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noteguk · 4 years ago

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bad influence | jjk | m

— summary; in which you know Jungkook is a bad influence on you, but you can’t avoid falling for him every time.

— contents and warnings; pwp, badboy!jk x goodgirl!reader, car sex, dirty talk, fingering, hair pulling, breast play, jk has a big dick and an attitude, unprotected sex (condoms are your friends), jk being kind of a douche, use of the word “slut”, cum eating, creampie, cockwarming, possessiveness, he slaps her ass like once, enemies to fuckbuddies pretty much

— words; 4.5k

— author’s note; I got carried away because I don’t know how to control myself!!! Also bad boy Jungkook is a fucking concept and I’m exhausted. Have fun. // BAD INFLUENCE COLLECTION

You didn’t even know who you were trying to convince when you told yourself that you wouldn’t fall for Jungkook’s cheap charms anymore because, clearly, that wasn’t working. Every time you saw him, every dumb promise you made in front of the mirror came crumbling down, erasing your defenses along with it.

That whole “falling for the bad boy” fiasco was really pathetic, and you knew that terribly well. You thought you had prepared yourself well enough to see through that mess of testosterone and leather jackets, of hollow smirks and messy dark hair. You knew better than to get involved with someone that didn’t take anything seriously and, worse, that mocked you for doing the opposite.

You knew that Jeon Jungkook was nothing but trouble and, yet, you came crawling back to him every single time.

“Fuck,” he moaned against your mouth, his eyes flickering shut at another roll of your hips. His voice was so deep, so rough, that you felt yourself clenching around nothing, a small whimper dripping from your lips as you pressed your panties against his bulge one more time. “You should wear skirts more often, you look like a sexy schoolgirl.”

You rolled your eyes, struggling to keep your balance on his lap. Straddling him on the driver seat of his car really wasn’t how you thought your night out would end, but it wasn’t all that surprising either. “I fucking hate you sometimes,” you spat.

Jungkook smirked, taking one of his large hands to the back of your head. “Only sometimes? I should try harder, then.”

You were left without a chance to respond because, within a second, he was pressing his lips against yours in a deep, sensual kiss. Jungkook always made out with you like he was about to lose you, like he was drowning and you were his last, desperate gush of air. Jungkook had been the only one who had ever kissed you like that, so messy, but yet so passionate; every curl of his tongue against yours making you melt in his embrace. You, of course, would never tell him how much you liked it, your pride would never allow you to do so.

His palm was firm and hot against your cheek, tilting your head slightly to the side so he could deepen the kiss. His other hand was tenderly placed on your hips, guiding them as you continued to grind against his clothed erection. The air inside his car was so heavy that you felt as if you couldn’t even breathe, only small whimpers echoing between your mouths at the gentle caresses of your clit against the fabric of his pants.

But, as much as Jungkook was having fun, that grinding session was starting to annoy him a bit. He had been waiting to have you all night — going through the motions of boring bar conversations and brushing off the shameless flirting of other girls — and he wasn’t going to spend his sweet time just dry humping you like you two were horny teenagers.

So, he took his shot as you raised your hips from his. Before you could move your body down once again, one of his hands traveled beneath the hem of your skirt, his nails pressing down on the skin of your thighs as he made his way towards your pussy. Jungkook had been daydreaming about your cunt wrapping around his cock for far too long then, and he needed to remind himself of how good that felt.

“Fuck, babygirl, look at you… You’re soaked and I didn’t even touch you yet.” Jungkook smirked wickedly, his fingers faintly tracing its way up and down your clothed folds. You shivered at the contact, biting on your lip to avoid moaning out — he, of course, noticed that. He had quite the natural talent when it came to seeing what made you tick. “Why are you holding back, baby? Afraid that someone will hear you?”

Your only response was a shaky breath from your nose, the words far too complicated to leave your mouth. Only Jungkook, in all of his great self, was able to make you such a mess so quickly, and you hated your body for being so reactive under his touches. It was the expectation, you noticed, the anticipation of knowing how well he fucked you, of knowing he was only taking his time before ruining you.

Without hesitation, he pulled your panties to the side and placed two of his fingers between your pussy lips, barely brushing your entrance. Jungkook covered his digits with your wetness and moved them toward your clit, pressing them delicately on your sensitive nub. “I asked you a question, baby.”

A bit overwhelmed, you breathed out, trying to keep yourself composed. It was almost impossible when it came to him. “Yeah, I don’t want people to know,” you admitted.

He knew that, of course. It was a common worry amongst the two of you — especially when Jungkook had such a thing when it came to risky places to have sex in. Fucking you in his car, right outside the bar where you two had accidentally ran into each other, was far from being one of the most out-there situations he had created.

“Hm? Know what?” He continued playing his self-indulgent game, pressing down on your clit. Your body jilted at the contact, mouth parting slightly and hands resting on his broad shoulders as he began slowly moving in circles over your sweet spot. “That pretty little ___ isn’t such a good girl, after all?”

“J-Jungkook,” his name was a pathetic moan that died on your tongue, barely a whispered plea as he continued his advances on your clit. You had broken down so easy and so fast, you didn’t even remember you had once promised yourself that you would never come back to his bad boy shenanigans.

But it was so, so hard to keep yourself away from him. You were only human, and Jungkook was this little demon ruining you just a bit more every time.

“Are you worried that they’ll know that, beneath all those good grades, all those nights spent studying in your room, all that fucking charity work...” His fingers pressed harshly against your clit and your back arched, making you almost hit the steering wheel behind you. The thought of accidentally pressing down the horn made your blood run cold, and you forced yourself to lean back against his chest. “That under all that, you’re still a slut for my cock?”

Your eyes fluttered shut, pleasure starting to climb up your spine as his voice guided you towards the past. All the times you snuck out during the night, all the times he fucked you raw after just bickering with you in front of your friends. All the times you told everyone that he was just a pile of trouble, and yet you begged for him to bury himself between your thighs until you were crying out his name. Really, it was difficult to find a bratty clapback when he was fucking you senseless, and Jungkook seemed to like that discovery just as much as you.

And still, sometimes he didn’t like when you didn’t answer him.

“You’re so shy all of a sudden…” he trailed off, taking one of his hands to pull up your crop top. He didn’t take it off, especially when he knew you’d freak out being topless in a public parking lot, he just needed to have better access to your bra. “You aren’t this quiet when you’re around other people, though. Always mocking me, being so mean…”

“Don’t play the victim, you do the same to me,” you found the strength to respond, making Jungkook stop his motions on your clit right away. You sighed in frustration, your shoulders falling as you watched him lick his lips. “Why did you stop?”

“I��m waiting,” he said.

“For what?”

“For an answer, baby.” He smirked. “You’re so mean. You always leave me hanging.”

“That’s not true,” you said, taking your hands to his nape. There, you played with the strands of his hair, making him groan after a harsh pull. “What’s the question?”

Jungkook hummed, taking his free hand to your bra and cupping one of your breasts — his other one was still paused, hovering over your clit like an unspoken promise. “Do people know?” He repeated, unclamping your bra with one swift motion and pushing it up along with your top. “Do they know how much of a dirty girl you are?”

You swallowed hard and pushed your body against his fingers, trying to find some more friction. “I’m not,” you said, but could not believe your own words. “It’s just—“

The lie vanished the second that his lips found your nipple, his velvety tongue coming out to circle around it before he gave you a harsh suck. You pressed yourself closer to his mouth at the contact, and you could no longer hide the needy moan that escaped you — which seemed to satisfy Jungkook.

“You’re not?” He spoke as he pulled away from your breast. Jungkook’s fingers slithered away from your clit and dove inside your pussy without further warning, making you cry out his name. No matter how many times you touched yourself, your fingers could never compare to his larger ones, making you stretch out so sweetly around them. “So why are you soaking my fingers like this? That’s so filthy, baby...”

You clenched your teeth. “God, you’re so annoying.”

“And you’re so wet,” this time, however, the mockery in his voice had faded a bit, giving space to a newfound wave of lust. As much as Jungkook loved to tease you, he was quite fast to break too — and the lewd sounds of your pussy were making him lose his mind. “Are you remembering all the times I fucked you before? All the times I pounded this tight pussy until you were crying? Begging for my cock?”

God, you could feel as the heat started to spread down your body, guided by his words alone. When you spoke again, your voice wasn’t as firm as you expected. “J-Jungkook, that’s not…”

“Not what, baby?” He interrupted, tilting his head to the side. You hated how clothed he was, but you couldn’t deny that you wanted to ride him like that — in that stupid leather jacket of his. “You didn’t like it?”

“I- I did.” It was getting hard to think when his thick fingers were pumping in and out of you so well. “I loved it.”

Those words left your throat before you could stop yourself, and your heart almost sank when you realized you had actually praised Jungkook, local douchebag, for something. You knew that he wouldn’t let that go anytime soon. “Loved being fucked like a good slut, right?” He asked, moving his fingers faster. You moaned especially loud when he started pushing them apart, scissoring you.

“Yes,” you gasped, utterly defeated at that point.

“Hmmm… so let me ask you again, and I expect a direct answer this time,” Jungkook said, leaning his head against the crook of your neck. His voice was a cloud of heat against your skin, vibrating up and down your body. “Do people know that you’re a slut for my cock?”

“No,” you finally responded, fingers digging on his hair. Your pleasure was increasing so fast that you knew it was just a matter of time before you were cumming around his fingers, like you had done so many times before. “Only you know, Jungkook.”

That seemed to really satisfy him, because it was his turn to grunt against your flesh. The sound of his voice, so hoarse and guttural, made you clench around his fingers. “You’re getting so tight, baby.” He breathed out, unable to hide the desire that coated his words. Jungkook really needed to feel that delicious pussy of yours around his cock before he went insane. “Close?”

This time, your answer didn’t take long to come out. “Yes.”

“I have another question for you,” he started, and you would've rolled your eyes at him if you weren’t so awfully close to your high. “Do you wanna come on my cock or my fingers?”

“Both, please,” you moaned out and rolled your hips against his hand, dignity long forgotten. You wondered what your friends would say if they knew you were pleading for Jungkook, of all people, to make you cum.

“Not both, you have to pick one.” Jungkook stopped his movements for the second time that night, and you couldn’t help cursing out at the absence of motion. You clenched around his fingers, making a sly smirk spread across his features. “I’m feeling especially greedy tonight.”

“Fuck you,” you said, taking a moment to organize your thoughts. As much as you really, really needed to cum, the idea of not having Jungkook’s dick inside you was much worse than waiting just a few more minutes to have it. “Your cock.”

He smiled and, for a moment, he almost looked innocent. Almost. “I thought so,” Jungkook teased, giving you one final pump of his fingers and watching as you bit your lip at the abrupt feeling. “I know you love it.”

You scoffed. “You have such an attitude.”

“Maybe,” Jungkook said as he removed his fingers from your pussy, watching how they shimmered, coated by your wetness. He looked up at you and took his hand towards your mouth. “Let me see you taste it,” he told you, tapping on your bottom lip. Obedient, you opened your mouth for him, allowing for his digits to slither inside. With a whimper, you sucked him like you would his cock, curling your tongue around him in a way that left Jungkook cursing out. “So fucking hot.”

His eyes were focused on your mouth as he pulled his fingers away from it, swallowing dry at the “pop” sound it made when it left your lips. “Now,” he almost groaned, “let me taste it.”

Jungkook crashed his mouth on yours, making you moan against his kiss once again. His tongue hungrily danced with yours, searching for your taste as his hands grabbed your ass, pressing you down against his aching member. You never wanted something as much as you wanted to feel him inside you right then, and Jungkook also didn’t want to wait any longer.

He smirked against your mouth when he heard the sound of his zipper opening, your hands working fast to pull his pants down. “I told you that you love my cock.”

“God,” you complained, pulling at the hem of his pants. Jungkook raised his hips from the seat so you could slide them down, bringing his underwear along with it. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Only when you let me eat you out.” His cock had sprung free, resting against his abdomen as your hands moved to grab it. Again, another compliment that you would never give him, but Jungkook had one of the prettiest (and biggest) dicks you had ever seen; already so enlarged and red-tipped, leaking with pre-cum. Just looking at it made you horny, and it wasn’t long before you were taking it in your hand, giving it a few pumps before brushing your thumb over his crown, spreading his wetness all over it. “Fuck, that feels good.”

The pleasure in his voice almost blinded you for a moment, making you forget what had been your intention in the first place. However, as you felt yourself clenching around nothing, you came back to your senses.

“I wanna feel your warm little cunt around me, baby,” Jungkook breathed out, watching as your hand continued to pump him.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling especially nice tonight,” you told him, placing your thighs closer to his center. With a grunt of expectation, Jungkook’s eyes followed as you raised your skirt with one hand and guided his cock towards your heat with the other one. “Ready to make your schoolgirl fantasy come to life?”

He opened his lips to respond, but his voice was lost the second that you pressed his tip against your opening, coating his cock with your warmness. “Fuck, baby,” he moaned, hands grabbing your ass as you sank down on him.

“Oh, God,” you whined as you bottomed out, your walls pulsating around him as you got used to his size. No matter how many times he fucked you, you couldn’t get used to his large size and the amazing way he filled you up like no one else could. “Jungkook, you’re so big.”

That was another comment that, unfortunately, you could not hold back. Because you hated yourself, that was why. “You can take it, baby,” he said, pressing down on your ass. “Be a good girl and take everything.”

With his added force, you sank down until you had all of him inside you, practically sitting against his thighs by the time you were done. Taken away by the delicious feeling of his thick cock inside you, you started slowly setting a pace, moving up just so you could crash back down; the sound of skin on skin filling the still, muffled atmosphere of his car.

“Shiiiiit, ____, you’re so tight.” He breathed out heavy, watching the way your bodies connected; the way his dick was coated by your wetness. “I can’t get used to it, it’s the best pussy I’ve ever had.”

Now it was your time to be carried away by his compliments. It was stupid, but having Jungkook praise you (especially after he spent most of his days making fun of you) had you feeling over the moon. Before you could hold yourself back, you were already setting up a rhythm, bouncing up and down on him in a way that got him seeing stars; moaning in delight every time you rolled your hips on him.

“Fuck, yeah, ride this cock,” Jungkook groaned, thowing his head back against the seat. His hair was a mess, falling over his eyes and gluing against his sweaty forehead; and yet he looked like sin incarnated as you fucked yourself onto him. Those saliva-coated lips, those furrowed eyebrows, and the deep, hungry gaze that he sent you way every time you sunk down on him would be the death of you.

Jungkook breathed out as you started to pick up your pace, your hands pressing down on his shoulders as your ass bounced against his thighs. “Such a good slut,” he praised breathlessly, taking one of his hands to brush a strand of hair away from your eyes. “Such a filthy little thing.”

Pride forgotten, you knew what he wanted to hear. “O-only for you,” your words were a confusing mess of syllables, mind drunk on the feeling of his big cock pumping in and out of you. Only Jungkook could fill you up like that, only he could make you such a mess so quickly.

“Oh, I know, baby.” His palm came down heavy against the globe of your ass, stinging your skin and making you cry out in an amazing mixture of pain and desire. You whimpered at the feeling that his slap left behind, your eyes dazed and unfocused as you looked down at the boy. “This pussy is all mine.”

You called out his name as he started thrusting up, the force of his movements increasing your pleasure immensely. You loved when Jungkook started to get rough with you, when he started to use you like you were just a doll for him to seek his own high.

He pulled on your hair, making your head tilt backwards and presenting him with a glorious view of your neck. Jungkook groaned against your flesh, his lips and tongue attacking your skin in a way that you knew would leave marks the following day — just the way he liked it. “I want to fuck you forever,” he moaned, “Wanna make this pussy so messy with my cum. Mark it as my own.”

“It’s yours, Jungkook,” you told him, lost in the buildup of your pleasure. “It’s all yours.”

He groaned, and the force of his hips snapping against yours only increased. Weak, you allowed your body to tumble against his strong chest, letting him use you the way he wanted it.

“Such a tight and wet pussy for me,” he moaned out through clenched teeth. Jungkook looked almost animalistic then, only wanting to fuck you until his stamina ran out. “Say my name, baby.”

“J-Jungkook,” you gasped.

“Louder,” he hissed, buckling his hips higher. The feeling of his cock thrusting upwards and reaching even deeper inside you got you seeing stars, eyes rolling back and mouth falling open. “I want everyone to hear it. Hear how good I make you feel, hear that this pussy is all mine.”

Any other time, you would refuse to do something so absurd — but, at that moment, your mind was floating far away from that car, and all that you wanted was to be a good girl for him. “Jungkook!” you called his name louder, moaning out at you felt his cock throbbing inside you.

“Again,” he rasped out, his jaw clenching.

“Jungkook, fuck!” You almost yelled out, the world turning into nothing as you continued to fuck yourself on his cock. Moments like those were wonderful: all your problems went away, and you could only focus on the way he made you feel so deliciously full.

“Ah, that’s it, shit,” he cursed out, member throbbing inside your pussy, “I’m gonna fucking cum.”

You cried out at the thought, wanting nothing more than to see him cuming because of you. “C-Cum inside me, please.”

“Yeah, baby,” he said, his voice lost in pleasure. You could feel his desperation from the way his hips crashed against yours with much more force, hitting deep inside you. “Take everything.”

His mind went blank when you clenched around his cock, wiping everything away from him but the delicious feeling of your walls sinking down on him. Jungkook looked like he was in a haze, his eyes unfocused and teeth sinking on his lip, barely watching the way he disappeared inside you. He only needed a bit more to be pushed over the edge.

“Please, fill me up, Jungkook,” you begged. His eyes darted towards yours, watching your face. He could see that you had tears pooling at the corner of your eyes, a faint heat in your cheeks. God, he had completely ruined you. “Please, I need your cum.”

And that was it. His orgasm hit him like a tidal wave, a deep groan leaving his throat as he spilled himself inside you, hearing the lewd sounds of your wetness as he continued to thrust up against your pussy. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cursed, head falling against the seat once more. Jungkook’s eyes closed as he felt the last drops of his cum being milked by you, his mind a jumble of broken words and disconnected ideas. “Oh, fuck, baby, fuck. Take it, baby, fuck...”

Of course you did as he asked, and you took every drop of his cum until it was starting to spill out of you. You couldn’t even look down, but you were sure that you were a complete mess between your legs. “J-Jungkook, I’m so close,” you cried out, drunk on the feeling of his thrusts.

“God, that’s it.” He pressed down on your hips, overwhelmed with the feeling of your walls clenching around his sensitive member. Jungkook loved it, though, loved seeing you cum around his cock like it was all that you ever wanted to do; loved watching your face as you looked at him with so much desperation that he almost grunted out. You really were a precious thing. “Make a mess on my fat cock, come on, baby. Let me see you cum for me.”

His request was like magic to you, and you came right after, calling his name amidst breathy moans and high-pitched whimpers. Jungkook kept whispering in your ear as you rode your high, praising how good you were for him, how good you felt around him, until you crashed down against his chest, absolutely spent.

Still, you had experienced enough sexual adventures with Jungkook to know that he still wanted two more things before he called it a night. He had his particular tastes.

“Let me see it.” Jungkook told you about a minute later, and you knew exactly what he wanted you to do. With your thighs still trembling a little, you leaned back against the steering wheel and pushed your body upwards, letting his dick slip out of you. Jungkook hummed in delight as you pulled up your skirt and he watched his cum dripping down your thighs, painting your folds in a delicate shade of white. He always loved to admire his work. “So fucking pretty… and all mine.”

You had to bite down your lip not to whimper at the touch of his fingertips against your pussy, catching a bit of his cum on them. He took it to his mouth, humming around his digits as he tasted himself. “You always make such a mess,” you complained.

“Shut up, I always clean it.” Jungkook sighed, looking at you almost tenderly. “You know what I’m gonna ask.”

Yes, you did.

You sighed. “Fine.”

Jungkook hummed happily as you propped yourself over his cock once again, now half-hard, and placed it back inside you, sinking down until you were sitting on his lap. “Good girl.” He sighed in bliss, his hand caressing your hair as you rested your head against his broad chest. You didn’t understand why Jungkook loved staying inside you after sex, but you couldn’t deny that you weren’t bothered by it. You just liked to pretend as if you were. “Feels so nice.”

You pressed yourself against his chest. “I hate you.”

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around your lower back. “No, you don’t.”

And you hated that he was right.

BAD INFLUENCE COLLECTION

#jungkook #smut #bts #bts smut #jungkook smut #x reader #reader insert #x you #jungkook x you #bts x you #bts x reader #jeon jungkook #bangtan boys #pwp #jungkook pwp #bts au #jungkook au #drabble #smut drabble

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apocalypticgargoyle · 4 years ago

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𝙎𝙐𝘾𝙆 & 𝘽𝙇𝙊𝙒 ☆ 𝙨𝙖𝙥𝙣𝙖𝙥 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩

∘ request:

goddamn your writing is so good 🥵 any chance you’d be able to write something with sapnap where you’re both at a party and know each other through friends but not well and you’re both a bit tipsy and he just can’t control himself and drags you into a bathroom? kinda fluffy where there’s lots of kissing but also desperate and accidentally rough (because the idea of someone wanting me so much that they lose control is a major thing of mine)

∘ pairing: sapnap x fm!reader

∘ warnings: nsfw (18+), party scene, drinking, crude language

∘ links: ao3

∘ word count: ~2000

a/n: Thank you so much for the request! I literally have the exact same thing so i think we’re soulmates or something. I hope you enjoy!

For the duration of the day, you’d been waiting for this moment. Your hair tangling amongst itself as you danced to the music with a group of your friends was almost a baptism for you. No longer were you restricted into your business casual attire and socially acceptable behavior. Now you were free to forget your name and responsibilities as mashups of different genres of heavily bass boosted music pulsed in your ears.

The large house was swelling with people, melding together as if their lives depended on the superficial human connection the beat could bring them. Many of them you recognized from some of your lectures; it had been a day where your classmates had planned a party for someone’s birthday. You hated to admit it, but you didn’t know or care whose party it was, you were just happy to have an excuse not to study.

You’d already lost one of your rings and your clothes were sticking to your body from the layer of sweat glistening against your skin, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. As cliché as it sounded, going to random college parties had equated to your own kind of religion. These senseless addresses were homes to a different kind of worship, but one you had quickly become devoted to. The smell of another girl’s perfume rubbing off on you and the nameless identity of the boy that offered you hard liquor were your new sacraments.

As the song died out, beginning a new string of beats to thunder around the room, you found yourself out of breath. You gestured to your friends that you were refilling your drink, but really you were in search of air that was a bit fresher. You wove through the heavy crowd, ending up in the kitchen and beelining for the fridge. There was a small group of boys standing around the keg, one of them filling his cup as they discussed something a few of them were getting heated about.

You tucked a cold water bottle against your side and grabbed a clean solo cup. As you got closer, you would hear what they were talking about. “I don’t know how you don’t remember that. It was like a big thing a few years ago?” One of them grumbled as his eyes narrowed at the liquid streaming into his cup.

“Sorry, Nick. I forgot they were selling kids on eBay. I honestly don’t see-” They continued on into overlapping ramblings that you couldn’t help but laugh at. One of them, that had been referred to as Nick, looked almost too familiar to you. Yet as you stood there, you couldn’t remember even if your life depended on it.

Nick’s eyes drifted to you as if just realizing you were standing there. “Sorry, do you refill?” He asked, mustering a somewhat shy smile. You snapped out of your train of thought, handing your cup to him.

“I didn’t mean to seem like a creepy, sorry,” you stated, sending him an awkward laugh. His lips parted in a smile. His dark hair was slightly ruffled, probably just from the weather earlier in the day. You weren’t sure if it was your slight buzz or the close proximity, but God, he looked good to you.

“No, I was hogging. It was my bad,” he answered. You brushed your hair off of your warm forehead and he looked up at you from what he was doing, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “I think I know you from somewhere,” he mumbled before something clicked behind his eyes as he handed you your cup back. “Oh, you’re Clay’s friend, right? I’m his roommate, Nick.” At his words, your brain clouded with embarrassment as memories of him finally fled your brain.

You smirked slightly. “Oh! Yeah, sorry I didn’t recognize you. You look…” You paused for a second. Where were you going with this statement? Hotter? “Grown-up,” you wheezed, making him chuckle again. “- I mean, since freshman year English, I guess.”

He chewed the inside of his cheek, attempting not to grin wider. “Yeah, you look… grown-up too,” he offered, sending you a slight smirk. “It’s weird how close you and Dream are and I never see you around anymore,” he continued.

You chuckled a bit, wetting your lips. “Yeah, I told Clay I had a crush on you and he kicked me out,” you joshed, making him laugh. For as quiet as you remembered him being, you were shocked he was engaging with you in the way he was. Maybe it was just the atmosphere and the alcohol that had him loosened up. Whatever it was, you found yourself partnering with him in beer pong and spending most of the night at each other's side.

You sat closely to him on a couch in one of the several living rooms, your heads set close together as you listened to what he was saying over the music. “Hey, you too found each other,” a deep voice bounded, making you jump slightly, almost spilling your drink on Nick. Clay plopped down on the other side of you, wrapping his arm around the back of your section of couch to tug on Nick’s ear.

“Why didn’t you tell me Nick was a stud now?” you joked, slightly cringing about how bold you sounded. Nick chuckled at your words, swatting Clay’s hand away from him and taking another sip from his cup.

Clay setted further into the spot beside you. “You guys wanna play ‘suck and blow’?” He stated, more to the group of people around you guys. You furrowed your brows at him, almost wanting to roll your eyes at Clay’s blatant mission to set you and Nick up together. But who were you to avoid his attempts.

The card was passed successfully around the group, until it got to Clay, whose breath you could practically feel on the other side of the thick paper. You turned to give it to Nick but dropped it at the last second, making his lips press against yours. It was almost like he was expecting it because he was utterly calm at your action, nearing leaning in on his own accord. There were cat-calling noises made from the group as the kiss ended briefly. “Ope, looks like you guys are gonna have to leave the circle,” Clay stated with an almost sing-song tone in his voice. You were thankful that you had turned towards Clay enough that Nick couldn’t see your jokingly scornful look.

“Well, that’s just too bad. We were so good at this,” Nick chided as the two of you stood to leave. You ruffled Clay’s hair as the two of you left, following Nick into another room. “Would you want to… go somewhere quiet?” Nick asked, his eyes flashing to yours. Your eyebrow perked in his direction before you wordlessly slipped your hand into his.

You found yourself in the bathroom, Nick's hands settling on your hips as he pressed his lips against yours. You let out a sharp moan as he ground his hips against yours, yearning for more friction. Your fingers dug into his hair as his tongue slipped into your mouth, hungry for your taste. His breath was like a drug for you as he groaned into your mouth, moving against you.

His lips left your mouth but only to caress your jaw before settling against your neck, sucking on the skin with a slight sting. You tilted your head back, giving him more access to you before wrapping a leg around him, begging him to go further with you. He chuckled at your neediness, his warm breath fanning over your neck. He tugged the strap of your dress down your arm, pressing his lips against the newly exposed skin, grinding against you. The taste of cheap beer passed between the two of you.

One of his hands slipped beneath your dress to squeeze your ass, pulling you tighter against his jeans, encouraging you to ride his thigh. "I want you," he moaned unevenly in your ear, sending heat straight to your core. You wanted him to completely ruin you, to show you what was hiding beneath the surface of his reserved nice guy barrier.

You answered his words by attending to his zipper, slipping your hands into his jeans and stroking him against his boxers. A moan broke through his teeth, his lips crashing against yours as you egged him on. His erection grew stronger with each of your movements. You could tell he was becoming desperate to ravage you with each of his restrained breaths.

Your teeth dug into his bottom lip, your fingers pushing his pants to the ground as he pressed himself against you. He pushed your underwear aside, answering your silent pleas. Pressing his lips against your neck again, he drove himself into you, earning a blissed out moan from you. A breath of pleasure and relief escaped his chest at the feeling of you instantly tightening around him.

He thrusted into you, as if testing the waters as you moaned his name against his skin. One of your arms tightened around his shoulder as he held you in place, setting his pace. The mix of alcohol and pleasure you were feeling with each snap of his hips was sending your head reeling. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, fingers digging into your skin. You moaned against his lips, sending him to speed up his movements. A sense of roughness came out in him as he pounded into you harder, and you were eating it up. You fingers dug into his hair, pulling tightly to earn a groan from him.

Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, raking against his back, urging him to use you like a flashlight. "Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, voice husky with some type of forced restraint as if he wouldn't let it come out evenly. You tightened around him, moving in what little space he'd given you to grind against him.

With that, he began to thrust into you harder, as if he was finally giving into whatever he was attempting to hold back. His teeth dug into your shoulder with each pulsing movement, driving himself deeper into you. Ungodly moans left your lips, only confirming his actions as he hungrily chased his high, dragging you with him.

His paces became less rhythmic and more sloppy as he gripped onto you, your fingers digging into his skin as you felt your orgasm was just within reach. You tightened your leg around him, your head swimming as he began to hit your sweet spot repeatedly. With a nearly choked out moan of his name, your body flushed with relief, your climax ripping through you. Nick succumbed to his own as if he'd been waiting for you, the two of you leaning against each other for support as you rode out your highs.

After you caught your breath, you reapplied a layer of lipstick, eyeing Nick through the reflection of the mirror as he stood behind you, straightened his clothes. "Let's not tell Clay about this, purely because he'll make it weird," you stated, turning and evening out his hoodie strings.

He chuckled slightly. "Oh, I agree completely. Don't tell Clay." His sly smirk nearly drew you in as you pressed your lips against his again, a promise that you'd definitely be seeing each other again.

#sapnap x reader #sapnap imagine #sapnap x y/n #sapnap smut #sapnap fanfic #mcyt imagine #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt x reader #mcyt smut

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cozy-the-overlord · 3 years ago

Text

A Breath and A Whisper

Summary: Find me. That’s what the voice bids. Loki wants to ignore it. He’s the only one who can hear its whisper, who can see the strange symbols that appear before him everywhere he turns. He closes his eyes, tries to drown it all out, but still it persists. Find me.

Pre-Thor. I don’t specify it in the story, but I picture Loki as the human equivalent of 14/15 years old.

Word Count: 6,273

Pairing: None

A/N: Based on this ask I got for the send me a fic title ask game ages ago. This was my attempt at being spooky for Halloween-- I don’t think it turned out very scary, but it was fun to explore. Up until 24 hours ago I honestly didn’t think I’d get it done in time, so I’m happy with it.

Happy Halloween!!

Warnings: Some fairly graphic violence towards the end, suicidal thoughts (it’s just one sentence but I want to be sure). Also just general existential angst, but if you’ve read my stuff before you’re expecting that.

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname @electroma89 @lokislittlesigyn @moumouton4 @theredrenard @justdontmindmetm @lostgreekgod

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

The library was one of the oldest parts of the palace, built before even the unification of the Nine Realms, when the title of AllFather was nonexistent and the king of Asgard was but only that. In the early days it had been something between a museum and a dump, a place where returning travelers could deposit their souvenirs collected from the far ends of the galaxy. Now, the shelves sagged with the burden of ancient knowledge that stretched all the way to the painted ceiling, some accessible only by sliding ladders several stories high. There something sacred about this place, the age-bronzed walls that guarded their wisdom with such archaic resolution. One could feel the weight in the air. Whispers of the past seemed to linger in the corners like cobwebs …

Find me.

Loki startled awake, his notes flying every which way as he whipped from the table. His heart was racing, but he wasn’t sure why.

He had fallen asleep, it seemed. That wasn’t altogether shocking—it was late, and these past few weeks Loki had been developing a habit of dozing off over his studies. But there was something else. His pulse pounded in his ears.

Had … had someone spoken? That had seemed so clear—he could practically feel the puff of breath rolling down the back of his neck. He glanced around, half expecting to find some silent patron smirking behind the bookshelves, masking gleeful giggles at the chance to prank the prankster prince. But there was no one, aside from the snub-nosed librarian scribbling at her desk. Loki was alone.

It must have been a dream, he reasoned. Yes, that was perfectly feasible. Dreams could be like that, tiny slivers of panic that faded as thoroughly as they struck. Now that he thought of it, Loki couldn’t even say what the voice had even said, had there been a voice at all. There hadn’t, he decided. There couldn’t have been. He was just tired.

Loki thought nothing more of it. He collected his things and returned to his rooms.

He dreamt again that night. Of what, Loki couldn’t quite say—the memory evaded him when he awoke in the morning. But it had been something unpleasant. Just trying to remember sent chills slithering down his spine. Loki was happy to leave it forgotten.

Something was off at sparring practice. Loki had never considered himself particularly adept with a sword, but today the handle felt absolutely foreign in his grasp. He tripped right into Fandral’s poorly concealed feint and found himself sprawled out in the dirt, his brother’s resounding laughter ringing in his ears.

“So!” Thor chuckled, offering him a hand. “It seems the trickster has been out-tricked!”

Loki didn’t take it. There was another sound ringing in his ears, something quiet, despondent. Guttural.

“Do you hear that?” he asked.

His brother only frowned at him. “Hear what?”

Dinner was loud and raucous, more so than usual. The palace was welcoming guests from across the realm in celebration of the millennial anniversary of the end of the Asgard-Jotunheim War. The festivities had yet to officially begin, but still the din of the Great Hall left his eardrums pounding.

Loki escaped to the library first chance he got, but even there he found it difficult to focus. The librarian rummaged through her desk, stamping books with a fervor that made his skull rattle. Loki found himself reading the same three lines of script over and over again until his eyes watered.

There was someone staring at him.

He could feel their eyes on the back of his head, drinking in his presence like a parched dog. He whipped around once, twice, three times—but there was only vacant air behind him. Still, Loki couldn’t shake the feeling.

Find me.

He woke to heaving darkness and silent screams, flinging his pillow into the wall in a frantic act of defense. The torch had gone out. He fumbled for it, nearly knocking it over in his panic. There was something there, someone there, they were watching him— he could feel them there!

The flame cast shadows across an empty room.

Loki collapsed against his bed, panting. Someone had been there. Even if they weren’t there now, someone had been there. He eyed the door leading to the sitting room, shut as tight as he had left it upon going to sleep. Had someone used that door? Was that how they had made their escape? He could check, but …

What if it was waiting for him on the other side?

The maid found him in the morning, hunched over and sleeping in the chair at the foot of his bed, a still-flickering torch at his side and a dagger clutched in his fist. His sputtering explanations sounded like nonsense, even to him. Loki had to laugh at himself—when had he last allowed himself to be so wound up by a nightmare? His brother would have a field day if he knew of it. The whole thing was ridiculous. Loki resolved to put it behind him.

Whispers followed him through the empty halls and into the library, tickling the hairs on his neck with their incoherency. He forced himself to ignore them. They weren’t real, just some lingering disquiet from the night before. It was nothing.

It was nothing.

Someone had spilled ink on his notebook. Loki frowned at the scarlet stain on the corner of the page, wondering how he hadn’t noticed it before. It wasn’t his doing—red ink was a rarity, and Loki certainly wouldn’t waste it on his study notes. Although he was at a loss for who else could be the culprit. Could someone passing by his table have, whether by accident or on purpose, dropped it on his paper? Loki wasn’t sure how that made any sense, but he couldn’t fathom another explanation. He turned the page and kept on working.

His head hurt. At the feast, the air seemed to be vibrating at a frequency too high for his brain to manage. Odin stood and gave a rousing speech of victory long held, of children saved and peace sustained by the battles of a thousand years ago.

“Stripped of their powers, the Frost Giants are rendered incapable of expanding their bloody conquest. Today we celebrate their defeat and mourn those we lost to their violent deeds.”

Loki clapped along to the hall’s riotous applause, but spent dinner picking at his food out of a sense of propriety rather than actual hunger, resisting the urge to press his hands to his ears like a petulant child. He managed for perhaps half an hour before he could take no more of it and asked his mother to be excused. Queen Frigga held him in a look of concern for a moment before acquiescing.

His dream that night was vivid, violent, one that seemed to slice through the very tendrils of his memory and left him gasping on his bedroom floor, struggling against a tangled noose of sheets and blankets. And there was that breath again, that little gasp of air against the top of his spine.

Find me.

“Who?” he shouted at the darkness, voice rough and thick with tears. “Who are you?”

But the darkness held no response.

He asked the healers if they had anything to induce sleep. Deep, dreamless sleep, free of torment and paranoia. That would fix everything. He was certain of it.

Lady Eir raised an eyebrow. “Are you having nightmares, my prince?”

Loki inhaled. “Something along those lines.” He forced what was supposed to be an easy smile to distract from the childishness of his confession.

“And what are these nightmares about?” she asked.

“I—I’m not sure. I don’t remember most of them.” He hoped that would be enough, but Lady Eir only sat back expectantly. Loki sighed. “Darkness? Cold? Something—” he gulped. “Something horrific.”

It had been chasing him. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it didn’t matter. It was Death, and it chased him through the cold with a venomous cackle, ice shredding his palms as he scrambled on hands and knees for an escape he knew he wouldn’t reach.

But the healer wouldn’t give him anything, not even a sleeping draught. “The Norns have seen fit to send you a message, my prince,” she said. “You should listen to what they have to say.”

Loki argued—what did the Norns have to gain by depriving him of sleep?—but she wouldn’t be moved. Eventually he had to leave for his lesson, frustrated but still determined. He’d ask his mother to petition on his behalf.

The ink spot had spread. Barely—he could almost convince himself that it looked no different, that he was merely remembering it wrong—but it had bled through to the other pages as well. That was different.

As was the swirling symbol in the middle of the stain.

Loki stared at it, the sound of his instructor’s voice fading into a nebulous drone. It seemed almost runic, although Loki had never seen a rune like it before. It was too curved, a series of looping ovals connected in the middle, like a sheaf of grain laid on the ground. A square was drawn in the middle of it. He rubbed his finger across it as if to wipe it away, blot it out and pretend it never existed. It didn’t budge.

The whispers in his ears returned, louder and clearer than ever before.

Find me.

Frigga peered at the page he had set in front of her, brow furrowing into a frown. “Loki, I don’t understand—”

“The symbol!” he insisted, pointing at the ink blot. “Are you familiar with it?”

“What symbol?”

“What symbol?” he repeated incredulously. “The one right there!”

Frigga let out an uneasy laugh. “Darling, there’s nothing there.”

“What—” Loki blanched. What could she mean? The strange character was right in front of her, clear as day. “No, right there! In the corner. How can you miss it?”

His mother was eyeing him with thinly veiled concern. “Are you feeling well, Loki?”

She reached forward as if to feel his forehead for fever. Loki flinched, twisting to avoid her hand.

“Of course I’m feeling well!” he snapped. “I’m not some crazed maniac! It’s right there!”

“Loki—”

He snatched the notebook from her desk. “Forget I asked.”

Storming out of his mother’s rooms, he nearly trampled a servant girl in his haste. She stuttered back, apologies on her lips, but Loki jerked her forward.

“Do you see that?” he demanded, thrusting the notebook in front of her. “The symbol in the corner of the page?”

The girl looked up at him with wide eyes. “N-no, my prince.”

“Don’t lie to me!” He gripped her arm and yanked her closer. “You see it, don’t you?”

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. Loki dimly realized she was crying. “My prince, I’m sorry—”

Loki released her, watching as she scrambled away down the hall. A puff of breath rolled down his neck.

Find me.

He tried to stay up that night. He sat at his desk and read by candlelight, praying that the words on the page would protect him from the dark, creeping things that lurked beyond the veil of sleep. But the inky letters seemed to bleed red before his eyes, twisting like snakes into those enigmatic loops.

Find me.

They covered the pages, then kept going, staining the wood of his desk, gushing down his walls, drowning his vision in a scarlet filter.

Find me find me find me find me—

“Have you seen this symbol before?”

The librarian was staring at him like he was a madman. Loki knew he probably looked like a madman—he hadn’t bothered to check the mirror before setting out at the crack of dawn. Weeks of sleepless nights were taking a toll on him. The circles under his eyes had grown so dark that his brother asked him the day before who had socked him.

He tapped the paper. “Have you?”

She glanced down at the figure he had drawn for her and let out a hiss through clenched teeth. “Where have you seen this my prince?”

“Why?” Loki frowned. “Do you know it?”

“This looks to be a Jotun rune.” When she looked up again, her gaze was tinged with suspicion. “My prince—”

“Jotun?” he repeated. He hadn’t been sure what he expected, but that certainly wasn’t it. The Frost Giants … they were villains. Monstrous, horrific creatures, vanquished and trapped in the icy end corner of the Nine Realms. Why would he dream in their language?

“Are you certain?” he asked.

“Fairly. Their characters tend to be written in more of a curved fashion, as you see here.” The librarian followed the arch with her finger. “But your highness, I must ask where you’ve seen—”

But Loki had already left.

He found it within an hour. Or, at least something similar to it. Once he knew what he was searching for, it was straightforward enough. It was in a tome of Jotun language, denoting only the most archaic of characters. This one was missing the square, but it was as close as anything he could find. A regional symbol used only by a local few. It held many translations, but the most common was simple: mother.

All at once, Loki felt as though he might be sick. When he looked down again, he saw that someone had drawn the rune again in the corner of the page, angry red on the page.

Find me.

“Brother, where were you?” Thor clapped him on the back, an affectionate gesture that still sent him stumbling. “You missed the first day of competition!”

“Oh.” Loki ached in a way he hadn’t words to explain. The whispers writhed behind him.

“Father sent someone looking, but we ended up having to start without you.” Thor dragged him forward, arm around his shoulder. “Mother wants to see you—she was worried, you should talk to her …”

Mother.

Vega.

Loki jumped, whipping around, but of course no one was there.

“What’s wrong?” Thor frowned.

Loki didn’t say anything, didn’t bother to ask if his brother had heard the disembodied voice because he already knew the answer.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “Did you say Mother wanted to see me?”

“You’ve not been well, Loki,” said Frigga. They walked side by side through the palace gardens, a sea of autumn’s faded reds and oranges littering the brick paths. She studied him with concern, but Loki wasn’t listening. He tensed at the wind moaning through the skeletal branches, clear enough to be a voice of its own.

“You’re suffering,” she continued. “Your father and I, we both see it. Thor as well. What ails you, my son? What is it that—”

“Vega,” he interrupts. He was sure he’s never spoken it before, but the name felt familiar on his tongue. “Does that name mean anything to you? Vega?”

His mother frowned. “No. Should it?”

Loki stared at the ground, at the leaves swirling gentle curves in the wind as if transcribing invisible messages in the air itself.

Find me.

He sighed. “I don’t know.”

Vega was a common name on Jotunheim, he found. It’s meaning was simple: to fight, to kill, to slay—fitting, for a Frost Giant woman. But as popular as it was, it didn’t seem to be the name of anyone important. No king would let his daughter share a name with half the commoners under his rule, and as a result there were no Vega’s kept in official record books.

Loki sighed, pressing his hands to his temples. Across the room, the librarian was glaring at him—she didn’t seem to trust him since he first brought her his question. Or perhaps she never trusted him, and his interest in Jotun culture merely gave her a reason to show it.

Find me.

“I’m trying,” he muttered.

“My prince!” He jumped to find a servant staring down at him. “My prince, the King requests your presence.”

Odin didn’t even turn away from his writing at the desk when he walked in. Loki stood in the doorway, clutching his wrist because he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.

“You summoned me, sir?”

His father beckoned to the seat across from him. “Sit down.”

Loki followed the order. Odin kept writing. “Your mother worries that you are ill.”

Ah. His mother was behind this little meeting. That made more sense.

“I’m fine, sir.” Loki inhaled. “I just haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Oh?” Odin dipped his quill into the inkwell. “Is there a reason?”

“Not that I know of, sir.”

Only then did his father stop to look up at him. “You can lie better than that.”

He waited. Loki stared at the desk.

“I hear you’ve taken an interest in Jotunheim,” Odin continued. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with why you can’t sleep, now would it?”

Norns help me. “Am I in trouble?” he asked.

“Why?” his father paused, eyebrows raised. “Should you be?”

Loki was silent.

Odin shook his head. “Go see Lady Eir. Get a sleeping draught. I won’t have my sons wasting away in their own beds.”

“I already tried that,” he muttered. “She wouldn’t give me one.”

“Wouldn’t give you one?” His father frowned.

“No, she said—” Only then Loki realized he had said too much—Odin was staring at him with the AllFather’s intensity—but it was too late to go back now. He sighed. “She said that the Norns were sending me a message and that I needed to listen.”

“So it’s dreams then?”

Loki wanted to hit himself. Surely, Thor wasn’t tormented by nightmares to the point of illness. And surely, his father was well aware of that that. But still, he nodded.

“About Jotunheim?”

He shrugged, still looking away. “I don’t know.”

Odin was studying him with a strange look. For a moment, it looked as though he might say something, but then he corked the inkwell.

“I’ll have Lady Eir send you something to help you sleep,” he said. “Tonight. I’ve had enough of this nonsense.”

Loki nodded. His mouth tasted like blood. “Yes, sir.”

When the healer’s apprentice came to drop the sleeping draught off at his room that night, Loki listened to her instructions. He smiled, princely as can be, and thanked her profusely. Then he marched into the bathroom and dumped it down the sink. The mirror was covered with red runes—six looping ovals tied together like a sheave of wheat, a perfect square in the middle.

Find me, they whispered. Vega. Find me.

“How?” he asked, speaking to the ceiling. “Where? Where do I look?”

Find me.

Loki turned and froze.

There was a girl in his mirror. A Jotun girl, tall and slender, with ruby eyes and thick raven braids cascading down her bare shoulders. The front of her dress was ripped and drenched in blood; shredded flesh tangled with the fabric. She smiled, bearing crimson-stained fangs.

Loki couldn’t move. His pulse pounded in his eardrums. It seemed his tongue had turned to a desert.

He swallowed. “Vega?”

She smiled wider. Her eyes were glossy. She reached out, as if to touch his face, but her fingers only brushed against the wrong side of the glass.

“Who are you?” he croaked. “What do you want from me?”

Vega frowned. She pressed two fingers to her chest, that grisly cavern of flesh and blood, before pulling them away, soaked in red. Loki flinched.

She dragged her fingers across the mirror, a gory piece of art. First she painted the sheaf, the mother symbol he had read in the book. Then she painted the square in the middle, the mirror squeaking as smeared her blood to color it in. Finished, she tapped the rune with a satisfied smile.

“I don’t know what that means,” he pleaded. His heart was beating so fast that he could no longer feel it. “Is it mother?”

She tilted her head and tapped the glass again.

Loki opened his mouth—

But she was gone. There was another person in the mirror now—a boy. A Jotun boy, his hair slicked back with grease, Vega’s markings marring his face. He stared at Loki in confusion.

Loki stuttered. “Who—”

The boy’s lips moved at the same time as Loki’s. Loki froze. So did the boy. All at once, he realized that the boy was wearing his clothes.

Loki looked down at his hands and screamed.

They told him his mother found him on the bathroom floor, shaking and sobbing and completely incoherent. They told him that he was fine, that he had likely experienced some kind of psychotic break due to stress and lack of sleep. They didn’t say if his skin was blue when they found him. Loki was afraid to ask.

Thor came to visit while they still had him bedridden—watching him for “returning symptoms” they said, but Loki knew it was because he was crazy. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to seeing his brilliant older brother, but Thor said nothing about his current state. He babbled on about the festival, the games, the competitions he’d won, the competitors he’d beaten.

“You should have seen it, Loki!” he grinned. “This man from Vanaheim—he was bigger than Volstagg, just towering over everyone! They all said I couldn’t win against him, but I had him on the ground in less than a minute—”

Loki nodded, hanging on to his brother’s every word. Thor’s mindless conversation wasn’t exactly interesting, but his voice was louder than the whispers, so Loki clung to it.

“It’s a shame that you’ve missed practically the whole thing,” he said sadly. “But Lady Eir says that you should be able to attend the final night, as long as everything stays as it is. I hope it does, brother—you must be there for the final feast! It’s going to be the greatest celebration Asgard’s ever laid eyes on.”

“Is it?” Loki murmured.

“Yes, of course! Would I lie to you?” he laughed. “I’m trying to convince Father to let us bring out the Casket of Ancient Winters at the end and hold it up for all to see.”

The thought of his brother wielding the ancient source of Jotun power was enough to pull a laugh from his throat.

“You can’t hold the Casket,” he scoffed. “You’ll turn to ice!”

“Not with our hands, obviously,” Thor snorted. “I mean to hoist it above the crowd, on a platform or something of that sort.”

“Why?”

“Because!” Thor cried, jumping to his feet in excitement. “What greater symbol is there of Asgard’s victory? It’s the source of all their strength, the motherload of their power, and we took it from them! I think that merits a celebration, don’t you?”

The motherload of their power.

A sheaf of wheat for mother. A square for ... for …

For what was the Casket of Ancient Winters if not the mother of winter?

“Loki?” Thor was peering down at him, eyes awash with thinly veiled panic. “Loki, what happened? Are you all right?”

Loki forced a smile. “Oh yes, I’m fine,” he said. “What was it you were saying?”

Odin’s vault was never left undefended, but the guards didn’t question him when he told them he required access. At the end of the hall, the blue light flickered like a flame.

When he and Thor were little, their heads were filled with stories of the Casket, how it leveled whole armies of him with a command from its wielder, how a single touch could turn flesh and bone into ice, how it would spread through your body in minutes unless you had the forethought to chop off the offending limb. It was dangerous, but a thrilling kind of danger, the kind that seems too wild to exist outside of a child’s imagination. But here, standing alone before it for the first time, Loki believed every single one of them.

And yet, he knew it couldn’t hurt him.

It was cold, colder than anything he had ever touched before—that much was clear before he had even brought his shaking hands all the way to its side. He closed his eyes and closed his fingers around it …

The castle is on fire. The light flickers behind her, angry and wild as tongues of flame howl at the night sky, but Vega doesn’t dare to look. Gasping for breath in the frosted paradise that had so quickly turned to a hellscape, she clutches the baby to her breast and prays to the Norns, or whoever else is listening.

He must live. Please, he must live.

The sword at her hip is not her own. Vega lifted it from a corpse before she ran. It’s bloodied and dull from battle, and it clearly hadn’t served its master very well, but it’s all she has. The courtyard is littered with bodies, and she finds herself grateful—grateful for the wild shadows that mask the faces of warriors she might have recognized from youth, and more grateful still for her son’s infancy. He will not remember this night.

The temple is not far. She pushes on, stumbling on rocks and snow and corpses but never stopping. The cries of battle still ring in her ears. The death shrieks grow with the flames.

Will the temple bring safety? Vega doesn’t know. Across Jotunheim, it is known that to spill blood on sacred ground is to bring a curse upon your lineage. The temples serve as sanctuaries, safe havens from the violence of war. But the men burning Utgard are not Jotun. The barbarity of the Asgardian warrior seemingly knows no bounds. Would Odin’s troops respect the temple’s sanctity? She had heard stories, violent stories of Jotun women and children massacred even after they surrendered to Asgardian forces. Vega clings to the infant tighter. She’ll not let that happen. They will not take her child from her today.

He’s a good baby. All this violence, all this destruction, and he sleeps peacefully against her chest. She can feel his little heartbeat through the thin furs. They told her that he was too small, that he would not live to see a sunrise, but he had more of his father in him than the royal midwives were willing to admit, and he fought. Fought the elements, fought the fever, fought the strings of fate itself, and he survived.

And now she must fight for him.

She is calling him Lopt. For now. Laufey hasn’t been able to pick an official name, because of the war—she wonders if her lover even knows he is now father to a son. But she likes Lopt. It’s soft, light and airy. Sweet. Safe. She doesn’t think Laufey will disagree. If he’s still here to disagree.

There’s the temple, just ahead of her now. Vega cries out before she can stop herself, a visceral sob of relief. She drags herself up the carved steps and rushes to the altar.

Maybe they would survive this after all. Her, Lopt, and Laufey. Vega imagines the look that will be on his face when she places their child in his arms.

“My lord, your son.”

Lopt is his first son. A bastard son, but still the first. Laufey isn’t concerned with the baby’s legitimacy any more than she is—Vega remembers how he kissed her when she first told him she was carrying his child.

“He’ll have his mother’s eyes.”

The sound of footsteps stuns her from her thoughts—footsteps, and now voices, reverberating against the ice. Foreign voices, accents that she doesn’t want to recognize. Her own blood runs cold in her veins.

There’s two of them—one giving orders to the other in a tone that couldn’t help but command respect. She can see their forms, silhouetted against the night’s fire-streaked sky. Even from here, she can see that the commander wears a horned helm.

Odin.

He’s walking towards the altar, towards them. She ducks behind it, clutching Lopt to her chest in a vice-grip. Even now he doesn’t cry. He looks up at her sleepily, his ruby eyes soft and trusting. Vega inhales. Tears burn in her own eyes—when she blinks, they trickle out, leaving hot, shameful trails down the sides of her cheeks. The king of Asgard, here. If he knew how close he was to possessing Laufey’s only son …

No.

He’ll not have him. He’ll not have her baby. Vega presses a kiss to her son’s forehead.

“You must stay quiet, little Lo,” she whispers. He doesn’t say anything as she tucks him into the basket below the altar.

The voices have stopped. The soldier has left. Only Odin remains. His steps are slow, measured, pacing the length of the room as if examining every foot of it. She waits with bated breath, tread following steady tread, until all at once they stop.

“I see you there.”

His voice is gravelly. Vega’s breath catches in her throat. Gripping the hilt at her waist, she stands.

The self-proclaimed AllFather is wounded. An angry socket glares from where his left eye should be, the rest of his face caked in blood. Good. She has the advantage.

“The battle is over. Your people have surrendered.” He takes a step forward, his voice even and measured. “Best to join the others.”

Vega draws. “Stay away from me.”

His laugh comes out in a puff of air. “You’ve lost, girl.” He takes another step forward, gloved hand at the hilt at his own waist. “Don’t do something stupid.”

“I could warn you of the same.”

She doesn’t know who moves first. There’s only the clash of steel, resounding against the chamber walls. Her sword is weak, but her arms are strong, and she beats him back across the room, away from where her baby hides. Call me girl, does he? Vega is the only daughter in a family of brothers, and her time with them taught her well. This Asgardian ass shouldn’t have underestimated her.

He is blocking her well enough, but he’s blind to one side, and Vega has every intention of utilizing that advantage. She swipes him from the left, and although the sword is too blunt to cut very deep, the force is enough to send him reeling backwards.

She advances on him, a wild, feral thing with flames in her eyes. She’s going to kill him. This barbaric, tyrannical excuse for a king—she’s going to kill him. She will save her son, avenge her people, end this war, all in one stroke—

“Your Majesty!”

Vega barely has enough time to glance up before the dagger buries itself in her shoulder. She screams, her sword slipping through her grip and clattering to the floor. The soldier who had returned for his king is running at her. She rips his blade from her flesh and slashes as this throat. He falls, his body seizing as he gurgles on his own blood.

Suddenly there’s a blade, a different blade, bursting from her chest.

Vega can only choke before she joins the Asgardian on the floor.

Odin rips the sword from her back, ignoring her shriek of pain. He walks around her, those same slow, measured steps as he stoops to check the soldier’s pulse. On the stone, Vega gags. She can’t seem to get enough air.

A baby’s wail breaks through the silence of the temple. Odin straightens, eyes towards the altar.

No.

Vega screams as he walks from her, sounds without words as she tries to drag herself to her infant.

Not him, Norns have mercy, not him!

When the Asgardian King returns, he cradles her child in his arms. Lopt’s cries echo across the temple walls, piercing the dark of the night.

“No!” she howls. The taste of blood floods her tongue. He’ll kill him. He’ll kill him. But her limbs are stone, her life force draining out on the frozen rock around her. She can’t reach her sword.

Odin looks at her, his face concealed by shadow. The light is fading.

She gasps. The sound is rough and ragged. “Lo!”

But it’s too late. The last she knows of the world is the sound of her baby’s panicked squalls, clutched in the arms of her killer …

Loki was ripped from the vision by a hand at his collar, crashing against the smooth stone of the vault floor. The casket tumbled down beside him.

“Are you mad?” Odin bellowed.

On the floor, Loki clawed at his breastplate, half expecting to find a sword erupting from his own chest.

“You—I—” he heaved, gasping for words, for anything. “You—you killed her!”

A kind of realization seemed to dawn on the King’s features. His brow softened, taking a

slow, measured

step forward. “Loki—”

Loki scrambled backwards on the ground, his limbs shaking too much to stand. “Stay away from me!”

Odin stopped in his tracks. He gave a defeated nod. “Very well.”

Loki didn’t know how long they sat there. He didn’t know anything anymore. He just clung to his knees and sobbed.

How could this be? How could this happen to him? Did they know? Did they all know? Did Thor, did mother? Was that why they treated him differently? Was that why they hated him? But why was he here for them to hate? Why had he been taken? Ripped from the basket in which he had been stowed, where he had been safe, while outside—

“You killed her,” he whispered. “You killed my—” No, he couldn’t say the word, couldn’t comprehend it. The world was spinning too fast and there was nothing for him to hang on to.

He wanted his father to deny it. Tell him that he was mad. Tell him that none of it was true. But Odin’s voice was even, somber.

“Yes, I did.” He heaved a breath, sitting down on the platform. “She attacked me, and she killed my squire. If not for him, she would have killed me too.” The King sighed again. Loki had never known him to look so old. “I didn’t realize what it was she was defending.”

It.

Loki stared at his hands. Most of the color had faded from his skin, but the tips of his fingers remained stained a vibrant blue.

It hurt.

Everything hurt.

“Why?” was all he could gasp.

“Why?” Odin laughed, but the sound held no humor. “I had just orphaned a child. You think I’d leave you to die as well?”

I wish you did.

“But—” Loki drew a shaky breath. He hated it. He hated his tears, hated the sound of his own voice. He hated everything. “Why did you take me? Why couldn’t you leave me there with—” his voice caught in his throat “—them?”

Why did you have to lie?

“Loki,” he sighed, shaking his head. “What happened—it doesn’t matter now. You are my son, and I love you as such.”

The blue had nearly gone now. Only the faintest bit remained, small enough to be overlooked by the everyday passerby, but Loki knew it was there. There were other questions he could ask, but his tongue felt like lead.

“I know the first part is a lie,” he whispered. “So why should I believe the second?”

He stood. His legs trembled, but he was steady enough. Odin said nothing. He only watched as the stolen son walked from the vault.

For hours they knocked at his door—Frigga, Thor, Frigga, Fandral, Sif, Frigga, a servant, a different servant, Frigga, and Frigga again. Oh, how he wanted to open the door to Frigga. She stood out there, crying, begging him to talk to her, and Loki wanted nothing more than to fall into her arms and let her tell him everything would be just fine. He wanted to cry into her shoulder and call her mother and believe her lies.

Because that’s all it would be. Frigga had known. He could lay there and wonder about all the others, but Frigga had known. That was certain. She had known he wasn’t hers. And yet there she had stood, all his life, kissing his head and calling him son.

I love you as such.

You could lie better than that.

Although perhaps that wasn’t fair. Because they had lied, constantly, perpetually, unceasingly, and he had believed it all.

When the whispers returned, it was a comfort. Loki followed them to the bathroom, to the mirror, where she waited for him on the other side.

“It was a lie,” he breathed, hating the way his voice broke. “It was all a lie.”

Vega frowned, a sad, sorrowful gaze. She reached towards him, blocked once more by the glass. Exhaling, Loki brushed his fingers against the mirror, against hers. He could almost imagine he truly felt her touch.

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” he murmured, watching the way his breath fogged up the glass. The tears were hot on his cheeks. “I don’t know what to do.”

She pressed her hand to her chest.

Lopt. My Lopt.

Had he once feared the puff of breath at his ear? How could that have been? It felt like a lullaby, soft and sweet and safe. Loki exhaled. It felt like release.

“What would you have me do?” he asked.

Softly, sweetly, his mother bared her bloodstained fangs and grinned.

#loki marvel #loki fanfic #loki angst #thor 1 #halloween fic #a breath and a whisper #cozy writes

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allisonreader · 3 years ago

Text

The next part in Tales Of A Frozen Sailor for @inklings-challenge

What Nanna Can Do

She watched her grandson's face closely as he read the letter. She hadn’t opened it before she gave it to him. What it might contain she could only guess at.

Emery had started smiling a little as he begun to get into the letter, but his expression quickly fell. The slight smile never returned as he continued to read, shuffling the pages when he finished them. He remained quiet through the entirety of his reading.

She was sure that he had read the letter more than once. Until finally he looked up at her. Concern was written on his face, but more prevalently was the look of a breaking heart.

"Emery… is something wrong?" she asked cautiously.

"Not really, but sort of?" he looked back down at the papers before looking up at her again.

"Sort of?" she raised her eyebrows.

"She’s still having nightmares… and feeling out of place…"

"I suspect she’ll always have nightmares about that night."

"Yeah, I guess… but- shouldn’t she- I don’t know…" he shrugged, "feel better about being back with her family? She sounds like she’s feeling left behind."

"That young lady has also been through experiences that no one else on earth has. I can’t imagine how alienating that must be. Even among her family. She’s missed a fair bit of their lives. They’ve had to live without her for those years-"

"I know." He cut her off. "I just- I wish there was something I could do."

She studied him for a moment. How much he had grown in this past year or so upon knowing Jessica. Their friendship had ushered in a new age of maturity for him. As well as opening his heart to others more. When it was his turn to take over the family business, he would do well. Much better than Alexandra; who had never showed much interest in such. That was neither here nor there at the moment.

"You could go and visit her my dear boy."

"What do you mean Nanna?"

"I believe that you know what I mean. You do have the means to travel back and see her."

"Would I even be allowed to do so?"

She held back a smile. "I don’t think that will be a problem. The scientists have decided that there is no benefit currently to continue with their current line of study with the time machine. Since it is not working as they have expected to. You have free access to it whenever you want."

"Really?" Hope started to come back to his expression.

"Yes. Your grandfather and I even bought the time machine so that it would be clear that it is ours to use. You can visit her at anytime. Without having to ask permission from said scientists. Though I would ask that you tell your grandfather or I before you go."

"You and granddad bought the time machine."

"Yes."

"When?"

"Oh, it’s been a few weeks since the paperwork went through. Neither of us were quite sure when it would be best to tell you. Then we found that letter for you. It seemed like the perfect opening."

"So I can actually use it, at anytime?"

"Yes Emery, anytime. And as often as you might desire. As long as you tell your grandfather or I before you go. You can go to her."

"I don’t know when that will be."

"Why’s that? I expect that since you’ve gotten that letter and now know that you can use the time machine freely, that you’d want to go right away. Maybe go and ring in the new year with Jessica."

It had taken some convincing, but she was finally able to convince Emery that he could go and visit Miss Hudson over the new year. That the family's New Year’s Eve party wasn’t something that he had to be at. Other plans were allowed to be made. Plus, she could cover for him while he was gone for the few days. He could go and make plans to visit her again.

She didn’t know what would come of his visit. Other than knowing that she had been harbouring a hope that the pair of them might one day become a couple. A hope that she had been harbouring as she had seen their friendship grow while Jessica had been in this time.

Maybe she would have to go and speak with one of Jessica’s nieces to see what they knew.

———————————

(Oh look @lady-merian , that new part I was talking about is here!)

#tales of a frozen sailor #titanic #inklings challenge #team tolkien #theme: stewardship #genre: time travel #story: unfinished #salt and light

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someonestolemyshoes · 3 years ago

Note

Yo, saw your post about levihan prompts:

How about Hange discovering Levi’s secret hobby (of your choice)

Feel free to do whatever you feel like

And I love your work! 💕 have a good day

Hello! So sorry for the delay in this one, but thank you so much for your patience 🙏 I got stuck for such a long time in the middle of this ksksks but it is finally done! I also played around a little bit with the whole...discovering a secret aspect, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway! And I hope you're ready for some sweet sweet childhood friends levihan~

Levi likes photography.

This, in itself, is no great secret. Hange can barely remember a time he wasn't following after her with a camera strapped around his neck, or packed into his bag—always within reach, should something striking catch his eye. A little neon plastic toy, at first; each click of the shutter cycled through preloaded images, expert shots of famous landscapes, places they could only dream of seeing. And then, a polaroid—still a toy, in essence, still plastic, still gaudy, but this one took real pictures in real time, and spit them out into their eager, shaking fingers within seconds.

Hange remembers them ruthlessly wafting the little laminate squares and watching with bated breath as black mottled into foggy grey, as the blurred silhouette of the park bench faded slowly into being. It was a fascinating thing, at the time. Magic at their fingertips. The picture turned out fuzzy and overexposed in places, where the sun had glared in over the corner of the park bench, but Levi had settled the little square on his little palms and looked at it like he held the whole world in his hands.

There were innumerable disposable cameras, too. Light little things with reels of film, never enough for Levi's insatiable desire to snap pictures of every single thing he saw. They spent half their childhood in the chemist, sitting in the hard plastic chairs, wriggling anxiously as they waited for the film to develop. Kuchel always handed them the envelope, fat with prints, with a small smile curling the corner of her mouth and a fond twinkle in her eye, and Levi always took it politely, while Hange gave a boisterous thanks, and the pair of them delved greedily into their spoils.

He was older, in his early teens, when he was gifted his first real camera. It was heavy, compared to all the others, a case made of metal with buttons and gadgets and a fancy screen on the back, to preview each picture he took. Levi was wholly enamoured with it. He spent hours adjusting it, figuring out what each button and knob did, how they affected each picture; took countless shots of the same rock in the park until he'd tested every combination of settings he could think of.

He had cycled through more cameras since then. Grown a small collection, each one a little different, a little more suited to particular shots. Hange understood the concept in theory, but the particulars were lost on her, and Levi never took the time to explain. Not that she minded—Levi's pictures were beautiful, breathtaking in the way he could capture even the most mundane details and make them something wondrous. Perhaps for the first and only time in her life, Hange had no desire for the magician to reveal his tricks.

He has an eye for things that Hange simply cannot see. She is observant—to a fault, at times, intensely analytical and endlessly curious. Everything is a question, an opportunity to research, to learn, but she doesn't see the way Levi does.

Wild daffodil. Narcissus pseudonarcissus. Hange sees a perennial flowering plant, native to Western Europe, classified by its pale yellow petals and elongated central trumpet. She sees phylogeny with a rich taxonomic history; subspecies originating all over the globe, some larger, some smaller, some more vibrant and some more muted. She sees anatomy, science.

Levi sees the way the evening sun rusts the buttery petals until they blush; sees the way dew drops hang like pearls from the tips of the leaves in the early morning, when the light is still smoky and thin. He sees a moment to be captured.

It should be impossible for a picture to hold so much detail. Hange can look at Levi's daffodil and feel the way the spring wind blows gently on her skin, the sun warm but the breeze a little biting, a remnant of the fading winter. She can smell the pollen heavy in the air, feel the tickle of short grass on her ankles, hear the trill of songbirds in the branches of distant trees.

His proclivity for photography grows with them. Hange's interests spear out in a thousand different directions, from physics and chemistry to botany, to engineering, to literature and mathematics, to history, languages and landscapes—life is a limitless source of information and Hange chases it every which way, insatiable.

And wherever she goes, Levi dutifully follows, with his camera in hand.

Until now.

Now, they are eighteen. The summer is lazily drawing to a close, and tomorrow, at 8:45am, Hange will be boarding a plane that will take her to the other side of the world to attend the university of her dreams.

And Levi will be staying here.

Despite Levi's perpetual scowling and indiscriminate grunting, their last evening together had overall been a pleasant one. Levi and Kuchel had worked hard on their meal, and it had been nice in a warm, filling kind of way, to spend her last night at home with the two of them.

Now, she and Levi are holed up in his bedroom, while Kuchel had insisted on doing the clean up herself. Hange's mind has been churning non-stop for weeks now, ramping up with each passing day, and tonight, her thoughts are unstoppable, and they spill from her with giddy, jittery excitement.

"The university is huge, but my course is pretty small—only like, 30 places. It'll be easy to get to know everybody."

"Nn."

"And did I tell you? There's a museum right on campus? They've got a huge collection, and I heard students can access it after the first semester."

"Hm."

"And there's a flower garden, too—they've got species from all over the world, Levi. They'll have plants I've never even heard of."

"You said."

"Oh! And—my accommodation isn't all that far from the coast. The water looks beautiful in all the pictures I've seen—look, see?"

"I know. You showed me already."

Hange looks up from her phone, where the screen is lit with a bright, sunny beach, tan sand and a stark blue ocean. Levi flicks his gaze over it and offers a noncommittal shrug of his shoulder. Hange frowns at him.

"You could at least pretend to be excited, you know."

Levi gives her a deadpan stare.

"It looks...warm."

Hange sits back with a thump, and kicks weakly at Levi's shin. She pouts over at him. "Better than nothing, I guess."

They sit at opposite ends of the window bench in Levi's bedroom, legs tangled haphazardly together in the space between them. The window was thrown open in some vain hope of tempting in a breeze, but the air is thick, and the soft wind that does blow is still stiflingly warm. It sways Levi's fringe against his brow, but does little to stave off the oppressive heat.

The sky outside is dark, but it is alive with stars. They cast bright sparks on an inky black canvas, and there is no moon in sight. Already, Levi has snapped pictures of it, twisted dials and pushed buttons and switched lenses until he was satisfied.

It is a beautiful sight. Infinite.

Hange lets one leg dangle out the open window. Levi gives her a sour look and wordlessly closes one hand around her other ankle. She has a long history of behaving carelessly—Levi has borne witness to one too many slips and stumbles to trust her entirely. It would be just like Hange, to miss her flight in favour of a trip to the emergency room.

His thumb strokes back and forth absently. There is a callus there, rough and catching, that scratches against her sensitive skin.

Her predominant feeling is one of excitement. Studying abroad had been a dream of hers for almost as long as Levi had owned a camera—to travel beyond the bounds of their small rural town, to see more, learn more, fuel the relentless hunger in her. But there is an undercurrent of something else, some squirming discomfort that refuses to settle. It intensifies with every sweep of Levi's thumb against her skin until it sits heavy in her gut.

She looks over at him. His gaze is trained out the window, a small frown furrowing the skin between his brows, but his eyes are glassy, with none of their usual sharp, unwavering focus. Whatever he is looking at, he is not really seeing it.

It would be a lie to say that his silence had not troubled her. He had been quiet throughout dinner, opting instead to listen to Hange and Kuchel's companionable chatter as he pushed his food around his plate, and he had barely said a word since they had cleared the table and retreated to his room. He had hardly even looked her way.

Irritation bubbles within her. Levi is always more subdued than she is, content to sit quietly while Hange babbles endlessly, about anything and everything. But he usually has something to say. His silence, today of all days, makes her angry. They have one night left like this—one more night to talk, face to face, before they will be separated for who knows how long, and Levi is offering her nothing.

"Levi," she says, before she can think. Something in her tone must startle him, for he blinks rapidly, as though pulled out of a daydream, and rolls his eyes to look in her direction. His gaze settles somewhere near her shoulder. She bristles. "Can you at least—"

"Levi?" Kuchel's voice is distant, floating up from the bottom of the stairs. Levi looks at the door instead. "Can you come give me a hand for a minute?"

Hange clamps her jaw shut. Levi casts her another sidelong glance, and ticks his tongue against the back of his teeth. He squeezes her ankle once, then pushes himself to his feet. "Don't fall, idiot. I won't be long."

Hange feels distinctly like a child on the verge of throwing a tantrum. It's immature, and perhaps it's unfair of her, but she had assumed that Levi's invitation for dinner might, at the very least, come with a little conversation.

She takes a deep, steadying breath. They never fight, not really—they bicker endlessly, poke each other's cheeks and pull each other's hair, childish rough housing that they never grew out of. But they don't fight and as grumpy as Hange feels about Levi's near silence, she doesn't want to start now. She runs a hand back through her hair and sweeps her eyes about the room, counting long, even breaths as she does.

Levi's room is immaculately neat and tidy. Everything has its place, on clean, dusted shelves, or stacked in straight, neat piles atop his desk. It is a level of organisation Hange has little energy for; she herself is a hurricane, picking up and dropping off detritus everywhere she goes.

But Levi's borderline obsessive cleanliness makes it easy to spot something that is out of place.

Hange's gaze falls on a drawer in the desk. The drawer itself is as immaculate as everything else, gleaming wood and a reflectively polished brass handle. What catches her eye is the corner of a glossy piece of paper, caught when the drawer had been closed.

Hange is a curious creature. Rarely can she hold herself back from exploring an unknown, and now is no different. She unfolds herself from the bench and stretches to stand, then crosses the room on light, tip-toed feet.

Levi is, by and large, a rather private person. He does not share much of himself openly, hides behind an impassive mask, guards what is dear to him close to his chest. Hange is an exception to this rule, whether Levi wanted her to be or not.

As such, she has no real issue prying the drawer open, and is unsurprised by the predictable contents within.

Photographs.

Of course it was photographs.

Her lips tug up in a fond smile and her eyes roll, but it is as she is reaching in to flatten out the rumpled picture that had been poking out of the drawer, that she notices what they are photographs of.

Her.

Hange picks out a stack and sits cross-legged in the desk chair. She flips through them, eyes growing wider with each new picture she uncovers. Every single one is of her. Some recent, some not so recent—some must be from the very first real camera, for she is still in her braces, all thin, gangly limbs and scruffy hair and taped up glasses.

There are pictures of her in the winter, mitten-clad hands wrapped around a paper cup of hot chocolate, blowing steam into the chill air. She can see in stark clarity, the red tip of her nose and the chill bitten over her cheeks; she can almost feel the cold, taste the cocoa on her tongue.

She finds a picture of her from an autumn years gone by. She remembers it as though it were yesterday—they had spent the whole afternoon raking fallen leaves in the courtyard behind Kuchel's cafe, scooping them into a terribly tempting mound beneath the shedding tree. Hange had been unable to resist. Levi had captured her moments after her dive into the pile, sitting up with her weight propped back on her hands, dry leaves clinging to her messy hair and sticking to the fibres of her cardigan. The sun was low, and it cast her in a golden glow, highlighting the vibrant red and orange of the fall foliage around her, drawing out the auburn undertone in her hair and the amber of her eyes. Her smile is almost blinding.

Another shows her in the spring, laying on her belly in the long grass beside a row of blooming daffodils. There is a book spread open before her and she is, as expected, engrossed in it; Levi has snapped the shutter as she was turning the page, the thin edge of the paper caught between the delicate tips of her fingers.

Hange has never considered herself to be particularly pretty. She is just...Hange, a little bit of wild, a little bit of manic, a lot of clumsy and dirty. Being attractive has never been of much concern.

But there is something in the way Levi has photographed her, time and time again, in the way the light catches her, the candid ease of each new picture, that looks....beautiful, in its own way. Somehow, he has made her mess into a masterpiece.

Levi likes taking pictures of things. Plants, rocks, rivers, landscapes and skylines—he likes capturing the mundanity of everyday life and turning it into something spectacular, but he has never done the same thing with people. As far as Hange was aware, Levi had taken very few pictures of anybody at all.

And yet, she holds this pile in her hands, and there are plenty more pictures littering the drawer before her.

There is a strange feeling brewing on her as she stares at them. She had been so excited about moving away to study, so eager to explore the world beyond their quiet countryside home, that the reality of leaving had never truly sunk in. She feels it now though, acutely; a hollow ache in her chest that grows with each picture she flicks through.

Levi has been her shadow for as long as she can remember. There are few memories that he is not a part of, few moments that she can recall in which Levi was not by her side—he has been a constant for her. Something certain and dependable.

And from tomorrow, he will no longer be there.

Hange had known this. She had known it from the moment she had accepted her offer, and she had known it as they looked through her options for accommodation together, as they explored the local area through pictures and videos and maps online. She had known it as they had prepared her visa, organised her finances. Booked her flights. Every step of the way she had understood, logically, rationally, that studying abroad meant leaving Levi behind.

But the weight of it is only hitting her now. The reality of it is like a slap in the face, a punch in the gut—it leaves her shaken and breathless in the worst way.

From tomorrow, Levi won't be with her at all.

Her grip tightens on the photographs hard enough to wrinkle the glossy paper.

She had done a pretty good job of not getting too emotional about the whole thing. For the most part, Hange had been overwhelmed by her own excitement—there had been no time for sadness between all the loose ends she’d had to tie up in order to make the move a possibility. Now though, all that is left is to head to the airport and board her plane. No more distractions.

Hange doesn’t realise she is crying until the bedroom door opens again, and Levi steps into the room, coming to a sudden halt halfway over the threshold.

Hange can't tell if Levi's look of shock is because of the open drawer and the pictures still clutched in her hands, or the tear tracks on her cheeks. He stops dead in the open doorway, fingers still curled around the handle, and for a moment he stares at her with eyes wider than Hange has ever seen them, but then his brow dips low and his lip curls, and his grip tightens around the door handle. Hange holds the pile of photographs close to her chest.

She is expecting anger. She doesn't suppose she could blame him if he lost his temper with her, then. She has a terrible habit of bulldozing into everything, after all, and perhaps this was the one thing Levi had longed to keep secret from her. Her snooping, on top of his already sullen mood—perhaps this is the final straw.

But instead, he turns his face away, staring resolutely into the corner of the room. Starlight spills through the open window. Even in the thin, muted light, Hange can see a vibrant flush colouring the skin high on Levi's cheeks.

Hange sniffles, and wipes clumsily at her cheeks.

"I didn't have you pegged as a closet pervert, Levi," she says, waving the handful of pictures at him. Her voice comes cracked, and weaker than she'd hoped. Levi's knuckles turn white.

It's a funny thing, seeing Levi embarrassed. His emotional expression is usually limited to small twitches, here and there—a slight furrow of his brow, a wrinkle of his nose, a soft twitch of his lip. Hange can count on one hand the number of times she has seen his feelings show so completely. It's almost painful to witness.

"I don't mind," she says. Levi doesn't look at her. Hange looks down at the pile again. "They're nice."

Levi finally releases his death grip on the handle and pushes the door closed. His eyes are still downcast and his cheek is still cherry red, but he hasn't run away and he hasn't snapped at her (yet). Hange takes these things as good signs.

"I didn't know you took pictures of people," Hange says.

"I don't."

"Are you saying I'm not people, Levi?"

Levi lets out a disgruntled sigh. He crosses the room, and plucks the pile of pictures from Hange's hands. His cheeks are still pink, and his brows are still furrowed, but he has composed himself some.

“No, you’re not,” he says. “You’re a creature. You’ve got snot all over your face.”

Hange laughs wetly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand and rubbing the mess on her pants. Levi gives her a look of pure disgust, parking his hip against the edge of the desk beside her and skimming through a few of the pictures. There’s a curious expression on his face, a softness in his eyes that Hange isn’t used to seeing.

“Stalker,” she says. Levi kicks at the desk chair without looking up. “If you wanted a photoshoot, you could have asked.”

Levi scowls. He straightens the edges of the pictures with care, and sets them carefully on the desk. “If I wanted to take pictures of you posing, I would have asked.”

“Wanted to capture me in all my natural glory, huh?” Hange braces her elbows on the desk and rests her chin in both hands, grinning cheekily up at Levi. It must look ridiculous, with her watery eyes and the red point of her nose, but Levi isn't even looking at her to notice.

Levi says nothing. His gaze lingers on the pictures for a little longer, and the colour in his cheeks deepens. Hange nudges him with her elbow, smiling. The pictures are...sweet, in a way. There's something flattering about it. She slumps back in the chair, her smile wavering where a fresh wave of melancholy tugs at the edges of her lips.

“I’ll miss you, you know.” Hange’s voice cracks humiliatingly as she speaks. Levi looks over at her. Hange curses the wobble of her bottom lip and wipes at her eyes beneath her glasses. She isn’t expecting much; Levi is terrible at expressing feelings at the best of times, and so it’s more than surprising when, after a moment of consideration, he nods at her.

“Same.”

Fresh tears spill down her cheeks. Hange presses her fingers into her eyes, trying to stem the flow, ease the sting there. She doesn’t want to spend their last evening together crying, but now that the tears have begun, Hange can’t seem to stop them. A lump builds in her throat, aching beneath her tongue and she can feel her chin wobbling, lips pulling down at the corners. She sniffles pitifully, draws a shuddering breath.

“Oi…” Levi says, though he doesn’t sound angry, or even uncomfortable like she had expected. His tone is gentle. It rips a sob from her.

Hange feels him move closer. He jostles the front of the chair, and when she opens her eyes to look at him she finds him standing right in front of her, between chair and desk, looking at her with a furrowed brow. It’s different to his usual scowl—his brows are a little upturned in the middle, exposing some kinder emotion; something like worry, or concern.

Hange tilts forward until her forehead presses into his chest. Levi’s hand comes up quickly to the back of her head. His touch is familiar, comforting, and Hange cries a little harder when his fingers tunnel into her messy hair, cradling her against him.

She cries until she feels spent, sniffling and gulping empty air. Her fingers twist into the hem of Levi’s shirt as she composes herself, mumbling, “you’ll keep in touch, right? You won’t forget about me?”

Levi clicks his tongue at her. “Stupid,” he says. “As if you’d let me.”

“I’m serious.” She sits back and looks up at her. Her eyes are burning, raw and wet, and the skin of her cheeks stings from crying, but she looks at him with as much determination as ever and says, “call me. Every day.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not! Just once, every day. Even if it’s only five minutes.”

Levi flicks her between her brows. “You won’t have the time, dumbass.”

“I’ll make time.”

Levi scrutinizes her for a moment, then says, “I’ll text.”

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

Levi curls his lip and pulls at a lock of her fringe, muttering, “brat. Why don’t you call me?”

“I will,” Hange says plainly. Levi’s eyes widen a fraction. “I’ll call as much as I can. But you need to call me too, okay? I wanna hear from you a lot.”

There is a long pause, and then Levi turns his eyes away. The light in the room is pale and muted, but it is just enough to highlight the pale flush gathering anew on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. It’s almost cute.

“Fine. I’ll call. Happy?”

Hange grins at him. “Very. And I’ll send you photos of everything, all the time.”

Levi leans down towards her, pinching her nose between his thumb and forefinger and giving her head a little shake. “On your shitty phone camera?”

Hange nods. She bats his hand away and cranes herself up into his space, smiling something wicked. “You’ll hate it. They’ll be all blurry and I’ll have my thumb in the corner of every picture.”

“Pest.”

“Lots of selfies, too. So you won’t forget what I look like.” Hange blindly swipes up a picture from the desk, holding it up between them in front of her mouth and nose. Between Levi dipping down into her space and Hange stretching up into his, they are so close that Levi has to cross his eyes to get a look at it. “Not that I think it’ll be a problem.”

He rolls his gaze up to look at her over the top of the photograph. Up close, Hange can see just how bright the blue of his eyes is, how dark his lashes are; she can see the shadows they cast on his cheeks, the deepening flush bruising the skin red. Levi has always been a pale thing, but now, Hange can see the smattering of light freckles across his nose, barely visible in the low light. He looks pretty. Her heart stutters in her chest at the sight.

Hange has never fully understood Levi’s drive to photograph everything. To preserve any given moment, bottle up every minute detail. She sort of understands it, then—it’d be nice, she thinks absently, to save this particular view for forever. The thought makes her face grow warm.

“I won’t forget.” Levi’s voice is quiet, caught somewhere between embarrassment and uncertainty. He sways closer, rocks back, hesitates. And then he leans down and lets his forehead drop against hers. Hange can feel the press of his nose against her own, separated only by the picture between them.

Hange is used to being close to him. She’s a clingy person by nature, always grabbing him and hugging him, smooshing her cheek against his or shoving her face into his hair, but she is always the one to initiate such contact. Levi is tactile, in his own way—small, non-invasive touches, his fingers on her wrist or his palm at her back, always delicate, understated.

To have Levi enter so wholly into her space like this is new. It’s nice. Hange finds herself feeling very, very thankful for the paper between them, for the urge to lean forward and kiss him comes unbidden, so suddenly she isn’t sure she’d be able to resist the impulse if there hadn’t been a barrier in her way.

“Is it my dazzling good looks?” she says, acutely embarrassed by how breathless she sounds. Levi makes a small, noncommittal noise. His fingers find hers where she’s holding the picture, gripping it and pulling it until it slips out from between them. For the smallest moment, Hange feels the skin of Levi’s nose against hers, and the warm puff of breath on her lips, and then Levi straightens up, flipping the picture for her to see it.

“I’ve looked at your ugly mug every day for long enough. Don’t think I’d forget it so easily.”

It’s a truly unflattering photograph. Hange has her head tipped back, laughing boisterously at some thing or another, with her eyes pinched closed and chocolate sauce smeared over her lips, a drop of cream stuck to the end of her nose. Hange is sure she has looked better, but the thing is—despite her state, the picture still isn’t bad. Hange can hear the lilt of her own laughter and feel the tacky syrup, savour the sweetness of the cream on her tongue. There’s something so...animated about it, about the way the light dances over her skin and in her hair, and the way the background blurs around her, drawing her into sharp focus.

It’s nice, in a strange, unreserved kind of way.

But she’s still a mess. Hange snatches it and slams it down on the desk, glowering up at Levi.

“Why would you take that,” she whines, petulant. “You’re supposed to take pictures of nice things!”

“Because it’s very...you,” He says, neatly slotting the pictures back into the drawer, and moving back to sit on the window. Hange follows, drops herself onto the ledge opposite him with a pout.

“What, disgusting?”

Levi shrugs. “Messy. But...not bad.”

“I’m supposed to take that as a compliment, I guess? That’s almost sweet coming from you, Levi.”

Levi scowls over at her. She dangles one leg back out the open window, dropping the other heavily into Levi’s lap. He adjusts it until he is more comfortable, his hand wrapping again around her ankle, but does not let go once he has settled. He keeps a hold of her, his fingers tracing thoughtless patterns on her skin. The space between them is warm, comfortable. Hange leans her head back and breathes it in—the peace, the quiet, the simple pleasure of spending a tender evening with her favourite person in the whole world.

It’s nice. A small, frightened part of her doesn’t want it to ever end.

Hange has been set up in her student apartment for three weeks when the package arrives.

Moving had been harder than she had anticipated. She’d accounted for common issues—problems with her visa, her plane tickets, and had checked multiple transport options from the airport to her accommodation in case problems arose—but she hadn’t put all that much thought into what would happen once she settled at her apartment.

Unpacking had been boring. Her roommates were nice enough, the studious, bookworm-y type, but unlike Hange they weren’t overly sociable. They kept mostly to themselves in their rooms, perfectly content with brief conversations in the kitchen before retiring again, and with classes still two weeks away, Hange was finding the lack of social interaction difficult. She had explored some, but the city was vast in a cluttered, claustrophobic way. Hange had always enjoyed travelling, and had talked relentlessly of every adventure she could take herself on in a whole new country and all the new places she could explore, so much so that it was almost embarrassing, the way she had found herself so unwilling to stray too far from her accommodation without a companion by her side.

She’d felt a little homesick in the first couple of days, lonely and isolated. She missed the small comforts of the country, things she hadn’t even realised she had taken for granted. Quiet nights. Star studded skies. Long grass and trees and the fresh, earthy smell on the breeze. The city was unbearably loud at times, and even when the wail of sirens or the beep of car horns quieted, there was an unidentifiable hum beneath it all that never ceased even for a moment.

She felt Levi’s absence most acutely. Hange had known she would, but she hadn’t been prepared for how much it would hurt to be apart. She felt silly for it—it was ridiculous, to miss her friend more than she missed her own family, even. But Levi’s presence had been more constant than anything else, back home, and without him, she felt like a small part of herself was missing.

He called, as promised. Once a day, though oftentimes it was very late in the night for him, and he sounded tired. If Hange were less selfish, she might tell him to get some sleep instead—but she missed him. Hearing from him was the best part of her day.

It was about an hour before their designated call time when the post came. Hange answers the bell with a frown, which only deepens when the delivery driver hands her the package.

She takes it into her room, settling cross legged on the bed and inspecting the mystery item. It's a decent size, like a large shoe box, wrapped neatly in brown paper with her address lettered in tidy, familiar handwriting in one corner. Hange’s stomach lurches—she’d have recognised the writing anywhere, but her suspicions are confirmed by the return address. Levi’s.

She rips into the paper quickly, snatching up her keys to tear through the tape on the top of the box. It is stuffed full with packing paper, an envelope with her name on it sitting on the top. Hange picks it up and with trembling fingers, she opens it and unfolds the short note inside.

Hange,

Sorry things have been kind of shitty. This stuff might help or it might make things worse, but I figure you can just throw it out if it’s no good. Or give it away. Whatever. I don’t even know if all of this shit will make it through customs, so if you get an empty box it’s not my fault.

I don’t get how you eat half this junk, but I hope it makes you feel better, anyway.

Look after yourself. Eat real food.

Levi

Hange presses the note to her chest, grinning. Her heart aches, but having Levi go to this much trouble for her...it feels nice. Knowing he is still thinking of her. She’d never have admitted it out loud, but Hange had been concerned that perhaps Levi would forget about her after all, without her there to pester him all the time.

She pulls out some of the packing paper, and smiles widely at the rest of the contents.

Levi had put together what Hange can only call a care package. There are packs of her favourite snacks and sweets, things she’d complained she hadn’t been able to find in stores here; crisps, chocolate, hard candy, little mini boxes of sickeningly sugary cereal. There are tea bags with blends Levi knows she likes, each neatly labelled with instructions on what temperature to brew at and how long for. Levi had also packed some of the soaps Hange likes, the ones he uses but she refuses to buy for herself. The lavender scent drifts up out of the box and Hange’s heart squeezes tight in her chest. There’s a shirt in there, too—Hange recognises it at once, as one of Levi’s old, worn tees, thin grey cotton that feels impossibly soft in her hands. It’s far too big for either of them, and had always been the go-to item Levi would chuck at her when she decided she was staying over for the night and had nothing to wear to bed. Hange pulls it on quickly, savouring the soft feel and the smell of it.

In the bottom of the box, there is another envelope. This one is thicker than the first, and Hange knows what it contains before she even opens it.

Photographs. A small pile of them, depicting places she and Levi had frequented from when they were children right up until this last year—her favourite part of the forest, where the trees thin out and the river pools at the foot of a small waterfall. The great, open fields, sometimes full of long grass, sometimes clipped short and striped with windrows. Kuchel’s cafe, with umbrellas raised to block the sun on the tables outside, or else warm and low-lit and cosy in the cold winter. Hange settles back on her pillows as she flicks through each picture, a soft smile on her face. Looking at the images of home hurts, but it isn’t a terrible pain—she longs for these old times and these familiar places, but each recovered memory makes her happy.

In Levi’s pictures she can vividly recall moments in each and every location. He works some kind of magic with a camera, to trigger so many sensory memories—the scent of freshly cut grass, the feel of hay, dry and sharp, poking into her back through her clothing, and the gentle trickle of the river water, the splash of it as it runs over the falls, the feel of it cool on her skin. The tangy zest of fresh-pressed orange juice in the cafe, peach fuzz on her lips and the soft flesh of ripe fruit bursting between her teeth, sticky nectar coating her fingers.

Hange looks at each picture in turn, until she reaches the bottom of the pile, and there she stops abruptly, eyes widening at the last photograph Levi has packed for her.

It is one of Hange, taken in the window of Levi’s bedroom. She was looking out at the night sky, her elbow braced on her bent knee, chin in her palm, a small smile lifting the corner of her mouth. The starlight haloed her, shining from her hair and illuminating the jut of her chin, the curve of her nose and the slope of her brow. Behind her, Levi had captured the bright glow of the stars like jewels on a deep velvet canvas. She looked peaceful. Happy. For lack of a better word, beautiful.

Hange grins widely. Her eyes sting and her throat aches, but the picture—the whole box, really—makes her happier than she's felt in weeks. She brews her favourite cup of tea from the blends Levi had sent her and settles into the corner of her bed, lifting her phone to snap a quick selfie. She sends it to Levi, complete with a caption: thank you for my presents 😊 all ready for your call!

Levi responds almost immediately, first with a simple you're welcome. And then, after a minute, you look good. Speak to you soon.

Hange sinks deeper into the cushions, cradling her tea close to her face, masking the pleased flush on her cheeks with the heat from the steam.

Hange keeps him longer than usual, today.

There is a simmering warmth in her stomach as she listens to Levi's voice over the line. It comes tinny through the speakers, low and rough in the late hour, and his dark, grainy image looks tired, lamp light casting him half in shadow. They talk of everything and nothing, same as always—Levi tells her about his day, about the cafe and Kuchel, and Hange pouts as she tells him how little progress she is making in befriending her new housemates. Levi never voices any concern for her aloud, but Hange can sense it in the dip of his brows as she talks. She gives him a genuine smile when she reassures him that classes will start soon, and she's confident she will settle better after that.

Levi seems reluctant to leave, but after a little over an hour of aimless, comfortable chatter, he is yawning and blinking heavily, the lower half of his face nuzzled into his pillow. In the end, Hange makes up some watery excuse about visiting the coast while the sun is still high, if only to let him get some sleep.

"Sure. Have fun."

"I will! Sleep well, Levi."

Levi hums. The view shifts, blurry and indistinct, the mic muffled by the rustle of sheets, and when everything settles he is laying on his side, fringe mussed and falling over his eyes. He covers another long yawn with his fist. "I will."

"You'll call tomorrow?"

Levi rolls his tired eyes, but the corner of his mouth pulls up in a fraction of a smile. "Sure."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Hange grins. Levi watches her for a long moment, eyes scanning over her face. Then he holds up a hand in a tired wave. "Night, Hange."

"Night."

Hange stares at the screen for too long when the call ends. That terribly selfish part of her would have loved to keep his company for the rest of the day. Maybe, with a little travel sized Levi in the palm of her hand, she'd have been brave enough to explore some more, enthused about all the new things to see with somebody to share them with.

Sighing, Hange drops her phone to the desk and stands from the bed, stretching. There are still things she can do—she has plenty of recommended reading to get through, a small mountain of books at her disposal, and she has mapped the route to her campus often enough that she isn't feeling too overwhelmed by the prospect of the journey.

As she heads for the door, Hange notices something on the floor beside the bed. A neat, rectangular piece of paper; one of the photographs Levi had sent her, laying face down on the ground.

She picks it up again and brings the paper close to her face. Levi had written something on the back of it in small, quick letters, less tidy than his usual practiced script, as though he’d scribbled it as an afterthought, or else that he wasn’t sure he really wanted her to read it.

There is a date, the same night she had found Levi’s secret photo stash, followed by Hange’s name, and the location of the shot. And beneath that Levi had scrawled a few words. Hange squints to read them, and then her eyes grow wide, blinking owlishly down at the note. Her heart swells almost painfully and something solid balloons within her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. Her lips tremble into a smile as she props the picture carefully on the bedside table.

The day is still young. Hange brews herself another cup of Levi’s tea and settles on the bed with one of her books, content to spend the next few hours reading—though she finds it strangely difficult to focus, with the words Levi had written on the back of the photograph swirling round and round in her head. Hange doubts they will leave her any time soon. They left her feeling more homesick than ever, but there is a soft, giddy kind of comfort in them all the same. It's a feeling that Hange will savour for as long as she possibly can.

It's weird here without you. Come home again soon x

#ask #levihan #my writing #snk #the way this has kicked my ass for hjkjhg MONTHS #I'm so sorry for the delay but thank you so much for the prompt!!! I was so excited to work on it #and I'm glad I finally got it finished :)#sorry it once again got incredibly out of hand length-wise #drabble my ass

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itsmeevie01 · 3 years ago

Text

A Moment in Time: Chapter 7

MASTERPOST

After dinner and Gina and Jason had reluctantly left for the night, the Dupain-Cheng family sat and talked together a while more before separating to move towards bed. After all, they did have a bakery to open in the morning.

When Marinette was sure that her parents were asleep, she opened her chaise. There, buried under piles of blankets and spare fabric and next to one of her specialized embroidery machines that had been packed away to save space was a black rectangular box with a red chrysanthemum carved into it. Breathing a sigh of relief, the teen pulled out the box and settled her hand on top of it, letting her magic seep into the wood.

A moment later, the box was expanding, opening, and giving her access to the box of the Miraculous of the Chinese Zodiac. Plagg zipped to join her as she studied the jewels in front of her before settling her hand on the Bee Miraculous that she had been puzzling over for weeks.

The Kwamii looked at her before he finally sighed. “kid you know what you need to do. As much as we don’t like it, the girl is a good match for Pollen. Plus, you and the Bug need a rest. Without the Bee, you know that the rest of your team won’t fall into place.” She smiled at the Kwamii before looking down again.

“I know Plagg, but…what if she says no? Lady Tyche and I can only do so much, and I don’t want to open our group to someone who is going to pull an Alya. Ty spent months training her she even let her come to an attack, and she still had the audacity to believe Lila. If she had gotten her hands on the miraculous full-time, it would have been catastrophic. I don’t want to bring someone else into the fold and have them flake. Or worse, betray us.” The miniature cat god nodded at his chosen as she drifted for a moment, thinking about days gone by.

Eventually, she shook herself and smiled at her kwamii. “ok Plagg, Let’s Make Mischief!” As her transformation fell over her, Apate stretched, preparing to wander into the night.

Her luminous blue eyes, catlike and glowing in the night, narrowed as she made the first jump, up to the balcony. Her black boots landed on the balcony, the Parisian night going quiet. As she moved across the rooftops, the animal and natural sounds quieted down, acknowledging the power in her presence.

As she came to a stop near a streetlight, Apate breathed in the crisp night air. A grey cat brushed against her leg, and she smiled down. The small cat purred, before it slipped away, off to explore the rest of the city. Apate looked out over the city and smiled. Down below, someone called out, and she looked down. Nino Lahiffe stood there, looking up at her with a smile. The Vigilante waved down at her friend, and one of the few people who knows about Apate. He smiled up at her, waved a piece of plastic at her, put it down, and strolled down the street.

Apate grinned. Nino was smart. He was the only one who was even close to her identity. Apate had a theory about it but had decided to take the small amount of good luck that had come her way in the form of her friend and not question it. She jumped down and landed in the street. Nino, while smart, was also sneaky. He had laid the CD in the middle of a circle of light. Nino must still be close by. Apate smiled to herself and stepped into the light, giving her old friend a glimpse of her appearance.

The black suit resembled a black track jacket, with the bottom half resembling close-cropped cargo pants. Her boots, while silent, had a heel, giving the petit girl a very well-needed few inches. Her black hair, while long and free-flowing in daily life, was now held back in a French braid. The gauntlets on her forearms glinted silver, and the bracers on her shins reflected the light above. Apate’s hands flexed as she approached, the reinforced gloves flashing as her claws extended. A small smile crawled over the Vigilante’s face as she reattached her baton to her hip and let herself approach the small case holding Nino’s latest mix. Her luminous blue eyes found his shape in the shadows, and she sent him a smile and a wave. Then, her staff was in her hands, and she was rising quickly into the air. As her boots touched the rooftop, she turned towards the tower and took off.

When she landed at the Tower, the cat-like Vigilante settled herself on one of the beams looking out over the night.

Her eyes focused on a figure in the distance and followed it as it made its way closer. When the figure landed next to her, Apate grinned up at Lady Tyche. The Blonde smiled back at her more violent companion. Her braided ponytail shifted in the wind, and the dark mask made the smaller girl roll her eyes. After almost four years, the two were pretty good at reading each other. As Lady Tyche settled next to Apate, the red hero smiled. Her garnet suit shifted in the moonlight. The black reinforced areas along her shins and arms seemed to disappear into the night to the naked eye.

The older miraculous wielder had been apprehensive to let Apate redesign her suit from the bright red that had black spots everywhere. Apparently, it was a “Tikki staple”. When Apate had shown Tyche the simple garnet suit with the black shading on her sides, and the reinforcement on her arms, the hero had changed her tune. That had been three years ago, and since then the girls had grown closer. During that time, they had realized that they must be in the same grade because they had chosen names that mirrored the Greek goddesses they had been learning about.

What Apate later learned was that only her school used that specific curriculum. However, by that point, she and Tyche had long moved past it. Discussion about Lady Tyche’s name had been circulating since the duo had gotten their miraculi. However, since Apate kept to the shadows, not enough people had confirmation that she existed to have a debate, or in many cases, even a confirmed name.

When Apate had found out the box was based on the Chinese zodiac, she had laughed to herself. The irony had been too much. If only they had been in a different section of their mythological studies. But by then, it had been too late to change her name to honor the origin of the box.

That evening, as the two rested near the top of the Eifel tower, the city of Paris glowed beneath them. Over the past few months, these meetings had become more regular. That night, the two had gotten together to once again debate the idea of adding a certain Bee to their ranks. This had been a topic for almost a year and the duo were apprehensive at the thought of adding an unknown this far into their battle.

“What did Tikki say?” When Apate broke their silence, Tyche sent her a small smile. They both knew that Apate was the more anxious of the duo. There was a reason she worked better in the shadows. The idea of adding the Bee, well it was keeping her up at night. She didn’t want to lose more miraculous

“She was all for it. After she heard what Wayzz had said, she agreed with him. Adding another holder and setting up our team is the right move.” The girls exchanged looks. Tyche went on; “she even suggested that if we found someone else, beyond the bee, we should follow instinct. I think she can feel the end approaching.” Apate took a deep breath before nodding.

“Plagg and I have been talking. With our final year in Lycée ending in less than six months, he agreed that we need to try and wrap this up.” Tyche snorted. “the both of us have been feeling like a change is coming. However, it doesn’t seem all bad. Something is coming, and I’m not sure what.”

“I don’t know about you, but I am ready to leave Paris. If I can leave for University, it would be amazing.” Apate nodded in agreement. Both she and Tyche had been stuck in the city for four years. Tyche wrinkled her nose as she looked across the city. “if all three of you can feel the shift, that means the situation is more dire than we realized. We are closer to catching hawkmoth though. Every time we check on a lead, I get excited. But now that we have exhausted all the options, I’m starting to wonder if we will ever take him down.” Tyche turned to Apate her blue eyes watery. “if there is any chance of taking this asshole down and reclaiming our lives I think we have to take it.”

“Does that mean we should go visit Chloé?” Tyche hesitated.

“Actually, I was thinking. I know that we have been careful, for years now, but now we both know that we’re getting closer to the end. Would, would it be ok if we-” understanding settled on Apate’s face. She thought for a moment before nodding.

“well, there isn’t a Guardian to tell us no anymore. Plus, it might be good for us.” Both girls laughed as they stood. “how about this. I have to go get the Bee anyways, so come with me, and we can do the reveal nearby. That way we can be sure it’s in a secluded place.” Tyche nodded as she readied her yoyo.

“which way, Kit-Cat?” Apate laughed and jumped off the tower, letting herself start the trek back to the quaint Bakery that currently was housing miniature gods.

When Apate and Lady Tyche landed on the roof of the Beauréal home, Tyche glanced over at her companion in confusion. The other teen smiled at her and launched herself into the sky once again. As Tyche followed, she realized that they were sticking closer to the ground. Whoever Apate was, she lived nearby. When they landed on a very familiar bakery, the blonde blinked. Apate had settled herself against the chimney, balancing on the ridge. Quickly skirting the roof to settle opposite her partner, Tyche couldn’t help but glance over the cat’s shoulder. If Marinette decided that she wanted to sit outside late at night, they were in trouble.

“Tyche, we are safe here. The roof is at the right height that no one will be able to see us.” Apate’s words soothed the hero, and she studied the girl. Now that they weren’t moving, Tyche could see the slight tremor in her hands. “ready?” they shared a smile, and the girls called out the phrases that so many would never know. “Plagg, Mischief Managed!”

“Tikki, let's land!” as the roof lit up with their detransformations, the girls closed their eyes. When they hear Tikki call an excited “Plagg!” two sets of blue eyes snapped open. Aurore froze for a second, before squealing.

“Marinette! Oh my god!” the two hugged, smiles lighting up their faces before navigating to the balcony that the teen had furnished with enough plants to hide them from late-night pedestrians. For the next half hour, they sat talking. Aurore and Marinette traded stories and put together the events of the past four years. They only stopped when Tikki pointedly reminded them that they still needed to go talk to a certain heiress. Marinette let herself slide into her room before hopping off of her bed and scurrying to the box she had hidden away. When the girl reappeared on the balcony, the long-time partners traded smiles and transformed before taking off across the rooftops towards the Grand Paris Hotel.

When Chloé was woken up, she thought she was dreaming. Standing on the other side of the glass, standing on her balcony, were Lady Tyche and Apate. The shock that ran through the teen’s mind would have frozen many of her classmates, but the blonde had always prided herself on being made of sterner stuff. As she slid her feet into slippers and pulled on a robe, Chloé let her mind run over the last year. Although most Parisians didn’t think that Apate was more than an urban legend, Chloe had run into the vigilante on several occasions. Most of them had been when the smaller girl had swooped in to save her, but as time had gone on, the two had become friendly. However, both the hero and vigilante had no problems calling her out for things she had done wrong. Off the top of her head, she couldn’t think of anything that could have gotten her in trouble with the duo. With a fortifying breath, Chloé opened the doors leading to the balcony. “Lady Tyche, Apate. To, uh, what do I owe the pleasure? I…haven’t done anything wrong, have I?” Lady Tyche smiled at the girl’s concern.

“No, Chloé. You have done nothing wrong. In fact,” here, the Hero turned to the vigilante who was leaning against the railing. “we came because of the exact opposite reason.” Chloé felt some tension release from her shoulders at her idol’s statement. Then, what she had said caught up to her.

“I, um. What did you come here for?” The nerves that could be heard at the end of her question made Apate smile softly.

“do you have somewhere we can talk? There’s an opportunity that you might be interested in.” Chloé nodded quickly and lead the two into her suit before pausing and closing the drapes. Then, she gestured towards what Tyche obviously assumed was a closet. Oh, that sweet summer child. What they entered instead was a room with a desk and a small sitting room. Of course, the heiress had her own office.

“We shouldn’t be bothered in here. Is everything ok? Are,” she hesitated. “are you in legal trouble?” the other girls paused and shared a glance, shocked.

“No!” Lady Tyche’s quick response made the other blonde giggle in relief.

“oh good. Ok. My- my friend has this habit of thinking of the worst scenario first, and I guess I might have picked up on it.” The girl now looked more than slightly sheepish which made the other two laugh with her. Apate held back a complaint. She wasn’t always that bad.

“we may not be in trouble, Chloé, but we did come here for your help.” Apate’s quiet voice brought the rest of the laughter to a stop. “this is an opportunity to do good in the City of Paris. If, of course, you are willing.” Chloé’s eyes widened as she listened to the soft explanation.

“what would you have me do?” she breathed, excitement dancing across her face.

“Join us?” Lady Tyche’s reply had the girl whipping her head around to stare at the hero.

“what? Really? You. You. The protectors of Paris want. Me. To help?” the shock on her features made the hero smile and the vigilante fight back laughs.

“yes, we trust you.” the seriousness in Apate’s voice had her looking back in the quieter girl’s direction. If she kept this up she was going to give herself whiplash. “Chloé Bourgeoise this is the Miraculous of the Bee. Can we trust you?” the girl’s blue eyes were suddenly more intense than Chloé had ever seen them. In Apate’s hand was a small octagonal box that had a glowing yellow carving on it. The Heiress nodded mutely. “can we trust you to protect both the City of Paris and her people. Can we trust you to protect not only your own miraculous but any others you may come in contact with? Even at the cost of your own life?” The heaviness in the vigilante’s voice reminded her why these girls were seen as infallible. It reminded her why they fought day and night to protect their city. And they were asking her to join them. Letting her mind fully catch up with what they were asking of her, Chloé studied the two who were standing in her small study. The girls who were asking her to do more than anyone else ever had.

“yes, Apate. You and Lady Tyche can trust me.” The girl nodded before handing over the small box.

“then welcome to Team Miraculous, Chloé”

A/N

what do we think? chlo has joined the miraculous team! what do you think of that little Nino moment?

TAGLIST:

@moonlitceleste @redscarlet95 @ultimatetornshipper @mochegato @liquid-luck-00 @maskedpainter @trippingovermyfeet @nathleigh @m0chick0furan @susiej1118 @t1dwarrior-of-earth @sassakitty @remy-289 @laurcad123 @iamabrownfox @corporeal-terrestrial @girl-in-thechair

#maribat #ml x dc #a moment in time fic #timari #sibling!jasonette #my writing #amit rewrite #noncannon compliant

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lukealvezhimboextraordinaire · 3 years ago

Note

Prompt — wearing their lover’s clothes! (also, “can I get my shirt back? ’'no.”)

Philioise 🥰

okay so i tried to fill the bill this time! things get a bit hot at the end but nothing worth an r rating!

let's see philoise + wearing their lovers clothes.

It had taken some convincing on Eloise’s part.

Phillip was a man with a very defined style and that style didn’t involve hoddies - an absolute pity according to Eloise. He liked his cardigans, his pleated pants, and his wingtips. He liked to look good and yet be comfortable and wasn’t here to be ashamed for taking care of his appearance. And really, it was fine. Eloise loved it. The only problem was that Penelope had been bombarding her with snaps of her wearing Colin’s oversized hoodies and although she would never admit it out loud, she was starting to feel the green-eyed monster burning in her chest. Goddammit, she wanted to take cute pics clapped in one of Phillip’s extra-large hoodies and post them on every social media account she owned.

But Phillip was not having it. Not even when she went out of her way to make obvious hints as to how she wanted to steal his clothes. Or rather, how she wanted to be given his clothes.

And really? What was the problem? Eloise had full access to his closet. She could just walk into it and grab whatever she wanted and he would not protest. But he was a smart man and smart men did not engage in couple wars with their girlfriend’s siblings. Especially not with Polin. Because out of every two words Colin said, one was Penelope. And Phillip loved Eloise but he preferred to keep his displays of affection a bit more subtle and he preferred his love confessions to be for Eloise's ears only. Nothing wrong with proclaiming your love and devotion for the woman you were sharing your life with every two sentences, really. But being around Colin was, in all honesty, a bit sickening.

But even if his love language were light, casual touches or his quiet but calming presence or listening to her ramble about her day, that didn’t mean he loved her any less. Where Colin’s love was loud, grandiose, overwhelming, Phillip’s love was quiet, nurturing, gentle. It was waking up to fresh flowers resting on a vase every morning, it was coming home after a long day at work to the table set and dinner ready, it was finding little notes scattered around the house, reminding her to take her keys with her, to drink some water, to drive safely. It was a soft kiss on her cheek every morning before leaving for work, a cup of her coffee exactly like she liked it placed on her hand. It was pressed flowers under her pillow. It was a back rub while they read together in the afternoons. It was books with his favorite parts and quotes underlined showing up on her bedside table randomly - full pages circled with this reminds me of you all over it. It was gentle praise and sincere encouragement. It was words of affirmation. It was a sense of finally belonging, being taken care of, and being put first, of mattering.

Phillip loved Eloise in all the ways she had ever wanted to be loved but didn’t dare to allow herself to yearn for and even in ways she never knew a person could love another person. He understood her silences as well as her words and always seemed to know how to make her feel better. There was something in his presence that never failed to make her feel safe.

There was nothing she could complain about.

But she wanted to take a bloody picture wrapped in one of his shirts and post it, dammit.

And then a brilliant idea crossed her mind.

She would see Penelope’s hoodie and raise it. Go big or go home.

And go big she did, indeed.

Phillip had one of those botanic conferences he loved so much that weekend, which meant she would (practically) have the house for herself. Or at least she would have the house for herself once the twins went to bed. The smart woman she was, Eloise had already crafted a detailed plan to tire them out so much all through the day, that the moment they came back home they would pass out, giving her the time to put her second master plan into action. It was genius if she herself said it.

-------

The twins had drifted into a peaceful sleep as soon as their heads touched the pillows. The day had been filled with excitement, laughs, and a couple sugar highs that Eloise had made sure to schedule to last until they were on their way home. The plan had almost taken a turn for the worse on the ride home when their eyelids started to flutter. Nothing a good old banger couldn’t avoid. They ended up singing to the top of their lungs to songs Eloise had never heard before walking into those amazing kids’ lives but now she often found herself humming absent-mindedly.

She placed a sweet kiss on the top of their heads and made sure to tuck them in before closing the door quietly and making her way to the bedroom she had come to share with their father.

As much as she would have loved to take her time

Everything was ready; the lights settled to the perfect intensity, the phone resting on the tripod, and the throw pillows placed in a way that only added to the scene. All that she had to do was get in front of the lens. Surprisingly, the hardest part had been to pick the perfect garment to wear. Phillip had such a collection of nice shirts that it had taken Eloise a good twenty minutes to narrow it down to just two and then five more to come up with a winner. The soft baby blue cotton fabric looked very nice against her skin and it even made her eyes stand out so it became an easy pick. Even though the light yellow one was very nice too. Eloise took a mental note to keep it for a late date. Maybe she would have to ask Daphne to keep the twins for a night one of these days.

Eloise tried a couple poses on the mirror before settling for a suggestive yet not very explicit one. Her legs slightly parted, the hem of the shirt covering just about enough skin to allow the word tasteful to be used but to still spark the curiosity about what was (or wasn’t) behind, the first few buttons of the improvised attire open, allowing the valley of her breasts to peak over the lace brasserie, offering a glimpse of what was to come. The wicked smile adorning her features and messy hair the perfect last touches to her ravishing look. The camera snapped once, twice, thrice. Eloise studied the pictures, nodded with satisfaction, and with one last look at them hit sent.

My sunflower: A little something so you don’t forget to think about me tonight;)

Jesus, El, I almost crashed against the wall.

Just so you know, I always think about you.

My sunflower: I hope so.

Is that my shirt?

My sunflower: Maybe?

You little thief.

My sunflower: Do you want it back?

I think you ought to show me if you had stolen more of my clothes.

Like my boxers, for starters….

Eloise didn’t get much sleep that night.

The next morning she made sure to send Penelope a nerdy snap, Phillip’s shirt looking huge on her smaller frame, making her look like she was wearing an oversized dress. Judging by the dry response she got from her best friend, Colin was about to make a trip to the mall to get a couple dressing shirts. The bar had been raised. Hoodies were no longer good enough. It was pressed shirts or nothing now. Good.

Eloise surprised herself by how reluctant she was to take off his shirt. It had been only a day and she already missed him. His laugh, his hugs, his arms lazily thrown over her shoulders as they laid on the couch, the way he wrinkled up his nose with the first sip of tea… she missed having him around and the peace knowing he was close brought her. And it was funny because until that moment the realization of how used she had gotten to having Phillip by her side had not hit her. Their broken souls were two sides of the same coin, joined and twisted and embroiled until they became one.

So she threw a pair of jeans on, tucked the shirt in the pants, and went on and about with her day. The twins didn’t even bat an eye when she descended down the stairs muffled in their dad’s favorite gear. It was almost as if they had been expecting it for a while. In retrospect, they probably had not given it any thought because they were kids, smart kids, but kids and children didn’t tend to have the same worries as adults. For them, sharing clothes didn’t have a special meaning.

And Eloise realized that she should have gone digging into Phillip’s side of the closet a long time ago. Thinking about it, she couldn’t come up with the exact reason why it had gotten her so long to finally do something that had been on her mind for a while.

But Eloise didn’t have much time to dwell on the reasons behind her actions - or lack of them. Because the door sprung open, startling everyone inside, to reveal a smiling Phillip, bag hanging lazing from his shoulder.

“Daddy!” The kids rushed to his encounter, screaming happily, and attached themselves to his legs. He scooped them up, each in one arm, and when he looked up his eyes locked with Eloise’s. A knowing smile immediately overtook his features. Eloise knew that smile knew what it meant. It was the promise of something to come and it never failed to send a wave of heat down her stomach.

“Hi,” he had to lean in slightly to give her a soft kiss on the lips. The kids made disgusted noises and Phillip took it as his cue to let them run free. He watched them disappear up the stairs and only then did he turn his attention back to the brunette, his eyes burning into hers. “Is that my shirt?”

Eloise licked her lips. “Maybe.”

He grinned, closing the distance between them in two long steps, his lips brushing against her neck, tentatively running down her collarbone until they reached the valley of her breasts. The air caught in her lungs. Her eyes closed. And then he stopped. When she opened them again, he was smirking down at her. “Can I get it back?”

Somehow she managed to find the strength to talk. “N-no.”

Phillip grinned evilly. “Not even if I do this?” His fingers teased the hem of the shirt, sending a wave of electricity down her spine whenever they grazed her skin. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he started unbuttoning the shirt, leaving a kiss on every inch of exposed skin.

“If you want your shirt. You are going to have to rip it off of me.” Eloise breathed out. And Phillip's eyes burned with desire and something that looked a lot like a promise.

Let’s just say, the shirt ended on the floor.

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

When she came into their bedroom later that night, there was a bag resting on her side of the bed. She looked around for him but he was nowhere to be found. Never one able to resist the temptation of satisfying her curiosity, she looked inside. Tears filled her eyes because there, resting in the bottom of the bag was a brown hoodie. Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, the warm breath against her neck making her hair stand up. "I would give you the world, my sunflower. All you have to do is ask."

It had taken some convincing on Eloise's part. But she never needed to try so hard.

#eloise bridgerton #eloise x phillip #phillip crane #fics #mine #philoise #listen i don't write smut so that's why this sucks #i tried

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imkylotrash · 3 years ago

Text

Perfidy

Pairing: Saul Silva x reader

Request: Reader is in alliance with Beatrix and has been sent by Rosalind to get close to S to find out more about the teachers' plans. After a while, she feels guilty coz she really fell in love with him and confesses about betraying their relationship and sabotaging his plans. S stays mad at her for a while but he loves her too so he forgives her maybe and then fluffy floof? Anonymous And Saul and Reader who is on Rosalind’s side; a highly regarded soldier entrusted to be one of the guards of Saul where he is imprisoned. Over time there is some kind of connection or attraction there (not sure if mutual) which complicates things. It can be unresolved/left open or if you come up with an ending cool! Anonymous

A/N I did a little twist at the end, and I'm not really sure how well it worked 😬

Tagging: @grey-girl @intoanothermind @artsyle @baueoud @glowingatdawn @anreeixcobra @kingunder221b @lflores2008 @alexiapayne12 @quarterback-5 @estelmei @alice-the-nerd @bitchwhytho @music-of-melody @shadowhuntyi

"Food." You place the tray on the floor backing out of the room to keep an eye on him. When the door closes, you take a deep breath that you didn't know you needed.

"That's all?" It's the first time you've seen him since Alfea. He looks horrible already. The Solarian prison is a tough place to survive. Part of you worries about him, but you push that in the back of your mind trying to crush any affection you might feel towards him. You can't like him - and he certainly doesn't like you.

"What do you mean?"

"You've got nothing else to say? After using me for information, making me believe that you lov-" Words fail the soldier as he looks at you through the glass that confines him. Of course, it isn't normal glass. It's been reinforced and manipulated to prevent cracking. It's the most secure prison in the whole of Solaria.

"I was doing my job." He throws the tray of food towards you but you don't flinch. It won't do any damage.

"That was a waste of food. Some people would kill for a meal like that."

"I feel like you're always running off to talk to Farah or Ben," you whine as he comes back from yet another long meeting. You want in on those meetings. You want to know what they're doing to keep the Burned Ones at bay. You want access to Dowling's office. You want it all, and you have to play this stupid game of pretending to be here just for Saul.

"Maybe you should just come next time then. I'm sure they'd appreciate your point of view," he says so casually that you almost drop the glass you're holding. It cannot be that easy. You've been seeing each other for three months and already, he seems to trust you.

"Really?" You could intel on Bloom to help Beatrix, you could find a way to break out Rosalind. It seems far too easy but he nods his head and as promised brings you with him for the next meeting. You're surprised by the guilt that lingers in the corners of your heart, as you walk back from the meeting hand in hand.

"I really liked seeing you involved tonight. It's nice bringing you and the rest of my world together," Saul admits a little sheepish.

"I appreciated you letting me be a part of it." The words roll off your tongue so easily it scares you a little. You squash the part of you that might hold any sort of feeling towards Saul and focus on the information you got tonight. Any day now, you'll be able to break out Rosalind.

"You think I care about food? I want to know what the hell is going on! What did you do to Sky?" Your fingers are itching to be run through his hair, but you also don't have a death wish at the moment so you stay on your side of the protective barrier.

"Sky is just fine. He's still at Alfea studying." This little piece of information seems to relax Saul slightly, but you can still see the betrayal in his eyes. He hates what you did to him, but you're not entirely convinced he actually hates you.

"I should've known you weren't being truthful. You never cared about anything other than yourself." You clench your jaw to keep yourself from admitting everything you've been ignoring for the past year but he sees the crack in your facade. He knows he hit a nerve, and he'll definitely be using that to his advantage later. There are no rules to how this game works anymore - something you're both very aware of.

"I'll let you get some sleep. I'll be back by dawn."

"Are you still awake?" You keep quiet hoping he'll believe that you're sleeping. You can't face him right now knowing that tomorrow he'll be given the title traitor and be escorted out of here in handcuffs. He's quick to undress and crawl under the covers. His warm body almost melts the ice you've tried to seal your heart with.

"I just wanted to let you know that I love you," he whispers unaware that you're awake. It's the first time he's said and even you can't ignore the butterflies in your stomach. As the amazing actor you have become, you pretend to slowly wake up.

"Hi baby," you whisper with a smile cuddling up to him. You don't say a word about what you just heard and he doesn't repeat it. But it hangs in the air between you.

"I'm sorry I woke up. Go back to sleep," he says kissing your forehead. How are you ever meant to go back to sleep after hearing that? Your entire body feels electrified to the point where you can't pretend you don't feel the same way about him. You want him even if goes against everything you believe in.

"I wasn't sleeping." He knows what your confession means.

You return precisely at 4:30am knowing this is the moment where the cameras reboot giving you just five minutes before they'll be back on. You're carrying a set of clothes and a backpack filled with provision.

"You ready?" You open the door handing him the clothes. The timer on your wristwatch lets you know that there are 3 minutes left before the cameras are on again.

"Ready." He keeps a hand on your shoulder to keep up with your pace. This time of the morning, all the guards are in the meeting room waiting for assignments for the day which is the perfect opportunity to slip past them unnoticed.

"Left," you whisper turning the corner with Saul right behind you. 1 minute. Fresh air hits your skin instantly calming you down. The hard part is over now.

"I wasn't sure if you were coming or not," Saul says slightly out of breath. He's still angry with you, but it's nothing like the way he looked at you back in his cell. When you told him to act enraged at you, you hadn't expected him to play the part so well. You're still doing your very best to keep all feelings towards Saul out of your mind. You're doing this to prove that you've had a change of heart. You know it'll be a long time before he'll fully trust you again.

"Of course I came." It's your way of saying those three words back to him, and he doesn't miss the intention. So much has changed between the two of you, but you know that you want to fix it. And this is the start.

"I wasn't sleeping." You want to tell him that you love him too, but there are other truths you'll have to admit before you can get to that part.

"I've been working with Rosalind. Bloom is going to free her," you say trying to remember the feeling of his skin pressed against yours. He pulls away looking ready to run alert the others but he sees something in your eyes that stops him.

"It's too late. Beatrix showed her the way to Rosalind." You know what comes next. He'll yell, throw something and then probably yell some more.

"Tomorrow, you'll be arrested and taken to a Solarian prison."

"Why are you telling me all of this? You could've gotten away with it." For such a brilliant man, he can be quite dense sometimes. You're well aware that the anger will come sooner or later after the confusion is cleared up, but you're using it to your advantage right now.

"Listen to me. This is going to happen no matter what. I thought I was on the right side of history, but the time I've spent here just proved me wrong." You try to take his hands in yours, but he pulls away. He's hurt, betrayed by the one person he thought he could count on.

"They're going to arrest you, and I will be assigned to guard you, which means I can break you out."

"Thank you. For helping me." It's the best he can offer you right now, and you'll happily take it. Anything that isn't pure hatred is a step in the right direction.

"I'm sorry it even came to this." You know you'll be given plenty of chances to prove your loyalty in the future as you take back Alfea, and you'll make use of all of them. This time, you know what you're fighting for, and he's standing right in front of you.

"Follow me?" You mean to say it as an order, but it comes out a question.

"Yes, ma'am."

#saul silva imagine #saul silva blurb #saul silva x reader #saul silva #winx saul silva #rob james collier #saul silva gif #winx club #netflix winx #fate netflix #fate the winx saga #fate winx club #fate winx

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