#but the more ends i get woven in the less stressful the whole thing is to look at and the more it looks like a cardigan | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amelee23 · 1 year ago

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Cleaning supplies... Under the moonlight | Hwang Hyunjin

Pairing: Hyunjin x reader (no pronouns used but they are wearing a swim suit)

Characters: best friend!Hyunjin, reader, David (reader’s boyfriend), Jihyo and Luna (reader’s friends) and Sharon (identity is a spoiler). None of the original characters resemble real people.

Genre: Romance, best friends to lovers, ANGST, hurt/comfort, being saved from a messy break-up, slow burn, star-crossed lovers

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: CHEATING (reader gets cheated on by her boyfriend), toxic relationship, messy break-up, crying, reader becomes very insecure, Hyunjin is there to save the day, and he’s pining hard, reader is wearing a swim suit, I have no idea how heated pools work so don’t quote me on anything, Hyunjin is a poet so; I present to you confessing feelings through love poems, Hyunjin is shirtless, swearwords, reader gets called ‘angel’, kissing, cuddles, a bit of revenge, humor, the tense change is intentional (kinda), hopelessly romantic stuff, poetic prose, metaphors galore and lots of word plays (if you catch them all I’ll give you a gold star.)

A/n: I know the first part of the story focused on the reader’s relationship with her toxic boyfriend, but Hyunjin will become the main focus after the break-up so please don’t let the beginning intimidate you. Also I worked on this an entire week lord send help

Synopsis: Your vacation was supposed to go like this: scented candles, a warm pool and the light of the moon, in hopes of fixing your relationship with your boyfriend. But the universe had other plans. After you found out he has been cheating, you bathed under the moonlight, surrounded by broken roses, being confessed in poems by your best friend Hyunjin, and you’ve never felt so whole.

You've put everything into this vacation.

And that didn't only mean money, albeit it was quite costly. You, your boyfriend and some close friends decided to rent out a vacation house with a gigantic heated pool, to at least create a fun, leisure memory before summertime slipped between your fingers and the sun would grow sad and dim once again. With the price shared by so many people, it was still quite a lot - but you didn't care, because there was more emotion put behind this vacation than mere money.

Perhaps it wasn't the healthiest of solutions, just how when a couple decided to get married to fix their relationship (which to you always seemed like such a horrid idea), you were trying something similar. You wanted this vacation with your boyfriend, David. Things between you haven't been good, that would be the simplest way to put it. His behavior changed, he became more distant, less passionate about your relationship, and one thing led to another and you were fighting because of your growing suspicions. Truth be told, you were terrified. Afraid he didn't love you anymore, afraid he found someone else to spend his nights with.

He had been everything to you, the fiber woven from your cells, the beginning and end of every breath you took - because when you loved, you didn't hold back. And it came to you so naturally, too; to love him. You've never had something so simple, so stable until you met him. But they do say every good thing must come to an end, and there's this little cricket in the back of your mind, at low volume but at an unbearable high pitch, following you every moment, whether awake or asleep. It's telling you your gut is right. Vivi (so you've nicknamed him, many months ago, when his friends were making fun of how basic the name David is) has told you a million times you had nothing to worry about. That he's just busy, or stressed, or that your love is just settling into something more calm, rather than an intense teenage-like love, like it used to be in the beginning. He's made you feel insane so many times over. Like you're just imagining things, like your insecurities are getting out of hand and you're just projecting on him, lashing out at him. You thought you deserved the pain that came with the accusations of being untrusting, immature, unconfident, inconsiderate or selfish. But you didn't, of course you didn't. You didn't deserve any of that.

You were afraid Vivi wouldn't agree to the vacation, or even if he did, he wouldn't pull through on the money part and you'd have to pay his share. You were ready to annihilate your savings account just for this one chance at a happy memory. This one chance at making things right. But surprisingly, he agreed in a heartbeat and even suggested a specific vacation house he's heard of from his friends. Not even two days later, he had all the details down, made the math of the expenses and put together the whole group chat. You thought this was it, he was actually trying again. Showing you he still does have the passion to make you happy.

You couldn't have picked out a better date for the vacation, either. The first night, it would be a full moon, with a clear sky. You were imagining it already, how magical it was going to be, soaking in a heated pool under the moonlight with David, reciting your love vows once more, like you used to do in the start of your relationship. You couldn't help how hopelessly romantic you were, you needed to let it out, confess disgustingly sappy and cheesy words of admiration. But more than that, you needed him to tell you he loves you. You needed it.

When you arrived, you were met with a stranger who had been waiting for you and your friends at the vacation house. She introduced herself as Sharon, the daughter of the owner. Since her father was busy, she was left in charge of giving you the orientation.

"I'm not going to bother you much." She assured you, her voice was low in volume and yet high in pitch. "I'm just going to give you a quick tour of the rooms and then explain to you how the pool works, and what cleaning supplies you can use just in case you need them." She was a beautiful girl, so beautiful in fact, that the cricket in the back of your mind was telling you to be envious. You couldn't quite understand it, but you brushed it off.

There were three rooms in the house, each of them with their own bathroom. It was so much more luxurious than you imagined, and suddenly it seemed odd that you paid so little for something so grand. You remembered Vivi saying something about a discount, but the memory was vague. Nevertheless, the room count was perfect. One room would belong to you and Vivi, one to Jihyo and Luna, and one to Hyunjin.

You met Jihyo through Vivi, they were coworkers at some point. But the two of you instantly clicked and became girl friends, and the more, the merrier - Luna was her adopted sister, picked up from an orphanage in Spain. She was one of the most incredible and strongest women you've ever met, and you simply adored her. It was so magical to see how the two sisters came in a package, how they looked after each other with unconditional love. You thought something like that only existed in TV shows.

And lastly, there was Hyunjin. A man, a poet, a romantic with beauty deemed worthy of a Greek tragedy. But most importantly, your best friend; your lifeline. He understood you, in ways no one ever could. Your souls were made from the same material, the same thirst of emotions of celestial scales, he saw beauty in the small things just like you did. And he has been there, day in, day out, through your ugliest moments. When you were single at prom, he turned down at least 15 girls to take you instead. When you were too broke to afford Taylor Swift tickets, he pretended to 'roam the city' with you so that you'd listen to the concert from outside the stadium. When a boy broke your heart, he'd turn your pain into the most beautiful poems, and gift them to you in journals filled with drawings of your favorite flowers. He was more than anyone could ever ask for, and you were forever grateful to have such a human in your life. The perfect best friend.

With the tour out of the way, you volunteered to go with Sharon and receive the tutorial about the pool and supplies you must use for it. She explained to you the heating mechanism (although all you needed to do was turn it on, she reassured you.) and that water might need to be replenished if you use the pool a long time since the heat makes it evaporate faster. You jutted down all you could in your notes app, and then followed her to the supply closet. She explained to you about chlorine (although half of what she said went over your head) and showed you the cleaning supplies you can use in the instance that the water becomes extremely dirty (which she knew wouldn't be the case, but she was required to let you know). By the end of it, you were starting to think your senses maybe are going insane. Sharon seemed like a very nice and gentle person, and her attitude was very bright and easygoing. You told her you were gonna take some pictures of the bottles and note down in your phone what they are, so she gave you a warm smile and left you alone in the supply closet.

After writing your own one-thousand-words heated pool manual (pictures included), you were ready to have the vacation of a lifetime. You picked out a swimsuit in Vivi's favorite color, prepared his favorite scented candles to place around the pool, and alerted your friends beforehand that you wanted the pool just for you and Vivi on the first night. It was all coming together perfectly, so you grabbed the door handle with confidence.

"I'm sure my friends wouldn't mind if I leave a little bit later. We could grab some food and then hit up that bar you like? Don't I owe you a mojito?" That was Vivi's voice. Even with the door cracked just a little, you could hear it. It was so clear. It was his voice.

"I would love to." The cricket. Low in volume, high in pitch. It was speaking - it was agreeing to go out with your boyfriend.

"And maybe, afterwards I could take you home? Would you like that?" Your eyes are closed shut. But you couldn't close your ears, unfortunately. The conversation continued, and you could imagine him whispering in her ear, looking into her eyes and tipping her chin just how he used to do with you. Tears were about to escape, so you closed them even tighter. Your lungs were burning, because you were denying them air. Holding your breath, you bit your lip, hands shaking as they gripped the wall.

"Speaking of taking something home, I have something for you-"

You finally took a breath. And you stormed towards the voices.

Your vision was blurry, but after blinking away your tears, an image formed before your eyes: David, holding out a gigantic rose bouquet towards Sharon.

The ugliest flowers you've ever seen in your life, held by the ugliest man you've ever met. He was never beautiful to begin with, right? He couldn't have. A man with such an ugly soul, how could you have been attracted to him? How could you have loved him?

He calls out your name.

"This isn't what it looks like, okay? My dad is friends with Sharon's dad, okay? We became friends by association, okay?"

Okay? Is he asking you that, or is he asking himself if the lie is plausible?

"And these are for you, yeah?" He's walking towards you, putting the bouquet in your limp hand. "There's nothing going on between me and Sharon." The cricket, it suddenly stopped. Instead, you heard Sharon gasp and look at David in horror. She must have not known. She was also just a victim.

"Just stop it already! Enough with the lies!" You found yourself yelling, a never seen before anger bubbling underneath your skin. Your fingertips urged you towards violence, and so you slammed the roses into the floor. The petals scattered and the stems broke. Your yell must have startled the others, because soon you heard a lot of footsteps behind you - and then Sharon turned around and walked away, a hurt look in her eyes, head hanging low in shame. She was avoiding the eyes of all your friends, who were now staring at you and David.

"Okay, fine. You've gotten boring and I was no longer happy. I was going to leave you anyway." He was so nonchalant, there was no waver in his voice. That made you feel as if every time he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, and his voice wavered, he wasn't honest. Only now, has he finally been honest.

And the most honest, he was when he took off in a run to chase after Sharon. To make sure she's okay. To comfort her and tell her she's the one he loves.

You fell to the floor.

And to your side, rushed no other than Hyunjin. Like always, to make sure you're okay. To comfort you and tell you you are loved.

The sobs broke out of your body and shook you violently. You were a mess of tears in just a few seconds, and you weren't going to hold back. You wailed, grabbed the roses and slammed them into the floor repeatedly.

But it was useless. They couldn't feel pain. They couldn't feel your pain. They couldn't realize what they have done to you.

Hyunjin wrapped his arms around your frame and gently lifted you to your feet.

"C'mon, let's get you in bed, yeah?" Your knees were buckling and you had no strength to stand. You were shaking your head no, like a toddler who didn't want to go back home. "We can continue crying in bed, mmm? Don't worry, I'll let you cry. I'll cry with you, angel." Your arms circled his torso, clutching his shirt between your fingers. You called out his name, and he reassured you he knows, he knows it hurts.

He carefully took your hand and dragged you away. He exchanged glances and nodded at your friends, but you didn't notice. You whispered to him, groggy in voice, that you can't go to your own room, because David's things are there. So Hyunjin took you to his room, which was the best choice for many reasons, not only so you can avoid seeing his things, but also so that he could avoid the urge of throwing David's suitcase out the window.

Hyunjin was true to his words. He sat you down in bed, and let you cry. And before he knew it, he was crying with you. He was holding you so tight, and it was so warm, and yet the shards of ice in your heart weren't melting. At first, you were angry - how could a human do something like this? Something so despicable, so vile? How could you not have realized you were in love with a monster? But then, his voice began to ring in your head. You're boring. He was going to leave you anyways. Perhaps it's you who's the problem. Perhaps you really are boring, and old-fashioned, and demanding, and idealistic, and untrusting, and immature, and too much to handle, and perhaps you should just give up because you're just un-

"Hyune, am I unlovable?" Your voice was barely there, but he heard you. He always heard you.

"Nonsense." He looked so hurt to hear you say that. "That's such nonsense." He repeated with a laugh, wiping his tears on his sleeve. "That's the most stupid thing you've ever said in your life. And you've said many stupid things, I would know." You slapped his arm in protest, but he was happy to see you chuckle.

"I mean, even if I'm not completely unlovable, Sharon is still prettier than me..." The flick of Hyunjin's fingers resonated on your forehead. You held your head in pain.

"What the hell, dude!"

"It's revenge! Every single time you say something like that, it hurts me. So I must hurt you back." You sighed. You knew he was joking, but at the same time, there was some truth behind it.

"I'm sorry, Hyune. I should have listened to you. You didn't like him since the very beginning, and you were the only one telling me my gut was right. It must have been so painful to just watch."

"It's painful to watch you now, as well." He confessed, and you felt a pang of guilt wash over you. But he pulled you back in his arms, to pet you hair lovingly. "That bastard, how dare he hurt my angel. I swear I'm gonna turn into Rapunzel's mom and lock you up in a tower so no one can ever hurt you again."

"Hmm, but doesn't pain help us grow or whatever?"

You were pretty sure Hyunjin just rolled his eyes all the way back to China.

"First of all, we all know pain just gives you more trauma. But I mean, your trauma collection is getting quite... exquisite nowadays." You smacked him again, playfully. But this time, you actually laughed. "No but seriously... there is a lesson in there somewhere. And not just to listen to me more often... to learn that you deserve more, angel." He was so close to you while he was speaking, his eyes aimed directly into yours. Your gaze wondered over him, over Hyunjin, your best friend. His chocolate eyes, sweeter than any cake you could ever eat, his vibrant lips, plumper than any wild cherry growing in the trees, his skin - like a canvas painted over the years with the brush of years and aging. His hair was long and dark, rebellious yet elegant, and the light was cascading in the room in lines, through the blinds that were semi-shut over the windows. Suddenly, there was a new sound in your mind. There was no more cricket, there was the sound of the ocean. Waves, crashing upon the shore. You were barely at the seams, the water was gently lapping at your feet; because you knew, you cannot underestimate the ocean. If you go any further, one wave is enough to push you off balance and take you into the water, like an irresistible magnet pulling you towards demise. One step, one wave, is enough. One more inch between your lips and his.

He pushed your shoulder lightly and you fell face first into the pillows.

"And if you say more mean things about yourself, I swear I'm throwing you in the pool." You reached out for the napkins on the nightstand. It was finally time to stop crying and... think about the future?

"The pool... tonight was supposed to be all romantic and perfect, with candles and the full moon on clear skies..."

"I like full moons and clear skies!" Hyunjin announced, and for some reason it made you burst into laugher. "What! It's true! The idiot would have probably not enjoyed it anyways. He has no eye for beauty. He thinks having one green wall in his grey apartment is enough for him to live 'in vibrant color'. Okay Picasso, but like why the fuck must that wall be in the kitchen?!" You look happy when you laugh. He loves seeing you happy. "You dodged a bullet, trust me. First it's the green kitchen wall, next he ignores the perfect date that his perfect girl set up for him-" His perfect girl. You heart was racing. "-and next he-"

"Tries to double tap her with the daughter of a vacation house owner. He couldn't even find the daughter of a rich CEO."

"- I was gonna say next he's the only single grandpa in a retirement home, because he's too sad of an excuse of a man, but that too." Hyunjin always did this for you, as well. He made sure to roast all of your exes until all you could think of them is burnt chicken. Until the memory of them becomes something funny, that could never hurt you again. "Plus, I'm not letting your efforts go to waste - I'm not letting you miss this chance. Let's watch the moon, together."

You nodded. What else could you do?

You decided it would be best to try to take a nap until night hit. So much crying has left you dizzy and with a headache crawling at fast speeds through your forehead and sinuses.

"Do you have any painkillers? Should I try to find a pharmacy around here?" Hyunjin offered, but you reassured him you have some in your suitcase. "Okay, wait here, I'll go get it for you- but uh, which one is yours?"

"The one that has color on it, duh." He disappeared with a giggle, around the corner.

"I will never underestimate you ever again, ma'am." He joked, placing your colorful suitcase next to the bed. He made sure none of your items were left over in the room you used to shared with David, and insisted you stay put while he brings you a glass of water.

Pills in your system, blinds closed, blanket over your shoulders, Hyunjin curled on the other side of the bed, as small as he could make himself be, so that he doesn't make you feel suffocated. But he was holding two of your fingers in his hand, from across the bed. The skin of two fingers was enough pathway for you to feel a million bodies worth of love, though.

When you woke up, he wasn't there. Nor David who was haunting you in your dreams, nor Hyunjin who was whispering poems to you to chase the nightmares away. You thought you'd be alright after crying it out, but it wasn't that easy. You woke up feeling miserable, with a heavy weight on your chest, and yet feeling so empty and hollow.

You checked your phone, and he hasn't called. You didn't know if you should feel sad or relieved about it. At least he won't chase after you again, right? It won't be another hurtful on and off. It's over. He doesn't love you anymore.

"Oh hey, you're awake- Nah ah, no more crying! You've had your fill of tears, now it's time for a fill of pizza! Get your ass to the living room, missy!" You didn't have the time to cry when Hyunjin was chasing you out of the room with a pillow.

It was a little bit awkward at first, because Jihyo and Luna didn't know if they should bring it up or just try to distract you. Eventually you bit the bullet and began to tell them about your relationship yourself. All the behavior changes, the suspicions, the hurtful words (that you now realize were manipulation) and all the lies.

"Not even his guy friends knew." Jihyo told you. She apparently told the whole group chat she was in with David's friends about what he has been doing. "He didn't just lose his girlfriend, I think he lost most of his friends by doing this."

"Thank you, Ji. For having my back." Perhaps your relationships were monster trucks, but your friends were really golden. They really looked after you.

"So!" Hyunjin announced. "Change of plans. She's having a romantic moonlit date with me, instead. So the pool is still off limits." After Luna threw what looked like a piece of olive at Hyunjin's shirt, and he screamed in your ear, eventually the sisters said they were planning on working on their DnD character sheets anyway. They were your favorite nerds.

According to your phone, the moon would begin to rise at around nine in the evening. It was just enough time for the food in your bellies to settle, while you caught up with the new videos of your favorite comedy channel. Laughter filled the room, and Jihyo and Luna made sure to cuddle the heck out of you, to distract you from that emptiness that was threatening to form into a pit in your stomach.

"So, what scented candles do you have? Something sexy and seductive?" Hyunjin asked you, wriggling his eyebrows. It made the other girls giggle.

"Apple." You answered, and the whole room deadpanned.

"In what world is apple sexy?!"

"It's his favorite!" You tried to defend yourself, but Hyunjin just scoffed.

"Jesus fucking Christ, you really needed a new boyfriend." This roast didn't make you grin. It didn't make you laugh. Instead, you looked down at the floor, a sigh shaking your body. As the seconds passed, you began to feel more and more stupid for ending up in this situation. For being so dumb as to let yourself be led on by some pretty words, and pretty eyes, that you could ever be truly loved- "Sorry." Hyunjin apologized in a panic. It just slipped, he had so much resentment bottled up for that man. "It's a good thing I brought some of mine with me. They're not exactly sexy, but they should be more fitting."

"Oh, what scent is it?"

"Ocean." Ocean, the waves that are lapping at your feet. They're calling you over.

Hyunjin was calling you over, to see if you like the smell of the candles. You had gone through too many emotions today: the anger, the sadness, the insecurities, and now this anxiety. Or was it thrill? If you put your ear on Hyunjin's chest, would you be able to hear the waves?

"I'm going to go set these up." He announced, and you nodded.

"I'll get changed." With a skip to his step, Hyunjin walked out and closed the door to give you privacy. You're not even in the water yet, and you already feel like you're drowning.

You fished out your swim suit from your luggage and laid it out on the bed before you. You actually bought this - spent so much money on it - got it in his favorite color - for a man who was cheating on you. You were really regretting not having brought an alternative with you. You couldn't just walk out in underwear and a shirt, right? Better not. You grit your teeth and put it on, but made a mental note to 'accidentally' start a dumpster fire, and 'accidentally' drop the swim suit in it after tonight.

When you were done changing, you found Hyunjin out by the pool. Somehow, he managed to turn it on by himself since you could already see steam coming off of it. He arranged two candles around one corner of the pool (since he only had two) and was probably waiting for you to arrive.

"Oh, angel. That color does not suit you." Hyunjin had always been quite picky when it came to fashion. He had his 'disgusted fashion designer' face on.

"I know, it's-"

"Let me guess, his favorite color? I've seem vomit more vibrant than that." You snorted at the comment. The color was, in fact, quite horrible. "If I wouldn't know how much money you probably spent on that, I'd tell you to set it on fire." You laughed. Great minds think alike.

"I was thinking the same thing." After exchanging grins, Hyunjin seemed to fall into thought. He had that look in his eyes that told you there was a complicated process going on in his mind.

"I'll buy you a new one." Surprised, you cocked an eyebrow at him as you approached the side of the pool he was at. You scooted next to the scented candle he lit, and sat down on the edge. "Careful you don't burn you butt." He joked, and you rolled your eyes at him. The candle wasn't even close to touching you. The water was very warm and calming, you noticed, when you dipped your feet in. It made you want to move even closer to the edge so that your tired ankles would be soothed.

"You don't need to buy me a new one. What would I use it for? I don't think I'll be at any pool again any time soon." A rosy petal tickled your toes and you realized the bouquet had somehow ended up in the water. There were petals and tiny white flowers scattered all around the corner of the pool. It would have been a beautiful sight, if it wasn't so tragic.

"Well, maybe I have been secretly planning a weekend trip to Jeju island for you and I." That surely caught you off guard. You barely had any money left after this vacation, you wouldn't be able to afford a trip to Jeju. He wasn't planning on paying for it all by himself, right?

"I mean, that sounds lovely, Hyune." You replied, even if you had some financial disagreements to talk about later. "But it's september! I don't think I'll be walking around in a swimsuit at the beach in this weather. It's getting chilly." The air was quite cold, you've noticed it ever since the morning. The sun didn't have the same strength as a few days ago - but thankfully the heat coming off of the pool was making it bearable to be out just in a swim suit.

"First of all, summer is a feeling, not a season. And second, I'll just get you one for next summer." Next summer - you almost forgot. To Hyunjin, highschool with you was barely yesterday, and next summer should be in two days. A year was nothing to him when he promised you forever.

"Okay." You replied quietly, swooshing the water around with your feet. You were scared to look him in the eyes, because suddenly you felt so vulnerable. You could trust his idea of forever, right?

"Okay!" He replied with a much brighter note. "With that settled, I'll go get changed for our pool adventure." He walked away, leaving you alone with your thoughts, and the subtle smell of the ocean. It was still calling you, but now you could hear it clearer. You could smell it clearer. One more step, one more inch of your skin under the water, and perhaps you could feel it clearer, too.

The wait would have been agonizing if you hadn't made a friend in the moon as soon as you found it in the sky. She - the moon has always been a she to you - was looking absolutely astonishing . For a second, a very silly second, you thought the moon had done a better job at dressing up for a romantic date than you did. You searched around for the evening star as well, the brightest, most beautiful star in the sky. You hoped if the moon was going on a date tonight, it would be with the evening star. For he was a strong man to always keep his light so bright, to always manage to guide the sailors lost in the night-

Hyunjin came back with a few tiny packages in his hand. He was shirtless; and from waist down he wore swim trunks, an ombre from blue, to light blue, to white. With the way the sky was reflected in the pool, you would think he was trying to blend in with the water.

"Choco?" He nudged you, offering you a golden foil. You took one from him happily, and watched him as he took off an elastic band from his wrist to put his hair up in a messy ponytail. The chocolate he offered you was very delicious, and you guessed also probably very fancy. Hyunjin never held back when it came to pleasing the senses. But you wondered, how come he's offering you something sweet? Wasn't the ocean supposed to be salty?

He also ate a chocolate quietly next to you. The silence was getting heavy, which was very odd. Silence was always comforting next to him, but now, the less he spoke the more you felt confused and lost at sea.

"The bouquet ended up in the water." You told him, trying to make any sort of small talk. He hummed, put away the foil of the sweet treat he consumed, and eased himself fully into the pool. As soon as he was in, he let out a soulful sigh. He adored warm water, and you could tell from his body language, from the way his shoulders slumped and his neck craned to stare at the night sky, jaw wide open in admiration - that Hyunjin was in a happy place. Was it just you who was nervous, then?

To your surprise, Hyunjin pushed through the water all the way to the corner where the bouquet was floating about. He picked it up, and began to crush the flowers in his hand so that the petals would fall. He left the stems empty, and then threw them out of the pool. With powerful motions, he made the water roll in waves, so that the petals would scatter throughout the entire pool.

"Now it's just part of the decorum." He said with a giggle. He approached you, and his hand was warm and welcoming when it gently touched your knee. "Forget who they're from." As he beckoned you to join him in the water, you wanted to let those words hypnotize you. Allow the pain to fade to the background.

You join him in the water, and it embraces you like you were meant to be held in someone's arms your entire life. Even though you are surrounded by those petals - those empty promises, those broken parts of your heart - something inside of you is healing. You are no longer putting meaning or significance onto them. They no longer hold you captive. For that tiny moment, everything is as it should be: there is no other place you should have been. No other person you should have been. And no other person - besides your best friend with a dizzying smile - should have accompanied you that night. It was the universe's plan, and no one could be blamed for that.

The universe is vast. As you look up, through the thousands of celestial bodies before you, you can't pin point any to curse in grief and woe. Furthermore, you can't even name this strange feeling of acceptance. It had just appeared in your heart.

"The sky is so beautiful." You mumble, and Hyunjin almost surprises you when he hums. He looks just as awestruck as you do, and you know for a fact he was the one meant to join you. You watch the rise and fall of his chest, the deep breaths he takes as he says absolutely nothing. He is in a trance, and you are entranced by him.

"The moon and stars are shining for you, my love" You hear him say, but it was quiet, like he wasn't sure of his own words.

"For all that is up there, up above,

In the gentle skies of angels and sinners:

The moon rays and the cheeky glimmers," He takes a pause, as if to rest for a heartbeat and let himself smile.

"They're all but lights to make your eyes shine -

And help you see yourself in mine."

"That's beautiful, Hyune." You complimented. You wondered just how many poems he had stored in his mind and heart. Would you need a library pass to find out? "Who's it from?"

"Oh, he's not a published author." He replied cheekily. "Although he wishes he could be." From the shy yet smug look on his face, it was easy to piece it together.

"Did you write it?"

"Mhm."

"Like, on the spot? Just now?"

"Mhm."

You're absolutely insane!" You tell him with a gentle slap to the arm. He giggles and your heart melts. "I swear there's no human being more talented than you." He looks down at the water and something peculiar sparkles in his eyes. Something naughty, like a child being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to and yet he's unaware, he's proud of the mistake he's done.

"Well, it wouldn't be possible without you." You stare at him in confusion. Is he trying to thank you for supporting him and his passion for poetry? For the validation and reassurance you offer him when he works? It goes without question that you would be supporting your best friend- "Do you want me to recite the poem to you again?" You're confused and caught off guard. Frankly you have no idea what is going on, so you just shrug your shoulders awkwardly.

"Sure, I guess."

While Hyunjin has been standing to your side this entire time, leaning back on the edge of the pool, the scented candle between you two, now he moved to stand before you. He was blocking the moon, invading your senses, a dim light hugging his silhouette.

"The moon and stars are shining for you, my love" He's looking in your eyes, and his hands move to grip the edge of the pool on either side of you head. Your lungs are burning.

"For all that is up there, up above" He looks towards the sky for a split second, and then he looks back at you, his eyes clouding with mist.

"In the gentle skies of angels and sinners:" He searches for you hand in the water, and with the most gentle pull, he brings it to his lips to kiss your fingers. A rose petal slips off of you arm and back into the water.

"The moon rays and the cheeky glimmers," He's smiling. He's in his happy place, and yet, you don't know how to accept that the weight of the ocean isn't trying to harm you.

"They're all but lights to make your eyes shine -" Was he seeing the moon in your eyes?

"And help you see yourself in mine." You were in his eyes. You were. It just took you so many years to see it.

"The moon and stars are shining for me?" You ask; you had to make sure. Your hands were shaking, and a chill ran down your spine.

"My love." He completed the lyric, and you were trying so so hard, to find oxygen in your lungs.

This was exactly were you were afraid of - that one step closer, the ocean waves would take you away, and you'd fall into the dark depths - and ultimately drown. "I'm in love with you." You hear him say. "I know you've been through so many emotions already, and this is just not the right time, because I don't wanna seem like I'm taking advantage of the situation and trying to be some sort of savior to you, but I really am in love with you and I can't stand watching you suffer-"

One of your favorite quotes you've ever read, by a person named Irtiqa Nabi, was 'The sea speaks more honestly to those willing to drown'.

You just had to be willing.

You just had to understand.

You don't need the oxygen.

You take one more, final breath and reach out to kiss Hyunjin before he rambled away all night. His hands fly to embrace you, to cradle your face, to shield you with his body.

It was the most terrifying leap of faith you've ever made, but you finally realized the ocean wasn't evil. It wasn't trying to take your life away or rob you of your heart. No, the ocean was this being full of life, full of warmth; he wanted you to dive beyond the surface. He wanted you to uncover his mysteries. And he loved you so much.

"Wait." Hyunjin pulls away, dazed and with unfocused eyes. He bites his lip. "Are you sure about this? Once you allow me to love you, I won't stop. I don't let go." You look up at him and smile. No matter how many times you tell him, it'll never be enough: he's so beautiful. But tonight, something is different. He's exactly how the universe wanted him to be. Exactly where the universe wanted him to be. So naturally, only poetry could describe the beauty of a man who had found his destiny.

"Make me you last love, Hyunjin." You plead, and his eyes fill with both admiration and tears.

"Oh, I will." He cradles you so gently, and yet so tightly. His long fingers are enveloping your face, his body is swallowing yours like the tide, and he kisses you, again and again. And with each one, you gain life, you gather courage, a new constellation is born inside of you. Astrologers could only dream of uncovering all those new-born stars.

He drags you into the middle of the pool, and guides your legs around his waist. He holds you with ease, and from this angle, when you look down at him all you see is joy. But he hides in your neck, and finds another happy place in there.

You rest your head on his shoulder and look up the sky. The moon rose to a higher position, and she looks so calm, so all-knowing as she beams on you. She knew what was going to happen already, and now she was grinning at you slyly.

"Can you see the moon from there?" Hyunjin asks you, and you hum.

"Mhm. But you can't, can you?" It's not like he's trying, his eyes are closed as he cradles you.

"No, just tell her I said hi." You laugh. You wonder just for how long, has the moon known Hyunjin's secret? "I've got my own night sky right here." He says, as he hugs you even tighter, squeezing you to his chest like you're his childhood teddy bear.

"Cheesy." You mutter, but you place a kiss just underneath his ear. That ear begins to burn, and then his whole face is red (that's why he's hiding it away) and Hyunjin thinks he'll never grow used to it. In fact, he promises himself he won't. He promises to always allow himself to be surprised by just how much you mean to him. Over and over again.

Minutes turn to hours, just like days always turned to years around Hyunjin. Eventually you climb out of the pool to not turn into raisins - but you still continue to be tangled with each other, making up for all the kisses you've missed for all those years you've kept each other at arm's length. It feels like a pipe dream to call him yours, to kiss his lips that felt like clouds, look into his eyes that filled with lightning, listen to the words filled with thunder. And yet, his heartbeat still spoke to you in calm waves-

You and Hyunjin jump from your seats at the sound of something loudly popping. You frantically look around for the sound, and you see Jihyo and Luna, holding a confetti tube towards you. The sparkly paper falls to the floor, while some are carried by the wind towards you.

"Congratulations!" The two cheer, and you can't help but snort. Where did they even get confetti from?

"Now that the cat's outta the bag, the asshole is out of the picture and you're finally dating the right guy-" Luna almost sounds like she's rapping while she rambles, and everyone carries amusement on their faces. "And this guy can stop whining in my ear about how much he wants you-" You turn towards Hyunjin in shock, and he tries to make himself small and hide. He fails. "We can finally have some nice, family fun!"

"I thought we agreed you'd let us have the pool tonight!" Hyunjin argues, but Luna tuts in response.

"So I can just watch you two make out from afar? Nah, I wanna see it in person." With the look of an almost psycho, Luna grabs your leg and pulls you into the pool with her. She splashes you wildly in the face, and soon Jihyo and Hyunjin join you in a water fight even a toddler would easily win.

After a while a whole lot of fun, you approach Jihyo for a light conversation while the other two are struggling to inflate a beach ball.

"Have you known for a long time?"

"About Hyunjin's feelings? No, it was Luna who knew. I didn't know until tonight, honestly."

Hyunjin has been confiding in Luna, it seems. She was the only one who knew his secret - or well, maybe she wasn't. You look up at the moon, and then back at Luna, and something seems to make you laugh.

It is very late into the night, and yet you are all still awake. It came to the point where you had to leave the water, but Luna stops in the middle of the hallway and blocks the path.

"Hey, didn't that girl teach you stuff about cleaning the pool and all?"

You didn't even remember her name by this point.

"Yeah, why?"

"So what cleaning supplies should one use, let's say, if the pool becomes dirty with... An entire luggage worth of clothes and stuff?"

"What?" Hyunjin asks, breaking into a wild laugh, but he feels as if he already knows what Luna is about to say.

"Let's throw David's stuff into the pool." You display a look of horror, but when you look at Hyunjin, you see him comically dash into the house.

You're too dazed to even register when the suitcase showed up in front of your face. All three of your peers attacked the zippers like wild hyenas, and soon your ex's clothes are sent flying into the pool.

"Even his underwear is ugly." Hyunjin says, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it as far as he could into the pool. "I'm gonna need hand sanitizer after this."

You start to enjoy it after a while. Sure, you still tell them to not throw anything electric or expensive in there, like his earphones or watch, but you are the one to chuck his toothbrush in the pool and watch it sink to the bottom.

"Revenge is best served wet, baby." Luna pretends to dust off her hands and leaves the scene of the crime with a deadly hair flip.

Giggling like a bunch of school girls, you part ways to go quickly shower the chlorine away from your bodies. Then you reunite, clad in your comfiest pj's, and cuddle to Hyunjin's chest to listen to the sound of the ocean waves.

"Angel?" He calls out to you, and you look at him with hazy eyes. "Would it be weird or overwhelming if I told you I love you?"

"No." You shake your head and giggle. It's not that it was new information to you, but it did hold a new meaning now. A meaning - you found - you were always craving to reciprocate. Why have you been searching for Hyunjin in all of those people, when he was right there with you, petting your hair and making you feel alive?

"And would it be weird or overwhelming if I said that to you every night?"

"No, I would like that actually." You reach up to kiss him. He welcomes it and chases after your lips, and it's such a new high, that you wish it to turn into a habit.

"Okay." He whispers. "I love you."

"I love you." You reply. You don't say 'me too', you don't say 'i love you too'. Because this is not an action that he does and you copy. No, you love him all on your own. It's so crazy, that you love him independently, and he loves you independently, and yet when you're put together, you form the same constellation.

It's a good thing Hyunjin locked the door, because somewhere around five in the morning you got woken up by loud banging on your door, your handle being shaken erratically and an array of swear words. Hyunjin woke up as well, and you both tried to stifle your giggles, because that night you heard swearwords and insults you didn't even know existed.

By afternoon, when you got out of your room, he was completely gone. Turns out he collected his clothes from the pool and left with them soaking in a garbage bag. Luna had snuck out in the morning to record a video of David, trying and failing repeatedly to fish out his clothes with the stick end of a broom. You laughed so hard it brought you to tears, and when you went outside to check, you saw the only thing left, was a chlorine infused toothbrush sitting sad and depressed at the bottom of the pool.

You blocked him and threw away the memory of him into the sea. You knew the sea would be mean to him, drown him out and silence him. Because the universe wanted someone else to love you.

The moon, the stars, and all the eight seas;

They whispered to you that you had found your destiny.

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If you like my work, you can donate to me on my Ko-Fi so I can continue writing!

©amelee23 do not copy or repost.

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bisexualcrowley · 4 years ago

Text

Undercover

Pairing: Harry Hart x Fem! reader

Summary: While doing surveillance at a gala, Y/n and Harry's identities are threatened to be uncovered and they take to a rather intimate method of hiding their faces

Content/warnings: smutty themes? nsfw, fluffy stuff, cursing, suggestive themes, semi-public foreplay/teasing, making out, Merlin’s still alive bc i want him to be

Word count: 3,729

“A Gala. In the middle of winter, this means I might have to fight in heels, is this really necessary Merlin?” Y/n sighed, glancing out at the light drifting of snow that had begun to flutter down from the sky. Its not that she had anything against winter, the woman mused to herself, just that it makes this sort of work so much more difficult.

The year had been tough enough already, having lost Harry to Valentine, getting Harry back, the whole issue with the Golden Circle, and the constant stress was getting to Y/n, the smallest thing now able to piss her off, and unfortunately for her, this latest mission seemed to be more than a small thing. “C’mon Y/n, i know we all could use some rest but this is important, the target is threatening to release catastrophic amounts of classified government information. I’m not asking you to be on the front line here, I just need you and Galahad on the sidelines, more as surveillance and backup than anything else.”

Y/n had been less than impressed with Merlin’s words, wanting to stay as far away as possible from field work until she had gotten a decent amount of sleep, but her ears perked up at the mention of her best friend and previous partner at Kingsman.

“You’re letting Harry in the field again?”

She asked, surprised at the man’s words. “I thought you said he wasn’t ready yet, after the problems he had while working alongside the American agents.

“Not fully, as i said, the two of you will just be keeping tabs on him from the crowd, not making contact unless absolutely necessary.” Merlin must have picked up on Y/n’s eagerness to work alongside Harry again and allowed himself a slight smile as he spoke, sliding the paperwork across the table to the younger agent. “This place is fancy, i mean really fancy, you’re gonna want to look your very best. Go over his papers today and be here dressed and ready at 20:30 tomorrow. And I mean it, y/n, be dressed to kill, in more than just the metaphoric sense”

Most of her annoyance having melted away at the mention of Harry, Y/n agreed, taking the papers and shaking Merlin’s hand before turning on her heel and jogging down the hall of the Kingsman offices, hoping to find her friend. Luckily Y/n didn’t need to search far, finding him in the actual tailor section of the building being fit for a tuxedo.

Y/n caught Harry’s eye in the mirror in front of him and she shot him a grin, leaning casually against the door frame. “Lookin’ good, Galahad. Excited to be headin’ back into it?” She asked, affection shining in her smile at the sight of Harry Hart suiting up for battle once again.

It was no secret among many of the Kingsman agents that Y/n had fallen hard for the man, her feelings becoming clear to them when Harry was shot as she had broken down in tears at the news despite being one of Kingsman’s toughest agents, however she did manage to keep the secret from Harry himself, terrified of losing the relationship they already had by revealing her feelings only to find that they weren’t reciprocated.

Eggsy and Merlin, of course, had required a fair amount of bribery to be convinced to keep their mouths shut, finding the whole situation more than amusing and wanting nothing more than to spill the beans to Harry, whom they were fully convinced shared y/n’s feelings. Y/n didn’t crack though, and eventually the men had settled on the childish teasing of Y/n and placing bets on who would make the first move. Eggsy had put 50 pounds on Y/n cracking first, but Merlin put his money on Harry, having said something about Eggsy underestimating the woman.

At the moment, despite her refusal to share her feelings with Harry, Y/n feared that Eggsy was going to be the one to win the wager as she felt her heart beat faster at the happy smile Harry had offered her in return. “Looking forward to be working alongside you again, Y/n, it’s been lonely without my partner”

Y/n felt her face heat up at the compliment, but determined not to let her resolve fail she once again held back the words she wanted so badly to tell her friend, instead choosing to push herself off the doorframe and saunter over to Harry’s position in the center of the room. “So... A gala. Haven’t done one of these together in ages, have we.” Y/n’s hand came to rest on Harry’s shoulder, still not having broken their eye contact through the mirror. “It has been a while, although luckily, I never forgot how to dance”

Y/n’s confident exterior faltered at his words, tilting her head to the side and eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “We have to dance?” She asked, voice coming out far quieter than she had hoped. Harry let out a very ungentlemanly laugh at her shock, turning his gaze from the mirror to meet his friend’s eyes properly. “I’d assume Merlin didn’t tell you for this very reason, y/n” He chuckled. “We’d stick out too much, standing in the middle of a ballroom. To draw the least amount of attention to our position, we’re gonna have to dance”

Y/n froze for a moment, weighing her options. On one hand, she thought, I’m dancing with Harry. On the other hand, i’m dancing. In public. What a terrifying thought, i should just tell Merlin i won’t do it. But if i don’t do it, i don’t dance with Harry.

She squinted slightly, fighting herself for which option was better, but in the end decided that the upside of pretending to be Harry’s date outweighed the negatives in the situation, and after another moment of hesitation, Y/n nodded, nervously drumming her fingers on the man’s shoulder.

“Alright then. If we’re gonna dance, we’re gonna do it right. I’m gonna go find a dress, i guess. See you tomorrow, Galahad” Y/n breathed, a hint of humor making it’s way into her words as she went on, which to her luck Harry picked up on, and replied with an exaggerated salute, earning him a giggle and smile from Y/n before she slung on a coat and took off again.

Lucky for her the London streets were nearly empty, most seeking cover from the bitter cold within the comfort of their homes, and the trip to her own home was quick for Y/n. Almost immediately upon arriving, she threw open the doors of her closet, flicking through hanger after hanger of clothes that Merlin would be less than happy about her wearing to such a prestigious event. It appeared that luck was still on her side, however, as Y/n paused, pulling out a dress previously hidden behind a thick winter coat. It was beautiful, a slim gown of deep green velvet with a loose, plunging neckline and thin black straps with a shimmering gold woven throughout, and y/n smiled, knowing it would be perfect for the following night.

The next day passed quickly, Y/n having to study the target’s file, shower, do her hair and makeup, fit a variety of concealed weaponry on her person, and what felt to her like a million other things, and it felt like no time at all before she found herself outside the Kingsman Tailor shop, glittering heels clicking along the icy sidewalk leading up to the building. Y/n reached for the door handle, shivering slightly in the cold but was met with the door swinging open in her face, Merlin staring down at her with Eggsy, Tequila and Harry behind him.

“Y/n, you’re late, c’mon, there’s a car waiting in the back, c’mon lets go” Merlin ushered her along, the group rounding the building to find a black towncar waiting in the alley. It took a bit of maneuvering to fit everyone into the vehicle, coats bunching up in the small space, but eventually the group situated themselves in a somewhat comfortable fashion, and they were off.

The drive was longer than Y/n had expected, but no time was spent relaxing, having found herself rather distracted by her body being pressed against a very well dressed Harry, the cramped space forcing her leg to shift up onto Harry’s so that she was sitting partially on his lap, a position that had the both of them blushing furiously and Tequila chuckling from Harry’s left.

Hoping to distract from the uncomfortable and unfortunately mildly arousing way she was seated, Y/n leaned forward to peer past Harry and raised an eyebrow at the American agent, who in return mimicked her expression, which brought a mix of annoyance and amusement to the still blushing woman. “Mind if i ask why Harry was forced into the middle seat? Last time i checked, i’d fit a fair bit better” Y/n asked, Harry humming in agreement with her statement.

“Why, you wanna sit on my lap instead?” Tequila smirked, earning a snort of laughter from Eggsy and Merlin in the front seat and a glare from Y/n, where Harry shifted uncomfortably and blushed harder.

Y/n’s snapped back, but her retort was cut short at the feeling of the car slowing to a stop and Merlin leaning over the drivers seat to run over the night’s details one last time.

The plan went smoothly from then, Eggsy and Tequila positioning themselves near the main doorways and Merlin settling himself behind a computer, leaving Harry and Y/n to shed their coats and make their way further into the ballroom. A string quartet was set in the middle of the north wall, playing what y/n recognized immediately to be a slower rendition of the seal lullaby, and she fought the urge to twirl around a couple times, instead smoothing out her dress and holding out a hand to Harry.

“Well Mr. Hart, may i have this dance?” Y/n spoke calmly, careful to avoid appearing overly enthusiastic so as not to draw unnecessary attention to the pair, but the warmth shining in her eyes was undisguisable to Harry, who took her arm with a smile and led her to their position in the ballroom.

The image of the two Kingsman agents settling into a graceful mix of a waltz and a simple slow dance was reflected off the marble floors, creating what would have been a beautiful photo had there been a photographer near them and y/n relished in the moment, hand clasped with Harry’s, his hand pulling her waist to his as they swayed to the music.

Harry caught Y/n’s eye as he caught her after a spin, a grin breaking through his character that made her heart flutter. The song slowed to it’s end and the couple for the night paused, the taller figure dipping y/n and freezing, their faces inches apart. Y/n felt her breath hitch in her chest, heart pounding at the intimate position they had paused in.

Her eyes met Harry’s again, the latter panting slightly, his pupil dilated and face flushed red, and dear god it turned Y/n on. Biting her tongue to hold back what would have been a rather humiliating moan, she rested her weight into Harry’s arms, allowing herself a second to catch her breath. As the next song began, Harry shook himself out of whatever state he was in and pulled y/n back up against him, resuming the dance like nothing had happened. Y/n, still flustered, tried to distract herself by shooting a glance towards their target, who had moved from lingering by the side entrance to scanning the crowd from a nearby refreshment table. As the song reached a peak Harry spun y/n around again, but this time around her heel caught on the seam of her dress and she stumbled, accidentally turning away from her partner. Quickly righting herself, Y/n returned to her previous stance, but not before making brief yet intense eye contact with the man they were watching. “Shit... Merlin do you have eyes on the target? I might have just fucked us over” Y/n’s voice came out in a hoarse whisper, eyes blown wide with horror at the prospect of ruining Harry’s first real taste of action since the Golden Circle incident.

“Hang on, hang on, don’t abort mission yet” Merlin muttered through her earpiece, y/n hearing the clacking of keys as the older agent fussed with the security cameras

“Fuckin hell, Galahad, Y/n, he’s coming your way. Hold your position, we don’t blow your cover unless we’re 100% sure he knows who you are. Keep dancing, but don’t let him see your face”

Merlin’s voice cut across the earpiece again, and by the way y/n felt Harry's shoulders tense she knew he heard the message too.

“Shit, what do we do?” she hissed back, watching her partner risk a glance to the left and finding the target moving smoothly through the crowd, eyes set on the couple.

“Keep dancing, stay inconspicuous for as long as possible, if we’re lucky he’ll just pass on by. Now i’ll say it again, don’t let him see your bloody faces.” Merlin’s voice was low, and Y/n couldn’t stop the nervous feeling they caused from setting in as she watched the man grow nearer out of the corner of her eye.

“Merlin i don’t know what you expect us to do here if it’s so imperative we don’t move from this spot, we can’t just-”

Y/n tuned out Harry’s urgent whispers as a solution came to mind, eyes widening at the ridiculousness her own mind had come up with, but not seeing a better solution she shushed him, placing a finger over his lips.

Harry looked confused but went along with it, cocking an eyebrow in silent questioning and giving her shoulder a soft squeeze as the man drew closer, nearly close enough to get a good look at the pair, and y/n knew she had to make her move. With a quick whisper of “forgive me for this Harry”, Y/n brought her hands up to cup her friend’s face and pulled him into a kiss. Harry froze momentarily, his jaw tensing in shock before he followed her lead and returned the kiss, their lips moving against each others perfectly in sync and y/n couldn’t keep herself from sighing into the kiss, unconsciously pressing her body closer to his.

Harry deepened the kiss, his hands moving to thread through her hair and a vague thought reminded Y/n he was just helping to conceal her face, but it was shoved quickly to the back of her mind with a particularly passionate movement from Harry which she met enthusiastically. Her hands inched upwards to tug at his perfectly styled hair, which earned Y/n a low moan against her lips, and she pressed closer again, unconsciously slipping her leg between Harry’s. She felt his cock twitch against her thigh and all thoughts of what they were there to do flew out the window, one hand clasping at the collar of his tuxedo’s jacket and the other cupping his cheek, pulling his face down to her own.

Feeling bold, Y/n made a move to nip at Harry’s lower lip but before she had the chance, they were interrupted by a more than amused Eggsy clearing his throat beside her. The pair flinched in surprise and pulled quickly out of the heated embrace, leaving Y/n wiping speared lipstick from her face and fixing disheveled hair, Harry somewhat discretely adjusting his clothing to hide the now quite sizable bulge in his trousers with a deep blush across his cheeks and Eggsy watching from the side, eyes tearing up from the effort of holding in his laughter.

“Merlin says good thinkin’, Y/n. The two’ve you were a bit busy to notice but Tequila got the guy, he went down nice n’ quiet, we’re supposed to get to the car as soon as possible” Eggsy had a shit eating grin plastered across his face as he spoke, which only got wider when Y/n gave Harry an awkward smile, which he returned briefly before shoving his hands in his pockets and staring down at his shoes.

Snickering, Eggsy escorted the pair through the crowded room and through a series of side doors, which after a seemingly unnecessary number of hallways led to a back exit where the towncar that had brought them to the gala was waiting. Dreading what was sure to be an uncomfortable conversation with Harry, y/n winced at the thought of how inappropriate her actions towards her friend were, and she moved to open the passenger side door but was stopped by Eggsy once again, who flung open the door and threw himself in next to Merlin, who quite to her displeasure shared Eggsy’s smirk.

Y/n’s eyes locked with his, silently pleading to switch seats but her weak attempt proved to be in vain as Eggsy winked and pointed over his shoulder to the back of the car, where Harry was already seated. Y/n glared at Merlin but didn’t argue, and took a deep breath before sliding into the car, which to her luck was no longer so cramped due to the third agent having stayed behind with the target. The space was still smaller than she would have wished, but the cover of darkness provided a touch of comfort that y/n was endlessly grateful for.

Shadows crossed across her legs as the car rolled into gear, Merlin driving out of the alley and beginning the long journey back to the Kingsman headquarters. Y/n sighed, leaning her head against the window and closing her eyes, hoping the cold glass against her skin would help to drown out her racing thoughts.

Much to her dismay, however, they had been traveling for less than ten minutes when Eggsy turned around, leaning over his chair with the same wicked smile stretched across his face as he had worn before.

“So, you two had some fun t’night, didntcha?” Merlin let out a snort of laughter from beside him, Eggsy nodding his head suggestively between the pair in the backseat. Too tired to come up with a snarky reply, y/n simply rolled her eyes at Eggsy, and went back to working up the nerve to say something to the uncharacteristically silent figure seated beside her.

The realization that Harry was rarely this quiet around y/n outweighed her fear of confrontation, concern for her friend pulling her focus from Eggsy to the older man, and she turned to face him. Harry was sitting stiffly, hands clasped in his lap and head straight forward, but he must have been watching y/n out of the corner of his eye, as he looked to the side to meet her eyes when she turned from her position by the window to look up at him.

In that moment, the car was silent aside from the low rumble of the engine, the tension between the two growing from tolerable to an absolute peak, hanging thickly in the air between their bodies. It was thick enough, apparently for Eggsy to pick up on it, and with a chuckle about “giving you two some privacy”, he pressed a button beside his seat that caused a black divider to come up behind him, separating the front from the back of the car and leaving Y/n and Harry in silence.

Both Harry and Y/n stayed frozen in place, faces turned to each other and her eyes locked on his. Hesitantly, y/n placed a hand on Harry’s knee, a motion that years of friendship had taught him meant she had a lot to say, but didn’t yet know how to say it, and Harry nodded, the silent exchange sharing more than words would be able to.

“...I... I’m sorry, Harry, i shouldn’t have...” Y/n’s voice was low, barely above a whisper as she spoke, trailing off as the words caught in her throat.

"No, y/n, it was my mistake, i just...” Harry's voice faltered as well, fingers coming up to fuss nervously with the strap of his eyepatch, a habit y/n had noticed Harry picked up when he felt flustered.

Neither of them knew what had happened; one moment they were sitting in silence, y/n’s hand on his knee and tension high, and the next moment y/n found herself being pulled into Harry’s lap, her hands once again tugging at his hair as they met again in a heated kiss. Her dress had hiked up to her hips at this point, allowing Y/n to straddle her lover properly, and this time she didn’t hesitate to grind down against him, Harry’s hands coming to grip her smooth hips as she rubbed her barely covered sex along the bulge in his trousers, both letting out groans of pleasure at the friction.

Harry’s fingers trailed down y/n’s body as they made out like horny teenagers in the backseat, moving from her hair down to cup her covered breast, and down further to trace along the slick fabric of her panties. Y/n whimpered at the touch and moved to return the favor, her own hand coming to palm at his cock through his pants, at which Harry gasped and yanked her down onto his lap once again, hips thrusting up to grind against y/n’s cunt.

She moaned against his mouth once again, pulling away for just long enough to strip off Harry’s coat and unbutton his shirt before returning to her position on his lap. The two were so caught up in the moment that they didn’t notice the car pulling up to the curb and stopping, however they did take notice to the door flying open and the flash of a camera, followed by Eggsy’s delighted voice and a deep laugh from Merlin. Embarrassed, y/n quickly tugged her dress back into place and slid out of the car, holding out a hand for Harry to take as he climbed out, looking as red faced as y/n felt.

“Go on, buggers, we took you to Galahad’s place. I’ll find out who won the bet tomorrow, go have some fuckin’ fun.” Eggsy laughed at their dumbfounded expressions at his words, but chose not to respond, instead returning to his seat beside Merlin who drove off a few seconds later, leaving two very sexually frustrated agents on the sidewalk.

“Well then... Wanna take this inside?”

#harry hart smut #kingsman smut #kingsman imagine #kingsman fluff #harry hart x reader #harry hart imagine #harry hart fluff #wlm imagine #fanfic #oneshot #kingsman the golden circle #kingsman harry

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whimperwoods · 4 years ago

Text

Part 4 of Gozukk and Anna.

First part is here. Second part is here. Third part is here.

I feel I am setting some unreasonable expectations for y’all here with the frequency of updates, but I’m also ahhh big stress gotta write fiction over it, so that’s the way it is.

tw: slavery (past), tw: past abuse, tw: implications of past rape (vague), tw: panic attack

Tag list: @redwingedwhump, @nine-tailed-whump, @thehurtsandthecomfurts @kixngiggles

****

Anna had managed to stay calm and quiet until Djaana returned, even after the woman stopped at the entrance to the tent to talk to the chief again in the same soft tones as before.

Now, she could feel fear running through her again, dampening her palms and sending an icy feeling down her spine. Djaana was smiling, but Anna decided not to try smiling back. Faking it poorly might be worse than not trying at all.

“You’re safe,” the woman said again, “It’s still only me.”

Anna nodded, trying to wipe the sweat from her palms without being noticed.

Djaana knelt down on the rug on the other side of the room and beckoned her over. “Come over here. We’ll set you up with some cushions.”

Rising to her feet, Anna was sure there was no hiding her shaking, so she hurried toward the orc woman, hoping to at least make it less apparent.

“Do you need clean smallclothes?” Djaana asked, gesturing to a neat pile of clothing beside her, “Or are you alright? I think all of this should fit you.”

Anna froze. She couldn’t say yes, could she? Surely it was too soon to ask for things. Unless it wasn’t? She had been able to wash her clothes only rarely, and her top layers most easily, and the thought of clean underclothes had filled her with energy, like being doused with cold water.

“I-” she fell silent, her throat too dry to continue. “I don’t -”

She didn’t know. She didn’t need them. Did she? But gods she wanted them.

Djaana held a hand up. “It’s alright. We don’t have much that’s new and not already being used, but everything that’s set aside to be handed down is clean, and you’re not quite the same size as any of the kids just now.”

“Yes,” Anna answered, blurting it out before she could rethink it.

Djaana smiled. “Alright. We’ll get you dressed in new things as soon as your wounds are cleaned. Let’s get you settled in. Is it alright if I look at your back?”

It was. It wasn’t. Anna’s palms were sweating again. She nodded, but her entire body shook as she laid down on her stomach on the deep red rug.

Djaana touched her shoulder gently for just a moment, then started bustling around her, encouraging her to rearrange to lie on the cushions. Anna could barely hear it, her body buzzing with fear. She didn’t like this, didn’t like being on the ground, didn’t like how easy it would be to pin her down, but she needed to keep breathing. She needed to keep breathing. Her breath was ragged, wheezing in and out of her throat in wild gasps she couldn’t quiet or she thought she might not breathe at all.

Djaana stopped, sinking down to kneel beside her. “Sit up,” she said, gently, “It’s alright. Let’s just get you breathing better. Just breathe.”

It was a relief to sit up, but her arms shook hard as she moved, and Djaana scooted closer, her hands hovering around her but not quite touching to help.

Once Anna was sitting more solidly, Djaana seemed to relax, moving her hands back into her own lap. Anna felt foolish, her face heating up as she continued to breathe in big, desperate gulps.

Djaana opened her mouth and then closed it again.

Anna nodded at her. That made sense. Nothing made sense, but that did, because it meant someone else didn’t know what to say, either.

Djaana sighed. “My brother can be - hasty. He wants things to be right, and he wants them to be that way fast. But don’t let him pressure you into doing what he thinks is best. You can always come to my tent.”

Anna was still breathing, her whole mind wrapped up in it, and she had no idea what Djaana was talking about. She realized her mouth was hanging open, like a dog’s, but she couldn’t close it until she felt like she had enough air, until she stopped feeling like her chest was collapsing in on itself.

Djaana reached up to brush her hair behind her ear again, but paused, waiting for a moment before she did it. It felt good. Soothing.

Anna nodded. “Thanks.”

She didn’t know how long they sat there, quiet, Djaana just looking calmly, peacefully into her eyes. Her breathing slowly slowed, quieted, and then she felt her face heating up again. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I’m - I’m sure you’re busy.”

Djaana nodded, but didn’t seem upset. “Things take the time they take. The clothes will mend just the same later.”

Anna didn’t know what to say. She looked down, away, studying the patterns in the rug, trying not to fidget under Djaana’s gaze.

“Do you think you’d be alright if you sat up and I pulled your dress up over your shoulders far enough to see if you’re bleeding? Or do you need to just change clothes and we’ll worry about it tomorrow?”

Anna felt ragged and exhausted, the thousand unknowns around her too big to think about, too deep to swim in. But she had to have an answer. She had to have an answer, because Djaana had to like her. Had to like her answers. She breathed deeply, holding herself together.

“I’ll be alright,” she answered, hoping that would be enough.

Djaana nodded. “Tell me if you need a rest.”

Anna let Djaana help her turn sideways, putting her back to the door and rearranging herself to kneel upright, her back straight. Djaana’s hands were slow and careful, but having her dress half on and half off was worse, so Anna pulled the fabric out of Djaana’s hands and off over her head. Her body had broken out in goosebumps, but she was still in her underclothes, and the lantern light was warm. She found herself reaching for a pillow and pulling it into her lap, squeezing a corner of it tightly in one hand.

Djaana squeezed her shoulder gently, encouragingly, and Anna managed to keep her breathing steady, in through her nose and out through her mouth.

She knew her back was a mess, knew how often she’d been beaten, knew what it must look like, but it still surprised her when Djaana said, “There are a few here that need cleaning,” and a wet cloth pressed directly against a cut she knew was from Master Kir’s belt. It hurt, the sudden pressure on the wound making her sit up straighter.

Djaana made soft, comforting noises, but the slow, stinging drag of the cloth across wounds Anna was used to ignoring made it impossible not to pay attention to the pain. She couldn’t just rearrange and then sit still to keep from jostling anything. She couldn’t shift to get the pressure off of what hurt. She just had to keep breathing.

It was a few minutes before she realized she was making soft noises of her own, little whines and half-strangled whimpers.

Djaana stopped. “Alright to keep going?”

Anna pulled the pillow closer, tucking it up against her stomach and hugging it tighter. She nodded.

Djaana cleaned the rest of her wounds and bandaged them, and Anna found herself shaking at the end of it, too hard to stand up on her own and change her smallclothes. She let go of the pillow, feeling the absence of it as soon as it was back out of her arms, and let Djaana help her dress in the new clothes, which were clean and soft, but a little bit big on her, the loose cloth trousers staying up only with the help of a soft woven belt she could tie tightly around herself.

Djaana squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll feed you up, too.” She was smiling warmly, and this time, Anna let her mouth mirror Djaana’s, not even sure if the smile was false or real.

“Thank you,” she said, as Djanna helped her sit back down on one of the large cushions.

Djaana nodded. “Get some rest. You look like you need it.”

Anna nodded back, but couldn’t bring herself to lie down, even after the other woman had left and she was alone. Instead, she hugged her knees to her chest and tried to figure out what kind of shudders were running through her. She didn’t feel afraid anymore, but she was still shaking, and until she could figure out why, she didn’t trust herself to lie down and try to rest.

#whump #hurt/comfort #slavery tw #rape mention tw #panic attack tw #past abuse tw #you're not crazy the spelling of djaana's name did change #gonna probably go back and change it in part 3 too #also the clothes are too big bc orcs are generally stocky and Anna is an underfed half-elf and... uhh... not #they're the right length and Djaana did a good job picking

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nurseofren · 4 years ago

Text

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 27 (NSFW)

Read on AO3 | Read on Wattpad

Read Chapter twenty-six

Title: There is No Redemption

Words: 7.4K

Summary: Happy trail worship? Happy trail worship.

ST Rambles: Hello readers, I hope you enjoy this part. I am in my final semester for my ADN and cannot promise even monthly updates at this time. Please, please, please comment your thoughts because I don't want to produce content that is not enjoyable. Thank you for your patience and understanding.

[MASTERLIST] || BANNER / @elmidol

Stress enveloped your skull in throbbing pain, Karmen’s six-hour rundown stinging your senses and drawing you inward. Halfway through, you had already begun to feel the excess of information take its toll; Zag’s voice – unpleasant in small doses – grated into you, each word coming too fast and leaving too soon. Thankfully, no doubt to cover herself, she had left you with a thumb drive; it summarized everything she’d mentioned.

After the ordeal, when she left by the sharp click of her heels, you understood why it was recommended to arrive two days prior to the initial hearing: you were utterly and dreadfully exhausted. After unpacking – ensuring easy access to your favorite socks and keeping Snoke’s letter tucked into the back drawer of a desk – you had sat in bed for an hour trying to refresh with the thumb drive’s contents; you’d were determined to be prepared for tomorrow’s shift at Canto Bight’s recovery wing. If nothing else, you would not make a fool of yourself during your practice here. This you swore to yourself.

At some point you had drifted to sleep, waking to find your cheek stuck to the datapad that’d been propped up before you. The sunset woke you with a searing ray of light, screaming fuchsias and hazy purples warming your outstretched arm as they cast through open curtains. The breeze rolled off of the bay and tickled loose hair over your nape, a deep breath stretching your lungs awake before you unfurled from yourself.

The radar at your wrist indicated Kylo Ren was near but not in his quarters, probably not inside the building. It was a confusing feeling – the unsteadiness you felt when revisiting your earlier interaction, the vagueness of his words contradicted by the certainty in which they’d been delivered, but simultaneously this calm in your chest since you had left him. Although you had no idea what he’d gone on about, or what in time meant, his mere presence – the fact that he was near and would continue to be – allowed you these glimmers of peace.

Not since Starkiller. Not since Snoke. Not Mason and his baseless confidence, no matter how much you wished to latch onto it; not Talia, who had helped you back from your darkest moment. The only things that stilled you were the known proximity of your master, and the nature of the words he’d earlier spoken. You’d felt it that recent night on the Finalizer, how it lingered in your muscles just before you’d dozed off, how it seemed his presence had scared your nightmares away.

However ridiculous and backwards, Kylo Ren – the one whose pain is printed on your skin, who led a slaughter just strides away from you – had become a constant. It was never what you had expected, but when you thought of the trial now, what eased your nerves was nothing less than the raven-haired warrior whose face was slashed with midnight hues of pain.

Much like you, you’d come to realize, he had survived Starkiller, and the event changed him. Though you could not know for sure, you began to wonder if what had gone on had not only left him with the wounds that’d wet your skin, but perhaps ones that were deeper – ones that were not so visible. Something happened before that explosion, something more than whatever fight had earned him that scar.

You shook your head; this was too much to think on right now. With a throw draped over your back, you trudged through the room and out into the chill of your side-balcony. This sky held more beauty than any you’d ever seen; you watched the sun descend, spying a domed, octagonal pavilion at the far left of the side gardens. It dripped with violet-petaled ropes and emerald ivies, was supported by scalloped columns entwined with twinkling blooms welded from gold, the whole stage centered around a sunken fire pit.

Considering for a moment, you saw it would have a better view of the sunset, and you’d been cooped up since arriving. It was a quick decision, catching view of a spiral of stairs that led to the grounds, but only after noting the pair of doors a few paces left of your room’s. They were closed, and the inner curtains seemed to be shut, the room behind them dark. Empty.

No, Kylo Ren was not here, but – a thumb over your radar – he was not far. Somewhere off on his own business. Training, maybe. At least, that’s what you supposed kept you from traveling with him, the thought frustrating. Maybe – no, undoubtedly – he would never admit to it, never show it, but he was still recovering.

Ten days ago he was in a medically induced coma talking about someone named Ben and how he’s dead. Bacta works wonders, but it means nothing if a patient is noncompliant with post-operative restrictions, like swinging around a plasma sword for hours on end, or doing trial runs with the Force – which, although you knew little about, one could easily assume it put strain on the body.

Maybe you were wrong and your master was completely fine, maybe the Force aided in healing. No matter, you worried; for him, mostly, never forgetting how he appeared in that medbay, but also for yourself. It was clear that you cared for him – for fuck’s sake, when you thought you’d never see him again you wanted to tell him you loved him – and you knew his pursuits could very likely be the death of him. Stubborn as you might be to acknowledge it, so long as he was okay and not recklessly shredding through healed wounds, so long as he returned to you, you could rest somewhat soundly.

Hugging your blanket, tighter when the wind blew, you wandered down to the courtyard’s trim lawn, along the overflowing flowerbeds that brimmed with brilliant colors, until you met the few steps that led to the pavilion’s stage. Flames shocked you when you stepped onto the eight-sided base, your presence triggering a hidden system. The rectangular pit exploded into a rainbow of fire, thin veils of flames ascending elegantly into an ordered myriad. The pit was massive, consuming the base but for a few paces from each support.

Much like everything else, the pavilion was grand in size and decoration; the hearth’s hues danced along the draped flora, at least ten paces separating each gold-threaded pillar. Everything here was explicitly luxurious, so big and gorgeous. You wanted to settle into it, but it was temporary, and you would not know how fatal that fact was until it was too late.

Farther out, flames rippled over the bay; the sinking heat of the sun endeared your skin, the warmth at your back growing in distance as you gave in to the silent call of the scorching sky. First tracing the tip of one of the gold leaves woven to a pillar, admiring the detailed stems and ridges, you curled up against the column’s wide base. Head caressed by the smooth, cool stone, knees curled close to your chest, you were glamored by the water’s rhythmic sway, wondering if you would ever have the chance to feel it on your skin.

It took little effort to keep Karmen’s lecture from your thoughts, too lost to the burgundy of dusk that bloomed as the sun wilted toward the bay. A stillness surrounded you, and then you tuned into the chirping whispers of bugs that remained hidden with the fall of night. It did not bother you in the slightest, their distant songs a reminder of your life before the academy. A passing thought, fond amusement lazily humming in your chest – there are no crickets in space.

You remained folded against the pillar for some time, watching night creep over the city, more grateful for the heat on your back as warmth waned, the moon climbing higher with each lulling minute. The stone iced into your cheek. You went to leave, but your commlink buzzed at your waist, and you knew it would be wiser to keep this particular conversation outside.

Elbows to your knees, you ruffled a hand through your hair, closed your eyes, and answered Mason’s call. “How’s your day, McCarty?” There was no use in starting an argument if he had moved on from earlier.

“Probably better than yours, if I had to guess.” He sounded chipper. It was a relief.

“Well, what went on? Where’d you go? Who’d you see? What’d you eat?”

“I’ve really just been hanging out at the house since getting here. Caught a nap, which was nice. Soto sent me a transmission detailing updates on a few patients.”

He wasn’t hostile at all. Hopefully it meant he was done being weird. “I also got a nap. Which, agreed, is definitely nice. Especially after being kept in a room with Zag for six hours and trying to keep my head from exploding.”

“Six hours? With Zag? Are they trying to get you convicted of murder?”

You shared a laugh, scooting along the stone floor and peering up to the ceiling. It was tiled with mosaics, the fire’s vibrant colors reflecting off of it and shifting along the intricate designs. The view of the city was wider from this position, distant lights shimmering in windows that peered into whatever parties were undoubtedly happening.

“She isn’t that bad. It’s just her voice. And I barely have a handle on anything other than the fact that I have my first shift tomorrow, and then two days after that is the initial hearing. And I don’t even want to think about that to begin with, so…”

“Well,” he sighed your name, “I’ll be there. Bright and early, just like you. Wearing my second-best attire, saving the very best for the official trial, of course.”

“Jeez, that’s another thing, right? They fly us out here, put me up in some military-grade villa, but they give me nothing to wear, are aware that my residence just exploded on Starkiller, and then still say I can’t wear my uniform. I just find that a bit unfair. But that’s what I think, which we both know has not mattered since the very beginning of all this. I don’t even know why I expected anything different. I’ll just have to request transport to the shops or something. And then make credits appear out of thin air to pay for it.”

With notably increased enthusiasm Mason said, “Actually, I, uh, I was going through the house earlier and there’s actually a lot left over from my family’s recent trip. You’re free to come over and take some stuff back to your embassy if you want.”

“Alright, first – not my embassy, and if we’re calling it anything, I vote palace. Seriously—” you stared at a trellis that overflowed with wild blooms of every shade of red, the dead, fallen petals mocking you in the familiar way they pooled beneath. “—this place is too beautiful for any of the old businessmen who stay here. It’s actually ridiculous.”

“So it’s not homey, after all?”

A bellowing laugh came from the center of your chest, echoing up to the domed roof and into the growing dark. “No. No. Not homey. Not quaint. None of that. Just giant and spectacular.”

“Well, whatever it is, do you want to come over and grab some clothes?”

“Oh! Oh, yeah. That’s a lot better than spending credits I don’t have. Although maybe I’m worrying for nothing? Don’t they forgive your debt when you die, anyway?”

Mason did not laugh, did not even speak, and your amusement fell into alarm. An edge menaced along each pointed word when he spoke; “Maybe they’ll forgive your debt, but I won’t forgive you for dying.” He grunted in rejection. “You’re not dying, so I don’t know why we’re discussing this.”

Silence swallowed you both, and for a moment you could hear him trembling, hear the shakiness of his breath. A sharp exhale startled your hand from your ear. And then it was quiet again. He cleared his throat, and you noticed how thick it had become. Was he crying?

“Mason, you need to tell me what’s going on. And don’t say-,”

“Nothing is going on. It’s fine. We’re fine.”

“Funny, because when you say that, when you tell me we’re fine when I didn’t ask, it makes me think the exact opposite.”

He sighed, but at this point there was a good chance it was more exasperation or fuming than anything else. “I’m not having this conversation when I can’t see you.”

“Well, I’ll just turn my transmission on and we can-,”

“No.” Clipped, barked. Final.

It concaved your chest. Mason had never spoken to you like this. Your teeth scraped at your bottom lip. “Should I be worried?”

He paused. “No,” as it gritted through his teeth, your name was contoured with wisps of ire. An ounce less of restraint and whatever he was holding back would crack this hardened, taut façade.

The worst came to mind. All you could manage was a terrified whisper, “Are you revoking your seat to testify? Is that what this is about? Am I about – fuck – am I about to- I can’t lose you. I can’t-,”

“I told you. I told you I will be there.” Frosted fury swept through his following pause. His flat tone was laced with quiet hurt when he next said, “Do you really think I could do that to you? Leave you in the dust like that?”

“No. I guess not.”

“You guess not,” he thought aloud, a long drag of breath crackling into your ear. “I’m glad that you’re settled in, and… good luck during your shift tomorrow. You don’t need it, I know, but nonetheless.”

He was dismissing you. You hated it. “I’m not hanging up until I know we’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” he said simply, too fast. Mason cleared his throat. “Request transport for the morning after your shift. You can shop around the closets and after, we can order lunch and… and we can talk. About things. Everything.”

It was apparent he would not give anything more away, but you knew from his flat tone that whatever it was, was detrimental to him. Or you. Or both.

“Yeah. I’ll put in the request after shift tomorrow.”

Another long, aching silence. You listened to his breath, trying and failing at ignoring the knives in it. The line remained silent, the hanging static a backdrop to the hidden, harmless creatures humming in the night.

“I love you, Mason,” you prompted, teeth catching your trembling lips, time choking you with every halved second that trudged along.

It killed you, every inhale adding to the weight in your chest, every empty, wordless moment he spent cutting into you with a silent blade.

Another second and you turned back to the heightening tide of the bay, the clear night sky dying it a deep navy. Even as you tried to focus on the waves that foamed along the distant shore, there was no sound louder than Mason’s nonresponse.

“Goodnight,” Mason said, small, far enough away that it splintered through your heart like ice wedged through rock.

“Good-,” the line went dead, the static dying, a night-kissed wave crashing in your periphery, “-night.”

The iridescent veils of hearth rippled before you now, turning away from the seemingly infinite expanse of water. Even so, you shivered, and you were sure it had nothing to do with the weather. Tucking your commlink into your waist pocket, loosing a long-kept breath, you stood from the stone and clasped your blanket over your shoulders. With a final glance, chin to your shoulder, you appreciated the beauty of your first night here.

Whatever awaited you tomorrow, the next day, and in the weeks to come? It would remain. For now, just this one moment alone, you could pretend that everything was okay. Just for a moment.

A soft touch brushed your shoulder, but when you turned to meet whoever it belonged to, you found there was no one around. But a light caught your eye, one that had not been there before. Maybe that interruption to the dark captured your attention, but not at all was it what kept your gaze above the gardens.

Through the clear night, a breeze danced through the flora, glittering scarlet petals into the shadows. Above those dwindling rubies, leaning over the balcony’s curve, was Kylo Ren. Behind him, the golden light of his quarters caressed his back, small fragments draping over the sharp, toned muscles of his shoulders. He was staring down to you, his gaze laving along your figure, eyes those of a predator aware their prey was no match for them. The ever-heightening moon was all that lit his front, but it was enough. No, so much more than enough. Entrancing. Captivating. Beguiling.

Light cascaded along the taut strength of Kylo’s abdomen, his broad, thick chest emanating with the smooth white of the dusk’s sun. Once more, like it always did, the scar skating through his features kept your attention. From a distance it was less intrusive, but its presence sank your heart like the sun had wandered into the sea.

A whip of night air pushed his hair back to tease his ears, his head slightly cocking to the side when you found his eyes again. There was no color to them, none that you could see so far away, but you felt their heat slink along your lips, then your neck, over your chest, and lower still. When they claimed yours once more, they were sculpted with steadfast steel, strong and slithering, ordering your compliance to the smoking promises beyond.

Without noticing, that chill from earlier had left you, and you gathered the blanket so it hung from your forearm. Kylo held you with his eyes, the fire’s warmth falling away when you stepped off the platform and wandered, in leisure, down the steps and into the plush lawn. A dew was readying to form on the grass beneath your bare feet, the coolness welcome under his blazing attention. One step, two, another, and a final; small, shuffling, like you were hypnotized – truthfully, you could have been, but there was none but your own intent in the steps that carried you closer to him.

Only when he straightened to his full height, standing away from the balcony’s edge, did you halt your advance. He paused there, watching you, so gracefully still you were unsure of his breathing. From his new position you could no longer see his hands, but – you could feel them. A pressure along your cheek, your heart stammering at how its span so completely matched his own, and then around your throat, dizzying when it teased your carotids. Breath shivered from your slack mouth, catching when that – his – ghosted touch skimmed down your sternum and pushed into your rib cage.

Kylo made no sound, but when the night’s quiet scattered around your faint, gasped moan – feeling the whispered hands smooth over your hips, around the front of your thighs – you saw his jaw flutter, darkness and moonlight tangling when he gave you one final glance. The phantom touch left, a feline smirk flickered along his lips, and when his brows descended and veiled those deep, deep eyes, Kylo turned and sauntered out of sight.

But you understood his message, the silent one that only his body spoke, and you knew that his leaving was not goodnight, but an invitation. One you fully intended on accepting.

The trees swayed above you, the beds of perfectly spaced flowers blowing with the gentle breeze and combining with the sea behind to fill your head with the salty, fresh aroma of a Canto Bight night. Each step you took along the patterned grass shimmered anticipation through your veins, heady, wanton thoughts brimming in your mind.

The cold stone that marked the ground level’s patio shocked through you, wet crimson petals that had pooled below the trellis now clinging to the soles of your feet. You did not have time, or at least were desperate to not waste any, to pluck them off, allowing them to travel with you as you led them up the curved staircase. As you climbed the steps, you stole a fleeting glimpse of the bay; from this height the city’s nightlife sheened along the shore, a few private ships zooming above the skyline and carrying their passengers to events unknown to you.

Events that you could not have cared less about, not when you arrived to the second-level balcony, not when you saw the swaying curtain beyond Kylo Ren’s open, waiting door. No, those events meant nil, exceedingly so when you found the beginnings of a trail leading into his room, the first crumb that of pooled, discarded athletic pants.

Instant, overwhelming chills clamored about your skull, the blanket draped over your arm joining the black bottoms when your limbs went wobbly. Through the wind-swept gossamer you spied the second addition – one long, impossibly large, black sock – and when you came closer, the cool of night waning as you met the threshold, your heart thrummed louder at the nearing shaft of light that fled the refresher’s entrance.

Heated tiles warmed your first steps into Kylo’s room, the coquettish curtain kissing the tip of your nose before the door at your back locked shut in near silence. You brushed past the veil of fabric and took in your surroundings, quite different from what they were earlier. The golden rays of morning had since been overridden by soft panes of night, only the moon reflecting onto the light tile, not a single star to join it. The bed’s canopy remained shut, its thin sheets cascading around the bed so there was ample space to walk within its soft confines. And from that canopy, from the circular track above, bloomed delicate, mild light; it melted midway down the canopy, fading to nothing before it breeched the polished ivory below.

Another step and you noticed the trail of scarlet, dew-drop-covered petals you were leaving in your wake. On the step up from the bed’s level lay a second sock, so you padded to it, and tuned into the sound of heavy, rushing water that became louder as you delved further into the dimly lit room. This level was dark save for the glow of the open refresher; you followed that light like a lost vessel in space, hands trembling as you passed through the sitting area with soundless strides. Finally, as you’d calculated at the earlier bareness of his chest, you found the piece of clothing that signaled your final destination lying at your feet.

Atop the refresher’s threshold lay a pair of black boxer-briefs – unfolded, just as they’d appear fresh off the heated, muscled body from which they’d come. A smile played at your lips, remembering how the pair he’d so generously provided you the morning after you’d first slept next to him had hugged your hips with subtle compression. Those, unfortunately, were undoubtedly obliterated with everything else that had exploded with Starkiller.

Kylo Ren was nowhere within view, but running water tucked behind a corner to your left, and when steam swirled around an inlet that bordered a sleek, unbroken wall of ash-grey tile, your lungs lit with need, with want, your thoughts only focused on the body and man that waited for you just beyond view, just out of reach. Suddenly you became aware of how overdressed you were, so you turned to your right and found a mirror that ruled its own wall and plucked open the top button of your uniform.

The fogged silver expanse provided a blurred, softened outline of your near-bare body, scalding goosebumps scraping up your neck at the thought of Kylo’s slicked, dripping body. Hands hooked behind your back, you loosed your bra and smoothed the straps down the sides of your arms. And then all that covered you were the lack-luster panties the Finalizer had provided all those months ago, but they soon joined the small pile at your feet, leaving you naked and anticipatory and adamant.

Plopping your watch onto your clothes, you squared your shoulders, fixed your posture, and approached the heat of the hidden shower. Its warm embrace evoked such a calm through you, first loosening your shoulders, then steadying your breath.

Beyond the smoke hued barrier was a chamber of luxury, the water cascading from above like it came from an invisible storm cloud; its volume suggested a harsh pressure, but, stepping beneath the jets that seemed to span the entire stall, your skin was graced with the pleasant fall of a spring shower. Looking up, blinking through the misted warmth, you found the navy night sky peering down at you through the clear glass ceiling.

All light but that of the moon left the stall, and when your attention shifted down, you saw him through the sheets of water that kept you apart. The air was thick with fog and mist and night, but he remained the most devastatingly gorgeous person you’d ever seen, ever known. You needed him to be closer, you needed to be closer to him. No matter if you’d been with him those few nights ago, and though you’d spoken just hours ago, there was a tautness that tightened as your steps brought you to him.

Arms at his sides, stance strong and confident, Kylo Ren was a stride away from you, and you stopped. Inky black hair dripped down his neck, and his mouth was set in a flat, unreadable line, but all you could think of was how it felt you were seeing him for the first time all over again. He was different now, body scarred and worn from the passing of time. You did not stare at the red and black that had only been there for such a short time now. You appreciated it.

Kylo observed you, and a measure after your gaze followed the ebony ribbon rested in his countenance, you lifted a hand to it. He tensed and you caught his eyes, giving him a small nod before the very tip of your fourth finger kissed the start of his scar. You watched him, vaguely aware of your hand slipping along the marked path through his brow and down his cheek. Breath pushed from him in eased waves, his eyes danced between yours, and when you reached the line of his jaw and tapped your finger to the raised, pinking skin there, you closed your eyes and leaned up on your toes so you could press an aching kiss to it.

That tenseness that’d clanged into him at your touch was instantly gone, the heated streams above not a match to the stifling relief that fogged from his nares. So near to him, a second hand pushing through wetted, onyx locks, you remembered how he’d stared up at you on the Command Shuttle, how unreadable his expression was when his new scars had still been fresh wounds.

Your touch found the tail end of his healing flesh, and you swallowed down a thick, betraying sob. “Why did you believe me?” you whispered, not looking up to him. “When I told you I hated you and I wanted to quit. When I said,” you winced, “when I called you a bastard and said I wished I could forget you. Why didn’t you fight it longer?”

Kylo was quiet for a moment, body still but not reluctant to the steady meandering of your fingers. Something haunted him when he said, “Irredeemable bastard, if you’ve forgotten.”

“No,” your throat bobbed, “I haven’t. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that day. Any, any part of it.” Looking up at him, you smoothed your hand over the scar settled into his shoulder. “After that morning, after everything, why did you believe me?”

“You were saying goodbye,” he murmured, like he’d mulled over that day time and time again and never considered the possibility. “Before Takodana. You knew. He’d gotten to you by then.” A note of betrayal sharpened his tongue, a snarl lighting when he referred to Snoke.

The hand that wasn’t tracing circles along his scarred muscles now toyed with his ear, the tip of your index finger molding to the curved pinnae. “Kylo,” just a breath, nearly drowned by the water ricocheting at your feet, “answer me. Please.”

Smooth, low, he began, “Because who could-,” he swallowed, considering you before starting over, “Because I’ve never known anyone who didn’t hate me. And I’ve always been a bastard. So when you said those things, after that morning, after you’d ran through Starkiller to tell me and kept saying them…”

Memories fluttered behind his eyes, and as their burning brown centered glittered against the navy night, you lifted your hand so you could hold his face, hold it like a parent would caress their child’s tear-sodden cheek. Kylo blinked back to you and you comforted the purpled skin beneath his eye.

He did not want to voice the answers you sought, but you watched as, piece by piece, you dented one of those walls he’d erected in that time-stained interrogation room. Perhaps it was a hopeful thought, but you swore you felt him ease into your hand.

“I stopped fighting because only a fool counters the truth of his life.” Kylo’s throat bobbed, his deep, shadowed gaze swallowing you whole. He caught your hand and led it flat along his broad chest, and then to the panes of his abdomen, placing it over the bruised, raised flesh of the scar you’d yet to explore. “I believed you because there was no reason to doubt you.”

The showering heat from above shielded that which was blurring your vision. He believed you because he believed those things of himself. After seeing him wear so many masks, physical or phantom, you saw it in his eyes that he still thought those things and had for his entire life.

And then it made sense, and the realization dragged jagged, thorn-wrapped talons through your heart. You whispered through the water, wondering if you were speaking only for yourself when you said, “That’s why you didn’t look inside my head. You didn’t think it would show you anything different. You didn’t think I could ever feel differently.”

You ran your thumb along the uneven ridge of the scar forming over his side and tucked your other arm around his waist. With the force that kept moons anchored to their planets, you pulled him in and nestled into the notch of his breastbone.

Through your teeth, “You are not a bastard. Or irredeemable,” your fingers dipped to the center of the healing tissue, “I’ve learned that we make the choices we think are best, and if that’s true, if I believe it? What do either of us have to be redeemed for?”

Kylo said your name, clear as the night that loomed overhead, and a patient finger tipped your chin up. “Nothing. Because there is no redemption for those who do not want it.”

Intensity hardened his face, and once more you felt that sense of equality between him and you. Long fingers smoothed into your drenched hair, and you found a prompt in his brow. Sighing, lungs stuttering, you asked, “What, then, if not redemption?”

The hand that he’d set over yours shifted to your hip, thick fingers prodding at your flesh. Kylo’s touch left your chin and the pad of his thumb rolled over the faint scar that cut into your hairline, a twinge of pain lighting at the memory of its origin; it had healed days ago, but you would never forget the sound of it cracking open when Robbie knocked your skull against the durasteel door.

Kylo stopped musing when he heard you wince, his eyes meeting yours in a stark, unwavering gaze. He smoothed over the blight a final time and proceeded to skate his fingers along your jaw, his thumb coming to rest over your bottom lip. Similar to this morning, yet colder and with a quiet fury breathing beyond his eyes, he looked at you with solidarity.

Calm, sure, adamant, Kylo said, “Retribution.”

A moment to process was spent in his gaze, studying how unbreakable it was, swimming in the shadowed hazel that poured into you. Kylo’s eyes flicked to your lips, and before he could look away, you leaned up so you could reach his own. The swirled hair at his nape slithered through your fingers when you swept you hand from his abdomen and up his torso. Massive, enveloping hands trailed praise along your body until they were mirrored under your breasts.

Exploring his skin, your fingers took residence over the small of his back, digging red trails along the slick surface. You moaned into Kylo’s mouth when a capable hand claimed your supple chest and kneaded into you. He growled in response, a predatory sound that rippled through your nerves and tightened deep, deep in your belly. The pliant pads of his thumbs circled your nipples, the very tips of his nails flicking upward before he added his forefingers and pinched the sensitive peaks to his will.

Kylo mouthed the hinge of your jaw, the bridge of his nose slipping along the bone until you surrendered your neck to him. He hummed against your artery, sucking away the beaded moisture that’d collected for the past few minutes – or had it been hours? Time evaded you further when the schemes of his tongue at your throat delved deeper, revealed themselves further when he laved at your clavicle, shifting between kissing and biting and marking as he made his way to your breastbone.

His muscled back flexed as your fingers routed to his front, dipping low until you found the haze of soft, wet hair that grew from his pelvis. Kylo continued his endeavors and pulled you in by the curve of your back so he could bare your chest to him and run his nose under the base of your breast. His need for your body was evident in the way he bent you to his will, cradling your back so he could have you, but also permitting a sense of safety in the relentless strength that flowed from his forearms through to your marrow.

Near limp in his hold, you tread your fingers down his pelvis and savored the feel of that patch of hair, feeling his pulse beat beneath it, reveling how water collected and fled in such a slow, teasing manner. His chest was to yours, so you felt, rather than heard, the pleasure vibrate from him, deepening when you grazed the very foundations of his hardening shaft. He breathed into your skin, mouthing at your breast and sucking painful paths as he went. The heat of his mouth melded around your nipple, and he bit, and even when you winced and writhed with satisfied hurt, Kylo kept on; not until you were sure he’d drawn blood did his teeth – their unique ridges now throbbing into your breast – leave you, replaced by the salve of his plush, scorching lips. The body of his tongue was structured with adamant, laving over your pebbled peak until poems of pleasure groaned from the depths of your chest.

He leaned you back up and shifted his attention to the remaining half of your body, but you needed him just as much, and you wanted to litter his body with the same pleasure he’d given yours. So, snaking your hands to his jaw, you kissed the hinge opposite to his scar and pecked harder and longer, sucking at his skin like the blood that bruised would grant you eternal life. Falling to your knees in a steady, unrushed descent, you kissed every inch of his abdomen, every bump and ripple of skin that was present around the mending injury. With eyes peering up, hands cherishing the fronts of his thighs, you tongued the scarred tissue and watched him shutter with ecstasy, eyes half-lolling, mouth slackening for a second before he swallowed down whatever satisfaction would have left him.

You teethed at the soft, raised skin, watching him, content when a guiding hand pet down your slick hair. Shifting to his middle, you hummed from one hip bone to the next, feeling the tickle of hair that fled from his naval and dispersed in an even, thick layer of black atop his pubis. Hunger ravaged your throat and you nuzzled into the soft bed of obsidian hair. A kiss to it, then a nip, and then the tip of your nose swirled around the dark patch, his cock twitching at the side of your face.

Anchoring your eyes to his yet again, you dragged the flat of your tongue through the maintained, drenched hair and pushed both your hands along his inner thighs. The muscles beneath your touch sang, streamed just as fluidly as the droplets that were trickling down your spine. Pulling away from him, you faced his cock and observed how it bobbed with your eyes on it, watched it strain for friction when your hands teased both sides of his base, sifting through the dark curls beneath.

The moonlight painted his shaft with subtle, breathtaking contours – a shadow cast under the spongey ridge of his head, light glinting off the misted moisture that’d caught on his flushed shaft. Each prominent vein cast a winding whisper of darkness just a measure from the next. It hypnotized you, the way they overlapped and crossed at points, bulging out from his cock and shifting with each throbbing pulse of blood that clamored through him.

Curious fingers flitted along the heavy, hot column of flesh, tapping it and listening to the thickening breath from the man watching you through ravenous eyes. A smirk curved your mouth, and you peppered a light, whispered kiss to his slit, pushing his cockhead just so it met your teeth, and leading your lips away so the teasing burned through him. You pulled a hand away from his leg and sat back on your calves, taking a breast into it and kneading as he had before, plucking your nipple through each space between your fingers.

“A teasing little whore tonight,” he purred, voice thick.

You hummed, pleased you were getting to him. “I’m your little nurse, remember?” The tip of your tongue teased circles into his frenulum. “And you are my master. Isn’t that right? Master Ren?” Fuck, the title even got to you, cunt fluttering with the hope to be overflowing with him.

“Good girl, teasing whore, nasty slut? Little nurse? You have so many names now.”

“And all of them belong to you.”

You teased his tip and finally laved a flat tongue on the underside of his shaft, flicking it side to side and gripping into his structured, rippling thighs. Something animal, completely primal, roared in his throat, and sooner than you knew, Kylo Ren had joined you on your knees, the weight of his cock slicking down your middle and slapping up to your slit when inertia bounced through it.

A masterful tongue slipped into your mouth and licked your hard pallet, next dropping down and pushing against the side of your own tongue. A muffled moan – one that you were unsure was his or yours or both – clouded through the shower’s downfall. But then a throat-thick huff, aggressive and impatient, gnarled through the air and you were spun on your knees so your back was flush with his chest.

“Yes,” he rumbled, “they do all belong to me.” A possessive hand pushed you into him with might, taking residence in the valley of your breasts. “Your names, your body. Everything.” His hips canted, and the tip of his cock knocked against your clit, fire billowing in your belly, quicker and deeper now.

“Everything,” you echoed, finding his free hand and guiding it so it lay over the permanence etched into your thigh. “I’m- everything. It’s yours. I am yours.”

Unrelenting digits bruised more marks around the one he’d made prior, and when you felt his cock fall in line with your entrance, you thrust into him as he did the same, and you took all of him, at once, in one, fluid, aching motion. An unabashed cry echoed euphoria throughout the moonlit stall. Before you could fully recover from the first thrust, his hand – the free hand that didn’t remain under your own, clutched to your thigh – dipped into your folds and that blooming fire from earlier mushroomed at the graze of his thick digits against the buzzing nerves.

Thrust after thrust after thrust, fucking into you and filling you to the brim and then some each time, knocking the air from your lungs and burgeoning those sweet spots within with each paced, violent pass. All of that pressure combined with the winding circles and strokes he racked your clit with, you felt the breath of climax rise first in your chest, and then upward into your throat.

Kylo was panting by your ear, sucking the skin behind, clutching you to him so it became uncertain where his body ended and yours began. You hooked your arm above your head and clutched at his drenched tresses, flailing for a better grip and settling on clasping your hand onto the back of his neck.

“I feel you,” he groaned.

“Feel me,” you huffed.

“I know you.”

“know me.”

“You’re mine,” your name was laden with yearning claim, lilting from his tongue so it caressed your mind, body, and soul all in one fell swoop.

“Yours,” you heaved, “all, yours.”

You came. Simple. Body swimming in the schemes his fingers and cock and tongue and voice forced into you until it became too much. A few thrusts more and his pace faltered, cum spurting against your walls and dripping out of you as more and more left him. Full lips pressed fleeting, lulling praise into your nape, your shoulder, until he angled your head to his and branded his lips to yours.

Spent, emotionally and physically, you fell into him and enjoyed the image of his legs framing your own. But then your eyes lolled shut and you simply breathed, settling into this moment as best you could, and tried to memorize the tide of his chest slicking against your back.

Barely aware in the vague, misty stall, you only realized that Kylo had begun cleaning you when he guided you back to your feet to rinse you free of soap. Even then you just leaned into his chest and let the jets spray silken streams down your skin. And then you were wrapped in a heated towel and cradled in his arms, leaving the steamy refresher and coming into the gentle atmosphere within the golden gossamer canopy.

With less than a word, maybe a breath, the light from above waned to nothingness, and the room was black save for the glinting eyes that studied your own. The towel discarded to the floor, you now lay beneath the thick comforter and linen sheets of Kylo Ren’s bed. Both naked, you huddled together in the center of the expansive mattress, legs wrapped together in an impossible knot, each breathing in the other’s warmth.

Ease trickled into your muscles, and you shifted so your forehead could rest in the heat of his chest.

“What changed? From the other night?” you yawned. “What convinced you? About Snoke.”

He was tired, too, you knew, the hand tucking you into him tracing lazy, distracting circles into your back to keep him from sleep. “Perspective, really. Seeing things clearly for the first time in… Seeing things clearly.”

For now, fatigue caressing you, that was an answer you could accept. He’d given you more of his mind tonight than ever before, and you did not care to mar that fact with a half-wit interrogation. Perhaps you would listen to him this time, given how little you potentially had left, and do as he’d said this morning.

Trust me first.

It was sound advice, and not worth questioning on the eve of your first shift on Canto Bight. So you nuzzled into him and giggled when the tip of your nose nudged that black healing ribbon over his collar bone.

“I like your scars,” you hummed.

You could not be certain, sleep plunging you into its riptide, but just before it pulled you under, you swore you heard the fatigued rumble of Kylo Ren’s voice whisper, “I like yours too.”

#keeping your promise #st kyp #kylo ren #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren smut #angst #fluff #ao3 #wattpad

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rabid-heart · 4 years ago

Text

Good Bones

For @sefikuraweek Day 2 - Prompt: New Beginnings

Sephiroth asks Cloud to move in with him and Cloud says yes. But once the house hunting starts and Cloud rejects every possible suggestion, Sephiroth begins to doubt if Cloud’s heart is really in this relationship.

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Notes/Warnings: None really, other than one tiny brief mention of sex.

Inspired by the song "The Bones" by Maren Morris.

AU – Everybody Lives! Shina is no more, Sephiroth and Cloud have been dating for a few years, and now their biggest argument is about finding the right place to start this new chapter of their lives together.

(There is angst, because Sephiroth is just an angsty guy, but really the whole thing is just purely indulgent fluff.)

Read on Ao3 | See Previous Day

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“No.”

Sephiroth sighs, exasperation, exhaustion, and annoyance evident from the crease in his brow. He moves his hand away from his face and points at the laptop screen, while turning to his very stubborn boyfriend. “What’s wrong with this one now?” he asks.

Cloud simply huffs, as if that sound were enough to explain everything, and then walks away to the kitchen, leaving Sephiroth once again a little more than frustrated. It is not as if the former General himself was perfect at vocalizing his own thoughts and needs, particularly after a lifetime of being forced to suppress them, but Cloud’s pointed lack of clarity around this whole escapade had long begun stressing Sephiroth’s discipline and patience.

He pushes his chair back away from the desk and leans to watch Cloud dig into the refrigerator and pull out one of the soft-drinks that the blond had stocked in Sephiroth’s apartment. Those drinks are one sign, but there are many others – pieces of Cloud everywhere in the two bedroom condominium he had bought with his Shinra savings years ago: a blanket strewn on the black leather couch; junk food on the kitchen island (Sephiroth was never allowed junk food in his former life, but even after obtaining freedom from Shinra and Hojo’s strict meal plan, he had yet to develop a taste for that stuff); a toothbrush in the bathroom; some clothes and underwear in one of his dresser drawers. Even beyond those facts, Cloud himself arguably spent most of his nights with Sephiroth here, instead of in his actual living quarters in the house he shared with Zack, Kunsel, Aerith and Tifa (a place that Genesis not-so-affectionally dubbed the frat house).

They had been dating for over two years, though they had known each other for longer. In the end, Cloud Strife had now become invariably and inextricably woven into the fabric of Sephiroth’s life and space. He would either wake up to the blond in his arms or to a text message from Cloud. Most dinners they shared together, holding hands huddled in a restaurant booth or making a game of distracting each other while cooking. When Genesis and Angeal sent their wedding invitations, Cloud and Sephiroth’s names were on the cards together, as one. So, while Sephiroth had, admittedly, little relationship experience before this, asking Cloud if he would like to start living together seemed like a natural progression of the dance.

He did, on the advice of Aerith and Tifa, try to make the actual asking a romantic affair. He bought Cloud’s favorite whiskey, lit candles in the apartment, asked Aerith for her best roses. Cloud had seemed thrilled at the prospect, the usually scowling face instead blushing brightly throughout the evening. When Cloud had said yes, it started such a swell in Sephiroth’s heart that he was sure there was nothing else he could ever be more grateful for in his life. He had carried Cloud to his bedroom and made sure that the blond knew just how much he loved him, well through the night and into the hazy hours of the morning.

Then, something changed. They had agreed to find a new place, something that would let them have a true fresh start, something that they could turn into forever. But every open house Sephiroth suggested, every listing he found online had gotten summarily shut down. That would not have bothered Sephiroth as much had the blond provided more thorough explanations for his rejections, or at least explanations that were not so contradictory. Too far away from everything. Too close to the city. Too traditional. Too modern. Not enough space. Too much space. I don’t like the carpeting. I don’t like the kitchen. I don’t like the bathrooms.

Sephiroth had studiously jotted down the curt notes that Cloud had offered and then tried to adjust, come up with new possibilities. And yet, nothing seemed to please Cloud, not in the slightest. It became bizarre. Cloud did not act picky about anything other than his motorbike or his hair. And it did not make a difference that Sephiroth offered to finance renovations on an existing property to make it perfect. Cloud would shake his head, say it was too troublesome, and then move on to something else.

Sephiroth had considered himself an intelligent man, but this behavior tore at the boundaries of his understanding. He had begun to think that he had done something wrong, something to cause Cloud to suddenly grow cold on the idea of living together. He wracked his photographic memory for something – an offhand comment or gesture, a sign, even discussed the possibility with Genesis and Angeal over their weekly lunches together (Genesis called him a paranoid shithead, and while Angeal was much nicer about it, he essentially hinted at the same idea) – but could not find anything suspicious.

It had then dawned on Sephiroth that perhaps what Cloud was getting cold to was not the concept of moving in together – that maybe it was him. When that thought arose, he had quickly tried to push it down, bury it with all the other dark parts of his mind that he worked very hard to control. But try as he might to ignore it, it continued to nag away in the corners of his mind.

Even now, as he watches the blond kick close the refrigerator and wander into the living room to sit in front of the television, Sephiroth cannot help but wonder. Did Cloud really love him? Sephiroth had said it first, had felt it really from the moment Zack introduced them, and he was stunned into silence by the brilliance of those sky-blue eyes. Back then, Cloud was shyer and sweeter, but he had a stubborn streak a mile wide that often clashed with Sephiroth’s arrogance and tactlessness. They had fought often in the beginning, stumbling over misunderstandings and insecurities. But after a few honest and true conversations, things began to blossom. Sephiroth found himself being less afraid of being truly known and more willing to be honest and emotionally open. And Cloud in turn became more confident, less doubtful of his worth. They began fitting perfectly into each other’s lives, like pieces of an unusual, but beautiful puzzle.

Or at least, that had been what Sephiroth thought.

He turns to the computer screen, opened on a lovely four bedroom home just at the edge of Midgar proper – close enough to enjoy the central city, but far enough for peace. It has the large master bath, hardwood floors and open concept kitchen that Cloud had requested, and the laundry room, gas-range stove and garage that Sephiroth desired. Sephiroth had thought he struck the right compromise and had been excited at the idea of showing Cloud this new listing. But when they finished dinner and Sephiroth had pulled open his laptop, Cloud was simply as dismissive as he had been before.

Resignation begins to creep on Sephiroth now, like spiders crawling up his back. Dread, too, starts to mount in his chest. The weeks of this, the stress, the wondering, the doubt, the fear – it is too much, like an itch under his skin that he could not scratch for relief. He had pushed this conversation out for so long, under the guise of his own paranoia, but now, enough had become enough.

Sephiroth stands and walks into the living room. He reaches down for the television remote and shuts the program off, turns to face a perplexed Cloud and says, “I believe we need to talk.”

Cloud pauses, soda halfway to his lips, before putting the can down on the coffee table (no coaster, Sephiroth notes with a mild hint of irritation). “I was watching that, you know,” he responds casually.

“Cloud, I am serious.”

“You always are.”

Sephiroth closes his eyes, wills himself to breath, to calm, to still. “Do you still want to do this?” he asks, looking down at the blond sitting cross legged on his couch.

“Do what? Move in together?”

For a moment, Sephiroth considers taking the out – letting Cloud admit that he is not ready to live with him and allowing them to just resume their relationship as if nothing had happened at all. But Sephiroth knows that would not be enough for him now. He loves Cloud, wants to spend the rest of his mornings and nights with this man, but if Cloud does not feel the same, if he wants his freedom, then maybe it is best to let the blond go. Even if it means breaking open his own heart.

Sephiroth decides to push forward. “No. I mean our relationship.”

Cloud’s eyes suddenly widen in shock. “What?”

“Do you wish to continue this relationship?”

"I heard you,” Cloud says, standing up now. His face looks flushed, with anger, with embarrassment. “What I don’t understand is why you are asking this. What happened?”

Sephiroth looks down, for he knows if gazes in those blue eyes, he could never gather the necessary strength. “For the last few weeks, you have shown disinterest in every option for a new home together. I have tried my best to listen to your comments, but nothing seems to be right. I thought perhaps the true issue is that you no longer desire a life with me. I simply— I just…”

The words become trapped now, blocked by the swelling sorrow and fear in his chest. Is this it? Is he going to lose Cloud? Will he never hear that bell-like laughter, watch those blue eyes glaze with love and pleasure, dance in his living room to imaginary music with that lithe body, kiss that beautiful neck and those happy lips ever again?

He does not notice that Cloud has stepped close to him, until he feels a warm hand on his chest. Cloud glances upward, and the eyes Sephiroth loves are tinged with fear. “You don’t want to end this, right? You don’t want—”

“Of course not,” Sephiroth insists suddenly, grasping onto that hand tightly. “I love you. I love you more than anything, more than life itself and I--”

Then, Sephiroth stops, because Cloud, inexplicably, strangely, starts laughing. The blond presses his face against Sephiroth’s chest, and he can feel the vibrations of Cloud’s amusement and relief running through his body. It leaves Sephiroth feeling all the more mystified for it, and in his confusion, he finds himself locked in place and unable to move.

Finally, Cloud pulls back and looks at Sephiroth with slightly misty eyes. “You scared me, for a moment. I thought that you…oh, Gaia, Sephiroth. I’d never leave you, not for anything in this world or the next. I just needed another few weeks, that’s all.”

Sephiroth blinks at him, tilts his head. “I do not understand.”

The blond pauses for a moment, biting his lip in the way that he does whenever he is considering something. Then, he reaches down and tugs on Sephiroth’s hand. “Go get your jacket.”

“I don’t—”

“You won’t regret it, I promise.”

Sephiroth’s mouth opens to protest, to question, but Cloud is already moving, shoving his feet into his boots and slipping into his coat. The blond fishes into the ceramic bowl on the table next to the front entrance of the apartment and takes Sephiroth’s keys in his fingers. “I’m driving,” Cloud explains. “Now, c’mon!”

There appears to be no other option. Though his mind is still reeling from the whiplash of the last few moments, Sephiroth takes his jacket from the coat closet and follows Cloud down the hall, into the elevator and into the parking garage. Cloud is at his car quickly, with a springing nervousness to his step that Sephiroth only sees whenever the blond is excited about something. That recognition only serves amplify Sephiroth’s bafflement.

But he goes along anyway, watches as Cloud hops into the driver’s side of his car and complains again about having to adjust the seat for Sephiroth’s “impossibly long legs.” They drive in relative silence, Cloud with one hand on the steering wheel and the other entangled in Sephiroth’s own. It only takes a few minutes (with Cloud’s borderline reckless speed) for them to reach the edge of the city proper, and another ten or fifteen to reach the outskirts. Sephiroth recognizes their route. Since the deconstruction of the plate, the reactors and the wall, more and more residential districts have cropped up on the land surrounding Midgar, especially now that the Planet had begun to heal, and the ground had begun to repopulate the grass and flowers that used to be so scarce.

Finally, Cloud pulls up in front of a plot of land, with an unfinished two-story house sitting atop it. Some of the roofing had yet to be completed, windows installed, and outside walls painted, but the construction appeared strong and in good progress. Attached to the house is a large garage, and there is an unpaved path winding from the front door to the street. Though it is far from finished, looking at it now, Sephiroth can image the quiet, peaceful beauty of the place – the flowers they could plant along the walkway, the welcoming double-doors of the entrance, the little mailbox they could stand at the end of the path to the street. The house is slightly larger than most of the ones Sephiroth had been considering, but it still seemed comfortable all the same.

Sephiroth turns to Cloud now, bewilderment on his face. It is his turn to ask, “What?”

Cloud glances at him quickly, skittishly, then releases his hand and jumps out of the car. “Now, I know it’s a mess, but you should see the sketches Genesis gave to the contractor.”

“Genesis?” questions Sephiroth, as he steps out of the car. His mind flickers briefly to the lunch he shared with his two oldest friends earlier in the week, to Genesis’s teasing of his suspicion. He almost wants to sigh in mortification.

Cloud takes Sephiroth’s hand again, begins leading him up the path. “Angeal, Tifa and Aerith helped too, with picking out designs of stuff, making sure it would be things you’d like. Zack was useless, though, said we could just use him to help us move in.”

Us? Move in? His mind craters on the verge of shutdown. He stops abruptly, halfway to the front door, and Cloud turns to him with worry on his face.

“I’m sorry,” Sephiroth begins. “I’m sorry.”

Cloud is in front of him now, his hands around Sephiroth’s shoulders. He leans forward on his toes and closes the distance, kissing him gently but insistently, as if trying to push back the doubt and the fear that had been spilling from Sephiroth these past few weeks. He keeps going, tugging on the lapel of the man’s jacket to bring him even closer.

Then Cloud breaks the kiss, almost too soon. “I love you, Sephiroth Crescent. I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He then walks backward, and with a guilelessness that seems so at odds with the ferocity and skill of that kiss (but that was Cloud, that special contrast of sweetness and steel that made him so appealing, so seductive, so irresistible), he motions to the house behind him.

“So, I built you a house. Well, technically, it’s still in progress.”

Sephiroth tries to say something, but nothing comes out of his mouth. And yet, when the realization hits him, relief floods through his body like water over fire, and he can’t help but feel his cheeks tug into a wide smile. He pulls Cloud back into him, kisses him again and again, trailing his lips down that delicious jawline, the lobe of that ear, that wonderful neck. In between kisses, Cloud breathes out words in delight.

“It was an old building partially torn down and they said renovations would be done in six weeks, but they kept delaying things and finding issues and I was getting so nervous and I—”

“Mmhm,” Sephiroth hums, just kissing Cloud again. He can feel the blond laugh against his lips, but he merely takes the opening to explore the blond’s mouth, and almost rumbles in pure thrill at the way that Cloud’s laughter melts into a soft moan.

Then, the blond pushes him back, blushing red. “Stop, we’re in the middle of the street!”

The former General finally backs up, but can’t stop himself fully, can’t bring himself not to nip that adorable nose. “Alright.”

Cloud smiles but glances askew, apologetic. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to send you on a wild goose chase for a mystery home. I just wanted to surprise you, and I wanted to build something for us. For our new beginning.”

The two then turn to the building now, still empty and still incomplete. But with a bit of magic and imagination, Sephiroth could see it – the promises of comfort, of love, of peace, of a whole lifetime, held up by the good bones of this house. He could see the garden out front, Yule decorations hanging from the roof, the warm glow of fireplace light within. Most of all, Sephiroth could see himself happy here, for the rest of his life, with the man that he could hardly believe he had the good fortune to love.

Cloud squeezes his hand, softly, gently. “I can show you the sketches, if you’d like?”

“No need,” Sephiroth whispers, as he dips down to kiss him once more. “If it’s from you, I know it will be perfect.”

#sefikuraweek #sefikura #sephiroth x cloud #sephiroth #cloud strife #final fantasy vii #final fantasy vii remake #prompt: new beginnings #sfw

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blueeyedrat · 4 years ago

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Games I played in 2020.

This has been a... strange and stressful year, but you don't need me to tell you that. A lot of time cooped up at home (more than usual), accomplishing little of substance (less than usual), but... it did leave me plenty of time for video games, I suppose? Either way, like last year, I wanted to gather my thoughts on some of the games that stood out to me.

This list is coming a bit later than last year's, due to a combination of writer's block and a couple games that carried over past January (one of which might get pushed to the 2021 list instead). Some games carried over from the previous year, particularly Hades. Some games that were once mainstays fell off the list, like Dustforce and Eternal, but I also rediscovered some old favorites like Alto's Adventure and Mini Metro. As with the 2019 list, I'll be focused on games I started or finished in 2020.

(2019 ⇐ 2020 ⇒ 2021)

GRIS

I ended 2019 with Journey, and started 2020 with GRIS. The two fit together well, both being platformers with no dialogue and a heavy emphasis on aesthetic and atmosphere. They even share similar environments at times, particularly early on when you're traversing temple ruins and vast desert slopes. That's not to say that GRIS doesn't stand on its own, of course. Its gameplay felt slow-paced, but never to the point where it became sparse or tedious. The narrative, even at its most abstract, conveyed a lot of emotion. The artwork was (rather, is) absolutely gorgeous, and is by far the game's strongest aspect. A fine puzzle-platformer by any metric.

A Short Hike

On the subject of games and emotion. There are several games on this list that I would describe, first and foremost, as pleasant. Games that are friendly, inviting. Games that you could curl up with on a cold winter afternoon or a warm summer night. Games that just make you feel good, and you don't need to explain why. Sometimes that's all I'm really looking for in a game, especially nowadays. A Short Hike hits all of those notes for me. A lovely little sandbox to run and climb and glide around in, filled with things to do, characters to interact with, and a charming atmosphere that makes its emotional beats all the more impactful. A game for, and about, taking your mind off of things.

Return of the Obra Dinn

Some honorable mentions: I pulled several games from my backlog this past year, and like in 2019, a lot of them were one-and-done. Some I played through and experienced all (or close enough) of what the game had to offer, like Yono and the Celestial Elephants, WHAT THE GOLF?, or Anodyne 2. Some I played through to the end, but didn't feel inclined (at least for now) to go back and scour every hidden pathway for secrets, like Hyper Light Drifter, Freedom Planet, or Minit.

Return of the Obra Dinn, however, feels like a game that can only be properly experienced once. A murder mystery on an abandoned ship, where you observe individual moments in time to piece together the events that caused them. The whole game is one giant deduction puzzle, with each individual story woven into the larger mystery of what happened on the Obra Dinn. A master class in puzzle and narrative design.

Slime Rancher

Another game for the "pleasant" column. A curious hybrid of chill farming sim and FPS-style exploration, centered around managing a menagerie of slimes on a faraway planet. The environments, designs, and music are all quite charming, as most games of this sort aspire to be, and it's satisfying to explore and gather and build, but there's a particular reason this game sticks out to me. A lot of farming games are centered around a community, and give you a large and colorful cast of characters to meet and make friends with. Harvest Moon, Stardew Valley, Ooblets, that sort of thing. Slime Rancher, by contrast, is isolated and lonely. It's just you, your ranch, and your slimes, and what few characters you interact with, you only ever do so through a computer screen. Most of the game's narrative is ruminations on lives lived, roads not taken, places and people left behind, and there's a certain wistful nature to it all that makes it memorable.

There's a specific reason I pulled a chill farming sim from my backlog. It was a coin toss between this and Stardew Valley— I wanted to have at least one of them done before...

Animal Crossing: New Horizons

The time sink to end all time sinks. This is my first proper foray into the series, but my older brother (with whom I share an island) had enough experience to get the ball rolling. This game has swallowed up so much of my time and attention this past year... and really, I wouldn't have it any other way. The game is an oasis, a comfy little sandbox to play and build in to your heart's content. The community on your island is always friendly and encouraging, and the community around the game itself has been much the same. Over the past year, we've built up our little island home piece by piece, and as the seasons come and go, the chance to create and recreate it has kept me coming back.

Sayonara Wild Hearts

I don't keep much of a "game of the year" list. However, in recent years, I have kept a personal list of my favorite game soundtracks from each year. It's never really set in stone— every so often there's a late entry that I'll retroactively add to its year's list. 2019 was a very good year for game music: Dicey Dungeons' OST is fantastic, Kind Words (lo-fi chill beats to write to) is exactly what you think it is, and games like GRIS or A Short Hike or Outer Wilds are each noteworthy in their own ways.

2019 also had Sayonara Wild Hearts, which blows pretty much all of them out of the water. This game hooked me almost immediately with its music and aesthetic alone, and when I finally had the opportunity to play the game myself, it did not disappoint. A vibrant, energetic ride somewhere in that odd space between "rhythm game" and "arcade runner", the sheer spectacle of it all makes for quite a memorable experience.

(I'm still sorting out my favorite music from 2020. I have some games on the shortlist, but that's a discussion for another day.)

Clubhouse Games: 51 Worldwide Classics

Long before my family had a Switch, or even a Wii, we had cards and board games. Tabletop games have always interested me, though looking back, much of that interest has been as an observer— I think I've spent as much time watching others play as I have challenging them myself. Even so, the interest remains and has been a source of inspiration for me on multiple occasions, particularly as an aspiring game developer.

Clubhouse Games rekindled that interest. It offers a large selection— some old games I still remember, others I was aware of but never explored in depth, and a few I'd never really known at all. There are some games that I'll come back to more than others, but whether it's a quick game of chess or hanafuda, a round of virtual billiards, or my burgeoning love/hate relationship with mahjong, it's provided plenty of options to pass the time.

(Assorted puzzle games)

On the subject of passing the time, I played a lot of puzzle games again this year, on both console and computer. A quick game from the backlog in between larger projects... or a chill game to distract me when I was having a rough time mentally and couldn't focus on larger projects. Like I said, it's been a stressful year. Unlike last year's list, I couldn't really single out one game to represent the lot. Shown above are Gorogoa, Spring Falls, Path of Giants, and Helltaker; others I played this year included the Hexcells series, MOLEK-SYNTEZ, inbento, LYNE, Golf Peaks, and Ruya, as well as...

Petal Crash

Alongside my own game dev aspirations, I've tried to follow other indie and dev communities more closely and become more involved in that aspect as well. I've been introduced to and become an early supporter of multiple projects I probably would've missed out on otherwise, with this little gem being a highlight among them. An arcade-style puzzle game with all the trappings of an old classic: gameplay that's easy to learn but tricky to master, a fast-paced versus mode and an in-depth puzzle mode, music and pixel art that wouldn't be out of place on the Gameboy Color, and a charming cast of characters to cap it all off. Highly recommended.

With the success of Petal Crash, I'm definitely looking forward to other upcoming titles that have caught my attention the same way (like Chicory: A Colorful Tale, Beasts of Maravilla Island, and The Wandering Village), and will be keeping an eye out for other new projects to add to that list. The future is bright.

Spiritfarer

If you were to ask me about the best game I played this year, I'd probably point you in the direction of Animal Crossing, or Hades. I played them more frequently, I sunk more hours into them, and they're incredibly polished games in every aspect.

If you were to ask me what game I was the most invested in this year, I'd tell you Spiritfarer. A chill management game about ferrying lost souls and helping them pass on. This game won me over from the day it was announced, in a way that few games have managed— the art and animation, the character design, the music, all centered around a premise that seemed tailor-made to be heartwarming and heartrending in equal amounts. I was hooked. I followed its development pretty closely, and even got a chance to play an early version as an alpha tester. And when I finally sat down and played the full game, it gave me pretty much what I was expecting.

The art and animation and music is gorgeous. The gameplay generally never asks too much of you, letting you explore its world and build up your ever-expanding boat at your own pace. Your passengers are all charming and memorable, even when you're only given a small glimpse at the people they were and the lives they led, and the narrative core woven around these characters doesn't pull its punches. The result is something that feels cathartic and carries a lot of genuine emotion behind it, even at its heaviest moments. I still don't know if I'd call it the objective best game of 2020, but it is a personal favorite that will stay with me for a long time.

And with that, I can finally lay 2020 to rest. Here's to 2021, and to games to come in the year ahead.

#spiritfarer #petal crash #sayonara wild hearts #slime rancher #a short hike #gris game #animal crossing new horizons #clubhouse games #return of the obra dinn #bryan writes about games

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johannas-motivational-insults · 5 years ago

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Class Dynamics in MFS 1x05

One thing I have found fascinating in Motherland: Fort Salem so far is the way classism is woven into the world, the High Atlantics vs. the shit birds and the various attitudes they carry. It’s very evident in the first episode and continues to be a theme throughout the season, but it’s most pronounced in 1x05 “Bellweather Season.” That episode takes place in a different environment than the rest, on Abigail’s home turf as she tries to wrangle her unit into being impressive to the dean of war college.

It’s honestly kind of hilarious that Abigail didn’t realize before this episode that she was going to get into war college on name alone. It was pretty obvious to Raelle, who is Abigail’s foil in terms of being poor, rural, and from an undistinguished matriline. Watching Raelle this episode was really interesting. Before they even leave the fort Abigail manages to piss her off by saying this is their chance to impress the community that matters. Which, like, yikes. I know what she meant, obviously she was referring to the people who can help them get ahead, but with all the very obvious classism she has already displayed it’s no wonder this only served to piss Raelle off. I don’t blame her for pointing out that none of those high-class people are going to be interested in conversing with her and then threatening to go off on Petra (Abigail’s mom) about how the “peasants” are getting primed to be war meat (something she actually gets close to doing).

Watching Abigail’s reactions to everything going “wrong” once they get to the event is both funny and painful. Because while her obsession with everything being perfect is annoying, it’s also stressful to watch because she has reason to be upset. It’s super important to remember is how crucial appearances are in upper class culture, including the High Atlantics. Every time the others act in a way that is unexpected we see her getting more and more frustrated and humiliated because her squad is not acting the way she wants them to. She sees this as them being uncooperative when really they are just totally unfamilar with High Atlantic customs.

That’s something we see in this episode again and again, Abigail and Petra struggling to keep up appearances while getting annoyed at the antics of the lower class shit birds. Really, it’s not like Tally and Raelle and Scylla are doing anything wrong, aside from Scylla’s whole party crashing thing. They’re just chatting and enjoying the alcohol and fancy food they’ve probably never had a chance to eat before, but they’re shirking the etiquette that Abigail is so familiar with and making her look bad. And they don’t even realize it, because how are they supposed to know how to act? Aren’t parties supposed to be fun? (Clearly not; in upper class society parties are just one more social maneuver where your behavior has to be perfect and fun is strictly out of the question.)

One great moment that contrasts the two viewpoints is when Tally sees Gerit and asks her squadmates whether or not she should go say hi. We get Raelle’s casual yet emphatic “Yeah!” and Abigail’s stressed out “No!” And Raelle at first thinks Abigail is just being hoity-toity and controlling again, but this time it’s not just about appearances. Knowing High Atlantic customs, Abigail realizes that Gerit’s sash means he’s off-limits, but Tally has no idea and runs over and starts blatantly flirting with him in public, which is humiliating for all of them (especially Tally) in retrospect.

Another scene that I really like and is a great microcosm of the class dynamics in this universe is the scene where Raelle confronts Petra. It’s really layered and both characters’ motivations come through, even if Petra has in general been presented as less sympathetic to the audience.

So, look. Raelle barging in in the middle of a conversation between Petra and some of her other older family members is a huge social faux pas, especially in a culture so set on keeping up appearances and not allowing for any sort of mess. I also don’t blame her one bit. Petra’s talking about the importance of family and that sounds super hypocritical to a young woman who has lost her mother to combat and father to conscription.

If you look at this interaction in terms of scene study, they both kind of “lose” the scene. Raelle loses more if you are evaluating in terms of power shifts, but it doesn’t turn out great for Petra either in that she ends up feeling guilty and barely manages to save face in a potentially disasterous situation. The way Petra reacts, though, is very interesting when you dissect it from both points of view. She barely even lets Raelle get started before cutting her off and talking over her. She responds with platitudes, things that are kind to say but also sound very scripted, regardless of how true they are. She tries to relate to and soothe Raelle’s grief by saying she wishes her mother could be there and giving her a hug.

From Raelle’s point of view, this was just her getting shut down again by the elitists. It confirmed her expectation that no one from that culture would listen to anything she has to say. Also, her motivation in confronting Petra was to express her grief and get some answers about how this tragedy in her life came to happen, why her mother was ripped away from her. Raelle needed answers and genuine acknowledgement of her pain, not platitudes, even if they were heartfelt. And Petra just saying what she did and hugging her did nothing but make her feel talked over and unacknowledged, again.

From Petra’s point of view, however, she was playing damage control for both her and Raelle. In her mind she was doing Raelle a favor by cutting her off before she could say anything too inflammatory and get herself into trouble. This kid was clearly not sober and behaving disgracefully for that environment (and according to military protocol) and Petra combatted this by responding gracefully. She could have shut Raelle down in much worse ways, pulling rank and punishing her for her outburst, but instead she responded with compassion. Obviously she was also saving face for herself by shutting Raelle down before she could put her on blast in front of her whole family, but it’s more complicated than that. And when Petra was hugging Raelle and again after Raelle ran off, she looked pretty troubled and guilty for a moment before pulling that mask back on.

I am always more inclined to side with the poor characters in these situations, seeing as that’s my background, and I really like how Motherland balances illuminating the privilege of the High Atlantics with illuminating their motivations. Even if Abigail’s classism and blind privilege is annoying, we see her frustrations coming from a genuine place of trying to help her unit but simply not understanding their experiences and perspectives. The Bellweathers are more than just cardboard cutouts of rich people, and I appreciate that. This show actually makes me empathize with and care about all the characters, and that’s a pretty impressive feat.

#motherland fort salem #1x05 bellweather season #classism #class dynamics #meta #raelle collar #abigail bellweather #tally craven #scylla ramshorn #petra bellweather #screenshots #oh boy i'm writing meta i'm deep in this show now #motherland: fort salem

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fridayfirefly · 5 years ago

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Lost and Found [Part Ten]

Masterlist | Ao3

Marinette climbed up the ladder into her bedroom, where her friends waited. She carried in her hands a tray of snickerdoodles, chocolate chip cookies, and macaroons, leftovers from the bakery that had been made fresh that morning.

"Snickerdoodles!" Chloé cheered, snatching two cookies off the tray before Marinette had even made it the whole way up the ladder. Chloé always took two of everything, one for herself and one for her Soulmate, who had woven his way back into Chloé's good graces, despite their rocky beginnings.

Marinette finished the climb and shut the trapdoor behind her, not wanting to wake her parents. Given the time difference between Paris and Gotham, Marinette, Chloé, and Nino were trying to adjust early, staying awake until 4 AM and sleeping in until 1 in the afternoon. It was an uncomfortable change, but a necessary one if Marinette, Chloé, and Nino wanted to arrive in Gotham without crippling jetlag.

"It's a shame that you four won't get to try any cookies," Marinette said to the screen of her laptop. Adrien, Kim, Alix, and Kagami were all attending the sleepover via video chat. Kim, Alix, and Kagami were all in Japan, as they were spending the summer vacation getting to know each other. Adrien was in New York City for Fashion Week, though he would meet up with his friends again after the wedding when he came to Gotham to join them in visiting their Soulmates.

"That's okay," said Alix. "Kagami will get to try your fantastic cookies when she comes back to Paris with us."

The trio of Soulmates had decided that they would spend three weeks in Japan, then spend three weeks in Paris, allowing Kagami the opportunity to see Alix and Kim's hometown.

"I'll make something extra-special for you, Kagami," promised Marinette. Marinette couldn't wait to meet Kagami in person, though the two already became friends over video chat.

"Thank you, Marinette."

Marinette smiled brightly at her new friend, then turned to her two friends who were attending the sleepover in person. Chloé had the trapdoor open and was tossing cookies downstairs to be lost. Nino was on his phone, the sort of on his face that he reserved for Jon and Jon only. "Nino, are you going to try anything?"

Nino glanced up from his phone. "Oh, I wasn't paying attention." He grabbed a chocolate chip cookie, taking a bite as he returned to his phone.

"Too busy texting Jon to spend time with us?" Marinette teased.

Nino flushed, setting his phone down. "Sorry, we're both excited about the trip."

"You don't need to apologize. I'm excited, too." The plane to Gotham was leaving at midnight, only twenty-four hours away, and Marinette, Nino, and Chloé would all be on it. In less than two days, all teens would get to meet their Soulmates for the first time.

"What's the first thing you're going to do when you finally meet Damian?" Nino asked.

Marinette shrugged. "I don't know. Should I know? Should I be planning for our meeting, or just do whatever feels natural? What if he sees me and I'm not what he expected? What if he's disappointed? What if-"

Chloé pressed her hand over Marinette's mouth, stopping Marinette's anxious babbling in its tracks. "Stop worrying so much. You aren't meeting a stranger, you're meeting your Soulmate, who you talk to literally all the time. Just act natural."

"But-"

"Don't overthink it," Chloé advised.

Marinette nodded. Chloé always gave good advice. "You're right. I shouldn't be overthinking our first meeting. Damian and I already know each other. We're already friends."

"Friends," Chloé hands moved to finger quote the word. "You two talk constantly. How are you not dating yet?"

With a shrug, Marinette answered. "We've never really talked about it. He's never brought it up, so I assume that he's not interested. We're still pretty young, and it's not uncommon to wait until you're both older to start dating. He probably wants to date other people for a while before he goes into a serious relationship."

Over the camera, Adrien narrowed his eyes in skepticism. "But is that what you want?" asked Adrien. It was less of a question and more of a statement, as everyone already knew exactly how Marinette felt about Damian.

Marinette stared down at her hands. "No," she said quietly, "I want to have a relationship with Damian, I really do. I just don't want him to feel stifled. If he wants to date other people, then I'll accept it. I don't want him to get into a relationship with me just because he feels like he has to. I don't want him to resent me."

"Unless Damian is a fool, he will not resent you for speaking your mind," Kagami advised.

"Kagami is right," said Chloé. "You have to tell him what you want when you want it. Communication is key for relationships."

Marinette's anxiety over messing up her relationship with Damian was too great to be overcome by simple logic. While she knew that Chloé's advice was correct, she couldn't bring herself to accept it. "He's never shown any sign that he wants to date me. I don't want to spring it on him out of the blue."

"He's bringing you to his brother's wedding as his date. How is that not clear enough for you?"

"He invited me as his Soulmate, not as his date. I mean, J.T. did the same thing for you, Chloé."

"The reason J.T. invited me as his Soulmate rather than as his date is that we both agreed that we weren't going to attempt a relationship until I turn 18, next September. Our situations are radically different, Marinette."

"How about this," suggested Nino. "We'll flip a coin. If it lands heads up, you have to make the first move on Damian. If it lands heads down, you can wait for Damian to make the first move, and none of us will bother you about it until after our trip to Gotham. Does that sound fair?"

Marinette nodded, "That sounds fair."

Nino pulled a coin out of his pocket and tossed it in the air. Marinette willed her miraculous luck to help her out in that moment. The coin landed.

"Heads up." Chloé's smile was so smug it was almost painful to look at. "And I know the perfect way for you to show him how you feel."

Marinette knew better than to try and argue with Chloé. "What's your idea."

"You walk right up to him and without saying anything, just kiss him."

"No," Marinette spluttered. "I can't just walk up to him and kiss him without saying anything first."

"Fine," Chloé conceded. "You walk right up to him, tell him that you've been in love with him for years and then you kiss him. The kissing is non-negotiable."

"No fair. You aren't making Nino kiss Jon," complained Marinette.

"Chloé doesn't have to worry about Jon and I kissing," Nino piped up. "

"Alright, I'll kiss Damian. However, you have to give me a little time to do it."

"How about..." Chloé thought it over. "You have to do it before we leave the airport to go to his house."

Marinette was certain that she could have pressed for a better offer, but she knew that in the end whether she kissed Damian two minutes after they met or two hours after they met, it wasn't going to change the fact that she was kissing him at their very first meeting. "I agree to your terms."

"Shake on it." Chloé held out her hand, and Marinette shook it.

"Chloé, it's your job to catch their first kiss on video," said Adrien. "If I don't have the chance to experience the first kiss in person, I at least want to see it secondhand."

"Make sure you send all the Daminette videos to Kim, Kagami, and I, too," piped up Alix.

"I can't believe you guys," Marinette laughed. "You gave Damian and I a ship name!"

"If it makes you feel any better, we made a valiant attempt to give ship names to all three of you, but Daminette was the only one that we came to a consensus on," said Alix. "The best we could come up with for Nino and Jon was Jonino, and we're waiting to learn J.T.'s real name to ship him and Chloé."

Marinette laughed. She loved her friends. They were so supportive of her, pushing her to be her best self.

Eventually, Kim, Alix, and Kagami left the call, as they had a full day planned in Kyoto. Adrien hung up just a few minutes after them, as he had to start getting ready for bed. His Father allowed Adrien to video chat with his friends after his modeling duties were fulfilled, but if it started interfering with Adrien's sleep schedule, leading to telltale dark circles under his eyes, Adrien's laptop would surely be taken away from him.

Marinette, Chloé, and Nino went to bed a few hours later, but despite Marinette's exhaustion, she couldn't fall asleep. A thought had been bothering her for weeks - she was going to have to keep the fact that she was Ladybug a secret from Damian. Marinette loathed the idea of secrets between her and her Soulmate, but Tikki had already made it very clear to Marinette that revealing her identity wasn't a decision to be made lightly. Marinette needed to truly know Damian before she could tell him about the Miraculous.

In a way, Marinette was a little bit jealous of Chat Noir. He didn't have a Soulmate, so he didn't have to deal with the stress of keeping his secret identity a secret from them. However, Marinette knew better than to not appreciate what she had. She loved Damian, and she wouldn't give him up for anything, even if it meant she had to keep some parts of her life a secret from him for the time being.

——————————————————————

Marinette watched the ground get further and further away as the plane to Gotham took flight. Anxiety bubbled up in her, but it wasn't caused by the flight or the heights. She was nervous to meet Damian, and despite all the reassurances that her friends gave to her, Marinette couldn't seem to shake the anxiety deep within her that he would find her lacking in some way.

"I wish I could text Damian," Marinette sighed, staring longingly at her phone, which she had turned onto airplane mode as soon as she stepped onto the plane.

"Don't worry, Marinette. You'll get to speak to him in person in seven hours," Nino reassured.

Marinette nodded, but she still felt restless. As soon as the overhead light to stay in the seats turned off, Marinette was heading to the on-plane restroom to pen Damian a note. She had enough paper in her pocket for three notes, but every time she drafted one, it came out wrong. The first sounded needy, the second sounded impersonal, and the third sounded just plain pathetic. Marinette threw each of them away in the bathroom trash can, making sure she watched where they landed so that there was no chance that Damian would find them by mistake.

Marinette returned to her seat, yawning as she greeted Nino. He had his headphones on and was listening to music. Chloé was curled up in the seat across the aisle, fast asleep, her sleep mask covering her eyes. She buckled back in and got comfortable, hoping to get a few hours of sleep before the plane landed. The gentle humming of the plane engine and the quiet music coming through her headphones was enough of a distraction that Marinette began to forget about her worries. Despite her anxiety, she was exhausted enough that it took her no time at all to fall asleep.

Marinette woke as the plane was landing, Nino gently prodding her arm. "Wake up, Marinette. We're in Gotham."

Marinette blinked her tired eyes open. "Already?" She yawned out the word. Marinette hadn't intended to sleep for all seven hours of the plane ride. She wanted at least a few minutes to try and conquer her pesky anxiety, but now it seemed that she would be jumping straight into the deep end. As she looked out the window, Marinette could see the twinkling lights of downtown Gotham, just a few miles away from the airport, trying for a moment to forget that she would be meeting her Soulmate in just a few minutes.

As she pulled her carry-on bag out of the overhead compartment, Chloé turned to face Marinette. "Remember what you promised to do," Chloé reminded in a teasing manner.

Marinette nodded. "I remember."

Marinette's spiking anxiety must have shown on her face, as Chloé immediately looked guilty. "You know, you don't have to kiss Damian if you don't feel comfortable doing it. I just wanted to help you take the first step in your relationship. I don't want you to get hurt."

Marinette took one deep breath, then another. "I will do it. I have to take the first step now, or I'll waste the whole trip second-guessing myself." Everything was going to be fine. She just had to get off the plane.

They filed out of the plane and walked towards the terminal, Nino in front, then Chloé, with Marinette bringing up the rear. With only seconds to go before she was to lay eyes on Damian, Marinette tried to picture him in her find. There were some features that she instinctively knew that she would see - soft dark hair, warm green eyes, and strong arms to hold her.

As Marinette walked into the airport terminal, immediately locking eyes with Damian. He was so unbelievable perfect, Marinette couldn't help the smile that overtook her face. Five years had led to this. Exactly five years and two weeks since the moment Marinette first found that knife underneath her bed, she looked her Soulmate in the eyes for the first time. It was the most amazing feeling in the world. He looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing in the world, like she was a sprawling garden or a crystal clear ocean or the starry night sky. Damian looked at her with so much love in his eyes, Marinette felt her racing heartbeat start to calm. She walked towards him, knowing exactly what to do.

"Hello, Damian," Marinette greeted, her smile growing.

Damian smiled back. "Hello, Marinette. It's nice to finally meet you."

"It's nice to meet you, too. I know it's a little late, but I have one last birthday gift to give to you."

This was the moment of truth. Before he could ask her further question, but giving him enough time to stop the kiss if that wasn't what he wanted, Marinette leaned forward on her tiptoes, bridging the eight-inch height difference, and pressed a kiss to his lips.

It was her first kiss and it was perfect. Just like Marinette read in books and heard in songs, it was a rush of emotion that was so powerful, Marinette never wanted it to end. His lips were soft and warm, and in her eagerness, Marinette, inexperienced in kissing, accidentally scraped her teeth against them. Damian let out a sharp breath, then started kissing her back, snaking his hands behind her back to hold her, gently lifting her to bring her closer to his lips.

Marinette could've kept kissing Damian forever, but the sound of Chloé's muffled laughter brought Marinette back down to Earth. In an instant, she remembered that she and Damian were in public, in the middle of the airport, with Marinette's two best friends, Damian's best friend, and Damian's brother all watching. Marinette broke away from the kiss. "Hi," Marinette said breathlessly, gazing up at him with bright eyes.

Damian grinned like the cat that got the cream, as he teased, "Thank you for the gift."

Marinette blushed furiously, realizing exactly what she had done. "I- I thought that we should get it out of the way right at the beginning, whether or not we want to start our relationship now or wait a few years. As you can probably deduce, my vote is for starting it now."

Damian leaned down towards Marinette and pressed another kiss to her lips, less passionate than the first, but just as lovely. "I think we're in agreement. I would like you to come to Richard's wedding with me, not only as my date but also as my girlfriend."

"I would love that." Marinette placed her hand in his and squeezed. "I'm so happy to finally meet you face to face."

"It's been a long time coming," Damian agreed. "Five years."

"Five years and two weeks exactly, since the day that..." Marinette's voice trailed off, unsure of how to bring up the subject of the knife. Marinette had a vague memory of herself promising Nino, Kim, and Alix that she would confront her Soulmate about the subject when she first met him. Eventually, Marinette decided to rip off the bandaid in one go and just confront it head-on. "Since the day that I found the knife."

"I will explain that, but not tonight. It's a long story, and we have to get back to the house. I promise I will explain everything tomorrow."

Marinette nodded. "I've waited five years and two weeks, I can wait a few more hours."

"Damian!" The man standing next to Chloé called out. "Are you going to introduce your girlfriend to us, or are you going to keep kissing her. I'm getting a little tired of waiting. None of us are getting any younger here."

Chloé elbowed him in the side. "Ignore Jason, he's being an asshole on purpose."

Damian, however, didn't seem at all bothered by Jason's words. He gently brought one arm around her shoulders. "Todd, Jon, this is my girlfriend, Marinette."

Marinette smiled at Jason and Jon. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too, Marinette. I have just one question though. Do you know Chloé?"

"It's kind of a long story. Could we explain in the car?" Marinette asked.

Jason shrugged. "I won't be driving home with you, so how about you explain it over breakfast tomorrow?"

"What do you mean you won't be driving home with them?" asked Chloé, narrowing her eyes accusatorially.

"I have to stop at my apartment and pick up some things before I come back to stay at the Manor. Don't worry, I'm not ditching you just yet."

Chloé rolled her eyes, but Marinette could tell that she had been genuinely worried. Having a mother like Audrey Bourgeoise would give anyone abandonment issues.

They all got their luggage, then walked from the airport terminal to the car, parked in the parking lot outside. Marinette and Damian held hands the whole way there, Marinette pressing her body into his side as they walked. After five years of separation, Marinette was desperate for some physical intimacy.

Damian got into the driver's seat of the car, but not before opening up the passenger door for Marinette. "Thank you," Marinette said, giving him her brightest smile.

The drive home was quiet, as everyone was too tired for any in-depth conversation. Nino was sleeping on Jon's shoulder in the back seats, while Chloé was typing rapid-speed on her phone, likely telling Adrien and the rest of the group chat about Marinette and Damian's first kiss.

Marinette stared wide-eyed out the window, trying to take everything in as they drove through the brightly-lit streets of downtown Gotham. Skyscrapers loomed overhead, the distinctive gothic architecture. Even at two AM, the streets of Gotham were bright and busy. Massive screens illuminated the streets with advertisements. People bustled around underneath, as if unaware that two AM was supposed to be the dead of night. The city had so much energy, it was hard to believe that it was the crime capital of the world. Marinette had expected dark, foreboding alleyways and sketchy characters lurking on every street corner.

"Gotham doesn't seem as bad as I anticipated," Marinette commented.

"It's not so bad in the heart of the city. The worst crime you'll experience in downtown Gotham is pickpockets and purse stealers. Once you get into the less wealthy parts of Gotham, that's where the worst of the crime takes place," Damian answered.

Marinette let out a hum of acknowledgment, which quickly turned into a yawn. Though it would be seven AM in Paris, she had adjusted her sleeping schedule to the point that her body knew that it was the middle of the night. "How soon until we get to your house?"

"We'll arrive at Wayne Manor in approximately half an hour."

A realization shocked Marinette out of her tired state. "Wayne Manor? As in Bruce Wayne!?"

Damian winced. "Bruce Wayne is my father."

"Your father is the billionaire owner of Wayne Industries." Marinette could barely believe it. She knew that Damian came from a fairly wealthy family, as he often got her expensive gifts and the car he was driving (though Marinette didn't know cars very well) appeared to be from a luxury brand, but Marinette never expected that Damian was the son of a billionaire.

"Yes." Damian glanced at Marinette. "I know I should have told you earlier, but I wasn't sure how to break the news. Are you upset?"

Marinette shook her head. "I'm not upset, just overwhelmed. What if..." Marinette's voice trailed off. "Do you think that your family will like me?"

"Of course they'll like you. Timothy already believes that you must be a saint, the way you're able to put up with me."

Marinette smiled, reassured by his words. "How fancy is the wedding going to be? I designed a dress myself for the occasion, but I'm not sure if it'll be nice enough for such an expensive wedding."

Damian shook his head. "The wedding will be a small ceremony, in the Wayne Manor gardens, with the reception directly preceding it in the Manor ballroom."

"I'll have to show you my dress tomorrow," decided Marinette.

"If you designed it yourself, I'm sure it will be perfect."

The car started leaving the downtown of the city, traveling down the highway for a while before pulling off onto a dark lane that wound its way through a forest. They drove for almost ten minutes, past houses that got progressively larger and progressively farther apart until Damian pulled up to a gated driveway. He pressed a button on the dashboard and the gates opened up. Marinette couldn't help but be impressed by the show of wealth. As the car made its way up the long driveway, Marinette waited for the house to come into view. She knew that it would be large - it was called Wayne Manor, after all - but the knowledge didn't prepare her for the massive mansion that sat on the top of the hill. Though it was difficult to see through the dark, Marinette could tell that it was beautiful. Wayne Manor was a stunning example of gothic architecture, more like something out of a nineteenth-century romance novel than an actual house that people lived in.

"Wow," Marinette breathed out the word, stunned.

Damian got out of the car and opened up Marinette's door for her. "Welcome to Wayne Manor."

Taglist: @fanboy7794 @mikantsume @hetalia-lover-is-here @howtoshuckatlife @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @redscarlet95 @derpingrainbow @friedchickening @melicmusicmagic @beautym3 @kunstner1 @shizukiryuu @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @crazylittlemunchkin @black-streak @darkshadowguardian @mystery-5-5 @trubel43 @fandomfan315 @vincentvangoose @royalchaoticfangirl @mooshoon @drama-queen-supreme @kae690 @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @zoerayne2426 @littleredrobinhoodlum @lunar-wolf-warrior @dani-ari @sam-spectra @be-happy-every-day-please @xxmadamjinxx @interobanginyourmom @northernbluetongue @eliza-bich @romanoff-queen @scribblinggraveyard @dur55 @jeminiikrystal @sassakitty @miss-mysterys-blog @aegyobutpsycho2 @pirats-pizzacanninibles @chaosace @pepelachanel

#maribat #miraculous ladybug #daminette #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Damian Wayne #lost and found #maridami #marinette x damian #miraculous ladybug fic #my work #fanfic

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demonicputto · 4 years ago

Text

The Star

This is an excerpt from a much longer series, but it’s a Christmasy flashback and it stands on its own, so I thought I’d post it on tumblr for the holiday season. It’s based on Neil Gaiman’s musings on possible Christmas Special plots.

Aziraphale paced his rented room in Bethlehem, wringing his hands and sighing heavily. He was accomplishing nothing and in front of him sat a stark reminder of what he ought to be doing. Gabriel had visited all of three days ago, looking, somehow, more smugly handsome than usual.

Aziraphale had been set up in Rome at the time, trying his best to exert some positive influence and also enjoying the wine. He’d known, with some vague detail, that Very Important Things were happening in Judaea but he had not been roped into any of that. This was an honor well above his current rank. No less than Gabriel himself had been charged with annunciating the child’s birth to his mother. When Aziraphale tried to picture it, he only ended up pitying the poor woman.

But no one much cared what he thought, and so he was surprised when he found Gabriel at his front door with a list of tasks and orders to pack up for Bethlehem.

“We’ll be back when the child is born of course,” Gabriel had explained. “The whole host is getting ready, but until then there’s a few things you need to get done. There’s just the rooms for the family, some general blessings to ease their passage, some announcing to shepherds, oh, and we’re going to send up a special star as kind of a message. Got the supplies right here, so you can get on that.”

So here he was, job only partially complete, and too much left to do. The child would be born two days hence and he hadn’t even gotten the chance to stop by Jerusalem and pay his taxes yet. A knock on the door set his teeth on edge. This was the last thing he needed just now.

“I beg your pardon but I’m quite busy at the moment, if you could come back some other time, I would…” He trailed off in shock when he saw who was before him. “Crawly!”

When had he seen him last? It had been centuries certainly, but Crawly looked very much the same as he had the last time they’d met. Long red hair curling down to frame his face. He grinned, probably pleased to have caught Aziraphale off guard, and slithered his way into the room.

“Thought I sensed you, angel. What are you doing in this backwater anyway? It’s not very interesting.” He peered around the house with interest, but his slitted eyes soon found their way back to Aziraphale.

“What is this? Some kind of spy mission, I’m sure.” Aziraphale folded his arms firmly. “Come to find out about our plans concerning the holy child, I suppose.”

“There’s a holy child?”

His wily face went briefly guileless and Aziraphale cursed himself. “Did you really not know? Oh, now I’ve done it. I just can’t do anything right, these days.”

“Woah, hey, angel. This wasn’t a spy mission, honest. Just curiosity, plain and simple. I won’t go tattling, probably just create extra work for me anyway.”

Aziraphale exhaled. “Well, I suppose that’s one thing not gone belly up then.”

“What’s got you so down on yourself?”

“Management has given me more responsibility than I’ve had since… well, since the bit with the sword if you must know. I’m supposed to be making sure the birth goes smoothly, easing the journey here for his mother and making sure they’ve got a place to stay. I already made a mess of that first bit. I tried to get her and her husband a pair of magnificent steeds, but there was this whole kerfuffle and somehow it’s just one donkey now.”

Crawly sucked air in through his teeth. “I can see the problem there”

“And there’re so many people trying to get to Jerusalem to pay their taxes that the rooms in every inn keep filling up. I’ve been stopping by every inn each day and buying up the rooms that are available for the next week, but they won’t give them to me until the current inhabitants move on. Still, there should be more than enough space for the child and whatever followers arrive to rest in comfort. I’m so worried something else will go wrong.”

“What else is there?”

With a wavering hand, Aziraphale pointed to an unassuming box that sat in the middle of his unneeded bed. Crawly stepped forward, reaching out, before Aziraphale grabbed his wrist. “I’m not sure you ought to touch that. Gabriel gave them to me. It’s supplies for star making. There’s supposed to be a glorious one to announce the child’s arrival. But I’m a guardian; I was never part of any creative department. It’s going to be a disaster.”

Crawly kept staring at the box, looking for all the world like a snake in a charmer’s basket. Despite Aziraphale’s warning he touched it, movements oddly tender, and opened it to peer inside. The contents shone out, hitting the planes of his face and the ringlets of his hair in such a way that Aziraphale became suddenly aware of just how beautiful he was. Then Crawly snapped the box shut and was silent. Feeling, somehow, that it would be shameful to interrupt whatever he was thinking at the moment, Aziraphale stayed quiet as well.

Then he finally spoke, “You know, I could make it for you.”

Aziraphale spluttered, this had to be some sort of trap. “I’m in enough trouble already without you playing tricks.”

“I’m serious, angel. I… I used to do stars. It’s not exactly difficult. Could be… could be fun to give it a go again. See if I still got it. It’s not like I’m ever gonna get the chance some other way.”

Against his better judgement Aziraphale agreed. He told himself later that it was because the stress had gotten to him, but it had more to do with the look on Crawly’s face.

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The child had been born. The earth received her king. Men their songs had employed. The fields and floods, rocks, hill and plains had repeated the sounding joy. Aziraphale had heralded it all to the shepherds. His heart had been full, so briefly with pride, but now he sat, curled up beneath the sky outside Bethlehem’s walls cursing himself.

A pair of black sandals came into view and then Crawly settled down beside him. “What’s got you so down? Things must’ve gone well. It’s so holy out tonight I can hardly breathe. ‘Slike when there’s too much humidity.”

“It went well in general, I suppose, but it didn’t go well for me. Oh, Gabriel is going to be furious! I’m certain to be demoted again.” Fiddling with the hem of his robe did not provide much relief from his anxieties.

“What’s happened then?”

“I muddled up the inns! I left before they arrived, you see. I wanted to be ready for heralding with the shepherds. I neglected to tell a single innkeeper what I’d rented all the rooms for! So of course there wasn’t any place left for them to stay. The Holy Child was born in a barn, Crawly! Because of me!” Aziraphale looked at him, pleading. “Could you just leave? I don’t need anyone gloating.”

“You see me gloating? I’m not gloating. You know what your problem is, angel? You haven’t learned how to handle management, that’s what. So the kid was born in a barn, don’t tell them it was an accident. Tell them it was a plan.”

Aziraphale glared at him. “And what good would that do? That’d be even worse!”

“No, you just got to spin it. Say that, er…” He paused, brow crinkled as he thought. His eyes darted back and forth, though he was only looking at the sand two feet in front of them. Then he grinned. “Got it. Tell them it’s symbolic. Tell them that since this kid is supposed to be born for the good of the world, or whatever, that he had to come from humble beginnings. That he’ll better represent the everyday people instead of just kings or shit like that.”

Aziraphale gazed at him in wonder. He really shouldn’t be thinking about how brilliant the demon was. “You know, that could actually work!”

“See. It doesn’t always matter what you do, just how you explain it to the boss.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, feeling altogether too fond of the creature beside him. “And thank you for dropping off the star yesterday. It’s a shame they didn’t end up using it.”

“What do you mean they didn’t?”

He sounded offended, and Aziraphale tried to be gentle as he pointed to the light above them. “When Gabriel came to pick it up yesterday, he told me a few other angels had made stars of their own and that the Almighty would be choosing among them.”

“Did you look inside the box before you gave it over?”

“Well no, but-”

“Then why don’t you think that one’s mine?”

Aziraphale looked up. The star that hung above them, now thousands of times the size it had first been, was the most gorgeous he had ever seen. It was like a diamond with a million sides, each casting out lights of silver and gold woven together with light. Spots of refracted color could be seen, but only when you looked at it just right. He’d assumed it had been made by a master crafter, not a demon picking up a hobby again for the first time in four million years.

“Is it yours?”

“Yeah,” Crawly said huffily. “So don’t act surprised when your boss comes around praising you for it.”

“Oh, Crawly. I’d no idea you were so talented. It’s simply breath taking!”

The demon stood abruptly and kicked at the sand. “Yeah well. I should get going anyway. The air here is too thick with holiness. I’ll be seeing you around, angel. I always do.”

Aziraphale watched him go. They’d tricked Gabriel, that was obvious, but he could not imagine that they’d fooled the Lord. She’d handled the star. She’d placed it in the heavens. Had she not been able to sense the truth of its creator? And if she had, why had she chosen it anyway?

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Link to the original fic, if you’re interested: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24166843/chapters/59699671

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #ineffable husbands #good omens christmas #christmas

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rosethornewrites · 4 years ago

Text

Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 14

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education, Implied Sexual Content, First Time, Aftercare, Morning After, Afterglow, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Hand Jobs, Chronic Pain, Biting, Conversations

Summary: With Wei Wuxian on the mend, Wen Qing sends him into town with A-Yuan, Lan Wangji, and Wen Ning to keep him out of trouble. They run into someone unexpectedly.

Notes: See end.

AO3 link | FFN link (no smut)

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

-----------

Wei Ying seems happy to be in town for the first time since his near-possession, cleared after nearly a week by Wen Qing. Lan Wangji is of the opinion that the surplus of radishes and need to sell them was more the reason for her clearance, along with the fact a bored Wei Ying was dangerous.

The musical acupuncture helped him heal rapidly for someone without a golden core, according to Wen Qing. And Wei Ying had started to theorize about ways this could potentially be adapted to help Wen Ning—apparently one of the concerns was whether spiritual energy used in such a way would hurt him, or if using resentful energy could damage Wen Ning’s control. He didn’t feel ready to experiment just yet.

There was only so much Lan Wangji could do to keep Wei Ying distracted once he was recovering, though the tidy rewritten notes thrilled his husband. After the third small explosion while he worked on the Compass of Evil, Wen Qing decided he’d do less damage selling radishes with Wen Ning in town, and insisted they take A-Yuan with them so Granny could rest.

Damage is a perhaps relative idea, when a fake Yiling Laozu disciple sets up shop next to them to hawk his counterfeit wares.

Lan Wangji is surprised when Wei Ying finds the whole thing amusing, and says nothing when he steals the charlatan’s Compass of Evil, replacing it with a radish. Truthfully, the theft satisfies him; it grates on him to hear the lies gossips spew, to see people slander his zhiji for their own gain.

The day is otherwise long, with Wen Ning too shy to effectively call attention to their radishes. Adorably, A-Yuan is a bit of a help there, enthusiastically calling the attention of young women who find him adorable (but at least purchased radishes), but he grows bored easily and needs redirection.

It doesn’t help that Wei Ying keeps rubbing his hand over his collar with a dreamy expression, which more than once leads Lan Wangji to recite the Lan precepts mentally lest he act inappropriately in public—Wei Ying is wearing his ribbon at his crown, so that restraint is absent.

Under his collar is the evidence of his lack of restraint—a bruise in the shape of Lan Wangji’s teeth.

He is careful, on the whole, given Wei Ying bruises easily in his unhealthy state, bruises that take too long to fade for Wangji’s comfort. But with Wei Ying straddling his lap and moaning obscenities in his ear, moving his hips just so, as he was tasting the sweat on his collar, his control had broken.

At the bite, Wei Ying had come with an exultant “yes!” Their stomachs slick with it between them, his nails scraping at Lan Wangji’s back, clenching so hard around him his vision whited out with the force of his own orgasm. He can’t think about the bruise without remembering.

Wei Ying likes the bruise, to Lan Wangji’s mortification. Likes being marked by him, little reminders of their every day.

“I know you’d never really hurt me, Lan Zhan,” he’d said, his voice filled with a trust Lan Wangji didn’t feel he deserved. “And I liked it, in case you couldn’t tell.”

Watching Wei Ying rub it here in town is a special kind of hell, him at arm’s length and too far from their bed.

It becomes worse when Wei Ying glances his way and catches him looking, immediately reddening as though he knows exactly what he is thinking, which makes restraint all the more difficult. He looks beautiful, blushing. But he has always looked beautiful, and Lan Wangji had previously managed restraint—that was, however, before he had acknowledged their relationship, before they had consummated. Somehow the longing, the dreams and fantasies, had been much more manageable before he knew how Wei Ying’s sweat-slick skin tasted, how he felt coming apart.

The sale of the last of the radishes is a relief, but they still need to purchase items on Wen Qing’s list before returning to Burial Mounds. He lets Wei Ying focus on A-Yuan, who insists on being carried, and walks alongside him without touching him. A-Yuan is practically hanging backward from Wei Ying’s arms, giggling at silly faces he’s making. Wen Ning takes up the rear with the cart, where he’ll have Wei Ying sit if his strength fails him.

He is so focused on Wei Ying beside him that he doesn’t notice Jiang Wanyin in front of them until he halts, the smile on his face freezing, his stream of nonsense conversation with A-Yuan trailing into silence.

Jiang Wanyin does not look happy.

But, then, he rarely does.

Lan Wangji has to steel himself, doing his best not to look at the lower dantian where Wei Ying’s core now rests. Instead he bows politely.

“Sect Leader Jiang.”

Beside him, Wei Ying bows as best he can with A-Yuan in his arms, and he can sense movement behind him that tells him Wen Ning has followed suit.

Jiang Wanyin’s lip curls, but he just silently tosses his head in a beckoning gesture.

He can hear the way Wei Ying’s breath quickens, the bit of perspiration on his upper lip. Can sense his nervousness over what is to come, what he has decided to reveal. Lan Wangji takes a breath to calm himself. His husband needs him steady now.

The moment Jiang Wanyin turns to lead the way to wherever he intends them to speak, Lan Wangji puts a steadying hand on Wei Ying’s elbow as they follow and receives a wan smile in response.

Lan Wangji is relieved he is wearing the clothing the aunties sewed for him today, wearing a simpler guan Wei Ying had carved for him personally after he had expressed reluctance to continue wearing the one he had worn to befit and show his station. Wei Ying had carved two rabbits on the guan, one wearing a forehead ribbon and the other stained a darker color with leftover dye from the dock root. The craftwork had distracted him nicely for a while.

The clothing is of a heavier weave than he is used to, but he doesn’t mind it. If the plainer clothing has distracted Jiang Wanyin from noticing Lan Wangji is not wearing his forehead ribbon, that it is woven around Wei Ying’s crown and plaited with his red ribbon down his back, it is a relief. Jiang Wanyin is not known for an even temper, and his inattention has staved off what might be an argument until they are out of public.

Wei Ying will find the coming conversations stressful enough in private. He doesn’t need it to start publicly and draw attention from the locals.

Despite all the rumors about Wei Ying floating around Yiling, none of the regular citizens seem to know what he looks like. Any rumors imported speak of him as a demon or monster, and so any talismans purporting to show his features show him as such—talismans Wei Ying had decorated his cave with, and which Lan Wangji has successfully convinced him to allow him to remove. As infamous and reviled as Wei Ying is, he has managed to stay anonymous outside the gentry, anonymity that affords him some safety, and Lan Wangji would rather it not be shattered by one of Jiang Wanyin’s temper tantrums.

They are led to a courtyard, and though Jiang Wanyin first tries to close the door to keep Lan Wangji and Wen Ning out, he is able to stop this by blocking the shutting door with his sheathed sword. The Jiang sect heir must see something in the narrowing of Lan Wangji’s eyes, because he doesn’t attempt it again, instead closing and locking the door behind them.

Aside from a single figure in a long black cloak, they are alone, and Lan Wangji is unsurprised but pleased when it turns out to be Jiang Yanli in her wedding robes and headdress, come to show Wei Ying so he is not completely left out—he has seen his husband’s pain over this, how much he misses the sister who raised him, knows she is as close to his blood as can be, and he hopes this eases it somewhat.

Lan Wangji can feel Wei Ying’s arms drooping under the weight of A-Yuan, so he carefully takes the boy from him so he can greet his sister.

“A-Xian,” she calls him, untying the cloak and letting it fall. “What do you think?”

He’s close enough to hear Wei Ying’s breath catch, and is taken back to his disappointment over being excluded from the wedding. He himself is reminded of seeing Wei Ying in red following the Sunshot Campaign, in his underrobes after waking for a coma, the only time he has seen him in only in red. He realizes with a pang he will never see his husband in wedding robes.

“What, she’s not marrying you.”

Jiang Wanyin’s snide tone grates on Lan Wangji, but Wei Ying responds in kind, and he recalls watching them snipe verbally at each other during the lecture in Cloud Recesses, back before the world fell apart.

Jiang Yanli calms them, and he marvels at her ability to bring them together as they try to convince her she looks lovely in her wedding garb.

“You’ll only believe it if he says it,” Wei Ying says, faking petulance. “Lan Zhan, what do you think?”

He had been trying to avert his eyes politely, but even Jiang Wanyin seems to be watching for his reaction, so he studies them, the delicate stitching, the fall of the layers.

Lan Wangji wishes he could see Wei Ying in wedding robes.

“Elegant,” he says with a nod.

“Zhan-gege, who’s Pretty-jiejie?” A-Yuan asks, twisting in his hold.

Wei Ying smiles at the boy, taking him back.

“Even A-Yuan knows you’re pretty, shijie, so you don’t need to worry.”

Jiang Yanli folds the cloak and gestures to the nearby table.

“Come now, I’ve made soup.”

When Wei Ying sits, Jiang Yanli’s expression shifts to surprise, and he notices her looking at his forehead ribbon in his hair. She looks to him, a question in her expression, and he simply nods. Her responding smile is filled with relief, but also regret.

He is surprised when she doesn’t address it immediately, instead gesturing to him to sit and opening the basket. He takes a seat beside Wei Ying. The smell of the soup fills the air, a scent unfamiliar to Lan Wangji, but one that reminds him of his husband. This, he realizes, must be the lotus root and pork rib soup he has heard him talk about.

“I apologize. I only have three bowls,” she says, sounding truly disappointed. “I did not expect…”

Lan Wangji is about to demur and insist he does not intend to eat when Jiang Wanyin, surprisingly, pulls out a pouch of money.

“We can purchase a couple from the market, A-jie.”

Wen Ning bows.

“Jiang-zongzhu, Jiang-guniang, I can g-go for you.”

Jiang Wanyin frowns at Wen Ning with thinly veiled hostility that baffles Lan Wangji, but hands him some silver.

As Wen Ning flees, he wonders if it is to avoid Jiang Wanyin, or to avoid being present for at least part of the conversation to come.

He knows Wei Ying would prefer to flee, and he strokes his arm briefly with his thumb. The smile he receives from his husband is tremulous, but he can see his determination.

Jiang Yanli smiles at A-Yuan, her attention drawn by the movement.

“Who is this little one?” she asks, crouching slightly so she’s at the child’s height.

“A-Yuan is A-Yuan, Pretty-jiejie!”

Wei Ying shifts, catching his hand briefly and squeezing it; Lan Wangji realizes he’s decided to start here, with A-Yuan, in the multitude of revelations that are to be made.

“A-Yuan, this is my shijie,” he says softly. “You can call her guma.”

Jiang Yanli gasps in delight when A-Yuan dutifully calls her guma.

“A-Xian, is he yours?”

She is obviously unable to take him into her arms, wearing her wedding robes as she is, but she reaches out to take A-Yuan’s hand.

“Not by blood, but he started calling me a-die.”

He offers a wan smile to both his siblings.

“Meet Wei Yuan. Or he will be, once I’ve introduced him properly to my parents.”

“He’s a Wen,” Jiang Wanyin states.

Lan Wangji levels him with a stare, though it’s unclear in his tone how he feels.

“He’s an orphan and he’s three years old,” Wei Ying shoots back.

Jiang Wanyin’s face softens, but Jiang Yanli looks alarmed.

“A-Xian, he was at the work camp? At Qiongqi Path?”

Her face hardens when he nods.

“The children, the civilians, all were supposed to be let go. How could they…?”

Lan Wangji stays silent, knowing Wei Ying would prefer to shield her from some of the uglier realities of the war, but is reminded of coming upon Jin Zixun shooting unarmed civilians in chains, and his lie that it was sanctioned by the Lan and Nie clans.

“I couldn’t leave them there, shijie,” he whispers. “Wen Ning and Wen Qing sheltered us, and the others were held as Wen Ruohan’s hostages against her during the war.”

A-Yuan is watching Wei Ying quietly, with the same air of concern he had at the restaurant in Yiling not so many days ago. Lan Wangji shifts again to put the child on Wei Ying’s lap, watching as the boy hugs him.

Wei Ying manages a smile for him, then leans his head close to him and points to Jiang Wanyin.

“And the fussy gege is your shushu,” he says conspiratorially.

“You—!”

Jiang Yanli silences Jiang Wanyin with a look.

“Like Ning-shushu?” A-Yuan asks. “Do I call him nao-shushu?”

“That’s your Jiang-shushu,” Wei Ying clarifies before Jiang Cheng can take offense, but nearly chokes on the title and falls quiet.

Lan Wangji remembers abruptly that Wei Ying had once referred to Jiang Fengmian by that very name, and he watches his husband in concern. He has expressed feeling as though the attack on Lotus Pier was his fault, and he can see the guilt and grief Wei Ying is struggling to hold back.

“Yes,” Jiang Wanyin says, his voice strained as though he is fighting his own emotional turmoil, ending an awkward silence. “You can call me Jiang-shushu.”

When A-Yuan does, it is perhaps the closest Lan Wangji has ever seen Jiang Wanyin come to smiling.

Wen Ning returns with several bowls and soup spoons, an inexpensive wooden variety they have at the Burial Mounds. He tries to give Jiang Wanyin his change and is waved off.

“You can use it to get something sweet for… for my zhizi,” he says, his tone brusque. “Or a toy or something.”

Wei Ying smiles, his posture relaxing just slightly—A-Yuan’s acceptance by his siblings as their nephew has eased his nerves somewhat. But this is only the first of three difficult revelations that must be made, and arguably the easiest of them.

Jiang Yanli serves each of them, putting a generous portion of meat in A-Yuan’s bowl, and takes a seat. She herself is not eating, likely concerned about staining her wedding robes. Instead she seems content to watch them eat.

Wei Ying alternates between himself and A-Yuan, one spoon each.

“Be sure to chew the lotus root,” Wen Ning tells the boy softly.

A-Yuan nods enthusiastically, clearly enamored of the flavors; Lan Wangji can’t blame him. Though there is more spice than he is accustomed to, as is the norm in Yunmeng cuisine, the flavor is somehow warm and comforting. He completely understands how this soup is his husband’s favorite.

“You’re not eating,” Jiang Yanli says.

Wen Ning jerks in surprise.

“Oh… I was going to save this for jiejie so she could try it.”

Jiang Yanli smiles warmly.

“We will be coming to Burial Mounds, once I change at the inn. I brought enough ingredients to make some for everyone.”

Wei Ying nearly chokes on a bite of soup. She pats his back until he’s recovered.

“Wen Qing sent me a letter. We have things to discuss.”

Jiang Wanyin looks sour about this.

“Speaking of, Zewu-Jun sent an interesting letter. Said you have news to share. I’m assuming it has to do with why Hanguang-Jun is here?”

Wei Ying puts his soup spoon down and hands A-Yuan off to Wen Ning with his bowl. Wen Ning doesn’t seem surprised by this and takes over feeding him.

He tries not to be nervous over his husband getting the boy out of the potential line of fire. He rather hopes it is unnecessary, but he has seen Jiang Wanyin’s temper.

“About that,” Wei Ying says, then pauses, glancing at Lan Wangji. “Um, well… We’re married.”

For a moment, there is stunned hurt on Jiang Wanyin’s features, but it’s quickly replaced by wrath, powerful enough that zidian sparks.

“You couldn’t even invite us?!”

Lan Wangji will not have him blame Wei Ying for that. He knows there will be enough of that when they get to the next revelation. He would rather the focus be on him.

“He did not know we were married until recently.”

Jiang Wanyin’s eyes snap to him, and he carefully keeps his gaze cool in response to what is almost a volcano. He sputters, almost too angry to speak, zidian sparking even more dangerously, leaving the scent of ozone in the air.

“You— Without his consent?! This, from the honorable Hanguang-Jun?!”

“Jiang Wanyin!”

Wei Ying’s voice is low and cutting, startlingly powerful despite the lack of volume. It’s enough to startle his brother out of his anger, at least momentarily.

“He handfasted me in the Cold Spring cave,” he explains. “Lan Yi’s guqin was attacking me because I wasn’t Lan.”

Jiang Yanli stands and levels a look at Jiang Wanyin that somehow makes him quail; Lan Wangji only understands why when she levels it at him—the fury of a mother figure.

“Please explain, Lan-er-gongzi.”

Her voice is clipped in the same manner it was when she chastised Jin Zixun at the Phoenix Mountain hunt, and leaves no doubt that she will find a way to harm him if his explanation is deemed unsatisfactory. She is mildly terrifying.

“Wei Ying was being attacked with Chord Assassination,” he says. “The headband would afford him protection. I did not expect Lan Yi’s appearance. Or that we would bow. Regardless, I did not regret it.”

“You married him by accident?” Jiang Wanyin mutters, the rage gone and replaced with confusion.

“Lan Yi did not disapprove.”

“And you never told A-Xian?” Jiang Yanli asks.

She also seems more confused than angry now.

Wei Ying sighs tiredly.

“Aiya, Jiang Cheng, shijie… When would he have had time? When we were searching for the yin iron? Indoctrination? The Xuanwu cave? After—”

He breaks off. His siblings look pained, remembering the fate of Lotus Pier, though they don’t know what came after for Wei Ying. Yet.

“There was never time,” Lan Wangji agrees. “I did not expect my regard for him to be reciprocated. But now, with the danger to Wei Ying… even were it solely political, I could help protect him.”

“It’s not solely political,” Wei Ying chirps, his tone almost smug. “It’s very reciprocated—and can’t be annulled now!”

Lan Wangji can feel his ears heating. Just under Wei Ying’s collar lurks the proof of that, as he’s been acutely aware all day. He has to avoid looking at him for a moment—not out of embarrassment, but because if he does, if he sees the heat in Wei Ying’s gaze, he might lose control and kiss him in front of his siblings.

As much as his husband might prefer the distraction, he doubts it will help much.

“I didn’t need to know that, ever,” Jiang Wanyin grouses, making a face.

Jiang Yanli takes her seat again, her face serious.

“A-Xian is in danger?”

Lan Wangji nods.

“The rumors make him out to be a monster raising an army of Wen cultivators, as though he is an enemy. The truth is quite different. The lies Jin Guangshan has spread to imply he disrespects Jiang Wanyin were meant to isolate him. They want the amulet.”

“Wait, what’s this about me not respecting Jiang Cheng?” Wei Ying demands, clearly affronted.

“One of the claims made after Qiongqi Path,” Lan Wangji tells him. “That you were speaking ill of Jiang Wanyin at the Phoenix Mountain hunt.”

Wei Ying looks stunned, and his gaze darts to his brother. He evidently doesn’t like what he sees, his expression shuttering.

“I see,” he says, the words heavy in the air. “And you believed them.”

Jiang Wanyin has the decency to look ashamed.

Jiang Yanli seems at a loss. Lan Wangji suspects she has heard none of this. Had she been aware, he has no doubt the offenders would have regretted speaking ill of Wei Ying.

“Maybe you’re right not to trust me,” Wei Ying murmurs finally. “I’ve lied to both of you.”

The admission startles a flinch from his siblings. Lan Wangji can feel the tension in Wei Ying, like a guqin string stretched too taut, ready to snap at the slightest touch. He reaches for Wei Ying’s hand under the table and places his on top of it. He is relieved when his husband relaxes slightly, a slight tremor running through him.

Wei Ying’s hand, when he laces theirs together, is clammy and cold, his grip tighter than normal. As much as Lan Wangji wishes he could do more, the best he can do is be here for him.

The quiet stretches, seeming to freeze them in time, broken only when A-Yuan asks Wen Ning for another bite of soup.

Jiang Yanli reaches forward, touches Wei Ying’s arm.

“About what, A-Xian?”

She looks concerned and a little afraid, and the same look lurks on Jiang Wanyin’s features. They know, Lan Wangji realizes that Wei Ying has been hiding something, maybe even suspect how terrible it is. Whatever they might imagine, he knows the truth will be much worse.

Wei Ying swallows hard, his fingers tightening. He seems to be trying to find the words, deciding how to say it in a way that might soften the blow.

But there is no way to soften it.

“I didn’t know how to find Baoshan Sanren,” he admits finally.

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

The conversation is a lot longer than I expected it to be, and this is a good stopping point, even if it is a bit of a cliffhanger. This went in directions I didn’t always expect, in part because Jiang Yanli is terrifying.

Lan Wangji has feelings about Jiang Cheng. They’re not always the nicest feelings, but he has them regardless. It’s ok, because Jiang Cheng has similar feelings in return.

It might take me a bit to pick this up again. I’m participating in the WangXian Lunar New Year gift exchange, so I’m working on my piece for that and putting my other fics on hold for a little while. Also, the new semester just started, and I’ve probably fielded about 50 emails from panicked students today alone.

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darlingsdevil · 5 years ago

Text

The Ballads of Rebirth (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

Chapter 15: Full Circle

Summary: The big day. All rejoice!

Masterlist

Tag list: @rollyjogerjones

I still can’t add a read more tab on mobile.. sorry about that :/

A/N: Sorry for my long hiatus, not been super motivated lately so I made this chapter extra long for you guys! Longer than any thing I’ve written before (!!).I promise I sort have been doing productive things.. I guess. Listening to music (Hozier, Lord Huron, Gregory Alan Isakov and the Oh Hello’s are what got this chapter done), playing fallout 76 (I know), working, schoolwork, planning other fics (I have a big announcement coming up!!!)

IMPORTANT PLEASE READ: I wanted to clear some things up in terms of plot hole. My dumbass mistakenly has said that Reader has been in the gang for 15 years, not true - it’s been around 10, but a little less than John (like 3 ish months after him). I have also previously said that John and Reader joined the gang together, again, not true but I already fixed it. Reader joined the gang after John after Arthur saved her from the gang who kidnapped her. Hope this wasn’t too confusing.

As for the ending... yeah.. next chapter, and then epilogue. Not sure that many of you will stay around for the AU - which will be posted SEPARATE, after you read the actual ending >:3c Anyways, here we go.

This is all supposed to be italicized.. it’s italicized on wattpad and ao3, just tumblr decided to be a bitch and not transfer it that way and I’m too lazy to change each paragraph to italics.. so let’s just pretend it is.

•••

Shady Belle was an interesting place for a wedding, it seemed. You had been ushered away from Arthur in the morning, and carted away to Saint Denis with the rest of the women, claiming Shady Belle would be too chaotic to get ready in, which really meant they didn’t want you to get ready with the men around. They had raided your room when the sun rose, waking Arthur too. You were barely able to kiss him goodbye, they carted you out of the room that fast. You wanted to lie next to him all morning, enveloped in his warmth, but your friends had different plans.

Saint Denis was such a difference compared to Chicago, the city you grew up in. You were an orphan living in the cold streets, just barely getting by. You worked in a textile factory for as long as you could remember. You lived in a cheap, one bedroom apartment, before that you simply slept in alleyways with other orphans, huddling by fires. You were uneducated, poor, and always hungry. A man kidnapped you on your way home from work one late evening, and the next thing you knew you were in a cabin in the desert, surrounded by men with guns and a nasty look on their face. Arthur was your savior, Dutch was your teacher, John was your brother, Abigail was your sister, Hosea was your father and the Van der Linde gang was your family.

But that was a long time now. Your wedding was merely hours away.

Arthur was nervous about the whole thing, he didn’t want to make a big deal out of the wedding but Dutch decided otherwise. Dutch thought a wedding was exactly what the entire gang needed, to boost everyone’s morals he had told you. You were beyond nervous for your big day, but with Arthur by your side, the impossible became possible.

Miss Grimshaw was the head of it all, the mastermind of the party. She set everything on a strict schedule, where everyone needed to be and when. She was a godsend during this time, otherwise the wedding would no doubt end up in a shed with you wearing a white sheet as a wedding dress.

Mary Beth was absolutely bouncing off the walls at the idea of a wedding, she thought it was incredibly romantic — two outlaws falling in love. It was something out of those novels she adores.

Saint Denis was hot, humid, and made you feel sticky with sweat. It didn’t help you would be wearing a heavy dress later that day either, but you didn’t mind. Nothing could or would bring you down today.

The first stop to your magical day was the salon. You got your hair trimmed and styled, as well as some makeup, keeping it simple. A few of the other women got their hair done as well. They all looked beautiful. The women could not hide their excitement for you, even a few patrons of the salon came up and congratulated you. Their talk seemingly echoed off the walls.

Abigail put the hair clip in your styled hair, it was a beautiful piece, elegant and dazzling. It was gold with a large pearl at the top and smaller jewels surrounding it. It matched your locket perfectly. Arthur had bought the hair clip for you a few days before.

When you were ready to leave the salon, it was time for the dress store, where you had left the dress. You didn’t want Arthur to see it, and it would no doubt get soiled at Shady Belle. Some of the other women had bought new dresses for the special occasion as well.

You picked it up from the counter, and walked over to the dressing room. All the women sat down on the benches outside of the dressing room, waiting for the big reveal. A few of them had already seen it, as they had gone with you when you picked it out, but none of them had seen you in your full wedding attire.

When you slipped it on over your undergarments you felt like you were floating on a cloud. You were absolutely beautiful. You felt like you could conquer the world in the dress. It was incredibly pretty, it had a loose layered bodice, with lace woven in, long ruffled sleeves and an a-line skirt. You felt your heart strings pull at the mere sight of it, you wondered what Arthur would think of it.

You slowly pushed the door open, hearing your loud heartbeat in your ears. You heard a wave of audible gasps, and then a few squeals, you eyed your white heels nervously, hesitantly looking up at all their faces.

They were all smiling, a few covering their mouths in joy.

“You look so pretty!” Tilly shouted, the rest of the women agreed. You smiled shyly, doing a small twirl.

“I really like the dress,” You said, feeling the cloth sway with you.

“I’d be surprised if Arthur didn’t drop dead the moment he sees you,” Mary Beth said playfully.

“Do you really think so?” You questioned.

“Of course. The man will have a heart attack right there, on the altar,” Molly responded.

You giggled, “I don’t want that to happen!”

“You look so beautiful,” Mary Beth repeated. You nodded her head at her, a smile on your lips.

“I’m so nervous though,” You confessed, sitting down next to Miss Grimshaw. You gripped the edge of the wooden bench, hoping to calm your nerves.

“It’s normal to be nervous, if you aren’t, there’s something wrong.” Sadie was the only married one in the gang, you trusted her advice.

“What if something goes wrong?”

“Nothing will be going wrong today, everyone is going to make sure nothing bad happens,” Abigail reassured you.

“Are you sure? I mean what if Arthur suddenly gets cold feet? What if O’Driscolls raid our camp?”

“If the O’Driscolls try to mess up your day, they’ll have to get through me,” Sadie said rather determinedly, a strange glint in her eye. You would not want to be an O’Driscoll when Sadie Adler was around, or an O’Driscoll in general for that matter.

“Arthur would never turn his back on you. We all see the way he looks at you,” Mary Beth said, a noise of agreement was heard. Mary Beth was right, Arthur would never turn his back on you, you were sure of it.

“Arthur and you do make a handsome couple. I can tell you’re really in love,” Molly responded.

“Thank you, Molly.” You smiled at her.

“We best be getting going, we wouldn’t want her to miss her big day,” Karen reminded everyone. It was getting late after all, there were still some things to do before the ceremony, such as making sure all the men were getting ready instead of getting drunk off their asses. Luckily, most of the preparations were done the night before, but there were still some finishing touches required.

Everyone fretted for you and Arthur to simply sit back and let everyone get your wedding prepared for you. You were wary of coming off as lazy at first, but the gang assured you it was your turn to sit back and relax, after all weddings were supposed to be happy and stress free. So you let everyone pitch in, even Uncle helped.

“Let’s head back then. The bouquet still needs the ribbons in it, we need to make sure dinner is being prepared-” Miss Grimshaw already began barking orders, Karen and Tilly both groaned. Everyone began to get up, gathering all their belongings.

“And you, Miss Morgan, we need you to head inside immediately once we arrive, we can’t have your dress get dirty,” Miss Grimshaw told you as you walked through the streets to get to the wagons.

“And don’t let Arthur see you, it’s bad luck, you know,” Sadie's voice rang out from behind you.

“I know!”

•••

When the rowdy wagons finally came to a stop in front of Shady Belle, you were immediately taken up to Abigail’s room. She shielded you from the eyes of the men, rushing you up the staircase. Abigail and Sadie were not taking the superstitions lightly it seemed. She kicked John out of the room, but Jack was allowed to stay.

You walked over to the window, Abigail sat down on the rickety bed. You slowly pushed the curtains out of the way, looking down to the ground below. Dutch was giving a speech it seemed, Arthur next to him. Your breath was almost stolen from you the moment you laid eyes on him, he was so incredibly handsome. He wasn’t dressed yet, you were glad you hadn’t spotted him in his suit. He was standing proud next to Dutch, Hosea on the other side of him. You watched them for awhile, before letting the curtains fall back into place.

“Are you ever going to have a wedding with John?” You turned to Abigail as she brushed her hair on the bed.

Abigail gave you a look,“Knowing John, probably not.”

You chuckled lightly, “Well, if you ever do, I want to be there.”

“You’ll be the first invited,” She responded. You took the brush from her hands and slowly began getting rid of all the knots in her hair. You shifted behind her, making sure to not crease your dress.

“I still can’t believe you two are getting married. I remember when I caught you two kissing behind that wagon,” She laughed, remembering the awkward moment.

“He was drunk off his ass and I was too. It wasn’t much of a kiss, more like we were eating eachothers face.”

“Yeah but, it was still a kiss, right?”

“I guess it was our first kiss. But our first sweet kiss was the day after when he officially asked me out,” You sighed sweetly.

“John was horrified. I still remember the look on his face when you both arrived back in camp holding hands,” Abigail laughed.

“Hosea always knew. Dutch knew too. We were ogling each other for so long, it was kinda hard not to know.”

“You told me first though, remember?” Abigail said.

“Yeah, I do. And then the next day you went into town and bought a locket for me so I could put Arthur’s photo in it.”

You continued brushing Abigail’s locks. Abigail was the closest thing to a sister you had ever gotten. You stood up for her when the rest of the men saw her as a whore, you showed them she was more than that. You stayed by her side when John left her with a newborn. You had even helped give birth to Jack.

Arthur was closer to John for obvious reasons, but you were still John’s sister too. You were both furious at John when he left. John had betrayed you and Abigail, things were still rocky. Arthur understood what it was like to have a child, it wasn’t easy, but at least he had stayed for Eliza, you had met her twice, she was kind and respectful. Isaac was a smart boy, and looked a lot like Arthur. Arthur was distant for a while after he found out they both died.

“It took you awhile to find the right photo to put in it.”

“It did. I had to get him to take the photo in the first place. I remember I told him it was for a job!” You laughed.

“I’m sure he already suspected it.”

“Probably. I never was a good liar around Arthur,” You said.

“I’m so glad he ended up with you.. Mary and him were a troubled pair.”

“Trust me, I know.” Mary hated you and you hated her. It was the final straw when Mary began talking about you, trying to pull Arthur away from you, putting ideas into his head, and Arthur stopped putting up with it. At the time, you were no rival to Mary, you were more like his annoying little sister. His volatile little sister. You were a lot wilder in those days, no wonder Mary saw you as a threat.

“But honestly, you two are a wonderful couple. Arthur is lucky to have you,” Abigail said sincerely.

“Thank you,” You responded. You were finally done brushing her hair, you set the hairbrush down and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I’m so nervous about this wedding,” You confessed to her, setting your hands in your lap.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Abigail looked at you. You looked up at her. Her eyes shimmered with pride.

“I don’t even know why I’m worried, I just am.”

“Well I’ll be with you the entire time, you’re my sister, (Y/N). And sisters stick together.”

“Thank you, Abi.” You leaned forward and gave her a hug, your eyes welling with tears of happiness.

When she let go, she sat up from the bed, walking over to the window. She looked down at the scene below with watchful eyes.

“John looks like he just woke up. That damned fool,” Abigail muttered, she turned to Jack, who had been playing with a few pieces of yarn and wood. You nearly laughed at the pitiful sight, you would have to buy him some real toys when you went back into the city. Arthur and you had briefly discussed having children, you had practically raised Jack, with Abigail. Arthur decided once things settled down and Dutch’s plan to go to Tahiti or wherever he decided at the time finally worked, then would be the time. You prayed it would be soon, Arthur would make a wonderful father. You wanted to get away from this life so desperately, you were tired of running, you were tired of killing. All you wanted was a family with Arthur.

You had lived the life of running, fighting to stay alive, killing without second thought. All you wanted was peace.

Abigail picked up Jack, letting out a quiet groan. Jack was getting big, you remember when you first held him, those big eyes looking up at you.

“Jack, do you want to go get what you made your Aunt?” Abigail asked Jack. Jack looked at you with big doe eyes, smiling widely.

“Yes, Mama,” He said, Abigail set him down, he walked towards the drawer by the window and reached open to pull it open. He barely even reached it. His small arms grabbed a small object from inside the drawer. Abigail put her hands on her hips, smiling at her boy.

“He made it himself,” Abigail said as Jack set a flower crown in your hands. It was pretty with wildflowers he had picked. He watched you examine it, smiling brightly.

“I think Uncle Arthur will like it,” He told you.

“Oh, Jack! Thank you so much. This is beautiful.” You gave him a grin, putting the flower crown on. It really was a thoughtful gift.

“He picked a flower for Arthur too, so you would be matching,” Abigail revealed.

“Arthur likes flowers, did you know that, Jack? He’d never let any of us know, though,” You laughed, grabbing a bobby pin from a small box next to the brush, you secured the crown to your hair. Arthur was always drawing flowers in that journal, and in his old one he had kept pressed flowers. Arthur was a secret softy, there was no hiding that. Perhaps it’s why you fell for him, his secret side was so tender and loving, and when he realized he loved you too, that’s all you ever saw of him. He was nothing but kind - even when he called himself a bad man, you saw straight through that. Arthur was a kind man, kinder than any man you had ever met.

“I know,” Jack said simply, setting down next to you. He kicked his legs out in a back and forth motion.

“How do you know?” You asked him, pretending to be shocked.

“Uncle Arthur told me he likes flowers.”

Abigail held back a laugh, looking at you. You glanced at her, giving her a look.

“Uncle Arthur told you he liked flowers?” You repeated.

“He told me when we were by the water. I found a flower and gave it to him,” Jack responded.

“I see. What flower did you give him?”

“It was a purple flower. Uncle Arthur drew it in his journal.” Jack got up from the bed and went back to his yarn and wood, plopping down on the hardwood floors.

You chatted aimlessly with Abigail for a few moments as she continued getting ready. You were beyond scared to walk down that aisle and face Arthur. The longer you waited, the worse your nerves got.

People came up and down the steps, but suddenly you realized that it was John and Arthur coming upstairs. You held your breath. Even Abigail stopped to listen. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you heard them speak and walk further and further up the steps.

“John?” Abigail called out.

“What?” He responded, John was close to the door.

“Arthur’s not allowed in,” Abigail replied, she picked up her makeup brush and began applying blush to her face.

“I know. He’s not, he’s going to his room.” You could hear Arthur’s footsteps in the other room.

“Can I come in?” John asked after a moment of silence.

“Sure,” You said. The door opened and there was John. He still wasn’t dressed.

“You look good. I’m sure Arthur will be happy to see you.” John closed the door behind him, walking over to the dresser.

“Think so?” You asked playfully.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t he be?” He chuckled, John pulled out a pair of black slacks and a white shirt. It looked clean enough.

“She’s nervous,” Abigail told John. John looked at you over his shoulder.

“That so? Arthur is too.”

“Did he say anything about me?” You blurted out, feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush. John walked behind the folding screen in the corner of the room.

“He’s real excited to see you,” John said from behind the screen.

“I’m sure everyone out there is,” Abigail chimed in.

“Arthur wanted me to give you something,” John said as he walked out from behind the screen in his wedding outfit. He walked towards you, outstretching his palm.

It was a chocolate bar. You smiled at it, taking it from John.

“What's up with you two and chocolate?” John asked you as he walked over to the cabinet, he leaned against it, watching Jack play with his yarn.

“It’s a long story, but he’s only supposed to give it to me when I’m injured though.”

“Maybe he just wanted to let you know he’s thinking of you,” Abigail spoke, she glared at John, you wondered what that meant.

“I don’t have anything to give him,” You sighed, staring at the chocolate bar. Arthur was always thinking ahead.

“I’m sure he knows you’re thinking of him,” Abigail replied.

“Hopefully.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to eat it, your nerves were too high. All food sounded incredibly unappetizing. You set the chocolate bar on the bedside table. Jack eyed it, his eyes nearly glowing.

“You want the candy bar?” You asked Jack.

He nodded vigorously. Abigail rolled her eyes humorously.

“You can have it,” You told him. It was a gift from Arthur but Jack would have appreciated it even more than you could, and besides, the kid loves candy.

“Thank you, Auntie (Y/N),” He said, grabbing the chocolate bar with eager hands.

“I best be getting down there now, Dutch wants to talk to Arthur and me, good luck out there by the way,” John said, buttoning the top of his collar. He opened the door and left.

Jack continued eating his chocolate, you smiled at the boy. You wanted your own son or daughter so dearly, one with Arthur’s eyes and your hair. That’s all you wanted. You wanted out. As much as you loved your family - you wanted out. You had lived that way for so long, it was all you had ever known. But now you had a chance at freedom - to create your own family with Arthur.

But Arthur would never leave Dutch. And you knew that.

Deep down you knew.

You were tired of the running — tired of the plans, tired of it all. All you wanted was Arthur, him and nothing else. No gang — no killing. Just Arthur.

You didn’t want to raise a child in the gang, that was a foolish dream. You knew how easily the child could go without a parent, you had seen it happen with Abigail and Jack, although John eventually returned.

You were coming to terms with that though. In the world of an outlaw it was to live forever as an outlaw or die trying.

•••

An hour passed - it was already almost time. A majority of the gang members had already left camp. Your nerves were skyrocketing and when Molly knocked on the door to tell you it was time you almost passed out. Abigail gently ushered you to the door. Your hands were shaking as you slowly opened it up, seeing Molly in her special dress.

The plan was to head to a small church where they held outdoor weddings behind the building, the venue backed up to a river so you would be standing by it saying your vows. It was not very far from Shady Belle. Churches were never quite Arthur’s style, so you opted for an outdoor wedding..

You walked down the staircase slowly to the carriage outside, your hands were shaking wildly. Abigail held you tightly, Jack at her hip. The carriage was waiting outside for you. The camp was deserted behind you, it was strange to see. It was almost eerie, the lack of life, but you knew later tonight it would be bustling with it.

Abigail helped you up into the carriage. Once everyone was in the driver set off. Your heart pounded in your ears, your stomach churning.

“I’m so nervous.” You clasped your gloved hands tightly in your lap, as if it would somehow stop the shaking. Every turn, every jolt, it did not help with your nerves at all.

“I know, dear,” Molly said, putting her hands over yours. Abigail watched you sympathetically, she knew this wasn’t easy.

The carriage moved closer and closer to the venue. Arthur was surely feeling the same way, hopefully not to the same extent.

You were silent for most of the ride, Abigail and Molly talked fruitlessly, but you could not focus on their words. It felt like there were a thousand thoughts in your mind but not a single one was coming to your mind clearly, they were all shrouded in nervousness.

When the carriage suddenly came to a stop your heart jumped. You looked out the window and held your breath. This was it.

You were getting married. Today. Right now.

It was suddenly almost hard to wrap your mind around it. Abigail had to lightly nudge you out of the carriage, otherwise you would have been frozen in that seat.

You stepped out of the carriage, the sun was bright and slowly setting in the sky. By the time you would all get back tonight - it would surely be night.

Charles and John were waiting outside of the church for you. Every step closer to the church felt heavier and heavier, it was beginning to be hard to stand up straight.

“You look nice,” Charles said, holding the door open for you. Sunlight seeped in from the windows of the church, it was dusty inside. Sadie, Miss Grimshaw and Mary Beth sat on one of the pews, waiting for you.

“Thank you, Charles.”

Mary Beth gave you a small wave as you walked closer to them. Molly, Abigail, Jack and John behind you. It was hot and dry inside the church, it did not help that you were wearing a heavy dress either.

You opened your mouth to say something to Sadie, but Miss Grimshaw quickly cut you off. Molly walked out the back door to the ceremony.

“Arthur’s in the room behind the altar, with Dutch and Hosea. The Processional is starting in five minutes,” Miss Grimshaw reminded everyone. You nodded slowly. Five minutes felt like nothing. Abigail clipped the veil into your hair as Miss Grimshaw spoke. The veil was long and trailed to the floor, with lots of lace that was intricately woven.

“The order goes Dutch, Miss Grimshaw, Arthur, Charles, John, me, Mary Beth, Abigail, Jack and then our bride with Hosea,” Sadie read off from a piece of paper she had been holding.

“Then I’ll get out there with them, and you, Abigail, make sure the boy doesn’t drop the rings,” Miss Grimshaw finished, she turned swiftly towards the room behind the altar. Charles and John followed suit.

You sat down on one of the pews, your heeled foot tapping tirelessly against the floors. You tried to think of something calming, but nothing came to mind. It all was scrambled, your brain desperately grasping at a comprehensible thought.

“You’ll be fine,” Sadie told you as she leaned against the pew.

“You will be,” Mary Beth agreed.

“I’m afraid I’ll mess up.”

“You won’t mess up, you’ll be fine,” Abigail beamed. The seconds ticked on, the women sticking to their own conversations after noticing the worry in your eyes.

The music began and you immediately perked up, five minutes seemingly goes fast when your mind is a jumbled mess.

Sadie, Mary Beth and Abigail got up. Jack held onto his mother’s dress tightly. Abigail turned to smile at you sweetly as they walked closer and closer to the back. You gave her a small wave of goodbye. She mouthed “you’ll do great.” as she vanished behind the door.

The church was now completely deserted, it was now you and your thoughts. About a minute passed before Abigail knocked on the door. You hesitantly walked over to the looming door. Your heart beating wildly, like it would jump out of your chest.

You opened it and took a small breath, trying to calm your screaming nerves. In a few moments, you would see Arthur, and he would see you. And you would be his, and he would be yours. Years of yearning, wishing the other would be at their side, who knew it would come to this? He would be yours and you would be his. It was as simple as that.

Hosea was waiting on the other side for you, looking handsome as ever in his suit. He was the closest thing to a father you had ever gotten, it was only fitting he would walk you down the aisle. He smiled at the sight of you, unable to hide his pride.

The small compartment behind the church was small too. The door was open leading to the altar where Arthur was waiting for you, but a path obscured by trees hid it from you.

“You look beautiful,” He whispered, resting a hand on your shoulder. You stared at the door, waiting for your turn. You smiled politely, although you were not facing him.

The summer buzz of cicadas was heard even as the Procession played, a melodic tune. You waited for the music to change into your entrance.

“You’ll do fine out there, Arthur loves you,” Hosea’s words were quiet, but you could hear them loud as day. It was entirely true of course. Hosea was always right.

The music slowly shifted into a much slower song, and you knew. This was it. Hosea slid his arm through yours, your right arm holding the bouquet. You both slowly stepped out into the bright day. You felt like you were floating on a cloud — like nothing could ever bring you down. The dirt crunched underneath your feet as the aisle slowly came into view. Hosea’s arm was steady and soothing, his steps slow and methodical.

Worries drifted away as you slowly came into view, the wedding party rising at your arrival. The music continued to play a slow, beautiful tune, the cicadas humming happily and the rush of the river drumming thunderously.

And then there was Arthur, smiling at you like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life. You were closer now to him, every step bringing you nearer and nearer to his heart.

Arthur was handsome. He was gorgeous. And he was yours — all yours. He was sporting a dashing black suit, perfectly tailored. The flower in his chest pocket was the same as the ones in your hair.

It was like there was a beam of light radiating from him, Arthur had always been your beacon even in the darkest of times. He was love itself.

You felt the eyes of your friends and family on you, but you could only focus on Arthur.

When you finally reached the altar, your hearts felt like they were being synced, beating as one rather than two. The officiant stood behind Arthur, underneath two trees with a small arch decorated with flowers, Sadie and Mary Beth waiting for you on the left, John and Charles next to Arthur.

Hosea let go off your arm, smiling the entire time. He took his place next to Dutch in the front row, you handed Abigail your bouquet and stood next to Arthur underneath the arch, he took your hands in his. His hands were rough and strong, but they felt like home.

You looked into those eyes of endless waves, you only felt love and happiness from him. He looked like a prince, like there was supposed to be a crown sitting on top of his head, rather than the flower one you wore.

The officiant began with a welcome as the guests sat down.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join Arthur and (Y/N) in matrimony, which is commended to be honorable among all men; and therefore is not by any to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently, discreetly, advisedly and solemnly. Into this holy estate these two persons present now come to be joined. If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace." The officiant said. This was really it, you kept reminding yourself. You both looked towards the crowd, for a fleeting moment you wondered if anyone would speak up. Arthur wondered the same, perhaps Micah would think he was funny and say something completely out of line, but he didn’t.

Arthur thought you were a goddess in your beautiful white gown. It looked exactly like something you would wear, the dress accented your body wonderfully, he couldn’t help but admire it.

The officiant spoke some more, weddings, love, union, the beginning of your new life - but you could barely focus on it. Your only focus was Arthur. Your fiancé, your best friend, your husband in a matter of moments.

“And now the bride and the groom are to exchange vows,” The officiant proclaimed. He gave you your paper with the vows.

Tears slowly started forming in your eyes as you shakily held the paper, smiling through it all.

“I remember when you found me alone in that cabin, that day you saved me in more ways than one. You taught me to love, to laugh, to trust. You have been my best friend, my companion, my lover and now you will be my husband. You have stayed by me when I was sick, injured, drunk, crying, you were there for it all. And I shall be there for you, I will choose you every time. I devote myself to you, Arthur Morgan, in sickness and in health. For I am yours, and you are mine.” You squeezed Arthur’s hand tightly, feeling the words come out naturally, like you had been waiting to say them your entire life. His smile widened throughout your entire vow.

The officiant held the paper out to Arthur, he let go of your hand to take it. You remembered him saying writing vows was hard, saying that his words sounded like nonsense. But they weren’t nonsense, Arthur was a gifted writer, whether he knew it or not. The thoughts in his journal (which you rarely ever saw) were something precious.

“My dear (Y/N), the first day I met you I knew I would like you. And I was right, and here we are now years later. It’s been a wild last few years, reckless too, but this is our first step into our new life, and we best not waste it. You are my love, you are my light, and I love you more than anything in this world. Nothing can or will separate us from now till the end of time,” He finished, his eyes brimming with love. Nothing could have prepared you for this moment, looking into his eyes and only feeling happiness. Like it was only you and him in this entire universe.

“Arthur, do you take Y/N L/N to be your lawfully wedded wife, through sickness and health, till death do you part?” The officiant asked. Arthur looked towards the man and nodded.

“I do.”

“And do you, Y/N, take Arthur Morgan to be your lawfully wedded husband, through sickness and health, till death do you part?”

“I do,” You said to Arthur. You smiled uncontrollably, and tried to stop the tears that were threatening to spill out the corner of your eyes.

The officiant leaned down to take the rings from Jack.

“Arthur, take this ring and place it on her finger.” Arthur took the ring from the man, and you presented your left hand to him. He slipped it on effortlessly.

“I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and faithfulness to you.”

“Y/N, take this ring and place it on his finger.” You grabbed the ring, feeling the weight of it in your hand, you slipped it on his strong hand.

“I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and faithfulness to you,” You rang out loud and clear. Speaking only to him. Words that would forever bind you to him.

“And remember, love is an unbreakable bond, it is gratitude, it is faithfulness, it is kindness, it is forgiveness, it is everything good in this world. Lovers will always find a way back to each other,” The officiant said with parting words.

“With the power invested in me, I now declare you husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride.”

You both leaned in, he grabbed your waist, you took his face in your hand. And you kissed him, and you kissed him. His mouth against yours, it was a rushing moment, like you were soaring above the clouds. And you felt the love between, the hearts beating as one. Arthur was secure, he was your lifeline, he was your home. Arthur was yours.

Cheers were heard as you both retreated. You took his hand in his as you made your way back down the aisle. The crowd stood up for you, clapping the whole way. You would have to get used to the new weight on your finger, it was different than the engagement ring.

Once you were back on the path, you finally spoke, unable to hide your excitement.

“Gosh, I was so nervous all day, but when I got up there it wasn’t bad at all!” You exclaimed, walking closer to the church. The forest singing a merry tune for you

“I know, John had mentioned earlier that you was nervous,” Arthur replied. Your heart was beating quickly, but this time not with nerves, with excitement, with joy.

“And thank you, for the chocolate by the way. I ended up giving it to Jack, since he was ogling it the entire time,” You laughed, speaking quickly. Arthur held the door open for you as you entered the church.

“I was wondering if you would eat it or not.”

“Jack liked it. He also said he picked you that flower,” You told Arthur as you walked towards the front of the church, out towards the carriage

“The flower crown looks nice in your hair, I think he made a good choice.” You opened the door to the carriage outside. The rest of the gang would come back to camp after you left. Arthur helped you into the carriage while the driver congratulated you two.

At 19 you expected to live the rest of your life with a gang of merciless strangers who beat and did horrible things to you, but now here you are, 10 years later - married to the man who had saved you. And he had saved you every day since then, reminding that you were worth the love he could give.

And he was yours, and you were his.

•••

The party still roared to life outside. There was a feast fit for a group of outlaws, cake, never ending drinks, a vibrant bonfire, poker, stories, toasts, talks. It was everything you hoped your wedding would be. Hosea and Dutch were like proud fathers the entire night. You even saw what looked like Miss Grimshaw wiping away some tears when Hosea gave his speech.

It was interesting to say the least — when the songs started, you knew a majority of the camp had gotten drunk. Barely anyone had retired for the night — besides Strauss, and Reverend who had already blacked out. They sang songs for you and Arthur, they sang songs about love, about sex (which made you blush and hide your face, while Arthur had a dumb smirk on his face). You had switched out of your dress after the ceremony and opted for a looser small white dress.

When the crowd began saying the ‘Ring Dang Doo’ you groaned, knowing everyone would be looking at you. Arthur laughed as he sang along, watching you the entire time. The hoops and hollers were joyous as you hid your face in Arthur’s shoulder.

When the song was finally over you let out a sigh of relief, but you remained nuzzled into your husband's side. He was warm from drinking, and he had a happy glow to him. There was not another place you would rather be than to be next to him.

Hours passed smoothly, the songs became less rowdy as the party goers quickly dropped, hopefully not too hard. It was hard to believe your wedding day was over. You remained by Arthur’s side for a majority of the night. By the time Javier and John had packed up for the night — as well as an insufferably drunk Sean who’d fallen on his face getting up, it left only you and Arthur.

The fire crackled and sputtered as the remaining embers shuddered, praying to stay lit. The night was slowly coming to end, the final waves of darkness would be over soon, and light would wash over the terrain.

You were tired, you’d been awake for nearly a full day now. Your head rested on Arthur’s shoulder as he stared meaningfully into the fire, both of your eyelids heavy. You slowly blinked, trying to stay awake, to not fall asleep in the middle of camp.

“You know we could get away from this all, Arthur,” You mentioned to him, trying to suppress a yawn that was threatening to be released from your mouth.

Arthur replied with a questioning hum.

You looked up at him, “We could get away from this life, you know, start our own family.”

“You know I want that, sweetheart. Life’s just a mess right now, not sure it’s the right time,” He sighed. You turned back to look at the dwindling fire.

“I know, Arthur, I do. I just — I want a child of our own, a house, a family.”

“We’ll have that one day.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

•••

#tbor #the ballads of rebirth #rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader

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