#i was really touched when she gave it to me so created a whole vanity around it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pastelsandpining · 4 years ago

Text

Belongings

A BotW Post-Calamity Zelink hurt/comfort one shot

Summary: Zelda struggles to find her place in this time she should not be a part of, and she doesn’t understand how Link makes it look so easy.

Words: 8156

Warnings: blood mention, depression, honestly not sure what else to add here so proceed with caution and let me know of anything I need to tag!

tagging @etiquetteemotions :) I hope you enjoy!

When she watched him, she wanted to be upset that he couldn’t remember everything. It wasn’t his fault of course, and she knew he was probably facing deep turmoil for it, but she still cried out for the knight she fell in love with. Yet she couldn’t be upset, because he smiled now. He seemed so free of the burden on his shoulders all that time ago. He smiled and laughed and talked.

But it was never with her. Not the way it was with everyone else.

She saw how he interacted with Sidon and Riju and Yunobo and Paya. She saw how he spoke to stablemen and village people. She saw how his smile was wider, his eyes were brighter, and it was a stark contrast to when he was with her.

At least, she thought so. Because when he looked at her, his eyes seemed distant. His smiles didn’t reach her heart like they used to. And when he touched her or held her or did anything of the sort, he was so careful. Like he was afraid she’d break apart if he were to touch her in any other way.

There were many times when Zelda felt like she would never fit in with this new life. That she would never connect with Link in his Hateno house, or fit in with all of his new friends, or be anything other than Princess Zelda. Sure, helping Purah and Robbie with research and talking with Impa brought her back down to Hyrule—made her believe that it wasn’t as bad as she thought it was. But then she would return to Link’s home, eat dinner across from what might as well have been an empty chair, and lay in bed, feeling the hopelessness wrap around her like a weighted blanket.

Some nights, she would feel Link’s arms hugging her ever so gently, and she’d think that maybe it wasn’t so bad.

And then the morning would come and she would wake up alone.

Maybe it was her. Maybe she’d just become... unreachable. With nothing but the Calamity to keep her company for a century, maybe she’d changed without realizing it. Or maybe she was just a reminder to everyone about what the Calamity had done—how she failed them all the first time. Had it not been for Link, Hyrule would’ve been devastated beyond hope of returning.

The Hero of Hyrule. The savior of them all. Even her.

And after a century of growing doubts and fading hope, she supposed she would be different too. But her difference didn’t come with the freedom his did. Because Link had done everything right up until the very end. She did nothing right until there was nothing left to do.

There was nothing left to do. No pieces to pick up and put back together—not here. Not in Hateno.

And after staring at a page filled with scratch outs and unfinished sentences, Zelda decided there was really nothing she could say. Nothing but a sincere thank you, and a hope that his life of newfound freedom would bring him nothing but happiness. So that was all that she left behind.

Her hands were scraped and blistered from the hours she spent yanking at rubble, at the cave in that cut off the entrance to her bedroom. It was the first place she wanted to see, even though she couldn’t imagine it looked very good. Link said he’d gotten in through climbing, but she certainly didn’t have the upper body strength to climb the tower to her study. She was left with no choice but to use a rusty old sword she’d found to try and help her loosen the rocks and stone and dirt. And she’d done a decent enough job too, or at least that’s what she wanted to believe. The most she’d done was get the rubble to crumble and slide just enough for her to be able to squeeze between the top of the pile and the ceiling.

Zelda let out a slight scream when the rock beneath her hand gave out and she went sliding head first down the rubble, into her room.

It was completely trashed, which she’d sort of expected. But seeing it was a different story. Her living space, what she’d called home for her whole life, was reduced to practically nothing. Her bed had collapsed in on itself, her papers and books were yellowed and ripped, the staircase to her study was completely gone, and it looked so sad and empty. Yet she had seen so much destruction that she could not bring herself to mourn any more than she already had.

She ran her fingers through the layer of dust on her vanity. Her mirror was cracked, and spiders had taken over. Her rugs were torn and looked to be burnt up, and the only thing that looked truly intact was the Royal Guard’s Bow above her fireplace, that Link had gifted her a century ago.

She peered out to her balcony, and then up at the missing staircase. Going to her study was out of the question entirely, so she supposed she’d have to wait until the staircase was rebuilt. At least she still had her journal, which Link was kind enough to recover for her.

She busied herself by carefully pulling down the time-worn papers above her desk. The edges crumbled under her fingers, but her writings and drawings remained untouched—other than the fading. She set them down on her desk in a neat stack and gathered the ones from the floor, then set the paperweight on top of them. Then she got to work on pulling her small, circular table back upright. She pulled the yellowed table cloth off of it and tossed it into a corner. Soon, the pieces of broken chair joined it.

Her bed was going to be a little tougher to deal with, so she stuck to small things for now. Picking up what rubble she could, using the sword to knock down spider webs, throwing everything she didn’t want to keep into the pile. But it didn’t look like she’d done anything. Maybe her room was also too far gone for her to do anything with.

But to rebuild everything from start..?

No, not for her room or study. She could manage. But the rest of the castle—she could gather people willing to help. Gorons, Sheikah—all of Hyrule could help if they were willing.

She could invite the Sheikah to return and implement their technology—or at least encourage them to return to creating, and use that in the restoration of Hyrule. She could take the kingdom a step further than it was before, bring it into an entire new age with the help of those her family had wronged.

With the ideas filling in her head, Zelda fished her journal from the bag she carried and quickly scribbled down everything she was thinking of.

Gorons to help get rid of the rubble. The Bolson Construction Company could work with the Sheikah to create new floor plans and interior designs. The Zora could bring their designs in too, and incorporate the beautiful luminous stones that lit their architecture.

But how would she go about bringing this up to them? She would have to go up to all of the leaders individually—which was not an issue, since she’d been considering going to each region to propose the permanent station of the Divine Beasts as memorials for the Champions. That would be another thing to the list.

Zelda paced in her room, relaxing into something that felt familiar to her. Brainstorming, keeping herself busy. She could bring in Purah and Robbie to help rebuild the Research Lab too, which sent a flood of excitement through her.

Maybe once she thought she could stay away, but this was where she belonged. She had a duty to her people, to her kingdom, and she refused to fail them again. She refused to sit idly because of what she’d been through. She wasn’t the only one, so she had no right to sit and sulk. Hyrule needed her.

Didn’t it..?

Zelda’s pacing slowed, and she looked back towards the pile of rubble with a frown.

Did Hyrule need her?

Now that the threat of Calamity Ganon was gone, was she really of any use? A century without rule seemed to do Hyrule just fine—even if the kingdom was only beginning to recover. The four regions were thriving well on their own, under their own leaders. And the remaining Hylians—what did they truly need her for? Other than reconstruction, but even then, did they need her for that? She could propose ideas all she wanted, but she could do very little with her hands.

And now that it was safe for Hyrule to begin rebuilding, who’s to say they wouldn’t? Who’s to say they wouldn’t rebuild on their own? There were brilliant minds out there that didn’t need her permission or her ideas.

Zelda took a slow seat into the red velvet chair and looked around her crumbling room again.

Did she not belong here either..?

There was no one. Her father—everyone within the castle walls had perished when Ganon rose. Sadness and bloodshed were embedded deep in the walls of this place. There was no one left to tell her how to be a queen, how to rebuild a kingdom. She’d spent her entire life devoted to awakening a sealing power that came all too late. Her father had been right, it seemed. She was an heir to a throne of nothing. Nothing but failure.

Maybe she shouldn’t have come back. But if she was the heir, didn’t she owe it to the kingdom to rot alongside that nothing? To be reminded of her failure everywhere she looked?

She didn’t realize she was crying, screaming her voice raw, clutching her father’s journal to her chest, begging aloud to deaf ears—like she’d done for years. What she would give to feel her mother’s hugs, or Urbosa’s comfort again. What she would do to see her father again, even if he were looking down at her in his disappointment. What she would do to have someone, anyone left to guide her.

To get an answer from Hylia about what to do now that they had won.

But no one would hear her.

Zelda curled up in her chair, hugging her knees to her chest, and leaned her head against the top of it. She was reduced to gasping for breath and squeezing her eyes shut, as if that would stop the flow of tears.

It was getting dark now. She’d spent hours here, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Where would she even go if she did?

It was getting colder. In regular circumstances, she would have someone light her fireplace. But this was not regular circumstances, and there was no one left to do anything.

She must’ve cried herself to sleep, because she certainly didn’t remember going willingly. But instead of the nightmares, she was left with a dull ache. Nothing but darkness. Nothing but nothing.

———

When Link returned from hunting to find his house empty, he knew something was amiss. There was a sense of loneliness—the same one that filled the house when he first bought it. He didn’t quite know what to make of it, but he tried not to make assumptions. As much as he wanted to protect her, to not lose her again, he also didn’t want her to feel suffocated. Perhaps she just wanted to take a breather.

But it didn’t feel like Zelda had just gone on a short outing. It felt more like standing among a village of ruins. It felt sad and dull, like the life that once filled it took all the color with it when it left. There was something she brought with her to Hateno, and that something was gone now. Maybe he was simply overreacting, and he would find her at the lab with Purah.

She would come back later.

Except, the minutes turned into hours and she still hadn’t returned. Link became restless, and he took his horse up to the lab to check for himself. But Purah said that Zelda hadn’t come by at all that day.

Link raced back to his house to search for any sign of where she might’ve gone, but what he found made him feel nauseous. In her neat handwriting were the words:

Thank you for all you have done.

I wish nothing but happiness for you, and that a day will come where we can meet again.

He read the message over and over again, desperate to pry some other meaning out of it, but it was useless. He knew what she meant by this.

From the weeks he’d spent with Zelda, to the memories he recovered of her, he knew this wasn’t like her. It wasn’t like her to disappear, or hold back whatever was on her mind. He saw how hesitant, how closed off she’d become since she gained freedom, but he always hoped that maybe she’d talk to him eventually. He shared stories of his journey, took her to see everything he’d seen, in the hopes that she would someday feel comfortable enough to speak. He never wanted to force her.

But maybe he should’ve, because she was gone.

Link didn’t bother grabbing anything other than his gear before taking off towards Kakariko. He had a feeling she wasn’t going to be hiding with Impa, but he was going to need help.

There was only one other place she could be, but he struggled to imagine why she would return to the castle alone. Why she would suddenly leave without a word. Had he done something? Did he say something that made her want to leave? Did she feel trapped?

He didn’t know, because she hadn’t talked to him.

It was dusk by the time Link was finally able to set out for the castle, accompanied by Purah, Symin, Paya, and Impa. He’d been weary about so many people at first, but he let it slide for the sake of finding her before something happened. Sure, he made sure to kill every monster he found when he explored the castle, but there was no way of knowing if other monsters found their way in. Or people looking to find treasure. Or anything, really. Did she even know of the danger she was in?

Of course she did. He needed to give her a little more credit. She faced Ganon alone. Surely she could take a few monsters, or people, right? There were weapons in the castle, scattered everywhere. She would be fine, right?

Still, Link urged Epona to go faster. They raced past Dueling Peaks, through Central Hyrule, through the gates of the castle.

“Go,” urged Impa at his hesitation, with a nod towards the tower he’d climbed what felt both like yesterday, and a year ago. “We’ll find our way. Take this. Go find her.”

Link took the damp towel and bandages into his hands and slipped them into his bag before turning on his heel and sprinting towards the tower. He knew at the top would be the study, and the bridge that led to her room. Would she be there..? He couldn’t imagine how she’d accessed it, but no one knew this castle better than Zelda. He was sure there were ways in even he didn’t know about.

The pattern of the stone bricks underneath his hands and feet were familiar as he scaled his way up the tower, going as fast as he could. With no guardians to shoot him down, he was able to reach the midpoint and use Revali’s Gale to get him the rest of the way—at least, to the open window. The study looked as empty and depressing as ever. Zelda was not in here, though he wasn’t surprised. The stairway was broken, after all.

The bridge was empty too, so Link continued on to the princess’s room.

He could spot her from a mile away. Even if it was dark, and he was descending slowly on his paraglider, he saw her curled up in that dusty chair. Part of him wondered how she got in, and the other part broke upon closer look. She was asleep, but still she looked troubled—almost like she’d been crying. And—was that her father’s journal, in her hands?

And oh, her hands. He crouched besides the chair and gently took hold of one of her wrists. He pulled it gently to him, causing her to only stir, and examined it up close.

Years of climbing experience made him recognize the blisters, but she hadn’t climbed. No, because there was dirt underneath her fingernails and under the torn skin, and there were scrapes caked with dry blood. A glance towards the rubble pile outside the doorway confirmed his suspicions. She’d dug her way in.

Link looked back to her hand and gently pressed the towel to it. She flinched away and was awake in seconds, her wide eyes searching over him like she couldn’t believe them. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

“Hi,” he said softly.

“Link,” she replied, her voice hoarse. “I-“

“Your hands,” he stated, holding one of his own out. “They’ll get infected.”

Wordlessly, Zelda placed her hand back in his. Her father’s journal rested on her lap in favor of the Sheikah Slate, which she tapped away at with her free hand. Link only looked up when he heard the familiar warping sound of an item.

“Here,” she said softly, holding out a glass bottle filled with water. Link took it with a quiet “thanks” and dumped some on the cloth, figuring he could ask about herbs for medicine later. The priority right now was cleaning the wounds.

He dabbed at one of her palms, mumbling an apology whenever she would wince. He knew from experience that it stung, and it made him feel even worse. And the silence—it was more agonizing by the second. So he tried to fill it.

“You tidied up,” he said, nodding his head towards the trash pile.

“Hardly,” Zelda replied. “All I really managed was stacking some papers.”

“And that, if I recall correctly, is new.”

Her smile was weak and small, and hardly sincere. It didn’t belong on her lovely face. He took care with wrapping her hand and fingers, for an excuse to hold onto her a little longer.

“I think if there wouldn’t have been a Moblin in here, it wouldn’t be as bad,” he continued, thinking back on what a scare it’d given him originally. The last thing he’d expected to find in her bedroom, a place that was supposed to be so private and safe, was a monster. But then again, a monster had long since taken over her home. “They don’t have the best manners.”

“A Moblin?” Zelda asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Not sure how it got in,” Link said with a shrug, wetting the cloth again so he could begin cleaning her other hand.

“A century is a long time,” she replied, her voice breaking just enough to make his fingers twitch with the urge to hold her hands tighter. “There’s really no way to know if the collapse happened during... or later on. It could have found its way in at any point. You mentioned monsters of all sorts infested nearly every room.”

“Not your study. I wish I could take you see it, Zel.”

She was quiet. Link looked up at her to find her gazing at the missing staircase, but he didn’t know if she was actually seeing, or if she was lost in thought. He watched her for a moment, wondering just how much she was thinking of. What memories she must have been replaying—if they were ones he no longer had, if they included him at all. He knew he had been in her study with her at least once, if not multiple times all those years ago. Maybe he used to help her research, or kept her company while she did. He wanted to take her to her study, show her the Silent Princess that bloomed right in the middle. He could remember her mentioning prior attempts to grow them domestically and save them from extinction. Did it result from an attempt of her own, only able to actually flourish a century later?

Link returned his eyes to her hand. It was cold against his, despite what the red, irritated, and torn skin suggested. He tried to stay as gentle as possible as he wiped the grime and blood away, feeling worse every time her hand stiffened in pain. The silence was getting to him again, as was the still overhanging question of what drove her here.

“Zel..” he spoke. If she looked his way, he didn’t know. He busied himself with wrapping her hand. “I would’ve come with you.. You didn’t have to come back here alone.”

“It’s home,” she whispered out. Link glanced up at her, holding her hand just a little tighter.

“I know,” he said. “But home doesn’t have to be just one place.”

Zelda did not reply, but he could faintly hear his name being shouted. He’d nearly forgotten about the others, and clearly Zelda was as shocked as he was. But he stood from his position, letting her hand go at last, and jogged to the pile of rubble.

“—in there?” someone said, muffled by the wall of filth.

“We’re in here,” Link called back, wincing at how loud he sounded. “There’s a hole in the top that you can squeeze though, or we can try to remove more of the cave in.”

He thought he heard something like “stand back”, but he wasn’t sure until he heard a loud crash, and rubble began sliding down towards him. He backed up just in time to miss being pelted by a large rock and the rush of dirt and dust behind it. He coughed, waving his hand in front of his face to try and disperse the cloud it had created.

“This’ll take a lot more force to clean up entirely,” came the voice of Purah after a coughing fit of her own.

“We’ll manage,” replied Impa. Once the dust settled, the four were able to enter the bedroom at last. Link gave them all a polite nod and turned back to Zelda, who was staring at them as if they were ghosts. She looked pale.

He crouched before her again and raised the cloth to her face. When she didn’t move to pull away, he started wiping at the grime and scratches.

“This is quite the place to run off to when you’re upset,” spoke Impa again. She sounded far closer than she had before and Link had to keep his surprise that she could move that fast at bay.

“It’s home,” Zelda repeated, adverting her eyes. Though this time, something about her voice gave away that she didn’t believe it.

“Maybe once, a long time ago,” Impa said.

Link raised a hand to Zelda’s cheek, holding her still while he wiped at a scratch on her forehead. She was making a point to avoid looking at anyone. She looked a little guilty, too, though he couldn’t think of why.

“We can rebuild,” Purah promised, standing to the side of the cushioned chair. “Really, your room isn’t that far gone at all. And most of the castle structure is still intact—at least, the parts we can get to. Really, Princess, it’s not as bad as it looks.”

“That’s kind of you,” Zelda replied, but she shook her head. “But reconstruction will take years.”

“It’s not impossible,” Purah argued, grabbing the arm of the chair with her little hands.

Link slowly lowered his hands now that Zelda’s face was, for the most part, clean. He capped what remained in the bottle and set it aside, reaching instead for the Sheikah Slate. When she didn’t stop him, he placed a hesitant hand on her knee and got to work looking through their gathered materials. He could make a healing potion for her hands with the right parts.

“No,” Zelda agreed, leaning back in the chair. “But it’s long and tedious and.. and we— I do not deserve your help.”

He furrowed his eyebrows and looked up at his princess with a frown. He wasn’t the only one, but her eyes remained stubbornly glued to the floor. An overwhelming desire to see those green eyes sparkle with happiness once again hit him, but he didn’t know what to do about it. Was it even his place?

“The concept of being ‘deserving’ of anything is silly,” spoke up Paya. Her voice was soft and rushed, like she were nervous to be speaking up to a princess. Link didn’t blame her. He felt like that too, in the beginning. “I’m sorry, Princess, but everyone deserves kindness, regardless of what they themselves think. To imply that they don’t is to say that they’re not.. human.”

“Paya is right, dear child. But I can think of no one more deserving of a comfortable home and happiness than you,” Impa said.

Zelda looked like she was trembling. Link set down the Slate and gently took her bandaged hands in his own. Only then did she look at him, her green eyes glistening with unshed tears. The sight tore his heart in half.

“Talk to us,” he whispered, running his thumbs over her knuckles. “To me. Please.”

He wished he could read her mind, soothe whatever fight she seemed to be having with herself. But all he could do as tears slipped down her cheeks was kneel upright against the chair and wrap her in a hug. And the journal she kept in her lap fell to the floor when she pressed closer, holding parts of his shirt in tight fists. He held her tighter, hoping just maybe, he could keep the remaining pieces of her together.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. Link shook his head.

“Don’t apologize, please. You have nothing to be sorry for. But if there’s anything I can do-“

“Link, you’ve done so much.” She was looking at him again, like he were some kind of grand hero. He was, according to almost all of Hyrule. But when she addressed him as such, and looked at him as such, it was different. Like he were her hero, and hers alone. Sometimes, he wished he were. “Really, there is nothing more for you to do.”

“I can be here, with you. If you really wanted to come back, I would’ve come with you.”

He felt like he was begging. Begging for her to still give him a place in her life. For how confused he’d been when his journey began, he felt so inexplicably complete when he finally got her back. He wanted to feel that way again—wanted her to know that feeling if she didn’t already. But he would struggle greatly with acceptance if she didn’t want his help.

“Why come back?” she asked, pulling back from his embrace and leaving him empty. She looked so sad. “The heir to a throne of nothing. Is that really who you want to follow?”

He could still hear those words, spoken originally in the gruff voice of the king. At the time, Link found him to be acting as neither a king or a father. It was cruel, to spit those words in a sixteen-year-old’s face. To relay to her what the gossip mongers said behind her back, to imply that they were correct in some sort of way. She tried all she could, but they refused to let her be of any help outside of her supposed destiny. Little did they know her destiny involved facing a great evil alone, locking herself away for over a century. And yet, all these years later, those words still bit deeply into her. Did she truly believe them? After all she had done?

Link had never once believed in those words. Though he was as clueless as anyone else on why the goddess remained silent, he instead believed that she would save them all. Her worth and ability were never tied to any sacred power. Not to him, not to her friends, and not to her father. It was just a shame the king picked so late to act like one.

He reached up to hold her face again, trying to get her to look at him.

“I follow the princess who cared so much about her kingdom that she sealed herself away with evil incarnate for over a century. I follow the princess who worked tirelessly to fulfill her duty. I follow the princess who knelt in freezing waters for hours at a time to pray on deaf ears. I follow the princess who did everything she could, and not just because she was told to.”

“You follow a princess who killed you and countless others with her inability to do her job,” she spat, but there was no venom to her words. She just sounded.. tired. Link shook his head again, racking his brain for the right thing to say. What had he said back then, in moments like these? What would work to comfort a broken soul?

“Please.” He was begging again. He was desperate, because her coming here alone meant more than what she was saying. “Please don’t blame yourself for the things Ganon caused. I hate to admit it Zel, but we were fucked regardless whether or not you unlocked your powers. But they don’t blame you—and neither do I.”

“But why don’t you?” Zelda asked, finding a grip on his shirt once again. “I was so cruel to you, so jealous of you.. and in the end... I don’t understand.”

“I took a vow to protect you with my life, Zelda.” He brushed his thumbs over her cheekbones, wishing he could get rid of her unshed tears that easily. “And I’d do it again. Without hesitation. Wherever you go, I will be there.”

Because without her, it felt so very empty. Even with the friendships he’d made along the way. And the why evaded him until he’d come to understand that it was better left unspoken. And the weeks spent with her in Hateno, while they tried to adjust to this world neither of them were really a part of, was when the pieces of the puzzle fell together.

“That vow was made as a knight to a princess and a king, in preparation for the Calamity. There is no threat. There is no more king. And there is hardly a princess. But should you need it, I, Princess Zelda of Hyrule, officially release you from your vows.”

Link shook his head again, as if it could prevent the words from reaching his brain, his heart.

He felt like she was slipping right through his fingers. Just as she had with every memory along the way. One minute she would be there with her green eyes and warm, sunny smile, or annoyed glare, or concentrated expression. Then he would open his eyes and find himself alone, with any lingering warmth fleeting to join her in the castle, locked far away from him. He would look towards the castle and think of nothing but her. This Zelda that he knew long ago, this voice that compelled him to find her, this Princess that a century ago, he had fallen in love with and given his life for. And maybe his memories were fragmented, and maybe he’d never get them all back, but he was certain of that much.

“I made a promise to protect you, Zelda, princess or not. Because I want to. So if this is where you want to be,” he freed a hand to gesture to the room around them, “then I will be there too.”

“You belong to the wild,” Zelda replied simply, bringing her hands to cover his. “I can’t take you away from that.”

“Then stay with me there, please. Or, or with Impa in Kakariko, or Purah in the lab. Anything is better than here, cold and alone.” She had to know that. To return to a place of nightmares...to consider staying... Link was so afraid she was too far gone, and they hadn’t caught anything until she’d broken.

Zelda peeled his hands from her face and shook her head. Link couldn’t find the right words, and he’d never felt so hopeless before.

“I’m afraid,” began Impa, joining them at the chair. Her wrinkled hands covered theirs. Link hoped with all his heart that they were bringing warmth back to her icy fingertips. “That her century with malice has driven the light from her mind. Princess, why have you convinced yourself that what you want is unreachable?”

Zelda recoiled at the question. Link tightened his hold on her hands ever so slightly, because he felt her trying to slip away again.

“There are times when the darkness can extinguish the light,” she replied, tearing her green eyes away.

“And the blame for that does not fall on your shoulders, sweet child. In fact, Hyrule would not have been able to recover at all, had it not been for your selflessness. The horrors you endured, sealed away with a beast, are something we cannot ever understand. But we can recognize that without you, Hyrule would have fallen completely to Ganon’s control. When you focus solely on your stubborn power, you ignore the other things you were able to do. Without your help, the Champions would have been unable to master their Divine Beasts.”

“The Champions are dead,” Zelda repeated, her voice trembling again. Link knew the feeling, and goddesses, how he wished he could grant her the closure he’d received. He found himself praying, begging out for Urbosa to somehow come to her aid, appear to her and let her know in a way he couldn’t that it was alright.

“The Champions knew just what and how much they were risking when they answered your call, Princess. You chose well. But I’m afraid Link is right, Ganon would have taken them out even if you had awakened your power. The beast was prepared for our attack, and I’m afraid by following our ancestors so closely, we doomed ourselves. But the blame for that does not fall upon you.”

“But if I had just worked harder, if I had done more, prayed harder, then maybe-“

“Zelda,” Impa said, her voice stern. Even Link felt like he was being scolded, and he was nothing more than a bystander. “You gave all your efforts and in the end, prayer was hardly what woke your power.”

Her eyes drifted to Link. She looked defeated, because she did know. And so did he. When Kass relayed to him the song, he’d nearly cried. It wouldn’t have been the first of the tears shed on his journey. And it wasn’t the first time he’d learned of a princess doing something out of her love for him. He remembered quite clearly when he found out—how he spent that night asking into empty air if it were true. No answer ever came to him.

“I know,” Zelda replied at last, ducking her head and instead looking at their hands. In two simple words, his answer had come.

“Then I trust you to make the decision you believe is best for you. But no decision should be made at this hour. I suggest we get some sleep before dawn’s light is upon us.” Impa’s hands lifted, and with a simple gesture to Paya, they disappeared through the rubble at the doorway.

“If you ever need a place to go, or someone to talk to about ideas, my door is always open. But I have to agree with my sister on this one. You should get some rest, and make your decision in the morning.” And Purah and Symin were gone as well.

Now that they were alone, Link wished he knew what to say. He wished he could leave it at that and tell her to get some sleep. But he couldn’t.

“I still don’t understand,” he said, releasing her hands so he could dig in his pockets. Zelda lifted her head to look at him, and he held up the piece of paper she’d torn out of her diary. The writing that was burned into his brain. “Why?”

She lowered her gaze again, but she did not answer.

“I thought you might’ve been at the lab with Purah,” Link continued to fill the silence. “And then I thought maybe you went to Kakariko, but Impa said she hadn’t seen you.”

“I’m sorry,” Zelda said softly. Her eyes were fixed on the dirty rug beneath her chair, but he could tell she was looking far past that.

“Why didn’t you talk to me..? Or say goodbye, at the very least?”

“I just.. I couldn’t,” she admitted, hugging her arms. “It would’ve made it harder.”

“How long have you been thinking of leaving..?”

“A week or so...”

Link let out a sigh, dragging a hand down his face. He felt guilty again, for not saying anything when he first noticed her drawing back. Maybe she thought he was disappointed, because she continued,

“I just—I didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

“Did something happen, Zel..?” he asked hesitantly, lifting his gaze back to her’s. It was selfish, but part of him needed to know if it was him, or the setting. “To make you want to leave, I mean. Do you not like it in Hateno?”

“No, no-! Hateno is lovely, Link.” She straightened up, reaching out a hesitant hand towards him. But she dropped it before it made any contact. “I just...”

“You don’t have to talk to me,” Link said, lifting a hand to her face, though he desperately wanted her to. “But if there’s anything you need, please let me know. You don’t have to suffer alone.”

After a moment more, he dropped his hand to his side and picked up the Slate again. He wished there was more he could say or do, to help her. But this wasn’t something he could swing a sword at and disintegrate.

“Do you ever feel like you don’t quite belong here?” she asked, ending the stretch of silence. “Like you shouldn’t be, because you belong to a different time?”

Link looked up at her, masking his surprise that she was perhaps finally speaking what was on her mind. He nodded once, but said nothing more, urging her to continue. She did.

“At first, Hyrule didn’t look much different than it had before.. But seeing Castle Town and Central Hyrule in ruin was still... so fresh. Something that took years to build and was once full of life, was destroyed in minutes. So many lives lost... And then I find this new village—two, actually, filled to the brim with life. Like the Calamity had never touched them at all. And it was so.. different.”

“A Hyrule one hundred years later,” Link said, finding her hands again. “Toeing the line between recovery and destruction. And the only thing keeping that line steady is you.”

“I’m sorry,” Zelda said again, her hands twitching like she wanted to pull them away. “I shouldn’t be complaining when you’ve no memory of the Hyrule we were a part of all those years ago.”

“But maybe that’s a good thing,” he responded. It made her finally look at him, her eyes wide with shock. But he’d thought long and hard on it, and he was being honest.

“Link-“

“I’m serious,” he insisted. “I don’t remember everything. And it hurts sometimes, that I can’t remember everything about you, and about our friends. But I don’t feel the pain that came with fighting Ganon, or fending off guardians. I don’t feel the burden of the sword. I’m.. a little more free of that trauma than you are. For a century, you sealed yourself away with nothing but evil incarnate. And you still remembered everything you had done and been through up until that moment.”

“You make it look so easy. Living in this Hyrule, I mean. You have so many friends, you seem so comfortable and at home..”

“It’s hard not to make friends when they risk their lives to help you. And I don’t think I’d be as well off if I still remembered everything. But it’s not easy. I’m living in a world I really know nothing about. And as for home, well... it didn’t feel like home. Not until you were with me and safe.”

Zelda blinked. She looked like she wanted to cry again, but Link was being more honest than he’d ever been. Yet for some reason, a fraction of hurt took over her eyes. It was gone as quickly as it had come, but he saw it.

“You hardly know me,” she said. Even she winced at that and went to apologize, but Link held her hands a little tighter and willed her to look directly at him as he spoke, pouring everything he could into his words.

“I know that you love your people so much, you faced Ganon alone. I know that you love to research and wanted to learn as much about Sheikah technology as possible. I know you faced criticism from everyone, even your own father, but you pushed yourself to your limit anyway with a silent goddess. I know you saw me as a reminder of your own failures, and I know you tried to convince me to taste a frog. I know your favorite dessert is fruit cake, I know you had a white horse you named Storm who you struggled with at first, I know Urbosa was like a second mother to you, I know Revali annoyed you just as much as he annoyed me, I know we somehow ended up as friends, and I know what woke your powers in the end.”

Zelda looked as if she couldn’t find the words she wanted to say. It wasn’t impossible to believe, given he’d mentioned some things only someone who was close to her would know, but maybe that last part should’ve stayed to himself.

“Urbosa did always say it was quite obvious.” She shook her head and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Did she tell you?”

“Kass did,” Link replied, adverting his eyes. He felt a little guilty to admit it. “The Rito Bard. His teacher, the court poet, set out to.. learn some ballads about the ancient hero, so he could help me. He mentioned it in his song. Though, now that I think about it, it was a little... rude. I mean, it’s no one’s business and..”

Zelda looked amused. Link forced himself to stop speaking, which was new. He was still getting used to a lot of things.

“Well, he didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. It’s better you hear it from them, than a gossip monger who has nothing better to do but impose on the life of others.”

“I’d rather hear it from you,” he replied with a shrug before he could stop himself. Even in the dim lighting of the room, he could see the way her cheeks flushed.

“You just did,” she argued, ripping her hands away so she could cross her arms. Link held his hands up in defense.

“All I’m saying is that having a descendant of the goddess Hylia herself love you is quite the feeling.”

“Oh, so being Zelda isn’t enough for you then? You’ve got to play the goddess card to inflate your already big head?” But there was no malice behind her words, and the faint smile on her lips was more than worth it.

“Now I never said that,” he defended, fending off a smile of his own. “I happen to find Zelda absolutely wonderful all on her own. But having goddess powers is cool, too.”

A small giggle passed her lips. The light was returning to her eyes slowly, but progress was progress and Link was desperate to keep it up.

“I’m glad someone around here appreciates Zelda,” she joked, leaning back in her chair once again. He rested a hand on her knee and looked up at her, letting the smile onto his lips.

“Someone should tell her that she’s deserving of love, and happiness, and a fresh start too.”

Zelda’s smile was weak, but it was there. It was enough to make him swell with hope that maybe, maybe they’d figure it out eventually. But something was still eating at her. He could see it in the way she adverted her gaze again, for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“What if I don’t get along with your new friends?” she asked at last. “If I don’t fit in?”

It would’ve been rude to laugh. Her fears were absolutely valid, and he took her hands again in an attempt to show that. But it was hard for him to imagine any of his friends not getting along with Zelda. She was lovely, even after years of nothingness. He was sure she would fit in perfectly.

“Sidon will absolutely, enthusiastically praise you for every little thing you do,” Link began, counting off his closest friends. “Yunobo will bow to you with your strength, maybe even ask you to help him with his own. Riju will be the little sister you never had. And Teba may be just as proud as, but he’s less openly arrogant than Revali. They will love you, I promise.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Zel, I can’t believe you’re worried about that. If you could hold the Calamity back for a century and make me fall in love with you twice, then you can easily make friends who’ll love you just as much.”

The confession he hadn’t intended on making caused a smile to tug at the corners of her lips, and Link knew maybe, finally he’d said the right thing. He gently pulled her forwards by her hands but before he could kneel to meet her, she’d joined him on the floor. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her into his chest with an unspoken promise to continue being by her side until the end of time.

“If you’re really ready to be here,” he whispered out, “then I’ll be here. But if you’re not, it’s never too late to come back home.”

Zelda pressed her face into his shoulder, and he leaned his head against hers, drawing gentle shapes on her back.

“Thank you for coming after me.”

“Of course. If I didn’t, people would think I was mad at my princess or something.”

Zelda let out a quiet laugh and he felt her hold him a little tighter.

“What, so you only came after me to protect your reputation?” she joked, tilting her head up so she could look at him, forcing him to lift his head.

“Obviously,” Link said as he looked back down at her. “Can’t be the Hero of Hyrule if I leave their princess all alone.”

“If I recall, you did that for over a century.”

“My bad.”

Zelda laughed again, the sound bright and joyous in the empty room. It filled him with comfort, and he couldn’t help simply gazing at her, taking in every little detail he could see. Part of him wondered if he’d really forgotten her, because it felt impossible to imagine a time he didn’t know her face. Her lovely eyes, her warm smile, her infectious laugh, her pink lips—it wasn’t something that could be forgotten. A beauty like hers transcended that.

“I meant it when I said thank you for everything,” she said with a small smile. “Hyrule really is in your debt.”

“I would do it again and again.” Without thinking, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. It was lucky for him that her love lasted over a century.

“Get some sleep,” she said softly, tugging the cushion from the chair and tossing it behind him. “You must be exhausted.”

“I slept for a hundred years. I think I’ll be fine,” he replied, but laid back and rested his head on the cushion anyway. Zelda laid gently on top of him, resting her head against his chest. Link folded his arms around her and took a deep breath so her scent enveloped him again. Her fingers tapped against his shoulder, keeping time with his heartbeat. He knew, just as he had for a while, that they were right where they needed to be. He couldn’t speak for Zelda, but he knew that he belonged with her, no matter what life it was.

And he closed his eyes, missing the dawn’s light peaking over the horizon.

Masterlist

#zelink #botw #breath of the wild #post-calamity #hurt/comfort

126 notes · View notes

emotionally-imbruised · 5 years ago

Text

Santa Tell Me

“Don’t make me fall in love again if he won’t be here next year.” ❆

A/N: Oh wow, she actually wrote something. Who is she? HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE.

Word Count: 7k

A cool breeze drifted across the room, causing goosebumps to rise on Y/N’s exposed skin as she instinctively cuddled up against the warm body lying next to her. She tried to fall back asleep, but unfortunately, her thoughts refused such a luxury as she began thinking of how this really was the last place she should be.

She didn’t mean to spend the night, but after a few glasses of wine and a deep conversation instead of paying attention to the Christmas movie that played in the background, she was a bit more welcoming to the way Harry’s hand rested on her thigh; rubbing soft circles with his thumb before eventually leaning in to catch her lips with his. And she let him! God, why did she let him?

Y/N’s relationship with Harry was complicated, to say the least. The two of them have been friends for quite some time, however, things became a little difficult roughly a year and a half ago when they began sleeping with each other.

It started off casual, there were no strings attached whatsoever. The two of them were just good friends and single. One fateful night when she and Harry had gone out, he ended up at her apartment, with minimal clothing, and the rest was history. Well, kind of.

She wasn’t expecting to sleep with him for a second time after that… or a third… and most definitely not a fourth; but the universe has a funny way of working sometimes and soon enough, hers and Harry’s little arrangement became a rather common occurrence.

It was great, for a while. Although the two of them were quite literally just fuck-buddies, neither of them tried to really change the situation because they were both content with it. There was no labeling of what their relationship had become. They were both exclusively sleeping with one another, their friends were somewhat aware of what was going on but tended to stay out of it, and it just worked.

But then Y/N caught feelings.

She hated how easy it was to fall for Harry back then with his stupid smile and magnetic personality, but it was just so hard to avoid. Especially seeing how being intimate with him seemingly brought out the significant feelings she felt towards him, regardless of how hard she tried to keep them hidden. But the thing was, it was almost as if Harry had caught feelings as well.

He was the one to address what happened after the first time the two of them slept together, even going as far as to blatantly say that he wouldn’t mind if it happened again. It was also him that hinted at Y/N being the only person he was seeing. He was still the kind, funny, sweet Harry that she knew and loved dearly as a friend; but this brought a whole new meaning to their relationship and they weren’t aware of how complicated things were bound to get.

Last Christmas was when everything started to fall apart. Y/N fell so hard for him and based on his very affectionate actions towards her, even when they weren’t just shagging, gave her the impression that he might’ve felt the same way. But for whatever reason, they were both too chicken to admit that they wanted more.

She had finally mustered up the courage to tell Harry that she loved him; but on Christmas Eve when she planned on actually telling him this, she never got the chance to do so.

He stood her up, to put it simply. The two of them had plans to go to a Christmas market together and while they were out, Y/N decided that she was going to tell Harry how she felt. She was pretty sure he knew about her feelings too and that made it even more nerve-wracking. However, after she arrived and waited for him for over half an hour without a text to say where he was, she went home and didn’t hear from him again.

The following day, all Y/N received was the obligatory Merry Christmas texts friends send to one another. Harry didn’t explain why he didn’t show, didn’t give any indication that he wanted to see her again over the holiday season, and she was too hurt to ask why. So, she let it be.

Then he jetted off to Japan and soon was caught up in the whirlwind of what it meant to be a celebrity. Which was fine. As his friend, she still rooted for him in everything he did, despite how stupid she felt for falling for one of her best friends.

The year came and went fairly quickly, and it was a rather significant one for Harry. Having co-hosted the met gala and putting the final touches on and beginning promo for his second album, it was no wonder he was so busy all of the time. Y/N was busy too, having immersed herself into work while trying to pan out what her future entailed and where she would end up.

Throughout the year, both Y/N and Harry remained in touch, which they were both extremely thankful for because of how they were such good friends, to begin with. What happened last year at Christmas was never addressed, and was kind of just dropped. Almost as if it didn’t happen. But then one night when Harry was back in London a few months ago, all of that changed.

She hooked up with him… again… and it soon began somewhat of a regular occurrence all over again. But this time she was careful. Y/N didn’t want to get hurt like last year because those feelings she had never really gone away, so she was a bit more hesitant on how often the two of them would shag.

Instead, she focused on hanging out and catching up with her friend because she really missed him this year with how busy he was; and luckily for her, Harry was seemingly ok with that.

However, that didn’t mean there wasn’t the odd slip up where one of them ended up in the others bed every once in a while... Kind of like what happened last night.

Harry was still dead asleep beside her, and Y/N’s want to just dip and never speak of this again was very prominent. There were only a few days left until Christmas and she needed to go into work that afternoon to finish up some last-minute things before she was off for the holidays, but leaving the nice warmth of Harry’s bed was proving to be rather difficult.

After a moment of consideration, she decided that she should use this time to escape. It would mean avoiding Harry, but she was pretty ok with that because no, she didn’t want to talk about what happened and as of late, it seemed like Harry has.

Letting out a sigh, she untangled herself from the sleepy hold Harry had around her waist and got out of the bed. She bit down on her lip as she took in the clothes skewed around the room before making a dash for the en-suite. If she showered at Harry’s, all she would have to do is run home and change before going into work. It was bound to save her some time, so she decided on that and stealing some over Harry’s oversized clothing instead of putting the previous night's outfit back on.

When Y/N took a look at herself in the large mirror above the vanity, a disgusted noise left her mouth. She looked rough, and the want to shower grew even more.

She quickly moved to the small cabinet and grabbed one of the large fluffy towels that resides within it so that she could wrap it around herself before brushing her teeth.

Yes, she had her own toothbrush at Harry’s. He had one at her flat too. It was something the two of them started years ago and just never weaned itself out. Whenever one bought a new toothbrush, they’d buy the other one too and put it in its respective place for them to use the next time they were over.

As Y/N ran some warm water over the brush before putting some toothpaste on it, she didn’t notice the presence of another being sneaking up behind her until she looked back at the mirror and locked eye contact with them.

“Holy shit!” She jumped, almost dropping her toothbrush in the process. “What the hell, Harry?”

“G’morning to you too,” he responded, sleep still lacing his voice as he walked up to the vanity to stand next to her.

He didn’t say anything else, just reached for his toothbrush and began brushing his teeth as if nothing happened. The two stood next to each awkwardly, each glancing at the other every once in a while and Y/N hated it. It was as though there was this huge elephant in the room separating them even though there was really only a couple of inches between them. So, as she finished rinsing off her toothbrush and waited for Harry to do the same, she slowly began stepping away from the vanity.

“I uh, I’m just going to take a shower if that’s alright? Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

He nodded in understanding before glancing I’m towards the door and biting down on his lip as if contemplating what he was going to say next. “You know you don’t have to leave, right?”

“What? Er- I, well.” His response caught her completely off guard and she wasn’t too sure how to respond. After a brief moment, she was able to recollect herself. “No, I do. I uhm, I have to go into work to finish up a few things before we’re closed for the holidays. Just a quick shower and then I’ll be on my way.”

Harry knew what she was doing, knew that she was trying to not discuss what happened between them the night before and avoid him as much as possible as a way to do so. He thought of a way to approach it but settled on just messing with her a little bit instead.

“Ok, I need to shower too.”

Without another word, he walked over to the large glass shower and reached in to turn the water on.

It didn’t take long for the warmth of the running water to create a steam-filled room and once Harry was done gathering a towel for himself, he finally made eye contact with Y/N from where she was standing in front of the mirror gawking at him in the reflection. A small chuckle escaped his mouth before he started removing the track pants he wore, all while not looking away; as if silently taunting her.

“I know what you’re doing and it’s not going to work,” she stated as she spun around to face him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, love,” he replied innocently as he wrapped the towel around his waist before ridding himself of his boxers and stepping towards her.

“You’re trying to get me to shower with you.”

“M’trying to save on my hydro bill this month actually, but that doesn’t sound too bad either.”

She couldn’t think of a way to respond as he finally reached her, and gently linked their hands together. Harry was well aware that if he were to lead, she would follow. It worked both ways with them, seeing as he knew damn well of the lengths he would go for her... but it wasn’t the time to discuss that yet. He just wanted to be with her for a little while longer, so when he started walking towards the shower with her in tow, he decided that he’d use his time very wisely.

Once their towels were removed and they were under the warm running water of the shower, very few words were spoken between the two. Y/N wasted no time in being the first to wet her hair and start washing it, eventually switching places with Harry so that he could do the same.

Both would have been lying if they said there wasn’t an intense amount of sexual tension as their bodies brushed against each other with each movement, which Y/N tried greatly to ignore. She needed to get clean and leave; already feeling stupid enough to fall for his antics and join him in the shower at all but also very much so not wanting to change anything about her current predicament.

As she finished rinsing the conditioner from her hair and went to step out from under the water, her back came in contact with a sturdy force that she knew could be nothing other than Harry. Immediately, she turned around to face him. With the way he looked down at her, eyes sleepy and seductive, she knew that him standing that close was intentional, but still couldn’t help the tiny yelp that left her mouth as he leaned down to crash his lips against hers.

Her back soon came in contact with the cool tile wall the shower head was mounted on. That in contrast with the warm water that still poured on her and Harry, along with the firm grip he had on her waist, was all rather exhilarating. It didn’t take long for her to melt into the kiss, opening her mouth to allow him further access and tangling her hands into his hair.

Y/N smiled when he moaned against her mouth as a result of her tugging slightly on his dampened curls, feeling proud of herself for being able to get him as worked up as he manages to get her. His hands then began roaming, spending some time massaging each of her breasts before leaving a tingling trail of sparks as he moved them down to where she was throbbing to feel him.

“Harry-,” she gasped before he could do anything else, causing him to freeze. He leaned against her slightly and she felt his length against her. Felt just how hard he was with anticipation and although part of her wanted to reach down and help with that, her mind screamed at her not to as thoughts of what occurred a year ago started flooding her mind again. “Fuck, what are we doing?”

“M’not sure I know what you mean,” he mumbled before leaning down to latch his mouth and that sweet spot in the crook of her neck he knew would have her seeing stars. His hand then reached down to where she was basically dripping for him and rubbed a harsh circle on her oh-so-sensitive bud with his middle and ring fingers. Her knees buckled as she gripped onto him even more, and he made no effort to hide the smug grin he wore as he moved back to get a better look at her. “Seems like you’re enjoying whatever it is we’re doing.”

“I- I am,” she stuttered as his fingers continued their work and another gasp left her mouth just as his lips met hers hungrily.

“Then what’s the problem?”

She moaned against his mouth and felt herself fading into his touch again, loving him and how he made her feel. Then her eyes widened in panic as she realized what she just internally admitted to herself and began pushing him away.

“No, no. We can’t keep doing this,” she stated as she created enough space between the two of them so that she could worm herself around him and exit the shower.

“Y/N, wait,” he followed after her, only to be met with a towel coming in contact with his face after she chucked it in his direction.

“No, Harry! Last night shouldn’t have happened and neither should have the times before… I can’t keep being with you like this, not after what happened last year. I refuse.” Her voice cracked slightly at the last part of her statement as she worked on wrapping herself up in a towel again before turning to face him; eyes widening as she took in his still naked form. “For fuck's sake, please put on the towel would you?”

He fumbled with the item while reaching into the shower and shutting off the water before finally wrapping it around his waist, and stepping towards her. “Ok, ok. I, fuck, I don’t even know where to start Y/N. Please just stay and we can talk about this. All of it. We can talk about us…”

“There is no us, H,” she replied and Harry was sure he saw tears threatening to form in her eyes as she looked at him. “You ruined that last year when you just up and left without an explanation.”

“If you’d let me explain, I would be more than happy to,” he argued; becoming frustrated with how stubborn she was being.

“No, I have to go. I need to borrow some clothes to wear to my place so I can put something on for work. I’ll get them back to you somehow.”

“But-,” he wanted to try and reason with her but there was no point because in the next moment, she was rushing out of the bathroom and Harry knew better than to go after her.

Walking into the office, Y/N tried to avoid eye contact with her co-workers. It’s not that she didn’t get along with any of them, but her hair was still damp from the shower she just had and she very much so looked like she was coming from a place she shouldn’t have been.

She was overly frustrated with herself for staying at Harry’s longer than planned because, on top of everything that just happened between the two of them, she now had the attention of everyone in the office as she shamefully made a beeline for her desk. As much as she hated the thought, she knew she’d get grilled sooner rather than later.

“You look rough,” stated Candace, a fellow journalist and by far the best friend Y/N had made since starting work in that particular office.

“I really don’t want to talk about it C,” Y/N replied as she took off her jacket and sat at the desk next to her friend. “I’ve had a shitty morning.”

“I can tell,” she responded with a chuckle before spinning around and grabbing a still warm Starbucks cup from the tray located next to her. “You weren’t responding to my texts so I figured something was going on. Thought you could use a little pick-me-up.”

Y/N let out a thankful sigh of relief as took the cup from Candace’s hand and took a big gulp. “God, you’re a lifesaver.”

“I do what I can,” she chuckled and shook her head. “Boss woman is letting us go home early today once we’re done our piece for next week's column, but I just really want to know where it is you’re coming from and why you’re so salty because of it.”

“What makes you think I’m coming from anywhere in particular and that I didn’t just sleep in?”

“Well you are pretty much drowning in that hoodie you’re wearing, so I know it’s not yours,” she stated, causing Y/N to look down at her outfit and take in her pair of ripped jeans and Harry’s sweater she stole on her way out of his flat. “Is it a boy’s? Oh, it definitely is. You gotta spill.”

“I, well, this is Harry’s.”

“Like Harry Styles… as in your famous best friend,” Candace asked for clarification, a frown forming on her mouth when Y/N nodded. “Well damn, I thought I was going to get some juicy details about a guy you were sleeping with.”

Y/N stayed silent and shifted awkwardly in her seat.

“Wait… YOU’RE SLEEPING WITH HIM AGAIN?”

“Would you calm down!?”

“No, I can’t,” Candace replied and leaned closer so no one else would hear her losing her mind. “How? When did this happen?”

“It’s been off and on for a few months now,” Y/N explained with a shrug. “I’ve been wanting to just stop altogether because of what happened last year, but I don’t know.”

“You still like being with him, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. Pretty pathetic, right?”

“Not pathetic,” she stated. “Surprising, yes. I thought you didn’t want anything to do with him that wasn’t completely platonic after what happened last year.”

“I didn’t,” Y/N told her honestly. “But he sucked me right back in and I ended up falling harder than I did before.”

“Oh, to be in your shoes.”

“Shut up, I’m having an internal crisis over this whole thing.”

“I mean, you could always just tell him how you feel,” Candace told her with a wink. “Seems like a pretty easy solution to me.”

“Except it’s not.”

“Why is that?”

“Because what if he doesn’t feel the same and I just make a fool out of myself… again.”

Candace was about to respond to that but didn’t get the chance to when Y/N’s phone dinged with a new notification from her jacket pocket, causing them both to look in the direction the noise came from. “That’s him, isn’t it?”

“Even if it is, I’m not going to answer.”

“Quit being dramatic,” Candace scoffed and stood up from her chair. “I’m going to get some water and then we’re going to finish this article so we can get the hell out of here. Just respond to the man.”

Y/N knew she was being dramatic and although she was very hesitant in doing so, she reluctantly pulled her phone out to look at it.

Harry

Y/N, we‘re going to have to talk about this eventually.

Y/N

Doesn’t have to be any time soon.

Harry

I’d prefer if it was.

She stared at her phone for a second, debating on a response but didn’t bother writing anything as the typing bubble appeared on Harry’s side of the screen once again.

Harry

I owe you a trip to the Christmas market since we didn’t go together last year. Meet me there tomorrow night and we can talk?

Y/N

Are you actually going to show up this time?

Harry

Yes, I promise. Meet me there for say, 9pm?

Y/N

Ok.

Harry

Great. See you then. x

Y/N audibly sighed as she set her phone on her desk, but that soon turned into an internal groan when she heard a familiar voice call her name and looked up to see the literal last person she wanted to see walking towards her.

Connor was nice… enough. He was one of the I.T guys that helped around the office with any technical difficulties there may be, and also just so happened to be someone Y/N kind of, almost, hooked up with earlier in the year. It was a one-time thing. After continuously turning him down as a result of her relationship-ish type thing with Harry, he kept asking her out up until early spring when she finally agreed. They went for dinner, she had a mediocre time, then they made out before she denied his invitation to go back to his place and went home instead. The rest was history.

However, Connor didn’t see it that way.

She would continuously turn him down, but he kept coming on to her after that. Y/N was aware that she had not properly shut him down but just would come up with excuses as to why she was too busy and couldn’t go out with him instead, and hadn’t really got the chance to either. She didn’t want to tell him she wasn’t interested at work in front of everyone else, and she also didn’t want to tell him over text because both situations seemed pretty shitty. So, she kept on with the excuses.

“Uh, hey Connor!” She greeted with somewhat of a smile as he walked up to her desk and leaned against it.

“How’s it going?”

“Pretty good. Going to try to get my work done fast so I can get out of here ASAP. How about you? Any plans for the holidays?”

“Not really,” he explained. “I’ll go see my family on the 25th but that’s about it. Hey, listen, do you have any plans for tomorrow evening?”

And there it was. But at least this time, she didn’t need an excuse for turning him down.

“I do actually,” she told him. “I’m meeting a friend at the Christmas market.”

“I see,” he replied disappointedly.

Just tell him you’re not interested already, Y/N internally screamed at herself, but still couldn’t figure out a way to actually to just flat out tell him that; until she was struck with an idea.

“You know what,” she started. “Why don’t we meet up beforehand? There’s a little pub down the street from the market, we can meet there at around 8:30pm to grab a drink and… talk.”

“Yes!” He exclaimed, causing Y/N to jump as he pushed away from her desk and started walking away. “It’s a date, I’ll text you.”

“Wait no, it’s not a-,” she called after him, but there was no point as he rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight. “...date.”

“Oh, now you’ve messed up,” Candace’s voice sounded from behind Y/N as she walked back to her desk.

“No, I’m going to meet him for a quick drink and then let him down easy. Simple as that.”

“You sound pretty confident for someone who hates confrontation,” Candace scoffed. “Need I remind you how you’ve been avoiding talking to Harry for this exact reason.”

“Ok, no need to call me out like that,” Y/N whined and leaned back against her chair dramatically. “It’s going to be fine… I hope.”

“You and me both cause I’m sick of hearing about your dating struggles when I can’t even get a text back.”

“You want them? Take them. I’m over these struggles more than you are.”

“Whatever,” she chuckled. “Let’s finish this article and get the hell out of here so you can go home and prepare for the shitshow of a night you’re going to have tomorrow.”

“Thanks for the optimism, C. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The pub was busy for a Tuesday evening, much to Y/N’s dismay. It really shouldn’t have surprised her though seeing as it was Christmas Eve.

Not everyone goes home for the holidays, hell she was a prime example of that with how she didn’t have plans to go see her family until Christmas was over. Also, some people just don’t enjoy the time of year… which was fair. But Y/N still couldn’t help but wish she didn’t have to aggressively use her elbows just so she to get to the bar and order a drink, all while hoping no one would take her table once she stood up to do so.

Connor was late showing up, and she extremely annoyed over it. She was about to leave when she glanced down at her phone to see it was almost 9pm, but then she got a message from him saying he’d be there shortly and decided to wait. Her phone battery was dangerously low, so she sent a quick text to Harry saying she’d be a few minutes late and apologized before the device died completely and she had to sit in boredom until Connor showed up.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed when U + Ur Hand by P!nk started blaring through the speakers of the pub, mindlessly tapping her fingers along to the intro beat of the song until a group of obnoxiously loud men bursted through the front door. There were four of them, and Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes as they began yelling over each other, but then she noticed that Connor was amongst them.

He locked eye contact with her almost instantly, and soon he and his friends were on their way to her table.

“There she is,” Connor greeted as they approached, immediately wrapping his arm around Y/N’s waist and pulling her closer to him.

“Uh, hey,” she replied awkwardly while lowkey pushing him away, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.

He then looked to his friends, nodding towards one that was giving him a pointed glance before shrugging and climbing up onto the stool next to Y/N. He unwelcomely rested his hand on her thigh, and she was quick in moving away from him again; easily smelling the alcohol that wafted off him and his friends. “Guys, this is Y/N. She’s the one I told you about.”

“She’s hotter than you described,” one of the guys slurred, causing Y/N’s face to scrunch repulsively.

“Yeah, you sure you don’t want to share?” Another said, and Y/N never felt more disgusted in her life.

“Woah, unnecessary comments guys,” she spoke up, becoming rather fed up with how they were acting.

“Yeah guys,” Connor scoffed and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “She’s mine, back off.”

“Connor, m’not-,” she started and turned to look at him as she said this, but was suddenly cut off by his lips crushing against hers. Her eyes widened in alert as she quickly pushed him away and stood up from her seat. “Ok, you know what, I’m gonna go. I wanted to talk to you about something but it looks like I’ll just have to tell you at work when you’re not drunk.”

“Oh come on, don’t be like that,” he replied conceitedly as Y/N started putting on her jacket. “Quit playing hard to get.”

“Hard to get?” She looked at him as if he grew a second head. “What the hell makes you think I’m playing hard to get?”

“Well, it’s pretty obvious, Y/N. Why else would you make up such bullshit excuses to not go out with me after we hooked up a few months ago.”

“First off, we didn’t hook up. We kissed. Second, did it not occur to you that maybe I’m not interested because you’re an arrogant asshole?”

Connor’s friends ooh’d and began mumbling to one another as he looked at her offendedly. “That’s not the only reason. You and I both know that.”

“Excuse me?”

“I heard you and Candace talking about how you’ve been sleeping with that famous friend of yours again,” he explained and Y/N immediately felt the need to defend herself. “Harry what’s-his-face. Thought that after he left you last year you’d get over the idea of thinking he’d want anything to do with you.”

He can’t be serious, she thought to herself as she tried to figure out what to say to that. She was absolutely furious and all his friends did was laugh, feeding her anger even more. As she racked her brain from something to reply with, the bridge of P!nk’s song began and Y/N glanced down at her still half-full glass of vodka cranberry, before picking it up and throwing the contents at Connor’s face.

“Fuck you. You don’t know anything about my relationships with others and are in no place to comment on them,” she stated firmly as she slung her bag over her shoulder. “At least Harry doesn’t treat me or anyone like they’re just part of a conquest in order to get a good shag. He’s a genuine being and is worthy of my time, it’s no wonder I’ve fallen for him as badly as I have. You, on the other hand, are the worst type of person and I really hate that it took me this long to realize it. Don’t bother speaking to me ever again, especially at work because I will cause a scene. Have a terrible night, you fucking jerks.”

And with that, she stormed out of the joint without looking back. Part of felt stupid for blowing up on Connor, but a bigger part kept thinking of how he deserved it.

Once she was out in the cool winter air, she let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and started walking down the street towards the market. She was still livid, but just the thought of being near Harry put her mind at ease a little bit.

As she walked through the market's entrance she saw that no one was taking tickets and it was much emptier than she was expecting. Owners of the stands scattered all around the area that sold food and Christmas trinkets had packed up and all seemed to be heading home.

“What?” Y/N mumbled to herself before approaching a lady who was busy counting money from a till. “Hi, excuse me. Do you know what time it is by chance?”

“It’s after 9:30pm, dear. The market is closed.”

Shit.

“Oh, ok, thank you.”

It felt like Y/N’s heart plummeted into the pit of her stomach as she thoughts about Harry probably thinking she stood him up entered her mind. She grew even more frustrated over what went down with Connor and how it made her so late, as well as the fact that she couldn’t even call Harry and apologize for not showing up.

Because the thing was, she decided that she wanted to. She spent the 24 hours leading up to the moment, hyping herself up and was ready to talk things over with Harry. She planned on admitting her feelings and expressing how what happened on Christmas Eve the year before really hurt her. Regardless of the outcome, she was ready to put herself out there for him, and then she felt like she lost that chance.

She was hopeful for a few moments, thinking that maybe Harry was still wandering around somewhere. But the further she walked into the market, the less populated it became, and that hope soon faded.

The lights were pretty at least. Y/N really enjoyed looking at them as she continued on her stroll through the area. There was an entire wall that was covered in twinkling lights, that continued upwards and hung over the cobblestone path she was walking down. That along with the light snow that was falling from the sky made feel warm and fuzzy inside as she took it all in; smiling to herself as she stopped to look up at the flakes coming down before continuing on.

Lastly, she came to a stop at the base of the huge Christmas tree that was located in the centre of the market. It seemed different from how it looked the year before with its lovely blue decorations, but she just couldn’t figure out how it differed as she was observing.

A Michael Bublé Christmas song played from a loudspeaker nearby as she continued staring at the tree and thought about how she waited in that exact spot for Harry a year prior. She felt rather silly thinking about it now, but she shrugged it off and decided that she should probably stop gawking at the tree just head home.

“I don’t like the ornaments they used this year,” a voice suddenly spoke up from behind her. “Sure, the blue is nice. But I liked the red ones they used last year much more.”

Caught off guard by the person standing behind her now, Y/N was hesitant on turning around to face them. But once she did, it felt like the wind was knocked right out of her.

“Harry?”

“Didn’t think you could get rid of me that easily, did yeh?” He asked with a large grin.

“Of course not,” she responded with just as big of a smile. “Listen, I’m so sorry for being late. I know you wanted to talk, and I did too but-.”

“Who said we still don’t have the chance to talk?” He questioned with a skeptical look. “I’ve got all the time in the world when it comes to you, darling.”

Y/N sighed, inwardly melting at his choice of words but also becoming completely overrun with nerves all of a sudden.

“I don’t even know where to start, H.”

“Then let me start,” he said and stepped towards her. “Leaving you last year was a huge mistake on my part. I knew how you felt and had come to terms with how I felt as well, but then when I got here and saw you standing under the tree like you are now, I chickened out.”

“Wait, what?” She asked surprised. “You were here?”

“I was,” he nodded and pointed to a corner of a nearby building. “When I got here, I was already so late. There were still a lot of people around and I didn’t even think I’d find you. But then I saw you standing pretty much right where you are now. You were completely mesmerized by the tree, just taking it all in like you do every year. I remember you saying beforehand how much you loved the ornaments they used because of how pretty they were. They’re different this year.”

“So that’s what seemed off about the tree this year,” she replied and glanced back at it. “That was uhm, very observant of you. But if you came all this way, why didn’t you tell me you were here?”

“Like I said, I got scared,” he answered and immediately captured her attention again. “Seeing you was when it hit me. It was when I realized just how much I love you.”

Her breath hitched at his words, and she could feel a blush forming on her cheeks that most definitely wasn’t just from the cold air, but she played it off quickly as she stepped towards him and smacked his arm. “Why didn’t you say anything!?”

“I didn’t know how! I panicked…”

“What did you panic about if you knew I felt the same?”

“I was worried about what I’d put you through,” he explained with a sigh. “M’not an easy person to be in a relationship with Y/N. I’m either coming or going all the time, and as much as I’d love to just stay in one place; it’s very hard to do that sometimes. You have your whole life here and I thought I’d interfere with that.”

“You’re stupid sometimes, you know that? I wouldn’t have cared about that, Harry.” She told him while shaking his head. “How would we know things would or wouldn’t work out if we didn’t try?”

“That’s exactly what I thought after I left. I immediately regretted leaving you there, but I thought it’d be easier that way. I know you despise confrontation as much as I do, and it just seemed easier at the time. Once I was gone, I was terrified that you’d want nothing to do with me and hated the thought of losing you over me being a coward, but I didn’t lose you. You were always still there even after I did something so shitty, and honestly, it made those feels I had grow more intense.”

“But you still didn’t say anything.”

“When we first started… you know... seeing each other again at the end of summer, I wanted to,” he stated. “But I still couldn’t figure out how. After me just leaving you last year, I didn’t think you’d want anything more than what we were doing. I was just glad to be with you and was willing to take whatever I could get, and those feelings all came crashing back. Then yesterday when you were over, I thought maybe I’d finally admit how I felt then; but you left and I thought I lost my chance.”

“So then you wanted to tell me today?” She asked softly. “And I basically stood you up.”

“No, I didn’t think that at all,” he told her while brushing away a snowflake that landed on her cheek. “When you texted me saying you were running late, I still waited around. But then it was getting chilly so I walked down the street to a little pub so I could warm up a bit. You were there.”

“Wait, so you saw…”

“And heard everything,” he nodded. “I don’t need to hear about that other guy cause thinking of how he treated you back there will piss me off. I was about to step in to be completely honest, but I should’ve known you could handle yourself.”

“Gee thanks,” she chuckled and shook her head. “But that also means you heard me say-.”

“That you’ve fallen for me? Yeah, I liked hearing that part. Made me less nervous about my want to do this.”

Without another word, he leaned down to place the most delicate kiss on her lips. There was no hungry lust behind it like there had been when they had kissed before, just pure admiration and affection; Y/N melted into it right away.

She pouted a little bit when he moved away, but then he pulled her into a tight embrace and instantly felt better. The two of them stood there for a moment, just basking in each other’s presence; her cuddling into his chest and him resting his head on top of hers as they swayed to the music that still played. It was a quiet song, the ending instrumentals of it played before the upbeat intro of the Jonas Brothers’ Like It’s Christmas started playing and Harry started chuckling.

“What’s so funny?” Y/N asked as she pulled away slightly to look up at him.

“Nothing,” he smirked and leaned down to give her another peck. “It’s just that you really do make every day feel like it’s Christmas.”

“You’re so sappy.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.”

“I guess I do,” she told him honestly as he linked his hand with hers and started leading her away from the tree. “Where are we going?”

“Home. Want to spend this Christmas with yeh.”

“I like the sound of that,” she replied while cuddling up against him as they began their trek home.

The two of them made it back to Harry’s flat and neither of them could stop smiling. They just loved the feeling of finally being together properly and although Y/N was set on not falling in love during Christmas again, this time around she wasn’t worried about him not being there the following year, or all the ones after that too.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles preferences #1dff #harry styles x y/n

1K notes · View notes

nitannichionne · 4 years ago

Text

Leading Lady, Chapter 1: At First Sight (A Henry Cavill Cast Fic)

Chapter 1

KIKI/KIT POV

"Not....again! Kiki!"

I looked up at my friend Laura Davidson. She was so pretty, Britain was really good for her. She had already adapted a style that turned heads, and if she was quiet, no one would think she was American, especially with that ginger hair and hazel eyes. Me? I was easy to spot as a dark skinned woman, always in form fitting athletic pants and some sort of top because it was comfortable. I hardly ever wore makeup. For what? To clog my pores? I took my mom's advice and left the face paint alone, however Laura was already complaining about the blemishes she had to cover, but it was because she was wearing makeup and ruining her skin before with that stuff when she actually had no blemishes to cover at all. Me? Well, I was used to being overlooked-high school, college...it was okay, I guess. "What, Lala?"

She plopped down on the chair opposite me. I was working on one of my writings, as usual. I had one successful book, and no new bites on my next ones. I had just buried my mother, and Laura suggested a vacation to breathe and banish writer's block. I knew she wanted to go shopping and sightseeing, but I just wanted to relax and try to write. I'd spent enough money, time to try to make some. "I thought you said you'd go shopping with me!"

"I did," I said, still concentrating on my work. "My closet is as full as yours." Why wasn't this coming together? I had outlines, I had my research...something was missing! I closed my laptop, and yanked off my glasses. "I am trying to get things done, here, Lala--!"

"No you're not, you're hiding behind that laptop!" Laura accused, but then her look softened. "It is nice to see you at it again, though."

"Did I or did I not go shopping with you this morning?" I asked. "And we had lunch at the place you picked? You were hitting those boutiques, and I decided to take a break--"

"To work!" She interjected, rolling her eyes.

I looked around. Some people were listening now. I rested my head on my hand, readying for a lecture. "To create."

"How's it going?" she asked. "Your face isn't all lit up and focused like it should be--"

"Have some coffee, Lala." I grumbled. "Or some water--" I offered her my bottled water.

"No, don't think so!" she whispered. "You get up with the chickens to write, then..."

I didn't hear another part of that speech. In fact I barely breathed.

Walking down the street was this absolutely...well...work of art, actually. Tall, dark hair, handsome features, light eyes, broad shoulders...just plain wow. He looked familiar...

"Whoa." Laura's exhale and low whistle snapped me out of my daze, and I began to breathe again. "I've seen him before."

"I know, me too," I whispered, ducking behind my laptop. My glasses slid to the end of my nose, and I pushed them up. "Uh...wait, we saw him on BBC!"

"We did?"

"We fell asleep to the TV last night," I said softly. "and I swear to God I saw him--he was in a movie or a show or something--uh, God, come on, Kiki!" I chastised myself. I was dozing until his face appeared, and then I stayed up all night for the whole mini-series.

"Stop talking to yourself, Kiki!" She reclined in her chair, looking relaxed.

"Murder on the Moors!" I hit my laptop with my fingertips like it was a game show buzzer. He heard the noise, and I gasped. Too loud! I leaned forward and whispered, "He played a--a writer who moved after the death of his wife to try to start writing again. He'd been accused, but was found innocent because her lover killed her." I sighed. "Talk about shades of insanity. He went from rage to depression to being delusional, and then there were murders happening, and he was suspect but they'd been happening before he moved there, so..." He smiled our way. "Oh, my God. He smiled this way." I looked more closely. No, he was smiling at Laura. I exhaled. "Laura, he's looking at you!" It hurt, but I had become used to not getting attention. She was really put together well--a beautiful culmination of Vanity Fair, Marie Claire with a Cosmopolitan flair-size five. Not me. I looked down at my comfortable but nicely fitting wear, size ten. I looked like I was a dancer or personal trainer, a worker of some sort. Laura looked like she was ready for her close up most of the time.

She gasped softly and turned to look at me. "Give me the laptop for a minute."

"For what?" I wasn't ready to give up my cover.

"To look busy, silly!" Laura winked at me, and I grudgingly slid it over. I pulled out a notepad, where most of my stories began before they became digital, and began leafing through story ideas to find an outline to work on. "Well?"

"Definitely watching." I said with a nod.

"Oh God, you said he was who?"

"Uh...Sheridan...the last name is Sheridan."

"Google it!"

I was way ahead of her, tapping away on my cell. "Okay, Zachary Sheridan." I stifled a giggle. "What kind of name is that?"

"No better than Kendra Knight," She said, mentioning my writing pseudonym. "Probably a stage name."

I snorted at her, but then coughed. He was coming this way with his order! He'd caught us watching him so now he was going to give us a better look. I for one appreciated that--

"Excuse me!" Laura called, a lilt in her voice.

Zachary Sheridan turned, flashing a smile I knew was rehearsed, but I enjoyed anyway. "Yes?"

"Aren't you Zachary Sheridan from Moors Murders?"

"Murder on the Moors," he and I corrected her, and we shared a small laugh.

"I saw it too," I nodded. "Very complex character, you were very believable."

He seemed pleased with that. "Thank you."

"Oh, I'm sorry--" She extended her hand. "Laura Davidson."

"Call me Zach," He shook it lightly, and then extended his hand to me.

"Kiki," I said, and averted my eyes as if I had work to do. I gave his hand one quick shake.

"Kiki," he repeated. "What brings you two ladies to Britain?"

"Work and play," Laura said with a ladylike chuckle.

"Well, at least it's both," he nodded, laughing with her.

"Yes, I'm an agent--"

"Oh, I have one--"

"Literary," she said quickly.

"So you promote writers," he said.

"Well, someone has to give you actors something to say," I joked flatly.

"True, very true," he said, raising his eyebrows as he nodded. I averted my eyes again. His gaze was a bit much to take, mostly because I could see the intelligence. Smart good looking guy, that's lethal.

"Would you ever consider doing covers?" she asked as I sipped water. I almost choked, and covered it by sliding the laptop back over, pretending to frown over something.

"I don't think so," he shrugged. "What bothers me is that I don't know who I would be posing as."

My eyes lifted to him. Now he had my attention. He was looking at Laura, of course, but now I had a chance to look at him.

"I mean, I would think a writer would want to convey as much as possible in the cover, not just slap a snapshot there."

I nodded slowly. I felt like curling up in my chair. I liked his voice. He could read a story to me, anything really. I began to soak him up like a sponge-his thick straight eyebrows, his light eyes, his nose which looked like it might have been fractured at some point, the shoulders...oh, I go all weak on that...and he works out...a lot...a British guy with glutes like that is doing something...oh, great, I missed the conversation!

I almost gasped as they exchanged cards to get in touch with each other. I felt a pang of jealous sadness. I knew he was interested in Laura--what guy wasn't--but this time my reaction left me surprised and a bit shaken. He said his goodbyes, and he was gone.

"Why didn't you say something?"

My head snapped up when Laura hit my arm. "What?"

"Why didn't you say something?" she asked again. "You were definitely into him."

"Sometimes it's nice to appreciate beauty for what it is, not try to capture it, let it go by." I sighed. "He's a rose-beautiful to look at, but painful to hold, I'm sure of it."

"Bullshit," she looked at the card, then fanned herself with it. "He looked sturdier than that."

"Nothing that a pair of soft cuffs wouldn't cure," I joked naughtily, and we both shared a conspiratal laugh as he disappeared from sight.

Laura's eyes went back to the card.

"What?"

She gave me the card. "Happy birthday, Kiki. Use it, keep it, whatever."

I was surprised, but took it greatfully. "You're not--"

"No, I am not one to stand in the way of love," she smiled, collapsing in her chair and putting the back of her hand to her forehead in a melodramatic gesture as she closed her eyes. I shook my head at her when she opened one eye to look at me. "Just remember to do the same for me in Italy."

We both laughed and ordered lunch.

THANKS, LEMME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED!

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill story #henry cavill smut #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill x cougar #henry cavill x black female #august waler #walter marshall #sherlock #geralt #superman #witcher

21 notes · View notes

alwaysmarilynmonroe · 4 years ago

Text

It’s hard to believe 58 years to the day, on the night of August 4th, the world’s most famous Star would leave us all. Yes, I know a lot of you will be thinking, “wait, didn’t she die on the 5th?” – she was found in the early hours of that morning, and her death was announced then – so that is the “technical” date. However, as with many Marilyn “facts” that too is incorrect and so like every year, I will be posting this on the 4th.

I’m not going to write about all the ridiculous dramas and he said she said statements that have grown rapidly over the years, as they don’t deserve any more coverage. Whenever a major celebrity dies, the more shocking the statement, the more attention it gains, so much so that it’s almost became ingrained into society as being accepted as fact. But, I am going to have a big name and shame moment for the two main culprits – Robert Slatzer and Norman Mailer I’m looking at you both. Also Anthony Summers – you’re a piece of crap and I will never forgive you for publishing Marilyn’s autopsy photo in your toilet paper worthy biography.

Long story short as they don’t deserve any mention with Marilyn’s name – Slatzer created the whole Kennedy, Mafia and basically everything shit and defamatory written about Marilyn in the early 1970s. If you want to find out the actual truth with documented facts click HERE.

Sorry to disappoint any conspiracy lovers – Marilyn didn’t love JFK, nor did any of the Kennedy’s kill her, she died of an either accidental or intentional prescription drug overdose. Was I there? No, I wasn’t even alive, but it’s really not hard to disregard the nonsense and absurd claims, when you actually take the time to do a little (a lot in my case) of research.

Baby Norma Jeane in 1929.

Norma Jeane (left) and a friend at the Los Angeles Orphanage in 1936.

Norma Jeane at the Los Angeles Clifton Restaurant, which she attended with her then Husband Jim Doughtery in 1944.

Marilyn by Richard Miller in April 1946.

Marilyn by J.R. Eyerman in 1950.

Marilyn on her Doheny Drive Patio by Alfred Eisenstaedt in May 1953.

Marilyn in Korea visiting the Troops in February 1954.

Marilyn by Milton Greene on January 28th 1955.

Marilyn by Cecil Beaton on February 22nd 1956.

Marilyn during the filming of Some Like It Hot by Richard Miller in October 1958.

Marilyn during the filming of The Misfits by Erich Hartmann in the Autumn of 1960.

Marilyn during the filming of Something’s Got To Give by Lawrence Schiller in May 1962.

Thankfully, I was lucky and never fell down that ridiculous rabbit hole in the first place. I discovered Marilyn whilst reading an article in Vanity Fair magazine almost ten years ago, discussing the then upcoming release of, Fragments: Poems, Intimate Notes, Letters by Marilyn Monroe.

This book is truly one of a kind and is basically a published archive of many of Marilyn’s personal letters, excerpts and anecdotes she had written from 1943 until 1962. Before anyone says it’s disrespectful to publish/share these and it is an invasion of privacy, to an extent I agree. However, as stated a few moment ago, with the amount of disrespectful, outrageous nonsense that has been slurred out over the half a century since Marilyn left us – I think it’s a necessity to see her own words in print. Ironically enough, it’s almost as if Marilyn herself foreshadowed the future of the media, when she said this in an Interview to Georges Belmont for Marie Claire Magazine in April 1960.

“The true things rarely get into circulation, it’s usually the false things.”

Therefore, today I have decided to focus on Marilyn herself, not as a Star, Tragic Icon or a pretty face, but as a human who had a beautiful, sensitive soul. Some of you may already know, but for those who don’t, Marilyn actually wrote numerous poems throughout her years, mostly just for herself. In her rare moments of confidence, she would occasionally show a few to her close friend, Writer Norman Rosten, who said the following in his (must have) book, Marilyn Among Friends.

“She had the instinct and reflexes of the poet, but she lacked the control.”

“Although she gave the appearance of being so confident and self assured, she was in reality incredibly self conscious and her own biggest critic, which is heartbreaking really as she was truly gifted. She was such a perfectionist that she would spend hours preparing herself mentally and physically for her beloved fans, regularly looking in the mirror at her perceived flaws. Marilyn was infamous for her lateness, which is often viewed as diva like behaviour. However, the reality is, it’s rarely noted that her anxiety was so severe, she would break out in rashes and even vomit, before going on set.

In her final interview with LIFE Magazine, published one day before her death, she even said to Journalist Richard Meryman,

“I’m one of the world’s most self conscious people. I really have to struggle.”

I remember the first time I looked through Fragments, of course it was very upsetting to see her pain written down and think about her suffering, However, I strongly noticed this recurring theme of hope, despite some incredibly sad notes, there was always some sparkle of inner strength and I just thought that should be said. Often we ourselves don’t see are bravery and bouts of determination in our inner self, but others do and I for one am glad I can see in Marilyn what she could not.

I love you with all of my heart Marilyn, from the moment you came into my life, a decade ago in October 2010. Wherever you may be, I hope you know how much love, joy and happiness you have brought and continue to bring to many people’s lives each day. ______________________________________________________________________________

• Undated Poem.

Life – I am of both of your directions Somehow remaining hanging downward the most but strong as a cobweb in the wind – I exist more with the cold glistening frost. But my beaded rays have the colors I’ve seen in a painting – ah life they have cheated you ______________________________________________________________________________

• Undated Poem shared with Norman Rosten and published in his book, Marilyn: An Untold Story.

To the Weeping Willow

I stood beneath your limbs and you flowered and finally clung to me and when the wind struck with.. the earth and sand – you clung to me. ______________________________________________________________________________

• Undated Poem

Stones on the walk every color there is I stare down at you like a horizon – the space / the air is between us beckoning and I am many stories up my feet frightened as I grasp towards you ______________________________________________________________________________

• Undated Poem

Only parts of us will ever touch parts of others – one’s own truth is just that really – one’s own truth. We can only share the part that is within another’s knowing acceptable so one is for most part alone. As it is meant to be in evidently in nature – at best perhaps it could make our understanding seek another’s loneliness out. ______________________________________________________________________________

• Undated Poem

for life It is rather a determination not to be overwhelmed.

for work The truth can only be recalled, never invented ______________________________________________________________________________

• “Record” Black Notebook – Written in throughout 1951.

What I do believe in What is truth I believe in myself even my most delicate intangible feelings in the end everything is intangible my most precious liquid must never spill don’t spill your precious liquid life force they are all my feelings no matter what ______________________________________________________________________________

• “Record” Black Notebook – Written in throughout 1951. Fear of giving me the lines new maybe won’t be able to learn them maybe I’ll make mistakes people will either think I’m no good or laugh or belittle me or think I can’t act. Women looked stern and critical – unfriendly and cold in general afraid director won’t think I’m any good. remembering when I couldn’t do a god damn thing. then trying to build myself up with the fact that I have done things right that were even good and have had moments that were excellent but the bad is heavier to carry around and feel have no confidence depressed mad ______________________________________________________________________________

• Other “Record” Notebook – Written in throughout 1955.

I do know ways people act unconventionally – mainly myself – do not be afraid of my sensitivity or to use it – for I can & will channel it + crazy thoughts too I want to do my scene or exercises (idiotic as they may seem) as sincerely as I can knowing and showing how I know it is also – no matter – what they might think – or judge from it ______________________________________________________________________________

• Other “Record” Notebook – Written in throughout 1955.

I can and will help myself and work on things analytically no matter how painful – if I forget things (the unconscious wants to forget – I will only try to remember) Discipline – Concentration

my body is my body every part of it. ______________________________________________________________________________

• Other “Record” Notebook – Written in throughout 1955.

feel what I feel within myself – that is trying to become aware of it also what I feel in others not being ashamed of my feeling, thoughts – or ideas

realize the thing that they are – ______________________________________________________________________________

• Waldorf Astoria Stationery – Written in throughout 1955.

Sad, sweet trees – I wish for you – rest but you must be wakeful ______________________________________________________________________________

• Waldorf Astoria Stationery – Written in throughout 1955.

Not a scared lonely little girl anymore

Remember you can sit on top of the world (it doesn’t feel like it.) You can have any help you want personally – or in your work – or anything else you want – There are technical ways to go about it or problems – figure out if anything tec. can be done about it because there are people to help you – gladly – you more than most they want to help Remember there is nothing you lack – nothing to be self conscious about yourself – you have everything but the discipline and technique which you are learning & seeking on your own – after all nothing was or is being given to you – you have had none of this work thrown your way you sought it – it didn’t seek you

Too much talent Too much ability and and much too much sensitivity to invert yourself out of fear – not come to class – or to do things like being afraid to come to class or to get up. ______________________________________________________________________________

• “Italian Agenda” Notebook – Written throughout 1955 or 1956.

and the more I think of it the more I realize there are no answers life is to be lived

and since it is comparatively so short – (maybe too short – maybe too long – the only thing I know for sure, it isn’t easy

now that I want to live and I feel suddenly not old not concerned about previous thing except to protect myself – my life – and to desperately (pray) tell the universe I trust it ______________________________________________________________________________

• Parkside House Stationery – Written during her stay in England between July 14th – November 20th 1956.

I guess I have always been deeply terrified to really be someone’s wife since I know from life one cannot love another, ever, really. ______________________________________________________________________________

• Roxbury Notes – Written throughout 1957 or 1958.

In every spring the green is too sharp – though the delicacy in their form is sweet and uncertain – it puts up a good struggle in the wind trembling all the while. Those leaves will relax, expand in the sun and each raindrop they will resist even when they’re battered and ripped. I think I am very lonely – my mind jumps. I see myself in the mirror now, brow furrowed – if I lean close I’ll see – what I don’t want to know – tension, sadness, disappointment, my eyes dulled, cheeks flushed with capillaries that look like rivers on maps – hair lying like snakes. The mouth makes me the saddest next to my dead eyes. There is a dark line between the lips in the outline of several waves in a turbulent storm – it says don’t kiss me, don’t fool me I’m a dancer who cannot dance. ______________________________________________________________________________

• Roxbury Notes – Written throughout 1957 or 1958.

re – relationships

Everyone’s childhood plays itself out No wonder no one knows the other or can completely understand. By this I don’t know if I’, just giving up with this conclusion or resigning myself – or maybe for the first time connecting with reality –

how do we know the pain of another’s earlier years let alone all that he drags with him since along the way at best a lot of lee-way is needed for the other – yet how much is unhealthy for one to bear.

I think to love bravely is the best and accept – as much as one can bear. ______________________________________________________________________________

Follow me at;

BLOGLOVIN

INSTAGRAM

TUMBLR

TWITTER

YOUTUBE

For inquiries or collaborations contact me at;

[email protected]

58 Years Without Marilyn. It's hard to believe 58 years to the day, on the night of August 4th, the world's most famous Star would leave us all.

#1940s #1950s #1960s #angel #blonde bombshell #classic hollywood #icon #legend #marilyn monroe #norma jeane #norma jeane baker #old hollywood #retro

44 notes · View notes

msladyrosa · 4 years ago

Text

I'm here to tell a story that my heart is screaming at me to tell.

This is me. I fucking hate myself, just as much as I fake loving me. I don't think I've ever been this contempt as I was in these photos. I'm awkward and I fake confidence by throwing sarcastic and snarky comments. My coping mechanism consists of lying and just hiding behind my fake me. I've created a confident, pretty and delusional front that isn't me, but it's just as real as the raw version. My raw is ugly and disgusting and I hate it. I hid it and for the love of the non existent God there is, I wish I didn't have the raw side. I write in my skin, because if I went back to cutting, then I would no longer have pretty skin that people can love. I love eating, but I don't do it, because of the fear of losing my 36,28,42 measurements. I'm suicidal, but heavens forgive if I make a joke about it in order to cope with my insane itch to make my skin purple. My arm hair is soft and the last time I shaved I was scared that someone might see the thin, white lines that are underneath. My body is sexy as fuck, but Heavens forgive me if I actually feel comfortable in it. Thoughts of "they'll be fine without me" or "it's better if I'm not here" are drowned by the words I told someone who was a suicidal as me, "killing yourself would not make the pain disappear, you're just passing it on to someone else". I'm such a fucking hypocrite, or is it just a twisted way of actual introspection? What is wrong with the way I walk funny because I'm dizzy for the lack of food is that people notice. Oh great deity in the sky, please allow them to notice, but forgive them is they dare to ask what's wrong. I look happy and relaxed in the photos, hell yes, but not I'm an anxious mess that's writing this in the middle of a mental breakdown. Parents are never the one's to blame, no forgive them for not validating their children's emotions and struggles. No, strict parenthood creates strong-willed, rightful and successful people that think of themselves as worthless, weak, pathetic excuses. Oh we lie, and we lie good. Ask actors if they had strict parents... You'll find none, why? Because strict parents will inforce you an internalized fear of failure outside of social norms and acting is "a waste of time" to their standards. Support doesn't come from the right sized bra, but it sure as fucking hell is welcoming to be held and somehow relived from a burden you didn't fucking asked for. I was so happy ya'll. I was in cloud nine. That day I had a date with a guy I like that I thought was way out of my league, I lied my way through his pseudo intellectual remarks and he believed it.

We know how to lie so good and so true that eventually you lose track of your actual motive to do it in the first place. Society wants you perky and pretty, fuck yeah they do. How do I get all perky and pretty when I only see disgusting, overdosed surroundings? It's easy to get worried when you finally realize somethings not right. It wasn't right to be kneeling at someone's feet screaming a nasty and raspy wail of pain. 10 years it took me to fucking do that and yet nothing really changed. Now I'm just looked at with pity and the quizzical look that can only mean "when is this one gonna blow up again?" Oh, honey, I won't, you're just worried that you're just realizing this now. It's easy to be outside and just stay that way.

I was so happy, all the time. I was forced to lie in order to move forward. You love me? Yeah, as long as you earn it. Are you proud? Sure, as long as you don't fail. Am I okay because I feel like this? Well, it's fine as long as you keep it in. It's beautiful. "As long as..." my reality had always been subjected to a condition, and clause, a fucking constant reminder that I have to earn my happiness. I have to earn my own idea of self worth that is diluted through your standards. I have to earn reassurance from the people I surround myself. I must assume the best case scenario but I can't be surprised when it's the worst outcome.

Having loved a mad human made me realize how flawed I am. I was happy. So, so happy I forgot I wasn't. I tortured myself through endless nights of doubt, starvation with a full kitchen. Sleepless nights contemplating self harm and then decided against it because I had work and the cute client at work would see how damaged I was. I tortured myself with the idea of loneliness in a see of people, only to realize I've been in that see long enough that I grew a tail and fins. I was plagued my guilt because I didn't love them, but when exactly did it go from happy to uttermost bullshit? I was so happy I forgot what sadness was.

I was so happy it started hurting. Hurting when I failed to do something. It was excruciating when I was not able to buy a car because I had noticed I had spent my money of pleasing those who swore they'd provide for me. I was in pain when I showered and instead of singing, I just blasted music loud enough so that nobody heard my hyperventilating bitch ass. I was in so much pain that I welcomed it as my way of happiness. I loved my pain, because I've had it my whole life.

I had it when I was in forth grade and in order to fit in I had to go a sneak around to kiss a boy, and I didn't want to. It was there when I was accused of fighting other girls, but in reality I was trying to establish my self worth, so I was punished. In fifth grade I loved a boy so much I had written beautiful words to describe how much I loved his smile, and so he said I was stalking him and he got scared; 2 months later I was in a shrinks chair talking about it; fast-forward to last night, that same boy explained to me how much he wanted to fuck me now that he had lost weight. Middle school was terrible. Seventh grade, I was constantly degrading myself because another pretty blonde chick was only my friend when she could laugh through me. I insulted a perfectly great teacher because she noticed my self destructive behavior. Eighth grade came and I was lost with a blonde boy. He was beautiful and I was not. He was friends with the girl that swore fielty to me and he chose someone else and because he chose the pretty pale skin on someone else, I settled for the kid that wantedto finger me in the bleachers during recess. Ninth grade came and I was failing classes, parents were strict and hurtful, but they aren't to blame for my shortcomings. That's when I found myself in the arms of the pretty blonde thing I had fallen for. The pretty girl had him in public, I could only have him when we snuck around and he would hold me and kiss me like holding on to his life line. I was letting him touch me, but my self hatred didn't know no boundaries so I suck to my knees and gave my first blowjob at the top of staircase wearing only a lazy purple bra and the school uniform and the shame I'll forever wear because I did it without wanting to, but because I was expected to.

I was so happy to be out of there, that I ended up sinking deeper into my lie. I was smart, new and vulnerable. That's how I met the wholesome boy I called my first boyfriend who was nice and respectful, but he was as ugly as they come. I was a queen to him, but he was looking more like the ogre on the fairy tale and there came my vanity, my ego, my selfishness. I was brutal and I couldn't care less. High school started with a bang with the boy I played with, and when he got to close to my actual raw person, I kicked him out with a bang and he cried. I just stood there not knowing how to react, so I just went on to the next person I could lead on and play. Junior year I knew was difficult, and a black boy with a nice boy and a promising basketball future came around, I once again craved approval and degraded myself to it. That's how I ended up sneaking around 10 minutes before my parents picked me up. In the second floor, I'd found myself again on my knees, and expected to give a blowjob in exchange for attention, and like before, I was hidden, and I expected to be I had tears in my eyes, but because of my shame. Senior year came in, and the black boy with the attractive body was replaced with another, but this one only had pretty eyes and the promise of spoiling me with his family's money. Once again, I said yes when he said he wanted me to be his girlfriend, at least this time I was not hidden, but I was back in the cycle and I ditched my best friend in a movie theater so that I would be in the backseat on a Dodge, sucking my pseudo boyfriend's dick with tears on my eyes, not becauseofhis size, but becausethe disgust towards myself. Like before, I was expected to do so, and so I did.

Heavens above forgive the religion to blame women for sin and lust, but instead punish us for the boys who couldn't keep their dicks to themselves. The end of senior year came, and I was relieved, but then I fell for the guy my parents liked. Humble background, similar interests, and a promise of stability. I was ditched because for him I was a whore and his friends told him so, I accepted the insults and insinuations.

I was so happy, I forgot the rest. College was great and a religious nut job, a platonic love, a semi smart dipshit with the complex of being over everyone in experience, a quiet mature man that treated me with decency, the suicidal broken guy who needed healing #1 and the suicidal broken guy who needed healing #2, later, here I am.

I was so happy in these pictures, I had no idea was contemplating my own disappearance. I write this with migrane, blue ink from a ballpoint in my thighs, with nostalgic memories of moments where my mind wasn't this crowded. I was so happy it hurt. I guess that my logic dictates that happiness is painful and that my pain can bring me joy, but fuck I was so happy.

I had everything. I was pretty, I was smart, I was important. I'm still all those things, but right this very second, I'm happy, and painful so. Heavens above forgive for I have sinned...

I dared to fail... I sinned

I dared to fall into lust... I sinned

I dared to judge... I sinned

I fucking dared to wake up every miserable day... I had sinned.

I dared to be painfully happy... I sinned

I lied... and so that's my greatest sin of all.

4 notes · View notes

secretlittlerandezvous · 5 years ago

Text

Baby Makes Three - Jake DeBrusk

Summary: After taking three pregnancy tests the reader find out she’s finally pregnant. She looks back at her relationship with Jake and announces the news to him after a breakfast making him the happiest man in the world.

Words: 2029

“We look at each other and we smile that smile like a secret we share. We both know we found what the whole world is searching for.” - JmStorm

Three pregnancy tests were laying on the vanity table in the bathroom. Three tests from different brands, three tests of different kind and three tests that would decide our future in only three minutes. Three minutes suddenly seemed like three years and I had way too much time to think. A part of me hoped for a positive result. The part of me that longed for a child for a while now, the part of me that was absolutely sure about Jake and the part of me that was ready to take our relationship even further. The other part of me hoped for a negative result. The part of me that was terrible at making decisions, the part of me that feared new things and the part of me that wanted things to stay the same forever. A part of me saw a happy family life with a couple more kids traveling the world when the season ends or us going to support Jake at his games. I saw the messiness of a life with children and I saw me and Jake happier and more in love than ever before. Another part of me saw two tired parents trying to figure out life while raising a child. I was once again jealous of people who knew how to make decisions and stick with them. Jealous of people who knew for sure they wanted or didn't want to have children. I was stuck in the middle and there was no one who could help me at that moment. I was alone.

Just yesterday I was living my life as I knew it. I was carefree without a single worry on my mind and now I was a nervous wreck staring at my pale face in the mirror while waiting for the results. Just yesterday I was out with my friends enjoying myself when I suddenly got nauseous after taking the first sip of coffee. After that, it was hard to ignore the other signs. Tender breasts, occasional nausea and most importantly my period being almost three weeks late.

When my phone started ringing signalizing that three minutes have passed, I took a deep breath and as I was about to bring the tests closer to my eyes I started praying for positive results. At that moment I forgot about my worries and doubts, about the struggles of being a new mom and I started hoping for a life filled with happiness and giggles of a tiny person I created together with the love of my life. A perfect combination of both of us although with my luck I knew our future children will be the exact copies of their dad and that they will look nothing like me.

Tears appeared in my eyes when I looked at one of the pregnancy tests in my hand and in disbelief, I checked the other two. Pregnant. Two red lines. 3-4 weeks. I was pregnant.

That night I was lying sleeplessly in our bed with Jake’s head buried in the crook of my neck sleeping peacefully. I played with his messy hair gently so I wouldn’t wake him up and with my other hand, I occasionally rubbed my belly imagining what it would be like when I feel the first kick or how bigger my belly will be. I wanted to wake up Jake and tell him the news and I wanted him to be just as happy as me so we could talk about the future all night. As I reflected on our relationship, I started wondering why the negative and indecisive part of me still existed. Why a part of me wanted the tests to be negative and why I was so worried about the future.

Jake and I have been together for two years. I was never the one to take a relationship fast, rush things and I never planned the future too much ahead. But things were different with Jake. I met him when I wasn’t looking for anyone and I started questioning what I wanted. It was not too long after I broke up with my ex and I made a promise to myself to stay single for quite some time. To relax and enjoy my life as it was instead of giving my love to one person who would eventually take it for granted. I wanted to be alone, live alone and go out alone. I wanted to be with my friends and stay out a little longer without having to explain myself to someone or even apologize for it. But once I met him, I started questioning whether I really wanted these things or if I was ready for another relationship. It only took three days for us to make it official, two weeks to fall madly in love and in only a month I stopped questioning everything and I started enjoying the love and happiness I was experiencing. We moved in together after eight months of dating. It was the first time for both of us and we both were excited to live together. Although it wasn’t much of a difference as we spent most of the time together at his place anyway. Jake then proposed two months later, and we got married in six months. It was an intimate wedding and we were surrounded by people closest and dearest to us. It was a day filled with love, happiness, and excitement. The most magical day of our lives. Now I was pregnant. We didn’t plan it but I have to admit we weren’t exactly careful when it came to protection. We pretty much just agreed we would let nature decide it for us and if it was meant to be it would happen on of the rare occasions, we weren’t using protection. We always knew we would have kids sooner or later. It felt natural with Jake to start a family, live in a house and have a couple of kids and a dog. I could imagine having kids with him from the beginning and it was the first time I felt like this. I was never sure about anyone enough to want to have kids with them.

I woke up alone in the bed, his side was cold yet still messed up from Jake’s constant moving and kicking the sheets off in his sleep. I heard the water running from the bathroom and a stream of light from the living room let me know that Jake was probably awake for a while now. It was 9:30 already. My hands intuitively touched my stomach and my fingers draw little circles everywhere in my stomach. I couldn’t believe how fast I got used to it. How it felt so natural already when it’s only been a day since finding out there was a little human being inside my stomach.

“Good morning love,” Jake said with a wide smile when he returned to the bedroom and laid down next to me. His hands were wrapped tightly around my body and I had my face hidden in the crook of his neck. He was always extra cuddly in the mornings and I enjoyed it even though it was hard to breathe from time to time.

“Morning,” I said with a smile although he couldn’t see it and kissed his neck. “You ate already?”

“No, not yet. I wanted to wait for you and see what you’d like.”

“Umm can you make me an omelet with some avocado and tea? Pretty please.”

“Tea? You don’t want coffee?”

“No!” I yelled out. Just the mention of coffee made me nauseous. “I’m gonna put myself together a little bit okay?” I kissed him and quickly ran into the bathroom.

The white silk nightgown suddenly felt very tight on my body. Whenever stress took over me, I started feeling uncomfortable in my own skin. I wanted to crawl out of it and hide somewhere for as long as I needed. The excitement and need to tell Jake I was pregnant from last night was gone and I was confused about what I should do. Nothing that came to my mind felt quite right.

I slowly walked into the kitchen, sat down and took a sip of the cold water that was on the table. I was planning this all night. I couldn’t wait for the morning to tell him and celebrate but the nerves of telling him were overwhelming me.

“Babe are you okay?” Jake looked at me with a concerned look on his face as he placed the food in front of me together with a cup of tea. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I just got lost in my thoughts.” I smiled at him. “The food looks amazing!”

I watched Jake eat his breakfast, as always, he was eating way too fast as if someone would steal it from him. I adored his childlike personality and that he was less serious than me. I never worried too much when there was a problem because he was always there for me ready to take it easy and maybe even make jokes. He supported me more than anyone ever did. I could only pray for our child to be just like him - happy, full of love and kind.

“I need to tell you something,” I looked at him with a small smile and then I quickly glanced down at my stomach and touched the pocket of my white silk robe to make sure the pregnancy test was really there. “I... actually we are having a baby,” I said as it wasn’t a big deal. His lips were parted, and his eyes were locked on my face. I nodded to confirm what I said. He then dropped the fork and ran over to me to hug me from behind.

“You’re pregnant?” He yelled out happily. I gave him a positive pregnancy test and waited for him to check it out for himself. “Oh my god! We’re having a baby.” He lifted me up from the chair and spun me in the air. Just like he did when he proposed to me and I said yes.

“We will be three!” I announced happily and kissed Jake deeply.

“Oh my god, we are going to be parents!”

“You’re gonna be the best daddy in the world. I know it.” I smiled and few tears fell down from my eyes. The joy took over both of us.

“I can’t wait to tell my mom. She’s going to be so excited! When can I tell her?”

“I think we should wait until the first semester ends,” I answered although I wasn’t completely sure about it myself. “It’s still very early,” I added.

“Honey, you have no idea how happy you just made me! I love you so much. Thank you so much.” He hugged me tightly once again, his hands were resting on my stomach and he kept kissing my cheek. “I promise that you and our little one will be my number one priority and I’ll always make sure you both have everything you need and want and that you’re safe and happy. Oh my god, I can’t even explain how happy I am.”

“I love you.” I chuckled and rested my hands on the top of his.

“Can’t wait to meet you baby DeBrusk.” Jake got down on his knees and kissed my belly softly and then he looked up at me with a huge smile on his face. “I’m so excited!”

I wished I could fully and properly explain all the emotions we felt. But we couldn't find words to describe the love, happiness, excitement, and joy. The more I looked at Jake’s happy face the more reasons I found to love him and to be happy. There was no doubt the was truly the love of my life and in a couple of months the second love of my life will enter my life. Unexpectedly just like Jake but loved already.

#jake debrusk #jake debrusk imagines #jake debrusk one shot #jake debrusk writing #jake debrusk imagine #boston bruins #boston bruins imagines #boston bruins one shots #boston bruins writing #boston bruins imagine #nhl players imagines #nhl imagine #nhl writing #nhl one shot #hockey imagines #hockey writing #hockey one shot #hockey imagine #🐻💛

85 notes · View notes

alightwhendarknessfell · 4 years ago

Text

A relevant and difficult interview

https://youtu.be/DnltErqrn4U

This is a very important and relevant interview to watch in the light of allegations against Ashley. This woman in it is called October she worked merch for Jeffrey Star and William Control. Worked for William for several tours including with Black Veil when they toured with motionless in white. So this is during the 2010/2011 era of BVB. She felt forced to do things for William Control for years in order to keep her job and he manipulated her. She is asked around minute 28:00 in the video to minute 30:00 against if it was consensual or coerced. She started to say it was consensual then stops and starts to talk about Black Veil Brides. She was forced on her 22 birthday to be spanked in her underwear in front of Andy from Black Veil Brides while William did it. Saying so that was a thing that it was all considered open and normal and that William tried to pimp her out to the band guys on that tour. She established earlier in the video being forced to wear heels at all times and William taking her to BVBs hotel rooms for drink and stuff. She also claims BVB tried to force everyone as a band to sign NDAs back then even so they couldn’t talk about the things that happened to women like her on tour. She thankfully didn’t sign one and said she could spill so many more “beans” on them. She was such a different tone on her voice when talking about them. It’s concerning and also doesn’t match the idea that Ashley created this NDA situation. This confirms at least the band benefitted from silencing people and it was normal everyday practice to do so back THEN. This also establishes how women were treated by Andy. Which is pretty bad considering what is known about Will now and how they continued to associate with each other even on Andy’s solo tour. Of all the people in the world he could of had open for him while trying to escape Ashley and BVB he had William Control. She also claims Jeffrey Star pimped her out for weed. She also claims she was only allowed to have sex with men on the BVB Motionless tour. Doesn’t specifiy if it was band members or crew or both but had already said she was pimped our to them. She was not allowed to have sex with other men or be fired. I originally was watching this video today because it was about Dahvie, Jeffrey and William. Considering the backlash Jeffrey has been getting lately but I never thought BVB would be in this video and what would be implied would be in it. The reason why there are no allegations against the band at large and no allegations going back really prior to about 2015 when the band starte to fall apart is there may be victims of the whole band bound to an NDA and scared to come forward. I beg you Ren to share this watch the part between 28:00 and 31:00 or go back to 18:00 when she talks about meeting William and then going on tour with BVB up to what she said at min 28:00. This explains why the band really wanted to move forward quietly without Ashley. Now that I looked at the bands statement again. They never say they never knew things like this were happening in the past or that they had no part in anything just that they don’t condone certain types of abhorrent behavior. I am honestly stunned right now and nauseous after hearing her talk about them in this context. This video was released in a May a month before these allegations against Ashley came forward.

Submission: I watched this video when it came out. I will type out in full what she said in regards to Black Veil. And then I’ll give my thoughts on it.

18:06: Interviewer: So after this tour did you go back to work with William?

October: Yes I did one more tour with William, um and that was Motionless in White and Black Veil Brides. Which I mean, it was a fun tour.

Interview: So with William, did you ever see any, I know there are, I don’t know too much about it. Because I’ve mostly been focusing on the Dahvie Vanity thing. But with William Control there was sex cult, right?

October: He does not have a sex cult, I feel like I should start there. He does not have a sex cult. But he is a dom. And he does have a lot of submissives. And I was one of his submissives.

23:48: October: Um so, I basically, when I started working for him [William Control] I was given strict rules. I had to wear a lot of black, I had to dress to sexy I was not allowed to wear flat shoes, I had to always have some kind of heel on. Even if we were at the hotel and we were gonna go to Black Veil’s hotel room to have a couple of drinks or whatever. I had to be wearing high heels at all times. So I had like a strict dress code which looking back, that’s insane. That’s insane. And he [William Control] was constantly trying to sleep me and I basically told him that I could never kiss a married man. And I guess like if you talk about like saying, like consent, the only thing that I put my foot down was that I said I can not kiss a married man. Ever. And he said well I could never have sex with someone I can’t kiss. But there was oral sex both sides, I didn’t want to. But, I felt like I had to.

28:28 October: Here’s the great thing, is that Black Veil used to make people sign NDAs, and I never signed one so I can spill all the fucking beans on Black Veil. Like for my birthday, okay, I turned 22 and I was told [by William Control] I would be spanked 22 times in my underwear and he wanted Andy, from Black Veil, to watch. So that was a thing.” And it was just, I don’t know, it was just normal and open and he [William Control] kind of tried to pimp me out and it was weird because in the scene if you were young, female, and did merch like you could get fired for sleeping with someone on tour. Which is insane because all these dudes had like a new girl every night, but as a woman if you sleep with someone you’re fired. Get out.

Interviewer: Like if you sleep with someone who isn’t the tour guy like the band?

October: Yeah, I guess that was the differentiating thing was that if it was someone on tour, you see them every day, I personally never thought it was a big deal. Um, I had a big crush on the bass player of Motionless in White. And, so like William was trying to like set us up. But he didn’t understand like I like him I’m not just trying to sleep him, I like him. So it was like, I don’t know it was weird like I’ve never seen anyone in the scene be like yeah sleep around. It was so bizarre to me. [She then goes on to talk about the next tour with Asking Alexandria]

So that’s all the parts I found where she mentions Black Veil. So my opinion on this is that this is much more evidence that William Control was taking his BDSM lifestyle too far in that the people he involved did not feel they were able to freely give or withhold consent. I do believe William Control is a sexual abuser. I think he hid that very well from people because of his BDSM lifestyle which could easily hide sexual abuse under the guise of the kink. It could be hard for someone looking in to tell what was part of agreed-upon ‘play’ and what was being forced.

She actually says that the tour was fun with Black Veil, indicating she seems to have an overall positive experience of it (unless she was being sarcastic). As far as the ‘dress code’ she only gave drinking with BVB as an example but if William was giving her rules (because of the BDSM) then that doesn’t really speak on Black Veil’s part, they probably didn’t know the details of their sub/dom relationship. She states the only time she put her foot down was saying she would not kiss William (although her feeling like she couldn’t say no would mean this was sexual abuse). But that leads into the spanking thing.

If she ‘agreed’ to it before Andy was brought in and he did not witness William pressure her then it’s possible that he thought she was okay with it and it as just part of their ‘play’. I will say its kind of disturbing to me that William wanted Andy to watch. At the time, Andy was 19 years old and William was a pretty well known and influential person. Why pick a teenager to watch? Yes, Andy was an adult, but William was much older and that’s just kind of strange. She never indicated if Andy wanted to watch just that William wanted him to.

She also says ‘so that was a thing’ but is not specific as to if it actually happened or if that was just something William wanted to happen. I don’t think that speaks at all to how Andy treats women. She never even said he touched or made any comments. She never goes into detail at all about that.

She never said she was pimped out to Black Veil, she said that William encouraged her to sleep with a member of Motionless in White that she had a crush on. She even says that she thought it was unfair that she normally WASN’T allowed to have sex with others because the band members did all the time (I agree, that’s sexist).

As far as the NDAs go, those are commonplace on tours. That’s not a well-known fact but there are bands that do that. There is no evidence that she gives as to who in the band would want NDAs. I do believe given things I’ve heard and that given everything that has come out that the NDA when Ashley was kicked out was something HE wanted. As far as the NDA for this tour, she says she has ‘beans’ on Black Veil, I would love for her to do a separate interview about her experiences and until then I don’t think there’s much to go off of here. But the NDA could literally be to cover things like, Andy is drinking underage, drug use, trashing hotel rooms, cheating on SOs, embarrassing things, etc. It doesn’t have to be things like rape, murder, abuse, etc. She also never said Black Veil tried to get HER to sign an NDA, sounded more like people who worked for them directly. Her tone to me when she says that seems more like a ‘ooh this is some tea’ not really an ‘I have knowledge of criminal behavior’ tone.

I think William is a manipulator and I think he hid his abuse very well from his friends, fans, and the public with his BDSM lifestyle. I think it's possible those around him thought the way he acted with his subs was part of the lifestyle. Tour lineups have input from a lot of people, not just the bands too. He has been in the business for decades and worked with a LOT of people.

I think this specific interview is bad for Dahvie, William Control, and Jeffree but Black Veil? Eh, not really. I would wait and see if she come out with more information. I think October is a victim of sexual abuse at the hands of William Control, but nothing really indicates she was a victim of anyone in Black Veil.

9 notes · View notes

thirtysomethingloser92 · 5 years ago

Text

Lithium Chapter 1.

Summary: “You’ve fallen in love with your best friend, unfortunately, he’s planning his wedding to someone else”. Warnings: Angst. Pairings: Steve Rogers/ Reader.

Part: 2/6

Prologue

The Broken Hearts Club.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

You stood in your bedroom holding a white blouse up to your chest, staring at your reflection in the floor length mirror, before turning to the voice that entered your room. You had tried, and in your opinion failed, to cover up the dark circles under your eyes from the night before with concealer. Sleep had evaded you every chance that it got due to the events of the previous day, the feeling of your heart falling into your stomach repeatedly throughout the evening. Every lingering glance Steve threw at Peggy was as if someone had placed a knife through your chest, every touch made your chest hurt and the lump in your throat grow.

"You're gonna have to be more specific Buck," You held up two shirts, one purple and one white, "Which one?"

The brunette man pointed to the purple, "You look terrible in white. And specific? You're gonna let Steve, the self-proclaimed love of your life, marry someone else?"

"Yep"

"Someone he barely knows"

"I am"

"Why?"

You gave a sigh and began buttoning up the purple blouse, looking at Bucky's concerned face; "Because when you love someone, you let them be happy. Whether it's with you or not"

"How do you know it's not with you?"

You tucked your shirt into your grey pencil skirt and began placing a belt around your waist "Because he looks at her like she hung the moon herself,"

"He looks at you like you created the whole damn galaxy. You don't see it but he does. Everyone can see it,”

Picking up your handbag, this was absolutely a conversation you didn't want to have this early in the morning and without your usual four cups of coffee, you double checked you had your contents- purse, swipe card, phone; you looked around for your keys. "I'm not telling him Buck. I can't do that to him" You weren’t prepared to put your heart on the line like that.

"He has a right to know, don't take away his choice. He has a right to know that you're a choice for him. You’ve been in love with him for months, you’ve been friends with him for years. What if you tell him and he feels the same way? Just think of that possibility for a moment please?”

You grabbed your keys off your vanity and roughly threw them in your bag "I'm no one's second choice Buck. I'm happy for Steve, really I am" you paused at your door turning back to Bucky who was sitting on your bed, watching you with curious eyes "And I can't jeopardize his happiness for my own selfish reasons,”

“So what? You’re just going to bury your feelings, watch him stand up there declaring his everlasting love for someone else? Can you really do that?” Bucky had stood up by this point and ran a hand through his hair. Could you really do that? Could you watch Steve marry someone else? The answer in your heart was a resounding no. There was absolutely no way you could go to the wedding and not break down. “Which leads me to my next question,” Bucky continued, “I saw that letter on the counter. Before you say anything, I put it in the bottom drawer so Steve didn’t see it, but I need to know,” He stepped closer to you, “Are you considering it?” After five years in your job as an Events planner, you had finally gotten an offer of promotion at Stark Industries. They were opening up a new branch in Hong Kong and you were offered the position over there for their new Personal Relations agent. The pay was almost double what you earned now, plus it was a chance to make a real difference to the world. “I wasn’t really before...” Bucky nodded, seemingly understanding; “But now Steve’s home,” He let the sentence drift off and gave a sigh, “Are you at least gonna tell him that?” “We’re meeting up for lunch today. I’ll tell him then,”.

For what it was worth, Steve Rogers really was one of the funniest people you knew. You sat across from him in the small diner, your cheeks flushed red as you both recalled old stories from your past. You loved watching the way his eyes lit up, his hand movements as he spoke with his mouth full of fries. You were positive he was over exaggerating the story, but you were having too much fun to point it out. “So uh, Pegs and I were talking last night,” The atmosphere suddenly changed in your heart. It went from being light, happy in it’s pretending, to suddenly aching in your chest. You had forgotten the reason why he was back in Brooklyn to begin with, You placed a chip in your mouth, nodding at him to go ahead, not really trusting your voice at that moment. “I’ve got Bucky as my best man. And uh, I want you to be up there too. With me,” He cleared his throat, “As my best man. Or, my best girl,” He smiled. It would have been hard enough to sit down in the pews and watch him say his vows but to stand next to him, to watch as he held her hand with all the love in his heart, to watch him promise his life to her, to be so close to him and not be able to touch him. It would destroy you. “Steve-” You bit your lip, knowing that you would have to touch your lipstick up after this, “That-that’s kind of why I wanted to meet you today. I um, I’m leaving,” You looked down at your napkin and began tearing it up, a nervous habit you've had since you were a child, “I’ve been offered a job in PR at Stark Industries in Hong Kong,” His silence was deafening. He was staring at you, food on his plate forgotten and the humor in his eyes long gone. He cleared his throat, “When do you leave?” His voice was low, almost as if he didn’t want to ask. “Three weeks,” He was quiet, almost as he was contemplating his next words. You could see the muscles in his jaw clench a few times before he gave a tight smile. Your heart panged as you saw the hurt in your friend’s eyes. He gave a sigh, “You couldn’t leave after the wedding could you?” He gave a sarcastic smile and leaned back in his chair, pushing his fries away and looking out at the glass window, “I really just thought-” He shook his head, “I’m happy for you. I really am,” He turned back to him and you pretended not to see the sadness in his eyes, “You deserve this more than anyone I know,” You wanted to reach out to touch him, to hold his hand and apologize but you couldn’t seem to move. You couldn’t open your mouth to speak. “Will you call me at least? On my wedding day?” He gave a small laugh, “I don’t think I could get through it if I didn’t talk to you first,” “Always” You whispered in response. To say that your boss, Virginia Potts, was shocked that you had suddenly come into her office and said that you would take the offer, was an understatement. She wasn’t sure why you had a sudden change of heart, especially since you were so adamant that you weren’t going to go, but she was grateful. She wanted someone she trusted over there, someone who knew most of the ins and outs of the daily operations. You, on the other hand, were nervous. Was this the biggest mistake you had ever made? Quite possibly. You were letting your heart rule your head, making decisions that would change your life. Your mother always said don’t let your heart rule your head, especially when it came to relationships; but you couldn’t help it. You wanted to be far away from Steve and Peggy, you needed to be. Your heart was broken in ways you never knew you could feel, you were watching him fall in love each and every time you saw him, you were watching his eyes light up and the gentle kisses he would place on her lips. And your heart couldn’t take it.

Lithium Tag List:

@evanstush

@warmmoonlight

@straightforwardly

@fashionlive15

biskwitmamaw

Permanent Tag List:

@marvelismylifffe

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers imag #peggy carter x steve rogers #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers x reader

177 notes · View notes

sher-soc-the-famder · 6 years ago

Text

The Price Of Love

Summary: Roman had lived a long life, at some point along that road, he probably should have learned some common sense. Too bad he didn't have enough to not get drunk and summon a demon into his house. Logan probably would have warned him not to, had he not been out of town. Virgil is less than happy about their new housemate; Roman just wants to survive the bedroom eyes Deceit keeps giving him.

Deceit-

Deceit finds he wants to hear Roman laugh one more time.

Word Count: 13529

Pairings: Roceit, Platonic Prinxiety

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a happy ending, Temp Major Character Death, Kidnapping, Suggestive themes, Blood, Violience, PTSD, Panic attacks

Notes: Write a short one shot for a prompt, I said. Well, if this is short, I’m not sure what my long fics are. Patton gets mentioned but doesn’t make an apperence rip, but there’s a near endless amount of Roceit and Platonic Prinxiety? With a bonus of Platonic ThomasxRoman? ANWYAS here’s you’re prompt reply @wisepuma23 and @impatentpending wanted to be tagged for all of these I believe 😂

Read On AO3

“You’re a moron.”

Roman groaned and thunked his head against his table again. He didn’t have to with the way it already ached but the drama in the action felt like it suited his situation. He didn’t have to look up to know Virgil wore a scowl on his face. He groped blindly along the table until his hand close around a glass. He threw it in the direction of Virgil’s voice, wincing at the crash from hitting the wall.

“Fuck you too,” Virgil said casually, “Also that would have been my neck, congratulations you’re now a murderer as well as a Satanist.”

“Shut up,” Roman whined. “I’m hungover and sold my soul to a demon. You have to be nice to me.”

“I’m a ghost. By that logic, you have to be nice to me since I’m dead,” Virgil pointed out. Roman fantasized about finally managing to hit Virgil over the head instead of just throwing things through him. Some best friend Virgil was. Roman was going to run away to Logan’s house, vampire or not, and let the nerd be his best friend.

“Aren’t you some pure mythical creature anyways?” Virgil continued. The teasing in his voice finally prompted Roman to turn his head so he could glare at Virgil. Virgil smirked at him. “Innocence and rainbows pour from your ass.”

Roman dragged his arms up so that he could bury his head in them. It wouldn’t do much to block out Virgil’s voice but it made him feel better. He could just magic the whole thing away but his stomach would have to stop protesting first. God, magic while hungover was almost as bad as magic while drunk.

“I could banish you,” he muttered into his arms. The temperature in the room dropped and Roman ignored the twinge of his heart. If Virgil still didn’t believe that Roman wanted him around after reviving the dead, Roman didn’t know what else he could do. Well, he did, he just needed his head in the right place first. “I can access untold power-”

“Roman!” Virgil said sharply, and Roman’s head snapped up. A cool hand caressed his cheek, and Roman stared at the gold eyes that met his own.

“Oh Master,” the demon purred, leaning into his space. Roman’s heart skipped a beat and he swore violin music started up in the background. The temperature dropped even more, and Virgil growled. “If you wanted the little pest gone, all you had to do was say.”

“N- no, that’s- I mean- Virgil’s always welcome here,” Roman managed to stutter out. The demon smirked at him, and pulled back. The place where they had touched him felt unusually warm. Then again Roman felt unusually warm.

“Very well,” the demon said with an elegant wave of their hand. “Whatever you wish Master.”

The demon turned and strode out of the kitchen, headless of the ice starting to crawl up the windows from Virgil’s anger. Roman reached up to touch the place those cool hands had been and watched them go.

“Stop staring at their ass,” Virgil hissed. “They want your soul.”

“Yeah,” Roman tried to agree, but it came out as more of a dreamy sigh. “Yeah they do.”

Roman snuggled his blankets closer. Everything felt so wonderfully warm and soft; he didn’t need to get up for another hour. If he went truly literal, he wouldn’t have to get up for another week before his body started to demand food. He could be as lazy as he wanted, especially since he had left the TV on for Virgil which meant the ghost wouldn’t bother him for entertainment for a good long while.

He hummed and relaxed into his bed even more. Soft and fluffy and perfect. He was pretty sure he had it commissioned by a witch in the twelfth century and he’d never been able to find its equal. Truly, she had been a talent and he didn’t regret giving her a few locks of hair and a vial of blood to work with in exchange.

He almost drifted off back to sleep when a crash sounded. Roman debated finding out what Virgil had done now, when the smell permeating his room finally processed. His eyes snapped open. A cup of coffee sat on his vanity, steam curling off of it and a small pitcher of cream and sugar next to it all.

Right. It wasn’t just him and Virgil in the house anymore.

Roman reached for the mug and held it carefully in his hands, eyeing the door. He really didn’t want to get into the middle of whatever the other two were fighting about now. He dipped his finger in the coffee casually and reminded himself that his latest housemate had a name that he needed to find out.

He pulled his finger out of his coffee. Confident now that it wasn’t poisoned, Roman reached over to pour a dollop of cream into it and dump all of the sugar into it as well. He cradled his mug to his chest as he climbed out of bed and flicked his finger. With a small burst of magic his normal morning robe settled around his shoulders, soft and perfect.

Satisfied, Roman shuffled towards the kitchen.

“Oh that’s just brilliant,” the demon hissed at Virgil. Roman blinked and leaned against the doorway, eyes drifting to Virgil hovering in the corner as he took a sip of his coffee. Huh, pretty good. Virgil glared back down at their new roommate. “Throwing a tantrum like a child will truly get you what you want.”

“Well, I certainly can’t clean it up, and seeing as I can’t shove you out of the house, throwing things will have to be our compromise.”

Roman raised an eyebrow and glanced down. The remains of one of his nicer bowls scattered the ground, and with it what looked like homemade oatmeal. He hadn’t even know he had the ingredients for homemade. Normally, he just ordered take out.

“Some compromise,” the demon muttered, crouching down to start picking shards out of the food and tossing them in the trash. “It will totally get me to leave and make Roman happy.”

Roman sighed, and waved his hand. The demon flinched back as the broken dish and oatmeal neatly lined itself up and flew to the sink. The Sword in the Stone had been a wonderful movie, and truly the short of Mickey doing cleaning magic had been an inspiration. Roman hadn’t cleaned his house the normal way for decades after that. Sure, he had to invent a few spells for it, but worth it.

The demon whirled to face him, and Virgil gave a half-hearted wave.

“A good morning to you both,” Roman greeted. He eyed the table and the food spread out over it. Fruits dominated the table, ripe strawberries, freshly cut apples, blueberries, kiwis, pomegranates and more. Pastries sat in the middle and Roman wondered where the demon had gotten the ingredients for all of them. Or the time to make them. Either there had been magic involved, or the demon hadn’t slept.

“Why, it certainly is now that the sun has risen,” the demon winked at him and Roman felt a blush crawl up his face. Virgil gagged in the background.

“Butter him up a little more why don’t you,” Virgil hissed, floating over to Roman’s side. “Does it make his soul slide down easier, or do you just like the flavour?”

Right. Yes. Demon who he had sold his soul to. Caution and all that nonsense was needed and-

The demon sauntered forward and Roman felt his thoughts short out. Gold eyes smouldered up at him through the demon’s lashes. Roman swallowed thickly taking a step back until his back hit the wall. The temperature in the room slammed to the floor.

“Back off!” Virgil shouted as the demon bracketed Roman against the wall.

“Oh but you mentioned flavour and now I’m curious as to how someone so delectable looking tastes.” Roman squeaked as the demon leaned forward into his space. They licked their lips and Roman couldn’t help but watch the action. Magic. He had magic. He should do something. One of the demon’s fingers pressed against his chin, tilting his head up. “I’m sure you would be divine.”

“Name!” Roman blurted, his heart thumping too loud in his ears. He wondered if the demon could hear it. He pushed them back gently, desperately trying to create space for his thoughts. He inched past the demon towards the table, and ignored the way that Virgil tried to attach himself at his side. Roman laughed nervously. “If you’re sticking around- I mean, since it seems like you’re staying- I mean! Something to call you! Please!”

Wind brushed through his hair as Virgil tried to hit him upside the head.

“Think with your brain and not your dick for once,” Virgil hissed.

“Easy for you to say,” Roman hissed under his breath back at him. “You don’t have any physical needs anymore.”

“A good thing too, considering you can’t seem to manage anything, what did you decide to forget how to be an adult as soon as I died or was that a decision you made after you brought me back-”

“If I may interrupt,” the demon cut in smoothly.

“No,” Virgil snapped.

“You can do whatever you want,” Roman mumbled under his breath at the same time. A quicksilver grin crossed the demon’s face before settling into the same seductive look. Roman reminded himself that he was a proud unicorn with magic his fingertips who didn’t need no man.

Or demon.

The demon swept into a bow, pulling the hat off of their head in an added flair to the action that Roman adored. Virgil glowered even more, and Roman tried not to pout. Spoil sport. Roman’s heart beat kicked back up a notch as the demon took his hand and pressed a soft kiss to the back of his palm.

“Deceit,” the demon murmured as Roman tried to keep from melting into the floor. He looked up at Roman and smirked, “But you can call me whatever you’d like.”

“Deceit works,” Roman said breathless.

“Of course it does,” Virgil said, “Because they’re a demon who wants to trick you.”

“He,” Deceit snapped back before glancing back at Roman, “He wants to make sure that his master eats a well balanced breakfast.”

“Please don’t call me master,” Roman managed to choke out as Deceit ushered him towards the table. The slight brushes of his fingers against Roman’s arm almost seemed to burn and Roman tried to focus on the food in front of him instead of the thoughts wondering how those fingers would feel running down his side or-

“Suuure you do,” Virgil drawled, eyeing the food suspiciously. “Just like you just want to help or make Roman happy too I bet.”

“I’m so glad you’ve figured me out,” Deceit snapped back, “Feel free to leave.”

“Yeah like I’m gonna leave you alone with Mr. Blissed-Out over there,” Virgil muttered. Roman glanced up from where he had started to select what food he wanted to eat. He couldn’t down the whole table in one go, at least, not while as a human. But goddammit, it had been too long since he had quality greek yogurt.

“Well, I’m glad that someone is enjoying themselves,” Deceit purred, slipping into the chair next to Roman’s. He propped his head up with his hands, watching as Roman filled his plate. Roman filled the silence with a soft hum. He paused and glanced over at Deceit.

“Don’t demons need to eat too?”

“Let ‘em starve,” Virgil muttered and Roman waved him away. Stupid mistake in selling his soul aside, Roman knew he’d be able to take Deceit easily. He wasn’t in any huge danger. Deceit blinked at him, visible surprised for half a second before tucking the expression away. Which was too bad, he looked adorable with wide eyes.

“I can eat later,” Deceit said simply before leaning in with a smirk, “Besides, who wouldn’t want to watch such a wonderful-”

Roman cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“No, no, stop, no flirting until you’ve eaten. Eating with other people is better anyways,” Roman said. He missed- well he missed having a herd to share his food with, but as time went on the more unicorns that were together the more they’d be targeted. Better to lay low, and do it alone, then to risk the herd as a whole.

He picked up one of the strawberries on his plate and offered it to Deceit. Virgil grumbled behind him, but couldn’t risk much more than that without destroying Roman’s kitchen. Deceit stared at him for a long moment, face unreadable. Roman wanted to roll his eyes and insisted again. No one deserved to go hungry.

Deceit’s face shifted and Roman swallowed at the way his eyes lit up.

“Well them,” Deceit said, leaning forward, “If you insist.”

Roman almost flinched back as Deceit’s fingers wrapped around his wrist. Cold, yet they seemed to sear through his skin as Deceit pulled Roman’s hands closer to himself. Roman found himself staring at Deceit, whose eyes didn’t waver from his. Not even as he bent down and took a bite of the strawberry. The room could have been a fridge with Virgil’s rage. Roman couldn’t help the way that his lips parted and his body locked up.

Juice dripped down Deceit’s lips, and Roman watched the pink tip of his tongue dart out to lick at it. Roman shifted in his seat and tried to think about ugly thoughts, like the bags under Virgil’s eyes or the tone that Logan’s voice took when lecturing him. It didn’t help the way that his pants rapidly became uncomfortable.

Deceit took another bite, closing his mouth around the rest of the strawberry, and in a move that had to be deliberate, nipping at the tips of Roman’s fingers.

God, he was going to hell and Roman wouldn’t regret a single step on the way down.

Deceit finally let go of his wrist and sat back, looking for all the world like the cat that finally caught the canary. Roman’s hand didn’t move. Roman tried to think of something other than the way Deceit’s teeth had felt on his fingers and the sight of juice dripping down his lips. Anything else at all.

Deceit grinned, an expression with all teeth.

“Juicy.”

Roman thought for a moment steam could come out of his ears from how hot he felt. The giggle that slipped from his lips felt slightly hysterical and he couldn’t put the thoughts together he needed to respond. He knew himself. If he opened his mouth he’d say something he’d regret and make Virgil want to strangle him. Like asking if Deceit wanted a banana next just to see those lips close around something a little larger.

Deceit leaned forward, all liquid grace and if Roman was honest, sex.

“Well you can’t expect me to eat only one strawberry.” Deceit reached out to run a hand along Roman’s cheek. Something close to a wheeze escaped his mouth. Death approached and for once Roman didn’t care. Death was beautiful and handsome and apparently really great at flirting.

Virgil outright growled behind them and the windows rattled. Deceit’s hand snapped up from Roman’s face to catch the mug that flew at him. It hit his palm with a meaty thunk, and Deceit tossed it to his other hand so that he could catch the second one that followed it.

“Why thank you Virgil,” Deceit rolled his eyes and set both mugs on the table, “I think a refill of coffee is a marvelous idea. I’m a fan of things that could burn me after all.” Deceit leaned into Roman’s space again. “And I am rather good with my hands.”

Roman choked on air, and dropped to the floor out of an instinct born from years of knowing Virgil. He ducked under the table as dishes and food threw themselves across the room, all aimed at Deceit. Perhaps one decade they’d managed to go from Virgil doing it as an emotional response to a conscious decision!

Deceit rolled smoothly out of the way, and Roman, well, Roman took the chance to stare at his ass again. Roman pressed his fingers to his lips to try and muffle his squealing. Virgil would turn everything on him once he realized that Roman was enjoying himself rather than appalled at Deceit’s behavior.

Deceit threw him another wink as he twisted out of the way of a knife. A blush rose on his face again as Virgil’s howls rang throughout the room. God, they were all horrible.

Roman loved it.

The drink burned as it slid down Roman’s throat, and he slammed the glass back down on Logan’s counter. Logan obligingly poured him another shot like a good nerd. History nerd, which was a special sort of immortal. Roman giggled to himself at the thought and ignored the way that Logan rolled his eyes.

It wasn’t Roman’s fault that Logan had the best fae brewed alcohol in the area.

A warm arm wrapped around his waist, and Roman hummed happily as Thomas hooked his chin over Roman’s shoulder.

“You know,” Thomas mumbled into his neck, there wasn’t enough slur to his words and Roman offered him another shot. Thomas took it like the amazing deity and god that he was. Thomas paused, and Roman guess he was trying to remember what he had been trying to say. “You know, that I love you right?”

Roman sipped at his drink, and grinned at Logan. All he got was rolled eyes. Rude. There was- there was a song for this-

“And from his lava came this song of hope that he sang out loud every day for-” Roman sang as he cradled his drink close. He screwed up his face, trying to remember what the next line in the song was. “For- For- Thomas help.”

“For years and years,” Thomas’ chuckle vibrated through Roman and Roman leaned back against his chest. His voice joined Thomas’ blending just like- like someone had stuck them in a blender. Smoooooth.

“I have a dream, I hope will come true, that you’re here with me, and I’m here with you. I wish that the earth, sea, and sky up above-a, will send me someone to lava.”

Roman giggled at the look on Logan’s face. He reached out to boop Logan’s scrunched up nose, only Thomas grabbed his wrist and dragged his hand back before Roman could actually touch Logan. Not fair.

“You are ridiculously drunk,” Thomas told him, amusement and fondness rolling down Roman’s spine.

“More like just plain ridiculous,” Logan muttered. Mean. Logan was a meany pants who didn’t want to have any fun. “I would argue that this could be counted as entertainment in any way,” Logan said, and whoops, Roman must have said that last bit out loud. “I do believe that it is time to cut you off however.” Roman whined as Logan pried his fingers off of his shot glass. Something exploded down the hall and Logan glared at him. Roman simply pouted at him.

“You’re going to be fixing that when you’re sober,” Logan told him as he placed the stolen glass into the sink. Roman took the moment to snag the actual bottle of alcohol. Logan sighed. “Thomas, if you would, please.”

Thomas took the bottle from Roman with a grin. Roman tried to glare at him, but he couldn’t tell which of the three Thomases in front of him was the original one. Why were they all cheating? Didn’t they know that Roman was amazing and perfect in every way and thus they should just trust his decisions without question?

“I think you’ve gotten the two of us mixed up,” Logan said primly as he sat down across from them with a wine glass full of a blood red liquid. Probably because it was blood. Roman swore he was normally better at metaphors than this.

“I think you’re both pretty perfect,” Thomas said, like the angel he was. Angel, god, Thomas, what was the difference?

“You’d be drinking too if- if- if- you had to put up with them,” Roman pointed at Logan’s face. He yelped as Thomas picked him up and settled the two of them back down on the chair together. Warm and comfy, Roman melted into his lap.

“Ah, yes, the mysterious new housemate of yours. The one that compelled you to march over here and get drunk before even giving a greeting,” Logan mused, “I didn’t see them move in, have you been planning it for a while?”

“Wasn’t planned at all,” Roman complained, “And now Virgil’s mad at me for selling my soul-” Thomas’s fingers spasmed along his arms- “and Deceit’s unfairly hot and he just! He keeps looking at me and being nice and it’s no fair. I’m gay. Thomas, I’m really, really, really gay.”

“I can’t tell if you mean that as a swear or if you want to remind me that you’re gay,” Thomas said. Something felt off about his tone, so Roman wriggled around to pat Thomas on the cheek. Thomas like Roman and affection! Two in one and Thomas couldn’t be upset anymore!

“I’m very glad you’re gay,” Thomas said patently, grabbing his wrist again. It must be a good wrist since people kept grabbing it. “But could we go back to the fact that you sold your soul?”

“You still get first dibs,” Roman reassured him. Thomas didn’t look very reassured at his words. Roman wondered why he took a long drag out of the bottle in his hand. Even Logan had set his wine glass down to stare at him. Awww, the nerd did care about him. Virgil owed him twenty bucks.

“Enlighten us as to how he came to live at your house?” Logan asked quietly. His eyes glowed red in the dim light, and Roman almost reached out to touch them again. They looked like rubies and Roman liked rubies. “Roman!” Logan snapped, and breathed out slowly as Roman blinked at him. “Focus. Please.”

“Dunno,” Roman said, shrugging his shoulder. “It was the anniversary and I was alone, and then it wasn’t and there were more people in my house.”

Logan’s face crumpled. Thomas made a wounded noise in the back of his throat and took another long drag from the bottle of alcohol. Roman shrugged again.

“‘s been nice,” he continued, heedless of the way that Thomas’ grip on him tightened even more. Bruising if he had been a human. Like Virgil was. No wait. Like Virgil had been. “House feels less empty now,” Roman whispered, curling in Thomas’ lap even more. “Don’t mind it. He’s been nice, ‘cept for pickin’ fights with Virgil. Or Virgil pickin’ fights with him.”

Logan reached out and ran a dull claw down his arm.

“My apologies,” he said softly, “It had escaped my noticed that it was that time of year again.”

“‘s fine,” Roman said, reaching out to pat Logan on the face. “You had that thingy with Pat-pat, and needed Thomas’ help and was too dangerous for me.” He wished he could have another fucking drink. “Always too dangerous for me.”

“We just want to keep you safe,” Thomas said softly, setting the bottle in his hand down so he could run a hand through Roman’s hair. Roman liked his hair, long and soft. He should get Patton to braid it the next time he was in town.

“Can keep myself safe.”

“Apparently not, considering we left you in your warded house, in a city that’s well known for being uneventful, and you still managed to lose ownership of your soul,” Logan pointed out. “Not to mention that the price for the ingredients that you can get from a unicorn has gone up again-”

“Logan,” Thomas said sharply. Roman blinked. Oh. He trembled in Thomas’s arms, which must be why Thomas sounded so upset.

“I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be the last,” he whispered.

“You won’t be,” Thomas said fiercely. He hooked his chin over Roman’s head, bracketing him from all sides. Keeping him safe from a world that Roman had once traveled through freely. “I promise, you won’t be.”

“I want to trust him,” Roman felt the words spill from his mouth. “I know I shouldn’t. Virgil keeps- keeps- keeps- doing the thing. Virgil keeps my head on, even though he’s dead and should be the one missing a head. But Deceet- Dese- De keeps being nice.”

“Someone who’s nice isn’t always trustworthy.” Logan’s hand left his arm and Roman whined. He wanted to cuddle someone, everyone.

“Nice like you,” Roman mumbled. “D reminds me to eat, and yells at Virgil, and watches Disney with me, and make those funny faces, and is way too hot, and- and- and-”

Roman turn to look up at Thomas with wide eyes.

“He did improv with me,” Roman said breathlessly. “Not even you and Patton did that.”

“Yes I did,” Thomas said, that something warm and fond back in his voice. It wasn’t quite the same, but Roman didn’t want to think about it too much. Better that Thomas was happy.

“Yeah but you’re my god,” Roman pouted, “Thinking about having sex with you is weird. Like thinking about having sex with my dad-”

Thomas leaned down to bump their foreheads together. Roman snapped his mouth shut and leaned forward to press a sloppy kiss to Thomas’ cheek. Thomas grinned at him, and scratched at his scalp in the perfect sort of way.

“Let’s never mention this again,” Thomas suggested, and Roman mumbled his agreement.

Logan squinted at them both.

“Thomas, it is my conclusion that you are more drunk that I thought.” Logan held out a hand, “Perhaps it’s time for Roman to sleep and you to clear out your system.”

“Noooooo,” Roman kicked his feet through the air. “Don’t wanna sleep here. Your bed sucks. Like you. You suck and your bed sucks!”

“Very mature,” Logan rolled his eyes. He crossed his arms and glared down at Roman. “Very well, prove to me that you can make it home under your own power and I shall let you leave.”

“Easy!” Roman pushed himself off of Thomas’ lap and wobbled in place. He blinked and squinted his eyes at the wavering door at the other end of the room. He took a step forward and felt his legs give out from underneath him. Huh, he really was drunk.

Twice in the same month, that had to be a record.

Thomas reached out and helped balance him. For a long moment, Thomas just stared at him, eyes searching Roman’s face. A quiet whisper of familiar magic drifted over his skin, and Roman hummed, letting the sleeping spell settle through his own magic.

Thomas placed a hand on his cheek, and for a moment he seemed like something more.

“He has no claim to you,” Thomas said, his voice as soft as a breath on the wind. “You are mine, and I have no plans of revoking that, ever.”

Roman slumped into Thomas’ arms, mind drifting off to soft words. He blinked sluggishly at the sound of the doorbell ringing. Logan didn’t have friends. Or, Logan didn’t have friends that weren’t already there or who wouldn’t have just let themselves in. Silence echoed through the house and Roman nuzzled closer to Thomas’ chest.

The door creaked open.

“Can I- Oh,” Logan’s voice fell flat and sharp. “You are not welcome here.”

“A sentiment that I can feel down to my non-existent soul.” Roman shifted in Thomas’ arms at the sound of Deceit’s voice. He turned his head and waved an arm in Deceit’s direction. “Ah, there he is. I shall simply pick up the wayward prince and be on my way.”

“He doesn’t have to go anywhere with you,” Thomas said stiffly.

“Oh honey,” Deceit purred. He held an arm out in invitation, and Roman wiggled out of Thomas’ hold to tuck himself into Deceit’s side. It felt cooler than Thomas had been, but Roman relaxed anyways. Deceit tucked a lock of his hair back behind his ear. “I don’t make him do anything any more than you do.”

Thomas’ presence swelled, a silent, angry threat. Roman thought it felt like a heavy blanket. Then again Thomas wouldn’t rip him to shreds if he said the wrong thing. He hummed and nuzzled at Deceit’s neck. Deceit froze, and Roman wondered if Logan had bared his fangs at him.

He looked up to meet Deceit staring at him with wide eyes.

“Goin’ home?” he asked, a quiet pleading whine.

“Yeah,” Deceit said softly. Soft like a pillow; Roman liked it. “We’re heading home, my prince.” Roman hummed happily and fell limp in Deceit’s hold. Thomas’ voice floated over his head, and Deceit’s sharp reply added to the almost lullaby of the sounds of his favorite people.

Roman snuggled close to Deceit, and thought that, for a demon, he felt impossibly safe.

Roman hummed, socked feet gliding down the hall. He felt pretty certain that Virgil had headed over to visit Logan for the night. Roman knew that before Deceit had shown up Virgil didn’t head out of the house all that much. Guilt churned in his stomach as he rounded a corner to the next smooth hallway.

He had been selfish in bringing Virgil back; he knew that. Humans weren’t meant to be forever, but he had gotten so attached. Vampires used to be humans and they generally turned out fine, so he had thought it could be the same for Virgil. Roman had forgotten about the generally.

There was a very good reason that Logan obsessed over his books and learning and history.

A bored vampire became a feral vampire.

Roman closed his eyes and twisted his body into a spin. He transitioned from a bastardized version of not quite ice skating into the fluid movements of ballet. For a moment he wasn’t trapped in his own house, spacious as it was, but showing off for the theater once more. The lights of the stage warming his body as he threw his everything into the performance. Music swelled in his mind, and Roman leapt into the air.

Normally, he used his magic to cushion his fall. This time solid hands wrapped around his waist and spun him through the air. Roman’s eyes snapped open, and only long decades of practice kept him from reaching down to grab Deceit’s wrist for balance. He held his pose until Deceit lowered him back to the ground.

Roman breathed heavily, distantly noting that Deceit’s hands didn’t leave his waist. Moonlight streamed through the window behind them and lit up Deceit’s hair with a soft glow. For a moment, the suffocating quiet of the house felt a little lighter.

“Isn’t it a little late for a prince like you to be up?” Deceit asked softly. His hands squeezed Roman’s waist gently before taking a step back. Roman longed for him to come back, for the comforting weight of another person, of him. “While I would be flattered if you were up because the dreams of me simply became too much, even you need to sleep.”

Roman chuckled and reached out to pat Deceit on the chest. What? Deceit flirted with him, Roman simply flirted back and if that meant running his hands along that glorious body, he was a gay, gay man. He shrugged and gestured at Deceit to follow him as he walked back to the main area of the house.

“I get restless,” Roman said. He ran his fingers along the paneling of the wall, watching the way that Deceit watched him out of the corner of his eyes. “Being alone is difficult enough, being alone and having to stay in one place just aches some days. It happens time to time, don’t worry about it.”

Deceit stared at him with unreadable eyes.

“How long?”

“Hmm?” Roman asked as he opened up the kitchen doors. Maybe something warm would help him sleep?

“Here, let me,” Deceit pulled out a chair for him and strode to the fridge. “How long have you been here?”

Roman’s eyes dropped to the table and he traced patterns on it. Maybe he’d ask Logan to pick him up some paints from the store tomorrow. He should have fought harder for a house closer to shops and stores, even if it went against the whole point of him having a house.

“Nothing too bad, decades, give or take,” Roman mumbled, hunching in on himself. He flinched as a mug slammed against the counter.

“Why?” Deceit hissed. “Are they not aware of-”

“They are!” Roman cut him off. A part of him warmed at the fact that Deceit got defensive of him, but the rest of him brayed at the thought of someone insulting his makeshift herd. They weren’t unicorns like himself, but that didn’t mean they weren’t his family, his to care for and help support in anyway that he could.

“We all decided that this was for the best,” Roman tried to stress his own involvement in the situation. Being under house arrest so to speak felt better than being on the run and ending up under the knife of someone looking to use him for nothing more than ingredients and parts. “Yeah it sucks sometimes, and yeah sometimes I want to go out of my mind with boredom and recklessness but I don’t regret it.”

Deceit slid a cup of hot milk his way and leaned against the table. Roman didn’t reach out for it quite yet, instead leaning towards Deceit. Deceit reached out and ran a hand through his hair, following the trail down to his shoulders.

“I met Virgil here. I met my best friend here,” Roman said softly. Deceit nudged the mug towards him and Roman finally wrapped his hands around it. “It’s a place that I’ve long learned to call home. It is home. If I’ve learned anything over my life time it's that nothing’s perfect. Not even life itself. I’m willing to wait for centuries if that’s what it takes to get back to my people. The collapse of humanity, or of greed, or a shift in dynamic.”

“It might not happen,” Deceit whispered back. His eyes glittered with a righteousness even in the dark and Roman felt his lips quirk up at Deceit’s offence at his situation. “You could end up trapped here forever simply because of a fear of what could be.”

“It won’t be forever,” Roman said, throwing his shoulders back. He could still see the fire in Thomas’ eyes, the way the god had crouched down in front of a simple foal and promised. His god had promised that he would never know the pain of being the last of his kind. Roman had faith in Thomas, and he had faith in that promise.

“You can’t know that for sure,” Deceit leaned in even more, close enough that Roman could almost touch their noses together.

“I can hope though,” Roman said, just as fierce. His hands tightened around his untouched milk. “I can dream and I can wait. I’m not standing still,” he threw his head back. “I’m lying in wait.”

Deceit laughed, a short burst of sound before it cut off and Deceit looked surprised at his own reaction. Roman grinned at him, tapping his foot against the ground. He wanted Deceit to laugh more. He wanted Deceit to see the beauty that still existed even in a world that may hate them, or want to use them.

“Hamilton is not a good argument to use,” Deceit pointed out.

“Ah, but what a gift both the man and the musical was to the world.” Roman looked dreamily into the distance. What he wouldn’t have gave to be able to watch the performance in person, and not through a scry that Thomas set up for them all. It just didn’t feel the same.

“We can go see it someday,” Deceit offered, his hand reaching out to skim down Roman’s arm. Roman smiled at the idea, tinged with the bitter knowledge that when he did eventually get out of this house it wouldn’t be the same. Some things just weren’t meant to be.

“Someday,” Roman echoed. Deceit nudged him with a gentle kick.

“However, today is for sleep, which you should be getting.”

“Right, yes, I apologize for keeping you up,” Roman said, reaching to scratch the back of his neck. “You should head to bed-” Roman froze, and his eyes widened as he stared at Deceit. He scrambled to remember everything he kept in the house.

“Deceit,” Roman said slowly.”Where have you been sleeping?”

He only had one bed.

Deceit shrugged.

“The couch, though sleep isn’t truly necessary for me.”

“Lies! Even if you don’t need it, it can still help and everyone needs a little beauty rest now and then. It will make you feel marvelous to get a true night’s rest for once,” Roman said without a thought. He plowed forward, trying not to stop, because if he stopped then he’d realize that he was offering his bed to the man that he loved. “You can’t, nay! I refuse to let you keep doing this to yourself!”

Deceit rolled his eyes.

“You can’t just go out and buy a new mattress.” Roman waved his assumption off.

“Don’t be ridiculous, my bed is more than big enough for the both of us.”

Deceit froze and stared at him for a long moment. Roman felt his heart skip a beat and he shuffled awkwardly, before finally getting up from his chair to take care of his milk. Deceit should have taken the opening. Roman had laid a chance for flirting and innuendos right at Deceit’s feet and it remained untouched.

“You don’t have to, I mean, I could magic something up, or make the couch more comfortable if that’s what you want-”

“No,” Deceit said, his hand snapping out to grab Roman’s sleeve. Roman turned to look at him and Deceit coughed. He let go and fiddled with his hat, not meeting Roman’s eyes. “Your bed is fine.”

Roman felt a blush crawl up his cheeks and he jerked his head towards the door. His heart pounded in his ears and his mind repeated a mantra of don’t fuck this up . He held his arm out to Deceit.

“Well then, shall we?”

Deceit smirked at him as he pressed himself against Roman’s side. The now familiar look in his eyes made Roman grin even more even before Deceit opened his mouth. He wrapped his arm around Deceit’s and relished in the contact.

“I suppose if you are that eager to have me in your bed, I would be a fool to refuse you,” Deceit said, and Roman giggled. Deceit grinned back at him, a bright expression that Roman noticed didn’t show up all that often. He wanted to hope that he gave Deceit that expression. He wanted to think that it was the most honest expression Deceit gave him.

“Apparently, I am a prince,” Roman teased right back. He didn’t think the way that Deceit squeezed his arm was just his imagination. “It would be the greatest honor to bed with me.”

“Oh of that I am more than certain.” Deceit reached out to run a finger down Roman’s cheek. “The greatest honor indeed.”

Roman ducked his head and smiled up at Deceit. He couldn’t find the words to respond, and without Virgil’s usual intervention, Roman lacked the usual distraction that let him gather his thoughts against Deceit’s onslaught. Deceit’s grin grew, and he waved a hand towards Roman’s bedroom.

Roman tried to remind himself to breath as Deceit strode into his room. He could do this. If Deceit got handsy he could deal with it. Did he want Deceit to get handsy? It would fit with the flirting. Who wouldn’t want the hot man who wandered around their house to finally fulfill all their fantasies?

He wrapped his fingers around the fabric of his shirt to keep them from shaking and walked into his own room.

Deceit lounged out on the far side of the bed, hat hung up on one of the bed posts and shoes nowhere to be found. Roman sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of Deceit’s ruffled hair against his pillow. Deceit stretched his arms up and Roman had to rip his eyes away from the way that Deceit’s shirt rode up his stomach.

He was going to die tonight no matter what happened.

This was the worst idea. Roman glanced back at Deceit, who seemed to be truly relaxing against the bed with Roman turned away from him. Sharp edges softened and Deceit looked so wonderfully pleased and delighted by the way he keep running his fingers over the soft blankets and silken sheet.

This had been the best idea.

Roman snapped his fingers and indulged himself in a little magic to change his clothes to something more comfortable. He took another steadying breath and braced himself to climb into bed. He turned around and walked through the heaviness of Deceit’s gaze.

“Oh I’m sure that you’ll be able to sleep like that,” Deceit said, stretching one leg out as Roman slid in next to him. “As stiff as a board, and all wound up tight.”

“So you want to relax me?” Roman slammed his lips shut. Deceit eyed him and sighed. His hand came up to brush through his hair, tousling it even more in a way that made Roman want to run his own fingers through it.

“Yes. But not in the way that you’re thinking,” Deceit said, short and blunt, like it had been pried out of him. “I want you to sleep. Maybe relax. I don’t want anything that you don’t.” He hesitated and the next sentence out of his mouth sounded hesitant. “Consent is sexy, and all that.”

“Oh,” Roman said, love and happiness curling around his heart to make a home there.

“I can-” Deceit gritted his teeth, “I can stop everything. If it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No!” Roman slammed a hand over his mouth and cursed his impulsiveness. He took a deep breath and smiled. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Good,” Deceit nodded his head, and settled down. Roman leaned in at the sight of what almost seemed to be a blush making its way across Deceit’s face and under his scales. It was the best . Roman wanted to know where else he blushed like that, and if they both wanted to- A pillow slammed into his face.

“I can hear your thinking from here,” Deceit hissed. “We’re not boning tonight. Virgil would kill me for real if I did that, and I don’t want it to be about just your body or your-”

Deceit’s jaw shut with an audible click. He rolled away from Roman, pulling the blankets up over his head as he did. His voice came out muffled but understandable.

“Just go to sleep already.”

Roman reached out. He scooted closer to Deceit until he could press his chest to Deceit’s back, and wrap an arm around Deceit’s waist. Deceit tensed, and then relaxed into his hold with what sounded like a soft sigh. His fingers threaded through Roman’s, and Roman buried his grin in Deceit’s neck.

“Love you too, you emotionally constipated monster,” Roman whispered.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

It was alright. Deceit pulled him closer, tugging his arms until their hands rest over his heart, and Roman loved . He felt tension leak out of his body at the steady up and down of Deceit’s breath. He wasn’t alone. He felt like he was dreaming already.

If he was, he wasn’t sure he wanted to wake up.

Roman laughed. The sound echoed down and through the house, filling spaces that had been filled with shadows. Deceit’s hand lead him into a spin, and Roman couldn’t help but add his own flourish to the action. His feet felt like they were flying over the floor. Everything around him blurred except for Deceit’s face and the feeling his hair spinning around his face.

He caught sight of Virgil in the back corner before Deceit swept him in a different direction. Roman laughed again, following Deceit’s lead as they danced across the room. Roman couldn’t remember what it was actually supposed to be for, not that it matter, the few pieces of furniture had been shoved to the side to make room for their dancing. The speaker that blasted music sat on top of one of the cabinets, and Deceit dipped him at the same time the music dropped.

The music clicked off and Roman stared at the brightness of Deceit’s eyes. He could feel both of their chests heaving from the exertion, and he knew that if he stopped to think about the sweat rolling down his back too much he’d run for the nearest shower. He still reached up to wrap his arms around Deceit’s neck.

Deceit chuckled and leaned forward to press his forehead against Roman’s. Roman screwed up his nose at the sweat-slick feeling of Deceit’s skin, but didn’t pull away. Their noses brushed against each other, as Deceit pulled Roman back up to a standing position. Roman's eyes dropped to his lips, and he leaned forward-

Deceit jerked back as a book flew where his face had been.

“Great, glad we all had fun, now I vote we do something else.” Virgil glided over to Roman's shoulders and glared at Deceit. Roman sighed and waved a hand through Virgil's arm. Virgil hissed at him.

“Thanks Dad-”

“Fuck that, Thomas is your dad and you know it-”

“-but I don't need a chaperone,” Roman finished over him. He rolled his eyes at the look on Virgil's face. “Nuh-uh, no, stop. Stooooop. You don't get to give me that look. I'm older than you are, I can take care of myself.”

“Debatable,” Virgil hummed. His lips twitched upwards as he floated backwards towards the door. Roman knew the look in his eye, sparkling with mischief and the glee he only got when knocking Roman down a peg. Roman sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening as he lunged out of Deceit's arms in Virgil's direction.

“Don't you dare-!”

“Oh am I not supposed to mention the time when you decided to-”

“I will lock you in a jar!” Roman shrieked.

“-so you slid down the stairs and broke an arm at which point you decided-”

“I swear to all things we both find holy!” Roman shoved his magic at Virgil. Virgil disappeared mid-sentence with a slight pop, and Roman let out a deep breath. He turned back to Deceit. Deceit blinked slowly at him, eyes drifting to the spot Virgil had been and then back to his face.

“I didn't banish him,” Roman muttered, “Just sent him over to Logan's place. It's the closest I can get to tackling him these days.”

“You two seem,” Deceit paused, almost seeming to chew on his next word, “close.”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah he just-” Roman faltered. How to explain the lonely teen that had run to Roman’s house thinking it was empty? How to explain the hope that he brought with him in the form of books, and stories, and his very presence? How to explain the angry adults that had coming looking for him and the way Roman just couldn’t stare at Virgil’s wide eyes and do nothing?

Were there even words for the way they had fought and clawed their way into each other’s hearts?

“He’s just Virgil you know?” Roman said finally, and grinned at Deceit, “Every sky needs its stars! Or a moon, I can never decide.”

Deceit held a hand out, and Roman took it. He followed Deceit back to the makeshift dance floor, this time for a more sedated waltz. Deceit pulled him close, arm snaking around his waist possessively.

“So you’ve never dated?”

Roman slapped Deceit on the chest. “What?! No! Ew, he’s like twenty! He was fifteen when we met! What sort of monster do you take me for?”

Deceit spun him again, and smirked at the affronted look on Roman’s face. Roman scoffed at him. Teasing from Virgil was bad enough, Deceit had some nerve to join in. He was thousands of years old! He had roamed this continent before humans ever had! He had seen corners of the world they never would and watched history bloom like a flower in front of his eyes!

“A soft one,” Deceit said, “Time has worn away any rough edges you might have had, and now you care too much even when you know you shouldn’t.”

Roman’s heart dropped to his toes. He stopped, pulling Deceit to a halt with him. He could feel his hands shaking. He jerked back, trying not to curl in on himself. He thought he heard Logan’s voice telling him that he had to breathe, Roman you have to keep breathing-!

A hand brushed against his cheek and Roman flinched back.

“Roman?” Roman blinked rapidly, trying to focus on Deceit’s face. The smell of iron hung in the back of his throat and Roman wrapped his arms around himself. It wasn’t then, it wasn’t then, it wasn’t then-

He tried to swallow. His mouth felt too dry. He wanted, desperately, for Virgil to still be there so that his voice could remind Roman that things were fine now.

“You want to know how he died?” Roman said. His voice cracked like his heart had that day. He dug his fingers into his arms to cover the phantom weight that sat in them.

“More like how he came back,” Deceit said slowly. His hands hovered in the air, and Roman wanted to laugh. Of course, as a demon Deceit wouldn’t know how to comfort someone when they broke down like this. Roman longed for Thomas, for soft words and a softer hand. He wanted his dad, his god.

“What’s the difference?” Roman snapped, taking a step back. His voice rose in pitch and volume. “It was my fault. It was all my fault!”

“What was?” Deceit asked softly, taking a step forward. Another dance. One that Roman didn’t want to be a part of. Anger rose with the grief, swirled together into a storm in his heart that Roman didn’t know how to control, thunder and lightning crashing together.

“You want to know?” he hissed. He drew himself up, and tried to tower over Deceit. “You want to know about how he disappeared? How they took him because they thought he could lead them to me?” He took a step forward and this time Deceit took a step back, his eyes unreadable.

“I could talk about the days I went out of my mind worrying for him because I couldn’t leave the house.” Roman laughed, wild and pained. “My best friend goes missing and I couldn’t go fucking looking for him!” Deceit’s lips thinned into a near invisible line but Roman plowed on.

“You want to hear how Logan and Thomas brought him back, near dead and bloody? How he begged for me even then? I’m a unicorn, I’m his best friend, his savior, so surely I could save him this time too, never mind the fault that being around me is what caused it in the first place!”

His chest heaved, and Roman could feel his nails bit into his skin. He felt out of control, a car hurtling towards a cliff and he couldn’t hit the brakes. He was going to explode into a fiery ball and he wasn’t sure he wanted to stop it.

“So I try,” Roman felt the way that his voice cracked again. “Of course I fucking try to do something, but I’m an idiot, always have been, always will be. And stupidly I don’t check for any other magic or curses.”

Roman fell silent, prying his hands off of his arms to stare at them. He could still picture Virgil’s body in them, still so young and with a life ahead of him. Should have had a life ahead of him. He could feel the warm blood dripping down them, the way that it stained his floors so badly he had to rip them out and put new boards in so he could walk by without having a panic attack.

He curled his fingers. Just like Virgil had when Roman’s magic betrayed them both, twisted by someone else into causing more damage instead of helping. The way Virgil’s body fell apart even more haunted him every year, like clockwork, shredded so badly that not even Logan could help. No mystical change to a vampire for them and their youngest.

No, all Roman got was to listen to Virgil beg him to make it stop. All he got was the soft feel of Virgil’s cheeks between his hands as he pressed a kiss to Virgil’s forehead. All he got was the terror in Virgil’s eyes as he pressed their foreheads together, apologies falling from his lips like gems and flowers. They tasted like lizards and frogs.

No.

All Roman got was the way the snap of Virgil’s neck had sounded in the sudden silence.

“I killed him,” Roman’s voice sounded like a croak. “I killed him and I couldn’t live with it so I brought him back and isn't it so much better now?!” His head snapped up to glare at Deceit, who watched him with those damnable unreadable eyes. Roman threw his hands out to encompass his house, the silence, the weight, the death and despair that it carried with him.

Home. Alone. Just like he always was.

“So much better now that Virgil hates me! Better now that Patton never visits, probably blames me too. The way Thomas works even harder now, the way that Logan struggles for control even more!” Roman wanted to shatter, to fly apart into the million pieces that his heart already sat in. “The way that Virgil never stays, he can’t stand to look at me for too long.”

Roman faltered, collapsing in on himself. He didn’t fight against the arms that wrapped around him as he blinked rapidly. He cried, reaching out to claw at Deceit’s back.

“Every year, every year he leaves and I’m alone and I can’t stop thinking about it.” Roman sobbed into Deceit’s chest. “It hurts, and I hate it. I hate that he leaves and I hate that I hate it and-”

Deceit shushed him, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. Roman dug his nails into Deceit’s back even more as Deceit rocked him back and forth. They stood like that Roman sobbing and Deceit trying to comfort him and time seemed to stretch like taffy. Roman didn’t know how long it took before he stepped back out of Deceit’s arms to swipe at the tears in his eyes.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

Deceit shook his head, and reached out to grip his hand. He ran his thumb over the back of Roman’s hand, and Roman wondered what he was thinking. Probably trying to reconcile Roman with someone who could commit murder. Roman’s lips twisted up bitterly.

“So-” Deceit cleared his throat. “So the day you summoned me was-”

“The anniversary of Virgil’s death.” Roman’s confirmation fell like a hammer. It shattered through the glass of Deceit’s thought, Roman could see the way that his face shuddered and put together the new information. Deceit’s grip on his hand tightened and his comforting circles stopped.

“So- so your deal-”

“Oh, that,” Roman tried to laugh but it came out wrong. Stilted. “I don’t remember what deal we made, considering I was more than flat out drunk that night. Maybe black out drunk? I was a sky without stars and considering that no one’s behavior changed I figured I asked for something stupid and you were just waiting to claim my soul.”

Deceit’s head rose so he could meet Roman’s eyes. The stone in Roman’s stomach doubled in size as Deceit searched his eyes for something. He pulled his hand from Deceit’s grip, missing the cool touch. Tension ran along his shoulders and he searched Deceit’s eyes for answers of his own.

“Deceit. What did I ask for?”

Deceit’s eyes slipped shut.

“Don’t ask that of me. Please.”

Roman clenched his jaw. He stood at the edge of a cliff, he always stood at the edge of a cliff. He could never stop himself from jumping off, even with the jagged rocks at the bottom. Eternal wisdom never beat eternal recklessness.

“Deceit,” Roman said, drawing his magic up around himself. “What did I ask for?”

Deceit breathed in. His eyes opened and he stared at a point just beyond Roman’s face. He twitched and then slumped just slightly. Roman didn’t think he would have noticed the difference a few weeks ago.

“Someone to love,” Deceit whispered, finally meeting his eyes. Roman felt the floor give out beneath his feet. He wanted to know how he could stand without anything under him. “You asked for someone you could love, but-”

“No,” Roman said, the word strangled by heartbreak and realization. The flirting, the smiles, the words, the actions, everything.

A lie.

What demon wouldn’t want the soul of a unicorn?

Deceit took a step forward, hand reaching out, and face pleading.

“Roman please-”

“No,” Roman shook his head, feeling the tears start to fall. He took a step back. Then another. “I can’t- you-” He couldn’t breath. He wanted to scrub the sound of Deceit’s laughter from his head. He wanted to forget the nights curled up together, the way he had bared his soul to Deceit because he had trusted him.

“Just listen to me-”

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Roman tripped over his feet as he whirled towards the door. He barely caught himself and fled before Deceit could say any more. If Deceit spoke, Roman would listen and he’d lose all over again. Love beat against betrayal in his heart and Roman wasn’t ready to make bets on that fight yet.

He slammed into the wall as he turned the corner. He didn’t let that slow him down as he ran blindly through his house. If he hid, Deceit would find him. If Deceit found him, then Roman would fall for him all over again, lie or not. He had to run, run until Deceit couldn’t follow him anymore.

“Roma-?”

Roman ran through Virgil and threw open the door. The chill air of outside hit him in the face but he didn’t stop.

“Roman!” Virgil’s voice tugged at his panic, but not enough. He had failed Virgil. He was failing Thomas right now. “Roman, stop!”

His feet fell away from him. His body tingled, stretching and growing. The world blurred around him as his hooves clattered against concrete. Something in him shouted at being free for the first time in decades, his body picked up speed, falling into a natural rhythm. Falling into his natural form. Someone screamed. Virgil.

Virgil screamed and Roman ran.

Roman slowed as he took in the trees around him. The setting sun dyed the sky the same brilliant orange as the leaves above and below him. He crunched leaves as he moved at a trot, glancing around him. He blinked slowly. He couldn’t remember how far he had run to reach here. He couldn’t remember much of his run at all.

He flicked his tail, slowing down again to a walk. Virgil would find him first most likely, and that was the last thing Roman wanted. Hatred or I-told-you-so’s would grate on him the same way right now. They would be the last thing he needed.

Roman ached for Thomas and kicked at the leaves covering the ground.

He ground his teeth together. Logan’s voice lectured him on staying put when lost, but like hell Roman was going to waste his short time outside. He had already left his house, might as well see some sights before he went back and tried to entertain himself once more.

He didn’t want to think about Deceit being there when he went home.

Roman pranced to throw his thoughts off of himself, shaking his mane. He leapt gracefully over a fallen tree-

A snap and crunch echoed through the forest with his scream.

Roman crashed to the ground, scrambling to balance himself as pain tore through his front right leg. He screamed again. The bear trap he had landed on scraped against the bone of his leg and blood dripped down into the dirt. His hooves scored the ground, kicking up leaves. His eyes rolled back in his head as his other legs finally gave out on him.

He trembled and his chest heaved as he lay on the ground. The bear trap rattled as his legs kicked out and more pain raced up his probably broken leg. Roman wanted to cry. His tail swished against the leaves and ground. Purple stained the leaves around him, and Roman hated it. He hated the color and what it meant and for a moment, wanted to bleed red like the rest of his family.

His family.

Roman squeezed his eyes shut. They would come for him. Virgil looked for him already, Roman knew that. It was only a matter of time before they found him. Gods, they were never going to leave him alone after this. He had finally proved them right. He couldn’t take care of himself, had never been able to take care of someone else.

Some unicorn he turned out to be.

A whine built up in his throat. The throbbing of his leg matched the throbbing of his heart. He imagined Thomas running fingers through his mane, and Logan’s lecturing yet conference voice. He wanted Virgil’s dark presence hanging over him and Patton’s laughter. He wanted the adventures they used to have and the adventures they still had only without him-

His feelings spiraled into a blackhole of pain, and Roman lost track of time. Pain blossomed and withered with each rise and fall of his chest. Inhaling dug through the dirt to plant new roots and each exhale pulled everything back out. Winter and summer, planting and uprooting, life and death. A cycle that he could never escape.

A branch snapped in the distance. Roman peeled his eyes open. He could barely make out the sight of a figure moving through the trees, probably Logan or Thomas. He brayed and the figure froze. Roman tried to relax, his eyes slipping shut. He would be safe now; he would get help.

Leaves crunched around him growing in number, and Roman tensed. Too many footsteps. He shuddered and opened his eyes again. He pulled himself into a sitting position. Fire raced through his leg as he adjusted his position, flaring up every time he moved. He watched the strangers approaching him with a wary eye.

“Well, I’ll be,” one of them breathed, “Those old rumors and stories were true. A unicorn.”

Roman snapped his teeth at them, warning them back. Antlers would have been more useful than a horn in keeping them back. Then again. Roman gathered his magic and conjured a flickering shield around himself.

“Got caught in one of the hunter’s traps,” another one murmured. Roman’s head spun. He couldn’t keep track of them all. Seven? No ten. What were they all doing out here?

“Careful,” The first one said, pulling a length of rope from their side. “Even injured like that it can be a slippery bastard. They’re known for their escape tactics for a reason.” Roman felt the wind pick up around him as he tried to hurl some more offensive magic at them. Their hair blew in the breeze but nothing more happened. Weak. Bleeding out and emotional. He hadn’t left his house in decades. Out of shape and out of practice, Roman cursed himself for not having done more to be prepared for a time like this.

“We’ve gotten lucky with this one. Rope ‘em.”

Roman tried to stand up, to get on his feet and fight back. His broken leg gave out underneath him, and he let out a loud bellow as he fell back down. He snarled mentally. Fire sprung up around him, making several of the hunters stumble back. He would not be taken without a fight. He refused.

He refused.

A rope whipped through the air with a crack. It sliced through his barrier and landed on his back. Roman screamed, the sound tearing through his hoarse throat. The rope felt like a knife cutting through his magic and he kicked out on instinct. The bear trap rattled as he reared up, cutting into his leg even more.

Another rope shot out and lassoed his hoof. A sharp tug toppled him over as Roman writhed against the feeling of something suppressing his very nature. Another rope caught around his throat and Roman’s screams fell silent. He kicked feebly as his magic crumbled in his grasp and the hunters swarmed him.

More ropes. Roman’s world went white with pain. Distantly, he registered hands over his body, someone touching his horn, others wrapping more rope around his legs. Someone forced his mouth open and wrapped a muzzled around it. He tried to claw through it all, tried to force himself to move.

He barely twitched.

Dirt and rocks scraped against his muzzle as they dragged him away. He whined in the back of his throat, and irrationally-

He wished for golden eyes and a smooth voice.

Roman stared blankly at the far wall of his cell. The cap they had wrapped around his horn itched, but scraping it against the wall in a futile effort to pry it off only hurt. His broken leg lay in front of him, treated with disinfectant. Enough to keep him alive but nothing to stop the bleeding or pain.

Why would they when they wanted to splash their walls with his blood?

Precise incisions ran along his flank and neck. Everything ached, but not as much as the rope wrapped around his hind legs. Soaked in virgin blood just like the ones they had caught him with, the burn a constant agony added to his orchestra of suffering. He wondered how long it would take before they started to chip away at his horn to see what they could do with that as well.

His head felt light, from blood loss, from pain, from the locks of mane they had shaved off.

He wanted to curl into the corner and never move again. He could do it if he took a human form, but he didn’t dare risk giving that secret up to them. He may have been taken, but he never wanted to be the reason that more unicorns ended up in the hands of people like this.

He leaned over, pressing his flank against the wall in an attempt to ease some of the pain in his leg. It pulled on the cuts along his side, but the low sharp pain felt better than the long deep throb. He slid his eyes shut and wondered how long it would take until this horror show passed. The air in his cell dropped, and he shivered. Cold, but it soothed his inflamed everything.

“Oh my god,” Virgil’s voice whispered. Roman flicked his ear towards the source. Oh. He had gone mad earlier than he had thought he would.

“Roman,” Virgil hissed. Roman hummed. He missed Virgil, and wondered what he’d say to the sight of him now. The short hair felt a little ridiculous, maybe Virgil would comment on that? “Roman! I know you can hear me.”

Roman sighed and turned to glare at nothing. Only-

Only Virgil stared at him with wide eyes, and Roman nickerd in alarm. Virgil’s hands shot up and he waved them through the air. His eyes cut to the door and then back to Roman.

“Shhh, quieter, quieter, they can’t know I’m here.”

Virgil hovered closer to him, hands passing through cuts and the empty space where Roman’s mane had been. Something pained flashed through his eyes and he leaned forward. Roman sighed at the feeling of coolness that pressed against his neck. Virgil couldn’t really lean against him like he had years ago, but they could both pretend.

“You look like shit,” Virgil murmured, and Roman let out a huff. Yeah, and he felt like shit too. Virgil snickered weakly, and cold air passed over Roman’s ears. He watched Virgil carefully, anger twisting the ghosts face as he took in the red welts along Roman’s neck.

“I’m going to kill them.” Virgil spoke calmly, clearly, without the usual anger in his voice. A shiver crawled down Roman’s spine, and he shoved his muzzle at Virgil’s face to make him stop. Virgil rolled his eyes and slid back. His eyes dropped to the ropes around Roman’s legs and looked pained again. His hand brushed through Roman’s nose in apology. “I can’t take them off.”

Roman couldn’t shrug, so he nickered at Virgil instead. Virgil was still young, still coming into his powers and control. Roman didn’t expect that much help from him for another several decades at least, if Virgil stuck around that long.

“I brought help,” Virgil whispered. “I’ll break the wards and bring him here. We’ll get you out. Promise.”

Roman nudged at the space Virgil floated in, feeling cool air slide past his nose. As long as no one got hurt, he wanted to say. He didn’t want anyone else hurt because of him. He’d rather turn in his horn then see more blood spilled in his name. Good or bad.

Virgil brushed against him one last time before disappearing through the door. Roman shifted his weight nervously, tugging on the ropes that held him fast. He kept his eyes glued to the door for Virgil or whatever help he had brought.

Logan would have problems if the wards were made with Roman’s blood. Maybe that was why he had to break them? Or Thomas, Virgil would trust Thomas with this. Patton would be Virgil’s first choice if he was in town. Roman tried to focus on his breathing and not the tension running through his shoulders.

Magic, dark and rotting, rolled over the building like a wave.

Roman felt his heart skip a beat. Roman knew the feel of Logan’s magic; this wasn’t it. Patton and Thomas both leaned towards light. Virgil couldn’t control his powers to this extent. That only left-

The door to his cell imploded, disappearing in a show of crumpled metal. Roman flinched back, hooves skittering on the stone floor. Pain clawed at his injured leg. Deceit rushed into the room, eyes landing solidly on Roman.

Roman felt his breath catch. Deceit looked pale and drawn, his clothes rumbled like he hadn’t changed out of them for days. The few curls of hair that his hat didn’t cover looked greasy and unkempt.

“Roman,” Deceit breathed, taking a step forward.

Roman shrunk back. Deceit’s eyes darkened with a grief that Roman couldn’t name. He held a shaking hand out and took a deep breath.

“I-” Deceit’s voice cracked, and voices echoed down the hall. Shouts that made Roman tremble. Deceit’s jaw clenched but he didn’t move. “I don’t want your soul,” he said quietly. “Maybe at first, but you-” Deceit swallowed. “Please, Roman, all I want is you.” Footsteps, Roman felt his terror grow.

Deceit took another step forward. All Roman had to do was lean forward, and they’d be touching.

“Trust me,” Deceit begged, “Please.”

Roman stared at him, at the demon he had summoned with his own mistakes. He knew his answer already. Deceit’s eyes widened as Roman pressed his soft muzzle against his hand and nuzzled it softly. Tension dropped from Deceit’s shoulders and he shuddered. He leaned forward to press his forehead just under Roman’s horn.

“Thank you,” Deceit swallowed thickly. “Thank you.”

Deceit stepped back just as Virgil burst into the room.

“They’re-!”

“I know,” Deceit pressed a kiss to Roman’s forehead, running a hand down Roman’s sore skin gently. His eyes swirled a molten gold, just as hot with anger. Roman whined as he pulled away. “Look away, love,” Deceit’s cape swirled around him as he turned. The air rippled with his magic. “You don’t want to see this.”

Roman squeezed his eyes shut. He felt the cool air that meant Virgil had pressed up to his flank. He could almost taste Deceit’s magic.

And then the screaming started.

Awareness came to Roman gradually. The soft whirl of a fan. The smooth silk of the sheets under his body. The creak of the one door he refused to oil just to drive Logan mad. Most of all, Roman leaned into the feeling of someone curled up in his side, and soft fingers running through the remains of his mane.

Roman groaned softly, his eyes fluttering open.

“Hey.” Roman turned his head at the sound of Thomas’ voice, wincing as it pulled on his neck. Thomas pressed a gentle hand to his muzzle, and smiled softly. “I bet you feel like you got hit by a bus.” Roman nuzzled into his hand, and Thomas’ grin grew.

“You passed out before Logan and I showed up, but between all of us we got you home,” Thomas explained quietly, “Virgil insisted we leave you be in case forcefully shifting your forms hurt, and so Logan set up your room to be as comfortable as possible for you like this. Your mattress is uh, in the living room being used by him actually. I’d be prepared to fight him over it.”

Roman knew his cue. He needed to complain about Logan stealing his bed, amuse Thomas with his banter, but a part of him tripped up over the fact that Logan had stayed in his house. That Virgil had insisted on making sure he was safe. He blinked at Thomas, trying to figure out when things had changed.

Thomas’ face crumpled and Roman nudged at him, trying to get his smile back.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas whispered. He played with the tips of Roman’s mane, and his eyes drifted towards the window. “Maybe if I had been around more this wouldn’t have happened. But I-” Thomas swallowed. “You lost Virgil and all I could see was how much it had hurt you, how much you drew in on yourself and I thought you wanted space. I thought- no, I hoped , that if I could find some way to keep you safe that-”

Thomas shook his head. Roman stared at him. The words Thomas said didn’t make sense. Thomas had left , hadn’t wanted to be around him anymore. Thomas ran a hand down his neck, careful of his injuries.

“I think we all thought like that. That you needed space to deal with what had happened. I know that I- I didn’t want to fail you again.” Thomas closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. “I wanted to prove to you- no, to myself that I could do something to help you, that I could change the world for you.” He opened his eyes and sent a small bitter smile Roman’s way.

“But all I did was fail you again, didn’t I?” Thomas pressed his forehead against Roman’s neck and Roman leaned against him, feeling the body curled up at his side shift. “I missed the way that you shrunk in on yourself. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I wasn’t who you needed. I should have shown you how much you still had rather than-” Thomas’ next breath shuddered in his chest. “Rather than focusing on what we had both lost.”

Thomas stood up and scratched behind Roman’s ears. Roman couldn’t look away from the unbearably fond look in Thomas’ eyes. Thomas’ fingers swept around his horn, down past his eyes and stopped just above his nose. He traced a heart on the velvet skin there, over and over again.

For a moment, he was a young foal again with Thomas crouching down in the snow to see if he was alright. Strong arms lifting him up from where he had fallen and bright laughter spilling out over the clearing as Roman butted his head against Thomas’ chin. For a moment, Roman remembered the words that Thomas said to him then, the same words that repeated to him now.

“We’re not alone,” Thomas whispered. His eyes glittered in the sunlight, and Roman could feel his magic woven through the very bricks of the building he lived in. “We’re all here for each other. I’m here for you. Logan’s here. Virgil’s here, and probably badgering Logan to get some sleep. Patton turned around and started this way as soon as he heard. Expect fussing from him when he shows up.”

“And he-” Thomas nodded to Deceit, to the body curled up at Roman’s side, “-never left.”

Thomas’ hands dropped away and he took a step back. Roman felt his head spin, and Thomas smiled at him.

“It’ll take time, healing the cracks we have but I think we can do it,” Thomas pressed a kiss to his own fingertips and pressed them to Roman’s muzzle. “I’ll go keep watch for Patton so he doesn’t strangle you with hugs as soon as he arrives.” He paused. “I love you Roman, so much, and I couldn’t be prouder of you.”

Roman felt warmth drift down all the way to his hooves as Thomas slipped out the door. He snuggled down into the pile of blankets and turned to lay his head on Deceit’s chest. He counted the in and out of Deceit’s breath, not too surprised when Deceit’s hands rose to pet at his neck.

“You’re beautiful,” Deceit muttered, sleep still thick in his voice. Roman nickered and closed his eyes, tugging on his magic. He could feel Deceit’s breath whoosh out of his chest as Roman landed on it in human form. He winced at the way all of his cuts pulled and shifted at the action.

“They’re totally not going to kill you for that,” Deceit pointed out, even as he gently pulled Roman closer and pressed a kiss to the bright red ringing his neck.

“Wanted to talk to you,” Roman said, wincing again at the rough gravel in his voice. He sounded like he had tried to eat a golem. Not that he would have any personal experience in that, nope, no way.

He wriggled around and wrapped his own arms around Deceit’s waist so he could lay his head on Deceit’s chest again. Deceit’s hands drifted down and slid under his shirt to run over the loose bandages there. Deceit hooked his chin over Roman’s head and hummed softly.

“I followed Virgil when you ran away,” Deceit whispered, barely audible over the whirl of the fan. “I wanted to explain, and I’m not sure I said it right when we reached you.” Deceit’s hand stilled. “You wanted someone to fall in love with. Nothing in the deal said anything about me and how I felt.”

“So-”

“I love you,” Deceit said firmly, “You and your stupid ideas, and that look you get on your face when watching Disney, and the way you dance, and the recklessly open way you live your life. The way that you let a demon into your life and home without second thought. I love you, you absolute moron.”

Roman grinned and twisted around so their noses brushed against each other.

“Consent is sexy, right?” Roman whispered. Deceit’s mouth twitched up into a smile, and for the first time Roman thought he could see a sunrise on his horizon. The gold of Deceit’s eyes and the red of his family’s love.

“Very much so, are you going to kiss me now?” Deceit waggled his eyebrows and Roman laughed.

“I dunno, you’ve done all the work to reach this point so far, wouldn’t it be rude to interrupt that?” Roman teased. The way Deceit huffed sent a thrill up his spine. Deceit’s hands brushed over the cuts along his side, out from under his shirt, across neck, and into the buzz cut Roman would properly mourn later.

“In that case, my prince.” Deceit pulled him down and pressed their lips together, cool and rough pressing against warm and soft. Finally . Deceit kissed the same way he flirted, full of passion and life. Roman wanted to stay like this forever. Deceit’s hands slid from Roman’s hair to his neck, and when they pulled back for air, he chuckled softly.

“What about my soul?” Roman blurted, and Deceit’s chuckles evolved into full blown laughter.

“Yeah, no, that’s still yours,” Deceit pressed their foreheads together. His thumbs rubbed circles into Roman’s skin, and his tone sounded endlessly fond as he spoke.

“You’re such a moron.”

#Sanders sides #Roceit #Roman Sanders #Deceit Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Platonic Prinxiety #Character Thomas #ts deceit #Angst with a happy ending #gun violence #kidnapping #blood #Temp major character death #PTSD #Panic Attacks #Roman angst

463 notes · View notes

aonorunic · 5 years ago

Text

History on Repeat, Chapter 1: All Coming Back, Fire Emblem Fic

Summary: Byleth slept after she lost him, awakening ages later to Garreg Mach University. She is drawn into the friendly competition between dorm floors, an argument as to which D&D group is better, trips to coffee shops, and the questions into her own lost memories.

Claude could not help but be suspicious of Seteth’s niece who appeared out of nowhere, but there was something so familiar about her, something that made his heart ache. How had she appeared in his dreams years before either of them even came to the University?

Read on AO3.

Prologue

A forest. Darkness, so thick it clouded all sense.

Fear, not for himself.

“I don’t believe anything you say! Our professor is still alive!” He knew that voice. Yes, Lysithea. She was wearing that strange uniform he kept seeing. Why did she look like she was about to cry?

“That’s right! Our professor is no ordinary human!” Flayn? Why was she there? And who was this professor they kept talking about.

“I refuse to believe that Teach would die in a place like this!” The words came from his own mouth this time.

“It is possible that death has yet to find your friend. But there are worse things than death.” The voice made him angry, that twisted face burned into his memory.

“Hey, all I hear is good news. Teach is still alive. And if that’s true, then there’s only one thing to do. Defeat you while we wait for Teach’s triumphant return!”

“Prepare yourself. We will avenge our leader here and now!” Yeah, that definitely sounded like something Leonie would say.

“How trite. But if you wish for pain, I shall oblige. If you prefer it so, you shall also be added to the ranks of the dead!”

Anger rose in him, but he fought it back. He needed to remain in control. This twisted creature before him had hurt someone he cared about. He was going to destroy them.

And then the sky itself opened.

Claude woke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright. Where? Right, his dorm room. When? Middle of the night, both too early and too late. What? Nightmare, just a nightmare. His breathing slowly evened out, all while he tried to hold onto the images of his dream. He needed to remember them. He needed to remember her face.

He stood and threw on a black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants before exiting his room. His feet took him to a door decorated with charms and images of birds. Claude beat once loudly before resting his head against the wood. “Hilda, it’s me. Let me in.”

Muttered cursing came from behind the door, but a moment later a sleepy pink haired woman opened it. “What’s going on, Claude?” Hilda asked, her words ending in a yawn.

“I need my sketchbook.”

Hilda stepped out of the way even as Claude moved into the room. He went straight to the desk that was actually organized (Marianne had somehow managed to create chaos over on her side of the room again), and picked up the leather covered book inlaid in gold with a stylized crescent moon.

“Another dream?” Hilda threw herself back down onto her bed, scooting back until her back was against the wall.

Claude took his usual place beside her, his full attention on his book. He was already flipping to a clean page even as settled himself in. “Yeah,” he answered distractedly.

Across the room, Marianne, still tangled in her own blanket and looking very much like a cocooned caterpillar, made the short trip to Hilda’s bed and curled up on Claude’s other side as he sketched out the first few lines.

The two women watched him in silence as Claude put his dream to paper. It was a rough drawing as he tried to get the whole thing down before he forgot, but the woman who cut open the sky did not fade. His mind held onto her, as if terrified that he would lose her again.

Again? Had he lost her before? Had he dreamed and forgotten her already?

“She’s beautiful,” Marianne murmured, mouth covered by the cloth she was snuggling into. “Like a goddess.”

“She might be,” Claude answered. There was something about her that made him think of her as...more. He was not sure what more actually meant.

“That outfit is terrible though.” Hilda rested her chin on Claude’s shoulder, her judgement coming from a professional standpoint. “You have to let me redesign that. Oh! She’d look so cute in a dress! With a ribbon in her hair!”

Claude felt heat in his cheeks as he imagined the woman he had just drawn wearing the outfit Hilda described. Why was he blushing? There was something about this woman from his dream that both made him passionate and distressed. He had thought getting her down on paper would be the solution, but he still felt as if he were missing something. “I don’t think she actually likes wearing her hair up,” was his intelligent response.

Hilda straightened so she could look him in the eye. “Claude von Riegan, you woke me up in the middle of the night, took over my bed, and are making me lose my much needed beauty sleep before my test tomorrow-”

“Today,” Marianne interrupted. “It’s in three hours actually.”

“Yes, that exactly.” Hilda gave him a withering look that did not truly have any power behind it. As annoyed as she was at being woken up, Hilda never denied Claude when he had to deal with one of his dreams. “So, that being the case, I will draw your little goddess there in whatever outfit I like, and I will put a cute little ribbon in her hair, and you will just have to deal with it.”

Claude held up his hands in surrender. “All right, all right, I relent. Put her in whatever outfit you want. Did you finish with my other designs? I have more I want to do right now.”

“Yeah.” Hilda yawned and stretched, falling back across Claude’s lower legs. Marianne followed her example and snuggled into Claude’s side. “I’m going to sleep now. You can keep sketching so long as you don’t wake me up.”

“Well, you did kind of trap me.” Claude laughed softly as he flipped to another clean page.

“Me? The delicate flower that I am? Why, Claude, I am shocked and appalled. Now shut up.”

It was cramped on the small bed, but there was something deeply comforting about the warmth of his friends surrounding him. At the very least, his heart no longer felt like it would beat out of his chest.

“Your hair certainly grew very long.” Flayn smiled at Byleth in the vanity mirror. Byleth simply started back at her. There was a bit of puzzlement in her eyes, but Flayn really had to search for it. She had forgotten how little emotion Byleth had shown when she first arrived at Garreg Mach, and it unnerved her to see one of her favorite people revered back to such a state. She had liked when Byleth began to smile more. “We tried to keep up with it, but over the last few decades you grew more restless in your sleep. With the Sword of the Creator next to you, it really was not safe for Seteth and I to try. We will have to cut most of this off.”

Flayn picked up a pair of scissors and measured out where she would cut, just below Byleth’s shoulders like the woman had always kept it. Byleth shook her head, causing some of the mint green strands to slip through Flayn’s fingers. “Lower.”

Flayn blinked at Byleth’s reflection in the mirror, but quickly recovered and nodded. Byleth had not said more than her and Seteth’s names since waking up, rolling the sounds around in her mouth as if trying to memorize a foreign taste. “It will be impractical to keep all of it,” she noted, eyes sweeping down to where Byleth’s hair brushed against the floor. The other woman had been asleep so long not even her own divine magic had protected her from adverse effects. Seteth had had to carry her out of the underground tomb. Flayn worried that keeping Byleth’s hair so long would only cause the other woman to trip on her already unsteady feet.

“How about here?” she asked, indicating a length that would leave Byleth’s hair down to her waist.

Byleth thought for a moment before nodding her acquiescence.

“Wonderful!”

Flayn continued to chat to Byleth as she worked, filling Byleth in on little things she remembered the woman liking, or discussing new things she would experience for the first time. Byleth seemed to lean into the sound of her voice, finding comfort in being near someone else after so long. Whenever Flayn would pause, Byleth would fidget ever so slightly, twisting her hands together, or poking at her now shorn hair upon the floor with a toe. So Flayn continued.

She brushed out Byleth’s hair, working out knots and tangles, until it was smooth once again. Without really thinking about it she began to braid Byleth’s hair, just as her mother had done for her so very long ago. It was a bittersweet experience.

A knock on the door interrupted Flayn’s latest story about music videos. “Flayn, may I come in?” Seteth’s voice floated through the wooden barrier.

“Yes, Father.” It felt wonderful to be able to call him that in this new age. She had never enjoyed the deception, despite knowing the need for its existence.

Seteth took a moment to look over Flayn’s work, a small smile on his lips, before grabbing a chair to sit next to Byleth. “I wanted to show you how to use this,” he told her, holding out a cell phone. “Flayn and I will be here as much as we can. And Indech will help you when we are not here. There are two other servants who come to clean the estate and a cook, but Flayn sent them away for a few days. We told them we wanted to get you used to your new environment a little at a time. But this will allow you to contact us if we are not here.”

Byleth took the phone and looked at it with interest, following along as Seteth showed her how to work the device. She followed along without much issue, picking up on the new technology with the speed Flayn remembered her mastering tactics and strategy.

“There,” Flayn said proudly once she was done with Byleth’s braid.

Byleth looked up from the phone, studying herself in the mirror. She touched the braid and pulled it over her shoulder, before finally nodding. “Thank you.”

Flayn could not help herself. She threw her arms around Byleth, crying in relief against her shoulder. “I am so glad you returned to us.”

She felt Byleth pat her back awkwardly, but the other woman did not push her away. It made Flayn cling all the tighter.

“You have all come together in the Guild Hall to hear the announcement of the Grand Challenge,” Claude announced, standing in front of all three D&D groups gathered in the common room. He was in full costume, dressed in gold and black. He had even worn the cape Hilda had added onto his original design. “Listen up, for anyone who makes our jobs harder will find themselves disqualified!”

Next to him Dimitri shook his head. The blond man was wrapped tightly in a faux fur trimmed blue cape, making it impossible to see if he had worn the rest of his costume or not.

Edelgard cleared her throat and stepped forward. She had only elected to wear her dramatic red cape and that fantastic horned crown. Even with a casual black dress on underneath, she still looked intimidating as hell. She reached over to open the golden chest Dimitri held, and pulled out the piece of paper Claude had stained with tea to imitate age.

“As you all know, the Grand Challenge offers both prestige and riches. This quest will not be for the faint of heart. Only the most skilled of adventures should consider undertaking this endeavor. The Challenge,” she continued, now reading from the paper, “is the retrieval of the Sword of Creation. Wielded by a goddess at the beginning of time, it was stolen and used to destroy her and her children. Although the thief is said to have been defeated many centuries ago, his tomb has become a resting place for all manner of wicked and vile creatures. Credible rumors of its whereabouts have reached the king, and he has issued this quest himself. All those who would face the darkness of Shambala step forth and be known!”

Immediately all three groups began to cheer and boast their own credentials. Edelgard allowed it to continue for a moment before raising a hand, silencing them all with a less than amused look. Claude was both impressed and slightly envious.

“The expedition to Shambala will depart in seven days. You must have your intentions known to the guild before that time. The Guild will be providing transport, but only to those who have proven their worth to us. If you have not, I suggest you get to work over the next few days.”

With a dramatic sweep of her cape, Edelgard turned and walked away. Claude and Dimitri joined their fellow dungeon master on the other side of the common room, watching as their groups began to plan. Claude stretched out on the sofa next to her, while Dimitri settled himself into an overstuffed chair, still wrapped up in his cloak. “Nicely done,” Claude complimented.

Edlegard ducked her head in acknowledgement. “They were your words, Claude. But, it was rather fun to act as the Guild Master.”

“This is certainly going to be interesting, having all three of our groups on the same quest,” Dimitri said, his eyes fixed to where Felix seemed to be threatening Sylvain with a plastic lightsaber.

“It’s going to be chaos,” Edlegard added.

Claude smirked. “Isn’t that what we’re after? It’s the best part about D&D after all.” He did not know who had said what, but Hilda was waving her foam replica of Gimli’s axe at Casper, standing in front of Lorenz as if she was defending his honor.

“I’m excited to see where this leads. It was certainly entertaining just working on this quest with the two of you.” Dimitri stretched out his long legs, and Claude could finally see that yes, he was at least wearing the boots and pants of his costume. He didn’t even attempt to hide his smirk. “Do you think we should intervene at some point? It does seem to be becoming rather heated over there.”

Claude watched as Petra deflected a plastic water bottle from hitting Dorothea with her wooden keyblade. “Nah, we left them with a list of available quests they can do before the Challenge. They’ll be fine.”

“It is our job as RAs to break this up if they become too rowdy,” Edelgard pointed out.

Claude gave her a look. “Who even says rowdy anymore?”

As the three of them fell into their own lighthearted argument, Claude could not help but note how glad he was to have found such good friends.

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem fanfiction #claude x byleth #claudeth #my fic #my writing #history on repeat

25 notes · View notes

littletayyswriting · 5 years ago

Text

Title: let me whisper sweet, softly, ‘til you see no more (2/3)

Author: LittleTayy

Rating: Mature

Characters: Marisa Coulter, Lord Asriel, Edward Coulter

Summary: The plan had sounded grotesque, even as she’d come up with it. Asriel had thought only as a man, wanting to whisk her away and escape to somewhere abroad before the child was born. Marisa however knew that only carefully crafted lies and deceit would get them away.

Or, Marisa and Asriel plan to be together and Edward doesn’t find out about Lyra.

AN: A slight canon divergence wherein, Edward doesn’t find out about Lyra and Asriel doesn’t kill him to defend his child and home. I’ve been wondering whether they’d had a plan to pass Lyra off as Edward’s child or if they’d had a plan to run away together. This is my short attempt at sorting that out.

Warning: This chapter also contains mentions and talk of stillbirth and infant death. This chapter also contains implied violence. If this may be triggering for you, please be wary in reading on.

Read On: AO3

Chapter Two

It was exceptionally harder than she thought it would be to pretend to be sad and grieving. Only a few days had passed and she was starting to feel restless. She was not used to doing nothing and she was not used to the emotions she was having to portray. It was tiring .

None of that however compared to the fact that she had not seen her child in four days. Her newborn daughter was safely tucked away in a townhouse on the opposite side of London with her father but Marisa longed to have her child in her arms. Her heart still ached at her child being so far away but she knew it was for a good reason. As Asriel had reminded her before he’d left four days ago, they were doing this to keep Lyra safe.

Her body ached, in the most uncomfortable of ways and she felt utterly unlike herself. The after effects of labor and pregnancy were not something she had been prepared for; it seemed women failed to explain all that happened to their bodies during and after a pregnancy. She supposed if women were honest about what happened to a woman’s body, other young girls and women would never aspire to be mothers. The whole experience was dreadful.

She felt exhausted and on edge and it didn't help that she had to pretend so much. Her irritability spiked, snapping at Edward much harsher then she ever would have before. Most of the time it was calculated, other times it was because she was in a mood. He simply put it down to the loss of their child and all the other things that happened after pregnancy but it didn't mean that he wasn't hesitant when he strolled through their home to find her in their sitting room.

“Marisa, my sweet,” Edward started, eyes watching her carefully and curiously. She had, after all, been unpredictable since the loss of their child. He found the behaviour distasteful; but he'd keep that opinion to himself unless she carried on too far.

“Yes?” Marisa asked, eyes flitting up from the page of the book she was reading, to meet his own.

She watched as her husband stepped forward and settled himself down on the couch beside her, looking politely grim. It was clear by his actions that this would be a serious talk, so she slipped a bookmark into the pages and closed the book deftly. She focused her attention on Edward, gaze drifting to his daemon that moved solemnly to the edge of the couch.

“I've made all the arrangements, as I said I would. The funeral shall be tomorrow,” he informed her and Marisa took in a shaky breath.

The funeral. She had let him plan it, the only thing he seemed to be able to do was take charge and organise. Edward had always been best at taking control and making things happen; it was why he was held in such high regard in the political sphere. His well known need for control would also, ultimately, be his downfall once Marisa had her way.

She pressed her lips together, looking away from her husband for a moment, feigning sadness. Her fingers worried the corner of the book she had been reading as she nodded. “Of course. Thank you,” she breathed, glancing up at him through her eyelashes, contorting her face into a sad and pitiable expression.

“There's no need to thank me. He was our child. It had to be done,” Edward replied firmly, a hand coming up to cup her chin. He leant close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I didn’t want you to worry about it, considering all you've been through,” he told her as he pulled away.

“Yes, with all I went through on my own,” she murmured darkly in reply, glancing away from him once again.

Edward sighed. “Marisa...I am sorry that I wasn't there,” he started, trying not to let her hear his frustration.

Marisa pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. “Yes, well, sorry doesn't change anything,” Marisa told him quietly, voice cold as ice. “I was all alone and our child was dead,” she insisted, voice catching as she spoke, full of fake emotion.

She shook her head, slamming the book down on the end table and standing quickly. The moment she'd read that a child’s death could cause a rift between parents and misplaced blame, she'd known exactly what she was going to do. She almost felt sorry for what she was planning to do to Edward.

“Marisa,” Edward exclaimed, voice sounding rougher then he'd intended she knew. His hand latched around her wrist and pulled her to a stop. The touch surprised her and her mouth dropped open in a silent gasp. It wasn't rough or hard, simply firm; enough for Marisa to know he only meant to stop her, not hurt her.

However, his intentions didn't matter much to Marisa. Slowly she looked up at him, her eyes meeting his. “Let me go,” she snapped, tugging her hand away harshly from his grasp.

Marisa simply glared at him for a moment before turning on her heel and exiting the room. She could hear Edward sigh as she left. Beside her, her Monkey was walking agitated, growling that Visalia had attempted to latch onto him with her claws.

I could snap her neck, with ease , her Monkey hissed about Visalia as soon as they were out of earshot. Marisa had no cause to disagree, she’d thought of killing Edward herself.

The next evening had passed with an almost unbearable tension. By the morning, Marisa could see that Edward was agitated and unsettled; something she found a surprising mix in the man. She watched him keenly as they dressed, moving around each other with the ease of a married couple. At her vanity, she fixed her hair into sedate curls, letting them settle on her shoulders before fixing a veiled beret on top of her head. Her Monkey sat beside her on the velvet stool, eyes watching Edward and his daemon warily.

“We must go soon,” Edward told her gently, moving to stand behind her as she sat, his hands settling firmly on her shoulders. He gave a soft squeeze. “Are you okay?” he asks her, looking genuinely concerned for her.

“We are burying our baby, Edward. Do you really think I’m okay?” Marisa sighed, voice high and nearing on hysterical. It was a put on voice, of course. She’d never felt as calm as she was now.

“No, no. Of course not,” Edward replied with a sigh, shaking his head. His hands stayed on her shoulders though. “I just want to help you, sweetheart. To make sure you’ll be okay,” he insisted, leaning down a little so their eyes met in the mirror’s reflection.

Marisa scoffed, shaking her head as she pulled out of his grasp and standing up. She heard Edward sigh as she smoothed out the skirt of her dress and plucked her handbag up off the vanity. Her Monkey growled at Visalia as they made their way out of her shared bedroom.

“A letter arrived for you,” Edward announced as she reached the door. Her brows furrowed and she turned her head back to look at him for a moment, noticing his slightly slumped shoulders and look of consternation. “It’s on the sideboard,” he informed her, straightening his suit and tie.

She said nothing as she continued on her way out of the room, brows furrowing curiously. She spotted the letter as she moved down the hall, picking it up and turning it over eagerly. The handwriting on the front caught her eye and she knew who it was from. Carefully, Marisa opened the letter, making sure her Monkey served as lookout as she pulled the single slip of paper out of it’s envelope.

Her smile grew wide at Asriel’s loping, scrawl asking her to meet that very afternoon. He would have Lyra with him and the thought of finally seeing her child once again made her heart race. Being parted from her newborn daughter had been agony and she wanted to go to them that very moment. Unfortunately, Edward was making his way down the hall, eyeing her steadily.

She slipped the letter back into it’s envelope and then the envelope into her handbag. “Condolences,” Marisa stated before Edward could even begin to ask. “From an old school friend,” she continued, giving him a terse smile.

Edward simply nodded, making his way over to her and settling his hand on the small of her back, kissing her cheek. It was a bold move, considering she’d been nothing but sharp with him since the day before but Marisa leant into it anyway. She had to create a delicate balance between them and there was no use being needlessly standoffish with him.

However, she did pull away quickly, giving him a tight smile. Her hand clasped around the delicate white handkerchief she fit into her bag, pulling it out as she dabbed at the corner of her eye, feigning an onslaught of tears. “It’s time, isn’t it?” She murmured, looking up at her husband, her expression full of vulnerability.

“Yes, it is,” Edward replied, sadly and stoically. He’d spent the past few days being the strong one, not letting the emotion shine through as he took care of her and the funeral arrangements.

It had only been after his visit to the undertakers, that Marisa had seen him lose his composure. He’d held her close that night, a whiskey attached to his hand, as he sought her comfort after seeing the body of their supposed infant son. Marisa didn’t know where Asriel had managed to find a dead body of a newborn infant and she wouldn’t ask; she was just grateful he’d made it all happen. They’d be burying a baby today, it just wouldn’t be hers or Edward’s.

The funeral had been sad and short and she’d let Edward name the child. Alexander Coulter adorned the headstone and Marisa realised it was the first time she’d heard the name. Edward had never mentioned it and even while pregnant, he’d not suggested the name Alexander. She grimaced a little, trying not to huff at the fact Edward had not consulted her. It shouldn’t’ve mattered; Alexander Coulter wasn’t real . But Edward thought he was and he hadn’t even asked her opinion on the name.

Marisa however, despite her annoyance, was in her element playing the grieving mother.

Edward had kept the service small, something Marisa was glad for. Only their closest of friends and associates had attended and all their attention had been on Marisa. She revelled in it, the sad smiles, the tight hugs, the whispered words of condolence. She drew their attention like moths to a flame and held them in a watery, tear-filled court. Edward was grieving too, but a mother not having the chance to be a mother, seemed like the greatest tragedy to their social circle. A few of the wives of Edward’s friends had even told her so.

“Thank you, Mrs. Sharpton,” Marisa murmured, giving the other wife a sad, tired smile and clasping her hand in thanks. “But, I think I might rest. Today has been...so overwhelming,” Marisa told her, worrying the handkerchief between her hands.

“Of course, dear. Of course. You go rest. I’ll let Edward know where you’re off too,” Mrs. Sharpton replied sympathetically, jumping at the chance to help in any way. Mrs. Sharpton was the wife of a prominent politician, the former King’s Advisor; a position Marisa had helped Edward steal away from the man. Though they were friendly, there had been an underlying tension between the men ever since.

“You are too kind, Mrs. Sharpton,” Marisa whispered to her, nodding gratefully. The older woman beamed at the words, patting her shoulder in what she must’ve thought was a friendly gesture, before guiding Marisa away.

Usually, Marisa would not allow such familiarity unless she initiated it first. But, Mrs. Sharpton was a kind, older woman that simply wanted to help. She was not someone Marisa wanted to alienate.

With one last grateful smile, Marisa exited the room and made her way down the hallway, glad that the small gathering was contained to the living room only. She plucked her purse from the sideboard and her coat, pulling it on as she headed for the back door. Asriel had asked to meet her and she silently cursed as she realised she was going to be late. Hopefully, her lover wouldn’t see that as a sign that she didn’t want to be with them. He was, after all, famously temperamental.

She snuck around the townhouse, careful not to be seen and down the block quickly before hailing a taxi cab. She gave the driver Asriel’s address, already knowing he’d be at the small home he’d purchased himself years ago, for when he had to be in London. He hated staying in hotels and thought it was the only sensible option. Marisa smiled to herself, heart pounding with excitement at finally being able to see her lover and their child.

It felt like only moments hand passed before the taxi was pulling up outside of Asriel’s townhouse home. She paid the driver with ease, giving him a beatific smile as she exited the cab. Smoothing out her coat and dress, she made her way to the front door, glancing around herself cautiously as she knocked. She would never normally be so bold, they were both well known in London society circles, but she couldn’t contain her eagerness.

The door was pulled open and she half expected it to be Asriel. She shook her head at the thought, smiling at Thorold instead as he let her inside. She moved through the house like she belonged there, which in her mind she did, finding Asriel in his parlour, just where she expected him to be.

Marisa stopped for a moment in the threshold, watching her lover as he read, Stelmaria lounging contentedly by the fire, slipping her coat off and tossing it on the back of an armchair. The beret she hadn’t bothered to take off was next, dropped onto the side table without care as her eyes remained steady on the man. An unusual warmth filled her, made her heart beat faster as she simply watched him for a moment, leaning against the doorjamb casually.

Her Monkey made his way slowly into the room, beady dark eyes glancing around as if looking for something. She knew it was Lyra he was looking for and he seemed disappointed when he couldn’t find the child. He slunk over towards Stelmaria, curling up around her with ease.

“Did you simply come to stare, Marisa?” Asriel’s gruff voice asked her, eyes not looking up from the book in his hands. She could see the smirk on his lips however.

Marisa let out a light laugh, finally moving further forward into the room. She took her time getting to him, stopping only a few feet away. “If I wanted that, I’d be looking at our child. Where is she? Where is Lyra?” she asked then, a note of longing apparent in her voice.

Asriel huffed, finally closing the book, deep blue eyes gazing up at her. “She is upstairs, sleeping. The wet-nurse is with her,” Asriel replied, setting the book down beside him, gaze flicking over her with curiosity and amusement. “Is that all you came here for? To see the child?” Asriel asked, the closest hint of a whine in his voice she’d ever heard.

“Of course,” Marisa quipped back, her smile growing wide and sly. She tilted her head towards the door. “Now go fetch her for me,” she drawled haughtily, eyes glittering teasingly at the man.

He simply scoffed, reaching a hand out to wrap around her delicate wrist and tug her almost roughly down onto his lap. Marisa laughed, settling comfortably on his lap and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “I am not your man-servant ,” he growled, eyes meeting hers as his hand came up to cup her jaw, pulling her into a kiss.

Marisa moaned happily into the kiss; teeth and tongue tangling with his playfully. She felt his hands move over her body slowly, gripping at her hip and thigh as he deepened the kiss. A groan left her as she pulled away, forehead resting against his, breath heavy as her eyes fluttered open to find his gaze. It had been too long and she wanted him badly, but they couldn’t.

“It’s still too soon, my love,” she whispered between kisses, lips forming an almost childish pout as she finally pulled away. She was not at all pleased with the after effects of pregnancy.

Asriel sighed, but said nothing. Leaning back in his chair, he kept her situated on his lap, hands smoothing over the fabric of her dress. His brows furrowed for a moment before his face lit up in amusement; his hand tracing the curve of her hip down to her thigh.

“Is this the dress you wore to the funeral?” He asked lightly, amusement clear in his tone as he played with the fabric. His gaze flickered across the room to the veiled beret she had been wearing and couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “Coming to see me in your funeral attire? How bold. I’m sure Edward found you positively, grief-strickenly beautiful,” Asriel teased, a finger tracing the hemline of her cleavage.

“Asriel,” Marisa warned, eyes flashing dangerously, hand tugging deliberately at the hair at the base of his neck.

“Fine, fine. No more talk of Edward,” Asriel acquiesced, giving her a wide smile and pulling her into another kiss, this one sweet and soft.

A loud cry pierced through the townhouse and Marisa pulled away at once, eyes wide and curious. Asriel sighed, giving her a little grin. “Lyra is awake,” he told her needlessly.

Marisa sprung up off his lap, her Golden Monkey already across the room and to the door before Asriel or Stelmaria could stand. The Monkey turned to her, eyes eager as Marisa tried to keep her calm facade in place. It wasn’t working however, she wanted to see her daughter.

“I’ll show you to her nursery,” Asriel said, finally moving and guiding her out of the parlour and up the stairs with a secure hand on the small of her back. The touch was casual and familiar and though many men had performed the gesture on her, only Asriel ever truly guided her.

They hastened up the stairs and Marisa could hear a woman’s voice, presumably the wet-nurse, coming from one of the rooms. She turned there, pushing the door open with ease, a smile blooming on her face as she finally saw her daughter. Lyra was on a changing station, the nurse fastening a new cloth nappy around her and Marisa couldn’t believe how big Lyra looked compared to when she had given her over to Asriel.

Her heartbeat pounded thunderously and her Monkey jaunted through the room, swinging himself up to the changing table to gaze down at the child and her daemon in awe. The Monkey startled the nurse but she quickly recovered, redressing Lyra and picking her up to cradle in her arms. Turning, Marisa could see that the nurse was surprised by her presence and that of Asriel.

“Miss Connors,” Asriel started, voice deep and authoritative. “We shall attend to Lyra, now. You may go,” he told the young woman, who if Marisa had to guess, was about her own age. The nurse looked unsure, brows furrowed as she glanced down at Lyra then back up to Asriel. It became clear to Marisa then, that he had not spent much time with Lyra in the first few days of her life.

Marisa frowned at her lover for a moment before focusing her attention back on her child. Her smile grew wide and genuine as she stepped forward, reaching her arms out for the babe, almost snatching her out of the nurses’ hands. She didn’t even bother to look at the other woman, focused solely on her daughter. She was besotted.

“Oh, it’s been torture being apart like this,” Marisa murmured, the moment the nurse had left the room and Asriel had shut the door behind her.

She cradled Lyra tightly to her chest, arms and hands holding her secure and tight. Behind her, on the table, the Golden Monkey and Pantalaimon were a mirror image of Marisa and Lyra. The sight was almost too odd to gaze at.

“My darling little Lyra,” Marisa started, thumb stroking over her child’s baby soft cheek. “I’m sorry I can’t be with you. But, it will be just the three of us before you know it. I promise,” she whispered, filling with delight when Lyra’s eyes opened and she saw her dark irises for the first time. Her eyes were just like her father’s.

“She is a fussy little thing,” Asriel spoke up, from his position leaning against the door. He was watching them curiously, almost as if he didn’t understand what was happening. “Maybe she just wants her mother,” he mused, chuckling a little.

Marisa looked up at him, shaking her head. She looked stricken for a moment. “Don’t say that Asriel,” she murmured, thinking of her plan and the time it would take for her to get away from her husband. She couldn’t be sloppy about it but oh, how she wanted nothing more than to forget Edward and run away with Lyra and Asriel to some far off land. It was a dream and a delightful one; but she wasn’t prepared to have her own reputation ruined, not when the power and reputation Asriel could provide her were so much more then Edward could ever have hoped.

“When shall you see her again?” He asked, stepping in beside her and settling an arm around her waist. He gazed down at their daughter in Marisa’s arms, a small smile coming to his lips as Marisa rocked her. The question had been about Lyra but they both knew he was asking when he would see her again.

Marisa sighed, shaking her head and finally looking up at Asriel for the first time since entering the room. Her eyes met his and her lips pursed. “I’m afraid it shall have to be a while yet. You know that we can’t risk being caught, not now that she’s born,” Marisa told him, voice smooth and sweet. “You should go ahead, to your estate outside Oxford. I need to be focused, Edward’s ruination won’t be easy,” she murmured, her eyes finding his. “You and Lyra here, in London, will be much too much temptation for me.”

Asriel sighed but he knew it was the truth. If Marisa was to succeed, he and Lyra needed to be out of sight and out of mind. He didn’t like it, yet if it meant they could be together properly, he would do it.

“Alright,” he nodded, hand tightening on her waist. “Two days and Lyra and I shall be in Oxford,” Asriel told her, whispering against her ear. He brought his hand up, finger delicately caressing Lyra’s nose as she looked up at them, wide eyed and curious. “She looks like you, you know,” he told her, sounding oddly and uncharacteristically sentimental.

Marisa simply laughed, genuine and musical. She had been thinking the exact same thing about him and Lyra.

It was dark as Marisa finally made her way inside the home she shared with her husband. The townhouse was quiet and immediately, Marisa knew she had pushed her luck that evening. She had no doubt that her husband would be questioning her whereabouts but it had just been so hard to tear herself away from Lyra.

She pulled off her coat and placed her purse down on the entry table, strolling further into her home, waiting for Edward to appear. It didn’t take long but she was surprised by the anger she could see on his face. She had been expecting worry, perhaps exasperation but certainly not anger. It took a lot for Edward to become angry and she’d only seen it happen a few times in their marriage.

“Where have you been Marisa?” He asked, his dark eyes pinning hers.

Marisa sighed. “I simply needed some space and some air,” she told him, not backing down from his gaze.

She swept passed him into the living room, her eyes carefully perusing the room, surprised to see an almost empty decanter of liquor. The colouring, and her husband’s tastes, told her it was most probably scotch. Her brows furrowed, he didn’t usually drink scotch on his own and she wondered if he’d started while they still had guests. It certainly wasn’t like him to drink so heavily and with people around.

“You’ve been gone almost four hours, Marisa,” Edward continued, Visalia creeping closer and closer to the Golden Monkey, wings fluttering agitatedly.

The Monkey sneered at Edward’s daemon, tiny black fingers flexing in anticipation. He was ready to attack and so was Marisa. She spun around, eyes locking with his and head tilting upwards as she spoke.

“Have you been drinking, Edward?” Marisa asked, tone sickly sweet and smooth as honey. A note of disapproval dropped into her voice as she shook her head.

Her husband scoffed, frowning. “Marisa…” her husband started, taking a step closer to her but not reaching out to touch her.

“I wasn’t gone that long, you see,” Marisa continued, as if he hadn’t even spoken, head tilting as she made eye contact with the man. “Maybe the drinks muddled up your memory,” she suggested, nodding encouragingly.

“Enough!” Edward spat, glaring at Marisa now. “I know my mind perfectly well. Anthony’s wife said you’d gone to lay down. You haven’t been here for hours ,” Edward insisted, lips pursed angrily. She had been gone almost four hours, surely, Edward thought, she couldn’t think she could hide that. “So where were you?” he blustered, thinking he’d caught her in some kind of lie, though he didn’t know of what kind.

Marisa sighed, suddenly annoyed by his lack of co-operation. For a man that had, almost certainly, drunk a whole decanter of scotch to himself, he was stubbornly seeing sense. Maybe manipulation and charm was not the way to go that night.

“I had to get out of this house,” her tone turned cold, her eyes hard as she met his gaze once again. “Away from you .”

Edward’s brows furrowed and he looked at her with wide, alarmed eyes. “What?”

“I asked you not to go away,” Marisa started, voice pitching high and bordering on hysterical. “I told you something didn’t feel right, that I was worried! You said everything would be fine. That I was just overthinking it,” she hissed, lips forming into a snarl as her Monkey swiped at Visalia for getting too close. If Edward wanted a fight, she would give him one.

“Marisa...I couldn’t have known! Neither of us could have known he would be stillborn,” Edward snapped back, almost gasping at the sudden change in his wife. He wanted to grab her and shake some sense into her; make her see it was the grief talking, that neither of them were to blame. He had to believe neither of them were to blame.

Marisa glared, taking a step closer and meeting his eyes. “You are the reason our son is dead . It is your fault,” Marisa said slowly and calmly, her tone ice cold and cruel.

The words were unnecessarily cruel and Edward felt the anger bubble up inside him. Marisa was not the only one grieving about their child and to blame him? It was too much. Before he could think about what he was doing, he’d struck Marisa with the back of his hand; Visalia’s beak pecking at the Golden Monkey’s face at the same time.

Marisa gasped, eyes going wide in shock; her Monkey screeching with anger. A hand covered her warm, stinging cheek and as she sneered, she felt a pinprick of pain across her lip. Frowning, she pressed her fingers to her bottom lip gently, cautiously, feeling her lip wet and tender. She pulled her hand away quickly, eyes finding the bright red spots of blood on her fingertips with surprise. Edward had struck her and his ring had left a visible mark.

And, oh - he had just given her the perfect ammunition.

The curving, shark-like smile that adorned her lips and the dark sparkle in her eyes, frightened Edward as she turned to look at him and for the first time in their marriage, he could see her true nature.

#marisa coulter #lord asriel #hdm fanfiction #his dark materials fanfic #his dark materials #fanfiction #lyra belacqua #edward coulter

4 notes · View notes

harley-quinnn · 6 years ago

Text

Guilty

Jared Leto x Reader

{A/N} After being gifted Gucci Guilty by my love, I was entirely inspired by its beautifully sweet scent. So, please enjoy being Jared’s latest collaborator for a new campaign in this fic (that started as an imagine) that no one asked for but I, your friendly neighborhood writer, suddenly wanted.

Can Gucci cut me a check for this ad? Lol, just kidding.

xo Harley

Warnings: The steamiest kiss you’ve ever known.

“Are you ready for hair and makeup?” A sweet face asked you, gesturing toward a chair in front of a large vanity lined with shining white bulbs in a room of a home in the Hollywood Hills- the newest set for the latest Gucci Guilty campaign.

The girl couldn’t have been older than twenty-two, with her rosy cheeks and bottle blonde hair tied up in a bun, indicating she’d been at work long before you arrived. She dug through a large case full of makeup supplies, picking what she needed for the look they assigned for you.

From what you’d been briefed on, the look for this campaign had a beautiful vintage fashion with a modern twist. Always on two ends of the spectrum, Gucci played every angle just right. Your makeup was going to consist of an old pin-up classic, dark red lips and thick winged liner. Your hair was already teased just right, and there was a real flower just above your ear. You had already spritzed your skin with the perfume, there was no helping it.

“I think so!” You chirped, hurrying to sit in the chair with an excitement you weren’t sure how to conceal.

“You’re so lucky,” the friendly girl began, pulling brushes and palettes from the case. “He’s a real looker isn’t he? I don’t think I’d be able to keep from screaming if I got the chance to do what you’re doing. I have to do his makeup when he arrives. How do I keep from crying?” She giggled, shaking her head as she carefully pinned some hair away from your face.

“Sorry. I’m Haley. It’s nice to meet you, {Y/N}. I’m a big fan, and I will- in case you haven’t noticed- be doing your makeup for the shoot today.”

Her grin was warm and refreshing to see. You returned her giggle quietly, waving a hand to assure her it was okay.

“Trust me, you’re good. If I’m honest, I really have no idea how I’m even going to handle this. We haven’t met yet!” You revealed.

She gasped, and you nodded with doe-eyes.

“So your first time meeting will be just an hour before you have to work together? And I thought I had it bad. At least all I have to do is a little touch up makeup! I don’t even have to look him in the eye, really.”

You laughed, while she put you at ease, the all too real notion of a first meeting happening soon with a man you’d always admired seemed to be front and center all of the sudden. She was talkative, something you enjoyed to pass the time, keeping you giggling and distracted from any nerves you might’ve felt beforehand. You even exchanged phone numbers, and she promised if you needed her skills for any event, she’d make the time. You were glowing with delight in mid conversation when the entire room around you fell silent. Not noticing, you carried on, a sweet grin on your now burgundy lips.

“I just still can’t wrap my head around acting opposite Jared. It’s like a dream.”

Haley turned around from the vanity to face you, a tight-lipped smile on her lips as she drew into herself, saying nothing more, but pointing a dainty finger in the direction behind you. Your brow furrowed at her sudden clam-up, and you suddenly wondered if you said something wrong. When your line of sight landed on her finger, you felt your heart drop into your stomach. You let your eyes travel around the room slowly as you turned around in your chair even slower, noticing everyone in the room staring in the same direction she was pointing.

“Shit,” was all you could manage once you made eye contact with your new co-star, Jared Leto.

His stance commanded respect, though you doubted he meant for everyone to drop what they were doing when he entered. He wore dark sunglasses and a flannel shirt, his pants fitting just right. His hair fell just perfectly as it always looked to, and there was a cocky grin on his lips, showing he was clearly amused at your comment.

And then there you were, sitting in the makeup chair, your hair pinned back with clips, wearing leggings and an oversized hoodie paired with the Ugg boots you kicked off while you waited for Haley to finish up.

“You can quit dreaming, sweetheart. Here I am,” he said, mocking a sexy, masculine tone as he removed his shades. The entire room relaxed with laughter. You felt your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment as you turned back to Haley, cringing at your own expense, one eye closed shut and the other on the ceiling as your gritted your teeth for just a second.

“Oh, God…” you damned yourself.

“Don’t worry,” Haley whispered. “I hear he’s just as sweet as he is handsome.”

You nodded solemnly, forcing a grin as she gingerly unpinned your hair and added a few final touches. You discreetly glanced in the mirror, watching as he made his rounds with each and every person in the room. He greeted them all with a kind charm you hadn’t expected.

“Close your eyes!” Haley requested, and you did as she told you to.

She swept a brush over your eyelids a few extra times, then spritzed your face with what you assumed to be a setting spray.

“Is it my turn yet?” You heard Jared say just beside you, feeling his hand come in contact with your shoulder via a gentle squeeze.

Your eyes popped open, and Haley made a fist as she hoped you didn’t wreck your eye makeup with the sudden movement.

“If she keeps it up your turn will be tomorrow!” Haley scolded playfully, examining your makeup one last time before clearing you to leave.

When you stood, you felt dizzy at the curt movement, catching yourself on the vanity with a soft “whoah.”

You were met with his arms wrapping carefully around your waist, holding you upright again.

“You okay?” He asked. “I know it’s common for everyone to fall for me…”

He chuckled then, and it was beautiful. You lifted your brows, nodding with a wide grin.

“Guilty,” you joked in return, and he caught your pun with a nod of his head and a heart stopping grin.

When he let go of your frame, he looked down at you, taking in the job she’d done on your face.

“You look like a million bucks,” he stated, seeming almost in awe as his blue eyes bore into yours. “The look suits you, very well.”

Despite your hopes that the makeup was heavy enough to hide your blush, you were wrong.

“Thank you, Mr. Leto,” you said softly.

He winked at you before setting his sunglasses down on the vanity and taking a seat in the chair, rubbing his hands together.

“You better do my face as well as you did Miss {Y/N}’s over there. I want the whole nine, nothing less,” he pretend to demand, eliciting a giggle from both Haley and you.

“You got it, honey!” She exclaimed, though you both knew he didn’t need anything at all.

You stepped away from the scene as she chatted him up, happy for her that she was able to set aside her nerves and get to work.

As you approached the set, which was just down the stairs, you noticed the hustle and bustle of what seemed like a real dream. Extras were being told their positions, the creative director was focused on the task at hand and the wardrobe girl was frantic, handing everyone what they needed and helping everyone into their ensembles.

“{Y/N}!” She called out. “There you are! Here’s your first outfit! The other is laying up in the main master bedroom. I can’t risk them getting wrinkled down here should someone mess with it.”

She handed you your outfit, a beautiful Gucci look that was modeled after a 1950’s swing dress with matching pumps, gloves, and jewelry. The excitement settled in nicely.

You made your way back up the stairs quickly, disappearing into the master bedroom she’d pointed out to you and slid out of your clothes. You pulled the dress on, not bothering to check out the second outfit. It fit like a dream, tight around the top and torso, and flared at the bottom. After sliding into your shoes and accessories, you slipped out of the room, peeking around the door before making your way down the hall to the staircase again. As you were walking, you noticed a full length mirror. There was no harm in stopping to admire what Gucci had created for you.

You couldn’t help the grin that crossed your lips as your own eyes raked over your new look, your hands holding the bottom of your dress as you spun in a delicate circle.

“Beautiful. Magnificent,” Jared said from behind you, leaning in the doorway of the room used for makeup.

Your eyes caught his in the mirror, and you were taken aback by his own style.

“Wow, you.. You look amazing!” You assured, turning to face him in all his glory.

He was out of the time period you’d been modeled after, clad in a suit that could send anyone into an envious rage. His hair seemed to fall over his shoulders even better than it had earlier, and you weren’t sure how the stars seemed to align for you so wonderfully. All you could do was gawk in silence as you lifted your gloved hands to gesture in his direction.

“You’ve stolen the show,” he assured, holding his arm out for to you to take.

You gingerly moved some hair behind your shoulder and wrapped your hand around his toned arm, gripping gently as you made your way down the stairs.

“My God. It’s the prom king and queen,” the director said, looking up at you both as you descended to the first floor.

You jokingly gave your best pageant wave, and he held up a peace sign. Everyone looked as though they wanted to cry at the sight of you and him, and you deemed that a success.

“Doesn’t she fit the look perfectly? I think this is going to turn out great,” Jared said, lifting your hand and spinning you in a circle.

You bashfully came back to his side, squeezing his arm in a small show of thanks with a light giggle.

“This silver tongued devil over here. I’m not sure he’s looked in a mirror yet!” You complimented in return.

He was sweet, and you could already feel yourself falling for his ways in such a short amount of time. You figured it must’ve been easy for anyone to do so.

Once everyone took their places and the lighting changed, it was like your nerves suddenly turned off completely. There wasn’t much of a script, but there were general guidelines. You were to have as much genuine fun as possible within those guidelines and Jared made it painfully easy to forget there were cameras and a crew there at all.

In one scene, he clasped a diamond necklace around your neck, moving your hair tenderly over your shoulder to do so as you sprayed Gucci Guilty gracefully on your neck. He took your wrist in another, spritzing the eau de parfum against it before spinning you in a circle to a retro tune, -You’re Gonna Miss Me by Connie Francis- and kissing the inside of your wrist with his eyes on nothing else but your own. He ran with you hand in hand down a long corridor before carefully pinning you against the corner of the wall to another hallway, sensually burying his nose against your neck and hair, his lips delicately pressing against your soft flesh.

All the while, you were either all smiles and laughter, or biting your lip at the sudden rush of sensuality. A true match made in heaven to anyone who could see you together.

It wasn’t until the final scene to film that you couldn’t push away the nerves he made melt away any longer. You hadn’t realized that final outfit change was going to be a doozy.

With an inhale, you stepped out of the master bedroom again, this time in a black silk robe, with nothing but a set of lacy black lingerie underneath. Instead of stopping by the makeup door’s mirror, you scurried past, not wanting to see what you looked like as you almost tripped down the spiral staircase.

“Please remind me what this is for,” you whined to the director, a pout on your lips.

You knew exactly what this was for, but hoped that maybe they decided to flip the script somewhere. It wasn’t that you weren’t comfortable in your body, or that you didn’t love lingerie- you certainly were and did. But you were unprepared to be seen so scantily clad by Jared, especially after being caught up in the moment with him so deeply earlier.

“The boudoir scene..” the director began, as though announcing something marvelous. “Gucci is elegant, classy.. Sexy, passionate.. Who wouldn’t want to romp around with Leto, anyways, no?”

You had no response. Of course you wanted that. He was the most beautiful person you’d ever laid eyes on. But it didn’t negate the fact that you were feeling self conscious about yourself. Who knew how many women he’d seen this way. Sure, he complimented you all day, even let his touch linger a little longer than it usually would have when they called cut, and you only wanted more of it. But your mind loved to race on you, and you weren’t sure how to relax.

When you looked on into the bedroom, you saw him already laying on the large, plush California king sized bed. Haley was touching up his face and a man you recognized from the set earlier was touching up his hair. He was shirtless, but wore a pair of black slacks and had his dark hair tied up in a slick man bun this time. Your heart screamed with desire and anxiety all at once.

You cautiously made your way into the room, moving past the busy crew who were too caught up in making sure their preparations weren’t in vain. When Haley caught sight of you, she immediately grabbed your hand and pulled you quickly to the bed. You drew into yourself as she tugged at the sash holding your robe closed.

“You can’t wear this thing for.. this thing!” She exclaimed, opening your robe and sliding you out of it quickly, giving you no time to react before you found yourself half naked in front of Jared Leto. Forget the rest of the cast and crew, he was your main concern. You dared not turn around before you had to, trying to keep your breathing steady as you watched Haley walk further and further away with your robe for as long as you could.

“Am I scary?” He asked from behind once more, the grin evident in his voice.

You took a deep breath before turning around and faking calm and confident.

“You look like that dream I mentioned earlier when I didn’t know you were there,” you said a bit too enthusiastically.

His chuckle was all you heard before they called for quiet on the set. You climbed onto the bed next to him, ready for whatever he was going to throw at you. During this shoot, you realized he was a sucker for creative freedom when it came to these kinds of projects, and he kept you on your toes the entire time. He’d already revved you up to the hilt with his sweet and sensual antics just before. This time, as the anxiety seemed to fade, and as a sort of game, you wondered if you could do the same to him.

You were tangled up in one another, his lips on your neck, his hands on your bare flesh. These actions were all part of the “script” you’d been given. While it wasn’t exactly easy to be in the mood with a million people surrounding you, he once again proved to you that he made it easy to forget.

Your hands began to travel over his frame, your fingers digging into his skin as he touched you. You let yourself react to every move he made, and when it came close to wrapping the scene entirely, you did something completely off script. You let your lips meet his in the most feverish kiss you’d ever given, or received. Every sense tingled beautifully through your body as though you’d just received a sweet electric shock, and his touch became almost unbearably hot. You heard yourself sigh against his open mouth, but it sounded as though it were a thousand miles away in your ears. There was no more room in your chest for your heart as you felt his hand tangle in your hair just behind your ear, and his skin under your fingertips almost seemed to come alive with a blissful sensation that also hinted faintly between your thighs.

When the kiss was broken, your eyes remained shut, and so did his. When you opened them again, he was opening his. His stare was intense, deeply pulling every ounce of yourself into his own mind. Nothing else existed around you as you got lost in the world you’d just created between the two of you. It was clear there was an undeniable spark on both ends, and this was no longer acting.

“And, cut!” The director called. “I think we got it. I think that’s a wrap. That was truly phenomenal, guys. Wow..”

The room seemed to be just as in awe as they came back to earth themselves, starting to clear up the space as you and Jared remained in place on the bed.

You blinked a few times, trying to get your bearings on what had just happened. His eyes traveled from yours and downward as he smoothed a hand over his hair. It was almost a state of confusion you found yourself in as you sat up, swallowing hard.

“Wow,” you whispered.

He lifted a brow, sitting up and getting off of the bed.

“I think we should do that again sometime,” he mused with a smirk.

You hopped off the bed next, grabbing the robe you wore earlier from a hanger Haley had placed it on. Jared quickly moved to help you slide into it, his fingers brushing against your skin.

“I think we should, too,” you said quietly, turning around to face him.

Everyone was too busy to notice your private conversation now, and you were reminded of a quote from The Great Gatsby about large parties creating intimacy and privacy.

“You’re stunning,” he said, dragging his thumb down your lip before caressing your chin. “And you smell delicious. Is that Gucci Guilty?”

His grin was that of pure, cocky sarcasm.

“And you’re a God,” you gushed. “Who also smells amazing.”

That elicited a laugh from him.

“I can show you so much more where that came from,” he urged.

“So can I… If you think you’re up to the task of taming a brat.”

“Have I met my match?” He smirked.

“Maybe,” you smirked right back, your tone breathy. “I guess we’ll find out, huh?”

“I guess so, baby girl.”

#jared leto x reader #jared leto #fanfiction #jared leto fanfiction #thirty seconds to mars #joker x reader #30 seconds to mars #fanfic #one shot #Gucci #Gucci Guilty #jared leto smut #the joker #joker fandom #jared leto fandom #imagine #jared leto imagine

224 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 5 years ago

Text

Five Times People Caught Adore & Bianca: Behind the Scenes (Biadore) - doctor bitchcraftt

Companion to the full Five Times People Caught Adore & Bianca, explaining what the two of them were *really* up to when they were discovered.

Read the original stories: Season six, Courtney Act, Michelle Visage, Shangela, Alyssa Edwards

A/N: As the situations and explanations grew continuously more ridiculous, the explanations had to be almost completely mundane. Let me know if you’d like to see me write these for Courtney and Michelle’s chapters. Xoxoxoxo, bitchcraftt

********

Black and White Drama - Season Six

Walking back into the workroom, Bianca took one look at the confab taking place in the corner and made a neat 90-degree turn to her alcove instead. While she wouldn’t mind talking with Darienne and DeLa, the last thing she wanted to deal with was the oncoming bout of drama Laganja was doubtless going to stir up.

The rhinestoned evening gloves went back into their mesh bag, followed by her bracelet and heavy earrings, then her wig separated back into sections (most definitely not thrown into a pile like some of the other queens). Rubbing the indent on her shoulder, she unclipped the oversized sculpted bow, leaving her in just the bodice and ballgown skirt.

A quick glance around didn’t produce anyone who could help her out of the gown. All of the other girls were still across the room focused on the lipsync surprise. Adore was the only other one in the process of de-dragging, but it looked like she was too busy untucking to bother.

Bianca pulled the stuffing out of her bra cups before sucking in and twisting her arms to reach for the hooks and zipper. The bodice came undone with a bit of effort and she started in on the skirt. After hours on stage and in the lounge, she would be more than happy to have its weight off her padded hips.

The zipper slid down a couple of inches before getting stuck, and she rolled her eyes. Of course.

Turning her back to the mirror, she could see where the zipper was hung up on the crinoline hoop. She lifted the entire skirt far enough to slide her fingers under the catch, hoping to work it loose by feel. It seemed to be snagged on several layers of fabric, which meant she was probably going to need help to avoid ripping any seams.

“Well shit,” she muttered, hiking up the skirt again to give it another try.

She repeated the process again; this time when the zipper came back up, it caught on part of her corset lacing. Giving a frustrated tug only resulted in pulling the lacing further, cord caught between the zipper teeth and hoop casing. The sudden constriction surprised her into to dropping the skirt, its momentum yanking things even tighter.

Bianca gritted her teeth and made another attempt at getting free, but everything was too tangled at that point.

“Ah…” Her voice came out thin and breathy. Cursing silently, she leaned out to see if Laganja was done with her moment.

Nope. Maybe Satan was actually here today.

Instead of wasting air to yell, she grabbed the nearest small object (a box of bobby pins) and lobbed it across room. It bounced off Adore’s back and she jumped in surprise, looking left and right, but didn’t turn around.

The next thing to hand was a large sequined flower, which tangled itself in Adore’s wig. She finally looked in her direction in confusion before responding to the urgent ‘come here’ gestures, tights halfway down her legs.

”Why’s your neck all blotchy and stuff?”

Even in her current predicament, Bianca had to fight the urge to roll her eyes.

“ ‘M stuck,” she gritted out, pointing at her lower back and trying to stay calm. Never let a bitch see you sweat. “Can’t breathe.”

Adore immediately reached for a pair of scissors, but Bianca shook her head. Comprehension dawned (thankfully) and Adore stepped behind her, trying to untangle the snag but only succeeding in making it worse still. Bianca groaned, then grabbed her arm and lifted the front of the skirt.

”Hoop’s caught…underneath.”

Adore dropped to her knees in front of her, frowning before sticking her head under the skirt, pushing aside layers of tulle until her hands met at the bottom of Bianca’s corset.

Bianca's ears were starting to ring, and she dropped the skirt to grab Adore’s shoulders for support, breathing in shallow pants. Sweat dripped from her hairline, and she really hoped that the skirt wouldn’t require a repair job.

”Oh god, hurry up,” she forced out. There was no way she was going to create reality tv drama by passing out on camera - particularly when the operators were all too busy filming in the corner to notice. So much for safety on set.

“Think I’ve got it?” Adore’s voice was muffled by tulle and organza. Whatever she did next loosened things enough for Bianca to draw in a little more air.

”Yes, almost there…I can feel it. Watch the teeth,” she added as Adore tugged on the zipper.

“Chill, girl,” came the response from somewhere near her right hip, “I know how to use one.”

The tension in her corset eased all at once, and she heaved a huge breath. Considering how little she knew about dress construction, Bianca had to give Adore credit for persistence (and not calling the other girls over to laugh).

Right as the skirt came loose accompanied by a wave of relief (or maybe that was the blood rushing back into her midsection?), Laganja, DeLa, Darienne, and Joslyn tumbled to the floor less than ten feet away with a loud exclamation.

Bianca really didn’t want to ask.

********

My name is Adore Delano and I’m a messy slut - Shangela

The door swung shut after Katya, who called out something in Russian and was off in a cloud of blonde hair and eyeball-printed polyester, following Violet, Detox, and Alyssa.

Bianca added a couple more pins to make sure her wig was secure and gave it a last blast of hairspray, eyeing the arrangement of curls with a critical eye. Beside her, Adore was frowning into the mirror as she dug into her bag of lipsticks. Several tubes were laid out alongside opened lip liners, but she tossed the last one down with a groan.

”Something wrong?” Bianca spoke around the bobby pin between her teeth.

”None of these are right.“

Once she could see the other side of Adore’s face, Bianca paused to take in the whole picture. A series of roughly oval shaped blotches of lipstick covered the side of her neck, in no apparent pattern. Combined with her red-smeared mouth, she looked like a vampire movie gone wrong.

”Crime scene realness?”

Adore slumped even further in her chair.

“See, I had this idea for photos. Like how I’m always saying I’m a messy slut?”

”…right.” She raised an intrigued eyebrow, not sure where this was going.

”I wanted to make it look like the morning after. You know, one of those nights you wake up after and don’t remember what happened until you look in the mirror?”

Bianca considered her glum expression in silence for a minute before giving into the urge to try and make her smile instead.

“Want me to give it a shot?”

Receiving a shrug in response, she grabbed a makeup wipe and reached for a lip liner. Unfortunately, a few minutes of experimenting with different colors and products left them with only marginally better results.

“None of it looks real enough,” she admitted reluctantly. “Too bad Katya isn’t here, she’d probably bite your neck for free if you asked.”

Adore paused in scrubbing her neck clean for the fifth time.

”I dunno if the lipstick would show up anyway. Guess I’ll have to do something else.”

Bianca hated the look of defeat, no matter the cause. The colors all went on well enough, but it seemed impossible to reproduce the distinctive lip-print texture.

“Hang on. What if - let me see -”

She reached out to steady Adore’s chin, dusting her neck with loose powder to create an even surface. Applying a fresh layer of lipstick, she leaned in and quickly pressed her lips to the freshly powdered skin, ignoring the bitter taste of makeup mixed with remover.

Adore eyed the results in the mirror and perked up. “Huh.”

”Not bad, actually.” Bianca had to admit it looked far better than their best attempts at drawing.

”Looks real. I mean it is real, just it shows up pretty well.”

Bianca nodded and scrutinized her own face, checking for smudges.

“You know…”

”What?”

”Wanna do the rest?”

“Seriously, queen?" Bianca fixed her eyes on Adore’s best hopefully innocent expression in the mirror. "The things I do for you.”

Several coats of lipstick later, Adore’s neck was decorated with enough red lip prints that it resembled a Valentine’s Day card.

”That good?” At this rate, she would have to redo her lip liner. Again.

”It needs more, but I dunno how to make it scream ‘messy slut’ to the camera.”

”I thought that would be obvious without the makeup.”

”Fuck all the way off. Although,” Adore tilted her head in a way that usually spelled trouble, “what about hickeys?”

“For real? I swear I’m gonna go get Katya.”

“Please B? Just pretend I’m-“

“Finish that sentence and I really will cut up your wigs.”

Bianca gave her a dead eye stare, receiving only a pleading pout in response.

"Fine. Up,” she pointed at the vanity table, “if I’m doing this right, I can’t lean down that far.”

“You’re the best, B!”

With one more long-suffering huff, she picked a spot over Adore’s collarbone and pressed an open-mouthed kiss onto the skin. Deliberately not thinking about what it would look like if anyone walked in, Bianca bit down carefully.

Half a second later, she reeled backwards, stars exploding behind her eyes.

“What the fuck?" Bianca gingerly touched the bridge of her nose where it had collided with Adore’s shoulder when she flinched.

"Sorry!" Adore sounded simultaneously apologetic and trying to fight off giggles. "That tickled bad. Promise I won’t do it again.”

Gripping Adore’s arms firmly to anchor herself, Bianca leaned back in.

“Try not to break my nose this time?”

“Can’t help it, it’s a big target.”

“You’re lucky I love you, bitch, because this is just weird.”

********

The Naked Truth - Alyssa Edwards

Bianca didn’t so much wake up as be bludgeoned into consciousness by the headache. She might have been able to ignore her throbbing temples if they hadn’t been accompanied by the feeling of her brain sloshing around inside of her head. Her chest felt horribly heavy, and the sheets might as well be a sauna.

There was a reason she liked to stick to wine. This felt like the mother of all hard alcohol hangovers.

Opening her eyes didn’t help much, because all she could see was a mass of dark hair that seemed to be covering her entire face. Last night was a slightly blank spot, and Bianca closed her eyes again and tried very hard not to move.

Did she pass out before de-dragging? It didn’t happen often these days, but it was always a possibility. That might explain why she was having trouble breathing, except the constriction stretched unevenly from just under her collarbone on the right down across both hips.

A low groan directly into her ear made her flinch hard enough that her head started spinning.

Shit.

What was most definitely not a corset resolved itself into an arm and leg rather effectively pinning her in place, at least until the hangover wore off enough that she could pry the limbs off.

Bianca tried to turn her head to see who might be sharing her bed, feeling stubble brushing against her cheek.

At least it probably wasn’t a woman. That would be even more awkward.

Whoever it was had their face pressed against her shoulder, breath fanning hot over her throat. Another groan that sounded more alert was followed by lips pressing purposefully up the side of her neck and the hand starting to slide teasingly across her ribs.

Great. A morning sex person. After whatever night she’d had, that was firmly off the table.

Bianca glanced down her own body and silently thanked whatever deity watched over drag queens as the MEOW tattooed on the hand currently roaming her torso swam into focus.

Identity panic resolved, Bianca set about trying to get free.

”Ahh-“ The name caught in her dry throat, and she tried again.

”Adore.”

”Mmmmm….whuh?” Adore nuzzled the skin behind her ear.

”Do you mind?”

The fingers stopped mid-caress, and Bianca relaxed when the lips pulled away from her neck. She’d tease Adore about mistaking her for trade after the hangover wore off.

“Sorry.”

Her sense of relief vanished as she suddenly became aware of two things.

One, Adore was naked. That in itself wasn’t an unusual state of being, although she always wore at least underwear to bed if they were sharing.

Two, and more distressingly, Bianca realized that she was too.

Frozen in place, she met sleepy green eyes with a look of dawning panic as Adore pushed herself up on one arm and raised the other hand to her face. Glancing down their bare bodies, she voiced Bianca’s sentiments perfectly.

”Oh fuck.”

****

Being a drag queen meant viewing your sisters in various states of undress with the same disinterest as when they were clothed. The ABCD shared dressing rooms often enough that most of the time, no one even bothered to go into the bathroom to tuck, and Adore was notoriously unselfconscious about standing around in a skimpy thong or nothing at all.

A drunk Adore was handsy and flirtatious, and being drunk with Bianca tended to erase their already barely existent sense of personal space. They’d fallen asleep together countless times over the years in any number of locations (tour buses, taxis, Courtney’s living room floor), to the point that waking up tangled around each other was the closest thing to normal.

None of that made waking up naked in bed together any less awkward.

Bianca yanked the sheets around her waist as Adore scrambled back with what was probably an identical expression of shock.

”Ummmm.”

Adore frowned around the pillow she had clutched to her chest. One eye still had a mostly intact winged liner and streaks of dried melted mascara ran down her other cheek. Bianca turned to her own reflection in the mirror above the desk, cringing when it revealed actual raccoon-like eyes from the mess of dark eyeshadow smeared up her forehead.

They stared at each other for a few seconds longer, until Bianca thought she could keep her voice steady.

“Do you remember last night?”

“Uhhh…we did a show. At that club?" Adore moved the pillow to her lap and tilted her head in thought.

”…yeah. After that,“ Bianca groaned. "Also, where the hell are our clothes?”

“Oh. Here?” She leaned across to the other bed, lifting a pile of pleather and mesh that squelched unappealingly, water dripping onto the carpet. “Think yours is over there?”

The sequined mini dress she’d worn to perform in was laid on a towel across the table next to the sections of her wig, tights draped over the back of one of the chairs. She lifted the dress, ignoring the cold air hitting sensitive body parts.

“B?" Adore had come around the bed and was standing on the other side of the table, wringing water into the wastebasket. “What are you doing?”

Bianca raised her head from sniffing at the dress fabric. “Smells like bleach.”

“Is it cum?”

“For fuck’s sake Delano, how much cum would it take to soak an entire dress? I’m not that much of a whore. And it looks like water.”

“…actually, mine does too. And I am that slut.”

“Not helpful.”

Her heels were underneath the chair, one on its side and slightly damp. The other was upright with a small puddle of water still inside, the smell even stronger than her dress.

Sitting back down on the bed, Bianca felt more pieces slide together in her brain with an almost audible click.

“Alyssa bought us shots. We walked back after, pretty sure we weren’t breaking any public decency laws.”

“Being naked is natural. People are uptight.”

“Still not helping."

"Ummmm.” Adore paused with her tongue poking out of the side of her mouth. On anyone else, it would have looked ridiculous.

“Hey, I remember! There were hot guys in the pool.”

“…chlorine.”

“Oh. Oh! Right.”

“Bet you went in fully dressed.”

Adore fumbled on the other nightstand for her phone, scrolling to the camera roll, then burst out laughing.

Bianca snatched it from her unresisting fingers and blinked in surprise. The last photo was a selfie, with a grinning Adore in a sopping wet wig, makeup running down her face. Next to her, a much less amused and equally waterlogged Bianca, normal pouf of curls hanging limp across her shoulder and eyelashes missing.

“I’m not going to ask how I ended up in the pool, but I’m willing to bet it’s your fault.”

“Hey! That’s not fair.”

“It’s usually your fault.”

“…true.”

Someone knocked on the door, startling them both. Bianca checked the clock - 10:30 am. Probably one of the other queens wondering where they were.

Alyssa’s voice came through the door, loud and clear, and she sighed. Shifting, she checked for something to put on, but other than the still-wet drag, there didn’t seem to be anything else to hand. The knocking became more insistent, and Bianca called back a reply.

She looked at Adore, who shrugged and stood up to start digging in her suitcase.

“Great,” Bianca muttered, grabbing a pillow off the bed. “the Haus of Edwards is going to have a field day over this.”

#rpdr fanfiction #bianca del rio #adore delano #biadore #canon compliant #fluff #humor #five times people caught adore and bianca #doctor bitchcraftt

40 notes · View notes