#i just realised ive never drawn him facing the front before..its like looking at a front-facing horse... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spacedikut · 4 years ago

Text

“i want to love someone and be loved” ; spencer reid - part 2

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: spencer decides it’s time to tell you, but he needs some help. 3887 words. part 1

a/n: THIS is the longest fic ive ever written but im actually kinda proud of how it turned out? i hope this is a good sequel :)

Spencer chickens out of telling you the next day.

He avoids you all weekend, actually. You resisted texting him the day after Rossi’s because you assumed he’d be busy – with his big plan involving a girl that isn’t you. You’re not bitter – but Sunday comes around and you message him not long after you wake up and six hours later there’s no response.

Twelve hours later - there’s no response.

Monday, you don’t have time to say hello to anyone – there’s a case waiting for you, somewhere in Florida.

Reid avoids your eyes. His body language tells you something is wrong, so you assume whoever he confessed to didn’t reciprocate (they’re insane) and he’s dealing with it. So you don’t press.

Spencer pretends to sleep the entire jet ride. He’s avoiding everyone, not just you.

He spent the whole weekend beating himself up. He drove to your apartment on Saturday, sat outside for so long a neighbour knocked on his window and asked if he was lost, but couldn’t bring himself to step foot out of his car.

So he locked himself in his room, away from you and your loveliness and away from his phone because he knew you texted him and he knew you’d send some soft message about being there for him if he needs anything and he didn’t need to be reminded of how beautiful and out of reach you are.

Derek seemed to be waiting for him Monday morning, arms crossed as he held a cup of coffee. It was weird seeing him in before Spencer.

“How’d it go?” He immediately asked.

“How’d what go?” Spencer mumbles, flinging his bag on the floor by his desk. He slumps in his seat.

Derek raises a dark eyebrow, “You know what, pretty boy. You had a big thing? Big plan?”

“Didn’t work out.”

It doesn’t take a profiler to realise Spencer is very clearly saying leave me alone. Leave it alone.

Derek isn’t one to leave it alone. Especially when it comes to Spencer.

He sighs and moves a little closer to Spencer’s desk, just in case someone overhears them.

“What happened?”

“That’s exactly it,” Spencer slams open a file, “Nothing happened.”

“And why did nothing happen?”

“Because I’m an idiot that can’t even tell a girl how I feel.”

“Whoa- hey!”

Derek spins Spencer’s chair so they’re face to face. Derek takes one look in Spencer’s eyes and knows what’s going on – he got too into his head and backed out at the last minute.

“You’re not an idiot. Why didn’t you do it?”

Spencer shrugs, “I got to her apartment. I had flowers, too. I don’t know.”

Derek’s evidently concerned – Spencer’s beaten up over this, over whoever this girl is, and he deserves the chance to experience love. Spencer deserves a lot more than he himself thinks he does.

“You seemed really excited, man. You can still do it. Just cause you try once and it doesn’t work out doesn’t mean you can’t ever try again.”

Spencer stares off into the distance, accidentally ignoring Derek as his thoughts slip out of his mouth, “Yeah, it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway – I was stupid to think I could get someone like her.”

“Hey, no.” Derek nudges Spencer’s shoulder so he looks at him again, “Don’t talk like that. You’re one hell of a guy, Reid. All you gotta do is get that confidence that you had Friday night back, and you’re all set. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Spencer gives a feeble nod. Derek moves back to his desk, knowing he isn’t convinced, but he isn’t done yet.

+++

Later, in Florida, Spencer’s making a coffee in the precinct’s kitchen after waiting twenty minutes for you to leave. Luck’s on his side, for once, and you’ve been working non-stop with Prentiss going crime scene to crime scene so he hasn’t had to actively avoid you. You smile at him every chance you get, though, and it distracts him.

Someone clears their throat behind him. It’s Penelope, whom Spencer didn’t realise was invited on this case.

She looks guilty. Spencer recognises that face; the face she has when she’s done something she shouldn’t have or knows something she isn’t really supposed to. Given current circumstances, Spencer bets it’s the latter reason.

“Morgan told me something he shouldn’t have.”

Bingo.

He leans against the kitchen counter, stirring his coffee absentmindedly.

“What did he tell you?” He asks, feigning tranquillity. Inside he’s screaming non-stop.

She’s got her hands clasped together in front of her, almost innocently, and fiddles with her fingers, “He told me you needed assistance in the love department.” Before he can object, she continues, “And I am willing to do anything if it means our resident weirdo-slash-genius falls in love and gets to experience some much needed cuteness.”

There’s no point in lying to her. There’s also no point in being mad that Morgan told her about his situation – they’re kind of a package deal. And, who knows, Garcia might be able to help.

“So…” She sways, trying (and failing) to appear nonchalant, “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Spencer shuffles on the spot, scuffing his shoes against the floor. He debates whether he should tell her, since, you know, you’re in the next room over, but Spencer worries that Garcia is so good at her job she’d somehow find out through hacking Spencer’s phone, or maybe somehow hacking his dreams. His subconscious. He’s terrified of Garcia and her abilities.

“You can tell me.” She insists, “I’m much better at keeping secrets than Morgan.”

Spencer turns away from her, she steps closer, and he mumbles your name.

“What?”

“Y/N.”

“WHAT?!”

Spencer spins, hands coming up to tell Garcia to shut up and Garcia immediately covers her mouth in both shock and hopefully so she doesn’t shout again.

“Since when?!” She screeches. “How could I not have known?! Oh God, almighty Doctor Reid, I feel like I’ve failed you by not realising earlier.”

Her enthusiasm makes him smile, for the first time in far too long. Garcia has that power – this innate skill to comfort those around her and make them feel special, make them smile when the world feels like its collapsing.

“Let me help!” She requests.

Spencer’s clearly hesitant. He knows it’s a bad idea.

“Please!” She begs, “I just- I have so many ideas of how you can go about this. Let me brainstorm, get back to you, and if I’m too over-the-top you can tell me no and we’ll pretend it never happened!”

He takes a deep breath. Yes, Garcia is the definition of over-the-top, but that’s one of his favourite things about her. It’s your favourite thing, too. And he did tell Morgan he had big plans. Anything involving Garcia is a big plan with big payoff.

“This is between us.”

“I’ll take it to the grave. Unless you realise how amazing my ideas are and use one to tell Y/N how you feel and then years later I get to commend myself during my maid of honour speech at your wedding.”

She looks ecstatic, hands now together under her jaw as her eyes twinkle. Spencer can’t help but laugh at her eagerness.

+++

The next day, the team returns to Quantico after a semi-successful case. The general mood is good and Morgan invites everyone out for drinks – Spencer declines, but you have your first full conversation since last Friday.

“C’mon, Spence,” Your head rests against the jet seat and you blink sleepily at him, “I feel like I haven’t spoken to you for years!”

Spencer gives you a small smile, “I promised my mom I’d call her tonight. Sorry, Y/N.”

You nod in understanding, “Will you tell her I say hi?”

“Of course. She loves you.”

You grin at eachother, immediately lost in your own world. You’ve missed him more than you realised, and you have no idea what’s going through his head, but you’re happy that you’ve had this – a Spencer Reid smile that makes you feel at home and on top of the world simultaneously.

Spencer has to tear his eyes away before he blurts something stupid, like she’s not the only one that loves you.

+++

“Spencer!” Garcia greets, Cheshire cat grin on her face. “I need to see you in my dungeon, please. Immediately.”

Spencer drops the file he’s holding. Unfortunately, Penelope’s request caught the attention of the whole team.

“What business do you have in the villain’s lair, Reid?” Derek asks. You’ve looked up from your computer, Emily smirking and leaning back in her chair in expectation.

“Uh…”

“Important nerd business. Go away.” Garcia says, eyes narrow as she tugs Spencer’s hand. He’s whisked away from any further questioning, leaving the befuddled team behind.

He isn’t sure what to expect when he stumbles into Penelope’s second home, but the display in front of him explains why he overheard a conversation about missing evidence boards earlier. Penelope’s obviously been using the new printer in her cave to her advantage – there’s at least twenty different pictures printed out on one board titled “date ideas”, then the board on the right has a picture of Spencer and you in the centre with a perfectly drawn heart around it. Under and around that is a mixture of love quotes, including song lyrics and quotes directly from romantic movies. He notices “The Parliament of Fowls” on there – Garcia remembers that he mentioned it’s considered the first Valentines poem?

“Whoa,” Is all he can say.

“I know it’s a little intense,” Garcia squirms, “But! I started scrolling through Pinterest and couldn’t stop. I don’t know what came over me, maybe some type of love deity, but I started thinking about you and Y/N in a classic love film in, like, black and white and I…”

She’s out of breath from animatedly explaining.

Spencer laughs through his nose, almost a scoff, but he’s impressed. He shouldn’t have expected anything else from the Penelope Garcia.

As Spencer wanders towards the first board, Garcia follows him like a shadow, “My personal favourite is-“ She points to a picture of chocolate fondue with faceless people in very little clothing, “-this one.”

Spencer awkwardly clears his throat when he begins to think of you and him like that.

“A little much for your declaration of love, though, I get it,” Garcia nods.

He scans the board – heart speeding up when he moves from idea to idea and picturing you and him in each one. He can’t help but think no, that one would be good for our anniversary – ah, she’d love to do that one for her birthday.

“What’re you thinking?” Garcia asks quietly. She knows his brain is whirring like her computer drive, so she approaches him gently.

“This one.” He says. “Where should we do it?”

Garcia grins behind him. The one he’s referring to shows a dinner table set up outside, brown wooded table with white wooden chairs opposite eachother. There’s flowers at the centre, a bottle of wine already poured in each glass in front of a basket of cookies, and the area around is shrouded by shrubbery, fairy lights hanging delicately from every-which-way.

It’s perfect. You love fairy lights, Spencer loves cookies, and the set-up looks private enough for Spencer to feel confident when he empties his heart and soul to you.

“The roof.” Garcia says wistfully.

“We have access to that?”

“Yes.” They both know they don’t. “Leave it to me. Oh… one more thing.” She adds, hesitantly, “Can Morgan help? I’m a lot of things, including emotionally strong and your love guru, but physically I’m gonna need some assistance.”

Spencer doesn’t even need to agree – Morgan’s gonna involve himself no matter what.

+++

Five o’clock is quickly approaching and you’re slumped over your desk, lost in your work. You need to be lost in it, because ever since Garcia released Spencer from her office right after lunch he’s been sneaking glances at you (he’s not sneaky) and has made several attempts to approach you but decided against it, sharply turning and pretending he meant to go another way instead.

You are beyond confused. You assume it’s to do with the girl he’s been trying to get over – you hope he’s been trying to build the confidence to tell you exactly what happened and maybe, you really hope, he’ll invite you over for the weekend so you can slip back into your old routine.

“Psst.”

You assume they’re not trying to get your attention, so you don’t move.

“Psst!”

You still don’t move.

“Y/N!”

Your head snaps up to Spencer leaning over the divider between your desks. He looks alarmed – which is odd, given he’s the one who called you – and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he finally speaks.

“Are you busy tonight?” He sits back and, if he wasn’t so goddamn tall, all you’d be able to see would be his eyes. His added height means you can see his eyes and his nose. You wanna kiss it.

You smile – this is an olive branch, “I am completely available for whatever it is you might need.”

You sound incredibly eager, which you are. You miss him.

His cheeks move upwards, a smile, “Can I talk to you, later, on the roof? Uh-“ He clears his throat, “-I need to tell you something.”

You raise an eyebrow, “You’re not gonna push me off, right?”

“No,” He laughs.

“Promise me.”

Now he guffaws, “I would never, Y/N!”

“Promise me, Reid!”

“Alright, alright! I promise!” He’s jokingly raising his hands in a form of surrender.

You give him another smile and turn back to your work. You feel at ease, now, thinking he’s finally gonna tell you what happened on the weekend – finally you’ll be able to help him and go back to normal.

Spencer, on the other hand, is the exact opposite of ease. He’s about to pour his heart out to you.

He takes a deep breath and looks back to his computer, which is open on a tab titled “How to Tell Someone You Like Them.”

Step 3: Be Confident.

Spencer opens a new tab and searches, “How to be confident.”

+++

Garcia hacks into Spencer’s computer to open a document and type that the roof is ready. She wishes him luck, tells him she loves him, and calls dibs on being the godmother of your future children. As if she doesn’t have enough godchildren as it is.

He clears his throat and your head snaps towards him. You’ve been done for a while, playing Tetris on your phone, waiting for Spencer to take you to the roof where he swears he won’t kill you – you’re not entirely convinced.

“Um-“ He scratches his neck, “You ready to go?”

You nod and give him a weak smile in hopes it gives him some type of reassurance.

“Whatever happened, it’s okay, Spence.”

All he does is nod in return, gathering his coat and bag. He doesn’t really register what you say, or he would’ve been very confused.

You follow him up to the roof. The elevator ride is silent and Spencer is jittery; his hands twitch and tap against his legs, he’s bouncing on his toes and he keeps looking at you through the corner of his eye. You’ve taken several deep breaths to calm your racing heart – you hate heights, and this is the closest you’ve been to Spencer in a week. This will be the longest conversation you’ve had with him in a week, too.

The second the doors open, Spencer leaps in front of you.

“Wait!”

You jump back in surprise, “What? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Completely fine. Just… when we get there, let me explain first, okay? Before you say anything.” He’s pleading, as if you’ve already told him no. You look at him with furrowed brows and mumble an ‘okay’.

You’re visibly confused as you trek up the flight of stairs to the roof. Spencer pushes open the fire door and the first thing you notice is how bright the roof is – you always assumed it’d be dark, little light, especially at night like this.

Wait.

There’s fairy lights… everywhere. You’re pretty sure this isn’t the norm for the FBI roof.

Spencer is equally as awed at what he sees before him - it’s exactly the photo he saw in Garcia’s cave brought to life, but he’s too distracted by you to fully appreciate it. You look like a child on Christmas; eyes wide, pupils blown, mouth slightly agape. You’re gorgeous.

“What…is this, Spence?” You wonder, noticing the set table, fingers grazing the roses that sit in a vase in the middle. They’re fresh and smell wonderful.

He stands a little behind you, fiddling with his hands, and clears his throat, “Would you like to take a seat?”

You do. When he finally sits, he pours you a glass of wine and you immediately take an anxious sip. Although Rossi is a big fan of wine, you rarely take interest in it only when Spencer’s involved. You’ve come to associate wine with him – a smile peeks out from your glass as you stare at the man opposite you.

“I need to get something off my chest. But there’s cookies, if you want one,” He picks one up from his plate, breaking it in half and giving it to you. He’s stalling, but you seem to take the bait and bite into it.

“Are these from the bakery two blocks away?”

“Yeah,” He replies, but he isn’t really paying attention. He doesn’t know where to begin.

You wait patiently for him to open up. You’re still unsure of what to make of all of this – the beautiful setting, the wine, the flowers, the lights. God, the lights are dazzling in the Virginia night sky. You need context, and you need it now.

“Spence-“

“Listen.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, I just…” He trails off, “I need to say what I need to say before I back out again.”

You fold your hands in your lap. You’re ready for whatever’s to come.

“Do you know how long we’ve known eachother?” He asks. His head tilts like a puppy.

“Nearly five years. Our friendaversary is coming up, you know.”

You realise, then, that this must be a celebration for that – that explains the… typically romantic setting. Before you can open your mouth to ask if that what’s this is, Spencer speaks.

“Four years, three-hundred and sixty days. That’s how long we’ve known eachother.”

“If we were dating, we would’ve been my longest relationship the second we passed a year.”

You don’t know why you said it, but it flusters him. He has to pause to take a breath and collect his thoughts.

“I’ve been in love with you for four years and three hundred and fifty-eight days, Y/N.”

It’s silent as you process and he figures out how to continue.

“I knew you were special when you were introduced to us. Hotch already had such a soft spot for you, and you had this way about you that made us all fall in love instantly. I remember Garcia did a background check the second she found out your name and she said you remind her of me and I… that freaked me out, to be honest. I thought you’d try to replace me.” He huffs a laugh, but can’t bring himself to look you in the eye, “I realised I was in love with you when you drunkenly defended me. Do you remember that?” His eyes flicker to yours for half a second – you’re wide-eyed, “You’d known me for two days at that point, but we’d already done a case together so we were celebrating. And these guys at the bar were whispering about me, acting like I couldn’t hear them, and the second you realised what was happening you stood up, stormed towards them and gave them a piece of your mind. It was incredible.

“You barely knew me, at least personally, but you thought so highly of me you scolded a group of drunk bodybuilders without a second thought. You made them apologise – it was hysterical watching someone half their size force them into submission like that – and when you were done you asked if I wanted to leave and go get ice cream. We couldn’t, cause you vomited on the way there, but I knew in that moment I loved you and I feel so hard, so quickly, I didn’t know what to do. And you never… you never indicated you thought of me as anything other than a friend so I didn’t try. Then you dated Greg who, in my opinion, sucked on his best days, and you encouraged me to date Abigail and I…”

He’s run out of breath and of things to say.

“I just love you, Y/N. I’m in love with you.” He adds, “I hope that’s okay.”

He finally looks at you, then. You’re just staring and he panics when he can’t make out what you’re feeling. He’s always been able to read you, you’ve always hated the saying that eyes are the windows to the soul because your eyes are always your tell, but now they’re… glassy.

You’re crying.

“Spencer…” You gasp, throat tight.

“It’s okay.” Spencer gives a tight-lipped smile. He knows what’s coming. He should’ve expected it. He has been expecting it.

“I love you too, Spence.”

Spencer chokes on air. He takes a gulp of wine.

You give him a teary smile in disbelief, “I’ve always loved you, Spence. I thought you knew that – I thought that big brain of yours knew exactly how I felt and… you didn’t do anything about it so I thought you didn’t feel the same. Spencer…”

He slowly moves a hand to place it palm-up on the table. Immediately you place your hand in his, your grip tight as you lovingly stare at him. This feels unreal.

“I’m in love with you too, you idiot.” You half laugh, half cry, “If you’ve really loved me this long, we’ve wasted so much time! God, we’re both idiots.”

Spencer’s crying too, now, and he starts laughing with you.

You’re two idiots in love, sitting opposite eachother on the roof of your place of work in a dream-like surrounding filled with fairy lights and flowers, and you could’ve been doing this for years.

Spencer sniffles, looking at you through his wet eyelashes, “Would you like to be my girlfriend?”

“If I say yes, will I get more dates like this?” You tease.

“Well, Garcia has a whole evidence board of date ideas she stole from Pinterest. We have enough ideas to last a lifetime.” He giggles.

“Penny was in on this?!”

Spencer gives a heh, “This is all thanks to her, so yeah.”

“She’s always had our backs.”

“She’s also now going to be convinced she’s cupid.”

You laugh again, and can’t help yourself when you lean across the table, still gripping Spencer’s hand, and letting your lips fall on his. Spencer leans into you, lips moving against yours as you both try to suppress grins.

You pull back slightly, Spencer’s lips following you, and whisper, “I would love to be your girlfriend.”

He kisses you again. And again. And again, just cause he can.

Big plan, big payoff. You’re worth every little stress and more.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #mine #garcia is watching everything through the security cameras btw #you think she'd do all this and NOT watch her hard work flourish?#think AGAIN

1K notes · View notes

timextoxhajima · 4 years ago

Text

HOSTIS, Chapter V: Monitum, Warning

BONUS TRACK: APARTMENT - BOBI ANDONOV

Previous Chapter (IV: Vetiti Fructus In)

Member: Lee Hyunjae (tbz)

Genre (by chapter): angsty ass hate smut

Category: Short Novel/Long Series

A/N: BIG HOLY WATER TIME I’M SERIOUS THIS CHAPTER IS SO LONG AND IT’S ALL SMUT

“apologise and i’ll consider playing nice.”

“oh, you’re damn right i wished it was my mom.”

“you’re despicable.”

“was that a joke? because i think it would’ve been funnier if i was a mirror,” you scoff ridiculously loudly, almost spitting in his face while you said it, hand already pulling the door to slam shut in his face.

"fuck off."

but he stops the door in its tracks, and abruptly pushes himself through the entrance. the taste of wine that lingered on your tongue ages into disgust and you fold your arms across your chest while he closes the gap. his eyes loom over yours and his hand flies up to your throat, pushing you backwards and nearly crashing you into a wall.

your palms reach out by your hips to cushion the impact, and the dark lighting of the hallway highlights the shimmer of hatred and detest in his eyes.

temptation draws a smirk up your lips, but he only solidifies his grip around your neck without applying any more pressure. the meticulous calculation of how much force he should have around your neck slaps you with a reminder that he was a doctor too, and he knew exactly how much to let you breathe so you wouldn't pass out.

you find yourself gripping onto his forearm and wrist, pants and heavy breaths puffing out of your nostrils without cleaning the grin of satisfaction off your face.

"i knew you you were daring, but i didn't think you were one to truly stoop so low."

despise and malice radiated off him in waves, and you were lapping it up like it was water; like it was essential.

"you’re not that much of a saint either, lee hyunjae."

air gets sucked into your chest as he peels you off the wall and walks you backwards, the light of the kitchen slowly falling upon the features of his oh-so-butthurt face.

"you want to play petty?" one of his brows twitch and raise obnoxiously. your lower back hits the edge of the kitchen island sitting right under the lamp, and the same strength that was pulling out all his veins and forearm muscles was also angling your spine backwards.

"we'll play petty."

shivers of failed attempts of effort to remain upright run through your body, and your shoulder blades hit the surface of the kitchen table.

his right hand never leaves your throat, but his left reaches for the one thing you already knew he was going to take. nonetheless, it still sparked a furious flame inside you.

"don't you fucking dare--"

"or what?" he slides his tongue across his bottom lip and bites down on it. the bottle of wine gets lifted into the air just inches above your throat where his hand was, and he tilts it.

"what the hell are you-- motherfucker!" the expensive fluid starts to rain all over your neck, and he doesn't stop there. once he realised that there was enough left in it for him to play with, he runs the bottle and the rest of its contents down the length of your body.

your clothes drink up the blood-red beverage and the material starts to cling to your skin, the feeling of wet cotton against your body starts to make you writhe and cringe under him.

"that was fucking good wine you just wasted, asshole."

the base of the bottle hits the surface of a table with a sharp sound, and he leans over you menacingly. the sweet smell of the wine starts intoxicating the both of you, and your chin starts to tilt up and pull away from under his grasp when his face comes dangerously near to yours.

"then i guess it's a good thing that i'll be tasting it."

a cry of protest rolls out between your parted lips when he leans into the side of your face, his breath becoming heavier with every passing moment. your chin starts to dart around in the air, but it involuntarily stops and replaces the aggressive physical protest with complete stillness.

his lips rested on your neck where the wine first hit, and he starts sucking and licking your skin like he was having ice cream.

thoughts against your will start to flood your head as you squeezed your eyes shut, and your nails dig into his skin of his forearm that was still holding you down.

your body reacts in a way you don't ever want it to, not in front of him, and it was almost like it hated you.

the tremors that were rippling throughout your torso from the contact of his lips and tongue on your neck was enough for the nerves in his fingers to pick up, and you huff like you just ran a marathon when he finally stops violating the space under your ear.

your vision focuses on the reflection of yourself in the toaster directly opposite you, the rampant thumping in your head combined with the smell of wine in the air was making you lose your grip on reality.

like watching a horror movie, you observe his face dipping low enough to trace your line of vision, and his eyes lock with yours in the reflection of the toaster. his fingers around your neck sends your face into an ugly mess of emotion, and he digs his fingers into your cheek to yank your attention back to him directly.

"let's see how long it's going to take for me to break you, because it looks like your body isn't listening to that hollow head of yours."

the muscles around your nose contract with rage when his fingers brush against your stomach. the wine made it all the more easier for him to slide his hand up your torso and stops right below your bra, the sensation of someone's touch on your skin forcing your head to tilt backwards.

you stifle a cry by sucking your lips between you teeth, but a hiss quickly takes over when he removes his hand and pushes your shirt up instead.

the lines of collected wine on your skin shimmers under the light, and like bees drawn to honey, he runs his tongue on every line of wine within his sight.

a loud whimper escapes your throat, and your grip around his arm tightens even more. there was nothing in your head telling him to stop, and you hated it.

this was your body's way of telling you that it didn't want him to stop, despite how much you wanted it to.

his lips replace his tongue every now and then, and the suction of your skin into his mouth tells you that he wasn't going to let you go free of any reminders that you chose to fuck with the other half of two areses.

his nose finds your cleavage, and the tugging on your bra starts to send loud, alarming signals through your head. he finally removes his palm from your throat but he quickly finds both your wrists and holds it in the air like it wouldn't hurt after awhile.

you tilt your chin down only to watch him attack the skin of your chest with his lips and teeth, and the sight coupled with the drills of shock and ecstasy makes you cry out loud even more.

"for someone who hates me, you seem to be enjoying this a lot."

the smugness in his eyes was so overwhelming, the muscles around your nose tensed up and you grunt in anger under his hold. he yanks harshly on your wrists to force you to sit up, but your head hangs low in slight defeat which you refuse to admit. your wrists were held above your held like it was tied to a bar, and his free hand finds your chin pressure you into looking at him.

the effort required to shake your head out of his touch was rendered useless when he grabs your jaw instead, and his head tilts downwards just so you were made to look down at him.

"you're just having fun, aren't you?" if words could cut, you wish they were aimed straight at his chest.

his ares flashes across his face for a split second before his lips were pulled out into a merciless grin.

"aren't you?"

you were on the verge of spitting in his face, but he pulls you away from the table and drags you to the living room, throwing you on the sofa and leaving you to process the next few seconds of chaos.

"your safe word is 'stop'," he finds your ankles that were struggling to push your body away from him and yanks on them. "it's an easy word so i doubt your brain would forget how to use it."

your back gets dragged down against the rough material of the sofa while he pulls you nearer and nearer to him like you were the rope in tug of war.

"so if your brain can’t bring itself to say it, then i suggest you apologise and i'll consider playing nice."

"i don't fucking--" your legs aimlessly flails around his arms holding onto your knees now, pulling them past his hips. "--need to apologise."

"you don't want to apologise? that's fine," he shakes his head ever so slightly. "but we'll see what happens after i break you."

to your dismay, he releases your hands without hesitation, and you watch his eyes gouge your soul out of your body.

do something.

stop him.

anything.

your fingers dig into the space between the pillows on the couch and the cushions. heavy, reluctant breaths pushed and pulled on your chest like someone was using a defibrillator on you.

the clothes continue to leave lines of wine on your skin when he peels them off, and your gut fills with a disgusting mixture of hatred and lust when the warmth of his tongue lines the rim of your shorts.

the piece of cotton comes off your legs messily as he leans back, and the soaked, heavy material hits the floor with a loud thud.

the organs in your chest become so painfully detached from your thoughts when they empty themselves of air when he plants his lips to the space right above your underwear, licking and dragging his taste buds all over your skin in a bid to taste whatever droplets wine that wasn't rolling off your stomach.

"your apology can come anytime now, tiger," he hums into the little hairs on your stomach, finger hooking onto the material around your hip. "unless you're only refusing to do it because you want me to break you."

tears of grudge and resistance start to pool in the back of your eye sockets when you squeeze them shut. a puff of air hits your stomach when he scoffs, and the wet piece of lingerie comes off your hips. he drags it down your legs and it rolls up into an ugly look of a short rope, tossing it right above your head, challenging to fuck with your mental even more.

ares returns for a split second to drill all the memories of him back into your head, and a scorn washes over your face when lucifer violently pulls you nearer to him.

"you can't break me."

his thighs lock your legs apart and you completely ignore the fact that you were exposed to him.

but the pooling heat that was slowly seeping out from your south you betrays you.

"your lips say that, but your body says i’m already halfway there."

no amount of preparation could've prevented you from letting out an inhumane growl out your throat when he wraps both arms around your thighs and hoisted your hips up to his face.

your shoulders were anchoring your neck and head to the couch, but your knees were over his shoulders, your painfully wet core close enough to feel his breath on your neediness.

your hips get circled and he presses his palm on your abdomen, the position rendering most of your struggling useless when he locks his strength against your hips.

your tongue suffers from the ruthless clenching of your teeth when he lightly brushes his tongue over you. the friction of the buds on his wet muscle sends you into a frenzy of muffled cries; cries you muffle by biting on your tongue and sealing your eyes shut.

your hands balled into fists and every inch of you shivers when he presses a finger onto the sensitive nub that shouldn't be in his reach in the first place.

the effort and strength you were channeling into keeping your mouth shut was being hungrily lapped off your south, and your lips finally fall apart to let the lewd sounds fill the room without your consent.

he doesn't once push his tongue in, and your body's hatred towards the emptiness replaces your hatred for him.

it was like ares and eros were having a death match inside you, and one was winning by a large margin.

the pressured circles remain consistent while he does nothing but lick your skin like he was licking a lollipop, only every now and then giving the skin between your entrance and thigh a little suck instead of sucking up your soaked lust.

cries and mewls start rolling off your lips when desire forces you to look at him at a forty five degree angle. all you could see was the look of satisfaction eating your insides while watching you crumble under him.

desperation starts to suck air back into your lungs like a vacuum cleaner and your hands reach up in a bid to shove him off you. but before you could even touch him, he lifts your left leg over his head and flips you.

the action was carried out by him, but it felt like all your energy had been hurled out of your body with that flip. your arms lay flat against the surface of the cushion and your forearms push your torso back up in a bid to support yourself.

but his weight comes from behind you and he violently removes your shirt, pushing you off your train of thought and action. he finds both your wrists while he unhooks your bra, giving your torso a little jerk by yanking on your arms so the cups would come off your breasts.

you wonder for a moment what was the point...

until the tips of your breasts start to rub against the rough material of the couch.

a hiss seeps through your teeth upon the contact, and he pulls your torso back up by your arms like they were reigns.

"last chance, tiger."

the weight on the couch behind you shifts and dips, and you hear more clothes being thrown to the ground. the hands on your wrists switch for a moment, but the grip his fingers had on you was enough to absorb all your physical strength.

your knees were digging into the seat cushion, and your bra was hanging messily around your chest, with one strap already dropping to your elbow. the devil of lust pastes wild thoughts in your head but the ares inside your heart provides you with one last burst of arrogance atop all the lack of fight left in you.

an exaggerated scoff ripples through your throat when his 'threat' tickles a funny bone in you and his palm finds the spot on your neck where you wished you could slit your skin.

"fuck you."

he shakes his head in your peripheral vision and releases your neck, pushing you back down into the sofa by your shoulder blades. your wrists writhe and struggle in his grasp as if it would do any good, and lust shows itself in a tight smile of defeat on your lips when you feel something slippery prod at your entrance.

his chest comes down onto your back and his voice rumbles through you like an earthquake, blood rushing from all over your body to your face and down to where you needed to be filled against your will.

"if you're going to act like a bitch, then i'll treat you like one."

your lips part while a sneer slaps itself across your face at his words, but it doesn't last long.

a drunken concoction of defeat, resentment and pleasure gets pushed into you where lust wanted you to be filled, and the nerves that pulled your walls apart upon the harsh penetration start to rip ares out from your body like an exorcism.

a loud groan exits your throat by force and your temples tighten when your legs tremble under him. your forehead finds the tiny bumps of the material on the couch, and he releases your wrists when he starts to thrust into you.

he starts recklessly flicking and playing with your sensitive nub from under you, and the sensation drills brutal bolts of pleasure through your physical existence.

your entire body starts to jerk along with his thrusts, and the tears return to your eyes when his free hand digs into your hips.

the stimulation starts to become overbearing and it exposes itself as harsh grunts and moans that were dripping out the corner of your lips with drool.

little threads of the surface of the couch get scratched out while your fingers curl against the material. your breasts being pushed and pressed into the roughness only adding on to what the rampant fucking he was doing to you.

he was painfully quiet, only because he wanted you to hear yourself enjoying it. lust was having fun eating every inch of your gut, but your head was on fire at the realisation that you've physically resigned to him.

every thrust pushed a dollop of pleasure out of you, and it was doing nothing besides fuel his pride and ego.

turbulent tremors start ripping through you like chainsaws when the magic spot inside you reveals itself, and the moans were gradually replaced with cries of agony at the thought of him making you come.

ares is brutal, but you were the weaker one of the two.

he stops without pulling out, grabbing your forearms and yanking you upwards like before. your chin tilts towards the ceiling when his knuckles find your throat, with enough pressure to make you feel the heat growing in your stomach, but not enough to knock you out.

the edge of your high was in sight, merely a few thrusts away, and feeling every inch of him throb inside you was only pushing your tolerance to the limit, if not, through the roof of your abilities.

“one word and i’ll give you what you want.”

“i don’t--” he cuts you off with a harsh thrust, the hard smack of his hips against your flesh electrifying your entire nervous system for a second.

"apologise and i'll consider letting you come."

"ha," the noise that left your lips was so dead and strained, you couldn't stop your teeth from clenching from the sudden, rough thrust he pushed into you again. "there's nothing... for me to apologise for."

his palm presses against your core with the other still wrapped around your throat, and he gradually increases the pressure with every circle he draws on you.

the molars lining your jaws would’ve cracked from the intense clenching, and your face contracts into an ugly mess of emotion. the tears finally push through your lids and roll down the side of your cheek, the lack of movement where you needed it was forcing your want to win into oblivion.

“aw, what’s wrong?” he draws a sloppy trail on your neck where his fingers didn’t cover with his tongue. your walls clench down on him with discontent and the force pushes a groan from him. “cat got your tongue? you were moaning just a few minutes ago.”

one. harsh. flick.

“i gave you a simple word to use but you haven’t even uttered it.”

another clench, but he doesn’t even flinch.

“you’re getting wetter around me, in case you didn’t know.”

he pulls the skin around your jaw downwards so you could see the reflection in the glass sliding doors opposite you, and the lewd sight made you pool around him even more. the tears become relentless and your south was throbbing so hard, you couldn’t even tell if it was you, or him.

“one word,” he whispers, eyes locking with yours as tiny, white orbs in the reflection. “and i’ll let you come.”

the last hint of ares vanishes when eros steals the crown, and your lips part to provide him with a shivering exhale.

“i’m sorry.”

“for?” his shaft inside you twitches, and it cues a sharp inhale.

each word crawls its way up through your voice box and out your lips, and you’ve never felt so powerless in your life.

“...for removing your report.”

this was what breaking your spirit felt like,

and lee hyunjae just broke you.

he finally releases, and gravity pulls you back down into the seat cushions of the sofa.

“good girl.”

your nails start to leave marks in your palm when he starts ramming into you ruthlessly, there nothing else besides the sound of slapping and lewd noises polluting the air.

the smell of wine on your skin starts to mix with the scent of sex; the scent of you and him slowly dripping down your inner thigh.

"tell me who's making you feel so good--"

tears start to find their way to the corners of your eyes again, and you bury your face into the cushion of the sofa. you let out a strained growl when he tugs harshly on your wrists, cuing you to look up and capture the sight of him violently throwing his hips against your ass.

“tell me, darling, or i’m going to stop.”

the sound of him slapping against your ass cheeks pushes out painful whines and mewls from your throat, and he revels in the vibrations that run along his shaft with each cry you offer.

"...you--”

“i can’t hear you over all your moaning--”

“you! you... you are--”

the tears hit the couch and the entire piece of furniture starts to jerk along with you.

“i don’t think my name is ‘you’, darling.”

your forehead pressed into the rough material when he finds your nub again, and now he was pressing harsh kisses onto your spine, overloading your senses altogether as if each cell inside you wasn’t already coming undone.

“hyunjae, you’re... making me feel so-- please--”

the horizon starts to shine and glimmer in your head, the visual getting clearer and more vivid with every thrust and eros was eager for you to reach that finish line.

“louder.”

“hyunjae,” the name runs out cold into the air around you as a loud moan. “let me come, hyunjae.”

no need to see the smirk of victory appear on his face when you could already imagine it.

“that’s it, darling, that’s it,” the kisses on your skin become hungrier and the thrusts become harder, if it was even possible.

“oh, fuck--” he starts playing with your extremely sensitive nub now, and the kissing on your shoulder blades were pulling and ripping your grip on reality apart. eros smiles at you when the horizon comes nearer, and your lips part again to beg.

“yes-- hyunjae-- please-- oh, fuck, please don’t stop.”

his pace picks up upon your pleading, and your entire body goes into hyper mode.

“yes, yes, yes, yes, oh-- hyunjae-- right there--”

with every thrust, your edge gets closer, and with one tight snap inside, you erupt into a sputtering mess of inhumanely loud moans and whimpers when your vision blinds.

your south was throbbing, and not a single muscle in you was functioning anymore. your thighs were shaking when he pulls out, and some hot, wetness start to land on your back.

your vision returns, and your breathing struggles immensely to regain composure. the skin that was hugging your bones, muscles and organs were rippling with painful tremors, and saliva was dripping off your lower lip onto the couch beneath your chest.

the cushion behind you lifts, the change in weight pushing you off your little hold on balance and you crash into your own sofa like a corpse.

you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, but you could hear his heavy breathing and panting. how you wished that there was a genie somewhere for you to rub your hands on its lamp to take you back in time, so that you weren’t dumb enough to take the report.

had your ares been wiser, eros wouldn’t have destroyed you from the inside.

‘stop’ was an easy word, yet not once did it cross your mind.

it was like he heard your thoughts and you reprimanding yourself, and a small scoff motivates you to look up with the last pinch of energy you had.

he was pulling his shirt over his neck, his pants already hugging his thighs and hips. his hair was in a slight mess, but not enough for anybody to guess that he just broke you.

“ares my ass, you’re not so hard to break after all.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter VI: Venerum

A/N: i need to BATHE and PRAY for myself--

#hyunjae smut #hyunjae fanfic #lee hyunjae #hyunjae #the boyz hyunjae #timetohajima #no #fml #i DIED

176 notes · View notes

starlordsandrockets · 5 years ago

Text

Gold Dust Woman: Ch. III

semi-warning: light smut

summary: (Star-Lord x reader) The walls that you had built around yourself begin to crumble as you start to fall for Peter’s charm.

a/n: sorry for the wait between chapters. i edited this fic more than i wrote it. but i’m happy with the chapter, even if it is shorter than the others. enjoy

GDW: the compendium

Peter’s gentle touch trailed along the front of your neck, making a whimper leave your blushed lips. The small noise made a smirk appear on Peter’s lips, as if he was pleased with himself, “Come on darling,” he cooed, trying a new name and trying to break the wall you built around yourself, “why don’t you tell me what’s going on in your pretty little head,”

You turned your head, neck still in Peter’s gentle grasp. Meeting his eyes, you searched for bad intentions but all that reflected back into your y/e/c eyes was unquestionable compassion, “Peter,” his first name slipped between your lips as your hand found the soft fabric of his grey shirt. The fabric fell between your fingers as you studied him. Peter’s hand left your neck, cradling your cheek with a smile, “I can’t let my guard down,” you almost choke out.

“What happened to you,” Peter smiled, the two of you inches apart, “was it a guy, because I’ll kill him. I swear to god,” his tone turned serious, making you laugh.

“I’ve been on countless guy’s ships,” a nervous smile crossed your lips, eyebrows furrowed as uncomfortable encounters flooded your mind, “I can never let my guard down, or else I’ll regret it,” Peter’s thumb ran across your skin after every word. Peter’s free hand found your cheek, holding your heated face in his hands, “Peter,” you whispered as you watched his blue eyes take you in. He scanned every inch of your face with a soft smile.

“Talk to me,” Peter almost pleaded, leaning closer. You felt his breath against your skin, making your eyelashes flutter closed. Peter’s rough lips fell flush against your forehead in a sweet kiss, “please darling,”

Peter’s words made you melt in his hold and suddenly you had a need to tell him all of your worries, “Some guys thought that I owed them, for giving me a free ride,” your gaze bounced between his two blue pools, “a ride for a ride,” an uncomfortable smile played on your lips, jokingly coping with your claim, “and there were times that I wouldn’t be able to sleep,” you almost whispered, “because I was afraid to wake up underneath them,” you found yourself rambling under Peter’s gaze, “it’s just easier to not trust anyone,” your hold on Peter’s shirt tightened as he brought his lips to your face, peppering you with gentle kisses, “mhm,” you whimpered, “I had to fight him off me so many times, I was so tired,” your voice shook in a low whisper, “I’m so tired,” pulling on the fist fulls of fabric, you brought Peter closer to you. Your lips found his jawline, leaving tired kisses along his rough beard.

“Oh, darling,” he nearly sighed, your lips taking his breath away, “I’d never hurt you,” his strong hands found your waist, pulling your body against his. Not wanting any space between the two of you, “Stay,” he pleaded as your lips pressed against his cheek, before pulling away. He watched as you met his eyes, “I won’t let anything happen to you, if you stay with me,” Peter cleared his throat, finding himself rambling, “with us,”

Your fingers trailed along his chest as your eyes followed them, “Such a hero,” your eyes found Peter’s cut lip. Raising your thumb, you traced the cut lightly, “Star-Lord,” you smiled as you raised your gaze, boldy meeting Peter’s blue eyes.

Peter’s finger tips dug into your hips as he pulled you against him, roughly placing his lips against your own. He took your breath away, that or his sudden force pushed the air from your lungs. You let out a groan that vibrated against his lips as his fingers began to leave bruises against your delicate skin. The tattered fabric of your shirt easily traveled up your skin as Peter’s fingers followed the dark hem. His fingertips were rough, barely grazing your skin making you shiver.

The cold, stuffy air of Peter’s room kissed your exposed skin as Peter’s lips did the same. The fabric of your black, lace bralette caught Peter’s eyes as he took in the curve of your chest, making you self conscious without delay. Raising your head, you met Peter’s hungry eyes, but not for long. Attaching his soft lips on the skin of your neck, he left rough kisses along its surface, taking the delicate skin between his lips.

A crash rang through the Milano, making you jump, backing out of Peter’s hold, “Darling, come back,” he spoke as his hands chased your hips, “it’s probably just Groot or Drax messing around,” your ears rang from the loud noise, something did not sit right in your stomach.

Another crash came, this time the Milano shook. Bumping your arm on your hip, you activated your blaster, making Peter’s brows furrow, “Y/N, it’s probably nothing,” he spoke as you clothed your exposed skin. You stood before his door, it slid open as you quickly passed through its frame, “Sweetheart,” Peter called after you, his feet following right behind his words.

Looking to your left, you met an alerted Gamora. Her eyes searched for the source of the sudden disturbance. She walked next to you now, her shoulder brushing your own as you both made your way to the cockpit of the ship.

Staring through the ship’s large windows, they were illuminated with golden rays. Blasts rattling against its glass. Your head pounded as Gamora’s garish call rang over the unidentified threat. As you approached the blinding light, the blasts stopped, your eyes meeting those of the golden woman. Your golden chain laying against her heavenly skin.

Peter suddenly appeared at your side, drawing your attention away from the Sovereign who held a large blaster. She was unlike any other Sovereign you have heard of, she was not hiding behind a ship or even from the comforts of her cushy planet. For once, she was getting her hands dirty.

Turning your head sharply, you met Peter’s shocked expression. You felt as if anger coursed through your veins as Peter studied your furrowed brows. Clenching your hands, your nails dug into the skin of your palms. With a swift swing, your small fist struck against the bridge of Peter’s nose.

You thought Peter was different than every other guy that picked you up off whatever planet you had found yourself on. He captivated you. He chased any negative thought away. He made you think that you could trust him, and for a brief moment you succumbed.

“You asshole,” you cried out towards where Peter stumbled backwards, “you set me up,” the anger in your eyes reflected the crimson that sat on his skin.

Peter brought his hand to his nose. His calloused fingertips were draped in red, “You really think I set you up,” he almost laughed, raising your temper, “Sweetheart, come on,”

“You can drop the act,” you reflected his unsettled laughter, “Come on Quill,” you pointed your blaster at him as you spoke, arms mirroring your changing expression, “how stupid do you think I am. I mean, she just happens to know exactly where I would end up,” you rambled on through your blind rage, “I almost let my guard down,”

Peter approached you again, a wide grin growing on his lips, “I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time I brought a girl back here, word gets around I guess,” he chuckled meeting your eyes. Immediate regret washed over him as your eyes pierced his like tiny daggers.

“And it wouldn’t be the first time you dug yourself in this deep of a hole either,” Gamora commented, reminding Peter of her presence, “I like you,” her gaze quickly left Peter, falling on you, “don’t fall for his, sorcery,” Gamora’s words were drawn out, as if she was recalling a memory from her and Peter’s past.

Your eyes left Gamora’s, then Peter’s, finally falling back to the golden goddess that was waiting for you, “Shit,” you groaned, realising she was not going to leave without a fight. Her large blaster reflected the sunlight that bounced off her perfect, golden skin.

#marvel fanfic #marvel fic #marvel smut #marvel fanfiction #peter quill fanfiction #peter quill x reader #peter quill fanfic #peter quill smut #star-lord x reader #star lord fanfiction #star lord x reader #star lord fanfic #star lord smut #star-lord fic #star-lord smut #star-lord fanfic #star-lord fanficiton #GDW

60 notes · View notes

pendragonsandbuckleys · 4 years ago

Text

hold me like the moon holds onto the tide (3/3)

Summary: Kidnapped and locked in a cell with no escape. Alex and Michael are faced with an ex-Caulfield employee who is prepared to do anything to get alien powers of his own. (Inspired by the Daisy/Sousa scenes in Agents of Shield 7x06)

Word Count: 3,804

[Also on AO3] [Part One] [Part Two]

“What about the time he tripped over your guitar and smashed his head into the table?” Flint leaned back as he spoke. The hard plastic of the chair was digging into his back and it squeaked as he tried to get comfortable.

He’d never liked hospitals. The strong antiseptic smell that seemed to linger in the air. The rush of people in the day and the quiet hallways at night. The big scary words that made no sense but always seemed to mean something bad. The unnatural mix of cleanliness and death.

He didn’t mind them so much when he was younger. His mother had always told him that they were hopeful places, where illnesses were cured and lives were saved. Thinking back, it was probably just her protective way of trying to calm his nerves whenever a grandparent was sick.

But at that age, her positive nature imbued in him a childish hope that the doctors would be able to help his brother. That soon they would realise that that many broken bones and bruised ribs a year was so much more than just a clumsy child falling off his bike or losing his grip whilst climbing a tree.

He couldn’t remember when he’d stopped wishing for someone to work it out and just accepted that no one would. It was probably around the same time he’d stopped accompanying his brother on his too frequent visits and had left that responsibility for someone else.

The last time he had actually stepped foot inside a hospital was after his unfortunate accident during CrashCon. Healing up in the unwelcoming, lonely hospital room for a week wasn’t fun but at least he hadn’t needed to worry about the condition of anyone else during that time.

No, the last time he’d been on the waiting for news end was during his last tour when several members of his team had been seriously injured.

Until now. Which is why part of him was glad that he wasn’t alone in his vigil.

“He must have been about eight, right?”

“Oh my god, there was blood everywhere!” Gregory grimaced as he looked over at him, horrified that his brother was even bringing up that memory.

Flint laughed softly at how uncomfortable the recollection had clearly made his brother, ”You felt so guilty! I don’t think you even got your guitar out of its case for months afterwards.”

Gregory shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. He wasn’t sure when this game between them of who had the most embarrassing moments had just straight up turned into a list of which brother had managed to injure another the most.

It was true though. He hadn’t slept properly for days after that incident. Every time he had closed his eyes he had seen Alex’s poor little face covered in blood and tears and snot and he’d felt the guilt brewing inside him. He had avoided the guitar out of fear that he would somehow manage to wound his brother with it again.

To this day he still makes sure that the instrument is kept off the floor.

“You know, growing up, I think that was the last time he was in the hospital where it wasn’t dad that put him there.” He replied sombrely.

Flint hummed in response. He had run out of words to say on that subject. It was a topic that had slipped frequently into discussions between the two of them during their months of reconciliation and it always ended in the acknowledgement of their guilt and desire to do better.

Gregory pressed the heel of his hand into his eye. It had been a long day and he could feel the hours catching up with him. “I really hoped I would never have to see him in a hospital again.”

"Were you there after he lost his leg?” Flint asked.

“No, I didn’t even know it had happened ’til months later. Did you?”

”No. I think Dad went though.”

“Seriously?”

Flint nodded with an unamused look on his face.

“Why? It’s not like he went to go play the loving father.” Gregory asked, genuinely confused as to why his dad would even bother to take the time to go and see Alex.

Flint shook his head as he repositioned himself again. At this rate he was honestly considering going on a hunt for a pillow. “That man didn’t know the first thing about being a loving father.”

Gregory’s brows furrowed as he failed to hide his surprise at that statement. The expression was so familiar and Flint couldn’t hold back an exasperated eye roll.

“Don’t give me that look, I may have followed in his footsteps but I know exactly what kind of man he was.”

Gregory watched as his brother played with the cuff of his jacket, his thumb and forefinger running along the edge before tugging uselessly at the material. It was a nervous habit that he’d always thought their father had managed to train out of Flint.

“Do you regret it? Following him?” He asked delicately, noticing how Flint’s eyes remained trained on his sleeve as he answered.

“We all followed him.”

“Into the military, yeah, we didn’t exactly have a choice. But on his little homicidal mission? The rest of us hopped that train before it reached the station.”

“Umm more like he didn’t even invite you onto the train. You have no idea what you would have done.” Flint replied defensively and Gregory was caught off guard by how much the look in Flint’s eyes reminded him of their mother.

“Pretty sure I wouldn’t have done that.” He teased, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah alright, well I’ve apologised, okay?” Flint rolled his eyes again as he leant over and gave his brother a playful shove.

Their conversation fell into a comfortable silence as their gaze drew back to the third presence in the room.

Alex hadn’t woken since Flint had found him but in the hours since they had brought him to the hospital his cheeks had gained more colour and he looked to be resting more peacefully.

Clean bandages hugged his various wounds, several IVs were in place to begin replenishing what Hughes had stolen and now all they needed was for him to wake up.

It was strange watching their brother sleep. The last time they would have had the chance was when they were all living under the same roof together, but Alex was always so guarded back then with their father in the house that he would never allow himself to be seen in such a vulnerable state. Starting after their mum had left, Greg could probably count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Alex sleep and they’d all been due to illness or injury.

The hospital ambience of the room, along with Greg’s wandering mind, was interrupted by a text alert on Flint’s phone. He slid his hand into his front pocket and pulled out the device, unlocking it with a quick tap of four digits. He opened the message and Greg watched as his eyes scanned the words.

“It’s Clay. He says he’s glad we found him and to keep him updated.”

Greg’s eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled. It had been a long while since he’d seen Clay in person but he was glad to hear that their brother was also onboard for acting like a family again. “Who would have thought it. It only took us until our thirties but we’re all finally learning how to be brothers again.”

Flint opened his mouth, ready to give a sappy reply about how he much he’d missed the bond they’d all had during childhood, when a small groan from the bed caught his attention.

Alex’s brow was furrowed as he poked his tongue through his lips slightly - a tiny habit that Greg could recall seeing him do all the time when he was younger. After a few moments his eyes blinked open as he let out another involuntary groan.

Greg couldn’t help but grin as he watched Alex slowly register his surroundings. Being closer to the top of the bed than Flint, he leant forward and gently placed a comforting hand on Alex’s arm.

“Hey.” He whispered, keeping his voice low as to not startle his brother.

Alex turned his head slightly, his unfocused eyes drifting to the left as he followed the sudden sound. “Hey,” he replied, his words slow and soft. “You’re here?”

“Of course we’re here.” Greg began to rub his thumb back and forth along Alex’s arm in a soothing gesture. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired.”

Greg was unsurprised at the answer. Alex’s eyes were already struggling to stay open. ��Go back to sleep Alex. You’re safe now.”

Alex had only allowed his eyes to close again fully for a moment before they were flying open again, Michael’s name being drawn from his lips with a gasp.

Greg continued the soothing motion, bringing Alex’s gaze back to him. “He’s fine, he’s okay. He’ll probably be here the next time you wake up.”

Alex nodded as he let his body relax once more and drifted back to sleep.

Greg looked over to Flint to find him wearing a matching smile, nodding to himself in an unspoken acknowledgement. Alex was going to be okay.

The door to Alex’s room opened carefully.

Michael had noticed that the lights inside had been dimmed so he hadn’t wanted to wake anyone, though he was wholly unsurprised to find Greg and Flint watching him with raised eyebrows as he entered.

“Thought you were gonna try and get some sleep?” Flint asked in near amusement.

“I did get some sleep.”

Greg tilted his head sympathetically. “Michael, you’ve been gone barely an hour.”

Michael shrugged as he took a seat in the one remaining chair on the other side of the bed, “No one specified how much sleep.”

He had tried to get some rest but every time he closed his eyes it was like there was an invisible string yanking him back to the hospital.

Isobel had taken him home as soon as Kyle had assured them all that, in time, Alex would be fine. She had spent the drive spouting on and on about how he had been through as much of an ordeal as Alex had and he needed to rest and look after himself. Or at least let someone else look after him.

The words had been left hanging in the air between them for a good few minutes before he had fully registered her kindness. And then he had just felt a horrible pang of guilt deep in his stomach. Guilt that her compassion and protectiveness didn’t quite warm his heart as much as Alex’s had.

So he listened to her. He ate the small plate of food she had lovingly made for him. He drank the hot cup of tea that burnt his tongue. He showered, letting the scolding water wash away the overwhelming fear that had been building up inside him ever since he first woke up with his hands chained to a wall. And then he crawled into Isobel’s bed and tried to ignore the nervous energy that was still sitting heavily on his chest.

And he had slept a little, he wasn’t lying about that, but it was like his brain knew that there was somewhere else he should be and he just couldn’t take it any longer.

“How’s he doing?” He tugged at his bottom lip as he observed Alex’s still sleeping face.

“Better.” Greg nodded, taking a moment to hide a yawn with his hand. “The doctor came back while you were gone. Said he’s probably gonna be quite weak and achy for a few days at least. But the transfusions are helping and he should be fine.”

Michael ran a hand through his curls. It wasn’t much more information than Kyle had provided earlier but to hear that nothing had gone wrong in his brief absence was relieving.

“He woke up not too long ago.” Greg continued and Michael looked at him, somewhat horrified that Alex had woken without him. It must have shown on his face.

“Calm down Guerin,” Flint snorted, “it was for like thirty seconds, he probably won’t even remember it.”

Michael could practically feel the heat crawling up his cheeks. No matter how protective and borderline possessive he felt of Alex at the moment, it was still embarrassing for anyone but himself to be aware of that fact.

“No it’s good, I’m glad he’s okay.” Michael coughed as he tried to deflect the conversation.

But Greg seemed to know how to catch him off guard all of a sudden as he turned it back onto him. “And how are you feeling?”

Michael took a few seconds to process the fact that Alex’s brother seemed genuinely concerned in his questioning.

“I’m fine, my powers are back and everything.” He replied warily. With Jesse Manes gone, he knew that he wasn’t in any danger from anyone currently in the room, but it still felt strange talking about his alien abilities to any Manes man that wasn’t Alex. “I could probably do with a bit more sleep before I try to use them, but whatever Hughes did to me has worn off.”

“That’s good that it wasn’t permanent. We’ll still go through all the data that Hughes managed to collate though and find out exactly how much he knew.” Flint said strategically and Michael could practically see the mental to-do list he was creating in his head. “And as long as you’re aware that you should be sleeping, I think our job here is done.”

Greg smirked at his brother’s comment. It was very clear that getting Michael to rest was a battle they were not going to win tonight.

“Talking of sleep, you know you two look worse than I do and I was literally being held hostage a few hours ago. If you want to head home for a bit I can stay with Alex.” Michael said innocently as he watched Greg yawn once again.

“Greg, I think that’s code for he wants some alone time with our little brother.” Flint mocked in a hushed tone.

“Hmm I think you’re right Flint.” Greg joined in, watching as Michael’s eyes widened as he spluttered in defence. “Or do you think maybe it’s just our company he doesn’t like?”

“Oh definitely. He’s been waiting for the moment to get rid of us.”

“We must have done something really wrong considering the person he wants to be left with is still asleep right now.”

“That is so true Greg. I mean he’s clearly desperate so we should probably leave now before we make it even worse.”

Michael rolled his eyes as he failed to control his smile. It was a display of brotherly mocking that he never imagined he would ever experience from someone other than Max and Isobel and as embarrassing as it was, it was somewhat heartening to be on the receiving end of it.

Flint chuckled as he stood, his back instantly grateful to be out of the chair, and he took one last look at Alex before leading the way to the door.

“Text us if you need anything, okay?” Greg placed a hand on Michael’s shoulder as he passed him and squeezed reassuringly.

Michael nodded as he watched them leave, afraid to open his mouth incase no words came out around the sudden lump that had formed in his throat. Having seen the hateful side of the Manes men in action, there was something so heartwarming about seeing Alex’s brothers actually be brothers. And to be included in the familiarity was a whole new feeling entirely.

Michael looked out at the stars shining through the window. The lights were still dimmed which allowed the moonlight to fill the room around him with a soft, pale glow.

He still remembered all of the constellations that he had taught himself as a kid, back when he was so desperate to soar high into the sky to join them. Back when he’d give anything to find his home planet again.

But looking into the glimmering darkness now, he couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d stared at the night sky in search of the home he was unwillingly torn away from.

In fact he couldn’t quite remember how long it had been since home, for him, had started to be a person again.

Michael made no attempt to stifle a yawn as he rubbed at his eyes. They were aching terribly and he could feel his body hopelessly crying for sleep but there was no way he was leaving until Alex was awake.

As if on cue, a small noise from beside him shook him out of his doziness.

He watched Alex’s throat bob as he swallowed reflexively before slowly blinking open his eyes.

“Hey,” Michael whispered. His voice so soft the word barely left his mouth.

Alex’s eyes wandered momentarily, seeking out the owner of the voice. Once his gaze locked with Michael’s, all Alex could do was stare, a small smile emerging as he took in Michael’s presence. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Michael looked at him tenderly as he leant forward and laced his fingers with Alex’s. A somewhat casually intimate move that he didn’t regret in the slightest. “And so are you.”

Alex looked down at the touch and relished in the warmth of Michael’s skin against his. The act of their hands together feeling so natural.

“How are you feeling?” Michael asked, his tired eyes looking longingly into Alex’s.

“Sore.” Alex replied and Michael couldn’t hold back the huff of laughter.

“Well, that’s what happens when you offer yourself up to be a guinea pig for a crazy psychopath.”

Alex playfully rolled his eyes at the accusation. He could practically feel his head pounding in time with his heart but he did his best to ignore it. He’d willingly accept the throbbing of his muscles and the coldness in his bones right now if it allowed him to just stay in this moment.

A few aches and pains were worth it. He was just glad to be alive.

“Did he hurt you?” He asked, enjoying the way the moonlight was shinning on Michael’s curls.

“No, he didn’t touch me.” Michael assured him, “Isobel, Flint and Kyle got us out before he could do anything else.”

“How did they find us?”

“Turns out Sanders was still at the junkyard. Luckily he managed to catch the tail end of our little kidnapping so he called Isobel who called everyone and they spent the entire night trying to figure out who had taken us.”

Michael still couldn’t believe the luck they’d been in that the old man had chosen that night to stay late. They may never have been found if he hadn’t.

“Flint went to the bunker to look for possible alien connections when he found emails between Hughes and your dad. He recognised the name as someone he worked with in Caulfield so he followed the trail and it led him to us.”

Alex added another bullet point to his mental Project Shepard to-do list. If thoroughly digging into every email on the bunker’s computers was what was needed to prevent Michael being targeted again, then so be it.

“Of course he won’t tell me how it led him to us. It seems that’s classified.” Michael brought up the hand not holding Alex’s to do some one-sided air quotes.

“What about Hughes and his men?”

Michael shrugged, “Dealt with, apparently. Your brother is very secretive when he wants to be.”

“Must be a Manes thing.” Alex smirked sleepily.

“They were here earlier by the way. Flint and Gregory. They would have stayed but I used my charm to convince them that you’d much prefer to see my face over their’s any day.”

Michael winked at him and Alex felt butterflies. “Always.”

Michael gazed down at their locked fingers as he slowly ran his thumb up and down in a comforting gesture. He knew what he wanted to say next, but the words just felt so big and he needed to get them right.

“You shouldn’t have protected me like that. And I shouldn’t have let you.” He began sincerely.

“Michael-”

“But I’m grateful that you did.”

Alex’s lips parted but he couldn’t find the right words quick enough.

“We need to talk. Like properly talk. But what happened today, it made me realise how stupid it is to not be honest about how I feel.” Michael looked up and could see how intently Alex was listening. His beautiful brown eyes eager and hopeful.

“I can use as many excuses as I like. How we’re not good for each other. How it’s not our time right now. But you almost died, Alex. And if you had, it would have killed me. And if you had gone not knowing how much I care about you.” Michael shook his head as he looked away. The lump forming in his throat again. “I’m completely and totally in love with you Alex Manes. Always have been, always will. I can’t run away from it anymore and I’m done hiding it.”

Alex bit his lip as he felt the tears start to form in his eyes. He had been waiting to hear those words for so long.

He had been waiting to say them for even longer.

“I’ll never stop protecting you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate that before. I’m sorry I’ve pushed you away in the past and I’m sorry that I wasn’t ready. But I’m ready now.” Alex grinned, almost giddy at the declaration, “I love you Michael Guerin. Always have, always will.”

Michael could feel his heart hammering in his chest as his breath caught in his throat. He pursed his lips in an attempt to curb the ridiculous grin that was threatening to unfurl.

He gently unlaced his fingers, pushed himself out of the chair and leant over to delicately cup Alex’s cheeks, feeling the cool skin under his palms.

As dramatic love declarations go, tonights was pretty remarkable. But maybe it was exactly what they needed. They were here, they were alive and they were in love. That was the truth, spoken aloud with only the stars as their witness and there was no taking it back.

And Michael didn’t want to wait a second longer as he closed his eyes and met Alex’s lips with his own.

It was a gentle kiss. Slow and sweet and just as perfect as he remembered it being.

It was home.

#roswell new mexico #alex manes #michael guerin #malex #alex manes fic #michael guerin fic #malex fic #my fic

15 notes · View notes

letgraysonsheart · 5 years ago

Text

(me: googles acrobatics, realising i know nothing, writes yogaposes instead. I’m not perfectly happy myself with how it turned out, and its probably not exactly what you had in mind buut i really wanted to finish and post this for you @sassydefendorflower since ive been very slow asfkjdl)

Jason stares up at the cave roof, consciously having to refrain from biting his nails. Digging them into the palm of his hands instead, where no one can see, he lowers his gaze to the rocky wall instead. Having yet to grow comfortable in the manors downstairs, even if he’s visited multiple times since coming back alive, the jitteriness that’s quickly spreading in his body doesn't come as a surprise.

It’s so very different from how he used to feel before. Before everything besides Robin. The cave had been the only place where he felt really alive. Now just the memory of it makes him feel a little sad, but that's an emotion he'd rather pack up in a quaint little box, stove away and never look at again.

He’d rather focus on how his nerves are on high alert, not that he has any choice, and how he’s going to deal with that without having a meltdown. All he wants is to book it right out of there. But he can't. He needs the intel the cave-computers offer, and to access it he has to wait while Tim updates... something. He isn’t sure. The replacement was already doing it when he arrived and Tim had insisted that he couldn't quit now that he had started.

For a few seconds, he watches Tim enter and leave windows, typing a little here and there, too fast for Jason to catch what he’s doing from where he's standing a few feet behind him. Not that he’s actually interested.

It’s forcing him to be in the cave longer than he planned, which is really fucking annoying. For every sound his ears pick up he fears that it’s Bruce descending down the stairs from the manor, and he really doesn't have the spare energy to deal with that.

“He knows you’re here,” a voice rings out, and he looks towards the gym-part of the cave. Dick’s standing there, looking at him, dressed in sweats and a tank top, his hair tied into a very small ponytail with a few wild strands stuck to his forehead with sweat. “Bruce won’t come down, you can stop glaring at the stairs.”

Jason shrugs, not confirming nor denying Dick’s suspicions.

“You’re so tense I can feel it from here,” Dick continues. Jason glares at his brother, which receives him a very immature eye-roll back.

“I’m just waiting for the brat to finish whatever he’s doing so I can get outta here,” Jason answers, a little protective, “The bastard refused to send it to me.”

“Sensitive information,” Tim comments, not even turning to look at them but apparently listening in to their conversation.

“Hey, less listening, more working,” Jason barks at the younger, and he sees the muscles in Tim’s back tighten, the rhythmic tapping on the keyboard coming to a halt.

“Stop yelling at Tim, Jay, get over here. I need help with something,” Dick butts in, probably to stop Tim and his conversation before it escalates.

Jason doesn’t particularly want to do anything. Then again, he’s also rather tired of standing right up and down being stressed. So a little reluctantly, he finds himself walking over to the gym mats. When he over, Dick’s sat down on the mat, hands pressed against the ground behind him as support.

“What’d ya need?” Jason questions, looking Dick up and down. The older looks funny, placed so far down, and looking up at him with his big blue eyes. Way too trusting. It makes Jason feel a little uneasy.

There’s a new scar, Jason notes, just under Dick's hairline and barely healed. He can't remember hearing anything about Dick getting hurt, so it probably hadn't been serious. Then again, they rarely bother to tell Jason about what's going on if it doesn't directly affect him, so who knows.

“Could you help me stretch? I just need a little bit more of a.. force,” Dick says, grinning, bringing Jason out of his thoughts. “I can help you afterward, you seem to be in desperate need of it, with how pent up you’re looking.”

“Hah, no,” Jason replies with a dry laugh, even though he doesn’t turn to leave. Watching Dick jump up onto his feet, Jason figures the older is looking much too bright for someone working out in the cave.

“Come on, at least help me out. I’ll need it before patrol tonight,” Dick argues. Jason wasn't even aware Dick was there because of a patrol. He'd just figured the older was there to hang out or something, seemed like a Dick-thing to do.

Before he gets the chance to ask about any of it, Dick has already bent down and grabbed him by the middle. Jason almost gets hit in the face by the back of a stray foot, coming against his face much too fast. Only because of his trained reflexes does he manage to grab Dick’s leg, just above the ankle, but he still startles a little.

“Now, come on,” Dick says, and Jason can feel the back of the older's head pressing against his underarm, thankful Dick doesn't mention anything about his reaction. Keeping their peace, for now. “Drag my leg towards you.”

Jason does as told, careful not to pull too hard or too fast. He’s almost a little disgusted by how flexible Dick is, and how easy he makes it look.

“Is this another one of your yoga moves?” he finds himself asking, his thoughts drifting to a different time, years ago. He feels Dick’s muscle stiffen a little, his leg almost jerking out of Jason’s hold.

“Didn’t think you remembered that,” Dick says, making a move to wanting to be let up, and Jason lets go, watching Dick straighten. The first Robin is looking at Jason with something in his eyes Jason isn’t sure if he likes or not.

Shrugging as an answer, because he does remember, no point in lying, he lets Dick study him. It hadn’t been a regular occurrence, but sometimes when Dick showed up at the cave while Jason was Robin, they’d work out together. Dick had been happy to show him some moves, lecturing him on the importance of stretching and strengthening your agility with glee.

The two of them would always end up doing wacky, very unserious, poses. All of them were always surprisingly hard and had them laying on the mats laughing, toppled over in a pile of limbs, more often than not.

Sometimes Bruce would come over and study them from the side, and Jason could remember spotting what he had suspected was fondness on the older man's face.

It had been nice, even Jason could admit that, but it’s also something for the past. It won’t be like that again, ever. Not between him and Dick, and certainly not between him and Bruce. There's been one too many deaths for that. Now the memory just leaves him with a bitter aftertaste, and the thought of Bruce studying him as he trains.. just- no.

Dick bends down again, and this time Jason is prepared for the leg coming up, helping Dick stretch his other side too.

“Come on,” Dick grins when they're done with the stretch, any weird look from before hidden behind a mask again. "Let’s do one, just like we used to.” He’s already grabbing Jason, pushing him down on the mat, leaving little room for argument. Jason, because why the hell not, he's already there just waiting around, kicks off his boots and drops his jacket on the floor by the side of the mat.

“What about the one where we both bow down, and one leans their feet against the other ones back? Like a double bridge. That’s fairly easy,” Dick suggests, then looks Jason up and down, as if he’s judging whether it will work or not.

“I am not leaning my whole weight on you,” Jason states deadpan, “you’ll break like a twig.” He can feel Tim’s eyes on his back and pushes down the urge to yell at him again.

Sighing, Dick rolls his eyes again and plants his hands on his hips, “honestly, does everyone think I’m all flexible goo and no muscle?”

Sending a glare in Dick’s direction, Jason is already starting to regret his decision. He won't dignify the golden boy with a response either. There is no doubting Dick is strong, Jason knows that, but he is still quite a few more pounds heavier than Dick. And bulkier. They’re of very different body types, see.

“I think it would have been great, defying gravity and all that, but I guess I can let you be the foundation,” Dick relents. “Do you remember how to stand?”

He tries to ignore the itch he gets from Dick watching him as he bends down, feeling a definite pull in some of his muscles.

“Remember to keep your back straight,” Dick says, but it’s not a reprimand, just encouragement. No ill tone.

Jason feels rather ridiculous, standing there, like a human triangle. The blood is rushing to his head, and his socks are threatening to slip against the mat. Should’ve ditched them too.

He hears Dick move, and soon enough there’s a pair of feet resting on his lower back, basically his hip. “I assume you remember the importance of breathing?” he hears Dick say, and it makes him take a deep breath, almost without thinking.

Dick’s feet move, the pressure disappearing from his back, and Jason sits down on his knees.

“Okay, let’s sit down in front of each other,” Dick commands, not even asking if Jason is interested in continuing, but he does as Dick says. Might as well humor him, now that he’s started, and the sound of Tim's fingers on the keyboard is still going strong.

It’s a little awkward, he finds, suddenly sitting so close to Dick and looking right at his face. He busies himself copying Dick’s pose, his knees drawn up against his chest, so he doesn’t have to look directly into the other's eyes.

“Now, reach out your arms like so,” Dick stretches his hands out, waiting for Jason to do the same. Biting his lip he hesitates for a second before lifting his arms.

“Mirror my hold,” the older continues, grabbing Jason around his wrists in a secure hold, watching as Jason copies it.

“Okay, now we’re going to press the bottom of our feet together, and then move them while keeping them together,” Dick says, already starting to move his feet toward Jason's.

“We’re gonna what?” Jason asks, already fearing for his legs and knees. There’s no room for them to stretch their feet straight forwards, which can only mean they’re going to go upwards.

He doesn’t even know if his body does that anymore.

“Let’s do one foot at a time,” Dick suggests, pressing the bare toes on his right foot against Jason’s sock-clad ones. Dick then starts pushing both their feet upwards, and Jason lets him. He finds himself grateful that he’s wearing agile pants because man, it pulls more than he wants to admit.

Their feet are about face-level when Dick starts moving his other feet, forcing Jason’s up with it too, their knees still slightly bent.

“Let’s just try to get them as straight as possible, the feet don’t have to be completely straight lines, it’s not supposed to hurt,” Dick says, voice calm and comfortable. To his own surprise, and perhaps Dick’s too, Jason lets the older press their feet further up, again much like a triangle made up of their feet and the floor.

Their hands are still clasped together, he can feel how Dick’s are slightly clammy from having worked out, but still, the older's hold is strong and not suggesting that he’s about to let go any time soon.

“Now, we’ll breath,” Dick says, and Jason watches Dick close his eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath. Jason himself tries to let go of the still nagging itch to bite his nails. His back is towards the stairs now. Bruce might come down and Jason may not hear it. The elevator is behind him too, out of eyesight, he might miss the sound of it arriving in the cave. Bruce might suddenly be standing right behind him without Jason having any time to prepare.

He has no idea what he would do if that were to happen. Probably punch something or more likely; someone. And then run.

Just as Jason is about to break his hold on Dick's arms, his fear almost becoming too much, Dick opens his eyes, bringing their feet down again and releasing their arms. He watches his older brother opens his mouth to speak -

“Now, for the n-”

“I’m done now,” Tim exclaims, interrupting Dick, whose face turns into a scowl directed over Jason’s shoulder.

Jason hears the sound of the wheels on Tim’s chair squeaking against the floor as the younger pushes away from the computer. When Jason turns to look Tim is already up from the chair, looking much like he’s planning to leave the cave.

“As I said for the next-” Dick tries again.

This time it’s Jason who interrupts, already pushing himself up off the mats.

“No way, Goldie, I just humored you because I was sick of standing around,” he huffs, brushing away imaginary lint from his pants. “I’m gonna go get my intel now, and then head out."

Suddenly hit with what the hell he is doing, where he is, almost forgotten in sappy nostalgia, makes him feel jittery to leave again. It’s like a sledgehammer to his heart, kick-starting his anxiety.

He ignores the look on Dick’s face, something he can’t properly decipher, as the older man also gets up on his feet again.

“Come on Jay - it’s almost like old-”

Once again, Jason stops him. “Don’t,” he states, feeling anger blossom in his chest, prickling like he swallowed a cactus. “Don’t say that. Don’t even try.”

“Jason,” Dick tries, voice too soft.

“No, I’m getting my intel, and then I’m leaving,” Jason tells him, already throwing on his shoes again, pulling his jacket up off the floor. “I thought I’d made my distaste of this place perfectly clear,” he continues as he turns towards the computers, refusing to meet Dick's eyes.

From the corner of his eyes, he can see Tim getting into the elevator, not sparing either of them a second glance.

Jason stomps over to the computer, falling heavily into the chair Tim had been using only seconds ago. With a huff, he turns it on, slightly irritated that Tim even turned it off in the first place. His fingers tap impatiently against the table as he waits for it to boot up.. Freaking replacement, always trying to be as annoying as possible.

There is the sound of someone moving behind him, maybe Dick continuing his workout. As he types in his login, that for some reason Jason would rather not dwell on Bruce never removed, he tells himself that he couldn’t care less. Sending it to himself, Jason finds he doesn't give a shit about what Tim or Bruce says about sensitive information and security risks. Fuck that.

He needs to get out of there, asap.

So he hits send, deletes all traces of what he's been doing, and shuts down the computer as soon as all that's done. For a second, he stares at the dark screen, contemplating leaving a surprise for the next person who tries to use the computer. Then the sounds of Dick moving around remind him that he’s not alone which sets him in motion again.

The walk over to his bike is barely controlled, he’d much rather prefer to run, but that would be a little embarrassing. Grabbing his helmet laid abandoned by the front wheel he presses it over his hair. Thankful for the security it gives him, he climbs onto his self-built Red Hood bike.

As he starts it up, the rumble of the motor fills all of the cave, hopefully so loud that they can hear it up in the manor. The u-turn he takes as he starts up is so fast and hard his tire screeches against the floor. It's bound to leave marks, and that is so worth burning the expensive tires for. He's sure it'll annoy Bruce to no end.

Jason never glances at Dick through all of it. He can feel the older’s eyes on his back though, following him as he speeds out of the cave. Even as the weight on his shoulders lessens with every meter he puts between himself and the cave, there is a new weight in his heart that he can't quite pinpoint.

Figuring it’s best to ignore it until it disappears, he presses the bike to go a little faster. He hopes it’ll be a long time until he has to go back to the cave again. For now, getting the hell out of there has to be enough.

#jason does alot of weird things in here thats maybe a littl mean but its only because hes afraid to get hurt #jason isnt necessairly reliable #ALSO THIS ISNT BETAED #i have no idea if the poses came across as what they look like but?#my writing #elie writes #filled requests #im scared to charactertag so imma not do that #dick and jason

23 notes · View notes

marcos-scorpion · 5 years ago

Text

hello? (steve harrington x reader) part two of three

hiiiii! im sososososo sorry ive been gone. a lot has happened since i posted part one, and i have decided to make this a three-part (or maybe more) series, on a suggestion of my friend in sixth form. So, here is part two of hello? although its not the part two you were hoping for ;)

part one-- hello? part one

part three-- hello? part three

requested- technically I always planned on writing it, but people have requested it

warnings- anGST, tears, asshole s1!steve, swearing, smoking

word count- 1067

}{}{}{

Grinning as he rambled on about today’s drama with Tommy and Carol, Steve was thankful for the girl across the street. She never judged him and didn’t expect him to be anything but honest. And he loved her for it. It had taken him months to admit it to himself, and he could never admit it to anyone else, let alone her. She was everything he wanted, everything he needed.

But he couldn’t have her.

She was too perfect. Too smart, too pretty, too kind, and he couldn’t come into her life and ruin that. She was smeared ink and vanilla perfume, and he was bruised knuckles and strong cologne. They were too different. Worlds away, and yet so close.

Realising she hadn’t responded in a while, he decided to startle her out of her daydream with a chuckle.

“Fuck, Y/N, am I really that boring?” a laugh following his statement. “C’mon darlin’, are you there?” His voice cracked slightly at the pet name. How much he wished you were his.

Her reply came back, crackly through the phone, but he could still hear the gentle, joking, tone of your voice.

“I’m here, I’m here, just enjoying the show.”

Running to the window, he faked a look of disgust, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

“Don’t go all modest on me now, Harrington. The show was just getting good.” She let out a with a giggle.

Ugh, he hated when you said his name in that teasing tone, it made him want to make you moan his name instead.

Looking at her through the widows, shorts and massive t-shirt on her frame, he decided if he didn’t go to bed now, he’d say something he’d regret.

“It’s getting late, Y/L/N. Night, weirdo.”

“Night Steve.”

}{}{}{

He watched her dive into the front seat of Freakshow Byers’ car, watched them drive off with gritted teeth and a clenched jaw.

Fuckin’ Byers. You were supposed to be his girl, not that freakshow’s. How Byers got a girl like her it was beyond Steve. But all he knew was that she was his soulmate, and he had to have her.

But he couldn’t. She cared for Byers. And he couldn’t hurt you. Because sometimes, you have to hurt yourself to make the one you love happy. And for Steve, poor, oblivious Steve, it was killing him.

}{}{}{

Steve watched (Y/N)leave Jonathan’s car, watched her reach out to hold his hand. Why were they so late to school? Probably stopped to take fucking pictures.

Steve never had trouble getting the girl before. But (Y/N), oh (Y/N), she was special. You wrote poetry and always had a smile for him. And he decided she were so perfect he hated her. For not being his, for being Jonathan fucking Byers’, for being kind and eloquent and so goddamn beautiful it hurt.

At school, he would normally at least sneak you small smiles, and gentle touches in crowded corridors. But today, he was all hard looks and cold eyes. He could barely touch you without screaming, barely look at you without tears in his eyes.

So, yeah, he decided he fucking hated you.

}{}{}{

When Steve went to open his locker at the end of the day, a piece of pale-yellow paper fluttered to the ground. In her messy scrawl it read, ‘How am I supposed to stay away, when you made me everything I am?’. Doodles of little droopy daisies filled the rest of the paper, a small heart drawn in smudged ink at the end of the message.

Suddenly filled by both an intense anger and sadness, he ripped the note to shreds, throwing it to the floor, before stomping out of the school, just before he began to cry.

Sat shaking in his car, Steve wondered how the fuck he let himself get this fucked up over a girl. Over a fucking girl! He was King Steve, and he had a trail of broken hearts in his wake to prove it! He didn’t cry over any girl, especially not Freakshow Byers’ weird poet girlfriend. He was supposed to be the one making a girl cry, not the other way ‘round.

But here he fucking was.

So, he must take matters into his own hands.

Steve Harrington has to break (Y/N) (Y/L/N)’s heart, before she breaks his.

}{}{}{

He hadn’t called you. And it was killing him. But he couldn’t face you. Couldn’t face what he’d say when he spoke to you. What he was going to do.

While the boy was mulling over how to deal with her, his phone wrung.

“Hello?” Steve’s voice crackled through the phone. “Hello?”

“Steve,” she murmured, “Are you ok?”

Absently answering, he almost choked when he heard her voice.

And with that, Steve Harrington broke down.

“You know what Y/N, I’m not! I’m not o-fucking-kay because you won’t leave me alone! I thought I’d pity you, maybe try and be nicer to a weirdo, but I finally realised I made a shitty mistake. You’re dull, and annoying, and your fucking voice drives me up the fucking wall Y/N! It was fun talking to you, messing around, treating you like a fucking friend, when in reality, it was all fucking bullshit. You’re fucking bullshit. I hate you Y/L/N, but I seem to be fucking stuck with you. I phone you once, ONCE, and suddenly you’re on my back all the time. So, would you kindly fuck off, so I can live my life, and you can go back to shagging freakshow Byers.”

His heart broke with every word, every fucking syllable.

And when she let out a sob, he had to restrain himself from crying out. But he forced himself to the window, forced a fake cruel expression on his features. And when he met your eyes, forced himself to close the curtains.

And he fell to the floor, breaking down.

}{}{}{

The next morning, Steve watched her cry into Byers’ shirt.

He spent all day watching her broken form walk around the school, watched her smoke cigarette after cigarette.

And he realised what a terrible mistake he had made.

}{}{}{

He couldn’t fucking believe he was calling her, but he was. Oh god, he needed to talk to her, needed to apologise, make her understand.

He didn’t even know if she’d answer.

“Jonathan, I told you I’m fin-” Her voice was gravelly

“Hello?”

#steve #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #angst #harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x female #steve h #jonathan byers #jonathan byers x reader #st #Stranger Things S1 #stranger things season 1 #stranger things season one #part two of three

111 notes · View notes

hollandroos · 6 years ago

Text

just to see you smile | peter parker

summary: you and your boyfriend are in europe for a school trip and you sneak into his and neds room.

words: 1.1k

warnings: none, it’s all fluff

a/n: this was inspired by the far from home trailer!! i wrote it on my phone so there are no capital letters.

“you’re such an idiot, did you even pack your toothbrush?”

peter furrows his brows together, trying to remember what he chucked into the large suitcase just yesterday. “uhh… i think so?”

you laugh and rummage through the boy's bag, attempting to find even one jacket besides the one he was wearing himself. peter was known for forever being in a hurry, throwing things together instead of making sure he was prepared.

that was one of the reasons you worried so much about him being spider-man, especially after the events just a few months ago.

peter didn’t like to admit it out loud but he was still riddled with persistent nightmares and fears that he’d have to relive everything he did right from the point where he was thrown into outer space to seeing Tony Stark turn into nothing but ash.

but peter parker as determined and selfless as he was had made you promise not to bring up the events of the past starting the second you landed. you planned to stick to that promise.

outside, europe waited for you both in all its glory. your trip was planned in great detail, with a different activity each day to keep you both occupied. for you, this wasn’t just a school trip but another step in your relationship.

“oh so i see you remembered the toothbrush but not the toothpaste.” you hold up the plastic stick and shake your head at him. “smart, parker. real smart.”

knowing you were ever so sarcastic, your boyfriend takes the toothbrush from you and chucks it back into his suitcase. “oh and i can’t wait to see what you forgot.”

“bold of you to assume that i forgot anything. i’m prepared… unlike someone here.” you raise a brow in suggestion and gaze up. from your spot on the floor, you could make out a hint of adoration in his coffee coloured eyes, laced with swirls of amusement and affection.

you didn’t realise it then but you’d left your hairbrush at home.

you knew that you’d get in trouble for sneaking into his room but ned wasn’t going to say anything- wherever he was and honestly? you didn’t expect the teachers to be knocking down the doors at nine pm.

besides, all you were going to do was have a few laughs and hopefully catch up on some rest.

peter stood a few feet away above you with his phone in hand right after sending may a text. you knew it was may because he’d previously chuckled about something she’d said. you liked seeing him happy like this, carefree and content.

“you’re staring at me.”

you blink and screw up your face, nearly missing the way his cheeks flushed red. after a long flight, you both looked exhausted, dark circles lined the area beneath both of his eyes and his cheeks looked drawn but maybe that was from a few nights of missed sleep. at that moment, you couldn’t think about it twice.

your hand rested on his open suitcase, right on top of the spider-man suit and you grasp the material, feeling web shooters beneath them.

“i am not.” you defend yourself.

“you are, and that usually means that you’re thinking.” peter gets down in front of you and crosses his legs, sitting right beside the discarded suitcase holding items of clothing you had yet to steal. he strokes the area just above your brows once where a crease had formed. “what’s going on inside my loves head?”

his simple action was enough to make you relax- somehow even more then you already were. peter may be clumsy but he was also gentle in the way he spoke, moved and touched when he was around you.

if he tried hard enough, every small circle drawn on your arm or stomach or ever gentle twirl or your hair could feel like nothing more then being brushed by a butterfly. you ease closer to him until your knees are touching, hands laced. outside the streets hurl into chaos as taxis force their way through traffic and men and women shout between streets.

“we’ve been together for two years and i still love you as much as i did the day i said i love you for the very first time.” you speak over the chanting of teens down the hotel halls. “you still have every inch of my heart and there is no one else i’d rather be here with right now.”

peter feels his chest swell with love, corners of his lips curling up and in his back pocket his phone vibrates only once but he ignores it.

“and here i was thinking you were thinking about something serious.” he shakes his head playfully and presses a kiss to the side of your face. they say actions spoke louder then words.

“this is serious!” you exclaim. “I’m proclaiming my love for you despite having done it yesterday too.”

peter throws his head back in laughter, thumb running circles across your knuckles and you smile, small creases forming beneath your eyes in the darkened room illuminated by street lights and a dull, overhanging bulb.

“pretty girl, you proclaim your love to me every single day and i never get tired of it. you’re a huge sap.” he brings a hand away and you almost whine at the loss of contact before he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “by the way, i love you too.”

you raise a brow and inch your face closer, basking in the fact that for the first time today there were no teachers staring you both down, waiting for one of you to step out of line so they could scold you.

“do you though?”

peter gasps in faux offence and places a hand over his chest. the smell of mint settles between you. but still, peter smiles a real smile.

“are you questioning my love?”

“depends, are you insulting my romantic gestures?” you tease.

peters lips come down, soft and gentle at first as they run over your own only barely before he captures them in a love filled kiss. the taste of his mint gum lingered on his lips and yours too, but from the piece you stole from his back pocket when he wasn’t paying attention.

fun fact: he was paying attention and he was aware of your hand snacking into his pocket. at first, he thought you were using it as leverage to pull him closer for a much-needed hug but soon noticed you popping a piece into your mouth.

the gum wasn’t important- despite the fact that he had bought mint over strawberry knowing it was your favourite.

you truly loved him and you’d tell him every day if it meant giving him something to smile about.

Please remember to reblog or send me an ask telling me what you thought of this

Everything tags: @cosmetologynerd @holland-ish @smexylemony @thewiseandfree@zendayacolemen @dej-okay @hollandsletters @ive-got-some-lies-to-tell @liz-gayllen@marvelismylifffe @lovelyh0lland @tomhollandandmarvelsworld @woah-jess @southsidefandoms@justannothermonday @its-claire-louise @sophiatomlinson23 @mockingjaygirl1221 @joyfullyjenny@damnhisfaceisliketheskyatnight @bride-of-loki-odinson @in-the-corner-coffee-please@futuremrsb-r-main @spideyyypeter @saturn-aka-six @c0prolalia @buckykinz@ashtonsbandannas @dennasaur @amyyleblanc1999 @fnosidam@randomfangirl1701@maybeandperhaps @acciorinn @marvel-language @micki-smiles@justmesadgirl @converseskyline @niall2017 @gavemylifetotomholland @tomuchmarvel@leslieandjensen @painted-soulss @practicallylivesonline @mischiefmanaged49 @its-the-unknownspidey @holyrose96 @for-my-mind @mlxbm @erindillon11 @captainbuckyy @shawnandhisroses @converseskyline @smitten0-0kitten @parkeroos @whileinparis @unicornio-vomita-mierdas @draqcnheartstrinq @rainyboo-posts @mikalaka @petxrpxrker @tony-starks-ego @thedaydreamingwriter @peter-quackson @kateelyse96 @lesbian-jesus-jr @wheresmyquill@elyshugh @hollanderheart @tomshufflepuff @marvelismylifffe @tomsh0lland @obsessed-fandoms @girl-in-the-chair @trashqueenbitch @dramatic-and-young @honey-honey-5644@parkerluvs @chingonaconcha @captainbuckyy @jes-sica1 @tomsfireheart @Rainbow-marvel @spideysimpossiblegirl @spideys-gurl @thomasstanley-holland @mlxbm @ixchel-9275@parkerssweb @peter-parkersbb @tom-hollands-eyelash @starlightfound @vldlvj @paradoxparker @lustfulcry @mlxbm @musiclover1263 @justatheatredork @peterparkerscamera@fandomnerdsarecool @thequeensardine @cutesy-angst @httplayer @mischiefmanaged49 @loca-lola @softboyparkerr @desir-ae @dangerousluv1 @t-hotland @laucontrerasv @peter-parkersbb@whatdafricklefrackle @thatblondebelgiangirl @fairydustparker @they-call-me-le @jamiemac26@nephalem67 @underoos-tom @quaxon-holland @lovelyspidey @no-shxt-sherl @xlatinaaxx@starlightfound @mikexpeter @moonandstars-xo @httpmcrvel @evelyn120700 @fromheroestodust@hollandfieldblurbs @ghostlypandacolorpersona @spazclaiire @curlyhairedparker @josierosie@unicornio-vomita-mierdas @icondy @euphoricholland @desir-ae @lovelyspidey @thelazypangolin@ameeravioli @ramen-tically @mellifluous-tom @mrs-webslinger @krazykiara @scottyisthatyou @@s0cial-retard @sithskywalkers

#peter parker #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagines #peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader insert #peter parker fluff #peter parker oneshot #peter parker imagine #peter parker blurb

737 notes · View notes

clockworkrobotic · 6 years ago

Text

OOOOUUUGGGH H HERE IT IS

Thanks everyone for your patience while I took three times longer than intended <3

final word count 5234 ;;

I’m planning to write more but this ended up so absurdly long that I’m splitting it up. It’s a wild dumpster fire of headcanons and canon canons, ive tried to avoid exposition but if something doesnt make sense shoot me an ask lol

sort of vaguely around the end of BL1. Rowdy teenage calypsos. Dramatic backstory. Go

“Do it again.”

He sits cross-legged, facing her, watching intently. Tyreen scans the grass for another flower and finds one, a small purple thing that’s braved the blistering Pandoran heat to spring up from the rare lush patch they’ve settled into this afternoon. Her brow furrows with concentration as she touches it and searches for the not-quite-uncomfortable breathless feeling that precedes what she’s about to do. In honesty, she’s not entirely sure what she does to trigger it, but if she focuses hard enough, it seems to happen eventually.

Sure enough, after a few seconds, it’s wilting against her hand, the colour draining to a dull brown as the petals dry and shrivel and crumble to dust. Her chest feels hollow and then it doesn’t, her arm is tingling slightly as the pleasant warmth travels up and leaves her markings glowing a faint blue, and she feels content and floaty for a moment.

Troy is watching in awe, and he reaches out suddenly and grabs her arm.

“These are getting bigger,” he tells her certainly, inspecting her tattoos, “they didn’t go around your hand the other day. D’you think they’ll keep growing?”

Tyreen pulls back and looks at the ground. She doesn’t want to tell him that she feels them, at night, a scratching needling feeling drawing patterns down her body, and that as pretty as they are she doesn’t really want any more of them, they might make her face look weird. She also doesn’t want to tell him that he’s right.

“So cool…” He trails off, and Tyreen enjoys the quiet envy in his voice.

“I wish I could do other stuff,” she confesses. Troy shrugs.

“Maybe you can. But you haven’t found it out yet.” He pulls up another flower and hands it to her. “Do it again.”

* * *

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Dunno,” Tyreen answers honestly, “I’m fine, though, really.”

She feels more than fine. It’s the only use she’s managed to put her powers to - as long as there’s something small and alive nearby, she can draw its energy in place of food. Some days she’s been getting by just running her hands through the grass. When she thinks about it, she can’t even remember what being hungry feels like.

The past few weeks have been a blur of trudging through the arid desert and scavenging abandoned camps and just trying to stay away from trouble. They had learnt early on to avoid active settlements - the local bandits didn’t take too kindly to thieves - but rummaging around in waste and ruin yielded little in terms of rations. Tyreen had pocketed herself a neat little pistol that she (thankfully) hadn’t had to use yet and Troy had secured some kind of baton that looked as though it might have once doubled as a taser, but other than that, resources are scarce. At least this way she can make sure he’s getting something close to enough to eat.

“You should still eat something, Ty. This can’t be good for you.”

“I’m not sure living in the desert is good for anyone.” Tyreen pulls her jacket up over her shoulders to shield herself from the heat. Little as she might physically need it, she’d kill for a cold drink right about now. Beer. She isn’t even sure what beer tastes like, but she’s parsed that it’s a noble option on hot days, and under the blistering sun came now to consider it some kind of ambrosia.

Troy’s footsteps stop behind her and she turns wearily to look at him. He’s shielding his eyes and squinting into the distance.

“I think there’s a town up ahead. Let’s move.”

* * *

“It’s no use, Troy,” Tyreen groans, trying to hide how pissed off she’s really getting. Not that she doesn’t appreciate his enthusiasm, but there’s only so much she can put up with. She starts to pull her jacket back on.

“No, no, c’mon, just - one more try,” Troy pleads, darting forward to grab her wrists, “You heard the guy in the bar back there. He reckons you’re a Siren. There’s - there’s so much more you could lea-”

“Most powerful being in the universe were his exact words, Troy.” She slouches a few exasperated feet away and slumps onto a rock cluster. “Killing plants is a far cry from that.”

Troy runs a hand through his hair and sits himself on the ground in front of her. “It’s not killing plants, Ty, it’s - some kind of energy thing, like you can - steal life force or something -”

“Troy,” Tyreen cuts him off firmly, then pinches the bridge of her nose and softens her tone, “I know you want to believe there’s more to this but - I think this might be it.” He’s watching her in earnest, but she can see the light die behind his eyes a little, and it hurts. “You heard him, too. Sirens are dangerously powerful, from birth, he seemed to think they’re killing their parents and levelling bandit camps before they can walk. Do you - don’t you think, if I could do anything like that, we would’ve found out by now?” She tries to offer a small smile. It looks more like a grimace. Troy opens his mouth to say something, and she cuts across him again. “I’m sorry, Troy. It’s a fairy tale. We’re stuck on the same shitty planet as everyone else.”

Troy’s mouth is pressed into a grim line and he looks away from her. Tyreen gets up and offers him a hand. “Come on. It’s getting dark. I can start us a fire, at least.”

* * *

They come for her that night.

Tyreen is jolted awake by a hand over her mouth, and finds herself face to face with a masked marauder. Even with the ventilator covering the majority of his face, she can tell who it is.

“Hello, little Siren,” he croons, and the grin in his voice is sickening. She shrieks, one hand going for his face, the other scrabbling above her head for her pistol, kicking and howling muffled under his thick glove, trying to make enough noise to wake Troy up. The marauder is bigger than her by a lot, pinning her easily to the floor, and to her panic she can see two others advancing behind him.

“Never seen one in real life,” one of them comments, stepping over and kicking her gun out of reach, “Is she dangerous?”

“Nah, they told me everything,” says the one holding her down, and shifts to press his knee into her abdomen. Tyreen feels tears springing into her eyes. “She can’t do shit, least, not yet, anyway. Reckon we can fix that, though.”

Tyreen twists beneath him and makes another lunge for the pistol. It catches her assailant off guard, and she manages to choke out a breathless “TRO--” before he regains his hold on her, hand twisting in her hair and slamming her face hard against the ground. She can taste blood.

Several hands seize her arms and haul her to her feet, and there’s one covering her mouth again. She kicks frantically at them, feet slipping against the dusty earth floor.

“Come on, sweetheart,” is the rasped attempt at sweetness against her ear, “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” And with that they’re dragging her from the shack, impervious to her muffled pleas and the tears streaming down her face.

Through her panic and probable concussion, she tries to find some clarity, to find that little breathless inkling she feels with the plants. It’s a long shot, she’s never managed anything more complex than a small cactus before, but maybe Troy is right, she can do it, she just needs to -

CRACK

The hand around her mouth goes limp and after a couple of beats, she feels the weight drop behind her. The other two let go of her arms, instinctively leaping away from whatever has just felled their comrade, and for one absurd moment she thinks that she’s managed something incredible.

“TYREEN!” Troy grabs her arm and pulls her behind him. He’s holding a thick piece of wood that looks like it might’ve been Tyreen’s height to begin with, but now hinged almost completely in two, bearing thick, vicious splinters where it had collided with the marauder’s head.

The other two have drawn their guns, but Troy is faster. Even at 16 he towers over them, wasteland-formed muscles knocking down both attackers in one swing of his makeshift weapon. There’s a loud BANG that jolts Tyreen unpleasantly back into reality and she dives for the dead marauder, seizing his gun from its holster and realising too late that she’s never done this before.

Troy has one of the men pinned to the ground, and the other is taking aim again. Tyreen doesn’t think, just points and shoots, aiming as far from her brother as she can get away with, fighting the resistance of the trigger until she lands a solid hit. Silhouetted by the light of Elpis, she sees him go down, his fingers twitching as his weapon falls from his grip. Her heart is racing, vision blurred by tears and adrenaline, but she can’t risk him getting up. She can hear the panicked pleas choked beneath Troy’s fingers to her left as she shoots her attacker between the eyes.

* * *

“Can’t sleep?”

“Nah.”

Tyreen sits on the mottled grass and watches the sun rise. Troy seats himself next to her, legs crossed like he used to when they were kids. Tyreen fidgets with the sleeves of her shirt.

“You can’t wear this, Ty, it’s a hundred degrees out,” Troy says, picking at the worn cotton. Tyreen pulls them further over her hands.

“I don’t want anyone to see them.”

He doesn’t have anything to say to that, and the pair of them sit in silence and watch the orange sunlight wash over camps and communes as far as the horizon.

“We have to go,” Tyreen says eventually. Troy glances over his shoulder to where the bodies of the three marauders are still lying. It’s only been a few hours, but in the heat the flies are already buzzing lazily around the corpses, and a swarm of rakk are beginning to circle overhead.

“Don’t you want to get some rest first? Nobody’s going to find us up here for a while.”

Tyreen shakes her head and lets the silence fall for a little while longer, punctuated by the occasional shriek from above.

“I’ve never killed anyone before.”

“Me neither.”

They both ponder the absurdity of the situation. Pandora isn’t renowned for its peaceful living, its occupants consisting mostly of violent bandits, escaped convicts, and the mutated casualties of Dahl’s mining operations. Yet they’d managed to avoid confrontation up until now, and it had dragged them screaming from their cabin in the dead of night. Terrified as she’d been, Tyreen wonders why she isn’t feeling more, well, anything - she’s just taken a life, and she feels as indifferent to it as if she’d walked away from a bar fight.

“They deserved it,” Troy says suddenly, as if reading her mind. His voice is flat and stony, “They were going to hurt you.”

Tyreen looks up at him. His expression is cold, and there’s something different about him, like a vengeful spark in his eye. She sighs and leans her head against his shoulder (well, arm) and then pulls away abruptly.

“Troy, you’re bleeding!”

Troy snaps out of his reverie and glances down, noting the deep indent in his bicep where a bullet must have skimmed past him.

“Has that been open this whole time? Damn it, that’s hours old, we have to get that cleaned up-”

“Calm down, Ty, it’s just a gra-”

“It’ll get infected, Troy, you could lose your arm.”

“It’s fine, leave it-”

“Let me help you.” She’s standing now, furious tears pricking her eyes. Troy doesn’t say anything. She storms inside to get the med kit.

* * *

They play it safe and don’t stop until they’re a couple of towns over. Despite the sparse population news had a habit of travelling fast here, and Tyreen is keen not to become the focal point of a planet-wide manhunt. She stays small, keeps her arms covered despite the sun, though thankfully they appear to be moving north and it’s getting a little cooler.

Troy keeps an anxious eye on her. She’s growing skittish, recoiling inward whenever anyone passes too close, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. She refuses to use her powers any more and at night she insists on sleeping next to him, terrified of what might happen if they get raided again and she can’t wake him up in time.

They’re sitting in a tavern one lazy afternoon when a conversation the next table over makes Tyreen freeze up. Troy hears it too; they’re talking about a local faction of the Crimson Lance, and the word Siren hangs heavy in the air. Tyreen cringes inwardly and looks up at Troy with pleading eyes, desperate to get as far away from this conversation as physically possible. Troy shushes her, trying to tell her without words that they can leave in a moment, but what they’re hearing could be important - Commandant Steele is old news at this point, but it sounds like they think there’s another Siren in the area. Tyreen pulls nervously at her sleeves. They can’t be talking about her, surely - she hasn’t said a word to anyone since they arrived. Low profile isn’t the word.

Tyreen gets up suddenly, upsetting their glasses, no longer resigning to sit and listen. She grabs Troy with a shaking hand and all-but drags him out of the bar.

* * *

Tyreen sleeps restlessly, tossing and turning uncomfortably, too hot and too cold at the same time, her brother’s protective hold the only thing preventing her from falling out of bed. She swears the ground is shaking like they’re resting over a tremorous fault line, yet the room and its contents remain still and Troy sleeps undisturbed. There’s a nagging urge telling her to head outside and look for… something, like a magnetic pull calling her out into the darkness, but she vehemently fights it, fear outweighing abject curiosity. When she finally drifts off, the sun is rising, spilling in through the frayed curtains, and she’s curled up in Troy’s arms, safe as she’ll ever be.

* * *

“Ty.”

Tyreen barely hears him. Her head feels like it’s full of radio static, has done since she woke up somewhere around 3pm. She’s focussing on just walking straight forward, though she’s not sure she’s doing a particularly good or convincing job of it.

“Tyreen,” Troy insists, grabbing her arm and forcing her to stop.

“Wuh,” is all she can manage, her hazy state making the sudden halt feel vaguely like whiplash. She presses her eyes shut and rubs her temples.

“Ty, look.” Troy is pointing behind her. Tyreen turns around and waits for her head to stop spinning.

“What ammi lookin’ at?” She mumbles after several seconds of attempting to decipher the blur that is her vision.

“Are you alright?” Her brother sounds incredibly worried and incredibly far away. She aware of his hand on her back, although she’s not sure that is her back, it feels thrice removed, as if she’s watching through someone else’s eyes and thinking with someone else’s brain.

“M fine. J’st dizzy. Water,” she manages, and fumbles around for her hipflask. The motion is disoriented, almost drunken, but she finds it and struggles with the cap for far too long. Troy takes it off her and opens it. “What’s am I lookin’ at?” She says again.

“Ty, you’re leaving footprints.”

“So? S’a desert.”

“In the grass.”

Tyreen blinks several times and tries to focus on what’s in front of her. It takes what feels like minutes before she can see clearly enough, and when she can, she’s not convinced she isn’t hallucinating.

As far back as she can see, as far as they’ve walked - which is not the sandy wasteland she’d been picturing in front of her for the past couple of miles, but more of a, admittedly ill-attended, pasture - there’s a set of footprints leading up to where she’s standing. Where she’s set foot, the grass has wilted away beneath her, leaving dead foliage and dry earth in its place. Tyreen looks down to where she’s standing now, and sees it; around her, the verdure wavers and leans in, towards her, pulled taut by some invisible force, before drying up and shrivelling to straw. It seems to slow as the circle around her grows, but it’s happening alright.

“This is bad... issnt it.”

“It’s…” Troy’s tone does not match hers. He seemed elated. “Ty, it’s incredible. I’ve never seen you keep this up for so long!”

“Mm?”

“You’re getting stronger, I told you, you just need to practise-”

“Troy…”

“- We can find somewhere safe next time we stop, you can try it on something larger, like, an animal or something-”

“Troy, I’m n- not -”

He’s still talking, but his words are blurring together into one excited stream of noise. Tyreen feels a drop in the pit of her stomach, like the ground has just fallen away with her still attached to it. She tries to feel for the hipflask he’s still holding.

“Troy I’m going to throw up,” She manages, surprisingly coherent, and her brother catches her as she blacks out.

* * *

Troy is holding a cold cloth to her face when she comes around. She’s lying on his jacket, but the ground beneath is hard and uneven, and the fabric pulls uncomfortably against her as she moves to sit up.

Troy breathes a hefty sigh of relief and against his better judgement, gathers her into a tight hug.

“Oh my god, I was so scared, Ty, I thought I’d lost you,” he mumbles brokenly into her shoulder.

Tyreen pats his chest gently. “’M fine. Can I have some space?”

Troy gives her one last squeeze and lets go. His face is wrought with worry, and she can tell he’s been crying. She opens her mouth to say something, and he shoves her hipflask into it.

“Drink. It’s been hours.”

She complies gratefully. He’s right, she’s completely parched, and the flask is empty in seconds. The awful fuzziness from earlier still isn’t quite gone, but she can see clearly again, and Troy doesn’t sound like he’s half a mile away when he talks. Tyreen takes a few deep breaths and scopes out the room.

It’s not a room. They appear to be in a cave of sorts, the grey walls dotted with condensation that’s slowly crawling down the walls and keeping the air comfortably cool and refreshing. Up ahead, the entrance opens out to a deep blue sky dotted with bright constellations and a full, luminous moon.

Troy is watching her. “I’m sorry, it’s not great, but it’s the only place I could find without anything…” He trails off, and she sees his jaw flex as it does when he’s nervous. “...Alive.”

Tyreen blinks at him, at a loss. He doesn’t elaborate. She draws her legs up to her chest and rests her head on her arms.

“It’s a good thing you’re wearing long sleeves, anyway.”

It’s then that she sees it. His shirt is torn - no, burnt, the edges frayed and blackened, pulling away to reveal an angry mess of red, blistering skin dragging down from his shoulder.

“Oh my god…” she murmurs, reaching out to touch him. He flinches.

“You, um,” Troy laughs uneasily, trying to lighten the mood and failing, “You were a bit grabby.”

Tyreen can only stare. She can barely remember anything before she passed out, only a static headache, and footprints, and Troy catching her, and now…

Now her brother is recoiling from her touch, on instinct, like a frightened animal, and he looks as though someone has raked at his chest with a hot poker.

“Troy,” she says slowly, “What’s going on?”

Troy runs a hand through his hair and looks at the ground. His shoulders are hunched, making it hard to see the scars she’s left on him, but she knows they’re there now, and she can’t take her eyes off them.

“I don’t know,” Troy answers honestly, after what feels like forever, “But I think those bandits were right.” Tyreen flinches at the memory. “I think I was right.” Troy looks up under his hair and offers her a half smile. Tyreen feels like her heart is in her throat, too anxious to smile back. “You can do more than kill plants.”

* * *

Tyreen is glowing.

Whatever cover the long sleeves offered her before is lost now. Through the tired grey of her shirt the markings weave a prominent blue around her arm. She wonders if they will actually burn through eventually.

She walks a few paces behind her brother, hopeful that his hulking presence will shield her from view, or at least deter any would-be attackers.

She wears gloves now, although she’s not sure it’s doing much. Foliage still wilts as she brushes past it, and it’s getting worse. She can’t control it. Her heart is hammering in her chest and she can’t sleep, so buzzed constantly that she can’t get a moment’s rest. The static headache is coming back.

They’re back to raiding bandit camps, reluctant to risk running into any enthusiasts in towns, but it’s taking a toll on the both of them. Troy still needs to eat, and as they venture further into the tundra the camps grow populous and more secure. Few are abandoned and they’re more complex, civilised almost, rickety shacks climbing multiple levels up cliff faces, connected by makeshift stairs and ladders that can barely hold Troy’s weight.

After a few close calls, they decide Tyreen should sit out the raids. Night is a lost cause, her luminous tattoos making her a walking target as they try to stealth through the camps, and during the day her vision blurs and vertigo hits her in waves.

She resolves to sit outside the camp, standing guard, although there’s not much she can do if disaster strikes. At least Troy can find her easily in the dark. She learns quickly not to mention the growing collection of marks and scars he’s amassing with each trip.

“I think we should turn back,” she says one night, as they’re huddling together under blankets, deep in the safety of a cave. Tyreen can barely feel the cold but her brother is shivering (much as he tries to hide it) and she’s giving off enough body heat for the both of them.

“We can’t.” Troy’s jaw is clenched.

“We were safer in the desert. There’s too many people here.” Troy shakes his head. “Troy, come on, we can’t stay here. You’re going to freeze to death.”

“I’m fine,” Troy mumbles, breath rising in a mist before him, “Have to keep you safe.”

“Troy…”

Her brother presses his eyes shut and shakes his head again. “It’s better for you… here.” He draws in a shivering breath. “Nothing… to hurt you.”

Tyreen knows exactly what he’s talking about, and he’s right. As they wander deeper into the frozen wasteland the greenery is dwindling, giving her body less to draw on, the headaches becoming tolerable background noise as opposed to the constant, nauseating buzz when she was brushing through the foliage a few miles back.

She wants to tell him to leave, that she’ll be fine here on her own; but she knows that’s a lie, and he’d never abandon her anyway. Troy is the only thing keeping both of them alive, and it’s killing him.

She looks up at him, in time to see his head drooping as he drifts into an uneasy sleep, resting against her shoulder. She’s managed not to burn him since that fateful night in the nexus, but she also hasn’t managed to do anything else. For a few days Troy had insisted that she try channelling the energy she’s built up, convinced that that’s what had hurt him, but after several frustrating, failed attempts, Tyreen was starting to think they’d both imagined it. Maybe she hadn’t burnt him, just clawed at him a whole lot, enough to draw blood. That must have been it.

She wishes she could sleep. Instead, the best she can do is curl up close to her brother and keep him warm until the morning sunlight seeps in through the windows of their makeshift home.

* * *

Tyreen is sitting in the snow a few hundred feet outside of Troy’s latest charge when she hears him screaming. The sound reverberates within her, shaking her to her core, raw and visceral and unmistakably him. She’s on her feet before she can stop herself.

He’s done this before… don’t get involved… it’s too dangerous… She stops trying to convince herself. She’s never heard that sound from him before. He needs her.

Nobody looks at her when she bursts into the camp. They’re too busy huddling, watching, jeering at something she can’t see up ahead. The ground is spattered, warm and wet and soft with blood, so much blood. They’re at least a hundred yards away and the vicious spray reaches as far as where she’s standing.

Tyreen feels as though she’s wading through water as she approaches the spectacle. She can’t move fast enough, terrified of what she’s going to see, but desperate to see it. The buzzing headache is creeping an icy path behind her eyes and obscuring her vision, her heart pounding so hard and so fast her chest hurts and she can’t breathe, her blood races like molten metal through her veins and she can see out of the corner of her eye the vibrant blue radiating from her, the only visual she can place as the static pulls a cloudy veil over her sight.

She isn’t sure if the crowd parts for her, or if she pushes through them. The taunting subsides for a moment as her presence is noted, and then starts back up again, wordless yelling and mockery coming from all sides. Who is she? She shouldn’t be here.

Tyreen doesn’t need to see clearly to know what she’s looking at. Her brother is slumped motionless before her, propped half-upright against something, his form through her murky vision painted merciless red, red, red. She can make out her hands in front of her as she reaches out to him, her palms coming away from his torso hot and damp. Her mouth forms silent words, begging him to wake up, fingers drawing thick red lines along his face.

“This is heartwarmin’, truly.” The voice comes from all around her, barely audible through the haze of shock. Tyreen gets unsteadily to her feet. The world tilts sideways. “But you can’t be here, darlin’.”

Tyreen half-staggers around to face the speaker. He’s a blurry mess of colour and motion, and he’s pointing something hefty and probably dangerous at her. “You got ten seconds to leave, or you’re joinin’ him.”

What happens next, Tyreen will later justify as self-defence. It’s a lie. She’s never wanted to hurt someone so badly. She wants him dead.

The figure takes a step towards her, and Tyreen moves, hand outstretched. She thinks she hears his shotgun go off as she connects with his throat. Something surges within her, rippling through her body and charging the air around her with a terrifying electricity. Her vision goes white.

Tyreen comes around to chaos. Her clothes cling to her uncomfortably, and she’s vaguely aware of screaming and raucous movement all around her. She looks down at her hands.

She’s covered in blood. It’s coating her arms, her body, drying against her face, plastering her hair against her forehead. Through the vibrant red, her tattoos glow faintly, the light dying peacefully against her skin. The headache is gone.

Heart in her throat, Tyreen reluctantly surveys the area around her and nearly passes out. The bandit who threatened her is gone, replaced by a violent spattering of blood and viscera. An amalgam of decimated organs and what might be clothing is dotted around, hanging from various buildings and structures, painting a few unfortunate nearby bandits caught in the splash zone. Only the gun remains intact, lying in the midst of the gore, seemingly untouched by any of it. It’s almost comical.

“Don’t touch me,” she says shakily, aware of one particularly brave or foolish bandit cocking his gun off to the side. He doesn’t need to be told twice. Tyreen casts a sweeping glance around her, and the remaining spectators scatter.

“Tyreen…”

“Troy! Oh my god!” Tyreen spins around and all-but throws herself at her brother. The colour is drained from his face, his skin cold and clammy, but he’s alive.

She pulls away suddenly, remembering what has just transpired. “Oh, fuck, oh my god, I didn’t-”

“That was... awesome,” Troy manages. He smirks weakly, hand reaching up to grasp her shoulder. Hand…

“Troy, your arm!”

Troy follows her gaze to bleeding crater where his arm used to be. It’s been blown completely from the socket.

“Huh,” he mumbles. He moves to touch the wound, and Tyreen grabs his wrist. “That’s not good, is it.”

“Can you walk?”

“Th... think so.” Troy attempts to push himself up with his remaining hand. “No.”

“I- I don’t know what to do.” Panic settles solidly in her throat as the magnitude of the situation dawns on her. “Troy, y - you need a doctor.”

“Yeah…” Troy trails off, his eyes starting to drift closed.

“No, no, god, don’t go to sleep, Troy-!” Tyreen taps his face firmly, hands shaking. He doesn’t respond. “Stay awake, please, wake up, oh my god - HELP!” She scopes the camp frantically. “SOMEONE HELP ME!” There must be something, someone who knows what to do, a settlement out here couldn’t last this long without medicine…

There. She can make out the crudely-drawn Aesculepion hammered into the ground a few hundred feet off.

“I’m gonna be back soon, okay?” She presses her forehead to her brother’s, fighting tears. “I’m getting help.”

She draws herself to her full height and takes a deep breath. Picks up the discarded shotgun with bloodied hands and marches towards the medical tent.

* * *

Troy’s hand twitches lightly against hers. Tyreen springs to attention, the most she’s moved in two days.

“Hey,” she greets him softly as his eyes flutter open, “Don’t move too much. You’re in safe hands.”

Regardless, Troy awkwardly tries to push himself upright, knocked off balance by the missing appendage. Tyreen pushes him gently back to lie down.

“You need to rest. Doctor’s orders.” She shoots a smile over to the far corner, where the medic is cowering, terrified. “Isn’t that right?”

“You’re not glowing,” Troy murmurs, his voice cracking slightly from the anaesthesia. He moves over like he wants to touch her. “I can’t feel my arm, Ty.”

Tyreen brushes the hair from his face and smiles tenderly. “We can fix that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Troy squeezes her hand weakly, too worn out to inquire any further. He mumbles something incoherent and sinks back into the mattress. Tyreen pulls the worn blankets over him, feeling real relief for the first time.

It’s refreshing. Liberating. Nobody’s out to get them here, far contrary - the commune dwellers have proven quite eager to help her. For once in her life, they don’t have to run.

#borderlands #the calypso twins #Troy calypso #Tyreen calypso #gratuitous self indulgence #real talk i had a blast writing this i hope yall enjoy reading it #more to come!! like comment and subscribe!!#it's 6am i should go to bed #ive gotta go to college in like two hours lmao

54 notes · View notes

graceful-defender-of-paris · 5 years ago

Note

Theonsa high school sweethearts

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20115370

Sorry for the late reply!

(2347)

If you had asked Sansa a month ago or even five minutes ago what she thought about Theon she would have said he was like a piece of furniture, he was always around the Stark household.

He had always been Theon her brothers best friend. Theon who was her brother in all but name if Robb had his way, he was an honorary member of the Starks.

So why was it that after being dragged along by the rest of the family to Theon's swimming gala. So she of course was disgruntled because she had planned to visit Margaery to watch ‘Love Islands’. each year they took attractive singles from all over Westeros and put them on an island, the year before they were in the Arbor but this year they were on Dragonstone, it was so exciting! Especially since Margaery's brother Garlan was on so it was basically her civic duty to watch it and support her friend's brother.

But, instead, she was watching Theon. In his swim shorts, that showed off his surprisingly toned body with a chiselled abdomen that the droplets of water cascaded so attractively down, as he pulled himself out of the water, her eyes were drawn to his muscled biceps that glowed as though sun-kissed in the fluorescent lighting of the Winterfell leisure centres swimming pool.

Oh, gods, she might have a crush on Theon.

This was TERRIBLE! No no no this cannot happen , she absolutely cannot like Theon because he is much older (a year above her) , he is a notorious womaniser and worst of all he definitely sees her as his little sister.

So, all in all, she was definitely screwed.

There was no way she could ever look Theon in the eye again, let alone be in a room with him so obviously, her best option now was to run away and join the silent sisters.

Yeah, that could work.

They were going to arrive home late-probably after midnight so she would have to watch Love Island on catch up at home. After Winterfell academy swim team won they were all invited for a celebratory meal where Sansa found herself increasingly panicked at the realisation that Theon was not just hot but extremely hot.

So she did what any normal person would do. She panic texted her best friend Margaery.

[Sansie]

Okay so

Has Theon suddenly become hot or have I been blind my entire life?

[Margie]

You’re only just realising??

If I wasn't having my world rocked by your stupidly hot brother I'd jump on that

Also, have you realised that you are in love with him yet?

[Sansie]

please don't use 'world rocked' and 'hot brother' in the same sentence ever again

AND I AM NOT

[Margie]

Sure San…

[Sansie]

I mean it!

It's just that

Did I blackout for ten years or something cause I swear he was Robb's annoying best friend yesterday but now he's all attractive and annoying and oh god's I like him don't I?

[Margaery]

Yep

Now go get him before anyone else does

Since there were so many of them the family had been split into their mum's people carrier and Robb's small Toyota Prius, unfortunately for her, she was in Robbs car, which also seated Theon. She was in the back in the middle seat squashed between Arya and Theon and wondering if her life could get any worse.

She was terrified to even check her phone in the case any more of Margaery's messages came through and he would see it- which had happened with Rickon earlier.

He kept making kissing noises at her and Theon and now she found herself here.

It was nearly impossible to ignore him now. All her senses were heightened when he was around and now all she wanted was a scented candle of him, How he managed to smell like the sea and Winterfell would forever elude her but gods it was intoxicating.

Arya had been giving her odd stares as though she had been acting weird- which given the situation was understandable but it was when Theon whispered close to her ear “are you okay Sans? You're not acting like yourself” that she really fell apart.

Turns out all it took was watching Theon get out of a swimming pool for her to question everything in her life and then some.

She squeaked out an affirmation that was supposed to mean “I am fine” but sounded more like a smothered cry for help. Which Theon took to mean “I'm cold” as he took off his jacket, put it around her and put his arm over her shoulder and snuggled her closer to him.

And to make it worse, she fell asleep.

“Sans”

Her pillow seemed to be wriggling so she held on to it tighter to keep it still

“Sans, c’mon you have to let me go now”

Why was her pillow trying to talk to her?

“hrmph”

She could hear a little some bickering that sounded like one of her brothers but she just wanted to go back to dreaming of a world where Theon didn't just see her as his little sister.

Ahh Theon

Unbeknownst to her, of course, was that she had just said this out loud in front of said object of desire

“Uhhh… okay” her pillow seemed confused, “Sansa, Robbs about to drop me off at home, I'm just going to remove your arms from me so I can get out..”

Wait, what? Was she lying on Theon? Suddenly a rush of adrenaline shook her awake and she was keenly aware of how she was lying on top of Theon

She blearily tried to blink the sleep out of her eyes when she saw Theon's sea-green eyes staring intently at her, his mouth broke into a relieved smile and she fell deeper.

“You can keep my jacket, I know its cold, it's about a minute or two till Robb drops me off and I didn't want to have to wake you while everyone was watching” his eyes darted to Robb and Jon who were happily oblivious to the affairs of the back seat, and Arya who was texting away on her phone.

[Sansie]

Oh god it's so much worse I've gone completely 0-60 and now I can never show my face again

I slept on theon in the car

[margaery]

That's it?

No outburst of I love you?

boring

though if you were going to do a random declaration of love I would've liked to be there so I could do it justice in my maid of honour speech

[Sansie]

Let me live! ive only realised I liked him four hours

[Margie]

And he's liked you for at least the past four years

Honestly, I'll be dead before either of you make a move

I heard Jeyne has a thing for him, so really confess your undying love soon before we have to go on a ben & jerry's rom-com binge to mend your broken heart

[Sansie]

JEYNE?!?!

I'm so screwed :(

[margie]

You're using emojis

It's worse than I imagined

******

Its been three months since her startling realisation that she had a crush on theon and so far she had done absolutely nothing about it- not for Margaery's lack of trying.

“You know he likes you back” Margaery all but declared in the middle of the hallway on their way to geography- the one class she hated (she was failing at geography). What made that matter worse was that her teacher, Mr Luwin, had organised for Theon to tutor her for her upcoming exams.

Apparently, her teacher was out to get her as well.

“He doesn't! And I don't want to make things awkward for him and Robb. I also don't want to fail geography”

“c’mon! You cant say that you haven't loved every minute of your late-night study sessions” Margaery teases, Sansa could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks at the thought of Theon in his oversized hoodie and messy hair sitting at the desk in her bedroom.

“That's irrelevant.”

Margaery shot her an incredulous look and opened the door to their class, “you never know until you try and I have it on good authority that he would be very open to you advances” and gave Sansa a knowing wink before sitting at her desk.

Ugh, there was really no escaping it anymore was where Margaery would rest until she finally jumped the bones. And at the rate she was going she thought that theon probably would just be bones before she finally had the guts to tell him.

Thought of theon consumed her throughout geography and she found herself at a complete loss when she was called upon to answer in class.

“Miss Stark?, I asked you a question.”

She felt her heartbeat race as she stuttered out “um, could you repeat the question please?”

“How many islands make up the archipelago of the iron islands?” Mr Luwin repeated

She knew this one, Theon would always talk about his homeland and the way his eyes crinkled when gushing about the bracing wing and the waves crashed against the rocks had embedded itself in her mind “31 Sir”

“That's right Miss Stark” She let out a breath of relief, perhaps she might survive this after all.

****

She had taken Margaery’s advice to heart, so she had decided that tonight would be perfect. He was coming over for their study session and her parents and younger brothers would be away for Rickon’s Skagosi fighting tournament, Jon would be at his “nights watch” band practice and Margaery had promised her that she would keep Robb occupied.

She didn't want to know how , all Sansa knew was that she needed to do something now- or forever hold her peace.

Maybe that's a bit too much , she thought. No need to scare him senseless like “oh hello theon thank you for helping me study, by the way, let's get married”

‘Bzz’

her phone vibrated alerting her of incoming texts. She had been in the middle of getting ready- but not too ready for Theon's arrival and she rushed over to check her messages.

One was a snap from Margaery with her fingers crossed with “GOOD LUCK!” and “GET IT GIRL” splashed across it, the other was a message from theon.

[Theo]

Swim practice finished early so I’ll be there in ten

I'll lift some coffee on the way, your usual?

Oh no.

She was supposed to have at least another hour to prepare herself. She was supposed to be calm and collected not frazzled and panicked.

[Sans]

Sure :)

Crap she must sound like a prat.

She began pacing the house- her room couldn't contain her anxious energy and was midway through her second tour of the living room when Arya ambled in and said “could you please stop pacing! Just tell theon that you like him and be done with it” she had forgotten that Arya was home.

Spluttering she could barely form the words to try and denounce her claims when the doorbell rang.

Her eyes locked with Arya’s and it was a race to open the front door. Arya was using her training to vault over the sofa but Sansa’s determination drove her to push herself faster until she almost slid past the door entirely,

Her hair was a mess, Arya had just clung onto her jacket- which coincidentally was a leftover from theon when she had slept on him so long ago and opened the door. To a quite perplexed theon.

Her mothers teaching kicked in after the awkward pause since opening the door, she shook off Arya's grip and welcomed theon “Come on in!” in her best imitation of her mother's hostess voice.

Arya had other ideas, “Sansa likes you, you like Sansa. Can you two go off now and stop moping?” and pushed Sansa into Theon's arms before trudging up the stairs to her room to presumably notify the family group chat of this occurrence.

She thought Margaerys matchmaking was bad but now she was screwed.

No way to come back from this.

There was little that Sansa could really do about her predicament, Theon had dropped their coffees to catch her, “uh, hey sans” theon appeared confused as she looked up at him and then a mischevious glint appeared in his eyes and he teased “so you falling for me?”

She felt embarrassment take over as her worst fears were realised.

Pulling herself up with as much dignity is possible she turned to theon to say “There's no need to make fun of me if you don't like me that's fine and I can study just fine on my own” and made to close the front door on him.

Mother would baulk at her for such rude behaviour.

Before the door could close theon had stuck his foot in the gap preventing her from pushing him out, “Sansa,” her heart sunk further theon never used her full name. “Do you want to maybe get coffee?”

She nods tentatively in response.

Theon smiled in relief and he offered her his arm- if Margaery was here she would say his arm.

The remnants of their spilt coffee lay at their feet but maybe this was her chance, maybe he does like her.

As he opened the car door for her he bashfully asked “Was, was what Arya said true? Because, uh… if it was I would say that feel the same way about you.” she leant against his car stumped at his revelation. Sansa struggled to find the words to say to him and her eyes became drawn to his lips before dragging them back to the ocean pools that were his eyes.

So, instead, she pulled him in closer to her and placed a quick, barely-a-kiss on his lips.

He murmured “Do you have a map? Cause I got lost in your eyes”

Idiot she thought but still found herself giggling at it.

He held her closer to deepen their kiss and she could feel his smile that threatened to break out.

#sansa stark #theon greyjoy #theon x sansa #theonsa #my writing

3 notes · View notes

ilovebtsandexoalot · 6 years ago

Text

rosie

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: angst, fluff

You exited your chaotic home early on that Wednesday morning. Your sister had taken the last of the quinoa cakes and you had had enough, so you opted for walking to school rather than enduring an extra 5 minutes with your sister even if it did mean having to leave 20 minutes earlier.

You didn't mind walking for another reason though. Spending time with Yoongi had you half in ecstasy he was your best friend and you enjoyed sharing banter. He was also your crush. Now you knew to an outsider this may seem great seeing as you live right next door to each other, therefore you get to spend a lot of extra time with him. However, for you its different. You were crushing on him, and you were crushing damn hard. The only problem was, not only did he have no idea you felt this way but he also had a crush on someone else. To make this whole awful situation worse his crush was the most kind perfect beautiful girl you had ever seen, Rosie.

Even though all of your friends had said otherwise, you couldn't help but think that you were just, well Sophie, nothing special really. If you were pretty, Rosie was stunning. If you were kind, she might as well have been the reincarnation of Mother Teresa, you supposed. Every time he talked about her to you, (which was a lot) because you were his best friend damnit and you couldn't pretend that you didn't like her or discourage him because the you'd seem like a shitty friend PLUS you did like her because who wouldn’t. Him talking about her felt like daggers through your heart. It felt like you were running in a race that you knew you'd never win.

That morning you exited your driveways and the exact same time. You too always shared such remarkable timing.You were always in perfect sync. Your heart always screamed “THIS IS A SIGN YOU’RE CLEARLY MEANT TO BE” but the logic in your brain hastily corrected your hearts foolish mistake and washed out the disillusions with a wave of self hatred.

You observed him. He managed to look breathtaking even in his idiotic leaf green school coat and you mentally cursed him for pulling off anything he wore. His black hair was fluffy and looked freshly washed. “Hey friend!” he said casually. Right you thought ‘friend’ because thats all you'd ever be. The one to come to when he wants to know what ring to to choose when he inevitably marries someone outstanding and completely worthy of him, while ripping you to shreds without even knowing.

You walked for a while in comfortable silence until he said it. The words that made the ground around you crumble to pieces and left you with no way to escape. “I think I'm gonna ask her on a date” he said confidently. Your heart plummeted and as if you weren't already having a bad morning this made it five billion times worse. “Huh?” was all you could come up with . You just hoped to God that he was talking about something that wasn't about to rip your frail heart to shreds. “Rosie!” he said ‘“hey are you ok your voice sound a bit shaky” he said lightly punching you on the bicep. “Oh yeah I'm fine why wouldn't i be” you said hoping that your voice would betray the self destruction that you were experiencing. “Also thats sound great hope she says yes! “ you lied. You had to lie, for the sake of you friendship. What if he didn't feel the same way. How could you continue this friendship normally if he knew you harboured feelings for him and he was fully responsible for your heartbreak. You couldn't do that, because doing that would not only ruin your close friendship, but hearing the confirmation that he really didn't love you would destroy you. You would finally plummet off the tightrope you have been trying so hard so maintain balance upon. Plus you suppose spending time with him this way was better than not spending time with him at all.

That day at school was torture all you could think of was Yoongi and all of the threads of him being cut out of your grasp and being left with a broken heart and theres nothing you could say or do about it because nobody knows about this. to everybody else your Yoongis best friend. Nothing more. Nobody knew the pain you felt every time he looked at his love interest. And thats how it should be, because if nobody knows than nobody will ever find out especially Yoongi.

You gathered your books for homework rather a huff as your teacher was a huge bitch and gave you a hell of a lot of homework. As you walked out of the school building you found your eyes drawn to the effortlessly stunning silhouette of Rosie along with Yoongi’s rather nervous looking one.He was doing it. There’s nothing you can do abut it. You lost him. The realisation punched you in the face. You never even had him. How can you lose something that wasn't even yours in the first place? You needed to get out. You needed to get home. You willed your tears to at least refrain until there weren't people you knew in the vicinity but it was no use.

“y/n!” You barely heard the familiar voice over the constant ringing in your ears. You couldn't stop now. You couldn't face him now. You heard footsteps speeding up against the tarmac and felt a warm hand on your exposed arm. You reluctantly turned your head towards the confused boy. “woah woah hey hey hey why are you crying? are you ok?” You breathed a choked laugh and the question. No you weren't ok. Far from it actually. You had a constant pain in your chest because you were constantly wanting something you knew would never be yours in the way you needed it to be. “I-I’m sorry” you choked. “I can’t do this.” you ran. Ran away from the pain. Away from his shouts of your name. Away from the boy who broke your heart and had no idea he had done it.

You sat in your room on your bed crying and crying. Just crying. Your phone constantly ringing and Yoongi’s name flashing upon it. The ringing stopped. Had he given up? The thought brought sickness to your stomach. Did he really not care that much. Just then you heard a knock on the door. You didn't want to talk yet. You weren't ready. You needed him and you were too scared of the consequences of what you needed to say. Having him but being in constant emotional pain was better than not having him at all.

Wasn't it?

You're parents weren't home yet so nobody would answer the door. What if it wasn't even him? What if it was your mum needing help with the shopping. You thought there was no harm in checking, So you reluctantly trudged through the hall and checked the peep hole. No mum. No sopping. Just a worried looking, incredibly gorgeous, kind and hilarious by that you had known so well. You didn't want to answer. You didn't mean to answer. You knew it wast wise. But you did it anyway. They say when you truly love someone the pull is strong and you find yourself alway drifting back. This was that. True love. The pull. You felt it and it threatened to consume you. And that is why you opened the door.

When you opened it you saw Yoongi looking almost surprised that you did. “Come in.” you said flatly. You knew being cold was unreasonable because technically he didn't quite know what he had done wrong, but you had had enough. He needed to know the truth before the pain controlled you. “So are you gonna tell me what I did to make you so pissed off at me or are you just gonna be bitchy and ignore me again.” He had no fucking right to say that and now you were angry.

“You think I'm being bitchy” You almost screamed “wow how could you be this stupid” you said under your breath. “You think I'm being bitchy.” you said calmly this time. “Do you want to know whats bitchy?” you started. At this point Yoongi looked even more confused than when you told him what a period was in 4th class. “Longing, and yearning for your best friend and knowing he’ll never love you back.” you said breathlessly.

“What are you talking about? Of course I love you” he said weakly.

You laughed humourlessly. “Not in the same way I love you. Do you know what I’d do for you to look and me, to talk about me, to love me like you do Rosie. God I love you! How can you not see that!” You felt like all the life had been sucked from your body. “Please love me.” You whispered

Yoongi stared blankly back at you. And so it being the painful demise of your weak heart. “I-I need to take a walk” all you could do was stand helplessly and watch him leave. Probably never to return. He grabbed his jacket and you heard the click of the front door. Thats when you sunk to the ground and cried, and cried and cried.

You just sat there and thought about Yoongi, his hugs his touches his soft kisses at your temples that made you melt and didn't do a thing for him. All the things you had just lost. His company made you feel like you were finally happy and there was nothing anyone or thing could do to change it. Until now. Now you were alone. And your heart was broken. Forever.

You didn't know how long you were asleep for. You almost had forgotten what had happened but not for long. You must have been so emotionally drained you fell asleep. But now you were faced with the soft expression of Yoongi looking fondly in your direction. It felt like a dream as he moved a strand of hair from your face and around your ear. “hey!” he said softly, “Are you awake?” you groans in response. “Good.” he said “Cause i need to tell you something.”

“no” you said “can we just say like this for a while. Please”

So you did. You stayed in his arms for a while. It felt just like it should. It felt perfect. It felt like Yoongi.

“rosie said no.” he said softly. what. Was she crazy? “huh?” was all you could manage. “yeah, she mentioned something about having a boyfriend in Andrews or something.” he looked slightly dejected as he spoke. “oh I'm sorry yoongi..” you said.

“Look y/n, I’m gonna tell you something. It may not be exactly what you're looking for but its the best i can give you right now. I’ll be honest. Ive never thought about you in that way before. BUT, if you're willing to I'm willing to try it as something more. I love you sophie not in the same way as you do yet, but I can see myself with you in the future. And that is why I'm asking you now, to go on a date with me on the condition that if it doesn't work you'll be willing to go back to friends, best friends.”

“yes.”

10 years later.

You and Yoongi had just finished your 10 year anniversary dinner. 10 years since you decided to be boyfriend and girlfriend. 10 years since he told you he loved you. In every way.

It was the middle of summer. It was 9pm and as you walked through. The park where you and Yoongi had spent much of your childhood. The park where you went on your first real date. It was perfect. The sun was sinking into the horizon like quicksand. You made it to the top after a slow ascent. You walked handed in had over to the balcony type thing over looking the bay. “Oh my God that is beautiful!” you exclaimed. “not as beautiful as you.” he smirked. “that reminds me actually.’ and that moment was when your life truly began. The moment where he knelt down one knee and spoke. “y/n y/l/n. I know we’re both young, and i know this may feel too soon to you, but it doesn't for me and well the more i think of waiting, the less i want to , and i just want today thank you for being you. Thank you for telling me your feelings so i would stop being such an idiot and realise mine. Thank you for making me study for the Leaving cert. thank you for reminding me not to eat too many koka noodles. thank you for not being Rosie. Thank you for being amazing, intelligent, beautiful you. There is not a single other person in the universe I’d rather spend the rest of my life with and thank you for letting me realise that. y/n y/l/n, will you make me the happiest man on earth, will you marry me?” By now obviously the tears were GUSHING but you didn't care. The man you adored loved you and wanted to marry you. All you could think of saying was

“yes!”

#bts #bts x reader #yoongi #min yoongi #suga #BTS suga #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #bts army #bts imagines #bts scenario #yoongi imagine #yoongi scenario #suga imagine #suga scenario

44 notes · View notes

owakoblack-portspa · 6 years ago

Text

A Dream of Bethlehem

Fandom: Hetalia: Axis Powers

Pairings: Knights Hospitaller x Knights Templar; Prussia x South Italy

Characters: Teutonic Knights/Prussia (Gilbert), Knights Templar (Chris), Knights Hospitaller (Giovanni), Kingdom of Sicily/South Italy (Lovino)

It is not a very good day to go to Acre, not a very good day at all, people warn little Gilbert. The deeper you go into the city, the more dangerous it becomes, people say. But I am a knight, I am not afraid, Gilbert braces himself. He has seen blood flowing like a river, he has seen corpses piling up a mountain, but he has never seen a hell like this, right in the heart of the capital of the Holy Land. In the streets of Acre, where Christians fight Christians, where brothers kill brothers, homicide and fratricide become natural, even though themselves are not natural at all--it is not a holy land, it is a wild world inhabited by evils. To Gilbert’s utter disgust, after the fall of the Genoese flag, advance the crimson Hospitaller banner and a group of knights in black uniforms into the burning street. ‘Wait, can’t you spare the citizens’ houses?’ Gilbert stands in front of the charging army, but he is unwilling to draw up his sword. ‘And can’t you see the Venetians are our enemies? Step aside, child!’ a tall Hospitaller waves his naked sword towards the little albino. A heavy sound of two clashing swords--a white knight shields Gilbert from the gigantic man, and a string of blood instantly spills onto the red petit cross embroidered on the chest. Even though his left palm is pierced by the sword, and an ugly, bloody hole appears as his enemy’s sword is swiftly and cruelly drawn away, the knight does not show any sign of fear, and quite on the contrary, his angelic face still keeps on smiling. ‘Brother Chris!’ ‘Christien!’

Two boys cry out at the same time. As Gilbert is lying on the ground and Chris is standing in front of him to protect, Giovanni appears just in time, his handsome face furious and sweaty. ‘Stop! The little one is the Teutonic Knights! Our ward!’ Giovanni shouts angrily to the tall Hospitaller. The anonymous Hospitaller sheathes his sword immediately, despite Giovanni the teenager looks much younger than him. ‘I’m sorry, Your Eminence,’ the Hospitaller now looks pallid and trembles like a leaf, ‘I didn’t mean to hurt His Eminence the Order of the Temple, but...’ ‘It’s nothing.’ Chris waves his injured palm impatiently to everyone, smiling as usual, ‘I love playing the role of a martyr. I am so glad that I protected little Gil, in spite of the fact that YOU are his guardian, Gio.’ Giovanni can tell the satire in Chris’ words, but he is not going to argue with a wounded person--after all, his another profession is doctor. ‘Let me see your wound, Christien.’ Giovanni’s voice becomes softer, but firm. ‘I’ve told you it’s nothing.’ Chris’ face becomes paler as he draws his sword in a position of defence, his flaming purple eyes threatening, ‘If you dare to touch me, I’ll revenge myself on you now!’ Giovanni stops short, staring at the blond with sudden coldness, ‘I won’t if I can.’ Then he turns to Gilbert, and raises up the little boy, ‘Are you alright, Gilbert? I’ve promised the Kingdom of Sicily to take care of you. I hope you’re not hurt.’ ‘Don’t treat me like a child!’ Gilbert’s reddened eyes make him look more like a rabbit, and he jumps high to protest. Giovanni does not take his protest seriously. He simply holds up Gilbert’s clenching hand, and retreats with his army, without casting another look at Chris, who remains standing in silence .

‘Brother Gio, can’t you treat Brother Chris a little better? He has saved me! And of all things, why do you two fight each other? You both are christian military orders!’ At the Hospitaller headquarters, Gilbert enquires. ‘The Knights Templar are stronger than us. If we don’t fight to protect ourselves, we’ll be destroyed by them.’ Giovanni replies calmly. ‘Why do the Knights Templar want to destroy you? Brother Chris in fact is very kind-hearted. Even though he knows I am on your side, he teaches me combat skills...hoops!’ Gilbert just realises that he has leaked the secret between Chris and himself. ‘Gilbert, you know I’m not happy to hear this. I hope you won’t betray me as you’ve developed a good relationship with my archrival.’

It has been a week since Chris was injured, and since that day, Gilbert has been bringing medicine to the Templar castle on Giovanni’s command as a punishment of his ‘betrayal’. What Giovanni requires Gilbert to keep in mind, is that Gilbert must not let Chris know who is actually prescribing medications. However, in the end, Gilbert cannot help telling the truth to Chris, ‘Brother Chris, I really hope you can stop fighting with Brother Gio. You see, he regrets what he’s done to you, and sends...’ ‘I hope Gio is not behind this, otherwise I will not accept medicine from you any more.’ Chris interrupts quickly. ‘Why do you hate Brother Gio so much, Brother Chris?’ ‘I hate him for not sending me medicine, and I will hate him more if he asks you to send me medicine. In sum, I just hate him.’ Chris strokes his bandaged left palm with tender passion, but Gilbert is too young to observe this detail or understand these words.

After this street fight, the two gangs seem to have ceased fire for a while, not only because one of their leaders is injured, but also because the festive spirit is approaching. In the Cathedral of Acre, people busy themselves with the preparation of the biggest event of the year--Christmas. The interior of the church is semi-decorated, and still more flowers and plants are coming. ‘Gilbert, have you understood the ceremony process that I’ve just told you?’ Giovanni bends down to speak in the ear of the absent-minded little knight. Both of them stand beside the alter. Gilbert jumps, and finally turns his attention from revery to the taller knight, ‘Sorry, what did you just say?’ ‘Could you tell me why you can’t take your eyes off the audience seats in the church? Are you expecting someone?’ Giovanni frowns. ‘Brother Gio, do you know if Frater will visit Acre for Christmas?’ Gilbert asks carefully. ‘Yes, the Kingdom of Sicily told so me in a letter. And he will attend the Christmas mass as well.’ On hearing the news, Gilbert reacts dramatically: firstly his jaw drops, then his grin broadens, and finally he raises his hands high up in the air, ‘Hallelujah! What a good tiding!’ ‘Calm down yourself, Gilbert! Shouting is forbidden in the church. And if you don’t want Sicily to be disappointed with you, you have to work hard in preparation, understood? It’s your first time to celebrate Christmas, there’re many things for you to learn.’ ‘I know, I know! I’ll work hard for Frater, and on Christmas I’m going to pay my homage to Frater, and then I’ll become a real knight! I’m so awesome! Everything’s going to be perfect! Kesesese!’ Gilbert laughs happily. ‘Don’t be too proud, Gilbert. You have to work hard to achieve your goal. Remember: no pain, no gain.’ ‘But there’s someone lazier than me! Even though Brother Chris’ wound is getting much better, he never comes to the rehearsal, and he’s going to sing in the choir!’ ‘Christien’s done the mass many times so he doesn’t need much rehearsing, and in fact, I don’t think he wants to see me.’ Giovanni looks at the choir practicing singing in a corner of the church, which is consisted of young boys in white dresses. The most beautiful one is missing, just as he has expected.

The Cathedral of Acre has already been enunciated with devout Christians hours before the bells announce the approach of Christmas and the beginning of the Christmas Midnight Mass. The interior of the cathedral is full of the festive spirit, decorated with myriads of flowers, draperies, hangings, ribbons, and candles, making this spacious sacred place shine with all colours of the solar spectrum. Now the congregation is holding its breath to hear the steps of the approaching holy moment, that is to say, waiting for the mass procession enter into the nave. After the bells strike twelve times, silence remains as if time stood still, so everybody turns their head to the church entrance to look for the priests and professed knights. After several seconds pass, finally, to everyone’s relief, the door opens, and a group of people in surplice solemnly walk in. At the head of them is little Gilbert with silver hair and red-pupiled eyes, swinging from side to side a golden, smoking censer in his hands. The little albino holds his chin high and looks straight ahead, so even the distant audience can tell from his rigid movements and his slightly reddened physiognomy that he is at the moment very nervous. Many in the congregation do know that for this new-born German military order, it must be his first time to perform holy services in such a big event, and accordingly they understand his nervousness and cross their fingers to pray for his success in the debut. Among the understanding, kind-hearted people, is Lovino, the Kingdom of Sicily, who comes all the way from Palermo for this special occasion, and who now sticks his little brown head out from the crowd into the aisle covered with red carpets, which makes him so distinct that even Gilbert’s sweat-filmed eyes cannot prevent the little knight from noticing this great kingdom from afar. Consequently, Gilbert starts short, as if petrified, but Lovino is no malicious Medusa--quite on the contrary, he is the most amiable personage here, so he tries to unlock the magic spell by waving his little hand and smiling sweetly to his little knight, to salute, and to encourage him. However, for Gilbert, this is more like an ignition before an explosion than a mere encouragement, for in response, stuffed of energy, he sets himself off high in the air like a rocket, the censer in his hands swinging like a mad turning wheel, spilling hot incense everywhere. All at once a commotion is caused--people sitting nearby the aisle stand up to run, only to find that within such a dense crowd running is almost impossible, thus some panic is caused as well. At this critical moment, Giovanni, who walks beside the bishop in the middle of the procession, dashes out to catch the censer which now is flying out of Gilbert’s hands, and fortunately, after the catch, he is agile enough to regain his balance in time, and stands upright with the golden censer safely contained in his hands. He makes some effort to restrain himself from panting heavily, and immediately resumes his solemn, imperturbable look to hide his shock of this unexpected episode. Realising what has just happened, Gilbert becomes the most panicked person in the cathedral. He dare not look at Lovino’s face to see his disappointment, so he looks down onto the floor, feeling too shameful for himself to move. Seeing this, Giovanni pats Gilbert’s shoulder from behind to urge him to proceed, otherwise the procession would be blocked even though Gilbert is short and tiny. Accordingly Gilbert moves on, and from now on, he becomes half absent-minded for his sense of guilt, head drooping. Despite this, the following process goes on smoothly, the episode is soon forgotten, the audience watch the performance of the servers quietly, listen to the priests’ sermons attentively, and respond by saying ‘amen’ when their heart is quite touched. However, Gilbert’s tribulations are not yet finished. As a novice, he is to give a speech in front of the holy altar, in the face of the public. It is a narration of the nativity, which should have been already familiar to any christian, so before the mass, Gilbert was so confident that he did not bring the script with him. Now, it is high time for Gilbert’s speech, and for the sake of the sense of guilt he is still sweating heavily as if he had just been fished out from the sea: ‘It was...it was in the year of four before Christ, before Christ was born. (A pause.) On the day when Christ was born, Mary found no place to lie down herself and give birth to her child, so she just...she just lied down on the floor, (some hiss from the audience) and she saw stars shining bright in the sky. Oh, I forget to say, (laugh from the audience) there was an angel coming from the sky to tell her that the child is the savior of mankind. So back to the night when Jesus was born, there were three magicians...(somebody hoots)’ Finally Gilbert’s frustrated voice seems to fade away, and people can hardly hear what the little knight is saying, and neither can they see his mouth moving, for he persists in hanging his head down. Lovino, who sits in the front row for the prerogatives possessed by such a great kingdom like him, clasps his hands all the time to pray for Gilbert, and he even dare not bat his big, radiant eyes lest they would distract his knight, but it seems all his prayers are in vain. Giovanni, who stands righteously and solemnly among the priests and servers, is as anxious as Lovino from the bottom of his heart. ‘Can anyone please do something?’ he asked without producing a sound.

‘--Long time ago in Bethlehem So the Holy Bible say Mary’s boy child, Jesus Christ Was born on Christmas day.’

Suddenly, people hear someone singing. At first, people think it is the ringing sound of a crystal stream, for it is so limpid, so pure; and then, when they realise that it is from above, they take it as the voice of an angel, for it is so beautiful and so unearthly, like a beam of light piercing through thick clouds to warm the earth, to fill everyone’s heart with bliss. While the confused audience are looking about themselves, only Giovanni immediately finds out whence the voice is from--he has heard this voice on every Christmas, and yet he still can hardly believe it--as soon as he hears the singing, he raises his head and looks up to the carved balcony facing the altar where he is standing by, and sure enough, he sees a thin, pale figure stand out of the choir boys, beneath the enormous silver organ. It is Chris who is singing. He is clad in white, laced surplice, his pale countenance becomes more tender in the radiance from the white texture, and his soft, curly blond hair makes him shine like a midnight sun. He is not yet grown up, his delicate human form hardly tells his gender, and therefore he looks more beautiful than any man or woman, and so clinks his sweet, heavenly singing voice. Here he stands, so pure he looks, so angelically he sings, even Giovanni has to admit that on this particular occasion, if Chris were not the messenger from God, he cannot tell who this sweet creature could be. ‘It’s the Knights Templar!’ a little girl cries out happily, and her mother quickly quiets her. Even Gilbert looks up from the floor to the balcony gratefully as if he has found his savior, so continues Chris:

‘While shepherds watched their flocks by night Them see a bright new shining star Them hear a choir sing The music seemed to come from afar.

Now, Joseph and his wife, Mary Come to Bethlehem that night Them find no place to born she child Not a single room was in sight.

By and by, they find a little nook In a stable all forlorn And in a manger cold and dark Mary’s little Boy was born.’

The choir boys standing behind Chris, who are also sweet-looking, though not as beautiful as he, begin to sing harmoniously, and all the people in the cathedral sing along:

‘Hark, now hear the angels sing A new king born today And man will live forevermore Because of Christmas day.’

Now everyone rejoices again, because they take part in such a beautiful choir led by an angel, and has never felt so close to God before.

In many aspects, the midnight mass is as successful as last year, so afterwards everybody goes home happily. However, in a dark corner of the sacristy, Gilbert is found sobbing quietly. Because others are gone, only Giovanni and Chris see him. Chris bends down over Gilbert, beaming innocently as ever, and says cheerfully, ‘Gil, don’t cry, it’s Christmas!’ ‘I’m so stupid, I know nothing of Christmas! I’m not fit for being a knight!’ Gilbert tries to conceal his tearful face by burying it between his crouching knees. Even though Giovanni was unhappy for Gilbert’s failures of performance at tonight’s mass, which he believes are the results of Gilbert’s arrogance and ignorance of his persuasion, his benign heart is touched by the little one’s sadness and frustration, so he attempts to comfort Gilbert: ‘To err is human. If you learn from experience, you’ll be forgiven.’ Nevertheless, Giovanni’s austere tone makes Gilbert feel more miserable, ‘Forgiven? Will I be forgiven by Frater? Perhaps I can’t never become his knight!’ ‘Gio, you frightened little Gil!’ Chris criticises his big rival, and continues to console Gilbert by an even more tender voice, ‘come on, Gil, I’ll show you something. I’m sure you’ll learn Christmas by heart. Don’t worry.’ He winks, stands up, and leads Gilbert to the courtyard of the cathedral. Giovanni does not trust Chris, so he follows them into the cool midnight air. Standing under the purple starry sky, Chris brings out from his pocket a plain stone cup. ‘I’m going to use this to bring us to the night when our Lord Jesus Christ was born. You can come with us if you want, Gio.’ ‘Wait, is this...the Holy Grail?’ Giovanni is astonished. ‘Exactly.’ Chris replies matter-of-factly. ‘I didn’t know you possess it.’ Giovanni says darkly, and quickly makes the sign of the cross. In secret, he feels his stomach aching--how come his rival obtains the most sacred relic in the christian world? ‘You don’t have to know everything,’ smiles Chris. It happens very fast. After a flash of blinding light, the three knights are altogether brought to another time and place. The time is still night, but the environment is changed into a dry, rocky wild land. ‘Look! There’s the bright shining star!’ Chris points to the enormous brilliant star hanging in the eastern sky. ‘What does this mean?’ Gilbert is bewildered by this strange environment. ‘Gilbert, how many times have I told you to read the Bible more carefully?’ Giovanni’s austere look makes Gilbert wince. ‘Relax, Gio. It’s the Holy Night, let’s behold the miracle!’ Chris leads the group to walk in the direction of the bright star. After a while, they see a manger at the top of a hill. ‘Is it...?’ Gilbert is shushed abruptly by Giovanni. The three of them carefully approach the manger on tiptoe. The manger basks in the bright shining star right above, so they can see the scene clearly: Mary has just now given birth to baby Jesus, who is sleeping comfortably in his mother’s arms, and Joseph stands by them, watching the baby with great interest and affection. Noticing people approaching, Mary is alert, but as soon as she sees these people are three good-looking young boys in some kind of cassocks, she smiles and gestures them to come closer. ‘Our Lord Jesus, we’ve come to worship you.’ Both Giovanni and Chris kneel down before the little baby who opens his beautiful eyes to look upon them curiously. After realising who the baby is, Gilbert imitates his brothers to fall on kneels, not without clumsiness. Seeing this, Mary smiles affectionately to the timid little knight, and says, ‘thank you for visiting us in such a bleak winter night. Don’t be anxious, little knight, baby Jesus is very happy to see you.’ Gilbert looks up to see Mary’s smiling face, and sees a mother in her, a mother he has never had, or met, in his life. Suddenly, the albino bursts into tears, ‘oh Mother, Mother!’ Mary pats Gilbert’s silver head, speaks to him in a voice so gentle as if singing a lullaby, ‘little child, you have such beautiful hair. Don’t cry, you’ll be loved.’ It is Gilbert’s first time to be praised by someone for his hair--being an albino, he has been jeered and teased all his life. It is not necessary to describe how happy Gilbert is in seeing the Holy Virgin, and he lays his head upon her knees. Meanwhile, Giovanni finds Chris’ pale face full of tears too. Before the little Lord, the beautiful knight clasps his hands tightly while on his knees--he looks so pious, so humble that he makes this moment divine. Unconsciously, Giovanni wears a smile on his face-- O Silent Night! O Holy Night!

On the next morning, Gilbert is woken up by a familiar voice: ‘Gil, wake up! Are you alright?’ When he opens his eyes, he sees Lovino shaking his shoulder anxiously. Thus he sits up abruptly, ‘Frater! Why are you here?’ ‘Dear Gil! I was worried about you so I came to the morning mass early to see if you’re alright, but I didn’t know you slept in the courtyard over night!’ Lovino exclaims, ‘it is not good! You’ll catch cold!’ His puffing face is on the brink of tears. It is Gilbert’s turn to feel worried too, for his heart will break if he sees Lovino cry. ‘Dear Frater, I’m totally fine, so please don’t cry!’ he holds Lovino’s little hand, faking a smile to comfort him, ‘I spent a whole night with Brother Gio and Brother Chris to worship little Lord Jesus in Bethlehem, you have to know how happy I am! Please don’t worry about me!’ ‘Really?’ Lovino’s watery emerald eyes look into Gilbert’s rubies, and he sees truthfulness in them, ‘good, then. But where are Gio and Chris?’ Both of them look around. Beside the wall of the cathedral, they see Giovanni and Chris lying down there, holding each other’s body closely as if to keep warm and sleep more comfortably. Hearing noises, the two sleepy knights are awakened--it is not difficult to imagine the surprised look on their faces. However, instead of letting out a shriek or kicking each other away, in peace, they exchange morning greetings: ‘Morning, Gio.’ Chris smiles like an angel waking up from his sweetest dream. ‘Good morning, Christien.’ Giovanni blushes. He will never admit that it is Chris’ crystal purple eyes that make his heart beat fast, and he feels a little reluctant to let Chris’ warm body leave his arms when both of them get back to their feet. ‘Christien, wait!’ ‘What?’ Chris quickly turns back to face Giovanni, his huge eyes sparkling. ‘I want to apologise for the wound in your palm. I should have stopped my people hurting you.’ Giovanni smites his handsome brow. ‘It’s not your fault,’ Chris smiles mildly, ‘and I want to thank you for healing me.’ ‘You know the medicine was sent by me?’ ‘Of course, do you forget how long we’ve known each other? And as I’m your archrival, who do you think could know you better than me?’ Smiling mysteriously, Chris briskly wheels around. Without knowing why, Giovanni suddenly feels a special attachment to his rival and comrade, so he instinctively follows Chris’ white robe, which is billowing in the wind like an angel’s enormous wings. Later on, in the Christmas morning mass, people are surprised to see the two long-term rivals stand side by side in the procession, and even exchange friendly looks at intervals during the liturgy. ‘It happens once a year that the two great military orders make a truce. After all, it’s Christmas, it’s time for peace, for forgiveness, and for love.’ Among the audience, some Venetians whisper quietly, and then they shake hands with their Genoese neighbours. As for Gilbert, this time, he has done much better especially in the narration of the nativity. When the mass is done and the cathedral becomes empty, he cautiously kneels down before Lovino, ‘dear Frater, I want to be your knight, but I’m not yet perfect--could you wait until I’m fit?’ ‘I don’t need you to be perfect. Whenever you feel yourself is ready, I’ll be ready to take you as my knight.’ Lovino blushes. ‘I promise it won’t be too long, Frater.’ Gilbert tenderly kisses Lovino’s hand.

(End)

#hetalia #APH #prussia x south italy #prussia x romano #APH Prussia #aph south italy #aph teutonic knights #aph knights templar #aph knights hospitaller #prumano

12 notes · View notes

tonystarktogo · 7 years ago

Text

Tiny Tony Overlord Part 10

Betaed by the amazing @folklejend within three hours of receiving it because I have no time management skills to speak of and they’re just that wonderful. All remaining mistakes are my own.

Summary: In which Tony realises he’s been thinking about the wrong fandom all along. This isn’t Kim Possible at all—this is some super-duper messed-up Supernatural crap. Also for an uninhabited island, there sure are a lot of bodies on this one…

.On a tiny, uninhabited island in the Bahamas.

What happens next is something nothing, not even nine years of futuristic knowledge, could have prepared Tony for. He’s leaning back and forth, trying to make out the shadows of the creepy helicopters that have been following them like wasps drawn to a glass of lemonade in between the leaves of the trees surrounding them. The choppers appear to slowly lower themselves, though they probably, hopefully, don’t plan to land. By now, the booming noise of their motors is impossible to ignore, as is the wind that blows Tony’s hair out of his face—which is convenient, so that’s something.

The girl is muttering under her breath, but Tony doesn’t pay her any mind. He’s transfixed by the sight of their doom descending down on them in slow-motion—alright, that might be a tad dramatic. They aren’t dead yet. Besides, he’s got Dead-Eyes. If that guy is anything like his future self, he’s damn hard to kill off. As is Tony himself.

Focusing on those reassuring thoughts isn’t as easy as Tony would like it to be. Or maybe he doesn’t trust bland drivel as much as he used to.They had all stopped believing in hope eventually, hadn’t they? Some just held out longer than others.

“We could really use a miracle right about now,” Tony whispers. The words are lost in the sound of rustling leaves, ripped away by the sharp wind, but he feels better for having said them out loud all the same.

Dead-Eyes makes a noise that falls flat before it can become a full word, and Tony turns his head reflexively, unnerved by anything that can make Dead-Eyes break his apparent vow of silence. But the frantic question never makes it past his lips because in that moment, the sky explodes.

The funny thing is, there is no noise. Tony hears the choked yell of the girl as clearly as his own reflexive, “Get down!” Hears branches break and small stones roll as he throws himself onto the ground. There’s a light so bright, even though Tony isn’t looking at its origin, it sears through his closed eyelids, burns itself deep into his skull. And it doesn’t end. Doesn’t let up. Doesn’t give.

Its brightness is loaded with a physical weight, a heaviness that presses down onto Tony’s limbs, his torso. Pushes the air right out of him—and that, that isn’t right. Light isn’t supposed to do that, isn’t supposed to press you to the ground and keep you there. Like a butterfly stuck with needles to a collection. The pressure keeps building up, like lightning racing towards the earth. And then, as sudden as it came, it’s gone again.

Tony blinks. And blinks. And blinks again. He rubs his hands over his eyes, a pointless attempt to soothe the ache, and regain something approaching a clear vision. By the time the bright sparkles in his eyes finally clear up, Tony finds himself still lying on the hard ground, shaky but unharmed. There’s a gentle breeze caressing his skin, leaves rustling above him. A mockery of peace in the aftermath of a devastating storm.

It takes him a long time to realise that the soft, choked sound Vic makes are sobs. And even after the realisation, Stark can’t work out what, exactly, they mean. He can’t remember the last time he saw anyone cry—real tears, tears that don’t stand for pain or manipulation, that is.

“Every morning,” Vic says eventually, her voice as shaky as her hands when she clasps them in front of her.

Stark turns to face her, observes her profile in the dim twilight. There are tears running down her cheeks freely, utterly unashamed of her lapse of control in a way he’s never witnessed Vic be. She’s too guarded to be comfortable expressing emotions. Usually, at least. Wound too tightly to let anyone close. Even him. Especially him.

Barnes told him they were too alike once. Stark doesn’t see it.

“Every morning,” Vic continues, stares straight ahead, not acknowledging his presence at all. She doesn’t appear to see anything at all either. “I get up and I wait for it happen. For the sky to burn down around us. For the world to implode in itself. For the poison that seeps into everything we touch to finally reach the heart and kill .” She giggles, high and perhaps a little unhinged—not that Stark can judge her now, can he?

“But it doesn’t. Even when you’re stuck in standstill, frozen by a pain so terrible, you’d rather rip out your own lungs through your ribcage than take another breath… We’ve all got that one person, don’t we? The one that keeps us from giving up, from lying down and stop fighting. And when we lose that person that we’d do everything for, that we live for… It doesn’t change anything, in the end. Night still falls, and morning still comes. And the world just keeps on turning. No matter how much it hurts. How impossible it seems. We keep talking about it, keep preparing for the worst, keep saying the world could end tomorrow. But it doesn’t .”

She turns then, looks at him, eyes brimming with fresh tears in the wake of devastating understanding. “It never will, won’t it?”

And Stark wishes with all his heart that those words could still bring him hope. That they could feel like anything but yet another punch in the gut, another curse carved into his skin. As it is, Barnes’ hand—cool, and unnatural, and safe—is the only thing that keeps him standing.

As the last stars in Tony’s sight dissipate, so does the memory. Unfortunately, this one is a little harder to shake off. It’s yet another one involving that woman, Victory—and what a bitch it must have been, living in a post-apocalyptic world with that name. Tony remembers her, of course; years spent fighting side by side are hard to erase in full. But it’s curious, isn’t it? How his memories seem to focus on her, when other people, like Natasha and Barnes, were by his side almost as long?

Tony shakes his head, focuses on getting back onto his feet for the time being. Dead-Eyes and the girl they have with them seem to recover as well, though Dead-Eyes looks a little shell-shocked—a downside, Tony assumes, of having enhanced senses in the face of whatever the fucking hell that was.

The girl looks pale as a ghost, sick even. She’s staring blindly at the sky. “They’re gone,” she whispers, horror and relief and something more primal than fear etched into her face.

She’s right, but then Tony has already known that. Even if he hadn’t fully processed it until this very moment. Because the noise, the clear rumpa-rumpa-tab of the helicopters is missing. It’s impossible, Tony recalls his fragmented thoughts when the light show first started. Followed by a less urgent, but just as damning, where lightning strikes, thunder will follow.

But there hadn’t been any thunder, had there? Or at least, none that he’d heard. And so Tony does the only thing he can think of. He tilts his head up and states with a calmness he most certainly doesn’t feel; “Well, that was anticlimactic.”

* * * * *

.In a great hall made of stone.

“Are you sure about this?” Gracie, a young woman who has been with them for less than a year, questions quietly. She isn’t obnoxious or challenging about it—a fact that Epolia appreciates—but doubt, in any shape and form, has the potential to cause great harm. And with how far they have already come, well. There is a delicate balance to these things. It wouldn’t do for a youngling like Gracie to upset the Eye through inexperience and poorly-timed hesitation.

Epolia rises from her chair, a motion that immediately quietens the mumbling as the eyes of everyone present seek out their eldest member. There is no such thing as a leader among them—there can’t be, even though there has to be, for only the Eye shall judge and order, and only Its word shall be their law—but Epolia is the eldest, a position that comes with a certain amount of recognised expertise and respect.

“My dear friends,” she says in a gravelly voice that travels through the entire hall despite her low volume. “Do not fret. There is no cause for worry-“ here, her eyes find Gracie in the crowd, and Epolia holds her gaze steadily, “for our mission has succeeded.”

Her bold declaration is received with the expected excitement, and it pains Epolia to do this, to use their trust in her this way. But it is the only way. She will not allow their faith to waver now, when they have come so far, have achieved so much. Their sacrifices can not, will not be for nothing. Epolia will ensure it.

“How?” Gracie asks, but this time there is no doubt in her eyes, only a growing, desperate hope that reminds Epolia why she had chosen her despite Gracie’s young age all those months ago. “Have you felt the Eye? Have—have we not been found worthy?” Her brown eyes fill with tears at that thought, and Epolia adamantly shakes her head before the girl’s terror can take hold.

“No!” Epolia insists, and that, at least, she knows to be true. “The Eye will approach us when It is ready, and our fidelity will be rewarded. I know this to be true, not because I have been judged, but because I have seen the Heart with my own eyes!”

“The Heart?”

Epolia can’t make out who in the crowd has said the words, but when she meets their gazes one after the other, she reads the same awe in them she has felt herself upon being graced with the Heart’s presence.

“Yes,” Epolia confirms. Remembers her encounter with the Heart, the pain, the suffering, the bloodshed she had seen in them. The cool detachment of something too big to be fully concealed by its human shell. “It was a youth with eyes of the old, a true warrior, leaving shadows and darkness in its wake, just as the legends have told us to expect.” Epolia takes a deep breath, willing her racing heart to calm down at the memory of having to endure the weight of the Heart’s judgement as it deemed her trustworthy, the warmth, the aching familiarity of its touch.

“But more than that, their very presence resonated in my soul. I—“ Epolia’s voice catches in her throat for a moment, unprepared for the wave of emotion her words bring down upon her. “I have felt Luca. I have heard the calls of our children. There is no doubt, the Heart has been returned to us. And soon it will rejoin the Eye. Soon it will turn this earth’s tide, as it was always meant to be.”

Epolia does not bother to suppress the growing smile on her lips, not when she wishes for her fellow believers to find the same comfort in this knowledge that she has been given. The silence is broken by excited chatter, relieved laughs, and the brilliant tears fuelled by hope alone. Epolia’s eyes pick out Gracie in the crowd, and the young girl’s happiness—written all over her face—eases some of the hollow pain she has carried ever since her grandson’s passing.

“Rejoice, my friends, for the Heart has been returned to us,” Epolia whispers, and watches, as she always does.

And with the return of the Heart, darkness shall fall, and the Eye shall be joined by Its Highest, Its Brightest, Its Warmth. And together they shall rise, to purify this bitter earth of its greatest sacrilege. And though the price shall be high, the sacrifice of the faithful shall be rewarded and their peace shall remain untouched, she recites the words she knows by heart in her head.

Epolia smiles. So the end comes upon us then, not in frost or ice, but in flames.

* * * * *

.On a tiny, uninhabited island in the Bahamas.

“One moment they were right there and the next they were just thrown away, like paperweights!” the girl says numbly.

Tony turns his head so fast he’s sure he’ll give himself whiplash. “Wait, you saw it happen?”

“Yeah.” The girl wipes a hand over her face. Takes a loud, deep breath, as though she wants to force her body to calm down through sheer will alone. It seems to be working somewhat, because when she looks up again, her gaze is less frantic, almost centred even. “They just—stopped, in mid air. Like they were bouncing off an invisible wall or something.” She shakes her head with a weak laugh, rubs her eyes. “And then the light thing happened—which hurt like a bitch, what the everloving fuck was that anyways?—and I lost track of them. But I’m guessing they crashed? I don’t know. This shouldn’t be possible. Bloody fucking hell, I saw it and I still don’t believe it!”

Tony shakes his head, even as his mind already runs over the options that might explain what they have witnessed. Unfortunately, almost all of them lead back to a single word Tony used to hate ever since Loki first showed up with his brainwashing stick—and hasn’t grown fonder of in recent years: magic. Of course, there is always a second option, a sarcastic voice in the back of his head reminds him.

“Either I seriously need to overthink my stance on the existence of all-knowing deities or I really, really picked the right island,“ Tony ends up saying, stunned despite himself.

Dead-Eyes doesn‘t appear particularly moved by this declaration. He’s still carefully blinking, too slow to be anything but deliberate. Tony wonders whether his eyesight has recovered yet—enhanced senses have to be a bitch when you’re watching a detonation-without-the-explosion-part first hand—but doesn‘t ask.

“Come on,“ Tony says instead. “Let’s see if there’s anything worthwhile on this island. A boat, for example.” Though their luck can’t be that unreal. But hey, it’s not like they have anything else to do, right? They’re essentially stranded. And if they don’t move now, Tony knows he’s gonna sit down somewhere and not get up any time soon. Hell, just the simple question What the fuck just happened? runs in circles through his mind, so fast it leaves him dizzy and disoriented. A small—or maybe not so small—breakdown might be in his imminent future. Not that that‘s ever stopped him, but it‘s sure to put a damper on things.

Dead-Eyes complies immediately, a reaction Tony has grown used to. He shouldn‘t, he reminds himself, but it‘s become an afterthought at this point. Or maybe it‘s always been, Tony muses as he brushes the dirt off his hands and knees. Dead-Eyes had been his silent shadow long before he‘d woken up in this crazy world, where nothing made sense and no one acted like they should, after all. And maybe that was precisely the reason Dead-Eyes took so little shape and form in his memories—because a shadow was all he had ever been to Tony.

But thoughts like that have no place on an abandoned island that may well be warded against black helicopters, what with the way Tony’s day is going. And that reminder is enough to motivate him to start moving again, despite the protests of his sore muscles and aching limbs.

We‘ll rest when we‘re dead, Tony thinks with a grim smile, and stumbled onward. It‘s not like there are may directions to take anyways. Up sounds like the most logical choice.

“Really?“ the girl mutters somewhere behind him. “Why do you people always have to do things the hard way, seriously’ What the bloody hell is wrong with you, and how come I always end up with the batshit crazy ones anyways?” She continues her tirade quietly—though not as quietly as she seems to think—under her breath.

When Tony chances another glance at Dead-Eyes, he��s certain the guy is rolling his eyes. It’s such a fundamentally un-Dead-Eyes-action, Tony actually takes a double-take. But Dead-Eye’s expression is as even as it ever was. He must have been imagining things. Or projecting, more likely.

Next to him, the girl—and Tony really needs to learn her name at some point, this is starting to get awkward—stumbles. Tony turns, more out of abstract curiosity than an earnest desire to help, to find her expression strangely blank. A startling echo of Dead-Eyes’ regular appearance. It doesn’t look as out-of-place on the girl’s features as it should.

“What’s wrong?” Tony asks because Dead-Eyes definitely won’t. He’s observing the girl with a tilted head, like a small boy might watch a butterfly he’s caught in a marmalade glass. And okay, that’s a disturbing comparison to make, even for Tony.

“I think you chose the wrong island,” the girl deadpans, her gaze fixated on something behind Tony.

Tony whirls around, the familiar thrill of threat, attack, chase racing down his spine. He doesn’t know what he expects—a gun, a knife, a machete aimed straight at his throat—but what he sees definitely isn’t it.

Without Tony noticing, they’ve reached a high point that allows them to oversee most of the grounds—the ones that aren’t covered completely by trees and bushes, that is—only there isn’t just the expected sand, rock and grass.

“I thought you said the island was uninhabited?“ the girl asks surprisingly even. Perhaps she has reached her limit of shocks per day, and is now simply accepting the twists heading her way, without processing the information or reacting to them at all.

That must be nice. Tony wishes he could say the same for himself. “It is,“ he winds up answering mechanically. Followed by an unhelpful—though entirely appropriate—“Well, fuck.“

* * * * *

.On the helicarrier.

Fury watches as two of his best agents stare down at the files laid out in front of them. He’s survived a damn long time in the business he’s chosen for a reason, which is why he’s entirely unsurprised when Barton leans back in his chair, obnoxiously chews on his gum—and Fury has no idea how he got a hold of the damn thing—and drawls, “Sooooo, what’s those numbers supposed to be?”

Thanks to many years of dealing with men way more irritating than Barton—politicians, lawyers, Stark, just to name a few—Fury manages not to throttle the man. He’s well-aware that Barton is smart, certainly above average. But as good as Barton is at putting things together at the drop of a hat, he’s even better at dumbing himself down. And turning important meetings into games for his own amusement. And giving Fury just cause to plot his more violent retirement options.

Yes, Barton is a man of many talents indeed. Luckily, Romanoff has a habit of keeping Barton’s most irritating habits in check—if only because she lacks the patience to put up with them.

“So there was a energy spike so high it was picked up all-around the globe.” Romanoff taps a finger onto one of the many diagrams that have been the cause of Fury’s latest migraine. “A spike which originated from a tiny island we didn’t even know existed.”

Well, they had known it existed, theoretically. The island was in their records somewhere—Fury had checked, the last thing they needed was a blot of land appearing out of nowhere—it was just that, until now, no one cared.

“This spike that could be recorded everywhere,” Romanoff continues with an unhappy curl of her lips, “happened only minutes before Iron Man was attacked. A couple of hours before White went rogue. And we’re only hearing about this now?”

Fury’s scowl deepens. Truth is, he’s thought the exact same thing—coincidences don’t happen in their line of work, and a signal like that, while obvious, couldn’t be missed. “The techies recorded it just fine, only we were in the middle of our black-out and missing Stark case,” Fury growls. “And then you developed that charming traitor theory of yours, which meant we were too busy vetting our own men to get the information through to the right people as fast as it should have.”

Barton raises his eyebrows. “That’s awfully convenient.”

If possible, Fury’s expression darkens even more. “Indeed.”

“You know, this could be the signal that activated White.” Romanoff tilts her head. “She might not have been the only one either.”

“It’s not my first day in the bureau, Romanoff!” Fury snaps. “I have people on that already. But they can only interpret the data we already have. I need eyes on the scene. I need the two of you to get your asses onto that fucking island and tell me something I don’t know. Like what the fuck caused such a massive spike and who the fucking hell is behind it!”

And Fury swears, if this is another magical alien letting them run around and chase their own tails, he’s not going to hand this one off to his own people’s court. He’s gonna shoot the fucking bastard himself.

“Take a quinjet and get moving,” Fury barks when neither Barton nor Romanoff make a move to get their asses going. “Dismissed!”

Barton grins brightly—which causes Fury’s head to throb in advance—but Romanoff pulls him out of the office before he can get someone killed. Possibly himself.

It’s only after the door falls shut behind the troublesome duo—and damn, but why do his best agents always have to be such a fucking hassle?—that Hill, who’s been standing quietly by his right side, clears her throat. “Are you sure about this, boss?”

Fury grimaces. The blunt truth that he despises more than anything is that he isn’t sure about anything. Hasn’t been since Stark dropped off the map. And with good reason. The last time the man went missing, he blew himself out of a terrorist cell, revolutionised clean energy and turned into a vigilante with multi-million-dollar resources. Just the thought of not having eyes and ears on Stark makes Fury itchy. That he also had a traitor under his nose and everything has gone pear-shaped without any apparent reason is almost negligible at this point.

“No,” Fury grumbles after a moment of careful consideration. Hill is a remarkable woman and an even better agent, but he knows better than to trust in that. Still, as his second-in-command she deserves certain insights—especially regarding the Avengers. “But I’d rather have Romanoff and Barton causing havoc on some island than in my own backyard. They’re wildcards, Hill. And they’re pissed. You leave them alone too long to stew, and they’ll blow up in your faces, probably bring the whole agency down with them too.”

Hill furrows her eyebrows in consideration. “You saw the footage, though. You really think there’s anything they’ll be able to tell in person that we don’t already know?”

Fury shrugs. “If there is, they’ll find it.” But that isn’t the point. “Besides, I had to clean up your mess somehow, didn’t I?”

Hill tightens her mouth at that, clearly displeased, but she doesn’t disagree.

She better not. Really, suspending Romanoff, Barton, and Rogers? Giving them endless free time, a dangerously capable AI, and a reason to start a little private hunt? It’s a recipe for disaster if Fury has ever seen one. No, those two are far better off investigating some messed-up freak shit as far from the Stark tower as he can reasonably get them, that’s for sure.

* * * * *

.Still on the same tiny, uninhabited island in the Bahamas.

Tony doesn’t know how long he stands there, frozen. Staring at—he doesn’t know. Except, that’s a lie, isn’t it? He does know. He’s seen sights like this before, and with every time he blinks, the view changes, like a new layer or filter has suddenly been slipped over his eyes. Different faces, different backgrounds. Sand. Grass. Rocks and stones. Children. Adults.

“Stark?”

“Stark!”

A hand grasping his forearm. He whirls around, knife at ready. This close up, it’s personal.

Victory stares at him. A little wide-eyed. A little scared.

He doesn’t lower the knife.

“Tony.” She says it softly, like a prayer. He wants to laugh at that—the gods are all dead, there’s nothing left to pray for—but he can’t find his voice.

“You can’t help them, Tony.” She’s gentle. As though she’s talking to a child. Victory hates children. “They’re gone.”

He isn’t listening.

Victory closes her eyes in defeat.

His hand—holding the knife, don’t let go—trembles.

“Barnes!”

It’s always the same.

He’s been wrong, Tony admits to himself, with the sort of black humour one might show before his own execution—before the execution of someone else. This isn’t a Kim Possible episode at all. This is some next level Supernatural shit if he’s ever seen one.

The small clearing Tony is staring down at is covered in bodies. And not the skeletons of some ancient sacrifice either. They’re fresh, can’t be more than a few days old. Still so easily recognisable as people, even from where he’s standing. Children.

“Jesus, how many bodies are there?” Tony whispers, unable to keep the horror out of his voice. He should be used to this, he inwardly scolds. He used to be better at shrugging these things off.

“Forty-two,” Dead-Eyes replies immediately, eyes sharper than they’ve been in a while. He’s standing stock-still, but there’s a faint restlessness in the way his gaze shifts from one unmoving body to another.

“That’s…oddly specific,” the girl comments from where she’s leaning against a tree.

“Yeah.” Tony takes in the way the bodies are lying in a circle. The cut throats, the blood. He’ll have to take a closer look to know for sure, but it looks like these children—fuck, they look about as old as he currently is—were killed here. More importantly, they didn’t fight, didn’t run. The blood is very localised, only soaking the grounds where the bodies fell. Maybe they were held in place. Maybe they were willing. “I'm no expert on the occult, but does this look like a ritual to you?”

“You think someone sacrificed these kids?” The girl swallows. “What kind of ritual would include something like this? And who’d be crazy enough to actually do it?”

Tony grimaces. Unfortunately, he knows people who’d do a lot more than this to accomplish what they want. It’s not a short list either. “Nothing good,” he promises darkly. He’s never been a fan of magic, and if there’s any brand of it that has ever deserved his every prejudice, it’s blood magic.

His hands are clenched into tight fists at his sides when Tony remembers—and how could he forget in the first place? Has he really gone this soft already? Been lulled into a false sense of security because the danger isn’t imminent yet?—the haunting words of that strange, old lady he met at the airport.

“Don’t worry, you will find the answers you seek on the grounds of the bloodless children.”

The words echo in his head. Mock him. Mock the sight of countless children slaughtered for nothing. And Tony—Tony doesn’t think. Stumbles forward, down the hill, toward the bodies that have just been left here. Discarded. Forgotten. He’s seen this all before, and he can’t stop.

He can’t stop.

There’s someone yelling, shouting his name, and Tony can’t tell if it’s real or a memory. Can’t tell if any of this is real. There are footsteps right behind him, a steady presence shadowing him—Dead-Eyes, Tony knows, because this is the only thing he knows, the only thing that’s always, always real.

Dead-Eyes doesn’t stop him though, so Tony doesn’t stop either. Walks even faster. Stumbles. Sinks to his knees besides a body, a little boy with hands as small as his own. Tony doesn’t reach out, but he wants to. Despite the smell, and the insects, and he’s long gone but Tony wants to—

You’ll find the answers you seek.

The air is heavy, saturated with a pressure Tony has felt before. But this time, he doesn’t fight it, welcomes it even. Feels as though he’s floating away, is being pulled into different directions, all over the place, and this weight is the only thing pinning him down. The weight and Dead-Eyes’ heavy breathing.

“If only we could turn back time.” Victory laughs, shakes her head at her own folly. Stark wonders whether she realises that it is this light-heartedness he admires the most in her. “Would solve all our problems, wouldn’t it?

“That’d be easy. Convenient,” Barnes speaks up with a voice as unused as Stark’s first name. “S’not how the world works.”

There’s something sharp in the glance he throws Victory, something Stark notices but doesn’t quite understand that passes between them.

He shrugs, reloads his gun. They have people to kill.

Barnes and Vic fall into step behind him like he knew they would.

Tony stares at the boy’s face. He must have been cute, he thinks, when he was alive. Children always are.

“It’s everywhere. In the water, the earth, the air. We can’t fight this.”

“But we can draw it out.”

“What would be the point?”

“To find a cure. A better way. To put a stop to this. Save the world. That’s our job, remember?”

“Save the world for whom?”

He’s been promised answers, even if he hadn’t realised. Hadn’t taken the woman seriously at the time. Because the prospect of someone else knowing had been too daunting, too terrifying to consider. Now Tony can’t stop wondering which questions exactly he’s supposed to get answers to.

You’ll find the answers you seek.

It’s nothing but a whisper. A product of his own imagination. And like a key that has finally been put into the correct lock, Tony feels the words slide through his mind, bypassing walls and safety measures he hadn’t been aware of existed.

And with a soft click, the door opens.

“Thanos was the catalyst, not the cause. We were only ever going to be brought down by an enemy from the inside. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Barnes’ gun doesn’t waver. “You killed Captain America.”

Neither does Stark’s. “You killed Iron Man.”

Thoughts? :)

28 notes · View notes

littlebitoffanfic · 7 years ago

Text

Never Lost

Fandom: IT Character: Henry, Vic, Belch Relationship: Henry/reader Request: Can you do another henry bowers one where the readers there when his dads shooting at the ground (in the movie) and the reader runs over to him after to see if hes okay and he pushes her away and accidently hurts her and she runs away from him? Like, that’s the reasons Henry kills his dad is because he thinks he has nothing else to live for. You were lying on the grass just outside Henrys house while the boys played with his dads gun. You had already told them they shouldn’t be doing it but none of them listened. You knew how bad Henrys dad could be and, to be honest, you didn’t want to see Henry hurt again. You had started to drift into a light sleep under the warm rays of the sun, your mind only being kept away by the sound of the gun every now and then. You heard a cat meow somewhere and the boys talking but didn’t think anything of it until you allowed your head to lazily roll to the side and see a rather scared looking Belch holding a car on the podium they had been shooting cans off of and Henry pointing the gun at it. “No!” You called out, turning to scramble to your feet when another voice filled the air and you saw Henry freeze in spot. His back was only slightly to you and you saw his eyes widen as his father came out of the house. You stayed where you were, having a deep fear and hatred for Henrys father and always trying to keep as far away from him as possible. Henrys father had a very nasty habit of trying to destroy your relationship with Henry. You had been dating for a little over a year now but had known each other since you were a child and been friends from the first moment you toddled up to him. Your friendship had blossomed into a relationship when he kissed you out of the blue one March night you had been inseparable ever since. But his dad didn’t like this. He would sneak ideas into Henrys head when you weren’t around. He would tell him you had no feelings for him, that no one could ever care for him. “I was just cleaning it.” You heard Henry mumble, holding out the gun to his father. He had shrunken into himself, his head low and his shoulders hunched. You wanted to run over and wrap your arms around him but fear had glued you to the spot. You looked over at Vic and Belch, who looked just as on edge as you felt. Henrys father mumbled something you didn’t quite catch and your attention was drawn back to him as he turned to walk away. You let out a sign of relief until he twisted back and held the gun up. Gun fire filled the air and you let out a cry of fear which only stopped when you saw he was firing at Henrys feet, missing them by mere inches. Henry became jumpy, filching but trying not to move as he held his hands up, protecting his face. “See how the paper man crumbles.” His father called to you, looking directly at you as he motioned the gun at Henry. You glowered back at him, trying to stop the tears coming to your eyes. But all he did was laugh and walk back into the house. Once he was a little closer to the house, you heard Henry let out a whimper, still standing with his hands in front of his face. You knew his friends would do nothing. They couldn’t comfort him for fear of facing homophobic reactions. You raced forward, throwing your arms around him. You wanted to comfort him, to tell him it was all going to be okay. To tell him you loved him. He meant the world to you and you to him. You weren’t going to let that asshole get in the way of you two. You wanted him to wrap his arms around you and hold you until he felt strong enough to pull away. He did that often. He pulled his strength from you. And you knew Vic and belch wouldn’t say anything. You were pretty sure they could walk in on the two of you in any way and it wouldn’t reach anyone else’s ears. But that didn’t happen. In fact, you weren’t really sure what happened. He pushed you away slightly, before full force pushing you back. You wondered if he had maybe punched you by the force in which you were thrown back from him. You managed to look at him as he did so, and his eyes went on you, they were on his father. But due to the new holes in the ground, your heel caught in one and you fell backwards. As you hit the ground, you put your hands out to try and stop yourself, but you felt something sharp penetrate your skin before your head hit the ground, scrapping across a rock. Your ears started to buzz as you blinked wildly, tears running down your cheek. Pushing yourself up, you looked at your hand to see a massive shard of glass had cut across your palm, blood pouring from the new wound. Your other hand reached up to touch your head and you instantly felt the blood. Someone appeared in front of you and you hoped it would be Henry. But it wasn’t. “Geez [y/n]. you need to get to a hospital!” Vic said in shock, his eyes on the glass in your hand. You knew you had to get the glass out, so you grabbed it and pulled it out the wound, letting out a cry of pain as you did. “I told you that you’d hurt that girl!” You heard Henry and you glanced over to see he was standing at the door, pointing at you. He had seen the whole thing. You looked up at Henry, who had stopped shaking. He stood, frozen to the spot, his eyes wide as he looked at you. His mouth was slightly open in shock. A part of you wanted to scream at him, to tell him to help you up, to take you to the hospital. But then it hit you. He had pushed you away. He had hurt you. Maybe not intentionally but he wasn’t making any effort to show it was an accident, to tell you he was sorry. Tears ran down your cheek and joined with the blood on your cheek. Looking away from Henry, you stumbled to your feet with the help of Vic. Belch seemed to be in as much shock as Henry. “Ive got to go.” You mumbled to Vic before turning away from the group and walking down the drive way. You could feel your whole body shaking as your tried not to cry. You could feel eyes on your back, but you didn’t know if it was Henry, Vic or Belch. Or all three. ---------time skip------------------------- You had gone to the pharmacy first, only because you knew Gretas dad would probably be able to take care of you without you having to go to the hospital. He gave you a shot in case the glass had anything nasty on it and cleaned your wound, which he said should heal nicely without stiches since it was a clean cut and not nearly as deep as it looked but you had to keep it bandaged up. He did his best with your head, saying it was just a graze but if you felt lightheaded or if you felt like you were going to pass out, to get help immediately in case you had a concussion. He gave you some drugs for the pain but nothing strong before letting you go. You were very thankful that you were close friends with his daughter, because it cost you nothing. Just before you left, he called you back, asking you how you had gotten your cuts. When you didn’t answer and tears welled in your eyes, he asked if it was Henry. This took you by surprise and you shook your head, saying Henry had just been trying to protect you. Realising what you had said, you left in a hurry. You were walking home, your mind racing. You weren’t angry with Henry, although you were very hurt. He didn’t mean for you to fall. You wondered if it was because you tried to help him too early. His father had still been around and had seen what happened. Maybe if he had accepted your affections, it would have led to another altercation, possibly involving you. Then your mind fell on the words Butch had yelled. “I told you that youd hurt that girl.” He had spoken about you before. He had told Henry that he was a danger to you. You shook your head. He wasn’t a danger to you. He would never intentionally hurt you. Ever. He had proven that countless times. He had went out of his way to make sure you were safe. Arguments, though rare, never ended with punches or even the slightest pain. He just wanted you to be happy, so would often cave in to you. You tried to think of a time you were actually frightened of him or scared he would hurt you. But nothing came to mind. Before you realised, you found yourself on Henrys drive, walking up. You needed to see him. You needed to talk to him. “[y/n]?!” Vic called you, drawing your attention to the car, which him and Belch were leaning against. You didn’t know why you were surprised that they were still here. You just hadn’t counted on anyone being here except Henry. “You alright?” Belch asked warily as you approached. “Yeah. Nothing serious.” You raised your hand to your head, but smiled. But then you saw something in their eyes. Fear? “What?” “Its henry. Something wrong. Like really wrong.” Vic nodded to the house. You were off like a gun, bolting to the front door. Was he in danger? Was his father beating him again? It had to be bad if they were this worried. You opened the door carefully, your eyes falling on Henrys back. As you crept quietly inside, you noticed something odd. He was standing directly behind his dads seat, his father sitting in said seat. But his fathers legs were shaking and you saw his hands reaching up to grasp at something. At Henrys face. His knife had been lost ages ago, something about falling down the side of a hill, but you didn’t know why. You knew Henry had taken a beating for it though. “Shes gone.” Henry mumbled, breathing hard as you ventured closer. The sight you saw made you gasp in horror. Butch was bleeding from the weapon in his neck. Henry was holding his knife into the side of his father neck and Butches movements slowly began to stop before he slumped down. Dead. “Shes gone.” Henry let out a sob, his eyes squeezed shut as he shook his head, his hands shaking. ��’Cause of you.” He growled at the now corpse. “Henry?” You made your presents known, for fear of making a noise and him lunging at you with the knife. Henry froze, his eyes wide but unseeing as he stared straight ahead, as if listening to see if it was just in his mind. “Love?” You called gently to him, using a nickname that you knew he adored. It was something sweet that he craved, loving it so much that he didn’t even mind you calling him it in school. “[y/n]?” He whispered, looking at you. He had blood splattered on his face as his gaze switched to the TV, which was only playing static. He let go and backed away from the body, shaking his head. “No, no, not her.” He mumbled to himself as you took a hesitant step forward. “[y/n]?” He said again, looking at you. He looked lost, broken and scared. you felt a strong pull of protection as you looked at him. You knew it was only a matter of time before his father went too far, not that anyone in Derry cared. They wouldn’t care that Butch Bowers was dead. Many would agree he would beat his son black and blue then go drinking. Henry would have no chance if the town thought he had been killed in cold blood. Henry needed someone to protect him for once. Not to validate his actions, but to protect him. “i-i-i-“ He trailed off, looking to the body and back to you. “H-H-He. “He attacked me.” You say, your voice strong and sable, unlike Henrys who was shaking like his hands. “He attacked me with a broken bottle. And you thought he was going to stab me, so you ran up behind him with your knife. You only meant to stab him in the shoulder to give me time to get away but he moved and your knife went into his throat. Vic and Belch saw the whole thing.” You didn’t drop his gaze as you spoke, telling him your plan. A very, very small part of you was screaming that you were letting a murderer get off the hook, but then your eyes fell on the cigarettes burns on his arms, the bruises on his skin and the permanent scaring. A fresh start. That’s what he needed. And that’s what you would give him. “I never meant to hurt you.” HE whispers. “I know.” You smiled, but your eyes flicked to the knife and you couldn’t help but shudder at the blood. Henry saw this. He looked down at the knife in his hands, and the blood. The knife dropped from his hand, clattering on the floor by his feet. You moved forward, pausing every couple of steps to make sure everything was still okay. Once you were close enough, you wrapped your arms around his neck. He instantly responded, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulled you tight against his body. “I thought I lost you.” He whispered as he buried his head in your neck. You could feel the blood smearing on your skin, but you supressed a shudder. “No, baby. Im still here.” You ran your finger up the back of his neck and back down, feeling his hair. “I love you.” Henry whispered, his voice breaking as you froze. Neither of you had ever said the cursed words to each other before. Not even when you had held him as cried from beatings. Not when he fucked you into his mattress or when he made love to you in your bed. Never. You had always just assumed he couldn’t say it. He hadn’t known love before you so you just assumed he wouldn’t be able to say it. You pulled back, looking at him dead in the eyes. “Really?” You asked, your heart beating hard in your chest. Henry nodded, his eyes showing some signs of embarrassment for showing his feelings but you didn’t care. “I love you, too.” You threw yourself at him, feeling him stumble a little but he held you, letting out a small chuckle. “I love you, I love you so much.” You mumbled into his neck, feeling fiercely protective over him. Tears ran down your cheek and onto his neck, but you didnt care as you mumbled your love for him again and again. The words soothed him and you felt his shaking stop. His hands no longer clutched at your sides but now started to run up and down your spin as he held you. “We should go and speak to the guys.” You pulled back, wiping your tears away. You pulled your sleeves down to cover your hand and you used your sleeve to wipe the blood off his face. Henry moved forward quickly to smash his lips to yours in a needy but passionate kiss. You could tell it was his way of saying ‘thank you’, of saying ‘sorry’ and that he loved you. Neither of you knew what would happen when you stepped outside that door. You had no doubt that the guys would back you up, and you could say you had been scared and ran to the pharmacy, who would verify you were there and it was because Henry had protected you. No one would care, it was just how Derry was. In a couple of months, everything would blow over and everything would be forgotten. Just like the children. Whatever uncertainties that Henry was feeling vanished when he kissed you, knowing you would be by his side through it all.

#IT #Henry Bowers #henry x reader #henry bowers x reader #henry/reader #henry bowers 2017 #reader insert

89 notes · View notes

soaimagines · 7 years ago

Text

Roses 🥀

Request: Imagine Jax finding roses on his ex-wifes counter when he goes to pick up their son.

This is the one I struggled with so much. I had it all planned in my head like a fucking movie but when I tried to write it i forgot all words. lol. I hope you guys like it. 💕

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You look very pretty mommy.” You smiled down at your son, who was watching you lovingly from his spot on the bed. “Thank you baby.” After one final coat of mascara you stepped back and looked at your reflection. Not bad. You were just lifting your favourite perfume when you heard a knock on the door. Abel squealed in excitement and you laughed. “Why don’t you go let daddy in?” You suggested as you sprayed yourself with the perfume. He hopped off the bed and ran to the front door while you finished getting ready.

The front door swung open and Jax grinned at the sight of his son, bouncing round excitedly. “Daddy!” He squealed. Jax leant over him and pressed a kiss to Abels forehead. “Hows my boy?” “Good!” Abel giggled. He took hold of Jaxs hand and dragged him inside. Jax pushed the door closed behind him and looked around the house. “Mommy getting ready?” Jax asked. “Yeah, she looks pretty daddy.” Jax smiled and ruffled his sons hair. “She always does.” Something in the dining room caught his eye and he let Abel run over to his crayons while he stepped into the room. In the centre of the dining table was two dozen perfect red roses, wrapped delicately in white tissue paper and sitting in a tall vase of water. The flowers were huge and dramatic, a grand gesture of romance and Jax wondered who was sending his ex wife such gifts. Jax glanced back in the hallway and when he found it empty he stepped closer to the table. Next to the roses sat an envelope and he lifted it carefully and slid the card out. He checked the hallway again before reading the hand written note inside the card. ‘A little something to let you know you’re on my mind, always. I can’t wait to see you tonight. x’ He frowned as he read over the note and couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that coursed through him. He read over it once more before sliding the card back into the envelope and placing it back where he had first found it. Abel ran back into the room, a picture he had drawn in his hands. Jax inspected the art, an expression of admiration on his face as Abel beamed up at him and he tried to stop the thoughts form running through his mind. For three months now you had been divorced, and before the papers were finalised you had been separated for the better part of two years. So why was he jealous? This wasn’t the first guy you had dated since him, surely. But Jax had never seen it. You had always kept your relationships private, not even letting your dates meet Abel. None of them had been serious, just casual flings to fill the hole in your heart. And its not like Jax hadn’t been with other woman. All he had to do was ask and he could have a dozen girls in his bed. So why was this wave of jealousy washing over him? Why now, after all this time, did he feel sick at the thought of another man being with you. You, the woman he had loved for so long. The mother of his child and the love of his life. The decision to divorce had been mutual. You loved each other, of course you did, but somewhere along they way and amongst all the chaos that surrounded him the two of you had lost the spark. There was no real fighting, no bad feelings towards each other. You had wanted him to move on and be happy and Jax had wanted the same for you. But now the idea of it actually happening scared him. Maybe a part of him still hoped that you would find your way back to him one day. Abel giggling brought his mind back into focus and he pushed the thoughts out of his mind.

You chewed on the side of your lip and looked at your reflection in the full length mirror once more. It had been a long time since you had been on a date and after inspecting your outfit you finally felt more confidant. You wore a black off-the-shoulder dress that hugged you in all the right places and ended a couple of inches above your knees. Your hair hung loosely down your back, with a few strands framing your face. After watching several make-up tutorials on youtube you had achieved the look you were going for.You had perfectly groomed your eyebrows and perfected a smokey eye with a sharp wing of eyeliner. Tonight you had gone for a fairly simple pair of false lashes, long and sleek rather than dramatic. A thin layer of foundation and a light blush and you were done, leaving your lips fairly natural to draw all attention to your eyes. You took a deep breath and smoothed down your dress. Not bad. You thought to yourself with a final glance at your reflection. You quickly slid into your heels and left the bedroom, feeling slightly guilty to have left Jax waiting. You walked elegantly across the hallway and joined them in the living room. “Wow momma!” Jax looked up at Abels words and saw you smiling at your son. He gulped, his previous feelings only becoming stronger as he took in your appearance. “You look amazing.” Jax said, his voice soft and sincere. A blush came to your cheeks and you rolled your eyes. “I always do.” Jax chuckled and nodded in agreement. “You do.” You smiled and ruffled Abels hair before moving to the sofa and reaching for your handbag. Jax couldn’t help but watch as you leant over the sofa to lift your bag and his breath caught in his throat as the dress rode up your thighs slightly. You swung your bag on your shoulder and checked the contents, making sure you had everything you would need before turning back towards Jax. “Thank you for taking him.” “Anytime.” Jax smiled. “Big date tonight, huh?” He hoped his question sounded casual and by your response he knew he hadn’t been caught prying for information. “Something like that.” You said with a shrug. “He picking you up?” You shook your head. “Said i’d meet him there. Its still early days.” Jax nodded, knowing that you wouldn’t have wanted Abel to meet him just yet. “You wanna ride?” You looked at him and laughed. “My ex husband and our son dropping me off for a date? I think I’ll pass.” Jax chuckled and stood and placed his hand down on Abels shoulder. “Well better not keep the guy waiting.” You knelt down and pulled Abel into a hug before kissing his cheek softly. “Be good for Daddy. I love you.” “I love you too Mommy.” You straightened and smiled at Jax as he gently moved Abel towards the door. “Have a good night, darlin.” He placed his hand on your waist and leant in,pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Thank you Jax.” You smiled at him and he nodded before walking out of the house, Abel in front of him and his backpack in his hand. You watched them leave with a smile before grabbing your keys and heading for you car.

“Afternoon, lass.” You smiled at Chibs and kissed his cheek before Abel wrapped his arms around his legs. “‘Ello little man.” Chibs chuckled and ruffled his soft blond hair. “Jax around? He asked me to meet him here” You asked, scanning your eyes across the Teller-Morrow lot. “Aye, he’s inside.” Chibs nodded towards the clubhouse. “I can watch Abel for ye.” “Thank you.” You smiled and waved at Tig and Juice who were leaning against the office smoking. This morning you had received a text from Jax, asking you to meet him at the clubhouse this afternoon. You hadn’t thought much of it, assuming he wanted to let you know he was heading out of town for a few days and wouldn’t be around. It was a Sunday afternoon and the sun was shining down warmly as you walked across the lot. It was so warm in fact that you wore your denim cut off shorts and a white tank top, your hair piled on top of your head in a messy bun and converse on your feet. Jax was sitting at the bar when you entered and he didn’t see you you come in. He had a cigarette pressed between his fingers and a beer in front of him as he hunched over a notebook. “Hey,” You called across the room. Jax looked up and smiled once his eyes found you. You walked up to him and he opened his arms. You stepped into them and pressed a friendly kiss to his cheek before sliding onto a barstool next to him. “Thank you for coming, darlin.” He slid off his seat and stepped behind the bar. He reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a beer and handed it to you. “What did you wanna talk about?” You asked as you accepted the beer. Jax took a deep breath and walked back to his stool, trying to find the words to start. “I keep thinking about the other night.” You frowned and tilted your head to the side, your eyebrows furrowing together. “At my house?” Jax nodded and ran his hand through his hair before looking at you. “You’ve been seeing this guy a lot.” “Yeah, thats usually what happens when you date someone.” You said. Jax smirked before his face turned serious. “Is it serious?” “Jax, what is this about?” He sighed and ran his hand over his face. “I saw the roses on your table.” You watched him as he spoke and when he didn’t continue you frowned. “And?” “And it made me jealous. I know you’ve been with other guys but I didn’t know you were going to get serious with anyone.” “Jax we’re divorced. I can-“ “Let me finish.” You paused but nodded, allowing him to speak. “I spent the last few days thinking about you. When I signed those papers I never really thought about you being with someone else. Really being with someone else. It was selfish of me but I always thought we would end up together and seeing those roses and how.. happy you looked made me realise that that was never going to happen.” He paused to check how you were taking this and when he saw your calm expression he continued. “I didn’t know how to be a dad and a husband without sacrificing the club. I know now that what we had.. It cant happen again. I love you so much (y/n), I do. But I know that me wanting you to wait until Ive figured out how to do this is selfish. I know that now.” You watched him closely as he spoke, watched the raw emotions in his eyes. He had been your everything once and you fought back tears, determined not to cry as he opened up to you. “Im sorry that I didn’t appreciate you when I had you, (Y/n). You were a good old lady, a good wife. You’re a good mother. You deserve to be happy and Im not going to stand in the way of that.” You smiled, unable to stop a tear from escaping and rolling down your cheek. You stood and wrapped your arms around him, burying yourself in his neck. He held you close and stroked your back as you gathered yourself. “I love you, Jackson.” You whispered. He smiled and nodded as you pulled away. “I know.” You wiped your cheeks and sat back on the stool, taking a much needed swig of your beer. “But if this guy hurts you, I swear to god I will kill him. I already know where he lives.” You groaned, but your eyes were playful and a smirk appeared on your lips. “Why you gotta ruin a moment like that?!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you want to be added to the tag list for any or all Sons please let me know. x

@i-want-to-be-watered-by-roger @daniehelene27 @hellsmurf96 @jasonmccannsgirl8699 @i-am-the-luna @aworldwideapart @homicidalteenagedream @jaaxsoadeaanspn @trinasoftballgirl @thejulietfarciertlove @coffeebooksandfandom @kacilove26 @mrsirishboru @soafanficluvr1 @fortheloveofthesoa @khyharah @samcrolivesforever @redwoodog @jade770 @realpowertwix @supernaturalanarchy @sam-samcro @my-bitch-the-tacoma-killer @thewifeofsethrollins @docsangel @eternalmikaelson @middle–fingering

#sons of anarchy jax #soa jax #jax soa #Jax Teller #sons of anarchy #jax teller imagine #sons of anarchy Jax imagine #samcro jax imagine #soa Jax imagine #jax imagine #samcro fanfic #sons of anarchy imagines #samcro imagine #soa imagine #soa fanfiction #jax teller fanfic

530 notes · View notes