#gazing in his eyes losing my breath swooning and forgetting everything else

[wildsaltair]

okay.

[spacequokka]

Vibes

Pairing: Jackson x Reader Genre: Friends to Lovers, Fluff Rating: G Summary: “What if I’m not teasing you, though?” Word Count: 0.5k Warnings: None!

“This isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.” You leaned against the railing of the yacht and watched the waves in the ocean flow and ebb. “It’s so peaceful out here.”

Jackson adjusted his hat, then pulled you into an embrace, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Told you. Get you away from everything so you can really relax.” You nodded and leaned into him.

“This one of the few times I’ll let your ‘I told you so’ slide. The view’s so pretty.” You nudged his head with your own. “Do you bring your little girlfriends out here too? I bet they just swoon for you, don’t they?”

Jackson chuckled. It never ceased to amuse him how convinced you were that he had lovers lined up waiting for a chance. Sure, he had admirers, but they knew who he wrote his songs for. He could try to convince you otherwise, but it was more fun this way, seeing your brief moments of jealousy. Instead, he shrugged.

“See? I knew it,” you whispered. “Everyone wants you.”

He bit his lip. The opportunity was right there. If he could just get the words out, just—“What about you? Do you want me, too?” You went stiff, not daring to move and even holding your breath as if you could will yourself to disappear. But he didn’t want that. Not when he was so close to getting the words out. He licked his lips and kept going. “Because I do. No one else stays on my mind as much as you do.”

“I—” You swallowed as your lashes fluttered, a sign that made him feel a little better. Flustered was much better than disgust or unease. “You’re always teasing me.”

“What if I’m not teasing you, though?” The question was meant to be playful, but even he could hear the yearning in his words. He tightened his hold on you, suddenly getting cold feet and willing you to let it go, to forget he’d ever said anything. As long as it meant he’d never lose the privilege of holding you like this and pretend you were his for just a little bit.

Sounds of the ocean filled the space between you as seconds ticked by, long enough for Jackson to believe you ignored his soft question. He was fine with that, really. Maybe it was better this way. Then you turned around and looked up into his eyes with an expression he dreaded. Whatever was about to come out of your mouth was something he’d end up agreeing with solely because he had the hardest time telling you no.

“Prove it.” You rested your hands on his arms. “Prove you mean it.”

“And how could I do that?” Honestly, he could think of a hundred ways to prove he meant every word, but somehow limiting himself to whatever your imagination cooked up seemed safer.

Your gaze dropped from his to his mouth, and his heart stuttered. “Kiss me. Like you mean it.”

He pulled you closer with one arm around your waist as he cradled the back of your neck with his hand. “Gladly,” he whispered against your lips.

[1994sunflower]

Hey! First of all, I love your story SO MUCH, you’re such an amazingly talented writer! Also, I was wondering if you could dig deeper into Micheal’s soft side (never get tired of it) in which maybe Y/N is sick, like she collapses for high fever or something, and he has to take care of her

thank you so much!! and ofc, I love exploring michael's soft side. he can be such a sweetheart when he wants to be (which is like never lol).

in which you’re sick

It would have been bearable if it was just exam week. You’d done that a million times. But the fact that you were also doing grad school applications along with your extracurriculars - suddenly you felt as if there was not enough hours in the day. In a week even.

Even with the sacrifices you’d made. You’d taken to forgetting food times. When you did remember, you’d have to eat during one of your other activities, usually studying and that just led to spills and half eaten food. It had only been about a week into these habits that you had gotten sick with a cold. It wasn’t a surprise, you were overworked, exhausted - no wonder your immune system was depleted. But it made your work and concentration that much more difficult, you’d cried more than once at the circumstances.

But maybe the hardest has been forgoing seeing your beloved boyfriend. It wasn’t that he was a nuisance, it was just that he was distracting and right then, you didn’t have to time to deal with distractions. Lest he succeed in distracting you like he so often does.

It’s been nearly two weeks since the last time you saw him. Something he agreed very begrudgingly to. But he knew how important your grades were so he agreed nonetheless. You texted him nearly hourly but still it felt nothing like having his comforting presence right next to you. It might have been the reason you caved and let him come visit you after he insisted. Not that he likely would have accepted your denial. He missed you just as much and he needed to see you, especially with how worried he was starting to become.

He used the excuse of bringing you lunch and you, weak and missing him, accepted it, knowing he would probably try to stay for much longer than just that.

But you could deal with that and him firmly when it came to that. He always listened to you.

You were at your desk, crumpled papers beside you, tissues, and about ten different tabs open on your computer, with the beginnings of one of your many application essays open on your tablet. You kept alternating between the two works and by the end of it, you almost felt a hysterical scream wanting to leave you. Nothing was good enough.

When you heard the keys clinking at the door, was the only time you had snapped out of your almost unhealthy focus on your work. By the time you realized just how awful you look, it was too late. Your hair was in a ponytail, different strands already falling out of the scrunch by how much you tugged at your hair in frustration. You wore no makeup and the bags under your eyes were more prominent than ever. The sick pallor to your face was probably so much more obvious, if the sniffles and occasional cough didn’t give your sickness away. Not to mention the pajamas that still adorned your body.

But Michael had already opened the door before you could even think of last minute changes to your appearances. All you could do was turn around in your chair to face him, clearing your throat in hopes of pushing back any coughs.

Just as it’d been nearly 2 weeks without seeing him, it’d been 2 weeks of you living this mentally drained lifestyle. And you looked it. Not that it mattered. Michael had never made you feel insecure or anything but the prettiest girl he’d ever laid his eyes on. He loved you, no matter how you looked.

And that was proven when he finally took you in after 2 weeks of not seeing you. His eyes shone with the same love they always held when he looked at you, now with also a sense of relief at finally being right with you. No hint of judgement.

There was a third emotion there too. Worry. But you didn’t have time to try to dissect it because you knew it would just lead him to get you to take a break and lose time you could be spending on working.

Normally you’d be the one who greeted him first, excitedly. But you were too tired to hold that same energy and you hadn’t used your voice for anything other than frustrated groans. All you could do was smile weakly when Michael lifted the bag of food in his hands. The action made you swoon just a bit, you knew it was likely his first time being so attentive to someone, going beside himself to make sure they’re fed and bring it to them. He never would have the same detail with anyone else.

“Got your favorite.” Michael gravely voice finally hit your ears and you had to close your eyes for a second. You’d missed him, much more than you had allowed yourself to think of.

Opening them back up took more effort than you wanted to think of. It seemed that now that you weren’t hyper focused on the work in front of you, the mental tiredness you had been ignoring was finally starting to seep in.

When you stood, you had meant to say a ‘thank you’ before walking over to serve your food but the moment you got to your feet, you felt a wave of dizziness overtake you. Your body swayed for a moment, only stopping when one of your feet that had almost lost its footing, stomped down and you took a hold of the back of the chair you just left. Eyes closed tightly to try to center yourself.

When you opened your eyes, Michael was staring at you with wide eyes, intense with the worry that had been there before much more prominent. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, coughing slightly despite yourself. “Yeah, sorry. I think I might just be hungry.” You tried for a giggle to lessen the mood but Michael didn’t smile or relax at all. His eyes just raked in your figure.

“Are you sick?” That would have been bad enough but if he knew you were sick and didn’t tell him so he could have made sure you were okay, all hell might break loose.

“Sorry I didn’t have time to make myself look better today, okay?” Your tone was a lot snappier than you intended for it to be and that he expected, as evidenced by him rearing back in surprise. You were just so tense. But instead of apologizing you just made your way over to him. No wobbling, no swaying. You were fine.

You didn’t want to deal with defending how you took care of yourself (or rather how you didn’t). You didn’t have time anyway. You’d barely have time to eat what he brought you but the least you could do was eat a bit of it.

“It smells great.” You sniffled. You tried to reach for your food but Michael moved the bag back. His eyes never left you, analyzing every little move you made. It was unnerving. You couldn’t imagine how others withstood his gaze whenever he was angry at them.

“Y/N-” You made an impatient sound. Every time he said your first name, he was serious. And somehow, right then, it made you defensive. “You said you only needed a few weeks to focus on your shit and that you’d be fine without me having to check on you.”

“I am fine.” You muttered yet you couldn’t quite meet his eyes when you said it.

“Yeah? Is that why you got dizzy just from fucking standing up?” His words were harsh and loud but you knew it was because he never really figured out how to show concern any other way. He was worried.

“I told you, I’m just hungry. I didn’t have breakfast today.” But maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say because you saw his eyes flare up with even more concern and anger. But right then, after spending days multitasking and still not even making a dent on the work you needed completed before your rapidly approaching deadline, you were able to match those emotions.

“Michael, I’m really not in the mood to argue with you today, okay? I’m busy and if I’d known you came here to judge everything I’m doing I would have told you not to come. I’m doing my best! Why is that….why…”

It was getting hotter in the room. You’d felt the warmth all day - week even - but as your anger and voice rose, so did the temperature. You barely had time to register the light headedness.

Your breath was shaky by the time you finished your rant and your eyes becoming suddenly distant as you looked around, confused, before you were falling backwards. You would’ve hit the ground if Michael hadn’t moved first and caught you in his arms.

You didn’t hear the frantic calls of your name, more scared than perhaps anyone had ever heard him, the apathetic man he was, sound. You didn’t feel the way Michael’s hands gripped your body, trying not to move you too much lest he do more damage. You didn’t feel the same dropping of his heart when he saw you go down and the freezing fear in his veins. The only thing you felt was his huge, shaky, sigh of relief when you opened your eyes a handful of seconds later.

With much effort, fluttering them to try to keep them open. You couldn’t really see what was in your line of vision, everything was so blurry. Eventually, it was too much effort and you kept them closed, but you felt yourself being picked up and carried. His heartbeat was fast, you felt as he carried you with your face pressed against his chest.

The first movement you made when he finally put you down on the soft bed was furrow your eyebrows, then your hand was rubbing your face. By the time you opened your eyes, confusion set in “What…?”

You didn’t finish when you looked beside you, seeing Michale on his knees next to the bed to be on your level. He looked paler than you’d ever seen him, eyes wide and watching you like a hawk.

It was then that it hit you that you didn’t really know how it ended up that he carried you into your room. You remember getting mad at him, the warmth that slowly overtook you, then the next thing you knew, you were in his arms.

Panic struck you next. How much time had you wasted? You had a final paper due by the end of the week. You had to submit an application in two days.

But when you attempted to sit up, much too fast if your dizzying head was anything to go by, Michael pushed you back down. No longer trying to negotiate with you. His eyes shown fiercely - letting it known that there was no room for compromise.

You couldn’t stop the four coughs that escaped you as you stared at him, pleadingly.

“Don’t.”

“But I have to-”

“You just fainted, Y/N.” Michael almost sounded mad but the waver in his voice gave away his true emotions. “You’re sick and your body’s exhausted, obviously. You’re not going to do shit. You’re going to rest and I’ll…handle it. Contact your professors or whatever so…don’t worry about deadlines or anything.”

His voice made it clear there was no point in fighting against him. Even though his relationships with professors was less than friendly and he never cared enough to ask for extensions for anything before in his life.

He took your hand in his big ones, dropping his head to rest his forehead on top of your fingers. As gentle as you’d ever seen him. “Why haven’t you been taking care of yourself?”

You didn’t answer for a long time and you were grateful that he wasn’t looking at you anymore so he couldn’t see the way your eyes filled with tears and your lip wobbled. You didn’t mean to scare him, or neglect yourself. But if you took the time to do anything else, you’d be behind. You were so tired.

“I d-don’t know.” You said as a few hot tears ran down your cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

You felt his hands brush some of your hair from your face softly. “You scared me.” He admitted and somehow, you knew that for Michael, admitting that weakness was hard. But he didn’t mind being vulnerable in front of you.

His eyes bore into you, almost too intensely for you to be able to handle. Until his hand came up to your forehead and you found the excuse to close your eyes so you wouldn’t have to watch the worry in his.

“You have a fever.” He got up and you didn’t even get the chance for your sluggish brain to wonder where he went before he was already back, carrying a small bowl of water with a rectangular mini-towel on top. You weren’t sure how he knew exactly what to do for you, how he seemed so soft and tender in these actions that were so unlike him.

He put the cool, wet towel on your forehead as he sat next to your lying form on the bed. He was so close to you, leaning over you. You were scared he would get sick because of you but when you finally opened your mouth to speak again and told him so, he ignored you. As if that was the last thing he was worried about.

From the moment you collapsed, his attention had been on you and nothing else. Nothing else mattered in his mind. And that translated in every attentive action that made you feel so taken care of. This side of your brash boyfriend, the caring, delicate side at a time when you needed it most nearly brought tears in your eyes. It made it very obvious that despite what he might seem to everyone else, he was the perfect boyfriend, would make the perfect husband. For you. He made you feel supported and at home even when your body and energy seemed to be turning their backs on you.

“I’m hungry, Mikey.” You tugged at his sleeve. You weren’t sure if you were, really. You’d gotten used to the pulsing headache from the lack of food throughout the week. But judging by the heaviness of your eyelids, threatening to close and the weakness in your body, in your energy, if you didn’t eat, you might shut down again.

Your voice was croaky but he didn’t comment on it. His answer was almost automatic, “I’ll get the soup I brought you.”

You’d almost forgotten why he had been there in the first place. He’d insisted because he had missed you. And you missed him. He came to take care of you, going out of his way to do what he would never do for anyone else, just never imagining you were at your limit.

It was almost embarrassing. Being in your weakened state in front of him and having him tend to you like a child. Especially when, sitting up in your bed with a disorientation and a feeling of tiredness that seemed to be the only things you could truly feel at the moment. Plus the muted feeling of stress that never seemed to go away; it was screaming that you should be doing your work, that you’d fall behind.

But you didn’t have time to dwell on it before Michael came back with a bowl of warm soup in his hands and sat next to you again. Saving you even from your own thoughts without realizing it. He placed the soup on your nightstand and it wasn’t until he began to get a spoonful that you realized he meant to actually spoon feed you.

To think of your boyfriend doing anything so nurturing seemed almost unnatural. Yet here he was, without an ounce of hesitation or embarrassment. It was such as mismatch from his personality, his reputation and it melt your heart to think that he cared about you so much to throw all of that away for you and his worry for you.

You could only manage a feeble, “You don’t have to…”

Michael stared at you silently for a while, not a decipherable emotion seen in his face, before bringing the spoonful of soup up to your lips. “I want to.”

And while you knew Michael wasn’t a big talker, those three words dripped with sincerity. Matching the loving actions and gestures he was currently doing for you. It was clear, if it wasn’t already before, that nothing was more important than being there for you when you needed him the most.

He didn’t let you talk again until you finished the food, feeding you each sip. Until he was satisfied that you had eaten enough to compensate for your lack of nutrients the weeks he spent without you. This was just as new to him as it was for you to see, this side of him. Doing things that he never would have dreamed of doing for someone else. But it felt like second nature when he saw the woman he loved more than anything else in such a vulnerable state. He yearned to take care of you, to provide for you. To keep you happy and healthy. Especially with how often you take care of him.

“Was it good?” He asked. Though he knew you would’ve liked it. If not simply for the fact that you hadn't eaten much else then certainly for the fact that he went out of his way to go to your favorite restaurant and pick your favorite item from their menu. The one you got every time he took you there.

You nodded, “Thank you.”

You weren’t expecting it when Michael enveloped you into a hug. So tightly you couldn’t even hug him back even after you got over the shock. His face was buried in your tangled, messy hair. He breathed you in as if taking in the fact that you were okay, he mumbled into your hair, “I know how much you care about school and how hard you try because of that but….none of that shit matters compared to you.”

It was so hard for him to be without you for so long. But he did it for you, to give you the time you had asked for to focus on your work. It had never occurred to him the bad mental state the solitude could leave you in, what it would do to your physically. If he had known, he never would have let you be alone. He would’ve fought you tooth and nail if it was what it took but he would have checked up on you, been there for you. And that’s exactly what he’ll be doing from now on. He’ll be there for you.

“Get some rest,” He reluctantly let you go. “You need to sleep.”

When Michael got up, though you were objectively much too warm because of your fever, you felt a lonely cold. You didn’t want him to stay away so you could study and work anymore. You needed him and all the comfort he brought to your soul. And he didn’t want to leave you anymore either.

“Mikey!” You called to him as he switched off the light to your room. You heard him hum in answer. “Don’t leave, please.”

He didn’t answer you. But you felt him get into bed beside you, kicking off his shoes as if it wasn’t the middle of the day - as if he had nothing else he would rather do than sleep right then next to you. And by the way he put his entire day on hold the minute he saw your condition, you guessed he didn’t. You had an inkling that while you had every intention of not letting him distract you when he had first arrived, that he had already been planning on staying the entire day anyway.

You were glad he did. You wouldn’t have been able to keep going the way you were if he hadn’t forced you to confront your self-neglect and tended to you with such dedication and love.

Both of you were silent and you could feel your tired body begin to drift to sleep when your boyfriend spoke up from beside you. “Promise me you’ll start looking after yourself, no matter how stressed or how much stuff you have to do. Promise.”

You weren’t snuggled into him like you would want. But you could feel him on his side, staring at you in the dark. His voice was serious with a hint of desperation. He needed to hear you say it. To know that his loved one would never be put in such a mistreated circumstance ever again, you didn’t deserve it. Nothing deserved to have you feeling anything but cherished, healthy and confident. Not even yourself. Because he believed in you so completely.

Though he never planned on leaving your side, emotionally or physically, to have any negativity enter your thoughts or habits ever again. He was willing to carry the weight of the world if it meant you would feel the strength and happiness that had been beat out of you.

“I promise.” Your words were small but it was good enough. Michael took you in his arms then, again not caring for any risk he was running of getting sick himself.

The next time you spoke, it was mumbling against his shirt. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this. I must’ve looked so gross because I didn’t really get ready all week and I-”

“Shut up.” His words held absolutely no bite, they were whispered. “I don’t give a damn what you looked like today. You never look bad to me. I only cared about making sure you were okay. And I’ll keep being here to make sure, I’m never leaving you alone again. I promise. No matter what you say.”

Your heart felt so full at his sweet words, just for you.

Then it was back to the comfortable silence. Until you began coughing again, this time against his chest and you tried to pull away quickly, both scared for his health and embarrassed. “Michael, seriously, you’ll get sick.”

But Michael’s strong arms were like steel bracketing you to his body. Unmoving despite your protests. He only cared about finally keeping you to him, where he knew he could protect you and keep you close, especially after so long without you and having your health deteriorate because he wasn't around.

“Yeah, maybe I’ll get my own class extensions then if I do.” He said it seriously, and knowing his academic achievement, or lack thereof, you didn’t doubt he meant it.

But still, you couldn’t help but giggle at his words, knowing he was smiling right alongside you without even having to see it. It felt foreign, laughing after so long of your negative thoughts and stressed lifestyle but nice especially because of all those things. A positive, carefree spirit that filled you because of your loving boyfriend and being so cocooned in his protection right at that moment.

[noforkingclue]

Forget Me Not Chapter 22 (Billy Butcher x reader)

Forget Me Not tag list: @spookyminxy, @leslie2898, @hangmansjoke,  @scraftskhu35, @stephdavies95, @ that-cute-stranger,  @440mxs-wife

The Boys tag list: @captainofmybigwetdream

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary

You had to get out of the safe house. It was getting too hot and stuffy in there and tensions were running high. You knew that you’d be moving on soon but you just had to get out and stretch your legs. You were pretty sure that you hadn’t been burned in the same way the others had as you had been kidnapped when the others visited Mesmer.

‘Fucking Mesmer,’ you thought, ‘Why the fuck would they visit that half rated useless telepath. Who the fuck relies on touching people to read their minds.’

As you were walking along the street you didn’t notice the person following you. It wasn’t until they ran past you and grabbed your bag that you realised you had been followed.

“Hey!” you yelled, “Stop!”

Ok, that was cliché. You started chasing after him but the thief had a head start. Honestly, you weren’t sure who you were angrier at. You for not noticing the bag thief sneaking up on you or at the thief for doing such a typical robbery.

People jumped out of the way as you continued to run after him. A few people tried to stop the thief but he managed to dodge them and they only caused you to slow down when you ran into them. You were beginning to lose hope when you came across a large crowd of people. They were chattering excitedly and you pushed your way to the front of them. What you saw made your blood run cold.

Homelander.

Vought’s golden boy was standing above the thief who was bleeding heavily from his nose. When he tried to stand Homeland just put a foot on his back and forced him back down. He was holding your bag in his hand and when he made eye contact with you he smiled widely. That smile that would usually make half of America swoon but just caused you to panic. He made eye contact with you and made his way towards you. You had to fight the urge to run away when he stood in front of you.

“Your bag.”

“How did-“

“I saw you chasing him.”

“I didn’t see-“ you stopped and took a deep breath, “How? Why? Isn’t stopping bag thieves a bit minor for someone like you?”

“I was in the area and it’s always good to remember where we started out.”

You were staring, you knew you were staring but you just couldn’t help it. There was something so magnetic about seeing the bastard in person instead on the TV. You blinked rapidly and grabbed your bag.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, “I’m just… overwhelmed! Yes, that’s it, overwhelmed. Didn’t think that my day would involve having my bag saved by Homelander himself!”

All you could think when Homelander puffed out his chest was ‘arrogant cunt’. You never liked the overly glossy and pristine picture that Vought painted for their hero’s and finally seeing Homelander in the flesh made you want to punch him in the face and break those perfect teeth. Fuck, Butcher must be rubbing off on you more than you thought. The sound of shouting made you jump and realise that the media would soon descend. You tried to make your escape but a strong hand clapped itself on your shoulder. Homelander pulled you against him as your eyes were assaulted by bright lights and cameras.

“Stay and smile for the cameras y/n,” whispered Homelander, “You don’t want to make a scene.”

 *

 You didn’t make it back to the safe house before you ran into Butcher. You were making your way back to him when you saw him marching towards you. He grabbed your arm and didn’t let go until he found an empty alley for you to talk in.

“What the fuck was that about?” he hissed, “You and Homelander getting all cosy.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you said quietly, “He stopped a thief from taking my bag. What was I meant to do, tell him to fuck off?”

“Yes!”

“There was loads of people there,” you snapped, “And the media. What else could I do?”

Butcher held your gaze for a moment then sagged. He rested his head on your shoulder before wrapping his arms around you and bringing you close against his chest.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I know but I didn’t have a choice. It would’ve looked strange if I wasn’t one of the millions of adoring Homelander fans.”

“It was just seeing you so close to him,” Butcher said, “Becca.”

“Your wife.”

“He raped her. He raped her then he killed her.”

“Oh fuck. Butcher I’m-“

“I can’t have that happening to you,” Butcher pulled back and tilted your head up, “I’m not going to let him hurt you.”

“I’m more than capable of looking after myself.”

“I know.”

“So don’t worry about me,” you cupped his face, “I’ll be-“

You stopped mid-sentence. Something had been bothering you since you’d met Homelander and you just realised what it was. Butcher looked at you, concerned and put his hand over yours.

“What’s happened?”

“Homelander,” you said quietly, “How did he know my name?”

[joonkorre]

what canst thou give?

@drarrymicrofic prompt: caught

yall cant expect me to watch the witch (2015) and not go insane trying to fit a quote into my work. also, this is the first time i ever write something veering into the 15+ category. so. go easy on me lmao

AO3

“Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?”

Draco’s breath catches in his throat.

“But only if you want to, of course. No pressure at all.”

It’s sweet, that tone, as sweet and numbing as the saliva dripping down his nape. If Draco is someone else, an unfortunate bastard even more miserable than he is, he might have believed it.

“I don’t know,” he replies, the unnatural chill on the back of his bare neck too visceral a feeling. Too real. “I think having to choose between that and rotting in a back alley is at least a little bit pressuring.”

“Not too much, though?”

“Oh, no, never.”

“Good,” Edmund whispers. At this point, Draco wouldn’t be surprised if that’s not even his real name, “good.”

Draco stays quiet. With smooth jazz crooning through the walls of bars and eateries to complete the easygoing ambiance of a mid-autumn night in Muggle London, it seems to be the least likely time of the year to find oneself bargaining for their life. But here he is.

“Now,” Draco’s pulse jackrabbits so quickly he can hear it. A delighted chuckle leaks into the night. “Your answer, please.”

When he doesn’t give one, the canines on his exposed shoulder threaten to break the skin. Unexpectedly, they lift off.

“You might want to think it through a little faster, doll,” the large hand pinning Draco’s wrists against the brick wall clenches around them, then drifts down his chest. Lays flat on his quivering stomach, a persistent pressure against Draco’s thrifted bomber jacket. “We have an audience.”

Draco sucks in the stale air with a hiss. He’s pulled his date this far into the alley because he didn’t want curious onlookers as they snog. Bad fucking idea that was. Still, the thought of strangers witnessing this horrid moment fills him with dread. They can’t do anything to help anyway, only to humiliate him even more.

“What—”

“Don’t look,” Edmund nips his ear lobe, “unless you want further mortification. You mortals are ashamed of the strangest things, I can smell it on you.”

Heat rushes through his body. Draco blinks, dizzy with… with something. He doesn’t know whether he wants to rebel, turn his head, and meet the stranger’s gaze head-on, or just rest his forehead against the grimy bricks and find reluctant comfort in Edmund’s instructions.

“What do you,” Draco murmurs, sour notes of alcohol floating back into his nose, “what do you propose I do then? Just stand here and wait for them to get lost?”

“You can make it easy for yourself and say no,” Edmund says.

Those canines are back on the base of his neck. The arm that isn’t wrapped around his middle slithers across his chest, calloused palm an anchor on his shoulder blade. Draco wonders if this looks intimate, possessive—protective, even—to their observer, when he simply feels choked. A mouse gripped within the gentle loops of a snake’s body.

“You’d look like you’re swooning in my arms while I drink from your,” the tip of Edmund’s nose travels up the length of Draco’s neck, ending at where his baby hairs are matted with cold sweat, “gorgeous, delicious essence. And it’d only take a blink of an eye. Our little voyeur would never know.”

“Merlin, can’t I have a single good date?” Draco grits out. “Just fucking say blood.”

“Oh, but you’re no fun,” Edmund says. “Being poetic has its merits, I think. Makes life interesting.”

“Life will be even more interesting when I get to live it, actually.”

The hand on his shoulder takes its time trailing to his face, and when it does, it tilts his jaw to the side. Draco’s eyes automatically slide shut.

“Oh, you will. Once you get used to the ‘undead’ part of it, life will be a joy to live.”

His hands shift against the grimy bricks, one seeking familiarity and warmth as it grips his other wrist, grounding him.

“You must’ve realized by now how anxious I am to have you by me, by us. If I’m not, I’d just pick you up from a club, drink from you, leave you behind that dumpster over there, and you’d wake up feeling hungover with no memory of me,” Edmund goes on, his face close. If Draco tries, he reckons he can swallow down the intoxicating spice of cologne wafting against his cheek. “But I’m not doing that, now, am I?”

Perhaps it’s not even cologne, perhaps it’s all Edmund.

“You see, the blood of mortals is our life force, yes, but few of them ever smell and taste like anything more than diluted shite. Blood like yours, though, that’s rare. Power like yours. That raw, untapped, repressed power hiding under masks and marks. Given enough time, enough resources, it can be brought forth, and you can prosper.

“It’d be a shame if all of what you are made of withers into nothing, don’t you think?”

Draco thinks and thinks. It’s all one can do when they’re held so firmly, quite literally stuck between a rock and a hard place. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple. Edmund kisses it away with false reverence, dotting another kiss behind Draco’s ear. Draco would have jolted if he has any energy left in him.

He realizes it now. Ever since the day Edmund’s gaze lingered a second too long, it was over. There is no one left to remember him, and if he ‘makes it easy’ for himself and says no, nothing will change. Sooner or later, he’d die without a purpose, alone.

What if he eliminates dying from the equation altogether?

He realizes it now. There has never been any choice.

Only one foggy, crooked path forward.

“Yes.”

Draco’s eyes open with a heavy drag, allowing in but a sliver of light. In the misty blurriness, he sees a smirk. One stark-white canine pulls the bottom lip inward, pierces through papyrus skin.

Draco’s vision darkens as red lips touch his. His nose clogs up for a brief moment, overwhelmed by the onslaught of scents and tastes. With every languid swipe of a clever tongue, copper as bitter as Charon’s obol forces its way into his mouth. A sharp needle of pain pricks his bottom lip. Draco flinches, tries to take a step back but the hand on his jaw keeps him close. One long finger sneaks into his mouth, prying it apart.

Swallowing the harsh tang of iron down, a rich, foreign sweetness floods his senses. It’s the nectar of late-June peaches and lingonberry syrup swirled in chamomile, coating his palate with a luscious glaze. A low moan escapes as his muscles relax. If it’s not for the steady hand on his stomach, Draco’s knees would have hit the dirty ground already.

“There we go,” Edmund whispers. His hands guide Draco to lean against him, back to chest, sending intermittent shivers to rack through Draco’s body. It’s cold, so cold, but he can’t pull away, just lets Edmund takes whatever he wants to take. “Good boy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Draco gathers enough of his declining wit to argue. “Sounds like you’re calling a dog.”

“Ah, you’re cute. The Sisters will adore you.”

“Sisters...” Draco says, the furrow of his brow easily smoothened by another leisurely kiss.

“Sisters,” Edmund says. The hand on Draco’s jaw edges to his neck, thick fingers adding a slight squeeze to the vulnerable valley on either side of his Adam’s apple. Draco sighs into Edmund’s mouth. “Surely you don’t think there’s only one of us out there?”

Not very certain of what to say, Draco purses his lips instead. Edmund lets out an amused hum and indulges him, sucking on his bottom lip. It’s good, so good, until it becomes sickening, like raiding the entirety of Fortescue’s stockroom. Being a creature of the night is rapidly losing its novelty.

“Okay, enough, enough, thanks,” he says, tapping the muscular arm around him and turning away. Edmund only continues his little ministration below Draco’s jaw.

He doesn’t know how long his eyes have been closed, so he opens them once more. It’s like… it’s like he’s been floating on thick water and is only recently dragged into shore. Rubbing the creak out of his neck, Draco squints.

Past Edmund’s sturdy form and angular lines, out in the main street, the thin crowd of pedestrians pass by in chattering groups and pairs. Opposite to the alley, however, one lone figure stands just out of reach of the street lamp. The yellowish light merely suggests their existence as they lean against the restaurant Draco and Edmund exited from earlier. The bright tell-tale red of a cigarette butt is visible but other than that, no detail to be discerned. Looks like someone who’s just minding their own business.

“You must think yourself funny,” Draco says, arching his neck to accommodate the kisses peppering his skin, “using my own shame against me. I doubt people even remember there’s an alleyway here.”

“Don’t forget that when a being has lived for as long as I have, has accumulated this much power, nine times out of ten, he knows what he’s saying. I’m powerful enough to catch the scent of every mortal walking by, even know if they’re actually mortals or not. Our little voyeur? He’s still here. He’s watching. He’s waiting for you, doll.”

Edmund pauses, then:

“And whether he’s a mortal? That remains to be seen.”

Draco pushes away as far as Edmund’s firm grasp allows, which is only a few centimeters away. Whatever his blood did with Draco’s own, it snaps him awake with startling clarity just as swiftly as when it’s reduced him to a little more than a rag doll. Everything is so sharp it’s almost disgusting, like his eyeballs are gouged out, scrubbed clean, then shoved back in again. Draco locks his legs, willing himself not to stumble.

“That makes no goddamn sense,” he says.

“You don’t feel them now, but wait until they set in,” Edmund tries to tug him back, shrugging when he doesn’t obey. “Your abilities. We’ll go back to the House of Collective tonight and when you wake up tomorrow, you’ll know what I’m talking about.”

“I,” Draco says. “Please say that again. With actual information.”

“So demanding,” Edmund leans back and looks at Draco like he’s seeing him for the first time, a hint of humor in his serene demeanor. “The House of Collective is where the majority of us in Britain frequent and reside. The newly Turned are brought there to be with their brethren. Trying to deal with these new abilities alone is what makes them go Rogue and lands them on the front page. Think Jeannette McDermott, the poor woman.”

Jeannette McDermott drained and devoured 6 people in a single weekend. The Aurors got to her first before the news outlets. Being a shut-in and hating being perceived in general—Merlin knows how she got bitten in the first place—the only pictures ever taken of her as an adult was of her mangled body, torn by her own claws and twisted into stillness. It was a once-in-a-century scandal that paralyzed Wizarding Europe for 2 months straight.

Draco frowns. “I’ve always wondered. How did she—why wasn’t she brought back to the House, then?”

“That’s what irresponsible Turning looks like. If we want to Turn someone, it must be carefully considered and planned, for there must always be more prey than predators. Such is the law of nature,” Edmund says it like it’s a walk in the park rather than changing people’s entire lives. “Deacon Frangos was careless—amateur little weakling—and wanted something more thrilling than, say, going to clubs for gullible drunks.

“During the official trial at the House, he confessed that he spent days working through her wards and broke in. Never expected that McDermott was a fighter. She couldn’t get to her wand, but she did have a knife. She stabbed him 3 times as he was drinking from her. Their blood mixed, and Frangos ran off to lick his wounds before we found him. That was Friday.”

“Merlin and Morgana,” Draco breathes, “that quick?”

Edmund only looks at him, silent as he waits for Draco to weigh his decisions. Or lack thereof.

“What about, what about my apartment? My things?”

“You’ll only be at the House of Collective until we get you accustomed to your new life, then you can return home. Or,” Edmund tilts his head to the side, “you can stay. It’s akin to a commune, there’s space for all. It’s in the middle of the woods, too, hidden behind extensive wards and Charms, very private. Don’t you love your privacy?”

“What, do you live there?”

“Yes! Just so you know, I built my own dwelling. It’s stunning, if I do say so myself. Marble floors, 5 balconies. Just added a new pool last month. Plenty of space to… christen, unlike your studio apartment.”

Edmund lets a casual grin grace his face, all jokes. Draco curls his lips. It’s a mystery for the ages as to how he’s ever found this man charismatic.

“I’d rather the, um, the studio apartment. It does have its charms. Checkered bathroom tiles, and, hmm, a working oven. I might paint the fireplace next week, who knows?”

“Big plans, big plans,” Edmund nods solemnly. “However, you will need to pay a visit at least twice a month for resources and news within the community. There are tons; we even have a matchmaking service so you wouldn’t have to explain yourself to some bumbling mortal and worry about lifespans. Isn’t that so very neat? But, you already have me.”

Edmund shoots him a wink. If he’s not, well, Edmund, Draco might think it’s attractive.

“I think,” he starts. His neck is aching something fierce the longer he looks back, so he turns to face Edmund directly, “we need to have a talk about ending this entanglement.”

“My,” Edmund adjusts without trouble, interlacing his hands behind Draco’s waist, just above his bum. “Must you hurt me so? After all we’ve been through in the past three dates, you want to cast me aside?”

“Those three dates were nothing more than bouts of insanity. My apologies, I was in a moment of weakness and was somehow fooled by your… Merlin, I don’t even know. Basically, you were a passing fancy that I will rue ever having for the rest of my life.”

Edmund sighs and lowers his head until it’s nestled where Draco’s neck joins his shoulders.

“My 161st love has broken my heart. Oh, how can I recover from this pain?”

He lifts his head up, meeting Draco’s unimpressed gaze with a smirk. “Perhaps one last kiss will be the balm I need. Come on, just one more for closure.”

Draco gnaws his bottom lip and wets the still-throbbing cut on it. Then, he rolls his eyes, sliding them shut. No big deal.

“You’re so generous, Draco,” purrs a deep voice right at the corner of his mouth. Draco parts his lips, breathing in the hushed words. “Can’t say I won’t miss this. Your blood truly is a delicacy.”

“Hurry the fuck up.”

Sweet, sweet wine.

Draco sags against Edmund’s strong chest, head lolled to the side, panting. They have stopped before it got too much this time, yet Draco still teeters over the edge of insanity with every suckle of lips, every caress of tongue. Edmund has been gentle, large hands cupping Draco’s face like he’s a priceless treasure made of opals and emeralds, combing through the slightly wavy hair Draco has grown out. He has fixed Draco’s shirt as he plucked off every scrap of sense remaining in Draco’s head, has stroked the purple marks in bloom, and covered them with the bomber jacket.

As Draco clutched those broad shoulders and wrinkled the expensive fabric adorning them, he had half a mind to demand Edmund to be rougher, to stop trying to savor it. Stop making it something to go breathless over.

Toying with the shiny button on Edmund’s wool suit, he reminds himself that it was smart to end whatever they had between them. Otherwise, he can see himself becoming addicted, and such a problem has no place in his life.

“It’s getting late,” he says. The street outside is still bustling with people, bursting with sound. The person leaning against the wall opposite is lighting up a new cigarette.

“Oh, doll,” Edmund hugs him tight. “Darling. You’re right, it’s getting late. ”

They stand there for a few moments more nonetheless, clutching each other. Then Draco sees it. Sees him.

As if on cue, the person straightens from their position against the wall. They step forward, one foot after the other, slack and loose, into the buzzing light. Draco can’t observe intricate details from this far away—has to wait until tomorrow, apparently—but he still has eyes.

A pair of snickering women stroll by, and the street seems empty for a split second. It’s enough for Draco to see large, black boots (Dragonhide, the part of his brain that never forgets Mother’s fashion books notes) and dark, well-fitted pants stretching over thick thighs. Sleeves rolled to the elbow, exposing dark arms with a myriad of pink-white scars. White button-up, wrinkled and stained, tied by leather harnesses crisscrossing at the chest, like the wearer has forgone changing after work and instead hurried off to deal with an urgent task. An unusual outfit for urban London, but somehow, it works.

Left hand tucked in a pants pocket, the other tapping the fine ash from a cig into a puddle on the concrete. It lifts to hover in front of full, waiting lips. One sleepy bloke trudges by, a heavy bag slung over his shoulder. A hazy billow of smoke spills forth lazily as the bloke walks out of view, opaque clouds masking an expressionless face before disintegrating into the night.

“Doll.”

Draco glances back at Edmund, who is staring at his lips. His hands run tiny circles over the small of Draco’s back.

“We decided on one kiss.”

“I know,” Edmund’s thumb swipes over the cut, as soft as a brush dipping into paint. “There’s still blood.”

“Obviously,” Draco says with a slight snort, “you bit it. Like a brute.”

Edmund’s reply comes in the form of his thumb pressing against the cut as if wanting to both stopper the blood and squeeze it out. Draco assists by opening his mouth, slipping the finger into moist warmth. And for some godforsaken reason, his eyes travel back to the street beyond.

This time, both hands are in the pants pockets. The cigarette has stopped its light bouncing, now lying still between pillowy lips. Like before, the voyeur is a statue amidst a sea of movement.

Draco swirls his tongue against the pad of the thumb, tasting himself and gulping it down. It’s bitter and sour without Edmund’s blood to sweeten it up, but he keeps licking until all he can feel is the saltiness of skin, the clenched fistful of his jacket against his hip, and—

And green.

“It’s getting late,” Edmund whispers against his forehead, his lips a touch away from kissing his fringe.

Letting the finger fall from his mouth, Draco whispers back.

“Okay.”

The voyeur never stops looking. Draco knows because neither does he.

“We’re never doing this again.”

Draco’s eyes glide back to Edmund. “I never thought you’d be the one to say that.”

“Me, too. But I’m serious,” the man says, but doesn’t clean his finger. “From now on, we keep our hands to ourselves.”

“And mouths.”

“Yes, those especially.”

Draco huffs out a laugh, “Okay. Very well. I’m glad we’ve reached an agreement.”

Edmund shakes his head, then blinks. He looks up at Draco, mischief in his eyes.

“Alright, Draco, you’ve done enough for the night.”

“Pardon?” Draco says, sliding his arm into the crook of Edmund’s. “You Side-Along us.”

“Of course, and I meant. Merlin, you’ve done quite enough. Oh, goodness, that’s pungent.”

Edmund pats Draco’s hand on his forearm and leans toward his ear.

“Say goodbye to him.”

Draco’s fingers tighten around Edmund’s arm in warning. He doesn’t say ‘goodbye,’ but he does look to the street light opposite the alleyway. Before the Apparition wrenches all the thoughts out of his head, Draco vows not to think about the expression on that face.

[petersasteria]

Past is Past - Peter Parker AU

Pairing: Peter x Reader, Harry Osborn x Reader Requested? Nah. It based on one of @writing-prompt-s’ prompts. 2.5k words Warning/s: character death, confusion, a satisfied ending

PP Masterlist

Big thanks to my friend @croissantwriting for the help! She’s doing a little gift-giving this Christmas, so if you want a gift from a stranger who’s super nice and friendly, check it out! 

* * * *

“She’s not getting any better, Mr. Parker. I’m afraid she’ll be going soon.” The doctor told Peter with no expression on their face. The doctor kept their face neutral, so that it wouldn’t be an issue for anyone. It was also protocol at the hospital.

The doctor excused themselves and left Peter standing alone in the cold hallway outside of his wife’s room. Peter couldn’t believe that he would lose the person he truly loved; he would lose her to cancer. ‘Fuck cancer.’ He thought. He wanted his wife to live long; to see their children grow up to be the people they’re meant to be. Alas, it was just wishful thinking.

You see, Peter was immortal. In a world where 2% of the population are born immortal, he was one of them. It could be anyone, really. One’s parents don’t have to be immortal for one to be immortal. They were just cursed that way. Being born immortal was God’s cruel way of letting people stay on Earth to be His stewards of creation for eternity. Whether they like it or not, if they were born immortal, they are immediately tied up and forced into the duty of being God’s steward.

The duty of being God’s steward felt wrong. It feels wrong  to watch mortals move on with their lives while some get stuck, getting caught by the sorrow of this immortality that has been given upon them.

Peter had the saddest eyes for a long time, but it all changed when he met the love of his life. Peter has seen things; someone’s last breath, some more heart breaking scenarios, etc. But everything changed when she came into his life. She appeared as someone new... and well, unexpected. She was a great surprise, though. She gave Peter a brand new purpose, she gave him happiness. Every time Peter was with her, he would forget about his curse.

Peter’s eyes held sadness again and it broke his heart to know that he couldn’t do anything to save her; his one true love. His heart broke at the harsh reality that no matter what happens, he’ll eternally stay on Earth while he watches his loved ones pass on.

Gathering up his courage, Peter took a deep breath before entering her hospital room. He quietly entered her room and slowly shut the door behind him. He observed the sight in front of him: his wife slept peacefully with their youngest son next to her on the bed while their two older children were asleep on the couch.

He silently approached the bed and held his wife’s hand as he sat on the chair that was next to her bed. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. This caused her to stir awake and look at him with a small smile adoring her face.

“Peter.” She breathed.

“Hey there.” Peter said softly as tears clouded his vision. It pained him to see her like that; weak and fragile and ill. If only there was a cure for her cancer, he would’ve given it to her in a heartbeat.

“I love you, Peter. So much.” She whispered.

“I love you more than everything else.” Peter said as tears freely streamed down his rosy cheeks.

“Please remember that my love for you is eternal. I’ll look for you in the next life just so I can love you the way I love you now. I promise you that, Peter.” She smiled softly. Peter could only nod, not trusting his voice to speak.

That was their last moment together. She died in her sleep, her youngest cuddling up to her as Peter held her hand.

The moment life left her body, God took it and gave it to the baby girl of the woman giving birth at the same hospital on a different floor.

“Baby, wake up or you’ll be late on your first day.” The man’s voice whispered in her ear. “Y/N, seriously. It’s time to get up. I’ll have the car ready for you.”

Y/N groaned and rubbed the sleep off her eyes before stretching and sitting up. She slowly opened her eyes and the sight of her boyfriend of three years greeted her. She smiled at him and said, “Good morning.”

“Good morning!” He smiled and leaned down to press a kiss on her forehead. “Breakfast is ready.” She hummed in response and got out of bed. Her boyfriend, Harry, led the way to the dining area and as soon as they arrived there, they sat down and ate their breakfast in peace.

Today was their first day in college and they decided it would be best to live together in an apartment near their university. Harry Osborn, Y/N’s boyfriend, was privileged and he was able to buy an apartment unit that suited his standards. After all, his girl deserved the best. Harry is kind and generous which surprised a lot of people considering his lifestyle. Y/N was truly lucky, but Harry claims that he’s the lucky one.

The couple parted their ways when they arrived at the university; both of them studying different courses. The rest of the day was alright. Nothing really significant happened and Y/N kept to herself most of the time. Only mingling when she’s supposed to. It wasn’t until her last subject when things started taking a turn.

Y/N sat at the back of the class and texted Harry as student after student came in the classroom. About ten minutes later, Y/N’s professor walked in.

Her professor was undeniably handsome. He had brown, curly hair and brown eyes. He wasn’t tall, but he wasn’t short either. His height was just right. He looked like he was in his thirties and he had the brightest smile. Naturally, the girls in her class swooned over him which made her chuckle. While she would admit that her professor is handsome, her loyalty remained with Harry. He was her endgame and she was sure. They wouldn’t last long if he wasn’t.

“Hello, everyone! My name is Noah Parker and I’d let you guys call me by my nickname, but that would be unprofessional. So, Mr. Parker or sir would be really nice.” Noah smiled at everyone. He wasted no time in teaching.

“Welcome to history 101 and I’ll be your professor for the whole semester.” Noah smiled and grabbed a chalk to write something on the board. Seeing as the class is for three hours, Noah started with the first lesson.

It was obvious that Noah was passionate about history. Everyone listened and he made history fun. They did some ice breakers and a short group activity and a quick game before the class ended. Noah gave them their first assignment which was really easy and it would be passed two days from now.

The class was dismissed and everyone gathered their things and left. Y/N took her time and Noah was erasing the things he wrote on the board. Y/N approached him and cleared her throat, “Excuse me, Mr. Parker?”

Noah turned around with a smile, but it quickly faded when he saw her. He dropped the eraser as his jaw dropped, his gaze remaining on her. Y/N was confused, so she just picked up the eraser and put it on his desk to avoid Noah’s gaze.

Noah shook his head and said, “I’m sorry, it’s just- mom? Is that you?”

Now, it was definitely weird

“Excuse me?” Y/N chuckled awkwardly.

“I can’t believe it.” Noah said in amusement. “I thought dad was crazy, but he’s right! You’d be in the next life after all. Well, your next life. You and dad can be together again! This is so cool. Oh my god.” Noah rambled in excitement.

“I’m so confused right now.” Y/N confessed. “I’m no one else’s mom and I don’t know who your dad is and I’m definitely not getting back together with anyone because I have a boyfriend. You must be mistaken, sir.”

Noah cleared his throat and said, “Um, was there anything you needed before?”

“Oh, yes!” Y/N’s eyes lit up at the change of topic. It was her saving grace. “I have a question about the homework, actually.”

Y/N asked about the homework and Noah happily explained it to her once more. After that, she left Noah all alone in the classroom.

Since then, everything has been awkward between them. Noah informed his father, Peter Parker, about what happened and Peter wanted to see her; to see if it was true. Now, it was Noah’s mission to get you to meet Peter.

One day after class, Noah asked Y/N to stay behind. She awkwardly sat on the seat in front of his desk and Noah sat on his chair behind his desk.

“I would just like to apologize for my behavior last time.” Noah started. “Second of all, I must tell you that I have this weird connection to you. No matter how far I stay away from you, there’s a force pulling me closer to you. Lastly, if you won’t believe me before, you might believe me now.”

Noah took out his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it. He opened his gallery and clicked on the album full of photos from his childhood, most of them had his mom in it. He handed the phone to Y/N and she gasped at the sight of the photos.

It was like she was looking at a window to the past. The woman in the pictures looked similar to her; not completely alike. She returned the phone to her professor, Noah, and gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“Um, I don’t know what to say.” Y/N said.

“Could you maybe meet my dad? It would mean a lot to him. I told you about him and he wants to see you.” Noah pleaded.

“I find this really weird, to be honest.” Y/N said. “I don’t know anything you’re talking about and frankly, I’m not curious about my past life...sir.”

“I understand, but could you maybe reconsider? My dad would love it if you’d visit.” Noah pleaded. “If you meet my dad, I’ll give you extra credit. You kinda suck at this subject, no offense.”

“None taken.” She said as she thought about it. “What if someone becomes suspicious about my grades going up?”

“I’ll just say that it’s because of your extra work and just say that you’ve been studying a lot recently. So, does this mean that you’ll meet him?” Noah asked hopefully.

“Fine. Mainly because I need extra credit.” Y/N agreed. She wordlessly grabbed her things and left the room. Later that night, she received an email from Noah.

Noah Parker To Y/N Y/L/N

Good evening, Ms. Y/L/N! 

My father would like to meet with you at my childhood home at 123 Hamilton Street, this Saturday at lunch time, 12 noon. Please confirm if you’re available at this time and if not, we can reschedule.

My personal phone number is: xxx-xxx-xxxxx. Please contact me there for more details.

All information will be kept between the two of us .

Thank you and stay safe!

Lo and behold, Y/N stood outside the Parker Residence. She took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. It didn’t take long for a young man to open the door. He looked similar to Noah, but he looked younger.

“Please come in.” The man said as he looked at her. She entered the home and the man led the way to the living room. Y/N made herself comfortable on the couch and the man who opened the door sat across from her.

“Um, I’m Y/N.” She smiled.

“I know.” The man said. “I’m Peter Parker and oh my god. It’s really you.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your relation to my professor, Noah Parker?” Y/N asked innocently.

“He’s my son.” Peter answered. “And you’re my wife.”

Y/N stared at him as Peter had happy tears streaming down his face, “We can finally be together again and we’ll be happier than ever! We could be a family.”

“I’m so confused. How can you be Mr. Parker father when you look like you’re twenty-three?!” Y/N shrieked.

“I’m immortal, honey. I stopped aging at twenty, but I’m still me! I love you and you love me. We can be together.”

“I’m so sorry, but I don’t know who you are and I can’t just start a life with someone I don’t know. If you think I can do that, then you’re sorely mistaken, sir.” Y/N said.

Peter shook his head, “But you said , on your deathbed, that you’d find me in another life. I’m here! We found each other. I don’t understand why you don’t want to stay. You said that your love for me is eternal and you’d love me the same way you did then. What happened? Why can’t we pick up where we left off?”

“With all due respect, if what you claim is right; if I’m your wife in the past, then I’m sorry I can’t be your wife in this life. I have my own things going on and I’m in a committed and happy relationship. I can’t leave him for you. Besides, you’re way older than I am despite your looks. I’m really sorry.” Y/N said softly.

“This is more heartbreaking than when we found out you had cancer.” Peter chuckled bitterly and nodded in understanding. “You may go now, Y/N. I’m sure your boyfriend would wonder where you are.”

Y/N stood up and walked to him to put a hand on his shoulder, “I’m really sorry, but I’d like to get to know you… as friends.”

Peter nodded, “Alright. That’s better than nothing.”

After that encounter with Peter, Y/N saw him a few times after that even after she graduated from college. She got a decent job and her friendship with Peter and the rest of the Parker family remained. Though they never saw each other after she got a job, they all remained in contact.

Y/N and Harry Osborn finally got married after being together for so long. The Parkers were invited to the wedding, but Peter never showed up. He was crestfallen upon finding out that the woman he loved was getting married to someone else.

A year later, Y/N and Harry welcomed their first born in the world. They have been graced with a son and the couple agreed that if they were going to have a son, Y/N would name him.

As she laid there with the newborn baby boy in her arms, she racked her brains for the perfect name. After thinking about it for a long time, a smile formed her mouth as she looked down at her son. They were alone in the room, her husband was buying some food outside. This moment was very soft and peaceful.

“I know what name to give you now.” Y/N whispered and kissed her son’s forehead. The door opened and revealed her husband with a paper bag with take-out in it.

“Have you thought of a name?” Harry asked quietly as he set the food down on the table.

“Yeah.” She nodded, sure of her decision.

“What’ll you name him?” Harry asked.

“Peter.” She smiled fondly at her son. “His name is Peter.”

* * * *

𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @blueleatherbag @harryismysunflower @buckys-little-hoe @sandystoriess @heeeyitskay @slytherin-chaser @quaksonhehe @yaya4302 @lil-mellow-bunbun @starlight-starks @swiftmind @alexx-stancati @sovereignparker @nerdyandproudofitsstuff @pearce14 @cherthegoddess @chewymoustachio @cocoamoonmalfoy @parkerlovebot @supred12 @peterspidey @givebuckyhisplumsnow @beverlythrillz @slutforsr

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:  @marvelousell @justasmisunderstoodasloki @rubberducky-jrr @allyz @osterfieldnholland @miraclesoflove @god-knows-what-am-i-doing @drie-the-derp @hollands-weasley @itstaskeen  @call-me-baby-gir1 @the-panwitch @iamaunicorn4704 @geminiparkers @holland-styles @calltothewild @fancyxparker​ @herbatkazmiloscia @whatthefuckimbisexual @justanothermarvelmaniac @unsaidholland @musicalkeys @lost-in-the-stars03 @hufflepuffprincess24 @hollanddolanfangirl @parkerpeter24 @bellelittleoff @agentnataliahofferson @aqiise @lexirv @blairscott @pearly-pisces @theonly1outof-a-billion @u-rrose @speedymaximoff @theliterarymess

[sea-side-scribbles]

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/82993969

Chapter 77

Arthur and Nick spent the rest of the day with each other. Arthur made an effort to comfort his lover and Nick gladly accepted his efforts. They made good for the meal they had missed and thanks to Arthur's supplies it didn't consist of porridge alone. The next day, Nick was simply happy about waking up with Arthur. He wasn't in a rush and very sorry when his lover eventually went out of bed. “I see you need your coffee”, Arthur teased the former rockstar who didn't move a muscle. Nick stretched out a hand. “Actually, I need more Arthur”, he admitted, even though he found it sounded desperate. His lover came back and sat down on the bed, leaning over to kiss him. “My poor darling...You've been alone for such a long time...” “I thought I lost you down there...” “Please, stop torturing yourself with it...” “I dreamed of it...” Arthur hugged him. Nick couldn't imagine a better place than the crook of Arthur's neck.

“I wish we had more time...but there's still so much to do...” “We'll have time soon, Nick...”. Arthur feared that they would have more than enough of it, being trapped on this island. This perspective made his intentions for today look like he was hopelessly dwelling on the past. “I don't want to leave you alone again, but I also need to know if any of my friends forgive me...”, Nick cut off his train of thoughts. “Just go then. I have to get something done today too...I may be gone for longer, but I'm back no later than in the evening.” Nick sat up. “What are you going to do?” Arthur took a deep breath. “I have to go to the Executive Committee...Only they can tell me where my brother is. If any of the workers there is still alive...I hope they still have the documents...” He ran a hand through his hair. “At a pinch, I'll search every drawer and shelf I can find.” “Good luck, Arthur. I hope you find something”, Nick said softly. “Thank you.” “I'll come and help you when I'm done.” “You don't have to...Just take your time with your friends...Stay longer if you must...” “Okay...” Nick mused. “Do we still have time for a coffee?” Arthur agreed. Strengthened like this, they hugged each other goodbye. “Take care, my hero”, Nick whispered. “You too, Nicky...Remember that I believe in you...that you are worth loving...” “Oh, Arthur...” “You won my heart, Nick. Don't forget that.” “Perhaps it was the other way around.” They laughed at that.

Later, Nick reached the house of his former band. Matt answered the door and for a while he looked like he had expected someone else. “Oh, it's you...”, he said hesitantly. “Come in...” Nick went in, once again wondering if it had been a good idea to come here. "Did something happen?", he asked because of Matt's expression. "Chris left again...", the other man said gloomily. "Did you fight?" "Brad and him keep quarreling." Matt shrugged, but he didn't look incurious at all. "It's because of me, right?" Nick leaned against a wall and sighed deeply. "You know, you have every right to kick me out..." Matt shrugged again, more helplessly. "I don't know...I fear I'm losing my head, Nick..." He started to walk around the room. "I don't know what I'm supposed to think of all this...Since I'm off my Joy, more and more memories are coming in and...it's all crazy!...It's been ten years of our lifes! Ten years that some...crackpot stole from us! And why? We don't even know who started all this! It just popped up and now it's gone! We're left with nothing but ruins and we're about to starve! And freeze! What if we never get out of here? What if we run out of supplies? People still help each other for now, but if shit hits the fan, they'll freak out again! It's gonna be winter soon!" He shook his head. "Why did we have to stop taking Joy? What did we win?" He gave Nick a sad look.

"A chance", Nick offered. "We won't starve so easily, we still have a lot of supplies. Victoria Byng took care of that, I know that from Arthur. And perhaps we don't have to leave. We could grow plants in the Garden District again. There's still hope. With Joy, we would've starved for sure." "But we would've been happy...." "It was a lie!" "But it was our life! I wouldn't know how everything changed, I wouldn't remember who died...Virgil would've never really left us...and Morrie..." He breathed in deeply. "Do you know what's worse? That he never knew the truth...He died with this lie." Nick eyed the floor. "Right...shit..." "And was he worse off than us? He could live the life he was used to until the end. He was always a Make Believe and had nothing to worry about than his music...But us...We're lucky if we'll ever be a real band again!" "Why shouldn't you?" "Nick...who's gonna spend money on us? We have to become goddamn farmers to survive here!" "Hey, you will be heard, don't worry. I felt it too when I played my guitar. People miss their old life and they want to hear the music. There'll be gigs in the future, only without Joy."

Matt finally took a rest on the couch and looked up to Nick with a tired expression. "Could you do that, Nick? Could you continue playing our songs without Morrie?" Nick fell silent for a moment. "I couldn't stop...I you still wanted this, I wouldn't hesitate to keep this up." Matt pondered. "Did Morrie ever have a chance?" "Yeah..." Nick sighed. "If I never met him, if we had never been together, then yes...I didn't do him good." Nick blinked. "But believe me, I was loyal before I took Joy. It wasn't easy, and sometimes Morrie had to bring me back to my senses..." Nick had to smile at the memory. "...but I made him happy...I think..." "You did", Matt said firmly. "Morrie swooned over the old days and always wished you would come back like this...The poor thing! He never understood what happened and I can't explain it to him anymore..." Nick sat down next to him. "I'm sure you've been a good friend to him...Gosh, I never thanked you for this...er, thank you." "I wasn't a much better friend than you...That evening you fought with him because of Arthur, I should've comforted him, stopped him from following your or coming along, but I was too busy comforting myself wiht Joy and scotch..." He gulped heavily. "We've been awful people, haven't we?"

"Unlike me you've all been saints", Nick said. "You couldn't know that there was a mass murderer on the loose who killed my friends and loved ones out of jealousy." "No...but I should've helped him..." "I'm sure Morrie wouldn't reproach you with this if he knew what was going on. He also took a high risk going outside at night. He wasn't allowed to. He could've ended up in a Jubilator...I shouldn't think of that..." "Oh, dear, thanks for the image...", Matt moaned. "Sorry...See, it wasn't all sunshine and daisies in our old life." Because Matt continued to silence, Nick dared to pat his back. "Hey...I'm sorry...I should keep my bloody mouth shut." "I don't know...Sometimes I think we had some bad luck, and sometimes I could give you a thrashing...Why did you have to betray him? Why did he have to die for this?" "He would've been a target for James, either as my enemy or my lover...Arthur didn't chance that", Nick whispered. Matt closed his eyes shut. For a while, they sat together in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

"I understand why we took Joy...", Matt said some time later. "Not being able to forget, having to live with all this...it's...it's" He clenched his fists and tensed up. Nick was searching for words when Matt finally relaxed again. "Brad is right, it would be easy to blame it on you. In the end, you've been just a poor sucker like us." "You don't have to take me back, though...not ouf of nostalgia or anything..." "But you would like to...?" Matt eyed him from the side. "Sure...What a question is that?" The bass player stretched himself. "Well...you have to persuade Chris." "He'll come back, right?" "I think I know where he is." Nick hesitated. "Is it a good idea to be alone with him?" “Well, it's your only chance. In here, he feels cornered. Alone, you're at his mercy but he'll most likely listen to you.” Nick sighed. “Okay...I'll try...By the way, how's Brad?” “He needs some time for his own, too. I'll take care of him as good as I can.” “Just tell him I said hello.” “Alright...Now listen...”

After that, Nick made his way through the district up to the bridge to St. Georges Holm. He didn't cross it, though, but climbed over the railing and continued his walk on the grass. From there, he could walk past the town through the landscape where he approached the cliffs. They were a perfect spot to seek solitude. Nick understood, that the view was soothing. He had learned that from Arthur. While Nick's gaze wandered along the rugged scenery, the wind blew harder than in town and brought salty, wet air. When he noticed a figure in the distance that looked like his missing friend, he was unsure if he should disturb him like that. Chris sat on a rock and stared at the horizon. Nick could only guess what he thought. But if he didn't try it now, he wouldn't need to ever come back, so he carefully approached him. Then he stopped again, because he noticed that Chris didn't hear him. The grass dampened his footsteps, so he shuffled along a rock with his heel. Alerted, Chris looked around. Nick didn't move and let the other man stare at him. Chris then left his rock.

“You're getting everywhere, isn't that so, Norbert? I'm nowhere safe from you...and it never crosses your mind that you might be unwanted...” The guitarist's voice was full of bitterness. Nick's face fell. “I'm not that stupid.” “Then why are you here?”, Chris snapped. Something occurred to him. “Brad sent you, right? Not even he can leave me alone! What did I do to deserve this?” “Brad has nothing to do with this!” “Who else? Matt? Sure, you talked him round already...Incredible...You kill his friend and he forgives you just like that...” “You know that this isn't what happened!”, Nick shouted against the wind. Chris shook his head, smiling unhappily. “It's always easy for you Norbert. Again, nothing is your fault...and the others fell for you...Now it's three against one...” “That's not how it is!” Nick came closer. “Don't think they're on my side now! They might forgive me, but that doesn't mean they would miss me! You are a part of the band, not me! I can only ask you to let me leave on good terms!” Chris fell quiet for a while, watching the waves.

“You know, I had the choice back then...”, he said almost calmly. Nick came closer to hear him. “It was my idea to form a band. Mine!”, he added with emphasis. “I could have made you dance to my pipe as a band leader, but I thought: 'No let's be friendly, a band isn't a military troop.' He laughed unhappily. “I guess it's still war.” “It was the right decision. We all thought highly of you, more than you noticed.” “And more than a certain someone noticed...” Nick had no idea what he was getting at. “It should've made me suspicious that Virgil spoke to you first and not me...” Nick sensed that there was some truth in that. Still, he said: “It could've been a coincidence.” “Huh! Sure...After watching us all, he coincidentally decided to approach you of all people...He knew exactly what he was doing.” “Even if so, it was his decision, not mine!” Chris made another pause that Nick spent racking his brain, trying to find a way to make him understand that he didn't scheme against him, but how would he prove that?

“I underestimated you, Norbert”, Chris spoke again. “Do you remember when you needed me to buy you a beer because you looked like a bloody twelve-year-old? I never thought anyone would pay much attention to you.” That actually hurt. “Do you want me to apologize because you took me for a baby?” “Well, I didn't take you for a traitor...” Chris kicked a stone off the cliff. “But now you do.” “What am I supposed to think of you? Tell me.” He looked down at Nick who struggled for words in frustration. “I didn't know any of Virgil's plans! I never viewed myself as the only star! And I never thought Virgil could be fixated on me! Sure, sometimes I wondered why he was so harsh especially to me, why he wanted me to be perfect. He didn't seem to do that to any of you. But on the other hand, I was the most problematic. I needed Joy, not you. I guessed he only wanted everything to work well.” Chris looked back at the ocean, seemingly disappointed. “So, you've been simply dumb?” “Not dumber than you, or else you would've found a way to get Virgil's attention.” “But when you kicked us out of the band, didn't you notice it then?”, Chris snapped. “It was never meant to be this way!”, Nick shouted desperately. “I've already told you it was meant to be a workaround until we reunited! Later I just forgot...I went from gig to gig and happening to happening, until I couldn't even to that anymore.”

“And you had a lot of fun doing it.” “Believe me, I would swap it all for a moderate life with you and the guys. You could've played the star if you fancied yourself as one.” “What's that supposed to mean?” “Just what you said! It's not nice hearing that you didn't trust me with anything! That you thought I'm a pip-squeak you can push around!” “I didn't say that!” “But that's what you thought, be honest! That must be it, otherwise I didn't have to take revenge on you! Right? That's what you're trying to turn this into! A revenge plot! I must admit it would've been a much better story because it would make sense.” Nick sniffed. “Now, don't cry, little one.” Chris looked at him. “Why not? What's in it for me if I don't? It's only appropriate for shattering my dreams. You're right, I am dumb. I thought we were friends.” “But we were friends!” “Then you have a weird conception of friendship! If you pushed me around as a band leader, it would've been at least honest!” Chris sighed. “Norbert, now you're exaggerating. I just phrased it a little unflattering...” “And what does the flattering version sound like?” “I just never thought you'd betray me...” “I didn't!”

Chris silenced again and Nick gloomily stared at the waves. Some time later, Chris searched his gaze. When their looks met, Chris made a gesture as if he offered him a seat on the rock next to him. Nick took the risk. The other man didn't seem to mind. He looked back at the horizon and sighed. “You know, this place could be beautiful, also without Joy”, he whispered. “Why did it have to happen here? Why to us?” “Bad karma?”, Nick guessed. “Ah...The Very Bad Thing...”, Chris recalled. “Did you have siblings?” “No...” “Me neither...Well, if I didn't repress it. I keep seeing this little girl...maybe three years old...” He shook his head. “Could've been the neighbour's daughter.” Nick nodded. “Lucky bastards”, he tried a joke. “They get to see the world outside and we're trapped in here.” Chris even adumbrated a grin. “Oh...If you put it like that...Yeah, perhaps they're better off...” He sighed deeply. “I guess we have to make the best out of it.” “We...you mean...including me?”, Nick asked carefully. “Don't be such a drama queen, Nick. Perhaps that's what Virgil went for...drama queens.” “Funny, he should've taken you then.” “Impertinent brat.” “Just look at the setting!” Nick widened his arms. “Shakespeare would've done it any better.” Chris gave the ocean another look. “You know what?”, he asked after a while. “It sucks. I'm cold and wet. Let's get back home.” Nick climbed after Chris, barely able to hide his happiness.

Back home, Chris promptly took off his shirt. “You must be really fond of me again”, Nick remarked. Chris grinned at him. “Don't look if I'm too much to handle for you. Anyway I need to get out of these wet rags.” “What have you been up to?” Brad suddenly appeared in the corridor. “Did you go for a swim?” “It's not forbidden”, Chris said and walked past him. Brad looked at Nick who seemed to be pleased with himself and gave his shoulder a slap. That made him notice that also Nick's clothes were wet. “You should change too.” “Sure, but that's all I have.” Nick shrugged. “So, it's time for you to get out of this funeral gear”, Matt commented, entering the scene. “It doesn't match your style at all.” “Hey, I've just come back and you're already hot for my knickers!” “Don't you like it?” They broke out in laughter. It was a precious moment to simply laugh out loud like that, without Joy.

“I could go back to my place in Hamlyn and change...”, Nick said not very excitedly. “Or we see if Davey has something to spare for you”, Brad offered. “He's still around?” Nick widened his eyes “Yeah, he was the first one we visited after the breakdown. He sat it all out in his hiding spot, the bright spark he is.” “He's not living in luxury right now, but he keeps his shop and hopes for better times”, Matt added. “He'll be happy to see you alive.” “These are good news...”, Nick stuttered. “Then...what are we waiting for?” Chris came back in a new outfit. “What did I miss?” “We pay Davey a visit”, Brad answered. “Good idea.”

Later, they entered the studio of the famous designer and the band called out for him. “Davey, are you there?” “You have customers!” Soon, the wanted person hurried into the shop. He was without his mask, just like everyone else, but other than that he looked as spick and span as ever. “I can't believe it! My favourite band! How are you, boys?” “Pretty good despite everything”, Brad answered and they shook hands. “We brought you someone”, Chris added and pointed at Nick. Davey eyed him, trying to figure out the new face. “Well, do you recognise me without my mask and everything...?”, Nick said a bit self-consciously. Davey recalled the voice. “Nick?” Promptly, he pulled him into a hug. “You made it! Of course you did! You're tough like that!” “Careful!”, Nick warned him. “I'm soaked.” Davey eyed his outfit then. “Is this your new style?” “I thought I'd try something new”, Nick joked. “But I'm not quite feeling it...Perhaps you could assist me with that?” “With pleasure, my dear. Let's have a look, shall we?” To the band he said: “Please make yourselves at home. Feel free to fit something on if you like.” “Gladly, as long as you make Nicky presentable again. He's painful to look at like this”, Chris answered. “Is it really that bad?” Nick looked at himself. Davey waved them off and dragged Nick with him into the depth of the shop. Nick had to admit that he liked his bright colours more than black.

When he had made his choice, he asked: “Say, how can I make it up to you? Really?” “Just tell everyone where you bought this.” “No, I mean...how do I pay you? What use are Sovereigns?” Davey was quiet for a while, then he said: “Let's not lose all hope, alright? Consider it a friendly turn. Just because we're low on food, it doesn't mean we have to dress like scarecrows.” “You're right about that. I'm already feeling better.” Nick admired his new look. “If you like to give me something other than money, just go on, surprise me”, Davey said and walked closer. “I'll think of something”, Nick promised. “I'm excited.” Nick looked around the shop, pondering. “May I ask you for another favour?” “Of course.” “Do you remember Arthur Hastings? The one you took for a model and then turned out to be a reporter?” “The tall lanky with dark hair?” “Yeah, exactly. Could you help me pick out something for him?” Davey understood. “Follow me”, he said.

Eventually, they found something Nick was excited to see Arthur in. Davey wrapped it up like a present with a big ribbon on top and handed it to Nick. “There you go. Say hello to him from me, will you? Tell him I'd hire him on the spot if the reporting business goes down.” “I will.” Nick looked at Davey. “It's nice to see you again.” “Bad weeds grow tall”, the man said tenderly. “That applies to both of us.” “But it wasn't easy.” “No...” Davey thoughtfully adjusted his hair. “Hey, if you need help, pay us a visit. We...I mean the band has a home for themselves...I'm living with Arthur.” “I'm happy for you.” Davey smiled. Nick apologetically smiled back. “It's never fair, isn't it?” Davey now smirked. “Don't take it amiss, but I wouldn't marry you. Too vigorous.” Nick laughed. “And that coming from you!” Davey gently touched his arm. “You can visit me anytime, Nick. You and the boys. We have to stick together.” Nick returned the gesture. “Thank you.”

“By the way...someone else asked for you a few days ago, heartbreaker...”, Davey went on. “Why? Who was it?” Nick was alarmed. “No one else but Birdie Callagher. Ring a bell? She looked worried.” Nick felt caught red-handed. “We got to know each other right before Memorial Day, that's all. Virgil's death did throw us both off the track.” Davey became serious again. “Oh, my...I still didn't realize that...” “He looked ravishing in your suit.” “Huh...yeah...it's a shame I never saw him in it.” “I'm sorry...” “Anyway...Birdie is also one of my friends. Can I tell you you're alive  and well?” Nick looked at him. “Where is she? Perhaps it's better if I talk to her myself.” Davey told him her address and then gave him an intense look. “What?” The designer relaxed again. “Ah...nothing...Let's go, the boys are waiting...” When they met with the band again, Davey received praises for Nick's outfit. They stayed for longer, joked around and chattered like old times. Nick noticed that he didn't need Joy to forget about his worries for a while and there was nothing wrong with that.

They left Davey in an unusually good mood. Nick regretted that he had to say goodbye yet. “Guys, I'm sorry, but I have to leave you now...I can come back, right?” “Well, if you keep behaving yourself like that...”, Chris offered. “You can bring Arthur along”, Brad said. “I will. He'll be happy to see you all again.” “U-huh, he'll start writing an exclusive story about our survival...”, Chris guessed. “That's not a bad thing.” Nick chuckled. “I wonder, what's life with him like?”, Matt asked. “I imagine him taking notes whenever you talk...” Nick laughed out loud. “He's not like that!” “He taking embarrassing photos of you in secret...”, Chris added. “No!” “You'll always feel like a celebrity around him, that's for sure...,” Brad pointed out. “My Arthur is a completely normal person!”, Nick protested laughing. “How boring”, Chris remarked. “There must be something up with him if he made you fall for him.” “Well, there is, but this story is unsuitable for the public!”

Like that, they said goodbye in a friendly way. After that, Nick firstly went home to hide the packages and sneak back outside. He felt sorry that he had to be so secretive, but he needed to get something else done.

Arriving at another house, he rang the bell on the off chance. He was lucky. Someone opened, and that someone looked exactly like Birdie, only without her mask. Despite that she had kept her dignity. Her makeup was flawless and her clothes were clean. Nick was happy he had been with Davey before because he would've been horribly underdressed for this situation. Still, it was obvious that she didn't recognize him. “Hello?” “Hello, Birdie. It's me, Nick.” Her eyes widened. “Nick?” “Yeah...I guess I changed a little...but only on the outside, I promise.” “Oh, Nick!” She fell into his arms. “Where have you been? I suddenly lost sight of you and then everyone freaked out. If it hadn't been for Davey...” “I'm afraid I freaked out, too...”, Nick said quietly. “But that's over.” “Now many things are over”, she said and parted from him. “How do you get along?” “I found my band again...or better, they found me. We don't have a plan yet, but we're alright so far. How do you do?” She shrugged. “Most of the time, I'm helping the doctors. I'm a jobbing nurse now. At the same time my new manager tries to contact the mainland.” “Oh...wow...Did you have medical training, or...?” “Not a bit...” She chuckled. “But there's easier tasks I can manage, where I can't do any damage to the poor souls...” Nick was impressed. “Seeing all this misery must be hard...” “It takes a while getting used to, yes. But I'm getting better. The fight is over, there aren't many terribly wounded people left...Still, not all of them are making it...” She took a deep breath. “I'm sure you're doing your best.” “Of course...like all of us...Honestly, I'm more afraid of getting used to it...Seeing this and just thinking 'Oh, it's another completely normal day in Wellington Wells'...” He nodded. “I know what you mean. Did you see the corpses? They are so many...” “Gosh, yeah...” She dropped her gaze.

After collecting herself, she waved him in. “Come, let's have a nice, hot cup of tea as long as the Motilene pipes still work.” Nick liked the idea and followed her inside. “Is this your pad or did you...borrow it?” She smiled. “It's mine. I got it shortly before Memorial Day.” She huffed. “What a bad investment! Now I could get it on much better terms.” “We'll be happy if we ever miss our money again...” “That's true...” She turned on a plate. “Yes, it's working!”, she cheered at the sight of the red lamp lighting up. “All hail to Motilene!”, Nick said and looked around in her kitchen. “Do you have some dishes I can smash in the meantime?” Birdie laughed. “Yeah, I have enough of that stuff in this cabinet. Just help yourself.” Nick picked two cups and saucers and put them on the table. Birdie later joined him with her teapot. Sighing, she fell on her chair. “Sometimes I really don't know where I'm at...” She wiped her forehead. “Sorry...since I'm off my Joy I keep whining...” “For a stressed out nurse you're looking fantastic”, Nick tried to cheer her up. “Oh, thank you”, she said gallantly and looked at him. “But I think I should be honest with you, since you are honest with me...” She grabbed her blonde mane and pulled it off her head. Like that, she revealed a tuft of dark brown hair that was cut into a bob and neatly framed her face. She threw the wig at a chair in the corner. Nick stared at her. “So...what do you say?”, she asked him quietly. Nick ripped himself out of his stasis. “I'm...I'm gobsmacked, really...but you're still pretty...” She smiled. “I hoped you would say that...” Nick felt a tickle running through his body. The reason why he came here...he needed to do it now... He nervously wiped his knuckles while Birdie served the tea.

“Birdie...I don't know how to say this...”, he began, searching for words. “This is completely new to me...” She listened carefully. “Do you remember when I said I lost someone who was close to me?” She nodded. “Something happened...something I didn't think was possible...He  came back to me. I'm living with him now. We want to start over.” “Oh, that's...” Now she was stammering, putting the teapot down. “I'm happy for you of course...” “I'm sorry.” Nick avoided her gaze, bracing himself. But Birdie remained sitting on her chair. “You don't have to be...After all, it's a gift. So many people lost their loved ones...Plenty are still missing...Without Joy, some people only remember now that they lost someone long ago...And you found each other in all this chaos...that's beautiful.” “I'm just so sorry I dragged you into this...” Nick sighed. “You didn't drag me into nothing, Nick Lightbearer! I'm not a helpless little girl. It was my decision to follow your invitation”, she said firmly. “But you didn't know what a mess I am.” “Oh, I did...For a long time, there was barely anything nice about you to read in the papers.” “Oh...” Nick slumped down. “I forgot about that.”

“Now I'm sorry”, she said and put her hand on his. “I have to say you were a pleasant surprise.” “Until now.” “Don't be silly. We had fun. And you comforted me. Without you, I would've gone crazy over Virgil's death...You have no idea how much I needed you.” “I needed you too...” Nick whispered. “I mean...I didn't use you!,” he quickly added. “I like you...just not like that...First, I had too much of a broken heart because of Arthur but I needed you and I was afraid of sending the wrong signals...And now I just don't want to play with you.” “I'm glad...Really, I'm thankful that you told me the truth.” Birdie's voice was soft. “I know you could've easily played with me.” “Yeah, well...” He took a deep breath. “I'm thankful too...You could treat me much worse...Scream at me, beat me up, throw your stuff at me...I've experienced it all.” “The truth didn't go down well in Wellington Wells”, she said bitterly. Nick had never seen it that way. “No...not at all...” “I'm glad I met you, Nick. You've been the first I could really be honest to...” “You can still trust me, Birdie. I'll never tell anyone your secrets, cross my heart!” “I believe you.” She smiled. “Arthur is lucky to have you.” Nick looked a bit puzzled, then he recalled he had said his name. “Well...I'm doing my best...” He scratched his neck. “I wish you and Arthur the best of luck.” “Thank you. I wish you all the best, too...I keep my fingers crossed for your manager. Perhaps he'll find a working phone booth.” “Let's see. At a pinch, maybe smoke signals will do.” They burst out in laughter. Nick finally left her, feeling much better than he had feared. The big drama never happened and he felt relieved of a huge weight he had been carrying in his heart. Now he pined for meeting Arthur.

Back in their house he found Arthur in the kitchen and greeted him with an eager kiss. Calming down, he rested his head on his lover's shoulder and sighed happily. “Hmm...my hero...” Arthur ruffled his hair. “What did they say?” Nick gave him a blissful look. “It worked. We're friends again.” Arthur eyed him up and down. “I'm sure they couldn't resist you, looking like that.” Nick's eyes widened. “Oh, that...I had to get rid of James' suit and that's why we visited Davey Hackney. He still has his shop, it's incredible! You must've made an impression on him, because he told me to say hello from him. He'd take you back as a model, too.” Arthur laughed. “Better not. This job is too stressful for me...” “More stressful than breaking out of prisons?”, Nick teased him. “Definitely.” They grinned at each other. “So many good things happened today, I can't believe it! I feel like a new man!” Nick rejoiced.

His lover's cheerfulness took a load off Arthur's mind. “I'm so happy for you.” Nick hugged him again. “Thank you for giving me the courage to do this...I was running on empty...and now I feel almost like the old days.” Something occurred to him. “Wait, stupid me, I forgot something!” He ran back to where he had hid the packages and came back with Arthur's present. “There you go, my hero.” He proudly handed it over. “You brought something for me?” Arthur eyed it in surprise. “U-huh,” Nick said nodding. “You're such a treasure! You're still thinking of me despite everything...” The tall man was clearly overwhelmed. “It's nothing compared to what you did for me.” Nick was once more ravished about how humble Arthur was. His lover put the present down on the kitchen table, suddenly deep in thoughts “This is making it much harder...,” he said wiping his forehead.

“What?” Nick came closer to see that Arthur was struggling for words. “Speak up, my tall boy.” He became more serious when he recalled something. “Is it about your brother?” Arthur gave him a meaningful look. “I found documents...They say that they brought the children to certain...institutions...” “In Germany?” “Yes...Although I don't know to which they sent Percy...There should be a list that assigns the places for each of the children, but I didn't find it...” “But you found the names of the places?” “Yeah...” “So, there's hope!”, Nick urged him. “You know where to look!” Arthur meekly eyed the floor. “It's gonna be a  far and difficult journey...”, he muttered. “Or you're lucky and hit the bull's eye at the first try!”, Nick eagerly replied. “Chin up, Arthur, you taught me to never give up! Where's your courage now?” Arthur avoided his gaze, only eyed him from the side. “It's not that I don't want to try. Of course I'll search for him as long as I need to.” “That's the spirit!” “But...is that also what you want?” “Yes...” Nick was puzzled.

Arthur turned around to face him. “You have your band now.” “You made me talk to them!” “Because I knew that this is your dream...your life...”, Arthur explained carefully. “It's what makes you happy.” “Arthur, this is my past!”, Nick blurted out. “Now you're my priority! I want to life with you! I'm glad I made up to the lads, because they are my old friends, but that doesn't mean I want to stay with them forever!” “You rather travel aimlessly in a foreign country without knowing if you achieve anything with this?” “Come on, it's gonna be an adventure.” Nick gave his arm a pat. Arthur didn't cheer up. “I don't even know from what to make a living...It's gonna be very uncomfortable.” “Arthur, don't make me look more spoiled than I really am! I can take it! You didn't live in the poorhouse before turning Downer and you got used to the streets! Also, what if the Germans also like music? And you aren't talentless either.” “Wouldn't you miss your friends? And don't they count on you to join them?” “They know that I have you! I didn't make it up to them to lose you in return!”, Nick shouted. “I don't understand this, Arthur! Do you want to leave me here?” He pointed at his face. “Is it because of my looks? Are you disappointed? Do you feel betrayed?”

Arthur turned away again. “That's not it...I just want you to be happy.” “But I am happy with you! Really, Arthur, if there's something you don't like about me, tell me!” “I like everything about you!”, Arthur affirmed. “I just don't want you to be disappointed.” “I won't! Trust me, please, everything I want is you! After cheating death, I'm happy that you gave me a new life! Now I want to make you happy too!” “Oh, Nick...You're always so eager to help”, Arthur said shaking his head. “But you don't know what you're getting yourself into...” “But you do? Have you been in Germany before?” “No, but  I have no choice...” “Me neither.” Nick came closer and took his hands. “Here and now, I swear I'll be faithful to you until my dying day. I'll accompany and assist you until the very end. You'll never be alone again.”

Arthur sighed, trying to hide how much he craved for this. “You don't know what you're talking about...”, he said quietly. “Yes, I know!” Nick was upset. “Do you think I'm that naïve? Do you take me for a baby, Arthur?” “No...” “So you think I'm too stupid to learn? I know what faith is!” Arthur squeezed his hands. “You said you love many...” “Yes, but I know how much pain I caused! I don't want this anymore! I don't want to lose you!” “And you? Wouldn't you suffer?” “I thought it was worse than it actually is”, Nick said truthfully. “I broke first ground today. I gave someone a knock-back, so to speak, and see, I'm still alive.” Arthur looked at him. “You quickly find other options...”, he whispered. “That's not what I was getting at!”, Nick flared up. “I rejected someone just for you!” “This must've been hard for you...” “It wasn't fun, but it was worth it. I'm sure I'll do it again.” Arthur was speechless for a while. “You really are stubborn as a mule, aren't you?”, he then produced.

“Indeed. Now look at me for once! Don't you like my face anymore?” Arthur lifted his gaze from the floor but still didn't dare to look Nick in the eyes. “Is it the hair colour?”, Nick asked waving his hands. “I'll grow the moustache back in case that's what's bothering you. It's just that I couldn't wear it under the mask. The bloody thing didn't hold on facial hair and kept falling off..” Arthur had to laugh against his will at the image. He finally met Nick's eyes, viewed every inch of his face. “Yes, I like you...”, he whispered. “And that's why...” He stopped and fell quiet. “I think we should take counsel with our pillows about that”, Nick said placably. Arthur looked doubting, but he also ran a hand along Nick's back.

Nick finally grabbed him by the hips and threw him over his shoulder. “Come on, let's get to bed.” Arthur uttered a yelp. “Nick! I swear, you're gonna break something!” “Yeah, my heart, if I keep listening to you!” “I'm serious! Put me down!” “Stop with the antics already, or I'll get really mad! If you don't want me anymore, you can just as well tell me in the morning!” “Oh, Nick...” Nick put Arthur to bed and was gentle despite everything. He lay down next to him and pulled the blanked over them. “May I sleep by your side or don't you like that either?” Arthur wordlessly pulled him closer.

[gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights]

Rating: G

Summary: Luka's replaced his broken guitar with a kazoo. Marinette realizes just how important that guitar was to their burgeoning relationship....Maybe she should've made sure no one was around before she ranted about that to Tikki.(Set during/after the end of Miracle Queen)

Word Count: 2569 | Chapter 1/2

Notes: No Luka bashing is intended with this fic, but it is lovesquare endgame Disclaimer: I love kazoos and if someone tried to woo me with a kazoo I would probably swoon. Rip to Marinette but I’m different Disclaimer 2: I didn't come up with the idea for kazooka, @bugaboo-n-bananoir did in this post ). sorry for all the shoutouts lately bud lol you're just an inspiration Special thanks to @botherkupo for betareading!

XXX

“Are you okay?”  Luka asked when Marinette returned from getting ice cream.

It took some effort to pry her gaze away from where Adrien and Kagami were sharing at the other end of the ledge, but she promised herself she wouldn’t be jealous.  

...Or at least, she wouldn’t show it this time.  Both of them were her friends, and they deserved to be happy with each other.  

Did that mean she was okay?  No, not really.  But she didn’t really want to get into that, especially since Luka had already seen her so vulnerable last time.

“So, uh… where’s your guitar?”  she asked instead.

“Oh.”  Luka blinked, as if surprised his instrument wasn’t there either.  “Remember the last time I saw you?  When you were… crying in the street?”

She’d really been hoping he forgot about that.  It definitely wasn’t her most awkward moment, but Adrien at least tended to ignore the worst of hers.  He hadn’t even breathed a word about the whole constipation incident.

But comparing Luka and Adrien wasn’t fair to either of them.  

She shook her head.  “Um, what about it?”

“I dropped my bike when I went to hug you.  My guitar fell out of the basket and… yeah.”  He moved his hands as if to strum a chord, only to slump when they just stroked the air.

“Oh, Luka, I’m so sorry.”  She winced.  She knew his guitar was basically an extension of himself; she hadn’t intended for him to sacrifice it for her.  Was she really that important to him?

“It’s alright.  I’ve almost saved up for a new one.”  He shrugged.

She couldn’t tell if he was actually alright or if he was just faking.  “Well, I’m still sorry.”

“It really is alright.  You’re the music that’s been playing for me since we met, anyway.”

She blushed and looked away.  Luka had always been more forward, but she really didn’t know how she felt about his love confessions, especially considering…

No, she wasn’t going to glance back towards Adrien.  (Not that she could do that subtly, with all their classmates packed between them.)

But the point was, she couldn’t return Luka’s confession while her heart still hung somewhere in the balance.  She could try to move on—she should try to move on—but no matter what Luka said, she didn’t want him to feel stuck as a second choice.

“Well, um… thanks, I guess.” 

She took a bite of her raspberry ice cream to fill the awkward silence.  Normally his guitar did that.  Ivan’s hand drum sort of helped, but it was too far away (and too sporadic) for her to pretend she was focused on his music.

“I guess you can’t play that song for me now,” she added when he didn’t speak up.  It was too bad, because she thought she might actually want to hear it, if only to give them something to connect over.

Had she really listened to his music that often?  It was painfully obvious now that his guitar was absent.

“Were you ready to hear it?”  Hhe asked.  “I still can, if you’d like.”

Her head tilted, her eyebrows scrunching together.  “But you don’t have your guitar.  Unless you’re going to borrow Ivan’s drum.”

He chuckled a little at that.  “I’ve got something else.”

His hand reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out…

“Is that a kazoo?”  

Was this a joke?  Was he playing a joke on her?  He’d never shown that much of a sense of humor before.  If Juleka hadn’t been in the middle of the group sharing ice cream with Rose, Marinette would’ve flagged her down for help.

“Yep.  Juleka got it for me as a replacement present, you know, until I can pay for my new guitar.”

“Oh.”  She forced a grin.  “That’s… sweet of her.”

So no help from Juleka then.  Maybe this wasn’t such a big deal.  Maybe Luka would be an amazing kazoo player, and sweep her off her feet with his buzzing melody and help her forget all about Adrien and— 

Yeah, even her normally-vivid daydream couldn’t paint that picture.

“It really is.  She’s the best.”  He smiled.  She hadn’t heard him talk about Juleka often, honestly.  It was a little weird to remember that he was her friend’s older brother, but Juleka hadn’t seemed to mind Luka showing an interest in her.  

Well, unless the kazoo was more of a warning than a present.  But that was branching into conspiracy theory territory.

“Are you going to play it, then?”  she asked before she could lose her nerve.  Maybe hearing the melody, even if just on the kazoo, would give her the answers her heart was looking for.

“Right.”  He nodded and raised the blue piece of plastic to his lips.

She didn’t wince at the first high-pitched buzz.  She might have just… cringed a little.  Kazoos weren’t really meant to be played at close distance—at least that’s what she assumed, because could anyone really want to unironically listen to that?

The melody was… hard to pick out with all the screeching.  She tried to smile through it—he’d written this for her, and it wasn’t really meant to be played on the kazoo—but then Marc and Nathaniel looked up in shock-slash-horror, and Mylene just about fumbled her ice cream into the river, and Juleka let out an uncharacteristically loud cackle.

Luka’s playing petered out with a sad doot doot.  He still looked up at her expectantly.

And because he was staring at her, of course the rest of their group did too.  Including Adrien, the green mint of his ice cream still staining his lower lip.

“Um… that was…” Marinette’s face burned as she sprung to her feet.  “W-well!  Look at that I have to go—buy a birthday present for my grandpa’s mouse!”  Wait, had she used that one before?  It didn’t matter, her legs were already wooshing her away, leaving only the cherry from the top of her ice cream behind.

She hurriedly shoved the rest of her ice cream into her mouth to cool her burning face.  That was… probably an overreaction.  Luka had just tried to play her a song.  It wasn’t her that everyone else was laughing at.

A horrible feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t just the odd mix of raspberry and cotton candy ice cream.  She should’ve stayed to cheer him up, right?  

“Tikki, what’s wrong with me?”  She groaned, dropping her forehead against the side of the alley.  “Why did I run away like that?  I probably made Luka hate me!”

The kwami flew out from her purse.  “I don’t think he can hate you, Marinette.  He still liked you even when he knew you were in love with Adrien.”

“For some reason.”  She sighed.

“Do you want him to like you?”  Tikki prodded gently.

“I don’t… I don’t know.”  She bonked her head against the wall again. Ow.  “He likes me, and he’s nice, and we… have absolutely nothing in common.”

There.  She admitted it.  They both liked Jagged Stone, but lots of people liked Jagged Stone.

(Adrien liked Jagged Stone.  He’d asked for her autograph, and she’d just about melted.)

What she felt with Luka was nothing like that.  It was nervous usually, until he started playing his guitar.  The chords, if simple, were still soothing.

“Did I just think he made me comfortable because he played the guitar?  Am I really that shallow?”

“Of course you aren’t.”  Tikki rubbed her cheek to hers.  “A boy liked you, and it sounds like you liked him at least a little bit.  Even if it was mostly because he played guitar.”

Marinette groaned.

“But now he plays the kazoo and I don’t want to hear his song!  And I really can’t think of anything else we have to talk about.  And I won’t go on dates with him and move on from Adrien and I’ll end up old and alone with a tarantula instead of a hamster and—”

“Marinette, you know that’s not going to happen.”  Tikki patted her face again.  “There are plenty of other boys besides Adrien and Luka.  And you don’t have to move on with a boy.  You have plenty of time to just be you.  Maybe that’s for the best, with you being the guardian now.”

“Don’t remind me.”  She squeezed her eyes shut.  She wished she had someone to rely on as the guardian.  Luka had been there that one time when she couldn’t take it anymore, but she couldn’t actually tell him anything.  If only she could talk to…

“Chat Noir,” she whispered, eyes going wide.

“What?”  

She paced back and forth across the width of the alley.  “I want to talk to Chat.  I can do that now, can’t I?  I’m the guardian.  No, but Master Fu did what he did for a reason.  I can’t go sharing important secrets.  But if Fu did tell us more maybe we could’ve protected him better.”

“Um, Marinette—” 

“Either way he’s gone and I don’t know what to do, Tikki!  He didn’t finish teaching me everything and here I am worried because of a boy playing the kazoo!”

She spun, breaths coming too quickly, hoping to hear Tikki’s words of wisdom to help her calm down.

Instead, she came face to face with Adrien.  Adrien, whose eyes were practically bugging out of his head.  A cute smear of ice cream still clung to his parted lips.  That was easier to focus on than the fact that he’d almost certainly heard every word she said to Tikki.

His mouth opened and closed again.  “Uh.”

“Oh no.”

“You’re…!”

“No, no, of course I’m not!”  She waved her arms frantically.  Tikki’d had the sense to dive back into her purse, but the damage was already done.

“You’re Ladybug,” he breathed.  “It’s you.  Of course it’s you.”

Tears pricked her eyes.  One day into being the guardian, and she’d already let someone figure out her secret identity!  And it was Adrien, and while she thought he could keep a secret, she couldn’t ignore the incident with the beret, and if he told anyone and that awful future happened— 

“Marinette, hey, hey, it’s alright.”  He stepped towards her, too close, not close enough.  “I’m not going to tell anyone.  I swear.  I—I didn’t mean to.  I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and then I heard and I can’t unhear and—please don’t be mad.”

He looked down at her with such a distraught expression, she couldn’t imagine him ever breaking that oath.

“I’m not mad at you, Adrien.”  She bit her lip and looked down, afraid she might actually start crying if she had to see his pain any longer.  Which was ridiculous, because it was her identity that was compromised.  “You were just trying to help, and—and it’s my fault for not being careful enough.”

Her voice choked.  His arm reached towards her, hesitated, fell back to his side.  Of course he wouldn’t pull her into the hug that she craved.  He was dating Kagami now; it was surprising enough that he’d left her just to come make sure she was alright.  He really was a wonderful friend.

Maybe that was all she needed right now.

“It’s not your fault, my—Marinette.”  He swallowed.  “It could’ve happened to either of us.”

“Yes, but it’s not a big deal if someone finds out you once used the snake miraculous.  Nearly all of the other heroes were compromised yesterday, anyway.”

Her fault again.  She was back to square one, just her and Chat Noir against the world… and possibly Adrien too.  He hadn’t been revealed yesterday.  Maybe it would be worth it to give him a miraculous again?

He laughed awkwardly.  “Yeah. Of course.”

“So… yeah.”  She nodded.  “I’m just going to.  Go home now.”

Where she could cry in peace and Tikki could lecture her and she could find someone else to pass off the miracle box to because clearly she wasn’t ready, only there was no one else who could possibly do it except maybe Chat Noir, and he didn’t deserve that kind of pressure either, and— 

“Marinette, wait.”  

This time Adrien did grab her hand.  She did her best to control her flush.

“I know you didn’t want me to know, but… I’m still your friend, okay?  You can tell me anything.  Especially now, if you need someone to lean on…”

She did.  Oh, she did, and any other day she would leap headfirst into that offer.

But all she could think of now was Adrien smiling softly as he wiped ice cream from Kagami’s cheek.  It wasn’t like he couldn’t still be her friend when he was dating someone else, but she wasn’t sure her heart could take trusting him with all of her secrets except the one she’d actually wanted to tell.

She loved him.  Even now, knowing he had just become a threat to her identity, she loved him.

And it was too late to say it.

“Thank you, but I’d actually rather talk to Chat Noir right now.  I hope you’ll understand.”

He blinked and opened his mouth before shaking his head.  “Right.  Of course.  I’m glad you trust him.”

“I do.”  She looked towards the sliver of sky above the alley as hope blossomed in her.  She did trust Chat.  He would be able to help her through this, just like he’d supported her during Miracle Queen’s short reign.  “I wish he’d been the first to know my identity, but if anyone else had to… I’m glad it’s you, you know.  I lo—I trust you too.”

Really?  Now she almost said it?  He didn’t seem to notice, though.  His expression softened into a smile.

“Thank you, Marinette.  That means a lot to me.”

She smiled back, palm braced against the alley wall to make up for the weakness in her knees.

“Oh, um—is Luka alright?”  She barely remembered to ask.  It was probably the least of her worries, but it was still worth checking.  “I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings.  The whole kazoo thing was just—I was so embarrassed and I ran away without thinking.  He was just trying to be nice, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I didn’t like it.”

“You never seemed to have a problem telling that to Chat Noir,” he said.  Was that a hint of… jealousy she detected in his voice?  No way; she had to be imagining that.

“That’s because I know Chat Noir.  He knows I don’t return his feelings…”  she trailed off, blinking at the ground.

Chat had been the first person she wanted to talk to when she was upset.  The one who always supported her, who knew all her weaknesses and flaws and still looked at her like she’d hung the moon in the sky.  Who wouldn’t hesitate to risk everything for her, who trusted her even when she was wrong but was always, always there to make things right.  

He was the one who called her his Lady.  He was the one whose hug felt like home.  

“Marinette?”  Adrien asked.

“Oh,” she breathed.

“Oh?”

She looked up and met his eyes, and before she knew it, she was confessing to the wrong crush.

“I think I’m in love with Chat Noir.”

[inside-of-a-fangirls-mind]

A Lonely Hut in the Woods. (Muriel)

Words; 2753

Warnings; none of believe just some cute fluff

Pairing; Muriel X Fem! Appreciate Reader

Notes; I'm obsessed with this game so please shoot me some requests in my asks so I can obsess more.

______________________________________

You weren't sure how long you had been gone but it had to be at least an hour or two. Basket full and heading back to the small hut that you had started to call home. After trying to stop Lucio and losing Morga in the forest, Muriel and you had headed home to get together with Asra to come up with a new plan.

How ever you didn't expect to be standing outside the door of the hut after hearing Asra's voice "why don't you just ask her to be your girlfriend?" The soft male questioned froze on the spot.

Of course, he was talking to Muriel who else would be in his hut. But you didn't expect the hushed response you had to strain to hear through the door.

"Why would she-" He paused a moment before sighing, "want me?" His voice softens in the second part.

It broke your heart, after everything. The kiss and time spent together, trying your very best to make him comfortable but still he didn't think you like him? You freaking like him! You sigh softly before eyes perking up as you hear Asra say what you were thinking.

"Muriel, she kissed you. Not only once but twice! Do you even know what that means? She likes you!" He begged his friend to listen.

"I don't stand a chance. You see the way Julian looks at her. Why me when she could be with… him?" His soft voices faulted slightly towards the end. A chair scrapped softly against the floor before you head someone plop down onto it.

"Trust me. She's not interested in Julian. Though he wishes. She likes you, that's why she's put so much effort into make sure you are okay. She doesn't just do that for everyone. Just give it a chance."

Asra voice sounded a bit smug as I felt his magic wash over me slightly. He knew I was listening. My heart pounding in my chest I slowly back away from the door. I didn't mean to introde. I was just curious. Muriel was so hard to read sometimes I wanted to be sure. Though he still hasn't outright said he likes me it was enough.

I slowly walk back down the path smiling to myself as a run a hand through my (h/c) hair and laugh softly. "Muriel likes me.."

As soon as you're almost at the end of the small path to the hut staring into the vast forest you hear the door to the hut swing open. You turn on the spot holding your smile as you pretend to just be walking up.

Asra hasn't even looked out the door but you know he knows you're there. He always does.

"If you dont. I'll lock you both in this hut for a few days. Then things would get.. fun" with a laugh the white haired man then shuts the door behind him on a most likely blushing Muriel.

He turns to see you and smiles before linking your arm in his. "Hey. I know you heard a lot of that and just so you know. I'm just trying to help." He gives you his brilliant smile and you know you can trust him. You always have.

"I know." You blush slightly before glancing towards the door doubting Muriel would even say anything about the conversation they just had.

"Don't do anything out of the ordinary, I want him to do this. He needs a push otherwise it won't be a learning experience. He needs to know that you're someone he can tell anything to." He looks behind us and then his voice softens. "Cause I won't always be around. But you can. You can be there for him when I cant."

He takes your hands in his and smiles brightly at you. "I'm so happy you two connected like you did. And I want you both to be happy. So bad. You deserve the best." And with a quick hug he's waving you off as he heads towards the forest.

"See ya around." He chuckled before disappearing into the trees. You watch him off before turning to look at the door to the hut. You take a deep breath then walk up the path slowly.

As you get closer you see Inanna carrying a small rabbit in her mouth, she always looks happy to see you as she walks up tail going a mile a minute.

You lean down and stroke her head softly, "Hey Inanna you're just in time for dinner. And I see you brought your part." You chuckle softly before opening the door letting her on first.

She heads straight to lay in front of the fire place chewing away at her meal. You enter not seeing Muriel at first, but then you see his green eyes watching you from the corner where the table is.

"I'm back. Got lots of atuff, wanna see?" You him softly as you set your basket on the table and start unloading slowly. He doesn't say a word but walks over to the table and stands across from you, eyes on everything you're pulling out.

You smile to yourself before laying out 3 loads of bread, pumpkin, banana, and mixed berries, then a jar of fruit jam, and finally some smoked eel. His stomach growls at the sight of the eel, but he doesn't reach for anything. You then pull out some bottled salty bitters, it was a pretty coin to get but Muriel had mentioned once how he hasn't had it in years and getting him to a pub wasn't an option right now. You glance towards Inanna when you pull out two smaller cuts of chicken as her eyes stare directly at it.

Instinctively you hand them to Muriel, "For Inanna. I wanted to get you both something." You smile sweetly holding your hands over his. A soft blush creeps up his cheeks, but he turned his back to you offering the meats to Inanna. She gently took them from him before barking twice happily. Then forgetting about the Rabbit and eating the cut meats.

It made you happy knowing she excepted your gift, so often she didn't. You see the last few items in the basket. A few bottles of liquids for spells and a small green blanket with a tiny wooden wolf wrapped inside. You didn't know if he would like it at all. But you pull out the blanket and the wolf and wrap the blanket around his shoulders.

He jumps slightly before closing his eyes and enjoying the very soft feeling of the blanket. "W- what's this for?" His voice is soft so you lean against him to whisper in his ear.

"I thought you would like it so I got it. Plus the first isn't very soft all the time. So you can use this under them." You then step to the side of him and held out the small wolf. "this too." As you hold it over his hand.

He slowly grabs it staring at it in his hand. Then looking to you confused. "a wolf?"

You chuckle softly before nodding. "So when Inanna goes to visit her family you won't miss her too much." A soft blush is now on your cheeks as you look towards Inanna whose ears peaked up when you said her name.

Muriel looked from you to Inanna to the little wolf in his hand. The blush on your cheeks didn't make sense to him and why did you buy him things all the time. Did you pity him? He can't help the corners of his mouth twitch into an almost smile before putting the small wolf in his pocket. "T- Thank you." He whispers.

You light up hearing that, he didn't say he didn't deserve it or complain. He just took it. You almost bounce back over to the table. "Come sit down and eat." You hum, before slowly cutting up a slice of bread and making him a small meal of the bread, eel, and jam.

He walks over and sits down staring at the food in front of him. Then looking to you as you sit down and smile at him. You take a bite of the eel and gesture to his food.

"You feed me all the time so I thought it was my turn." You can't help but gaze at him as he slowly picks up the eel and takes a small bite. You can't stop yourself, you nearly swoon. But you get yourself together before silent drifted over you two. It was always peaceful eating with him, the sound of the crackling fireplace, Inanna growling happily as she chews and the distant sound of chickens clucking.

You two sat like that for a while. When you both finished you stood up taking everything to the bucket in the corner. He starts to protest but stops before he gets a full word out. You finish cleaning up before looking at him softly. "I enjoyed eating with you." You then go to sit by the fireplace letting your cloak fall off from around your shoulders.

He stares at you before sitting on the bed picking up a stick to widdle on. You just enjoy the warmth of the fire washing over your skin.

After a while, you ended up head laying on Inanna as you yawned. A quick nap wouldn't hurt anyone. Closing your eyes as you watch Muriel work away at the stick slowly making it into something, you can't make out what it is as slumber falls over you.

The only thing that wakes you is Muriel banging his shoulder into the door of the hut. At first, you don't think anything of it just closing your eyes again before you hear him mumble out a string of curses. That wakes you right up.

Stretching your arms over your head, letting a yawn. "Whats-" you yawn again covering your mouth before rubbing the sleep from your eyes, "wrong?"

Muriel looks at you with a blush creeping over his cheeks. The sun was already set, you sitting up noticing the fire had died altogether.

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before finally speaking. "Asra, he uh." He looks around for an excuse but he can't find one. "he, well. Trapped us in here? Something about it being good for us." His voice is at a whisper by the time he finishes.

Your cheeks now start to blush, you had heard the threat but thought it was empty. You could just come clean, told him you heard everything and that you want to be with him. But Asra said he had to do it.

"I- oh. Why?" You hum finger combing through your hair, Inanna was nowhere to be seen. You guessed she wasn't restricted from leaving only you two.

His eyebrows knitted together before he shoved on the door once more. "Cause he thinks it will…. Be good for us?" He questioned more than answered.

"Oh," you whispered before slowly standing up. "Well. I guess we should make the best of it. We still have the bitters." You hum before heading over to the bottles on the table. "You want one?"

He follows you with his eyes but doesn't move from the door. "Okay." You walk over and push a bottle into his hand before sitting in front of the fireplace again.

Closing your eyes you focus your magic and create a few new logs in the fireplace. Opening your eyes you then snap as a small flame starts on your finger and you light the fire again.

Muriel has now taken a few sips of the bitters and moves to sit around the fireplace too. But slightly away from you, your knees barely touching.

You then bring the bottle to your lips taking a deep sip, maybe this would loosen you up so you could finally tell him how you feel.

Soon enough you both finish off the bottles, you're leaning on his shoulder and he's beaming softly at you. Though you don't notice with your eyes fixed on the warm fire.

"Hey, Muriel?" You whisper nuzzling into him. Your soft voice shakes him to his core or maybe it was just the bitters.

"Yes?" He looks down at you but he didn't expect you to meet his green eyes. You smile happily at him before twirling a strand of his hair around your finger.

"I-" you pause a blush forming on your cheeks, "I really really like you." You almost wanna run and hide as soon as it's out there, looking away from him and back to the fire. Though you feel his gaze follow you're every movement.

"Y- you do?" He barely gets out before nervously cupping your cheek to bring your eyes back to his. He needed to know if you were lying.

You swallow and nod slowly, resisting the urge to nuzzle into his beautiful hand. It was so cool against your warm cheeks. His green eyes never leave your face before he musters up all the courage he can and slowly leans towards you. Taking his time in case you change your mind or say it was all a joke.

Looking into your (e/c) eyes he knows you would never lie to him and he brushes his unsure lips against yours. That was all it took. Him trusting and you willing. You wrap your arms around his neck, fingers playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck as your lips slowly part in time with his.

The whole world seems to stand still, nothing matters but the heat from his mostly exposed body, the fire dancing over both of your skins. His hand stays on your cheek, softly stroking with his thumb. But soon you have to come up for air.

Neither of you say a thing, he sits up rather away from you a hot red blush running from his cheeks down his chest. Or maybe it was just the bitters.

You put your hand over his gently and stare at the fire trying to calm your pounding heart.

"Would you…" he starts to whisper but stops himself shaking his head. It was stupid, why would you want him.

"Yes." You turn and look at him. "Yes, I would." You're almost beaming at him. He looks off guard before shaking his head.

"You don't even know what I was going to ask." His voice is soft before you just can't take it anymore.

"Just shut up and kiss me, you goofball." You whisper cupping his cheek and pulling him in for a kiss. He doesn't resist and follows you, lips merging together in a sweet kiss. Time always stood still, everything didn't matter at that moment.

"I want you, you and only you." You whisper against his lips, his lips never lose the smile.

"I want you too…" he hummed pressing his forehead against yours softly. At that moment you hear the door open as Asra burst through.

"About time. I thought I would have you two locked in here for days." He laughs softly before looking over the two of you nearly fangirling.

"Asra," Muriel starts before you kiss his cheek and stand up.

"Asra that wasn't cool, but thank you. I don't think we would have ever gotten together on our own." You smile at your white-haired friend, though you knew about all of this beforehand.

"I know and look at you two! So perfect for each other!!" He squeaks. Muriel then stood up towering over behind you.

"Alright everyone out of my hut…" he looks between the two of you before mumbling "except Y/N…" Asra's eyes light up before winking at you and heading towards the door.

"Don't have too much fun." He calls out before closing the door behind him, Muriel going a dark red knowing what his friend meant.

You take his hand in yours, kissing his palm ever so softly. "in due time that will happen. We aren't going to rush anything. I don't even have to stay the night.." you start before he leans in and kisses you a bit unsure.

"Wh- what was that for?" You whisper looking deep into his green eyes.

"I- I don't want you to leave…" it takes a lot for him to say that but it has you smiling to no end.

"Don't worry, I won't." You hum softly. You'd never leave him, not again.

PART TWO

[punkandsnacks]

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Thirteen; Delirium.

Author: @punk-in-docs​ & @adamsnackdriver​

Also on AO3-  

Masterlist-

Trigger Warnings: !!! illness and swooning again in this chapter !!! Fever type dreams that get spooky and deathy

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

                                                       ~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~

Kylo was losing his mind.

 It’s been known to happen to vampires of certain ages. Possibly ones even older than him, if any such do exist. Alive so long they start to rot and fester in their own bodies.

 Brains blown and shattered apart from all the violence of things they’d done. Drifting and flaking apart like much too dried clay. The horror of the acts some vampires committed to feed. Not everyone could face or stomach it for so long. Drove them cackling into the worst sort of madness.

 He’s seen men fall apart too. Mortal men. He’s seen entire armies and countries of men perish. Losing their heads to the last breath, infected with illness, or pox or the plague.

 Deformed and rotting away already, before death had even come to them. Life clung on to them like some leeching disease. Decaying their bodies before their spirit had left their flesh.

 He’d seen scores of roguish men who’d dallied with pox ridden girls. Perishing with no control nor use of their bodies and no eyesight to help them. He’d seen many many men succumb to it for some cheap penny’s worth of indulgence with some infested whore up against a tavern or brothel wall. Those men end up as dribbling and demented fools. Turned into deformed madmen.

 It was hell. It was as close to any hell as he’d seen. The Black Death. He can remember that aswell. That rot.

 How it bittered the air of every rust red Italian street. He’d been in Italy, in when it first struck. The hacking wet of sloppy coughs until blood comes frothing up.

 Bloated bodies of peasants - men, women, children and infants - swelled green with festering flesh, dumped in the river, clogging up the Arno. Crows pecking at the bobbing corpses, ripping off flesh and eyeballs like wet peeling paper.

 So many bodies-

 Worse than ever, Kylo remembers the stench of plague. Rotting meat writhing with maggots, but candied with something of the human flesh, somehow. He’ll remember it for eternity. That cursed stench of putrefaction cloying the rivers and streets. It would stay seared into him for all his time still to come.

 He recalls how some walled themselves into their own homes. They stayed inside to fester. Or drink themselves to death. Or pray. The illness took all of them before too long - faith or no faith. He could hear the wails of the nearly dead bleed through the thick red walls.

 Blackened fingers, the fever and the boils, the salty sweat of rot and the reeking decay of death in every house. Everything the sick body excreted, be it sweat, spittle or breath, exuded an overpowering stench that he will never forget. 

Whole towns emptied. Abandoned. Their population now lay rotting in the swallowing of the soil. 

 The doctore de la peste roamed the streets with their unseeing round glassy-eyes. In their beaks packed with sweet dried roses, mint leaf and carnation petals. The sickle of it trailed behind them like smoke cutting through the gloom. The ripe perfumery of plague.

 By the end. The river was overrun with corpses. Couldn’t see the water for the rotting swill of flesh and bones. Rats scampering over them feeding. Gnawing. Birds plucking out what they liked to feed on.

 It’s enough of a sight to make a man want to put out his own eyes with a red hot poker after seeing such illness, pestilence and misery.

 It’s happening to him right as of now; in fact. Losing his mind. He’s certain.

 They could mark this, 1816, as the year that he relaxed his firm hold on his sanity. It only took a thousand and twenty seven years.

 It only took the sight of his sweet dove, in his bed, writhing and sweating with fever. Delirious and dangerously ill.

 She collapsed after dinner and he swept her upstairs right away. Mrs Jones sent a note for the local doctor. Sent their bravest rider out on Erland, into the storm by the safest road. Jomar fetches her a cold cloth from the anteroom. Kylo can’t leave her side. He won’t.

 He sits on the bed and watches over her diligently. When Jomar returns with a bowl of icy cold water, stands it on the bedside and wrings out the cloth. Kylo takes it from his offered hand without even casting an eye in his direction. He takes the sopping linen and pastes it across her clammy brow.

 She’s splayed back in his bed, weak and insensate. To hell with liberties. He took the gown and shawl off her himself, and bundled the white cotton and red velvet sheets over her. She sank back onto his pillows. Sprawled limp.

 Her lovely pale face sheened in sweat. Whole body shivering and her breathing was shallow. Brow creased and wrinkled up in pain.

 Kylo’s sitting near. Pulling sticky strands of hair off her cheeks. Hating the sight of her like this. He’s banked the fire and had extra blankets put on the bed. But he’s unsure. He’s never sat at a sick bed for a mortal before. Well- not like this. He’s attended a death bed. But here? He doesn’t know what to do. How to act.

 Her eyes are open but she doesn’t see him. He’s certain she can’t see him or anyone else in the room. She’s dazed. Lost to sense.

 And he’s frantic. He’s mopping her brow but he doesn’t know what good that might do. She keeps twisting her head away from him. Fingers twining into the sheets, fisting them in her hands. Gasping and shuddering breath. Her chest is moving up and down so fast it hurts him to see this.

 Mrs Jones timidly knocks on his bedchamber door. Kylo’s voice is strained when he answers the knock. She comes in. Her face pinched and the very sight of it hurts Kylo’s nonexistent heart.

 “The doctor can’t attend her, my Lord. He’s trapped a county over delivering a baby.” She says breathless and pink from running up the stairs. Her skirts still picked up in her hands.

 That was Kylo’s last hope. He dismisses her with a curt nod. Not ill tempered at her news. Merely overshadowed by this whole room. All this grave pressing silence and illness.

 The very air in here feels tense. Made dry and hot by the fire. Stale with human exertion. And Still. So still with anticipation and uncertainty.

 Jomar returns with another icy bowl of water, a fresh cool cloth. Kylo reaches and swaps it for the clammy warm one. She groans and tries to twist away.

 Kylo soothes her. “Dove. It’s alright it’s alright.” He hushes her as she fidgets and tosses around. Knees tugging under the blankets. Hands still fisting in the sheets. She’s whining. She’s pleading with him. The hysteria has gripped its nasty hold tight.

 “No... no. Ugh. Please. No.” She gasps. Head looming far back. Neck stretched out. Dewy, and by the darkened light of his room, her long supple neck and throat is now shimmering amber. Kylo’s hand take the cloth away and she sighs a lungful of a groan in response.

 “She’s not talking to you My Lord.” Jomar insists. “It is the fever.” He assures Kylo.

 His butler is now washing his hands in the water jug across on the dresser. Scrubbing soap and his nails with a harsh scratching brush that sizzles at his skin. He dunks his hands under the cloudy milk of the water and washes away the soap suds.

 “What do I do?” Kylo’s pleading to them both. To Jomar and Mrs Jones. He looks like a little dark haired boy. An infant. Helpless and terrified.

 Sat there, teetering on the edge of his bed, starry silver tears in his eyes. It might be the only time they’ve seen him truly weak or scared. Wracked with agony with something even he can’t control.

 Powerless to help the woman he loves.

 Mrs Jones knows of that look. She sees the russet sparkle in his Lordships eyes. And it aches her. Sees the pain in his creased brow and displayed in the openness of his face. He is used to having power over so many things - this is not part of his influence. It does not share in being intimidated by him as most things and people usually do.

 This vampires one weakness; terror for the frailty of mortality. That she could and might slip away to a place beyond his mighty reach.

 Jomar crosses back to the bed, takes her wrist and feels for her pulse. His clever kind hands were cool on her feverish skin. Still she shivers in his grasp. He fixes his gaze downwards as he holds her frail arm. Returning it gently to her side when he’s done.

 “Her heart rate is very fast.” He says with veiled emphasis. He then leans up and peers over her face, gently cupping it to see her eyes. “Her eyes are unfixed also.”

 “I think it may be an affliction on her lungs. A chill caught from the rainstorm.” He suggests to Kylo.

 “How do we treat her?” Kylo’s demanding with every note of his voice laced with hope.

 Jomar shares an anxious look with Mrs Jones. “We don’t. Your lordship.” Jomar tells him gravely.

 “We can only wait now for the fever to break. But we can do everything within our power to make her comfortable.” He insists to his Master and friend. Laying a kind hand on his shoulder.

 Lord Ren looks up at him. Lost in his gaze. His silver bangle catches the light. A darting glimmer. Like a silver scaled fish swimming in dark inky waters. His butlers hope and goodness always shone great through the darkest of times.

 Jomars bronzed eyes melt for him like crushing gold honey and warm cocoa. Tries to bolster him kindly for this devastating news.

 “Is there truly nothing I can do?” Kylo chokes out. His voice hadn’t the bravery to rise beyond a whisper. He just had to watch her suffer like this? Twisting and delirious and unconscious with fever.

 “I’m afraid so M’lord. In the meantime-“ Mrs Jones says. Crossing the wide dark room to the window. Batting away the crimson drapes. The battle axe she was is on the warpath. She’ll see this right. Kylo wouldn’t trust anyone else.

 “We might try to keep her cool. Fever burns you up something wicked. So I won’t have her stifled. Loose blankets are best. And we are to mop her brow and her neck every hour. On the hour.” She commands. Jomar nods in agreement.

 “I’ll see to some laudanum for her relief, from the medicine cupboard.” He insists. Bowing his head to Kylo before slipping away.

 Off out the door. Picks up the lit candle holder in his hand from the side. The long ivory taper of it flickers a warm marmalade in the dark of his Lordships crimson room. Kylo watches the glow of it, and him, disappear down the dark hall. Swallowed up into the blackness of the house.

 The treads of his boots crushed silent and dead on the rug in the corridor. The hazy fog of champagne yellow coated the walls of Hellford like thick gold dust. Shining off every polished wood door and dark floorboard. Grows fainter and fainter as he moves away.

 Kylo turns back to his dove. Takes the cloth away. Re-wets it. Puts it back on her brow. He takes it away again once the cool is gone. Replaces the cloth with his own cold hand. All of his fingers dwarfing most of her head. He slips around and cups the nape of her neck and she rolls her solid head onto the arch of his arm.

 She’s so warm it almost burns his hand. His chest aches to feel her that way.

 She protests at the cold. “Leave me.” She sobs. “Leave me alone...” She cries. Eyes shut. Denying him the alluring cloudy grey gaze of those eyes he admires so much.

 “I will do no such thing...” Kylo says lowly. Stroking wet tamped hair off her forehead. Looking at her flushed cheeks which burn hot. He presses the back of his hand to them. To soothe them. The crinkle in her brow lessens a little at his icy touch. The only time his coldness has ever come in handy.

 Mrs Jones grabs the bowl of water from next to him but before she scurries downstairs to replace it she offers. “Your Lordship, I can send for a maid to sit with her. If you need some rest.”

 “I will stay.” Kylo presses. “I won’t leave her side until this wretched thing breaks.” He insists with stony determination.

 He looks back to Iris. Cupping her cheek in his hand. Watching her breathing pant rapid. She leans into his touch.

 With no clear action before him, other than to comfort her. His mind, denied of a task, emptied of all things, now fear began to fill it.

 Mrs Jones says nothing. But she gives him a trembling look of affection that attempts at bolstering him. She takes the bowl and she too pads softly out the room. The creaking whine of the door being softly shut was the final announcement to their being availed of company.

 Kylo turns back to her. A terrible weight squeezing down on his chest. He’s sat at a fair number of deathbeds in his life. He’d watched some human friends fade away. But that was certain. War or disease took them from him.

 This is not certain and it’s killing him all over again.

 It’s that night on the battefield in the snow again and again again. Draegan finding him. Coming across Kylo as he lay dying. The burning dripping searing blood leaking down his side. His wound was by the abdomen. The worst way to die. It could take days. The white hot agony searing his bones in acid all over again. Scarlet snow. Scarlet wet snow everywhere.

 He can remember cool slender fingers cupping his neck. The whisper across his cheek like a kiss of the icy north wind. “You know you will not survive this.” He explained. Unsticking Kylo’s leather gloved hand from the wound that ran along the entire side of his stomach. Silver eyes, like precious moonstones, looking at the blood laying black and thick on his palm.

 To the very last. Kylo fought like a warrior. When he often had resolved, as a Viking soldier, of pondering his own death. He had envisioned a glorious end. Sword in hand cutting down his enemies until his very last breath.

 He never imagined in his wildest dream that death would smile handsomely at him first. Never believed he’d be side by side with the devil - and that he would love him with the passion of a thousand burning suns.

 Never thought he’d love again - until he laid eyes on this beautiful creature. He lusted for her first of all. That instant carnal attraction. But that had masked how she truly made Kylo’s soulless body ache to love her.

 She brought him to his knees. And now he’s choking on his grief.

 “Please don’t leave me, Little Dove.” He begs in a whisper as she writhes and sweats into his bedsheets. Gasping and dulled.

 “Don’t go to the one place I can’t follow.” He begs. Laying his big hand over where hers was limp and stretched out atop the velvet covers. His hand dwarfed hers utterly. But his touch was so gentle. Unsure.

 “I told you if anything happened to you. It would kill me.” He says. Looking at her earnest face. So dewy and flushed.

 “I meant my words. Iris, If I have to spend an eternity without loving you then, I-“ His throat claws up. Suffocating his words. He shakes his head.

 He brings her limp arm up. Back of her clammy hand pressed to his mouth. Nuzzles a kiss to her skin. Tastes the salt of her sweat. Tastes her agony. He’s certain it reflects his own.

 “I won’t leave you.” He vows solemnly. A silky whisper that he speaks into her skin. He always takes his vows seriously.

 Treads rattle louder in the hallway. Coming back to the room. Jomar enters again with the bottle of laudanum and a spoon to hand.

 Kylo will be the one to feed it to her. He gently cups her face and slips the silver spoon to her lips. An oddly intimate act. He feeds the opiate into her mouth, she twists her head and some of it runs down her chin. Kylo wipes it away with the cloth. Taking up the task of the lowliest maid. Seeing so tenderly to her in her illness.

 He’s calmed a little by the fact of the laudanum taking away any pain she might be feeling. Her breathing settles. As does his worry.

 He retires to the chair by the fireside across the room. The same deep wine red velvet as covers his bed. He pulls it close to the end of his huge four postered bed. Drapes hanging heavy down all four mahogany posts. Protecting the pale infirm form of her within. He’ll watch over her from his bedside. Cradled in the comfort of the chair.

 Some ineffectual matronly mama of the ton may argue that this was most improper. A single man watching over the bedside of an unmarried girl. Worst still- an unmarried girl on the brink of an engagement.

 Kylo snorts to himself. Wondering if the deuced snotty boy of a Sergeant would even care that his intended was gravely ill. Probably only cared that she had fallen ill in Kylo’s manor.

 It didn’t matter that she was unconscious and insensate. She was in the very room with a man who compromised her honour, and Hux’s. Making a fool of him. In in Lord Ren’s very own bed, no less.

 Well. Not that either of them were in any fit state to be compromising the hell out of each other. But he doubts strict society will see it that way. This was enough impropriety just being within touching distance.

 One thing that does prevail upon him a tiny shred of bright happiness in all this darkness. Is the fact that he knows how desperately fuming this whole situation would make Iris’s mother.

 Him protecting her. Rescuing her. Keeping her safe. He’s sure the old harpy would be frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog knowing where her daughter was. She’d likely spout out nastiness, how it was all a concoction for the dashing dark Lord Ren to seduce and spoil her eldest daughter. To ruin their hope of an advantageous marriage.

 Little did that termagant know, but it was far too late for that.

 Iris was worked her sweet steady way under his skin from every outing they’ve shared. Every look across a crowded ballroom. Every touch of their hands, gloved or not. Their dance. Their kiss. It was the inferno that brought their affection and regard for each other to a fever pitch.

 She trembles whenever he comes close. When their eyes meet he always feels the delighted shiver that runs the full length of her spine. The blush that prettily decorates her cheeks. Finer than any jewellery he could bestow on her gorgeous body.

 Funny how such a thing as her blush made him think of so many things.

 It made him want to whisk her away in the dead of night. Back to Bavaria. Install her there as the Lady of his castle. Sharing his land. Sharing his title. Lady Ren. He’d have her dresses tailored by the finest Dressmaker in Bavaria.

 Dust off the family jewels and then bedeck her in them. Head to toe. Nothing less would do for her. She’s suffered such a life of penury and scraping together to make her as bait to men for marriage. He’d see to ending that sad facet of her life. He’d let her choose what she wears. Whether or not she had to pay calls or deliver baskets to the infirm.

 He’d let her lounge in a boudoir parlour, reading books, and accomplish nothing in her day apart from having a sumptuous oiled bath if she so desires. He just wants to see her happy.

 He’d open the whole castle for her to explore room after room. Every tapestry. Every oil painting and marble statue. Every suit of armour he’d fought in over the years. Stood proud and polished silver on display. All of it he’d let her have.

 How he misses it... his home. Ranlor Castle.

 He misses the way the castle feels to step into. The scent of it. The edifying old thick stone halls of musty brick and how the smell of green and pine like the forest surrounding it, seeps in every window. Hanging upon the very air.

 He misses the warmth of the fur pelts on his bed on a stormy night. The sky flurrying with snow, wind howling at tiny lead crossed windows. He was so used to hearing the wolves cry out for the moon in the woods at night, as he fell asleep in his big soft bed. Missed the way flame and shadow danced up the thick exposed golden-bricked walls. It lulls him to sleep.

 The locals rightly call Ranlor the ‘devils rock.’ A dark superstition has long lingered over the land ever since Kylo had been in residence there.

 Named because of the way the - many - turrets either end of the castle rear out the landscape like two sharp pale fangs. Looking over all the local villages and tenants. The shadows of those turrets reach far and wide. Everything is eclipsed in it’s shade. Grisly things were said to happen too, in his woodlands. Strong men go missing and not even so much as their bare bones are ever recovered.

 Local folk legend blindly believes when the moon is full, that devils roam the woods. Black wolves turn into foul hungry demons with claws, ready to hunt upon the flesh of men. When the moon is its full eye of pearl in the sky, people are warned to stay off the forest. And stick to their homes. Bolt the doors and draw the shutters. Cower in their beds and listen to the wolves howls rise faintly over the snowy horizon. Piercing through the snow.

 Kylo’s work providing for his lands and Ranlor’s tenants so ably puts shame to most of the rumours.

 He is a generous Lord and master of the lands. Nothing is beyond his notice. He holds a ball for the local villages every year, near Yuletide season. Amidst the bitter winter. The staff bring in great log garlands made from the holly in the forest to decorate the hall. They serve brandy and punch and Kylo mixes among everyone to see how their year has been as his tenants.

 If families struggle, too many mouths to feed. He absolves their rent. Ensures they are kept stocked with food from the castles own kitchen to tide them over- He has no need for it after all. His servants eat handsomely too, Kylo makes sure of that.

 If bouts of illness flourish among his tenants and among those less fortunate than him, he puts up the money for the doctors bills. He takes care of his own. Even if they are not his kin. They are under his protection on his territory.

 He is remarked on being a very gallant and fair man. No one on his land would dare observe that he was frightening and cruel.

 Only if he is gotten on the wrong side of that is. If poachers steal from his lands and steal the food supplies belonging to his people. Or if he sees any drunken men take advantage where they shouldn’t with a passing maiden, outside the taverns. If a violent and ill tempered brute of a man who drinks his families wage away, so much as dares to raise a hand to his suffering wife or children- then does Kylo reveals his nasty side.

 He’s sure there are still gossips that believe the superstition of his home. In local taverns at night over pitchers of ale, some men lean in, to whisper and wonder and gossip if he is entirely as human as he seems.

 He rarely eats. Never drinks to excess. Had never taken a wife and he doesn’t dally with whores. He stalks the forest alone most nights. They sometimes remarked that he was not human. There was little humanity about him. But they never suspected for a moment that the bloodthirsty demon unleashed by the full moon, was in fact him.

 The reason some of the bones of missing men were never found? Because Kylo drains them of the blood and leaves the drained corpse for the hungry wolves to tear apart.

 Kylo ruminates on memories of home as he watches the firelight kiss across her pale form on the bed. Her breathing still shallow.

 “I’d so much like for you to see Ranlor. Little dove. You’d adore it.” He says. Speaking to her as if she were awake to hear him.

 He tells her about the forest. About the bitter winter gales that blow through. And how it thaws so prettily in spring. Woods full of blue hyacinths and pink scented stocks. Sugary and sickly perfume of them in the warm pine of sun-baked air.

 He tells her how she’d like the wildflowers and the baby roe deers and the lake when it’s warm enough to swim in. To dip into the fathomless sapphire ink of water. The graceful swans that dance across the blue waters surface.

 He tells her she’d like the local life. Much like here, people were humble and simple. Salt of the earth. People who make no pretence to be more than they are. How refreshing he finds that compared to all the Janus faced civility. Velvet draped over daggers, and dripping censure that falls from lord’s and ladies mouths, in a savage English country ballroom.

 He describes the villages nearby. On the road to Ranlor. The tall narrow houses built of walnut timber and smothered in white paint. Closely set together on cobbled grey streets. Some of the neighbouring villages were walled cities also. Keeps from medieval times. Set high up in the rocks.

 Quaint little hamlets were dotted along the Bavarian alps near his castle. He tells her of the nearest one to Ranlor.

 Brimming with taverns boasting the most excellent beer and joints of game, roasted on a spit, a flagon and a hunk of meat for no more than a half a gold florin. Cafes and shops there were, a florist also. He recalls the waxy punchy-coloured tulips and how they always always always caught his attention in the window. The striking eye-catching scarlet of them. He likes seeing it, as he often rides past on Erland. Or in his rattling big coach.

 There were coffee houses, bakeries and patisseries selling Austrian cakes and puddings. Butchers or other general stores selling the local cuisine of smoked or cured meats and sausages and cheeses.

 The spectacular wares always for show in the haberdashers window. Great voluminous hats with sprouting great feathers and dripping trimmings galore. Her silly sisters, he fancied, would adore to see such fine frippery. And most of all, there in that precious little village that somehow has found a warm place in his heartless chest, there are always vendors with their braziers, hawking roasted or candied nuts around the town square.

 He tells her how touched he was in her gesture of giving him a paper bag of roasted chestnuts, the day after they first met.

 He admits something to her then; of how he doesn’t often indulge in human food. But those he did eat. The buttery sweet burn of them reminded him of home. Lifting his nose to the bag to smell the smoky nutty scent sent him ricocheting right back to thoughts of that little Bavarian village. It touched him profoundly in more ways then he could say. She could barely spare the capital to buy them and she bestowed on him, such a gift.

 She bought it with her last penny and that truly astounded him. He was a veritable stranger to her then. He is so much more than that now. She’s so much more to him. And him, to her.

 Kylo will see out this lonely frightful night. He watches over her. Hopes the morning will bear better signs. Hopes that the tumultuous storm passes.

 It dies well enough. By the pale pink of a wet lilac and gold dawn, shining over the windowpane and into his chamber. Shrouding his sickbed in rosy gold, she is unfortunately in much the same state. Unchanged. Not progressing nor worsened.

 He sits and keeps a diligent eye on her. Had done all night. He requires little sleep. And so he talks to her. Mops her brow when she starts sweating again. Jomar and Mrs Jones flit in and out. Bringing provisions. And fresh cold water. More laudanum.

Mrs Jones brought him a plate of roasted meats and a glass of wine. It went untouched. She takes it away without saying a word. Gives the scraps to the hounds.

 Jomar checks on her every few hours. With his slight grasp of medical knowledge. They try sending for the doctor again. But he is still unavailable. Fixing broken bones from men caught up in last nights storm. Kylo curses the inflexible man every name under the sun.

 He doesn’t even retire from her side to take luncheon. Mrs jones had tried to tempt him with a grilled chop at breakfast. And still he refused. Tempted him with roast capons and a carafe of wine now, and still he declined. He’d gone longer without food before in his time. It wouldn’t hurt him. Three years he’d once gone without indulging.

 “You need to keep your strength up. My Lord. You’re no good to her if you starve away to skin and bone.” She chides as she carries out another bowl of water. Refreshing it.

 “Hardly likely.” Kylo’s insisting. Tugging at the rumpled linen of his shirt.

 Sleeves rolled and cuffed. Waistcoat he shrugged off some time in the night. Just in black braces, dull boots and dark breeches now. He’s sure he’ll be a malodorous wretch in need of a shave and wash. But he won’t leave her in this crisis. He won’t so much as go to splash cold water on his face. He’s not leaving this room.

 Hellhounds with glowing red eyes and slobbering gnashing teeth, couldn’t drag him away.

 Mrs Jones makes a move to put a matronly hand on her hip and chastise him some more. But there comes a groan from the bed.

 Kylo leaps from his chair and bolts across to her. “Dove?”

 He seeks for her hand. He listens to her breathe.

 It was now a shallow drag accompanied by a slight rattling wheeze when she breathed. The affliction had spread to her lungs. And he knows the opium will have suppressed her lungs as a result.

 A trickle of blood leaves her mouth and smears on the pillow. A wheezing hacking cough comes from her. It’s such a weak sound it hurts to hear it. He mops it away with the damp cloth. Smears at her pale cheek in its wake.

 “Oh no. God no. Iris...” He seeks louder. Trying to see if she responds. She’s limp as ever. Lost to him. Blood leaking from her lips.

 “Fetch Jomar.” He orders urgently to his housekeeper. She runs for the door and brings back the Butler. He checks her over and his face is grave.

 “Your lordship. Her temperature is rising and I believe it appears as if the infection is worsening.” He says softly.

 Kylo’s face falls. His throat bobs with worry.

 He knows she’s strong. She can temper the foul spitting words of her mother. She can temper this. She must. Or he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

 “Will she die?” Kylo asks outright. Face like steel. Eyes wet.

 “I’m not a doctor. My Lord. I cannot say. But she needs a miracle to fight this affliction that’s taken hold. It looks like consumption.” He tells honestly.

 Kylo nods. “I’ll call you both if you are needed again.” He dismisses them.

 They file out the room with sorrowful faces. Such a sweet girl. And their Master is clearly so cut up by seeing her in such a state.

 Kylo wraps his fingers around her hand.

 “Fight it little dove.” He urges her. She was shivering earlier. But now she’s stilled. Sweating and clammy. Burning up more than ever. She was getting worse.

 “Please. Please fight. You’re so strong Iris. My god, you don’t know how strong...” He begs as he cups her hand and one hand cradles the side of her face.

 “The first time I saw you, I saw your strength. Your resilience. You held your head high even though you didn’t want too. I felt your pain. I felt your back breaking under all that strain.”

 Her head stays limp on the pillow. Eyes blind to anything. Shut in unrest. He wishes more than anything that there was something he could do to aid her before this got even worse.

 She looks pallid. Ashen. More so than before. Sweating buckets and more blood leaks out her mouth. He wipes it away with the fresh handkerchief Jones left by the bed. He looks down in his hand and sees the sticky red staining the white cloth.

 Like a bloodied paw print in the snow. It doesn’t even call out to his hunger. He’s too beyond it. This is too perilous. Too serious to measure his animal instincts.

 Blood.

 The room grows cold. All warmth drops as if the sun had been snatched out the sky. Kylo feels the chill pinned along his skin as a ghost of a phantom breeze sweeps over him.

 His cool blood turns to prickling ice. The candles on the bedside flicker, the fire wanes. He knows what comes next. He hasn’t felt this in centuries. He hears the voice, as crisp and as sharp as frost in his head. The voice like silver coins and honey dances into his ear. Notes as fine as a dark deep concerto.

 “Your blood, My fierce one. Or have you forgotten. All life is in the blood.” Comes Draegan’s soothing mellow voice.

 The tone that was like feather down and silk to listen to the way he crooned. Every part of his manner was charming. The deep of his sharp eyes was piercing. Intoxicating.

 Kylo’s not been alongside mortals as Draegan had. He was a healer. Though he was a demon, he always conceded that there was no death without life. All life as such, is therefore to be treated as precious. Humans fascinated him. And he moved freely and happily among them. Whereas Kylo scorned most all of them.

 He strides from the bed to his unused escritoire across the room. Situated by the window for light. Not that he had any letters to write or close acquaintances to send them too. He considered leaving notes for Iris but there’s always a risk his letters would be discovered. He’s got a stack of them all written - tied up with a grey silk ribbon and hidden away.

 He rifles through his drawers until he finds it. A knife. A silver dagger with a weighted carved handle. He rounds the bed again, crosses to her and sits near her hip. He holds out his left hand and rips the knife across his index fingertip.

 Crimson beads up. He holds his hand aloft and watches it drip. Looks back to Iris and gently cups her face.

 “I know this won’t be pleasant. But it will help.” He tells. He doesn’t even feel the sting of pain. It’s nothing to him. Nothing to the pain of seeing her suffer like this.

 He gently holds her cheeks and rubs his bloodied fingers across her dry lips. Smearing crimson onto her tongue. She frowns and tries to move her head away, mumbling in distress. But Kylo doesn’t relent until he’s sure his ichor coats her tongue. Slips silken down her throat.

 He takes his hand away and rubs the blood from her mouth that spilled down her chin. Leaving her as pale as she was before. The rose of her cheeks still glares awfully bright.

 He bunches the cloth around his hand. He’ll heal up in no time. He wishes he could say the same for her. Only time will tell...

 He holds her hand. Strokes over her dainty little clammy knuckles. “Twice now he’s saved you.” He remarks to her.

 “If I didn’t know him any better....” He sighs, trails off in his words. The very breath gets punched from him. To what end could Draegan be saving her? Whatever for?

 One idea occurs - it’s because he’s felt all that she means to him.

 That tears agony at him like animals claws tearing down his chest. Shredding flesh. When he thought how he turned his back on him, and scorned his love. And here he was, centuries later, calling out to keep her safe. To protect her.

 Kylo lets himself feel shamed.

 Ashamed for the ways he bypassed his feelings for Draegan, and let anger fill him so completely up instead. Now he’s met Iris? He understands what he put Draegan through when he left. Because she might leave him now, and he thinks he might just wither away to ash, to nothing, for agony of loving her so much. Unable to help her through this pain.

 Though now, perhaps he’s given her the catalyst to help her fight what ails her. He can only wait. And pray.

 He paces the room. Paces and then sits. And then he’s treading worn holes in the floorboards again.

 Before he knows it, night falls again. He watches out the window as the sun bleeds into blue.

 Night washes a filmy indigo over the landscape. Trees turn to dark gnawed fingers of branches. The grass shimmers with evening dew and the pond out front in view of his window, turns to gloopy blue ink.

 He stands with his back to her. Surveying the view out the window. Arms folded behind his back. He’s listening to the fire crack and the wind groaning outside on the cold glass, splashing hard against the house. And suddenly she speaks. Gasps out. Cries out.

 “So cold.”

 He whips around fast. She’s twisting from side to side and he sees the fire sheen off her brow. She repeated herself “It’s so cold...” He hastens to the bedside and takes her hand again. “Iris?” He asks.

 She’s still dazed. Still delirious. Twisting her head on the bed.

 “Snow. And blood. Why is there....so much blood...” She frowns. Her face all contorted. Her palms knot her fingers into her pillow. She’s writhing again.

 Kylo looks down at her. Puzzled.

   ~

   Her reality had became quickly spliced with odd fevered dreams.

 Snippets of actuality broke through the haze. She felt herself fall after she stood up from the armchair after their intimate dinner. She dropped but her body didn’t hit the floor. She’s moving again. And those lovely strong arms of his, are around her.

 She’s burning. Was she on fire? That’s what it feels like. She’s dripping sweat and trying to claw at her dry throat. Loosen her strangling clothes. Get some blessed sweet cool air on her skin.

 A cold chest she’s cradled into again. Widest muscled chest she’s ever beheld. And she’s moving. Her eyes are shut, it’s all dark, yet she feels weightless. Being carried.

 Then it all goes soft. She’s laying on velvet as gentle hands guide away clothes from her body. She’s aching so much her bones ring with it.

 She tries moving but she feels cemented. Every word she tries to croak is difficult. Making speech is like trying to let thick hot syrup drip off her sticky tongue.

 There’s this pain in her lungs. A thousand knives stabbing in when her chest expands. Kind hands touch her arm and her head. Their warmth scorches her already blazing skin. She tries to wriggle away. But she’s too weak. Her body won’t comply to the requests of her mind.

 There’s feather and down at her back. It crinkles and crumples, and she’s relieved the bed is so cool. Something bittersweet is dropped down her throat. Trickling down her melting tongue. She barely feels the rest. She drifts in and out.

 And the thing is, she’s not entirely sure she’s alone. She hears voices. A voice. Dark, deep, like a granite walled cave.

 She can’t feel much. But she feels cold thick fingers wrap around hers. She knows who those might belong too.

 The fire in her blood doesn’t stop. It doesn’t wane. She feels like she’s drowning and she’s not even in the rain anymore. Prickles and knives and all manner of horrible sharp things stab at her chest. Spears, lances, thorns and needles.

 It feels like her lungs rattle with poison and shards of broken glass. She wants to cough but it’s too much for the infirm state she’s in.

 In between her swimming head and trying to crack open her heavy eyes. Between bleeding crimson and a blazing twitching flame she can make out very little.

 Time and sensation are lost to her. But she feels how someone diligently holds her, cups her face, cool on her cheek, feeds her spoonfuls of water so she doesn’t dehydrate. Dribbled water and laudanum - spiced with honey and saffron to cut the bitterness - down her neck with a cold silver spoon perched on her lips.

 The dreams are the worst. She dreams about rain. About rivers and heavy crushing things, tar, black and rotten, squirming on her chest. Crushing her.

 Of fangs ripping pale flesh off bleeding necks, how that haunts her. Wine red blood and she’s laying in a sticky hot pool of it. Unable to move.

 Foul black demons with claws and leathery black wings and red eyes, drooling maws with gnashing teeth rip at her nubile skin. She screams but no sound comes. They throw her screaming into hell and brimstone, and the flames lick higher around her.

 She’s dying. She must be dying. She can see it. Lying under a chiffon veil draping her body. Dried white flowers, rustling and dead sweet, are placed on her chest. Hands crossed over her chest. A figure in hooded cloaked black looms over her.

 She squirms. She tries to bat them away. Tries to twist out their reach of these monsters. She calls and begs them, but to no avail. Cold splashed on her again. On her brow and on the back of her neck. She sighs and gladly welcomes it.

 A low melodic buzz murmurs in her ears like a thousand bees zipping and bobbing about her head. She can’t understand what it is. But it’s somehow a nice sound to listen too.

 It causes a gentle hum to seep into her aching bones and calms her heavy head. It’s like a balm. Salve on a wound. She doesn’t realise that it’s Kylo talking to her.

 When the fire in the hearth across the room crackled and spit sparks up the chimney, it felt like splits opened in her skin, forming like cracks in stone, and insects crawled out. Black scurrying beetles, She started itching at her arms. Clawing. But nothing was there.

 The cold soothe of her harbinger of peace is there to hold her hands and stop her nails raking her flesh away.

 More voices move around her. Tumbling around the air in the room. Cracking and snapping like zapping silver lightning and thunder. The mumbling grows in volume. Slithering along her spine. One of her arms feels like it’s been left in ice water - it’s where he’s holding and kissing her. Begging her to fight it. Pleading with her.

 She’s so tired. So wrung out. She just wants all this pain and fevered madness to stop. She’s soaked through to the sheets and her skeleton grates with ringing hot agony whenever she dares to move. She’d cry if her brain would grant her that meagre request.

 Her lungs have worsened. She knows it. Filled and clogged with dry sand, and salt. Sluggish and wet like a briny beach. It rattles when she breathes, and something she can’t name dribbled out her mouth. Drooling onto the pillow. She doesn’t know that it’s blood.

 She only knows that she’d quite like to fall away to her fever dreams and never come back.

 Iris so wants the lingering darkness to take her.

 However, one tiny shred of her feels cheated; she would’ve so liked to kiss Lord Ren again. One last time. The nicest thing that’s ever happened to her. She’d have liked to have tasted his kiss and drown in his loving attentions just one more time. Just one.

 It didn’t seem like a lot to ask of fate. Seeing the crummy hand it had dealt her in her wretched little life, thus far.

 Time passes. She’s not sure if it’s seconds, or minutes. For all she knows she may only have been lying insensate for an hour. Or it may have been days. Weeks. She can’t focus. She could have been lying stretched out there for Methuselah’s lifetime. She’s none the wiser.

 Then something else happens, something unexpected. Something wet is pushed past her lips. Only it isn’t water. And it isn’t the bitter saffron alkaline of laudanum.

 She doesn’t recognise this taste; it’s salty sweet. Hot metallic, and a blend of sour-saccharine burst. She doesn’t recognise it. It’s not unpleasant. But it’s not what she’d describe as palatable.

 She tries to twist. But her head is thumping and those flames are curling at her toes again.

 And then some distinctly odd things begin to happen. Even more odd than demon dreams or the bugs crawling out crevices in her skin.

 Where she swallows, the substance dropped in her mouth starts rolling down her throat. Carving away the pain in its path.

 Before long it reaches her swollen lungs. Slowly. One by one, each knife and needle, shard of glass, spear and lance is dragged out of her. Pulled away. Tugged out her pinching flesh. Relaxing her ribs.

 Gradually, all her pain lessens. Stickiness in her lungs, grating of her shallow heavy bones. It all fades. Agony slowly dies like a starved candle flame.

 The unknown liquid rolls through her like milk and crushed honeycomb. Ambrosia nectar. It tastes like gold. Like sunshine warming her bare skin after feeling nothing for months, but cutting winter frost.

 Fever dreams start to come back in full force. And they feel more real than before.

 She opens her eyes and there’s suddenly snow. It’s cold. It’s so very cold she’s shivering. Standing there, looking around a milky snow blotted forest.

 The trees around her reach vast, thick and tall. Trunks wider than her body. She cranes her head and she can’t even judge the tops of them. It’s just foggy grey up above. Heavy snowfall closing in.

 But all around her there are splotches of dark seeping in the snow. Dark jagged shapes lay misshapen in the thick thick icy drift.

 She feels it all. The squishing shift of the powder beneath her feet. Cold little stings of flakes melt onto her cheeks and eyelashes. Turning to tears that rain dewdrops down her skin. Her breath spirits silver out her mouth.

 There’s no stars up in heaven. No moon. Not tonight. Nothing to cast over this glum gloom and darkness.

 Noises patter and clang in the distance. Metal scrapes and hollow clashes. She peers around her and that’s when she comes to realise what all those shapes are...

 Bodies.

 Laying dead and still in the snow. As far as her eye can see. Men lay broken and scattered across the forest floor. Clad in simple dark armour. All wearing the same crimson coat of arms: blood and death litters them. That is their uniform.

 Crimson is still shimmering down the bark. Splashed there from the slash of swords across parts of anatomy she didn’t want to think about. She cannot imagine how her brain can conjure up such carnage. Such mayhem and suffering.

 Seeing a thousand, or more, dead men, pulled and carved to pieces. Violently separated from limbs, or heads or legs. Bleeding into the snow. Slumped sat against trees or piled on each other. Some studded with arrows. Some not.

 Splayed where they’ve fallen. Viscera exposed, stubby limbs chopped in half. Throat slit. Holes punched in their chests and bloodied organs tumbled out. Some men held it in their arms like dirty washing. It’s an awful thing to witness. Such savagery.

 What kind of beast could cause this? Could leave men dying and dead in this horrific way?

 She scans around. Unable to fathom it. These poor souls. Mouths gaping. Eyes wide and staring, unseeing, at the clouded heavens. Like sticky pearls shimmering in the dark. Death hadn’t been long in taking them. The blood leaving them is still warm. She can feel the blaze of it under her feet. Melting the snow.

 She sees no movement in the trees. Save for the snow heading down from high above. Settling like natures own confetti on all these fallen soldiers. Weeping over them, yet nothing else can be done but show them to their graves.

 Then she does make out something.

 A tall, lean, and strong figure moves through the trees away from her. Strong trunks of long legs. Sinewed arms. Even in his dazzling armour. Slender. So slender and elegant for a man. Most men lumbered. This one practically glided.

 Though he is scarcely standing out amongst them. Silver and white. Clad in brilliantly kept armour. The only thing that stands clear is the crimson splattered across this soldiers body. Gleaming down his silver armour. He comes to a standstill.

 If he was the last man standing; she suddenly realises with horror exactly what that means in odes to all the death surrounding them.

 She moves slowly towards this destination. Somehow desperate for a look. In the dim, she steps carefully and slow over the slaughter of mangled bodies and crimson hot snow. He has his back to her. Now she can’t see his face.

 She crosses this battlefield. Comes closer and closer. As if stalking a cautious stag.

 He was devastating in his height. Lean but not a man to be mistaken as being powerless. A long bloodied sword drips from his left hand. Even in this suffocating slim darkness, the curtain of white hair spilling long down his back is entirely obvious. Like a silk curtain. It’s braided too. Twisted into intricate plaits. Fixed with silver cuffs and wound with jewellery.

 There are silver coiled serpent decorations wound around some of his braids. They gleam in the night like far off stars. He moves as devastating as a supernova.

 If his hair moves like silk, so does he. Movements so supple yet languid. Certain. A great degree of confidence.

 He turns his head. She hopes to catch a glance of his profile. Wanting to see if his face is as handsome as his hair, or his impressive built frame.

 She’s curious. Somehow this is familiar for her; this white haired stranger.

 He turned only a fraction. Not enough for to show her anything. Not his face. Not his eyes. Though it seemed he was looking in her direction. She’s been caught.

 She freezes entirely and a smooth voice dances like honey wine and satin across the butchered dead and the snow.

 “Go back to him. Little spark. He’s waiting for you.... this isn’t how we meet.” He tells her.

 She cannot contest. She can’t even fight. Or speak. White fog swallows her up. Clouds her eyes. The blood and the soldiers and the snow falls away. Like she’s being dropped out of a white haze and sent tumbling down to mushy blackness. Spat out of heaven.

 She falls. Jolts. Her heart leaps in her chest as adrenaline spikes through her body. She gasps...

 And then, miraculously, she finally wakes.

  ~

   She stumbles back to life with a rattling gasp. Kylo didn’t even hear it. It was nearly ten at night. He’s sat by the fire in his bedchamber, watching the logs within crackle and sinking and burning to amber and ash. Unaware that she’d opened her eyes until;

 “Kylo?” Comes a weak little voice from the bed. Her voice.

 He stands and turns so fast his head swims. “Dove?”

 He strides so quick for the bed it makes her dizzy. He frets about stupid things, like the fact he hasn’t washed and shaved. He’s been too occupied in his avowed duty of sitting and watching over her sickbed.

 He kneels by her side. Happily cups the cheek closest to him. Her eyes are clear, hooded, but clear. No longer shimmering bright with fever. And her cheeks have calmed. Less glaring red heat, now just a kiss of pink.

 He places his knuckles on her forehead and had never been more relieved to feel her cooled. She shuts her eyes and smiles. Appreciating his touch. Savouring it.

 “My god. I thought I’d lose you.” He insists quietly when she opens her eyes again. He takes her dear sweet hand and kisses it.

 She takes a lot of energy to swallow and unsticks her dry cracked lips to answer him. Smiling. “Might I trouble you for some water?” She croaks. Her voice a strained crackle bleeding out her throat.

 He pours it himself. Hands it to her. Helps her sit up a little and tip the glass to her parched rosebud lips. She takes dainty gulps of it. Drains the glass and has enough. It’s not overly cool, but Iris swears it’s the best thing she’s ever drunk.

 He mops her brow again when she’s finished. Wipes the wet coils of hair away off her brow. It feels awfully nice and even though it’s shockingly intimate. She relaxes back onto the damp pillows and lets him comfort her.

 “How long was I?-” She seeks.

 “Two days, little dove.” He tells her gently. Placing the linen cloth down where it belongs. She swallows again. Refinding her lost voice. “It’s almost eleven at night.” He answers.

 “I’m afraid I’ve been a dreadful imposition on you.” She starts. Picking nervously at the covers.

 Kylo’s smiling again. Yesterday everything had been so grim he thought he’d never crack a grin ever again.

 “Think nothing of it. I’m merely happy to see you so well recovered.” He says as he squeezes her hand tighter.

 She casts her eyes for a second over the way his chin is flecked in onyx stubble. The way shadows linger under his eyes like heavy saddle bags. His hair doesn’t look unkempt. But his shirt is rumpled and faded cologne lingers around him. He’s been worried about her, than his appearance.

 “You need rest and sustenance. Fevers leave you weak. So I’m told.” He reaches for the head of the bed and pulls the bell cord. The hidden crimson panel of fabric that called down to the kitchens.

 “I wouldn’t turn down a cup of tea.” She sighs weakly. Beaming gently. No self respecting English woman would dare seek after anything else so fortifying.

 “I imagine my housekeeper will furnish you with a banquet.” He suggests.

 “How do you feel?” He seeks. It hasn’t escaped her notice his hand still twines through her own. It feels awfully nice. Cold. But not repulsive. She felt his touch even in her fevered state. It’s calming.

 “Like I’ve been kicked by a horse.” She sleepily admits.

 “Jomar said the affliction was on your lungs from the sound of your breathing. Do you need anything for pain?” He asks.

 “I Thank you. I am well. I cannot deny the fever was.., draining. But, it was the vivid nature of the dreams I couldn’t stand. It all felt so, real.” She confesses.

 “Delirium can be an odd beast.” Kylo agrees. He’s suffered blood delirium before. And that was like his own skin trying to willingly crawl off his own bones. It was beyond dreadful.

 “The most odd one was... wandering through a forest. After a battle, I think it was. Horrible. Such death and slaughter. And then I saw this man through the trees. A tall man in silver armour...”

 Kylo’s eyes are glistening dark. She carries on.

 “He spoke out to me. I could never forget his voice it was-“ She searches for a word. “Melodic. Nearly. Utterly enchanting. And he had this hair, very long hair. It looked like white silk.” She explains.

 “What did he say to you?” Kylo’s asking. Knowing full well what she saw.

 “Told me that someone was waiting- And it... wasn’t how I would meet him?....” she declares. Finding the whole thing bizarre. Then again; what sense could be made out of perplexing dreams?

 She looks bewildered. But Kylo knows the truth in it. He knows the various demons and reasons behind her channeled thoughts. His blood had taken its toll too.

 “Dreams are confusing at the best of times.” He states in comfort. She nods in agreement. But she looks like she barely has the strength to hold up her own head.

 She clasps his hand back. Her fingers and little strength she possessed, held onto him. “I’m very glad you were here.”

 “I’m always there for you. Iris. And I always shall be.” He promises.

 “What I did, scampering out into the rain like that. It was so foolish of me. And I don’t like to think of myself as acting like a fool.” She starts.

 “I thought I was going to die it hurt so much. But I didn’t want to. Because I didn’t want to leave this earth - without kissing you one more time.” She explains.

 “I know I shouldn’t say it. I shouldn’t even think it.” She swallows weakly.

 Twines her fingers through his. Clutches onto him all the more. Showing him the depth of her affection that she had always smothered deep down. She doesn’t want to suffocate it anymore.

 Kylo sees the wet of tears in her eyes.

 “I’m very glad of your improprietous wishes. They well reflect my own.” He admits. Kissing the back of her hand. He wouldn’t throw himself and his passions upon her whilst she’s recovering in a sick bed. He’s not that much of a letch.

 The door creaks open across his chamber and Jomar is the one to answer his summons. Kylo twists around where he is knelt. And when his butler sees his smile, and the calm of his expression. He hears his sigh all the way across from the door.

 “Might Miss Ashton have a tray of tea and some of that broth Mrs Jones had cook prepare?” Kylo asks.

 Jomars smile lightened up the whole room. “I shall fill the kettle myself. Your Lordship.” He beams. It makes Iris smile wide too.

 “Thankyou. Mr Jomar. You’re very kind.” She rasps across to him. He nods a grateful smile.

 “Ever your attentive servant. Miss. You got his Lordship to crack a smile for the first time since the dark ages. I feel like we ought lay roses at your feet.” He insists.

 “Just the tea. For now.” Kylo reiterates.

 “And might I ask you keep an eye on Miss Ashton whilst I retire to my washroom for a moment?” He informs.

 “Yes of course. Your Lordship.” Jomar steps into the room and aside so Kylo may pass.

 He squeezes her hand in comfort before he slips away. Off to go shave and wash himself and redress in a clean pressed shirt. And new breeches and small clothes. He felt quite rumpled in his current dress.

 The kind butler lingers by the bed. Handing her some more water even though she hadn’t requested it. She needed it. He could tell.

 “You all like his Lordship a great deal...” She comments.

 Jomar can’t deny it.

 “We love him. Miss. Though he may be stubborn and pigheaded sometimes. And most think him to be arrogant or savage. We are, all of us, so very proud to serve his house and his title.” He insists with not so much as a hint of false note to his tone.

 “He depends on you a great deal. It’s nice to see a man and his butler on such friendly terms.” She states.

 “We do make fun of one another. But it is enjoyable in its own way. He teases me. I rib him. And demand a payrise if he steps too far over the line. I have to remind him of his place...” He jokes in detriment. It draws a laugh from her.

 “If I may speak candidly. Miss Ashton. And do censure me if it is above my place to say so; but he admires you a vast vast deal. In a way I have seldom seen of him.” He openly admits.

 Iris’ heart feels like it wants to burst. So crammed full of potent emotion. It made her chest glow warm.

 “I could never censure anyone for such a admission. Mr Jomar.” She gives him a wobbly smile so full of love. Moved by his plea.

 “And I feel you should also know he hasn’t left your side these past two days. Hasn’t left this room. He administered medicine. Water. All himself. He didn’t even take the time away to eat or bathe.”

 Her eyes water. “So you see? He really is the most stubborn man. I doubt he’d have let that illness take you either.”

 “Most stubborn.” She agrees. And she cries happily. Heart so bursting full at the seams, of love for him.

 Seeing how much his staff admire him. How he’s surrounded and inundated by people he warmly regards. How respect from either party cuts both ways.

 He’s the most honourable man she’s ever had the good fortune to meet. She can’t ever imagine how or why she had once considered Lord Ren a monster.

 For her heart is quite sold to him.

    ~  ~  🥀 ~  ~  

[nev3rfound]

lost love : b.b

brief summary: bucky reminisces on his days with you, the love of his life he lost

word count: 1.9k requested: nope, this is inspired by the bathroom scene between steve and robin in stranger things s3  warnings: kinda angsty, bit sad

* masterlistin’ 

* commissions

Sam laughed lightly as he held his drink up toward Bucky. “Come on, Buck.” He encourages as Bucky shuffles forward in his seat, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he sips his drink.

“Alright, truth,” Bucky answers, watching as Sam relaxes back into the sofa. He glances over to Natasha and Steve, who raise eyebrows as Sam grins momentarily before facing Bucky.

“Have you ever been in love, Barnes?” Sam finally asks, his question forms slowly, but it hits Bucky too quickly.

Steve watches closely, seeing Bucky sink down in the armchair, his grip on the beer in his hand loosening and his brows furrow together. 

Remaining quiet, Bucky knows his answer. He knew from the moment he first met you that it was going to be the case, but if he spoke too soon could it ruin it. “Yeah, I have.” Bucky answers softly. “It was the kind of love you don’t read about in books or be displayed in museums or anything.” 

Lifting his head up, Bucky meets Sams wide eyes. “Seriously? Someone fell for your cold ass heart?” Sam jokes and Bucky laughs under his breath, nodding. “Come on, Barnes. Who was the special lady?” 

“Her name was Y/n, Y/n Y/m/n Y/l/n.” Bucky recites your name with such sweetness it’s tooth aching. Steve smiles to himself, letting out a soft sigh.

“Oh, Y/n.” Steve comments, Natasha glancing up to see Steve’s eyes glazed over, his mind back in another time. “She was something else.” 

Bucky lowers his head, feeling his hair fall into his eyes. “Yeah, she, she was unlike anyone I ever met.” He brushes the hair out of his face, something you always did in the early hours of the morning as he held you close to his chest. 

“Who was she?” Natasha speaks up, curiosity overtaking her stoic expression. 

“She wasn’t like the other girls we knew in Brooklyn.” Bucky starts, his mind wandering back to the day he first met you. “She wasn’t falling at my feet for a start.” 

Sam scoffs lightly. “And you picked her?” 

Shaking his head, Bucky clears his throat. “I didn’t pick her, she picked me.” Bucky explains. “I was smitten by her bluntness, her downright honesty with me. She didn’t care for my charms, the attempt at swooning her for a dance. She saw the marks from another woman on my neck, Steve hanging by and eyes following her every step from across the street.” 

Steve can remember it clearly too. You were his neighbour, a training nurse who had no time for bullshit. You wanted to make a difference in the world, or at least to those in it. Bucky was always around, and when he saw you for the first time he whistled to you. Unlike the other girls he met, you turned around and swore at him rather than found it complimenting. 

“She didn’t have time for you, Buck.” Steve admits, and Bucky agrees with his friend, knowing it was true. “But that clearly didn’t stop you.” Steve sips his drink, seeing Bucky lean back in the sofa. 

“How’d she end up with you then?” Tony walks in, leaning against the sofa Sam and Clint are on. 

“Mixture of perseverance, a lot of flowers and her forcing me to be who I am, not who I try to be.” Bucky tells everyone, and Natasha can see Bucky softening. His hard exterior melting under the mention of his past with you by his side. “She helped me become the version of myself I should always be, and that I shouldn’t have to hide behind a bad boy persona.” 

The room falls silent as Bucky’s sentence hangs in the air. Clint leans forward, exhaling heavily. “Well, on that note, who’s next?” He asks and the game continues, but Steve can see Bucky isn’t really with them, he’s still back in Brooklyn with you by his side.

*

Sitting on the balcony, Bucky quietly reads his book as Steve walks out. Bucky knows it’s Steve based on the heavy energy that he shuts inside, leaving him to talk freely with his friend without fear of being heard. “Everything alright, Steve?” Bucky turns his head, seeing Steve carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

“How come you don’t talk about her?” Steve asks quietly, knowing he doesn’t have to specify who. 

Bucky tabs the corner of his book before closing it, placing it by his side as he rises from the single chair that lines the wall of the balcony. “She was part of my past, Steve.” 

“But what if she’s still out there?” Steve steps forward, moving closer to be alongside his friend. “I found Peggy, what if you can find Y/n?” 

Steve watches as Buckys gaze becomes cold as he stares at him. “And what Steve? What am I supposed to do?” Bucky retorts. “Y/n fell for the man I was, I, I don’t want her knowing who I have become.” 

The words hover in the atmosphere, refusing to budge as Steve takes them in, one by one. It burns his lungs, the pain that stabs at them from Bucky’s tone. He’s defeated, completely lost with himself. 

“You’re a great man, Buck.” Steve places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, flashing a reassuring smile. “And from what I remember of Y/n, she wasn’t one to shy away from anything.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “she never gave up easy.” 

*

Walking down the street, Bucky followed the route he memorised from his first visit. From the moment he had access to the modern world when he was free from HYDRA he refused to waste another minute of his time. He was determined to find you, find out what happened to you after he fell from the train. 

Bucky had promised you he’d come home, that you would start the family together you always envisioned. You were in the war too, a nurse for the soldiers at the camps. When he fell, all he could think of is you and what would happen if you never found out. 

He spent hours reading about you, the woman you became after the war. You remained in Brooklyn, you helped rebuild the city and worked closely with the community. You did what you always wanted to do, you helped the people first and foremost. 

Yet, everything Bucky read wrote about you in the past tense. At first, it didn’t really register what that meant until he stumbled onto one article. The last article that you were ever featured in. 

As his eyes scanned the words, his heart fell into his stomach. The last few strands holding it together, after decades of abuse, cold blood on his hands and pain of losing himself all he had was you. But you’re gone, you’re lost.

It hurt. It hurt like nothing Bucky had endured in all of his life. When he fell from the train, the pain was physical to the surface. Everything he went through in HYDRA was numbing, he wasn’t made to feel anything in there. But this, seeing a photograph of you as an older woman with the same bright smile he adored broke him. 

Within days he found out where you were buried. He visited you weekly without anyone knowing. In his mind, if no one knew he could keep up the facade that somewhere out there, you’re still alive. How to Steve, you are still Bucky’s love, even if you’re much older and have lived a long life, you’ll forever be the woman Bucky Barnes fell for. 

Walking into the plot of land, Bucky passes through various trees to find yours. When he first came to visit, he felt overwhelmed by the trinkets hung on the thin branches from families of those lost. Some placed jewellery, drawings, notes and photographs. He saw plaques of names unknown to him, but then he found yours. 

“Hey, doll.” He speaks up as he places his hands in his pockets, standing in front of your oak tree. “Getting tall I see, you should see the size of Steve now.” He jokes lightly. “I swear he is still gettin’ bigger, that or I’m officially shrinkin’.” 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Bucky looks down at your small plaque. The marble etched with your full name and a beautiful photograph of you. He smiles at the photo whenever he visits, thinking how you would’ve looked if he could’ve known you that long. 

“I came to check on you, as I always do. I just wanna know you’re okay. Not that you wouldn’t be, 'cause you’re a strong gal.” Bucky rambles before sighing loudly. “Guess I don’t have the right words every time.” He admits, picturing you crossing your arms before threatening to turn around and walk away. “I know I’m not who I was, but I know he’s still in me deep down.” 

To the side of Bucky, he can see a young man approaching him. He clenches his fists in his pockets, feeling the plates of his metal arm whir together. The man moves closer, his eyes focusing on Bucky. 

“Sorry, I just, you’re him, aren’t you?” The man questions, his eyes glistening in the sunlight like yours once did. 

Bucky remained perplexed and glanced over his shoulder, ensuring no one was around him to be mistaken by. The young man laughed lightly before stepping closer. 

“You’re Bucky, Bucky Barnes?” He asks gently, and Bucky slowly nods. 

“What’s it to you, kid?” He huffs, nerves beginning to eat at his stomach as the young man smiles brightly.

“You are just how she always described you.” He comments before looking down at your small photograph with a small smile. “She always told us stories of her friends when she was younger, and the lost soldier she loved.” 

Surprise lines Bucky’s expression as he opens his mouth. “Are you,” He starts, but his words falter.

The young man nods. “I’m her grandson, James.” He holds his hand out, and Bucky reaches forward and accepts it. 

He laughs lightly. “Was she happy?” Bucky asks quietly, something he couldn’t ever read about in articles or learn from photographs. He looked at James, watching as he nods in response.

“She lived a long and happy life, Bucky. Nana was a strong woman, a try fighter until the end.” James wipes his eyes as Bucky lowers his. “And she never forgot about you, she didn’t forget about anyone.” 

Bucky smiles to himself, feeling his heart being lifted back up just a smidge. “I never forgot about her either, James.” Bucky tells the young man, watching him carefully seeing the similarities of you in him. “You have her eyes, you know?” 

James looks up to Bucky. “I, I get that a lot. She helped me learn there are people in the world that need help, more than we do ourselves.” 

“Sounds about right.” Bucky comments, picturing you sat in his room rambling on about everyone you met on that day, the stories you heard and how many you wished to help. You had a heart of gold, one Bucky never felt he deserved to hold. “Thank you, James.” 

“Thank you, Bucky for making my Nana so happy.” James sniffs lightly, watching as Bucky walks off leaving James a moment to himself with his Grandmother. 

Bucky glances back to your tree as tears begin to fall down his face. You were happy, and that’s all that matters. 

[villlainarc]

To Fall in Love

Remember My Embrace

Summary: In which Logan has a realization, makes a decision, and says goodbye.

Pairing: Logince

Warnings: one (1) vaguely described kiss, Even More Angst Than Usual, unhappy ending (coming soon)

Word Count: 1850

A/N: the song in this chapter is the one (1) musical song, i will be there from the count of monte cristo

More A/N: this is a secret santa gift for @ari-the-anxious-ace and as such, is already completed (and can be found at this very moment on ao3). but so as not to spam you, chapters will be posted every three days.

special thanks to @cringeless for beta reading :)

masterpost || 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6

read on ao3 or below the cut

find other stuff i’ve written under #writingxofink

Logan has been a fool. He’s been a fool for thinking that he, a siren, could fall in love without it ending in disaster. He’s been a fool for getting so attached to Roman when he knows how this has to end. He’s been a fool for staying in this grotto and waiting for Roman to come back time and time again. He’s been a fool for waiting so long before draining his victim, for feeling his power grow weaker by the day and still putting off the inevitable.

Because this is inevitable. He can’t continue waiting for a different option; he’s not going to survive until then. No one else is coming. Logan can barely lure Roman out to the grotto, much less someone possibly oceans away.

If he doesn’t do this, he’s going to die.

But at the same time, he can’t do this. He knows instinctively that he will not, under any circumstances, be able to drain Roman.

Logan doesn’t have any other choice though. Not besides death.

Sure, he could abandon Roman, leave him here on the island and use what little energy he has left to swim to somewhere less secluded in the hope that maybe then, someone would hear him. It’s the best choice he has, in all honesty. Even then though, that’s a lot to hope for. That could still very well end in death.

And, though he will never admit it out loud, the sentimental part of himself that grows with every moment spent alongside Roman wants to stay with the man he’s fallen in love with for just a little while longer.

Because this is love. It had taken Logan forever to admit, but what he feels for Roman is love. That’s why he won’t—can’t—drain Roman. That’s why he doesn’t want to leave, even if it would be the best choice for both of them.

Even if it’s likely that Roman doesn’t love him in return.

Even on the off chance that he does, it will never amount to anything, no matter how many hours they’ve spent talking beneath the stars.

Even though Roman is sweet and understanding and kind, even though Roman listens to and cares about him in a way that no one else in his life ever has, even if he’s going to miss Roman more than he can possibly imagine… that won’t change a thing.

Their love will be one that’s doomed from the start. And Logan may be selfish, but he will never allow Roman to be hurt at his hands.

So no matter how much he doesn’t want to, Logan is going to leave. Tonight.

Because he can’t keep luring Roman back, keep singing to him of a dream that will never come true, not if Roman had been right about it. Logan refuses to bring pain to the one person he’s ever truly cared for.

Even if it means returning to a life of loneliness, even if it means breaking his own heart, he has to.

It’s not as though Roman will miss him anyway. Really, this is for the best.

Logan knows this. It’s the only option he has that doesn’t end in his, Roman’s, or both of their deaths. Therefore, logically, he shouldn’t have any doubts about following through with it.

But with love, Logan has found, logic rarely ever has a place. As Roman had said, sometimes you have to “follow your heart” in order to find happiness.

It’s too bad, then, that Logan can’t do that this time. This time, he has to do what’s right.

So, as he’s done every night for the past month, two weeks, and five days, Logan calls out to Roman with the song that has become theirs. “Ah-ah, ah-ah.”

By this point, surely Roman knows that if he wanted to ignore the song, he could. Surely he’s felt its pull growing weaker as Logan’s power dwindles.

But for whatever reason, Roman’s still coming tonight. Logan can feel him and his dream traveling closer, though he genuinely doesn’t know why. Roman could easily leave, so why hasn’t he?

There’s one explanation that Logan can think up off the top of his head, but the idea seems so impossible to him that he denies it the ability to take up any space in his mind. He doesn’t so much as think the words.

🌊

Roman’s journey, as per usual, takes a few minutes. This gives Logan more than enough time to rethink his idea and back out of something that will only bring him pain. He won’t, though. He refuses to allow Roman to be hurt by dragging this out for longer than he ever should have. This is something he should have done long ago if he’s being honest, but this is also the sort of thing that’s done better late than never.

When he hears Roman’s footsteps drawing nearer, Logan begins to sing without preamble, without waiting for Roman to be able to say anything at all. If he starts to talk, Logan will undoubtedly rethink a decision that has to be made. So he sings, losing himself in this final song.

“In the light that falls at moonrise,

In the rhythm of the rain,

In the miracle of ordinary days.

In the hush of night,

I will be in the whispers of lovers

Everywhere

You will find me there.”

Roman silently picks his way over the remain rocks before him, his feet navigating the path deftly in a testament to how often he’s been here. He sits down quietly in front of Logan, listening to the song spun just for him with everything Logan has left to give woven into it.

“In the rustle of a curtain,

In the bustle of the world,

In a thousand little unexpected ways.

When you lift your gaze,

I will be like the shimmer of one small star

Out there

Shining everywhere.”

As of this moment, Roman is enraptured by Logan’s voice, unable to fully comprehend the lyrics and their meaning. One day though, he will realize what they mean and hopefully, he will understand. By then though, Logan will be long gone. So perhaps that doesn’t matter at all.

“I will be there,

Beside you

Through the lonely nights that fall.

So close your eyes,

Remember my embrace.

I will be there,

Like mercy

I will find you through it all.

This do I swear:

I will be there.”

Just as he had with the very first song he’d sung for Roman, Logan allows him the knowledge of the lyrics to reply with, if he so chooses. Since the song is curated by the sirens’ magic for one person and one person alone, Roman would not know the lyrics on his own. And since Logan has grown to know Roman as an incredibly dramatic person, he knows that he will seize any chance to sing and show off. Tonight is no different.

“In a language never spoken

Lived the promises we made,

In the endless love that owns me, heart and soul.

In the certainty I will always be true

And as near as my next prayer,

You will find me there.”

Logan has to remind himself then that he’s still the siren, not Roman. If he were to be asked though, Logan would have claimed without hesitation that Roman’s voice is the more beautiful one, the most beautiful one he’s ever heard. Truly, it’s no wonder that he’d fallen for this man so easily.

“In the echo of the ocean,

In the haunting of the wind,

In mysterious, extraordinary ways.

Through the darkest sky,

I will be like the shimmer of one small star

Out there,

Shining everywhere.

“I will be there,

Beside you

Through the lonely nights that fall.

So close your eyes,

Remember my embrace.

I will be there,

Like freedom

I will find you through it all.

This do I swear:

I will be there.”

After Roman’s chorus, there’s the bridge of the song, a bridge that requires the two of them to alternate lines and shape this into an even more lovely duet. The chorus after it follows the same format, and Logan nearly swoons as he realizes how much he’s going to be able to hear Roman’s voice.

“In the harbor quarter.”

“In the stone and mortar.”

Just as he had in Roman’s chosen duet the second time they’d met, Logan allows Roman’s voice to overpower his as they sing together, “In the star that we both share.”

Roman again takes the lead in the next line, “In the sound of laughter.”

“Now and ever after.”

The final part of the song allows their voices to intertwine again, overlapping and harmonizing. Logan is intensely grateful to his magic for choosing such a perfect final song.

“Look for me, I will be there.

I will be there,

Beside you

Through the lonely nights that fall.

So close your eyes.”

“Remember my embrace.”

“Remember my embrace.”

“I will be there.”

“I’ll be there.” Roman’s line is shortened slightly so he can catch up to Logan and they are able to sing in unison again.

“Like justice,

I will find you through it all.”

“This do I swear.”

“This do I swear.”

“I will be there.”

“This do I swear,

I will be there.”

For one final time, Logan and Roman’s voices are lifted in ethereal harmony.

“This do I swear,

I will be there.”

As the last note hangs in the air, Logan smiles softly, nearly forgetting why he’d brought Roman here in the first place. But he doesn’t forget when he sees Roman’s eyes on him, glittering in the light of the moon. He remembers why he has to leave, no matter how much his heart may break. So Logan leans forward, resting his forehead against Roman’s in an action that’s as feather-light and loving as a siren’s touch could possibly be.

”Goodbye,” Logan whispers, the word barely a breath on the wind as he leans infinitesimally closer to Roman. For the first time, he connects their lips.

There are no sparks, and the world hasn’t become suddenly perfect. It just feels right. There’s no heat behind the action, just a gentle expression of everything Logan could never possibly say himself. The kiss is soft and short and given time, it could become so much more.

But there’s no time left for them. The only thing Logan can do is whisper another goodbye before sealing his words in place with a second, final kiss. He leans back, and the smile he gives Roman is a sad one.

Wishing he could do anything but this, Logan turns from the man he’s fallen in love with and vanishes into the water with a flick of his tail. Then he’s gone.

---

taglist: @thewhiteraven73

[fandomgirl2312]

Saving Cayde

I can't cope with the fact that Cayde dies...

So I write a fanfiction in which my OC, Ferra (Cayde always calls her „Foxy“ because of her gleaming orange eyes and red, short hair.), an awoken female warlock saves him by sacrificing herself. Boom. (If you can't handle mary-sue shit, don't read this... )

Warning: some gore + angst

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Ferra POV*

I shot every lousy Scorn that ran towards me, and the blood of dozen fallen beasts staining the front of my visor made it harder for me to aim and make clean shots. And even worse, the adrenaline and rush of the fight was starting to make my hands shake. I sensed that something was wrong, and hoped so, so dearly that nothing happened to Cayde.

That everything would be fine.

My coppern ghost whirled around me, struggling to heal the wounds that were plastered all around my body, but the precise shot of a sniper is what finally made me fall with a pained scream, my head colliding with the ground and helmet shattering in the process, the shards embedding themselves in my skin and barely missing my left eye.

I grunted when I felt the pulsing pain in my leg and squinted my eyes, trying to focus on my enemies through the blur of my vision.

I could almost not escape the snapping maw of a Scorn, it's yellowish teeth only a few centimeters away from my face, and emitted a wave of solar energy from my hand to send the alien flying in the other direction.

As a result of dodging the attack while already sitting on a steep edge, I tilted back too far and began rolling down the ledge, so I reopened the wounds Eve, my ghost, just healed.

She immediatly cursed something in vex-language and swapped back to english after de-materializating from my side:

'Would you PLEASE stay still for just ONE second? I can't do my work if you keep moving and jumping!'

I finally regained control of my fast descent as I got hold of a cable that hung out of the damaged and crooked ground-plate.

I crashed against the now even steeper ground and a pained wheeze for air left my protesting lungs as the wind was knocked out of me.

I had to stop myself from swooning and looked up instead, seeing that the scorn have found a weapon stand.

'easier said than done!'

The sentence left my mouth quiet and pressed, and I looked over my shoulder, down into the now not so deep abyss. A few broken stories underneath me was a quiet battlefield, and I started to feel sick when I saw the precise headshot on every dead prisoner. That could only be Cayde's work. This could mean he is either fine and has already met Petra, bragging about his Kills and how cool he must have looked.

Or...

My ghost materialized directly next to my ear, her voice immediately screeching.

'...been working with you for YEARS now. FOR. YeARS! You know how pissed I get when you don't let me do my job, and you don't...'

I rolled my eyes when Eve's nagging voice brought me back to reality, and I looked up again to see that some scorn began to climb down towards me, gun in hand, already aiming at me and Eve.

My eyes widened as the first salve flew by my head, so I snatched my ranting and now utterly protesting ghost out of the air and let go of the cable, jumping backwards to the lower platform.

A small light-jump curbed our fall, and as soon as I hit the ground again, I limped, as best as I could, into the shadows of the higher floors. The scorn seemed, surprisingly, not interested in following us. Eve has finally turned silent and got to work, so I let myself slump against a wall and slide to the ground, wounded leg stretched out.

I pulled my broken helmet off my face, the shards of the Visor still stuck in my skin.

I pulled on the shards with some light I formed in my Hand, all pieces leaving the cuts clean and net even hurting anymore.

Eve carefully weaved the thin strings of light in the hole the bullet left in my leg, and the light did the rest.

I took the minute to check my ammunition and reloaded my pistol, my eyes falling on the side of the weapon.

It had a cranky, smudgy text written on it, and I smiled when I read it for the hundredth time:

Cayde was here :3

I didn't really know when he has written this, and I didn't really care. But it was from him, and that's all that counts.

Suddenly, oh so suddenly, the single shot of an all too familiar gun, the Ace of Spades, ripped the momentum of silence, and my head whipped to the direction it was coming from, gun raised, panic at high levels.

Eve has already finished her work, and her optic looked troubled, almost scared in my eyes, the coppern shell reflecting the light of the fires around us.

I immediately stood up and ran-floated, as quiet as I could, towards the collapsed concrete wall, where the sound was coming from.

And as I slowly, slowly neared the corner, I focused on the sounds that came from the other room.

I almost didn't hear the faint and pained cough of a mechanic vocal chord, and I snapped around the corner, forgetting all my caution.

I froze.

My gun slipped out of my hand, colliding with the ground soundly, but I didn't hear anything.

My worst nightmares have turned to reality.

It was Cayde.

Wounded.

On the ground.

And his ghost was nowhere to be seen.

As soon as I defroze, I stumbled towards him, tears already threatening to escape my eyes.

This was supposed to be a normal Mission, like all the thousand missions before. Going in, having fun shooting bad guys, going out, laughing. But not this time.

I collapsed by his side, and the vents in his neck immediately whirred a bit louder, his optics refocused on the tears on my face and another pained wheeze left his vocals.

Eve immediately came to my side, scanning him and his wounds, already concentrating: But then, she stopped, looking at me, her shards expressing sadness, and I knew immediately that she couldn't help, even if she tried to. My shuddering hands slowly rested on his chest, feeling the incredible heat of his processors working so hard to keep him alive, and even more tears started leaving my eyes.

'Hey foxy...' another strangled cough left him.

His hand calmly took hold of my trembling ones, and I smiled through the tears, looking into his eyes again.

I saw him give up, finishing up with his live, and it broke my heart to see that.

And suddenly, my heart stopped.

Technically, I COULD save him. With some Warlock-magic, it SHOULD be possible.

I knew, Ikora forbid us to perform rituals like these, but in that moment I didn't care, only one thought flew through my mind. And that was saving Cayde.

I repositioned myself and closed my eyes, I crossed my legs, straightened my posture and breathed. Concentrated. Focused on the light in the room.

I felt the robotics light, faint and disappearing, right in front of me, and I laid my hand on his chest yet again, this time calm and not shuddering.

Cayde was too far gone, too close to death to react, and I slowly grasped the light in him, pulling at it, keeping him close and giving him the light that was within me.

At the same time, my other hand floated over his body, forming runes, and I started to feel that the ritual worked. I opened my eyes and saw, but mostly heard, how the metal plates in his face bent back into place, I on the other hand suddenly felt strong and disgustingly stinging pain in my jaw.

I gave him my light and took his injuries.

That's what saves him.

But kills me.

Eve finally realizes what I am doing and her optics change from a confused to a shocked expression, and then to a pained one, her shards loosing all her gleam and all her strenght.

Cayde's optics snapped back to life and he gasped for breath, immediately looking at me, seeing what I am doing.

I already took most of his wounds, and I felt bruises form all over my Body. But when my Hand floated over to the gazing hole in his chest where the bullet of his own gun struck him, he gripped my arm and held it incredibly tight.

'Don't...' was all he could mutter, still too weak to do anything else, and his gleaming blue eyes held so much pain in them. But it wasn't physical pain.

I started to tear up even more, and I bit my lip, forming all my strenght that was left to perform the last ritus. I thought about how the city would need him, the vanguard of hunters, far more than me, a expirable, simple warlock. And I knew, after I have done that last move, there would be no turning back. I would be doomed to die, to really die. But he would live. And that's what counted.

So I just moved my Hand over the point where the bullet sank in his metal form, his hand on my arm not able to stop me.

I wasn't ready for the searing pain that shot in my chest, and I opened my tightly shut eyes again to look at the mech's chest. The hole started to close by itself, and instead the pain in my chest got worse.

There was almost no light left in me, and I stopped the transition of life between me and Cayde, gripping at my chest with one hand and slumping down.

Blood oozed out of the fresh wound and stained my once pearl white uniform, and the dark room around me started to blur out. The sounds turned strange, and I saw the weak flickering light of Eve, who wasn't able to help me because there was no light left in all the three of us.

I was about to tip backwards and lose consciousness when a strong and hard arm wrapped around my back.

But I still only limped against it, my head falling back and my neck arching.

Then I felt a gloved hand in my neck, pulling my head upright and I winced in pain. Bright orange eyes collided with blue optics, both in pain, both troubled.

'No... foxy... dammit Ferra!'

He stopped to look up at the ceiling, his jaw slightly clenching as he suppressed to scream and cry at the same time. And even now, when hand in hand with death, I smiled and couldn't take my eyes off his beautiful face, but at the same time felt sorry to make it look so pained.

He started rocking me back and forth in his arms in a distressed and lost way, and I whispered with unexpected calmness:

'You look really old without your cape'

His optics landed down on me again, oily tears leaving his eyes as he lost control. His head sunk to my shoulder, sobs rocking his body. I lifted my hand slowly and tugged the hood of his cape over his head, pulling him closer, seeking some sort of comfort in the endless cold of death crawling towards me. I tried to comfort him with small words, to soothe him as I faded away, and my eyes fell on my gun I had left at the entrance to the room.

'Eve... my gun...'

She immediately understood my plea and swirled towards the crimson red pistol. The ghost pinched the holster of the gun and lifted it up with great effort, her flight back to my hand strongly swaying up and down.

I sighed when she dropped it in my hand, the familiar feel of it's handle comforting me.

Cayde was lost in my arms, sobbing quietly to himself, gripping me tight, so I gently tugged at the arm that was slung around my neck.

The exo slowly lifted his face from the crook of my neck and looked at the gun in my hand, chuckling low with sad tone to it when his eyes fell on his writing.

'I thought you would re-paint it...'

I tried to smile, but started coughing as the strong pain shot through my chest again.

The blue optics looked at me again, worried, pained, saddened. And when I pressed my gun in his hand, the expression got worse.

'Take good care of Eve for me... and get your gun back...'

He nodded slightly, closing his eyes and pulling me closer again, putting the gun in his empty holster.

I slung my arms around him again, listening to the soft and strong whirr of processors and vents in his body, remembering that he would live, that he would carry on.

I smiled when I felt his warmth, his presence, his entire being with me.

I felt my heart flutter, I felt it grow weaker, I felt it struggle...

The world completely darkened around me, and the last thing I heard

was the pained scream of a hunter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Help me I have serious trouble with sleeping since forsaken came out...

That actually was my first fanfic... and english isn't my mother tongue xD

[indescribablechoices]

Afraid of Falling (Damien x MC)

After talking with Hayden, Kai heads out to find Damien and finally fess up her feelings. But it seems Damien had the same idea.

A follow up to All I’ve Ever Learned From Love; a rewrite of the break up scene with Hayden. You don’t need to have read it to read this one!

“So, do you always chop wood half naked by moonlight or is this a Germany-exclusive thing?”

Damien glanced around to see Kai stood watching him, her arms folded across her chest, a soft smile on her face. His eyes dragged across her form, trying not to focus on the thigh high slit of the purple dress she was still wearing. Curse this infernal woman and her ability to distract him.

He rolled his eyes at her, causing her smile to grow.

“I mean it,” she laughed, “It definitely adds to the whole ‘rugged, manly master of nature’ vibe. But you’ve got to have a major concern about splinters.”

“My extraordinarily manly physique is impervious to… such…” he let out a sigh, “I’m really not in the mood, Kai. I’m sorry.”

She gave an understanding nod, “You don’t have anything to apologise for. It hasn’t exactly been easy going. Particularly that dinner. Talk about intense dining.”

“It was definitely not how I-” he swung the axe down to split another log, “Expected this to go.”

“Do you want to talk about it? Or… not talk about it?” she said, stepping a little closer, “Bad jokes and my fine company are all I got, but they’re yours if you want them.”

He felt a warmth in his chest as their eyes met. If only she understood how much her companionship really meant. But he turned his gaze back to the stump.

“It’s sweet of you to offer, Peanut, but I’ll stick to chopping wood. The last thing you need with everything going on is me burdening you with my problems,” he said.

And yet, she came even closer, offering him a smile, “Watching Damien Nazario doing manual labour; what an awful burden for me to bear. Whatever shall I do?” She feigned a swoon, and he couldn’t help but crack a small smile before letting out a sigh.

“It’s not that. It’s just… There are things you don’t know,” he avoided her gaze, “Kai, when you’re around, I- There are things I’ve been meaning to-” he ran a hand through his hair, cursing himself for not shutting his mouth, grabbing a fresh log to chop, “Forget it. Don’t worry about me,” he split the wood with a hard swing, “I’ll be fine.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He opened his mouth to argue with her, to shut her out, to turn her away like he always did, but tonight? Tonight, he didn’t it in him to fight her. Whatever came of this conversation, whether he got his confession out or not, he knew Kai. She was going to be at his side, no matter what.

“I think we both know that we need to talk,” she said.

He let out a sigh, setting the axe down, “Yeah, alright. Take a walk with me? The forest that surrounds this place is lovely this time of night. It’ll give us someplace to talk where we won’t have Sloane or your cousin or… anyone else, interrupting us.”

“You want me to walk into the woods with you in the dark?” she frowned.

He smiled, “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but returned his smile, “My hero. But if I trip and break my leg, you’re carrying me back.”

“Deal,” he chuckled. Side by side, they wandered along the twisting path that led into the forest, moonlight illuminating their path. He made some comments about the wildflowers, then the stars, opening his mouth to point something else out before she let out a snort.

“So,” she said, coming to a stop in a small clearing, “You do realise I know you well enough to recognise when you’re stalling, right?”

He sighed, turning to face her, “I’m that obvious, huh?”

“Look I’ll keep playing along with your distractions if it makes you feel better, but I think if we don’t talk we’re both going to regret it the next time shit hits the fan,” she said.

He nodded, “You’re right. As always… Listen, Kai, I- God I don’t even know where to start.”

“If I ask you something, will you promise to give me an honest answer? No matter what.”

“Sure.”

“Was what that Eros computer said true? Do you have feelings for me?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

He let out a sigh, “It’s not that simple, it’s-”

“It is that simple, Damien,” she said, squaring her small form in front of him slightly, “Whatever it is that you’re so scared of, just tell me the truth. You’re my best friend. And I told you that I’m not going anywhere. I plan to stand by that.”

“It’s because we’re best friends that I’ve never said anything,” he ran a hand through his hair, “The last time I was here, I was a very different man. Not a man I ever want to be again. I lived my life undercover, not knowing who I could trust, not even sure if I could trust myself anymore. I barely knew who I was. Then after everything that went down in Beitan… One bad piece of intel was all it took to ruin someone’s life.”

“Damien,” she said quietly, stepping up to him to squeeze his arm.

“The higher-ups said it wasn’t my fault, that I made the right call, but it doesn’t change what happened,” he said, “When I got back to the States, I was even more lost. I just wallowed in my own guilt… But you changed that. You invited me places. You stopped me drinking alone. You made me laugh, Kai. You made me laugh during a time when I thought I would never have another reason to smile. I can’t tell you how much your friendship means to me… And that’s why I’ve never wanted to jeopardise it. You’ve always been there when I needed you, even if I didn’t know it myself. You are the one constant good thing in my life… I can’t lose you. Ever… But I almost lost you for real last night. And I can’t stand the thought of losing you forever and being to much of a damn coward to tell you how I feel.”

“How you feel?” her voice was barely audible.

His eyes searched her face, taking in every detail. The flecks of gold in her brown eyes. The small gathering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. The plump curve of her bottom lip. He would never get tired of looking at this face.

Now or never Nazario.

“I care about, Kai. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone,” he said, “No matter how dark life gets, you’re always there, lighting it up again. You’re… You’re everything, Peanut.” He took a step backwards, letting out a sigh, “And I know. You’re with Hayden. You’ve already got your perfect match. But I-”

“Damien-” she started to say but he held his hand up.

“Please, just let me say this whilst I still have the courage,” he begged, “I know I’m being selfish, burdening you with this now of all times. You’re dealing with so much right now, and you don’t need this added to the pile. But I just… I couldn’t go another day without telling you how I feel. Not when I realised how easily I could lose you.”

“Damien, I-”

“You don’t have to say anything right now. Or ever. We can pretend like this never happened if you’d like. But I had to say something before I regretted it forever,” he said, “Dealing with Eros and staying safe is the main priority right now. Let’s just drop it. We should be getting back. I just-”

Before he could say another word, her mouth was on his, kissing him. Hard. Her arms slid around his neck, pulling herself closer against his body as she continued to kiss him, despite his rigid, shocked state. He let out a soft groan as his body began to relax into the kiss, wrapping his arms around her body to hold her close against his chest. He allowed himself to kiss her back, daring to believe that this was really happening.

Kai, his Kai, was really kissing him. She was softer than he’d imagined. For a girl with a sharp personality, everything about her was soft. Her hair, her body, her mouth. He savoured the feel of her embrace. Surely this would never happen again. This was a pity kiss; a taste of something he would never have again. But if this was going to be the only time he held her, he was going to enjoy it.

He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers, voice lowered, “You didn’t have to do that.”

Her fingers curled in the dark ends of his hair behind his neck, “You think you’re the only one who came out here to make a confession?”

His eyes snapped open, “What?”

She against his mouth, “It’s why I wanted to talk. I… I feel the same way about you Damien. I have done for so long now. I was always worried about losing you as well. It’s why I never said anything.”

As much as it pained him to say the next words, he knew he had to, “What about Hayden?”

“We broke up,” she told him, “Not because of what he is, I don’t care about that. But we both knew that something wasn’t right between us. It would have been easy to go on like nothing was wrong, but he had the guts to come out and say it.”

“He broke up with you?” Damien’s eyebrows raised in shocked.

“Not so much,” she said quietly, “He… He wanted me to be happy. Even if it wasn’t with him. I came out to the yard to tell you, and attempt this conversation, but you just had to distract me with your rugged wood-chopping physique and you beat me to it.”

He laughed softly under his breath, “We’re a pair of idiots, aren’t we?” He ran his thumb along her jaw, teasing the corner of her lips.

“Just kiss me again,” she demanded, both of them leaning in to meet lips in a hard kiss. The longer they stood there, the hungrier their kiss got, hands clutching at clothes and hair, Kai finding herself with her back against a tree, pinned there by Damien’s body as his hand ran up her bare leg, hooking it around his thigh.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you in this dress,” he whispered against her mouth, “All I could think about was kissing you senseless right in front of everyone.”

“There would have been no complaints on my end,” she gasped as his mouth moved to her jawline, then her neck.

“You are the most infuriatingly distracting woman I’ve ever met,” he told her, “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted this.”

“Tell me,” she begged, tilting her neck back to give him better access.

“I’ve been attracted to you since the first day we met,” he said, “When you strode into my office behind Nadia, wearing that grey crop top you love and your denim shorts. But after that, every time I saw you, it made me want you more. I wasn’t kidding before, Peanut, you are the bright light in my life. You make me so happy.”

Tears pricked at her eyes as she moved her head to catch his lips in another kiss, “All this time we wasted…”

“I know, baby, I know,” he murmured against her mouth before stepping back out of her embrace slightly, “We don’t have to rush this. We don’t have to figure this all out at once. If this is going to happen, I want to do it right. You deserve to have it done right.”

“So we’re taking it slow, then?” she smiled, almost teasingly.

“I waited four years to kiss you. I think I’ve more than proved my patience,” he pointed out with a grin.

She stole one final kiss, then took hold of his hand, “We should get back. The last thing we need is Nadia getting worried and finding us dry humping up against a tree.”

He barked out a laugh, “We would never live that down.”

“We aren’t going to live this down anyway,” she said as they began to walk back towards the house, “She is going to be so god damned smug.”

“Did you ever tell her? About how you felt?” he asked.

“I… hinted, early on,” she told him, “She knew that I was insanely attracted to you, but as time went on and you didn’t seem to show any interest, I decided to keep my mouth shut about the whole thing. She’s like a dog with a bone, she never would have let it drop.”

“And to think I didn’t ask you out because I didn’t think you were interested,” he hummed, then rolled his eyes, “But she definitely had some clue. Remember Truth or Dare at her party? When she asked you if you were attracted to me.”

“And I took the drink to save us both the embarrassment of me trying not to admit that I’d been pining after you for years.”

“Your sacrifice is appreciated.”

They laughed the rest of the way back to the safe house, quietly entering the front door as not to disturb anyone who was sleeping. He walked her to her bedroom door, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.

“Goodnight, Peanut,” he said quietly.

“Goodnight, Damien.”

She leaned against the doorframe as he headed towards his own door, shooting her one last smile before going into his room. Heart a-flutter, she quietly went into her room, closing the door behind herself, leaning against it, letting out a content sigh.

She stayed there for a moment, trying to wrap her head around the fact that that had really happened. She grabbed her phone and sent off a quick text. She wasn’t even fully out of her dress before Nadia was running into her room, slamming the door behind her, bottle of wine in hand, demanding details.

[imaginaze-blog]

you have a panic attack

WARNINGS: I talk about panic attacks in this, but other than that nothing.

A bullet-point list of how Newt would react to you having a panic attack (reader x Newt)

thank you to @apps99199​ for requesting <3

I feel this request on a personal level so let’s get started :’)

You arrive at the Glade and whatever and adjust to everything

Newt becomes your best friend 

And while you feel comfortable and secure in the Glade with him, there’s a feeling of anxiety that you can’t seem to brush off

At first, you try to just ignore it and live your life

During the day you put all of your effort into working and then spend the evenings hanging out with Newt

However, when you’re alone in your bed at night dark thoughts seem to plague you

There’s a voice at the back of your head saying things like “What if you never escape” and “You’ll be here until you die”

And then one night you can’t help but think about the possibility of losing Newt

It almost drives you insane 

You try to calm yourself down by breathing in and out slowly, eventually drifting off to sleep

But that night you’re plagued with an awful nightmare

It involved you and Newt running through the Maze together, desperately searching for a way out

When you guys turned a sharp corner a massive spider-like creature screeched loudly and leapt towards you

Newt quickly shoved you out of the way you fell to the ground

“NO!” you screamed, diving towards Newt.

But it was too late; the creature’s pincers had pierced through Newt’s chest and a bloody pool began to form at his feet.

You awoke from the nightmare with a start, your heart beating furiously

Cold sweat covered your entire body 

You were still paralyzed with fear but you silently sobbed for what felt like hours, simply laying completely still and letting the tears flow

The next morning you felt truly awful; you were extremely exhausted and emotionally destroyed

You didn’t go to breakfast and instead sat on a log near the bonfire because staying shut in your room was making you feel even worse

You knew Newt would be looking for you but seeing him would ignite your feelings of anxiety even more; you just couldn’t stand the thought of losing him

Your heart started to beat faster and faster

“Calm down,” you kept repeating to yourself

When you saw all of the guys heading towards their stations your stomach clenched in anticipation of seeing Newt’s blonde head poke out though the crowd

You looked down at your feet so as to not draw attention to yourself, feeling more nauseous by the second

“Y/N!” you heard an all-too familiar voice bellow happily.

Usually when you heard his voice, butterflies would erupt in your stomach

But now it just made your breath quicken out of apprehension for the future 

You could hear him running towards you, his footsteps getting louder and louder each second

You clutched your heart with both hands and tried to slow your breathing down but it was no use.

“Y/N!” you heard him yell again, this time sounding like he was in a panic.

Your vision blurred and your chest felt heavy; the oxygen seemed to be running out.

Newt finally reached you and immediately crouched down so that he was level with you.

He rubbed his hands on your knees and then gently guided your head up so that your eyes met with his.

“Please tell me what’s going on. Are you okay?” he asked, the apprehension contorting his face into a frown.

Your body felt hot all over and you couldn’t seem to register what was going on around you; Newt’s words went in one ear and out the next.

It seemed like some of the boys had formed a circle around you and Newt.

You felt your gaze drift to look at the other guys and you felt your cheeks redden with blind embarrassment.

“Hey hey hey,” Newt said, gently grabbing your face with both hands, forcing you to avert your gaze from the other Gladers back to him. “Don’t look at them. It’s just you and me. No one else, okay? Just us.”

You nodded because you didn’t feel like you could speak at the moment.

Newt lightly ran his hands up and down your arms. “Just focus on my voice and nothing else. Can you do that for me?” 

You nodded again, forcing yourself to look into Newt’s eyes; once your eyes met with his you almost melted despite the chaos ensuing inside of you. 

It had always been so easy to forget about the world and get lost in his eyes, and right now was no exception.

After a few seconds you could feel your breath slow down and you capitalized on that by focusing all of you attention to Newt’s voice and the way his warm hands felt on your skin.

“That’s good. Keep your eyes on me, love. Now can you tell me what’s going on?” Newt asked softly, still rubbing his large hands up and down your arms in a slow, soothing manner.

Your mouth was dry and you felt very shaky but you knew that you should talk in order to return back to a stable state. But what would you say? Your thoughts were racing and wouldn’t slow down. Newt’s eyes crinkled with concern. After a few seconds of silence you blurted out, “What if we never make it out of here?”

Newt paused, then stopped rubbing his hands over your arms and instead cupped your cheek with his right hand. “Listen to me. We will get out of here. I will make sure of it.” He ran his thumb gently down your cheek and moved his face closer to yours. “Because you’re all I care about in this stupid place.” 

“Promise?” you replied shakily, tears threatening to spill out.

“I promise,” he stated firmly. And with that you jumped into his arms and he held you as tightly as he could to his chest as you cried with fear, sadness, but most of all, gratitude. You felt so grateful that you had Newt, and he was honestly all you wanted and needed.

“Now let’s get the shuck out of here away from all of these shuckers,” Newt murmured into your hair once the tears had slowed, which made you giggle. 

WOOOWWWW

I almost made myself cry multiple times while writing this can I have a Newt please

BUT BASICALLY:

He would always know how to help you during panic attacks

The other guys would be lost with knowing what to do with you

They would kind of just gather around you which made things worse and Newt would FREAK OUT and be even more protective over you than he usually is while you’re having a panic attack so he would glare at them and tell them to get lost swoon

He would never crowd you and would always try to get you away from all of the chaos so it was just you two

He would always tell you to focus on his voice and to maintain eye contact while he gently stroked your hair or slowly rubbed your legs or arms 

If you had a panic attack at night he would hold you and rub your back while whispering dumb, cute stories about his memories in the Glade until you drifted off to sleep

Newt is so good at calming you down

He just loves you sm cries and hates more than anything seeing you in pain

[bamby0304]

New Year’s Kiss

Summary: Crushing on someone can be complicated at the best of times. But crushing on your friend's dad? On the man who had brought you into his home when you needed it most? That made it a little more complicated. The fact you had no idea if Chris felt even the slightest bit interested in you, made it so much worse. But with a new year on the way, maybe things were about to change...

Pairings: Chris x Reader

A/N: My love for Chris was unexpected, but hit me hard, so I couldn’t resist writing something sweet and cute. This fic is based on an imagine by @we-write-imagines :):)

Word Count: 1,400+

Warnings: Fluff :):)

Bamby

It's New Year's Eve. Usually you would stay home, parties weren't really your thing since you moved to Beacon Hills. It was kinda hard to enjoy the night life when you were paranoid about anything and everything possibly supernatural lurking in the shadows.

Unfortunately for you, Allison Argent was dragging you to her best friend's party.

The Argents had welcomed you into their home a few months ago. They taught you everything you might needed to know about hunting and whatnot, but kept it simple so as not to spook you too much. You were grateful for their kindness and hospitality.

Over the last few months you'd grown to be good friends with Allison. She was sweet and gentle and very caring. She treated you like a sister. Considering she'd lost a lot of friends and family lately you felt very honoured that she had welcomed you in so quickly and openly.

Chris Argent- Allison's father- had been just as welcoming. Despite losing so much he brought you in as if you'd been part of the family since the day you were born. He made sure you always had everything you might want or need. He made sure you were always prepared for any situation. He always made sure you felt at home.

At times Chris could be a little over protective when it came to you. For the first few months you thought he was being ridiculous. You thought it was an insult to your own capabilities. But as time went by you began to wonder if there were other motives for his actions.

Over time you came to like Chris. A seed had been planted, and had then sprouted into a full-grown crush. You had it bad.

Now, everything he did made your knees buckle, heart race, palms sweat and stomach flip. You had to fight from swooning whenever he smiled. You had to keep yourself from blushing whenever he offered you a compliment. You had to keep yourself focused whenever he was around.

Part of you wondered if it was wrong. He was a widower, a father, the man who had brought you into his home without question. Did that mean there could be nothing but friendship between the two of you? Was it wrong of you to feel the way you did?

Millions of questions always plagued your mind. You were constantly scolding yourself, trying to forget about the crush. But, try as you might, there was no getting rid of it.

"Here."

Sitting on Allison's bed, your legs folded underneath you, you looked over to see her stepping away from her wardrobe, her arms now full of dresses.

"Can't I just wear jeans and a shirt?" You asked, not wanting to wear one of her dresses. "It can be a nice shirt. I'll even let you pick out a sparkly or lacey one."

She simple shook her head, smiling from ear to ear. "Nope." Laying the dresses on the bed she then grabbed your arm and pulled you up until you were standing in front of her floor length mirror. "Tonight, we're gonna go all out. I need to get over Scott, and you're going to be my wing-woman."

"I thought Lydia was your wing-woman?" you noted.

"Not tonight," Allison sighed. "She's got a date." Turning, she grabbed one of the dresses and held it out in front of you. "So, tonight you're all mine. And, hey, maybe we'll find you a guy, too." She beamed as she turned her attention back to the dress.

You gave a silent sigh as you thought about the night coming your way. Dancing, drinking, flirting. None of it was exactly appealing. But Allison knew you could never say no to her, so there was no escaping your fate.

The night had actually been okay considering Scott had showed up and almost ruined Allison's time- unintentionally though… how was he supposed to know seeing him would affect her the way it did?

You yourself had a pretty good time as well. You chatted with some people, danced with Allison a little, smiled, laughed, and in the end, you even did the whole countdown thing.

When everyone turned to the person next to them, sharing their New Year's kiss, you turned to find you had no partner. It had stung for a moment, but you quickly moved on, not wanting to spoil the night.

Eventually it was time to go home. You hadn't been drinking just so you knew you would be able to get home and sleep in your own bed, instead of crashing in one of the spare rooms at Lydia's. It took some convincing to get a slightly tipsy Allison into the car, but you managed after a while.

When you got home she slipped out of the car and headed inside. But it was clear she couldn't quite find her footing. So, you wrapped an arm around her waist and walked the two of you inside.

Having put Allison to bed, you headed for the kitchen wanting to eat a little something before going to bed. You kicked your heels off on the way, letting your feet relax after being in those torture devices for hours. You pulled the clips out of your hair, loosening the tension in your head.

Rubbing at your temples, eyes closed, you hummed a relieved sigh as you stepped onto the cool tiles of the kitchen floor. Reaching for the freezer, you pulled out the ice-cream and set the container on the counter before getting a spoon out of the drawer.

Standing there, leaning your elbows on the counter, picking at the delicious dairy dessert, you were in your own little world, too distracted to notice when someone else walked into the room.

Movement caught your eye. Looking up from the ice-cream, spoon hanging in your mouth, your eyes locked onto Chris. He'd paused in the walkway, taking in your appearance.

You straightened up and pulled the spoon from your lips, looking down at yourself in embarrassment.

The dress Allison had made you wear was short, falling a few inches above the knee. It hugged your waist nicely, had long sleeves that reached your wrists, and showed a little bit of cleavage. It was a rose gold colour, all sparkles and glitter. Very pretty, and very unlike you.

The fact your hair was now a mess, and your shoes were somewhere in the house, left on the floor, made you feel even more insecure about how you looked. You couldn't stop yourself from flushing an embarrassed shade of red as you began to fidget on the spot.

"I thought I was the only one awake." Your voice came out soft, shy, unsure.

Chris didn't respond though. All he could do was continue looking you up and down, that unreadable expression still on his face.

"I'll just…" Gesturing to the ice-cream, you quickly packed it up before turning to put it away.

When you started for the exit, hoping to get passed Chris without further embarrassment, he stopped you, his fingers wrapping around your wrist.

The touch of his skin on your ignited a fire inside you, one you always had to fight to control. You were sure it was wrong of you to have those kinds of feelings for him, and you were sure there was no way they would ever be returned.

He lifted his free hand to your chin, tilting it up so your eyes would meet his. As they did you felt yourself sucking in a sharp breath at what you saw.

Suddenly you could read the expression on his face. Looking into his gaze, you saw a look in his eyes you'd never seen before. It was a look of awe.

There was a moment of hesitation where the two of you silently asked the other if this was happening, if you were really going to take the next step, and if the other wanted it just as bad.

Chris moved first, leaning down slowly and carefully, his eyes looking down at you lips as they parted in anticipation. The fingers wrapped around your wrist let go as his hand moved to hold your waist, the other now cupping your face.

Eyes fluttering closed, you felt yourself melt away as his lips brushed against yours. The touch was so gentle, so sweet, so caring. It spoke a million words, a million promises. In that moment you knew Chris had felt the same way as you had, for a long time now.

Leaning into him more, you felt his lips mould against yours as if they were made for your lips alone. You couldn't stop yourself from melting into him even if you wanted to.

It was a perfect kiss, and a perfect way to start the new year.

Bamby