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lune-hime · 4 years ago

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Garden of Tulips (Levi/Reader) Chapter 3

~Click me for more chapters~

“What did it look like?”

“Hmm?” Levi looked up from his place next to your sleeping form. “The titan that tried to snack on my darling granddaughter.” “Ugly as fuck.” “Aren’t they all?”

Levi recounts memories of the reader and their shared life together while she recovers from a serious injury.

!!WARNINGS!! - Violence, gore, smut, wholesome content ;)

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Tulipa kolpakowskiana ~ A tulip whose golden glow resembles the sunrise of a new day.

↞↠↞↠↞↠

Levi regained consciousness with a jolt, heart racing and tears bubbling behind his eyes.

Another nightmare.

I guess a good night’s sleep was too good to be true. He honestly didn’t remember how he dealt with his nightmares before you, and now you weren’t here to help. Levi had to resist his urge to leap up and crawl into bed next to you. Your well-being and your grandmother’s threat kept him in the guest room.

The sky was edging with light, signaling it was early in the morning. Levi knew from over 20 years of garbage sleeping habits that he would not fall back into slumber, nor did he want to. Instead, he opted for rising with the sparrows chitting just outside the peeling window. He lifted himself up from the sheets, and groaned as the tightness in his joints fought back. Releasing the tension from his body with several alarmingly loud cracks, he arose and turned down the hall towards your room. The light casted a muted glow over your bed, the sheets bathing in a cool yellow hue. Your form was still as motionless as it was yesterday; arms neatly folded at your sides, hair neatly brushed out of your face. You looked like you a model in a museum exhibit which sent Levi’s stomach churning. Your grandmother must have already attended to your wounds because as he sat down next to you he regarded the fresh bottle of alcohol and roll of bandaging. That would explain your clean look as well. A partially eaten jar of applesauce and used spoon were neatly placed on the nightstand. Levi let out a sigh of relief that you were able to keep some food down.

“Good morning.” He greeted in a hushed tone. Usually in the early hours of the morning, he would be conscious of how loud he was being as to not drag you out of sleep. But now all he wanted was for you to wake up, to respond to his voice. Your skin looked as fragile as glass, with too much pressure you would shatter into the satin. Warmth was rising to your cheeks, though, which was an improvement from yesterday.

He wasn’t sure if you could hear him but he continued to talk to you anyway, about the expedition, about his interactions with your grandmother, about the beautiful tulips. He could have remained by your bedside for an eternity until a rancid smell passed through his nostrils. Repulsed, he looked around the room for a clue to its origin until-

Oh shit, it's me.

The master bathroom was rather spacious with polished tiles and copper embellishments. The tub was enormous , so large that Levi felt like a child within it. Where had the old woman acquired all of this lavish furniture?

Treading over to the basin he twisted the golden knob and let the water run over his other hand, testing it until it was a soothing temperature. Leaving the tub to fill, he wandered around the bathroom. He turned in the mirror to regard the back of his shoulder. A sparse breath puffed from his lips. He had never actually bothered to look at his wound the night before. His skin was stained a deep purple that spanned most of his shoulder.

Disrobing fully, he carefully stepped into the tub, goosebumps prickling all over his body when the warmth kissed his skin. He sunk into the water, the steam visibly emanating from the pool. Levi let out a breathy sigh and his pupils lulled to the back of his eyes as he relished in the soothing hands of the water. He couldn’t hold back his moan as the water numbed his swollen skin and sent him into a temporary state of peace.

↞♞♘↠

“I feel so icky.” You whined, bouncing in an exaggerated manner. The way your limbs were flailing around made Levi snort. Expeditions were never fun and neither was coming home from one. The unwanted pinching along your ribs, the dull aching everywhere, and discolored plum pigmented spots that bloomed on your skin never failed to be your welcome home present.

It had become a tradition for you and Levi to sleep in his quarters after particularly taxing scouting excursions as he claimed his bath was more effective at getting the blood and soot out of every crevice of the body than yours. Honestly you didn’t doubt his reasoning with all the cleaning products he used on a daily basis.

“Me too.” Levi dittoed, exhaling with a groan as he removed his left boot. The leather leaving his foot made a satisfying pop. Lifting the shoe to his face, he examined the contents with a knit brow. He must have been unsatisfied with what he saw because his features contorted into a grimace and his tongue peeked out from behind his teeth in distaste.

You barely heard the softly spat fucking disgusting before he removed the other one and neatly set them in the corner by the door. Upon releasing his other foot from its confines, he then immediately retreated into the bathroom. As you began removing your own boots, the harsh sound of water running filled the otherwise quiet room. The moment you bent down to remove your shoe, the pinching in your side intensified.

“Fuck.” You hissed breathily, hand reaching awkwardly to massage the tender area.

“What is it?” Levi’s call was distorted by the flowing bathwater. He apparated into the doorway, nimble fingers halting at the fourth button on his shirt.

“Nothing, I just have a cramp.” You explained, attempting to wave his concern off with a small grin. Your foolery was cut short, however, when your body refused to bend further than your knees. You stretched half way down your legs before your body decided that was far enough, leaving you rocking back and forth like an inchworm as you grappled at the lacing on your boot.

Levi pursed his lips, inhaling his almost-chuckle, and left his post in the doorway to kneel before you. He gently rose each foot and slipped both your boots off, cringing when more foreign substances were discovered. Your eyes met in silent disgust, neither of you really wanting to investigate further. Once your socks were removed, Levi’s fingers danced over the sole of your foot mischievously. A crackled squeak left your lips and you lightly kicked him with what strength you had left. He didn’t attempt to cage his laughter this time and his hearty chuckle danced around the chamber.

“I can get my shirt.” You stated, a determined glint shining through the bags under your eyes.

“Oh?” Levi challenged with a hint of jest in his tone. With a raised brow he rose to his feet and disappeared back into the bathroom.

It was going well until you missed one button and that was all it took for you to become a tangled mess. It was like you were playing a game of twister by yourself. Levi barely heard the tiny help that was muffled by the haphazardly folded fabric wrapped around your limbs. You waited for a moment, staring at the inside of your shirt and your arm starting to get tingly from its awkward position at the back of your neck. Then a light tug cleared your vision and you were faced with Levi’s bare chest. He had successfully managed to remove the garment off your constricted torso without causing your side to act up.

“My hero.” You thanked in a sweet voice, more fatigued than you should have been from that ordeal. He responded with a kiss on your forehead before resigning towards the bathroom yet again.

“Do you want to go first?” You proposed, running your fingers through your mussed hair to check for any unidentifiable materials. Fortunately they came back empty handed.

“I thought we could go together.” He suggested, his belt coming undone with a metallic gingle. Once it was coiled and placed in his dirty hamper he turned towards you and waited expectantly.

“Lemme just put my clothes away and I’ll join you.” You said, undoing the buckles of the straps that snaked around your thighs.

“You need help with your pants?” Levi offered casually as he began to fiddle with the zipper of his own.

“Trying to get into them, Mr. Ackerman?” You retorted with the quip of an eyebrow.

“Only if it gets you into the bath faster.” Levi returned your accusation, his eyes shining with amusement. The lazy familiarity in his gaze beckoned you to remove the rest of your uniform with haste.

Now clad in only your underwear, you shuffled into the lavatory a few minutes later. Walking into the room felt like entering the inside of a soothing flame. The candles Levi had lit casted the room in a warm and silky blanket of light and their comforting atmosphere almost made you melt into a pool of candle wax the instant you entered the space.

The luxury of his bathroom was a stark reminder of your days as a cadet and you constantly thanked the heavens that you no longer needed to take community showers. The time you had accidentally walked into the boy’s shower room left a deep scar that had the situation playing forever on a loop.

Your companion had himself already submerged under the frothing water. The airy bubbles outlined his reclined form and clung to his pale skin as if they were afraid he would part from their lavish cradle. The smell emanating from the bath was of lavender, a scent you recognized as Levi’s birthday gift from Erwin. He was too crass to admit it, but the amount of times he used the bath salts and the way his body practically became one with the foam betrayed his indifferent fasad.

He had not yet registered your presence, the enticing embrace lulling Levi’s eyes shut and parting his rosy lips. Your heart could not contain itself and began fluttering against every surface of your body. He lolled his head back to look at you when your steps hit the tile with a little too much force. His lips upturned and eyes slowly opened into a blissful expression.

Reaching back to unclasp your bra, your gaze momentarily fell to the side of the tub. Just as you began to slide the straps down your shoulders, a slight sloshing of water from the tub halted your movements. Levi was regarding you boyishly, an enamored smile gracing his porcelain features. The pure domesticity of the situation caused a garden of warmth to cultivate in your heart, spreading through your bloodstream and pooling at your cheeks. Your faltering caused a velvety chuckle to rumble through his chest.

“What? I can’t watch you?” He purred, blinking slowly and smiling contently. To him, you were the most exquisite thing in such a grimy world. Even if you were grimy, too, at the moment.

“I- uh, no it's okay.” You flushed and continued to undress. The garment fell to the floor with a soft clatter. You eyed him once more as your fingers brushed the silky hem of your underwear.

His smile only deepened, and his eyes refracted the candle light and the way the flame danced within them mimicked a sunset along a silvery sky. He had stopped hiding his smiles from you long ago.

“You know I can’t count the amount of times I’ve seen you naked before.”

You breathed out a laugh, too exhausted, too flustered, and too eager to relax to come up with a snarky comeback. You planted yourself at the side of the tub and made a moving gesture with your hand.

“Scoot up.” You instructed. Levi blinked a couple times before obeying, the bubbles relentlessly sticking to his skin as he glided up the tub. You slipped in behind him, immediately feeling the bruises and scratches of the battle being subdued by the heated water. Guiding his shoulders back so his body was pressed against your chest, he practically melted into your embrace at the feeling of your plush skin.

Delicate hands glazed over his torso, spreading the bubbles up his chest with the tranquil pitter-patter of water. A shiver followed in their wake, chasing the feeling of your touch when your hands left him to lather themselves in shampoo.

“How are you feeling?” You asked sweetly, working your foamy palms through his obsidian locks.

“Nothing hurts more than usual.” He sighed, muscles involuntarily flexing under your minstraitions.

“That’s not what I meant.”

His response was not surprising to you. You had grown accustomed to the delay in response in regard to emotional questions. While Levi often confided in you, he still had his affliction with expressing is inner turmoils. Yet, the closer the two of you grew and the more time you spend together, the shorter that intermittent silence became. Your teeth worried at the inside of your cheek in anticipation as you massaged the clipped hair at the base of his head.

“Nothing hurts more than usual.” Levi repeated but this time with a gentler tone. It signaled not to press further but allowed you to sense meaning behind his words. You nodded in understanding. Seasoned soldiers became numb to the bloodshed of war to a certain degree but any weathered scar still holds the potential to bleed.

“How are you feeling?” Levi asked and gingerly traced patterns along your thigh.

“This expedition seems like child’s play compared to the one in a few weeks.” You said with a tinge of worry lased in your statement. Levi hummed in agreement and craned his neck to give you better access to the area of hair next to his ear. The two of you had avoided talking about it too in depth as you knew what dwelling on heavy tasks during the time of a current expedition would place you both in a bad mental state.

“It will be risky, but Erwin knows what he’s doing. He-” Levi was unable to complete his train of thought when you tugged just right on a section of his hair. He let out a husky moan that mingled with the steamy flush of the tub and what heat resided within your face was now pooled between your legs.

His body went rigid in embarrassment and you immediately halted your massaging. His sensuous reaction surprised both of you but it was endearing that even after all this time, the two of you could still be so bashful in front of each other. You could never get enough of his vulnerability, a side he reserved deeply for you.

“Felt good?” You giggled, smoothing your palms over his shoulders. The plush press of your breasts against his back drew a shaky breath from deep within him. In one fluid moment, Levi sank under the water and reemerged facing you. The sight before you sent an electric stream volting through your nerves. The dark expanse of his wet tresses framed the ravishing galaxy that swirled vividly within his eyes. His canines toyed with his lower lip, determined to get even with you for laughing.

“Not as good as how you are about to feel.” His voice was so low it seemed to vibrate the whole tub and sent a shockwave of pleasurable currents across your skin. He licked his lips languidly, carefully grabbing your thighs and adjusting your legs so they rested atop of his. Now it was his hands that smoothed down the heated skin of your arms, stomach, thighs, the cusp of your breasts, and gliding along your shoulders. He placed tender open mouthed kisses against the shell of your neck, collarbone, and then again to the swell of your breasts. The touch left your skin burning with desire and with every exhale the steam thickly materialized above you. Your body curled into his, the need for friction becoming unbearable. It was Levi who now chuckled in delight when his fingers found your core. The moan he drew from you made him light-headed and left his consciousness as fuzzy as the humidity of the bathroom.

Just as Levi began intensifying his strokes, his movements began to grow lazy. You started feeling sluggish as well, the sultriness of the room lulling you into a sleepy daze. As the immense exhaustion from the expedition caught up with your bodies, the two of you let the water earnestly lap at your slumped forms. For how long, you did not know. Levi’s eyelids drooped and you became aware of the dark lilac bags residing under them. Your sore side too decided it wanted in on the fun and started singeing the right half of your body. You were about to tap Levi to get him to move when his head suddenly dipped, the sweet release of sleep getting the better of him. His head only touched your shoulder for a second before it snapped upward. The disoriented expression he wore caused you to bark with laughter.

“I’m trying to be sexy.” He pouted, the cosmic hue of his eyes fading to a dull gray. He squeezed your thighs playfully.

“If we don’t get out of this tub soon we are both going to fall asleep and drown.” You squeaked, hitting his shoulder lightly and moving off of him to step out of the tub. He gently held you in place.

“I need to wash your hair first. Turn around.” He said tiredly. You could barely distinguish his request through his lofty yawn.

“Okay, but don’t take too long or we’ll get all pruney.” You remarked after popping a stray bubble caught on his cheek.

“SIR! REPORTING FOR MORNING CLEANING DUTY.” The shrill voice cracked with the breath of a fresh morning. Whoever was yelling really had pipes.

“Shut the hell up, Jaeger. She’s still sleeping.” Levi’s annoyed chiding was much harder to hear from the otherside of the closed bedroom door. Shuffling and muffled fumbling for what you expected was the sanitation equipment followed the commotion.

“How are you so energetic at the ass crack of dawn?” Levi tsked and playfully hit the cadet atop the head with a folder just as the boy picked up his duster.

↞♞♘↠

Levi’s head had begun to ache with a dull blurriness after spending a sizeable amount of time in the bath. His temple cooed under the pressured glides of his pruney fingers before resigning to get up, lest becoming the embodiment of a raisin. He heaved himself out of the heavenly pool, dizziness immediately enveloping him when his feet touched the bathmat.

Upon returning to his room he found a freshly folded pile of clothes awaiting him on the leather lounge chair. The garments were a little too posh for his liking but anything was better than the tattered remnants of his uniform. The finished look made Levi huff in mild surprise. The scarlet dress shirt fit snugly on his shoulders and highlighted the curvature of his biceps. He got rid of the excess billowing of the torso by tucking it snuggly into his slacks. The pants were expertly tailored, an indication they originated from a higher class, and complemented every outline and muscle of Levi’s lower half.

Except for length.

Muttering to himself about the inconvenience in the height difference between the previous owner of these clothes and himself, he began thinking of ways to alter the outfit so he didn’t look like a child or walls forbid a hobbit.

After rolling each pant leg up neatly just past his ankles with slight irritation, he perched the suspenders utop of his shoulders and padded over to the mirror. Clearly whoever these clothes belonged to was much taller than he. But he didn’t hate it. In fact, he sort of liked how he looked. He twisted his body this way and that to garner as close as he could get to a 360 degree view. He gave himself an approving nod and grabbed a piece of stationary and a pen before exiting the room. He made his way downstairs but not without peeking into your room once more.

The house had a much different aura than the night before. The sunlight extended its pale tendrils through the polished glass and beckoned Levi to sit at the small table in the corner next to dutch door window. He placed the stationary on the carved wood and gasped when his back suddenly cracked. It was then he realized just how sore and exhausted he still was even after the bath.

He needed caffeine badly. Your coffee addiction was, unwantedly at first, rubbing off on him. Before the two of you were close he had no interest in dirt water as he called it. However, you slowly opened him up to a new world where long nights were made substantially easier and when his tea just didn’t cut it. Levi had been conditioned to like the strong way you made it, but it was indeed an acquired taste.

Thumbs absentmindedly played with the fabric of the suspenders as he scanned the spacious room for a french press. Now that yesterday’s adrenalin had been cleansed from his head, he could see the room clearly. The room was filled with life, literally. Plants were everywhere; potted and leaves overflowing from their confines. The wood was more polished and artistic than his glazed eyes had seen the night before. The decor emitted wealth and pretentiousness yet it gave him the opposite feeling. He felt like he was at home, and he didn’t know what to do with that feeling.

Locating the french press next to one said plant, Levi brewed his drink under the warm morning embrace and the lithe song of songbirds. Once he obtained his cup of coffee, he resigned back to the table and wrote his letter between sips and gazes out onto the yard.

Erwin,

As I’m sure you are aware, Y/N and myself were separated from the left flank during the expedition. We’re okay. We are staying on the outskirts of Krolva.

Y/N has sustained heavy but not lethal injuries.

I’m fine.

Don’t worry your eyebrows off.

Levi

“How long have you been awake?” A familiar gruff voice hollered from the hall. Levi had just finished sliding the letter into the envelope when your grandmother appeared in the doorway.

“A couple hours.” He said with characteristic plainness.

“You look a lot better than yesterday. Cleaner too.” She commented and returned to the hall to discard her lightweight coat.

“I took a bath.” His thumb eagerly pushed against a paint chip in the elegant coffee mug.

“Well good for you, I’d figured you would know how to properly bathe.” She chided with a jestfull tone. From his seat next to the window, Levi could see the woman shuffling around the shoe rack. He gave her appearance a once over; mud encrusted baby blue paddock boots, an apron with a floral design embroidered into the front pocket and gardening gloves just as dirty as her boots. When her outdoor clothing had been discarded by the front door she padded back into the sunlit kitchen. His eyes were still fixated on the dry dirt that littered her apron, work pants, and shirt. His nose wrinkled automatically.

“I was gathering tulips.” She responded to Levi’s silent inquiry. He simply nodded and when she turned towards him a satisfied smile chuffed her cheeks. Her hands were perched attentively on her hips.

“Well don’t those clothes look nice on you. I was afraid they would be a little loose fitting.” She clicked her tongue approvingly. Levi idly attempted to hide the extremely rolled up pants by crossing his legs at his ankles.

“Those were my son’s clothes. I know he had a couple inches shy of a good foot over you but they suit you. You both had a similar style.”

Levi stiffened when your grandmother revealed who’s garments he adorned. It didn’t bother him, per say, but it did feel a bit strange wearing something that belonged to your father. Curiously intimate. Like this whole experience, Levi reckoned.

“Yeah, they fit alright. Thank you.” His curt response made your grandmother purse her lips. She was determined to get him to open up to her.

“Oh! You made coffee how delightful.” She said giddily as she made a beeline for it. When she had poured the amber liquid into delicate china she took one sip, smacked her lips in a sophisticated manner, and gagged.

“You make it just like her, strong as shit.” Your grandmother muttered sounds of disgust that hid Levi’s breath of amusement. She hastily retrieved the sugar and milk from the pantry and remedied the deathly drink to her liking.

“While I was out there I fed the horses-” She added after a satisfying sip of her coffee.

“And your corps horse is a huge pain in my knickers. You know, in all my years serving in the military I’ve never met such a spoiled creature before.” She ranted as she sauntered over to the tiny corner table. She sat down opposite of Levi, taking her apron off and waving it out to get some dust off. Levi dodged it the dislodged particles.

“The bugger went to bite me whenever I tried to look at his wounds and even feed him. I don’t know how he passed his horsey exams because he’s so disobedient.” She scoffed and took a particularly violent swig of her drink.

“I’ll go check on him later.” He said, furrowing his brows when his cup no longer contained his energy source.

“Humor me. Why don’t you just get rid of the thing? It’s too ornery.” She proposed slyly, the aged wood of the chair creaked as she leaned back against it. Levi noted her posture, she may act prickly but she walks with the grace of someone raised inside the innermost wall.

Levi harbored the same sentiment about the horse. It still blew his mind how Zacharias even chose him in the annual foaling. If he had the choice, Levi would have been born with the ability to wiggle his fingers and magically make bratty horses disappear far away to a distant farm where they would never be heard from again. Scratch that. Anything or anybody that was a brat. What a heaven that would be, half the cadets turning into stardust. Levi’s eyes were glazing over as he became lost in his fantasy but your grandmother’s harsh cough reigned him back in.

“It’s Y/N’s horse.” Levi stated simply. Her mouth formed an O shape and she nodded in understanding. As much as he thought it was a pain in his ass, he loved the smile that creature brought to your face.

“Well, that will do it, huh.” She affirmed pushing off the table and abruptly taking his empty cup.

“How’s the shoulder?” She questioned as she poured a fresh batch of coffee into the reservoir.

“Still aching, but better.” He replied, rolling it around a little to show her. She nodded silently and drew closer, placing the drink gently in front of him. He returned her gesture with a small smile.

“Do you think you have enough energy to help me with my shipment?” She suddenly inquired, hand resting on the table.

Levi stopped mid sip and looked at her with a quizzical expression. Shipment?

“I have to ship out some tulips today, some dusty politician has a banquet tomorrow.” She said dismissively.

“What about Y/N?” Levi said this as more of a statement than a question. Surely one person had to be around in case something came up. What if she awoke an no one was there to assist her? Even worse scenarios swam through his mind.

“I have a so called housekeeper .” Your grandmother rolled her eyes. Damn your family really was more well off than you had led on.

“I insist that she stops coming but that lass is hellbent on helping me with this estate. If you can even call it that. ” Your grandmother mumbled the last bit. “She comes by everyday around 11 am whether I like it or not. So we will leave once she arrives.”

Levi’s brow knitted with worry. Would a housekeeper be able to care for you as your grandmother did if your body suddenly rejected the applesauce? If a stitch came undone and the river of blood became unclogged-

“Son, don’t worry. The girl has known Y/N all of her life. She’s an apprentice at the apothecary in our village, I couldn’t think of more capable hands besides our own to leave her in.” Your grandmother comforted his silent spiral into anxiety. It was curious how she was able to continue to hone in on what he was feeling.

Levi contemplated her statement for a moment, finger idly running along the rim of the china.

“Sure.” He agreed. Even though the idea of parting with you in this condition made his nerves flare up, you trusted your grandmother with all your heart so that meant Levi should too.

“Splendid, I will begin the preparations.” She cheered, clasping her hands together and pushing off the table.

A warm bowl of oatmeal and another cup of coffee later, Levi found his arms shaking slightly under the wooden crate. Who knew flowers could be so heavy. Of course his body wouldn’t have recovered within a day but he had never felt so exhausted in his life.

“Is there a post office where we are going?” Levi asked asked between heaving breaths as he loaded another crate into the back of the carriage. Your grandmother rounded the vehicle and dropped her gaze to the paper sticking out from his pants pocket.

“Mhmm, we’re going to drop them off in town. It's about a quarter short of an hour's drive from here. From there, a royal attendant will pick up my goods and we can be on our way.” She explained. Before turning, she pointed to the parchment.

“Is it a love letter to the Commander?” She smirked. Levi rolled his eyes and went to grab another crate. With every box he placed onto the polished surface, a waft of fresh scent would pass through his nose. He's never smelled anything quite so aromatic and pleasing before.

“That should be enough. This is one of my smaller orders.” The little woman stated with satisfaction. She turned with the poise of an ex-soldier and moved to sit on the porch steps. Levi mimicked her movements and settled himself onto the heated wood.

"And now we wait for that troublesome girl."

#levi #levi x reader #LEVI ACKERMAN #drabble #AoT #aot imagine #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #snk x reader #snk #imagine #shingeki no kyojin #hange zoe #jean kirschstein #bisexual jean

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cloudshapedpatch · 4 years ago

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sing me a lullaby (don’t tell your boss what to do)

a super indulgent, tooth-rotting fluffy Julie and the Phantoms one shot.

julie can’t sleep so she goes to her boys for comfort. no plot. just sugar.

or! read on ao3 here

* * * *

Some nights, Julie could sleep like a rock. The band had found she was a surprisingly heavy sleeper, and could fall into a deep REM cycle within minutes. She was notorious for being able to fall asleep anywhere if she was tired enough.

Tonight was not one of those nights.

After many hours of tossing and turning, 3 relaxing YouTube videos and maybe a few too many melatonin gummies, Julie gave up on sleep.

Her go-to solution to any problem nowadays was to see her boys, so without much thought, she slipped into her favorite funky monster slippers and made her way out the front door.

The cold night air slapped her cheeks with a little alertness, and a little sense. If she went out to the studio, she was sure to stay up all night. Alas, it was still 2 in the morning, and her better judgement had set with the sun. She didn’t have anything really important to do tomorrow, right?

She opened one of the studio doors and squinted against the lights, too bright in contrast to the darkness of the house.

“Jules! What are you doing up?” Reggie was the first to notice her arrival, standing up to guide her to the couch (giving up his own seat and opting to sit on the floor in front of her; she failed to notice in her fatigued state).

“Couldn’t sleep,” Julie mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

“Jeez, you’re shivering,” Luke was always quick to worry about her, “Why didn’t you grab a coat?”

Alex had already taken off his pink sweatshirt and laid it in her lap before she could answer. As she slipped it on, she noted that while it was not warm like a living teen boy’s sweater should be, it was still warmer than she was expecting, and she was glad to have a little bit of extra heat.

After having taken a couple of moments to recover from being outside (she’d admit, it was colder than she was expecting), she went to answer the boys’ questions, but giggled at the sight of them. Alex and Reggie had sat themselves down right at her feet and Luke was seated on the armchair next to her, all looking like curious puppies waiting for a treat.

“Well??” They said at the same time, only filling Julie with more mirth.

“Nothing, I just knew coming in here would make me feel better.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew she should have changed her wording. Luke stood up and was demanding she tell him who hurt her feelings, Reggie had attached himself to her legs, resting his cheek on her bare knees comfortingly, and Alex was halfway out the door, saying he’d figure out how to make a cup of tea.

A fit of giggles later, Julie explained she just couldn’t sleep and was doing fine emotionally. It was only after the boys had sat back down that Julie asked what they had been doing before.

“Just a little bit of lyric writing. Can’t play with the melody until everyone leaves for the day tomorrow, but it works for us.” Luke shrugged, looking toward his abandoned notebook on the piano.

“Ooh, let me help!”

“Uhh…” Reg and Alex said together, in their usual harmonised way, looking anywhere but at her.

“Look, Julie,” Luke started, and she already knew what he was gonna say, “You got school in the morning. You shouldn’t be writing.”

“No no no, it’s fine! Writing will tire my brain out, you know?” They didn’t look convinced, so she continued, “My thoughts are running a mile a minute, let me get ‘em out on paper. Please?”

All three boys looked away from her then, mumbling about how difficult it was to say no when she pouted. Finally they gave in, and they led her to the piano to pore over the notebook.

Of course, they only got a few lines down before Reggie was throwing wads of paper at Alex, and Julie played Never Gonna Give You Up as softly as she could while simultaneously keeping her laughter down (the boys were fascinated that she knew the song since it had come out when they were young, which prompted a short lesson on memes and Rick Rolling. Reggie was especially enthralled by this).

Luke gave up writing and went to the dart board, where Julie had hopped off the piano bench and challenged him. Not being one to back down, he and Julie played while Reg and Alex cheered them on. Alex humored her while Reggie was convinced no one could beat Luke at darts. He was right, but Julie didn’t mind so much, especially after Julie got to over-exaggerate her pity party and receive a nice long hug from her opponent, sharing an amused look with Alex while Luke rocked them back and forth.

“I could go for some nachos right now.”

“You always want nachos, Reg.”

“Again, Reginald?”

It took Julie a moment to think through his statement (hey, it was past 3am, she had brain fog to wade through). Ever since the night they opened at the Orpheum, the boys found they could do other small things besides touch Julie, like eat, and much to Reggie's delight, take showers.

She just giggled and grabbed Reggie by the hand, starting the short trek to the house, knowing the other two would follow. For a moment, she had forgotten what she was wearing, but stepping back into the cold night reminded her. She had walked out of the house wearing her pajama shorts and a short-sleeved crop top, and she was drowning in Alex’s hoodie. Her face heated at the thought of all the boys seeing her in nearly nothing but the large pink sweatshirt, playing off the color in her cheeks as windchill.

But she should have known the boys wouldn't have behaved.

Because while nothing the boys said would be able to be heard by her father or brother, the results of their actions were definitely audible. Alex was trying to heat the queso, but he spent too much effort trying not to drop the jar that he forgot about the spoon, which clattered loudly to the ground. All four froze in terror until Luke burst into laughter because some cheese had splattered into Julie’s hair, and she replied by smudging some cheese onto his nose. And after the ensuing cheese-throwing war, the kitchen was not a pretty sight. The mere thought of her dad coming down to see his daughter covered in cheese, alone, in the middle of the night, in their equally messy kitchen brought shivers. She’d surely be back to seeing Dr. Turner three days a week.

The boys did their best to clean, but mostly entertained Julie while she wiped up the mess and carried the plate of nachos back to the studio (how long does it take a band of three dead teen boys to make a plate of nachos? apparently, 38 minutes) before they flopped on the ground in a big pile. Julie laid with her head on Luke’s chest, who had his head on Alex’s lap. Reggie laid on Julie’s legs and she ran her hands through his surprisingly soft hair as they slowly worked through the plate.

“Hey Julie? Will you sing me a lullaby?”

“Are you serious?” Julie turned her head slightly to see him more clearly. She almost laughed, but then saw the look in his eyes, and couldn’t tell if he was serious or about to tease her. “Luke, you guys don’t even sleep.”

“Aw, c’mon Jules,” Reg begged, “You have such a nice voice.”

“The voice of an angel.” Luke added. Julie pushed all thoughts of the song she never let herself write down, yet constantly played in her dreams, and hoped that they couldn’t see the flush creeping down her neck.

“Fine. But only because I love y’all.”

Alex wiggled excitedly from under her as she cleared her throat and started to sing A Thousand Years (Julie was sort of glad they had died 25 years ago. She would virtually never run out of new material to impress them with, and Christina Perri was a classic). At some point Alex had laid down too, and Reggie had closed his eyes as Julie kept scratching his scalp as she sang. Luke ran his fingers over her shoulder as if he were strumming his guitar. And everything was alright.

A large yawn took over Julie’s voice just as she finished the song.

“Alright, time for bed, little miss.” Alex joked, poking her tongue as her mouth opened in another yawn.

She swatted his hand away yet made no effort to get up, instead choosing to nestle further into Luke’s neck. “Sorry, can’t, Reggie fell asleep on me.”

Reggie cracked one eye open. “Nice try. We don’t sleep, remember?” Reggie climbed off her and grabbed her hands, pulling her to a stand.

The blood rushed from her head down to her toes, causing her vision to turn dark and her balance swayed. Before she could catch herself, Luke had scooped her up into his arms.

“Come on boys. We got a girl to tuck in.”

“Yes sir.”

“At your service.”

Julie played off her wheeze as a snort of amusement, burying her face into her hands. A few moments passed and they didn’t move, so she peeked out from between her fingers, only to see all three boys looking over her like she was exactly what they asked for for their birthday.

She yelped in surprise which only caused the boys to laugh. Julie huffed and crossed her arms, pursing her lips to keep from smiling.

“Oh, lighten up, boss. We’re going now.”

And then he was smiling that smile that he usually reserved for when they were alone or on stage. She snorted (for real this time, but still in an effort to keep her composure) and poked his cheek.

For the fourth time that night, the cold night air whipped at her legs and face as Luke and the boys carried her to her bedroom. Reggie made an offhand comment on how absurd it would look if Ray woke up and saw his daughter floating around the house, and Julie had to slap her hand to her mouth to keep from laughing aloud; the boys all laughing loudly without restraint didn’t help.

And finally, once they were in the safety of her bedroom, they did exactly what they said they would. Alex tucked the pink hood inside the sweater so she could lay on it more comfortably (“You look all cozy, you can sleep in it for tonight.”), Reggie pulled back the covers and fluffed the pillows.

Julie felt like a princess, being pampered by these boys who had crashed into her life and nestled their way into her heart. Luke even laid her down, hand supporting her neck, and all three of them literally tucked her in.

“Hey guys? Will you sing me a lullaby?”

They groaned, mumbling together about karma, payback, and song recommendations. Eventually they settled themselves on her bed and sang her a song she didn’t recognize, one that must have been vaguely popular in the 90’s. It was soothing, and she felt the tugs of sleep start to take her under.

She must have dozed off, because she awoke to some shuffling, opening her eyes to see the boys tip-toeing out of her room.

“Luke,”

She hadn’t meant to say it out loud. She had been thinking of him (and the fuzzy lingerings of a dream lined the edges of her mind, one with Luke and a magical dance and that sweet smile of his). But all three boys stopped, before Alex pushed Reggie through the door with a wink.

“You okay? Need anything?”

Her words failed her, heart full and eyes nearly brimming with tears. She scooted over and pulled back the covers, patting the sheets next to her and avoiding his eyes.

Just like she knew he would, he made no comment but slid into the bed and let Julie resume her earlier position on his chest. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled the covers back over them both and wrapped his arms around her back, keeping her close.

Idly, she noted how much she liked laying on the boys (and especially him) because they were the perfect cuddling temperature. Not too hot, but not cold. Plus, she reasoned with herself, if he was nervous, at least he wouldn’t overheat the bed.

Wait. Nervousness. She was sure Luke could feel her pounding heart, beating like thunder against his too-quiet chest. He didn’t say anything, just rolled her curls between his fingers as they laid in comfortable silence.

Her thoughts began to wander, instead of relishing in the moment like she longed to do, but thoughts of all the boys had done for her, not just tonight, but in all the months she had known them.

And then his thumbs were running over her cheeks, whispering soothing words and lifting her face, locking their eyes. Her cheeks were wet. She must have started crying.

“Happy tears, don’t worry about it.”

He looked back at her quizzically.

“I was just thinking about how grateful I am that you guys are in my life.” She bit back the ‘especially you’ that fought to escape.

“We’ll always be here, Julie. You’re okay. Just go to sleep. I’ll wake you around 6? You’ll need to take a shower.” Luke took his hands out of her hair to show her a bit of cheese he picked out.

Julie covered a laugh again, resting her head back on his chest, relishing in his company and willingness to do whatever she asked. And she fell asleep, for real this time, with his fingers in her hair and soft hums pulling her into the best sleep she’d had in a while.

And never had she felt happier than that morning, Luke softly singing her into consciousness while Reggie brought her a cup of hot coffee and Alex picking her outfit for the day.

Bonus:

Julie came home from school later that day exhausted but overjoyed. Flynn had teased her endlessly, but she was too happy to care.

Like she did every day, she said hello to her family before going into the studio to do her homework.

But her brain short circuited as she opened the door and found all three boys jumping up from their seats to greet her, Luke wearing Alex’s pink hoodie. It was a little small for him around the arms, not leaving much to be imagined. Julie felt her eyes grow wide, her brows climbing higher, but unable to fix her face or look away.

Alex, never one to miss a cue, nodded his chin towards Luke. “He insisted on wearing it today cause it smelled like you.”

Luke sidestepped to him and whacked him with the back of his hand, but the message had been received. She’d think about that later. For now, she had math homework and a cuddle pile with her ghosts to continue.

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prettywordsyouleft · 4 years ago

Text

Forsaken | Part 4

Summary: As one of the Forsaken, Jinyoung had no right to covet anything as his own. When he stumbles across you standing in the middle of the village he had plundered, the memories of old make him risk it all, clutching at the past in hopes for a better future.

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

Genre: warrior au / star crossed lovers / angst / romance

Warnings: death, kidnapping, cursing, a myriad of emotions - this is a really sad love story.

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

The bed was cold when you rolled over in the morning.

Had it been a dream? You were certain Jinyoung had held you close all night long, breathing words of longing into your ear. And yet, as you sat up, he was nowhere to be seen, his belongings simply waiting for their master to return.

Were you also waiting now?

Your mind was conflicted. It felt too warm, too comfortable to be back within his arms. As Jinyoung held you within the forest, you were unable to get enough of him. But as soon as he wasn’t against you, rational uncertainties crept up on you.

The Jinyoung you knew wouldn’t kill anyone.

What had led him down such a dark and twisted path? The fact that you wanted to comprehend why he was here bothered you more than you wanted to accept. It shouldn’t be something you needed to understand. You were morally against the Rebellion. You saw no need for the power-hungry force taking what didn’t belong to them. You believed of its warriors as nothing more than monsters, spewing out curse words whenever they were mentioned in conversation.

You felt the emotions spill down your cheeks as you grappled with this situation. You would never have those conversations again. Further, you were now inside the Rebellion. The need to survive made humans wicked, you thought.

As the door opened, you initially glared at the intrusion to your inner turmoil, Jinyoung pressing his lips together in a firm line. Why did he just accept your response? Was his guilt that overwhelming that whatever you did, he would deal with it without any complaint?

You remembered how infuriating he could be when he didn’t possess an opinion when you could hold many.

“You are entitled to be how you please,” he said as if he had read your mind. “And you’re welcome to decline breakfast as well. However, given you didn’t eat yesterday, and you’re recovering from your fever, I suggest you do.”

You looked towards the wooden tray he had carried in with a single serving of porridge upon it. You glanced up at him and he smiled weakly. “I ate with the men.”

“Would they dislike it if you ate with me instead?”

“Word travels,” he replied as he scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Is my stay here causing problems for you?”

“No,” he answered too quickly and inhaled a deep breath. “No, it won’t.”

“So then can I eat with everyone else later?”

Jinyoung watched you cautiously. “Why?”

“Do you think keeping me cooped up in here is good for my mind? I spend far too long contemplating who you are and being angered at myself for considering to accept all this. I have too many questions, like how I ended up in these clothes and-”

“I didn’t look, I went by feel. And I was very quick,” Jinyoung responded, his ears turning red in the process. You stumbled to a stop over your rant and began to giggle. Jinyoung merely stared at you, mouth agape. “You find me humorous?”

“I find you puzzling. How, as a grown man are you so frightened of touching a woman’s body? Don’t you take all you can whilst on the road?”

“Where is your husband then? Why aren’t you married? I see no ring to state that you belong to someone else.”

“If I did, would I have died back there too?” you asked without thinking and watched as the hardness reappeared in his eyes. You sighed. “I could have had one.”

“I still would have taken you. I’m cold-hearted man, isn’t that right? Husband or not, I would have taken you as my own.”

“Isn’t it a good thing I’ve always been yours,” you muttered and then swallowed as you felt his sharp focus snap back to your face. Spooning a mouthful of the food into your mouth, you then choked from trying to eat too quickly.

Jinyoung handed you a glass of water and crouched before you. “Slowly, eat more slowly. It’s not going to be your only meal. I make sure my people are fed here.”

“It’s a different camp than the one you were found within,” you said and Jinyoung’s hand on your thigh gripped it momentarily.

“We need to stop talking about the past.”

“It’s all we have that links us. I’m not meant to be in this world with you otherwise and you’re meant to be dead like I was told. Dead beside my parents who hid you and-”

“What?” Jinyoung cut in, his eyes rounding. “What did you just say?”

Your expression softened as you put down your spoon, not realising he was actually clueless to the proceedings that happened after his departure.

“Y/N,” your father said in a hushed voice, his eyes imploring you to look up at him. You had spent the past week in bed, falling ill after the army troops dragged Jinyoung away from you, the same man before you having held you back from chasing after him any further than you had. You hadn’t wanted to see your father ever again and yet with the way he looked at you now, you grew aware of the urgency in his expression. “Take this.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a medicine that will help you sleep for two days without stirring. When I leave this room, you must take it, do you understand?”

“Whatever for?!”

“I just need you to do this without question, my child,” he pleaded, pushing the potion bottle into your hand. “Take it and hide the bottle immediately. I love you, please know this is the only way I can protect you.”

“From what, Papa?”

“Have you of my compass?” he continued and you shook your head. “Does Jinyoung have it?”

“I gave it to him before you dragged me back.”

“At least one of you will be guided well in this world,” he murmured and then produced another compass, this time, much smaller than the one you had once carried everywhere you went. Placing the chained gift within your hand, he pressed his lips to your head and then gave you a watery smile. “Use this to find him again.”

“But-”

“It will help you in life more than I will now. Please live.”

And with that the man got up and left the room, tears streaming down your cheeks as you obediently took the potion.

When you opened your eyes again, the house was silent. You eased yourself onto the floorboards of your bedroom, noticing the door that was once closed now open. Dashing into the master bedroom next to yours, you found it empty. Turning for the staircase, you thumped down them and into the front room, rocking back on your heels and shrieking at the sight before you.

Stepping outside and wailing for help of your bloodied parents, you rushed up to the neighbour’s doorstep and knocked on the door repeatedly until you looked into the window. Your blood ran cold, and you felt the world spinning around you.

Shakily pulling out the chain around your neck you held up the compass and searched for direction.

Jinyoung was shaking you now, breaking you out of your emotional revisit to the death of your parents, of all that lived in your town, aside from the small few who managed to escape before the Rebellion entered. You looked up at him, your eyes unfocused. “Stop shaking me.”

“Tell me what happened?!”

“What is there to tell of another town that was plundered and destroyed? Isn’t that what you know of so well?”

“They said you would be spared!” he exclaimed and you finally looked at Jinyoung, the tears running down his face freely. “If I went with them they would all be spared! I never ventured back there to keep you all safe!”

“Only I was spared. My father poisoned me so it looked like I had died from heartbreak. They killed everyone else.”

Jinyoung collapsed at your feet then, his head hung low, uncontrolled sobs leaving him. You didn’t reach out for him, feeling no comfort in reliving the horror of that time in your life. Before you had been found by a little old woman who was travelling through, you had attempted to find a way to take your life so you would be with your parents again. You had been told Jinyoung would be killed for hiding away in your town for as long as he had, and then your parents, along with everyone else who held the secret, paid the price for Jinyoung’s stay there. You hadn’t wanted to live without any of them.

And yet your father’s final plea prevailed, the lady taking you in and caring for you as her own. You carried on, trying to live in their stead as best as you could.

Your parents had died in vain and Jinyoung had been used as a pawn for a bigger picture. There was nothing that could make this situation any better.

At some point, Jinyoung got up and left the room. You hadn’t moved from the spot you were in when he left and didn’t even lift your eyes to the door when it reopened.

However, it wasn’t Jinyoung who entered.

“Hello,” a man said softly, edging around the room. You recognised his voice as one from the group you had travelled with and lifted your head to look up at him. He smiled gently. “I’m not here to harm you. I’m Jackson, Jinyoung’s right-hand man.”

“I don’t care.”

“I know you care about Jinyoung though. You’re that girl he left behind, aren’t you?”

“You know?” you asked curiously and Jackson chuckled softly.

“Not much, just that he carries a compass around that he stole from a girl who saved him as a boy. When asked about what you stole in return, he said his heart.”

“Where is he?”

“Did something happen? He rode out on his horse earlier in the day saying he had to go see Jaebum.” You merely stared at Jackson, not understanding what he meant. “Oh right, you don’t know the people here. Jaebum was taken at the same time as Jinyoung was.”

You thought back to that moment, remembering another young man shackled and being dragged away with Jinyoung. He hadn’t been found in your town, though you heard he had been hiding in a neighbouring village who had alerted of Jinyoung’s existence in the first place.

You worried over what Jinyoung would do.

He arrived back after dusk with another person, Jinyoung surprised to find you waiting with Jackson at your side. He gave Jackson a look and the man beside you merely shrugged before laughing loudly. “Jaebum, are you here for dinner, my friend?”

“I’ve dealt with his mood long enough that you better bring out the wine you found at that little cove a few months ago. I know you hoarded more than you let on.”

“Now now, I don’t think you should paint me so poorly in front of Y/N here.”

“She’s aware we’re all evil bastards,” Jinyoung grumbled as walked right passed you, heading towards the communal area that you had been taken to whilst he was away. There you had helped with preparing dinner, Jackson saying with Jinyoung away that everyone would suffer from Youngjae’s bad cooking.

“I’m not that bad!” Youngjae had corrected and then looked at you with a grin. “But I could do with some help.”

Cooking helped you stay out of your thoughts, but it didn’t ease your worry any. It baffled you to be this concerned over a man who was more than capable of looking after his own back. However, you had only just rediscovered Jinyoung. For what sins he had committed in this world, he was still someone you had missed terribly.

You weren’t ready to lose him again so easily.

“Will you be staying here long?” Youngjae had asked as you peeled the potatoes together and you shrugged.

“I’m not sure of my fate. Just that I’m here now.”

“A lot of us felt like that. I remember the first day I came here. I thought Mark would have me hanging from that tree over there by the end of it.”

“Really? Why?”

Youngjae chuckled and you decided then that you enjoyed the energy he possessed. “Well, I don’t know how much you know about the Rebellion but they’re not meant to help people.”

“No, they take what isn’t theirs and end the lives of many.”

“They do help people, here at least. I was meant to be dead anyway. My left leg had been damaged by another battalion that had taken my farmstead. I was a produce grower for a town over. When Mark rode by me with Jinyoung, I begged them to end my life so I could be out of my pain. Instead, they brought me here.”

“They saved you?” you asked, stunned. You then frowned. “I thought they don’t take prisoners?”

“Are we imprisoned here?” Youngjae asked, gesturing to the open space that he could walk around in. He patted his leg that you had noticed he walked with a strange gait upon earlier. “Instead of hanging me, Jinyoung and Mark took me to Jaebum who is a healer. He fixed my leg as best as he could and now I’m here. I’m grateful to serve these people even if I’m only good at growing food, not cooking it. It’s a safe place here. I’d much rather be close to the enemy lines than out there, oblivious to how your life could be ended.”

You thought over Youngjae’s words for the rest of the day, and when you were seated for dinner, smiling gently at those who sang your praises for how delicious the meal was, you glanced in Jinyoung’s direction, catching his eye briefly. He smiled before turning to Jaebum who was talking about some adventure they once took together.

Could this place be the starting point of nowhere?

_________________

Part 5

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dancinginthesliverglow · 4 years ago

Text

Assistant, Scholar, Son

By @art-in-the-sunlight for @alicecasch in the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Tony Stark & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Ned Leeds & Michelle Jones, Tony Stark & James Rhodes, Tony Stark & Happy Hogan

Characters: Tony Stark, Peter Parker, Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones, James Rhodes, Happy Hogan, Jim Mortia, Roger Harrington, Mr. Delmar

Summary: “Historical/Old Fashioned AU” and “Tony is Peter’s teacher.” I’d really love to see small moments where Tony realizes that he loves Peter (like that “oh. Oh” moment in fics, but make it platonic). Also, could you include a scene where they’re both looking at the stars/at a sunset/sunrise? (Just, give me pretty skies and I’ll squeal happily for hours basically). Also I love when MJ and Ned have to interact with Tony bc Peter’s being a dumbass and they’re concerned friends.

Its the 1900s. Ned gets sick, and in order to help pay the doctor fees, Peter looks for a job. He comes across James Rhodes, who believes his best friend Tony Stark is in need of an assistant. But does he really need an assistant? Or something more?

…okay so I swear I intended this to be around 2000-3000 words. I don’t know how it ended up at 5700 words with a few time gaps. I had a lot of fun planning and writing this out, and I hope you enjoy it :)

ao3 link

Peter paced worriedly outside of the orphanage boy’s bedrooms. He shared a worried glance with MJ, who was sitting with her head in her hands nearby.

“He’s never stayed this long, MJ.” Peter muttered under his breath, clearly stressed. “What- Do you think-”

“I don’t know Peter.” MJ responded. She raised her head out of her hands and looked at Peter.

“I-” Peter started, but he was interrupted by the door opening. The orphanage Director, Roger Harrington and Doctor Morita stepped out.

Doctor Morita was talking to the Director. “He’s still hanging in there, but he’s going to need doses more frequently. I recommend a spoonful daily, before breakfast.”

Director Harrington nodded solemnly. “Thanks for the help, Doctor.” He handed Doctor Morita a pouch full of coins, and then showed the Doctor out.

Peter and MJ went into the room. In the furthest bed lay their best friend, Ned Leeds. He was fast asleep, presumably from the medicine the Doctor gave him. Peter sat down next to Ned and took his hand. “Ned,” Peter said, his voice wavering slightly. “You gotta fight this. I know you can do it.”

MJ replaced the hot, damp cloth on Ned’s forehead with a cool one. “That’s right, loser. Peter would fall apart without you.”

“Hey!” Peter said indignantly.

MJ leveled Peter with a look.

Peter sighed, knowing it was true.

Director Harrington walked back into the room. “Peter, MJ, I know you guys want to stay with Ned but he needs to rest now.”

“How is he?” MJ inquired.

“Doc says he’s going to need daily doses of medicine. We’re barely able to cover the costs of medicine as it is.” The director sat down on the bed next to Ned’s.

“I can get another job?” said Peter. “Mr. Delmar only needs me in the evenings when he’s cleaning and closing up the shop. I could get the other kids, Abe and Jason to help with my chores!”

“I could help too,” interjected MJ. “Mrs. Daly’s been asking if I can stay longer, and work more days in her shop.”

Director Harrington sighed. “If you can convince Abe and Jason to cover your chores, go ahead.” He stood up. “You two need to take care of yourselves, no overworking alright? You’re no help to Ned if you get sick.” Director Harrington pulled them in for a side hug. “It’ll be alright, kiddos. Ned will recover. Have some faith, alright?”

MJ and Peter nodded, and held onto each other tightly. Ned had to get better. He would.

~ ~ ~

The next day, Peter was at the market looking for a job. He asked the local farmers, fishermen, barbers, even blacksmiths and butchers, but they all turned him away due to inexperience or because he wasn’t able to commit to a full time job. (Mr. Delmar was kind to Peter, almost like an uncle, and he let Peter take home half the shop’s tips to take care of Ned. Peter wasn’t going to give it up).

After getting rejected by the bookmaker (he had taken one look at Peter’s worn down clothing and turned away) Peter began to slowly walk out. He rarely got the opportunity to read anymore and he figured a few minutes wouldn’t hurt. Peter wandered into the science section, and quietly pulled The Scientific Revolution: Wave Theory of Light by Stark, Anthony off the shelf.

It was then he overheard two men across the book maker’s shop talking.

“And it’s not like Stark at all to send us on a wild goose chase?” Huffed the first man, clearly annoyed.

“Just keep looking. Tones said the book was here.” said the second man. He dressed in an army uniform, and had several medals hanging on his jacket.

“What was the name of the book?”

The army man pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “The Revolution in Science, by Rupert A. Hall.”

Peter looked up from this book, at the shelf. The Revolution in Science, by Rupert A. Hall sat right in front of him.

Peter picked up the book and made his way over to the men. “Uh, excuse me sir? I couldn’t help overhearing that you were looking for this book?”

The army man took the book and read the spine. “The Revolution in Science, by Rupert A. Hall. Huh, thanks kiddo.” He handed the book to the second man, who went to pay for it, before studying Peter. “What’s your name, son? How well can you read?”

“I’m Peter. I can read fairly well and I can get through most books, sir”

“That’s impressive, Peter. Who taught you?”

“My parents, Ben and Mary Parker, taught me the basics, sir. They were scientists.”

“The Parkers.” The army man turned to the second man, who had just returned, book in hand. “Didn’t Tones work with them a few times?”

The second man shrugged.

“I heard they died a few years ago.” The army man said, not unkindly. He waited to see Peter nod before continuing. “I’m sorry for your loss. You must be looking for work?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come with me. My friend needs an assistant. I can’t promise anything but an opportunity. You’ll have to work hard, but if you take after your parents, you should be fine.”

“I… wow thank you sir!” Peter put his book The Scientific Revolution: Wave Theory of Light back on the shelf followed the army man to a carriage waiting outside the shop.

“It’s Colonel Rhodes.” The Colonel gestured to the second man who was prepping the horses to travel. “That’s Happy. He’s Tones’ carriage driver.”

“He doesn’t seem very happy, for someone named Happy.” Peter mused. Colonel Rhodes snorted in amusement, before climbing into the carriage with Peter.

~ ~ ~

Half an hour later, Peter was following Colonel Rhodes into the largest mansion - if it could even be called that - he had seen in his entire life. Peter struggled not to gape as they walked into the hall. The ceiling was twice as high as a normal house, and that was just the first floor. Fancy paintings and sculpture tastefully lined the walls. Peter was almost scared of touching anything, lest it break.

“Rhodeybear! You’re back!” Peter looked forward and saw a man quickly descend from the grand staircase towards them.

“Wait- did you mean Mr. Stark as in The physicist Stark? The Mr. Stark who is single handedly revolutionizing the field of physics and mathematics? That Mr. Stark?” Peter hissed worriedly under his voice.

Colonel Rhodes put a hand on Peter’s shoulder to reassure him. “Hey Tones! How have you been doing?”

Mr. Stark looked sad for a moment. “Uh, nevermind about that.” He spotted Peter. “Who is this? He isn’t mine, is he?” Tony joked, studying Peter. Peter felt as if he was under a microscope. He was all too aware of the large gap in social status. Peter Parker, the orphan, and Tony Stark, one of the richest men in the entire known world.

Colonel Rhodes clapped Peter on the back. “I hope not. This is Parkers’ kid, Peter. I was thinking, since Pepper returned to her brother’s you could use an assistant.”

“And you brought me a child? No, no, nope. Rhodey, you know I don’t do kids.” Mr. Stark turned away and headed down the hallway, to the kitchen.

Colonel Rhodes followed him, pulling Peter. “Tony, you know I leave for the army tomorrow. You’re going to need someone around.”

“I have Happy.”

“Happy’s only here on weekends, and an hour on weekdays.”

Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes stared down at each other across a table. Peter uncomfortably shifted on his feet, wishing he was anywhere else but there.

After almost a minute, Mr. Stark looked away. “Fine, only for you, Rhodeybear.”

“Thank you, Tony. I think you guys might get along. He was reading your book when I found him.”

“Oh?” Mr. Stark turned towards Peter, curious. “What did you think?”

“Um, I didn’t understand all of it - but the parts that I did I thought it was really interesting! I tried replicating some of the experiments, the one where you observe the color spectrum in the shadow of a slit of paper with my friends but we weren’t able to get the right measurements.”

“What materials were you using?”

“Um, just some paper from my Director at the orphanage? We used a knife to make the slit, and an open window for the light source.”

Mr. Stark shook his head. “You need more sophisticated tools. The slit should be less than a tenth of a millimeter, and most knives are about 3 to 6 millimeters wide.”

Peter looked thoughtful. “Would a needle work? The tip is much smaller than a knife, but I’m not sure if it’s less than a tenth of a millimeter.”

“It’s much closer, and I suppose you might be able to get the right size.” Tony mused. You’d have to consider the type of paper and thickness as well…”

Beside Peter, Colonel Rhodes gave Mr. Stark a triumphant smile. “See? I knew it would work out.” He turned to Peter. “Can you start tomorrow?”

“Yes sir. I’m available in the morning and afternoon from Mondays to Saturdays, and I’m free all day on Sunday.”

“Sounds good.” replied Mr. Stark. He stepped forward, and shook Peter’s hand. “I look forward to working with you, Peter Parker.”

“Me too, Mr. Stark.”

~ ~ ~

The next morning, Happy arrived in the carriage at the orphanage to pick up Peter. Peter quickly got in the carriage, ignoring the amazed and suspicious glances of the other orphanage kids. In reality, the ride wasn’t too long, but the lack of conversation and Peter’s nerves make the ride seem hours long. Colonel Rhodes wasn’t too clear about Peter’s job description the day before. Peter knew he’s going to help Mr. Stark out with his work, but what exactly that entails, Peter has no idea.

Eventually the carriage pulled to a stop outside Mr. Stark’s mansion. Peter climbed out, thanked Happy for the ride, before walking up to the door and knocking. On the first knock, the door swung open. Peter leaned in. “Uh, hello? Mr. Stark?”

Presumably Mr. Stark called out a reply, but it’s muffled. Peter cautiously entered, wiped his shoes and made his way over to where the voice came from. He ends up in the kitchen, and spots Tony putting away a half empty bottle of alcohol.

Hearing Peter come in, Tony glanced behind. “Hey kiddo.”

“Hello Mr. Stark.”

“Rhodey just left for the army yesterday, along with a good portion of my bourbon. I suppose I’ll have to replenish my stash.” Mr. Stark turned around, and studied Peter. “You’re in dire need of a wardrobe upgrade. Systemic, top to bottom, 100 point restoration. I’ll have Happy call someone for this Sunday.”

Mr. Stark spun on his heel and left the kitchen, waving for Peter to follow him. “When did your interest in science start?”

“When I was younger, before my parents passed, they used to show me their blueprints and sketches. Part of their research was working on steam trains and railways. They used to dream about travelling from one side of the country to the hour in a matter of hours. I know it was purely theoretical, and we’re decades or even centuries off from it actually happening but the idea of travelling at that speed is fascinating!”

Mr. Stark stopped in front of a closed door. He placed a hand on the door knob and then turned to Peter. “It may not be as far away as you think.” said Mr. Stark with a smile, before opening the door.

“Woah…” Peter slowly entered the room, completely in awe. The walls were covered in blueprints, sketches and calculations. Peter recognized the sketches on the wall on the left from Mr. Stark’s book on Wave theory of light. The far wall had various sketches of an engine, from multiple angles. In the center was the steam train sketch that his parents had shown him.

Tony walked over to the far wall, and took one of the sketches off the wall. “Several years ago, I worked on his version of the steam train with your parents.” He handed Peter the sketch.

“This-this is the same one they showed me. How-” Peter traces his parents signatures on the bottom right.

“I only worked on one steam train project with your parents. They had their hearts set on this project. It was like they could already see it, the finished product functioning. Sadly they passed away before we could start any of the actual buildings. Somehow it felt wrong to build it without them.” Mr. Stark gazed at the sketches, with an emotion Peter couldn’t quite pin down. “So I improved their systems, made them more efficient and worked on other projects.”

“Like your book?”

“Yes. Among other things.” Tony turned to face Peter. “How do you feel about following in your parents’ footsteps? I think it’s about time Mary and Richard’s dreams start coming true.”

“I…” tears threatened to fall from Peter’s eyes.

“You don’t have to decide now.”

“No! I’d love to work on the steam engine. I just never imagined in my wildest dreams I would be able too.”

“Well, it is going to be a lot of work. You’re going to need some formal education in physics, chemistry and engineering.”

Peter nodded eagerly. “I can do it!”

Mr. Stark laughed. “Alright, Underoos. Let’s turn you into a proper student. You’re in dire need of supplies. Textbooks, chalkboards, and wardrobe upgrade. Systemic, top to bottom, 100 point restoration. I’ll arrange something with Happy. For now, let’s see where you’re at…”

Mr. Stark and Peter spent the rest of the day pouring over textbooks together in the workshop. Mr. Stark quizzed Peter on the topics he was familiar with until he had a good idea of where Peter was, academically. Then Mr. Stark started filling in the gaps and teaching him the new material that Peter had missed. Peter lost track of time. It had been far too long since Peter had a mentor, someone who had the same passion for physics and someone who he could bounce theories and questions off.

Before he knew it, the sun was approaching the horizon, and it was time for Peter to leave for his second job with Mr. Delmar. Tony stood at the door to his mansion, and waved Peter off with a nostalgic, yet content look on his face.

Peter beamed at him, practically bouncing on his toes. For a strange moment, Peter felt the urge to hug Mr. Stark, the way he would hug MJ or Ned, or even his parents before leaving them. Peter shook off the feeling. Mr. Stark was just his employer… right? Somehow, after the day they had, ‘employer’ didn’t quite fit. Peter gave Mr. Stark one last wave before getting into the carriage with Happy.

~ ~ ~

When Peter arrived back at the orphanage later that night, Ned was waiting for him near his bunk bed.

“Peter! How did it go? I can’t believe you actually got to work with the Mr. Stark! This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me!” exclaimed Ned. He was sitting at the corner of the bed next to Peter’s. His eyes were a little red and there was a faint glimmer of sweat on his forehead, but his eyes were focused. It was the best Peter had seen him in a few days.

“It was amazing Ned!” replied Peter with equal enthusiasm. He kicked off his shoes and stood on his bed, bouncing lightly. “He showed me his workshop - you won’t believe it. He has so many projects! He’s done so much more on the Wave Theory of Light! And remember that project that I told you that my parents were working on? The steam train idea? It turns out he was working on it with my parents!”

“Dude that is so amazing! I-”

Hearing the commotion, Director Harrington walked into the room. “Hey! Kids, it’s night time! Settle down. Peter, get off your bed and go wash up. Ned, you need to get some rest.”

“But Peter just got back -”

“I wanna talk to Ned -”

Director Harrington held up his hand, and they fell silent. “I know you’re excited to see each other and talk about Peter’s job. Believe me, I know. But the youngest kids are already asleep, and the rest are getting ready for bed.”

Peter looked around, and saw the younger kids already curled up under their blankets. Reluctantly they nodded, and Director Harrington left.

Peter got down from his bed, as Ned got up. They shared a warm hug, and Peter gently rested his head on the side of Ned’s. He could feel Ned’s heartbeat faintly, and something in him, a weight that had been following him around marginally relaxed. Ned was okay. Everything was going to be okay.

“I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow, okay? Mr. Stark’s really amazing.” Peter whispered to Ned as he pulled away.

“I can’t wait! Good night Peter.” Ned whispered back.

“Good night Ned.”

Ned walked back to his bunk, and Peter quietly grabbed his pajamas and tiptoed out of the room to clean up before sleep.

~ ~ ~

The rest of the week passed similarly. Peter wakes up before sunrise, quickly eats and does as many of his chores around the orphanage as he can before Happy arrives. Then, he goes to study with Mr. Stark and work on the steam train plans for the rest of the day. Just before supper, Peter goes to Mr. Delmar’s to help serve food and clean up. Afterward, he walks back to the orphanage in the night, manages to tell MJ and Ned a few quiet, exhausted yet ecstatic words about his time with Mr. Stark before Director Harrington sends them to bed. Every night, Peter falls asleep before his head hits the pillow.

~ ~ ~

On Sunday, Peter woke up at the crack of dawn. He quickly ate, did his morning chores, waved MJ off as usual (with the promise of telling her everything when he got back) and jumped into the carriage with Happy.

Unlike usual, when Peter reached the mansion, Mr. Stark was impatiently waiting at the door.

Peter jumped out of the carriage, excitement shining on his face. “Good morning Mr. Stark! I can’t wait to get started again!”

“Uh uh. Not in those clothes, you’re not. You got a pass these past few days, but today if you’re going to be a scholar, you need to look the part and have the right materials, Underoos.”

Peter stopped in his tracks. “Um…”

Without missing a beat, Mr. Stark draped an arm over Peter’s shoulders and directed him back into the carriage. “We’re going shopping.”

“Shopping?” echoed Peter, a little bewildered.

~ ~ ~

Half an hour later, Mr. Stark, Peter and Happy were standing in a tailor’s shop. The tailor took a few measurements, and then handed Peter a dress shirt and pants, before directing him to a room at the back of the shop “Go try these on. They should be a close fit.”

Peter looked at the clothes. It wasn’t the same quality suits that Mr. Stark normally wore, but it was far above Peter’s regular clothes.

“Mr. Stark I couldn’t-”

Mr. Stark shook his head. “Uh uh. If you think I’m going to tinker around with my inventions and current research in those, you are mistaken, Underoos. Now try them on, let’s see.”

Peter walked into the back room and gulped nervously. He could pay for half a month’s worth of medicine with the dress shirt alone. Peter carefully put the dress shirt and pants on. Just as the tailor predicted, the pants and shirt fit nearly perfectly.

Outside, Mr. Stark was arguing, or maybe bantering with Happy, but the moment the door opened they both fell silent.

Happy huffed, turned to Mr. Stark and said, “I told you, he could’ve been your twin.” Mr. Stark muttered something back to Happy, who then left.

Mr. Stark turned to Peter before nodding. “Much better.”

“Um, is this really okay?” Peter looked up at Tony hesitantly. “I mean…”

Mr. Stark waved the question away. “I told you yesterday, Underoos. 100 point restoration. We’ll make a scholar of you yet.” Mr. Stark turned to the tailor. “We’ll order 3 pairs of dress shirts and pants, in addition to these.”

“Three pairs?!” Peter’s incredulous tone echoed around the shop.

Mr. Stark turned around, heading after Happy. “Come on, kiddo. We have a couple more stops.”

Peter dutifully followed Mr. Stark out, into another shop.

~ ~ ~

By the end of the morning, Peter had gotten a pair of new clothes, a new pencil case, box of pencils, a box of chalk, a few slates and a school bag. They were about to leave, when a salesman stepped in front of Mr. Stark.

“Hello good sir! Might I interest you and your son in some fashionable hats?”

“S-son?” Peter squeaked, turning red. Distantly, he heard Mr. Stark chuckle in amusement.

The salesman picked a curved, pencil grey hat and placed it on Peter’s head. It fell down, covering his eyes.

“Hmm, perhaps something smaller.” In a flash, the salesman took the hat off Peter’s head, and grabbed a slightly smaller black hat with a ribbon around it.

Peter ducked out of the way before the salesman could put it on his head. “I-I really don’t think -” Stuttered Peter, clearly flustered by the misinterpretation.

Suddenly, Peter felt a hand on his back, nudging him forward. Peter’s head snapped to Mr. Stark. “My son and I think that’s a wonderful idea.” said Tony, grinning ear to ear.

Peter turned beet red.

“Let’s try the small black newport hat, at the back.” Suggested Mr. Stark.

“A wonderful choice sir!” The salesman handed the hat to Mr. Stark, who gently placed it on Peter’s head. The salesman held up a mirror for Peter to see.

Peter stared at himself. The newport hat complimented his dress shirt well. He looked… different, but in a good way. Smart, more sophisticated, perhaps. Peter stood up straighter, and turned his head to the side, almost mesmerized. A small bit of his curly brown hair poked out from under his hat. Peter tucked it back in, and looked at Mr. Stark. “I like it.”

Mr. Stark agreed. “It suits you.” He turned to the salesman. “We’ll get it.”

A few minutes later, Mr. Stark and Peter were walking back to the carriage where Happy was waiting with his new newport hat. Peter climbed into the carriage after Mr. Stark, took off his hat and stared at it contemplatively.

The carriage started moving. Mr. Stark nudged Peter gently with his elbow. “You’re kinda quiet, Underoos. Everything okay?”

Peter nodded.

“I hope I didn’t bother you with the ‘my son’ comment?” Mr. Stark said it jokingly, but Peter could tell it was a genuine question.

“No no, it’s - that was fine. It just surprised me.” Peter looked up at Mr. Stark and gave him a smile.

“So what’s up then? If the last day is anything to go by, normally you’d be chatting away.”

Peter shrugged. “It’s just a lot.” He held up the hat and his bag, full of school supplies. “This used to be my life, before my parents… Before the orphanage. It’s just bringing back memories, I guess.”

The carriage wheel went over a rock, and Mr. Stark grabbed Peter’s shoulder to steady him. For the longest moment, they were silent, before Mr. Stark spoke up. “I get it, you know? I lost my parents too. Granted, I was older and the situation was drastically different…” Mr. Stark cleared his throat. “My mom, she was a pianist. She had this way of playing, that was so graceful, so… warm. We were never good at communicating, except when we were playing on the piano. It was like the music would speak for us, in our special language.”

“After she passed, I couldn’t barely look at the piano. I boarded up the room, and nearly threw the key away. It wasn’t until about three years ago that Pepper, my uh, friend convinced me to open the room. I thought it was a bad idea. I thought all that hurt would come flooding back. And some of it did, but along with it…”

Peter nodded in understanding. “Yea. It’s like you got a small piece of them back.”

“Yea, something like that.”

The carriage came to a stop abruptly, ending the moment. Peter stuck his head out the side, and realized that they’re already back at the mansion. Mr. Stark and Peter climbed out and headed inside.

“How about some lunch?” suggested Mr. Stark. Peter agrees, and then turns red when his stomach growls audibly. Mr. Stark laughed not unkindly, ruffled Peter’s hair and then went to the kitchen. Peter followed him, still red, but smiling.

Mr. Stark and Peter resumed working in the workshop. It’s equally as studious as the day before, except there’s an air of familiarity that wasn’t there before. Just like yesterday, Peter’s attention was consumed by his excitement to learn, and he doesn’t notice the time fly by, until it’s approaching sunset. Mr. Stark asked Peter if he had to leave, but it’s Peter’s day off from Mr. Delmar, so he says no. Mr. Stark turns on a few oil lamps and they continue working into the night.

~ ~ ~

Eventually Mr. Stark straightens up and stretches. There’s a few quiet cracks, at which Peter snorted, before looking outside, noticing that it’s already dark and the stars are out.”

“I should probably get back soon.”

(Tony follows Peter’s line of sight until he’s looking outside at the night sky with Peter. Tony looks back at Peter. His face is peaceful, slightly sleepy, and in the dim lighting Tony can see part of the night sky reflected in Peter’s eyes. He feels a surge of protectiveness, and affection..? Tony shakes the feeling off, and an idea suddenly comes to him.)

Peter followed Mr. Stark upstairs, and watched curiously as he pulled a large cloth off… a telescope. “Woah… can I, Mr. Stark?”

Mr. Stark arranged the telescope, and fiddled with the knobs for a moment before stepping away and looking at Peter. “Go ahead, kid.”

Peter steps closer to the telescope and peered inside. “Woah…” Peter turned to Mr. Stark. “This is amazing Mr. Stark!” Peter peered back into the telescope, still in awe of the beautiful sight. He felt Mr. Stark lay his arm across Peter’s shoulders. The warmth of his arm was nice in the cold night.

(Peter stared up at him with complete awe and eagerness. That feeling from earlier comes back, ten fold. It tells him to protect Peter, to keep him safe, warm and happy. It compels Tony to step closer and lay his arm over Peter’s shoulders. He feels Peter lean slightly into the half side hug and -

oh.

Oh.

It’s love.

He loves Peter.

Tony loves Peter, as if he were his own son. The revelation rocks his world. When did this happen? Why now? What is he supposed to do?)

Unknown to Mr. Stark’s world shattering revelation, Peter shivered and sniffed in the cold air, before straightening up and fully leaning into Mr. Stark’s side. “‘ts cold.”

“Yea.” Mr. Stark exhaled. “Let’s get you home, Underoos.”

Peter nodded, and allowed Mr. Stark to lead him back inside and wrap one of his coats around Peter. He called for Happy, who came with the carriage. This time, before Peter gets in the carriage, Mr. Stark wraps him a hug, before entering the carriage with Peter. Sleepy and cold, Peter pulls Mr. Stark’s coat around himself tightly. The last thing he remembers was resting his head on Mr. Stark’s shoulder, the sensation of an arm wrapping around him keeping him warm and falling asleep.

~ ~ ~

When Peter woke up the next day, he felt awful. His head throbbed, this throat felt like sandpaper and he felt like he was freezing. Peter cracked an eye open, and painful bright light sears through his brain. Peter cries out in pain and shuts his eyes.

Hearing Peter, Director Harrington walked over. “Hey Peter, it’s time to get up.” When Peter didn’t move, Director Harrington frowned. (It was uncharacteristic of Peter not to be awake by now). He laid a hand over Peter’s head, and sweared under his breath when he felt Peter’s boiling forehead.

“What’s wrong with him?” MJ worriedly inquires from behind the Director. He quickly turned around and saw her and Ned.

“He’s sick. I think it’s just because he’s been pushing himself so hard this past week. Honestly, I was expecting this to happen days ago.” Director Harrington stood up. “He’ll be alright. He just needs rest. I’ll send a message to Mr. Stark telling him Peter won’t be able to attend for a few days.”

MJ nods. She knows what she has to do.

~ ~ ~

After MJ’s shift finished, she made her way to Mr. Stark’s mansion. Steeling her nerves, she firmly knocked on the door and waited. One minute, two minutes… just when MJ thought was wouldn’t get an answer, Mr. Stark opened the door.

He frowned. “Do I know you?”

“I’m here about Peter.”

“Come in.” Mr. Stark stepped out of the way, welcoming MJ inside. “Is he okay?”

MJ looked around the mansion. Part of her admires it; everything looked so elegant. Part of her critiqued it, wondering how it was built, and how the Stark family inherited their fortune.

“Peter’s sick. He’s been overworking himself, with everything he needs to do at the orphanage, with you and Mr. Delmar.” MJ explains. “He’s been going to sleep really late, and forcing himself to wake up before sunrise, and he’s on his feet pretty much the entire day.”

In a single moment, it looked as if Mr. Stark aged years. The wrinkles in his face stood out, and he looked worried. Extremely worried. MJ knew that Peter was attached to Mr. Stark (what science nerd wouldn’t be), but she didn’t expect that Mr. Stark would reciprocate the sentiment equally.

Mr. Stark took a moment, but eventually he composed himself. “Thank you for telling me. Are you headed back to the orphanage?”

“Yea.”

“I’ll give you a ride back.” Mr. Stark left to call Happy, completely missing MJ’s surprised expression.

Mr. Stark comes back a few minutes later, with his coat. “I’ll head back with you. It seems like I need to have a few words with Peter, about responsibility.”

MJ would’ve been worried, if Mr. Stark hadn’t sounded so… parental. Not for the first time, MJ wondered what exactly had they done, for Peter and Mr. Stark to feel so strongly for the other in such a short time. Instead, she just nodded.

“Why is he overworking himself?”

MJ’s mouth went dry, and she looked away at her feet. So Peter hadn’t told Mr. Stark then. “Our friend, Ned - he’s sick. Like really sick.” She quickly glanced at Mr. Stark. He looked contemplative. “Director Harrington is doing what he can, but the doctor visits and the medicine - it’s really expensive. Peter and I are paying for most of it.”

Although Mr. Stark didn’t say anything, MJ can practically hear him understanding. Peter always puts the needs of his loved ones above himself, and they both know it.

Happy arrived with the carriage in front. They climbed in and headed for the orphanage.

~ ~ ~

Peter’s awareness came back, and he felt the bed sink down on his left. At the edge of unconsciousness and in pain, Peter whimpers unintelligibly and tries to stick his head under the blanket.

Suddenly, there was a hand softly brushing through his hair and rubbing at his scalp. His headache began to ease up for the first time, and Peter cracked his eyes open. There was a blurry figure that looked awfully familiar sitting on his bed.

“Hey Underoos. How are you feeling?” Mr. Stark asked softly.

Peter closed his eyes, and tilted his head towards Mr. Stark’s hand, silently asking for him to continue.

Above him, Peter heard Mr. Stark chuckled. “Peter, it’s dinner time. You need to eat.”

With a groan Peter opened his eyes again, this time fully. It takes a moment, but his vision focuses. Mr. Stark helped Peter sit up, and then held out a bowl of soup with a spoon. Peter held his palms flat against the bowl, and let the steam rise against his face, trying to absorb the heat.

“Kiddo, you’re supposed to eat it.”

Peter grumbled, but picked up the spoon and began slowly eating.

Mr. Stark waited for Peter to finish half of his soup before speaking up, his tone gentle. “Peter, you were seriously overworking yourself.”

Peter swallowed his soup, and then responded, “Ned needs the money. He’s-”

“- sick, I know. MJ told me.” The surprise must’ve shown on his face because Mr. Stark elaborated. “She came to see me earlier today, to tell me that you were working yourself sick trying to pay for Ned’s medicine.”

Peter opened his mouth to defend his actions, but Mr. Stark interrupted him. “Underoos, why didn’t you tell me?” He chided, gently. “I would’ve helped you.”

“I - really?” Peter looked at Mr. Stark in hope.

Tony nodded. “Anything, Peter.”

Peter put the soup aside, leaned over and hugged Mr. Stark tightly. “Thank you so much, Mr. Stark. You have no idea - it means so much to me.”

“Anything, Peter. Although you have to concentrate on getting better, and taking care of yourself. I don’t want to hear that you’re sick and refined to bed for days, geez. I nearly got a heart attack when I received the message this morning.”

Peter laughs weakly. Mr. Stark handed him back the soup, and sat with Peter as he finished it. When Peter’s done, Mr. Stark takes the bowl, and helps Peter crawl back under the covers. Peter rolled onto his side, facing Mr. Stark, and silently asking.

Above him, Peter heard Mr. Stark huff, in amusement. A moment later he felt Mr. Stark’s hand softly brushes through his hair and rubs at his scalp. Peter falls asleep to the sensation.

(When he’s sure Peter’s asleep, Tony leans over Peter, presses a kiss to his forehead and whispers “I love you.”)

The End.

25 notes · View notes

saeyoungs-sunflower · 4 years ago

Text

A Piece of You: Chapter 3

Pairing: Zen x MC

Synopsis: After the death of his sister, Zen is entrusted with raising her daughter. Six years later and MC has settled into RFA, but she just wants to be back on the roof with the love of her life like she was two years before. But dealing with teenage years, dragged out engagements and a lot of unsaid feelings, you start to lose a piece of you. Or, perhaps, find a piece you had that had been missing the whole time.

Warnings: None!

A/N: Heya! So I know this series isn’t getting a lot of notes or anything, but I still have a lot of ideas/inspiration for it so I’m gonna keep it going, even if it’s just for me haha! Also want to say a massive thank you to @sunshinejihyun for saying such kind things about this series and being so enthusiastic for it, as well as just generally being a lovely human being. She’s given me a lot of motivation to keep writing this so thank you so much for that! Love ya!! <3

⇦ Previous Chapter

***

“Oh, two can play at that game, buddy!” MC cried as she threw a handful of flour at Saeyoung, who was currently rolling on the floor, clutching his stomach as tears of laughter rolled triumphantly down his cheeks.

“Honestly, MC! It was an-an accident!”

“Ah okay, so the egg just accidentally got crushed on my head, did it?” you questioned, finger tapping expectantly on the counter, raw egg white now trickling down your forehead.

“Well,” Saeyoung tried to speak, but kept being interrupted by his own laughter, “I guess…you could say you have..” he bit his lip, “egg on your face.”

“You have five seconds to run,” MC said eerily calmly, but Saeyoung knew what was coming and did not miss a beat to bolt out of the kitchen. MC promptly followed, arms held out ready for the most fierce tickle war anyone had ever seen.

“So childish,” Saeran mumbled, perched on the counter-top as he scooped batter out of the mixing bowl before licking the spoon.

Saeyoung was finally caught by MC on the couch, shrieks of laughter filling the house as MC mercilessly tickled his stomach - his most ticklish spot, she’d learnt.

The three had grown remarkably close over the past year or so, after MC spent most of it living with the twins to help the two grow closer together, and to help Saeyoung when Saeran was at his lowest. She always knew how to calm Saeran down whilst also reassuring Saeyoung that he was not at fault. They had become more like triplets, and MC adored her little family. It wasn't a family until she found them, and Saeyoung willed himself to believe that such an immense kindness was nurtured in a place of warmth and care.

But MC was not an open book. She was a brand-new novel, placed prettily on a coffee table to be admired and shown-off. In order to read the contents, the spine would have to be broken, edges curled, pages stained. To understand her would be to break her, which was a price MC wouldn’t dare bid.

Saeyoung thought that such a warm heart would never survive the biting ice of the world, and therefore wearing it on her sleeve would be suicide.

And that’s where he went wrong. That’s where he lost his chance. Because the world wasn’t as cold as either of them initially thought, you just had to look in the right places. Saeyoung had found his place now, and the taste of remorse lingered bitterly on his tongue when he realised he couldn't be that place for her, and that she still didn’t know where to look.

But that thought was for another day. Outward gratitude spoke louder than inward regret.

“Okay! Okay okay OKAY MC I’m sorry! Please, have mercy!” Saeyoung pleaded.

“Hm, sorry’s not good enough.”

“What about if I promise you the love and affection from your favourite tomato - God Seven!”

“I get that anyway. And besides, Saeran’s my favourite tomato.”

Saeyoung let out a cry of disbelief, but Saeran snickered from the kitchen, “Idiot. Know your place.”

He sighed, giving in, “Fine, I’ll stop giving physics lessons in the chatroom for at least two months.”

“Now that’s a deal I can get behind.”

The two shook on it, giggling like children as they headed back into the kitchen, clearing up the absolute bomb site they had made. MC idly glanced up at the clock before letting out a loud gasp, startling both twins. “Crap, I gotta get ready! And get this stupid egg out of my hair!”

“Ooooo,” Saeyoung sung, the corners of his mouth curling into a smug grin, “has someone got a date?” he joked.

MC stayed quiet, suddenly peaking the interest of the red-heads who promptly stopped what they were doing, “Wait, are you serious, MC?!” Saeyoung burst, voice cracking (adorably) at the end, “You actually have a date?”

“Did that punk finally ask you out?” Saeran said nonchalantly as he finished scraping out the remainder of the batter.

MC quirked an eyebrow, “What do you mean? What punk?”

Saeyoung shot his brother a pointed look before turning back to MC, “Ignore him, it’s the salmonella talking. So who are you going out with? Do we know him?”

MC tried to busy herself by checking the cupcakes in the oven, suddenly feeling a little coy about the subject, “I doubt you know him, he's a friend of Zen’s. They’re co-stars in the play he's in, actually.”

Saeran gave Saeyoung a perplexed look, which went completely missed by MC. Saeyoung brushed it off, though he knew he felt the same way as his brother, “Awwww MC! You’re all grown up!” MC groaned, but this only encouraged him, “So, what’s his name?”

“His name’s Chul. And don't you dare go snooping around and doing background checks or whatever. I can figure him out for myself, thank you very much. Promise?”

Saeyoung whined like a toddler, but agreed anyway, “Well, you better get going or you’re gonna be late! Do you want a ride home?”

“It’s okay, I have to stop at the shop on the way,” MC said as she put on her coat and slung her bang over her shoulder. She was also incredibly grateful that she remembered to bring a hat today to…you know, hide the egg and whatnot. “You better save me a cupcake!”

“We’ll bring some round tomorrow,” he called after her, “and you can tell me all the juicy details!”

“Not a chance, Choi boy!” she called out from the doorway before slamming the door.

“She’s seriously going on a date with another guy? I could have sworn she was all loved up by Mr ‘God’s mistake’ or whatever.”

“She was,” Saeyoung sighed, cleaning up the remnants of their shenanigans, “but that was what, two years ago now? Zen hasn’t shown any indication of wanting to go further, she has the right to move on.”

“Sure,” Saeran started as he hopped off the counter to help his brother, “but isn't she going to ask him about it? Just in case?”

“Something tells me she already has.”

Her visit was completely welcome, but unexpected. MC had called the night before asking if they wanted to hang out, when she’d usually just text an hour or so before to check that they weren’t busy and then just turn up. It was like she needed the reassurance, like she needed to have the certainty that she would see them. Like she needed it to get through the night.

It could have been written off as pre-date nerves, but Saeyoung suspected it went deeper than that. You learn a lot from living with someone for months, and Saeyoung knew that MC wasn't acting like herself. The thought made him chew on his lip as he continued to wash up.

Saeran noticed this, lightly punching his brother in the arm, “Hey, she’s a tough girl. I’m sure she's perfectly capable of handling boy-drama.”

Boy-drama? Probably. But Saeyoung knew very well, from his own experience, the look of someone in love, as well as the look of someone heartbroken. He saw the first look fade away from MC’s face, being replaced by the latter. It felt like a punch in the gut.

Once everything was cleaned up, Saeyoung opened up his laptop and started typing away.

He was going to have to break his promise. Just this once. For her sake. He couldn’t fail her for the second time.

He never wanted to see that look on her face again.

***

“So, how long have you known Zen?” Chul asked casually as the waitress brought the bill.

“About two years now, I think?” MC replied, taking a sip of her wine.

“Mm, and how much of that time have you been in love with him?”

MC almost choked on her drink, her eyes darting to his. Chul chuckled, handing her a napkin, “Sorry, I suppose that was a little forward.”

“Just a tad,” MC said, trying to recover, “What makes you think I was in love with him?”

“I saw the way you were looking at him on stage, and the look on your face when he was doing the kissing scene,” he took a sip of his own drink, “I just connected the dots.”

“Ah…I see.”

“Relax, I’m not going to say anything to him. I just want to know what he did to make you look so defeated, so upset,” he stared directly into her eyes, “Were you guys together at some point? Did he hurt you?”

“God no! No no, we were never together,” she felt a sharp pang in her chest, “and he never did anything to hurt me. He’s always been such a sweetheart…”

Chul nodded, listening intently, “So why did you never get together? You both clearly care for each other.”

Why did they never end up together? Ah, yeah, because Zen clearly didn’t want that. Maybe she wasn't his type, maybe he saw her more as a sister, maybe she just wasn’t good enough for him.

Ouch.

“I…We just weren't meant to be, I suppose.” And why were they talking about this anyway? Bit of a weird topic of conversation for a first date, MC thought, “Why did you want to know?”

He smiled, “I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t getting in the middle of anything. And I’ve been worried about that look since I last saw you. I wanted to know if you were alright, and if you weren’t, if it was something I could help you get over.”

MC smirked, “Oh? You think you can help me get over him?” she said jokingly.

“I do,” Chul said gently, “If you let me.”

The night was surprisingly pleasant. Not that MC doubted that Chul was a nice guy, she just thought that going on a date with someone considering her current situation would be too weird, but she actually had a lovely time. They had a fantastic meal at a beautiful restaurant, which despite MC’s protests, Chul paid for. She said she’d pay for the next one, which made Chul smile at the confirmation of a ‘next one’. He walked her home, slowly strolling under the warm glow of the streetlights they passed, hands occasionally brushing against each other, chatting as though they were old friends.

He kissed her softly on the cheek at her doorstep before wishing her a good night. As he turned away, his words from before rang in MC’s ear.

If you let me.

He was already halfway down the block when MC caught up to him, grabbing his arm to spin him round to face her. After a moments hesitation, she balanced on her tip-toes to land a chaste kiss on Chul’s lips, which he happily returned with the same gentleness as before.

MC had never been one to kiss on the first date. Hell, she had never been the one to date full-stop. But she saw an opportunity for adventure, for companionship…for love. She obviously didn’t love Chul, but she knew she could. She would no longer wish upon a shooting star, now she would shoot after it herself.

She broke away from the kiss first and slowly untangled her arms from around his neck, “Goodnight, Chul.”

He smiled softly at her, loosening his hold around her waist, “Goodnight, MC.”

As she walked back to her apartment, she swore she felt the ghost of Chul’s hand on the small of her back, his lips on her own. She suddenly missed his voice, his scent, his touch. She suddenly missed him. Or did she miss being wanted by him?

MC took out her phone once she made it through her door, her thumb hovering over Zen’s number. Usually it was instinctual to call him the second she felt the pull of loneliness, and she knew he would have been worrying about her. But she couldn't bring herself to press the button.

If things were going to work out with Chul, she needed to give him the best chance. She needed to give him her attention, and needed to confide in him rather than a love that never was.

She knew that you can’t get over the hurdle if you never leave the starting line, and she knew that Chul could help her get over it once she did.

If she let him.

***

Masterlist || Next Chapter

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger fanfic #mystic messenger fanfiction #zen x mc #zen ryu #hyun ryu #mm zen #mystic messenger zen #my writing

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years ago

Text

The Crucible (part nine)

[UK Tour; Carrie AU]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Word count: 10,088

TW: Blood and gore

-------------------------

-Alma Mater-

“We found these in the dumpster behind what’s left of the gym.”

Bessie recoiled so sharply in disgust she nearly fell backwards out of her chair when Mulaney dumped several pieces of paper onto the table in front of her. She looked at the pile as if it were made of actual human hearts, wrinkling up her nose.

“I can’t believe you touched those!” She exclaimed in an almost humorously repulsed way. “They’re probably swimming with diseases.”

“Recognize them?” Mulaney asked, sitting across from her.

“They’re prom ballots,” Bessie said with a dismissive shrug. “I’m the one who Xeroxed them.”

“According to these, Ruby and Leila won prom king and queen.”

Bessie blinked at Mulaney in shock, as if he had just told her the secrets of the universe. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish caught on a hook, then she sputtered out, “I-I counted those ballots myself. Principal Holbein checked my work! You can ask him...yourself…” She trailed off with a grimace, hunching her shoulders in and looking away. For a moment, she looked a lot younger, and a lot more shaken than she thought she was.

“Anna and Joan won fair and square.” She finally spoke up again, although there was a not-so-subtle shakiness to her voice. Madeline gave her a sympathetic look.

“I’m guessing by a landslide?” Mulaney asked.

“Yeah.”

“That doesn’t seem odd to you?”

“I just thought they were pity votes.” Bessie said, shrugging.

“They weren’t pity votes, Elizabeth.” Mulaney told her grimly. “Someone switched the ballots.”

------

“Attention! Attention, everyone!” Bessie called jovially from the stage. The mic she was using gave a few abrupt screeches of feedback, so she tapped it with a manicured finger. In the fairy lights, her dress glistened in shimmering waves of purple and made her look like a walking amethyst. “Can I have your attention, please!”

The DJ cut the music off hastily. Everyone inside the gym quieted down one by one and turned their heads to the stage. Bessie’s hair was blindingly white in the light.

“Thank you,” She said, then raised her voice excitedly, “We will now be voting for this year’s prom king and queen!”

“This contest insults women!” Margery Horsman shouted from near the globe tree. There were a few scattered applause and one loud, whooping cheer from a girl who must have been her friend.

“It insults men, too!” Francis Dereham piped up mockingly. Laughter followed, along with several eye rolls.

“Take your seats, please!” Bessie went on loudly. “Time to vote!”

Everyone began to swarm back to their respective table as Maggie and two other girls started to pass out prom ballots and small pencils. Anna, Joan, George, and Jane were already sitting, recovering from their intense dance session and playing Spoons with a deck of cards George had brought in (“I still cannot believe you brought cards to prom.” “I never leave home without ‘em! You know that, Anna!”). As far as games being played at a school party went, it definitely wasn’t the lamest option they could have gone with.

“Aha!” Jane exclaimed, seizing one of the three plastic spoons on the table after she got a match of four aces. George looked up at her lovingly. “I have totally figured out this game! I am the new Spoons champion!”

“Ow!!” Anna yelped. “You SCRATCHED me!” She had been trying to grab one of the other spoons when Jane’s fingernails raked viciously over her hand. She rubbed the scraped skin tenderly, giving Jane a playful pout.

“This is a very violent game,” Joan observed. When someone got a match of four cards, they were supposed to grab a spoon as quick as they could, prompting everyone else to do the same, which resulted in some mayhem. Especially because there were four players and only three spoons, so clawing and yanking and merciless tug-of-war would sometimes happen as a result. There was even a moment where they all lurched forward at the same time and bonked their heads together.

“What can I say?” Jane said with a shrug, flicking her spoon back and forth. “I play to win.”

At that moment, Maggie came around with ballots, setting four papers and four pencils on the table for them. Before she whisked away, she declared a louder-than-necessary, “GOOD LUCK!” into Joan’s ear. Joan rubbed her ear uncomfortably as Anna and Jane both glowered after Maggie, then examined the ballot in front of her. Her mouth dropped open.

“Anna,” She whispered shakily, grabbing onto Anna’s arm tightly. “W-we’re on here!”

“I saw that,” Anna said.

“Woah! Congrats!” George beamed.

“Can we decline?” Joan asked anxiously.

“Hell no!” Anna said, laughing slightly. “If you win, all you do is sit up there on those thrones for the school song, wave some scepter around, and look like a jackass.”

“Oh, and then you get your picture taken for the yearbook so everyone could see that you looked like a jackass.” George added. He, Jane, and Anna laugh lightly. “You also get to lead a dance! So that’s pretty cool.”

“Well...who do we vote for?” Joan asked Anna. “They’re more your crowd than mine. I don’t really have a crowd.”

“Ourselves, duh!” Anna said.

“Isn’t voting for yourself like voting for Ralph Nader?” George asked.

“Who’s Ralph Nader?”

“Well, I’m voting for you.” Jane said to Joan. She smiled and checked off Joan and Anna’s names.

“Thanks,” Joan whispered, ducking her head shyly. She glanced over at the thrones on the stage and couldn’t help but be enamored by them. They were so sparkly and pretty. “They are beautiful…”

“You’re beautiful.” Anna grinned, taking Joan by surprise. She would never get over the shock of hearing someone say that to her. “To the devil with false modesty.”

Joan smiled. “To the devil,” She said, and checked off her and Anna’s names.

------

“Look at how she’s smiling. Stupid little cow.”

Cathy peered over the shrouded edge of the catwalk they were hiding on. She could see Joan Seymour, the poor bitch this prank was on, playing cards at one of the tables with Anne’s younger brother, his girlfriend, and Anna von Cleves. Her dress was beautiful, Cathy had to admit, and she looked so happy.

It was such a shame it was all about to be ruined.

The buckets were poised and ready.

“God, and my stupid brother.” Anne rolled her eyes. “I should have known he would befriend the resident freak.” She shook her head and turned to Cathy, smiling again. “Are you ready? It’s almost time.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Cathy mumbled, feeling ill.

“Oh, cheer up.” Anne nudged her. “We’re just playing a little joke! Nobody is getting hurt!”

“Anne, this is--this is sick. Really, really sick.” Cathy said. “If we get caught--”

“We aren’t going to get caught.” Anne said firmly. “Calm down, will you? It’s not that bad. We’re just gonna give her a little scare, that’s all.”

Cathy shook her head and cast a dark look at the two metal buckets. She could still smell the contents from her spot, the scent of three-day-old pig blood and guts wafting heavily in the air. It was a miracle nobody else on the stage had smelled it yet.

“Do you really think they’ll vote for them?” She finally spoke up again, glancing at her girlfriend. In the dim light, only half of Anne’s face could be seen, and there was madness reaching out of that amber eye.

“Of course,” Anne answered her. “I set it up. Nobody else will even be close.” She smiled wickedly. “Do you want to pull the rope?”

------

Katherine was restless. It was starting to worry her sister, she knew. She kept getting up in the middle of the movie they were watching and would pace around the living room like a lion in a circus cage. She couldn’t help it- something felt off.

“Kit?” Isabel called. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Katherine replied, shaking out her wrists as if they were crawling with caterpillars. “Just a little anxious, that’s all.”

Isabel paused the movie and turned to her completely. “About the prom?” She asked.

“What else?” Katherine sighed. “I texted Anna and she said everything was going fine, but still… I’m worried about Joan. I hope she’s having a good time.”

“I’m sure she is,” Isabel said. “You’re letting your Mum Friend status get to you too much.”

Katherine managed to laugh. “Maybe.”

She took out her phone and checked it for what felt like the tenth time that evening. Just like last time, there were no new messages. Just her reply from Anna after she reacted to the picture that was sent, which was marked as “read.” Anna must have been too busy having a good time to text back, which was good. She was giving Joan her full attention. But what if she wasn’t answering for a different reason…?

“Ugh--” Katherine collapsed down on the couch next to Isabel, who looked quite amused. “Anxiety SUCKS ASS.”

“Preach it, sister.” Isabel laughed. She patter her shoulder with a tender smile. “It’s going to be okay, Kat. I’m sure everything is just fine.”

But she was wrong.

------

“You really make all your own clothes?” George was asking with great interest. After Maggie had come around again and picked up the marked prom ballots, the group decided to take a small break from Spoons to let their maimed hands rest and stop burning. Now, they were just chatting idly, talking about random things as they waited for the score to be tallied up.

“Yeah, most of them,” Joan answered, nodding.

“That’s so convenient.”

Joan smiled shyly. “Yeah. Sorry I’m not better at conversations. I don’t have a lot of interesting stories.”

“No worries!” George said dismissively. “You’re much better company than most of the people here. Some of them don’t know how to keep a secret.” Then, he turned his head and shot an irritated look at a boy in a dark navy blue suit at a navy table. “And SOME OF THEM think very HIGHLY of themselves.”

The boy in navy blue whipped his gaze around and narrowed his eyes at George.

“I can HEAR you!” He shouted.

“We all can!” Piped up someone else.

“I KNOW.” George shouted back. “We’re in a GYM! But I’m having a PRIVATE CONVERSATION, so stick your nose somewhere else!”

“Then why did you look at me?!” The boy in navy blue cried.

“Because I was MAKING a POINT to my FRIENDS!” George snapped.

“You WISH you had friends!”

“Go suck a LIME!”

“Now, now,” A teacher chaperone said in a bored voice. “Settle down.”

George turned his head back to the table and smiled. “Anyway,” He said, his voice all sweetness again, “Where were we?”

The other three burst into laughter.

And then, silence was called over the gym.

“Attention, everyone!” Bessie said into the mic. “It’s time to announce the elected prom king and queen!”

There was a drumroll as Bessie excitedly pulled out a slip of paper from an envelope. Everyone held their breath in anticipation.

“ANNA VON CLEVES AND JOAN SEYMOUR!!!”

Anna, who had been mindlessly taking a sip from her cup, not thinking much of the election, spit her drink out in George’s face. Joan froze, her eyes opening wider than possible. All heads turned to her table. Gasps and murmurs whisked through the crowd. The gym went very quiet.

And then, there was a huge, booming, explosive eruption of applause that seemed to shake the walls like thunder. Everyone began to clap and cheer loudly, roaring into one big celebratory mass of noise. One person even yelled, “Yeah, go Anna! Go, Joan!”

Two student body members dressed in (school appropriate) togas, a boy and a girl, walked over to the table, smiling. Anna laughed and stood up with her arms spread in a queenly gesture of sorts, and the crowd went wild, shrieking their support. George, who quickly recovered from being sprayed with mouth soda, was beaming in pride for his friend and Jane looked both a little stunned and absolutely thrilled. Anna nudged Joan’s side and then extended her elbow for them to lock arms, but Joan did not get up. She was far too starstruck to stand at the moment, lost in the whirling of the radiant, overwhelming glee rocketing through her. She had never been clapped for before like this, nor had she ever been so joyful in her entire life.

Prom Queen. Her. Joan Seymour. She was Prom Queen. A queen. Royalty. Important. Her.

It was a dream come true.

Anna gently grabbed Joan by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet, effectively snapping Joan out of her daze. She still remained breathless and dazzled, however, as the entire prom screeched for her when she finally got to her feet. She nearly fainted from joy right then and there, but managed to cling to her consciousness. She grappled onto Anna’s arm, a smile coming to her lips that she knew would not be leaving for a while.

The two of them, escorted by the toga-clad student body duo, began to stride through the crowd, which parted like the Red Sea when they passed. The band boomed and swelled into a loud, upbeat melody. The audience continued to applaud and scream and cheer. Any sarcasm was lost to its cacophony; this was honest and deep and genuinely happy for the elected pair. Someone whistled. Someone else patted Joan’s bare shoulder as she passed by. Miss Aragon, at the edge of the trench of students, looked so proud.

Tears were welling up in Joan’s eyes. Her mouth was starting to hurt from smiling so widely. Has she ever smiled for this long before? She doesn’t think so. She hoped she wasn’t hurting Anna, she was hanging onto her arm really tightly. Anna didn’t seem to mind, though. The older girl was practically glowing in the fairy lights, like a goddess of sorts.

They reached the short flight of stairs to the stage, where Bessie and Principal Holbein were waiting. The thrones were pushed up to the front arches of the decorative Parthenon, glistening in the spotlights poised on the apron. They were inlaid with gold and fake jewels and were so much more breathtaking up close.

“Come on up, you guys!” Bessie shouted over all the noise. She beamed at Joan as Anna helped her up the steps, then turned to shake hands with Principal Holbein. “You look so beautiful! Congratulations!”

Joan couldn’t possibly must up a reply with all these endorphins sprinting through her, so she just smiled even wider, if that were even possible at that point.

She and Anna were whisked over to the thrones (but not without Bessie launching herself into Anna and hugging her very tightly). A silver scepter was thrust into Anna’s hands by the boy student body member in the toga, while the girl swept a furry velvet and sunflower yellow cloak with a puffy collar around Joan’s shoulders. They sat in the thrones and another ear-splitting bout of applause broke out.

Joan was glad to be sitting. Her legs were shaking and her knees felt weak. She was dizzy from shock and bliss and excitement.

(look at me Mama look at me)

(i made it)

(i did it)

The crowns were taken out on big wine red pillows. Both were encrusted with surprisingly realistic looking diamonds and glittered like captured rainbows in the light. Joan nearly sobbed when her tiara was set on her head and she reached up to touch it instantly, just to make sure it was there and real. And it was. The jewels were smooth and bumpy beneath her fingers. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anna grinning at her affectionately.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Bessie said energetically into the mic, “your king and queen on senior prom! Anna von CLEVES and Joan SEYMOUR!”

The audience howled. Anna laughed. She stood up and thrust her scepter into the air.

“Long live King Anna!!!” Someone yelled.

“SPEECH!!!” Someone else, George from back at the table, cried out.

Anna grinned brightly in his direction.

The band cracked and rose into a fever pitch as the school song was played. The audience began to sing along to the music, their hundreds of mixing voices spiraling into a cloud of haunting sound. Anna basked in it, her chest puffed out with pride, then turned and gently gathered Joan to her feet so she could bathe in the glory with her. Joan probably would have crumpled right to the floor if Anna hadn't helped her up.

It was such a dizzying feeling, being the center of so much positive attention when it was usually all so negative. All these people were cheering for her, Joan Seymour. And they didn’t look to be doing it mockingly at all. They liked her. They really, really liked her!

(i told you Mama i told you)

“Long live Queen Joan!!” Shouted the person from before.

“Queen Joan!!!” Someone else whooped gleefully.

Joan was shaking all over. She knew everyone could see that she was, but it wasn’t deterring their applause. They just kept clapping and cheering and singing, even as she quivered like a leaf in a hurricane.

But unbeknownst to her, among the crowd, Maggie Wyatt and Anthony Lee were smirking rather than smiling. Maggie kept glancing up every few seconds, which caught the attention of Jane, who began to sidle over slowly to see what she was looking at.

Bessie waved her arms and all the noise began to diminish. She turned to Anna and Joan, still grinning her head off.

“Your Highnesses,” She said, “your court requests you lead them in a dance!”

Like that, the cheering started up again.

The toga boy took Anna’s staff from her, but Joan’s cloak was left on. Anna extended a hand and Joan took it as the lights around them faded to soft blue and light purple. They walked slowly down the steps and onto the center of the gym floor, where they pressed against each other and began to dance in long, graceful movements. The band played an airy melody of violins and flutes, which Joan didn’t even realize they had, but she could hardly care. She was too wrapped up in dancing with Anna to care about anything at this point.

Her legs trembled, unsteady, unpracticed, fawn-like. Her head spins and her vision blurs with the opposite of vertigo. Her hands clasp tightly at Anna’s and her shoulder, like the older girl was an island out in a raging black ocean. Moats of silver dust float like moths in the rays of light beaming from the spotlight, and she had never been more awash in radiance.

Anna’s hand is warm on her waist and she looked up at her, dry lips parting with a slight pop. Anna tilted her head at her and smiled, the corners of her mouth held aloft by the spotlights. Her fingertips trail over Joan’s veins, bluer than hers, rivers snaking beneath her skin and crisscrossing the imperfect planet of her body.

But Anna doesn’t care.

Each sweeping step they take gave Joan more confidence and made the world come a little more into focus. This was all Joan has ever wanted- being held so gently, being loved despite her flaws, being wanted and needed and swayed like she is. Anna doesn’t care that she’s touching her, Anna doesn’t care about the roughness of her scarred palms, Anna doesn’t care that she wasn’t at prom with her girlfriend.

Anna cared about her and her alone. Nothing else in the entire universe mattered to her. And that was a dream come true.

Anna coaxed her closer in that honeyed voice of hers that makes Joan feel all fluttery inside, whispered that she wanted to show off to all these loons, and Joan does as she's told, tentatively placing one foot in front of the other, searching for stable ground as they whisked in loops inside the circle of students crowded around them.

“Anna?” Joan whispered.

“Yeah?” Anna looked down at her, still smiling with so much affection for her.

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Joan.”

Joan was still shaky but that’s okay. If she fell, Anna would surely catch her.

There was a blooming warmth on Joan’s hand and she looked at it, and that’s when everything fell to pieces. Shafts of burgeoning gold cut through soft silver and burst outwards, filling the gym in blinding yellow waves. Violin and flutes were replaced with a marching drumbeat. Silence turned to an uproar of cheering and clapping. The dance floor melted away and the stage rose up beneath Joan’s feet. And there was Bessie and the band and the two student body members in togas and Anna, now up there with her again. And there was blood. On her hand.

“Your Highnesses,” Bessie said, “your court requests you lead them in a dance!”

Joan does not hear her. She can’t even move.

Red. Blood. On her fingers. Blood.

Her blood?

Was it happening again?

Anna looked at her in confusion, eyebrows furrowed together.

“Joan?” She whispered. “Everything okay?”

Joan does not reply.

Like how Anna does not see the blood.

It was the size of a nickel American tourists would sometimes accidentally drop on the streets. Bright red against her pale white skin, like a ruby buried in fresh snow. Completely odorless in such a small quantity.

Blood.

Where did it come from?

Joan looked up shakily and time seemed to slow down so she, and everyone else in the gym, could watch as two buckets full of blood poured out in an unhurried manner to fall, splash, splash, splash, right over Joan’s head.

------

“Hail, Alma Mater,”

The singing of the crowd mixed with the band and all the cheering was a mess of noise in Anne’s ears. She grit her teeth in rage and glared down at the thrones, where the pig herself, Joan Seymour, was being crowned Prom Queen. With her tiara.

“Why are they still clapping?” Anne hissed.

“I don’t know, babe.” Cathy said uselessly. “Don’t ask me.”

Anne growled lowly in her throat and gripped the rope in her hands tightly. The smell of the blood wafting from the buckets was intoxicating.

“Oh, Mother, we salute you,”

“Are you going to pull it?” Cathy asked. “They’re there. The song is playing. Get it over with already.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Anne snapped.

“We proclaim out devotion,”

Anne’s hands were starting to shake. Her chest burned as she held her breath.

“I’m not pulling it for you.” Cathy said. “That thing can sit up there ‘till hell freezes over.”

Anne elbowed her hard in the stomach and her girlfriend reeled backwards in pain.

“As we set our dreams into motion!”

“Your Highnesses,” Bessie said from below after the school anthem ended, “your court requests you lead them in a dance!”

Anne leaned forward and yanked the cord with both hands.

For a moment, there was slack, making her think Cathy fucked up the set up to get back at her, that the rope was attached to nothing but thin air, that Joan fucking Seymour was actually going to get away clean.

But then, it snagged and jerked away from her grasp, leaving a thin rope burn across her palms. The buckets tipped and glorious red fell free. She peeked over the edge to watch, then turned to Cathy, smirking widely in victory.

In the darkness, Cathy looked horrified.

And in the light of the stage, someone screamed.

------

Two weeks after the Black Prom, Elizabeth “Bessie” Blount, would write this for the detectives,

“I had been looking at the crowd when the buckets came, but I turned fast enough to see a majority of it. It got EVERYWHERE. Joan got the most of it. She looked like she had just been dragged out of a river of blood. There were barely any spots of pink left on her dress. But us onstage got some of it, too. Anna was wearing a white tux. She got splattered. She looked like she was in a murder scene. I got splattered, too. My dress and my chest and my face. And for a moment, when my mind flashed back to the showers on Friday, I wondered if this was period blood. It was clearly a prank of sorts, so did whoever planned this (which I now know was Anne), get a bunch of girls to squat over some buckets and bleed into them just to dump it out on this one chick?

But then I realized that it didn’t smell like period blood.

I don’t think any of you or anyone else who wasn’t there really understand the smell. It wasn’t just an awful sight--it smelled, too. Like--like...it’s so hard to explain. It smelled like blood, but blood that has been left out in the sun for a week. Like rotten meat. Have you ever smelled rotten meat? It was like that.

And it also wasn’t just blood. There were organs and pieces of organs, too. I don’t even know what it was, but there was a strip of /something/ on my face. But Joan was covered in guts. Intestines hanging from her shoulders, mushy livers and kidneys caught against her dress, a stomach snagged on her crown. There were even testicles. One missed her, but the other hit her in her head and then bounced off.

Joan was still for a very long time. She had been looking up, so her face was dripping and her eyes were closed. Then, she opened them and things all went to hell from there.

I look back on this a lot. I know it wasn’t that long ago, but it’s always so fresh in my mind. I got my period two days ago and I /cried/ when I saw the blood. Because I wonder, if I had been a little bit nicer, would it have never happened? I know that’s wishful thinking, but I still wonder about it all the time. I do that a lot, now. I just think about what happened. And it gets worse each time.

I wish about a lot, but I never wish to stop the Black Prom. I just wish I had died in there with everyone else. I could kill myself, but it wouldn’t be the same, you know? I was left alive for a reason, I think. It’s a punishment. Unless Joan thought I was innocent enough to let go. But I don’t think so. So now I have to live with what I did and what happened because of it.

I would like to see Anna again, though. I wish I got to say goodbye to her.”

------

She was covered in it.

Blood.

Whose blood?

(my blood)

The smell was overwhelming. Like rotten meat left out in the summer heat for several months. The taste was worse. She didn’t want to describe it. This blood did not have the same metallic tang of normal blood. There was something very, very wrong with it.

The blood was thick, half a liquid, half a solid. It was coagulated and clotted, thick chunks caught in her hair and eyelashes and dress. It drooled down her chest, between her breasts, and over the flat expanse of her stomach.

Everywhere. It was everywhere.

In her ears and her nose and her eyes and her mouth.

Blood.

Something else splattered down against her, too. It made a loud slapping sound when it hit her head and made her tiara crooked when it snagged on the points. Something long and squishy draped over her shoulder while something else went down the back of her dress and fell out the bottom with a wet /plop/. They all had a very rank, ripe scent.

Joan’s eyes were closed. She had been looking up, so her face was completely drenched. Her dress was ruined, dyed to a deep scarlet instead of a pale flamingo pink. Her hair was soaked and dripping and red, retaining no hints of the original platinum white-blonde. The cloak around her neck looked like a freshly gutted dog, and it fell heavily to the ground at her feet. Rivulets of red ran down her arms, oozing off her fingers and into the crimson lake all around her.

One by one, the clapping stopped, the cheering died off, and the smiles fell until the only sound was the creak of the two ropes the buckets were attached to and the splattering of blood on the floor. Nobody moved, nobody breathed, nobody spoke a word.

And then, Joan’s eyes opened.

Something was glowing behind those twin orbs of grey-blue.

Joan slowly raised her hands and stared at them, watching tiny rivers of blood snake down the palms. Her breathing picked up slowly, faster and faster and faster, until her body was heaving with the weight of her panting. Her eyes darted around- at Anna, spattered in red beside her; at Bessie, wide-eyed and bloody; at George and Jane, horrified; at Miss Aragon, with her mouth hanging open; at Principal Holbein, shocked into stillness; at the audience, silent. She looked down and saw the blood, then the guts.

She was covered in guts.

Intestines hung from her shoulders, several pieces of pruney and wrinkled pink tissue clung to her dress, a stomach was caught on her crown.

Guts.

Someone spilled guts on her.

Blood and guts.

Something itched in Joan’s throat, and when she opened her mouth, a whimper came out.

And then a cry.

And then a scream.

She screamed a horrible, nightmare-haunting scream that reverberated throughout the auditorium and jammed itself into the ears of the audience. It cut off after a moment and she stared at her hands again in horror, hoping they would be clean, but the red still remained. She tried to scrub at her arms, but the blood only smeared and coated her skin even further. She whimpered and keened loudly, scratching and clawing desperately. Someone in the audience snorted.

“WHAT THE HELL?” Anna roared in fury. She was the first to snap out of the terror-stricken trance, and now all she felt was outrage. “WHO DID THIS?”

No answer. Someone snorted again. A few people murmured. Heads whipped around frantically.

“WHO DID THIS?!” Anna screeched again. She looked around and spotted something in the wings- Anne and Cathy. She snarled lowly, like a dog about to bite, then took off after them when they fled.

Like that, with Anna’s jarring sprint into motion, the trance that had descended over the gym was broken. People began to exclaim in shock and whisper to one another. A few took out their phones to take pictures. Maggie Wyatt and Anthony Lee snorted and then burst into howls of laughter.

And people joined in.

They were laughing at her.

(Mama was right)

Joan felt her body start to seize. She went hot and then cold and then hot again until she was freezing. Her heartbeat hammered in her chest, racing faster and faster and faster until she thought it would burst apart.

“Pig, pig, pig, pig!” Anthony bellowed through bouts of laughter. “Sweet pig, pig, pig!”

(Mama was right they’re laughing)

(they always laugh)

“Freak! Freak!!” Maggie shrieked in giggles.

Everything was starting to bleed together. A blur of black and silver marched through the crowd below; Jane Parker slapped Anthony hard across the face.

Joan gasped.

Miss Aragon and Principal Holbein rush up to the stage, along with George Boleyn and Jane Parker. The whispers are swelling into a full thunderstorm of murmurs, but she can’t make them out. Her ears were too clogged with blood to really hear.

“Joan?” Jane called out, and her voice was but a distant echo. “Joan, can you hear me?” She waved a hand in front of her face.

Miss Aragon gently touched Joan’s shoulder, brushed away the tangle of intestines caught against it. Her nose was twitching; she could smell the overwhelming stench of the rancid blood and guts, too.

“Joan? Joan, sweetie, talk to me. It’s Miss Aragon.” The coach said.

But Joan does not awaken from the strange state she’s slipped into.

The adrenaline is making the strain on her body bearable, all the beautiful chemicals coursing through her veins as she flexed her powers.

That, and the anger.

It all made her so angry. Her mother. Her treatment at school. Her life. Who she was.

Fifteen long years of being the good Christian girl. Of turning the other cheek. Of enduring and bearing. Of being patient and understanding and letting things go, always letting things go.

It gets old. So fucking old.

She was tired of it.

The pillars of the Parthenon began to quake. The decorative spires and sculptures on the gym floor soon followed. Joan sent her powers through their mass and ripped them into chunks. The pieces locked together in the air like a growing puzzle until a long body was created. Wings from the ripped mural canvases, a tail of ice and marble, curved claws chipped from stone, sharp spikes torn out of chair legs, and a piece of the fire alarm and DJ booth attached to the back of the throat.

Everyone stepped away and stared in horror as the dragon thumped to the ground on its back haunches and let out an ear-piercing roar.

“Say. Hello.” It spoke in a gargled voice. “Everybody. Say. Hello.”

And then, a pipe from up above was ripped free and sailed straight into Maria de Salinas’s heart.

August had thought they had been scared when the buckets dropped, but not even that fear could rival the absolute terror pumping through them as they stared at the bleeding corpse just a few feet away. Several people were starting to run, but they couldn’t move. It wouldn’t matter anyway; all the doors were locked. They could hear students shouting over it in a panic all around them, through the screaming.

They looked up at Joan Seymour’s bloody form and realization dawned on them with a jarring shock.

She’s going to kill us all.

The pipe pulled loose from Maria’s heart with a spurt of blood. Joan peered at it curiously, as if it were a new pet. A moment later, it flew around and jammed itself through the spot that connected the second victim’s jaw to her neck. It went all the way through and left her nearly decapitated, spasming wildly on the ground before death overcame her and she stilled. Then, the pipe spun and sailed straight through a boy’s stomach.

By this point, full pandemonium had erupted throughout the entire theater. Everyone was running around screaming, panicking, crying. They’re trampling over each other like caged cattle—and they very well may have been, because they were all going to burn like the filthy cows they all were.

This is our punishment, August realized. For bullying her. We did this.

They looked up with tears in their eyes. The head of the conjured dragon turned to them slowly and creaked open its jaw.

“Repent, repent, repent, repent.” It said, and then smashed its talons over August’s head.

Nicola couldn’t even scream when August was crushed right before her eyes. Their body crumpled like a compressed can; she could hear their bones snap and break beneath the heavy weight of the strange monster’s talons. When the claws were raised, there was a huge splattering of blood and mushed organs, which oozed slowly off stone nails in droplets of liquid ruby and rose quartz.

August was dead.

Joan was not done killing yet.

Nicola dove behind an upturned table and tried to steady her ragged breathing. She yelped when someone collapsed down in front of her.

“Ari!” She cried.

Ari, shell shocked, but uninjured, scrambled beside her, ducking low for cover. Their eyes were wide and mortified.

“What--what the fuck is going on?” They whispered. Each word sounded like it took great effort to speak through heaving breaths. “What--is--happening?!”

“I-I don’t know!” Nicola replied.

Near the buffet temples, the flying pipe stabbed through a girl’s neck. Nicola shuddered and hugged her knees.

“She’s killing us,” She whispered. “She’s killing us all.”

“Oh god,” Ari muttered in horror. They pressed a hand to their forehead. “You know what, Nicola? I-I don’t want to die!” They laughed shakily, tears brimming in their eyes.

“Shh. You’re not allowed to die.” Nicola said, and Ari managed a tight smile.

And then, the pipe flew by and put itself directly between Ari’s eyes.

The table tipped backward, along with Ari’s body. The pipe pulled out with a squelch and squirt of blood, leaving a gaping hole all the way through Ari’s head. Nicola vomited, she couldn’t help it.

“Monster,” She whispered raggedly She glared at the stage through tears. “You’re a monster!”

Joan twitched, but didn’t look at her. Nicola braced herself and prepared for the pipe to come around and take her life, but it didn’t. It was currently embedded in the stomachs of two students at once. No, instead, her executioner was a snake that rose up from one of the candles.

Nicola’s breath caught in her throat as she watched the flaming serpent coil out from the candle. It was huge, with bright golden eyes and a tongue that spewed embers when it flicked out at her. Then, it opened its wide jaws and came at her faster than lightning.

Pain. Blinding pain. Blinding, unbearable pain.

She was on fire.

Her dress exploded into golden plumes almost instantly, with her hair following shortly after. She could feel the fabric of her gown fusing with her flesh as it dripped off her body like wax. She screamed and flailed helplessly, but it did nothing to help her. The serpent consumed her.

A thick shoulder smashed Violet into a rigid back. Boots stamped down on one of her feet. She heard a screech of pain that sounded like someone from her Economics class. She caught a glimpse of Principal Holbein trying desperately to calm everyone down. Someone grabbed her forearm, and she turned to see Lara, staring at a raging snake made of fire.

“Oh god,” She whispered. “What do we do?”

“I-I don’t know!” Violet said. “We can’t escape. The doors are locked!”

“There has to be another way!” Lara cried. “D-don’t say that! There has to be!”

Nearby, a kid burst into flames when the snake coiled around him. The dragon jumped into the fray, shaking the entire gym when it leapt to the ground. It lashed its huge tail, connecting with a large panicking group of students and sending them sprawling with an awful symphony of breaking bones and splitting skin. It trampled over kids as it made its way to the tree and climbed to the top.

“Respect me. Respect me. Respect me.” It said over and over again, flaring out its wings. Its mouth did not move when it spoke, rather just hung open like a snake spraying venom.

Violet and Lara backed away, getting pushed and shoved and nearly separated in the process. They clasped their hands together and watched as fire began to spread through the ripped murals against the wall.

This place was going to burn to the ground.

“JOAN!!”

The pipe, which had taken lodging in the back of a blonde girl’s skull, flashed through the air and cleaved into its next victim’s stomach, silencing them.

Lara gasped and buried her face in her talons.

“Oh no,” Violet whispered. “Oh no, no, no…!”

Anna coughed and was startled to taste blood. She touched her lips and her fingers came back red. Then, slowly, her hands slid down to her stomach, where an even bigger patch of red was spreading across her tux.

There was a pipe in her stomach.

Her vision blurred and she collapsed to her side, gargling on her blood.

“Anna!!”

Joan was there, even bloodier than her, grey-blue eyes wide. Her hands hovered around the pipe, then pulled it out, sending sharp bolts of pain through Anna’s entire being.

“Anna, Anna, no--” Joan stammered. Tears flooded down her face. “Anna, no--”

“J-Joan--” Anna coughed. She raised a bloody hand and Joan clasped it in her own.

“Anna, I’m so sorry!” Joan said. “I-I didn’t mean to…” She glanced at the gaping red horror in Anna’s stomach. “I didn’t mean to…”

“I know,” Anna said. “I-I know you...you didn’t…” Everything was starting to blur together.

“No, Anna, don’t die!” Joan begged. “Don’t die! You can’t die!”

“Think...think I still have a shot at being a singer?” Anna choked out a laugh that was thick with blood.

Joan sniffled and nodded tearfully. “Y-yeah, of course.” She said. “Y-you’d be the best!”

Anna smiled weakly up at her. Her brain felt very fuzzy all of a sudden. The pain was getting worse.

No. No. She cannot die, not now, not after all she’s done. Surely she won’t—the wound is likely not nearly as terrible as it felt, or this is some nightmare and she’ll wake up any moment, and there will be no more blood and George and Jane and Joan will be teasing her for falling asleep at prom and then they’ll go to the Blazer.

She doesn’t wake up.

And now she can’t breathe--her chest heaved and she gasped and coughed, and suddenly her throat felt very hot and full and it’s terribly uncomfortable.

She doesn’t want to die. But it hurt too much.

“Joan--” She rasped. “I-I can’t--”

“No.” Joan said through gritted teeth. Then, she softly pushed Anna’s head up to look at her. The spotlights glowed around her and made her look like a blood soaked angel. “You‘re not dying today. Not here.” She sniffled. “Not in my arms, Anna.”

Anna frowned and parted her lips, gasping for air so loud Joan’s own air almost got pulled out of her lungs.

“Please.” She begged quietly. “You have to--”

The rest of the words didn't come out, but Joan’s face paled and she understood.

“No, Anna,” She whispered. “No. Not after I--”

“I-it hurts, Joan.” Anna said.

“I-I can fix you!” Joan said, shaking her head. Blood from her hair splatter everywhere. “I-I can sew your wound! I-it’s gonna be okay!”

Anna shook her head sluggishly. “Joan,” She whispered firmly. “You can’t. You know that.” She lifted a quaking hand and wiped away one of Joan’s tears, smearing the blood already on her face. “Don’t--don’t be--sad.”

“W-we were supposed to w-watch that movie together,” Joan whimpered. “And have a party. You can’t die, Anna.”

“I’m sorry,” Anna breathed out. Then, quietly, she said, “I love you.”

“I love you.” Joan said back

Anna’s face lit up, regardless of the pain. “You’re incredible,” She said.

Joan cried harder.

“Don’t let--don't let this--w-world tell you--otherwise, mh?” She said. “Don’t let it--it ruin--you.”

“Anna, please.” Joan sobbed. “Please, please don't go. I-I need you. You--you brought me back to life.”

“And I’d do that again--and again..and again--”

Anna was delirious. She caressed Joan’s cheeks with her thumbs, and Joan leaned her forehead against hers. Joan let the silence between them fill the void she started feeling inside of her for a few seconds, but her sobs soon came back, filling the stage’s space. All around them in the gym, the panic of students and teacher chaperones was unified into stillness. They were all watching transfixed in shock and despair.

“Thank you,” Anna whispered.

“F-for what?” Joan asked.

Anna smiled. “For giving me the best night of my life.”

Anna’s neck snapped. Joan knew where to send her powers into her spinal cord to make her stop crying. Hurting.

To make it all stop.

If someone had asked her to do this, she would’ve killed herself. She would kill herself for Anna a thousand times. Over and over. She would let anyone torture her, use her, hurt her, however whenever wherever they would like to. But Anna asking her to end her suffering… She could not bear this. She could not bear her pain...not this one.

Not like this.

The one person who ever truly cared about her. The one person who genuinely wanted to be around her… She killed her.

Joan let out a long, keening whimper and began to rock back and forth, cradling Anna’s upper body against her chest.

If they only could’ve had more time. If they only could’ve had some more time to spend together, some more time to share, some more time to be friends. In such a short period of time, Anna had turned into the big sister she never knew she wanted or ever had. She wanted to be next to Anna forever and always. She wanted to be with her and her friends and even Katherine.

But it didn’t matter now. Anna was dead. And no amount of power was going to bring her back.

Joan cried for several long moments, clutching Anna’s corpse. Fresh blood mingled with the blood coating her entire being. Warmth was slowly draining out of Anna’s body.

And then, something itched in her throat and, holding Anna closer, she tipped her head back.

The thing that overcame the silence was just a noise, one that had been boiling up in Joan’s chest for hours; long before she had gotten blood dumped over her head, or walked into prom, or even got invited to prom at all.

Joan didn’t yell a whole lot, never had. She’d always had the tendency to quietly brood when her temper ran high or her spirits low, something that had helped facilitate her transformation over the years of torment and torture. So in reality, the noise that was escaping her right now was one she’d been holding back for a very long time.

It sounded stupid. But it felt good.

So she kept doing it. Screaming. Over and over again until it just turned into one long roar of agony and fury and anguish.

Intimidating or not, effective or not, when a sound was being uttered over and over by a teenage girl who’s been living the closest thing to Hell that could exist on God’s green earth, a teenage girl covered in blood with wild eyes, a mangy body, and a lifetime worth of pain...

It was a goddamn battle-cry.

Joan gently placed her flower crown on Anna’s chest, situating her limp hands to where they were holding on it, then stood very, very slowly as if she were underwater, or her muscles were buckled into place. Her movements weren’t right- they were too twitchy and abrupt like a robot with rusted limbs. And her eyes—god, her eyes… They were wider than humanly possible.

She stood, dripping with blood, tears still streaming down her cheeks, and stared out at the audience.

(i’m going to kill you all)

Someone should tell the Devil she was going to room with him because she was about to turn this place into a living Hell.

Grace period ended with the striking of the flaming snake. A poor boy in a dark purple tux burst into flames, and screaming erupted all around him once again.

“Oh fuck! Oh god!”

“We’re all going to die!”

“Open the door!”

“Somebody call 999!!”

“HELP!!!!”

Madness. It was pure madness.

(nobody will EVER laugh at me again)

She imagined storming into the school and screaming her head off at the inconsiderate teachers, the rude students. She’s a smart kid, dammit! She’s been in school as long as everyone else, and she’s very good at it. No more questioning her, no more arguing or trying to make her look foolish, no more bullying.

And then, it happened. Within the space of the gym, it happened. Absolute mayhem.

She imagined setting fire to the entire school, not caring about how much money it would cost to fix it. Just to hear the crackles of flames, just to watch the people scramble, just to be the chaos instead of the shield against it.

Roaring flames tore along the walls of the gym, thanks to Judgement. Her dragon at the top of the tree helped by fanning the fire with its giant wings, throwing embers all throughout the room. Students squealed when they were burned, music to Joan’s ears. Someone crumpled to the ground, charred as black as night. Someone else with their tux on fire was screaming for help. Several burned corpses lay half in, half out of the firestorm, so melted and disfigured that their gender could barely be made out.

She imagined stalking into her classes, kicking the door open like she would sometimes try to do with the prayer closet. She would watch class jump in surprise and fear, not just staring at her like she’s her mother’s trained puppy.

Her fingers clenched and someone’s head popped like a balloon, splattering bits of brain and bone all over the faces of the people around them. They all shrieked in horror. Someone else yelled in a higher register, and Joan realized it was some guy coming at her with a knife he must have snuck into the party. She couldn’t touch it, but she could feel her power surging through her fingers and she leaned into it, snatching the knife right out of the boy’s hands and making it cut murderously across his throat like the widest, most bloody smile in the world.

She imagined punching Anne in the face, hearing the crack of her nose. Better than any of the bullshit Christian music her mother makes her listen to.

And then, relishing it, she imagined dunking her into water until she couldn’t breathe, she imagined stealing Bessie’s clothes and leaving her stranded naked in a bathroom stall for hours, she imagined tripping Maria in the hallway and having her break her jaw on the way down, she imagined putting a snake in Maggie’s shoe and watching her howl and foam at the mouth when it pumped her full of venom.

Who’s the boss now? Who’s the tough one, who doesn’t take shit, who doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want, ever?

She imagined growling into all of their ears as she tore into all of them and didn’t care how much of a devil it made her.

How do you like me now?

Being strong, and bold, and standing up, taking what she wants when she wants it, for the first time in her goddamn life. Because, before this, she would have never done any of that stuff she imagines.

She never did that.

She never defended herself or stood up for herself or fought back.

She only endured and endured and endured like a good little girl, like Mama wanted, like how Mama made her.

It's what's best for her. What's best for everyone.

But not anymore.

Never again.

Joan reached out her powers and found Maggie among the panic.

(never again Maggie never again)

(you will never hurt anyone else ever again)

She coiled her powers around Maggie’s shoulders and clenched down. When the grasp was tight enough, she began telekinetically pulling away from Maggie’s body. Instantly, Maggie was alerted that something was very wrong when her arms raised outwards against her will. She fought against Joan’s power, but was much too weak, and began to scream loudly at the strain on her flesh.

“Maggie!” Anthony yelled in shock. “What’s wr--”

Joan halted his sentence. She didn’t want him speaking anymore.

She found his organs after a quick moment of searching and vacuumed them upwards. Anthony gagged loudly and clutched at his stomach. His throat bulged like an anaconda was trying to slither out of his body, and then his guts came pouring out of his mouth.

Everyone shrieked much louder than they were before, or at least those not completely panicking. Anthony’s stomach splattered to the ground first, then his kidneys and liver, large intestines, and then his small intestines, which didn’t make it all the way out and dangled from his mouth like a half eaten snake. He collapsed into the pool of his own insides, empty and very much dead.

“Anthony!!” Maggie shrieked, tears pouring out of her eyes. A moment later, her arms ripped off of her body and began spewing blood everywhere. Delicate bones poked out like stars on a dark night from the fresh openings against her shoulders. She would bleed to death quickly, and Joan left her to die on the floor, hoping it would be painful.

She looked around, noting how many people were still left alive. She watched Judgement corral three students, one of which fainted from terror. He set them all on fire and then whisked off for new prey. The girl who fainted woke up screaming, but the screams didn’t last very long.

Where was Anne?

(she ran)

(coward coward coward)

She had to go after Anne.

Joan got into the sprinklers overhead and activated them. The spray of water felt amazing over her tingling skin. The blood, mostly dried, began to run in red trails, but she knew it would do little to really clean her the way she wanted it to.

(i’m coming Anne)

But first, she had to finish what she started.

Violet took one step too close to the white tree where the watching dragon was perched. Having spotted her, the dragon roared a challenge, extending its wings in a brilliant display of dominance.

The roar it made was earth shattering.

Violet was still recovering from the roar when the dragon jumped down and its spiked forearm slammed into her chest, catapulting her backwards. It went after her, crushing several students into nothing beneath its talons, then pierced her with its tail, leaving her dangling several feet from the ground. Rich, ruby red blood drizzled from the razor sharp point.

She felt faint, the pain radiating through her like a dull ache as the dragon slowly brought her around, its beady white glass eyes fixed on her. She tried to wriggle free, but the sharp edge of the tail tearing into her unresisting flesh caused her to slide further down the blood-streaked appendage. The tail grated through her organs, cutting clean through them. She coughed blood and moaned weakly. Everything was starting to spin.

“Violet!!” Lara cried from down below.

Violet coughed blood again. The dragon lashed its tail and sent her flying free. She hit the floor roughly, hearing several bones snap, and then went very still. The last thing she ever heard was the sound of Lara’s skeleton being crushed in the jaws of the dragon.

Aragon was rarely ever scared, but the mayhem that had erupted throughout the gym nearly had her paralyzed with fear. For a moment, as she watched the destruction break out, she felt as though she couldn’t breathe, especially when she saw Anthony Lee spill his guts from his mouth, but when the sprinklers kicked on overhead, she put her head back on her shoulders.

She had to get out.

Amid the chaos, she saw a flash of white and purple- Bessie. She hurried over to the bleach-haired student, who was in the middle of a pretty bad panic attack, and grabbed her by the shoulders.

“Bessie! Bessie? Bessie, listen to me!” She shook her shoulders. “Come with me, alright?”

Bessie, unable to muster up any comprehensible reply, nodded. Aragon took her hand and began guiding her to a set of side doors that weren’t as blocked off as the rest of the exits. However, they were just as jammed as all the others.

“Fuck!” Aragon hissed, yanking on the handle.

“Wh-what do we do, Miss Aragon?!” Bessie whimpered, shivering.

Aragon looked around desperately, then located a vent up near the ceiling nearby.

“Get a chair!”

Bessie obeyed and grabbed the closest, most stable chair she could find. Aragon stood on it and ripped off the vent cover, then hopped back down. She had to let her kids go first.

“Go!” She shouted over the pandemonium. “Hurry! Get in!”

Bessie didn’t hesitate. She kicked off her heels and stood up on the chair, scrambling into the vent as quick as she could. Several other students who were smart enough to come over followed her in. By the time it was her turn to climb in, the sprinklers had cut off and the ground was covered in a layer of water.

Joan stepped off of the stage slowly. With every step she took, the water around her spread away so she would be walking on dry ground. Above her, the electrical equipment holding up the spotlights crackled, and Aragon realized what was about to happen.

“EVERYBODY, GET OFF THE FLOOR!!!” She screamed.

Aragon leapt up onto the chair and flung her arms inside the vent. As she was pulling herself up, the chair flipped and she was left dangling above the ground. And, at the same time, the electrical equipment exploded into sparks and fell to the floor.

It was horrifying. Absolutely horrifying. She watched her students spasm as they were electrocuted and then drop to the ground like birds with broken wings. Hundreds must have died, and she would soon join them. Any second now, her arms would give out and she’d plummet into the electrically charged water, joining the kids as a corpse inside the gym.

Her life began to flash before her eyes, surely thinking she was about to die. But then, a strange, unseen force began to lift her up and tuck her gently into the vent. When she turned her head, she saw Joan looking at her with shining eyes.

25 notes · View notes

thrushpot · 5 years ago

Text

punch-drunk love

Billy Hargrove x fem reader

“dUDE drunken confessions are my favorite trope!!!! I can so imagine a post-starcourt billy au with a reader who maybe was his friend beforehand but they never really acted on their feelings. the reader gets a phone call at like 2am and billy's just like "listen,,remember all those hours we spent in detention with mr kaminsky? I would do it all again if it meant just sitting beside you because sometimes I look at you and I just see goddamn gold. are you sure you're literally not the sun??" requested by anonymous.

word count: 2,454

warning(s): swearing, drinking

a/n: HECK YEAH MAN I wrote this shit up in like two hours, and I’d even be open to continuing it to like a part two if anyone wanted. drunk Billy in fics is always angsty and mean, but I wanted him goofy and soft!! thank you for adding cute ideas to the drunk call trope <3

—

Billy huffs as he clumsily grabs the next bottle and unscrews the lid with his teeth, spitting it out on the ground carelessly and taking a good chug. It quit burning his throat as it went down a while ago, and now he just feels the weight on his shoulders finally give out. His body wiggles as he tries to stand up from the couch he’d been surfing the whole night, and he gives a lighthearted chuckle to himself at the pleasant buzz flowing. It’s getting to that point of his binge drinking where mistakes are going to be made. He has a persistent urge to break the rules, to do something he’s never had the courage of doing sober.

After no thinking at all, because who the fuck needs a brain when you’ve got booze, he picks up the phone and dials a number he’s sure as shit hasn’t forgotten and will never forget. A smirk plays on Billy’s face, a cocky, shit-eating grin that spreads like he’s the goddamn Grinch and even shows the whites of his teeth while twirling the telephone wire similar to a schoolgirl calling their crush. It rings for about thirty seconds, until he’s hung up on and directed to voicemail.

“Fuck! Don’t be a fuckin’ drag, Y/N. C’mon,” he whines as he kicks the cabinet by his knees, then hangs up and spins the rotary dial to yours again. He licks his upper lip deviously and takes a sip from the bottle he had opened, and waits for your sweet voice on the line again. All hope is lost when there is no answer once more, so he just curses and nearly chucks the phone out of desperation. Billy also thinks of leaving another voicemail this time around except more lengthy and demanding, something to grab your attention and make you talk to him again. That’s all he wants, after all. It’s been months since he’d even seen your pretty face sitting in the desks sideways, and he regrets not kissing the smile you always wore when he had you right there in front of him in detention every week.

Before getting to know you he’d settle for trying to make you laugh in the bleak silence of Mr. Kaminsky’s classroom, attempting to balance a spoon on his nose or throwing paper airplanes your way. Billy figured you were just laughing at his antics out of politeness but didn’t care to actually speak to him, that is until you threw a crumbled piece of paper at him one sunny day in regular boring shitsville of Kaminsky’s. It took him by surprise, considering it flew right to his face while he was zoning out, and he reacted by flailing in embarrassment before exclaiming a defensive “WHAT THE HELL?”. It was the most unique companionship the boy had ever had that followed after your laughing and pointing a finger at him. He had to give it to you, it was pretty funny. When he recovered from your attack, he shook his head with a small grin as he unwrapped your note, reading “heads up” in that adorable sloppy handwriting.

After that, the rest is pretty much history. Billy was hooked to goofing around with you more often, and you both always made it a point to get in trouble just to spend time together in detention. Considering this wasn’t hard at all for the blonde boy, getting into fights with guys or taunting the girls, even falling asleep mid-lecture, detention was another place to call home. You, however, chose how and when you got caught.

Billy never really did gather up the courage to say what he was thinking about day or night, how pretty he thinks you truly are and that you don’t even know it, which makes it that much more special. Not to mention the countless numbers he’d done howling with laughter at a comment you made, feeling like he just got a workout after laughing so much. He never got to tell you that those moments are all he’d look forward to day in and day out. That if his dad smacked him around if he misbehaved the slightest bit at home, or if teachers were ruthless and judgemental in every class, then he could take all that. He could take the whooping and the ass beatings and the name calling, if it meant he got to spend two hours fucking around in detention staring at you. A place where nothing is supposed to happen, and no one interesting usually attends.

Billy’s made progress gulping half his bottle, now picking at a protein bar from the kitchen, trying and failing to open the impossible wrapper. He almost decided on just eating the whole damn thing, fuck the wrapper, until the obnoxious blaring of the telephone rings. He’s quick to react, as drunk as he is, and tosses the snack he planned to scarf down before tripping to get to the phone. He picks up and holds it to his ear.

“Hello?”

There it is, that voice again.

“Heeeey. Hey there, little miss thing. It’s Billy Boy,” he draws out each word, trying to sound suave even if he hiccuped a little when he greeted you. Copying the same movements he did when he first tried ringing you up, he tangled the wire between his fingers and stared at the table dreamily, imagining you in your comfy clothes. Smiling and cozy.

“Woah, uh, hey Billy. It’s been a little while, what’re you up to calling this late?” you inquire over the phone, and he pictures you rubbing your eyes before stretching and yawning and he just wishes so bad that he got to see that madness.

“Mm, no no no. I’m curious about what you’re doin’,” he replies suggestively, smacking his tongue in his mouth.

“What? I’m sleeping, dude. I’m all for this reuniting thing, but could’ya please just have waited ‘til morning like a normal human being?” you say, growing a little frustrated at the randomness of the call and his ambiguous intentions.

“No Y/N! It’s top secret stuff, believe me. Fucking important that I call you now, at,” he bends over backwards to check the clock that glows on the microwave, “two fifteen in the morning. We never just talk like we used to, y’know since we graduated and all,” Billy complains like a petulant child, not hiding it in his voice that he’s pouting.

There’s a second of silence, and he slurs out your name to see if you rudely hung up on him again, until you speak.

“Are you calling me drunk?”

“Nuh-uh, silly goose. I never said that you were drunk,” he snorts, having to regain his balance after getting too excited and almost falling over with the phone still tucked in his right shoulder. He hears a long sigh being let out on the other end.

“Oh for fucks sake—“

“You always get so mad when you’re cute, d’you know that? Wait. I mean, fuck, lemme try that again,” the boy squints and puts his fingers on his temple to try to focus. “You’re really hot when you’re mad. There. Nailed it,” he finishes.

“Oh my gosh, you poor thing. Dude, you’re shit faced,” you crack up. “This is gonna be even funnier in a few hours. Not for you, I mean, you’ll probably have a killer hangover, but I for one am enjoying this.”

“Oh yeah? You like it, don’tcha cutie pie?”

“Sure do. Tell me more, Casanova.”

“Mmm yeah, I’ll tell you more. Right after you tell me what you’re wearing,” he chews on his lip, thinking that this is all going perfectly to plan. You double take, then decide to play along just for shits and giggles.

“Okay, you asked for it. I have my old Hawkins High gym t-shirt on, and some Spider-Man sweats on too. Oh, also some slippers, because the floor is cold,” you finish, hoping he’s satisfied.

“Noooo, c’mon. Fuckin’ lame-o. I wanna know what’s underneath,” he whines after not getting the kind of answer he wanted to get. Getting horny was always a given when he had a couple drinks, but what with having absolutely no filter and you right there on the phone, he’s getting irresistibly antsy. Wishing you were right next to him, so he could claw at your clothes and whisper his dirty thoughts into your neck.

“Fat chance there, hot-shot. What was it you were saying before? Oh yeah, about how I’m awesome and beautiful. Wanna keep goin’?”

“Ugh. Fine. If y’like lame sweet talk, then listen up, sweet cheeks. Remember all those long hours in Kaminsky’s? That old man would bitch at me for breathing, and like, existing. So, like the fuckin’ moron he is and the fuckin’ nuisance I am, I would get assigned to be there every day. I coulda ditched lots of times, just sneak through the window if he turned his bald head around or somethin’. But I never did. ‘Cuzza you. In fact, I’d do it all over again. Wanna know why?”

Billy’s now crashed into the nearest chair by the island in the kitchen, staring up at the ceiling and itching his crotch like the drunken mess of a boy he is. The clock on the microwave now glows the numbers 2:28 AM.

You’ve been stunned to silence, not quite knowing whether to laugh anymore or take what he’s saying truthfully or with a grain of salt. They always say that after someone’s had a few, that those are the times they spout about what’s really on their mind all the time.

“I-I don’t know about this, Billy.”

“Nope! Try again,” he giggles, putting the phone in a comfy spot nestled by his ear as his clumsy hands struggle to unbutton his shirt more for better comfort.

“...Cause of, cause of me?” you peep, unsure of yourself.

“Ding ding ding! Give the pretty girl a prize!” he claps his hands when they’ve fully undone the confines of his t-shirt, then laying back and sinking impossible further into the chair. He reaches for the bottle that has yet to be finished, and licks his lips as he realizes how thirsty he is for more.

“Billy don’t — stop it. Stop drinking, I can hear you. You’ve had enough,” you calmly advise, growing more nervous at the heavy weight this whole conversation has thrown at you. Since when did Billy feel this way?

“Aww, takin’ care a me. Such a sweetheart,” he marvels, blushing but keeping the bottle in his grasp. “You wanna know somethin’ else?”

“No, I don’t think I do. Not until we can discuss this when you haven’t been drinking.”

Billy chooses to ignore that and goes on.

“I’d just — when I looked at you, in detention, where we were like a thousand percent of the time together, I just. Can’t help but see goddamn gold. You’re the goddamn sun, you know that? I’m talking to the sun right now,” Billy suddenly wants to be held and nurtured, feeling tears well up in his eyes and his nose begin running funny. He doesn’t feel so good anymore.

Things are quiet on your end. Billy doesn’t know what your silence means, but it doesn’t seem too good.

“Y/N? When you looked at me, d-did you ever like, feel the same way? Look at me like that? Like I’m the sun?” he asks, desperate for your validation and then sniffled as the tears now started running down his cheeks in waves. He’s a hot mess.

“Billy... you never talked to me outside of detention. Like I didn’t exist, or I wasn’t cool enough to hang out anywhere else. I never knew...” you trailed off, trying to fight off your own tears and the overwhelming feeling his confession had given you.

“Y-You were so cool, I woulda hung out with you more if I wasn’t such a fucking bastard, or such a goddamn coward. But I miss you, and I wanna kiss you everywhere and I wish you could hold me all th’time,” his self pitying erupts to sobs as he finally lets go of the bottle that he clutched between his hands. It rolls into the floor, thankfully not breaking on the way down, but the contents begin leaking out onto the rug. Billy has yet to notice, still fumbling over his words and thoughts. He regrets getting this blasted now.

“Billy?”

“Hmm?” he mumbles, still not quite over himself as he hugs his bare chest, shirt still remaining open.

“Of course I looked at you like were the sun. Anybody who didn’t, like Kaminsky, or your fake asshole friends, they all don’t matter, okay? Please let me know if you’re hurting. Have you been home alone drinking?”

“Yeah, I have. And, and’ya really actually mean it? That stuff you said?”

“I would never lie to you. I’m really tired, and I’m so sorry for doing this to you, but I have to get back to bed,” you say, reluctantance in your tone as you sigh prettily in his ear once more.

“I’m gonna, I’m sleepy too. Real sleepy. Talk soon?” Billy asks, sounding about as hopeful as a child on Christmas Eve.

“Yeah. I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?”

“Mmmkay. G’bye, pretty girl.”

You let out a breathy laugh at that, then say your farewell, advising him to drink a glass of water and take an Advil before hanging up. The blonde drunk is absolutely exhausted, the whirlwind of emotions that you and the alcohol had put him through had knocked the boy right out. He face plants into the cushions of the couch for a minute, getting close to sleep until a sudden twinge in his gut pulls him up awake. He then makes a run for the bathroom, slipping on the spilled booze on the floor from earlier, and barely makes it in time. He pukes up all the drinks he had for a good five minutes, heaving sickly into the bowl and helplessly clawing at the toilet seat for a better grasp.

Once he’s sure that he has nothing left in his stomach to give, he sits up and scoots to the wall for support, wiping his mouth and hissing in disgust at the bitter taste it left. He gets comfortable even in an odd position, sitting up with his back against the wall right next to the toilet, and decides that this is where he’ll sleep for tonight. As Billy yearns for a much needed deep drunk sleep, he mumbles to himself under his breath about Y/N and her smile and the sun.

—

edit: there will be a sequel, writings in progress ! do not panic I swear this isn’t supposed to end bleak and depressing, I just wanted to show Billy being a hot mess. at first I kinda thought oooh this ending’s fine, if ppl want a sequel ig ill do it, but after reading it over myself I kinda went “the fuck?? this boy deserves to be happy” so I'm gonna do it. if anyone wants a tag as usual, just let me know ! & thank you for the sweet comments and reblogging, I can't be more thankful:)

#billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove #stranger things #billy hargrove imagine

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fioress · 4 years ago

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chicago’s very own fiore gattuso has been spotted on madison avenue driving a 2020 bentley continental gt v8 in red , welcome ! your resemblance to lorenzo zurzolo is unreal . according to tmz , you just had your twenty first birthday bash . your chance of surviving new york is uncertain because you’re impatient , but being cunning might help you . i think being a libra explains that . 3 things that would paint a better picture of you would be bloodshot baby blue eyes, long drives without a specific destination, getting high by the beach. ( i have been conning money out of older women and men ever since my parents disowned me ) & ( cismale + he/him )

tw : abuse, homophobia

full name : fiore emiliano luca gattuso ( first name pronounced fee-oh-reh, also see here! )

nicknames : fifi, emmy ( by people who know his middle name ), some people might say... flower boy ( fiore literally means flower in italian ) 😳

gender : cismale

height : 5 ′ 8

age : 21

birthday : october 14 , 1998

zodiac : libra ( leo moon, aquarius ascendant )

right handed or left handed : left handed

eye color : baby blue

hair color : basically dark blonde / light brown

piercing & tattoos : the libra symbol on his left wrist, a cartilage piercing on his right ear

languages spoken : italian ( native tongue ), english, spanish, sicilian ( after many summers spent in his parents’ summer house in sicily )

sexuality : bisexual

place of birth : napoli, italia ( naples, italy in english )

last 3 songs listened to : dimmi che mi ami by dj matrix ( a full on fucking italian boy tbh ), talk is cheap by chet faker, west coast by lana del rey

character inspo : maxxie oliver from skins u.k , adam groff from sex education ( think season 2 adam ), alyssa foley from the end of the fucking world, david rose from schitt’s creek, michael kelso from that 70′s show, a mix of nick miller & winston bishop from new girl, maeby funke from arrested development

♡ so fiore was born to an american mother named lindsey harrison & a fully italian father named gian gattuso. his mother is a very well known politician & his father is heir of a very popular gas company, literally named gattuso gas ( yikes lol ). besides that, he is also a preacher. without saying much, his parents are very well off

♡ fiore grew up with anything he’s ever wanted ( materialistically, of course ). besides that, his parents genuinely weren’t the best of people. his mother stole millions from the so called campaigns she ran & was a generally very corrupt politician, his father treated his employees like shit & was a pretty hateful person altogether

♡ they were people who expected a lot out of their only son, which made fiore feel an insane amount of pressure from the very start. at a very young age, he showed characteristics lots of boys his age didn’t show. he did things like peeing while sitting down instead of standing up, preferred to play with dolls instead of ‘boy toys’, favored the color pink, got along better with girls, preferred to watch shows that were considered ‘girly’, etc etc.

♡ they were very harmless things honestly, things that most parents would laugh about & turn a blind eye. however, fiore really wasn’t that lucky when it came to his parents. any time he would do anything his parents claimed a ‘normal boy wouldn’t do’, he would get a huge lecture & a beating to go with it. needless to say, he learned to hide a lot of who he really was from a very young age

♡ he did a lot of things to seek the approval of his parents. he wasn’t smart academically ( dumb boi 101 tbh ), but he tried to make them happy in other ways. fiore was never fond of sports at all, but he started playing tennis at seven years old, because it made his parents happy. truth be told, he hated tennis with every fiber of his being, but again, he did this, simply because it satisfied his parents

♡ fiore grew up trying to be the perfect son, considering the fact his parents were very much in the public eye of everyone. it was all smiles for the pictures, but behind closed doors, he really wasn’t the happiest boy ever

♡ simply put, he has always known that he likes boys. he likes girls too, don’t get him wrong, but he knew, literally since he could remember, that he also had a thing for guys too. of course, he knew this wouldn’t settle well at all with his extremely strict & religious parents, so he buried his feelings incredibly deep

♡ he has a lot of charm & wit & found himself getting into relationships quicker than most of his friends. he briefly dated a girl when he was fourteen, but it was when he was sixteen that things really began getting, dare i say, spicy?

♡ there was an american boy new to his very #elite school & if you guessed it, they began to date! yup, his first boyfriend at sixteen years old. fiore was basically living two lives at this point. at school, he was himself, loud & proud, but when he got home, the facade began. the way he would switch up as soon as he entered the front door to his house was honestly shockingly scary

♡ he really felt himself falling in love with this boy even though they were both fairly young. they snuck around forever. when no one was home, he would sneak him into his room to have sex, sneak out of his house when his parents were asleep, all that fun stuff. their relationship was forbidden ( at least to fiore’s parents ). this is where it gets juicy af tho, hear me out

♡ so one day, fiore & him get really really drunk & honestly? video record themselves having sex! 😊 they didn’t do this to post it anywhere or show anyone or anything, they really just did it for themselves. they made a few copies & kept it for themselves ( stupid boys, i know! ), but they really felt like they would get married & all that gooey lovey dovey shit so they did it because yolo i guess? this is where it gets peak #juicy

♡ so fiore & him are walking back from practice. this is a time where fiore knows no one is home & no one is coming home for a while, so when they get to his house & see his father’s car parked outside, he lowkey panics a little. of course he makes the guy leave & goes inside to see what’s going on

♡ his father asks him to come upstairs & surprisingly, leads him into his room. he says something along the lines of ‘i just want to show you this so i can hear your explanation on what the fuck this is’ & this is when fiore’s entire life practically takes a 360. his father turns on his tv & legit starts playing his sex tape with his boyfriend. just picture this though; your extremely religious & hateful father & you sitting on your bed, watching your gay sex tape with your boyfriend

♡ obviously, this news isn’t well taken by his father. to make a long story short, he gets his ass beat. like, literally almost dies type shit. when this happened, he was seventeen, almost eighteen. he knew if that was ever discovered by his parents, it wouldn’t go well, but he really didn’t think them discovering his sexuality would be that brutal

♡ his parents basically disown him at that moment. they bought him a ticket to chicago & told him they never wanna see him again. it’s sad, but he packed his things & left in two days to go live with his cousin in chicago. citizenship wasn’t a problem because he had dual citizenship due to his mother being american

♡ it doesn’t really take an expert to figure out that fiore did not take this move well at all. for months, he was really depressed. he wouldn’t go out & would just lay in bed for the longest time. he was really hurt by everything that happened & it took him a while to recover. he has also lived in italy his whole life & wasn’t really used to life in america at all, but after like the fourth month of just feeling sorry for himself, it was his cousin who snapped him back to reality

♡ slowly but surely, he began putting himself out there. his english honestly #sucked when he first got to america, but it’s gotten a lot better since then ( he still has a pretty deep italian accent though ). at first, he began working at a pizza place, but fiore slowly began to realize how much he despised working. his entire life, he received everything on a silver plater with pure golden spoons, so this? he was for sure not used to it at all. again, his life completely did a 360. he went from living in a three story mansion in the most prestigious part of rome to living in a very shitty part of chicago, broke almost always, & working a job he hated with everything he had, splitting rent with his cousin

♡ fiore did not want this at all for himself. it wasn’t until he went out clubbing ( fake id & all ), that one his friends showed him the wonders of conning people. they walked into the bar with twenty bucks and left with four thousand dollars

♡ quickly, fiore began to learn his friends’ ways. his looks, personality & his thick italian accent helped him tremendously; it was like people literally couldn’t get enough of him. soon enough, he was conning & finessing the fuck out of older men & women for their money. he once walked into a casino with five dollars and walked out with over twelve thousand, & it was only because he stayed for like an hour only

♡ finessing people became a huge hobby of his. it was with all this money that he bought himself a luxury car & jump started his model & influencer career. it was also with this money that him & his cousin ditched chicago & moved into a much better apartment in new york. with his looks & persona, he gained followers like crazy & posted videos on youtube as well, getting sponsorships & recognition easier than he expected. he was literally living off his looks & his personality & honestly? he was here for it!

♡ there is still a part of fiore that has a lot of issues & trauma. honestly mommy & daddy issues af, but he doesn’t talk about this at all. no one really knows how he came up or where his family is & he keeps it this way, dodging questions about his personal life as much as he can

♡ in a way, he is kind of relieved with everything that happened with his parents because now, he’s completely free to be himself & do whatever the fuck he wants, knowing very well they can’t really touch him now. of course, it still left a mark that he’s never going to be able to erase or forget ( both in his heart & on his body too ), but he feels free for once in his life & he’s honestly kind of happier now

♡ relationship wise, he really doesn’t commit to anyone. after practically being forced to leave his now ex boyfriend at almost 18, he kind of feels like he doesn’t deserve love? it’s really fucked up but he’s genuinely convinced that no one is ever going to genuinely love him or want to be with him so he just avoids any romantic relationship of any kind, usually just hooking up with people & then leaving as soon as it’s over. the truth is that he really does want to be loved, accepted & cared for by someone he loves, accepts & cares for as well, but will it ever happen if he continues pushing people away? probably not tbh

♡ he is a fucking drinker & hella pot smoker!! legit give him some alcohol & weed he’s happy. he always has either one on him, or both tbh

♡ this is all that’s coming to mind rn but underneath is his bio!!

fiore was born to lindsey and gian gattuso in naples, italy. from a very young age, he showed characteristics most boys his age didn’t show. he would pee sitting down, every time he would visit his cousins, he would rather play dolls with them instead of ‘boy toys’, favored the color pink, watched things that were considered ‘girly’, etc. of course, this never settled well with his extremely religious parents, and every time he would do something even remotely different than a ‘regular’ boy would do, he would get a huge lecture, and a beating to go with it. that being said, fiore was quick to learn to hide a lot of who he really was. he absolutely despised tennis, but he played it anyways, and he did it, simply because it made his parents happy. the gattuso’s had a ton of money, so he played tennis in nearly all of europe. he has always known that he likes boys, maybe even a little bit more than he likes girls. literally since he’s had a sense of judgement, he’s just known. of course, he kept this a secret, practically living a double life, being himself at school and someone completely different at home. it didn’t take long for him to get a boyfriend, and soon, he found himself slowly falling in love. secretly sneaking him into the house when his parents weren’t home to have quickies, holding hands with him down the school hallways, and even lying to his parents and telling them he was going going to tennis practice just to hang out with him. however, one mistake costed him, well, everything.

they were drunk and goofing around, and decided to record themselves having sex. it was innocent and pure, both of them just making love to each other in the rawest, loveliest form. the two boys made copies of it, and fiore kept one for himself. one day, when he was trying to sneak his boyfriend into the house, he saw his dad’s car parked outside, which was odd because he was never home around that time. his boyfriend left, and he went to go investigate. his father was beyond calm, and bought him up to his room. his room. fiore was confused as his father told him to sit down on the bed, and soon, his worst nightmare became a reality. his father began playing his damn sex tape on his dvd player, and to say he was mortified was an understatement. he was humiliated, and most of all, afraid. it came without much warning, but soon, his father was throwing punches to his face, his stomach, everywhere, dragging him down the stairs just for it to continue. all he saw was blood. for the first time in forever, fiore truly felt like he had hit rock bottom. they took away his cellphone, any type of technology he had to communicate with was gone, and before he knew it, he was being shipped off to america, completely cut off by his parents.

fiore definitely didn’t take the move so well. he was a depressed mess. he wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t sleep, and over all, just felt out of place. it took him a pretty long time, but eventually, he began adjusting. of course he was still super hurt over everything that had happened, his parents cutting him off, him being away from his now ex boyfriend, his first true love, but time luckily healed most of his pain, and soon, he found himself bettering his english, making friends, and fitting right in. at least he didn’t have to play tennis here. living with his cousin wasn’t so bad either. they constantly smoked, drank like there was no tomorrow, and he even managed to land him a job at a pizza delivery place. fiore hated this job though, but after a night our with friends, he found himself learning the art of conning and finessing older men and women. he does this like there’s no tomorrow, the money he made from all these schemes helping him jumpstart his career as an influencer and model, which bought him back to his typical luxurious lifestyle. fiore is just trying to get by, one day at a time.

extra spice:

#wealthyhq:intro #i rlly am a clown tbh LMFAOO

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hopelessromanticspoonie · 5 years ago

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As You Are

Chapter: Beyond MIdgard (Chapter 3 of ?)

Co-authors: hopeless_romantic_spoonie, yespolkadotkitty

Summary: While in Asgard, Loki has a haunting secret he needs to reveal to Spoons.

Entire series found on Ao3 here :)

A/N: Co-written with my smut sister, @yespolkadotkitty

Taglist: @vodka-and-some-sass @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @myoxisbroken @nonsensicalobsessions

Warning: There be smut ahead.

“And I find another mortal in my court,” Odin finished, his one good eye staring out at his sons.

Loki folded his arms over his chest and did his best to maintain the bored expression he’d trained himself to wear around his father. He glanced at Thor. The golden boy of the pair nodded once, imperceptibly, and Loki knew that whatever his faults, his brother would have his back on this, if nothing else.

“I did not bring her here for you to judge, Father.” The word dripped with snark and Thor subtly elbowed Loki, reminding him to show a little respect. Loki ignored the jab. He wasn’t going to take any insults for his dear Spoons, let alone from Odin.

“Then why did you?” Odin asked imperiously. “And where is your mortal dalliance, Thor?”

His brother’s face tensed. “I have asked you on several occasions not to speak of Jane thus.”

Odin merely raised a brow like he’d heard all this before, and wasn’t interested in any opinion other than his own.

“I brought her here so she would know Asgard. Where I was raised. So to speak,” Loki finally said, his voice echoing to his own ears in the chamber. “She is… I love her.”

Odin’s eyebrow raised further than Loki had ever seen it in his lifetime. “You think you love her, boy,” the old man rumbled.

“‘Tis true, Father,” Thor intoned quietly but firmly, brokering no argument. “I have never seen Loki so… At peace with himself.”

“Is that so?” Odin asked, his tone lazy, like he cared not for the answer whatever it was. ��And what about when she grows weak and old, as Midgardians do? What about in the Winter of her mortal life? What then?”

Loki pressed his lips together. To tell Odin that he planned to ask for the apple would surely mean the tyrant destroyed every one he could find out of spite for the stolen child he had taken long ago during wartime.

But to say nothing….

He glanced at Thor, feeling a kinship with his brother that hadn’t been there for some time. Years. Their love for mortals had brought them together again, and he was grateful for it.

“You mean to ask Frigga,” Odin murmured, his eye narrowed in appraisal as he stared at his sons - united in their affections for mortal women.

“Yes.” No hiding it now, Loki thought, frustration simmering in his belly. “If you have anything to say, say it here, or forever hold your tongue.”

“Oh, I have plenty to say,” Odin began. “But little of it that you will want to hear, to abide by. You have ever forged your own path, regardless of my opinion of it, Loki.” His eye raked down his adopted son’s long form. “The mortal knows, I assume? Of your Jotun heritage?”

Loki shifted uncomfortably. She knew. She hadn’t seen. But that would not matter to someone like her. Would it?

“Of course,” he lied, the words falling smoothly from his lips.

“And she has seen your true form and loves you, still?” Odin pressed, settling his weight back on his heels, his brow arched in disbelief.

Loki nodded, not trusting himself to speak the lie out loud. They hadn’t exchanged such proclamations of love, but he would not rush it. That small facet of information did not need to be made clear.

“Father, enough,” Thor commanded quietly.

Odin bristled at his son’s tone but inclined his head. “As we have concluded business, we should return to your mother.”

As they walked together from the throne room, fury coiled tightly in his belly. The shred of doubt had been planted by his poisonous father, and it festered.

~~~

Tension immediately seeped out of your tightly-wound frame when Loki stalked into the garden. The conversation had taken a turn for the serious with his mother, and you were far too exhausted and a little too pained to uphold your politeness beneath such scrutiny, however gentle and well meant, for too much longer.

“Getting along well, are we?” Loki asked, coming up to the duo. He embraced his mother with one arm, pressing a light kiss to the side of her head before releasing her to do the same to you.

“We were just having a lovely chat, woman to woman,.” Frigga graced the pair with a warm smile, her serene face giving absolutely nothing away as to what you’d discussed. The woman had serious game.

You slipped your hand into the crook of Loki’s elbow, leaning on him lightly as the travels of the day weighed down on your aching body. Traveling through the Bifrost, riding on horseback, walking around the expansive palace, and the added strain of meeting the King and Queen of basically everything you knew to be had taken its toll on your body. His face revealed what had probably been a stressful conversation with his father as well, if the crease between his eyebrows and the taut muscles beneath your hand were anything to go by.

Frigga tilted her head in her regal, enigmatic way. “Loki. I’d wager your guest needs some time to recover after the journey, and a moment to acclimate to Asgard. Perhaps you should take her to your quarters to refresh herself.”

Thank goodness. An excuse to take a moment away with him wasn’t one that you were going to turn down. “I’d love to see your rooms.”

“Who am I to turn down such a request?” Loki asked, giving you a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Before you could reflect on that, he bowed his head lightly to his mother and led you off back in the direction of the castle.

As you walked with him, you took notice of the small differences in how he was received compared to his mother. Instead of warm smiles and bowed heads, he was met with cold stares, and the backs of subjects you passed turned away to focus on meaningless tasks. The response made your blood boil in your veins. He should be afforded all the respect of his family, who were greeted with open happiness or at least admiration, at each turn - even Odin, miserable as he seemed. You held your head up higher, showing without words your pride in being seen with the dark prince, despite the nagging pain lighting up your legs, pulling your shoulders back at the confused glances sent your way.

If you weren’t already an oddity for being a Midgardian, then your appearance on Loki’s arm, wearing his colors no less, certainly did the trick.

“And these are my chambers,” Loki said quietly, breaking your train of thought. He pushed open two imposing, elaborately carved golden doors, releasing you from his grasp so that you had the opportunity to explore as you pleased.

The suite was grand, the visible area alone larger than your entire studio apartment doubled. The beautiful Asgardian skyline was visible through high stone arches leading out onto a grand terrace, illuminating and reflecting off golden accents dotted around the room. His signature colors of green and black raced over the lush bedspread covering the largest bed you’d ever seen, complete with intricate wrought iron headboard, the heavy drapes covering the walls, and a plush rug that was spread out in front of a dark fireplace. And each wall was covered with bookshelves full to the brim with books of all different thicknesses and colors, itching to be plucked from the rest and perused on one of the two elegant wooden chairs currently soaking up the sunshine on the terrace.

He hovered behind you, waiting for your response, giving you space as you slowly walked about the room. Your feet carried you in a lackadaisical path to the bed, stopping to brush your hands over a stack of thick tomes, pausing to admire a small display of daggers. You sat down on the soft mattress with an audible sigh, the giving cushion beneath you most welcome.

Loki closed the doors behind himself, locking them with a loud click before turning to you once again. His shoulders were practically up to his ears as he shoved his hands behind his back, and his eyes stared holes in the stone wall behind you. His jaw was set, a muscle ticking there occasionally, revealing the gears silently turning in his head.

“What’s wrong? Conversation with your brother and Odin not go so well?” you asked, patting the bed next to you invitingly. He was so far away, lingering at the door of his rooms like a ghoul, and you craved the comfort of his touch to soothe your frayed nerves.

His eyes flitted down to yours, reading your expression thoroughly as if he could see into your very soul with his penetrating gaze. “It was to be expected. He is a stubborn old man set in his ways.”

It wasn’t much of an explanation, but it seemed the only one he was going to give at this time. Maybe a lighter topic of conversation would help ease his anxieties a bit? “Your mother seems lovely. She’s very… perceptive.”

The barest of smiles tugged on his lips, and he took a few steps closer to you. He brought one hand up, scrubbing it over his face, revealing a fatigued expression in its wake. “I…” he shook his head, putting his hands on his narrow hips and dropping his chin down to his chest as he puzzled over whatever was bothering him. His eyes were shuttered.

Stifling the moan of pain that wanted to creep up from deep inside of you, you heaved yourself up off of the bed, closing the distance between you so that he was forced to look into your eyes. You reached out to take one of his hands gently, trying to reassure him with your touch. “You can talk to me, Loki. What’s going on?”

He pulled his hand away to cross his arms over his leather-clad chest, closing himself off from you. Hesitation was written in the tightness of his eyes. After several lengthy moments of silence, he turned his back to you, addressing the wall, his words cold and stilted as if practiced. “I am not Asgardian.”

“Well, I know that. Everybody knows how you and Thor aren’t really brothers, but that doesn’t mean anything. At least it didn’t seem that way to your mother. She seemed to love you very much when we were talking,” you replied slowly, trying to get to the root of his problem. Your hand settled lightly on the dip of his spine between his shoulder blades, trying to maintain a physical connection to break through whatever was plaguing him.

“No. When I say that I am not Asgardian, I mean to say that I am from another realm. Jotunheim, to be exact,” he corrected you, firmly, but without malice to harden his tone.

“Okay… So you’re Jotunheimian?”

Your hand slid over his back to stop over his heart when he turned around to face you again. “I am Jotun. The creatures that inhabit that world are called Frost Giants-”

You cut him off with a smile. “-That explains the height.”

“Just listen to me, please,” he snapped, voice raised to almost be considered a shout. You jumped back at the suddenness of it, your hands curling into your chest protectively, and his face softened immediately. His long-fingered hands set about undoing the various stays and ties holding his armor on his slender frame.

Heat flushed onto your cheeks. He wanted to get naked now...? “Loki, maybe now isn’t the time.”

He rolled his eyes. “I am not trying to seduce you, kitten. It would help,” he dropped the heavy clothing to the floor behind him, “if you could see more of my body to make my point.”

You felt the weight of his stare as slowly, a blue tint crept across his exposed flesh, starting from the waistband of his pants, creeping up his body until it replaced every inch of creamy skin. You lifted your eyes to his, startled when the deep green you had come to know was replaced with a bright burning red. The intensity of his pleading stare, the pain and vulnerability, held you captive as his arms stretched out from his sides.

“When we first spoke, I mentioned knowing what it was to be different to those around you on the inside, but appear as everyone else on the outside. This is what I meant. I am this creature, a monster I was raised to despise and view as lesser than beings from the other realms,” he admitted, his voice deadly quiet, as if he spoke any louder it would frighten you away. “I felt it prudent to reveal my whole self to you before… Before our relationship progressed any further. To give you the choice to care for me, or not, with all the facts laid out before you.”

Your eyes left his, darting out to the sunlight streaming over the balcony invitingly. An idea formed. “Can anyone see us if we go outside?”

“No, one of the few allowances I am granted as a prince is that of a private terrace,” he replied slowly, dark brow furrowed.

“Can I see you in the light?” you asked, offering him a gentle smile, taking a few steps in that direction and holding your hand out to him.

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and nodded, taking your hand and guiding you outside. You didn’t let go of him once you were able to see him in his full glory, instead pulling him so that your back was supported by the rough stone wall and he was positioned in front of you.

He was glorious. The bright light only highlighted the various shades of red shining in his eyes, and the lighter blue ridges that were scattered across his skin. Deep down he was still Loki, still the wonderful man who had taken your heart for his piece by piece, with each kiss and smile and poetic utterance, and this didn’t change that. One bit.

You tugged on him so that he stood close enough for your other hand to skate along his abdomen, the muscles there fluttering beneath your familiar touch.

“You care for me despite the limits of my physical body, yes?”

The smallest of grins tugged on his indigo lips as he looked down at you. “I do, very much.”

You brought your entwined fingers up to your lips, peppering light kisses over his knuckles. “And I lo-” you stopped yourself from uttering that word. You couldn’t handle that sort of rejection when you were already overwhelmed by your surroundings. “And the hold that you have on my heart is no different. You could be purple, or yellow, or have multicolored eyes, and it wouldn’t scare me away. I have news for you, pal. You’re stuck with me, Loki, whether you-”

He cut you off with a searing kiss, pinning your body between his and the palace wall behind you. The outpouring of his relief and joy was tangible, felt in the way his tongue sought entrance into your mouth and his hands skimmed along your sides to hook beneath your thighs and lift your legs to wrap around his waist.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, tangling in his long raven hair as you deepened the kiss, warmth flooding your body from the gentle rocking of his arousal into your pulsing center and tongue exploring the depths of your mouth expertly, coaxing soft moans from you.

His heated touch seared your skin as he dragged his lips down your jaw to the pulse hammering in your throat, kissing and sucking on the sensitive flesh with just enough pressure to send tendrils of electricity sizzling to your core. Panting, you tapped on the back of his neck, knowing that you couldn’t hold this position for long but not wanting to break the moment for anything. “Bed. Now.”

A pleased hum thrummed through your skin where his mouth had sealed over your collarbone, and he supported your weight easily as he carried you inside and to the bed, gently lowering your back onto the expansive surface without breaking his hold on you.

Your heavy-lidded eyes fluttered open to take him in as he left you on the bed to stand beside it, his porcelain skin and green eyes having returned, watching him as he quickly shed his pants to reveal nothing underneath, his cock springing to attention against his stomach. Hunger darkened his gaze as he knelt beside you, his calloused fingertips rasping against your skin deliciously as he helped you shed the remainder of your clothing until you were both bare before the other.

“I must have you,” he growled, voice raspy and deep as he settled himself between your spread legs, sliding his arms behind your back to press your bare chests together. The rub of his skin against your pebbled nipples made you hiss through your teeth at the almost agonizing thrill of it.

Your hands found purchase on the cut of muscles at his waist, and you squeezed him gently, shaking your head. “Not like this. In your Jotun form,” you commanded breathlessly, wanting him to know that you fully accepted him, no matter what appearance he held. "Please."

The briefest flash of shock was wiped away by the strongest awe you had ever seen grace his face. Murmuring your name reverently, he claimed his mouth for yours just as he slid inside of you in one slow and steady motion, filling you completely and breaking the kiss so you could both gasp for air the other had stolen. As he did so, the now familiar blue swept over his body, complete with the beautifully patterned, ridged skin.

His forehead fell onto your shoulder as his back bowed over you, his steady thrusts just the right angle and speed to heighten the pleasure slowly tightening at your center. His teeth grazed against the heaving top of your breast, sending chills down your spine. The almost punishing pace he set meant you could do nothing but hold onto him, hands clutching at the flexing and rolling muscles of his back, as you both climbed towards the peak of your euphoria together.

One arm unwound itself from beneath you to slide between your bodies, seeking out your hardened nub of almost over-stimulated nerve endings that throbbed with the rapid drum of your heart, rubbing it furiously to give you that last needed friction.

With a cry that echoed throughout the vast room, your orgasm washed over you in a wave that had you clenching around him, milking his completion from him as well. Your name tumbled from his lips in a loud groan, barely muffled by his mouth against your sweat-dampened chest.

Carefully he collapsed onto the bed beside you, pulling you so that you were half-lying on top of him in one smooth motion. Your legs tangled with his and your arm draped across his chest naturally, a position that you had assumed many times before until your back protested. It was comforting to listen to his racing heart slow beneath your ear, feel his chest expand and contract as his breathing returned back to normal.

You traced your fingers over the swirling ridges on his still-blue skin, marveling at the deep colour and the pleasant texture. He was beautiful.

“Thank you for visiting Asgard with me, love,” he murmured, stroking the length of your spine languidly, hushing the ache leftover from his avid lovemaking.

Love? Surely he hadn’t meant to use that endearment; he was simply sated and exhausted from his efforts. Choosing to ignore it, to not let yourself hope that his feelings matched yours, you tilted your head to leave a light peck on his sternum. “With a reception like that, I will return anytime you want," you replied cheekily.

"My mortal minx." He snuggled into you, his cheek pressed to your hair. "I would not change you for all the treasure in the Nine Realms."

As the two moons rose together beyond Loki's private terrace, you slept as Asgard settled around you, the scones in the palace going out one by one, until only starlight remained.

#loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki smut #jotun loki #jotun!loki smut #loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki friggason #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #loki fluff #hopelesswrites #as you are #yespolkadotkitty #thor #odin

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oohfluffy · 5 years ago

Text

DDND Ep. | KJI

Group: EXO

Member: Kim Jongin

Theme: Fluff | Dancer!AU | Dormmmate!AU

Word Count: 3,148

❁ Epilogue: With You ❁

After 4 years...

"Hmm..."

You whined as the warmth from behind you left you in the cold.

"Yeobo..." You mumbled quietly, turning to him.

"Shh. Just go back to sleep, I'll cook breakfast. You've been overworking yourself lately. Let me serve you, baby."

You smiled sleepily as Kai gently kissed your forehead before completely getting up from the bed. As you heard the door closed, you got back in your dreamland instantly.

"Breakfast's here."

You lazily opened your eyes, getting blessed by the wonderful sight before you. You giggled as you observed Kai's outfit.

"Why are you wearing an apron without anything underneath besides your boxers? Are you seducing me, you devil?" You laughed as you pointed at him, all your sleepiness got thrown outside the window. Kai smirked at you, putting the bed tray on top of your legs after you've sat up straight.

"You like it, babe?"

"No. Go and put some clothes on. It's cold."

Kai pouted, sitting down beside you as he grabbed his plain white t-shirt hanging on the headboard of the bed, wearing it as you've commanded.

He's such a submissive husband to you.

Not at night though, if you know what I mean.

"You're cold, yeobo." He mumbled as you picked up the chopsticks on the side of the bowl. Kai cooked bibimbap, making you slightly giggle at the heart-shaped egg on the center.

"Thanks for the meal, Kai." You smiled at him, making his pout turn into a grin. He leaned towards you for a good morning kiss when you put a spoonful of rice in your mouth. You chewed slowly, winking at him as he poked your cheek.

"I'll get back at you, yeobo." Kai murmured, smiling as he watched you happily gulp down his cooking.

In the middle of your conversation with your husband—

Yes, Kim Jongin is now your husband.

It's been a year since your unforgettable marriage with this guy. After 3 years of studying to become a professional Pediatrician in Singapore, when you got back in Seoul, you got married to this devil dancer. Kai patiently waited for you as you've told him to, preparing the plans in making his own school. Soohyun, his older brother, got back before you two went to Singapore before, going back to being the President of the company as the heir.

Currently, Kai has started the building of his own Performing Arts School a year and a half ago, where talented students can hone their skills efficiently and effectively in the future, with the help of his friend, Engineer Park. The building's almost finished, maybe by the end of the month, it'll be complete already. It's not that small nor too big, it's simple but elegant-looking on its exterior, but when you get inside, you'll feel at home and comfortable, just as Kai wanted it to be. After your marriage, you two lived in a simple house in Seoul, just large enough for you two and your future children.

In summary, everything's going well for the two of you.

You're still not pregnant though, if that's what you're thinking.

Your phone suddenly rang, making Kai frown as the familiar ringtone filled the room.

"Don't tell me—" Kai stopped speaking when you raised your hand at him and quickly picked up the call.

"Yes?"

"Doc, there's an emergency here about the patient from last week. Please come—"

"I'll be there in a moment."

You sighed as you quickly put the bed tray on the side.

"Please wash the dishes for me, baby. I've got to go back in the hospital." You caressed Kai's cheeks with a smile. "I'm sorry, I can't spend this weekend with you. I'll be back before dinner."

"That's fine. I know you've got your hands full and..." Kai looked away from you, getting the bed tray and standing up. "...just as long as you come home to me, I'm fine."

"I'll make it up to you soon, okay?" You said with a hopeful smile, Kai just hummed in reply as he got out of the room. You got worried about Kai, thinking that you're often abandoning him because of your non-stop working hours. You knew he kept this weekend free of his work, so he can spend his time with you, but here you are, instantly ruining the day the moment you woke up. Even though he's got so many things to do at work, he still manages to clear a few days for you.

You groaned as you ran inside the bathroom to prepare yourself for another hectic day.

"I'm going now, yeobo." You called out to Kai while wearing your flat shoes by the front door. Kai quickly ran towards you with a lunch box on his hand.

"Here, your lunch. Don't forget to eat, alright? I'll wait for you."

You brought your arms around his neck and pressed your lips on his, pouring your longing and passion in the kiss. Kai wrapped his arms on your waist, pulling you closer as he reciprocated your action, tilting his head to have a better angle to kiss you.

Ghad, he missed you so much.

"Come back home quickly, okay? I'll be a good boy here." Kai mumbled at your lips as he stared into your eyes after your heated kiss. You grinned, nodding as you pecked his lips one more time before pulling away.

"Yes. I'll be back with a treat then." You winked as you got the lunch box from his hand. His eyes twinkled as he heard the word treat, knowing that it'll be his favorite.

"I'll look forward to that, yeobo!"

"You should, my househusband." You giggled as you waved at him, watching as he whine at your nickname for him.

Even though you two just meet only in the morning and at night often when it's a weekday, your longing for each other's presence just gets stronger and it'll pay off as weekend comes. After all, your love for each other doesn't decrease just because you don't see each other often, it's just increases as time passes by.

I probably should do something for him.

♫ ❧ ♫ ❧ ♫ ❧ ♫ ❧ ♫

"Dr. Kim! Are you okay?!"

As you heard your assistant pounded on the bathroom door of your office, you groaned. Your head throbbing as you leaned on the wall after vomiting on the toilet. Your stomach felt like it was squeezed, forcing out your breakfast this morning. You took a deep breath before slowly standing up, having the wall as your support. You glanced at your reflection on the mirror, your cheeks were red and your lips are slightly pale. You felt nauseous again.

Could it be?

"Y-Yeah, I'm fine. I think I ate too much earlier." You said, nodding at yourself.

"Are you sure? You don't need anything, Doc?"

You thought for a moment, taking out your phone to check your calendar. You bit your lower lip as you saw what date today is, closing your eyes after.

It's been 3 months since your last period.

"Can you buy something for me?"

"Yes, anything, Dr. Kim."

Your cheeks were slightly blushing as you stare at the small object on your hand. You're currently sitting on the cover of the toilet bowl, waiting for the result of this pregnancy test. Your lips were slightly trembling in perturbation, feet continuously tapping on the white-tiled floor. Your eyes never left the object when two red lines appeared, in contrast to its white color.

"Oh my." Your eyes watered as you couldn't believe the result on your hand. "Oh ghad. Kai will be so happy." You grinned as tears fell down on your cheeks.

"Dr. Kim, are you finished?"

You quickly stood up from the bowl and opened the door with a smile on your face, startling Ji Eun, your assistant.

"I'm pregnant, Ji Eun-ah!" You hugged her tight like a teddy bear while giggling. She was shocked by your action but recovered immediately when she realized what you've just said.

"REALLY?! OMO! Congratulations, Dr. Kim!" Ji Eun squealed excitedly as she rubbed your back.

You pulled away from her, taking out your phone to call your husband.

"I'll just call Kai. I don't have any schedule this afternoon, right?"

"Yes, Dr. Kim. Your next schedule will be for Tuesday already." Ji Eun informed you with a smile.

"Thank goodness."

I can finally spend a lot of time with Kai.

You glanced at your stomach with a loving smile, gently caressing it.

"Looks like I have another baby to take care of."

Before going home, you stopped by at Kai's favorite place.

Chicken For You, where your chicken dreams come true.

Is what the banner in front of the place says, letting you remember Kai's expression when he first saw this place.

"This is where we'll have our wedding reception, babe. I'll rent this whole place out!"

You giggled at yourself as you pulled the door open.

"Welcome back, Mrs. Kim!" Aunt Ji Woo, the chicken place owner, greeted you with her bright smile. You waved at her giddily as you walked towards the counter. "How's Mr. Kim? I bet he asked for you to buy here again, huh?"

"No, actually it's my treat for him since I couldn't spend the whole day with him today. And we have news to celebrate about too, so I guess it's fine." You said as you ordered the usual. Aunt Ji Woo kept on chatting with you as her employee packed your order.

"Congratulations! After a year, I'll finally see a little Kim around!" Aunt Ji Woo exclaimed as you told her the news.

Little Kim...

You smiled at the thought.

Sounds nice.

"I'm home, yeobo."

You waited for the heavy footsteps as you stopped by the front door.

But only silence welcomed you home.

Your eyebrows knitted together, surprised that Kai isn't jumping into your arms at this moment.

"Baby?" You called out as you put your flat shoes on the rack. You walked past the living room, seeing it clean and empty. "Are you home?"

You put down the paper bag on the table before walking up the stairs to check if your husband was around. You opened your bedroom door but it's empty.

The sound of the shower from the bathroom made you sigh in relief.

He's home.

You placed your bag on the bed and was about to change your clothes when you thought of something. Your eyes went to the open bathroom door, lips tugging into a smile.

As you got out of your clothes, you grabbed your towel from the closet and silent went inside the bathroom.

You closed the door as quiet as possible before tiptoeing in the shower area after placing your towel on the counter. Kai's naked back becomes clearer as you got nearer the shower. You opened the glass door, making him turn around with a surprised face. You sheepishly smiled at him as you closed the door. Kai's eyes roamed around your body as his mind was processing the fact that you're in the shower with him.

"Didn't you miss—" You were cut off by Kai's embrace, trapping you in his arms protectively, completely making you wet from the water.

"You're back." Kai whispered, his hands gently squeezing your waist as he nuzzled on your neck.

"I'm back." You repeated, your hands playing with his wet hair. Kai sighed as he slightly pulled back, enough to see you.

"You're tired. Look at those eye bags, baby. Aigoo, my poor yeobo." He pouted as he kissed both of your eyes. You giggled at his actions, stopping him as you grabbed his face.

"Never mind that. I have news." You grinned at him, making him tilt his head in wonder but a smile was forming on his lips.

"What news made you this happy that you even entered the lion's den, hmm?" Kai mumbled as his nose nudges your wet neck, taking in your sweet scent. You closed your eyes as his lips made contact with your sensitive spot on your neck.

Focus, Lin. Tell him the fucking news before doing anything naughty!

"Hmm." You couldn't help but moan at the pleasant sensation Kai's making you feel. His lips collided with yours as his hands moved up to your stomach, massaging your sides gently with care.

You slightly pulled away, catching his eyes as you pushed back his hair. His eyes bore into yours, making you bite your lip.

"Kai," You started, getting a little distracted with his moving hands. "you're gonna be a father."

After a few seconds of staring at you with a blank face, his eyes started welling up.

Kai went from being daddy to being a baby.

You immediately hugged him, giggling as he tighten his embrace on you.

"R-Really? You're pregnant?" He stuttered, burying his face on the crook of your neck.

"I am!"

"Have you went to the doctor already? Do you need anything? Do you feel anything weird? Are you hungry right now? We can—"

"Kai." You laughed as you made him face you. "Stop panicking. We can go together at the hospital tomorrow. Let's spend the rest of this day happily, okay? Stop worrying too much."

Kai breathed out as he leaned his forehead on yours, closing his eyes. You gently squeezed the back of his neck as you kissed his nose lovingly.

"Okay then. Let's go tomorrow."

You pecked his lips with a smile, making him grin after.

"Chicken?"

"Chicken."

You're probably the happiest wife ever.

♫ ❧ ♫ ❧ ♫ ❧ ♫ ❧ ♫

After 5 years...

"TAE OH!"

You groaned in annoyance as you finished tying your hair in a ponytail. You turned around to find only Kai, sitting on the bed with an innocent face as he buttoned his white polo.

"Where's that little boy?" You sternly asked as you glanced at the broken lipstick on your hand, only the end of it remained. Kai stifled a laugh as he saw you looking at the broken object on your hand.

"I think he hid already in a safe place away from you."

You glared at your husband's reply, putting down the object as you dusted your skirt.

"No time for this. We need to go, it's almost 11. We've got to hit the road." You said as you checked all the outlets, arranging the pillows and bed cover, before grabbing your bag. Kai stood up and gently pinched your cheeks.

"Stop frowning. Tae Oh probably just got interested with your lipstick—"

"Yeah and he ended up breaking it. It's from MAC!" You complained, letting Kai tug you out of the room.

"You have the whole collection of that, yeobo. He just broke one."

He locked the door before turning to you with a grin, glancing at your back.

"Oh, look who we have here."

You turned towards to where Kai was staring at and was shocked by the sight.

"Oh shit." You silently cursed as you heard Kai giggle behind you.

"Baby Tae, you look so messy now." Kai knelt down in front of your son, getting his handkerchief from his pocket. Your pink lipstick was all over the half of his face. "Help me here?" Kai looked at you with a smile. You sighed before quickly walking to the bathroom on the hallway, wetting the small towel from your bag, in case Tae Oh dirtied himself when eating later.

"Come here, baby boy." You softly called him, making him look at you with sparkling eyes.

"Eomma!" He cried as he ran towards you. You carefully went down, not fully sitting on the floor, gently grabbing your 5 year-old kid's face.

"Shh. Don't cry, eomma will clean your face now, okay? Stay still." You wiped the lipstick stains on his face as he kept quiet, staring at you until you finished cleaning his face up. "Let's go now. They're waiting for us."

Kai watched as you calmly interacted with your naughty son, he smiled at the beautiful scene unfolding before him.

"Yeobo." You called as you picked Tae Oh up, making him nuzzle on your neck. Kai stood up straight, grabbing your hand as he smiled at you. You smiled back because his smile was contagious.

"Let's go, my babies." Kai winked, leaning to kiss your cheek when you turned your head slightly, making his lips land on your lips instead. You smiled at the kiss.

"Eomma." Tae Oh cried as he pulled away from your neck and seeing you two kiss in front of him. "Appa bad!"

You laughed as Kai pouted at your son.

"Why is appa bad?"

"No kiss eomma!"

"Why can't I kiss eomma?"

"Eomma mine!"

Kai ruffled your son's hair with a grin.

"Eomma is ours then."

Your son got quiet at Kai's last words, obviously thinking about it. He slowly nodded in agreement before hiding his face on your neck again. You giggled as you watched the two argue.

"You enjoy being wanted, huh?"

You rolled your eyes at Kai as you sat on the passenger's seat with Tae Oh.

"Let's just go, Kai. They're probably gonna call us any minute now—"

"Here it is." Kai took out his ringing phone with a grin as he slowly got out from the driveway. "Yo, Sehun."

"Where the hell—"

"Words, Sehun-ah. Tae's here." You scolded your friend on the speaker.

"Oh fu—family. Sorry, hamstie."

"Didn't I tell you to stop using that nickname already?" Kai said, frowning as he drove.

"Whatever, overprotective and jealous husband. Anyway, where are you? Everyone's here already even Hunnie, your dog."

"You—"

"We just got in the highway, Sehun-ah. Kai and Tae Oh woke up late, so here we are." You answered as you knew Kai wouldn't stop arguing with his best friend.

"Okay, I'll tell that to your dad then. We'll wait for you! Be careful on your way here."

"Thank you, Sehun-ah."

"Bye, Lin-ah. Saranghae, mwah!"

Before your husband can violently react, Sehun, the brave man, hung up. Kai glared at his phone, harshly putting it down.

"You're so dead today, Oh—"

"Shush, Kai. Focus on driving."

Kai huffed in defeat.

"Fine."

You giggled at his actions, wrapping your arms around your son tighter.

With you, my devil dancer, I feel complete and I don't need anyone anymore.

Well, unless he wants a child again.

"Yah. What are you giggling about? What are you thinking? You're making me curious." Kai asked, glancing at you before looking back in front.

"I'm just thinking about how happy I am because I met you, my devil."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"Kiss me then."

"Stop it, you're driving."

"You don't love me."

"Why would I even marry you if I don't?"

"I'll get more than a kiss later then."

"Yah!"

I've got nothing more to wish for.

— 끝 —

43 notes · View notes

maandags · 5 years ago

Text

Eidolon (Angel!Keith x Demon!reader) {part iv}

i have no excuse for the wait except that im an idiot who took this school year too lightly yeet

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Summary: Keith is an angel, and he’s completed mission after mission for the Upper Hand, the organisation controlling all of the Above. He’s only failed a mission once: when he was assigned to kill you, a surprisingly charismatic demon. He roamed Earth–Middle Ground–for years before he was caught by the Upper Hand again, and things quickly go south.

Genre: angst. because whats new

Word count: 8.7K

Notes: CW: graphic violence/blood, emotional manipulation - masterlist - {previous} -- {next }

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if heaven's grief brings hell's rain

then i’d trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday

~ Just One Yesterday, Fall Out Boy

-- -- --

You wake up from a deep, dreamless sleep, disoriented and shivering despite the multiple layers you have on and thick comforter stacked upon you. It takes a moment before the events of the previous night rush back into your mind and cloud your thoughts, and you throw an arm over your face, inhaling deeply.

A huge weight has fallen off your shoulders. Last night, you didn't realise as much, your tired 3 A.M. mind already struggling to focus with the fact that Keith--who had been deathly sick only hours before--was up and about and sitting at your kitchen table and eating chinese takeout. But now that you had the quiet of the early morning to yourself you could feel the knots in your shoulders loosen and the lead seep out of your limbs.

You slowly shift your legs out of bed, still slightly dazed. Sunlight peeks out through the cracks in the shutters covering your window, and you cast a look at the alarm clock sitting on your nightstand. It's barely 7 A.M. And it's also a Saturday. While that doesn't matter much in terms of noise–a city is a city, after all, and this one certainly is never quiet–your neighbours' kids aren't allowed out of bed before nine on Saturdays, which gives you at least two small hours of peace and quiet.

You stagger to the bathroom and let the hot shower water beat down your stiff muscles, trying to draw out the permanent chill that seems to have settled deep into your bones. It works a little bit, but when you get out of the steamy little cell and wrap a towel around your torso you can feel it trickle back into the pit of your stomach, like an icy worm that's decided to make your body its home. It's more of a discomfort than a true pain, though, so you decide to ignore it.

Your hair is still damp when you pull an extra thick sweater over your head, stick your feet in warm socks and tiptoe your way over to the living room.

Keith is still asleep. You don't blame him–he's still recovering, even though he already looks so much better than the previous night. The colour is back in his cheeks. The dark circles and the hollowness under his eyes have started to fade away. He's still thin, and he doesn't smell too good, but you decide against waking him just yet.

In the kitchen, you put on the kettle and pull open the fridge in search of something to eat. The unfinished boxes of chinese sit in front, half-open from when you hastily stowed them away. You pull one out, sniff it, then shrug as you grab for a spoon.

The kitchen windowsill is probably not the spot a lot of people would pick to lounge on, an early Saturday morning. But you've always liked to watch the sun rise over the tall buildings, and the soft orange glow you're treated with today is worth waking up so early for. You rest your face on the knee you've pulled up beside you as you shovel another spoonful of rice into your mouth.

The orange slowly fades out into yellow, then into blue. It's soothing to watch, and you find yourself slow your breathing and close your eyes as the city wakes up beneath you. Noises of starting cars and motorbikes drift up to your window, and chattering fills the street. People exit their homes, throwing delightful glances up at the sunny sky; unexpected after the heavy rain of the previous night.

You finish your takeout, do some chores around the house. Change your bedsheets. Prepare a change of clothes for when Keith finally wakes up. Open the windows to let in some fresh air. Prepare a cup of tea and claim back your spot on the windowsill. It's a peaceful morning, and the air doesn't feel quite as heavy as usual.

And then there's a rustling in the room beside you, and a crash as–you assume–Keith tumbles off your sofa and hits the ground. A faint groan floats past the kitchen doorway and you try to hide your grin. A couple of seconds later a very dishevelled-looking Keith stumbles into the kitchen.

"Morning," you tell him, rolling your shoulders once so they won't go stiff against the windowsill. He nods at you, dark eyes bleary. "Feel better?"

He sniffs. "I don't feel like I just got struck by lightning and dragged behind a racecar over an especially rocky road. So I guess that's improvement."

You blow on the hot tea in your hands. "I'm glad. Would have hated to have gone through all that trouble for nothing. You're quite the guest, you know."

Keith winces at the words, despite your light tone. For some reason, his frown and pained expression tug at your stomach. "But I don't mind it," you add hurriedly. "I mean–it was my own choice to take you in. I very well could not have done that. But–but I did." Shut up, shut up, shut up, you shouted internally.

The corners of Keith's mouth lift ever so slightly. "Lucky for me."

"Lucky for you," you agree with a grin.

It's silent for a while, and in the sunlight, you can clearly see how thin Keith really is. His shirt hangs from his frame in a shapeless lump of cloth, his trousers sagging and almost slipping from his bony hips. While he does look better–the life has returned to his eyes–he still doesn't look good, and the sight of him makes your guts twist. You point to the fridge. "There's leftovers from yesterday. Grab whatever you want–but be careful not to eat too much. I don't want you puking all over my kitchen."

But Keith has already found the other chinese box, and you show him which drawers contain cutlery and in which cupboard are stashed the glasses. He scarfs down the rice in ten minutes flat, and you shake your head in silent judgement. "I'm going to find a way to make you pay back everything you'll cost me, food-wise. You're in debt, starting today."

He gives you a shy grin, but his attention is quickly taken up once more by the food in front of him. You quietly sip your tea, staring out of the window, occasionally glancing at the angel sitting at your kitchen table.

That's when it truly hits you how much of an idiot you're being.

Last night, it had been late. Five days of nothing on your mind but the thought of trying to keep him alive, and finally finding a way to do so, had left you shaky and dazed. Seeing him up and about after getting used to the sound of his ragged, unsteady breathing floating through your apartment had been a shock.

But now the full weight of what you'd done–and what you hadn't done–crashes into you, and you realise you have absolutely no idea how to feel. The air charges with tension, and the angel leans back in his seat. He looks about as uncomfortable as you feel. Your mind whirls with thoughts, all seeming to want something different–the part of you that's curious where this whole situation would lead and is whispering to you to let him stay; the part of you that's still a loyal soldier to the Below and is screaming at you to turn him in; the part of you that wants nothing to do with any of this and is growling to throw him back out on the street. You shake your head, downing the last of your tea and hopping off the counter.

"Take a shower when you're done with that," you mutter. "I have to get back to work soon. My co-workers are gonna ask questions and I need to be prepared."

Keith nods. Your phone is already in your hands and you fire off a quick text to the shelter's manager to inform him you'd be in this afternoon. You don't know Anthony that well–he mostly keeps to the side and handles potential adopters. You prefer to stay with the animals. Almost immediately you receive a reply: he says he's delighted that you've decided to return so soon after taking your unexpected leave. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the barely-veiled passive-aggressiveness.

"Oh, yeah." You turn and point at Keith with your phone. "You can stay for as long as you need to, like, get your bearings and feel somewhat okay again, but then I'm kicking you out. I don't know if you have any idea of how much of a risk I'm taking here, but–"

"I get it," he cuts you off, and you can tell he means it. He needs to work on concealing his emotions, you think off-handedly. He's an open book. It's distracting. "Thank you. Seriously."

The tension builds until it's almost tangible. You shake your head, trying to shake the dizziness away. "It's–yeah. My pleasure, or whatever. I'm locking the door behind me." He gives a brief incline of his head to show he understands. "All right then. Later, I guess. Make–make sure you've showered. You kind of smell," you say apologetically. "No offence."

"None taken," he laughs. "You're right, anyway."

You make a gesture that's in between a nod and a headshake, then make a blind grab for your coat and your scarf before pulling the door closed behind you and locking it.

The shelter's lights are on, and its illuminated windows stand out starkly in the dim grimness of the gloomy street. It doesn't rain, for once, but grey clouds hang overhead and block the sun, the little light that makes it past them flimsy and thin. You pull the door closed behind you. The little bell above the doorway rings once, softly, and barking immediately pipes up from the next room over. You smile.

"Hey, loves," you mutter to each animal as you pass their cages, stopping here and there and sticking your fingers through the bars to give a furry face a pat, or to scratch a scaly butt, or to stroke a feathered head. "I missed you guys."

"They missed you too, I think," comes a quiet voice from behind you. You crouch and open a cage, plucking out a small cat and scritching it behind the ears. "They've been rather unruly in the days you weren't here. Restless, you know."

"Hi, Tony."

"Y/N." He inclines his head. "Did you have a nice leave?" It's a question purely out of politeness, you know, because he's your employer and he's supposed to be polite. As far as employers go, Tony really isn't the worst of them. But you can't shake the feeling that he's fishing for something.

"I did. I've been busy," you say cautiously, not taking your eyes off of the kitten you're cradling. "Sorry for it being so unexpected."

"Oh, not at all," Tony replies smoothly, sailing over to where you sit and leaning on the wall behind you, "We've managed. It was your week off, anyway, and just because you've insisted on working in your free time before doesn't mean that you always will." But it doesn't take amazing detective skills to hear the suspicious edge to his voice.

"That's right," you say, maybe a little too sharply. You can almost smell Tony's raised eyebrow behind you. "Sorry. I've just–I've been a little on edge, lately. I'll–" You scramble up, depositing the kitten back in its cage and dusting fur off your t-shirt. "I'll be in the back." You have the weird urge to salute, but you manage to suppress it. He's already suspicious, you remind yourself. Don't make it worse by acting weird.

It is a shame you can't spend more time with the animals, but you're not the only one who decided to come in today–it's actually quite crowded for a Saturday–so you get storage room duty and instead spend your afternoon putting away boxes of food and medicine and cleaning products. Emmie, one of your co-workers, sticks her head around the corner of your door at the end of the day.

"Hey. We're gonna go get milkshakes, wanna come?"

Your back screams when you push off the chair, eager for an excuse to cut your day short. "You're a godsend." The expression is actually used exclusively as an insult in the Below, but you find you like the Middle Ground version better. "Let me just grab my shoes, I'll be right there."

Hopping on one foot as you finish tying your laces, you join Emmie, Nirina, Adam and Zach as they stride out the door, Emmie and Zach's arms linked. In the back of your mind you recognise that's strange: Emmie and Zach can't stand each other. A smile curls the corners of your lips. You did miss quite a lot this past week, didn't you?

"We're going to this new place a few blocks down," Emmie shouts over her shoulder. You try to chat with Nirina for a bit, but she's more silent than usual, barely saying a word, and eventually she retreats to walk next to Adam behind you. When you don't focus on it, a black, vaguely animal-shaped shadow seems to sit on her shoulder, but when you look directly at it nothing's there.

Something isn't right here.

The feeling creeps into your very bones, making the hairs on your neck stand on edge and your shoulder blades tingle. The sense that you're being watched, and more–as you realise that with Nirina and Adam behind you and Emmie and Zach in front of you, it almost feels like you're being escorted. Guarded.

"Hey, Em," you call. Your hand creeps towards your pocket, but with a start you remember you left your knife at home. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "What's the place we're going called?"

Emmie turns around and flashes you a fanged grin. Your blood turns to ice. "So Above, So Below." And then she pounces--and pushes you straight through the pavement. You don't even have time to scream.

You lose all sense of direction. Up is down and left is right as you fall, fall, fall through a black hole, Emmie's nails still digging into your shoulders, though you're sure if you actually opened your eyes you'd see they're claws. You try to tug yourself loose, but her grip immediately tightens. You hiss when you feel her talons draw blood.

"No getting away, Y/N dear," she giggles into your ear.

Well, at least you know what she–and the others too, by the sound of it–is. Only Bountyhunters can get to the Below or the Above without using one of the doors or passages, instead creating their own temporary ones. You've travelled by Bounty Tunnel before. It's not a memory you cherish. The only thing you can do is close your eyes and hope it'll be over soon.

When you finally make contact, all the air is knocked out of you and for a moment you see nothing but black spots dancing in front of your eyes. Then you suck in a scorching breath and blink, and the familiar stark white ceiling of the Offices comes into view. You groan, and when you try to sit up, your hands catch in ashy grey feathers: your wings have popped. You flush, already feeling Haggar's disapproving scowl digging into your back. How unprofessional, she'd mumble.

Haggar has always hated your guts–even back when you were still loyal to the Below.

Emmie–except she looks nothing like Emmie anymore–tosses her long dark ponytail over her shoulder and sighs. "That was almost too easy. We were told you'd be a challenge."

"I haven't been feeling well," you reply, voice icy as you stand up and shake out your wings. You don't miss the way Emmie's expression sours and suppress a smirk. Bounties don't have wings, and they'll never stop being salty about it. "Also, four against one? That seems a little unfair, even for Management." You pause. "I'm assuming you got hired by Management."

"Of course we got hired by Management, demon," Zach snarls. He runs his fingers through his hair and glares at you, his fangs growing by the second and soon touching his chin. And then his face begins to change, his jaw softening (though not by much), his eyes growing more cat-like, his lips plumping. You frown, because you know this face. You know her.

Zethrid grins, fangs shining in the white LED light. "Long time no see, Y/N." You give a sarcastic wave.

"Yes, Y/N," comes an icy voice from behind you. Your shoulders tense, and your feathers puff involuntarily. "Long time no see indeed."

Haggar glides out of her office doors, and you feel all the stony calm and resistance leave you in one fell swoop. Her yellow eyes bore into yours, and it takes every ounce of willpower inside you not to look away. She nods her head, once. "My office, Y/N. Now."

"You're so dead," mutters Zethrid as you pass her.

"When I get out of here, you're the first person whose throat I'll slit," you hiss in return.

Haggar slumps in her seat and plucks her looking glass from its stand, making it levitate over her hand and glaring like she has a personal vendetta against it. "If it were up to me, I would already have you burning and hanging from the Grand Hall ceiling," she says, vanishing the mirror in a cloud of smoke. You try to ignore the pang of fear stabbing into your chest. You're gonna be fine, you tell yourself. You're going to be okay. But you find it hard to believe the words.

"But–" the mirror reappears in her other hand– "a certain Prince insisted on keeping you alive." She whirls the looking glass around and it floats in front of your face. Prince Lotor of the Below looks at you with a scrutinising gaze, as if gauging how much you'd be worth on the night market.

"Y/N," he says in a clear voice. You nod, then quickly incline your head in a slight bow. Watch your tongue, Y/N. Watch. Your. Tongue. "No need for that." Lotor snaps his fingers, and you look up again, eyes fixed on the rim of the looking glass, determined not to meet Lotor's. You're afraid of what you might see.

It's silent for a moment, and you keep your mouth shut for as long as you can, but you eventually break. "Forgive me, Lord, but–"

"Shut up." It takes all of your willpower not to cock your head and narrow your eyes in indignation. Lotor leans forward, elbows perched on his desk and fingertips pressed together. His cold gaze is calculating and cruel, and your entire body reels with disgust and hatred. "I didn't keep you alive because I care about what happens to you. Because I don't," he clarifies with a raised eyebrow, and this time you can't keep the grimly sarcastic smile at bay. "I kept you alive because I need you to do a job."

"With all due respect, sir, I don't think I'm the right person for any job." You try to keep your voice light and your fists unclenched, but it's a harder task than you want to admit.

"Told him so," Haggar mutters from behind the mirror. You can tell she thoroughly disagrees with being used as a TV-stand. "There are so much more competent candidates for this assignment who actually want to prove themselves and their loyalty to us." You have the feeling she's talking directly to Lotor now. "But no, you just had to get the one rogue who'll do everything in their power to get out from this–"

"Enough," Lotor says coolly, and Haggar clamps her jaw shut, though her eyes flash with murder. You don't know who she wants to kill more at the moment: you or Lotor. "Y/N will do the job, and they'll do it without complaining."

"You sound awfully sure." You've since given up on trying to be respectful. Lotor might be the Prince of the Below, but you had wriggled yourself out of more difficult situations than these before. You're already carefully plotting an escape.

Because the mistake most people make when they see you is that they underestimate you. They think they have you pinned down, and then they loosen their hold and up till now, that has always worked out in your favour–you know how to manipulate people and you know how to get out of the Below. You know every single of the dozens and dozens of passageways leading out onto Middle Ground, and from there on you know how to hide. You've done it before, and managed to keep off their radar for quite a while.

In fact, the only reason they caught you now was because you had been too preoccupied with a certain angel to keep your thoughts straight. A mistake, and one you won't be making again.

"I am sure," Lotor's clear voice cuts through your thoughts and pulls you back to the present. "There's a contract on the desk. Sign it, and we'll give you the details."

You can't stop the startled laugh that bursts past your lips. "A Blank Contract? You expect me to sign a Blank Contract?"

Lotor merely cocks his head and smiles that lazy smile of his.

And then the little looking glass shatters and you yelp, taking a step backwards in surprise, feeling your muscles tense. "I do," his voice says from behind you, and you whirl around just in time to see Lotor sail into Haggar's office.

Haggar gives a sharp sigh and brushes shattered glass off her uniform. "Do you always have to do that? Those mirrors are expensive, you know. I'm gonna have you pay for them if you insist on making a dramatic entrance every time."

Lotor ignores her, his gaze fixed on you. He waves his hand, and a piece of paper appears between his fingers. It's mostly blank, save for one thickly outlined black square with an inscription you can't read from where you stand, but you know what they say: Candidate's signature. "I'm not signing." But your voice has a tremor to it, and you suddenly feel a lot smaller as Lotor strides towards you. It was a lot easier to disrespect the Prince of the Below through a looking glass.

His eyes flash with irritation. "You will." Somehow, those two words hold more threat to them than all the insults the Bounties threw at you earlier.

But you set your jaw and clench your fists. "I'd rather die. I'm. Not. Signing." You had vowed to not ever help the Below in any way, shape or form again. It wasn't worth it.

"Told you so," Haggar sing-songs from behind her desk, a maniacal glint to her eye. "Just take one of the actually competent ones. Let me string them up."

Lotor gives a sharp sigh. "Touch them and I'll be stringing you up." Haggar pouts and crosses her arms. He turns to you, and the coolness in his eyes sends shivers up your spine. The realisation hits you like a freight train. He's done something. He knows something. He would never be this sure of himself if he didn't have an absolutely airtight plan.

Then Lotor waves his hand again, and another mirror you hadn't noticed before–a looking glass spanning from the floor to the ceiling, partially hidden by a black curtain–lights up, and the image you see has all the colour drain from your face and your heart skip a beat.

Allura is tied to a chair and breathing hard, her nurse's scrubs hanging crookedly, torn and dirty. A nasty cut spans from her cheekbone to her eyebrow, and blood runs down the side of her face. Tears mix with the grime and blood smearing her cheeks. Behind her stand Emmie and Zethrid the Bountyhunters, crazed smiles painted upon both their faces.

As soon as she sees you, Allura lets out a strangled cry that is muffled by the gag strung over her mouth. Her eyes widen, and you rush forward, stopping just short of the mirror's surface, afraid to break it. Your shaking fingertips hover just shy of the surface before you pull them back to your chest. Tears threaten to spill past your eyes, so you push them down and try to take a breath.

"Is this real?" You know how hallucinations work. You know how powerful illusions can be, and you know exactly how useful of a tool they can be in manipluation. It's a tool you've used yourself.

"Maybe. Maybe not," says Lotor's soft voice. His breath washes over the side of your face, and you can feel sick rise in your throat. All compusure is lost. It's all or nothing now. Thoughts muddle and get mixed up in your mind until all you can focus on is Allura, terrified and hurt, sitting in front of you yet separated by a thin sheet of glass and who knows how many miles.

A crazy thought of Maybe I can free her pops up, but you beat it down immediately again. You don't know where she is. You don't know if this is even real. Lotor would immediately order her killed if you attempted anything remotely similar to a breakout. Then kill Lotor, a ragged voice in your mind screams.

"Come, come, no rash decisions now," Lotor says as if he just read your thoughts. His hands ghost over your shoulders, sliding down until they reach your elbows. He gently forces them to your sides, and you don't even have the strength in you to resist. A fresh stream of tears runs down Allura's cheeks, and she weakly thrashes against her bonds, and in the end, that's what yanks you out of your stupor.

Your chin snaps up. "So you'll let her go if I sign the contract?"

Lotor rolls his eyes. "Look whose wits have returned to them." He lets go of your elbows and takes a step toward the mirror, hands clasped behind his back and his hungry gaze raking across Allura's form. She looks up at him with a mix of hatred and fear in her eyes. She's given up struggling against the ropes, but her jaw is set, and her eyes are steely; terrified, but determined. Her gaze flicks back to you and she gives the tiniest shake of her head.

Lotor reels back and laughs, the sound booming within the office walls. He shakes his head, still chuckling, his long silvery hair swishing behind him as he stalks back to the desk and swoops up the contract. "Feisty. I like that. Doesn't have the slightest clue of what's going on but still tells you to not do the thing you obviously don't want to do." He flashes you a fanged grin that makes your blood run cold. "I just might pay her a visit later myself."

"That's Middle Ground, my Prince," you manage through gritted teeth. "I'll find and kill you before you even have a chance to knock on her door."

"That's some confidence you've got right there, Y/N. Keep it for the job."

"I haven't signed your contract yet."

Lotor cocks his head and his grin widens. "Yet being the keyword here."

You turn back to the mirror, scanning Allura for any sign that she might not be real, looking for something that might hint that her image is off. Something. Anything. But your manic brain is running in circles, looking for loopholes that might not even be there, and you know you're not making sense, because the chance that she's just an illusion is there, but on the off-chance that she isn't, that she actually is in danger–

You would never forgive yourself if she were to get hurt and you could have put a stop to it.

"It's possible," you breathe, your hands curling to fists. "It's possible that none of this is real."

Lotor nods as if your words are perfectly reasonable. "True." There's a beat of silence, and his feverish eyes bore into yours. "But are you willing to take that risk?"

Anyone else–any proper demon–would have laughed in his face and torn the contract to shreds, watching gleefully as Allura got tortured in front of their eyes. But you had left behind your demon ways a good while ago, and you had always been a rotten pupil anyway. So you bite your tongue and snatch the contract and pen from Lotor's waiting fingers, scribbling your signature down hard enough that you pierce the paper.

"See, I knew you'd come around in the end!" He claps his hands in delight and throws a triumphant glance Haggar's way. "I told you so."

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbles, waving a hand as if to dismiss his words. She gives you a slightly disapppointed stare. "I was rooting for you, kiddo. Show some spine next time."

You fight the tears threatening to spill and slap the now-signed contract back onto the desk. "All right. Details, Lotor. What's the assignment?"

His eyes flash. Business; there's something he knows. "We received word that one of the Above's most prized angels has just gone rogue." He starts pacing, and your eyes keep finding Allura's behind him–but she looks at you with pity and something that's almost disappointment, and you have to look away before you break down completely. "It came out of nowhere, too: stellar record, followed orders without a second thought. A great soldier." You don't miss the punch behind the words.

"And you want me to do, what, kill him?" That wouldn't be too hard. At least, you think. Your mind is still a bit muddy, but something ugly and twisted inside you is still desperate for Management's approval. Still eager to prove yourself. I can be a good soldier too.

"Oh no, no," Lotor says with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I just want you to find him and bring him in. It shouldn't be that hard to do–after all, who better to track a rogue than another rogue themselves?"

There's still something else. Something he isn't telling you. Sure, you're good at what you do–at what you used to do–but was it worth going through all the trouble just to get you to sign the stupid contract? As much as you loathed to do it, you silently had to agree with Haggar on this one. There were so many young demons scrambling for their chance to prove themselves and their worth–why not let them take this assignment?

"That–that's it?"

Lotor cocks a brow. "I mean, unless you wanted more work, I guess that's it.'

You give a cautious nod. "Okay. So what do we know about this guy?"

"Not much. My sources weren't able to provide very recent information–"

"Get better sources."

"–But what they do know is that this particular angel has been off the map for years. Quite like you," he adds as he raises his other eyebrow. You roll your eyes. "He's impossible to find, quite hard to track, and a very skilled fighter. Rumour has it he's scouring your city's streets at the moment."

You resist a frown. If this guy has been prowling your streets and you haven't noticed, something is definitely amiss. Might just be that you've been preoccupied with Keith and everything that happened around him, but if this has been going on for as long as Lotor is implying it has... this just might prove an actual challenge.

The old feeling of excitement and anticipation starts to run through your very bones again, and you hate the way it makes you feel–energised. As if you can handle anything thrown your way. Ready. It's a feeling you haven't known in years, and one you haven't missed, though now that it courses through your veins again there's no point in denying that you're enjoying it. The thrill of the chase.

But then Lotor speaks the name of the angel you're supposed to bring in, and everything falls into place, only to shatter into a million pieces a split second after.

You see his lips move. Hear the words spoken, though they take a moment to get processed, and when they do they leave behind an emptiness that has you stare at him, too dumbfounded and untrusting of yourself to speak.

It can't be. This must be the universe's idea of a cruel joke. The very guy you'd risked everything for–the very angel that had caused your distractedness and is the reason you were here in the first place–is the same rogue angel about whom you had just signed a contract.

The crushing weight of it settles on your shoulders. All five days of you struggling to keep him breathing, for nothing. The weird excursion to Coran's shop, for nothing. The goddamn chinese takeout you'd bought for him, for fucking nothing.

But somehow you manage to keep your face straight, and Lotor hadn't been watching you as he said it, instead gazing intently at something over your head, so you can only hope he hasn't noticed the lurch in your expression at the mention of Keith Kogane.

"All right." You're almost shocked at how steady your voice is. "Okay. I've agreed. You got what you want. Now, free Allura." Even though your voice is pretty steady, you curl your hands into fists to hide their shaking.

Lotor doesn't move for a moment, and you seriously begin to think he's having a seizure until he snaps his fingers and Emmie lunges forward.

In her hand is a knife, and she plunges it into Allura's chest without a second of hesitation.

You rush toward the mirror, a strangled "No!" ripped from your throat. Your fingers claw at the smooth glass surface and you watch her slump, blood gushing from the wound and staining her scrubs a dark crimson. Your knees buckle, and your eyes stay glued to her form as she convulses, coughs up blood twice, then goes limp. Her head falls back...

And snaps back up, and you lurch back with a startled cry. Allura's eyes have gone red and are shining with mania. Her skin turns the colour of wet ash, and her hair falls out of its updo and cascades down her shoulders, tendrils black and writhing as if they have a mind of their own...

Demon.

Shapeshifter.

Your breathing comes in short and shallow rasps as the full realisation of things settles in. Allura was never in danger. You were right all along. If only you had put your foot down. If only you hadn't let your feelings cloud your mind.

It doesn't matter now. You signed a contract–and there's no going back from that.

Lotor fingers through the file that bears your signature in black ink. Slowly, the words explaining just what you signed start to appear on the sheets, snaking their way along the curves of the paper as if written in by an invisible hand. A steel fist clenches around your heart, and you struggle to stand up, your muscles turned to jelly. The surface of the mirror has gone black again.

A shaking hand comes up to cover your mouth, and your teeth clench down on your lower lip so hard that they draw blood. Lotor flicks his wrist, and the contract disappears. The fingers of your free hand twitch as if they wanted to grab at the file. You level your gaze with Lotor's, and evidently your years of training finally paid off in the end, because in his eyes you can see how passive your expression is. You'd be a good poker player, your fleeting mind thinks randomly. The only thing giving away your current emotions is the hand mindlessly tugging at your bottom lip, and the fact that your breathing is still rather fast.

"Now," Lotor drawls in his honey-coated voice–sugary sweet, sticky, suffocating–and snakes an arm around your shoulders, "that wasn't so hard, was it?"

And you know you should keep your mouth shut, because he is the Prince of the Below, and Haggar has already expressed her desire to string you up and set you on fire in the Grand Hall for every new recruit to see–but on the other hand, you just signed a contract, and that makes you technically untouchable until Lotor has reason to believe you won't be able to complete the task set out for you.

The very foundation of a plan starts coming together in your mind. You jut up your chin and break free from his grasp. "So do I get assignment-issue gear? A blade? A gun, maybe? If this angel is as good as you make him out to be, perhaps I should need some more useful weapons than your average kitchen knife."

Lotor scrutinises you for a moment, then waves his hand. A set of gleaming double blades appear on Haggar's desk, along with their sheaths and long black gloves. Haggar huffs with an indignant mutter of Sure, use my desk as your summoning surface. Don't mind at all. You ignore her and lift an eyebrow. "That's all you're going to give me?"

"If you're as good as you say, this is all you will need," Lotor replies in that smooth tone of his. His eyes glint; he's gotten what he wanted. He's already won.

But that's fine. Lotor may have won this battle, and you need to make him feel like he has, but in the end you'll do everything in your power to win the war. And Lotor just handed you the weapons that just might be able to get you there.

"Fine," you mutter, snatching up the knives, pointedly refusing to strap them to your back like is procedure, instead securing the harnesses to your thighs as a small act of defiance. Irritation flashes in his eyes. "I'll report to you how often?"

"No reports," Lotor says with a wave of his hand. "We don't want to make any potential spies of the Above suspicious. Just make sure you find him, and when you do..." He tosses you a little disk about the size of a large coin, and you startle at how heavy it is. It's pleasantly warm to the touch, and you have a creeping suspicion as to what it is that is only confirmed with Lotor's next words. "Portal pass. Use it wisely."

You turn the pass over and over in your hands, the familiar weight of the knives at your thighs comforting and seeming to pull you down to the ground at the same time. "Is that–will that be all?" Risky words, risky questions–you're going out on a limb and assume Lotor won't have you hanged for running your mouth: he did just pretend to torture your best friend to coerce a signature out of you, so you suppose he has to give you some slack.

He sails to a halt in front of you, face so close his nose almost touches yours, and you have to stop yourself from recoiling. His expression is cold, his gaze calculating–and the smile that creeps up his lips sends shivers up our spine. "Yes. I think that will be all." He raises a brow and throws a glance Haggar's way, which you find comical as he didn't seem to give a solid fuck about her opinions when he used her office as his personal torture chamber.

Haggar shrugs. "I still think we should string them up and burn them to a crisp."

"Yes, Haggar, I know. Why did I even bother." He gives you a lazy flick of his hand, but you've already turned and your hand is resting on the doorknob, when something occurs to you and you cast a look at him over your shoulder.

"My Prince?" The title feels like hot oil searing down your throat, but you expect the words you're about to say require this small bit of courtesy. He raises a brow and nods. "I'm going to kill the Bounties that brought me here." Your voice sounds oddly bored.

Lotor chuckles. "They're no demons. They don't have a place in the Below." It's like his gaze issues a challenge, and a fresh wave of loathing for this Prince washes over your being. "Go right ahead."

You flash a cold smile and slam the door shut.

– – –

You wipe your blades with some wet wipes and discard them in the trashcan beside you when they get too filthy with blood (the store clerk barely looked up when you came in and purchased a single packet of wet wipes and a duffel bag–apparently the average cashier sees weirder stuff than a maniac with bloodied hunting knives the size of their forearms slamming a pack of wet wipes on the counter on a daily basis). Emmie, Adam, Zethrid and Nirina's bodies have long since turned to dust, and you have to work to keep your breathing steady and to stop your eyes from glowing red as the phone wedged between your ear and your shoulder rings.

Allura picks up on the fourth ring. "'Sup?"

It was just a check. Just to make sure. But if Allura truly did just get tortured, you have a feeling she wouldn't pick up a phone call with a simple 'Sup?

"Hey. How was your day?" Your speech comes out slightly slurred, and Allura laughs on the other side of the line.

"Fine. Work, you know. Routine." You can almost hear the grin on her face as she says, "And you? Weren't you supposed to be at work too, today?"

Work. Work feels like such a long time ago--when it was in reality only a couple of hours back. You nod slowly, though it's more to convince yourself than anything else. "Yeah. I was. Some co-workers and I went to get smoothies afterwards. To welcome me back," you joke.

"Did they pay?"

"Yeah."

"Good for you. Free milkshake. I'm jealous."

You laugh, but it feels hollow in your chest. "Hey--I need to run now, but I'll call you later, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Sweet of you to check in, Y/N."

You eye the gleaming blade, running a finger along its razor-sharp edge. "No problem."

After you hang up, you sit back against the wall digging into your back, forcing down the pumping feeling in your limbs.

It's something you've missed, and you can't deny it. The absolute exhilaration you feel when your blades make contact, the thrumming of adrenaline in your veins as you dodge to avoid the blows that four individual enemies are throwing at you. The fear in Zethrid's eyes when she realises she is the only one left standing, and the life seeping from her eyes as you slit her throat.

It doesn't make you feel good, exactly–especially now that the thrill of the moment has worn off and you just feel tired and there's an ache that has burrowed itself deep into your bones–but there's no replicating the rush of power that courses through your very being when you're the one in control.

When the blades of death are yours to wield.

The knives are now securely stored in your new black duffel, and you try and figure out how you're going to pull off bringing two huge knives home without rousing suspicion from Keith. You internally debate whether you shouldn't just find a safe space to stash the duffel until you need it. There are quite a few nooks and crannies you know no one in their right mind would look, but then again, this was a big city. There were plenty of creepier people prawling these streets than the occasional demon.

And then you pass a gym, and an idea sparks in your head.

After casually shoplifting a bunch of sportswear from the nearest Nike store, you return to the gym with the knives in your bag hidden by the copious amounts of t-shirts and trainers stacked on top of them. You get a locker and stuff the bag inside before making your way outside again, smiling at the desk guy as you leisurely stroll out of the gym. The guy narrows his eyes at you–your clothes are still slightly torn and dirty, and you're pretty sure you have a bruise forming on the right side of your cheek, but you don't pay him any mind. He works at a gym. He's seen stranger than you.

But the closer you get to your apartment, the heavier the portal pass starts to feel in your pocket, and the more insecure your steps become. The sun hangs low over the city skyline, but hasn't completely started to set yet, and soft golden light washes over the streets, making them look... wrong. Bleak. Colour in a place where colour shouldn't be. You had just killed in these streets, and nobody noticed.

The thought makes you feel kind of sorry for the Bounties. They would be missed by no one.

You're still lost in thought when you almost hit a door and you snap back to reality. Your feet had carried you all the way up to your apartment. You blinked hard, rubbed a hand over your face and fumbled for your keys.

"Hey. It's me. Did you burn the house down while I was gone?"

Keith looks up from where he sits on an armchair–your armchair, but you understand he wouldn't want to spend another minute on the couch he spent five days on, hallucinating out of his mind–and grins, and your heart does a leap. And then he frowns, and you freeze, and your immediate thought is Oh fuck, he's found me out, he knows everything, he's going to call the other angels and he's going to kill me–

But the words he speaks are soft with concern. "What happened to your face?" And it takes all of your willpower not to break down right then and there.

He puts down the book he was reading and walks over to you, eyebrows knotted with worry, and reaches out to touch your forehead. Only then does he seem to realise how close to you he's standing, and he quickly pulls his fingers back to his chest. They're red with blood. "Let's get that disinfected, yeah?"

Before you can answer, he's already started towards your kitchen. You blink, still stunned, before following him like you're in a daze. He looks over his shoulder and points to a kitchen chair. You plop down, and it's when the weight is taken off your legs that the exhaustion comes crashing into you at breakneck speed, and it takes all your strength not to plunk your head down on the kitchen table and just pass out.

"Where do you keep your first aid kit?"

You vaguely point to a cabinet below the sink, and moments later Keith plops the kit down beside you on the table and plucks out a wad of cotton and disinfecting spray. You don't even feel it sting when he gently dabs at the cut on your forehead and cheekbone. His eyes are firmly trained on the cotton, his dark brows furrowed–there's a little crease between them that your foggy self finds most endearing–and he's chewing absent-mindedly on his bottom lip.

With a shock, you realise this is the closest you've been to him. Ever. This is the first time you can properly study his face, and you can always blame your muddy mind later if he brings up how blatantly you were staring at him, so you let yourself drink in every feature of his face. You find yourself drawn to his eyes most; they're a stunning deep violet, the colour of the sky at twilight, when the sun has just set and the last rays of light streak the heavens with purple. Most of all, they're soft with concern and simultaneously fierce with a kind of fire you haven't seen on him before.

"Aren't you going to ask what happened?" you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

Keith's eyes briefly flicker to yours, and he gives an awkward shrug before going back to gently rubbing at your wounds. "It's none of my business. You haven't asked me about what I was doing on Middle Ground in the first place, and I won't stick my nose into what doesn't concern me." But the words sound like he's reciting them; like a lesson he learned at school. You can see in his eyes that he is in fact curious, but also that he isn't going to press further. How very angelic of him.

You purse your lips, fingering the portal pass in your jacket pocket.

Your mind is a jumble of thoughts, like someone took all your emotions and threw them in a blender. Every moment you spend with Keith in your kitchen–how is it you always end up in the kitchen?–you grow more sure that you can't turn him in. But the contract pulls at your insides, and you know that if you keep ignoring its contents it will keep gnawing at you until you can't take it anymore and snap.

The contract is the contract. Binding and eternal.

"Keith."

His hand freezes, and you carefully guide it to the table, gently forcing him to put down the cotton. "Thank you, really. But I'm okay. I promise."

He nods. Slowly. "Okay."

And oh, how you want to wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips against his, but that would make things a thousand times more complicated than they already are–

Your breath leaves you in one fell swoop. It's the exhaustion talking, you firmly tell yourself, before you yank your fingers back and stand. You're a bit wobbly, but you manage. Keith wisely doesn't attempt to help you, but you can feel his eyes boring into your back as you make your way to your bedroom.

You change. You brush your teeth. You splash some water in your face to clear your head. Everything happens in a haze, your mind too tired to think about anything at all.

But then your eye falls on a piece of paper resting on your pillow. You frown and pick it up, and your eyes widen when you recognise your own scraggly handwriting littering the little parchment card. A hand flies up to your mouth to muffle your startled scream, and you drop the card as if it just burned your fingertips, though your eyes stay glued to its surface.

The words I want Keith to be okay stare back up at you, and with every passing second your breathing gets quicker and more ragged. Your fingers tingle, and as you draw a tentative breath you sink down onto the mattress. Your fingers tingle, but they tingle with warmth, and the feeling is not unpleasant.

Where Keith's own skin brushed yours, the chill that had seeped into your very core and had burrowed there for days, leaving you in a constant state of stiff cold, dissipated. The feeling is so weirdly foreign after having only felt cold for days that you dumbly stare out into nothingness, trying to shake the heat out of your hand. It doesn't work. It feels good, and you want more of it.

For a moment, the contract leaves your mind, replaced by Keith's eyes, the way he'd looked up at you, all softness and worry; the gentleness of his fingers as they cleaned the shallow cuts on your face. You close your eyes and lean back, the little parchment card on the floor seeming to beg for your attention. You never knew paper could be this loud.

For just a moment, you allow yourself to think of Keith and not just see an angel–but something more.

#keith x reader #keith kogane x reader #keith voltron #keith voltron x reader #keith vld #keith vld x reader #vld keith #vld keith x reader #voltron keith #voltron keith x reader #voltron keith kogane #vld keith kogane #voltron keith kogane x reader #vld keith kogane x reader #keith kogane #keith fic #keith fanfic #keith voltron fic #keith voltron fanfic

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rubysoleilsworld · 5 years ago

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Fightclub

Damian adored his father, he loved Alfred and Grayson, and was passing fond of Todd, Cassandra, Stephanie and Barbra. But despite this, he had been looking forward to spending time alone in the manor. To be allowed to be in the manor on his own felt liberating. Even though father had locked down access to the cave, Damian considered this day to be a milestone of trust for them both. Most other 12 year olds were allowed to stay home without a babysitter, or in his case, a butler. Despite not be allowed to patrol, he was excited at the prospect of having the manor all to himself for the entire evening.

What precipitated this milestone was a charity event at Gotham General for the new cancer wing and adjacent research facility, and Alfred, who was on his way to England to sort out a cousin’s estate. The charity event promised to be hours long, combining drinks, aperitifs, silent and live auctions, followed by music and dancing. The invite said ‘A night of Emotion, featuring Celtic Woman’.

Damian, who had just recovered from a 24 hour flu that had struck in the middle of the night two days ago, had begged off attending. But everyone else including Grayson, was in attendance. Even Todd was present as Red Hood, patrolling the area from above. Todd was also serving as Grayson’s wingman, whatever that meant. The Birds were taking care of the rest of Gotham tonite.

Now it was just him. Alone in the expansive manor left to his own devices. The first two hours he indulged himself by running around the manor pretending to battle imaginary intruders. Really, it was nonsensical of father to think that the manor’s security was infallible. With that thought he drew up drill plans, noting spots of egress and ingress within the expansive manor.

He idled with the thought of eventually uploading his plans onto the batcomputer, but no, these drills must be memorized, with no digital or hard copy available. He would speak with the second eldest, Todd, about this tomorrow. After all his mother had breached security twice that he knew of, and Selina....Well, Catwoman wasn’t league trained, but she was charmed. How else could one explain away the things she was able to do. She once managed to put a silver cross around his neck without him knowing! Why a cross, he’ll never understand. But to this day for some reason he leaves it hanging on his bedroom mirror. Perhaps a reminder that he is not as infallible as he is wont to imagine?

Having worked up an appetite, his tastebuds drummed as he thought of the cucumber sandwich that Alfred had made just for him just before leaving for the airport. One of just many such treats Alfred had prepared to last the boy through the week.

He prepared the table carefully, just as Alfred had thought him. Laying out the table cloth with care, placing a crystal goblet of water to his right. He needn’t silverware this time, so from the credenza he only took out a linen napkin and a small china plate usually reserved for dessert. Alfred wouldn’t mind him using the good chinaware. Sometimes it was nice to do things proper, instead of being pedestrian.

He retrieved a small container from the icebox and walked over to the table. Inside was his favorite, cucumber on marbled rye, with a garden veggie schmear Alfred had managed to reengineer from Damian’s favorite Metropolisian deli. He loved the way Alfred prepared sandwiches, cutting off the crusts just how he like it. Father always complained when Damian asked him to cut off the crusts, stupid Drake said it was wasteful, but Todd didn’t care. Sometimes during patrol he would bring them both panini’s from Allessandro’s, and cut the crusts off with his utility knife just to spite ‘The replacement’.

He’d barely placed his sandwich on his plate when he heard Grayson, Todd and Drake crashing through the garage door into the utility room, and out again through that door into the foyer. Startled Damian made a mental note ‘ingress. Garage door; utility room door, not secure’.

“Damian!” Grayson, demanding to know where he was.

“I’m in the dining room”, he responded, getting up from the table, “why are you back early”.

Before he could make his way to the foyer his 3 elder siblings stumbled into the dining room. Grayson and Todd each having slung an arm of Drake’s over their shoulders, dragging in the younger, because he could barely walk, further into the dining room.

“How did he manage to injure himself at the party?” Damian demanded.

“Oh he’s not injured” Grayson said wryly.

Lifting his arm away from Todd and Grayson, Drake moved further into the dining room on his own.

Stumbling he reached a hand out towards the table slurring, “how’s I s’posed ta know Irishh coffee has wishkey innit...”. His hand fell short. Ffalling face first towards the floor, he turned at the last second, landing on the Venetian tile with a resounding splat on his back instead.

“You let Drake become inebriated!” Accused Damian.

Grayson and Todd, at the same time, “it was his fault!”

“How is this my fault?” Todd complained, “I wasn’t even there!” Grayson just rolled his eyes as if to say, ‘I didn’t mean you’.

“Tt, it does not matter Todd,” snapped Damian, “doubtless father is furious though.”

“Oh, father doesn’t know,” Todd interjected derisively, “he thinks it’s just an act. Civilian identity and all that.

“Anyway,” Grayson, ignoring Jason, continued, “just tell us where you want him and don’t say the floor.”

“In his own room. Grayson, why are you asking?” Suddenly Damian was suspicious.

“Yeah, that’s not happening” Todd said quickly.

“Thhrr thumping me”, Drake whined from the floor. “Istha a coocumber sthanwith”

Damian shot the duo an affronted look, chin out, as if ready to fight.

“Look, little D, it’ll be ok,” Grayson laughed “just call Alfred he’ll tell you what to do”

It was Todd’s turn for the look this time, giving Grayson an incredulous one, and Damian said tersely “I can’t do that he’s on a transatlantic flight.”

“What? No he’s not, he just flew to Cambridge, he should be there already—“

“Oh. My. God” Todd rolled his eyes, and Drake started laughing hysterically.

“Mathathewset! ...aha, haha...!” Drake howled with laughter from his place on the floor.

Giving Drake a look of disdain, Damian raised his voice over the maniacal cackling. “Cambridge, Cambridgeshire England Grayson! And just exactly how much Irish coffee have you had tonight?”

“Look little D—“ but Damian cut him off.

Glaring at Grayson he said “ No! You and Todd cannot just dump him on me like this. Why can’t Stephanie and Cassandra look after him?”

Drake bolted upright. “Shthefhany thoved me intho th waither!” He said angrily, arm outstretched pointing an index finger at the trio.

Then, still in his sitting position, he twisted back towards the table. Placing his hands on the it, he started slowly dragging himself along its length, while Todd smirked, trying not to laugh at him.

“Steph and Cass are too busy shipping over Celtic Woman,” Grayson began before Todd cut him off.

“And we’d tranq him, but B locked down the cave because someone wanted some alone time!”

“Tt, if you’re out of darts, then just take him to the clock tower so Gordon can babysit!”

“D—“ Grayson started again.

“No!” Todd grabbed Damian by the upper arms, looked down as his littlest brother, and said, “we can’t do that because we’re trying to get laid, and we need to get out of here ASAP!”

With a sneer Damian resisted the light hold, but Todd pulled him back. He lifted Damian up about an inch over his own head, and half an arms length away, emphasizing both the elder sibling’s strength and reach, as well as his irritation.

“Desist now Todd!” Yelled Damian, but with his arms pinned to his side there was very little he could do, except palm a small dagger from his pocket,and that made him very furious with his second elder brother. At the same time he was also mad with respect for Todd, though he’d never admit it.

Holding Damian up in the air, the younger’s legs thrashing wildly, trying to connect with Todd’s ribs, he said between clenched teeth, ‘It’s not that hard. There are 3 basic rules. 1. Feed and water a Timbo, but don’t let him eat or drink too much, and 2. make sure you flip the replacement over on his side when he passes out.”

With that Todd set his littlest brother back down, dodged Damian’s sweeping leg kick, and a dagger to his side with a quick hop and a laugh. Thumping Grayson on his back with both hands, the two proceeded to head back towards the garage. Though Grayson had the audacity to wag his index finger towards Damian, mouthing ‘no stabbing or killing your brothers’ as he walked backwards towards the utility door.

“What’s the 3rd rule?” Damian shouted after them.

In unison they both yelled back “Don’t be a narc”.

“Narc, whatever does that mean?” He mumbled to himself.

Behind him Damian’s plate crashed to the ground, and he heard Drake say, “Thiss coocumbrr sthanwhith is tho gud!”

‘Drake!” Damian rounded on his elder brother and leapt towards the table, snatching up the plastic container that held the rest of his precious sandwiches.

“Oh! For mercy’s sake Drake, show some dignity.” He said. He then walked back to the kitchen to put the container back in the icebox.

Drake, in response “nom, nom,nom,nom...” as he finished the sandwich.

Damian shook his head, resigned. He grabbed a jar of peanut butter and two spoons, then made his way back to the kitchen.

Seeing the peanut butter Drake’s shoulders drooped, head down, he whined, “I sowry. I sssuckk!”.

Utilizing a chair Drake pulled himself up to sit at the table. Damian pushed the goblet of water towards his 3rd eldest brother. Drake picked up the goblet and drank the water in one drought. He took the proffered spoon, and together him and Damian proceeded to take turns spooning out the peanut butter to eat.

After a couple two, or three large tablespoons, Drake spoke again “whathss that?” He reached towards the papers on which Damian had prepared his emergency drills.

“I am not ready to share that yet”, he moved the paperwork to his other side, out of Drake’s reach.

Drake, pointed a finger at Damian, “okay, ‘feth up, liddle bat, you were running around the houth earlier playing roguesth and capess”

Damian scowled in between spoonfuls of peanut butter. “Tt, did not.”

Drake regarded him thoughtfully, glassy eyes trying to focus, as he moved to rest his chin on his hand, “I almos believe you.”

Damian noted his speech was improving, but he also remembered rule number 1 and took the spoon and jar of peanut butter away from Drake. “For your information, I was playing capes and assassins, league trained to be exact.”

Drake, though still trying to focus, noted in his language usage that league trained also applied to capes,“ intersthing!” He perked up, remembering something his inebriated mind considered parallel. “Have you ever hurd of thelebrity fight club?”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to speak of it?”

Drake sputtered, “no, thath’s fight club fight club.”

Damian frowned. “Please Drake, father would never let us engage in such public spectacle.”

“Iths not real, iths claymation.” It took some effort on Drake’s part to get out that last word.

It was Damian who regarded Drake thoughtfully this time, “Explain.”

“Jon ever thow you Wallace and Gromit?” Damian shook his head in assent, and Drake continued, “tho like that, bu’ with c’lebrrdies f-fighting eachhothr…,” he grinned, and waited expectantly, starting to feel much better.

Damian was silent, waiting for the penny to drop.

“…and thhink of th’ damage you can infflict on a clay figuure...”

Damian’s brows knitted together, “…and said damage could be repaired quite easily. So, in effect it’s a harmless practice.”

“Exactly!” Tim beamed, slapping his hand down on the table. “Hey can I have ssome ore water?”

“Of course you may.” Damian took the glass, and proceeded into the kitchen.

Returning from the kitchen, Damian continued the conversation, “am I correct in assuming this is the part where we have discourse about who could defeat who?”

“Exactly!”

Sitting down, Damian hummed. This time it was he who rested his chin on his hand. “But, as a Jon would say, cartoon rules apply. Otherwise it would make no sense to include Wonder Woman or Superman in such barbaric pursuits.”

“Yass! Damesth, I’m tho proud of you!” He raised his hand in the air.

Damian grinned proudly returning the gesture, and Drake slapped Damian’s hand with his own.

“Ok, first up-“

“Harley Quinn vs Nightwing!” Damian said excitedly. “If Harley has her baseball bat she’d mop the floor with Grayson.”

Drake grinned, “way to show family loyalty, but alright. Oh hey! My action figures are still here. We can use them.” Drake got up and with Damian following they retreated upstairs.

Once upstairs, in Drake’s old room, suite really, Drake got down on the floor, reaching his arms underneath his bed he pulled out a rather large container. He didn’t get up, instead he shoved the box towards Damian, and rolled over on his side. Propping himself up on his elbow, he opened the container. Damian sat on the floor opposite and watched as Drake dumped out the contents of the box. There were what appeared to be hundreds of action figures now on the floor between them. Some were characters from Star Wars and Star Trek, some he recognized from his collections of video games. It was the hero action figures that caught his eye. The entirety of Gotham’s rogues were represented, as were the entire caped and cowled community. From Batman to Zatanna.

“Drake,” Damian breathed in awe, “why do you have all these?”

“Why not? Most of the superhero one’s were before I came to Iive with Bruce.”

Together, they began sorting the figures, throwing the generic thugs, transformers, stormtroopers, and red shirts back into the box.

“Damian,” Drake began, “can I see what you’ve been working on now?”

Damian paused, considering the request, absently fiddling with a transformer. He did bring his plans upstairs with him. Damian dropped the transformer in the box and picked up his plans, holding them gingerly. His lips twitched as he looked at the bundle of drawing paper, but despite his hesitant anxiety, he leaned over the box and handed the bundle to Drake.

Damian nervously began to sort actions figures again. He had originally wanted to show Todd first, since this was something his second eldest brother had likely done for his own apartment building. He’d never considered showing Drake first.

“Damian,” Drake looked up from reading Damian’s work, after having briefly looked through paperwork. A look of admiration shown on his face. “This is really good!”

“Really? I thought to show Todd first....”

“I think you should show Bruce tomorrow.”

“If you think so.”

“I do.” Drake stifled a yawn and passed the bundle of paper back to Damian who beamed proudly.

“Thanks Drake. That means a lot coming from you.”

A look of disbelief flickered briefly across Drake’s face. Recovering quickly, smiling he said simply, “thanks, and back atcha baby bat.”

Putting the plans aside Damian set about separating the actions figures once more.

“Drake, should we do a tale of the tape? Oh, and since you have a Red Hood figure, I’ve put back the Joker since...well you know.”

When silence greeted him, Damian looked up to find Drake sprawled on his back, softly snoring. Damian shoved the now closed box aside and out of the way. As,he was sliding the selected action figures to one side of the box he saw a robin action figure newer than the others, and picked it up. With a look of wonder Damian turned it over once in his hands. It was his very own figure, green boots and mask and all.

Smiling gently, he looked over at Drake. Remembering rule #2, he scooted over and tugged on Drake’s arm and shoulder until his elder brother was laying safely on his side. After placing a blanket over Drake’s sleeping form, he picked up his bundle of paperwork and his action figure. Making his way out of the bedroom, he placed his action figure on the night stand, and turned off the light before quietly closing the door.

#batfamweek2020 #underappreciatedfamilymembers day2batfamweek tim drake #timdrake #damianwayne #reallylongsorrynoao3yet #jasontodd #dickgrayson #underappreciatedfamilymembers

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fancycakedragon · 6 years ago

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Four's Company (Part 3)

Gwilym Lee x Reader, Ben Hardy x Reader, Joe Mazzello x Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

Masterlist

A week passed after your date with Joe and the two of you texted daily. Most of the time you sent morning greetings with some niceties. You hadn't heard from Gwilym after his initial text and got nothing at all from Ben. It was nothing you were going to worry yourself about though. You had to prepare for your clients in London.

Once you landed in London you checked into a hotel and began looking at the plot of land you would be working on.

"Theatre in basement level, pool could definitely go there," you mumbled to yourself, "landscaping will be discussed further, a sauna and a steam room? Wow someone's looking to show off." You absent mindedly looked over to your phone. Gwilym did tell you to let him know if you ever were in London. With your bottom lip between your teeth you picked up your phone and sent him a text.

-hey just letting u know I recently made it to London.

You tapped your phone as you waited for a reply. "He could be busy," you said to yourself. You placed the phone on the table focusing back to your work when you recieved a text.

-can I call u?

-sure

Immediately your phone rang. You waited for it to ring a little bit before answering. "Hey, Gwilym."

"Y/N, don't tell me you jumped the pond so soon just to see me again."

"Hahaha, funny. I'm actually here to meet with some clients."

"When?"

"Two days from now."

"That's good, because I'd like to invite you to dinner, if your interested..." You didn't say anything for a minute which concerened Gwilym. "Y/N? Are you still there?"

"Yeah! Yeah, can I just think about the offer for a bit?"

"Oh, of-of course."

You quickly hung up and sent a text to Rami.

-Gwilym just invited me to dinner

-k? Have fun.

-no! I just went on a date w/ joe I dont wanna make this weird!

-r u and joe exclusive after 1 date?

-wat no

-then no big deal. probz just a casual dinner. -unless u want more 😏

-ugh, ur no help.

-srsly dont swet it. ur all adults

You sat there staring at the text. With the last ounce of confidence you could muster you called Gwilym back. "Hey Gwilym, dinner sounds fun."

You weren't sure but you thought you heard a tone of relief in his voice, "That's great! Is tonight ok with you?"

"Of course."

"Good, come to my place by 7 tonight. I'll send you the address."

"Ok."

You passed the hours you had by preparing for your meeting and later on watching random videos that Joe had posted.

Once the time came you got a taxi and went over to Gwilym's place. When you got there you smoothed out your clothes before knocking on the door. A frazzled looking Gwilym opened the door and awkwardly shuffled out closing it behind him.

"Y/N, here so soon. Is it 7 already?"

You gave him a concerned nod. All of a sudden a high pitched ringing came from inside. Gwilym shut his eyes and whispered, "Shit."

"I think the smoke alarm in there's been activated."

"It seems that way, yes."

"You should go inside and see what's happening before your kitchen burns down."

"Good thinking," Gwilym opened the door slightly and squeezed in slamming it in your face. He quickly opened the door again, "So sorry, that was mannerless. Please come in."

You walked in and were hit by the smell of burning food. Gwilym guided you to the living room. "Make yourself comfortable," he said with a strained voice before rushing to the kitchen. You opted to follow him there instead of staying in the living room.

Gwilym grabbed a pan from the stove and dropped it in the sink. He then opened the oven and took out a blackened chicken? duck? You weren't even sure at this point.

The kitchen was a mess of ingredients strewn about. You looked around taking it all in with wide eyes, "Oh my goodness."

Gwilym sighed, "As you can see this isn't going the way I planned," he said leaning onto the counter in defeat.

You moved over to him and placed a comforting hand to his shoulder, "It's ok, you're definitely not the first person to." You took off your sweater and gave him a smile. "Let's clean this place up."

Gwilym ran a hand through his hair and started cleaning. You went over to his pantry and then the fridge picking up different ingredients.

"What do you think about spaghetti alla puttanesca?"

"Right now I trust you more than I trust myself."

"Well were having it because most of your groceries probably went into...that." you said motioning to what could have once been considered food. You placed the handful of ingredients onto the counter. With water put to boil you chopped the ingredients. You absent mindedly began to sing under your breath.

Gwilym paused to listen and turned to you, "Is that piano man?"

You blinked up at him as if coming out of a daze, "What? Oh yeah, it is."

"Were you in your own little world," he asked in amusement.

"Well it's not like you're trying to make converstion."

Gwilym looked down avoiding your eyes, "Sorry, I'm just trying to recover from the embarassment."

"Oh, this will never leave you," you said making Gwilym laugh. "But, it's ok. Embarrasing moments like these keep us...I don't know, grounded? They're shit but they remind us were human."

You turned to him holding up spoon of the puttanesca sauce, "Try it."

Gwilym's hand naturaly found its way to your hip as he leaned towards you and tried the sauce. His brows lifted in surprise, "Wow."

"It's nothing too fancy but-"

"It's perfect," Gwilym said cutting you off.

You took a breath and looked away awkwardly, "Well I guess dinner's ready."

You and Gwilym set up your meal in the living room. Still trying to reassure him you told him an embarasing story about your childhood. It was only to make him feel better but it turned into the two of you swapping stories.

You had eaten half of your ice cream while Gwilym was recounting yet another story. "So now, I'm fucking running through the rain with no trousers! My wobbly knees were practically knocking into each other but I just had to get home before I was caught!"

Your sides hurt from heaving in big breaths while laughing. You were busy laughing so much you didn't realize you were leaning over until it was too late.

"Oh shit!" You were about to fall over the couch but Gwilym moved fast, grabbing your bowl of ice cream and catching you just in time. He pulled you back up and you two held eye contact. It was...intimate, soft, you were transfixed on the way the light from the lamp bounced off his blue eyes. The moment was only ruined by you giggling.

"In the middle of the rain, with no trousers!" you were back into full laughter. Gwilym shook his head and rolled his eyes but a small smile playing on his lips. Who knows what he would do to see you like this all the time.

------

Hope you enjoyed it! Sweet baby boy Ben is next! If you wanna read more requests are open. Let me know if you want to be tagged as well.

Tag list:

@ma-ntequilla @ixchel-9275 @queenbbarnes

@i-have-a-wonky-eye-too (for some reason tumblr won't let me directly tag u)

#gwilym lee x y/n #gwilym lee x you #gwilym x reader #gwilym lee #ben hardy x reader #reader #ben hardy x y/n #ben hardy x you #joe mazzello x y/n #joe mazzello x you #joe mazzello x reader #4-8-19 #joe mazzello #ben hardy

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 6 years ago

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🏰⚔️🐲🐲👑 DMODT- 56 update

Groaning, Eren woke to a rhythmic rocking beneath him, the squeak of wooden wagon wheels and the blurred stars above him confusing the poor omega. Scrunching his eyes closed, he tried to sit, only for a strong hand to hold him down as another took his right hand in theirs "Eren, shhh. It's ok" "M-Mikasa?" "That's right. I'm here. What were you thinking, charging into battle like that?" "M-Mika... Zeke..." Feeling around with his left hand, he wanted to know Zeke was safely with him, wherever here was "He died" "I know... his body, have you got his body?" "He's right beside you..." There was mumbles back and forth in the cart, Eren's head throbbing too hard to make any of it out. As it was, he had to concentrate to pay attention to his sister "Good... good... he was trying to help me and Yelena killed him" Coughing, tears welled in his eyes. Zeke was dead, and his mind was fuzzy... "Shhh. I've got you. We're falling back from the front lines for now" Good. That was good... it was safer... but he felt like he was forgetting something important "Get some more sleep Eren. I'll be right beside you" "Thank you, Mika..." Eren was in and out of consciousness for the ride. Each time he woke, he couldn't remember the previous time. Each time he asked for Zeke, and each time Mikasa reassured him that he'd been retrieved from the battle front. * Waking in a soft bed with a solid roof above his head, Eren whined as he tried to burrow back down into the soft warm furs of the bed. He wanted to fall back to sleep, but baby was pushing on his bladder, not caring that he was both mentally and physically exhausted. Whining again, he clumsily pushed back the covers, before yawning loudly. He could easily go back to sleep... but... peeing came first. Pushing himself up his world span, a hand grabbing his arm to keep him upright "Where do you think you're going?" Eren's breath caught. His instincts to throw himself at the man holding his arm, while his mind filled with anger. A distressed whine coming from his lips as he yanked his arm free. Levi... Levi really was back "Don't touch me!" Spitting the word at his alpha, Eren realised they were back at the castle in Levi's old chambers... Like it was the natural thing to do "Eren... I..." Eren didn't want to hear it. Levi had fucking left him and everything had gone to shit after he had. Pushing past the alpha, his sluggish mind was working better than his alpha. His exhaustion had him shuffling, as did his heavy belly, meaning his storming off wasn't as nearly as angry and dramatic as he would have liked. Having peed, showered, winced at his new scars, and eyed his even larger stomach with equal part confusion and excitement. The omega was still leaning against the bathroom counter as his thoughts finally started to sort themselves out. Zeke's death. Yelena's betrayal. Killing Pieck and Porco. Erwin's injuries and Levi's return... How the hell had they managed to get back here? And why... why did Levi have to show up right now? And why was he so fucking weak for him? Just knowing the alpha was in the joining room left his heart racing as he started slicking in response. Not a work in months, and he turned up like they weren't on the battlefield with hundreds dying around them... he... he couldn't face Levi. Not like this... What was there to even say? I married another man less than a month after you deserted me, and now I'm the widow that caused this war? Wiping away the stupid tears, Eren straightened himself up. There were things that needed to happen, people he needed to talk to. First he had to ascertain if Erwin had survived. Then Zeke's body would need to be prepared for transport back to Marley and his sword removed. Armin needed to be appointed prince, and Luca needed to be returned to his side. Luca was the easy part. Levi had left himself out his quarters while Eren had cleaned up. His son was curled up beneath the furs on the bed, just his nose sticking out. Smiling fondly at his son the smile didn't quite reach his eyes, despite his relief to know the little dragon was alright "Some guard dog you are" Jumping up, Luca blinked at him with wide eyes before letting out a long trill "Did you miss me, baby boy?" Sitting up like a dog begging, his son placed his feet on Eren's stomach carefully, before nuzzling at the swell with a rumbling coo "I know. Your sibling is just fine... I'm just fine... I missed you, beautiful boy" Leaning down was made awkward by his stomach, but Luca stretched up to meet him, the kiss landing between his two horn knobs "I love you. I don't suppose Armin brought me clothes?" Luca chirped, jumping off the bed and running over to the dining table. Waddling over, Eren found a fresh set of robes and a tray of food. It was a wonder Luca hadn't helped himself while Eren had slept... Right... Levi had been there... sighing, Eren half wished he hadn't brushed the alpha off, but he really couldn't deal. Just like he really didn't feel like "dealing" with the food in front of him, yet he knew he had to "Help me finish breakfast? I'm really not in the mood for food... Were you good for your father?" Luca chirped, cocking his head sideways as he did "Levi. Seriously... what is he doing here? And how long did you let me sleep?" Eren couldn't hear explosions, but the smell of smoke was still in the air. They didn't have time to be sitting back and resting. Marley needed to be informed of Zeke's death... Fuck... They'd have to transport Zeke back to Marley, and then they'd have to deal with Queen Dina... Would she even believe Yelena killed Zeke? There was so much shit to deal with... and Levi's bed full of furs were right there... it was soooo beyond tempting. Nuzzling his hand, Luca chirped loudly. He'd promised him food after all. No wonder his son was such a fatty "Right. Sorry, mummy is scattered right now. Let's eat breakfast, then you can show me where everyone is" Three spoonfuls of porridge had Eren running to the bathroom to throw it all back up, Luca more than content to take over his food as he rushed away. He wasn't sure that he could blame it all on his nerves over seeing Levi, when he was falling asleep slumped over the toilet. Nothing really felt real yet... or again. He knew once he saw Zeke's body, it was going to hit all over again. He hadn't deserved the way he died, and the way he'd wanted this baby... it wasn't fucking fair. He couldn't even tell the truth in his final moments, and now Eren didn't know if it was out of cowardice or because it would have only broken the dying alpha's heart. Whatever it was, it wasn't going to get better with him hugging the toilet. Fuck... How was he supposed to face them all? With Luca by his side, his son lead him through the castle like he owned the place. Leading him to the royal libraries, he found Jean and Connie guarding the doors. Both of his friends looked exhausted, Jean not even coming out with his usual insults as he opened the library door and announced him. As expected, Levi was in the room, the alpha seated by the fireplace while Mikasa, Armin and Hanji were looking over maps. Moblit was absent, as was Erwin. It was hard for his mind not to jump to the worse case scenario, the man so close to death the last time he'd seen him. With her arm in a sling, Hanji shot him an exhausted smile "Welcome back" "How bad is it?" "Could be worse... could be a hell of a lot better to" With a racing heart and sweating palms, Eren forced himself to join the others. The map was covered in black lines, broken up with crossed made in red "What's happened? How long was I out for? And where's Zeke?" He couldn't bring himself to say "Where's Zeke's body?". He just wasn't there yet "Eren... Zeke..." "I know. I was there. Yelena severed his spinal cord, and he bled out in my arms. Still. He is still my husband, and he is still the Prince of Marley. His body needs to be treated with respect" The first half of his reply slipped from his lips with such coldness all of them were surprised. Hanji cleared her throat, looking away from a moment. Pity was written all over her features "He's in the royal crypts. Most of the bodies we've recovered are down there, given the cooler temperature slows decomposition. The infirmary is full, and the overflow is extreme. We have everyone we can helping. We did as you asked and took a complete list of those missing and dead. Most of Mitras has been evacuated to the castle's underground, or have travelled north to Nedlay" "And food supplies?" "Running low" As expected... Though still tired, his magic had returned in full force "I'll do what I can. How long was I out?" "3 days. Historia and Ymir came down, along with Steege and Freya. She flew you back from the front lines" So much for their policy of non-interference. Rod would be livid... but Marley had voided the treaty first "Oh... ok... What else do I need to know?" "Erwin passed" Eren flinched as Levi's voice cut through the moment of silence. Armin sniffled, Eren only now noticing how red his best friends eyes were. Holding out his left arm, his shoulder stung, but not too badly. He'd healed, so it was probably nothing more than lingering exhaustion, as the pain was nothing like when he'd been shot, despite the fact it scarred. Shuffling over to him, Armin buried his face against Eren's chest in an awkward sideways hug thanks to his stomach "That was two days. What do we do now? He was the prince... and... Levi said Erwin said something about me? How am I supposed to do anything? I'm not like him. I can't take over his role" Hanji patted Armin's shoulder "No one is asking you to" Well... "Actually. In the place of Erwin's death, his dying request was for Armin to take the throne" Hanji wrinkled her brow, Eren confused. He'd thought Hanji knew about Armin's bloodline? "What? Why me? You're the prince..." "I was the prince through bond because Zeke declared it way, thinking it would please his mother. Then Prince through marriage. But I was never actually a prince" Hanji softly interrupted "We'll discuss the line of succession later. Right now, how are you feeling?" "Tired. Really fucking tired. Still sore, but that's because I may have slightly overdone things" Armin pulled back enough to punch him in the shoulder before pulling him close again "You idiot. I told you that you needed to rest. You... you weren't healing properly... What happened to you?" "I don't think I want to tell you, not if you're hitting me before knowing the full story" Mikasa's voice trembled as she snuggled "Eren, you were bleeding to death. There was so much blood that we thought you'd lost the baby" His sister's tears dripped onto the wooden table as her hands clutched the side "I'm sorry... I was careless. I thought I'd taken care of the harpoons, but they landed a lucky shot. Were Pieck, Porco and Yelena recovered?" Mikasa and Armin share a look, he'd already figured out that they were attempting to shield him from what had happened "Guys. Don't. Ok. I woke up. I showered. I ate. Now don't hold back. I know I killed Pieck and Porco, and I know Levi beheaded Yelena. But were their bodies recovered?" "They were" "I'll be taking them with me to Marley. I'll be returning Zeke's body to Dina personally" Armin shook his head "No. No more rushing in. No more doing stupid things... You're the prince. We need you here" "He was my husband Armin. Hanji, were Zeke's personal belongings recovered?" "They're with his body" "Thank you. He asked me to take his sword..." Crap. He was tearing up again. Levi's scent was turning angrier with each mention of Zeke, but the alpha no fucking right to be mad, and no right to force his feelings onto him. Hanji sighed softly "Eren, perhaps its best you're not here? We're currently reorganising troupe routes and supply points... There's nothing we can do here at the moment, and you need to rest. Not just for yourself, but for the sake of your baby" "No. No. I'm fine... I'm ok..." He didn't want to be weak. Not when everyone else had been pushing themselves so much "Eren" "Hanji, it's fine. What happened to your arm" "It's nothing. I tripped when a bomb hit the castle. It's just a small break" Releasing Armin, Eren took the few steps to close the distance between him and Hanji. Placing his hand on the woman's damage arm, he let his magic flow into her. A bad sprain rather than a break "Eren, wait... oh wow... that feels much better" The tug of a smile played on the omega's lips. He had a use... even if it was something this small "Mikasa, how about you? Are you hurt?" "No. I wasn't" "Have you rested?" "What? Oh. No. We don't have time" "If Hanji can send me back to bed by saying there's nothing to be done at the moment, then you can take a break" Hanji snorted, untangling herself from the sling "He's got a point there" "I'm fine" "Mikasa..." His sister wasn't fine. Not by a long shot. None of his friends were... "Eren, I'm ok. Hanji's right. You're the one who needs to rest" He didn't want to rest... and his baby didn't wish to either. A hard kick causing him to gasp as hand flew to his belly "Eren!" Talk about an overreaction. All eyes went to him as he rubbed at the spot where the baby decided it needed to bash him internally "Hanji, you don't need to yell. This little one just kicked hard, that's all" "You really should rest. You lost a lot of blood, and were severely confused as you drifted in and out of consciousness. It's not healthy for you or the baby to lose that much blood" "Tell that to the baby... I... never mind" Erwin's face came to mind. How the alpha had dragged him back from the fight, then calmed him over the baby... It wasn't fair. He'd started to melt down, and Erwin had been right there for him, and all he'd done was let the man die "No, what were you going to say?" Placing his hand on his, Armin's voice was soft. Armin was probably the one feeling Erwin's loss the most. He'd loved the alpha for years before Eren had returned, and now he was gone... Even if he didn't know they were brothers, Armin still cared for Erwin "I was just thinking of Erwin... I think I want to see Zeke. Armin, will you come with me?" "Yeah. Of course I will" Leaning forward, Mikasa shook her head "Eren, it's not pretty. You should remember him how he was" "I know it won't be pretty. I remember all of it... but I need to see him, and you're all insisting I rest. I'll rest once I know Zeke's body is clean, and that he hasn't been disrespected further. He wasn't a great man. But he was trying. He loved this baby, and he said the three of us was like a dream... I didn't even tell him it wasn't his" Mikasa nearly took out Hanji as she rushed to gather him in her arms. Hushing him softly, Armin joined in front the other side, with Luca jumping up on the table to force his way into the hug "I'm sorry... I shouldn't be crying" "None of us knew him like you did. And none of us can honestly say we liked him, but this is important to you. If you promise to rest, Armin and I will both come with you. I'm sure Hanji and Levi will find a way to handle things here" "P-please?" "Of course. Do you need help walking? You've grown again" Eren snorted a rather gross feeling snot bubble "Historia said that my body was protecting the baby because my mate wasn't there, and I didn't feel safe... I guess because... Well, they're growing again... it probably won't be that much longer before this little on graces us with their presence" Especially given how he'd grown again. He couldn't see his junk, let alone his feet, and his breasts were definitely heavy with milk "That's amazing" "I don't know about that. It's a human child, not showing any dragon magic. I'm long past a normal and healthy due date..." "Just don't go into labour right now. You won't, right?" Eren hiccuped and sniffled "I won't, Uncle Armin" Labour was the last thing they needed... He didn't want to go into labour without Levi there, his omega was already sulking that they weren't curled up in Levi's lap, soaking in the man's comforting scent. The thought of giving birth without him scared him. Especially after having birthed his clutch. He never would have made it through without Levi by his side through the long hours of labouring and birthing.. Would Levi want to be there? How did they find their path back together, if he didn't know how to even find the start of it?They'd both changed in their time apart, more so than the year they'd spent separated, and now they had a baby that complicated things further. * Zeke's body smelt horrible. No one had been down to clean the man since his body had been placed on a stone slab in the royal crypts. Laying beside him, his sword was sheathed, a large red scale set on both sides of the pummel. Carefully, he lifted it down, feeling the dragon magic pulse in his hold. Unlike Obsydin, the sword didn't hold the soul of the dragon it'd been fashioned with, just residual magic. Drawing the blade, Eren placed the scabbard down as he tilted the blade. Armin and Mikasa both looked horrified, though there was no danger of a repeat performance of what had happened in Draecia. Inscribed with runes along the blade was a spell of protection for the weirder. At the hilt Zeke's name was engraved, as well as what Eren assumed to be a name "Vermil", which was most probably the name of the dragon that had been Obsydin's mate. As carefully as he'd drawn it, Eren resheathed it, tying the leather straps into place before handing it Mikasa "This sword is to go to Levi. It forms the pair with Obsydin's sword. It doesn't have the same powers, but Zeke wanted to reunite them" "It's what?" "Marley butchers dragons, we know this. The dragons on the battlefield were mindless, driven crazy by Marley. I wish to honour Zeke's request" Mikasa crossed her arms, looking annoyed "You don't owe him anything. And as for that midget, if you want him to have the sword, return it to him yourself. He's been in a mood since we found you on the beach" It felt wrong to talk about his mate in front of his dead husband. His mind wouldn't let up on the way they'd ignored the alpha all over again. "I don't want to talk about that... Not in front of Zeke. He'll need a change of clothes from his trunks. His nicest clothes. We'll need some water and soap, as well as a needle and thread" Armin took the sword, propping it up against the slab, where Luca was fast to sniff at the weapon "Do you want me to go? Or we both can, so you can have some time with Zeke" Eren sniffled as he nodded. Taking Zeke's hand in his, he rubbed circles on the back with his thumb "That would be nice. I need start undressing him. I need to sew his wounds up. His mother won't show him any respect..." Murmuring the words, Eren turned his back towards his friends as he used his free hand to push Zeke's hair back from his face. After three days, the alpha didn't look like he was sleeping anymore. His organs were rotting, gasses escaping from the holes tore in by the battle dragon after his death. It really wasn't a sight he should be near or handling in his condition, but he wanted this done right and with respect "You stupid idiot... Why didn't you leave me there? Why did you come back here? None of this was worth so many people dying... Worth you dying. I didn't understand you when I was with you, then you died... How could I tell you the baby wasn't yours? You cared so much..." Sinking to his knees, Eren clutched Zeke's hand as he wept. Zeke was flawed, but he was learning. Returning with what he'd asked for, Eren was still on his knees as his friends joined him in the royal crypt. Taking on her "scolding mum" persona, Mikasa was quick to dump Zeke's clothes by the man's feet, the pull him back up to stand, snapping at Armin to find Eren a chair. He didn't need a chair, he needed to prepare Zeke, and as it was, Armin was carrying everything else he'd asked for. His friends hands were full, and an playful Luca wasn't helping. A small snort escaped him, the omega feeling immediately terrible for making such a sound in such a place. He needed to pull himself back together. Shaking, he started by unclasping cloak. His clothes were practically rags, the alpha would have been appalled to have been seen like this. Walking to stand on the other side of the slab, Mikasa caught her hand in his as he moved to shift the cloak from Zeke's shoulder "Eren, are you sure you're alright to be doing this?" "He didn't die of disease..." "That's not what I meant" "I know. Look. In his final moments, I learned a lot of Zeke's character. Under absolutely everything was a lost and broken man who felt he'd never be good enough to please the only family he had in his mother. Everything he did was all a front, while inside he desperately wanted someone to see and acknowledge him, for himself. That's why he cared for this baby. He didn't want to be the kind of parent his mother had been. Perhaps because I rarely held my tongue when we were alone, Zeke came to see me as me and not the omega he married simply to take over Eldia. His final moments were spent in my arms, and I need to do this. I need to do this for me, and for him" Mikasa seemed skeptical, but didn't voice it. Instead her hand went to the buckle Zeke's chest armour "I'll take care of the armour. It can be tricky when you don't know what you're doing. Why don't you start with his boots? But Eren, if I think you're pushing yourself too hard, I will send you to rest" "Ok... I... could probably use some help, but I'll be the one to clean the body" Returning with a found chair, Armin was walking on tiptoe as he carted the solid wood thing "Why can't you use magic to wash him? Wouldn't that be easier?" There was a solid thud as Armin dropped the chair down, leaning on the back of it as he pants. Sighing to himself, he didn't understand how someone as caring as Armin didn't get it "I want to wash him down myself. Then I'll stitch his wounds. It's much more respectful than conjuring up a rain cloud to leak all over him" "Oh..." He didn't want Armin to feel even worse. Somewhere in the crypt Erwin laid, though he'd probably already been washed and made ready for burial "Yeah. Help me with his boots?" "Of course"

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