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silversiren1101 · 1 year ago

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Let's goo how about 1 and 26 for Minoreg, and 8 and 15 for dracolich?

Hey Cassy! Yay! Questions for both couples! Also, little NSFT :3

1. What, specifically, was the catalyst for their physical attraction (if applicable) to the other character? In other words, what in particular had them like “Oh, they’re…hot…”

Minovae: she pretty much found him attractive from day one. He has a strong jawline, piercing eyes, dark complexion, bright purple hair, and is pretty fit/toned?? I actually have a person headcanon of mine that before he started Bleaching he was absolutely conventionally attractive and got a lot of attention for it and that just annoyed the shit out of him. I've mentioned before I see him as having a nice warm brown skin tone before, so combined with his deep purple hair and what used to be golden eyes? Absolutely was a little dreamboat.

Absolutely drove him crazy.

She, like many others, found him quite attractive from the minute she laid eyes on him.

Funny enough, she actually finds him more attractive with a bit of silver in his hair.

Regill: Golarion's most demisexual and demiromantic man... he knows she's objectively attractive but it does nothing to him until he's actually consciously in love with her. I'm going to let you in on a little dream smut fic of mine I've been rotating in my thoughts for like a year now.

After they kiss and start their relationship, he only figures out he's not 100% asexual when he wakes up in the middle of the night from a rather... colorful... dream, absolutely rock hard and completely bewildered "oh shit... what the fuck." Like, he's not a virgin, but he's never been physically attracted to anyone specifically. He's never fantasized about anyone or seen anyone as sexually or subjectively attractive. It's been over a century since he's had sex, and he fucked when he was younger only out of need of physical release because he had no outright desire otherwise and found the urge itself frustrating and humiliating. Only once he became a Hellknight did he quell those urges completely, but... oh, Mino... it's a massive shock to him and the demisexual panic is real. He tries to just go back to sleep and ignore the dream and the raging hard-on and the wild implications of something he didn't even think possible, but he physically can't because of how uncomfortable and insistent it is. Has to take care of it and he immediately finds his thoughts just filled with trying to figure out how she sounds when she moans and imaging her blissful face and her in the throes of pleasure and it's game over for him, lmao! He has such a hard time looking her in the face the next day.

Funny thing is, she's been doing much the same on her end pretty much every night.

26. They have an argument with their partner—what is it about? Do things stay respectful, or is there some shouting and accusing going on?

They are both extremely respectful in their disagreements. She knows him so very well, and knows how he's changed but also how he used to be, and understands he's at a crossroads with her having come back to him and he's trying to grasp some of his old brightness and pull himself from the grave he was sliding into before. Their arguments usually revolve around how they would handle a situation in their duties as Hellknights and military leaders. As both lawful people, they almost always agree when something is a crime. They disagree about how something should be solved. You know: execution vs rehabilitation, understanding the extenuating circumstances and intent vs. outcome... She remembers he wasn't always as harsh as he is now and he has opinions on how merciful she is, but also knows if her judgement is ever proven wrong she will take full responsibility and whatever blow herself.

The only time they've ever really had a real bad fight was the night they got together, when emotions were raw and so much catharsis was needed from how badly he was hurting from her cruelty beforehand (maddened beast) and his own confusion with his emotions. They only get close to that again when her martrydom-tendencies arise, leading to him getting stern and raising his voice to make her see reason (because gods, she has given enough of herself and if anyone deserves rest, it's her).

Later on, any 'arguments' are mostly civil disagreements on their parenting, lol. Regill is a pretty protective parent to their daughter while she is a "let them make mistakes and figure it out" one. They always have each other's backs and provide a united front to their little girl but in private they definitely have rather inspired talks on raising Jesyll and what is okay for her and what isn't (in their eyes).

Dracolich time.

8. What scares them about entering a relationship?

LMAO. Wow so much.

Morolai: Their relationship starts purely sexual and with massive power imbalance because of her absolute control as dom and sadism. Maegar was a moron but quite attractive, and now there's a more interesting being inside of that very hot body that is her new favorite toy to pester and bully. She has no fears about this sexual relationship: she's beat him once and knows she can pretty effortlessly kill him on her own if he so much as raises a finger against her. He lives because she allowed it and will die if she demands it, you know? When things start to shift to "uh oh that wasn't hate sex" right after the canon events of the game end, that's when she gets scared. What is she feeling? Why? WITH HIM?! AN ANCIENT PATHETIC CYCLOPS LICH?? MY FUCKING ANIMATE SEX TOY (that also makes me laugh and has really great riveting conversations to talk to and remarkably witty and so very loyal--)!?She is fearful of being subservient in anyway, losing power and control, being vulnerable, etc. But she is also far too arrogant and stubborn to bow down to even her own fear. Fine, so she doesn't hate him and isn't totally disgusted, is even a little endeared by this wretched creature who amuses her so much and also learned how to please her like such a loyal pup.

Vordakai: Ahahaha, so please remember he is canonically the weakest and most pathetic of his 'class' of acolytes. He only stole the title of Vordakai from the real Vordakai because he survived Earthfall by pure fucking luck. I really play up how pathetic he is so... absolute virgin. Taking Maegar's body for himself, and said body is VERY into Morolai and finds her immensely attractive is where his troubles begin and the humiliation and fear starts. What the fuck is he feeling? Why is this body doing this? Why is it around her? This gross disgusting fleshy body disobeying his control and giving in to impulse! Especially once she realizes it and physically teases him to the point he willingly approaches her for more, he's terrified and horny, horny because he's terrified and terrified because he's horny; vicious cycle. Eventually though he figures out the pattern: be a good pet and get rewarded. Sometimes she's into it enough he gets a little more than before, gets to see a little more of her own pleasure and enjoyment and for some reason that's... he's very curious about it all.

By the time the weird feelings-not-feelings start, he's not scared of them anymore so much as he's just, like, dissecting everything like a bug. Morolai is his queen, his gilded cage, the name that replaced his god in his mind as a dark and terrible mortal goddess. He's treading dangerous ground but ultimately knows he lives only by her right and... well he might as well enjoy it, because she is a worthy mistress.

So... I hesitate to call it love they feel, or a romantic relationship. They enter into a forever-companionship where they fuck and enjoy each other's presence, and understand each other and their secrets against the rest of the world around them. She is absolutely in charge and has all the power still, but rather than it being a captive and captor thing she's kind of replaced his fervent worship of Charon in his mind and everything he does with and to her is out of a very fucked up sense of devotion.

15. What, for them, constitutes a level of intimacy that they would only rarely share with someone? This can be physical, emotional, etc.

Morolai: It's all about power with Vordakai and constantly asserting her dominance and that she doesn't fear him. Part of this is actually purposefully displaying vulnerabilities around him or letting her guard! She is so self-assured in her power and his inability to kill her that she do such a thing almost to rub it into his face... at first. At some point it becomes genuine.

One of the big moments is when her wings first appear, violently erupting from her back during the fight with Armag in his tomb. They are extremely painful until the skin around the exit-holes scars over, and that first night back she's soaking in her private tub for hours just trying to soothe the pain. She summons him in the middle of the night to demand her rub in a magic healing poultice into her back the wings right where they emerged. So, laying flat on her front on her bed, totally nude and clearly in pain and weak, she allows him to straddle her and care for her wings in such a way when they're so sensitive and painful.

It's definitely one of the first moments of "devotion" that solidifies in his mind, an act of loyalty and genuine devotion to his queen and mistress. She trusted him with this. He's been a good pet. Especially since he gets rewarded for that, too.

Aside from that, letting him be on top is the biggest thing for them. Her giving up control and letting him worship her in that way solidifies their relationship and his loyalty as her supplicant and companion.

Vordakai: Well, she knows what he is first of all. This one I'm still working on, but... he tells her his real name. Vordakai is a stolen name from his master who perished in Earthfall, so he had to have a real name before that. The curse Tristian placed on him worked because he made Vordakai his whole being to the point that it supplanted his actual name as a "true name", but he does remember his original one. Eventually, she is granted the honor of knowing it.

She refers to him only as Maegar Varn and that name from then on, which actually means a lot because the curse on him lasts for as long as anyone knows the name Vordakai. Her not spreading knowledge of the name "Vordakai" is kind of working in his favor, which she does willingly.

From this list of questions!

#oc: minovae arangeir #oc: morolai valduin #pair: hellpair #pair: dracolich #regill derenge x minovae arangeir #morolai x vordakai #I have... so many fic ideas #and so little time #wrath of the righteous #pathfinder kingmaker #ask game

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sugawaraxo · 4 years ago

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“are you sure?”

warnings: smut

characters: koshi sugawara, keiji akaashi

request: Hiii! I just found your blog and I just want to say that I love it so much!! I thinking maybe you could write some headcanons of sugawara and akaashi w/ a shy and very inexperienced s/o (nsfw please, if you’re comfortable with writing that!!) Thank you so much! (//∇//)

a/n: i may have went a lil overboard with suga but i’m sorry, i just love him ok lmao

sugawara

- suga is your first everything

- your first boyfriend. your first kiss. your first love. and now, your first time

- it’s something you and him have been silently anticipating for awhile

- but he wanted to wait until you were fully comfortable and ready for it, and you did too

- but as you are currently straddling his lap on the couch, his lips glued to yours in a messy kiss while his hands find their way under your shirt, lightly grazing your sides

- you know you’re finally ready

“suga.” you say, pulling away from the kiss.

“hm?” he hums, his eyes meeting yours as he patiently waits for you to continue.

“i-i want you. i’m ready.” you say almost too softly for him to even process what you just said. but he does process it and his eyebrows raise in shock.

“are you sure?” he questions and you nod in response. he looks at you for a moment before giving you a quick kiss as he picks you up. your legs wrap tightly around his torso and your arms losely around his neck, then he takes you into his bedroom.

he doesn’t want you losing your most precious gift on a dingy old couch, and would much rather do it in the comfort of his bed, hence him taking you there. he lays you gently on your back, you just looking up at him nervously. you don’t want to be nervous, but you can’t help it. you’ve heard so many varying stories of how losing your virginity could go terribly wrong, or beautifully right and you are truly hoping for the latter. suga notices your worried expression and frowns.

“are you sure you want to do this y/n? there’s no pressure, really.” he says softly.

“no i want to, trust me i do. i’m just nervous. i mean, you’ve done this before. plenty of times. what if i’m just not as good? what if i can’t satisfy you?” you admit.

“what? y/n, no. please don’t think like that. it doesn’t matter how much experience i’ve had, nor how much you’ve had. what matters is how much i care about you, which is enough to make this better than anything i’ve ever done.” suga reassures you and you smile. the boy always has such a way with his words.

“you’re right. i’m just in my head too much and i think the anticipation of waiting is making it worse so can we just...” you trail off and suga knows exactly what you were going to say.

“right, sorry.” he chuckles before leaning in to kiss you again. your back is on the bed, with suga hovering above you. he kisses you gently, making sure not to be too rough so that you feel safe, and it works. his body is placed in between your legs and you can feel yourself get hotter as you feel suga growing harder, lightly and subconsciously jutting his hips against you.

you find yourself accidentally moaning into the kiss and you swear you feel suga smirk, which makes you slightly embarrassed. but at this point you don’t care. you want to be moaning for him. you want to be a moaning mess for him and only him. he slowly breaks the kiss away from your lips, moving it down your jaw, then to your neck. you knew your neck was sensitive but once suga’s lips were against it, you realized the severity of that sensitivity. a soft moan of suga’s name leaves your lips and his whole body goes stiff before he pulls away to look at you.

“you sound so pretty.” he says sweetly and you can’t help but shy away at his words, hiding your face with your hands.

“hey, nuh uh. let me see your face.” he chuckles and you comply with his orders. “much better.” he mumbles before reattaching his lips to your neck. he works there for awhile, sucking and nipping at the skin. surely leaving a bruise that you would have to figure out how to cover up the next day. then he pulls away and begins taking your shirt off. within seconds the thin piece of clothing is off your body and on the floor, and suga is back to sucking marks onto your skin. this time on the exposed parts of your chest, and the whimpers you’re providing him are giving him quite the satisfaction. he skillfully reaches behind your back and unclaspes your bra, then tosses the article to the side just as he did your shirt. you’re amazed at the lack of effort in this trick of his, but not given the time to bring attention to it before suga’s mouth is sucking softly on your nipple. you hum at the new sensation, and smile at how peaceful suga looks as he does his work.

“you’re so cute.” you say and suga just looks up at you and smiles, your nipple still in his mouth which makes you laugh. even while pleasuring you suga doesn’t fail to put a smile on your face and you love that. a few more seconds of nipple sucking and soft moaning goes on before suga moves on and starts kissing his way down your body.

your whole body tingles as he gets closer to the area between your legs, your eyes watching him closely. he slides down the shorts you’re wearing with ease, you helping him get them off your ankles. he then looks up at you, the expression on his face looking as though he’s asking for permission. with your permission, he takes your underwear off aswell, instantly fully erect at the sight of your bare core.

“fuck” he mumbles under his breath, wasting no time in getting a taste of you. his tongue is warm and soft against your sensitive area, and it feels good. so good. you moan out suga’s name and grip onto his hair, a little too hard at the sudden sensation. “shit, sorry.” you groan, feeling your face get hot. “don’t be, i liked it.” suga smirks and you roll your eyes, forgetting that your boyfriend has quite a kinky side that you haven’t gotten to tap into yet. but that’s quickly forgotten as he continues to lick your sweet spot. tongue fucking you for a little, then sucking on your clit. a nice little rotation that was driving you insane and just when you thought it couldn’t get better, he sticks a finger inside of you.

“holy shit.” you gasp, and again you swear you can feel suga smirking against you but you don’t care, he’s earned his right to smirk. you find yourself grinding your hips against suga’s tongue and fingers, desperate to reach your high and suga clearly notices. he helps you out by adding a second finger and focusing his mouth just on your clit, which makes the most obscene noise leave your mouth.

“hm, you’re close aren’t you?” suga asks, pulling his fingers out of you slowly. you groan at the sudden lack of contact.

“well i was.” you say shortly, somewhat annoyed that you were just robbed of your release.

“don’t be mad bunny. i just want you to cum with my dick inside of you, not my fingers.” suga grins and your stomach churns. the way he had just said something so dirty with the most wholesome smile on his face did something to you, and you’re sure that was his intention. he pulls off his pants and boxers, his hard member slapping softly against his stomach. this isn’t the first time you’ve seen it but it still takes you by surprise as you watch him put on a condom and the urge to feel it inside of you takes over.

“please suga, i need it. now.” you beg, desperate to feel something again after the tease that suga just gave you.

“hm, what a good girl. begging for me and i didn’t even ask you to.” he smiles before slowly inserting himself into you. you both moan at the wave of pleasure that rushes over you while he slides himself all the way in. suga places one hand on the headboard to steady himself and uses the other to rub your clit with his thumb. his thrusts are slow enough for you to get used to his size without hurting you, but deep enough to make you moan desperately.

“mm, suga. you feel so good.” you sigh, your eyes shut in pleasure, head thrown back against the pillow and your mouth agape letting out more moans. this image alone makes it nearly impossible for suga not to bust right then and there but he holds back, wanting to make you climax first. he continues to rub your clit while simultaneously beginning to speed up his thrusts, earning positive feedback with your noises. he does this for another minute or two while also alternating between kissing you and your neck. before you know it, you’re gripping the sheets and arching your back off the bed, the most intense wave of pleasure coming over you as you quickly reach your orgasm. you’ve made yourself orgasm plenty of times before, but never like this.

“fuck suga, oh my god.” you breathe out, attempting to regain your composure while suga is beginning to lose his.

“that was so hot, you’re so hot.” his voice shakes and you can tell he’s close by how sloppy his thrusts are getting. he gets a few more pumps in before pulling out, yanking the condom off, and cumming all over your stomach with a deep moan of your name. his fingers grip onto your waist as he releases, and you watch the pretty face he makes as he begins to come back down.

suga collapses down beside you. “sheesh, i don’t think i’ve cum that hard ever.” he chuckles, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

“yeah, me either.” you giggle, your mind still hazy from your own orgasm.

“hm, i’m glad. i hope i was able to make your first time meet your expectations.” suga says sweetly.

“oh baby, you exceeded them.”

akaashi

- you and akaashi have done sexual things before

- but you just haven’t been ready to fully go all the way yet, and akaashi is completely ok with that

- he’s patient and respects that you need time despite secretly wanting to just fully let go whenever you guys do anything sexual

- but he knows you’re a virgin and is aware that you’re a bit shy in regards to that

- so he doesn’t pressure you, not in the slightest which you appreciate deeply

- but one day your mindset completely changes and you’re just about ready to risk it all

you’re watching akaashi closely on the court. he’s doing amazing in today’s game. all of his sets are landing perfectly, helping the team earn some powerful spikes and rack up points. although you swore you were paying attention to the whole team, the truth is your eyes were glued to akaashi the whole time. something was hitting different about him today. maybe the way he was glowing with sweat from going all out? the way he was exuding confidence on the court after his team kept making points? you don’t know, but what you do know is that you want him and you want him now.

but unfortunately that can’t happen, so you patiently wait for the game to finish before you meet up with your exhausted yet triumphant boyfriend.

“great job today babe.” you say embracing the boy in a big hug, wrapping your arms around his neck while he gently rests his around your waist.

“haha thank you y/n, i’m drenched in sweat though. you never hug me when i’m sweaty like this.” he says with a raised eyebrow, wondering why the sudden change.

“honestly just needed to touch you.” you admit more to yourself than you do to him.

“oh?” he says noticing the look in your eyes. he’s seen that look before. the look you give because you’re too shy to say ‘fuck me.’

“so you really enjoyed watching me out there today huh?” he smiles, now knowing exactly what you want without you having to say a word.

“mhmm.” you hum, waiting for him to take the initiative as he usually does.

“i’ll take care of you when we get home.” he whispers into your ear and a shiver runs down your spine, you couldn’t wait.

the ride home seems antagonizingly long, but finally you arrive to yours and akaashi’s shared apartment. as soon as you’re within the doors of your home, the two of you are all over each other. lips attaching messily, tongue involved in no time. hands. hands everywhere. both of you feeling each other up, eager to feel the other’s touch. somehow you make it safely to the bedroom with no trips or stumbles, never disconnecting the kiss until you plop yourself down onto the bed, akaashi doing the same next to you.

“so what do you want? the usual? you want me to eat you out?” akaashi asks breathlessly.

“um, actually akaashi...” you trail off, a bit nervous to tell him what you want.

“what is it babe?” he asks, concern spreading over his face.

“i want to go all the way this time. i want you to take my virginity.” you say bluntly. akaashi’s mouth gapes open slightly at your words. he has been waiting for this day for who knows how long, and now that it’s here? he has no clue what to do with himself.

“are you sure?” is all he mutters.

“i’m one hundred percent positive.” you assure him.

he smiles at you cutely before kissing you again. slowing down the tempo now that he knows this will be a bit more of a serious ordeal. you like the slowness of the kiss though, feeling his lips pressing gently against yours while his hands rest on your hips. it gives you butterflies.

akaashi temporarily stops the kiss to move you farther up onto the bed so now your head is resting on the pillows. he wants you to be as comfortable as possible and figures this will help.

“comfortable?” he asks, just to make sure and you nod. he then takes off his shirt and you follow his lead, removing yours too. then goes your pants, and your underwear, and the two of you are left completely naked.

you blush at the sight of your boyfriend. you realize you’ve never seen him fully naked. you’ve either seen him with his shirt off, or with his pants off while you gave him head. but never at the same time. and he’s never seen you fully naked either. either with your shirt off, or your bottoms off. never both. so you both just take a moment to soak in the sights in front of you.

“you’re so stunning.”

“you’re so handsome.”

the two of you speak in unison and laugh at the coincidence.

“no seriously though y/n, you’re insanely beautiful.” akaashi says, scanning over your body.

“hm, thank you baby.” you hum and a huge grin takes over your face, and akaashi’s as well.

he then starts kissing your neck. leaving soft small pecks all over the exposed skin. that was his favorite thing to do because it tickles so you always giggle a little bit. half giggle, half moan, and he thinks it’s the cutest thing ever.

“i know foreplay is important, but if i don’t fuck you now i’m not gonna make it.” akaashi admits agaist your neck, still placing kisses.

“that’s ok.” you laugh, “i’m already wet enough anyway.” you confess.

“shit, you are.” akaashi groans as he pulls away to peak at your pussy, which was currently glistening with your wetness. “that’s hot.” he mumbles more to himself than to you but you still smile anyway.

“are you sure you’re ready?” he asks again.

“i told you, i’m positive.” you reassure him.

with that, he positions himself at your entrance. his eyes are locked on your face, wanting to see your reaction as it goes in. he pushes himself in at a slow pace. a pace that would have been irritating to anyone with more experience, but for you it was perfect because the stretch you feel is very new. it hurts a little, but watching akaashi’s face and hearing his soft moan as he thrusts himself into you makes it all worth it.

“shit.” he groans once he’s all the way inside and you moan too, him hitting a spot that made your whole body tingle.

“right there, do that again akaashi.” you say and he does exactly that, earning another rich moan from your lips. he smiles at your noise, secretly trying to hold himself back from cumming just from that.

he continues to slowly thrust into you, purposely aiming to hit the spot that you like so much just so he can keep hearing your moans. he then watches you as you place your fingers on your clit, rubbing it expertly. his cock twitches at the view in front of him. you with your legs wide open with him deep inside you as you desperately rub yourself, looking up at him innocently. a complete contradiction to what the two of you are currently doing. and just as he thinks you can’t make it any harder for him not to cum you moan,

“akaashi, please go faster.” and he nearly passes out.

though he does not, and gives you exactly what you asked for. his thrusts increase in speed but he maintains his deep aim into your g spot and you feel yourself begin to tremble. he just watches in awe, knowing that you’re getting close to your limit.

“i-i’m close.” you moan, legs beginning to tighten around akaashi’s waist where you currently had them wrapped.

“cum for me y/n, please cum for me.” he says, partly wanting you to cum for your own pleasure and partly because he’s quite literally about to explode.

he can tell you’re there by the way your trembling gets slightly more aggressive and your moans get quite a bit louder and more consistent, and this brings him over the edge too. he quickly pulls out of you and cums on the bedsheets next to your body, the two of you panting as you come down from your highs.

“my god akaashi, if i would have known it’d be that good i would’ve asked you to take my virginity forever ago” you say and he laughs before showering your face in kisses.

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milfnearyou · 4 years ago

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𝐨𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐧: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥.

“𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮.”

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.4K | 𝐎𝐇 𝐒𝐄𝐇𝐔𝐍 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: ANGST. CHEATING. BETRAYAL. SUGGESTIVE. THATS PRETTY MUCH IT THIS TIME AROUND. NGL THIS ISN’T MY BEST WORK AND IS A SHORT ONE SHOT, SORRY! CLICK HEADER FOR HIGHER RESOLUTION BC TUMBLR IS STUPID.

VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

“So you just woke up one day and decided you loved me?!”

Your voice was painfully shrill, bouncing against the metal walls and echoing through the elevator shaft. If you hadn't been so furious, you would've cringed at the way you sounded. Considering your behaviour to be completely out of character and rather petty. But it was impossible to think straight. With all the sirens in your mind screaming 'Alert!' causing you to grow defensive. You saw everything as red, wrapped in a series of warning signs. Eager to protect yourself you grew aggressive, fury coursing through your veins and laced with disgust.

The disbelief was evident in your tone, accompanied by the extremely annoyed look plastered on your face. Your eyebrows were contorted together, lightly creasing your forehead as you anxiously chewed on your bottom lip. Your hands were balled into tight fists trembling at your sides as you fought the urge to beat the living crap out of him.

"Fucking answer me Sehun!" You exclaim, throwing your hands in the air. You didn't understand him, not taking any of his bullshit words seriously as a result. Had he been telling the truth, had he truly meant every word he said. Sehun wouldn't have just stood there in front of you with nothing to say. The silence he offered simply adding more fuel to the fire that raged inside of you.

"So now you're silent? You weren't this fucking quiet back when you were professing your so-called love to me?! What's gotten into you now?"

Again, nothing but silence. The tall man simply stands there in front of you with his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants as the elevator continues to rise higher and higher. With every floor, the elevator cabinet passed, the angrier you got and it didn't help that you lived in a high rise apartment. If he continued to act this way you'd be fuming, steam emitting from your body by the time you'd reach your floor.

“Do you even know what it means to love someone? Or do you just throw yourself in any direction that proves beneficial to your selfish well being?” The questions flew past your lips one after another. You weren’t going to hold back either. Pushing yourself towards him, forcing him to explain himself.

You didn't deserve the silence. You deserved proper answers, ones that were absent from the immature man in front of you.

"Answer me right now or I swear to god I'm cutting you off forever," Warning him, you take a step forward to face him closer. Invading his personal space as you stare at him, craning your neck upwards with your arms crossed.

Watching him like a hawk, you attentively wait. Noticing how he seems to take a slight step back, his broad chest heaving up and down slowly. He seems to be nervous or perhaps, flustered? It was hard for you to believe that with all the ways he could've handled the situation this was what he opted for.

Step by step, you get closer and closer towards Sehun until he's got his back pressed against the metal walls of the elevator. It was hard to believe that someone who looked dominant most of the time could be so cowardly.

"I'm not asking again," You state, pressing your index finger roughly against his chest. Physically pushing him around until he's finally had enough. His large hands pressing against your shoulders as he shoves you back, regaining his confidence. Finally, he refutes, silence no longer being an option for him.

“Fuck off! Do you want an answer? Fine, but you don't have to act like such an invasive bitch about things!"

Stunned your eyes widen. You can't tell if you should be offended or impressed with just how much you pushed him but you let him speak. Not saying anything even though he had just called you a bitch.

"No, I didn’t just wake up one morning and decide that I’d fall in love with you! It took me countless days and nights, essentially adding up into months of thinking about nothing except you! Do you know how painful it felt for me? Do you not understand how guilty I felt?!” The tone in his voice is dangerously low as he narrows his eyes at you. It's his turn to match your attitude, fixing his posture and standing tall.

"Oh really? So you only thought about how you felt and not how I would feel knowing about your feelings for me? Sehun, how selfish can you be? You aren't the only person on this godforsaken planet!"

"You don't think I knew that? I know you wouldn't be happy with this but you have to understand that had I kept everything to myself and continued to hang out around you; it would've been both disrespectful to you but also incredibly torturous to me. It was worth gambling my feelings and confessing with the consequence of potentially losing a friend instead of hiding it."

Taken aback, you feel yourself pause and you hate yourself for it. Sehun has a point, he's valid for being upfront about things but there was just one thing that didn't sit right with you. Despite wanting an answer and getting it you curse yourself for falling silent. The hypocrisy of your silence hitting you square in the face but you're not done. You still have one more thing to say.

"What about the fact that you're still dating my best friend? Did you think about how much this would hurt her? No, let me guess, I bet you haven't even mentioned anything to her," Bringing your best friend up seemed to be the major thing standing in between both of you.

Sehun stares at you like he's been frozen in time. His features completely poised and monotone as your eyes scan his face for any sign of emotion. It was still much too hard to accept his words, to trust them and understand that it came from the bottom of his heart. Your anger was now replaced with complete confusion, perhaps even denial as you scoff at him. He was crazy to think you'd ditch your best friend for a man like him.

Sehun only stood there with his shoulders pushed back, his posture relaxed. His orange tufts of hair making him look like a complete clown. His current demeanour was very different in comparison to how defensive he was earlier.

How could he be so hot and cold? None of it made sense with his face being completely unreadable, everything felt bland like a black and white movie. Sehun could scream as much as he wanted but his words would never get through, bouncing behind the screen, staying unheard from the crowd. All these things made it impossible to find the sincerity he had in his words represented in his body language.

The elevator came to a stop with a rather loud ding notifying you that it had arrived on your floor. You take one last look at Sehun battling with yourself on whether or not someone as selfish as him was worth entangling yourself with. But no matter how you thought of it you couldn't accept him. With Sehun came consequences, ones that you weren't willing to risk getting into and that being losing your best friend. Someone who was there for you through thick and thin could never be replaced with a man you'd only known for roughly a year.

He didn't mean anything to you and he wasn't allowed to have any meaning in your life, it just wasn't okay. Betrayal had a greater impact than love, you would be foolish to accept the latter.

Leaving him behind, you step outside of the elevator. Realizing just how much more breathable the air outside the shaft was in comparison to being back inside holed up with your worst nightmare. Your moment of freedom is cut short when you feel his lean arms wrap around your waist pulling you back inside.

He's clinging onto you like a child refusing to let go as he rests his head next to your shoulder. His hot breath brushing against your neck, making you uncomfortable for many reasons that were quite obvious. He just wasn't single nor available and you couldn't let yourself be the other girl.

“Please just—take a chance. I'm willing to cross oceans for you, tear apart anything that stands in my way because I love you. I'll break up with her, she's nothing like you. Why can't you see that I love you?” He rambles, his voice falling soft. Sehun sounds like he's about to fall apart as he speaks into the crook of your neck.

His voice vibrating against your skin, echoing through your mind. Despite his tone being no louder than a whisper, his message came loud and clear. Slowly his plump, soft lips make contact with your skin as you freeze in place watching as the elevator doors slam shut. Moving downwards again you feel like you're slowly descending to hell.

His actions gave you goosebumps as he peppered kisses against your neck. Using one hand to grasp your waist, holding you close to him. While the other cupped your cheek, tilting your head slightly so he could gain better access to your body, his kisses moving down south and landing onto your shoulder. Pushing your shirt slightly aside before gently biting down on your skin causing you to gasp.

Sehun's touch was electrifying and almost hypnotizing, you felt yourself growing dizzy and out of touch with your surrounding. As he continued using his lips to convey how much you meant to him against your screaming mind that yelled at you not to do this to your best friend. But like a fool, you melt into his touch. Lips falling apart, as your chest heaves up and down. The air feels intoxicating as he rotates your head towards him. His lips crashing against yours as you feel like you're about to pass out.

You can't give in, you can't betray your best friend and yet, you feel yourself kissing him back. Your tongue tangling with his, exchanging dirty, secretive kisses. Turning around to face him better you fall into all the places you knew weren't right and that was right into the arms of Sehun's. Intertwining your fingers with his, holding onto him tightly as if the only chance you'd have with him would be taken away.

Now you knew what it meant to be selfish and just how delicious it tasted.

The elevator is filled with the lewd, smacking of the shared kisses between you both. His body grinding into yours as you feel yourself growing heavy. Developing a strong heartbeat where your filthy desires lay. You felt yourself growing wet, shifting your thighs uncomfortably together. Feeling his hand snake down towards the waistline of your skirt, tugging on them.

"You just have to say the word and I'm dropping everything and everyone for you," He says in between kisses as you tilt your head back in pleasure when you feel his fingers slipping past your skirt. Hovering dangerously over your soaked heat. "Do you want to run away with me?" He asks.

You want to say yes. Your body having a mind of its own would rather speak for you but you just can't bring yourself to go through with it. The image of your best friend is hung up in your mind and even though the damage has already been done, you still don't think it's too late to stop.

“I can’t and you know I won’t,” You reply, wincing at how your voice cracks. You didn’t want to seem weak in front of him, you needed to show him you had control over how you felt. That you were sure you didn't want him but it was all a lie. A lie you told yourself and in return had the truth spoken out loud by the actions of your body.

Sehun knew of this and yet, his peppered kisses come to a halt. The grip he's got around you loosening as his hand slips out of your skirt. You step out of his grasp feeling ashamed, not daring to look at him. Turning around and staring at the doors instead. Fixing your shirt you crane your neck from side to side trying your best to calm down. Bringing a shaky hand towards the elevator buttons and clicking for your floor.

You can feel Sehun's gaze boring holes into the back of your head.

"I don't understand. Why can't you just let me love you? It's not that hard to just give me a shot. I can give you the world, give you all the happiness and security you need in life."

"--Let me be the man that protects you, that cherishes you. I know it's hard because of her but...don't we deserve to be happy?" He pleads, his voice wavering. If you had turned around to face him you'd see his lips quivering. His dark, brown eyes are glossy with tears threatening to escape from the tiny apertures of his tear ducts.

But currently, it's your turn to fall silent. All because you know that despite him falling at the seams, begging you to love him you know that he'll only go back to being the same once he's got you twirling around his dainty fingers. His norm being the same silent person as always, emotionally unavailable and confusing as always. Plus, who's to say he won't just ditch you like he's doing to your best friend?

"It's your turn to answer me," He pleads but you ignore him. Thanking the timing of the elevator for opening right at the end of his sentence.

Quickly stepping off you pray that he doesn't snake himself around you again because if he does, you don't know if you had the power inside to fight him off again and thankfully he doesn't. Sehun leaves you alone watching you get out of his view, the sound of your Chelsea boots clicking against the hallway floors until suddenly you're just gone. A wave of heartbreak washing over his feelings as he realizes that he just can't sit here and do nothing.

He won't go back to your best friend, he doesn't love her and in fact, he never did. It wasn't his choice to hurt her like this but he couldn't help but fall in love with the wrong person. So he chases you, chases the love of his life eager to satisfy his selfishness and have you by his side.

The consequence of dealing with your best friend could come later but first, he needed to convince you once and for all that he was the only good thing in his life. Your best friend was to be replaced.

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃: 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐅𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐔©︎

#this was ass: not proofread properly.#oh sehun x reader #sehun angst #sehun x reader #oh sehun angst #oh sehun suggestive #oh sehun smut #exo angst #exo fanfic #exo x reader #i don't know tags: bye!#lmk what you think.#solange is in the mountains: queue!#sehun smut #sehun suggestive

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mischief-managed-snitches · 4 years ago

Text

Obispo Losa

Part two of Obispo and Lily. I have so many ideas for this and I'm so excited to try them out! Thank you all for the love and encouragement!

Warnings: Swearing, Angst

As always, I do not own anything Mayans related. I do own my character and her story.

My first language is English. I do know some Spanish but I am not fluent. I will be keeping the Spanish in this story to a minimum to avoid butchering a beautiful language.

"Come on, it'll be fun!"

"You said that last time, Leti."

"I know and I'm really sorry about what happened, but I swear nothing like that would ever go down here. The guys wouldn't allow it."

"I don't know, Leti..."

"Come on! Bishop has been asking about you. He wants to see you."

"He said that?"

"...In so many words."

"Leti!"

"He has been asking about you! 'how's your friend, Leticia? How's her arm? Have you seen her today?" Leti dropped her voice to mimic the low bravado that was Bishop's voice.

"He did not ask you all that!"

"He did!"

"Really?"

"Yes, Lily!"

"Okay, what time is this party?"

"Uhh the guys have a meeting and then we usually party afterwards. Maybe like eight o'clockish? I'll text you the address."

"Sounds good."

"Oh and Lily, wear something slu-"

Click.

Lily tapped the red button quickly, not wanting to hear the rest of that sentence. She would wear whatever she wanted and it would not be to impress any man. Or so she thought, until the clock ticked 7:30 and she was buzzing around her bedroom, ripping open drawers and rifling through her closet like a mad woman. Swearing under her breath, Lily's frustration mounted as nothing seemed to fit right.

Lily was a bit curvier than most women, especially her friend Leti. Borrowing an outfit from her would be out of the question and some how everything in Lily's closet just seemed wrong. Blowing out an annoyed puff of air, Lily looked back over her clothes, trying not to be so critical. Bishop probably wouldn't even notice, not with all his friends around. Or so she hoped...

Gravel crunched under her tires as Lily turned off the road and into the driveway of what looked like some kind of auto mechanic business. A sign for oil changes and tire rotations hung out front, welcoming visitors into what looked like a run down garage. Random cars sat around, looking like they were falling apart or maybe just scrap pieces for other projects. A house sat connected to the garage, a porch welcomed any visitors and a large fire pit sat in front of its steps with a few picnic tables dotted around.

Parking her car off to the side, Lily wondered if she had the wrong address. Eyeing the row of motorcycles, she changed her mind. This had to be right.

Lily stepped out of her car just as the front door opened. A man she recognized immediately stepped out. Black hair buzzed close to his head, thin mustache, thick muscled arms. Oh yeah, she remembered him. He had steadied her when the guy had shoved her and then later, Leti had hugged him like they were best friends.

Lily offered him a smile, noting the way his leather vest differed slightly from the others she had seen. "Hi, I'm Lily, Leti invited me?"

"Yeah, hi, EZ."

"Wait, what?"

"Ezekiel Reyes, EZ for short." He grinned, "nice to meet you Lily." His eyes seemed to twinkle in the fading light. Somewhere in her mind she knew instantly that he was someone she could trust and with that realization a portion of her nervousness evaporated. EZ met her at the bottom of the porch steps, shaking her hand gently.

"Nice to meet you too." She couldn't help but return his smile, it was infectious.

"Leticia's inside, you can head on in, I'm going to start a fire." EZ jerked his head toward the door.

"Thank you!" Lily stepped inside, looking around at the unusual decor. A large statue of Saint Mary stood by the door, various framed pictures hung on the walls and the furniture looked like hand-me-downs from an array of different homes with different styles. The place was definitely decorated by men. Lily laughed to herself, smile growing as she spotted her friend across the room. Though the place was dimly lit, Lily could plainly see Leticia working hard behind the bar. Her hands moved quickly, preparing drinks, or food, or both. Glancing up as Lily shut the door, Leticia let out a squeal.

"You made it!"

"I did!"

"Yay! Get over here and help me prep this stuff! The guys will be out any minute."

"Out?" Lily dropped her purse on the bar stool at the end before walking around the bar. As expected, there was a mini kitchen set-up back there. Fridge, stove, microwave, sink, what little counter Lily could see was covered in random food items. Everything from salsa and chips to hot dogs and hamburgers sat before them.

"Yeah, they had a meeting tonight, but it should be over soon." She nodded in the direction of a rusted sliding door. "They'll grill the meat for us, but I like to have the sides and stuff ready to go a while."

"Okay," Lily wasn't sure what kind of meeting she meant, but it didn't matter anyway. She was too busy trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach to ask anything else. Leti handed her a knife and a bowl of peppers, instructing her to chop them up.

Lily had just finished the bowl and was washing her hands when a metallic screech filled the. Lifting her eyes as the door rolled open, Lily watched as the first few guys stepped through. One broke away from the rest, smiling at her as he plopped himself on the nearest bar stool.

"What's up, how are you?"

"Good, thank you, better than when we first met."

"Glad to hear it!" He swiped a stand of black hair away from his face, smiling at her warmly.

"Lily, this is my dad, Coco."

Lily felt her brows raise, surprised by the information. He looked so young, more like a brother than a father. She didn't comment on it though, instead, she smiled, offering her hand, "nice to meet you, Coco. Thanks for helping out the other night."

"Nahh, that was all Bish. We were just back up if things popped off."

"Sounds like they did later!" Leti jumped in.

"Yeah! Heard Bish broke that pendejo's nose!"

"Serves him right!" Lily stayed quiet, smiling as Leti and Coco continued talking. They really did act a lot alike and the resemblance in their faces was uncanny.

Eyes flicking to the doorway again, Lily was surprised by the amount of disappointment that washed through her.

"Bish is still at the table. Thinking things through I guess." Coco supplied, meeting her eyes with a knowing smile. Lily blushed, nodding as she looked down at her hands.

"Why don't you take him a beer? Tell him the meats on the grill?" Leti suggested, elbowing her gently.

"Yeah, that ones his favorite." Coco leaned across the bar, pointing to one of the many bottles they had just uncapped for the guys.

"Do you think that would be okay?" Lily asked awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other.

"As long as he's not talking business with anyone, he shouldn't care." Coco shrugged, taking a bottle for himself.

Lily nodded again, grabbing the bottle he had pointed to and striding confidently across the room. Her bravery didn't last long though. By the time she was standing in the door way her anxiety was back in full swing. The coast was clear, no one else was with him.

He sat alone, smoking a cigarette, papers laying in front of him. The room was dark, one single light hung overhead, casting a soft glow over Bishop's chair. He looked like a king sitting in the spotlight. His bulky frame illuminated against the dark of the room.

It's now or never.

Lily cleared her throat, stepping into the room hesitantly, praying he wouldn't throw her back out. He looked deep in thought and extremely tired, probably not in the mood to chit chat. This was a bad idea. Lily berated herself. What made her think this was a good plan?

Bishop's head lifted, cigarette nearly falling out of his mouth as he realized who was joining him. Her breath caught in her throat as he looked at her. Dark eyes fell all the way to her feet, taking in a pair of blood-red heels before dragging slowly up her body to land on her face. The black dress she'd chosen clung to her body in way that she hoped was flattering and not accenting her every bump and roll. She shifted on her feet, suddenly questioning her decision to wear this outfit. That was... Until she watched his tongue poke out of his mouth, wetting his lips almost nervously. Dropping his cigarette into a nearby ash tray, Bishop stood up, almost toppling his chair with his hastiness.

"Lily?"

"Hi, Obispo." She smiled, heat rising to her cheeks as he stared openly at her. "I umm... Brought you a drink." She lifted the bottle, stepping closer to hold it out to him. She swallowed hard as he walked around the table, wrapping his hand around the neck of the bottle, grazing her fingers as he took it.

"Thank you." His mustache lifted as he smiled at her, eyes twinkling with something she couldn't place. "Am I drinking alone?" He spoke teasingly, lifting the beer to his lips and taking a slow sip.

Lily watched his throat work as he swallowed it, clocked the way his plush lips pressed against the glass. Clearing her throat again, Lilly took a step back. "I-I don't really drink, but I uh... I wanted to let you know the meats on the grill a- and the food will be ready soon."

"Thank you," he said again with that same smile on his lips. He was amused by her awkwardness, finding her stammering cute. He liked this kind of nervousness, jitters brought on by attraction and not fear. Seeing her retreat another step, Bishop pushed off the table where he was previously leaning. "You don't have to go."

"I should help Leti with the rest of the stuff." Lily jerked a thumb over her shoulder, stumbling as she bumped into a chair.

"Watch that, querida." Bishop gave her a lopsided smile, taking one long step forward, the urge to be closer to her guiding his feet.

"Yeah..." Lily took another step back, tripping over another chair in the process. This time she couldn't catch herself, she was too shaken, too flustered. Bishop lunged forward, wrapping an arm around her waist before she could fall.

He pulled her upright, tugging her against his chest, steadying her with one hand all while holding his beer with the other. The little gasp that left her lips had his heart stuttering in his chest. "Easy does it, querida." His breath fanned her face, his voice low and soft.

He smelled of cigarettes and leather and a hint of spearmint. His hand laid heavy on her back, fingers splayed wide, each one burning a hole through the material of the dress. He was warm and tall and all hard planes where she was short and soft, fitting perfectly against his broad chest. Lily's small hands pressed to his stomach, torn between pushing him away and letting him hold her.

"Bish..." It was soft and breathy and effecting him in way that was completely inappropriate for only talking to her twice.

"I'm here, Preciosa." He spoke with the same volume as her, hushed, low, a tone that shot right to her belly. Her insides seems to melt and mush. A shiver crawled down her spine, goosebumps raising on her arms. He gazed down at her, dark eyes boring into hers as his thumb traced a slow circle on her lower back.

"Lily! Get your ass out here and help me!" Leti yelled from the other room sounding agitated. Lily startled in his arms, and just like that the spell was broken. Her hands were pushing off his stomach and she was stepping away before he could stop her.

Bishop dropped his arm reluctantly, feeling as if all the heat was zapped from his body as he did. It took everything in him not to reach out and pull her back, instead he gripped his beer tighter, sinking back into a chair as she disappeared through the doorway. Releasing a sigh, Bishop raked a hand through his hair. Shit.

#romance #writing #writer #ez reyes #bishop losa x reader #bishop losa x you #bishop losa #obispo losa #mayans imagine #mayans fanfic #mayans mc #mayans x oc #fiction #fanfic #lovestory #Obispo Losa x Lily

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the-last-kenobi · 4 years ago

Note

With anyone from the disaster trio or duo! (sorry I realized I didn’t say characters in the last ask!)

@badthingshappenbingo

Tripwire

(TW for panic attacks and minor and unintentional emotional abuse. This is emotional crisis in the middle of a war. Nobody in this story is at their best.)

••

Ahsoka sometimes thought that her Master never had rough days.

Oh, he had days when his temper was high - and those days were more frequent as the war went on and on and on - and days when he was more tired, more sad.

But he never seemed to have days where he just wanted to sit in a small, dark space like the far corner of his room or the dusty storage cabinet near the engines and hold himself together with his own two hands and just cry himself to exhaustion.

She tried to ask him, once, on a day when he seemed brighter and calmer.

“Master?” she began.

Then she stopped. Tilted her head to one side, listening with her montrals to the happy rhythm of his heart.

“Yeah?” he asked. “Snips?”

He was glowing with happiness, so excited just from his phone call home. She wasn’t stupid. Like the rest of the 501st - and 212th - and hells, maybe even the entire Order - she knew that her Master and Senator Amidala were... a thing.

Whatever that was, exactly.

Maybe, she contemplated, not noticing that she had begun to hunch in on herself a little, shoulders drawing in, maybe that’s what Anakin had that was different. Rex had Cody and the rest of his brothers, Anakin had Senator Amidala.

Ahsoka was just by herself.

“Hey,” Anakin said, sounding a little concerned. “Ahsoka? What’s up?”

The togruta shrugged, casually sliding back into her normal relaxed and confident self, the bravado she’d created years ago when she first began to suspect that nobody would choose her as a Padawan, and then built up again when she was assigned and dropped into the middle of open warfare.

And now again, struggling always with that urge to flee somewhere warm and small and safe.

“Nothing, Master. Sheesh. I was just wondering about the next class rotation. I really don’t want to retake Galactic History level 240 just yet...”

They moved on to other subjects.

••

She tried again, a few months later, shaken after a crushing campaign that stripped the 501st of some of their best and very, very many of their newest. The shiniest shinies.

Ahsoka searched the encampment they had pitched on the darkened moor, but she could sense Anakin from a mile off.

It was just harder for her, the closer she got to that epicenter of muted rage she could sense coming off him like heatwaves off sand.

But... they could help each other.

He didn’t have Padmé Amidala here today.

Today, right now, they had each other.

Ahsoka crept up to the dimming fire, set several meters away from the outer circle of tents, and saw the dark silhouette of Anakin Skywalker sitting on a low outcropping of rock, gazing into the flames. The red glow outlined him in faintest fire, sharpening the edges that darkness had softened into shadow.

“...Master?”

He didn’t seem to hear.

“Master... Anakin?” Ahsoka stepped a little nearer.

His head turned very slightly.

She froze, suddenly a little frightened, suddenly wishing she’d found her own warm safe place to be — because the ember-lit outline of Anakin’s face were neither safe nor warm.

He looked enraged.

“Anakin?” she whispered.

“Now isn’t the best time, Ahsoka,” he said slowly. Holding back. For her.

Giving her a chance to run.

From him.

She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Not Anakin. “But, Anakin... I think...” she took a deep breath and closed the distance between them, crouching down to place one of her hands gently on his arm. He trembled. “I think we should be together right now. Help each other.”

He shook.

There was a long pause.

Then: “Go away, Ahsoka.”

Her heart fell like a stone.

What was she supposed to do? Fleeing to a dark corner felt so wrong, so un-Jedi like, so weak — and now, to abandon her Master when he was so hurt? It felt like a double sin. She couldn’t do it. It would be wrong (but it was so tempting—)

“Master...”

“Go, Padawan! Now!” He turned to face her fully, his teeth bared in a predatory sneer that made her own sharpened fangs and hunters blood quail. A wall of blunt rage slammed into her like a blast of hot wind and Ahsoka fell back, catching herself on her palms in the cold grass.

A flash of something like guilt crossed his face, not much older than her own, but then hardened again.

“Jedi do not feel these things, Ahsoka,” he lectured. “Much less act on them. Go eat your meal and then get some sleep. Wallowing won’t help.”

Do as I say and not as I do?

Ahsoka sprang to her feet and gave in to the wild pounding of her heart and the icy fear clawing at her lungs — and she fled.

••

Ahsoka felt like she was falling.

She could feel her feet thudding against the dewy ground, could feel her montrals trembling as they picked up noises all around her, but all she could see was darkness and it felt like she was running in midair, held up by nothing.

Shadows rushed past her and her breaths came rapid and out of control.

She was dying.

She had to be.

This felt awful, terrible, there was no control —

She was just going to lose her breath and lose her senses until she died here - wherever here was -

Was she crying?

Maybe.

She couldn’t tell. Couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find her way in the dark.

Ahsoka crashed.

Blindly she crawled her way into what she could sense was some sort of corner.

It was warm here.

Dark.

Safe.

The feeling of walls and a floor and some sort of low ceiling pressing in all around her small form made her feel better, not worse. She could feel where she began and the shadows ended.

Slowly... slowly... slowly, Ahsoka Tano felt her soul begin to settle back in her flesh.

She could understand her surroundings better now.

She had shoved herself under cot in somebody’s tent. It really was warm here. Soft. It smelled familiar, the smell of the armor-polish-stale-soap-homemade-brew-standard-woolen-blankets and that something other that was just their men. Their boys.

Ahsoka could feel now how tightly she was curled up, how hard she was gripping her own limbs, still shaking.

Her throat felt raw.

Had she screamed? Cried? Or just gasped too much for air that hadn’t been coming?

She didn’t know.

She didn’t know a lot right now.

Does this make me a bad Jedi?

Or just a bad solider?

Which one am I, anyway?

“Padawan?”

I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t —

“Ahsoka?”

She took a shuddering gasp, then another.

She just wanted some answers.

For once, some answers.

No “do or do not,” no cultural languages she couldn’t understand, no envy of what Anakin had in his Senator, the forbidden things she didn’t understand and didn’t know she really even wanted.

She just wanted to know if she was wrong for this.

She had to be.

No real Jedi cried in a corner because someone reminded them they needed to be strong.

“Ahsoka.”

Finally she looked up.

“Master?”

It was Anakin she longed to see - the Master who hadn’t wanted her but had taken her anyways, the friend she’d always needed, the teacher she could never have dreamed of.

But it wasn’t Anakin.

It was Obi-Wan.

He looked down at her, and his eyes were so compassionate that she felt her own begin to well with tears again and her throat close up painfully.

Angrily, she swiped away a tear and hid her face in her arms.

There were soft sounds that told her that Obi-Wan was kneeling in front of her now.

He didn’t do anything.

Didn’t encroach, didn’t speak.

He just breathed.

And breathed.

Steadily in and out, and unconsciously Ahsoka began to mirror him, taking calm and even breaths.

Eventually it was just the two of them breathing together, the Master kneeling, the Padawan still hiding from the world.

“...Master Obi-Wan?” Ahsoka asked in a small voice. She lifted her head, and was struck again by how sad and tender her grandmaster’s blue eyes were. He looked so soft and comfortable, contrasted in her head with the memory of Anakin and his fiery outline and clenched jaw.

“Anakin...” she struggled to say. “I thought he... I hoped... why...” her voice broke again.

Unable to help it, Ahsoka pitched forward, sobbing again. She had already cried so much that her throat burned in protest, but cry she did, and this time she found herself wrapped in Obi-Wan’s arms.

She had never pictured this. He had always seemed so... aloof. What Jedi were meant to be. What she was not. What Anakin was not.

“I know,” he said slowly, his voice rumbling against her striped montrals. “Our teachers are not always what we want or need them to be. But we love them anyway, Ahsoka. Don’t we.”

She nodded as she cried, letting him hold her.

“I — thought — I — how am — does — d-does this — am I a — am...” it was utter nonsense coming out, but somehow he seemed to understand.

“You,” he said, “are a student. A very young student, despite how tall you may feel some days. War is hard on everyone, Ahsoka. You deserve better. It’s all right to have times like these.”

“You... you don’t,” she sobbed.

“Oh,” he said, sounding a little surprised. “Oh. Yes I do. Of course I do. I work my way through with meditation and tea. Anakin needs to be alone, and then he needs to vent. Normally he vents to me, or to — others. But it’s not your job to handle his outbursts. When you’re hurting, you go where you need to go.”

“Even if it’s a dark corner?” Ahsoka mumbled into his tunics.

She felt him chuckle slightly. “Even then. Especially then. We’re all dealing, Padawan. I’m sorry we didn’t talk to you about this, before this happened.”

“It’s okay,” Ahsoka muttered.

What she meant was: isn’t it my Master’s job to guide me? Isn’t it Anakin’s job? Am I too weak for him?

“We’ll do better,” Obi-Wan promised.

She had a feeling he meant: I’ll try to make Anakin do better. And when he doesn’t, I will.

And there was an overwhelming flood of emotions with that.

Thank the Force for Obi-Wan. But why not Anakin? Was this forever? Was this why her Master and Master Kenobi didn’t always get along? Because they were emotionally different? Would they shun her eventually too, if she turned out different from them both?

...But for the moment, Ahsoka took comfort.

Anakin would be back to normal in the morning.

And Obi-Wan’s arms were warm, and dark, and safe.

fin

#star wars fic #star wars #ahsoka tano #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #the clone wars #star wars the clone wars #canon compliant #listen I don’t think this makes Obi-Wan a saint and Anakin an ass #they just have different ways of coping #and Anakin’s makes him less helpful to others while Obi-Wan’s does the opposite #ahsoka and obi wan #master and padawan #angst #bad things happen bingo

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redvoid-40 · 4 years ago

Text

A Game for a Kiss

Don’t ask me where this came from. I’ve watched BSD a couple months ago and of course I got the hots for the feral rat-man. -.-

Anyway, slowly I came up with a little plot for an arc with some OCs (weird calling them OCs, when they’re all named after past writers but oh well) and even thought about developing it, but since I’m not in the mood to write a whole multi-chaptered fic, I decided to just write this interaction between Fyodor and my main OC for the BSD-universe, Mary Shelley. You know, as a treat. >.<

I know the fandom is super small, but I thought someone might enjoy this, so here it is! :)

Also, Fyodor might be OOC (it’s hard to get a full understanding of his character) but I see him as creepy-pretty, with no qualms in manipulating women in ways that border on dub-con. So... TW: some making out; Fyodor’s thoughts making it clear his morals are more twisted than a pretzel.

Anyway, enjoy! :)

Part 1 / Part 2 (NSFW) / Part 3 (NSFW)

“How about a game?” Fyodor proposed, smiling from ear to ear as he moved a chessboard from the side table to the coffee table in front of them. It was small, with tiny and expensive crystal pieces that had a purely decorative role, but he had never minded playing with valuable and irreplaceable things before, so why start now? Much worse to die of boredom than to shatter a hundred-dollar pawn. “I heard you had quite the reputation at the Chess Club in Oxford.”

“It’s been a few years since I last played,” Mary admitted as placed her glass of anise-infused gin on the coffee table and reached out to touch the white king, as if she was caressing a long-lost lover. “Not sure I’ll be a worthy opponent to you, Mr Dostoevsky.”

“How about I give you some impetus then?” Fyodor asked, raising a sole eyebrow as Mary’s eyes shone with interest. “If you win, I’ll give you something. Something I know you want from me.”

Mary quickly pulled back, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie-jar. “You’re already doing so, and I’m eternally grateful for it. Helping me retrieve Adam and right my wrong is all I could ever hope for and more, Mr Dostoevsky. There’s nothing el-”

“A kiss.”

Fyodor’s smile widened and his eyes darkened as a pink dusted over Mary’s cheeks. Her dark eyes made it hard to discern her emotions, but if he were to guess, Fyodor would bet her pupils had doubled in size at his indiscretion.

“I can feel your gaze on me, Doctor Shelley. Every time I walk in a room, your eyes peruse my figure like I’m an appetising treat,” Fyodor spoke, feet planted on the floor as he projected his body forwards, elbows on spread knees and the fingers of his hands intertwined. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you are interested in me in a way that’s not entirely professional or proper.”

Mary reached for her lowball glass and quickly brought it to her lips, downing the rest of her gin in a way that also wasn’t professional or proper. Fyodor watched her throat move, amused and admitedly a bit impressed at the pace at which she was draining her gin, wondering if maybe he should have proposed a drinking game instead. Who would fare better, her with her gin infusions or him with his chilled vodka?

“... and if I lose?”

Fyodor blinked, lazily trailing his eyes up her chin, passing by her pouting lips, blushing cheeks and up to dark eyes that stared at him so attentively. Lips curled at the corners, he raised a single eyebrow, urging Mary to continue.

“If I lose the game, what would you demand as compensation?” She clarified, and Fyodor exhaled at how she pressed her thighs together beneath her knee-length, black skirt.

“I’m not sure,” Fyodor said. “Why don’t you let me decide later? If I win the game, that is.”

Mary’s eyes turned away from his, moving down to gaze at the empty glass in her hands as some luster in her eyes darkened into distrust. “I think I’ll pass on your offer, Mr Dostoevsky. A kiss for an IOU? Your proposition doesn’t sound fair to me.”

Fyodor retreated, letting his spine fall comfortably against the back of the sofa as an airy laugh left his lips. The woman wasn’t as foolish as he had expected, at least; despite admitting in all but words she was enamoured with him, her shackles remained raised, certain she couldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

Must be a woman’s intuition, Fyodor thought, remembering the looks he so often received from the fairer sex throughout his late adolescence and adult life. So many inviting smiles were thrown his way, only to morph into barely veiled jitters when he got close enough to touch. For all his years of manipulating the brightest of the brightest to have his way, Fyodor still hadn’t figured out how to lull women into unravelling themselves for him without promises of money - or some other stimulant - as reward.

“If I win I vow not to abuse my freedom, and will only ask for something of equivalent value to what I offer,” Fyodor proposed, lips relaxing in a smile he hoped Mary deemed trustworthy. “And if you feel I ask too much, you can deny me and I’ll give up my reward altogether. Does that sound fair, Doctor Shelley?”

Mary looked at him through lowered lashes and he could almost hear the gears turning in her head, lust and reason rotating in opposing directions in a struggle to decide.

“Fair enough,” Mary spoke at last, and placed her glass back on the coffee table. Her hand then moved to the chessboard and spun it around so the white pieces were close to her. “But I play white.”

Fyodor almost protested, but the smile Mary threw his way demanded enough endearment that he’d allow her this little bit of despotism just this once.

He found he rather liked it.

---

To Fyodor’s surprise and satisfaction, Mary proved herself to be a worthy opponent. For the first time in years, Fyodor stood over a chessboard with furrowed eyebrows as he macerated the pad of his thumb between his teeth to the point he could taste iron on his tongue.

“Don’t do that. You’re hurting yourself.”

Fyodor had just moved his knight when a hand seemed to appear out of nowhere and gently wrapped around his wrist to guide his thumb out of his mouth. Purple eyes narrowed, shooting up from the board to Mary, but his scowl melted into something almost benign at finding the woman hunched over the board, positively pouting. Her hand released his wrist, leaving an imprint of heat on his flesh despite not touching skin, and floated back to her, fingers twitching as they hovered over her pieces, debating their next move.

There was a brief knock on the doors before they opened and in walked Ivan, pulling Fyodor’s attention just in time to see the narrowing of his silver eyes as they fell on the back of Mary’s head. The glare disappeared as soon as it came, so when Mary turned around to greet the newcomer with a polite smile, he responded with an enormous grin and flamboyant mannerisms.

“I’ve come to check upon you, see if everything was alright,” Ivan announced as he stood behind Mary, silver eyes fixed on Fyodor with adoration. “It’s almost midnight.”

Mary’s eyes widened in surprise as she reached for the phone she had forgotten on the cushion by her side. “Oh my, there are twenty calls from Jane. I really should take this thing off silent mode.”

Fyodor’s jaw tightened as Mary’s focus shifted from their match to her phone. “Ivan,” he called with a firm voice that demanded to be the centre of attention again. “Please, let Doctor Shelley’s companions know she is safe and sound with me, and that we’re both occupied at the moment. Also, would you be so kind to have someone bring us something to eat? Something sugary would be best. I will have a drink as well. Vodka, chilled but no ice,” then he lowered his eyes back to the woman in front of him and smiled as he motioned to her empty glass. “Doctor Shelley, would you care for another?”

“Ah, I-”

“A gin for the lady, Ivan. Thank you.”

Ivan’s smile didn’t falter as he bowed his head. “Of course, I’ll have someone bring your drinks. As for sweets, I believe there are a few strawberry shortcakes in the fridge. Would that be to your liking?”

This time, Fyodor remained silent as he stared at Mary, giving her the illusion she had a say in this whole matter, that she could choose her treat in the way she couldn’t choose to refuse a drink.

Mary’s eyes were glued to his and once again he noticed how her thighs rubbed together at his attention, leaving her phone forgotten by her side. Blushing, she craned her neck to glance at Ivan and nodded. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

“Very well. Someone will bring everything here briefly,” Ivan said, moving his eyes back to Fyodor. “If you need me-”

“We will be fine,” Fyodor dismissed, purple eyes fixed on Mary as he gave her a smile that showed too many teeth. “I believe it’s your turn, Doctor Shelley?”

Mary nodded, turning her gaze to the chessboard. Her hand hovered while her brain readjusted to their match, reviewing the last rounds as it calculated the best moves she could make. It took her only a couple of seconds to review their entire game and make her move.

“Good,” Fyodor said, right hand rising to his lips out of habit, only to stop midway as he felt an intense stare on him. When he looked up, Mary was giving him a look that quickly morphed into a smile when he aborted the movement. He snorted and smiled back. “Worried about my delicate fingers?”

“You’re the one who said you have an anemic constitution,” Mary replied, eyes dropping back to the board. “You shouldn’t hurt yourself; it might take longer than usual to heal.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Fyodor said, letting his eyes move up and narrow slightly at finding Ivan remained still behind Mary, staring at him with a doll-like smile on his face and wide eyes. “Ivan, our drinks?”

“Oh, of course! My apologies,” the man said before bowing theatrically. “I’ll leave you to your match. Good night!”

Fyodor nodded as Mary turned back to Ivan, throwing a polite “Good night, Mr Goncharov”, before once more focusing her attention on their game, waiting for Fyodor to take his turn. He grinned, purple eyes fixed on her as he made his move, enjoying the way Mary’s lips pouted as she concentrated.

He really was having fun playing with her.

---

The game came to its inevitable conclusion hours later, just as the sun was peeking over the horizon and the birds chirped outside the window. After a couple slices of strawberry shortcake and a few refills of vodka and gin, Fyodor let his body fall back on the sofa, smiling from ear to ear as he stared at the pouting woman in front of him.

“Check-mate, Doctor,” Fyodor purred, purple eyes darkening in satisfaction.

Mary stared at the board for a couple more seconds, as if a solution to her defeat would present itself to her. But when none did, she sighed in acceptance as her forefinger gently laid down her king.

“Don’t beat yourself, Doctor. It was a splendid game; the best I had in years,” Fyodor commented.

“Thank you, Mr Dostoevsky. But your words don’t make defeat taste any less bitter.”

“I guess not,” Fyodor said. “Especially since I have to claim the spoils of my victory from you.”

Fyodor didn’t miss the glance Mary threw his way, clearly torn between enticed curiosity and rational diligence, clearly still wary that he hadn’t made his wants known before their game despite his guarantees. Those intelligent eyes clouded with lust made him lick his lips, and her breath hitched in response.

“I want… a kiss.”

Mary’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

“I promised to ask for something reasonable, didn’t I?” Fyodor mused. “What’s more fair than to ask for the very thing I offered?”

“But then… why did we play?” Mary asked, head dropped to the side.

“Well, I don’t feel like moving at the moment,” Fyodor said, letting his knees fall open as his eyes ran over the woman in front of him. “So, since you’re the one owing me a kiss, you come here and give it to me.”

Fyodor had never seen someone’s skin change colour so rapidly before, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the bright red that bloomed all over the pale skin on Mary’s cheeks and neck. Without thinking, he brought his left thumb to his mouth, nibbling gently on the soft flesh as he regarded the woman with his own sort of unprofessional and improper interest.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” she said, eyeing the contour of his lips around his digit.

“Come and stop me,” he replied.

Mary swallowed his words with the same relish she swallowed her gin as she stood from the sofa, taking a moment to straighten the fabric of her pleated skirt, before walking towards him with soft, elegant steps. She came around the coffee table, sparing a glance at her toppled king before her eyes fell on his widespread knees and ran up his body until they reached his face. And while Fyodor was used to such appreciative looks, he didn’t expect the soft smile she gave him when their gazes crossed; it was usually at this moment that women stepped back from him, frightened by the intensity in his eyes.

Mary sat down by his left, so warm against the side of his body, and reached up with both hands to pull his thumb away from the abuse of his teeth. She brought his hand down to her chest to examine the damage, pouting when she saw the pad of his thumb was red and swollen, with a small laceration that had just barely crusted over and still threatened to bleed.

Fyodor watched her through half-lidded eyes, exhaling deeply when she glanced up at him. From such close-quarters he could make out the limits between the black of her pupils and the brown of her irises; just like he imagined, her pupils were dilated to extremes, wary of and eager for him. The red on her cheeks subsided, leaving a light pink colour in its place that enticed him to run his lips over the skin.

With a small quirk of her lips, Mary glanced back at his hand and shook her head at the damage on his thumb, before bringing it to her mouth to kiss the wound. The touch was soft as a rose’s petal but still knocked the breath out of Fyodor’s lungs. His warm breath gusted over the top of her head, then hitched as a soft, warm hand laid on his cheek.

“That was not what I had in mind when I asked for a kiss,” Fyodor spoke, smiling down at the woman.

A chuckle escaped Mary and once again she gave him that soft look he was unfamiliar with. Before he could taunt her further, Mary tilted her head and guided his face down, letting her lips ghost over a corner of his mouth before moving to the other, soft and sweet. Hypnotised, Fyodor’s eyelids fluttered shut as he relaxed into these teasing touches that, despite being feather-light in their delicacy, made heat rush in his veins like molten metal, erupting out of his heart to his cock and leaving a trail of feverish desire in his veins that demanded more. More contact, more kisses, more pressure.

Fyodor pushed forwards, folding his body over Mary as his hand reached out to grab the back of her neck, only to freeze mid-air as her cold air took the place of her warm flesh. Somewhere he heard an unholy sound, and only after he opened his dark purple yes to find startled brown staring back at him he noticed he was the source of it. He was growling.

In a fraction of a second, Fyodor wondered about the stage he had set for them. Had he misjudged her interest? Hadn’t he offered her enough drinks? How much did she need his help? How much did he need her and her companions? How far could he push? Was everyone in the house still asleep? If she screamed, would anyone come to help?

Brown eyes narrowed slightly and Fyodor swore he saw a glimpse of himself in them; of something aware, astute, and artful. It was there for a moment so short he wasn’t sure he had projected the connection, so before he could let his brain process it, he was once more being subjugated to that look. That nauseatingly soft look no one had ever given him before, and that he did not know what to do with.

Without words, Mary bent the rules of their game and took his turn from him, cancelled aggression with tenderness as she pushed him back against the sofa gently before swinging her leg over his lap to settle herself on his thighs, pulling a pleased hum from deep inside his chest.

“May I?” Mary asked, hand playing with the flap of his ushanka hat.

Smiling, Fyodor nodded, and Mary pulled the hat off his head. The motion left his hair messy, drawing a giggle from her lips as she combed the knots away so gently he couldn’t help but shut his eyes and relax against the caresses.

“Your hair is so soft,” Mary murmured, letting Fyodor smell the gin and strawberries on her breath. He felt her fingers dance on his face, collecting his long fringe to push it back and away from his features. “And you’re so beautiful.”

Fyodor’s eyes opened slightly, just enough so he could stare at the rosy lips hovering so close to his. His hands twitched by his sides, unsure where to go or how to touch. He was used to grabbing, pulling, bruising and scratching; not to soft lips or delicate touches dancing over his skin like her hands ghosted over the chess-pieces only minutes before.

Mary’s lips let out a delicious, trembling breath before moving towards him, avoiding his own mouth altogether to give a kiss on his cheek before moving to whisper into his ear: “You feel so tense. Relax.”

Easier said than done, Fyodor thought, turning his head to bury his nose in Mary’s long, black hair and breath in the scent of her shampoo - something citrusy and common that made him light-headed in a way he only felt when his anaemia got the best of him, causing him to black out and wake up stretched on a hospital bed, with an IV bag of O- blood connected to his arm.

Still, he couldn’t possibly lose consciousness now, not with Mary’s warm body grounding him so sweetly, not with her breasts pressed against his chest and the heat between her legs trapping him against the sofa’s cushions in the best possible way. Gently, like everything she did, Mary finally laid her mouth over his, allowing a whimper to escape the back of her throat when he pressed against her, not as much as he would have liked, but enough to hold back the most violent aspects of his desires, for now.

At the contact, Fyodor’s passive hands took action, sneaking up Mary’s thighs and hips, before slipping under her blouse to rack his short nails over her naked back as he used his hold over her to press her heat harder against his cock. He half-expected her to pull back again, startled at his boldness, but Mary surprised him by letting out a delighted gasp as she tightened her grip on his hair and arched her back, pushing her breasts even more against his chest.

Fyodor took the opportunity and shoved his tongue inside her mouth, groaning as the taste of her invaded his senses. One of his hands danced over Mary’s skin, causing her to shudder as it tickled by her ribs before moving up to her-

“Oh, Dos! Are you in there? Why is the door locked?”

Nikolai’s happy-go-lucky voice breached the door’s barrier, causing Mary to pull back from their kiss, panting. Fyodor’s nails tensed over her skin before his hands relaxed again, dropping to her waist as he sighed and dropped his forehead against her collarbone.

“I guess your debt is paid, Doctor,” Fyodor spoke against her skin. “There’s work to be done.”

“Of course. I have my mission in a couple of hours as well,” Mary agreed as she pulled away to stand up on shaky legs. “It would be best if I got a couple some sleep before it.”

Fyodor glanced down at himself, at the wet spot on the crotch of his pants, and looked up at her through half-lidded eyes with a devil’s smirk. “Think you need a shower too?”

Mary blushed as she straightened her clothes in a modicum of decency. “I guess.”

Fyodor chuckled, but before he could tease her further, Nikolai’s loud voice invaded the room once more, making his eyes roll upwards in exasperation.

“Quiz time! How long until I force the door open? Two minutes? Two seconds?”

“I will leave you two alone,” Mary said. “Excuse me, Mr Dostoevsky.”

Fyodor nodded dismissively, but the look in his eyes was anything but uninterested. “I will see you later… Mary.”

The woman’s breath hitched at having her first name spoken with such heavy desire before she quickly made her escape, almost slamming against Nikolai when she unlocked the door.

“Good morning, Mr Gogol,” she said with a polite smile.

“Good morning, Mary!” He replied enthusiastically, pulling one of her hands to his lips. “What a treat to see your charming figure so early in the day! Don’t tell me Dos has summoned you at such ungodly hours to talk business?”

“Oh no, we were just having a match,” Mary said, pointing to the chessboard on the coffee table. “He wiped the floor with me.”

Nikolai took a few moments to examine the board and what he saw made him raise an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Really? Looks like a tight match to me,” he said, before turning to Mary. “Next time you should invite me so I can cheer you on! Gods, what I wouldn’t give to watch Dos lose a game…”

Mary chuckled and opened her mouth, but Fyodor beat her to the punch. “You wanted to talk, Nikolai?” He called, smiling tightly at the other Russian. “Come in and close the door behind you.”

“Hmm, grumpy,” Nikolai whispered, sharing a conspiratory smile with Mary as he once again kissed the back of her hand. “Lovely to see you, my dear.”

“You too, Mr Gogol. Have a good one,” Mary said before walking away, throwing one last smile in Fyodor’s direction.

Nikolai waved at Mary’s back as she walked away, closing the door once she turned a corner.

“You know,” Nikolai began in Russian, spinning on his heels to face Fyodor. Both men smiled, but the emotions they showed were something dark, almost cruel. “I believe this is the first time I see a woman in a room alone with you leave without tears in her eyes.”

Feet planted on the floor and knees spread, unashamed of his hard-on or the wet spot on the fabric of his pants, Fyodor hummed a little song as he reached for his hat and adjusted it back on his head. Satisfied, he reached forward and grabbed Mary’s fallen king from the board.

“Honestly, my friend,” he said, bringing the piece to his smiling lips. “I do not know what you’re talking about.”

#bsd fyodor #fyodor x reader #fyodor x you #fyodor x oc #fyodor dostoevsky #ivan goncharov #bsd #bungo stray dogs #nikolai gogol #does this piece of self-indugent writing classify as an one-shot?#even when it's so clearly part of something way bigger that will never be?#anyway i wrote what i wrote #you can't tell me fyodor doesn't give out some creepy vibes #that anime smile is a panty-dropper but also creepy af

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staarshines · 4 years ago

Text

Alderaanian Tragedy || P.D.

Warnings: Mentions of ecstasy (in the song), mention of getting drunk

Word Count: 1.8k

The story as to how you ended up in the middle of a cantina on Ajan Kloss, dancing with the love of your life, foreheads pressed together while laughing, still high from the first two kisses just a mere few hours after the war of your generation ended.

[A/N]: i said i would write it 😌 NO THIS IS NOT ANGST I PROMISE!! it’s based off of the song “greek tragedy” which’s remix went viral on tiktok lately—if you’re gonna listen to it while reading the story, please do not listen to the remix because that’s the complete opposite of the original 😭 And yes if like five of the words seem changed I did change a few lyrics to fit the universe better!!

Poe.

That was the only person you wanted to find when you landed—everyone else could wait. Rey, Finn, L’ulo, Rose—they all could wait.

The love of your life couldn’t.

Maybe it was the absolute high you were still riding from watching all those allies drop out of hyperspace. Maybe it was relief about the war you’d been fighting for for nearly half a decade finally being over. Maybe it was fear of how many blasts had barely missed your X-Wing that last battle. Or maybe, just maybe, it was just exhaustion of keeping the secret for so long. But you needed to tell him.

After all, you had no excuses now.

We’re fighting in a war.

We can’t risk being distracted.

What if something happens to one of us?

It’s not a good time.

If he doesn’t feel the same, we won’t be able to work together anymore.

No. None of that. All those “excuses” went down with the dreadnoughts on Exegol.

You’re too lost in your thoughts to even be actively looking for him, just wandering through the crowd of ecstatic rebels because you know the moment you see his eyes, you’ll be racing toward him.

And you’re damn right.

You run into his arms so hard that you knock the breath out from your own lungs—forget about his. You know he’s saying something, you just can’t hear it over the rebels’ cheers and your own sobs. It’s practically impossible to get out of his grip, but once you do, you press your forehead so hard against his that it hurts, laughing through your tears, his face cupped in your hands and vice versa—you swear to the Maker you would’ve kissed him right then and there had Rey and Finn not nearly tackled you both to the ground with a hug.

Nobody says a thing for who knows how long—the silence in between the four of you is more than enough. Once the four of you pull apart, it takes mere seconds for you all to break out in laughter after seeing the fatigue on everyone’s faces. Nevertheless, the flyboy has something else on his mind.

“We’re definitely getting drunk tonight, right?”

“I thought we were dressing cute—” you blurt out, looking at your black skater dress and Finn’s collared shirt before seeing Poe in his signature tank top-half flightsuit and Rey in one of her regular sleeveless tunics and a jacket.

“I thought we were dressing homeless…”

“I was just too tired to change out of my flightsuit.” Finn snickers and you just roll your eyes, fighting back a smile (and failing, obviously). “It doesn’t matter, really. I look hot either way.” He sends a wink your way which you hope looks like you blatantly disregarded it—because your mind certainly didn’t.

“Don’t get too cocky, Dameron.”

Making your way down to the cantina, you can’t help but let your mind wander a little because of how flirtatious Poe is being. Sure, he was always flirty little shit, but something about this was… different.

Probably just the weight of the war off his shoulders, you tell yourself.

But that couldn't be the only thing. There had to be something else.

This. This is what you hated about being a rebel—were you still a rebel if the war was over? That’s beside the point—the hope. The hope is what you hated. Rebellions were built on hope. As long as there was hope, a rebel would keep fighting. No matter how improbable or impossible, even, the situation was, a rebel wouldn’t give up on it. It’s the only reason the Rebellion won the war, really.

And you’ve told yourself more times than you can count that work’s ideology should stay in work’s life. A motto that outrageous doesn’t just transfer over to a, well, to any love life. You’ve talked yourself down in your quarters, the hangar, your X-Wing, a fucking dreadnought, and even this cantina where you’re sitting right now.

Your heart just wouldn’t listen.

“This song—hell yes!” Poe’s excited yells pull you out of your thoughts, and it takes you a few seconds to realize that Alderaanian Tragedy is playing. “C’mon flygirl, get up! Let’s dance!”

“Flygirl?” you don’t hesitate to question the nickname—not that you were complaining, no. The opposite, really. “Since when has that been my thing?”

“Since I said so.”

“Oh really?”

“Mhm. I practically own the brand. I say what goes.” You nod teasingly but don’t budge, earning a groan from him. “Fine. You made me do this, then.” He grabs your hand and pulls you out of the booth with a surprised yelp from you. You reach a hand out to Finn and Rey but Finn just waves you off and Rey blows you a kiss, winking. Sighing, you decide to accept your fate, catching up to Poe so he doesn’t have to drag you through the crowd anymore.

“We’re smashing mics in karaoke bars…”

“Are you really going to pull us into the middle?” you yell over the pumping music, barely even being able to hear yourself.

“Is this your first time meeting me?”

“You’re running late with half your makeup on…”

Poe comes to a stop and grabs your other hand, beginning to sway to the music. You’re still a bit reluctant, which earns you a pout from him. Maker, not the damn pout.

“This method acting might pay our bills…”

You smile just the tiniest bit at remembering how much you loved this song—Poe’s grin when he sees that you’re having fun makes you start giggling almost uncontrollably.

“But soon enough, there’ll be a different role to fill…”

You sing along, finally starting to let yourself loosen up and have some fun, which makes Poe happier than he’s been in a long time.

“I love this feeling, but I hate this part…”

Poe sings along with you, giving you a little “Yeah!” of encouragement at the end.

“I wanted this to work so much, I drew our plans in the stars…”

You swear you see him point to you both before pointing up at the ceiling like you could see the stars—damn this dim lighting. Did you just imagine it, or did Poe really make that verse about the two of you—?

“Speeders are flipping, I’m in hot pursuit…”

He grabs your waist and twirls you into his chest—you swear your heart stops right then and there.

“My character’s strong, but my head is loose.”

He rolls his head back and sticks his tongue out at you—as stupid as it may be, you laugh. The bass of the beats start shaking the floor, and you both look at each other like you know what to do next.

“She hits like ecstasy…”

You’re jumping like crazy with your hands on Poe’s shoulders, laughing gleefully and letting your hair whip around without a care in the galaxy.

“Comes up and bangs the sense out of me…”

He’s singing along now, and as loud of the music may be, you can hear him—you’re closer and honestly? He’s louder. Like the song means something to him.

No, he’s just enjoying the night. Stop being a romantic for once.

“The tarot cards say it’s not that bad, the blades rotate there’s just no landing pad…”

Dramatically falling back with full faith that Poe will catch you—which he does—you try to stop yourself from thinking about how deep you are in your love for him. Dancing like this, it’s not… It’s not how best friends dance. There shouldn’t be this much tension, and there sure as hell shouldn’t be this much meaning.

“And better have said it, but darling you’re the best…”

You mouth the last four words—as does he—and pointedly tap his nose, as if to solidify that you were talking about him.

“I’m just tired of falling up the Penrose steps…”

He slows down a little bit and you gladly oblige, a little bit out of breath yourself as well.

“I hate this feeling, but I love this part…”

You let your arms drape over his shoulders, feeling like he was trying to tell you something. You look into his eyes but you can’t read them because of the lack of light—you swear you see a shimmer or a sparkle somewhere in there, though…

“She really wants to make it work, and I clearly want to let it start…”

One of his hands travels up your back while the other tucks a loose strand of your hair back in place—the simple motion setting off that Maker-damned fizzing feeling in your stomach again.

“We’ll build a podracer as soon as I get home…”

Your hands switch positions from over his shoulders to holding his face—were you two getting closer? You honestly couldn’t handle the suspense.

Fuck it.

“Oh and she hits like ecstasy…”

Your veins throb and you swear your heart explodes as your lips crash into his, which he gladly welcomes. He’s everywhere, up your back, your neck, your hair, and suddenly, he’s kissing you harder, deeper, with some sort of urge that you’ve never known before. It’s dizzying, because you feel the same thing—you’ve never wanted anyone like this before. Ever. In this moment, all you wanted was Poe. You want him closer, closer, closer, even though he can’t get any closer. Maybe time stopped when your lips met his.

“Comes up and bangs the sense out of me…”

You don’t want to break the kiss—in fact, you want to let it go on forever—but you need a second to think without his lips on yours.

Did you really just kiss him?

Poe Dameron?

The love of your life?

And he’d kissed you back?

“It’s wrong, but surely worse to leave…”

You’re searching his face for answers and he seems to be doing the same—that is, until, you both come to the conclusion that another kiss is probably the answer.

“She hits like ecstasy…”

It still isn’t clear whether or not you’d just dreamed this moment into real life, but there was something about the way he was gripping onto you. Something that screamed “I’m never going to let you go. I’m never going to let you go. I’m never going to let you go.” And honestly? You didn’t want him to.

“So free up the cheaper seats…”

Even though you’re too out of breath for kissing, you still need to be as close to him as possible—thus being the last detail of the story as to how you ended up in the middle of a cantina on Ajan Kloss, dancing with the love of your life, foreheads pressed together while laughing, still high from the first two kisses just a mere few hours after the war of your generation ended.

“Here comes an Alderaanian Tragedy.”

Masterlist

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Permanent: @becausewhyknotme, @browneyedhimbo, @theladyoffangorn, @officialtonystarkprotectionsquad, @justmebeingtheweirdmeiam, @fantasticcopeaglepasta, @talk-geek-to-me, @letsmellowjello, @thescarletknight2014, @bbluespiritzuko, @brooklynsmorales, @poe-djarin, @marvelinsanity, @softly-sad, @yourbucky084, @mcolbz14, @houseofthirst, @arkofblake, @asianravenpuff

Star Wars: @kittyofalltrades, @m1rkw00dpr1ncess, @propertyofdindjarin, @coldbreadbouquetworld, @melvls, @thedevilwearsbeskar, @agentshortstacc

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Story Tag: @permanentmess

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron fic #poe dameron imagine #star wars fic #star wars imagine #my writing

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where-dreamers-go · 4 years ago

Text

“Part 6/Finale - Treasure” Riley Poole x Reader

(A/N: Requested. Ready to go into the treasure room? What treasures lie within? And what treasure will you discover after you make it out?

Thank you so much for the support and love for this series! I love these characters so much. I think I might love Riley Poole more now than I did at the start of writing this series, if that’s possible.

I hope you enjoy this final part!!!

Also, thank you @ivorydragoness44 for proofreading!

Warnings: That pesky sprained ankle. Mentions of all the dangers that our lovable characters went through.

Check out: Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five

Word Count: 6,465 words)

“The all-seeing eye.” Ben whispered as he ran a hand over one of the carved-in walls. “‘Through the all-seeing eye.’” The lit torch in his hand illuminated the old art on the wall. A single eye. He brush away at thick layers of dirt and dust.

“That means…” Riley said his thoughts out loud, “by the time lan figures it out and comes back here, we’ll still be trapped, and he’ll shoot us then. Either way, we’re gonna die.”

You gave a light squeeze to Riley’s hand.

Ben looked to all of you with a soft, confident gaze, “Nobody’s gonna die.”

There was a pause.

“There’s another way out.”

Riley all but rushed forward, not letting you go and urged you to move as he asked, “Where?”

“Through the treasure room.”

A push of Ben’s thumb onto the dusty surface and the set-in wall with the all-seeing eye roared to life. Air and rocks moving.

Ben and Riley shared joyous smiles.

Reaching over, Ben handed you the torch to hold before turning back to the wall. Ben started to slide it to the left.

“I got it,” Riley whispered, taking the torch from you and giving a quick glance down at your probably still swollen ankle.

“Here.” Patrick handed Abigail the torch. He went immediately to help his son. In only a few moments, they had gotten the wall to really start moving. Dust and dirt falling from a dark new opening as it revealed itself.

“Riley.” Ben nodded and he was given the torch back. He crossed over the short half wall.

Patrick went next after Abigail gave him back the torch he had been using. Then she went before you as you pulled your hand from Riley’s and bounded over the small obstacle.

It was another enclosed room, larger and no less dusty. Various items were scattered across the floor either broken or covered in cobwebs. Anything left was either a decorative pillar or had held something at a point in time.

On your left sat a trunk long ago opened and emptied.

Abigail let out a short and heavy sigh.

Whatever joy you had when the wall opened had faded.

It was basically an empty room. No treasure. No history from other civilizations. Just dust.

It’s empty.

You looked up to see Ben’s back. The torch out to the side as his shoulders slouched.

Oh, Ben, you thought sadly. All this work.

“Looks like someone got here first.” Riley whispered.

“I’m sorry, Ben.” Abigail said.

“It’s gone.” Ben looked around to the other side of the room before facing away from you all again.

“Listen, Ben…” Patrick said as he slowly walked forward.

“It may have even been gone before Charles Carroll told the story to Thomas Gates.” Ben muttered.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I know. ‘Cause you were right.”

“No, I wasn’t right.” Patrick stated firmly.

You watched on in silence and surprise.

“This room is real, Ben. And that means the treasure is real.” Patrick stood before Ben. “We’re in the company of some of the most brilliant minds in history, because you found what they left behind for us to find and understood the meaning of it. You did it, Ben. For all of us. Your grandfather, and all of us. And I’ve never been so happy to be proven wrong.”

Your eyes started prickling with emotion. It had been a long while since Patrick and Ben had just talked. No arguments. Just honesty and positivity.

If only the disappointment in the air wasn’t so thick.

You hoisted yourself up to sit on a stone surface. Relief rushed to your feet and tender ankle. Riley soon joined you on your right.

“I just…” Ben walked over to lean against a surface. “Really thought I was gonna find the treasure.”

“Okay.” Patrick said, standing tall. “Then we just keep looking for it.”

You smiled.

Abigail took a step or so closer and said, “I’m in.”

“I’ve got time.” You pipped up.

“Okay.” Ben breathed out, looking between all of you.

“Not to be Johnny Rain Cloud here,” Riley spoke up, “but that’s not gonna happen. Because as far as I can see, we’re still trapped down here.”

“Yeah.” Abigail’s eyebrows drew together.

That didn’t settle right with you. It wasn’t fair. It didn’t fit. You couldn’t quite grasp it.

That doesn’t really add up. It’s old enough, you thought as you considered you were at a dead-end.

“Now, Ben, where is this other way out?” Riley asked.

“Well, that’s it.” Ben stood straighter as his voice held his growing confidence. “It doesn’t make any sense, because the first thing the builders would have done after getting down here was cut a secondary shaft back out for air…”

“Right.” Patrick was already back to the right side of the room.

“...and in case of cave-ins.” Ben started to move, heading straight for a decorative wall with Abigail at his heels.

You watched your best friend tentatively. There was no doubt that he could find something. Anything. From what you could see from a distance away, Ben was eyeing and touching discs on a wall. One in particular.

“Could it really be that simple?” Ben muttered and reached into a pocket where he had stashed away the pipe.

You leaned closer to catch his words, practically about to support yourself on Riley’s left thigh just to see what was happening.

“‘The secret lies with Charlotte.’” Ben placed the small decorative ship piece into the section of the wall.

No one else spoke as Ben slotted in the second piece of the pipe and started to rotate the disc counterclockwise. Sounds of stone and mechanisms filling the room softly.

click

Ben then pushed the circular piece in.

WOOSH

Air rushed into the room as a wall started to move at the far side of the room. The fire on the torches becoming a small hazard for a few moments.

Wait. What? It’s…Charlotte was the key more than once? …brilliant.

Riley stood from the stone, eyes fixated to the opposite wall.

You were careful when hoping off of the stone. Your ankle only complaining a little. Not that it could damper your rising spirits.

Everyone was quietly in awe.

Wasting no time, Patrick walked swiftly to the new opening.

With a bright smile and a bounding step, Riley went straight towards the room’s exit.

From the new opening, you stepped through to the right. On either side, walls were decorated with art, their color still visible.

It was like a lucid dream.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stopped beside your friends at the opening. Both your mind and eyes were trying to process and believe what was laid out in the open area. From what you could see from the torches’ light, the room had treasure across every suitably open surface. Glancing around the room, there were statues from Egyptian times, cobweb covered trunks, various sized statues from different cultures, vases, candle holders, trinkets, and world history. You were literally surrounded by history.

Ben finally joined the four of you. Silent. Taking it all in.

Abigail moved first. Her steps taking her farther into the room.

Blinking your senses back, you took gentle steps onward to one of the tables.

Patrick started towards the left.

Riley tentatively started forward.

It was all so much like a dream. Beautiful and everything you could hope to be surprised with after the journey that had to be made to get there.

How long had the treasure all sat there without an eye to look at it nor a hand to touch it? How long since fresh air had circulated through its halls and secret rooms?

Your hands remained at your sides. Treasure and history was right in front of you, however your awe was still overwhelming. Your feet took you to another table, slowly. Still absorbing that you were there.

“Scrolls from the library at Alexandria. Could this be possible?” Abigail whispered from somewhere behind scrolls stacked on shelves.

But…they were burned…destroyed in two different occasions, you thought in wonder. What else was saved? Hidden.

Peeking up, you were just able to see Patrick off at a section where there were suits of armor.

Now, that’s something sleek-looking. What metal alloys are they exactly made from? We need to date this—

Your gaze was caught to something on a table. “No way,” your voice was hushed as your eyes couldn’t pick one place to focus on first. “This doesn’t look entirely Egyptian. How many cultures made similar designs?” You made your way through the various and incredible pieces of history. Afraid to actually touch anything, you settled for looking incredibly close. It was easy to totally ignore the slight ache in your ankle because it was not the time for that.

“It’s a big...bluish-green man, with a strange-looking goatee. I’m guessing that’s significant.” Riley said from somewhere behind you.

He’s so freakin’ cute.

Grinning, you looked to see where Ben had gone to investigate. You hadn’t heard a sound from him. He was at the top of a set of stairs. He sifted his hand through something before lowering the torch.

Fire ignited and roared down between stairs, sectioned into three routes, and sectioned off again and again. Busts, statues, flags, literature, and more were made visible as fire illuminated the rest of the room. A huge room. Years of world history underneath everyone’s noses.

Ben slowly walked over to a railing and you all joined him. Patrick to Ben’s left and Abigail to his right. Dusty pillars with paint chips stood tall at sections of the railing, one of which stood between Abigail and Riley. Your spot was all of the open space beside Riley with a view of possibly thousands of pieces of history.

“Yes!” Patrick cheered, throwing an arm around his son.

You smiled to Abigail as you all but bounced on your feet.

“This is amazing.” You said.

The room extended yards out. Almost every inch of space had to be covered or stacked with some part of history.

“Riley, are you crying?” Abigail asked.

You looked over at your friend. Indeed, his eyes shined with tears.

“Look.” Riley swallowed. “Stairs.” His gaze was fixated to the very far side of the large room, if you could call it simply a room, there were wooden steps leading up to an exit.

Thank goodness, you thought. But I will risk my ankle being slightly more swollen if I can have a little look around before leaving for fresh air. I can take it.

Glancing back to Riley, you wrapped an arm behind Riley’s shoulders and he was quick to tuck himself into your hug.

“We’re getting out of here alive.” You said the first words that had barely went through your mental filter.

He wiped his hands over his eyes, “Yeah.”

“And with extra knowledge.”

Abigail gave you smile.

Hearing Riley sniffle, you added, “Let it out, Riley. Let it out.”

Zigzagging your way through stacks of knowledge and towering statues, the five of you reached the stairs in the fair back. A large statue stood beside it, practically on its way to reach the ceiling. How that statue in particular had gotten down there, you could only have a few educated guesses.

The group of you had carefully gone up the stairs before being greeted by more dust and dirt. Those cobwebs had to be older than all of you.

Traveling through more carved out halls, Ben lead the way with a torch in hand.

“Hey, does anyone still have their cell phone?” Ben asked.

“Hold up,” you spoke up as you reached into your pocket.

“Mine’s dead.” Riley said flatly.

After holding the power button on your phone and the small screen flashed on, you saw just one colorful light spot.

“Geez.” You blinked a few times. Once your phone had turned on, the tiny battery bar was extremely low. “Uh. Maybe you could spare one call?”

“Great. I need to make a call to Agent Sadusky.” Ben explained.

“Alright, here—Really?” You grumbled.

Your cell phone’s screen turned black.

“There goes that idea.” Riley added.

“Eh,” you pocketed your phone.

You only heard Patrick chuckle behind you, though you were certain it wasn’t because of the cell phones. Thrilled by finding treasure perhaps?

“Looks like this is our exit.” Ben announced as he stopped at a dead end where you all would have to crawl again. “Hold this?” He handed Abigail the torch.

The four of you crouched down to watch as Ben kicked and kicked. An exit crumbled open.

Ben coughed as he knelt through the opening to the church.

“Hi. Do you have a cell phone I could borrow?” Ben asked, his head peering out.

. . .

Back inside the church, above ground, the real world trickled back into your thoughts. Breathing felt easier, if only a fraction.

Ben had called the FBI. He had asked to speak with someone called Sadusky and told them you were all at Trinity Church with the Declaration of Independence.

After he had gotten off of the phone, Ben reassured you all not to worry and that he would handle it. What ever might happen, it was his doing.

The five of you were accompanied by quiet FBI agents at the back doors and in a row of seating.

An air of uncertainty hung around the group of you.

Who you assumed to be the agent Sadusky walked down the aisle with a hand in his pocket. Ben sat at the small set of steps at the alter waiting.

You silently made your way into one of the back rows, eyes on Ben. Riley, Abigail, and Patrick filed in after you as eyes were on Ben handing the Declaration to the man. Your futures on the line.

Clenched fingers rested on your knees. Your heart rate raising once again.

Would they take Ben back with them? You thought sadly. Would they take us too?

The two men stood in front of one another. Without a word or moment of hesitation, Ben handed over the Declaration of Independence in its cylinder.

“Just like that?” Agent Sadusky asked.

“Just like that.” Ben answered.

“You do know you just handed me your biggest bargaining chip?” He lifted up the cylinder for emphasis.

“The Declaration of Independence is not a bargaining chip. Not to me.”

“Have a seat.”

You swallowed, trying to hide your nerves. To steel them because none of you knew how it would turn out. Were you all in deep trouble still? It was all so complicated.

“So what’s your offer?” Agent Sadusky asked, sitting on the steps beside Ben.

“Oh…How about a bribe? Say...ten billion dollars?” Ben said nonchalantly.

“I take it you found the treasure?” He sounded a hint impressed.

“It’s about five stories beneath your shoes.” Ben gestured.

“Hm. You know, the Templars and the Freemasons believed that the treasure was too great for any one man to have, not even a king. That’s why they went to such lengths to keep it hidden.”

“That’s right.” Ben was looking at the man, really looking. Learning about the agent through each word spoken. “The Founding Fathers believed the same thing about government. I figure their solution will work for the treasure too.”

“Give it to the people.”

“Divide it amongst the Smithsonian, the Louvre, the Cairo museum…There’s thousands of years of world history down there. And it belongs to the world, and everybody in it.” Ben stated in a mixture of awe and passion.

“You really don’t understand the concept of a bargaining chip.” The agent teased lightheartedly.

You smiled, absentmindedly rubbing under your eye. Beside you, Riley had lowered his head with a pleasant grin on his face.

“Okay, here’s what I want.” Ben said more firmly. “Doctor Chase gets off completely clean, not even a little Post-it on her service record.”

“Okay.”

“I want the credit for the find to go to the entire Gates family, with the assistance of Mr. Riley Poole and (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N).”

Whoa.

“And what about you?” Agent Sadusky asked.

“I’d really love not to go to prison. I can’t even begin to describe how much I would love not to go to prison.” Ben’s gaze had set elsewhere, far away.

“Someone’s got to go to prison, Ben.”

Well how about the guy who locked us in The Charlotte and left us for dead! You thought, still incredibly bitter and for a good reason.

“Well, if you’ve got a helicopter, I think I can help with that.” Ben smiled.

Did Ben say what I think he said? Oh, please. Please.

. . .

Safety and ease had never felt as good as it did then. You and Riley were sitting in your apartment. Quiet and ears still trained for any unknown sound.

You had been promised that it was alright to go. It was better to be safe than sorry and freaking out later.

The both of you had been cautious as you had ventured farther into the place. Eyes darting to each corner and checking each room. To say that you two had been through a lot would be over simplifying.

You about leaped out of your skin when your phone rang. Pulse up, you hurried over to where your phone and Riley’s were charging by the wall. Holding up the phone you read the caller ID: Ben

“Hello?” You answered after flipping your phone open.

“Hey. You two alright?” Ben asked over the phone.

“Yeah. Still jumpy though. My apartment’s fine. Nothing moved. You?”

Riley had rushed up beside you, ear leveled to your phone.

“They got Ian.” Ben’s words sent a wave of relief through you.

“Thank you,” Riley sighed.

“They got Powell and the others too.” Ben added.

“Hey, let us know when you’re back.” Riley spoke into the phone as you held it between you.

“I will. It’ll probably be pretty late though.”

“Doesn’t matter. Just call one of us at least.” You said.

“I will. It’s late, you two should sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you and Riley said in unison.

“Bye.”

You ended the phone call.

“It’s over,” Riley said. The disbelief still waving over him.

“Yeah. It’s kind of weird.”

He rose an eyebrow.

“It’s almost like it didn’t happen.” You clarified.

“But it did. And I’m going to have a hard time forgetting any of it.”

You put your phone back down and headed back to the couch. Reaching over to the table, you grabbed the ice pack and set it back onto your ankle once you were settled. You took over most of the couch, Riley had to make sure not to accidentally bump your foot as he sat on the far cushion.

Had you missed your couch? Considering the amount of running around and sleeping in a car, yes.

Sighing, you stretched out on the couch a little more.

“Does it still bother you?” Riley asked.

“Hmm?”

“Your ankle.”

“A little, not much. I just want it healed up.” You said before letting out a yawn.

Riley nodded. His eyes focusing elsewhere.

“They didn’t…Ian didn’t hurt you when they took you, did he?” Riley asked, eyes meeting yours.

“They didn’t try anything.” You reassured him. “I’ve known them for a handful of years, so…I figured out how to get what I needed and make them uncomfortable. Just enough.”

He scrunched up his face, “How? I mean…wait, when we got to the church you were wearing different clothes.”

“You’d be surprised how logical, persuasive, and slightly annoying I can be.”

“You being logical isn’t a surprise,” Riley chuckled. He scooted further into the comforts of the couch. “Especially if it gets you out of something.”

You smiled.

Stretched out on the couch, safe in your apartment with everything in its place, you closed your eyes. Your friends were alright and free to go about their lives, especially after Ben telling the FBI where Ian would be. Soon Ben would be able to relax as well. Ben knew that Riley was with you, both of you mildly paranoid after everything that had happened since finding The Charlotte. Hence why you had about leaped six feet into the air when your phone rang earlier.

You were finally able to relax knowing that Ben was on his way home.

No radio was on. No television set to disrupt the silence. An empty pizza box was still sitting on the counter in the kitchen from hours earlier. You had elected to throw it out later. The two of you had basically inhaled the pizza no sooner it had arrived. It was the best pizza you had eaten in a long while.

The apartment was quiet in the late hours of the day and held only familiarity. It was a wonder that neither you nor Riley had fallen asleep yet.

Maybe I had one slice too many, you thought.

Still being slightly full from pizza was a dilemma you were willing to put up with. Also being glad that all danger had passed, none of you were going to prison, you were alive, and the treasure was beyond what you imagined.

Everything turned out fine.

You rolled your foot, testing for soreness. Icing your ankle was one of the best things that had happened to you in at least a week.

“It’s been about twenty minutes,” Riley murmured. “I think you can take the ice off again.”

You made a small noise in your throat, but made no effort to move.

What was another two minutes? Or five?

Ben had yet to call. You and Riley were both close to dozing off on the couch.

Quiet and unmoving. Calm and security.

Your breathing evened out, becoming deeper.

The last thing you remembered before going to sleep was Riley unfolding a throw blanket and a comforting warmth enveloping you.

. . .

Three months later.

The last three months had been vastly different and almost dreamlike. Firstly, your ankle was fine after a few days. Secondly, the names Gates, Poole, and (Y/L/N) were populating the historical society. Then as time went, you no longer lived in an apartment complex with paper thin walls, you had money investing, you lived where you could actually hang shelves on the walls, you were more involved in the historical community, and you were even happier than you could ever recall.

On a similar spectrum, Ben and Abigail had finally chosen a home together. Their relationship had become quite serious over the past couple of months.

Walking along the grass, the couple led you and Riley out in the yard as a last look around before you and Riley were to leave. Greens all around you, from the grass to the trees. Fallen leaves scattered across the lawn. Between leaving their house tour and strolling through the yard, Riley had received a call.

“Yeah. You got it, chief. Thank you. Bye.” Riley said before pocketing his phone.

You looked over expectantly.

“They want us in Cairo next week for the opening of the exhibit. They’re sending a private jet.” Riley said.

“That’s fun.” Abigail smiled.

“Yeah, big whoop.” Riley pulled at his jacket and turned to Ben. “We could have had a whole fleet of private jets. Ten percent, Ben. They offered you ten percent and you turned it down.” He was clearly slightly bitter and upset about the arrangement still.

“Riley, we’ve been over this. It was too much. I couldn’t accept it.” Ben said softly.

Riley leaned closer, showcasing his right index finger.

“I still have this splinter that’s been festering for three months from an old piece of wood.”

“Okay,” Ben stopped and the rest of you did as well. “I’ll tell you what. Next time we find a treasure that redefines history for all mankind, you make the call on the finder’s fee.” Both Ben and Abigail smiled.

“That’s not as funny.” Riley looked between the pair. “What do you care? You got the girl.” Riley turned his head to Abigail.

His tone deflated you. You kept your sights on the couple.

“It’s true.” She said happily.

“It’s true.” Ben wrapped an arm around Abigail and pulled her in for a kiss.

You smiled and shuffled a foot.

Once they parted from their display of affection, they grinned at their friend.

“Rub it in.” Riley started walking the short distance to his red sports car. “Enjoy your spoils…”

Ben sent you a friendly wink and a head nod towards Riley, who was stepping up to his car.

You gave a wary expression to which Abigail gestured with her hands for you to get moving.

My life, you thought and looked to the sky briefly.

Riley hopped into his car and continued his miniature rant, “While I sit on one percent. One stinkin’ percent. Half of one percent, actually.”

You climbed into the passenger’s seat and buckled up.

“One percent. Unbelievable.” He muttered beside you.

“I’m sorry for your suffering, Riley.” Ben said as he leaned on the car.

“For the record,” Riley looked over, “Ben, I like the house.”

Riley put on his sunglasses.

“You know,” Ben stood straight and his hands started gesturing happily, “I chose this estate because in 1812 Charles Carroll met…”

“Yeah, someone that did something in history and had fun. Great. Wonderful.” Riley said sarcastically as he started the car.

You grinned over at Ben and Abigail, “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Could have had a bigger house.” Riley started driving off.

So dramatic, you thought as you waved to both Abigail and Ben.

As Riley turned along the graveled driveway, he ran over green grass. The gears of the car crunching.

“Riley.”

“I got it. I got it.”

Adjusting back onto the driveway, Riley gassed it. The engine roaring perfectly.

An easy smile pulled on your lips.

He totally loves this car.

In the car, on the road back to your house, you switched to another radio station. The volume relatively low even with the wind rushing passed.

There was something on your mind that you knew you had to ask. A few things actually. It was one that was starting to nag you, but only because you didn’t ask earlier.

You looked over to Riley and placed a gentle hand on his jacket sleeve.

“Is that suede?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice. It looks good.” You returned your hand to your lap.

“Thank you.”

The car continued down the long stretch of road, trees seeming to blur on the far sides.

“You know,” you started, “Your finger is fine.”

“Wha—.”

“I gave you Neosporin and then the next day I even used Vicks. I checked it with a magnifying glass. You’re fine.” You laughed.

“It’s festering!” Riley complained before a grin appeared on his face as he kept his eyes on the road.

The little stinker! You thought as you laughed again. It felt good. The laughing and spending time with Riley. It felt natural.

You thought back to the past three months where there had literally been an entire phone call that Ben dedicated to telling you all the reasons why you should ask Riley on a date or flat out confess or show your feelings.

“We have been shot at, escaped an exploding ship, chased, threatened, and forced into unfavorable conditions. You can tell Riley how you feel about him.” Ben reasoned over the phone.

“I can’t do th—.”

“Yes, you can. You care about him, don’t you?”

“Yes. He’s my friend, I wouldn’t want—.”

“Then you can tell him. I know you can. Take the chance, (Y/N). It’ll be worth it. I promise.”

“If anything bad or negative happens I’m gonna blame you or just complain. Every phone call.”

“Fine. Just tell Riley how you feel.”

Could you though? That was the question.

Would it be worth it? If it doesn’t turn out…right, you thought. What if I’m literally just a friend to him? Nothing more or added? Yeah, Ben would be giving me a hard look right now for thinking that, wouldn’t he?

What would Riley do if he knew what you were thinking? You weren’t sure.

Without a doubt you knew that Riley was good and helpful. One of the most genuinely friendly people you had ever had the pleasure of knowing. Riley was fun and willing to lend a hand when asked. He had helped you with your computer more than once. Just little things. It might not have been much of a hassle for him, but you really appreciated him. You had movie nights together when Riley wasn’t interested in one of Ian’s poker game nights. Riley always brought over a different snack and favored not having to share with a large group. He never hounded you with questions when you’d show him the basics on how to package art in order to ship it. There was a day when Riley let you hang out in his van when someone you met at a networking event wanted to pick you up for lunch. Then looking for the treasure and what that entailed. You weren’t sure what you wouldn’t do for that man.

Riley had even helped you move in to your new place. He still brought up about your easel that pinched his fingers and fell on his foot. It was never entirely a serious comment, always followed by a small smile from him. Which incidentally was brought up on the ride to Abigail and Ben’s house.

If you were actually going to tell Riley how you felt about him then you dearly hoped all those times that felt like you two were flirting were actual flirting moments. It had definitely felt like it at those times or afterwards when you thought about it. Sometimes you were too in the moment to tell.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?” You glanced over to see Riley looking at you.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. I’m good.”

“Okay,” he returned his sights to the road.

You’re fairly certain Riley wasn’t convinced.

. . .

Soon your home came into view and Riley pulled the car up to the front. Parking the car, Riley turned to you reflexively.

“Would you like to come inside for a bit?” You asked as you unbuckled your seatbelt.

“Yeah. Sure. Could use the not-chosen-specifically-for-historical-reasons scenery.”

You barked a laugh and both of you jumped out of the car. Honestly, you didn’t think he ever used the doors. It made you feel like a tv action hero anyway.

Unlocking the door, you walked inside before stepping aside to let Riley in before closing the door.

“You want something to drink?” You asked as you took off your shoes.

“Yeah. Whatever you have is fine.”

With a smile you headed towards the kitchen, setting your keys and such on a side table. It was good to be home. A place that was actually your own. No worries about neighbors upstairs or downstairs. Added that you could hang whatever you wanted on the walls. Historical art and artifacts included.

Reaching the kitchen, you stood at the sink after you grabbed two drinking glasses.

The sound of feet padding across the floor alerted you to Riley walking in.

“So…how’s that friend of yours?” Riley tone had a slight weight to it. “The one who got you into the Gala?”

“Oh,” you laughed lightly and handed Riley a glass of water. “They’re fine. Nothing really new to report. Although, I think they even told their mom what happened—the treasure. Well…I mean, I didn’t tell them everything. Obviously.”

“Are you going to invite them to go to Cairo?” He leaned on the counter.

“No.”

His eyebrows rose for a split second.

“I hadn’t even thought about it.” You cringed and added, “I wouldn’t be obligated to do that right? We’re friends, but I don’t want to invite them to everything.”

“N-no. You could, uh, you could bring them back a souvenir instead.” Riley suggested.

“That sounds like the safer way to go.”

As quiet settled, you drank some water.

I’m sure my friend will expect something else to happen if I invite them. You thought. All considering last time and I know they were questioned.

It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy being with your other friend, it was just that they weren’t the type of person you would feel comfortable with on a trip. They were someone you only really saw in professional or business type settings and not going to the movies with. You liked them, but you did not want to worry about giving them a certain amount of attention while in Cairo. There were things you wanted to experience freely. No awkward conversations. Added that you didn’t want to say everything you did while protecting the Declaration of Independence. There were certain things you only wanted to do with your close best friends.

“Do you think we’ll be able to go on some tours while we’re there?” You asked abruptly.

“If we arrange for some, sure. But you know if you mention it to Ben, we’ll be signed up for every tour.”

“No harm in that.”

“As long as we don’t go into any more tombs.”

“Oh, no, no, no. We don’t know what sort of technology-magic was used back then. I’m not getting cursed. Thank you.”

Riley smiled over the rim of the glass.

“Hey, you watched The Mummy.” You gestured with your glass.

“We watched The Mummy last year on one of our movie nights.”

“Oh, yeah.”

He smirked before saying, “You were researching Egyptian history for a month. You kept telling Ben that there could be some Egyptian history in the treasure because of their ships.”

“And?” You looked at him expectantly.

“And…I saw the treasure too.”

“Um-hm.”

Shaking his head, he smiled while looking into the glass of water.

You sort of just watched him.

Admiring, not being creepy. You peered away to the counter.

A sudden thought struck you: Now with the treasure found, how often would you see your friends?

Ben and Abigail had their privacy and work. Riley started mentioning how he wanted to write something. Sure, friends needed to be on their own paths, I know that. But…can I have more? Am I allowed more?

You could practically see Ben’s face raising an eyebrow.

Oh, crap. Your stomach twitched into knots. This is it, isn’t it?

Raising the rim of the glass to your lips, you practically drank the rest of the water. Stalling was something you weren’t against. But how long could you do it for?

“Okay,” you said quietly. Eyes trained on the counter for a bit longer even as you felt Riley’s eyes on you. You set the drinking glass down.

I can do this. You got this. Just blurt it out. If anything, I can go hide in a room or call Ben later.

“I’m just gonna lay everything out there,” you took a couple of breathes. Then you made eye contact with Riley’s blue eyes. “I think we have something. I’m pretty sure…yeah?” Your arms hung loosely at your sides. You were unsure, hopeful, and scared.

The silence that followed frightened you and disheartened you to no end.

“Yeah.” Riley said softly.

“Yeah? Oh. Good—I mean, okay.” Weight lifted from you shoulders, but you practically sank to the countertop. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated, a wide smile gracing his features. “You like me.”

“Yeah.” You heavily emphasized the word.

Those deep blue eyes stared back at you like there were sparklers somewhere within them. He hardly moved.

Is this seriously happening? Am I breathing? He looks so happy.

Your heart could have melted right there at the sight of him.

Glass of water on the counter and quite frankly forgotten, Riley continued looking at you. Questions and comments no doubt flying through his mind every second before he could voice them.

“What…what do we do now?” You asked, grinning. Watching him curiously, attentively, you found Riley to be contemplating. You waited.

A crease formed between his brows if only for a few moments. In a couple of steps he had walked up to you. Blue eyes focused intently on your face, each little movement of yours. His hand reached up and rested on your cheek causing your heart to jolt into a faster pace.

Your thoughts seemed to blank. Only visuals and emotions being read thoroughly. You leaned into his touch as your eyes slowly flickered to his lips.

Before you could check his expression, Riley kissed you. Soft yet firm. There was a hand resting on your side and his other lightly on your cheek. Other than that you had no clue what was happening aside from Riley’s lips on yours.

All too soon he pulled out of the kiss with an extra sparkle in his eyes. You both stood there smiling at one another.

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” Riley breathed out. His thumb caressed your skin. “Huh. Guess I should have believed Ben.”

“Glad I finally did.”

A small crease reappeared between his brows.

“Wait, how long had he been telling you to say something?” Riley asked.

You looked away in thought before answering, “Maybe a few months. Maybe longer. By this point it’s probably been a year. He’s been telling you too?” You let out a laugh.

Unbelievable.

“A year?” Riley looked to you then around the kitchen searching for more words.

Suppressing a grin, you pulled him in by his suede jacket for another kiss. Your hands immediately seeking for the nape of his neck where his brown hair always looked the softest. You weren’t disappointed. It felt silkier than his jacket.

“A year?” Riley asked again when you parted.

“I’ve liked you for more than a year though.”

His eyes widened a fraction.

Fingers playing in his hair, you smiled.

“I just thought…I thought since you were nice to everyone that you just saw me as a friend.” He stated.

“I still see you as a friend. I just happen to really like you.”

“But I can ask you out now?”

“Do you want me to ask you out instead?” You smiled widely.

“No.” He said quickly. “It’s fine. You could, but I can do it. You can too. We can do it—date. Good Lord.” Riley dropped his forehead on your shoulder for a few moments.

You pecked a kiss to his ear. “Pick the time and place,” you encouraged. “When’s our first date?”

After a moment, he picked his head up with a twinkle in his eyes and asked, “Why not now?”

~~~~~

(That concludes Part Six - Treasure and the series. I hope you enjoyed it! Hey, I actually wrote an insert reader that went through a whole movie! WOO! I think I have a bigger crush on Riley Poole now… That’s fine. I really, truly want to thank you again for your comments and love for this series. Also thank you for letting me know that you wanted Riley and the Reader to be together by the end. I was second guessing myself a lot about that decision and I’m glad I asked.

MUCH LOVE!

Lastly . . . I think through writing this I made myself bitter about what happened to Ben and Riley on The Charlotte. Can you tell by what the Reader had been thinking? I mean they were locked in the cargo hold! Anyway. I love you! Let’s hope for a fantastic third movie!

If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @imacuteprincess @gingerlaserbeam @cubedtriangle @sledgy14 @thecaptainsgingersnap @awkwardspontaneity

#Riley Poole #Riley Poole x Reader #National Treasure #Riley Poole x Reader series #National Treasure fanfiction #where dreamers go #Ben Gates #Abigail Chase #Patrick Gates

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minister-for-femslash · 4 years ago

Text

The Lovers

Summary: After a close call, Beau and Yasha are forced to confront their feelings and have a long overdue conversation.

Pairing: Beau/Yasha

Word Count: 7,061

Warnings: Character death (temporary)

Yasha goes down first.

Two guards are on her, flanking her and as she deflects the first blow with the Magician's Judge, the second is thrust deep in her back.

Beau hears them laugh and turns just in time to see Yasha fall. She knocks back the guard she's been fighting with a quick kick to the chest and charges over. She swings her staff, high and wide, and cracks the guy that stabbed Yasha in the back of the head. He drops dead instantly. The other is already bringing his sword down to finish Yasha off and Beau almost doesn't get her staff up in time to deflect the blow.

She stands over Yasha. Positions herself defensively. Protecting her.

It's awkward.

Yasha's arms are splayed out. Beau can't quite get in the right place to take Patient Defence. The guard flies towards her, swinging his sword. The blade carves through her flesh. She takes more blows than she's expecting. Blood pours down her arms. It streaks across her fingers and her grip on her staff becomes slippy.

She's losing and Beau knows it. But that's okay. She just needs to hold him at bay. She just needs to protect Yasha long enough for Jester or Caduceus to deal with their own problems and throw out a quick healing spell. She can do that.

And then it all goes wrong.

The guard aims for her chest and Beau instinctively steps back. Her foot lands on the hilt of the Magician's Judge. She stumbles. It's all the opening the guard needs.

His blade slices through her throat.

Beau hears someone scream. She thinks it might be Jester and when a brightly coloured lollipop slams into the side of the guard's head, knocking him out, she's certain.

Beau's hands clamp down on her neck. Blood pours out. It's spills through her fingers, down her arms and seeps into her robes. She tries to speak, but nothing comes out but a gurgle and Beau knows, she just broke Dairon's cardinal rule; stay alive.

Her vision blurs and her knees buckles. She collapses down, landing on something soft instead of the cold, hard ground. Yasha. It's the last thought she has before the world fades to black.

-----

The ground feels wet beneath her cheek. There's music, it echoes around her; happy and bright, a song of invitation. Her eyes open and she sees grass, bright and green, and multiple pairs of feet moving past her.

Beau rolls onto her back. There's no pain, not in her chest and not in her throat, but she checks anyway. The wounds are gone, and so is the blood, her robes are now somehow pristine, like the day she first got them, there's no sign of sweat or dirt.

She sits up and checks the rest of her, and is surprised to find she's fine, better than fine in fact, not only have her wounds gone but so have her scars, some of them years, even decades old, including the one on her chest, the one that...

Yasha...

It hits her like a punch to the gut, the memory of the sword ripping through Yasha, and Beau quickly vaults to her feet. She spins round, desperately searching, but there's no sign of Yasha. No sign of Jester, or Caleb, or any of the others. She's not in the castle any more, she not in Rosohna any more. The sun is high, it shines bright and Beau can feel the heat on her skin. The sky is the brightest of blues and there are trees, tall with thick branches and bright green leaves.

In the distance is a large blue circus tent, with a little flag on top that seems to shimmer with a a type of ethereal glow.

More people move past her. They're happy, with large, and in Beau's opinion creepy – too much teeth – smiles on their faces. Some of them are running, one or two are even skipping their way towards the tent which suddenly looks eerily familiar, almost like Beau has seen it before.

The music gets louder and it's gentle harmony washes over her, wraps around her like a soft warm blanket and beckons her forward.

Beau walks towards the tent.

“I wouldn't go in there if I were you.”

The voice causes Beau to stop dead. A sharp chill runs through her and goosebumps rise on the back of her neck.

“Apparently they have a toad man who turns people into zombies.”

And now Beau remembers where she's seen that tent before. Trostenwald. The circus.

She turns and standing just a few feet behind her is a familiar purple tiefling. His red eyes shine bright, and the jewels and diamonds that adorn his horns and his fingers sparkle under the sunlight. He's missing his cloak and his swords, but his smile is exactly as she remembers it, large and just a little bit cocky.

“Hey Molly.”

“Hey.” A deck of tarot cards suddenly appears in his hand and he spins them nimbly between his fingers. “Fancy a reading?”

Beau frowns. “No thanks. You know I hate that crap.”

“You sure? It's an afterlife special, any question answered with complete and total honesty.”

“Afterlife? So I'm dead then?”

“Yeah, but you already knew that, and I don't think it's going to stick.” With a flick of his wrist a card jumps out of the deck and Molly catches it between his teeth.

Beau gives him a slow, sarcastic clap, Molly bows anyway and then holds the card out for her. Beau takes it with more than a little reluctance.

The background is bright yellow, a young man with blonde hair and a stick slung over his shoulder stands on a rocky shore as a wave crashes behind him. His hand is stretched out and in his palm rests a single white rose.

“I don't get it.”

“That's because you're not looking close enough.”

Beau sighs and brings the card closer. The image shimmers and changes, the blonde man transforming into a blue tiefling in a pretty yellow dress, the stick turning into a large serrated lollipop and the white rose becoming a diamond that Beau is certain is worth at least three hundred gold. The words at the bottom of the card read 'The Jester.'

“Revivification?”

“Told ya', it isn't going to last, so take your chance while you have.” Molly fans out the cards in front of her. “What do you want to know? Ask me anything?”

“Is Yasha okay?”

Molly hums, he clicks his fingers and another card jumps out of the desk. This one hangs in the air between them, slowly rotating. Beau can see that it's blank and she frowns. Molly, however, stares at it intently and with a click of his fingers the card sparks, flames shoot out, consuming it, devouring it and leaving behind nothing but ash and smoke that rises up towards the sky.

“Yasha is Yasha. But she's alive, I'll take that,” Molly says.

“Yeah, me too.”

“You did good, protecting her the way that you did. I'm proud of you.”

“Thanks. I just wish I could've done the same for you.”

“Oh that's... That's -” he gives a dismissive wave of his hand - “water under. It wasn't your fault.”

“You sure about that. 'Cause I was right fucking there and I couldn't do anything. I should've been faster or smarter or something. You shouldn't be dead.”

“Ah, but death is never the end. It's just the beginning of a different journey.”

Beau rolls her eyes. “Come on, are you really trying to sell me that bullshit cliché?”

“It might be a bullshit cliché, but it also happens to be the truth, which is nice for me.”

“So you're good?” Beau asks.

“As much as anybody can be, yes.”

Beau feels the overwhelming urge to hug him and so she does. Molly squeezes her tight, lifts her off her feet.

“I miss you,” Beau whispers.

“Of course you do. Who wouldn't?”

There's a loud crack and a roll of thunder, the sun fades and the sky turns grey. Lightening streaks across the sky. It hits the tent and it quickly bursts into flames.

“I think that's your exit,” Molly says.

Beau's body becomes heavy, her legs begin to shake as she struggles to stay on her feet. She looks at the cards in his hands and presses her lips together. She's tempted, incredibly tempted. She reaches for Molly and grabs his hand, and for a moment he's the only thing holding her up.

“Will I see you again?”

“I can practically guarantee it, just not anytime soon, I hope.”

“What if I don't want to go back?”

“Don't be ridiculous. She's waiting for you. Here. Take this -” he presses something into the palm of her hand - “she won't be able to tell you, so you'll have to tell her. Bye Beau.”

“Bye Molly.”

He lets go of the her hand and Beau drops. She closes her eyes as she hits the ground and then just falls right through. Falls, and falls, and falls.

-----

Beau gasps.

The air floods back into her lungs. Her heart suddenly kick starts, once again pounding in her chest, and a warmth slowly spreads through her.

Something is wrapped around her; large, muscular arms that seem to cradle her.

“Beau, Beau!” Jester's voice is high, panicked. “Be okay, Beau. Please. Please be okay.”

A hand grasps Beau's own and squeezes it tight, and she slowly opens her eyes. Her vision is blurry and she has to blink, once and then twice before it begins to clear. Jester leans over her, her face so close that Beau has to pull back. Jester's eyes are wide and Beau thinks she can see tear stains on her cheeks.

“Beau!”

“Hey.”

“You're alive again.” Jester throws herself forward and hugs Beau's waist.

“We were worried there for a minute, I thought I was going to have to find a new first mate,” Fjord says.

The Mighty Nein are crowded around her, each with their own look of concern.

“I'm okay, I'm good.” Beau tries to lift herself up and the world immediately starts to spin.

“I got you,” Yasha whispers in her ear.

Beau feels Yasha's arms tighten just slightly and she's pulled back down, being cradled once again, and Beau doesn't hate it. Her heart beat quickens, for just a second, there's this flutter. Yasha's grip is comfortingly strong. “We should go.” Yasha stands up and Beau is gently lifted into the air.

It's not the most ideal situation, but being carried by Yasha is definitely a good way to travel, so Beau doesn't complain and just rests her head against Yasha's chest. She's tired, exhausted even and her eyes close. When she opens them again, the first thing she sees is their tree with it's vibrant green leaves, perched on top of their roof. Yasha has carried her all the way back to the Xhorhouse and she missed it.

Veth rushes ahead and opens the door so that Yasha can carry her across the threshold, and then lay her down on the small sofa in living room, her feet hanging off the side. Jester quickly grabs a cushion and places it behind her head, before she sits on the floor next to her, her tail swishing from side to side.

“I was so worried, Beau,” she says. “You didn't come back right away, like Veth and Caduceus did. I thought it didn't work.”

“Yeah, sorry, I was...” Beau stops. She thinks of Molly, of his smile and of the card that he thrust into her hand. There's no card in her hand now, and then she looks at Yasha, who has disappeared into the kitchen and is currently pouring water into a bowl, and decides that there's no need to mention Molly. “Just being stubborn, I guess.”

Jester laughs. “Well, I'm glad you're back.”

“Me too.”

Yasha comes back with the bowl of water and a cloth. She sits on the sofa, right next to Beau's hip and as she dips the cloth into the water Beau pulls back slightly and tries to sit up because letting Yasha carry her back is one thing, but this, this is making her feel babied, like she's a burden.

“I'm fine.”

“You're hurt,” Yasha says.

“No really, I'm good.” Her hand instinctively goes to her neck. The wound is gone, completely but her robes and her skin are covered in dry blood. The slashes on her arms and chest are still there.

“Please,” Yasha says. “Just let me help you.”

Beau softens a little.

“I can cast cure wounds, but I'd need to sleep first,” Jester tells her.

“No it's... It's okay, I'll cooperate.” Beau slowly removes her robe. Her wounds throb and pulse with pain, and she grimaces as she throws it over the side of the sofa, where it's quickly scooped up by Caduceus and she's left in just her tank top.

Yasha gently pushes it up and her fingers brush against Beau's waist. Beau's mouth goes dry as Yasha's hands move across her stomach, her fingers almost dancing around the wounds.

“Am I hurting you?” Yasha asks.

“No, you erm -” Beau clears her throat - “you have a very soft touch.” It's so cheesy and Beau regrets the words the moment she says them.

Yasha laughs. “Good to know.”

And now Beau doesn't feel so bad.

“Hey, Jester,” Fjord says. “Do you want to come and give me a hand with this?”

“Okay, sure.” After another quick glance at Beau, Jester jumps to her feet and follows Fjord upstairs.

Yasha waits until it's just the two of them before she takes the cloth and presses it against Beau's skin. There's a flash of pain and Beau's body tenses, her stomach muscles twitching, and Yasha freezes.

“Sorry,” she says.

“It's okay.”

Yasha moves slower this time. She deals with the wounds first; taking so much time and so much care that Beau barely feels the damp cloth moving across her skin. Yasha's eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, her tongue poking out from between her lips. She looks so intense, so beautiful that Beau can't help but watch her.

With the wounds cleaned as best they can be, Yasha moves on to wiping the blood from Beau's neck and chest, the water in the bowl slowly turning a deep, dark red. Yasha's hand rests on Beau's hip, her grip tightening slightly as she concentrates.

When Yasha is finished she drops the cloth into the bowl and places it on the floor. She doesn't move back and she doesn't remove her hand, instead she looks up and Beau is caught off guard by the intensity of her gaze.

“Thank you, for what you did,” Yasha says.

“No p...”

“But please, don't do that again. I don't think I could stand losing you. I definitely couldn't stand being the reason you're gone.

“Yasha....”

“Promise me.”

“I can't promise I won't die.”

“Then promise you won't die for me.”

Yasha stares up at her and Beau can see tears forming in her eyes, it makes her want to promise, to say yes to everything and anything that Yasha wants, but she can't. She can't because she knows that it's a promise she won't be able to keep, if Yasha's in trouble she'll jump into the fray without a thought, she knows that now.

So she doesn't promise, instead she places her hand on Yasha's cheek. Beau leans forward, making her intentions clear and that's when Yaha finally pulls back.

“I should let you rest,” Yasha says.

“Right, yeah, okay.” Beau watches as Yasha practically rushes from the room before she throws herself back against the sofa.

'Fuck.'

She stays on the sofa for a few minutes, her cheeks burning with embarrassment before she decides to head upstairs and at least try to get some sleep.

Jester is already in their room, perched on the edge of her bed, drawing in her journal. “Hey Beau, are you okay?”

“Yeah fine, I'm just tired.” Beau flops down onto her bed and immediately closes her eyes.

“Shouldn't you be downstairs with Yasha?” There's a wet smacking sound and when Beau opens her eyes she sees Jester puckering her lips in an over exaggerated kissing motion.

“Yeah. I don't think that's going to happen.”

“Why not? She likes you, I can tell.”

“Well, she clearly doesn't like me enough. I think I'm going to get some sleep.”

“Okay. I'm going to stay up and draw for a little while. Look.” Jester turns her journal around and she shows Beau the drawing. It's not finished, but Yasha's face is very clear, contorted in agony as she holds something not yet drawn. “It's you and Yasha.”

“Jester that's -” Beau takes a breath and smiles - “really good.”

“Thanks.”

Despite Beau's best efforts she doesn't get a lot of sleep that night, she just tosses and turns, and the sound of Jester's gentle humming, which most nights she finds relaxing, even comforting, is tonight just an obstacle to her sleep, and when the humming finally stops as Jester herself falls asleep, it's replaced by the incessant whistle of the wind outside.

When she does finally fall asleep she's plagued by a nightmare; Jester's drawing, in technicolour and surround sound. Yasha screaming, it's a horrifying sound, even in her dreams and when she wakes up, her ears still ringing with it and Beau knows that there's no way she can go back to sleep now, despite still feeling exhausted.

Beau takes a shower, allowing the hot water to wash away her last few aches and pain. She looks down at the scar on her chest. Beau has no memory of the sword being driven through her, but she can remember the guilt and the shame on Yasha's face afterwards, the way Yasha couldn't quite look at her when she cast healing hands.

'Maybe we missed our chance.'

When she gets back to her room, her robe has been laid out on her bed, cleaned and dried, and Beau makes a note to thank Caduceus next time she sees him. She's just pulled it on when she sees it, a small card resting on her pillow.

“What the fuck!?” Beau quickly picks it up.

It's a tarot card and she immediately feels a little queasy. The card is not new, the colours are slightly faded and there's a crease in the corner. The image isn't as dramatic as the one Jester drew, but it's the same moment in time; Yasha cradling Beau's blood soaked body. “Jester! Jessie!”

Beau heads downstairs.

She finds Yasha in the kitchen with Veth and Caleb, the three of them are cooking and it smells good, whatever it is, but Beau doesn't stay to find out. She doesn't even acknowledge them, she just keeps her head down, even as she can feel Yasha's eyes on her and heads outside.

Jester is in Caduceus' vegetable garden.

“Jessie, is this yours?” She shows Jester the card.

“Wow. That's really good, Beau. Where did you get it?”

“It was on my pillow. You didn't draw it.”

“No. But I like it.”

“Oh.”

Beau looks at the card again, that queasy feeling gets stronger, and something wedges in the back of her throat. The image has changed, it's black, with a moon in the background, and instead of her and Yasha, it's a young couple, a woman in a long flowing white robe being held by a man dressed in black. They're kissing.

“Right okay,” Beau mutters to herself. She runs her fingers across the card, smoothing it out and then gently places it into the pocket of her robe.

“Hey.” Yasha stands in the doorway. Her voice is quieter, sadder, if that's somehow possible. “Caleb's found something.”

A piece of parchment has been laid out on the kitchen table, it takes up the entire thing, the burnt edges hanging just over the side.

“It's blank,” Beau says.

“No. The information is merely hidden.” Caleb takes something mushy, almost liquid out of his pouch, he smears it across the parchment and then holds his hands above the table and recites a few arcane words that Beau doesn't understand. The parchment starts to glow, thin, gold lines snake across it, forming patterns, creating an image and in the middle, sits a little red cross. “It's a map.”

“Well, it's good to know I didn't die for nothing. That's nice.” Beau laughs and quickly looks around the table, but nobody joins her.

“A map to what?” Fjord asks.

“I don't know, but the Bright Queen sent us to that castle, so whatever it is it must be important to the Dynasty. I think we should go there.”

“And where is there exactly?” Fjord asks.

“You see here -” Caleb points to a portion of the map that looks like mountains, the red cross in the middle of them - “they could be the Penumbra Range, near Bazzoxan.”

Beau looks over at Yasha, who's head drops slightly. “Maybe we should -” Beau sighs - “give this to the Bright Queen and let her people handle it.”

“What?” Caleb looks at her, confused. “Whatever this is it's powerful enough for somebody to keep hidden. Maybe we can use it to bring down the Assembly.”

“We don't even know what it is.”

“Well, we will if we go there,” Jester says.

“I just don't think a maybe is worth the risk.” Again Beau looks at Yasha, who's gaze now seems permanently fixed on the floor.

This time the others notice her looking.

“Oh Yasha, I'm sorry. I didn't think!” Jester exclaims.

“It's fine. Caleb's right. We should go there, it might be important.”

“Are you sure?” Beau asks and Yasha finally looks over at her. “If it's too much...” They hold each other's gaze for a moment.

“I'll be fine,” Yasha says, but she doesn't sound sure.

-----

The travel to Bazzoxan is much easier this time. The moment Essek sees the map he immediately agrees to take them, something that Beau files away for later, he even knows exactly where in the Penumbra Range the red cross is and drops them right at the entrance to what is a perfectly formed tunnel with a stone door.

“Are you coming with us, Essek?” Jester asks.

“I'm not really a fighter, but good luck.” And just like that he's gone.

Beau walks towards the door and studies it. There's something carved into the stone, a small square that's split into four. She traces it with her fingers and it suddenly disappears. “Oh shit.”

There's a click and the door slowly opens.

Beau steps back.

“Hey, you got it open. Well done.” Fjord claps her on the back.

“Yeah, totally meant to do that.”

One by one they head into the tunnel. Fjord goes first, using the Star Razor to light their way and Beau is right behind him. The tunnel winds downwards, heading deep into the heart of the mountain. It's a trek, Beau doesn't have the same sense of time as Caleb, but she's certain that it's hours, and the further down they go, the thicker the air around them becomes.

It reminds Beau of the days they spent walking to Xhorhaus.

Yasha is at the back of the group and Beau can't help but glance over her shoulder, just to check on her. Her pace slows, she doesn't mean for it to happen but after a few minutes the rest of the Mighty Nein have passed her and she finds herself falling into step with Yasha.

“Hey, are you doing okay?” Beau asks.

“I think so.”

“Well, if you're not, you can just let us know and we'll leave.”

“Thank you, Beau.”

The two of them walk side by side as the tunnel continues to wind downwards and they stay close even when the tunnel opens out into a small room.

The ceiling is low, so low that Caduceus has to dip his head to get inside. The walls are made of stone, smooth and polished, this room hasn't been carved out by nature, this is man made, maybe even magically enforced. There's a small wooden door in the corner.

In the centre of the room is a skeleton, it's flopped on it's side, it's arm outstretched like it's trying to grasp at something. It looks like a Drow, but it's been here a while so it's hard to tell, the skin has become thick and leathery, stretched tight across the bones. There's no obvious sign of death, no wounds or marks.

Veth tries to search the pockets, for gold or something valuable, but the dark black robes fall apart immediately, almost disintegrating in her hands.

The rest of the Mighty Nein investigate the room, Caleb casts detect magic, Caduceus Eyes of Grave, Fjord even tries Detect Invisibility, all of them trying to find something about this room. They search for traps or secrets panels, but there's nothing. It's just a room.

The only thing Beau does find is a crack on one of the stones, it's small, so small she almost doesn't notice it. It might be natural, the type of wear and tear that comes over time but the rest of the walls are so pristine that it stands out. Beau studies it, runs her fingers over it.

“Beau, are you coming?” Jester asks.

“Oh yeah, sure.”

Veth checks the door for traps and when it comes back clean they step through one by one.

The next room is just as plain and empty as the last. There's only one difference, instead of a skeleton in the middle of the floor, there are tiles with symbols carved into the stone. They're in grid formation; nine across and five down. They seem familiar not quite runes but close.

“What are they?” Jester asks.

“I don't know. But I don't think we should touch them,” Caleb says.

Beau joins him and the two of them study the symbols for a few minutes, some of the images repeat, appearing twice, some even three times. But most only appear once. There's a pattern of some sort, Beau's sure of it, she just can't see it. Neither, apparently can Caleb because after a few minutes he drops to the floor and begins to ritually cast detect magic.

Beau steps back, she takes out her staff and grips it tight, and then, after a few minutes leans against it. She can feel Yasha's eyes on her, burning into her, and she tries not to look, but it's difficult because she wants to look. Needs to look. She lifts up her staff and begins to twirl it, tossing it from hand to hand just to have something to do.

In the end she steps away, just to get herself a little distance, a little breathing space. The door to the previous room is still open and she steps back through, going back to the small crack on the wall. She leans in close, pressing her face against the stone and peering through the crack. There's something there, something underneath the stone.

“Beau.”

The sound of her name causes her to jump just slightly and she spins around. It's Yasha. Of course it's Yasha. “You shouldn't go off on your own.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know, but you should stay with the rest of us. Please.” Yasha is so open, her fear and pain written all over her face and it's just too much for Beau.

She turns away and looks at the crack. “I found something.”

Yasha walks over and gets close enough to see what Beau is pointing at, but not too close. “It's a crack.”

“Yeah. There's something behind it.” Beau throws a punch and the stone crumbles to dust.

She's right, there is something behind it. It's another rune, but this one is split into four, just like on the door, and there's a symbol in each one, some of which Beau saw in the other room.

“What is it?” Yasha asks.

“I think...”

Suddenly the floor beneath their feet begins to shake and there's a loud click. Something shoots out of the wall, thick stone, just behind Yasha.

The skeleton is crushed, it's bones exploding into dust.

Yasha starts to move, she has time, she can easily dive through, but Beau sees her look back and she stops, allowing the stone wall to slam shut on her.

They're trapped.

Beau quickly grabs her staff and holds steady waiting for whatever comes next, and Yasha does the same, pulling out the Skingorger. They wait, and wait, and wait, but nothing comes. No big scary beast with poison tipped fangs, no secondary traps. Nothing.

“I don't think anything's coming,” Yasha finally says, slowly lowering her sword.

“Why does that not feel like a good thing?” Beau walks over to the wall that's trapped them in and pushes against it. It doesn't budge. She taps it with her fist, then kicks at it with her foot and finally a whack – not at full force – with her staff. It's solid. “Fuck! That's... Fuck!” She checks the edges for any gaps, somewhere that she can stick her staff, or one of Yasha's swords in to try and force the wall back open but it's shut tight.

“We're trapped,” Yasha says.

“We're trapped.” Beau sighs. She falls back against the wall and flops to the floor. “I got us trapped. Fucking...” She groans and clenches her fist.

'How to make yourself feel like shit with one stupid decision by Beauregard Lionett' she thinks. It's a feeling that she's more than a little familiar with so she should be use to it, able to cope with it, but the hot, angry tears fill her eyes anyway. She can feels Yasha staring and quickly covers her face with her hands. It takes a deep breath, then another, and another, just to get herself under control. “I wish Jester was here.” She sees the flash of hurt in Yasha's eyes. “No, I mean... Because Jester could send a message to the others.”

“Right,” Yasha says, but the hurt look hasn't gone.

“The two non-magic users getting trapped together, it's not good. I'm not going to speak for you but without something or someone to hit, I'm not much use.” She drops her staff on the floor.

Now the hurt look falls from Yasha's face, replaced with something akin to sympathy and Beau's not sure which one she hates more.

“That's not true. There are plenty of things you're good at. We'll figure this out.”

“Sure, yeah, of course.”

“Do we -” Yasha turns away from her - “need to talk?”

“About what?”

“Last night.” Yasha's voice is so quiet that Beau almost doesn't hear her.

“I'd really prefer it if we didn't.”

“Okay.”

They go quiet and Yasha paces, as much as she can in the small space. Beau watches her, tapping her staff rhythmically against the ground. A tension has settled between them, it hangs in the air, thick and heavy, and weighing down on them. Beau feels like she's going to choke on it.

“I hurt you,” Yasha finally says.

“What?”

“I hurt you.” Yasha turns to look at her. “I almost killed you.”

“That wasn't you.”

“But it was. Me. I can remember every moment I was under his control. I can remember the faces of every person I killed. I can remember every swing of the Skingorger, I can remember blood and screaming. But most of all I can remember you, on the cathedral floor with my sword in your chest.”

“Yasha.”

“There are moments that I look at you and I...” Yasha sighs. “And then I remember that scar on your chest. I put that there and I can't forgive myself for that. Can you understand?”

“No, I can't.” Again Beau can see the tears in Yasha's eyes. “But then I wasn't mind controlled by some fuck who made me kill a bunch of people, so...”

Yasha smiles, but it's a sad smile.

“I'm sorry,” Beau says. “But you could've talked to me, you know?”

“I tried. On the Balleater, when we were making those statues with Jester. I didn't seem like you really wanted to talk, so I -” Yasha shrugs her shoulders - “stopped.”

“Shit.” Beau remembers that conversation and she also remembers why she deflected the way that she did. “Fuck.”

“I guess you're still angry with me.”

“No. No, Yasha, that's not true.”

“Okay.”

Beau sighs, because she knows if she wants Yasha to talk then she has to be willing to talk as well, and that's something that she's not good at, she's been trying, ever since she met the Mighty Nein she's been trying and she's probably getting better, but her ability to stick her foot firmly in her mouth is still there and she doesn't want to do that, not with Yasha, and not right now.

“Okay, here we go.” Beau stands up. “Seeing my father again, I erm, I didn't handle it very well.”

“I think you handled it fine.”

“Thanks, but I was going to make that deal with the hag because I wasn't okay and then it didn't happen, thank you Jester, and being back on the Balleater, being Fjord's First Mate again, I felt a little more stable, like the ground was once again solid under my feet and I didn't want to talk about anything difficult, in case it got shaky again. Does that make sense?”

“It does.”

“But that was my shit and I shouldn't have put that on you. I'm not angry with you, Yasha, how could I be? I know it wasn't you. I had Obann in my head, it was only for a moment, but if it wasn't for my training I'd have done what he wanted. I know how powerful he was. I can't blame you for anything you did while under that fuck's mind control.”

“I blame me.”

“I know.”

Beau takes a few tentative steps forward, giving Yasha the chance to pull back if she wants, just like last night. But this time Yasha doesn't. Beau takes her hand and places it on her chest, right over her scar. “Made by you, yes, but healed by you, as well. You didn't choose to stab me, you did choose to make amends, so you may not forgive yourself, but I forgive you.”

“Beau.” Yasha's crying. The tears stream down her face.

Beau has said all that she can, there's only one thing left for her to do. She hugs Yasha. She squeezes her tight because she knows that she can and Yasha sobs into her shoulder.

Beau isn't sure how long they stand there, it's a long time, long after Yasha has stopped sobbing and long after what would be the time for them to both step away.

“Thank you, Beau.” Yasha mutters into her shoulder.

“No problem.”

Yasha pulls back, not completely, she keeps her arms wrapped around Beau's waist and now they're staring into each other's eyes. Beau can hear the sound of her own heart or maybe it's Yasha's, or maybe it's both of their's, the two of them beating in sync.

It's Yasha that leans in this time and this is their chance, Beau is almost certain of it.

“Beau! Yasha!” Jester's voice pierces through the room.

The two of them step apart just in time to see Jester's head poke through a newly created hole in the wall. “Hi. Did you guys get stuck in here?”” There's a paint brush in Jester's hand, she waves it as she talks.

“Ask them what happened,” Caleb says, his voice echoing from somewhere behind Jester.

“What happened!? Were you guys making out?”

-----

Caleb discerns that the sigil behind the stone is a cipher, which Beau already knows, but she chooses not to say anything because she's the reason her and Yasha got trapped and why bother drawing everybody's attention to that.

“You need the cipher to solve the puzzle, but if you find the cipher you become trapped,” Caleb says, as they head back towards the puzzle, and with the new information it only takes Caleb about fifteen minutes to solve it. He presses each of the symbols in an order that Beau, having seen the cipher, sort of understands and there's a loud creak.

The wall just behind the symbols shakes. A jagged crack shoots down from the ceiling, chunks of rock tumble to the ground and the wall slowly opens inwards.

A bright light shines out and inside is a Beacon.

They head back to Rosohna using Caleb's teleportation circle. They don't tell the Bright Queen about the Beacon, choosing to hide it in the Bag of Holding as they make their way back to the Xhorhouse. Beau isn't sure she agrees with the decision, but she understands why Caleb wants to talk to Essek about it first, having more information can never hurt so she doesn't really argue. She does however linger at the back, not really participating in the debate the other's are having, and when Yasha joins her, their hands brushing together with every step, Essek and the possibility that he's stolen another Beacon becomes something she just doesn't give a shit about.

Their half way home when Yasha shifts a little closer and very gently takes Beau's hand. Beau doesn't look over, but she does smile as their fingers interlock. If any of the other's notice – and Beau is sure she sees Jester turning back to look at them every few minutes – they don't say anything.

The debate continues back at the Xhorhouse, the group sitting in the kitchen and drinking the tea that Caduceus makes. Beau contributes a little, but she's distracted, Yasha let got of her hand the moment they stepped through the front door and now they're on different sides of the room, but neither of them seem able, or maybe just not willing to stop looking at each other.

When they finally go to bed, Beau catches Yasha's eye and she's sure she sees a little longing there before they both slip into their own rooms.

“Beau and Yasha trapped in a room!” Jester is sitting on the floor, at the edge of her bed, her tail swishing wildly. “K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” She sings.

“That doesn't rhyme,” Beau says.

“But it's true though, right? You guys were kissing.”

“No.”

“Beau! You have to kiss her.”

“We were interrupted.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.”

“It's fine.”

“You could go and kiss her now.”

“Now. Now, I'm going to sleep.”

Jester huffs and quickly climbs into bed.

Beau climbs into her own and tries to get comfortable, but it's difficult, something rough rubs against her leg. She pulls back the sheet and sees a tarot card resting on the mattress. She recognises it instantly, the image of the couple with the moon behind them, the crease in the corner, the frayed edges, it's the one she smoothed out. The one Molly gave her.

She grips it tight, this was in her robe, Beau remembers putting it in her robe. She climbs out of bed and ignores the questioning look that Jester gives her. Her robe is draped across the back of the chair and she quickly rummages through the pockets, but the tarot card isn't there, instead all there is is a blank piece of parchment.

“What the fuck?”

“Are you okay, Beau?” Jester asks.

Beau stares at the tarot card and the picture slowly changes; the man and woman in long flowing robes fade away, replaced by an image of Yasha, her features soft, her eyes brimming with tears, and of herself, Yasha's hand pressed against her chest. “Okay, I get it, I get it.” She looks over at Jester. “I need to go and talk to Yasha.”

“Yeah you do.”

Beau heads to Yasha's room. She knocks on the door and hopes that Yasha hasn't fallen asleep. A few seconds pass and there's no answer, and Beau accepts that whatever she needs to say is probably going to have to wait until morning. She's already heading back to her room when the door opens and Yasha appears.

“Beau?”

“Er, yeah, hey. Did I wake you up?”

“No, I was out on the balcony. Did you need something?”

“I did actually. Can I come in?” She points to Yasha's room and when Yasha doesn't respond she tries to smooth it over. “Or we can go downstairs? Downstairs is good?”

“No, you can come inside.” Yasha steps aside and Beau, not wanting the opportunity to slip away, quickly heads inside.

Yasha closes the door behind them. “Is something wrong?”

“No. I just... I need to show you something.” Beau hands Yasha the tarot card and then waits, and waits, and waits. “What do you see?”

“Where did you get this?”

“Molly gave it to me, I think.”

“Molly?”

“Yeah. The other day, when I, well, when I died. He was waiting for me, on the other side, at least I think it was him, I might have been hallucinating, it was all a little weird. But it definitely seemed like Molly and he gave me that.”

“Molly,” Yasha whispers and looks back at the card again.

“What do see?”

“I don't see anything.”

Beau slumps. Her arms fold across her chest and she nods her head. “Yep, yeah. That's... That what I thought.”

Yasha continues to stare at the card. “Why, what do you see?”

“Me?” Beau's instinct is to lie, to save herself the embarrassment, and probably Yasha as well, but something stops her, something Molly said. “I see you and me. Honestly, I was kind of hoping you would see the same.”

“I do.”

“What?”

“I lied. I see you and me. The day I flew for the first time.”

“Oh.”

“What does it mean?”

“Well, I think it means that I should kiss you,” Beau says.

“Okay.” But it's Yasha who makes the first move. She gently places her hands on Beau's waist and pulls her closer. Their bodies press together. “Hello.”

“Hi.” Beau smiles.

Yasha leans forward and gently kisses her.

#critical role #beauyasha #beauregard lionett #yasha nydoorin #Fic #beau/yasha

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imagine-loki · 4 years ago

Text

Toxic

TITLE: Toxic

CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: One-shot

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki loves telling everyone that he fears nothing and no one. Tony asks him to check in on Character, who has been in a pissy mood all week. Loki chuckles. “Oh, I fear no one, but I’m not suicidal.”

The first sign that Loki was a soft boy wasn’t anything big or particularly mushy. He stopped on the street and got down on one knee to help a boy whose laces had come undone and was struggling to do them up himself.

RATING: T

NOTES/WARNINGS: I entirely forgot about this one-shot in my drafts. I kinda lost steam with it and I decided to post it kind of unedited, so there should be errors and boring valleys galore! Language! Reference to suicide.

SUMMARY: Lily is usually a sweetheart, but there’s a bit of poison flowing through her veins, right now. Meanwhile, Loki has a short bout of good conscience.

“Where are you going?”

Lily jumped, startled, immediately grimacing as her left shoulder smarted. Her arm was in a sling, having crash-landed onto it during a mission last week. The medic had said that she had likely torn one of the tendons in her rotator cuff, but that they would not be able to do anything about it until the swelling came down. Now, her whole arm lay useless in its cloth cradle while the other side bore the weight of bags and baskets.

“Um…,” she hesitated in her place, unsure as to why she was feeling a little like a schoolgirl caught out doing something she wasn’t supposed to. Well, maybe it was the fact that Stark had told her I don’t want you doing anything for the next month… “I was just going to the bodega. I’m out of snacks.”

“No.”

For a second, they stood in silence, staring each other down while she waited to see if there was going to be anything added to his sentiment. “That’s it?” He nodded, looking bored. “Yeah, I’m not a child. I’m going to the bodega.”

Loki groaned. “Lilian…”

“Not my name, dude.” She made the mistake of bumping into his shoulder with her injured side. On any other occasion, with any other human, it would have been no issue. Loki, however, seemed to be as dense as the center of a collapsing star, and though he barely swayed from his spot, she let out a sharp hiss and gritted her teeth painfully.

“You humans are so pathetically feeble, I swear,” he remarked, bending at the knees to gently prod at her shoulder. “Give me the list, I’ll collect your supplies.”

“No,” she replied, instantly, imitating his haughty tone, perfectly.

“Don’t be a child. I can go there and back faster than you can.”

Baby blues shot up and hardened at him. “What do you need? What leverage are you trying to get?” Loki frowned, tilting his head minutely to explore her incensed semblance. “You know what? I don’t care. I don’t need to be coddled. I can take care of myself just fine.”

“I didn't–”

“Leave me alone!” With the last shouted syllable, her veins glowed bright green and thorns seemed to sprout from every bit of her skin. Loki held his hands up in surrender, and took a step back for good measure.

With one last withering look, she skirted past his imposing form, and pressed the elevator call button. The doors opened almost instantly, and she slipped in, pressing the button for the ground floor. She did not expect, however, for the elevator to dip slightly under the weight of another person. Despite the fact that she had not seen Loki follow her to the hallway, he was standing there, silently, a few feet between them as they rode the elevator down in silence.

At the lobby, he waited for her to exit the car first, following like a spectre right after. They had made it half a block before Lily could no longer resist the urge to scream, and she turned on her heel to face a calm Loki.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Loki fought the smile creeping onto his lips for a bare minute. “Accompanying you. I thought that much was obvious.”

“I don’t. Need. A babysitter.”

“Never said you did, flower,” he riposted, off-handedly before he gestured her ahead.

Letting out a barely restrained groan, she stomped her way back down the street towards the bodega. Loki, for the most part, followed silently, gently fetching things from the top shelf that he knew she was trying to get to, crowding her side when other people got a little too close, generally treating her like she was a porcelain doll about to shatter.

It was annoying the shit out of her.

The bodega owner had barely reacted when she slammed her basket down and unpacked her groceries to pay for them. Her usually charming, chummy demeanor was extinct and replaced by a surly, snarled lip. Why would he be doing this? Was it just to drive home the point that he thought she was incompetent? Weak? Whatever it was, it was gnawing at her very soul and all she wanted to do was to go back to the tower and hide in her room until her shoulder had recovered.

Snatching her receipt from the bodega owner, she turned away from the counter. “Let’s get moving, Snakeb… Loki?” She glanced left and right, not finding him there, nor could she feel the heaviness of his presence anywhere around her. She glanced out the glass doors and found her missing demigod on the sidewalk. A child of about five or six, who was clearly waiting for his mother to get through with her transaction at the bodega, stood still with a gentle smile. Loki was down on one knee, equally easy grin on his face with a shoelace in either hand.

“I’ll show you again. Pay close attention, alright?” He pulled the strings up taut and made two loops. “Around the trunk of Yggdrasil, the little rabbits go, they twine around the knitted roots and sink deep down below. After they have had their fun they jump up to spring free, but every part of their spirit’s tied to the Great Tree,” he singsonged, knotting the laces easily. “Got that?”

The child nodded, giggling before going off with his mother who was looking at Loki a little too hard to be comfortable.

Loki glanced up, sensing Lily staring and offered her a smile she didn’t return. “Are you ready?”

“You taught him how to tie his shoes.”

He brushed aside her prickly tone, unbothered. “Yes… is that a crime, now?”

“Why?”

“He didn’t know how.” He shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“I thought you didn’t like weak things.”

“You know, at some point you’re going to have to tell me why you’re so cross at me.” He snapped, finally, though he didn’t look angry. Disappointed, maybe? Sometimes it was damn near impossible to place any emotion on his face that wasn’t blind rage.

“I heard you talking to Tony, OK? When I was taken to the medbay, she snapped back with double the fervor.

Loki sighed, counting backwards from ten. He was fond of the mutant and he didn’t want to frighten her by barking at her, as he would anyone else. "Despite what you might think, that doesn’t help explain anything.”

“You told Tony I was weak and didn’t belong in the field!” She shrieked, pushing her index finger into his chest. It hurt her more than it did him, but it was a matter of principle.

“No. I told him it was stupid to send you out to the field to somewhere you’d become weak. Foot-thick steel walls zap your energy and I warned him repeatedly about the repercussions. You got hurt because of it.”

Her anger sputtered and idled at the clarification. “You were looking out for me…?”

Loki laughed, a little mirthlessly. “Imagine that,” he replied, sarcastically. He reached out for her basket, carrying the snack-laden vessel himself to give his hands something to do as he marched stoically down the street. People seemed to sense his mood, as they all parted like the Red Sea for him, though they barely allowed her enough space to squeeze through. Glancing backwards, he caught her eye, slowing his pace considerably to allow her to catch up.

“But… you hate me.”

A little notch formed between his brows as he considered her closely. “When have I ever said that? You’re my friend. I don’t make friends with people I hate… Or people… Or make friends, in general, so you should count yourself very bloody lucky.”

Lily shuffled uncomfortably where she stood, and Loki could have sworn there was a flash of a shadow over features, but it was gone a moment after.

“Can we go back or are you going to stand here and glare at me some more?” He joked easily, gesturing down the street with his chin. The mood seemed to lighten, instantly. He didn’t pay her transient anger any mind.

Perhaps he should have.

The Tower was tense, to put it simply. Laughter, which was commonplace whenever the team was home, was nothing more than a distant memory. It seemed like every little noise and movement set off a chain reaction of unpleasantness from what was usually their most pleasant resident. No one had really expected this side effect. After all, when the mutant decided to tell Tony her secret after having worked for him for five years, she assured that she had it well under control. And it was. Her abilities were second nature at this point. Of course, the pressures of battle are something else, entirely, and little quirks popped up just as little quirks are wont to do.

And pop up, they did.

The first time it happened, the team had come back from mission somewhere in the South Pacific. They were all tired and sun-baked enough that if they never saw the great wide ocean ever again, it would be too soon. Heroes all piled into the kitchen with far too many containers of Chinese food, chatting in quiet hushed tones to give their raw throats and over-sensitive ears a chance to rest.

In the far end of the kitchen, Lily stood on her tip toes. Her small frame strained to reach a mug at the very top of the cabinet so she could make herself some tea. Steve, helpful and gentlemanly as ever, rested a hand on the small of her back to signal her that he was there. Reaching above her, he easily grasped the mug, offering her the handle with a dazzling smile.

Usually, she would beam up at the soldier and give his hand a squeeze. Today, her eyes narrowed dangerously. “What, do you think I can’t fucking get a mug now, Rogers?” She snapped, and the soft murmur of the room cut out immediately.

As if in slow motion, they whole team craned their necks over to where the pair stood. Steve had frozen in well-placed shock, mouth opening and closing to grasp for an appropriate apology that he couldn’t understand why he owed. Guilt flashed for but a second across Lily’s features before she cracked her neck awkwardly. Her veins, which would glow a bright green only when using her abilities, pulsed a sludgy brown. She had barely mumbled an apology before going off to hide in her bedroom.

That first encounter had been the mildest, by far.

No one had any idea how to remedy the situation. After all, Lily was usually such a bundle of bright, brilliant energy. She was the one who would always wake up to make breakfast for the group, leave them flowers, bake cookies when one of them seemed sad–she was not a dark, angry entity that yelled at her fellow teammates. Or snarled at anyone for entirely arbitrary reasons (that was Loki’s job, after all). The attitude usually waned after a few days and she’d be back to her bubbly self, which was all the more terrifying.

Right now, however, they were in a dark period.

“Are you truly using a children’s game as a selection tool for whom has to go disturb the plant witch from her self-imposed exile?” Loki asked, a little smugly as he happened upon Natasha and Tony playing Rock, Paper, Scissors to take Lily her new uniform. “You’re pathetic.”

“Don’t act like the sudden goth girl phase isn’t weird. I can tell she scares you,” Nat quipped, rolling her eyes.

Loki gave her a withering stare, looking smug as he circled her in a predatory manner that annoyed the hell out of her. “I fear no one and nothing, Miss Romanov.”

Tony snorted, before a glimmer in his eye sparked and left Loki looking weary. “OK, great. How about you go take this to her, then?” Tony held the bundle for Loki to take.

Loki chuckled, knowing full well the terror that the woman could inflict if provoked. “I said I feared nothing. I didn’t say I was suicidal.” He considered a little longer. “Well, not anymore, anyway.” Tony frowned, making a mental note to follow up at a later date.

“Come on! You two seem to be all buddy-buddy the rest of the time, anyway. Why don’t you just look in on her?”

The god rolled his eyes. “Has it ever occurred to you idiots that perhaps she’s protecting us and not herself when she locks herself away?”

“You are absolutely no help. Fine, Nat–” Tony turned around, sweeping his gaze left and right. “Nat? Where the hell did Nat go?” Frowning, he turned back around to glance at Loki and, instead, found himself alone. “Yeah! Great! Let's… er… regroup later! Good… talk…”

Loki sat at the kitchen table, poking at the, frankly disgusting, plate of eggs and bacon that Bruce had genuinely put all his effort into making for the crew. Glancing around the table, he found a sea of faces with the same sad expression. They all definitely longed for Lily’s pancakes and bacon breakfasts right about then. Loki was the only one who wasn’t even making an effort to be polite and put down some of the meal down his gullet. He had eaten some pretty grim things in his life, but he was not about to make that conscious decision when he wasn’t under any type of duress.

“It’s been two weeks, Tony,” Clint quipped, oddly undisturbed by the state of breakfast and munching full speed ahead. “She’s never been dark for this long.”

“I know. Is this you volunteering?”

“Last time I volunteered, I nearly got impaled on barbed thorns the size of my arm. I barely made it out without looking like Swiss cheese.”

“Barbs?” Loki asked, tilting his head curiously.

Clint nodded, eyes widening. “Yep. Big ones.”

Tony caught the whiff of an idea brewing in Loki’s mind. “Why? What are you thinking, Reindeer Games?”

Loki frowned, waving off the interest. “Nothing. Making a rather satisfying image in my head,” he replied, earning him a dark look from Clint and an annoyed sigh from the rest of the table. It wouldn’t do well to get their hopes up, after all.

After breakfast, Loki found himself pacing the corridor of their living quarters. Lily was only a few doors down and had not seen much of anyone in the whole two weeks since they had gotten back from mission. His brain continually told him that there was nothing he could do, no way for him to remedy this situation. That whatever this state of being was, he would only make it worse. It was better if he just went back to his room and waited for her to seek him out.

And yet, there was a small little voice in the back of his mind, his conscience, he would begrudgingly admit, that urged him to knock on her door.

She would go to the ends of the earth for you, if you needed it, it soothed.

The thought sparked images of the annoyingly sweet woman keeping his handful of secrets and being genuinely interested in his life. He could admit that his conscience was speaking the truth, but only because he knew the imp had little in the way of common sense and self-preservation. This was not the creature hissing at them all from across the threshold, though. And, why would he willingly put himself in the line of fire?

Out of the corner of his eye, a figure caught his attention. A vase of flowers on the windowsill, one of her creations. They were no longer the fresh white daisies they had been when they were placed there. Now they looked like some sort of Nightshade and he was certain they were not the nice kind.

“Oh, you fucking bleeding heart,” he ground out with a groan just as his conscience won out. Without allowing himself time to think or change his mind, he pounded his fist on her door. “Open up or I’ll break it down, Lilian.”

“Fuck off, popsicle!” Her voice was rough and shuddering, like she was trying very hard to keep everything out–or herself in.

Loki swallowed at the venomous retort that brewed at the tip of his tongue on its own accord. Being the bigger person was never quite his forte (nor did it ever get him good results), but he was able to reign himself back in. Rolling his eyes, Loki placed his hand on the door, letting the golden glow of magic envelop it before a satisfactory click let him know that it was open. He had barely crossed the threshold when he jumped back with a yelp.

On the floor, where flowers usually formed a dense, soft carpet, were twisting brambles and thorns. Flytraps and pitcher plants lined the walls, all too large to be considered just houseplants, and blooms burst open, letting out plumes of pollen that Loki dared not to breathe.

This was definitely worse than what he was expecting.

His eyes tore away from the dark forest with a little effort. “Lily,” he tutted softly, watching the woman tucked into a tight ball, tears leaking from her tightly lidded eyes.

It should have been obvious to him. Every living creature had a defense mechanism. Predators had their teeth, prey had their speed, and plants had adapted in similar fashion. Thorns, barbs, poison, giant vats of acid–they had made sure that their lineages survived. It stood to reason that Lily’s mutation, tired of the fighting and the constant worry of missions would also develop some dark effect. Since she wasn’t allowing herself to be dry and acerbic to her friends, her biology had found an alternate solution.

He should have thought of it before.

“Gods, how much pain are you in?” He asked, kneeling beside her on the bed. He ignored the spines digging into his trousers from where he walked through some cacti. There was no response, but rather a whimper and a sigh. “Flower, look at me.”

“Leave me alone, you self-aggrandizing asshole,” she growled, not bothering to open her eyes.

The corner of his mouth twitched, even as he pushed her hair out of her scowling face. It had gone from a bright silver to a dark, smoky grey. “You forgot self-serving and maddeningly good looking.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Agree to disagree.” At his touch her skin erupted in prickers as though they were goosebumps. He swallowed the hiss at getting his fingers skewered, blood pooling at the tips.

Lily’s fists flew in his direction, though he easily caught them in one hand. This time the groan of pain wasn’t silent and blood trickled down his wrists from his palms. “Stop it! Don’t touch me! FRIDAY, he’s hurting me!”

“Disregard that, FRIDAY. Lily, I swear–” She struggled in his grasp, eyes opening and flashing pitch black at him. He was shocked enough that he released her wrists. Her nails grew into sharp wooden talons and just as she reared back to swipe at him, Loki had enough sense to lay his hand on her temple and command, “Sleep.” Her body stiffened and slumped down a second later. “That bloody stings,” he complained, letting her rest back on the bed and bringing the covers over her oddly cool skin.

Loki couldn’t help but compulsively stroke his fingers through her hair, eyebrows pulled together in concern. For all his knowledge of magic and aliens and different realms, he could not figure out for the life of him how to soothe the poison threatening to consume her. In her slumber, she whimpered, shuffling closer to the gentle heat that radiated off of him in waves. Loki convinced himself that he was allowed to dote on her, so long as she wasn’t conscious to remember it. The sludgy brown lines going up and down her exposed skin lightened somewhat under his careful evaluation. Enough that he did not feel threatened when he tapped at her temple and took the sleeping spell off.

He offered a small smile when her eyes blinked up at him in confusion. They were back to their normal baby blue, though her hair still resembled plumes of smoke. “Easy,” he whispered as she jerked away from his touch, all at once. Instead of a hiss or an insult, she frowned, settling back to rest against the pillows, body barely brushing against his. “You’re safe.”

Lily nodded, breathing deeply. This time she didn’t hesitate when he brushed his fingers over her hair. “What are you doing?”

“Tending the garden.”

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “I’m not a garden.”

“Yeah, you are. A few brambles and prickles here and there. Nothing a good prune and a hug won’t fix.” He used his index finger to lift her chin, having essentially buried herself into one of her pillows, cheeks burning. “You don’t have to keep us safe, flower. Sometimes, you’ll need to vent all that ill will and it is not up to you to avoid that.”

“Says the frost giant masquerading as an Asgardian.”

Loki let out a bark of laughter. “I think I liked you more unconscious.” Sadness flashed through her features, eyes downcast. “I was joking. You know I was.”

Lily nodded and the two fell into a tense silence for a long while. The mutant had sat up, fidgeting with her hands on her lap while Loki watched her, expectantly. He wouldn’t press her, of course, but he could tell that there was something on her mind that she wanted to get out in the open. When she didn’t say anything, he simply placed his hand over hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I’m scared,” she blurted out.

“Well, you’re very scary so that makes sense.” The look she gave him told him that was not the answer she wanted and before she could look even more dejected, he added. “And that’s good. You’re powerful. You should be scary. Scary keeps you safe. Fear is a great motivator.”

Loki was starting to panic. It didn’t seem like any of what he was saying was helping her, though it was possibly the most honest and candid he had ever been. If anything, the quickly gathering tears in her eyes told him that he was making it leaps and bounds worse. Shouldn’t she be ecstatic that she could make anyone bend to their will by looking a little ominous? She certainly had the whole of the Avengers acting like she was some sort of displeased deity.

Except she wasn’t. She was gentle and giving and cared. It was becoming very apparent that this was her own personal hell.

“I don’t fear you,” he muttered, brushing hair away from her face. This time there were no barbs to prick him. “And honestly, the rest of these idiots don’t, either. They’re just worried for you.”

“I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Maybe because there’s nothing to fix. I’m guessing that with a little training you can learn to use… whatever the hell this is to your advantage.” His mouth twitched in a small smile. “Sometimes you must learn to embrace the darkness, dear.”

Lily was quiet for another long while, picking at her nails while she thought hard. “Loki?”

“Yes, pet?”

“Can I have a hug if I promise not to tell anyone?”

Loki barked out a laugh, pulling Lily into his arms and squeezing her tightly. “I don’t give a shit if you tell anyone. They probably won’t believe you, anyway,” he murmured into her hair, noting the soot-like material that clung to his fingers as he stroked her hair, turning it back to silver. “Don’t suppose you know if this is dangerous or not?” Lily shook her head against his chest. “Of course you don’t. Why would you?” The mutant giggled against him when he squeezed her a little tighter.

“Loki?” The Prince hummed his recognition against her crown. “Thank you for being a good friend.”

It took Loki supreme effort to blink away the tears that for some reason had sparked to his eyes, unbidden, at the sentiment. “It is my distinct honor, flower.” Comfortable silence filled the room for a moment longer. “I also couldn’t take Bruce’s cooking for another day.”

Lily scoffed, pushing away from his chest with a glare. “Why? Why do you ruin it?”

“Have you met me? Come on!”

“I hate you. Next time I’m poisoning you,” she whined, pulling Loki after her.

“Where are we going?”

“I can tell you haven’t eaten because you’re a child. We’re going to the kitchen.”

Loki grinned, following dutifully after her, as if the imp had any physical means to drag him anywhere. “Do I get pancakes?”

“No!”

“Please?”

“…fine.”

#Loki #Angst #Others #Submitted one shot #submission #Toxic #Fanfictrashdump

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redaster · 4 years ago

Text

unrequited i

character: sugawara koushi

genre: hurt, no comfort

I think I fell for him when neither of us expected. I was a new student at karasuno at that time and I ended up being placed in his class. Our homeroom teacher assigned him to me so that he can give me a tour for the school. He gave me his number that day and told me to text him whenever I need help or if I get lost.

I found Sugawara amazing, especially with him being a third year and sacrificing his rotation because he knew that Kageyama was a better choice for his team. I think it was the way he was playful to his teammates and considerate of those around him. It was how hardworking he was and how willing he was to help others. I remember asking him if he was busy when he was giving me a tour, I did transfer at a weird time. He beamed me a smile and said no. I knew that was a lie, it was finals season when I transferred, how could anyone not be busy at this time? I felt really bad but at the same time, relived that he didn’t refuse at the teacher’s command.

I realized that I was falling for him was when he gave a bun because he noticed that I “haven’t been eating as much as I usually do.” It was a custard bun that I usually bought at the school’s cafeteria but stopped due to the fact that I have been busy and hadn’t had the time to eat.

“Take care of yourself and eat y/n” he said, sitting down at the table in front of me, placing the bun and taking my notebook and closing it.

“No, give it back Suga, I’m fine” I whined, pushing back the bun to him and tried to grab my notebook. He shook his head,

“No, I’ll give it back when you at least eat that” He put the notebook at an arm away and nodded towards the bun, as if urging me to take it and eat it. I sighed, taking it and opening it.

“fine.” I said, knowing that I won’t win against him. He smiled and placed the notebook back to my desk and started talking about his club. He kept me company that day even after I finished my food and went back to studying. He said that it felt better that way, to have company when you're studying.

I was under the impression that he liked me. It was stupid of me to assume that. I never noticed how his eyes twinkled when he looked at Shimizu and how much more brightly, he seemed to be when he’s around her. How her few words can cause him to elicit such a strong reaction but I thought he was just playing.

It was a Friday when I confessed to him, he scratched the back of his neck and was seemingly embarrassed? I thought that, that was a good thing reaction. We were by the gym doors to the side but that’s not really important. He looked at anything but me. I thought that he was just shy.

“hey, y/n” he started when he finally found the courage to look at me in the way, “I’m sorry but I don’t see you like that”

Silence.

“oh” so many things were running in my mind, my hands clammy under the small cake that I baked him that was still on the palms of my hands that was outreached to him, my head bowing a little bit. I slowly raised my head up, my arms retreating; I felt humiliated and could only utter a whisper “... I’m sorry... you don’t have to take the cake if you don’t want it”

“it’s okay, I’ll take it anyways” he whispered back, looking directly at me reaching for the cake that was resting in my hands. As soon as he took it, I twirled around and walked away. The tears that I held back when he told me are only now threating to come out. He didn’t try to follow me or call out to me, but I wished he did.

#sugawara koushi #sugawara #sugawara headcanon #sugawara imagine #sugawara x y/n #sugawara koshi imagine #hq headcanons #hq #haikyu x reader #haikyuu headcanons

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one-winged-whump · 4 years ago

Text

Keeping Track

heyyy i never post writing, but I wanted to write a section where I retconned a character getting an injury and I really liked it, so I thought it would post it here!!

also yes this is in first person, and no i will not apologize for it <3

Warnings: pet whump, collars, fear, branding, manhandling, dehumanization, creepy whumper, torture

Word count: 2187

I cracked open my eyes and sat up as I heard the doors to the office click open. To my utter lack of surprise, Sisko was strolling into the room, much too chipper for the time of day. My face formed a snarl and the smaller feathers on my wings puffed in disgust as he passed me, and I had to resist the urge to reach out and knock his legs out from under him. The fine chain leash around my neck jangled as I turned my head to follow him with my gaze.

Unfortunately, he reached his desk unscathed and sat down with his mug of coffee to begin booting his computer up. As it did, he swiveled his chair around to face me, watching me with intense, appraising eyes. I scowled at him, hoping that looks would kill for once. But he didn’t chide me contemptuously like usual, just studied me like I was a particularly fascinating bug on a window sill.

When his login screen popped up, Sisko finally set his coffee down and turned to his computer, the faintest smile on his lips.

I huffed indignantly. We’d only been here a week and I was ready to tear this man limb from limb every moment of the day. Hopefully I’d get a chance soon. Then I could get the key to this stupid collar with its weird tech and go find the boys. Then we could all get out of here together and go home. It was a wildly outlandish plan, but I was willing to take any chance I could for an escape. I’d had enough of being treated like an animal, thank you very much.

The clacking from Sisko’s computer slowly brought me out of my own thoughts and I inwardly groaned. Why the hell was his keyboard so damn loud? Who even likes loud, clicky keyboards like that?

“You know, bird,” Sisko said suddenly, making me start. “You and your companions aren’t the only animals I own.” I wanted to scowl at him again, but that made me pause. Other animals?

“I have the more exotic ones like you tucked away in a room together. They’re quite impressive, honestly.” He chuckled, still not looking away from his screen. He continued casually, like he was talking to a friend instead of me, a bird girl chained to the ground.

“Everyone who sees them insists so. But you all are just that much more special.” He pulled away from his computer, rolling his chair backwards and turning to face me pointedly. “You’re the only ones of your kind.”

I glowered. Was he trying to say something that would upset me? If he was, this wasn’t it. I knew we were the only people like this, and it honestly didn’t bother me. It was everyone else who seemed to have some kind of problem with us.

“Yes, truly rare,” Sisko mumbled, seemingly to himself. Then his eyes fell on me again. He crossed his ankle over his knee and propped his head up with one elbow on his desk. “I feel like I need to make sure everyone knows that I own you now.” His smile, which had started out as a smug little smirk, was quickly turning into the excited grin of a child in a toy store. A shiver ran over my skin, but I kept my angry facade.

Sisko paused for a lingering moment before speaking again. “While I own rare and lovely animals, I also own cattle. Did you know that, bird?” I blinked in surprise. It made sense, I guessed, but somehow, it was impossible to imagine Sisko in his sharp, sleek suits overseeing fields of huge, smelly cows.

“Mostly for meat. I like to know where my food comes from, start to finish,” he clarified, and I rolled my eyes, folding my arms over my chest. Maybe if I pretended to be uninterested enough, he would just go back to ignoring me.

“And ‘start to finish’ means keeping constant track of all of this cattle,” he continued, prattling on and on. “Knowing the cows from the steer from the heifers from the springers. Knowing which ones have had their vaccines, which ones are sick.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs the other way. “It’s all very important to know.” I sighed loudly and dramatically, slumping myself against the bookcase behind me. If this bothered him, he didn’t show it. Just kept that same unsettling grin.

“There are several ways to keep and identify cows from one another. An ear tag, of course, given at birth.” Sisko flicked his earlobe with a finger. “The easiest method, in my opinion, but they can fall off. So we must also have a backup method of keeping track of them.” I yawned exaggeratedly, hoping to annoy him into shutting the hell up. Why in the world was he telling me about his cattle, of all things?

“One of the alternate options is a tattoo on the inside of the ear,” Sisko explained, biting his bottom lip to try to contain his excited smile. “But it’s so hard to get them to stand still long enough to make it clear enough to read. Which leaves us with the other option.” He sat up, weaving his fingers together excitedly, eyes glittering. It made me extremely uneasy. I could feel some of my smaller feathers begin to puff up anxiously.

“Freeze branding is more popular these days, but I honestly prefer a good, old fashioned hot-fire brand, myself,” he said. “It might not be quite as good as freeze branding, but I would say it’s much more effective for...behavioral problems.” Sisko could no longer contain his feral grin, and I felt my heart seize in my chest suddenly. Shit. Fuck.

“I think they should just about be ready,” he said with mirth and I paled, head spinning. There was no way even he was batshit enough to do this to me. It had to just be some kind of horrible scare tactic, like stories parents tell their children to frighten them into obeying.

But sure enough, not fifteen seconds later, there was a knock at the door. My mouth went dry as Sisko called in a sing-songy voice “Enter!”

Three men entered the room wearing thick cloth gloves. I recognized them as some of the goons that had kidnapped us all in the first place. In their gloved hands, they carried a bucket with wash cloths hanging over the side, a blow torch, and a metal rod. The rod was a few inches longer than my arm, with a curved metal handle on one end, and a pattern I couldn’t make out in the other. My blood froze in my veins.

“So lovely to see you gentlemen again,” Sisko cooed to the men. “You may start whenever you’re ready.” I hoped, nay, expected at least one of them to grow a conscience and say “Hey, what we’re about to do is wrong!” But consciences seemed in short supply around here.

I scrambled to try to get away, but my collar and leash kept me securely fastened and unable to get more than a couple feet away. The men approached slowly, then one jumped on top of me, shoving me onto my back with enough force to snap my head against the marble flooring.

As I tried to blink the stars from my vision, hands gripped me from all sides and rotated me so now I was laying on my stomach.

“Oh, excellent choice,” Sisko purred from his desk. “I think that’s the perfect place for it.” I tried to at least get on my hands and knees, get just a touch of leverage to shake the bastards off, but there was a heavy weight on my legs, and my hands were bound together under my body. When the hell had that happened?

I heard the soft zrrip of a zip tie fastening and realized that my feet were also bound now. In a panic, I flapped my wings, hoping that if they couldn’t help me to my feet, they could at least disorientate the men.

But a shock of pain ran up my right wing as one of them smacked it down and slammed his boot down on it. I definitely would have cried out if I could have. Instead, I let out a gasping grunt.

My left wing was still free, but I stopped moving it when I slammed it harshly into the bookshelf in an attempt to hit one of the men. As soon as I paused, the man I’d tried to cuff with it stepped on top of my wing, putting his entire weight on it.

I was panting hard, trying so hard not to start crying and also trying to keep myself from absolutely losing it. With the two men on my wings, everything from the waist up was effectively pinned to the ground. When I moved my legs, the last man laid a threatening foot on it, so I stopped. I couldn’t deal with him breaking one or both of my legs. Not right now.

So I just had to lay immobile while the men above me flicked on the blow torch and began heating the long metal rod. The iron brand.

The wait was horrible. The only sound in the room was the loud wrooooosshhhh of the flame and my own breath coming in shallow gasps. Flat on my stomach, I couldn’t see what the men were doing. I could see the floor, part of the bookshelf, and a sliver of blue sky outside the window. I couldn’t even see Sisko, though I was sure his face still held that disgusting manic grin.

After what felt like hours, the blow torch snapped off, and I froze. Oh, no. The man on my left wing shifted, and I felt the bottom of my shirt being pulled up to my wings, exposing my lower back. Oh, god! My entire body was rigid, tense with dreadful anticipation. Please, god, someone help me! Please, I-

The most searing pain I’d ever felt shot through me. I screamed a mostly soundless guttural scream that hurt on the way out, but not nearly at the level of my lower back. I tried to squirm away for even the most minuscule relief of the more than white hot pain, but I felt boots on my neck, my shoulders, anything that could still move.

Tears were freely flowing down my face as my hands clawed at my stomach underneath me, as if I could reach through it and grab the pain away.

A foul smell reached my nose and I realized that was me. Sour and charred and sickening. That was my skin I could hear sizzling and blistering. I let out another hoarse, gasping wail from my gut and slammed my head into the marble floor, trying to stop the pain somehow.

I was breathing so hard that it felt like my entire body was jerking with spasms, which made the burning hot pain worse, which continued to make my breath come out in labored pants. On and on and on in a worsening circle. My head swam and my vision dimmed at the edges. Was I blacking out? I hoped I would, because that would be the only reprieve I could get from the unbearable, agonizing pain.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the pressure lifted from the small of my back, but the rush of cold air stung nearly as bad and I inhaled sharply as a new flood of tears spilled from my eyes. The wound pulsed with every beat of my unnaturally fast heart rate, and it made me sick to my stomach, like I might throw up. I was sweating and shivering all over, hiccuping with barely-controlled wheezing gasps for breath. Even the tips of my flight feathers were trembling.

I felt a touch near the wound and I would have jerked away if I’d had the energy, but I couldn’t. The thought of that metal touching me again was almost too much, but luckily the touch was much softer than white hot metal. It took several moments of flinching pain for me to realize that one of the men was smearing a salve on the brand wound. Probably something to keep the infection away, hopefully some kind of numbing agent. Either way, every time the cloth met my back, it was a painful jolt to my nervous system.

I closed my eyes and put my forehead against the cold marble, shuddering softly and shaking with sobs, but not wholly because of the pain. I was branded now. Like fucking chattel. A permanent mark, a reminder.

Someone grabbed a fist full of my hair, yanking my head up to face them. I pried my eyes open to see Sisko’s smug, unbothered face grinning back at me.

“Don’t worry. It looks lovely,” he told me. Then, his smile broadened as he said, “And now everyone knows you’re mine, bird.”

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frenchfrysplash · 4 years ago

Text

fic: between heaven, the sky, the earth

The Haunting of Bly Manor

Dani/Jamie

Chapter 1/10

Read on AO3 Here! Or you can continue into the Read More.

Summary: Jamie goes between one moment, and the next. Falling around her like rain, like snow.

She's here for a reason. Here to help.

She just needs to remember.

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

They say a dream takes only a second or so, and yet in that second a man can live a lifetime. He can suffer and die, and who's to say which is the greater reality: the one we know or the one in dreams, between heaven, the sky, the earth"- Perchance to Dream," The Twilight Zone, Episode 1x09

April 1984

Jamie's fingers twisted together, so tight it almost hurt.

The kitchen of Bly Manor was silent, save for a clock ticking on the wall, driving Jamie slowly insane. Her heart was thrumming in her chest, the starch of her collared shirt itching at her throat. She should have chosen a blouse, something more feminine, instead of the slacks and grey button up she wore. Who knew what the Wingraves would think of her? They might take one look at her and send her home, not wanting their grounds cared for by a dy-

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Tayler!"

Jamie practically leapt out of her seat, almost knocking the chair over. Charlotte Wingrave swept into the room like a breeze on a warm day, her smile lighting up the kitchen and making the corners of Jamie's lips pull up of their own accord. She reached across the table to shake Jamie's hand, and Jamie found herself resisting the ridiculous urge to pull Charlotte's hand towards her to kiss her knuckles. Charlotte Wingrave, with her dark hair, her kind eyes, and her easy elegance, seemed to inspire the chivalrous side of Jamie's nature. It had been the same the first time they met, when Jamie called on the manor to answer the ad for a new gardener.

"Don't worry about it," Jamie said. And cleared her throat. "I wasn't waiting long. And please, call me Jamie."

"Well, thank you, Jamie" Charlotte settled herself in the seat opposite. "I do try to be on time, but, with two young children, the day does get away from you."

"I can only imagine, ma'am," Jamie replied, sitting back down. "I knew a pair of kids once, right pair of wee gremlins they-"

She stopped, furrowing her brow. She had never known any children, had none of her own, and didn't know anyone with kids. She wasn't sure what had made her say that, but fortunately, Charlotte didn't pursue the tangent.

"Now, you told me you were interested in the gardener position when you dropped by the other day," Charlotte said, hands folding in front of her. "The letter you wrote was excellent, and you seem to have plenty of experience. So tell me, what interests you about the job?"

"Oh, well," Jamie sat up a little straighter, trying to ignore her sweaty palms. "I've been working as a labourer for a landscaping company in London. Worked on a lot of different gardens, all over the city." She paused, trying to work out how to say the next part. "If I'm honest, I wanted to get out to the countryside. London is a bit fast-paced for me, even with growing plants, and I've been wanting to slow down. It's like," Jamie hands came up, like she was trying to pull the words out of the air, "people there don't understand that growth takes time. I thought somewhere like this," she gestured vaguely, "somewhere with so much history, so much growth over time, I thought, somewhere like that, the people might just get it."

She held her breath, hoping she hadn't put Charlotte off with her speech. But Charlotte was smiling, and nodding along. Jamie felt herself smile back.

"Very good," Charlotte said, voice warm and approving. "Now, with this position, you would be responsible for the upkeep of the entire grounds. Does that sound like something you're comfortable with?"

"More than comfortable," Jamie replied. "Sounds wonderful to me. I like the idea of caring for something like that, keeping it happy and healthy."

"Excellent." Charlotte beamed, and Jamie blinked. For an instant, a different face had beamed at her from across the table; a beautiful face, with blue eyes and blonde hair, and a smile that tugged at Jamie's heart. But she must have imagined it, because a moment later, it was just Charlotte again.

She realized Charlotte had said something that she'd missed, and Jamie leaned forward.

"Sorry? I didn't quite catch that."

"Oh, apologies." Charlotte cleared her throat. "I asked, how did you start gardening?"

Oh.

Jamie hesitated, casting her eyes away from Charlotte's face, her own falling. Here it was. She could lie, and hope Charlotte never found out. Or she could tell the truth.

"Well, I got into it because-" Jamie stopped, and sighed, shoulders drooping. For the first time, she avoided Charlotte's gaze. "Honestly, the garden was one of the work rotations I was given in prison."

She risked a glance. Charlotte's smile had faded, replaced with a furrowed brow. She nodded to Jamie to continue.

"I had never so much as picked up a spade before," Jamie admitted. "But when they put me in that garden, it was like something…settled. It was hard work, and it kept my mind quiet. There were other women there I learned from, and when I got out, one of them helped me find my job in London. Haven't looked back since."

She let herself meet Charlotte's eyes, fully expecting to find disapproval and disappointment there. Instead, she found the older woman was looking at her thoughtfully, finger tapping her chin. Jamie shifted uncomfortably, a sliver of hope blooming in her chest.

"You know, Jamie," Charlotte said kindly. "I think of myself as a great judge of character."

Jamie said nothing, just nodded.

"After all," Charlotte sat back in her chair, waving her hand as if to indicate the entire manor. "I hired Hannah Grose. And that woman is a miracle, let me tell you."

Despite herself, a small smile quirked Jamie's lips. She had briefly met Mrs. Grose on her way in, and could tell right away that she would get on well with the housekeeper.

If she got the job, which didn't look likely in that moment.

"So you see," Charlotte continued. "I knew straight away when you walked in that I would hire you, and I'm not one to distrust my gut feelings."

"I understand, Lady Wingrave, I-" Jamie stopped. "Wait, I'm sorry?"

"Jamie," Charlotte said patiently. "Will you be able to care for the garden and grounds of Bly Manor?"

"Yes," Jamie said, hardly daring to breathe.

"Then that's all I need to know," Charlotte smiled at her. "Your reference from your former employer is impeccable, and the experience you outlined in your cover letter lends me the utmost confidence that you are the perfect candidate for the gardener position. When can you start?"

"I-" Jamie's brain stuttered. She swallowed. "When do you need me, ma'am?"

"Right away, if possible," Charlotte said, standing up and smoothing down her skirt. "Of course, you're still living in London, I take it? You can stay in one of the rooms here until you find your own place. Don't worry, I'll help you."

"Thank you," Jamie stood up as well, eyes wide, hardly daring to believe what had just happened. "Ma'am, I -"

"Your past is your past, Jamie," Charlotte said. "Let's live in the present, shall we?"

She held out her hand to shake again, and Jamie took it, beaming from ear to ear. But when she went to drop the hand, Charlotte didn't let go.

"Uh, Lady Win-"

The words died in Jamie's throat, replaced with a strangled gasp. Charlotte Wingrave had disappeared, and instead, a monster stood in front of her. A woman, in a white nightdress, dripping wet from head to toe, her long dark hair hanging like weeds over her shoulders. And her face, her face-

She had no face. No eyes. No nose. Only a wide, gaping mouth.

Jamie tore her hand away, gasping, scrambling back, hitting the wall, as the creature stepped forward, hands reaching, reaching, reaching-

"Let's get out of here," a voice whispered in her ear. Jamie turned, finding herself inches from the blonde woman she thought she'd seen earlier, a grin on her lips, blue eyes twinkling. The woman laced their fingers together, and tugged-

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

September 1987

"How the hell is it so hot?" Jamie whined, letting herself be pulled along the street. "I didn't think America would be this hot."

"You're a baby," Dani said. "A giant baby. I can't believe how much of a baby you're being."

"I miss the rain," Jamie said.

"You hate the rain."

"Do not. Rain is lovely. Waters the plants for me. Gives me a nice break."

Dani laughed, and Jamie grinned. That was the best sound in the world, right there. Dani Clayton's laugh. She could spend the rest of her life making Dani laugh.

With that thought, she tugged on Dani's hand, stopping her in her tracks.

"Jamie," Dani started, voice threatening annoyance. But she was smiling as Jamie pulled her in, kissing her soundly and sliding her fingers through blonde hair. Dani let out a happy sigh, other hand landing on Jamie's hip, pulling her closer-

"Fuckin' Dykes!"

The shout came from a passing car, and Jamie tore herself away from Dani to flip them off and yell some obscenity back. Dani shook her head, scowling.

"It's not worth it, Jamie," she said dully.

"So much for San Francisco being gay friendly," Jamie grumbled, as the two started walking again.

"There's always gonna be assholes," Dani told her. She took Jamie's hand again, slotting her fingers together like they'd been doing it all their lives, not just a couple of months. "But come on, we've faced down ghosts. Homophobes've got nothing."

"I'd still like to punch their lights out," Jamie said, glaring in the direction of the car. But she hadn't missed the quip about Bly Manor. Were they really at a point where they could joke about it?

She didn't get a chance to ask, though, because suddenly Dani was pulling her along again, their leisurely stroll turning into a brisk clip. Jamie let herself be led, content to watch Dani's hair flutter in the breeze, Dani's earrings glint in the sunlight, Dani's ass swaying in her jeans-

"Here we are!"

Without Jamie noticing, lovestruck as she was, they had gone through a parking lot and over sand dunes, and now the deep, white-capped blue of the Pacific Ocean stretched out in front of them, with no end in sight.

"Oh," Jamie breathed. "Oh, wow."

This time it was her leading the way, Dani trailing behind her, their hands still clasped together loosely. Jamie had never seen the Pacific before; had grown up with the Atlantic in driving distance, but hadn't had a real reason to spend much time there. She had always been anchored to the earth, never the sea, but the vast expanse before her took her breath away. It was all part of the natural world that Jamie loved, that she surrounded herself with and took care of. Just a different part.

"Poppins," Jamie said, unable to keep the awe from her voice. "It's beautiful."

"Yeah," Dani said, sounding strangely far away, and Jamie knew if she turned her head, she would see Dani gazing at her adoringly, like a scene out of a bad romance movie. And once upon a time, she had. She had turned her head, had met Dani's gaze, had pulled her forwards and nearly kissed her, but stopped at the last minute, remembering the shout from the street. Had instead turned on her heel and raced down towards the water, dragging a laughing Dani behind her, and plunged in, not caring they were in their clothes, trying to wash away a memory of another plunge into cold water.

She knew she had done all of that, once. She could taste the salt on her tongue, feel the chill of the water on her skin. But here, now, in this moment, her eyes had landed on something in the water, and her entire body had frozen, standing at the edge of the surf. The sun seemed to suddenly hide behind a cloud, and an ill wind whipped Jamie's curls around her head.

"Dani," she said. "Dani, do you see that?"

There was no answer. Jamie turned, only to find Dani gone. In fact, the beach was empty now. Jamie was alone.

Well. Not completely alone.

Slowly, she looked back at the water. The creature stood, waist-deep, eyeless face turned in her direction. It did not seem to notice the waves, or the wind that now gusted, and it did not move. Jamie fought the urge to run, terrified that any movement would cause the thing to come after her. Why was it here? Why was it just standing there? Why wasn't it at the bottom of that lake where it had dragged Dani-

Wait.

Unbidden, Jamie took a step forward. The water soaked her shoes immediately, washing up and over her ankles. Another step, and it was at the cuffs of her jeans now, shoes sinking into the sand. Another, and another, and another, until she was standing up to her knees, entire body trembling, staring at the The Lady in the Lake with wide eyes.

"I'm supposed to be doing something," Jamie said to her. "I'm here for a reason."

The Lady in the Lake said nothing.

"It's there, on the tip of my tongue." Jamie let out a frustrated breath. "At the back of my brain. Just-"

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

October 2000

Her clothes were still wet when she arrived back at the hotel room. She stripped them almost as soon as the door closed, and stumbled into the shower, standing under the spray and staring at the wall. She only turned it off when the water turned cold, and she was pretty sure there were no more tears in her eyes. She towelled herself off, and dug through the little overnight bag she'd thrown together haphazardly as she rushed out the door an eternity earlier.

Rushed out the door after Dani, who had been long gone by then.

She hadn't packed any sleep shorts in her hurry, so she threw on some underwear, and an old shirt. The scent of it hit her immediately, and a fresh wave of tears started to fall. It was an old shirt of Dani's. One she'd worn a million times, even after the armpits were getting a bit threadbare.

Dani, who was lying at the bottom of a lake.

She went through the motions of getting ready for bed. She didn't have a toothbrush, so she just rinsed her mouth out with water, and splashed her face. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror - red-eyed, pale-faced - and paused, staring. Hoping against hope that another face would appear. Like had happened so often back home, in their little apartment, when Dani looked in a mirror, or into water, or into a pane of glass. Maybe Jamie's cry in the lake had worked, and maybe instead of that monster she would see-

Just let me have this, Jamie thought, not taking her eyes off her own reflection. It's you, it's me, it's us. Let me have this, Dani.

But nothing appeared, and Jamie shut the light of the bathroom off, and climbed into bed.

She didn't sleep. To sleep meant two things. First, it meant waking up again, into another day in a world where Dani wasn't. Where Jamie was just expected to keep living her life without her wife by her side. What would she even do? Go home? To their little apartment filled with memories? To the flower shop? Keep living the little life they had built together? Alone?

How could she be expected to do that?

Sleep also meant dreams, and Jamie was possibly more frightened of that than waking up. Dreaming could mean seeing Dani again, whether alive and happy, or dead, staring at her with lifeless eyes at the bottom of a lake. Neither option was appealing in the slightest, so Jamie lay awake, staring at the clock as it ticked towards midnight.

She deemed 5 o'clock in the morning as good a time as any to wake up. Or at least, get out of bed, as waking up implied she had slept at all. She supposed she would go to the airport, and get on a plane back to Vermont, decide what to do from there. Dani would want her to keep going.

It was as she mechanically got ready to leave that she found it. Dani's note, folded up with her passport, thrown in her bag along with anything else she thought she might need. It had fallen out when she changed, and for a moment, Jamie just gazed at it. Then, she knelt down, and opened it with trembling fingers, reading the last words Dani had left her.

Jamie,

The beast has come for me. Viola is calling, and I have to answer, or I don't know what could happen. I can't risk that anything would happen to you, my most important person. I love you. I'm so sorry.

Dani

If only she had woken up. If only she had stopped her. Convinced her that it was ok, that they would figure it out together. If only she had been able to figure out a solution before Viola took her. If only Owen had driven a little faster that night, thirteen years ago. If only she had run a little faster towards the lake. If only she had stayed the night when Dani asked. If only, if only, if -

Viola?

Jamie frowned as she scanned the note, the name standing out to her as strange, unknown. Viola? Who was Viola? Where had that come from?

Water dripped on the carpet in front of her. Jamie found herself looking at mud-covered feet, eyes tracing a soaking wet nightdress up until they reached the face - that terrible, terrible face.

She felt like she should scream. Scream and run from the room. Or better yet, attack the monster and hope she could get a few good licks in before it dragged her down too.

But she didn't.

Jamie stood slowly, hand still clutching the note, staring at the creature in front of her. The creature did nothing. Simply stood, as though waiting for Jamie to make the first move.

And so, Jamie did.

"Viola?"

#the haunting of bly manor #dani x jamie #damie #dani clayton #jamie #jamie the gardener #bly manor #heather writes fanfiction #this doesn't happen often so like have fun guys

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