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crusty-chronicles · 7 months ago

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The Moon and Sun (Big Sib reader x Gon/Killua)

Ch 17: Countdown part 2

Synopsis: Welcome back ladies and gentlemen. Shall we continue where we left off?

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You stood in the center of a clearing, waiting for the slightest hint of movement. All of your five senses tuned in to your environment. The smallest change of even the direction of the wind would be enough to tip you off.

A boost off of the grass.

You blocked a punch with your right arm. The small assassin stared with wide eyes. A curse of ‘Damn’ leaving him before you gripped him by the shirt and flung him in the other direction. He didn't have a chance to orient himself properly. His back colliding with a tree, effectively snapping it in half from how hard you threw him.

“Fast, but still not fast enough!” You called out.

You redirected your attention at a disturbance in the debris. From the dust kicked up came the boy in green. He made a dash forward, preparing to strike you. In what must've been the last second, he changed his attack. He jumped back on his hands and kicked as hard as he could towards your stomach.

“You won't get very far with cheap tricks.” You scolded before grabbing his ankle.

He tried to use his other leg to swing, but you stopped it easily. Using the new leverage, you spun in a circle to gain momentum before sending him flying upwards.

He gave a cry of surprise that quickly became annoyance. You were just tossing them around like footballs. Effortlessly.

From behind you Killua rebounded. Instead of attacking, he used his Echo Rhythm in the hopes it would disorient you. Doing laps around you as fast as he could. Yet somehow your eyes managed to linger on the real him.

If there's no opening, make one! Right????

There was a shout from above that startled you. Less than a fraction of a second you'd looked away. But it was enough. He lunged forward.

In the split second you glanced up, you saw Gon punch upward. A shockwave sending him straight for you. He used his physical strength to propel himself down.

They were coming in from both sides. There was no way you'd be able to avoid them both. Just when they were about to touch you, you vanished. Both of them looking at the blank space with surprise that quickly turned into panic. They were about to collide with each other. Killua twisted his body to the left. Gon to the right. Blows barely skirting around the other.

They recovered from the confusion and stood back to back. Waiting anxiously for any sign of you. A shadow from the corner of their eye. But it was too late. A sharp pain resonating on the sides of their skulls.

You had slammed their heads together. You gave a slight wince seeing them fall over and cradle the spot that hurt. A beeping from your pocket signaled that today's session was over.

“Alright. Five minutes is up.”

They gave sounds of protests as they sat up.

“We almost had you that time!” Gon exclaimed. He saw you this time. His reaction time was just slow.

“Yeah, let's go again! I didn't even have time to break a sweat!” Killua agreed.

Pure determination in their eyes. They were getting better, but another round would probably drain them. They'd be out of commission for a week.

“You two know the rules. One match a day. Then it's sensory training. Then it's meditation.”

“We know, we know. It's hearing today right?” Killua complained.

“Sulk all you want but it's a helpful skill. I picked up on your first attack because of it.” You responded.

He stuck his tongue out at you.

“Okay Dumbo. And did you really have to throw me that hard?”

Truthfully, you didn't mean to use that much force. It was a knee jerk response-and a very light one at that.

“You think that's hard? I could've sent you at least 35 meters easy. Hell, I almost sent Gon into orbit.”

“Yeah but he didn't get tossed through a tree.”

“I'd rather be tossed through a tree than stuck all the way up there,” Gon argued.

“Let's test it out then!”

“You're on! I'm gonna send you flying!”

“You wish!”

You tried to hide a smile as they bickered. It was two weeks ago when you first started their training.

You took baby steps with the boys. Starting off with something they were familiar with: speed training. The plan was to build up their physical strength before moving onto aura. Well, Killua would be improving his nen. Gon would just have to adapt once Knuckle’s APR expired.

It took them five days to master speed training. Both of them being quick enough to dodge every pebble you flicked their way. It improved their stamina drastically. Actual speed, not so much. If you just had the time, you would've been able to teach them properly. Right now you were skipping a few steps. But if you knew anything about these boys, it was that they were quick learners.

You were combining lessons three and four of your clan's methods. Sensory training was meant to enhance sight, smell, hearing, touch, and taste. The five senses. Everyday, one sense would be taken away. The other four would be used to figure out the scenario. It makes the individual more perceptive to their surroundings. A slight change could be picked out easily. Today the boys’ hearing would be taken away.

Combat training was meant to gain experience. There were two stages to this lesson: physical strength and nen strength. However, no matter which stage the student was in, they had to challenge someone undoubtedly stronger than them and fight them full force. Just until they became the same level as their teacher, or close enough to them. The boys were currently on the first stage.

Usually to advance, they would actually have to land one direct hit on you. But since you were pressed for time, you had to alter the condition.

“If you can get me to use my nen within five minutes, we'll move onto the next level.” You informed.

“What's the next level?” Gon asked.

“Actually fighting with your abilities against mine. Gon, you should be able to keep up. If anything, you'll probably end up getting stronger than me.” you explained.

It really was a blessing in disguise Knuckle took away his nen. His physical strength would increase leagues than what it was. If he could keep up with you at your best, for sure he'd beat you if nen was involved.

“Really!?!” He beamed up at you with excitement.

“No fair.” Killua pouted.

“It's nothing personal. We need to stick to your strengths,” you reassured the small assassin.

“You're more calculated in fights. You like to analyze your enemy's moves. You know when you're outclassed and tend to flee if it's more favorable. Despite your upbringing, nen combat is what you excel at. It's easier for you to control and predict.

“Gon's the opposite. Physical combat comes easier to him. His impulsive movements make for great offense. He charges right in, leading to the best surprise attacks. More or less, in a fight you'd be even. You'd probably outclass me in speed depending on how you applied your ability.”

“Faster and stronger than you? In just a month?” Killua questioned.

“In less than a year if we had the time. In a month, you might come close to overtaking me. In your respective categories that is. To fully max out on the categories you're weakest, it would take another six months.”

“What about seeing auras? Would either of us become as good as you at that?” Gon asked.

“You could probably do it now. That's baby stuff.”

“Hey!” The duo said in unison. Both equally as offended.

“Right, my bad. I mean it'll be easy. It's one of the first things I was taught…Then again, my eyes are pretty special. Who knows?”

Yup.

The boys still had quite a way to go.

—--------------------

Nights had become the hardest part of your routine. Everytime you closed your eyes you'd see him. You'd see her. If it was a particularly rough night, you'd see them. You haven't had this problem since Greed Island. The sleepless nights plagued by the worst your mind could come up with.

You used to stay up for days on end. Hoping when you finally closed your eyes, they'd stay shut. But you didn't exactly have the luxury of exhausting yourself right now. You couldn't afford to waste your energy. You had to be in top condition when the time came to face the ants.

The boys were experiencing a similar problem. Whether it was the stress of the situation or the pressure to get stronger, they were unable to sleep through the night. Often they'd wander into your room (where you sat on your bed, already awake thanks to tonight’s terror) and sit right next to you. It quickly became a habit.

Wait for the sun to come up, train, then take a nap out of pure exhaustion. The night would drag on while you waited for the next day to arrive. It wasn't healthy. However, tensions were too high to do anything else.

You had an idea though, of how to fix the problem.

“You've both earned a break,” you announced.

Both boys eyed you suspiciously.

“A break? Like right now?” Killua questioned.

You gave a nod.

“I don't think we can risk taking a break. We have to keep training. We need to get stronger.” Gon persisted.

You understood where he was coming from. But the harder he pushed himself, the less focused he'd be. It was only a matter of time before mental fatigue kicked in.

“You are getting stronger, but if you focus all your time training, you'll be exhausted when it's time to fight.” you explained.

“I know you want to keep going, but rest is important. You need to be in top shape both mentally and physically.”

The duo sat in quiet for a moment. Weighing the pros and cons of your offer. They looked to each other and nodded.

“Okay. What did you have in mind?”

—----------------------

The sand was warm under your feet.

You don't think you've ever been to the beach before. It was…nice. The air was saltier than you were expecting. And despite the sun beating down on you, it felt decently cool. There were more people than you were expecting, but you supposed you could tune them out.

You used to envy normal kids when you were little. Childhoods filled with amusement parks, aquariums, beaches, carnivals. An oblivious innocence to everything around them. You used to yearn for a piece of that normalcy. But the clan always came first.

Now you were actually here.

And there was nobody to stop you from enjoying it.

“Alright. Go, uh, go beach.” You ushered the boys forward.

“Go beach? You're like an alien who's never been to earth.” Killua teased.

“Hey!”

It wasn't your fault you didn't know what to do. Something something sand? Swimming? You'd figure it out. What mattered was that you were here to relax.

“Come on. Let's go before they figure out how to ‘beach.’” Gon laughed out, quickly pulling Killua away.

“Rats!!! You're both little rats!” You shouted after them.

They made a break for the water. Loading up the squirt guns they brought and splashing each other. You donned a pair of sunglasses and sat back. As long as they didn't drown each other. The little goblins. Maybe you could finally take a decent nap while they fooled around.

From where you sat, they actually looked like kids. They looked their age. It made you smile seeing how carefree they were. The stress of training long forgotten. And when Killua put Gon in a headlock for spraying his face, you had to stifle a laugh. You could sense nothing but content from the both of them.

You wished it could've been like this all the time. Maybe it would if things turned out okay.

“Kids are such a handful.”

You jumped at the sound of a voice next to you. It's what you get for letting your guard down, you supposed. You looked up and saw a woman in her thirties if you had to guess. She stared towards the ocean fondly.

A mother.

It wouldn't hurt to engage in conversation. You were here to relax after all.

“No kidding,” you responded.

You held back a grimace seeing Gon break free from Killua and body slam him into the water.

“Are those your boys?” The woman questioned.

You hesitated to answer. Technically, they weren't. Not by blood, at least. But did you consider them yours? Without a doubt they were one of your own.

“Yeah, those are mine.”

“Really? They don't look like you. Adopted?”

“Kind of. I'm a temporary caretaker.” And before she could ask what you meant by that, you quickly changed the subject.

“Which one's yours?”

She pointed slightly to the left.

“The little girl with the sunhat.”

Sure enough, there was a kid hanging into a dolphin floaty. Laughing along with another small girl. They looked peaceful, unlike your two demons who were currently wrestling. The contrast was almost enough to make you laugh.

“I heard that girls were easier. Is that true?” You asked.

The woman gave a small hum in thought.

“I personally don't think there's a difference. I mean, we raise them and love them the same,” she started.

“They're both stressful as babies and toddlers. They both end up becoming moody teenagers. Sometimes they get upset because they don't understand the decisions you make. Sometimes they don't even know what they're feeling and lash out…Boy or girl, parenting isn't easy. It's full of struggles no matter what.”

You don't know why, but her words made you feel relieved. Maybe a part of you was worried you were doing something wrong. That you weren't fit to take care of the boys. Maybe it was nice to hear your emotions were valid and normal.

“That's good to know.” You said after a while.

The woman smiled kindly at you. Heat rising to your cheeks at the small gesture.

“Enjoy all the precious moments while they're little. They'll be grown up before you know it.”

You were completely unaware the boys had stopped their roughhousing. Glancing towards you to give you a wave before they noticed you were already with someone.

A woman who was way too close for comfort.

Gon sent a small glare her way. He didn't like the way that woman was so friendly with you. He certainly didn't like the way she was touching your arm. Why were you letting her? He'd never known you to be social. So willing to engage in conversation with a stranger. What could the two of you possibly be talking about?

“Gon?”

He snapped from his thoughts at the call of his name. He looked towards Killua who seemed equally as uncomfortable.

“I don't like this. She's being way too touchy,” he responded.

And you were being way too reciprocal.

“Right? I mean I don't mind if Y/n makes a friend, but that's not friendly. She's too close. She's practically leaning on them,” Killua agreed.

Normally they weren't so protective of you. But something had changed. Seeing their friend being used as a chimera weapon had done it. A combination of not wanting to get involved with more people and defending his honor.

You weren't supposed to be with her. You were supposed to be with Kite.

The question now was: how were they gonna get your attention?

—--------------------------

You'd heard the frantic splashing of water first. Followed by your name. You stopped mid conversation and used your eyes to scan around. Yet before you could fully analyze what was going on, there was another cry of your name.

“Y/n! Help! Gon's drowning!”

You were in front of the duo in an instant. Using nen on your feet to stay above the water’s surface. Without wasting a second, you plunged your arm into the water and lifted Gon up. You expected him to be sputtering out water. Gasping for air. Struggling to breathe. Instead he stared back at you in bewilderment. Then excitement.

“You can walk on water!?!?”

It took you a second to process what was happening. Looking back and forth between him and Killua. The latter staring at you with equal shock.

No panic from either of them.

They duped you.

You promptly dropped Gon back into the water. Crouching down right after and grabbing the both of them by their cheek.

“How dare you! What possible reason could you have for scaring me?!?! You shouldn't play around like that!!!”

They both mumbled out a ‘sorry big sib.’

“Sorry’s not good enough! Explain yourselves!”

It was Killua who broke first this time.

“Why were you letting that lady flirt with you?!? I thought you were a boy kisser.”

All your frustration vanished. You were left baffled and flustered instead. The term ‘boy kisser’ completely catching you off guard. You were getting too old for this.

“Shut up! You're a boy kisser. You like boys.”

It wasn't something you'd said out of seriousness. Just a way to get the boys to leave you alone. Yet the moment the words left your mouth, Killua's face went red.

“Nuh uh!” He waggled a finger in your face, trying to play his reaction off. He shouldn't have said anything because he knew that you knew. You could see him, even if you weren't trying.

The deceit in his aura.

Oh.

You didn't really know how to handle this. If you should even address it. Yet, you were already talking before your mind could catch up.

“Aw, sweetie. It's okay if you like boys.”

You realized you were digging your own grave as a choked sound left him. He looked between you and the boy in green, trying to gauge his reaction.

“Or girls! That works to! Or both! Both is an option too. Maybe neither?” you cringed with each word that left your mouth.

You were making things worse judging by how the small assassin hid behind his hands. There was gratitude in there, but it was mostly drowned out by embarrassment. Before you could open your mouth again, Gon spoke up.

“I don't think it matters. Like who you like, that doesn't change anything between us.” He flashed Killua a reassuring grin.

Atta boy.

“Oh look sand! We should go over there.” you quickly changed the subject. More for Killua's sake than yours.

The duo waded towards the shore with you walking next to them. It was quiet for a bit. And then-

“So are you a girl kisser?”

“I was not flirting with that woman!”

—--------------------------

Now this was what you were picturing when you offered to go to the beach. Sandcastles. Except much less chaotic. Did you know the sand had to be wet before building? No, no you did not. Did you think the structure would crumble if you poured a bucket of water over it? Also no.

Why was this so hard?

You let out a noise of frustration, attracting the attention of the boy in green. He offered to help you out, and because you had absolutely no idea what you were doing, you accepted. His strategy was similar to yours, except he actually wet the sand before building with it.

You did your best to sculpt the sand in a point. Hoping to give it that castle feel. Not even a second later the top collapsed in. You slapped a hand to your forehead.

“Yup. I'm cursed,” you muttered. Prompting a laugh from the boy next to you.

At least he was having fun.

You looked over to your right. There was a kid no older than five putting sand in a bucket. Only to dump it back out in a perfect castle shape. Then they'd used a little metal tool to make windows.

“That kid's cheating!” You pointed out.

Gon followed your line of sight. He tried to hide his amusement at what had you so upset.

“Right. I forgot they made tools for the sand. Maybe next time. But hey, ours isn't too bad.”

You redirected your attention to what looked like a mound of dirt with indents. Despite being a complete failure, a part of you swelled with pride. You made that. And there would be time to improve later anyways.

“What is that? A mud hut?” Killua teased.

You were about to give a rebuttal, but it died in your throat seeing what was behind him. An actual castle with so much detail, it left you speechless. Even the little bricks were etched into the sand. And was that a moat!?!? The kid had talent, you'd give him that.

“How the heck did you do that?” You gestured to the castle behind him.

He beamed up at you before manipulating his hand to be razor sharp.

“I used my nails. Pretty cool, right?”

Pretty cool? It was spectacular. You didn't even think most adults could make something that detailed.

“Anyways, what went wrong with yours? Did you two even try?” He joked.

You feigned a glare at his words.

“Not all of us can change our hands at will. And you know what? You're not invited to the mud hut. Isn't that right munchkin?”

“Yup. In fact, we're raging war against your castle.” Gon played along, lifting up his water gun and aiming it towards the detailed structure.

Killua quickly stood in front of his castle. Using his body to shield it from any potential harm.

“You better not! It took me ten minutes to make!”

Okay, bragger much.

“Can't we just have a truce or something?” He tried to sway.

You pretended to give it some thought.

“50 percent of all your gold imports and we have a deal.”

“50 percent? My people will starve!”

Gon gave a warning shot, slightly missing the castle.

“Okay! Okay! We have a deal!”

You gave a small nod, telling Gon to stand down. The two of you watched as Killua started to build a little bridge. It took him no time at all to connect the structures, standing up right after and dusting himself off.

“There. We're allies.”

The difference between the two castles was almost enough to make you laugh. The mud hut standing strong against the palace. You were about to open your mouth to say something, but you quickly shut it seeing Gon light up at something in the distance.

“You two wait right here! I'll be right back!” He called out before running off.

He came back carrying something big over his head. Something that had…flippers????

“Is that a fricken turtle!?!? Put him back right now!” You scolded once you saw what it was.

He placed it down in front of you and Killua, holding it back by its shell.

“Are you scared?” He teased.

“It's a turtle why would I be-”

The turtle lunged its neck forward. Jaws open in an attempt to bite you.

“He just snapped at me!”

Gon leaned down to stare it in the eye.

“No! Bad turtle!”

Said creature hung its head down low. As if ashamed. Hunters and their damned animals. Of course it would play nice with him. Then again, you never were good with animals.

“Don't reprimand him! Just set him free!” you ordered.

“He probably senses your hostility. Maybe if you were nice to him he wouldn't wanna bite you.” Killua observed, though there was a mischievous glint in his eye that let you know he was messing with you.

“Senses my butt. That thing is just out for blood.” You huffed out.

Gon lifted up the turtle one more, holding it up right as he started talking.

“This guy is a leather back. And you see it's tail? Super short, right? Well that means it's actually a girl. She probably came to lay her eggs on shore.”

This was the most excited you've seen him in weeks. He was in his complete element when it came to nature. Most likely due to his upbringing. You supposed you could deal with this animal hating you, as long as he was happy.

“Let's put her down and see where she goes.” Killua suggested.

Gon set the turtle down and let it go. She shuffled back next to him for a second, surveying the beach for any threats. Then little by little she made her way forward. It took her about ten minutes to reach the spot she wanted. Using her back flippers to dig a sizeable hole in the sand. She stilled when she was done, presumably laying her eggs. Finally, she kicked the sand back in place and made her way back to the ocean.

But not before throwing a hiss your way as she passed you.

The boys stared in awe. You, not so much.

“I think we just witnessed a birth. Is that like, legally binding?” Killua asked.

You bonked the back of his head.

“Gremlin. Alright, let's give the little lady her space.” You ushered the boys away from her nest.

A few hours later, you found yourself being buried in the sand. A form of retaliation after you forbid the boys from going back in the water, not yet over the drowning prank they pulled. Plus, they'd gotten bored finding shells and giving them to you. All of which were currently in your pocket. You prayed they didn't crack under the pressure.

Your poor sunglasses were tossed to the side. By now your legs were completely covered. They wanted to move onto your torso. Pestering you to lay down so they could continue piling sand on.

“Just lay back.” Killua pushed you back lightly.

“No. You're gonna toss sand in my eyes. Those are my money makers.” You argued.

“We won't. I'll cover your eyes with my hand if that'll make you feel better,” Gon offered.

You were on the cusp of giving in before a beeping filled the air. All at once, the smiles left the boys’ faces. It was time. Somehow it’d slipped their minds. They'd gotten so caught up spending time with you that they forgot.

It was as if the life had been sucked out of them. Reality once again crashing down. It was nice to just be kids for a moment. To have a simple life. But they had a responsibility to fulfill. You had a responsibility.

They avoided your gaze as you got ready to leave. Truly, they tried to talk you out of it the first week. They didn't like you going over there and coming back injured. And they certainly never hid the way they felt about it. But you were nothing if not true to your word. And they knew that.

“I'm sorry. I'll be home soon okay. If you want-” you started but were quickly cut off.

“We'll be fine. Don't worry about us.” Killua dismissed.

“Go do what you have to do.” Gon added.

You sent them an apologetic look before you left.

—-------------------

You stood in front of the metal door anxiously. It felt reminiscent of your first time seeing it. You didn't know why you were so nervous. You've been coming here everyday to see him. Maybe a part of you was scared something changed. For better or for worse.

You unlocked the door and pushed it open. With bated breath, you took a step forward. You could feel the agony and malice return. A sickly feeling you became familiar with. It meant nothing had changed. Your routine would continue on to the next day.

You approached ‘Kite' slowly. Right before you entered his attack radius, you sat down. You promised the boys you wouldn't let him hit you anymore. Not since he'd broken your arm.

“I'd say having my leg broken was worse than my arm. Couldn't run for shit,” you said aloud.

You figured if he couldn't kick your ass everyday, the least you could do was stay and talk. You didn't want to leave him by himself. Even if he couldn't hear or sense you. You had no clue if you were helping him by doing this. If subconsciously he was listening.

You hoped he was.

That you were a useful distraction to the torment he was currently going through.

“We went to the beach today,” you started.

“The little ghouls pretended they were drowning because they thought some lady was flirting with me. Why that bothered them, I couldn't tell you. It pissed me off though. I made sure they weren't allowed near the water again.”

By now ‘Kite' was at the edge of his radius. Standing in front of you with jerky movements. Try as you might, your nen couldn't suppress the movement.

“We made sandcastles though. Or at least, Killua made one. The kid's crazy talented. He made little windows and everything. Me and Gon? Not so much. It looked like something a toddler would do. And you know what? I was very proud of it. Never messed around with sand before. It was nice. I also met a turtle today. She was super mean though. I mean I can't blame her. She just wanted to lay her eggs.

“I got gifted some nice shells. I think I'm gonna keep them in a box for safe keeping. Maybe turn a few of them into a necklace. We'll see when this is all over.”

You stared up at him looming over you. Strangely, you weren't threatened. It was almost comforting.

“They looked…so sad when I had to go. I think they genuinely forgot about it. About everything. That's supposed to be good, right? Why doesn't it feel that way? Why did it feel like I made things worse?”

You wrapped your arms around your knees and rested your head on them.

“I don't know what I'm doing with them. I don't know what I'm doing with myself. It always looked so easy when I was growing up. The adults making all the decisions. Like they had everything figured out. Maybe they did. Maybe I'm what's wrong. Wouldn't be the first time.”

You let out a drained sigh. Looking up from your arms and searching for his eyes.

“Every decision I make feels like the wrong one. Some days I just want to give up. Run away like I always do. But I can't…I don't want to. I want to be strong. I want to be enough. But right now, I don't know what to do. I haven't for quite some time. I just don't want the boys to end up like me.”

You didn't want to push them too far.

You sat there for a moment. Letting the silence be your comfort. You'd usually ask how his day was, even if you knew he wouldn't respond. Yet you couldn't find it in you to keep talking. You'd sit here until time ran out. Then do your best to put yourself back together before you went home.

You got in a crouching position. A shuffling sound making you go on full alert. You directed your attention towards the noise, focusing your eyes on the dark corner.

An aura. An empathetic aura.

“Who's there?” You called out.

A rookie mistake. If you sensed something, go on the offense. Take the element of surprise. Had you been so off your game that you forgot one of your most basic principles?

“No need to get so defensive. It's just me.” From the shadows emerged Morel.

Was he wiping away a tear?

“What are you doing here?” You asked. You were standing up by now, your back to Kite.

Never turn your back on an enemy.

You didn't perceive Kite as an enemy, Morel noted. Confidence in your own abilities perhaps? Or was it something else entirely? Something soft judging by the tone you used talking to him.

“It's my turn to watch Kite. Usually Knuckle and Shoot know when you're coming to give you your space. I thought you'd be another hour.” He answered.

He could see the tension leave your shoulders. You were protective over Kite. No. You were protective of the vulnerability you shared with him. His eyes only. Like that smile you gave him.

Knuckle and Shoot were scared of you?

You were more bark than bite. He couldn't sense any hostility from you despite your guarded exterior. That didn't mean you would back down if push came to shove.

“You were watching me,” you said after a while.

It didn't sit right with you that he could've revealed himself at any time and chose not to. Yet you couldn't sense any ill intent from him. So why just stand there until you were finished?

“I didn't mean to. You just looked like you needed to let that out. Call it a hunch.”

Hunters and their damned instincts. A part of you upset that he wasn't wrong.

“You two are lovers?” He gestured between you and Kite.

Immediately your face flushed. You tried to sputter your way through a response. Glaring when you heard him start laughing.

“Guess not then. You just seemed to care a lot about him.”

The atmosphere had lightened. Your defensiveness being chipped away the longer you talked. A gut feeling telling you to let down your guard completely. But you weren't ready for that quite yet. Your trust had to be earned.

“We're friends. Plain and simple,” you finally got out. Only for your face to burn impossibly hotter with his next choice of words.

“But you have feelings for him?”

The heat spread to the tips of your ears.

“Why is everybody interested in my love life?” You mumbled before answering. Why were you answering?

“Yes, I like him. And maybe he feels the same way, or felt the same way. Doesn't really change anything currently, does it?”

You looked up at him, watching as he tried to stifle laughter. The same way you did when the boys would get into petty arguments.

“Dickhead! Don't laugh at me!”

You realized then that you were closer to him. Since when had you moved forward?

“Okay, okay. How about a simpler question? Do the boys get along with him?”

It took you a second to answer. Trying to collect your thoughts after they'd been scattered.

“Are you kidding me? Gon absolutely adores him. The happiest I've seen him is when he's talking with Kite. They really bonded over Gon's father. Personally, I think the guy's a dick, but hey, it's something…It's sweet in a way, how much he looks up to him.” You stopped talking when you realized you were rambling.

You briefly glanced over at Morel. He was looking at you expectantly. Waiting for you to continue on. Not at all bothered that you strayed from the topic.

It was oddly reassuring.

“Killua didn't really like him at first. I guess he wanted Kite to earn his approval. Usually if Gon trusts someone, Killua will as well. Not this time though. He did eventually come around. I think seeing Kite help me out so much put him at ease. But my God, the teasing from both of them. Literal torture. I wanted to pass away and have my spirit evaporate.”

You covered your face with your hands once more. Doing your absolute best not to relive those moments and block out the embarrassment. Completely missing the way Morel's features had softened.

If it hadn't been clear before, it sure as hell was now. The three of you were close. Inseparable even, judging by how things played out the last time they were here.

“You really love those boys, don't you?” He asked, though he already knew the answer.

You uncovered your face with your hands. Your expression was more serious this time. More somber.

“... They're my family. I'd do just about anything for them.”

You were very different than the person he first perceived you to be. You were strong, despite running away from a fight. It made sense in context now given your response. You'd protect those boys at any costs. Even if it meant leaving someone behind.

Even if it meant losing your life.

You also had more guts than most pro hunters. Cussing out the chairman, and then scolding a group of hunters for the situation the boys were in. Then there was the fact you scared the crap out of his students. One look was all it took. You were a fiery one for sure.

Most importantly, you'd made a promise and stuck to it. You were here everyday. You would spend about an hour here with Kite. Although you stopped letting him hit you, you still found a way to be near him. He had no doubt you'd eventually find a way to fix him.

“To be honest, I thought you were a coward when I first saw you,” Morel admitted.

“A broken body barely alive after fleeing from a battle. Not even trying to fight before you already made up your decision. It goes against everything hunters stand for. But…”

He paused and flashed what looked like an amused smile.

“Those boys are deathly protective of you. Killua chewed me out for calling you a loser. He valued defending your honor more than protecting his pride. If looks could kill, he'd have vaporized me and Knov on the spot.”

He was hoping to get a positive reaction out of you from that. But you only looked down and clenched your fists tightly. Yet it wasn't anger that radiated off you. It was guilt.

“You weren't wrong about me. I am a coward. I ran away because I was scared. I was…”

You didn't know how much you wanted to reveal. If you should reveal anything at all. You looked up to gauge his reaction. It was the same patient expression from before. Waiting, but not wanting to push for information you weren't ready to give.

“Go on, little one. What happened next?”

It felt like you were small again. Admitting to something you were ashamed of. Like you were talking to Father before your revelation about your clan.

You felt safe.

“I was reminded of my past. I needed to get out of there. I really think I would've left Gon and Killua behind if they weren't right in front of me.”

You were shaking when you finished. Trembling with guilt. So strong and yet so utterly weak.

“You're just a kid.” Morel said at last.

You sent him a small glare with no real malice behind it. If anything you were frustrated with constantly being looked down by these people.

“Don't talk down to me, old man. I'm a helluva lot younger than you, but that doesn't make me a kid.”

A ‘guess not’ leaving him as you leaned against the wall before ultimately deciding to sit down again. You didn't know when you got this close to the other side of the room. When your feet started moving you forward. It wasn't good to have your body in action while your mind was elsewhere.

Surprisingly, Morel sat down next to you. He glanced at Kite, then back to you. As if weighing the pros and cons of something. If he should ask you the question burning in his mind.

“Why do you keep coming back here?”

And there it was. Your body tensed up. You didn't know how to respond.

“Are you hoping something changes with Kite? Or is it something else?” He continued interrogating.

You were frozen. Your very being shutting down. You wanted to get up and leave. Yet you were unable to move from your spot on the floor.

“Are you punishing yourself for running away?”

He hit the nail right on the head. He knew he did judging by the way your eyes had widened. He couldn't help but pity you. You'd been broken down over the years. It was obvious with your way of thinking. That you had to make amends for the smallest of mistakes.

“Shouldn't I?” you asked. Your voice was small, as if you truly couldn't fathom a world where it wasn't your fault.

“I'm responsible for this. Shouldn't I deserve to suffer for it? Shouldn't I deserve the worst for causing this?” You gestured towards Kite.

This glimpse of your true thoughts, of how far you'd been conditioned to spiral, it was upsetting. Beating yourself up when you were already down. All of it had to come from somewhere. From grief.

“You won't last long with that kind of attitude. Sometimes things go wrong that are out of our control,” he scolded. He gave a small sigh before continuing to speak.

“It's funny, you know?”

“What?” you forced yourself to say.

“You sound just like that Chimera ant we met. His name is Colt. He blames himself for his human sister's death. For the queen’s death. Now he's got a little one to take care of, and you know what he said?”

You shook your head no.

“He promised he wouldn't make the same mistakes with her. That he would protect her at all costs. Now who does that sound like?”

You could feel your eyes start to burn. There was no way. No way you could ever relate to one of those things. After all the pain and suffering they've inflicted. And yet you did. Eerily so.

“You lost someone too, didn't you? It's why you're hard on yourself. You haven't forgiven yourself for what happened.”

The coincidence was almost enough to kill you. One tear. Then two. Then three. Then multiple at the same time.

Kari.

Your Kari who was ripped from you far too soon. Whose face you were starting to forget with age. Who had been the light of your life.

“...I lost my little sister. I could've saved her. I could've saved her, but I ran away. I was too scared. I'm a disgrace. I'm worth less than nothing.” You buried your face in your knees in an attempt to hide yourself.

You didn't want anyone's sympathy. You refused to let anyone see you cry if you could help it.

“Really? Those boys seem to think you're worth more than gold. They'd rather die with you than live without you. Why do you think they wanted you to use your nen on them?” Morel countered.

“Because they're stupid,” you sniffled out.

He had to stop his eyes from rolling at your comment.

“You don't get it. If you told them to jump, they'd ask how high. If you decided right now not to go through with the extermination mission, they'd walk out with you.”

You could probably murder someone in cold blood right in front of them, and they'd find a way to excuse it. Their trust in you was unwavering. It was clear they held you to the highest standard.

Yet you still couldn't see that. Believing the worst in yourself because it was how you were brought up. The trauma inflicted on you from such a young age. You had to come to terms with it eventually. You had to accept it was never your fault.

“I know who you are” he admitted.

You'd stiffened up once more.

“The things you went through when you were a kid. Don't let their teachings warp your perception on life. You are deserving of love. And you have it. That clan's been backwards for years.”

You lifted your head up. If you weren't so vulnerable in the moment, you would have snapped. Instead you'd looked scared.

“How much do you know?” you hesitantly asked.

“We had to do our research when putting together the extermination team. You weren't hard to find with the name Netero gave. They've still got your missing photo up on the hunter website. The reward is still there too.”

You would never be free, would you? Forever tethered to the ghost of your past.

“They're still looking for me. They never gave up.” It was said more to yourself than Morel.

They were lying in wait somewhere. Or perhaps they really did forget. A part of you was grateful for the information. A heads up to be more careful. You weren't out of it yet. When this was over, you'd get rid of your nen entirely. Rid of the risk.

“The boys don't know, do they?” Morel questioned.

“No. And I plan to keep it that way.”

“You should tell them before someone else does. They're bound to find out through other means. And I doubt they'd think any lesser of you.” He tried to convince.

“... I'll think about it.”

You were reminded of Netero and how he greeted you so casually in front of them. Using a name you'd long discarded. It was only a matter of time before something else came out.

“Be easy on yourself. If it helps, I know someone who does counseling for hunters. You weren't kidding about the stuff some of us experience. I can put you in contact with them if you ever want to talk about something. The boys too. I think it'll be good for them after this is over.”

You wondered what he got in return for helping you? Was it just because, or was there something he was after? People rarely did favors without expecting something back. The only person you met who did was Kite.

“Why are you being so nice to me, old man?”

He smiled at you as he pulled out a cigar from his pocket.

“We're all on the same team here. Besides, it can't be easy taking care of two kids. I'd say you're doing a pretty good job, though.”

He lit the cigar and took a puff, blowing out perfect smoke rings. He extended his arm out, offering it to you.

“Do you smoke?” he asked.

“No, but I could give it a try.”

You reached for the cigar, and just as your fingers grazed it, he pulled it away.

“I forgot. You've still got the boys back home. They'll get sick with the fumes.”

You internally thanked him for his hindsight. With Gon's heightened sense of smell, he'd get lightheaded in minutes. And you doubted either of the boys would appreciate it if they knew you smoked. They'd probably scold you too.

“Yeah…You're probably right.”

—---------------------

You got home later than you expected. You supposed it was inevitable you'd lose track of time. You just need a moment to process things. To cope with the decision you made.

You mulled over it again and again. Trying to convince yourself out of it, to no avail. You looked for every possible excuse, but you could find no good reason.

You stood in front of the small home. Unlocking the door and finally stepping inside. You could hear the two boys conversing quietly in the kitchen. You hoped you hadn't ruined their day by leaving.

“I'm back!” You announced as you approached them.

They turned at the sound of your voice. A few take-out boxes littered the table. One going completely untouched. Good. They remembered to eat.

“We saved you some. It's from that one place you said you wanted to try, remember?” Gon offered.

Truthfully, it was a way for both of them to make amends for earlier. They hadn't meant to show their disappointment. It was just hard not to when the three of you were finally spending real time together. They knew how important this was to you. The last thing either one of them wanted was stop you from going.

But every time you did, it took a toll on you. Today more than others, it seemed. You looked miserable. The circles under your eyes had darkened impossibly worse. There was an undeniable heaviness in your expression that wasn't there before you left.

Did something happen with Kite?

“How was he?” Gon asked.

The same thing he asked every time you came back. A part of him hoping something changed for the better. That there was an improvement. But this time was different. He wanted to know what went wrong for you to be so despondent.

“He was…the same.” You said slowly. Resting your head on your hand.

“You're not hungry?” Killua observed.

You hadn't made a move to grab your food. You always ate when you came back. Even just a little bite. Something was wrong.

“I’m just thinking.” You responded.

“About?” He prodded.

You let out a drained sigh. Looking between both boys before deciding to just rip the band aid off. If you didn't tell them, they'd eventually find out some other way. You wanted them to hear everything from you.

“Can I talk to you two about something serious?” you asked.

Serious usually meant bad. And judging by the way the color drained from the boys' faces, they certainly thought so. You were quick to explain that wasn't the case.

“It's about me. I think I'm finally ready to tell you everything. My life before.”

Morel was right, and you were tired of denying them reasons for your actions. Tired of leaving their questions unanswered.

“Are you sure? You don't have to force yourself.” Gon assured.

You had come this far. No going back now.

“I'm sure. The question is, will you both be able to handle the truth?”

Handle knowing and not being able to act. Their reactions to Kite offered some much needed insight. Seeing the aftermath of what happened caused a rageful vengeance in one of them. What would hearing about what happened to you spark?

“After all we've been through, you think-!” Killua went to argue, but you stopped him with a raise of your hand.

You didn't mean for it to come off like you thought they were weak.

“I know you two are strong. I mean, promise you won't do anything rash. I don't want you getting mad or angry. Or try to hold anyone responsible. Nobody can change what happened.”

They sat in silence for a moment. You were willing to trust them with this. To finally open up under the condition that they would control themselves. It was difficult not to be alarmed with your words. What exactly did you go through?

They didn't dare speak. Fearing if they said one wrong thing, they'd never get another chance to hear you out. Instead they both opted for giving you a small nod.

So you finally began to explain everything. How you came from a respected clan of hunters. One that was primitive for the most part. Exceptions being made only for the most valued members.

You talked about what your role was. How you were trained since infancy to be the best of the best. To be strong. To be utterly devoted to your clan. You explained that you were a prodigy. The best tracker among your peers. Your eyes more precise than Father's. You were chosen as one of three potential candidates to become the head.

You told them about your best friend. How he was right with you in terms of trajectory. How the two of you hated each other at first. How you were able to get past your differences when it mattered. Forming a rivalry rather than a feud.

You talked about the old man who used to give you sweets. How he made you work for them by quizzing you on trivia from his time growing up. You talked about his daughter who used to sing the kids songs. Who might've been the closest thing you ever had to a mother. Carrying around her tunes to this day.

And finally, you talked about Father Reik.

The punishments you were given for failing. For lying. The isolation. The darkness. The starvation. The hitting. The people who blindly revered him.

All the death and suffering your clan caused. How you tried to stop it, but couldn't. The way lives were taken without a care because ‘it’s nothing personal.’ The moment you realized you didn't want any part of it anymore.

How you made a plan to flee.

How they all turned on you.

How your little sister was murdered right in front of you.

How you hid all these years in fear of the same thing happening to you. Why you kept running away. Why you refused to fight.

To prevent the same fate from befalling them.

“I used to hold a grudge. But now I'm just glad to be away from them.” You admitted.

You could sense that your words were unsatisfactory. A feeling of disbelief washing over both boys. You forced yourself to elaborate further.

“I…I don't hate them. Despite everything they've done to me, I don't hate them. They took me in. They fed me, gave me a home. They made me strong. Strong enough to protect the ones I love.”

“They abused you.” Gon said.

He had been clenching his fist tightly. Trying his best not to let his anger get the best of him. But he just couldn't accept you’d forgiven them. That you were still making excuses for them. After everything they did to you.

He couldn't fathom being grateful to them. Why? It didn't make sense. Could they still have a grasp on you? Or were you truly done with it all?

“Yeah. Yeah they did.” You agreed.

“I don't want to excuse their actions, but it's not something that's black and white. My people were brought up to be the best of the best. To endure the worst hardships and persevere. From generation to generation. The outside makes you weak. You start thinking instead of focusing on what's best for the clan. It's a backwards sort of thinking that takes years and years to unlearn.”

Why were you giving them your sympathy? They didn't deserve it.

“It takes so much energy to hold a grudge. I should hate them. I should hate him. I should want them all to suffer.”

Yes you should! You should be angry! You should denounce their actions entirely! You should-

“But I don't. That doesn't mean I forgive them. Just being far away from them is enough.”

Your words were soft. The tone immediately snapping him out of his harsh thoughts. He promised he wouldn't get mad. That he wouldn't try to hold anybody responsible. He promised to be passive and listen. Yet here he was, getting worked up on your behalf.

You just wanted peace. To be left alone. Considering everything that happened, it was the bare minimum you were asking for. And if that's what you truly wanted, then somehow he'd manage to let it go.

“You're little sister, what was she like?” Killua questioned, diverting the subject to something lighter.

Something he'd been curious about for the longest time. The name you always mumbled in your sleep before reaching out. The girl who you completely shut down at the mention of.

Kari.

He wondered if she was anything like Alluka. If the way he treated her was anything like the bond you shared with your sister. Was he doing as good a job as you?

“She meant the world to me.”

You used your nen to conjure two small figures. One was taller than the other. They picked the smaller one up on their back.

“There are things I remember about her. Things I could never forget. Her hair was always a mess of unruly curls.”

The smaller figure sprouted curly hair. Jumping off of the taller one and proceeding to run in place. The taller one joined them, throwing its head back in what looked like laughter.

A silhouette very reminiscent of you.

“I tried brushing it out once, but the comb snapped in half. She said she was tired of her hair not doing what everybody else's was. After the third comb, I convinced her she didn't need to look like anybody else. That I loved her the way she was a thousand times over any approval from our peers.”

That sounded like you. Encouraging and soft when you wanted to be. Good to know that hadn't changed over time. But maybe a small part of the boys ached that they hadn't been the only ones on the receiving end of your affection.

The two figures sat down. Little fingers folding into signs Killua could not read.

“Her eyes were a light brown. So light, they were almost gold.”

The color of honey.

“But little by little, her face is starting to get blurry. And I know that one day I'll forget completely. The last thing I have of hers is our promise. What remains of her aura.”

Your promise not to fight. And you were willing to break it for them.

“We had a list of goals we wanted to do once we left the clan. Get a dog. Get a house. And ride a Ferris wheel. Stupid, but hey, we were five and seven. To us that meant a life well lived. I only lasted this long because I wanted to live for the both of us.”

You really loved her, didn't you?

A dejected feeling settled in both boys. Would either of them ever hold a candle to your sister? It looked like she took up your whole heart, leaving minimal space for anyone else. She drove you forward. Did they hold you back? Did you regret crossing paths with them and having the life you dreamed of on hold? Did you-

“But now I have you two. I have purpose. And I'd do anything to keep you safe. Even if it means you hate me for it.”

No. You loved them just as much as you had loved her.

How selfish to be insecure over someone you cared for deeply. How shameful.

Things had been out in context now. Especially your tendency to flake when things got rough. And for the small assassin, he couldn't help but feel like he was the worst. He didn't know. You just wanted to protect the both of them and he'd snapped at you. He said awful things to you. Things that he didn't know tied back to something so terrible.

And you'd forgiven him anyway.

“I'm sor-” he tried to apologize but was cut off.

“Please don't apologize to me. I don't want any sympathy. I'm not telling you all this so you can feel bad for me. I'm telling you because I trust you. You've never hidden anything from me, so I figured it was time for me to do the same.” You explained.

There was really nothing either of the boys could add to that. You'd told them about your upbringing. Now you wanted to focus on the future. A future they promised you'd get to fulfill your goals in. Where you'd be safe to live out the life you wanted to. So instead they said-

“Thank you for trusting us.”

—-----------------------

Fun Fact #16: Y/n’s new ability is called Playtime, in which they summon two marionettes. Each composed of a full half of their nen, leaving them completely exposed to outside attacks when both are summoned. Either can be used for defense or offense. When in offense mode, the marionette attacks its opponent relentlessly despite its small stature. Being able to avoid most critical hits and move with agility. When in defense mode, the marionette is used to block oncoming attacks by switching places with Y/n. The move is called Substitution. If Y/n is able to use Substitution consecutively three times, the marionette is able to steal the opponent’s ability for one hour. They will only disappear for three reasons. Y/n unsummons them. Y/n dies. Or Y/n passes out.

Tags: @fandomhoe101 @justxiao @bekataylorgriggs @zellwa @rainbowpr1sm @shun-nie

if you'd like to be tagged please let me know

MASTERLIST

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

An: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

It's here, after two months. We've almost reached the end game now. Fun fact- "You can't die, I won't let you” will come back to haunt us in future chapters 😃. I just love foreshadowing don't you? Also, our fun fact of the day is a mousekatool that will come in handy later. I just don't think I'll find the space to do explain it during our next two chapters, but we'll see.

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH ✨🌈💕

And Happy Father's Day 👔👔👔 (because let's face it, y'all are the dadiest of daddies 🤤)

#hxh #hunter x hunter #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #hxh x y/n #hunter x hunter x y/n #gon x reader #killua x reader #mayhaps a kite x reader???#big sib reader #older reader #x reader #platonic #moon and sun insert #found family

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pavlovianfuckery · 1 month ago

Text

how about a fucked up game of hot potato because why not

A/N: Re-uploading all my fics after having a slight mental breakdown and deleting everything so this is kind of old, but bone apple tea and all that anyway

AO3

The Master-masterlist

Fandom Masterlist

Summary: How about one of each, it's exactly what it says on the tin, I blame ep6 for this one

Pairing: Dream/F!Reader

Notes: Oral sex, fingering, piv sex, is it still a gangbang if it's all the same person? no use of y/n

Length: 5800~ words

Going to bed on the night of your birthday is a somewhat gloomy affair. The day itself had been...fine, you supposed. Sure, there had been a bit of a party, a cake and a few thoughtful gifts from your closest friends. But that had been all. Nothing wrong with any of it. Still, you couldn't help being just a bit disappointed that the only one you had truly wanted to see today had been conspicuously absent. It's stupid of course, something so insignificant as somebody turning a year older would be laughably far beneath the notice of someone like him. And still.

Annoyed, you fully expect to have several sleepless hours ahead of you, so when you drift off as soon as your head hits the pillow, it's a pleasant surprise. Even more so is where you find yourself when you enter the Dreaming.

You'd been in his chambers before, of course. It might not have been very often or for very long, as the fleeting moments before waking up always seemed to pass so quickly. Arriving straight here was new. When his arms envelop you from behind you can't hold back a smile.

"Hey. I missed you today."

"Then I hope my absence can be forgiven," his voice is sly as he continues, tightening his arms around you a just fraction, "but I must confess, I wanted you all to myself when offering my gift."

Leaning back into him, you simply bask in the feeling of having him close.

"What kind of gift would that be? Nothing nefarious, I hope."

He rests his chin on your shoulder and clicks his tongue in mock disapproval, breath tickling your ear. "'Nefarious'? You wound me. That would depend entirely on what you wish for."

"I see. So the gift is a wish, then? Can I wish for anything I want?"

"Within reason, yes. Do you perhaps have a request in mind already?"

Being spoilt for choice isn't your strong suit and usually, this kind of situation would leave you at a loss and unable to make any choice at all, but for once you do know what you want. The real question is if he will go for it or not. Possibly mistaking your hesitation for reluctance, he makes you face him.

"I do have something I would like, but it's...silly." Biting your lip you turn your eyes away, unable to keep some embarrassment from showing.

"I have already seen your every fantasy, every dream. Nothing you could request would shock me," he reassures you."So go on my sweet, make your wish known, for I long to hear it."

"It's more of a combination of two different things, now that I think about it."

"Fortunately for you, I find myself in a very generous mood this evening." His tone is dry but his lips twitch into a small smile.

"Okay, so, first things first. Could I..." you take a deep breath, "Could I have more of you?"

"More in what sense?" The question doesn't faze him in the slightest, which bodes well for the other half of the request.

"In the 'more than one of you' kind of sense." Your cheeks are blazing and you almost can't believe that you just said that, but at least now the cat is out of the bag. Or one cat, at any rate.

"While we are here, in my realm, you certainly could. Is that what you want?" The way he looks at you when he asks makes lust coil in your belly, hot and heavy.

"Sort of." You plant a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth, "Do you remember..." you fiddle with the collar of his coat a bit, still feeling a bit shy about the whole thing, "when you showed me some of the things you used to wear, way back when?"

"I do." Judging by the look in his eye, he can tell where this is going. "As I recall, you rather enjoyed that."

"I did. Very much, in fact." The way he preens at that is kind of adorable.

"And was there, by any chance a...favourite?" He looks at you through lowered lashes, the way he fishes for another compliment not nearly as subtle as he would probably like to think.

"Well, you see, that's the problem, I don't think there was." You've never seen him confused before, but this comes pretty close. Figuring it's better to rip the bandaid off sooner rather than later, you go on; "I adored every version of you. How could I choose only one? I want all of you."

"Is that your wish?" You have a sneaking suspicion that he will be insufferable after this, because he looks like a cat that has eaten an entire flock of canaries, eyes gleaming. "To have one of me for every era? All at once?"

"Can I?" The thought makes your insides quiver, want making you almost dizzy. "You're not...upset with me or anything?"

That makes his eyebrows shoot up, or as close to it as you've ever seen.

"My love, how could your request possibly upset me? If anything, I am flattered that you would hunger after me so." He cups your chin in his hand and brushes his lips across yours. "I would deny you nothing, but I do have terms of my own."

"Tell me." The eagerness in your voice makes him smile again and you almost regret the whole thing immediately, because if there is one thing he doesn't particularly need, it's an ego boost.

"As it happens, my request is also twofold. Firstly, I get to watch." He slides his arms around your waist and pulls you close, and his breath is hot against your ear as he continues; "Secondly, you may have each of me only once, and after you have had your fill, I fully intend to have my own turn with you as well."

"That sounds," the thought of him watching you like that makes the words stick as if your tongue was made of flypaper and you struggle to swallow, getting the words out."Sounds fair. Why only once though?"

"I admit my motive for that is entirely selfish; I want you lucid enough by the end of it for me to enjoy properly." The way he says it is almost a purr, and if your knees weren't weak before they're certainly starting to get there now. That he would even be willing to indulge you like this wasn't a given, but him outright enjoying it makes you almost giddy.

"Okay. So, this is a bit embarrassing but...I have no idea how this is supposed to work. I didn't really think that far ahead," you admit a bit sheepishly. "Is there anything I should keep in mind at all?"

"Did your appetite get the better of you?" That earns you an outright chuckle, though not unkind. "No matter, I will take care of you," he strokes your cheek with a soft smile. The emphasis on 'take care' doesn't go unnoticed, and it makes anticipation buzz under your skin. "The only thing I require of you tonight is that you enjoy yourself. You need not treat them any differently than myself because, in every way that matters, that is what they are."

"And you're sure that you're alright with this? I don't want you to feel like you're being left out or anything like that." You frown up at him, feeling terribly selfish.

"Your concern is touching but unnecessary, my love." He rubs his thumb over your bottom lip, his tone airy as he continues, "Anything I create for you will be connected to me, and in part, I will share in the sensations."

Flicking his eyes over your shoulder, he steps closer and kisses you deeply, pushing you to take a few steps back until you hit something solid and pair of arms circle your waist from behind. Your heart is beating against your ribs like a bird in a cage and when another pair of hands join in and slides under the hem of your shirt, it feels like all the air leaves your lungs at once. When you whimper into his mouth, he pulls back and has the absolute gall to smirk at you.

"Go on now, indulge yourself to your heart's content. I will be right here, awaiting my turn."

And with that, he saunters over to the sturdy chair by the desk and sits down, in what might be the most nonchalant way you've ever seen. Leaving you there with, well, all of him.

It's a bit like being thrown to a particularly polite pack of ravenous wolves. Being surrounded like this is a bit disorienting and with the way they all eye you hungrily, the thought that you might be in over your head this time flashes in your mind. It's surprisingly gentle though, the way you get passed from one version of him to the next, all of them stepping in close, taking turns, putting you at ease. You've always marveled at the softness of him, of his skin, but in this mass of bodies and mouths and grasping hands, it feels like you could drown in it.

The way they undress you is no less gentle, one pair of hands passing you to the next until your bare skin is pressed against the myriad of fine fabrics. Some questionable decisions aside he has always dressed well, every texture brushing your skin feeling nothing less than luxurious. It's intense, all the teasing little touches and kisses from every direction, and they don't stop even when you feel like you might implode. The entire time you can feel the way your Morpheus watches you, his gaze on you an almost physical weight.

It's overwhelming, and your knees start to buckle. For a moment you think that you might just sink to the floor, but strong arms steady you as the closest one pulls you to him, the cloth of his tunic so lovely against your heated skin.

"It's alright," he murmurs against your lips, "I've got you."

Pushing one leg between yours he guides your hips, encouraging you to grind against it. It feels better than it has any right to, and when he backs the few steps away to the bed and hauls you on top of him, you don't resist. You're not expecting to come like this, humping his leg like a bitch in heat and ruining his trousers, but the rest of him won't stop touching you and he's watching you and it's simply too much. His slightly longer hair tickles your cheek as you hide your face in the crook of his neck, and with one last slow drag over his thigh, you come, without even meaning to.

Some silly part of your brain feels like you should be apologizing, but when you open your mouth to do just that, this version is gone and you're alone on the bed. You shoot a confused look at your Dream, sitting leisurely in the chair still.

"Did you forget my terms, my love?" He looks like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth as he reminds you, clearly enjoying himself.

Not letting it get to you, you simply set your sights on the next one. It's not as easy as you might have hoped. It's a lot like being a kid in a candy store at this point, they all look so tempting and you just want to devour every single one.

You've always enjoyed a good suit though, and the suit he'd chosen for one of the more recent versions of himself was very good. His hair is shorter than you can recall ever seeing it, and with the ruby shining at his throat, he looks every bit the distinguished gentleman. The sharp lines of the suit are a stark contrast to the rest of him, making the plush pink of his lips look even more inviting. That's probably not the effect he intended, to look kissable rather than imposing, and the thought almost makes you giggle. It doesn't stop you from approaching him and doing just that, though, grabbing hold of his lapels as you do so.

The kiss leaves you winded, the fabric of the expensive-looking suit jacket rubbing deliciously against your nipples.

"This is a good look on you," the words are a bit breathless in their delivery, but they do come easier now, inhibitions crumbling away. The shorter hair feels a bit strange in your hand, not being as much to pull on. It still works though, and he gives easily enough, letting you bite his neck gently, scraping your teeth over the creamy skin. "You should wear a suit more often."

He's a bit too perfect though, still too composed. Undoing the buttons of the vest takes some doing, but you manage it, fingers barely shaking at all. The dress shirt is a lot thinner than what you're used to, and having him so close with almost nothing separating your hands from his skin is maddening.

"Perhaps I shall," the slight curve of his lips makes you want to kiss him again but he grabs your chin, his grip surprisingly gentle as he runs his thumb across your bottom lip. "Tell me what you would like."

You can't resist flicking your tongue out, licking the pad of his finger as you consider your options. When you suck the digit into your mouth he blinks at you slowly, and you can feel him stir through his trousers. It makes your mouth water, makes you know precisely what you want.

"I want to suck you." It comes out as a sigh, full of longing. "Want to come with you in my mouth." Stroking his thighs through the deceptively thin fabric feels wonderful, the muscles of his legs firm under your hands. "Can I? Please?" When you meet his eyes, they are barely blue anymore, the way they reflect the light betraying his true nature.

"You may."

He makes dropping to your knees so easy. Something about kneeling at his feet like this feels right, and as he gets his length out and rubs the tip over your lips you can't stop a small whine from escaping.

"You have the prettiest cock I've ever seen, have I told you that?"

"No." He strokes your hair, gently encouraging you. "Show me."

It's not an order, not quite. Still, he doesn't have to tell you twice. Everything about him is so smooth, his skin like silk as you run your lips over him. At first, you simply lick at the head, teasing fat drops of pre-come out of him, lapping them up like the most precious of pearls. The way they coat your tongue is heady and it always makes you feel oddly powerful, this tangible proof of the effect you have on him. Using your hand to cover what your mouth can't, you start working him in earnest, putting on a bit of a show as you let the drool drip down your chin, drawing the loveliest noises out of him.

The long, shaky exhale as he hits the back of your throat makes you ache.

"Touch yourself for me."

You can't respond, but you can do as he says, so that is exactly what you do. It's hard to do it effectively, but you don't have to be very precise, just the sounds you coax out of him as you bob your head is enough to bring you a good part of the way on their own. From here you can see your Dream from the corner of your eye, and it looks like he wasn't being disingenuous about the "sharing the sensations" part. His cheeks are flushed, legs spread wider than before as he breathes heavily, his eyes never straying from you. Even from here, you can tell that he is painfully hard, the tightness of his jeans does nothing to hide it.

Just to see what he'll do, you decide to press your limits, just a little. In the waking world, you probably wouldn't be able to do it, not like this. But this is the Dreaming, so you relax your throat and take him even further. When you swallow around him the noise he makes above you is a strangled thing and he grabs onto your shoulder, steadying himself.

"Do that again."

When you do, the Dream watching you sags in his seat, knuckles white as he grips the armrests. It doesn't take a lot after that, hearing him and tasting him and watching the way he watches you. It's not as fast as the first time, but you still come faster than you wanted to, your own fingers pushing you over the edge with a few shaky rubs. With the way he fills your throat, you can't even moan as you spasm around nothing, regretting that you hadn't asked for more, to be filled there too.

You wish you could have kept going a while longer but you had agreed to the terms and he holds you to them, though it's less of a surprise this time around. Still just as frustrating though.

"I wasn't finished with that one," you pout at him.

"You were, though." His breathing is still a bit uneven. "Would you rather argue with me, or enjoy the rest of your gift?" Before you can respond he continues, "Or have you perhaps changed your mind? I can take it back if you'd prefer."

"Now you're just being mean." It gets you to your feet and moving again though, not wanting to risk finding out that he's serious. He always looks good so making any kind of choice is still difficult, but you manage. This one you trap against the edge of the desk with your body, caging him in with your arms.

"Why the fuck," you ask, kissing his neck, "are you dressed like a priest? On second thought, don't answer that."

"You seem to like it well enough," he murmurs as you grind your hips into his.

"It's absolutely ridiculous." Twisting the voluminous sleeves you wind the fabric around your hands, using it to pin his wrists to the desk as you bite his neck, perhaps a little bit rougher than you had originally intended.

"Never have I met a creature quite as greedy as you, my love," he groans as you mark him, bruises staining his pale throat prettily. "I would lay my hands on you, if you'd have me. Let me please you."

The way he says it makes it sound so good, so tempting, that you let him go, let him lay you out on top of the desk. This way you're close enough to touch your Dream, so you reach for him, pulling him down for a kiss. Being crowded like this feels better than you had ever imagined as they take turns kissing you, touching you, until you're almost dizzy with lust again.

"Is this..." you pant against his lips as one of his other selves sucks one of your nipples into his mouth greedily, "is it alright, like this?"

Every bit of worry or shame evaporates as he slides a finger into you, though, making you abandon the kiss in favour of watching his hand between your legs. The sleeves might look ridiculous but they feel lovely dragging over the insides of your thighs as he pumps in and out of you slowly. He's always known how to touch you well, and this time is no exception as he adds a second finger, hooking them just so. The way his fingers drag over that one spot inside makes you tremble.

"Can I have some more?" You can feel him grin against your skin at the question, but he doesn't bother to tease you, just adds a third finger, his thumb settling over your clit, just barely touching. The way he ghosts the pad of his finger over it makes you squirm, wanting more still, for him to rub you properly.

"Patience, my sweet," he admonishes you, "I will take care of you, if you let me."

With that, he plunges a fourth finger in and gently presses down on your lower belly, trapping that sensitive spot between the palm of his hand and his fingers. The way he massages you is slow and methodical, as if he has all the time in the world to pull you apart. Every brush of his thumb is light as a feather, and while it makes you want more, you don't strictly need it. You can feel your peak approaching, slow but inevitable.

"If you keep that up I'm going to, "you tangle your hand in his hair, gasping, "make a mess of your desk."

"I know." The way he looks at you then is so smug and just all-around indecent that you can't decide if you want to punch him or kiss him. You barely have time to settle on the latter before pleasure overcomes you, washing over you in powerful waves. You can't remember the last time you were this wet and he's not stopping, whispering encouragements against your lips as you pulse and gush over his fingers with a pitiful little whimper.

The last spasm has barely finished when he leaves you empty, splayed out alone on the desk. Or, not quite alone. This time, the choice isn't yours, another Dream stepping in between your legs before you've barely had time to catch your breath. Compared to the softer fabrics you're accustomed to, the fine leather makes him look sleeker, meaner, though no less inviting.

"This is...different." Running your hands over it, you revel in the buttery feel of it under your fingers. "I think I like it though."

"Of course you do," He doesn't bother to hide the pleased look on his face.

"Hold on, is that..." you pull him down closer, craning your neck to see. "You never told me you had an earring."

"Should I have? It hardly seems important." There is a small wrinkle between his eyebrows, confusion over why something so small could be significant at all. It's pretty adorable.

"Maybe," you hum, wrapping your legs around his waist, petting his hair as you catch the small ring in your teeth, giving it a little pull. He seems to enjoy that, letting out a short exhale of breath as he grinds his hips into you. He's half hard already, uncaring of the mess.

"You can have me like this, if that is what you want." Preoccupied with the earring still you don't respond right away, so he adds, "Unless you would rather play with my jewellery?"

"Sorry." You let it go, albeit reluctantly.

"No need to apologize. If you enjoy it so much, perhaps I should wear it again." His eyes sparkle with mirth as he kisses you, clearly amused by your dumbstruck expression as you imagine the present iteration of him with an earring. "Now, turn over for me."

When he asks like that you can hardly refuse, nor do you want to. At this rate, you're not sure how much more you can take. Being in the Dreaming can only stretch your limits so far, and you're starting to approach yours. For now, resting your body on the desk gives your shaky legs a welcome reprieve.

"Wider." The leather of his boots is smooth against your calves as he pushes your legs apart, and you let him. Once you're arranged to his liking, he leans over you and kisses the back of your neck, his tip prodding your entrance as he rocks his hips gently, not entering just yet. Your Dream is watching you intently, reaching out to twine your fingers together.

"Are you enjoying your gift so far?" The small smile on his lips makes it very obvious that he doesn't expect you to respond in any coherent way. When his other self slides into you, burying himself as far as he will go, they both moan, his grip on your hand tightening.

The pace he sets is slow and deliberate but not very gentle, his grip firm on your hips as he nearly lifts you onto the tips of your toes. Still sensitive from your last orgasm, the way he drives into you with inhuman precision is its own form of torture, pushing you towards the next one with relentless focus.

"Morpheus please, I can't," the words come out in a garbled kind of plea, "it's too much, I can't."

"You can." He sounds so certain, not leaving you any room to argue as he presses himself against you and pushes you down to prevent you from wriggling. "You will."

And he's right, you can feel it. It's a slow burn, like petals unfurling, and it feels like you could swallow him whole, the intensity of it turning your legs to jelly. This isn't the kind of release you can chase, all you can do is wait for it, for him to bring you there.

"You feel so good like this, so plump with pleasure," he sighs, rolling his hips into yours. "Let me feel you." Just hearing his voice brings you closer, he's watching and you're so very nearly there, and then your Dream is kissing you, drinking your every sound like a man parched and he's still talking.

"Come with me." He bottoms out then, and it's either the 'with' or the way he swells so deep inside of you that does it, but you do. It's like melting, like falling, but he catches you, holds you there as you go limp underneath him, hardly able to breathe. He hurtles over that edge right along with you, groaning as he does, but the noise your Dream makes right into your mouth is downright filthy.

Being left empty is no less jarring this time around, but you're more interested in him, the damp spot at the crotch of his jeans. He notices you looking, and lets out an amused little huff of not-quite-laughter, leans his forehead to yours.

"Don't worry, my love," he nips at your bottom lip, eyes dark. "I fully intend to have my turn with you still." He leans back in his chair and drops a kiss on the back of your hand. "Enjoy the rest of your gift. I will be waiting for you."

Flopped bonelessly on top of the desk, you do your best to catch your breath and clear your head. If you had known exactly what you were getting into, you might have been a bit more restrained and not asked for all of him like this, but you're not going to back out now. He's not really letting you either, his mind set on giving you exactly what you asked, for better or worse. When the next pair of hands touch you softly, gliding up the back of your legs, you lean into it, refusing to let him get the better of you as you turn to face him.

"Do you need rest?"

Probably.

"No."

"Very well." If he doubts you, he doesn't show it, leaning over to take the tip of your breast into his mouth.

Something about this version of him is a bit too immaculate, too polished. Everything from the too-rich fabrics of his clothes to the touch of makeup around his eyes makes him look decadent, like a dessert that is just a bit too heavy to stomach more than a mouthful of. There is an honest-to-god ribbon in his hair, tied in the most infuriatingly perfect bow you've ever seen. The effect is maddening; he looks like something you'd like to ruin. And judging by the way he looks at you as he kisses his way down your body, he absolutely knows it.

It's a simple thing for him to haul you to the edge of the desk, leaving you open to him. All his finery makes him look entirely out of place kneeling between your legs, but you can't quite find it in you to care as he kisses you there softly, giving your clit a little flick with the tip of his tongue. Everything is just this side of too sensitive and you flinch away on pure reflex, but he doesn't let you close your legs, keeping them apart with his hands.

His breath is hot on you as he gently laps at you, soothes you with his tongue, almost impossibly soft. Rather than devour you he cleans you, his eyes fixed on yours as he takes every part of you inside his mouth, working his way from the outside in. And in.

The way his cheeks hollow as he sucks at you is nothing short of obscene. The sight alone is enough to make you want him all over again but then he opens his mouth, shows you his tongue coated in his own release and you throb. Watching his adam's apple bob as he swallows makes your mouth go dry and you're not sure what kind of noise you just made but it must have been something to make him smirk at you like that. When he puts his mouth on you again, you bury your fingers in his too-perfect hair.

He is nothing if not determined, wholly uncaring of the fact that you're nearing the limit of how much more you can take. Slipping first one finger into you, then another he sighs, kissing the inside of your thigh.

"I love seeing you like this, all undone for me."

When he puts your aching clit between his lips and gives it a few slow gentle sucks, you can't help clawing at him until the ribbon in his hair comes loose.

"Morpheus, please!" Everything is hazy around the edges and you're not sure if you're begging for more or less or something else entirely, "please, oh please, pl..."

And then there is a mouth on yours, muffling your cries, hands cradling your face. There is almost too much of him like this, so much to touch and his other self is still devouring you like you're the sweetest thing he's ever tasted until you're a quivering mess under his tongue, tense like a bowstring. It's a slow kind of falling apart and you can barely make a sound as he wrenches your release out of you, dragging it out hot and slow, bordering on painful. His hands are the only thing holding you up as he kisses you as if he could swallow you, take you into himself and keep you there.

When the waves of pleasure recede it's almost a relief, finally letting you breathe. Opening your eyes, you think for a split second that you might cry, the way he's looking at you is so soft. No tears fall, but your love for him rises and swells in your chest until it feels like you might burst at the seams, choking you as you wind your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair.

"Take me to bed? Please?"

And he does, they both do. You want to undress him, to peel him out of all those layers, you do, but you're shaking and your fingers can't quite obey, fumbling the buttons until he simply lets all of it fade away and you're pressed between both of them with nothing separating you.

It's a remarkably tender thing, the way they tangle their limbs with yours, kissing every inch of your skin like you're something precious. You vaguely remember how he said that he wanted you "lucid enough to enjoy" but that isn't what he ends up getting, not quite. He doesn't seem to mind though, even as he puts you on your hands and knees.

Despite the exhaustion starting to set in, having his cock right in front of your face like this is a temptation, one you don't bother fighting. Even your mouth feels clumsy as you take him in, wanting him in any way you can get. When his other self starts easing into you from behind you can't keep a whine back, overstimulated nearly to the point of tears.

"Shhh, just let me..." He whispers, pressing kisses to your back, long hair sliding over your skin like strands of silk, "just let me..."

And you do, letting him sink in as far as he will go. He rocks against you so gently, like he's worried you might break. At this rate, it feels like you might. Trapped between the both of them like this, the only thing you can really do is let them, let him, use you. When he puts his hand between your legs and starts stroking you, it feels like he might actually drive you mad.

"Just one more, my sweet," he whispers, his breath tickling the back of your neck, "one more for me, then you can rest."

Every slide of his finger over your swollen clit feels like ice, like fire, and you can't even move away. You feel like a worn-out spring being wound up too tightly, but he is utterly determined to coax one more climax out of you, not stopping even when you start whimpering. When your walls start fluttering around him, weakly at first, you swirl your tongue shakily over the tip of his cock, the shared sensations making him moan.

"You're doing so well," he pants, stroking your hair with a not-quite-steady hand.

You can tell that he's just as close as you are, swelling inside you and on your tongue, and you want him to come with you, properly this time. The noise he makes as you take him into your throat is a shattered thing, he's barely holding on and his eyes are black and that finally makes the tension inside you snap with a strength that wracks your entire body. When you swallow it's more on reflex than anything else but it's enough to push him over the edge right along with you, pulsing down your throat and in your cunt with a sound that isn't exactly human, either.

As you come down from your high everything is a bit of a blur, every part of your body is aching as the tension finally drains out of you. The only thing you have energy for is collapsing on the bed in an ungraceful heap. He wastes no time pulling you to him though, chest heaving for breath you know he doesn't strictly need. When you start shivering, he conjures a blanket to cover you, holds you close. He's never been a selfish lover but the tenderness of the gesture still makes your heart constrict in something like pain, knowing he might not be there for your next birthday. You've always known what he is so you try not to mourn prematurely, covering your worry with humour instead.

"Dream?"

"Yes, my love?" He kisses the top of your head softly, content for now.

"Do Endless have birthdays?"

⁂

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ooihcnoiwlerh · 9 months ago

Text

New chapter is up for my Feyd-Rautha/Reader fic. I'll provide the AO3 link here: And I Don't Want Your Heart - Chapter 3 - ooihcnoiwlerh - Dune (2021) [Archive of Our Own]

But if you'd prefer to read it here I can provide it under the cut. As you can imagine, there are trigger warnings for this fic in general as well as this chapter.

TW: arranged marriage, forced marriage, dubious consent, implied/referenced self-harm, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced incest, heavy violence, first times, rough sex, blood kinks, and of course Feyd-Rautha who is his own walking content warning.

If you haven't read my fic yet I do recommend reading the prologue and first chapter to get what's going on. It's all on AO3.

CHAPTER TWO: THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN DREADING

“It’s time, Na-Baroness.”

You turn to look at her. She keeps her head down. “We need to get you to your bedchambers to prepare,” she adds.

You take a breath. He and everyone else need you to be living and healthy at least for the time being. You’ll be able to manage whatever happens tonight, you tell yourself.

You give a small nod, reach for your goblet, and finish the contents in three big swallows before setting it down.

Your mother sees you get up and her eyes widen just a fraction. You smile at her as you make a detour to wish your family a good night.

“I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast,” you tell your parents. Afterwards all off-world guests will be going home, and you’ll have to deal with the fact that this desolate killing field of a planet is your home now. You try not to think about how you probably won’t be seeing any of your family again until the next wedding or funeral as you give each of them a crushing hug. When your younger sister hugs you back, you wonder if she’s thinking about her future, if she’s terrified that she’ll have an even worse match.

“You look beautiful, Y/N,” Father tells you as you pull away from his embrace. When he looks at you, you can tell he’s thinking, I’d give anything right now for you to have been born a son.

“Thank you, Father,” you tell him, thinking, Come on, now. You can’t put me up to this marriage in the first place and then act as though I’m going to my execution. You need for them to have hope that you’ll be okay. One of you has to believe that I can get through this.

You sense the Baron watching you. You can feel his distaste at the open sentimentality but he doesn’t say anything, so it seems that he’ll allow it. How kind of him, you think bitterly.

When you start to move past them your mother tugs at your wrist one last time and you turn to face her. She doesn’t say anything, so you end up speaking for her.

“It’ll be alright,” you say softly, taking her hands.

She almost smiles, then swallows. “I should be the one saying that to you,” she says. You just give her a small smile of your own and kiss her cheek. You end up letting go of her hands first, but it takes only the first tug for her to relinquish yours. You resume your trek out of the Great Hall when you reach the head of the table and stop, remembering one last obligation before you go.

You need to pay your respects to the Baron first and it makes you hesitate. You don’t want to talk to him, don’t want to look at him, don’t want to even think about him. His nephew strikes fear in you, but there’s a kind of revulsion that the Baron inspires that is tangible even as you can’t quite explain it. Even if you didn’t know his reputation as a bloodthirsty warmonger that makes your father seem like a pacifist by comparison, even though you’re sure that there’s more you haven’t discovered yet, even with the limited interactions you’ve actually had with him, he makes your skin crawl. You step forward, eyes downcast, incline your head, and dip into the deepest curtsy you can manage in your gown.

“Thank you, Baron, for your gifts, your kind reception, and your hospitality,” you tell him.

After a pause he seems to think you’ve expressed an adequate amount of gratitude and says, “May you continue to please my lovely nephew,” he responds, voice low enough that your family won’t hear but the people next to him will. He knows that you know what he means.

Contempt and shame war within you. You refuse to look up at him. “Yes, Baron,” you manage, face flushing. Your hands shake. You rise and turn away. Idrisa’s there within arm’s reach to escort you out.

It’s a long stretch of silence to get from the Great Hall to the Harkonnen private chambers, but neither of you know quite what to say that you’d be willing to risk anyone hearing.

She guides you back into your bedchambers. Once there, you stand in the middle of the room, frozen and useless. “Will he want me in this?” you ask after a moment. You picture him tearing the fabric of your underskirts, maybe slicing your bodice with one of his hidden blades. It’s easy to picture him desecrating a symbol of your union. It’s also easy to picture him simply pulling down your undergarment, bending you over the nearest flat surface, and debasing you as you’re still fully clothed.

Idrisa shakes her head. “The Na-Baron had some specific requests. He’d like you out of this,” she says. “I’ll help you.”

She’s so gentle with her touch and the meticulous way she undoes your bodice and arranges your skirts that it unnerves you rather than soothes you. It’s such a contrast to how you’re certain you’ll be touched as soon as you leave these chambers that you tremble at her fingertips.

“It’ll be alright,” she says softly. “You and the union between the Houses is too important for him to seriously hurt you.” You don’t miss the disclaimer of ‘seriously’. You have nothing to say to that, only watching as she sets the gown back on the mannequin it arrived with and turns to you, in just your boots and undergarments.

You sigh and take care of your boots and the stockings underneath as Idrisa reaches into your drawers for a chemise and robe.

“He wants you to take off your undergarments,” she says over her shoulder.

“Of course he does,” you mutter, working on those next, stripping down bare. “For ‘ease of access.’”

“It’s not an unreasonable request,” Idrisa says mildly, taking your discarded clothes and handing you the chemise to put on. “We’re almost done.” She sets down a pair of slippers for you to step into and gives you your robe before taking a step back and taking inventory of you. She tilts her head and bites her lip.

“Hair down, I think,” she says. “Your make-up held up well, so we won’t need to reapply anything.”

“We could, you know.” It’ll buy me some time to collect myself. Although that isn’t entirely true; you’ll still be just as nervous an hour from now as you will be five minutes from now, and you both know it as Idrisa quietly arranges your hair into a style she thinks your groom will find suitable.

His chambers, as it turns out, are just next door. “Thank you,” you tell her when you get inside. It’s a large room, as austere as all the other rooms but the limited furniture within it is of high-quality. A black armoire against the opposite wall with dressers and a desk and chair to match, and then of course the bed.

It’s a massive four-poster with a steep headboard. You can’t help but notice rings and hooks lining each bedpost. You don’t think you’re ignorant by any means, considering your overall lack of experience, but you’re not sure what they could possibly mean. In the next room you can faintly hear the sound of running water.

“The Na-Baron is finishing up in his bathroom. He’ll be ready for you in just a moment,” Idrisa tells you, before reaching for your robe. You instinctively move away, wanting the barrier between your skin and the suddenly oppressive air of an unfamiliar room.

She holds on, undeterred, to your sleeves. “The Na-Baron said that he would have his wedding gift already unwrapped and in bed waiting for him,” she says apologetically.

You think of your father’s words from days ago (“oiled and trussed up before being thrown into his bedroom”) and take a breath before shedding the robe and stepping out of your slippers yourself. You don’t look at Idrisa as you raise the chemise up and over your shoulders before tossing it to the floor and once you’re completely bare try to cover yourself with your arms as you take a few steps back. It feels dumb; she’s already seen you naked and so will the man on the other side of the bathroom door in just a minute, but you want to hold on some semblance of modesty in this unfamiliar room.

Idrisa looks away as she picks everything up. “I’ll leave you to your privacy, then,” she says.

“I’ll be nearby,” she adds, folding your clothes and setting them on the dresser and the slippers on the floor just beside it. She glances over at you one last time as if to say, Good luck, before turning and leaving. The door clicks and you’re left in silence. The water stops.

Better get moving, then, you think as you stare at the bed. You wonder briefly what such an intimidating piece of furniture has seen over the years, and you’re honestly not sure how to present yourself once you reach it. Do you lie on your back, like you’ve been told, is the civilized, kind manner in which to take a bride?

You think of the way your groom prowls, the way he kills. He’s barely civilized and he’s certainly not kind; the animalistic way he moves and looks at you suggests that he’ll fuck you like an animal too, on all fours and without preamble, but the idea of getting into that position, of presenting yourself to him in such a way, makes you wince the moment you imagine it.

So you compromise and settle on your side, facing the bathroom entrance where he’ll soon emerge.

Your heart races as nearly a full minute ticks by before the door opens and Feyd-Rautha emerges, as naked as you are.

You try to stay composed and keep a sense of demure composure about you as you take inventory of him and what is meant to go inside of you tonight. He is indeed smooth everywhere, and half-hard. You digest the fact that even without a full erection, he's larger than the limited sample size you've witnessed. You think that it’s kind of funny that he looks more powerful naked than he does in his armor, or even in his undergarments but to your relief he’s also as unarmed as he can possibly be. And if this is to happen, it is a comfort knowing that it will be with a man whose body you find beautiful to look at.

His eyes drift over yours, mapping everything as he takes his fill,of the rest of your body. “Have you ever taken a man inside of you?” he asks.

You shake your head and try not to let your nerves get the better of you as you wonder how much this is going to hurt. He sees the fear in your eyes, though, as he crosses over and slides into bed alongside you without another word. Your breath hitches, your heart pounding. Not for the first time he makes you feel like a rabbit in a field. It’s hard to reconcile that and the excitement within you; perhaps it’s adrenaline.

He slowly angles you to lay back as he props himself above you. Your pulse thuds in your ears and you hear your own gasp as if it’s coming from somewhere else.

There’s a moment he’s looming above you, and you’re caught between fear and a growing heat between your legs, your nerves on end, before you surprise the both of you. Without allowing yourself to think about it you lean up, cup the back of his head and pull him into a kiss. This much you’ve done before, anyway. You hope that it’ll help ease you into everything else.

It catches him off-guard, which gives you a brief sense of satisfaction, feeling like the playing field has been leveraged, before he kisses back. He seems to like it, the hint of a challenge, and responds in turn by deepening the kiss and pressing his tongue into your mouth. After a moment’s hesitation, unsure where to put your hands, you find that trailing them along his arms and back feels right.

For the first minute it actually feels nice. Then the first brush of the tip of his cock against your stomach makes you gasp. You can feel him filling out the rest of the way and try not to look down. It won’t help settle your nerves at all to see just how large it is when fully engorged. The soft skin of it bumps against your bare stomach again before he shifts his legs so both are between yours, forcing you to spread your thighs around his hips. He breaks the kiss and watches your face as he shifts one hand from beside your head to between his legs, taking himself in hand.

You clench your thighs and gasp, heart racing. Without thinking you give a small cry when he guides his cock along your slit. You feel stupid for it; he’s not even inside of you yet, but you can feel yourself seize up.

He pauses, as if trying to gauge something. Then he releases himself to slide his fingertips between the apex of your thighs instead. Your chest heaves as you think about how you’re the only one who’s ever put a hand there, and even then only a few times. You have enough time to think that you’ve never felt more helpless in your life before he brushes his fingers along your slit, all the more sensitive for the lack of hair, and then brings a thumb to the bud between your legs you only discovered for the first time a few years ago by accident. He circles his thumb lazily, watching your stomach clench and your lips part in a gasp. You shut your eyes, the intimacy of it already more than you could’ve anticipated.

“Look at me,” he says sharply, and you force your eyes open. He tilts his head ever so slightly as his thumb presses down and your hips arch up. You hold onto him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you bite your lip, trying to breathe normally. He blinks as he takes in your reaction, his gaze traveling from your face to your hips before moving his hand, shifting his fingertips to your entrance.

The press of one finger inside of you is a stretch, unfamiliar but not unpleasant once you adjust to the feeling of being penetrated for the first time, and you want to look away, embarrassed at just how exposed you are to this man but as soon as you do, he repeats, irritated that he’d have to say it again, “Look at me.”

Your eyes snap back to his. He curls his finger inside of you and your mouth falls open in a silent cry, your stomach clenching, and he tilts his head slightly, pulling his hand back to add a second finger alongside it, and this time the burn of it’s just a little too much. You try to pull your hips back, face pinched in discomfort, and he gives a frustrated exhale as he tries twisting his fingers, only to get the same reaction. He pulls his fingers out, and seems to think about what to do next.

He glances down at your chest, at your stiffened nipples, and lowers himself down onto his forearms, his head down to your breasts, teeth and tongue scraping against one, then the other. As you whine and cradle the back of his neck you wonder if this is like a game for him, trying to see what noises he can pull from you where, and doing what, as he travels from one part of your body to another. You try to collect your breath as he stops, traveling lower, his body sliding almost serpentine along the length of the bed and you can’t help but watch the muscles in his back and shoulders.

You briefly notice that there are old scars there that you hadn’t been able to see properly in the semi-darkness of the fighting halls. They look like lash-marks that span from his shoulder blades to the tops of his buttocks. But that’s the last coherent thought you have before Feyd-Rautha’s face disappears between your spread legs and you cry out, back arching at the first contact between his mouth and your lower lips.

You were expecting and fearing a lot tonight but hadn’t accounted for your groom licking your newly-shaved privates. It’s shocking enough that it takes you a moment to understand how nice it feels. You pant and squirm, your moans pulled out of you with each swipe of his tongue along your slit, each flicker of it against your bud.

“Oh!” you manage, incapable of saying anything else as your thighs shake and you wish he had hair that you could bury your fingers in as he laps at you.

When the heat of it really starts to build and your whines start sounding more desperate, the very core of you slick along his lips and tongue is when he stops. It’s all a means to an end and as far as he’s concerned he’s done more than enough to prepare you.

He ignores your whimper of protest as he pulls away and props himself up above you again, taking inventory of your flushed face and chest, your parted and kiss-swollen lips.

Good, you’re ready, he seems to think. He lines himself up, and your breath hitches as you shut your eyes.

“Keep ‘em open,” he says immediately, and you relent, gazing up at a pair of eyes that glint nearly silver, pupils wide.

The blunt head of him is wide, and you realize that the preparation, his fingers and tongue, weren’t enough to ease the passage. He’ll tear you open. He watches your face and the growing panic in your eyes and presses forward.

Fear is the mind-killer. It is the little–

The first press of him knocks the air out of your lungs in a sob. You lurch up, clutching at his back as your inner thighs clench around his sides as he thrusts in the first couple of inches. You squirm around him, shifting, hoping to get unstuck like you’re a worm on a hook. He just pushes in deeper with a grunt, his hand clutching your hip to keep you still so he can bury himself within you the rest of the way.

It hurts, you want to protest, as if he can’t tell already. As if he doesn’t enjoy how he’s skewering you onto him.

You’ve been in worse pain than this. Remember when you broke your arm when you were nine? If it weren’t for the fact that you’ve never felt more vulnerable in your life to the most frightening man you’ve ever met who–you hope–is now fully inside of you, you’d almost laugh.

Virgin sex: not as painful as breaking an arm.

You dig your nails in. Feyd-Rautha gives a breathless laugh and a sharp thrust that has you crying out and digging your nails in deeper.

“Does my little pet want to get her claws in me?” he says, the first time he’s spoken in several minutes. You try to relax your hands, just gripping onto his back. “I didn’t say ‘stop,’” he adds.

He likes pain, the Reverend Mother told you.

Well, alright, then.

You grit your teeth and scratch down the length of his back. He groans, a rumble deep in his chest before pulling out nearly to the tip of him and pushing all the way back in again. It helps, in a way, the feeling of reciprocating the pain. The difference is that you’re barely tolerating it, but he’s enjoying it. He seems to like the pressure of your kneecaps digging into his sides, the nails down his back.

Curiosity strikes and you reach up and pull him down close enough to bite down on his collarbone and he gasps, hips stuttering for a moment, a moan pulled out of him before he resumes thrusting into you with deeper rolls of his hips.

You’re not sure when the moment happens that you start to adjust, the sting of it fading to a sore stretch. You still feel impossibly full, but the ache of it feels like a minor tear, not like you’ve just been split in half.

It’s soon after that he draws the first real moan out of you since before he entered you and it gives you pause; the stroke of his hips had been just right, you’d tilted yours in just a way that actually felt good in a way that tugged at your insides. After a moment he tries again and you can’t help but make the same noise, holding onto him as the push and pull of his thrusts finally starts to feel right, like an act that’s natural rather than a punishment.

It’s then that he pulls out, and you yelp in shock; you were only starting to get adjusted to having him inside of you and he hasn’t spilled his seed yet. You barely have time to understand what’s happening as he flips you onto your front and hauls you up, grabbing your hips.

It feels like another invasion, the angle tighter. You won’t be able to hold onto him or take your pain out on him. You scramble to get your forearms under you as he well and truly starts fucking you. You hadn’t realized that he’d been holding back at all.

You do realize, though, that he not only tolerates your hair but likes it, when he wraps your tresses around his hand and sharply tugs like your hair’s a harness. You can’t help any of the desperate noises that you make, shaking, as you’re repeatedly pulled back onto his cock. The heat of tears builds in your eyes as you lower your head, only for him to tug it back by your hair.

You give another cry, which spurs him on. Pleasure, pain, it seems like it’s all the same to him so long as he can keep pulling desperate sounds out of you. He speeds up, goes harder, the snap of his hips against your ass loud to the point of obscene within the echoes of his room.

And then you feel it, warm and viscous inside of you as he gives a choked moan, grunting as he thrusts into you one last time and holds still, his hands still on your hips. You gasp, freezing, before moaning even though you're not entirely sure if you like the sensation of it or not.

You feel him pull away from you and twist onto your back, your legs bent to avoid colliding with him, as he kneels on the edge of the bed and wipes his bloody cock off on the sheets.

You catch your breath as you bring a hand against your forehead, trying to think.

It’s done; you got through it.

He turns to look at you, at your parted lips, your breasts rising and falling as your breath evens out, your inner thighs where a small smear of blood remains, and wordlessly brings a thumb to the tacky skin there.

You blink, eyes widening as he looks you in the eye and licks off the already-drying blood. He tilts his head, still looking between your legs, when his fingertips slide against your slit, collecting both a little blood and a dribble of his seed that leaked out of you. Without a word he settles back over you and brings his fingers to your lips.

You try to think about what he’d want from you at this moment, and all that comes to mind is to mirror him. You try to shut out the part of you that feels revulsion at the sight and the smell and part your lips.

You can’t look away from him as he presses the calloused pad of his thumb on your lips and pushes further, onto your tongue. You want to flinch away at the salt of your blood mixed with the viscous salt of his seed, but with his other hand he cups your jaw. His movements could be seen as gentle and if he were a different man this act could be seen as intimate, but no, not with him. He’s trying to humiliate you, you’re sure. Because he then says, quietly, “Close your mouth,” and you hesitate, face heating up with shame, before you do.

For a moment you want to pull back and spit the mixture back out into his face. There must be a flicker of that want in your eye because he tilts his head in a silent challenge.

Go on. Try it, he seems to say.

You want to, but you do the opposite, the new goal to be to catch him off-guard again. You force yourself to taste the residue from both of your bodies off his fingers. You lick delicately around the digits and watch his eyes widen just a fraction. You do it again, slowly, realizing that you’ve surprised him again.

He pulls his fingers out, his full lips parted.

“Don’t swallow,” is all he says before crushing his mouth against yours.

You didn’t think you were ignorant, but you don’t fully understand what this is, what it’s called, why he’s enjoying it so much. It’s a tool you think you might have but don’t have any frame of reference for and aren’t sure how to use as he groans as the liquids merge between you in a desperate open-mouthed kiss. You just know that you’re learning enough to keep him interested. He lays fully against you, and you have enough time to think that his chest feels nice pressed up against yours before he reaches in between your legs to feel the puffy, bruised apex where he’d buried himself.

Is he already getting aroused again?

You get your answer when he flips you onto your stomach for the second time and pulls your hips up just enough for him to settle behind you. For a moment you lurch forward, away from his grip but of course he pulls you back. Alarm sets in. I need time. I’m still recovering from the first time you split me open. You hear yourself whine as he slides his rapidly-stiffening cock in between your tender folds as if to plead for his mercy. He doesn’t grant it, moaning at the desperate sound. You realize that he’s working himself the rest of the way in his own hand before pressing it back up against you and pushing inside of you in one sharp thrust.

In some ways it’s easier; you’re sufficiently stretched out at this point to take him inside of you, and the combination of blood and semen’s added second and third coats of lubrication.

But then he’s rougher; there’s no preamble, no brief moments of letting you adjust to the intrusion. He goes hard and fast on your torn and bruised insides, and this time he doesn’t say a word. All you hear are beast-like grunts as he pulls you onto him.

Just finish. Please just finish and get it over with, you think as your cries become hoarse, and then nothing more than pathetic whimpers. That in itself seems to spur him on, how much he’s wearing you out and taking you to the very limits of what you can handle.

You collapse the rest of the way onto your front, panting and sweaty, and you shut your eyes when you can sense he’s almost done, shuddering as his thrusts become more erratic and he finally–thankfully–comes, filling you up a second time and you could cry with the relief of it.

He holds on for a moment, as if trying to make sure as much of him as possible stays inside of you as he settles down, his front against your back, his breath against the nape of your neck. And then he pulls out and you wonder if this is how it feels when a person who’s just been stabbed feels the knife leave their body right before you sense him turn and fall onto his back against the sheets.

You remain on your front, the side of your face resting on your forearm as you just don’t have it in you to move again. You just hope that Feyd-Rautha’s finally done for the night. You turn your head to the other side to look at him and confirm.

His penis looks a lot less intimidating when it’s soft and resting against his thigh. You watch his chest rise and fall and briefly think about running a hand over it, and long the ridges of his abdomen even as you can’t say you’re proud of yourself for the instinct. He just seems almost docile now, reclining on his back, after he’s rutted inside of you twice. It's almost like wanting to pet a sedated dog that had been trying to bite you. You watch him raise one leg slightly, enough to bend his knee, and you notice more scars along his inner thigh that are even paler than the rest of him. They don’t look recent, but not as old as the ones on his back.

He turns his head and looks at you, and reaches out, bringing a hand to your backside, lazily caressing a cheek before bringing his palm down in a hard smack. He smirks at how the soft flesh jiggles and at your responding yelp.

“It was right there,” he says by way of explanation. You’re tired enough that you can’t help but snicker as you keep your head pillowed on your forearms and try to focus on the softness of the sheets under you rather than the unrelenting ache between your legs. You look at each other, him likely surveying the damage as you catalog him in what is probably the closest he ever gets to a relaxed state.

“Can you stand?” Feyd-Rautha asks after a moment.

You’re not entirely sure you can move your legs. “In a moment, maybe,” you admit.

“Then take a moment,” he says. “Then you can call your girl to take you back to your quarters.”

You get up on your forearms to get a better look at him. “You’re sending me away?” you ask. You don’t mean the hurt tone in your voice. Not that you even want to stay the night, but his dismissal feels insulting. You’re the one whose insides are sore and bleeding, after all. Is he not even going to give you more time to recover and just relax here? Maybe kiss you one last time?

“It’s more practical if I do,” he says. “I’ll be up a few hours before you tomorrow.” His tone is so matter-of-fact that any trace of intimacy over the past couple of minutes dissipates into thin air and you remember who you’re with.

“Right.” You look over at your clothes on the dresser. You wince at the effort, but turn to your side and sit up facing away from him. You can feel his stare burning into your back.

You wince as you sit forward and try to get your limbs to coordinate with you as you shift your legs.

You look down at the sheets and wonder if Feyd-Rautha’s going to have someone come in to clean them immediately after you leave.

No, you realize. He’ll have someone come in to put down new ones, certainly, but he’ll be holding on to the bloodied sheets. They’ll serve as a trophy, proof that he deflowered the heiress to the House of Y/H.

You don’t look back at your new husband as you get up, shakily at first, needing to hold onto the bed to stabilize you.

You need to walk gingerly, and the feel of Feyd-Rautha watching your discomfort makes it worse. You feel tears build again, this time from anger. You think to yourself that you might’ve been able to handle everything else tonight better if he were a little kinder to you afterwards, and gave you something to temper the roughness as he’d prepared you beforehand. And here he is smugly watching the pain you’re in because of him, congratulating himself on how he wrecked your virgin cunt.

This is fucking undignified. I’m part of a Major House, too, you think as you pull on your chemise and step into your slippers. Finally you’ve decided that you’re not going to let this insult pass and turn to him. He’s sitting up, his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped loosely around them as he watches you and that somehow makes it even worse. “Is this amusing for you?” you demand, thinking, Of course it is, you stupid girl. He and his kind get off on this sort of thing.

He looks neither embarrassed nor smug, but leans forward a little as he considers you. “You did well tonight,” he says.

“Thank you, Na-Baron,” you say coldly as you reach for your robe.

“I like it when you call me husband,” he adds, and you glance back at him. “That’s what you should call me when we’re alone together.”

You look at him a moment longer. You realize that this is just about the closest he can get to being kind to you, at least tonight. Whatever tenderness he’d shown when he first touched you was to serve his own purpose. Now that he’s taken what he wants there’s nothing else to give you. It’s not even intentional cruelty on his part, you don’t think. It’s just the absence of everything else.

With a resigned sigh you pull on your robe and give him a curt nod. “I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow, husband,” you tell him, pad over to the door, and open it just far enough to see Idrisa standing post just outside. You head into the hallway and shut the door behind you without another word or glance backwards.

“How much of that were you able to hear?” you ask her.

She tries to spare you. “The walls are thick, Na-Baroness,” she says, and you’re even more grateful for the short distance to your chambers than you’d been before.

At your bedside you notice that there’s a jug of water and a glass, then beside them a dish. You head for it to inspect closer and it turns out there are two small white tablets. You turn to look at her.

Idrisa shrugs one shoulder. “Part of the benefits of being promoted to your attendant,” she says. “I felt it would be safer to take precautions and assume you’d need pain relief after…” she trails off, realizing there is no polite way to say getting fucked hard for the first time by a man who delights in your pain and just repeats, “after. I spoke with a Healer who agreed that it would be safer to plan for that.”

As you reach for a tablet she adds quickly, “I wouldn’t take more than half if I were you.”

You pause, the tablet to your mouth. “Why?” you ask.

She hesitates. “I wasn’t sure how severe your pain would be afterwards,” she says. “I really didn’t know how to predict so I requested two tablets. Looking at you now, half a tablet should suffice.”

You look down at the dish and then back at her. Just how badly did you think tonight would go for me? you want to ask, but then realize that there are some questions you don’t actually want answers to.

You smile at her in gratitude, snap the tablet in half, and wash it down with the offered water. “Will it help me sleep?” you ask.

She inclines her head in the affirmative. “Now let’s get you cleaned up and ready for bed,” she says.

“It’s alright. I can handle the rest myself,” you tell her.

Her brow furrows and she frowns. “It’s my duty to look after you,” she says.

“I understand, but right now I need to be alone,” you tell her.

She looks nervous, as if her dismissal is some kind of failure on her part and something for which she’ll be punished later.

“You’ve done a great job,” you tell her. “But the best way to take care of me tonight is to let me do this myself.”

“Whatever you wish, Na-Baroness,” she says finally. “Good night, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

……………..

You pad over to the bathroom and a minute later find yourself sitting on the edge of your bathtub with a warm, wet towel in one hand as you inch up the hem of your chemise with the other.

You wince at the first press of the towel against your tender skin. You don’t want to look directly at the damage, wishing you still had hair down there to obscure some of it. You shut your eyes as you wipe around your inner thighs. You wipe directly between your legs and the sharp bite of the pain makes you briefly double over. After a moment you look down at the used towel; there’s not as much blood as you thought, as it feels like it was spilled out of you, but you’re going to have to wring it out and start over if you want to feel clean. Maybe you won’t feel clean again.

The reality of it all hits you, sharply, and you feel like you’ve been stabbed and a part of you realizes that the worst is yet to come.

For the first time since finding out you would be linked to Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, you break down and cry.

#feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune part 2 #feyd-rautha harkonnen #feyd-rautha

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cryscendo · 5 months ago

Note

For the fic ask, can I request one you wanted to write and weren't asked? Klaine, please! ♥

oooooh boy, you really opened up the floodgates with this one. I decided to go super angsty because i just really needed to get this out there. this takes place around the time of “the quarterback” and i went with the prompt “things you didn’t say at all”

i hope you enjoy and sorry in advance for the heartbreak :’(

Pairing: Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson

Word Count: 1599

Rating: T

Prompt: 5 - things you didn’t say at all

Warning: mentions of canon character death as a main plot point (references to The Quarterback)

if you would like to request a prompt, you can do so here.

Fic can be read under the cut

Finn’s death was hard on Kurt.

Make no mistake, it was hard on everyone. After watching Santana break down in the middle of the choir room, Blaine was truly able to see just how much this was taking a toll on his friends. Grief was shared amongst everyone who knew Finn, and it made it difficult to even pretend to be okay.

But Kurt… Kurt was suffocating with it. Every moment since his arrival back in Ohio for the funeral had been filled with this poisonous cocktail of emotions.

Kurt didn’t discuss this situation, at least not directly. He more so just tiptoed around the issue, and his words were like a children’s game of telephone where the original words get completely altered and warped, but the overall message is understood.

Blaine watched Kurt as his fiancé tried on no less than twelve different outfits for the funeral. They ranged from black to gray to navy, and he even tried his hand at adding a bit of deep plum. He looked gorgeous in all of them. None of them were good enough for Finn's funeral.

“This isn’t right either,” Kurt said, already moving to undo his tie. It was a sleek thing with very subtle, barely there gold-stitched accents. “Too flashy.” It really, truly wasn’t, but Blaine wasn’t about to argue.

“Maybe do the black suit with the plum sweater? Just forgo the tie completely.” Blaine knew that the problem wasn’t a tie. But Kurt wasn’t talking about what the actual problem was. “I’ll match to you.”

Kurt gave himself a long, hard look in the mirror before him. Blaine didn’t think that he would respond at all. That was until he eventually sighed and turned back towards Blaine. “Let’s try it, then.”

And so it goes.

The funeral ended without incident. Kurt actually agreed to Blaine’s outfit suggestion, which only further proved to Blaine that Kurt was, definitively, not doing well. Because if he was, there would’ve been a bit more scrutiny on Blaine’s choice of textile combinations, as well as how it affected the overall silhouette. He looked great of course, but it was also clear that he wore it not because he was actually in love with the outfit, but because he needed to pick something and allowing Blaine to make the decision took some of the pressure off of him.

Kurt didn’t talk much during the service. He did stand up and give a brief speech, which Blaine was grateful for — even if it felt a bit like Kurt was saying only a fraction of what he wanted to say.

They sat in Kurt’s bedroom a day or two later. Burt and Carole weren’t home, having needed to take care of a few things. They offered for Kurt and Blaine to join them, but Kurt turned the offer down on both of their behalfs. This seemed to disappoint Burt, but Blaine wasn’t interested in going against the wishes of his clearly grief-stricken fiancé.

So they stayed home. And Kurt once again did not speak much.

Eventually though, dinner came around, and Blaine had to make an effort to at least get Kurt to eat something (he has always been on the smaller side, but ever since Kurt moved to New York, Blaine got the sense that he prioritized things like work and school over eating). He brought Kurt a bowl of pasta up to his room — it was left over from the reception catering; Blaine wasn’t exactly the cook in the relationship.

While Kurt accepted the food, he made no move to actually eat it. Instead, he wordlessly spun his fork around inside the bowl, picking up noodles only to let them slip back off the utensil uselessly. He repeated this motion for several minutes until Blaine finally stopped him.

“Not hungry, honey?” Blaine asked, dragging Kurt’s attention back to reality.

Kurt’s eyes flickered up to Blaine’s face for a moment before peering back down towards the pasta, which up to that point had been virtually untouched. “Oh, yeah, I guess not.”

“You really need to eat.” Kurt hadn’t hardly eaten anything since the reception, and even then he grazed more than actually ate. That wasn’t entirely his fault, though. It was hard for Kurt and his parents to get much time to eat when people kept approaching them to express their condolences directly. It was well-meaning each and every time, but Blaine could see that it was taking a lot for Kurt to not tell people to ‘please leave me the fuck alone’. He was wound so tight that one wrong word could’ve easily made him snap.

“I know,” he confirmed. But rather than actually take a bite of his food, he set the bowl down on the mattress between them. Okay. Food wasn’t going to happen right now. That’s fine.

“Kurt, are you going to be okay?” He asked even though he sensed that he already knew the answer. Kurt was strong, powerful, resilient. But beyond that, he was still human.

“Yep,” Kurt responded directly. “Gotta keep on keeping on, y’know? Work and school aren’t going to wait for me forever. So I have no choice but to be okay.”

It was a reasonable enough answer, but Blaine knew it wasn’t what Kurt was feeling. This brave face that Kurt was putting on wasn’t him being honest with himself. Kurt has dealt with more loss than someone his age has any right to. His mother was first, and now Finn. And all the while, his own father was still in a balancing act with his own health and Blaine knew how much that worried Kurt.

Blaine knew he should’ve just left well enough alone, but that wasn’t really his style.

“It’s okay to not be okay, Kurt,” Blaine gently reminded. Kurt clearly didn’t want the reminder.

“You’re not going to lecture me into discussing my feelings. I won’t. I’m fine. And even if I’m not, that’s not going to bring Finn back, now is it?” Kurt put in great effort to make his words come out collected, but his own emotions worked to betray him. “So I’d be wasting my time weeping over something like this when it’s not going to change a single thing.”

“I know that, but please just listen, okay?” Blaine didn’t hold Kurt’s emotions against him. Asking someone to be entirely pleasant after undergoing severe loss was an unreasonable request. All he wanted was for Kurt to hear him for a moment. And with the way that Kurt fell silent, it seemed like he was willing to try.

“Nobody’s asking you to be fine,” Blaine began, moving both of their bowls to Kurt’s nightstand so that he could sit closer to his partner. “All I’m asking is that you be honest with yourself. Everyone can see how hard this has been on you; it’s not exactly a secret.” In response to Blaine’s words, Kurt looked away from him, instead choosing to examine his fingernails. It was artificial distance, not making eye contact. Blaine continued on regardless. “You don’t have to tell me what’s going on inside your head, but just know that whatever it is, you’re allowed to feel it.”

Kurt didn’t respond, but the way that he bit anxiously at his lower lip told Blaine that he was at least listening. That was good at least, that he was attentive to what Blaine was saying to him.

Blaine continued, reaching down to hold Kurt’s hand in his, his thumb swiping instinctively over Kurt’s engagement ring. Kurt watched the motion and sucked in a shaky breath. Kurt didn’t need to say what he was thinking at that moment; Blaine already knew — Finn was never going to be able to see Kurt get married, or even be married himself.

“I don’t think you’ve let yourself feel much of anything since it happened. You didn’t even cry at the funeral.” Kurt tensed, but didn’t pull away. Blaine continued. “I’m not saying you have to talk about it. I’m not saying you have to pour your heart out to the first person who is willing to listen. All I’m saying is that you need to let yourself be not okay. If you go back to New York and pretend nothing’s wrong, I’m scared it’s going to eat you alive. I don’t want that for you.”

Blaine fell silent after that, now only watching Kurt’s face as he continued to stare down at their joined hands. Seconds bled into minutes of wordlessness, and Blaine was beginning to worry that everything he had just said was going to be discarded.

That is, until Kurt’s eyes turned glassy with tears.

“Kurt?” Blaine asked and was immediately followed by silent tears streaming in heavy drops down Kurt’s face. “Shit, Kurt…”

Blaine hugged Kurt close then and Kurt didn’t even try to turn it down. Kurt’s arms were tight around Blaine as if he was afraid that if he let Blaine go, he’d disappear. The room was silent save for the soft sounds of Kurt’s broken gasps as wept quietly into Blaine’s shoulder. It tore at Blaine’s heart, hearing those sounds come from Kurt, his one true love, who somehow unjustly is regularly the victim of tragedy.

Kurt never did end up saying all the things that he had locked up inside his head, but that was okay. He didn’t need to. His actions were loud enough that Blaine understood them as if he were reading them from a book. If Kurt never discussed this again, that would be okay too.

The message was already clear enough.

#glee #my fic #glee fic #klaine #klaine fic #kurt hummel #blaine anderson #episode: the quarterback #my stuff #tysm for giving me creative freedom to write whatever i hope this wasnt too heartbreaking #this just came to me and i knew i wouldnt be able to stop thinking about it until it was written #gleefulpoppet #ask box prompts

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mxtantrights · 2 years ago

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the family gala

this is a snippet from the famous dc!au that started with The Greatest Hits [read here] you don’t have to read it but a lot of things would make sense if you do! hope you enjoy.

"Are you sure this isn't too much?" you ask.

Jason is behind you in the mirror, back towards you. When you ask he turns around. He turns his phone off and slowly walks over to you. As soon as he's in arms length he wraps himself around you.

The two of you match for the night. You're wearing a red dress, backless, that reaches the floor. And Jason has an all black suit on with a red tie. The same red as your dress.

"You are the most magnificent person I have ever seen. You take my breath away every morning but this, right now, you are just out of this world." he says.

You can't help the smile that grows and grows on your face. You lean back into him and take another look at the two of you in the mirror. The press conference was your hard launch. Everything else after that was light work.

Except for tonight. Tonight is the Wayne Gala, or at least the one happening this month. You had been specifically invited by Bruce Wayne. It was shocking to see a handwritten invitation in your mailbox.

Not that you were thrown off by being invited. You just thought since Jason was at your place or you at his that Bruce would have passed it along via Jason. The guy really was classic.

You're pretty sure your neighbors saw your head spinning when you took out the envelope from your mailbox that morning. You ran inside like a chicken without a head to tell Jason.

To your surprise he had nothing to do with you being invited. He told you that he would bring you as a plus one, obviously, but he hadn't known about the gala yet.

Anyways.

"What's going on in that head of yours sweetheart?" Jason asks.

You shake your head, "Nothing, just a bit nervous for this."

"We could bail." Jason answers.

"No way! Jay this is your family. And I got formally invited. We're going." you say.

Jason keeps eye contact with you in the mirror as he places a kiss on your shoulder. He's being sweet but you know this will be just the beginning of him trying to convince you to take his tie off, then your dress, and then the whole gala would be forgotten about.

"When we get back from the gala you can take all of this off me." you say.

You don't miss the way Jason pushes up against you for the smallest fraction of a second. His body against yours is a sinful thought right now. One that you won't allow yourself or him to have.

"Okay. Let's go then." he says.

Then he's pulling you by the arm out of your bedroom. You and him burst into a storm of giggles as you clumsily reach for the things you need before you head out the front door. Your bag. His phone. The invitation on the kitchen table. Both of your jackets.

There is no special carpet for the Gala. Instead it's just an elaborate entry way that is lined with photographers. Some gossip bloggers sneaked their way in to ask lousy and raunchy questions. That didn't really matter seeing as Jason is a six foot wall and they were not getting through him.

You both posed for pictures for a minute outside the door. Then you headed inside. It was everything you ever imagined and nothing you could ever dream of.

Jason had told you on the ride over that sometimes theres a theme. One time it was Gatsby themed and you had to stop yourself from gasping and scaring your driver. You would have loved to go to a Gatsby theme gala.

Tonight's theme is latin culture. It's then that you put together why you got your invitation before Jay knew about it. Bruce selected the theme for him.

You don't miss the way Jason smiles at all the elaborate decorations. There were dancers dressed in long skirts. A full band made up of guitars and horns.

As you two are taking in the view you get interrupted, or greeted rather by the rest of the Wayne family. Specifically the three you haven't met yet.

Dressed to the nines are Steph, Duke and Cass. You know about them. Steph is on the album for the sequel. Duke is running one of Bruce's film studios. And Cass is the lead in the upcoming debut of The Nutcracker at the Orpheum.

"Oh my god you're really here." Duke says.

"Yeah I made it." Jason says.

Duke makes a face, "I wasn't talking about you!"

"Hi I'm Steph!" she offers her hand.

You take it into your own and shake it, smiling.

"I know! I loved your song for the sequel." you say.

You can hear her tiny gasp. She turns to Cass who is smiling too.

"Woah can we all back up on the precious cargo?" Jason jokes.

You nudge him with your shoulder. You think it's sweet how they've interacted with you thus far. Especially Steph since she was on the album for the sequel. You're pretty sure you were the first one to stream her song when it dropped.

"We just can't believe this is real." Duke says.

"There is no way you managed to get your co-star to date you. You're kinda of a jackass." Steph adds.

Cass nods along. Duke affirms with a hum.

"Guys!" Jason yelps.

"Was it the tight shirts?" Duke asks.

You begin to laugh and Jason drapes an arm around your shoulder. He pulls you closer and you bring an arm around his waist. It was instinctual at this point. If Jason was less than six feet away you had a hand on him, or he on you.

"My god, you two must really like each other." Steph says.

"Yeah but he likes me more. It's kind of embarrassing." you joke.

They all laugh at that. Except Jason. You can see the tips of his ears grow red. You nudge him softly. You'd have to save that for later.

"I actually got the invite before he knew about the party. What's up with that?" you ask.

The three of them don't know. They shrug their shoulders. And then conveniently disperse from you and Jason. You watch in amusement as they do.

"I asked father if I could send your invite early."

Both you and Jason get spooked by the youngest Wayne. You turn around and there he is. Damian looks dapper in his suit. A pocket sized Bruce Wayne.

"Damian, it's nice to see you again." you smile.

"Thank you. Your dress is nice." he says.

You smooth it out a bit with your hands, "I have you to thank. I had enough time to ask a designer to pull it from the archives."

"I'm guessing they couldn't do anything for Todd." Damian swipes.

Jason hisses, like actually hisses like a cat, "I changed your diapers! Don't mess with me."

Damian scurries after that. You bring your hand to the back of Jason's head. Your nails scratching his scalp. You see him visibly relax and lean into your touch.

"Your family is really welcoming." you speak.

"They're all infatuated with you. But they have to get in line because I was here first." Jason answers.

"Okay big baby. I'll let em' know, when we have family dinner." you say.

"Oh you can't tell?" he asks.

You step in front of him now. Eyeing him and how cheeky he looks. You are not genuinely curious what he means by his words.

"Do share..." you trail off.

"The early invitation, the theme. This is family dinner." he answers.

You cock your head to the side with an incredulous laugh.

"Last I checked you had seven family members. Excluding Damian’s duck Sir Billsworth of course." you say.

"It's no-strings family dinner. They're trying to ease you into the fray. Give it a month, we'll be invited to something again." he replies.

You can't help the smile that grows on your face. Jason lightly chuckles at your face.

"What?" he asks.

You reach up and peck his lips. Jason is fast and his hands steady themselves on your hips. He pulls you closer for another kiss, knowing him something world ending and stomach flipping, but you push back with your hands flat on his chest.

"Not in front of the family!" you whisper-yell.

"Oh they better get used to it now because I do not plan on behaving just because they're around." he says

"Bad. Bad. You are very bad." you giggle.

Jason leans over to your ear. You can feel his breath on your skin. He wasn't making this gala appearance any easier on you. Then again you might've asked the designer to specifically pick a red dress because you know how Jason feels about red.

"I never reach the end of these things and I'm definitely not going to start now with you dressed like that." he whispers.

When he pulls back he's straight faced. A waiter passes by with a tray full of fancy taquitos. Jason's eyes zero in and he pecks your cheek and goes in that direction.

You watch him as he goes. Not believing that man was all yours. At the end of this night, and for maybe all your nights yet to come.

#dc imagine #dc fic #Jason Todd fic #Jason Todd imagine #dc x reader #jason todd x reader #famous dc!au

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softspeirs · 9 months ago

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These Heartbeats Clear (5): Rosie Rosenthal x OC

A/N: I was in an angsty mood when I wrote this. I don't know why -- but have no fear. This is the Happy Ending Factory, after all. These Heartbeats Clear Masterlist

Five. Hearts on Sleeves.

The conversation at the officer’s mess over breakfast is all about word that’s finally come back from somewhere in Germany via the girls in the Red Cross hut about many of the guys from The 100th.

It had well and truly broken Grace's heart to hear that so many of their best pilots and crew members were imprisoned, but at least they were alive.

For the crews, it reinvigorates their will to keep fighting.

Major Rosenthal has never needed more reasons to keep up the fight, but even he feels an extra sense of responsibility knowing that winning the war is what it'll take for their friends to come home.

He hasn't seen Grace in almost a week. First, she was ill, and while he wanted to come visit her, he had two missions around the same time, and since she's recovered, she's been so busy at the hospital that neither of them have had a chance to see the other.

He stopped pretending a long time ago that he didn't have feelings for her that went beyond friendship, beyond the bond between comrades. He feels it especially in her absence, a weight that's settled in between his ribs; an ache that he can't soothe on his own.

It's terrifying -- for one, while he thinks and hopes that she feels even a fraction of the way he does, he doesn't know for sure, and he sure as hell isn't going to jeopardize what they do have.

One of the newer crews took heavy fire on their last mission, and while no one was killed, three of the crew were seriously wounded. Rosie makes a point to check on the newest guys and try to keep their spirits up. He hopes he'll have a chance to check on Grace too, but he suspects she's had her hands full.

The hospital is quiet when he arrives. Late afternoon light streams through the windows, the golden beams casting everything in an ethereal glow. Most men are asleep, aside from one or two reading, writing letters home, or having quiet conversation.

Grace stops short when she sees him enter - she wonders if he realizes how much space he takes up. Not just because of his height, but the way he carries himself. He dominates every room he comes into, even though Grace is sure he'd be mortified if she ever pointed it out to him.

His face softens in a smile when his gaze lands on her, and Grace has to fight herself not to break out into a grin right back. She has been told by a few people that she and Rosie are not subtle, but she doesn't really care anymore. After everything they've lost, as long as it doesn't cost her her job, she's going to take what little happiness she can hang on to for as long as she can.

"Afternoon, Major." She says, her body swaying toward him almost without her control. He still has that soft, soft look on his face. It makes something in her gut tighten.

"I heard congratulations are in order, Captain."

She waves a hand dismissively. "You know I don't care about any of that."

"Still worth celebrating. If you're free...?" He looks incredibly boyish in the moment. She feels so fond of him she almost can't stand it.

"My shift is done in an hour."

He digs into his inside pocket and pulls out a battered paperback. "I can wait. If that's okay."

She nods, and when he gets settled in a chair near the nurse's station, she busies herself finishing up her tasks as quickly as possible. She knows she's not imagining it when she feels his eyes on her more often than not.

Rosie reads the same paragraph four times until he gives up entirely. He just feels so relaxed when he's with Grace - he wants to bask in it a little while before real life comes crashing back down at the first sign of a red light flicking on or a siren starts wailing.

He can tell she's noticed by the way she fidgets like she does when there's attention on her. It makes him smile, but he tries to bite it back. He's content to just observe her, and if she notices, well, then she notices.

It's not long before she gathers her jacket and small handbag and comes to collect him. "Ready?" She asks, and he nods, following her out at a respectable, yet still close distance. "Where to?" She asks, though she mostly already knows.

"Thought we could swing by the mess and get something wrapped up if that's alright."

She nods, and they walk the next few minutes in comfortable silence, the late afternoon sun warm on their backs. He holds the door for her when they arrive, and they're not surprised to find the place mostly empty.

He nods at Jack Kidd when they pass the table, a steaming cup of coffee in front of the Air Exec who looks like he hasn't slept in days. Grace frowns, and stops for a moment.

"Major," she says, and her tone is a warning and an accusation all wrapped up in one word.

"I'm eating early today so I can get some shut-eye, Grace." He says, and she nods in satisfaction. "The last time you yelled at me was enough."

"I didn't yell-"

"No, but you wanted to." He says, eyebrow raised in challenge.

"Eat your supper, Major Kidd. Then off to bed."

"Yes ma'am." He smiles around his fork, shaking his head. Rosie watches on in amusement.

"Duty never ends," Grace says, sighing with a chuckle.

"I think you like being a mother hen." Rosie counters, both of them picking up a tray from the long table at the end of the hall.

"Not all the time. I wish some of these grown men would learn how to take care of themselves."

Rosie puts his hands up as if to say I'm innocent, and Grace laughs. Together, they gather up their meals, and sweet-talk the kitchen staff into providing a couple paper bags to haul their loot in. Once packed up, Rosie leads her towards the hardstand where they often find themselves this time of day.

His plane is a beauty during golden hour. Looking over at Grace, he thinks the same thing of her.

"Are you feeling better?" He asks around a mouthful of a sandwich.

She makes a face at him talking with food in his mouth, but nods. "Much. I needed the sleep, even if it came with a cough and a three-day headache."

Rosie hums in sympathy. "And then you were right back in it."

She nods. "The three new crews - had a rough go of it. But you already know about that." She swallows heavily. "The fighting is getting worse. They know something big is coming." She pauses, meeting Rosie's eyes. "How are you holding up?"

He shrugs, shaking his head with a nonchalant look. "I'm fine."

Grace narrows her eyes. "You're fine." She repeats, flat.

"I mean-- yeah. Yes. The invasion will be soon, that's no secret. We're all just waiting to find out when it is."

"And you don't have any kind of..."

"What, doubts?" He interrupts. His tone is sharp in a way she has rarely heard it, maybe only for when he first got back from Coombe House. "I don't... no. I don't have doubts."

"That's not how I meant it, I know you don't doubt yourself or your crew. I just meant... you're not nervous at all? This could be-- this could be massive."

"It will be massive. The biggest mission any of us have flown." He set down his food a long time ago - the wrapper fluttering gently in the breeze between them. An awkward silence settles between them and Rosie hates it. Hates that he can't tell what she's thinking, what she's really trying to ask him.

"And you're not..." Grace gestures vaguely. "I just-- I know you're the best, Rosie." He has to stop himself from reacting at her easily-given praise, her words meaning more to him than she realizes. "I just worry that you keep everything so close to the vest. I worry it's going to come out when you're not expecting it."

"You think I'm going to crack?" His voice is incredulous. He knows this isn't personal. This is Grace, who cares about him, who, at this point in his life and in these circumstances, knows him better than just about anyone else. But it feels like an accusation.

And the way he's felt this last week without her company, without her steady presence... it starts to feel like the distance between them has been intentional, and that hurts.

"No!" She's quick to rebut. "You're getting me all wrong." Her eyes are pleading, but they're frustrated too. "I just-- you reupped without a thought--" he tries to interrupt, but she stops him. "No, I know you thought about it, obviously, I just mean that you did it so quickly, and I just want you to be honest about how you're feeling about it all. You've been here over a year now, Rosie. I can't be imagining the toll that can take."

"I'm doing my job. I just-- I have to lead them, Grace. There's no time for-- for processing any of it." He knows his tone is bordering on irritated, and he tries to tamp it down.

He thinks of the Doctor at the flak house. The one who couldn't understand why Rosie was so annoyed at the prospect of playing croquet for five days when he should have been back in the seat. He never thought that he'd be having an extremely similar conversation with Grace of all people.

"But you won't even be honest with me!" She protests, scooting closer until their knees touch. "And if you won't talk to me, I know you're not talking to anyone else who can help. Which makes me think you're just keeping everything you feel inside. It's not sustainable."

Their proximity makes his head feel fuzzy, like it always does, but he shakes his head, still frustrated at the turn their conversation has taken. "I'm fine, Grace. I'll say it a hundred times if that's what it's going to take to get you to believe me. There's no point in reliving my missions or-- or trying to think back on stuff from months ago. I already do that in interrogation, and that's enough." He can hear his accent thickening with irritation, and he hates himself for directing it at her, even if he's not looking her in the eyes as he speaks.

Her hand on the side of his face startles him. His ice blue gaze meets her dark eyes, and he could lose himself here, he knows he could. He feels soothed in an instant. He has a wild urge to tell her with actions what he can't quite get out of his mouth.

"You know why I was sick for a week?" She asks. "I hadn't slept for two nights before I came down with a fever so bad I was dizzy with it. I hadn't been feeling well for days, but had pushed myself because I thought of everyone else besides myself. Finally my body made me listen." She shrugs. "That's why I was worried about Jack, and that's why I worry about you. Because one day you might not be able to keep it in, and you may make a mistake."

His larger hand covers the one still pressed gently to his face. He leans into her touch, incapable of letting the moment pass without appreciating her warmth. "I need you to trust me." He says, words tinged with hurt and irritation. "Please."

"It has nothing to do with trust." She says. Tone mild, but he can read the flicker of annoyance in her features that they're not seeing eye-to-eye on this. Her hand falls away from his face. Right away he feels bereft.

"Grace--" He tries, but he can see the moment has passed.

She stands, brushing off her jumpsuit. "I'm not angry with you and I hope you're not angry with me." Her smile is sad, and it makes him want to reach for her, to pull her back down and go back to two hours ago when she had been so close he could smell the clean, sharp scent of her shampoo and see the flecks of color in her eyes. "A long time ago I told you if one day you didn't come back, it would well and truly break my heart, Major Rosenthal." She shrugs. "I meant it then, and I can't even begin to tell you now how I would--" She stops, inhaling a shaky breath. "I just want you to look after yourself. I know how smart, how capable, how talented you are. But so were Majors Egan and Cleven, and look where they ended up. I can't bear the thought of you in a place like that, or worse."

"I'm not going to go down."

"You don't know that for sure. I just want you to be safe. And that means up here too." He looks up at her, head at knee level, as she reaches down and taps his forehead gently, alluding to trying to keep his mind healthy. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He's speechless as he watches her leave him. He doesn't think, aside from his parents and sister, that he's ever had someone care about him the way Grace does. It scares him, and it makes him defensive, because he knows deep down she's right.

He won't ever agree with her that he needs to bare his soul to her or another doctor or anyone else about what he's seen and what he's survived, but he does know that when he's up the air, she's down here, waiting and powerless to do anything to help him.

On the ground, all she can do is make sure he's in fighting shape, and - he thinks of her touch to his forehead - he wants to go after her. He wants to catch up to her, pull her into his arms, and tell her that he's confident he'll come back every time because there's just no universe in which he leaves her behind. It's been true for a long time, but she should know it.

He wants her to know it.

Instead, he lets her go. Resolves to let them both cool off, find her tomorrow, and make sure she knows he understands. They've been dancing around each other for so long that he knows he owes her that bit of honesty at least.

It's time he makes her some promises, if she'll still hear them.

#softspeirs mota fanfiction #rosie rosenthal x oc #rosie x grace #oc: grace fleming #masters of the air fanfiction #mota fanfiction #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfic

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403tarot · 1 year ago

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hellong

i've thought for a while before making this post. if you're not a regular follower, i don't think it makes sense to read, but if you follow me and keep up with my posts, i ask you to read just to know some information regarding the functioning of the blog from now on.

i created this blog because i wanted to combine training my reading skills with my love for k-pop. and that's still true for me; i'm not here to be a people pleaser, a famous tarot reader, or be seen as the ultimate truth. i just want to showcase my work, practice, and gossip about K-pop.

lately, i've been making a lot of NSFW posts, and i want to say that this will continue to happen, potentially increasing. i even thought about creating a separate blog just for NSFW posts based on tarot, but then i thought, "why should i do that when 403tarot is MY blog, my space, and there i can post whatever i want? who am i trying to please by doing that?"

and i don't want to please anyone. i am of legal age, the idols for whom i create NSFW content are of legal age (yes, they are not your little meow meow), and the audience for my content in general is for adults. besides, tarot is a game. nothing that any tarot reader says is necessarily true or false; it's just how a person interprets answers to questions posed to 78 cards of paper.

"i don't think xyz idol acts the way you described" okay! take what i wrote as fanfiction then, imagine that they act that way and have fun. learn how to enjoy things without taking it weirdly too deep. i know some see tarot as something sacred, but in my view, it's just 78 cards made for my entertainment. for me, it's a mere game, and i'll always treat it that way. if you don't like it, and my perspective bothers you to the point of being hateful, you can unfollow me.

i say this because some of you have become too brave in sending me rude asks while hiding behind an anonymous filter. i don't care... i don't know who made you believe that you are SO important, but i'm here to tell you that it's not true. i don't care if you don't think tarot should be used for NSFW or that my readings aren't good enough. i put disclaimers in all my posts, and in none of them do i remember mentioning that i need anyone's approval.

however, anonymous asks are now permanently prohibited. you can tell me hateful things through ask but at least have the decency to show your username while doing so. from there, you can have fun and say whatever you want! you'll probably be ignored, but i know some don't get attention from their parents and therefore feel the need to seek it from strangers on the internet.

briefly speaking, please don't flood the ask. i know it's crucial to know if your idol is dating someone or if the woman he's going to marry is a foreigner, but if you've sent the same ask three times, rest assured i saw it. sometimes i just didn't find it interesting, wasn't in the mood to accept or i don't like the guy. anyway, check the upcoming posts on my pinned to make sure, and don't forget that if you're not paying me anything i'm not a employee of yours.

in summary, i will continue to do whatever i want on my blog, and if that bothers you, the door is open for you to peacefully leave. i've developed affection for some blogs that are frequently here in reblogs and notes, and you are the majority, so know that i like you sooo much and this post is directed at a small fraction of people only.

if you've read this giant text and made it this far, i hope you have a great day/night. 🦆

#— duckie notes ⪩♡⪨#tarotblr

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orangedodge · 1 year ago

Note

Okay, another few questions:

1, how old were the original five X-Men at their introduction? 2, how old were they (OG team) when Banshee and the other "new X-Men" joined Cyclops in stopping Krakoa? And 3, how old were the original five when M-Day happened?

Sorry, these are details I just want to know for myself. Hope you don't mind the questioning, and keep up the good work!

According to [Uncanny] X-Men #1, Bobby Drake was sixteen when the team made its public debut. Furthermore he describes himself as a "couple" of years younger than his friends. We also know that Hank is somewhat older than Scott, Warren, and Jean. So, the short answer to your first question is: Bobby is 16, Warren, Scott, and Jean are 18, and Hank is probably 18 or 19.

It's not specifically clear whether Bobby is literally two years younger, or if "couple" is being used in a more figurative sense. I think it's safe to take at face value though, given that he is clearly presented as a member of their age cohort (along with Lorna and Alex); is meant to be reasonably close to the same age as Peter Parker and Johnny Storm (who should also be in the same general range as the original X-Men, as they were all teenagers at the same time); and lastly when Claremont revived the X-Men publication years later, Bobby was depicted as now comfortably a young adult, finishing up his accounting degree, at the same time that Jean was dealing with her first job drama, and Warren was off with the family business.

I also think it's safe to guess Hank is no more than a year older than the others. He's treated as a peer of his teammates rather than as a helper to the Professor, and seems comfortable as a member of the group even outside of X-Men training. Hank's more advanced academic pursuits with respect to his teammates are also shown to be a product of his intelligence and not simply him being in a more senior class, which I think furthermore point to him being loosely their age.

Later authors have occasionally given different ages to the first team, or at least to Scott. Bendis, who wrote them for the longest, identifies the younger Scott as sixteen when he first comes face to face with his modern counterpart (Uncanny X-Men volume 3 no. 12). In Matt Fraction's inexplicably titled Dark Avengers/Uncanny X-Men: Exodus, Scott gives a televised speech in which he claims to have joined the X-Men at age 15. And in Stuart Moore's X-Men Origins Cyclops, Scott is shown to have first met Charles when he was 17 (which works), but he also dates X-Men #1 as taking place when Scott was 21 (which contradicts every other version of the story).

I think it makes the most sense to just go with the original story, and take 18 as the team's median age. I think you could also just as well argue that the 15-17 number isn't in contradiction per se, but only reflects Scott's age when Charles started training him, or even when he first became Cyclops, and not his age in X-Men #1 when Jean joined the team and they confronted Magneto for the first time.

I know some fans also feel that the Bendis' run discounts the possibility that they're in their late teens, because he writes them so young, but I think that's kind of ridiculous. Bendis writes everyone like that, and in any case people are basically the same at 14 as they are at 34, so how much more mature does anyone get from 16 to 18, really?

I think having them remain (mostly) at 18+ is the most plausible reading of the original run, and the most consistent with their general dislike of Charles recruiting actual child soldiers in later classes, and as well with Marvel's editorial policy that the X-Men have existed for ten years in-universe in perpetuity and are now just shy of 30.

Second question: Their ages later on, when the All-New, All-Different team first formed aren't given directly, but they're easy to work out.

So, at time of first death, Jean was 24ish depending on when her birthday falls in the year. Scott and Warren are the same age, Bobby is two years younger, and Hank is probably around 1 year older.

How much time passes between Jean's introduction to Storm, Thunderbird, Wolverine, Banshee, etc and her death isn't specified, and during his first run, Claremont tried to maintain a pretense of everything occurring in real time, but already it had started to become untenable and can't be trusted.

At the time of Jean's death, the core Claremont trio of Storm, Wolverine, and Nightcrawler are still very early in getting to know each other as people, despite spending a lot of time together on page. So I think it's very likely that only a few months have passed between the new recruits joining the team and when Jean died and the remaining original X-Men make their departure. So I would just treat the Dark Phoenix Saga as taking place in the same year as the first mission to Krakoa, with Jean/Scott/Warren remaining 24 throughout.

Third question: To get to their ages at M-Day, I need to do something cataclysmically stupid. Something that I always tell everyone to never do when talking about the X-Men: I have to talk about how old Kitty Pryde was. She who has had three separate, non consecutive, fifteenth birthdays; and she who, famously, began the 1990s three years older than Jubilee, but still managed to end the decade two years younger than her. But, for once, bringing her into things is going to make everything else make more sense.

In X-Treme X-Men we're told directly that Kitty joined the X-Men five years ago. This is useful to know, because she joined the team on the exact same day that Jean died, so it has also been 5 years since that happened. X-Treme X-Men takes place at the same time as New Mutants volume 2, later to be relaunched as New X-Men: Academy X, which documents the first academic year of the Xavier School post its outing as a mutant boarding school. The two books ran parallel to one another and reference the same events in the lives of the original New Mutants.

Academy X concludes during the House of M crossover itself, and with the depiction of the typical US/Canadian school dances, and the inclusion of a year book issue, I think it's reasonable to conclude that the entire Academy X era takes place over about one full school year. So adding that together, M-Day should fall around 6 years after Jean's first death, making her, Scott, and Warren around 29-30, Hank 30-31, and Bobby 27-28.

If you want corroboration while also having the chance to experience a desperate urge to kick something, here's a cropped out section of the House of X/Powers of X timeline.

My version has a type mistake, where years 49 and 50 were incorrectly reversed. Genosha should be year 50, and Moira's "death" at 49. (IIRC later print editions fixed this) M-Day and Decimation would happen in year 51. The Year 47 event references the storyline beginning in Jim Lee's X-Men #1, and so the formation of the Claremont X-Men would likely be in Year 45 or 46. Scott and co being 30ish at Year 52, and working backwards...It actually all kind of lines up?

Which I hate! I hate that it works. It forces you to accept that everything after M-Day occurs over the course of just one single year. And it's so annoying that it's actually kind of possible, when you remember how much everyone loved decompressed storytelling in those days, and subsequently how almost nothing actually happened for a decade and a half of comics. But still! That's so ridiculous! Why do they do this!

Hope that helps! Thanks for the ask.

#blade-liger-4ever #asks #x-men #comics #comic books #marvel #jean grey #scott summers #warren worthington iii #bobby drake #hank mccoy #long post

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middleearthpixie · 1 year ago

Text

Better Days ~ Chapter Eighteen

Dunraven Pub Series- Modern AU

A/N: It's been a long time since I last updated this - I hope some people still remember it... Anyway, school is winding down for the semester and so most of my fics should be updated on a more regular basis as a result. Thank you for your patience! 💜

Summary: Frerin Durin had the perfect life, until he found out his wife was cheating on him. Now, he’s navigating uncharted territory as an about-to-be divorced single dad. Dating is a mess, he’s dealing with the fallout where his kids are concerned, and really, he would just love a vacation away from all of it.

Elena Madison is new to Sidleburg, and also navigating life as a newly single parent. The last thing she needed was for her daughter to come down sick, when she hasn’t even had time to unpack the moving boxes, never mind find a pediatrician. And the last thing she ever expected was to meet a man like Dr. Frerin Durin…

Neither Elena nor Frerin were looking for anything, but fate has a way of messing up even the best laid plans. However, both have been hurt and both aren't at all sure they trust themselves, never mind trusting someone else...

Pairings: Modern!Frerin x ofc Elena Madison

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.5k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-mer-6195 @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @buckybarnes-thorin @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @albionscastle @absentmindeduniverse @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep @court-jobi @masterofhounds @genius2050

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

Frerin groaned as he let his head thunk against his desk. “Again?”

“Sorry, Frerin, we’ve got three docs out with the flu.”

“Yeah, a likely story.” He picked his head up once more. “This is ridiculous, Jay, I spend more time in the ER than I do up here and I have to cancel plans with someone again.”

Jay Reese, Sidleburg’s chief of staff, nodded. “I know. I’m not happy about it, either, but we need docs down there.”

“I’m a pediatrician, Jay.”

“You still went to med school, didn't you? Look, it sucks and I know it sucks, but until the hiring freeze is lifted and we get actual warm bodies who know what they’re doing, we have to pick up the slack. I had plans, too, and I’ll be seeing patients down there as well.”

“Mine involved a gorgeous brunette I was planning to be naked with,” Frerin grumbled. “And now, I’ve got to cancel those plans—again, I’ll remind you—to work a double shift—again as well—in a department I’m only barely qualified to work in.”

“You’ve got an MD after your name. That’s more than barely qualified and kids come into the ER as well.”

“So, then let me get back to working on the pediatric ER. At least then it will make sense for me to be down there.”

Reese sighed, closing Frerin’s office door behind him. “Look, I’ll be honest with you, I don't see that getting off the ground any time soon. There just isn’t money in the budget for it. We’re trying to keep the doors open as it is and going to the board with an idea that will help the smallest of fractions of the population isn’t what they’re looking to okay right now.”

Frerin sat back in his chair, staring at Reese. “What if I can find the funds? I haven’t written a grant proposal since the dark ages, but I’ll do it if it means I have a decent reason to be down there. You should see the looks I get when a guy who comes in because he’s nearly taken a thumb off trying to change the cord on a weedwhacker realizes he’s got a pediatrician taking care of him. Unlike you, they don’t seem to realize I also went to med school.”

“They don't care what specialty you are, long as you’re a doc and you know it.” Reese skirted one of the two chars in front of Frerin’s desk to sink into it. “And honestly, you’re good down there, Frerin. Patients like you. The nurses like you. The students like you.”

“I’m not an ER doc and I have no desire to be one.”

“But you’re willing to open and run a pediatric ER.”

“That’s different. Look, Fritock is a jackass and I’m not answering to her. As long as I’m covering the ER, I don't have a choice. I run the pedes ER and I do have a choice. I’ll answer to you, but not her.”

“Yeah, no one likes her, but she’s competent and keeps that place running.” Reese rubbed his forehead and let out a low sigh. “So, can you cover Riley’s shift?”

“I don't have a choice, do I?”

“Sure you do. But say yes and I’ll see what else I can do about funding for the pedes ER.”

“That’s extortion, Jay.”

“I know. But we need you to cover the ER tonight. Your girlfriend just has to understand.”

“She already does, but damn… I was looking forward to tonight.”

“Just think of this as foreplay,” Reese said, rising from the chair. “The longer you make each other wait, the sweeter the payoff.”

“Get out of my office.”

“I owe you, you know.”

“Yes, you absolutely do!”

Reese chuckled as he pulled the door closed behind him and Frerin swore softly beneath his breath as he overheard Reese flirting with Katie, as he did every time he came through the department.

“God damn it,” Frerin muttered, staring at his phone, lying face down on the corner of his desk blotter. The last thing he wanted to do was cancel on Elena again.

With a low sigh, he reached for the phone and turned it over to toggle to his contacts, scrolling down until he reached her number, then tapped it.

“Hey, I was just thinking about you.”

Elena’s purr sent a shiver along his spine even as his gut kinked. “What were you thinking, or do I not want to know?”

“Well, I was thinking about tonight. But,” a slight hesitation crept into her voice, “I have a bad feeling that tonight is in jeopardy.”

He leaned his head back, his eyes closing as he silently cursed out the irresponsible docs who thought nothing of calling out and left everyone else to pick up their slack for them. Christ, he was tired of it. “I’m sorry, honey, but—”

“You have to cover for someone in the ER again, don't you?”

Her voice was flat, which made his gut kink harder. Toni used to complain about the same thing. It was one of the constant sticking points in their relationship and the one that he couldn't fault her for having. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. But three docs called out and I’m here, so…”

“I understand,” she replied flatly. “Another time, then. It’ll keep.”

��I don’t like it any more than you do, but—”

“No, I get it, Frerin. You don't have to explain it.”

“I know you get it, and that’s what pisses me off,” he replied, drumming his fingertips against his desk. “Reese has me because he knows how important the pedes ER is to me and he uses it as leverage. And there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it. But, I swear to you—”

“I know, and it’s okay. Like I said, it’ll keep for another time.”

“I’m sorry, Lena.”

“Don’t be. It comes with the territory.” She sighed softly. “Just give me a call when you do have a free day, I guess.”

His fingers went still. “Elena, you know I’d rather be seeing you tonight.”

“I know, but I also know that it’s silly to try to make any sort of plans because this seems to happen a lot. And I know it’s because you’re shorthanded and I know you don't have a lot of say in the matter, but it’s still aggravating as hell. So, before this devolves into a fight, just call me when you’re home and can actually get together, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll talk to you soon, then.”

“I hope so. Bye.”

She clicked off and he tossed his phone back onto the desk with a muttered, “Fuck,” and sank back in his chair again, staring up at the ceiling.

“It’s always the same thing, Frerin! We make plans and you cancel because someone else decides they don't feel like coming in to work and I’m tired of it. Work always comes before me. Before me. Before the kids. Before everything. Always!”

Those words, or some variation of them, were all too familiar, as Toni lobbed them in his direction more than once. And there was definitely truth to them. He’d missed school plays, school field days, sporting events, dance or band recitals—you named it, he’d missed it because he’d gotten stuck at the hospital.

Toni begged him for years to go into private practice. He’d make twice the money and work half the hours. No weekends. No overnights. He’d have time for family. He’d have time for her.

Maybe if he had gone into private practice, neither one of them would have fucked around on the other one. Maybe if he made the change now, he could keep his relationship with Elena from falling apart.

Maybe.

In his top desk drawer, he found the business card a colleague had given him last summer, at a conference on Maui. A private practice not far from Sidleburg had been looking for docs and maybe—just maybe—they still were.

He stretched for his phone again and dialed.

“Good morning, Hunterdon Pediatrics.”

“Good morning. Is Dr. Mendham in?”

“Oh, I’m afraid she’s out of the office today. Can I take a message or put you into her voicemail?”

“Voicemail, please.”

“One moment.”

He waited for the automated greeting to wind down, then said, “Hi, Emilia, it’s Frerin Durin over at Sidleburg Memorial. I was wondering if you were still in the market for another pediatrician. Just give me a call back at your earliest convenience and maybe we can work something out. My number is…”

Elena sighed as she stood in the doorway of her bedroom, scowling at the overnight bag sitting, all ready to go, on her bed. In it, were the makings of a romantic night that would hopefully knock Frerin’s socks off (along with whatever else he happened to be wearing at the time) as per the Book of Heather. Brand new lingerie that would be relegated to the back of her closet because somehow, she had the feeling she was not going to hear from Frerin any time soon.

Work.

Work was always the excuse. Work was why Dan was always late or had to travel. Then she realized work meant fucking a coworker.

But Frerin was different.

Wasn’t he?

She sighed, leaning her head against the doorjamb. Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn’t. She was just such a poor judge of character when it came to men. She saw what she wanted to see as opposed to who the guy in question actually was.

She wanted to see Frerin as a decent guy, interested in more than just getting off.

She wanted to see him as relationship material—faithful and upfront with her. And interested in more than just getting off.

But at the same time, he had a very convenient reason ready-made and always believable. And he was a guy, so maybe he wasn't interested in more than just getting off.

How depressing.

How infuriating.

Another sigh and she moved to swipe the bag up from her bed and all but threw it into the closet, then slammed the door. It made her feel better, but only for a minute. When the initial sense of satisfaction faded, she realized she felt rather empty. She’d been looking forward to seeing him again, especially to seeing if Heather’s prediction would come true.

But it wasn't meant to be.

****

The ER was a madhouse. For the better part of twelve hours, Frerin did nothing but run from one exam room to another. A three car pileup on Route Nine. A Christmas tree fire that brought a family of five in with various degrees of burns and smoke inhalation. Two emergency deliveries—one a C-section to boot—and seven merry makers not quite ready to let go of the season who drank bad egg nog and were now currently hunched over emesis basins puking their guts out.

By seven o’clock, Frerin wasn’t certain he’d remember his own name if anyone asked. He sank onto the sofa in the doctor’s lounge, head back, a coffee mug in one hand, and as his eyes closed, he muttered, “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

“Dr. Durin?”

“He’s not here.”

“You’re needed in Curtain Three.”

He lifted his head and opened his eyes to stare at Carol. “Are you kidding me? I just sat down. First time since four o’clock. Christmas is over, why are they all still coming through here full of egg nog and candy canes?”

“Because some people don’t want the season to end, Dr. Scrooge.” She moved to the counter where the Keurig was and opened the cabinet to take out a Krispy Kreme pod. “But, I promise you, this one isn’t throwing up. At least, not yet.”

He swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “Is it at least someone under eighteen?”

She nodded. “Twelve year old. Possibly appendicitis. A real, live pedes case for you.”

“Wonderful.” He pushed up from the sofa with a crinkle of what had to be thirty year old naugahyde, and bowed his back with a low groan before setting his cup on the table. “Curtain Three?”

“Yeah. Holly is waiting for you.”

“Thanks.” He tugged open the lounge door and maneuvered his way through the sea of bodies toward Curtain Three.

He paused outside the closed drapes that acted as privacy walls. “Jessica Mauro?”

“Come in.”

He stepped around the curtains to find a pale and tired-looking preteen girl in the narrow bed, and an equally tired looking older blonde woman sitting next to it. He looked over at Holly. “This my rule-out appy?”

Holly nodded. “She has lower right quadrant pain and a temp of one-oh-one. No vomiting but she’s tender to the touch.”

“Okay. Let’s take a look.” He took the chart and perused it briefly, then set it on the tray table. “Hi, Jessica. I’m Dr. Durin. You’re not feeling so well?”

She shook her head. “I feel like crap, to be honest.”

“Jessie!”

“Sorry, Mom.”

Frerin smiled, reaching for the box of gloves on the shelf near the bed. “It’s all right, Mrs….?”

“Mauro also.”

“It’s not the worst thing I’ve heard today, Mrs. Mauro. Tell me, when did the pain start?”

Jessica pursed her lips. “It’s been bugging me all day, but I thought it was just,” she case a side eye glance at her mother, “really bad cramps.”

A hint of color came to her cheeks as she said it and he moved closer to her bedside. “No worries. Do you mind if I take a look?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Good.” He tugged the hospital gown up and carefully pressed about the general area, freezing when she gasped and cried out at the same time. “Sorry about that, Jessica. There’s no other way to do that.”

“So, it’s her appendix?” Mrs. Mauro asked.

“It could be, but we need to rule out a few more things first.” He looked up at her. “Why don’t you go and get a cup of coffee while I chat with Jessica for a few minutes.”

Mrs. Mauro sat up straighter. “Is there something else it could be? Something I should worry about?”

“I didn't say that.” He glanced over at Holly. “Nurse DeLuca, could you show Mrs. Mauro where the coffee machine is?”

“Sure. Come with me, Mrs. Mauro. Dr. Durin only needs a few minutes.”

She looked over at her daughter, who said, “It’s okay, Mom. I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Five minutes, Mrs. Mauro,” he said, holding up one hand, fingers splayed out.

He waited for Holly and Mrs. Mauro to leave, and then turned back to Jessica. “How old are you, Jessica?”

“Thirteen… well, I’ll be thirteen in two weeks.”

“My daughter’s thirteen. It can be a tough age.” He drew over the low stool and sank onto it. “So, you’re in sixth grade?”

“Seventh.”

“Seventh grade. I remember seventh grade.” He smiled. “Do you have a boyfriend, Jessica?”

She shrugged. “Kind of.”

“Kind of. Kind of how?”

“I don’t know. Just… kind of…” She twisted the blanket’s binding as she added, “Why?”

“Well, I just need a bit of history, to rule out anything else. And I can get another nurse to come in here if you’re uncomfortable with me. Or we can wait until your mom comes back, if you’d be more comfortable that way.”

“No, this is okay.”

“Good. I’m going to ask you a couple of questions that might be uncomfortable, but it’s really important that you’re honest with me, Jessica. Okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“When was your last period?”

“I told the nurse it was right around Thanksgiving.”

“Before or after?”

“Uh.. before, I think.”

“Okay, now when you say you have a boyfriend, are you doing anything with him?”

“Why?”

“Because there are certain conditions that present like appendicitis, but aren’t. And I need to rule them all out.” He pulled off his gloves to toss into the trash can. “So, are you doing anything with him?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Kissing or more?”

“More.”

He drew in a deep breath. “Are you and this boy having sex?”

She didn't answer at first, but a deep blush swept up along her cheekbones and she nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Are you using anything?”

“We used a condom.”

“Good. That’s good. Protect yourself. That’s the most important thing.”

“But it slipped off.”

“It slipped off?”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah. He said he found it, though. You cannot tell my mom any of this. She will absolutely kill me if she finds out.”

“I’m not going to tell your mother, Jessica. Not without your permission.”

“Wait, you mean, you aren’t going tell me that my mom won’t kill me? That I should tell her?”

“Well, in a perfect world, yeah, you should tell her. But it’s your decision, not mine. You know your mother.”

Her dark eyes narrowed slightly. “Do you think I should?”

“Well, let’s wait and see what the problem is first, okay?”

“What do you think it is?”

“I want to run a couple of tests and it won’t take long.” He looked up as Holly and Mrs. Mauro came back. “Ah, perfect timing. Holly,” he rose from the stool and moved over to her, “let’s get a CBC, and urine dip and check the icon.”

Mrs. Mauro looked from Holly to him. “What are those?”

“Routine bloodwork. I’ll need your consent for them, though.” He took the chart from the tray and held it out.

“Is one of them a pregnancy test?”

“It’s routine, Mrs. Mauro. All female patients of child bearing age are tested.” He held out a pen as well.

“Why would you test a twelve year old girl?”

“Because twelve year olds who have already gotten their periods can get pregnant.”

“But my daughter is not—”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Jessica broke in quietly, the blush gone from her cheeks. “Just sign it, okay?”

“Jessie…” Mrs. Mauro turned to her, her eyes wide. “Are you telling me…?”

“Just sign. Please?”

“Oh, shit…” Mrs. Mauro muttered even as she scrawled her signature across the sheet. “You’re only twelve, Jess…”

Frerin looked over at Holly, whose eyebrows rose as Jessica said, “We were bored.”

“Jess!”

Jessica must’ve decided her mother wouldn’t kill her after all. Biting back a smile, Frerin turned to Mrs. Mauro. “I’ll be back as soon as those test results come in, okay, Jessica? If you start to feel any worse, just let Nurse DeLuca know and she’ll come find me.”

“Okay.”

Holly followed him to the edge of the curtain. “What are you thinking?”

Peering in at Jessica, he said, “I want to rule out an ectopic, just to be safe. So, put a rush on the bloodwork.”

“I’ll see what I can do. The lab is just as shorthanded as we are.”

“Well, tell them this is a Code Red and needs to be done before anything else. Tell them it’s a kid if you have to.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks.”

They parted ways then and he wove his way back to the desk and the still-overflowing rack of charts. “Who’s next?”

Ashley looked up from the forms she thumbed through. “Take your pick, Dr. D. The waiting room is overflowing.”

“Any kids?”

She gave him a look. “I don’t memorize the charts. I just rack them.”

“Okay, okay. Yeesh…” He moved down to thumb through them. “Aha! Two year old with the croup. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in Exam One. I’m waiting on some lab results for Curtain Three, so can someone let me know the minute they land in my inbox?”

“I’m on it, Dr. D.”

“Thank you!”

“Dr. Durin? Lab results on your ectopic are in.”

Frerin looked up from the chart he was reviewing as Ashley held out the lab slip. “Thanks, Ashley.”

As he looked down, a heavy sigh came to his lips. Carol came around the corner of the desk. “Bad news?”

He looked up. “Twelve year old with an ectopic. Ashley, get OB on the phone for me?”

“Sure thing, Dr. D.” Ashely dialed the number and a moment later, held out the phone. “Dr. Miller’s covering.”

“Good.” He took the phone. “Randi, it’s Frerin Durin in the ER. I’ve got a twelve year old down here with an ectopic pregnancy that we need to take care of ASAP.”

“Damn, twelve…” Randi Miller let out a whistle. “Give me a few minutes to secure an OR and I’ll meet you up on Six once you get consent.”

“Great. I’ll have her there ASAP.”

“Sounds good.”

Frerin handed the receiver back to Ashley. “Do you know where Holly is?”

“I think she’s in Exam One.” Carol gestured toward the exam rooms down the hallway.

“Okay.” He picked up Jessica Mauro’s chart and tucked the lab slip in with it, then made his way down to the exam rooms and poked his head in. “Excuse me, Holly, do you have a moment?”

She looked away from the elderly woman she was with and nodded. “I’ll be finished here in just a few minutes.”

“Okay. Meet me in Curtain Three?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks. Sorry to interrupt.”

The elderly woman smiled. “It’s no trouble. Feel free to interrupt again, if you like.”

Holly burst out laughing. “Mrs. Zwicker!”

“What? He’s cute.”

Frerin chuckled as he ducked back out of the exam room and wound his way back toward the Curtain areas. At Curtain Three, he said, “Jessica?”

“Yeah?”

He came around the curtain to find both Jessica and her mother looking even more exhausted now. “Your labs came back. Mrs. Mauro, would you mind giving us—”

“It’s okay,” Jessica said slowly, reaching for her mother’s hand. “You can say whatever it is.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “It’s okay. I already told her.”

He looked from mother to daughter. Mrs. Mauro certainly didn't look as if she was about to kill her daughter, so he took that as a good sign. “I’m afraid you have what’s called an ectopic pregnancy.”

She stared at him. “I’m pregnant?”

“Holy crap,” Mrs. Mauro whispered.

“Mom!”

“Okay, hold on,” he broke in softly. “You are, but instead if implanting in the uterus, the fertilized egg is in your fallopian tube.”

“So, do you need to operate to move it?” Jessica asked, her fingers visibly tightening about her mother’s.

“We do need to operate,” he said, “and I’ve already spoken with the OB on call and when we finish here, we’ll take you up to surgery, but I’m afraid we can’t move it, Jessica. It isn’t a viable pregnancy.”

“So, I’m having an abortion?”

“Is that really necessary?” Mrs. Mauro asked.

“I’m afraid so, Mrs. Mauro. And it has to be taken care of as soon as possible to avoid any complications. So, I have a consent form I’ll need you to sign and—”

Mrs. Mauro stared at him. “And if I refuse to give it?”

“Mom!”

“Mrs. Mauro, under law, pregnancy emancipates Jessica, so she technically doesn’t need parental consent. However, it would make things easier for you both if you would.”

Mrs. Mauro bit her bottom lip as Jessica broke in with, “But, I don't want an abortion, Mom. I—I want to keep the baby.”

“It’s all right, baby,” she replied, smoothing Jessica’s sleep-matted dark hair away from her face. “This is different, okay. You’ll be fine.”

“Mommy… no…”

“Jessica, listen to me,” Frerin set the chart down and with his free hand, caught the stool to bring it to her bedside, “I know it’s kind of scary, but it really does need to be done. If we don’t operate quickly, your life could be in danger. Like I said, this isn’t a matter of choice. This has to be done.”

She shook her head. “I don't want to.”

“Jessie…” Mrs. Mauro cleared her throat. “Dr. Durin, could I speak with you outside?”

“Sure.” He rose and followed her from the exam area. “What is it?”

“Her father came into this hospital three months ago. He’d had a heart attack and his doctor told him he needed to have a stent put in, so he agreed and he died from complications of having it done.”

“I understand and I’m sorry for your loss, but this really is not something that can wait. It truly is a matter of time. If we don’t terminate, the fallopian tube can rupture and Jessica could hemorrhage to death if that happens.”

“No, I understand and I’m not fighting you on it. I just wanted you to understand why she is.”

“I do understand. And I don't blame her at all.”

“So, where is the consent form?”

“Inside.” He moved the curtain to allow her to pass by and once they were at Jessica’s bedside, he said, “I’ll go up with you, Jessica. Trust me, you’ll be in the best hands in the hospital. I promise.”

She didn't look entirely convinced. “Will you stay with me?”

Holly came into the room along with someone from Transport. “Dr. Durin, do you need me to go up with Jessica?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “I’ll go up with her. Why don't we and Mrs. Mauro, I can answer any questions you might have on the way.”

“Sure.”

Mrs. Mauro signed the consent and passed it back to him. “Will I be able to see her before she goes in? That’s really the only question I have.”

“You’ll be able to be with her until she does.” He took the form, tucked it in with Jessica’s chart and looked down at her. “Are you ready?”

Jessica didn't look ready at all, even as she nodded. “Okay.”

“You’re going to be just fine,” he told her, moving as the guy from Transport came around to unlock the wheels of Jessica’s bed.

“You ready, Miss Jessica? I’m Tony and I promise you, I won’t hit the bumps too hard.”

“I’m ready.”

He rolled her out and Mrs. Mauro turned to Frerin. “She looks so much younger than twelve.”

“They always do.”

“Do you have any children?”

“I have three. My daughter is just a little older than Jessica.”

“You can’t keep them safe, you know? You try and try and try, but… they are going to do what they’re going to do.”

“The important thing is communication, Mrs. Mauro. You keep those lines open, and you’ll be amazed at what happens.”

“Dr. Durin?” Jessica called over the top of her bed.

He fell into step alongside her. “What is it, Jessica?”

“Are you going to be doing my operation?”

“No. I’m not. Dr. Miller is and she’s really good. You’re in the best hands. I promise.”

“You never answered me about staying with me. Would you?”

“Dr. Durin?” Ashley poked her head around the corner. “You’ve got a drunk slip and fall waiting in Exam Four.”

“Get Zander to take it. I’m going up with my twelve year old.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll be back down when she’s in Recovery.”

“Okay.”

He glanced down at Jessica. “I’ll stay until you go into surgery.”

“Thank you, Dr. Durin.”

He reached down to ruffle her hair as they all got onto the elevator and the doors slid shut. Reese would be pissed, but he’d get over it. And even if he didn’t, Frerin didn't care.

#Gerard Butler #Frerin Durin #Frerin x OC #AU #Frerin Fic #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Modern AU #ER AU #Hospital AU #Richard Armitage #The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction

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