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lostinthewiind · 4 years ago

Note

Could I get a bit of an angst poly Matchablossom fic? Like one of them is out and they don’t hear anything from them in awhile. They get worried and have to rush to the hospital when they find out they were involved in a hit-and-run. They have flashbacks of their relationship like how the three met or when called their relationship official.

Polyamorous Relationship w/ Joe & Cherry: Through Thick and Thin

A/N: you absolutely can have a little bit of angst. Honestly, I sometimes can't decide whether I like writing smut or angst better . . . I think it's because they are both so emotion-fueled, which makes it easy to get into. Anyway, I hope I was able to meet your expectations for this fic! As always, thanks for requesting and don't hesitate to request more in the future :)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: angst, mentions of bodily harm, injuries, blood, high-emotions, slight-trauma

Pacing back and forth from the kitchen to the living room of your shared apartment, your eyes kept flickering toward the clock on the wall, your nerves steadily increasing with every tick of the hand. Every second that Joe didn't walk through the front door made your heart race faster and your bite on your lower lip to increase in pressure.

"Are you going to pace all night?" Cherry looked at you from his desk, his golden eyes scrutinizing your every move from over the top of his laptop.

"Kojiro was supposed to have been home an hour ago," you stated harshly, as if your calm, pink-haired boyfriend didn't already know that. "And he hasn't texted or called or anything. I'm worried."

Cherry sighed before closing his laptop and leaning back in his chair. "I can tell," he noted, his seemingly relaxed demeanour making your hands shake from frustration.

Halting your pacing, you crossed your arms over your chest and exhaled slowly. "Kaoru . . ." your voice was quiet and shaky, and despite the slight embarrassment you were feeling for what would probably be a major overreaction on your part, you just couldn't help it.

Cherry shook his head at you slowly, but there was no disappointment or mockery in his action. Even though he didn't see any cause for concern considering it had only been an hour and Joe's restaurant was busier lately than usual, he acknowledged the worry coursing through your body.

Spinning his chair to face you, Cherry cocked his head ever-so-slightly and outstretched his arms onto the chair's armrests, palms up, silently asking/inviting you to come to him.

Gravitating toward him like a magnet seeking stability, you shuffled over to his chair, standing before him and trying to calm yourself. Leaning forward, he rested his hands on your hips, brushing his fingertips up your sides. When he reached your shoulders, he worked his hands down your arms, wrapping his slender fingers around them and unfolding your arms before holding your hands in his own.

"There is no sense in worrying until there is something to worry about," he said simply, pulling you into his lap. Once you were close to him and enveloped in his embrace, you felt your breathing naturally slow to match his.

"I know. You're right." You rested your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes as he brought one hand to your face and brushed some loose strands of hair out of your eyes. "You're always right."

Cherry chuckled lowly. "Well, maybe not always . . . don't tell Kojiro I said that," he warned jokingly.

"Okay," you laughed as well, feeling the nerves begin to flee your body, "I won't."

"Good girl."

Just then, Cherry's phone buzzed atop the desk, startling you both a little. Looking over at the device, Cherry smirked as he picked it up. "See?" He flashed the caller ID toward you, which read Kojiro's name. "He probably just got busy and lost track of time."

You felt relief wash over you like a wave as you lifted your head from Cherry's shoulder so he could answer the call.

Accepting the call, Cherry pressed the device to his ear and tutted his tongue. "You ever hear of calling or texting if you're going to be-" he stopped mid-sentence, his toying expression turning stone-cold in a split-second. You couldn't hear what the person on the other end of the call was saying, but all you had to do was look at Cherry's wide eyes, furrowed brows, and trembling lips to know that it wasn't Joe and that something was wrong.

Suddenly, the wave of relief had transformed into a dark, ominous riptide, dragging you into the darkest parts of your mind and forcing you to conjure the worst things possible. Hands gripping tightly to the front of Cherry's yukata, you willed the conversation to be over so you could find out what was going on.

"Yes." Cherry nodded, the arm that was wrapped around your waist squeezing you tighter as he listened intently. "Yes, I'll be right there . . . okay, thank you."

When the call finally ended and Cherry put the device back down onto the desk, his hands shaking like yours had been minutes before, you watched him closely. He was silent afterward, his hold on you tightening even more. Both his and your own breathing were rapid at this point, the nervous energy radiating off of both of you and only working to make the other person even more uneasy.

"Kaoru." You brought a hand to his face and forced him to look at you. "What happened? Is Kojiro okay?"

Seemingly snapping out of his trance, Cherry gently pushed you off of his lap before he set about collecting things from around the apartment. You could see the cogs turning in his head as he grabbed the car keys from the counter before turning back to pick up his phone once more. All the while, you watched him, a sick feeling rising in your stomach, increasing in intensity the longer you stood there oblivious.

"Kaoru, what happened?!" you asked again.

Cherry glanced up at you in passing as he headed toward the bedroom. "There was a hit-and-run," he said. "We have to go to the hospital."

You felt your heart shatter and sink at the same time, your hand frantically gripping the side of the desk for stability as you watched Cherry's pink head disappear into the bedroom. The pace of your breathing quickened, if that was even possible, and you swallowed a hard lump in your throat—out of everything your brain had imagined, something as bad as a hit-and-run never even crossed your mind.

"D-did Kojiro hit someone or was h-he hit?" The question flew out of your mouth as quickly as it popped into your head. The way that Cherry was reacting already had you assuming which answer was correct, but you felt the need to clarify nonetheless.

Cherry, who was moving from surface to surface, looking for God-knows-what, ignored your question once more—although it was probably fairer to say that he had simply not registered the inquiry instead of ignored it.

The blatant lack of information was slowly started to boil your blood but the last thing you wanted to do was lash out at Cherry, who was clearly going into panic mode.

As your boyfriend passed in front of you, his head on a swivel, you grabbed him by the arm and pulled him in forcefully for a hug. Wrapping your arms around him tightly, you buried your face into the crook of his neck. At first, Cherry stood stiff in your embrace, but after a moment or so he physically relaxed and melted into your warmth.

You heard him draw in a shuddering breath, his shaking hands slowly coming up to cling to you. As much as he pretended to be indifferent towards Joe, you knew that he cared for him more than anyone else in the world—maybe even more than he cared for you, which you weren't offended by; you knew the two had a long history with one another.

Once you could tell that Cherry had calmed down a little and the roles of worrier and supporter had shifted, you drew back and looked him in the eyes. "Did Kojiro hit someone or was he the one who was hit?" you questioned, surprisingly steadier than before.

Cherry blinked back a tear that was forming in the corner of his eye, his lips trembling as he struggled to form words. "H-he was hit."

━━━━━━━━━━━━

The half an hour it took for you and Cherry to collect your things and drive to the hospital was nothing more than a blur in your mind. Weaving in and out of traffic through the busy, lit-up city, Cherry mumbled details from the phone call to you as they resurfaced in his memory. All in all, he didn't know much, but restating the facts to you—or more accurately, to himself—helped keep his head on straight and his wits about him.

As soon as the two of you reached the hospital, you parked—not even really checking to see if you had parked in a designated spot or not—and rushed inside, hand in hand. The emergency room entrance had been the closest, but the inside was chaotic and had you clinging to Cherry like child afraid to lose their mother as the two of you pushed your way to the reception desk.

Cherry did all of the talking, refusing to let anyone else see him the way you had seen him back at the apartment. Once again, the roles of worrier and supporter had shifted—but at this point, it was probably more accurate to state that you had each taken on both roles, worrying relentlessly and being there for support when the other person started to spiral.

Thankfully, the nurse at the reception desk was kind and patient with the two of you. She understood that standing around talking about specifics was the last thing either one of you wanted, but she worked carefully to draw out your information so she could direct you to the correct floor.

While Cherry listened as intently as he could to the information being provided, you heard a commotion from the other end of the emergency room and looked back over your shoulder just in time to see an ambulance crew wheeling in a patient on a stretcher.

The patient, a man who looked about Joe's age, was bleeding profusely from a wound on his abdomen and screaming bloody murder about how he didn't want to die. You felt a shiver run down your spine as you listened to his pleas for help.

Without even noticing, you began to picture the man as Joe. Had Joe been hurt as badly as that? Had he been crying and screaming when they brought him in? Joe was one of the bravest and most stoic people you had ever met, and he only really cried (rarely) for emotional reasons, like really sad movies, instead of physical ones—but nevertheless, you couldn't help imagining him screaming out, all alone and scared.

"Hey." Cherry rested a gentle hand on your shoulder, careful not to startle you out of your daze. "You okay?"

You blinked a few times, tearing your gaze away from the stranger. When you glanced back, the paramedics had wheeled him out of sight and his screams grew fainter and fainter in the distance.

"Y-yeah." You forced a nod of the head. "I'm fine."

"Okay, let's go then," Cherry took your hand in his once more and led you out of the ER and toward a set of elevators. "The nurse checked for me and apparently he was taken up to the third floor. She wasn't on shift when he came in, so she couldn't tell me much."

You nodded once more, unable to find your voice . . . not that you had much to say anyway.

In complete silence, the two of you rode the elevator up to the third floor of the hospital, and following the directions Cherry had been given, arrived at a hospital room with the door cracked open slightly.

Before either of you could look inside, however, a tall man in a white coat approached the two of you. "You're Mr. Nanjo's emergency contacts?" He grabbed a chart from the adjacent nurses' station.

After the two of you confirmed your identities and relation to Joe, the doctor pulled you aside privately and began explaining the situation.

"Based on eye-witness reports on the scene, your . . . boyfriend," he seemed a tad uncomfortable with the polyamorous aspect of your relationship, but relayed the information professionally despite the obvious confusion, " . . . he was crossing the street, presumably to the parking lot across on the other side, when he was struck in the intersection by a drunk driver. Thankfully, he was only clipped and not hit full-on. All things considered, things could have been a lot worse, but he is still in pretty rough shape."

You drew in a sharp breath as your mind began to fog over, your concentration completely fading away. Before long, you were simply standing in place, eyes-glassed over, watching the doctor's mouth move but only picking up the occasional tidbit of information like "fractured rib" and "internal bruising".

Noticing your unsteady stance beside him, Cherry snaked his arm around your body for stability. It took everything he had not to devolve into a shaking mess like you, but he knew that one of you needed to pay attention to this information for Joe's sake; so, despite the overwhelming nauseous feeling in his gut, he nodded along to the doctor's words.

Once the doctor had told you everything there was to tell, he directed you back to the room and told you he would be back in a little while. With full visitation rights, you and Cherry stood in front of the cracked-open door, both too terrified to peek inside just yet.

Then, mustering every ounce of courage you had circulating your system, you placing a trembling palm on the door and gave a gentle push. Without a single creak, the door swung open silently, revealing a small hospital room with a bathroom, large window, armchair, and of course, a bed.

In the bed, the white sheets were completely covering the body of its inhabitant; the mess of green hair atop the pillow the only detail that confirmed to you that it was, indeed, your boyfriend. Joe's face was toward you and Cherry, eyes closed, scrapes and bruises littering his handsome features. There was even a cut that had needed stitches on his forehead.

If it wasn't for the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, you would have assumed he was dead.

"Oh, Kojiro!" you exclaimed, emotion suddenly taking over as you lunged toward the bed. Tears collecting in your eyes, you bent over him and rested your head on his chest, quiet sobs escaping your shuddering body. Finally, you let yourself cry.

"The doctor said he was given some pretty heavy pain medication, so he might be out for a while," Cherry said, coming up beside you and ghosting his fingertips over Joe's cheek. "But he should be okay."

Those five words were the best five words you had heard in your entire life. "He'll be okay," you repeated to yourself in a soft whisper. "You'll be okay." You directed the comment to Joe this time as you ran your fingers slowly through his messy hair. "Karou and I are here now. You're going to be just fine."

"Come on." Cherry placed his hand onto your lower back and guided you to the armchair. "We're in for a long night. Let's sit."

Lowering himself into the rather comfortable chair, Cherry scooted it closer to the bedside before he pulled you into his lap, the two of you sitting and holding each other the same way you had been back home in his desk chair . . . the way you had been sitting before your entire day had turned on its head.

"Don't cry." Cherry wiped a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. "You know that if Kojiro wakes up and you're crying, it'll just make him upset too and then I'll have two blubbering babies to deal with."

You choked a subtle laugh through the sobs and gasps for air. "Shut up." You smacked his chest lightly as you cuddled further into his chest, your actions effectively contradicting each other. "This is the scariest moment of my entire life," you craned your neck to look at Joe and reached your hand out to grab his limp one, "I'm allowed to cry."

Cherry pressed a kiss to your temple. "I understand . . . this is the scariest moment of my life too. When I first picked up that phone call, for a split second, I thought we had lost him."

"I can't even imagine life without him," you said, trying not to let the dark thoughts invade any more than they already were. "I wouldn't be the same person I am today without him . . . without either of you."

Cherry cracked a small smile, the expressions of amusement completely standing out among the solemn atmosphere in the room.

"What?" you cocked a brow, wondering what had suddenly sparked such joy.

"Nothing, nothing . . ." He tried to play it off, but when it was obvious you weren't going to let him get away that easily, he caved. "I was just thinking about the first day we met you," he let out an airy laugh, "stumbling into his restaurant soaking wet from the rain, seeking shelter like a stray dog."

You couldn't help the giggle that escaped. "Oh, God, don't remind me. Of course I picked the only closed establishment with an unlocked door on the entire block to seek refuge in. The way the two of you just stared at me, glasses of wine in hand while I stood there, dripping and embarrassed. I felt like dying on the spot."

"You were cute," Cherry told you before shrugging nonchalantly. "At least, that's what Kojiro said. I'm pretty sure he fell in love with you right then and there."

"Oh, but not you, mister 'keeps all his emotions locked away until he dies'." You rolled your eyes.

Cherry just smiled. "I may not have declared my undying love for you right on the spot, but as you sat in Kojiro's sweater that damn-near swallowed you whole and sipped steaming tea to try and warm up, I could tell you were going to be special to us."

Finding yourself getting lost in the reminiscing of happy memories, you relaxed into Cherry's arms completely. "It's funny that Kojiro fell for me before you did," you looked up at Cherry and pressed a soft kiss to his neck, "because I fell for you before I fell for him."

Cherry quirked a brow down at you. "You never told me that."

"It wasn't by much so I didn't think it mattered . . . especially since I love you both the same now." You shrugged before elaborating, knowing that Cherry wanted to hear the story. "It was when Kojiro insisted we go to that fancy new restaurant that he wanted to scope out but he had underestimated how hard it would be to find parking, so we ended up having to walk like ten blocks."

Cherry nodded. "The area with the busiest, newest establishments was low on parking on a Friday night. Who would have thought?"

"Exactly," you agreed. "Anyway, we were walking and the wind was cold as fuck. I was shivering because, hey, I thought we'd be walking two or three blocks at most. Then, without even a glance in my direction . . . you just wrapped me in your coat. No words, just actions. I fell in love right then."

The corners of his mouth twisting up into a smile, Cherry kissed you softly. "I fell in love with you that same night," he said, surprising you. "Exactly ten seconds after that when you thrust my coat back into my arms, grumbling about how you would have much rather used the adrenaline from strangling Kojiro to keep you warm."

"I hope you know I appreciated the gesture . . . I just didn't want you to think I was going soft or something." You knew the words sounded beyond stupid as they were coming out of your mouth. "Love makes you crazy."

"That it does," he agreed. "But, for whatever it's worth, I've never once thought you were soft. Especially not that night when you were seconds away from killing Kojiro the entire time."

The two of you broke out into soft fits of laughter, careful to keep the volume down.

"I get hit by a car and even then the two of you can't be bothered to say nice things about me?" a weak voice mumbled from the bed.

Laughter dying out immediately, you and Cherry looked over to see Joe smirking up at you, his eyes slightly droopy and hand slightly squeezing yours.

"Kojiro!" You jumped out of Cherry's embrace and moved to place a kiss on the green-haired man's chapped lips. "Are you okay? How do you feel?"

Kojiro winced slightly as he pushed himself up into a slight reclined position in bed. "I think I'm okay," he answered, obviously trying to put on a brave face. "I'm glad you guys are here though," he clocked the glint of concern in your eyes, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to give you guys a scare."

"Don't apologize," Cherry told him, cupping his cheek with his hand. "We're here for you, whatever you need. We're just glad you're going to be okay."

Kojiro forced a smile, ignoring the aching pain it brought to his bruised and scraped face. "You guys know I love you, right?"

"Of course." You kissed him once more. "We love you too."

#sk8 the infinity #sk8 #sk8 cherry blossom #sk8 joe #joe #cherry #kojiro nanjo #sakurayashiki karou #angst #lostinthewiind #fanfiction #reader imagine #x reader #reader insert #polyamarous #polyamory #polyamorous relationship #through thick and thin

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chaoticpuff17 · 5 years ago

Text

A Dangerous Game

part 4

masterlist

Never in Y/N’s life had she run so far so fast. She almost thought her heart would explode but whether that was from the exertion or from the panic she didn’t know. The only thing she consciously knew was that she had to get away. She had to get away quickly.

She ducked into a coffee shop and ripped out her phone hurriedly searching for Eun-ho’s number. Each ring of the phone seemed like a knife to her heart, and she could only pray that Eun-ho would answer his phone while constantly peeking out of the window in hopes that neither RM or his men had followed her.

“Y/N?”

She nearly sagged to the floor in relief. “Oh thank God.” She sobbed.

“Y/N? Y/N, what’s wrong?” came the confused voice from the other end of the phone.

“He knows.” She spoke hurriedly panic coloring her tone and drawing the eyes of the patrons in the coffee shop. “I was in the market and he was there. He knows.”

“Who knows?” he asked and one could practically hear him scratching his head in confusion. “And what does he know?”

“He was in the market, and he knows I’m trying to go home. He has someone at the station. He knows everything.”

There was a pause that seemed to go one for ages before he spoke again hushed and suddenly just as worried as she was. “He has someone in the department? Our department?”

“Yes.” She hissed gazing out the window keeping a sharp eye out for RM, Jimin, or any of his lackeys that she might be able to identify, anyone even remotely suspicious really.

“Where are you?” he asked and she could hear movement on the other end of the phone. “I’ll come get you.”

“I’m at a coffee shop near the market. I… I don’t know what to do. I just ran out of there. He could still be in the market. He could be coming here. I don’t know I just… I panicked. I ran!”

“Stay where you are. I’m coming to get you.”

“Hurry.” She begged. “Eun-ho!” she suddenly yelped just before he could hang up.

“Y/N?”

“Don’t tell anyone. I don’t know who he has on the inside.”

“I promise. Just stay there, and I’ll be there soon.”

She didn’t know how long it took Eun-ho to get there but it felt like hours. Each moment moved by at a snail’s pace. She sat there staring out the window with her heartbeat pounding in her ears like a drum counting off the endless seconds. Each moment that Eun-ho wasn’t there was another moment were RM or his goons could find her and take her away to whatever fate RM had cooked up for her. He was a man with a plan and somehow over the course of a few weeks and two meetings, he had decided that she was a part of his plans.

What could he want with her though? She wasn’t of any use to him. She didn’t have connections or money. She had herself and a cat back home that looked more like a loaf than a cat, and she doubted RM’s interest was in her loaf of a cat. What was his interest?

Marcus was dead, and most of his associates were in prison or dead. And Marcus wouldn’t have had enough influence to even be noticeable to a man like RM so it couldn’t have been because of him or his former partners. Jackson. She needed to call Jackson.

She dialed the number with shaking fingers and waited for him to pick up. One ring. Two rings. Three rings. She was about to give up hope when the familiar voice echoed through the speakers. “Hello?”

“Jackson!” she cried out in relief thankful that the man had answered.

“Y/N? What are you doing calling here? Are the cops over there not taking good care of you? Need me to beat someone up?” the man joked not knowing the seriousness of the situation at hand.

“Papillon.” As soon as the word was spoken there was dead silence on the other side of the phone.

“Y/N.” his tone was solemn. He knew just as well as she did what that word represented. Of all the people from her life before, Jackson was the only one she still had contact with, the only one she trusted. “Y/N, what happened? Are you safe? Can you speak freely?” It had been years since either of them had had need of this system, and they had both hoped there would never be a need for it again.

“I’ve run into a problem, and I’m coming home. If you haven’t heard from me within the next two days, something went wrong, really wrong.”

“Damn it.” He hissed. “I knew sending you over there was a bad idea. “I’m coming to get you.”

“Don’t be an idiot. It’ll take twice as long to get out of here if I wait for you to come.” She shook her head though he couldn’t see it. “I’ll be back as soon as I can get on a plane, but I needed to let you know what was going on.”

“Who is it, Y/N? Who did those bastards get you mixed up with?” he growled.

“I don’t know what his real name is, but they call him RM. And he’s…” she paused taking in a shuddering breath. “Jackson, he’s worse than Marcus ever was. The guy’s like a freaking James Bond villain.”

“Two days, Y/N. If you’re not home in two days, I’m coming to get you myself.”

“Okay.” She whispered relieved just to hear his voice, relieved that he knew.

“Two days, Y/N.” he sighed heavily, and she could practically hear the cogs turning in his head as he tried to work out a plan. “Be safe, Y/N.”

“I will.” She promised as the phone clicked signaling the end of the call.

She took another deep breath and peeking out the window again to see if Eun-ho was there yet. Having Jackson know the situation had settled her racing heart somewhat, but she wouldn’t be able to breathe gain until Eun-ho was here and she was safely on a flight out of Korea, far away from RM because whatever he wanted from her it couldn’t be good. God, how she wished she had never come here.

She could have been home. She could have flat out refused to come, and she should have. She never should have let them talk her into this. She knew it was idiotic, but then again maybe she was an idiot. She’d been an idiot all those years ago when she’d first become involved with Marcus and she was an idiot now.

“Y/N!” Eun-ho asked walking into the coffee shop looking every bit as frazzled as she felt. Granted she probably looked just as frazzled.

She rushed towards him and pulled him right back out the door. “We need to go.”

The rest of the day was a blur, a horrible blur. Every moment was spent glancing over her shoulder to ensure that she wasn’t being followed by a man she was coming to firmly believe was the devil. There were plane tickets to buy, suitcases to pack, a landlord to tell that the apartment would no longer be in use. And all of this had to be done with just the two of them because who else could they trust?

They knew that there was someone in the department who worked for RM, but was it only one? She wasn’t entirely sure that she could trust Eun-ho, but she didn’t exactly have another choice.

“Y/N? We need to go to the airport.”

They had been extremely lucky to get onto a flight out of Korea on the same day, and neither of them was willing to risk being late to the airport especially for an international flight especially when it was already so late at night.

“I know. I’m coming.” She called after him pulling her suitcase behind her as she went hurrying to the car.

Within the next few minutes they had packed up the car and were on their way to the airport.

“Deep breathes, Y/N ssi.” He smiled at her though neither of them found the gesture particularly comforting. “You’ll be on a plane and out of here in two hours.” He promised. Though she couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that had settled like a rock in her stomach.

There was a chance no matter how careful they had been that RM knew exactly where she was and what she was doing. There would always be a chance with that man. She might not have known the man well, but she knew that with such absolute certainty that it was ingrained on her soul. There would always be a part of her that even when she was safely home with her loaf of a cat and Jackson that was looking over her shoulder for RM just like she would always be looking over her shoulder for the remnants of Marcus’ old empire.

“You’ll go home, and he’ll lose interest.” That should have been reassuring. That fact should have been like a weight lifted from her shoulders, but it wasn’t all because of that dread that had made its home within her.

“What does it mean?” she suddenly asked looking over at him. “The word he called me before I ran. What does it mean?”

Even though it was dark she could still see the way he tensed his hands gripping the steering wheel like his life depended on it. “It doesn’t matter.”

Somehow she was unconvinced. “Eun-ho.”

“It doesn’t matter. Trust me.”

“You’re holding onto that steering wheel like it owes you money. I think it matters.” She glared at him though he couldn’t see it with the way his eyes were glued ahead of him in an attempt to avoid her gaze.

They sat there in a tense silence for a few minutes before he finally relented. “It like dear or sweat heart or honey. It’s a term of endearment.”

The silence returned only heavier this time. “Oh.” She murmured the word barely even a sound as it left her. He was right. She didn’t actually want to know that.

Jagiya. It was her new least favorite word. Knowing that he had called her that sent a shiver of disgust down her spine. Marcus had had pet names for her. Doll. Babe. Bitch. Slut. Marcus had called her a lot of things over their time together not all of them either good or endearing, but she had never hated a pet name more than she had hated jagiya. Or perhaps it was the fact that she hated the man who said it. As much as she had hated Marcus he had never frightened her as much RM did.

“Hey, Eun-ho. That car behind us is really close.” Her gaze was glued to the car riding their tail. “They’re getting closer.”

Everything in her was screaming that something was very very wrong. Eun-ho hummed his agreement and sped up hoping to put some space between them and the SUV behind them.

“Eun-ho.” Her voice warbled as the panic began to rise as the car sped up as well.

“I know. I see them.” He assured her while speeding up a little more.

“Eun-ho!” she shrieked as they collided with the car behind them.

The world was all spinning and screeching tires for a few horrifying seconds. There was screaming but whether it was her own or her companion’s she didn’t know. And then they were still again. She looked over at Eun-ho only to see him still bent over the steering wheel. Blood was dripping from a cut on his forehead.

The next crash was just as unexpected as the first. It was as though a bull had ran head long into the driver’s side pushing them even further off the road with a sickening crunch a spray of glass. This time she knew the scream was hers before the world was black.

There was a buzzing in her ears, high pitched and annoying. Where was it coming from? Wherever and whatever it was did not make the pain in her head any better, it even seemed to make it worse. it was a harsh throbbing pain spreading out from the crown of her head and working its way back. But it was the buzzing that bothered her most.

She tried to move a hand to her forehead but found herself whimpering in pain instead. The movement had exacerbated both the buzzing and the pain causing instant regret.

“Don’t move, jagiya.” Cooed a voice to the side of her, or at least she thought it was coming from her side.

“Eun-ho.” She groaned out searching for the other passenger, wincing as the buzzing became worse.

“Everything will be alright, jagi.” The voice cooed as she was gently shifted out of the car though the movement still elicited a pained whimper from her. “I know.” He cooed. “Hush, jagi.”

“Eun-ho.” She whimpered again as she was settled into what she assumed was a pair of arms. It was either that or she was floating. The buzzing and the pain made it hard to tell.

“I know, jagi. Everything is going to be fine now. Just sleep.”

And she did.

part 5

#bts #bts fic #yandere bts #namjoon #namjoon x reader #yandere namjoon #mafia namjoon #rm #rm x reader #mafia #mafia au #dark romance #soft yandere

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gumnut-logic · 4 years ago

Text

The Mechromancer

There may be more to this.

This started out as an attempt to write something completely different, but it was determined to do this instead. So you have a pile of fishTank, just a different pile than expected.

Warnings for angst, hurt/comfort.

Many thanks to @scribbles97 @janetm74 @tsarinatorment and @flyboytracy for all their help on this one. My brain fried in the middle of it and it is a little odd as a result. These wonderful peeps put up with an extremely whiney Nutty for a few days there so they should be congratulated for not hitting my over the head with something solid :D

I hope you enjoy this anyway.

-o-o-o-

They say mechromancy is born of the Earth, of rock and metal and the energies that drive the planet.

He can feel it.

Feel metal spinning as it is cut and cries out in its making, its shaping, its becoming. It resonates in his soul as he gives birth to a new creation.

He pulls the new shape off the lathe, the smell of hot metal curling in his nostrils. A rough edge catches skin and pricks a scratch.

Red iron smudges grey steel, metal on metal.

Virgil wipes it away with a stained rag and the cog gleams in the light of his workshop.

-o-o-o-

Gordon’s days were grey.

At first, waking was pain and fog. Everything was broken. The fine instrument he had built his body into no longer worked and was little more than a source of ongoing agony.

The doctors were brutally honest. He could not expect more than a life of grey walls and kindly nursing staff for the rest of his life.

That’s if he had one. There was always the opportunity of a sudden infection and an early termination of that agreement.

His family was there.

Always.

Grandma was in charge, no matter what the hospital thought. You didn’t cross his grandmother and survive. The fact there was a looming grey-eyed and very wealthy Jefferson Tracy gave much more weight to Doctor Tracy’s demands.

His father was there.

This was something both expected and unexpected. Father was a very busy man, but each time Gordon woke in those early days, his eyes would clear to find the silver-grey suited millionaire somewhere in the room. He didn’t say much, not being a man to show a great deal of emotion, but the fact he was there and there so often said enough.

Said how dire things really were.

The most consistent presence was Scott, of course. The man’s cane was heard in his sleep. Sometimes Gordon wanted to reach out and shake it from his brother’s grasp and break it in two across his knee.

But it was a fantasy. Because not only did he not have the strength to grab the cane, he no longer had any knees to break anything.

His legs were gone.

The thought flickered through his mind and he shied away.

Alan…Alan tried to cheer him up while trying not to cry himself. It was heartbreaking.

John reached out to brush fingers through his hair, a single tear falling unacknowledged down his cheek.

Gordon was in so much pain himself and yet also the cause of so much more. It tore at his heart.

Had his sole purpose in life been reduced to a bane on his family?

And Virgil…

He dreamt of his brother. His loving and gentle mechanic brother.

But he never saw him.

In the early days after Gordon had first opened his eyes after the accident, he had asked after Virgil. Scott’s eyes had been full of…something. His eldest brother always kept up his military stance, hiding his true thoughts should they present a vulnerability and those defences were ever so thick at the mere mention of Virgil.

Even in his bleary, pain-filled state, Gordon sensed there was something wrong, but he didn’t have the strength to pursue the question.

His days were awash with painkilling concoctions of his grandmother’s recommendations that took his mind along with the pain. Distorted versions of both his father and Scott were his earliest memories after the accident.

And the dreams…a sense of heat, holding him down, burning, preventing his escape. His own fear overlapped by someone else’s desperation and panic. Flame burning down his nerve endings demanding he stay.

Stay.

Whispers in his mother’s voice.

Denial and determination.

Ever so hot and hurting.

They always ended in such a flare of light and sound, he woke up yelling.

And Scott would be there. Words of reassurance and love.

Gordon always asked for Virgil after the dreams. They meant something, he was sure of it and they had something to do with Virgil.

And Scott never quite answered.

-o-o-o-

He stokes the fire to exactly the right temperature, the coals glowing eye-blinding white, forcing his goggles onto his eyes. His skin pricks with the heat.

Cahelium requires it.

Metal hits flame in a shower of sparks and sucks up the energy, shining as brightly as the sun. He feels it breathe in, draw in the life-giving energy of creation.

His hammer shapes with each strike, the metal thinning as he bends it to his will. Muscles flexing as he swings, the energy of his body fighting, forcing form.

Sweat trickles down his brow as he frowns with the effort. His leather apron protects his vulnerable body, but the sparks still sneak through to embed in the bare skin of his arms and burn holes in his shirt.

He doesn’t care. He can feel the metal with his mind and it is becoming.

Scars in the making only record the process.

-o-o-o-

Days turn into weeks and still Virgil didn’t appear.

Scott had excuses but none of them rang true. Gordon created all kinds of scenarios in his head. Maybe Virgil was injured. Or sick. Maybe he had died. All of the above terrified him until one day while they were alone, he yelled at his big brother, demanding to know.

Only then did he get to see Virgil.

Scott wheeled him in.

Gordon stared. His engineer brother looked terrible.

“W-what happened?”

Virgil’s hands were swaddled in bandages and he was literally wilting in the chair. “Hey, Gords.” His eyelids were drooping.

Gordon looked up at Scott and his big brother’s eyes dropped to the floor.

“What happened?!” His body was busted but there was nothing wrong with his brain bar the concoctions they kept stabbing him with.

Virgil reached over and lay a bandaged hand on Gordon’s chest. “I’m well. I promise.”

“You look awful, Virg. What happened to your hands?” He stared at the swathed fingers on his broken body. Virgil’s magic fingers. His eyes widened, dreams and reality suddenly merging. “What did you do?!”

“Gordon…” His name was weariness itself, his brother’s usual baritone barely there. “You were dying. I had to.”

Gordon’s eyes shot to his brother’s bloodshot brown, so like his own. “You fix machines.”

“The human body is only another type of machine.”

“You fixed me?”

Virgil shook his head, his eyes closing. Scott, who had remained silent, knelt down beside the engineer in his chair and placed an arm around Virgil’s shoulders.

Virgil’s hand was still on Gordon’s chest. He fought with the sudden need to want it gone, yet desperately wanted to hold it in his own.

He settled for slowly, ever so slowly moving his right hand to land on top of Virgil’s as gently as he could.

“What did you do?”

“I fixed enough.” An exhausted exhale. “Just enough.”

“What has it done to you?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. You look half dead.”

Virgil closed his eyes again. “I am well, Gordon. Don’t worry about it.”

Gordon turned to Scott, whose eyes again dropped to the floor. His big brother swallowed.

Back to Virgil. “You are a pathetic liar. You know that.”

Virgil’s eyes joined Scott’s on the floor. “I’m sorry, Gordon.”

“What?! It’s obvious that you foolishly did something that might have saved my ass, but trashed yours. Scott, tell me! What the hell did he do to himself?”

Virgil straightened up and a more familiar fire flared. “I did what had to be done. And I would do it again.”

“Then why the hell are you apologising?”

Virgil shrunk back and shook his head, but didn’t say anything further. If anything, he wilted in his chair further.

“Virgil…” It was an exhalation of his brother’s name. His eyes darted again to Scott seeking answers. His eldest brother still had a protective arm around Virgil’s shoulders. Whatever had happened, chances were it was bad.

Blue eyes looked up and caught Gordon’s. Scott’s lips thinned and his jaw tightened.

Very bad.

Virgil’s hand on Gordon’s chest was trembling.

“Tell me you will be well.” He begged Virgil to look at him so he could see the truth.

As if summoned, that dark-haired head rose, bloodshot, brown eyes caught his. “I will.” A swallow. “I promise.”

“And your hands?”

“They will heal.”

“And be as they were?” Please.

“They will heal.” It was a repetition, almost a self-reassurance.

Gordon swallowed hard, almost terrified to look beneath those bandages to discover exactly what his brother had done trying to ‘fix’ Gordon’s machine.

Virgil was suddenly pushing himself to his feet. Scott hurried to steady him. “Virgil, what are you doing?”

But their brother didn’t answer. He took a shaky step towards the bed and, leaning over, wrapped his arms as best he could around Gordon without disturbing him. “So good to see you, Fish.” There was an emotional shake in his voice and that tremble in his hand proved to be system wide.

Gordon lifted one hand the best he could and rested his temple against Virgil’s. “Glad to be here.” His voice was suddenly hoarse. “Thank you.”

There was a muffled sound in Gordon’s pillow he couldn’t identify. Then a rough, but firm, “Anytime.” Virgil shifted and pushed himself up a little, enough to catch Gordon’s eyes. “Anytime.”

And Scott was hauling Virgil up and back into his chair.

Gordon didn’t want his brother to go, but the man was sagging where he sat, alarming Gordon even more. A glance at Scott and he encountered that same worry there.

“Time to go back to bed, Virgil.” Their eldest brother secured him in the chair and unlatched the brakes.

If Gordon could have, he would have stretched out his arm. “Be well, Virgil.”

His weary brother nodded once and Scott pushed him out the door, leaving Gordon to stare at where his brother had been and what he had done.

-o-o-o-

He lines up the fine golden metal cladding and, with a punch he cast himself, embosses a detailed etch of an octopus into the hot cahelium-brass.

Beside it, he chooses to place a shark, its fins a sharp dent in the metal.

His breath is evaporated as he peers closely before punching in a twirled sea shell.

His fingers ache to touch the metal.

On the desk beside him lays the mechanisms. Setting the section of the cladding aside to cool, he returns to the final touches, the fine tuning of the gears and the delicate gyroscopes that will balance movement.

His fingers flicker as he reaches for information.

There is a thin screwdriver in his mouth, held across his lips as his hands correct and make minor adjustments. The metal tastes like possibilities.

His fingers twitch. There is still stiffness in his skin. They remember the feel of his brother’s broken body. Feel what was being lost.

What he was losing.

The heat needed to forge, to fix, had been unbearable, and it took from him, so much.

Now he is different. Part of him is with his brother, keeping him alive, like a donation of a body part. A donation of part of his soul.

Given willingly.

Virgil sighs and returns to the forge to shape more cladding.

The metal is warm under his fingertips.

-o-o-o-

FIN?

#thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #Gordon Tracy #Virgil Tracy #an attempt at Steampunk #Where there be dragons AU

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jeromesxreader16 · 4 years ago

Text

Such a Joker (53)

Part 52 Here!

~o0o~

I pack two sandwiches in my purse and proceed to cover my hair with the large silk scarf. "Where are you sneaking off to?" Babs asks walking past me and downing a drink. "Secret date? I figured you would get sick of the pale faced clown." I smile at my hands. I could never tire of my boy. I'm as crazy as him, maybe more, but he would never turn me away, and I could never leave him.

"I'm married." "Even better." I narrow my eyes at her. "Babs, I'm going to see my dad." She widens her eyes. "Now you're asking for a death wish." I walk out the door, my heels clicking every step. "If you say so."

I walk into the GCPD and can sense the chaos and tension thickly canned in the air. Not seconds later two individuals start brawling over bread. "Hey! Break it up!" My father pushes them back. "For all the new people here... everyone is welcome in Haven, but there are rules. And one of them is we leave the fighting outside. Government already thinks we don't deserve help. We have to show otherwise. Gangs want to tear themselves apart outside, that's their business. In here, in Haven... we help each other survive." I hum with a slick smile as the two dispute the issue and the tension falls. Saved for another day.

I walk up to him nudging his arm. "Nice speech. I think it worked." He turns to me and gasps, but recovers quickly. "(Y/n). You're so big. No... Just-" "Pregnant, dad." He nods smiling. "So what happens when they find out the government abandoned them?" He sighs, shaking his head. I pat his back. "Come on paper man. You need some real food." I pull him into his office and remove the disguise. "Italian sub for you, and tuna for me." "You hate tuna." I smile sitting down. "They don't." I pat my swollen tummy. "So there are two of them?" I nod smiling.

"And you're happy? He treats you well?" I nod again smiling at him. "Of course he does. He's not a monster, dad." He grabs my hand over the desk and squeezes it. "I don't... like him. You know this. He destroyed the damn city for christ's sake, but he is the father of my grandchildren, and the husband of my only daughter, so I can promise you... I will never kill him." I kiss his hand and smile. "Who knew that'd be so comforting to hear."

I walk into the elevator with the smile ghosted over my lips. Crackling from the speaker erupts my mind causing me to shake and grab the wall in fright. "Aw, honey, I'm sorry." Ecco's voice pipes up from the speaker. I wave my hand in front of the camera with a smile. "No worries. All good here." I laugh placing a hand on my stomach. "Where is Jerimiah?" "Working down below. Would you like me to get him?" I smile up at the camera. "Let me go down."

"Uh... Miss, I think we should wait. He doesn't want you around the-" I press the button to the bottom floor faster than light. "Oops," I smirk up to Ecco as the elevator skips the main floor and descends below.

The two doors slide open revealing a steamed room with the funk of hard labor. I step on the uneven ground and see Jerimiah fanning himself as he watches his workers. I rest my hands on his shoulders and kiss his cheek. "You're working hard." He spins around with a glare. "And you're not supposed to be here." He grips my hips pulling me towards him.

"I missed you." I nuzzle into his chest. He hums as we rock back and forth. "I missed you, my love. Come on. No lady should be exposed to this heat." He places his hand on the small of my back leading me to the elevator.

Holding me the entire way up and then carrying me to our bed, never letting us go. "Are my darlings all suggled up?" He asks resting my head on his chest. The icy colored flesh proving wrong to the touch of fire on my fingers. "Yes, Jer." I mumble feeling my eyes draw to a close. "Never will I go a day without my family... even your father." He kisses my head before I can ask the question.

Jeremiah POV:

My workers work endlessly day and night to break the walls of the under the earth. Slowing down each day, getting on my nerves in the end. You're pushing my men way too hard. "We're not gonna break through for at least a couple more days. There is absolutely no way to make it on schedule." The leader of the pack of sweat cogs comes in.

My wife doesn't need to be kept in this filth any longer. How dare he disrespect my future. "Well, not with that attitude, you're not." I slice the man's throat, as he falls to the ground, blood flowing on the dirt.

"Now... everyone... let's reach inside and dig... a little deeper, shall we? 'Cause that's the only way you're all making it out of this hole." I hum watching their fear thicken.

Two taps on my shoulder break my gaze from the project. "Oh, Echo. Are these all the recruits?" Skinny, no brains, slim Whitted. These are my soldiers?

"Well, I thought you would want quality over quantity. Not everybody can pass a .38 caliber test of faith." I smirk thinking of the trials and tests they've suffered. "Yes... you certainly have set a very high bar for devotion."

"Oh. Almost forgot. Bruce Wayne and his sidekick Curls... Or is he the sidekick? Anyway, they tried to infiltrate our little operation here."

"Oh?" " Oh. And Curls can walk, really well, especially... for a paraplegic. Ah. And she wants to kill you." I glare at her with a snarl. This doesn't help that my wife is being cared for in the same building.

"A lot, FYI. If I see her, I'll give you a shout. Oh... and kill her." I nod rolling my eyes. Finish the job and move on for the better of my wife and children.

I walk into the GCPD questioning room with my scarf wrapped around my head, and my belly protruding out. Quite the look I must say. I open the door to see Victor Zsasz pushed on to the table by Harvey.

"Ow. This is a really nice table." I snicker and take my glasses off. "You do realize her thrives on the pain." The three pairs of eyes look at me. "We got a dozen witnesses that saw you walk out of that building before it went kabooey."

"Yeah. I heard some gangs had taken over." Zsasz says turning his eyes to me. "Figured, with you guys occupied, I might help myself to some of your supplies. Hey, do you guys have any canned peaches? Man, I'd trade an arm and a leg for that right now. Not mine, somebody else's. Maybe little baby Maniax's." He laughs reaching for my stomach before Jim swats his arm down.

"If you're innocent, why shoot up a city block full of cops?"

"Because it was full of cops." Zsasz and I say at the same time.

"Who were also trying to shoot me. And, guys, those were warning shots. I mean, if I really

wanted to kill you... you'd be dead. You got a pen? I want to write this guy a thank-you letter. Do the math. If I blew up a building full of people, I would have covered

every inch of my body in sweet, sweet scars. Mrs. Valeska... want to do a strip search?" He winks before my father punches him. "She's married, pig."

I lock arms with my dad and walk through the station. "Got Lucius on the horn for you, Cap."

"Lucius, talk to me." I grab the phone holding it close enough for the both of us to hear. "Haven wasn't destroyed by a bomb. It was an RPG, like the one that took down the chopper."

"You sure?"

I'm holding what's left of it in my hand right now. We found pieces of it in the rubble. It was fired through the basement window, detonated the fuel oil tank. And we're still trying to figure out exactly which rooftop it was fired from.

"Rooftop?"

"Yes."

"Dad, the only angle you could hit this place from is above. Zsasz was on the ground. Looks like you need a new suspect. I think we need to-"

"Jim! Ah. I know the wheels of justice turn slowly, so I'm here to provide- a modicum of grease."

Rushing up towards the front, Oswald, the Mayor of fallen Gotham, stands tall and proud.

"You need to leave right now."

"Still claiming he's innocent, is he?"

"Yes. And as much as I hate to admit it, the evidence is backing him up."

Harvey busts out, "What the hell's going on?" "Harvey, according to Lucius, Zsasz couldn't have done it."

Oswald huffs with a smile. "I did not expect you to go soft, Jim. Actually, I did. Behind a grandpa and all must've changed your ways. Which is why I didn't come alone." Several gunmen come out armed and ready to fire. My father huddles me close and shields me from the view of guns.

"Bring me Victor Zsasz!"

"Leave, (Y/n). Go home!" Jim pushes me away towards the doors.

Jeremiah POV:

I wave my hat fanning my pale skin placed upon the crippling bones. It's so damp and hot in here, but I'm freezing. My heart has gone cold without her scent around. Not a touch, not a wiff, not a glace for days it seems. Where is my angel with my bundles of joy?

"You see, a river cuts through rock not because of its power, but because of its persistence. So what do we do when we feel like giving up? Dig a little deeper. And what do we do when we can't possibly go on any longer? Dig a little deeper. And what do we..." A sharp blade stabs into my side crippling my speech. I look down seeing the masked figure in the striped coat. I gasp feeling my footing slide as the attacker shoves the blade into my stomach further.

"Deep enough?" The individual removes the mask revealing the little pussy of them all. "Well, Selina, I must say..." She pulls the blade out plunging it back in sharply.

"Don't say anything." Over and over again the blade is shoved into my side. The light dimming, the hot steam hitting my brow, the devilish laughter of my brother. This is near my end? Maybe so...

"Selina!" The rat is stripped away from me causing me to fall to the ground barely clinging to the life of happiness I have.

"Selina!" Bruce Wayne holds the fierce kitty back. "Stop. It's done! It's over."

The building is quiet. The entire place is quiet... Not one swing of an ax hitting limestone, making a light clink sound. Not the ring of my husbands voice calling to his men. Not even Echo meeting me at the door with my slippers and milkshake. Something is not right.

"Jeremiah?" I call out as if he could hear me from below. If not him then someone. One of the members at least, but no one came. I proceeded to enter the elevator only to see blood on the buttons and floor. They were having the graduation today, not everyone makes it.

The doors open to the pool room and I could almost drop to my knees at the smell. Thick scent of blood coating the walls. I walk out of the elevator and down into the pool counting the dead. No Echo or Jeremiah. Good so far.

I make my way down to the tunnels where silence has taken over. Just a simple lone man sitting in a chair. "Where is Jermiah?" I panic pulling my jacket closer. Could he have left me?

"Mrs. Valaska!" "Where is my husband?" "He's off in the tunnels. He's got injured. I'm supposed to take you to him." "Well, go on!" He shuffles his feet in a pace of nervousness, tripping over rocks and pickaxes. "How did he get hurt?" "Someone came in and just stabbed the boss. She was taken away by Bruce Wayne." I feel fire ignite in my blood. Selina and Bruce. What a treat. Trying to kill my husband in my own home.

Down the tunnels I hear him. Groaning in pain as Echo stitches him up. "How could you let this happen?" I shout at her. "She was fast." "And you're supposed to be faster." I glare at her as she cowers at my words.

"Don't stress, darling. It's not good for the babies."

"Jeremiah." I kneel down next to him grabbing his face. "Are you alright?" He places his hands over mine, kissing them each. "I'm still alive. One thing I've still got on my brother. How are you, my love? I'm sorry. You must've been wrecked with worry." Jeremiah pulls me into his lap. I nod with my bottom lip out. "Yes, I was. I was so scared, Jer." He pulls me to him. "Aw my darling. I know. I know."

I shift my weight slightly causing him to jet in a sharp inhale. "Oh, honey. Stitches still sore?" He nods. "Never would have happened if you wore that armor I prepared." Echo hums, causing me to roll my eyes. "That bullet makes you sentimental of the wrong things." I huff out pushing her out of the view.

"Why would you not check who was working? You always do. You're always prepared." Jeremiah places his hand on my cheek again. "I had to let Selina thrust the knife into my flesh at least once. Verisimilitude trumps precaution, you see." "They think you're dead." I think putting everything together.

Echo stands to the side bouncing with information. "What is it?" She giggles jumping on her heels. "All systems go." Jeremiah lifts himself, placing a hand on the small of my back and leading us along behind Echo.

"You could've died." I whisper looking at the dirt. "I didn't." "But you could have, Jeremiah. That's my point. You have two children growing, and soon they'll be out in this world. They need their father. You've kept me safely away, but that won't mean shit if you're not around to protect your children." I move ahead of him in a fit of fire.

A hand grabs my shoulder spinning me around. Jerehimah dips me and pushes our lips together. His grip on my arm and hip so tight, keeping me pulled to him with no fight. He pulls away only an inch, looking at my eyes, looking into the soul. "Now, you may not understand everything I do, but I do it for you and these two kids. I think and I plan for hours. You sit up in the bed resting your feet like I tell you. When you start questioning if I'm going to make it, that's when this will fall apart. You're my darling. You've been mine for thousands of years. Never doubt me, (Y/n)." He places his hands on my stomach and pecks my forehead. "Come along now. We have things to do."

Leading me through the tunnels I start to see less of the dirt and more solid grey rock already formed into tunnels. "Where are we?" Jeremiah giggles pulling me alongside.

"Doctor. I'm hearing good things." Jeremiah says holding in laughter.

What is he up to?

The Doctor nods. "The bandages are ready to come off. Your assistant thought you'd like to see the results." Echo shakes her head in praise like a dog while Jer nods his head. "Indeed, I would."

He turns to me. "You won't want to miss this, (y/n)."

The Doctor unravels the bandages on the individuals faces revealing a profile built from professional lifestyle and diets. This is Thomas and Martha Wayne before my eyes... ALIVE!

"Oh, you two look beautiful." I smile looking down at her pearl necklace. "Down to the very detail with you." Jeremiah kisses my cheek. "I love family reunions, don't you?" "More than Christmas!" I cheer and giggle.

#jerome #jerome x reader #jerome valeska #jerome valeska imagine #jerome valeska x reader #jeremiah valeska imagine #jeremiah valeska x reader #jerome valeska smut #Gotham #Gotham City #gotham cast

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koorinohebi · 4 years ago

Text

They Called Him Death

=== + ===

@raichoose in relation to that one ask.

Characters

Sidapa – He is known as the Visayan God of Death. Once also considered a god of the skies, Sidapa descended from the Heavens and instead made residence atop Mt. Madjaas. Here, he carries out his job of overseeing the existence of men. On his tree, he carves lines that signify a human’s lifespan. He is also in love with the seven moons that are up in heaven.

Bulan – He is the youngest of the seven moons and is the consort of Sidapa.

Hangin – A Diwata or Fairy of the Wind. Her name “Hangin” literally means wind.

Mermaids/Sirens – They are water spirits that possess an upper body that resembles that of a human girl or woman while their lower halves resemble fish tails. Apart from being beautiful, they have enchanting voices which they use for singing.

Saragnayan – He is known as the Visayan God of Darkness. He is considered as the god whom the evil creatures of the night obey as their leader. He is also known to cause chaos in a peaceful community. Saragnayan is said to be a superb spell caster who can control malevolent spirits and that he causes men to do evil things. Despite this, he is a very loving and loyal husband to his wife.

Luyong Baybay – She is known as the Goddess of the Tides. It is said that she is the one who controls the rising and falling of the tide. Luyong Baybay is also in love with the moon.

Kaptan/Makaptan – He is the Visayan Sky God and is considered to be the King among all of the Gods. In myth, he is said to be the equal of Kan-Laon. His stature reminds the Visayans of a proud Datu and he is very protective of his domain. He also has a fiery temper and is easily displeased when people worship other gods or idols before him.

Bakunawa – The Bakunawa is considered to be a creature that resembles either a sea serpent or a dragon. In most legends, he is in love with the moon. He finds them so beautiful that he eats them.

Nagmalitong Yawa Sinagmaling Diwata – She is the wife of Saragnayan.

Kan-Laon – He is, among the Visayans, known as the Supreme Deity. Unlike Kaptan, he is a kind and gentle God who chose to live in solitude in a magical hut that is located at the top of the Kan-Laon Volcano.

Minokawa – The Minokawa bird is considered to be a creature that belongs to a family of dragons. It is also a creature that eats the moon and could possibly eat the sun too. The Minokawa’s feathers are as sharp as blades, his beak and claws are made of steal and his eyes of glass/mirrors.

Kataw – The Kataw are mermen of the highest rank and the rulers of the ocean. They resemble humans almost completely except for the fact that they gills and they have fins on their arms. Unlike the mermaids, they don’t have tails but instead have feet. They have the capability/skills to manipulate water.

***

They called him death, yet all I could see from him was life.

Love is perhaps the most curious of things, vaguest of concepts and the sweetest of thoughts. It is probably the only thing that moves the cog wheels of one’s heart no matter how much time and feeling has been eroded by both emotions and senses. It is truly a most beautiful thing that gives a sense of completion to those who feels it.

Yet it is also wicked despite its splendor. How many have lost their lives for love? How many had been driven mad by the very notion of it? There are those who were forced into silent desperation, always longing and always wanting. Those who yearn for love were always in the company of despair and insecurity. There is always a certain fear that lingered in their hearts one which, when realized, could make even the strongest of those beyond or beneath Heaven and Earth break and crumble.

Oh, what fragile creatures are those who are in love; hearts became malleable despite possessing a spirit of insurmountable will.

Though perhaps that is the beauty of it all; despite the consequences of taking a road led by love, almost everyone still threads it. While hesitant, those influenced by it allowed themselves to be enraptured by it as they miraculously find comfort in their strange actions. Regret hardly exists if the sensation is real. It is a cause that unites not only the mind and body, but also both heart and soul.

Love is indeed, despite its pristine magnificence, a terrifying thing for love is the only pain that humanity gladly embraces.

Of course, Love was never exclusive to humanity. Before them or more appropriately, like them, even those within the seat of divinity also fell prey to this beautiful monster’s embrace.

***

“Bulan! Bulan! Let’s play, let’s play!” A choir of melodic voices called to a passing young man.

A smile was easily painted on his face when he heard and saw them.

Oh how gorgeous they were, the inhabitants of the lake hidden within Mt. Madjaas. A myriad of beauty paraded themselves along the water’s edge. Their iridescent fins under the light of the sun were truly the embodiment of magnificence. These fantastical creatures often did not come out during the day but whenever he came to pass this heavenly retreat, they were always there. They were always waiting with vigorous eagerness. They were wonderful...as wonderful as their peerless hymns.

“Oh...!”

“Oh”

“Oh...” A unison of murmurs resounded. Even those seemed like a song. Their gentle voices coupled with the sound of splashing water made them appear shyer than their normally playful selves. There was of course only one reason for this.

Ah, they must be the younger mermaids. Bulan thought.

Along with the boy was a rather dreaded existence, or so thought the blooming sirens. With him was Sidapa—The God of Death and ironically the ruler of a place that flourished with life, Mt. Madjaas.

Sidapa was a handsome man, and in Bulan’s eyes did not pale in comparison with the other spirits or deities that lived amongst them. His skin was as pale as the ash that had fallen from freshly burned wood. His raven colored hair was as dark as the night, but was as soft as the light of day. Though his countenance was stern in nature, he was quite a gentle god. More than anyone he understood the value of life because he was the one who marked its end. It was a little sad that humanity, along with some of the inhabitants of his own abode, saw him only as a monster.

Though according to the God of Death, none of this mattered so long as Bulan himself didn’t believe it to be so.

And Bulan never did share the majority’s sentiments. Along with the others who had seen the softer side of Sidapa’s nature, he understood that he was not someone who deserved the reputation that preceded him.

“Sidapa,” Bulan called. There was an almost childish gleam of playfulness on the boy’s face that made the temperamental god loft a brow out of curiosity.

“What is it?” He demanded.

“Can I go and play with the sirens?” The boy asked.

How could he say no to that face? Bulan had the exuberance that could be matched by no one. Such a pure boy he was that Sidapa was rendered helpless to the child’s innocent whims. How hard it was for him to say yes…ah, he wanted to greedily keep the boy for himself because they did not always have the leisure to stroll around like this.

What was harder to do though was deny Bulan of his request. Ever since the boy arrived, he had never made any selfish claims (If wanting to get to know him could even be considered selfish) and instead willingly followed whatever it was that Sidapa himself wanted.

Of all the days the mermaids had to come out, it really HAD to be today. This was giving him a headache.

"I can't?" Bulan asked once again.

The Lord of the Mountain groaned his approval. "Do as you please."

Overjoyed, Bulan wrapped his arms around Sidapa briefly before joining the mermaids by the lake. The boy's kind gesture caused the god to freeze momentarily. Even up till now he still could not get used to feeling another person's touch. He was, after all, death incarnate. Whatever he touched was forced to draw their last breath and it frightened him that one day he would accidentally steal the boy's.

But Bulan had been patient, and had ask to be taught a workaround for the curse. Now, even he could hold hands with the boy without it being fatal.

He smiled to himself discretely. Bulan was such an enchanting existence.

Leaving the child to his devices, the Death God went ahead and took his rest under a tree whose shade extended over to the waters. From there, he watched his consort associate with the playful water sprites.

Oh how bittersweet it was to see his lovely Bulan smiling while he was not by his side.

…A dreaded reminder that he could be perfectly happy without him.

“Bulan sure has grown.” Said a voice.

“Shouldn’t you be guarding the forest, Hangin?” Sidapa said without even sparing a glace to show his evident distaste for the unwelcomed intruder.

“You shouldn’t be so grumpy since you’re watching over the boy Moon, Lord Sidapa.” Hangin said. The god simply quirked a brow before facing her; she was at it again with her witty but unnecessary comments.

Hangin was one of the Diwatas of the Wind (Wind Faeries) that resided within the expanse of the mountain. Though the Fae was quick-witted and wise, he often overlooked this due to how mischievous and playful a sprite she could be. Despite such, he still considered Hangin one of his more trusted confidants as she was both a friend that he had learned to accept and a guardian to whom he had entrusted his forest. The wind fairy initially insisted upon this for being allowed to make Mt. Madjaas her home.

“Look, Bulan’s waving over here!” She said.

In an instant Sidapa’s attention fled the mischievous nymph only to find that his dear Bulan was still busy fraternizing with the sirenas.

“Made you look, tee he he!” Hangin teased.

“As always, your jokes are distasteful.” He snarled. “Though I suppose it matters not,” He said, continuously gazing at the boy. “You are correct, however; he has grown quite a bit hasn’t he?”

“He has. The first time he came here, he was barely taller than me. And now look at him; the sirenas are enamored by his presence.” She agreed.

“MUST you point it out? Look at how annoyingly they fawn over him.” He still couldn’t believe they stole Bulan away from him just like that. Willing the thought away, he instead focused on Hangin’s sentiments. “The first time that he came here, how long has that been now…?” Sidapa’s voice trailed off when he decided to lean back and close his eyes. He reminisced that time, that turning point in his life when he had been saved by this unsung hero of his existence.

Bulan’s descent from Heaven was the pinnacle of Sidapa’s happiness.

***

Ah, how beautiful they are…

Atop the mountain and under the comfort of his tree, the God of Death looked up at the sky and watched as the seven moons danced amidst themselves in a sea of stars. To him, they were far more radiant than the sun. Their brightness did not outshine one another as they illuminated the gloomy veil of night.

Night time was Sidapa’s favorite part of the day because of this. It was only during these few hours that he could revel in the grace and elegance of these celestial bodies. He often would think that they danced just for him…a silly delusion, but that alone brought solace to the life of solitude that he had chosen. Seeing the seven moons play amongst themselves made it a little easier for him to continue his work. He was the one who oversaw the end of things— the end of life, surely no job was more depressing than his. A night like this up in his mountain was his only saving grace, a reverie that he chose to drown in for even just a while.

And he was content. To look at them from afar was enough. He dared not to covet the moons that he loved so much for his touch was the very kiss of the end itself. Ironic how despite being a god he was cursed by the very thing that he was; all he did was take and take and take…he could not even begin to imagine the horrors he would feel if he caused one of the moons to draw their last breath.

He was like a madman in his desire for them, wanting them for his own, only to keep holding himself back because that was how it should be. A sentiment kept for the sake of those that he held dear.

“If you don’t act soon someone else might steal those precious moons that you love so much.”

“Saragnayan, who allowed you to step foot on MY mountain?” He didn’t even need to take a look to know who had arrived. And of all those that could, it really had to be another who was as vile as he was; maybe even more.

“Is that how you treat your friend?” Saragnayan scoffed.

“Go back to Gadlum, I don’t need you causing trouble here, again.” Sidapa ordered, whisking the other away from whence he came.

“You can’t still be mad about that, it was just a joke.” Said the accused instigator of chaos.

Sidapa should learn to take a joke or better yet get used to what it is that I do. Saragnayan was the God of Darkness and Sidapa of all people should know the kind of things that he enjoyed. So, he may have manipulated some of the people who got lost along the steep trails of Madjaas; and he may have influenced them to set a few things on fire…but it was all in good clean fun…for the chaotic god at least.

“A joke?” That sent Sidapa’s senses ablaze. “A JOKE, SARAGNAYAN? LEAVE. Leave now before I carve whatever life you have left onto this tree!” Came the god’s outburst as he stood from his place, marching over to his unwelcomed guest.

How could he see something like that as a joke? The creatures under his protection almost lost a home along with their lives due to the mischief that the distasteful god created. While the animals on his mountain were unharmed, the same could not be said for the forest itself. Had he been slower, his home would have probably burned to the ground. How could Saragnayan even think of doing such a thing when he himself, from time to time, gathered flowers for his beloved wife from the flora and fauna of Madjaas.

He considered him his friend on some occasions, on others; he was the type of companion that needed a proper beating.

“And you’re just a stick in the mud.” The other taunted further.

“Get off of my mountain unless you want me to k—!”

“Fine, I shall take my leave. It IS clear that you are not interested in Luyong Baybay’s attempts to coerce the moons to descend from Heaven.” Saragnayan didn’t even give the Death God a chance to finish his rant.

This was the part that he loved the most. Sidapa’s expression drastically changed. His already pale face was getting whiter and his body quivered; practically shook from the news! Saragnayan knew of his friend’s infatuation with the dancing beauties that illuminated the night sky and often saw him gazing at them longingly; lovingly as if a child possessed. How could he not share this little piece of information to him? The deity had every right to know, every right to feel agonized and had every right to act upon his desires. For him, that was how gods like them should act.

“What has Luyong Baybay been up to?” Finally, the silence was once again broken.

“NOW you want to know?” Saragnayan goaded.

“Just say it.” He answered, an apparent jealousy beginning to seethe through his voice.

“She has been singing to them.”

"Singing?" Death repeated. The building frustration he felt simmered and was slowly replaced with curiosity instead.

He had noticed it lately. Was Luyong Baybay’s song the reason for this? Was it her singing that made those seven heavenly creatures more joyous during their nightly affairs? Were they happy because they were fond of the singing...

...They were happy because of Luyong Baybay?

“Sidapa, are you alright?” Asked Darkness.

The Death God couldn’t have been in a more murderous state than he was right now. Even Saragnayan felt the ominous intent emanated by the other. He could not blame Sidapa because more than anyone, he knew every nook and cranny of this thing called love. After all, Saragnayan had himself a beautiful wife that was sought after by most. Of course, no other fate befell those heathens other than death. Their efforts though were valiant and commendable...foolish, but commendable indeed.

This was how he knew of feats that were fueled by jealousy.

Envious men were dangerous since they exhausted everything for the sake of obtaining what they want. They were desperate enough to cross the threshold of madness.

And looking at Sidapa now, he was envy personified.

Saragnayan had to admit that he liked it this way. By being in the midst of anger, he could compel Sidapa to his will. For an alleged God of Death, he always viewed the other as somewhat soft and sentimental. It was unbecoming of his post and surely needed a little push in the direction of chaos. What better opportunity than now, right? Now that Death was green with envy, the God of Darkness was all the more compelled to sow and nurture seeds of discord.

“Saragnayan,”

Or perhaps he didn’t need to do anything more. That odious glimmer in Death’s eyes said it all.

“I hope you told your wife that you’ll be gone for quite some time. You’re not leaving until I drive that harlot Luyong Baybay to her knees.” Sidapa informed his guest.

“My darling is an understanding woman, I’m sure that she’ll—wait…what?” And here he was about to boast about the good qualities of his beloved only to realize that he had been dragged into something that he initially only wished to see…not participate in.

“This is me cutting you some slack for almost destroying Madjaas, Saragnayan.”

“But…but my wife!” He protested.

“Your wife can wait.” Sidapa replied coldly.

***

“Ahaha!” Hangin laughed. “I’m sorry Lord Sidapa. I really just can’t see Master Saragnayan allowing himself to be dragged around like that.”

“You’re right in thinking so.” He chuckled, remembering how valiantly the god tried to escape again and again as he declared disinterest in participating in the little revenge plot.

Saragnayan deserved whatever it was that the God of Death had pitted him with. Besides, he was also the one who told him of Luyong Baybay’s infatuation with the moons.

“No need to feel anything for that one. Whatever misfortune that befell him was of his own doing.” He said, actually quite pleased for once. Just remembering how Saragnayan endured those countless nights at sea without as much as a word from his other half was a spectacle.

“But what happened to Luyong Baybay?” Hangin asked curiously.

“I tortured her, of course.” He answered, an air of indifference suddenly hanging over his features.

“You would torture someone merely for singing to the moon?” She asked again.

“Yes.” He confessed.

“Was it even Bulan that she sang to?” Hangin questioned further.

“At that time I did not care which of the seven moons she sang for. I loved them all, you see.” Sidapa chuckled.

Now that he thought about it, perhaps he had been too drastic in his approach.

If he cared to try hard enough, Sidapa could still hear the agonized screams of the Goddess of the Tides, Luyong Baybay. The Death God kept her confined in a veil of darkness, away from the prying eyes of those who held her sacred. There, in Saragnayan’s domain, the goddess was bound and shackled by shadows that slowly ate away from the knee down. Her shrieking was like music, while the curses that spilled from her shaking mouth were not unlike the sweetest of delicacies. To see her desperation was enough. A quick death was not something that the deity of the tides deserved. Sidapa had no intentions of ending her. What he wanted was to watch her suffer.

“Lord Sidapa?” Hangin called out, putting an end to his bittersweet memory.

“Tell me, Hangin.” He started. “If someone threatened to steal away that one thing you loved and cherished, would you not entertain thoughts of cruelty against your rival?”

The wind fairy thought about this for a while. As someone who had not experienced the same feelings as her lord, she could not tell. She was a simple free spirited sprite and cared only for what she wanted to care about. For now, the only real thing she saw as important was Mt. Madjaas itself, her home. Without it, where would she be? If it wasn’t for this place, Hangin may still have been wandering the land. She might have simply left her fate to the unforgiving winds that blew. If what Sidapa felt was anywhere close to how it felt like being robbed of a home, then that was the closest that she could possibly comprehend.

“I don’t know.” She said with a light-hearted smile. “But if someone tried to steal something that I love, I think that I’d be really sad.”

“You would be devastated.”

When it came to others trying to take what he saw as his, Sidapa had bigger problems than just Luyong Baybay…rather, that pitiful goddess barely scraped the surface of his nuisances.

If obstacles had a living, breathing form then Kaptan was probably the biggest one he had encountered next to that unsightly excuse for a sea dragon, Bakunawa.

What did he have to do just so that he could live in peace with the one person that his heart held dear?

***

“KAPTAN!” Sidapa’s voice echoed throughout Heaven as he stormed the Sky God’s palace gates.

How dare this man? How dare Kaptan for invading his mountain and simply taking Bulan away? The child went to him on his own accord, so why did he have to take his little Moon Deity back? He had done nothing wrong apart from falling in love with the child who had descended from the skies. It was not his fault that he was enchanted by his endearing smiles and his kindness…nor that he helplessly grew to love the boy for teaching him how to feel. So why…why was he being taken away from him?

“Sidapa!” The god heard a familiar voice. And up above, as he looked beyond the gates of Kapata’s heaven, Bulan was imprisoned. The boy called out to him. For a second there, he felt his chest throb. This must be how Saragnayan felt whenever Nagmalitong Yawa Sinagmaling Diwata, his wife, called for him.

“Bulan, I’m coming for you!” Sidapa cried out, letting the boy know that he had heard his cries.

“No one is coming for anyone.” Without much as another warning, a volley of thunderbolts rained down upon Sidapa.

This bastard! The God of Death barely escaped the thunderous onslaught that was hurled at him. While he was able to deflect a few of them with his blade, he still suffered damage from the assault. Drawing in breaths, Death held his ground and searched for where the attacks were coming from.

Floating above the steel gates of his ethereal abode stood the one recognized by all as the king of all the gods, Kaptan. His dark eyes looked down at the lowly God of Death as if disgusted by this very presence before him. Raising his hands up, the space above seemed to distort itself and thunder bolts began to gather atop his palms. With a simple flick of his wrist, again, those bolts of pure electric energy plummeted towards Sidapa.

“You dare invade my heaven after abandoning it once? What an insolent cur you’ve become, Sidapa.”

“I only came here for Bulan!” It didn’t matter to the Death God that he was sustaining injuries despite parrying Makaptan’s bolts of lightning, what was important right now was for the pompous bastard to see how serious he was in terms of taking the child back. So despite his bleeding arm and labored breaths, Sidapa ignored the pain and once again stood his ground.

“Ho…” Lofting a brow Kaptan descended from his station, landing merely a few feet away from the other god.

He had to admit despite not wanting to, that Sidapa was holding himself quite well. No one had yet survived that large an assault from him. As much as he did not wish to recall past events, even his grandchildren were unable to survive his rage. And yet here was the other former sky god, holding his own against he who was Kan-Laon’s equal.

“Hmph, I suppose you are deserving of a chance.” Kaptan said, drawing his own blade from the sheath that hung by the side of his hip. With a smirk tugging at his lips, the Sky God pointed the jagged zigzagged blade at his adversary. “If you win against me, you are free to take the boy.”

“Consider it done.” Sidapa did not waste another second. Brandishing his blade, he sped towards Kaptan to take the offensive.

The two exchanged one blow after the other with neither of them falling to each other’s tricks. Whenever the God of Death would deal a blow, the God of the Skies would block it and return a strike of his own. To the young Bulan who watched, it was as if the two were dancing, locked in steps that could only bring about ruin for either one of them. Even if the Moon feared for Sidapa’s safety, he could not help but be mesmerized by their bout. As much as he wanted them to stop, he could not speak a word as the two locked themselves in battle.

“What a magnificent sword you have there.” Kaptan praised as his eyes noticed the shimmering silver blade that Sidapa used against him. It absorbed his blows well and sustained not even a single dent or scratch.

“The Minokawa isn’t feared for nothing.” Answered the other as he pushed Kaptan back. He could feel the frenzy coursing through his veins as the heat of battle consumed him. And as he charged once again to deliver a critical strike, the King of Gods blocked it with uncanny ease.

“You chose good but that sword is wasted on the likes of you….GHUAAAA!” As their weapons once again collided and Sidapa was at close range, Kaptan grinned wildly. In an instant, his sword was enveloped in a blue-ish silver light that erupted upon impact. The rawness of the electricity propelled Sidapa back, knocking him off his feet, his sword flying from his grasp.

The shock of the attack cause the Death God’s breathing to become shallow. His body felt like it was on fire after being caught by that explosive mass of energy. He was on his back right now with blurred vision and aching limbs. How could he have allowed for something like this to happen? Was he going to lose right here? Was he going to be killed by Makaptan on the spot?

No.

Was this where he’d lose Bulan?

NO.

Flinching, he tried to get up only for his head to be met with Kaptan’s foot.

“Did you really think that I’d let you stand?” Now that his enemy was on the ground, the furious god continued on with his abuse. He dug his iron sandaled feet against Death’s skull before stepping on it repeatedly, laughing as he did.

This was only halted when ear piercing screams broke through the groans that were emitted by Sidapa.

“Who dares—“ Kaptan’s eyes widened. Another one, there was another one who dared invade his territory.

This time it was that troublesome dragon serpent, Bakunawa.

As Kaptan moved away from Sidapa in order to deal with the new problem, the Death God instantly rose to his feet and as if a man possessed, and began to make his way to where Bulan was. Before he could though, Kaptan grabbed him by the foot before slamming him on the ground.

“And where do you think you’re going? I am not done with you yet.” He snarled.

“Bulan…is crying…he needs me…I have to go…” At this point Sidapa had already drowned out the king’s voice. The only thing that he could hear was the flood of screaming voices, but among them, heard Bulan’s as clear as day. The pain in his body did not matter to him anymore. Even if every movement was an excruciating effort, he didn’t care. “I have to go…I have to go…I have to go.” The light in his eyes were replaced with an animalistic glow and in the moment when Kaptan forced him down once again, Sidapa mustered an unseen force that eroded the air, making it stagnant. This caused Kaptan to jump back lest he wanted to get caught in that ravishing air of decay.

Again, he couldn’t control it. He couldn’t control the essence of demise coming from him but because of that he was able to free himself. Instincts overrode his thoughts and now that he was undeterred by anything he charged at the moon-eating dragon.

“How desperate you’ve become…” Though in a way Kaptan could understand the feeling…

Once upon a time, he too had been a prisoner of love.

I will treat this as your test then.

Kaptan merely watched as Sidapa fought Bakunawa in an attempt to rescue the boy, Bulan, from being eaten. Why did he even bring that child back? The Sky God was not infatuated with the moons unlike the rest. He simply thought of them as children who needed to be protected. So wasn’t it only natural that he brought Bulan back home? Though perhaps it was part of his sentimentality that allowed for such a thing to transpire. Bulan reminded him of his beautiful and kind granddaughter. They were both sweet and shy, and shone brighter than any gem. He simply could not let him fall in the hands of someone or something that displayed the picture of decay.

“What a helpless man you are.” He whispered to himself, amused. Just this once he would allow someone to whisk away something of significant value.

Kaptan would join the fight then, striking the great Bakunawa with one of his prized bolts in order to catch its attention.

“Go, before I change my mind.” The King of Gods ordered the moment he saw that Bulan had been secured.

“You have my thanks.” Sidapa said.

“I have no need for it. Go.” Kaptan urged.

***

Suddenly the young mermaids were in a flurry of giggles.

“So he saved you from the moon-eating monster?” One of the sirens asked, giddy.

“He did.” Bulan replied with a nod.

The water nymphs had been so adamant today. Since they were the ones who did not know of the story yet, they couldn’t help but be curious after expressing a clear fear for the Lord of the Mountain.

Compared to Bulan and the older inhabitants of Mt. Madjaas, the younger generation of creatures and spirits still saw Sidapa as a terrifying god. He was, after all, the one who oversaw the end of days for all. He carved it on his tree atop the mountain. Sidapa probably had the loneliest job as a god. And on top of that he was wrongly feared and was in fact misunderstood.

The Moon glanced at where his husband was and saw him talking to a familiar spirit. No wonder it became slightly windy, Hangin is here. He noted.

His train of thought would come to a halt when he felt a light tug on his arm. When he looked toward his left, a curious young siren was holding onto his arm.

“Um—aren’t you afraid of Lord Sidapa?” She asked.

“I’m not, but there was a time back then when I was,” Bulan explained.

“I remember those days. You were so young and you always cried when you saw Lord Sidapa’s face.” Said another nymph.

Surprised, Bulan looked to see who had spoken and in an instant, he found himself walking into the water. “Kataw!” He cried, giving the woman a warm embrace.

Kataw returned this with equal fervor and even brought a hand to pat the boy on the head. No matter how much Bulan grew, he would still be a little boy in her eyes.

“So the lord really IS scary!” One of the mermaids chimed in.

“Lord Sidapa may have a scary face, but he’s not THAT scary.” The Kataw explained. “He is a very handsome god. Now, he just looks scary because he paints it so. He’s doing that on purpose.” She added. Oh how the water sprite knew of Sidapa’s agenda. The more the others feared him the fewer problems he’d have keeping Bulan to himself when others were being too bothersome.

Today, his plan seemed to have backfired.

Though perhaps more importantly, Kataw knew that their lord’s frightening façade kept others from being accidentally hurt. Fear was a very important weapon for Sidapa. It was a means that enabled him to sternly keep others away from harm’s way.

“Speaking of scary, I should go back to him,” Bulan chimed in.

There were a couple resonating protests coming from the sirens, but the Kataw had willed them into silence by offering to tell another story. That bought the Moon God enough time to finally escape and return to Sidapa’s side.

When he finally reached the tree where the god rested, he saw that his husband had fallen asleep.

“He’s been talking about you, you know,” Hangin suddenly spoke up.

“It’s good to see you, Hangin,” Bulan greeted.

“Likewise, hehe!” Replied the wind fae.

“The mermaids were asking for stories about Sidapa and I. I think we got a little carried away with the time.”

“Don’t worry, Lord Sidapa and I were talking about the same thing,” she explained. “A long time has passed and none of us believed that you’d stay by our lord’s side.”

“Even I, Hangin…even I.” The Moon answered as he took a sit beside the sleeping god. When he looked at Sidapa like this, he seemed completely harmless. Then again, he never meant to harm anyone. The animals of the mountain loved him and the flowers bloomed for him. The older sirens sang hymns for him while the newly sprouting life within their residence grew curious of him day by day.

More than anyone, he was oozing with life no matter how much he may deny it.

Bulan could never forget the day that they met. Even now he could still remember the alluring scent of flowers that perfumed the air.

Even now, when he closed his eyes, Bulan could still see the sparkle of fireflies as they lit his way to Mt. Madjaas.

Even now, when he drew close to Sidapa, he could almost hear the sirens sing.

“You are the light that makes the flowers bloom.”

Bulan hummed it softly. The mermaids’ hymn was like a mirror that reflected the Lord of Madjaa’s heart. He was certain that the particular line of the song was meant for him…that to Sidapa, he was something that showered him with a feeling that made his heart bloom into love, but the same could be said for the god.

“You are the life that’s breathe into me.”

For Bulan, Sidapa was the life he had never known. To be in awe yet at the same time feel fear. To feel like there was something that he didn’t want to lose. Recalling that time when the death god fought with Kaptan was the first time that he felt a feeling of fear. Would he be lost to him? It was a thought that he could not bear. Things were much different now than it was back then. During that time, he was so young that he mistook fear for something that mesmerized him…but now, now that they were together, he understood what it was that he really felt.

In a way they were each other’s mirror, without the other their reflections did not exist...could not exist. It was only when they were together that everything was clear.

How frightening it was and yet at the same time, so beautiful…

Bulan careful laced his fingers with Sidapa’s and leaned in beside him. The Moon closed his eyes as well and enjoyed the breeze that the wind fairy gifted them upon her departure.

It was alright like this. No matter what they were or how different they seemed to be…just like night and day, one cannot exist without the other.

They call him death, yet he breathes life into me.

#|| The mun's art Things ||#|| Story Time ||#So this is the thing. About Sidapa and Bulan.#enjoy #Sidapa #Bulan #mermaids #sirens #lore #Myth #fiction #Bakunawa #Makaptan #Saragnayan

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saintheartwing · 4 years ago

Text

Breaking Dawn, Part Five: The Sapphire Serpents

Breaking Dawn, Part Five THE SAPPHIRE SERPENTS

The feminine Vortian nervously rubbed the back of her neck as Feyr handed her a cup of coffee, giving her a gentle pat on the hand as he did so. She was used to his "there-there" treatment...it was commonplace. All the prisoners had referred to him as a touchy-feely kind of being.

How odd that Irken society would produce one so tender and sweet. He enjoyed talking to them about their families, their friends. Personal stories, usually.

"So where were we last?" Feyr the Consular inquired, one invisible eyebrow arched up as he fingered the necklace as it hung over his chest, a glittering orb almost pulsing with life. "I think you were telling me about the time that your garage caught on fire."

"Oh, right, right." Halle nodded, leaning back in her chair, looking away from her interrogator and up at the ceiling. "I can remember the smell of smoke...that was what we first noticed. It made us turn our heads, glance out the window...somehow, under the burning hot Vortian sun, our garage had caught aflame. And then it EXPLODED."

She chuckled slightly. "It was quite the sight, lemme tell you. Smoky haze hung around for days, and grandma's ears were ringin'." She hesitated then, looking over in his direction as he smiled down at the orb on his necklace before glancing back to her. "But why do you always like talking about our family life? You never ask us about any secret sabotage plans, no plots to bring down your vile empire..."

"Frankly, I sympathize. The only thing the Irken Empire loves is itself, and that's quite unacceptable to us Consulars." Feyr told her, his fern-like antennae sweeping over his head as he sighed. "Absolutely unacceptable. But they'll never know our true goals. We have ruled their lives since they first looked upon us, but they'll never know. All it takes is one touch and we have control over the minds of others."

Halle giggled slightly, a bubbly, tingly feeling rising off her. Was...was the room spinning? She couldn't concentrate. It all seemed so...funny, she...she was shrinking. Getting smaller and smaller. Wow. Like...wow.

"You're probably asking why I'm telling you this...no, no." He stroked his chin. "You're asking if you're really shrinking, I think. And the answer is I put a special venom secreted from our all-powerful Entity into your coffee..."

"V-Venom? Like a snake's? Wh-what's...what's going on?" Halle giggled again, hiccupping slightly.

"I have been "setting you up" for quite some time. Sometimes it takes longer on others who have stronger wills, but in the end, you all shrink."

Feyr calmly waltzed over to her form, carefully plucking up her tiny, shrunken body, giving her a gentle pat on the head with a careful claw. "You see, little one...the minute you let me touch you all those days ago, your mind became an open book and I learned all I needed and reported it. You're not the first, and you won't be the last. You're in my coils now...and you're going on a trip."

Carefully, he held the tiny figure over his mouth, zipper-toothed maw opening wide. The inside of his mouth was a strange color, grayish-green, a sharp contrast against the pinkish teeth, though his gums were slightly greenish/pink. He tilted his head back, placing the shrunken Vortian on his tongue.

Halle had given up on resisting...it felt so natural...she trusted this gentle giant, and allowed herself to relax as he began to swallow, her feet being the first to enter. She slid into his throat, a a slight pull on her body as she straightened herself out, looking behind her at the world outside his mouth as her waist and chest entered his throat. The throat finally slurped her up, sliding down and depositing her squarely in his stomach.

She could feel a gentle hand rubbing the outside, and hear his psychic voice within her head, still quite tender and sweet. "Don't worry, there's no acids in there, and the saliva your body is coated with now will put you into a state of suspended animation until you're ready to come out." Feyr intoned as Halle looked down at her feet, seeing shimmering pink crystals rise, covering her, aiming to engulf her body.

"It'll all be over soon, little Vortian. Just wait...soon you'll be in your new home..." Feyr purred in pleasure, the little one crystallizing in his belly's pit as he licked his claws free of her taste. Quite good, yes. Not quite as good as Irken flesh, admittedly, but it had a distinct flavor to it...and to think, he had three more prisoners to interrogate today...

The Consulars took a sense of pride in giving new meaning to the term "I want you inside me"...

The city...of Philadelphia! Located fifteen miles from anything non life-threatening.

Ahhh, the quiet state of Pennsylvania...and a demon is on the loose.

The people...are terrified!

The police...BAFFLED!

This FIENDISH being strikes without warning! Without mercy!

With diabolical cleverness...

He draws mustaches on people's faces.

It could be you...it could be ME...

"But it happens to be ME!" GIR the robot said cheerily as he waved his marker in the air, calmly stepping away from a movie theater, every single poster now desecrated by black mustaches drawn on every living being within. Monster movie? Godzilla looks great with a handlebar. Cameron Diaz has a fine and thick brushy mustache.

GIR WOULD have drawn one on Michael Jordan's underwear AD located by the snack machine, but he thought the Hitler moustache he was rocking was embarrassing enough.

You see, ladies and gentlemen, GIR...could see as GODS DO. He knew things, understood things, that nobody else did. Didn'tcha, GIR?

"You're darn tootin' right!" GIR cheerfully exclaimed, nodding in agreement as he strode from the theater, putting one robotic hand over his chest, over the big red watch that constituted for his heart. "We all have our missions in life. We get into different ruts. Some are the cogs on the wheels..."

He then burst out giggling, bouncing back and forth. "And others are just plain NUTS!" He put a finger over his lip and bounced it over and over, going "Hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo" as he bounded back home.

He was momentarily distracted though, by seeing Dib peeking out at him from HIS house, via the window. Dib was looking through binoculars straight at GIR, one eyebrow raised.

"Nope. No ring on him yet." Dib murmured, seeing GIR wave and grin at him as he made his way down the sidewalk. He scratched his head, turning it to see a large billboard showing Poop Dawg, the head spokesdog-person-thing for Poop Cola, drinking a can of his signature drink and now sporting a "Robin Hood" style mustache. "GIR has WAAAAY too much free time." He mumbled, turning back to shake his head at Gaz as she played away on her GameSlaveX, the latest in the video game system series.

He poked his head back out the window to try and focus in on ZIM'S house this time, but before he could get out his binoculars, GIR promptly swung down on a pulley system he'd somehow erected atop of Dib's house, marker in hand, drawing a very large Bowler moustache on the kid's face.

"Oh she was an acrobat's daughter...she swung by her teeth from a noose! Then one matinee, her bridgework gave way and she flew through the air like a goose!" GIR sang out, promptly grabbing bounding through the window, jumping off Dib's head to land in his room and reach into his chest compartment, pulling out fifty bucks to Gaz and giving them to her.

"Thaaaanks." She said with a smile as she leapt back out through the window, heading for his home as Dib wiped his face off.

"Did GIR PAY you for the permission to draw on my face?" Dib reasoned.

"Whiner." Gaz muttered, rolling her eyes and heading downstairs, off to go make a "special stop". Dib raised his hand up.

"Gaz?"

"Just...don't." She insisted. She didn't want him to come. Didn't want him to talk about it. Didn't want him to even THINK about it. She calmly headed down the stairs, the ring around her finger pulsing slightly as she walked out the door.

Dib sighed and headed to his computer, which had booted up to the Intergalactic Net. He was pirating galactic web from Zim's house thanks to an upgrade his dad had so generously installed and was trying to check on the latest auctions for interstellar items. Mainly, technology he could use to help make Zim's life as difficult as possible.

Plus, he was waiting for a pair of special see-through goggles. X-Ray, Infrared, Radar...

Wait. What was this? Somebody was auctioning off an "Onslaught-Class" starship...and not just ANY Onslaught-Class starship...

Somebody was selling The Massive itself!

...

... "...they're gonna make this my fault." Senior told his charges as he slapped his gloved hand to his face, looking at the place where the Massive HAD been parked as Feyr examined the people chained to the nearby railing of the parking garage, Red and Purple shaking with anger, turning very, VERY pale with rage, antannae and lips a-quiver. "I just KNOW it."

"What kinda sick being steals a ship but doesn't even bother to let it's prisoners go free?" Jayd wished to know, his black eyes shimmering with concern as he glanced over at the prisoners Feyr was standing by.

"That's actually kind of amusing." Peech spoke up, chuckling slightly as her enormously thick orange jetpack jingled with her laughter. "My kind of thief!"

Sude, still QUITE untouchable or audible to any of the others save for Senior, carefully tiptoed behind Red and Purple as they turned around to glare at Senior, the draconic entity of Life raising his hands up and imitating a puppeteer, with the Tallests as his puppets.

"Funny or not...our SHIP is GONE! OUR ship! All because of your day off!" Red growled at them, pointing an accusing claw as Sude raised his "arm" rope, making a mocking frowny face. "You're going to pay DEARLY for this!"

"We'd make you do "The Electric Chair" but there's no stinkin' chairs around!" Purple added. "And who had access to the ship anyway? Huh?" He asked, putting his hands on his hips, Sude imitating him as Senior began to giggle. "Huh? Huh? Huh?"

"N-n-no-nobody-hee-hee-hee..." Senior giggled, bursting into laughter as he held his sides, the others looking at him like he was insane.

"What're YOU thinking about?" Red snapped.

"Oh just...puppets." Senior wheezed out, wiping a tear from his eye as Red's eyes glittered.

"Good idea. PUT ON A PUPPET SHOW FOR US." He demanded, slamming his fist into his palm as Senior gulped.

"Uh...puppet...show? Er...okay..." He gulped. "But I've not got any puppets."

"A PAK with no PUPPETS in it! SHAME!" Purple insisted, shaking his fist at Senior. "You get a PUMMELING!"

An instant later, tiny hammers popped up on springs from the communication officer's PAK, bonking him over the head as Senior fell to the ground, "ow-ing" and "ooh-ing" over and over.

"Wow, voice-activated pummeling system in every PAK, regulated only to the Tallest's voices? Nice." Sude admitted as Peech reached into a compartment in her jetpack, pulling out some studly-looking puppets as Jayd got out some of his own from his considerably large belt, joining Senior in the puppet show.

"Say, Zimma-diah, ya think there's any big ol' space worms in this cave?" Senior said in a country-hick-style voice, holding up two puppets of, ironically, Zim. One in a bad shirt, the other in a dress for some strange, strange reason. What sort of lunatic would take the time to make TWO kinds of Zim puppets, let alone one with a dress?

"I dunno, Zim-thro!" Senior squeaked out in a falsetto. "Let's take a look-OHMYGODASPACEWORM!" He cried out, Jayd going "nom-nom-nom" as he "ate" the puppets a few moments later, Red and Purple whooping it up. Anything involving anyone looking remotely like Zim getting hurt was funny to them.

Plus...puppets.

"I guess we'll have to move to the palace." Red supposed as Jayd and his boss then did a puppet rendition of "Tallest Grapa's Electrocution Incident". "It HAS been a while since we were able to just sit back and relax there."

"But we'd have to sleep in separate rooms!" Purple whined. "You KNOW I don't do well alone." He clung to Red then, purple eyes brimming with tears as he whined like a puppy.

"I've gotten you your favorite night liiiight..." Red said in a sing-song voice, patting Purple's head as he pulled out a big smiley face'd version of himself, which lit up and glowed with gentle light when you plugged it into the wall.

"Aww, you always know what I like." Purple cheerily remarked as Jayd struggled not to say it, but couldn't keep it in.

Don't do it, Jayd. Don't-

"The Ambiguously Gay Duoooo!" Jayd laughed out loud.

KRAKA-THROOOOOM! Lightning promptly zapped him from out of the clear sky above and he coughed slightly, wiping the soot off his body as Feyr unchained the last of the prisoners.

"Does that...happen often?" May Nar inquired as she looked over at Senior.

"...I wish I could say "no"." The communications officer admitted to her, frowning slightly. He was CERTAIN he'd seen her somewhere before, and not just on the news. It was like...he knew her. REALLY knew her. But how?

Jayd noticed a considerable scrape on the Vortian's leg, frowning slightly as he approached, gently kneeling by it. "Here, let me heal this." He insisted politely, placing one hand over it as the Vortian looked on in surprise. It was so strange...the tubes connected from his PAK to his gloves were now filling with a strange, multicolored cloud of tiny particles that passed from his glove over the wound, like a shimmering, gentle mist.

"Nanogenes." Jayd explained to the mystified Vortian. "Be it near-death or just a scratch, as long as I've gotten a template for a living organism integrated into my PAK's matrices, I can cure any being. Plus, everybody likes the tingle."

"It's true. They do." Purple said, rubbing the back of his neck and turning visibly red as he thought up a way for him to injure himself later in the day. Hey, he could stop ANYTIME he wanted!

"Might I be allowed to make an inspirational speech, sirs?" Senior requested politely as Red and Purple looked him over.

"...why not? This could be good for a laugh." Red mused, rubbing his chin as he raised an invisible eyebrow. Senior was ALWAYS making inspirational speeches to the workers on the massive: they were often grade-A cheesecake. So much so that they'd come up with a drinking game: take one shot every time he uses a tired, worn-out cliché. Purple whistled for several assistants to bring them alcohol and they sat down on the backs of several unfortunates who were being forced to be used as stools for the Tallest.

Senior cleared his throat, Dite rolling her eyes as he began. "I know all of you expect me to say I'll always be a brave and courageous and noble leader. That I'll be the perfect inspirational figure for you and the right sort of person to emulate. That I can protect you from anything that'll befall you here. That I can save everyone."

"DRINK!" Purple giggled, downing one beer.

Senior ignored them and his antennae lowered, drooping slightly as he held one hand over his chest, sighing slightly as the others looked on in surprise. "Well, that isn't going to happen, because your Senior is a weak, WEAK being. But...but I'm good enough to promise this."

He gestured at all of them, his kindly eyes looking out across the empty garage. "I will be there. I'll be afraid. Confused, even. But I WILL be here with all of you, experiencing everything you go through. If NOTHING else...I will try to be by your side, even if I can't protect you from everything that'll attempted to be stuck into yours."

None of them spoke, all of them quietly looking at him before Jayd quietly clapped his hands together, nodding at Senior. "I liked it, sir." He said.

"It was honest...if nothing else." Xeil admitted, pulling down her communication's garb face mask to smile slightly at her boss.

"Thanks for keeping the clichés low, sir." Dite grumbled.

"Your kind words are always helpful." Feyr agreed, a look of sympathy flashing across his face.

Peech nervously tugged around an imaginary necklace as she flashed a slight, fake grin. "Yeah, yeah, uh...real nice...real nice..." She trailed off, a guilty expression flickering across her face, orange eyes slowly gazing down to stop at the ground.

"Yeah, yeah, let's save sittin' around singing campfires and all that crap for some time when OUR SHIP ISN'T STOLEN. Come on!" Tallest Red yelled out, clapping his hands together. "We're headed to the palace!"

"Uh, yay?" The many workers on the Massive mumbled, Purple sighing as well. Evidently he LIKED sitting on communication assistant's backs.

"...there's an "Orange Julius" on the waaaaay!" Red mumbled, folding his arms and rolling his eyes.

"YAAAAAY!"

Sude's frown, however, made Senior lose his happy grin. "What is it?" He whispered as they headed down the street towards the palace of the Tallest.

"The Entity of Love, Jourmungdr, is...dangerous." The draconic being whispered back as they kept walking. "And I've been sensing his presence growing stronger and stronger every minute I've been on this planet. I think he's been here longest out of all the others!"

"But he's the Entity of LOVE. What's scary about that?" Senior inquired, looking skeptical as he tilted his perfectly-round head to the side, Feyr happily introducing May to the other prisoners from the Massive, chatting it up with them all.

"He/She's not simply motivated by love, but by the absence of love."

"But he's not Chulainn, right? He wouldn't KILL us or anything because we're not shiny-happy-people, right?" Senior inquired, becoming slightly pale.

"Oh, no...NO!" Sude laughed nervously, pausing for a few moments. "...yes."

"...okay, uh...er..." Senior gulped. "I'll think of something!"

...

...GIR was slightly confused that his master wasn't at home, but he didn't mind it TOO much. Plopping down in front of the television with a bag of chocolate-covered popcorn, he decided to waste the rest of the afternoon with his favorite television program, the "Scary Monkey Show".

There's really not much else to say about the show. Seriously.

"I LOVE this show." GIR decided for the eighteenth millionth time as he munched away at his popcorn bag, momentarily turning his head to in the kitchen: Torque Smacky was tied to the table and there was a bucket filled with some kind of hypnotic soup that Zim had been testing. He wanted to introduce it to the school's cafeteria, to get everyone to do his will, but unfortunately there was going to be nothing but hot dogs and corn chips for the next week. And then the week after it would be hot dogs and potato chips.

Zim would simply have to wait three weeks until he could disguise his new, evidently VERY successful stew as creamed corn, because apparently Torque thought he was Clodah Rogers, and kept singing.

"I'm...just...a...jack-in-the-box! I go wherever love knocks! I'm gonna jump up and down on my spring!" He kept singing out as GIR frowned slightly, eyes turning red.

"I'M A-TRYIN' TO WATCH MY SHOW!" He yelled. "Stupidhead!" He snapped, grabbing ahold of the nearby lamp and tossing it through the air. It sailed across the room and into the kitchen, whacking Torque on the head and making him realize exactly where he was.

"Wh-what the...GET ME OUTTA HERE!" He yelled out. "What have you done to me? What have you done?"

GIR frowned darkly and walked into the kitchen, getting out a hammer from the nearby drawer near the sink and hopping onto the table, holding it high.

"AAAAAA!"

THWUCKA-THRONK!

"Thanks, I needed that..." Torque grumbled out, slipping into unconsciousness as GIR, satisfied, ripped Torque off the table and tossed him out the window to land in the rose bushes, heading back for his TV show to see-

A robotic being standing there, holding a ring with a yellow glow to it.

"INTRUDER!" GIR growled out, eyes transforming back to red, his forehead popping open as several large cannons suspended on mechanical wires shot up from within, aiming squarely at the feminine being.

"Don't you want this ring? This...SHINY ring?"

"...yes, it SURE is shiny..." GIR mumbled, his eyes becoming a cheery blue once again as the guns retracted and he inched closer...closer...

"Does GIR WANT the shiny ring?"

"GIR wants shiny very much." GIR whispered as Miyu smiled, sweet like darkest poison, handing him the ring as he slipped it onto one of his tiny fingers.

"GIR...you have the ability to inspire great fear. Welcome to my corps." Miyu laughed coldly, golden-yellow light shooting up around GIR's body as he was transfigured before her eyes, golden plates sliding onto his arms, yellow "boots" appearing on his feet and his chest and arms changing from blue to shades of yellow as well as his eyes, which now were alit with keen artificial intelligence.

"Amazing...AMAZING." He whispered, looking over his body. "The power...UNLIMITED POWEEEERRRR!" He roared out, rising into the air on flashy yellow lightning, cackling madly. "I'm gonna blow stuff up now!" He added cheerily, popping out through the window and waving goodbye as Miyu chuckled darkly. Sure, he might be seen.

But if he was seen...he'd just kill. Problem solved. What she didn't know, though, was that another thought was popping inside of GIR's head...a desire to go visit Gazzy and show off, since she was such a favorite of the robots. He wanted to hold onto her, GIR decided. After he'd killed her brother and father, he'd make sure to keep her alive, and when she died, he'd put her beautiful eyes in a mason jar...

But meanwhile, not far away, a quiet, careful figure concentrated, whispering quietly as he too thought of that same purple-haired girl formed in his head. This sort of spell took careful concentration...

"Come on...I call you forth...I call you forth...I call you forth...I call you forth..." He murmured and murmured, carving into his body the necessary runes, dark blood dribbling down his arms and chest as he held his hands up high. "I call you forth...I CALL YOU FORTH..."

...

... "I couldn't think of anything!" Senior moaned, tugging down on his antennae as they made their way towards the palace. Indeed, it was a beautiful structure, shimmering silver in the middle of a beautiful sea of purplish ground. There were dozens of columns lining the front entrance with images of famous Irkens inscribed on the columns, the pillars of the past being the pillars that held the palace's high roof up.

Most noticeable of all, though, were the flags that flung from the top, high banners of varying colors by several spires. One was green, another white, the other blue...symbols of the grand philosophy of the Irken race: Sacrifice for the Empire, Faith in it's Leaders and the Ambitious Will to Survive and Succeed.

"I can FEEL him. He's IN here." Sude murmured into Senior's lack of ear, eyes widening. "Hiding...waiting...waiting to KILL!"

"Kill?" Senior gulped inside his head.

"Just bein' overly dramatic. Sounds better than "do nasty things"." Sude commented calmly as they strode inside the set of double doors, the Tallest snapping their "fingers" as a red carpet was rolled out for them, a white-labcoat-wearing scientist with blue eyes bowing as he knelt before the Tallest as they ascended to the stairs.

"It is ALWAYS a pleasure to have you come back, my all-powerful Tallest." Trivvik, aka Trik, Head Scientist of the Research and Development Department for the Irken Military insisted ashe gestured at the many other ornately-decorated scientists, cooks, servants and guards in the palace. "We're ready for whatever order you have to give."

"We wanna eat food. We just stopped at an Orange Julius but we want something very cheesy. I'm talkin' three heart attacks in one serving." Purple insisted.

"You heard the man!" Red snapped, clapping his hands. "THREE heart attacks!"

"One, two...five?" Trik inquired.

"THREE."

'Three." Trik whistled sharply and the chefs quickly zipped to the kitchens as Trik clasped his clawed hands together. "Anything else, sir?"

"We need our feet rubbed." Red added, he and Purple walking off as the many former inhabitants of the Massive looked at each other, Senior sighing.

"I suggest we all find rooms and get some rest." He told them all, stretching his arms wide as he watched Feyr sneak off with the prisoners in tow, eyes narrowing. "...follow him, right?"

"Hell to the yeah, I believe is the term." Sude murmured, Senior slinking after Feyr and the prisoners, down a hallway to see-

Gone. He'd just...vanished.

"Where the...?" Senior glanced left and right in the labyrinthine hallway. "Where is he?"

"Count the doors." Sude ordered immediately.

"...six, there's six-"

"SEVEN. Look in the corner...of...your...eye." Sude murmured as green eyes slowly turned...more...more...

There. A perception filter had kept it hidden, but there it was...a slight pinkish glow emanating from underneath, light curling it's claws beneath the door. Senior grit his teeth as he opened it up, and his eyes and mouth widened in shock.

"WHAT...THE...HELL?" He screamed out.

The room was an enormous structure with hundreds upon hundreds of crystallized coffins of some kind, containing various alien beings. Some were Irken, others Vortian, some Meekrob, or Screw-Head and some even humanoid in appearance. Real Earthlings? Here? On Irk?

And standing in the middle of the room, suspended in the air by a pinkish energy construct formed around it like a giant artist's drawing rigging, was an enormous cobra-esque being. It was looking around the top ring of crystallized prisoners, removing something glittering from it's mouth time and time again and popping them across the wall, the glittering gems expanding into crystal prisons as they embedded deep in the walls. It turned it's head, noticing their presence and nodded over in the direction of-

Feyr. He was there, with the prisoners...all of whom were crystallized. He removed one such tiny gem from his own mouth, putting it to the wall as it expanded to reveal a Vortian female. May was the only one not yet crystallized, she was clinging behind an enormous sapphire pillar, one of many that held the room up, her own pink eyes widening as Feyr turned, smiling at Senior.

"It appears the secret's out." Feyr mused, shrugging as his appearance began to shift and shimmer, changing into a vaguely dress-like outfit, complete with a tiara and gloves, all shades of pink and white. And, for some reason, a slate of chest armor that allowed his...BELLY BUTTON to be shown?

What in...HOW? Unless...he was a NATURAL Irken? What ELSE had he been hiding? As Senior looked upon Feyr, Sude shimmering into full visibility by him, the communications officer shivered. Why had he never seen the dark intensity lurking behind Feyr's eyes? This snake in the grass had been hiding for so long in his garden...why had he not known?

"Because you didn't want to." His inner voice whispered.

"Jourmungdr...it's been a long time." Sude spoke loudly as May inched over to Senior, instinctively preferring the Irken that WASN'T trying to turn her into a piece of wall art.

"Time has been kind to you, as it has to me. Too bad you didn't emerge sooner. I've been here on Irk for centuries with my children the Consulars." Jourmungdr said, in a voice half feminine, half masculine. It bowed it's hooded head, stars sparkling within the hood as the insignia of Love shone brightly atop the cloth hanging over his...her...forehead. "I am Jourmungdr, little host. Don't be astonished by my appearance or my ways. Once all of these beings have seen the light, they shall be found."

"What "light" is that?" Senior demanded to know, clenching his fist tightly and shaking it at the snake. "You're keeping them prisoner and...and what have you done to Feyr?"

"All of them are having he embers of Love reignited within them. Just like Will and Rage and Fear and the others, everyone, and I do mean EVERYONE...is capable of feeling love to a degree." Jourmungdr intoned, pulling one crystal off the wall as it grew in size, gently stroking an Irken cheek. "In the case of the Irkens, who threw away their ability to spread love with others, I am bringing back their body's ability to freely love."

"You're MUTATING Irkens..." Senior murmured, eyes widening as he stepped back in horror. "Forcing them to gain sexual organs for your needs?"

"Your definition of "mutation" is incorrect. Think of it as bringing back what once was. REPAIRING, if you will." Feyr explained. "At one point, we Irkens were hermaphroditic, we bred freely with any beings we wanted. Survival was all that mattered, and we didn't care who bore our children. We must return to the flesh, my Senior." Feyr told him, suddenly striding to his boss's face and caressing his cheek, sweetly smiling, every syllable dripping with tender poison. "Return to our old ways. Jourmungdr wants all beings to embrace love. You have it in you. I can see it."

For a brief moment, Senior felt a terrible, harsh pain in his chest. It was as if his heart literally had been punched. He found himself momentarily glancing over in the direction of Lard Nar's sister as she glanced at him, as if seeing something else in him. "I...I..."

"Within you is a great amount of love and compassion for your kind...and for other species. You come from a time when we were allies with others...your tolerance towards them allowed the seeds of love to spread. You would make a fine mate for HER, I'd imagine." Feyr mused, glancing back at May.

"I want you to leave her alone and let these people GO." Sude insisted. "You cannot FORCE love on others."

"Sude..." Jourmungdr sighed and shook his/her head. "If a being is in a crisis and refuses to acknowledge it...you know only outside intervention shall save them. I will be that intervention. Please...don't stand in my way."

"I don't have a choice." Sude growled, putting one clawed hand on Senior's chest. "Senior...time for you to say my Oath! It is time for you to accept my blessing fully, and rise in light with the power of the White Rose!"

...

...GIR had been in the middle of a snacking spree at the nearby Pet Store when he'd noticed Gaz sneaking through a nearby alley. Putting his face up to the window, he watched her scuttle across the street, heading into the nearby cemetery.

Wait. The cemetery? GIR frowned slightly, yellow eyes narrowing. "What is she...?"

He moved smoothly out of the pet store, following after her, intent on figuring out what she was up to, wiping his mouth free of blood and fur, eyes widening at the sight of her pulling her coat away. She was now fully in her armor, all red and black and concentrating.

"Come on...come ON!" She snarled as she stood before a gravestone, pointing her red ring at the grave as it shimmered brightly. "Bring her BACK!" She yelled. "BRING HER BACK!"

With that...it WORKED. A burning red fire shot forth as blood dribbled down from her mouth, and her eyes widened as the fire seeped into the ground...and her mother's skeletal form rose, holding a hand to her cheek. "Wh-what's...what's going on?" She murmured out. "GUAAAAHH!" She hit the ground, panting and heaving, dry-vomiting as she struggled to stand.

No skin...no muscles...no eyes, a faint red glow around her body, but...some hair left...and her voice. Her mother's voice.

"Amazing. A rotting sack of bones and tumors and all she can feel is love..." GIR whispered, hiding behind a tree some distance away, eyes widening in surprise as Gaz's ring began to form the flesh and hair for Gaz, her mother nervously looking around, one hand holding her head.

"Mom? Mom?" Gaz whispered, clinging to her mother and looking deep into her eyes. "Do you know where you are? Do you know who I am?"

"G-Gaz...Gazlene? Is...that you?" Peggy Membrane inquired, eyes widening at her daughter.

"Yes...YES." Gaz felt the tears come, but did nothing to halt them. Screw the laws of life and death. Fuck anybody who would dare to laugh at her weeping like a little girl. Gaz felt just fine. BETTER than fine. And more importantly...so was her mother.

"I...feel so...strange." Peggy murmured as GIR approached nervously, Gaz glancing over at him, pnot really caring about his new outfit. "I...I can't remember much." She mumbled.

"It's okay, take your time. This is a friend of mine. He came here to see you, RIGHT?" Gaz asked, glaring slightly over at GIR, who eagerly nodded.

"Your daughter's a FINE young lady." GIR said quickly, nodding enthusiastically as Peggy felt her daughter's cheek. "You were sick but she made you aaaaalll better."

"I...I don't think..." Peggy mumbled as she clutched her head. "This...I'm sorry, this..." Her eyes grew wide. "This isn't RIGHT." She gasped out. "What did you DO, Gazzy? I'M NOT RIGHT. What did you DO?" She demanded.

"I brought you back." Gaz said, confusion flickering in her eyes. "Mom, I SAVED you."

"You saved a SHELL of me, baby." Peggy whispered, taking Gaz's cheek, a mournful expression coming over her face. "This isn't the way things were meant to be. I'm so sorry...the truest part of me is already gone. And..." She shook her head slowly back and forth, her voice dropping in tone. "...and you know that...don't you?"

Gaz stared for a long time at her mother before she finally covered her face with her hands, closing her eyes. "I..." She whispered. "...I..."

With that...she was gone. GIR helped Gaz lower her mother's body back into the coffin as the Earth returned to normal and Gaz placed a single, tear-stained hand over the cold ground, GIR sitting nearby on his knees, a deep, mournful expression on his usually-jovial face.

"...your rage is subsiding over the form of the one who caused it."

"...I kept blaming Dad...I kept blaming Dib...and I kept blaming Mom. But...it was MY fault." Gaz whispered out. "...because I wasn't strong enough to just...let go. I..."

She gritted her teeth, the tears trickling down her cheeks as she sobbed. "I can't do this anymore. I...I just...I just wanna start over."

"Gazzy..." A familiar voice whispered. GIR and Gaz's head whipped in the direction of a fully-clothed, and VERY much alive form. There, purple hair flowing gently in the breeze was Peggy Membrane standing proud, hands clasped, a look of love on her maternal face. "Oh, Gazzy...you CAN start over."

#invader zim #Gaz #GIR #Senior #almighty tallest #Tallest Red #tallest purple #comics #comic #fanfiction #fanfic #science #science fiction #science fiction fantasy #action

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varian-and-the-seven-skies · 5 years ago

Text

Cor Meum | Chapter One: City of the Sun

Synopsis: In a world of floating cities and steamships, Captain Rapunzel runs the fastest ship in all the skies. But this rowdy crew is not without its secrets—or its treasures— and Hugo, newly-hired, is ready to discover them all. Now if only Varian, the whip-smart lead engineer, would get out of his way.

A TTS & 7k AU of epic proportions, featuring cool fight scenes, steampunk machinery, and an inevitable romance. Written by @littlemisslol-fic and @izaswritings.

AO3 Link is here!

Fic Playlist can be found here!

Chapter One: City of the Sun

“Need a hand there, goggles?”

The voice, barely audible over the sound of welding and banging metal of the mechanic’s shop, draws Varian’s attention away from the chaos of the engine above him. With a beleaguered sigh he stares mournfully up at the greasy gears and other assorted guts of the machine. His eyes flick down to see a pair of black, perfectly polished leather boots waiting patiently near the edge of the suspended machine, and it takes more than a little willpower not to groan.

Varian grits his teeth. He does not have time for this. He only has until tomorrow to fix this stupid thing before the ship’s due to take off; he’s already been working on it for three days, and if he can’t get it running the Captain is going to flip.

The leather boots that Varian can see past the edge of the engine shift slightly, and Varian can feel more than see the light kick of someone else’s shoe against his own. The large silver buckles on the boots flash just enough to be annoying, and Varian makes a face. The voice drifts back down to where Varian has hidden himself under the engine, and it takes everything in him not to groan.

“Hey, can you hear me under there?” it says impatiently.

Varian plants his back a little more firmly on the rolling mechanic’s bed he’s lying on and pulls on the outer casing of the engine, rolling himself out from under the machine with a small grunt.

He slams his eyes shut against the sudden change in light, blinding even behind the protective lens of his goggles. When he opens them again he can see a tall figure leaning over him, blocking out most of the sunlight coming in from the skylights embedded in the iron ceiling of the shop. Varian cricks his neck, looking around in a last desperate attempt to ignore the person hovering over him.

The mechanic’s shop is certainly distracting enough, stuffed full of people just as grease-covered and irritated as Varian, all of them suffering together in the heat caused by welding and hard work. Made of thick stone and wrought iron, the large space offers room to spread out that you just didn’t get in airships, making it the best place for Varian to do his work with big projects like engine twelve’s sad, hollowed out corpse. Large windows dot the ceiling like stars, offering light and just the smallest hint of the blue skies above. The shop is, if anything, supposed to be a safe haven for the mechanically minded. People aren’t supposed to try and talk to each other, which is something Varian cherishes. Nothing worse than trying to piece together penny-sized cogs or a delicate engine part only to be interrupted by a nosey crewmate.

Which is why blondie being here is certainly quite the insubordination. Society has rules, damn it.

Varian wipes his gloves clean off his apron before pushing his goggles up onto the top of his head, linking his fingers and stretching his arms out towards the ceiling. He lets his arms flop back down with a sigh, and finally locks eyes with the person above him.

Varian arches a brow, and the blond’s smile splits just a little wider.

“I’m sorry?” Varian asks, not exactly friendly. By the Maker, he really doesn’t have time for this.

“I asked if you needed a hand,” the blond replies, a glint in his green eyes. He’s tall, is Varian’s first impression, tall enough that he’s likely got at least a head of height on Varian if they were to stand shoulder to shoulder. Varian would say he’s muscular, but there’s the sneaking suspicion that it’s really more the black leather coat that makes the teen in front of him look that way. Varian has employed similar tactics in the past; he knows the tricks. Get a big coat with a large, pointed collar and massive cuffs and boom, suddenly you’re twice as intimidating as you were before. It's a good coat, though, if a bit heavy for Corona weather. Shining silver buttons line the length of the jacket, and it has deep pockets that Varian can only assume are full of fun little tricks from experience. The silver continues on the blond’s vest as well, a trim piece of green fabric with polished silver buttons and a faint embroidery.

Blond hair, chopped in a rough undercut, frames the other teen’s thin face in an annoyingly aesthetic kind of way, held back from his face by the wire frames of the other teen’s circular glasses. Green eyes meet Varian’s own, and the blond smirks at Varian’s blatant staring.

In all honesty, he almost looks out of place, dressed up just a little too much to be skulking around with the grease-monkeys Varian calls his contemporaries. If anything, the quick flash of a silver rapier on the blond’s belt cinches it. Whoever this teenager is, he’s either from money, or pretending to be from money, both of which are irritating in their own way.

Varian bites the inside of his cheek, trying to find a way to reply politely.

“No, thank you,” is what he spits out instead, grabbing at the engine and starting to pull himself back under it. The blond’s heavy boot slams down on top, the mechanic’s bed jerking to a halt, and Varian’s teeth click uncomfortably together at the force of it. The engine swings a little dangerously from where it’s suspended between two large chains, holding it high so the underside of it is easily accessible. Varian stops mid-yank and glares.

The boy just smiles, annoyingly unphased.

“Aw, c’mon, goggles,” the blond says with that same irritating smile, green eyes bright behind his round glasses. “Isn’t that a little heavy for a tiny thing like you? Don’t you want the extra help?”

Varian huffs in offense, already done with this conversation. The shop’s agonizingly hot, even with the windows thrown open. It’s loud, dirty, generally rather unpleasant with the stink of grease and sweat, and though it’s the best place to work in the dockyard it’s still chaotic at best. Varian only has another eighteen hours to figure out what the problem with this engine is before they’re due to take off from Corona again, and Varian knows it’s his ass on the line if the work doesn’t get done. He doesn’t have time for some uppity asshole to think he knows more than Varian and try to upstage everything.

“I have a name, you know,” Varian says, coldly, looking the guy dead in the eye.

“Can I know it?” The blond winks at him. He seems to think he’s making headway.

“Nope,” Varian replies with a peppy smile. There’s a moment of shock, and that’s all he needs to yank his mechanic’s bed out from under the blond’s black boot, disappearing back under the engine.

Finally. Back where he belongs, the annoyance avoided. Varian scratches at his face idly, bringing his googles back down over his eyes, setting his mind back onto his work. He peers up into the open panel at the bottom of the engine, noting the interweaving cogs that should in theory be working by now. After the bloody pirate attack a week ago, engine twelve, or specifically this part of it, had taken a hell of a beating. The Captain had pushed her too far again, causing something inside to rupture and spew parts across the engine room floor like a geyser, and in turn Varian has spent the last three days desperately trying to piece it back together. Something is still wrong with it, though, and it’s driving Varian insane trying to figure it out.

“Come on, darling,” Varian mutters to himself, taking a wrench to one of the bolts. “Talk to me.”

He gets no answer. Instead a small plume of dust and grease spurts out of the machine onto Varian’s face, only just splattering onto his goggles instead of his skin. Lovely. He grits his teeth, reaching in to really give it a piece of his mind—

“It’s the bolt on the timing belt,” the blond pipes up from beyond the engine. “If you leave it as-is, it’s going to fall apart the minute you try to take off.”

…Oh. Varian looks up to the timing belt, tucked away neatly near the upper left side of the engine, and lo and behold, one of the bolts holding it in place is missing. Damnit. Varian peeks up through the engine, up to where the top panel’s been removed as well, and just catches a glint of green eyes peering down at him through the guts of the machine. There’s a minute of debate in him, how much does he value his pride? Enough to admit he was wrong to this irritating little—?

“Look, pipsqueak,” the blond says, his voice filtering through the cogs and gears. “I know machines. Just trust that I know what I’m talking about?”

Varian clenches his hand around the wrench, wondering how long he can go without committing murder. Maybe if he made it look like an accident…?

He rolls back out from under the engine again. The wheels make a protesting noise against the cobblestone floor. This time when he comes to a stop, he sits up properly, shoving his goggles back up to rest haphazardly on his forehead.

“Can I help you?” Varian finally spits. His ire only seems to encourage the blond, who grins.

“I mean, it seems like I’m helping you,” Green-eyes says, idly pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. How he’s dealing with the heat of the day in that giant coat Varian would never guess, but that’s besides the point. Varian rocks his weight a bit, thinking, the mechanic’s bed under him shifting with the movement. Decided, he finally pushes himself up to his feet, noting with irritation that the blond is, in fact, at least a foot taller. Scowl setting deep on his face, Varian turns away and kicks at the mechanic’s bed roughly, sending it rolling back under the engine for safekeeping.

There’s a chattering noise of gears and steam, and Varian feels a weight land on his shoulder. He only just adapts to the heavy weight of copper, steel, and brass, before he feels his first creation clambering for his attention. Varian absently reaches up to pat at the metal body of his pet, scratching at a place between the exposed gears of Ruddiger’s ears that he knows the little automaton likes best. Ruddiger coos out a puff of steam, settling his weight onto Varian’s shoulders fully, the automaton having jumped from on top of the engine. Aperture eyes snap open and close with content, breaking the glowing green light of Ruddiger’s eyes for just a second as the raccoon-shaped automaton purrs.

The blond lets out a little huff of a laugh when he sees Varian and Ruddiger together, green eyes flicking between them. He gestures to his eyes, biting his lip. “Look at that,” he says, grinning. “You’re twins!”

Sure enough, when Varian peers into the polished brass sides of the engine, he can see that his eyes are ringed with grime and soot, giving him a distinctly raccoon look. Varian scowls at his reflection, turning back around with an angry gesture of the wrench in his hand.

“If you weren’t right about the engine—” Varian begins to threaten, but the blond cuts him off.

“But I was,” he says with a smarmy smile. “Right, I mean.”

Varian can feel his eye twitch.

“You’re rightly annoying,” he grumps, crossing his arms. Ruddiger makes an offended puff of steam at the movement, digging mechanical hands into the shoulder of Varian’s shirt a little tighter. Varian grits his teeth a little as tiny claws dig into his skin through the thin fabric.

The other boy holds his hands up in an innocent gesture, head cocking to the side. “I know what I’m doing, all right? Let me help fix the engine.” Green eyes glow with mirth as the boy looks down at the engine again. “Because, clearly, you seem to need it.”

Varian scowls, his hands clenching into fists, fingers digging into the leather of his gloves. The wrench in his hand is temptingly heavy, but Varian simply grits his teeth and ignores the plots for murder, taking a deep breath. Instead he reaches up and over the engine, using the wrench to try and tighten the bolt on the timing belt one last time. It creaks a little dangerously, but Varian knows it’ll hold. He designed it himself, after all.

Ruddiger keeps an eye on the blond behind Varian, making curious noises, a soft clicking sound that mixes well with the quiet ticking of his clockwork heart. Varian has to use two hands on the wrench to get the bolt tight, giving it a few violent tugs. The blond is watching him—Varian can feel eyes on the back of his neck—but Varian steadfastly ignores him, either out of focus or spite… or maybe both.

Work done, he finally turns back around to the blond, stepping forward with a threatening gesture of the wrench.

“Look,” Varian says, pointing the wrench an inch away from green eyes. “I don’t particularly care for your tone, so—”

“Varian!” a third voice calls, and Varian stills mid-rant. Both Varian and the irritating boy next to him turn, locking eyes with a young woman—a familiar woman. Her grin is a mile wide, bright as the sun and twice as warm. Her purple dress swirls around her ankles, cinched tight at the waist by a black corset, with billowing sleeves of white fabric. Her green eyes crinkle when she sees the two of them turn to her, scrunching up the spattering of freckles on her face and wrinkling her button nose. She’d look a proper lady, she certainly holds herself with the decorum expected of one, if not for the pixie cut she’d chopped her hair into. It’s stylish, with shorter sides and a longer top, nearly defying gravity in the way it fluffs up from her head into a windblown wave.

Varian notes, with quite a bit of amusement, that she’s holding onto a pair of flats in one hand. Barefoot again, then. Classic.

“Rapunzel,” Varian sighs, dropping the arm holding the wrench back down to his side. He can feel the embarrassment of being caught picking fights seizing him. He’s eighteen now, he really should know better, and Rapunzel is nothing if not determined to keep him on the straight and narrow.

“Who’s this?” Rapunzel says with interest, her eyes flicking between Varian and the other teenager. The taller boy seems to stiffen under her gaze, which is unsurprising. Rapunzel is notorious in these parts, and in the dockyard especially. Varian rubs at the back of his neck in the presence of his Captain, and can feel his cheeks burn red.

“He was just leaving—” Varian starts to say, turning away from her to glare at the blond, but Rapunzel cuts him off.

“Oh, did you make a friend?” she asks, coming closer and leaning on Varian’s shoulder. It’s infuriating the way she’s taller than he is, even after his growth spurt.

“Sure,” Varian says through grit teeth. “A friend. We’ll call him that.”

Rapunzel brightens at that, and Varian can already sense the trouble on the horizon. “And you are?”

The boy shrugs. “New.”

There’s a pause, but Rapunzel pushes forward. “Oh! How are you liking Corona, then?” she asks the blond, her grin a mile wide at the thought of Varian having friends. Varian’s not sure if he’s offended or not, really.

“Loving it,” the blond says. “The City of the Sun could never disappoint.”

Varian wants to roll his eyes, but Rapunzel leans further onto him, putting more of her weight onto his shoulder in a silent bid for him to behave himself. He goes along with it—she’s typically right in these sorts of situations.

“Glad to hear it,” Rapunzel grins. “What brings you to our fair city, anyways?”

“I’m here looking for work, actually,” the blond says quickly. “Just got back from a contracted expedition to Vardaros, so now I’m on the hunt for another engineering job.”

Rapunzel’s face brightens, and Varian grows concerned. He knows that she’s been contemplating hiring extra hands for their next expedition, seeing how important it is, but there’s no way she would actually—

“Well, you’re in luck!” Her face splits into a wide smile. “We’re actually looking for a junior engineer, and any friend of Varian’s is a friend of ours. We’d be glad to have you aboard, if you’re willing.”

Varian’s face must do something funny, since Rapunzel’s full weight is near crushing him now. He tries to catch her eye, but she’s ignoring him with a grin. Rapunzel knows exactly what she’s doing and Varian can’t help but feel the slight pulse of irritation sink into his gut. She’s planning something, he thinks, glaring at her as she steadfastly ignores his gaze. Only the Maker knows what goes on in that woman’s head, honestly.

“Well, can’t say no to that,” Varian’s new most-hated-person says.

By the Maker, what did Varian do to deserve this? Has he really been such a terrible person to deserve this kind of treatment from the universe? Honestly, you’d think he was a horrible murderer in a past life for the kind of penance he’s paying in this one.

“Perfect!” Rapunzel crows with a clap of her hands. “Varian can show you how to get back to the Aphelion—right, Varian?”

“Yes, Captain.” Varian grunts, idly wondering if he could brain himself with the wrench in his hand in such a way that would guarantee he wouldn’t survive. Rapunzel doesn’t seem to mind, finally letting up on Varian and gently pushing away from him with one last squeeze of his shoulder.

“Alright, you two,” she says, winking to Varian as she leaves. “Just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing— I’ll see you both back at the ship! Play nice!”

Varian can’t help but feel like he’s been played.

If Varian had his way, he’d turn around and fire the blond here and now. Varian’s the head of the engineering section of the Aphelion— that’s got to count for something, right? In theory it should, but Varian knows that Rapunzel, as Captain, had final say in everything. If she wants to be a busy-body and force Varian to try and make friends, then by the Maker, it’s happening whether Varian likes it or not.

In this case? It is decidedly in the not category.

He turns to the blond, who looks back with a smug smile. Varian can feel his face scrunch up in distaste at it, and knows that the twitch in his eye is probably back with a vengeance. Ruddiger chirps with contentment on his shoulder, idly pawing at his hair in an attempt to calm his human down. It doesn’t work. Varian sighs, and finally sets the wrench down on a nearby table, jabbing a finger at the other teenager.

“I don’t like you,” is all he says. “But if Rapunzel says you’re in, then you’re in, I guess.”

That stupid fucking grin gets wider, and Varian wants to punch it.

“Who are you, then?” Varian asks, trying for more neutral territory. If they’re going to be stuck together for the next six months once the Aphelion takes flight, then he wants to at least try to work towards something non-hostile.

“Your new crewmate, obviously,” the blond shoots back, and Varian loses all sense of decorum at that point. There’s a beat of silence as Varian tries to reel his temper in, and another as he tries to relax his jaw enough to say something that won’t get him arrested.

“In that case, you should know that you’re speaking to your boss… mister junior engineer.”

The blond splutters, and Varian can’t help but give a little smirk of his own. Nothing better than reminding people of his position, the one he’d clawed for for years before Rapunzel finally gave in.

“Wait, what?” Varian’s new underling asks, going a shade paler.

“My name is Varian,” he says, the smirk growing larger and larger. He brings a hand up to the center of his chest, fingers splayed slightly. “Lead Engineer of the Aphelion, and your new boss. So, tell me, glasses.” Oh, this was so much fun. “Who are you?”

Green-eyes seems to know when he’s dug himself a hole he can’t climb out of, and for the first time there’s something other than an irritating smirk on his face. If anything, Varian would say he looks annoyed. The thought of finally managing to wipe that smirk off the blond’s face is delicious, and it does wonders for Varian’s mood. Varian sticks a hand out, much like Rapunzel had, and while the blond glares at it, he still takes Varian’s smaller hand in his own.

“Hugo,” the blond grits out, holding Varian’s hand maybe just a little too tight. It’s still worth it to see this boy squirmthough.

Varian waits, but the older boy—Hugo—says nothing else, and after a moment Varian draws his hand away. “Good talk.” That’s that, he supposes.

A pause, and then Varian shrugs and moves away, looking back to the engine. Screws in place, broken pipe replaced, timing belt bolted... it’s about as fixed as it can get. Varian reaches up and slams the top back down with a loud clang. Hugo jumps. Varian grins, and kneels down to lock the top back into place.

Ruddiger chitters in his ear, scolding; Varian shakes him off and straightens back to his feet, peeling off his gloves and shoving one hand back through his hair. Ugh, city sweat and oil. He can taste it. “Well,” Varian says, resigned. “Might as well make yourself useful, I guess. Help me push this back to the dockyard.” Hugo opens his mouth but Varian cuts him off. “And if I hear one more comment about my physical prowess—!” He pats the wrench twice with a sweet smile, the threat more than obvious.

Hugo closes his mouth. He’s grinning. By the Maker, even when he’s quiet, Varian can practically hear what Hugo wants to say anyway. This is already a disaster; what the hell is Rapunzel thinking?

He has a sudden and vivid flashback to her winking at him, and shudders without knowing why.

Ruddiger coos at him with a puff of steam. Varian tugs at Ruddiger’s ear in return, annoyed with the chiding—he knows how to play nice, thanks, why does no one have any faith in him?—and then walks to the shopkeeper, thus far ignored in the back of the workroom. “How much for the parts?”

He pays for the replacements and manages to haggle for a cart, and in a few minutes’ time he and Hugo have winched the engine down and rigged it up for transport. Varian braces himself against the cart handle and sighs. “Westside dock,” he tells Hugo, squinting sadly at the streets through the large double doors of the shop. It’s market day. The crowds are crazy. This is going to suck. “Pier 48.”

“You sure you know the way, goggles?”

“It’s ‘boss,’ actually,” Varian replies sweetly, and grins with all his teeth at the way Hugo winces. Hah. Varian could get used to this.

They exit the repair shop to a faceful of steam, and Varian coughs hard, waving the smoke from his face as he and Hugo shove their way into the crowd, the cart rattling loudly on the uneven cobble. Corona at midday is as bustling as ever, the city life in full swing. Whole families wander the streets as merchant carts and stores push out their wares; steam-powered bikes rocket past, their riders laughing high and bright. In the distance, Varian can hear the ever-present screech of the train whistles, the trails of steam drifting up from the stations. Above them, the sunlight warps and twists, broken apart by the furious rattle of passing trains and the railroad looping high above their heads in arches and spindly bridges.

Varian squints against the light and shades his face, elbowing Hugo hard to get his attention. The other boy looks almost lost in thought, staring up—his eyes tracking the trains as they pass, looking almost blinded by the sheer gleam of the city in motion. “We’re heading right,” Varian explains, raising his voice above the din, and waves his pocket watch at Hugo’s face, tapping the compass in the upper corner. “Come on.”

Hugo pulls his gaze away and follows, and together they push the cart through the streets, slowly but surely carving a path for the dockyard. When they finally break through the main crowd, Varian pushes them toward the side-streets, shadowy and empty and safe from wandering feet. If they hurry, he thinks, they might make it to the dockyard before the heat really sets in. He gives Ruddiger one last absent pat and starts to pick up the pace.

Hugo is slowing, though, trailing behind, and then for a brief moment he stops completely, hand slipping away from the cart. Varian yanks the cart to a stop, glancing back, ready to give the other a piece of his mind—but then he sees Hugo’s face. Varian follows his gaze, and closes his mouth. He understands now: in the break between the buildings he can see the whole upper half of Corona, the spires of the Sun’s temple and the curving arches of the bridges rising high over the city, shining bright and glossy in the sunlight. It’s designed to look like the sun crest, if seen from directly above—a tourist favorite.

“First time in the city?” Varian wonders, and when Hugo eyes him, just shrugs, Ruddiger chattering loudly on his shoulder. “You’re staring.”

“It’s bright,” Hugo says, dryly.

“And that would be why it’s called the city of the Sun.” Varian blows out a hard breath, trying to get sweat-soaked bangs out of his face. He plants his hands on the cart rail and starts pushing again. A moment’s pause, and then Hugo joins him. “But no, seriously, who are you? You’re already hired or whatever—” Damn Rapunzel for that, now Varian has to deal with this jerk for six months, “—but why are you even here?”

“Luck,” Hugo says, which is such an obvious lie Varian outright rolls his eyes at him. “Money. Look, goggles, I came here for a fresh start, so—” He gestures. “Let’s just not do the whole interrogation thing and say we did, okay?”

Varian presses his lips together, but lets it drop. As irritating as Hugo is—well. Varian understands fresh starts. And the money issue. If it was someone prying into his reasons, then…

“Fine, fine.” Varian says, and turns his head away, only just catching the way Hugo startles from the corner of his eye. He almost looks surprised, Varian thinks, but when he glances back again Hugo just looks as smug as ever, not even out of breath from pushing the cart. His hair is even still slicked perfectly back.

Maybe his imagination? Well, whatever; Varian hates it either way.

It’s not far to the docks, and Varian knows the path like the back of his hand; by the time the midday heat really starts sinking in (and Hugo, in that stupid leather coat, is noticeably starting to sweat—hah, serves him right), they’ve reached the edge of the city. It’s quieter here, the rumble of the crowd replaced with distant whistles and rhythmic banging, the symphony of a dockyard hard at work.

Varian heaves the cart to a rolling stop by the stairs, waving at Hugo to step back, and cups a hand around his mouth. “Xavier!” he shouts down at the shipyard, pitching his voice high. Ruddiger props up on his head and yawns, puffing steam like a smoke signal. “Send Cass up here, would you? I’ve got that engine part fixed!”

“Oh, wonderful!” Xavier waves back. “I’ll send her up— we’ll get it reinstalled right away! Grab Yong for me?”

“Where is he?”

“On the ship!”

“Got it!” Ruddiger crawls from his shoulder down into his arms; Varian cradles the racoon close—ouch, hot metal—and finally looks back to Hugo, humming. “Well, come on then.”

“Yong?” Hugo wonders aloud, as Varian makes his way for the ship. It’s in Pier 48 now, the main dock for repair work, which makes this a longer walk than usual. Damn pirates, punching holes in their ship— who did this Donella think she was? For someone with such a fearsome reputation, they’d gotten away pretty light…

“Xavier’s assistant,” Varian explains, clutching Ruddiger to his chest and hopping down the stairs two at a time. He hears a snicker, and whips around to glare. Hugo looks away, one hand covering his mouth. Varian narrows his eyes. “Xavier was that man down there, he runs the engines, and— would you stop laughing?”

“Sorry,” Hugo says, with a grin that says he isn’t sorry at all. “You were saying?”

“Okay, I’m not doing this.” Varian spins on his heel, ignoring him. “Come on, it’s just around the corner. She’s a little... battered right now, some hull damage, but we’re set to leave tomorrow— and I mean tomorrow— time is money with this next shipment, understand?”

Hugo smiles, leaning closer to Varian. “What’s so special about it?” he asks, one eyebrow raised. “Is it expensive?”

Expensive, one of a kind, irreplaceable—there’s a lot of words Varian could use for it. If the Aphelion’s last cargo had been valuable, this next shipment is near-priceless. “That’s on a need-to-know basis—” Varian says tartly, “—and until we’re in the air, you don’t need to know. Now, will you be ready?”

Hugo shrugs. “I’m ready to go now.”

Varian blinks at that, looking Hugo up and down. Even Ruddiger lifts his head from his nap to sniff a disbelieving puff of steam. No luggage, just the clothes on his back and the sword on his hip. “Um… you sure?”

Hugo’s smirk widens. “Aw. Worried for me, goggles?”

Ha-ha, nevermind. Varian pivots back around. “Nope.” He is not allowed to punch his new assistant. He is not allowed to punch his assistant. Rapunzel would be disappointed. There would be lectures. She would make charts. Not worth it. “Now, where is that ship—”

He ducks around the corner, stepping out of the way of horse and cart, and then, like the sun splitting the clouds: there she is.

Varian trails to a stop, annoyance already forgotten. He turns, for once wanting to see Hugo’s full reaction. If Hugo had blinked twice at the city, then… “Here we are,” Varian says, grinning now, pride bubbling warm in his chest. “The Aphelion!”

Hugo looks, mouth opening, and Varian can just see the rude comment he’s about to make—and then Varian really doesgrin, wide and bright and smug smug smug, because he can also see the moment Hugo loses all his words entirely.

Varian has always loved Corona, despite everything—the spiny skyline, the arching bridges, the whistling steam and winding roads curling up to the temple like a conch shell. Varian has lived in this air and breathed this city for all his life, and he loves it with all he is— but of all the places in the city, the dockyards, and the ships they harbor, are where his heart truly lies.

If the city is bright, then the dockyards are blinding. They sit on the very edge of the city limits, the cliff-face drop of the flying city. The copper paneling that makes up the dockyard decks has turned near solid-gold in the sunlight, and beyond that edge the whole world falls at their feet. Miles upon miles of dotted green farmland, blocks of gleaming metal towns, curving roads like man-made rivers. The horizon burns gold and blue, the distant silhouette of other flying cities dotting the landscape, poking out from distant clouds. None of the cities fly as high as Corona, of course—the cities of the Sun and Moon are meant to float above all the rest—but it still makes for quite the view. With other airships hanging in the sky, colorful backdrops against the full white clouds, the dockyards are most certainly a sight to behold.

But the jewel, Varian thinks with a smile, is his ship—Rapunzel’s ship—their home.

The Aphelion.

She’s a work of art, Varian knows, and she looks it, too. Aphelion is a whole three hundred feet of dark wood and solid brass, long and sleek and sharp as any blade. Her half-moon windows are stained glass and shining; decorative copper and silver wires wind down her front and all across her sides like trailing vines, or maybe wings, or maybe the unfurling edges of the sun. She’s got four sails and an envelope made of the best weave, the cloth of the balloon so thick it’s near impossible to cut, set to hold them afloat for nearly two decades even if the engines and the fires both die. A heavy copper turbine sits at her back; the sails, flapping loose in the breeze, are decorated in off-hand embroidery. She’s golden and shining in the sunlight—and it’s right, that Hugo goes dead silent at the sight of her, and Varian can’t help but grin. Because anyone who stops and stares at the Aphelion, anyone who goes breathless at their first glance… well, as annoying as Hugo is, he can’t be too bad, then. Not if he sees the Aphelion for the treasure she is.

She hadn’t always been this way, of course; she’d been a broken thing once, before Rapunzel found the shattered shell of a ship and coaxed life back into her. It’s Rapunzel’s way, after all, to find broken and trapped and hiding things, and bring them out to the light—but Rapunzel had asked Lance to do the tarp weave, and Varian had built the metalwork, and in the end, it was all of them, together, that brought the Aphelion to the skies, blinding and beautiful and larger than life.

Varian steps away and sets Ruddiger down on the cobble, still grinning wide and pleased at Hugo’s shock, and waves up to the small figures settled around on the Aphelion’s balcony. Rapunzel—standing at the helm with Eugene, Nuru, and Yong—looks over, and she leans over the railing to wave back. Her eyes draw to Hugo next, and even from this distance, Varian can see her smile.

Varian turns back to Hugo, radiating smugness. “Well?”

Hugo blinks fast and shakes his head. “Well,” he echoes. He shakes his head again, and then he gives a little laugh. “Well.”

“What do you think?” Varian presses, intent. “Isn’t she gorgeous?” And maybe Hugo catches something in that, maybe he can tell Varian really and truly wants an answer, because he looks at Varian, eye to eye, and then— he smiles.

Months later, this memory will stand out to Varian. Years later, Varian will look back on this day in the sun and finally recognize the moment for what it was. A beginning. And an end.

Their only warning.

It’s bright, the smile Hugo gives him. It’s blinding. But for some reason, something about it makes Varian falter. A chill runs down his spine. His mouth goes dry. Because there is something in that smile—in the curve of it, the sharpness of teeth—something about the way it creases at Hugo’s eyes. It unnerves him. It unsettles him. There is something about it that doesn’t sit quite right, and if Varian had known better, then, perhaps he could have read the smile for what it was.

But instead Varian looks away, feeling cold and not sure why, telling himself it is just the wind—and beside him, Hugo, his eyes fixed back on the ship—

Hugo smiles.

“Yes,” he says. “She’s perfect.”

#tangled the series #varian and the seven kingdoms #varigo #vat7k #hugo tangled #tangled varian #varian #hugo #rapunzel's tangled adventure #rapunzel #tts #rta #chapters #fic: cor meum

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rinari7 · 4 years ago

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@slytherintothedragonsden and @ciara-jane Many many thanks for the topic suggestion! And I have other reports I’ll have to do, so I’m saving the other topics away as well for those! :3

All right, buckle up folks! By popular demand, we're talking about bicycle gears!

This will probably be more information than any average consumer wants or needs to know, but I had to make it report length, so my apologies! But I'll try to be concise, and I'll do my best to keep the maths to a minimum for those of you sensitive to such things. ;)

The term "gear" or “speed” in this particular context refers to a particular arrangement of toothed wheels, disks, or shafts that translates torque generated by either a motor, someone’s pedaling, or a combination of both, into the physical speed of the bike on the path. Put more simply, a “gear” is a particular “translation” of turns of the crank arms to turns of the back wheel.

So people have more of an idea of precisely what I’m referring to, here on a modern utility/mountain bike chain drivetrain and gear setup:

1. crank arm

2. chainrings

3. front derailleur

4. chain

5. rear sprockets (together also called a cassette, that are attached to the hub of the rear wheel and drive it)

6. rear derailleur

The first bikes only had one “gear” — the pedals and crank arms were affixed directly to the wheel hub. One crank arm revolution equals one wheel turn, one wheel circumference traveled. Incidentally, this is also why penny farthings became a Thing, as ridiculous as they looked and as dangerous as they were — people wanted to get farther with one crank arm revolution, and they were only really limited by the length of their legs and from what height they were willing to risk falling.

Still, gear-less bikes were less than ideal. Issues getting up a hill? Too bad, get stronk. Want to go faster? Pedal faster, lazybones. :P

For the people with a little more common sense or a healthy fear of heights, the “Safety” bicycle (coming to stores near? you in 1886!) got rid of such stupid things as an enormous front wheel, and sat the rider much closer to the ground. More importantly for the development of our modern bicycle transmission, it sat the rider in between the two wheels and used a chain to transfer torque from the pedals to the rear drive wheel.

(For the less physically gifted… physics-ly gifted? torque is force applied over a distance that makes something turn. However, distinguishing between torque and force is more an issue of pedantry and math-ish nerdery than any real key to understanding.)

In the early days, some people came up with the bright idea of putting two different sized cogs or sprockets on the opposite sides of the wheel. Two gears! Too bad you had to stop, get off, remove the rear wheel to flip it around, secure it again, and then get going again in your new gear. This only really became a Thing in racing, where the difference in speed mattered enough to justify that whole song-and-dance.

How does a different-sized rear sprocket make a difference in speed? I’m so glad you asked! (Warning: maths ahead, but I’ll try to make it painless.)

Y’all remember levers, right? (Excuse the terrible Microsoft Paint drawings I made at 11 at night, please.)

You can apply less force at the end of a longer “lever” and have the same effect as if you’d applied more force to a shorter lever. Mathematically, the equation is: F1 x l1 = F2 x l2.

(In the diagrams, F1 is the force of gravity pulling the box down, and F2 is the force exerted by the person, l1 the blue length and l2 the red length. They were originally color-coded like most of the bolded stuff but tumblr didn’t feel like working with me there.)

Now let’s take a look at the rear (driving) wheel of a bicycle. (Proportions exaggerated.)

Y’all see it too, right? Like, uh, either way the torque the chain applies to the sprocket (the blue side of the lever) is on the less advantageous side of the equation (smaller than red), but the larger gear offers a less-bad ratio.

So, why would anyone use a smaller gear? More force actually applied to the wheel on the road is better, right?

Not necessarily. If you’re moving forwards at a good clip, you’re good. If you apply too much force, there’s also the risk of the wheel slipping and losing traction on the road.

Also, I picked the icons I did for a reason. Notice how the larger gear has more teeth? That means it takes a longer length of chain to tug the larger gear around one complete revolution.

What if your chainring has only half as many teeth as your rear sprocket? The teeth are the same distance apart, same chain. That means you have to complete two revolutions of the crank arm to move one rear-wheel-circumference forwards.

There’s an equation for this, too: transmission ratio i = teeth of chainring ÷ teeth of rear sprocket = radius of chainring ÷ radius of rear sprocket = rotations of rear sprocket ÷ rotations of chainring. Any of those three possibilities will get you the same answer.

Note here that the lever principle applies to the pedal and chainrings as well.

In this case, a smaller chainring works in our favor, transferring more torque to the chain and thus to the rear wheel, but less speed.

If we put both of these aspects together, we have the combination small chainring + large rear sprocket giving us the maximum transmission of force from pedals to the rear wheel, but not much forwards speed. Conversely, the combination large chainring + small rear sprocket gives us a lot of forwards speed, but not much force — if we hit a hill we’re going to have a hard time.

Practically speaking: most bikes have two or three chainrings (controlled by the left gear shifter) and between 6 and 10 rear sprockets, though the trend is shifting back to one chainring and many rear sprockets in the super-high-end systems. (Also, with the advent of pedelecs and electric auxiliary motors, most people are now just switching the motor’s boost level instead of shifting chainrings).

To make things more concrete: my bicycle has 8 rear sprockets and 3 chainrings, in bike lingo 3 x 8 gears or speeds. I could say 24-speed, technically, but realistically there’s some overlap in there between different sprocket-chainring combinations, and some combinations I would realistically never use, like small chainring + small rear sprocket, or large chainring + large rear sprocket (not to mention that those kinds of extreme gear combinations can exacerbate chain wear).

On your gear shifters, the thing to remember is: if pedaling is difficult, shift down, to the lower numbers on the left and right displays. The indexing (assigned numbers to cogs) is nicely uncomplicated that way.

I’ve sprung forwards a bit historically, but hopefully that answers the questions of “what even are bike speeds and what do these wizard numbers mean?”

I’ll cut the history and rambling a bit short at this point: in 1930 the predecessor of modern chain-driven gearing systems, the Vittoria Margherita, was invented, and in the 1950s the basic design of modern derailleurs and chain gearing systems popped up, and has stuck around ever since. Shimano did a thing in the 1980s, designing hubs, cassette, pedals, chainrings, front and rear derailleurs, and most components of the drivetrain to specifically work best with the whole set of their parts, which… uh. Like, good that they offer a well-performing, smoothly-designed system, but locking you into buying only their stuff if you want your thing to work right? Not a huge fan. (The corporate side of bikes is. Uh. A whole thing. A whole-ass other ramble.) And now there’s electronic and wirelessly controlled gear shifters, but that’s most of the major developments in gear shifting.

The first widely available transmission system that could be operated without, uhhh, stopping and taking your bike partially apart, was actually an internal gear hub, invented by William Reilly in 1898. It had two (2) different settings. Eventually someone invented the luxury of three-speed hubs!

Internal gear hubs have a different construction, but the principle of the gears are the same: different-sized cogs translate the torque of the chain into more wheel rotations or more applied force to help you get up that damn hill. Nowadays there’s even 14-speed internal hub gears, and an interesting gearbox concept (Pinion is the company) that does the whole translating-through-gears at the bottom bracket and crank arm, entirely between the pedal and chain, instead of between chain and drive wheel.

There’s actually an interesting debate to be had on chain gears versus internal hub gears — they’re both good for different things. Vaguely, internal hub gears are less maintenance-intensive, since most of the mechanism is protected from the elements, but they’re heavier (not the choice of racers). Though you can shift gears at a standstill, you can’t shift if you’re putting much force in the pedals and getting the rear wheel out is a bit more complicated with a hub gear system, if you have a flat. Chain gearing systems are the choice of competitive bikers, generally more efficient at transferring power and offering a broader range of gears.

Hopefully I haven’t offered too much information, or an overwhelming amount. If y’all want clarification on anything, just poke me. :3

Sources:

- I have a 500+ page textbook on all things bicycles. “Fachkunde Fahrradtechnik,” 7th Edition, from the publisher Europa-Lehrmittel if y’all wanna look it up

- Seriously, I’ve been learning this stuff for like 9 months at this point. Theoretically and practically. And I’ll be taking a whole-ass apprenticeship midterm next month. At some point your own education should count for something.

- Also, simple physics.

- A few Wikipedia pages for random references, in particular pertaining to the history of hub gears (and “oh shit what is the thing called in English” moments).

- https://evelo.com/pages/history-of-the-bicycle for a few historical tidbits

- https://bikeradar.com/features/when-were-bicycle-gears-invented/ for more histoical tidbits

- Pictures and icons from Wikimedia, specifically (x) (x) (x) (x), commentary and colorful drawings by me

#rinari rambles #rinari reports #bicycle gears #seriously thank you all so much #you definitely saved my ass #and i had a lot of fun typing this up for you all #and making those shitty memeified drawings #i hope it is actually helpful #if y'all could use clarification just ask! I know sometimes i make weird leaps that seem logical to me but aren't always to others :3

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sigritandtheelves · 5 years ago

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I hope we have a Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa miracle (throwing all the religious holidays out there) and maybe have a new chapter of Simple?!? Pretty please?!!!🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

how about... um... Martin Luther King day? or something? lol sorry, i tried

Simple

Chapter 11

Other Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten

PG-13 | 1.8k wds | pre-XF AU | MSR, Melissa/Samantha

A/N: For what it’s worth, I do plan to finish this. Thank you to folks who have continued to ask about this story. The inspiration comes in very small flashes, but there is a trajectory toward some kind of ending, even if I’m not so great at getting there quickly.

_+_

March 18, 1990 - Alexandria, VA

He trailed fingers along her salty back and watched her breathe. She seemed to have hardened in the weeks since he saw her last: her muscles had firmed, her bones sharpened. She was making herself a stone that would not crack under pressure at the FBI, he supposed, but she was smoothed out and loose-limbed now across his sheets. “I love you,” he whispered to her sleeping form, just trying out the words again. She did not stir. She slept much harder than he.

Fox made himself a pillow and pulled her to lay against him. Dana moved willingly enough, despite the depth of her slumber. She made only soft murmurs with strawberry lips, rubbed her cheek on his chest and hooked her knee over his hip. He held her with both arms and felt the cogs of some great universal wheel settle back into place. Dusk turned to night. He let himself drift with her, though it wasn’t late.

When he moved upward out of slumber some minutes or hours later, her fingers were in his hair and his head was heavy on her breasts, his jaw pressing stubble into the skin over her sternum. He pressed his lips to her skin instinctively as he woke, smelled sleep and sweat and the remnants of some clean powder or soap. He murmured, tasted her, and listened to her breath catch in her throat.

Raspy and low, she asked, “You awake?”

“Mmhmm, getting there.” He lifted his head to meet her eyes in the dim. She smiled at him, blinking sleepily, raised her hand to curl fingers along his jaw. He thought how this was all he really needed, how he could muster the will to battle human monsters forever if she would be the engine of his determination and his refuge. We will be each other’s strength, he thought. Counterpoints and balances, science and intuition. He moved to let her body slip over his, to hold him firm in his place while she kissed him.

“This is right,” she said when she’d broken the kiss.

“It is,” he assured her, hands on her hips, drawing small circles with his thumbs.

She bent her head again, but instead of another kiss, pressed her forehead and nose to his. “It’s love,” she whispered. “I love you.”

He felt the words like the tingling of nerves coming back awake. They felt strong, like forged iron, like truth. Whatever happened, this would be their bedrock. Her knees slipped to either side of his hips and he said the words back to her before his lips pressed to hers again.

—

April, 1990

The machinations of select men, his father included, brewed alongside the presumption of Fox’s settled love. There were other hands at work, fingers steeped in a project content to murder children and scrape the wombs of women under the guise of great sacrifice for an even greater purpose. He neither knew nor wanted anything of these plans, yet they irrupted around him like weeds connected to some vast underlying structure. Beneath his feet, the sidewalk was beginning to crumble.

In Arlington, Fox confronted his father about the upsetting conversation he’d had with Diana Fowley: cases the State Department wanted him working on, connections to something bigger.

“Roping you in, are they? I should’ve figured.” The older man settled in his armchair and gestured for Fox to sit on the sofa across from him. The air held the faint scent of bourbon but there was none in sight now.

“It wasn’t you?”

“Me? No, not me. I didn’t want you involved, that’s why I left.”

Fox considered this. He’d thought his father left because Teena Mulder threw him out. Or dragged the kids away and told him never to come after her. He felt something like an uncomfortable itch, a call to remember something buried deep in the past: dinner parties with strange men and a handful of wives, Fox and Samantha sneaking glances from the stairwell. “But you know these people.”

Bill Mulder grunted.

“What do they want from me?”

The old man rubbed his chin and looked at the ceiling. “To use you, most likely. Or to pull you in, get you to do something they can use against you. It’s a dangerous game, Fox, and one you shouldn’t play.”

“Dangerous to me?”

He nodded. “To you and to everyone you love.” He looked over his son, half squinted at him. “You got a girl?”

Fox swallowed and felt something cold in his belly. Dana was in Stanford, finishing her last two months before FBI training and residency at Quantico’s labs. Her family knew about their relationship, but he and Dana were hardly flaunting it in front of State Department officials. “Why should that matter?”

“These are old men with old ideas, Fox. They see a woman as a vulnerability, a means to get at you and nothing more.”

Fox thought back to the panic in Diana’s face when he’d rejected her invitations to the case. The vague coldness in his gut turned to dread. You’ve no idea, she’d said. She’d been afraid. He dropped his face into his hands and rubbed at his eyes. “They don’t know this woman. She’ll be FBI soon.” But even as he said the words, they felt hollow. Fowley was FBI too.

“Doesn’t matter.” His father’s words were terse, almost angry. “You can’t have anything to do with them, Fox. Their game will ruin you, just like it ruined me.”

A future that Fox had been half envisioning—he and Dana in a little house in Virginia, polishing their guns together, sharing notes over spaghetti and meatballs, making love on the couch in front of bad movies, maybe even, someday, ending up with some precocious, brown-haired and freckled Mulder babies—all of it seemed naïve now. She’d worried that her relationship with him could make her vulnerable, and she might have been more right than she knew. The thought of pushing her away, though, was impossible. He could no more do that than he could perform open heart surgery on himself. But the thought of putting her in danger felt no better. “What do I do?” He asked.

His father sighed, as if he had no great answers either. He’d ended up this way, after all: alone. “Fly straight,” he said after a moment. “Do good work. Keep your hands out of any messy business, and maybe they’ll leave you alone.”

Fox thought back to a strange case he’d worked the year before, to the way he’d been used to catch a woman named Susan Modeski and the three mismatched men who’d tried to uncover the government’s lies. Could he make himself complicit with that? Could he walk on with blinders, knowing others were being hurt, just to save his own skin? To save Dana’s? He nodded at his father, though he was nowhere near sure. He stood, somewhat awkward, and held his hand out to his father. “Thanks, Dad.”

The old man shook it and nodded back at his son, but did not get up to see Fox out.

—

“You tried to push me away to protect yourself… maybe you were right.” Fox held the phone to his ear in the dark, sucking on his third beer and feeling miserable.

“Don’t do that. Don’t make me a victim or a pawn.”

“What if they try to hurt you, Dana? To get to me?” God, it made him sound so self-absorbed.

He heard Dana’s breathing change, sensed her frustration building. “I won’t be some damsel, Fox. I’ll have FBI training. I’ll know how to protect myself.”

He winced, not knowing how to make her understand. FBI training wouldn’t matter if they were always three steps ahead. “What if it’s not enough?” Fox thought about his father. He’d always thought of him as a terrible man, but what if he’d only been protecting them? “Maybe my father pushed my mother away to save our family.”

“And you want to push me away, too?”

He shook his head, which swam with the effects of the beer. “No.” He was emphatic. “No, I don’t want that.”

His words seemed to ease her tension somewhat, and her voice was gentler when it came back through the line. “So what do we do?”

He breathed and thought of her face, felt the depth of their connection and its surety. The path cleared in front of him. He would begin with whatever truth he could get his hands on, but he would not act on it. He would talk to those three men but play dumb for the FBI. He would follow Fowley’s lead, but not let himself be caught in a trap. “Right now, nothing. You finish your term and come back to me. Then you start your time at the Academy, and we’ll be careful, okay? We’ll be careful.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay,” he said, like he was reassuring them both. “It will be okay.”

May, 1990

In a Baltimore fertility clinic, Melissa Scully overcame her resignations—hesitations based on some sense she could not name—and purchased donated sperm for Samantha, who swore to her that lesbians had been doing this for years. She’d been warmed by Fox and Dana’s reconciliation, grateful for siblings and would-be in-laws, full to the brim with the feeling of family. She kissed her love, held her hand while the doctor performed the quick procedure.

“What’s next?” Samantha asked, knees still in the air. Melissa squeezed her fingers.

“Well, now you wait a few weeks and take a test,” the doctor said. “Just like most folks. You can follow up with your own OBGYN.”

“It’s that easy?”

The doctor smirked. “Well, for some people it’s even accidental. You can head out to the front in about five minutes. Just get changed and meet the nurse at check-out.” Then she walked out of the room, leaving the two women alone.

Samantha brought her hands to her face to cover her grin, brown hair spilled out all around her on the paper of the exam table. She laughed and Melissa couldn’t help but smile too. “Did we really do this?” Samantha asked.

“Seems like it.”

Samantha peeked between her fingers. “It doesn’t feel real.”

Melissa bent to kiss Sam’s head and began collecting up her clothes. “Let’s give it a few weeks,” she said, though she had a sense of fate’s tumblers clicking into place. A February child, like Dana, if this worked. A little pisces maybe, lord help her. Another dreamer in the house. Sam sat up and began tugging on her underwear, careful to line it with a tissue first. She made a face at Melissa and laughed again.

Had Samantha’s last name been on the forms to set off the alarm bells of those same complicit men Fox was determined to avoid, things may have gone differently. Perhaps worse. But the families were deeply entangled now, and one sister-partner was as good as another to those men. A plan unfurled, rolled out like a carpet before them, and each stepped to a place on its pattern.

— end chapter 11 —

#a thing i wrote #simple #chapter 11 #pre-xf au #msr #melissa/samantha

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linderu · 5 years ago

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a promise more powerful than hanakotoba.

characters: hanako, yashiro pairing: hanako/yashiro series: jibaku shounen hanako-kun ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24041686

After their predicament with No. 4 was resolved, life for Hanako regrettably went back to normal.

Too normal, he thought, eyeing Yashiro carefully when she wasn’t watching.

Yashiro was acting as if nothing had happened. Normally, he could read her like an open book, so for her to be scrubbing away at floors and digging holes into the ground in her garden with such high levels of enthusiasm was completely throwing him for a loop.

In No 4.’s painting, she had found out about her short lifespan.

Not only that, but it was obvious Hanako had hid it from her— as well as made a valiant effort to trap her in a fake world she wanted no part of. He pretended to be Amane Yugi and acted as if he had no clue what she was talking about when she addressed him as “Hanako-kun.”

No matter his intentions, he felt nothing but guilt and concern when he thought about it. Normally, he would have thought she would yell, cry, hit him, get in his face— Yashiro was generally a very expressive girl, especially when it came down to things she felt strongly about.

So why did she seem so happy now?

As Hanako thought, he just couldn’t leave her alone.

“Ya~shi~ro!” His voice was playfully melodic as he approached her from behind, his hands latching onto her shoulders.

“Uwah!” Immediately, she jumped up with a yelp, not having heard him approach. “H-hanako-kun?! What is it?”

“Why are you plowing new rows at a time like this? Don’t you already have enough plants?” Hanako floated in midair, pouting, and leaned into Yashiro’s back as he propped his chin on her shoulder. “Hey, hey, can’t we do something together? Come oooon, I’m booooored!”

“Hanako-kun, get off of me!” She waved her plow around impatiently, attempting to shove him off. Persistent as he was, he didn’t budge. “I have to finish this before I go home! It’s really, really, really important!”

Pressing his cheek into Yashiro’s, Hanako peered over her shoulder at the garden.

“Is it really that important?” He questioned, his voice portraying his curiosity. “Isn’t it just the same as what you normally do?”

“No! It’s not, so get off already!”

“Hmmm…” Hanako hummed, deciding to obey. As much as he loved taking up Yashiro’s personal space and keeping annoyingly close, he didn’t want to piss her off too much — especially when he was on the hunt for information.

“I’m just about done plowing, and then I have to sow the seeds.” Now that she had some room to breathe, Yashiro was back to her usual, smiley self (it really was weirding him out), and she pulled a packet of seeds out to show him. “They’re flowers! Look at the picture, won’t they be super, suuuuuper pretty when they grow?! Aaaahhh, I can’t wait!”

“Flowers?” Hanako was drawing blanks. Didn’t she usually plant vegetables? “What for? Won’t those just give you more work?”

“They will, but, think about it Hanako-kun!” She jammed her plow into the ground and clasped her hands together, eyes sparkling. “What better way to confess your love than with hanakotoba?! Yes, that’s right! I, Yashiro Nene, will plant the perfect flowers to give to Minamoto-senpai!”

“Uh-huh…”

“And then he wouldn’t be able to help but fall for me!” Yashiro continued. Abruptly, she took on the manliest tone she could muster, and Hanako didn’t bother hiding his snickering. “Ah, Nene-chan, these camellias are beautiful… this one is red… could it mean... you’re in love with me?”

“Pfft! Didn’t you already give up on that guy?” He strongly felt the urge to glomp her again, if only to get her mind off confessing to some prince-charming-school-president-excorcist-guy whom she barely knew. No, he wasn’t jealous at all. “And anyway, why go through all that effort to plant them if you could just buy them from the store? Isn’t that kind of silly?”

“No, they have to be home grown or it wouldn’t mean anything!” She shook her head vehemently, squeezing the package of seeds in her hands. “I’ve never planted flowers before… and anyway, camellia shrubs bloom every year, you know? Even if I’m not here, they’ll... they’ll grow back...“

Her voice trailed off, and her gaze fell to the ground. If Hanako had a beating heart, it surely would have stopped as he saw tears well in her eyes.

“Yashiro…” he reached a hand out slowly, but didn’t touch her— at this moment in time, for whatever reason, it felt she was extremely fragile. Like if he were to even brush her shoulder, she would shatter, and disappear from existence entirely.

He had known she wasn’t okay. It was good he came to check on her after all. But what could he do for her…? He was dead, himself, after all.

“E-even when I’m… d-dead… they’ll grow for everyone to see…!” Yashiro’s tears flowed freely now, and through her crying, she could barely get out a sentence. “S-so maybe everyone… will still remember me…! Aoi-chan... Kou-kun…”

He couldn’t stand to see her like this. His body was already physically cold from death, but watching her cry and panic about her future left him frozen.

Yashiro had always been a crybaby. He didn’t like to watch her cry under any circumstances, but this was on another level entirely. What could he possibly do? Tell her the future was wrong? Try as he might, he didn’t know that for certain. Honestly, the chances of saving her were so slim anyway, he couldn’t bear to think about it himself.

This was exactly why he wanted to keep her in No 4.’s drawing. She would have been happy. She would have lived forever.

Damn it all.

Wordlessly, he pulled her into a tight embrace, one hand moving up to smooth out her hair. Instantly, she clung on tight to him and sobbed her heart out— and it was thankful she couldn’t see his expression from how they were positioned, because he felt like he could cry, too.

“H-hanako-kun… I don’t want to die! I’m… I’m going to die, right?! R-really soon… even though I’m still so young…!”

“Yashiro… I…” he gave her a tight squeeze, continuing to pet her hair as his other hand rubbed circles into her back. “...”

“What’s going to happen to me?! What about my f-family?! I still… haven’t dated anyone yet…! And I won’t g-get to see you anymore…!”

“...” Hanako bit his lip, holding back his own crushing despair. Had he ever really cried before as a ghost? He wasn’t certain. A thought struck his mind suddenly, and he said the words without giving himself time to think about them. “... Mermaid scales…”

“Huh?” Curiosity must have gotten the best of her, because her crying calmed down some. “H-hanako-kun… what do you mean…?”

“... Ah… it’s just…” he wasn’t entirely sure. He didn’t want to lie to her, but… it was a possibility. “Y’know? The mermaid’s curse. We’re connected by a bond… it’s why we can touch each other, even though I’m not human. The curse... transcends life and death.”

“What are you saying then…?” Only sniffling now, Yashiro pulled back to look Hanako in the eye — and he immediately looked away.

“I’m going to save you, Yashiro.” He muttered, staring at the package of seeds she clenched in her hands. Carefully, he reached a hand to grasp hers, gently unraveling her fingers from the seeds and allowing the package to fall to the grass. He slowly linked their hands together. “I’ll do whatever it takes. So… I don’t want you to worry about any of this. But...”

“B-but…?”

“... if for some reason, it does come to that…” Hanako squeezed her hand, and gathered his courage before looking her straight in the eye. He wanted to show Yashiro he was serious— he didn’t know how much comfort it would bring, but if he couldn’t even look at her when making such important promises, then what good was it to even say them?

“If for some reason, your future comes true, I won’t go anywhere. You’ll still have me. We can still see each other, and spend a lot of time together… okay?” Unable to keep up the eye contact any longer, he hugged her again, burying his face in her shoulder. “I know it’s not much, but at least you won’t lose me. I’ll never let you go. So don’t cry, okay?”

“H-hanako-kun…” Yashiro whimpered.

She wasn’t talking much… of course not. As much as Hanako wanted to help, it was only expected for a human in the face of death to have this kind of reaction.

Death was death.

He’d been a school mystery for 50 years. He wouldn’t dare call it an extension of his life. This was an atonement for his sins, nothing more. Bound to the school, his existence controlled by rumors and his duties alike… this wasn’t living. He was nothing more than a cog in the school’s wheel, helping it function the way it should.

Yashiro was the best thing to happen to him in his 50 years as a ghost. Spirits only existed because they had regrets— they weren’t happy, by any means. Everyone sought release. And what came from release— from fulfilling the regrets you had when you were living— was nothing.

That was your reward. Nothing.

All he could do was comfort her, and try his best to change her future.

“Yashiro.” He murmured. Hanako was relieved to feel the girl relaxing slowly in his arms, the tension in her shoulders easing.

“... You really won’t go anywhere?” One of her hands clung to the clothing on his back. “You’ll stay with me?”

“I won’t leave you alone.” If Yashiro’s spirit stuck around the school, he would undoubtedly stay by her side. If she immediately passed on… perhaps their shared curse would keep them connected. He could only ride on that hope.

A moment of silence passed between them, before Yashiro spoke up.

“Hey, Hanako-kun.”

To his surprise, she withdrew from his embrace, and gave him a peck on the cheek before he had time to react. Hanako stared at her dumbly, his mouth agape, and though her eyes were wet and red and swollen, the smile she wore left him dazzled.

“You were worried for me, right? I’m sorry I cried like that so suddenly…” she directed her gaze to her feet, saving Hanako the trouble of hiding his embarrassment from the sudden kiss. “You’re always watching out for me… so I just… wanted to thank you.”

Quickly rebounding from his fluster, he grabbed her chin, leaned in close, and tilted her head up so their eyes met. Hanako forced a smirk, despite all of the fears and shyness and anxiety and sadness he felt, he couldn’t let himself lose his composure when he was meant to be the one comforting her — really, Yashiro, why were you so worried for him when this situation affected you the most?

“I told you before, right? That you would repay me with your body.” Seizing his opportunity to change the mood, he said what was probably the dumbest thing that came to mind, in the most sultry tone possible. Misdirection! His specialty! “Do you really think I would let you go so easily?”

“Wha—?! What are you saying?! You jerk!” She shoved him away, pouting. “And here I thought you were actually worried about me! I don’t understand you at all! Why can’t you be more like Minamoto-senpai?! Geez, you’re such a pain!”

Operation: make Yashiro think about something else — success! Well, she might be mad, but she was a lot more energetic this way.

“Ah!” Hanako made a scene of glancing up at the sky, before picking up the package of seeds she had dropped on the ground earlier. Time to send her home. “Hey, Yashiro, isn’t it already too dark outside to finish this?”

“Wah!! My flowers!” She checked the time on her phone, before whining again. “When did it get this late?! Geez!!”

Yashiro reached out to swipe her flower seeds, but he immediately floated backwards, holding them in the air above him dramatically.

“Give them back! I need to plant them!”

“Nuh-uh! No way. You don’t need these anymore.”

“But hanakotoba—”

“I’m telling you, you don’t need it.” Through the growing darkness, Hanako smirked. “If we’re changing your future, there’s no reason to plant these, is there? Just go home for the night. Your family’s gonna worry.”

“Oh.” Yashiro’s expression transitioned from surprise, to understanding, and then finally to a small, content smile. “... I guess you’re right, huh…”

“Of course I am. So stop worrying so much about it and go home already.”

“... Okay.” Her smile widened, and once again, she attempted to approach him. Hanako held the seeds even higher above his head, but allowed her to walk up to him, watching her closely for any funny business.

Though, all she did was hug him.

“Yashiro…?”

“Thank you, Hanako-kun.” She gave him a tight squeeze, before backing off. “Okay, well I think I’m going to head home now! Ahhhhh, my family will be so worried…!”

“Okay…” he watched as she headed off towards the exit. Abruptly, she stopped, turned around, and flashed him another bright smile— illuminated by the lamps lighting the pathway.

“Hanako-kun really is the best! Bye-bye, see you tomorrow!” She waved, and ran off towards her home.

#hananene #jibaku shounen hanako kun #hanako kun #jshk #toilet bound hanako kun #drabbles #tbhk

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seriouslyhooked · 5 years ago

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The Same Soul 7

Available on FF Here and AO3 Here. Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6.

Our world AU where Emma and Killian knew each other as teenagers. Killian was sent to spend a summer with family in America. He met foster kid Emma while there. They fell in love but then he was forced back home and she couldn’t take the memories so she ran away, trying her best to move on from the dreams they’d always hoped for. A chance meeting brings them back together years later, and this time nothing and no one will keep them apart. Rated M.

A/N: Hey all! So we are back with another chapter of this story and I have to be honest, the beginning is really hard to read. For some of my more softhearted readers, this may be too much. It’s the moment when Emma and Killian had to say goodbye back in the past. Not to worry though, because I am not leaving us in sadness. Far from it, I’m actually including a snippet from the present as well. It will include fluff, a little smut, and hopefully some healing from the tiny heart ache that is the first part. Either way, I thank you so much for reading, and I hope you will enjoy!

(Past)

Today is easily the worst day I’ve faced so far.

The thought held no small weight to Killian, given all that he had overcome in his life. In recent years he’d lost so much, and none of that had been easy for him. The pain he knew was real and sincere, but this summer was a reprieve from all of that. With Emma, he was able to rebuild, to find himself again, and to wish for more than the darkness of before. Yet even that magic they had found was not infinite. There were still obstacles ahead, and in a few hours he was going to have to say goodbye to the girl who had total claim to his heart.

It would be months before the two of them could reunite, and to say he was impatient was an understatement. Killian had never resented his youth before, but today he did. Eighteen was such an arbitrary milestone. Some people lived so much of life even when they were young. He was not average. He had seen a lot and experienced the range of emotions any person could face. Trials had come, and he was stronger for them, but this one felt insurmountable. He could not fathom leaving Emma, it would be like leaving his soul, and what was the point of that? They were meant to be together, and if there was justice in this world then they would be, no matter what their ages.

Though Killian tried to tamp these thoughts down all through today, his heart was in excruciating pain any time the weight of their reality set back in. Tomorrow, bright and early, Emma had to head back to her foster home. Her summer at camp was now finished, the warmer season was blaring out in a last blaze of heat before the autumn chill would come, and Killian was set to depart for home soon too. His time at his Uncle’s was at an end and there was no way around that. He tried to tell his brother of his wish to stay here, but it wasn’t that simple. Him being a foreigner and things being rushed as they were made solutions virtually impossible. As such, Liam would be ready to receive him, and life was meant to go on. Emma would be going to the city, but he’d fly an ocean away, making things all the harder. Staying in touch was going to be difficult. They had few avenues to do so, circumstances being what they were, but in Killian’s eyes there was no choice on the matter. This could not end here, not when he’d given himself to Emma so completely. He loved her, with a deeper reservoir of feeling than most people could even comprehend. It was absolute and undeniable, and yet even that feeling could not spare them from this pain.

“How can something so beautiful still not make me happy?” Emma asked, her eyes cast out to the sea as the final bit of sunlight escaped from view. In the distance playing seals savored the last of the warm sun in their coastal home, and sea birds dove for final meals before the light was gone. The sky was streaked with a miraculous burst of color on this final summer day, but Killian knew exactly what she meant. This view brought him no comfort, not when the arms he currently had wrapped around the girl he loved would be empty very soon.

“I don’t know, love. But it’ll be better soon. I’ll be back at Christmas, and in the meantime I’ll do everything I can to make this better. Until then we’ll write. I’ll write you every day as many times as I can. There’s not a day that will pass where I won’t think of you, and even if I’m far away, I’ll make sure that you know it.”

Emma leaned back into his embrace, and he watched her tears brimming, but she wouldn’t let them fall. Instead she closed her eyes, soaking in the feeling of them being together and creating a tightness in his throat he dared not speak through. Damn it! This was the worst he’d ever felt. It was hopeless. Why did things have to be this way? Why did the world think that they were too young to make their own choices? All the rules that said they couldn’t be together yet infuriated him. Emma was the most important thing to him, and when she left she’d be alone. She had no family, no true friends back at the center, nowhere she felt she belonged. It was so wrong to send her back there, especially when he had so much love to give her. He’d spend every day of his life showing her that she was extraordinary and making amends for all the time that she’d gone through life alone.

Along with seeking out a way to stay, Killian had spent the past few weeks searching for a means to get Emma somewhere better. He was desperate to give Emma more, even if he couldn’t give her everything. Her coming with him was out of the question. A foster child in America was never going to be allowed to come back to the UK, so he asked his Uncle for help. The trouble was even a man with as much sway as Benjen Jones was limited, and there was little he could do, at least immediately. Much as Benjen might like to give Emma a place to live that was better than a group home, it wouldn’t be okay for him to be her guardian. If Killian loved her as he did, it wouldn’t be proper, and on some level Killian understood that. He even believed his Uncle when the man said he was working very hard to find Emma a good placement. His Uncle Benjen had many favors that were owed him, and he was calling in a number of them to see Emma placed in a loving, stable place where she could at the very least have peace until she was of age in a year or so. But even that was too slow going. The system was a mess here all the time, but during summer? Well, it turned out there were just too many cogs in the wheel. No answers had been found, no solutions secured, and so Emma was headed back to a place she truly hated, despite his attempts to get her out of there.

“I used to wish so badly for a family,” She whispered a few minutes later, her eyes casting back to the horizon. “I waited for the stars, searched for clovers in the grass, picked up every lucky penny that I could. Now finally I feel like I have one. You gave me that, Killian. You make me feel whole and wanted, and I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for something I was born to do, Emma. It’s my honor to belong to you.”

“I don’t want to go,” she confessed, turning to him, the tears now falling fully and he tried to wipe them away before pulling her in and hugging her close. Feeling her unhappiness was a knife to the soul. It tore at him, but he stayed strong for her. He held her close and made every promise he could think to make. He would love her forever. He would find a way. They would make it through this. It would be okay. But nothing could turn this around, not even the kisses they shared as Emma sought his lips on hers to drown out the sorrow of this terrible goodbye.

Eventually they knew they had to leave the beach. Emma’s curfew was drawing near, and they had less time today than normal. She still had to pack and say goodbye to the people who had watched her this summer. Killian wouldn’t say that they were close, per se, but there was an increased fondness there. Emma had been welcomed if not exactly fawned over, and Emma was grateful for the safe place to land. But while they were close to the time assigned to them when they went away this morning, Killian was surprised to find Emma’s caretakers outside awaiting them when they were back at the estate.

“Oh, Emma, there you are. We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Waiting?” Emma asked, and then her eyes cast to the woman behind them, who looked annoyed and aloof. “Ms. Stewart? But I thought pick up was tomorrow. I’ve still got one more night.”

“We sent word to your temporary guardians that there was a change in plan last week. But somehow it seems the message was lost.”

Killian didn’t think that was the case, not when the people Emma had lived with this summer shared a look between each other that spoke to a sad understanding. If he had to guess, these people had given Emma one more day, and though he was devastated that the time for her to go was now, he was so grateful for all the hours they’d been granted by a bit of compassionate aid.

“I don’t understand,” Emma said, before turning back to Killian. “I don’t know how to say goodbye.”

“Then we won’t, Emma. Because it’s not even a goodbye. Goodbyes are far too final, and this is hardly the end of you and me.”

“You love me?” she asked, wanting to hear something he’d told her a thousand times.

“Aye, with all that I am.”

“Forever?” she asked, as his hand cupped her cheek.

“Even longer than that, Swan.”

“And I’ll love you the same. I’ll never stop, Killian. You’ll always be with me.”

Killian wanted to ask her why it felt like, even without saying the word, Emma was bidding him goodbye. He was haunted by a feeling of foreboding, but then her case worker was heading to the car with Emma’s bags and time was up. For one last time this summer, Emma pulled him down for a kiss, one that was all too fleeting, and when they pulled apart her tears still stained her cheeks and her eyes carried every bit of sadness he expected his reflected.

“I love you, Killian. I always will…”

And with that, Emma was ushered away into the car, headed down the road, away from him, and taking all her light and love with her, leaving him unanchored in a sea of grief and pain.

………..

(Present)

Waking up from the vivid dream firmly based in memory, Killian could hardly catch his breath. His heart pounded in his ears and his adrenaline was shot, but then he sensed it, the warmth of his Emma right there beside him as she slept peacefully through the night.

God how scared he was to think that she was gone again. It was a scar he had born for years, the knowledge that she was nowhere to be found, and the eventual realization that she was lost to him for what felt like forever. It took a few months for him to realize the depths of their separation. He was alarmed at first when he didn’t hear from her. He sent letters every day and never heard anything back, any time he tried to call the group home Emma was at it was chaos. No one ever had answers, and rarely did they ever even answer the phone. Finally, a few months in, he was desperate to see her and on the day he turned eighteen he bought a ticket and flew the six thousand miles that separated them. He had no real plan except to see her – everything else would just work out, but then he got there only to feel excruciating heartbreak.

“Emma Swan is gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean? Was she placed somewhere else?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

Killian was aggrieved at that, but as he was heading out another worker stopped him. Was he K. Jones? Yes he was. A bit of hope tore threw him. Maybe Emma had left him a message. Maybe she’d left a way to find her. But instead the woman returned a few minutes later with a pile of letters, his letters to Emma, all of them untouched and unopened.

“Emma is what we call a runner,” the woman said in the face of his complete shock and horror. “She skipped out of here within twenty-four hours of returning from her camp.”

“How do you know she meant to leave? How do you know…” Killian couldn’t finish the words.

“How do we know she wasn’t taken? Police did an investigation. Caught a glimpse of her on camera at the bus depot but then the trail went cold. It happens sometimes with these kids.”

It should have never happened to Emma, and even now, years later and after more than a month of their being reunited, Killian still didn’t know why Emma had run back then. Had something happened? Did she feel unsafe in her placement there? Had someone hurt her? Or did she simply lose faith that he meant every promise that he made? Was the pain of it all too much? He could imagine so many reasons, and though none of them would heal the pain of the past, it was something Killian felt he needed to know. It was a final missing piece to the puzzle of what had been, and though he didn’t want to rush her, he felt strongly that he had to ask her why and soon.

As if she could sense his being awake and the pain he was in, Emma stirred in her sleep, blinking her eyes as she came to, and immediately seeing him. The smile that appeared when she saw him forged a direct hit to his heart, for in her eyes he saw relief. She was glad to be with him, thankful that it wasn’t just a dream, and happy here at his side.

“Someone’s thinking an awful lot for…” Emma shifted slightly to glance at the alarm clock beside his bedside table and groaned, “three AM. And here I was thinking we’d both be dead to the world until morning.”

Killian smiled at the reminder of how they’d come to that exhausted state, despite the heavy thoughts that had just plagued him. The love they shared, the heat and the desire had boiled over and for hours they’d teased and tormented each other with sheer pleasure. Over and over and over again they’d come together, spending the whole damn night as close as they could be. They were still so hungry for each other, so in need of catching up on all the time they’d lost. There was no dialing back, no shutting this down, and they both understood that. Even now, Killian felt that call, the ache inside that would only be cured by her touch, her kiss, and her warmth, and when Emma smiled seductively and hummed out a happy sound he knew she was on the same page.

“You really are insatiable, you know that?” she quipped as her fingertips ran down his chest and she moved to kiss him, ending the soft press of their lips with a slight nip that drove him wild.

“I’ve been called worse,” he said, coming over her and admiring the view. God she was gorgeous, even in this dim light that shone from the street outside. Every part of her was perfect, an enticement that he couldn’t resist, so he stopped trying. Why deny himself this happiness? Why forsake what they’d both gone far too long without?

“How can I want you this bad?” Emma asked, her words a gasped out sigh as his mouth trailed from her lips down her neck and along every curve and swell on her body. He took his time, reminding himself of her taste and riling her to a state that could compare to his own.

“Because it’s fate, love. You were made for me and I for you. Same as always.”

“I know,” Emma said, the affirmation more intoxicating than even the taste of sweetness on her skin. “But still. You drive me crazy. I always want this, always need this. It’s just not normal.”

Killian chuckled at that, reminding her that they were far from normal before he licked her most sensitive flesh, distracting her from her pondering about the bond between them. He growled as he took from her, driving her higher into her state of arousal before slowing down just to make her beg and plead. Only when he knew she might go mad did he send her over, and then, when he was certain she could take more he came back up above her, filling her over and over again and chasing completion that would leave both of them shattered and sated.

Having Emma like this was the best remedy to the sadness of before. He had no space for anything but peace here with her. This was where he belonged. This was the great joy of his life, to love this woman, to care for her, and to cherish her always. He had told her time and again that now they were reunited, he’d never let them part, and in this moment he relished that. Holding her in his arms after they’d both fallen into bliss, Killian knew that this time would be different. There would be no running, no distance, and no reason for this to end. They were together now and it would truly be forever. He’d see to that, no matter what it took.

“You had the dream again, didn’t you?” Emma asked and Killian was surprised at her words. “The one where I run.”

“How did you know?”

“You talk in your sleep sometimes. A few weeks ago you… well it doesn’t matter really. I should have told you when I found you again why I left at all. You deserve that at the very least.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Emma.”

“I know,” She said with a sad smile as her hand came to rest against his heart. “But I do want to. I want to put it behind us, and I can’t do that until I tell you.”

Killian listened then as Emma explained those crucial twenty four hours that he could never find answers for. She told him how she had returned and how immediately the home had felt hollow and harrowing. She was hardened to it before, having never let anyone in, but after meeting him and tasting what better could be, it was all too much for Emma to take. That first night back another girl lashed out at Emma, a fight had ensued, one where Emma was just trying to protect herself, but the woman who ran the group home blamed her anyway. Then she’d gone off on Emma, completely violating every ounce of human decency she could in the process.

“She talked about my parents and how I’d never knew he they were. Then she reminded me of every home that gave me up. She sat there, reading my file one by one. It was so triggering to hear how long that list was, and she basically just said I deserved it.. I was never enough and she was all too happy to remind me of that.”

“God, I can’t even imagine, Emma. She was supposed to protect you, and instead she hurt you. She should never have been allowed around children. What kind of monster would say such things?”

“I found out a few years later that she was fired just a few weeks after I ran. She had a drinking problem and the state found out. I guess I wasn’t the only kid she messed up while running the place. She was deeply unhappy, and everything she said was about making me small so she could feel bigger. I just wish I could have seen it for what it was then. It took a long time for me to realize that her vitriol was a reflection of her, not me.”

“Was that all that she said?” Killian asked, his hands cupping Emma’s cheek, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen as she recalled this brutal blow.

“No. She said my summer was over. She said whatever I’d had there was no more. I had to remember who I was and where I came from. There was no happy ending in store for me because I didn’t deserve it. I wasn’t worthy of a story like that.”

The anger Killian felt at hearing all of this couldn’t be described. It was violent and unlike him. He had some very dark thoughts about this woman. She was malicious and cruel. She had deeply wounded the girl that he loved, and she kept them apart. Without her, Emma would have stayed. She’d gotten the chance to see how steadfast he was and they’d have been together all this time.

“I wanted to write to you. I wrote a hundred letters in my head, but I needed to find a place to land first. I never stayed anywhere for long, I was lucky to have a roof over my head more nights than not, and it took me over a year to reconnect with Mrs. H, but by then it felt too late. Surely you would hate me for not responding, right? I mean I knew on some level that you wouldn’t, but I don’t know, I got so scared, and I just… after everything I couldn’t take any more rejection. So I carried you with me, I dreamed of you, but I wouldn’t let myself go there. It was too much.”

“You were trying to survive,” Killian said, understanding her motives quite well. Emma nodded, her eyes closed as a few more tears fell. “And thank God you did, love. You had to be so strong. You had to do it all alone. I hate that you did, but damn I’m so proud of you, Emma. I’m so proud that in spite of everything, you still became all that you are.”

“So you’re not mad?” Emma asked and Killian shook his head as he kissed her lips again.

“Not at you,” he assured her, “never at you, love.”

“I love you, Killian,” she confessed, holding him close. “I love you so much and I know we haven’t said it to each other in forever but -,”

Unable to hear her worry about his feelings any longer, Killian silenced her with a kiss so searing and deliberate it could not be denied. He said with this embrace every single thing he felt, and he knew by the time they pulled apart that Emma understood. Still he gave her the words so as to put her mind and heart at ease.

“I have loved you from the moment that we met, Emma, I have loved you every moment we were parted, and I will love you every second of my life yet to come. You are it for me, everything I could want, everything I could dream of. With you I have the world, and without you I am lost. It’s just that simple.”

“I thought I’d never hear you say those words again, and now that I have… it’s like coming home.”

“Aye, because that’s what we are. We’re each other’s home and we always will be.”

So with that promise, and a few more stolen kisses, Emma and Killian allowed sleep to take them once more. And this time there were no bad dreams or nightmares past – there was only peace and the confidence of two people who were certain in their choice and who loved each other freely, just as they were meant to.

Post-Note: So there we have it. I chose to make this chapter a bit shorter than others mostly because it was so painful. Funny how my muse is determined to have these parts in a story, but my heart just can’t bear to linger with them. Anyway, please everyone rest assured that the remaining chapters (of which there are only a few) will be much lighter and that the hurt is behind Emma and Killian moving forward. Thank you all so much for reading, and for those of you who comment and review, please know that it means the world for me to read your feedback. Grateful for all of you and wishing you a wonderful rest of your week!

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vellawrites · 7 years ago

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One Night || Sherlock x Reader (smut below cut)

He showed up minutes to noon.

You’d been up late studying, pouring over textbook after textbook that you’d been too tired to bother putting away when you finally crawled into your bed in the young hours of the morning. Your flat was as cluttered as it had ever been with a disarray of notes occupying every surface the eye could see and beside your open laptop, a cold cup of tea sat forgotten amidst the middle of it all, half empty with a shallow ring forming on the wood beneath it.

Your eyes were slow to open at the sound of the incessant knocking on your front door and you stretched with a groan, your half asleep mind fumbling to remember if you were expecting company then. The knocking grew louder, faster, and only after determining that the visitor was definitely not going to stop did you throw your legs over the side, the wood cool cool beneath your feet.

You didn’t bother to move a single hair, despite how atrocious your bedhead surely was, and your eyes fought against every instinct to fall back shut and crawl back into your bed as you stumbled to the front door. Whoever it was had the indecency to wake you from your near-coma and as punishment, they would be forced to endure your unkempt state and most likely harrowing morning breath.

You had barely unlocked the bolts when the door flung open, nearly knocking right into you, and the tall dark blur of the consulting detective swept past you into your flat.

“Y/N, you won’t believe what I saw on my way here.”

You blinked at him, your mind suddenly on as high alert as it could be, and you pushed the door shut behind you. He’d yet to even spare a glance in your direction as he rushed through the room like a storm, his hand running along every surface he passed until he plopped unceremoniously to the spot you’d occupied most of the night before. You watched him fumble with the teacup and he took a sip before promptly spitting it back out into the porcelain.

“Gah, it’s cold.”

“Yeah,” you rasped in a tone that called him out for stating the obvious. “It’s been out all night. Why would you just drink from random cups?”

“Not random,” he mumbled, “it was yours. And I love tea. Can we make tea?”

Your arms crossed as the cogs in your head started to turn. Leaning against the arm of your chair, you peered down at him as he begun to flip through the pages of your various textbooks with both hands, eyes flitting wildly from one page to the next as though he could absorb all the different passages simultaneously.

Though, this was Sherlock, so perhaps he could.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?”

The question went ignored.

“These are boring.” A look of disgust curled the edges of his lips as he moved on to the other open books spread out, finding nothing of interest in those either. “Why are you reading these, Y/N? They’re so boring.”

“They’re for my classes, Sherlock.”

“You already graduated,” he protested, at last turning those bright blue eyes your way. His brows furrowed. “These aren’t for forensics. Why are you studying anatomy now?”

“I enrolled in a nursing program.”

“Why?”

“Because—because I needed a change.”

“Change is upsetting.”

You rolled your eyes at that. “I’m not surprised you would say that.”

“Oh. Oh!” In an instant, he was at his feet once again, all but leaping over the coffee table to cross the room to you. His hands clamped onto your arms and he leaned in, like he often did when he had a breakthrough on one of his cases. “Y/N, you’ll never believe what I saw on my way here.”

“You said that before. So what was it?”

“I was on my way over here and there was a car parked down near Mr. McGillis’s shop—you know the one, with the knives and the clocks?”

“Yes. You took me there two weeks ago on one of your cases.”

“Yes! That one. Well you’ll never believe it but the car—a dog was driving it!”

You cocked your head with a most perplexed expression, one eyebrow raised in disbelief—and not because of his story, but rather the enthusiasm with which he was relaying it.

“I know! Isn’t that the oddest thing?” He let out a burst of laughter and his eyes shined wildly. “Well, of course it wasn’t really driving, but there were two dogs in the front seats and the small one had its paws up on the wheel—here, I have a picture. You have to see!” As he fumbled to reach into his pocket for his mobile, his grip on your arms fell and you took a step away.

“Sherlock.”

His hands abandoned his search and he looked at you once more, a stupid little smile that, in any other circumstance, would have been charming gracing his lips. “Y/N.”

You held out your hand. “Sherlock, give me your list.”

This time, it was he who looked at you in confusion. “My list?”

“Yes, Sherlock. Your list.”

Recognition hit and for a moment, he said nothing.

“I don’t have it,” he lied.

“Yes you do. You always do. Give it here.”

“No.”

“No?”

Like a petulant child, he crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his chin.

“If you want it, you have to take it from me.”

You eyed him up and down, reading everything from his posture to his stubborn glare and letting out a resigned sigh, you took a step forward. Your hand slipped into his pocket.

“It’s not in there.”

You glanced at him. “Then wh—“ As your understanding took root, you drew back and glowered. “Sherlock.”

“Go on, love. Take it.”

He was challenging you, his eyes glinting playfully—dangerously—and he pulled the corner of his lip between his teeth with a smirk. You took another step forward as he lifted back the side of his coat and cautiously, as though you could be burned, your fingers slipped into the pressed pocket of his trousers, brushing the crumpled note hidden inside. Before you could pull away, his arms wrapped snugly around you and all but pinned your body against his own, chest and legs and hips pressed firmly together.

“You’re so warm,” he groaned. “Are you always this warm when you’ve just woken up?”

“Sherlock, you’re crushing me.”

His arms loosened ever so slightly but he didn’t let go and he didn’t give you any space to escape from his embrace. It was enough, however, that you could pull your hand out from his pocket, clenching the crumpled paper between your fingers.

“My god,” he groaned again, his deep voice rumbling against your form in a most confusing and pleasant way, “you smell absolutely divine. How is it you always smell so delicious?”

His head dipped and you felt his nose bury into the skin of your neck, into your messy hair, and he hummed against you, sparking tiny shivers that wracked up and down your spine. You were nearly distracted enough to forget the entire purpose of standing so intimately close to him but with how oddly he was behaving, it didn’t stray far from your thoughts. You unfolded the note and did your best to smooth it with the little dexterity your single hand would provide.

As you struggled to see the words from over his shoulder, your eyes widened.

“What the fuck, Sherlock? Ecstasy?”

“It’s fascinating. I can’t believe I’ve never tried it before.”

“Sherlock, why would you take ecstasy?”

For a man who so seldom felt any strong emotions and even rarer still wanted to feel them, it was a most peculiar whim and you found yourself at a loss for words.

“For a case,” he mumbled. His face was still so close to yours, the tip of his nose drawing a delicate path along the line of your jaw. “The victim was drugged at a nightclub and the assumption is that it was the dosage that killed her. Obviously I had to adjust it for my stature.”

In your younger years, you had become well acquainted with it while you were away at university. You were no stranger to its effects or the dizzying euphoria that it created, but seeing that high experienced through Sherlock was jarring and alien to say the very least. You read over the number written out beside the long pharmaceutical name and your eyes widened again.

“I can’t believe you took this much. Jesus Christ—“ you tried to push away but his arms held you against him with alarming strength. “So you, what, figured you would overdose to see if it would kill you?”

“No,” he murmured so softly against your neck. “On the contrary, I’ve never felt so alive. Do people feel like this all the time?”

“When they’re high, yes. That’s what makes it so dangerous.”

“And appealing.”

It would have been impossible not to notice the way his firm hands began to slide across your back, fists curling and uncurling in the fabric of your sleep shirt as though it were an instrument he was all too eager to learn.

His breath fanned warmth against the shell of your ear as he gasped your name. “I feel so strange. And you feel so good.”

This was getting to be too much.

“That’s the drugs talking, Sherlock.”

Your hands rose up between you and as they slid over the smooth fabric covering his chest, he let out a moan that once again left you shivering, unsure if it was your body reacting to the proximity of your situation or if it was a thousand tiny alarms setting off at the sound.

“Fuck, it feels so good when you touch me.”

At that, you shoved him back with every ounce of strength in your body. He stumbled on his feet and looked at you in confusion—dare you say dejection—and his lip pulled down into a pout.

“Why did you do that?”

With the distance returned between you, you were able to clear your mind of the strange illusion he’d cast. Your hands fell to your hips, lips pulling into a most unpleasant scowl. “Damnit, Sherlock, how could you be so foolish?”

“Please.” In an extravagant motion, he waved the pesky thought away and his eyes remained locked on your form, raking up and down over and over in a slow way that made you feel far more exposed than you were. “I’ve done much worse than this.”

“Yes, as though I need the reminder.” Your eyes clamped shut and you pinched the bridge of your nose.

What were you going to do with him? How long has it been since you’d had to deal with someone this high on this particular drug—he might as well have taken Viagra with the way he was carrying about. You let out a sigh, mind searching everything you’d read about drug interactions since beginning your studies and everything you knew from before then, scrambling to remember if you had anything useful for the situation at hand.

You had nothing.

You couldn’t think clearly.

Your eyes snapped open, suddenly, when his face was buried into your neck again—only this time, his tongue lapped out, tracing a lazy pattern against your skin up to your ear and before you could properly prepare for it, his lips closed over the sensitive flesh of your lobe, nibbling and pulling and breathing in a way you never—not in a million years—would have expected from him.

“Sherlock.” Your voice was needy, pleading, but whether you were pleading him to stop or to keep going, you hadn’t the foggiest.

“You’re so bloody soft,” he moaned against you. “Softer than velvet. I wonder if you’re this soft everywhere.”

His warm fingers squeezed your fleece-covered thigh, running up and down with enough force to bruise and his other hand had somehow snaked its way underneath your shirt in your momentary distraction, sliding up and up and up along your ribs until he could very nearly—

“Sherlock Holmes, watch your hands!”

You all but jumped away from him, catching yourself on the edge of the chair to keep from falling backwards in the clumsiest way.

Focus. You needed to focus.

The man looked almost as dazed as you were sure you did and his lips were moist and red and if you weren’t so utterly astounded, it would have turned you on like nothing ever had.

Okay, so it did that anyway—

“I’d like to watch my hands touching every inch of you.”

Fuck.

When his lips stretched into a smirk once more, you almost lost it. You stepped around behind the chair and held your hand up, signaling him to stop before your hormones could cloud your judgement.

“Sherlock, stop it. This isn’t you and I’m not going to take advantage of you when you’re high as a kite.”

He made that face again—the one that relayed the depths of his confusion, looking a breath away from upset with his bright blue eyes as wide as could be.

“But I want this.”

“Now you do. Tomorrow you’ll regret it.”

“I promise you I won’t.”

He took a step closer, around the side of the chair you hid behind, and your feet mirrored his to keep distance between you.

“No, Sherlock, please. Your not thinking straight. You need to go sleep this off.”

“Sleep is the last thing I need right now.” His voice was the embodiment of pure sex. He took another step and so did you.

“Then go take a shower. I recommend a cold one.”

“I’d be more inclined if you joined me.”

The thought crawled into your mind and made a nest of its own and for a single moment, you thought your feet might betray every rational thought you had and take him up on the offer.

You couldn’t let that happen.

You darted past him in a quick burst and plucked your purse from its spot beside the door.

“No. I—I have to go to work. I’ll be late for my shift.”

Sherlock stared at you, expression unchanged. “No, you’re lying. I may be ‘high as a kite’, as you put it, but I can still read you like an open book. Or open—“

“Nope.” Your voice pitched and you shrugged your purse onto your shoulder. “Not lying. Gotta go.” Your hand twisted the knob. Without sparing a glance back at him, you called out to him over your shoulder. “The towels are under the sink.”

You slammed the door shut behind you and lasted all the way to the stairwell before you fell back against the wall and let out a long-held groan.

What the hell was he doing to you?

You returned late at night, just past midnight, after having opted to work a double to cover for your coworker who desperately wanted to leave early to meet up with a date. It kept you from returning to your flat and that was enough motivation for you to power through your sleepless fatigue, haunted mercilessly by the memory of Sherlock’s mouth and his tongue on your sensitive neck and the memory of his hands pressing you together as close as your clothes had allowed.

The walk home from the tube was long and cold and you took it at a slower pace than you normally would, both hoping and dreading to find him there when you returned—so you could make sure he was alright and that the drugs had passed through his system in the twelve hours since your confusing and frustrating drug-fueled encounter. Your pyjamas were in a wad in your arms, keeping your hands sheltered from the sparse snow that had started to fall and since you had rushed out before grabbing a coat, you forced yourself to focus on that small bit of warmth instead of the biting chill that burned at your bare arms and legs. By the time you pushed inside your building, you swore your legs were going to fall off and you shivered violently the entire way up the three flights of stairs.

Your flat was quiet when you pushed your way inside and the sound of the bolt sliding shut was next to deafening. You glanced, your heart beating in alarm, to the couch—his normal spot—to see if it had awoken him, but a mild wave of surprise filled you when you found it to be empty and untouched despite his coat hanging beside your own as a clear signal that he’d yet to leave. In the scant amount of light streaming in from the window, the mess from your studying appeared to have been straightened, all your textbooks closed and aligned neatly in the middle of the table, stacks of your crumpled and loose notes beside each one correspondingly almost as if the mess had never been there at all.

You crossed the floor to your bedroom but before you even stepped foot over the threshold, you spied his curly mop of hair spilling over your pillow as he lay curled up in your soft blankets. Sound asleep. In your bed.

You shook your head. Of course he’d taken up residence in your bed. This was Sherlock and why you were surprised by his intrusive approach was a surprise in and of itself.

A quick trip to your kitchen had you returning with a small tray of toast and a tall glass of water. As you drew near to the bed, he stirred and rolled over. His eyes blinked at you blearily, neither asleep nor awake.

“Hey.” You whispered, unwilling to completely rouse him from his slumber more than you already had. Timidly, you sunk into the mattress at his side. “I brought you some food.”

“Ugh.” His expression soured and he closed his eyes once more. “Thank you for the gesture but I couldn’t possibly eat.”

With a disapproving frown, you slid the tray onto the table beside your bed and scooted closer to him, pulling his arm out from underneath the blankets. He groaned, objecting loudly against escaping the warm cocoon he’d created, but with your trek through the wintry streets you had little to no sympathy for the complaint.

Your fingers pressed steadily against his wrist and your eyes followed the ticking on your wrist watch. As your focus wandered from him, he pushed himself up to sit against the headboard. His eyes were clearly still halfway caught in sleep but they were much more clear than when you’d left him earlier and his pupils no longer fought to swallow the sky from his eyes.

You let his hand fall gently onto his lap and leaned back, propped up by your arms as you continued to survey him. “Your vitals are back to normal.” You hadn’t needed to say it aloud as you both already knew it to be true, but your need to fill the silence in hope of forgetting the strange events of earlier overpowered the comfortable quiet.

“Your hands are freezing.”

“I’m freezing,” you corrected. You curled your legs beneath you to get closer the the heat from his nap that radiated from the blankets beneath you. “I forgot my coat when I left.”

“You did run out without even changing out of your pyjamas.”

Your supervisor had been furious about the fact, too, and you’d had to borrow an extra uniform from one of your coworkers who was quite a bit shorter and decidedly less endowed and had only a spare skirt to cover you from the waist down. Your entire shift had left you feeling the burn of leering gazes as you moved from table to table in the clothes that were just a bit too fitting and as the night settled in, you had begun to curse yourself for running out as quickly as you had instead of just sucking it up and getting ready beforehand. You could have locked Sherlock in the bathroom and shoved him fully clothed into an ice bath or something while you dressed and then you wouldn’t have had to deal with any of that or the heckling you’d awkwardly received when you explained you’d had a restless night and the other waitresses assumed less innocent things than the truth.

Of course, the light mark he’d left on your neck definitely didn’t help you plead your case.

You shook your head and reached over to the bedside table to lift up the glass of water and passed it to him.

“So was it the drugs that killed her?”

“No.” He gave a wry smile as he took the aspirin from your outstretched hand and threw them back. “I knew that from the beginning, I just had to prove it.”

You just shook your head. “You’re absolutely insane. You’re the only man I know who would put their body through that just to prove something you already knew.”

Sherlock didn’t respond. He finished the glass and returned it to the table at his side, straightening his posture as he stared at you quizzically. Silently.

The cold was getting to you. That was the only reason why you were shivering.

“So you’re feeling better then?”

“More normal, at any rate.”

“Good.”

With a soft pat to his covered knee, you swung your legs off the bed and walked to your chest of drawers across the room and pulled out your warmest pair of pyjamas. You could feel his eyes trail after you—there was no mistaking the burning way they bored into your back—and your bare legs shook as you thought of the warmth of your plush bed he had overtaken, a tinge of jealousy touching you when you realized what you’d be giving up after such a long day for the sake of his well being.

“Okay. You should get more rest. I’ll sleep out on the couch tonight.”

“No, wait.”

Before you can walk away, he grabbed you by the wrist and you hadn’t realized he’d even stood at all until you slammed firmly into his chest.

“I meant what I said before, Y/N.” His grip dug into your hip and a finger trailed across your cheek as lightly as a feather, brushing the stray wisps of hair away. “I do want this.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you tilted your head to stare up at him in the darkness, trying to make sense of the strange words tumbling from his mouth. Strange, too strange, even for him.

“I don’t think you do.”

The littlest sound escaped his lips, trapped somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh and those gentle, warm fingers trailed so delicately around the curve of your ear, slowly making way down the slope of your neck. This time, there was no denying the cause of your shiver and it took everything not to lean into his touch.

“It’s been on my mind for quite some time—and you know how prone to obsession I am.”

You didn’t trust his words and you didn’t say a thing, you just continued to stare up at him with the slightest crinkle on your brow. Your hands had come up to rest against his chest but you weren’t sure if it was to keep this strange, imaginary connection between the two of you real or if it was to quicken your ability to push him away.

“I’ve been thinking about the way you must taste,” he whispered, leaning in, brushing his lips like a ghost against the shell of your ear. “And after the small glimpse I managed to steal earlier, I can’t get it out of my mind—I can’t think clearly. You always smell like firewood and nutmeg and I can’t help but wonder if your skin is just as intoxicating.”

His lips moved away from you, your skin cold and empty at the loss of contact. “It’s quite inconvenient, how distracting you‘ve become to me.”

Inconvenient.

He had such a way with words.

A familiar thought spilled into your mind—what was he doing to you? You were sure he didn’t even realize what he was doing or that he was at all, but it tormented you just the same.

Your breath shuddered. “This doesn’t sound like you.”

“No, it doesn’t. I’m not very familiar with this sensation—this need. I don’t understand it in the least,” he confessed. He tilted your chin and studied the planes of your face, the depth of your eyes, as though there were answers hidden somewhere should he only seek them out. “I don’t like not understanding.”

“You know, you don’t have to understand everything.”

“Yes, I do.”

How could you have expected anything less from him? You shook your head and scoffed. He pulled back but his fingers continued to toy with the hem of your small shirt, just barely still tucked into the high waist of your skirt. The warmth from his touch was so pleasant, so inviting, that even though your head told you otherwise, you did not pull away or make any move to stop him.

He cocked his head. “How long has it been since you were with Mark?”

You almost whipped away at the question.

“Michael.” You knew he knew the man’s name but his insistence to ignore social pleasantries always had him playing the same game with those he considered insignificant. “We ended it three weeks ago.”

“No,” Sherlock shook his head, “how long has it been since you were with a man?”

What business was that of his? Truly, it wasn’t.

Still, you answered. “Two months.”

That toying, teasing smirk returned to his face. “Then you want this too, I imagine. From what I understand, that’s a rather long time to go without fulfilling this particular need.”

Your mouth opened so slightly to deny it but before you could squeeze out a word, his fingers slipped underneath your shirt, splaying across the soft skin of your stomach and squelching your objection in a single heartbeat.

He leaned in and his sweet breath fanned across your cheek. “Don’t lie to me. I can see it in your eyes,” he murmured, skin so close to yours you could feel the electricity humming between you. “You like the way I’m touching you.” His touch moved seamlessly from your stomach beneath the band of your skirt, softly caressing the top of your hips and you had no control over your resulting shudder.

“I can feel your pulse racing—right here.” A spark shot through your body when his lips closed in on the bare skin at the base of your neck, his lips soft and warm as his tongue moved so gently there just like he’d done earlier when the sun was bright in the cold sky.

“Of course my pulse is racing,” you managed to whisper. “You’re making me nervous.”

His chuckle tumbled against your throat, resonating down through your stomach. “Nerves and excitement can be easily confused.”

“How would you know?” You hadn’t intended the words to come out as bitterly as they did, as harsh, and once they were out your voice softened. You weren’t sure he ever would truly understand. “The only emotions you’re familiar with are boredom and arrogance.”

He hummed. “You call it arrogance; I call it confidence. And right now I’m confident about two things—I’m confident that I want this, I want you, and I’m confident you want me too.”

As usual, he was right.

You did want him. His teasing words from earlier had taunted you all day, sullied by the confusion between what you knew to be Sherlock and this strange behavior he was displaying, muddled by the frustration that had been building that you were sure he would never feel in the same way you did.

You weren’t in love with him, no. But god you wanted him.

He waited as you mulled over your silence and the lack of affirmation thrummed in his chest like rejection.

“If I’m wrong,” he rasped, deeply and needing, “just say it. Say it and I’ll stop and we’ll never speak of this again.”

He had laid the line before you and now it was up to you whether you would cross it or not.

You let out a soft breath, tongue flicking out across your lips to wet them—a motion that did not escape his attuned senses.

“And what if I do admit to wanting this?”

Finally, your hands trailed up his chest, curing around the loosely unbuttoned collar of the crisp dress shirt he’d fallen asleep in while you were gone. Your fingers toyed with the third button, gently brushing the pale skin just beneath and his eyes darkened as he watched you. They darkened more when he caught your gaze, challenging and fierce but still so reluctant to push him into this unfamiliar territory you both seemed to want so much.

“What would happen in that case, Sherlock?”

“Then,” pausing for effect, he leaned down to press his mouth against your ear again, like it was only natural. “I believe I have a few ideas that we would both enjoy.” His hand slipped down your thigh, playing at the hem of your skirt, and he pulled you taught against him with the other, your hips flush in a strange and new and magnetic way. “And each and every—single—one of them ends with you saying my name.” As if on command, he found the spot just below your ear and clamped onto it with delicious pressure, pulling his name from you in a soft moan. “Just like that.”

You hardly even recognized the sound of your own voice.

He pulled back and smiled down at you, lips brazen and cocky but for once, you didn’t care. Any objection, every inhibition, that you had melted away under his touch, under his hands as they slid to your back and those long musician’s fingers slid the zipper of your skirt loose around your waist. Under the fabric, he groped at the soft flesh of your hips and you hadn’t known it to be possible to get closer than you were but he managed to make it happen, always surprising you.

“Oh, fuck it.”

You’d no sooner said the words before you were working his shirt open, taking care not to snap the buttons despite your frenzied want. More and more of his lean, toned chest came into view and your nails trailed softly over the newly exposed skin as you went. You lurched up on your toes, wondering if his neck was as sensitive as your own, but just before you could, he pulled away and he held your weight against him, staring down at you with lust blown eyes and a grin.

“You want this?” His fingers brushed again and again over your hips, slowly sliding the skirt further and further down.

“Sherlock, please,” you keened, “stop teasing.”

His laugh shook straight to your core and as he leaned in to his new favourite spot on your neck, his leg slipped between yours and the fabric of his trousers raised goosebumps all the way up your spine.

“I need to hear you say it, love.”

“Yes. Fuck, I want this.” Your hands carded through his hair, curls soft against your fingertips. “I want you,” you moaned. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you but I want every second of it that I can get.”

That was all he needed to hear.

In the space of time it took for you to process what was happening, his hands slid down and grasped the back of your thighs and he hoisted you up his waist with all the strength of a man possessed. He pulled you against him by the back of your neck before finally—finally—your lips crashed together, his tongue slipping greedily between yours and you opened your mouth to him without a thought as the delicious warmth sent you reeling. His lips, his tongue, were softer than you would have ever imagined and his sweet breath had you pushing harder against him, your nails raking through his dark curls and legs tightening around his waist with desperation.

Closer. You needed him closer.

Your back sunk into the soft mattress and only then did he pull back, panting as softly as you. His blue eyes locked on yours and he slid the unbuttoned shirt from his shoulders, casting it away carelessly to land somewhere crumpled on the floor of your room. Where he knelt between your legs, he had the perfect view of the length of your entire body and he followed with those fathomless eyes the trail made by his hand, starting at your knee and to your hip, brushing the skin of your waist and along your side that your shirt had ridden up to expose.

His swollen lower lip pulled between his teeth in concentration as he watched your every reaction, every shiver, that his touch elicited. You leaned forward, eager to pull that lip between your own, but his hand pressed firmly against your hips and pinned you in place.

“Patience, love.”

The whine that tore from your throat rose a blush along your cheeks.

“You’ve been teasing me all day.”

Even if he didn’t realize it—which at this point you were sure he did—it was the truth.

Sherlock hummed in response to your protest. He leaned in closer, his breath fanning across your collarbone before his lips touched there as well.

“I had to make sure that you wanted this as much as I do.” His hand slipped up underneath your shirt, dragging lazily along the curve of your breast—teasing, taunting, but never moving any closer to where you wanted. His dark hair tickled your neck and he murmured against the soft mound, still shrouded from view by the white cotton.

“I’m still not sure I’m convinced.”

His lips clamped around your nipple through your shirt and you gasped immediately. He pinned you in place still through the arching of your back and when he added his teeth, sucking and nipping and playing at the sensitive bud, your knees clamped tightly to either side of his hips, trying and pleading and begging for the friction he’d abandoned.

“Sherlock,” you moaned, “please.”

He hadn’t even really touched you yet and you were sure you were going to cry out from sheer frustration.

The cocky bastard chuckled, his lips pulling away from your pert nipple and leaving it open to the chill of the room.

“Shall I find out how badly you want this?” He moved his hand at last to your nipple beneath the fabric of your shirt and deft fingers squeezed and rolled in just the right way that had you squirming under him.

“I wonder just how wet you are.”

Your chest heaved and his hand slid past your hips, past the scrunched up skirt, and for one glorious moment moment, his hand sunk down to cup your dripping core.

But all too soon, he pulled away.

What the fuck?

If looks could kill, you would have struck him down as he rocked back on his heels and swiped your skirt down to reveal your absolutely bare legs, devoid even of the knickers he’d expected to find.

“Well,” he gushed, “this is a pleasant surprise.”

“I was in a rush,” you snapped.

He grinned down at you wickedly and once again you flushed. “It’s all the same—even if you hadn’t run out on me earlier,” he pressed a quick, suckling kiss to your stomach, “I wouldn’t have let you leave with them on.”

You panted incredulously, beyond frustrated by his games.

“You’re so sure about that.”

“Mm.” One after the other, his legs slipped from the bed and little by little, he tugged your skirt down past your ankles. Tauntingly slow. Once get offending garment was thrown, he lifted your leg and his mouth closed around the skin of your inner thigh, inches north of your knee.

“I’m positive.”

His fingers traced small circles against your hips but he didn’t move any closer, even when you let out a small whine, even when you wriggled in place, aching and begging without words. He watched you squirming in your distressed state, his expression a blank canvas as he studied your every curve splayed out before him in waiting.

You glared at the cracked plaster of your ceiling.

“You know, Sherlock,” you hissed through your teeth, “you’re talking a big game but you’ve yet to have anything to show—“

A harsh tug pulled you to the edge of the bed and before you could finish spouting out the word, two long fingers slipped inside of you and he smiled as he nibbled at the apex of your thigh.

“Fuck.”

His fingers pulled almost completely out before he pushed them back in, twisting just so and the pad of his thumb brushed over your clit. A moan fell through your lips like honey before you could stop it, before you could deny it.

That familiar, arrogant chuckle broke through the walls of your momentary bliss. “What was that were you saying?”

“Nothing,” you gasped. “Just keep going.”

“Mm-hmm.” The sound rumbled against your thigh. “That’s what I thought.”

A third finger joined the others, stretching you around him like you hadn’t felt in a while and somehow only serving to make you wetter, needier for his touch. His thumb moved away from your sensitive bud and briefly, you considered shouting out to him.

Not again.

But before your dry mouth could gasp a single protest, his tongue had already taken its place.

That was unexpected.

He lapped delicately against you, drawing the sensitive flesh between his lips as his fingers continued to work you—play you, like a well-known melody. You felt his lips release your clit and trail down, drawing a stripe from your dripping center up over your hooded nerves and your legs began to quake.

This time, you gasped soundlessly—what was he doing to you?

He was here, touching you, but you still weren’t entirely convinced any of it was happening. That it was real.

The still of the room filled with your heavy breathing, with your mewling whimpers, and every sense you had was focused on him and the way he moved so warmly between your thighs. Everywhere he touched was on fire in the most pleasant way and by now you had completely forgotten the cold you had suffered what felt like hours earlier.

Somehow, he’d found a way to go deeper, curling just so, fingers strong and eager as they worked you so deliciously. They slid in again before sliding completely out of you, drawing a whimper as you pleaded for the fullness they had given you. His hands moved to knead the curve of your arse, pulling you closer to him and in a sure motion, his tongue flicked out and his lips teased and sucked in a way that was so different from his fingers but so good. Naturally, instinctively, your hands twisted into the sweat dampened hair at the nape of his neck.

“You taste even more exquisite than I imagined,” his deep voice rumbled against your core in the most delightful way.

You’d always known he had a sharp tongue but if you’d known how good he was with it, if you’d known how it could make butterflies fly through your stomach as well as it could cut, you might have begged to sit on his face years ago.

You whispered his name and pulled him closer, guiding his head in the way that drove you wild. Your hips ground wantonly against his face as you chased the blinding, numbing ecstasy that you could feel breaking way to the surface. That tight and hot and desperate feeling pitted deep within you, begging to be freed.

“Oh my god—“

Then, all too soon, he was gone. Again.

You groaned. “Sherlock—“

With both hands still cupping your thighs, he lifted you up, his face burying in the flushed crook of your neck. His teeth nipped and he sucked against your pulse, harder still when you curled into him and dragged him down with you. His thigh ground against your aching core, rubbing just enough with the friction from his trousers to keep your excitement mounting and building but never spilling over. Every sigh and every gasp you made, he moved further up your neck, his hands groping and sliding until finally his lips reached yours.

He moved closer, so close you could feel his breath but he kept that scant distance with his arms caging around you on either side of your head.

Your mouth fell into a pout. “Sherlock, please.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were enjoying this.”

You wriggled beneath him, trying in vain to catch his lips. “And if I didn’t know any better,” you panted, “I‘d think you were enjoying it, too.”

He brushed away a lock of your hair. “Oh, I am.”

“Just kiss me already.”

He did. Finally, he did. You could taste yourself on him, the soft and salty and sweet flavor so exotic and unlike anything you’d ever tasted before and to experience it through him was so heady, so primal, you wanted nothing more than to soak up all of it. You pulled his lip between yours, suckling and tender and the dangerous thought that you were sure you couldn’t get enough of the intoxicating way he made you feel swam around you, filling your ears with a symphony composed of his touch and the deep, rumbling tones of his voice. Your tongues moved together in a gentle duel, curling against the unspoken whispers of desire.

Clothes. He was wearing far too much.

“Trousers,” you managed to mutter against his lips. “Take them off.”

He didn’t stop kissing you and when his hands wandered lower, they caught on the hem of your shirt, sliding the cloth higher up your ribs.

You pulled away roughly. “Take them off. Now.”

Blue eyes glazed from the intimacy between you met your own and your eyebrow rose, both ordering him and begging him to heed your command. You needed it. You needed him.

His tongue dragged lazily against the bare skin of your stomach but he did as he was asked. You heard the telltale sound of his belt clattering against the hardwood and a few seconds later, he urgently—clumsily—kicked them away.

You took a second to soak in his form and though you’d never really taken the time to do so before, you weren’t disappointed. Beneath the layers of dark clothes he elected to wear day after day, he hid a well toned physique, his waist tapering softly where a trail of dark hair dove just beyond your line of sight from where you lay sprawled before him.

He climbed back onto the bed, hovering above you with still so much space—still too much space—empty between you. Those hands glided up your ribs, like he had before when you’d pushed him off, and this time you didn’t stop him as he pulled the tight shirt up over the mounds of your breasts, baring them in all their glory to his feasting eyes. You laughed when the collar snagged on your chin and laughed harder still as he pressed closer, trying to finesse it off of you without pulling your hair any more than doing so already had.

Finally, your sight returned to you as your borrowed shirt was cast far off into the darkness of your room without a thought.

His hot palms slid along your sides, starting at your narrow waist until he reached your supple breasts, cupping you, kneading you.

Stalling.

“You’re not wearing anything here either,” he mused just before nodding his head and flattening his hot tongue over your hard, peaking nipple.

“Like I said, I was—“

“In a rush. Yes. Running away from this.” His teeth raked gently at the startled nerves, your back arching with him as he pulled. “Trying to hide from your desire for me.”

His hands skirted down your hips, brushing your inner thighs. He spread them open, sinking into the crevice between, and his hips rocked so gently against your own.

“Sherlock.”

In an instant, he pulled away and he wasn’t touching you at all; not with his hands, not with his mouth. Nothing.

“I need you to tell me what you need, Y/N.”

“More. I need more.”

He hummed, taunting you with, “I thought you weren’t interested in taking advantage of my curiosity.”

Oh, this was just cruel. If you weren’t so desperate, if you didn’t want him as badly as you did, you would have shoved him away.

“Fuck you,” you spat.

“That’s sort of the plan, love.”

And then he slid into you, roughly, until he was sheathed as deeply as could be. Hips flush against your own in a way that sparked every sensitive nerve alive, the way he twisted had you shaking beneath him and the groan that tore from your lips was nothing shy of pornographic.

For a second, he paused. Your eyes had closed, head tilted back into the sheets, and his hands fluttered helplessly at your waist.

“Did I—“

“Do it again,” you gasped, finally finding your voice. “Please.”

That had been a good sign after all.

And so he did, again and again. His movements were clumsy at first, not quite sure where to put his hands or how he should move, but he was a fast learner and this, it seemed, was no exception.

Soon the clumsy pace and tentative touches lead way to confident thrusts, dragging unintelligible noises from you both and his hands grew bolder in all the right places, sure to leave bruises though you couldn’t find it in you to care. He hiked your legs up around his waist and you were more than eager to oblige as flesh pressed firmly against flesh, his lips sucking and tongue curling from your collarbone to your chin, leaving no inch of skin untouched. His mouth met yours, hot and hungry and full of desire, and his tongue begged for access as his hips did the same, both moving in slow, languid strokes that tingled through your spine.

You reached up for him, tugged at the long hair at the back of his neck, pulling him closer and your hips bucked up against his own, begging—pleading—for the release he’d been building you up to for so long. You felt him shiver as your nails raked down his back, felt him pulse inside of you and in a flash, he gathered your hands in his own and stretched your arms far above your head.

Your hands struggled in his grip.

“I need to touch you.”

“You’ll get your turn,” he promised gruffly, grinding into you without pause. “Right now, it’s mine.”

And though a part of you yearned to disobey and pull at him, to touch him like he was touching you, you submitted to his mercy with very little complaint. His lips, his hands, his teeth, his tongue moved all over you in perfect harmony, his thrusts just the right strength and speed to send your head reeling, make you see colors around you like the cosmos.

He kissed you tenderly, he kissed you roughly, and every touch of his lips hummed against your skin. His hands continued to wander in their mindless, greedy path, fingers reaching between you as you tightened almost unbearably around him.

His name tumbled from your lips like a chant, a mantra inspired by the intimacy between you.

Overwhelmed by everything about him and overtaken by the mindless, numbing sensations that overtook you, he lead you to the very edge like he had time after time that night but this time he didn’t hold you back, he didn’t pull away, he didn’t stop even when you were screaming out in pleasure that left your throat raw and your mind spinning. This time, he tumbled right along with you.

Neither of you moved, content in the silence spoiled only by the rise and fall of your heavy breathing as you both let the beating of your hearts return to normal. His head fell into the crook of your neck, your skin hot to the touch and slick with sweat that he didn’t seem to mind.

Moments trickled by before he moved, pulling out of you with a soft groan, and then he lay at your side. He folded his arms beneath his head, keeping the space between your naked bodies as though they hadn’t been pressed together so tightly only moments before. Your knees fell together at his side, the throbbing between them the only tangible evidence of what had transpired between you from out of thin air, and your hands brushed away the sticky, wild tendrils of hair that stuck to your face.

You didn’t need him to say anything, you didn’t need to hear anything, but something inside of you wanted to hear his voice thrumming against you again.

And at last, he spoke.

“Most enlightening.”

You took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling.

“So that’s—you got what you needed?”

For a moment, the disappointment in your tone was nearly palpable and while your mind was still struggling to come back down to your body, you wondered if his words of rejection would hit you as hard as the pleasure he’d made you feel.

But to your surprise, the rejection you expected never came.

Legs still shaking from his touch, the calm tingling still coursing through you, he pulled you on to his lap and his hands raked up your form without a moment’s hesitation. With alarming fervor, your lips crashed together, searing and greedy. He pulled back shortly after and the smile he looked down at you with was purely wicked, lips swollen from your kiss and his hair a mess across his forehead, and the way his dark eyes drank you in made you swear you could nearly come on the spot.

“Oh, not even close.”

————————

You sat on the fire escape outside of your window dressed in his half buttoned shirt, a cigarette lit between your lips. Wrapped in only your dark sheet, Sherlock sat beside you, arm snaked around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder. Without a word, you passed it to him. His chest rose and fell against your back with his deep inhale and he blew a stream of smoke before you both, out into the snowy morning.

Your mind was clouded, your body still tingling from his touch.

“One time,” you whispered softly, fog spilling into the air with your breath. “That’s all this was.”

You’d loved every moment of what had happened but that’s all it could be. He admitted to being especially prone to obsession, driven by impulse and understanding and when his mind set to something, he pursued it with no exception. But much like him, you too were prone to the whims and the draw of addiction and you knew that without a doubt, this was something that would absorb you if you let it. The feelings he brought out of you were nothing short of intoxicating and the way he touched you with such determination, such fascination, left you craving more and more.

It was the only way you knew to keep from driving yourself mad. Declaring an end meant you had control. It ensured your ability to separate what was real from what was fleeting and Sherlock Holmes was known for wants of the fleeting variety.

You might have allowed yourself to get high off of him but you wouldn’t allow yourself to get hooked.

“Two times, technically.”

You were quick to smack your hand to his chest. “You know what I meant.”

“One night,” he offered in compromise. His hand slipped from your waist to the bare skin of your thigh, still warm from his touch. His fingers trailed, in a touch that was barely here, higher and higher and you shook as they moved closer to your most sensitive area. “I’m not finished discovering all the ways I can make you quiver.”

“Sherlock.”

With a deep chuckle, he pulled you tighter into his side and kissed your neck tenderly in the spot where a dark bruise had already started to form. You shivered against him.

“I’m not sure I’ll tire of hearing you say my name like that.”

“Of course you will.” You took in another puff. “I’ve never met anyone who tires of things as quickly as you.”

“Mm. Perhaps.” He didn’t stop and his lips fell to your shoulder. “But I find this quite intriguing. I’m enjoying the opportunity to expand my knowledge.”

“One night,” you whispered, reminding him of the words he’d just spoken. “Just one night.”

“If one night is all we have, then I intend to make it count.”

He pulled you easily onto his lap and kissed every inch of exposed skin as his fingers slipped loose every button of the only clothes you wore. Despite the bone-chilling cold, your skin was warm beneath him, burning from his touch so much that you hardly felt it at all.

He pulled just far enough away to smile at you as he slid the fabric from your shoulders like he was unwrapping something fragile. “Call it narcissistic if you must, but I think I like the sight of my shirt falling from your body as much as I enjoyed watching you put it on.”

The sheet fell from his chest as he pulled you tight against him, hands roaming shamelessly over your naked skin, over your hips and thighs, fingers brushing so intimately close to your heated core. He pulled your earlobe between his lips and with his hot breath fanning against your cooling skin, the shiver that overtook you had nothing to do with the winter air.

You leaned into him before you realized you had.

“Sherlock, we’re outside.”

“Yes, we are.”

With your attention so easily distracted, his fingers slipped easily inside of you, drawing out the softest mewl from your lips. That didn’t stop him, however, and his hands moved faster, fingers sliding and rubbing and before you could gasp out a word, his mouth latched eagerly to yours as he swallowed every moan, every whimper, every cry that he pulled from you.

And then for an instant, he pulled away. He grasped your jaw, still toying with you with devious, delectable ardor. You squirmed in his lap and he merely smiled, that lazy sexy smile with so much challenge in his eyes that would have made you weak in the knees if you were standing.

“I suggest you do try to keep your voice down. We wouldn’t want to wake anyone up.”

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