he didn’t look back - and then went back to his work. “Must finish before body stiffens,” He muttered, and Killan hissed as the same blade that had once opened his back for his wings to be connected now made precise, tiny notches in the skin over his stomach.

Calon Nie carved spirals in perfect curves, and the world spun harder, faster.

The boy felt more tears - how did he have any left, by now? - collecting at the corners of his eyes and running warm and then cool down his cheekbones to pool in the shells of his ears. He let out a half-broken sob. He felt like he might throw up or be tossed up to be rejected by the sky and sent crashing back to earth.

Neither fae nor human, some terrible creation between the two.

His veins burned as living star-matter forced the iron-rich red to run from his stomach and let beryllium, ozone-bright, overrun it.

The fae lying next to him on the stone died. Killan felt the moment the last breath of their life passed into him, their final heartbeat that matched his own, and then only Killan’s heart kept on beating.

He gasped in a lungful of air that wasn’t his own just as they made their last exhale.

The stars screamed at him, and Killan tried to scream back, to drown them out, but the keening shriek of the empty space between stars mourning the life lost was stronger than he could ever be.

“Silence,” Calon Nie hissed again, and slapped the gashes in Killan’s chest he had made earlier. “Must work fast, me.”

Killan’s scream was choked off to nothing as the pain flooded his mind all over again. He was drowning in the deafening noise all around him. He was going to die, the noise would steal all the air he was desperate to breathe. All this blood was for nothing, he would die, too, he would die and there would be no burial and the stars would not welcome him either. He would be bones and emptiness.

Just like he was now.

“Please, h-help me, I’m… I’m going-...” His voice cracked and then died, replaced by a low keening wail. In his veins the blood ran paler with every passing moment, lost on one side and regained on the other only through death.

He began to sob in earnest. Calon Nie did not look up from his careful work this time, and Killan needed those yellow eyes, needed to see the fae looking at him to feel like he was real. “C-Calon Nie, please-... please help, please-”

“What help?” Calon Nie’s eyes flashed up to his, only briefly, and then back to the wash of blood that marked Killan’s stomach, every spiral he had carved so far weeping a paler and paler red. “What help need, you?”

“I’m going to fall off!”

“Off? Fall? What falling?”

“E-Everything! I’m going to fall off the fucking earth!” The boy half-screamed the words, and he thought he might throw up, but he couldn’t move just the same. He’d been told with that voice to lay down and be still and still he was, even as he saw just how small and unwanted he was, in the movements of the stars.

His life had been traded - the fae had died to give Killan something he did not want and would have rejected if he could. In their blood he could feel time stretching, expanding, the very make of his skin changing.

He was small, and pointless, and imperfect.

He was being perfected.

“Not fall, you. Body will live long, now.” Calon Nie hummed, making three more quick cuts, and there was so much pain that Killan didn’t feel anything beyond the simple well of new blood. “Will help live through next parts.”

Finally, his gaze rested on Killan’s - finally, Killan felt the spin of the earth slow, the pull of the space between the stars lessen. Those yellow eyes were all he had to center himself with, and the calm pride and certainty in them settled some of his panic. Calon Nie did not want him to die.

Calon Nie would not let him die.

Not yet.

“Pl-please, I need-... please.” He didn’t know what he was begging for any longer. He was dizzy with blood-loss and blood-gain, both at once. Magic laced his veins in a way it never had before, and he could sense the mysteries twining around himself, and Calon Nie, and fading from the dead body still tied to him, the fae’s eyes wide open and unseeing.

He could sense the song inherent in every living and unliving thing on the planet, all part of its spin and its melody. He could sense how the movement of this earth fit in the greater starsong. He could hear it all but his body and brain hadn’t been meant to take it all on at once like this.

The weight of new understanding was heavy, and Killan had only just begun to carry it.

Calon Nie hissed thoughtfully through his sharp teeth, and then moved, staying in his crouch, shifting up the length of the stone table until he was just next to Killan’s head. His talons, blood-dipped at the tips, gently pushed through Killan’s hair, staining it and petting it in equal measures.

“Please tell… tell me it’s almost over,” Killan said, and his voice held a pleading whine.

“Is,” Calon Nie replied, voice gentle and deep. “Almost, pretty human. Nearly so.” He leaned over and pressed his lips to Killan’s forehead. Calon Nie’s occasional kisses - always given with a breezy careless affection, like one might kiss a dog - had burned him before, fae bodies ran hot and their affection felt like fire.

This, though… Calon Nie’s kiss felt… fine.

It felt good, actually.

Reassuring, and soothing, and Killan whimpered and tried to lift his head from the stone for more when the fae pulled back and way. The world spun worse when he did and he let himself fall back, shaking his head, hating himself for leaning into the touch, but there was so little, now, that didn’t hurt.

“I sew cuts to give last old blood to stars, then done. Promising you, me. Promise to buachaill del.”

“Thank you,” Killan whispered with numb, rough lips, and he was so grateful to know that there would soon be something like mercy.

Calon Nie gave him a smile that showed sharp-edged teeth and moved back down to Killan’s stomach. A pause, and the sharp twinge of a needle breaking skin couldn’t even begin to touch the pain that had come before. It was a relief, in a way, that this smaller agony was a sign that the larger pain was over.

Killan closed his eyes, laid there with one arm still tied to the cooling corpse that lay beside him, and tried to endure. He felt every stitch that took the spirals and made them permanent, sewing magic into his skin as thoroughly as the blood had forced magic beneath it. With every stitch, the world spun less crazily around him.

Or… it still spun, but his body began to acclimate to the feeling. The starsong settled, filtered through the sigils, to a volume that couldn’t drown out everything else, not any longer.

He couldn't keep back his whimpers.

He couldn’t stop his tears.

But he stayed still, and endured.

When Calon Nie finished, he took a wet cloth and wiped Killan clean of the old blood over the patterns, exposing his skin to the starlight, pale and sewn with dark blue threads in spirals, sigils, signs of fae magic.

Pain and blood, a gift to the stars. A long life, the bargain of what Calon Nie bought him in return. The chance that he would survive whatever came next, whatever might be worse. Calon Nie had murdered two fae and given their lives to Killan’s broken body, and there would be more.

Killan’s eyes were hot and dry, but he knew the tears would fall again any moment.

There were going to be so many more dead fae, and he would have to watch the life leave each and every one so that it might be given to him, to turn him into… what?

What new thing would he be, when Calon Nie was done?

“Finished,” Calon Nie said with satisfaction, standing up. His knees popped and cracked from crouching for so long and Killan turned his head, watching dully as Calon Nie stretched his arms over his head, his wings out to their full span, pressed his hands to his spine and arched his back.

Killan, ordered so long ago to lay still, could not move.

“Must fly perthynas up mountain to sit with others,” Calon Nie said, moving with quick efficiency around the table, and he carefully cut through the vines that had tied Killan and the dead fae together with his blade. He gathered them into his arms, a limp dead weight, wings dragging the ground. “Thank, for life, buachaill del. Thank and good bye, them, for gift to you. Will have many years that should be aos sidhe years, instead yours.”

“I didn’t-... I didn’t want them,” Killan whispered. No, he whimpered, and hated himself for how weak and whining he sounded. As if the dead fae cared whether or not Killan had wanted them murdered for him. “I don’t want years, I don’t want to be like this, I don’t… I don’t want-”

“No care, me, what Killan wants.”

Killan’s mouth closed with a snap, and he shuddered, felt the fearful thudding of his pulse.

“No care. No matters. Killan has years now. Killan has life, will live through new pieces. My… ah, say you kin. My kin die for you. Be grateful.” Calon Nie’s eyes narrowed, flashed fire with irritation. His lip curled back from his teeth in an inhuman snarl. “Thank for gift.”

“N-no, I don’t want it…” Killan groaned as he rolled onto his side, pulling his hands close to himself, feeling the pull of his skin along the newly-stitched sigils over his stomach, pelvis, and hips, all the way down to his thighs. “I don’t want their life, I don’t want th-their death, I don’t want the songs, I don’t want the m-mysteries, I want to give it back!”

“Killan, take knife from me.”

His hand moved without his consent, following the order from the fae’s twisting, thralling voice. With new senses, Killan could feel the starsong as it moved him, but he was not fae enough yet to resist it.

He took the hilt of the blade in his hand, felt its cool weight in his grip, slick with a mix of pearl and red blood. “C-Calon Nie, please-”

“Force blade through own shoulder.”

“No,” he whispered, eyes wide and panicked, but his hand still moved. He gulped in air, sobbed helplessly, and then closed his eyes as he felt the first press of the blade through his skin. His grip never loosened as he pushed the serrated blade straight through himself, even as his body went tense and he screamed again.

Screamed, and it pitched higher and higher into a shrieking wail.

He gave his pain and his attempt to reject the dead fae’s gift of life to the stars, and they sang louder in return.

The blood that welled up around the blade ran a pale, shimmering, pearly red.

Choking in his own saliva and on the agony, Killan twisted but could not make himself pull the blade back out. He could only suffer as Calon Nie stared flatly down. The dead fae’s eyes were still open, looking right at Killan, ungrateful recipient of their final gift.

“Thank,” Calon Nie repeated.

“Th-... th-th-thank you,” Killan sobbed, voice cracking, full of thick tears, writhing beneath his own hand’s actions, hot blood running to join the cooled, congealed, drying blood already beneath him on the table. “Thank y-y-you for, for dying for m-me, thank you, please, please let me stop, please-”

“Now good-bye, say.”

Killan forced his eyes back open, to meet the unseeing dead thing in Calon Nie’s arms. They still dripped pearly blood from the slice in their arm, dripping with a soft tap, tap, tap onto the floor. Their song was gone, and lived now in Killan, no matter how badly he did not want it.

“Good… g-g-goodbye,” Killan said to them. Then, haltingly, he added, “Tabron… Tabron… orm.”

I’m sorry.

Calon Nie snorted, gathered the corpse up closer, like a bride in his arms. “Good. Let go knife. Leave in until I return. Stay still on rock.”

“W-wait, no, please, let me take it out, please, gods, please, C-Calon Nie, please please please!”

Calon Nie was already turning away, and Killan was left to listen to the scrape of the dead fae’s wings along the cave floor and stare with tear-filled eyes up at the unmoved but always-moving stars.

He could hear them, now.

He could hear them, but he was not their child, not like the fae whose blood and life he had been forced to steal. He stood outside the mysteries, even if he could hear them. Sense them. His veins burned and his skin warmed, his wings shivered and Killan stared at the long, deep slice down his arm and to his abject horror realized he knew what to do to fix it.

Thoughts coalesced into a murmur of words and the wound closed, simply knitted itself back together like it had never been there, but for a very pale, faint scar left behind. He looked at the gouges left on the back of his other hand by Calon Nie’s talons and did the same to them.

Then the deeper wounds across his chest. It all closed up, piece by piece, as he wove threads of mystery and song together and made it happen. The wounds underneath his new stitching closed, but the stitching remained, a permanent marking. Magic that would not decay.

He couldn’t touch the blade in his shoulder, not yet, but once he was allowed to, he would be able to… heal it.

This was fae magic, starsong, and he was terrified of how easy it was to use it. He was repulsed by it, but he couldn’t stop himself.

He waited for Calon Nie to come back.

What am I, now?

The answer was simple, once he thought of it.

Easy, and certain.

I am the first of his new things that will live.

But I don’t deserve to.

---

Tagging Killan’s crew: @astrobly @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @slaintetowhump , @quirkykayleetam , @whumpallday , @whumppsychology, @doveotions, @broken-horn, @moose-teeth, @whumpfigure, @spiffythespook, @oceanthesarcasamfox, @whump-only, @just-strawberry-jam(if you would like to be added to an OC’s tag list, please send your request via an ask! Those are easier for me to keep track of and I tend to lose requests in comments, reblogs, tags, or PMs!)

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wendimydarling · 5 years

Text

The Soldier’s Wife (Chapter Three)

Title: The Soldier’s Wife

Summary: Syverson and his wife navigate the ups and downs, the highs and lows, and the blessings and pitfalls of marriage.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC

Word Count: 1572

Warnings: Finally sex! I mean... there’s sex, guys. Watch out. 😬

Song Inspiration: “Autumn Finds Winter” - Yiruma

A/N: Well, looky here, you luck ducks: Chapter Three! Fully inspired, this chapter wrote itself quick. If you’re interested, you can find an image of the car here. Look it up the song inspiration and listen while you read, you won’t be sorry. Thanks be to the beautiful queen @littlefreya who beta’d for me. Enjoy!

As always, I am a comment WHORE; please let me know what you liked, disliked, etc.! I can only grow as an author with your input! Tag list is open, please let me know if you’re interested!

Tags: @littlefreya @sciapod @thiccgeralt @fucking-hell-cavill @brexrif @peakygroupie @viking-raider @constip8merm8 @daniig95 @elinalfrida @hell1129-blog @oddsnendsfanfics @agniavateira @dearlybelovedluke @sofiebstar @wanderinglunarnights @magdelen69 @vania-marie

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

CHAPTER THREE

Mabel walked down main street at a leisurely pace, her boot spurs clinking against the wooden sidewalk. On her arm she carried a picnic basket that Syverson had given her for her birthday a couple of years ago. She’d had no contact from him since this morning, but she knew where he was. He was where he always was after events like that.

The bell above the front door to Mel’s Autoshop chimed as Mabel ducked under it. The smell of oil, grease and rubber greeted her, along with the owner’s friendly and knowing smile.

“Howdy, Mel. How’s the wife?”

“Oh, crotchety as ever. Sy’s out back.”

“Thanks. Mind if he takes a lunch?” Mabel held up the basket as she asked. Mel smiled at her, showing his missing teeth.

“Only if ya share a piece of that pie I know’s in there,” he bartered, but Mabel was one step ahead of him. She pulled some tupperware out of the basket, two pieces of pie sealed tightly inside, and handed it to the old man with a kiss.

“Did ya think I’d forgot about ya?” she teased. Mel smiled at her, ever grateful that Syverson had Mabel in his life. Mel had always been attached to that boy; had given him safe shelter on more than one occasion when the boy’s father had come home drunker than a fish swimming in whiskey.

“Go on then, git,” he admonished her in mock gruffness, tucking into the pie without so much as a fork. Mabel smiled, heading through the back door into the car yard.

She didn’t have to search for him, Mabel could hear angry grunts and the sound of metal striking metal. She followed it, and it led her to Syverson, who was shirtless, sweating, and violently attacking the hood of a beat up station wagon with a crowbar. She set the basket down and stood there awhile, watching as he took out all his frustrations on the innocent vehicle. It was always best to let him have his say, even if his say was hitting the largest inanimate object he could find. It was never her, and that was all Mabel cared about.

Syverson looked up and stopped mid-swing when he saw Mabel. The crowbar clattered to the ground as his chest heaved, staring at her with a look that only she could read. A look that told her he was afraid. Afraid of hurting her. Mabel grabbed the nearest rag she could find, confidently striding over to him. He needed to see that she didn’t fear him. Syvesron flinched and took a step back as she came near but Mabel pressed forward, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“I ain’t afraid of ya, Sy.”

He took the rag from her, wiping his torso as he shook his head.

“Lord knows why. I nearly ripped yer ma’s head off this mornin’.”

“Well, then, she woulda had it comin’ to her fer wakin’ ya like that. I’m so sorry.”

Syverson yanked his shirt off the rail where it hung nearby and threw it on. Mabel watched him, marveling at his physique.

“Damn it all, Syverson, I think ya get bigger every time ya get back.” she said as she squeezed his bicep, hoping to lighten the mood a little. It worked partially, she received a small smirk. Striding over to pick up the basket, she held it out to him.

“I brought lunch.”

At this, Syverson actually smiled, taking the basket from her and linking her arm in his.

“In that case, our table awaits, milady.”

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

Their table was a turquoise 1957 Chevy Bel Air Convertible. It didn’t run anymore, but Syverson and Mel had fixed it up nice on the outside and rolled it underneath a giant Live Oak tree overlooking the lake on Mel’s property. Trees surrounded the lake, their roots digging into the boundary of the water and their bows reaching far over the cresting waves in a daring attempt to defy gravity. An old rope swing hung from one of them, cutting into the flesh of the branch from all its use. A worn out canoe sat on the bank, just waiting for a brave soul to take her out on the water. Whenever Mabel would bring Syverson lunch, they would come out here to eat it.

Today was no different. They ate their lunch quietly, Sy’s arm draped over the backseat with Mabel tucked securely underneath him. She looked up at him as she fed him the last bite of apple pie, chuckling as the fork missed and stabbed him in the lip.

“Goddamn, woman, wha’d ya do that fer?” Sy grumbled, pressing his thumb to his lip to see if he was bleeding. Mabel just laughed, leaning over to lick the remaining pie from his face. Syverson grunted in surprise but quickly recovered, pulling Mabel to straddle his lap as he tangled his fingers in her hair. She kissed him eagerly, feeling the urge to defy her mother in every possible way she could.

Mabel could feel one of Syverson’s hands inching underneath the skirt of her dress, the other pulling one of the straps down so that he could kiss her bare skin. His touch ignited a desire deep within her, an ache that only he could fill. Her fingertips danced along the hem of his shirt, softly brushing the skin she found underneath. Ever the impatient one, Syverson tugged his shirt over his head to reveal his broad form to her once more, and Mabel did the same with her dress.

Syverson attacked her lips again, his hands touching every piece of skin he could find. Mabel was struck with a sense of boldness and sat up, pulling away from his mouth. Syverson watched in awe as she calmy reached behind her, unhooking her bra and letting it fall into her lap. He gazed tenderly at her naked flesh, tracing a single finger over her breasts as he did. They’d never been this far.

Mabel surveyed Syverson’s face as he in turn observed her body. She’d never shown a man this part of her before, and though she was nervous, it also felt right; it was Syverson. He protected her. He cherished her. He loved her. And she wasn’t afraid of him. She wanted him, and only him, to have this from her. This piece of her soul that she’d been unwilling to share with anyone else, she gave to him willingly, gladly.

Soft, wet, exploratory kisses grazed her nipples, making Mabel moan. She clutched Syverson’s head to her bosom and leaned back, letting him have all the access he wanted. He heartily, hungrily took over, tasting her, touching her, feeling her move against him.

Syverson had been waiting years for this moment. He’d fallen in love with Mabel at the ripe old age of nine, and there’d been no one else in his eyes, not ever. He knew back then that she was the one, and he’d spent the next nine years waiting for her to know it too, basking in her presence, treating her like a queen, stealing kisses from her when he could. It wasn’t until he’d left for war that Mabel finally realized the truth, and that separation had brought them together in a way that nothing else had.

Still, she had remained guarded. After Danny’s death, Syverson didn’t blame her. Hidden away from prying eyes, a few of their kisses had turned into heated make-out sessions, but Mabel had always stopped them, similarly to last night. Syverson didn’t know what had changed this time, but he wasn’t complaining. He’d reached the point where the shower didn’t help anymore. And Mabel felt too good, tasted too good.

Mabel was grinding against Syverson with reckless abandon, savoring every delicious wave of pleasure that shot through her body. Syverson slipped a hand beneath her underwear and when his fingers entered her, Mabel’s eyes shot wide open, the new sensation sending shocked cries pouring from her lips.

“Sy…”

“No, baby, use my name.”

“What?” Mabel breathed, looking at him in confusion as he worked her center. Syverson grasped the back of her neck, locking eyes with her.

“When I make love to ya, I want ya to use my name.”

Mabel understood. She tested it out, relishing the way it felt when it left her tongue.

“Hunter…”

Syverson groaned at the sound of his name on her lips. He was right. Using the hand beneath them as leverage, Syverson wrapped his other arm around her and flipped their bodies into a new position, laying Mabel gently on the seat. She cried out again as his fingers penetrated deeply, hitting a place inside her she never knew existed.

“Hunter!”

Quick work was made of the rest of their clothes as they joined one another in nakedness. Mabel gulped at the sight of Syverson. If his fingers had been able to make her feel that amazing, she couldn’t imagine the agonizing fireworks she was about to feel once that length was inside her. Syverson crouched over her, gazing into her eyes with desire and admiration.

“Ya sure?” he whispered, brushing her hair from her face. Mabel nodded.

“I want ya.”

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

From the car yard, Mel could see the old Bel Air rocking back and forth, and he shook his head knowingly.

“‘Bout time,” he chuckled to himself, heading back inside to give the kids privacy.

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

#the soldier's wife #captain syverson #captain syverson fic

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sserpente · 5 years

Text

24 little kinks | Door 24 (Merry Christmas, everyone!) 🎄

“You remember that chocolate advent calendar I got you for December?”

“I do,” he chuckled and pressed a tender kiss to your temple. “You made me display it in the kitchen so I would not eat it all at once.”

Your smile widened. “How about we get another one?”

Loki raised an eyebrow, only now paying proper attention to the sex toy ad. Then, he frowned. It was an odd mixture of disgust, genuine curiosity and even a hint of arousal flashing in his blue eyes.

A/N: Merry Christmas, my lovelies! I hope you’ll be spending some lovely and peaceful days with your families and friends. Big hug. ♥

Once you had fully realised that Loki and you were going to celebrate early, you had to secretly call your source to make sure it would be fine to pick up your present for him a day early. Being all clandestine in the morning already almost made him a little grumpy but Loki soon enough accepted you only wished to make your first Christmas Eve together a special one—especially after you had bribed him with a cup of caramel coffee.

Your source—a local farmer living not too far away from your flat—called you in the early afternoon. She got home from work earlier than expected and would love for you to come pick up your present. It was the perfect timing.

Now, after having prepared most things for your Christmas dinner, Loki was reading a book on the sofa, deeply immersed in the story and blue eyes glued to the pages. Every now and then, he would absentmindedly stroke your naked calves under the blanket he had draped over the both of you, as you had unceremoniously rested your legs on his lap.

He stirred, irritated, when you attempted to get up and moved to the hallway to get dressed.

“Where are we going?”

“Not we,” you smiled. “Just me. I’ll be right back.” Loki was next to you before you could even reach for your shoes.

“What is it you are planning again?” He teased, blocking your way.

“Nothing,” you mused innocently. “Nothing at all.”

A scream escaped your lips when he cocked an eyebrow and threw you over his shoulder, his palm connecting with your bottom.

“Ouch! Loki, let me down!” You choked out, laughing as you did. Much to your surprise, he actually did, only to chase you around your living room after.

“Will I need that lovely feather again to tickle the answer out of you?”

“Don’t you dare come near me with that thing!” You giggled. “Come on, I need to go, it’s getting late!”

Loki didn’t care what you were up to without him as long as you were safe. It was the thrill of teasing and playing around with you more than anything else—with you, he could be blithe and himself—for once. Your eyes widened when he materialised the flogger instead. Before you knew it, you were playing a game of cat and mouse. With a sheepish grin, Loki followed you around your flat, attempting effortlessly to corner you. Your heart was pounding in your chest by the time he cast some illusions to confuse you even more.

So where to next? Left or right? There were two Loki’s to both your sides. Biting your lower lip, you grabbed a pillow from the sofa and flung it at him. You expected it to simply fall right through him but instead, it hit Loki square in the face.

You couldn’t have held back your laughter if you had wanted to. “Oh my god… hahaha,” you choked out, “I thought you’re an illusion!”

The God of Mischief narrowed his eyes at you and you suddenly had the feeling you wouldn’t be getting away this time. When you tried and made a run for it, his arm wrapped around you faster than you could blink, lifting you off the floor and once again, throwing you over his shoulder as if you weighed nothing. You gasped when he pulled down your skirt and knickers, exposing your naked skin to the cool air.

Next thing you knew you felt the both stinging and arousing pain of the flogger colliding with your bare bottom—repeatedly.

“Hmm… I like the sound of that.” He mused, chuckling when you began to squirm.

“Let me down, let me down!”

“After that vicious attack with this cushion of yours? Oh no…” He growled with a smirk. Your pleading earned you a few more blows, each one more and intense than the last. You were dripping when he finally decided that you had enough and carefully laid you down on the sofa.

“Are you happy now?” You chuckled, crossing your arms before your chest. “I still have to leave!”

“Will you? Your quim is quaking with desire for me but very well… do what you must, my sweet. I shall be waiting right here.”

Damn, he was good. You swallowed thickly, gathering all your mental strength. This was about Loki’s Christmas present, after all. Sex could wait until later.

“Hmm… can you take a look at the turkey so it doesn’t burn or catch fire while I’m gone?”

The contents of the plain brown box you brought back around an hour later when it was dark out already, creating the perfect Christmassy atmosphere with candlelight and sparklers, had a sticker reading FRAGILE on it but that was only the cover-up. The air holes in the box should be able to give away what was inside but Loki would have no idea until he opened it, making you giggle.

The God of Mischief watched you, both amused and intrigued, how you carefully put the box underneath your Christmas tree. Only then did you look up—to find him dressed in his all black suit and that ravishing green tie. Your jaw dropped.

“You look hot.” You stated, grinning from ear to ear. He chuckled.

“Do I? I took the freedom of making the table in your absence.” And there you had been, thinking you’d first have him fuck you on the sofa before eating. This was even better. He flicked his wrist, sending the tingling of his seidr all over your body. When you looked down at yourself, you were wearing the most beautiful green dress which you had ever had the honour to own. Golden jewellery decorated the bust area as well as your wrists and on top of your head, Loki had magicked a tiara which reminded you of the golden horns of helmet.

“Merry Christmas, my sweet.” He approached you slowly, appreciating your beautiful appearance to the fullest before cupping your face gently.

“Merry Christmas, Loki.”

“I mean it.” He did not voice, nor did he have to. Without you, he’d probably be sulking away somewhere on Midgard, hated by humanity and his own people for his past actions. You loved this man so much it almost physically hurt, his touch the only way to quench the need to be close to him and alleviate that pain.

“I know. I love you, Loki.”

“And I love you.” Your kiss was passionate, full of affection and devotion.

“Now… I did not yet set fire to the turkey. We better eat up before it gets cold and all your effort was in vain.”

It was one of the most wonderful days spent with him so far. Loki held your hand across the table throughout the entire meal, the both of you engaged in the most intriguing conversations. The way he looked at you… you were sure no man before him had ever met your eyes with such sincerity. You were his angel, his saviour… this one woman who loved him unconditionally, regardless of who or what he was and what he had done. He never wanted to lose you again, ever.

“There is still one door left.” You reminded him after dinner. “Would you like to open it before or after I finally gave you my Christmas present?” You couldn’t wait for his reaction. You had talked about it before and you knew he would be over the moon. Still, at the very same time, you were nervous.

“Actually… I would like to give you my present before.” He replied. Your lips parted. You didn’t think he’d get you something. You already felt like a princess wearing this precious dress. Loki stood, taking your hands for you to do the same. Then, he took a deep breath.

“(Y/N)… I have been meaning to do this since the moment you first hugged me and I should have. Do you remember that day?”

A smile tug on your lips. You had only just met. Thor and he had returned from a mission, bleeding and bruised—everyone had been worried sick about the God of Thunder, immediately tending to his wounds. Loki remained ignored, by everyone but you. He had almost died, too, the shock still prominent on his face. If anything, he had been confused when you approached him mutely, wrapped your arms around him. It had been the beginning of a wonderful friendship—and soon, a fervent romance.

“I do.”

Your eyes met. Tears were swimming in his. What… what was going on?

“I never brought up the courage. I never realised… but the day I found out I was a Frost Giant, I gave up for anyone to ever love me. I was alone. In all my grief, my anger, my disappointment… I committed crimes I am not proud of, now that I am with you… the hatred, suspicion and distrust I was met with was all that fuelled my energy to keep going after I escaped Thanos. And when my mother died… I did not think I would ever know what love feels like again.” He smirked—your heart was aching for him. “You stepped into my life despite my protests. I pushed you away too often, mistreated you for the efforts you made to get me to open up to you. But you did not stop. You never stopped.

“Up to this day, my sweet… I sometimes ask myself what I have done to deserve you. Why, out of all men out in the nine realms, you would love me. You understand me like no one else does, you listen… you do not judge my thoughts or my actions, ever.”

A sob escaped your lips, making you aware of the hot tears running down your cheeks. You knew how hard fate had struck him. What he had had to go through, what he had been told. Loki had deserved none of this. He was a good man—the one man you called yours, the man you had fallen in love with. There were his cheekiness, his talents, his playfulness… there were his looks, his intellect, his tenderness…

“I do not ever want you to leave me again. I want you to be mine, for as long as I still walk these realms. (Y/N)…”

You gasped when he got on one knee. One hand was still holding yours tightly, the other reached into his pocket, pulling out a golden ring with a green gemstone and countless tiny diamonds.

“Will you become my queen and marry me?”

You were crying, screaming, laughing… all at the same time. Your breathless ‘yes’ made him smile—a genuine and honest smile which warmed your heart.

Trembling, you allowed him to slip the ring on your finger and then pull you into his arms, kissing you wildly and passionately. You couldn’t be close enough to one another. Loki’s hands travelled under your dress, sneakily beginning to undress you… until a both cute and pitiful meow interrupted your kiss.

Loki frowned. “What… was that?”

You giggled, wiping away your tears as you pulled away from him a bit. “That was your Christmas present. You should open it. She’s getting impatient.”

“She?”

Confused, Loki knelt down to the box, hesitantly opening the lid. Out jumped a young kitten with pitch black fur and big eyes as blue as his.

“And who might you be, little princess?” Little princess. “You are a true beauty…” Loki looked up at you. “Is she really mine? You got her for me?”

Your lips were still shaking when you answered him. “Yes. She will love you, unconditionally, Loki, as much as I do—and neither of us cares who you are or what you’ve done.”

The kitten purred, nestling close to him as if it agreed with you. Loki lifted her up, making the small creature, due to his size, look even tinier than it already was.

You forgot about the calendar until you got ready for bed a few hours later. Loki and his cat—Stjarna—he had decided to call her, had gotten to know each other better. For what seemed like half an eternity, you watched him pet her and smile at her clumsiness while the three of you were cuddled up on the sofa, simply enjoying each other’s presence.

Your engagement ring had belonged to his mother, so he told you, the only valuable thing from Asgard he still possessed. For years, he had always carried it with him as a lucky charm—without imagining he could one day give it a new meaning. You swore to him you would never take it off.

You were about to throw the covers back and snuggle into bed with him and Stjarna when he joined you in the bedroom and headed straight for your advent calendar. The last door. Impatiently, he opened it. It revealed a couple vibrator.

“How do we use this?” Loki asked you quietly. Something was different tonight—gentler. You were drinking in each other’s presence, bathing in affection and attention. It was like tonight, Loki appreciated your togetherness in a more sentimental way than usual. Perhaps that was because it was Christmas Eve—or perhaps it was because, only hours before, you had agreed to become his wife.

“Come, I’ll show you.”

You never took his eyes off of him as you pulled him into bed with you. Several minutes passed in which you tenderly undressed each other until you could feel his cool skin against yours. His breath ghosted over your earlobes, your chin, your neck… and then your mouth, capturing your lips for a sweet kiss all the while he positioned himself between your legs and explored your breasts with his soft hands.

“H-here…” You breathed out, slipping one end of the u-shaped toy inside you effortlessly so the other rested against your clit. Loki nodded, both curious and overwhelmed with desire and his love for you.

As soon as he pushed inside, claiming you inch by inch, you switched it on, sending vibrations not only through your sensitive bundle of nerves but also his hard cock.

Loki shivered, grunting into your ear.

“Make love to me, Loki… please…” Your arms wrapped around him, pulling you even closer to your body. His thrusts were tame and amiable, as if he wanted to enjoy every single second of your bodies being joined. Slowly and intimately, you rode each other to orgasm, closer and closer until you felt yourself falling, nails digging into his shoulders. Loki followed you quickly. Whispering your name along with but a few animalistic growls, he emptied himself inside you, his warm seed filling you up and dribbling past the vibrator, staining your bed sheets. Out of breath, panting, you removed it and switched it off.

On the wall, the clock struck midnight.

“Merry Christmas, Loki.”

“Merry Christmas, my queen.”

You both fell asleep fast soon after, with Loki’s softening member still resting inside of you.

A/N: Here it goes. 24 doors, 24 adventures with Loki. I hope you all enjoyed this special as much as I did. I’ll be back in a few days with new Imagines. Until then... have a wonderful Christmas, my lovelies! ♥

This door contained a request by @stop-obsessing-over-those-actors and an anon request.

Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! Also, if you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente

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moonscarsandstars · 4 years

Text

“Do you really love me?”

The stars glittered against the clear, black surface of the lake. Grass prickled Remus’s skin as he turned around to face Sirius. His grey eyes held spiralling universes in them.

“More than you’ll ever know,” whispered Sirius.

Remus reached out to kiss him, but pulled apart as Sirius pointed up at the sky. ”It’s starting,” he whispered excitement tingling in his voice.

It seemed like frozen fire was travelling through space, leaving a shining trail behind. Like the stars were raining, falling on them. Like the universe was falling apart, each woven thread coming undone.

It was like nothing Remus’d ever seen before.

Mouth parted in awe, he hastily turned to Sirius in excitement, only to find Sirius looking back at him, with the same love in his eyes that set flames in Remus’s heart.

Suddenly, Sirius’s lips where on his, and in a blur of passion, they were against each other, almost like the universe really was falling apart.

~~~

“Do you really love me?”

A heavy tear fell down Sirius’s cheek, as a harsh croak escaped him. Remus’s eyes landed on the giant bruise on his cheek- from where James had punched him.

But that was nothing compared to Remus’s gnawing flesh, with lacerations larger than life barely holding together at the seams. What did Sirius expect? It was dangling fresh meat in front of the wolf before snatching it away.

“I- I’m sorry- you have no idea-”

“No,” growled Remus. “You have no idea. Know what would’ve happened if I managed to kill Snape? If your fucking plan had succeeded?!”

Sirius shook his head weakly and cautiously, cold fear pooling in his eyes.

“Forget being expelled, I’d have been put down! Like the fucking beast I am!”

A loud, horrified gasp escaped Sirius, and he flinched back in terror, gripping the table with his white knuckles. His lower lip was trembling, and his face was paler than before.

“No- no- that- please- no-”

“Yes. And that’s what you don’t understand, isn’t it?” Remus took a heated breath.

“I’m- I’m so sorry-” Sirius managed to stutter out through gut wrenching sobs.

“You don’t really love me. You never did,” spat out Remus, as if the words were poison.

“That’s not true,” whimpered Sirius in a wavering, broken voice.

“No you don’t.”

“I- I-”

“You’re just like your fucking parents.”

~~~

“Do you really love me?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then leave,” spat out Remus brusquely, voice scraping against the walls of the shack.

Chains dug in deeply against his wrists, and bloodied streams of dirt lead up to him struggling against himself. A loud, guttural wail escaped him, echoing through Sirius’s body. Sirius shuddered, tears pricking his eyes.

“You need the pack!” Cried Sirius, pulling fingers through his knotted hair.

“I need you to get out!”

Remus heaved a little, blood falling from his lips which he spat away. He trailed a broken nail along his shaking legs. He whimpered quietly, tugging harshly at the chain pulling against his foot.

“I’m staying,” muttered Sirius, more to himself. “I’m staying.”

“You stay, and we’re over.”

Swallowing thickly, Sirius stood confidently. “I’d rather end it than leave you alone here.”

“Fuck, Sirius just get out!”

“No! Don’t you understand?! I love you, and I don’t fucking care if I get hurt! As long as you’re safe,” he added softly.

“Are- are you- fuck it’s starting!”

His screams wracked the building, and the walls seemed to shiver with Sirius, who hastily transformed into a dog. The last thing he could see was sharp, bloodied teeth, before the wolf’s claws carved through his arm.

Gritting his teeth and howling loudly, Padfoot tried to lick the wound, edging to the back of the room and staring cautiously.

The wolf was different now.

~~~

“Do you really love me?”

“I can’t believe it either,” deadpanned Sirius, bursting into laughs. “Why d’you think I don’t?”

“I don’t know,” shrugged Remus, a lump hanging at his throat and his eyes glassing over.

“Moony, hey Moons, what happened?”

Sirius crouched next to Remus, who was cross legged on their bed. He dragged a finger over the Gryffindor poster that hung from one of the posters.

“It’s- I mean- we’re leaving this place soon, aren’t we?” Remus’s voice wavered in a way that broke Sirius’s heart.

“We’re going to stay together,” said Sirius, trailing a finger over Remus’s tear stained cheek. “I promise, I’ll never leave you.”

“What if you find someone better?”

“No one, and I mean that Moons, no one could be better than you. You’re everything, better than this world, better than this universe. You’re more than I could ever have asked for. I love you.”

Another tear fell down Remus’s cheek, gently wiped away by Sirius’s soft thumb.

“Are you sure?”

Sirius chuckled. “I’d be in Azkaban before I stopped loving you.”

“You’d be in Azkaban within three years of leaving this place, I’ll bet.”

“Oh we’ll bet, all right,” chuckled Sirius, moving over Remus’s body.

They fell down on the bed, smiling against each others’ lips. Sirius’s hands travelled through Remus’s hair, and he kissed him passionately, like there was no tomorrow.

~~~

“Do you really love me?”

“Where were you?”

“I asked if you really love me.”

“I asked,” repeated Sirius heatedly. “Where were you?

“Don’t you trust me?!”

A hitched breath stuck in Sirius’s throat, and his eyebrows furrowed further. He threaded fingers through his sweaty hair.

“Why? Don’t you trust me?”

“I do, it’s just- I’m not allowed to tell!”

“Why not?”

“Dumbledore’s order,” muttered Remus defeatedly. “I wasn’t even supposed to say that. But fuck, it’s all I can offer in this stupid war.”

“What?” Sirius’s eyebrows shot up, and he suddenly stood from the old, dusty sofa they were sitting on. “He’s asking you to use your lycanthropy or something?”

“I- no.”

“You’re lying.”

“Why can’t you fucking trust me?!”

Remus got up too, anger fueling his tired, injured and bloodied body.

“Because you keep disappearing half the time, and fuck knows where you go every transformation!”

“Dumbedore asked me to! You think I’d do this out of my free will?”

“Then tell him not to,” said Sirius earnestly. It took all Remus had it in him to keep from screaming and falling into Sirius’s arms. “I’ll come with you!”

“I- he’s done so much for me,” said Remus desperately, on the brink of tears. “I can’t just take it for granted, can I?”

“You paid him, right? You studied well, right? And he said it was a gift, right?”

“Yes but-”

“No. You’re going to go to Dumbledore, and we’re going to tell him to get his head out of his-”

“Fine, fine, I’ll do it now.”

“Now. I’m coming with you,” said Sirius, grabbing a cloak off the stand and walking out.

“No- no, it’s okay,” muttered Remus, his voice breaking. “I’ll do it myself.”

“Promise?”

Sirius’s voice was so tender.

“Yeah,” replied Remus, putting on a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I promise.”

“I love you.”

Remus couldn’t bring himself to return it as he walked away from Sirius for what could’ve been forever.

~~~

“Do you really love me?”

Remus stared up at the ceiling of their flat. No. His flat.

The emptiness sunk in, carving a hole inside Remus. One that ached inside, tore apart his barely beating heart.

“Did you really mean it?”

His voice was remarkably steady, hiding bleeding hope and pain that stretched through his heart,

“Did you mean it during the meteor shower?”

Remus closed his eyes, biting his lip to hide the pain. He could taste blood, crimson and metallic. Like the chains.

“Did you mean it when you apologised?”

Maybe that was the start. Maybe Remus shouldn’t have been so fucking desperate for love. Maybe Remus should’ve used his fucking brains.

Remus loathed himself, kicking the chair harshly as pain erupted through his leg.

“Did you mean it when you stayed?”

Remus couldn’t help his voice waver, as his eyes glassed over and his heart burned painfully.

“Did you mean it when you promised to stay with me forever?”

A harsh, bitter chuckle stung his throat.

“You really did go to Azkaban. And leave me. I fucking hate you!”

Remus screamed, tears pouring down his face as a gaping hollow feeling tore him apart from the inside. It physically hurt- worse than any transformation, and he fell to the ground in pain.

“I fucking hate you!” He screamed, knowing the lies that he weaved.

Bloodshot eyes met the picture of the Marauders watching the meteor shower. His white knuckles gripped it tightly, and he felt sick.

“Did you really love me?”

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gingerhulksmash · 5 years

Text

The sketchbook.

Hazel has gotten used to throwing away little scrap bits of paper bearing any marks of her boredom during senate meetings, but she’s beginning to regret it now, as she’s bundling old meeting notes into a recycling bag. They never contained anything vital to the meetings, just stickmen blowing rude speech bubbles, games of hangman and tic-tac-toe, Jason’s chicken scratch scrawl asking did she want to get donuts after the meeting? She can’t remember if she’d said yes, or if she’d smiled, or if she’d told him she had drills to run.

She hopes she’d said yes. She hopes she’d scribbled yes, I would love to get donuts with you, so he had known for sure that there was nothing else she’d rather have done that day. If she’d known what was coming, she’d have asked him, after every meeting, and stretched out what should have been a longer friendship. What should have been more time with her first friend in Camp Jupiter. What should have been more time with someone she saw as a—

As a—

She’s getting distracted, and her eyes are starting to prickle. With a shuddering sigh, Hazel goes back to gutting Jason’s old desk. Purging it of all traces of it’s former occupant, though she’s fighting the urge to have it towed towards his funeral pyre. Whoever sat at it next wouldn’t be quite so deserving, not of the title, not of the office, not of the desk so covered with the imprint of his late night work and coffee spills, she begins to wonder if they couldn’t conjure Jason’s soul from out of the grainy wood itself.

But, she reminds herself, it’s just a desk. No more a part of Jason than the office, the chair, the pages and pages of work scattered around. As she plucks the sheets from the drawers, her fingers brush the soft leather spine of an old sketchbook. She gasps quietly, fingers jarring with uncertainty — as if she’d found a diary, some private relic that Jason would have forbidden her to touch if he’d been there.

He is not there, and Hazel pulls the book from it’s hidden corner of the desk drawer, glancing around to make sure she is completely alone.

Inside is a comfortingly familiar mess of writing, and drawings. Almost every page is stained with coffee or ink — after the Giant War, Jason’s hands had developed a slight tremor, and she sees it in the unsteady lines in the details. The pages are dated, signed, almost pedantically. Habits of a boy whose life had been pulled out from under him, once, twice, thrice. An ache in her chest tells her that he was making sure he forgot nothing, that he had something to fall back on to remember himself, if no one else did. Then, as she turns the pages, loose pieces begin to fall out. The first one she picks up again knocks the wind out of her a little.

She’s looking at her own face, sketched clumsily in blue ink. He’s not the most articulate artist — the eyes are uneven, the light seems to be coming from all directions, and not a shadow or crease in the clothes visible — but the light strokes of the pen, the careful curve of her nose and every stray hair, speaks volumes. Signed, dated, and labelled with her name, he has captured a moment she can’t remember at all. More loose sheets contain faces of friends, Frank, Reyna, Gwen, Bobby, Dakota — it goes on, and on. The sketches get better the closer they get to his last visit. She makes more appearances, as do their new friends. She gets misty eyed over drawings of Leo and Piper, passages written about Festus and how to repair him, just the way Leo taught them in case he couldn’t do it himself.

The margins are full of birthdays, important dates, minute sketches of New Rome and Camp Halfblood, flashes of scenes from quests. He has not travelled far, and the places he has been allowed were chained to danger. But to anyone who had not known Jason, it read like a How To Remember Your Friends guide. Like a memoir. He’d even kept all the little notes that they had traded in senate meetings, wedged in between loose sheets and sometimes glued to the pages. He’d kept the ridiculous drawings as if they were precious photos. It’s getting harder and harder to keep a straight face.

The last piece she picks off the floor is an old drawing of Thalia. She’d recognise the face anywhere, even with Jason’s haphazard drawing; blue eyes overlined so vividly, the blue ink had seeped through to the other side of the page, the hair an inky splash, and freckles dotted across a rakish grin. It was not signed, or dated, but it had one sentence scratched across so messily, he must have written it in a fit of something.

She’s real, his writing reads. She’s real, her name is Thalia Grace. She’s not imaginary. I’m not the only one. My sister is real.

Something wet splatters on the page, and the ink bleeds blue down Thalia’s face. Hazel forgets to clean the rest of the desk, forgets she is surrounded by scraps of paper, and dust, and cobwebs. She sits on Jason’s chair, rests her head on her arms, and bawls.

——————————

Waiting for Nico to appear sends her back to her first days at Camp Jupiter. Hazel doesn’t know if she’ll see him, if he’ll warn her of an absence or a visit. Today of all days, she does not blame him for hiding a little. They grieve the same loss in different ways, but she needs her brother here, too. She needs the reassurance, and the understanding, and the presence to prove to her she’s not on her own.

Just like in old times, when her stomach is in knots about Nico not showing up, it’s a Grace who approaches her with a kind hand on her shoulder. But when Hazel turns to face Thalia, her heart leaps to her throat.

Thalia looks like she’s been quietly rusting the past few days. Pale, shoulders slack, her hair dripping down her face. She is not wearing her circlet, her eyes look bloodshot and grey. If someone told her that grief could rob a soul of it’s immortality, Hazel would have believed it from just one look at Thalia.

But there she stood, with a strained smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, looking through Hazel.

‘You wanted to see me?’

Suddenly, Hazel feels like this is the worst idea she’s ever had. Jason’s sketchbook sits heavy in her bag, weighing her thoughts down until there is no room for words to form. All she can think to say is how are you, but it is the silliest question in the world right now.

‘I did,’ she sits as she speaks, gently prompting Thalia to do the same.

Thalia remains standing for an awkward minute, wondering perhaps if Hazel has worse news for her. She seems to decide it isn’t possible, and sits, avoiding eye contact all the while.

‘Will you be leaving soon?’ ‘Don’t know. We have some business to attend to while we’re here,’ Thalia’s voice is brittle, too.

Hazel has seen every sign of crying except the tears, and she can’t help but wince internally at how similar that was to Jason. The closest she’d ever come to seeing Jason weep was the night he had told her about Mount Othrys, and even then, he had held his composure for her sake. He did not like to make others feel obligated to comfort him, and she understood. If Thalia was anything like that...

‘You can’t take a few days off?’ Thalia makes a noise that might have passed as a laugh. ‘Hunters don’t get sick days, Levesque.’

It’s eerie. He’d almost said the same. Praetors don’t take sick days.

They fall into silence. Hazel wishes Nico would appear soon, so that someone who knew Thalia better could deliver the book. So someone who knew Thalia better could handle the fallout. So someone who knew Thalia better could talk about her brother, and not make Hazel feel stupid for ever thinking of Jason as her own family, when Thalia had more right to cry and scream and break down than she did.

But that didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel fair. And the anger hits Hazel as soon as she’s thought it. If rifling through that sketchbook had shown her anything, it was that Jason had been as desperate for family all his life, as she had been desperate to not feel alone when she reached camp, too. Nico and Thalia could come and go as they pleased, but Jason and Hazel — they had been the ones left behind, they had been the ones to pick each other up again. They had been the ones to reach their hands out, with every fear of rebuke and rejection, to any other lonely soul who might be in need.

Just as she starts to think, I should keep the book myself, Thalia sighs.

‘If I don’t do my job, someone else suffers,’ she says, after a long pause. ‘What would I do with my days off, anyway?’

To this, Hazel has no answer.

‘Are you taking any days off?’ Thalia continues, finally turning to look at her. ‘No. I... I can’t,’ ‘Why not? He’s like a brother to you, too.’

Again, her eyes prickle. A lump in her throat makes it hard to speak for a few more seconds, and in lieu of an answer, Hazel reaches a shaking hand towards Thalia’s. Thalia squeezes her fingers back weakly, and sniffs.

Slowly, Hazel reaches into her bag, and draws the sketchbook out. It feels heavier than anything she’s ever held before, but she holds it tightly, for fear that a second of slack grip would send all the pages flying into the air, never to be seen again. Gingerly holding it in her lap, she pulls the hand holding Thalia’s to rest on the cover.

‘What is that?’ ‘It’s Jason’s,’ immediately, as Hazel says it, Thalia stiffens. ‘We used to draw together, now and again, when he had time. He, um. He kept a lot of the things I drew for him, and — and drew some of his own,’

Thalia is looking at the book as if it’s going to bite her, but before she can pull her fingers loose, Hazel closes her hand over them, too soft to constrain, but quick enough that Thalia might understand it as a plea to hold on.

With a shaking voice, Hazel finishes. ‘I want you t — I think you should have it.’

‘What am I going to do with it?’ The rasp in her voice tells Hazel she might cry, or yell. Maybe both. Both might be good for her, for Hazel, too. ‘Look at it. On your days off,’ Hazel offers. ��Look at it now.’ ‘I can’t. I didn’t even know he liked to draw,’ ‘That doesn’t matter,’

She peels the cover open, blinking furiously to ward away any tears, and lets Thalia try. When she doesn’t move, when Hazel can hear her breathing become difficult and tight, she turns the pages for her, shows her the friends and adventures scribbled there, the notes, the reminders. Her hands shake as she shows Thalia all the drawings of her, her eyes begin to blur.

‘He loved you so much. It doesn’t matter if you didn’t know this about him, he’d have wanted you to have it,’ her voice cracks, at long last. ‘He barely knew me at the start and he loved me, he wouldn’t have cared if — if you didn’t —’

Thalia’s hands on her face, wiping away her tears, are what alert her to the fact she’s crying. Through her hazy vision, she can make out Thalia’s stony expression, fighting valiantly to not break. How like Jason; these are the habits of someone unaccustomed to having the space and permission to feel. She was no older than Hazel, something she remembers with another swoop of pain — Thalia had died at thirteen, too. She understood the gravity of a second chance, and now the pain of having that blessing tainted by loss, by grief, by danger.

Before she knows it, Thalia has pulled her into a hug, one arm tight around her shoulders, the other hand at the back of her head. She lets Thalia hold onto her, until it feels like she is being leaned on in turn, until she hears the quiet shudder of a sob that gets louder and more heartbroken.

The book, still in Hazel’s clutches and pressed to her front, is forgotten and unimportant for the moment. But when this is over, she knows Thalia will take it. When this is over, Nico will come home to Hazel. Tyson will go home to Percy. The cohorts and cabins in both camps will close in on their loved ones, and Thalia will vanish into the wilderness with nothing but this book, and it will be all she has of him. Paper, ink, a leather back that will slowly but surely break apart over the years as it’s yanked open to bring Jason back to life, for a moment or two.

Hazel holds Thalia until her sobs subside to a tremor, and thinks, maybe, she doesn’t have to be alone. Maybe after this, when this is all over, Thalia will visit, they’ll get donuts, and pore over the book together. Maybe she’ll teach Thalia to draw, and they’ll draw together. That would have to wait — for now, she will make do with the comfort she is being offered and has the chance to give back. She’ll hold onto Thalia, and Thalia will hold onto her, and as he should have been there in person, Jason was there between them, with his family.

#jason grace #hazel levesque #thalia grace #drabbles #This was a rush job but god was I angry #Mostly about Reyna but #I'm saving THAT rage for a better fic.#this isn't proofread at all oh gosh

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