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melo-yello · 4 years ago

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💤Can’t Sleep💤 w/ 💥🪨KiriBaku🪨💥 HeadCanons

Pairing(s): KiriBaku X black!reader, Eijirou Kirishima X Katsuki Bakugou X black!reader

A/N: fluff and ANGST. Like lots of ANGST. I had a rough week and honestly not very much sleep. What can I say. Sue me, I wanna hug and somebody to watch a movie with.

💤💥🪨 Lay on your stomach opening and closing your eyes as you try and convince yourself to sleep. Kirishima snores softly with an arm around Bakugou’s waist. He’s been pretty stressed lately so he gets to be middle spoon. Baku in turn has an arm draped over your shoulders.

💤💥🪨 The soft and peaceful looks on the boys’ faces are nothing but safe and warm and reassuring . Yet here you are unavailable to close your eyes long enough to drift off to sleep. Each time you close your eyes your heart attempts to tear a whole through your chest. The dim red light of the clock reads 2:56 as you slip out of Baku’s embrace for a glass of water

💤💥🪨 You settle on Jasmine tea instead. Quietly pulling a the kettle from the cabinet and turning on the tap just before placing it on the stove. You busy yourself in your phone in order to banish any form of thought from your head. Soon just blankly browsing through TikToks as you wait for the water to boil

💤💥🪨 The hair on the back of your neck stands at attention as you hear heavy footsteps and the creaking of the bedroom door. Short angry grumbles are traded with deep groggy grunts as the footsteps close in on your position. You glance up to see the time is now 3:22 and you hear the kettle whistling for the first. Mostly likely what woke your boyfriends to begin with. You scowl at the kettle.

💤💥🪨 “fuck you.” you curse under your breath snatching up the kettle to quiet it’s shouting as the two set of red eyes fix on you in the dim light of kitchen. Kiri’s long red hair pulled back into a messy plat, and Baku’s fluffy ash blonde sticking out in all directions except for the right side flatten to the side of his skull

💤💥🪨 “Oí, Chuchu Soul, do you have any idea what time it is?!!” Baku squints tiredly placing a hand on his hip. “That’s actually a good one.” You giggle surprised by his creativity. “I know right?! And they used to call him uncreative.” Kirishima smirks between a yawn. “ Well?” Bakugou’s features don’t change. More likely mad that he’s awake at this ungodly hour than anything else. “Was it another panic attack, Pebble?” Kiri questions walking to rest his hand on your lower back. You don’t acknowledge his soft gesture and busy yourself with pouring the newly hot water into your large mug with it’s awaiting tea bag.

💤💥🪨 “Run that shit back, Eiji?!? When was this?” Bakugou’s foggy apathetic sleepiness raises to concerned confusion . You curse under your breath for the third time tonight. Kiri racks his tired brain for an explanations as he trades tired glances between the temperamental blonde and the vaguely suspicious one blowing at tea. “Pebble you didn’t tell him about Friday Night?” He frowns looking down at you. “...i forgot...” you whisper sipping the overly hot tea and burning your tongue. Hell you wouldn’t have told him either, but he was right beside you when it happened.

💤💥🪨 That Friday night. You couldn’t speak. You stood in a dark room. Small and cramped. No windows. No doors. Just glowing ink on one wall in barely legiable font. Prove It. As soon as you touched the lettering it went blood red and the water began to pool at your feet. You begin to lose your composure trying to find an exit. In seconds the water is at your waist. Then your neck. Then the ceiling. Like that you’re choking and sputtering trying to find. The walls go translucent. Larger than life figures with unmistakable silhouettes and Pro hero customs hold your box in each hand. You bang tight fists to gain their attention. Your blood mixes with the water and you could barely breath. You thrashed across the sheets desperately trying to snatch yourself from your current nightmare. Suddenly Kiri shaking you awake and he’s coaching you into breathing again.

💤💥🪨 The memory of utter helplessness washes over you all over again. You sigh in frustration as tears pool at the corner of your eyes. “Come here, Pebs.”

💤💥🪨 Without another word, Kiri scoops you up bridal style and takes a seat on the couch placing you in his lap. Baku takes the seat next to him gently taking the hot tea from your trembling hands. You hadn’t even realized they were shaking until you touched his steady ones. “Babes, we hafta talk about this. Including Friday, this makes 3 days of shitty sleep. That’s not good or sustainable, Knucklehead.” Bakugou sighs placing the mug on the coffee table before wiping away a tear rolling down your cheek.

💤💥🪨 “It’s not like I don’t wanna do better, Kats. Eiji. I’m just...” you trail off mid explanation. You clasp fingers over your soft lips. Opening twice to speak, but only croaks come out. You try very hard to find a tangible reason for your reluctance to sleep, but there were none. Kiri squeezes your shoulders reassuringly and plants a gentle kiss on the top of your bonnet.

💤💥🪨 “We know you’re trying, love. It’s ok to be scared sometimes. Even the resident hardass, Katsuki still gets nightmares.” Kiri offers doing his best to let you ride these feelings out while comforting you as well. “Yea.”Baku’s grip tightens at the mention of his own nightmares before leaning his head on your legs

💤💥🪨 “I just can’t trust it ok! It’s scary. I’m panicking in sleep now?!! I’m only getting worse and now I crying about. FUCK! I’m just a scared bitchy crybaby who can’t sleep.” You sigh overwhelmed by all the physical closeness and their consistent and unwavering support. You mentally kick yourself for the not realizing sooner that you trusted them enough to hurt like this in front of them. There’s something that unnerves you about that. Tears streaming at full force at this piont

💤💥🪨Kiri holds you firmly to chest tucking your shaking form under his chin. Baku moves to wrap an embrace overlapping Kiri’s arms. “Just let it all out, Babygirl.” He hums leaning his head on your shoulder. Your chest tightens and your fingers curl into angry fists. Suddenly your frighteningly fierce temper rears it’s ugly head.

💤💥🪨 “No no no NO! Stop It! STOP ACTING SO NICE! STOP ACTING LIKE I DESRVE THIS! BE DISAPPOINTED! BE UPSET!! TELL ME TO TRY HARDER! TELL ME TO TAKE BETTER CARE OF MYSELF! TELL ME IT’S EASY! REALLY EASY! BE ANGRY I’M FUCKING IT ALL UP! BLAME ME! I BLAME ME! I blame me... I blame me for not being...better.” You fume trying to push them away. You do your best to squirm out of their gentle comfort and tender embrace your lovers have you wrapped in. Neither one of your boys moves. “No way, Pebs.” Kirishima says resolutely. “Not a fucking chance, Teddy.” Bakugou nods with the same unchanging confidence. The rage in your chest melts as fat tears and roll down your brown cheeks.

💤💥🪨 A heaving and broken sob racks your entire body as you fall apart in their arms. Anger subsides into terrified uncertainty and overwhelming futility settles in its place. Tears and mucus flood down your face and soak Kiri’s t-shirt. Sniffles from above draws you out of the dark thoughts swarming around you. Surely enough tears drip slowly down Kiri’s cheeks. Instinctively you cup his face with trembling hands. “...Sorry.. I’ll be strong...just gimme a sec” he mutters as his broad shoulders slump and he moves to bat away the falling droplets. Bakugou grabs his hand and kisses it while wiping the red head’s face. “Eijirou, you don’t have to. Not right now” You sputter between choppy breaths.

💤💥🪨 His usually unwavering features muddy with insecurity. A fairly uncommon expression for someone so death defyingly optimistic and confident. “But it’s what I’m good at. If I can’t be strong for the people I love most then what good am I?” He retorts apathetically tightening his grip as the tears still trickle. You slink an arm around his hips, and place your face to his chest. “Bullshit. You’re plenty strong enough for us, Eijirou. Stop being so hard headed!” Bakugou raves putting a hand behind his neck and his forehead against his for emphasis before continuing, “You’re allowed to feel more than one thing. You are complex and unique and fearless and fearful all in one. You’re human, Eiji. It’s ok.”

💤💥🪨 “Katsuki, you’re so compassionate and kind.” You hum softly and absentmindedly almost. You don’t know why this observation came but it just feels right. Eiji smiles leaning in the blonde’s embrace. “Honestly Kats, you love remarkably deep and painfully unselfishly. Thank you.” Kiri hums kissing his cheek and you do the same. Hot little tears rest at the corners of his dark red eyes. Most of the public thinks he’s some kind of angry asshole devoid of any softer emotions. Comments on your relationship often criticized Katsuki for snagging partners ‘much nicer than he deserved’. And just like that you are scooting over to make room for Bakugou in Kiri’s lap.

💤💥🪨 “Such a shitty little week.” Baku sighs with misty eyes. There’s a small comfort in the collective collapse washing over the three of you. All of you holding the hurt from the others in hopes it would just fizzle away like a bad dream. It didn’t. You sob, Kiri sniffles, and Baku lets two hot tear slip from his glassy eyes. None of you break contact with each other. Your fingers linked with Kiri and Baku’s in the opposite hand. A head glued affectionately onto the red head’s broad shoulder. After what seems like a lifetime and you can’t cry anymore and feeling a surprising amount of relief sinks onto you, you clear your throat.

💤💥🪨 “Wanna watch How to Train a Dragon?” You rasp with tired and strained vocal chords. “I’ll get the popcorn.” Kiri sighs kissing each of you on the cheek as he ushers you both out of his lap. He sashays into the kitchen to find a bowl and the popcorn. Baku stands handing you your cool tea as he grabs the remote. Flipping decisively through Amazon Prime, he queues up the movie as he settles onto the far side of the couch to lay out fully. You sip contently tucking your knees to your chest so you can press the soles of your feet into his. “That tickles.” Bakugou deadpans wiggling his own toes. Soft giggles flutter out of your chest.

💤💥🪨 Kiri strolls back in the room with two large bowls of popcorn and a blanket on each arm. He bows presenting them to their proper owners. Movie theater butter for Baku and kettle corn for you two to share. You sit your now empty mug on the coffee table as Kiri retakes his original spot and you settle comfortably into his lap cocooning you both in a cozy weighted blanket. Baku draped in a light throw typically the first to complain about being hot. The DreamWorks title sequence floats across the screen, and wave of peacefulness falls over the tired trio. Less then five minutes in, you and Bakugou snore quietly as Kiri’s heavy eyelids fight to watch the next couple scenes

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froggie-recs-fics · 3 years ago

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Fic Roundup (up to 9/26/21)

I'm gonna start collecting fics I've read recently to recommend them, because making trope lists takes too long and many fics fall by the wayside. Let me know if you like this new format!

The fandoms in this list are as follows: Marvel (SamBucky, HTP, SpideyPool, WinterHawk, WinterIron, Stony, Stucky, SpiderShield), DCU (Bane/Blake), Inception (Arthur/Eames), Teen Wolf (Sterek).

A * signifies a particular favorite (though I love all these fics)

Marvel

Sam/Bucky

double back by flowermasters (E, 12K, Post-Endgame, Time Loop, Time Travel)

Sam gets stuck in a time loop. In 1943.

Things could be worse, but they could certainly be better.

Companion piece here: quick time

I'll explain everything to the geese by napricot (Post-Endgame, E, 50K, Sam can talk to birds)

Bucky is so competent that it hurts my feelings is not a rational complaint to have about a person, and yet, after a year of being Captain America and partnering up with Bucky for the new and improved, post-Blip Avengers, that’s kinda how Sam’s feeling.

It’s not great. It maybe leads to Sam making some rash, ill-advised decisions like claiming he has a previously undisclosed superpower, and then getting caught in a web of lies when he ends up actually developing that surprisingly inconvenient superpower. Talking to birds had seemed like a harmless superpower, but it turns out that birds have a lot of opinions, and they don’t hesitate to tell Sam about them, especially when it comes to his supposedly subpar courting skills. Which is ridiculous, because Sam isn’t courting Bucky. Right?

Rumlow/Bucky

**blueprints for a better world series by itallstartedwithdefenestration @astralhux (CATWS, Post-CATWS, Noncon, E, 115K, Dark Main Character)

When Pierce discovers the asset is no longer capable of getting himself hard during recreational use, he tells Rumlow to figure out what the problem is, and to fix it. The solution turns out to be more complicated than anyone expected.

I can't recommend this series enough

Peter/Wade

*Dead Men Walking series by doctorestranged @lazystrawberrymilkshakes (E, 235K, Identity Porn, Slow Burn)

When a series of murders take place, Peter Parker goes undercover in Sister Margaret’s to get intel on Tony Stark’s prime suspect: Deadpool. Peter goes in hoping to get enough information so that Spider-Man can save the day, but like everything in Peter’s life, it becomes a bit more complicated than that and it soon becomes apparent that he might not be the best fit for the job.

All About Chemistry by TwiceBakedPotato @sedatedkoala (No Powers AU, M, CNTW, 74K, Teacher-Student Relationship, Slow Build)

After serving his 20 years in the Marine Corps, Wade Wilson is cashing in his GI Bill and going back to college. He feels like the old man on campus, but that doesn't matter. He likes his classes. He likes learning. And he especially likes his Chemistry professor with the messy brown hair.

Clint/Bucky

Making Me A Habit by Kangofu_CB @kangofu-cb (No Powers AU, T, 20K, Pet Store, Slow Burn, Pining, Misunderstandings)

Bucky is a disabled vet struggling with reintegrating into civilian life. He has a routine and a rhythm, and he doesn't like to let anything - big or small - disrupt it. That all changes the day Bucky finds himself inside CATastrophe, the local pet rescue, recovering from a panic attack in the back room of the shop.

He’s used to walking by the place, not visiting, but the next thing Bucky knows, he’s hanging signs and being used as a climbing tree for a bunch of freshly-acquired kittens. And he just...keeps going back. First for the kittens, then for the disaster shop owner who rescues actual kittens from actual trees and teaches archery as a side-gig, and eventually because he’s hopelessly in love.

(Clint was in love before Bucky ever walked in the door.)

*Nameless by AvaKelly (Post-CATWS, M, 101K, Time Travel, Time Loop, Slow Burn)

A gun is pointed at him before he can even move from his position, the Soldier's metal arm steady in its aim. Clint sighs.

"Nemo," Clint says. "It's tattooed on your wrist, right here," he lifts his right hand and taps his left index finger where his palm ends.

The Soldier's eyes widen. "How do you know this?"

"I put it there."

Glitter, G-Strings and Other Mission Hazards by flawedamythyst @flawedamythyst (T, 16K, Undercover, Stripper Clint)

“Which is why you need me to shake my booty for cash,” said Clint.

“Precisely,” said Coulson. “You’re the only agent we have who wouldn’t need additional training in the skills of an exotic dancer to take on the mission, and we want to get someone in there as soon as possible.”

Clint nodded, shutting the file. “Okay, awesome. I’ll dig out my sequined g-string.”

“You’ll have full access to requisition any costumes you might need,” said Coulson.

A mission requires Bucky to be Clint's back-up as he goes undercover as a stripper, which gets more difficult with every new costume he comes out in.

Paternal Error by EVVS @skylarkevanson (Post-CATWS, T, 33K, Kid Fic, Established Relationship)

Bucky has never once thought of being a parent. Not since the Winter Solider happened.

Until he falls in love with Clint Barton. And that idiot just keeps collecting children for his flock.

Now Bucky has to pretend like he's good at parenting.

Bucky/Tony

Forms of Love by bear_bell (Post-CACW, E, 33K, Split Personalities)

Months after the Avengers' dispute in Germany, the team returns to the US and moves back into the tower. As always, everyone pretends that nothing happened. Tony is just fine with this. He's used to pretending, and he'll be damned if he lets any of them see him flinch.

Tony's the bad guy, after all. He's used to it. He's fine with it. He's good at it.

Only now, there's something far worse loitering around the tower - The Winter Soldier. No one notices the guy at first, but when they do, Tony figures that he should have the soldier's back.

Birds of a feather should flock together, and the bad guys should start a book club.

Steve/Tony

While You Were Sleeping by betheflame @betheflame (No Powers AU, M, 65K, While You Were Sleeping AU)

It's been years since Steve Grant Rogers Drysdale has spoken to his twin, Ransom. So it was quite a shock when he was summoned to a hospital and found out that Ransom was in a coma.

Even more shocking? That Ransom is engaged. To Tony Stark.

Steve/Bucky

The Road Goes Ever On And On by PipGraham (Omegaverse AU, M, Noncon, Graphic Violence, 20K, Road Trip, Pre-Serum Steve, Past Domestic Violence)

When Brock's continued domestic abuse puts not only Steve's life in danger, but also that of his unborn pup, he flees into the night with just a small backpack of clothes and almost no money to his name.

Steve quickly runs into trouble as he tries to embark on a 3-day cross-country bus journey back home to New York City.

He meets a kind veteran when he most needs a helping hand.

Just Words by LadyRazzle (crimegimp) @ladyrazzle (Pre-CATFA, Soulmate AU, T, 2K, Fluff)

Inspired by that now legendary post: "soulmate AU where you wake up on your 18th birthday with the first words your soulmate will say to you tattooed on your body so you’ll know them when you meet them." Well what if they appear the moment you turn 18, rather than just the day? And what if by the time you turn 18, you'd already fallen in love?

Bucky wasn’t eager to discover what the words said. He already knew what he wanted them to say. He always had.

Peter/Steve

Forgetting It's There by spinstitcher (stygian) (NR, 8K, Crack, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn)

“You’re Captain America,” he blurts out.

“What?” says Captain America, looking a little wide-eyed. He casts a nervous glance at the girl at the counter – he has nothing to worry about there, she’s rocking out to her iPod and could care less what they’re talking about – and says, “No, uh, Steve, it’s just, I’m Steve.”

“Right,” says Peter, and then because his brain-to-mouth filter had apparently been completely destroyed in the fight on Oscorp Tower: “Hey, your butt really is as tight as it looks on TV.”

DCU

Bane/Blake

7 Deadly Ass(as)sins by teacuphuman @teacuphuman09 (AU, E, 23K, BDSM)

Bane and Barsad own a sex shop and John needs a job.

Straws by Menirva (Bane/Blake/Barsad, AU, E, 38K, BDSM)

John works in a smoothie shop.

He has a knack, a second sense if you will, for being able to look at a person and know what they're going to order. It's not the most spectacular gift in the world but he likes being able to figure people out and he's never wrong.

Except for this scruffy asshole who is clearly just ordering the wrong thing to fuck with him.

How is he even finishing an extra-large?

Inception

Aurthur/Eames

Rough Trade by Whisky (whiskyrunner) @whiskyrunner (AU, E, 23K, Internalized Homophobia)

Arthur is an investment banker. He is professional and efficient. He's a halfway decent cook. He's totally independent and has been since the age of eighteen. Maybe he's tired all the time because he works about ninety hours a week which is twice what normal people do, but he's rich and he's competent at his job. He's almost thirty, and already a success.

And there are some things Arthur is not. For instance: Arthur is not gay.

Lucky by earlgreytea68 @earlgreytea68 (M, 37K, Kid fic)

Arthur finds a baby.

Teen Wolf

Stiles/Derek

Cut to the Bone by standinginanicedress (Omegaverse AU, E, 112K, Secret Relationship, Enemies to Lovers kinda)

“Not that it’s any of your god damn business, but my name is Stiles. Do you need something?”

The alpha grins. All teeth, shiny white, straight as an arrow. He’s got this sculpted perfection to him that Stiles is sure has worked on all the omegas he’s ever encountered before, but Stiles stands his ground and narrows his eyes. “A date.”

Stiles looks him up and down, slowly, from the black shoes on his feet, to his uniform khakis and blazer littered with pins, to his face. He frowns, makes a face, and says, “pass.”

Cornerstone by Vendelin (Human AU, E, 83K, Marine Derek, Blind Stiles, Friends to Lovers)

Suffering from PTSD, ex-Marine Derek Hale moves back to Beacon Hills to open a bookshop and find a calmer life. That’s where he meets Stiles, completely by accident. Stiles is talkative, charming and curious. Somehow, despite the fact that he’s blind, he’s able to read Derek like no one else.

Stand Fast in Your Enchantments by DevilDoll, Rahciach (AU, Graphic Violence, E, 76K, Captivity, Feral Derek)

"Stiles knew damn well what a pissed-off wolf sounded like, and every hair on the back of his neck was telling him that somewhere in this room was a very pissed-off werewolf." An AU in which Derek is feral, Stiles is magical, and they eat a lot of fast food.

The Payoff Pitch by Leslie_Knope (Sports AU, E, 83K, Coming Out, Friends to Lovers)

Derek is on the cusp of his second season with the LA Dodgers, and as the reigning runner-up Rookie of the Year, the pressure’s on him to become the team’s star pitcher and lead them to the playoffs for the first time in five years. He’s trying to deal with the burden of expectations and really has zero desire to spend any extra time or energy on anything that isn’t baseball.

But then he meets Stiles.

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years ago

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heart+head(ache), m | myg, jjk

pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: Like the seasons, the highs and lows come and go. Unlike the seasons, the lows are unpredictable and multiplicative, because life is not just one aspect, but many. If there's one person that can be your heart, it's Min Yoongi. If there's one person that can occupy your head, it's Jeon Jungkook.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; fluff / comfort, then PWP; smut (fem reader, nipple play, scratching / marking, fingering, hair-pulling, penetrative sex); softdom!Jungkook

this series has always been the personification of Yoongi and Jungkook as my muses. therefore it's not really a story, but rather a glimpse into my emotional state at the time it was written (about two weeks ago). I thought about not posting it, but, hey, you can choose to read it or not. I don't expect anyone to read it, tbh.

heartspace!Yoongi - his POV

"Leave me alone."

He sat down, silent, beside the hunched form.

"I can't take it anymore."

The only light came from the desk above them, the laptop screen blaring brightly in the darkness.

"I want to go back to the way it was."

He reached up and touched her knuckles, rubbing his fingertips over them.

"Back when no one knew I existed. Back when no one wanted to get in my head."

Over the silver rings, tracing reach one, decoration and armor, mirroring the outward self that protected the one inside. The fragile one that hid from the outside world. She let him see the fragility in this space, but only in this space. Her nails dug into her skin, tearing it up from the outside as the thoughts inside tore her to shreds.

"I don’t want these wings. I don’t want to fly high."

He waited, quietly, saying nothing, hand on hers. In this space, it was only him and only her.

The heart and the heartless.

"I don’t want to be in this light..."

Her eyes found his and he looked back, into shadowed orbs clouded from struggling for far too long and would continue to do so until she was no more. That was the way of the world, persistent and hurtful for no reason at all.

Time heals all wounds, but some wounds are blind to time, stagnant and frozen.

"I don't know the difference between pretending and not pretending anymore," she whispered, so quietly that he had to strain to hear.

He finally spoke, squeezing that thin hand gently.

"In some ways, they're the same thing for you, aren't they?"

She looked at him for a long, long time.

He lifted his hand from hers and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers.

“You are with me,” he murmured. “And with me, you can be anything.”

This face hid behind smoke and mirrors. This face didn’t trust the world and trusted their own reflection even less. The world could pretend to know, but the reality was the depth of the scars was much deeper than anyone could ever fathom and this mind was unlike anyone else’s, too creative for its own good, producing new and intricate tortures for the one that lived within it. Only here, in this space, did he have a glimpse. Even then, he wasn’t sure he would ever see all of it, because that wasn’t necessary and because some shadows should stay in the dark where they belong.

"I can't be like them, Yoongi."

Min Yoongi shook his head.

"They're ordinary. You're special."

"I'm not."

"You know you are, otherwise no one would find solace in knowing you exist."

He held her face in his hands.

"Nameless, faceless, and yet... they flock to the safety of you."

He leaned forward, forehead to forehead.

"Who else can say that? No one. Not even me. Everyone knows my face now."

Into dark, dark eyes full of pain, reaching in, shouldering the weight so it was a little lighter, a little less heavy. He didn’t need to know the reason for the weight. It was there, and so he assisted.

"They'll never know the one I know."

A little despair, a little helplessness, all her.

"I'll never know the one you know."

He kissed her, softly, whispering her name and his love.

“If you think you can’t feel, then I will feel for you. If you ever feel like you don’t have a heart, know that I will be yours. Trust me.”

“Can I?” she breathed against his lips, eyes closed, lost in his taste.

Yoongi chuckled, running his hands through her hair, breathing in the scent of sweet matcha marshmallow, deeper, richer, warmer now that it was soaked into her skin, smooth and soft under his fingertips. She was like that. Everything she touched became more vivid, more alive, more real, even if it was only a fantasy.

“Of course. You are with me.”

He pulled her into his hold, into his lap, both of them still on the floor, cradling her at her lows so he could raise her at her highs.

“However long you need, one day, one week, one month, a year, until the end of time… I will be whatever role you need me to be. Obsession, possession, enemy, protector, muse, lover, one of them or all of them,” he murmured softly, lips on her temple, hand on the left side of her ribcage, cradling that rapid rhythm under his fingertips.

It was easy to say, don’t think about anyone else, but much harder to do so, and thus he didn’t say it. There was no need to. She already knew. That’s why she had retreated in the first place, retreated to the safety of his heart and blocked out the outside world.

“They are but visitors and they should be grateful to visit.”

Her fingers twisted into his shirt, clutching the fabric tightly.

“But I am, can, and will be everything you need, if you let me.”

She spoke into his neck, her hot breath wafting over his skin.

“You already are, Yoongi. You already are.”

They stayed like that, for a long, long time.

headspace!JK - reader's POV

You opened your bedroom door to find Jeon Jungkook laying on your bed.

His dark brown eyes shifted to you.

You looked away and closed the door.

“Where have you been?”

Every time. Every time you heard his smooth, silvery voice, you were reminded of home, even if he wasn’t always here. Then again, home was never a place to you. Like a permanent resident, Jungkook always managed to find his way to your bed and you, well, you resided with his voice.

“Who knows,” was your answer.

Because, in truth, you didn’t know.

Jungkook tilted his head, pink lips slightly parted. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

He sat up, watching you, black strands brushing against his dark brows. There was a slight furrow to them, somewhere between disbelief and inquisition. White t-shirt, blue jeans. He hadn’t been here long, otherwise he would have given up on the jeans. His eyes followed you, resting his right arm on his knee, black tattoos standing out against the light wash of the jeans and white-shirt, tan skin the perfect background for them. With the red eyeball tattoo, perhaps it was more accurate to say that three eyes were observing you.

You stood beside the bed but didn’t get on it.

Jungkook let out a soft sigh, the side of his lips quirking up ruefully. “If I was hyung, I would say the right words.” He frowned slightly, chewing on his lower lip, tiny mole underneath flashing into view, a soft kiss from the moon, perfectly placed in the middle. “He always knows what to say.”

You could almost hear that gentle, deep voice murmuring to you, hand on your chest, right above the rapid rhythm below his palm.

You always say it’s nothing when it’s something you know no one will understand.

Jungkook placed his chin on the back of his hand and looked up, catching your eye and pulling you from your thoughts with his voice.

“I don’t know what to say, but I can make you feel.”

You looked back, but still didn’t get on the bed.

“You cut your hair.” It was to his ears now, still black, just shorter.

“Mhm.” He smiled. “Do you not like it?”

You chuckled dryly. “You could be bald, Jungkook, and you would still look good.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Someday I’ll show up like that and then I’ll know if you’re telling the truth.”

You didn’t laugh or banter back, settling into silence instead. He noticed right away. His features softened and he raised his other hand to beckon you to him.

You didn’t move.

His lips formed to the words and you could tell he meant them because he maintained eye contact, not letting you avoid his gaze.

“I missed you.”

Where have you been?

You placed your hands on the bed, fingers spread, silver rings glinting in the light, lighting each and every one, all except your left pinky. You still hadn’t found the perfect one for that one yet. The three silver necklaces you wore clinked together as you crawled to Jeon Jungkook, mind full of thoughts that fell away one by one, replaced by the sight, sound, smell of Jungkook, tongue remembering his taste, skin prickling, remembering his touch.

“I could have distracted you,” he whispered, leaning forward.

“I wasn’t the best version of myself,” you whispered back, the dull ache of intangible weight pressing down on your ribcage. “I couldn’t see you like that.”

He lifted his right hand from his knee and reached around your head, burying his fingers in your hair, pulling you closer to that face and those eyes, sharp and defined with an endearing softness, lashes lowering, inhaling your scent, lustful satisfaction clouding his gaze as he once again recognized that you had changed it from that spiced, warm chestnut to a heady matcha marshmallow.

“You know,” Jungkook breathed, tugging you to him, his lips brushing against yours. “I am here for all versions of you, good or bad, sad or mad, fallen apart or all in one piece.”

His teeth nipped your lips and your breath caught your throat, knowing he was making you wait, curling his fingers in your hair to hold your head in place.

In this space, with him.

“If your head is full of me, there’s no space for the other thoughts.”

“That’s not how it works, Jungkook.”

“That’s how I want it to work.”

His lips captured yours, firm, intense, hand pulling you to him and his hard body, surrounding you in his embrace, your gasp in his mouth as he pressed you to his chest, pinning you down, forearms flexing against the small of your back, your hands coming up to steady yourself on his shoulders, digging your nails into the thin fabric of the t-shirt. You shivered in his hold, eyes opening slightly, not realizing they had closed, and his were open too, filtered by his lashes.

“I don’t want to go back out there,” you said, so softly that the words didn’t seem real.

“Then don’t,” Jungkook whispered. “Stay with me.”

“You’re not good for me.”

“They’re worse.”

He spread his legs and put you in his lap. You could feel the texture of his jeans through the thin fabric of your pajama shorts, thighs on top of his, softness to hardness. His fingers traced the lapel of your pajama shirt and the red piping, smiling at the print, little red devil heads making various faces against the black jersey fabric.

“You’re insufferable.”

The small smile lifted and now it was yours, turning into a smirk. “Yeah, but you love me.”

You stared into those eyes, that face, trapped in his arms, his body, his voice, his sound, everything just Jeon Jungkook, and the hesitation remained. You felt his hand shift, raising, fingertips brushing your cheek, sending shivers up your neck and to his electric touch.

“I couldn’t come back because it didn’t feel right.”

His hand lowered, cradling the side of your neck, thumb stroking your jaw.

“What about now?” Jungkook asked, silvery and sweet.

You told the truth, because the truth was eating away at you.

“I don’t know.”

He turned his head and leaned in, inhaling your exhale, eyes closing.

“I’ll help you know.”

His kiss.

I want to be your everything.

He made you memorize the shape of his lips, made you memorize the weight of his hands, made you memorize the curve of his shoulders and chest, pushing you down on the bed, your hands sliding down and pressed to his chest, palm to his heavy heartbeat, hungry kisses and fleeting tongue teasing you, the lower half of his body pinning yours down. Heavy. Inescapable. You tried to move away to speak but he caught your lips, pulling your back, his left hand peeling your right off his heart and interlocking his fingers with yours, slamming it down on the sheets, his right snaking in between your bodies, undoing the buttons one by one. You cried out into his mouth and he lifted his head, black hair messy, breathing hard.

“J-Jungkook…”

His lips were dark, swollen from kissing you so fiercely, irises shadowed and pupils expanded.

“This is how it should be, with you saying my name like that.”

You glared at him, but he simply chuckled, diving back down again, lips attacking your neck, kisses and bites that made your breath hitch, clutching fistfuls of his shirt, and it didn’t matter, it simply didn’t matter anymore, too many outside thoughts when you could just have Jungkook invading your head, clawing the hem of his shirt upward, digging your nails into his back and his soft skin, his moans on yours, tongue dancing up your trembling throat, biting that space right behind your right ear, your pulse roaring under his lips and your name in his throat, no distractions., only Jungkook.

“My mark belongs all over you,” he growled possessively.

Your nails dragged down his broad back and his hips bucked into yours, his oppressive force and weight a welcome one. You didn’t respond. A single dark brown orb watched your face, smirk against your earlobe. No response needed because Jungkook could see it in your expression and the way you held him, violent but desperate, needing him more than anyone or anything else in this world right now.

“Someday,” he murmured teasingly.

“In your dreams,” you shot back, finding your voice.

“They’re all about you.”

He sat up, thighs straddling you, crossing his arms and pulling up his white t-shirt in one swift stroke, tossing it aside. His lips curved into a sly smile, seeing you bite your lip and narrow your eyes to hide your breathlessness at his muscular and toned torso, the black tattoos of his right arm rippling as he leaned down again, his large hands next to your head, smirk dancing above your face.

“Just like how yours are all about me.”

You didn’t look away. “They’re not.”

Neither did he. “They will be.”

You clicked your tongue.

Unfazed, unbothered, unwise, you pulled Jungkook down to you, closing your eyes, his fresh scent filling your nose, lips on your skin, murmuring, so sweet, so delicious, kissing your collarbones, pushing your shirt off and reaching around you, forcing you to yank your pajama shirt off to avoid getting tangled in it and your unhooked bra, already moving on, lips wrapping around your hard nipple and you felt his eyes on you, opening yours to see his smirk and his tongue flicker, pulses of desire clawing through you, all because of Jungkook.

“What?” you managed to get out, sucking in a breath as his hand came up, fingertips pushing the other hard nub, watching your expression with his tongue extended.

“You belong under me, like this, enjoying everything I do to you,” he murmured, lapping slowly, not enough but still too much with the visual included.

“S… Stop looking at me like that.”

He shook his head slowly, your name falling from his lips, black hair brushing over his brows. You stiffened as his hand slid under the waistband of your shorts, under the thin fabric of your panties, long fingers dancing closer and closer to your heated, dripping core.

“If I look away, you might disappear from me again.”

You were lost, lost in the feeling of Jeon Jungkook.

Brown eyes ensnaring you, drowning your senses with his sensations.

“I can’t have that.”

His lips wrapping around your nipple again, deft fingers slipping inside your pussy, moan drifting from your lips as you raised your hips, shorts and panties sliding down, but Jungkook was already moving, plunging his fingers in fast and rough, sucking hard, tongue teasing the hard tip, other arm wrapped around you and free hand splayed in the small of your back, locking you in his space.

“Fuck, Jungkook, fuck…”

Your walls clenched around his fingers, his chuckle vibrating through your nipple, faster, harder, so easy because you were so wet and he was so close, one hand in his hair and the other clutching the sheets, back arching, muscles pulled taut in his touch, thighs unable to close because his own were holding them open, fingers tightening in his short black hair, nails digging into his scalp, breathing hard, not letting him have his favorite sounds, so Jungkook increased the pace, his own fingernails clawing at your back, and your eyelids fluttered, jaw clenching, moan torn from your throat.

“A-ah, Jungkook…”

And it all crashed down, fierce blossoming pleasure overtaking your veins, pitch hiking as his fingers stilled and his thumb pressed to your clit, fuck, don’t, but he did, he did because you pulled him even closer, chest to chest, his triumphant pants against your neck, hand sliding up your back, pushing your head down, taking your lips and your scream as you came again, all over his hand, tight pulsating walls clenching around his fingers, the scent of sex painting the air and his palm, covering him with you.

“Fuck…!”

You broke the kiss, hand wrapping around his forearm, squeezing hard, taut muscle pushing you back, tattoos peeking out from beneath your fingertips, staring into his eyes, time stopping, slow circles on your most sensitive spot, his blown-out pupils reflecting yours, skin to skin, heart racing against his.

“What?” Jungkook panted. “Tell me.”

His brown orbs searching your face, shrouded by lashes, desire so obvious that it was tangible and palpable.

“Want you.”

His lips curved into a smug smile.

“Yeah? Say it again.”

Your hands left his hair and his arm, reaching between your bodies, still gazing into his eyes.

“Want you, Jungkook. Want you to fuck me.”

His forehead touched yours as the button came undone, his hair sticking to your face, both sweaty from the intensity.

“I really missed you more than the words,” he mumbled against your cheek, helping you push his pants down, skin to hot skin, kicking them off the bed.

“Mhm.”

“I’m not lying.”

“I’m not an idiot, Jungkook.”

“You are if you don’t believe me.”

You stilled, holding the condom out and Jungkook took it from you, ripping it open, cocking an eyebrow defiantly as he rolled it down his hard length, nudging your thighs.

“You… You’re just here to annoy me.”

Your eyes shifted away and you felt him pick up your legs, pushing them up, hooking them over his shoulders. One of his hands cupped your chin and tugged you back to face him, not letting you avoid his gaze.

“We both know that’s not true,” he said softly.

You gasped sharply as he gripped your chin, holding you in place as he slid in, setting his jaw at your tightness, both of you shuddering at the feeling of your pussy surrounding his cock, feeling it swell inside you and get harder, stretching you out, his determination nearing as he leaned down, bending you in half, hand leaving your chin and pressing his palms flat against your sheets, breathing hard as he shoved himself the rest of the way in, a little pain but so much pleasure, soft thighs against his hard torso, your breath mixing with his, hot and heavy and sweet despite how firmly he had you pinned down.

“I want your head full of me,” Jungkook sighed, slowly rolling his hips into you, making you gasp. “You’ll never have a bad thought if I’m occupying that space.”

“Fuck, you can’t… ah, that’s not how it w-works, Jungkook…”

He was using his weight to drive his thrust, powerful and intense, ramming his hips into you, your juices leaking out and sticking to his crotch, the inside of your joined thighs slick and wet, loud slaps echoing throughout the bedroom, stiff length so hard you could feel it twitch inside your pussy, hitting you as deep and as rough as you liked, probably too much for the normal person, but not you, because you wanted to feel it all, wanted Jungkook to really fuck you and not be gentle about it, grabbing his hair and smacking your hips up to meet his, making you both moan loudly, names mixing with the visceral sounds of sex.

“I’ll just keep fucking you then,” Jungkook hissed. “Keep fucking you and make you feel so good that nothing else matters, nothing except how good I can make you feel.”

You looked up, your silver rings glinting in his black hair, your silver necklaces cutting into your neck and the three coin-shaped pendants jingling and clinking in rhythm with the mattress bouncing under your bodies, pressure and pleasure building inside your core, struggling to breathe as you glanced down and watched him enter and reenter, thick cock slick and hard before disappearing inside you.

“A-Ah…”

Back to his eyes, nearly black from arousal, groaning as you came around him, throbbing walls squeezing his entire length, feeling it all with every pulse.

“You’re gonna have to f-fuck me harder… than t-this…”

He smirked, raising an eyebrow. “You got it.”

You threw your head back at the first smack, clutching his head, feeling it all over, pleasure like rushing fire, eating up all your nerves and replacing it with sound and touch, the swift squelch of his length plunging into you, the feeling of him filling you up and taking your breath away, so good you could barely breathe, so good you could barely think, nothing but the feel of Jungkook towering over you and slamming down into you so you could thrust your hips up to meet him, so close, so close, heavy exhales blending together, skin and nerves prickling, humming with ecstasy, feeling so good you could only moan his name, and he groaned yours, right in your face, edge of desperation in his normally controlled, deep voice..

“Cum, yes, cum for me – fuck!”

And it all crashed down, fierce fire rocketing through you and hitting its peak, gasping as you smacked your hips up and clenched all around his cock in rapid throbs, his moan washing over you, jerking and flinching as he came in strong jolts, rutting his hips into yours to feel it all, shifting the head inside you so your muscles massaged him all over and drained his orgasm out.

“Jungkook… fuck…”

He lifted his arms and lowered your legs, hands coming up to hold your face, tipping your lips up to him, kissing them deeply.

“You don’t understand,” he mumbled, staring at you through his lashes. “It hurts when you don’t come to me.”

He kissed you again and again, your words wisping out between them.

“I…”

Feeling sorry there wasn’t another way.

“I have to get through it myself… It wasn’t you… You didn’t do anything…”

Jungkook collected you in his embrace, breath becoming one with yours.

“Yeah, but I can do something, so I need you to give me the chance.”

His eyes were telling you, you don’t have to go back out there. Stay. Stay with me, in this bedroom, in this space, just you and me. Your hand was against his temple, silver rings against his silver brow piercing, tracing his sharp features, feeling airless as you looked into those dark brown orbs and listened to his voice that seemed to be a permanent resident of your thoughts.

“Keep me with you, always.”

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #yoonkook x reader #jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook smut #yoongi x you #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

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thomaslightwood · 3 years ago

Text

The Weight of Love

THOMASTAIR WEEK - Day 2 (16th July): Thomas Appreciation Day (hosted by @youngreckless!)

I managed to put myself together to write this, hope you enjoy it 🤧

Words: 1 773

•

When Thomas was a little boy he hated runes.

He hated seeing the anxious faces of his parents when the Silent brothers put the Voyanceon rune on his hand.

He hated how he had memorized the Nourishment rune and still did it on himself.

He hated how the Iratze runes were put on him over and over again when he had a bad ill episode.

He hated runes.

But he loved musical notes.

In a way they were so similar to the Shadowhunter runes but it didn't cost anyone worries.

The first time he wrote a song - full written song - he didn't want to show it to anyone. It wasn't something that was meant for anyone's eyes.

“Tommy!”

Thomas sighed. He loved his sisters. He loved his parents. But sometimes their love was a weight that was crushing him.

“I'm coming!” he shouted in response. He hid his notebook with stories and songs under his bed, carefully putting a few things over it. Then he ran over to the living room where his sisters were.

“Yes?”

Eugenia was furiously pricking with a needle the tapestry she was making. Or trying to make. Barbara was doing the same as her's but she used the needle much calmer. She looked at Thomas.

“Come here with us,” she smiled. “The dinner is soon.”

Thomas sat on the couch next to Eugenia without saying a word. He knew why his sister had asked him to come. So they can watch after him. Like he was a glass that could be broken by the wind.

“Barbs,” Eugenia said, her face a little red. “Please come help me with this or I swear to Raziel, I'll rip it off.”

Barbara left her tapestry on the table and stood up from the chair she was sitting on, coming to the couch. Thomas moved at the end of it, making space for her.

“Here,” Barbara gently took Eugenia's needle. “You must be careful with the threads…”

While Barbara was explaining to Eugenia, Thomas was staring at the wall without blinking. He wanted to be alone. To write a new song. To train. He didn't want his sisters to babysit him.

Barbara laughed. Her laugh was soft, quiet, warming up something in your chest.

“It's alright, Nia. It's hard.” She stood up again. “I'll bring some of my materials. Wait a second.” Then she left the room, heading towards her bedroom.

“Damn it,” Eugenia said, angrily throwing her work at the table. “Stupid, useless thing.”

She hid her face with her hands and took a few breaths. Thomas, unsure what he could do to comfort his sister, approached her. He slowly hugged her, wrapping his short hands around her.

She looked at him. Her eyes were wet. But as she blinked a few times the tears disappeared. Eugenia hated people seeing her cry.

She hugged Thomas across his shoulders, almost crushing him in a hug.

After a few seconds he murmured, “You're stopping my oxygen.”

A devilish smile broke on her face.

“This is not my problem. I'm a big sister, I have duties of annoying my little brother.”

Thomas giggled and tried to fight her off. They ended up falling on the couch, laughing.

Barbara was standing on the door, smiling, while she watched them.

•

The day his parents decided he was ready to go to the Academy, Thomas had conflicted feelings. On one side this meant he wasn’t looked at like a fragile little boy. On the other hand - he had to deal with people. He was worried he wouldn't find friends. Or he would do something stupid and everyone would laugh at him.

The night before his first day at the Academy Thomas couldn’t sleep.

But in the end everything turned out fine. Even better than he expected to. He had a whole group of friends. While there, he missed the solitude he once had. He missed being alone with his own thoughts. But he liked being here. To talk with so many people who weren't his family.

There was one thing he couldn’t escape. That worry on everyone’s faces. He agreed to go to the Academy because he wanted to go away from his overprotective sisters and worrying parents. But sometimes he could see the same worry on his friends’ faces. Maybe it was all in his head. But he couldn’t get rid of the feeling that since they once knew him as a sickly boy, they forever would see him as a sickly boy.

The only one who didn’t have this worry on his face was Alastair Carstairs.

•

Thomas was aware he was becoming ridiculous. But he wasn’t sure he could stop.

He didn’t want to be Alastair's puppy that follows him everywhere. Matthew hated him. James was bullied by him. Alastair was nasty to everyone. But still.

Thomas couldn’t explain it but there was something in Alastair Carstairs that was… extraordinary.

Sometimes Thomas would spot Alastair looking at him when he thought no one was watching. He was turning away quickly and called him “pipsqueak” or “half pint”. Thomas’ heart was starting to beat very fast when this happened. Like a small song was trapped in his heart and Alastair’s closnesses was making it louder.

Shortly after James, Matthew and Christopher were expelled, he found himself in an old room in the Academy. It was all dust and dirt that made his lungs ache. But he stayed because there was an old piano in it.

It made him smile. He took out his notebook with songs and sat in front of it. He was happy to touch it, to feel its coldness and steadiness. It was refreshing.

Eventually he decided to examine the rest of the room. It was stuffed with books and old furniture.

“Pipsqueak?”

Thomas jumped. He turned and saw Alastair next to the piano.

“What are you doing here, pixie?”

“Um” Thomas said. “Just looking around.”

Alastair’s gaze slowly moved to the piano. Thomas’ heart stopped. His notebook was there. Alastair was going to see his notebook.

“T-That’s nothing-”

But Alastair was already reaching for the book. He grabbed it from the stand. Thomas started to tremble. He hurried towards the other boy.

“Please, this is just-”

“Wait a second, tea cup,” without much effort he avoided Thomas’ attempts to take his notebook back. He was scanning the pages and then glanced at Thomas. Looked back at the page.

“That's not bad, pipsqueak,” then he gave him back the notebook, turned around and before leaving the room stopped. Turned to him. “You should let me play this sometime,” Alastair said and left the room.

Thomas' heart was beating fast. He was still trembling but for other reasons. His face was hot.

He glanced at the song Alastair had looked at. It was his first song. Did he really like it? Did he really want to play it?

Thomas hugged his notebooks, smiling, because he imagined how Alastair was playing his song.

But this never happened.

•

“You damn Shadowhooligans,” Polly murmured. “Don't have demons to hunt or something?” she sounded annoyed but said this with a smile.

The four boys, giggling, headed towards their room where James managed to make their exclusive place in the Devil's Tavern.

Thomas was happy. He felt alive. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so reckless, so independent from his family. A time when he could just be.

As he looked at James and Matthew he thought how lucky they are. To find themselves parabatai. They were so different, not just by appearance. James was more quiet natured, more into stories and books. Matthew was loud, bohemian and liked being around people. Yet they somehow made it work.

Sometimes Thomas dreamed of having the same bond with somebody. The only one he could think of was Christopher. He was his brother in every way except blood. But he knew they weren't like this. Christopher would be kind of Shadowhunter Thomas wasn't and vica versa. And he couldn't imagine being with someone like Matthew - he loved him with his whole heart - but Thomas would prefer somebody more like James or himself.

Probably the parabatai-hood wasn't for him after all.

•

“I believe you'll like it there, son,” Gideon said to Thomas. “It helped me a great deal when I was your age.”

Thomas was packing clothes. He soon would turn eighteen and he was going to his travel year. He was scared. And anxious. But so excited at the same time. He looked forward to it for months.

“I hope so,” he said while putting a few shirts in his pack. “I will have a great opportunity to practice my Spanish.”

Gideon smiled. “Indeed.”

He watched Thomas pack for a few minutes with a warm smile.

“Tom,” he said quietly. Thomas turned to him. Gideon hesitated. “I came to realize that all the attention and care the family took for you were necessary but… that they may have been a burden for you.”

Thomas looked at the floor. Gideon put a hand on his shoulder.

“You never said so, I know. This is what you do. But I have noticed it. When you're annoyed at the overprotectiveness of your sisters, at your mum and I when we put some restrictions on what to do, especially when you were younger.”

Thomas looked at his father. His face was kind, gentle.

“It's alright. When I was your age I did similar things. I was silent for… some things. You know the story of your grandfather. But going to Spain had a really good influence on me. It helped me grow outside my father's control. I hope it can do the same for you. I strongly believe when you have the chance to be on your own and far away from all the people that overwhelm you with their care, you'll do great.”

Thomas' eyes were wet. He blinked a few times, trying to chase the tears away.

“I… I don't want to be away from you.”

Gideon hugged him and gently squeezed him. Thomas buried his face in his father's chest.

“I know,” he said. “I also know that this can be scary and equally exciting. Just want to let you know… it's alright to feel this. All of this. Has always been and always will be. When you return you'll be changed. And our family, we'll be here, waiting for you.”

Thomas hugged his father too. It was alright. Everything was going to be alright.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice a little muffled.

Gideon kissed the top of his hair. “I love you too.”

#thomas lighwood #tlh #tsc #tsc fanfiction #alastair carstairs #gideon lightwood #eugenia lightwood #barbara lightwood #the merry thieves #thomastair week #tsccreatenet #the last hours #the last hours fanfiction #the shadowhunter chronicles #sav's writing #my post #tsc fanfic #thomastair

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everlarkficexchange · 4 years ago

Text

On the Hunt

Author: @hutchhitched

Prompt 39: Katniss has been bumping into the same stranger (Peeta) for months. When they get stuck in an unfortunate situation together, she decides to be the first to say hello. [submitted by @eiramrelyat / @taylerwrites]

Ratings/Warnings: T

The first time Katniss sees him, he takes her breath away. It’s from afar. He probably doesn’t even catch a glimpse of her, but her whole world tilts off its axis.

She’s not sure why he stands out to her. There’s nothing particularly unique about him. He’s not short or tall or big or small. He’s not drop-dead gorgeous or ugly like a troll. He doesn’t move like an athlete or sparkle with the magic of a performer. He appears normal in every sense of the word, but that doesn’t mean she can’t see how special he really is. At least she thinks he might be—if she had a chance to actually speak to him.

That doesn’t happen, though. She’s too far away when she sees him picking up a loaf of bread, and she can’t seem to move once he’s left her line of sight. She stays frozen in the freezer section (the irony!) for several minutes. Hopefully, everyone else thinks she’s considering her options in breakfast burritos, but she’s actually involved in an out of body experience that follows the young man from the back of the store to the registers, out the door, and into the parking lot where he must load his groceries into his car and drive away. His life is no different, but hers will never be the same.

It has to be because she’s lonely. It’s been a very long time since she’s been in a relationship. In fact, it’s been so long since she’s kissed a man, she kind of wonders if she’s forgotten how to do it. Katniss has never been that popular, but she’s enjoyed her fair share of attention. She tries really hard not to spiral out in the freezer section, but Christ on a cracker! Something about that specimen of manhood has made her question her life’s choices. Why hasn’t she run into him before now? Clearly, she’s been living wrong.

Except, she hasn’t. She’s done absolutely everything she knows to do to be a good person. She supports her little sister and sends money to her mother who needs every speck of help she can get. She has a best friend who’s been by her side since they both lost their fathers when they were barely teenagers. She helps out at a shelter and donates money to the food bank because she knows way too well how hunger can impact a person’s life. In other words, there’s no reason her weekly grocery trip should result in an upheaval to her world. It’s simply not fair, and she plans to file a complaint to who it is that runs fate and destiny. She has a bone to pick.

Somehow, she finds everything on her list and heads to the front of the store. When she gets there, she unloads her groceries and watches as the cashier scans each item. Digging into her wallet, she’s stunned to find she only has a twenty and the total keeps rising. Mortified, she watches as the number climbs to $34.15.

“I don’t have… I mean, can you take off the…”

Trying to figure out what she can live without until her next paycheck, she surveys the food and toiletries. Almost in tears, she stammers for a few seconds before the cashier speaks.

“Don’t worry. Another patron paid it forward. He left a twenty and asked that I use it if anyone needed help. Looks like you could use some.”

“I— I couldn’t. It’s not right.”

“The guy seemed pretty adamant that I only offer it to someone who could use a break. It seems like that could be you today.”

Katniss nodded slowly. “Do you have any idea who it is? I’d like to thank them.”

The cashier shook her head. “Young guy. Stocky, medium height, ashy blonde hair, blue eyes. Very polite. Named Peter, I think. Something like that.”

It’s got to be him. The description’s too similar to be a coincidence. It seems the guy that froze her in place with his looks is as kind and compassionate as he is special. Now, he’s even more intimidating.

She nods her thanks and takes the change and her purchases. The five in her pocket gives her a little joy, but the feeling of not having money still bothers her. Maybe it’s time to get a credit card. She’s been warned off them for so long that she never applied for one, but now, it might be something she should do. Maybe. It makes her nervous to think she could get in financial trouble with it. She’s been poor her entire life. It might be too tempting to resist.

When she makes it back to her apartment, her attempt to unpack her groceries is interrupted frequently by long pauses in which she fantasizes about finding the guy who’s rocked her world and given her daydreams about all the ways she needs to thank him (appropriately and not so much) for the rest of her life. It’s not unrealistic at all. Totally doable, she decides. After all, how hard can it be to find him again? They live in the same town.

****

The answer to that question is that it’s very hard. Difficult isn’t even the word to describe the problem she has in trying to find the Boy With the Bread, which is what she calls him even though he’s definitely an adult. The person she saw from afar was all man if the stretch of his shirt across broad shoulders was any indication. Still, the alliteration makes her smile, so she continues to refer to him as such.

It shouldn’t take so long, but it does. Months pass, and she wonders if she’s made it all up and imagined the creature that changed her life. She keeps her eyes open in public, scans the local news and social media sites, and seriously considers setting up an online dating site just to see if he’s looking for someone. She’s getting desperate, but then fate smiles on her again.

She’s sitting in a coffee shop, something she hardly ever does, when he walks in the door. She doesn’t normally have time for such a mundane, normal activity that other people her age seem to enjoy all the time. She’s usually working during the day, and she has no desire to consume copious amounts of caffeine after 5 pm when she gets off work. Today, though, she has time. She’s taken a half day to run errands and go to the dentist, and she needs the jolt the espresso will give her to survive her reduced shift.

He ducks through the doorway just as she’s taken a sip of her hot beverage, and she almost chokes on the liquid. He shakes the umbrella he’s holding just outside the door and shoves a riot of blonde curls off his forehead that have shrunken up and frizzed from the rain. It’s adorable.

He’s wearing an emerald Henley and faded jeans that hug all the right places. The sight of him freezes her in place, but that doesn’t stop her from tracking him as moves past her. She’s close enough to see his eyes are blue before he marches across the café and approaches a man sitting alone in the corner. They clasp hands and grin at each other, and the vision in green heads to the counter to order.

She’s dumbfounded. Here he is again after so long, and she can’t think of a single thing to say to him or how in the world to actually approach him without making her look absolutely insane. She racks her brain trying to think of an intelligent topic, but she’s jolted from that when the barista walks to the end of the bar and calls a name.

“Peeta! Chai Latte.”

That’s his name, she realizes, and it’s like the sun’s broken through thick, heavy clouds. It’s just unusual enough to fit him and still feel familiar. He smiles at the woman behind the bar and takes the cup from her. He ordered chai, and she files that information away for future reference. He might not like coffee, which seems important.

She’s pondering a trip to the bathroom just so she has an excuse to pass by him when she suddenly understands that he’s leaving. He and his friend are talking as they walk to the door, and she catches the sound of his voice.

“—we can change that, the numbers will—”

His words are swallowed by the rush of traffic outside, but that silky tone she hardly had a chance to listen to has already taken up residence in the part of her brain that creates unrealistic fantasies. She daydreams for longer than she should. In fact, it’s only the vibration of her phone against the table that reminds her she has to get to her job. What a chance encounter, but now she has a name to go with that face.

****

She’s tried to find him again. She’s googled and returned to the coffee shop when she’s had a spare minute or two. She’s asked around and continues to check dating sites. Nothing. She’s found absolutely nothing. Without a last name, she has very little idea how to find out anything else. Frustrated, she goes about her daily life with a weight on her shoulders that shouldn’t be there. He’s a stranger she’s glimpsed only a couple of times.

Frustrated and full of pent-up energy, she joins a gym. There’s nothing quite like working up a good sweat to ease tension and kickstart her brain, so she spends her free time running the track, lifting, and participating in every hot yoga class the establishment offers. After a month, she’s leaner and stronger than ever, but she hasn’t managed to come up with any ideas that might help her find the guy she desperately wants to thank for saving her when she wasn’t sure how she’d eat for a week.

She’s two laps into her normal ten when she glances down from the elevated track and spots a pickup game of three on three basketball on the far court. Three blonde men face off against three with dark hair, one of whom looks remarkably like her best friend Gale Hawthorne, who she hasn’t seen since he left town for a job almost a year ago. As she jogs closer to the court, she realizes it is him teamed up with his brothers. The blonde men look like siblings, too, but she doesn’t spare them much of a glance. She’s got more laps to go, and she doesn’t want to draw any attention to herself. Gale didn’t bother to tell her that he’s in town, and she’s a little miffed by that.

It’s another three passes by the court before it hits her that the blonde men look familiar. She puts on a burst of speed to get back to where she can see the men closeup and almost trips over her own feet when she spies him. It’s the guy. THE guy. The cashier had said Peter, and the barista had called him Peeta. She stops in her tracks and grabs the railing when someone bumps into her from behind.

“Watch it!” he yells as the jogger passes her. “You’re not supposed to stop on the track!”

She dismisses him with a wave and sprints to the nearest stairwell. If she can just catch them… She bounds down the stairs, three at a time, and bursts into a bustling walkway. She dodges and shoves her way free and streaks around the corner to find—

“Catnip! What are you doing here?”

“Gale!” Sweat drips down her forehead and stings her eyes. Cringing, she swipes her hand across her face and tries not to cry. “Where are—? I thought you were playing basketball.”

He throws her a bewildered look and nods like she’s lost it a little. “We were.”

“You’re done?”

“Yeah? We’d been at it for a while. Are you… Have you been watching me?”

Katniss rolls her eyes, although that’s not really very fair. She had noticed him. It’s not like that’s not the case. “Who were you playing with? I saw Vic and Rory, but the blonde guys… Who, er, who were they?”

The expression on his face would be priceless if she weren’t so desperate to find out the information. He looks like he’s swallowed something very, very distasteful, and she tries hard not to snort with laughter.

“Why?”

She takes in his narrowed eyes and realizes she’s going to have to lie to get what she wants. Part of the reason they haven’t been as close since he left town is due to his sudden confessions of feelings toward her. She’d let him down easy, but things have been strained since then. There’s no need to rub that in his face when all she wants is to find out about Peeta. With a straight face and innocent eyes, she explains, “I think one of them door dinged my car a couple of weeks ago. The gym won’t give out membership information, but if you know who they are… Well, I’d be really grateful, Gale.”

He falls for it when she bats her eyelashes at him. She should feel terrible, but all’s fair in love and basketball. Of all people, Gale should want her to be happy, no matter if that means she’s interested in someone else or not. She’s no damsel in distress, unless she can’t pay for her groceries or something. However, her simpering works, and that’s really what she needs.

“Mellark is the last name. They all have bread names. It’s weird.”

She rolls the name around in her head for a bit. Peeta Mellark. It’s a nice solid name, and now she has more information to help her figure out how to find him. Almost giddy with victory, she stretches up on her tiptoes and kisses Gale’s cheek in gratitude. Backing away before he can reciprocate, she hears him as the distance widens between them.

“Do you want to grab dinner sometime? Maybe?”

“Sorry, Gale! Got to go. Really good to see you!”

With that, she turns her back and slips down the hall to the women’s locker room. She doesn’t bother to shower before grabbing her bag and heading to her car. She’s barely closed the door before she’s on her phone and typing in the name Peeta Mellark. She has a thank you to deliver.

****

Surprisingly, it’s not much easier to find him now that she knows his full name. She unveils a lot of information about his family, but not him. Apparently, they own a few local bakeries that she tries out and loves. Still, Peeta’s family is not the same thing as Peeta, who is remarkably absent from social media and with no online presence. She’s willing to admit, she got cocky, and now she can’t figure out how to recover from it.

“Where the hell is he?” she mutters as she comes up empty. Again.

Frustrated, she runs over all the data she’s gathered about him. He’s kind, compassionate, and thoughtful; all of those qualities were on display at the grocery store. He drinks tea and has a very good-looking friend who he talks to about numbers; that she learned at the coffee shop. He’s athletic and has two brothers he likes well enough to exercise with them; that information, and his last name, came from the gym. It should be enough to go on. It’s not.

She’s at home on her couch and paying bills when it suddenly hits her that she may never see this guy again. Peeta Mellark seems to be a figment of her imagination for all the good it’s done to try to find him. That and the small number in her bank account are both so unpleasant that she decides she’s going to have to break down and do something she’s been avoiding and delaying for a very long time. She’s going to have to open a line of credit. She’ll only use it for emergencies, but she can’t rely on the kindness of strangers to bail her out the next time she doesn’t have money for groceries, let alone car maintenance or an unforeseen medical crisis. It’s been months since Peeta saved her, but the humiliation of not being able to take care of herself still hasn’t faded. Before she can change her mind, she grabs her purse and heads to the bank. The time is now.

“Can I help you?” A bubbly blonde teller named Delly asks, and Katniss takes a deep breath to fortify herself.

“I’d like to open a line of credit. Can I talk to someone about that?”

“Sure!” she practically squeals. “Let me just call someone to help you.”

She’s led down the hallway and past a few desks to a small office. Once ushered inside, she sits and raises her eyes to view the person across from her.

“Oh…”

The man before her is stunning—green eyes, bronze hair, a swimmer’s build. It’s the guy’s—Peeta’s—friend, the one he was with at the coffee shop.

“Ms. Everdeen. I’m Finnick Odair. Want some sugar?” he asks and nudges a candy bowl toward her.

“No, I’m fi—.”

“Hey, Finn. Can you— Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were with a customer.”

She jerks at the sound of his voice. Peeta Mellark is standing in the doorway, and her heart is in her throat. She has a sudden flashback of the coffee shop, when the two of them walked past her discussing numbers… Now, it all makes sense. They work at a bank together. Of course they do. Peeta turns to leave, and she calls out.

“Wait! Stay with me.”

She claps her hands over her mouth and wills herself not to blush, but it’s no use. She’s just asked a perfect stranger to stay with her, and her invitation sounds much more intimate than she means it to. He must think she’s insane. Maybe she actually is. She pushes down a sudden urge to flee the situation and escape to the safety of her apartment.

This is out of her wheelhouse. Shy, introverted, and intensely private, Katniss worries the end of her braid and bites her lip. Every instinct she has tells her to run, but the temptation of him before her is too great. Rising, she crosses to him and holds out her hand.

“Hi. My name is Katniss. You saved my life once, and I’ve been on the hunt to find you for months. Thank you.”

Peeta and his friend exchange looks, and she fights the urge to shrivel back into herself. Finally, he looks directly at her and takes her palm in his. With a smile so disarming she nearly faints, he answers.

“Peeta Mellark. It’s nice to meet you.”

The touch of his hand on hers melts her insides. She dreads when she finally has to let go, but maybe she won’t have to. With a shy smile, she cocks out her hip and looks up at him through long lashes. Her flirting may be a disaster, but it’s all she’s got.

“It’s so nice to meet you, too.”

The flicker in his eyes makes her knees weak. An hour later, she’s left the bank with a line of credit, a phone number, and a dinner date. The hunt is finally over.

#hutchhitched #eiramrelyat #prompt 39 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

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chronosabyss · 4 years ago

Photo

Chapter 1 of Decadence is live!

Summary: Starscream has instated himself as leader of the Decepticons while the Autobots deal with the aftermath of their attempt to take down Megatron. With the chain of command shaky on both ends, it's up to those remaining to pull their teams together to work past hurt feelings and decide which ideals are still worth pursuing. (Rated T for mild violence.) Story will be updated once a week until completed.

Below is a small part of ch 1. You can read the rest on Archive of Our Own. https://archiveofourown.org/works/28850817

---

"Status report?"

"Same old, same old. A full diagnostic of the ship is still in the works, but I have Breakdown running a complete structural survey as we speak. So far there are a couple of holes here and there, but nothing that needs immediate attention."

"And the crew?"

"Although Breakdown is back on his feet, I advised him against any strenuous activity for the next few solar cycles. Soundwave is still absent from the ship, and several troopers found Airachnid immobilized in a back hallway. I had her placed with the others that met a similar fate." Knockout brought up a quick list of numbers on his data-pad. "I've taken a brief stock of the Vehicon soldiers and it seems that while there were 46 injured and 38 frozen, only seven were beyond repair," he announced, eyeing the numbers.

Starscream raised an eyebrow. "That's good?"

"You trust my professional opinion don't you?"

Starscream scoffed. "Apparently it's why I keep you around."

"Then considering the damage we get on a weekly basis from the Autobots on the ground, we're golden."

"Right," Starscream said, unimpressed. "Have you had a chance to examine Optimus Prime's condition in cell block three?"

"With the exception of minor battle damage, he seems relatively healthy. You know, aside from being a living doorstop."

"How’s the crew taking Megatron's sudden absence?"

The medic let out an uncertain tone, glancing sideways for a moment. "Eeh, morale could be better. You've got your typical post battle unease. Word's spread of Megatron's demise, but no one's really sure what happened."

"Good. Let's keep it that way," Starscream finished, starting to turn away.

Knockout sidestepped around to get in front of him. "Starscream-" Seeing the dirty glare his commander shot him, he hastily corrected himself. " Lord Starscream. The whole ship's on edge. Everyone's talking. The more astute bots have even drawn attention to the fact that the Autobots somehow managed to gain access to our ship while it was cloaked, something that I need not remind you should be nigh impossible."

Starscream narrowed his optics almost threateningly. "It was the scout. Most likely he was using a concealed means of communication to contact the Autobots while he was on board. A tragic oversight, I admit, but nothing more. I've been meaning to gather the troops together to address the recent change in command. I’ll make it a point to bring up at the assembly. Is that all?"

Knockout hesitated, wary for once at the possibility of pushing Starscream too far when he was already testy. Eventually his curiosity won out. "There is one other thing I wanted to ask you about. At this point most of the ship has been combed over by the casualty crew to gather the downed soldiers for repairs. While there are a few isolated machine levels and storage corners that still haven't been checked, there has still been no sign of our former Lord Megatron's body."

A brief flash of alarm flitted across Starscream's faceplate which he quickly masked with a more neutral expression. "Do you really think I would have left the corpse out where any common soldier could see?"

"Alright then. Where did you have it moved?"

"Well um," Starscream stalled, a bit taken aback. "That's classified information."

Knockout sighed, shaking his head. "Really Starscream? If you didn't want me privy to such mundane details you shouldn't have made me second in command. How am I to make sure your ship is running ship-shape if I don't even know where our liege's body is stowed? The crew is asking whether or not there is going to be a commemoration in his honor."

"A commemoration?" Starscream choked.

"An observance, a memorial, whatever you want to call it," he gestured casually. "It's been nearly a full cycle and someone had to bring it up."

Starscream turned away, processor churning to come up with a reasonable explanation as he brought up several digits to tap agitatedly at the side of his faceplate. "Tell the crew that his body is too desecrated to be shown. Our liege suffered horrific damage at the hands of the Autobots. He would not have wanted to be seen like that," he finally said, wearing a mixed expression of both sorrow and unease.

"Fine, but that still leaves the matter of its location," Knockout said in a matter of fact. “As the ship’s chief medical officer, I’d like to perform an autopsy.”

"I told you, that's classified." Starscream crossed his arms childishly.

"So what, you're just going to keep Megatron's rusting chassis in your closet?" He held up his servos defensively. "Look, I'm not one to judge, but there are certain health regulations that must be observed when dealing with the disposal and recycling of the deceased."

"A-are you insinuating that I am keeping the whereabouts of our former Lord's body a secret out of some sort of sick fascination?"

"I'm only saying that whatever your reasons are, it would be nice to know a roundabout area so I at least know where I should be avoiding."

Starscream sputtered for a moment in an effort to formulate a retort. Failing to come to any sort of solid reprimand, he reached out and grabbed Knockout roughly by the lower jaw. "Why you-"

The sound of the door opening made both mechs freeze mid struggle. They looked over to see a dark slender figure standing just inside the doorway, observing them quietly.

"S- soundwave!" Starscream released his grip on Knockout's face, leaving the medic to shoot him an ugly glare as he rubbed a servo on the affronted area. "What a… nice surprise," he continued through a forced smile, his optic ridges drawn up in a twinge of anxiety. "Where have you been?"

#Transformers #Transformers Prime #TFP #Starscream #Knockout #Fanfiction #Transformers Fanfiction #It's been a long time coming #I weep with joy

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pluto-art · 4 years ago

Text

Softly - PatB Fan Fiction

Type: Hurt/Comfort Rating: PG Summary: Baby Brain has known little but pain and misery in an unloving world, but when he gets paired up with a new lab student things change in a way he didn’t expect.

This started out as a mini story in a Discord server and got... a little out of hand. What you see here is how much I typed out in the server.

He hadn't been there long. Two... maybe three weeks? The cold metal had finally become familiar beneath his feet, and the strange blocks, though generally tasteless, kept him alive. There wasn't much that made his new living quarters interesting; there was only so much one could do in a pile of aspen shavings day after day. Occasionally, they would hook up to his cage some sort of liquid that wasn't his usual watery fair. He could never decipher or make heads or tails of the words on the sides of the bottles, saying things like D-D-T or S-N-I-P-P-L-E. The only distinguishing feature to him was that sometimes they tasted terrible, sometimes quite flavorful, and sometimes they tasted like nothing at all. Almost all of them turned his stomach. Driven to thirst, however, he'd play their cruel game. Choice was not something that existed in this crisp, sterile world; at least, not from a personal standpoint. When it did exist it meant the difference between a shock and a treat; a yellow light or a red light; a warm room or a cold one. Choice was manufactured.

He still cried almost every night. He tried to quiet the tears, but they didn't always listen. The others heard him. One or two laughed cynically. Most said nothing; they'd shed their own fair share and would again sooner than later. A single kind soul, a mother rat some doors down from him, occasionally whispered to him a lullaby or two when everyone else but them were asleep. They were songs she sang to her own children to quiet their tears, and she had no less compassion for this unfortunate soul, who was even worse off than her own brood -- he didn't even have any parents to nuzzle up to. Had she her way, she would have mutilated every last living human being in the facility. It was bad enough that they were tested on mercilessly as adults. To do so to children was simply insidious. Alas, she was simply a rat, and so could only dream of days when she wasn't.

Not that BR-41N (that's what they called him; no one had real names here) hadn't tried to be friendly with his captures. Aside from a particularly nasty poke from some long, thin, prickly object inserted into his thigh the first day (it had stung; oh, it had stung...) the proceeding couple of days had consisted of simple maze runs and treadmill exercises. Nothing too elaborate. As a child, he'd been used to running around a lot in the field, and sifting through the labyrinths reminded him of the long grass he'd play hide-and-seek in back home, except at the end of them was a tasty prize: a piece of cheese. He liked cheese. In the wild, it was hard to come by, but here they gave it to him generously, provided he finished the courses, which he always did. The fourth day followed in much the same way, but the fifth day brought something different: a sudden shock and a broken tail. That had changed his view of things. Perhaps the harsh awakening wouldn't have been so terrible had it not been followed by other unspeakable things -- poisoned food; friends made that, the next day, would never be seen again; more shocks given as punishment for choosing an incorrect panel; injections that made him see things he'd never seen, monsters and strange colors and other scary things that kept him awake at night; loud noises that came out of nowhere; and often, quite often, the terrifying echo of squeaks, barks, and meows that made up the daily music of Acme Laboratories. He hated it. He hated all of it. More than anything, he wanted to go home. He missed the warmth; the love; the soft whisper of the wind that traveled through his ivory fur. He wanted all of it back. But life? She was a harsh mistress. And no amount of crying, screaming, or pleading, seemed to ever make her turn an ear.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks... months, more than just a tail was broken. Trust was broken. Hope was broken. Spirit... was broken. If there was any love, if there was any future, it wasn't here. Kindness had proved unfruitful, and patience had run its course. He didn't find reason to be willing, nor show charity, towards those who made his life a living hell. What reason was there? What profit was in it? Time had told him, quite bluntly, there wasn't. It had taken him a full month to admit defeat, but admit it he did, and cynical he became, 'til every hand that reached in to grab him was ripe to be bitten, every shot that punctured his stomach was the unwelcome norm, and every newcomer that tried to strike up a friendship was easily ignored. The latter-most was simply wasting their time. He could read the colors on the cages now. He knew that a red mark meant "death". He only wondered why he, as of yet, had never been given one himself. It was as if life itself was laughing at him -- keeping him as witness to the horrors that went on inside the dragon's cave, yet never giving him the satisfaction of death.

And so the third month dawned, chilly and barren, or so the scientists said. Autumn had come. Not that any of the residents within the thick, cemented walls could see it. But the laboratory personnel spoke of it -- gold and crimson leaves, hot chocolate, dried wheat fields. He could almost smell the corn; could almost feel the breeze.... Days passed. For the first time, they gave him a cage mate. E8-WN, they called him. He was kind, but BR-41N had little love left to give. Besides, he had the red tag. It seemed they had only placed him here temporarily due to a lack of space. The next day he was taken to the back. The tiniest shred of pity nipped at BR-41N as he watched the little peach-furred mouse be carried into the surgical room, a curious look on his face. Another emotion was also present within him: jealousy. On the 17th day of September, a new thing happened -- a thing that, for the first time in a while, made the little mouse turn his head.

The school year had started, and, as such, fresh meat was welcomed into the laboratory in the form of fourteen college students looking to continue pursuits in medical science. They were all very quiet during the tour, one or two of them occasionally lifting a hand to ask a question about course materials or contact information. They were each, it seemed, to be given a subject: an animal from the laboratory to study, train, and conduct experiments on. Rats, mice, and hamsters had already been picked out for them, and each was given a black-coated subject or a brown-furred captive to take charge of. Each student's rodent was to be kept in the lab at all times, and specific instructions were given them as to the proper handling of the creatures. At least two experiments were to be conducted on them daily, three if possible. They could spend as much time with their charge as they wished, so long as they got their homework done. Fourteen students. Fourteen rodents. Four months to finish their work. Simple.

As it stood, however, there had been a miscalculation. Fourteen students. Fourteen rodents.... No. Not fourteen. Only thirteen. There'd been an error. They'd forgotten to set aside an extra subject. The unfortunate student without a charge was a college girl named Rachel. All other rodents were going through tests conducted by various personnel in the lab, set aside specifically for said conductions that couldn't currently be tampered with. All except one....

"So, um, Rachel," their teacher said, checking his student list. "You may have to share with... Peterson.... You know what? We might... actually have an extra for you. Hold on. Let me ask...."

And he departed into another room, calling for a "Jackson".

"Jackson! Can she use BR-41N? I don't think he's going through any rigorous testing.... Yeah? Okay. Yeah, that would work out perfectly. Thanks."

He turned back to his brood, many of whom looked quite eager to jump in to these intriguing studies, others looking downright bored.

"Okay. We have one for you. His code name is BR-41N. He's not going through any major testing, and he's generally given the usual works -- labyrinths, shock treatment, all that. But, um... he bites. Really bad. So... you'll have to watch it, all right?"

"Okay," Rachel nodded, looking a little nervous.

"All right. Umm.... Good. Yes. So, let's head back to the main campus, and... we'll start your work tomorrow."

And they left.

BR-41N had only heard part of all this, and had understood none of it. He shivered in his cage, taking a moment to drink some water out of the bottle that hung there. While the arrival of such a large group intrigued him, especially since it consisted of a much younger set than normal, it also made him nervous. Was it a sign of good things to come... or bad? Or just more of the usual fair? One could only wonder. For now, he was simply grateful that the cheese they'd given him today was, for once, not laced with drugs.

She came by on a Tuesday.

It was an hour after a cosmetics test that he heard a knock on the table. His skin still burned. He was cowering in a far corner, and looked back over his shoulder hesitantly.

Rachel stood there, smiling at him.

"Hello, little one." He stared at her, nonplussed. "I guess you're my charge. You gonna say hello?"

And she opened up the door of his cage.

He shuffled back further. He knew all too well by this point that the opening of a door meant one of two things: food or torture. Considering the fact that she didn't smell of food, he had to assume it was the latter.

"It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. Well, hopefully not...."

Although he didn't understand a word of what she said, her tone was calm; soothing. No one in the lab ever talked to him like this. He couldn't help but stare curiously.

She held her hand up to the entrance and made a soft, squeak-like sound with her mouth. He frowned at her. As if that was going to convince him. He turned away.

"No? I don't blame you," she replied, taking a look at his clipboard. "BR-41N. What kind of a freak name is that? Mind if I call you Brain? Or Brian?"

No response.

"We'll go with Brian. Brain sounds kinda weird."

Brian it was.

She kept the door open, and he braced himself. Any moment now, gloved hands would be protruding into his enclosure to wrap themselves firmly about him, not tight enough to choke him, but secure enough that he couldn't escape. But the hand didn't come. If anything, she pulled up a chair, sat down, and rested her arms upon the table on which his cage sat. She was... giving him a choice? He stared at her, unsure how to react.

"Come on, sweet heart," she cooed, rubbing her fingers together encouragingly.

But he wouldn't budge. If this was some new trick, it wasn't going to work. He wished she'd just grab him and get it over with. Sooner or later, she'd have to. It was only a matter of time. And so he waited....

She sat there for a full twenty minutes, trying her best to get him to come over, but he refused to budge, and so she gave up. As expected, she still ran him through a maze, but instead of reaching in to grab him, she found a clear tube and scooped him up in it, covering both ends before depositing him into the run as such. It was... odd, but less invasive than what he was used to. He rather wished the others would do it that way.

Via the same method she returned him to his cage at the end of the test. As usual, he took to the corner, assuming his usual cowardly pose, but he turned to look at her as she spoke.

"Sorry about that. Nice job, though. See you tomorrow."

And so went the next day... and the next, always with the same introduction: She'd open his door, pull up a chair, and offer her hand to him. After twenty minutes of nothing, she'd scoop him up in the tube, deposit him in the maze or whatever other test he was to perform that day, and return him in the same manner. This went on for four whole weeks, always with a kind word, never coupled with a harsh prod or poking of his skin. He came to somewhat look forward to her almost daily visits, not because he trusted her (the one time she had tried touching him [with gloves on, of course], he'd given her a fair warning in the form of a bite), but because it was the only two hours during the day in which he knew he wouldn't be fed poison, given a shot, or made to inhale cigarette smoke. The other students joked with her. By far, she had the unfriendliest mouse out of all of them, and they found her kind advances a waste of time.

"Just pick him up!" a tall boy said.

Most of them had no problem with handling their subjects by the tail; at least, the boys generally didn't. The girls were kinder, but even they didn't take the time to get to know their animals intimately. They also were given the harder tests to conduct on their critters and so tried not to get attached.

Whereas most of the rats, mice, and hamsters given to the students would eventually be killed in some way or other at the end of the semester, via through vivisection, gassing, cancer, or some other method, BR-41N, or... Brian, as Rachel now called him, was not scheduled to be offed anytime soon and so could not undergo such rigorous experiments. As such, she got both the easy job of conducting very simple tests on him, and also the hard job of trying to work with the most hostile mouse in the entire facility.

"He's never gonna warm up to you," one of the other students said.

Rachel took it as a challenge.

"Watch me," she said.

But Brian was proving to be a much tougher can than expected. By the sixth week, he still hadn't even bothered to venture near the cage entrance when she sat near it, even with tasty treats in hand. He simply didn't trust anyone. Not anymore....

October came and went, to be replaced with a frosty November. Whenever Brian saw Rachel now she had a cup of tea in hand, the better to ward off the coming winter chill. Still she tried; still he refused to relent. Until the 9th....

It was late. She hadn't been able to get to the lab until 8:00 PM due to unfortunate series of events that involved a fender bender, two appointments, and a last minute essay. When she got to the lab she was tired... and not at all in the mood to deal with Brian's B.S., and he knew it.

"'Sup?" she asked him wearily, setting down her things in a huff. Only a handful of other people were still in the facility at this hour, none of them students. Fine by her. She preferred the quiet anyway. "We're gonna do something a little different today, bud."

Indeed.... He perked his ears up at her exhausted tone and the fact that, for once, she didn't open the cage door. But she did still slide the chair up to his table.

On the opposite side of the room was a television on a rolling stand. Normally, this was used for surgeries and other experiments. Once in a blue moon, however, someone would use it for recreational purposes -- to watch the local news when there was time to kill. Most fortunately for Rachel, it also came with a VHS player. Into it she popped a tape, before sitting down in the chair and grabbing her hot cup of peppermint tea. Despite himself, Brian took a whiff of the tea, whose scent had wafted into his cage and tickled his nose. It smelled good.

The film began to play. Brian didn't know the name of it, but whatever it was it was made up of very pretty pictures and featured a lot of dogs... and snow (at least at the beginning). It was rather soothing. Still, he didn't move from his spot, save to grab a lab block at one point to munch on, more to pass the time than anything. His stomach was still a little unsettled from earlier. Privately, he was a bit ticked off at the girl. Had she been a bit earlier he might have avoided the shock treatments. Not that they would have withheld them regardless.

It wasn't until the second song that his attention was at last caught.

"La la lu, La la lu, Oh my little star sweeper, I'll sweep the star dust for you...."

Sweetly did the animated woman sing her little song, and Brian, captivated, perked his ears. He looked up at the television. She was still singing. He stepped forward, bit by bit, until he was right up to the closed door, two little paws coming up to grasp at the bars of his cage as he stared, entranced, at the screen.

"La la lu, La la lu, And may love be your keeper, La la lu, La la lu, La la luuuuu."

And so it ended, all within the span of a minute, if that, but something had stirred with him -- a remembrance of home, and warmth, and what it was like to be loved.

He was still clutching at the bars when he noticed that Rachel was smiling at him, and he promptly sped back to his corner, embarrassed.

"Atta boy," she whispered, still grinning softly at him.

He refused to look at her. He wasn't touched by it or anything. He wasn't....

"It's okay. Don't be embarrassed," said the girl. "I like that song, too."

Brian stayed in his corner the rest of the movie, but the song never left his mind.

---

The next day proceeded as normal. Once again, Rachel sat by his cage. Once again, she had brought a treat, albeit one he'd never seen before, nor smelled, for that matter. It was small... and white... and fluffy, and it smelled sugary and sweet. He wanted it. Oh, he wanted it so very badly. But nothing that ever came from the fingers of a scientist, even a soft-spoken one, was innocent. And so he refused, his back turned to her.

"Stubborn butt," said Rachel, and by her tone alone Brian could tell that it was a snide comment. He ignored her.

"Here."

As had occurred many times before, she left the treat in his cage near the entrance, closed the door, and sat to watch him. His eyes shifted towards the treat. It sat there, staring at him, mocking him. Eat me, it said. No, he thought. Oh, but it smelled so good....

Rachel sighed. So did Brian. She rested her head in her arms, exasperated. Maybe it really wasn't worth it....

Brian licked his lips. Perhaps....

He took a step forward. Rachel remained where she was, head in her arms, not looking at him. He moved another step. She was still as a stone. Patter patter patter patter patter... GRAB. He swooped back to his corner as fast as possible, marshmallow in his mouth. Rachel looked up... and chuckled. Brian dug into the treat, enjoying every second of it as teeth sunk into the savory delight. He'd never tasted anything this good before. It was better than mother's milk; much better than lab pellets; better than cheese....

"Silly little thing," Rachel giggled, smiling as he filled his cheeks with pleasantness. "Wait 'til you see what I bring you tomorrow."

Tomorrow, he was to find out, brought a piece of a doughnut, and the day after that a waffle. He'd never been this darn spoiled before. On the fourth occasion, he was, for once, already at the door, waiting to see what she'd bring. Lady and the Tramp and sugar, it turned out, were the keys to his heart, although he still wouldn't let her touch him. If her hand so much as brushed his fur he was back to his corner in a rush, although, this time, he didn't try to bite her first.

Rachel laughed when she saw the two little paws clutching at the gated entrance.

"You like 'em that much, huh? Here ya' go."

He stepped back to allow her access to the gate, and watched carefully as she placed something savory and smelling of salt inside. He sniffed, investigating as she closed the door. He took a tentative bite. Mmmmm. Yes, this was acceptable. Grabbing it, he rushed back to his usual corner and chowed down.

"Good. A fellow bacon appreciator," Rachel nodded, satisfied.

He ate the entire piece, licking his lips and proceeding to clean himself afterwards. That had been a bit messy. Good, but messy. If there was something he still valued, it was cleanliness. He could at least retain some form of dignity. The state of his fur was one of the few things he still had control over. Unlike some of the other unfortunate chaps, he'd never had to endure surgery or a shaved stomach.

Two little pink ears perked up as his cage door was opened yet again. More treats? No. Just Rachel, hand offered to him once more. Brian sighed. She just wouldn't give up, would she?

A second glance made him aware that she did, in fact, have something in her hand -- another marshmallow. Hmph. Sneaky. And yet, he'd be lying if he said he didn't want it....

"It's okay, little one," Rachel cooed, hand still outstretched, that plump marshmallow beckoning ever so tantalizingly. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise."

Brian sighed. He looked down at the floor, then over at her hand.

Rachel's eyes widened a touch, but she otherwise didn't reveal her surprise as Brian moved forward, inch by inch, step by step, towards her hand....

He stopped at the entrance, debating. Dare he...? It was a risk. He'd never willing done this, not since he'd been captured. It was a stupid decision. Stupid. And yet....

Her hand shifted a touch, and Brian shifted nervously with it. Rachel waited with bated breath.

He stepped forward....

In a flash, he'd grabbed the 'mallow from her hand and retreated to the back of his cage, not daring to even think about what he'd just done. It was foolish. It was dangerous. And yet, she hadn't tried to grab him, or even pet him. She'd just... given him a choice. And he'd taken it. Somehow, for some reason, he'd taken it.

Rachel smiled.

"Atta boy."

---

Perhaps it was the mere fact, the tantalizing realization, that he had a choice in the first place, that drew him back, but over the course of the next few weeks, things changed.

It had started slow at first. A light brush of the whiskers here; a sniff of the hand there. But, eventually, Brian, of his own accord, stepped into her hand. And she didn't close her fingers about him harshly, or strangle him, or pick him up by the tail. She simply... let him be. It was kind. It was unobtrusive. It was respectful. And he appreciated it.

No longer did the other students make fun, or joke that she'd never gain his trust. If anything, they questioned her.

"How the heck did you do it?" they'd ask, curious.

Even more confused were the scientists themselves. Not that anyone had tried very hard to gain the little mouse's trust. He was, in their opinion, not worth the time.

But he was to Rachel.

December came, and with it a complete turn-around in Brian's behavior, albeit towards one particular individual.

He eagerly rushed into her hand now. No need for the transportation tube. She could carry him on her shoulder to the maze area and pick him up with her bare hands as she placed him in the labyrinth, although she still made sure to let him take the first step and would, more often than not, simply offer a hand instead of plucking him from her shoulder. He still appreciated this.

Every weekday was now a day to look forward to. Sure, he was still tormented by the main personnel, but for two or three hours, two or three sweet hours, he didn't have to worry about anything. On the days he suffered from a stomach-ache, she'd hold him close to her chest and do her best to rub the pain away, offering him tea to ease his suffering, and if he fell asleep on her shoulder and woke up, shaking, from a bad dream, she'd rock him back and forth, singing "La La Lu" to him until the nightmares went away. On those rare nights, when she could only work late and no one was around, she'd bottle feed him. He'd been hesitant (and a little embarrassed) at first, but any reminder of home was difficult to ignore, and so he ended up embracing each form of love and affection with open paws, clutching tightly to her chest some days, as if this hug would be his last. For all he knew, it could be. He'd gotten used to her visits, but what if she left and never came back? He didn't want that love to leave....

December 14th.

The end of the semester was approaching. Rachel had told him, time and again, that she was leaving soon; that she would miss him; that she'd try to come back for the next semester. Brian understood none of this. He was a mouse, after all. Human language was foreign to him. The most he could understand was the occasional word -- his name, Brian, and various names of foods and tests -- and basic inflections that he knew signified concern, happiness, or contentment. But he didn't understand "leave", or "semester", or "miss". He could tell something was wrong, that she was sad, but as to why, he did not know.

A week from the last day of the semester, she brought a surprise: a movie. It had something to do with a rat, and food. He liked it for those things. He wished he could understand the words. It seemed interesting. He sat on Rachel's shoulder the entire time, at least until the end of the film, during which Rachel offered her hand to him. He accepted. She brought him up to her chest, nuzzling him close.

"I'm going away for a while, but... I'll try to be back next semester."

She petted him gently. He stared up at her, curious and concerned. Why was she so sad?

"I'm going to miss you...," she whispered. And, for the first time, she kissed him on his fuzzy white head. "I love you...."

He didn't understand the words, but he understood what they meant; how they felt.

Slowly, gently, he nuzzled close to her... and licked her fingers. It was the first time he'd shown genuine affection outside of nuzzling since he'd been captured. I love you, too....

He didn't understand it, but... there was something in the air that told him something big was coming. Something new. Something was going to be different....

December 18th came just like any other day. The semester was coming to a close. Many students had already finished their courses and gone home for the holidays. The occasional class still lingered on, including the medical science class. Most all had completed training and experimentation on their subjects for the season and were simply spending the next few days filing reports and filling out last minute essays. Some of the rodents wouldn't live to see the new year. Others had already been subjected to vivisection by their handlers and were far from the lab by this point. Subject BR-41N was one of the few who'd been given the same sheet on their clipboard day after day, week after week: a run of the mill of the usual, simple, non-invasive tests, along with an injection or two. But today was different.

As Rachel stepped up to Brian's cage, sipping at a hot cup of tea and smiling as her charge ran up to the bars to greet her, she frowned as she pulled up the clip board. His tag was yellow. Not the usual blue, but... yellow. She set down her cup, ignoring Brian's squeaky pleas to be let out as she looked over the sheet carefully.

Subject Reserved for Project B.R.A.I.N. // Invasive Study -- Cognitive Psychology, Neuroscience Psychology // 4:00 PM - Dec. 20

There was a pause, in which the dip in Rachel's brow furrowed ever deeper, her eyes roaming about the page scrutinizingly, before she slipped the paper out of its holder and headed back out the way she'd came, Brian looking curiously after her.

She marched all the way to a back office, in which sat one of the laboratory heads: Jackson. He looked up over his square-rimmed glasses as she knocked upon the exposed inner door frame.

"Yes?" he asked, sounding bored.

"Hey. Um.... I think you gave my subject the wrong paper."

"BR-41N?"

"Yeah. He got a yellow."

She stretched out her arm, offering the paper as proof, but he didn't take it. Instead, he looked up at her, fingers meeting at their tips, and said:

"No, I gave you the right paper. That's for BR-41N. His procedure is in two days."

His tone was flat and laced with a thin layer of poison, as if her daring to question him was a challenge.

"But... I thought he was just doing mainly labyrinth tests."

"Ms. Field, I thought you were told...?"

"Told what...?"

"He's been scheduled for this procedure for months. We wanted him fresh and so have eschewed more invasive tests until now. Frankly, you've been spending a little too much time with that mouse. He's gotten too friendly. We're not in the business of developing attachment here."

He said all this with a straight face, completely emotionless. Rachel swallowed thickly.

"Sir, I've... been going over this test. It's... very dangerous."

"Yes."

"It could kill him...."

"Yes?"

Rachel simply stared at him, uncertain of what to say next. He wasn't working with her here....

"Look.... What did you expect? You're studying medical science, correct?"

She nodded.

"Okay, well," he continued, a small chuckle of sarcasm escaping his lips as he said it. "Y-You have to realize that... this is a laboratory. We can't keep every subject. And these tests come with a lot of risks."

"Could you possibly do the test on another subject...?" Rachel asked, choosing her words carefully. "Brian is still kind of young, and..."

"Brian?"

Shoot.

"Sorry, I mean... BR-41N."

"You can't start... naming them, Miss Field. That's when you start getting attached. Understand?"

"I know...," Rachel mumbled, cheeks reddening as she looked down at her shoes.

"And the whole point of using him at this age is because his mind is younger. He's fresh."

"But he's just a baby..."

"Yes? And? A lot of the other students are working with infants."

"This one is...," Rachel began, than stopped. Already she'd said too much.

"Miss Field, if you don't prepare him for the procedure, someone else will. Now, you can either do your assignment or lose your credits. It's your choice."

Rachel sighed. Still holding the paper, she let her arm fall dramatically to her side.

"Fine...."

And she turned to walk off. But...

"Miss Field?"

She looked at him.

"Don't do anything stupid."

"Yes, Sir," Rachel replied, after a hefty pause, and headed back to her charge.

---

Brian didn't understand why Rachel was so quiet that day, nor why she cuddled him so much. She whispered to him something about "breaking out" and "night", but he didn't understand what those things meant, although he heard the urgency in her voice. As a result, he was a little more uptight the rest of the afternoon.

Before leaving, Rachel kissed the top of his head again, before setting him back down in the cage and hooking the door. Her good-byes were all but gibberish to him, although he recognized the word "tomorrow". So he'd be seeing her tomorrow. That was good. At least he had a time frame. He was naive to the rest....

---

December 19th 9:15 PM

BR-41N cleaned his whiskers, pondering.

She hadn't shown up today. Strange. "Tomorrow". She's said "tomorrow". Today was tomorrow. Why hadn't she come?

To his left, in a far corner of the room, someone sneezed in their cage. Brian frowned sadly. It was that hamster again. Whatever they'd given him had put him into a sneezing fit for an hour. Now and then he relapsed.

He yawned, stretched, and made for the food dispenser, when he suddenly heard a sharp click of a door being opened and abruptly snapped shut. He turned in the direction of the door. A light flicked on. Brian smiled.

Rachel's feet slid across the floor in haste. Instead of her usual student lab coat, she was decked out in her normal clothes, complete with backpack. Her hoodie was up, obscuring her hair, save for a few strands that stuck out here and there, as well as part of her face. She moved with purpose, albeit a little covertly, looking over her shoulder every now and then, as if expecting someone to grab her at any minute.

Set in a wall above the entrance to the room, a camera followed her. Rachel's eyes shifted at the sound as she moved towards Brian's cage. She knew she only had five, maybe ten, minutes at best.

Opening the cage door, she held her hand out for Brian to step onto. He hesitated. Something didn't smell right....

"Come on. We're busting you out of here, dude," Rachel whispered.

Brian cocked his head at her questioningly.

"Listen, they're going to put your through that splicer if we don't get you out of here, so come on."

There was an urgency in her voice that, despite his misgivings, compelled him to move forward. He trusted her too much by this point.

"Atta boy," she praised him, tucking him in her shirt pocket.

He peeked out, paws clutching at the edges of the pocket interestedly.

"Let's go," Rachel whispered, turning back to the door and stopping as she realized that someone was already standing there....

Framed in the metal doorway was a woman, thirty-five... maybe forty-something in age. Her arms were crossed, and the expression on her face seemed as taught and firm as the scrunchie tightening her poofy auburn hair. Her long lab coat was still settling; she must have only just gotten there. Rachel recognized this woman. Lana, her name was -- she was one of the head managers at the facility. Jackson had obviously tipped her off.

"Fancied a night stroll?" she asked, tone dripping with sarcasm.

Rachel remained frozen in place, a hand subconsciously cupping her shirt pocket. The gesture didn't go unnoticed.

"You know you're risking a lot for this. That's all your credits down the drain."

"He's worth it," Rachel answered, resolute.

"He's not. You take him and they'll just get another subject."

"At least I'll have saved this one."

"We'd still rather you not take an asset that's been reserved for months for this procedure," Lana nipped, taking a step forward.

Rachel took a step back. Her eyes shifted to a door to her left. It led to several other testing rooms and then back out into the main hallway. Some of the doors had security locks. It was the long way around, but if she was fast enough....

"Rachel...," Lana spoke, tone threatening as she advanced. "Put him down."

With each step Lana took towards her, Rachel moved two back. She could feel herself starting to perspire. Gosh, this was a stupid idea....

"Rachel...."

With a hand cupped over her shirt pocket, Rachel darted in the direction of the door, opening it up in a flash and slamming it shut behind her. Already she was racing for the opposite end of the room, where another door stood.

Brian jumped as an alarm went off, followed by red lights that flashed all throughout the facility. Rachel was already in the next room, her heart racing. She could hear the panicked footsteps behind her, mimicking her own, and hoped upon hope that she was faster than her pursuer.

Rachel picked up her pace as she entered the next room. This one, she knew, required an employee badge to open. All of the students had been given security badges, of course, primarily for general access to the entrance and main rooms. They worked on some doors in the facility. Some, but not all. She'd never been in these rooms. Privately, she prayed that they'd open for her.

Slamming her badge up against a wall panel, she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet nervously.

"Come on. Come oooon! Take it!!"

It did. The door unlocked, and she swung it open in haste to make for the next locked door, which also granted her entrance.

She was faster than Lana, but it didn't mean the woman wasn't hot on her heels. Brian shut his eyes tightly, huddling against Rachel's chest on the inside of her pocket as she darted about, her hand still cupping him securely. He knew, somehow, that this was about him. His ears rotated this way and that at the duo of clicking feet racing down the linoleum flooring. Who would win? Who was he most valuable to?

It wasn't until the fourth room that Rachel started to panic. Yet again, she'd reached a door asking for proof of access, except this time... her badge was not accepted. She shook the door handle feebly, knowing it wouldn't open; knowing this was the end of the line. Despite himself, Brian peeked out of the shirt pocket, just in time to see Lana as Rachel swiftly turned around to face the woman, who stood at the opposite end of the room, hair askew and chest heaving as she glared at Rachel and her tiny charge.

"You're persistent, I'll give you that," Lana huffed.

"Why do you need him?! Just let me take him and get another subject!" Rachel bit.

"We let you get away with it and you'll set a precedent! You know that!" Lana snapped right back. "And we don't want to waste any more time. We've spent too much money on this project."

"He's just a baby!"

"All of them are meant to be expendable! Hand him over!"

"No!"

Brian's ears flicked. Rachel held her breath. Was it just them, or did they hear... more footsteps?

"You won't have a choice," Lana said flatly, expressionless as she was joined by not one, not two, but five other lab hands, one of the them Jackson, all of them full-time personnel.

"Rachel.... Hand him over," Jackson said, holding out his hand expectantly.

Rachel glared daggers at him, even though she was fully aware of the impossibility of the situation. Like the mouse she was trying so hard to protect, she was trapped, her back against the wall, literally. They were going to take him. They were going to take him and there was nothing she could do about it....

"I told you not to do anything stupid," Jackson continued.

"Please...," Rachel pleaded, breathing heavily. "Please, let me take care of him. I'll train another in his place as compensation, I swear. Just... don't hurt him."

"And then you'll grow attached to that one and try and kidnap it. We've seen it before. You're not the first," Jackson reprimanded.

"Good," said Rachel. "I'm glad I'm not."

Privately, she wondered why she'd ever signed up for this in the first place. She wanted the degree. She wanted it badly. She also loved animals, and knew that following her passion came with sacrifices. What she hadn't counted on was how difficult it would be to accept that. It wasn't feasible, she realized. In fact, it was darn near impossible.

She looked down at the infant trembling in her pocket -- at this little creature that had captured her heart and locked it away, far away from any hopes and dreams of graduating in the medical field of her choosing. "He's not worth it," Lana had said. Was he not? Brian looked up at her, those glossy little eyes staring at her expectantly, trustingly. She smiled sadly at him and, for the last time, cuddled him close, before looking up at the troop across from her.

"If you want him, come and get him," she challenged. They weren't getting him without a fight.

And they rushed at her.

She tried to escape. Oh, she tried... and failed. They grabbed her by the arms as she wrestled against them, cheering Brian on as he somehow managed to escape from her pocket and slip underneath one of the shelving units in the room. But Lana caught him, Brian squeaking as his tail snagged between the beaker and the small metal panel she'd captured him with. He stared at Rachel, his desperate, panicked expression the last thing she saw before being knocked out.

-------

- Two Years Later -

The plan had failed. Rather spectacularly, he might add....

It was the first time in Brain's memory he could ever recall being caught red-handed by any of the personnel at Acme Labs. It was a miracle he and Pinky had managed to escape, but, despite his best attempts, they'd been separated in the process.

He made for a facility some yards away from the main laboratory, sweating as he squeezed under its front door and immediately hid under a cabinet to his right. Lights flashed now and again beyond the windows, desperate voices accompanying them as the scientists searched here and their for the escapees. Brain silently prayed that Pinky had somehow found a suitable hiding spot.

In his position under the cabinet, he backed up against the wall and slid down it, a paw clutching at his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. After a few seconds, he gulped, sniffed, and buried his face in his knees. Stupid. Stupid.... He'd jeopardized their whole mission. What if they'd captured Pinky? What would they do to him? And even if they did escape, where would they go? He'd ruined everything. Everything....

In his haste to remain undetected, he'd neglected to realize that this room... was not entirely devoid of life. It was a small area -- a security office, to be exact. Numerous monitors took up space on a desk, at which someone sat. They slid out of their chair and stepped over to Brain's hiding place. He noticed... and shivered.

Whatever, whomever, it was got down on their knees to peer at him from just outside the dresser.

"Hello...," they said.

It was a woman. Her voice was soft, and kind, but Brain turned his head away from her prying eyes. Typical. In an effort to not get caught he'd inevitably been ratted out. He immediately considered making a run for it, but, for some reason he couldn't explain, he didn't.

"Hey.... Shh. Shh. It's okay, little one. It's okay," cooed the woman. "You wanna come on out...?"

And she held out a hand to him. She didn't try to grab him, or scare him out. She simply... gave him a choice.

But it had been too long. He didn't recognize her, neither she him... until she noticed the tail. Then she knew.

"Brian...?" she breathed, eyes growing wide.

He stared at her, nonplussed, still shivering.

"Brian, it's me. Rachel," she beckoned, her hand still in place. But he didn't move. If anything, he frowned at her. "Brian"?

And she tried everything -- talking to him soothingly; offering him a treat from her pocket. Nothing worked. Brain simply hid his face once more, willing her to go away; to leave him be; to, hopefully, not report him to the authorities if they came to call.

Rachel sighed. She sat up for a moment, thinking, and blinked. Struck with a sudden idea, she rested her hands on her lap... and began to sing....

“La la lu, La la lu, Oh my little star sweeper, I'll sweep the star dust for you...“

Brain blinked... and lifted his head, ever so slowly....

“La la lu, La la lu, Little soft fluffy sleeper, Here comes a pink cloud for you...“

He stood up... and walked forward, right to the edge of the cabinet. She was still singing.

“La la lu, La la lu, Little wandering angel, Fold up your wings, Close your eyes...”

His mouth was fully open now, his round eyes glossy and getting ever shinier. He couldn't pull his gaze away from her face.

“La la lu, La la lu, And may love be your keeper...

La la lu, La la lu, La la lu....”

Rachel stared at him, smiling. He had completely stepped out from under the cabinet by now, his little body trembling slightly.

"Hello, little star sweeper," Rachel whispered to him.

Breath hitching, Brain ran onto her lap, up her shirt, and clutched tightly to her chest, only a second or two going by before he felt those familiar hands hold him gently, securely.

"Oh, Brian...," she choked, kissing his head. He didn't even flinch.

"Why didn't you come back?" he asked, unable to hold back his tears.

"I couldn't," she answered honestly. "But I was able to keep an eye on you from here."

He sniffed and pulled back a little to look around the room. It was, indeed, a security office, and a fairly high end one at that, decked out with all the works.

"I'm an artist now, but in my part time I take the night shift. They at least let me come back for that, probably 'cause Jackson and Lana are gone now," she chuckled softly. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you this time...."

Brain looked up at her, suddenly understanding. All that time they'd never been caught; never been reported. All those months and years that the camera had simply turned a blind eye to their antics. He thought it was simply negligence. Now he knew why.

"Thank you...," Brain whispered. "And it's... Brain now."

"I know," she smiled. “I still watch tv, ya' know. I just still remember you as my 'Brian'. I'm sorry, Brain."

He couldn't help but smile. All this time....

"Come with me?" Rachel asked him.

"Where?"

"Back to my place. I'll hide you. You can have the guest room, if you'd like."

A sharp knock at the door startled them both, and she quickly ran to her desk, Brain in her hands. She lifted him up and under the desk.

"There's a hidden panel in the roof! Get in it!" she whispered to him urgently.

He found it, albeit with a little difficulty. He pushed at a little area that looked as if it had been cut into... and down shifted a small cubby in which she kept an assortment of odd bits and bobs that were probably not supposed to be in her possession -- special looking keys and badges, among other things. He slipped into it, and Rachel pushed it closed before walking over to answer the door....

Another barrage of bangs thundered at the entrance as Rachel opened it, a hand on her hip as she held the door ajar, doing her best to look as ticked off as possible.

"Sheesh! Gimme a minute to finish pouring my tea! Gosh...."

Outside stood two gentlemen, both in lab coats, looking frantic.

"Have you seen a mouse?" one of them said. He was taller and appeared to be the leader. "White. Large cranium. He was with a companion."

Rachel shrugged.

"Is that what you guys have been looking for?"

"You haven't seen them on your cameras?" the second man asked, panting a little.

Rachel shook her head.

"No, I haven't seen anything."

The men exchanged glances.

"We'd better search the place, just to make sure," the leader said, and without further ado they barged in and began searching every nook, cranny, drawer, and trash can they could. They failed to find the hidden cubby, however. "Can we ask you to roll back the footage?"

"Sure, but you're not gonna find anything," Rachel shrugged again.

They did as permitted, scrutinizing every bit of film captured within the last ten minutes. Although they managed to catch one or two glimpses of the mice leaving the lab, as expected, they couldn't find hair no hide of them on any other roll. Behind their backs, Rachel smirked. Smart little guy. Even on the run, he'd purposely made sure not to walk in the path of the cameras.

After several more minutes of scrutiny, they finally gave up, heading for the door in a huff.

"Sorry for your time. Report to us if you find anything," said the leader.

"No problem," Rachel said, shutting the door with a snap behind them and sighing deeply. Yeah, right..., she thought.

Going back to her desk, she pushed open the hidden cubby. It lowered down and Brain immediately jumped into her hand, breathing rather heavily.

"Sorry, little one," Rachel apologized. I can imagine it's pretty stuffy in there...."

He gave her a look, albeit not a very harsh one. He had no reason to complain.

She raised her hand, allowing him to jump up onto her shoulder.

"They'll be back later to go over more footage," Rachel warned, sitting down at her desk and leaning back in her chair.

"I know," Brain said, licking at his paws and smoothing out his frazzled fur.

Rachel jumped a little and stared at him.

"Heh. I forgot you guys talk now...."

"Is that a problem...?" Brain asked, a little nervously.

Rachel smiled.

"Not at all."

She reached out a hand to scratch at a spot behind his ears.

"What are you...? Ohhhh-ho-ho-ho...," Brain melted, reeling a little at first before giving way to a goofy smile and a thumping foot as he pressed into the touch.

"Still got that little sensitive spot, huh?" Rachel chuckled, her scratches evolving into a head massage.

Brain practically fell off her shoulder, Rachel catching him in her hands and raising him up to eye level, the better to get a good look at him. He cleared his throat, embarrassed. How demoralizing.... But Rachel simply beamed at him.

"You know... I really missed you."

"I... wish I could say the same...," Brain confessed, shuffling a foot. He imagined he had thought of her often, as an infant, but over time the memories simply... faded.

Rachel didn't look upset, though.

"I understand. It's okay. I still love you."

"I...," Brain began, then stopped. No. He couldn't bring himself to say it. Even with Pinky he couldn't ever admit such a thing, and he loved Pinky most of all.

"You don't have to say it. I know you do in your heart," Rachel said, and she kissed him tenderly on the top of his head.

His ears flattened as she did it, and he almost immediately smoothed out the area where she'd kissed him, but he couldn't hide the blush tickling his cheeks and ears. Her behavior was cheesy as all get out, but privately he knew she was right. He did care, even if he'd never admit it.

Just then, something, or... someone, slipped underneath the door. A white-furred, lanky somebody.

"Pinky!!" Brain yelped.

Brain leapt off of Rachel in a flash, landing hard on the floor and limping a little as he ran into Pinky's outstretched arms.

"Brain!!" Pinky shouted right back. "Oh, I thought I'd never see you again!!"

He twirled him around in a circle or two before Brain became aware of what he was doing and promptly pushed himself out of Pinky's grasp, clearing his throat, once again embarrassed.

"Y-Yes, well.... I'm... glad you're safe, Pinky," Brain replied awkwardly, patting his companion on the head.

"Ohhh! Who's this, Brain?" Pinky asked, pointing up at Rachel, who still sat in her computer chair, smiling down at them both.

"Umm.... Pinky, this is Rachel. She's... an old friend."

"Nice to meet you, Pinky! I've heard a lot about you. Well, maybe not heard, but... I've seen you guys on the tv a lot!" Rachel said, beaming.

"You have?!" Pinky gasped, clasping two paws to his face in surprise. "Did you hear that, Brain? We're famous!!"

"Pinky, we've been famous many times, all of them never lasting as long as I'd like...," Brain recollected.

"Well, yes, Brain, but never to a friend!"

Rachel smiled and leaned forward a little.

"I have a proposition for you guys."

"For both of us? Is that legal, Brain?" Pinky whispered to his cage mate, looking concerned, to which Brain facepalmed.

"Proposition, Pinky, not proposal."

"Ohhhhhhhhh. Well, that's different then, isn't it?" Pinky said, nodding eagerly to Rachel.

"How would you guys like to come room at my place? Just for as long as you need until you can get off your feet."

Once again, Pinky gasped excitedly.

"Can we, Brain?!"

"Well...," Brain pondered, hesitating. The offer, though generous, made him feel rather... helpless and awkward, as if he was intruding.

"You're welcome to any of the food and stuff. I've got havarti," she smirked.

Pinky gasped again.

"Oh, please, please, please, please, pleeeeaaaaase, Brain?!?" Pinky pleaded again.

"You're... sure you wouldn't mind?" Brain asked. "I'd hate to intrude...."

"My house is yours," Rachel said genuinely. "And it comes with a pool table," she added, winking at Pinky.

Pinky was doing his utmost to contain a squeal, biting his lip and practically bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. Brain rolled his eyes.

"Oh, all right...," he relented.

"YAAAAAY!!" exclaimed Pinky, jumping into Rachel's outstretched hand, followed by Brain, as she lifted them up onto her shoulder.

"You'll have to hide in my backpack on the way to the car," she said. "The next guy is about to swap out with me."

And she pulled her backpack up from off the floor and plopped it onto the desk, opening it up. Pinky sprung off her shoulder as if it was a diving board, plunging into the depths of the backpack, which, by all accounts, wasn't very deep. Pinky didn't seem to mind, though. He had fun "swimming" around amongst the snacks, car keys, pencils, wallet, and little sketchpad all the same. Brain simply shook his head, unable to keep a smile off his face. What an idiot.

Rachel was as good as her word. They were given the guest bedroom, along with access to the rest of the house, food included. Provided they didn't draw too much attention to themselves, they were allowed to tinker and plan all they liked within the safety of the back room, and lie low they did, for Acme Labs was on the hunt for a good number of weeks before they gave up on finding them entirely.

Pinky was quite fond of the seemingly unlimited amount of cheese available in the fridge, along with the plethora of movies Rachel had at her disposal. He was often to be found in front of the television, and if he wasn't there he was by Brain's side almost constantly. Brain was most grateful for the space in which to concoct experiments and conjure up plans for world domination, although he had to improvise more often than not, seeing as he didn't have all of the lab's equipment at his beck and call anymore. It was something he sorely missed, but he couldn't say he minded the warm bed and good food that came with their new living quarters either. It was... nice.

Once in a blue moon (which ended up being once a month), Pinky would request Lady and the Tramp for movie night, not just because he liked it, but because of Brain's unusual reaction to it. He liked to watch him subconsciously lean up against Rachel as they sat next to her, eventually breaking down into a fit of silent tears as "La La Lu" danced around the room. Sometimes Rachel would pick him up, holding him close and massaging his head as he calmed against her chest. Oftentimes, Pinky would join them, cuddling up next to Brain as they nuzzled together in Rachel's warm hands.

"I love you, Brain," Pinky would mumble sweetly, giving him an extra squeeze.

"I love you, little one," whispered Rachel, petting him softly.

I love you, too, said Brain in his own little way, holding them both just a tiny bit tighter, a smile creeping its way up onto his face. It was nice, being loved....

~ I love you, too. ~

The End

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

The ending of this is meant to be sort of an alternate to Pinky, Elmyra, and the Brain. What if they'd ended up there after running away from Acme instead of at Elmyra's?

I didn’t realize until after writing this that it makes no sense for Rachel to be cool with Brain talking one minute, only to be surprised by it the next. It’s a glaring error on my part, but I left it in as a reminder to myself that I need to be more careful. Lol.

Technically, this whole thing is a self-insert, although the name of the girl is not my real name. It’s actually the cognomen of my very first rat. Ha-ha. But the personality of the character is me -- how I talk; act around animals; and most likely what I’d do if put into this situation. The exception is the chase scene. I don’t think I’d act that... panicked? Who knows, though....

This is kind of a way I show compassion for Brain, seeing as I cannot, of course, give him an actual hug. I love Brain more than any other fictional character I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching on screen. It’s not a romantic love or anything. Certainly not. It’s more... maternal. The desire to love and protect is strong. That combination of: individual with a tragic backstory + laboratory setting + main character who happens to be a mouse = the perfect concoction to turn my heart to mush. I owned rats for many years and have a great love for animals, and tend to get attached to certain fictional characters, so here you have the result. He’d be as averse as ever to physical affection, but if I could hold Brain in my hands, plant a kiss on his head, and tell him he’s loved. I would. Thank God for Pinky.

#fan fiction #pinky and the brain

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janeofcakes · 3 years ago

Text

Soulmates: How John Met Sherlock...Again Chapter 8

Hello, my friends! In keeping my word, I am posting tonight to try and stay on schedule after the two-week wait for the last chapter. You may also be pleased to know that this one is more like the usual length.

---

Sherlock has just picked up the dish of shepherd’s pie from off the oven shelf when his mobile sounds. He glances to his right pocket with a sharp look and a grumble. He can hear Olive in the loo just turning on the taps to wash up for dinner. Without ceremony, Sherlock lifts the dish quickly and all but throws it on the hot plates situated in the middle of the table. He has learned over time that shepherd’s pie should live on the table while they eat it rather than on the counter. Olive always wants seconds and sometimes thirds, so it is best to have it handy.

With the dish on the table, Sherlock turns back to the counter and tosses the oven mitts onto it while fishing for his mobile. It is a number he does not recognize so not Greg or Mycroft, thank god. That’s all he needs, another conversation with his brother. The birthday party only a few short days ago seems to have opened the floodgate and the meddling sod has phoned Sherlock every day since. An utterly pointless venture, except to annoy Sherlock as Mycroft repeats himself each time. He despises the exercise as much as Sherlock does, which is not completely lost on the detective. His brother obviously considers his words of the utmost importance. Of course, he always does, but this is different. His tone is all wrong and Sherlock cannot help wondering what Mycroft is so afraid of because it can be called nothing else. Pure, skillfully hidden fear. Anger stirs hot in Sherlock’s chest again. Does Mycroft honestly think he would do anything to endanger Olive or the life he has with her? Sherlock is happier than he has ever been and how on earth could having John Watson back in his life jeopardize that?

The mobile sounds once more, coupled with Olive’s voice shouting from the loo to see if he knows it is ringing.

“Yes. Thank you,” Sherlock calls and hastily hits accept before putting the device to his ear. The case had better not be tedious. “Sherlock Holmes.”

He hears a man clear his throat somewhat nervously on the other end and rolls his eyes. Missing spouse who is really having an affair, best friend won’t talk to him and he is worried the man has been kidnapped or… Sherlock’s grey-blue eyes pop open wide. He knows this man. It is there in the timbre of his voice. There is no mistaking it.

“Sherlock,” the voice is hesitant. “Hi.”

��John,” the detective breathes, dropping his left hand to the countertop for support. At that moment, Olive rushes into the room before he can say another word. She wooshes past him and plops down in her chair.

“Shepherd’s pie! I knew it,” she leans over the dish and takes a deep breath. “Oh, it smells so good!”

“Go ahead and start,” Sherlock tells her, covering the phone with his hand. “I’ll be done in a minute.”

“Ok,” Olive reaches for the serving spoon with a huge grin on her face. Sherlock’s lip curls up into a half smile as he pushes through the door into the sitting room and closes it behind.

“Are you having dinner?” John is saying. “I’m sorry. I should’ve picked a better time to call.”

“It’s fine,” Sherlock assures him, staring across the room to the skull on the mantle and the photograph of himself with John that sits next to it. “We were just getting started. It’s no trouble.”

“You’re sure?” John sounds uncertain, but relieved at the same time. “I could phone later.”

“John, it’s fine,” Sherlock repeats with an edge of tension in his voice he hopes John does not notice. He will only misinterpret it as irritation when that couldn’t be further from the truth. Sherlock is actually more concerned that John will talk himself out of the phone call and then never call again.

Guard your heart.

Mycroft’s words slam their way into Sherlock’s mind with all the power of a lorry. Clenching his teeth, he pushes them away in favor of listening to his friend.

“All right,” John replies, unaware of the detective’s inner struggle. “I ran into Greg and he gave me your new number. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Sherlock says easily. “I had to change it about a year ago.”

“Yeah, he mentioned that,” John sucks air in through his teeth with a cringe. “Nasty business.”

“It can be, yes,” Sherlock confirms, feeling a bit less edgy. “I should have given you the number myself since the girls are friends.”

“Right,” John agrees and Sherlock can tell he is wetting his lips, readying himself to say something momentous. Sherlock swallows, every synapsis in his brain firing as one thought fills his mind.

Please don’t say Olive and Gracie can be friends, but we should never see each other. I’ve just got you back. Don’t leave me again.

Sherlock slaps the thought down hurriedly, shoves it into an open door in his mind palace and locks it. What he feels right now is exactly what his ass of a brother was referring to when he cautioned him not to open his heart to John again. Sherlock lets out a mirthless huff. As if he ever closed his heart in the first place.

“I wanted to talk to you about that,” John begins. Sherlock can hear him shifting uncomfortably. “If you’re both free on Saturday and the offer to host a playdate still stands, I’d be happy to bring Gracie by. Or we can have it here if you want.”

Sherlock’s mouth drops open and he stares numbly at the mantle, not actually seeing any of the items resting upon it. That was certainly not what he expected John to say, but he’ll take it. Reach out and grab it with both hands, in fact.

“Sherlock?” John asks curiously and Sherlock snaps to attention, wondering how much time passed while he was in his stupor.

“Yes,” he says too quickly, too excitedly and eases back when he continues. “Yes, of course. We would love to have you over. Olive has an endless list of things she wants to show Gracie.”

“I think I’ve heard it,” John lets out a warm laugh.”More than once.”

“Would just after lunch work?” Sherlock asks, a smile slowly taking over his face. This is truly too good to be. “One o’clock?”

“Yeah, that’s perfect,” John answers pleasantly. “We’ll be there.”

“I look forward to it,” Sherlock tells him, “and I know Olive will be overjoyed.”

“Oh, yeah,” John chuckles. “If you hear a far away explosion in the next few minutes, don’t worry. It’ll just be Gracie finding out.”

Sherlock laughs heartily and so easily it nearly surprises him. It feels good to laugh with John again. Astonishingly good.

“We’ll see you in a couple of days then,” John says in what can only be described as fond. “Good night, Sherlock.”

“Good night, John,” Sherlock ends the call and stays where he is, just breathing in and out. His heart is full and its warmth is running through his entire body. He is glowing with the feel of it.

Guard your heart.

It is already too late and Sherlock cannot be bothered to care. Not in the slightest. With a skip in his step, he turns for the kitchen and strides in to tell Olive the new plans for Saturday.

***

John and Gracie had set off as soon as they finished washing up after lunch. The walk from their flat to Baker Street isn’t far at all, but the clouds and rain saw them away in a taxi. The ride was pleasant enough, Gracie telling John for the umpteenth time what she and Olive had planned. The girl didn’t stop once to take a breath and John couldn’t stop smiling. Unfortunately, things all changed as soon as he paid the cabbie and turned to face the old building that was once his home.

John stands agog as the cab pulls away. Everything is exactly the same. Speedy’s is as busy as ever, every window has the same curtains so far as John can tell, and the door is still dark and imposing over the short step up to it. An image of a younger Sherlock Holmes standing on it flashes before John’s eyes and he sees himself limp over to the detective to shake hands. John blinks and the memory is gone as quickly as it came.

Feeling a light tug on his hand, John looks down to Gracie as she fidgets and angles her head toward the door. John nods, squares his shoulders and marches up to the door. The name plates are just as he had left them. M. Hudson. S. Holmes. John stares at the names, frozen in time. A thousand memories come unbidden, but not the cases as one would expect. Moments in the flat when they were alone. Sherlock working on countless experiments, John finding body parts in the fridge, blogging, reading, eating breakfast together, that time Sherlock covered John’s hand with his own and John was sure he saw something in the detective’s eyes before he turned away. John sees every detail in his mind’s eye as each one drifts around him, stories from a past life coming back into focus.

“Dad,” Gracie’s voice whispers through the haze and John blinks himself back to the present, his face wet with raindrops. He turns his head away from the door to see his daughter watching him with a curious expression. “Aren’t you going to knock?”

“Erm, of course. Yes, I was just…” John trails off, thinking of all the times he had let himself in and trotted up the stairs after a shift at the surgery to find Sherlock playing his violin or bent over an experiment or good god, tolerating Mycroft and his patronizing smirks. John cocks his head in thought, a warm feeling spreading throughout his body. Sherlock really had refused his brother’s information for all these years. He could have known everything from day one, but chose to give John his privacy. No, that wasn’t the only reason. It was too painful. That’s what Sherlock had said in the park. John’s heart squeezes in his chest at the thought of causing his best friend’s pain.

“Dad,” Gracie repeats, her tone impatient and bordering on irritable. “Dad, it’s raining and I’m starting to get really wet.”

“Right. Yes,” John remarks, knocking on the door swiftly and efficiently.

They only wait a moment before the door swings open to reveal Martha Hudson in a light blue dress. Her hair has gone nearly entirely grey and a few more lines have found their way onto her face, but John would know her anywhere. Mrs. Hudson’s every feature brightens as soon as she lays eyes on John, a smile of genuine delight on her lips.

“Hello, John,” she greets warmly and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Hello, Mrs. Hudson,” John replies thickly, realizing only at that moment how much he had missed her.

“It’s wonderful to see you,” Mrs. Hudson tells him and then looks down at his daughter. “And this must be Gracie. Olive’s told me so much about you.”

“She has?” Gracie asks, her excitement oozing from every pore.

“Oh, yes, definitely,” Mrs. Hudson declares, stepping aside. “Come in, come in. She’s been waiting for you all morning. Why don’t you go right on up?”

Gracie’s awed eyes follow the woman’s gesture all the way up the seventeen steps and they all three hear a clatter from the top. There is a muffled voice shouting ‘They’re here! They’re here!’ and Olive’s thumping footsteps scamper across the floor above. She throws open the door to 221B and jumps out onto the landing. Both girls squeal and start on the stairs, meeting halfway in a rib-crushing hug.

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you’re finally here,” Olive gasps. “I’ve been waiting forever!”

“I know. I know!” Gracie’s voice is on the verge of a shout barely reigned in. The two girls separate and just look at each other, their bodies trembling with pure joy. Olive grabs Gracie’s hand and jumps up a step.

“Come on! You have to see our new experiment,” she darts up the stairs and Gracie follows right on her heels.

John and Mrs. Hudson watch them run and disappear into the flat above. John looks back at the older woman with an apologetic smile.

“I’d better get up after her,” he says with a quiet laugh. He turns and puts one foot on the first stair when a strong grip around his forearm stops him. He glances at her hand and then meets the kind, brown eyes of his former landlady. Mrs. Hudson’s expression is soft and wise as she silently studies the doctor. Enough time passes that John begins to wonder exactly what she sees, as well as what she’s looking for. After another long moment passes, the corners of her mouth turn up into a sweet smile and she gives his arm a squeeze.

“I’m glad you’re here, John,” she says tenderly. She glances up the stairs and nods. “He hasn’t stopped talking about this since you phoned. Cleaned the whole flat himself.”

“Himself?” John muses with raised browns. “Now that is something.”

They share a chuckle. Mrs. Hudson squeezes his arm again.

“He has changed so much, John,” she tells him in a motherly tone.

“So I’ve heard,” John replies with a touch of dismissiveness that she picks up on immediately.

“I’ll not have that tone, young man,” Mrs. Hudson chides sternly. “Not about my boy.”

“I’m hardly a young man,” John tries to reclaim the jovial mood, but gets nowhere.

“You went through so much before you left,” the older woman interrupts as if John said nothing. “No one could blame you, but he’s not the same man who did those things, who left you behind.”

“All right. Fine,” John mutters tersely, shifting his weight impatiently and glancing up the stairs before looking at her again. “What would you have me do? Just forget it all and pretend it never happened?”

“No,” Mrs. Hudson answers, her brow furrowed. “Just give him a chance. That’s all. You think you know him, but you don’t.”

John huffs a mirthless laugh and tilts his head back a fraction to look up at the ceiling, trying to hold his temper.

“You’ve seen him with Olive,” Mrs. Hudson continues on and John lowers his gaze to meet hers, already understanding. “Is that the man you knew?”

“No,” John concedes after a long pause. Sherlock hadn’t minded children and seemed to enjoy talking to them, but by his own admission it was only because they hadn’t learned enough to be as stupid as adults. What Sherlock has with Olive is genuine love and adoration, pure and simple. Even just that tells John his friend is very different these days.

John presses his lips together in a physical manifestation of tamping down his curiosity and all the questions rolling through his mind in a loop. Who is Jessie? Where did they meet? Are they married? John’s eyes widen, nerves on the rise and his heart in his throat. He fights not to look up the stairs as every muscle grows tense. He will surely meet Jessie today as soon as he enters his former flat. Suddenly those seventeen steps look like hundreds.

“Are you going to stay at all?” Mrs. Hudson’s gentle voice breaks the spell of his slight panic, bringing him back to where he stands at the bottom of the stairs.

“What? No,” John answers quickly, feeling flustered and trying not to show it. Judging by Mrs. Hudson’s empathetic smile, he has failed miserably. “I mean, I hadn’t planned on it. I have some errands.”

John had, in fact, thought he might stay for a bit and suggest tea if Sherlock did not. It seemed like the best way to assess the possibility of renewing their friendship. Now the idea of Jessie being there has John striking it from the schedule. He and Sherlock have so much history and not all of it is good. Surely Sherlock must have told Jessie enough that she will want to keep him as far from the detective as possible. Lestrade had said Sherlock was a shell of his former self until Jessie came into his life. Why would she let John hurt him again when she could protect him?

“Of course, dear. I understand,” Mrs. Hudson finally releases John’s arm, “but maybe just for tea? He’s honestly just as excited as Olive, though he’d never admit it.”

“Yeah,” John’s voice is light and he exhales a breath he had not realized he was holding. He can’t believe the words are passing through his lips even as he says, “Sure. It’ll be good to talk for a bit. I...have missed him.”

John surprises himself with the admission. He might have known Mrs. Hudson would get the truth out of him one way or another. The clever woman smiles, pats his arm and heads for her own flat.

“Stop by when you and Gracie are on your way out,” she disappears into the doorway and then peeks around the frame with only one hand and her head in John’s line of vision. “I have biscuits for you.”

John laughs quietly at her teasing voice and saucy grin.

“I could never refuse you anything, Mrs. Hudson. You know that,” he remarks with an answering grin.

“Oh, I know, dear,” comes Mrs. Hudson’s sly tone as she disappears again.

Left alone, John turns his attention to the stairs, his eyes following them all the way up to the landing. He exhales deeply, steeling himself for what lies beyond.

“Come on then, Watson,” he mumbles to himself, taking the first stair. “Once more into the breach.”

When John reaches the landing and walks through the open door to 221B, his normal pace slows abruptly.The flat is bright and cheerful in a way it certainly never was when he lived here. The skull is still on the mantle and Sherlock’s desk in the corner of the sitting room. There is a different telly, but it’s in the same place. All of the furniture and area rugs are new, except for Sherlock’s favorite leather chair and…

John stops. Everything stops. He doesn’t even hear Gracie and Olive’s giggles. Something in John’s chest that he had locked up tightly breaks open, spreading warmth and a comforting sort of tingle through his body. His lips part and he mutters quietly to himself in wonder.

“Oh, John,” Sherlock’s voice startles him out of his reverie and he turns to see the detective entering from the kitchen with the girls fast on his heels. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming up.”

The detective’s appearance and gait betray nothing, but his eyes sparkle like the night sky. It is dazzling. John closes his mouth and blinks. Wetting his lips, he shoots for casual.

“No, sorry. I was having a word with Mrs. Hudson,” John says, knowing he isn’t quite pulling it off.

“Or she had a word with you,” Sherlock counters with a playful smirk and something in John’s chest pops. Ten years is a long time to wait for that face. John didn’t even know he had been waiting and hoping until the exact moment he saw it. His mind is awash with memories once again, of stolen glances and brushing fingers never spoken of, but always noticed.

“Dad! Dad, I just got the full tour!” Gracie hoots at her stunned father. “This place is great and there’s even a cool experiment in the kitchen.”

“I still need to show you my room,” Olive declares, her whole face the very pinnacle of happiness.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Gracie chants, jumping up and down. “I want to see it all!”

“Gracie,” John scolds, even as they run for the stairs to the second level, “be courteous, please.”

“Ok, Dad,” his daughter calls back in the voice she uses when she isn’t paying attention. John sighs and turns to see Sherlock’s amused smile.

“She’s fine,” the detective waves a hand dismissively and then sobers as a thought occurs. “I assure you that the flat is quite safe. The experiment we’re conducting contains no harmful materials.”

“I know,” John replies with a shrug. “You’d never allow anything that might be dangerous.”

Sherlock’s lips curve up, but he makes no other acknowledgement. John finds himself at a loss for words. He has so many questions that he should let Sherlock answer himself, but he can’t just start blurting them out with the girls up in his old room where they could burst in at any moment. Sherlock looks as though he is about to speak, but John beats him to it, suddenly compelled to break the silence.

“She’s beautiful, Sherlock, really. She looks just like you,” John almost whispers, not caring at all that he essentially just said the same about Sherlock.

“Thank you,” Sherlock murmurs, somewhat taken aback. He regroups swiftly and gestures toward the kitchen. John’s eyes follow, his mind convinced Jessie will be standing in the doorway awaiting an introduction, but he sees no one. “Do you have a moment to spare for tea?”

“Uh, I have some errands, but yeah,” John says as disappointment flashes through his mind only to be chased away just as quickly as it came. Sherlock offered him tea. John didn’t even have to hint around it as he had planned in the cab. Mrs. Hudson was right. The detective is willing to open the door again. “I’d like that.”

“Good. That’s good,” Sherlock perks up. “Have a seat and I’ll bring it out.”

“No need to be so formal,” John replies, walking in the direction of the detective and the kitchen door behind him. “Let’s just do it in the kitchen. I don’t mind.”

Sherlock’s lip curls and he steps aside, stretching his arm toward the door.

“Be my guest,” he says knowingly and follows as John walks by.

Ten minutes later and the two men are sitting at the small kitchen table, mugs of steaming tea in hand. John opted for mugs and Sherlock had even remembered that John takes it with a splash of milk. John lets a quick breath out through his nose in place of a short laugh as he considers the man in front of him. Of course he remembers. He could probably tell from the way John tied his shoes or something.

“You’ve redone the kitchen,” John begins once they are settled. His smile grows when muffled giggles drift down from the floor above. John’s eyes look fondly upward and then back to Sherlock, who nods as he takes the mug from his lips and swallows.

“Four years ago, yes,” Sherlock fills in the blanks. “Minor explosion. Olive was not home.”

He says the last four words sternly, his face deadly serious and expecting a lecture, but John just rests his chin in his own hand and watches Sherlock with a contented gaze.

“I like it,” the doctor says simply.

“Thank you,” Sherlock clears his throat, thrown off by the unexpected response and John smiles behind his hand. “I’ll be sure to tell Olive. She was instrumental in its design.”

“You two work well together,” John says, racking his brain for some way to include Jessie without sounding like he’s being nosy.

“So do you and Gracie,” Sherlock offers sincerely and suddenly John wants to change the subject. He can tell Sherlock is going to apologize again for not knowing about Rosie and John really doesn’t want to have that conversation. He shifts in his seat and raises his own mug to his lips.

“So Greg and Mycroft?” John inquires before taking a drink. “I wouldn’t have predicted that one.”

“The last ten years have brought a good many surprises,” Sherlock responds with a chuckle. “Even my brother hadn’t anticipated that.”

“How did they even meet?” John asks, his curiosity getting the better of him.”Mycroft usually avoided everyone, especially police.”

“Olive’s first birthday party,” Sherlock says rather smugly. “I knew neither would refuse.”

“Sherlock Holmes,” John declares with an incredulous grin that makes the detective smile inquisitively, “you set them up. You’re a matchmaker.”

Without hesitation, they both burst out laughing and don’t stop for a good minute. It feels so good to laugh with his best friend again. His best friend. John hasn’t thought of Sherlock that way for years and yet, somehow he never stopped. It’s true to this day. Even with the other friends he has made, no matter how close, Sherlock has always been the best and closest one. Now that John and Gracie are back in London, maybe Sherlock could be again.

“Not so much,” Sherlock comments, his laughter devolving into giggles. John is so taken aback by the way Sherlock seems to be responding to his thoughts that the smile he wears freezes on his face and his eyes begin to widen in panic as John tries to remember what they were talking about.

“I mostly wanted them to meet because I was tired of Greg asking me about my ‘invisible brother’,” Sherlock sets John’s mind at ease as he continues speaking, “and don’t get me started on Mycroft’s thinly veiled insinuations.”

“So you just wanted them to stop bothering you,” John sums up, “and they ended up together instead?”

“They took their time about it too,” Sherlock tells him with disgust. “Three years I had to endure incessant conversation. ‘Should I ask him out, Sherlock? Is he even interested in that? What does he think of me? We had a really good time at dinner.’ And that was just Greg.”

“Mycroft,” John begins slowly, his voice flat. “Asked you. About Greg?”

“Oh god, it was detestable,” Sherlock all but moans and John has a hard time hiding a smile. The detective catches sight of it anyway and grumbles a low sound from deep in his chest. “I don’t do feelings.”

“Don’t you?” John counters instantly, not believing the man’s snarl for a minute. Sherlock meets John’s steady gaze and his expression softens as unspoken understanding passes between them. Sherlock presses his lips together and suddenly looks younger, a touch vulnerable. John sees the man who looked at him the same way all those years ago on their first case when John said he didn’t have to use his imagination to know what he would say when about to die.

“I have limits,” Sherlock snarks, pulling John from the past. The detective schools his face to match the topic again and reaches for a biscuit. “My brother’s emotional awakening extends far beyond them, I assure you.”

“I believe it,” John smirks as he takes a drink.

“I fail to see the humor in this, John,” Sherlock glowers, but there is no heat in it and his lips turn up the longer he looks at John. Unable to stop himself from imagining Sherlock rolling his eyes and covering his ears as Mycroft waxes poetic about Greg, John descends into giggles. Sherlock gives him a withering look, but the corners of his mouth begin turning up of their own accord again and his own giggles soon join John’s. A minute later both men are laughing outright. John wipes at his eyes as the snorts begin to fade.

“I didn’t even realize Greg was gay,” he says absently.

Sherlock’s chuckles stop abruptly and John looks at him apprehensively, knowing his mistake immediately and kicking himself.

“He isn’t,” the detective tells him sharply. “He’s bisexual.”

“Right,” John swallows thickly, cursing himself for being such an idiot.

A moment of awkward silence passes while Sherlock sips from his mug and John looks down at his own, contemplating what to say. Coming up with nothing, he reaches for the biscuits with a silent inquiry on his face and Sherlock waves a hand in answer. John plucks one up and pops it in his mouth.

“Mm,” John hums with enthusiasm. “Mrs. Hudson is still an expert.”

“Actually, Olive and I made them,” Sherlock corrects and then says without thinking: “It’s Jessie’s recipe.”

He stops abruptly, mouth still open and fixes a penetrating but uneasy gaze on John. The doctor stares back. This is exactly the topic he is most curious about and the focus of nearly all his questions, but he suddenly doesn’t want to talk about it. He looks into those grey-blue eyes, deep and full of emotion, and he can’t. He can’t ask, can’t know. Not right now.

“John…” Sherlock starts in. John knows what he is going to say and he can’t bear it.

“Oh, god,” John interrupts, looking at his watch. “It’s been an hour. I really have to do those errands.”

He all but leaps out of his seat and bolts for the kitchen door, pausing only a moment to look back at his speechless friend. Sherlock has risen as well, but stands in place.

“Do you need any help?” John gestures to the table. “I can wash up.”

“No, it’s fine,” Sherlock’s voice is uncertain as though he has done something wrong and John’s chest squeezes painfully.

“All right. Ok,” John’s own voice is full of tension. He doesn’t even sound like himself. He fists his hands at his sides for lack of anything else to do with them. “I’ll be back at...four? Four thirty?”

“Four thirty is fine,” Sherlock replies, sounding more resigned now. “I’ll make sure they have a healthy snack in a bit.”

Feeling like a complete idiot, John mutters his thanks and rushes from the flat without another word.

***

When John returns, it is nearly five o’clock. Tesco had been a madhouse and at least one person in every aisle was intolerable. He had texted Sherlock around four fifteen to say he would be a little late and received a response of ‘no problem’ almost immediately. Marching up the stairs to the flat, he still feels a bit guilty. Mrs. Hudson let him in the building and then rushed back to her flat to check on a cake in the oven. Small mercies, not making the walk of shame back up to 221B under her watchful eyes.

John turns to the door to Sherlock’s flat when he reaches the landing and knocks with the hand carrying only one light-weight bag. He will give it to Gracie for the trip home so he has only the two heavier ones to contend with. He hears footsteps nearing the door soon enough and Sherlock looks at him a bit oddly after opening it. His grey-blue eyes clearly ask why John didn’t just walk in, but then shift in recognition as if reminding himself that John is a guest rather than a resident.

The detective steps aside and directs John to place his bags on a bench near the door. John smiles to himself when he sees the line of eight year old shoes next to three pairs of Sherlock’s posh shoes. He still wears it when he turns around to follow Sherlock into the sitting room. John stops next to the couch while Sherlock goes to the bottom of the stairs.

“Olive, Gracie,” Sherlock calls. “John is here.”

“Ok,” his daughter replies.

Sherlock turns back to John and begins approaching the couch.

“They’ll just be a minute. I asked them to clean up a bit once you got here,” Sherlock explains and then gestures to the furniture. “Please, have a seat.”

“Ta,” John says automatically and sits on the couch, leaving room for Sherlock. John’s stomach flips when the detective sits next to him. His palms are sweaty and his pulse steps up its pace, but John tries not to show it. He’s being ridiculous.

“I hope she behaved herself,” John comments with a quiet laugh, resisting the temptation to wipe his hands on his jeans.

“She was wonderful,” Sherlock answers with an expression that says John had nothing to worry. “They kept themselves busy all afternoon. I only saw them at snack time and then they were right back at it. They get along so well.”

“Good. That’s good,” John says a little stiffly. What is wrong with him? He is tense and apprehensive and has no reason to be. Just because he ran from his friend as fast as he could when he left a few hours earlier doesn’t mean he should be uncomfortable now. Sherlock probably thought nothing of it. John sighs internally, wanting to roll his eyes. That is the single stupidest thought to pass through his mind all day.

“John,” Sherlock’s silky voice draws John’s attention, as always.

“Hm?” he hums, looking at his friend and trying not to give away every thought in his head with just one glance.

“We have a lot to talk about,” Sherlock tells him softly. John’s brows arch toward his hairline and his lips part in mild surprise. He is not entirely sure what Sherlock is referring to, but it can’t be what John thinks he means, what John increasingly wants it to mean.

“The girls have grown quite close in only a short time,” the detective continues. “They’re already planning a sleepover.”

“Oh,” John releases the breath he had been holding. He had not anticipated that, but should have. He nods in understanding, feeling both relieved and disappointed in equal measure. “I should’ve known they’d make that leap right out the gate.”

“Indeed,” Sherlock wets his lips, drawing John’s eyes and damn it if he can’t drag the traitorous little bastards away from that cupid’s bow. John is sure Sherlock notices, but he spares John the embarrassment of saying anything. “John, are you free for dinner next Saturday evening?”

“What?” John stumbles over the word like an idiot. He can’t have heard that right. Dinner? With Sherlock? With him? Then it dawns on him. Sherlock wants to introduce him to Jessie over dinner where there won’t be interruptions significant enough to pull them away. “Yeah. I don’t have plans. It’ll be easy enough to have Candace watch Gracie for the night.”

“Good,” Sherlock’s lips quirk up. “I’m glad. I...I have a lot to tell you.”

Before John can reply or even put much thought into the implications of that sentence, Gracie and Olive clatter down the stairs and bound into the room. The young blonde is at John’s side in seconds, hugging him and bubbling over about all she has to tell him.

Surrounded by constant chatter, John and Sherlock rise and all four walk to the door where Gracie pulls on her coat and shoes. Both she and John thank Sherlock and Olive for everything and then make their way down to Mrs. Hudson. She meets them in the foyer with a tin of biscuits, which they put in Gracie’s grocery bag. Thanking her as they head out the door, Mrs. Hudson waves goodbye with promises to see them again as though there was never any doubt of their return.

Once the door to the building is closed and John and Gracie are on the pavement, a cab appears seemingly from nowhere. John eyes the driver suspiciously for a moment, wondering if he is really one of Mycroft’s lackeys before dismissing the notion. He opens the door with the hand holding the lighter of his two bags and piles in with his daughter. John gives their address to the man and sits back in his seat just in time to hear his mobile ping with a text.

7 o’clock?

John can’t help the smile that blooms on his face as he types an affirmative response.

“What does that mean?” Gracie asks, reading over his shoulder. John looks down at her curious face as he pockets the mobile.

“Olive’s dad and I are going to meet for dinner next Saturday,” John tells her. “So that means Candace will stay over and put you to bed.”

“Yay!” Gracie exclaims. “She promised to play Cluedo the next time she stays over.”

“Well, I hope the two of you discover it was the doctor in the lounge with the lead pipe before it’s too late,” John jokes, wrapping his arm around his little girl and pulling her close.

“Dad,” Gracie laughs with an eye roll and hugs him.

The cab ride home is not long at all and the Watsons joke with one another all the way to their doorstep.

---

A new chapter coming with promises of dinner, Jane, and you make us wait? Gah! I may not be torturing you with the angst of my other works, but I hope to still have to on the edge of your seats. Thank you, thank you one and all for your support and love. Love, Jane

@johnlock-rocks

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock loves john #sherlock fanfic #john watson #johnwatson #johnlock #Johnlock fanfic #John loves Sherlock #Mystrade

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darkhymns-fic · 3 years ago

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Of Firsts and Seconds and Thirds

They shared their first kiss underneath the shade of a church, their second at the top of a windy mountain, their third in the quiet solitude of a dwarf's home.

But how many more until the guilt finally leaves?

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel Rating: T Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: For Colloyd Week, Day 3: First Kiss / Confession! Not much to say about this except that I've already written too many versions of their first kisses so I struggled with this one for a bit... Hopefully, it reads okay! Slightly higher rating because I wanted to be self-indulgent.

They shared their first kiss underneath a crooked awning of the temple, situated to the side where half of it was covered by the mountain’s shade, frayed banners picked up by the wind.

It was further away from the steep stairs that was overgrown with grass stalks, with moss that climbed in-between the cracks, making it far too easy to slip. And of course, Colette had done so when she left for her church lessons, only saved from a complete fall by Lloyd’s reflexes, even as his own boots almost sent them tumbling across the top steps. Only fifteen, but his own motions at least held more surety, his arms holding her up high.

Colette had scraped her knee, biting her lip to keep out a small whine from the sharp sting. Lloyd resumed the climb up the stairs, feeling quick relief when they arrived at the top and there were no nosy priests in sight, only the cool shadows over them. “How do you go up this every day without falling?” he asked, his smile sneaking through. “Good thing I came to walk with you.”

“I don’t usually slip here,” she had said. “Not unless…” And it was soft and quiet, her words traveling just underneath his ear as he carried her. The shade was comfortable, and he had only meant to set her down for a moment before finding his lips brushing against her own. Her hair tickled his forehead, and her hands reached to wrap around his shoulders, the way they always did whenever he’d swing her up in his arms as he helped her get on top of Noishe to ride.

The shade held them close, even as he felt a sliver of the sun rise to meet his neck. His hands moved to grip her waist – to keep her steady? Or himself? – before she stepped away.

“S-Sorry,” she said, looking away. Behind her was another entrance to the temple, a place where the candles hadn’t been lit inside, where no windows had been placed, the hallway dark. “Sorry, thank you. I mean… thank you for carrying me!”

Her voice was full of guilt. It made no sense to him. And yet she smiled all the same.

He was too late to say anything before she rushed inside the temple, her scrape forgotten, her hair moving as quick as the waves bathed in sunlight. Lloyd thought about following her, but he didn’t know the way inside the temple. That and the priests always turned him away, always made him feel so badly for wanting the Chosen to come outside with him to walk alongside the shore.

“What’s with you?” Genis had asked once Lloyd came back to the schoolhouse. “Colette rejected you coming along this time?” The boy had meant it as a joke, already laughing in his seat. But even he noticed the somber look in Lloyd’s face, how he collapsed into his chair.

“Uh huh…” was all he would say, tucking his head against his folded arms on the desk. The lesson conducting ahead of him was nothing but white noise as he went over the kiss again and again. He could only remember the feel of her hands on his shoulders, and how closely she had brought him in.

They shared their second kiss in Hima, after Colette asked him to follow her to the top of the cliff.

Hima was such a small village, smaller even then Iselia, with only its inn clearly seen from the entrance, while other structures and homes were placed at lower levels of the mountain. Lloyd felt the wind tug at his coat the higher he climbed, shivering and noticing through every step how Colette didn’t flinch at each gust at all.

Her broken necklace still in his pocket, he watched as she reached for his hand. He had taken off his gloves, wanting to understand her as easily as he could. “Can I…ask a…favor?” Lloyd blinked as he read aloud, raising his eyes to her. “What is it?”

At times, he thought he’d hear something from her – or maybe it was just wishful thinking. But the way she smiled reminded him of her laughter, the quick and playful comments she’d make about him, all of it uplifting and warm. Her fingers curled inside his palm, and when she traced them next, it was, at first, just to follow the lines across his hand, until…

Can you forgive me for hurting you?

Maybe, perhaps, he should have denied it outright. But her words brought a quick flash of certain things that stung his heart; her letter in his hands, the brush of her fingers when she took the coffee from him and smiled all the while, the shade of the mountain as she leaned towards him.

Lloyd was too late to hide it, and Colette bit her lip, tracing in his hand once more. That’s selfish of me.

“Wait, no, it’s not.” Lloyd gripped her hands, but lightly, because he still wanted to hear her words. “That’s not fair to you… after everything you’ve gone through.”

Colette smiled and it was painful in its shape, in the way it was so close to him. Her fingers again in his palm, their touch feather-light. And because it was so light, he scrunched his forehead as he focused on it, the constant wind on the mountaintop forever trying to distract him with its pull on his clothes, with its sound in his ears.

“I’ll just…k…keep… Agh, sorry it’s hard now…” Even when Colette finished writing, he tried to remember the shapes she made, painting herself into his touch. “Keep…hurting…you…”

He paused. Colette lowered her face just a bit, yet he could hear the cadence of her breathing. “I don’t really understand..”

When she leaned in to kiss him for a second time, was it really that bad to be selfish, to ask something from another so carefully, both hope and fear inside of you all at once?

Her lips were gentle, fitting over his, and maybe Lloyd was more clumsy, more self-conscious than last time, but her hair still tickled him. He might have kissed her for the rest of the night if the cold didn’t keep trying to freeze his hands.

“Colette…” he whispered, letting go for just a moment. Only later would he feel the guilt, when he realized she wasn’t able to feel it, any of it, along with the biting wind surrounding them. How was that even fair at all?

But she smiled again, hands gripping his own to lead them back down the mountain to the others.

Even then, she gave him back a piece of something he had felt missing since that summer day, with the banner of the temple fluttering next to them. She had chosen that, and he couldn’t bring himself to deny her that one freedom left to her.

They shared their third kiss at Altessa’s, the night sky numerous with stars, and his present held lightly between her fingers.

“Colette?” Lloyd called out from the front door, having found her bed empty, and the snores of Genis much too overpowering. “You’re still up?”

The old fear of the angelic sickness came back, but he saw her try to hide a yawn that didn’t look forced. She sat on a nearby wooden bench, boots making indents in the dirt. “I’m okay,” she said, and he was only half-convinced, her smile just barely seen through the moonlight. “I can sleep, I just don’t know if I want to yet.”

Maybe that should have been enough, along with the way she kept flicking her gaze to him when he went to sit beside her, then back to the skies. On nights like these, she would trace the patterns of the stars with him, and in Tethe’alla, he could already tell such patterns here were different. They’d have to start all over again, but he didn’t mind, just as he didn’t mind being out in the late night, as long as he could be with her.

The path to Altessa’s house was plain, and only to the side could he see the storage of the dwarf placed near the wall of his home, in wooden crates and clay pots. “You know, I wonder if this is how dad used to live…” he said absently. “Though he said his home was more underground.”

“Do you think he still has it? His old home, I mean?” Colette’s eyes sparkled at the idea, pulling out a grin from him. “Maybe we can ask to go visit it!”

“We could! But it probably has low ceilings… We’d be hitting our heads the entire time.”

“Then can you protect my head with yours? Genis always says you have the toughest head around!”

“Heh, well, I am tough… Hey, wait, I don’t think that’s a compliment!”

When she laughed, it was radiant almost. A sound that wasn’t filtered or dimmed, that seemed to shine all the brighter when she reached to take his hand. Her thumb brushed over his Exsphere, sending a warm tingle through him, and it made him think, made him want on that word, on selfishness.

Yet as Lloyd debated with himself, Colette had shifted close, leaning in to kiss his cheek. Soft. Sudden. I’ve missed this.

He knew it had been an instinctive thing from her. For it was just the moment her lips left his cheek did he see the change in her eyes. She held her hand loosely, unsure. “I’m…sorry? That just happened…I…”

It took everything in him to not sigh then.

“You’re so stupid,” he whispered, gripping her hand, bringing her close. And she didn’t turn away, even as he kissed her – but over her forehead, her skin warm over his lips. The wind brought in the scent of her hair, strands of them brushing his cheeks. “Why wouldn’t I want that from you?”

Colette opened her mouth, then closed it, one hand reaching for the necklace and pulling on it gently, the chain crinkling and turning in on itself. “I just… I just keep making mistakes with this…” A quick blink, and she looked to the floor. “I’m taught to not want it… but I did and so that’s why I ran and… and then I was selfish and took your kiss again when I couldn’t feel anything… and I really wanted to…”

Lloyd saw how the moonlight fell down her cheek – and so he followed it, kissing her skin there and hearing her take in a breath. Lingering, all as his hands moved to encircle her. “But you can feel that now, can’t you?”

Colette closed her eyes, leaning her head against his chest. Her lips rested against the base of his throat. “I can feel…too much…” But she didn’t sound distressed – she sounded eager, excited, and yet also content as she pressed against him.

Was there something else in him to then want to kiss her fully, to give her all that had been taken away? Maybe his own selfishness too, but he waited. He just embraced her instead, giving small kisses to her forehead, her cheek, and even the tip of her nose. It made her giggle, eliciting a smile from him. Only later, after more tickling kisses did he kiss her lips, and only when she raised her head to his.

He hoped she would never have to feel that old guilt again.

They shared their fourth kiss, their fifth, sixth, seventh – all continuing as if on a chain that Lloyd was keen to follow. In Flanoir, for why wouldn’t be drawn to kissing her the moment she gently placed the figurine in his hands, her fingers shaking through not only the cold? He saw the fine edges of snowflakes as he leaned in, caught on her eyelashes, drifting back into the air as she lowered them halfway.

In Heimdall, as the moon rose, as fireflies danced around them, promising her a world that they’d never have to be alone again. It was easier to kiss now, to fall into the rhythms of her laughter after each press of his lips against skin.

In Iselia, as he lifted her onto Noishe with him, ready to set off down the road. The kiss she gave him had been so second-nature, that he rarely even thought on it even happening. Just the warmth that was left with him, and the urge to kiss her in return, so that this time, he could fully remember it.

And it was only in their seventh kiss did he finally realize he had never told her that he loved her.

It happened after they had set up camping for the night, the travels of the day weighing down his arms. He could barely set up their sleeping blankets, sighing out the exhaustion from his mouth. Colette had gone to put away their packs safely, and so he was left to this one simple task that he had done dozens of times, all to the crackles of their campfire.

His first thought was that it was just too hot, that the summer heat was quickly burning up what little energy he had, leaving him to sink. So how could he fix that? “I’ll just take this off,” he mumbled and nodded to himself. Hands that could barely roll out the blankets couldn’t unbutton that much better, but eventually he succeeded, throwing the jacket onto the grass, with his undershirt following quick.

A moment of pure relief as he stretched and felt the cool air at his bare back – and then heard the soft giggle just to his side.

“If you were hot, we could have stayed at an inn.”

Not like he didn’t expect Colette to be here, but maybe the heat really had been getting to him. He laughed nervously, knowing that this wasn’t any different to being dressed like he was going to the beach. Except this wasn’t a beach, and no body of water that size was anywhere near them. He turned to see her standing just a few feet away, arms behind her back, a great smile on her face. “The nearest inn is way too far. And I’m just a little bit hot!”

“Oh, I see.” Colette nodded, and knelt next to him to help unroll the last remaining wrinkle of the blankets. “Then maybe we should have camped at Flanoir.”

“But then it would have been way too cold…” he weakly argued.

“Hm, couldn’t we warm each other up?” she asked him, and there was something eager in the way she said it. He looked at her, at how her knees touched his, eyes on his face – with the occasional flicker at his chest. “Kisses are warm.”

Different, because even as he felt the flush on his cheeks, there was a turn in Colette’s voice that was more confident. The way she didn’t really take her eyes away to the side, how her smile never wavered. Lloyd scratched the back of his head. “Are you just asking me to kiss you now?”

“Hm…” Colette visibly pondered, then moved closer to him, so close that her hair tickled along the front of his torso. “Yeah. I want you to kiss me.”

The wind rushed against him, making him shiver just a bit. “Ah… shouldn’t I dress first?”

Colette tilted her head slightly. “Do you need to?”

He took that as a gentle way of Colette saying, Please not yet.

With a smile, he shifted closer. “Okay,” he said, relaxing, making sure that this was truly okay as he leaned forward. Her lips met his, no longer as hesitant as their other ones, falling quicker into the rhythm as if it were a dance. He felt Colette move in closer, a hand pressing just against the center of his chest.

The touch was nearly electric, making him gasp a little into her mouth before pulling away softly. “Sorry, having…trouble breathing a little.” From the hard day of traveling they had, or because of her touch? It was difficult to say.

Colette hummed thoughtfully, the same hand on his chest trailing up towards his collarbone. “Would it be better if I kissed you?”

In their first kiss, she had reached for him. Maybe only just now did he realize something, but he simply nodded, feeling the tingle on his skin where she touched. “I wouldn’t complain,” he teased.

But as the campfire slowly dwindled, as he expected her lips to find his own again – she instead leaned somewhere else. Mouth pressed against the center of his chest, right at the small dip where a pendant would usually find its place. Lloyd shuddered, a small sound leaving his throat, but didn’t pull away.

It was true that he wasn’t going to complain, but he was still surprised. “T-That tickled!” he could only say, wincing at his own words.

Colette raised her eyes to him. “So, would it be better here?” she asked, and then lifted herself up on her knees to reach him – placing her mouth against his neck, a soft kiss that made his pulse flutter just against it.

“C-Colette..” he whispered, one hand gripping her own, entwining their fingers. “Colette… I’m already really warm..”

“Oh… that’s right.” Colette giggled against his throat, her smile felt on his skin. He surrendered to her kisses over his chin, then back down, just to the top of his chest. “So it’s too much?”

Lloyd shook his head, arms embracing her, clinging tight. “I love you,” he said, the words finally imprinting in his head. How long had they done this, had they traveled, and he had never even said such words to her? “I love you so much, Colette.”

Her lips kissed his earlobe, then his cheek, until she reached his mouth, her hands tracing patterns against his bare chest. Just a few months back, she would have been too shy for any of this at all. “I love you…too… Ah!”

He wasn’t sure how she fell, but she did right on top of him, his arms instinctively clutching at her coat to keep her near. Laughter spilled from both, his back fully hitting the dry, slightly pointy grass instead of the soft sleeping blankets. “You dork!” he said, unable to stop laughing, unable to stop kissing her, his own lips traveling from her mouth to her neck. “Such a dork, I love you…”

“I…do too! Ah, it really does tickle though!”

Still, he thought back to that warm day at the temple, how hesitant and shy – but how she had kissed him first. Even from back then, she had always wanted to share it with him.

Worries and regrets can leave, little by little, and each kiss seemed to chase them away, replaced with something else. I love you, he thought, as her lips took his, knowing he would never get tired of such a thing, like the feel of the sun on his face, or the refreshing breeze from a nearby sea.

#tales of symphonia #lloyd irving #colette brunel #colloyd #colloydweek2021 #fanfiction #one shot

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bibliocratic · 4 years ago

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tread softly

S4 Canon Divergence + Mythological Creatures AU Mermaid!Sasha, Pheonix!Tim, Selkie!Martin

cws apply - see tags

Peter Lukas has always prided himself on the timing of his entrances.

He is not there, then he is. The ward slips colder, down into single digits. Martin gives a jerking shoulder-hunch motion when he notices his unexpected arrival, coupled with an intake of breath. No noise this time, no jumping, no explications of suddenness or surprise. Martin Blackwood takes well to both shock and silence with a delightful sufferance, and Peter is indulgently proud.

The lad is, as expected, by the Archivist’s bedside. Crone-backed, ringed with an satisfying corona of misery. It’s after visiting hours, but Martin likely hasn’t even realised that the gaze of the ward staff and orderlies has simply grazed past him when he came up, when he took his traditional post, when they do their rounds. Martin has not wanted to be noticed, so he won’t be.

Peter idly watches the machinery and tubes threaded though the Archivist like mechanical embroidery. This one seems eminently more worse for wear than Gertrude ever was. Stronger, though. Peter watches Elias’ chosen as he lies still and sedate for all he stalks the landscape of dreamers, and wonders if he might see the Eye’s favoured come to fruition in a way Gertrude never did.

All the more reason to talk to Martin, it appears.

“What do you want?” Martin says. Dulled, thick-throated. He’s wiping his face free from damp with his baggy jacket sleeves, glowering at Peter with a delayed annoyance, as if he’s interrupted some no doubt tender petition for waking. The antiseptic stench of the hospital worsens the tension in his bones.

He is perfect for their God. Peter’s so pleased the Archivist wasn’t so careless to have lost this assistant like he nearly lost both of the others. Elias told him that the Corruption had already sought to burrow into the debris of this lost soul, that Martin has taken the mantle of archivist well, while Beholding’s chosen was indisposed. And it is true that Martin’s gaze is more assessing than he would like. But Peter knows that Forsaken has long laced Martin’s lining with mist and dew-damp cold, filled his stomach with fog far longer than those petty chancers have tried to have him in their maw. That his God’s touch has been settling like thronging, subdued snow in place of Martin’s sealskin.

“I wanted to see if you’d thought about my offer,” Peter replies genially. Pushing his hands in his pockets, ignoring Martin’s radiating desire to be left alone.

Martin has. Peter doesn’t need Elias’ pretty little parlour tricks to know that Martin has likely thought about little else.

“I’ve been a bit busy.”

“Oh right!” Peter says after a moment’s pause. It visibly annoys Martin that it didn’t come to mind faster. “That spot of bother with the Flesh. All sorted now, I’m sure!”

“Why didn’t you do something to stop them?”

Peter crinkles his face in a deliberate confusion. Casting out his line.

“Why, what should I have done?”

Martin takes the bait with ease.

“It’s your job, isn’t it?” His voice pitches with accusation. His hands ball into fists, and he moves to standing, the chair complaining as it’s pushed back. “It’s your responsibility! You’re in charge now Elias is gone.”

“Thanks to you,” Peter replies smoothly. “And your companions seemed to do a good enough job. A few bruises here and there, a few near misses. Nothing they won’t heal from.”

Peter slides closer. Just a step. It makes his skin sing discordant at the proximity, but Martin stiffens, an anxious intake of air despite himself, and Peter knows he’s paying attention.

“I could ask you the same question,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

“Why didn’t you do something to stop them?” Peter doesn’t sound judgemental. He doesn’t have to, Martin will paint on layers of meaning without overdoing this particular nuance of his game. “It was very impressive, watching you all. They all held their own very well. Except you. You could argue I suppose, that it’s not the same. That you’re not like the mer or the firebird or the sphinx, no added little genetic extras, and you don’t get any boost from any old helpful Power like that police officer, or the angry one touched by the Slaughter. You’re just Martin. And that’s… that’s the problem, isn’t it? Just Martin. Nothing to offer in the fight, no way to protect them. Holding them back. They could have been hurt, and you wouldn’t have been able to do, well, anything at all.”

“I…” Martin says, and Peter takes another step.

“The Extinction is a pressing threat. There isn’t time for me to wait while you finish your grave-side widow routine. I need you to help me, and it would be only fair, in return, for me to help you.”

“Oh, what, you can fix me then?” Martin snaps.

“Not at all,” Peter says. Smiling, because he is so funny, with his rage sputtering in a fog that seeks to tamp it flameless, stumbling headlong and blinded into the conversational pitfalls Peter’s dug behind him. “No, no, I’m afraid you’re broken, Martin. I speak from experience when I say you’ll never grow your skin back.”

Martin freezes. He looks Peter up and down like he’s expecting to see something different, the scales fallen from his eyes, but this is the only skin Peter has worn for so long now, and he endures the slightly prickling gaze of Martin’s Eye-touched observation.

“You… You were – ?”

“A long time ago. Before the Lonely granted me a better shroud to cloak myself in. It is not a selfish God, Martin. It offers gifts, or payment, if you prefer that way of understanding it, to those who work in aid of its ends. Benefits that could protect your friends, should something as unfortunate as the Flesh’s assault occur again.”

“And what about Jon?”

“He’ll wake up. Or he won’t.” Peter replies cheerily. “Either way, you can’t do anything for any of them like this.”

Martin gives him a scowl. Peter lets it pass over him. He knows, before Martin even opens his mouth, that he’s won.

Sasha avoids the sea.

She does not know why. Its pull is no lesser through her absence. She has dreams of sinking and never coming up for air, and she does not know if it is serenity in the ceaseless drop or despairing surrender. She marks the high days and festivals of her people alone and unremarked upon, speaks to her landward kin infrequently and vaguely. She needs to be here, she tells herself harshly. She can’t go off when there’s so much to do, when she’s in the process of losing so much. One of her family cold and vanishing, one breathing through a machine, and one… he died, died properly, and although he came back purged of something poisonous, the shrapnel scarring of collapsed masonry on his skin and the reddest, warmest wings sprung from his back, this does not settle her terrors.

She cannot leave. Not when she could lose sight of her splintering shoal so easily. Not when she’s unsure the temptation to dive down and out, deeper, further away, wouldn’t ensnare her to cowardice.

She finds the first scales in the shower. It’s a myth that any water will have the skin of her legs go slick, then bumpy, fusing into one muscled tail with her scales folding outwards. She can have showers and baths without impact. It’s the sea, that is the essential component. The same for most deepwater kin. Not the sea, maybe, or exactly, but what it represents in the change. It’s something about floating out into endless space clad only in human skin and human lungs and trusting not to drown. The letting go of one form with the tide and permitting the waves to bring forth another.

Her scales are dimmed, like they’ve smudged. Their colour diminished.

It’s not a molt. Her people don’t. Tim does, normally annually. Before they travelled to Yarmouth, he’d been dropping feathers around the office almost continually with stress. Nesting, and growing in new and painful sections of wing, snapping with a yo-yoing temper.

Tim notices. Maybe because he’s the only one left. Basira is holed up somewhere of course, as is Melanie, but it’s not the same. They weren’t here before, they don’t have the context for how much their group is diminished, falling to pieces slowly like her own skin is.

They’ll be visiting Jon later. She hasn’t seen Martin in weeks.

Tim approaches slowly. Looks at the flakes of blue in her hand. Understand flowers gently in his eyes, and he reaches out and touches her arm, and she forgot the world could manifest in ways other than hurtful.

“You OK there, Sash?” Tim asks.

“I don’t know,” she replies. “I don’t… I just… When did it all go so wrong?”

“I dunno,” Tim repeats, and he doesn’t move away and she doesn’t want him to. “God, I – I don’t know, Sash.”

Jon’s clothes are dirt-clotted, ripped up by the grind of rock, and holding him tarnishes Tim’s feathers grey, smudges the pattern on his t-shirt into obscurity. His teeth are chattering, goosebumps bobbling up his arms and making the dark hairs up his arms stand on end. Tim suspects it’s more shock than cold.

Sasha brought him a glass of water, holding her palm under it because Jon’s long-fingered grip is so shaky it’s sloshing the water up the sides.

“Told you the rib was a shit idea, huh?” Tim says. Played as a joke and deliberately shorn of any accusation. He breathes in-and-out and Jon follows the rise and fall, and it benefits both of them. Tim’s getting better at control. He’s had to. His anger grows in like pinfeathers but so does his grief these days, a full plumage of emotions he is learning to deal with.

Jon coughs up something that could be agreement, but is mostly dirt and grave soil over Tim’s shirt.

You should have waited for us, Tim thinks but does not say because there would be too much teeth in it, and Jon’s skin is already whittling down to skeletal. We asked you not to go, we wanted a better plan, why didn’t you wait.

You could have died, down there in the dark, and we wouldn’t have even had a body to mourn, he does not say.

We love you, you idiot. We love you and even that wasn’t enough to stop you leaving, he does not say.

We’re already losing Martin, he does not say.

A room full of looping, chattering, overlapping tape recorders. Neither Tim nor Sasha stacked them, and Jon would not have thought to.

It should be a reassurance, that Martin’s been here.

God, Tim hopes he knows what he’s doing.

Sasha rubs at Jon’s back, helps him sip another small trickle. Tim’s wings, voluminous and unwieldy, knock over recorders in a clattering collapse as he scoops them around to shield them both. Against the balmy heat Tim’s throwing out, Jon’s shivers gradually subside.

“Daisy?” Jon murmurs. His teeth are grimy with soil.

“She’s with Basira,” Tim replies.

Sasha’s picked up the rib that’s dropped out of Jon’s clenched palm. Wiping the grime off it and staring at it without clear expression.

“Why, Jon?” she asks.

“I wanted to help,” Jon says. His words small, like he’s embarrassed that he even thought of it. “Even if it was one person. I wanted to be able to do something good for a change.”

“You could have died,” Tim says.

Jon’s horrible flat chuckle scrapes over his lips.

“I’m not sure I can anymore.”

“Yeah…” Tim replies subdued. He glances at the red daggers of his feathers and thinks he understands that.

“I wonder what it would take,” Jon says idly, slurring with exhaustion, and Tim grips him closer and hopes he never finds out.

Martin doesn’t react when Sasha sits down near him. The breeze, a vicious snagging chill tussles his hair, some wisps twisting into nothingness like smoke from an extinguished candle. She is still getting used to this Martin, or perhaps the Martin he never let others see. The toned-down stillness of him, the undisturbed waters of his expression. His skin not quite solid, the patches that have returned pale, sickly-pallored in the softening dim of moonlight. The rest of him is a coalition of fog, a hazy motion to his image like he’s wave-rocked, smoked out.

Long minutes pass. Sasha sits down cross-legged. The waves ripple up the stones that make up the strip of beach surrounding the loch, and they’re hard and uncomfortable under her.

“I can’t swim, you know,” Martin says finally. The sea is louder than he is, and he can make himself so quiet these days.

“No?”

Sasha keeps her tone light, inquisitive without intensity. Martin shakes his head, and his image lags, skipping disjointed, like his connection is poor.

More silence. Sasha doesn’t know what she should say, where Martin’s thoughts are at. She scratches behind the base of her gills, rubs at the dorsal fins sitting mostly flat under her sleep shirt.

“I didn’t live too far from the sea,” Martin continues. Looking at the wavering mirage of his hands without comment. She doesn’t even know if he recognises her presence. “We had Liverpool about an hour away. Even Blackpool, I guess. My primary school had a swimming club, where they’d pack them off to the big leisure centre on a coach afterschool. Kids’d get these little medals for managing like five metres, or ten, fifteen. But there was a small fee, and Mum said…” He snorts out a dismissive breath and his face twists, and neither of these actions suit him. “Doesn’t matter. I never went, and I never learnt, and that was that.”

“You could always come swimming with me?” Sasha proposes slowly. Lost in the swell of this conversation, why Martin’s talking about the sea, what this has to do with anything. She wishes he’d look at her.

Martin doesn’t answer immediately. He might not have even heard her.

“I told Peter, and he said that made it even better. That it was a such a – ” he says the word with a sneer, the words sharp-toothed in his mouth “ – gift, that I’d never even had the opportunity to know what I would miss, not even a memory to embellish or to sour. That there was so much that could root in absence. He said I should be grateful.”

“Peter Lukas said a lot of shit,” Sasha says.

She shuffles closer to him. Puts her hand on his knee.

“Whatever he told you was bollocks, you know that right?”

Martin blinks. After a moment, his hand joins over hers. His image grows denser, less likely to be stolen by the midnight air.

His eyes, fixed out on a horizon point in the slick dark of the loch, are still distant.

“I just wish I understood why she did it,” Martin murmurs.

“Who?”

“I did some research. After Elias… after I found out. I couldn’t have been the only person, and it’s rare enough but there are – help groups… you know, therapists that specialise in that kind of stuff. But I didn’t… I couldn’t face going to one. I thought that… knowing what was so wrong with me would make it easier, but it didn’t. All my life, I…. I was stupid enough to think it might be something I could fix. If – if I changed myself enough, if I said the right things, loved the right people, then I might… that someone could fix me. But it can't be fixed. That’s what all the leaflets said. That it was best to think of it like a permanent injury. Like having a stroke, or some sort of brain damage or something like that. Something irreparable.”

“Martin, sweetheart…” Sasha starts. She doesn’t understand. The flotsam of Martin’s speech grows erratic and he’s started shivering, and it’s no wonder, dressed in a t-shirt, pyjama trousers and some thick socks.

“Do you know much about selkies, Sash?” Martin powers on. Chattering teeth and goosebumps and it’s like he’s drawing something out of himself, some infection long done its damage. “Not many of them left, and they don’t usually venture landward like some of the other deepwater species. They mate for life apparently. Staunchly social communities, and some of them can’t… can’t cope, if they lose their group, or their partner. They take off their pelt, and just swim off to drown. A-and those help groups and therapists, those people who had theirs stolen, or destroyed… they’re, god, they’re all terminal. They last six months, maximum. Because it kills them, losing it. They waste away and they die. And here’s me…” Martin’s face twists again, and it’s bitter and angry and despairing all at once, “and I just get to keep going.”

“Selkies…?” Sasha says. “Why are you….”

She trails off in a gradually dawning horror.

“Martin?”

“She burnt it,” Martin says, his tone stringing higher now, distress sweeping in like a squall to break up the unnatural apathy in his voice. “I don’t think she knew what it would… I mean, I don’t know, maybe she did, maybe she wanted me gone just like dad, I don’t know, and I’ll never know because I can’t ask her why. I didn’t even… it was so long ago. I was sick and then I got worse and it was awful and I didn’t understand why I was so ill, why everything hurt just so much… and after, when I was better, Mum said it was appendicitis. I believed her. Course I did, why wouldn’t I. I didn’t know… not until Elias, and I’ll never know what I’ve lost, or why it didn’t kill me, maybe it was because I was so young, or because it’s only from one side of the family, I don’t – I don’t know! I’ll never know! It’s a whole part of me that she just… she just took a-a-and…”

Martin’s back bows like whalebone. He takes long shuddering breaths like his words are keelhauling across his lungs.

Sasha’s never heard of a selkie with only half their soul. She can’t imagine, what it would do to someone.

She moves in front of Martin and he moves forward against her like a wave crash. He’s taller and heavier than her, and the impact pushes her back momentarily before her arms catch him.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” she says, “You can do it, breathe.” She holds him so surely, and she always will. And he starts crying then, the first time since Jon was in hospital, and he won’t or can’t stop shivering, and it is horrible to hear every emotion inside him claw itself back from the brink.

She keeps telling him to breathe, and he keeps following that instruction through sniffling and sobbing and broken-voiced confusion, and she counts it as a small victory nonetheless.

Jon’s mouth cannot scream.

Tim’s in the next room, the kitchen, drying plates and bowls and cutlery, within shouting distance, and he’d be here in a moment – he’d help if only Jon could speak a word other than his unbidden, unwanted recitation.

Jon’s mouth doles out its terrible missive, and he doesn’t not feel like a person as Elias rolls out the triumphant red carpet of his plotting and scheming, the self-satisfied weave of his grand finale. And no, he’s not a person, not for a long time now; he’s a catalogue, a testimony, an archive, and he would never have chosen this.

His hands scrabble at his throat, and his eyes are blurred with tears, his vision obscured, but it does not seem to matter, for his skin ripples and sloshes like an inkwell and a hundred eyes swell and pop and inflate again like bubbles against his skin.

Someone else screams. And the multitude of Jon’s eyes are newborn, fractal-imaged, gummed up with a feast of far-reaching horror all witnessed by him, overseen and devoured in his sight, and it is hard to translate what his original set of open, weeping eyes see. There is motion. Commotion. There are apologies being spoken in his ears, fervent, petitionary, but he is hearing the rising insistent thrum of the summoning and it is as sickening as it is beautiful. Someone is holding a hand hard over his mouth, the grip painful and punishing but even then the words burble out through the cracks. Another hand clamps over his eyes, and he shrieks and thrashes as his words gather to a crescendo.

A hand tears the paper from his grip. There is an acrid whoosh of smoke. Jon drops like the rigging of a ship being torn down. The hands at his mouth and eyes lower quickly to loop around his waist, catch him and hold him up.

Jon sees Tim, wide-eyed and shimmering with terror even as his skin burns gold and his feathers shine and there are only sooty flakes left of Jonah’s statement, scattering down from his palms.

He thinks it’s Martin behind him. Jon folds further, all his weight pitching forward and Martin’s forced to come down with him as he retches the leftover words in his mouth; king of a ruined world, he vomits up with bile and ink, and it splashes with a disgusting slop over the living room floor.

Sasha’s partially webbed hands are holding back his hair as he hacks and gags, his lips stained black, his stomach heaving as he chokes on everything that comes up, his stomach roiling with an overwhelming nausea. Conduit of fear, he brings up, dribbling from his lips like paper pulp.

After a long while, it’s over. Sasha carries him to the bathroom, and helps him clean up, although Jon has little memory of it.

He wakes, feeling like a shipwreck, and Tim is there. Sat nearby, his head in his hands. His fingertips stained with ink and soot. He can hear Martin and Sasha talking in low tones nearby.

They're still here. Even now, he’s surprised that they haven’t left him.

And Jon has no words remaining, so his body betrays him with airless, silent tears, at all he could have wrought upon this world, at all the suffering he could have brought to their door to still be granted forgiveness for.

It is not the end. It is an interlude, a reprieve. In some ways a kindness, and in others, waiting is its own cruelty.

They’ve bought blankets to the beach in order to cushion the hardness of the stones rounded by tide and time. It’s the first time they’ve gotten Jon to come outside for more than a few minutes. The scratches up the column of his throat healing. His voice still damaged, scratchy and scraped from misuse.

They’ll have to be moving on soon. To make plans for whatever future they need to avoid.

She sits up, and stretches out from where she’s been lying against Tim’s thigh. Glances at Jon, barely four metres away on a separate towel. Grey-haired and tired-eyed. Martin’s holding his hand, the left one crinkled by burns, as they talk about something treasured for its meaningless. Despite everything, Jon’s face practises relearning its smiles, even as he touches tentative at the marks around his neck, the bruising at the edges of his mouth.

The tension has not faded from Tim’s shoulders. His plumage sharp and strange even now. Her own scales patchy and bare, whole sections that have not grown back.

She considers her battered but striving shoal, and wants to show them that their past is not all there will ever be. That there will be an after-this, whatever that looks like. She wishes they spoke her tongue, so she could gift them names, new names, for the things they have become, this things that they have survived, and all that has survived them.

“Martin!” she shouts over, a sudden inspiration seizing her. “Want to come in the water with me?”

Martin’s expression barrels through at least three iterations before it hovers between wary and uncomfortable.

“I – er… I might just be better off here, actually.”

“No pressure,” she tells him, and she means it, for all she remembers that he has never had the chance to know the sea as she has, to feel his whole weight held up by the water. “But I am a pretty spectacular swimming teacher. I promise I won’t let go.”

Martin, to his credit, thinks about it. Gnaws on his lip, stares away from her and at his knees. Next to her, she can feel Tim bite back an enthusiastic declaration of encouragement for fear of spooking him.

Martin stands gingerly, and she is so proud of him.

“I haven’t got a costume,” he says.

“Your boxers will be fine.”

“We want something pretty to look at, show us those legs, Martin!” Tim says. He times the tone playful, the perfect balance of joking and complementing, and it works, with Martin’s blushing and ‘shut it Tim’ distracting him from the enormity of his decision as he neatly folds up his jeans, and takes off his shoes and socks. Sasha peels off her long skirt, rolls down her tights. She dislikes shoes on principle, and rarely wears them.

The rocks dig into the soles of Martin’s feet as they waddle down to the shore, slow going and interspersed with wincing.

She takes his hand as they stop, stand a foot from the border between land and sea.

“We’ll just go a little way out,” she promises. “The water’s fairly calm but for your first time…”

“I don’t think I can do this,” Martin whispers. He hesitates, and she waits for his decision. And then, he creeps forward, and she follows. He swears vehement as the water hits his toes, and he almost balks to feel the frigid temperature, but he pushes forward, his swearing getting more and more creative the further he walks out against the tide.

From the headland, someone cheers, likely Tim.

“Don’t look at them,” Sasha says. “Come on, this is all you, ok?”

Her legs unfuse into her tail, and she shivers out a feeling like cramp, luxuriating in the sensation against her skin.

Martin tentatively wades out. He’s tall, but there’s a point where he stops, knowing to move forward means his feet won’t touch the ground.

“A little further, yeah?” Sasha encourages, and he nods jerkily, a frantic up-and-down, his expression petrified. “You can do this. Don’t look at the water. Look at me.”

Keeping her eyes fixed on his, she pulls him slowly into deeper waters. His fingers are pressing rounded marks into her forearms. His leg gestures are sloppy, thrashing, and at one point he dips below the surface with the disturbance he’s making, and he splutters as he resurfaces, surging up, eyes bulging in a betrayed panic. She continues to reassure him and doesn’t let go as they stop and simply float, the shoreline easily in sight.

“How does it feel?” she asks.

“Wet,” he grumbles. Clearly concentrating, he treads, kicking out in a motion that gradually finds rhythm.

For a long while, it is them and the sea. The waves rub up against the bare patches in her scales, but the reminder is not painful.

Martin’s breathing calms. His terror recedes, and he looks down at the obscured water under them.

“Can we go out a bit further?”

She’s not doing as much pulling now. She shows him how to use his arms to push himself through water, and stopping and starting, correcting his gestures and posture and breathing as they go, they drift further out before stopping again, hanging suspended above the depths.

Martin smiles at his own unexpected success. He lets out a long, satisfied sound like something’s loosened in him for the first time.

His eyes, completely black, reflect the dour and overcast midday sun.

“Martin, your eyes.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Martin says, but no – he doesn’t say, he barks, and then gasps, and then barks again, stunned, unsettled. He doesn’t look upset. He’s bitten his lip with his too-sharp teeth that now line his gums, and he touches the sharp pain it has caused with incredulity, his still human fingers marking out the sensation of the new.

“What’s happening?” he asks and Sasha grins, and says “I don’t know, Martin, I don’t know” and he’s splashing, a seal without skin, something entirely himself, shivering minutely in the cold shock even as his smile shows off his pointed teeth. He barks again, the sound almost jolted out of him as he figures out how it works, and she trills in delight, and it sets him off grinning and kicking. And for the moment, for this moment, the Lonely is banished entirely landbound, and there is only them treading water, surrounded by the endless sea and trusting they will not drown.

They have to go back to land eventually. The waves around them start to wash choppy, the sky colours grey with the surety of rain. They swim back, and sometimes Sasha lets go, bobbing near his elbow as he swims slowly but steadily on his own.

Martin’s teeth flatten when they crawl onto the shore, panting and burbling out the dregs of their laughter. Tim and Jon have come over to greet them, Jon holding the towels and garments like an overladen clothes tree. Tim chucks Sasha a towel to fold around herself into a makeshift skirt before her tail bisects back into legs.

“Tim, Tim, Tim!” Sasha says excitedly, waving her hands and gesticulating. “Did you see, did you see?”

“See what…?” Tim starts, but he glances at Martin, whose eyes are slow to fade from black to blue, and Tim might not realise what exactly has happened, but he senses the tenor of the mood because he’s barrelling in, knocking into Martin, wrapping him in a hug and nearly smothering him with his wings. Once released, Jon approaches slowly, putting his burdens down. Martin glances up at him, almost anxious now that the initial buzz is wearing down, but Jon goes softly to his knees, and his smile spreads across his face like paint in water.

The grey of the sky feels far off as they allow themselves the momentarily uncomplicated gift of being happy.

#the magnus archives #tma #cw emotional manipulation #cw ableism #cw potential suicidal ideation #cw emetophobia #cw being sick #ask to tag #jonmartin #sasha james #tim stoker #jonathan sims #martin blackwood

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bibbykins · 4 years ago

Text

At-Fault Acid Rain

Who is the clown that decided to write fight drabbles for no reason? Me? Oh, damn.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it and feel free to keep sending me questions about the soft yandere boys I love them!

Word count: 2.1k

Pairing: Soft Yandere! Jin x Reader (Scopophilic Affection drabble)

Summary: You and Jin did not fight often, you barely disagreed on anything, except for one big thing: your family. After a tense dinner with your family, and the shedding of your tears, Jin understands he needs to change his approach.

Alternatively: all the soft yandere boys go to mush during a fight the moment their darling starts to cry

The door was nearly ripped off its hinges as Jin opened it, passively aggressively, but still chivalrous, for you to give him the side eye as you stepped through the threshold of your shared apartment, "I'm sleeping on the fucking couch." You seethed as you kicked off the pumps you wore.

"No, baby, let me." Sarcasm dripped from his tone as he followed suit while you fiddled with the zipper on your dress, "I obviously don't do enough for you, so I'll sleep on the couch." His tone was bitter to say the least.

You scoffed as your arms reached to get the damn dress off. You just wanted to shed this night off of your body. Your lovely lover thought it would be super wise to make underhanded verbal jabs at each and every member of your family until the entire dinner was eaten in silence before everyone even got their main course.

Needless to say, you were mortified. Regardless of how shitty your family has been to you, you did still love them. You did still see them as family, even if they just saw you as a disappointment, now a bitchy gold-digging disappointment. You and Jin had bickered the whole way home about what was and wasn't called for as well as his motives behind his very thinly veiled insults to your family. Was he standing up for you or did he genuinely look down on your family?

And by extension, did he look down on you?

You felt him pull the zipper down as your arms returned to your side, "How can you be so goddamn stubborn sometimes?" He muttered under his breath as he leaned down to try and kiss your neck, obviously hoping for makeup sex before a fight fully breaks out. You and Jin had been pretty good about not fighting, but when it came to the topic of your family, it was difficult, to say the least.

Jin despised your family very, very strongly. He was crazy about you, and crazy in general, so he hated anyone who made you feel like anything less than the goddess you are to him. You, on the other hand, still maintain a wry smile to your family's backhanded compliments. This drove him to the brink of insanity, resulting in his much harsher quips back to your cousins, your aunts, your uncles, and especially your parents.

Overcome with love and an unwillingness to fight in risk of relenting, Jin always tried to have sex and deal with it then.

Keyword: tried. You marched towards the room before his mouth could make contact and extinguish the angry fire in your body, "I would love it if you didn't touch me right now." You snapped as you put on a large t-shirt, deliberately choosing one you already owned instead of one of Jin's.

Taking notice of this, Jin found his libido drop and his irritation spike. How could you not understand he was on your side?! "I would love it if you could stop being mad at me for being honest during dinner about your shitty family!" You flinched at his volume when he crossed the threshold of the bedroom while you took off your jewelry.

You laughed humorously, "Honest or not, they don't need more fucking reasons to despise me anymore!" You shot back, "The way they looked at me tonight… I couldn't even eat!" You were beyond irritated that Jin couldn't see why you were angry, "The last time they looked at me like that was when I told them I wanted to major in Theatre!"

"Well, I ate just fine and the food was delicious." Jin clipped back as you slammed the earings on the nightstand

"Unbelievable." You murmured as you grabbed a pillow and brushed past the broad-shouldered man in the doorway.

Jin scoffed as he followed you, "I don't see why you still give a damn about what they think of you!" You pursed your lips and shook your head, "You're not a kid anymore, they're opinion shouldn't matter!" He tried to reason with you.

"Of course you don't get it." Your voice dropped lower, usually a signal to Jin to reel it in, but he was far too stubborn and confident he would win this fight.

"What does that mean?!" He challenged with all of his bravado as you patted the pillow against the armrest of the couch.

You whipped your head around to scrutinize his form, still suit clad with only the tie loosened, "You have no idea what it's like to be brought up with expectations so high and miss the mark so terribly, not only do you get shit on all the damn time, you aren't even given the decency of a chance to redeem yourself!" You were hurt, and Jin began to regret his big mouth, "Your parents love you and respect you and trust your judgement." Jin's jaw clenched, "My family loves me, yeah, but because it is expected of them, and they meet their fucking expectations unlike their creative mistake from a family of accountants!" You could hardly keep track of your words, "They love me but they don't respect me, not even enough to expect anything from me anymore!"

Jin knew he should've stopped but he couldn't stand the way you looked at him, and he wanted to be right, "I earned my parents respect!" He retorted, "You…!" He trailed off, having to reevaluate the very shitty and incorrect thing he was going to say, hoping you would just drop it.

When he saw the pain flash through your widened eyes, he wanted to crumble, "I…?" You waited expectantly, "What? I didn't earn their respect?" Your voice was eerily soft and Jin knew what it meant. You were going to cry. Your tears stung him like acid, dissolving his fight within seconds. You seldom fully cried, so when you did Jin saw red at the cause, but when the cause was him, which had only happened once before this, he spent weeks apologizing. You were his everything, the last thing he ever wants is to make you feel like anything less. Jim never won any of your arguments, though he likes to think he has once, but the moment you cry the idea of winning or loosing becomes insignificant.

Jin's eyes softened as he took a very tentative step towards you, "No, baby, I didn't mean-"

You held your hand up, effectively silencing him, "No, no, you're right, what have I done to earn their respect?" You shrugged and your voice shook as Jin stepped closer to you, "I have been nothing but respectful to them even while they spit on every accomplishment I've had, and when I finally bring home a boy, he makes them feel as small as they have made me feel and…" You inhaled shakily, as Jin braced himself, "And if that's what you think of them… what on Earth do you think of me?" Your voice cracked as the dam in your tear ducts shattered and you broke down into tears and Jin's stubborn resolve dissolved with it.

He engulfed you in a hug, despite your initial fight to put as much distance as possible between you both. With his strength your efforts were fruitless physically, but affected him emotionally as he held you firmly against him until you gave up. You cried into his chest, undoubtedly getting mascara all over his very expensive dress shirt as he held you close, stroking your hair, "I think that of them because they are cowards." His tone was softer, "I think that you, on the other hand, are the most courageous and passionate person I know."

"You're just saying that because I'm crying." You hiccuped as you gripped his shirt.

He laughed shortly, "I'll admit that I hate to see you cry, Leopard." You relaxed a bit against the nickname, "But I mean it." He kissed the top of your head, "I just get so fucking angry when I see those bastards looking down on you, like they all wanted to do fucking math for a living, like they weren't just too cowardly to follow their own fucking dream, so they channel all their self hatred onto my beautiful fianceè, who doesn't need a boy to make her look better when compared to a family full of idiots." He swayed you both back and forth as you caught your breath, "I think the world of you, fuck, you are my world." You sniffled, relaxed against his form as he swayed, "I'm sorry I was an asshole and most importantly," He cupped your face to look at you, "I'm sorry I made you think for a second that I think of you as anything less than the person I admire the most." Your eyes softened as he wiped the stray tears from your cheeks with his thumbs.

"Ugh, Jin," You groaned into his chest, "Why are you so good with words?" You sighed, leaning into his touch, "I'm sorry I freaked out, I really don't give too much of a shit what you say to them, but I'm just so used to them being the standard for perfection and so I just thought that if you think they suck, then I really must be nothing more than a pretty face to you." You shifted your gaze to the floor, uncomfortable spilling your insecurities after a fight.

"Are you kidding?!" Jin's tone demanded your attention, "I think you're a goddamn magician with the shit you can do for sets and for screen plays, your mind is fantastic and your personality lights up my life!"

"Jin-"

"I love you so much, you are beautiful, yeah, but you're also intelligent, strong, hardworking, clever, fearless-" Jin's gushing was cut short by your lips smashing onto his in a kiss he quickly melted into. His hands went to your waist as he pulled you flush against him and massaged your mouth with his own.

You both pulled away to catch your breaths, "I love you too, you obnoxious, crazy, and stubborn man." You huffed against his mouth, "Thank you for standing up for me, babe, but just wait till we finish eating next time, hm?"

Jin nodded before pressing a quick kiss to your lips, "Now that's how you compromise." He grinned, "To make up for it, I'll make you your favorite, since my poor little Leopard didn't eat." You smiled before stealing another kiss, "Also I feel terrible for making you cry, so I'll get started." He chuckled lightly.

Before he could pull from your embrace, you pulled him in for another kiss as you stood on your tippy toes, "Darling?" You nuzzled your nose onto his as he hummed in question, his knees weakening, as you gripped his collar to bring him down and whisper in his ear, "If you really want to make my family sweat, tell the more about what you do for a living Mr. Board Member and Computer Science man." You mused playfully before placing a kiss to his ear as he straightened and met your eyes. The light had returned to them along with the smile you gave him, "Or whatever your impressive title is." You giggled, making him smile wide as he took in your features.

"Stop distracting me, beautiful." Jin chided before giving you a quick kiss and heading towards the kitchen, "You can seduce me after you eat the apology meal!" He called from the kitchen making your roll your eyes as you sat on the couch, "Gosh, my fianc�� keeps trying to have makeup sex with me!" He whined sarcastically, making you smile.

You scoffed mockingly, "Oh really? Do you want me to tell her to stop?" You joked as you heard a small clatter of pans.

"NO!" Jin called as he collected himself, making you laugh, "I can handle it just fine, I'm a strong man!" He called out, not knowing you had snuck into the kitchen.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, chest pressed against his back as he stirred the pot in front of him, "I love you, dummy." You mumbled against him.

Jin paused his movements for a moment before placing on hand over yours. He closed his eyes for a moment, blissfully sighing before his face relaxed into an equally blissful smile, "I love you most, Leopard." He squeezed your hand as you nuzzled into him. Jin could put aside his pride for you and you alone, he would move mountains for you. However, he had all intentions to put your family in their place, and to make sure they understood their place was beneath you. You, his goddess, his universe, his lovely Leopard.

#yandere bts #soft yandere jin #soft yandere bts #bts drabble #seven princes of campus #bts fluff #bts angst #jin fluff #jin angst #kim seokjin x reader #yandere bts x reader

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mightydragoon · 4 years ago

Text

Darth Vader A+ Parenting.

While Darth Vader in canon ain’t exactly the nicest fellow, this is a Vader or Anakin who has no qualms getting what he wants and using any methods to do so.

Or otherwise known as Darth Vader A+ Parenting.

1. to gain a son Russy

After falling into a trap laid by the Empire and being captured by two Inquisitors, Luke Skywalker wakes up in an unfamiliar room with an unfamiliar man watching over him.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25019218/chapters/60586045

2. No Time Like The Present PinkEasterEggs

In a Galaxy where Princess Leia Organa and Luke Vader have always known they were twins, a deadly discovery by their biggest enemy throws their entire lives upside down. Yet again.

Now on the run from the Empire, the Skywalker twins find it their mission to bring peace back to the Galaxy once more. And with Darth Vader on their trail, that mission is far more complicated than they originally believed.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24754825/chapters/59851300

(Note* Part 3 of the Back To The Future series. Can be read as standalone)

3. The Heir - SpellCleaver

Darth Vader just killed his master and learned a galaxy-changing truth: the child Palpatine adopted, the Imperial prince and heir, is actually Vader’s son, raised by Palpatine to torment him.

Meanwhile, Luke Palpatine just woke up from severe injuries he sustained in a Rebel attack to a galaxy where his father is dead, he is the Emperor, and the figure from all his childhood nightmares is acting suspiciously nice.

They figure it out from there.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24024442/chapters/57801529

4. Eclipse - SpellCleaver

Luke and Leia, the twin children of Darth Vader and heirs to the Emperor himself, defect. When they do, it's naturally a dream come true for the Rebellion and the mother they never knew, one that's been a long time in the making.

But they have to get to that point first.

Or: Darth Vader unwittingly sends his children down the merry path of treason... and the ugly, painful fallout.

(Note* Obviously)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18221840/chapters/43109123

5. Walking the Line Between - aradian_nights

After an emotional confrontation on Bespin, Luke Organa has been captured, and his newfound twin Leia Skywalker will not stop until she has rescued him. Even if that means murdering their own father.

( How the Other Half Lives - aradian_nights)

(Note* the entire series is this but more in particular the recent additions, I’ve already discussed this story multiple times before so you know the drill )

6. The kidnappings of a Sith Lord - maedre13

How a certain Sith Lord may or may not kidnap his rebel son. One-shots. Strongly inspired by sparklight´s “Where Our Intrepid Hero Doesn´t Get Away”.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10606992/chapters/23453241

(Note* not all these chapters are Vader at his worst but he isn’t exactly a top notch parent in them either)

7. How to Save the World from its Heroes - stardustgirl

Being the Avatar’s—and Fire Lord’s—non-bending heir isn’t what Luke signed up for. He also didn’t sign up for an Agni Kai he can’t possibly win, or for getting dragged into a search for someone who can kill his own dad. Then again, someone has to bring the world back into balance, and if his dad won’t, then Luke might as well give it his best shot. After all, how much worse can things get?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24948487/chapters/60386875

(Note* Only started and already you can see Vader A+ Parenting in all its glory)

8. your heart is full of stars and your hands full of shattered glass -victoriousscarf

Nineteen years ago, Vader took his children off Mustafar, and Palpatine raised them to be Sith, the perfect weapons he had been looking for.

Except the very eve of his greatest victory, the fully functional Death Star, Luke Skywalker defects to the floundering but growing Rebel Alliance. His sister follows because someone needs to watch out for that fool.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13242183/chapters/30290415

9. Love of a daughter. - youngjusticewriter

"and yet, so far at least we have yet to figure out what you gain from this." It's a question as well as statement. A chance to explain, to come clean on why she - a unknown Sith- had assassinated they're precious, beloved Chancellor (what fools). But how could you come clean when there is so much blood on her hands? Never-mind the sins and blood on Vader and Luke's when her family had been alive.

When she answers it's not because she's announcing her transgressions in hope that her heavy, dirty soul might be saved. One couldn't repent when they didn't feel guilt in their sin.

"For the love of a daughter." Leia pauses and looks back at Anakin and thinks: I did this to avenge you. After thinking that Leia says one more thing - the last thing actually because she nothing else to say after this.

"And you should have been more careful electing your Chancellor. You never know who is Sith." This has double meaning but she's the only person who knows it.

And she's fine with that (no, she isn't).

Leia wonders if her younger self and Luke will ever become the monsters like her Luke had been and the monster she is.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10924239/chapters/24297558

10. Literal Hell - TreeOfTime

Luke Lars is content as a Moisture Farmer with his father and mother... until two people come to find what was lost to them...

Then all hell broke lose

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22579066/chapters/53957833

(Note* oh dear lord Vader A+ Parenting in its full glory, a Sith Leia for flavour and a non force sensitive Luke. )

11. Dynasty - Valerie_Vancollie: Co-authored by Rebecca Thomson aka Zekkers.

Hit in the leg by a stormtrooper's blaster bolt, Luke falls in the Death Star hanger bay and is unable to escape on the Falcon along with Han and Leia. During the subsequent interrogation, his true heritage is revealed and Vader instantly takes him to Coruscant, determined to reclaim the son the Jedi stole from him. But the glory of the Imperial capital belies its true nature, where politics and power are everything and anything is fair game in the never ending game to reach the top. Not lying, not betrayal, assassination, sabotage, blackmail, nor seduction. As he commences his Sith training, Luke must also learn the rules and etiquette of the Imperial Court if he is to survive as most of his enemies fight their battles with words and political maneuverings rather than military force. Yet, even as he struggles to gain his place within the Empire, Luke learns that his best friend has joined the Alliance...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13111908/chapters/29997507

12. Fractured twists - Annessarose

Timelines are fickle things.

Every line is balanced precariously on the precipice. One shift, one twitch of a finger, one step in the wrong direction, and entire stories change. Lives flicker out, galaxies rise and fall, but the Force is always a constant.

Each moment is carefully balanced. We know how the Siege of Mandalore happened - how the former Jedi padawan Ahsoka Tano led her men into victory. How she defeated Maul in single combat and earned the loyalty of Lady Bo-Katan Kyrze. How she rode her ship too late to meet with Anakin Skywalker, and how the galaxy fell and burned under the hand of the Sith.

This is the way it could have gone if Obi-Wan had followed Ahsoka to Mandalore.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24158608

13. Runaway- Valerie_Vancollie

Co-authored by Rebecca Thomson aka Zekkers & a contest winner.

What if Luke had runaway from Tatooine and joined the Imperial Academy?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12976095

14. A Mother's Decision - Valerie_Vancollie

What if Padmé had brought Luke to Vader when Luke was only nine months old?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12915687

15. Descent into Darkness - Valerie_Vancollie

What if instead of waiting for Luke to come to him on Endor, Vader had gone for Luke and the others, capturing them while with the Ewoks?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12908223

16. Avenge and Conquer - arikylo

The Alliance has fallen into a very well laid trap and now Luke has no choice but to hand himself over to Vader. But what does the father have in store for the son? Can Luke handle the torture and the ruthless tactics of the Empire or will he be forced to surrender and embrace the dark side?

The struggle between the light and the dark is strenuous, relationships crumble and all is looking bleak for the Alliance.

Dark!AU set after ESB.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3058115/chapters/6639581

17. The Terrorist - Seasider

High above Bespin in Cloud City, Vader chooses not reveal his identity and instead uses deceit to trick Luke into surrendering. The Dark Lord has a lot on his agenda, so he entrusts the breaking of his son to an Imperial interrogator, unaware that the man has an agenda of his own: revenge.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24810643/chapters/60006952

(Note* Dead Dove do not eat. Contains some reall fucked up shit)

18. Consequences - treenahasthaal

An intense burst of light and a vicious blow to his left shoulder sent him spinning violently backward and he fell...

What if Luke hadn't made it off the Death Star immediately following Kenobi's death?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/809144/chapters/1527145

(Note* It’s also a boba fett/ luke)

19. Instinct - treenahasthaal

There was something about the blond boy in the crowd of detainees that caught Commander Yarryn's attention. Something that pulled at his gut and told him there was more about this captive than met the eye. It was his duty to find out what it was the boy was hiding - and find it he would, for Yarryn was very good at his job.

12 weeks after the destruction of the Death Star.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2185854/chapters/4785594

( Part 1 of the Invictus series)

20. Child of Mine - Oneshotshipper

AU. Darth Vader discovers Leia at a young age. Barely managing to escape her father's clutches the first time, young Leia goes into hiding and becomes the Empire's most-wanted fugitive. If the second time comes, fate will not be as kind. Meanwhile, Darth Vader would tear apart the galaxy itself to possess and keep his child. The Dark Side seems to inevitably be the fate of the Skywalkers.

21. To Catch a Daughter, One must... - ftbprotocol

A variety of AU one-shots where in canon Leia stayed a secret, but in these stories did not. Because there needs to be more Leia and Vader fic!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12173637/chapters/27632673

22. Daughter Over The Son - Keetajet

Work is inspired by ftbprotocol's work "To Catch a Daughter, One must..."

The moment where Darth Vader did not save his son. Instead, he will have his daughter.

Leia's future went downhill the moment she felt her brother die on the second Death Star, leading to their capture on Endor. Only she, Han, and Chewie survived the failed ground assault and they were restrained and being held at gun point.

She has a bad feeling about this.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25354183/chapters/61476130

23. Before the Emperor - SilverDaye

Luke is defeated and captured at Cloud City by Vader. He is then dragged before the Emperor. However Palpatine is dead. Luke's father is alive. And someone else holds the reigns to Vader and the Empire.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15950198/chapters/37196351

Tags- to help search for more

Darth Vader's A+ parenting

Dark Anakin Skywalker

Sith Luke Skywalker

Imperial Luke Skywalker

Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader

Leia Organa & Darth Vader

Bad Parent Darth Vader

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gohyuck · 4 years ago

Text

pairing: lee donghyuck (haechan) x reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 1.7k

warnings: swearing, small mention of alcohol, hyuck’s just a little tired of everything, driving (hyuck takes them on a drive)

part of a series?: yes, 37.5% viewer ratings, my hyuck bday celebration

🎵 au revoir - zac greer

☀️ everyone needs a break sometimes

a/n: sasaengs can die by my sword

“you know that this is insane, right?”

donghyuck doesn’t miss the way awe and disbelief couple together in your tone, watching idly as you run a hand over the metal railing of the balcony. he’s sitting, hunched, on the silky sheets of the hotel bed inside the tokyo hotel room you’re both currently situated in. his forearms are balanced on his knees, hands hanging, empty. this directly contrasts you, you note, as you take a sip of your sake.

you’re wearing the shirt you’d worn on the flight - hyuck’s favorite white adidas shirt, though it’s a little loose on you just as it’s loose on him - and some running shorts but your boyfriend has already changed from his comfortable sweats to his current ensemble: a plain black t-shirt tucked into black jeans, held in place with a black belt. his leather jacket, a given, is snug around his shoulders. a white facemask hangs from one of his ears.

the two of you look like yin and yang.

“hyuck?” you ask again, and he nods. “why are we doing this?”

“doing what?” donghyuck asks, finally pushing himself off of the bed. the sheets are crumpled where he’d just been sitting, though they remain pristine everywhere else. he comes up to stand beside you as the two of you look out over the cityscape beneath and in front of you. multicolored lights twinkle brightly against the inky night sky. thousands of people mill around underneath you, and you’re suddenly hit with an immense feeling of wonder.

“fucking off to spend a single night in tokyo before going back. i mean, this is great-” donghyuck rests one hand against your lower back, pulling you closer to him. “-and all but you evaded your managers and only left them a handwritten letter - which, by the way, you never told me what it says - as a means of explanation. there could be a witch-hunt for you going on as we speak.”

“yeah the amount of pissed texts i’ve gotten are insane. thanks for letting your phone die, by the way - i had to assure your mom that you aren’t dead.”

“sorry.” you smile, turning your head to see him. he lets you rest your palm against his cheek, smiling down at you, though his betrayal when you pinch him is immediate.

“what the hell?” he screeches, bounding backwards.

“you still haven’t told me what we’re doing here.” you point out, and it’s all hyuck can do to roll his eyes at you while soothing his now reddened skin.

“the reason is downstairs, actually. that’s what i came out here to tell you, before i got distracted by your brilliant, dazzling self...” your boyfriend nuzzles into the junction where your neck and shoulders meet, and it takes everything in you to gently shove him off.

“forget fullsun, it should’ve been fullshit,” you gripe, taking another sip of your drink before setting the bottle down on the glass table in the corner of the balcony. “because you’re full of-”

“because i’m full of shit,” he finishes, no bite in his words. “yeah. you need to work on your disses. now put your shoes on- we have things to do. and no, i’m not telling you until you see for yourself.”

you stare at him for one beat, then two, before slumping your shoulders in defeat.

“fine,” you mutter, pushing yourself off the balcony to go get ready inside. “this better be good.”

♕ ♕ ♕

“... this might be the most beat up car i’ve ever seen. i didn’t think you could rent cars like this.” you raise an eyebrow at the small, red sedan parked in front of you. there’s a visible dent on the front bumper, and a long scratch underneath one or the taillights. the paint is peeling all over the car. beside you, donghyuck snorts.

“you can’t. it’s one of yuta’s friends’ old car. he was going to straight up give it up for scrap metal, but i begged him to hold off for a couple days so i could drive it. he’s the one who dropped it off here right before we got to this hotel. left the keys at the front desk, i picked them up while getting us checked in.”

“dr-drive it? it looks like it’s about to collapse in on itself.” you take a step back instinctively, and donghyuck grabs your wrist gently.

“do you think i’d ever have you do something unsafe?” he says, forcing you to look into his earnest eyes as he speaks. you shake your head, truthful in your entirety.

“no, but still... you could’ve rented almost anything. why this?”

“because i have a problem, and throwing money at it would both be ironic as hell and make it worse,” he says, dropping your wrist to loop his arm around your waist. he leans down to whisper directly into your ear. “i kind of wanted to be a normal person for a night.”

“you’re being uncharacteristically vulnerable tonight.” you look at hyuck, raising an eyebrow in emphasis. one corner of his mouth upturns as he side-eyes you, albeit kindly, and you can’t help but mold into his side just a bit more.

“can’t be the hot one, the witty one, and the strong one all the time. shoulder the burden a little, baby, damn.” he teases, dodging out of your grasp before you can pull him down and flick him in the forehead. his high-pitched, abrupt laugh is all it takes for the air around you to start feeling more vibrant, and you find yourself giggling along with him. he unlocks the car, moving towards the drivers’ seat while you get into the passenger’s side.

“you know, you haven’t driven me before.” you note while buckling yourself in. donghyuck hums in response, not focusing on you as he backs the car out of its parking spot. it’s only once he’s on the road - a small side road, the kind you didn’t think existed in cities as big and brilliant as tokyo - and cruising easily, one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, that he looks over.

“i’ve had my license for a while - jeno, jaemin, renjun and i all sat for ours right when jaemin turned 20 - but i only ever really use it when i’m home for breaks. which sucks, because driving is one of the only things that takes no thought at all.” donghyuck explains, and you realize that, as you’ve been tracing his jawline with your eyes in the moonlight, he’s moved onto a main road and is about to merge onto the shuto expressway.

“i thought you were used to having no thoughts at a-ow! dick!” hyuck pinches the skin of your thigh when you’re right in the middle of making fun of him, forcing you to yelp indignantly. he chuckles at your reaction, smoothing your skin over with the palm of his hand. once he’s fully on the expressway he shifts, pulling his wallet out of his pocket before dropping it into your lap.

“toll is coming up.” he explains, feeling rather than seeing your confused expression. you nod, rifling through his wallet quickly before pulling out one of his cards and letting it dangle between two of your fingers. you’re sure it’ll work, even if the currency differs.

“you never told me why we’re here.” you say eventually. the silence is comfortable, but you still want to satiate your curiosity. the sigh donghyuck lets out in response is just a little too long, a little too pronounced for you to let go, though.

“you already know.” your boyfriend says simply, again uncharacteristically, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at his attempt to be cryptic. while you gather your thoughts, he pulls into the toll and pays. still, hyuck isn’t wrong - you do have an idea.

“and you already know i think you should say it for yourself.” you ultimately reply, and you can see donghyuck’s shoulders tense visibly and stay that way for one, two, three long seconds before he forces himself to relax.

“i’m fucking tired.” he says, more conviction behind his words than you’d expected. you can’t say you’re taken aback - he’s always passionate - but you do place your hand on the one that’s on your thigh, squeezing it tightly as you wait for him to continue speaking.

“if i could i’d get out of my head for a week but... we only get a night. there’s ‘fans’-” he airquotes the words against your thigh, his eyes not wavering from the road. “- camped outside our dorms, i haven’t had a chance to rest since, like, february, and i barely have time to breathe without getting dragged online, so it all sucks even more, actually. sometimes i wish i could be ordinary and do ordinary things, but i can’t, and it sucks. everything sucks and everyone sucks.”

he pauses, taking a long breath before glancing over at you, expression far too soft considering everything he’s just vented about.

“everyone sucks except for you, but that’s a given.”

you don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all. still, you squeeze his hand once more to know that you’ve heard him - that you’ve really, truly heard him. the smile you give him is a genuine one, full of all of the love you’ve ever had, and he returns it with equal intensity.

“we can worry about your managers and everything tomorrow.” you finally say, and the corners of donghyuck’s lips quirk up.

“and what about now?” he asks, turning his palm up so you can finally intertwine your fingers with his. you raise your clasped hands to your mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of his. as you relax into your seat, you find that you’re enveloped by donghyuck - his scent (leather, fresh linen, cedar, peonies), the way his smile makes you feel, the enormity of his love for you. you can’t help but beam as you look at him, really look at him, before speaking.

“now, we just drive.”

283 notes · View notes

aggresivelyfriendly · 4 years ago

Text

Hello babes!!! OMG, today has been a long week! A wonderful, dream big come true week! HARRY IS SOLO ON THE COVER OF VOGUE! Also, I have a new installment of Tryst for you all based on this 👆photo! Without further ado, I give you...

Scotland!

It's the pose that does it.

She's been so, mon dieu she hates the moral judgment of the word. But it remains the right one here, in any language. Soo good, since she decided he couldn't give her what she needed, or maybe wasn't ready to, or didn't see her like that. Nothing more than a flying fuck when he got itchy on the road and she was available to scratch.

But here she was, with his encompassing form around her back and his arm causally slung across her collarbone and she could barely keep her lip from between her teeth to smile.

Smile for the camera, Helene. He'd whispered in her ear and she was thankful for their blustery setting the clothing covering her chill bumps.

All day, She'd been trying to keep dry and get some candid shots to go into the vault. Sometimes she wondered why they paid her to take so many images, most of them, a greater preportion than usual, just lived in her computer or Jeff's computer never to be used.

Would they ever release them? To the utter delight and meltdowns of this man's rabid fans.

She gets it, Helene does. What they see in him, she sees it herself often. And she sees more, his dick has made her soul smile on more than one occasion. It didn't start with these libidinous thoughts, it wasn't one of those moments where he was a living lighthouse or hedonism personified. It's the first scene with the imaginary fish and he's having a bit or trouble. He's also cold and wet. Which are two sensations he doesn't love, but seems to include in every damn piece of art he makes. He's throwing the little bean bag onto the rock and it's not meant to be gentle exactly, but he seems irritated, not concerned as you would be for a suicidal fish when you yourself are suicidal. His character at least. Thank god. But his physical discomfort is intruding on his ability to act right now; he's barely holding on. He loses his balance while frustrated and falls into the water, cursing.

Helene will not laugh.

She hides her giggles while they change him. He got his Gucci denim outfit uncomfortably wet. Why would you chose that outfit to go to a watery death? She is overthinking. As always.

He's ready to go again, fresh Gucci down to his drawers, and by the 10th take, he's in the swing.

When Harry nails it, He gives the director and Helene the biggest grin and she's charmed. The lights have turned on and the fog has lifted. He shines.

He is finished with this set up and Helene has just put her gear away. Harry brushes past her to get around a rock and presses an affectionate kiss to the easily accessible top of her head.

"Thanks for coming, Tiny. Know it's cold."

Helene smiles at him, and somebody else with a camera, someone not her, clicks their picture.

It's always weird when she is the subject. She's pretty sure she has more photos with Harry, selfies at least than with any boyfriend she has had, in her life, which flashes before her eyes, with a highlight reel of her beneath Harry, while he turns her around towards the camera.

The arm that was across her scapula, turns her like a top and her stomach flutters with the motion. His motion. His arm has come across her clavicle, like it did in LA, and she comes together like the place in between those bones, a shallow place where her heartbeat is thumping visibly.

She's thrumming.

Not that there is a damn thing she can do about it. He can do about it. Anybody can, they have so much work to do.

The quiver in her chest and bones and betwixt her legs stays with her all day. Through lunch with all the people she's missed on their break, around the lunch Harry's had cooked for them, with all the little flourishes he likes. All the different food needs accommodated, hospitality on show. It's a wonderful midday after a bitter morning, the sun's even peaked through. The whole group brims with happinesss. Helene and her table included, she laughs and kisses Molly's cheek, she's so cute.

She stays away from Harry though, through at least theee set ups, one not involving him where she could see his intention to hover and smell her pent scent. So, she puts distance, physically between them all day, especially when they move on to the shoot at the docks.

She's taking far away shots. It was easier to control the pulse at her center when he was in the loose jumpsuit. Now in the tight sweater vest, where he looks like some movie star from a bygone era, she's struggling.

It's sending her. Fly her to the moon.

So she keeps her distance and captures him from afar. She'd been doing so well.

Still is! She reminds herself.

The day is long because of her longing, but Helene makes it through.

"You coming to the pub." She jumps a bit at his breath near her ear, her hair is stirred by its breeze. She's surprised, she can usually feel his approach 10 paces off.

"No, need my bed." She begs off. She's begging he doesn't press, with those puppy dog eyes and dimples he knows how to wield.

"Really?" He pouts. "Need your company." He insists.

Oh, he's reached for the big ammunition, he's used everything in his arsenal, he's even touching her arm. He turns her again and she knows she going to say yes before he bites his lip and says, "please."

"Qui." She exhales. She'd like to qualify the sigh as resigned, but it's full of breath and melodic.

"Yes!" He presses a kiss to her forehead and squeezes her before he wanders off to gather troops.

So much for distance.

The pub is lovely, if their wine selection a bit limited. She can see why Harry picked this for his fictional island. He has excellent taste and this is so picturesque and any number of stories, real and imagined, could be contained in its Walls.

He tastes excellent.

He's across the room holding court. He's a little drunk, and he's just thrown his head back and she can remember the shape of his Adam's Apple on her tongue, and the taste. God the taste of his skin, especially after a show. Her lips would be raw from the salt afterwards, and dual thirsts would greet her in the morning light. Water with something more mineral from his skin.

Helene gulps her wine and tries to tune back in to the English around her. The mix of accents and the still difficult language is enough for her to have to get her mind out of the gutter intentionally to follow along.

Not the gutter, Harry's room.

She's squinting and translating something someone has said in her head and wondering how many times somebody has refilled her glass when another intoxicant fills her senses.

Harry's hand is on top of her head and then sliding down the back of her hair. It's exactly like he does when his dick is in her mouth. But he's usually not grinning like that.

"Tiny!" He's so jovial when drunk. "This seat taken?"

There is no seat. It's the end of the booth, there is a small amount of brown leather, and Harry wedges himself onto it and picks up her legs, uncrosses them and lays them over his own to make space. He's solved his own problem and worsened hers.

She quirks a brow at him and he just kisses it like it's totally normal she's basically on his lap among all their colleagues. Only in this group he's made close as family would this not look risqué. Only with him. She's thinks only Sarah and Mitch know about them. Know that the 'know' each other. And they aren't on this shoot.

Nobody is looking at them funny, so she had better stop staring at him.

She tears her eyes away, like the wrapper of a condom, and goes back to translating.

It's useless when he starts running his nails along her thighs. She puts her hand on his to stop him, but he just grips her thigh instead.

It is not a step in the right direction. It's only leads one direction for her thoughts. To the way his huge hands look on her tiny body. The way his palm can cover her whole stomach and his fingers reach her honey pot still. She has photographic evidence. Between that thought and the wine, she needs to leave.

"Where are you going?" He looks very sweet, except the glint in his eye. She narrows hers at him.

"My room."

"Already?" He pouts.

"Qui."

"I can't really leave yet."

"I didn't ask you to."

He tilts his chin. "Maybe not out loud." He whispers just under her breath.

She exhales.

"Will you wait up for me?" He looks up through his lashes.

She can't even answer but her head moves up and down like a teabag into hot water in the morning.

She's boiling.

He grins. And leans up to kiss her cheek. "What room?" He murmurs. She knows he could find out if he wanted, but it would also alert the front desk, which might make it to the media, or worse, a fan with Twitter.

"24" she whispers through the veil of her hair. Pulls away from his tractor beam eyes and smiles at the table. Gives a few hugs and a big wave.

The inn is small, quaint. She's on the second floor, which is the top floor, waiting. Helene's kept her clothes on. The same outfit she has had on all day. Jeans, loose, and a t shirt, her dad trainers. Should she change? She tries to remember what Harry had on at the pub. He had changed a fair few times throughout the day.

She think he was wearing a hoodie, his name emobossed on the breast in some language or another, Gaelic?, and loose light jeans. Dirty vans adorning his feet.

She hopes she ends the night in his jumper, or wakes up and slipes it over her shoulders.

The hours slip away and her eyes have kettlebells attached to them. She's just about to take care of single girl tasks, washing her face and putting on the extra lock when the knock comes.

"I was about to go to bed without you." She leans against the door jamb. She's not purposely jutting her hip. She's not!

"Ahh," he teases, touches the smudges below her droopy eyes and pulls her blonde hair. "You tired."

"Qui, it's been a long day." She breathes.

"What?" He laughs and pushes her into the room with his hips, "your call time was hours after mine!" He flashes his big green eyes.

"Maybe, but I don't have your stamina." She counters. Harry the athlete raises a brow at her statement.

"I've never had a problem with your endurance."

He let's that lie there, and she can tell both of their mind's are roving over memories of late nights turned into early morning mapping flesh.

"No, I suppose you are right." She goes easy when he pulls her forward and his mouth slides against her like a skeleton key into a waiting lock. She expects the kiss to escalate, but maybe they are both a little tired, exhausted from a long day, while longing for an extended night. His kiss remains deep, full of tingling tongue touches, but doesn't get faster, her back doesn't hit the wall, and there are no stops where she is pressed against or onto furniture.

He has some embedded geography of hotel rooms, because he navigates the suite like the globetrotter he is. They are both fully dressed, and the squeezes and rubs over the fabric are exciting, reminiscent of juvenile contained eagerness. When her knees hit the back of the mattress, Helene decides the adults need to take over and hikes the tucked in button down up and over his head, forgoing the buttons.

The black ink on his golden skin is a trail familiar to her fingers tips and she follows it down, down to the leaves framing his joyful path. She can feel the pressure of his erection on the slide mechanism of his trousers and against the strained teeth tethered together on his zipper. If it wasnt metal, it would unzip itself against the force. She sighs when she pulls him out. His dick makes her so proud every time. She can't imagine what it's like to carry it around.

No wonder he is so self confident, the word cocksure occurs to her and she giggles.

"Are you laughing at me?" He looks down and she's charmed, for all his assuredness, he's still vulnerable. It's why he is so endearing.

"Non," she's got him naked and guides him back to the head aboard. He looks more tired than her suddenly, he had a bigger day, job. She'll keep up the inversion of the evening, she can recall no other time together where she had clothes on while he was naked. "I was just think how much I appreciate your dick."

"And it made you laugh?" Oh he's still a little offended.

Helene will have to make it up to him. She ruts against his lap and takes stock.

He's half mast. Which is a rare state for him, in her experience. She nuzzles into his lap and laps from his base to tip. She can feel the plumping under her tongue and decides that's not quite adequate.

She can fit him all the way like this. It won't last, so she takes advantage and mentally pats herself on the back as she seems to expand her capacity as he swells. Once she can't muzzle her nose into his patch of hair anymore she pulls off with a gasp and looks up to his panting face.

"I wasn't laughing at you," she nods towards his bobbing shafts. "In my head, I thought how I'm proud of your dick, and decided it was the wrong word. But the right feeling." Helene put him back in her mouth with her tongue extended out, and stroked him from her throat to the squirming tip.

He's chuckling now and she smiles with her eyes at him. "You're proud of my dick?" His dimples are the size of salad plates.

"Qui, aren't you?" She flashes her brows while She straddles his lap. She's not sure she's satisfied her mouth hunger for him, but they have all night.

"Well...." He blushes, which makes her giggle. She's fully naked on his bare dick and he's blushing.

"Know you are." She whispers in his ear. "You have every reason to be."

"Mmmhmmm." He could be responding to her statement or her rocking over his lap. If one of them tilted just so....

"You've been cocky!" She emphasizes that by moving her hips to an almost position. "Enough before."

He looks just a touch frustrated.

"Should I show you how proud I am?" She slips the tip in, just the tip. Not quite to the popping point. It's a tantalizing suspension, just rocking while his eyelashes flutter. "Show you why you deserve to be cocky?"

"Mmmmm," he hums, vision now between their legs, mesmerized. "Please." He breathes and looks at her.

"Do we need a condom?" She's not sure how active he's been.

"Not for me." He grabs her hips and tries to push her down, as tantalizing as the pop of a champagne bottle, the moment of jubilant anticipation.

"Better safe than sorry!" she dismounts and grabs a skin. He breathes a breath like he is frustrated.

"Oh, Cherie, ne t'inquiète pas!" She teases and strokes firmly, guiding his foreskin over the sensitive tip. "We're only beginning." He helps her roll it down and lifts her thighs to press against the headboard on either side of him. She's glad it's padded. Harry's done waiting, or being gentle and shy. She can't even acknowledge the pop of their joining she loves, she's too busy catching up to the rough thrust of his pelvis up and into her own. "Merde!"

"Mmmmhmmmm." He hums and catches her lips with his own, a net to butterflies. It's soft, slow and sensual, in opposition to the bruising hold he has on her hips. He can handle her with one of his big hands. The other has found its place on her sensitive nipples. This escalated so fast she thinks the ending will follow the beginning with no middle to enjoy. She was hoping to fuck him slow.

Her hands slide down the headboard, it's coarse beneath her hands in comparison to the hair that fills her hands in the next moment. She pulls his neck back a little roughly. "Wait."

"For?" He keeps working her over his dick and it's compelling, and she loves it, but he's showing her why her makes her proud, and that wasn't tonight's lesson.

"I want to come."

"Good, that's what I want to." He hits her spot unerringly. And she's nearly convinced.

"No, non, on your tongue." She has to forcibly take herself off him. She lifts her knees and places her hands on his shoulders to hoist herself up. It's a favorable arrangement, her legs as long as his torso. "Allez." She suggests and his answer is a smile and the extension of his tongue right up her slit.

Helene has to grab the headboard to stay upright. She knew she was on the way. But how close she was to her journey is even clearer when his hands draw her ass cheeks apart and he's spreading her wetness over both holes while manipulating her clit with his tongue.

When he fits his mouth over her hood, creates suction and licks while fitting two fingers inside her separated by just inches of skin accessing both holes, she clenches without prologue. "Fuck." She rides his face until her orgasm has ridden out its welcome and he pulls his fragrant hand out to aid its twin in holding her steady until she's clutching the headboard and coming against his tongue again. Her wriggling at the over sensitivity only aiding his quest for number two.

She slides down his body slow and she's done, until she remembers her intention when his dripping shaft, wet with her and leaking a few drops for himself, prods her ass. She was gonna run this show, swing her hips like a pendulum so he'd enter a trance like state while inside her, the suspended animation of ecstasy. Helene needed to come so she would be calm enough to do it. To hypnotize him, slow and sweet.

She just needs to control the tempo, bang out a rhythmic unhurried beat on his hips.

It only takes a minor shift in alignment to throw them off their orbit. Send his mercury into retrograde with her pussy. She slides over the tip with ease, she's wet enough that she doesn't even have to work him in like normal. Though it still prickles her nerves with that familiar addictive burn she's only had with him and a few others. Those that pushed her boundaries. She's a globetrotter when she fucks Harry though. Her exhale would be loud if his groan wasn't louder.

"Fuck, Helene!" He looks down again and she decides now that she has given him dinner, he needs a show. Time to mesmerize him.She flexes her pelvis, rounding back and holds the headboard hard to find her beat. It's a slow jam, all the flavor of a samba. She's got a circle like a Ferris wheel and he's stuttering her name like he's afraid of heights but loving the ride.

"Again." Helene demands, her head against his forehead.

"What?" Harry's staring at her motion hard, distracted. Helene stops, she wants his attention, his eyes, his mouth, his dick, every inch of him focused on her, including those inside her. She rides the circle to the top, just his tip inside, and hovers. No other passengers are getting on, she just wants him to admire the view. She clenches and knows he can see it when he shivers.

Helene uses her nose to nudge his gaze up. He looks up, down, up, again. She pulls out enough to nearly unseat him and his fingers dig into her hips. "What?" He repeats.

"My ñame." She looks him in the eye and presses her panting mouth to his while she slides all the way down, his pubic hair against her swollen clit. "Say my name."

He breathes it out, like a prayer, "Helene!" While she takes them to the top again. "Helene!" He shouts in exhalations when she slams down to his pelvis harder. "Helene!" She swings back up slow, and drops like they've found themselves on a rollercoaster.

By now her name is a chant, "Helene, Helene, helene, fuck Helene!" He's squeezing and staring and licking her lips sloppily and she can tell he doesn't know if he should stop her, try to help her along so they can get off together, or just cum.

He looks desperate to finish.

So she stops, and he looks frantic. "Baby, please!"

Helene shrugs, kisses him and grinds herself against him inside on her spot and outside on begging pleasure zone until she's almost there. She squeezes him rhythmically to keep him ready.

She's almost there. They can hop off this ride together now. So she starts the ascent to the top again, slow circles until he's panting and chanting again, and then it's a free fall ride for them both.

Helene loses her stomach and screams his name in harmony with his chorus of hers.

Their sweaty foreheads rest together, until he is chuckling.

"Quoi?" She catches her breath enough to ask.

"I was just thinking, I definitely won't need a photo to remember this one!"

She feels proud, but she knows there is an image he's forgetting, one that will remind her of this Scottish adventure forever.

Months later, they've found themselves together, like together together, when she comes across it. She posts it, with a longing thank you.

When Harry gets home from set, he's smiling like a Cheshire Cat. "You trying to tell me something?" He shoves his phone at her with the open Instagram.

Helene shrugs. She's feeling proud, even prouder than she felt a year ago.

And she wants to show him.

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