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utterlyinevitable · 4 years

Note

Hey hi! Can you do a hc about what happened in the time jump for the li routes to fix this mess? Make the lack of progression make sense! please and thank you

I shall try!

Though I’m only going to do Ethan, Bryce and Rafael (TBC in another post). I have never played Jackie’s route and don’t feel comfortable speculating.

Ethan x MC During the Time Jump

After the gala, things seemed to be going well. Ethan dismantled the Diagnostics Team and wasn’t MC’s direct superior anymore.

They thought everything would be fine.

But no, Ethan was still an attending and MC a resident in the same department.

And that kiss looked too familiar to be the first time anything happened between them.

So people started to talk.

Rumors started to fly about MC sleeping her way onto the best cases and Ramsey giving her preferential treatment. “Have you seen the way he looks at Dr. Lao? Actual hearts in his eyes.” “She’s the only person he wouldn’t fire for talking back to him.” “I saw them leave Donahue’s together once last year. You think it’s been going on since then?”

Ethan and MC did their best to ignore the incessant gossip, they were much too busy helping as many patients as possible to pay attention.

Two weeks after the gala the gang celebrated Thanksgiving.

Ethan was invited and joined without pushback.

He sat at the island talking with Sienna and Rafael as they waited for MC to arrive from her errand that was taking longer than expected.

It wasn’t as awkward as he would have thought, getting to know MC’s group was rather enjoyable.

Well, that was until Keiki and Bryce arrived.

Keiki was very standoffish with Ethan, giving him the full inquisition.

He took it in stride, brushing off every time Bryce apologized for his sister’s behavior.

MC and Ethan spent Christmas with Alan at Ethan’s place after a long shift. They hadn’t explicitly confirmed their coupling with his father, using the cover of “having nowhere else to go” to explain why they’re spending the day together.

Ethan had only spoken about MC and barely even touched on the depth of his feelings for her in the odd conversation with Alan about his personal life.

Alan knew better. He sees the way his son looks at MC and how attentive he is to her needs; whether it be a new napkin or a top up without batting an eye. No to mention, this wasn’t the first time he caught them cozying up in Ethan’s kitchen.

Word still spread around the hospital, even quicker now that Ethan and MC were confirmed to have spent the holiday together. So much, to the point that they could not ignore it any longer.

Ethan and MC and her friends tried to squash as many rumors as possible. Telling everyone that they’ve only started dating. It was part of the truth. “They hooked up the moment she was cleared of the toxin. One of the nurses heard them. MC is loud!” “That’s ridiculous. MC went right to sleep the second I wheeled her out of there,” Bryce informed. “And seriously, the kiss at the gala was the first time they got frisky.”

They were able to buy some more time. The amount of patients coming through Edenbrook’s doors tripling and keeping everyone busy.

MC spent New Years with her friends while Ethan worked.

He made it to her apartment just in time to kiss her at midnight.

Eventually the most salacious of rumors made their way to the board.

Edenbrook still had ~7 months of life left and accusations like this could not be brushed under the rug.

Ethan was called into a meeting to assess the claims not long after.

He blew a gasket - face and ears red with rage at the laundry list of claims brought against them.

The board threw around the notion of a sexual harassment case.

Ethan assured them that would not be necessary. Their current relationship was more than consensual.

The board would have loved to believe them but in the current climate they could not afford another lawsuit and are proceeding with extreme caution.

Ethan was advised to keep distant from MC until the investigation was concluded.

MC was called in a few days later.

She said the same as Ethan.

Things were awkward that entire week they had to stay away from one another to prove their point of not interfering with their professional relationship.

The case was cleared quicker than both thought possible. Luckily, all their friends and close colleagues vouched for them.

Ethan and MC received the email of no wrongdoing just before their shifts ended one night.

The night they got the news wasn’t the happy reunion they were expecting.

She met Ethan at his place - ready with a set of lingerie she was saving for February.

MC was so excited. But that all ended over takeaway when Ethan spoke of the thoughts that had plaguing him since his meeting with the board.

Needless to say, Ethan never got to see the outfit.

The evening ended in them arguing about where she should apply to residency and how he doesn’t want to hinder her career.

MC stormed out and gave him the cold shoulder for a while.

Their fight lasted well past Valentine’s Day.

MC did send him a text to thank him for the flowers and food basket he sent. Other than that it was professional business as usual between them.

Both Ethan and MC threw themselves into their work, letting the days turn into weeks and neither of them acknowledging their issues.

They let the fight simmer down and let themselves down along with it.

They didn’t fight for their relationship, they didn’t talk anymore about what it all means for them.

MC loves Ethan and would choose him and staying in Boston for him over a better opportunity elsewhere. But after everything, she’s dejected. She’s put so much effort into their relationship over the last two years that there’s no point to fight for something he’s not willing to meet halfway on.

Ethan knows MC leads with their heart.

That’s why he wouldn’t tell her. That’s why he couldn’t tell her he’s madly in love with her.

He doesn’t want to ruin her career anymore than he has already, doesn’t want the rumors festering within Edenbrook to follow her wherever she ends up. Doesn’t want her to give up a very promising career for whatever this is.

He’s also not going to admit he’s a little scared of what it means if she did stay. It’s easier for him to push her away in the name of her career than admit he’s absolutely hopeless without her.

MC’s night on the town with her friends ended up at the helipad on top of Edenbrook. Ethan heard the commotion of their dancing and loud music and went to investigate.

The gang invited him to join and he looked at MC for permission.

She smiled and shrugged, the fight forgotten and the nostalgia washing over her tipsy state.

He grabbed and beer and sat next to her. He lamented on the view and when MC told him she was glad he was here Ethan grabbed her hand. They relished the feeling of their skin on each others after what’s felt like years.

They welcomed the silence and just being in each others company.

Slowly the group trickled out, leaving Ethan and MC alone. “What did you get up to tonight? Besides trespassing.” “We did some applications then said ‘fuck it’ and went out” He didn’t comment on application although he was itching to know where she hopes to end up. So, Ethan changed the subject, “You look beautiful. That dress really suits you.” “Thank you.”

They sat still in unsettled silence. The nightly breeze picking up and Ethan mindlessly rubbing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb.

They went to speak at the same time, MC letting Ethan continue:

“Will you come home with me?” “Is that a good idea?” “I’d like to make the most of the time we have left.”

MC looked at him, their eyes locking.

She knew it wasn’t a good idea - she’d fallen into him one too many times. Every time she was scorned.

But maybe tonight she’s diluted her inhibitions enough to indulge in one last goodbye.

They went back to his place and they didn’t talk at all.

Very few words were exchanged in the seconds their lips parted.

Small pleasantries were exchanged in the morning along with light kisses everywhere but on the mouth.

Ethan drove her back to her place the next morning to keep prying eyes from catching them coming to work together.

MC wished she regretted sleeping with him again.

The moment she got out of bed she missed his heat and the way he wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled into her neck as they slept.

It was heaven. And MC didn’t ever want to come back down.

MC was still applying to programs all over the country, hoping she’ll find a new match somewhere. Ethan’s recommendation letter could only carry so far.

Ever since that last evening Ethan and MC refused to acknowledge the fault staring them in the face.

Instead, they took things one day at a time.

They kept their friendship alive after months of ignoring one another.

They’ve texted, they’ve almost sexted. They’ve gone out for coffee.

But they never had another sleepover.

Whenever they got close, their internal siren would wail “they’re leaving they’re leaving they’re leaving” and immediately someone would make an excuse to stop much to both their disappointment.

It was for the best. They knew that. They convinced themselves to be true.

Edenbrook’s last day came and Ethan was understandably shaken. His career he had devoted his entire life to ended. This creature of habit has to rebuild and it’s terrifying.

He had a number of hospitals and research centers send him offers but none of them felt right. None of them were Edenbrook and none of them were the team he and his mentor built, and none of them had his favorite person.

So Ethan was set to take a few months sabbatical; spend more time with his dad and at the opera and just enjoying the life he has been too distracted to live.

Later that day while waiting for labs for the Bloom Case, he wanted to strangle his father for inviting MC on the quick trip to Providence.

He also never expected her to agree.

Ethan had never taken a woman home - and they weren’t really in that close of a place for her to nosey around his guarded past.

It was disconcerting and strangely familiar to have MC by his side in his childhood home. His past and present meshing beautifully.

And that scared Ethan.

Standing in his childhood home watching Alan and MC coo over baby photos, Ethan never wanted a domestic life more. He wanted to show her everything and have her do the same. He wanted to do all this in twenty years with his own family.

He was coveting things he had thrown away.

And then she kissed him and for a split second no hope was lost.

When the lights of Edenbrook finally went off that fateful day, MC grabbed his hand.

It felt like the only thing to do.

He was the most important part of Edenbrook - for MC Ethan was Edenbrook.

Their romantic past aside, they became friends here. He was the reason she was here in the first place - at Edenbrook and practicing medicine. It was only fitting that he’d be at her side when this chapter closed.

“I’m going to miss you,” she said so sincerely his heart didn’t know whether to shatter or swell. “For what it’s worth, I feel exactly the same way about you.”

The silence hung for a while as they watched the last of the lights switch off.

She broke it with the most visceral question: “So. This is really it.” “For some things.” “And what about... other things? Am I going to see you again now that we don’t work together?”

It was the question they’d been volleying and avoiding for months. The time came to finally put a decision to it.

MC was still unsure where she was going. Ethan will be spending more time with his family. Things were still so complicated.

“It’s impossible to say what the future will bring...” Ethan opted for one last life lesson to close their mentor/mentee relationship.

Her features, mood and hopes simultaneously fell. This was really the end.

A part of her hoped they could compromise. They only had one another a few times, there was so much more to explore between them.

She kept her eyes glued down at their shoes, “Oh...” “But I can see as far as tomorrow. I’ll see you then?”

He had the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

After what felt like ages, their eyes locked. Both clear as could be.

“I’d like that.”

MC left to meet her friends while Ethan stayed to say the emotional goodbye to his home of the last 11 years, to the place that made him who he is.

Ethan and MC went their separate ways with a promise of tomorrow.

#i'm personally pretending the gala kiss didn't happen and we've been in a secret relationship since #but still fucked in his office #open heart hc #open heart #open heart headcanons #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc #Anonymous #asked

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ickle-ronniekins · 4 years

Text

duet | see you soon then

DUET MASTERLIST

NOTE FOR ALL READERS: this is an installment of a series. the masterlist for a catch-up is linked above. this particular chapter is to fall between [im]mature and silky smooth. thanks!

desc: things had been a bit rocky when the twins told you they were leaving hogwarts before graduation. you’d been so hellbent and obsessed on spending time with george that you’d sort of neglected fred. emotions are running high, but the three of you fall into a comfortable routine and suddenly you’re bursting at the seams with happiness. but since it’s finally time for them to leave, you have absolutely no luck in trying to suppress your tears. they’re making their dreams come true, so why is it so damn hard to say goodbye right now?

a/n: yo! sorry its been a while. school has been kicking my ass and also I genuinely had no inspiration to write this chapter. it was actually supposed to look a little different which is what I think was evidently holding me back. but leeann’s the best and has been incredibly patient with me as I worked through my writer’s block and we bounced ideas off of one another. i..... am so sorry for this. full masterlist is linked above, loves.

word count: 3.4k

warning(s): just sadness bc boys are leaving :(

Things had been… tense, to say the least. Your arguments with both of your best mates had caused quite a bit of discomfort between you all. And not to mention that the Easter holidays were rapidly approaching, which only seemed to speed up the pounding in your chest.

You’d been making progress, though, coming around to the idea of finishing school without them. What an incredible opportunity this was for them, wasn’t it? While your feelings of dread and sadness were still very much prominent, you couldn’t help but be bursting at the seams with pride, too.

They were damn brilliant individuals and it was about time more people recognized that, right?

It still didn’t lessen the pain in your heart, though. It only seemed to elevate it. But you supposed, you’d only learn to grow from it.

The three of you had fallen into a somewhat comfortable routine. Spending lots of time with one another -- you’d also been very conscious about how much time you spent chasing after George. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself any further than you already had. Plus, you’d sadly forgotten how lovely it was to be with just Fred -- he was your absolute best mate, after all, and while yes, there had been times when the two of you had very angrily bumped heads, it only made your friendship that much stronger. You owed it to him. You owed it to yourself.

And you’d taken to spending more time with the Gryffindors too, when that ghastly toad look-a-like of a woman wasn’t around. What she didn’t know wouldn’t kill her. They were your friends, too, after all -- Ginny, Ron, Harry, Hermione, Neville -- the lot of them. And by the light of the common room fire reflecting in Fred’s eyes, and the very bright grin George had painted onto his face nearly every evening, you were pretty certain they were genuinely happy to have you there.

“What’s this one?”

“Ah -- an extension of our latest and greatest inventions, Y/N,” Fred beamed, examining his own creation as he twirled it in his fingers, “Wildfire Whizbangs.”

“You mean you’ve created something even bigger than those blasted fireworks you’d let loose in the courtyard a few weeks ago?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re about to set the bloody Great Hall on fire -- I’ve got exams coming up, you know.”

George laughed and pulled out yet another wildly vibrant colored whizbang from their trunk. “Can’t make any promises.”

You’d been spending so much time in their common room, in fact, that people had just ended up making you an honorary Gryffindor. You did miss yours, though -- the warmth hues of the yellow lining, the cozy armchairs near the fire with books next to it stacked so high they touched the ceiling, the tiny, potted plants on the windowsill. You were placed in Hufflepuff after all, so it was only normal that you’d miss the coziness of your own spot.

You couldn’t help it, though. You found yourself with your friends until the late hours of the evening, and sometimes you’d ever crash in the girls’ dormitory in Gryffindor tower because it was far too late to even attempt to sneak back down to your own common room, and the boys didn’t want you to risk getting into some type of trouble. Who’d have thought? The Kings of Mischief, worried about you getting into trouble. The irony was wonderfully funny.

You’d even found yourself working less and less on your assignments, just to spend time with them. It was, truthfully, the closest the three of you had been since you’d met. Absolutely nothing could squash your happiness.

Until you realized one evening when you were pulling on your silk pyjamas and thinking about how good things had been, that you had exactly one week left with them. One week. Seven days. Most of which would be spent studying for exams.

Some type of knot shot up into your throat and you found that your eyes had begun to water more so than normal. Sometimes, you couldn’t quite believe the effect this was having on you.

And so you swallowed down your feelings and forced yourself to sleep, hoping that the next day, you wouldn’t think about the limited time you had left with them before they fled school, but only about just how much you enjoyed your time with them.

-- -

“Please don’t cry. If you cry, I’ll cry, and I’m a bloody ugly crier.”

You knew that Fred was doing his best to make you laugh. He always had a particular knack for making you burst out into giggles at the most inappropriate of times. But even so, the mischievous glimmer in his eye and the lopsided grin on his face couldn’t make you laugh. Not this time.

You’d sort of distanced yourself this last week. Not purposefully, mind you, but because there was studying to be done. You had exams, didn’t you? And the boys needed to pack all of their belongings for their adventure into adulthood. It sounded so silly when you thought about it. But it also sent a soul-crushing feeling straight through your body.

You hated crying in front of them. Sure, you were a bit dramatic at times, but you tried your absolute hardest not to break down in front of them if you could help it. But this was different, you reckoned. This was them leaving with a permanence that could not be undone. This was goodbye… for now.

“I -- I’m just --” your voice sounded raspy and weak, like someone was gripping your vocal cords and strangling them. You watched through blurred vision as Fred’s lower lip began to wobble, and he bit down on it to keep you from noticing. But you noticed. Of course you did. How could you not? You knitted your brows together to keep the tears from falling, but your emotions were far too high for anything to work. You searched desperately for the words that were filling up your heart, though were proving very difficult to leave your lips. “I’m.. I’m really…”

And Fred, who found himself sometimes turning to mush around you, let his shoulders collapse as tears welled up in his eyes, too. He couldn’t believe they were really doing this -- really leaving. Hogwarts had been their home away from home for so many years, and you, the second sister he didn’t know he needed.

When he spoke, his voice didn’t have the usual cheeky sound to it, that mischievous tone you grew to know and love so much. It was soft, and tired, and pleading with you to please not be angry. You could hear it in the way that he said, “I know,” before pulling you into his chest. He interwove his fingers in your hair and pressed his lips to your forehead before sucking in a breath. You tugged gently on the drawstring hanging from his sweatshirt. It was hard to stay mad at either of them. You forced your eyes shut and bit down hard on your bottom lip, causing you to suck in another breath due to the pain. You felt your heart snap perfectly in half when you heard his voice shake a bit. “I’m really going to miss you, too.”

That was one of the most intimate moments you’d ever shared with Fred, letting each other cry into one another’s shoulders. The vulnerability hanging in the air between you both was so intense, it almost didn’t seem real. But as quickly as this new side of Fred had appeared, it vanished when he pulled away from you and held onto your shoulders to steady you. He sniffled a bit and tried to nonchalantly wipe away a tear from his eye. “But you’re coming to visit, yeah? First thing after graduation?”

“Of course,” you playfully swatted him with the sleeve of your robe. “Have got to make sure you two don’t find yourselves in any mischief, right?”

Fred threw his head back and laughed. “Great thing about our shop is that mischief is more than welcomed, darling.”

You both continued to laugh through tears, until everything became still and silent between you both. You bit down on your bottom lip again and repeated the address back to him very slowly. “Number 93 Diagon Alley.”

“Number 93 Diagon Alley,” he echoed you. His grin was so large, you began to see traces of that thirteen-year-old boy you’d first met all those long years ago. He was so excited, wasn’t he? You felt a pull at your heart. And you were so excited for them. “I love you, kid. Don’t forget to write, and definitely don’t forget to study. Molly Weasley would be so disappointed.”

He pulled you in for another hug before making his way down the corridor. You folded your arms across your chest and raised an eyebrow. “You? The King of avoiding schoolwork at all costs is actually telling me to study?”

“What can I say?” Fred shrugged his shoulders. Your best mate. Your best mate in the entire world, known for his pranks and laughter and everything in between was pointing a finger at you and telling you to get a jump start on your school work, like he’d done a complete one-eighty. “You just bring out this side of me.”

“I love you, you absolute git.”

“I love you more.”

Your breathing intensified as he vanished down the corridor.

“Wow,” you heard a voice from behind you, “can’t believe you somehow got my brother to tell you to study. What has the world come too?”

When you whirled around to come face to face with George, his face was an exact carbon copy of Fred’s -- but his sparkling eyes and lopsided grin made your insides twist in a way that Fred’s didn’t. All you wanted to do was run up to your dorm and cry, thinking about the entirety of your schooling where you could’ve been wrapped up in his arms if he’d just felt the same way. But that wouldn’t help you in any way. You had to be thankful for what you had.

“It definitely won’t be the same with you two gone.”

You couldn’t help it -- the words escaped you before you could register your own thoughts. You could see George’s expression fill with guilt, something that had been happening more often than not, so you offered him a tremendous grin that split your face in half, despite the tears that were falling generously now. You stuck your hand out to pull him into you. “I hope you know how proud I am of you both.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, took your hand in his and walked toward you. He pulled you into a bone crushing embrace, one you’d definitely feel the effects of a few days from now. He cradled your head in his hand the exact same way Fred did, and also placed a kiss onto your hair, but the way your blood bubbled at his touch was so very different from the way you felt with your best friend.

“I just want to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For.. everything.” George’s voice was raspy. He pulled away from you but didn’t let go. He slid his hands across your shoulders and down your arms before intertwining his fingers with yours. He slowly caressed his thumbs over the tops of your hands as he chose his words carefully. “For being my best friend, for believing in this ridiculous idea, for dealing with my antics. For everything, all of it. I reckon Hogwarts would not have been the same had I not met you in Charms.”

“It was my favorite lesson, you know.”

“Mine, too.”

You forced yourself to continue to smile at him through your tears, because you didn’t want you blubbering like an idiot to be the last thing he’d see before leaving the castle. As if this entire exchange hadn’t been dramatic enough, you were really considering telling him how you felt -- right as he left. You could shout out I love you!, couldn’t you? It would be the perfect time, too, because he’d already be off and you could run up to your dormitory without worrying about having to face him or your own intense feelings! The words were right there, on the tip of your tongue --

“Save a pygmy puff for me, yeah?”

But those were the words that spoke instead.

George raised his eyebrows and held up a finger. “Oh! That reminds me. Have got something for you.” You threaded your eyebrows together in confusion as he reached into his pocket. He very gently pulled out a ribbon, the colour a perfect blend of purple and pink, same as the puffs, with sparkles dancing across it as if it were charmed. Which, knowing George, it probably was. He fiddled with it slightly in his hands before looking up to meet your gaze. “You’ve inspired us. Got a whole line of these things in the works. So I want you to do me a favour.”

Your voice was a whisper. You’d nearly forgotten how to formulate coherent sentences. “What?” you asked him.

He then took a very deep breath and reached out to move your hair. He gently placed the ribbon behind your ears and tied it into a small bow on the top of your head. “When you’re feeling poorly about your exams, or about finishing school, or about anything, because I know you will -- put this on. Think of us. And just remember that we’re only a letter away until graduation, alright?”

As he watched more tears well up in your eyes, he considered telling you the truth: that it had been him this whole time, sending you these letters and gifts. It’d been him since the beginning, he’d just been too afraid to tell you. He wet his lips and watched as you brought your fingers to the ribbon and touched it gently. He was going to do it, it was time. Probably a few years too late, but he couldn’t worry about that now. He was leaving in five bloody minutes, and he had to seize his chance, when the vulnerability was thick and the emotions were high and he wasn’t going to chicken out completely --

But just as he found his confidence, Fred softly called his name from round the bend before disappearing again. You threw your arms around the back of George’s neck and stood on the tips of your toes to hug him. There was no mistaking the sound of your wobbly voice in his ears -- you were crying fully now. “I’m going to miss you.”

If his emotions weren’t sky high, he would’ve noticed just how easily the tears came to the front of his eyes at your simple, five word phrase.

“I’m going to miss you, too.”

He wished it could be yesterday, or the day before. Or last month. Or last year. He wanted to be back in Charms in your third year. He wished he could go back in time, any amount of time, just to have more with you, because this couldn’t possibly be the end. It couldn’t be.

Through sniffles and sobs and the cracks in your voice, he swore he heard you say, “I love you.”

Fire shot through his veins, but bloody hell, he didn’t have time to unload all of that. Fred was calling his name again. “I love you, too.”

George pressed his lips to your hairline and stayed there like that for a few more seconds you wished could last a lifetime. You didn’t even bother trying to hide your tears anymore -- they were cascading down your cheeks, and violent sobs were involuntarily escaping from your overused lungs. Every single ounce of your body hurt due to all of the crying you’d been doing the last couple of days. It felt so stupid and so dramatic and so absolutely awful, because the truth was, it was only a couple of months until you saw them again. Until you saw him again. A few months was nothing.

But the idea of being here without them hurt more than you could begin to fathom.

When he pulled away, you noticed how red and blotchy his cheeks were alongside his bloodshot eyes, his messy hair. But you beamed at him again and squeezed his hand and said, “Congratulations,” and watched him as his fingers let go of yours and he walked toward the other end of the corridor.

“Hey,” you called, thinking of something. George spun around quickly and peered longingly at you. You just needed a few more seconds or so. “How’re you two getting out of here, anyway? You know Umbridge has all the entrances sealed. You think it’s going to work, whatever you two’ve got planned?” There was a sliver of selfishness that hoped it didn’t, but you suppressed it. You were overflowing with pride for your best friends.

And then there he was -- that young boy filled with adventure and reckless abandon, looking at you as if only seeing you for the very first time. His grin deepened when he replied, “Don’t worry -- it’s in typical Weasley fashion.” He stopped in his tracks and placed his hands in his pockets, and peered at you with a type of intense sincerity that made every muscle in your body ache all over again. “I’ll see you soon, then?”

Your lip quivered again. “Yeah,” you replied, willing yourself to believe it. You would. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

You shook your head at him and watched as he disappeared around the bend, but not before that signature wink he loved to offer.

About thirty minutes later, after you’d had a good cry and rinsed the runny mascara off of your cheeks and from underneath your eyes, you heard a bit of yelling from inside the castle. You were sitting in the courtyard basking in the glorious spring weather, forcing yourself to focus on what you needed to study, when a group of students began to huddle near the windows.

Confused, you shut your spellbook and wandered over to where they were gathered, wondering what the bloody hell could be going on inside. Weren’t the fifth years supposed to be taking their OWLs?

And then two red headed figures zoomed out of the castle on their broomsticks, followed by a firework dragon the size of the real dragon Harry had fought just last year, with more sparklers and pyrotechnics behind them brightening up the sky. Students flooded into the courtyard and cheers were nearly shaking the whole entire structure of the castle. You looked around at all of the students, beaming with exuberance, and wondered just how many of the Wildfire Whizbangs had gotten caught in Umbridge’s hair, setting it aflame. You smiled to yourself and began to clap, too.

For as blue as you felt, you were ten times happier for them.

George and Fred were now hovering in the air beneath a very large firework in the shape of a ‘W’. Fred was busy cheering along with the crowd, clearly pleased with the feedback from all of the students -- and even some teachers. Was that Flitwick he spotted below? Had he made his Charms teacher proud?

But George wasn’t cheering -- he was focused. Focused on scanning the crowd, focused on bouncing his eyes from student to student until he found the familiar one he was looking for.

“You alright, Georgie?” Fred called over the roar of the dragon, now swimming through the clouds.

“Yeah,” George replied, though he didn’t fully believe it -- not until he saw you, in the middle of a sea of Ravenclaws, peering up at the two of them with nothing but admiration plastered onto your face. George breathed another sigh of relief and didn’t take his eyes off of you. He couldn’t. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

“To new adventures!” Fred cheered and raised his hands in delight. More students began to scream and cheer and wave to them from the grounds. He proceeded to do a backflip on his broomstick in the air.

When your eyes met his from below, he watched as your smile slowly grew a bit larger and your clapping became more exuberant. He could already count down the bloody days until you were finished with school and walking through the front doors of their shop, a grin on your face so large it could cure diseases! But for now, you had to study, and he had a business to run.

He turned toward his brother, who had never looked more excited or proud in all his years. George stuck out his hand for a high-five as he wobbled slightly on his broom. To Fred, George replied, “To new adventures, mate.”

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goldenraeofsun · 4 years

Text

Remember Me, Honeybee

Part I

Two hours into the farmers market, and Dean’s had enough. Even the gorgeous day outside, sunlight streaming down from a cloudless sky, does nothing for him.

Next to him in their produce stall, Sam rearranges their vegetable display with all the intensity of Bobby Fischer facing off against the Soviets. He adjusts an eggplant a few inches to the left, eyes it critically, and moves it back where it was.

Yesterday, Dean got sunburned from too many hours in the sun harvesting. But before he could even think about a shower, a visitor pounded on their door because some neighbor ratted them out to local Fish and Wildlife. So on top of dealing with a peeling forehead and an aching back, Dean had to take care of Ms. Rosen nearly breaking and entering to get at Sam or his watercress - she wasn’t really clear on which was her priority.

Sam, the cowardly sasquatch, bolted the moment her car tires pulled up to their farm.

It took an hour to get Ms. Rosen to leave. First, Dean had to show her Sam’s pet watercress plants at the edge of their property. According to Ms. Rosen, they’re an invasive species, which Sam could’ve mentioned to Dean at some point. Then, Ms. Rosen explained the $150 fine - all the while heavily implying she could dock a few bucks if left alone in a room with Sam.

Dean forked over the money. Sam’s virtue got to live to see another day.

At least Becky gave Dean plenty of blackmail material. If Sam pisses him off one more time, guess who’s getting Sam’s phone number faxed straight to her field office?

Dean was looking forward to sharing the whole story with Cas when they pulled up to the farmer’s market that morning. But his favorite beekeeper, potter, and candlestick maker is notably absent again.

As Hannah steps away from her stall to replenish her display, Dean seizes his chance. “Be right back,” he calls to Sam as he darts out behind their table.

When she catches sight of him, Hannah turns her back to lift a crate of soaps that would’ve left Dean sore for days. Goddamn angel strength.

“I may be a dumb human,” Dean starts, “but even I know that angels don’t get sick.” His voice drips with disdain. “Where’s Cas? The real reason, this time. Not that BS you fed me last week.”

Hannah sighs, her normally refined tawny wings fluttering in barely-concealed agitation. “He’s… indisposed.”

Dean folds his arms over his chest. “Cas has been here, rain or shine, every market for two whole friggin’ years. Is he,” he forces out the words, dread trickling down his spine, “dying or something?”

“No.” Hannah shakes her head. “He’s not mortally ill. He’s just indisposed.”

Dean gawks at her. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You have customers,” Hannah says shortly.

Dean waves off a soccer mom armed with a bushel of kale and a hungry leer. “Sam’s handling the orders.” He points at the line in front of Sam, and the lady walks off in a huff.

“Is that right?” Hannah asks innocently once Dean’s attention darts back to her.

“Cut the crap,” Dean says sharply. “Why hasn’t Cas shown for the past two weeks? The real reason. None of that indisposed bullshit.”

Hannah sighs. “You’re keeping me from my own customers.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “So you’d better talk fast.”

Hannah makes a face like she smelled Sam’s post-Chipotle farts. “Castiel was cursed.”

“What?”

“Keep it down,” Hannah hisses, leaning in. “He - well, it’s a long story. Our cousin, an archangel, cursed him.”

“For fuck’s sake, why?”

Hannah’s lips purse. “Gabriel has been very hard to contact for the details. He apparently thought Castiel was moping too loudly or too frequently. ”

“Moping?” Dean echoes, his brow furrowing. “Cas always seemed fine to me.”

Hannah shrugs. “Ask Gabriel. Now, if you don’t mind,” she lifts her nose into the air, wings straightening, “I have customers.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean retreats to his vegetable stand, his head swimming.

Dean never saw himself as a farmer until his health nut little brother decided to ditch his high-paying (and stressful) lawyer job to play Green Acres, and Dean, naturally, followed since there was no goddamn way Sam knew his way around a tractor. Sam was more likely to mow down his own gigantor foot than move a clod of dirt. Luckily, to Dean, an engine’s an engine.

At the farmers market, Sam’s booth was placed next to Cas’s. On their first day, Cas walked over with a complimentary jar of honey. He was stilted and awkward, sure, but he was also the first one to welcome them into the fold.

Lost in thoughts and worries about Cas, Dean almost gives a customer a twenty dollar bill instead of a one, blanks on when their summer squash will be in season, and accidentally rings up asparagus as broccoli.

“Look,” Sam says after apologizing for Dean’s latest mistake, “why don’t you head back and check on the tomatoes? It’s winding down here.”

Dean dubiously eyes the hubbub of people browsing vegetables.

Sam gives him a light shove towards their truck. “Just go. I know you don’t want to be here, anyway.”

Dean grimaces. “It’s that obvious?”

“To everyone and their grandmother,” Sam says under his breath.

Asparagus Man at the front of the line nods gravely.

“Thanks,” Dean says sourly to both of them.

“Go check on Cas,” Sam says as he gestures for the next customer to step up to the register. “Swing by and pick me up in a few hours.”

* * *

At the foot of the unpaved driveway up to Cas’s house, Dean cuts the engine. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel, debating with himself. Cas might not want visitors.

But Dean brought pie.

Homemade, of course. And if it was supposed to celebrate Sam’s birthday tomorrow, what Cas doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Sam likes cake better, anyway, because he’s a freak.

Dean grabs the pie, shoves open the door, and strides up the dirt road to Cas’s house before he can talk himself out of it for good.

This is what you do for sick friends, anyway. Charlie drove all the way up to the city with chicken noodle soup, Settlers of Catan, and prime gossip on Benny’s on-and-off-again thing with Andrea when Dean had the flu a few years ago.

Dean is just being a good friend. It’s not weird.

He knocks on Cas’s cobalt blue door, his heart beating double-time behind his ribs as the seconds wear on with no answer.

Dean dawdles on Cas’s welcome mat. He tries again. Cas’s house isn’t exactly small, with its pottery studio in the basement and wax room in the back. Cas might be in his nest, on the can, or in his garden by the hives. Hell, with this mysterious curse, Cas might not be home at all - but stuck in some angel hospital being poked and prodded by docs. He probably should have squeezed Hannah for more details.

The door opens as Dean contemplates, for the hundredth time, bailing with his tail between his legs.

“Hello?” Cas says, peering curiously at Dean.

“Cas,” Dean says, relieved. From one cursory look, Cas seems normal. His hair’s fucked up, of course. His dark wings are equally unkempt, feathers sticking out every which way. All typical Cas.

Cas blinks. His mouth opens, closes, and opens again. But no sound comes out.

“You’re up,” Dean says stupidly. Of course Cas is up, or he wouldn’t have been able to answer the damn door. Dean shifts his weight to his other foot. “Hannah mentioned you’d, uh, been cursed,” he says awkwardly.

Cas relaxes a fraction. “Ah, yes, I was.”

Dean gives Cas another once-over. “I just found out this morning, so I thought I’d stop by. Bring pie." He holds up the pie as evidence. "See how you are. But you look good.”

Cas squints at him, his head tilting. “Thank you?” he asks like he had a half-dozen responses in his head and chose that one at random.

“No prob.”

Cas’s gaze darts down to the pie in Dean’s hands for the first time. “Would you like to come in?”

Dean grins. “Yeah,” he says, stepping inside. “I’ll take this to the kitchen. I’m starving. Do you wanna eat it now?”

Cas gestures him forward. “This way.”

Dean throws him a funny look but follows him to the kitchen he’s been in about a hundred times before - for Cas’s annual Spring Equinox party, for a handful of dinners with other farmers in the area, for water breaks in between weeding Cas’s bee-friendly garden.

Afternoon sunlight from the beautiful day outside streams through the large windows that overlook the back porch and garden. It illuminates the kitchen table, absolutely covered with what looks like all of Cas’s beekeeping books.

Dean clears enough space for pie and strides over to the drawer for the baking utensils, saying over his shoulder, “I hope you’re hungry.”

When Cas doesn’t answer, Dean hastily turns back around - only to find himself practically nose-to-nose with Cas.

Dean takes an instinctive step backwards, his ass smacking the drawer closed again. “Dude,” he says in a strangled voice. His heart pounds in his chest at the close proximity and intense look in Cas’s eye. “We talked about this. Personal space.”

Cas retreats, his brow furrowing. “My apologies,” he mumbles. “I must have misread the situation.”

“I - yeah - I guess,” Dean stutters as he grabs plates and stacks two forks on top.

Cas falls heavily into a seat at the kitchen table. Silently, he moves enough books around for them to sit and eat.

Dean eyes the haphazard piles as he takes his own seat. “D’you have a problem with one of the hives or something?”

Cas shakes his head. “I don’t think so,” he says, his brow furrowing. “But it’s hard to tell.”

Dean snorts as he cuts them both slices. “I thought you knew everything about bees.”

Cas shoots him a dour look. “I did,” he says pointedly.

“Did?”

Cas fusses with a pamphlet on colony collapse. “I’m trying to catch up, but there is a lot of information to learn.”

Dean frowns. “Catch up to what?”

“To where I was,” Cas says, head tilting.

Dean sets the pie server down to focus on Cas, since he’s not making any goddamn sense. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Cas looks at him like Dean’s the one who lost his mind. “I don’t remember how to take care of them.” After a beat, he clarifies, “The bees. I’ve spent the better part of two weeks relearning how to maintain the hives, harvest honey, check if there is enough honey to harvest...” he drifts off, looking more than a little lost.

Dean blinks. “That’s the curse?” He grimaces as he forks off a generous corner of pie. “Dick move on Gabriel’s part. That’s your goddamn livelihood.”

Cas tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “He didn’t just make me forget the bees.”

Dean chews at Cas thoughtfully. “What else? Please tell me you forgot that time with the goat and a hooker.”

Cas stares at him. “I don’t remember anything.”

Dean’s next bite of pie freezes halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean anything?” he demands.

“I didn’t think it needed explaining,” Cas says waspishly, as all the pieces finally fall into place for Dean. “I thought Hannah told you about it.” His feathers rustle against the back of his chair.

“Hannah only said you were cursed!” Dean flails, “Not that you have goddamned amnesia. Do you know what pie is? Do you know who I am?”

Cas blinks, a little taken aback by Dean’s reaction. “I retain my general knowledge. I know what pie is,” he says. “I don’t remember eating it, but I know it is meat or fruit wrapped in pastry.”

“Oh my god.”

Cas’s gaze falls to the uneaten pie in front of him. “And, no, I don’t know who you are.”

Dean blinks, all the blood draining from his face. He forces out, “You’re serious.”

“I’d hardly joke with a stranger,” Cas says frankly.

Dean lets his fork drop back to the plate with a clatter.

Cas peers at him curiously. “The curse erased all my personal memories, but I was assuming we were friends, is this right? You know your way around my house, and Hannah wouldn’t have divulged my condition to just anyone.”

“Yeah,” Dean says gruffly, “we’re friends. I - my brother and me, we have a stand next to yours at the farmer’s market.”

“Oh,” Cas says. “Work colleagues, then.”

Dean snorts. “A little more than that.”

Cas bites his lip. “But you told me to respect your personal space. If we were -”

“Woah!” Dean cuts in before Memento can come up with any more bright ideas, “We’re close friends, alright?” he says before Cas can get another word out, “But not… like that.”

Dean doesn’t even know if Cas goes for humans. Most angels don’t. Cas never mentioned any romantic partners, and Dean never pressed. Better to keep that box locked up tight. Cas never shied away from giving his opinion to Dean or anyone else. He’s the most blunt, sincere person Dean knows - angel or human.

If he felt anything for Dean - the barest speck of more-than-friendly feelings, he’d have said something.

“Oh,” Cas says, and, behind him, his wings droop the smallest fraction.

Dean scans the table and pushes Cas’s worn copy of The How-To-Do-It Book of Bee-Keeping by Richard Taylor his way. “Test me.”

“What?”

Dean shovels more pie into his mouth. “As’ me anyfin’,” he mumbles.

Bemused, Cas opens the book to a random page. “How do you use a bee escape?” he reads aloud.

“Do you know what they are?” At Cas’s headshake, Dean holds his fingers about three inches apart, “They’re little plastic doodads with little bee-sized holes in the middle. You slide ‘em in the hive right before you’re about to harvest. Once they’re fitted, you smoke out the bees, one comb at a time. Once they’re out of the way, you can scrape off the honey.”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “Do you also keep bees?”

Dean can’t help his loud laugh. “God no,” he says as he closes his mouth around another bite of pie. “I’m just a farmer. But I’ve helped you out a few times.”

At least twice a month since Dean moved to this corner of semi-rural America, but who’s counting. Honey is only harvested once a year, but Cas can always use an extra set of hands in his garden. Or around the house. Dean’s worked off more than one argument with Sam by kneading clay in Cas’s pottery studio basement.

“So you know all this from me,” Cas says dubiously.

“Sure do,” Dean says, smacking his lips as he debates another slice of Cas’s get-well-soon pie. “You’re a good teacher, and once you get on a roll about the bees, it’s kinda hard to shut you up.”

“Sorry?”

“Don’t be,” Dean says as he cuts himself another (smallish) slice. “I look hot in a beekeeper suit, anyway.”

Cas frowns, confused. “Do most humans find baggy coveralls and heavy veils sexually appealing?”

Dean snorts. “That was a joke.”

Dean doesn’t mention that he finds the beekeeper getup hot as hell as long as it’s Cas wearing it.

It’s just - Cas doesn’t usually bother with the veil since he likes to have a full range of vision when caring for his bees. Dean once let a whole comb drop on his foot at the sight of Cas bent over, wholly concentrated on the hive, a barely-there smile hidden in the corners of his mouth. His blue eyes were luminous in the bright sunlight, and every few seconds he would lick his lips, probably to wipe away the beads of sweat gathering on his upper lip.

“Oh,” Cas says, a faint blush touching his cheeks. His gaze drops to his plate, and his wings sag behind him.

Dean mentally kicks himself. Cas might still have all a whole encyclopedia shoved in his brain, but jokes will fly right over his head like so many of Cas’s precious bees. Since Dean started hanging around, he had been getting better with the jokes and references, but Total Recall Cas got that goddamn factory reset, so Dean has to cool it for now.

“Forget it,” he tells Cas. “I’m an asshole.”

Cas squints across the table at him. “You are not.”

“Huh?”

Cas carefully spears off a bit of pie. “You came by to check on me, offer me food,” he slips his fork into his mouth, eyes closing as he savors the tart cherries and buttery pastry, “stay and talk.”

“I, mean, yeah,” Dean says, wrongfooted, “we’re friends. ‘S the least I could do.”

Cas has another bite. “This is really good.”

“Thanks,” Dean says before he crams the rest of his slice into his mouth. He studies Cas as they both eat, an uncomfortable foreboding settling deep in his stomach. Now he sees it, how Cas doesn’t look at him with any familiarity. It’s more like, to Cas, Dean is some fucked up jigsaw puzzle slash zoo animal. Eventually, Dean has to ask, “Are you going to get your memories back?”

Cas shakes his head, his expression hardening. “I’m not sure.”

Dean’s mouth falls open. “Are you serious?” He braces both elbows on the table. “But you were cursed - there’s gotta be a way to break it. That’s how curses work, right?”

Cas exhales a slow sigh. “Gabriel did say there was a way to break it.”

“And you haven’t yet?” Dean demands, almost offended on Cas’s - his Cas’s - behalf. “You’re okay forgetting your whole life?”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “Are you insane?” he hisses, his feathers puffing up like an angry cat. “Of course I am not ‘okay,’” he says, air quotes and all, which Dean hasn’t seen since he told Cas they were lame. (He felt bad about it for a week afterward and gave Cas a free apology pumpkin. First of the season.)

“I am able to navigate the outside world as well as a human toddler,” Cas continues heatedly. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do for the past two weeks?”

Dean huffs an impatient breath. “What have you tried so far?”

Cas grimaces. “Gabriel said it could be broken like all curses could be broken.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“I have no clue,” Cas says frankly. “I spent a week in Heaven’s archives and libraries. The most common way to break curses is by consuming a stone taken from the stomach of a goat -”

Dean makes a gagging noise.

“-or bathing in the blood of a virgin at the new moon.”

“Not any less gross,” Dean says emphatically. “Where the hell are you going to get virgin blood? Are they talking about, like, a whole virgin? Or does born again count?”

Cas shakes his head. “The new moon was four days ago.”

Dean frowns. “Did you have to do the blood thing?”

From the look on Cas’s face, Dean isn’t going to make him watch Carrie anytime soon.

“So I went to more obscure magic,” Cas continues. “I tried bathing in a natural source of water. And then I ran a bath and filled it with salt, since salt repels evil.”

“All I’m hearing is lots of bathing so far.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “I lit sage in every room and burned three types of wood. I wore an evil eye bracelet. I sprinkled consecrated water blended with honey over the threshold.”

“No dice?”

Cas throws him a baleful look. “I have ants now.”

Dean snorts. “Well that sucks,” he says, since what else can you say when your best friend swaps all his memories for a Bug's Life?

Cas sighs. “From my notes and research, I can’t leave the hives completely unattended, so I’ve spent the past few days trying to figure out how not to kill them,” he says, gesturing to the rest of the kitchen table. “Once I’ve determined if the bees will survive on their own, I can look back into the curse.”

Dean purses his lips. “Have you prayed to Gabriel? Tried to convince him to take it back?”

“Every day since it happened,” Cas says, his face somber.

“Alright,” Dean says, grabbing Cas’s empty plate, “I can’t help with the curse stuff since I save the teen witch adventures for Sabrina. I can help with the bees, though, if you want.” He gets to his feet and dumps the plates in the sink.

Once his back is turned, he frowns as he thinks his words over. Who knows if this Cas actually wants him around? This Cas doesn’t know him from Adam.

To the dishes Dean says, “The next beekeeper is a few towns over. I could give him a call for you, if you’d rather have him. Cain’s mostly retired, so he’d probably have the time to show you the ropes.”

“Is Cain an angel?”

Dean laughs over the splashing water. “No, he’s a crotchety old bastard who would rather live with bees than people. You get along.” He sets the rinsed plates out to dry and faces Cas. “I’m sure you have his number in your phone too, come to think of it.”

Cas meets Dean’s cautious gaze with his usual soul-searing stare. “I wouldn’t mind if you helped me. Maybe I could call Cain if there are any advanced problems we can’t figure out together.”

Dean smiles. “Sounds like a plan.” He jerks his head towards the backyard. “You wanna get suited up?”

“Now?” Cas asks, alarmed.

“No time like the present,” Dean says as he walks out of the kitchen without waiting for Cas to follow. “Come on, we’re wasting daylight.”

* * *

Cas stares at his beekeeper suit, hanging in its usual place on his screened back porch, next to his gardening gloves.

“You okay?” Dean asks. “You’ve got a spare in your shed, so I’ll grab it on the way.”

Cas picks up the suit like it’s about to bite him.

“’S a good thing I’m here,” Dean says as Cas slowly unzips the front. “It’s always a bitch to get your wings covered.”

Cas’s wings slump. “I have a feeling this is going to be more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Hey,” Dean says, taking a step forward, “no, it’s your bees. You love them.”

Cas frowns. “But I don’t remember how.”

Dean grins. “Then you’re a lucky son of a bitch who gets to fall in love with something all over again.” He sighs wistfully. “What I wouldn’t give to erase Star Wars from my brain and watch it again for the first time.”

“What is Star Wars?”

“A trilogy of movies from the 70s and 80s,” Dean says, his smile widening.

Cas nods. “I’ll have to rewatch them, then.”

“Damn right,” Dean says. “I gave you the DVDs for my birthday last year, so they should be around here somewhere.”

“For your birthday?” Cas asks, eyebrows rising. “Isn’t gift-giving normally the other way around?”

Dean shrugs. “But I’d been bugging you to watch ‘em with me for years. Trust me, it was an awesome birthday.”

Cas opens his mouth like he’s not sure where to poke holes in Dean’s story first, so Dean reaches for the wing covers. “I think we should do the hard part first.”

“You’re currently the expert,” Cas says as he sets the suit aside.

Dean frowns as he takes in Cas’s black wings, reflecting muted tones of magenta, purple, cobalt, and green. Normally, Cas rocks the sex wing look - a few feathers askew here and there like someone raked their fingers through them - but now his wings look more like Cas stuck his alulas in an electrical socket.

Without thinking, Dean says, “It’s gonna be hard to get them in the wing covers. They’re a little messed up, dude.” As Cas’s face falls, Dean adds quickly, “Nothing a little grooming can’t fix.”

Cas flushes. “I haven’t been able to reach my whole wingspan on my own. Hannah offered-” he breaks off, his gaze skittering around to settle just over Dean’s left shoulder. “But I don’t know her, not really, so I was uncomfortable accepting.”

Dean takes a step back. “I mean, you don’t need to do it. I’ll have to touch a couple feathers to get these on you, if you’re okay with that.”

Cas swallows. “No, you’re right. My wings are a mess.”

Dean’s fingers practically tingle with the urge to reach out and smooth down the closest feathers, but he shoves his free hand deep into his pocket instead.

“Can you help me?” Cas asks.

Dean quietly dies inside.

Cas’s wings flutter in anticipation, and Dean is so, so weak.

“Yeah,” Dean says gruffly as he drops the wing cover and approaches Cas’s back. “You sure, man? I - I’ve never done this before.”

Cas turns his head. “Never?”

Dean clenches his hands into fists. Don’t touch. Not until he says so. Dean can keep his goddamn hands to himself. Cas deserves that much.

“Do you want me to walk you through it?” Cas asks softly. “I know how, since it’s only personal memories about my life that seem to have been affected.”

“Ah,” Dean hesitates, a hundred and one wing kink porn videos flashing through his head like popup ads. “No,” he coughs, “I know the mechanics.”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “Are you sure?”

Dean fidgets in place. “‘S like picking beans, right? Don’t pull on them too hard. They’ll come off if they want to come off. Make sure nothing is sticking out at weird angles.”

Cas makes a face. “Did you just compare my wings to legumes?”

“Maybe?” Dean says defensively. “Look, I know vegetables, and I know what your wings are supposed to look like. What else do you want from me?”

Cas’s mouth opens, but no words come out. With a sigh, he faces forward, presenting his wings for Dean.

Dean inhales a deep breath. Christ, his hands are goddamn shaking. Get a fucking grip, Winchester. He lightly touches the base of Cas’s left wing.

Cas shivers, the feathers rippling.

Dean yanks his hand back.

“Sorry,” Cas says sheepishly. “You took me by surprise. Please continue.”

Gently, Dean grazes the base of the wing again. The feathers rustle like under a moderate breeze, but Cas doesn’t tell him to stop, so Dean keeps going. He feels along the surface of Cas’s wings, most of the feathers slipping, glossy smooth, under his fingertips - until he catches the first snag. Nerves rocketing up to eleven, Dean tugs lightly on the first feather out of place.

Cas sucks in a breath.

It comes loose, and Dean has a fleeting, stupid thought to steal it for himself. But he lets it flutter to the floor.

Dean soldiers on, biting his lip as he tries to keep himself from grabbing handfuls of feathers and burying his face in Cas’s wings. Meticulously, painstakingly, he combs through the mess. As he moves closer to the second joint, Cas’s feathers, which had been subtly shifting the whole time, stiffen.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

Cas nods, stilted. “Please continue,” he says, his voice rough.

Dean frowns. If Cas is uncomfortable and doesn’t want to tell him, Dean’s not going to be the asshole who turns a blind eye to the signs. He withdraws his hands, and Cas’s wings -

They flare out, seeking Dean’s touch.

Without thinking, Dean blurts an astounded, “Dude.”

“Apologies,” Cas says, and, from this angle, Dean has primetime viewing of the back of Cas’ traffic light-red neck. His wings retreat to fold stiff as a board behind Cas’s back.

“Hey, no,” Dean says as he lays a hand along Cas’s wing, petting it gently. “I just wanted to check in with you.” He grins lopsidedly, not that Cas can see him. “Communication is important.”

Cas coughs. “Indeed,” he says, and his voice still sounds off. “Please continue. I,” he breaks off, turning a little in place so Dean can see half of his face, “I was enjoying it.”

“Good,” Dean says with a little too much enthusiasm. “I - uh, me too.”

Cas blinks. “You were?” He frowns. “Grooming is… boring. A chore.”

“Not for humans,” Dean says as he picks up where he left off. “We don’t have big fancy wings to lug around everywhere. They’re-”

“What?” Cas waits, clearly expecting an answer.

Dean sighs. “Cool,” he supplies lamely. “Your wings are cool.”

Dean can’t see Cas’s face with his back turned, but his wings fluff up ever so slightly, so Dean counts it as a win. “I’m glad you think so,” Cas says quietly.

“’Course,” Dean says, easy as pie. He pulls on another feather, and, when it doesn’t come out, tucks it back into its proper place, “I’ve never seen an angel with wings like yours. Malachi’s got dark grey ones, and I thought they were your shade of black, but they’re not. Plus, he’s an asshole.”

Cas chuckles. “I don’t see how him being an asshole has anything to do with his wing color.”

“No, but, if you ever run into him - an angel with dark grey wings - now you know.”

“So you’re only looking out for me.”

“You don’t know this yet,” Dean tells him conspiratorially, “but I’m awesome.”

“Yes, I’m beginning to see that for myself.”

Thank God Cas can’t see Dean’s face. Equally embarrassed and pleased, Dean rambles, “You should also watch out for Metatron - the white-winged dude who runs the thrift shop down the road. He’s been angling to set up shop at the farmers market for fucking ever even though he has a storefront for all his crap. Whoever said white wings meant purity was full of shit because Metatron’s a douche.”

Cas laughs, and Dean nearly slumps over in relief.

He can still make Cas laugh.

“Hannah, she’s okay,” Dean continues as he combs through the rest of Cas’s secondaries and coverts before he gets to the primaries, large and built for flight, and completely within Cas’s reach to groom himself. “But her partner, Duma, hates you for some reason, so I’d steer clear of her.”

Cas’s wings dip a few inches. “It doesn’t sound like I’m on good terms with many angels.”

Dean lightly runs his palm over Cas’s flight feathers - while he’s back here, he might as well. “I guess not,” he admits because Cas is right, “but they’ve all got massive sticks up their asses, so you’re better off.”

“They’re family.”

“They’re dicks,” Dean corrects. “Come on, you’re goddamn cursed with amnesia , and not one is here helping you out? Dick move for dick angels,” he finishes.

“Hannah visited.”

“Like I said, Hannah’s okay,” Dean says as he straightens up.

“At least you’re here,” Cas points out.

“Yeah,” Dean says bitterly as he brushes out bits of fluffy down near the base of Cas other wing, “After two weeks.”

“You said you didn’t know.”

“I should’ve.”

“How?” Cas asks, sounding baffled.

Dean scoffs as he cards his fingers through the shorter feathers near the bone of Cas’s wing, “You didn’t show at the farmers market. You always show.”

“But-”

Dean shakes his head. “I should’ve known something was up.” He yanks a little too hard on a feather, and the brittle shaft breaks between his thumb and pointer finger. Dean lets it fall to the floor in disgust. “But Hannah said you were sick, and I didn’t know if you were the type who wanted company or everyone to stay the hell away. And then I talked to Sammy, and he said angels don’t really get sick like we do.” He exhales a slow breath, consciously holding himself back from tearing any more feathers out. Cas doesn’t deserve that, especially after all the shit he’s dealing with.

“We do get sick,” Cas says, his voice breaking through Dean’s morose reminiscing of the past week, “But never with the type of illnesses that can be treated outside of Heaven.”

“That’s what Sammy told me,” Dean says heavily.

“You were worried?”

Dean pokes him in the muscular part of the wing. “Of course I was worried.”

Cas’s head tilts, but not enough that Dean can make out his expression. “Because we’re friends.”

Dean swallows. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “because we’re friends.” He tugs on a few more feathers, and one comes loose. He holds it between his fingers for a beat, rubbing his thumb along the vane. With a sigh, he moves onto Cas’s other flight feathers. He gives them a few long strokes, unable to help his smile as he feels at the power, the potential, all hidden in Cas’s wings. But, eventually, he has to straighten up.

“All done,” he says with forced cheer as Cas turns around to face him.

Cas blinks a few times like he’s coming out of a trance. “Thank you,” he says gruffly.

He spreads his wings.

Dean’s breath catches in his chest, and his awe must show all over face, judging by Cas’s barely-there smirk. But, dammit, Dean’s going to enjoy the sight. Cas never puts himself on display like this, preferring to play the nerdy beekeeper in a trench coat rather than an almighty Angel of the Lord.

Cas turns his head to inspect Dean’s work. He gives an experimental flap, sweeping all the old feathers littering the floor up into the air. “Thank you, Dean,” he says sincerely. He folds his wings back, and Dean’s heart aches for something he never had in the first place.

“Don’t - don’t mention it,” Dean chokes out.

A fluffy piece of down drifts down to settle on Cas’s nose. He goes cross-eyed to keep it in view.

Dean cracks up. Grinning, he reaches up to brush away the offending bit of down.

Cas catches his arm in an iron grip, his own face oddly intense.

“Cas?”

But before Dean can finish his sentence, Cas pulls him closer and seals their mouths together.

Dean lets out a muffled (completely manly) noise of surprise against Cas’s lips before muscle memory takes over. As Dean kisses back, Cas makes a light soothing rumble in the back of his throat, his touch gentle and warm. Dean’s other hand grasps desperately at Cas’s shirt, anchoring him in place. An electric, bubbly feeling is exploding in his chest, a wild kind of joy Dean normally would tamp down, tell himself, watch out for the other shoe to drop.

Other shoes like Cas’s missing memory.

Dean freezes, and it takes him a long moment to realize Cas isn’t moving either. His grip on Dean’s arm has gone slack. Dean opens his eyes to find Cas’s eyes wide open and glowing with an electric blue light.

Fuck.

Dean’s watched his fair share of angel-on-angel porn and more than his fair share of angel-on-human porn, and kissing’s not supposed to do that.

Dean takes a stumbling step back. “Cas?” he tries.

But Cas doesn’t move. He doesn’t give any sign he heard Dean at all.

Dean falls forward, tripping over his feet. He grips Cas, hard, by the shoulders. With his heart in his throat, he gives Cas a small shake. “Cas?” he tries again, and his voice sounds alien to his own ears, loud and breathy with his panic. He shakes him harder. “Cas!”

Several agonizing seconds pass, and the light slowly dims from behind Cas’s eyes, leaving behind his normal blue.

“Dean?”

Dean’s knees nearly give out with relief. “Hey,” he says weakly, “Nice to have you back, buddy.”

Cas blinks a few times. He swallows, a strange expression coming over his face.

“You okay?” Dean demands. “What the fuck was that?”

Cas stares at him. “That was the curse breaking.”

Read Part II here!

#profoundnet #angel castiel #beekeper castiel #farmer dean #fluff #wing grooming #amnesia #mutual pining #friends to lovers #rae writes fic

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petri808 · 4 years

Text

This fic was created for the BKDK Unbirthday Party on Twitter for prompt #G-0209 submitted by Maela

‘And three... two... one...’

“Ground Zero!!!!”

Cue the screaming fans like clockwork. Izuku screws on his trademark smile as he walks behind his childhood friend and colleague Katsuki Bakugou into the agency. It never failed after media coverage of an event for fans to gather. In fact, it became such a problem that the company brought in extra security to keep the people from following the hero’s inside. It’s not that the fans bothered him, of course not. He of all people knew what it was like to be a dedicated admirer of heroes. It was...

“Ground Zero I wanna have your babies!”

“Call me, Ground Zero!” Another one screams as she tries to shove a piece of paper in Katsuki’s hand.

Because of that.

Izuku had plenty of his own fans. By the time they’d graduated from UA Academy, he’d mastered his quirk and as a pro was consistently vying for the number one hero spot. Him and Katsuki. From rivals to partners, they took on the worst villains to plague Japan. It was even why they worked for the same agency as adults. The hot head insisted they stick together no matter what because, ‘you need me nerd, to keep you focused.’He couldn’t argue the logic and maybe a part of him wanted to stick with his friend. They knew each other better than anyone else and once their bitter background had been squashed it was to their benefit.

Of course, Izuku couldn’t blame the fans for fawning over the handsome blonde with piercing red eyes. Katsuki had always kept up his physique to handle the rigorous power of his explosion quirk. Strong and agile, and from what he hears around, is very good in bed too. The man’s temperamental attitude didn’t sway the diehard female and some male fans from throwing themselves at his feet.

“Haha, one more to add to my collection,” Katsuki snickers and shoves the piece of paper with the phone number into his pocket. The women meant nothing to him, but he never missed an opportunity to gloat to his buddy. He slaps Izuku hard on the back, “what about you Deku, any action?”

“Why? Dealing with you is exhausting enough Kacchan,” he retorts with humor to his tone. Deep down Izuku was irritated, but he rarely showed it in front of the man.

“Tch. Wanna share one night? I bet she’d do anything I ask her to do.”

“No, thank you. She’s not my type.”

“And what is your type, nerd? In 20 years, I’ve seen you go out on like one date and I don’t even remember what she looked like.”

‘That’s because it never happened.’ “I’m just... not interested right now.” Izuku Midoriya wasn’t a virgin, but he’s never been in an actual relationship before. Twice he’d fooled around, once with Uraraka and another time Todoroki during his ‘finding himself’ stage and that’s when he’d realized that one, he was strictly gay, and two, no one else made his heart race like a certain blonde did.

But as far as he knew, Katsuki was as straight as they come even though he had no proof either way to confirm or deny. It was all circumstantial evidence. The man seemed to relish in all the attention he garnered from fans, especially females. He was pretty sure he’d seen photos pop up on social media of dates with women Katsuki had been on. And besides with so many rumors flying around about his bedroom prowess, some of it had to be true, right?

“You ever gonna be interested, nerd?”

“Why do you care so much about my love life Kaachan? If the right person asks me out, I’ll say yes.”

“I just noticed that you’re not very fond of the fans. You wear that stupid fake smile every time. Are you jealous of me Deku that I have so many fans?”

“What?! Of course, I’m not. I have my own!” ‘Even though yes I’d like to OFA some of your fans to oblivion.’ “I’m not jealous of you.” ‘But shit! He noticed it’s fake?!’

Katsuki grabs Izuku’s arm to prevent him from walking away. “Oi, you still haven’t answered my question Deku, what is your type?”

Frustrated with being put on the spot like this, he rips his arm out of Katsuki’s grasp. “Why do you care so much?! Go live it up with your latest conquest and leave me out of it Kacchan!” He stomps away fuming, muttering under his breath. Why the sudden interest?! Katsuki’s never pressed so hard before about his personal life. Was it pity? Poor Deku all alone. Multitudes of adoring fans but he goes home to an empty apartment. If Katsuki was trying to set him up, he had no interest in dating anyone else and if that meant he’d be alone, well so be it. It’s not like he’s never been alone before.

“You like me... don’t you nerd.”

Izuku freezes mid step, every muscle in his body stiffened by Katsuki’s words echoing off the walls of the corridor. With his back turned he couldn’t see it but could very much hear the smirk plastered on the man’s face. How dare he?! Was Katsuki taunting him?! Truth or not, how could the man find such turmoil amusing?!

“Think I didn’t know? All these years we’ve known each other that I wouldn’t figure it out?”

Izuku lowers his head as poised tears pool in his eyes. “So, what if you did, it’s not like you felt the same. Look, Kacchan I’m just happy we’re friends again, so please don’t mess that up. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I just wanna get my paperwork done and go home.”

Heavy stomps move towards him. “Stupid nerd!” And suddenly, Izuku is ripped violently from his self-despair and spun around. “Don’t you fucking put words in my mouth!” The smaller males eyes flash wide from the anger raging behind Katsuki’s ruby glare. “How do you know how I feel?! So smart, and so stupid at the same time!”

“B-But all the women?!” Izuku stammers.

“Pfft, it’s all for show dumbass. You really think I’d sleep with random people who don’t know a goddamn thing about me, who only love my image?! I don’t fucking want a hollow piece of ass! Everyone else assumes that bullshit about me, but I can’t believe my best friend would stoop so low.”

There it is. So, Katsuki was just angry because Izuku was looking down on him again. Apparently, old wounds die hard. “Kacchan, I don’t care who you sleep with. If it makes you happy, then...” his tone grows strangled, “I-I’m happy for you too.”

“Such a fucking liar Deku. I know you’re not happy about it. That’s why you only pretend with fake smiles and dull eyes.”

“Kacchan get to the point.” He sighs, because his heart couldn’t take much more innuendo. “Fine, okay yes, I’ve been in love with you for years, is that what you wanted to hear? That I’ve been stupidly pining for you knowing it would never be reciprocated? Kacchan I was happy, I really was happy because we’re close like we were as kids and that was enough for me.”

“Then go out with me Deku. You said if the right person ask’s you’ll say yes. So, say yes.”

“Kacchan, please don’t tease me. You always worry about me and try to fix things, but unless you really want to...”

Katsuki rolls his eyes and smashes his lips against Izuku’s to shut up the man’s babbling. But the man doesn’t melt into it, instead fights back, pushing and struggling to get out of his grasp! He nips Izuku’s lip. “What the fuck! I’m trying to kiss you idiot! So, stop fighting me!”

A full-blown water works bursts out of Izuku from his emotions going all over the place. “I don’t want your pity Kacchan! You don’t have to go so far trying to make me feel better!”

“Ugh!” Katsuki grabs his chin hard, “get it through your head nerd I’m kissing you because I like you! I don’t just kiss people for nothin’!”

“Y-you, I-I... but aren’t you?”

“I’m seriously in love with an idiot.”

#bakudeku #bkdk unbirthday party #prompt #Bakugou katsuki #Midoriya izuku #bkdk #katsudeku #bakudeku fan fic #bakudeku fan fiction

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heyheydidjaknow · 4 years

Text

Three cheers to publishing on time. Can I get a what what? Anyways, here’s the next chapter. The previous chapter is at the bottom of this chapter. Go figure.

Chapter 3

“Okay, I think I got it.” It is possible you are going stir crazy. You would not be surprised if you were, but you have more pressing matters that, ridiculously, involve the timeline of fucking Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2012. You had not just stood the headassery of season four and five, but conquered it, tamed it, if you will. You do not remember the last time you ate. “So the only way I’m going to survive this series is if I somehow, through some sort of spiritual bullshit, get to become at least somewhat adept at ninjitsu.” You sigh. “But the only reason he trained her is because of her psychic bullshit.”

You stumble towards the kitchen to eat for the first time in days. “Actually, you know what? Fuck that.” You open the refrigerator, salivating at the food. “I’m just gonna buy a fucking gun. Dodge bullets, bitch.” You pull out a large slab of meat, tossing it on the counter. “If they aren’t going to actually incapacitate people, I will.”

A sudden thought stops you in your tracks. “Wait, so, what timeline am I on?” You feel your heart drop. “Because if we’re doing the whole thing…” You shake your head. “You know what? Prepare for the best and accept—that’s backwards.”

You put the meat back. Something about the existential dread kills your appetite. You crawl back into bed, close your eyes. ‘How long have I been in here?’ The time had admittedly swirled in on itself, your brain completely fried from all the contemplating death. ‘At least long enough to be in the no-man’s-land where I’m not hungry.’

You freeze up at the sound of knocking on your window.

Your eyes slowly pan over to the covered glass. You rise to your feet.

You shake your head, trying to remember to think rationally. ‘This place is very high off the ground for a stalker.’ Despite yourself, you quickly go to the kitchen, grabbing the largest frying pan you can find and slowly approaching the window.

‘There isn’t even a proper ledge out there. You’re being paranoid.’ Slowly, you reach for the curtain, yanking it open.

You scream at the sight of the hanging figure, only realizing you recognized said figure after a couple seconds. Thoroughly embarrassed— ‘Yeah, I could never be a ninja.’—you slide the window open, face red. “What do you want, Raphael?”

He wears a shit eating grin. “What, scared?”

“Of a shadowy figure in my window? Yes.” You sit back down on the bed, voice cold. “You gonna just hang out there or what?”

He climbs inside. “Alright, so here’s the situation.” He sits on the windowsill; you feel the secondhand vertigo. “Donnie—first of all, where have you been?”

“Binging the most traumatic part of your lives so far on my phone so you and your brothers don’t get killed by swole Shredder.”

His face went pale. “Shredder?”

You blink, a factor you had admittedly completely forgotten becoming apparent. “You don’t know he intends to come to the city,” you remember. “That’s—”

“He what?”

You sigh. “He is the least of your concerns at this particular moment. What about Donatello?”

“No, back up.” His smile was completely gone. “When is he getting here?”

You shrug. “I dunno.”

“You don’t know?”

You put your hands up at his obvious rage. “Dude, it is honestly not that big of a deal right now. He doesn’t even get close to killing your dad until the end of season two.”

You are decidedly not helping matters. “He gets close to—”

“Are you gonna repeat everything I say or are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“I’m gonna—what?” Raph is quite clearly not taking this news well.

You try to calm him down. “Take a deep breath, alright? It might not get to that point, but you have to tell me what’s going on first.”

He growls in frustration but follows your instructions. “Mikey found out that he can apparently talk to people online, and he found this site where he can talk to—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” You pick up your phone, typing away. “You can’t, under any circumstance, let him go talk to Bradford.”

“Well, I know it would be bad--”

“You misunderstand.” You get up, starting to grab your things. “Bradford is working for the Shredder.”

This seems to be news. “He’s what?”

“Working for Shredder.”

“But he’s—how?”

“You have bigger concerns than the how, currently.” You read the page you had pulled up again. “How long ago did he find this guy?”

“Yesterday, I think.”

“Then… hold on.” You read the summary of the episode in question more thoroughly. “Okay, so we aren’t totally fucked, but we gotta make sure he doesn’t see him again.”

“Wait, hold on.” He walks after you as you try to find your jacket. “Why? How could Shredder—”

“If he goes, he’s gonna talk to him about general shit, right?” You slip it on. “At some point, in return for learning his secret bullshit, he’s gonna want info on you and your dad.”

“Then the Shredder will know where we are!” The horror in his eyes is apparent.

“Exactly.” You pull on your shoes. “That, and you’ll have to confront foot soldiers, which isn’t good for anyone.”

“Wait, is Mikey gonna be alright?”

“I mean, he gets kidnapped, but—”

“We’re going. Right now.”

“Awesome.” You were already one foot out the door. “Close the window on your way out.”

You rush down to the first floor of the building, nodding acknowledgement to the door man as you look up and down the street. ‘He has a dojo or something, right?’ You try googling his dojo, only to find that, not only is it a chain, but that they are all incredibly spread out. ‘It’s at times like these,’ you contemplate, running towards the closest one, ‘that I wish I could drive.’

It takes you about 10 minutes of running to get to the place, only for it to be closed. You feel tempted to throw your phone.

‘Wait, when does it—hold on.’ You already hate timelines. You sit down on the curb, pulling your phone out again to find some clips. ‘So, Chris and Mikey meet up some time after patrol, order pizza, and then it’s sunrise.’ You look up at the slowly lightening sky. ‘Okay, so that means they’re currently ordering, right? Because it was clearly dark in that last scene.’ You put your head in your hand. ‘I mean, it is, right? Because those are just wall separator things, not windows, since the sky was very clearly green in that next scene.’ You get to your feet. ‘So I just need to find that billboard with that specific graffiti and main message and we’re good to go, right?’ You groan. ‘But there have to be a thousand billboards in fucking NYC.’

You stop, smiling slightly at the graffiti. ‘Is that not a purple dragon?’ You grin, going back to running. ‘I just need to get to Chinatown, right? Is that their territory?’ You swallow, turning a street corner. ‘I guess we’ll find out.’

The buildings tower around you as you wander the streets, the quiet desolation ringing in your ears with the force of a gong. The pounding of your feet against the pavement does little to stifle the silence. The gang in question may not be a challenge or concern for vigilantes, but to you? You are barely a flower now, bright and beautiful and oh so easy to crush. But you cannot and will not stand still for long. The walls of the alleys you run crush your sides and the darkness strangles you, but despite the beating of your heart begging you to stop, you cannot. How can you?

You can stop what comes next. That is what fuels you. Never mind the fact you must stumble to a halt to vomit into the nearest dumpster who knows how many times, the taste of acid staining your tongue. You can rewrite history.

But you cannot.

You walk around for approximately too long before correctly citing that this is, in fact, futile. You start to panic.

You turn back around. ‘He goes back to talk to his brothers, right?’ You feel your body start to shake. You keep your phone to your ear, pretending to talk to someone as you run around like a headless chicken so as to not get bothered, hopefully. ‘Then I still have a chance to catch him before he leaves, right? At least he won’t get kidnapped.’ You look around quickly, slipping into an alleyway and prying off a manhole cover, climbing into the sewer. You pull the cover back into place and start running along them, the smell nauseating in the darkness suffocating. ‘Please tell me I remember where this stupid lair is.’

You laugh in relief when you see the abandoned subway, sprinting down the tunnel. ‘I can catch him,’ you promise yourself. ‘I can catch him before—’

You slam into someone. They grab your wrist before you fall. “Yo, are you alright?”

“Mikey!” You feel your whole body relax, but the relief is quickly squashed. ‘Thank fuck.’ You grab his shoulders. “You can’t see Bradford again.”

“Wait, what?” He groaned. “Did Raph set you up to this?”

“What? No!” As the adrenaline and panic start to wear off, you feel your body begin to falter at the excessive strenuous physical activity, panic, no food or water for two days and sleep deprivation. You dig your fingernails into your palms to try to keep yourself grounded. “He just said that you were friends with him or something and I went looking for you!”

“Look,” he sighed, letting go of you and not noticing the obvious slur in your voice, “I get it, alright? Not all of us can have a super awesome friend like Chris—”

“He’s working for Shredder, dipshit.” You feel the ground spinning as your skull rips itself apart. “Coolness be gone, that bitchass Dogpound fucker.” You have no idea what you are saying. ‘Huh,’ you muse, struggling to stay on your feet. ‘Usually, it takes longer than this to shut down.’

“Shredder?” You cannot feel things, so you have no idea what his actual reaction is. “He’s here?”

“Yep.” And with that, you collapse.

Suffice it to say, when you wake up, you feel like absolute shit, with a pounding headache, extreme fatigue, and an obvious desire to not move from the bed in which you lay.

Thinking hurts. You decide against it for the time being.

You hear typing, soft muttering, the scratching of pencil against paper. You do not want to open your eyes; whatever you are laying under is warm. You try flexing your fingers. You can, but it is barely worthy of being called a twitch. You feel sick and gross and sticky and like you are eating yourself from the inside out, but you are also very aware that moving will not help matters. Besides, what small part of you is not covered is absolutely freezing.

You let out a soft groan from a particularly egregious pound from your head. You hear the typing stop.

“Y/N?” Donatello’s voice is incredibly soft. “Are you alright?”

You do not answer. Your throat feels like it is filled with sand.

“Oh, right.” You feel the mattress shift under you. “You—right.” He clears his throat. “You, uh, probably want to know what happened, right?”

You find yourself in between sleep and consciousness. You do not exactly understand what he’s saying, but his voice is pleasant to listen to.

“Mikey carried you back,” he explains. “He said you started talking about Chris Bradford working for The Shredder and collapsed.” A pause. “Leo thought it would be a good idea to go take him down since he already spilled the beans.”

‘You aren’t helping.’ “Everyone got out alright.” He is writing something. “We don’t know how much Shredder knows or how he found us; Master Splinters said that the war has just begun or something to that effect.” He pauses again. His voice is almost hesitant now. “If you spoke, I’d ask how…how this ends, who wins the day.” He chuckles dryly. “Now that I say it out loud, I guess it’s pretty clear that you wouldn’t tell me, would you? Rightfully so, I guess; I don’t know exactly how that sort of information might change things. Still,” he sighs, “it is so… so frustrating, having information just out of reach, especially for someone like me. But you—… you probably know that too, don’t you?”

It is not as if you can refute what he says.

He clears his throat. “A-anyways,” he rambled, voice tight with awkwardness, “sorry for ranting. This would be totally embarrassing if you weren’t so clearly incapable of coherent thought.” You hear the shuffling of paper. “As far as your health is concerned,” he continues, “without being able to take a blood test for obvious reasons, I can only conclude based on a totally-not-creepy physical exam that you’re just incredibly malnourished and exhausted. I don’t really have anything to actually prescribe you, but ya know… eat. Drink, too; just perform basic bodily functions.”

He looks down at you from his seat at the foot of his bed, your eyes having fluttered shut again. “I…” he took a breath, starting again. “Remember what you said the other day? About me being able to kill you with my bare hands?” He looks back over at the line of code he is working on, ignoring the minute shaking in his hands. “I remember… do I kill someone?” He swallows, eyes focusing on the letters in front of him. “I can’t really imagine it, why I’d want to.” He covers his face with his hands. “I know I’m a ninja, but it’s just—” He feels his voice start to rise. His eyes focus on your sleeping face; he calms back down for your sake. His words are slow and deliberate. “I always thought that we were doing all this for a fight we’d never have, that we would never have to do something like that, because… well, I don’t remember why, but I just—…” His voice dies in his throat.

‘Staring at her like this is creepy.’ He stands up, gathering his things. ‘You can’t get yourself worked up over something like this. You just met her, and your hesitance is not anyone’s problem but yourself.’ “Just…” Despite himself, he mumbles out a soft plea. “Please, don’t let me do something stupid.” He does not know who he’s talking to

He slips out of the room.

You would not remember this happened.

He would.

Table Of Contents

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

#donnie x reader #donatello x reader #donatello #2012 donnie #teenage mutant ninja turtles 2012 #tmnt donnie #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2k12 #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt donatello #x reader #nyc #apartment #sewer #Chinatown #meat #rapheal #Mikey

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astraskylark · 4 years

Text

Five times One

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25901689/chapters/62945623

“I love you Weiss”

It’s Saturday and they’re in Ruby’s room, when Ruby chooses to utter those words, Weiss settled in her chair (well it wasn’t her chair officially but everyone knew that was her favorite spot—near the window but not too far from the desk or the bed). Ruby’s sprawled on her mattress, legs raised against the walls, her head facing the ceiling, a bandage over the bridge of her nose.

Weiss takes a moment to process this, placing her book down to stare at Ruby-who’s attention is still very occupied by the glow in the dark stars they had stuck up there a year ago.

Ruby was never one to shy away from speaking her mind. While Weiss painstakingly laid brick after brick, raised wall after wall-- fortified by words laced with indifference and coldness, cruelty and ice- an effort that had slowly numbed her mind to her own pain, blurred the difference between what she really felt and what she was expected to feel –Ruby would come and let lose whatever she felt to the world.

Be it sadness or happiness—or rather any range of emotion on the human spectrum, Weiss would shun it and try to bury it within the depths of her self and cover it in barbed wire and Ruby would let it rain over, a metaphorical flood of love and warmth and tears and smiles—and although Weiss had never admitted it out she had always been envious of Ruby’s ability to feel—or rather her zero qualms in letting herself feel.

So Weiss had believed, until a second ago atleast—that nothing Ruby would ever say would catch her off guard. She hadn’t even batted an eye when Ruby had called her one day to tell her that she had moved the T.V remote with her mind and that it was sentient and needed her help to fight in the cable wars (she was very convinced and Weiss almost believed her. Almost). But there’s a first time for everything and today was (in recent memory) that Weiss was isn’t sure of what to say.

Her mind reeling, she tries to muster up a response, a sarcastic quip or jibe or random fact—anything.

“……What.”

A wonderful day to lose her ability to form coherent thoughts.

She coughs lightly trying to save face (Ruby still hasn’t looked at her so she’s not sure what face she’s saving), the sound drawing Ruby’s attention from the ceiling, her head slightly tilting to face her.

“I said that I love you silly” she repeats as if it’s the most natural and casual sentence in the word and not a bomb that has Weiss’ mind trying to do damage control and salvage what’s left of the wreck.

“Ah.” is all she can muster as heart takes a free-fall. She’s pretty sure the blood rushing to her face and the sound of her heart-beat are symbolic. How? She’s not sure, but she can feel it is.

That this simple sentence given to her on a mundane Saturday evening has let lose a floodgate of emotions she’s repressed for years. Really, was there no respecting the effort it took to emotionally stunt yourself? Trust Ruby to squash all her work without breaking a sweat.

Ruby’s still looking at her, her face wearing an expression of absolute calmness while Weiss is feeling what she’s sure is equivalent to a volcano erupting.

Weiss loves Ruby. She knows she loves her. There’s no denying that fact. She would topple mountains and set fire to oceans, challenge the Gods to a fistfight or flip the finger at every world leader in Remnant if it would help Ruby.

Hell she’d even eat one of those cookies that had so many sprinkles and chocolate chips she wouldn’t be surprised if they brought that cookie into a hospital and someone flat-lined just from the scent of it.

So yes. Weiss loved, loves and will forever love Ruby Rose. There was no doubt in her mind. To admit that fact in the recess of her mind was as easy as breathing. It had become a part of her, a part she had warred over for the first few months after its starting revelation but had eventually come to accept.

But she would never ever-not even dream of actually telling Ruby that.

Because that’s the thing isn’t it. Every emotion feels save safe within the arena of your mind, but once spoken, it becomes something tangible. Something real. Something undeniable. Something that permanently enters the air you breathe, its weight settling on you like a halo or a chain. The memory of it’s sound permanently etched into the history of the universe.

And Weiss Schnee was not ready for that.

“Weiss are you alright?” comes the treacherous voice, as if her words from two seconds ago hadn’t plunged her into an existential crisis.

Weiss’ vision goes back into focus, only to find Ruby’s face oh so close to hers, close enough that she can she the ends of the bandage slowly losing it’s adhesive, her eyes reflecting the few remaining specs of light left in the day, the curve of lips—she’s amused about something—wait amused?

That stupid impish smile manages to bring Weiss back from…. whatever it was, and finally-finally-finally, after the vocabulary horror show that had been that last three minutes Weiss manages to close the curtain on it.

“You’re a dunce Ruby” she replies, as if that’s a proper response. But it’s the best she can do (pathetic isn’t it). She feels her heart rate settle and her face return to its glacial white. And the reason is that annoying smile. That somehow knowing smile that conveys to her that even if she doesn’t reply according to convention, Ruby knows. She knows something about Weiss that Weiss herself hasn’t figured out.

She wants to tell her off for being presumptuous, but she knows that Ruby is probably right. That whatever conclusion she’s come to is clearer than anything Weiss could come up with. It’s frustrating how perceptive Ruby could be while also thinking snorting yogurt through her nose with a bendy straw is a good idea.

“Aww come on Weiss, you hungry?” she asks scooting ever closer to Weiss. “Wanna ride to the bakery with me? Uncle Clover said he’d save a batch of the glitter bomb cookies if I felt like stopping by and I know you secretly like those cookies even though you claim Uncle Qrow came up with the recipe as an alternative to poison” she says without taking a breath, Weiss once again entertaining the thought of what a good trumpet player Ruby could be.

Weiss rolls her eyes, absentmindedly flattening out the edges of Ruby’s flailing plaster (Honestly how do you get hurt walking from the bed to the bathroom door). She knows that Ruby isn’t deliberately changing the subject or trying to cover up her words.

No Ruby isn’t that subtle. Ruby said something that had sent Weiss' mode into over-drive. Weiss gave her a look (her internal courtroom debate completely lost on Ruby). And now Ruby was hungry. It was as simple as that. And the usual. This—Weiss could go along with practiced ease.

“I do not secretly like those cookies and mark my words one day a person will eat them and keel over and die” she says with an air of finality, amazed at how easy switching between life changing words and culinary banter can be.

And no, she’s not over thinking it. Probably.

“But you’ll still come with me, right?” Ruby asks, her smile widening into a grin that suits her face a little too much.

Weiss sighs. Her societal behavior handbook dictates that she has to sigh at least fifty times a day to restore her ice-queen mana points. But she’s already getting up—carefully placing her book on the shelf to read another day, she’s not how many point deductions that it. If there was some higher power keeping score she imagined that they just tossed the pencil screaming "My God this idiot is hopeless!" and proceeded to bang their head on the scoreboard of life points.

Ruby let’s out a cheer, rushing to hug her. She’s just a bit taller than Weiss (something that Weiss will never get over) and she wraps her arms around Weiss and whispers into her ear. “You’re the best Weiss I love you!”

And Weiss isn’t sure if she wants to strangle her for putting her heart through every emotion ever or self-combust because Ruby’s hugs always managed to make her feel warm and fuzzy and happy and light or profess her love for her (because apparently, it’s easy? For some people??) so she does the next best thing.

The first time Ruby says I love you Weiss rolls her eyes and flicks her forehead.

#rwby #whiterose #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #fanfic #fanfiction #weiss is emotionally constipated

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fabulouspotatosister · 4 years

Note

“just breathe, okay?” give me some of that good disaster!reader & 13 uwu

(i'm so sorry this took so long!! it took me a little bit to get my motivation to write back. also, surprisingly, this isn't life-threatening angst again! that's for another day. // this also kind of describes school-related stress, inspired by my own experiences huhu)

82. "Just breathe, okay?"

This was a mistake.

The part of your brain that was freaking out was throwing a fit, metaphorical alarm bells ringing out and touching every thought with panic. The more lucid part of your brain sighed and made a note, adding it to a list of mistakes that was now growing by the minute.

When you said you wanted a break from travelling with the Doctor, you meant a break from the hectic atomosphere, near-death experiences, and general stress that those near death experiences caused. You should have been happy, really, when the Doctor dropped you off back on Earth in the middle of a hectic school week. Projects and assignments were things you could control.

That was something you stopped believing a few minutes ago.

The quiet hum of your ceiling fan was a constant, at least. The only light in the room was the bright glow of your laptop screen, settled on an empty document, with at least fifty tabs open on your browser. The poor thing was probably overheating, the keyboard keys already growing warm under your touch.

You definitely needed a time machine right now.

"Why'd I tell her to drop me off today? Oh yeah, give me just a few hours to deal with all the things that have piled up since I left, I can totally deal with that," you groaned to yourself. The light of the laptop screen was stabbing, making your eyes burn with the effort to see past it and look at the measly amount of words you had typed. "I've done this before! Why is this so hard today?"

It was true. You were the king of pulling all-nighters - a habit that unfortunately followed you onto the TARDIS. Living on a time machine and still staying up late. That must have been a special talent of yours.

You'd set your phone face down on your desk, the buzzing of notifications fading into the background like everything else did, creating a symphony from a cacophany of noises. This was a symphony you were supposed to be used to, background music for your battle against deadlines and unhelpful classmates. Challenging and triumphant.

Tonight, it was doubt and fear with just a hint of giving up sprinkled in.

You leaned back in your chair, taking a deep breath in to loosen the knots in your stomach, and picked up your phone. A fifteen-minute break couldn't hurt, right? Maybe that would be the thing to bring back some of your motivation.

You had spent the entire night making mistakes. Picking up your phone was the worst one.

You were hit with a barrage of messages, ranging from patient questions to aggressive queries in all caps.

"hey, we kind of need that thing by tonight"

"Hello? Where are you? Pick up the phone, please!"

"you still working on that? anyway i can help?"

Anyway I can help?

Time passes, time doesn't wait, and you were wasting so much of it trying to catch up. Trying to to everything yourself. You glanced at the time - 10 PM - you only had two hours and if you didn't get everything done you would let so many people down.

Your room was already small - the walls just seemed to get smaller. All the background noise rose to a deafening crescendo, your panic starting to overwhelm all of your senses - everything was just too much, there was just so much, and you just wanted it to be -

"What's going on? Hello?"

Quiet. It all went quiet for a precious moment as you saw the Doctor's head peek out from behind your bedroom door. The sight of her face was enough to make your chest constrict even tighter.

"Broke in. Sorry," she said quietly, opening the door slowly and stepping inside. "Before you ask, I know my sonic doesn't work on wood, but I have my methods. Do apologize to your mum for me, and pick up some of the glass -" She paused, her gaze stopping at your face. "What's with that face?"

A distraction, you needed a distraction. "You broke a window?"

"I didn't exactly break it, I maneuvered my way in!" the Doctor whispered, proudly, before her face fell again. "That's a fancy way of saying I broke it. I am sorry!"

You tried a laugh, and it came out more like a strangled noise from the back of your throat. Your thoughts were racing a mile a minute, and you were vaguely aware of a pain in your palms - you looked down to see that you were gripping the armrests of your chair.

The Doctor said your name, slowly, like she was throwing out a lifeline. "Are you alright?"

"Fine. Totally fine." And totally instinctual. "Why are you here?"

"You weren't answering our messages," the Doctor explained. She moved closer to you, standing not too far away from where you were sitting. You hoped she didn't get too close. "I - we got worried, so I came to check on you."

Oh, you'd flipped over your phone. Your phone with all the messages and the reminders of deadlines. You shuddered. The Doctor seemed to catch that, her brow furrowing slightly.

"Are you sure you're alright?" She was inches away now, her hands hovering in the air. "You can talk to me, if you'd like. I don't give the best advice but I will listen."

If she moved any closer you would probably burst into tears - with a well-placed push of your foot against the floor, your chair skidded backwards, away from her and any comfort you felt like you didn't deserve.

"I'm a mess," you said. You squinted, her face suddenly blurry in the dark. "I'm a mess and I don't know how to deal with things properly." You just couldn't stop talking now, the words coming out in short bursts. "There's just so much going on and I have to catch up with all of it and -"

There were hands on your shoulders, now. You looked up to see the Doctor's face just inches away from yours.

"Just breathe, okay?" she murmured, holding you squarely in place. "Breathe. We'll find a way through this, yeah? Just breathe for me. That's right, in and out. Perfect!"

You found something to focus on - her eyes shone even in the dark, and her hair reflected the faint light of the moon coming in through your window. You took in deep lungfuls of air, marveling at the way the Doctor's face lit up with every deep breath you took.

"Sorry," you muttered, with a wry laugh. The Doctor raised an eyebrow in question - "I'm sorry you had to see me like this. I really am a mess -"

"Don't call yourself that," the Doctor countered immediately. The conviction in her voice squashed the small voice in your head that told you she was lying. "You are not a mess. You are brilliant and determined and you can do this. We can do this."

The Doctor - an indescribable alien that traveled through time and space and was incredible in her own way - was calling you brilliant. It made you feel warm, and you let a smile form on your face, watching as the Doctor smiled back.

"There we are." The Doctor beamed. "Now, come with me - and bring your laptop."

"Wait a minute, what?" you asked - but she was already rushing out the door. "Doctor, wait! Why?"

The Doctor poked her head through the door, grinning widely. "Time machine! Get a shift on! I haven't written an essay in years, let's see if I can remember anything from the great authors of Iambos..."

Her voice trailed off as she got farther away. You stared in shock at the door for a moment before laughing quietly, shutting your laptop and running after the Doctor.

Maybe you didn't make mistakes all the time.

#jess writes #doctor who #doctor who imagine #doctor who x reader #the doctor imagine #the doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor imagine #thirteenth doctor x reader

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buckyownsmyheart · 5 years

Text

Duty [5/12]

CHAPTER 5: The Punchline

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Language, unbearable sexual tension (with some more smooching) and terribly choppy writing

Series Summary: Ex-army doctor, and now on-mission-for-the-Avengers doctor, Major (Y/n) (Y/l/n), had prepared herself for anything. That was, of course, until she met a devastatingly charming Sergeant from Brooklyn with a quick wit and a kind smile. I wonder what will happen.

A/N: Have been back on placement so chaos has ensued, this isn't as good as I’d like it but hey! We’ll survive! Some terrible jokes are within it, and so I apologise

Series Masterlist

Chapter 4

“Hey Major,” Tony sang, rounding the corner into the kitchen, looking guilty,

You narrowed your eyes at him, peering over the top of your mug of fresh coffee, “What?”

“How do you feel about going undercover?”

“Very, very badly,” you cocked your head, “Why?”

“Oh, you and Barnes are going undercover.”

“You what? Tony!” you placed your cup onto the table and stared at him, “Why me! There are so many other people that would be so much better! You have literally hundreds of agents at your disposal if you don’t want anyone being recognised!”

“If I say amusement factor, will you hit me?” You looked at him warningly and pointed your finger at his chest. “Okay! Okay! I’m sorry! I need someone with boxing expertise who won’t turn a match into an MMA fight, get carried away and accidentally kill someone.” He sighed, “I’m sorry to have to ask you to do this. I know you hate it, but we have word that HYDRA is using this ring to scout fighters for Project Moonshine and it’s important we can gather as much information as we can. There won't be any violence.”

“Except for the whole underground boxing ring thing.”

“Yeah, aside from that,” he put his hand on your shoulder, “I’m not going to force you to do this, you know that.”

“I know,” you stood, “How can I say no to such a kind offer? Let me change and I’ll meet you in the briefing room in 15 minutes.”

“I owe you one!” Tony called out, as you made your way to the door.

“You bet your ass you do,” you looked back over your shoulder.

The briefing revealed that you and Bucky, Tony had become quite fond of putting you together on missions, would be joining the CUB ring, short for something a little more obscene than you had imagined. You were the fighter with Bucky as your ‘handler’, making sure no harm came to you and each fight was fair, he would step in whenever he needed and suspected that they wouldn’t pit you against anyone soon because the matches would already be planned for the length you were expected to stay there for.

A few days later, you found yourself standing in front of a man who was so tall that he rivalled Bucky, and so wide that when he walked through doors, his shoulders looked like they might get wedged in the frame. You felt like a show dog, wearing sports clothes that left a lot more skin on show than you would prefer, to be ‘assessed’. He eyes bore into you, unblinking. You found yourself pressing your arms against Bucky’s beside you for some comfort, but you clenched your jaw and looked ‘The Jack-saw’ in the eye. You were 80% sure that a jack-saw wasn’t a thing, but that wasn’t an opinion you were about to voice.

“Bellatrix, fight name Trixie,” you spoke, trying to fill some of the awkward silence that had arisen as the Jack-Saw loomed over you, eyeing you up and down. “Like Bellatrix Lestrange, but with more finesse,” you laughed a little at your own joke, but your face fell quickly and coughed the rest of your laughter as Jack-whatsit didn’t seem to appreciate your attempt at lightening the mood. Honestly though, you couldn’t tell. His face was like a brick wall. It looked like someone had sculpted it out of clay, with a wide-set, well-defined jaw, a high brow and a nose with a high arch, but then the sculptor had dropped the face on the floor, to give a now squashed and slightly uncomfortable looking result. He continued speaking as if you hadn’t said anything and boomed down to you.

“Our fighting is mixed, so you and your trainer here,” he eyed Bucky with suspicion, “Need to get prepared. We only have 1 other female fighter and she’s missed the past few matches so we’ll slot you in instead of her. Your first fight is tomorrow evening, 1:30, here.” And he strode out the door, leaving you and Bucky staring at each other.

“Well, that was easier than I was expecting,” you shrugged.

Bucky gently pulled your arm and turned to you to face him, he looked serious, “This is bigger and sooner than we expected, you don’t have to go up against these guys and risk getting hurt, we can send in other agents, it’s no big deal.”

“Careful Sarge, people will think you’re getting soft,”

“I’m serious.”

“I know, Buck, but I’m a big girl, if I can get a few punches on a super-soldier, I can hold my own out there.” You met his eyes and tried to abate his concern and assure him that this mission was going to be okay. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his blue eyes as he offered you his hoodie to try and ward off the chill that had settled in the room.

You gratefully accepted and pulled the hoodie over your head. You had to try very hard not to completely cocoon yourself inside it and never breathe any other air that didn’t contain Bucky’s scent. Because that would be weird. Instead you bumped his shoulder and walked towards your new living quarters.

“Just so you’re aware, you’re never getting this back.” You casually mentioned and grinned at him when he let out a laugh.

You and Bucky both stood, staring, looking between each other and the situation in front of you. This was definitely new, and typical of the universe to throw it at you both.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,”

“Bucky, you’re not going to sleep on the floor,”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind, I’ve slept on the floor before,”

“We are grown adults, and we can sleep in the same bed together without falling dramatically in love from each other.” Oh yeah, nice one. Like that won’t happen. You were still wearing his hoodie and would have 100% slept in it if you weren’t in this current position. “Alright, I’m gonna have a shower and change, you do your thing.”

After taking a cold shower and using your nice soap because of a certain reason that was currently in the room next door, you wandered back into the room and saw Bucky, shirtless, in tartan pyjama bottoms, reading a book.

“Didn’t know you could read?” you smirked at him, ignoring the flutters in your stomach, “Bathroom’s free if you want it,”

He chuckled, “Yes, ma’am,”

You got into bed, pulled the covers up to your chin and willed your heart to stop beating so wildly. The bed dipped down, and the smell of peppermint filled your senses.

“Night, Major,”

“Night, Sergeant. Remember no funny business. You’re in bed with the new underground boxing champion Trixie, and she takes no prisoners.”

He chuckled lightly and moved around under the covers, trying to get comfy. Sleep came surprisingly quickly considering there was a human sculpted by the gods lying there next to you.

You woke up and the first thing you noticed was that your cheek had stuck to your pillow. As you tried to unpeel it, you had to wiggle around to try and get comfortable again. Why was your pillow so high? And hard? And warm? Your eyes snapped open and you didn’t dare move another muscle. This was not your pillow.

“Morning Doc, didn’t quite picture you as a snuggler,”

“Barnes, if you dare move before I’m fully awake, I will strangle you and your imaginary dog for good measure.” But now you were very much aware of his flesh hand encircling your waist, his fingers resting on your hip and the heat radiating off him from where half your body was in contact with his.

“You know, you’re almost endearing when you’re half-asleep.” He gave a small chuckle.

“Shut up. Alright, where’s the coffee? I’m up, you can release me from your titanium clasp.” You rolled over, “Seriously though, do you work out your finger muscles? They’re weirdly strong.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He asked, suppressing a snort that caused you to jolt up,

“I didn’t mean it like that! You pervert!” You threw a pillow at him, with a look of disgust on your face. “I’m going to get ready, so I can train for this evening, whilst simultaneously removing those disgusting images from my head.” You rolled your eyes and headed to the bathroom. Please god let this be over soon, because charming and flirtatious Bucky was way more than you could handle.

The morning had been spent planning and scheming. Paper, highlighters and files spread around every inch of the bedroom. You had laid out the mainframe of what was going to happen, with Bucky on the lookout for where they were taking people and asking other handlers about the girl who had gone missing, and you would be focussing on not getting your ass handed to you on a daily basis by the other fighters. Bucky had tried to convince you that a banana and mayo sandwich was normal, and it felt oddly domestic and comforting.

By late afternoon, you had gone to the gym, warming up and stretching a little, but before long, you were back in the ring, circling Bucky as he held out training focus pads. “I know you’re good at this, but these guys will be a lot bigger and heavier than you, so your main aim is not to get hit,” He coached.

You stood up, dropping your fists and deadpanning him, “Really Buck? You think my main play was going to be 'let them hit me as many times as they wanted'?

“Come on, you know what I meant, play to your strengths.” He motioned to the pads, and you jabbed and swung at them. Bucky continued, “They’re going to think you’ll be running them around in circles, so they'll be trying to pin you in a corner. Let them do this and hit them with the body shots. You’ve got a strong left hook, and hopefully your southpaw stance will throw them a little. Go left hook, right hook just above the belt and uppercut.”

“Like Tyson did to Boyd in 2015?”

“Yeah right, exactly. Okay, I need you to try it out on me.”

Without letting him rethink his decision, you immediately threw your entire weight behind your left punch, aiming it at his abdomen. You realised too late that this was a mistake. Bucky stepped you and swept his leg under yours. On the way down, your legs tangled in his as you tried to find a foothold. This managed to leave you both on the floor, panting heavily as Bucky tried to support his weight above you. Your faces were only inches apart and you could feel his breath fanning your face. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and his eyes flicked down to yours. Oh man. You were so screwed.

“That was an illegal move,” you whispered, trying to ignore his numbing gaze.

“Don’t tell me that’s what you’re seriously thinking about right now,” He practically growled at you,

“It’s one of the things, in there, somewhere...” You trailed off. You were really struggling to think straight given how quickly your mind was racing. It was wrong for this to happen and it would most likely lead to falling down the rabbit hole, but my god he was so tempting. His hand pushed a stray hair away from your forehead.

“Bucky…”

“Nope,” he interrupted you, “For once, don’t use your logic brain,” and his lips crashed into yours. This kiss seemed different from the one at the art gallery, it was needier, more desperate, and conveyed more emotion than words ever could. You pulled your gloves off and weaved your hands into his hair, pulling gently at the roots to try and ground yourself. As he gave a soft moan, the slight parting of his mouth allowed your tongue to slide over his lips and find his, deepening the kiss. Your bodies were now pressed so close together, you could feel every ridge on his body, every bump and curve. You had never felt so safe, so at home as you did now. You couldn’t deny your emotions and had to accept that he was everything to you.

A loud cough brought you back to reality, and a loud voice shouted, “Not here, use a room!” After hearing a door slam, you pulled away, looking a little sheepish. Bucky was scanning your face, the tips of his ears were tinted pink, and he gave a small laugh. Rolling off of you, he stood up, holding his hands out for you to take. He hauled you up, and you gripped him hard as your knees weren't quite ready to support you yet. You stood, chest-to-chest, your hands on his shoulders, and his on your waist, unable to move for a few seconds. Him? You could definitely get used to. This? Absolutely-bloody-terrified you.

After the small heated make-out session incident in the boxing ring, you had abandoned training and gone to have a shower in the changing rooms, not-so-subtly avoiding Bucky. You were now stood outside your door, trying to find some courage that had all but deserted you. You counted yourself down, took a deep breath and entered. Before you could say anything, Bucky turned to you, as if he had been expecting you, and started talking.

“I like you, Major. I like how you know already but won’t admit it to yourself. I like that you’re fierce and you stand up for what you believe in. I like how always wear odd socks, and especially how you keep them on when you know it annoys Tony. I like how you can read me like a book. I like your sarcastic comments and stupid jokes. I like how you squeeze my hand twice to reassure me. I like how you care about people above and beyond a normal human. I like how you make me hot chocolate after I’ve had a nightmare, and never push me to talk about it until I’m ready. I like everything about you, darling, I hope you know that.”

“You know I think the world of you, Buck, and I want to be with you, but the thought of someone knowing me intimately, and letting my walls down, showing people that I’m not always okay scares me. I wish more than anything that I could leap into your arms, but I don’t think I can. I need some more time to try and get my head sorted, I’m sorry.” Your voice cracked, and you glanced up, forcing yourself to look at him. As you did you were engulfed in a hug, his arms wrapping around you and his aroma entirely filled your senses. All you could do was fold yourself inside his embrace and will the tears to stay away.

“Don’t be silly, don’t apologise, I understand,” he murmured into your ear.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, and prevent any tears escaping, you choked out, “How long you been working on that speech, Sarge?”

He chuckled, his body reverberating around you, “Well I’ve had a few months to think about it.”

You squeezed him harder, trying to tell him how you felt, how much you appreciated him through this hug, and the returning squeeze he gave you made you hope he understood.

He lifted his arms from around you, and you immediately missed the comforting weight they had given you. “(Y/n), I’m going to give you some space and I'll work on...” he paused, his eyes flicked to the side, “This excuse. I’ll be back in an hour or so for your fight.”

He grabbed his coat and walked out of the door, leaving you to flop dramatically onto the bed. You were so close to swearing off any emotion and becoming a hermit in the south of France with a goat named Gilbert. Or Godfrey. That was undecided.

You knew that, for you, at this moment in time, you had made the right decision. It would be unfair on Bucky to initiate something that you both might regret. You had spent so long relying on yourself and being your own support that you had forgotten what it was like to lean on someone else, and you hated that you struggled to do it, but you needed an adjustment period.

A few hours later, you found yourself heading towards the changing rooms again, headphones plugged in and turned up loud, tuning in your senses to prepare yourself for the match. As you sat down on the bench, Bucky entered, looking tall, broody and devastatingly handsome. Come on, get it together you thought, now was not the time.

“You okay?” He mouthed, knowing your music was far too loud for voices to be heard, his ever-piercing blue eyes searched your face as he rested his hand on your shoulder, concern lacing through his features. You nodded in response and held out your hands to him for him to wrap. You were thankful he didn’t mention them shaking. Although you had boxed throughout university, and sparred at the compound, you hadn’t properly fought a boxing match in a few years. You were also used to sparring with you opponents before the match to see what their level was and gauge their moves, but apparently that wasn’t a thing in the illegal underground boxing scene. You didn’t even know who you were fighting. Bucky gently pulled out your earbuds and you realised he had been trying to say something to you.

“Come on Trixie,” he said, using your fight name, “We’ve got a fight to win and underground schemes to mess with.”

You nodded, sliding your hands into the gloves he was holding out and touching them together a couple of times. He pulled the hood up of the kimono you were wearing and lead you to the door.

The cheering of the crowd was deafening as they called out the name of your opponent, Dave “The Cleaner” O’Neill. He was shorter than you had expected, and a lot slimmer. It seemed they did take weight classes into some consideration. As your name was called out Bucky led you to the red corner, and a surprising number of cheers went up. I guess they were all pretty excited about the prospect of violence.

In your corner, Bucky pulled off your kimono and put in your gumshield. He cupped your cheek and moved to speak in your ear, “Just like we practiced, you’ve got this, I believe in you.” You leaned into his hand, closed your eyes for a brief second before turning and taking a few strides into the centre where your opponent waited.

The ref said a short, “Let’s keep it entertaining,” before blowing his whistle. You and Dave (you had decided to call him this because it was a little less intimidating than ‘The Cleaner’, not that that was much better), tapped gloves and darted back, on the defensive. He immediately started circling and jabbing out, trying to ascertain how experienced you were, and whether his reach was an advantage, but you kept back, dodging and watching for any tells. He was throwing a lot of his weight into his punches already, I guess he was used to fighting bigger guys, but it meant his footwork was sloppy.

Trying to draw him into his mistakes some more you took a few left swings at his face, seeing whether it would unbalance him, but he seemed pretty steady. Thinking back to your session with Bucky earlier you tried to remember what he had done to take advantage of you making the same mistake that Dave was doing, but that only brought back the memory of him pressed up against you. This distraction earnt you a punch in the face. Yep, should have seen that coming. Man, he could punch hard. Luckily, he had only hit the side of your mouth, your lip probably wasn’t bleeding, but you might have some funky colouration in the next few days. You were now, however, extremely pissed off. Leering forward, leading with your left, you snuck some body punches in with your right, but the bell went off, signalling the end of the first round.

You moved back to the red corner, opening your mouth for some water and panting hard. Bucky looked at you seriously, but you just shook your head, don’t, and he got the message.

In the next round, Dave had a stupid cocky look on his face. This did nothing for your mood. You tried to keep a level head, because that was what you had always been taught, in any situation, keep a level head and you can worm your way out of it. Stretching your neck as the whistle blew, you prepared yourself. You leaped forward, ducking under his obvious first right hook and delivered a blow with your left to his now exposed side. As he instinctively tried to cover it, but you dropped under his arms and executed a right hook to his other side. As he moved back, you seized your opportunity. Bringing your right fist upward in a decisive uppercut, Dave’s head snapped back, and he crumpled to the ground. Knock-out. You were in a daze as your hand was held up and you were ushered out of the ring, down a corridor. Before you had fully processed what was happening, you were in an unknown room, handcuffed to a chair, with an aching jaw and ‘The Jack-saw’ standing in front of you.

“Usually when I’m handcuffed somewhere, I know the person a little better.” You joked, but he, again, didn’t seem to appreciate it. “Come on, smile a little, it won’t hurt. Why don’t we play 20 questions? I’ll start first, if there was a song that embodied your life, what would it be? Mine would be ‘I Don’t Care’, you know the new Ed Sheeran one? I feel like he understands me on a whole new level.” You were trying to delay him, either talk him to death or distract him long enough to work the pin that had previously been holding your shorts up into the handcuffs.

“You talk too much.”

If it was possible, you would have said he looked even stonier than before.

“Yeah, I’ve been told.” You made a thinking face before continuing, “I feel like you’re a Taylor Swift man. You seem like the type. It’s always the unexpected ones you know, I had the scariest boss ever, but he was never so scary after I walked in on him singing ‘I Knew You Were Trouble’. Kind of takes the terror out of a person.”

“We’re taking you on a little road trip, somewhere that will permanently freeze your mouth closed.” But before he could continue there was a commotion outside the door. He looked back at you, “Don’t move.”

“Bit difficult in handcuffs!” You shouted after him as he walked out the door. Wiggling the pin around the lock wildly, a delightful ‘click’ sounded and you had to bite your lip to prevent yourself from yelling out in joy. You made quick work of the other handcuff before flattening yourself against the wall, the chair outstretched in front of you to use as a weapon. As the door barged open, you swung the chair at them. They dodged it easily and looked at you in surprise.

“Really? A chair? Thought you were trained better than that, Major.” Amusement laced in his voice, and his signature cocky smirk plastered on his face.

“Oh my god, Tony,” you ran up and hurled yourself at him, “How the hell did you get here so quickly?”

“Tin-man called us to standby a few hours ago, I guess he sensed something was up.” He patted your back, “Quite a few bad guys out there, kind of need you to unhand me.”

“Right. Sorry. Got a spare gun?”

“And your med backpack,” he said, holding out both to you.

“You’re the best, I take back any bad thing I said to you,”

“You’ve actually never said anything that bad to me,”

“In that case, I take back any bad thing I said behind your back.” You replied, and luckily, he laughed in response. You took your backpack and gun and ran through the door.

Most of the thugs had been rounded up by the Avengers and other agents. It seemed they had gone a little overkill with the personnel on this mission. You wondered vaguely what exactly Bucky had said to get this many people here so quickly, and an unwanted but pleasant warm feeling spread through your chest. The journey back was filled with closing some scrapes and replacing a dislocated limb. It wasn’t until you got back into the compound that you were able to go and find Bucky. F.R.I.D.A.Y. alerted you that he was in his room, and so chucking on his hoodie, you went straight for his room and knocked twice on the door. A quick “I’m through here!” call from Bucky and you wandered through to his bathroom. The sight at the other side was something to behold. Bucky was lying in the bath, his metal arm glinted as he made a movement to cover himself. You immediately averted your eyes, until you realised that the bath was full of bubbles.

“Didn’t peg you for a bubble bath type of guy, Sergeant,” you raised an eyebrow and laughed. Your laughter immediately stopped when you saw a huge cut across his cheek facing you and one from the end of his collarbone to the middle of his chest. “Bucky!” You exclaimed, reaching in your pocket for some surgical glue, “Why didn’t you come to me about these!”

“Figured you were busy,” he mumbled unconvincingly. You shook your head, whilst muttering something along the lines of ‘stupid fucking idiot’. You dipped a flannel in the water and dragged it across his cheek, trying to be as gentle as you could and removing the dirt and muck that had accumulated inside the wound. His jaw tensed each time you put the damp cloth on his injured skin, and you guessed it hurt a lot more than he was playing on. You put your other hand on his other cheek, trying to steady yourself, and you moved your thumb in a soothing motion. As you sealed it with the glue, Bucky’s wet flesh hand found its way to the hand that was on his cheeky, drawing your eyes to his. The look on his face broke your heart, sadness dulled his bright eyes, and drew the corners of his mouth down.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t there," He began, "I promised to protect you, and you shouldn’t have had to be alone. I should have been there. I don’t know what I would have done if something worse had happened to you.” You cut him off with a kiss but broke it off before your self-control gave up all together and made you jump into the bath with him. Instead, you rested your forehead against his.

“Before you say anything else, I need to say something. And I wrote it down beforehand, so don’t interrupt me because it'll throw me off.” You said quietly, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath in. “I like you Bucky. I like how you never push me to do anything I’m not comfortable with. I like how you wring your hands when you’re nervous. I like your electricity and how you light up every room you walk into. I like the scar under your chin from when you fell over getting into the pool. I like how you always choose pancake house when it’s your turn to decide a restaurant. I like your sweet tooth, even if it means you steal all of my hidden cookies. I like your compassion, and how you’ll do anything to make someone happy. I like your unwavering faith in me and the rest of the world that things will be okay. I like how you feel like home, and I’m sorry it took me so long to say it. If you want me, I’m yours. All in.”

You opened your eyes and leaned back, looking into Bucky’s in search of an answer. He grinned at you, and you found your lips curving in an involuntary response. Warmth was emanating out of him and filling your chest. His hands held your face, and he gently kissed you again.

“I’ve been all in since the very beginning.”

“Careful, Sarge,” You grinned, “People will think you’re getting soft.”

“Shut your mouth,” he smiled coyly at you, and gave you another peck before continuing. “Now, you pervert, I’m getting out the bath so unless you want the full Monty you should probably leave,”

“And what if I am a pervert?” Bucky splashed you, and you laughed, “Okay, okay, I’m leaving!” As you closed his bathroom door tried to contain your smile. Yes, you were scared, but you had realised that there was always going to be a time when you had to take a leap of faith, and there was no one else you’d rather take that with.

Strong arms wrapped around your waist and Bucky rested his head on your shoulder, gently kissing the crook of your neck. You hummed in contentment and turned around in his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck and playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “I could definitely get used to this,” you said as you pressed yourself against him. You walked your fingers up his bare chest and putting on your most flirtatious voice. “We still might need a little time to figure things out though, potentially an entire night, that okay with you, Sergeant?” You looked up at him through your lashes. However, before either of you could do anything about the growing sexual tension, Tony burst through the door. His eyes widened at the scene in front of him, and he gave a yell behind him.

“Hey Nat! The double bed worked! You owe me $10!” He looked back to the both of you, who had frozen in shock. “You ladies enjoy yourselves.” He slowly backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. As you turned back to Bucky, you heard a muffled shout, “I’m putting a sock on the door!”

You burst out in giggles, hiding your face against his chest, as Bucky grumbled, “Those meddling motherfuckers.”

Chapter 6

tags (message me if you want to be added!):

@broco8 @nerd-without-a-cause @sebbbystaaan @mcubuckyandsteve @cutiepiemimi13 @velvetwonderbucky @livylou3333 @cap-just-said-language

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #b.b fanfic #bucky barnes imagine

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somniumoflight · 4 years

Text

Crossover Idea #10 – My Hero Academia/Avatar: The Last Airbender

The Fire Nation’s royal family is haunted by two spirits that appear under very specific circumstances – these spirits are Todoroki Shoto and Dabi.

So, I’ve been reading a lot of Avatar fanfictions lately, and amongst the ones I’ve read is this really good BNHA crossover fanfic where Zuko and Todoroki keep accidentally switching places with each other in their respective worlds. The fanfic itself isn’t too long yet (only 4 chapters so far) but there’s a very long bnha atla swap au tag on @captainkirkk’s tumblr page (might have gotten the acronyms in the wrong order, be forewarned) where people have drawn many, many comparisons between the Todoroki family and the Fire Nation royal family, and that kind of inspired this idea.

So, here’s the rundown of this crossover au. The first divergence happened a hell of a long time ago, only a couple generations after the first Fire Lord was properly crowned. The grandson of the first Fire Lord (aka the third Fire Lord, aka guess who this is?) sought the power to surpass his generation’s Avatar, at first with his own flames but eventually by finding a spiritually powerful firebender of mixed blood to force into a marriage, in the hopes that having more than Fire Nation in their blood would make his children strong enough to challenge the Avatar. This, and that Lord’s abusive “training” of his two sons, backfired on him magnificently when the eldest son first ran away, then tried to lead a rebellion against his father and in the process convinced his youngest sibling to help said rebellion. When the two boys were executed for treason after the rebellion failed, their ghosts lingered, haunting their family so that they could continue trying to bring their father down after death.

Except after their father finally died, they continued to linger in the living world rather than moving on. So now they haunt the royal family and have been doing so for generations, and slowly over the centuries have become proper spirits rather than just human ghosts – one, a guardian spirit for those betrayed by those of their blood (Shoto) and the other an avenger who lingers as long as the one betrayed wants vengeance but has yet to take it (Dabi.)

Fast forward to when Zuko is alive. For as long as his father’s been treating him poorly in favor of Azula (so, like, as soon as Azula started bending before him), he’s been catching glimpses of a strange teenager with mismatched eyes and a streak of white in his hair around the palace, usually when something nasty is about to happen to him and then some weird incident happens that stops that something nasty in its tracks. Nobody but Zuko seems to realize he’s there until after his Uncle comes back from Ba Sing Se, sees the spirit as well, and realizes just how screwed up the royal family’s become. And then little differences start stacking up, influencing canon as they go and blowing everything off the rails one wheel at a time.

Details of this crossover:

Endeavor was the grandson of the first Fire Lord in the Fire Nation’s history, and the third Fire Lord to be crowned. He was, according to legend, one of the most powerful Fire Lords to ever rule, and was said to be friends with his generation’s Avatar (who, come on, has to be All Might. Who else could it be?)

However, jealous of the power that that Avatar had, Endeavor forced a woman of mixed Fire Nation and Water Tribe blood (there were probably Water Tribe pirates, let’s say that her mother was fire nation… let’s leave it at that) and great spiritual and (water)bending power to marry him, in the hopes that the mixed blood would make his children powerful enough to contend with the Avatar.

Technically he sort of got what he wanted – his eldest son found it remarkably easy to use the more powerful blue flames that he had such trouble with, and his youngest son figured out how to imitate waterbending by basically pulling a Zuko from Vathara’s Embers – he could put heat into water and manipulate it that way

However, both of these powerful children hated his guts for how he treated them while “training,” and so when the eldest son (Dabi) ran away and eventually returned as the leader of a rebellion against him, and the youngest (Shoto) was convinced to help his oldest brother in order to protect his family, he was “forced” to hunt them down and kill them before they could topple his regime.

The two sons, however, lingered after death as ghosts in order to protect their remaining family from their father (Shoto) and keep trying to kill him as revenge (Dabi). They lingered for so long waiting for their old man to die that some of the servants in the palace started praying to them as if they were spirits, and as such when Endeavor finally died (Dabi managed to destroy the ceiling in his room somehow and crushed him under the beams) the two ghosts ended up lingering as… guardian spirits of sorts, for their siblings’ descendants.

They only appear when similar circumstances to their own life – one of the royal family trying to hurt (physically or emotionally) one of their siblings, parents, children, etcetera – and otherwise do not interact with the family.

Fast forward thousands of years, Shoto and Dabi have grown in power, and their origins have faded from the annuls of Fire Nation history. Zuko is born to Ozai, and it soon becomes clear that Ozai is not happy with his perfectly good son, and could care less whether he lives or dies. He starts seriously considering hurting the boy when Azula starts bending before him, which is when Shoto first starts appearing.

He mostly protects Zuko from attempts on his life or accidents that could end up hurting him. This includes everything from assassination attempts from people within or without the Fire Nation to, I dunno, random branches falling out of trees that could squash him. On one memorable occasion Shoto saves Zuko from drowning, which draws the attention of the palace staff and Ozai, since it was so very clearly a spirit that saved him – what else could make water boil and then surge to shore carrying the drowning boy?

Zuko basically ends up growing up in the palace with a spiritual bodyguard hovering over his shoulder that he’s at first barely aware of and knows next to nothing about, save that the spirit is apparently Fire Nation yet controls water somehow, and he seems to grow stronger as the years go on.

Technically, Shoto is getting stronger, but not because more time is passing – it’s because Ozai starts betraying Zuko as a father more and more, and Shoto’s starting to be reminded of his own father, and he DOES NOT APPRECIATE THE SIMILARITIES THANK YOU.

Then the Agni Kai happens – and the entire room of people watching the Agni Kai against Zuko’s father are right there to see Shoto suddenly appear before all of them, extremely pissed off at Ozai. While most of the people in the room don’t know what his appearance means, Ozai does – he knows what makes this particular spirit appear, and if anyone else in the room knew then he’d be screwed.

So instead of killing Zuko after the Agni Kai, like he was seriously considering, he banishes his son.

Shoto ends up sticking with Zuko throughout all his years searching for the Avatar and throughout the course of the canon story. His presence doesn’t overly change much, except Aang and eventually Katara and Sokka (after the North Pole) can see him due to their various spirit shenanigans across the nations, and seeing a spirit with the same scar as Zuko throws them through a loop a bit.

Things do make a major change after Azula arrives to take Zuko and Iroh back to the Fire Nation as prisoners. See, while most people don’t know the true nature of Shoto and Dabi as spirits, one of the few people (other than Ozai) that does is Iroh, mostly thanks to that pilgrimage he took following Ba Sing Se. And during one particularly bad day when Zuko is basically cursing Shoto’s existence because he doesn’t need help, why is this spirit even here, Iroh decides to tell him exactly why that spirit is there.

Finding out why Shoto is protecting him – because his father has betrayed him, and wants to harm him – shakes Zuko’s faith in Ozai WAY earlier than canon. It also plants a budding seed of resentment against his father and Azula (who has also betrayed him, if to a lesser extent than his father), which eventually leads to Zuko actually taking Aang and Katara’s side against Azula in Ba Sing Se, instead of later.

This is where Dabi comes into play, because unlike Shoto, who appears whenever Zuko needs to be protected from one of his own blood, Dabi appears whenever Zuko feels resentment and, even if only for a moment, seriously wants to hurt one of his own blood. Even normal siblings will occasionally want to strangle each other – there’s no way Zuko didn’t seriously want to hurt Azula at some point, even in canon.

So during the fight with Azula, Zuko feels just enough resentment of how perfect an heir to Ozai Azula is that Dabi appears and literally turns Azula’s own flames against her, burning her. It leaves a nasty scar similar to Dabi’s own across Azula’s face – a scar she cannot hide, a scar that makes her less than perfect, and Zuko is more than a little horrified, especially when he later finds out it was his own anger against her that technically let Dabi hurt her. He may have seriously wanted to hurt her, but he didn’t actually want to put her in danger from their father, and those scars are very recognizable.

Dabi doesn’t hurt anybody again for a long time, but Zuko keeps seeing him out of the corner of his eye or in reflections, or in dreams of his and Shoto’s past that he starts having following being attacked by another spirit while traveling with the Gaang out of Ba Sing Se or something.

Those dreams eventually lead to Zuko discovering just who Shoto and Dabi were in the past, with help from Iroh and the Gaang, and Zuko decides that not only is he going to help take down Ozai and keep his sister off the throne, but he’s going to do everything in his power to make certain that nobody in the royal family is ever hurt by their family again, at least not like THAT.

After that most things are more or less canon in terms of actual events during the show, and the last bit of canon divergence before the end of the show’s timeline is, when Aang turns up with Ozai after getting rid of his firebending, Ozai tries to convince him to take revenge against him, to burn him, kill him – and Zuko decides that he’s already had his revenge against him. That’s the last time Dabi appears, when he ends up burning a mark of shame into Ozai’s face and then vanishes and is never seen by any of the Gaang again.

Shoto, on the other hand, lingers for a long time, and Zuko still sees him out of the corner of his eyes as he becomes Fire Lord and works towards a better future for himself and his nation.

Cracky alternative title for this crossover: “Fuck Endeavor and Ozai: Shitty Parents Need to Burn”

#crossover ideas #my hero academia #Avatar The Last Airbender #MHA/A:tLA #Dabi and Todoroki Shoto are spirits haunting the fire nation royal family #who only appear under very specific circumstances #those circumstances being:#someone's family member by blood betrays/tries to hurt/abuses them (Shoto)#or someone who was betrayed by a family member wants revenge against them (Dabi)#Shoto is basically a guardian spirit #Dabi is an avenger #so when Ozai starts putting Zuko down/abusing him Shoto appears to start protecting him #and Dabi eventually appears when Zuko has too much resentment against family members and wants to hurt THEM for once #aka Azula gets a nasty burn scar to ruin her perfect pretty face #and eventually so does Ozai #its great #also Zuko has a lot more resentment towards his dad because Iroh told him why these spirits appear #and joins the Gaang early #otherwise - mostly canon A:tLA stuff #fun times

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arysafics · 5 years

Text

Think of the Children

Summary: RAs Clarke and Bellamy host a sex education lesson, which turns out to be a lot more than that.

prompt: Bellamy and Clarke are RAs and their residents keep coming to them with all these sex questions that initially start off innocent like about contraception but become more about how to please their partners and stuff (they see bellarke as mom and dad so they want all the advise)! Bellamy and Clarke decide that the best way to help is to show them so they host a “workshop” where they pretty much just have sex with each other in front of their residents to “teach” them how to have fun safe consentías sex

Rated E, ~3,700 words

Clarke barges into Bellamy’s dorm room, as she frequently does these days. He never keeps his door locked anymore. Thankfully, he’s fully clothed, sitting at his desk, frowning at his computer screen. He doesn’t even look up as she collapses on his unmade bed.

“You need something?” he asks.

“Maya just asked me if I would go and buy condoms for her. She’s too nervous to do it herself.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her where she could get free ones. That’s not the point though.”

Bellamy spins around in his chair to face her. “So what is the point?”

“The kids keep asking me sex questions.” The kids, not actually kids at all, but a bunch of eighteen and nineteen-year-olds that live in the dorms, whom Clarke and Bellamy have been charged with looking out for, as the dorm RAs.

“You can palm the sex questions off to me if it makes you uncomfortable,” Bellamy says. “Although I’m guessing the girls feel more comfortable coming to you.”

“Yeah, no offence, but if I were an eighteen-year-old virgin, my hot RA would not be the person I would go to for sex advice.”

“Hot RA, huh?” Bellamy smirks.

“Don’t get cocky,” Clarke rolls her eyes. She sits up and folds her legs under herself. “Anyway, it’s not that I feel uncomfortable. It’s just I get asked those kinds of questions more than anything else. We’re responsible for thirty-something eighteen-year-olds and I swear I’ve been asked the same questions that many times.”

Bellamy leans back in his chair. “Yeah, I gotta admit, I get asked a lot of sex questions too. Although I feel like it’s a lot less about contraception and more about how to get a woman to have sex with you.”

“So maybe we should just get all the kids together and just answer all the questions at once. Like a sex education workshop or something. We know high school sex ed sucks, it could be helpful. I know a lot because my mom’s a doctor, and you—well…”

“Have a lot of sex?”

Clarke shrugs. “You said it, not me.”

Bellamy grins. “A sex ed workshop, huh? It could be fun.”

“Fun is not what I was thinking.”

“If it’s not fun, they won’t want to come.”

“Well, you figure out how to make it fun, and then we’ll set a date and time. We’ll do it in the common room and we can use the whiteboard for like… diagrams and stuff.”

“You’re in charge of diagrams.”

“Obviously.”

“So, uh…” Bellamy says, scratching the back of his neck. “Is that the only reason you came here, or…”

Clarke flushes. She knows what he’s asking. A few weeks ago, while she was drunk in his room, she may have let slip that she likes to be watched while she gets off. Which then turned into her pulling off her panties and masturbating in front of him. And she may have done it a couple more times since then, without the assistance of alcohol.

“I don’t have a vibrator with me.”

“You can use your fingers. Like the first time.”

Clarke bites her lip. Just thinking about it has her loins throbbing. She brings a hand to the button on her jeans, pausing before she pops it open. She keeps her eyes locked on Bellamy. He’s watching her hand with baited breath.

Clarke slides her hand into her panties, and she’s surprised at how wet she is already. She runs her middle finger up and down her slit a couple of times, knowing Bellamy is on the edge of his seat, waiting for her to take her pants off and show him what she’s doing.

“Are you wet?” he asks hoarsely. Impatient. Clarke nods. “You gonna show me?” Clarke nods again. She’s about the pull her jeans off, when someone knocks on the door.

“Shit,” she says, hastily doing her jeans back up.

Disappointment crosses Bellamy’s face. He clears his throat. “Come in,” he calls. The door opens, and Jasper Jordan walks in.

“Hey, Bellamy—” he starts, then stops when he sees Clarke on Bellamy’s bed. “Oh, sorry. Am I interrupting?”

Clarke shakes her head. She hopes her face isn’t as red as it feels. “No. I was just leaving.” She gets up off the bed and heads past Jasper to the door. She looks back at Bellamy. “Think about what we can do to make it fun,” she tells him, and then she leaves him to deal with whatever Jasper’s problem is.

-----

About half of the people living in their residence hall show up to what Clarke advertised as a Sex Information Night. Bellamy wanted to call it Sex for Dummies, but Clarke vetoed that suggestion.

They’d posted a notice on the community board, as well as in the Facebook group Clarke had created at the start of the year, that read:

SEX

Information Night!

If you have any burning questions, queries or things you need clarifying to do with the topic of sex, whether it’s about contraception, consent, pleasure, or anything else, come to our information night.

Featuring advice, explanations, demonstrations, and most importantly, free food.

This Thursday night at 6pm in the common room.

Your devoted RAs, Clarke and Bellamy.

The free food was Bellamy’s best attempt at making it sound interesting, but what college student doesn’t love free food?

The group gathered in front of them is what Clarke assumes are the less experienced people living in the dorm. They’re squashed onto two worn old couches, chatting amongst themselves while they wait for Clarke to start the session.

Clarke is pretty sure she can tell which of them are there for the food and which of them actually want advice. Some of them are probably just there to watch Clarke embarrass herself. It’s one thing to give sex advice one on one to someone who asks, but giving an actual presentation to a group of people is kind of daunting. She’s glad she has Bellamy helping her.

He lets her take the lead, while he sits on the table behind her, in front of the whiteboard.

“Okay,” Clarke says, addressing the group. “Thanks for coming guys. What we’re going to do is answer some of the questions you guys have been asking a lot, and then we’ll let you ask whatever other questions you want to. This is a safe space, and I expect you all to be respectful of each other. No question is a stupid question.” She looks to Bellamy. “Anything to add?”

“I think you covered it.”

Clarke nods, then turns back to her audience, before launching into her presentation. She goes through all the different types of contraception she can think of, and tells them where they can get said contraception. She’s pretty sure all of them should know the female and male anatomy by now, but she draws diagrams on the whiteboard, just in case. She talks about consent, and a little about pleasure, and making sure your partner is having a good time too. Bellamy chimes in occasionally, backing her up.

“Okay,” she says when she’s finished, clapping her hands together. “Any questions?”

Jasper’s hand shoots up. “Do I have to go down on a girl if she asks me to?”

Bellamy snorts out a laugh. “You don’t have to, but you may want to rethink your stance on giving head. It’s actually pretty great.”

Oh, so he likes giving head, Clarke notes. Good to know.

Fox puts her hand up next. “I have a question, but no one laugh.”

“No one’s going to laugh,” Clarke promises her.

“I wanted to buy, um, you know. A vibrator. But I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t want to spend a ton of money on something that isn’t even any good.”

“Reading the reviews can help,” Clarke says. “And maybe start with something smaller and cheaper to see how you like it, and then progress from there.”

“What do you use?” Fox asks.

Clarke glances and Bellamy, who appears to be holding back laughter. She’s trying not to blush, because she did sign up for this, and she knows she shouldn’t be embarrassed about masturbating, or the number of vibrators she owns. She wasn’t really expecting things to get so personal.

“I have a few different ones,” Clarke says. “Maybe we can have a look online together later, and I can help you. And anyone else who wants to know.”

Fox seems satisfied with this, and Clarke moves on. “Any one else?”

“When are you giving the demonstration?” Murphy yells, sitting on a chair at the back of the room.

“Demonstration?” Clarke frowns.

“I mean, that’s why we’re all here, right? So you guys can show us how best to please our partners.”

“I’m not following,” Clarke says, shaking her head. She’s already given all the demonstrations she planned. Like the putting a condom on a banana.

“Yeah, to be honest that’s why I came,” Sterling says, beside him, Monroe nods. “I thought you guys were gonna… you know. Show us. That’s what the post seemed to imply.”

“Show you what, exactly?” Clarke asks. She looks to Bellamy, and he shrugs.

“Bellamy seems to think he’s pretty hot at giving head. Maybe he could show us that.”

Bellamy lets out a strangled choking noise. Clarke doesn’t think she’s ever seen him so flustered.

“Ah, no,” he says. “You guys misunderstood.”

Clarke is feeling a little flustered herself, though for probably slightly different reasons. Why is it that that very mention of Bellamy fucking her in front of everyone sent a surge of wetness between her legs? She’s throbbing there now, thinking about it. But they can’t actually do it. That would be crazy.

“Come on, guys,” Jasper complains. “We know you’re good at it. We just want to learn.”

Bellamy huffs. “Clarke and I have never even had sex. You think we’re gonna do it for the first time in front of you guys?”

“Wait, what?” Murphy snorts. “You guys aren’t fucking?”

Everyone else seems to be just as surprised as Murphy at this revelation. For some reason, the fact that they all thought she and Bellamy were sleeping together embarrasses Clarke more than the notion of him fucking her in front of them. It’s not logical, but then, when has her libido ever been logical?

“But she’s like… always in your room. With the door shut,” Maya says.

“We’re not, and nor are we going to,” Bellamy says. “Right, Clarke?”

He finally looks at her. Clarke chews her lip. His eyes widen.

“Right,” she agrees, but she knows she doesn’t sound convincing at all. She’s aware that all eyes are on her. She’s aware of her racing heart and the steadily growing ache between her thighs. She’s also aware that these kids look up to her, that they look to her for guidance and counsel. But isn’t that just more reason to do it? So they know what real sex looks like, instead of getting their ideas of what sex should be like from porn? So they know what enthusiastic consent looks like? Provided, of course, Bellamy actually wants to do it.

He’s watching her curiously. “Clarke,” he says, in that deep voice that makes her stomach lurch. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

She nods, and Bellamy leads her out of the common room and into the hallway, where the others can’t hear. A couple of people whistle as they leave.

“You want to do this,” he says, as soon as they’re out of earshot.

“I—” Clarke starts, her face heating up. She shrugs. “It’s for the kids. We should set a good example of what sex should be like.”

Bellamy eyes her with amusement. “That’s the only reason?”

Clarke purses her lips at him. “You know it’s not.”

“You want me to fuck you in front of everyone, under the guise of teaching?”

Clarke nods. “Yes,” she whispers. “But only if you want to. Don’t do it just because I want to.”

Bellamy steps closer to her, millimetres from touching her. “Oh, I want to,” he murmurs. He leans in, ghosts his lips against hers. Her lips part, and then he kisses her, firm but gentle. He pulls away. “Just wanted that for myself first.”

Clarke nods. “Bellamy—” she says. She swallows. “I wouldn’t do this with anyone else, just so you know. Just you.”

Bellamy smiles. “Good to know. Come on. Let’s show them how to fuck.”

Clarke laughs, and Bellamy takes her hand and leads her back into the common room.

“Ground rules,” Bellamy announces, walking back in front of the whiteboard, still holding Clarke’s hand. “No video and no photos. Phones remain away at all times. And no commentary. If you feel uncomfortable, leave. Nothing that happens from here on out leaves this room, got it?”

“And no masturbating please,” Clarke adds. “You can do that later in your room. No one wants to see that.”

Bellamy snorts. He gives her a look that says you’re one to talk. Excitement ripples through the room, and Clarke knows the kids are whispering, talking, maybe even to her, but she can’t seem to latch onto any word she recognises. Her eyes are focused on Bellamy, and his on her.

“Clear a couch,” Bellamy says. The five people squashed onto one of the couches scramble up, and Bellamy leads Clarke towards it. God knows how many other people have fucked on this couch, but right now Clarke couldn’t care less. “First lesson,” Bellamy says, and he’s addressing the room, but his eyes never leave Clarke. “Consent. If you’re not sure what your partner wants, ask.”

“Asking isn’t sexy though,” Roma pipes up.

Bellamy ignores her. Instead he shows her just how sexy asking can be. “Clarke,” he says, tracing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. “Can I kiss you?”

Clarke nods. “Yes.”

It’s harder than their first kiss, deeper, hungrier. Clarke kisses him back, and his tongue slips past her lips and into her mouth. He pulls away, then grazes her ear with his lips. “I want to go down on you,” he tells her.

“Okay,” Clarke agrees in a breath. She lowers herself to the couch, unbuttoning her jeans as she goes, keeping her eyes on Bellamy the whole time. He sinks to his knees in front of her. He pulls her shoes off, and then her socks, and then he helps her tugs her jeans down, so she’s sitting on the couch in her panties.

Bellamy kisses her inner thigh, and Clarke closes her eyes. She knows everyone is watching her, loves knowing they’re all staring at Bellamy as he kisses his way up her thigh. But she doesn’t actually want to see them.

Her heart is thumping hard against her rib cage, and when she feels his lips press against the wet spot on her panties, she feels like it’s going to burst out of her chest. His tongue darts out of his mouth, pushing into her slit through her panties, putting pressure on her clit. Clarke spreads her legs wider.

Bellamy’s mouth leaves her cunt, and she immediately misses the contact.

“Are you ready to take your panties off, baby?” Bellamy asks her. “Everybody wants to see.”

Clarke nods, squeezing her eyes shut tighter. Bellamy hooks his fingers into the sides of her panties, and Clarke lifts her ass off the couch so he can drag them down, baring her pussy to the room. She’s blushing all over, thinking about them all staring at her wet cunt, on display for everyone to see.

“Look at that,” Bellamy coos. “Look how wet she is.” She feels him spread her pussy lips with his big fingers. “You gotta make sure your girl is nice and wet before you fuck her, okay? Eating her out is a good way to get her there.”

He puts his mouth on her again, and Clarke feels a surge of relief, replaced quickly by an urgency, a desperation, as his tongue slips between her folds, working her clit, then backing off, then back to her clit, slowly driving her insane.

“Bellamy,” Clarke whimpers, not caring how pathetic she sounds in front of the kids. “Please, I need to come.”

Bellamy lifts his head, and Clarke opens her eyes to look down at him. “Take your top off,” he tells her. Clarke pulls her t-shirt over her head without hesitation. “And bra.”

Clarke fumbles with the clasp, her hands shaking. Bellamy reaches around her and helps her unclip it, and then she’s completely naked. She burns all over. She finally makes herself look at the crowd surrounding her. They’re all watching her, enraptured, eyes wide. Do they know how much she likes their attention? Or do they still believe it’s all for their benefit? They’re never going to look at her the same again. Every time they look at her they’ll see her naked and writhing on this couch.

She closes her eyes again as Bellamy’s mouth latches onto her neck. His fingers slip between her legs, gently massaging her clit, winding her tighter and tighter, until she’s about to break. Her breathing grows laboured, and she’s panting audibly, so close to orgasm she feels like she’s about to die. God, they’re all going to watch her come. The thought sends her over the edge, and she arches off the couch, gasping, her breasts pushing against Bellamy’s chest, his fingers still playing with her pussy.

“Yes, Bellamy,” Clarke moans. “Fuck me now, please.”

She opens her eyes again, just as Bellamy stands up, towering over her. He pulls his shirt over his head and kicks his shoes off.

“Someone hand me a condom,” he says. They’d handed out enough of them earlier. Clarke watches his hands as he unbuttons his jeans. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen somebody look as sexy as he does as he slowly takes off his clothes. His underwear is last to go, and then he’s as naked as she is. She eyes his hard cock, cunt throbbing at the sight of it, at the thought of having all these people watch him put it inside her.

“Damn,” someone mutters. Bellamy smirks, and Clarke bites back a laugh.

A condom appears in his hand, and he tears the wrapper, then rolls the condom onto his cock.

“Lube is usually a good idea,” Bellamy says. “But in this case, she really doesn’t need it.” Clarke flushes at that. He’s just bragging about how wet he got her. “Lie back, baby,” Bellamy whispers, putting a knee on the couch. “Let’s show these kids how it’s done, huh?”

He kisses her, and Clarke lowers herself into a horizontal position on the couch, pulling him with her.

“Ready?” he asks her, pressing his cock against her slit, getting himself wet with her arousal.

“Yes,” Clarke says. His cock stretches her wide as he pushes into her, and she lets out an embarrassing moan, if she could be embarrassed by anything right now.

“That’s it,” Bellamy says soothingly. “Good girl.”

Clarke feels her pussy clench around him. He thrusts into her, working up a steady rhythm, while she meets his every thrust, already well on her way to her second orgasm.

“Come on, baby,” Bellamy whispers. “I need you to come again. Everybody’s watching.”

The reminder sends her hurtling closer to her peak, his thick cock driving into her with force. “I’m close,” she says. “Keep going. Like that.”

She moans obscenely, and with a few more strokes of his cock, he tears her orgasm from her, the walls of her pussy fluttering around him, her body shuddering. Bellamy lets out a groan as he comes too, seconds after she does. He presses his forehead against hers, panting.

It takes them both more than a few seconds to come back to reality. The reality of fifteen or so college students applauding them, after having just witnessed them have sex with each other for the first time.

“That was amazing,” Roma breathes.

“Yeah, I think I learnt a lot,” Sterling agrees.

“Will you show us how to give a blow job now Clarke?” Fox asks. Never mind that both Clarke and Bellamy are still breathing heavily, red faced, his cock still inside her. He covers her body with his, keeping her nudity from the room, as if they haven’t seen it all already.

“Maybe some other time,” Clarke swallows. “The info night is over. You should all go back to your rooms now.”

Bellamy stays on top of her until the crowd disperses and they’re left alone in the common room. He sits up, sitting on the edge of the couch.

“That was… something,” he says.

“Are you okay?”

“Are you?”

“Yeah,” Clarke says, a smile creeping over her face. She trails her finger across his bare thigh. “I liked it a lot.”

Bellamy shakes his head, amused. “You’re really something, you know that?”

“What something?”

“I don’t know. Unique. Intense. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Clarke’s smile drops, and she swallows, her heart pounding. That she wasn’t expecting. “In a good way?”

“In a good way,” Bellamy confirms. He stands up, removing the condom and throwing it in the trash, before picking up his clothes and getting dressed.

“So when can we do it again?”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow. “Have sex in front of an audience?”

“We don’t have to have an audience.”

“You think you can enjoy it without the audience?” Bellamy laughs.

“Maybe we can make a tape instead,” Clarke grins. Bellamy shakes his head. Fully dressed now, he stoops to pick up Clarke’s panties and throws them at her.

“Get dressed,” he says. “And then when can talk about it. You’re too distracting when you’re naked. Plus, who knows what is on that couch.”

Clarke sits up, then pulls her panties on. “Do you think any of them will tell anyone what we did? We could get in trouble.” She picks up her bra and puts that back on too.

Bellamy shrugs. “If they tell, we’ll just say it was for educational purposes.”

“It was.”

“Uh huh. You keep telling yourself that.”

#bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #the 100 #the 100 fanfiction #mine

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saizoswifey · 6 years

Text

Night Time Is Quiet Time

{SaizoxReader}

Genre: N//SFW / Angst Word Count: 9.034 Summary: Follow Saizo on a mission from Iga and witness the hardships that shape who he is. A/N: I have been wanting to write a series of pieces following Saizo on missions for a while now. We always see him leave and come home but never the in-between and the intense situations he must face time and time again. The events of this story are not completely in chronological order, so I hope it won’t be too difficult to follow. Thank you so much for reading and I truly hope you guys enjoy this despite it being quite a bit darker than I usually post. Additional Content/Trigger Warnings: Mention of young girls death(not shown), Blood, Blood mention, Death, Murder, Gore, N//SFW, Vaginal penetration, Unprotected sex AO3: Read Here

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Alone. He had found her there, alone—the young girl inside. Stashed like she was a mere sack of kitchen scraps, her bruised body carelessly tossed in a rocky crevice that lay inside of a shallow cave, hidden by a thickly wooded area. Her limbs still, twisted and bent in that unnatural way reserved only for the dead. There was much blood. But his eyes, sharp and unwavering in the face of death after all these years, were concentrated now on a particular spot. A smearing of red on her lips that stretched to her pale cheek. Spidering out the right side as if a Higanbana had sprouted from her stilled blue mouth. Morbidly fitting considering they were near a river, he thought.

A sudden palpitation from her chest had dark understanding pulling at his features and he withdrew a short blade to end the last of her suffering. Saizo brought it to her flesh; just as pale, slicing just as easily under the sharpness, as silken tofu. Simple, clean.

Now that she was at rest he reached into one of his many hidden pockets to retrieve a small wooden top. He held it between his thumb and forefinger for a moment, inspecting it one last time. It wasn’t very large or ornate. Stripes of alternating red and blue had begun to fade with wear from its surface. It was carved from relatively light wood and there were obvious nicks he could both see and feel cut into the surface. Proof the child had used it well.

Lowering himself onto one knee he placed it to the inside of her small palm with a delicate nature. Something inside of him stirred as he felt her cold hand pressed in his own, and he took a few moments to let that chill seep into him. A form of penance, perhaps. He could choke out some form of apology, but words were never more useless than at a time like this. It would only serve to drape another dark layer of senselessness onto the already haunting scene, and it damn sure wouldn’t make him feel any better.

He removed her hairpin; a small sakura blossom that would never again see another spring. Then he left.

_____

This day started as many did for Saizo. Following a sleepless night where he counted your breaths and poked an index finger, ever so gently, into various places while you slept to see just how much of a reaction he could elicit without actually waking you. A kiss as light and fleeting as an early winter snowflake on your cheek.

He left the room you shared while he could still see his breath billowing and dissipating in the pale moonlight. Though, he wasn’t cold. In fact, the days had become increasingly warm as of late. A good and bad thing for shinobi. People stayed inside at night when it was cold. People hurried home when it was chilly. Now that the temperatures were rising you could find the streets filled with children and drunks longer and later into the evening. A greater chance he could be spotted.

He made good time in his travel despite the mountainous terrain. The soil and grass beneath his feet gradually began to soak in the warmth of the day, the heat creeping up his limbs like a root draws water. When the sun was at its highest and there were signs he was approaching the river he sat on a large moss-covered rock and quickly ate a piece of dried fish. When he looked to the trees he saw Utsusemi among the gathering of crows, and she flew to perch herself on his shoulder. He didn’t say anything to her, just held a bit of fish for her to peck at and then stroked a finger over her feathers for a while in comfortable silence.

Normally he hated traveling so far for a mission, but it had been a while since he’d done anything for the village and even he could only keep them off his ass for so long. He stretched the ache in his legs underneath the sunlight, but only for a moment, knowing it was foolish to remain on the ground or in one place for too long.

The dried fish finished and his familiar flapping her black wings, making herself hidden in the distant branches once more, Saizo took to the trees knowing it would be the most opportune way to remain undetected now that he was so close to the village. As he made his way he often thought of you, the way you looked before he left. Peaceful, hair strewn about the bedding in that sleepily careless fashion. The taste of your dango, but more often than not, the taste of you. And the following weeks he would curse for keeping you apart.

_____

“How many.”

“Four, that we are aware of.”

“That’s not very many…” Saizo cast his eyes to the side with a slight huff of annoyance.

“One is more than enough, I should think,” the lord barked in reply, obviously unamused with Saizo’s lack of concern regarding the situation at hand. He snapped a fan open, fluttering his wrist back and forth in order to cool his fat face.

There was warm tea poured into an ornate cup and set in front of Saizo. He did not drink.

“Excuse me milord, but, the number has grown to nine presently,” a retainer corrected from the side of the room.

“And you’re sure they didn’t simply elope with some young lovers from this village or the next,” Saizo inquired, face fallen back to that serious, unreadable mask.

“Of course not. But that does not mean my suspicions are misguided, either.” His voice had picked up a haughty tone, and Saizo imagined how fulfilling it would be to reach out across the tatami between them and twist his neck to silence.

“I’m simply making sure my time is not wasted on an impasse to discovering some village girl died in the woods gathering nuts.”

The retainer cleared his throat to announce himself once more. “What milord means to inform you of, is, while the reported missing did contain some of marrying age, a few were of the…younger variety, as well.”

Children. When Kiyohiro had dropped down from the eaves like a harbinger bat hailing from cave pain-in-the-ass, he had told him the mission involved missing women. That he’d been paid to sniff out the perpetrators and when they were uncovered…to do what the Lord Assassin does best. So this fat faced lord could get his daughter married off without interruption. And that would be just fine with Saizo. The minds of women and the men who would take them were easy enough to figure out. But children…that was not discussed.

“Are you up to the task?” The Lord asked. However, his tone made it clear it was not a question but a challenge to Saizo’s skill, and a scowl deepened the lines in his face as he watched the tea in front of Saizo grow cold and untouched.

“It’s going to cost you extra,” Saizo replied.

The Lord slammed his fan down in anger. “Iga already agreed to and accepted our payment for this!”

Saizo smirked, unflinching where he sat on the tatami. “By all means, try your luck with someone else and risk your daughter's marriage squashed under your own greedy heel when her intended finds out you can’t even control criminal activity in your own village. They’ve told you who I am. My reputation?” Saizo stood up from the floor, not bothering to be dismissed. “I am Iga, as far as you’re concerned. And I say it’s going to cost you more.”

_____

He has a room just below, instead, Saizo lay with his back to the cold hard roof of the inn. His arms are stretched up above him, reaching for the moonlight that illuminates his widespread fingers, but the outline of his arm seems to wave and blur. Flex, fist, flex, fist—he opens and closes while inspecting them with narrowing eyes. The backdrop of glittering stars dotting the wash of dark blue sky makes the rest of the world feel hundreds of miles away. If only that were true. Even when the drunken footsteps and the giggles echoing from the mouths of dark alleys fades away, when he no longer smells the fragrant wafts of vegetables and spices cooked over flame, when all else has gone silent; there is still the wind. It shakes the leaves though he can no longer hear their rustle, curling around him like smoke, inculpatory and condemning whispers snaking along every knotting whorl. Reminding him.

If his fists clenched any tighter he’d draw blood. And in the end, the will to avoid any more of that coppery stench wins out and sees him unfurl his fingers from his roughened palm one by one. And then all he can manage is a self-deprecating laugh, but even that doesn’t come out right. His jaw is too clenched, his throat is too tight and dry, his chest too heavy. The thin air pushes out with a strangled sound, like the whisper of the dead. Drawn out and haunting. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it was the precursor to a sob. A lifeless wheeze, which makes him want to laugh all the more, but squeezing water out of rocks felt easier than getting his lungs to produce air enough for that right now.

Two days, maybe three. His fever would alleviate, his minor wounds would mend enough. Two days, and he could be back to the Saizo that people waited for. Until then, he’d lay here and submit to the spinning, spinning, spinning, spinning, spinning.…

_____

He stepped through the noren and there was not a soul in sight to greet him. Empty tables and dusty streams of sunlight bursting from gaps in the wood and windows to illuminate barren tables of the restaurant. Had he been anyone else, the old boards beneath his feet would have creaked out his presence. But this was Saizo. Iga’s best ninja. And when he walked the world heard silence.

Still, perhaps on intuition alone, an old woman poked her head from the meager kitchen like a mushroom pops from the forest floor, a sour look on her wrinkled face as she sized him up.

“Sake?” She asked.

“Food.”

“I don’t have much, but-“

“Dango.” Saizo sat down.

“Just as well, the rice has gone cold anyway. No customers to keep it warm for these days.”

Saizo heard a rustling in the kitchen when she disappeared, and a moment later she came shuffling over with a plate full of skewers and a cup of hot tea.

“About that-“

The old woman held up a hand to stop him. “I know, I know…can’t pay?”

“I have money,” Saizo corrected, pulling a handsome pouch from his pocket as proof.

She sat down across from him, and Saizo looked in her milky eyes as she inspected the contents, a mixture of awe and disgust forming from her wrinkles.

“Awful lot of money for a mere traveling merchant…” She clicked her tongue incredulously.

“As I was saying,” Saizo ignored her and continued, “why are there no customers?”

The old woman sighed, her hunched back lifting and sinking with the labor of the breath. “Lots of women turning up missing around here. Some little ones, too…Oh, I hate to think of it.” Her face hardened. “Lords not doing anything about it, either. No matter how much we complain or beg. He’s got his family locked safe in his castle, why should he care what happens to us peasants, hm?” She sighed. “I’m not far from the village out here, but even so, people don’t want to make the trip with the way things are right now. Can’t say I blame ‘em.”

“Hm.” Saizo finished chewing and picked up a second skewer. They weren’t as good as his Little Lady’s. They weren’t really good at all. But they were something, even if that something was only a reminder that he had something to look forward to when he got home.

They sat together in silence for a moment.

“How much do I owe you?” Saizo asked.

“Don’t bother, just finish your food and go. I had my suspicions when you first walked in…I may be old but I’m not a fool. You’re no ordinary traveler, and I have no need of your blood money,” she pushed his coin back towards him as she said so.

Prideful idiot. Old woman or not, he wasn’t about to force someone to take his money. Especially not for shit dango. Saizo smiled politely. “Have it your way.”

“And don’t come back,” she stood up from the table to take her leave, “I’ve had enough of your kind and seen enough bloodshed for a hundred lifetimes. I’ve had enough of the war and fighting you bring.”

Saizo chuckled fondly. And when the old woman questioned in offense, he took a calm breath to explain. “It’s just that you sound a lot like someone I know.”

“Hmph. No ordinary someone,” the old woman saw through him. “And you still continue to kill, despite how she feels?”

“Mn,” Saizo took his time chewing the last of the dango, letting the skewer fall onto the plate with the rest. “I get paid to kill,” he admitted, waving the coin pouch as a reminder before tucking it back into his pocket. The corners of his mouth lifted to a sinister grin, a dangerous glint in his sharp eyes. He was a raging fire in a field of dry straw. The face of a killer. “And a lot of men deserve to die.”

_____

“Genji!” She smiled as she called his name. The afternoon sun had not yet washed over Saizo’s face before her voice greeted his first step onto the street.

Pinpricks. That’s what he felt as she waved to him from the front of her family’s Inn, where he was keeping a bed for the duration of his mission. Pinpricks of nostalgia, something eerie? He wasn’t quite sure. Because so much reminded him of you. And the way, so, so long ago, your tiny mouth split your cheeks in a grin so blindingly bright he had forgotten all about the cherry blossoms above your heads and the warm, salty sorrow of that day. He wished he could have known you while you were like this. Skinny little limbs peeking out from a pink kimono you were still growing into. Surrounded by friends, maybe he would have been one of them? Could he have been?

Playing in the streets and occasionally blowing warm breaths on your tiny cupped hands to stave off the winter chill that still lingered in the air. But it was better this way. Just like this girl smiling before him, eyes wide and innocent and glimmering the way they did for the purely good. Better his Little Lady spent most of her childhood in the light. Before his shadow bled over her path and crept up to her feet. It was better this way because death was with him, always. Whether or not he was the one to call it. Hanging like a sharp naked blade over his outstretched neck.

“Staying out of the woods today, hm?”

“Like I promised!” She replied proudly, practically skipping up to his side and nearly crashing into a woman and her produce in the process.

Saizo tilted his head with a small smile. Her name was Miki, and she had become a familiar annoyance in his life here.

Of course, he couldn’t mention this out loud. Or the way her darting up and over was just like a koi fish in a pond, mouth open wide as it surges through the water for a mosquito thrashing on the glassy surface. But would that make him the mosquito, then? He felt more like a field mouse to an owl with the way she gripped her tiny claws into his sleeve.

He keeps his placid smile and pinches his brows above his nose facetiously. “Good. Perhaps you’re really not as dumb as you look, then.”

“Hey! You-“

Saizo’s hand ruffling her hair cut her off, and the kinako mochi he offered her next kept that silence. For a brief moment, anyway. With her right cheek puffed full of mochi she gave him as stern a look as she could muster, chewing the gripes, then turning her attention back to her friends and the crude circle they had fashioned in the street out of twigs, like a ring.

“Argh…You really messed my hair,” she whispered to Saizo with a grumble, struggling to right her sakura pin she must have spent a great deal of the morning placing.

It was not lost on Saizo the way her big brown eyes then, flustered as her fingers on her scalp, darted to her friend from across the twigs. A boy with a cheeky grin that reminded him so much of Sasuke. A boy around her age; which meant that while she was looking at him, his focus was still fixed on the ground, preoccupied with whether or not his wooden top would knock his friends outside of their makeshift ring. Not quite yet, little lady, he thought lightly. And one day soon, this will be quite the opposite. An amused chuckle handsomely danced up Saizo’s chest while he watched them, unnoticed by anyone but himself. When she still continued to fuss at her head, he deftly reached over and righted her pin for her with a sigh.

“Aren’t you turning into quite the fussy little lady. Careful now, most boys don’t like a girl who’s so prissy,” Saizo teased, using his elbow to lightly nudge her towards the boy. So she knew that he knew.

“Genjiiii,” she sulked, drawing out the last of his name with a quiet and annoyed huff befitting to a chagrin child in the face of his nettling.

She used all of her strength to push his arm away, and Saizo mused at just how little of that strength there was, if there was any, despite how tough she acted. She couldn’t knock over a reed in a windstorm, he smirked, and if he wanted to he could counter her push with two fingers alone. But he was Genji; the gentle traveling peddler of medicinal herbs. Not Saizo, the Lord Assassin. So he pretended she had strength, let her knock his arm away playfully, and laughed again as she righted herself. Amused by how easily she flustered and how honest her feelings were showing. Pink dusting her cheeks which sat doughy on her face. So obvious. Yet the boys continued to wind and toss their tops, laughing and cheering and oblivious.

“Not quite an apple yet.”

“What are you saying now?” Miki groaned in confusion.

No, not an apple. That was reserved for the inhuman shade only one person could achieve. “Strawberry,” Saizo decided.

“What are you talking about strawberries for?”

“Who knows?” Saizo smirked, poking at her cheek with his finger.

“Cut it out!” Her little hands slapped to her face with lightning speed and she turned away, but a hint of a giggle she was unable to keep down burst like a bubble into the air.

“Hm, fine then. And I was just going to tell you there were crumbs on your face…”

“What?! Where?”

Mortified, she swiped her flattened palms against her mouth until Saizo, finally ready to show mercy, stopped laughing to reassure her. Another girl, already passing the boys in height, noticed the commotion and took slow dainty steps over to the circle to watch with the others.

Clink-tink-tink. The tops knocked against each other in staccato. Three at once continued to dance together among the snapped twigs with their few spared leaves still attached and saluting proudly, like a banner flag of the zealous childhood. One top began to slow, then another, and in the end, one spun just a hair longer than the others and its owner cheered in delectation, scooping it up from his feet while his friends pat his back in shared victory.

“Were you good at kenkagoma too, Genji? I bet you played a lot.”

Saizo hadn’t even realized he had been watching so intently, and her voice startled him out of his reverie. The sky above was as brilliant and bright in cascading hues, as blue as the outstretched wing of a kingfisher, and the sun was high enough to begin to draw shadows from feet. Couples walked towards shops together. A cart carrying bolts of cloth rolled by, pulled by sweaty hands and wheels creaking over any rock larger than an umeboshi in its path.

Men with sweat beading their brows and canes clutched in ghost-white knuckles carried bundles of straw on their backs and firewood to their homes to counter against the last string of winter nights. Women with rouge-painted faces ogled and crooned over various items, schmoozing merchants to haggle a price. A normal, boring, plain, village. Plain as any other.

Saizo watched daily life in an unremarkable place happen all around him, hating the fact that he could never see it as such. If anyone knew just how often and easily even the thinnest veil of innocence can disguise the tainted and decaying within, it was Saizo as Genji. He’d watch this same scene play out before him time and time again. All his life. Faces contorting with their grasp for power. Voices once a source of warmth and acceptance turning to cold steel against your skin. Secrets collected and tucked away in provocative darkness. And what are we but a collection of our secrets? Slowly mounting over time, scattered and buried or used as a platform for deceptions.

This place would be no different. And he was exhausted, having to be the one to lift that dark shroud knowing what lay underneath. A sea of reflective stares like mirrors against a black ink, numerous and glinting as the water-polished stones of a riverbed catching in the moonlight. Eventually, all secrets are revealed. They come wriggling, breaking through even the toughest earth like worms in the rain. And the rain always comes. No one knows that better than Saizo.

There’s a tug on the sleeve of his kimono. “Hey, are you listening?”

“Hm?”

“I saaid, did you play kenka-goma when you were little, too?”

Saizo does his best to lighten his voice, but there’s no mistaking the extra weight now pressing on his features. “Afraid I’ve never played, no,” he answers honestly, forcing a friendly smile from his pressed lips.

“Never?! You are so weird, Genji…”

“If you say so,” he says. You have no idea, he thinks.

“Try it! You can use mine.”

Miki presented her wooden top to him as if it was some grand antique heirloom in her hands. Knicks and all. In a circle she showed him how to twist the rope around the base in a tight coil, whipping her hand out from her torso in a tossing motion to demonstrate before handing it to him.

“Here, look, once you have it wound like that you just make sure you hold the end of the rope here. Got it? Okay, then you just toss it. But make sure you hold on to the rope, okay? That’s important. And toss it like I showed you. Kinda like when you skip a rock in the water. But easier, my cousin can’t ever skip rocks in the water when we go down to the river but she beats me all the time with tops. It’s pretty easy. Wait, you have skipped rocks on water before, right?”

“Do you want me to toss this thing or are you going to insist on talking about rocks?” Saizo replied flatly.

“Whoops! Okay, I’m ready,” she replied, taking a step back to watch with wide eyes.

A few others release their tops onto the dirt along with Saizo, but it’s clear as a toy launched by an adult that his is spinning much faster.

Tink-tink-clink-tink. One top collides with Saizo’s, sending it careening towards the barrier of sticks where it topples over on impact. Two more continue their dance around, and its almost hypnotic the way they glide over and around little pebbles, wobbling and jutting back and forth as they weave trails. Another top slows, stutters and falls to its side in defeat before being scooped up and rewound for another go. Tink. The last two tops come together once again, and the boys are making fists of excitement and leaning in further and further. Some get on their knees for an even closer look.

The last top falls and Saizo’s keeps on spinning and spinning round. She has a grasp on his sleeve still, Saizo notices, and she too is transfixed by the sound and the swerving. All of them hold their breath, anxious to see just how long it can keep going. A few are young enough to suspend belief, dreaming of a world now where this top just keeps on spinning forever and ever, rolling and bouncing for eternity over great mountains and frozen lakes translucent enough you can see the fish scatter from its path in fear. Some whisper in wonder to each other that this has to be the longest a top has ever spun in the history of history.

Saizo watches with a blank stare, the red and blue painted lines of the wooden top. It moves so fast that the colors appear to expand and mix together, blurring to distort the once obvious line where one ends and another begins.

There’s another excited tug on his sleeve, and he lets himself be honest that it isn’t bothersome. That maybe, if he were ever allowed to live as people did, he might then be willing to admit he wouldn’t hate the idea of a daughter—or children—at all. There was a time when Saizo could separate his feelings from the attachments people made to Genji. It was simply a game, and he was always the one holding the rope in the end. It was clear, once, where his emotions and actions as Genji ended and where Saizo began, and he could remove himself from it all when a mission ended. When he removed his mask. It was as simple as that to be free.

Not anymore, however. Like the colors on the top, he felt the line between Saizo and Genji blurring more and more. Could he say there was a line at all? Spinning, spinning, spinning. Red and Blue. Right and Wrong. Clean and Tainted. Light and Shadow. Unlike the toys in the ring, it seemed his life was always picking up speed. Faster and faster it swirled still, causing his ideals and past and present and everything he is to converge and bleed into one another. He’s waist deep in the hazy, murky aftermath, and he cant even tell who he is anymore. Sorting fact from fiction now would be like trying to put water back into the river once it's flowed into the ocean. Impossible.

A chilly breeze coasts through the street as they watch the top finally fall. There’s a wave of awe and exhausted gasps when it happens, everyone gulping air to compensate for holding their breath. It doesn’t last long before the electric buzz around the circle dies down and another round of tops begins again.

It’s already much later than he would like it to be. Utsusemi caws obnoxiously in the distance, no doubt annoyed by the time he’s wasted. Damn bird. It’s shrill enough to command his attention, but he doesn’t get more than a few steps down the street before he feels a tug. He doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is. So he doesn’t.

“What?”

“Are you leaving again?”

“For a bit.”

“For work stuff again?”

“Unless you know of a way these herbs will pick and deliver themselves.”

“Can I go?”

“No.”

“And you’ll be back?”

“Yep.”

“When?”

“When I’m back.”

“You were really good at kenka-goma. I knew it. I knew you would be.”

Saizo turned on his heel now to face her, a look of comical exasperation as he removed her clutched hand from his person like you’d remove a mouse from the clutches of an alleycat. “Is that what we felt was so important to say to me, then? I really need to be going.”

“Mmhm. Well…also, I want you to take this.” Her voice is shy, a mousy wisp blown fast over the syllables.

Standing there, she holds her arm out to him. A wooden top with red and blue stripes creates a divide between two lingering hands, and Saizo forgets to conceal his true shock for a moment as he accepts it. His eyes round in surprise but he recovers quickly, his cutting features melding into an incredulous expression.

“And what, exactly, am I to do with this?”

“Whatever you want. It’s yours now, keep it.”

Saizo wanted to say several things. First and foremost, that he had no need or want of a child’s toy. Particularly one that was being actively used by said child up until a crows shit ago. However, the reply forefront on his tongue was, “Why?”

“You said you didn’t have one as a kid… I dunno, I felt sad… I thought maybe now, if you have one, you can play with it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you can play with me.”

Not gonna happen…

“Plus, this way you don’t forget about me when you use it,” she continued, rocking on the balls of her feet a bit like it would help the words come out.

“……”

“Plus! I wanted a new one anyway, and now mom and dad will have to get me one.”

A smile grows on Saizo’s face and he tucks the top away in his pocket. “You know, pretending to give someone a gift just so you can get a better gift is not only selfish, but rude.” Saizo clicks his tongue in disapproval. “And worst of all, it’s not very clever. Spilling your plans when I can just reveal your tricks to your parents…I guess I take back what I said earlier. You really are as dumb as you look.”

“Wait! Then give it back!” She reaches for him, laughing, but he dodges before she can even finish her sentence.

Saizo is already several feet ahead of her now, having weaved through the crowd of foot traffic surrounding them. “Grabby and greedy, too.”

“Come onnn, give it back!” She chases him down the road, always just shy of grasping his kimono before he darts in another direction, leaving her panting in the dust.

Saizo pops up on the other side of her, sending her jumping at the sudden shock of his voice. “Trying to take something you’ve already given… Tsk. That’s called stealing, you know. I’ll have to add that to the list as well, right under prissy. Perhaps I’ll pick up a pen and some paper while I’m out? At this rate, I’m going to need it if I have to remember all of these horrible things I’m going to tell your parents.”

And as suddenly as he appeared, he’s headed up the road again. This time, she doesn’t try to follow him as he walks.

“Don’t forget, I’m helping cook dinner tonight! It’s going to be reeeally good, so you better be back before dark!” Miki shouts to his back.

Saizo glances back at her briefly, one last acknowledgment before continuing down the street.

“Promise!” She calls. And his figure gets smaller and smaller. He doesn’t turn around or wave, but somehow she knows he heard her. Until he disappears from her view, she stands there in the street and watches him walk away.

_____

This is what he hated the most. It had taken half a day longer than he anticipated to find the place, and now he was stuck crawling under the foundation like a filthy rat in order to hear information on their hideaway. The footsteps creaking in the wood above his head shift the boards and send sprinklings of musty scented soil straight into his face. This was the type of work for a lesser shinobi, laying among the mouse droppings and beetles in the dank darkness. He was going to have quite a few words when he got back to Iga.

Above him, the men continued to talk. Saizo was just about to make his way out when something caught his ear.

“So they caught another one?”

“Yeah, found her out in the woods near the village yesterday.”

Saizo’s throat cinches despite himself. In the darkness, his eyes narrow. It couldn’t be…she wouldn’t be that fucking stupid. And yet, every instinct wringing his insides of held emotions like an old rag, told him otherwise.

“Another young one?”

“I heard she was a bit of a fighter, though.”

“Those never last long with the boss…”

They begin to make their way out, and Saizo draws his short blade. When the first one steps out, he slices through both heels in a flash, severing the flesh and taught muscle and sending the man’s body falling forward into the dirt with a thud.

“What the fuck was that?!” One of the others yells, steps frozen in the entryway as he watches his comrade writhe and scream in pain. Blood pouring from his heels into the dirt to create a dark crimson mud.

From beneath the veranda, Saizo appears with inhuman speed, as if the laws of gravity suspend for one man, shaking the dirt from his silver hair and tugging his clothing back into place.

Three more of you, hm?

They’ve drawn their blades, but Saizo simply stretches the kink in his neck and takes a step towards them.

“You bastard…” One plants his foot, sword pointed.

Saizo’s face remains an emotionless wall. I don’t even need my katana for you. The cowards don’t get a single swing in before Saizo feels the resistance of steel hitting vital organs. They drop at his feet, blood pooling and leaking into the cracks of the floor, dripping down to where he lay just moments before. He flicks his blade through the air and watches the blood spatter onto their lifeless backs before tucking it away once more.

The one in the dirt is still wailing. Saizo grabs the old chipped blade of one of the dead men and slowly proceeds out towards the field. His foot crushes down onto the man's sternum hard enough for a crack, and in the middle of the plea, Saizo dives the worn blade down for a killing blow.

_____

It just had to be the damned rain.

Saizo perched himself on a sturdy branch, looking up at the darkening sky. The rain would stop soon, but not soon enough. His thumb flicks, a pleasant and familiar click sounds in the darkness as his blade is released from behind his back. Their little operation has been found, nestled amidst tall cedars and mountain flowers, and the rain won’t stop him this time.

The cold drops beat down harder now, masking his steps and pecking at his exposed skin. The chill each drop brings soaks right to his core, he can feel it in his bones but he suppresses the shiver. It’s not as terrible as his irritation, like needles under his flesh, pricking away at him in the darkness.

He doesn’t bother to conceal himself. And when he kicks the door down an arson of wooden splinters surges forward into the dimly lit hut. Sword whipping a tight whoosh through the air and splitting several droplets of rain from the leaking roof in the process. They’re sleeping on the floor, some propped up against the wall. Some still awake but clearly drunk. There are many, but not near enough.

Lightning cracks through the sky and illuminates his figure, making him look every bit as death himself. Some scream. No, no, he thinks with a grin, I’m just his messenger. But it’s every bit as frightening, he’s sure, as the hazy blue flashes crackle and spark through the clouds appearing behind his dark frame in the doorway.

There’s a flash of red. With swift, practiced movements Saizo’s sword makes a path through every mans throat within striking range, collecting heads and spraying blood like crimson rain across the room. Dotting the horrified faces of the men now stirring at the sound of their companions choking on their own blood.

In the chaos his eyes scan and asses from wall to wall. The fever is clouding his mind and weighing his lids but he pushes through, already taking stock of their weapons and headcount. Pathetic. He feels the weight of his blade in his hand, runs a thumb along the woven pattern as he’s done a thousand times prior, and flicks his wrist into position. When he spins now he leaves a path of limbs in his wake. Legs, arms, hands, they all sail down to the floor like petals in a spring breeze.

To his left a blade swings with the intention to cut him, but Saizo catches the wrist with his left hand, using his force to twist until bone and tendon pop and the blade falls with a heavy clatter.

Then—

“Hng…” Saizo chokes on his own gasp, his body freezing in the moment.

Shit. Shit. The rain really had taken more of a toll than he’d anticipated. He’s sluggish, and a wakizashi now presses firmly into his right side. Threatening to dig in deeper. Everything is slow, drowned in the sound of heavy rain pelting the roof. He cocks his chin up. Clenches his teeth to gnash the coppery liquid swirling on his tongue and seeping out between his teeth. From the corner of the ceiling, a dark shadow swoops down to Saizo’s aid, using its talons to claw his attackers' eyes with a fierce caw. Utsusemi.

Saizo removes the blade from his flesh, an iniquitous smile now pulling the corners of his mouth. It’s been a while since an opponent has landed a blow. He thinks back to his days in Iga and his master’s blades, thrown with unforgiving speed and precision, and how it stung like fire when they found their target in him. He was too feverish to feel the hot sting now.

Focus, he hisses at himself. Breathe, listen, recalculate, think…His stance widens, the ball of his back foot planted firmly into the ground, ready to spring himself forward. Another flash of lightning. Saizo’s underhanded swing splits the stomach of the man in front of him before the tip lodges into the side of the man on his left. He kicks the body off his sword, sending it careening into a wall and using that momentum to spin just in time to slash diagonally across the man approaching behind him. The last one. Saizo watches his opponents hands and the sword they were holding fall as he drops to his knees and collapses lifeless onto the floor in a thick pool of blood.

Is that my own heartbeat, so loud? The fever makes him dizzy, the stench makes it worse. Tripping over a random severed arm he takes a rest against the wall which groans at the mercy of the wind.

A navy cloth is pulled from his pocket, and in silence, Saizo stands in a thick layer of cooling blood. He wipes his blade, as silver as his hair and glinting in the rare swatches of white-hot lightning. There’s a cave entrance not far up ahead, and while tucking his katana behind his back Saizo makes his way towards it. He’s not a person who’s ever relied on hope. But if he was, he’d hope he was wrong about what he would find inside.

_____

The cold moon floats high above the trees, spreading ethereal blue into the translucent waters of the river at Saizo’s feet. Reeds dance in the night wind and lily pads as large as his head bob up and back in a mutual dance with the current. When he bends down to gather water in his cupped hands he winces, favoring his side only slightly when the wound he harbors screams in protest of his movement.

“What.” Saizo’s voice cuts sharply through the quiet.

From the shadows a figure appears, dropping down from a hidden branch to land silently in the grass below. Kiyohiro says nothing, he just stares.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to wash this shit off,” Saizo turns his back from the other shinobi and continues to splash icy water up his arms and torso. He’ll never be rid of the smell, and his skin prickles until numb with each chilling rinse, but he continues to wash until he can no longer feel a coating of sticky copper layered upon his skin and armor.

Hm, the money, is it? Saizo had caught the unmistakable lump of coin tucked in Kiyohiro’s chest, heard the faintest clink when he jumped down from the tree. My hefty sum for a job well done. In his own pocket Saizo retrieved an item, taking a look at it one last time before tossing it into the dirt at Kiyohiro’s feet.

“Give it to her family,” he says curtly. He needn’t say more than that for his subordinate to understand.

After all…the idiot must have gotten nabbed while looking for him when he hadn’t made it back for dinner, he thinks, sinking down to sit at the riverbed.

Kiyohiro picks up the hairpin, looking as if he was trying to put together some semblance of words but the sentences weren’t clicking.

Don’t…Saizo shoots him a severe look. A string of silence followed as Kiyohiro swallows the bits of chopped, confused pity.

“There’s another inn not far from here,” Kiyohiro says, eyes glancing in a flash to the wound still weeping on Saizo’s side, “I’ll arrange a room for you.”

He bows, then disappears back into the trees.

Saizo sinks back into the plush grass, happy to have some silence for the first time in days.

_____

Brilliant golden hues highlights shadows cast down by the branches of the tree Saizo sat resting under. He’d been zipping from trunk to trunk, pressing fingertips into soil indents, checking snapped twigs and scouting for hints of heavy foot traffic that could be signs of criminal activity. Signs that could point him in the direction of the disappearances and the answers to who was behind them. And now he was resting. The key word here being was. And when he popped one lazy eye open he saw the tiny foot shuffles he had been hearing in the leaves belonged to…tiny feet. A young girl attached to them.

“What’cha doin out here?” She asked, peering down at him.

“Isn’t that what I should be asking you?” Saizo opened his eyes wide in faux astonishment, ever the innocent Genji.

“I live around here.”

“In the woods?” Saizo replied, incredulous.

She shook her head. “No, in the village nearby.”

“If you live there then you must know young girls like yourself have been going missing, no? And that it’s dangerous?”

“Are you a bad guy?” She took a hesitant step back.

Saizo sighed. If all the girls in the village were this dumb, it’s no wonder they were dropping off left and right. Still, he should correct her.

“I am a merchant. I was out here gathering herbs. As an adult. For my work. So what brought you out here?”

She pointed up to the branch above him, Utsusemi’s wings flapping at the attention. “I followed it here, I was trying to feed it,” she admitted, unfolding her hand to reveal a wriggling worm dotted in soil.

Saizo shot his familiar a sharp look, only to get an apologetic caw from the animal. “You won’t get her attention with that just yet.” Dipping into his pocket he pulled a chunk of dried fish until his familiar perched herself on his arm for a nibble.

“Whoa!” She exclaimed with pure delight.

“You can stroke her feathers if you want, but if she takes one of those little wormy smelling fingers off don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Cautiously, her hand reached out and pet the bird with slow, soft strokes. A beaming grin of elation grew on her face as she did so, for Utsusemi didn’t seem to mind one bit.

“My parents own the Inn in town, you don’t have to sleep under a tree.”

Wasn’t planning on it. “Do they? Well, that’s very kind of you. I suppose I could use a few nights rest in a bed, if you have a room to spare.”

“Yep! I’ll take you there. My name’s Miki!”

“Pleasure to meet you, Miki. I’m Genji.”

_____

“Still waiting up for me, hm?” There’s no one around to hear the words he speaks from the rooftop. It’s closer to sunrise than anything, yet the lantern in your room is still burning its lambent orange welcome beacon.

He’s checked himself so many times it’s to the point of being neurotic, terrified some blood stain has gone unchecked somewhere. Dropping down from the eaves, he creeps silently into his room and slides the door closed behind him. Just as he suspected, you were asleep. A hand and leg jutting haphazardly out from the nest of blankets. There was nothing in this life quite as enticing as those glimpses of soft flesh in the cool night air. Saizo hadn’t made it but a few feet towards you when his eyes were pulled elsewhere. A spot in the corner of the room that had his stomach harden and face fall flat. On the floor near the desk, a spinning top lay wound in its stark white rope.

“Saizo…?!” You sat up drowsily.

“Woke you, did I?”

“No, I was up waiting.”

“Liar,” Saizo smiles, dropping down to cup your face in his hands. He’d never be tired of the way your glassy eyes shined brightly for him. The image reflected back in them who he wanted to be, the warmest most tender version of himself.

He knew you must be exhausted. His thumb sweeps where dark circles form under your eyes. But now that you’re awake there’s no way he can let you fall back asleep. Not just yet. He sighs inwardly, knowing he’s not much different than a selfish child vying for attention. His body calls for your healing warmth, so he deftly slips his fingers into your robe to seek it out for himself.

There’s a mutual moan when his lips envelop yours for a deep kiss. If his soul can be soothed in any single way, it is in this. Your loving hands fixing themselves in his hair, pulling his clothing away from his body and dragging him to join you beneath the sheets. Your want of him only spurs his desires. He can’t control his hands, or the desperate way he stimulates your mouth and sucks on the tip of your sweet tongue.

“I missed you so much,” the wet hot confession is a murmur into his bottom lip the first break for air.

He never wants to see you cry. But when he pulls back just slightly and catches a tear fall from the corner of your eye, he thinks in these moments it might just be alright. Silly little thing. Don’t you know you’re his home, the guiding light on his dark path? He’ll always find his way back to you.

“I need to feel more of you,” he admits.

Emotion and dread well up like a wad of heavy cloth in his throat. His worst fears causing his hands to shake. Your face no longer rosy and smiling and warm, but still and pale and cold to the touch. It flashes in his minds eye, distorting you into a dead corpse in his arms. On your mouth a familiar spidering of red clamoring for purchase on the cheeks he once kissed pink. Saizo shakes the vision from his mind and feels for your heart.

Thump-thump-thump. It’s there. Thump-thump. The beat quickens under his fingertips. The image melts like snow in spring. But he knows he’ll never shake the anxiety that as easy as it is for him to reach out and feel the proof you are alive and well, it could just as easily be taken away from him.

“Wha…Saizo?” Your hands find the bandage over his side.

“Mn. It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure? It looks serious…What if it reopens?”

He tries to kiss your worries away, swiping at your bottom lip with his tongue when he does so. “Is that your way of saying you’re willing to do all the work, little lady?” He teases.

You nod, not even sparing the beat of a heart to think about it. “I don’t care, I just want to be close to you.”

“Well then,” he switches you both, positioning you over his lap while he lays with his back to the floor, “show me just how much you missed me.”

He’s hard and ready as he’s ever been, feeling your wet heat pressing against his bare length, and in an effort to distract himself he plays with the soft skin of your thighs and breasts when you begin to grind back and forth. It’s more than he can bear.

“Put it in yourself,” he instructs. I want to see.

“Okay…”

You guide his twitching cock to your entrance, but as the tip presses in Saizo roughly pinches your nipples between his fingertips, his smirk making it clear he gets a rise out of your yelp and the way you buck up in shock.

“Sahh-Saizo!”

“Hm? Don’t let me distract you. Go on, now, naughty girl. Help me fill you up.”

You’re tight, and warm, melting his very existence as you willingly press him inside of you. The feeling a gift he’s not sure he will ever deserve.

“Ahh…” you still halfway down, struggling to fit him all right away.

“Mmn, that’s it, s-slowly,” he whispers his guidance.

Normally, he would have played with you much longer before penetrating you. He enjoyed getting you nice and wet, toying with you and teasing you. Building up your desperation until you were practically begging for him to fuck you. But he couldn’t wait, it’s been so long. So he runs the tips of his fingers over his tongue and with calculated swirls and practiced pressure he stimulates your clit until your thighs loosen their grip, opening and pleading to accept him all the way down to the base.

“You like that, don’t you.” It isn’t a question. He can feel how wet you are, quivering above him as he slows his movements down, pressing just a bit harder to really stimulate your nerves.

“Oh, Saizo...”

He grabs each of your hands, lacing his fingers with yours and supporting you, watching your breasts bounce and your torso roll and the mesmerizing way your hips fuck him as you please.

Every moan and whimper, every rock of your hips as you use him to bring yourself pleasure, is a bandage on his damaged heart and soul. Being close to you in shared vulnerability like this makes him feel whole again. And when you press him deep inside of your walls he can’t help but let his moans out, either. Nor does he bother to conceal the fervent heat blossoming on his cheeks in a plain declaration of just how badly he wants to fuck you. Hard.

“Again,” he grips your hips to drive himself inside of you.

“Saizo, hahh…s-saizo,” you whine, sweet and desperate.

“Again, louder.” More, more…

You scream his name just as he sits up, curling his fingers into your hair and manipulating the angle to expose the crescent of your neck. Where his lips find purchase to tease your prickling skin and the lobe of your cute ears. It’s here he can envelop himself in that honeyed scent he’s missed so much. His eyes practically roll back in his head at the scent of you.

There’s no self-doubt, no anxiety, no icy chill in his bones or memories and regrets driving needles into his heart, stinging with every beat. He is healed now, by your touch. Your shared warmth. When you hold him tight. The way your voice vibrates and quivers as he bounces you mercilessly onto his cock, taking everything you have to give and more. Selfish, I know, but I need you…he thinks. And the way you squirm when he finally releases inside of you, filling you with his newfound hopes and dreams for days to come.

Fluttering kisses on your heaving chest as he lays you down beside him, unwilling to pull out of you just yet. He feels your dainty fingers draw lazy circles into his back, wet with perspiration. And he captures your arm to draw your wrist to his lips. Committing to memory the feel of your strong pulse under his kiss.

“No rest yet, little lady. We have a lot of days to make up for.”

_____

The afternoon sun covers Saizo like a blanket where he lazily naps on the veranda, drunk on the warmth that sends him into peaceful reverie.

“Hm, that’s odd,” he hears you mumble, light steps leaving the room to where he lay.

“Mn.” He doesn’t bother opening his eyes.

“Have you seen it?”

“Seen what, exactly?”

“Sasuke and I went into town while you were away and saw they were selling those spinning tops. I was supposed to show him how to play today, but now I can’t find it. I swore I left it right by the desk. You didn’t see one anywhere, did you?”

Saizo rolls over, resting his head on his arm with a peaceful yawn that signifies the conversation is over. “Nope. No idea.”

#slbp #samurai love ballad party #saizo kirigakure #slbp saizo #saizo kirigakure fic #my writing

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fanficimagery · 6 years

Text

Imagine being chosen by your King to be one of many from Azgeda to join Wonkru in the bunker before Praimfaya hits. You go with a heavy heart because your significant other has been banished, but imagine your surprise when Echo is alive and well after Bellamy and Clarke free Wonkru from your tomb. Just when you think it's going to be a happy reunion.. it all takes a turn for the worse. Until it doesn't.

Author's Note: Since this is obviously AU, Roan never went into the Conclave. Instead he chose Azgeda's best warrior who ended up losing to Octavia. Octavia ended up having a soft spot for Roan after he did the honorable thing and banished Echo when she was caught trying to help Azgeda cheat, and he had no problem deferring to Osleya after Praimfaya.

P.S - The beginning might seem like I'm bashing Echo, but I swear I didn't mean for that to happen! I love Echo. I intended for this to be an Echo X Reader, but Roan slithered in and took control.

GIF not mine. If you want credit and/or it removed, please let me know asap!

Roan X Reader

Six years in the bunker changes you. It changes everyone whether it be for the better or not, and being secluded underground just made everything worse. Life just mere days after Praimfaya really opened everyone's eyes and it was a fight to be where Wonkru is now. And though there were many rebellions, people quickly got on board with things the Wonkru way to survive.

Several people stepped up, others stepped aside, and the rest learned to follow. Octavia had taken you under her wing when she saw a promising strength within you, and with Indra's help the both of them groomed you to be Blodreina's Second-in-Command. So when Wanheda and Bellamy Blake broke into the bunker to finally free you, you took up your position behind Octavia's right shoulder as you watched your people be lifted out in pairs. Something with the new Skaikru was amiss, but one look from Blodreina had you remaining quiet until everyone was out and you could speak in private.

Then everything went to hell.

The new Skaikru wanted Shadow Valley for themselves and were willing to kill for it. Octavia was a threat, as was Clarke, and it was war all over again. When Octavia demanded Wonkru march on Shadow Valley where the new Skaikru had taken over, Clarke tried to dissuade her. Octavia, however, was having none of Clarke's opinion and marched on either way. And that- that was a mistake. Because in the sand lived worms that were capable of infecting humans and leaving eggs to hatch inside them. When one of Wonkru went down, it was rush to try and save his life only for numerous of worms to explode out of him. In a rush to kill them and move out of the way, Octavia ended up a worm in her arm that Clarke was quick to cut back out.

Then Blodreina was informed that missiles were on the way and the only way to hide from the apparent camera in the sky was to hide out in the middle of a sandstorm with sand that cut like glass. With Octavia weak from blood loss, it was your job to cover her as Wonkru formed a circle around the both of you to take the brunt of the storm.

The following morning when Octavia is awake and Clarke manages to properly bandage the wound on her arm, Octavia thanks her. Then Bellamy steps in to speak with his little sister and while it seems like a peaceful moment between siblings, Octavia then threatens him to never speak up against Wonkru again. Bellamy seems shocked, but the rumbling of an engine diverts his attention. As Wonkru becomes antsy at the arrival of the vehicle, Bellamy and Clarke shout out that they're friends of theirs.

As Bellamy walks off, you grasp Octavia's hand and help her stand as to not show any more weakness. Taking position behind her shoulder once more, your gaze remains on the vehicle as the doors open.. and you freeze. Your eyes widen and it feels like there's a tight grip on your heart as you watch a familiar face appear.

Choking back a strangled sob and clenching your hands at your side, you gulp when Octavia glances over her shoulder at you. There's so much anger in her features at the sight of Echo and tears prick the corners of your eyes. "Please. Give her a chance," you plead.

"Why?"

Your jaw clenches and you will your tears not to fall. You haven't cried in so long and you can't afford for Wonkru to see such a weakness. "She's- she's.."

"She's her wife." The voice of Roan startles you and your head snaps in his direction. He offers you a nod as he takes up your side and you smile tightly in return before looking back at Octavia.

Her eyes widen just a bit and her eyebrows subtly raise in surprise. When she turns her face to stare back out across the sand, she scoffs. "Some wife she is."

Your brow furrows and you follow her gaze.. only to have your heart completely shatter. Echo is in a passionate embrace with Bellamy and the both of them seem pretty comfortable with each other. Roan squeezes your shoulder and Octavia scoffs. Then when the duo finally part and they share a brief conversation, the both of them turn to stare in Octavia’s direction. Unfortunately for you, you're in Echo's line of sight as well and you see the moment she recognizes you. Her eyes widen, her mouth drops open, and not even Bellamy's needling can grasp her attention when he realizes who she’s staring at.

The moment Echo starts in your direction, you inhale sharply and stand a little straighter. You blink rapidly in hopes of your watery gaze clearing and Roan squeezes your shoulder once more before removing his hand and taking a step to the side. Octavia, too, stands a little straighter and holds her hand up to stall Echo when she's close enough.

Echo tries to get closer despite Octavia's silent command and you shake your head once. "Don't."

"Y/N?" She breathes in awe. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't know you were.. I didn't think-"

"It's fine," you gulp. Clearing your throat, you set your gaze just over Echo's shoulder. "You've made your decision."

"No! That's not fair."

Bellamy seems confused, so he grasps Echo's hand in his own and she doesn't rebuff him. Seeing this, Octavia then takes great pleasure in informing her brother just what's going on. "Bellamy, this is Y/N," she says while gesturing to you. "Echo's wife."

"Excuse me?" His eyes widen and he tries to take his hand back, but Echo merely grips him tighter as her eyes plead with you to understand.

"Ex-wife," you mumble.

"Y/N." The pain in Echo's voice is nothing compared to what you're feeling. "Please. I didn't know you were alive. If I did, I might have never-"

Roan scoffs. "Even in mourning Y/N never sought comfort in another's bed. Yet here you are, begging, as you hold the hand of another."

"It's done. Lets not cause a bigger scene." You manage to keep your features schooled and squash down what you're truly feeling, hoping that Octavia will issue some sort of command to disperse the group.

But Roan is not quite content to just let it lie. "You were a disgrace to Azgeda and now you are a disgrace to your wife. Ex-wife," he then cruelly amends. "You'll be lucky if Blodreina offers you a place in Wonkru."

Octavia lazily holds a hand up. "That's enough. We have other things to worry about than a lover's quarrel. Diyoza is proving to be a threat that's needs to be handled immediately."

"Agreed," you say.

Echo opens her mouth to respond, but Octavia walks off without hearing a word. And since you're her Second, you follow. What was meant to be a most spectacular reunion turned out to be nothing but heartbreak.

The pits was a good place as any to spar and get rid of pent up emotions. Roan had dragged you down there the following day after your verbal divorce from your long time love and you'd spent hours trading blows.

Roan didn't say anything, which you were grateful for, and took great pleasure in kicking your ass. You held your own against the former King, the sound of your blades clashing and grunting from being kicked covering mostly every other sound around you.

"Sloppy," Roan teases, offering you a hand up when he manages to get you on your back with his blade poised at your throat. "What would Blodreina think?"

"Blodreina," you start to say as you grab at Roan's hand, "would say to never let your guard down." Roan's smirk falls and you grin. Gripping his hand and bracing all your weight into staying stationary, you kick out at one of his ankles. He yanks his foot up before you can make contact and when he's balanced on one leg, you yank with all your might. Roan tumbles to the ground at your side and you quickly move to straddle him, a small dagger then held at his throat. "Especially around a pretty face. You have no idea what we're truly capable of."

Roan laughs and holds his hands up in mock surrender. Then laughing as well, you move to stand up while offering him a hand up. You sheathe your dagger when he's on his feet, smiling and relishing in the workout you've just had. And then someone clears their throat.

Turning towards the source of the noise, you spot Bellamy waiting there. "Can I have a word with you. In private?"

Roan tenses and moves to take a step in Bellamy's direction, but the back of your hand smacks against his abdomen. "Don't. It's fine. I'll talk with him." Glancing up you meet Roan's gaze and offer him a smile. "Seriously. I'm good. I'll find you after." Roan then gives you a terse nod before picking his sword up off the ground and taking his leave.

Then turning back towards Bellamy, you sheepishly shrug at him for Roan's behavior. "Did you need something?"

"I'm sorry," he immediately says. "When Echo and I- she didn't say anything."

He wants to say more, but you hold up a hand and flash him a small smile. "Say no more. I've cooled down and slept on it, and I'm not angry," you tell him. "And if I'm being honest, I was never really angry to begin with. Just really hurt."

"I'm so-"

"Sorry. I know," you huff a laugh. "But it's been six years. I thought Echo was dead and she thought that there was a good chance I would be dead too." You shake your head sadly. "I don't blame her for moving on. Not really. And I most definitely don't blame you since you didn't know about me."

His mouth snaps shut and you mentally laugh at his shocked expression. He quickly schools his features and clears his throat. "Oh." This time you outright laugh and he seems to sag in on himself in relief. "Well okay then."

"Yeah. Anything else, Blake?"

"Actually.." He shifts nervously and you raise an eyebrow at his sudden unease. "Octavia hates Echo. She holds a grudge for that fight they had and would rather see Echo dead than accept her into Wonkru."

"I figured as much."

"But you- you and my sister are close. You're her Second," he says. "Maybe you can help convince-"

Again, you stop him mid-sentence. "It's already been done," you say. "Octavia is just making you sweat it out."

"What?"

"I've already explained to Octavia that when Echo stabbed her, it was on Roan's orders. The wound would have easily healed with time and it was no one's fault other than Octavia's that she threw herself off that cliff. I've told her what an asset Echo could be and Octavia's agreed to give her a chance. But make no mistake, Octavia will be looking for any little reason to get rid of her. Echo's on this ice right now, so she has to tread carefully."

Echo suddenly steps out of the shadows and you tense. When you see her conflicted expression, you inhale deeply before exhaling slowly. Once relaxed, you offer her a nod.

"Is that true?" She asks. When you nod once more and smile, Echo wastes no time in closing the distance between the both of you. She wraps you tightly in a hug and you return the embrace, you then subtly wiping away tears. She murmurs apology after apology, but your brush each one of them away. When you finally depart and Echo steps back to take Bellamy's hand in her own, the both of you smile at each other before softly laughing. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"How long has Roan been your personal bodyguard?" You huff and roll your eyes. "I'm serious! You know he's in love with you. Right? Has been since before we were married."

"You're teasing."

"I'm really not. He was going to ask his mother for your hand, but we got married before he could make a move."

Her smug expression and Bellamy's smirk is enough to make you doubt what's real and what isn't. "But.. it's Roan! He was a Prince and then a King, and I'm just- I'm just-"

"Beautiful." Echo smiles sadly. "You are beautiful and have no ties to anyone. Not anymore. Roan will treat you right."

Gaping at her, you're snapped out of your shocked stupor when Bellamy snorts. You glance quickly between the two of them before making a quick escape and groan at the laughter echoing around the pit.

When you finally find Roan in the rooms you've shared with him and several other people, you're a little out of breath. There's a couple of people lingering in their beds and after a quick, "Can I please have a moment with Roan?", everyone is respectively abiding by your wishes. Roan stands up from his bottom bunk, an eyebrow raising in wonderment. "If I ask you something, will you be completely honest with me?"

He shrugs. "Haven't I always been honest with you?"

Instead of answering his question with a direct answer, you answer with a question of your own by bluntly asking, "Were you in love with me?" His small smile vanishes and he's taking a while to answer. "It's just.. Echo mentioned something. And now that I look back on past interactions between us and recent interactions it seems like you do. Well.. you might not love me, but I think there's a pretty good chance that you like me. Really like me."

"And if I did?"

"Then we really need to discuss the possibility of an 'us'." Roan's carefully schooled features morph into surprise. "For these passed six years, I've got to know you. The real you! Not Prince Roan and not King Roan. Just.. Roan."

"But yesterday-"

"Yesterday was a shock to the system," you say. "I thought Echo was dead, Roan. But then she wasn't, and I was surprised and overjoyed to see her alive. Then she attached herself to Bellamy's face which led to some jealousy flaring up, but it's not- I'm not.."

Roan closes the distance between the two of you, he grasping your face in his hands and pressing his lips to yours. Since he's taller than you, you have to step up on the tips of your toes and you shiver as his beard scratches around your mouth. Years of pent up tension and hidden passion is poured into the kiss, and you moan when he bites and pulls on your bottom lip.

Pulling your mouth free, you're left panting in the aftermath. Your hands have fisted into the front of Roan's shirt and you can't quite meet his gaze. Not yet. "I'm pretty sure my feelings are all sorted out, but if you want to give it a little time to make sure-"

"I'm done waiting." Roan captures your mouth in another kiss, this one a lot shorter than the first. "We'll deal with whatever comes up as it does. For now, I just want to enjoy this."

Slowly smirking, you finally meet his gaze and nod. "You know what? I like the way you think."

Before you and Roan can explore any more of this newly discovered intimacy, people start re-entering the room. One of them come carrying the message that Blodreina is looking for you, so with one last quick kiss from Roan you take your leave.

But leaving is for the best because you need to get your head on straight- everyone does. After Diyoza and her army of criminals have been taken care of, and Shadow Valley has been claimed by Wonkru, then.. and only then can you and Roan truly discover what you have between you.

#imagine #roan #roan x reader #roan kom azgeda #roan imagine #roan kom azgeda imagine #the 100 imagine #the 100 #octavia blake #echo #echo kom azgeda #bellamy blake #king roan #king roan imagine #king roan kom azgeda #fanficimagery

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screamingatanemptyroom · 6 years

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Erin/Gerald Arc 2 Part 14

Next part here! Got excited and stayed up late to write these scenes! Hope you guys like it. (Thanks again everyone for your comments and messages! Seeing everyone’s reaction to the story as it continues is the best part of my day!)

Master post linked here

Erin stood behind Isabelle, feeling frozen inside.

She watched the other girl panic as she looked around for the source of her voice. She had cast an illusion spell. The normally difficult magic was flowing easily for her as she convinced her target that she couldn’t see her.

Strange. Erin thought calmly. I thought Aunt Elsinore said that illusion magic was connected to emotion. It’s so simple right now, but I feel nothing.

She raised her hand, tearing reality around her. The world shifted around Isabelle. She lay on the ground, covering her head, moaning with fear.

Reaching forward, Erin grasped the young woman’s ankle, stabilizing it between both hands before reinforcing her strength with magic and carefully pulling it out of joint. She screamed in pain, grasping her foot and backing away until her back was against a tree, her panicked breaths had whimpers of fear mixed in, her eyes darting around constantly as if trying to peer through the forest around her.

Still she saw nothing.

Erin took a long knife from her belt, her eyes cold, and plunged it into the girl’s shoulder, pinning her to the tree.

“COWARD!” Isabelle shouted, her eyes wide with pain, sobbing uncontrollably. “YOU ATTACK FROM A HIDING PLACE BUT YOU’RE TOO AFRAID TO FACE ME?!”

Her other arm was broken easily, Isabelle screamed in pain and fear. “WHAT KIND OF MONSTER ARE YOU?!”

Erin dropped the illusion, instead coating herself in flames. She reached out with a burning hand and grasped the girl by the neck, lifting her off the ground. The knife remained in her shoulder and pulled out of the tree with her. The skin of the girl’s throat underneath her hand blistered, the hair singing with the heat and curling away. Isabelle couldn’t talk, couldn’t scream, couldn’t breathe. She could finally see her attacker, but it was not a girl... it was a creature from her nightmares, made of nothing but flames and hatred.

“You’re right.” Erin replied calmly, the crackle of flames surrounding her, consuming her, but still she felt nothing but coldness. “I am a monster. You shouldn’t have touched me and mine.” Her hand started to tighten on her neck.

“ERIN WAIT!!!!”

The girl on fire paused in her motions, looking up at the loud cry of alarm. It was Catherine, running quickly, her face pale. “Don’t kill her!”

Erin stared at the older girl, trying to understand her words. “She hurt him. She might have killed him.” The flames rose higher around her, and Isabelle let out a strangled shriek of fear.

“She’s not the mastermind! This is not her type of scheme! Politics, yes! Gossip, definitely. But poisoning and sabotage? Someone is using her.”

“…” Erin was hesitating; fighting the strong desire within her to simply close her hand, end the girl’s life.

She’s a threat. A voice whispered within her. She’ll hurt me, kill those I love.

“Erin… please.”

Better to end her now.

“Please, put her down… for Gerald, so we can catch who really was behind this.”

At his name her eyes wavered, Erin for the first time felt a sharp pain in her chest, a sliver of warmth in the ice that had settled within her since she saw him fall. Slowly, she let the girl down, the flames sputtering and dying around her until it was just Erin standing there, her eyes still full of the promise of death.

“Don’t let her kill me!” Isabelle cried out, trying to back away from the other girl despite her severe injuries.

“Talk.” Catherine demanded, her voice uncaring. “Or I’ll give you back to Erin to finish off.”

“You think you can…”

“Talk.” It was only a whisper, but as Erin spoke up, Isabelle whimpered with fear and fell silent before slowly trying to explain.

“It was… it was the men that Richard meets with.”

“Who?” Catherine knelt down next to the girl, watching her closely.

“I don’t know who they are!” The girl slammed the ground beside her with her non-broken arm, irritated. “Men in black cloaks and masks. He always makes me go away when he meets with them, he doesn’t trust me.” She sniffed. “Gerald used to trust me when we were engaged.”

Isabelle’s voice broke off with a strangled gurgle as water started to fill her mouth. Erin watched her struggle, her face calm but her eyes burning with rage. “Say his name again.” She whispered, continuing to activate her water magic as the other girl drowned. “Just try.”

“Erin!” Catherine called out shortly.

Sighing, Erin gestured lightly, pulling the liquid from Isabelle’s lungs.

“YOU MANIAC!” She sputtered. “You could have killed me!”

“That was the point.” Erin’s voice was empty of emotion, causing the other two girls to shiver. “Now do you have anything else useful to say?”

“The masked men approached me! It’s not my fault!” Isabelle cried out, leaning away from the violence oozing from Erin’s every pore. “They gave me that silver artifact, and I left it outside his sister’s room, since… I knew he wouldn’t accept it from me. But I never meant to hurt him!”

Catherine narrowed her eyes. “What did they tell you that it would do?”

“…” Isabelle looked at the ground, avoiding the other two’s gaze.

“ What. Did. They. Tell. You?” Catherine repeated slowly.

“Tha- that it would make him see me in a new light.” She stared intently at her hands. “Take me back.”

“Brainwash him.”

“No! I mean… ugh, it sounds so twisted and dirty when you say it like that!” The girl was crying again. “I might have left him for Richard, but that was because I thought it would give me a better chance of being queen, but the king and queen just hate me now. It would be best if I could just turn things back the way they were.”

“And now you might have killed him.” Erin sighed, sitting on the ground, then looked up at Gerald’s sister with a tired expression. “You should have just let me eliminate her.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Catherine stared at the girl in disgust. “Where does Richard meet these masked men?”

“… In the abandoned seventh tower, at midnight.”

“Every night?”

“No, but they were supposed to meet tonight. He told me to stay away.”

Erin stood up, walking towards the palace.

“I’ll follow the lead.”

Catherine also jumped to her feet, startled by the change in attitude. “What about…”

Erin kept walking. “Take her back, make her confess, or don’t. Punish her however. Just make sure she never enters my sight again.” Erin paused, looking at the girl with a gaze filled with pain and grief. “Next time, it won’t matter how many people are protecting you…”

Isabelle shivered, her eyes wide.

“I will kill you… and I will take my time doing it.” It was spoken with the absolute confidence of one experienced with pain and death. Once she was sure they understood, Erin turned, and walked into the forest.

She was gone.

Gerald woke up in his bed, surrounded by worried people. He sat up, groaning as he ached from multiple places. Sensing the anxious atmosphere, he put on a goofy smile, and asked.

“Did I win?”

Everyone groaned, looking off in different directions.

“You got squashed, man.” Frederick laughed. “It was pretty horrendous.”

“By Richard?” Gerald groaned, holding his head in his hands. “Man, I don’t think I’ve ever lost to him in non-magic combat. How embarrassing.”

“…” Everyone acted even more awkwardly.

“What?”

Again it was Frederick to answer. “Well… Good news is, you probably would have won under normal circumstances. Bad news is that you were under the influence of an evil artifact and completely got destroyed in front of everyone.”

“An artifact…? But how…” He hesitated. “Oh no, the bracelet.”

A small body threw itself on to the bed, almost knocking him over with a storm of regretful tears.

“I’M SO SORRY!” Maddie cried. “I didn’t know it would be bad!”

Gerald hugged her tightly “It’s okay, Mads! I’m fine! Look!” He grinned and spread his arms widely. “All in one piece!”

She sniffed, wiping her tears back “You promise? You’re not mad?”

“ I promise!” He ruffled her hair, causing her to giggle. He then looked around, a concerned expression taking over his face.

“Guys… where’s Erin?”

“Everyone out.” It was Catherine. “I need to talk to him.”

Slowly, uncomfortably, the crowd of people shuffled out, leaving only the two siblings behind. Catherine quietly took a seat next to the bed, and stared at him closely. “Are you okay?”

“Sis, I’m fine…” His face was growing panicked. “I-is Erin okay? Please tell me she’s okay, you’re really scaring me here.”

“She’s fine… physically.” Catherine hesitated, tilting her head as she thought over her next words.

“You may want to find another girl to marry.”

Gerald sat up, enraged. “What do you mean?!”

“I mean…” She rubbed her eyes, looking tired. “I mean she’s a broken person, Gerald. Not the kind of broken you can fix.” She stood up, pacing slowly back in forth in the room. “She cares about you… deeply. When she thought you might die…” Catherine swallowed. “She would have killed Isabelle, and she wouldn’t have hesitated.”

“Why Isabelle?”

“She was behind it, partly.” Briefly she explained what had happened, what Isabelle had revealed.

“Richard’s a traitor? Working with the terrorists who attacked the opening ceremony?” Gerald’s face turned pale. “And you let her go alone to face them? What if she gets hurt?” He tried to struggle up out of bed, only to be pushed back down by his sister.

“I couldn’t have stopped her if I tried, and she wasn’t in the mood for company.” Shaking her head slowly, she continued. “Gerald… you can’t… I mean, if you marry someone like her, and someone hurts you, I don’t know what she’ll do. I have a feeling she’s more powerful than she looks, forget taking out the perpetrators, she might destroy the whole country.”

“You might be right.” Gerald’s smile was sad. “She probably could… and would do that.”

“So you’ll think about what I said?”

“No.” His face was impassive.

She sighed. “Why?”

“Because I love her just as much. Because if someone hurt her…” He shook. “I can’t think about it. You don’t know her. You’ve just met the normal mask she wears. You’re right that’s she’s broken, but she’s so much more…” He ran his hands through his hair, trying to find the words to explain. “She had only known me for a few days, the first time she saved my life. A stupid duel, a surprise attack, but she didn’t even hesitate to be burned for my sake.”

“I didn’t-“ Catherine tried to interrupt but he wouldn’t let her.

“She was broken by the people who should have protected her, betrayed and hurt until there was almost nothing left.” He stared at his hands, his eyes haunted. “But she rose beyond that. Her best friend betrayed her, and less than an hour later Erin almost threw her own life away to save that girl. I’ve seen her break her hand to nothing but bits of skin and bones, been broken, beaten and dying and not even shed a tear.” He smiled sadly, tears in in own eyes. “But she did cry… when she realized she was starting to care for me. It scared her that much to depend on someone, to have someone that loves her. And I do… I love her. I can’t be without her. So before asking me to leave her just because she’s broken, you have to stop and consider … I might just be broken too.”

“…” There was silence as each solemnly stared at the other.

“You love her that much?” She whispered.

“So much more than that.” He moved restlessly, wincing with pain as his body complained with the action. “When can I see her?”

“Recover first. I’ll make sure she’s okay. What are you going to do about the magical control competition? It’s tomorrow.”

The next segment of the competition was on magical control, using an elemental magic, the competitors had to complete given tasks with finesse.

Gerald thought back to the water sculpture he had made for Erin weeks ago and smiled softly. That had been one of the few times she smiled honestly at him. The first time she had kissed him.

“I’ll compete. I’ll be ready.” He grabbed her hand. “Just make sure she stays safe. She means everything.”

“… I promise.”

Erin hid herself in the empty seventh tower, casting an illusion spell to blend herself in with the back wall. She sat on the floor, holding her knees, quietly waiting for midnight to come. Reaching a shaking hand into the collar of her uniform, she pulled out the artifact that Gerald had given her. Holding it in her hand, she smiled as it found his location. It was in the general direction of the living quarters. He was in his room.

He’s still alive. She sighed silently with relief. He’s not hurt enough to be taken to a healer’s building. Olivia saved him, he’s okay. Clutching it tightly for a moment, she pressed the stone to her lips lightly before returning it under her uniform. Erin then settled down patiently, to wait.

Hours later, the door opened, and five men walked in, quickly closing the doors behind them. The magical artifact lights were activated, illuminated those standing within the room. Four of the men were wearing black robes and masks that covered half their faces, very similar to the men who had attacked during the opening ceremony. The fifth one, however, wore no disguise, and was easily recognizable.

“Care to explain what happened today?” Richard asked with an icy tone.

“We neutralized your brother during the competition, as agreed.” The masked man in the front spoke for the others, unconcerned by the prince’s anger.

“I was supposed to win!” He slammed his fist on the nearby desk. “Why did I lose to the over-muscled military academy brat?!”

“Your highness may remember, our deal was to ensure that you defeated your brother. Any other battle’s outcomes were solely up to your own ability.”

“Insolent!” Richard snapped, before sitting down at the desk with a sigh. His chair scooted backwards, almost hitting Erin’s boots. She pulled her legs back, hoping to avoid detection. “Forget about it. Fortunately the plan worked in taking my brother down. Unfortunately, that foolish girl who follows him around got him a healer too quickly, he might even make it to tomorrow’s competition.” He grasped his chin, thinking deeply.

“I’m just glad we were able to remove the bracelet from him in the commotion, it cannot be used as evidence.”

The masked man seemed unconcerned. “Indeed.”

“That girl interfered with my plans… plus my parents approve of her. If she’s strong enough, she could upset the power balance here.” He hesitated, then swallowed, looking up at the men with a determined expression. “Could you arrange to have her… disappear?”

“Kill her?”

“…Yes.”

“No.” The man smiled, but the expression was cold. “The master has plans for her. She will not marry your brother, rest assured.”

Richard looked slightly uncomfortable, but nodded. “Well then, I guess it’s alright.”

“Now, we need the border’s patrol schedules for the next week. Do you have them?”

“They’ve changed them, after the attack here. More troops were pulled into the capital.” He handed them a stack of papers. The masked man studied it quietly for a moment, then handed it to the man behind him.

“They may change again, after tomorrow. We will trust you to keep abreast of any shifts in the movements of the royal guards.”

“Why are you so concerned about the border?” Richards eyes darted back and forth, he looked guilty.

“That is not for you to know.” The man chuckled. “Just stay clear of the stage in the final round of the magical control competition.”

“I wasn’t chosen to be one of the representatives for that one, so it shouldn’t be a problem.” Richard laughed quietly. “Gerald though… he probably will make it to the final round knowing him.”

The two men nodded at each other, both smiling for different reasons. After a few more comments, Richard stood up, and they left.

Erin was alone in the dark. She continued to sit there silently, her whole body a picture of stillness. But clearly behind her eyes… a storm was brewing.

#writing #Erin/Gerald #violence #revenge #Serious feelings here #big plots afoot #but they have to deal with erin first #poor them

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royal-writer · 5 years

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The Reveal - a different take

Despite the fact this is, obviously, an AU, the rollercoaster that is Essie’s mind is represented pretty spot-on to current events in Dice-y Situations.

And knowing that made me tear up while writing this. So enjoy, Ammy; and yes, I am a remorseful, terrible bastard.

- - - -

“Do you need anything?” Essätha murmured softly, her fingers carding through the shaggy fur around the mastiff’s ears. Her eyes slid over once more. Slower this time. She studied the exhaustion in the man’s face at her other side; the age not of years of growth, but years of agony beneath his tired eyes.

It twisted her heartstrings into knots. He looked so fragile, especially compared to the imposing figure she could recall seeing in torchlight roughly a month or so ago (time, she realized, was a weird construct when people were constantly trying to murder you), leaning over a table to a meal. He’d seemed larger, then. Harder. The mantle of his cloak slouched over him as if carrying a great weight.

“Something to help you rest?”

Her soft, venturing statement brought Lord Amon’s eyes from Caesar’s gentle-giant gaze back up to her. It made her other hand hold a little tighter to his. His skin was warmer now than it had been. Dry palms, a kind and delicate grasp among his calluses.

His eyes were less glaciers and drowning maelstroms of guarded tombs from then, too. He looked at her and his expression was soft with nakedness. The stripped away depths of the ocean, with calm depths and little light, but the most miraculous secret glowing pearls, creatures, and bioluminescents she’d ever seen.

“No. I’d like to just lie down and sleep,” he answered. His gaze bore into; sucked her instantly down to the very soft sandy bottom of the chasm abyss of his pupils as he added even quieter: “… I have all I need right now.”

She held her breath. The color of a sinking sunset bleeding pink and red burned into her face all at once with the blazing heat of a scorching day.

Surely she was mistaken. Surely she was misinterpreting.

He had to mean his found solace in the moment of relief. Letting out a lifetime of bottled tears had to bring some comfort, even if you felt helplessly gross afterwards.

But that… didn’t feel right. The intensity of his gaze; the weight of his words, the lingering gaze…

Essie glanced away self-consciously. He needed her? People didn’t need her. No one needed her.

Trying to find her words, she opened her mouth to speak, yet only a strangled sound vibrated in the back of her throat. Her mouth snapped shut and she swallowed, struggling to find her words as she pulled her hand away from the nobleman’s with ease.

A glimpse to him. A glimpse away. She grabbed the comforter and other blankets and sheets, curling them back to make an easy spot for him to slide into.

“I wouldn’t say that. You’d be surprised how forgettable some things can be.”

His eyebrow arched. She caught it in her peripherals.

“What do you mean?”

She faltered with trying to find a reasonable explanation. The words had slipped shamefully out, but she found no regret in them. One way or another, he would eventually know. She had promised, despite his unconscious state. He would never look at her the same way again when he knew, and that was one of the hardest things she struggled to cope with.

She was going to miss that precious smile, and his too-trusting warmth. She was going to miss the playfully teasing, the ease of conversation, the faith he shared with her as she gave her own so freely.

She was going to miss them. Him most of all.

It was a terrifying, cold, and lonely realization.

They deserved better than half-truths. They deserved better than a monster on their side.

Amon was warranted to better people; more compassion, warmth, care and honesty than she could muster. He deserved more than her frailness, her fumbling, the weak and the cowardly fright in her heart. He should have better than her cursed hands; her unease, the broken wake of devastation in her path. More then what she was. More then what she could ever hope to be, which was little and insignificant and small compared to the vastness of his achievements and the good deeds of his life and heart.

Caesar whined deeply in his throat. The canine’s forehead bumped her side as she tried to smooth out the sheets with shaky hands.

“Nothing. We can discuss it some other time, perhaps.”

Still flush high in her cheeks but not so deeply, she turns around to face the Illiad heir. Physically, at least. Her eyes did not dare directly meet his, staring just above eye contact.

“Would you rather me leave you a moment’s privacy? I can stand outside the door.”

To her surprise, Amon reached for her hands. She twitched; debating on retracting them with a nervous jump in her throat. His touch was comfortably soothing, engulfing her hands in both of his with a great and gentle care.

He tilted his head to meet her anxious gaze more directly as he murmured, “Perhaps some things are, but you are not one of them. You are remarkable, Essätha. I could never forget someone so thoughtful and kindhearted. I could never forget you.”

Give it time, she wanted to whisper, but did not. Instead she smiled as best she could.

The timid, false weaknesses was nakedly easy to see through.

“I know you are keeping something from me,” he quietly said. “You are in no way obligated to tell me. But whatever it is, Essie, I guarantee it’s not going to change how I see you.”

“You’ve given me no reason to doubt you and your veracious intentions. You wear your heart on your sleeve, and it’s plain to see. So whatever it is that makes you talk about yourself; convince yourself that you are a passing thought in the mind of others, isn’t true.”

“You mean something to me,” he concluded hoarsely, clutching her hands tighter between then.

Her mouth. thinned into a line as she worried on her lower lip anxiously.

“You don’t know enough about me to say those things,” she muttered, gently pulling on her hands. A startled gasp immediately fell from her lips as Amon strengthened his hold, cradling her hands close to his chest.

“I could say the same thing to you, yet you still offer me the same words of consideration each time I have misgivings,” he remarked. “I don’t need to know everything about you to believe in you. I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t!” she burst out, appalled by her raised volume as Amon’s eyes widened.

As gentle as a bubbling brook, or the calmest breeze on a balmy day, he squeezed her hands and spoke softly: “Essätha: you are a strong, tender, and merciful woman. You’ve shown us all great kindness and consideration. Whatever it is that makes you doubt any question, it will not change my view. I have seen great horrors, I have had to sentence terrible crimes, and I have lived with my own for many unforgivable years.”

“You can not convince me to think less of you, whatever you’ve done.”

Essätha’s breath hitched through his careful choice of words. She could feel the heaving in her chest, and tried to squash it down. With every breath she dared to take, her insides tremored. Her jaw grew slack, and began to quiver, so she bit down firmer on her lip to try hiding her brokeness.

“How can you say that, when you don’t even know what I am,” she implored in a breathy croon.

This time, it was Amon who appeared speechless. His expression changed as though trying to decipher if he’d heard her correctly, scrutinizing her expression and the unshed tears added gloss to her butterscotch eyes.

“Essätha…”

She hated how her name sounded on his tongue. Sweet like honey; warm like summer.

Struggling to pull her hands free of the nobleman’s, he allowed her to at least raise them from his chest. His grip was steadfast however. He would not let her go. His gaze was filled with pleading; trying to persuade her.

He had no idea. No clue. Not the faintest inkling what horror twisted fiendish beast he was speaking with.

Her eyes closed most of the way. A wash of fear trembled over her spine, making her shiver as her lashes fluttered. Her eyelids squeezed. She breathed out deeply through her nose.

An iridescent shimmer flowed over parts of her body. Scales seemed to rise from her flesh in random intervals. The patches already on her skin; a constant mark of what she was, began to rapidly expand and take over. Half of her face was swiftly engulfed in the transformation. One of her arms was beginning to change, showing the other assortment of colors and markings upon her serpentine form.

She waited for the jerk of hands pulling away. The disgusted, revolted gasp of air leaving his lungs.

It did not happen.

Her eyes cracked open, catching the mesmerized curiosity and astonishment revealed in his face. But he did not move, and he did not retract. Even as the texture of her fingers and hands changed; the scales now beading up beneath his grasp.

He said nothing. The surprise must have him shell-shocked.

“The fallen civilization we came across, outside of the Emerald Expanse’s territory in the wilds, that was an old encampment of Yuan-Ti,” she explained. “My people. An old race of humanoids, with various abilities that allow them to take on the shape and form of snakes.”

“I am a Pureblood,” she explained, nervously licking her lips as the nobleman caught her eyes, letting the information sink in. “I appear mostly human, with an ability to shape myself into a large serpent.”

The silence hung in the air. A blade hanging over her throat, waiting to take off her head.

“This is what you’ve been so frightened to tell me,” Amon slowly rasped. “This is what you’ve been so scared of us figuring out…”

She tried to pull her hands away once more, carefully.

The Briarton Protector held to her swift, but gentle.

“It doesn’t matter,” he concluded firmly. “I don’t care what you are. You are still Essie. You are still Essätha, to me.”

A streak of tears revealed the truth of her emotions, even as her voice rose harshly with a false anger: “Don’t you get it? Don’t you understand? What I am- who I am, it’s a snake. My people, they’ve destroyed countless villages; taken lives, committed vast crimes for the gain of their empire to achieve some cruel sense of enlightenment.”

“That’s them, Essätha. That’s not you-”

With a sharp tug, she tried to yank her hands free of him, and turn away.

“Isn’t it? I am one of them. I was born with the curse of their vile nature; their inherited sense of darkness, the inescapable demise I bring to everything around me. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave it at that, and leave me be. Or ask me to leave. Or simply tolerate me, until this is through, and cast me aside because it’s what’s good for you-”

Amon let go of her hands so suddenly, she felt a sense of shocking vertigo. The cold washed upon her like a blizzard.

She was abandoned, as she feared. Alone. Rejected. Unwanted.

This was for the best. As much as it made her hurt, it would keep him safe.

It felt like her very heart was fissured with cracks. She’d thought she’d gotten used to this forsaken, lonely life, but it still burned like dry ice. A secluded disaster. A broken thing. An unfortunate little monster.

Essätha let out a deeply startled exhale as Amon’s hands took hold of her face. He steadied her gaze upon him. Her cheeks gently cradled in his palms, the cascading drops of her tears flowing to slip between his fingers.

Caear whined loudly in the tense silence that ticked by. It felt like an eternity, with her heart stuck in her throat.

“Don’t run away from me, Essätha.”

She shuddered from the husky, ragged plea in his voice. Her heartbeat leapt and stuttered.

“… Run away from me, then,” she encouraged, her voice tiny and afraid.

He knit his eyebrows together, shaking his head. “No,” he replied with absolute resolve. “No. I’ve nothing to fear. This changes nothing. You are still the same woman I met back in Harthstrom, with the same giving heart, and the same gentle soul.”

“I don’t care about what all the books and people of the world say about Yuan-Ti; that is not you. No two people are alike, Essie; not of the same race, not of the same species, not even in the same flora. You are no monster. You are Essätha Meduza.”

“… Why are you okay with this?” she whispered, voice cracking. It made no sense. He should be spitting at her; degrading her, revolted by her. He should be disgusted and afraid. He should want nothing to do with her.

Instead she was sighing, feeling the flutter of a foreign feeling as her lord tisked in response, and carefully wiped away a few stray tears with his thumb. His touch was incredibly tender, and it made her stomach roll with sickness at how undeserving she was of it.

The dark blues of his eyes swallowed her whole as she stared back into them.

“Because it doesn’t change who you are,” he explained quite calmly. “I’m not going to apologize for caring about you, Essie. I’m not going to leave you just because you are a Yuan-Ti.”

“But I’ve lied to you,” she reminded him, her hands reaching up to grasp his forearms. The tears swam back to the surface, falling over the edge.

“I lied about who I was.”

“Because you were scared,” he noted with understanding, using the pad of his digit to wipe away another tear. “I didn’t come forth to reveal all of myself to any of you initially, either. Everyone has the pieces of themselves they want to keep private. It changes nothing. This changes nothing.”

With her lower lip no longer beneath her teeth, it trembled violently as she swallowed against the tightness of her throat.

Essätha still felt no reassurance in her core, even now that he knew. She was still a ticking time bomb. She was still a mess; a massacre waiting to happen, a series of unfortunate events. She’d crawled and slithered and climbed and fallen so many times to keep herself moving forward, even though it always felt like she was being dragged back, setback after setback.

Give it time, and he would learn to resent her for one way or another, just as the rest of the world did. She could only hold on so long until she fucked up in some way that he would never be able to look at her again without curling his lip. She would run, or she would break, or she would bring a catastrophe that left her unharmed, or simply wounded, and everyone else would take the brunt of her mistakes, over and over and over again.

It didn’t matter how much he could forgive her, or accept her, now. As sweet as he was; as polite and wonderful and beautiful as his soul was the rest of him, it would not endure forever. Things like her, they were not granted safety and happiness forever.

“What if there’s more wrong with me, than this?” she dared to ask; her voice cracking.

Lord Amon gave her the most endearing and treasured smile she’d ever seen. It disarmed her totally. Her body leaned into his, craving something she should not, and could not have.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” the nobleman assured her calmly. “You are as you were born as, and you are splendid just the same.”

He doesn’t understand, she realized with a twinge of agony. But he would. The more he saw; the more he heard, the more he learned about her, the things she’d done, how she survived, what others had to witness because of her…

I don’t want to let go of him. Not yet.

What did he have that she craved; that she longed for? She felt it beneath his gaze. The way her very being just wanted to collapse, to give in, to confidently accept that when he said he cared, that he meant the words no matter rain or shine.

She wanted to feel worthy of the light glinting softly beneath his eyes, the persevering goodness in his arms, the integrity of his character. She wanted to be worthy of his presence, and of his friendship.

But she knew she was a disgrace; flawed, and righted to none of his chivalry.

Essie wanted to argue that there was more to it, then this. That there was more to her than what she was that held her back; that haunted her nightmares. If he could see right through her, straight into her past, he could see all the wrongs. All the people left behind. All the crumpled heaps of bodies left to rot. All the people she betrayed; all those she stole from, all the things that showed what she really was.

Pulling on his arms, she urged him to gradually take his palms from her damp face. The stiffness in his forearms revealed just how reluctant he was to do so.

For just a moment, she wanted to enjoy this acceptance. She wanted to memorize the warmth in his gaze, but not the concern. She wanted to remember how it felt like to feel almost-seen, almost-normal, and see someone look at her like she mattered. Let this moment be a memory of something she could hold when it was frigid, dark, and lonely in the night; rain pounding at a creaky window, so she could pretend to get some rest while the grinning moon laughed down at her beneath breaks in the clouds.

“Essätha,” Amon breathed, emphasising each syllable of her name in a soft drawl. The way he looked at her, she suddenly felt very fragile, and very exposed. Something in his gaze seemed to see something unspoken in her, and he appeared overwhelmed with perturbation. He looked very much shaken, for a reason she could not identify.

“You are the strongest woman I have ever known, and I don't want to lose you. Not over this.”

A hum of understanding echoed in her throat. As her lips twitched into a smile; true but painful in her aching heart which already was mourning the loss, she held to his hands firmly. Her fingers worked against his, finding the spaces between. Her digits fit there perfectly.

“You’ve nothing to fear there,” she replied softly. “You have me. For better or worse.”

He pulled her in to him, gently. She came along without a struggle, finding the inviting blanketing of his sturdy arms and chest an invitation to safety.

“Thank you.”

His breath tickled along her hair as he pressed his face against her shoulder.

Gods, she longed for this moment to last. Wrapped up in a snug cocoon, she had her arms just as tightly around him as he did her. Her fingers dug into the fabric of his clothes; clinging, desperate, wanting shamelessly until she forced the aching quivering of her muscles to relax enough to rub his back.

She tucked her face into his jerkin. The smell of his clothes and skin brought her back to Boar’s Tusk, sleeping peacefully with him behind her, the sound of his snoring in her ear and an arm draped over her hip.

The intimacy of the moment she appall her. She should know better, but she held to both that moment, and this, with equal measures of passion and craving. Pining for the companionship that would not remain. Friendship she did not deserve. The benevolence of him that was her salvation; how he felt more real and authentic and true than anything else in the world ever did.

Essie sank into his hold fully, and he nurtured her so gently in his embrace, she never second-guessed his intentions or the devote affections of his words.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Let this be a recollection to last a lifetime.

#royal writes #Essie rw #amon illiad #suggested essamon but not quite

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