#i promise you i won’t ever loose interest in you and that ill like always be here for you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ah-ga-seven · 3 years

Text

No More Pain | Jung Jaehyun

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x Fem!reader

Synopsis: The lingering wounds of your miscarriage have reopened. Now that you are broken up, an unforseen change in Jaehyun’s life has brought him back to your doorstep. Will he be able to fix you this time? Or will he fail just the same as before?

Genre: Angst, One Shot.

Warnings: mentions of the reader having a miscarriage, depression, alcohol addiction and heartbreak.

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Probably one of the heaviest angsts I’ve written. I know the subject is rough but the idea came from a dream so I just had to write it down.

This was a different kind of pang to your heart.

You’ve had your fair share of tragedies, heartbreaks and disappointments, but this…

This feeling was nothing like anything you’ve ever felt before and quite frankly, you wouldn’t wish this upon your greatest enemy.

It was a Thursday night, one like many where you decided to stay in and recharge from a busy day at your demanding job.

You were seated on your couch with a hot cup of tea as you mindlessly scrolled through your Instagram feed. Completely wrapped in the warmth of your favorite fleece blanket. But even the thick fluffy material couldn’t protect you from the cold shivers that ran down your spine.

You blankly stare at the post your best friend forwarded to you via dm and stiffened.

Memories of the night you miscarried 4 months into your pregnancy flood back to you as you stare at his comment.

You remembered how broken he looked when the doctor couldn’t find the baby's heartbeat anymore.

You remembered how he held you as you cried in his arms, promising that he’d love you just the same as he tried to console you to his best ability while suffering himself.

You remembered the pain and the relief of having Jaehyun by your side through it all. Glad that even though your life was about to change forever, he’d be the one constant thing you could rely on.

You remembered all of these moments like they happened yesterday, wishing future you could mentally prepare past you for what was going to be the hardest time in your life.

The man who swore never to leave you did just that, and not even 6 months into his new relationship, your biggest insecurity was made into a reality.

He had moved on for good, and even though you have no ill feelings towards him, you can’t help but feel anger over sadness right now.

It was that easy to replace you. And that easy for him to find someone that could give him what you couldn’t.

Even though your miscarriage wasn’t the direct cause of why he left, the effects of the incidence on your mental health dragged him down with you. So both of you felt it’d be better to part ways for the sake of not wanting to hate or resent each other in the end.

But God…you hated and resented him now more than ever.

It didn’t matter to you that both of you started to date new people, because a part of you always held on to the fact that you’d somehow find your way back to each other, though the probability of that ever happening again turned to ash.

Your miscarriage broke you.

No appetite for weeks, no motivation to get yourself out of bed and no cure for the monsters in your head who told you that Jaehyun was only sticking around out of pity for your broken state.

That same insecurity is what drove him into the arms of the women he told you not to worry about, and now they’re having a fucking child together.

Knowing that that should’ve been you was a thought that was just too much to bear right now. You suddenly feel sick to your stomach, tears prickling your eyes as you rub the spot on your belly where the mini bump used to be 8 months ago.

You were finally doing better, thriving in your job and social life. Meeting new people and dating a few loose ends here and there, but you can already feel yourself spiraling back into old depressional habits as you stare at the picture once more.

You pettily decide to like it, hoping it would spark interest from none other than your ex, and much to your surprise, it did.

Not even 20 minutes later your phone started to buzz on the counter as you poured yourself a glass of wine. You mindlessly retrieve it, expecting it to be your best friend but when you see his name as you take a sip you almost choke.

Is he serious?

You try to come up with what to say for the next 3 to 5 minutes but nothing in your head seems to translate your exact feelings to your fingertips.

You sigh in agony while leaning over on your kitchen counter with your phone still in your hands, reading his messages over and over again. You subconsciously start to bite your lip in deep thought, getting startled by your ringtone as your phone starts to ring in your grasp.

“Fuck,” you mumble to yourself, taking a big chug of the alcoholic beverage in front of you, putting on the bravest face and straightest posture to make yourself feel better before accepting the call.

You knew you didn’t have to answer, but you were dying to hear what he had to say under these circumstances.

“Y/N? Is that you?” His voice was unchanged. You didn’t know why, but you expected him to sound different, be different. Yet the same worry he’s always had for you was evident in his tone this time as well.

You clear your throat to avoid a voice crack and sigh. “Congratulations,” you tried to sound as genuine as you could, but you knew you sounded like shit.

You start to play with the ends of your hair out of anxious anticipation, waiting for him to respond on the other end of the line.

“I meant to tell you,” he starts. “I just…I didn’t know how and Chaeyoung suddenly uploaded the picture and-”

“Jae…please spare me the details,” you interrupt him. Saying his name like you used to felt like speaking a foreign language. He stayed quiet upon hearing your voice again and let out a frustrated sigh.

“Do you still live in the same apartment in Itaewon?” he suddenly asks, immediately alerting you to stand up straight because he could only be asking for one reason and one reason only.

“Y-yes.”

“Good, I’m on my way.”

Just like that, he hung up and just like that your heart rate starts to race uncontrollably.

You down the remnants of your wine glass and hope he’s isn’t too close because your place looked far from neat. For the next 15 minutes, you run around, shoving things into random cabinets. Whether those items belonged there or not was the least of your concern and just as you fluff the last pillow on your couch, your doorbell rings.

You take a deep breath, calming your nerves as you walk up to your front door, taking it off the lock before you open it with a dramatic swing.

There he was. Jung Jaehyun.

As beautiful and put together as he always looked, no matter the circumstance. You forget how to breathe when you lay eyes on him and gulp. It’s actually him.

His big dark orbs widened as he laid eyes on you after months of not seeing you. His facial expression softened, slowly parting his lips to speak but you beat him to it when you broke out of your trance.

“What are you doing here?” your shoulders fall as you look into his eyes for answers. The same eyes that once looked at you with so much love and adoration, but right now his pupils were stressfully darting back and forth, trying to read you like he used to be able to but he had no idea what you were feeling right now.

“Because I feel like shit y/n. Please let me in and let me explain,” he pleaded with a defeated tone.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “What is there to explain? You knocked up your girlfriend and finally got what you wanted. Why bother coming here? To rub it into my face?”

Your plan of staying calm and collected went completely out the window just now and you could tell by the shock on his face that he did not expect you to be angry with him.

He took a step forward, backing you into your own hallway. His height towered over you when you stepped back and without looking back he closed the door behind him.

“Y/n. I would never purposely do that to you. Ever.” You ignore his statement, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I don’t remember inviting you in Jaehyun. Does she even know you’re here?”

You hold your ground, crossing your arms over your chest as you wait for him to counter your attack, but he simply shook his head. Knowing damn well that you’re acting tough just so you won’t get emotional.

As he’s scanning the premises, his eyes linger on the red wine bottle on your kitchen counter and with a look of utter disbelief, he averts his attention back on you.

“You’re drinking again?” he asks with an almost condescending tone.

“Did you come here to practice your parenting skills because no thanks Jae, please leave,” you bite back as coldly as you could, but he wasn’t having it.

“That shit almost killed you and you’re just casually drinking again?” He runs his hand through his locks out of pure frustration, not knowing what to do with the misplaced feeling of still caring for you just the same, while also knowing he has no business to tell you how to live your life.

The truth is, Jaehyun had no idea what he was doing here. Everything about the situation felt wrong and he couldn’t lie to himself any longer. Ever since Chaeyoung told him she was pregnant; he couldn’t be fully happy about it. He couldn’t commit to fatherhood knowing how much it broke your relationship. How much it broke the women he loved most to this day.

“A little red wine didn’t hurt anyone,” you mumble under your breath and that comment alone send Jaehyun’s emotions into overdrive, unable to hide his disappointment and worry for you any longer.

“IT HURT YOU Y/N. DAMN IT!” He raised his voice at you as he roughly grabbed your arm to make you look at him, which is the last thing you expected. He wasn’t mad at you. He was mad at himself. Mad at the fact that he wasn’t there when you needed him most and mad at the fact that this is what your lives had come to.

You might have previously dealt with your pain by drinking, and you might have mindlessly mixed your anti-depressants with your drink once, which…just might have earned you a trip to the hospital, but that was your lowest low and you made sure it’d never happen again.

You beat your demons by yourself when he had already moved on, so he had no place to waltz back into your life when he felt like it, just to judge you.

You’re absolutely fuming by now because of that same reason and much to your dismay you feel new tears well up in your eyes.

“NO, YOU HURT ME!” you yell back at him as you smack his chest, the salty droplets streaming down your face as you kept hitting his chest to make him feel your pain. “YOU LEFT ME.”

Your knees got weak and you knew you looked absolutely pathetic as you crouched down in front of him. Shock took over his features as he got down on his own knees just as quickly, pulling you into the comfort of his arms. The warmth that you used to call home and the warmth that always seemed to calm you down engulfed you completely, a feeling your favorite fleece blanket from before could hardly imitate.

He patted your head with assuring strokes, whispering sweet nothings to you as he held you on the floor of your apartment. Letting you sob the pain away in his black shirt. “Shhh, it’s okay…” he kissed the top of your head, caressing your cheek as he wiped away your tears.

You calmed down slowly, ignoring the suffocating ache in your head and heart while he made you feel safe and sound like he always did. You sat there like that for God knows how long, letting your minds go into overdrive as silence comforted the both of you.

Ironically enough, this scenery was the exact same as the one in the hospital 8 months ago. You cried in his arms just like this when you had lost your child, but now you were crying because you had lost him. For good now.

“I would never purposely plan to have a baby this quickly y/n, you have to believe me. Chae was on birth control but it just…happened,” he whispers, finally breaking the agonizing silence.

You stay quiet, closing your eyes to the sound of his low voice, letting his words register. “I was going to tell you. I was planning to ask you out for a coffee but as soon as she passed her first trimester, she was just so excited and made the announcement…it was just bad timing.”

“All of this is bad timing,” you mumble, which made him nod in agreement. He sighed into your hair as he continued to explain. “Y/n, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care for you anymore. I wish things were different, but they simply aren’t and I’m sorry.”

You sniff, dabbing your tears and your nose with the sleeves of your blouse before looking up at him through your lashes.

“You don’t have to apologize for moving on and being happy Jaehyun. It’s all I ever wanted for you.” You wipe the single tear that remained on the corner of his eye, not having realized that he shed a few tears himself too.

He leaned into your touch as he looked into your eyes before closing them, leaning his forehead onto yours while taking a deep breath.

“I just want you to be ok.” He says suppressing a sob. “I can’t live this picture-perfect life knowing that you’re in pain y/n. It makes no sense; you deserve so much more it’s not fair.”

Your lip starts to quiver as his words hit you, and you build up the courage to look at him again.

He stared at you longingly and lovingly for the first time since forever and you knew a mistake was about to be made when he inched his face closer to you, but it was too late.

His lips made contact with yours and you completely gave in. Letting him lead you into a slow yet passionate kiss that took both of your breaths away. Before things could get more heated, you realize what was happening and froze.

You take a hold of his wrists as you pull away, your eyes staring into his equally electrified ones as you recompose yourselves.

“I-I’m sorry,” he started. “I should’ve never confused you like that. Fuck. What the fuck am I doing.” He covers his mouth as he got up. Frustrated with his own behavior, he digs his fingernails into the palms of his hands to suppress the urge to swing at your door or any other object in sight for that matter.

You get up just as quickly as well. Straightening out your clothes before shaking off the nerves of what just happened.

You take a deep breath followed by a shaky exhale as you opened your front door, turning around on your heels to look at an equally distressed Jaehyun.

He was about to speak; about to confess that he still loved you, but you stopped him by raising your hand, motioning for him to keep whatever he was about to say to himself.

Your eyes find his own and you take one last glance at the man that was supposed to be the pillar to your family. The man you used to call yours, and the man that you had hoped to still have a future with, despite everything.

But you knew better.

You knew what was right and you knew what you had to do before things would start to spiral out of control again.

You stepped aside so he could pass by you, trying to avoid eye contact all while you could still feel his burning stare lingering on your fragile state.

You swallow harshly, licking your lips before you spoke as clearly and steadily as you could.

“For the sake of your family, please leave Jae…and never come back.”

741 notes · View notes

ooffies · 3 years

Text

ᴋᴀᴇʏᴀ, ᴄʜɪʟᴅᴇ, ᴠᴇɴᴛɪ, xɪᴀᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟʙᴇᴅᴏ ᴀꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛꜱ (ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀꜱ)

characters x gn!reader, modern AU

a/n: this wasn’t edited/proof read so I apologize if there are any errors

warnings: none

requested by no one

tagging @genshin-obsessed (heyyy pocket lmao- 🍷❤)

Tip jar

Kaeya → the cool dad

He’s a very chill parent (pun intended)

Has rules but is very loose with them

Just cause he’s the cool parent doesn’t mean he’s not strict at times (he can be very strict if needed)

He’s a very affectionate and doting parent, always showering the kids with love and hugs

Spoils both you and the kids, he can’t help it cause he just loves you guys so much

All of your kid’s friends call him dad and constantly say they wish they had a cool dad like Kaeya

Always willing to drive the kids somewhere or take them out for a day if you need a break

He still makes sure you two get alone time together and takes you on dates frequently

Sneaks kisses whenever he can. A peck on your cheek or your lips, he also loves seeing your reaction to his surprise kiss

Family game night is a tradition for your family and Kaeya is the king of losing on purpose to make is kids smile

He absolutely loved playing with kids when they were younger and you still often find them playing fighting in the backyard when they come to visit

He really tries to be the best father he can and sometimes puts way to much pressure on himself

Loves styling the kid’s hair and will let them play with his hair. Sometimes you'll walk downstairs and be greeted by Kaeya with a head full of bows, hair clips and mini ponytails.

Whenever the kids would have nightmares he’d go into their room and fight the “nightmare” monster. He’d come out of the room 3 minutes later and tell the kids he beat it with his super awesome sword skills

Childe → the tries too hard to be hip and trendy with kids dad

First off he is a very doting dad, he loves his children so much and calls them his precious babies and often says he cannot live without them

He’s very much a *ahem* malewife *AHEM* (don’t try to change my mind, it will not change no matter what you say). Even though he’s hella rich he wants to spend all the time he can with his kids.

He cooks, cleans, packs the kid’s lunches in the morning and makes sure to give you a kiss whenever you return home from work and say “How was your day at work babe?”

He really, and I mean really, tries to be cool with kids. Spends time looking into “the latest and hip’ trends that all the kids are hopping on. They thought he was the coolest when they were younger but now they call him cringe and say he’s trying too hard and that he’s cool just the way he is.

It broke his old man's heart when they said it to him the first time and he cried for 30 minutes straight, you made them apologize to him even though you know they meant no ill intentions. Now calling him cringe is a family joke :)

Encourages the kids to learn something that will “help them wins fights and emerge victorious from all the battles they fight”

You put a quick stop to that and told the kids that they can do any activities they want

He’s still very supportive of what they choose to do and will always be their number one supporter

He’s a big cuddler and often initiates family cuddle piles.

Venti → wine dad

Chill dad #2. He wants his kids to be free and be who they are. You still set some basic ground rules for them.

Very doting and affectionate and will always give you and the kids all his love

Stopped drinking as much when they kids were born/adopted

He acts like a wine aunt (hence wine dad)

LOVES reading the kids bedtime stories but this also became a family activity since you’d always accompany him. He’ll also sing them lullabies and he’ll sing you lullabies every night too

Even when your kids are older he’ll still read them stories and sing to them.

Doesn’t really like to do household chores but he’ll do them for you (He will complain though)

He does enjoy cook though and likes to help make dinner for special occasions/holidays

He will teach his kids how to play instruments and sing. He won’t force them into it but wants them to at least try it

Get’s pouty if the kids get taller him and will tell them to stop growing or he’s gonna steal their height

Another family tradition you guys have is weekend picnics. Venti usually chooses the location because he somehow finds all the prettiest places in town. He would tell the kids it was his magic talent when they were younger.

Encourages the kids to go to summer camp so they can “build unforgettable memories and be closer to nature. (But really he just wants to have some alone time with you)

Xiao → the emo dad

On the outside he seems cold and very un-affectionate but oh boy he’s quite the opposite

He’s willing to do anything for you and the kids because you guys are the most important things in the world to him

He’s also somewhat of a malewife too but it was completely his choice. He just wanted to take care of his family.

He doesn’t like it when you come home from work and start doing chores. He’ll force you to sit down and relax. He’ll say that he’s got everything under control and there no need for you to stress yourself over chores

The main way he shows you and the kids affection is through acts of service.

Like I said before he’ll do the majority of the household chores, the kids also have their few assigned chores (and you help out with chores if he lets you)

He’ll help the kids with their homework, make them lunch, read them bedtime stories, brush their hair for them, take care of them when they’re sick, ect.

Only shows a limited amount of affection in public. He’ll hold your hand and carry the kids but that’s about it

In private however he is willing to accept all the affection you and the kids give him

He often struggles helping his kids out when it comes to emotional problems/issues but he always does his best. He’s always there to a lend an ear

He’s not vocal about it or always showing it but he’s your guy’s number one supporter.

Evening walks after dinner is a family tradition you guys have had ever since the kids started walking.

When they were young he’d let them sit on shoulders and would give them piggyback rides

He can be very strict and overprotective sometimes but that’s just cause he wants the best for his kids

Albedo → the art dad

He may not be the best at giving affection but he is a very supportive and doting dad

He likes draws pictures for the kids, even when their older he still does because he said seeing their smile when he give his art to them is a very special and happy feeling that he never wants to go away

Helps out with household chores but absolutely despises mopping.

He’s always there to listen to the kids talk about their latest obsessions/interests

He’s not very good at comforting but he really does try too

Makes you guys take family photos every so he can paint them later

Teaches the kids about art and alchemy if they show interest in either

When they were young he used to make kid safe experiments for them

Road trips are a family tradition. Albedo enjoys them cause he gets to draw the pretty scenery and thinks it’s one of the best to to spend quality time with family

He wakes up like a mom so whenever the kids would wake him when they’d have a nightmare he’d get startled and almost launch himself out of bed with a high pitched screech

Encourages the kids to have playdates with their friends often (he actually just wants more alone time with you)

He’s also the type of parent that draws on the walls with the kids when he finds them doing it. And yes he doesn’t care if they’re using sharpie he’ll still join in. Yes you’ve scolded all them multiple times and no they never learn their lesson, Albedo too. He always promises that he’ll “clean” it up which results in most of the wall in the house being murals cause his “cleaning up” is just him painting over it.

401 notes · View notes

sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years

Text

Comfort: Geto Suguru x Fem! Reader

synopsis: hard days lead to soft nights with Geto.

wc: 1k

tw: none - this is all fluff!

Your hands are shaking so bad that you can barely get your key in the door.

You had kept it together during the drive home - blasting music to distract you from the draining, endless thoughts that swarmed your mind concerning your stressful ass job - but now that you were so close to feeling some sense of relief, you couldn’t keep it together. And the lock was proving to be the final obstacle in the way of you having that.

“Dammit!” you hiss, dropping the keys to the ground on accident. As you stoop to pick them up, your vision blurs significantly, but it isn’t until you feel the wetness on your skin that you realize it’s not because your glasses slid off your face. You’re crying.

The door cracks open while you’re straightening up, and you see two shapeless blobs of black that lead up to a lean figure standing in the doorway. Suguru.

“Hey, I heard you struggling with the lock; I--” he stops when he sees your tears. You attempt to wipe them away, but it’s much too late. His arm shoots out and pulls you inside of the apartment, crushing you against his chest in a bear hug. You register the door closing shut behind you, but it’s the smell of Suguru’s cologne and the warmth of his wool sweater that envelops you at that moment. A hand instantly goes to your hair - neatly pinned up in a bun - and sets it free, loosing tension you didn’t know it added to your head.

As you cry into his chest, he strokes your hair and presses a kiss to your forehead. The soothing motion isn’t interrupted at all until you break off into hiccups as your sobs die down. He presses tender kisses to your wet cheeks and plants a final kiss on your lips, holding your face in a large, soft hand.

“Come on, let’s get you out of these clothes and into the shower.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Suguru knows how stressful your days are.

It’s a never-ending cycle of “y/n, I need this”, “y/n, can you do XYZ for me?”, “y/n, you’re needed in this pointless meeting that has nothing to do with your job”. You know they rely on you because you do a stellar job at everything, but it’s a lot of pressure to be on your A-game at all times. It just seemed like you could never catch a break.

And more often than not, you cover up your stress by coming home and cooking, losing yourself in a book, or immersing in a good TV show with Suguru. You rarely - if ever - complain. But today… today was the day you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Take your time,” Suguru murmurs, handing you your favorite towel before closing the door. Steam quickly gathers on the mirror and you slide into the shower, letting the hot water scald your skin as you wash off the day with vigor. You rinse and repeat more times than you care to admit, then step out, feeling only slightly better than before. When you exit the bathroom, you smell something absolutely heavenly coming from the kitchen, and you recognize it as your favorite soup.

“Is that…?” you wonder, padding into the kitchen barefoot with only a towel wrapped around you. Suguru turns around slightly, smiling shyly as he stirs the pot on the stove.

“I thought it might help.” You offer him a thankful smile back and retreat into the bedroom, drying off before you put on something much more comfortable than your work suit.

When you venture back into the kitchen, there are two bowls - one for you and one for Su - already filled with the warm, soothing liquid. Suguru quickly swipes them and you follow him into the living room, sitting on the couch before he hands you the bowl. “Careful, it’s a little hot.”

But it doesn’t matter. When you spoon the soup to your lips, the warm feeling slides down your throat and makes you shudder in content as he slides in next to you, holding one arm around you protectively while the other grabs the remote.

“We’ve got options: you can either beat me at a game of Jeopardy or we can catch up on that drama you like.” You hesitate, thinking about how nice it would be to just win and win easily for once, but then settle on the drama - because if you were both being honest, Suguru enjoyed watching the female CIA officer get in and out of trouble as much as you did.

_______________________________________________________________________

Halfway through the second episode, your eyes are sliding closed. The warm soup, the warm body, the warm everything… it’s all contributing to your desire to rest for a while. Attentive as always, Suguru has shifted from sitting beside you to laying underneath you, both of his arms resting around your small frame and fingers running over your figure lazily. When the sound of his heart becomes more interesting than the deranged woman on the screen, you feel yourself slipping into sleep.

“Babe?” The feeling of long fingers pressing down your back brings you back to the present - just a little - and you hum in response, not sure if you can make a full sentence right now. “You sound tired. Want to go to bed?” When you nod, Suguru shifts up a little, moving to grab the remote off the coffee table and shut off the TV. He leads you to the bedroom, where the sheets and pillows await. When you collapse in it, he spoons you from behind, wrapping his arms around you and pressing tender kisses to your exposed neck and shoulder.

You exhale, feeling every single bit of tension still left in your body escape through your nose. Suguru smooths a hand down your stomach, and you press into him just a little more.

“Can you do one more thing before you go to sleep?” he murmurs into your ear, and you crack open an eye.

“What’s that?”

“Text your boss that you won’t be in tomorrow.” He watches as you do just that, citing some mystery illness before sending the message and putting your phone on Do Not Disturb. “I’ll be taking care of you all day; you won’t have to worry about a thing.”

And that was what you liked about Suguru.

Like you, he always kept his promises.

#geto x reader #jjk geto #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen getou #geto suguru #getou x reader #getou suguru

361 notes · View notes

mammons-tax-returns · 4 years

Note

Hey! I saw that your ask box was open, so I was wondering if I could request how the brothers (if not all then just Lucifer, Beelzebub, and Leviathan) would react to the mc defending them! Like they get into a fight and their only response was "they were talking bad about you" or something! -🥀 (Also side note, do you right for GN! MC's, or just male?)

BROTHERS REACTING TO MC DEFENDING THEM

Hey anon! Thanks so much for requesting! As for your question, This is TECHNICALLY a male reader blog, however, if it isn’t necessary, I will use he/him pronouns loosely. In other words, if the prompt doesn’t specify/depend on it being a male mc, it will be gn!mc! Hope this clears up some confusion! I’ll start putting whether a post is for a gn or male mc at the very beginning of said post from now on.

✖️GENDER NEUTRAL MC✖️

fluff, some angst :).

Lucifer was more angry than anything to hear that MC had gotten in a fight. The one thing he made sure they did was to stay out of trouble. And yet, they seem to be a magnet for chaos.

He stumbled upon the fight before it got bad, and had the demon dealt with as he accompanied MC to an empty room at RAD.

Although he seemed to be sweating out of exasperation, it was easy to tell that he was simply worried about them.

Well. Kind of.

If you look past the hour-long lecture it is.

MC tries countless times to explain themself, and yet he never fails to reroute the conversation back to his lesson on running from a demon before things get bad.

It gets to a point when MC has to put a hand over his mouth to quiet him.

Only then do they explain what happened, and what caused the fight to begin with.

First, he is absolutely shocked. And he can’t really find the right thing to say.

Then, his eyes relax, and his frown seems to melt away. He truly wants to be mad still, to teach a proper lesson. But he just can’t do it.

“It is true that humans tend not to think things through, I suppose.”

He crosses his arms and continues, “Well, I appreciate it, but I don’t need the protection.”

After ruffling their hair, he smirks a little.

“I’ll have to keep a closer eye on you if you rush into situations like that. Maybe put you on a leash.”

After things are cleared up, he finds the situation a little comical. A human defending a demon.

Luckily, the wounds aren’t bad, or else Lucifer wouldn’t have hesitated giving some sort of consequence to the MC.

Mammon is, unfortunately, not around to witness or intervene into the fight.

So when the next time he sees MC there’s a dark magenta ring around their eye, he loses it.

He wastes no time taking them home from RAD. We know he never really cared for classes anyways.

Unlike Lucifer, he wants to hear them out on the way home.

Although he physically feels himself getting butterflies in his stomach from the idea of being cared for, he clears his throat and tries to push it aside.

He knows that they’re not going to be taken away from him anytime soon. At least, not with his unintentionally vice grip on their wrist they aren’t.

And yet he can’t help but constantly flick his gaze back to them and their wounds.

We were all waiting for this one: he feels horrible that they got hurt because of him, albeit indirectly.

He puts emphasis on steering clear of hotheaded demons— or, all demons that aren’t the brothers for that matter.

“I hear ya, The Great Mammon is a gem that all of devildom should be tryna’ protect! But... You’re better off ignoring that... I mean, look at ya! All beat up and stuff... N-Not that you look bad or anything. Well... Um.”

When MC laughs at him, he’s both relieved that they’re not upset enough to sulk, and embarrassed because of his wording.

So they have to reassure him that they simply find him worth protecting— for exactly this. He cares for them, and is probably willing to protect them too.

As he’s sloppily tending to their bruises, he offers to spend the day with them.

He says its his payment, and that he would defend them when Lucifer found out about today.

But it’s more so the fact that he wishes more than anything to spend every day for the rest of his demonic life with them.

Levi is another brother who is unfortunately not around at the time due to his home schooling.

That’s why he’s one of the last people to find out about it, and he feels guilt hit him like an 18-wheeler.

The injuries are a little more severe, but nothing that would keep someone from going about their daily life. Nonetheless, Levi is demanding to be the one to patch them up.

As soon as MC cuts him off before he can start rambling, they make sure to explain the situation, i.e. “I had to defend you! Or else they would have kept talking bad about you.”

He turns red and covers his mouth, undoubtedly mumbling something about how impossibly romantic the situation was.

But after that, he shakily asks that MC tries not to talk as he takes time to let everything sink in. He still can’t believe it.

So he finds himself shakily asking questions like, “So... You just heard him and decided to-... To defend me? No one asked you to?”

For every reassuring nod that he gets, he feels his head spin a little faster.

It takes him a while, but all the wounds are properly sterilized and taken care off beneath his cold fingers.

He leans back in his seat, and blows out a slow puff of air. “MC... You’re badass. Seriously. I don’t really know what I, a demon, have done to deserve you... But... Thank you.”

The conversation ends with tears, but they couldn’t have been anything but happy.

He just can’t believe someone could go as far as to fight for his sake over a simple ill-intended comment.

Satan witnesses the event. Which... May or may not be a good thing.

MC doesn’t notice him at first. They’re too busy with the demon that has her hands on their uniform collar.

But then they see the green flames licking at their peripherals, emitting from somewhere behind them.

The demon girl in front of them seems to lose all color in her face at the sight of those same flames. She instantly drops MC to their knees, and attempts to run.

As Satan steps forward to grab the female student, he spins MC around with ease so that they won’t have to witness whatever he’s about to do.

MC doesn’t know how much time has passed due to the shock of the moment. It could be seconds or minutes. But when Satan pulls them back up to their feet, he is stone faced.

MC walks stiffly to the House of Lamentation with Satan, careful not to set anything else off in him.

The entire walk to his room is silent. The first time he speaks is when he offers a seat on his bed, nudging books aside with his foot.

He takes a deep breath before he begins diligently tending to the injuries.

“Mind explaining what happened?” He doesn’t sound angry at them, but it’s hard to tell with him.

Satan notices the hesitation in answering, so he gives a small smile. “Are you scared? You shouldn’t be. I’m just a bit... Tense, is all.”

After a moment, MC tells him the reasoning for the fight.

Satan sighs once more and places a hand on theirs. Oh to be so selfless yet still be a fragile human.

“MC... Demons talk. And it’s not always nice. It’s best to just let it go, okay? Well... Give me their name first, but I can’t have you losing a limb for me. Who knows what i’d do then.”

MC can’t completely promise that they’ll simply forget about anyone that talks badly about him, but Satan only gives a helpless sigh.

“What ever will we do with you.” He is much more relaxed than before, and his tone is affectionate.

MC doesn’t know what happened to that girl, and you figure it’s best to never ask.

Asmodeus is preoccupied with a hand mirror, but a circle of gathering demons certainly catches his attention.

He hums, interested. He’s always been one for drama.

But as he peeks over the crowd, his heart sinks impossibly deep in his body.

MC isn’t bloody, but by the looks of it, they may be very soon.

While he’s ridden with shock, a punch lands on their face, and the crowd roars. The yells overtake his own, and he can’t get through the group of people pushing and shoving.

Diavolo and Barbatos were alerted of the congregation of students, and are only just now arriving. And at the sight of them, students scatter like bugs. Leaving MC on the ground and clutching their face in pain.

Diavolo and Barbatos leave MC in the care of Asmodeus while they turn to resolve the problem with the attacker.

Asmodeus is frantic, fanning his face as he helps MC to sit up. He doesn’t know what to do first, does he ask to see the wound? But what’s the point when he doesn’t really know how to treat it in any circumstance? No one has ever socked him in the face before.

So he opts to carry them off to the infirmary, bridal style. All along the way, he gives reassuring words that seem to slightly calm the injuried MC.

“Hey, beautiful! Ughh, the nerve of some demons! I can’t even begin to— Oh right... The ice pack, I’ll get that now, so sit tight, love!”

While he allows them to press the ice to their eye themself, he is massaging his frowning face. All while he seems to be worried about all the wrong things.

“Is this type of injury permanent on humans?? Your face is too good for that!” “That low-level demon... I wish I could ruin his face a hundred times worse than what he’s doing to innocent bystanders!”

MC patiently allows him to vent, because hearing him fret of the most “Asmo” things somehow brought light to the situation and distracted from the throbbing in their face.

An hour must have passed before Asmo actually takes in the situation. “Oh, but I haven’t even asked... What in devildom were you doing with such a grotesque demon? Do I have to replace Mammon in guarding you?”

Finally, MC explains.

He’s less than shocked. Instead, he holds his own arms with an almost sympathetic smile, “Oh, darling... It’s better to talk to Lucifer about things like that... If at all. As the Avatar of Lust, It’s kind of part of the program to get nasty birds twittering about you... Fan behavior.”

MC seems less than convinced, replying with a small, “But...”

Asmo grins and puts a gentle hand on their shoulder. “It’s adorable that you’d do that for me, MC, really. I wish I could just dress you up and show you to the world, show them how special you make me feel! But please. Don’t sacrifice your complexion for a-ny-thing!”

Even Asmo can feel himself get butterflies when MC does the smallest of things for him. But taking care of that face is no joke to him.

Beel is at the gym when it happens, and is the last one to hear about it. The brothers are all discreetly trying to decide whether or not to tell him. We all know how scary he can get.

MC listens to Mammon... For some reason. And that entails avoiding Beel until the scrapes and bruises on your body heal.

Bad idea. Beel now looks like a hurt puppy, and is desperately trying to figure out what he has done.

The fateful moment of realization for him comes on a Tuesday night, less than a week after the incident. MC walks into the kitchen, searching for a late night beverage to drink and also hold against their wounds.

Beel is already there, instantly looking ashamed when he sees them.

“Beel...” MC starts, forgetting that they were supposed to be avoiding him. They stop themselves before hastily pulling their sleeves down to cover the lingering bruises.

This catches Beel’s attention to detail when it comes to others.

His eyebrows furrow a bit, and MC gulps. There was no getting out of this.

Before completely explaining everything, MC has to calm him. Because if not, he’d be checking every inch of their body for serious injuries. And even if there were none, he’d never let them leave bed for the next week. At least.

They take a deep breath and start with the people poking fun at his soft personality in such an intimidating body. And then finishing with the plan of steering clear of him to keep him from getting worried. (you leave out mammon’s part last second)

At first, his eyes are serious as he listens intently, silently going over things more than once in his head to ensure that he was understanding the story properly.

Once MC has finished, his eyes change completely. They’re soft, and concerned, but not overbearing.

MC felt a bit guilty seeing him like this.

Beel reaches out to hug them, but is hesitant, worried that they’d still be hurt. So MC has to let him know that their wounds have healed for the most part.

“MC.... Firstly, thank you.” He pulls them into a soft hug. “It makes me all happy on the inside when you do things like that.” His voice is quiet, but much too unstable. MC knew that this was a telltale sign that he was near tears.

MC doesn’t hesitate to reach up and stroke the back of his hair, feeling him bury his head into their shoulder.

“Beel? Are you okay?”

“I should be the one asking you that.”

‘you should know better’ is what he wants to say. But maybe they don’t, he thinks. Afterall, when was the last time a human with such limited magical capability was surrounded by demons 24/7?

“I just need you to promise me.” He carefully pulls back and sucks in a breath, keeping himself from imagining MC scared and hurt without him— because of him.

“Promise me that you’ll tell me about things like that first. Before you get yourself hurt, or... Or worse.” There’s another word that he has to stop himself from saying. He doesn’t know how he could handle that thought.

There, he thinks. If they didn’t know before how serious it was, now they did. Hopefully.

The brothers notice that Beel is a bit more normal than the days before, so they assume that things have been cleared up for the two.

Although they have to pretend as if they had never heard about the incident when he mentions it.

Belphie was definitely not there when it happened.

But unlike with every other brother, MC was unable to be saved immediately after having found themselves in a brawl with a low class demon.

MC silently curses as they find themselves limping through the halls of the House of Lamentation.

They’re lucky to have only gotten out of that with an injured ankle, they remind themself. It didn’t seem... Broken. But it definitely needed more medical attention than it received now— A knee-high sock they pulled off of their foot wrapped tightly around a ruler they used as a makeshift splint.

They were sure that the majority of the brothers were at school, so they’d have at least a few hours to figure out what to do.

How would the brothers react if they saw them like this? Would they feel that this was a mere inconvenience? Afterall, this may just be a bad sprain, and now look at them. They can barely limp. Much less walk. But maybe after a bit of rest, it would magically heal.

They decide to head to the music room (?), where they knew that none of the brothers would immediately run into after school.

After finding a stool to sit on, MC hisses when they bump their ankle on the floor. The throbbing seemed to shake their whole body.

“Holy shi—“

“MC?”

A sleepy drawl from the couch behind them causes them to freeze. They wanted to slap themself. Of course Belphie would be sleeping here, why didn’t they think of that?

“What’re you doing h—....” He stops.

MC can already tell that he had noticed the poor job they had done with their ankle. “I fell down the stairs. But it’s okay, I just—“

“MC. I’m not stupid. Why are you home so early, alone? If you skipped or left early, Mammon would have sniffed you out like a dog and be here, too. Spill it.”

If Belphie was good at anything (besides sleeping), it was reading emotions. There was no lying anymore. And so MC simply explained the fight and its causes.

When they turn to look at him, he simply blinks. He doesn’t seem very concerned, but he sleepily walks over to inspect their leg.

He’s careful to support their foot as he lifts their entire leg, checking the swelling.

“... Geez. You’re stupid.” His eyebrows knit together with an unknown emotion. Worry? Irritation? A mix of both? “I don’t care about what such irrelevant demons think, and you shouldn’t either.”

MC is a little speechless, but only laughs. “Yeah. It was a little dumb looking back at it. But you should have heard them, Belphie... There was no way I’d go without a fight, okay?”

Belphie smiles back. “If you wanted to prove yourself to me... There were other ways, you know?”

“Should we get Beel to help us set up the pillow fort?”

“Well, how else are you gonna heal? You can’t get better if you don’t rest with me.”

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me gender neutral mc #gn mc #fluff #fanfic #lucifer #mammon #levi #leviathan #satan #asmodeus #belphie #beel #belphegor #beelzebub

375 notes · View notes

softboywriting · 4 years

Text

Mi Alma | Santiago “Pope” Garcia

Summary: After years of tension, you and Santiago finally get together at your best friend’s wedding. [Film: Triple Frontier] [Post-Film] [Flirting] [Making Out]

Word Count: 6.7k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Frankie and Tiia's wedding is unlike any other you've been to, and you've been to a few. You're the last of your friends to get married, if it ever happens. You're picky with your men, have high standards. It's fine. You don't mind being alone for a while. Drama and games are not in the cards for you so you won't settle for someone. But this isn't about you and your love life, or so you think.

The couple was never quite normal. Frankie coming from a Catholic upbringing and since shunning it to become his own man and follow his heart. Tiia has always been a free spirit and very much into the unknown and world around her. They make an interesting yet perfect match and their wedding is no run of the mill church ceremony with a bunch of people in pews for hours on end. No. They have quite the opposite.

For starters the wedding is outdoors, a forested area just behind the house Frankie and Tiia bought last year. It's beautiful, the trees in full bloom, greenery as far as the eye can see. There wasn't a ton of prep to be done for the ceremony, just setting up chairs and arranging flowers among the natural foliage. Orange and yellow, those are Tiia's colors. Roses, carnations, peonies, you name it. She took everything the florist could get her in those colors. Frankie didn't care, he said he would love anything she loves. There is an arch made of wood that a friend of yours specially crafted just for the happy couple. It's their wedding gift from him, as Tiia will put it in her garden after the ceremony.

The day Tiia showed you her dress you knew that the wedding would be magical. It's non traditional of course, very Greek goddess meets fairy queen. Draped white and cream fabric, gold accents, braided embellishments. It's incredible and she looks completely stunning in it. It isn't until the day of the wedding that you see her veil, natural colored faux antlers made into a crown like setting atop her head. She is beautiful.

You find yourself on the day of the wedding getting ready and waiting for the ceremony to start. You've not been told who you are to walk with. Tiia said she didn't tell any of the bridesmaids who they're walking with because she didn't want to cause any problems. Honestly you're not sure what that means, you only know that your friend Caiti would have a problem if she was paired up with Benny because of a past relationship. You check your reflection in the small mirror decor beside the door you're meant to go out. You look fine. Good. Great actually. You twist your finger around a loose bit of hair by your temple and smooth the top of the dress that matches Tiia's flowy one. Damn good.

"You're up." Says Tiia's brother, opening the patio doors for you.

You take a deep breath, pull up the hem of your dress and step out. The plan is that you meet your groomsman at the end of the wrap around deck and you walk to the forest together. You can't help but wonder who it will be. Any of the guys would be great, you're familiar with them all. Benny? He is single currently. Will? No, his fiance is in the bridal party. Frankie's brother? Maybe but...no. Santiago. Oh Lord have mercy. If it's Santiago you're going to have to reach deep into yourself and find some inner calm. Every time the two of you are together with the crew it's like fire. It is undeniable the way you connect but you have never- shit.

At the end of the deck is Santiago. He looks insanely...tempting. You say a prayer to any force listening. Did he have to look so good? Tailored slacks, a deep blue button down, no tie and sleeve rolled up, even the watch on his wrist is sexy. Fucking hell you could just turn around and run back into the house. Demand another partner.

"Hermosa..." Santiago mutters as you approach.

"What's that?"

Santiago snaps his eyes to yours and smiles warmly. "Nothing, I was just thinking out loud." He offers his arm and you take it.

"What does that mean? Hermosa?"

He leads you carefully down the steps into the grass. "It means beautiful."

"Oh...oh!" You flush, heat rising from your chest. "Thank you."

Santiago chuckles softly and lifts your hand to kiss it. "Every woman should be told they look beautiful."

"You're a sweet talker today."

"I've had a drink or two. Frankie and I had a talk before the wedding, pre marital nerves."

"I can't imagine. I've never gotten that far into a relationship."

Santiago's eyes meet yours as you glance over to gauge his reaction. He raises his eyebrows and you raise yours. It's always like this. Silent conversations. They're louder than any words you've ever exchanged. "Are you excited for Tiia?"

"Through the roof. She hasn't shut up about Frankie since they met. I'm glad she's found her person."

"Me too." He stops as you arrive at the archway. "You never know when you'll meet the right person."

"Yeah, I guess so."

He steps away, touch lingering on your hand as he parts. "Who knows, maybe you've already met them."

You look at him and he says nothing more, just gives a little smile. He knows exactly what he's doing. Fueling the fire. That's it. This wedding, you're getting Santiago Garcia.

______________________

The entire ceremony you stared at each other and it is unlike ever before, there was no conversation in your eyes. It was just a game of who could out stare who. Until Frankie began reading his vows, then Santiago's gaze changed. It flicked between you and Frankie, soft and loving.

There were tears, actual tears when Frankie began to talk about how he felt about Tiia and their bond. All of the guys were crying, proud of their best friend to be so happy and excited to take this step in his life. But Santiago...he couldn't look away from you. You try not to look away from Tiia and Frankie, knowing they deserve your undivided attention and not Santiago. It's hard. Santiago's eyes...they're undeniable, irresistible, commanding. He is making it hard not to think about what it would be like to be in your friends shoes, or lack thereof because she is actually barefoot under that dress. What would a wedding with Santiago look like? A beautiful tailored suit, beard grown out a bit for sure, messy curls, bowtie or regular tie. Hmm. And your dress, white or blush? Formal or fun? You've never thought about your own wedding and yet here you are just-

You snap out of your dream world when the guests begin to clap, the ceremony is over. You raise your hands and clap, smiling at your friends. Santiago gestures for you to join him as the bride and groom walk back down the path. You're meant to follow after, being in the wedding party and all.

Santiago's hand slides across your lower back the moment you're in reach. You swear you can feel your skin tingle all the way up to the back of your neck. "That was incredible."

"It was a very pretty ceremony."

"Are you feeling well?"

You frown and look at him, he raises his eyebrows. "Yes? Do I look ill?"

He shakes his head. "Not in the slightest. You looked...distracted."

"Can't say I wasn't."

Santiago gives a soft knowing hum in response and nothing more. Kindling. He's throwing kindling into this fire now. The son of a bitch. No. You would never call him that. He's too good. "Ride with me?" He says and you realize you've walked together to the front of the house where everyone is parked.

"I-...Benny."

"Benny?"

"I promised Benny I'd ride with him. I'm supposed to be his DD tonight and care for his truck should he get a little out of hand."

Santiago smiles softly. "I see. I'll meet you at the hall then?"

You nod.

He lays a hand on your cheek and presses a kiss to the opposite side. "Drive safe."

Your heart threatens to explode and you're stuck standing there like a deer in headlights. There is no way you're going to survive this wedding.

_____________________

The reception is when things really kick off, it usually is though isn't it. The reception is held at a party rental hall in town, their house not being ready for so many guests and a large dinner and dancing. You ride with Benny, having to just take a moment and figure out what your next move is with Santiago.

"You and Pope, huh?" Benny says, looking over at you. "When's that happening?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh come on anyone with eyes could see you two tryin’ to undress each other up there."

You stifle a noise of protest because you know that if you make a scene about it then Benny will be even nosier. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yeah alright sweetheart." Benny laughs to himself, a quick breathy little chuckle. "If a girl looked at me like that for an hour, we'd be kicking boots in the back of this truck right now."

"You're gross Benny."

"Never said I wasn't." He grins and does a little tongue click. "Pope is a good man, the best I know. Give'em a chance."

"Sure, thanks for the pep talk Benny."

"Anytime sweetheart."

Once you arrive at the reception you immediately run into Santiago. No, literally you smack into him when you step in the doors. He seemed to be on his way outside as you were going in. His familiar spicy cologne flls your nose and your eyes cross for a moment. You know it's him before he speaks, before you see his face.

His hand comes up, steadying you with it on your back. "Easy there, honey."

Honey. Fuck. You're so fucked. "Sorry, I was just trying to go in."

"Mmm. I forgot my phone in the car, I'll be back."

"I'll be seated?" You say awkwardly.

He chuckles and steps away from you. "Go on, don't wait for me."

"I wasn't going to?" You step in and look around for your table. It should be near the front. You look for the names and sure enough there you are right next to... Santiago. "Great."

"Is something wrong?"

You jump and Will chuckles. "No, I'm fine."

"Where'd Pope go?"

"His phone."

Will nods. "Have you seen Benny?"

You shrug. "We drove together but I've no idea where he went. Check the bar?"

"I checked there, I bet he's out back." Will sighs and heads for the emergency exit door that's propped open at the far end of the building.

You take a seat and Santiago returns, sliding behind you and taking his seat next to you. The chairs are close, the table being a little small for the amount of people seated at it. You can feel Santiago's warmth, his scent filling your nose. Oh how you love that cologne. It's one of two he's worn since you met and this one just nails it right on the head. If you knew the brand you would buy it and drown yourself in it.

His hand comes down on your thigh and you feel like the world has stopped and begun to burn around you. It is absolutely no mistake, he knows what he's doing. His fingers flex against the loose fabric of the dress and it falls open a bit along the side split, exposing your skin beneath.

Will stands from the end of your table and taps his glass a few times. He is going to make a speech. Of course, it's Will and he is the best speech giver you've ever met. You try to distract yourself, wondering how many wedding speeches he has given. If you ask him he will know. If you ask him how many of anything he has or does he will know. You smile to yourself, eyes flicking to Santiago. Will is the reason any of this is happening. If he hadn't given Santiago the coordinates to the ravine with Lorea's money, Santiago would have never gone after it, never gifted the wedding fund to Tiia and Frankie.

Santiago's hand shifts and you're acutely aware of its position further up your leg, his pinky finger brushing your tender inner thigh. Should you tell him to stop? He didn't ask to touch you, and you didn't tell him yes or no. Did he need to ask though? Honestly you don't mind aside from the fact that it's driving you crazy. He must know what he is doing to you, how you feel. He has always been physically affectionate with everyone, hugging, cheek kisses, hands on arms and backs. His love language is very obviously touching.

Will begins to wrap up, and you raise your glass with everyone else to toast. Santiago grabs his glass with his non dominant hand, not letting your thigh go. "To many years of love, happiness and joy. Mr. and Mrs. Morales!"

"I'm up next." Santiago says, giving you a squeeze that makes your stomach jump.

You watch him stand and he taps his glass. You have no idea why but your heart is pounding in your chest. His ass is in perfect view, his thighs...oh his thighs. You decide to get a little retribution for the thigh touching and you lay your hand on the back of his leg, just above the bend of his knee. It's not much, just a gentle touch and nowhere near sexual. You're sure he's burning up though.

"Tiia, the day Frankie met you I knew his fate was sealed. I had not once seen my brother so engrossed in a woman than when he talked about you. When you and I finally met, and I saw that red hair of yours, I knew there was something special. Hermana, eres fuego. You have made Frankie a better man, a calmer and more gentle man. Without you I don't know where he would be." Santiago raises his glass higher. "I hope to find a love like yours someday. Cheers to new family, life and a beautiful union!"

Your hand falls from his leg as he sits down and he slides his back over your thigh. "That was a nice speech," you whisper.

"Thank you. I know it wasn't nearly as long and detailed as Will's but I tried." He swipes his thumb back and forth. "Even if I had a little bit of a distraction."

You smile and give him an innocent look.

"Malo..." He mutters softly and tears his gaze from yours to Benny who's standing at the table opposite.

You reach out and run your hand over his shoulder, settling with it on the back of his neck. Your fingers slip into the curls there and he lets out a subtle shaky breath that you don't miss for a second. Two can participate in his game of touches and you're going to play hardball.

Benny makes his speech, short but sweet and meaningful. Tom's wife is up next. Before she stands you make eye contact with Tiia. You could feel her stare before you caught it. She gives a little smirk.

"Honey, you're going to make me fall asleep." Santiago whispers, ducking his head close to you after a minute or two.

"That's not quite my goal."

He slips his hand down your inner thigh and you feel heat swell between your legs. "What is your goal?"

"What is your goal, Santiago."

"I-"

"Thank you everyone for coming and for your well wishes. It means the world to Tiia and I that we're surrounded by so much love." Frankie says and everyone cheers softly. "Let's have dinner and cake!"

"Bride or groom?" Santiago asks, close to your ear.

"H-Huh?"

"The cakes. Bride or groom's cake?" He points to the table with the two cakes on it. "I'll get you a piece."

You try to remember what kind they both are but you're drawing a blank. All you can focus on is Santiago and you feel bad. This day should be about your friends and here you are wetting your fucking pants for Santiago Garcia. Christ.

"Honey?" He purrs and your mouth falls open as he squeezes your thigh. "I'll get one of each."

"Y-yeah. "

Santiago stands and leaves the table. The lack of heat on your leg is a shock. You're still burning up but it's nowhere near as bad as when he's close. Tiia comes over and leans against your table, she grins knowingly at you.

"How's it going over here?"

"Fine? Should it not be?"

"Is he being nice?"

"Santi?"

You flush and lean your head into your hand. "Santiago. Yes, he's being nice. Why? He is always a sweetheart."

Santiago returns with two plates of cake and sets them on the table. He grabs Tiia's cheek and gives her a kiss to the temple. "Hermana."

"Problema." Tiia giggles and Santiago rolls his eyes.

"I am not trouble." He takes his seat beside you and gives a pointed look at Frankie nearby laughing with Will and Benny. "Hay problema."

Tiia pushes Santiago's head and he laughs. "Frankie is not trouble! He's a good boy."

"Mmmm." Santiago says, raising his eyebrows. "Good boys don't have the most fun." He catches your gaze and winks.

"You're insufferable. Enjoy the cake, lovely." Tiia says to you and heads off to meet her new husband.

Santiago dips his fork into the slice of white and yellow frosted cake, the bride's cake, and brings it up to your lips. "Try it?"

"I can feed myself," you giggle and he bumps the frosted bit against your lips. You open and take the cake in. It's delicious and you remember now. It's an apple spiced white cake with caramel cream center.

"Good?" He asks, cutting a bit for himself. "Oh wow that's amazing."

You nod and reach for your own fork but Santiago pushes it away. "Hey-"

"I got it." He smirks, cutting a slice of the groom's cake. Chocolate with butter rum filling. "Open up."

"Give me my fork, Santiago."

He shakes his head and you reach for it. He knocks your hand away and holds your wrist loosely. "Ah, I said open up."

"Santi..."

His eyes go darker than you've ever seen and you imagine they must be lust filled to be so heavy. "Open up." He says once more, but this time with more authority.

You open your mouth obediently and he presses the fork down gently to your tongue as he slides it out. "Mmmm."

"Better than the last one?" He asks, cutting another piece and holding it up for you. You take it in as well and he smiles.

This is far too intimate. What the fuck are you doing? You're not even together, you're not dating, neither of you have explicitly said this was happening. Not to mention you're at your friend's wedding, in front of people and he's... he's driving you insane.

"Excuse me." You mutter softly, pushing away from the table and leaving a very confused Santiago behind. You head for the emergency exit and take a deep breath of the cool spring air as you step outside. You need to breathe.

___________________

Minutes tick by as you sit on the fence post that blocks a patio area from the parking lot. You figured Santiago would have come for you by now, but you didn't expect it. He's too sweet to impede upon your personal space when he knows you definitely needed it because of his actions. Footsteps behind you draw your attention away from the passing traffic on the road nearby. It's Will.

"What're you doing out here all alone?"

"Getting some fresh air."

"I can understand that." Will takes a seat next to you. "I saw you head out here earlier. I figured I'd give you a little bit before coming to check on you."

"Thanks. Am I missing anything?"

"Tiia is going to throw the bouquet soon. Do you want to catch it?"

You laugh softly to yourself. Do you want to? Do you want to be the next friend to marry? You're the only one not married besides Benny. The rest of the guests are family or friends who are married. "Maybe Benny should give it a try."

Will snorts and you laugh at the sound. "You'd need tempered steel to tie that man down. He's too wild, too free to settle down."

"Yeah, Benny is...Benny."

Will taps your arm with the back of his hand. "C'mon, let's go see who gets the bouquet."

"Alright." You slide off the fence and head back into the hall with Will.

Inside you see a crowd of people near the bride and grooms table. Tiia has her back to the crowd and you watch as she swings the bundle of flowers backwards. There is a collective gasp and you strain to see who caught the flowers.

As the crowd clears you see Santiago standing there with the bouquet. He's laughing, saying something to Frankie's aunt nearby and then he sees you. Your heart races. He gestures for you to come to him.

"Why did you-"

"For you." He holds the bouquet up and kisses your cheek. "I thought you might want them."

"Thank you. They're pretty."

"Are you okay?"

"Huh? Yeah, why- oh. When I went outside. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to just run out on you." You lick your lips and look down from his gaze. "I just needed some air."

Santiago cups your cheek. "Hey, look at me."

You look at him and it's a mistake. Your heart pounds, threatening to break through your ribs. "Yes?"

He leans in whispers, "Did I go too far earlier?"

"The cake?"

He nods.

"It was unexpected, but no." You can feel a flush rising in your chest. "I mean you've always been affectionate but we haven't really...talked about it."

Santiago chuckles softly. "I suppose we haven't. It's always been there but we've never acknowledged it. Are you uncomfortable? I know I'm a few years older and-"

"Santiago."

"Yes?"

"We're in the middle of a wedding. Maybe we should discuss this later? More privately?" You look around at the crowd that's pretty much dispersed.

He cracks a sheepish smile and tucks a bit of hair behind your ear, gliding his fingertips along your cheek before bumping your lip with his thumb. "Mas tarde, cariña," he murmurs.

You lick your lip where he touched and he doesn't miss it, eyes snapping to your mouth. "You know that I know limited Spanish."

"I said we'll talk later." He puts his arm around you and guides you toward your table. "Let's clear the way for the married couple's first dance."

_____________________

The first dance doesn't happen right away. The removal of the garter happens first. For those unfamiliar, it's like the tossing of the bouquet but generally for the men. The husband removes his wife's garter, a thin band of fabric worn around the thigh, and tosses it to the crowd. The one who catches it is said to be the next to marry. It's a symbol of good luck.

You watch as Tiia takes a seat in a chair brought out to the center floor. She is bright pink and you can't help but laugh a little. Frankie comes around the chair, taking her hand and kissing it gently. He says something you can't make out, but Tiia smiles.

"Come on Frankie!" Benny hollers.

"Oh be quiet Benny!" Frankie quips, flipping off his friend. "Not like you want it!"

"The hell I don't!"

Everyone laughs.

Santiago's hand slides over your knee, pushing the dress aside and allowing it to fall open. He can't keep his hands off of you it seems.

Frankie kneels down and pushes Tiia's dress up to expose her legs.

Santiago's hand inches up your leg, massaging his fingertips tenderly into the soft skin. You spare him a glance and his focus seems to be on the married couple like everyone else.

Frankie leans in and grabs the garter with his teeth and the guests cheer him on. You attempt to clap but your brain is elsewhere, short circuiting on the arousal nerves between your legs.

"Do you want it?" Santiago purrs in your ear and you shiver. Why did that have to sound like such a loaded question. Do you want what? Him? The garter? His attention?

"W-what?"

"The garter."

You turn your head to look at him and reply when suddenly you're smacked in the face with something. You jump, startled by the sudden sensation, and look down at the table where the white garter is sitting on it.

Somewhere Benny is hollering wildly, and Frankie says something along the lines of how you're the lucky lady. You don't hear it really because Santiago grabs the garter and rubs it between his fingers, smiling at you playfully. His other hand is still on your leg, farther up and dangerously close to your underwear.

"I'd love to see you in this." He says, fingers flexing on your skin. "And nothing else."

"Santiago!" You whisper sharply and he leans in close.

His lips meet yours and your heart stops. The world stops. His hand leaves your thigh and slides around to your hip, the other cradles your head, angling your face for better access.

It's like years of tension have finally broken and now it's coming out like breach in a dam. You reach for him, not sure what to grab but you land on his hair and his shoulder. He deepens the kiss, tongue pushing past your lips to roll against yours. He tastes like minty gum and you can't get enough.

He grips your hips with both hands and hauls you over onto his lap. The chair creaks under the weight of two bodies. You can't care, this is a dream come true. You don't want to stop kissing him because if you do, it feels like it might never happen again.

"Baby," Santiago groans into your mouth as you roll your hips down against his lap, desperate for some release. "Baby we gotta stop."

"No," you lick into his mouth desperately and he chases your lips, biting gently to slow you down.

His hand finds your hair and grips firmly, pulling you back. "Listen to me."

You stare at him, eyes locked on to his. They're so full of promises of what's to come. He looks as wrecked as you do, you're sure. "Yes?"

He grins slowly, leaning in for a soft kiss. "God you're beautiful like this."

You try to return the kiss, chasing his lips as he pulls back but his grip in your hair is firm.

"We're still at the wedding." He says softly. "I don't think we should be grinding on each other in such a public setting."

You lean back, settling yourself back on his thighs. Reality comes creeping in, a cold rush of embarrassment rising up your spine. He's right. You're at the wedding still, everyone can see you right now. You got so caught up in the euphoria that you forgot where you were.

"Santiago, you son of a bitch." Benny says from behind you. "You finally did it."

You turn and look back while Santiago leans over to see Benny. "Go away."

"Oh I will, I'll leave you two to face suck like teenagers. I just wanted to say it's about time. How was it?"

"Benny." Santiago says warningly.

You look between the two of them. "How was the kiss?"

Benny nods.

"Good, really good? Why?"

Santiago groans.

"Do you know why we call him Pope?" Benny asks and you shake your head. "It's because he brings you closer to God when he gets his hands on you."

"Benny! Fuck off!" Santiago shouts and throws a fork on the table at him. Benny dodges the projectile and runs off laughing. "God damn menace."

You run your hand through his curls, brushing your thumb over a little spot of grays peeking through. "Is that true?"

"Is what true? The Pope thing?"

"Yeah. Is that why they call you Pope?"

Santiago smiles softly. "It is. It's stupid and childish but-"

"I like it." You slide off his lap and lean in close to his ear. "You took me closer to God with a kiss, I can only imagine what more will be like." You grab his hand and before he can respond you step back, pulling his arm up. "Dance with me?"

_____________________

You and Santiago dance for a long time, slow and sweet. After about the tenth song he kisses your temple and says he needs to take a seat, his knees are killing him. You part from him and he goes to sit with Will and Frankie who are near the bar. You turn and head to the bride and grooms table to sit with Tiia.

"Hey you," Tiia says with a playful smirk. "I thought you were gonna get eaten alive earlier."

"I'm sorry." You sink down into Frankie's chair and she laughs. "I just lost my mind for a few minutes there. Was everyone staring?"

"No, everyone got up to dance and get food from the buffett. I noticed, obviously, because I've been watching you all night."

"Creepy."

Tiia pushes your shoulder. "Oh shut up. I set you up, but I never could have guessed this outcome."

"You set me up?"

"Yeah? I picked Santiago to be your best man. I knew the two of you have had chemistry since you met. I just gave you a little nudge in the right direction." She looks smug as she takes a sip of her wine. "You're welcome."

"You're a troublemaker."

"Matchmaker, thank you."

You roll your eyes. "Maybe too good of a match maker. I sucked face while you had your first dance."

She laughs, nearly spitting out her wine. "I don't need everyone to watch me dance with my husband to validate our marriage. You're my best friend, the fact that you are just as happy on my wedding day as I am, that means the world to me. You deserve a good man, and Santiago is a very good man."

"You really aren't mad I didn't pay attention?"

"Nope, because I can guarantee you I'll be all over Frankie at your wedding."

"My wedding? Yeah we'll be in our sixties before that happens." You pick at a spot on the front of your dress, directing your focus elsewhere in hopes of ending this conversation. "No one wants to marry me."

Tiia kicks you. "Bullshit. If you asked Santiago right now to run away and get married at a little chapel in Vegas he'd say yes."

"No he wouldn't. He's not reckless."

"Yes, he is. When it comes to you there is nothing he wouldn't do."

"Whatever."

"Whatever," she says mockingly. "Do you have any idea what he has told Frankie?"

You narrow your eyes. "You're lying."

"Have I ever lied to you?"

"Once. A birthday present that I figured out."

Tiia rolls her eyes. "That doesn't count."

"Why would Frankie tell you about what he and Santiago discuss?"

"Because I'm nosey and I ask. Plus, you're my best friend and you two have obvious chemistry."

"So what did he say?"

Tiia points to Santiago as he makes his way across the room. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

"Tiia!"

"What's my two favorite women chatting about huh?" Santiago smiles and hands you a glass.

You look down into the glass. You can't drink today, you're Benny's designated driver.

"It's non alcoholic, don't worry."

"Thank you."

"She doesn't need alcohol to get a little crazy." Tiia teases, elbowing you from her seat. "She has a better drug, right Pope?"

Santiago chuckles. "You're never going to let us live that moment down huh?"

"Never. I was surprised you didn't just take her to the bathroom."

"Tiia!" You shove her and she cackles. "God!"

"I'm teasing you. Seriously, if you guys wanna get out of here and have a little fun I'll get someone to take Benny home." Tiia looks across the way at the table where Benny is telling some animated story. "Or he can sleep on the couch at me and Frankie's house. We'll drop him off before we go to the hotel."

Santiago shakes his head. "I'm not stepping out on your wedding, and I'm sorry for the behavior earlier. It's not the right time or place."

"You two are a match. She said the same thing when she came over. I'm not mad, I'm happy you're happy." Tiia stands and walks around the table to stand before Santiago. She lays a hand on his cheek before giving it a hard pat. "Problema."

"Un poco."

"Oh no you're big trouble, not little trouble." She says and shoves his head back playfully. "Go, make my girl happy."

Santiago smiles and kisses her forehead. "You heard the lady." He offers his hand to you. "Can I take you home?"

"One more dance?"

"I think I can manage that."

You follow Santiago out onto the dancefloor, hand in his as he lays his other on your waist. A slow song comes on, one you've heard a few times on the radio but never paid much attention to.

"I'm sorry about earlier." He says softly out of nowhere.

"I'm just as much to blame."

"I just got a little ahead of myself, like Benny said, I felt like a horny teenager."

You giggle and lean your head on his shoulder. "It's been a while, and we built this tension to a boiling point. We were bound to snap someday."

Santiago runs his hand up your back and cradles your neck loosely. "Have I told you how beautiful you are tonight?"

"Yes, but I don't mind hearing it again."

He drops his head to your ear and places a little kiss on the outer shell. "You'd look even more beautiful in my bedroom."

A hot flush warms your cheeks. "Santi...cool it."

"I can't help it." He grins and you hear rather than see it. "I just want to eat you up."

"We can stay a bit longer." You kiss his throat and he lets out a quiet groan that you relish in, grinning big ear to ear against his skin. "It'll do you good to wait. You'll want it more."

_____________________

The sound of a cell phone ringing rips you from a deep sleep. It's unfamiliar, not your ringtone but shrill and annoying nonetheless. The room is bright, the sun shining through the cream colored blinds and past the sheer curtains. Everything is familiar but like you had seen it in a dream, nothing was quite the same as you remember. You sit up and look around. Yes. It's the same as last night, the lighting makes things look different is all.

"Make it stop," Santiago groans from beside you.

"I don't know where it is." You pat around the blankets, trying to find the source of noise. "It's your phone."

"Fuck." He sits up and you get a full view of his strong, bare back in the bright daylight. There are a few scars, but one big one just behind his shoulder gets your attention. It looks strange, like a paint splatter of pink skin against his tan complexion.

You reach out to touch the scar, trace it curiously. What on Earth made a scar like that. "Santi?"

"Just a minute baby." He leans over and your hand falls to the bed. He comes back up with the phone in hand and swipes the screen to deny the call.

You lay back and he crawls under the covers beside you.

"Now, good morning." He grins, touching your nose and you sniffle. "I hope you're not too sore."

"Me?" You giggle, rolling to face him head on. "I'd be more worried about you."

Santiago chuckles. "Because of my knees?"

"Yeah and your back." You slide your hand over his shoulder and explore the scar with your fingertips. "What's this one from?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Mmhmm."

"A bullet." He takes your hand away and threads his fingers between yours. "A sniper when I was twenty seven. We were on a mission somewhere in the Ukraine. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and boom." He chuckles softly. "It went straight through. I suppose I'm lucky, they were clearly aiming for something more vital and missed."

You play with his fingers and he watches. What do you say? Sorry? Wow? You know Santiago and the guys are ex military special forces. You know they all have their scars and close call stories. You've heard the others tell them over and over but Santiago...he has always been quiet.

"It's a lot to take in." He murmurs, bringing your knuckles up to kiss.

You laugh softly, more to yourself than anything. "I broke my leg falling out of a tree once."

Santiago chuckles. "Bet that hurt." He kisses your knuckles again and lets his lips linger. "It's okay if you're not sure how to respond."

"Thank you," you mutter sheepishly.

His phone starts ringing again and he sighs. He rolls over and grabs it, bringing it back to lay between the two of you. "It's Frankie."

"Answer it."

"Should I? You don't mind?"

You shake your head. "He might need you."

Santiago swipes to answer and presses the phone to his ear. "Buenos dias pendejo."

You smile and he gives you a cheeky grin. That's a little bit of Spanish you do know. "Be nice."

He mouths a quick, 'No' before speaking again. "Why are you calling me after your wedding night? Shouldn't you and Tiia be sleeping? I didn't give you that money to wake me up at the crack of dawn when you're meant to be boarding a plane to Hawaii for your honeymoon in a few hours."

"Hawaii sounds good." You snuggle down into the blankets, imagining the warm sun on your body.

"Yes she's fine." Santiago chuckles softly. "Did you want to talk to her?"

You raise your eyebrows and he gives you a wink.

"Here you go." He passes you the phone and you press it to your ear.

"Hello?"

"Did that dick make you stupid?" Tiia asks through a laugh.

"Shut up!" You laugh, rolling over onto your back. Santiago's arm snakes across your waist and he pulls you close, face in your shoulder. "I'll hang up on you."

"Really though, did you guys have a good night? I just wanted Frankie to call and make sure you got home okay."

"Yes, we got home okay. It was a good night."

Santiago hums against your skin, biting playfully at your jaw. "It could be a better morning."

"Which one of you said I love you first?"

"Tiia."

"I know it happened."

"Goodbye Tiia, I'm hanging up now."

"Oh you-"

You toss the phone into the pillows and close your eyes. Santiago lazily kisses your neck, his short beard giving you a bit of a burn on your shoulder.

"It was me." He whispers between kisses.

"Hmm?"

"I said it first."

"You could hear her?" You shift around and lay so you're face to face agan.

He nods. “Do you remember?"

"Mmm. You said I love you, mallma?"

He presses a kiss to your lips. "It's mi alma. Do you want to know what that means?"

"Yes."

"It means, my soul." He runs a hand through your hair and brings you close for another kiss. "It's a pet name for someone you really care deeply for."

You grip his back and press your forehead to his. You give a sheepish smile. "How do you say I love you again?"

"Te amo."

"Te amo, Santiago."

He grins and chuckles softly. "We'll work on the accent."

"Good thing I have the best teacher."

"Yes you do."

"Until then," You tuck your face into his neck and he threads a hand in your hair. "I love you."

"I love you too."

End

-----------

Header by delicate-venus

Dedication: To delicate-venus, because you let me write your dream wedding for you with your dream man as inspiration for this fic.

-----------

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted works.*****

#santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fan fic #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier santiago garcia #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #fransisco catfish morales #sanitago garcia x reader #fic #fanfic

227 notes · View notes

subbing-for-clones · 4 years

Text

Stranded Part 2

Savage Opress x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

WARNINGS: Mentions of death and decomposition, mental illness, fear terror and FLUFF

PREVIOUS NEXT MASTERLIST

Savage's eyes fluttered open to the sun shining brightly through the trans-durasteel panes that decorated the walls seemingly without rhyme or reason. The little one was frying some kind of thin meat strips on the stove and sipping hot caf. Without turning her head, she called over to him.

"How ya feeling?"

"Not great but better."

She turned and strode over to him, still laying down.

"I couldn't do this yesterday but I can today."

"What do you mean..?"

She placed her hands on his bare broad chest and closed her eyes. A warm tingling sensation wafted over him. It felt like sunshine, utter joy and flying all at once. When she pulled away her eyes were a little fuzzy.

"It takes a lot of energy but you can transfer your life force to something and heal it. I was kinda low yesterday," she turned matter-of-factly back to the stove.

Savage had only ever had painful experiences when it came to using the force or having it used on him. He hadn't ever thought of it as anything other than a weapon. He wanted to ask about it but shy away from the topic. Instead, he stood and stretched. He didn't have an ounce of pain. This woman who found him once again amazed him.

While the two unlikely pair ate their breakfast, her eyes didn't leave him, slightly squinting.

"You haven't been like this very long?"

"No. I was altered by the witches of my home world."

"Huh. Did you ask for this?" truly curious she stopped eating.

"No." she cocked a brow at his response, waiting for an elaboration.

"My species is subservient to our women. We live separately and go through deadly trials to be chosen by one for breeding or whatever they want really." He continued eating as the information he provided was simply normal for him.

"Was this..." she waved her hand at his body. "For breeding?" his cheeks slightly tinged in a deeper gold.

"No. I was chosen to act as a weapon for one of the sisters. She abandoned me when I didn't live up to the expectation." the woman noted as his eyes darkened. Wanting to change his mood she lightened up.

"Well, I'm happy you're here Savage. You have much to learn in the ways of the force.. you're strong but your energy is incredibly dark but you... you do not feel that way....." she trailed off in thought and muttered, "certainly an enigma. Very interesting," she tapped her finger against her chin.

Savage's heart fluttered. He had never received any kind of praise from a female before and he didn't really know how to process it. His flush only deepened when she once again undressed in his line of sight, slipping on a shorter, loose grey dress.

"When you've finished, dress and meet me outside,” she skipped out the door and shouted something unintelligible into the trees.

Savage silently hoped she wasn't completely insane while he quickly washed the dishes for her. He pulled on his pants and his long black kilt. Remembering that she had cut off his shirt for a sling he huffed and left the tattered remnant. When he came out, he saw what could've been a scene in a holovid. She stood with under a ray of sunlight, skin shimmering in the glow with a bright smile gracing her face. Her hands were pressed to the forehead of a green Varactyl while a dozen small song birds of every color fluttered around her.

"I think I should call you 'princess,'" he stepped forward cautiously.

She giggled melodiously.

"Mira here won't hurt you I promise. You think I look like a princess?" she flushed and batted her eyelashes.

"More than anyone else I've ever seen."

She extended her hand out to Savage.

"Come here," she cooed. He slowly made his way to her and took her hand. It was soft and warm, she held it for just a moment, running her thumb over his knuckles.

"Do not be afraid. Mira is a friend," she placed his hand where hers was just a minute ago on the Varactyl's head.

"Close your eyes and reach out to her with the force. Gently."

He stood there for a minute before he felt anything. All of a sudden it felt like wind was rushing around him. He could see trees flying past him and a breeze danced against his skin. He leapt from trees, gliding through the air.

She watched with satisfaction as his and Mira's eyes were closed and their breathing synced slowly. She felt their signatures meld for a moment. Savage pulled his hand away and looked at her wide eyed but grinning. Mira chirped happily beside him.

"Good, you made the connection. Rather quickly I might add. Mira is a receptive one. Very friendly. She's been with me a couple years now."

"I...I felt what she feels when she hunts," he was smiling at the creature fondly.

"Yes, that seems to be a favorite time for her."

"That felt much different than any other time I've used the force.... was that the light side?"

"I'm sure the Jedi would say yes but I am no Jedi. I don't see the force as light or dark."

Savage looked confused. Everyone called the force light or dark. The woman continued,

"Take a knife for example. In the wrong hands... a knife can take an innocent life, used to rob someone or threaten them other ways. However, in the 'right' hands it can be used as a medical instrument, carve wood or simply chop produce. I think of the force in the same way. The intent is what matters to me. Did you want to hurt Mira when you reached out to her?"

"No..no I didn’t," he stammered.

"That’s why it felt different."

Savage understood what you were saying and turned back to Mira. The animal nudged him gently with her head affectionately.

"Let's go for a ride. I wanna finish stripping the ships you landed on. I haven't been to those ones yet. If you have anything else there, now’s a good time to get it."

The woman strapped large bags onto the sides of the Varactyl. She hopped up onto Mira's back and once again extended her hand out to Savage. He climbed up and took his seat behind her. When Mira lurched forward, he gripped the woman's waist tightly so he wouldn't fall off and she laughed.

"Hold on tight handsome it's not a long ride but it's a turbulent one."

"A-alright princess."

The added weight did nothing to slow Mira down. She was light on her feet and graceful. Leaping high into the air and gliding back down into the canopy. Princess whooped and cried out in excitement whereas Savage just held her tighter. His chest swelled with the rush. He was terrified but also having fun. He was a little disappointed when it ended and the ships were in sight. He slid off first and held his hands out for the princess. She beamed down at him and let Savage lift her by her waist with her hands on his shoulders. Her breath hitched when he pulled her down to him to set her on the grass underfoot. Quickly turning away to hide the heat rushing to her face.

"Alright, anything you wanna take, toss it in the bags. I'm gonna look through some of the others.”

They parted. Savage always traveled light so he didn't have much to take with him. Some extra med gear and clothes, that was it. He hesitated in the cockpit looking down at the talisman that Mother Talzin gave him. It lay in pieces. He exhaled a silent apology, acknowledging that he probably wouldn't find his brother anytime soon. He slipped the pieces gently into his pocket and made his way out. After securing his few belongs in the saddle bag on Mira, he turned around to look for the princess. He could sense her nearby but couldn't see where she was.

"SAVAGE!"

He ran back to the hazardous pile of crashed ships.

"WHERE ARE YOU?"

He sighed relieved when she popped out behind his transport smiling ear to ear. His heart still pounding.

"It’s not huge but there's a Kriffing cargo ship buried under your transport and a fighter. Help me lift them. Cargos are gold mines."

She stood shoulder to shoulder with him; well, shoulder to rib. Both of their arms were raised. It was shaky at first but they managed to move Savage’s large transport off to the side with the force. The fighter was much easier to shift. She grabbed his wrist and cried out excitedly, pulling him along to the sealed door.

"Could you cut it open with your saber?"

He smiled as she watched him ignite his saber and cut through the thick durasteel.

"Yes! Cutitopencutitopencutitopen!" she chanted excitedly and squealed.

Once he kicked the obstacle out of their way she shrieked and dove practically head first inside. When he entered, he was hit with the heavy scent of death. Four Weequay bodies lay scattered and half rotted around the cargo bay. Savage covered his nose with a disgusted look on his face.

The woman however didn't seem bothered by it as she sifted through the containers.

"This was a pirate ship... I haven't seen many of those," her whole top half was inside a rather large container while she spoke.

"Usually lots of credits, jewelry, spice.... not really useful to us right now but if we ever make it out of here, we'll be rich." He made his way to the sleeping quarters and took the standard med gear and hygiene supplies that was fairly standard to each room.

When he came out, he found her pleasantly surprised as she held up some lovely dresses in bright colors to her form.

"I think I can tailor these to fit..." more thinking out loud than actually talking to him. She walked deeper, into the cockpit and tried to fire up the engine to no avail. She didn't have hope, it looked like they nose-dived into the ground anyway. She sighed and checked the common area.

Rations, some cook ware in better shape than hers was, liquor... other odds and ends that would be decently useful. Savage found her holding a Sabacc deck.

"Do you know how to play?" She asked coyly?

"Yeah... some of the other nightbrothers taught me when I was a pup. Do you?" She shook her head.

"Well, I'll show you. We can play together." Her face lit up and something warmed in his chest that he'd never felt before. He pointed his thumb back towards the cargo bay.

"I found something you might be interested in.." she followed him; arms full. He fiddled with a small electronic box and powered it up.

"It won't connect to the net out here but it looks like there are some downloaded holovids,” he turned back to face her. She had dropped everything she was carrying and stared at him in amazement.

"I...I've never seen a holo-player out here before," he smirked.

"Well princess if you can charge it, we can see what's on it."

The two of them loaded up what they had onto Mira. Princess did a thorough once over of the other ships. Finding a blaster with a decent amount of charges was the second best find next to the holo-player. They found a few sewing kits, more rations and med kits, and some crop seeds which also excited her.

They had ended up spending much longer than she wanted to searching through the wreckage. The sun was starting to set and it was falling fast.

"We need to get going. It gets dangerous at night... things come out.." she shifted uncomfortably on her feet looking up into the trees. Mira let out a quiet warning chirp. Savage lifted her up and put her on the Varactyl's back, climbing up behind her. This time when he held her waist it was more protective.

"I think I can sense them... what are they?"

Mira took off but it was slower, more cautious than when they came here to begin with.

"I don't know.. I've never seen them clearly. I know they have two arms, and three long sharp claws. Their hide is tough and... very rough. No fur.."

Savage held his saber in one hand, not yet igniting it. He could see in the dark but these creatures still hid. The sky was a deep, dusty blue as dusk swallowed the atmosphere. It felt different at night. Like the air was hungry.

"I will keep you safe," he said as his eyes darted around. Once they broke the tree line it was only a short distance to the cabin. They unhooked the bags from Mira and she dashed behind the house up the barren hills, as far away from the forest as she could get. Savage and princess walked into the house.

"I've never seen them leave the forest. They've never come out of the trees into the clearing so the house and the yard are safe as well as the hot springs and hills behind us. Savage nodded in understanding.

"Stay here," his voice rumbled, "I'll fetch wood for the fire."

She nodded before he left with his weapon in hand. Princess started putting away their various findings and set some rations out on the table. They were going to have to go hunting again tomorrow. She felt his shift in the force. Fear had a particularly unique wavelength. She took the blaster and right before could get to the door he kicked it open with his arms filled with wood. He hurried inside, dropped the wood and latched the lock. His face was blanched.

"Are you alright?" she asked slowly reaching for him.

"They just stood there. Behind the trees. Watching."

"You have night vision?"

He nodded and looked down at her.

"I... I’ve never seen anything like them. So.. gangly. Tall and.." he shuddered and shook his head, controlling himself. If she lived here for so long it was safe but when he turned back to face her, she had regressed.

"Beasts in the trees....." she still stood but her eyes were blown, her arms crossed over her chest; trembling.

"Beasts in the trees...." she repeated

He quickly gathered her up in his arms and sat on the bed. Her terror radiating off of her. He shushed her softly and rocked gently. With a finger under her chin, he tilted her face up to his.

"Come back to me princess," he whispered soothingly.

"It’s alright, you're safe. I will keep you safe. I've cut down bigger and scarier things in my life. My planet has a rancor infestation. I have you. It's alright," he continued to whisper and hold her until she came down. She splayed her hand on his chest over his hearts. Their strong beat acting as an anchor. She buried her face in his neck. Her breath hot on his skin.

That warm feeling pooled in his chest again. He ran his fingers across her forehead, swishing away the hair that had fallen over it. She finally pulled away to look into his eyes.

"T-thank you Savage... I don't know how much longer I could've lasted alone out here. I feel like I'm breaking as soon as the sun goes down." He thought about his next words carefully as he stroked her cheek.

"My people live in darkness. I have lived with and fought against its terrors all of my life. I swear to you I am strong enough to keep you from harm. Today I found myself... almost glad to have crashed here. Because of you, and what you can show me. But, mostly you princess," his face was hot. She pressed a tender kiss to his cheek.

"We should eat. You especially. I imagine you're starving. The rations aren't bad with the hot sauce I found," she smiled coyly at him.

They ate in a comfortable silence. This time he watched as she slipped off her dress out of the corner of his eye. A feeling of want tingling under the surface. When they crawled in bed together, she wrapped her leg around him and lay her head on his chest. Listening to his hearts beat while he held her close to him.

She stayed like that all night and for the first time in years, she slept through the night.

#savage x reader #savage opress x reader fluff #savage opress x reader #savage fluff #savage opress #savage #swtcw au #star wars #force sensitivity #force sensitive reader #stranded #swtcw #fluff #x reader

60 notes · View notes

bazwillendinflames · 3 years

Text

Wish For You

Read on AO3

For Matteusz, he had hoped that travelling to the kingdom of Rhodia would bring a better life. Despite a job at the castle, his magic - forbidden by the Queen - and growing feelings for Prince Charles, have only complicated things.

For Prince Charles, tired of living in a carefully controlled world meant to protect him, seeks a night of escape, with the help of the closest thing he has to a true friend. A night at the Festival of Souls provides them both a night of freedom. But how free can you truly be when there's a part of yourself you're always hiding?

(AKA A loosely based Merlin Marlie au)

Part One - Magic

Matteusz did his chores by hand, even though it was so early the grand hallways of the castle were practically deserted. He had seen the fate of magic users first hand within his first week in Rhodia. Even almost a year later, the smell of smoke still brought back uncomfortable memories of the woman’s screaming.

He pushed open the Prince’s door without knocking and almost dropped the breakfast tray as Charles let out a startled yelp. Matteusz was equally surprised to see him awake so early - it was rare for him to be awake before Matteusz arrived. It was even rarer for him to awake and ready, although his shirt was ill-fitting and old.

“My apologies Matteusz,” Charles said formally.

“I should have knocked,” he said, not quite sure whether to comment on the fact Charles was usually sleeping at this time. “Your breakfast.”

“Thank you.”

Charles began eating, in the delicate way only nobles who had their next meal guaranteed could. Matteusz tried not to stare at him, although he was more concerned the Prince had gotten himself cursed again than the other reasons he sometimes found himself watching him . But Charles’ eyes were the same pretty blue, no hints of enchantment or glossiness there. (He always seemed to get himself in trouble, magical or otherwise. Matteusz wasn’t sure how the Prince made it to nineteen without him.)

“Are you feeling alright?”

Charles nodded. “Why would I not be?”

They may be friendlier than Mattuesz suspected a Prince and a servant were meant to be - almost friends (which was enough, even if a part of him ached hopelessly for more) - but he still knew better than to push it.

“No reason,” he answered politely instead, busying himself with lighting the fire.

“What has my Mother planned for me today?”

“Strategic meetings in the morning, training with the knights in the afternoon.” The same as every Friday.

Charles’ handsome face twitched into a frown. “How… lovely. What of the evening?”

“No plans I know of.”

That seemed to please Charles, although he didn’t let on why. “Excellent.”

Matteusz didn’t pry. As long as Charles did not get himself into danger (again), he was welcome to his secrets.

Matteusz started tidying the room picking up crumpled clothes. Charles may be polite and remember the names of his servants but he was incredibly messy. He could afford to be in a house full of servants, part of him thought bitterly. Still, Matteusz enjoyed his job, he liked the quiet domestic mornings and he liked being at Charles’ side. He was lucky to get a job at the castle, even if it was a little tedious at times and he was too fearful to use magic. The paycheck that funded his sisters’ education kept him going.

A canvas was set up in the corner, still wet at the edges. It must have been why Charles was awake so early, although Matteusz would never have guessed he was an artist. It was impressive, a beautiful painting of the Rhodian town square, lit up with hundreds of candles. Only half of the night sky was painted but Matteusz could tell it would be a gorgeous piece when finished.

“Did you paint this?” He found himself asking. Then, as it was an obvious question he added: “it is very good.”

Charles looked over at the canvas, his expression pained. “I did. I can explain-”

“You are very talented,” Matteusz interrupted, hoping he wasn’t pushing any of the unspoken boundaries between them. “Is it ever lit up that way? With all the candles?”

“Yes, candles,” Charles said quickly. “It’s how I imagine the town to look at night. I have not been able to see it like that.”

“I would like to see it like that as well,” he agreed, “you make it look magical.”

“Do not tell the Queen that,” Charles said dryly. Matteusz stepped back from the painting guiltily. But it was clear Charles was not being serious, just another of his jokes that did not land right.

“Our secret,” he promised.

Charles smiled at that and Matteusz made himself busy again. It would not do him well to linger on the fluttering in his chest for too long. A Prince and a servant - especially a foriegn one with magic - like him would never work. (But it was nice to imagine sometimes. But only sometimes. If he indulged in Charles' smile for too long, he’d never get anything done at all.)

With the prince busy all morning, Matteusz found himself in a cramped corner of the palace library. Tanya always seemed to know when he’d be away from Charles’ side and had ambushed him half-way through doing laundry. There had been little point arguing as he was dragged around the castle, although he made a token attempt at protesting anyway.

“Shouldn't you be working?”

She hushed him, balancing another scroll on the pile in his arms. Matteusz was sure they weren’t allowed to access the royal library for personal use but there was little point bringing it up to Tanya. She was both stubborn and clever enough to get away with it. Besides, she was one of his only friends.

“Come on,” she hurried him along.

Matteusz followed her, weaving through the many hallways and servant passages of the castle. It had been an impressive sight on his first day but there was always some new pathway or hiding spot he was learning of - impossibly, it was bigger on the inside. Tanya had taken them to a small room, the size of a cupboard, with two beds squeezed in and a rocky dresser in the corner.

“Do not let anyone see you here.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

Tanya pulled on the bottom draw until he came out completely with a creak. A dozen scrolls were hidden there.

“Clever,” he noted. Matteusz had hidden a few texts of his own - old books of magic from the old religion, half-translated to Polish by his Grandmother. Under the queen’s rule, it was important to know how to hide.

“Thanks. I usually don’t take so many, but it was so busy today. Everyone is preoccupied with the festival today.”

“What festival?”

Tanya looked up from her scrolls. “You don’t- I keep forgetting you’re new. Tonight is the Festival of Souls. All staff get the night off. It’s tradition.”

“That’s unexpectedly nice of the Queen.”

“The Prince actually,” she corrected.

Matteusz smiled. “Really?”

Tanya wedged back the draw with force. “Come help me finish my chores so we can go early? And please take that sappy look off your face.”

Matteusz followed her smiling. Tanya may drag him around the castle but at least she dragged him out of it too. A kingdom away from Cela, he had found himself another sister.

“So tell me more about this festival?” Matteusz asked.

They were taking the long walk on the outskirts of the castle, carrying heavy buckets of water out to the stables. As one of the younger servants, Tanya was usually stuck with grunt work like that. Matteusz had only been roped into helping her out of his own niceness.

“It’s fun. There’s live music and nice food. At the end, we light candles that’s meant to be our soul’s wish.”

“It sounds wonderful.”

“You’re lucky you get to experience it for the first time.”

They crossed over from the cobblestone bricks onto the uneven grass. It was a short cut that they desperately needed - Matteusz arms were starting to ache.

“Thank the gods,” Tanya said, dropping the buckets on the ground. “I wish they’d just install a pump out here.”

Matteusz put down his own load and sat by her on the ground. “We deserve a break.”

“Agreed.”

“Did someone say break?” April asked. “Count me in.”

She ignored her own duties of taking the buckets in and joined them. April was one of the stable hands who looked after the castle horses. It was a job that suited her - she was very gentle with them. Matteusz had even caught her singing to them a few times.

“Are you coming to the festival?”

“If the right person asks me,” she replied coyly.

“Are you talking about a certain knight?” Tanya teased.

They were sat close enough to the training fields to make out the figures sparring with each other.

“I might be.” April waved in their direction. The knight in question, Lord Singh, waved back and was knocked on the ground. He did his best to style it out, jogging over in their direction.

“Here’s your chance,” Tanya muttered. “Oh hey Ram. You know you’re meant to stay on your feet during a fight, right?”

“Funny.” He smiled at them charmingly. “I wasn’t expecting my fans.”

“More like casual spectators,” Tanya replied, although it was clear his attention was now firmly directed at April.

“I think that’s our sign to leave.”

“Agreed.” They stood up to leave.

Matteusz smiled over his shoulder. “Hope to see you later April.”

“You will!”

“Should I be jealous you have plans?”

Matteusz almost laughed. He had far more interest in him than April. (Ram flirted with everyone. It said a lot about how smitten he was with Charles that Matteusz wasn’t taken by him more.)

“Just the festival later. You know the one you’ll be taking me to later.”

The pair continued flirting as Tanya and Matteusz walked back in the direction of the castle.

“Good for her.”

“Yeah.” She seemed a little wistful. “Wish it was that easy for people like us to find someone.”

Matteusz’ thoughts ended up back to Charles. “And tell them,” he added.

“My apologies, I didn’t realise you were back from your training already.”

Charles was sitting in front of his canvas, a smudge of dark blue paint on his chin. “No need to apologise.”

“You didn’t go, did you?”

“It may have slipped my mind,” Charles confessed.

Matteusz peered over his shoulder at the painting he had been working on this morning. It was now near finished, with the indigo sky complete and a pale moon in the corner. “You really are talented.”

“You flatter me,” he replied. But Mattuesz could tell from the smile that he enjoyed the flattery.

“Is it the festival?”

“It’s close. I’ve not yet been able to attend myself.”

The Queen was likely behind it: she was a paranoid woman. (She had enough reason to be paranoid, the magical community had targeted Charles a dozen times over her policies against them.)

“I can tell you about it tomorrow.”

“You’re attending?” Charles asked, turning away from his painting.

“If I am allowed to?”

He nodded. “Of course. It’s funny, in ways you have so much more freedom than I do.”

“In some ways,” Matteusz replied, thinking of the flow of magic under his skin he was terrified to use.

“Could I ask something of you?” There was a softness to the Prince’s voice that Matteusz had clung onto. He had a feeling whatever it was Charles would ask of him, he would agree.

“Anything.”

“Could you take me with you?”

Part 2 - Magic

Part of Charles had been hoping that Matteusz would have lent him some clothes. It was strangely disappointing that he hadn’t - his painting clothes had been women enough to pass as commoner wear. Although perhaps if he claimed to be cold later, Matteusz would offer his jacket, or the soft looking scarf he usually wore.

(Charles usually didn’t allow himself to linger too long on Matteusz like that. There were a hundred good reasons not to linger on the way Matteusz had tenderly wiped paint from his face earlier. It wouldn’t end well, for either of them.)

As if Matteusz could tell what he was thinking, he looked over (or down, more accurately) at him. “Are you alright?”

Charles felt his cheeks flush. “Yes.”

Matteusz smiled at him. Perhaps his simpler clothing was doing something good: it seemed like they were almost equals. Matteusz rarely smiled at him as much whilst he was working.

“I can see from here.”

Charles followed him, catching sight of the lights threaded amongst the trees and windowsills of the square. He had only been in the town square a few times before and never in under conditions. This was no emergency evacuation due to cursed wells or an unfortunate face off with an embittered magic welder. (Or, on one special occasion, a dragon.)

The square was far from the state of chaos he was used to. The festival was filled with dozens of lights, meant to represent the souls of their lost family and friends. There were small stalls, with barrels of ale or delicious smelling foods. A band played music in the centre.

“It’s so much more than I was ever able to imagine.”

“You can try and repaint it,” Matteusz suggested.

“Some things are just too beautiful to really capture.”

“You don’t know until you’ve tried.”

Under the waves of gentle candle light, his warm brown eyes were almost golden. It was hard not to get caught up in it all, so Charles forced himself to step away. He was still a prince after all, no matter how free he felt or how simple he was dressed.

“Best not to. I don’t want to give us- me away.”

Matteusz seemed to get the underlying message and nodded. “Yes, of course sir.”

“You know I hate that,” Charles said, hoping his exaggerated frustration would lighten the mood.

Matteusz looked almost relieved. But before Charles could really analyse his expression, Mattuesz was pushing forward through the crowd towards the cluster of stalls.

They stopped at a few stalls, browsing the various wares there. Matteusz picked up a set of two woven bracelets. A matching set.

Charles swallowed back any jealousy. It wasn’t his business to ask who it was for, Matteusz was allowed to have a life outside of his work.

“Best ale in the kingdom,” Matteusz said. He was talking to the old woman who ran the stall with an easy charm.

“Flattery will get you nowhere young man,” she replied. Her accent was similar to Matteusz’ own - she must be from the edge of the kingdom as well. “Who’s this?”

“A friend from the palace,” Matteusz answered.

“Ah. Another unlucky soul?”

Charles stayed quiet, mildly alarmed. Maybe his Mother was right when she told him there was danger everywhere.

“But we have so kindly been given a day off,” Matteusz replied.

It hadn’t occurred to Charles that Matteusz might actually want to spend his day off away from him. He couldn’t imagine any of his past servants doing the same for him.

Matteusz paid for the drinks, passing a tall glass of a dark ale to him.

Charles gave it an experimental sip and spluttered on the bitter taste. He was glad Matteusz was turned away for that one.

They moved away from the stalls, crossing a group of giggling young women pushing past in the other direction, knocking their bags into him and splashing their drinks.

“It seems like your disguise is working.”

Charles rubbed at the dark stain now on his arm. “Yes. Maybe too well.”

“Surely it is nice to be invisible for once?”

“It’s certainly… a change.” He sighed. “Although if we could escape the crowd, I’d appreciate it.”

Just a small comment had alerted him to all the unknowns in the crowds. It would only take one magic user with a grudge to cause chaos.

Matteusz seemed to sense his anxiety and reached for his hand, navigating them through the masses of people into a more secluded corner.

“Better?”

Charles nodded, trying to ignore how his hand was tingling. (He had once fought a magic user who shot bolts of lightning at people. It felt similar - like all his nerves were on edge.)

“I will get us new drinks.”

Charles found himself suddenly alone, in a quiet corner at the edge of everything he had ever dreamed of seeing. He closed his eyes and let the sounds wash over him: endless chatter, musical warm ups from the band, laughter. He could still feel the warmth of Matteusz's hand in his own.

This was a life that Charles could imagine for himself if he had been born common. Visiting the festival every year, not having to worry about meetings or magic or pleasing the Queen. Marrying for love, not power.

It was merely a fantasy - and it would only ever stay a fantasy. But it was nice to imagine otherwise.

“We have a good view of the musicians.”

Charles opened his eyes again, with Matteusz now by his side.

“Uh, yes.”

“Oh there’s April.” Matteusz pointed at the dark haired woman holding a fiddle. “She works at the palace. We should be careful though, Lord Singh is with her.”

“You know a lot about the palace.”

“They’re my friends.”

Charles wanted to ask what that was like but he didn’t want to look too naive. He busied himself by trying the ale again, but the taste hadn’t improved.

Matteusz tried his best to hide it but Charles caught the laughter behind his hand.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“No.”

“I can hear you.”

Matteusz moved his hand, revealing his bright smile. It was almost enough for him to be forgiven. “Okay. Just a little. I’ve seen you drink caskets of wine in the kingdom with no problem.”

“They taste nice!”

Matteusz took a long sip of his own drink. “You’ll get used to it.”

They say in a peaceful quiet. They were positioned perfectly to watch couples dance to the music played. Now Matteusz had mentioned it, he could make out Lord Singh spinning the pretty musician girl.

“Must be nice to dance without such strict rules.”

“Yes,” Matteusz agreed, sounding a little wistful.

Charles took a longer gulp of his ale before asking: “do you have anyone to dance with? If you hadn’t escorted me?”

“Escorted?” Matteusz seemed amused. “You’re a little old for a babysitter.”

…Which wasn’t answering his question.

“But no,” he answered. “I had someone back home but I had to leave him behind.”

Him. Charles tried not to overthink it.

“Do you miss it?”

“Dancing?” Matteusz asked. “I am not very good.”

“Having someone.” He felt his face flush again. At least it was darker now and less obvious. He could always blame the ale.

“It was nice.” He looked away from the couples. “I miss other parts of home more. Like my sister. I send her gifts when I can. Like the bracelets I brought earlier. She likes to make ones like them.”

Charles felt a little foolish. “You don’t mention her a lot.”

“I miss her,” Mattesuz replied.

“I sometimes wish I had a sibling,” Charles confessed. “To share the burden of being a prince.”

“Must be lonely.”

He looked over to Matteusz, reliably by his side as always. “Not always.”

Wobbling slightly, Charles was starting to regret his second and third ales. It had taken them to finally pluck up the courage to ask Matteusz to dance with him. It had been ungraceful, yet freeing, to be spun around in hazy circles.

“I’m dizzy.”

“I’m sure you are.” Was Matteusz laughing at him? He found it more endearing than anything else. They had both let their guard down.

“I wish I was normal so we could do this everyday.”

“The festival is only once a year.”

“Then I’ll make it law to happen everyday.”

“Normal people can’t make laws.” Matteusz was definitely teasing him now. “This way.”

“I’d run away after.”

“You can’t just run away.”

Charles frowned. “You did. You left everything you knew.”

“Yeah. But it is different. They need me to be here, even if it's dangerous for me. Rhodia needs you right where you are.”

“How is it dangerous?” He asked. “Magic?”

Matteusz stopped for a moment and Charles stumbled into his back.

“It’s okay. I’ll protect you from the evil magicians Matti.”

“Don’t call me that,” he replied. All the fun sucked out of the conversation suddenly.

Even in his inebriated state, Charles knew when to shut up.

“This is a bad idea.”

“Is it?”

“This shortcut I mean.” Matteusz glanced over down the steep hill. “Not when you’re like this.”

“I’m fine,” Charles shot back. He didn’t want Matteusz to think he was incapable of walking.

“Wait, don’t-” Matteusz called, his voice the last thing Charles heard before he slipped.

Charles had fallen down a hill, in the darkness of early morning, and woken up to the natural light pouring through his open curtains. He had expected the light to sting but he felt okay, minus a fogginess in his head.

Matteusz was nowhere to be seen. He was usually on time for his duties, but maybe Charles had just missed him. There was tea and breakfast on the side, fresh clothes and the open window. Charles just hoped he hadn’t done anything stupid yesterday.

(Charles could remember looking up at him, opening his mouth, a horrified expression on Matteusz face. He couldn’t remember what he said, which was somehow worse.)

He dressed himself. In the mirror, he spotted a small scratch on his forehead. (He could remember falling last night. Maybe just the stairs. He was drunk after all.)

Matteusz was still missing as Charles went about his day. He had done his lessons alone, then was served by a new servant at lunch. By the time his mother had her meetings, he was convinced Mattuesz was avoiding him. He let Councillor Ames speech wash over him, recounting the last night’s events again, trying to find where he went wrong.

Charles recalled his face when he had called him ‘Matti', his warning of caution, then a weightless falling, as if time slowed down. That part felt even blurrier, perhaps he had hit his head, even if it didn’t hurt. In fact, he hadn’t even been hungover. It was like-

“Magic,” Ames was saying, “is evil.”

(“Magic,” Charles recalled himself saying yesterday, “but you’re not evil.”)

“Yes, my lord?”

Without realising he had stood up. It wasn’t just the councillor’s eyes on him, but the whole meeting room. “Um, I agree with the councillor.”

“What was she saying?”

He winced: the queen never went easy on him. “Er.”

“Just go Charles,” she said sternly, “it’s clear your mind is elsewhere.”

“My apologies,” he said. Usually being told off like a child would be upsetting, but there was already something else on his mind.

Charles forced himself to walk out the room slowly. Once he was back in the empty hall, he took off running towards his room. He sunk into his bed, shaking, as the events of the night before finally clicked into place.

He had been falling, Mattuesz shouting something. Not for help, something else. Words he didn’t recognise.

Charles had stopped falling, more like drifting, like a feather caught in the wind. The world suddenly slowed, until he had harmlessly landed on a patch of grass and wildflowers that hadn’t been there before.

Matteusz had gotten down too, suddenly crouched in front of him. He had wiped the small scratch on his face gently and suddenly the bleeding had stopped.

“Are you okay?”

Charles was dazed. “You did something.”

“No I didn’t,” Matteusz said, too quickly. “You just got lucky.”

“No, it was you,” he had repeated, with clarity. “I was floating, it was like…”

“Don’t say it.”

But he had said it. “Magic. You have magic. But you’re not evil.”

“I’m not anything.”

“It all makes sense,” he had said, feeling suddenly sober, “all those fights we won - that was you. I thought I was special. I thought I was a hero.”

“I needed to protect you,” Matteusz whispered. “I will keep protecting you. I’m sorry.”

He had put his hands on his face and for a second Charles had thought he was going to be kissed. Instead, there was just blankness, nothing.

Matteusz had made him forget.

Charles had finally caught up with Matteusz after training with his knights. He had fought better than usual, filled with so much anger that he had even managed to beat Lord Singh.

He had been with the same musician they saw yesterday, watching from a distance.

“Let’s go for a ride,” he had suggested. The musician girl had been a stable hand and given them a horse each and they headed into the quietness of the forest.

“How’s your head?” There was a forced playfulness to Matteusz’ voice.

“Alright, considering how far I fell.”

Matteusz had stopped. “I-”

“I remember.” Charles stopped his horse and slid off him. “Have you made me forget other things?”

“No, never. I only ever used my magic to help you. Memory spells are tricky.”

“You used untested dark magic on me?”

Charles was starting to wonder if going somewhere alone with a magic user was a bad idea. If it was up to his Mother, Matteusz would be executed by the next morning. (He couldn’t let that happen. Charles couldn’t be that wrong about him.)

“It wasn’t dark magic,” Matteusz said, “no magic is dark-”

“Experience tells me otherwise. Magicians killed my Father.”

“I know and I’m sorry that happened. But we are not all like that.” Matteusz stepped back, like he was the one to be afraid. “I will leave tonight. You won’t have to see me again. Please, don’t tell the queen.”

“How could you say that?” Charles asked. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“You have done it to others like me,” Matteusz said. He still looked scared.

“Is that why you didn’t tell me the truth?”

“It is dangerous to be magic,” he explained. “I could take no chances.”

“I understand. I have my own secrets. Even from you.”

Matteusz didn’t ask. (He wished he would. Then he could do something. One kiss, if he really was going to leave, if Charles was allowed one indulgence.)

“For what it’s worth, I wish for you to stay. I will keep your secret. You have saved my life so many times, I owe you that.”

Mattuesz looked relieved. “Thank you.”

(When Charles woke up the next morning, it was Matteusz opening the curtains and letting the light in.)

#marlie #matteusz andrzejewski #charlie smith #class bbc #class dw

9 notes · View notes

flutteringphalanges · 4 years

Photo

Summary: “Am I in Hell?” Agatha’s voice was hoarse, a hint of fear in her tone. “That depends on your definition,” Dracula answered. “Perhaps.” His fingers felt cool against her burning skin, the fever raging through her body. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it,” she mumbled. The count chuckled, gazing into her eyes. “On the contrary,” he smirked. “I’m going to save you.”

((In which Dracula cares for a gravely ill Agatha))

Characters: Agatha Van Helsing/Dracula

Rating: M

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: Happy New Year's Eve AND happy Dracula 2020's First Year Anniversary Eve! I thought about posting this tomorrow, but I thought I made you guys wait long enough. Plus wanted to end 2020 on a good note since, well, this year has been...yeah...ANYWAY, hope you enjoy it! Feedback/likes/reblogs are greatly loved and appreciated! -Jen

Chapter Twelve

Agatha leaned over the bucket again and retched the contents of her stomach out for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day. The thick, tar like liquid had already begun to congeal as most old blood does. This time around it belong to a brown bear the Count had swiftly taken out in the mountains. The third animal the couple had tried to test Agatha's theory that she didn't need to survive off of humans. So far every attempt had ended in failure.

"You're growing weaker." Dracula commented, his voice impatient and edged with worry. "And if you keep up at this rate, you risk going feral." He wasn't sure how true his implications were, but at this rate, the former nun was endangering her well being. "Please, Agatha, be reasonable. It isn't a kill if I do it for you."

"And yet it would still be on my conscience." His lover sighed, wiping the side of her mouth with her sleeve. "If I am to live forever, I simply cannot have that." She swallowed, tasting the bitter bile on her tongue. "We'll keep trying. Surely there is something out there. No creature is designed to survive on one given source from a singular thing. Humans in our case."

The elder vampire groaned in response, clearly tired by his beloved's humanity that had managed to survive during her transformation. Agatha gently rested a hand on his arm, her eyes glancing up to meet his.

"Please." She said in a soft, yet adamant voice. "I want to keep going."

"If something begins to happen. If you start to change or..." His words seemed to fade off. "If it comes down to it, I will do what's in your best interest, Agatha. Even if you hate me for a millennium for doing it." Once more he paused. "I love you."

"I know." She smiled. "Which is why we will find a solution. Together." The corners of her lips twitched into a faint smirk. "And who knows, when we do, perhaps even you will convert."

Dracula snorted and rolled his eyes. "I hate to dash your hopes, but I can almost guarantee that will not be happening. I have an acquired taste and standards to boot. If we are successful at finding an alternative, I'll leave the riches to you." He leaned in close to her ear, his breath tickling and sending a shiver up Agatha's spine. "You truly have no idea what you are missing out on. The knowledge. The stories. Everything a filthy animal's blood lacks. Deep down, I know there is an inkling of curiosity within you."

The former nun took a step back, locking eyes with him. "That's what books are for. Reliable and only harmful from their papercuts. I will not be swayed from my decision, Count Dracula." Exhaling, she glanced around the room. "So we've tried deer, bear, rabbit...perhaps livestock is our next bet. Though, I do dislike the idea of stealing someone's property."

"You can't have it both ways, Agatha." Dracula frowned, clearly irritated by her stubborn, selfless nature. "Ultimately, the end result won't leave you with the happiest outcome, but stealing as you so referred to it is less sinful than murder." He scoffed at his words. "Then again, we both know our opinions on religion. Or lack thereof."

"...We could always start a farm?" Agatha spoke after a moment's pause. "After centuries, it wouldn't hurt for you to gain a hobby. One that would benefit me and keep you out of trouble." She chuckled, the laugh laced with exhaustion. "Imagine a flock of chickens. You could sell their eggs at the village market...if one was held at night, of course."

"And I think all of this animal blood has gotten to that pretty little mind of yours." Dracula said, cupping her face between his large hands. "Come, you need your rest. We can at least agree on that."

He was right on that account. She was feeling rather drained. Not to mention nauseated from the bear. The taste still lingered on the back of her tongue. Nodding her head, she took the vampire's hand and followed him down the long stretch of hallway to where their coffin was located. It wasn't the nicest looking thing, more so an oversized box filled with dirt. But Dracula was insistent on sleeping together and promised soon he'd have something specially made. Agatha couldn't help but wonder how someone would go about commissioning a luxury couple's casket. An interesting conversation indeed.

"I really hate that we have to sleep in dirt." Agatha grimaced as Dracula lifted the lid. "I don't care how restful it may be, waking up covered in grime isn't at all pleasant."

"You are by far the fussiest vampire I've ever created." Her lover laughed, shaking his head in amusement. "No one has ever voiced as many opinions as you. Or demands for that matter."

"Like you, I have standards...they just are different than yours." The former nun replied, eyeing the large box incredulously. "One day, when I have enough strength to do so, I'm going to look into these vampiric rites of yours." She could tell by the look on his face the idea didn't excite him. "Oh please, it isn't like I plan to shove a stake through my heart. Though, I am well aware that was a failed attempt on Jonathan Harker's part."

"To bed with you." The Count ushered, helping her into their place of rest. "Enough of this nonsense. It's time to take a nap while I go out and...borrow some farm animals. I hope you realize how much I care for you, I don't haul a full grown cow back to the castle for just anyone."

"Oh so heroic." Agatha snorted, pursing her lips as Dracula leaned in to kiss her. "Blatantly asking for praise rather than quietly accepting the fact that I truly appreciate all you do. If I am fussy, you are needy."

A pleasant form of bickering. Usually they had heated discussions-often of which ended in a passionate session of fucking. But tonight was different. Perhaps his worry for Agatha caused the flame to momentarily simmer down. Messed with his ability to be both suave and an ass. She looked beautiful lying there in the coffin she clearly despised, and though part of him wanted nothing more than to take her now, he knew it needed to wait. She was hungry. Needed to feed. And the consequences of not doing that were far from good.

"Name calling is childish, my dear nun." Dracula smirked knowing the irony behind it. "Now, please have enough sense to sleep. I'm losing moonlight by the hour and if I'm to get back here before dawn, I must leave now." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Stay."

"I'm not some hound." She called after him from the confines of the casket. "I can come and go as I please…" Agatha gazed up at the coffin lid that now blocked her view of the room. "For now, I just choose to accept that perhaps you are right about resting. Sleep does sound agreeable."

The former nun could've sworn she heard Dracula answer, but her mind had already started to grow foggy. Taking in an unnecessary breath, she closed her eyes and tried not to focus on the strange feeling in her stomach. She was so tired. So worn out. So weary that it didn't take long for her to slip away from reality and into her dreams.

Even in the darkness, Agatha recognized the place from where she stood. Though far emptier and dusty, it was an unmistakable memory implanted in her mind. The old inn that she had taken refuge in soon after her escape from the ruins of what had been St. Mary's convent and her lost sisters.

Taking a step forward, the former nun felt loose stone crumble underneath her feet. Glancing down, she lightly kicked a rock on the ground and watched as it bounced across the room, hitting the wall opposite her. She wasn't exactly sure why she was here. It was a dream, for sure, but it oddly felt real at the same time.

"Agatha?"

The voice was soft, meek, and the woman knew instantly who the speaker was. From the shadows, as timid as they day they met, Mina stepped out. She wore the same, blue habit as the day they had departed, blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. A cold draft came in from a neglected open window, blowing her locks gently. The smell was intoxicating.

"Mina?" Agatha whispered, her voice hoarse. "Why are you...you need to go! Go now!" She covered her nose, throat burning. It was only a dream. Only a dream. And yet, it felt so horribly real. "Go now!"

But the other woman, oblivious to the fact her friend was now a vampire, had a look of relief plastered across her features. "You disappeared." She said, stepping closer Agatha who, in turn, backed up against the wall. "I thought I'd never see you again. Where did you go?!"

"Mina, please!" Agatha pleaded, biting down so hard on her bottom lip she could taste her own blood. "You must go now. You're in danger!"

"It's alright now." The young woman insisted, closing the distance between her and the vampire. "Now that we are together again, we can...Good God, Agatha, what's happened to your eyes?!"

The once flat edges of her teeth had begun to grow pointed and a low guttural sound rumbled deep from the bottom of Agatha's throat. She stared back hungrily at Mina, the last reminisce of control she fought to hold disappearing. The vampire stepped forward, a prisoner to her own thirsty as her victim stared back in horror. She was so thirsty. So very, very thirsty…

"Agatha?" Mina whispered weakly. "Agatha, please!"

But the rational, humane side of the former nun was gone. Mina's pleas of mercy falling on deaf ears. Without so much as a second thought. A second consideration. She lunged towards the woman, knocking her onto the ground. As her sharp nails dug into the woman's flesh, she gazed down and readied to bury her fangs into…

"AGATHA!"

Agatha's eyes shot wide open, startled awake by the sound of Dracula's voice. She looked up and saw the other vampire staring down at her in utter astonishment, his hands gripping either of her shoulders as if he'd been trying to hold her down.

"It's alright. It's alright. You were having a nightmare." He attempted to assure her as her head whipped around wildly. "I've been trying to wake you up."

"Mina…" Agatha panted, as if needing to breathe. "Mina...I tried to warn her...tried to stop myself…" She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "I couldn't control it." When she opened them again, the former nun looked deeply into her lover's eyes. "I was so thirsty…"

Dracula's lips pressed into a thin line as if he was trying to hold back on saying something. It wasn't until Agatha gathered herself enough that she really took in what the other vampire had yet to admit. Deep, long claw marks scraped the inside of their coffin resembling those of an animal trying to get out. Agatha looked down and noticed chips of wood sprinkled across her.

"Did I…" She swallowed, her stomach twisting. "Was that...me?"

"We're running out of time, Agatha." The other vampire said quietly. "If we don't figure things soon enough, it's only going to get worse. I'm not willing to let that happen." He paused, considering his next words carefully. "That means, I'll have no choice but to teach you how to hunt."

Agatha said nothing, but stared at the deep marks on the coffin. She thought of her dream. Of Mina. Of all of this. Swallowing, she ran a hand through her messy hair and sighed.

"Fine." She relented. "Teach me."

#Dracula #Dracula 2020 #Dragatha #Agatha Van Helsing #Dracula x Agatha #BBC Dracula #Bad Moon Rising

19 notes · View notes

managingmymuse · 3 years

Text

Plotting

for writer's month

day 24: fake dating

(original fiction | ???)

I read and reread the King's declarations more times than I could count. Soon the words grew blurred from my fingertips, and the paper threatened to peel apart at the folds. Still, I kept pulling it out, picking at it like one picks a scab.

I forced myself to wait a week before sending a reply. Before I made any answer to the message at all. I needed that time to compose myself, to ensure that I could write without a shaking hand or tears dripped onto the page. It was terribly rude, of course, but at the moment, I was quite over politeness. If Timothe had an issue with it, he could consult my father, seeing as everything I'd told Timothe so far had been ignored.

The betrayal hung on the back of my tongue like acid. It made me short with my mother when she came to discuss gowns, and shorter still with Marcel Imons who was still pestering Abigail Lyon. When he approached her near the lake by the girls' dormitory one afternoon, I dispensed with my usual diplomacy and used a burst of magic to fling him in it.

Abigail's roommates laughed themselves sick.

By the end of the week, I'd calmed down enough to write with a clear hand. My missive was short, and to the point.

What possessed you to do this without asking me?

The reply came quickly. Mail between Yarrow and Imena didn't often take long.

My dearest Desdemona,

I must beg your forgiveness. When I returned from Imena, I was in deep pain at the loss of your company. My suffering was so great that my magic diminished as well. When my father discovered this lack, he dispatched his orders immediately, and without consulting me.

I regret that I have not had the opportunity to ask you properly. I promise, upon my next visit, I will make it up to you in full.

Ever yours,

Timothe

I'd frowned at the letter. And then, in a fit of pique, I'd burned it, using my rage to fuel the flames.

It was only later that the mistrust began to settle over me. When we'd been together, Timothe had always seemed self-possessed. Confident. Unlikely to wallow in supposed heartbreak. And when we'd parted, he'd seemed resigned to our future relationship as companions, if not outright friends. But by the time he got to Yarrow, he was disturbed to the point of magic disruption? After a mere day's drive?

Something did not tally. Not at all.

Timothe's triumphant return, presumably with a real proposal and a ring, was scheduled for the next school break, only a week away. Many of our classmates were returning to Yarrow for the solstice, but I would stay here with my family. And Timothee, apparently, would be visiting us.

My mother went into a flurry of preparations. She just about cleaned out every larder in the county searching for chocolate jellies and lemon drops. The staff was given a verbal thrashing every time she saw a button loose or a shoe unpolished. Every room on the main floors was laden with pine boughs until the whole house smelled-- and looked-- like it would belonged in a forest.

While my mother obsessed, I made my own preparations. I borrowed a particular spell from Lady Rathburn's extensive library.

She grasped my arm when I turned to leave her. "Think very carefully before you use this," she said, grey eyes bright. "The truth is not always kind."

I knew that already. Perhaps better than I should. "Don't worry about me," I said. "I shall be the very soul of discretion."

And I was. Rather than send servants for my supplies, I shopped for them myself, trailing along Spill Street like a lady at leisure rather than on a mission. I purchased the ingredients I needed in three separate shops, mixed in with a dozen more items that I never intended to use. Anyone who recovered my shopping list wouldn't know what I was shopping for.

I brewed the potion and let it steep two nights beneath the moon's rays. When it was done, I had a thin vial of a brownish liquid that would make any man, woman, or child, spill their secrets they'd much rather take to the grave.

Arranging a meeting in private was a much more difficult task to manage. My mother wanted to lavish the precious prince with hospitality, and even my father thought it would be impolite not to greet him upon arrival in our city. In the end, I had to do my very best impression of a lovesick girl to get them to consent to allow me to have tea with him in private so that he might propose properly.

It worked, I'm ashamed to say. Very ashamed indeed.

Timothe's carriage rolled up one wintery morning. I watched from the window as he strode up the stairs of our home and knocked precisely once before our butler greeted him. I rang for tea while the butler helped Timothe off with his coat and gloves and settled myself in a rather demure position on the sofa a mere moment before the door swung open.

"His Highness Prince Timothe," the butler said.

I nodded and stood to offer a curtsy. Timothe strode into the room in grand spirits, crossing the distance between us in a matter of seconds. "Darling," he said. He seized both of my hands in his, bringing them up between us to press a kiss to each.

The back of my neck prickled with unease. "Pet names now?"

"You're unhappy with me," Timothe said. "I understand."

"Do you?" I glanced at the butler. "You may go."

With a swift nod, he withdrew.

A heavy silence fell about the room. Embers crackled and burned in the fireplace.

I motioned toward the high-backed chair in the center of the room and allowed Timothe to be seated before I resumed my own position. A knock sounded on the rear door to the room, and a maid entered, bearing the tea service I'd summoned just moments before.

"I've had tea prepared," I said, motioning the maid to set it on the table nearest us. "It's just the thing to warm you after such a cold journey."

"My dear, the only thing I need to warm me is your kind regard."

Ugh. I nodded to the maid, indicating that she could leave before reaching forward to pour the tea.

Timothe's gaze was a hot brand on my neck as I carefully added liquid to his cup and dropped in a single sugar cube. "You're angry with me."

"I'm furious," I said. I offered him the cup and saucer, and he took it. "We discussed this the last time you were here. I said I don't wish to marry."

"Yes, and I tried to respect your wishes," he said. "But once I got home, I realized how much I missed you. My magic suffered. I'm ashamed to say I moped."

"You might have written me before you told your father we were to be married."

"Would it have changed your position?" he asked. "Knowing of my heartbreak?"

My lips firmed into a thin line as I poured my own tea. "You ask too much."

"On the contrary. I think I ask just enough."

He took a cautious sip of his tea, and a bolt of triumph flared through me, lighting me from within.

"Think of how happy we'll be," he said. "How powerful. Between the two of us we'll have the political capital and brute strength to rule this bloody empire, my brothers be damned."

I just stared at him. I watched the color drain from his face. I watched dawning horror pull at his lips.

"Why-- why did I say that? Did I--" His gaze dropped to his tea, and his lip curled. "How did you get this recipe?"

"I am a witch," I said. "You seem to forget it."

"On the contrary. It's the only reason I'm interested in you at all."

I expected that, but it still stung. I took a delicate sip of my own tea before I set the cup down.

A range of emotions was flashing across Timothe's face. Rage and confusion and fear. "Sweetroot tea is illegal."

I lifted a shoulder. "Then have me arrested."

His lip curled. "You know I won't do that."

"Because you love me?"

He outright snarled. "You know I don't love you. Or you wouldn't have fed me this this brew."

That one didn't sting nearly as much. Not with the victory of tricking him dancing in my veins. "If you don't love me, why force me to marry you?"

"Why does anyone marry?" he said.

"That's not an answer."

I have to give him credit, he fought it. But the recipe I'd used for the Sweetroot potion had an extra kicker of joja berries mixed with acanthus oil. In precisely the right quantities, it was formulated to make the reluctant more forthcoming.

"You saved my life," he said. "I need you to do it again."

"Are you in some sort of danger?"

"My brothers. They're trying to kill me."

He stood up at that. His hands were curled into fists at his sides, and the cold shadow of fear passed over me.

"How-- that is, I-- how dare you," he said.

I affected nonchalance and drank some more tea. "If beating me into a pulp will make you feel better, then by all means, try it. But I warn you-- I fight back."

He snarled at me. Outright snarled. And for some reason, it filled me with more pleasure than I can even describe.

"Leave if you want," I said. "Storm down the streets in a rage if that would make you feel better. But I think it would be more productive if you would just tell me the truth."

"The truth." He sneered. "Why would I tell you anything?"

"You're trying to force me into a marriage with you," I said. "A marriage that I don't want or even particularly need."

"Honesty is not necessary for a marriage."

"It's a rather good start, though."

He scowled again. From the expressions on his face, I could tell he was fighting the sweetroot once again.

Finally, he dropped into his chair. His fingers clenched and unclenched on the air in front of him. "Fine. You want the truth? I'll give you the truth. My father has designated no heir. All three of us are eligible to assume his throne. My brothers have been trying to kill me for years. Last summer, one of them nearly succeeded."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"You're the one who saved me from his curse."

I sat back in my chair, startled. "That was only a falling branch."

"It was an ill luck spell," Timothe said. "I'm a magnet for danger. Literally wherever I go. I've been thrown from three horses, nearly run over by multiple carriages, and been injured by my sparring partner twice already."

I took a delicate sip of my tea. "I'm surprised you haven't been poisoned."

Timothe leaned forward, an odd glint in his eyes. "You have the distinction of being the first to attempt it, my love."

"Don't call me that."

"I don't see why I shouldn't."

"Because I'm not your love. I'm not your anything."

"But you will be."

The strength of that conviction, under the influence of sweetroot, was horrifying. Nevertheless, I forced myself to set my cup down gently on its saucer. "I'm not marrying you."

"Why?"

"Because I don't wish to marry," I said. "You in particular."

"Charming."

"I figured I might as well trade your honesty for some of my own."

I gave him a demure smile, and Timothe bared his teeth at me in a shark's grin.

"I don't need your agreement to force you into a marriage," he said. "I can have the papers filed with or without your consent."

"That's true enough," I said. "Heaven knows I can't stop you from filing paperwork with the courts."

"So you see that resisting this is idiotic."

"On the contrary," I said. "Resisting this is the only option I have left."

He stood up at at that, rolling his eyes. I half expected him to storm out, but instead he began to pace. He moved up and down the length of the room, cracking his knuckles as he muttered to himself.

I could see the wheels turning in his head. My calmness, such as it was, was getting to him. Good. It was bloody hard to hold onto my cool head.

It was time to push him over the edge. "What's to stop me from just letting you die?"

He turned to me. "What?"

"You heard me," I said. "If your plan is to have a bodyguard in the form of a wife-- well. An unwilling wife is irritating. An unwilling bodyguard is a legitimate problem."

"You would let me die?" he said. "Your own husband?"

I lifted a shoulder. "Quite a few women adore widowhood. It's not what I imagined for myself, naturally, but it's not the worst state one can find one's self in."

I thought he'd scowl at me. Rage and threaten, stomp and storm. But instead, a sort of calm passed over his face. He strode back to his chair, seating himself upright with the kind of courtly bearing that made me want to throw him across the room. "What do you want?"

"For you to leave me alone."

"That's not what I meant," he said. The glint was back in his eyes, and it sent a shiver rolling down my spine. "What do you want to act as my bodyguard?"

"You would hire me as a bodyguard?"

He laughed, and it sounded as if it rippled up from the core of his cold, dark heart. "I can't have a bodyguard. Not in truth. That would be a display of weakness."

"And moping and pretending to lose your magic isn't?"

"Sentimentality is not weakness," he said. "Was our country not founded by warrior-poets?"

"Our country was founded by pompous windbags."

"Those are my ancestors."

"They are, aren't they?"

Timothe's smile was broader this time. There was still an edge to it, but it seemed-- genuine?

"This is going to be fun," he said.

"It's going to be your death sentence."

"You asked me to hire you, which means that your services can be bought," he said. "How much?"

I scowled at him. "I don't need money."

"Everyone needs something."

I kept the scowl firmly in place. "There's nothing I need that would make marrying you worth it."

Timothe chuckled. The sound was deep and resonant, and it sent alarm bells pealing in my head. "Am I really so bad?" he asked.

"Not everything is about you."

He smiled at that before standing again. He paced to the window, looking down into the street. The snow-bright light from outside washed onto his face, making him look like a figure from one of my sister's fairytales.

Not a handsome prince, I thought darkly. Or, well, not just one, anyway.

"I'm willing to compromise," he said. "I'd like to maintain the fiction of an engagement between us for the time being. But in exchange for you ensuring that I don't die an untimely death, I'll break it off long before we ever near the altar."

"That's not much of a compromise," I said. "What's in it for me?"

"Is it not enough to assist your sovereign in his time of need?"

"You're not my sovereign," I said. "And at this rate, you'll never be."

"But you can change that," Timothe said. "Help me reach the throne, and I will grant you anything your heart desires. One royal favor. How about that, my sweet?"

A favor. With a favor from the king I-- well, I could do anything. Possibilities spun in my head. A school in the north. A girls school where they were allowed to study more than dance and flower arranging.

"Never call me that again," I said, "and you have yourself a deal."

He swung around then. The grin on his face was almost impish. "I knew I could get through to you."

"Don't look so happy," I said.

He practically bounced across the room. "Why wouldn't I look happy? I've just secured a wonderful new fiancee."

"Spare me."

Instead of returning to his chair, this time he settled himself on the sofa next to me. It was a flagrant breach of propriety, and I suspected that he did it just to make me uncomfortable.

My suspicions were concerned when he took my hand in his and slowly brought it to his lips. "Come now. When we're in public, you'll have to pretend to be madly in love with me. You might as well start now."

"If this is your attempt at charm, it's failing," I said. I extracted my hand and reached for the bell to summon the butler. "It's been enlightening as always, your majesty."

He only smiled. "It has, hasn't it? It really has."

***

@saltnpepapig You asked to be tagged if there was more. This got out of hand, so let me know if you changed your mind.

#writersmonth2021 #writersmonth #writing #my writing #fantasy #long post

2 notes · View notes

shadowfae · 3 years

Note

1- Not much tbh, just what you've posted, and 2- To be honest I quite like your long answers. It can definitely wait though, you should get some sleep.

Is your warpriest link a constant thing? Does it ever fade into the background? I'm contemplating forming a second link, something happier than my copinglink, and I'm not sure how to tell when to tell when the line of a link vs a persona is crossed when not worn out of necessity.

And the original ask so I have it on hand. I did take a look at your original context, and if you're cool with it, I'll edit this post with a link for those who may find this is a useful answer and need that on hand. Otherwise, it'll stay a mystery.

But yes, it seems like my Sabe experiences would be a useful thing to talk about here. And in order to do that, I need to go over four things: who and what Sabe is, why he exists the way that he does, what that does for me, and lastly what I think he is in terms of terminology and why.

To start, here is his toyhou.se profile, if you want to read more about his actual story and thoughts and whatnot. But I doubt you'll have the necessary context for that, so let me go into it. RuneScape (RS) is one of the oldest MMORPGs in existence. WoW might be older but I doubt it. Basically it's a medieval magic fantasy that's very long running and you the player end up the World Guardian, aka the guy that stops the gods (who are very powerful folks who just don't die of natural causes and typically stand for some philosophy) from blowing the world up because Guthix, the dead god of balance, asked you to. Well, he voluntold you. And that makes you a major chess piece, Elder Gods get involved, it's a big mess.

But before all that happened, back in 2006 when I was introduced to the game and very shitty at it, well. I liked the lore insofar that I've always liked the lore, it was interesting and I liked thinking about it. I didn't have membership and I sucked at playing so I just read the wiki and the God Letters over and over and sometimes the Postbag from the Hedge. Alongside my two friends, we played at being children of the then-triad of main gods: Saradomin, Guthix, and Zamorak.

I liked Zamorak best, but I didn't think his ideas would be the best for society as a whole, so I ended up playing child of Guthix. Eventually we grew up and grew apart but every couple of years I'd go back to RuneScape, read the lore, settle on what choices I'd make if I could play, and think about being the player character. In 2010 I discovered a fic - dawn by khayr, it's on Ao3 and dA - about Iban, son of Zamorak, right around when I was reading Percy Jackson. Cue him showing up as a soulbond and an older brother figure and guiding me right up until the end of sixth grade. Iban got me through the ruthless bullying that would later set the stage for all my major suicidal-ideation and self-hatred for the entirety of high school: even then, I was more stable than I might've been otherwise, because he interfered.

Saradomin stands for strength through order. Procedures and law and diplomacy and war strategy. He was originally kind of a ripoff of the Christian god, but he's grown to be more of an order-over-peace character and is quite well-written. Guthix stands for strength through balance, and has been all over the board in terms of what he's done and will do. He's kind of a dick, actually, but his heart's in the right place.

Zamorak, as you've heard, is strength through chaos and personal strife. It's no "the strong over the weak" or "the strong take care of the weak", it's flat-out "everyone is strong, and just need the right circumstances to tap into it to be the best they can possibly be". Now, his philosophy is kind of more for warriors and scholars, but if you tilt your head, it applies to everyone. Chronically ill folks will find their chaos in fighting to get up every day and maintain a life. Folks in traumatizing, abusive situations find that chaos in their very survival. Scholars challenge themselves and their fellows and their predecessors trying to find the answers they so need. Nobody in lockstep, no such thing as "we've always done it this way."

A lot of human Zamorakians and Saradominist propaganda says that Zamorak is simply absolute evil: and to be fair, when most of that was written, he kinda was because he was based loosely on the Christian devil. Later writing says that they're typically mistaken on that. Zamorak isn't evil. The very first thing he did upon becoming a god was fulfill a promise and lead a slave rebeliion. (The Avernic uprising, if anyone's curious.) He stands for the downtrodden and says "You are never going to get your dignity by going through the motions and trying to peacefully show you're worth respect. Burn some shit down and prove that you won't stand for this bullshit."

Zamorak in a Saradominist's eyes is someone whose banner you wear when you want to be a crazy murderer. Zamorak in a Zamorakian's eyes is the singing voice who murmurs "Get up, this isn't enough to kill you, you can still do this," when transphobic laws get passed or you hear a slur thrown your way on the street.

And as someone who grew up queer and nonhuman, yeah, that resonates, and the older I get the more I think "Guthixian philosophy is best for a society at large, but Zamorakianism for individuals is good." Because Zamorakianism can't really apply on a theocratic level. It really doesn't. It turns into American bootstrap culture and no social services and all that shitty stuff.

The funny thing is that Zamorak himself has no issues helping out if he thinks you need it. (If he didn't, he wouldn't be cool with asking for help, or giving it when he's asked. Which he does do repeatedly so. The man has more kindness in him than people want to admit.) What I do find fascinating is what he thinks of the actions of some of his longtime subordinates, who clearly support him, but I don't think support his actual philosophy. Because if you ask me, he'd side with the downtrodden humans of Meiyerditch, not the vampire lords that treat them like cattle. He's proven that he likes humans, and doesn't see them as unworthy. I do wonder if Jagex will show us what he might do about that.

Either way. Ahem. Over the course of a decade and a half, I keep going back to RuneScape, refining my philosophy and side, thinking again what I would do playing the game proper. About... I want to say five years ago, Jagex opened up the Sixth Age and I finally noticed, and they rewrote every god's philosophy because they wanted every single one to be actually playable. Not just "hurr durr evil" but actually have a logical line of thought. They probably didn't have pop culture paganism in mind, but the gods of RS are incredibly well-suited to it.

Well, I found that out, and immediately went through every god's philosophy, and reasoned my way through it. What does a worshipper of this god look like? What sort of life would they lead? If i apply this to me, what does that look like from that perspective? Do I understand this? Is it comfortable to exist in?

And as it turns out, I understand Zamorak the most, followed a close second by Armadyl, which was quite surprising. Zaros remains incomprehensible and I don't trust like that. (That's another story.) So I thought about it more, and it stuck even when I wandered off to different fandoms and interests. But what happened was that I ended up internalizing it, unknowingly and without meaning to.

It meant that when, two years later, I ended up in a horrific and traumatizing situation, the anchor I hit that held me together was a mixture of being a Devil - I am a fucking God you will obey me and recognize my power - and Zamorak's core philosophy: this cannot kill me, this cannot stop me, this is pure fucking hell and I am going to laugh in the face of death because people are forged in hellfire and I will walk away knowing what I'm made of.

And I was right. Honestly, out of everyone who was there with me, I think I'm the only one that was that deeply entrenched and walked out without trauma. I do not believe I could have done that had I not internalized Zamorak's philosophy. (That isn't to say if the others had that philosophy they wouldn't be traumatized, because there were absolutely other factors I wouldn't know about and some that I do and didn't do them any favours; but I am saying that it saved my ass and without it, I might not have been okay.)

I walked out of that with zero regrets. Zero. Even now, I don't regret a thing. Because it doesn't matter what happened or how much I was lied to or if he deserved my kindness. I know what I perceived to be happening, and I know how I reacted, and when the pieces were down I was stronger than steel, gave kindness without considering the cost, and I walked away unscathed.

How many people can say they've looked death in the eye and laughed? More than there should be, not too many that knowing what I'm capable of when put into pure chaos isn't somehow impressive. Because it is. And Zamorak's words proved themselves, or rather, I proved him entirely correct.

And when I last went back to RuneScape, and thought about it with enough time to put it all into hindsight, well. Aw, shit, he was right. Then vaguely around that time I went back and read Dawn, which was unfinished, tracked down the author and demanded to know how it fucking ended. (She told me and we're still friends like three years later. xD) Then I went back and found my old OCs, and decided fuck it, I'm making my own World Guardian.

So first thing I did was log in and jump over to the Makeover Mage and make myself into a boy. Kept the plateskirt though, I wanted to have the RS equivalent of a limp wrist to prove I'm Very Queer. Then I went about remaking my character. I wanted to make a self-insert, I was old enough to know it wasn't cringey, it was just fun, but I didn't want to use my default avatar with the black hair over one eye and the Chaorruption. I wanted to make a new self-insert based in nothing I was already using.

So I made the most beautiful man I could! Long, dark brown hair, pretty semi-dark skin, looked Kharidian, and then I said fuck it and made him Zamorak's youngest son. Originally, he was adopted when he was young by Iban and Clivet, and suffered serious imposter syndrome when being WG meant he'd never get demigod powers. But as I grew more confident in myself, he ended up getting powers? And then eventually I rewrote his backstory, and then wrote about his mother, and her relationship with Zamorak, and then he had friends like Blaire and Icthlarin (who was also my furry awakening, rip me).

Then with the most recently questline I've been getting a bit more into RS magical theory, and I've been mulling it over lots, and Seanan McGuire's Middlegame definitely helped; and I figured out how I wanted him to handle being World Guardian: it didn't make sense for him to be openly Zamorak's son, the other gods would just target his family to manipulate him. So I had him play neutral openly and Zamorakian to his friends, effectively living a double life.

Then he just looked up one day and said "Oh, by the way, my father won't acknowledge me to keep me safe but I don't know that so we have a very unsteady relationship because I don't know if he loves me", and then Children of Mah came out, and he was all "Oh and I think I just got disowned (I didn't, Zamorak was protecting me, but I don't know that) so my relationship with Zamorak is Fucking Shitty" and he was stuck that way until I figured out how to save their relationship.

It culminated in Sabe not knowing how his Mahjarrat powers worked and guessing, and hating himself for being half-and-half, and missing everything about being a Mahjarrat, and literally you couldn't have gotten more obvious in order to tell me I was having Fucking Issues coming to terms with the fact I didn't have any understanding or knowledge of my own heritage, but whatever, eventually I noticed that.

And as I've been working to understand myself and my heritage, so too has Sabe been doing that with his Mahjarrat heritage. But for the longest time, no matter how I put him and Zamorak in the same room in a scene to try and get them to talk it out, it wasn't working. Something wasn't right. Sabe resented being World Guardian, hated having to betray his family, didn't know if he was wanted, and hated himself for having to kill Mah, the mother of his species.

Not that long ago, a few months actually, he informed me (which is my shorthand for 'I suddenly figured out this happened, and it genuinely feels like remembering that one fucking word you have on the tip of your tongue, I always knew and just forgot for a while') that no, he'd been ripped in two by a hope devourer, brought to his father's stronghold, and Zamorak split his magic between mortal and divine in order to get around his godproofing and heal him. Zamorak's intense worry for his youngest son was what caused Sabe to break down and tell him honestly what was going on and how he was feeling, which caused Zamorak to do the same, and they finally, finally made up.

A week later, I noticed the connection between Sabe's Mahjarrat issues and my Irish issues, and started to wonder if he was a linktype.

I mean... he's a self-insert. He makes the choices I would, the me in the here and now, that I think are best. He's not a person I was and still know myself to be, he's not someone I grow into, he's not living his life beside me like a shadow. He's me, choosing the things I do, because I say so. But he's also me in the things he reflects, the things he struggles with, and things I had zero fucking conscious input on.

Sabe is the person I am when a crisis hits and I have to deal with the chaos. Sabe is the person I am when I need to lead. Sabe is the person I am when I am desperate to be known and loved by those I consider family. Sabe is the person I am when I want to be sure in where I came from, where I will return to, and the things that I will always be. Sabe is a man of darkness who knows the light as an acquaintance and nothing more, who is cruel and careless and kind.

Sabe is a warpriest of Zamorakian philosophy, because it took me twenty fucking years to put into words how I see the world, and now that I know, I will argue them to death and use them to help others. Drakath may have wanted a messiah to share the hivemind with others. Sabe is a warpriest, spreading the word and calling home the broken and the damned. He is the Last Rider, not the last of the Ilujanka but the one who keeps riding towards the chaos and never falls, no matter what.

Some of who Sabe is I have conscious input on. A whole lot of him was unintentional and perfectly reflects me.

So when it comes to terminology... I don't know what he is. A self-insert, yes. A linktype, maybe. A kintype, also maybe. Sabe doesn't feel like my past linktypes, because Sabe isn't always catharsis and comfort. Until he made up with his dad, Sabe was brutal and hurt a lot and constantly yearning for his foundation and slowly going mad. It wasn't fun. I just refused to do anything but see the story through. I was going to get it right. I wanted to see it to the end. I wanted to be the Last Rider, even though I didn't phrase it that way.

But to answer your actual question, of what he feels like when I'm not actively being him out of necessity, desire, and active thought. If it fades into the background.

And like... it can? Sabe as he is, recognized for what and who he is, is kind of a new thing. Sabe as a concept is very old, but Sabe as what he is right now is new, and confusing, and honestly I'm still trying to figure out what to make of it.

Like, seriously. Sabe is Zamorak's son. Am I Zamorak's son? Is he keeping an eye on me as I am? Would he be proud of me? Would he offer his approval of my progress? Does that make me, in some way, the World Guardian?

I have not a clue, buddy. Not a goddamn clue.

So what it means is that I've been paying attention, really. I don't just become strong in times of crisis. I've been trying to do better. Be better. Learn, and listen, and rethink myself. Break out of lockstep, of doing things the way I've always done them. Try to always do better than I did, build habits I like, stop waiting for things to change and just do it. Become the chaos, instead of waiting for it to hit me.

It means I need to live up to what Guthix told Sabe to do. It means being gentler, being kinder, not burning bridges when I'm not sure. It means keeping an eye out for any sign Zamorak's listening, in case I am his son, in case I really have to decide what I'm gonna do about being the son of chaos incarnate.

But other than the questioning, what it feels like is just... what I was already dealing with, just a little more at arm's length and easier to deal with. Once I recognize that his issues are reflective of mine, if I solve his, I have a pretty good idea of how to solve mine. Some of it won't work exactly right - Zamorak will always forgive him for not being the son he expected he might have had, my own parents may not, yay I'm queer and pagan - but it's a good rule of thumb.

It's also just comforting to know that when in doubt, nothing can kill me, because I simply refuse to die. I am World Guardian, I am a demigod of chaos incarnate, all the hellfire in the world can do nothing but strengthen me. And if I present those to myself as unshakeable beliefs, because for Sabe they are, then I'll be okay. It probably couldn't stop most disasters or tragedies, but I got hit by a car, broke five bones, and walked away with a record recovery time, so I mean... I can't prove that I can't die by some accident or tragedy, but you also can't prove that I can. (Trying to do so usually falls under what we call 'murder', and I personally believe I can't be murdered. Only assassinated.)

But really, I think the worst that could possibly happen with a new linktype is that you learn what not to do. It's new, it's scary, it's chaotic, and from where I'm standing, that's the best way to learn.

#asks #anonymous #on copinglinking #on voluntary identities #on questioning #my experiences #here have me yelling about runescape and complaining about questioning #You Asked For This #essays of the skyrose garden #actually yeah this is an essay

2 notes · View notes

slashermom · 5 years

Note

Goomba, I will not be cucked!! I must have a follow-up to your Collector x killer!Reader HCs!!! How does it turn into a relationship?? What happens when Asa finds out they are the killer he’s been looking for?!?! Inquiring minds need to know!!!

And the adventure continues...

Part 1 :)

It wasn’t long for you to become the center of attention to the small group of professors, PhDs, and students in the entomology program.

You had told the department you were conducting research on behalf of Dr. Connery. Who was supposed to be here but allegedly fallen ill.

A man Asa had met on a few occasions at the yearly conventions and when their paths crossed while doing research.

Asa wasn’t sure what got under his skin about you.

You were courteous and polite, albeit a bit too sure of yourself but you were careful not to step on Asa’s feet.

But besides this sting he felt in his mind when he saw you, Asa didn’t immediately find anything interesting about you. Other, more important things were preoccupying his headspace.

There had been two other murders in the weeks following the package that was left in his office. Both of which seemed closer to the university.

You were closing in on him.

These two murders were also particularly violent. Were you angry with him for not acknowledging you? Or maybe you were putting these people on such a beautifully vulgar display for him?

The more he loose ends he tried to tie up the more seemed to fall into his lap.

As he went about his days, Asa began to notice your presence become more prevalent in the department. Everywhere he turned, you were making waves in one way or another.

You often had a group of eager students hovering around you when you were conducting research. Something Asa wouldn’t have tolerated for a second. He thought it was silly and disruptive but you enjoyed the company of the students. They were also great to weasel information out of.

As you were putting on a pair of gloves a student made an off-hand comment that Dr. Emory is often referred to as being the curmudgeon of the entomology department.

You laughed and agreed with the nickname. But as if right on a cue, Asa entered the research lab to go over his own hypothesis as you were about to begin talking to the group of students about Heliconius butterflies.

You two established eye contact for a second and you took in how different his eyes looked. You could hide a million different things in those eyes. But unfortunately for him, you knew just where to look.

Asa quickly moved his eyes away from yours as if he could tell you were looking through his façade and looked over your shoulder at the students. You smirked to yourself and began speaking.

“Let me simplify things before we really dig deep. You know how there’s always that one really pushy guy or that one overzealous girl at the bar who just won’t leave you the hell alone?”

Asa watched as students nod and smile among themselves with a tightening in his chest.

“What if you could somehow advertise or wear something that said you were off-limits and will screw up their whole night if they try anything funny and still look good while doing it?”

The group leaned forward as you pulled a glass display box forward with a smile on your face.

“Well, that’s what these little guys do best.”

You went into detail about the different colors and patterns the Heliconius butterflies sport; adding your own twist to keep the audience engaged.

Finally finishing up with the last small details of your own study you promised the group that if they come back tomorrow you would talk to them about their evolution and genetics as well as what your research has found.

The pupils began to trickle out of the bright room one after another leaving him to study you as you tucked all the display cases back into their rightful spots with care.

Something was gnawing at Asa.

He didn’t really care that the students seemed to be enjoying the labs and their work way more with you around.

Or that you got along well with other staff in the department and seemed to engage in meaningful/academically challenging conversations with just about everyone.

It was the power you held over everyone in a room without even trying.

You had them wrapped around your finger and you knew it too.

And it burned him.

He quickly scooted out of the room before you had the chance to strike up a conversation with him. He had some thinking to do.

Asa’s head seemed to be awfully full these days. Too many questions and not enough answers.

With his own collecting being put on hold, the unknown serial killer hot on his trail, and now you taking over a section of his mind - Asa was going feral.

Later on that day, he caught you leaning against the frame of an office door talking to a clearly distressed student. Nodding as she frantically explains her situation and her troubles.

Everything about your posture and what words he could make out screamed overcompensated sympathy. The emotions you were pushing never reached your eyes and Asa took note of it.

The young woman’s shoulders finally relaxed and she thanked you before she saw Asa staring at the two of and hurrying out.

“Office hours are used to help students with their academics. Not their emotional turmoil.”

“Mind your business, Bug Boy.” You scoffed at the older man before brushing past him.

He could smell your shampoo as you walked away from him without bothering to spare him another moment of your attention.

He was surprised at the amount of restraint it took for him not to grab you by the back of your shirt and make you realize your not the only one in this building with a lust for power and control.

As he stood in the hallway thinking about that interaction, something felt extremely off. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but his gut was screaming at him.

He’ll have to engage with you up closer.

He waited until the next day and knew he could find you puttering about the lab with a bunch of sad excuses for entomology majors.

Asa hovered in the doorway as your voice filtered into his ears. He took note of how you maneuvered your way around tables and counters. Obsidian eyes lingering on your hips and as you unknowingly backed up towards him as you talked.

You were in your element and he couldn’t resist interjecting into your impromptu lesson about Heliconius’ genetic pathways. He wanted to see you flustered.

“But even so, wouldn’t co-mimetic Heliconius butterflies species be generated by similar adjustments to the same pathways?” He stepped deeper into the room as you whipped around to see who had interrupted. Asa watched you falter for a second and a smile threatened to creep on to his face. It took only a second for you to regain composure.

“You would think so, but no. After removing a specific gene in all three co-mimetic pairs they had dramatically different wing coloring and pattern.” You explained as you picked up a packet of paper and rounded the table to get closer to him.

“Which supports that even vastly different pathways can lead to the same wing pattern.” You now stood completely in front of him. Even though you were a good deal shorter than him, you talked and acted like you were the biggest in the room.

“Read the paperwork. It all checks out.” You held out a gloved hand with a neat packet of paper for the older man to take. Asa felt his upper lip twitch as his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose.

He took the packet away from you as you turned back to the group and continued on like he wasn’t even there to begin with.

Asa read and reread your notes several times before grinding his teeth together.

You were right.

You were right and if there’s anything that Asa Emory hates most in the world it’s to be wrong.

He set the packet down and left the room to go get some work done lick his wounds.

It wouldn’t be later that day when everyone was getting ready to head out when he would stumble into you again. You were making a cup of coffee before leaving and smiled when you saw him enter the lounge out of the corner of your eye.

After letting him stare at your back for a good minute, you turned to face the older man. You could see a conflict running it’s course through his mind and just couldn’t help yourself.

“Something bothering you, Dr. Emory? I’m sorry but office hours are not to be used for emotional tur-“

You weren’t able to finish your snide remark before weighty hands found purchase in your waist and forcefully backed you up against the counter.

A pair of dominating lips finding yours in a matter of seconds as he pushed more of his weight up against you. A guttural sound escaped the man as you reciprocated the action.

Not only was it an act of physical intimidation but also one of pure primal need.

Your hand slid behind his coat and pressed a warm hand against the muscle hidden underneath his dress shirt. His skin tingled where ever you ran your digits and Asa found himself seeking out more of your affection.

Squeezing your hips tightly in hopes that the skin will bruise and become discolored, that you’ll be forced to remember he did this to you.

He was the first to pull away. Eyes flicking down to your lips then back up to yours. You took a moment before you fully opened them and a grin carved its way on to your glistening lips.

And in that moment Asa wanted nothing more than to fuck the smugness out of you on the entomology lounge counter.

You were driving him absolutely mad. In more ways the one.

But he doesn’t know that yet.

From that point forward, your relationship was less of a cat and mouse game and more of a dance.

You often sat in his office and went over different hypotheses and data. Enjoying the challenge each of you presented to one another.

He’s began the action of hovering directly behind you while you work. Just to remind he has you beat when it came to the physical department.

You would just brush up against him in the right places and remind him that you weren’t scared of him.

This relationship was working out quite nicely but your brain was nagging at you.

Your whole reason for being here was to understand Asa, study his habits, and then remove him from your list of problems.

Not fuck him.

But you weren’t complaining. Frankly, you enjoyed his company more than you thought you ever would.

You wondered how long you could keep this going until he found out who you were.

Quite some time you wagered.

But the sadistic killer in Asa had other ideas.

As he organizing things on his desk he caught a glimpse of your handwriting and a wave of realization washed over him.

Rummaging through the contents of his desk he pulled out the small note card that he had received with the package all those weeks ago.

Asa put the two pieces of writing together and it clicked.

You were the one.

Strange enough, Asa found that he was more angry with himself for not realizing sooner than he was at you for lying to him.

Well, this is quite the development. He now had some decisions to make.

He’s wasn’t gonna kill you. No, that would be such a waste of a raw ferocity and intelligence.

Plus, the fun had only just begun between you two.

Asa’s gonna keep this little discovery to himself. Gonna let this dance you two have going continue.

But now he’s gonna lead it and he can’t wait to watch you fall.

#im sorry #theres been a huge fucking spike in asa content lately and i couldnt resist #this is such a s(crap)#have a groovy wednesday

191 notes · View notes

worryinglyinnocent · 4 years

Text

Fic: A Spark of Life and Hope

First fic in a brand new fandom. I always forget how nerve-wracking it is to start playing in a new sandbox. Enjoy!

Summary: There’s longing and desperation in his kiss, the pain of a parting almost but not quite upon them, wanting to draw this moment out as long as possible…

“Please,” she whispers as he finally lets her up for air. “One last time before you go.”

When Hohenheim leaves, he doesn’t know he’s left behind a spark of new life in Trisha. When he contemplates the possibility of having done so a couple of months later, it changes everything.

Hohenheim returns, Trisha lives, and as the years pass, hope and peace come to the Elric family as light comes to the shadows of Xerxes.

Rated: Mature – there’s some brief sexual content at the beginning, but it’s not the focus of the fic.

A Spark of Life and Hope

Hohenheim isn’t asleep. Trisha can tell. He’s staring up at the ceiling, thinking of tomorrow morning and what he’ll leave behind when he goes. He’s all packed ready, suitcase standing in the corner of the room like an ill omen, and she sees his eyes slide over to it every now and then.

She doesn’t know exactly what he’s leaving to do. He’s been open with her about his past and his nature and everything surrounding it, wanting her to know the truth before she committed herself to him, but she’s never pried too much into the work he does.

This is about more than just regaining his mortality, though. He’s left looking for leads on that before, but what he’s about to do is more important, more all-encompassing, and it will take him away for a lot longer. He’ll be away for years this time. He’s covering Amestris in its entirety, looking for something to prevent a crisis that only he, with his unusual traits, can prevent.

Trisha just wishes that it didn’t have to be him on this one-man mission to save the world.

She rolls over and pushes herself up on her forearms, leaning over him.

“Don’t think,” she says. “Don’t think about tomorrow. Just kiss me now.”

Hohenheim obliges readily, pulling her down with strong arms around her shoulders. There’s longing and desperation in his kiss, the pain of a parting almost but not quite upon them, wanting to draw this moment out as long as possible. Trisha gives in eagerly, shifting to straddle his hips.

“Please,” she whispers as he finally lets her up for air. “One last time before you go.”

They don’t do this very regularly. After so many years of people warning her that men were only interested in this one thing, Trisha was rather surprised to find that this is the one thing Hohenheim really isn’t interested in. She assumes its because of the souls, although she’s long since accepted that they’re there, and they can’t help being there, and she’s told him over and over that she doesn’t mind that they’re there. He’s still affectionate, with kisses and cuddles and soft touches; it’s not that he’s not intimate with her at all. Just the act itself he can take or leave.

He’s happy to participate when she wants it though, and now he nods, slipping his hands up under her nightdress and skimming his fingers over her breasts as she tugs it off over her head. His pyjama pants and undershirt go in short order too, and then he pulls her down to kiss her again, one hand slipping down between them to the apex of her thighs. He brushes over that sweet spot with his thumb, and Trisha gasps against his mouth, rocking her hips into his and feeling him begin to twitch and respond under her. She remembers their first time together: awkward, clumsy, fumbling and altogether wonderful.

They’ve come a long way since then, and they know how to make each other fall apart.

When Hohenheim finally pushes into her wet heat, they’re so close that Trisha can’t tell where she ends and where he begins. There’s almost no space between them, and yet they’re still not close enough for a goodbye that will last such a long time…

She comes with a cry, pressing a hand over her mouth in case she wakes the boys, and she feels Hohenheim’s fingers dig into her backside as he follows her over just a moment later. They stay panting in the afterglow for a while until Trisha sits up again, letting him slide out of her and grabbing a handkerchief from her nightstand to clean up with.

She’s going to miss this. She’s going to miss pondering the marvel of his unchanging body whilst he gazes lovingly at her scars and stretchmarks and fluctuating weight, all the things he says make her human and remarkable. She’s going to miss the way his hair looks when it’s loose and spread out over the pillow, the way that it shines in the moonlight showing its colour as truly gold instead of blond. She’s going to miss mapping him with her hands and lips.

The comparative infrequency of their love-making makes each time all the more beautiful and passionate, and it’ll be lost to her for a long time.

Maybe that will make their reunion sweeter.

“Trisha?”

Hohenheim reaches up to touch her face, and Trisha realises that she’s weeping. She twines her fingers with his, keeping his hand pressed against her cheek.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“I don’t want to leave.” He brings her hand down, kissing the palm before pulling her back down against his chest and holding her tight, face buried in her hair.

If only they could stay like this forever.

Eventually she slips off him, curling in close to his side and getting comfortable for sleep, but she doesn’t think it’ll come. Not tonight, and not for either of them. There’ll be time enough for her to sleep once Hohenheim is gone. For now, she just wants to savour this time that they still have together.

“Just promise me that you’ll come back, ok?” she whispers. “Don’t get yourself killed in your quest to save the country and your own mortality.”

“I promise. No matter what, I’ll make it back here. I promise we’ll grow old together.”

They lie together until the grey dawn chases the shadows into the corners, and Hohenheim sighs.

“I want to leave before the boys wake up. I don’t think I’ll be able to go through with it otherwise.”

Even as he says it, neither of them move for a long time afterwards. Eventually, though, Hohenheim unwraps his arm from around her and untangles their legs. Trisha watches him get dressed and pull his hair back, the couple of strands escaping at the front like they always do.

“Promise me you won’t cut your hair, either.”

He laughs. “I’m not likely to change my style after four hundred years.”

Once he’s ready to go, he comes back over to the bed and leans in to kiss her forehead.

“Wait for me. I’ll be back, I promise.”

She nods, and he’s just about to leave the room when she scrambles up, pulling on yesterday’s clothes.

“Wait. I want to see you off at the door.”

They walk through the silent house hand in hand, but Trisha’s fingers are shaking as she goes to unbolt the front door. Hohenheim’s hand closes over hers.

“It’s ok. I’ve got it.”

He hands her the suitcase and unlocks the door, but he doesn’t open it. For a long time he just looks at her, as if he’s trying to drink in the sight of her as much as he can, a mental photograph to cling to whilst he’s away.

Then he’s kissing her again, a final frantic kiss, his hands on her face and his legs bumping the suitcase awkwardly against hers. Trisha doesn’t care, letting go of it with one hand and pulling him in closer.

“I love you,” Hohenheim whispers.

“I love you too.”

It can’t last forever, as much as they might like it to, and eventually they have to break apart.

Trisha sighs. “Take care of yourself. Don’t get into trouble.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“And…” Trisha trails off as she sees movement out of the corner of her eye and the boys come into view. She sees Hohenheim freeze when he realises they’re there, sees him withdraw into himself. The very reason he wanted to leave early, and now they’re here and he’s here on the threshold.

She’s not surprised that he leaves the house without a word, not when she can see the tell-tale little tremble in his throat and the set in his shoulders that means his stoicism is only hanging on by a thread.

The fact he didn’t say goodbye still hurts, though.

When she gets back to the window after sorting the boys out, she can just about see him in the distance on the path down towards the town, head bowed and shoulders drooping. With the boys safely back in their own beds, Trisha crawls back into hers, burying her face in the pillows that still smell like him and crying her eyes out.

Two weeks after Hohenheim leaves, there’s no blood in Trisha’s underwear when there should be, and a few days after that, she feels the same kind of distinctive, curdling nausea in the pit of her stomach that she’s felt twice before.

Something has been eating at Hohenheim ever since he left. Whilst at first he put it down to the pain of leaving his life behind him, the more that he’s gone on and the more that he’s been unable to let go of it, the more he’s been thinking about it and the more he’s fixated on it.

That last morning, that last kiss at the front door… Something was different about Trisha and he hasn’t been able to put his finger on it. He keeps telling himself that it’s just her sadness at him leaving, but that feeling that something was off about her, not wrong per se as different to normal, won’t let him go.

He’s dozing on a train to Western City when it hits him, and he jerks into full and very aware consciousness.

He’s felt that same kind of oddness around her before, he just didn’t register it properly at the time, not until a lot later.

Alkahestry relies on being able to feel the flow of life through the body and the earth - the chi, as the Xingese call it. Hohenheim has spent so long helping to develop alkahestry and tying it up with alchemy; he’s become so used to feeling it that it’s just second nature to him, like the hum of the souls in his veins.

During that last desperate kiss, pressed in so close against Trisha, his hands on her face, there was something different about her chi. It was just a little bit more forceful, just a little bit hotter. Barely noticeable, but there.

He’s noticed it about her before, a couple of times, but not usually until it became much more obvious, until the balance was very clearly tipped.

It was more forceful and hotter because there was more of it.

There was more of it, and it hadn’t split off to become someone separate’s chi yet. It was still a part of Trisha’s. A part of his, too.

Trisha is pregnant.

He’s glad he’s on a train in the middle of nowhere when he realises, because his first reaction is silent panic, and at least he has until Western City to think what to do next.

On the one hand, he intended to leave and not return until Homunculus was defeated, and everything would be well in the world, and he could return knowing that he wouldn’t have to leave again.

On the other hand, that was before Trisha was pregnant with a child he might not get to meet for years. Trisha did not have easy pregnancies with Ed and Al, and he would never want her to go through a third on her own.

By the time he gets off the train in Western, he has at least some semblance of a plan. The change in Trisha’s chi was so small that it could be that it never took and never became a pregnancy; she might be none the wiser that it had ever been there in the first place, so maybe he should check first before he starts panicking afresh.

He doesn’t have to go far to find a payphone, and the ringing as he waits for it to connect is far too loud in his ear.

“Hello?”

“Edward, it’s me… It’s Dad.”

“Dad! Where are you? Are you coming home?”

“I’m… Is your mom there?”

“Mom’s sick.” There’s a shuffle on the end of the phone as Al comes over to investigate on hearing that AWOL-for-two-months-Dad has resurfaced.

“Ed, how is she sick? Fever, flu, throwing up?”

“She’s throwing up all the time. Granny Pinako says we won’t catch it though.”

Well, no, they’re definitely in no danger of that.

“I’ll get Mom!” Hohenheim hears Al’s footsteps patter up the stairs and out of earshot.

“No, if she’s sick just let her rest…” He knows it’s fruitless, and just listens to Ed chatter on about everything that’s happened since he’s been gone until he hears Trisha’s voice.

“Love?”

“Trisha.” It’s such a relief to hear her voice that for a moment he can’t say anything else.

“Boys, could you go into the other room please so I can talk to your father in private? Thank you.” She returns to him. “How have you been?”

“I’m fine. I was calling to see how you were.”

“I’m…” There’s a long sigh. “I’m ok. I just miss you.”

“Are you sure you’re ok? The boys said you were sick.”

“It’s nothing, I’ll be fine, and it’s not catching.”

“Trisha, are you pregnant?” He hadn’t intended it to sound so blunt, and there’s silence at the other end of the phone for a long time.

“Yes.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “Yes, I am. It had to have happened that last night before you left. I… It’s your baby, my love, I just didn’t want you to worry, or feel like you had to come back before you’ve finished what you’re doing…”

“Oh Trisha, I never thought for a moment it wasn’t mine.” He leans against the side of the phone booth, resting his forehead against the glass. “I’ll be home in three weeks; I’ll need to pick up some research materials from Central.”

“You need to do what you set out to do.”

“I will. I’ll just have to go about it a different way.” He paused. “I want to meet my third child when they’re born, Trisha. I’m selfish like that.”

She laughs on the other end of the line, soft and musical.

“I want that too.”

There’s such wistful yearning in her voice, and it makes something inside Hohenheim clench to hear it.

“I love you, Trisha. I love you, and I’ll see you soon.”

Three weeks later, he’s halfway up the lane to the house when he hears a long shout of ‘DAAAAAAAAD!’ and Ed and Al come barrelling down the hill towards him. He tries and fails to brace himself for the impact and they all end up in a pile on the path.

“You’re back,” Al says triumphantly.

Hohenheim nods, winded. “Yes. I’m back.”

They let him up and Al attempts to drag the suitcase up the hill. In the end it takes both of them, and Hohenheim trails after. He hadn’t intended to be back so soon, but if there’s one thing that has always been certain in his life, it’s that nothing ever really goes the way he plans it. This is just another one of those things. The fight to stop Homunculus will continue, but for now, it’ll continue in theory and calculation only, in things he can be here in Resembool to do.

“Mom, Mom, Dad’s back!”

As he enters the house and closes the door behind him, Hohenheim hears retching from the kitchen, and he goes through to find Trisha hunched over the sink.

She glances over her shoulder at him as she turns the taps on hard.

“Not exactly the romantic reunion I was planning,” she says lightly. “It’s ok, the sickness is getting better. It’ll have gone in a couple of weeks.”

“Oh, Trisha.”

She melts into his arms, squeezing him tightly.

“Thank you for coming back,” she whispers. “I know that…” She tails off. “Thank you.”

Later, when they’re curled up together in bed, Trisha pressed in close against his chest, she voices the thought that will go on to change everything.

“I think you should tell the children your story.”

“I think you’re insane.”

“Maybe not the overnight death of the entire country and the accidental immortality and the half a million souls sharing your headspace. Maybe not yet. But I think you should tell them about your life before. About Xerxes.” She pauses. “The boys kept asking me about you when you were gone, and it made me realise just how little they really know you. It’s their heritage as well. It’s their culture, their language. They’re a part of you, and so it’s a part of them. You used to speak Xerxian to them all the time when they were babies.” She laughs softly. “That’s how I knew just how deeply and unconditionally you loved them. You did it without even thinking.”

“That makes it sound like I don’t love you deeply and unconditionally because I never speak it with you.”

“That’s because you met me long after I learned to talk and understand Amestrian, silly.”

“I love you,” Hohenheim says in his mother tongue. It feels odd to be speaking it to Trisha. He’s so used to not using it with anyone, in any situation where it might mark out his otherness. Everyone is wary of people who speak what they can’t understand, and a long-dead, completely unrecognisable language is even more suspicious.

But Trisha knows him and knows his story and knows where he’s from. Why shouldn’t he be himself with her?

She raises an eyebrow. “Can I guess what that was?”

“Probably.”

She leans in and kisses him. “I love you too.”

There’s silence for a long time, and Hohenheim thinks she’s fallen asleep until she speaks again.

“I mean it. The children are half-Xerxian. They deserve to know where they come from.”

Many years later, Hohenheim will think back on this conversation and realise that of Trisha’s many good ideas, this was definitely the best one she ever had.

Although Trisha feels a little guilty for pulling Hohenheim back from his quest when he’d only just got started on it, the sheer relief at him being back more than cancels it out. The last two months of morning sickness, trying to remain upbeat and look after the boys at the same time, have been awful, and him being here just makes everything so much easier.

The sickness goes, replaced with aches and cramping and general discomfort. Trisha is not one of those ladies who enjoy being pregnant. She felt lousy the entire time with both Ed and Al, and she knows she’s going to feel lousy with this one, too.

But in return for suffering through it, she’s going to get a beautiful son or daughter, and that’s the thought that keeps her going.

It takes some persuading for Hohenheim to come around to her idea of telling the boys about himself, but one night, when she’s already in bed feeling even worse than normal and Hohenheim has been in charge of the evening routine, she hears him settle on the floor in the boys’ room to tell them their bedtime story.

“Edward, Alphonse… Do you know I’m not from Amestris? Well, this is the story of the country I was born in. This is the story of Xerxes…”

He weaves his tale into their bedtime stories for the next few nights, and the boys lap it up eagerly, voracious in their desire to learn more about the country that might have been theirs if history had turned out different. Trisha listens equally spellbound, tucked up in her own bed, nursing her aching baby bump and feeling too feverish and breathless, more so than the previous two pregnancies.

It’s only the woozy next morning, when she can’t quite wake up despite Hohenheim’s panicking voice sounding far too loud in her ears, that she realises this isn’t just the baby making her feel horrible. She hears him call the Rockbells, hears him pack Ed and Al off to stay with them for a few days, hears the words isolation, infection, quarantine, hears him argue with Yuriy and Sarah and Pinako, hears the vague but true affirmation I’ll take care of her, I don’t get sick.

She doesn’t remember the next few days. She remembers broken, fitful sleep and fighting for breath. She remembers the red crackle of Hohenheim’s alchemy.

She remembers waking up properly conscious at last. Still very much unwell, still feverish, but with clear lungs. She remembers Hohenheim taking care of her until the boys come back – safe, well and unaffected. She’s on bed rest for the next month, and in the dead of night, Hohenheim sleeping the sleep of the completely exhausted beside her, Trisha dreads to think what would have happened if he had not been there.

There are no secrets between them, but even after years have passed, she will never breathe a word of that fear – that she would have died and left the boys on their own – to him.

Like the first two both did, their third child arrives at night.

The boys are in bed asleep, and the evening is wearing on. Trisha has been uncomfortable all day, unable to find a position that doesn’t cause her aches or pains somewhere, and she finally nods when Hohenheim asks if she wants to have a bath. He helps her into it, says he’ll come back in half an hour, and goes back downstairs thinking nothing of it, going back to his study and the reams of paperwork spread out all over it. He’s nearly at a breakthrough, he can feel it.

All thoughts of alchemy and solar eclipses go clean out of his head when he hears a loud splash from above him, a splash much louder than Trisha just moving around in the tub, and he takes the stairs two at a time, knocking on the bathroom door.

“Trisha? Are you all right?”

There’s a whimpering groan in response and he goes in. Trisha’s on her knees in the tub, gripping the edge with white knuckles, forehead resting on her hands. There’s water all over the floor.

“Trisha? What’s happening?”

“I’m nine months pregnant and due in three days, what do you think’s happening?”

Oh good grief.

“The pain’s been coming ever since I got in the bath, but now it’s really, really coming, and I felt my water go as well.”

Oh good grief.

Considering that this has happened twice before and he was definitely around both times, Hohenheim feels completely clueless in that moment. He crosses the room to the tub and closes his hands over Trisha’s, prising her fingers away from the metal before she breaks all her nails. She latches on to him instead.

“It hurts more this time,” she says. “With Ed and Al it was more gradual, I had more time to get used to it. This time it’s…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, her words becoming a high keen of pain, and Hohenheim hears the boys waking up and talking to each other about the noise. He tries to move away, but Trisha’s hold on him is like iron.

“Don’t leave. Please don’t leave, I’m scared. It’s all happening so quickly.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You ran off and hid when Ed was born.”

“I’m not doing that, I swear, but we need to call Pinako.”

“Not enough time.”

“We can’t do this by ourselves.”

“We’ll have to.”

Outside, the boys are still whispering urgently. Hohenheim pushes Trisha’s damp hair out of her face.

“I won’t leave the room, ok?”

She nods, letting go her limpet grip. Hohenheim goes to the bathroom door and peers around it; Ed and Al are looking out of their room.

“Boys, I have an important job for you. I need you to go downstairs, call the Rockbells, and say that Mom is having the baby now. And stay downstairs, please.”

Ed drags Al down the stairs, and Hohenheim returns to Trisha, settling on the floor beside the tub and offering her his hand to squeeze again.

“It’s coming,” she pants. “Pinako warned me that it gets quicker every time.” Her nails dig into his palm to the point of pain. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m right here.”

“Van Hohenheim, don’t you dare leave me now!”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He means it, although he can well understand why Trisha needs the reassurance considering the last two times. It’s strange how comparatively calm he feels now. For Ed’s birth he’d been so frantic that he couldn’t stay in the house, let alone the room, leaving it to the Rockbells to get Trisha through it whilst he dealt with half a million panicking souls not including his own. For Al’s, he hadn’t panicked quite so much, but he’d been watching Ed so again, he hadn’t been in the room.

Now the boys are old enough to look after themselves for a while, and he’s here with Trisha whilst she’s labouring, and although there’s an undercurrent of panic, he’s objectively calm, because Trisha’s body has done this twice before, and she can tell him what she needs, and he knows he has enough medical knowledge through alkahestry to be able to help him out if necessary.

He really hopes that it won’t be necessary.

It’s nice having Hohenheim here with her. With Ed, he was a nervous wreck and vanished off somewhere until Yuriy went and found him and brought him back after Ed was born and safely tucked up in Trisha’s arms and Pinako had dealt with the clean-up. With Al, he was much calmer and more collected, but also looking after an inquisitive eighteen-month-old, so he didn’t really have a lot of choice in the matter. Now, with this little one, he’s here with her, one hand rubbing her back whilst the other one offers itself up to her vice grip on him.

She really doesn’t think that Pinako will get here in time. The pains are faster and stronger than she remembers them from the last two times. Everything is quicker and more intense this time around, and she heaves a shuddering breath as another contraction pulls through her belly.

You’ll know when the baby’s coming, Sarah says in her mind, preparing her for Ed’s birth, almost six years ago now. She’d just had Winry, so she’d know. There’ll be so much pressure that you just have to push it out; it’ll be the only thought in your head.

It was like that the first two times, and it had been at this stage that Pinako had told her to push. It’s like that now.

“It’s coming now,” she says, digging her fingernails into Hohenheim’s hand and feeling the crackle of his innate alchemy fixing him when she scratches and draws blood by accident. It doesn’t seem to bother him.

“Ok.”

“You’re so calm. Oddly calm, for you.”

Hohenheim laughs nervously and pushes her butt back down under the surface where she’s shifting and wriggling in her discomfort. He must be covered in water by now. “Oh, I’m screaming on the inside.”

Another pain comes, the pressure is unbearable, and Trisha goes with her gut, howling as she pushes the baby down.

“It’s coming, it’s coming NOW!”

“Ok, it’s ok.” Hohenheim doesn’t sound quite as calm now. “Just go with your instinct.”

Instinct is telling her to push the baby out by any means necessary. Instinct is telling her that it feels like she’s being torn apart from the inside out. Instinct is telling her, in the midst of the pain and the pressure and the tears rolling down her face, that this baby is a girl.

“I’ve got to get her OUT!”

The pain is blinding, just like it was with Ed and Al, and Trisha screams.

“I can feel the head. Keep going, my love, you’re doing so well.”

Pain, squeeze, pain, push, pain, scream, blessed relief.

“I’ve got her.” Hohenheim sounds as if he’s about to faint. He guides the baby between her thighs and Trisha flops down onto her back, sending water careening over the side of the tub.

Then a new-born’s cry is echoing around the bathroom tiles, and Hohenheim is placing their third child on her chest, tucking in a towel around her.

“Girl?”

“Girl,” he affirms. Trisha checks for herself just in case. One perfect little girl, pink and loud and angry.

“Hello, baby,” she coos, stroking the hot little cheek. “Hello, my little one. Open your eyes for me, baby. Let’s see if you’ve got your daddy’s eyes.”

Her daughter does not oblige, but she does quieten down as she latches on to Trisha’s breast. She looks up at Hohenheim. He’s completely drenched, and he looks like he might keel over any moment, but he’s smiling, and Trisha can’t remember the last time she saw him express such unbridled joy since he first met Ed and then Al.

Trisha hears the commotion downstairs as Pinako and Sarah arrive, Ed and Al exclaiming that they’ve heard the baby crying, but it doesn’t really register with her until they come into the bathroom.

Pinako takes a look at the scene and raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t know which one of you is wetter. Is there any water even left in the tub?”

Trisha just laughs, and Pinako gives a good natured sigh. “All right. You’ve done very well, all things considered. I’m surprised he hasn’t fainted yet. Let’s get the cord cut and the afterbirth out, and then we’ll deal with this mess.”

Sarah takes the scissors out of her medical bag and offers them to Hohenheim. “Would you like to do the honours?”

“No, I don’t think I should be trusted with sharp objects right now.”

Sarah fails to smother her snort of laughter at that. Within minutes, the cord is clamped and cut and Pinako is massaging her belly to encourage the afterbirth out. Hohenheim leans against the side of the tub beside her, and Trisha nudges her forehead against his.

“Hey. You did good.” He did more than good, but she’s too addled to think of a better word right now.

“I think we can safely say you did all the work.”

Baby finishes nursing and Trisha looks down into her eyes, now open and glorious Xerxian gold like her father’s and brothers’.

She barely notices delivering the afterbirth, and everything afterwards becomes a bit of a blur. Sarah takes the baby to weigh and measure her and check her over so she can make notes for the birth certificate, and Pinako finds a mop and tells them she’ll deal with cleaning up the room, whilst Hohenheim carries Trisha to their bedroom wrapped in a towel. She only really comes back to herself once he’s dried her off and tucked her up in bed in a clean nightgown, and Sarah brings their wiped down and tightly swaddled daughter through to them.

“I told the boys to wait downstairs, but I can see that they’re literally on the bottom step,” she says. “They’re very eager to meet their sister.” She looks Hohenheim up and down. “You should probably change before they see you though.”

Considering he’s still soaked to the skin in slimy bathwater, Trisha has to agree, and Sarah leaves them alone to go and help Pinako.

Baby settles into Trisha’s arms and closes her eyes, and Trisha can’t help brushing a finger over her little nose and puckered lips, so small and perfect. “She needs a name before we introduce her to her brothers.” She pauses. “Come here.”

No longer looking quite so dramatic, Hohenheim comes over and sits on the edge of the bed as he finishes buttoning his shirt. Trisha doesn’t mention the fact he’s buttoned it skewed.

“You haven’t held her yet.”

“I caught her as she was being born. I held her before you did.”

“That’s not the same and you know it.” She carefully passes the bundle of blankets over, and although for a moment he looks like she’s given him a live hand grenade, he relaxes and tucks baby in close against his chest, gazing down at her in wonder like he did when he first held Ed and Al. He’s lived for so long and he’s seen so much, some good and lots more of it bad, but the miracle of life is still a miracle. Creating a brand new person with a brand new soul is something alchemy can never do.

“Ada,” he says softly. “It means noble, like her mother.”

Trisha smiles. “Ada Elric it is.”

She knows that Ed and Al are champing at the bit to come and meet the baby, but for now she wants a few more minutes to enjoy this time that’s just the three of them, her and Hohenheim and the little girl they made. Hohenheim is murmuring to her in gentle, sing-song Xerxian, and Trisha doesn’t understand enough yet to know what he’s telling her, but she recognises I love you so much.

He drops a kiss on her forehead and passes her back to Trisha. “I’ll go and get the boys.”

Trisha glances at the window as she strokes Ada’s pink cheek. It’s the middle of the night and they’re all still awake and heaven knows what tomorrow will bring, but it’s all right, because tonight is a momentous night.

The door opens carefully and Ed and Al peer around it, Hohenheim shepherding them inside.

“Come in, boys. Come and meet your baby sister.”

They creep over to the bed, clambering up onto the mattress and leaning over to take a look. Ada squints and crinkles her face up. She’s so little she probably can’t even see them, and definitely not to take notice of them.

“She’s tiny,” Ed breathes. “What’s her name?”

“This is Ada.”

“Was she really born in the bath? How didn’t she drown?”

Trisha laughs. “You’ll learn that when you’re older. But she’s here, and she’s perfectly well.”

“Can we hold her? Please?”

“Not tonight. She’s had quite a big adventure already and she needs to rest nice and snug. But you can meet her properly and hold her tomorrow.”

They’re all so caught up in their admiration for the little one that no one notices Sarah step in with her camera.

The picture she takes becomes one of Trisha’s favourites, and one of the few pictures she has of all five of them together. Hohenheim tends to shy away from photos, knowing that they provide an indelible record of his unchanging state. It’s just a simple candid snap, none of them looking at the camera, and it's beautiful in its honesty.

Ten years later, it’s the one picture Trisha will put into her bag when they travel. Just in case they don’t make it back to Resembool. Just in case the children never see their father again.

It never fails to amaze Trisha how quickly they settle into a new routine after Ada’s birth.

Hohenheim still spends most of his time in his study, but now the door is open a lot more and the boys dart in and out, practising alchemy in the corner under the watchful, empty gaze of the suit of armour. They continue to learn bits and pieces of Xerxian, and Trisha’s privately impressed with how much she understands now, as well. They’re starting to teach it to Winry too, and the three of them conspire in the garden, perhaps not realising that Trisha can interpret more than they anticipate, absorbing it by osmosis.

She notices that Hohenheim is not quite as distant with them as he was before. Beginning to teach them about himself and where he comes from, and where they in turn can also claim their heritage from, has been good for his relationship with them, bringing them closer together.

Trisha always remembers with fondness the first time she left Hohenheim alone with all three children. She had been so nervous at the time. She’d had visions of coming home to find the house burned down. Not that her husband is a complete disaster - he managed to fend for himself for hundreds of years, after all - but to say that he’s absent-minded at times is an understatement.

Sarah had laughed at her as they walked down to the village. “How much trouble can they get into when one of them is only two months old?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.”

When she had returned, the house was still in one piece and blessedly quiet, and she’d entered the living room to find the floor completely covered in paper where the boys were drawing basic transmutation circles. Ed waved at her to be quiet, and she’d looked over to see Hohenheim dozed off in his chair in the corner, with Ada sleeping soundly on his chest. It was one of those moments where she really wished she had a camera handy.

Trisha can tell when Hohenheim is reaching a crisis point in his research, because the study door shuts and there’s a worried frown line between his brows that won’t go away. He withdraws into himself again, pulling away from them, and she wishes she knew why.

It’s just before Ada’s first birthday that she sits him down and asks him to tell her everything about what’s going on.

He tries to demur, but Trisha already knows that what he’s planning and plotting against is something so far-reaching she might not even be able to comprehend it. He had planned to leave them for a very, very long time to accomplish his goals, and although she knows that his perception of time is all over the place due to having lived so long already, she knows that he knows the significance of a decade in their lives. He’s been back, away from his quest but still working tirelessly towards it, for almost eighteen months. Eighteen months that he could have been away doing things in other parts of Amestris.

Finally, he gives her the whole story.

It’s almost too large to comprehend, and it certainly takes a long time to tell it.

Trisha agrees that the children shouldn’t hear a word of it. Not now, at least, and maybe not even when they’re older.

At least she understands the immense gravity of the situation now.

(She already felt a deep sense of dread when Yuriy and Sarah were called up to the Ishval front and now she feels sick, knowing what the conflict is truly for.)

After Ada turns one, their routine changes.

Hohenheim starts to travel again; it’s unavoidable in what he has to do. He has to follow the path that his strange nemesis has already taken. He tries to be regular in his habits though. Three months on the road, one month back in Resembool. He misses Ada’s first word, only learning in a phone booth on the Cretan border that it was ‘dog’, but more poignantly, that it was ‘dog’ in Xerxian, not Amestrian.

It startles him when he actually hears her speak for the first time. She’s scared of the telephone and won’t come near it to talk to him when he calls. He’s only just come in the front door and put his suitcase down and kissed Trisha when he hears daddy daddy daddy babbled in the language of the sun and Ada toddles over and grabs his leg.

“She is, without a doubt, your daughter,” Trisha says smugly.

Time goes on. Months pass. Years pass. Hohenheim has to spend longer and longer away, but everyone is always pleased to see him when he returns, no matter what’s been going on in the meantime. Gradually, the children learn more and more of his history and of the work that he’s doing as he trails around the country leaving souls in the ground.

Then, all of a sudden, it’s four months until the Promised Day, and Hohenheim knows he won’t see his family again before that dread event.

It feels like only yesterday he left for the very first time. He’s missed so much of his family’s lives. He’s missed almost all of Ada’s milestones. At least he had five uninterrupted years with the boys.

At least, once this is all over, he’ll have time to make up for lost time.

He hopes he will.

Edward comes into the bedroom as he’s packing to leave for this final time.

“I want to go with you.”

It’s the fact he’s speaking Xerxian that convinces Hohenheim of his unyielding sincerity. Both he and Al are fluent now; Ada’s been bilingual since she could talk and prefers her father’s tongue to her mother’s. Trisha knows enough to get by comfortably and she understands far more than she speaks or writes; she can always follow Ed and Ada when they get into motormouth mode even though she replies in Amestrian.

Hohenheim looks at his eldest child. He’s fifteen, and he’s just as fiery and headstrong as Hohenheim himself was when he was fifteen, before he became Hohenheim. Before everything happened. His mastery of alchemy is paralleled only by Al’s. Hohenheim could not be prouder of his son, but he can’t say yes to him.

“Edward, I appreciate your offer, but no.”

“Why not? Surely you need all the help that you can get against this bastard.”

“I do. But not you. You are my son, and I love you, and I will never put you in danger like that. I need you to take care of your mother, and your brother and sister. I need you to follow the plan and keep them safe for me.”

The plan was put in place a while ago, after Hohenheim had travelled through the smouldering remains of Ishval and learned that some of the refugees had made their way to the ruins of Xerxes and found shelter and peace in a place with such a bloody history. The survivors he had met had known he wasn’t Amestrian, had known he was something… other.

He had helped them, and they had said that his family would be welcome in the sanctuary that had once been his home.

Ed nods. He’s not happy, Hohenheim can tell, but he’s accepting.

Hohenheim does not expect the hug. Ed is not tactile in the same way his siblings are. Sometimes Hohenheim wonders if that’s because he never really hugged his son when he was younger.

Whatever the reason, Ed throws his arms around his father and buries his face in his shoulder.

“Don’t leave us.” He knows he’s not talking about this latest trip, but a far more permanent departure. “Please come back. You’ve always come back before.”

“You have my word.”

For someone who has never left Resembool, the prospect of a journey to a ruined city in the middle of the desert is a daunting one. Nonetheless, Trisha knows what she has to do. She feels terrible to be leaving her country on the brink of disaster – especially a disaster that they don’t know is coming. She feels awful to be leaving her friends and neighbours. She feels awful to be leaving Pinako, although Pinako tells her to stop being silly and take care of Winry on their journey.

“Everything will be fine, and you’ll be back before you know it,” she says as she helps them pack up. “You’ve always had faith in Hohenheim before, haven’t you?”

Trisha nods. She still has faith in him now. She doesn’t want to leave; it feels like a betrayal of her trust in him, but he had insisted. He would not be able to live with himself if something went wrong, if he didn’t succeed, and if his family was caught up in the crossfire. So, for his peace of mind, knowing that he doesn’t have to worry about them whilst he does what he has to do, Trisha and the children will leave Amestris before the Promised Day. They had tried to persuade Pinako to come with them, but she steadfastly refuses, saying she’s needed in Resembool. She concedes to let Winry go away with them, though.

The trip to the ruins of Xerxes is a tense, nervous one, the vastness of what’s at stake making everyone jumpy and irritable. The Ishvalans are expecting them, and although they keep their distance, there’s definitely a mutual curiosity there.

It’s the language that brings them together, that first evening. Trisha and the Ishvalan elder who welcomed them, Miriam, speak Amestrian to each other, but within the family group, they lapse into Xerxian without thinking – Winry’s been part of their extended family for long enough to be able to follow in the same way Trisha does. It just seems natural to speak it here.

It’s the language of this place, Ed explains to the Ishvalan boys who venture to ask about this strange tongue they’ve never heard anyone from Amestris speak before. It’s the language of Xerxes, the language of their ancestors. The language of their father.

There’s so much enthusiasm and just sheer pride in Ed’s voice as he explains. This place may not be their home, but it is their homeland, and although the circumstances that have brought them here are bleak, they’re excited to explore it, to match it up to the bedtime stories that Hohenheim told them when they were small.

Then, the Promised Day comes. Despite telling herself that she’s not going to, Trisha can’t help but stare over at the horizon in the direction of Amestris, towards where Hohenheim is facing his destiny. She sees the shadows of the eclipse, the swirling storm of alchemy. It’s so far away, and yet it still takes her breath away.

Miriam comes over to where she’s keeping up her vigil and squeezes her hand.

“I’m sure your husband will be all right.”

Trisha has every faith in him, but that doesn’t stop the gnawing fear from eating away at her insides.

Four days after the storm, Trisha thinks that she sees something moving in the heat shimmer on the horizon, and she keeps glancing across at it all day. By lunch time, Ada sees it too and stations herself at the edge of the city, keeping a stubborn watch despite everyone’s best efforts to get her to move. Eventually, Trisha comes and sits in the shade beside her, and they keep their eyes on the figure until its shape emerges; a person on horseback cloaked against the desert sun, leading a packhorse. Trisha’s heart leaps to her mouth.

On the one hand, Hohenheim promised that he would come and meet them in Xerxes after the Promised Day. On the other hand, horses hate him because of the overabundance of souls.

On a third, purely hypothetical hand… Trisha doesn’t even dare to hope.

“It’s Dad,” Ada says firmly, and Trisha has to physically pull her back from running into the desert to meet him.

“We don’t know that yet, sweetheart. We need them to get closer.”

Al comes over with a telescope borrowed from one of the Ishvalan kids, and he peers through it.

“I can’t tell,” he says. “They’re too bundled up against the sand.”

“It’s Dad.” Ada’s so confident, and Trisha’s heart goes into overdrive.

The sun’s started to go down by the time the figure gets close enough for Al to make out features, and Trisha doesn’t hear Ada’s smug assertion that she knew she was right. She just throws her arms around her son, crying with relief.

It’s another couple of hours before he reaches them, and this time Trisha doesn’t stop Ada from running out across the sand, with Ed, Al and Winry hot on her heels. She watches Hohenheim dismount and get lost in a group hug; she hears the strains of their voices in rapid Xerxian but can’t make out individual words.

She sees Al point across towards the city, to where she stands silhouetted against the worn down sandstone walls.

Trisha can’t help herself, and she runs out to join them. The children part like a wave and she throws herself into Hohenheim’s arms, clinging to him like a limpet. She feels him bury his face in against her neck.

“Is it over?” she asks.

“It’s over.”

“Did you win?”

“We won. It’s all over. It’s all done. Everything’s going to be all right.”

She kisses him then, pouring all of the worry and fear and sheer relief that he’s alive into it, her fingers tangling in his hair and trying to get him even closer as his hands cup her face, brushing away her tears.

There’s a slight commotion beside them, and when she finally lets go, Trisha sees that Ed has clamped his hands over Ada’s eyes, Ada is complaining about this, and Al and Winry are just killing themselves laughing.

“I think we should… go.” Ed shepherds his siblings back towards the city and Hohenheim chuckles, putting his glasses back on where they were knocked askew in the exuberance of the reunion before resting his forehead against Trisha’s with a sigh.

As Trisha untangles her fingers, she notices that there are strands of Hohenheim’s hair shining silver in the moonlight, contrasting against the gold. Stepping back and looking at him more closely, she sees the beginnings of lines around his eyes that weren’t there before.

He’s aged.

“The souls…”

“Just one left,” he says. “Just mine. Everything’s very quiet now. I’d forgotten what it felt like.” He kisses her again. “I promised I’d come back and grow old with you.”

“Yes. Yes you did.”

They walk back to the city holding hands as they lead the horses. Trisha still can’t quite believe that it’s all turned out for the best. She can’t believe that it’s all over, that Hohenheim is back and he won’t have to leave again. After seeing to the horses, they wander through the city, Hohenheim pointing out all the places he remembers from his distant youth until they reach their campsite.

It’s a long time before anyone sleeps that night, everyone too excited and overwhelmed by everything that’s happened, Ed and Al pressing Hohenheim for details of the final battle that he won’t give.

(Maybe later, when they’re adults and they can fully grasp the horrific reality of everything that went on, but Trisha thinks that Hohenheim will take those secrets to his grave.)

Even when they finally cuddle up together under their blankets, Trisha still has to press her hand over Hohenheim’s chest to feel the steady thump of his heart to reassure her that it’s not just a fever dream brought on by the desert sun.

“You’re really here.”

“I know. I can’t believe it either.”

She bats his chest. “Don’t start. I knew you could do it.”

“That makes one of us.”

“Oh, you.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way, though, would you?”

“Never.”

Trisha drifts off with Hohenheim’s arms around her, his breath ghosting through her hair.

When she wakes up alone, she’s not at all surprised. She gets up and checks on the children – Al is awake and gives her a little nod of understanding, gesturing the direction Hohenheim went in.

She finds him on his knees in front of what had been the palace, gazing up at the once-magnificent building with tears streaming down his face.

His home is destroyed, and his people are gone, and it’s no less painful now than it was four hundred years ago. Maybe even more so now that the souls are all gone too.

She sits down beside him and takes his hand in hers, and there’s a profound silence between them for a long time.

“I think it’s good that you’re here,” she says eventually. “This is where you lost your mortality, and this is where you regain it.” She touches the silver in his hair. “This is your absolution.”

Hohenheim nods.

“It’s not just that.” His voice is quiet, choked with emotion. “It’s the knowledge that despite it all, despite the devastation and the loss, it’s not all gone.”

“I don’t understand.”

“This place is a home again,” Hohenheim says. “The Ishvalans have made it into a home again. They’re the new Xerxians. This place is theirs now, and in time they’ll build it up and make it beautiful again. It’s not my home; it hasn’t been since I left it. My home is in Resembool with you and our children. It’s theirs, and I can’t think of anything more fitting. And my people… My people are still here too.”

Trisha wonders if he even notices he’s slipped into his native tongue.

“They’re still alive. Edward, Alphonse, Ada… They’re alive and they know about this place and its people, they know who they are. It’s not all gone, it’s not all lost. Even after I’m gone, they’ll still be here, and they’ll still remember.”

Now, Trisha understands.

“I love you, Trisha. Thank you for everything.”

“I love you too. It’s been a pleasure.”

As the sun begins to rise high over the desert, Trisha knows that true peace has finally come to her family.

#FMA Brotherhood #Fullmetal Alchemist #FMA fanfiction #Trisha Elric #Van Hohenheim #AU #Trisha lives #unplanned pregnancy #some discussion of asexuality #I seriously considered calling this 'The Law of Inverse Fertility'#Fic: Spark

5 notes · View notes

astyle-alex · 3 years

Photo

[FANFIC - Destiel & JayTim]

Multiverse Mishap | DCU Bat Family x Supernatural

Fandom: DCU Bat Family x Supernatrual Pairings: Destiel, Jay x Tim Rating: Teen Warnings: Swearing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Heavy Angst (with a happy ending), Implied Underage Prostitution Total Word Count: ~156k | SPN vers = 76k / Bat vers = 80k

Summary:

One slip up in the lab has Tim Drake careening into a new world where things are rather dramatically different from the world he’s used to. Fortunately, this is not his first rodeo. He knows how to handle this nonsense, more or less at least. Unfortunately, the people of the world he’s wound up in see things a little differently. And when Dick Grayson and Jason Todd mount an ill-conceived rescue mission, things get complicated very quickly.

When Team Free Will is at their lowest (well, their lowest as of YET, at least) with Castiel missing (and probably human), they get thrown a lifeline. Charlie calls with a lead on a strange young-man who bears a stunning resemblance to their MIA angel. Even with the world on a precipice around them, Sam and Dean won’t leave their angel out to dry—Dean especially has a few missteps he’d like to make up for… If only he could find some way to get through to one hella conked out Angel of the Lord.

This project started as a distraction and got WAY out of hand, but I’m actually really excited about it. I’ll be posting it as two separate stories on Ao3 (one form the Bat Family PoV and one from the SPN family PoV, both of which will be updating HERE...) with new chapters going up weekly, but only one chapter from each version.

As excited as I am about it, my schedule is currently in shambles because I got an opportunity to get the COVID Vaccine and it’s thrown my whole schedule into utter chaos. I’m hopeful that I’ll get back on track soon, but I can’t guarantee when I’ll be able to post here or on Ao3.

Since I can schedule posts on Patreon, that updating schedule will be much more definitively regular. The second chapters of each version are already available to Patrons and should open up to all viewers by Monday!

- Multiverse Mishap | SPN Vers - Chapter 2

- Multiverse Mishap | SPN Vers - Chapter 3

- Multiverse Mishap | Bat Vers - Chapter 2

Read the first chapter of the SPN version below (with Charlie playing a super spy and getting Sam & Dean a lead on a maybe-Castiel / maybe-alien-infiltrator) and I hope you all have a fabulous Easter Weekend (whether or not you celebrate religiously, you gotta admit the season-exclusive candy is pretty dang great!)! ^_~

A bit of fiddling, that’s all it was.

Well, that’s all it was supposed to be.

A device that plays with space-time and the very weave of whatever it was that spanned the gap between dimensions?

How could anyone just let something like that gather dust in an archive?

It functioned how it was meant to, it was only that what it was meant to do was cause harm… If they just tweaked it a bit, just a little, gave it an anchor point and limited the scale of possibilities… If they yanked down the juice that kept it powered to a more moderated level…

It could save lives.

So… fiddling.

Just a bit, here and there and on weekends when there wasn’t anything big going on.

The stupid thing wasn’t even turned on most of the time.

It was inert and dead as fricken paperweight (which honestly is what the fiddler in question had mostly been using it for)…

And then… it wasn’t.

One button, a loose screw, the slip of a paperclip…

A big flash of blinding light.

Silence, like the absolute nothing right before the tidal wave hits.

And in that silence, a tiny, over-caffeinated little voice:

“… Oops…”

_ _ _

Chapter 1 – MIA Angel or Alien Infiltrator?

Charlie Bradbury knows she’s awesome.

But there’s the standard awesome that any Queen of Moondoor is simply by nature of being epic enough to have achieved the throne to start with...

And then there’s the awesome that is having created a automated dark web trawling program to track the world’s Big Weirds (and only the very BIGGEST of the Big Weirds) and having that super secret extra level deep vault program actually work.

Well, of course it worked, but it like worked.

It found an Angel.

Sorta.

It found a something.

And an MIA angel, who was not exactly an angel anymore, but also couldn’t really pass as truly human, and who was still on like every watchlist ever (magical, criminal, meme-spirational, etc), but is somehow still entirely off the fricken radar?

Yeah. BIG Weird.

Said angel-not-angel popping up at a Biggerson’s in Ohio with no shoes, more money than god, an insane caffeine tolerance and absolutely no idea how to function inside a Walmart?

HELLA Big Weird.

So Charlie, being the awesome Queen that she is (and being acutely aware of what false hope here could do to the people in particular question with this) went to check it out herself.

Personally.

And, personally, she can say that this kid is the weirdest thing she’s ever seen, and after having day-tripped out to the literal Land of Oz a few times over… well, that’s sayin’ something.

Charlie’s met Castiel.

Not exactly her type, but she could see how that divine slice of puppy in a trench coat could be seen as something of a serious snack.

Though… If he weren’t an angel, she’d swear he was an alien.

But, like, a cool alien.

Much less spy-trained infiltrator than innocent human-admirer who wants to experience the local flavor on his little vacation out to the Milky Way’s most interesting backwater, Sol-3.

And the kid she finds in Ohio… is not that guy.

Not really.

For starters, she’s not entirely sure he’s old enough to drink alcohol.

And he’s… not looking for Sam and Dean ( which is seriously a BIG red flag for deciding whether this particular angel-not-angel is the right angel-not-angel).

He is looking for something, though.

Something he seems to think is in Kansas, near-ish enough to the Bunker’s coordinates to make her question the ‘not looking for Sam and Dean thing’ (but the absolute dinosaur of a smartphone he’s working on to pull up maps could totally just call the bunker, if he wanted to… or any of the plethora of emergency numbers the Boys have set up…).

Charlie’s looking on from a Very Inconspicuous post in the booth two tables away from the kid in the red hoodie and she can feel his frustration with the device radiating off him like physical Force pulses. Fortunately, proto-Sith this kid is not, and all the tables remain table-y.

She’s watching him fight with the internet to find something and his device’s crappy security means she didn’t even have to work hard to get her own screen to show what’s happening on his. He’s definitely looking at Kansas, at going to Kansas— Lebanon in particular.

Messy black hair, big blue eyes, grumpy face to rival any Netscape feline…

Looking for Lebanon and totally out of sync with humanity…

And… his oversized red hoodie just happens to have the 2-D rendering of a big black pair of wings stitched into its backside— stemming right from where they should on the kid’s shoulder blades if the wings were real.

Charlie’s not really gullible enough to believe in signs from God anymore…

But if she were… well, that would be pretty convincingly Divine Sign-like.

So, she makes the call.

Sam picks up on the third ring.

“So, you know how like the main character always has dramatically weird colored hair and sits in the second to last desk by the window?”

With a heavy sigh filled with enough affection to make Charlie’s insides feel all squiggly and warm, Sam says, “No, Charlie, I have absolutely no idea.”

“Well, they do.”

“Okay. And?”

“They are Narrative Significant, they stick out from the background in like a big way, but not just in like a ‘doing main character things’ kinda way,” Charlie rambles, trying to find her point buried under the spiraling metaphor.

“Charlie, do you know what time it is?”

“Uh, 2, maybe, 3am. I think. But that may have been like three coffees ago,” Charlie prattles off automatically before veering back on track, “Anyway. The point is that I think I found a main character. He’s not the character I thought he should be, though. He doesn’t look right. He’s too young. And no trench coat. But he is hella out of sync… and the blue eyes and black hair and everything else…”

There’s a pause as Sam’s non-caffeinated brain tries to keep up with Charlie’s infodump.

“Trench coat?”

“I think I found him, Sam,” Charlie whispers. “I think I found Castiel. Well, I found someone weird enough to maybe be Castiel, in the Castiel kind of way, and he’s looking for a way to get to Lebanon, so…”

Much more alert, Sam asks, “Where are you?”

“Ohio. Quaint little place called Granville,” Charlie reports. “It’s a pretty straight shot to the Bunker, but it’s like 14 hours on the road and I’m not sure the gods of caffeine consumption will really be cool with me pushing their bounty that hard…”

“Don’t try too hard to get him to go anywhere with you, see if you can just offer to pay for a motel room for the night,” Sam instructs, the sounds of a pack being prepped with one hand clanging about in the background. “We’ll be in Granville before noon.”

“What if he really wants to head out?”

“Take it slow and text us when you get gas, we’ll meet you in Indianapolis.”

He’s using ‘Serious Sam’ voice.

It’s the voice that makes panicking bunny rabbits being chased by wendigos settle down for half a second so Dean can frickin torch those ghost-y cannibal creepers.

Only, in this case, the wendigos aren’t cannibal forest ghosts chomping down on campers. This time, the Big Bad that Dean is unequivocally about to destroy is approximately 909 miles of US Highway 36.

It makes Charlie feel a little bit better about nearly everything that’s wrong.

She hangs up with Sam after promising to keep the updates coming, and looks back at the kid who could be Castiel.

Only to find him looking back.

For a minute, she’s worried that he heard her talking to Sam about him.

But he seems kinda zonked.

And he doesn’t look upset or embarrassed or angry, so…

She is the only other person on this side of the Biggerson’s, (and really she’s the only non-staff member in this Biggerson’s all told besides the kid himself), so it’s really not that strange for her to be the dust mote in motion that’s wound up drawing the kid’s eye.

He’s not really expressing anything.

He’s just looking.

It’s weird.

Whelp, he’s got that creepy unblinking stare down pat, bird-like head-tip and all.

The kind of stare that’s not angry or judgmental but feels more clinical than anything else, like he’s seeing through the bones and skin and sinew to the soul that’s underneath.

Dissecting it and diagnosing it…

It makes her shiver.

But she plasters on a smile and says, “Hey. You wanna refill?”

The kid looks down at his empty coffee cup.

He blinks, real slow like.

Then he nods.

Relief floods Charlie.

Step One, making with the contact with the Target. Check.

In her experience that’s usually been the hardest part of these things.

Not that she really has much experience in ‘these things’…

But still, Score 1 for the Queen, yeah?

She signals to a waitress for two more cups of coffee, shots of espresso boosting both of them. It’s like a weird AU of a sleezy bar beat, a remixed mark meets con-woman kinda thing.

“So, kid, what’s your name?”

“Shouldn’t you tell me yours first?”

Charlie shrugs. “Well, generally yeah, that is the convention. But I like being unconventional, I guess.”

Really, it’s that she hasn’t quite decided what name to give him.

He blinks expectantly, head tipping over again.

Realizing that she’s already giving up ground in this pseudo-battle of wills and whatnot, Charlie sighs heavily and says, “I’m Charlie, Charlie Bradbury. Geek extraordinaire.”

The kid nods, visibly internalizing the information.

Trying really hard not to be perturbed by that, Charlie barrels on to say, “I see that tablet of yours is gone a bit wonky. You looking for something in Kansas? I might be able to fix your tech or find what you’re looking for with mine.”

“My tablet…” With big owl eyes, the kid glances down at the piece of crap barely smart enough to call a screen and gives a plaintive little huff. “It is… insufficient.”

Charlie gives a laugh that only sounds two-thirds forced and says, “Understatement, buddy. You’re grand at it.”

The kid simply frowns.

“So,” she says, drum-rolling her fingers on the plastic tabletop as she leans into the leading questions. “Tell me what’s your name and what you’re looking for in Kansas and we’ll see if I can work my magic, huh?”

The kid’s eyes narrow suspiciously on the word ‘magic’, but he gives no other reaction.

For a solid minute, easy, they just kinda sit there.

And then the kid downs a full cup of espresso-boosted coffee like it’s a bottle of watered down Gatorade and flashes Charlie the stiffest stretch of smile she’s ever seen on any face that still looks mostly-human.

“My name’s Alvin,” he tells her with all the bland panache of a used car salesman. “Alvin Draper. And honestly? I’m looking for a hole in the universe.”

Charlie almost bursts out laughing.

The kid— Alvin— spots the reaction. He glowers, quite impressively, to be honest.

“Well, Alvin, that’s the fakest fake-name I’ve ever heard, but I think I can help with the ‘hole in the universe’ thing,” she tells him.

Alvin’s frowning again, it’s adorable and endearing in ways it really shouldn’t be.

“One problem, though,” she lays out. “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific about which hole in the universe or tear in the fabric of reality your talking about.”

Taken entirely aback, Alvin huffs, “Is it a commonplace occurrence to have your universe ripped open, then?”

“Well, not exactly. It’s more like our universe is the knit-scarf version of a life-raft,” Charlie explains, wheezing a bit as the metaphor sinks perfectly into a crack she didn’t quite realize she still needed to find a way to fill. “Things here aren’t… Well, uh, how many apocalypses have you fended off this week?”

“You’re really just gonna roll with the implicit declaration that I’m from another universe and you’re not going to question my sanity?”

Alvin looks like he’s suddenly questioning her sanity.

For a beat, Charlie feels insulted.

But really, his reaction is the more logical one.

Maybe Charlie should start trying to talk to more normies here soon, she’s totally lost touch with what constitutes a ‘reasonable reaction to weird shit’.

“Whelp, I’m not a Time Lord or anything,” she confesses, “but I’ve had enough contact with the Supernatural to know how to spot someone who’s brushed up against something ugly in the dark and is kinda freaking out about it. You fit the bill, Alvin.”

The kid rolls his eyes.

It could be an angel-learned-it-from-Dean thing, it really could be.

The weight of the sarcasm is just that strong.

“Fine, yes. ‘Alvin’ is not my real name,” he admits.

Then he casts a wicked smile her way that almost makes her rethink the ‘learned it from Dean’ idea, because this is… creepy in an almost Demon kinda way… in an almost Leviathan way. The grin is so unnerving that Charlie almost misses his next words:

“But you know, I’m pretty damn sure that ‘Charlie’ isn’t yours.”

“Yeah? Well, darn. Ya got me,” she breathes, trying to make herself remember that the Leviathan are gone, that she didn’t even see Cas when he was one of them.

In any other circumstance, Charlie would be reaching for the Borax.

But this angel-not-angel (and maybe-but-probably-not-demon-or-leviathan) kid whose name is definitely not Alvin, notices her sudden stiffness.

Immediately, he softens.

“Hey, what happened? You okay?”

Charlie shrugs. “You wouldn’t happen to be allergic to a certain 19th century boron-containing sodium compound, would ya?”

“Sodium borate? Like Borax? Can’t say I am,” the kid assures. “Any particular reason?”

“Uh, the word ‘Leviathan’ mean anything to you? Like specific, human-livestock-eating, double-tongued with lots of teeth lizard-men people-imitators specific? ‘Cause you just really reminded me of one there. And like I had a friend go Darkside… well, a lotta my friends have actually gone Darkside, but there was one and he… he’s missing still and well, bad things happen to my friends when they go missing.”

“Like apocalypses?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Really? Literal apocalypses? How exactly literal?”

“Um, pick a holy book at random? We’ve probably hit most of them by now,” Charlie admits, with a discomfited shrug as she vaguely wonders how she ended up on this side of the metaphorical interrogation table. “I think the first one was the Judeo-Christian one, they took things pretty literal. Michael-Lucifer prize fight and all…”

“Okay…” the kid says, finally sounding a little thrown, “but you stopped that one?”

“Yeah,” she tells him.

“So where are you now?”

“Somewhere between God’s little sister throwing a world-ending temper tantrum and you know a Luci-spawn antichrist accidentally poof-ing up new laws of physics?”

“Sounds plausible,” the kid tells her, his tone both entirely accepting of it as the gospel truth and sounding like he thinks she’s totally bonkers.

“No, it really doesn’t,” Charlie sighs. “Doesn’t change the fact it’s true. But enough about me and my world-ending escapades. How about your hole in the universe?”

“That’s the thing… See, I don’t remember.”

“What?”

“I don’t remember how I got here, I just remember that I don’t belong,” the kid confesses, sounding a lot more like he’s being honest than before. “I’m not supposed to be here, but I can’t explain what might be able to bring me back.”

“So, Lebanon, Kansas?”

“Has a safehouse I remember, or I think I do,” he lays out. “And it has a power source I think I need. And…”

“And..?”

Charlie’s hoping for something about the people waiting for him there, something about the ‘profound bond’ doing something to clue him in.

She can’t tell if this is just a spell or something, or if it’s a consequence of having Fallen, regained Angel status, and then seemingly kicked it again in the fastest repeat of the cycle yet.

“I dunno,” he sighs. “I just have to be there.”

Well, it’s not what she was hoping for.

But it’s still closer than she thought she’d get…

So, she’s still not 100% certain this kid is a whammied Castiel.

But she’s definitely like 85% certain, maybe 87%.

And in Winchester World? That there’s some pretty damn good lookin’ odds. So, Charlie will take what she can get and will roll with the rest.

Sam and Dean will be here in a few more hours. All she has to do ‘till then is keep this kid in arm’s reach and keep them both from being buckled up for the looney bin.

Sounds totally doable, right?

In retrospect, Charlie may have to adjust her definition of ‘doable’…

_ _ _

Keep up with everything I’m getting up to HERE!

Have a great week!

#fanfiction #fanfic #batman #batman & robin #BatFam #DCU #dcu fanfic #SPN #spn fanfic #supernatural #destiel #jay x tim #jason todd x tim drake #dean x castiel #multiverse #crossover #charlie bradbury

5 notes · View notes

jemej3m · 5 years

Text

radio silence (chapter 1: misunderstandings)

twinyards week - day 1!!!! im going to be compiling these all in an ao3 fic at the end of the week, because they��ll all be the same au, and ((mostly)) in chronological order.

i hope u enjoy!

tw warning for child sexual and physical abuse, self harm, canon-typical violence, swearing, homophobia (aaron and andrew ((and nicky))’s backstories)

Ever since Andrew could remember—which was pretty much forever—he’d had an imaginary friend.

Well, sort of. His imaginary friend was a very distinct voice in his head called Aaron, who didn’t like his mother because she would always hit him, and leave him locked in his room whilst she went off with needles and men. Andrew was sometimes perplexed at how specific his imagination could be.

Aaron knew about Samuel, and James, and Harrison, because Andrew had told him, hidden away in a small, dark closet with his body shaking and aching. Why do they touch you? Aaron had asked, sounding upset. Probably because Andrew was upset, too.

I don’t know, his seven-year-old self had whimpered, lost and scared and alone. I don’t know.

Imaginary friends fell out of fashion pretty fast when Andrew finally went to school: Andrew Doe, the foster kid. Andrew Doe, the weirdo who talked to himself. Don’t go near the short one: He’s a freak.

He spent his time instead in the small, decrepit libraries that those schools had to offer, hiding in the corner with a book that was probably too hard for him to read but he didn’t care: He waddled through it, Aaron asking about what happened at the end of every chapter. He couldn’t read as well as Andrew could. Probably because he wasn’t real.

It was the realisation that Aaron was most certainly a detailed, intricate figure of Andrew’s imagination that forced him to stop talking to him. This lasted for years: The silence was almost echoey in Andrew’s head as he moved from home to home, none of them any good.

Until Cass.

She was warm and gentle. She baked him cookies and taught him how. Richard took him to the movies and drove him too and from school. They were the kindest people Andrew had ever met, and Andrew clung onto them fervently.

Then Drake, their son, came home. He was tall and broad shouldered and smiled like a wolf: He pinned Andrew down into the mattress and Andrew wished his pillows would just swallow him. Mornings were spent squirrelling away bloodied sheets and staring at himself in the mirror as hopeless tears rolled over young adolescent cheeks. Why me? He’d thought, desperate. Why me?

Andrew, Aaron said, astonished after all the years of radio silence. Is that you?

“You’re not real.” Andrew whispered. “You’re not real.”

Is something wrong? Something has to be wrong. Are you hurt?

Andrew ignored him in favour of finding the razor tucked under the spare face clothes in the sink’s spare drawer. When he climbed into the shower, he watched the water dilute his blood, and thought of the way that everything had a cost.

Officer Phil Higgins was an overbearing man who knew Andrew from a program for troubled kids within his area, where he gathered them all into a circle and forced them into bonding activities. Board games. Backyard baseball. ‘Buddy’ forming activities. Andrew was required to go, due to his ‘lacking social skills’, but he almost never participated. The pig never pushed him, never asked why he wore black long-sleeves in the middle of a Californian summer and never encroached on Andrew’s personal space, which was why Andrew continued to put up with the man’s antics.

The only actual conversation he and the pig ever had was when the man held Andrew back after one afternoon session, much to Andrew’s irritation.

“I went to a baseball game on the weekend,” he said, like it was something Andrew wanted to hear. “I met someone very interesting.”

Andrew stepped out of his space and made for the exit: When Phil said “Andrew, please listen,” he stood, the revolted shudder making the entire frame of his body tremble. He glanced over his shoulder for merely a second, but the officer took his chance. “I met a boy just like you. He looked identical to you. I think you might have been separated in the system at birth. His name is Aaron.”

That was enough for Andrew, who sprinted away from Phil’s curious gaze. In a brief lapse of control, he silently yelled at Aaron: You’re real?

Yes. Are you?

Yes, Andrew thought, devastated.

I met a police officer, today. He said that you’re real, Andrew. That you’re here, in California. Are you? Can I see you?

Fuck off, Andrew snarled, wishing he could run away from the voice inside his own fucking head. He didn’t want Aaron anywhere near the Spear family, with Cass’s gentle hugs and Richard’s genuine laughs. He didn’t want Aaron near Drake’s malicious intentions, facing the same fate that Andrew did every night. Fuck off, don’t talk to me, don’t come near me.

Andrew—

Andrew shut himself inside his bedroom and made a feral snarling noise, wishing he could cut Aaron out of his head. Rain splattered carelessly against the small window of the bathroom, so uncharacteristic of California’s sunny skies and relentless cheer that he had to look away.

Everything was wrong. Everything was so wrong.

It wasn’t until the pig himself came over and explained to Cass and Richard what had happened that Andrew decided to do something preventative: From the hallway, Drake grinned, fisting a tuft of Andrew’s hair in his too-tight grasp.

“We’ll have so much fun together,” He whispered against the shell of Andrew’s ear. “The three of us. Won’t that be exciting?”

That night, Andrew crept out with a flask of gasoline from Richard’s shed and a box of matches before Drake could sneak his way into Andrew’s room, walking to his school under the veneer of darkness.

He watched the baseball pitch burn, sitting in the batter’s cage and letting the heat lick his sweat from his skin. When the police arrived he went gladly.

“Don’t let there be any more kids,” Andrew insisted as he was being shoved into a cruiser. Phil Higgins looked at him, perplexed. “Promise me that there won’t be anymore.”

“Andrew, what are you talking about?”

It was useless. He burrowed into the corner of the police car and let the cool metal of his handcuffs around his bloody wrists draw him out of his head.

He did it for Aaron. He did it for the voice in his head, who could be real after all.

If that didn’t make him insane, he didn’t know what did.

The first time Andrew and Aaron met—in the parking lot of the Seattle Juvenile Detention Facility—they’d just stared at each other. Their mother had been too sick to come all the way to greet him, something about a chronic illness that probably wasn’t very chronic. Instead Luther and Maria, and their squirrelly son Nicholas, welcomed Andrew with open arms.

“We’re very glad to have you,” Luther said.

“Let’s go home,” Maria insisted.

They sat in the back of the rental car, venturing back to the airport with Nicky sitting purposefully between the two brothers. Forever an ice-breaker.

Andrew? Aaron asked, hesitantly. Andrew looked out the window. Please—I just want to know if I’m actually insane or not.

I hate that word, Andrew said, scathingly. Aaron looked down to where his hands were entangled in his lap.

Sorry, he said, and actually sounded like he meant it. He was kinda pathetic. Andrew finally looked around Nicky at his brother, who caught his eye. Aaron was littered with bruises and sickly pale, even if he tried to cover it up with his loose polo shirt.

Does she hurt you? Andrew asked.

Andrew—

I asked you a fucking question.

Slowly, Aaron nodded. Andrew settled back into his chair and glared at the seat in front of him, Maria’s tangle of curls peeking through the gap between the chair’s headrest and body, wondering what kind of woman Tilda Minyard would be, to give up one son and not the other, and then treat the one she had like shit. Ideas wafted across the empty expanse of his mind, forcefully blank to avoid exploitation.

That was fine. Andrew would cross that bridge when he came to it.

“No.” Andrew said. It was the first time Andrew had ever spoken to Luther, six months since being initiated into the Minyard-Hemmick household. He’d spent that time convincing Aaron of his plan to get rid of their biological mother, who continued to hit Aaron even when Andrew warned her not to. Aaron didn’t want his mother to die.

(She’s family, Andrew, he’d said silently. She’s family. Andrew had just looked at him and reminded him that he was family, and that they had always been there for each other, and that there was no way he’d leave Aaron now.)

“No?” Luther inquired. “But Cass and Richard would love to see you. They were very shocked when you were arrested. They’d wanted to adopt you, Andrew.”

“No.” Andrew insisted, voice hoarse. “You do not let them anywhere near Aaron.”

Luther still wasn’t sold. “Why not?”

“Drake - he -” Raped me. Because someone always was.

Luther’s smile was beseeching and patronising, and drained every last rivulet of energy from within Andrew, who was exhausted and angry at the world. He’d just found his family - why was fate so insistent on tearing it away from him again?

“I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding, Andrew.”

Misunderstanding. Misunderstanding. Misunderstanding.

Right. Of course.

Andrew turned on his heel and marched out of Luther’s perfect little living room, where he was sat on the white linen couches with a cup of tea and his little wooden cross on the mantelpiece. By the time Andrew had grabbed his coat from the Hemmick’s pristine entrance corridor and ignored Maria’s inquiry about staying for dinner, the plan was already in place.

People always underestimated the lengths to which Andrew would go to protect what little family he had: He supposed that lack of insight about Andrew’s limits would come in handy when orchestrating everything under their noses. The only person who knew him, really, was Aaron, but he spent most of his time hooked up on their mother’s shit to read whatever Andrew was up to now.

Andrew would kill Tilda. Nicky would come back from Germany. Luther would forget all about the Spears, and Aaron would be safe.

Perfect.

twin telepathy!!!

(is dark rn im sorry but i promise we’ll get through all the canon stuff and then explore their relationship post-canon and get to that SWEET SWEET DOMESTICITY, i promise anon :ppp )

#twinyards #telepathy au #they can talk to each other silently!!! wooo!!!#andrew minyard #aaron minyard #nicky hemmick #dr*ke spear #yuck #back story #day 1 prompt: misunderstandings #all for the game #the foxhole court #jem writes

134 notes · View notes

hopiewrites · 5 years

Text

Nobody - OHSHC

pairing - host club x reader

ongoing series, chapter 2

word count - 4,595

chapter 1 & 3 up now!

-> back to masterlist

Windows to the Soul

The school is so peaceful at sunrise.

Walking down the empty halls of Ouran academy, the tired female got to soak in it’s quiet beauty; the soft yellows and pinks of the early morning sun lied beautifully on the white of the large window sills, casting everything in shades of pinks. She smiled softly to herself.

Tired as she may be, the sight of the clear sky, the stars still dotted sparsely across the expanse, she couldn’t help but feel in awe of it’s effortlessness; the red cardinals that floated in the air bid her good morning. Her light footsteps echoed down the hallway, along with the song she was humming as she walked.

Opening the door to the host club, she pulled all the curtains back and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, admiring the now bright turquoise of the sky before walking into the kitchen area - where a mountain of dirty dishes awaited her. She sighed at the sight, pulling on the blue rubber gloves that was left out for her - along with a grocery list from Kyoya - and got to work.

She decided that, maybe, it wouldn’t be as bad doing this as she thought it’d be. If its always this serene, maybe she’ll even come a bit earlier so she can just sit and watch the sunrise from the roof; she’d heard that there was a garden up there, but, she doubted that any of the plants would be in bloom at this time of year.

“(Y/N)?”

Her daydreaming came to a halt at the sound of a warm voice, honey like in it’s sticky sweet nature. She stopped the water and turned, removing the gloves and rolling down the sleeves of the dusty light blue mock-neck she was wearing, and peered at the male who somehow made it all the way to the kitchen without making a sound.

For some reason, her voice was soft - as if not to disturb the wistful feeling of the chilled air. “Oh, Tamaki, right? What are you doing here so early this morning?”

The male beamed when she said his name, a smile playing on his lips as he fully entered the room - the door closing with a soft click behind him. He took few steps nearer, and she noticed how sleepy he looked - and how the natural light that flooded the room made him glow, the golden of his messy hair nearly blinded her by how it shined. His eyes were smiling, warm in just what they were, in what they are; shimmers of blues and reds and violets made his iris the most beautiful shade of plum.

She noticed herself staring, and his smile growing - blushing, she averted her gaze towards the window. Tamaki kept his eyes on her.

The girls (S/C) skin seemed to sparkle in the light - the small acne scar on her face was highlighted, and oddly enough, he found it cute, how it sat on the apple of her cheek. The rich (E/C) of her iris’ was hidden from him by her bashfulness, but he found himself drawn to her, wanting to just look, to just see, because she keeps hiding herself away behind her eyelids and hunched shoulders - it was then, in that moment that he realized he wants to witness the beauty that hid herself away.

He realized he’d been silent, and a slight blush dusted his cheeks. “I just wanted to make sure you found everything okay, and to see if you needed help with anything. I mean, since it is your first day and all!”

The still air began to dance with Tamaki’s words; his breath twirling with the once stagnant atmosphere.

For some reason, his words touched her. Maybe it was because she’s tired, or just in a sentimental mood, but she found herself thinking of how kind he was for going out of his way for something so small like that. She slipped into a smile with ease.

He beamed once again; like a puppy who got a treat.

“Aww, you didn’t have to do that. Thank you, though. I’m just finishing up the dishes, then I planned to go get the ingredients at lunch break since the shops aren’t open right now.”

Tamaki frowned, “then when are you going to eat?” He placed his hands on his hips, scolding the girl, “a lady can’t skip her meals,”

“Well, this lady can and will ,” she replied - a playful grin adorning her features; in truth, she was just going to drink some milk on the way, and she was fine with it. She can eat later. Maybe it was the blessing of the sun that made her relax in his presence.

Though, he was persistent. “At least make yourself something when you come to put the groceries away.”

She sighed, nodding hesitantly, “that’s okay, right? Like, I won’t have to pay for it?”

“Nope! Don’t worry about it. You have to eat well if you expect to be our errand girl, after all!”

There he goes, hiding away behind his obnoxious front again.

“Okay. But, we should be getting to class, now. Don’t wanna be late,”

Tamaki nodded, and opened the door for the girl - who scrambled out quickly - a thank you falling from her lips.

- nobody -

For some reason, she couldn’t stop thinking about those eyes of plum; how they looked in the sun, how bright and warm they were. How kind they seemed. But, then again, maybe she’s reading in too much of what they really were - merely eyes. She often read people well, purely out of either boredom or of curiosity - or sometimes, just because she felt drawn to them, just like she did in that moment, bathed in the beams of light through the open window.

The teacher was going in depth of color schemes and how different colors have been used, what they’ve signified throughout history.

purple, the color of royalty, ambiguity, wealth and magic.

In her sketchbook, beside the little coloms of notes she’d bothered taking, she began sketching the eyes of a male who’d managed to edge his way into the front of her usual fleeting thoughts. Unusual , is the word she settled on describing him as, with his obnoxiously over the top personality and his rose colored view of life. She’d only known Tamaki for a little over a week, and yet he’s already charmed his way into her subconscious.

Maybe she can understand why all those girls seem head-over-heels for him, now - though, she’s nowhere near that yet. Just, sketching a few pictures of his eyes, of his lips. Nothing more.

- nobody -

By the time lunch break rolled around, plenty more than just a few pages in her sketchbook was full of drawings of him, and none of them she was satisfied by. None of them reflected what she saw in them perfectly, and she’s scared she’ll forget if she doesn’t have something to remember it by.

Pulling the grocery list out from the back pocket of her black jeans, she headed out to the shops with a head full of cotton; mind too busy floating around the stars to be considered conscious.

The shops weren’t as busy as she imagined they’d be; only a few people mingling around, much like herself. Tossing items one by one into the basket that hung on the crook of her arm, she thought of how bizarre it was for her to be doing this - doing errands for a host club, lest one made up of men she barely knew.

What were the chances of meeting them like the way she did? If they’d met a different way, she wondered if they would’ve even bothered to talk to someone as invisible as herself - because from her assumptions, people like them have no interest in wilting wallflowers like her.

It was lonely, feeling like nothing more than gum stuck to the bottom of peoples shoes.

Checking out the abnormal amount of overpriced groceries, she sighed as she speed walked her way back to the large campus of Ouran, promising herself a sandwich once she returns.

- nobody -

On the counter, haphazardly sat paper bags with a note in messy handwriting;

hi hosts,

sorry about the mess. ill come put these away + clean up after the guests etc. after classes end. i was running a bit late today :)

-(Y/N)

Kyoya’s clenched jaw relaxed at the for a moment while reading the small note. He stuffed it in his pocket with half a mind, and went to help prepare everything before their guests arrive - Haruhi preparing the tea and coffee, as well as pulling the premade sandwiches made by their new helper out of the fridge to place on plates, along with different kinds of cake, hand picked by Mitsukuni himself.

Haruhi was thankful for the new found speed of getting prepared, she now not having to stay late after school to make what seems like hundreds of sandwiches - the brunette still cringes thinking about the cramps she’d always get in her fingers afterwards.

Cracking her knuckles with a sigh, Haruhi made her way out to position herself for the opening of the doors; welcoming the ladies in an over dramatic fashion as always. She really couldn’t bring herself to dislike what she was doing - even if she used to attempt to convince herself otherwise, she rather liked getting to see the smiles on the girls faces, and getting to spend time with her unlikely bunch of friends made her warm inside - even if it was a bit awkward for the introverted girl. She charmed her guests, making them swoon, just as usual.

It felt like time had flown by before the guests had bid their goodbyes, and (Y/N) peeked her head through the door, eyes landing on the other females chocolate hues. “Hi, (Y/N)-san.”

The meek girl smiled small at the greeting, walking her way into the room, messenger bag slung over her shoulder and hair now pulled out of her face with a bobby pin on the top of her head.

“Hello Haruhi-san. I’m just here to help with clean up-”

“(N/N)-chan~!” She stumbled at the force of the impact of the 3rd year, arms locked around her waist in a tight hold, Honey’s grinning face shining up at the startled girl. “Um, hi, senpai.”

Haruhi chuckled at the sight, finding the timid nature of (Y/N) clashing with the clingy-as-ever Honey, amusing.

“Oh, Look who’s here!” Tamaki’s loud voice played off the walls, still as chirpy as ever - he took long strides towards the girl, still tied up in her elders embrace.

The host club was almost empty, save for the aforementioned blonds, the silent Takashi, Kyoya, who was in the back room going through the host’s profits today, and Haruhi, who mingled about with nothing better to do.

Well, maybe they wanted to get to see their little errand girl - not that they’d say that out loud, at least.

Honey squeezed her one last time, before letting go and trotting back over to Mori, who only mumbled his name in response. She was tense at the contact, it being unexpected; and understandably so, because a greeting like that for anyone who didn’t know Honey would be weird. She brushed it off as something she’d just have to get used to.

“Our dear little kitten, you’ve come to visit me, haven’t you?”

“So, (Y/N), do you want me to stay and help with clean up? I don’t have anything to do, so…” Haruhi trailed off, more as a statement, honestly, as she started wiping down tables.

“Um, okay! Thanks, Haruhi-san..” She paused, glancing over at the sulking Tamaki, who was being laughed at by Honey who sat happily in Mori’s arms - what a strange bunch.

After retreating the necessities, and bidding Mori and Honey a quick goodbye - kendo practice, mumbled the stoic with a nod of his head. he had a voice as deep as the ocean itself, she noticed, thick and dark blue, lulling itself through his chest. It was comforting to her, to say the least.

And that left the two girls, busying themselves with small tasks, and Tamaki, who, oddly enough, sat and observed them; his typically expressional features unreadable from the sparse glances the questioning girl was able to give him. Haruhi seemed happy enough, nonchalant smile on her pretty face as she packed up, sending a wave towards the girl cutely.

“Um, Tamaki-Senpai?”

Said male jumped at that, snapping his head towards the soft voice; “what’re you still doing here? Haruhi just finished up and tried to bid goodbye, but you didn’t even hear her.”

His eyebrows shot up - did he really not? He glanced around the now vacant room, not spotting his princess anywhere - only (Y/N), who awkwardly hovered by the armrest of the couch.

It wasn’t quite sunset yet, but the dandelion yellows that began to leak into the blue hues of the sky served as its near coming. She noticed how innocent he looked when caught off guard.

Her inquiring stare made him feel vulnerable - in his mind he grasped at something, anything, to turn the focus back onto the girl beside him - he wasn’t use to being the one flustered; something in her stare felt like it was boring into him, picking apart his brain and looking into his soul, it made chills raise on his arms and pink to grow on his porcelain cheeks.

On the other hand, she did this completely unintentionally; she was taking in as much of his eyes as she could possibly manage, caught up in her own need to know what lurked within those eyes of his, reading into him like a book she couldn’t get enough of.

It was only the two of them, in an empty room flooded by the waltzing sunlight of late afternoon - but if you looked closely enough, felt deeply enough - you could see the array of colors that spilled themselves all over the walls, floor and high ceiling, being covered in the clashing of the beginnings of something new, something beautiful.

It was the flooding of warmth on a cold winters day.

It overwhelmed the both of them.

“D-Did I?”

“Yeah. Uh,”

A beat of silence.

“I have to hurry to my shift, so.. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Ye-Yeah! I’ll see you tomorrow. Good luck at work! Get home safe, Princess.”

The door closed gently after her leave, and Tamaki was left alone in her aftermath.

Firstly, he gave himself a pat on the back for picking himself up at the end of their small conversation - secondly, he couldn’t help but to feel like he just emerged from the under belly of the sea.

The piercing gravity of her gaze lingered with him the rest of the day.

- nobody -

“Hello! Did you find everything okay?”

“Yes, I did.”

“That’s good! Your total will be $27.93. Thank you, come again!”

That was, what seemed like, the millionth time she’d had that exact exchange. people came and went, some more troublesome than others - she had a lady in line, arms full of books, and a purse full of expired coupons, demanding every single one of them be applied - but other than those few bad apples, it was a pretty normal day at the bookstore. her coworker, Daiki, was out sick today so she offered to take his shift, which he was ever grateful for; that’s why she’s working so late tonight, having to close up shop and ride the 11 o'clock train, which she was dreading to do.

the cute barista who worked in the Starbucks at the far side of the store, a foreigner from Germany with a name she couldn’t even begin to pronounce, gave her a sympathetic smile as she clocked out and went home or the day. (Y/N) sighed, propping her head up on the counter.

Her manager chuckled, “Me too, kiddo.”

He was a man in his mid 50’s, with graying hair and the beginnings of crows feet forming around his eyes; he had a kind looking face, and it just lit up when talking about his favorite book and movies - all of which were in black and white. of course, she would know, having had an internship, then being hired when she was of legal age; she’s been here for what felt like her whole life.

The extroverted man has always been kind to her, passing the time by talking fondly of his daughter, who is now in college, and his husband, who’s come to visit work a few times, bringing his spouse his forgotten lunches or to bring staff his specialty homemade cookies - which everyone absolutely adored.

In all honesty, he was like a father to the girl. he would comfort her when she was caught crying in the breakroom - which has happened more than a few times - and he knew best of her home situation and life in general, offering advice and listening to her talk. she’d even given him a few drawings that she made for him, and he’d hung them up on his fridge at home. he made her feel safe, and loved - just like a father should.

“Long day at school?”

“Yeah,” she sighed out, “you know that club that I owe? the one I was telling you about? I had to go like 2 hours earlier to wash dishes and stuff. I swear I’ve been awake for too long.”

The older nodded, taking a sip out of his water bottle. “And at lunch I had to go get groceries. The whole list cost like, 3 paychecks worth of stuff. It was insane,”

He snorted at that. “so they gotcha on dish duty? And how long are ya gonna have to to this, again?”

“Um, this whole semester, I’m pretty sure. I don’t know how expensive those teacups were, but goddamn.”

“Language, missy.”

She rolled her eyes, genuine smile on her lips, “okay, dad.” He also cracked a smile.

“Why don’t you go ‘head and go home, alright? Like you said, you’ve been awake too long. Don’t want ya going crazy on me,”

Her eyes widened a bit, at the offer, but it was tempting. She felt her body disintegrating from the inside, and with all the coffee’s she had this shift, it’s not surprising. Her hands shook with a caffeine overdose, and every movement of her body felt like she was wading through water.

After that moment of contemplation, she nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you day after, okay, old man?”

“Sure thing, (Y/N). Get home safely, okay? You got that pepper spray I gave ya?”

She smiled at his concern, “don’t worry, I always keep it in my bag. I’ll make sure to text you when I get home.” he had gotten it for her one shift when she was talking about being followed one night on her way home, by a creepy man she didn’t know, and he had been worried sick for her - said he’d beat him up if he ever saw the bastard - she had only laughed fondly at his kindness.

“Okay. Have a goodnight, now.” he said, patting her shoulder.

She nodded, “You too.”

- nobody -

12:02 am

Quietly, she moved through the house, peeking her head in the mother’s room to see her resting peacefully. She then turned back to go the the bathroom just down the hallway, washing her face and changing into the freshly washed fuzzy pajamas she’s been excited to wear. Throwing herself into bed, it was an amazing feeling that washed over her - crawling under the blankets and wiggling her toes in efforts to warm up - she was sure that she’d be able to sleep well tonight.

2:17 am

And how wrong, she was. Hours of tossing and turning, her cat jumping on and off her bed constantly, flicking his tail in her face and howling just for the fun of it. She sighed heavily; every time her eyes closed, the image of Tamaki, bathed in the golden light of morning, sleepy plum eyes and lips pulled up in a grin, just wouldn’t go away. The colors of him wouldn’t leave her mind, no matter what else she tried to think about.

Her cat sat on the window sill, wading his sleek grey tail through the air, staring at her as she rubbed her eyes frustratedly.

4:10 am

Eraser shavings stuck to her sweater.

Pages and pages, the fronts and backs filled with attempts to get it right. Attempts to immortalize a moment that’s already dead - it’s faded memories windswept in her sketchbook.

She was embarrassed by her failures.

5:57 am

Already, it was time to leave - to make sandwiches for that stupid host club and those stupid boys and their stupid guests - well, she didn’t really feel that way - but rather, it was the lack of sleep that made her hate, well, most things. Already walking her way to school in clothes that she felt unsatisfied with wearing; the same pair of light washed jeans from days before, and a black sweatshirt she pulled over a cropped tank top, only because she was too lazy to take it off before hand.

She ate a hearty breakfast, consisting off a glass of almond milk - forgotten her lunch in the fridge at home, and only had 2 dollars, her sketch book and a squished fortune cookie in the bottom of her bag for the day. No pencils. No notebooks. Nothing.

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, feeling the cold hands of winter holding her own; as if trying to comfort her.

She let it.

- nobody -

After the meals were made, wrapped up nicely in overpriced decorative napkins and sat in the fridge, she was winded by the effort. With half an hours time remaining until she needed to get seated in a classroom, the tired girl chose to sit on a chair at a table nearby the large windows that overlooked the campus; a fountain surrounded by patches of yellow grass sat pretty in her view, the cloudy periwinkle sky draped itself in the background gracefully.

She kicked off her old vans and pulled her legs up in a criss-cross position on the chair, stretching her arms and torso out on the cold tabletop with a huff. Her cheek was squished on her upper arm, drowsy eyes losing their ability to focus; her eyelids closed heavily, as her breathing turned soft and rhythmic - she couldn’t help but to bask in the filtered sunlight that fought through the cracks of the blankets of tear filled clouds.

She slept.

- nobody -

“Awwww (N/N)-chan is so cute when she’s sleeping!”

“Shhh Honey-senpai! You’ll wake her up!”

“Yeah, who would’ve thought she could look so peaceful,”

“Isn’t Princess (Y/N) so adorable!? Quick, someone get a photo!”

What’s going on?..

The sleeping girl stirred, causing everyone to pause, holding their breath.

She let out a yawn, scrunching her nose, and peeked one of her (E/C) eyes open, to the sight of the entire host club staring straight at her.

Her eyebrows knitted, still in a fuzzy, dream-like state, not processing anything at all. She scrunched her nose again.

The click of a camera could be heard, along with familiar mischievous giggles - that turned into hard laughing at the face she pulled.

It was priceless.

She sat up quickly, lips parting and wide eyes - face red as rose, all the way to the tips of her ears.

Even Mori let out a short laugh at that.

“What.. What- what time is it? How long have I been asleep for?”

Kyoya, with that ever present smirk plastered on his face, checked his watch, “I believe it’s 4:41.”

“I.. I don’t..”

The girl groaned, letting her head fall on the back of her hands, brushing off the feeling of watchful eyes felt on her back for the time being.

A hand landed itself on her shoulder.

“C'mon, (Y/N). You obviously needed the rest, so don’t be too upset about it.”

The girl sighed, fallen head rising from her hands as she gazed at the auburn boy, who smiled sympathetically at her through long eyelashes - one of the twins, though she couldn’t be sure of which one it was; if she had to guess, just by his thin voice, maybe it was Kaoru?

She nodded, sitting up right in her chair, “yeah, I guess you’re right. Thank you.. Kaoru?” It was more of a question than a statement, but it was confirmed as soon as she saw his widened eyes and shocked smile - I got it right!

She smiled, then cringed at the tightness of her muscles from being hunched over the table for so long.

She missed how Hikaru gave her a skeptical glare from aside.

“You okay, (Y/N)?”

She only gave a silent nod to the worried twin, rolling her head, unfurling her legs and stretching deeply - her knees popping at the action - and stood up, now looking around the room with her mind alert. It was then that she noticed Hikaru’s stern gaze, a camera held loosely in his grip; they made eye contact, sharply and only for a second, for the both of them to snap their heads the other way - as if they were stubborn children.

“Just a bit stiff is all. Wait, weren’t you guys gonna have guests coming in today? What happened?”

“Tamaki decided to cancel, and, in his own words, 'let the princess sleep,’. ” Kyoya replied.

Said male lit up red, hand raising to cover his mouth as he avoided eye contact, “Kyoya, I thought we agreed to not mention that…”

The ravenette smirked, “I remember no such deal.”

(Y/N) blushed lightly, sparing a look or two at the reddened male, awkwardly shifting in her spot. “Well, uh, I should probably head home,”

She slowly made her way across the room, biting her lip in an anxious habit.

“I like your socks, (N/N)-chan!”

… What?

Looking down, the feeling of horror that enveloped her was unexplainable.

She had forgotten to put her shoes back on, and there on her feet, were her pink sailor moon socks, on display for all to see, bright against the white marble floor.

Quickly she jumped over towards the table, hastily shoving her shoes on her feet and running back towards the door all in the span of 10 seconds - the lighthearted, teasing laughter of the hosts was all too much for her right now.

“Uh, bye guys, see you!”

It seems, nearly every time she leaves that room, she’s running away.

Tamaki and Kaoru both smiled fondly at the girls clumsy nature - while her absence left nothing but wary skepticism in Hikaru’s mind.

Kyoya was left asking, to nobody in particular, “That girl, what are we to do with her?”

- nobody -

“Hikaru, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, just… That girl. She rubs me the wrong way.”

Kaoru quirked a brow at his brother, “Who, (Y/N)? Why?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t she seem a bit..”

“A bit what?”

Hikaru huffed, averting his eyes towards the passing scenery outside the window of the limo they rode in - red velvet seats and mini T.V.’s hung on the back of the headrests in front of them. The yellowing grass and dead flower bushes passed by in flurries, clouds being left behind in the sky, the low hanging sun chasing after them.

“Slow, maybe? Dumb?”

“What makes you say that?”

“The way she acts, constantly embarrassed or running away. Like she’s scared of us, or something.”

The younger of the two furrowed his brows, thinking for a moment.

“And that makes you think she’s dumb…?”

Hikaru huffed again, scratching the side of his head, “No. I mean yes. I mean, I don’t know. It’s been over a week since she’s known us, right? By now even Haruhi was comfortable with everyone. I just don’t understand why she still acts so weird around us.”

Ah. It clicked for Kaoru.

“You can’t compare everyone to Haruhi, You know. She’ll warm up to everyone soon, she just needs time,”

Haruhi was the first person he ever let have a look inside - the first person he let care for him other than Kaoru - so it’s natural that he compares everyone to her. She’s what he’s used to, he knows her, he’s comfortable with her; he knows nothing and nobody else.

Hikaru wants to befriend the shy girl, but he doesn’t know how to - just as she doesn’t know how to let herself be befriended.

Kaoru, then, makes it his mission to make her open up to them - because he knows, better than anyone else, how lonely it is to be trapped inside your own world.

- nobody -

The clouds of yesterday hung heavily in the atmosphere, blanketing the moon and her stars, as tears of the gods and goddesses alike puddled on the ground. Yellow street lights were dimly lit along the sidewalk, pieces of stray plastic caught in the downwards flow of the rain water stream, disappearing under the rusted drains that sat dirty on the side of the road.

In her hands, was a cup of hot chocolate - warming her cold fingers through the brick red mug - staring out into the black of night through the curtains tied up from her spot, sitting on the floor. Her cat nudged the back of her head from behind her shoulders, jumping from the bed she leaned against to her lap with grace. The feline’s green eyes peered into her own, then flopping down and curling himself up on her legs.

She remained still, eyes glassy and distant, as if looking, but not seeing . There were no thoughts, not a pathway for her mind to walk on; she floats, lost and alone, in the void of her consciousness; searching for something she doesn’t even know is there. It is in the blanks of her pages that she turns to, trying to read, and read again, the words that aren’t there - that never was in the first place.

She is hollow.

Beyond her skin, behind her ribcage and somewhere in the depths of her heart lies that of a canvas which hasn’t been touched - an expanse of colorless nothing, frozen in the ice of time that never seems to melt - monochrome in its emptiness. It froze her from the inside out, for inside she was nothing but a cowering child at the hands of a world whose people were as merciless as they were unforgiving, even when staring into the faces of the helpless.

One thing she knows for certain is, that hell isn’t made of lava, nor of the raging fires of satan himself; but of a desolate void, where the ice freezes even your words before they have a chance to leave your mouth. Hell is where the abandoned go to weep tears of frost, to let the arms of a grand nothingness envelope them in a cold embrace of loss.

It was only when she choked on a sob did she noticed there were tears running down her face.

Sitting her now cold drink on the floor, she wiped her face with her sleeves - biting her tongue until it felt as numb as she did.

Even though she felt alone, the clouds listened to her cries; they, too, floated along, inevitably though an unending sky, together they shared the same nothingness.

Together, they cried.

#ohshc #ohshc x reader #tamaki x reader #tamaki suoh #kyoya ootori #kyoya x reader #x reader #haruhi fujioka #haruhi x reader #hitachiin brothers #kaoru hitachiin #hikaru hitachiin #hitachiin twins x reader #series #hopiewrites #nobody - chapter 2 #nobody

245 notes · View notes