#i love rumple's stunned look after the hug | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

teacup-set · 3 years ago

Text

Paperhearted

Summary: ‘Tch. Who says ‘I love you’ to someone they just met?’ he thinks, frowning all the way home. ‘Annoying.’

But his heart feels caught in quicksand, slowly sinking to his stomach.

She never did tell him her name.

[ModernAU, for @disquieted]

Read on: FFN, AO3

A chill cuts through the autumn air as Sasuke waits for his brother to pick him up. The kindergarten playground is quiet except for the creaking of the swing that he sits on as he waits. With every passing second his mood grows sour. All the other kids had already been picked up long ago, he is the only one still waiting. He wonders if Itachi nii-san will make up for his delay by playing with him when they get home, and suddenly perks up at the thought. In his mind he devises how he will pout and look disappointed to really drive home the guilt, when the silence of the playground is interrupted by a scream.

Startled, Sasuke whips in the direction of the sound. It came from the adjacent woods, and nii-san had told him strictly to never leave the kindergarten campus. Besides, he is only a kid. He will just get in the way, he reasons.

‘Then why am I doing it?’ he wonders as his legs move on their own accord, tugging him across some invisible string to where the sound came from.

As he draws closer, he regains enough control to slow down, and quietly pulls to a stop behind a tree. In the clearing ahead he sees two boys snickering, peering down at something obscured from his view, and he vaguely registers seeing them before around town. They look a year or two older and seem to wear the same school uniform Itachi wears, though mother would throw a fit if she ever saw Itachi’s clothes so rumpled and untucked.

“Boo-hoo, look at little strawberry shortcake crying.” one of them mocks.

“Ooh! Leave the cat alone!” the other squeals in a high-pitched imitation, “Well how do you like being in its place then?” he finishes in his normal voice, aiming a kick forwards.

He sees her then, as she falls sideways from the blow, into his line of sight.

Pink hair (pink! ) falling out from her red ribbon, teeth biting her lower lip to keep from crying out, and the brightest green eyes he has ever seen brimming with tears and the determination to not let them fall.

The first boy, egged on, aims another kick at her stomach. She closes her eyes shut tightly and gasps when his foot connects. Sasuke feels his heart clench. He wants to help, but there are two of them and only one of him. They’re older too. It would be stupid to engage.

‘I’m not stupid.’ he thinks. ‘I’m not stupid!’ he repeats.

Her eyes open and they are glassy and unfocussed. He watches as her gaze travels dimly across the landscape around her till she spots him and stills. All of a sudden the clarity of the world around him shifts, and Sasuke feels like he is waking into a dream. She holds his gaze, and then a single tear falls down her swollen cheek.

“I’m not stupid!” his mind echoes again. Only this time he isn’t thinking it, he is screaming it from his lungs as he charges across the clearing into one of the bullies.

By the time he has regained his sense of time and place, his fist has already connected with the face of the boy who kicked her the second time. Sasuke isn’t sure where he mustered the strength because the boy flies back a full two feet, planting face first into the ground. Around him, the boy’s accomplice and the girl both stare at the scene that just unfolded in shocked silence. Then the stillness of the moment is shattered as both the bullies scream, and scramble to get away.

Sasuke is heaving from the rush of what has just transpired, and watches as the boys make their escape. Behind him, the girl lifts herself off the ground and sits up. He turns to face her.

She is looking at him quizzically and he can’t say he blames her, he himself is unsure of what possessed him. But looking at her, eyes and cheeks swollen, hair and clothes in disarray, a tear-trail cutting across a muddied cheek, he can’t bring himself to regret it.

“Your hand...it’s bleeding.” she says, softly.

Sasuke frowns and looks down, and indeed she is right. There is a gash across his knuckles, angry and red.

Slowly she gets up, and limps towards him. Reaching out, she gingerly takes his bleeding hand into her own and looks at it thoughtfully. Then she retreats one hand to pull out the ribbon in her hair, and ties it around his knuckles. She releases his hand and immediately he feels bereft, though he isn’t sure why.

“Um, thank you.” she says shyly.

Before he can open his mouth to respond, they hear commotion in the distance.

They turn towards the sound to see the two boys from earlier staggering back towards them...with three other friends in tow. Sasuke doesn’t know where his strength came from earlier, but he is doubtful he can summon it again. Especially against five older opponents.

They look at each other. There is an understanding.

And then they run.

They race through the woods with reckless abandon, hair flying in the wind. Beside him he hears her laugh as they are running, and he has half a mind to ask her what exactly she finds funny about this, but he is laughing along too. There is something so freeing and young about the whole situation. They run without thinking, giggling every time they glance back at the group giving chase. Every few moments they are drenched in sunlight breaking past the canopy, before plunging into the shade again. Despite her beating, the girl manages to keep up pace, never falling more than two steps behind him. From the corner of his eye, Sasuke spots the kindergarten playground in the distance, and a lone figure standing in the center.

‘Nii-san!’

Swiftly he grabs her hand and breaks perpendicular to their trajectory, pulling her along with him. They run until they make it out of the woods, and Sasuke grins at the sight of Itachi looking confused to see his brother racing out of the woods with a girl in tow. The boys chasing them exit the woods not long after, hot in pursuit, before halting at the sight of Itachi.

Sasuke pulls the girl with him to stand behind his brother. Itachi glances at the pair, then at the pursuers, and quickly catches on. He stares at the boys and quirks an eyebrow, and that is enough. Itachi may be a gentle soul, but everyone knows better than to mess with him. In an instant they are scrambling to disperse from the playground, mumbling hurried apologies to Itachi. From behind him, Sasuke and the girl look at each other, and then break into full-bellied laughter.

Amused, Itachi bends down on his knee, “Care to explain what’s going on, little brother?”

Sasuke turns to him to answer but notices Itachi is looking downwards. He follows his brother’s gaze to where his hand is still wrapped around the girl’s.

Immediately he drops it and jumps a foot away.

Blushing and embarrassed, he explains to his brother what happened. Itachi listens patiently and then turns his attention to the grl. “Are you okay?” He asks. Mutely, she nods.

Before anything else can be said and done, a woman bursts onto the playground.

“Oh my god, there you are!” she exclaims, and runs to take the girl in her arms, “We’ve been looking all over for you!”

Moving back from the hug to take a look at her state, the woman gasps. “Sweetie, what happened?”

“Some boys were picking on me. He helped.” she says in a small voice, pointing her finger at Sasuke.

“Oh dear, thank you so much.” says the older woman as she pats him on the head. “She just wandered off. We were worried sick!”

“Come along now, sweetheart, we have to be on our way.” says the woman that Sasuke assumes is her mother, as she gently tugs her along in the direction of a car waiting by the roadside, a man standing by its side and waving.

“Wait!” the girl cries, and then turns to him, “What’s your name?” she asks, a desperate urgency ringing in her voice.

Sasuke knows because he feels it too.

“Sasuke!” he yells after her, because she is already halfway across the playground, “What’s yours?”

She breaks into the widest grin.

“Thank you, Sasuke-kun!” she yells back, “I love you!”

Her mother laughs loudly, and beside him Itachi huffs in amusement too. Sasuke is stunned, and can only stare as she gets into the car and drives away.

She has already disappeared over the horizon before his senses return.

‘Tch. Who says ‘I love you’ to someone they just met?’ he thinks, frowning all the way home. ‘Annoying.’

But his heart feels caught in quicksand, slowly sinking to his stomach.

She never did tell him her name.

There is a rumor spreading across their middle school that Sasuke likes girls with long hair, and he knows exactly what prompted it.

He jogs back from the track to the sidelines, breathing heavily, and then runs through his stretches. A brief cool-down later, he returns to the locker-room, trading in his sweaty track clothes for his standard school uniform. He finishes buttoning up his shirt, puts on his tie, and then reaches into his locker for one last thing.

He pulls out a red ribbon, and ties it around his hand.

Beside him, Naruto quips—

“Are you ever going to tell me why you wear that thing?” he asks, gesturing to the ribbon.

“Hn.” Sasuke grunts in the way of an answer.

“You know all your fangirls think that ribbon is reserved for your one true love , and if they make you fall in love with them you will tie that ribbon to their hair?” he questions, clasping his hands together in a decidedly feminine gesture for dramatic effect.

Sasuke rolls his eyes as he strolls out of the locker-room, with Naruto following behind him.

“I’m serious!” he insists, “I’ve seen them role-playing it after school!”

They settle into their seats for their next class, and Naruto pesters him again.

“Well? Is it true?” he wiggles his eyebrows, “Is this about a girl?”

Sasuke lets the question slide as he turns his attention out of the window. The horizon is endlessly far and there is a pang in his chest. If it’s about a girl, then it’s a girl he has never met again.

He never saw her again after that day, and figured she had only been visiting. As distinctive as her hair was, he was only a kid and the world was just too big to go looking. He doesn’t even know why he is looking, why even after all this time there is a feeling that something has been lost.

‘I’m a fool.’ he thinks, staring off into the distance.

“Or maybe it’s auntie Mikoto’s? Does leedul Sasu-cakes miss his mwommy?” Naruto continues to speculate.

Sasuke promptly smacks his best friend’s face into his desk.

Sakura watches Ito walk out from the classroom. He pauses briefly at the door, and turns around to flash her a forced smile that she returns with just as much strain. As soon as he is gone, she sinks into her seat. The love letter he wrote sits unopened in front of her. She is grateful, at the very least, that he chose to approach her after class when they had been alone. Others had not been so courteous, and her heart had lurched with each shake of her head in front of an audience of merciless classmates.

Not long after he is gone, Ino pokes her head into the room. Finding it bereft of anyone except her friend, she invites herself in.

“Well? What did he say? Actually nevermind that, what did you say?” her best friend interrogates her, and Sakura has no doubt she had been lurking just outside the classroom. She simply looks at the blonde and frowns.

“Seriously, forehead? Again?” exasperated, Ino plops down on the chair in front of her. “How many hearts do you intend to break, huh?”

“Why don’t you at least give someone a shot? What are you waiting for?” she eggs on.

Heaving a deep sigh, Sakura stares up at the ceiling. ‘What am I waiting for?’

“Earth to forehead? Hello? Anyway, since you’ve declined everyone who asked, you can be my date to the festival. Sai-kun will understand, he doesn’t care much for this stuff anyway.” Ino declares while inspecting her nails.

Sakura smiles at her friend.

“No, pig, you and Sai should go,” Sakura says, “I don’t think I am going anyway, I have to prepare for the university entrance exams.”

“Are you kidding me? Sakura, this is our final year of school. How can you miss the spring festival?” Ino is appalled.

Leaning back on her chair, Sakura scoffs. “It’s our final year, that’s why we need to study. We’ll have fun in college, okay?”

“You take this way too seriously, forehead. Are you that eager to leave us and run away to some big city?”

Sakura falters. A memory resurfaces. Being five years old, visiting her aunt in Tokyo, running through the woods, and then leaving much, much too soon.

To her relief, Ino isn’t waiting for a response.

“Well, let’s at least get some ice-cream on the way home.” she says, getting up. Smiling, Sakura joins her as they walk out of the empty classroom. “Just be careful Sak, the rate at which you’re going, you’ll end up passing right by your soulmate.” Ino says jokingly.

Sakura laughs along and tries to smother the voice inside her that says she might already have.

Sasuke finishes his last class for the day and unhurriedly strolls to his academic supervisor's office. He pauses in front of the office door and glances down at his watch. Two minutes late, not that it made a difference considering his supervisor. He knocks.

“Come in,” a lazy drawl beckons.

Sasuke walks into the office. “You asked to see me?” he inquires.

Hatake Kakashi leans back in his chair. “I did, have a seat.” he motions, “So Sasuke, have you given any thought to what you want to do after university?”

Sasuke shrugs.

Kakashi sighs and leans forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “Sasuke. You’re an excellent student, your grades are flawless, and you have so much potential. But all of that is lost if you have no ambition.” Kakashi looks at him with the slightest hint of frustration in his bored eyes, “You have a year of university left. Give it some thought. Ask yourself what gives you purpose.”

Sasuke nods, agreeing simply to end the meeting faster. Anticipating that he won’t get through to him, Kakashi dismisses him, promising to have another catch up after his mid-terms.

Sasuke walks out of the office, his book bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. Despite himself, he is pondering over the brief lecture he just received.

Ask yourself what gives you purpose.

“Tch.” Sasuke scowls in annoyance, and then halts his stride.

Though the scene itself plays in his mind like a vignette, blurry and faded at the seams, he still remembers the feeling of throwing his body forward on instinct, pushing off the bully from the girl fallen on the ground. He remembers standing between them and knowing with unflinching clarity that he had done the right thing. He sighs in disbelief at himself, even after all these years, living his life based on a stupid childhood memory.

On the way back to his dorm, he picks up a form for the police academy.

The announcer’s voice calls over the PA system, alerting the passengers on the train of the upcoming station.

Closing her book and stashing it in her bag, Sakura prepares to disembark. She glances at the door nearest to her, but finds it already packed with the rush-hour crowd, each one eager to be the first one out the doors when they open.

Instead of swimming through the hoard of people, she chooses to cross over to the only slightly less crowded adjacent compartment, hoping to deboard from there. Rubbing shoulders with the others that had the same idea, she traverses the narrow section that bridged the two coaches. Instantly, she feels a shift.

Anticipation coils in her stomach and all her nerve endings are firing in an urgent panic. It feels like crossing into a different world. ‘What is it?’ she thinks, trying to pinpoint the cause of her alarm. And then she spots it. On the far end of the compartment, peering into his phone, eighteen years older than the last time she saw him but nonetheless unmistakable, him .

She feels the urge to scream, but his name is caught somewhere between her lungs and her mouth. In the background, the speakers announce the opening of the doors.

Sakura feels the push from the people around her, and she feels like she is caught in the current of the sea, being sucked under again and again with nothing to hold on to, the water swallowing her voice. All of a sudden time slows to a standstill, and she watches as he lifts his head and looks in her direction. Their eyes meet.

There is a quiet murmur in her heart that she has carried with her most of her life. The one that piques up each time she thinks of him. The one that tells her it is all in her head, that he has already forgotten, that she has been building castles in the air all along. She feels that voice surface again, but then she sees his eyes widen, mirroring the alarm in her own.

He lifts his hand, and she catches a glimpse of an old familiar ribbon. The treacherous voice in her heart is silenced.

But the current around her persists, and she feels the tug of the crowd pull her along through the doors. One again she is five years old, watching helplessly as the distance between them grows.

She watches as he tries to wade through the crowd to reach her, but she has one foot on the train and one foot on the platform, and she knows he won’t make it. So, she decides to take this chance to answer a question she left unanswered many years ago.

She cups her hands around her mouth and yells, “Sakura!”

In the next moment, she is on the platform and the doors are closing. Rooted in place, she watches as the train begins to move and another chance slips away. An overwhelming sense of grief washes over her, but in the midst of her heartache is a small bud beginning to bloom.

‘He remembers.’

The day has not been going well for Sasuke. It started with being roped into attending a celebration with his batchmates to commemorate their passing out from the police academy. His social battery had long since run out, but the day wasn’t over. His parents had invited him to their home to celebrate his graduation with their extended family. Unfortunately, the celebration with his classmates dragged on longer than anticipated, and he had ended up missing the train that would have taken him to his parents home. Now he was forced to board a different train instead, one that required him to deboard and connect to a different line midway, and he had to do it during the evening rush hour.

‘Just great.’

Standing cramped against the back of the compartment, Sasuke distracts himself on his phone and hopes for the journey to end as quickly as possible. Twenty minutes into the ride, he has drowned out all the nearby chatter, the announcements over the speakers, the screech of the train wheels slowing down to a stop. Then he feels it, the shift in the air.

As if his body already knows what his mind is yet to discover, his gaze lifts from his phone to the other end of the compartment where the people planning to deboard are crowding. And there she is, bright green eyes, looking at him.

He hears his heart thumping in his ears.

He sees the surprise in her eyes, along with the slightest tinge of hesitation. On instinct, Sasuke lifts his hand over the bobbing heads in the crowd, to show her the faded red fabric that he has held on to for the last eighteen years, and watches as the doubt in her eyes dissolves. But all too soon the crowd begins to move, pulling her along. He sees the panic building in her eyes, and he is already pushing through the crowd to reach her. The divide between them is just too wide though, and he can feel time slipping through his fingers like sand. He has felt this feeling before, though he was too young then to understand its gravity. The weight of watching the course of your life change before your very eyes, like a train shifting tracks, moving away from what could have been.

She must know he wasn’t going to make it too, because just as she is being swept through the doors, she turns around and shouts—

“Sakura!” —the answer to a question long unforgotten.

In the next moment, she has bled out with the crowd, the doors have closed, and all the air in the cabin has left with her.

Sasuke watches in agony as she gets further and further away, unmindful of the people around him staring at his crazed state. He races out of the train at the following stop and catches the next one headed in the opposite direction back to where he lost her. He steps foot on the platform and is overwhelmed with the desire to run in every direction at once, but despite all his searching, he doesn’t find her.

Exhausted, he plops down on a station bench. Despite everything, in his defeat there is a sliver of redemption.

‘She remembers.’

A chill cuts through the autumn air as Sasuke crouches behind the boxes piled in the warehouse, waiting for backup. What started as a low-stakes inspection of a tip-off evolved into a drug bust gone very wrong. Beside him, Juugo coordinated with the en-route backup while Sasuke kept lookout, monitoring the movements of the cartel as well as searching for Suigetsu and Karin, their two other officers who had splintered off early into their inspection.

"Ten minutes." Juugo confirms the status of the backup's arrival and Sasuke nods.

Just then there is a commotion, and Sasuke feels a chill run down his spine as one of the cartel members drags Karin out to the center of the room.

"Found her hiding behind the loading dock!" he announces. There is a brief pause of contemplation before a man, that Sasuke assumes is the kingpin, announces—

"Pack everything up, we're clearing out."

There is a flurry of activity as the men follow what they have been instructed. Sasuke grinds his teeth, but keeps his eyes trained on Karin.

"What do we do with her?" asks the man who dragged her in and is still keeping her arms pinned behind her.

The leader gestures to the man on his right, "Kill her. Put the body in one of the crates."

'Shit.'

The man nods, and Sasuke stiffens at the sound of the gun cocking.

He watches as tears stream down Karin’s face as she looks into the barrel of the gun. This time around, his feet want to remain rooted to the ground. There is no tug, no reckless abandon from his youth. But there is a sense of duty, and so, Sasuke leaves the sanctuary of his hiding spot and tackles the armed man to the ground. In no time at all, the entire warehouse springs into action, and multiple men launch themselves at him. Sasuke parries a blow from one, and maneuvers to throw the goon over his shoulder, while Juugo provides cover by firing from his spot behind the crates. In the distance, Sasuke can hear the sirens of police cars nearby, but each passing moment has slowed down to be an eternity long. From the corner of his eye, he sees Suigetsu use the cover of the chaos to pull Karin away from the action and he breathes a sigh of relief.

In the next instant there is a searing pain in his side, and whatever little relief he felt is replaced by agony. Though he is aware of exactly what has conspired, Sasuke doesn’t look down, because seeing where the bullet went through him would make everything a little too permanent. His knees hit the floor just as the warehouse fills up with an influx of police officers. The call of duty that pushed him this far finally eases up, and Sasuke ceases his struggle against his body and mind. Lying on the cold concrete floor, Sasuke offers a quiet apology to his family for the pain he is going to cause them, and in the final moments of his consciousness, he wonders if the afterlife will be small enough to go searching for green eyes.

“Paging all Emergency Medicine staff. Please report immediately to Trauma Bay One, I repeat—”

Sakura pauses mid-signature as the announcement blares over the speakers, right as her pager begins to beep. Quickly closing the chart she was working on, she sprints off in the direction of the trauma department.

Arriving on the scene, she runs up to the attending surgeon, “What’s going on?” she asks, out of breath.

“There was an encounter between the police and a drug cartel downtown. We are receiving multiple gunshot victims.” answers Tsunade, “Kenji take the first one, Sakura you’re in charge of the second, I’ll take the third.” she orders, just as the paramedics pull up to the bay.

The first gurney rolls in carrying a man bleeding from his leg, with his hand tied to the side of the stretcher with handcuffs. Sakura guesses he is one of the cartel members as Kenji breaks off to inspect his patient. The second gurney brings in Sakura’s patient, also in handcuffs, with a bullet in his shoulder and a deep gash across his forehead. Sakura runs to his side as they roll him towards the operating theater. Behind her she hears the third patient being rolled in.

“He is one of ours, he was shot during the encounter.” an accompanying police officer tells Tsunade.

She feels a familiar tug at her heart.

Turning around, she catches the briefest glimpse as the nurses roll him away, but it is enough. She is always looking for that face, after all.

Her heart sinks to her stomach.

As wakefulness slowly seeps into his consciousness, Sasuke struggles to remember where he is and what happened. Then the pain kicks in and all his memories resurface. Slowly blinking his eyes open, he takes in the harsh, clinical white of his hospital room ceiling, tethered to consciousness by the routine beeping of the machines he is hooked up to.

Near his abdomen is a lopsided sensation. On the side he was shot is a searing pain, the sensation of an open wound replaced by that of his skin being uncomfortably stretched and sown. On the other side is a dull, weighted pressure.

He looks down to see a figure in blue scrubs sitting by his bedside, head resting on his side, and a waterfall of pink across his middle. The pace of the heart monitor picks up.

Slowly, the slumbering form rouses, awakened by the broken rhythm of the beeping. Sasuke watches as her brows furrow, trying to hang on to the fading traces of sleep. Her eyelids take their time to open, and the wait as they flutter is utter agony. Then she glances up at him, and her eyes widen as realization dawns upon her. There it is, he thinks, that brilliant green.

“You’re awake.” she says, breathlessly.

Without waiting for a response, she lifts her head from his side and immediately he misses the pressure. She pushes back the chair she has been sitting in and jogs out of the room. His heart panics like a caged animal and he wants to call after her, but his throat is parched and no sound comes out. In a few moments she returns, and in her hands is a familiar red ribbon.

“They had to cut you out of your clothes to operate, but I thought you might want this back so I kept it.” she tells him as she places the ribbon at his bedside table and pours a glass of water. She brings it up to his lips and he hungrily drinks it up, relishing how it drowned the thorns in his throat.

“Thank you.” he says, voice still hoarse. She smiles lightly in response as she sets the glass back on the table, then settles back into the chair she had been occupying before.

There is a pause.

Much of him is still suspended in disbelief. All these years he spent looking, only to wake up to her suddenly by his side. He can see the turmoil in her eyes too, as she stares at him with a frown, biting her lip as she searches for something to say. What do you even say to someone you have spent your whole life searching for but know nothing about, he wonders.

“I waited,” she says abruptly, and then shrinks just a little, like she surprised herself by the confession, “at the train station, I mean” she adds, as if trying to lighten the intensity of what she said. They are still strangers after all. In his mind, the memory of an ‘Iloveyou’ screamed across a playground echoes back.

“Aa.” he nods in agreement, “I did too.”

‘At the station, at the playground, at every turn and intersection, in every crowd’ , but he leaves that part out.

She smiles the sweetest, softest smile, and he decides it was all worth it for this alone.

“I should go now, I have rounds.” she glances at the door, “I’ll let Tsunade know you’re awake, she’ll want to check on you.”

“But after my shift I could swing by with some dinner, if you’d like?” she asks bashfully, “It’s only hospital food, but I have some seasoning packets I keep in my locker that make it a little bearable. But if you want to rest instead that’s totally okay, you’ve been through a lot and—”

“Sakura” he interrupts her rambling, “Dinner sounds good.”

She beams, and it’s a brand new start.

“Who says ‘I love you’ to someone they just met?” he asks out of the blue.

They’re on the couch in the living room, in the apartment they’ve been sharing for the past two years. He is turned towards the TV while she is deep into a book, sitting with her back pressed into his side, legs thrown over the arm of the sofa.

She scoffs at his question.

“What kind of a battle-cry is ‘I’m not stupid’?” she challenges back.

When he doesn’t respond to her jab she cranes her neck to look back at him, and finds there is no mischief in his eyes, only a solemn intensity. She closes her book and sits up, turning around to face him fully.

“Hm.” she says as she ponders, “I’m not sure.”

“I just...felt something big.” she says, “It felt like you were slipping away before I even had a chance to hold on and I was desperate to make you understand what I was feeling— and love was the only thing that seemed big enough.”

He nods like he knows exactly what she means, and she smiles.

“Besides,” she says, throwing her arms around his neck and leaning in close enough to brush her nose against his, “I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Hn.” he gives her a sideways smile, and closes the distance between them.

Fin.

AN: A mediocre execution of the extraordinary @disquieted‘s beautiful story idea. Thanks my love! And happy SS month to everyone! I love this community so much and I am so excited to see what’s in store.

#ss #ss fanfiction #ssm21 #back from the dead #kinda

89 notes · View notes

toomanyrobins2 · 4 years ago

Text

drunk on indigo skies pt. 2

Summary: Y/N “Indigo” Phillips had dealt in secrets her whole life. Hired by Tony Stark at 16, falling in love with his son was never the plan. She also never expected that five years later, she’d be leaving Peter in the middle of the night with just a note on the dining room table. Now a year later, she has to return to the Three Families as their whole world continues to be threatened by a rival mob.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Content warning: Mentions of alcohol abuse, sex, violence, murder

Notes: Life’s crazy right now and I can’t believe I’ve passed 200 followers! You guys are amazing and I'm so glad you guys are loving this series.

series masterlist // next part

Previously on:

Tony was hugging Y/N and Jamie. She smirked up at him, “Besides, you’ve got Steve Rogers as a son-in-law for the rest of your life. That is the best kind of karma I know.”

Before they could walk back to join the families, Peter appeared in the doorway, looking awful. His shirt was rumpled, hair pointing in all directions and his eyes were bloodshot. He had a piece of paper clutched tight in his fist, “Indy’s gone.”

Present time

Y/N had been a mess the whole time she had been driving back to New York. Traveling down familiar roads offered no comfort or nostalgia. Instead, she felt only nausea. Driving down the familiar roads made her nauseous. The feeling only increased as she pulled up in front of the compound. The families often spent their weekends outside the city and away from the Ivory. She hedged her bets that Tony would be here.

Y/N took a deep, shuddering breath and looked back at Ellie asleep in the backseat. The baby had always been a good sleeper and she hated to wake up the five-month-old. She pulled the carrier on first, leaving Ellie for as long as possible. She ducked into the car, undoing the straps. The baby had started to fuss, but thankfully, quieted once she was against Y/N’s chest, lulled by her heartbeat.

The young woman looked up at the main building and let out a long sigh before making her way up the driveway. A man was waiting by the door and a grin spread across his face when he saw her, “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Indigo back from the dead.”

She rolled her eyes, “Just tell Tony I’m here, Ant.” Scott spoke into his comms, before stepping aside and letting Y/N into the building. The elevator doors slid open and, unsurprisingly, a group was standing at the doors. She sighed, preparing herself for the dramatics. Wrapping a protective arm around Ellie, she stepped out of the metal box, “I see I got the whole welcome party.”

Nat immediately broke away from the group and hugged Y/N. “You look good,” the redhead looked down, “And you’ve got a mini Indy now?”

She looked down at the sleeping baby and smiled fondly, “It’s a long story.” A harsh voice interrupted the women, trying to call right redhead back over. Y/N rolled her eyes, “Oh unclench, Bucky. And you can take your hand off your gun while my daughter is in the room.”

“Stand down, son,” George and Tony took a step forward and Bucky’s jacket fell back into place.

Tony walked up to Y/N and trapped her face in his hands, “You do look good.”

“Oh, please. I’ve got a five-month-old,” Y/N rolled her eyes, “I’ve got concealer caked under my eyes and a can of dry shampoo in my hair.”

He kissed her cheek, “Only you could make motherhood look this stunning.”

“Don’t say that where Pepper can hear you. She’ll kick your ass.”

Tony kept her close, “You better be nice to me or I’ll throw you out of here.”

Y/N laughed, “No, you won’t. Not when you see what intel I have for you.” He looked surprised, “Come on, Papa Stark. Do you think I’d show up after so long without a gift? I’m hurt.”

This was how the two had met each other. Indy had always been good at getting information and the mafia was always looking for more intel. “Come on through. We can talk in private. Barney, George, you should probably join us.”

She adjusted the diaper bag on her shoulder as she followed the trio into Tony’s office. He settled himself behind his desk, offering her a drink. She shook her head and gestured at the baby. “Someone will have to help me if you want it.” Tony quirked an eyebrow at her. “It’s in the carrier,” she exp;ained, “You’ll need to take her while I grab it.” George stepped forward to help her. He made quick work of the clips and lifted the baby into his arms. Ellie had started to fuss but calmed down once he started rubbing circles on her back.

Y/N looked so nervous having someone else caring for Ellie. It had just been them for so long. George laughed at the look on her face, “I’ve raised two children to adulthood. I can hold a baby for a few minutes.”

She nodded and removed the rest of the carrier. She opened the secret pocket she’d carved out and pulled the file. “Information on HYDRA’s Chicago operations. Now we are even.”

Barney stepped forward and snatched the file from her hands, “Indigo, we told you that job was too dangerous.” Y/N hid it well, but the eldest Barton brother was right. The job had been too dangerous and the consequences would last a lifetime. She smirked at him to hide the pain. He shook his head angrily. The file was opened and she couldn’t help but chew on her lip nervously as he flipped through the documents. Y/N took Ellie back from George and was scanning their faces as they took in the damning evidence she had collected. Eventually Tony turned back to look at her, “So, what now?”

“I get out.”

He stared at her, his eyes taking in all of the changes, “Does he know you’re here?” They all knew who he was talking about. She shook her head and looked down at Ellie who was now wide awake and looking up at her. Tony stepped forward, “Y/N...”

She held up her hand, “I left, Tony. My family is long gone. All I have is Ellie and she deserves a good life.”

“Where will you go now?” Y/N worried at her bottom lip. She didn’t have an answer for that question. Leaving Chicago in such a rush meant that long term plans were non-existent. “Stay at one of the apartments in the city while you decide.”

“Tony, don’t do this. You know I can’t refuse an offer like this.”

He grinned, “That’s exactly why I’m offering.”

Y/N groaned, “Why must you always get your way?”

“Because I’m charming.”

She glared at him as she bounced up and down, contemplating his offer. “I don’t have any baby things.”

“There’s been a few babies born recently. I’m sure they’ve got plenty of stuff.”

As they walked out of the office, a harsh voice spoke up, “Oh, you gotta be fucking with me!” Birdie stood in front of her, slack-jawed at the reappearance of her old friend and almost sister-in-law. Finally, she stepped forward and slapped Y/N, before walking towards the exit.

Steve moved to go after her, but Y/N held up her hand, “I’ve got this.” She walked out of the building and found her old friend leaning against the wall, “Please, let me explain.”

Birdie whirled around, “Explain? You’re about a year too late!”

“I’m sorry for how I left things,” Y/N tried to keep herself calm. She had known that leaving would have consequences but she hadn’t expected to be slapped.

“You know, I understand that you and Peter were having your problems. But, you didn’t just leave him. You left all of us.”

“I know and I hate that I was such a coward about it all.”

Birdie looked down at the ground, “You need to go.”

Y/N nodded, “You’re dad is putting me up. If you can stomach the idea of being in the same room with me, I’d love to see you before I go.” She considered it a small victory that Birdie didn’t just crumple the card in her fist and throw it back at her.

***********************

@marvel-is-a-mood

@marvelofwitch

@mycosmicparadise

@majo240820

@capsiclesdoll

@slutforchrisevans

@dottirose

131 notes · View notes

astriefer · 4 years ago

Text

Just Let Me Breath With You

Pairing: Thomastair

Word count: 3033

Warning: CHAIN OF IRON SPOILERS, injury, blood, mentions of trauma

It all happened in a swift blink of an eye. The demon attack, the fighting, it all passed in a great swipe of Thomas's boleadoras.

The attack was surprising - not because it was an attack, but because it was close to the stronghold of London's enclave- the London institute. Demons lurked in the road, near Fleet street. A get-together at the institute was held that gray, hazy day in London. What precisely they celebrated was beyond Thomas; what mattered was that old and young Shadowhunters as one joined the battle against the horde of Achaieral demons. Their numbers were the larger he has seen ever since the Mandikhor. It didn't pass smoothly - some injured, although Thomas hadn't registered who. During the fight, Henry or Christopher threw at the demons one of their newest innovation. He noticed only a blur, a small grenade-like object, thrown close to where he was fighting one of the demons. He tried to stop the nasty-looking Achaieral demon from flying - with Thomas himself- when smoke swirled from the thrown grenade. There was a hollow thud of metal hitting something, an explosion followed afterward, and the demon disappeared. Maybe it was better not to inhale, but he was surrendered by the weird, thick smoke. He wasn't blown up from his inside out, so he considered it safe enough. As for now, the gates of the institute were behind him, hanging open to carry wounded and hurtling carriages.

Thomas's hands were sore and calloused as he rubbed them against his neck. He swayed slightly, an expression of a fool sprawled over his face. He surveyed his surroundings in bewilderment. Soon enough, worried and relieved faces gathered around him. His friends and family crowded him, mumbling altogether to make no sense at all. It felt utmost importance to note to himself not all of his friends and family truly were there. Matthew wasn't, and so was Cordelia. He heard the word "overwhelmed" in all the havoc. He didn't understand what they were talking about - surely they had been fine if they were running around the way they did.

He kept his eyes on them, trying his best to decipher what they were saying, but his gaze inevitably slipped away from them. He caught a brown blur of torn red jacket, grey pants, and tousled dark hair. That instant, the world turned down, and all left was him and this man in another corner of the institute. Even the voices surrounding him ceased to exist.

On the spur of the moment, he briskly departed from his family and friends and walked to him, barely restraining himself from storming toward him. A hand rested on his forearm - an attempt to stop him - but he shook it off without glancing at whomever it was. Sensing his intensive look, Alastair stared at him with a puzzled countenance. The short man was sitting against a wall, letting another Shadowhunter draw an iratze on his left arm. Thomas remembered Alastair charging to battle, now and in other battles they fought side by side, and relief I've washed him because he didn't seem to be wounded. By the time he reached them, It didn't matter who the other person was. The moment he captured Alastair's forearm, he broke into a run, not bothering to look at anyone as they hastily evaporated from the forecourt. Bad-mannered indeed, but Thomas was sure whoever that was would've understood urgent matter to talk with Alastair if he had known.

The tall man led the other through hurrying servants and leery eyes. Thomas almost knocked over a few people, but he did not find himself to care much more than mumble a half-hearted 'sorry'. He hadn't let go of Alastair, just loosened his grip slightly so he could slip his hand into Alastair's. His hold was firm nonetheless.

"Thomas!'" Alastair called out and caused him to turn his head over his shoulder. By the look of annoyance on his face, Thomas assumed the other man called his name a few times. Or perhaps, it was a result of being publicly dragged by Thomas for no apparent reason. Then he understood. Alastair had to run in order to follow him at this pace. For the first in entirety, Thomas cursed Alastair's shorter legs; but he quickly took it back because Alastair was, of course, the most beautiful the way he is. e slowed down his pace enough for Alastair to walk beside him, still dragging him after him. He felt a jolt of surprise Alastair didn't fight him about that, that he just let him take him to wherever he had in mind. Perhaps he was too stunned to really do anything else but stare at Thomas.

Thomas hadn't stopped to ponder over his good luck and no fuss from Alastair's side. He navigated through the maze of rooms and corridors, guiding Alastair to a casual unused guest room. He thrust the door open, let Alastair and himself enter before releasing his hand and shutting it close. He couldn't quite catch his breath.

He spun around to confront Alastair. Beautiful, he thought. The man in front of him was beautiful. Alastair - with torn clothes and dirt on his face - looked as charming as ever. In the last rays of the London sun, Alastair's eyelashes cast shadows upon his face. His cheeks seemed a bit red - was it because of Thomas or because of the previous fight? - and he chewed his lower lip. Thomas had the sudden urge to raise his hand and separate his lip from his teeth, pass his thumb on the soft mouth of Alastair Carstairs. The older man clearly tried to look expressionless, but he could see he studied him with concerned eyes. Thomas saw the question in them as well. Out of self-awareness, he looked down at his own clothes; they were rumpled and he lost his waistcoat in the fight, leaving him with trousers, a jacket, and a white shirt. All stained Ichor. He peered at Alastair, his clothes, and Alastair again. He must have looked like a corpse. Alastair, however, kept his captivating eyes on him, endearing-looking with his normal composed facade slightly off.

Alastair's stopped biting his lip and opened his mouth to talk, yet before he could voice a word, Thomas stepped closer and buried his face in the soft hair of Alastair Carstairs. He relished the feeling of Alastair close to him, of his smell and heartbeat and warmth. "You're here. You're fine."

His voice was just above a whisper, but it filled the quiet room. "I wanted to talk with you for days now." Alastair's breath hitched. He hadn't pulled away. He hadn't tried to push Thomas aside. It was Thomas who backed away from their position. Alastair tilted his head up to look at his face and gasped loudly when Thomas crushed him in a hug. He groaned in pain, and it struck him Alastair had been injured.

"You are hurt." Thomas's voice was almost offended. He loosened his grip on Alastair, whose hand came to rest protectively on his side, where his bruise must have been. Thomas recalled all of sudden he had been given an iratze. Was his wound worse than just a bruise?

"It's nothing," Alastair wheezed and took a careful breath.

Their gazes met for a long moment. Alastair didn't squirm. Thomas leaned forward leisurely, testing his boundaries. When his lips collided with Alastair's forehead, he let out a sigh against the soft skin. Alastair stood strained at first, then slowly relaxed. it had not even been a week since the sanctuary, since Belial and his schemes, since Cordelia and Matthew disappeared to Paris. Alastair was avoiding him like the plague, and Thomas couldn't blame him much. He wished he could. It hurt seeing Alastair and knowing he could not be with him the way he craved to be. He suspected Alastair would back away soon, leave him alone in this room, disappear without a second glance. Come and leave like in a dream. Like in their time in Paris.

Then, "I am glad you are okay as well."

Thomas's heart skipped a beat. Or a few. He abruptly ducked his head into Alastair's neck, close to his pulse. His body lost its tense as he devoted all his heed to the marvelous sound of Alastair's heart, beating strong and fast, addicting to Thomas's mind. Not a minute later he felt small palms pushing against him gently. He drew away begrudgingly.

His eyes were unclear, while Alastair's were shining brightly. Too brightly. He lifted his arm to touch the side of the fair hair on Thomas's head. When he lightly caressed it, Thomas winced. Letting his arm fall to his side, Alastair said, "You are hurt too. You need treatment."

Alastair dismissed his injury because he didn't want to worry Thomas and make it about him; Thomas dismissed it because he didn't want to be away from Alastair. His head was throbbing; it didn't matter. "It's nothing." he tried to enfold the small figure in his arms once again, but Alastair didn't let him. Thomas didn't try again, just silently observed Alastair. The dark man's eyes were conflicted as to if debating over himself what to do now. He sighed. "We can't, Tom. Please."

It was like a heated knife to his heart. He swallowed tightly. "I know," he forced himself to speak. "I am - I keep remembering all you are. All I love about you. Your hair," he counted and planted a kiss on his damp hair. Alastair looked at him, surprise written over all his face. "Your haughty smile, your dark colors, your eyes-" sparks of gray in a pool of black that reminded him of a starry sky. "Your lips," He closed his eyes. "your heart, so wide and loving, despite how much you try to conceal it. Your stubbornness, kindness, and selflessness. Your love for mundane movies and history and art. All of it. The feeling I can twirl around you for hours without getting a tad bit tired."

"Thomas," Alastair whispered.

"You deserve to be happy. I wish you would let me show you some of it," he continued tentatively. The man in front of him stood rigid, and it made sprouts of doubt rise in Thomas's chest.

"Thomas. No. No. We cannot. Don't act like we- as we could ever happen. Don't say those things to try and convince me we can be more than heartbreak for each other."

The knife twisted. Thomas blinked. "I am not telling this to try and win you over, Alastair," he said slowly. "I am telling you this because you deserve to know. Because I want you to know how much you mean to me," he inhaled, feeling a bit lightheaded, and went on. "With my friends, I always hide this part of me. The part you take in my life, in my heart. I can be all I am with you. You understand me so easily, that it takes my breath away. I- I am not as good at words as James is. I am not as wild or charming as Matthew. I am not as talented as Kit. I am me, and with you, I feel it's enough."

"Tom, it always has been enough."

Thomas sucked in a breath. How could he say this and expect Thomas to keep his face straight and his heart in control? He tried to push Thomas away but didn't let him think less of himself. He didn't let himself what he deserved, what they both did, because he believed they would both end up hurt. "I know so many things are - complicated," Alastair snorted at that. "But right now, everything is lucid, with you here."

He gazed deeply into those dark eyes. They held depths inside them he wanted to learn off by heart. Depths he wished to explore but could not reach.

Alastair shook his head and stubbornly kept his gaze at his dusted shoes. "You think we have reason by our side, but all we have is the burning yearning and stolen time." He knew if he let himself fall this time, he could not stand back. He would lose himself those kind hazel eyes, his deep voice, his brave heart, in everything that is Thomas Lightwood.

"We have more than this," Thomas declared. "I trust you."

Alastair piped his head up, "What?"

"I trust you," he repeated."And I want you, Alastair. I know you do too. But I want you to trust me as well. Trust me when I say I will never say those things just to make you give in and be with me. I am saying them because they are the mere truth and because I care for you."

Alastair glanced away hastily, eluding his eyes. "You are in no condition to make this decision. You- We can't -"

"But do you want us to be? Do you wish us to be together? "

Electricity filled the room, and both couldn't take their eyes off the other. Thomas knew it wasn't fair of Alastair to ask such a question. He knew on his flesh what it is to admit- even simply to oneself - you want something and believe you would never have it. That is how Alastair seemed to perceive them - a false fantasy, a feverish dream that would never come true. Thomas knew as well that Alastair had made it clear he didn't think they had a future, and making him fumble with those pieces of broken fantasy could hurt worse than words could. Yet, a part of Thomas couldn't help but wonder what the other had been through to be so hesitant to let himself be happy.

Do not say it's not possible on my behalf, he wanted to shout. If you wish to break my heart, do it because what you want is not a future with me in it.

"Yes."

Relief came so fast he felt abashed. His heart pounded ear-piercingly through his body. "Tell me," he asked gingerly. " Will you allow me to kiss you?"

Alastair drew in a sharp breath. Color flooded his cheeks. "Thomas..."

Thomas searched his face, which for so long was emotionless when he saw him the past week. He saw the hurt - how much it must be for Alastair? he pondered - and the fear. The dark-eyed gentleman wouldn't believe Thomas's words. He wasn't sure he could trust him with his heart. For now, he shall have the certitude for both of them. There was a voice telling him he wouldn't have come to Alastair after the fight if he could think clearly. He pushed that part away, locked it in a cage, and threw away the key.

He swallowed down the odd, stinging feeling of being rejected. "Will you allow me to embrace you, then? " Just let me breathe with you. Let me hold you in my arms, to reassure us both, to know you are here. "You don't have to. I swear to it." He took a step back to prove his statement.

The judicious decision was to ignore the offer. To turn away from Thomas and all the comfort he had to give. Alastair was on the verge of tears. Thomas hated those tears were because of him. Because of them. Alastair opened his eyes and hummed acquiescently, soft and low.

The shreds of resistance left Alastair's body as Thomas swooped him into a hug. His big hand passed his head on Alastair's back, between his shoulder blades, and to his lumbar. He absentmindedly caressed Alastairs's side, touching Alastair's wound lightly. The smaller man shied away from the contact but immediately calmed back into the hug. He stifled a whine, and in the back of Thomas's mind, he knew they both had to get checked on. Thomas put his cheek on the other man's forehead. He closed his eyes and let out a pleased noise. Alastair's arms slowly cloaked Thomas's waist, holding him close.

"We should return," Alastair whispered. A few minutes had passed. They were alone, far away from anyone who might hear, but the moment was so dreamlike and tender both were afraid to break the air around them. That alternate reality they formed in this godforsaken room, for a glimpse of a moment.

"I find it so tremendously difficult to do," his breath felt heavy; so did his heart. "Because I don't want to ever let go of you."

He heard Alastair gasp, and Thomas's own breath was quivering. The pulse beating deep in Alastair's chest raced, and Thomas was sure he could listen to it forevermore. The hug felt more private than a kiss, more overwhelming and welcoming and warm and protecting and trusting. "I missed you."

"Tom," Alastair's voice was suffocated, and thick from emotion, as if he was a boat that slowly sank because it's full of water. Thomas tried to retreat, suddenly fearing he passed the line. He must have passed it long ago, and yet Alastair let him, despite his own warnings. Thomas was about to apologize when he felt Alastair's hands tightening around him, and then the blazing understanding hit Thomas that It was Alastair's way of telling it was fine. Haltingly, he returned to their previous position.

They were hugging, nothing more. But the proximity made Thomas feel a sense of internal peace, like a calm wave hitting the sand lightly. It made his lungs protest because he was out of breath. How could he ever let go? It was better than nothing at all, better than air and staring long at the wall of his room. It was Alastair, and he was ready to take every drop given to him. Yet, because it was Alastair, he could never get enough. It was hard to capture it - the soft looks, the thumping hearts, the yearning and the hurt. Thomas's cheek was still pressed against Alastair's forehead. He shifted to hide his face in his strands, dark like the night, soft as a feather. Alastair's smell was intoxicating. The words slipped his tongue before he knew it. "I am glad I am here with you."

There was a beat of silence. The voice of the man he loved - Thomas almost startled himself by the heedless use of the word love - barely reached his ears.

"I am, too."

116 notes · View notes

simplyclockwork · 4 years ago

Note

You know that (awful) scene on Christmas Day S3ep3 where John forgives Mary and tells her he accepts her for whatever she is; well I would love to see something like that but with John telling Sherlock he accepts him; possibly post season 4 and in the context of Sherlock having been diagnosed with depression. I’d like to see Sherlock struggle with the diagnosis and John encourage him and validate his experiences. I’m over 18. Though I don’t necessarily see this as an explicit fic.

-----

Hello, anon! Sorry, this took a bit to get to filling. I wasn’t planning on writing today, then I looked at this prompt and my Muse ran away. I hope you’ll enjoy what I wrote. The rest of the fill is below the page break. You can also read your fill on Ao3 here.

Feel free to send me a prompt anytime! :)

-----

“Sherlock.”

John’s voice reached him as if through a thick fog. A haze permeated Sherlock’s Mind Palace, wrapping intangible curls of mist down the halls and around his shivering form. The rooms looked faded and lacklustre, the diminished splendour of his surroundings marked by two words. Two words, repeated over and over, hanging in the air with the fog.

Clinical. Depression.

“Sherlock.”

Emphatic this time, and spoken with moderate anxiety that made Sherlock lift his head and open his eyes. He looked up from where he lay curled on the couch and blinked at the face hovering over him. Dark blue eyes, a creased brow and a mouth that turned down at the corners with concern stared back at him.

John.

“Hey,” John murmured, catching the focus in Sherlock’s glassy gaze. “There he is.” His eyes darted over Sherlock, taking in his tangled hair and rumpled clothes, now going on their third day in a row of wear. The creases deepened. “You okay?”

Sherlock felt thin—was he thinner? Had he lost weight? He couldn’t remember eating, couldn’t remember wanting to. Hunger was a faint memory of sensation, just like everything that had ceased to exist. Emotions, always so abhorrent, were seemingly out of reach. After feeling so much, so many terrible, tearing, terrifying things, Sherlock felt empty.

Clinical depression, the doctor said. Not unsurprising, considering your history of trauma and the recent events in your life.

A bottle of pills sat on the coffee table, prescribed by the same doctor who put a name to the negative space growing inside Sherlock’s head. He had yet to take them. Sherlock stared at the bottle with a listless weight on his chest. Maybe he was having a heart attack. Wasn’t that one of the symptoms, feeling like an elephant was sitting on your chest?

Sherlock felt like he had an entire herd crushing him into the cracked leather of the sofa.

“Sherlock.”

The anxiety in John’s voice deepened. Definitely present, and when Sherlock looked back at him, he saw the corners of John’s mouth shift, his lips pressing into a hard, thin line. Sherlock blinked at him with marked disinterest. Wetting his lips, he found his voice and rasped, “Hello, John.”

Instead of easing John’s apparent concern, Sherlock’s greeting sharpened the creases in his face. “When was the last time you ate something?” His words were gentle, and his eyes were sharp as he studied Sherlock’s form, squinting as they settled on his torso.

“Not hungry.” Sherlock rolled onto his other side, facing the back of the couch. Every movement required a Herculean effort, and he was tired. Bone-deep weary and exhausted.

“How about a cup of tea?” John was relentless. Like the ocean, he was as predictable as the tide and as changeable as the world the water’s surface. Sherlock stared at the back of the sofa and thought about erosion. About the sensation of being washed away.

Instead of answering, he said in a flat, empty voice, “I’m tired, John.”

A hand hovered over him, a tangible presence before it settled on his shoulder. Sherlock considered pulling away, but there were no more than a few inches between himself and the couch back, and moving felt impossible. More effort than he had to spare. It was easier to stay still and let the warmth of John’s palm seep into his body from a single point of contact.

Slowly, Sherlock realized he was cold.

“Why don’t we get you into bed?” John said gently, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on Sherlock’s shoulder through his dressing gown. “Can’t be comfortable on the couch, not with those long legs of yours.” The attempt at humour was weak, and they both knew it. Silence followed and settled heavily over them.

Sherlock made a low grunting noise when John’s expectant quiet stretched into something unbearable.

“Talk to me, Sherlock.” John’s request was nearly as heavy as the silence, making Sherlock curl into a tighter ball. Hugging his knees to his chest, he pushed his face into the cushions. John’s hand hesitated, stroked up his arm, fingers sliding to his nape. Feeling a light, gentle tug, Sherlock realized John was painstakingly working out a tangled mat of hair against the base of Sherlock’s skull.

Sherlock closed his eyes and let him, incapable of pinning down his feelings on the matter. There was only the emptiness, yawning wide and deep down. John’s fingers in his hair took the edge off, just a little, and Sherlock didn’t protest when John’s untangling shifted into a slow massage of fingertips over his skull. A soft sound escaped his lips before he could bite down on it, and John’s fingers faltered. He picked up the rhythm again, the pad of a thumb drifting over Sherlock’s temple.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” John finally said. By the sound of his breathing, he was kneeling beside the sofa. His other hand landed on Sherlock’s side, just above his hip, a firm, sturdy anchor keeping Sherlock in his body when all he wanted was to drown in his head. The hand on his waist gripped gently, and John added, “But I’m here if you do.”

Sherlock stared at the back of the sofa until his vision began to blur, then he closed his eyes and breathed a long, slow sigh. The fingers in his hair faltered again before continuing to work out the tangles and massage his scalp.

“On the table.” The words dragged out of Sherlock’s numb mouth like molasses. After a beat of silence, the hand caught in his curls disappeared, but the hold on his waist remained. Sherlock heard the sound of pills rattling in a bottle and John’s soft breathing as he no doubt read the label.

It was a few minutes before plastic clinked against the coffee table, and John’s hand reappeared in his hair. This time, his fingers combed through the untangled sections before coming to rest on Sherlock’s nape with a firm but gentle grip.

“Anti-depressants?” John asked the question without inflection or emphasis, just a soft inquiry that made it easier for Sherlock to nod silently against the cushion. John’s thumb pressed into his side with reassuring pressure. “Did you just fill them today?” A jerky head shake and silence in Sherlock’s mouth. The thumb smoothed over his waist. “Not taken any yet, then?” Another head shake and John sighed out a little breath before murmuring, “It’s okay, Sherlock.”

The words hit him like a freight train, and Sherlock tensed, curling tighter inward with his arms around his chest and his knees pulled up to his stomach. John reacted at once, pressing forward until he was against Sherlock’s curved back. His face dropped into the dip between Sherlock’s neck and shoulder, first his forehead, then his nose and finally his lips, brushing the skin in a tender touch that made Sherlock’s body vibrate with agonized surprise. The hand on his waist curled forward to draw Sherlock closer, one palm cradling the back of his skull with stunning, unexpected care.

Flashing back to the one time Sherlock held John in his arms as John fell to pieces in much the same way Sherlock felt he might, Sherlock breathed out a strained, choking gasp and pressed his knuckles against his eyes.

When John spoke, his voice was a warm whisper of air over Sherlock’s neck, his arm tightening around Sherlock’s waist. “I’ve got you,” he said, the words made tangible by the way his lips shaped them against Sherlock’s skin. “I’ve got you, Sherlock.”

“The doctor is wrong,” Sherlock finally managed, forcing the statement out through his teeth.

John’s hand stroked over his stomach, a slow, soothing movement. “Maybe,” he said, petting Sherlock’s hair with gentle repetition. “But if not—”

“He is,” Sherlock growled, curling tighter. John responded by pressing forward, keeping the contact between them.

“Okay.” His lips drifted over the bony ridge of Sherlock’s vertebra, where his neck bent forward. The touch was an electric shock, and Sherlock shivered. After days of feeling nothing, John’s warm grasp was nearly overwhelming, but not enough to make him want to pull away. “Okay,” John repeated, breathing out a sigh. “Maybe he is. We can get a second opinion.” Sherlock’s eyes popped open at the word we, but John continued before he could speak, adding, “Whatever it ends up being, if anything, it’s okay. You’ve… you’ve been through a lot, Sherlock, and I want you to know that it… well, it’s okay not to be okay.”

Sherlock made a quiet noise, neither agreement nor argument, as his eyes closed again.

Shaking his head, John pressed his cheek to Sherlock’s neck and whispered, “When we met, I was so far from okay, I didn’t even know what that word meant anymore. And then you came along and, well.” He paused, his swallow audible and physical, where their bodies pressed together. “I know things have been a real mess over the last couple of years, and worse with what all just came to pass, and I just need you to know that there’s absolutely no shame in it, Sherlock.” John’s grip tightened, voice deepening with fervency as he pulled Sherlock closer. “Whatever you’re feeling, it’s nothing to feel ashamed of. Whatever you need, we’ll make it happen. As cliche as it sounds, and you might scoff at it, you’re not alone. I…” John faltered before his lips brushed lightly over the skin beneath Sherlock’s ear, making him shiver. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Sherlock’s face felt wet and salty, and he grimaced at the sensation before opening his eyes. His vision wavered, lashes clinging together. Blinking the moisture away, he tilted his head to the side and felt John’s nose press into his cheek. “John,” he said in a voice that was tight and raspy.

The reply was an immediate, “Yes, Sherlock?” as John’s nose drifted along his jaw, up to his temple and into his hair. Sherlock winced at the fleeting thought of how greasy his unwashed curls must be but managed to push the concern aside in favour of breathing John in.

“I’m not okay.” The admission slipped from his lips as a jagged exhale, and his body tensed with trepidation.

But John nodded and pressed a feather-light kiss to Sherlock’s brow, brushing tangled locks away from Sherlock’s eyes. “That’s alright,” he murmured, steadfast and unshakeable in the face of Sherlock’s confession. “I’ve got you.”

#Johnlock #Sherlock #Depression Tw #Mental Health #Hurt/Comfort #Supportive John #Pre-Slash #Simplyclockwork #Prompt #Anon #Anonymous

198 notes · View notes

cablesscutie · 3 years ago

Note

34. “I just want to be there for you.” Zutara, For the fluff prompt list please ☺️

Hello!! You sent me this a very long time ago and then my brain was bad and ground to a screeching halt, but I have been thinking about it this whole time! And now my brain has finally allowed me to make words again these past few weeks, so here it is:

PART 1 \\ PART 2

Even after seeing pictures of Zuko convinces Katara to tentatively agree to Ty Lee’s hairbrained scheme, she still tells herself that she has time to bail. If she really decides that she doesn’t need a date after all, she can just cancel on him and tell Aang her date had food poisoning or something. If worst comes to worst, she can claim that she has food poisoning too and escape the entire mortifying ordeal altogether. Zuko is just an option.

This is the constant refrain in her mind week after week as the date of the wedding approaches, and Katara gets somehow less enthusiastic about it with each passing day. She thinks it as she lets Suki shove her into a fitting room, laden with figure-hugging dresses. She thinks it as she scrolls quickly past Instagram posts counting down the days, politely liking them faster than she can process the sight of fairy lights and mason jars. She thinks it as she impulsively adds a leg waxing to her bi-monthly spa day with Toph. Zuko is just an option.

Just an option with arms that look like they would feel strong and secure around her, and a shy smile, and who’s sweet and playful with kids. Katara lets out a long, frustrated groan and presses her forehead to her desk, rolling it back and forth in a futile attempt to rub out the impending headache of a Friday afternoon. A moment later, she hears the telltale rattle of Suki’s office chair, and then her friend is rolling to a stop beside her.

“You good?” she asks, brushing aside Katara’s hair so she can see her face.

“No,” she sighs, annoyed.

“Is it the rehearsal dinner? Because if you don’t want to go, I can just say you got held late at work.”

“No, no. That’ll be...fine, probably. It’s this whole wedding date thing.”

“Oh do not tell me you’re still being all wishy-washy about it.”

“It just feels like a weird thing to do! I’m just going to show up at my ex’s wedding with this random dude? How will that look?”

“Um, probably like you’ve moved on? Which you have. Objectively. You even had a whole other relationship.”

“Really? Because I think it’ll look like I’m jealous and trying not to be.”

Suki fixes her with disbelieving eyebrows and a laugh. “Trust me, babe. Nobody is going to think that you’re the one that left that relationship pining. You were basically his mom. If this was Jet’s wedding...eh, maybe? But you tend to settle.”

Katara isn’t quite sure if Suki is trying to insult her or compliment her with that statement, and she isn’t sure if her kneejerk, “Hey!” is out of a desire to defend her judgement, or her past partners’ character. Regardless, she doesn’t have much after that to refute the point. Aang seems like a functional enough adult now, a few years out of college, but when they had dated, the “teen” in his nineteen years definitely showed. As for Jet, her much more recent cut, he was...vibing.

“Hon, you’re gonna be fine. I’ve heard Ty Lee and Mai talk about Zuko before, and he sounds like a decent guy. At worst, you have a meh date and escape some social awkwardness, but-” the upward tilt of Suki’s voice had Katara on edge, knowing what was coming next.

“Please, no -”

“- it could be good.”

“No, it can’t be.”

“Ty Lee seems really confident about you two, and you know she’s got a creepy good love radar. After all, she’s the one who convinced me not to block your brother when he slid into my DM’s. Even you told me to block him.”

“She does not have love radar. I love her, but the girl is an unstoppable meddler; she was bound to have a hit once,” Katara dismisses. It’s true that Sokka and Suki are adorable now, and perhaps evidence of the existence of soulmates, but Katara maintains that Ty Lee is a hopeless romantic who believes anything could be the start of an epic love story.

“Fine, be a cynic then. But you’ve already acknowledged that he’s hot, so just go to the wedding with him, and maybe finally rebound from Jet.”

“Hmm,” Katara hums noncommittally.

She’s something of a serial monogamist. She’d left her first real relationship with Aang intending on a summer fling to cleanse her palate before going back for her senior year. After a whirlwind month with the mature and worldly Jiang, she’d been looking into online classes, all but ready to move onto her houseboat and sail away into the sunset. Until Suki pointed out that it was an insane plan, and the ultimately parted ways as planned when Jiang set out to sea again. From there, she had fallen in with Jet as a friend with benefits to blow off steam through her last year without leaving herself open to distraction.

He wasn’t the kind of stable presence she could see herself settling down with, but wasn’t looking to be babied either. No, Jet was more of a feral creature. He knew he was dysfunctional and was fine with it, because function was the system and the system was bogus. Then, she got to know him, and realized that he kept people at a distance for much the same reason she was always pulling them too close. Suddenly, she had grand dreams of showing him the healing power of love, and both of them breaking free of their pain, never needing to fear being alone ever again. He cheated on her, and even as she was shouting at him, she’d known deep down that they had both just repeated their same bad habits all over again.

Now, there is Zuko. Zuko, with tragedy in his scarred eye, and sadness in his smile, but gentle hands on little legs resting on his shoulders. Katara thinks she could make many bad habits out of Zuko, and she is not too proud to admit that it terrifies her. Her stomach turns, and she thinks it might not even be a lie by the time she tells Zuko she’s suddenly too sick to attend the wedding.

The nausea gets worse at the rehearsal dinner, when she walks in to find Jet there, grinning at a bridesmaid. Suki hauls her over to Aang to give him a dressing-down for inviting him, and Katara is somehow reminded in the span of five minutes why she is extremely glad to be rid of both of them.

“I didn’t think it would be a problem!” Aang says, his usual defense. “And he is my friend - we go rock climbing together.”

“Small world,” Suki snarls, and Aang goes wide-eyed, leaning around her to look beseechingly at Katara.

“I swear, I didn’t think you were avoiding each other! After all, we’re exes, and it’s my wedding, but that’s not weird. So I figured you wouldn’t have a problem being in the same room as your other ex.”

Katara grits her teeth behind glossy lips that she forces into a smile, and despite Suki’s murder eyes and the voice in her head telling her not to - to swallow her embarrassment and tell the truth - she finds herself falling back on those old bad habits. “It’s okay, Aang. You had good intentions. We can be adults for one day.”

“Thank you so much Katara,” Aang gushes, lunging forward to wrap her in a hug that pins her arms briefly to her sides. “You’re the best!”

Suki shakes her head in disappointment as he bounds away. “You made your bed,” she reminds Katara. “Guess now you have to decide who to lie in it with.” She glides away to join Sokka at the bar, leaving Katara standing dazed and confused.

“Katara, hey,” an all too familiar voice greets her almost immediately after, and Katara closes her eyes. Suki totally hung her out to dry, and she can’t even be that mad because she’s right.

“Jet,” she says evenly, turning to face him. This shouldn’t be hard for her. While she doesn’t forgive him, she’s also very over him and understands that she’s an idiot for not making Aang ask him to leave. “How are you?”

“Not bad, not bad,” he says, bobbing his head. His clothes are formal but rumpled by disdain for their formality, an effect which once had a liquifying effect on Katara’s insides, but now just feels rude. “I was actually coming over to ask you the same thing,” he says, as though it is a profound inquiry and not the root of all small talk. She opens her mouth to offer a brusque reply and make an excuse to join Sokka and Suki at their table, but he knocks the wind out of her sails with his next words. “Ex’s wedding and all. Brutal.” He gives her a look that she is all to familiar with: his I-see-your-pain look. It was another thing about him that used to push all the right buttons on her, but now she just feels insulted at the presumption that she needs or wants his pity.

“Aang is actually a very dear friend,” she says, trying to sound as impenetrably chipper as possible. “Like a little brother.”

Jet is not deterred, leaning closer to her, his hand just brushing her elbow. “I feel bad about how things ended between us,” he says softly. “I should’ve done better by you.” Katara is momentarily stunned. Is she actually getting a sincere apology? “Which is why I think we should go to the wedding together. I just want to be there for you.”

It’s like a bucket of cold water down her spine, dousing both the fire of her anger and the tiny kindling warmth in her stomach. Katara pulls her shoulders back, straightening her spine, and snaps, “I already have someone to be there for me.”

Jet blinks and rears back a little. “Alright. I’ll, uh. Be looking forward to meeting them then.”

As he slinks away, she feels a moment of deep satisfaction. Only to nearly aspirate her sip of wine as she realizes she has officially painted herself into a corner. Zuko is coming to this wedding.

Thank you! If anyone wants to send me a line or prompt (from this list or your brain) I'll keep it going!

#zutara #zutara fic #my writing #ask game

18 notes · View notes

pseudofaux · 4 years ago

Note

I love your writing and would love to see something from you about Nightshade! How about Goemon/Enju first night? Or someone else of your choosing from Nightshade?

I am so happy you requested this, it’s great to get a chance to write for someone who has been such a thoughtful and appreciative reader. Your comments always make me feel like I can take my writing wherever I want! AND Goemon is one of my faaaaaavorites from Nightshade... so this is a real treat. 🙇🏻‍♀️💜 I really hope you will enjoy it! One thing: it’s their first time, but it’s not night. I hope it will still work for you. The idea of Goemon having sunny, lazy, loving [REDACTED] was TOO GOOD AND RIGHT.

This is the LAST of the Valentine’s Day tipseus (only four days into March, feeling #great about that), I’ll make a masterlist of them tomorrow and put it on my... masterlist. 😏 Thanks to everyone who sent in a request! I’m really happy with a lot of what I made. Each request was good practice + a chance to exercise self-discipline and stick to task. This will probably be one of the last times I take free requests like this, and I hope any/everyone who read them enjoyed them!

He was stretched out in their room at an inn-- each inn was exciting but they were starting to blend together-- on a lazy morning. Enju was sitting in front of him, still close from where he’d hugged her before dozing off. She was rolling up the extra pairs of clothes they’d washed while in the town. It had been such an easy stay, such a nice place. They’d visited shops and springs. They’d had some time to grow even closer.

There was a sensual energy between them now. Not something violent or crackling; it was golden and warm, like a sunrise on a safe morning. It made her feel like a cat, she wanted to stretch all her arms and her jaw and tongue in the soft shine of it and then curl up as it warmed her to some inhuman level of satisfaction. She did not yet know it, only that it hovered beyond her. Closer every day. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to run to it, but she loved it when he pulled her close, and sometimes when his hands cradled her face and his tongue coaxed hers, she wanted to grab at that energy. She grabbed at him instead, and when she did, he always groaned.

It always gave her goosebumps, made her fidgety in his arms. She was lost in thought, hands still over the clothes when his voice by her hip interrupted her thoughts.

“You know,” Goemon said, his voice even lower and lazier than usual, sleep-slurred, “I think our eyes match.”

Sometimes she still couldn’t make heads or tails of the things he said. But she could always tell when the joy in his laughter was because of her confusion, the way it was just then. His chuckle was low like his voice had been, and his tongue rubbed the edges of his teeth like he was savoring a hidden taste.

“When I look at you,” he explained, propping his head up on a hand (some days he never got off the floor if he could help it), “And when I get close, like this, and look at myself in your eyes...”

They had been kissing and embracing one another so often lately that she expected it, actually leaned down just a little to meet him and began to close her eyes. But he stayed where he was, and when she blinked her eyes open he was grinning at her.

“When I look at my reflection in your eyes, Enju, the color is the same,” he said. And then he did move toward her, and whispered, “It’s very pretty.”

She felt hot to the very backs of her ears, his presence enough to overwhelm her and his voice like that enough to outright stun her. His laugh brought her back. The tiny kisses and the way he nuzzled her cheek kept her pinned in place with gentle weight and no sharpness at all. He’d done some shinobi maneuver to sit with her when she was lost in his affection.

“I don’t know what my eyes look like,” she confessed, closing her eyes again and letting him press his lips to the start of her braid.

He pulled back. “Is that so? Can’t have a beautiful thing like you not knowing how lovely she is. I’ll get you a glass,” he promised. He promised her so many things, and though many of the promises were for things that would only be proven true over time, all the immediate ones he kept. He had her trust.

When Goemon pulled her gently into his lap, she moved with him. It reminded her of the day he’d first tied her hair. Now they did that for one another every day, an unspeakably sweet intimacy she cherished. A tiny, animalistic part of her wanted to pounce on it, same as the way she wanted to grab at the lust between them.

“You haven’t even looked at yourself in a pond?” he asked. His arms came around her and his knees went up on either side of her, more like pillows than a fence. He curled around her back and the width of his hands rested on her belly. The unspoken promise was warm as the morning-- this was more direct than most of his teasing.

“Oh,” she said, “I guess you’re right. I just don’t have a good sense of what my face looks like. I’m not sure I could tell you what color my eyes are.”

Right beside her ear, he murmured, “That’s definitely a shame. When we settle somewhere, I’ll get you a glass. And before that, the next time we buy you something nice, we’ll ask the shop to bring out something so you can see yourself.”

She smiled and he kissed her cheek and asked if she was happy.

“Very,” she whispered, nodding.

“A glass will be good to have,” he mused. “There are... other things we can do with one.”

She leaned back against him and enjoyed the way he made himself as soft as possible to allow her to be comfortable. “Like what?” she asked, honestly curious.

So completely was she relaxed against him, she felt the precise second he got less soft behind her. His chest held a breath, then expelled it on a laugh that seemed more likely to curl around their feet than float. Happy, with a note of stress. She didn’t like hurting him, but wasn’t it good that she wasn’t the only one with that heavy yearning when he held her like this? Enju didn’t know exactly what he was implying, but she knew what kind of thing he was talking about.

“I’ll show you when we have one,” he promised

She smiled wider and closed her eyes. “I’ll hold you to that,” she said. One of his hands left her belly and trailed up her throat and chin, his touch cherishing her like a painter’s brush.

“Not if I hold you to me first,” he said, all that golden energy brought suddenly to a boil. “What do you say to that, hmm?”

She opened her mouth to take a deep breath before answering, and his fingertips pulled very gently at her lower lip, stroked her chin, went back with just a little more strength to touch her tongue. So her answer was the throaty sigh she had come to know over the last weeks, and her hands going to his forearm to keep him in place.

“Yes,” she said, wetting the tip of his finger with the word. “I say yes.”

He groaned like she’d kissed him, even though she had not. Not yet. And then he did something very fast with his arms and she was rising up and in them, tucked tight to his body, moving through the air as he carried her over to the inn’s bedding. It was still a rumpled mound of cloth. And a very soft landing pad, it turned out.

As always, his hand behind her head kept her safe. As usual, his eyes on hers-- were hers really such a beautiful green-blue?-- made her glad for his protection. In his hands and his gaze, tucked beneath the hidden strength of his body, Enju felt as small and treasured as a miraculously discovered pearl.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“What aren’t I doing,” Goemon said. “What haven’t we been doing, hmm?”

He went for the spot he liked to love at the side of her neck, the one that was tender if she touched it these days, thanks to all his attention. But he didn’t pull the skin with his mouth like she expected. Instead, his hand slipped from the back of her head to skim down the bedding beside her body, until it landed at the knot of her obi. “This alright?”

She nodded tightly and his lowest chuckle yet, hot against her throat, made her leg muscles tense and flex.

“Just be gentle,” she said to the ceiling tiles.

Goemon brushed his nose along the side of her throat, back and forth. Back and forth. He kept going as he undid the knot in his hand and dragged her clothes open. Enju’s leg muscles flexed again and then relaxed, and with them her back and shoulders. The soft layers of fabric below her cradled her body as he told her of course he would, wasn’t that the point? He stroked the edge of her open kimono, never quite touching skin.

“Has this been difficult for you?” he asked. “Waiting?” Fingers landed on her naked middle with the lightest brush of touch.

She gave him an mmmhmm, then a gasp as one of the fingers, wide enough that she thought it might have been the side of his thumb, stroked into the curve of her navel. She felt somehow tuned by it, primed. There was something in her soul that touch set into the same crouch her body would bend into before it would broke into a sprint.

“Tell me whenever you like something,” he said, finally kissing her neck with even more gentleness than she’d asked for. “I don’t want to keep it from you, so just tell me whatever I do that you like. And anything you don’t like.” He pushed himself up a little bit to look down at her, expression so heated and tender it made her ache for his kisses.

After she agreed, she told him as much, and he smiled as he came down to give her the kind of kiss she liked best: slow and dizzy making. She he was already laying down, so there was no risk of falling and it could be all bliss. She put her hands on his cheeks and let him love her mouth while she loved his. Then, when she was all relaxed again, he did something she really liked. That thick, warm thumb traced all the way down her belly, over a curve on her body that felt like a cliff face, a waterfall, some important precipice she was about to learn the meaning of.

“Do it,” she whispered. She could feel her own blush, could even feel the way the heat of it was trapped by his face and returned to her, but it was nothing next to her need. “Please.”

“Polite, polite,” Goemon drawled. And when his touch stroked gently against her, she throbbed so deep inside herself it nearly hurt, and she lurched up with a gasp. Thankfully he was a ninja and saw it coming. He moved back in time to save their heads from colliding.

His face was all concern. “Bad or good?” he asked.

She couldn’t quite say good. She kept her eyes on his as she laid back down, and watched the grin curl up one side of his face.

“That good?” he asked, following her for more kisses. Shyly, she lifted her hips, minutely seeking the return of his hand.

“Don’t forget to talk, pretty girl,” he said kindly. So she said “Please,” again, and got to watch his beautiful blue-green eyes narrow and go dark. And then she closed hers and gave herself over to his tongue in her mouth and his touch somewhere new and very, very lucky.

It was slippery, but not too slippery. Every time he rolled his finger in a circle it brought a new moan out of her, tiny but inescapable. Especially because he stayed so close to her, chest half against hers, mouth never leaving her. He seemed to drink in each noise, and gave her a few to drink down as well, breaths of praise and soft groans. She could feel his hips shifting beside her and it made her feel somehow powerful.

“So perfect,” he whispered. “Still like it?”

“Yes!” she gasped out when he sped up. Still such a gentle touch, but faster now, less time for her to live between the short strokes of contact. Her thighs laid themselves open a little wider just so she didn’t overheat.

“That’s a good girl, so good. Want to try something you might like even more?”

With great struggle, she managed to open her eyes and look at him skeptically. It made him laugh, bright and loud, and rub the tip of his nose against hers. “Your choice,” he told her. “But I’d recommend it.”

“...Alright,” Enju said. She already liked what he was doing. If there was something more, she wanted to try it. She knew he would take care of her.

He pressed down, following along her skin, and slid his finger lower. She could feel herself parting for him like the flesh of a peach, unconscious but very willing. She had never seen a fruit give under pressure so very light as his was now. Still, there was the stickiness of a peach, or dango drizzled with syrup, like they’d had at one of the other inns.

He’d brought her out of misery and into a world of flavor and joy. She knew so much now.

“Breathe,” he reminded her, and gently pressed one finger inside her, so slow it was sweet as syrup, so slow she felt every new place he touched. She sucked in a breath only when his knuckles bumped against her and could go no further, and the air went into her on a sound of need. He pulled his hand back, steady as an archer, and then pressed into her again and she cried out his name-- she couldn’t help it.

“That’s something else you should say,” he told her in his lowest voice yet. “Say my name, just like that, whenever you want.” But there wasn’t much chance, because he kissed her again, and this time there was clear hunger in it. The way he was usually kissing her when they pulled themselves apart.

They didn’t have to do that now, she realized as she cried out into his mouth again. They could stay, and she could venture right into that golden cloud of mysterious, desirous warmth they’d made between them.

Goemon slipped another finger in beside the first, and the stretch of it made her body go stiff. He slowed and she said “More, it feels good,” because it did and he’d asked her to tell him. There was a sense of widening within herself that didn’t feel like anything she had ever experienced, and she liked it. She liked it even more when he kissed her, said “Alright,” and began to stroke her again with his thumb as his fingers moved. She wailed into his mouth, then hissed-- her muscles clenched tight around his fingers with every brief touch above them.

“That’s it, love,” he said quietly. If he hadn’t been so close, she might have missed it over her own sounds. His free hand brushed aside her open kimono and finally covered her breast, all the gentle warmth of his palm making her whimper at the feeling of security in the face of something so new. He had not touched her skin directly like this before, and there was some roughness on his palm that provided a friction she valued in the otherwise pliant cupping of his hand. It felt warm and safe, like the lining of a jewel case made just for her.

“So beautiful,” he whispered. “It’s certainly been difficult for me to want you for so long, you know.” He worked her body with his hands and kept talking to her, sharing his thoughts and the things he noticed about her body. She felt him moving in a new way and watched as Goemon raised one shoulder, then the other, and his own (always loose) kimono started to slip down his back every time he moved his arm. She wanted to watch his body reveal itself, but he began to put a little curve in his fingers inside her, catching the top wall and dragging tenderly against it, and she could do nothing but bend her body in a reflection of his curve to meet him, chest up, head back.

His mouth went down to her lonely breast and made her feel decidedly not lonely. How could a person use their teeth so gently? The warmth of his mouth was indescribably intimate but reminded her of being cuddled, surrounded by the love and softness and heat of a body not her own. As he sucked one nipple and rolled the other between his fingers, hot need spread through her body, an antidote (to what, she faintly wondered) reaching all her extremities. She swore she could feel the tickle of it in her muscles. One day she hoped she might make a medicine so pleasant.

“Enju,” he said, and hearing him say her name was always wonderful... but oh, to hear it muffled by her breast in his mouth was another thing entirely. He gave one hard sick, still gentle but more, and then pulled his body back from hers. She missed him immediately, so much that she felt her first discomfort in all this when his hand left her breast, trailing down. It was still warm, still contact, but not the kind she wanted. And there was nothing inside her now where before there had been him, and it made her miserable.

“Don’t pout,” he laughed. “I’ve waited longer than you. But now it’s time, hmm?”

It was late morning, and they were at one of several inns that were beginning to blur into one experience. This wasn’t their home, but it was where they were. Together.

“Yes,” she said slowly. Solemnly.

He sat on his knees between her legs and used both hands, one slick and one not, to stroke her until the fingers of both his hands slipped over all her wetness, landing on her as raindrops would an uncovered stone. She was certain she was just shy of not being able to stand the emptiness. His touch was good; her greed confused her and added to the need she felt, lust at a pitch she had never yet sung or even knowingly heard. She did not think he had ever been so turned on, either, no matter what he said.

Goemon caught her eye and winked. His charm knew no bounds. “Up,” he said gently, a sticky hand touching one of her knees. She began to bend and he caught the inside of the joint to bring it up so he could kiss the point. Just a kiss, but he looked right at her when he did it and it made her clench around nothing.

“I don’t want you to have to do any work, really,” he told her, bringing up her other knee and pulling her hands to the backs of her thighs. “But this is the easiest way. If you hold on here, it will give you something to squeeze if you need it, and you’ll be able to lift and lower your hips. That gives you some control.”

She nodded, and he smiled and shrugged off his own clothing at last. She had to look down her naked body to see his, and what a sight it was. His skin was as golden as that energy between them, his long frame marked by the sun and a few scars. She had some, too. When they were done, or some other day, she wanted to kiss each one. Brave, beautiful man. Her Goemon.

“My... Goemon,” she said softly. She smiled at him, feeling a little foolish, but his smile only looked pleased, and he said “Yours.” Then his mouth came back to hers, and one of his hands pushed the hair off her forehead and made her feel so very safe and loved, yet again.

His other hand was pulling at his length. She tried to catch a peek and he laughed. Warmly, he promised “I’ll show you another time. Unless you really want to see it now.”

She shook her head and opened her mouth to kiss him again.

“Good girl,” he growled, and she could feel his arm moving faster. Once his knuckles brushed one of her hands, still holding the back of her thigh, and she whimpered into their kisses. Her body wanted his touches again. Or this glorious more he was offering her. She wanted with a selfishness that startled her until she could feel him, thick and blunt, just where he needed to be.

“Remember, you move your hips to help if you need to,” he told her. And then he began to truly push into her and she never wanted to move again, she wanted to stay right there in that moment, in that place, and forever feel the delicious burn filling her, no faster than his fingers had. It went on in a slow, slick forever and she panted and sighed every soft sound of her comfort that floated out of her body on her breath.

“Almost,” he gritted through his teeth. “Tell me how you’re doing.”

“Fine,” she wailed. “Keep going.”

His laugh was almost raspy, but too thick and low to sound harsh. She loved his voice so much. She moaned out his name, trying to keep quiet and not at all sure of her success. Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears, keeping time with the pulse she could feel around him. That haze of attraction between them had hidden the most perfect heat and now she was there, in it, with him.

When his body was pressed against hers, she felt as though he was settled into every place where her form had any give at all. He did not rest heavily upon her, only completely, and it was wonderful.

“Goemon,” she whispered.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

He made a sound of mild amusement with his tongue and his teeth, closer to a cluck than anything else she could name. “You’re awfully well-versed in what to say, for someone who hasn’t done this before,” he told her. His troubled look (it was so rare to see him anything but easy and calm!) made her giggle.

Enju wanted to hug him, but she kept her hands on her legs. He seemed to be waiting, but she really didn’t know what to say, so she did what he had recommended and shifted up just a little, tensing the muscles of her bottom to push her toward him.

He swore, more callously than she had ever heard him say anything before that moment.

“I take it... that means... you want more?” he asked. The tightness of his voice made her feel proud, somehow. Proud and foolish and in love with him. She thought if she spoke she would never stop talking, so she bit her bottom lip and nodded instead. And shifted again, just to see how good it would feel and what would happen.

What happened was he groaned and leaned forward, rested his elbows by her arms on the bedding, and whispered “Little minx,” before he kissed her soundly and ground himself against her, which forced her mouth to open on a gasp. She squeezed the backs of her legs and tried to grind herself right back, but she couldn’t figure out just how.

Now he laughed, and his kisses turned gentle again. “Just tell me what you like,” he reminded her. “You can have as much of it as you can take.”

“That,” she whispered. “More of that, with your hips.”

He did some other thing with his hips, which was also very nice but not what she had asked him for. The new side to side motion made her whine, but he kept doing it so well it was hard for her to find her voice.

Eventually she did, and she scolded him with it. “Goemon! You said!”

He laughed again. “I did, I did. Forgive me for teasing you,” he begged. “I promise, I’m teasing myself, too.” And then he did it again, properly, pushing them so close together it was like he was touching her in that magnificent way from before, all over again. Now while deep inside her body. It made the most pleasurable shudder rack her body, jittery in her limbs before it left them as relaxed as a steam bath.

His way seemed to be to move slowly and completely. He would pull back until she felt the faintest hint of cool air between them (well, cooler than their bodies), then push his hips down and forward into her and just keep going until they both grunted. The steady pace was enough to pull all her sinews taut as a net, and plenty to make her feel as though she would lose her mind. She did not need control, he was taking perfect care of her.

So she let go of her legs so she could hold him instead. She kept one foot tucked near her body and let the other slide down along the bedding, and put her hands back on his beautiful face.

“I love you,” she told him again. “This is incredible.”

“Don’t make me blush,” he said, but his cheeks were already so ruddy it would have been hard to tell if she did. She waited for his eyes, and when they came to her she looked right into them, marveled at their color against his face, and told him they were beautiful.

He grinned at her and reached back to fit the back of her raised knee into his elbow. The next time his body pressed against hers, her own eyes went so wide she thought she saw all the walls of their room. Possibly beyond them.

After she stopped moaning, he asked, “Do you think we match, then?”

“I hope so,” she whispered.

“Oh? How pretty I must be,” he murmured. She laughed and buried her fingers in the softness of his hair, and pulled him gently toward her kiss, deeply in love and floating in the feel of it.

He kept her laughing, kept her delight as bright and bursting as fireworks as they made love well into the afternoon.

#nightshade #nightshade fanfiction #nightshade fanfic #nightshade goemon #silksieve #tipseu

42 notes · View notes

pokeasleepingsmaug · 4 years ago

Text

Agrotera

Based off this post . I also started a companion piece to it about Apollo doing music therapy with the girls and his redemption arc for all his problematic rapey actions in the past, so I can post that too if you’re interested.

Artemis doesn’t quite remember when Apollo traded his golden bow for something smaller, sleeker, easier to conceal and faster to fire, but she’ll never get used to the gleam of the pistol at his hip, and she’ll never relinquish her prized silver bow. She worked too hard to perfect her skill with it over the long millenia, brought down too many enemies with it, and cried out in a hunter’s triumph when her arrows struck true. She still uses the hand-draw technique like the archers of old, eschews the use of a quiver because they’re clumsy and slow her down when she’s in pursuit. Easier to hold her arrows in the hand that holds the bowstring.

Archery is an art that’s been lost over time to cheap trick-shots and Hollywood inaccuracies. But she’s a goddess and a huntress, and the tense snap of a bowstring sounds like poetry as she sends an arrow singing through the air. Maybe Apollo’s right and she has a dramatic flair, but she thinks that’s pretty rich coming from the guy who shot plague-arrows into half the Greek army during the final year of the Trojan War. If she ignores the fact that she once ripped a man to shreds with his own hounds, she can believe that Apollo is, in fact, the more dramatic twin.

The drama queen in question leans against the wrought-iron rail of their third-story apartment’s balcony, pistol gleaming at his hip as he takes another drag from his cigarette. “You can’t save them all, Art,” he tells her on an exhale, and she wrinkles her nose and waves the smoke away. She isn’t worried about the health risks, sometimes even wishes she could die, but the smell is another matter entirely.

“I could if you helped me,” she tells him, an edge of steel in her voice, and he sighs and rolls his jaw.

“Fine. The next time you hunt.”

She’s spent centuries with Apollo and knows when he’s only giving in because he’s tired of arguing, but she’ll take the win because she can’t stand to lose. “You have to take your bow.”

Apollo looks at her with one perfect eyebrow raised. She nods. “I was going to take it anyway,” he snaps. She doesn’t bother to hide her grin. He stubs his cigarette out against the railing and shoves past her through the sliding glass door, muttering as he stalks down the hallway to his room. They have rooms more as a matter of principle, since neither of them need to sleep. Both of them choose to, sometimes. It breaks up some of the tedium of immortality.

Artemis takes her twin’s spot at the railing, looks pensively at the sun rising above the city skyline. It seems distant today, the pinks and oranges less vibrant than normal. Apollo does this sometimes to show his annoyance, and still has the nerve to accuse her of being dramatic? He practically invented the concept.

…

Artemis has always been most comfortable in the dark, but it’s been decades--or has it been centuries?--since the goddess of night skies and deep woods danced in moonlight filtering through leaves. City streets are her haunt now, hunting monsters of a different kind in the glow of street lamps and neon signs that dull the once-magnificent night sky into something mundane.

She misses the time when mortals thought there was magic in the night and in the forest, when they used to pour unwatered wine and sing hymns to her, full of awe and fear. She was powerful once, adored. She isn’t either of those things anymore, but somehow she feels stronger than ever. More purposeful.

She’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, faintly gleaming silver bow and a pile of pale ash arrows resting on the floor at her feet. “Apollo,” she calls, half-annoyed. “We’re hunting for prey, not lovers.”

“I can’t find my bow.” His voice carries, muffled, from inside the apartment.

“It’s in the hall closet, hanging on the wall. Right next to the door.”

“I’m looking in the hall closet!”

“Apollo. Your bow is bright gold. It glows, for Christ’s sake,” Artemis mutters. She paces down the hall, about to show Apollo exactly where his bow is, when he emerges from the closet with a triumphant shout.

“I’ll tell Zeus you said that. Hey, can I borrow some arrows?”

“Oh my God,” Artemis groans, wondering if he just loves to torture her. “How are you even alive?”

“Probably because I’m immortal. So, arrows?”

“Fine. They’re more for show, anyway.” She stoops to scoop up her bow and a handful of arrows, leaving about half for Apollo.

“For show?” He questions, letting his eyes rove over his twin. She’s dressed all in black: black skinny jeans that hug her athletic legs and a black tank top beneath an unzipped black leather jacket. Her revealed skin is pale and gleams faintly silver, thick black eyeliner ringing her eyes, her lips the color of fresh blood. She reminds him of a panther in the breathless moment before a pounce.

“Also, you can’t wear that. All black everything.” Artemis glares scornfully at his yellow t-shirt.

“I don’t own anything black,” Apollo tells her matter-of-factly, smiling at her shocked face. “I’m a sun god, Art, not some weird emo moon goddess.”

“I wouldn’t say that around Selene.”

“Selene loves me.”

“Selene tolerates you,” Artemis informs him, ignoring the offended noise he makes. She decides to let Apollo’s questionable wardrobe choices slide this time. She supposes he looks intimidating enough to accompany her, with his artfully messy hair, bright blue eyes, and the faint golden glow of his skin. At the very least he looks not quite human, and that’s probably the best she’ll get from him. Maybe they can do a good cop, bad cop routine or something. They’ve been doing that for centuries anyway, they’ve pretty much perfected it. She whistles once, a short, sharp burst, and her black-and-tan hound rockets off the couch. She reaches an affectionate hand down to scratch his long velvet ears.

“Do we have to take him? He’s not, you know, inconspicuous.”

“Aristo has been with me on every hunt since Pan gave him to me!” Artemis scoffs, more offended than ever. The old satyr gave her six dogs and seven bitches back when the world was still new. She still has the entire pack, but Aristo is the only one who comes into the city with her.

“Where are the rest?” Apollo asks absently as he locks the door behind him.

“With Hecate.”

The twin gods head out into the city, walking down the sidewalk like any ordinary mortals might, and turn toward the college campus. Frat houses are usually a good hunting spot. Artemis pauses to smile up at the moon. Selene has it shining its very brightest for her tonight, a hunter’s moon perfectly round and low in the sky. Aristo trots happily at her side, Apollo has been quiet for probably three whole minutes, and she dares to hope, briefly, that she won’t need to hunt tonight.

Apollo grins as they turn down a street, following a stream of girls in tight dresses hobbling in too-tall heels, and Artemis smacks his arm hard enough to earn a disgruntled yelp. “You’re disgusting.”

“I look at guys the same way,” he reminds her with a shrug.

“That doesn’t make it better,” she snaps, beginning to regret bringing him along, but the thought is interrupted by Aristo whining low and urgent in his throat. He bays, giving voice to his full-throated hunting song, and she follows the hound as he tears across the frat house lawn, partygoers stumbling out of his way. Artemis runs after him like she’s just an ordinary girl chasing her escaped dog.

Apollo curses behind her as he starts running. Aristo waits for them at the front door of the house, still singing, and his claws leave deep gouges in the dark wood as he paws insistently at the door. Artemis shoves it open and follows him immediately up the stairs. He reaches the landing and skids around a corner, baying as he stops in front of a closed door.

It’s locked but Artemis kicks it open with a crack of hinges sudden as a lightning strike. What good is a door against a god? She sees the boy first, the harsh moonlight streaming through the open window turning his eyes to black pits and deepening the shadows under his cheekbones. He reminds her for an instant of the type of monster she hunted in days long gone. He’s frozen in place as the door bangs against the wall, so stunned he doesn’t even notice the seventy pound dog hurtling toward him until Aristo hits him like a howling torpedo. His arms windmill as he topples out of sight.

Artemis walks around the bed, lazy and graceful, following the sound of yelling and growling, of sharp gnashing teeth waiting for her command to sink into frail mortal flesh. She finds Aristo pinning the thrashing boy to the carpeted floor with his front paws on his shoulders. “Call off your dog! Please! Get him off me!” The voice is high and hysterical with mortal fear, and Artemis smiles down at him indulgently.

“I am Artemis Agrotera, and I will deal with you another time.” She calls Aristo off with a sharp whistle. The boy scrambles to his feet, crashing back to the floor as his shoulder collides with Apollo’s thighs. Apollo reaches down and draws him up by the arm, smiling with a menace that can’t quite match his twin’s.

“We’ll be seeing you,” he promises silkily, gives the arm a gentle squeeze, and stands aside to let the trembling criminal pass. Artemis sinks down on the edge of the rumpled bed, wipes tears from the girl’s cheeks with her thumb, and drapes her black jacket over the bare, shaking shoulders. The girl sobs and pulls the jacket tighter. Artemis makes a shushing noise in her throat and stands, scooping her up bridal-style like she weighs nothing at all.

The girl hides her face against the goddess’s chest as they leave the house. Fear and guilt war in her, eating her alive with teeth that slice like knives because she knows what will happen. The police will ask her how much she drank and what she was wearing and if she was flirting with him, if she’d given him any indication that maybe she wanted this. The thought turns her stomach, but they’re outside in the cool night air and the moon is so bright it seems to shine just for her.

Artemis looks down at the girl in her arms, and her heart breaks into a thousand pieces for the first time that night. “I’m taking you to someone who can help.” The walk back to the apartment building is about ten minutes, but the silence and the shaking girl make it seem like eternities. When they arrive, Artemis fumbles her car keys from the pocket of her black skinny jeans and hits the unlock button. “Do you want to sit in the front with me, or in the back with the dog?”

The girl’s wide brown eyes flit between Artemis’s perfect moon-pale face and Aristo’s floppy ears and kind brown eyes. “The dog, please.”

“His name is Aristo.” Artemis says, setting the girl on her feet and opening the back door for her. Aristo leaps in, tail wagging, and the mortal girl slides into the seat beside him. “He loves hugs.”

“Aristo,” the girl murmurs, burying her face in his neck with a shaky breath. “My name is Laurel.” Artemis’s stomach clenches. Apollo looks like he might be ill as he climbs into the passenger seat. He knows where the first laurel tree still grows, nearly as old as the surrounding hills.

Artemis starts the car and within minutes they’re speeding out of the city, turning off the highway onto winding back roads, and she rolls all the windows down to feel the wind in her hair and focuses on that to still the angry shaking of her hands. “Hey Art, does Hecate know we’re coming?” Apollo asks as they turn up the long dirt driveway, past a sign that says Crossroads Farm in fading purple paint.

“She always knows.”

Sure enough, the front porch light is on and lights are shining through the front windows. “We’re here,” Artemis announces for Laurel’s benefit as she parks.

“Where are we?” Laurel’s voice fills with fear. Artemis’s heart shatters into a thousand pieces, for what must be the thousandth time tonight.

“Crossroads Farm,” Artemis tells her, voice gentler than Apollo’s ever heard it. “You’ll be safe, I promise.”

“Who are you?” Laurel looks at them with wide, suspicious eyes and hugs hard enough around Aristo’s neck that he whines.

“Artemis, and this is my brother, Apollo.” Artemis waves her hand vaguely in the direction of her brother’s faintly shining face and ridiculous yellow t-shirt. They aren’t so ancient that their names are completely unfamiliar, because Artemis can see recognition stirring in Laurel’s fearful brown eyes.

“Like the ancient Greeks?”

Apollo nods. “Something like that. Come on, you’ll like Hecate.”

Before Artemis can stop him, he reaches toward Laurel’s hand to guide her up the steps. The mortal recoils from him, and Apollo looks so heartbroken Artemis almost pities him. She reminds herself he doesn’t know any better yet--he’s never spent time with a girl like Laurel before. He doesn’t understand the panic in her veins, the constant nagging fear she’ll carry with her for the rest of her life. He’s never heard a girl wake screaming from a nightmare she can’t stop reliving every time she closes her eyes.

“Shouldn’t we go to the police station?” Laurel asks, but she follows Artemis up the front porch steps anyway. Apollo walks a respectful distance behind her, half-dejected and half-protective, but completely silent. When Artemis opens the door, Hecate is already sitting at the scrubbed pine table with four steaming mugs of tea, the picture of serenity.

Hecate was called Iphigenia once, and she was the first mortal Artemis rescued; led to a gleaming sacrificial knife by a man who was supposed to protect her. She understands, in a way Artemis will never be able to, the fear and the guilt and the panic that feels like it can stop your lungs from filling. “Hi,” Hecate says simply, gesturing at the mugs. Laurel takes the empty seat beside her, and Artemis pointedly sits in the chair beside Laurel. Apollo huffs as he takes the seat furthest from her. “It’s herbal tea,” Hecate says, answering the girl’s unspoken question. “It will help you sleep without dreams.”

Laurel nods, wraps her hands around the warm ceramic mug and inhales deeply. “It smells good.” She hesitates, her eyes dancing over the three deities. “Are--are you really Greek gods?”

Artemis is proud of Apollo, for once, for the way he doesn’t let his face fall. She knows there’s nothing like a tragedy to unravel a mortal’s world; she’s seen it more times than she cares to remember and yet she can’t forget any of them. If something like this can happen--stories that happen on the evening news, to other people--then stories older than street lamps and cars can happen, too.

“Yes.” Artemis has found, through trial and error, through centuries, that simplicity works best.

“Artemis is the protector of young girls,” Apollo says, like that explains everything. “She’s been doing this--geez, for how long, Art?” He’s trying too hard to act casual, but Artemis can see he’s shaken. It takes some getting used to; this is only his first time and she has literal millenia of practice. She takes a deep breath and reminds herself to be patient.

“Since mortals stopped protecting their own daughters. When police began asking a girl what she was wearing, instead of asking a boy why he felt he had the right to take her sense of safety away.”

“Right. That long.”

“I was the first she saved,” Hecate volunteers conversationally. “Back when Troy still stood tall on its hill.”

“That clears things up,” Apollo mutters, rolling his eyes conspiratorially at Laurel. She rewards him with a tiny smile, and Artemis is half-surprised he doesn’t jump up and dance. He only grins, and she knows he’ll take whatever victory he can get even if it doesn’t feel like enough. A smile from Laurel won’t erase his past mistakes.

“It should clear things up, you were there,” Artemis reminds him. “You built the walls of Troy with your own hands.”

“Yeah, look how well that worked out.” Apollo pouts into his tea, unable to let go of that centuries-old sting. “Fucking Eris and her fucking apple.”

Artemis raises an eyebrow. “That was literally ages ago. We have other problems now.” Apollo follows her gaze as it rests on Laurel, sipping her tea and watching them with open fascination.

“How is this even my life?” Laurel wonders aloud.

Apollo shrugs, apparently having recovered from his earlier unease. “You’re just lucky, I guess.” The joke falls flat, he hisses in a breath and scrambles to fix his mistake. “Sorry, Jesus, I’m so sorry.” Tea sloshes over the side of his mug as he sets it down carelessly and reaches across the table for Laurel’s hand. She withdraws it and stares flatly into the contents of her mug.

Apollo’s face is crestfallen as he looks to Artemis for guidance, and she’s amazed that a god can be so painfully dumb. “Smooth,” she barks, patience momentarily snapped. Aristo rests his head on Laurel’s lap, much more comforting than Apollo could ever be, and she strokes him silently.

“Laurel,” Apollo begins, but she cuts him off with a shake of the head.

“It’s fine. Can-can I stay here tonight?” Her eyes are wide and wary as she turns to Hecate.

“Of course. I’ll show you to your room.” The gentle goddess stands, leading the exhausted mortal down the hallway to the left of the kitchen, through the living room, and toward the bedrooms in the back. They’ve done this too many times since Hecate bought this place a couple decades ago; there’s a dozen bedrooms here reserved for the girls Artemis brings. Sometimes they only stay for one night, sometimes for a week, sometimes they’ll leave and show up again unannounced months later, dark circles under their eyes and a constant tension in their shoulders.

Hecate never turns them away, only cooks them meals with the vegetables from her garden and gives them tea to help them sleep. They spend their days outside, reading in the sunlight or roaming with Artemis and her dogs, wearing loose chitons and carrying bows. There’s two other girls here besides Laurel; Kate, the girl Artemis helped last night, and Andrea, who showed up here a week ago and cried in Hecate’s arms again.

“Artemis,” Hecate calls down the hall, interrupting her thoughts, “can Aristo sleep with Laurel tonight?”

Artemis hates to relinquish her hunting partner, but he looks up at her with soft eyes, and she knows he would rather spend the night cuddling with Laurel than chasing her attacker. “Make sure Pelea has the scent,” she tells the dog. He wags his tail once in agreement and pushes through the doggy door to find Pelea. “He’ll be there soon,” Artemis calls back.

She and Apollo sit in silence, Apollo fidgeting with his empty mug as Artemis waits for her dogs. They’re only gone for a few minutes, Aristo trotting in with Pelea on his heels. He bumps his snout against his mistress’s hand as he trots by. Pelea rests her head on Artemis’s lap, tail wagging as Artemis scratches her ears.

A few minutes later Hecate glides into the kitchen on silent feet and sighs as she sits at the head of the table. “She’s settled in with Aristo. When are you guys going?” Artemis ducks her head to look out the window, squints up at the huge, bright hunter’s moon, and looks over at her brother.

“Ready for part two?”

“What’s part two?” His voice is apprehensive, and Artemis thinks it’s hilarious. She likes that she can still surprise him even after millenia.

She smiles wolfishly as she stands and stretches, slow and lazy. “The hunt.”

“Oh. I was wondering why you went by Agrotera earlier.” It’s an epithet he hadn’t heard her use in at least a few centuries, but it was one of the earliest used to describe her. Artemis Agrotera. Artemis of the Hunt.

She rolls her eyes so hard, she can practically see the back of her own skull. “Don’t tell me you still go by Phoebus.”

He shakes his head, looking away. “I stopped using my epithets a long time ago.”

Artemis steps forward and grips his chin, forcing him to face her. She hates the shame she sees there, but she knows it’s been a long time coming. “Apollo Akesios,” she says softly, firmly. “Averter of evil.” Sometimes even gods need to be reminded who they are.

“I don’t deserve that one. Maybe I never did.” His voice is low and full of sadness, but Artemis isn’t about to let him get away with wallowing. Self-loathing isn’t becoming for the god of the sun.

“Then earn it now. I don’t have time for your pity-party, Apollo, I have hunting to do. You can either hang out here and mope over Laurel--and we both know it isn’t really about her, anyway--or you can help me catch the asshole who did this.” She releases his chin; he rubs his jaw ruefully. Her grip had slowly tightened the more worked up she became.

“Fine, Art, geez. But tomorrow I’m going to Greece.”

“Tell Daphne if she ever wants to be human again, she has a place here,” Hecate interjects from the table. Apollo waves a hand in acknowledgement, trying to ignore the way his stomach drops at the name. He’s barely finished composing himself by the time Artemis is halfway out the door, and he starts after her with a muttered curse. They slide into her silver car, and he doesn’t have time to buckle his seatbelt before she’s peeling down the driveway.

“You can help me with this anytime you want, you know,” Artemis tells him, voice raised to be heard over the wind roaring through the windows. She’s tired of seeing her brother so lost, so far removed from the god he once was. They all are, except maybe Hades, because there will always be death. But hunting like this, protecting young girls like she used to, it reminds Artemis of who she is. She wants this feeling for her brother, too, because she loves him dearer than all the world of mortals.

“I’m not much of a hunter, Art.”

“No, but you invented medicine. You’re a healer. These girls, they need someone. Hecate does what she can, but sometimes it isn’t enough. Sometimes it takes more than herbal tea and an essential oil diffuser. For some of them, positive energy and sunlight doesn’t cut it. Hecate’s a minor goddess, but you? God of the sun, remember? Inventor of medicine and music and poetry. And Selene, she makes the moon shine brighter for them so they’re never caught out in the dark, but you can teach them to carry sunlight in their hearts again. You don’t have to hunt with me, after tonight. But when you get back from Greece,” she shrugs, “there’s a purpose for you, if you want it.”

Apollo doesn’t have to answer, because Pelea barks suddenly from the backseat. Artemis barely checks her blind spot as she pulls over, parking so quickly she scrapes her tire against the curb. She jumps out of the car and opens the back door for Pelea. Apollo unfolds himself from his seat and jogs alongside Artemis, following the hound.

“When did you train your dogs to do this?” He wonders idly, not expecting an answer.

“A couple hundred years ago, maybe? Around the time Ivar the Boneless invaded Ireland.”

“That was over a thousand years ago, Art.” He looks at her, bemused, knowing she doesn’t care about the specifics. It’s important to him, though. They’ve never kept secrets from each other, and this stings more than he wants to admit. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“You and Hermes sort of disappeared for a century or so, I didn’t want to bother you.” Apollo tries to remember this specific disappearance, thinks maybe it was when he and Hermes hung out with Calypso on her island for a while. It’s nice to leave the world sometimes. Pelea trots easily in front of them, scenting the cool breeze, and the moon is huge and high in the sky. It’s barely past the middle of the night.

“Where’s she taking us?” Apollo grumbles. Artemis, ever the patient hunter, smiles serenely at him and doesn’t grace him with an answer. Pelea’s tail wags in slow arcs. Artemis knows they’re getting closer but she enjoys the pursuit. She hopes the boy is laying in his bed, unable to sleep, feeling in his cowardly bones that vengeance is coming to him. She wants to hope he feels guilty but knows he probably doesn’t, so the most she ever hopes for is fear.

Pelea bays, just once, the sound that used to be the death-song of so many stags, and Artemis hopes the boy shivers at the sound. She sees him in the distance, a shadow against the horizon, a dark shape moving between houses. Pelea takes off after him eagerly, Artemis and Apollo hot on her heels. Pelea veers around to cut off his escape as the twins reach him.

Artemis reaches out, a pale arrow clasped in her hand, and rubs the shining silver point down the length of his spine. “I told you I would find you,” she croons, sing-song as a baying hound.

He stops dead in his tracks so suddenly that Apollo nearly crashes into him. Artemis strokes the arrow down the boy’s back again. She rubs her hand almost seductively along the back of his neck, leans closer, and whispers in his ear, “Turn around and face me.” She releases her hold, lets the arrowhead drag along his shoulder and chest as he obeys her. She tickles him lightly with the tip, just above the place where his heart beats so hard she can see the pulse throbbing in his neck. “Do you remember my name?”

He nods frantically, too terrified to speak. A sharp smell reaches her nose, she glances down to the spreading stain on the front of his jeans and clucks disapprovingly. “What was my name, again?” She drags the arrow up to the wildly thudding pulse at the juncture of his chin and neck.

“Art--Artemis A--Agro….” he trails off, she increases the pressure until he starts bawling. “Agrotera,” he chokes. She nods, pleased, and eases back just a bit.

“I’m not going to kill you,” she purrs, arrow still pressed against his throat. “This time. A quick death is too merciful for men like you.” She sighs, as if she regrets that. “In Sparta, where they worshipped me centuries ago, they gave all their women small knives. That way, if a man ever tried to force himself upon her, she could slash him across the face and the entire world would know what he did. That was a good time for women, when they didn’t need me to protect them.” She stares him down with eerie, unblinking silver eyes. “Do you know her name? The girl you attacked?”

He shakes his head, and Artemis gently traces the tip of the arrowhead along his jawline. “Her name is Laurel. She’s twenty years old and has a little brother, and she’s studying biology in college. She wants to be a cancer researcher, and travel the world, and she always loved the night until you made her afraid of it.” Artemis pauses, gives him a soft smile. “So now I want you to be afraid of it, too. I think they had it right in Sparta, all that time ago.”

Quick as thought, she darts the arrow up and slices along his cheekbone. The slash is clean, surgically precise, and will heal in a narrow, smooth pink scar. It’s high enough up that a beard will never hide it. “That custom is long dead, more’s the pity.” She shrugs, twirls the arrow so that it flashes in the moonlight, and tastes the dark blood on the silver arrowhead with the tip of her tongue. “Coward’s blood, I knew it. No descendent of Sparta.” She brings the arrow up again and runs it down the slope of his nose. “No one will know why there’s a slash on your face except you. Every time you look in the mirror, you’ll remember what you did. That is my first gift to you.”

She smiles, as if he’s just won the grand prize on a game show. There’s something feral in her eyes, a wildness mortals thought dead long ago. The boy is shaking uncontrollably. A first gift implies a second, and he doesn’t want anything except for this to be a dream. “So my first gift was knowledge, and my second is a promise.” She looks at him like she’s waiting for him to thank her.

When he’s silent, she shrugs and continues. She inspects the arrow as she speaks, not looking at him. He doesn’t deserve the attention of her gaze. “I promise that I will be watching you until the day you die. I promise that if you ever do this again, if you ever raise your hand to a woman, I will be the last thing you see.”

She reaches down, scratches Pelea’s ears affectionately. “This is Pelea. The dog I had with me earlier was Aristo. They’ve been alive longer than this country.” She gestures vaguely with the arrow; he instinctively raises his arms to protect his face. Artemis tries to hide the savage pleasure this brings her, but can’t quite keep the triumph from her ice-cold eyes. “They were given to me by Pan, the god of shepherds and wild places. Did you know he invented panic?” She tilts her head thoughtfully. “I perfected it, though.” The moonlight gleams off her perfect white teeth as she smiles.

“Once they have your scent, they can find you anywhere in the world. There is nowhere you can hide, nowhere my hounds cannot find you.” Her voice is mild, almost pleasant, and it makes the boy sob with a terror that’s older than instinct. Centuries ago, humans feared the gods; that fear is buried just beneath the surface of their conscious minds. It’s nearly effortless for Artemis to awaken it. “Do you understand me, mortal?”

He nods rapidly.

Artemis smiles and steps back. “Good. You may go now.”

She turns on her heel, crisp as a soldier on parade, and walks gracefully toward the car with Pelea roaming ahead to sniff a tree trunk. Apollo glances at the boy, takes in the abject terror and awe on his face as he watches Artemis walk away, and gives the boy a smile that could be mistaken for friendly before he follows his sister. The walk is quiet, with only the swishing of their feet through dew-damp grass and Pelea’s deep whuffs as she scents the air. Artemis opens the back door and the hound leaps in happily.

The twins climb into their seats and buckle their seatbelts, and Artemis drives them out of the city back toward Hecate’s farm. “Can’t you take me back to the apartment?” Apollo whines, not sure if he can face those girls when he can still remember Daphne morphing into a laurel tree to escape his touch.

“I like to be there when they wake up. Someday, you will, too.”

“After Greece, maybe.”

“You’ve waited too long to apologize.”

“I waited too long to learn my mistakes,” Apollo corrects.

She smiles over at him, full of pride. “I knew you would, though. I hoped it would be centuries ago, but better late than never.” She shrugs, like a few centuries isn’t a big deal when you can never die. “If I’d known hunting was what would make you realize, I would have taken you with me a long time ago.”

“Art, that was…. He looked at you like they all used to look at us. You were terrifying. I haven’t seen you like that in thousands of years. Agrotera, indeed.”

She smiles, pleased. “Mortals haven’t changed much, really.” She turns up the long dirt driveway of Crossroads Farm. Hecate left the porch light on for them, but the windows are dark this time. Artemis puts the car in park and kills the engine before she turns in her seat and fixes her bright silver eyes on him. “So will you be here in the morning?”

She’s really asking if he wants to see Laurel again, and Apollo knows it. And he does want to, but he can’t. Not yet. First he needs to see a different laurel, a tree nearly as old as the hills and twice as wise.

He shakes his head. “I’ll be in Greece at first light. Tell Laurel,” he blows out a breath between pursed lips. “Tell her I’ll be back by dinner.”

“I’ll tell her, if she asks,” Artemis promises, knowing she probably won’t. She hopes Apollo doesn’t pick up on that, but his face falls before he can stop it. She’s spent millenia reading his emotions, and her heart breaks into a thousand pieces for what must be the millionth time that night. She draws her twin into a hug. “Good luck, Apollo Akesios.”

He wraps his arms around her. “I promise I won’t disappear for a century this time. This is my place now, just like yours.” He ends the hug and straightens, brows pinched together in the middle. “Should we end the lease on the apartment?”

“No. That’s my base of operations in the city. I just let you crash there because you were a broke street musician.”

Apollo huffs, offended. “Not anymore, though. I’ll see you tomorrow, Art.” He sighs and rolls his jaw. Artemis nods and opens the car door. When she reaches the porch and turns back to the car, the passenger seat is empty. She opens the door and steps into the kitchen. She hangs her gleaming silver bow on the hook by front door and tiptoes down the hallway.

She peeks into three bedrooms, at the girls finally able to sleep peacefully, snoring hounds curled up at their feet. It’s not adoration like she once had, but it’s still a home, and these healing girls are just as much a family as her band of huntresses ever were. For what must be the first time that night, she thinks her heart might be whole.

#modern mythology #greek goddesses #artemis #apollo #hecate #iphigenia #selene #greek mythology #modern greek mythology

43 notes · View notes

bostoniangirl85 · 3 years ago

Text

Random ‘Inspector Gadget’ fanfic snippet - untitled

Just a random idea I’ve been playing with that I thought you’d guys would enjoy.^^

Penny remembered the exact moment she realized her uncle was so much more than what people saw, including those who knew him best like Chief Quimby.

She had been six and had found a piece of rumpled-up paper when she had been empty the wastebaskets as part of her chores. Curious, she had unrolled the paper and had stared in numb shock at what she had seen.

The equations for calculating pounds per square inch were written in her uncle’s somewhat messy, sprawling handwriting (his hands didn’t have quite the same fine motor control as a normal man’s did).

It took Penny several moments to realize what she was reading.

‘PSI - can I hold my niece?’

‘Hugging - no, definitely no! Too much pressure.’

‘Pat on shoulder? Arm around shoulder? - Yes, possibly.’

‘Kiss on the forehead? - Safe, less PSI compared to hands.’

When the full enormity of what her uncle had written hit her she had wept bitterly, not for herself, but for the pain and isolation her uncle so needlessly put himself through. He actually thought he might hurt her, simply by holding her? It was nearly unbearable for her to think about.

Penny hadn’t revealed the paper to anyone, not even Brain. But after that day she never hesitated to show her uncle physical affection. She snuggled into his side when they sat together on the sofa watching TV, took his arm in her own when they walked, and kissed his cheek whenever she could. She didn’t care what other people thought - she would only stop if her uncle seemed uncomfortable.

Gadget had seemed a bit surprised, even uncertain, by his niece’s physical affection but never once shied away. He didn’t return the affection, but neither did he pull away whenever Penny reached out to him. It sometimes made her sad that her uncle wouldn’t hold her but she understood, or at least thought she did.

It wasn’t until she was thirteen that she learned that Gadget couldn’t fully register touch through his hands. That revelation had given Penny a fresh bout of tear-filled nights.

**********

“Penny? Are you alright?”

The sixteen year-old blinked and turned to smile at her uncle. “Yes, Uncle,” she said. “Just lost in thought.”

“Penny for them?” quipped Gadget as his niece sat down next to him on the sofa. The girl laughed softly at the familiar joke.

“I was just thinking...” “Yes?”

Penny turned to face her uncle then and placed a hand on his cheek, stroking the strong, sharply angled sweep of his jaw. “I love you...that’s all,” she said, somewhat shyly.

Gadget blinked, a surprised but pleased expression coming over his features. “I love you too,” he murmured.

Still discomforted by her earlier thoughts, Penny took his head in both of her small, slender hands and gently tugged him down (he was so much taller than her, even at sixteen) and kissed his brow.

“I love you so very much, Uncle Gadget,” she whispered, her voice betraying her with the slightest of trembles. She kissed his forehead again and then trailed affectionate kisses down that long, Roman nose that gave his face so much character.

She heard him drawn in a deep, sharp breath and started to pull back, mentally chastising herself for making him uncomfortable - she knew he wasn’t comfortable with giving physical affection - but stopped when Gadget reached for her.

He took her face in both hands and gently tilted her face up, holding her face carefully but with rare confidence. Penny blinked up at him, surprised and just a bit shocked that he was actually returning her affection for once.

“I love you too,” he said, his thumbs sweeping over her cheekbones. He tilted her head up as he bent his head and kissed her brow. Penny felt her eyes burn with grateful tears and quickly closed them, tilting her head up further as he kissed her cheek and then the slender bridge of her nose. He trailed kisses down her nose just as she had done earlier.

“I...I know I’m not...not normal, but I love you so very much,” Gadget murmured against her ear and she opened her eyes, gently pressing her fingers against his lips. “Please, please don’t say that word, Uncle,” she whispered, blinking back tears. “I love you. You, Uncle Gadget, just the way you are.”

Gadget looked stunned and could only nod as Penny wrapped her arms around his neck, snuggling close to him with a contented sigh. He let Penny draw him down so that she could lie close to him on the sofa, tucked against the wide expanse of his chest just as she had done when she had been a small girl and so very frightened of nightmares and an uncertain future without her parents.

“Are you alright, Penny?” Gadget murmured, instinctively pulling his niece close and curling his long, lanky frame around the girl so that she was wrapped in his embrace. Safe and warm, just as he had always strived to do with this precious creature in his arms.

“Yes, Uncle,” Penny replied, wrapping her arms around his torso and holding onto his broad, powerful shoulders. “I’m fine, just...just stay a bit?”

Gadget closed his eyes and nuzzled his face against the smooth, warm skin of her throat, unable to resist pressing a tender kiss against her shoulder.

“Always, Penny.”

#inspector gadget fanfic #inspector gadget 80s #penny (inspector gadget)#gadget and penny family feels

17 notes · View notes

thisbisexualbrainrot · 4 years ago

Text

15x20: Soft Epilogue

Here I go writing fix it fic again. It’s almost 2am and I couldnt sleep until I posted it. I hope its enjoyable. Definitely fluff and a little angst thrown in as well. The soft epilogue with happy endings that Sam and Dean deserved. I didnt get a good place to mention this in the fic, but I believe Sam and Eileen would have rebuilt the American Men of Letters together. :) _________________

Sunlight glinted against the black impala as she flew down the back country road. It was midday and the air was warm. Turns out when you are fighting for your life, you forget to pay attention to the seasons change. Sam was grateful they could pay attention to that now.

He checked his phone again. No response yet. Where is she?

“Hey um... Eileen hasn't called me yet and she's not answering. Do you think she didn't come back?” Sam asked, glancing over at Dean who was tapping his hand on the wheel.

“Jack wouldn't do that, he would bring her back with everyone else. It's okay Sammy. She'll be there.” Dean assured him, he gave Sam a smirk and looked back at the road. “She probably just doesn't have a phone remember?”

“Yeah, you're right.” Sam sighed, running his hand through his hair. She has to be there. Dean noticed Sam fidgeting and stepped on the gas.

In the backseat, Miracle barked in approval.

Before Dean even had the car in park, Sam opened the passenger door and ran up to Eileen's door. Dean chuckled as he watched Sam bound up and the front door opened quickly. Eileen ran out to meet him and the two crashed into each other. Smiles, kisses, laughter. Good Dean thought Sammys happy. For the first time, Dean isn't worried about his little brother anymore. They changed the world, for good, and now Sam has a real chance for a real relationship. Eileen is good for him.

Eventually Dean got out of the car, Eileen gave him a hug and signed while saying “Thank you.”

Dean looked at Sam, who hadn’t stopped grinning ear to ear, and smirked “Yeah well, now he's your problem.” “Yeah okay” Sam laughed. “I’ll call you later”. Eileen wrapped her arm around Sam’s waist and Dean was confident he wouldn’t be hearing from his brother for a while.

“Yeah yeah” Dean smiled, “You kids have fun.”

“I'm 37, Dean.”

Dean gave them a shit eating grin and slid into the impala “I'm gonna go check on Jody and the girls. Apparently Claire is really pissed she got zapped and missed everything. She keeps texting me.”

Dean put the car in reverse and he noticed Eileen jump into Sam's arms and kiss him as the car pulled away. Deans phone was laying on the passenger seat and it vibrated with another text from Claire:

How is Cas? Is he with you?

---

The lights flickered on in the bunker as Dean walked in with Miracle at his heels and he shut the heavy door behind them. The emptiness of it felt especially loud as he had spent the last few days sleeping on Jody’s couch in a house full of teenagers.

He sighed as he remembered telling them about Cas. He couldn't meet Jody’s eye the entire time. He kept it simple, just told them what he had told Sam and Jack:

Cas summoned the empty.

Cas saved him.

Cas was gone.

Claire especially didn't take it well and the first night she fell asleep leaning on Dean's shoulder in front of the TV. Kaia came downstairs and Dean woke Claire up long enough for her to let Kaia lead her up to their room.

Poor kid he thought as he picked up the decanter and filled his glass. He had gotten a text from Sam:

Going on a trip with Eileen actually. We thought some time away might help us find normal again, if that's even possible. Call you later?

Dean sent a short response telling Sam that was fine and tossed his phone on the library table.

What to do now?

The whole world was open, skys the limit. For the first time he had no one to protect, no world to save, no monsters to hunt...just his own thoughts in an empty bunker. Well, except for his dog curled up next to his feet. It was terrifying and Dean found himself pounding down whiskey a lot faster than he intended.

A few glasses in and he started praying.

“Cas…” he whispered to the silence “Cas..I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” Dean felt his eyes fill with tears. “Cas...why didn't you tell me before...”

“Dean”

Dean's head shot up. He must have really drank way too much because there was absolutely no way this was real. But there Jack was, standing in front of him with the same white jacket, same innocent smile on his face.

“Hello” he said, raising his hand. “I'm here for your advice.”

He said it so sincerely, Dean couldn't help but let out a sad, drunk laugh. His body relaxed a little and he looked up at him. “Man you can't just pop in- I mean you can it's just….Jack, I'm not in the place to be givin’ you advice anymore alright? Besides, I thought you were going to be all hands off?”

“I am, mostly. I think. I don't really know, I'm still figuring it out. Amara is helping me.” Jack waited patiently while Dean’s intoxicated mind took in this information.

“Alright” Dean stood up and leaned against the table, his arms crossed. Strangely, talking to Jack as whatever he was, was easier than he thought. He missed this. “What’s going on kid?”

Jack nodded at Dean’s approval to ask. “I want to take Cas out of the empty but Amara said I should ask you.”

Dean froze. His mouth went dry. Cas. “So you- you can get him out?”

“Yes, it seems quite possible. Chuck showed me how in his memories. He was able to pull Lucifer out and Amara told me it should work for Cas as well.”

Dean's head was spinning. “I..um well, why are you asking me then?”

“You are very important to him Dean.” Jack said with such firm resolve, “If you think this is a bad idea, I will respect that. Amara said it should be up to you.”

Dean's heart leaped at the thought of seeing Cas again. Panic mixed with pure elation. He was terrified but of course the answer was obvious. “Yeah..” Dean whispered. “Yeah” he repeated louder, clearing his throat “Yeah, Bring him back.” Dean swallowed and looked at the floor. His mind desperately trying to understand that this was happening, this was real. Cas.

Jack smiled “That's what I told her you would say. Thank you Dean. Give me a moment.” and disappeared. The silence was deafening and then Dean heard his phone vibrate. He spun around and almost fell over a chair getting to where it laid abandoned on the table. “...Cas?”

“No, Dean it's Sam. Are you okay?” “Sammy I um....” Dean couldn't find the words “Jack, he was here.”

“What? Dean what's going on?”

“He-...” And then Miracle started barking and Dean let his phone drop to the floor.

“Hello Dean”

He was standing a few feet away, this couldnt be real. “...Cas I..” Dean started but he lost the ability to speak. He was really there. Rumpled trench coat, crooked tie, tousled hair and bright blue eyes. Dean tried to speak again. Why couldn't he say anything else? Too drunk, too stunned and too afraid to move. Damn it. “Cas...you’re here.”

“Yes” Cas smiled “I'm here.” Dean sensed a nervous caution in his voice. “It's good to see you Dean.” “Cas, what the hell were you thinking?” Dean’s voice was low and Cas furrowed his brow.

“I was protecting you.”

Dean shook his head like he didn't want to hear it. Like he wouldn't accept that as a reason.

“Dean, BIllie would have killed us. You know that. The world needed you alive Dean. I needed you alive.” Cas paused and met Deans’ gaze again. “It was more important to make sure you were safe.”

Dean pursed his lips and closed his eyes in frustration. “Im sorry, more important?” Dean looked at Cas again, “No. You don't get to dip out. You should have told me about that deal! I could have helped you! I could have-... Damn it Cas!” Dean slammed the chair next to him and heard it clatter on the floor.

“Dean I did what I needed to do. And I don’t regret any of it.” Cas let his voice raise a little in responsive anger but he chose his next words carefully, “I don't regret what I said and I don't regret saving your life.” Despite Dean's outward display of anger, Cas knew Dean was reacting out of love. This anger was misplaced guilt. “You owe me nothing Dean. None of this was your fault.”

Dean was just drunk enough that he faltered, his voice breaking as he said “Cas, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry Cas..I didn't stop you...I couldn't tell you...”

Cas moved toward him then, reaching a hand to wipe away the tears Dean didn't realize were falling down his face. Dean could feel his heart aching against his ribs. How did he tell him that images of that moment came back to him every night, swallowed up in black? Cas crying, Dean reaching, Cas disappearing. Over and over they haunted him.

Cas lifted his hand away but felt Deans rough fingers stop him, holding his hand in place. “Cas….Tell me again. What you said..please..”

“Dean...”

“No I..” Dean breathed out “I need to hear it Cas. Please tell me again.”

Cas brought his head closer to rest on Dean’s forehead, closing his eyes. Dean lowered their hands, still grasping on in desperation. Cas could feel Dean shaking as he moved closer to him. Dean let his eyes flutter closed when he felt Cas rest against him. After a moment of silence, Cas said in a quiet voice “I love you Dean.”

Dean wasn't sure if it was the whiskey or the feeling of Cas’s skin, warm and real against his face.Maybe it was just the pure joy that Cas was here or the relief that he would never leave him again. But he needed more, he needed to feel Cas. He needed to touch him. He moved in slowly, brushing their noses together. Cas’s breath staggered as he let Dean make the decision. Dean grazed his lips along the angels mouth and everything felt warm. The kiss was soft and cautious. Dean moved his mouth slowly, carefully and Cas leaned in slightly, letting Dean set the pace. And then, realization.

Oh. Oh.

The energy changed and Cas felt Dean’s kiss deepen, his hand reaching up to wind fingers into Cas’s hair. And it was then that Cas allowed himself to grab onto Dean, pulling him in by his flannel. He breathed in Dean's scent, pine mixed with bourbon and aftershave and Dean let his other hand up to rest on Cas’s neck. He could feel the angel’s pulse racing as he pulled back to look at him. “This is...okay right?”

“Yes” Cas breathed, and immediately pulled Dean in again.

---

When Sam walked into the bunker he noticed the lights were on and a chair was toppled over in the library. Deans phone on the floor. But he didn't see anyone. “Dean?”

Eileen followed after him, calling out for Dean. Sam ran to Dean’s room and when Eileen followed, Sam stopped her before she called out for Dean again. He gestured into the room. “Look” he signed to her.

Dean was sleeping, his head resting on Castiel’s chest. Miracle was curled up at the bottom of the bed, her head resting on Dean's leg. Sam noticed Cas, in nothing but boxers and a t-shirt, calmly placing his fingers on Dean's temple. A pale blue glow kept Dean’s dreams peaceful and Cas ran his fingers through short hair as his hunter slept soundly.

“Cas?” Sam whispered, in disbelief that the angel was alive. Cas gently slid out from under Dean and moved to the door, shutting it carefully behind him.

Sam smiled “It's so good to see you Cas.” He pulled the angel into a hug. “I thought you were in the empty. How are you here?”

“Jack,” Cas smiled “He brought me back” Cas looked back toward the bedroom.”Dean and I have been...catching up.”

Sam smiled and let out a short laugh “Yeah I can see that.”

“I love him Sam”

“I know you do. I never wanted to push him but I knew.” Sam let out a breathy laugh and ran his hands through his hair. “Wow I cant believe Dean finally figured it out. I can't believe this is really happening. What are you going to do now?”

“Whatever makes Dean happy.” Cas said, so matter of factly that Sam shook his head in pure amazement and laughed again.

---

It was a small outdoor ceremony, but Sam and Eileen couldn't have been happier. Dean beamed with pride standing next to Sam, his tux pressed and black shoes shined. They held the reception in Jody's backyard, string lights and cheap alcohol. It was perfect.

Cas walked into the kitchen, slightly intoxicated and saw Claire sitting on the counter rubbing her feet “I hate heels.”

“They do look very uncomfortable,” Cas replied. “These suits are restricting as well. My neck is very itchy.”

Claire beckoned Cas over and loosened his bowtie. “You don't really need it all the way on anymore. Ceremony is over.” She smiled, “Your boyfriend took his off hours ago I bet.”

Cas never will be used to hearing Dean referred to in that way. “Where is he?”

“I think he’s out front on the porch.” She said, jumping off the counter barefoot and walking back out into the yard to find Kaia for a dance. She popped her head back inside “Oh hey, tell him I can work that Sunday shift he asked about okay?” Cas nodded and Claire spun around and headed to the dance floor.

Cas walked out onto the porch to find Dean. The night air was cool and crickets chirped loudly in the fields. As Claire had suspected, Dean’s tie was long gone. His dress shirt was unbuttoned enough to reveal the t-shirt underneath, and to see the necklace filled with Castiel’s grace glowing on his chest. He took another drink from his beer and looked up. “Heya Cas.”

“Hello Dean.” He paused and then remembered “Claire said she can work the Sunday shift.”

“Ah, good. That kid is killing me. That's what I get for owning a bar, I guess. I’m a freakin boss now.” He laughed to himself, “It still feels weird to say it. Like I'm gonna mess it up.”

“You’ve earned it, and you certainly are not messing it up.” Cas sat down next to him and smiled as Dean wrapped his arm around him, “How are you Dean?”

“Eh, I'm fine.” Dean looked down, picking at the label of his beer. “Sammy seems happy, huh?”

“Yes, he does.” Cas reached out and pulled Dean’s hand away from his nervous movement, entwining their fingers together. “He's going to be fine.”

“I know.” Dean says, squeezing Cas’s hand. “I just hate that he doesn't need me anymore.”

“That's not true, he’ll always need you.” Cas reassured him. Dean leaned over and kissed Cas, gazing at him for a moment before saying “I love you, you know that right?”

“I know,” Cas replied, “I love you too.” It didn't matter that they had been together for over a year, 6 months since Cas had made the choice to be human, it still made Cas shiver to hear Dean tell him he loved him.

“You sure you don’t regret giving me this?” He holds up the glowing grace pendant. Cas shakes his head “No, not once.” and Dean pulls him in for another kiss.

Jack watches from afar, a smile on his face.

The sounds of the party last long into the night.

#supernatural #supernatural 15x20 #fix it fic #destiel fix it fic #destiel fanfic #destiel fanfiction #deancas fix it #deancas fix it fic #deancas fanfiction #spn 15x20 #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #samxeileen #sam x eileen #saileen #destiel #deancas

34 notes · View notes

shadowedoracle · 4 years ago

Text

Amends

Summary: Rumple has noticed something up with Belle's behaviour over the past few days, and is concerned one morning when he smells blood on her. Belle is upset by his nosiness and he has to work out how to make things right with her.

Rating: G

[AO3]

A/N: Happy Belated Skin Deep Day/ Rumbelle Anniversary/ Fluffapalooza!

This was supposed to be my main Fluffapalooza fic this year but the last few weeks have been super busy. Then I started suffering from the what we now finally think are migraines that give me terrible vertigo so I can barely sit up half the time. Also they made looking at a screen kind of bad. So this got delayed. ***

Something was wrong with Belle. She hadn’t been her usual cheery self the past few days, and now she was an hour late with his morning tea.

Rumplestiltskin tapped his fingers against the wood of the long table in his Great Hall. Belle had never been late before but he supposed it should not surprise him his maid was late. After all she was a noblewoman he’d trapped in a humiliating bargain, poor service was indeed one of the downsides of picking her -- she’d made some truly dreadfully inedible meals the first week she was here. He was the Dark One hence immortal, so he knew she couldn’t poison him but he’d spent those first several days considering whether one could in theory die from foul tasting food. Eventually he’d given in (for his taste buds’ sake) and told her how to tell the castle to make the meals.

He hadn’t gotten around to telling her that the castle was capable of performing all her other duties itself. It would hardly do for his maid to simply sit around all day and read (well, more than she already did). After all, that would deprive him of the stunning sight of her standing on ladders and showing off her legs while she cleaned up high or the breathtaking view of her bending over while working on lower surfaces. It was definitely his own desires (admittedly long dormant), his... his depravity that stopped him from freeing Belle from her cleaning duties, he assured himself. It wasn’t due to any other emotions on his part.

So he continued to make her clean the castle and to serve his meals. Despite her poor culinary skills, it turned out that she made lovely cup of tea. Soon breakfast and afternoon tea had had become his favourite times of day. A few hours where they both sat around making idle chitchat about anything or sometimes just eating in silence. This had been quite unexpected and he refused to examine why he liked it so much.

But, predictably enough, it was over now.

Things had been going so well after they’d returned from chasing that thief and he’d shown her North Tower library (that he’d definitely not magicked into existence that very day). But now, for no reason he could see, they’d gone back to those first uncomfortable days of her time in the Dark Castle.

Perhaps she was trying to test him. But why he didn’t know. He hadn’t said or done anything abnormal in the last few days. They’d had no visitors to the castle, it had just been the two of them.

It would be easier if, as he’d intended, he didn’t care about her at all. Instead he actually quite liked his little maid. Although, of course, he would never actually tell her that. For her part, she no longer seemed scared of him. She’d even hugged him in the forest that one time. But he was still the monster who’d taken away any chance of the life she’d been planning to lead.

The whispering voice of his conscience -- that sounded like a certain fourteen year old teenage boy he had not seen for over two centuries -- told him he should let her go back to her family. But he ignored it. He wasn’t a good man. In fact, he hadn’t been a man for a long time now. No. He was a monster and monsters could do things like bargain for pretty maidens to come and live -- forever -- in their castles.

Rumplestiltskin sat mulling the situation a little longer. He’d just resolved to go and find where his erstwhile maid had gotten to when he heard the tap of her heeled shoes outside the double doors behind him.

He sat back in his chair as nonchalantly as he could, and set his face into the terrifying grin that had made grown men piss themselves.

She opened one of the doors and he listened to her muffled footsteps draw nearer and nearer to him. When he thought she was just a few feet away, he trilled, “You’re late.”

She paused briefly then continued her progress towards him and placed the tray in front of him.

She held her head high and said mildly, “Yes, I know. I’m sorry, Rumplestiltskin.”

Then she began pouring the tea in her usual way. She showed no sign of fright at his grin. The tea tray was clean and dry -- even his attempt to startle her hadn’t worked. Rumplestiltskin felt quite deflated.

“Well,” he trilled, “don’t you have an explanation for yourself?”

She shook her head. “I just got distracted by something this morning…”

She placed his teacup in front of him and her scent, of books and roses hit him. But something else was there too… Rumple sniffed the air and stiffened and turned to thoroughly look over his maid.

She frowned at him as she reached to place a plate of breakfast pastries in front of him. “What?”

He grabbed her wrist to stop her pouring her tea and she glared at him as she tried to free her wrist. He just ignored her and sniffed the air very deliberately and scanned over her.

She squirmed and growled at him, “What do you think you’re doing. Unhand me at once!”

“You’re bleeding. Someone’s hurt you,” he growled. “Did you help another thief out and he took a slice at you? Or did you cut yourself attempting some task in that kitchen that I’ve told you you should leave to the castle?”

Belle’s face shuttered but a faint blush appeared on her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“There’s no use hiding it from me.” He said wagging his finger in her face, “The Dark One has his ways of finding these things out.

"There's nothing to tell."

He sighed, "Belle, I can heal you if you tell me where you’re injured. So why don’t you just show me where you’re bleeding and make this simpler for the both of us.”

He watched Belle carefully. He saw anger and embarrassment flit across her face, as well as a hint of… was that amusement? She bit her lip and seemed to be wrestling with herself before coming to some conclusion. She lifted her chin and gave him a haughty glare down her nose and he felt a surge of affection at her attitude and complete lack of fear.

“Well are you going to tell me what I want to know?” He asked impatiently as she still didn’t say anything.

“I’m not injured.” She said at last.

“But you’re bleeding...” He was going to say more but she cut him off.

“I’m not injured.” She repeated.

“If you’re not injured why are you bleeding? You’re being secretive and hiding things from me and I want to know why.”

She glared at him, “You really want to know?”

He rolled his eyes, “That has been the point of the last minute or so of conversation, yes.”

Still staring daggers at him she sighed and said, “I’m bleeding there.” As she pointed straight the centre of her pelvis.

“How the …?” Came out of his mouth before his brain caught up and clamped his mouth shut. But he couldn't quite tear his eyes away for another few moments, until he suddenly remembered how it would look to Belle that he was staring at her there and he focused himself to meet her gaze.

“Oh.”

“'Oh'? 'Oh'? All you have to say is ‘oh’? You all but force me to tell you and all you can say is ‘oh’? Not ‘sorry’? I mean I know you won't willingly admit to being wrong but you could at least apologize for being an ass.”

He rolled his eyes, “I’m sorry my concern for you has upset you. Next time I smell you bleeding, I’ll ignore it and just hope you will deign to tell me about an injury before you bleed out. Is that what you want to hear?”

She glared and him and her hand twitched. For a moment he thought his lovely kind maid was about to slap him but she just shook her head and stomped out of the Great Hall.

Rumplestiltskin slumped back in his chair and muttered to himself, “well that could have gone better.”

***

Rumplestiltskin was disappointed, but not entirely surprised when Belle didn’t appear at lunchtime. But when she didn’t appear for their afternoon tea, he knew she was still quite upset. When she didn’t appear for dinner he knew she was truly mad. She might be late once, might miss one mealtime sitting around reading. But she wouldn’t miss three like this.

Clearly he’d upset her even more than he’d realized this morning. He just didn’t know what to do to fix it. He didn’t have a lot of experience with women and their… moods.

Milah had become even more bad tempered before and during her bleeding. Eventually he’d learned to just stay out of her way as much as he could. His attempts to keep Bae protected from the worst of her rage and keep him from asking too many questions, meant he had often invented little father son activities (some of his favourite memories of Bae’s early years) to stay out of her way during those days. But that didn’t help his current situation at all. He couldn’t just avoid Belle until her bleeding passed -- he sensed that would make this much worse. With Cora he’d just helped her use her anger and pain at her body and turn that into more magic. Which didn’t help him with Belle at all either.

He frowned. Neither Milah or Cora had been particularly good tempered women to begin with. So perhaps he needed a different tack with Belle. Which just left him even more stumped.

He paced around the Great Hall trying to think. What could he do to get his maid to speak to him again? He knew many spells but he didn’t think she’d be happy if he used on on her. He supposed he could appear wherever she was hiding and frighten her back to work but then they’d lose that nice companionable relationship they’d developed of late.

So he had to find a way to make amends to her. But how?

He paced around the table and caught sight of the tea cup Belle had chipped on her first day here -- which was now the only teacup he ever used. He started to turn away from from the table when an idea occurred to him. He stared over at the cup and smiled to himself as the idea began to unfold in his mind.

Yes that could work. He thought as he magicked himself up to his tower to begin his work.

***

It was late when he finished, but still a few hours off midnight. He hoped this would work. Now he was done arranging it his little tray of offerings, it didn’t seem quite so clever or enticing. But he had no other ideas for how to appease Belle so he supposed he was stuck with it.

It took a matter of moments to work out that she was still hiding up in the North Tower Library. Without giving himself any more time to overthink this he magicked himself halfway up the staircase, where he could hear and see her before she could see him.

Belle was curled up on her little sofa and while she didn’t look her usual happy self -- she didn’t look as furious as she had this morning. He hoped that meant she had calmed down.

He climbed the stairs with quiet and deliberate steps and was almost to the top when she noticed his presence. Her countenance changed to an angry scowl. And he paused one foot hanging above the next tread, wondering if he should just magic the tray to her side and disappear until she was calmer again.

Before he was able to make that decision she spoke, glaring at him. “Are you here to apologize?”

He took the final steps up to the library proper and stood there, glaring down at her. He spoke with as much dignity as he could muster, “The Dark One never apologizes.”

“Then you should leave.”

She crossed her arms and looked away and he cursed to himself. This wasn’t going how he’d imagined at all.

He shifted from foot to foot and glanced around the room as he wondered again whether he should just leave the tray and go away. He took a step towards her side table when she turned to look back at him and he froze in place, his left foot hanging in midair.

She spoke in almost a whisper, “And what about Rumplestiltskin? Does he apologize?”

He stumbled. Getting his feet underneath himself again he glanced warily into her piercing blue gaze that seemed to be trying to read his very soul. He could only meet her stare briefly before he had to look away again. He should leave. He was on dangerous territory here and he didn’t know how to handle it.

He focused on his fingers twitching on the tray he was holding. The green-gold skin of the Dark One and the black nails -- so inhuman and nothing like his human hands had been. No the Dark One didn’t apologize but then again Dark One wouldn’t have brought that tray up here and expected nothing in return.

He didn’t know what it was about Belle. Why this young noblewoman affected him so. How she could look at him as if she could see his soul, as if she understood him. How could she even think that the Dark One and Rumplestiltskin were not entirely one and the same?The only other one who’d thought that was long gone from these lands. Would Belle become as disillusioned with him one day as his Bae had?

He risked another glance at Belle and she was still watching him calmly. He met her eyes for a second and she quirked her eyebrow as if to say “well?”.

He looked away again, focusing on the rows of bookcases behind her, and muttered quietly, “Rumplestiltskin sometimes apologizes.”

He moved towards her and placed the tray on the side table next to her.

Then he took a step back and stood in front of her swaying from side to side uncertainly. Belle didn’t say anything just watched him with those wide blue eyes of hers and he wavered between wanting to run away back to his tower room and stay here forever with her.

His gaze flitted over the room, to anything but her. He couldn’t think what to do or say, and Belle didn’t offer any assistance.

The silence wore on and on, until eventually Belle sighed. “Well, if you’re not going to say anything, perhaps you ought to go.”

The startled him and he looked up, to see yet more hurt that he had caused on her face. Now that would not do at all. What was it she had said was her motto? 'Do the brave thing and bravery will follow?' It seemed like arrant nonsense to him but then he was a lifelong coward. But perhaps he needed to try something new -- for her.

He took a deep breath and then said quickly, “I didn’t mean to upset you this morning.” When she didn’t respond he continued, “I smelled blood and thought you were hurt… It was an accident. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you or… or anything else. I swear.”

She chewed on her lip for a few minutes seeming to ponder his reply carefully. “I suppose I can understand how that happened.”

She paused and he wondered if she had done until she continued in a quiet voice. “It’s just… It felt like you were yet another man mocking and discomforting me just for being a woman.” She crossed her arms across her chest looking awkward and uncertain.

His fingers curled into fists as he felt a flash of anger at the men who had done that to her; he had a sudden urge to hunt them all down one by one. But his anger towards those anonymous men was soon overridden by a deeper an anger and shame. He’d made her feel like that. Bad enough any man had upset her so, but so much worse he had. His fingernails bit painfully into his palms as if as his hands wanted to punish him. He’d come up here to make amends but his appeasement offers now looked so pathetic and small compared with the hurt in her voice.

He didn’t know what to do now. He wanted to retreat and rethink his approach but he sensed that would make things worse. He just wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say or do now.

“Do you want to go?” He blurted out.

She looked puzzled, “Go? Go where?”

“Anywhere. Leave the Dark Castle. Travel the world as you’ve always dreamed... And get yourself far away from me.”

“I can’t. That would break our deal.”

“I could release you from it if you are no longer uncomfortable here.”

She blinked at him and frowned. “You spent the first few weeks I was here deliberately making me uncomfortable. What’s changed now?”

Rumplestiltskin shifted his weight and tried to think of a way he could get out of this conversation with his dignity in tact.

“Perhaps I’ve decided I don’t mind having you around.”

Her mouth quirked into a half-smile, “How does that lead to you wanting to let me go?”

“Because...” He shifted nervously, the urge to lie almost overwhelming. Taking a breath he said quickly, “Maybe I prefer you being happy here... Maybe I like some of your changes to the castle and our conversations about books… But those wouldn’t be the same if you truly hated and feared me the way you did when you first arrived.”

She shook her head and smiled slightly. “I didn’t like you at first, I’ll admit that. But I never really hated you and I wasn’t all that afraid of you.”

He smiled, “You are such a pretty, brave little thing aren’t you.”

She blushed and glanced away, and he cursed inwardly as he realized what he’d just revealed to her. He was digging himself into an even deeper hole with every moment he spent here talking to his maid.

Belle met his eyes again and he was once more held in thrall by her piercing gaze. “Do you want me to go Rumplestiltskin?”

He shook his head violently, “Gods no!”

“Then I will stay. On one condition.”

He stilled, “And what is that?”

“You tell me you’re sorry.”

He resisted the urge to hiss and automatically deny her request. He could feel the Dark One roiling inside him and yelling at him that only weaklings and cowards had to apologize. But he was beginning to think this apology might take more courage than almost anything else he’d done in his life.

He was dimly aware of the silence dragging on as the minutes passed and Belle watched him with her arms crossed protectively across her chest.

He took a deep breath looked down at his feet briefly and then raised his eyes to hers for a moment before flitting away to a point past her shoulder and mumbled in a low tone, “I’m sorry I upset you.”

Belle’s smile was brilliant. She stepped forward and squeezed his hands with hers. Then gave him a swift hug -- so like that one in the forest -- before standing back looking at him with that broad smile still on her face. “Thank you. I know that was hard for you, so thank you.”

He nodded not trusting himself to speak at that moment.

She looked to the tray he’d placed on the side table when he’d come in. “What is all this?”

“Oh, I knew you were upset so I brought you some things to make it up to you.”

She looked amused. "The Dark One doesn't do apologies but does do apology gift?" she said. “What are they for? I see herbs, some cloth and an envelope.”

“Ah well... the herbs are different teas you can make to ease your, um, symptoms.” He said, waving a hand vaguely towards her middle.

“And the cloth?”

“The printed cloth is a herb bag you can heat by the fire to ease any, um, pains you have. The, er, rest of the cloth is some soft cotton rags that are extra absorbent for the, um --” he was the Dark One damn it he wasn’t going to blush --”bleeding.” He could feel his cheeks heating and he hastened on with his explanation, “the pile will magically replenish itself when you get near the end it so you’ll never run out of the rags.”

Belle’s cheeks looked a little pink too, but mostly she looked like she was trying not to laugh. He hoped that was a good sign. “That’s very thoughtful of you. And the envelope?”

“Ah, well.” He magicked it over into her hands, “perhaps you should open it to see for yourself.”

She opened the envelope and pulled out the little slips of parchment and began reading through them. Then looked up at him with bright eyes.

“Are these real? There’s no secret deal or trick to them?”

He shook his head, “You have my word. They are exactly what they appear to be.”

She smiled that brilliant smile of hers and held out one of the slips to him. “In that case I want to make use of this one right away.”

He glanced down at the words written in his own hand, ‘Rumplestiltskin will read to you.’

She grinned up at him. “I trust it won’t be a problem for you to read to me right now?”

He shook his head and bowed to her, “No, I am at your service lady.” He straightened up. “Now what is it you wish to read?”

She smiled at him, “Why don’t you pick out something you like -- for us both to enjoy.”

He stared at her as he tried to think of anything suitable he could read to her. Distant memories of sitting on a little bed, reading to a sick boy appeared and he wandered to the section where he’d placed all oldest books upon creating the Library. He pulled out a dusty and well-worn book of children’s tales.

Soon he was seated in the armchair across from Belle, while she was curled up on her couch under a blanket with the warm bag of herbs on her lap and sipping a cup of the herbal tea he’d made.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She nodded, “Yes, Rumple.”

‘Rumple’, he thought could get used to hearing her sweet voice saying that nickname… forever. But now was not the time for thoughts, or hopes, like that. Now was the time to focus on Belle, the here and now and this story.

He smiled and began, “Once upon a time...”

#Fluffapalooza #Fluffapalooza 2021 #Rumbelle #Rumbelle Fic #My Fic #Fic: Amends #Shadowedoracle's Fic

18 notes · View notes

hms-chill · 5 years ago

Text

Birthday Breakfast

Summary: It's Alex's birthday, and Henry is going to surprise him with breakfast in bed, and it's going to be beautiful and domestic and perfect.

The best thing about Alex's birthday coming after Henry's is that, if Alex has a particularly sweet birthday idea, Henry can borrow it and claim that it was part of his plan all along. In his defense, Henry had a birthday plan in place back in January. They're taking the weekend to go camping upstate, a celebration that starts the minute they both get off work, but he hasn't figured out how to tell Alex about it yet. All Alex knows is that he's not supposed to plan anything for the weekend. Luckily, Alex has the perfect idea without even knowing it.

On Henry's birthday, Alex woke him up with a full English breakfast in bed, going one step farther to include actual crumpets unlike any Henry's seen since he moved to New York. Somehow, Alex had managed to make crumpets exactly the way Henry likes them, down to the blackcurrant jam, and he'd kept them a complete surprise. And, while Henry's not the best cook, he knows Alex deserves to be pampered the same way. A nice breakfast tray with the booking confirmation postcard will be the perfect start to Alex's morning and the perfect reveal of their weekend plans.

The first task of the morning is to get himself awake and out of bed without waking Alex. Morning Alex is a stunning sight, and waking up next to him still feels like a blessing every time it happens. They'd spent so long waking up on different continents and in different time zones, just being together every morning feels miraculous. But this morning, Henry doesn't have time to revel in it, only to whisper a quiet thanks to Santa Maria, realizing as he gets up that it's something he's picked up from Alex. He presses a gentle kiss to Alex's forehead, sees the way he shifts and reaches for Henry's now-empty side of the bed and settles for curling around one of Henry's pillows like a koala. He's still pretty deeply asleep, which means that hopefully, Henry will be able to make breakfast before Alex wakes up.

Henry gets to the kitchen, and he takes a second to figure out where to start. He'd debated doing huevos rancheros, but he knows he'd do them wrong; the Diaz family recipe for them is infuriatingly vague and guarded like a dragon's treasure. So instead, he's opted for crepes, based on a recipe he's got on his phone. They look simple enough, and the crepe spreader he'd ordered online came in two days ago, so he's as ready as he can be.

The actual process of making the batter is quick and easy, and before he knows it, he's pouring a careful scoop into the skillet for crepe number one. It goes surprisingly well. It's not the best crepe he's ever seen, but it isn't burnt or raw, and he'll settle for that for now. The second crepe works, too, and the third. And while the fourth is cooking, he decides he should probably start on the fillings. They only put sugar on the crepes they'd had in Paris, that weekend when they'd woken up together and the whole world had seemed beautiful and perfect, but Henry doesn't trust his crepes to be that good. So instead, he's got all sorts of fresh fillings and different spreads, and he's bringing the whole mini crepe bar to Alex. He pours crepe number four, then goes to the refrigerator for all the fresh fruit he'd stocked up on the day before. There are blueberries and strawberries and raspberries and bananas, all ready to be cut up and moved to little bowls for Alex to construct his own perfect crepes.

Crepe four is less than perfect; it gets a bit burnt while he's getting fruit ready, but Henry forges on, starting bacon for a savory option and coffee to go on the side. He finds the confirmation postcard from the campground and writes on the back, "'I live for Friday, & you. My man-- my beloved man'-- Benjamin Britten to Peter Pears, c. 1941". The next step is to flip a crepe and get back to chopping fruit, and Henry starts to fall into a rhythm, sorting different spreads and sauces into the right containers and getting them and the fruit all settled onto the tray. He manages to keep flipping crepes when they need it, and he's rather proud of his ability to multitask, even fitting in a quick run up to their bedroom to make sure that Alex is still asleep.

When he first starts to smell something burning, he flips the crepe and it's not that, so he assumes he must be imagining things. It's his paranoia that makes it seem smoky in the kitchen. That is, he's assuming it's just his paranoia, until his phone lights up with a notification from their security system: "Smoke detected in the kitchen!"

A moment later, the fire alarm blares.

The bacon. Oh god. It's black and smoking like anything. Henry pulls it off the stove and immediately douses the charred remains in water, but the massive puff of steam only makes everything worse. He opens a window and frantically tries to wave the smoke out, barely remembering to get the crepe off the heat before it makes the situation even worse. When the alarm is finally quiet and things have calmed down, he turns around to see Alex appearing in the doorway to the kitchen, all bed head and rumpled pajama pants, tired blinking and massive yawns.

"H? Everything okay, baby? It smells like smoke."

"I... I made breakfast. It was supposed to be a nice breakfast in bed, but um... I'm sorry. Happy birthday anyway?"

The concern melts from Alex's face, and he crosses the kitchen to pull Henry in for a hug. "I love you so much. Want me to go back to bed and pretend I'm still asleep so you can wake me up and surprise me?"

Henry smiles, presses a kiss to Alex's forehead, and says, "well, that would mean you'd have to leave, and that's never something I want. Just... sit down, and it'll be ready soon. I'm sorry I woke you, and that there won't be bacon."

He turns back to the tray as Alex says, "don't be sorry. I love you." Instead of sitting down at the table and waiting, Alex wraps his arms around his boyfriend, nuzzling his face into Henry's shoulder. "I'll just fall asleep right here; you wake me up when you're ready."

Henry laughs, helpless to do anything else, and Alex hugs him a little more tightly. True to his word, he stays glued to Henry's back as Henry moves everything onto the tray, arranging it just so and making sure that the note is unmissable, dusting the crepes with powdered sugar and adding their coffee and tea. Once it's all ready, he turns to kiss the top of Alex's head, running his hands through Alex's hair gently.

"It's ready. Good morning, love. Happy birthday." And yes, this is a day about celebrating Alex. Technically, all the gifts should go to him. But as far as Henry's concerned, every second he gets to spend with Alex this close is a gift all its own.

On AO3

Notes: Hi it's Alex's birthday and these boys deserve the best. That's it; that's the author's note.

If you want to support the “Hannah Makes Art” fund; consider buying me a Ko-fi? I know not everyone can, but if you’re able I’d appreciate it!

#rwrb fic #rwrb #red white and royal blue #red white and royal blue fic #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor x alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex's birthday #firstprince #firstprince fluff #rwrb fluff

111 notes · View notes

misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 5 years ago

Text

Dean Winchester and Castiel's Shirt

Dean has no idea why he wakes up, when he does. But he finds himself blinking himself awake - at four hours past midnight, and four hours to morning, a long look at the clock tells him.

Still groggy, he decides that it couldn't have been the fact that he wasn't in his own bed. Not when he was in Castiel's bed, with the man himself wrapped around him - familiar scruff and soft lips ghosting over the back of his neck, and making his skin tingle, and the warm, and grounding weight of a hand slung around his middle, as though Cas were refusing to let him more than inches away, even in his sleep.

All of it, from the sweet smell of honey, nowhere in particular but emanating from everywhere at the same time - and the bed dipping to glove them further together on the large white space, Dean feels nothing if not comfortable.

But as the sleep-weary cogs in his brain begin to click, an involuntary shudder ran up his spine, too harsh for Cas's simple closeness to have caused.

He's cold.

Consequently, Dean plucks himself from Castiel's embrace, already feeling strange as they separate, but proceeds to shuffle along the sheets, cautious to not make a shred of noise, till he's planted his bare feet on the soft, carpeted floor - and then he yawns, and stretches, and realizes he's very cold.

He steals a glance behind him, at the simply beautiful man he'd been asleep in the arms of. Cas's eyes are thankfully still closed, his face for once not crinkled into either frown or smile, and his right leg is all up in Dean's space - one hand folded in the cove between their pillow, and the other lying limp in the spot Dean vacated.

It makes for a truly inviting picture, and Dean has to resist the urge to simply jump back, as it were - maybe push a little more towards him for warmth, maybe receive a tighter cuddle in response.

But Cas's nightshirt, rumpled but present nonetheless, pointedly reminds him of the absence of his own. Dean has always been used to sleeping with either just his boxers on, or naked, but then he's not always lived in fucking Maine.

So, he fights his own heart, and drudges across the room to look for his clothes - in a vague kind of hurry. He doesn't immediately find his shirt, though it should definitely be there - but the moment his eyes fall on the plaid bundle in the corner of the room - he remembers exactly why it had been disposed of, in this manner. To be precise, his bleary brain is struck with a string of clear, tantalizing memories of just the previous night - only a few hours ago, and how Dean's shirt had had to be sacrificed in the excited hurry to be done with the cleaning up, and get resettled in the orgasm-wrung pleasure, slot against each other in a more tender way this time.

But once the first stream of scenes playing in his head subside, so do the hints of arousal, and sense returns. He can't possibly be chubbing up when the rest of him is freezing, so he tries to not think about that anymore, and renews his hunt for clothes - the sooner he finds something, the sooner he'd be able to return to bed.

And well, as they say, if a man wishes hard enough, he'll find his boyfriend's shirt hanging at the back of a chair, quickly enough. Dean runs his gaze over the soft, thick blue fabric once, which is thankfully free of any come, and begins to put it on thoughtlessly.

With one hand through the sleeve, it suddenly dawns upon him, that this is Cas's.

When he's got both his arms in, he realizes that he's actually wearing it. He's in something, which was on Castiel, and it feels soft, and warm.

When he rights the collar, and begins to do the buttons in a vaguely excited emotion - the information seems to settle. It weighs light, like Cas's shirt on his shoulders - and it weighs warm. There's a slight stretch, and a moment of involuntary joy at the strange evidence of him being wider than Cas, up there, but soon realizes he's done the buttons wrong - and then there's the way it hugs him down low, and it is all just -

Dean doesn't know when he's walked up to the mirror, hung on the adjacent wall. But a single look at it, stuns him.

In a single beat, he's imagined more about Cas and him than he's let himself wonder, in all their weeks of being together. In that moment, he sees them sharing shirts more often, sharing closets even - moving in together. He sees Cas in his favorite, most worn ones - and he sees himself in Cas's stupid ties, perhaps for when he has those job interviews, when he graduates. He sees himself teasing Cas as he wears his tie just right, and he sees Cas rolling his eyes at him as he pulls it astray. Somehow, he sees them sharing even more, even far ahead - and then suddenly, in his mind, he's dropping Cas off to work and Cas is paying for the groceries, and he's holding out a cooled spatula for Cas to lick, and Cas is leaning in and altogether like a kick to the back of his knees, he sees them sharing their vows way ahead of the ceremony to make sure they don't have any repeating lines, and they're shading their rather distinct opinions on bedroom curtains, and -

"Dean?"

Dean turns in a shocking speed, blinking hazily at the mess of a man pawing at the sheets - apparently still hunting for Dean in them. "Cas."

"Oh, that's -" Cas pauses. He looks like he wants to say something about the shirt Dean has on - and Dean squirms at the picture he makes, with Cas's formal shirt fully buttoned over nothing at all below, looking utterly dazzled for no reason at all. But then Cas doesn't say anything about the shirt at all. "Come back?" He asks.

"Wait." Dean fidgets, and does a quick check of the room. He finds Cas's pants on the armchair. "I'll just -"

"Dean." Cas persists, in a voice which is rough and sleep-addled, yet sounds gorgeous to him. "C'mere."

"I, uh, am." Dean stammers, still out of it. "It's a little cold, and I'm -" He turns to look Cas in the eye; with a wide, moved look, midway to stepping into Cas's boxers.

"Oh." Cas says, for a second time.

"Nevermind." Dean shucks them away, the fight in him against the cold abandoned for Cas, and starts towards the bed, when Cas stops him.

"You know what?" He interrupts Dean. "Put those on. Maybe, uh. Just those." Dean looks down at the floor, and once again, only now realizes that he'd been about to get in Cas's underwear. "And then come here?"

Dean blinks at him. Wondering how he was ever going to deal with the stupidly ridiculous extent of his feelings for him - as were just pronounced by the momentary lapse of restraint, brought about by the shockingly pretty imagery of him in Cas's clothes.

"I promise I won't even hog the blankets this time." Cas says, gently, as if he knows he's breaking Dean's reverie as he does.

"As long as you spoon me well enough, I promise to not note the difference." Dean says, finally finding his voice in the teasing tone he uses, as he pulls the boxers up - they're plain, and grey and fit pretty great - and finally joins Cas in bed again.

"I strive to do my best." Cas smiles, slow and loving, his lips pressed more firmly along the line of thd collar - and pulls Dean closer, and Dean feels the tension fade eventually - as sleep brings with it only the bliss of the realization that he might be in love.

***

After a long, long while ~ I'm aware ~ here goes nothing, guys: @ctrl-alt-destiel @emmii4 @awkward-penguin-in-a-trenchcoat @styggtroll @adventurous-blob @petrichoravellichor @all-or-nothing-baby @moderatelypanickedbiromantic @elvenlicht @legendary-destiel @noemithenephilim @galaxy-charm @trenchcoatsandfreckles @naitia @ladywaywarddsc @zoerayne2426 @thekidsmaybealright @hellfire37 @3dg310rdsupreme @impulsivedandelion @iamcharliebradburylevelperfect

Taglist is open, but updates are rare. I'm so sorry, but life is a bish in general, and I'm too occupied dealing? I love you all, though. Thank you for all the love! Please have a wonderful day and keep it sailing!

657 notes · View notes

kmomof4 · 4 years ago

Text

Going Home Ch2 of Somewhere Out There 3A Canon Divergence

I’ve wanted to continue this canon divergence for a while and I’m so thrilled to be sharing it with you all now! This fic wouldn’t have been possible without the INVALUABLE eyes, insight, questions, and cheering of @thisonesatellite. Thank you so much, my friend!!! I hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think!

Ch Summary: After True Love’s Kiss works in bringing back Emma and Henry’s memories, CS and Henry return home to the Enchanted Forest.

Rating: For this chapter, G. For the entire fic, M (smut)

Words: 2500 of 5300 total

Tags: 3A Canon Divergence

Ch1 | Ao3 chapter link | Ao3 fic link

Tag List: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @branlovestowrite @thisonesatellite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @nikkiemms @xsajx @klynn-stormz

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

The Jolly Roger cut smoothly across the crystal clear water, swiftly approaching the castle of Snow White and Prince Charming. Emma felt a thrill of excitement skitter down her spine as she beheld the flawless edifice for the first time. Memories of her first trip to the Enchanted Forest paraded themselves across her mind’s eye, the ruins of the castle she was born in, as well as her mother’s tears when faced with its destruction.

But this morning, with the sun rising over the mountains that surrounded her parents castle, the exterior nearly blinded her. The rays reflected off the white stone and turrets she remembered her mother talking about after they returned home from their Enchanted Forest adventure until her vision was positively dazzled. Her family and the other inhabitants of the place of her birth had obviously worked hard to rebuild in the year that they’d been back here. Or maybe Regina had simply waved her hand to restore the castle to its former glory.

They had left New York forever the next day after spending that Saturday packing up what they wanted to take with them and taking care of all the loose ends that would have been left had they simply disappeared. They arrived two days later at the familiar rocky coast of what had once been Storybrooke to find nothing but unblemished forest and sea birds. Poor Henry looked like he was about to cry, and she had to admit that she was having trouble hiding her own tears as well. She’d been careful, she thought, about getting her hopes up, but seeing with her own eyes no trace of Storybrooke, she realized just how much she had come to think of the small town as home and just how disappointed she was that it wasn’t there. Killian helped dispel the melancholy that had enveloped them by taking them both in his arms and assuring them that he would get them home to their family. They changed course, back toward New York until they found and fell through the portal that would take them home.

A feeling of peace, of home settled over her for the first time in her life. All her life she’d been shuffled from place to place, group home to foster home and back again. And even as an adult, the longest she’d stayed anywhere was Tallahassee. But with her pirate and son behind her, she looked over her shoulder to see Killian leaving Henry at the helm and begin making his way toward her, and the rest of her family ahead of her, living in a fairy tale castle to boot, she had never felt so content.

Strong arms circled around her waist and clasped over her middle. She covered his hands with her own as he nuzzled into her neck, placing a tender kiss right behind her ear. “What are you thinking, Swan?” he murmured.

She turned in his arms and raised up onto her toes to kiss him. “Just how much this feels like home. Neal told me, years ago, that home was the place that when you left, you just missed it. Obviously I never missed the Enchanted Forest. I’d never lived here. And going back to where Storybrooke had been made me realize how very much I missed my family.” She looked up at him through her lashes. “Missed you. Even if I didn’t remember.”

Killian smiled down at her. “Aye, Love. We missed you, too.” He gathered her in his arms and hugged her tightly for a few moments before he gave her a chaste kiss and released her, turning back toward the helm. She watched as he took over from Henry and her son started towards her.

“So, what do you think, Mom?” he queried as he leaned against the gunwale.

She smiled at him. “I think we’re home. And I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to see our family again.”

“Agreed,” he said, staring at the castle that was growing ever closer. Just a few minutes later, they were able to make out the dock at the back of the castle. Emma couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that there didn’t appear to be anyone to meet them. Wouldn’t someone have seen them coming from the towers of the palace?

Killian carefully brought the Jolly into berth as Henry secured the ship to the dock. Just as they were making their way down the gangplank, the Blue Fairy appeared before them. She gave a small bow before speaking.

“Thank you, Captain,” she began, “for bringing the Savior home.” Suddenly, the fairy pulled a small vial out of mid-air, uncorked it, and tossed its contents onto Emma.

Emma was frozen in place. Fear gripped her as she heard Killian and Henry shout, Killian drawing his sword in her defense, Henry’s face a mask of shock and dismay. Before Killian could reach the fairy, she waved her wand and a blue cloud of magic enveloped her and the magical being. Moments later, she found herself in a dark cave lit only by torch light. It took a few moments before she could see well enough to realize it was the same cave prison that Killian had left her in before she and her mother had made it back to Storybrooke. Only this time, it was the Blue Fairy on the other side of the bars, not her True Love and Cora. Emma lunged at the bars.

“What are you doing?” she shouted.

Emma stared at the fairy, stunned. She looked sad, apologetic almost, for her actions, at the state Emma found herself in. She rattled the bars in anger. “Answer me! What have you done? Where are my parents?”

“Your parents are fine, Your Highness.” Emma huffed at the fairy’s use of her title.

“Why are you calling me “Your Highness” if you’ve put me in this dungeon?” Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on her captor.

“Because you are still the Princess in this land, and I’m truly sorry to have to do this.” And with that enigmatic statement, the Blue Fairy disappeared. Emma shook the bars before her again and shouted as loudly as she could. There was no response. She turned and looked around, trying to think of anything that she could possibly do to get out. Trying to use magic was useless. She at least remembered that much from her previous imprisonment. The light from the torch just outside the cell reflected off of something lodged into a crevice in the rock wall. Walking over to it, she saw it was a small mirror. Pulling it out, the glass was suddenly filled with a purple smoke before a dark skinned, kindly, ageless face appeared.

“Hello, Savior,” he greeted her.

Emma couldn’t keep the shocked surprise out of her voice. “Who are you? How do you know who I am?”

“Who I am doesn’t matter, Savior, but yes, I know exactly who you are, Emma Swan,” he intoned. “And I also know what the Blue Fairy is doing.”

It took Emma a moment to absorb what he just said. “You do? Why?” she asked, “She is supposed to be one of my parents closest friends and advisors. Why would she do this?”

His bottomless brown eyes grew sad as he answered her. “I have watched the Blue Fairy for many years, since long before you were born. She has forsaken her duty of protecting your family. It is my responsibility to rein her in, to deprive her of the source of her power and now that she is back in a realm with magic, I am able to do so.”

“Are you taking her magic?” Emma queried.

The man smiled enigmatically. “When she realized that her magic was weakening, she sent Killian to bring you home.”

“She gave me the dream so that I would recognize Killian when he got there,” she breathed. “She repositioned Cygnus, both here and in my world, so that he could find me.”

He nodded slowly. “Indeed.”

Emma looked back at the bars. “Can you help me get out of here?”

“I cannot help you escape beyond what I’ve already done. You have the means at your disposal. Good luck, Savior.” Magic began to swirl in the mirror.

“Wait,” Emma cried, “Who are you?”

“I am Merlin. Don’t you know me?” he answered with a smile before he disappeared in a swirl of smoke.

Emma stared at the glass before her, not knowing what to do. She remembered what Rumplestiltskin had told her when they had all returned from New York after she found Neal. That magic was not an intellectual endeavor. She had to feel it. Squaring her shoulders, taking a deep breath, and shutting her eyes, she thought of Killian and Henry and how much she loved them and wanted to be with them again.

She opened her eyes again to see her two favorite people smiling at her. Her own face broke into a grin. “Swan,” Killian cried, “Are you alright? Where are you?”

“I’m below the castle in the dungeon. In Rumple’s cell,” she explained. “Where’s Mom and Dad? And Regina?”

“We’re here, Emma,” her mother called. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re alright,” she exclaimed, pushing her way into the mirror’s glass. Her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t believe you’re really here! And that Blue would do this!”

“Merlin gave me this mirror so we could communicate. She’s trying to steal my magic because he’s been draining hers for her failure in upholding her duty to our family.”

Snow’s face was an “O” of shocked disbelief. Regina appeared in the mirror. “So what do we do?” she asked. “We obviously can’t trust the Blue Fairy anymore.”

“Merlin said that I have the tools at my disposal. I figured out what to do with the mirror. But maybe, my magic too? That’s a tool, isn’t it? Mom, Cora said that even Rumplestiltskin couldn’t escape this prison. Why? What’s so special about it?”

“We had it specially constructed and magically protected so that he could never escape. Only light and dark magic combined can weaken the enchantment.”

They turned their eyes upon Regina. “Two sides of the same coin,” Emma whispered. “Regina, you attack from outside the prison, I attack from inside. That would do it, right?”

Regina’s eyebrows rose. “It should. But what about Blue? Where is she? How do we neutralize her?”

“Regina!” Snow scolded.

Regina rolled her eyes. “I’m not talking about killing her. Just neutralizing her. Taking her magic, making her unable to fight us.”

“She disappeared. I have no idea where she is. But, if she’s wanting my magic, I would assume that she won’t be gone long.”

“Maybe she’s gone to collect some kind of vessel to contain your magic in, Love,” Killian speculated.

“In that case, we need to get Emma out of there.” Emma nearly burst into tears when she heard her father in the background.

Emma wiped at her eyes furiously as Regina, Killian, Henry, and her parents all appeared before her on the other side of the bars. Emma ran for the bars trying to reach and touch all of them at once.

“Okay, okay,” Charming shouted. “The reunion will have to wait until after Emma’s free. On the count of three. One, two, three!”

Emma stepped back and held up her hands sending a stream of magic at the bars that Regina matched on the other side. White and Dark magic met and sparks flew. Emma could see her family shielding their eyes against the clash of magic and, she’d be honest, if she wasn’t one of the magic wielders, she’d be doing the same. The heat and the power that coursed through her was like nothing that she’d ever known and she was suddenly aware of why the people around her had believed in her so much and for so long. Suddenly, Killian was there, at a hole in the bars big enough for her to climb through.

At that moment, Blue appeared. Quick as an adder strike, Regina shot the fairy with a blast of dark magic, knocking her back into the cell where she had imprisoned Emma. She appeared stunned as Regina shouted, “Seal the bars, Miss Swan!”

“Do it, Mom!”

Emma shot another blast of magic at the bars, making them whole again. Regina cast a binding spell both on Blue and the cell as realization dawned on their former friend and ally.

“No!” she cried.

Snow and Charming stepped forward. “Yes. You have betrayed us in the worst possible way, Blue,” Charming said, his face hard as stone. “For that, you deserve banishment and death. However, in gratitude for your part in bringing Emma home to us, your life will not end by our hand. Once your magic is gone, you will age like the rest of us. You will remain behind bars until death sets you free. This is your punishment for the crimes against our family.” He turned to his wife, who nodded in agreement with his sentence.

Blue looked from face to face, hoping to find some glimmer of regret, a sliver of affinity in anyone’s eyes, anything that she could try to manipulate to her advantage. There was none. She bowed her head as the family turned from her in her prison and walked away.

The jubilant group emerged into the sunshine. Henry was immediately gathered in Regina’s arms, where he was overjoyed to hug his adoptive mother just as tightly as she was hugging him. Emma found herself gathered in the arms of her parents, tears flowing freely as she felt her father’s hand on the back of her head. Pulling back, astonished, Emma looked down at her mother’s very pregnant belly. It hadn’t even registered in all the action of the last few minutes until Snow gathered her close in a hug that was a year in the making. More tears spilled as Emma expressed her joy at the impending birth of her brother or sister.

Finally pulling out of her parents embrace, Emma reached out for Killian. “Mom, Dad,” she began, smiling affectionately at her True Love, “Killian brought me, brought us, home.” He took her hand, a gentle smile on his face, as she turned back toward her parents.

“We know, sweetheart,” David told her. “When Killian and Henry appeared, he was just able to tell us what happened and how he got to you. Then you appeared in the mirror.”

“Did he tell you about True Love’s Kiss bringing back my and Henry’s memories?”

David’s grin split his face. “Yes, he did. And I, we, couldn’t be happier,” he said, looking at his wife.

“We will plan an engagement and welcome home ball at once,” she exclaimed, green eyes gleaming with excitement.

Emma turned resigned and amused eyes upon her pirate. “Welcome home, Love,” he said, before leaning down and capturing her lips with his own.

“Yep, I guess I am,” she agreed.

Looking around at the faces of the people who loved her, she knew that she was home. Exactly where she wanted to be.

The End

#cs ff #somewhere out there #ch2 #going home #krystal writes

27 notes · View notes

remywrites5 · 5 years ago

Note

Oh I love all of your drabbles and always go through your feed to make sure I didn’t miss any! Could I get a meet-ugly for wolfstar? Like something goes horribly wrong but it makes them meet and laugh?

Remus was sitting in the chairs by his terminal waiting for his plane. He’d finally snagged a spot near an outlet so that he could charge his phone. He had passed out the night before without charging it and was just lucky he’d remembered to set his alarm or else he might have missed his flight. The term was over and Remus was on his way back to Wales for the Christmas Holiday to visit his parents. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to seeing his dad, as he’d gotten enough chilly silences for a lifetime, but his mum would kill him if he elected to stay in London for Christmas.

He had already scrolled through all the usual social media apps and watched a few Youtube videos. With nothing better to do, Remus opened Tinder with usual amount of trepidation. Lily had forced him to sign up for the app, claiming it wasn’t as bad as he thought. It had led to a few awkward dates that usually resulted in Remus getting ghosted, and a few even more awkward one night stands that also led to Remus being ghosted. His track record wasn’t the best.

He was scrolling through, trying to remind him of what Lily had said. “Not everyone is going to have your same interests, Remus. You have to give people a chance.” Remus thought he had given quite a few people a chance and that hadn’t exactly worked out for him. No matter how much he tried he couldn’t swipe right on someone whose entire profile was pictures of them at the gym.

His finger hesitated over a picture of someone who absolutely couldn’t be real. He had long, dark hair that fell well past his shoulders and grey eyes that Remus thought must have been either contact lenses or photoshopped. High cheekbones and sinful lips the man looked like a model. Remus was not about to get catfished by a picture that was probably of someone famous that he just didn’t recognize. Besides, what kind of a name was Sirius anyway? It was obviously fake.

He swiped left. Not today, Satan.

“Hard pass on that guy, huh?” Someone said from above Remus. “Ouch.”

Remus glanced up and the first thing he noticed were grey eyes. He felt his own eyes widen in surprise as he took in the rest of the guy standing in front of him. It was the guy he had just swiped left on. Here, in the flesh, very much real. “Oh my god,” he said, feeling a blush of embarrassment rise to his cheeks.

“I’ll try not to take it too personally,” the guy said, sitting down across from Remus and crossing his legs.

“I-I didn’t – “ Remus said, tripping over his words from his absolute mortification. “I-I thought…”

“It’s okay,” Sirius said, realizing quickly that Remus was struggling and letting him off the hook. “You don’t have to explain.”

“I thought you weren’t real!” Remus said, finally able to get the words out and saying them a bit louder than he’d originally intended.

Sirius raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m just that stunning, huh?” he joked, sliding an elastic off his wrist and putting his hair up into a messy bun.

Remus swallowed thickly. “You have to be careful with stuff like this,” Remus explained, pretending that seeing Sirius’ hair up like that wasn’t doing things to him. “You see a Tinder profile with a name like Sirius and the picture looks like you…it doesn’t seem all that realistic, does it?”

Sirius barked out a laugh. “Okay, I’ll give you the name, it’s been a pain in the arse my entire life.”

Remus found himself leaning forward in Sirius’ direction. “Mine’s not much better,” he assured Sirius with a knowing grin. “Remus Lupin.”

Sirius grabbed his bag and moved, sliding into the seat next to Remus. “Nice to meet you, Remus Lupin. I’ll have to remember the name so I can tell my mates all about the guy who broke my heart at the airport.”

Remus ducked his head down. “I don’t think it’s anything as serious as that.”

“Oh you wound me,” Sirius said, clutching at his chest. “So what’s your chat up line on Tinder? Anything good?”

“I usually say hi my name is Remus.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “No wonder you’re still on there.”

“Well what’s yours then?” Remus challenged, bumping his shoulder against Sirius’ lightly.

“Usually something like call me Jaffa cake because I’m looking like a snack!”

Remus burst out laughing. “I can see why you’re still on there too.”

Sirius smirked. “Call me biscuit because I wanna be filled with your custard crème.”

Remus laughed even harder, doubling over and clutching his sides. “Oh god, I can’t breathe!”

Sirius laughed with him, Remus’ mirth spurring him on until neither of them could stop laughing. By the time Remus calmed down he had tears in his eyes that he quickly wiped away.

“You’re mental,” he informed Sirius, shaking his head.

Sirius slung his arm around Remus’ shoulders and pulled him in close as if they were about the share a secret. “It runs in my family,” he said, whispering against Remus’’ ear and making Remus shiver. “In fact it practically gallops.”

Remus turned his head slightly and looked into Sirius’ impossible grey eyes. “Okay Cary Grant,’ he teased, recognizing the Arsenic and Old Lace reference.

Sirius’ eyes lit up when Remus called him out. “Fuck, it’s a real shame you passed on me. I think we would have been good together.”

Remus bit his bottom lip nervously. “Maybe considering we’ve met in real life, we could skip the whole talking on Tinder thing and go right to having each other’s numbers?”

Sirius considered it for a moment. “You’re not going to give me a fake number, are you?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Remus insisted. “Besides, I’m the one who initiated it. Why would I do that if I was just going to give you a fake number?”

Sirius hummed. “Good point. Although I’m already so wounded by you it’s difficult to think rationally!”

They swapped mobiles and Remus programmed his number into Sirius’ phone before handing it back to him. “Really?” he said, seeing what Sirius had put in his phone. “You labeled yourself as Sex God Sirius Black?”

Sirius shrugged. “Oh ye of little faith.”

Remus blushed. “I’m changing it the first chance I get.”

“No!” Sirius said indignantly. “You’re going to deny my claim as a deity? That’s very rude, Remus.”

They called for Remus’ flight to start boarding and Remus found himself disappointed that he couldn’t continue talking with Sirius. At least there was the promise of more conversations to come.

Remus laughed and got to his feet. “Fine, I’ll keep it. But it’ll be under review after the first time we shag.”

Sirius’ jaw dropped. “Remus! Now you’ve put quite a bit of pressure on me for our first time together.”

Remus grinned and bent down so he was mere inches away from Sirius’ face. With a courage he didn’t know he had, he just barely brushed his lips against Sirius’ and enjoyed the little inhale of breath he got in response. “You put the pressure on yourself by programming that as your name in my phone. I’ll have expectations now.”

Sirius rose to the challenge Remus had set down. He grabbed Remus by the front of his jumper and kissed him fiercely. Remus put his hands on Sirius’ shoulders to steady himself as they snogged in the airport. When he finally pulled back, he was breathless with kiss-swollen lips. “I have to go,” he said softly.

“Don’t go to Wales,” Sirius begged, tugging lightly at Remus’ jumper. “Wales is rubbish. Stay here with me.”

Remus chuckled. “What are you even doing here then if you’re staying in London?”

“I’m going to Paris for the week to visit my uncle Alfie,” Sirius explained, pressing kisses along Remus’ jawline.

“Then you’re not staying here either,” Remus reminded him in amusement. “Unless you’re offering to whisk me away to Paris.”

“Now there’s an idea.”

“Sirius, no,” Remus said, laughing softly. “Absolutely mental.”

“Fine,” Sirius said, pressing a kiss to the corner of Remus’ mouth, “I’ll let you go if you promise to be back for New Years and be my date.”

“So now I’m to be held hostage, is that it?” Remus joked, nipping playfully at Sirius’ bottom lip.

Sirius balked. “No, I just – “

Remus silenced him with a kiss. “Yes, I’ll be your date for New Years. Now will you let me board the plane, please?”

“Fine,” Sirius said, releasing his jumper. “Text me?”

“I will,” Remus promised, straightening up and fixing his jumper where it had gotten a bit rumpled from Sirius holding it. He grabbed his bag before getting in the queue to get on the plane. He gave Sirius a smile and a little wave before he disappeared through the door.

He had just found his seat when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and smiled at the name on the notification.

Sex God Sirius Black: I’d like to put an unexpected item in your bagging area.

Remus chuckled and shook his head.

Remus Lupin: Dreadful. Absolutely dreadful. I rescind my offer to be your date on New Years.

Sex God Sirius Black: NOOOOOOOO

Remus Lupin: Also an unexpected item makes it sound kind of rapey.

Sex God Sirius Black: It’s unexpected because of how large it is.

Remus Lupin: They all say that.

Sex God Sirius Black: Haven’t you learned not to doubt me?

Remus Lupin: I think you have a tendency to over-exaggerate.

Sex God Sirius Black: Me? Never!

Remus Lupin: Plane is about to take off. Talk to you later. Plonker.

Remus arrived in Wales less than an hour later. When he got off the plane, his mum was waiting for him and pulled him into a big hug. His dad was nowhere to be found but that suited Remus just fine. He was in the middle of hugging his mum when his phone went crazy with notifications buzzing.

“My, aren’t you popular!” Hope said with a grin.

Remus pulled his phone out. He had fifty-five text messages from Sirius. Shaking his head, he followed his mum out to the car and read them on the way home in between answering questions from his mum.

Sex God Sirius Black: I miss you already.

Sex God Sirius Black: Come back I want more kissing.

Sex God Sirius Black: Fuck, my flight is delayed three hours.

Sex God Sirius Black: I’m bored! Come back!

Sex God Sirius Black: This is a real injustice, Remus. I’ll never forgive you for abandoning me in my hour of need.

Sex God Sirius Black: Just kidding I forgive you.

Sex God Sirius Black: Do you want to get coffee because I like you a latte.

Sex God Sirius Black: Is that one better? More your speed?

Sex God Sirius Black: Fuck this is intolerable.

Sex God Sirius Black: I realize now that I’ve sent you way too many messages and you’re going to be very worried about giving me your mobile number.

Sex God Sirius Black: GO BIG OR GO HOME!

Sex God Sirius Black: I wish you could respond. I like talking to you.

Sex God Sirius Black: How long does it take to get to Wales?! I could swim there faster than this!

Sex God Sirius Black: In case you were wondering, I swiped right on you.

Sex God Sirius Black: Because I’m not a HEARTLESS MONSTER.

Sex God Sirius Black: And I thought you were cute.

Sex God Sirius Black: Although I need to teach you how to take better selfies. You’re absolutely pants at it.

Sex God Sirius Black: The selfies will just be for me though. No more Tinder for you!

Sex God Sirius Black: Or at least I hope.

Sex God Sirius Black: I’m thinking about deleting it myself. Is that too fast? I wouldn’t want to put any more expectations on this than I already have.

Sex God Sirius Black: Bollocks.

Sex God Sirius Black: I deleted it. It’s not like I can’t download it again, right?

Sex God Sirius Black: You probably think I’m a crazy person.

Sex God Sirius Black: Not probably. You definitely think I’m a crazy person.

Sex God Sirius Black: I’ll stop now and leave you alone before I scare you off.

Sex God Sirius Black: Well that lasted all of ten minutes.

Sex God Sirius Black: I went and got a Pumpkin Spice Latte at Starbucks because my chat up line made me want one.

Sex God Sirius Black: Yes, I am 100% that bitch.

Sex God Sirius Black: I hope you don’t think less of me, Remus.

Sex God Sirius Black: Not sure how you could though.

Sex God Sirius Black: I think I’ve probably scared you off. I have a tendency to do that.

Sex God Sirius Black: Not that this kind of thing happens to me a lot.

Sex God Sirius Black: Fuck!

Sex God Sirius Black: Sorry. I’m freaking out a little bit.

Sex God Sirius Black: I like you.

Sex God Sirius Black: Why was it so acceptable for people to write love letters back in Jane Austen time to people they hardly knew but it’s weird if I bombard you with text messages after meeting once and a few snogs?

Sex God Sirius Black: Mr. Darcy wrote Elizabeth Bennett a letter and it was romantic as shit!

Sex God Sirius Black: Did I just make myself Mr. Darcy in this scenario?

Sex God Sirius Black: I feel like you’re much more a Mr. Darcy type than I am.

Sex God Sirius Black: and hey we met because of a misunderstanding!

Sex God Sirius Black: I don’t have a bunch of sisters though. Just a brother named Regulus. We don’t really talk.

Sex God Sirius Black: My Uncle Alfie is sick. Colon cancer. I don’t normally see him for Christmas and just spend it with my friend James.

Sex God Sirius Black: Reg wouldn’t even come with me to see Alfie even though it’s probably going to be his last Christmas.

Sex God Sirius Black: Doesn’t that fucking suck?

Sex God Sirius Black: I’m sure he has his reasons.

Sex God Sirius Black: I don’t really get on with my family.

Sex God Sirius Black: Fuck this is some heavy shit. You running for the hills yet? Blocking my number?

Sex God Sirius Black: Sorry. This isn’t what you signed up for.

Sex God Sirius Black: I’m a bit of a hot mess.

Sex God Sirius Black: Emphasis on the hot.

Sex God Sirius Black: Sorry. I couldn’t help it.

Sex God Sirius Black: I’ll leave you alone until you can actually respond to me.

Sex God Sirius Black: Just know it’ll be difficult for me.

Sex God Sirius Black: If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever.

Sex God Sirius Black: Okay, I’m really done now.

Remus read them all and then went back and read them again. He tried not to laugh out loud because he didn’t exactly want his mum asking him questions. He didn’t want to share the fact that he had snogged a stranger at the airport and then given him his number. He didn’t think his mum would approve.

Remus Lupin: Oh my god!

Sex God Sirius Black: Moony!

Remus Lupin: What?

Sex God Sirius Black: I was bored so I was thinking up a nickname for you.

Remus Lupin: And that was the best you could come up with?

Sex God Sirius Black: Don’t be mean. I was distraught without you!

Remus Lupin: Yes I can see that.

Sex God Sirius Black: Well you’re texting me so I hope that means I haven’t frightened you off.

Remus Lupin: I was slightly alarmed when my phone went crazy in my pocket. But you won me back with the Jane Austen. I do identify with Mr. Darcy because I too hate speaking to people I don’t know and unnecessary dancing.

Sex God Sirius Black: You spoke to me.

Remus Lupin: Rare exception.

Sex God Sirius Black: Aww that makes me feel special.

Remus Lupin You should.

Sex God Sirius Black: I do

Remus Lupin: I’m sorry about your Uncle. And your brother. And your family. That all really sucks.

Sex God Sirius Black: Thanks. I’ll go into my sordid tragic backstory some other time. But for now my plane is boarding so you get to suffer the way I did.

Remus Lupin: At least I’ll suffer silently.

Sex God Sirius Black: Rude!

Remus Lupin: Have a safe flight.

Sex God Sirius Black: We’ll always have Paris.

Remus Lupin: Here’s looking at you, kid.

***

Remus Lupin sat outside with Sirius on the front steps of Sirius’ flat that he shared with James. He was cold and a little bit tipsy, but happier than he could remember being in quite a long time. Their gloved fingers were intertwined as they waited for midnight and the fireworks to start.

They could hear people counting down but Remus’ world narrowed to just Sirius. His nose and cheeks pink from the cold, his head covered with a beanie he’d stolen off Remus. They’d texted continuously over the holiday and since they’d both returned to London, Remus’ life had been filled with Sirius. They fit, in a way Remus had never felt he did with anyone else. Sometimes it made his stomach twist painfully at the thought that now he had something to lose.

But Sirius kept coming back, greedy for Remus – his time and his attention – and it eased the anxiety Remus felt. He thought back to that day at the airport and how he had almost missed this. He’d never been so happy about a mistake before in his life. He wasn’t sure if matching with Sirius on Tinder would have had the same effect that meeting him in person had. But then again, the overwhelming force that was Sirius Black felt kind of inevitable. Maybe they would have ended up here regardless of which was Remus swiped.

“You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you,” Sirius said at five seconds to Midnight.

“Hey, that’s my line,” Remus teased at three seconds to Midnight.

Smiling, they both leaned in towards each other, cold lips and warm mouths as they greeted the New Year together.

#wolfstar #I write things #anon prompt #long post #sirius black x remus lupin #flirting #kissing #tinder #texting fic

205 notes · View notes