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laurel-finch · 8 months ago

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'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch14: Learning

Summary: Pack life takes an unusual twist... Referenced Episodes: None. CW: Minor gore. Major lore. Word Count: 7138 words. Recommended Song: Back In The Saddle -- Aerosmith Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

Caeden was surprisingly competent when it came to fighting, though he refused to explain why. He had deep scars running across his dark shoulders in a twisting pattern that gave me chills. Seeing him fight... he had a certain cold viciousness about him that made me doubt my easy victory the day we played capture the flag. I watched carefully as he stood at the edge of the ring where Andrew and Calliope scuffled together.

I scowled with my arms folded tightly against my torso and reclined in a newly bought lounge chair as I watched my pack members scamper across the lawn or tussle with one another. Booth had taken it upon himself to educate the others on fighting- few of them were capable fighters. At this point, I was more than ready to let him kick my ass in the ring, just so long as I could do something. I hadn't been on a run in weeks, and it was beginning to show. I could practically feel my muscles dampening. I would be sore after my next run, that much was certain.

I huffed and reached for my book on a small table beside me, ruffling the pages with my thumb. I really wasn't in the mood for reading, but I felt like I needed to do something with my hands. I sat up slowly and rolled my shoulders, enjoying the feeling of the harsh sun beating down on my exposed shoulders. We were well into spring now, and the weather was beginning to show it.

I stood and stretched my arms high over my head, feeling my bad shoulder pop. I flinched and brought my arms back down, rolling my shoulder once more. My shoulder was healing well. It was still sore and scarred, but the skin was beginning to heal over the top of it, closing the exposed wound. I expected that by the end of the week, it would be healed enough for me to start using it as I had before, though maybe with a little extra care.

I tucked my book under my arm and reached for my crutch – I only needed one now, thank God. Having to rely on an object to assist me was a new feeling. Any injuries I had previously had left me out of the game for maybe a day or two. The perks of healing quickly, I suppose, unless the damage was caused by silver.

I hobbled up the steps of the back porch and relished the shade of the lip of the roof overhanging the back door. I loved the sun, it made me feel warm, safe even, but it was sometimes too much. Blistering. The moon, however... gave me a sense of hope and purpose.

It was always odd to me, how much of a pull the moon had on skinwalkers. The closer to the full moon, the more excited I got and the more I wanted to go out and run. Sure, skinwalkers were cousins to werewolves, but we weren't the same, not even close.

I wondered how many of the old skinwalker legends were true. Were we really witches in the early ages of our species? The Navajo had always said we were evil and did harm to our fellow man. Had we always been wolves? Or were we once some odd cross between man and animal in our early days, like our cousins the werewolves?

I cared little for the concept of deities, but I know that would be one of the many questions I would ask God if I ever had the chance to speak to him. That, and maybe why he felt the need to make humans so defenseless. I mean honestly, it's one thing to give a monster built-in weapons, but to leave a creature so defenseless that it feels the need to perfect the art of killing? That's ten times worse.

The door to the rickety old barn was open, pushed aside on rolling hinges to let sunlight spill into the dingy single room. I glanced from the fights to the door. No one acknowledged me as I stood up and hobbled across the lawn with one crutch– maybe I preferred it that way.

Clanking from within the barn drew my attention. I leaned against the large doorway and watched Booth march around with a quizzical expression on my face. Finally, the graying male looked up with tired blue eyes and grumbled.

"Andrew was complaining about the pickup acting funny when he went out for groceries," the older man grumbled, scratching the back of his head. "Figured I'd come take a look while Caeden's managing the fights."

I hummed quietly and sidled up to Booth, his eyes never leaving the truck. "What do you think's the matter with it?" I questioned. Booth huffed and crossed his burly arms.

"Probably nothing," he scoffed. "Andrew doesn't know a truck from a moped. Wouldn't be surprised if he's driving it a bit rough."

I frowned a bit and rested my crutch against the rusted car door. The pickup only seated two people, with plenty of room in the pickup bed to host more. "Andrew's a pretty careful driver, Doesn't know much about trucks, but he's safe. I think if he says there's a problem, it's worth looking into."

Booth grumbled and moved the tools from the hood, placing them on the straw and dirt-covered barn floor. "Pop the hood, would you?" he asked. I nodded and climbed carefully into the cab, and popped the hood for Booth.

I sat in the cab of the rusted old pickup while Booth leaned over the engine. My hands slid over the steering wheel reverently, squeezing the worn grooves where my uncle’s hands had sat ages ago. Firm hands that molded the world into a place that embraced him with vigor. It was a temperament I would never have.

“What’s going through that head of yours, dove?” Booth asked. My eyes flicked up to look through the windshield. The lifted hood of the truck blocked him from view. His tone was soft, despite the worn texture of his throat that led to gruff words. Soft, doting, affectionate. Did I deserve that?

“Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

He hesitated. I could practically feel the way his thoughts roamed, searching for the right answer to my ambiguous question. “Elaborate?” he pressed.

“Like… I don’t know, I just sometimes wonder if- if taking on a pack was the right decision,” I answered in one shaky breath. “It’s not like I’m around much, at this point, and I never… never wanted a pack to begin with. Ever. I just never had an interest in it.”

I dropped my gaze as Booth slowly lowered the hood of the truck. His eyes settled on me in the cab, twisted in the seat in such a way that I could cradle my arms around myself without stressing my injuries further than I already had. I exhaled a deep sigh. “Sometimes I just… I come home to- to people in my house- my uncle’s house, and I just wish I was alone. I wish I wasn’t responsible for anyone but myself.” I paused and lifted my gaze to meet his. “Does that… make me a bad person?”

Booth shook his head, not even stopping to think first. “I think it makes you pretty human- or, close enough to it.” I cracked a timid smile. “It’s alright to want to be alone every once in a while.”

“Do you think we’re a normal pack?”

He huffed out a laugh. “I wouldn’t know a normal pack if it hit me over the head. I’ve only ever known scavengers and Chikaltio, and this is nothing like that. You’re more of a friend than a boss. I think we’re all pretty happy with the dynamic, even if you’re gone a lot.”

I didn’t answer. He held my stare for a few long moments before turning his attention back to the engine. “Might be time to sell it for scrap.”

I pursed my lips. There wasn’t a chance in hell that I would be getting rid of the truck willingly, no matter how much rust adorned its once smooth surface. It was my uncle’s, one of the few things I had left of him other than the house. A house which now felt more like someone else’s home than his. Clothes that weren’t his, furniture he would’ve hated, new residents deciding everything. My skin itched.

"Where are we gonna get another one?" Booth asked as he stood rockily on old legs. "I'm sure the government would take notice to us paying that much money. They aren't blind to credit card theft, y'know."

"Then we take from multiple accounts," I offered. "Five hundred here, three thousand there. Not too much, but enough." Stealing money was a rough business, we could only take as much as we needed to get by. I didn't like it, but it was necessary – we couldn't exactly get normal jobs, could we? Booth wiped his hands on his oil-splotched jeans and ran a calloused hand through his silvering hair. "I don't like it – stealing from people like that. It's not honest," I said, hoping he would pose some alternative.

"Since when is anyone honest? We sure aren't, and I'll bet my life that no one else is. Not the President, not the Pope, not even God. Hell, if God was honest maybe the world wouldn't be such a shithole," he retorted as he began filling his toolbox once more and locked the lid. "I don't much like the idea of honesty. It's flawed. No one's ever truly honest. If you say you are, you're lying." And with that, Booth swept up his tools and marched out the open barn door, leaving me alone in my bewildered thoughts.

—

Three weeks into my healing process, my leg was feeling much better. I still kept bandages on it, but I could at least walk without the crutch. Sasha demanded I keep a can nearby, in case I needed it, though I hardly used it. A few too many times, she smacked me with a dish towel for my stubbornness.

It was Calliope's night to lead a hunt and she had chosen to drag Andrew along with her. He wasn't too fond of hunting, but she felt he needed improvement. They worked well together, moving as a lithe team in the arena and on runs. They worked even better against each other, in the spirit of competition. The other pack members who wouldn't be hunting tonight had of course made bets of their own – my money was on Cal. She was beyond skilled when it came to hunting, and no amount of determination on Andrew's part would get him the win.

Calliope and I had spent quite a bit of time together during my house arrest. Several nights in the past two weeks had been deemed 'movie nights,' and several other pack members had chosen to join in. Sasha was a recurring face every night, while the boys would typically pop in to see what we were up to or steal snacks, Unsurprisingly, any time we watched a romcom, Marcus chose to join us.

While Andrew and Calliope were preparing for the evening hunt, I ran through Andrew's shopping list. I was eager to get out of the house, and there was no better time than now. It was surprisingly long, though I should have expected that. He was interested in trying out a few new recipes.

"Do you need someone to go with you?" I heard Sasha's cheerful voice from the kitchen. She popped her head out from around the counter, a mop gripped tightly in her hands.

I chuckled and glanced down at the list. "Maybe, but you look pretty busy, Sash. I can take someone else, no trouble." The short woman nodded nervously, her loose brown curls bobbing with her head.

I made my way to the door, grabbing my cane from its spot on the wall upon feeling Sasha boring holes into my head with her glare. I hobbled across the freshly trimmed lawn towards the bunkhouse.

It surprised me how mundane life felt when you became... well, mundane. I hadn't tried shifting in weeks. I was nothing more than human without my fur, and with my bad leg... I was about as mundane as it could get. If I wasn't living with five other monsters, then perhaps this could be that apple pie life Dean so desperately craved.

I needed to call him and Sam again, and check up on them. I had called them the day after I woke up, the day after they left. Sam had answered, telling me essentially what Marcus had said - that when I was healed, I was welcome to join them again. To my dismay, I hadn't spoken more than a few short sentences since our late-night conversation. I assumed he was busy, they both were, but I would appreciate more than a brief update.

One step forward, two steps back.

I quietly turned the door handle of the bunkhouse and poked my head in, searching the dimly lit room for figures. My eyes fell on three figures seated in the center of the room, sets of bunks lining the walls to my left and right.

"So while Sasha's cleaning the main house, you three are playing cards?" I teased, leaning against the door frame. Marcus, Caeden, and Booth glanced up, Marcus looking especially guilty.

"'S poker," Booth crowed, holding his cards up high with their backs to me. "I'm kicking their asses."

Marcus snarled playfully. "You've won like three rounds-"

"- Outta five," remarked Booth with a smirk.

"That doesn't mean you're kicking ass!" Marcus shouted, tossing his hands into the air, making sure to hide his cards from view. "You know what, I call," he snapped, dropping his cards onto the floor for all to see. Honestly, it was kind of a pitiful hand- two pairs, both low numbers and not particularly high ranking suits.

Booth followed quickly behind and deposited the cards at his feet. He had a pair of jacks of two good suits. He grinned, knowing that he had beaten Marcus yet again.

Caeden scoffed and gently placed his cards down, revealing three aces. My eyes widened, but not nearly as much as Marcus's. The blonde's eyes rivaled saucers and looked like they might pop out of his skull. Caeden leaned back with little reaction, crossing his toned arms over his chest.

Booth laughed loudly, the deep, rumbling sound filling the room and drawing a chorus of laughter from the other players. "S'pose we can't beat that, Caed," he said with a hearty chuckle and pushed Caeden's winning - a few cans of peaches and assorted vegetables - towards him. "Looks like you're out of the game, Marcus," Booth teased, gesturing towards the lack of cans in front of Marcus. His blue eyes lifted to meet mine and he flashed me a lop-sided grin shrouded by his thick, graying beard. "Care to take his place?"

I shook my head and placed a hand over my mouth to mask my grin. "Nope, I was about to head to the store. Marcus, you could join me, if you'd like?"

Marcus stretched and rolled his shoulders out. "Sorry, I promised Sasha I'd actually help her around the house today. Guess I'd better get on that now," he replied as he stood a bit shakily, probably from the rise and fall of energy. "I bet Booth'd go with you though."

Booth shook his head and hobbled to his own feet. "I'm on clean-up duty for when Cal and Andrew get back," he remarked, shaking out his legs from when they had been folded neatly not long before. "How bout you, Caed? You up for it?"

The older male shrugged and stood up, facing me with a rather disinterested look. His eyes briefly flitted to Marcus. "I suppose," he said before stalking past me and out the door.

I frowned and glanced towards Marcus who looked oddly worried. He was often an open book and had a hard time hiding his emotions – that was one thing I liked about him. You always knew what he was thinking. Caedan, on the other hand, was still reserved and closed off. He had grown quite fond of the rest of the pack, and they of him, but hardly ever spoke to me unless necessary.

I sighed heavily and turned to follow him out the door. Perhaps this shopping trip would be a good chance to get to know him.

The drive to the grocery store was silent, and actually rather uncomfortable. Any attempt I made at small talk was shot down with a dismissive wave or a low grunt. It was infuriating, and I was beginning to think I should have gone by myself.

In the store we chose to stick together; or rather, I went my own way and he followed not too far behind with a shopping cart. My eyes scanned the shopping list as we darted up and down aisles, never lingering for very long.

"Why would Andrew want frozen lasagna? Can't he just make some of his own?" I inquired quietly, nose practically pressed to the paper as I made my way to the frozen food aisle.

"It's for Calliope," Caeden muttered out, just loud enough for me to hear. My eyes trained on his, his deep brown ones holding that familiar disinterested look. "Said she's never had it before."

"But why would she want the store-bought stuff when Andrew can make it?" I asked, turning to him and dropping my list at my side. Caeden shrugged and pushed past me, the squeaky cart rolling in front of him. I rolled my eyes. So much for that.

The frozen food aisle was not too far, only about three aisles down. While I searched for the lasagna, Caeden grabbed whatever he thought the pack might like. I almost laughed as I watched him deposit four boxes of pizza bites into the cart.

My eyes found the lasagna and I rifled through the different brands, looking for the best one. I smiled softly and inhaled the sweet scent of Stouffers. My mother would make it from time to time when she was too tired to cook.

I spun towards Caeden and tossed the package underhand towards him. "Catch!"

He did not catch it.

Caeden jumped back, a wildly frightened look in his eyes as the lasagna hit the ground. Thank God it was packaged, otherwise, there would have been cold food all over the floor. Caeden's eyes tracked up to mine, and for the first time in a very long time, I saw something other than indifference in them.

Fear.

It was the same look I had seen from him when I had first met him, back in that old hunter's house. Why would he have that same look now as when he had been shot?

"You alright?" I asked softly, worry dripping into my voice. He nodded and bent to pick up the lasagna as I tentatively made my way over to him. I reached to place a hand on his shoulder and he flinched away from me. My brows furrowed at this.

"I'm fine," came his gravelly voice, and just as quickly as the incident happened, he was gone, already at the end of the aisle and headed towards our next destination.

I scoffed and glared at his back. "Fine, my ass," I grumbled and followed him. The rest of the shopping trip was utterly silent until we got to the cash register, where I had to speak to the cashier. I paid while Caeden bagged our goods and placed them back into the cart.

"Have a nice day!" the cashier called after us.

I smiled at them. "You too!" I followed Caeden out of the store and to the truck, helping him silently load the groceries into the pickup bed. Not long after, we both climbed into the cab, me at the wheel, and headed home.

My finger tapped against the side of the steering wheel, contemplating how I could get him to say more than just a few words. I had seen him laugh and talk plenty of times with the others, though never when I was involved. Maybe occasionally on game night, but he was often stoic as can be whenever I was around.

"So..." I started rather awkwardly, looking for some way to make him talk. "How long have you and Marcus been together?"

Caeden didn't look away from the window, his eyes watching the tree line as we sped past. "Traveling or... together?" he asked, sounding just as uncomfortable.

"Either one," I offered, just hoping he would say more than three words.

"Traveling for four, together for three," he mumbled. "Roughly," he added as an afterthought. His fingers tapped together in his lap and I was sure he had finished speaking until he piped up again. He cleared his throat and spoke slowly, each word strained in effort at maintaining a conversation. "How about you and the hunter? Dean?"

My face flushed and I almost swerved towards the edge of the road. My grip on the steering wheel tightened. "We're not together. Don't know why everyone thinks that." Caeden hummed quietly and his fingers stopped tapping. I didn't think my grip could tighten anymore, but now I was clinging on with white knuckles and tense muscles. "We're not. And we're not going to be."

Caeden chuckled, a sound that surprised me as I had rarely heard it. "I said that once, too." From there the conversation died out and the cab was silent once more as we pulled into the driveway.

The rest of my day was spent doing simple chores and yard work, though my mind was occupied with swirling thoughts. Caeden, despite knowing him for months now, was still a complete mystery to me. I knew very little of his life prior to meeting the pack. I knew nothing about how or when he was bitten, how he met Marcus, or why he was trying to kill an old hunter with such vicious resolve.

I tossed my small shovel to the ground and sat back on my heels in contemplation. I didn't want to push him but did want to know him. I at least had the right to know why he refused to talk to me.

Right?

—

Another week and a half had passed and my leg was nearly healed. Sasha had pulled the stitches out a few days prior and I could walk without any sort of help. It felt great to not need a crutch. My muscles were only fragments of what they had been, but the last week had held many chances to rebuild.

I stalked out onto the lawn and towards my packmates, where Booth was leading fights yet again. Today was all about hand-to-hand fighting, something I certainly needed more practice in.

It had been a long time since I was able to shift, although I hadn't tried in the last few weeks. I hadn't had any contact with my rather vicious, instinctive side, nor had she felt the need to urge me to fight anyone and anything. I almost missed her angry outburst - at least when she was present I knew the ability to change forms lay just below the surface.

I had been trying not to think about my predicament. The scars along my thigh, shown clearly by the shorts I was wearing, were bad enough. I didn't need more on my plate.

I still wondered about the whispers from time to time. What was it that was speaking to me? I hadn't heard any of the whispers since my brief altercation with John. It drove me mad to think that everything I had been trying to understand was suddenly gone.

"Hey," chimed Booth, waving me over. "You come to watch?"

I shook my head. "I'm looking for a fight actually. It's been too long since I've had a good one." Booth frowned and I smiled at him with what I hoped was a reassuring grin.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" He asked, gesturing towards the spider web of white scars on my thigh. "You're still healing."

"I think I can manage it," I said with fake confidence, crossing my arms over my chest. Truthfully, I wasn't sure I would win a fight right now. Sure, I had received some tips on fighting over the years from my father or my uncle, but that in no way made me an expert. The lack of strength and confidence I had could be my downfall.

And perhaps, if I was in enough danger, I’d finally find it in me to change forms.

What I needed now was a solid win, when all I had been getting recently was losses. Booth seemed to sense that. He nodded slowly and shrugged. "Your funeral, kid." I cheered and pumped a fist into the air in excitement. "Calliope just got done with a match, but I can have her fight you if you'd like-"

“I’m real tired, Booth,” Calliope whined from her spot on the ground, her dark hair splayed out on the messy lawn and grass and weeds. “Give me a break?”

Booth pursed his lips and stared incredulously down at Calliope. The young woman scrunched her eyes closed tightly, avoiding his lingering gaze. He sighed dramatically and looked around the clearing, taking a mental catalog of my options. Marcus sat on the porch soaking up the sun with Sasha. Andrew sat on the grass on the opposite side of the ring, catching his breath after his bout with Cal. So that left…

“Caeden?” Booth called, and the quiet man twisted to face us. He stood at the edge of the designated sparring ring with arms crossed and brows furrowed. “You up for it?”

I heard shuffling from behind us and turned to see Marcus sitting upright in his lounge chair, suddenly interested in the fights. The relaxed grin he bore had rapidly disappeared, replaced with a curious frown. Sunglasses obscured his eyes, but I knew they were narrowed in curiosity.

“Don’t see why not,” Caeden responded calmly. I watched as he bent down and grabbed a roll of sparring tape from the ground. He taped his knuckles carefully before tossing it my way. I held my tongue, watching and waiting instead – I would have to treat myself carefully

"Right, this'll be a clean fight. I'll beat your asses, alpha or not, if it ain't.” I bit back a smile as I stepped into the ring and took to my side, by back to Booth. "You get knocked out or get your throat caught, you're done for. No shifting ‘til I say."

My ears pricked at that last line. Shifting. My skin paled as I twisted to look at him over my shoulder. “Wait, Booth, I don’t think-”

A shriek left my lips as a heavy weight collided with me, knocking my square onto my back. All the air in my lungs left my body in a quick puff of breath. “Caeden!” a warning shout came from behind us.

Caeden dove toward me and I lifted my knees to connect with his chest, his weight falling down hard on me and jarring my thigh. Pain rippled up my legs through my injury, a patchwork crater that was still working to fill the void in my flesh. I pushed and knocked him to the side and stood, stooping low in preparation for his next attack.

Caeden swung his leg out in a sweeping motion, connecting with the back of my knees and causing me to land on my ass. I sat up just in time to be met with a punch to the face.

"First blood!" I heard Booth call out. My head spun as I stood, feeling blood drip down my face. I wiped at my lips, my hand coming away red.

I stared at my bloodied hand in shock and wiped a knuckle across the base of my nose. I turned my head sharply towards my opponent, eyes narrowed with fury. "Did you just break my fucking nose?"

Caeden shrugged and brought his hands back up. "I think it's a good look for you."

I snarled and lunged, my elbow connecting with his jaw. His head lolled back and I gripped him by his ears, bringing his face down to meet my knee. Blood poured from his nose as he stumbled backward, a dazed look on his face. "Looks good on you too," I spat, blood dripping into my mouth.

He roared and launched forward, a blow connecting with my ribs. I swung back wildly, not caring where I hit him or what I hit him with. I fell to the ground, landing hard on my back in the dirt, and snarled.

I rolled to the side and struggled to stand, but was dragged backward by my ankles, nails tearing the sensitive flesh. Caeden released me and clawed at my hair, dragging me to my feet by my scalp. An arm struggled to wrap around my throat as I snarled and spat wildly, thrashing in his grip.

I grabbed his arm and dug my nails into his wrist, my teeth sinking into his dark flesh until I tasted blood. Caeden howled in pain and dropped me. I spun to face him with blood stained teeth.

"Shift!" Booth shouted and Caeden wasted no time in bursting forward in his fur, his chocolaty brown, wiry fur a tangled, bloody mess.

My eyes widened a fraction as he barreled into me, jaws snapping at my throat. Fuck. I still can't shift. I reached a hand up towards his neck and dug my nails into his fur, piercing the flesh. I pushed upward, putting pressure on his throat with the palm of my hand. Caeden slobbered on me, his claws digging into the soft flesh of my arms. I screamed as Caeden rolled to the side, dragging my hand with him and exposing my upper arm.

“Caeden!” Marcus’s voice drifted from the porch, followed by the thump of him jumping off the porch and running towards the ring. Caeden’s icy blue gaze drifted from me to Marcus. His eyes narrowed, his teeth sank into my flesh, and he ground his jaws together.

I swung a punch towards Caeden, my fist connecting with the side of his burly head. He yelped and released my arm. I slid to the side, and stood on shaky feet, eyes trained on the wiry mutt before me.

"What are you doing!?" someone screamed to my left. "Shift!" My eyes trained on Booth's figure as he frantically gestured to Caeden. My eyes whipped back to the dog before me, trained on his vibrant blue ones, opposite to his usual brown.

Caeden lunged forward again and I side-stepped, kicking him hard in the ribs. He yelped and landed rougher than intended, spinning to face me once more.

Caeden lunged forward, paws colliding with my chest and throwing me over backward. I could feel the pull in me somewhere, that same feeling I had when the bear found Calliope. An itch in the back of my mind, like I knew what I was supposed to do but couldn’t quite get there. Like a slippery rope sliding helplessly through my fingers. I howled as Caeden snapped at my throat and I braced my forearm against his neck, struggling to push him away.

A high-pitched ringing filled my ears as I screamed, fighting to get him off of me. I screamed and snarled and clawed at his fur, my fingers gripping and tearing at his flesh in an almost pitiful display compared to his claws. The hair on my arms thickened and darkened like fur, but it just wasn’t enough.

“Caeden, stop!” Marcus shouted. A growl ripped out of Caeden’s throat. His jaws snapped at my throat, the ivory tickle of his teeth teasing my flesh.

I shouted once more and gave a mighty shove, throwing Caeden across the ring with strength I never knew I had. Caeden struggled to his feet, blue eyes wide with shock from my sudden strength. He drew back his lips revealing pink gums and bloodied teeth. I snarled back and brought my hands up, ready to fight him once more. His eyes narrowed coldly.

What do you have to prove? I questioned as I stared at him and paced around the ring, keeping my distance. He watched with curiosity, taking in the blood dripping down my face, my hobbling leg, my tired ankle from his ceaseless dragging.

The itch fell to the base of my neck, now more of a tug that seemed to urge me forward. My teeth elongated into fangs, nails sharpened into claws. It wasn’t enough- it was never enough. I needed more.

That scared me. The need for strength and power, so easy to abuse. I didn’t want it.

My eyes feel on my pack members- friends standing at the edge of the arena. Did I have power over them? Was that what scared me-?

Caeden launched himself at me in my distraction, faster than a bolt of lightning. I punched him in the jaw as he flew towards me, redirecting his course to land roughly at my side. I kicked out, connecting with his shoulder and he whirled to grip my ankle in his firm jaws. He yanked and pulled me to the ground, a wild fury and hatred in his eyes.

Hatred.

Why did he hate me?

I howled and kicked again, my heel landing against his temple. He stumbled to the side, his teeth still fastened to my ankle, blood dripping down his jaws. He looked at me with utter malice, and suddenly I recognized the fear he had once held.

He never trusted me, not like he did the rest of the pack. I knew that, of course, but why now-?

Oh. An alpha that can’t shift… isn’t an alpha.

His snapping jaws dragged me to the ground by my already weak ankle. My blood boiled as I writhed on the ground, flailing as hard as I could to get him off me. I swung wildly, gripping at his ears and his fur, bruising him with heavy fists, throwing him around with frantic kicks. Still, he did not loosen his hold on my ankle.

His blue eyes lifted to mine, holding a resolve in them that appeared to say I knew it.

You're not my alpha, they seemed to say. If you were, you could win this.

I don’t want to be your alpha- I want to be your friend. That’s what I wanted to say, but all that came out was a strangled cry.

I lunged forward, gripped his upper jaw and struggled to pry him from my leg. My skin was scorching with unfathomable rage as I gripped his jaw and pressed my thumb into the roof of his mouth, my nail digging into the sensitive skin. Blood dripped down my thumb.

Caeden howled out and scrabbled at my arm, claws tearing the delicate flesh. I snarled and gripped Caeden's throat, pressing my hand down until he was gasping for breath, blood trickling down his throat. Red tinted the edges of my vision, and this time I didn't push it away. I let it fuel me.

“Would you just-!” I shouted through hot, sticky blood dripping into my mouth.

Caeden's eyes were still wild with defiance and anger. I snarled a primal growl that startled even myself. I felt my eyes burning, that same feeling of electricity that raced under my skin, and they began to glow their familiar molten gold. Caeden howled and struggled under my grip.

“- Fucking listen for once!?”

My mind buzzed with an odd feeling, an unfamiliar presence that seemed to be cracking beneath me. Caeden howled, the only sound I heard amongst the harsh buzzing, and he thrashed. The defiance was gone. Instead, I saw fear.

No, no no no, don’t-

The floodgates broke and the buzzing swept over me like a tidal wave as memories and emotions filled my mind. Memories that weren't mine.

A young boy raced through dirty city streets, screaming for help as he struggled to outrun the pounding of feet behind him. He couldn't have been older than thirteen. He had deep scars on his hands, now drenched in blood from his bloody knuckles.

He ran, screaming for help that he knew wouldn't come. The thing owned these streets. It would catch him.

He felt a tearing in his shoulder and he screamed louder than he ever had before a terrified, pained scream. His deep brown eyes fixated on sharp, angular teeth digging into his shoulder. What felt like an electric shock went through him and suddenly he was a bleeding heap on the ground.

And suddenly the boy was older, though only by two or three years. He argued with a much older, grizzled, and angrier-looking man who was riddled with scars and tattoos. The older man smacked the younger boy backhand across the face, sending him sprawling on the ground.

"I won't do it!" the boy spat.

"You will," snarled the older man. His voice faded off into a series of threats as the memory swirled and faded into another.

The boy was running again, once more away from pounding footsteps behind him. He lept into the air and shifted into a deep brown, wiry form, blue eyes blazing. He howled in delight, a howl that delighted in the feeling of freedom.

The boy laughed gleefully as he pranced around in an open field around a recently dead deer, blood fresh on his matted jaws. His first kill. He could live without eating humans, despite what they had told him. Suddenly, his eyes whipped up to meet a brown pair, belonging to a dog. This dog, a clear English pointer, was like him. A skinwalker, right?

The English pointer had turned out to be a girl, and he thought she was rather pretty. She coaxed him into following her, and he did. She had a pack.

Packs are terrifying. Look at what his last one did.

But her pack was good. They welcomed him with open arms. They were kind like he wanted to be. Nothing like in the city.

He could be free with them.

And he was free for years. He rose through the ranks and quickly became the alpha's second. His alpha.

And suddenly his alpha was gone. The tents were burning, his pack was howling, screaming in pain. He could hear them, he could feel them dying off one by one. Suddenly his heart squeezed.

His alpha.

He raced towards the largest tent and burst forth to see an almost blinding flash of light and his alpha thump to the floor, lifeless, a bullet hole in his head. Caeden screamed, pain and sorrow ripping through his body as his now burning blue eyes fixed on the hunter who did this.

He would remember his face, his smell.

He looked older now, though it had clearly only been a few years. He looked exhausted as tears ran down his face.

A new pack had come into the area and they had taken over. Caeden had lost the challenge. He lost the pack. And now these new monsters were wreaking havoc.

He writhed under the weight of heavy silver chains as they dug into and burned his naked flesh. He was bound tightly in the middle of the camp for all to see. Their precious alpha, who couldn't protect him.

He deserved the scars the chains would leave.

The memory changed to one not long after, maybe a week or so. Caeden was covered in blood, his skin raw and torn. He fought with tired motions to push his former beta away, telling her to run. She removed the chains and ushered him to leave, to get away, to bring help.

He couldn't. If he did, she would take his place.

"I don't care," she said. "Just go."

And he did. He ran and he ran until his legs collapsed, not caring that he couldn't breathe. And still, he crawled, dragging himself through the woods. He stopped his scrambling as two massive golden paws landed before him, and his blue eyes trailed up to meet playful green ones.

Memories whirled past faster than they could truly be understood. Caeden running through wide, green fields with Marcus, their paws muffled by the grasses. The two quickly became family and accepted no alpha other than themselves. The bond they shared.

And suddenly it was dark, and one smell filled Caeden's nose. The smell of the hunter. He chased it with Marcus not far behind, hunting the man down. It had been years, but Caeden hadn't given up.

There was the house, with its single light from the second story. The duo stalked up the porch in their fur and Caeden shifted, pushing the door open for Marcus. He pounded up the stairs to find the man reclined in a chair. He shifted and leapt onto the man's back, tearing his flesh and basking in his blood.

And all too suddenly he was ripped away. He lifted his head to snarl at his attacker, only to be met with golden eyes bearing down on him with absolute rage.

And then he was bleeding and burning, silver filled holes in his stomach. He would die here.

He woke up in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar house. And before he knew it, that house was his. But he did not belong to the house. He hated the black monster that pulled him here - hated that he respected her and that she expected him to submit. Why did Marcus submit? Had they not agreed that they were their own alphas?

And now here he was, bearing his throat to her, sealing a bond he had never made with another alpha. Not his first. Not his second. Certainly not his third. But now, he was bound.

I gasped and stumbled backward, the flood of memories fading. Caeden groaned and clutched his head. When had he shifted back? His blue eyes faded to their rich brown and they fixated on mine that still held their gold.

I felt something heavy settle between us, like a chain tugging us together. Electricity buzzed under my skin, not like the molten heat I had felt previously. No, the heat was mine, but this was him. The weight settled at the nape of my neck. I stared at him in shock as the glade fell quiet.

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural x reader #fluff #angst #slow burn #cross posted on ao3 #cross posted on wattpad #monster reader #Monster #original characters #original monster characters #x reader #female reader

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bonesofapoet · 2 years ago

Text

A Taste of Mercy

prologue - golden crown of sorrow

[ silco x f! artist!reader, honestly this one borderlines on oc ]

author’s note : i swore to myself eons ago i wouldnt write another Fic Fic but then this rat man entered my life and ive been working on this for a whole year since. theres a Plan. a Playlist. Moodboards. im in so so deep and im taking you all down with me. Starlight - placeholder name

word count : 2358

It was a privilege to feel the sunlight, and the crisp air that came with it.

It was something so simple, yet extremely coveted on this side of the river, and it never ceased to make Starlight feel alive. The way it felt to have golden fingers reaching from the shining sun to caress bare skin. To experience the sweet smelling wind dance around bodies as they walk down streets, weave in and out of various shops and kiosks down the block. It was, to most, an ideal concept of contentment blooming in the chests of the hopeful, and inspiring bitterness that soured in the souls of the spiteful.

The way something so simple could spark such strong senses of divide among one single city, well. Welcome to Piltover. Welcome to Zaun. Enjoy your stay, but be careful where you step, and watch who you speak to. Unless, of course, you wish to end your day growing a garden of bloody knives in your chest.

And yet, if one played their cards right, it could almost be a gentle sort of life, like how she spent most of her time in that liminal space between one upper and lower city of Runeterra. Famous, infamous, the terms were loose, flexible, yet they were both true all the same.

(Just depends on who you ask. Depends on when you asked too, in the grander scheme of things.)

But for most, The Painted Gray was neither. It wasn’t the condescension of Piltover masquerading as equality, nor was it the harshness of Zaun fighting for its life to breathe. No, it was simply hers, and Starlight’s art gallery rested on the cusp of the Boundary Markets.

It was a safe space for those that needed one.

A few from the Undercity, and, occasionally Topsiders - the ones who had a problem with the way she ran her establishment were simply not welcome, and over time, it was a fact that no one dared to challenge.

(- except on the days a new patron wandered in, dripping in gilded Piltovian wealth – that usually inspired her to start a fresh piece right then and there. Less than savory words would be layered atop suggestive ones – palette knives were often gripped harshly to reduce the temptation of ramming the tool so far up their -)

Because at the end of the day,especially during those first few years -

Starlight went home to the Undercity, not a patronage in an esteemed Piltovian estate. Her work had been called controversial at worst, biased at best. Her early collections hadn’t made her Topside clientele comfortable, but Zaun had watched. They knew she was doing her part, and she was doing it well.

Fast forward, four years strong.

It was a warm spring evening, when she simply saw him for the first time.

The front doors of the Gray were propped open - the heavy wooden monstrosities that they were - remained tied to the columns bracketing the little alcove in front of them. It was a breezy day, and the cool wind brought an extra reprieve to the small crowds scattered throughout the gallery floor. The windows wrenched wide open hadn’t been enough to cool them down once the sun crested at midday. Starlight was surprised to find she was still busy, even among the sudden heat.

She was speaking with a client - Piltovian, visibly filthy rich and pitching an intriguing idea for her upcoming cafe opening - when he walked in, lingering in the doorway for just a second too long.

The movement catches her eye - except, no. It’s not that. It was the atmosphere he brought with him, she decided; how he carried himself and demanded the attention of those around him. She watched him enter the gallery proper, watched him lazily take in the wall to wall displays of adorned canvas and lavishly framed drawings. Watched him turn towards one of the various shelves that ran the length of the room, home to pieces that were designed with tabletops in mind for size. She was thrown, somehow, by the way -

“Starlight?”

“Sorry?”

Her eyes trailing this man, now admiring some of her early pieces - were dragged, unceremoniously, back to the client in question.

The man hears her name and turns - almost automatically - to search for this artist he has heard oh so much about. When he finds her, it’s-

“My color palette for the piece? Will it clash with my choice of-”

“With the decor palette! Not if I choose the right hues, it wont.” Starlight recovers, and adds a wink for good measure.

The confirmation drags a grin out of the woman, and relief makes a home on her face. “Then I won’t have anything to worry about will I?”

Starlight answers with an easy laugh, eyes sliding back to the man in question. If she looked up a moment sooner, she would have found him watching her, just as she had been studying him.

What an interesting game of cat and mouse, this was turning out to be.

“If you did, I don’t think you would keep hiring me, would you, Ana?” and that’s all she needs to say, before a deposit is within her grasp, and a freshly inked contract is added to the pile by her workspace.

The woman leaves, and Starlight returns to the canvas she had just begun to lose herself in, before the prospect of a new commission had flown into her gallery. The interruption, coincidentally, uprooted the inspiration she had just found. A disgruntled sigh escapes her lips, loud enough to catch the eyes of the patrons within earshot. He was one of them, and Starlight looked up just in time to watch him hurry for the door. A look had painted his face like her artwork had - had burned him.

Eyebrows fall together, and that’s all she can think about until she pulls those damned doors shut for the night. The curses that fall from her lips aren’t hushed, with no one to hear her complain about the weight of the solid wood she paid extra to have installed.

She’s unsettled, when she flips all four locks, mind relentlessly drifting to a small collection of paintings she hadn’t thought about for a very long time. Her eyes fell on them, near the middle of the shop, hung together on the wall in their own little space. She found the one that he, the man from earlier – crisp attire, scarred face, bright bright bright crimson eye – he had lingered here, on this one. Dissected it, almost, and usually she loved when her own eye caught someone lost in her work, but this time-

She kept her distance. He was a new face, here at the Painted Gray, and she wasn’t about to interrupt his staring contest with her favorite old painting.

She went over to it, the piece he had fixated on. Wondered what it had stirred up in him to make him turn tail and leave as quick as he had. Her hands rested on her hips, head tilting slightly as she looked upon the painting she knew better than she even knew herself.

Bright, vivid memories swooped down into details dulled with time and the deep nostalgia surrounding them. Certain parts were remembered clearly as the previous day, whereas others – well, time did strange things. Minds did strange things. Pieces became fuzzy and questionable. Events blurred and melted with melancholy of the aftermath. It was hard to tell, sometimes, which was reality and which was simply not.

Because - well, she remembers the uprising the same way a child recalls their favorite story. The way a sick patient lives through a fever dream. That is to say, a fractured kaleidoscope of colors and feelings and the Turning Point Events that happened, sure, but-

The details were fuzzy. They slid and sloped down through the cracks, planted seeds of questionable value that made her wonder if some of those memories actually happened after all, or. . .they were a half truth. A fiction, something she simply made up to tell her story in the way it would make sense in a world that often didn’t.

And yet -

Starlight had never been a fighter, not really.

The mantle she welcomed with a healthy dose of grace – it was different. It bred its own brand of fear, but it was her chosen position within the Effort, nonetheless. Spread a little joy, usher in a little catharsis. It had to be remembered, in some way, and it sure as the Gray made a good outlet for herself on top of it.

And so, she began to create.

It took her by storm, every time she pulled on those strings, every time she traveled down that rabbit hole into a past version of herself. Vivid, dark, and raging thunder cracks in her ears, the sound preceded by blinding lightning forking and flashing silhouettes right before her eyes. She captured them all, when they arose.

Sometimes it was through dreams dragging her backwards through time. Others, it was a glance at Vander caught in a menacing catch of light behind the bar in The Last Drop. Her work wasn’t graphic, most of it not even a clean cut realism piece; she held no interest in recreating what they had all seen. Instead, her attention was captured by breathing new life into what she knew, something still so very raw in its own way.

Especially in Zaun.

Starlight never did learn who entered her gallery that day, not until Vander had fallen, and her beloved Zaun had descended – once again – into chaos. Fear was the new currency and guaranteed protection was now in high demand. Having a security detail was never a necessity, but times had changed. The arts were valuable. A rarity, even, for some. She had been lucky so far, but luck never lasted forever, even this close to Piltover.

Enter, Silco.

The minute he stepped through her doors, everything stopped. The air stilled, patrons fell quiet. All she heard from behind the canvas – a fresh piece officially in full swing – were the footfalls of his gilded boots on polished wood. Starlight poked out her head to survey the odd shift in energy and-

She froze. Eyes grew wide.

It was him.

And, he brought company this time. Flanking the front doors, just outside – she saw their bulky silhouettes through the frosted glass.

He was walking right toward her, eyes sweeping over her work displayed in his line of sight. She pulled her head back behind the painting, trying very hard not to slam the paintbrush down into the glass of dirty water. Tried not to let the glass palette fall to the floor while it found a surface to rest on, gently.

She took a bracing breath.

Starlight rose to greet him; she already guessed who he was by the time he stopped in front of her work space. He kept his distance, hands tucked neatly behind his back. Waited for her to finish sizing him up, to make the first move.

And that, she did.

The rumors of Zaun’s new leader were tall, and the whispers of his movement were colorful, but Starlight was not going to let him intimidate her under her very own roof.

If he was going to put on a show, then she would rise to give him one of her own.

“I know who you are. If you’re looking for trouble, you’re paying for my damages.”

Oh.

Silco certainly wasn’t expecting. . .that. Furthermore, he wasn’t expecting her to be so. . .forward. The reputation of Zaun’s most promising modern artist hadn’t whispered fire in his ear.

He was curious now, incredibly so.

She sniffed, leveled her gaze. Silco’s lips quirked just enough for her to notice.

“I’m offering just the opposite, if you’d like to hear about it.” He shifts in place, eye(s) drifting from her face to survey the displays around her work space, the framed pieces overlooking the floor from above. “You’re the artist behind The Painted Gray?”

A dip of her head, name falling through her lips. “I’d offer my hand, but -” she gestures to the mess of supplies behind her, the patrons trying not to obviously eavesdrop. Her hands are very clearly stained with paint. “I’m a little busy.”

He wants to offer me protection.

Hesitation flooded her heart, settled heavy in her chest. She lives in the Undercity. She’s heard of Silco, heard of the services he’s been offering. She knew what this would mean – the implications of both his offer and her acceptance.

She didn’t like sharing what she worked so hard to keep.

“Ah, of course. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Except he did, though. They both knew it.

The Eye of Zaun took a step backward, cast one last lingering glance at the shards of her soul lining the walls. “Perhaps we can discuss a. . .potential arrangement? At your earliest convenience?”

She watches him, waiting for her response. Even so, she doesn’t relax – just watches him take another step backward, leveling his eyes, finally, with hers.

Silco stops. Inhales. Tightens the hidden grip on his hands. She remembers him. He hasn’t stepped through those doors in months – yet he can see the recognition in her eyes.

“I’ll hear you out. I close up at seven bells.”

“Your establishment, or mine?”

“If I say mine,” she drawls, reaching for a towel. Starlight wipes paint off her hands, holds his stare. “Will you bring less muscle? They’re scaring off my collectors.”

Silco smiles; it’s a wry, sardonic thing. His answering laugh is smooth, but he accepts her terms without missing a beat. Their eyes linger on one another for a moment longer, before he turns and heads for the door.

Starlight made up her mind as soon as the Gray’s atmosphere returned to its usual weightless charm. She would accept his inevitable offer, but she was sure Silco wouldn’t expect her to lay out terms of her own, straight down to the last breath.

After all, negotiating came easy when she already sold her soul for a living. Nothing would ever compete.

Not with that.

#silco x reader #silco x you #silco imagine #silco fanfic #silco x oc #arcane imagine #silco #arcane silco #a taste of mercy #i literally do not know whats going on here but im excited about it #kas writes

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kohakuarisaka · 4 years ago

Text

Untamed (chapter 2 of 5)

Takami Keigo x (fem!)Reader

[ SUMMARY ] Every year, without fail, Hawks went into a rut: when autumn began, and then again in early spring. He would honker down up north in a secluded cabin. For the first time, he brought you with him.

[ WARNINGS ] R18+ for graphic sexual content and language. Non-canon compliant: Hawks’ quirk does not work like this. Reader is a hero that works at Hawks agency. Pre-existing relationship. Reader is a female with female genitalia. Feral behavior. Rutting. Biting. Spanking. Slight BDSM. Consensual sex. Wing kink. Oral sex. Romantic relationship.

Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5

[ My BNHA Fanfic Masterlist ] ~ [ Also on my AO3 ]

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As it turned out, 'secluded cabin' was a pretty accurate statement.

Hawks had arranged for a very discreet hero taxi service to drive you the 5-hour trip from Musutafu to a quaint mountainous village that was so small and quiet, you almost doubted it was even on the map.

Past the snowy village, through the winding roads and towering trees, over a bridge, past a frozen lake, and then some miles off the main road, tucked away in a small clearing, was a beautiful cabin.

While the days were steadily growing warmer as spring rapidly approached, it still snowed at night. The snow had melted off the trees from the warmth of the midday sun; but, there was still a light blanket of white on the rooftop and across the surrounding grounds.

There were no poles lining the street, nothing that could bring electricity to the house; however, you could see what was likely a generator tucked away in the back. Someone had propped the cover off and cleaned out the snow.

At that sight, it became obvious that Hawks had beat you here. He already taken to clearing the snow out of the entry way as well, exposing a beautiful cobblestone pathway.

You exited the vehicle and retrieved your bags from the trunk. The very second you closed the hatch, the driver made a speedy exit, wheels skidding in the snow as they backed out before doing a sharp U-turn and barreling down the road.

Luckily, the entrance to the cabin opened before you could worry that you had just been abandoned in the middle of nowhere. Sure enough, Hawks stepped out, wild blonde locks brushed back, a little fluffier than usual due to the change in humidity.

Despite how cold it was, he was wearing a black tank top and loose, light grey sweat pants. He even stepped out onto the cold stone pathway with bare feet. Yet, with a light flush to his skin, he didn't look cold at all.

You had been making a face when he approached, and he offered an explanation, uttering, "I told 'em not to linger. It's suspicious."

Some large plumes departed his wingspan and grabbed at your luggage, one even pulling your shoulder bag off your back. They whipped away, bags in tow, and zipped past Hawks and through the doorway, disappearing into the cabin.

The winged hero didn't immediately usher you inside, as he usually did in these types of situations, but arched over you suddenly, arms bringing you into a tight embrace while his lips captured yours.

The sudden closeness forced your back to arch. Unconsciously, your hands fell onto his barely clothed shoulders, and you felt how warm he was. If you didn't know any better, you would have thought he was running a fever.

The kiss was brief, but uncharacteristically messy, not that you were complaining. It was a kiss of longing, like he had missed you dearly, as if it had been months and not a day and a half.

He pulled back, a distant, albeit blissful, look on his face. His eyelids sagged as if he was tired, but the gold of his iris was bright and his pupils were focused.

"I didn't get to clean yet, but - ugh - do you wanna see inside?" he asked, some slight nervousness to his tone.

"Yeah," you breathed.

Hawks stepped aside and you gently brushed past him and stepped inside. The wood floors creaked softly beneath your feet as you crossed the threshold. Immediately, you were hit with a wonderful scent, earthy, like tree bark, but sweet, like raw honey.

It was a decent sized cabin, spacious and not heavily furnished. The kitchen was on the small side, but seemingly to accommodate a larger living room.

As Hawks had warned, there was a thin layer of dust all across the wood floors. The furniture was covered by clear tarps, shielding them from the debris.

The dining area tucked away in the corner had a chabudai in place of a western style table. It was small and clearly only intended for two people. You had a feeling it was new, considering how spotless it looked compared to the rest of the cabin.

A huge, stone fireplace rested against the north wall, surrounded by large windows that gave a beautiful view of the outside. They were adorned with heavy curtains, pulled back to let the sunlight in.

Hawks was lingering, following close, staring down at you as you walked around and took in the sight of the place. When your eyes landed on him, and you caught his unblinking stare, you realized he was awaiting feedback.

It startled you a little, for Hawks wasn't the kind to fuss over these sorts of things; but, you had a decent enough understanding of what a rut was to know what was going through his head.

"Relax, birdbrain," you cooed, reaching up to tap gently at his cheek with a closed palm. That seemed to knock him out of his stupor, for he blinked and suddenly looked sheepish. He flickered his gold eyes away, as if to give you space.

"I love it," you praised, looking back into the living area. "Cozy, and smells nice."

You heard him exhale a relieved sigh through his nostrils.

"We should get to work. Where's the cleaning stuff?" you asked, peeling your jacket off.

"Oh. I'll-" he began.

"You'll let me help," you interrupted him gently.

When you turned back to face him, and saw the bewildered expression he was wearing, you wondered if maybe that wasn't the right thing to fit with his current state.

"Unless that's... bad?" you offered uncertainly, shoulders sagging.

Hawks laughed suddenly at the sunken expression on your face, as if the joyous sound came sputtering out against his will.

"No," he answered softly, leaning in suddenly for another kiss, as if he couldn't help it. You didn't get a chance to kiss back before he was retreating.

"Don't change," he sighed. "I want you as you, not as my..."

"-subservient housewife?" you offered, just a little teasing.

He chuckled softly, breathing out a harsh, "fuck, no."

Hawks maneuvered around you and headed for what you guessed was a supply closet. Inside, the cleaning gear was also neatly packaged in containers and safe from dust.

It made sense, how neatly arranged everything was. Hawks was a fairly neat person; but, it was also clear that he had this whole thing down, neatly tuned and properly sorted out. He had been coming here for years, after all.

This place was special to him. That much was clear.

The two of you started to dusting and sweeping, followed by a diligent mopping, with the two of you working in tandem.

Hawks was fairly quiet during the whole ordeal, seemingly focused sternly on the task at hand. It had been his nest for years. This was hardly anything new; but, it was now going to be yours, too.

He didn't tell you that he had been worried he would react negatively to your presence. He didn't always react rationally during this time. Seemingly average things would sometimes irritate him, and a part of the possessive onslaught included this abode.

Fortunately, that hadn't been the case. Cleaning the cabin with you was soothing. He wasn't unaware of the obvious implication: that you were preparing a nest together, your shared nest. He didn't say it aloud, but you had come to that realization, as well.

It had actually calmed him quite a bit. He had been on edge before you arrived, skin prickled with heat and sweating unreasonably considering the cold. Those weren't abnormal during his ruts; but, it felt intensified with that knowledge that you were going to be here.

Darkness swept across the forest as the hours dragged on. Luckily, you were just about finished by the time it got dark.

There was a neat stack of firewood arranged on a carrier near the fireplace, making you wonder if that was what he had worked on before your arrival. The logs looked freshly cut and heavy.

Crimson feathers delivered logs to the hearth. Hawks retrieved a set of matches from a cubby near the carrier and then kneeled before the hearth. He set one of the matches ablaze and carefully ignited the firewood arranged in the pit.

Warmth and light flooded the cabinet. Plumes gathered along the edges of the curtains and pulled them back, covering the windows. When they returned to his wingspan, he stepped back and monitored the fire briefly.

While cleaning, you had learned there was a cellar and partial second story, as well as an indoor bathroom. It seemed that the main use of the generator was to power the water heater and indoor plumbing.

The cellar was small, down a short flight of stairs, with concrete floors and walls, the perfect size for containing a month's worth of food and supplies, far more than was necessary for just a week.

The second story was a loft that oversaw the living room, giving a great view of the fireplace. There was no safety railing on the upstairs, likely for the very obvious fact that Hawks could fly. There was, at least, a staircase.

Upstairs, there was a large bed frame with a plush mattress, wrapped up tight to protect from dust, a large chest pressed up against the wall, and a desk without a chair.

After he removed the bed cover, you watched Hawks pull neatly folded blankets and pillow cases out the chest. It was fascinating to see someone, who normally slept wherever his body landed, so meticulously prepare the bedding: layers and layers of blankets, followed by dressing the pillows and laying them out.

It was especially perplexing because of the intense, concentrated look on his face. He had been so focused that he hadn't even realized that you had paused what you were doing to watch him.

Luckily, you caught yourself staring before he did, and shuffled back downstairs before he could notice.

A sudden howling had startled you, before a sharp wind rattled against the shutters. Something was thumping gently against the roof and when the wind picked up, you could almost hear the trees shuddering outside.

"It's snowing," Hawks observed, suddenly at your side.

You could see a glimpse of crimson in the corner of your eye, and realized he had a wing fanned out around you, not quite close enough to touch, but hovering. Maybe, he hadn't even realized he was doing that.

"Oh," you answered quietly.

Together, you prepared dinner, settling for a classic favorite of his: yakitori chicken and stir fry noodles.

Eating dinner together, and talking about nothing, made you realize, it had been the first time in a long time, if ever, that you hadn't discussed work: nothing about the agency, nothing about heroes or villains, nothing about police business or missions.

It was just senseless conversations that amounted to nothing.

The dining table was small and the floor was cold; but, your hands brushed constantly due to the lack of space. It made you realize that you had longed to have this type of moment with him, something so utterly domestic.

"I know it's not super late," Hawks began, on his way to the kitchen with the dirty plates. "But, I'm gonna wake you up early; so, let's get to bed, okay?"

His voice was soft, surprisingly drowsy, you realized, and he continued, "it's - well, there's something I wanna show you, and it looks best in the sunrise."

He had started the dishes before you could; so, you stepped in close, deciding to tease him a little.

"I bet you do look best in the sunrise," you uttered, leaning against the counter top near the sink, where he had busied his hands. He was looking away from you; but, you could see his lip twitch into a faint smile.

Hawks laughed, a low chuckle that rumbled through his chest. "Not me," he replied softly. Yet, he found himself feeling enamored with the knowledge that that was where your mind had wandered first.

"Do you want me to wait for you?" you offered, standing upright and shifting away from the counter.

"Nah," he replied simply. "I'll join ya' in a bit."

You changed into your pajamas, brushed your teeth and pulled your hair back, before heading upstairs. Blankets and pillows were stacked high on top of the mattress, making the bedframe disappear beneath it.

It not only looked incredibly warm, but incredibly soft, and an inspection with your hand, smoothing over the surface, confirmed that. There were several pillows pressed against the headboard and even more at the foot of the bed.

If you hadn't seen him arrange it, you would have doubted it was even Hawks' bed. From the glimpses you had seen into his life, he was a minimalist.

His office at the agency was fairly large, but looked almost comical with the lack of furniture in it. He wasn't one to buy much of anything outside of perishables.

"Take those off."

You had heard that commanding tone many times before; but, in the peace and serenity of this cabin, it startled you. Your shoulders twitched a little and you turned to face him, having not heard Hawks approach.

His gold eyes were glaring at your body, shifting up to meet your gaze when you turned to face him.

You gawked back at him, dumbfounded by his boldness, and a little intrigued, if you were being honest. He had warned you about this, and you were about to comply when his dark expression suddenly softened.

"Oh fuck," Hawks blurted, embarrassment washing over his face. The intensity of the moment dissipated and you found yourself unable to hold back a faint smile at the way his face so rapidly changed from anger to shame.

"Shit - I - sorry - ugh," he stammered, some redness tinting the tops of his ears. His dominant hand came up and ruffled his hair. "That was messed up. Ah - what I mean is, can we sleep naked?"

It was clear he wasn't embarrassed about the request, but the way that he had asked. You couldn't hold back a soft chuckle at his frazzled state.

"Of course," you uttered, and began shedding your clothes.

He was staring at your nudity as if it wasn't something he had seen many times before, as if his hands and mouth hadn't explored every inch of skin, hadn't touched and claimed parts of you your own hands couldn't reach.

It made you feel powerful, beautiful.

"Did you brush your teeth?" you asked, knocking him out of his stupor.

He didn't respond, but made a face that gave you your answer. He turned away then, and hopped over the edge of the loft, floating down into the lower floor, and scurried off to the bathroom.

Promptly, you disappeared beneath the blankets, shivering from the cold, skin prickled with goosebumps. You were about to scold yourself for complying with him so eagerly, without demanding a compromise, mainly that you expected him to warm you up.

Luckily, it didn't take him long to join you, and you suddenly felt a very warm, and very naked, body slot into the space behind you, wiggling beneath the blankets. It was almost concerning how warm he was, like he had just flung himself into the hearth before running back over here.

You rolled onto your back to greet him and Hawks wasted no time slotting over you, tangling legs, arms falling on either side of your head. Wispy bangs fell over his forehead, longer strands catching on his eyebrows.

Your eyes peered over his shoulders, where you could see his wings were fanned out above him, plumes stretched wide, looming possessively. When your gaze shifted to his face, your breath hitched.

His stare was hypnotizing, as if he couldn't believe you were here, gold eyes practically glowing in the dimly lit loft.

It made you sad to think just your presence alone had pleased him so much, whereas nothing else had yet to occur. It made you think of all the years he had to endure this alone, the loneliness far more straining than the lack of a pliant body.

"Hey," he began, voice hoarse, distant.

His dominant hand shifted from the bed to cup your cheek, thumb gently prodding at your cheek bone. Just like the rest of his body, his hand was so warm.

"I know I said I wouldn't let you leave," he explained, fingers sliding carefully across your temple. "But, if you want to, at any time, I'll call the taxi and-"

You leaned up, taking his lips in a gentle kiss to silence him. He moaned into the kiss, clearly surprised by your interruption. His hand departed your face, lowering to caress the side of your neck.

When you pulled back, he chased, not letting you depart from him quite so quickly. The kiss carried on for a short while, Hawks only leaning back when he was satisfied.

"No," you disagreed in a soft hum, hands rising to push strands of his hair out of his face. "I'm not leaving. We're going through this together. Okay?"

He let out a sigh that fluttered across your cheeks. "Okay," he agreed, as if he couldn't believe it.

Hawks shifted until he was lying beside you, one arm loose around your waist. You turned a little to lay on your side and lean into him, cheek falling comfortably into the pillow beneath your head, and felt him nuzzle into your back, bringing you as close as he could without ruining your comfort.

One of his wings folded carefully over you while the other sprawled out across the bed. The light from the fire just barely reached the loft, an amber glow that flickered with the dancing flames.

The sounds of the gentle snowfall outside was a little louder upstairs. One of the nearby windows rattled softly, trembling weakly from the breeze that shook the shutters. The rafters above creaked occasionally in melodic hums.

Behind you, Hawks' chest undulated with his breathing, moving against the skin of your back. His wings shifted ever so slightly in harmony with the expansion and shrinking of his lungs. The longer plumes on the ends twitched occasionally.

"Keigo?" you whispered.

He didn't answer. Judging by the way his arm had slackened where it rested over your waist, you figured he had fallen asleep already.

The bedding was soft, and you had no doubt that he had washed them diligently; yet, mingled with the earthy tones of the cabin, they smelt like him. The hearth crackled distantly, the sound a faint echo through the cabin.

It didn't take long to slip away.

• • •

Sometime in the middle of the night, you were woken by a strange sound. In your groggy state, it sounded like a distant animal cooing into the night.

Once you properly came to, you realized the warmth against your back had retreated. The blanket had been partially ripped away in the process, leaving the skin of your back exposed to the cold air of the cabin.

What had sounded far away you now realized was coming from right behind you, pained little noises and harsh wheezing. You rolled over to take in the sight of Hawks, blindly reaching for him in a moment of panic.

Worry struck you when your skin touched his. He had already been warm to the touch before; but now, his skin felt scorching, sticky with sweat. Your hand had landed on his chest, where you could feel his muscles rapidly rising and falling with each staggering breath.

The noise that had woken you became obvious then; he was panting, sharp and labored breaths that whooshed in and out of him, occasionally accompanied with a quiet, pained sound.

He had shoved the blankets away and was laying on his back, wings tucked in uncomfortably tight beneath him. Through the faint glow of warm light from the fireplace, you could see his chest raising and falling rapidly, head tossed back, face contorted in pain. Some strands of blonde locks were clinging to the sweat soaked skin on his face.

"Keigo - Keigo," you called to him, hands rising to his shoulders so you could shake him.

It wasn't until he jerked suddenly, eyes opening and head whipping towards you, that you realized he had been sleeping. His labored breathing intensified, but only for a second, before he started to calm down.

His gold eyes were glossy for a second, staring at you blindly, before he started to wake properly. His lips were parted, sharp breaths still escaping him in harsh wisps.

"Are you okay?" you whispered harshly. "Are you sick? You look-..."

You could see a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. Now, with him leaning up a little, you could see the flush of red tinting his skin, all down his chest and across his cheeks. His shoulder muscles were tight and his wings twitched helplessly beneath him.

"I'm f-fine," Hawks answered, voice low and hoarse. He swallowed roughly. "It's - it's a n-normal side effect."

"You're burning up," you hissed, hands touching his skin so carefully, like you would hurt him if you were too rough. "Are you sure you're okay?" you insisted.

"Just need-" he growled, cutting off as he tried to sit up.

His movement had repositioned your hands, causing them to drag from his shoulders to his chest, less you lose stability and collapse on top of him.

It was a familiar touch, a place you had touched him many times before; yet, he froze suddenly, gaze shifting down to your hands as if they were grounding him to this plane of existence.

Hawks' gold eyes fluttered shut and his pained expression softened. He flopped back on the bed, giving up his attempt to sit up as if he had suddenly lost all strength in his body.

Catching on, you uttered into the cold air, "is that what you need? Keigo, do you want me to-"

"Yes," he answered sharply, hissing through the cold, chilled air. He sounded relieved, thankful that you had offered before he had to ask.

"God, fuck - I - I need you, need to - to - be inside you-"

His babbling briefly ceased when you pushed the blankets off yourself and rolled on top of him, a gesture you had done many times before, now a nearly perfect art.

You watched, hypnotized as Hawks arched his back off the bed and flexed his wings until they were sprawled out on either side of him. The beautiful crimson plumes stretched out across the sheets, shuddering in faint waves that matched his heavy breathings.

In the shift, his cock became pinned against your inner thigh. If you didn't known any better, you would have thought he was prodding you with an iron rod pulled straight from the fires of a forge.

It was unbearably hot, hard as steel and painfully poking against your flesh. You could feel his heartbeat through his cock, throbbing against you as if pleading to be touched.

Arousal had never struck you this hard before, with enough force that it made your never regions throb and chest tighten. Blood rushed to your face so quickly, you briefly feared you would pass out.

Now, hovering, looking down at him, it was almost unbearable. It was clear that Hawks was in pain, and you felt a tinge of guilt at the realization that his state had aroused you.

But, the truth was, he looked stunning.

Maybe it was the red flush staining his skin, or the glisten of sweat, shiny with the reflection of the fire burning in the hearth. Maybe it was the way his gold eyes practically glowed through the darkness, staring up at you like a starving predator, glaring with dangerous intent.

Some sort of inhuman growl escaped him and Hawks grabbed at your meaty hips, roughly pulling you forward. It didn't take you long to figure out what he was doing; but, your attempts to aid were waisted, for he simply dragged you down to his liking, until the heat of your sex collided with his face ungracefully.

The first thing you registered was his mouth kissing sloppily at your sex. His tongue followed, lapping at your folds impatiently before breaching your heat. Hawks was always the kind to give sloppy oral; but, this was something else entirely.

He moaned shamelessly when his tongue registered your taste, hips rising off the bed as if attempting to chase a sensation that wasn't there.

Your hands fall onto the wall, and you tried to keep yourself up; but, he wasn't having it, growling and pulling you back down. It was difficult to not go dead weight when his tongue was lapping at your walls, mouth suctioned around your entrance like he was trying to suck juices from a ripe fruit.

One of your hands weaved through his hair, gently massaging his scalp in a praising gesture. It was difficult to get out sensible words. Instead, you moaned broken pieces of his name, thighs trembling on either side of his head.

You had no idea how much time had passed before he seemed satisfied and finally lifted you up enough to remove his mouth. The wet gasp that escaped him, suggesting he had been holding his breath, riddled you with shameful lust.

"You made a mess," Hawks observed deliriously.

He sounded immensely pleased with himself and even leaned in to take another taste, this time honing in on your pearl. You felt more than heard his pleased chuckle when you whined at the sudden touch.

This time, when he pulled away, he let you retreat. As you shimmied down his body, you caught him wiping your essence off his face with a careful finger before popping it in his mouth.

Hawks' skin was still flushed red, all the way up to his ears; but, now, he looked damn smug to top it all off. You couldn't see the look you were wearing, but you knew by the heat on your face that it was lewd.

The cold of the cabin had been lost to you, especially when you positioned your hips over his and felt the head of his cock nuzzle at your entrance, threatening to breach your core.

Hawks' head fell back into the sheets with a whine, eyes squeezing shut. Tantalized by the sight, you intended to tease him a little; however, he nudged his hips forward with a sudden jerk, effortlessly impaling you on his cock, and taking that opportunity away.

"Ohhh, fuck!" Hawks shouted before sucking his bottom lip beneath his teeth. He released it after letting out a low hiss.

You closed your own eyes for a moment, adjusting to the sudden intrusion of his impressive girth, and felt his hands slowly slide up your thighs into the dips of your hips, slotting over a spot he had practically engraved for himself ever since this began.

When your eyes opened, you looked down and took in the deliriously beautiful look on his face. His thumbs nudged your hip bones pleadingly and his eyes opened, peering up at you through dark lashes.

Forgoing any thoughts about teasing, you planted your hands on his chest and rolled your hips. The motion punched a whine out of him. The sound drawled out into a growl when you kept the rhythm, chasing your own pleasure.

"Yeah," he hummed encouragingly. "Come on. Use me. Fuck yourself on my cock. Just like - ahh - fuck..."

You hardly needed the encouragement; but, the dirty words spewing from his lips further ignited the heat in your belly, and you whined in response.

He could have easily pulled your hips down to intensify the moment. Instead, he lifted his hips off the bed to meet yours, effortlessly matching your movement and chasing the delicious warmth and wetness of your core, while letting his hands hold you gently.

"Baby, do you feel good?" Hawks uttered lowly, his pleading question gently breaking through the moment.

"Y-ye-s, Kei - go," you sobbed, stuttering out your response and groaning halfway through his name.

It was always good; but, something about this moment made it more intense than ever before. You could already feel the sensation rising, thighs trembling every time his cock slid back inside, hitting the perfect spot again and again.

"Yeah?" he hummed, sounding so breathless and fucked out, despite you having just barely begun. "You feel good, so fucking good," he praised between labored pants and low moans.

"You're so fucking good to me," Hawks babbled on, head falling back into the sheets, where he closed his eyes. You watched his adam's apple bob, noticed how tight his jaw was clenched.

A growl vibrated through his chest, followed by a breathless sympathy of curses, "oh fuck - oh fuck. Come on, fuck my cock - yeah - ahhh. Ya' hear that? Those sounds. God, you're so f-fucking perfect."

Your union was loud, skin slapping together and wet, fleshy sounds echoing between the two of you.

His dominant hand released your hip and slid around, thumb prodding between your folds and seeking out your pearl. You were already so sensitive, feeling him so deep, teetering on the edge. When his calloused skin touched that spot, you let out a cry.

"Come on this cock," Hawks groaned. "Sooo close - f-fuck. Come on. Come for me. Fucking come. Gonna fill you up. You want that? My seed. Yeah you fucking d-hnn-"

His babbling ceased when your orgasm took you, the sudden spasms and fluttering of your walls making all sensible thoughts drain from his mind.

His hand returned to your hip, fingers gripping your waist, and he started roughly dragging you up and down to meet his thrusts. You went limp, letting him bounce you on his cock to your liking. Your hands slipped off his chest and you fell onto him, forehead knocking gently against his cheek.

You could hear him huffing and grunting, the occasional growl seeping through, right into your ear as he fucked you through your orgasm, and continued on, chasing his end.

His cock throbbed, firmly enough that you felt it and the sensation startled you a little; but, that thought was lost when he let out an uncharacteristically loud shout, crying out in ecstasy.

Hawks had always been loud; but, this was something else entirely, and the moans and growls didn't stop, along with his undulating hips, for what felt like an eternity.

To top it all off, you could feel it, spurts of his seed, burning hot as it filled you. In the corner of your eye, you could make out his feathers, each and every one trembling beneath him.

Then, finally, he went still.

Hawks' panting filled the room, almost loud enough to drown out the crackling of the fireplace. Even after his panting died down, he let out quiet groans, his orgasm having not yet waned in full.

Eventually, he turned his head and pressed a wet kiss against your cheek. You turned your head to meet him, at first catching the corner of his mouth before he angled his head to kiss you properly.

You could practically feel the praises behind each kiss, thank you's and love pouring from his mouth to yours in a nonverbal gesture. His hands ran up and down your back, massaging your skin but also ensuring that you didn't move and he remained deep inside you.

When he finally released your lips, you busied your hands with his wild mane, gently pushing strands away from his face. He seemed to like the preening, letting his eyes flutter shut and head fall back.

You didn't have to ask if he was feeling better. His all-body, harsh red blush had mellowed out and he wasn't panting like a parched dog.

You hadn't realized you were still trembling until he uttered, "it's okay," in a soothing, worried voice.

His hands shifted to your thighs, where he carefully pushed them back and rolled you onto your side, keeping his cock nuzzled deep. His arms wound around your back, bringing you into an embrace while his wings stretched out behind him before sagging comfortably to the bed.

You realized, as he brought you in, that you were still shaking a little. The worry was evident in his eyes, like he had done something wrong.

"D-do you want me to pull out?" he offered in a weak voice.

"It's not that," you replied softly. "That was... intense."

When your eyes locked with his gold orbs, and he took in the sight of your expression, it seemed to steadily become clear to him, what you were feeling. His lips sought our your skin, senselessly kissing whatever he could reach, all over your cheeks, down your chin and along the expansion of your throat.

Hawks’ head fell onto the pillow and his wispy blonde hair tangled with yours. The unease began to fade away as he held you close, bringing the blanket back over your forms when his intense heat finally started to wane. So did the spell, and something concerning struck him.

"Please, tell me if it gets too intense," Hawks uttered, breath fluttering out against your temple. “I’ll-...”

He cut himself because he wasn’t quite what he would do, what he could do. Could he stop? In this moment of clear thoughts, he sure hoped so. But, part of him feared that wasn’t true, and the last thing he wanted was to lie to you about what he was capable of.

You had figured that he had yet to hit the apex of his rut. Yet, his warnings hadn't frightened you in the slightest, especially after what had just occurred. If anything, you were enticed by it. Maybe, in some strange way, it was affecting you to.

"I can handle you," you promised.

You felt more so than heard the uneasy breath that stuttered out his nostrils. Your words stirred something deep in his gut, overcoming the fear, burning arousal and adoration.

#takami keigo x reader #takami keigo smut #takami keigo x you #hawks x reader #hawks smut #takami keigo fanfiction

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babyboy-cody · 4 years ago

Note

Hey, you probably won't see this but I see that your request are still open. May I request one with the foursome? they are Neglecting the reader like making excuses to not spend time with her or not making love to her but she hears them making love to each other. They all decided to go to a fancy party they left the reader at the bar by herself when she ready to go home she sees them flirting with another girl calling her pet names and she sees Jim kissing her and touching her. The reader goes home crying her eyes out thinking they don't love her and she becomes depressed the more they keep neglecting her the more she becomes depressed and they notice and they try to make things right with her. I know this is long u don’t have to write it. This idea has been on my mind for a while.

oh this completely broke me :(( i’m gonna make this extremely angsty so FAIR WARNING. this will not have a happy ending,,,,,, i’m mean that way >:) this is gonna be vvveeeeerrrryyyyy looonnnggggggg.

word count: 6,249 fucking words

You’re not sure how long it’s been; days, weeks, maybe months. Somehow, in some way, it felt like an eternity. Without their touch, you weren’t sure how to keep yourself grounded and away from the darkness etched in your mind. Without simple praises falling from their lips like a soft melody, you weren’t sure how to build yourself up when you’re constantly falling down. Without their beautiful eyes set on you as if you were the most precious diamond in the entire world, you weren’t sure how to even feel worthy again. All you felt was pain - that deep, emotional, excruciating pain that seemed to follow you everywhere you went, whether you liked it or not. This was hell for you. You’re not sure what you did to end up in your own personal hell, but this was it. And you wanted to get out one way or another.

This loneliness is a vice on your heart, squeezing with just enough pressure to be a constant pain. It kills you everyday just a little bit more, taking what was once your inner light and replacing it with a darkness that overshadows each moment. It is the fuel of your nightmares, the reason you struggle to breathe when a new shock comes. Where is the limit? When comes the point at which dogs are called off and the help begins? Because you need to know; you really need to know.

Today was like no other. It was just a repetitive cycle like yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that, and the day before that. You tried desperately to get something from them; a hug, a kiss, a pat on the back, a fucking handshake. You needed them so that it quells your mind that they don’t want you anymore, that they have no need to keep you around. It was pure torture.

Duncan was lounging in the living room, knocking back a small glass of his favorite Whiskey - one that you bought for him that traveled all the way from Sweden. His eyes were trained on the television mounted above the fireplace, his feet propped up on the glass table and crossed at the ankles. He didn’t turn his head when you entered, but you noticed his shoulders tensed as if he were holding his breath.

“Dunc?” You quietly spoke. “Um.. I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me tonight? Just you and me?” You were fiddling with your fingers, a nervous habit they all stopped you from continuing, but you picked it up again. You scraped at the skin in the corners of your fingernails and barely reacted when you looked down and saw blood.

“Can’t,” was his response.

“Oh..” you whispered, feeling your heart plummet to the pit of your stomach as your neck and cheeks warmed with embarrassment. “M-May I ask why?”

“I’m busy, Y/N,” he sighs and does the thing when he’s frustrated and rubs his hand over his jaw.

You nodded wordlessly, swallowing down a small whimper of emotional pain and left the living room. When you got to the hallway, you pressed your back against the wall and hid your face in your hands. “Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry,” you hissed to yourself, feeling that little tickle in your nostrils and the lump in your throat getting larger and more painful. You sniffled and stared at your feet. Your vision was getting increasingly blurry, the moments of Duncan’s rejection etched in your mind, mocking you for being so pathetic. “No, I’m not,” you whimpered. So very pathetic.

When you were able to calm down again, you gently wiped away your tears and hiccuped a few shaky breaths. Trudging up the steps slowly, you felt a bit of hope when you heard Michael in his office, wondering if he was typing away at his computer as always. You walked the agonizingly long hallway, twiddling your fingers again. You heard his quiet laughter, followed by the low hum of his voice, although you couldn't make out what he was saying or who was talking to. You knocked three times and slowly pushed the door open, gasping softly as you witnessed what was in front of you.

Jim was wearing one of his baggy college sweaters which was bunched at the bottom around his hips. He sat on Michael's lap straddling him, the same way you would always do. Their lips were locked in a deep kiss, Jim's moans so soft and barely a whisper. You felt a sick feeling in your stomach when you noticed how naked he was below. How long has it been since Jim and Michael touched you? Duncan? At this point, you couldn't even remember when the last time was.

Feeling a presence behind you, you sharply turned and spotted Duncan. You blushed as he looked down at you. He got closer now, close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from his body and the smell of his intoxicating cologne. He stepped into the doorway and into Michael's office. You looked up at him with hopeful eyes, wondering if they were going to invite you as well. You missed their pleasure filled touch. As you were about to step in as well, Duncan blocked whatever was left of the entrance with his body and the door, as he was holding onto the doorknob to avoid you coming in.

"Maybe next time," he told you in a monotone voice. And with that, he shut the door and locked it. Hearing that lock click so you wouldn't come in felt like a punch in the gut. You staggered back as if you were knocked in the face by Mike Tyson himself. Everything around you feels like it's going in slow motion. Your breathing sounds like an echo in your ears as you begin to hear a high pitched ringing. Your breathing is shallow and rapid, the early signs of an anxiety attack. You grabbed onto the wall as you begun to feel extremely dizzy.

"No, no, no, please no," you weakly cried out as you reached your room. "Not now. Not again." You felt so pathetic and weak. You slammed your door and hurried to your dresser as you began to wheeze, desperate to get in an even breath. You pulled out your inhaler, shaking it for a brief moment, popping the cap off and sticking the tube into your mouth to breath in the carbonated medicine. Almost instantly, you felt your lungs open up. You panted softly and outstretched your legs on the ground.

"What's wrong with me?" You weeped quietly, not able to hold in your cries anymore and finally letting the dam break. You're not sure what caused the change in your relationship, but you desperately wanted things to go back to normal.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

You have always loved the flowers and the birds, loved the sunlight and the clouds that drift on by. You have always loved the way the leaves move in a breeze and that soft whispering sound they make, like nature loves to chatter too. Yet the tiredness that begun a while ago remains like a veil over your skin, grey and cold. And as you watch the petals and the twigs that sway outside the window, there is only a creeping sorrow where there should be joy. It sits like November rain on your skin, enough to chill what was once warm inside. At any other time you would have spoken to the guys, asked for the warmth you needed to ward it off, just a little is enough. No longer. Now you just let it come, drop by drop and you feel like it's an ocean falling upon you instead of rain - that the grief of years you carefully suspended has all condensed right above your head into a cloud large enough to block the sun. They say it can't rain forever, that there will come a time when it must cease, that the last drop will have fallen. Thing is, you just don't care. You'll still be true to yourself, still help others, but you plan to just stay here in the cold, comfortably numb.

When the tears weren't even half way done, you were empty. You couldn't have cried even if you wanted to. You hadn't experienced this feeling in a long time. The sadness was still there, but not raw anymore – now it was an empty unhappiness - the kind you didn't think would easily lift. You felt like Michael, Duncan, or even Jim could surprise you with the cutest kitten on earth and you wouldn't feel a thing. You stared around yourself as if you were in a pit. Your surroundings were exactly the same, but they gave you no emotion. How could that be? You needed emotion to feel alive, to feel love.

There was a knock at your door, but you didn't respond. You continued staring out the window with a blank expression, your eyes dead and your lips in a slight frown. It was raining. You loved the rain. You remembered when you and Jim had ran outside one spring afternoon and jumped into puddles while laughter filled the air. If you focused your eyes well enough, you can probably see the raindrops sliding down the leaves.

"Y/N?" You felt a hand on your shoulder, pulling you from your thoughts. You sat in a daze, completely silent as rain continued to slap against the window. You looked at the hand and then up at the culprit. "Hey, can you hear me?"

"Hm.." you hummed low and looked around your surroundings. You looked back outside and breathed against the window, watching as frosty condensation forms on the glass. "Hi Jim."

The way you spoke worried Jim deeply. You spoke with zero emotion, as if you were a robot with no feelings at all. You had an empty look in your eyes when you looked up at him. He didn't even recognize you. Your reaction to his words were so delayed and monotonous. You were always so bright and bubbly and cheerful. But now, your responses were, "oh" "um" "hm.." "okay."

"We're going to a party tonight for Duncan's company. Michael wants us all to go, okay?" He told you, stuffing his hands in his pockets as his main focus was on you. "You down for dressing up all fancy?" He had a teasing tone in his voice, but you didn't react to it. All you said was, "Okay, Jim" in that same blank tone. He's not sure what was wrong with you, but he chose not to say much else. He nods wordlessly and leaves your room, not without sparing you one last glance, one that you didn't reciprocate. You still had that thousand yard stare out the window.

As he walks down the long steps, he hears soft murmurs of Michael and Duncan’s voice in the kitchen. When he enters, he smells the delicious steak Michael was currently cooking in a skillet pan. It sizzles and smokes, making his mouth instantly water. Duncan’s leaning against the counter adjacent to the blonde man, nursing down a glass of iced water with lemon - shockingly. They stop their conversation when Duncan notices Jim standing by the large kitchen island, his arms crossed and a wary look on his face.

“What’s wrong, Jimmy?” Duncan immediately crosses over and placed his cold hands over his cheeks. “What’s got you looking so beaten up?”

“Something’s wrong with Y/N,” he quietly tells him, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “She’s... different. Not good different. It’s just... different.”

“Different how?” Michael turned suddenly and seemed interested in the conversation.

“She just wasn’t... there. It was like she was out of it and it was fucking scary,” Jim practically whimpered. “Are you sure we should be doing this? I-I don’t think it’s a good idea anymore.”

“Listen, we all already agreed with it, so we might as well continue with the plan, alright? The least she can do is understand where we’re coming from,” Michael reasoned, lightly calming down the young man.

All three men prepared dinner while you sat in the bath tub with boiling hot water pouring onto like no other. Compared to the cold rain outside, this type of rainfall felt so fucking excruciating and peaceful. The pain etched all over your sensitive skin was what you needed. With your knees tucked to your chest and your chin resting on them, you stared ahead in a blank state, barely acknowledging how hot the water really was. You hummed quietly when there was a knock on the door, followed by the wooden barrier opening.

“Jesus Christ,” Michael hissed as he was immediately enveloped in hot steam, barely seeing the shower or himself in the large mirror beside him. “Y/N? Are you in here?” He spots your rumbled pile of clothes on the ground, and he sees your shadow behind the shower curtain. “What the fuck?” He rips open the shower curtain and takes note of your bright red skin. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!” He furiously goes to shut off the water, yanking his head back as he briefly touches the scorching knob. He reaches down to grab your shirt, wrapping it around the knob to turn the water off completely.

“I like hot showers,” you mumbled and never removed your blank stare from the tiles in front of you. “They feel... they feel... hm... good.” You nodded to yourself.

Michael now knew what Jim was talking about. This robotic state you were in was something he has never seen before. He wrapped a soft towel around your extremely warm shoulders and helped you out of the tub - the way you moved was like you were working on autopilot. There was no smooth glide in your movements like you usually had. It was rocky and uncoordinated, almost robotic. You sat on the toilet seat, not caring of your nudity before Michael. You were usually shy and hid away with a blushing smile, something Michael always loved teasing you about. You would always swat at his hand when he would - so very gently - trace your stretch marks. You didn’t even look up at him as he dried you off.

“We’re going to a party tonight. I’m sure Jimmy told you the details, right?” He looked down at you for a response, but all you did was stare ahead emotionless and in silence. He clears his throat. “I got everyone clothes to wear, so I left yours on your bed. Dinner’s ready downstairs.”

“Not hungry,” you whispered just barely, but Michael heard you perfectly clear. “Just gonna go... lie down for a bit.” It was quiet again as you fully wrapped yourself in the towel. You nodded to yourself and hummed softly, slowly standing from your seat and walking passed Michael in a trance-like state. He watched in the hallway as you made your way to your room and shut the door without sparing him another glance. He sighed softly and looked back into the bathroom, the leftover heat now gone and replaced with a soft mist.

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The drive to the event/party felt like an eternity. You sat in the backseat with Jim. All three men spoke to one another while Duncan drove. You were looking out the window, your eyes moving frantically to watch the street lamps pass by in a flash. You counted quietly to yourself with each car that passed. So far there’s been two cars every four minutes, so it seems. Jim was keeping an eye on you, watching as your lips moved like you were lip syncing to a song in your head. But it looked like your lips were barely parting to form a coherent word. It just looked like whispers, as if you were telling secrets to someone of the unknown. You looked down at your nails and scraped at the peeling skin. So pathetic.

“No,” you mumbled. “No, no, no.” Your voice was so quiet that a pin dropping can even be heard. You’re not sure when the guys ended their conversation or when the car stopped, but a hand touching your elbow pulled you from your thoughts.

“We’re here,” Duncan told you with a tight lipped smile, one that was obviously fake and strained.

You carefully exited the SUV, being careful of the bottom of your silky, champagne colored dress. You tightened the slip around your shoulders and chest when Michael wrapped an arm around your back to lead you towards the entrance. There were lots of people, too many people. The noise. The loud noise. It’s too loud. So very loud; the overexcited laughing, the clinking and scraping of metal silverware against delicate glass, the boisterous music. It’s so fucking loud. You winced when a man’s shoulder roughly knocked into yours when he was in a deep conversation with another man. This was a bad idea, so very bad. You turned to tell Michael that you were already not liking this, but he was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Jim or Duncan. All three of them somehow disappeared and left you in the crowd.

You stifled a whimper and bit your bottom lip as you desperately stood on your tippy toes to try to look over the heads of so many business men, business women, or anyone in between. They bumped into you, not caring to apologize. You heard that familiar ringing in your ears again. All the noise you heard, all the laughter and music and conversation, sounded like it was in a tunnel. That echo that seemed so far away. You spotted a bar in the corner of the main hall and hurried over, silently thanking whoever was above when the seats were empty. The bartender acknowledged you and gave you a nod.

“What can I get you?” He leaned in close to hear you, a small hand towel resting on his shoulder.

“Um.. a strawberry lemonade, please?” You quietly told him, still looking back in hopes of spotting your men, hoping that they spotted you as well.

You can hear the sloshing of ice as the bartender made your drink. You were nervously picking at your fingers again, your face set in a grimace at the amount of people pouring in. You felt sick in your stomach. You felt... alone. Your drink was set on a napkin in front of you, all pretty and a mix of pink and red. You thanked him so very softly that he had to lean in to hear you. You reached into your small clutch and pulled out a $20. “Keep the rest,” you told him and took a small sip.

“I appreciate it, miss.” He gave you a smile and moved on to an eager and very drunk customer at the end of the bar.

You gnawed at your bottom lip, pulling at the thin protective skin with your teeth, barely wincing from the sting. Your eyes were frantically scanning the entire room, trying to see that familiar head of long blonde hair of Michael, of that neatly styled hair of Duncan, or that soft fringe of Jim. You sighed defeatedly and looked down at your drink, feeling so very unworthy and unwanted as laughter echoed all around you. Why did you even come? You knew it was pointless, didn’t you?

“What did I do wrong?” You whispered so weakly to yourself, resting your elbow on the bar top as your forehead rests on your hand. “Fucking stupid.”

Your drink was almost empty as you swirled your ice around with your striped paper straw. The little paper umbrella toothpick was discarded neatly on a napkin. You swiped your fingers on the condensation left from your glass. You drew a small smiley face, but soon wiped it away with the napkin. You looked up to do one last sweep with your eyes when suddenly, you saw the back of Michael’s head. You knew it was him because of the dark red velvet suit jacket he was wearing. Beside him was Duncan, and both men were grinning and talking to someone in front of them. You hoped it was Jim. And it was Jim. But they weren’t alone.

Clinging to his arm stood a pretty woman, so dainty and bright, yet there was a certain fire to her that you didn’t have. You watched as she probably said something snarky to Michael that had him throwing his head back in a laugh. Duncan was grinning like a cat that got the cream. Jim was staring her down like a hungered man. Then, it happened. It was so fast, but it felt like slow motion as it repeats over and over and over and over again in your head. She was clutching onto his tie, pulling him down desperately as they kissed so deeply, with such passion you haven’t had in so long. What hurt the most was that Duncan and Michael watched. They had grins on their faces, the same ones they had when Jim would do the same to you. You swallowed down a gasp as your eyes watered. You read Michael’s lips as he spoke to her. All you can make out was, “Dove.” That was your name. You can feel an ache spread from your chest to your stomach and back up to your chest. You covered your mouth to stifle an excruciating cry.

The pain increased with every step you took towards the exit. You held the bottom of your dress to not trip over, your tears warm and quick down your cheeks, for sure leaving mascara tracks. You hurried down the steps and turned the corner, passing through the beautiful garden you failed to notice earlier. When you were out of sight from other people, you dropped to your knees and pressed your hands into the grass. Your shoulders shook as you desperately tried to breathe, but every time you breathed it was a painful gasp and hiccup.

“Why? Why? Why? Why me? Why? What did I do? What did I do wrong, God? Please, tell me, why?” You cried and brought your hands together in a praying motion, crying up at the sky above. “Please, tell me! And I’ll change! Just tell me, why?”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

Self control is a finite resource because the part of the brain exerting control gets tired - it requires energy and that gets depleted. So, the repressing of anger needs careful thought. If it is boiling up, how will it be cooled? If it explodes, whom bares the brunt? Because they psyche under seige will naturally seek a more vulnerable (hence "safe") person to explode at. Stress bubbles down to less dominant people in a society where the more powerful have reduced ability to handle their anger and stress. Thus, how you deal with your anger is vital. It is as steam in a pressure cooker, you have to find a way to let it out in a safe manner. That can be through physical activity or by finding inner peace, or often a combination of the two. Sport releases the need for self control, finding inner peace expands your endurance and ability for self control. As such, they are a winning combination.

But now.. you’re not sure you have that same self control you had a while back. You felt nothing, hence you did nothing. You just laid there hoping that it’ll pass. Feeling empty and feeling tired have such a strong connection to one another that you need to fully rest before you can figure out what is what. But even rest is tiring. There is a silence to your soul; you’re fall leaves under frost. You feel the chill in your blood, coldness bringing the synapses of your brain to a stand still. Part of it is a pain, yet one you can endure, one you can sleep through night after night without the anaesthesia of false hope. This is your winter; you wait for spring and the chattering of the birds. But it never comes.

It’s been a month. One whole month since you’ve witnessed the cause of your shattered heart. It wasn’t broken and able to piece back together. It was completely shattered into dust. You relived in constantly in your conscious and unconscious state. It replayed like a broken record over and over and over again. The moment was in your dreams, nightmares, and thoughts. When you had gotten home that night, you stood in complete silence before finally uttering that long, heart-wrenching scream that strained your vocal cords. You had fallen to the ground, unable to keep yourself standing any longer and screamed and screamed and screamed until you couldn’t scream anymore. You were already in bed by the time the guys had gotten home. Only Jim called your phone, but you let it ring. They didn’t check up on you. They just left you there, broken.

You lie awake in bed, watching as the rain fell and pelted against the window in a gently melody. It brought your spirits just slightly, but it soon washed away in an instant. You contemplated on taking your medication again, the ones that made you feel good, but you’d rather punish yourself with this overpowering feeling of emptiness. You didn’t deserve to feel good. You deserved the pain thrown at you emotionally.

You’re not sure what time it was, but there was still light out. It couldn’t be no more than two in the afternoon. You heard clatter coming from downstairs, followed by a mix of deep voices. You continued staring out the window, wishing you were enveloped in nothing but darkness. There was a knock at your door, following the small creak of it opening. Well, this was a first.

“Dove?” Michael quietly called out. “Are you awake?”

He watched as your breathing was steady, your back facing him as you were huddled underneath the covers. You didn’t respond to him, but you knew that he knew you were awake. He sighed quietly and stepped around your bed to get closer to you, sitting on the edge of the bed to lower the covers in order to see you.

You didn’t look at him, instead keeping your eyes on the window with a blank expression. He noticed the really dark circles under your eyes and your sickly complexion. He noticed how much weight you’ve lost, and he wondered when was the last time you ate. He hadn’t seen you in the kitchen in so long because it was Jim who tried to coax you to join them for breakfast and dinner.

“Come downstairs and eat,” he told you, tugging on your arm gently, but you slowly pulled it away and tucked it under the covers again. He frowned.

“Not hungry,” you hoarsely whispered. “Just go away, Michael.” You shut your eyes as a small tear rolled down your temple. “Please... just leave.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but his attention turned to the doorway where Jim and Duncan stood. They both shook their heads as the youngest of the two frantically waved his hand in a “come here” motion. Michael glanced at you one last time and stood up with a small sigh. When he left the room and shut the door, they all stood in a small circle.

“She’s getting worse,” Duncan mumbled and rubbed his jaw frustratedly.

“I knew this was a bad fucking idea, Michael,” Jim hissed. “I never wanted to do this. You wanted to do this. And we were so stupid to go along with it because you made us believe that we needed something new in our lives.”

“It was a suggestion, Jim,” Michael told him, holding a hand out to calm the frantic man. “I just thought -”

“Yeah,” Jim cut him off. “You thought it would make things better. Now look at her. She’s fucking falling apart because of us.” He whimpered and pressed his hands against his eyes to roughly rub his tears away.

He walked away in a hurry, mentally beating himself up for falling victim to Michael’s words. What was he thinking? Needing something new? He didn’t need new, he needed you. When he kissed and flirted and had his hands on that girl, all he was thinking about was you. He wasn’t thinking how bad the outcome could’ve been.

Duncan stared at Michael silently with his arms crossed. “We need to make this right,” he told the blonde man. “This was a reckless and unthinkable thing we could’ve done, and now we’re paying the price.”

“I know,” Michael mumbled and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just wanted our relationship to take a next level of something exciting.”

“Exciting?” Duncan scoffed. “We pushed her away. We neglected her constantly. We haven’t touched her, let alone kissed her in, what, almost two months? It’s just... we should’ve brought her into the loop as well.”

“I know,” Michael stressed. “Look, we’ll fix this. We always do.”

Except, the damage was already done. There was nothing too fix. You were a hallow shell of a human, of what was left of you. You were nothing but a faint, forgotten memory.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

You rest eyes upon the leaves, fluttering in the garden. In the light of day you could never tell of the storm they had suffered the night before, of the winds that howled and tore their brethren from branches to ground. They reflected the soft sun rays, gave off their colors with that quiet joy nature sings of, that silent music you love to hear. Yet you also saw the plucked leaves, swirling in the gusting wind, the subtle “tells” of the hardship only recently passed. In that moment you wondered what people would make of you. Would they see “tells” of your storm? The way your eyes were slow and mouth heavy at the corners? Would they see the tears un-cried? And if they did, if they saw that emotional debris, knowing how the grief hurricane returns over and over, would they shine for you like the sun on the trees or treat you like you were on the other side of glass, ensuring that your storm never chilled their own skin, much less clipped at their souls. You wondered.

Tightening your chunky cardigan over your body as a chill passed, you smiled and closed your eyes as you smelled the freshly cut grass and rainwater. Everything was peaceful, as it should be. Your bare feet was buried in the soft tuts of bright green grass, your toes wiggling as you giggled at the tickling sensation. Afternoon crickets chirped and birds sung sweet songs in the trees. You felt at peace with yourself. Michael, Duncan, and Jim were away. You’re not sure where, but they had left a note telling you the time they should be back. The trunk and backseat of your car were filled with boxes and trash bags of your things. It was time to let go and be free, as much as it pained you to do so. As much as you tried to forget about that incident, it was tattooed in the back of your mind permanently.

You entered the house and shut the back door, making sure it was locked and the window shades were down. You walked around slowly, savoring the last of moments inside. Every room you were in, you remembered something good or bad that happened. Every moment of passionate love making, every laugh, every argument, every cry, every kiss. You would be forever grateful in in experiencing these things because without it, you weren’t sure how strong you’d be compared to now.

You heard the small beep of the alarm unlocking and the front door opening. You swallowed down a small, nervous breath and nodded to yourself. Everything’s going to be okay, you thought. You entered the large dining room where the three stood. Jim looked defeated, Duncan looked confused, and Michael... he looked broken.

“We saw your car...” Duncan began, but Jim cut him off instantly.

“Where are you going?” He mumbled softly and took a tiny step forward, shuffling his feet side to side, not knowing what to do in this moment.

“Um... I’m leaving,” you quietly told them. “I did a lot of thinking these passed two months and I’ve come to a realization that I’m not cut out for this.” Michael opened his mouth to speak up, but you held a hand out to silence him. “Listen to me, please. I loved you, all of you. I loved and I gave and I was taken for granted. And the only person to build myself back up again was... me.”

“Why are you talking like this so suddenly?” Michael spoke up, brows furrowing as he struggled to understand your words.

“I saw what happened, at the party. And I know that, maybe, I wasn’t someone you wanted and I know how difficult I can be and I know I have some unresolved issues I need to work on to become better,” your voice cracked and you sniffled as your looked down at your hands with blurry eyes. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t give you what you wanted.”

“No,” Duncan whispered brokenly. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.” He angrily shook his head, eyes blazing with a building rage. “You-You can’t leave.”

“Duncan,” you whispered softly and stepped up to him, resting your hands on his scruffy cheeks as a lonesome tear rolls down, pooling over your thumbs. “I have to go. You have to let me go.”

He shook his head as the dam finally breaks. “No...” His voice was completely broken, eyes filled with so much pain and anger. “Please...”

You stepped away and sniffled. You looked over at Jim and gave him a sad smile. His bottom lip was trembling so badly that he had to bite down on it to make it stop. He was rubbing the back of his neck continuously, a tell tale sign of frustration and panic.

“Jimmy,” you quietly said. “You’re gonna have to let me go as well, okay? Can you do that for me?”

He shook his head and exhaled a shuddering breath. “I-I can’t... I...” He couldn’t even speak. He just stared at you in desperation, wishing and hoping that you’d change your mind and stay with them like you all promised.

And finally, you looked at Michael - the first man you ever loved and who introduced you to Duncan and Jim. You would forever be thankful that you had the opportunity to fall in love with these men, but sadly, these opportunities must come to an end.

“What can I do to make things right, dove?” He begged, something he’s never done before and it’s such a shock to you. “Tell me what to do.”

“There’s nothing that can be done to make things right, Michael,” you told him gently as you shook your head. “I think this was the final straw that I really needed to get out, and I really hope that you all have a good life ahead of you. I love you and I always will love you deep down in my heart, and I’ll never forget you three.” You gave them a sad smile. “I guess this is goodbye,” your voice cracked just a little bit.

You looked at them one last time before moving through the hallway and towards the front door. You swung the strap of your bag around your shoulder and dug inside for your keys. You pulled out the house key from the ring and placed it on the small table that had a stack of mail, a little bowl with Jim and Duncan’s keys, a long vase with lilies - your favorite flower, and a picture. It was of you, Duncan, Jim, and Michael the minute you all had moved in. There were bright smiles on your faces, even Michael. Things were so much better back then; when things were simpler. You heard faint crying coming from the dining room, and you wondered who it was, if you should go back to console them. But you knew if you did, you would stay.

As you left the house, you studied it with a small smile. You’ll never forget the endless memories inside and out. This wasn’t just a house, it was a home. “Goodbye, home,” you whispered and placed your hand on the banister.

After the long days of being so alone, the pain ebbed. You thought you would feel the knives in your back forever, the long blades slicing into such sensitive flesh. There were days your brain felt electrocuted, so violently defocused and the pain, the emotional pain, was all so encompassing you simply existed as a matter of will power. They say people come out of these things stronger, and you guess that's true, but you come out wiser too. You still have your loving heart, you’re proud to say. You still have your idealism and courage. You still take forward leaps whether you can see the ground or not. But this heart, it's not for everyone, it's not for the ones who threw the knives.

But this? This isn’t the end. It’s the start of a new chapter. You’re not sure where you’ll end up, but you’re sure you’ll pass the next level. Alone or not.

#OH MY GOD THIS FUCKING BROKE ME #i had so much fun writing this #thank you so much to the anon that requested it #i’m not sure if this is a happy ending oorrrr????#i love angst #more angsty foursome #michael x duncan x jim x reader

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bluejayblueskies · 3 years ago

Text

the before, the after, the in-between

Chapter Seven: daybreak trains Words: 3.3k

Relationships: Jon & Daisy, Jon/Martin Tags: Post-Canon, Scottish Safehouse, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mute Jon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Hopeful Ending

Work Summary:

There was no knife, no blood, and Jon was not dead. And when he heard a strangled noise from beside him and looked over to see Martin standing in the doorway of the safehouse, flung open and letting in the frigid bite of near-winter and sunlight, there was sunlight, he felt such a dizzying, intense wave of relief that he could hardly breathe around it.

Then, he opened his mouth to say Martin’s name, and nothing came out, and all of the relief fell away in an instant.

Jon wakes up in the safehouse in October of 2018, alive and well but without the Eye and without his voice. In the days that follow, he finds himself confronted with a world that has reset itself in space and in time, a version of himself that is no longer the Archivist, and the fact that death during the end of the world had not been so permanent as it had seemed.

Chapter Summary:

Daisy sighs and stands, brushing her hands off on the thighs of her trousers. “It’s not like you’re never going to see me again. I’ll still visit.”

“I know,” Jon signs, his hand gestures a bit too wide. “I’ll still…” He pauses, his hands lingering in the air for a moment as he tries to figure out what the next sign should be, before giving up and stepping forward instead, reaching for Daisy’s hand and capturing it in his. He squeezes tightly, looking up at Daisy with an open, vulnerable expression. Then, he brings her hand up with his as he presses it against the left side of his chest, a few inches above the jagged line of scar tissue, and settles his other hand on top of it. He may not know how to sign I’ll miss you, but he’d learned love early on.

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(cw for mentions of canon-typical worms)

A quick note that all sign language in this chapter (BSL) is indicated via italics in quotation marks. I recognize that BSL has different grammar and sentence construction than spoken English, but for the purposes of this fic and for clarity’s sake, I’ve written all sign language as it would be translated into English syntax and sentence construction. Further disclaimer that I am not deaf or mute and that I don’t speak any version of sign language, so if I’ve made an error in depicting the dialogue here, please let me know!

Jon raps his knuckles on the frame of the bedroom door, and Daisy glances up from where she’s crouched on the floor next to the bed, halfway through packing her bag next to the cot they’d gotten so Daisy didn’t have to sleep on the couch. (Though they have been saving up for a new couch, a decently nice one that doesn’t sag in the middle and leak stuffing. Martin’s new job at the village’s library pays adequately enough, but in the three months it’s been since the world snapped back to normal, they’ve only managed to accumulate a few hundred pounds in savings. It’s all right though, Jon thinks. They have time.)

“You don’t leave until tomorrow,” Jon signs, his hands still a bit clumsy around the words but adept enough to get his point across. He still carries his notebook with him for when the modest collection of signs Daisy’s been able to teach him so far aren’t enough for him to convey his thoughts, and he has a cell phone now with a speech-to-text app that he uses occasionally even though he finds the mechanical voice grating, but he’s been having to use them less and less. He still likes having the notebook, though. It feels nice to look down and see his words still scrawled on paper even after the conversation is over. A reminder that, for all that his voice has been used and stolen and manipulated over the years, his words are still his own.

“I know,” Daisy says, tucking a few more things in her bag before zipping it closed. She sits on her heels and looks up at him, her hair loose and falling just beneath her chin from where they’d cut it a few weeks prior. “But now it’s done, so.”

Jon sighs lightly and shakes his head, more an expression of resignation than irritation. The spot where Daisy’s things used to sit looks empty now, barren. It makes something heavy settle in the pit of his stomach. It must show on his face, because Daisy sighs and stands, brushing her hands off on the thighs of her trousers. “It’s not like you’re never going to see me again. I’ll still visit.”

Daisy’s hand relaxes underneath his, and she stares at where their hands are clasped, mouth settling into something warm and fond. “Yeah. Me too. But it’s… time.” Her mouth twitches into something halfway displeased. “Basira’s waited long enough.”

She can wait a bit longer, Jon thinks, even as he nods and lets go of Daisy’s hand. Besides, he… he knows she’s right. The longer she stays, the less of a chance there is of her leaving at all, and he knows that it’s for the best if she goes. For her and for him.

That doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Daisy must see the vaguely sullen look on Jon’s face that he’s trying to hide, because she gives Jon an amused look and says, “You’ll be fine. No need to be so… grumpy.”

“I know,” Jon signs again, perhaps a bit more forcefully than is strictly necessary. “I’m not.”

“Sure,” Daisy says, her eyes wandering past his face and over his shoulder, where the door is sitting ajar. Jon knows Martin isn’t out there—that he’s still at work, will be for another hour or so—but he still has to resist the urge to follow her gaze, to check for himself that the doorway remains empty. “You’ve got my number? So you can call if you need to?”

Jon nods, signing the numbers just to make sure, and Daisy hums. “Good. I know the reception’s shit out here, but if I call three times with no response, I’m on the next train to Scotland. Understood?”

Jon rolls his eyes and tries to pretend like the fact that Daisy cares doesn’t make something warm and comforting settle in his chest. “Yes, mother.”

“Don’t be cheeky,” Daisy says, amused.

Daisy’s bag of things—clothing, toiletries, a few other items she’d accumulated over the past few months—sits accusingly by the door as Jon goes through the motions of making dinner, timing it so it’ll be ready by the time Martin gets home. It’s achingly domestic, and though Jon doesn’t really mind it, he’s found himself restless more days than not, hands itching for something to do that isn’t practicing sign language with Daisy or dusting the windowsills for the twentieth time. He thinks he’d be fine finding a job in the village; Martin insists that it’s still too dangerous, that people are still too angry. It’s a recurring argument, so old that almost all of the vitriol has bled out of it by this point, but still, they have it. Every moment he spends confined in this house is just another aching reminder of why he’s confined, and it builds and builds until some part of it springs free and brings with it all the frustration and hurt and pain that he just can’t seem to shake.

Maybe that’s why Jon’s so frustrated about the… therapy situation.

He stabs the knife through the pepper he’s cutting with a bit more force than necessary, and it makes a dull thunk on the cutting board. Daisy glances over from where she’s taking spices out of the cabinet, one eyebrow raised. “You’re going to wear a hole through the plastic if you keep doing that.”

Jon sighs and sends her a withering look. “Thank you,” he signs with a roll of his eyes, the motion sharp and forceful, before turning back to the cutting board and continuing to slice with clipped, jerky motions.

Daisy exhales slowly, turning back to the cabinet. “What’s wrong?” she says, reaching in and sorting through the frankly obscene amount of spices they’ve accumulated over the past few months.

“Nothing,” Jon signs without looking away from the pepper. “It’s fine.”

“Hm.” Daisy locates the spice she was looking for and pulls it out of the cupboard. “Is it because I’m leaving? I told you, it’ll be fine.”

Jon sighs and shakes his head, brushing the cut peppers off to the side and starting in on the onion. Daisy is quiet, busying herself with the spices and clearly waiting for Jon to elaborate. She’s patient, and he knows from experience that she’ll wait and wait and wait until he finally tells her what she wants to know. It reminds him distinctly of a persistence predator, stalking their prey and waiting for them to tire before they pounce.

Jon makes it all the way through the onion, ginger, and mushrooms before he finally sets the knife down with a clatter and signs, “It’s Martin.”

He leaves his hands in the air for a lingering moment, three fingers pressed tightly to the palm of his left hand, before forcibly relaxing his hands and dropping them. After a moment, Daisy prompts, “Okay. It usually is. What about Martin?”

Jon flexes his fingers by his side a few times before resigning himself to the fact that Daisy won’t let this go until he explains himself fully. He turns to gather his notebook from the kitchen table, sets it flat on the counter next to the cutting board, and taps the pen on the page a few times before deciding to just be blunt. I don’t understand how going into town for therapy is different than going into town for any other reason.

Daisy hums. “Are you upset about the therapy part or about the rest of it?”

I’m fine with the therapy part, Jon writes, a bit messily in his haste and frustration. So the rest of it.

Daisy crosses her arms, clearly waiting for him to explain.

It’s just, Jon writes, then scribbles it out. I just don’t understand, he tries, before scribbling that out too. Finally, with a frustrated huff of air, Jon settles on, I don’t think doctor-patient confidentiality is going to be as protective as Martin thinks it will be.

“Hm.” Daisy leans back against the counter and taps her fingers against it thoughtfully. “Maybe he thinks it’s worth the risk.”

Jon makes a breathy hmph sound, not sure if he’s displeased about the fact that this is what finally convinces Martin that it’s ‘worth the risk’ or about the fact that Daisy has a point.

“Why don’t you talk to him about it?” Daisy asks. Which is a perfectly reasonable question, Jon knows, so there’s no reason for him to grow even more frustrated when Daisy asks it.

He sighs, stares at his notebook, and eventually just shrugs wearily. We just haven’t been very good at talking lately, he writes, feeling every bit of his energy seep out into the ink. The end of the last letter bleeds when he leaves his pen pressed there for too long, which he thinks is fitting. That’s sort of the point of the therapy.

It’s not that Jon’s resistant to therapy. He’s not. He’d done a few sessions with a child psychologist when he was eight (that had eventually dropped off when he’d decided that never think about it again and pretend like it never happened was a much better method of coping than trying to explain something unexplainable to a smiling woman in a pantsuit), a good month or two in uni when the stress of it all had compounded and he’d shut off sometime after exams, and they were… fine. He’d taken away a few tools that he still uses—breathing techniques, the occasional bout of journaling that he’d never managed to maintain, things to help him at least identify when his thoughts begin to spiral—but nothing had really ever seemed substantial enough to justify going back. Even when things had gotten… bad, in the Archives, he’d never entertained the thought, because what would he say? He’d sat in his flat after Prentiss, laptop open as he scrolled through the available services, and found the phone number he was meant to call. His wounds itched underneath his bandages; he tried not to scratch them. The ones in his mind were a bit more difficult to let be.

He hadn’t called, in the end. He’d imagined it—sitting in a sterile office, bandages from head to toe, trying to explain being half-eaten alive by worms without saying those words—and had felt a lump that was equal parts desperation and despair rise in his throat, so acute that he’d shut his laptop with a bit more force than necessary. Therapy just… wasn’t in the cards for him, he’d decided.

And then things had gotten more complicated, and he’d been paranoid then on the run then comatose then just trying to fight against the hunger, and he’d resigned himself to the fact that he… he couldn’t be helped. Every aspect of his life was so entwined with things that he couldn’t explain to someone else, with things that a therapist wouldn’t understand, and to try to separate the parts of him that were human from the parts of him that weren’t seemed like an impossible task. Better just… not to try at all, he’d decided. He’d be fine. He always was.

Jon supposes that now, the problem is quite the opposite. Before, he’d avoided talking about the parts of himself that were supernatural because the therapist wouldn’t understand. Now, he’s avoiding talking about them because they’ll understand a bit too well.

“I think you’re still meant to try,” Daisy says, and Jon’s confused for a moment before he remembers oh, right. Talking to Martin. “Besides, he’ll… be able to help more than I can. I can’t tell you what he’s thinking; only he can.”

Almost flippantly, Jon signs, “I know.” He sighs and, after a moment, writes, I think it’ll be easier if I just trust him on this. If he thinks it’s safe, then

Jon pauses, pen still sitting on the paper, before finishing with a bit more conviction than he feels, then it’s safe.

Daisy just watches him for a moment, forehead slightly creased, before shrugging. “All right. If you need somebody to tell you that that’s fine, then here I am—telling you that it’s fine.”

“Thanks,” Jon signs with a fond sigh and a roll of his eyes. “Very helpful.”

“You’ve got to work on your ‘sarcastic’ face, or I’m going to start taking you seriously.”

“Ha ha.”

“Hm. Much better.”

. . .

The bus from the village to the train station in Inverness leaves just after dawn. Jon shifts from side to side by the door to the safehouse as Daisy does a final check to ensure she hasn’t forgotten anything, Martin trailing close behind. When they finally join him by the door, Martin hardly has time to open his mouth before Jon signs, quick and crisp, “I’m coming with.”

“Jon—” Martin starts, but Jon shakes his head.

More emphatically, he signs, “I’m. Coming. With.” When Martin opens his mouth again to argue, Jon holds up a hand, digs his notebook out of the pocket of his jacket, and scribbles, If we can visit a therapist for the foreseeable future, I can go into town once to say goodbye.

Martin’s lips purse, but after a moment, he sighs. “No, you’re- you’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just…”

“Scared?” Jon signs, one hand still holding the notebook and the other brushing against his chest.

Martin’s expression deepens, and he nods.

Jon worries his bottom lip between his teeth, then reaches forward and takes Martin’s hand in his. He squeezes it gently, reassuringly, then threads their fingers together and holds it tightly. Martin takes a deep breath, lets it out, and squeezes back. “Okay,” he whispers. “Sorry. I just- I worry.”

I know, Jon thinks. He nods and fumbles to tuck the notebook back in his pocket, then brushes his fingers gently against Martin’s cheek. I’ll be okay.

He hopes the sentiment comes across. He thinks it does, from the way Martin leans slightly into his touch and takes another, more even breath.

“I think I’ve got everything,” Daisy says, breaking through the tension between them a bit indelicately but not without purpose. “We should start walking.”

Martin presses his face into Jon’s hand for a moment more before pulling away, and Jon drops his hand back to his side. “Yeah,” Martin says with a short, firm nod. “Let’s go.”

The trip to the village is surprisingly short. It might be because of the anticipation building in Jon’s stomach, half from the knowledge that he has at best another hour with Daisy and half from the clawing worry that he’s horribly miscalculated and the moment he steps past the village limits, an angry mob will coalesce around them and demand reparation for all of Jon’s past mistakes.

It doesn’t happen. They arrive at the village and the streets are quiet, most people still asleep or preparing for the day as the sun tickles at the horizon, tinting the landscape around them with a soft morning blue. The few people they do pass pay them no mind, save for an older gentleman who wishes Martin a good morning and nods politely at Jon and Daisy. As they get closer to the bus station, Jon relaxes in increments until, by the time they reach it, he’s nearly free of tension entirely. A new wave of anxiety rushes through him as he sees the small crowd clustered by the pickup area, but they stay away from the crowds, instead stopping a bit further away near a grouping of benches. Jon settles down gratefully, the walk having made the ache in his knee flare up slightly, and after a moment, Martin and Daisy sit down as well, one on either side of him. They’re warm and solid, and even as a few more people begin to filter into the station, Jon relaxes once again as he stretches his leg in front of him carefully.

The bus is there too soon. Jon cuts off halfway through his sentence, his pen pressed against the paper as the rumble of the bus fills the air and people start to shift and stand, making their way towards where the bus is slowly rolling to a stop. He looks at Daisy, suddenly feeling a bit lost, and she places her hand atop his and applies a gentle, firm pressure. “Call,” she reminds him. “Twice a week, at minimum. I expect you to be alive and well when I come back to visit, okay?”

Jon takes a deep breath. When he lets it out, it hitches in his throat. “Okay,” he signs. He flutters his hands in the air for a moment, caught between signing I love you and Be safe, then gives up and leans forward, wrapping Daisy in a tight hug instead.

She huffs out a laugh, but after a moment her arms curl around him and she settles her hands flat against his lower back, pressing down lightly. “Yeah, yeah,” she says softly. “I’ll miss you too.”

And then she’s standing and walking towards the bus and boarding and the bus is pulling away and then it’s just him and Martin, sitting side-by-side on the bench and watching the bus disappear from their line of sight. After a moment, Martin settles his hand on Jon’s knee and says quietly, “You okay?”

Jon takes a deep breath, lets it out, and nods. “Let’s go home?”

Martin nods, shifting his hand so it slips into Jon’s and squeezing tightly. “If you’re sure.”

Jon runs the fingers of his free hand along the cover of his notebook, now lying closed on his lap. The back half is filled with words, thoughts, some carefully inked and others scratched down quickly before Jon forgot them. He has another two just like this one, tucked away in his drawer in the bedroom underneath his jumpers. There’s so much contained within them, so much more that’s still contained within himself, and the path ahead—the one where he sits side-by-side with Martin and faces a trained professional and tries to iron them all out into something manageable—is a daunting one. But he wants to try. God, he wants to try. So badly he aches with it.

“I’m sure,” he signs, then reaches down and picks up his notebook and pen. For all the uncertainty he’s faced in the past, all that he still faces, that, at least, is clear to him.

“All right.” Martin bumps his knee gently against Jon’s once before standing, helping Jon to his feet. Jon’s knee twinges in protest, and without missing a beat, Martin slips his hand out of Jon’s and around his back instead, subtly supporting his weight as they make their way out of the station and back to the paved road that turns to gravel that turns to dirt that leads to the small wooden cottage at the top of the hill.

Right now, the soil outside their house is dark and barren. But in a few months’ time, Jon knows, it will grow warm and the days will grow longer and he will be able to sit outside and look at the sky and think of just how lucky he is that he’s allowed to have this. That, despite all of the bad that has happened and all of the bad that has followed them still, he’s allowed to be happy.

And in the spring, the daisies will bloom once again.

#tma #the magnus archives #jaisy week #jonathan sims #daisy tonner #martin blackwood #my writing #my fic #before tag #ahh i did it! it's done! :D #also a note that the sign jon uses for martin here is just the letter 'm' and isn't a sign name

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pastelwitchling · 4 years ago

Text

Cinderella (1/?)

“The death of Alex's mother changes his father for the worst. Jesse no longer sees his little prince, but a reminder of all that he has lost.

Cast away to the attic, Alex grows up under the harsh reign of the wicked man his father has become. He begins to lose hope that he will ever have the love of a family again . . . then he meets Prince Michael, and everything changes.

When Michael announces a ball, and Alex is forbidden to go, it takes the magic of a fairy godmother to make his dream come true.”

read on ao3

I have no idea how many chapters this will be, I just know that I want to do this story justice, as Cinderella is one of my favorite Disney princesses. If you enjoyed reading this even a little bit, please comment and share, as it always makes the world of a difference ❤

tags: malex, malex cinderella au, malex fluff, malex angst, malex happily ever after, so much magic, and kindness, and courage

***

“Mother!” nine-year-old Alex called as he ran through the halls of his home. “Mother!”

He followed the lovely sound of humming, like a river in the midst of sparkling spring, and found his mother in the kitchen, standing before the stove, her dark hair pulled back with a blue ribbon and her even darker eyes shining with the sunlight pouring in through the open windows.

She smiled. “Calm yourself, darling, before you wake your brothers.”

“But, mother!” Alex whined, tugging at her apron. “I’ve just had the most wonderful dream!”

His mother laughed, her voice like honey as she picked him up and placed him on the counter next to her. “Have you? And what was it about?”

“The mice!” he said eagerly. “In the gardens! They were talking to me!”

“My, that sounds exciting!”

“It was! Jacques and Gus and Marie – all of them spoke to me! We were having a tea party, and the birds poured the tea for us –”

“How very helpful of them,” his mother said with an approving nod.

“The mice thought so, too! And then they said so! And then they gave me a gift for being their friend!”

“Goodness, what did they give you?”

“A new coat!” Alex said happily. “Wasn’t that nice of them?”

“So very kind,” she agreed, and laughed, folding Alex into her chest. “Oh my darling, I’m so happy you enjoyed your tea party.”

Alex melted against her, breathing in her scent of lilacs and the leftover meat she was cooking for breakfast. She was warmer than usual, but it comforted Alex in the cold of morning. He giggled. “Mother, it wasn’t a real tea party. It was only just a dream.”

“Well,” his mother pulled back, placing her hands on her hips. “You know what they say about dreams, don’t you?”

Alex blinked, and shook his head.

His mother smiled knowingly. “A dream is a wish your heart makes.”

“But what does that mean, mother?” he asked.

“It means, my dear, that if you are good and kind and wish with all of your heart,” she winked, and poked his nose, making him laugh, “then that dream that you wish will certainly come true.”

A door opened somewhere down the hall, and Alex nearly fell off the counter in his excitement. “Father!” he called. “Father, good morning!”

Jesse Manes’ low chuckle sounded in the hallway before he stepped into the kitchen. There were spots of mud on his trousers where the boots had not reached, and he was barefoot.

“Good morning, my beautiful son!” Jesse exclaimed, raising Alex up above his head.

“Honestly, you two,” Alex’s mother laughed. “You will wake the boys!”

“Good!” Jesse said promptly, keeping Alex on his hip. “They ought to be up early, like Alex! What’re they sleeping in for?”

She shook her head, her eyes fond. “Oh, Jesse . . .”

“No, father!” Alex said. “We must be kind to them! Isn’t that right, mother?”

“My prince,” Alex’s mother cooed, taking him from a laughing Jesse’s arms. “Aren’t you wonderful?”

“It’s because he’s so much like you,” Jesse said, and kissed his wife’s cheek before kissing Alex’s as well. “My queen, and my little prince. How I treasure you.”

Alex rested his head on his mother’s shoulder, listening to his parents’ recounting of their mornings, the loveliness of the weather, the absurdity of the chickens.

If I can have one wish, Alex thought happily, then I wish for this moment to last forever. Alex closed his eyes, eager for the dream that would follow.

The following morning, however, was a less cheerful one as Alex ran to the kitchen to find his mother was not there. None of the chefs or servants had seen her. He searched outside where his father was tending to the horses himself, laughing with the stable hands. Alex looked around, but there was no sign of his mother.

Jesse spotted him, and called, “Alex! What’re you doing out in the cold, my son?”

“I’m looking for mother!” Alex said. “I can’t find her!”

He tilted his head, smiling. “Has she not awoken yet? Very odd indeed. Best go tell her the sun is up, sweetheart!”

“Yes, father!” Alex said, and off he scurried to the grand bedroom on the second floor. The pale-blue carpet lining the long hall was soft under his feet, the walls covered in framed paintings of flowers, green hills, waterfalls – all which Alex’s mother had painted herself in the garden.

Alex’s father would always ask him for his help pinning them up. “I could never do it without my little helper,” Jesse would say warmly.

When Alex reached the double doors, he knocked. “Mother!” She did not answer. Alex pulled on the door handle with both hands and went inside. The curtains were pulled back, the morning sun pouring in.

Alex almost leapt onto the bed, remembered it would be rude to wake his mother so suddenly, and stood at her bedside. Her face was red.

“Mother,” Alex whispered as softly as he could. “Mother, father says it’s time to wake up now.”

If his mother could hear him, she was pretending not to. Alex jumped a little bit on his toes. “Mother? Are you all right?”

He poked her nose, hoping to make her laugh as she always made him laugh. He faltered. It’s too warm, he thought. Alex touched her cheek, and snatched his hand back with a gasp.

Without another word, Alex ran out. He didn’t dare start calling for his father until he was back outside, afraid his mother would hear him and he would break her rest.

“Father!” he called, his voice cracking as his eyes burned. “Father, please, come quick!”

Jesse caught his son’s expression and his smile faltered. “Alex?” he hurried to him. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s mother,” Alex cried before he could help himself. “Father, her skin is like fire!”

Jesse’s face fell, and he muttered, “What?” before he ran off without waiting for Alex’s response.

Alex hurried after him, but stopped at the doorway to his parents’ room this time. He watched, his small hand gripping the doorway tightly, as Jesse murmured something incoherent to his wife, holding her up and pushing her hair back from her face.

“Darling?” Alex caught. “Darling, can you hear me? That’s right, look at me, there you are. You’ll be fine, sweetheart. Just fine.”

Alex swallowed. He was fairly certain he was carving into the wood with his nails, but he hardly felt it as he stared at the scene before him. Something that he could not describe with his young mind came over him in that moment, something paralyzing that kept him frozen at the doorway, tears falling silently, even as his father ran to get a physician. Later on, Alex would recognize that dark cloud as dread, for he had known then, though he could not say how, that his mother would not wake again.

Alex did not remember much of the funeral. Only that he and his brothers and father had worn black, that several people took their hands and wished them well, that he was hugged by friends of his mother who were always so kind and good to him. He had not cried, for he felt his body had no tears left to give. He stood there, however, long after his father and brothers left.

The weeks that followed were spent in silence. The windows were always curtained, Alex’s father did not react well to being woken in the mornings.

“Leave me,” was all he would say whenever Alex came into his room with a tray of tea and butter and bread that he had fixed himself. His eyes were so numb and dark that Alex left his chamber with tears burning, threatening to spill, every time.

“We have to help him,” Alex urged his brothers who gathered in Clay’s bedroom. Clay and Flint sat side by side, Clay staring listlessly at a page of his book, Flint shredding a daisy between his fingers.

“Leave it alone, Alex,” Flint always answered.

“He’s an adult,” Gregory always tried more softly. “He doesn’t need our help.”

“Everyone needs help,” Alex pleaded. “Perhaps if you came with me, and we all told him our favorite stories of mother –”

“Stop talking,” Clay murmured. Clay, who was always so kind to him, looked at him now as though resentful. “You don’t understand how any of us feel, you’re just a stupid child. Mother hasn’t just gone to the market, she won’t be back any moment now.”

“Clay –” Gregory started.

“—is right,” Flint finished, settling on Alex with the same glare. “Mother’s gone. You’re too young to know what that means.”

Alex clenched his fists at his sides, and he started to storm out . . . then he stopped at the door. He whipped around, his tears falling freely now.

“I know what it means,” he said fiercely. “I know that I miss her, too. I know that she wouldn’t want this. I’m not going to abandon him,” he wiped the tears roughly with his sleeve, “or any of you.”

Alex left without a word from any of them.

He tried and tried to see his father, to speak to him, even from outside his door, but Jesse did not see anyone. Slowly, more and more of the maids and servants left as Jesse failed to pay them, not that he seemed to mind. Only a few remained, and Alex was glad for the company, for his brothers seemed to rarely stomach the sight of him anymore either, though he could not tell why.

Then one day, as Alex wandered his room, stripping the dirty sheets and linens for washing – he didn’t mind helping to clean the house and feed the animals, for he felt he was helping his father best in this, the only way he could – he sang a familiar song, the first time he’d found himself able to sing it; a song his mother often sang when she cooked.

Alex waved to the birds as he passed the windows, and laughed as they flew in circles around each other. He was still singing when the door to his room suddenly swung open with a –

BANG!

Alex jumped, whipping around. His father stood there on the threshold, his robe hanging off his shoulders as he panted. His eyes were wide and red-rimmed. It was the first time he’d been out of bed. He looked around the room, frantically searching for something, then his eyes settled on Alex.

When he didn’t speak, Alex tried softly, “Father . . . are you all right?”

“I – I thought –” Jesse stammered, his brows pinched. “That song . . .”

“It was mother’s,” Alex supplied helpfully, his grip on his bedsheets tight.

His father, to his relief, didn’t seem angered or burst into tears by his words. Instead, he nodded slowly, his eyes on Alex, as though just realizing something. “Yes.” He knelt in front of Alex. “You’re so much like her, aren’t you?”

Alex’s eyes burned and his words cracked as he whispered, “I am?”

“She was lovely, too,” he said miserably, and Alex hesitated.

“Father,” he tried, “a-are you hungry? Would you like me to make you something?”

“No,” he said, wringing his hands together as he took in Alex’s room, as though it was the first time he was seeing it. “No, my son, no. I do, however, have another small request.”

Alex stood attentive at once, alert. “Yes?”

“I was hoping to move your mother’s things,” he said, “but I want them somewhere tidied and proper to her memory.”

“Oh,” Alex said at once, “I can tidy whichever room you’d like!”

“I – I know you can,” Jesse said, shutting his eyes as though Alex’s voice was worsening the headaches he’d complained of. Alex pressed his lips together, waiting. “I thought, however, it would be far more meaningful if we could put her belongings . . . here. In your room.”

“My room?” Alex blinked, and grinned widely. “Yes, of course! I’ll be happy to look after mother’s –”

“And of course,” Jesse went on, “I wouldn’t ask you to share your comfort with her old things. That’s why I’ve been thinking it may be easier for you to move into a quieter room, one that wouldn’t need so much looking after. One where you may . . .” his eye twitched, “sing to your heart’s content, and not worry about disrupting anyone’s peace.”

Alex faltered. Disrupting?

“I think the attic ought to do nicely, don’t you?”

“The attic?”

“A wonderful idea, son,” Jesse nodded, no longer looking at Alex as he stood and backed away from him. “Why don’t you gather all of this bric-a-brac and take it upstairs, eh?”

“Er – all right, father. If you really think this will help you feel better.”

“There’s my good prince,” Jesse murmured, and, his eyes still unable to meet Alex’s, he turned and left the room.

Alex clutched his sheets tightly, his heart hammering painfully in his chest. It’s all right, he thought. This is for the best. It’s for father, for my brothers. It’s for the best.

Alex kept reminding himself of that as he gathered his few things – a flower he’d picked from the garden and placed in a small wooden vase, his favorite book, and his favorite blue blanket. The attic door creaked as it swung open, and Alex heard the faint scattering of tiny paws across wooden floors.

The window was long, letting in the faint remnants of twilight and giving everything a blue and violet glow. Alex swallowed and stepped inside, setting his things on the floor before climbing onto the narrow bed. The mattress was soft, so he supposed that was good. He looked down and saw a few mice peeking their heads at him before scuttling back into the shadows.

“Don’t be afraid,” Alex said with a soft smile, though for some reason, he could not let go of the mattress. “I’m a friend. I’m terribly sorry for bothering you. At any rate, I won’t be up here long. It’s only until father feels better, you see.”

Even as he said the words, Alex’s nails dug deeper into the mattress. Even as he said them, his heart still ached and something like grief filled his chest. Why he felt such sorrow, he could not say, for he could not have known in that moment that his father would never truly ever feel better again.

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex cinderella au #malex fic #malex fanfic #malex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #malex angst #malex fluff #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

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httpjeon · 5 years ago

Text

made of stardust: folia — seokjin (m.)

seokjin/reader | alien!au | fluff, smut

wordcount: 9.5k

contents: alien dick!seokjin (he has tentacles), intoxication, kissing under the influence, seokjin rlly cares about consent, squirting, vaginal and anal sex, light size kink, LOTS of kissing, seokjin knows he's good looking

— synopsis: stressed from work, you're sent on vacation to the beautiful, tropical planet of Liana where you meet a beautiful Folian man named Seokjin, who makes your vacation 10x better.

note: the first installment of mosd! ik it's been pretty anticipated; seokjin's version is the least convoluted and messy of the bunch so that's why he's first! taehyung is next!

blog masterlist — made of stardust masterlist

With a smile on your face, you inhaled the crisp, sweet scent that carried on the breeze. Adjusting your grip on your suitcase, you gazed out towards where you heard the soothing crashing of waves hitting the shore.

"Miss. ______?" you jumped at the sound of someone saying your name, drawing your attention away from the ocean.

"Um, yes that's me," you smiled, meeting the dazzling smile of a young woman.

"I'm Yura, I'll be your guide," she said, "I'll show you to your hotel."

"That would be lovely," you nodded, following her towards a black vehicle — a craft you had gotten used to seeing already.

She helped you load your suitcase into the trunk before opening the passenger door to let you in. You relaxed into the plush, red leather seat with a sigh and let your eyes drift towards the window. The sight of beautiful architecture and foliage passed by and you could just feel the built up stress beginning to evaporate.

At first, you hadn't wanted to go on vacation but eventually, you were urged to do so by your supervisors. As part of your job, they figured they could send you to Liana — a beautiful, tropical planet teeming with rain forests and life.

The planet was part of six in a solar system called the Vela System in the Fanet IV galaxy. It was a recently opened galaxy as part of the Interplanetary Relations Commission’s goal of making every galaxy accessible for visitation. Over a millennium ago, the Commission, started on Earth, began to expand from nearby planets to nearby solar systems and eventually nearby galaxies. While there were over 500,000 galaxies currently under the IRC’s treaty, more and more galaxies opened every month. The Fanet IV’s capital planet, Vulia, was the first to allow an IRC Embassy to be built and eventually the Commission’s reach expanded to all the planets.

Liana was the second, and most eager to open, the race of aliens known as Folia, excited to show their beautiful planet off to anyone. As a result, it quickly became somewhat of a vacation resort.

"You'll be staying in Vano's most prestigious hotel," Yura explained, making you break your gaze from the window to look at her, "You'll have direct access to private springs and you'll be right on the shore of the beach, it's really lovely."

"Wow, I can't wait," you smiled, gazing out the window once again.

It wasn't too long before you were pulling into a parking space outside a gigantic building — taller than anything you'd ever seen on Earth. You gaped at the hotel — the sign written in the native Folian script which you hadn't had the chance to learn yet.

Yura opened the trunk and pulled your suitcase from inside, extending the handle before motioning for you to follow her. You hurried your footsteps, unable to help but gape at the beautiful trees and plants that lined the hotel aesthetically.

The inside was beautiful, the walls, floor, and ceiling were made of marble-like stone that shimmered underneath the light. There was a young man at the counter, who smiled at the sight of you.

"Welcome! You're Miss. _____, I presume?" he asked, typing something on the hologram computer in front of him, "Your room is 1807 — this card will let you in."

You took the metal card from his hands, a little light blinking green on the end. You thanked him and pocketed it, following Yura towards the elevator.

She pressed several buttons on the wall, foreign words flashing across the touch screen as she tapped away on it with a well manicured finger. In the blink of an eye, the doors were opening to a beautiful hallway decorated with red and black accents. Stepping out, you felt your feet sink into the carpet slightly, making you lose your balance.

"Oh!" Yura gasped and grabbed your arm, giggling softly as you finally caught your balance, "Careful there..."

"Wasn't expecting that," you mumbled, stepping aside to let her roll your suitcase out of the elevator.

"Yeah, most people get surprised," she chuckled, "Typically you'll be barefoot out here, so wearing shoes kind of feels weird on the floor."

"The decorations here are beautiful," you mumbled, passing by a tall obsidian vase with flowers such a vibrant shade of orange that it hurt your eyes to look at.

"Yes, well, this is the most high-end resort on the planet," she said, stopping in front of a door, "You can only expect the best here."

You pulled the key card out and pressed it against the scanner, watching the light flash in a series of yellow blinks before there was a loud click. Yura turned the handle and pushed the door open.

You stepped inside and gasped at what you saw. A beautiful chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a soft glow through the room. There were velvet, powder blue curtains drawn over the huge windows. Bypassing the canopy bed, you opened the curtains and smiled.

You were very high up on the 18th floor, allowing you to see the ocean disappear in the horizon. It was beautiful, the sun beginning to set, bathing the world in a brilliant shade of orange.

"Well, Miss. ______," you turned away from the window to see Yura leaning over the desk writing something down on a notepad, "This is my contact information. I am at your disposal, feel free to call if you have any questions or concerns. If you wish to go somewhere, please let me know and I'll be more than happy to show you around."

"Thank you so much, Yura," you smiled, walking her to the door to bid her goodbye.

Once you were alone, you let out a sigh and kicked your shoes off before pulling your socks off. Smiling, you felt your bare feet sink into warm, plush carpeting. The fibers were soft and seemed to swallow your feet.

Flopping back onto the bed, you breathed in the soft, sweet scent that wafted from the bedding. Hugging a pillow to your chest, you rolled over and gazed out the window as the sun dipped beneath the horizon. Your eyes began to feel heavy as you relaxed before you finally fell asleep— tuckered out from the trip from Earth.

You groaned as you stretched, slowly waking up. The first thing you noticed was the fact you'd fallen asleep in jeans — extremely uncomfortable. You sighed and sat up, casting a glance out the window to see the moon was sitting high in the sky.

Getting out of bed, you approached the window. The moon was brighter and closer to the planet than the moon on Earth and even the light from the city couldn't dim its reflection off the dark sea. The stars sparkled vibrantly in the sky and you smiled. Looking down, you could see the tide was hitting the shore more violently than it had been during the day. Backing away, you unzipped your suitcase and began to dig around to fetch some pajamas.

Before the trip, you had gone shopping for new clothes to wear to the alien planet. That included a new, expensive silk pajama set. It felt light and cool against your skin, felt even better as you curled up beneath the thick, soft blanket to properly sleep.

You adjusted the tie of your bathing suit behind your neck, the knot rubbing and irritating your skin. The elevator buzzed before the door opened and you stepped on, shivering as your bare feet hit the cold, tiled floor.

"What the..." you stared at the panel, flashing flights and holographic numbers confusing you. A message in the Folian language scrolled past on the screen and you sighed, deciding to just press the button beneath the "1", hoping it wouldn't take you to a basement.

The door opened immediately and you smiled proudly as you stepped into the lobby. Looking around, you adjusted your bag on your shoulder.

"Are you looking for the entrance to the beach?" you gasped, spinning around to look at the person who startled you. She smiled kindly, wearing a uniform with the name 'Lee' sewn into the fabric, "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,” she apologized, bowing her head slightly.

"Oh it's...fine, yeah um," you cleared your throat, "I'm looking for the beach."

"If you'll go through those double doors, you'll find the access point," she said, motioning to the two glass doors across the lobby, “It's a panel on the wall at the end of the hall.”

"Thank you," you smiled before turning your back to her before making your way over to the doors.

You pushed them open and immediately got a huge whiff of sea salt. Walking down the hallway, your footsteps echoed off the tiled walls as you made your way towards the end. You stopped at the wall, a panel blinking on the wall just like the woman had told you.

It took you a moment to realize that it looked like the panel for your room so your hotel keycard may work. Mentally, you cursed yourself for not learning how to read the language before coming. Pulling the metal card out, you held it up to the panel, watching a pink light flash over it as it was scanned before the card blinked green.

Something let out a loud clunk and you stumbled away as part of the wall moved, indenting inward before beginning to ascend. You squinted as the sunlight blinded you and the sound of waves crashing against the shore and the numerous voices of beach goers met your ears. You stepped through the newly made doorway and jumped when it quickly slammed back down and vanished into a simple wall again.

As soon as your feet hit the sand, you sunk into it. Looking down, you wiggled your toes curiously.

It was sand unlike anything on Earth. It was purple — a very light shade that it was almost white and instead of being hot like you would expect from being blasted by two suns, it was cool. Crouching down, you grabbed a fistful, watching the tiny grains slip through your fingers back down to the ground.

You stood back up and looked out towards the water, the surface sparkling beneath the sun's rays.

It was a wonder to see two suns in the sky as opposed to the one on Earth. The larger of the two was similar to Earth's but a second, smaller one sat in its shadow a brilliant blood orange color. Your could also see the silhouette of a couple of the other planets as well — Vulia and Argo as the two nearest planets to Liana, you assumed.

The sound of someone scream caught your attention and you turned just in time to watch a man playfully push a woman into the water. You couldn't help but smile as she resurfaced, shouting in a language you didn't recognize.

It was true, what Yura had said; that Liana was an extremely successful vacation hub. You took a seat on the sand, enjoying the cool feel of it beneath you. Closing your eyes, you let the sunlight warm your skin and relax you.

It felt like you were there for hours before finally packing your things up. Your skin was still damp from a quick dip you had taken in the ocean — the water was startlingly warm as you had been expecting the cold shock that always came from the Earth's oceans.

You held the card in your hand as you approached the panel you had used to get out. When you scanned it, you were immediately blasted with the building's AC. It felt nice but a little chilly, causing goosebumps to rise all over your moist skin.

The door shut behind you and you sighed, looking around the tiled hallway. You were pretty tired, energy having been sucked out of you from swimming.

"Hey..." you noticed there was a glass door hidden away in a corner. There was a sign in the window that you couldn't read and approached it.

Pushing the door open, you stepped onto a warm carpet. There were sweet scents wafting from all around you, aromas that you couldn't help but inhaling more of.

Too busy looking around, you didn't notice a person heading right for you until he ran into you. You stumbled, gasping in surprise at the contact. Before you could fall, a strong hand grabbed your arm and steadied you.

"Whoa," he chuckled, "You good?"

"Ah, yeah sorry..." you bashfully cleared your throat, "Wasn't paying attention—" you stopped when you finally looked up. The man wore a confident smile on his pretty lips. His skin was soft, almost glowing without a single flaw in sight. He had broad shoulders and a sharp jawline, a beautifully proportioned body.

He was absolutely stunning.

"Let me guess...you're a tourist," he raised a perfectly manicured brow at you.

"H-How did you—"

"You all get this dreamy, astounded look on your faces when you see a Folian," he scoffed, folding his arms over his chest, “I'm Seokjin, by the way.”

"______...and um...I've met several Folians...since I've been here..." you mumbled, his voice alone making your eyes flutter.

"Nah," he shook his head, leaning closer, "Vano is actually predominantly IRC territory now, you know where all the embassies and foreign politicians come to stay and whatnot. Folians don't really hang around the resort," he grinned, meeting your gaze, "...you'll know when you see a pure-blooded Folain," he grinned, "Like myself."

"I-If...um..." his smile was so dazzling it left your brain scrambled for a second before you shook your head and continued, "If it's not common then why are you here?"

"Well," he chuckled and shrugged his shoulders, "The springs here are...insane."

"The springs?" you asked.

He nodded, "You haven't heard?"

"I mean...my travel guide told me there are some but..." you shrugged, motioning for him to continue.

"Oh, man," he smiled, "They're amazing — literally the best in the galaxy,” it was clear he was boasting, obviously feeling a strong sense of pride over the claim.

"Is that so?" you asked, allowing a small smile to come to your own face.

"Yeah," licking his lips, he shoved his hands in his pockets. Inhaling, you caught a whiff of his cologne and it smelled absolutely amazing. His eyes raked over your form and you became acutely aware that you were still wearing your bikini top, "You know, it's better...going with someone."

You crossed your arms over your chest and cocked your head to the side, "Are you asking me to go to the springs with you?"

"Yeah, I," he chuckled, nodding his head, "I guess I am."

"First, tell me what this place is," you said, motioning around the room.

"Oh, it's just a massage parlor," he responded, "People come in for a rubdown after being on the beach so they can go back to their rooms and relax. I got one before you came in."

You hummed, "I'll have to check it out..."

"So...you coming with me?" he asked, already making way for the door.

"Oh, uh yeah," you hurried after him, slipping through the door before it closed behind him.

You followed closely behind him, staring up at the back of his head. It made you realize that he was pretty tall. Too entranced in watching his hair bounce and the confident way he walked, you didn't pay attention to where you were going.

Suddenly, he stopped and you bumped into his back with a grunt.

“Hey…” you mumbled, stepping away to see him looking over his shoulder at you with a smirk on his face.

“Lost in thought?” he teased, raising a brow.

“No,” you lied, making him scoff.

“Sure, anyway, we're here,” he said, pulling a plush green curtain aside to wave you in.

Stepping past, you gasped at what you saw. Walls of shimmering rock closed in the space surrounding the spring. You could see steam rising off the surface of the water and it made your skin grow sticky from the humidity in the air.

“Come on then,” his voice was muffled as he was pulling his shirt over his head.

Your mouth went dry at the sight of his body; he was well built, and his skin was beginning to shine from the humidity. He reached down and unbuttoned his jeans, making you gasp and cover your eyes.

“Hey now,” he chuckled, “I don't know what you expected to see but…” he trailed off and you took your hands off your eyes to see he was already half submerged in the water.

“Y-You can't just do that,” you complained, pulling off the leggings you wore over your bikini bottoms.

“Do what?” he sighed, leaning back against the rocks lining the spring.

“Strip like that, are you even wearing anything?” you asked, finally making your way towards the water.

“Of course I am!” he gasped, “You’re not lucky enough to see me naked.”

“Oh the burden,” you replied sarcastically, rolling your eyes as he laughed.

You dipped your toes into the water and hissed at the heat. Your skin quickly adjusted and you were able to comfortably slip into the water and make your way over to where he was sitting.

“Does no one come here?” you asked, referring to how empty it was.

“Eh,” he shrugged, “I guess it's just not a busy time.”

You both fell into a comfortable silence, relaxing and closing your eyes as you let the heat of the spring ease all the tension your body retained. You could literally feel the stress melting off.

The peace was interrupted by boisterous laughter coming from the entrance way. You jumped as a couple of guys wandered in joking and goofing off with one another.

Your eyes were fixated on them — their good looks on par with Seokjin’s. You followed them with your gaze, unable to break away as the men shed their shirts and prepared to enter the spring.

“Hey,” you jumped when you felt Seokjin’s breath against your ear. Glancing at him, you found you were inches away from his face, “I know they're good looking, but you're here with me...shouldn't your attention be on me?”

“U-Um...I’m sorry…” you muttered, heart stuttering in your chest when you noticed how thick and pretty his lips were.

He smiled, “Good girl.”

Despite the fact you were submerged in a hot spring, you felt a shiver go down your spine.

Your trip was cut off shortly after when he let you know that he had somewhere he needed to be. You bid him goodbye and returned to your room, the memory of the beautiful Folian man lingering in your mind as you curled up to sleep that night.

You stepped out into the hallway, your flip flops dangling from your hand as you turned around and checked to make sure your door properly locked. Suddenly, a heavy hand landed on your shoulder and you swallowed down a scream as you spun around to see who it was.

“Seokjin,” you greeted with a smile, quickly relaxing, “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” he grinned, looking down at his own outfit. He was dressed nicely, black slacks and a white button down that had the sleeves rolled up with the first few buttons undone to expose his chest and collar bones. His hair was combed back to show his forehead and you could only say he looked like a model.

If he were a man on Earth he'd probably be the top male model in the industry with his good looks.

“What're you doing here?” you asked, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.

“I'm staying on this floor,” he replied, “Just happened to see you when I was heading to the elevator.”

“Oh, well that’s a coincidence,” you smiled, beginning to turn away to go to the elevator.

“Why're you going to the beach so late, it's starting to get dark?” he asked, halting you.

“The beach is really pretty at night,” you explained, “It's pretty common on Earth so I thought it might be fun here as well.”

“I see,” he hummed and shoved his hands into his pockets. He shifted on his feet almost awkwardly and you took that as your cue to let him escape the conversation.

“Well, I’ll see you later,” you offered him a small wave over your shoulder before you once again turned to make your leave.

"Hey, wait!" he called and you stopped again, turning to see him walking closer to you, "You haven't been here long right?"

"Just a couple days, why?" you asked.

"Well," he cleared his throat and shrugged his shoulders, "I was wondering if you had a chance to see...what Liana really has to offer."

"What do you mean?" your question caused a small smirk to appear on his lips and he leaned even closer so that you could see the way the lights reflected off his dark irises.

"I mean, outside of this resort," he said, "There's so much you can see and experience."

"I-Is that so?" you cursed yourself for stuttering but having him so close made you nervous — a fluttering kind of nervous.

"Yeah," he chuckled and stood up straight once again, "Why don't you get dressed up and come with me?"

He didn't really give you any room to argue, not that you wanted to, so you nodded and pulled your key card out. You could feel his eyes on you as you unlocked your door and slipped inside. Leaning back against it, you let out a sigh and looked around the room.

Scrambling to undress, you ran over to your closet and pulled it open. You mentally thanked your past self for packing a couple of more dressy clothes — just in case, you had told yourself when you hadn't known what to expect from your vacation.

Pulling out the tight black mini-dress you figured would match with Seokjin the best, you hurried to pull it on. Smoothing the fabric down, you ran to the bathroom and flicked the light on. Your makeup bag sat on the counter and you really didn't want to keep him waiting so you opted for simple eye makeup but a bold red lip.

Just as you were spraying some setting spray when there was a soft knock at your door. Sighing, you fluffed your hair a bit before racing to the door to slip your shoes on.

You yanked the door open to see Seokjin leaning against the door jamb, fist raised like he was going to knock again.

"You're so impatient," you complained, turning your back to pull your purse from your abandoned beach bag.

"What can I say?" he stepped back to let you exit the room.

Shutting the door, you let out a sigh, "Let's go then."

"You look..." he let out a low whistle, eyes scanning your entire body, "You look really good...you almost look better than me."

"Oh real flattering," you mumbled sarcastically, smiling when you heard him chuckling behind you.

When you left the hotel building, you followed him to a car garage to a craft that he opened with the press of a button. Climbing in, you looked around at all the buttons as he got on as well. He typed around on a small, holographic screen before the car started.

"Whoa," you whispered as you realized it was completely self driving.

You watched the glitz and glamor of the resort disappear into a dark, desolately populated area. The buildings were run down and there were few lights to be seen until the car pulled down a small side street with several small buildings lit up by neon signs.

The car shut off and he got out, opening the door for you as he waited for you by the sidewalk. Once out of the car, you could hear the deafening bass of music coming from the buildings surrounding you.

"We're going here," he grabbed your wrist, tugging you in the direction of a building lit up with the sign 'The Core' flickering above the blacked out door.

The floor was packed with people dancing and moving to the rhythm of the music. Cigarette smoke burned your eyes and made you cough as you let Seokjin lead you through the crowd. Reaching the end of dancefloor, he pulled you in the direction of another doorway obscured by a black curtain.

As soon as you stepped inside, you were knocked breathless in shock at what you saw. Inside there were dozens of lounge chairs and couches filled with people. Women sat on men's laps on the lounge chairs while men laid above women on the couches — all of them with wandering hands and lips locked in heated kisses.

Your mouth was dry at the shameless displays of intimacy, all of them practically having sex right there in the open. Seokjin didn't even cast a fleeting glance towards the people, instead tugging you in the direction of the empty bar counter.

Once seated, you were able to see another doorway beyond the wall with lights flashing from within. You leaned back a bit to see a woman pressed against the wall, arms wrapped around another woman's neck as they kissed. Blushing, you avert your gaze and glanced down at the shiny bar countertop.

"You got anything like this on Earth?" he asked, talking a bit louder to be heard over the muffled music coming from the other room.

"Um..." you clear your throat and shake your head, "I mean...we have nightclubs but...no one does..." you motioned towards the people and he chuckled.

"Well," he shrugged and raised his hand to wave the bartender over, "Get me some Red."

"Sure thing," the bartender nodded and turned his back to prepare the drink.

You watched his hands move to dispense some red liquid into a glass cup adorned with gold and jewel accents. He placed it in front of you both and dipped two metal straws into it.

"What's this?" you asked as he motioned for you to take a sip.

"It's a drink," he smiled, resting his cheek on his hand against the bar counter.

"Obviously," you muttered, eyeing the drink with a frown, "You drink first."

"A bit suspicious aren't you?" he chuckled to aimed the straw towards his mouth and took a couple sips, "See? I wouldn't poison you or anything."

"Is it alcoholic?" you asked, pulling the glass closer to you.

"Not in the way it is on Earth," he replied, "Though the effects vary for humans. It gives Folians a buzz and feelings of euphoria...but sometimes it doesn't even do anything for humans..."

You hummed and took the straw into your mouth and sucked. It was cold on your tongue, holding a sweet almost tangy taste you simply couldn't identify. Swallowing it down, you licked your lips to chase the remnants.

"What is it?" you asked when you finally pulled away.

"Blood," he replied, taking his straw to have another taste.

You blinked, brain slow to comprehend what he had said, "Come again?" your jaw fell open as you squinted at him.

"It's Folian blood," he said.

"You...you drink your own blood?" you asked.

He nodded, mixing it a bit with his straw, "It's a delicacy, as you tasted it's really tasty and like I said before...it causes a state of euphoria...why wouldn't we drink it?"

"Well..." you frowned and thought about his words, "I mean human blood tastes terrible so...I guess it's just a weird concept to me..."

"We're not the only ones who drink it," he explained, "It's manufactured and sold to all planets of the Vela System. It's a pretty good source of income for the planets economy."

You hummed and decided to take another sip. Once again the sweet, tangy flavor melted on your tongue and you sighed — it really did taste good. There was nothing on Earth you could even compare it to.

The two of you shared the drink until it was empty and he pushed the glass away. You felt so much more relaxed while he wore an almost dreamy smile on his face.

"So...what's up with all this?" you motioned to the dozens of people who were still latched onto one another without a care in the world.

"Hm? It's just...I dunno, you don't have sex on Earth?" you choked at the question and waved your hands quickly.

"N-No...I mean yes we do but..." you felt your cheeks heat up as you spoke, "It's sort of something more private, on Earth you'd be arrested for this."

"What? Why?" his brows were furrowed in confusion.

"Well...It's not something that's...meant to be seen by all, you know?" he shook his head and you sighed, "It's sort of an intimate act, I guess? I mean people have casual sex but it's not something that people want to share with the world...it's just private for us."

"I see..." he hummed and spun on the stool to face the people, leaning back against the counter with his elbows supporting him, "Here it's sort of hierarchical."

"What do you mean?" you asked, following his lead to turn towards the couches.

"Well, here sex is pretty important for us," he said, "It's sort of a social ranking. Really successful people who are deemed to contribute more to society are permitted to have multiple spouses. Instead of it being illegal to actually have sex in public here, it's illegal to take more partners than your social rank permits — depending on how many more you take the punishment varies."

"Whoa..." you whispered, "It's sort of an egotistical thing to have multiple partners on Earth— like a guy with the most scores has bragging rights."

"That's interesting," he hummed, "We've got egotistical assholes as well but..."

"How many are you permitted?" you asked suddenly, making him look at you in surprise.

Even you were shocked at your own question. It wasn't like you at all. Though, with every moment that passed you began to feel more of the effects of the drink. You felt so light and happy, completely worry free. It seemed like there were no consequences to anything you did or said, giving you a green light to ask him whatever you wanted with confidence.

He chuckled, "You're really feeling it aren't you?"

"Don't ignore my question," you mumbled, narrowing your eyes in what was probably a very non-threatening glare.

"Well," he slid off the stool and held his hand out to you, "I'm permitted a few."

"How many is a few?" you asked, taking his hand to let him help you down.

As soon as you were on your feet, you felt everything move beneath you and suddenly you found yourself crushed against Seokjin's chest.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice sounding a little distorted in your hazy mind.

"I...I guess," you giggled, enjoying the feeling of his arms around you as he began to carefully lead you to the exit of the club.

The entire car ride was a blur. You remember holding onto his hand and him allowing you to, keeping his eyes on you the whole ride. His gaze made your heart race more than the drink had and you felt goosebumps rising upon your skin.

No one spared you a glance as he helped you to the elevator to the floor you both shared.

"Where's your keycard?" he asked, chuckling as you leaned against the wall with a grin on your face.

"'N my bag..." you replied, letting him zip it open.

It took him a second to find it, accidentally grabbing your wallet first before finally pulling the card out from where it was buried on the bottom. His hand rested on the small of your back as you leaned into him, hugging his arm to you. The door clicked as it unlocked and he used his free hand to push it open.

Immediately, you kicked your heels off and signed in relief. You heard the door click shut behind you and turned to see him leaning against it with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

Once again, that feeling of confidence washed over you and you sauntered up to him. You felt him stiffen when you pressed yourself against him. His hands hovered in the air for a second before settling on your waist to pull you closer. Moving up on your tiptoes, you pressed your lips to his and he let out a stuttering sigh. His grip on you tightened just a bit as he kissed back, your lips moving flawlessly together.

Before you could lose your confidence, you reached up to undo a couple buttons of his shirt. He hummed against your lips, deepening the kiss before you broke away with a smile.

Biting your lip, you pulled his shirt up to untuck it from his pants, "You really are...so good looking."

"You're not so bad yourself, sweetheart," he muttered, his voice surprisingly deep. When you began to pull at the buckle of his belt, he suddenly grabbed your wrists.

"Wh-What's wrong?" you asked with a pout, biting your lip when you noticed how long and pretty his fingers were.

"I...would love to fuck you right now, seriously, I'm painfully hard right now," he whispered, making you giggle, "But you're not clear right now...and I don't want to take advantage, alright?"

"But..." he stopped you with a swift kiss to your lips.

"Get ready for bed, alright? I'll keep an eye on you for the night," he said, watching you pout as you collected your pajamas from the bed where you had left them earlier that day.

"Why?" you asked, making your way towards the bathroom.

"Because I've never heard of a human getting so messed up by Red before," his voice was muffled when you shut the door to the bathroom.

After taking off your makeup and getting changed, you wandered out of the bathroom to find Jin wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants while laying on your bed. His face was buried in a pillow but he looked up when you came out.

"Where'd you get those?" you mumbled, motioning to his attire.

"Went to my room," he replied with a brow raised, "I'm down the hall, remember?"

"Oh...right," he chuckled at the spacey look on your face before you climbed onto the bed.

It was strangely comfortable, though it was probably the drink, to sleep beside him. His hand rested on your waist as he kept his eyes on you until your breathing evened out and you fell asleep.

You were woken up by the soft sound of cursing and when you opened your eyes you saw Seokjin messing with a cart of food. He was crouched down, trying to pull the tablecloth from where it was stuck under the wheel.

"What're you doing?" you asked, voice rough from sleep.

"Huh? Oh! You're awake!" he smiled, stood up, "I got some room service, I was hungry and I figured you would be too."

"I actually am," you smiled, pushing the blankets off to climb out of bed.

"Help me with this," he mumbled, motioning to the cart, "It's stuck."

"I'll pull the cart while you get the cloth free," you said, waiting for him to kneel down and nod before executing the plan.

He gave a small 'ah-ha' of victory when it pulled free before standing up.

"Cute pajamas by the way," he said, pushing the cart over to the little table across the room.

"I..." you looked down at your matching pink pajama set and blushed, "Don't tease me."

"I'm not!" he laughed, setting the plates down on the table before motioning for you to sit.

"By the way..." you picked at your plate with a fork, "I'm sorry for last night."

"What do you mean?" he asked, taking a bite of food.

"For, you know...kissing you like that," you mumbled.

He chuckled, "I didn't mind one bit."

The tone of his voice had your cheeks heating up. Meeting his gaze, you found the almost cocky smirk on his lips and the dark glaze in his eyes. Squeezing your thighs together under the table, you remembered how it felt for him to hold you against him, how strong his grip was and how soft his lips were.

"Well...st-still..." you cleared your throat and took a bite from your fork.

"So I was thinking," he held the smirk on his lips, giving you a knowing look as he changed the subject, "We could go down to the beach since I sort of stopped you last night."

"Oh...you want to?" you asked. He nodded and you smiled, "Great! We'll get ready after this."

When you both finished eating, you excitedly got changed into your swimsuit while he went to his room to do the same. Slipping on some shorts, you opened the door to find Seokjin making his way down the hall.

He was shirtless, simply opting to wear his swim trunks with a towel thrown over his shoulder.

"Let's go then!" he smiled, taking your hand to tug you in the direction of the elevator.

It was cute, how excited he seemed, "What's got you so excited? You live here."

"Well, I've never been to the beach with a human before," he said, stepping out of the elevator, tugging you with him.

You squinted against the sudden burst of sunlight, the strange sensation of the cool sand on your feet. You noticed he was going in a different direction than the shore and asked him, "Where are we going?"

"There's a cool little cove around here," he said, "It's pretty quiet, not many people hang around it."

"Oh cool," you whispered, having to fasten your steps to keep up with his larger strides.

Finally, it came into view, large boulders and rocks with water harshly sloshing against them. He climbed up first, getting a steady stance on the rock before pulling you up. You laughed when he slipped a bit against the slickness and let out a small shriek of surprise.

You took a seat, dipping your feet in the water with a sigh. He followed your lead, leaning back on his hands with his head tilted back. Looking down, you gasped at all the colorful fish you could see swimming beneath the surface.

"Whoa, they're so bright!" you muttered, gaining Seokjin's attention.

"You don't have fish on Earth?" he asked with a raised brow.

"Of course we go but these are like neon!" you said, watching the way they circled on another, "I always imagine alien planets having terrifying wildlife."

"Ah, no there aren't too many dangerous creatures here," he said, "But Argo on the other hand, place is practically deadly."

"Ah, I've heard of Argo," you muttered in wonder before fixing him with a curious gaze, "Your galaxy is pretty new so I've only heard some stuff...rumors and the like, you know.”

"What do you do for a living on Earth?" he asked.

"I actually work for the Interplanetary Relations Commission," you said.

"But you don't know much about the planets?" he cocked his head to the side.

"No, unfortunately my job is more financial instead of scientific. I don't deal with the other planets or anything like that," you explained, "I just basically make sure the IRC doesn't like...you know...go bankrupt."

"I see," he chuckled, "Well, I think it's pretty cute how excited you got over fish."

"I...c'mon," you muttered, embarrassed by the compliment, "Do you know if it's possible to do like a sea dive or something?"

"Yeah, I think so," he said, "I can help you set something up tomorrow if you'd like?"

"Really? You'll do it with me?" you grinned and he nodded, "I'm so excited!"

You felt his eyes on you and turned to look at him, finding him smiling at you. He reached forward when he realized he had your attention. His hand was warm as he cupped your cheek, leaning forward to brush his lips against yours.

He smirked when he felt your breath stutter a bit in anticipation. Before he fully kissed you, however, he backed off and slid off the rock into the water with a splash.

"Hey!" you pouted, "That's not very nice."

"Who said I'm a nice guy?" he laughed, splashing water at you, making you gasp in surprise. Before you could recover, you felt him wrap his arms around your waist and tug you in. You cried out as your head dipped under the water.

Resurfacing, you went to yell at Seokjin only to find him swimming away in laughter.

You spent the entire day with him at the beach until the moon was rising into the sky. Wrapping a towel around your shoulders, you began to walk with him back to the hotel. You could hear the laughter of people nearby as they ran around on the beach and couldn't help but smile.

"What's up?" he asked, finally reaching the elevator.

"Nothing, it's just..." you leaned back against the wall, meeting his soft gaze, "I was sent here on vacation and I sure as hell didn't expect to be spending it with you."

The door opened and you stepped out, Seokjin following behind you. Fishing your card out, you approached your door.

"Is that a bad thing?" he asked, making you pause to turn around.

You smiled and shook your head, "No, actually you've really made it a lot better."

"Yeah?" he stepped so close that you could smell the sea salt clinging to his skin as he looked at you through damp bangs, "I can make it...even better, you know?"

"Can you?" your voice lowered and he smirked, leaning close so his nose brushed yours.

"Oh yeah," his lips met yours and you immediately wrapped your arms around his neck.

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you sighed into the kiss as you felt him wrap a strong arm around your waist. His lips were soft and warm, with just a hint of chapstick he had applied lingering on them.

You gasped when he suddenly lifted you up, taking a few quick strides before depositing you on the bed. You smiled as he crawled on top of you, resting his weight on his elbows on either side of your head so he could kiss you once more.

His hands carefully slid up your stomach, making goosebumps rise along you skin. You sighed, lashes fluttering when he cupped your breast in his hand. Pulling away, he met your gaze as he pushed the band up until both of your breasts came into view.

Thumb circling your nipple, he licked his lips at the soft whimper you let out. You reached up and cupped his jaw, pulling him down for another kiss.

Giving the bud a soft pinch, he chuckled when you gasped into his mouth. He broke the kiss to leave small pecks down your jaw and chest until he could envelop your nipple in his mouth.

The way your back arched in response had him groaning. Cupping your other breast, he rolled the bud between two fingers until he felt your hands wrapping in his hair.

He chuckled and began to leave kisses down your stomach until he reached the band of your shorts. Casting a glance up at you, he found you staring down at him with your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

Before he could do anything, you hooked your thumbs into the hem of your shorts and began to push them down. He helped, pulling them from your legs as you pulled your bikini top off so you were completely bare before him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, sitting back on his heels to get a good view of your body. Gripping your knees, he carefully spread your legs apart until your wet folds were fully in view. He licked his lips and reached forward, running his fingertips over your slit to collect the wetness there before bringing them to his mouth. His eyes fluttered at your taste on his tongue and when he licked his fingers clean, he knew he needed to taste more.

“Jin—” you gasped when he dove down to find your pussy with his tongue.

Sliding his tongue between your folds, he groaned at your sweet taste. He laid on his stomach, wrapping his arms around your thighs to hold your open for him. Finding your clit, he took the bud into his mouth and relished in the moan you let out. Gripping at his hair, you ground your hips down to meet his sinful tongue.

You grew wetter by the second, he could feel the way you were dripping. His ego swelled, knowing he was able to turn you into such a mess. He pulled back for a breath, licking his lips and looking up at your disheveled state.

Your hair was wild and splayed over the pillows. Your lips were red and swollen from how you were biting them in your pleasure. His eyes followed the movement of your hands as you cupped your own breasts to pinch and tug at your nipples.

“Please,” you whispered, arching you'd hips upwards.

He smirked, knowing exactly what you were begging for. Not wanting to leave you yearning, he spread tour folds with his thumbs until he could see your entrance clenching in anticipation. Meeting your clit once more, he flattened his tongue as he gave it a slow, long lick.

You cursed, tossing your head back into the pillow. It had been a while since you got laid, work having taken over your life. With Seokjin’s talented tongue working your cunt like it was his job, however, you realized just how much you'd missed it.

Your walls were beginning to spasm and tighten. Clutching his hair tighter, your body became tense with the oncoming orgasm. He groaned, taking your clit into his mouth once again.

Within seconds, you came. Your thighs trembled in his hold and he could feel your bud pulse in time with your high. The moans and whimpers of his name you let loose made him acutely aware of just how hard he had become.

You finally began to push him away as the stimulation inched into overstimulation. He pulled away, sitting up as his chest moved with his heavy breathing. Licking his lips, he collected whatever juices he had missed on his thumb to lick clean as well.

“You're...really good…” you mumbled, still catching your breath from the incredible orgasm he had given you.

He chuckled, “Thanks, I try my best.”

His response had you laughing and you sat up, wrapping your arm around his neck to pull him in for another kiss. Kissing him was phenomenal, he knew just how to move his lips and when to use his tongue. You could taste your own juices and you eagerly caught every lingering taste.

As you reached for his swim trunks, ready to push them down, he stopped you. You stopped and looked up at him curiously.

“Hang on…” he cleared his throat and took your wrist in his hand, pulling our fingers from the hem of them.

“What is it?” you asked, worried you had done something wrong.

“It's just…” he sighed, “My...anatomy is different from a human man’s.”

“How do you know what a human man looks like?” you asked with a brow raised.

He chuckled, “I've heard stories and seen things from visitors.”

“I see...well…” you used your free hand to run down the smooth plane of his chest, “Different how?”

His smile faded a bit as he reached down to tug the hem of his swim trunks down. Your mouth fell open a bit as his member came into view.

It was an angry red, clearly throbbing with his arousal. There was one main appendage with four smaller ones surrounding it. He wrapped his fist around himself and sighed in relief.

You reached out and let your fingers graze one of the smaller ones. He hissed and you gasped when it twitched, almost wiggling, away from your touch.

“Whoa…” you mumbled, knocking his hand away to grip the main one like he had.

It was warm, pulsing with his heartbeat. It was slick, allowing you to easily stroke him until his head fell back in a moan.

“P-Pretty different, huh?” he choked out, ears turning red the longer you stared at him.

“Very…” you whispered, “Almost like...tentacles…”

“I-I guess,” he grunted, eyes fluttering as you felt his cock leak even more, “Shit, d-do you still want to…?”

He trailed off and you paused, staring at your hand wrapped around him. Although it was something you never dreamt of seeing or touching, you felt yourself clench at the thought of having him inside you.

“Yeah…” you whispered, smiling when you saw him sign in relief.

“Good because if you said no, I would be going back to my room with the worst case of blue balls in my life,” he said and you giggled as you laid back, admiring his pretty smile as he grinned at your laughter.

Releasing your grip on his cock, you glanced at your hand. His precum lingered on your skin and you curiously brought one finger to your lips. You felt his eyes burning into you as you took your digit into your mouth.

Your eyes widened at the taste. It was sweet — indescribably so, almost like sugar. He wore a small smile, as if he understood your thinking. He didn't say anything, however, simply shifted on his knees and spread your legs apart once again.

You were still dripping and he could see your hole clenching pathetically around nothing — begging to be filled. He was more than willing to do just that.

“Flip over,” he said, holding onto your hips as you clumsily rolled over, “Hands and knees,” you did as he asked, perching your ass high in the air, “Good girl…”

You kernel under the praise and he could see you clench, making him chuckle. Rising on his knees, your breathing stuttered as you felt the almost silky texture of his cock prodding your entrance.

Despite the extra tentacles, his cock was pretty similar to a humans. The head of him was the thickest part as he began to push in. Burying your face in the pillow, you let out a groan when you felt your walls beginning to stretch open to fit him.

He panted, running his hand soothingly along your spine. You were clenching so tight, cunt struggling to accommodate the fat head of his cock. Both of you groaned in unison when it finally popped on, the rest of his length easily sliding in until you were completely filled.

He sat still, feeling you spasm and drip around his cock until you let out a whine, “Please move, Jin.”

“Fuck,” he breathed, “Alright, sweetheart.”

Your breathing stuttered as he pulled out, the shape of his cock allowing him to drag over your sweet spot in a way no human could. Your eyes rolled back and your thighs trembled at the feeling, making Jin’s cock throb against your walls.

“Oh god…” you whimpered, biting down on the pillow when he sunk back into you.

He chuckled above you, holding onto your hips for leverage so he could hammer into you. He let out another curse, head falling back when he felt the tip of his cock hit your cervix, making you clamp even harder around him.

“You feel so good,” he growled, “So tight.”

“Y-You’re gonna m-make me cu...cum,” you sobbed, clutching the pillow until the material groaned in protest, “Already…”

He scoffed, “‘Cause my cock is better than anyone's, huh?” you didn't respond, too lost in the painful heat that came whenever he bottomed out in you, “Tell me,” he snapped.

“Y-Yes, so...so fuckin—” your praise was cut off when you felt something touch your clit.

Glancing between your legs, you felt tears sting your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure as the tentacle on the underside of his cock met your clit. It moved as if it had a mind of its own, your own juices mixed with his allowed for it to swirl effortlessly around the bud.

Your high was coming faster than you could have ever expected. You knew it was going to be strong and part of you thought it could almost make you black out. Watching the tentacle move, you let out a low whine when the tip of it slipped beneath the hood of your clit to find the bare, vulnerable bud directly.

It was the final blow and before you could voice it out, you were cumming. Seokjin groaned as you trembled and moaned beneath him, a gush of juices almost forcing his cock from your cunt.

The bedding grew wet but he didn't stop fucking into you, even as you sobbed into the pillow.

“Such a messy girl,” he growled, cupping your ass cheeks to spread them apart, “Never would have guessed you'd be such a slut.”

The name made you groan and twitch around him, making him chuckle. The way he was reducing you to nothing but a spasming, drooling mess was incredible. Never before had anyone reacted so strongly to him — maybe he should fuck humans more often, he mused.

You were lost in space, your mind unable to think of the world beyond the fat cock stuffing you full. You were sure nothing would feel better than this but the feeling of another one of his tentacles had you second guessing.

“Can I fuck you here too?” Jin asked, voice low and rough as the tentacle prodded at your ass.

“I-I…” you whimpered and nodded.

“Use your words,” he snapped, slapping your ass harshly, leaving a burning sting in the impacts wake.

“Yes please!” you choked out, the words almost impossible to get out.

“Good girl,” he praised, making you whimper.

Holding your breath, you gasped as you felt the tentacle carefully begin to slide into the right hole. The lubrication on it allowed for an extremely easy entrance — it wasn't too big so there was minimal burning from the stretch. It was still there but it quickly dissipated, making you sigh.

The tentacle moved in time to his pounding hips, reaching deeper inside with every inward thrust. The sound of skin slapping together filled the space mixed with your moans and his groans.

Already sensitive from two prior orgasms, the added tentacle along with the one still playing with your clit, leaving you a drooling mess.

Seokjin was nearing his own end, grip on your hips tightening as his thrusts started to become sloppy, “Cum for me...c’mon…” he whispered, encouraging you over that edge.

As soon as you hit your high, the first spasm of your calls around him sent him over as well. His chest met your back as he groaned, his cum filling you.

There was so much, more than you could have expected. It overflowed, being forced out of your clenching cunt as he continued to rut into you to ride the high. Dripping down your thighs, it added to the mess you had made earlier.

You could even feel the tentacle stretching ass open throb in time to every pulse of cum. Slowly, you slumped down as your orgasm faded.

He pulled his cock from your cunt, groaning as he watched the rest of his cum spill from your stretched hole. The tentacles pulled free as well and you collapsed on your side with a sigh.

Your thighs were sore from being in the same position for so long but otherwise you felt euphoric. Seokjin followed your lead and laid beside you, chest heaving as he caught his breath.

“Well…” you sighed, making him look at you. His cheeks were flushed and his bangs stuck to his forehead from sweat, “You certainly did make it better…”

He laughed, “Oh yeah? How has it been so far as a vacation?”

“A few more days of this and I'm pretty sure I’ll be stress free for the rest of my life,” rolling over, you met his lips for another kiss as laughed softly.

You let yourself relax against him, relishing in the soft caresses and pecks he left along your skin. Part of your heart aches as you remembered that after your vacation, you wouldn't be able to see him again.

Disregarding the feeling, you turned your attention back to the beautiful man in front of you who was more than willing to make sure this vacation would be one that you remember for the rest of your life.

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amphxtrite · 4 years ago

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ginny weasley x fem!reader

Royalty Au

Warnings: spelling/grammar mistakes

Summary: the reader has to choose someone to marry from the Weasley family and she falls for the only girl.

enjoy <3

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y/n l/n Princess of Felicitatem, next in line for the throne, treasure of the Kingdom of Prosperity.

Yawning as you sit yourself up in your lush 4-poster bed, you stretch your arms out and throw back your covers, swinging your legs off the edge of your mattress and sighing at the feeling of your feet meeting the cool marble of the floor beneath you.

“Good morning Princess.” you hear a voice call out to you from the doorway. “Good morning Melina, beautiful day isn’t it?” you answer back, gazing out your large window into the beautiful garden. “Yes it is indeed Princess, I’m here to fetch you for breakfast.” Melina steps into the room and closes the door behind her. You murmur a quick mhm before scooching over to face her.

Melina was like the older sister you never had, you two were very comfortable around each other, but she still liked to stick to formalities when she was unsure if anyone was around. “Mellie there’s no need for that Princess stuff around me, you know that!” you grin. “I know, but I thought I saw Sebastian coming around here, and you know how much of a blabbermouth he is.” She sighs, flopping down onto your bed. You shrug, standing fully up and heading to the bathroom, you begin to run a brush through your hair as Mellie informs you on the castle’s gossip. “So I heard the head chef and one of the chambermaids were caught snogging in a broom closet,” She giggles. “And, Alex says the gardener is pregnant, Oh, and we got a cute new stable boy.” She rattles on, you can feel her blush from here. You smile. Beginning to brush your teeth, Mellie comes into the bathroom and begins to braid her hair, “It’s parcel day too, I think I saw a whole stack with your name on them.” She looks over at you. You rinse out your mouth before answering.

“Oh yeah, the Potter’s kingdom is trying to sign a deal with my parents, and they think spoiling me will convince them.” you answer nonchalantly.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Mellie asks curiously. “Oh, Mother was going to sign it anyways, she's just a bit busy right now.” You snicker, “The fabric in their kingdom is to die for though and they send the most beautiful dresses, so I’m not complaining.” you turn and head towards your closet. “You want to borrow anything today?” you call out to the blonde trailing behind you. “Do you have that ribbon I like?” She asks as you walk to a drawer and pull out the baby blue silk hair ribbon and toss it over to her. “You can keep it, you know, since you like it so much.” You smile at her. She squeals and hugs you tightly, thanking you over and over again, you simply smile and hug her back. She helps you put on a casual white dress and you walk down to the dining room talking about the kingdom’s news, you separate once you arrive at your destination, waving goodbye as you open the large doors.

“Ah, y/n there you are!” Your father calls out to you as you step into the large room. “Good morning father.” You answer “Good morning mother” you greet your mother beside him at the head of the table. Your father stands and walks over to you, “We have guests today darling,” He says motioning to a large family of red-heads, you immediately recognize them as the Weasley’s from the Western Kingdom. You curtsey to them, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” You greet. “Oh thank you darling.” A short woman with a kind face answers, she must be Mrs. Weasley. “You have a very kind daughter Charles.” Mr. Weasley compliments, you smile. You scan your eyes down the row of ginger children seven in total, skimming over each one of them, your eyes stop at the only girl there, the youngest one too you presumed. She sends you a small smile and you find yourself staring. She was so beautiful, long light ginger hair, ocean blue eyes and pretty pink lips. You grin back as you walk with your father to the head of the table taking a seat on the other right side of your him, directly in front of Mr. Weasley, The adults continue talking and you find your mind wandering, your eyes goes back to the girl you had made eye-contact with just a few moments ago, she’s picking at her eggs, you smile but catch yourself in the act, you shake your head slightly, you’ve never felt this way about a girl before, what was going on? Despite these thoughts there was a part of your brain saying to just go with it. You’re brought out of your thoughts by your father’s voice.

“You’re probably wondering why the Weasleys are here?” Your father asks, reading your mind. You nod. “Well dear, we’ve decided to join our kingdoms and would like to have you and one of their children marry to unite us when you’re crowned queen.” He explains. You freeze. “So you’re arranging my marriage?” You ask, fear lacing your tone. “Well not exactly,” Your father tries to reason with you. “The Weasley’s have six boys in their family and 5 for you to choose from, aside from Bill the oldest who is already married, who you choose is your choice though of course.” You nod nervously, thinking back to the girl at the other side of the table. You glance in her direction and she’s looking back at you blushing. You feel a surge of happiness and turn back to your father. “Any… of the Weasley’s father?” You smile at him. “Of course darling, you have my word.” He nods to you unknowingly, your mother looks between you and the girl and back at you again, you raise one of your brows at her and she smiles, nodding. You feel a rush of excitement, quickly eating your oatmeal and drinking your tea before you stand hoping to greet the girl. “y/n why don’t you give the kids a tour around the castle?” Your father suggests, “to get to know them better.” He continues a grin on his face. “Um- of course! If you would kindly follow me?” you call out to the seven gingers, they all stand and walk towards the doors with you introducing themselves one by one. There was Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ron and the beautiful girl that caught your eye's name was Ginny, what a gorgeous name. For the rest of the morning and afternoon you run around the castle, showing them every room and every crevasse you thought was important, but in the end most of your time was spent in the garden, playing football with the family, you grew tired after a couple games and decided to sit under your favourite cherry blossom tree to watch.

The Weasley’s were such kind people and you knew any of them would make a perfect partner, but only one of them had left you speechless. Ginny was absolutely perfect, she was so kind, strong and mature compared to most of her brothers, and on top of that, so very beautiful. You watch with heart-eyes as she runs around in her long dress throwing and catching a ball around with her brothers, you watch her eyes light up, her smile grow, and her hair sway and you knew she was the one you wanted to choose. You were conflicted though, you’ve never felt this way about a woman before, but with Ginny it just felt so natural, she made you laugh, blush and hang onto her every word, she was everything you could ever ask for and more, but you knew there was a problem, what if she didn’t feel that way about you? What if she found you disgusting for having these feelings for her? What if your father didn’t allow it… He did say sons after all. You could feel someone's gaze on you and you see Ginny standing with her twin brothers Fred and George, you smiled and waved at them, wondering what they’re talking about.

“Really?!” Fred says to his sister, his eyes wide in shock. Ginny rolls her eyes, “raise your voice a bit Fred I don’t think she heard you.” She whispers to her brother sarcastically. “But, you’re serious?… You like y/n?” George whispers back, Ginny glances back to you a pink dust on her cheeks and a smile spreading on her face, “Yes, she’s absolutely marvelous!” She answers George. “Look Gin, I’m happy for you, really, but what are mum and dad going to say?” Fred questions, slightly concerned. “Well, I haven’t really thought that far yet, but I’m sure they’d be fine with it!” Ginny answers looking back to you again, she sees your eyes raise to hers and she can almost see your future together in your eyes, baking in the kitchen together, running through your castle hand in hand, and kissing you under the moonlight, the thought made her blush. “I’m going to tell her!” Ginny confidently starts to walk over, George grabs her by the arm. “Gin wait a second, how can you tell she feels the same?” George asks worriedly, not wanting his sisters heart broken. Ginny only grins, turning back to look at your rosy cheeks, she says dreamily, “I just know,” before releasing her arm and walking over.

You see Ginny walking towards you and you start to panic. Did your hair look okay? Was there food on your face? Did your breath smell okay? Were there any stains on your dress? Ginny sits down next to you and as you look into her stunning eyes all your insecurities wash away. “You’re beautiful you know.” She says finally, grinning happily as she watches your face go bright pink again. “Thank you Ginny.” You respond meekly, feeling small under her intense gaze. “Really y/n, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.” She says tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You sat there stunned, wishing you could stay in this moment forever, Ginny staring into your eyes, her hand running through your hair, sitting under the pink cherry blossom tree, basking in the warm spring sunlight.

“I want to choose you.” you utter unconsciously, staring lovingly at the girl in front of you. Ginny freezes, did she just hear you correctly? Her jaw drops. You snap out of your daze, taking her silence as rejection and stand up quickly. “I-I’m so sorry, I’ll just go.” You say stuttering, rushing off, tears in your eyes. You must’ve read the signs wrong, oh how stupid you were for thinking she felt the same way…

Behind you Ginny shakes off her shock and stands up, following you and calling your name, you don’t stop and continue running until you reach a hidden alcove, your favourite one you had decorated with flowers, plants and pillows. You turn and drop into the alcove, hugging your knees to your chest. You hear Ginny calling for you again, you don’t answer, you hear her footsteps getting closer, you pray she doesn’t find you, but alas, luck wasn’t on your side. “Y/n! There you are!” She calls out. Great, you think to yourself, looking up at her with tears running down your face. Ginny steps into the alcove and wipes the tears from your eyes with her thumbs a small smile on her face, you turn away and hide your face from her embarrassed. She kneels in front of you and removes your hands from your face, holding them in her own. She takes a deep breath. “I want you to choose me too.” she says in a happy voice. “y/n, I’d love to be with you!” she breathes out with a smile on her face. “I know we’ve only just met today, but I feel something between us I don’t want to let go of, we can go slowly if you want. I'm in no rush. I just want to be with you.” She opens her mouth to speak again, but you shush her with a kiss, feeling her lips against yours was heavenly, your mouths moved in sync and you could feel her nibbling on your lips. You didn’t want it to stop, but you need to say something to her. You pull away reluctantly, and look deep into her eyes. “Then I choose you, Ginny Weasley, to be my queen, my love and my light, to stay by my side forever, do you accept?” You ask with a renewed feeling of confidence, “Yes, y/n I do.” She replies without hesitation, pulling you to her again and joining your lips together again, your hands on her soft cheeks and hers grasping the fabric of your dress. You would worry about any issues later on. Right now it was just you and your love sitting together in the hidden alcove.

#ginny weasley #harry potter imagine #fem x fem #ginny x reader #ginny weasley x reader #royalty au #weasley family

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dokidokey · 4 years ago

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they say the hearth holds the warmth, light, and love of a home. iwaizumi begs to differ.

fluffvember track 01: fireplace

word count: 1007

notes: iwaizumi hajime, 27, athletic trainer

FLUFFVEMBER MASTERLIST

“It’s so cold,” Iwaizumi hears you say loudly from the front porch, the white door of your shared home wide open as you lean over the railing, shaking off the snow that settled on your beanie. It’s a little over an hour after you dropped off your parents at the airport. Iwaizumi would have gone with you and said his goodbyes to them personally but he was out at three in the morning and just got back twenty minutes ago.

“Want some hot chocolate?” He offers, eyebrows arching just as the corners of his lips did, even though he knows you’ll say no because you don’t drink hot beverages. He fears you might die of the cold if you always refuse to drink anything hot.

And refuse you did as you remove your boots, leaving them by the shoe rack beside his much larger ones, the dark color a stark contrast to the bright yellow plant you purchased together just because. His heart does a little dance in his chest as he recalls that sweltering hot day, the sight of your baby hairs damp against your temple a sight he finds so adorable up to this day.

“No hot chocolates,” you say as you drop yourself on his thighs, burying your face on the warmth on his neck instead. “Cuddles only.”

Hajime huffs out a laugh, wrapping his strong arms around you and squeezing. He rubs his palms on the back of your coat before nudging you to pull away. His fingers work on removing the coat and mittens from you, soft and gentle like the first caress of sunlight against your skin after winter. Feeling a lot like calm water that ripples beneath your touch.

He taps your thigh twice before urging you to change into something more comfortable. You’re a bit reluctant to do so, but you oblige when he pecks you once, twice, and a little more, successfully wiping the scrunch of your nose and the pout on your lips.

Despite the chill that was blowing through the open doorway, Iwaizumi thinks this home never felt as warm as ever with multiple photographs of the two of you hanging in the walls, a little something that answers your and his friends’ questions as to why you decided to settle here in California. He picks up a lone elastic band lying on the floor, something you never use but always fiddles with. Sometimes you even snap it against his skin.

And the little red socks with reindeers on them, Iwaizumi smiles, still hangs above the fireplace even though Christmas was over two weeks ago. He quickly flits his gaze toward your massive Christmas tree that is still standing in the corner, still dolled up and shiny, all proud with the giant star he helped you put on top.

“Cuddles,” you sing again, emerging from the hallway wearing pajama bottoms and an old sweater of his. You’re approaching him with open arms, ready for a hug, but he steps aside and goes to tend the fireplace instead. You follow, draping yourself over his back. You giggle against his hair when he squirms as you run your hands on his side. A sigh resonates deep within your chest, moving your head to rest your chin on his shoulder, wrapping your arm around his chest.

Warm, Iwaizumi thinks, is not the fire starting to crackle like miniature fireworks in this house. Warm, the kind that makes you feel like you have it all, is you － here, draped on his back, his surname on your name, heartbeat fluttering a steady rhythm against his back. You extend your hand toward the fire, palms open to invite the warmth in your system, but he clasps your hand in his instead, bringing it to his lips and planting a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

He pulls you up and settles on the couch in front of your fireplace, arranging the pillows before plopping himself down, bringing you with him.

“I love you,” he whispers on the crown of your head, raising his hand to wrap it around yours and there it is, Iwaizumi shakes his head absentmindedly. The warmth － it’s there again. On the band of gold on your fourth finger, glinting against the soft glow of the fire. On the heavy sigh you release against his chest. On the feel of your body on his. It’s there.

It has always been there, he realizes. In summer, when you smiled and reassured the little boy who accidentally bumped into you, his chocolate ice cream coloring your brand new shirt. During spring, when you came home with some more plants and took pictures of it to show your mother. When you first met, that one fateful day in autumn － accidentally running him over with your bycicle because you were trying to change the song on your phone and didn’t see him on your way.

You cuddle closer against him, mumbling out a quiet, “I love you too,” on his chest. You fall asleep on top of him like that, hands intertwined, the hushed crackle of the firewood writing you a lullaby. You always did love this kind of warmth. That was why you insisted to buying a house with a fireplace. There was no denying the light in your eyes when you have to decorate it according to the occasion, like that almost dopey smile you were sporting when you hung those reindeer socks on the third day of November. Or that time when you pestered him to buy a bag of marshmallows so you can roast it just to hand him the burnt ones because you were too busy talking to him.

Iwaizumi doesn’t mind. He loves the way you are when you’re excited. Besides, this place right here, on this very couch, is your favorite place in this house. He joins you here often, though the warmth he’s looking for in this season isn’t crackling.

It’s lying there in his arms.

writing this made me feel so single when will an iwaizumi hajime 27 athletic trainer come and kiss the back of my hand (╥﹏╥)

#iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi fluff #iwaizumi angst #iwaizumi scenarios #iwaizumi hajime x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu headcanon #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fluffvember #I AM QUEUING THIS FOR 11 PM AT 4:40 PM AAAAAH #I WANNA POST IT ALREADY BUT EH #I DID SAY 11 PM SO #oof wait #fluffvember #there <3 #OMG NO TYPOS!!!#FOR THE FIRST TIME!!!

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ghosstkid · 4 years ago

Text

all this heaven never could describe such a feeling

title from the song “all this and heaven too” by florence and the machine

this story goes hand in hand with this one and this one <3

ao3

Golden chandeliers twinkle like faraway stars. Laughter floats through the humid air, jarring and out of tune with the music drifting from the violins, cellos and harps. The tall doors have been opened, the party spilling out into the spring night; the delightful air scented with the smell of blooms drifts through the golden ballroom.

James wishes to be out in that night air, strolling among the roses and admiring the stars overhead but he must be polite, must smile and greet those who approach him, curious and cautious; the valiant explorer who went to the furthest, coldest corners of the globe, but never quite found what he was looking for.

He leans closer to Ann and her fluttering pink fan, a small relief from the humidity that threatens to suffocate him in his heavy, gilded uniform. Noticing him leaning over her shoulder, Ann lifts her hand higher, the fan’s cooling air drifting over her shoulder and playing with James’s strawberry curls.

“How much longer must we stay?” James whispers, enviously watching a young couple escape the ballroom into the garden. He watches the young man in his new uniform; he still has yet to grow into it. He must feel invincible as he takes his lady’s hand and leads her into the night, his heart racing in his chest.

So completely and utterly overwhelmed with love.

James knows the feeling well. His left hand slips into his pocket, his fingers curling around the golden button resting there among the folds of navy blue wool. His right fingers interlock with Ann’s, the soft pink silk of her glove gentle against his fingers.

“We will stay just a little longer, my love,” Ann says, her fan fluttering at an impossible speed. Its white lace reminds him of the gentle moths that flutter around the lanterns in their garden, worshipping the light with every wingbeat. Looking down at her, he is amazed by how she glows in the glittering light of the chandeliers.

James straightens up, his gaze drifting around the dazzling room. The young couple has disappeared, no doubt finding a quiet place to whisper sweet nothings in each other’s ears.

A familiar laugh catches his attention. He turns, watching the group of officers and women in lovely gowns slowly advancing towards him and Ann. James’s fingers curl protectively around the button in his pocket.

“I want to dance,” Ann says suddenly as she turns to him.

“S-Should we at least say-“ Ann snaps her fan with a resounding crack as she takes her husband’s arm, whisking him onto the dance floor like a knight saving the damsel from the dragon’s clutches.

They join the waltz before a single word can be said to them, spinning around and around in a blur of navy blue and pink satin. The steps come naturally, both of them having learned them long ago. A cacophony of colour surrounds them, other couples moving in time to the swelling music.

One step out of time could be disastrous.

Over Ann’s shoulder, he catches a glimpse of turquoise glimmering like sunlight off shallow, tropical waves. Lace lines the rippling fabric like sea foam. The woman’s blonde hair is pulled back sweetly but the look in her eyes is distant as she watches James.

How lonely they are in this grand, glittering room.

The button in James’s pocket feels heavier.

Sophia’s attention is pulled away, freeing James from her haunted gaze.

The music comes to an end, a rush of applause sweeping through the hall.

“Shall we go?” Ann asks gently.

James nods.

He holds his breath until they are finally free of the gilded room, descending the steps to the gravel drive, his navy blue cloak hardly needed in the warm spring night. He holds Ann’s hand tightly as she climbs into their carriage and he bundles himself in after her, letting her tiered pink skirts spill over him. The carriage wheels rattle over the gravelly road and soon the whole affair is behind them.

James leans his head in his hand as he stares out the window at the dark, sleepy world. The thought of checking his watch to see just how late it is fills him with dread. He is content simply to let his eyelids droop, his thumb rubbing sleepy circles over Ann’s pink, silken fingers.

“Parties never seem to be like what they used to..." Ann sighs. "We have been to some rather fun balls before… do you remember, my love?” She smiles as she leans her head against his shoulder. He can smell the pink rose in her hair, picked from their garden for the occasion.

“I remember,” James says softly.

“Do you remember how we would sneak away after the third dance… Oh, how angry father was,” she giggles. James smiles.

“No one dances quite as gracefully as you, my sweet.”

“I worked very hard on it! What was I supposed to do while you were away in Antarctica, frolicking with penguins!”

“Frolicking with penguins-” James cannot help his snort. “You dance much better than a penguin.” He laughs when she playfully hits his arm with her fan.

“I would hope I do!” she laughs as she settles against his shoulder again. He smiles, leaning his head against her’s. He is careful not to crush the pink rose nestled among her curls. The swaying of the carriage and the sweet smell of roses lulls him into a shallow sleep, visions of parties from yesterday waltzing through his mind.

He is startled when the rattling carriage finally comes to a stop out front of their door. With a gentle tap on Ann’s knee, he rouses her from her doze and helps her from the carriage.

Inside, the great house is quiet at this late hour. The dim lights have been left on for them. He takes off his cloak, laying it over the arm of his chair in their sitting room. He doesn’t mind if it wrinkles now.

“Coming to bed?” James asks. He looks up as he feels the warm night air sweep into the room. Ann stands by the open doorway to the terrace and the garden beyond. Lanterns burn brightly, illuminating the roses in golden, flickering light.

The light reminds him of another golden night, chandeliers hanging from ship masts and dazzling mirrors reflecting that crystal light back on him.

“It is so lovely this time of year,” Ann says quietly as James comes to stand by her side. “When you were away, I missed you most on nights like this, so warm and the birds sing until the sun sets. They reminded me that the ice would melt and you would come home.” She smiles up at him. James presses a kiss to her gloved hand.

“I wish you were there that night,” James says as he steps out onto the terrace. The golden adornments on his uniform twinkle like the stars above them.

“Which night?” Ann smiles.

“The ball we hosted at Van Diemen’s Land. Erebus has never looked so beautiful. A fairy ship,” James says. He can still see that night clearly, hear the music and smell the flowers that draped the ships. “We danced till the sun came up. And Francis, he…” James’s voice breaks. He takes a deep breath.

“You had a ball in Antarctica too. Did you dance then? In the snow?” Ann asks gently. James smiles tearfully.

“Y-Yes,” he hiccups. “Yes, we danced in the snow.”

“What was it like?” Ann asks. James glances down at her, still stunned by how beautiful she is; the sweet glowing pink of her gown, the softness of the lace and the intoxicating scent of roses. Moths flutter around the lanterns. His fingers trace the lace on her shoulder. “How did you and Francis dance, James?”

“Miss Ross,” James says. Ann raises an eyebrow as he plucks the fan from her hand. She laughs as he snaps it open and flutters it in front of his teary cheeks. “He called me Miss Ross.”

“Oh… Well then, Miss Ross. How did you dance in the south?”

“First, he bowed to me.”

Ann giggles as she tries to bow, her pink and white skirts gathering on the stones. She straightens to look up at him, his smile hidden behind her pink fan.

“And then what did you do, Miss Ross?”

“He swept me into his arms and we began to waltz, the snow crunching under our boots,” he says as he closes the fan. Ann reaches for his hands, pulling him close. She tries her best to lead them in a waltz, teetering down the terrace steps out onto the soft grass; a blur of pink, lace and navy blue. She laughs as she tries to spin him around, balancing on her tiptoes so he might spin under her arm. The tails of his uniform fly around him.

“And he pulled me close,” he says and Ann does the same, her arm around his waist. “And he would step on my boots… I did not mind.” Ann giggles as he lifts her up so she can stand on the toes of his boots, her dainty pink slippers soft against the polished leather. The tips of their noses brush together. “Standing so close..." James whispers, his lips almost meeting her’s. He can feel her warm breath on his cheeks. Her arms tighten around him. “I thought he might kiss me.”

“And did he kiss you, Miss Ross?”

James’s pink lips pull into a small smile.

Ann leans forward, capturing his smile in a warm kiss. Her silk-covered fingers clutch at the soft wool of his uniform, his own hands lost in the ruffles of lace and pink about her waist, the tiers reminding him of a delicious cake covered in icing and flowers made of sugar. Her breath is hot against his cheek. He feels himself drowning in the kiss just as he had that beautiful, cold night, holding on for dear life, for just one more second of closeness and warmth.

So completely and utterly overwhelmed with love.

Ann begins to pull away and he only leans closer, unable to let her go. She giggles against his lips, cupping his cheeks as she pulls away. “I should have thanked him,” Ann whispers. “For being such a good partner for my lovely, sweet Miss Ross.” He smiles, letting go of her hand to reach into his pocket, his fingers curling around the button there. He takes it out, holding it gently in his palm. Ann places her hand over his, the button safe between their palms. “Perhaps one day… we will all dance together again.” She takes a step back, leading James in a gentle waltz around the garden, the smell of roses lingering in the night air.

Soon the sun will rise but for now, they are content to sway slowly through the garden as if floating on the spring breeze.

#my writing #the terror #james clark ross #ann coulman ross #annrossier #ann pretends to be francis this time #also this my favourite thing ive ever written it makes me so so happy omg #its so pink and soft and lovely and ahhh i hope you enjoy it as much i did writing it omg!!

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visionsofus · 4 years ago

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i was wondering if i could request "through the fire" by jake etheridge for ur scarletvision series? i love everything you've written so far!

hey anon! I successfully tore my own heart to pieces for this song so I hope you enjoy it! it’s quite angsty and sad but I thought it fit the song. Thanks for sending this request in and I hope you enjoy :)

| read on AO3 here | mixtape playlist | send me an ask with your song/prompt request |

Track #16: Through the Fire by Jake Etheridge

synopsis: The Battle of Wakanda is over. Vision knows he's gone and that there is no coming back. Taking pity on Vision, the mind stone lets him see some of his most treasured memories once more, to ease his passing. warning: major character deaths (obviously), grief

The mind stone had had a long life, that much it was sure of. It wasn’t sentient as such but had gained something of an awareness during its time powering the Vision. So even as it relived the blunt trauma of time’s reversal, forcibly being removed from its host’s head to join its siblings in the usurpers gauntlet, it took pity on the dying synthezoid. He had not asked for this nor had he deserved it. So, the mind stone did what it could to make Vision’s journey to the other side a little easier.

You could never hurt me

I just feel you

I love you—

Vision's last words lingered about his lips, though all around him was silence. Dimly, he was aware that he was dead. Aware that they had failed and that he had been forced to leave Wanda behind. He had become the loss he’d hoped she’d never have to experience again. Blearily, he found his eyes opening to face a bright light and what he thought might be the light at the end of the tunnel. Instead, it was a doorway. Without prompting it swung open, and the light died down, revealing a familiar room and the memory within.

As though in slow motion, Vision experienced the odd sensation of watching himself burst forth from within the cradle at the old Avengers tower. Watching as he hovered before the wall of windows, looking out over the city as his brain struggled to conceptualise a million things at once. He was now a physical form, a layered mind of various constructs and identities. He contended with the power within his hands, at his forehead and in his body. Felt the brightness of life seeping through his body.

The old memory seemed to fast forward and the Vision of the future found himself face to face with Wanda, wishing he could reach out to brush a hand against her cheek even as her brow furrowed in confusion and unease as she beheld his past self.

“I looked in your head and saw annihilation,” she said stepping towards him, towards both of his selves.

“Look again,” Vision echoed his past words and reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, anything to feel the connection that had crackled in the air between them back then. But then the moment was gone and the scene had changed and he found himself stumbling into a different, more familiar space. It already felt like eons since Vision had last been in the Avengers Compound and he was faced with the harsh realisation that this, whatever this was, would be the final time he could see it. The memory captured before him was from only a few days before Wanda had been arrested after their fight in Germany. Two years had passed since then, but it might as well have been yesterday.

Vision wasn’t a passing spectator this time, he was himself. He lay atop Wanda’s covers, a book propped open on his chest though he had lost interest in reading it an hour ago.

They’d often spent nights together like this, before she’d had to leave. Some nights it cost too much for her to try and be by herself, and on those occasions Vision was happy to remain by her side, a comforting presence ready if she was forced from her slumber by night terrors.

But that night all those years ago had not been a bad night for her, she had asked him to stay simply because she wanted him there. And Vision didn’t know how to take that. It was precisely why he had lost such focus of the novel in front of him, trying to unpick what this new development meant for both of them. Of course, the distraction wasn’t helped by the fact that Wanda had fallen asleep with her head resting on his stomach.

Vision was sure that the past version of his self had been caught up in his own thoughts, trying to understand Wanda’s behaviour in this moment. But reliving things a second time he slowed down, cast the doubts away and let himself relish in the memory. It was likely one of the last peaceful moments they had shared in this first home of theirs and he was grateful to be given another opportunity to be with Wanda like this one more time.

“Did we waste time, my love?” He wondered aloud and almost hoped that Wanda would wake up and reassure him. But she hadn’t in the memory and so she didn’t now.

Shutting the book and putting it on the bedside table, Vision slid down further on the bed, making sure he didn’t jostle Wanda. Now with her head a comforting warmth atop his chest he let himself rest. Not quite sleeping, but he closed his eyes and wished he might be able to live in this carefree moment forever. To stay here, before everything had become infinitely more complicated.

Did he regret how difficult things became? Did he regret signing the Accords? It was difficult to say, given he’d never get the opportunity to go back and see how things may have played out if he’d run away with Wanda. No, he wouldn’t change things, because that decision had put him on the path towards her and he wouldn’t change any of it for the world. It was why he had given himself up so easily in Wakanda, all in the hope that she’d get another chance even if it wasn’t with him. As though sensing the sharp turn his thoughts were taking the scene changed again and this time Vision opened his eyes to the warmth of the afternoon sun.

Another 3 months later he was stretched out on a different bed in a different room, light streaming through the window. He raised a hand to shield his eyes even as the rays were blocked out by the woman sitting up beside him.

Wanda propped herself up with one arm and smiled sleepily at him. For the second time, Vision’s face spread into a grin as he took her in, her messy hair highlighted in a halo of sunlight at her back. A soft wind blew through the open window, mussing her hair and he caught a lock between his fingers, tucking it away from her face again. As he had before, he left his hand against her cheek, his pinkie brushing her jawline gently. They’d touched each other fleetingly like this, neither ready to make the first move in advancing their relationship. It was those early weeks after everything went down with the Accords and they’d started secretly seeing each other, neither quite convinced it was the responsible thing to do.

Wanda had made the decision then and there, he’d seen the light shift in her eyes as her smile dropped and become something infinitely more tender. He’d tilted his head as she neared him and though it was the first time, she’d kissed him, in this memory it now felt like the last.

Vision leant into the kiss, cupping her cheeks with both hands and desperately holding onto the memory, terrified of letting go. But time was speeding up again and the scene was changing. He desperately reached out to hold onto Wanda even as the scenery blurred and settled about him. He was in a different country now, stood in the kitchen of a rustic cabin. Vision froze with his hand on the kettle which had just finished boiling for Wanda’s morning coffee.

The Switzerland trip. The place they’d both left pieces of their heart at a house isolated up a mountain. A secret place they’d sworn to come back to but now, never would. A distinct feeling was growing in his gut, an awareness that something or someone was letting him go back to enjoy these few memories.

“Vis?” Wanda’s voice called out and he hurried about getting her favourite mug and making the drink just as she liked it.

“Coming, darling,” he called out, even if it was not what he had said back at this point in time. If anything, he was sure that he had teased her about her growing reliance on caffeine, but now couldn’t bring himself to, even if it had been all in good fun. He could feel the clock running out. Even now he felt less present, his feet not quite touching the ground, the warm mug in his hand a distant maybe.

The only thing that was clear was Wanda as he stepped out onto the porch, coming face to face with where he had left her, curled up in a blanket looking out at the spring forest surrounding their little corner of the universe.

“What would I ever do without you?” Wanda joked, scrunching her nose happily and taking the steaming cup out of his hands. She patted the seat next to her and with a tight throat Vision took his place next to her.

“We should stay here forever.”

“We should have,” he murmured, pulling himself closer so that he might wrap his arms around her shoulders and hold her close.

“We could make a life here,” Wanda said echoing a past conversation, a past future they’d once dreamt up for each other. “We could stay here all year around, have a vegetable patch for the spring, and a log pile for the winter.”

As she mused over the technicalities of keeping warm in the Swiss mountains in the midst of winter, Vision tucked his chin into the crook of her neck and breathed the crisp air in. He tried his best to feel as present as he could even as memory grew fuzzy around the edges. His arms were tight around her even as she talked over the library they could create inside the cabin and the husky they could get for the cold climate.

“It sounds perfect, my love,” Vision said pressing a kiss to her cheek. Then, something he hadn’t said those months earlier. “I should have made you stay here with me; I should have asked you to stay sooner.”

His voice turned to a thick whisper as his eyes blurred with tears, resigned in knowing that he never could have stopped their future from happening. They’d been destined for a tragic end from the beginning. He kept a hold of her for as long as he could, focusing on the way she turned her head to press a kiss to his cheek one last time.

And then slowly, she disappeared from his arms, leaving an empty space before him that might as well have stretched on for miles and eons. A distance so great and a grief so overwhelming Vision dropped to his knees. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling as though all the air had been torn from his body and that in place of his heart there were pieces of something never to be whole again. He wasn’t sure if he believed in souls, but in that moment, Vision knew that he had lost everything.

He was going now; he could feel it. That light at the end of the tunnel was back and he shakily pulled himself to his feet.

And as quickly as he’d felt the loss he became aware that he wasn’t, his broken pieces flying back together as he felt her soul join him again. A shadow appeared up ahead, a hand outstretched towards him.

He did his best to walk, taking one step after the other knowing they were the last steps he’d ever take. But that was okay because it was Wanda he was walking towards and he’d travel through the smoke and fire for her. Battle life and death itself. He’d travel to the furthest ends of the unknown if it meant he could be with her again.

“Wanda,” he gasped as she came into view, no longer bloodied and bruised as they had been from the battles.

“Vis,” she whispered in relief, taking his hand with a soft smile.

“I was too late,” he managed to get out, realising what her being here before him meant. There would be no future, for neither of them.

“It was always too late,” Wanda said sadly rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand.

“It’s over.” Vision knew there was no way back from death for him. This was final. And despite all they’d done, Wanda hadn’t made it either.

“Let’s go home, Vis,” Wanda said and slowly, tenderly, pulled him towards the waiting expanse of light.

He focused on her eyes, at the hand wrapped around his own, at the Wanda he loved leading him forward to the future one last time.

And stepped through.

______________________________________

taglist open (to be tagged when I update dm or ask to be added to the list)

#wandavision #Wandavision fanfiction #wanda x vision #scarletvision #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #the vision #angsty scarletvision #vision grieving Wanda #this hurt a lot to write #warning: grief #warning: major character death #please forgive me for this #visionsofusfics

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jengajives · 4 years ago

Text

Lord of the rings is... kinda gay

Beregond sat with his eyes closed and his hand resting atop Faramir’s.

He felt naked without the black and silver tunic, and weighed down by the sword he wore on his belt. Never before had he been utterly defenseless with that weapon still buckled to his hip.

Ever since King Elessar had come the night before, Faramir had looked peaceful in his sleep. It seemed the torment and fever had left him, and he laid like one simply resting after a long day, rather than a man dying from a grievous hurt.

He wasn’t dying. He was going to be fine. Beregond would not lose him.

It was a blessing he had paid for dearly.

He tried to think of sunlight on the wall and the gleam of the distant sea, but all that would come to mind was darkness, stone, and blood. Blood on the flagstones and spilled across the steps of the House of Stewards, splattered over his uniform and his blade.

“Beregond.”

He jumped when he heard the voice, familiar though it was. He couldn’t help but tighten his grip on Faramir’s hand.

“My lord!”

He looked in alarm at the cool grey eyes studying him, and slowly his hand relaxed. Faramir gave the ghost of a smile, though it faded quickly to concern, then to panic.

“Where’s your uniform? Has the city fallen? I must-“

He tried to throw back the covers and sit up, but when Beregond caught his shoulders and eased him back, he went, though warily, his eyes roaming the room for any sign that his nightmares had come true.

“The city is safe, lord,” Beregond said gently. “And you mustn’t get up. King Elessar has instructed you aren’t to leave this bed.”

Now the fair silver eyes glittered with wonder. Faramir’s warm fingers clasped his hand.

“King?” he repeated. “So it was not only a dream?”

“No, lord. He’s not in the city now- didn’t want to stir up trouble in the midst of all the grieving and uncertainty- but he’s returned. Just like the stories he is: tall and noble, with elf-craft in healing, terrible in battle. He fixed you right up last night, lord. Called you back from the shadow, he did. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Faramir sat back silent for a while and mused on this news. What he spoke again, it was abrupt and with a hint of mirth.

“Why do you still call me that?”

“Call you what, lord?”

“That. Lord. There’s no reason for it.”

“Well, you’re my captain, aren’t you?”

Faramir laughed, a sound like a bubbling brook in spring. Cold and yet joyous. “Beregond, I’m your lover. You of all people may call me by my proper name.” He propped himself up on the pillow and looked around the room, as if surprised to find it so void of company. “Where is my father?”

A hot rage throbbed in the depths of Beregond’s chest, followed by the icy wash of guilt. He fought not to sound strangled when at last he spoke.

“I don’t want to-“

“Never mind.” Faramir shook his head and laid back on the pile of pillows. “I don’t suppose I’d like to have him here whinging over the ‘common, poorly bred citadel guard’ they’ve appointed to watch me.”

Beregond exhaled as evenly as he could, and busied himself drawing the curtains so the pained expression on his face wouldn’t be noticed. Mithrandir had bade him not to give any account of Denethor’s demise to the new Steward, and it wasn’t as if he wanted to stir up those painful, fresh wounds anyway. Avoiding the subject would be a blissful relief for once.

Because his back was turned, it took him too long to notice Faramir was troubled, so he didn’t have a chance to de-escalate before he got another uncomfortable comment.

“Beregond, you really should be at the citadel. You know I told you we can’t let this get in the way of duty, and I know how much your post means to you. The last thing I want is for you to lose it because of me.”

A deep sinking settled in the depth of Beregond’s stomach.

He saw the darkness where there should have been day, heard his ragged breath as he flew down the way to the vaults. The door warden leaning against the gate, and his dismissive reply when Beregond begged his leave to enter.

“None may pass save the Steward and his folk. Now you return to your post, before my good humor runs out and I report you for desertion.”

He heard his own voice from another’s mouth; the tone was too desperate to properly be his.

“Captain Faramir is in danger, please, you must let me through-“

The gleam of firelight on metal as the warden casually reached for his blade.

A shower of golden sparks when the two swords met.

The horrible gurgle when Beregond passed his sword through his throat.

Traitor. Murderer. He had killed his own willingly, he had taken lives in the very city he was sworn to protect...

“My place is here,” he said, without really hearing the words. “My place is with you.”

He could feel Faramir‘s frown across the room. “Beregond...”

The door opened abruptly, and a small shape dressed in dull red came charging through. Immediately, Beregond recognized the head in need of a haircut as his son’s, and some of the tension faded from his shoulders.

Bergil’s eyes lit up when he saw his patient awake, and he came bounding over like a rabbit.

“Captain Faramir!”

The boy threw his arms around Faramir, a little too roughly for Beregond’s liking. Faramir eased his urge to snap at the boy.

“Master Bergil!” he laughed, returning the embrace with one arm. “Shouldn’t you be out protecting the city?”

Bergil ignored that question with giddy eagerness. “None of the other kids believed that I got to talk to the king last night! They called me a liar, but I said, ‘No, he used elvish magic to fix up Captain Faramir and make him all well again, and I brought the special herb for him to use! Do you remember that? Remember how I talked to him?”

“I’m afraid not,” Faramir said with genuine regret. “All of last night feels like a dream. Perhaps you could tell me the story again, so I can remember it properly this time.”

It seemed this was exactly what Bergil had wanted, because he launched into a long and rather confusing account of everything he’d done during the battle the day previous, eventually coming to a head when he fetched athelas for King Elessar. Faramir listened attentively to every word. Every once in a while he’d ask a clarifying question or comment about how brave Bergil had been, which made the boy puff his chest out with pride, and Beregond couldn’t help but smile watching the two of them interact.

When they’d lost Bergil’s mother, he had feared he’d never see his son out of his shell like this again. But Faramir put the lad quite at ease. The two of them had formed a friendship that amazed Beregond sometimes when he looked at it too closely. Here was the Steward of Gondor, a wise and thoughtful soldier, a general and a leader of men, talking to a headstrong ten-year-old boy as if the two of them were exact equals.

He couldn’t ask for better. Really, he couldn’t.

“Son,” Beregond said after the stories had dragged on a bit too long, and he could see the weariness in Faramir’s eyes, “Captain Faramir is still recovering. He needs to rest and get his strength back up.”

“Oh!” Bergil hopped back and give a crisp military salute. “I understand! I’ll leave you be, Captain Faramir, sir. And you make sure you drink lots of water and sleep as much as you can! That’s what my father says when I’m sick. If he’s taking care of you, you’ll be better in no time!” He bounded to the door, then paused and looked back. “Can I come and see you tomorrow, sir?”

“I would love nothing more,” said Faramir warmly.

Both of them lingered, watching the empty doorway a few beats after Bergil grinned and disappeared back into the House of Healing. It was Faramir who spoke first.

“You have an extraordinary son, Beregond.”

Proudness swelled in his chest. “He is. Thank you.”

When he felt a touch on his hand it surprised him, until he looked down into the calm depths of Faramir’s eyes. He received a warm smile; the hand squeezed his lightly.

“You still have not told me what’s wrong,” Faramir said softly, and were it not for Mithrandir’s express orders, he would have broken down right then and there.

Instead he smiled and placed a kiss on Faramir‘s forehead.

“The city is safe. My son is safe. You’re safe. What could possibly be wrong?”

The vision of blood did not pass.

#fic #jenga makes junk #writing #lotr #lord of the rings #return of the king #faramir #beregond #faragond #beremir #these men be up to some suspect stuff

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acesgroupchat · 4 years ago

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Breath enters his lungs with the delicacy of a late spring breeze, soft as a whisper. It catches him completely by surprise, and for a moment he can do nothing but lie, flat on his back somewhere unknown, with air in his lungs and a heart beating warm in his chest. He can feel the orange segments, smooth under his palm and humming palpably with life.

If he had had time to think, he might have imagined that he would arrive at Meiling, just as he had all those years ago. But he can feel floorboards under his shoulders, and the air carries the faintest scent of incense. The air is still and mild. Wherever he is, he is not on a mountaintop.

He is preparing to open his eyes when he hears footsteps approaching, closely followed by a gasp and then a loud crash very nearby. He rolls, opening his eyes, and is presented in quick succession with his family’s shrine, lit by soft candlelight and, on the floor, Jingyan.

Jingyan is on his knees, crouching with wide eyes fixed on Mei Changsu’s face. One of his hands is outstretched along the floor, almost brushing the edge of Mei Changsu’s robe. He is frozen, barely breathing, eyes brimming with tears that have not quite started to fall. Mei Changsu sits up and takes Jingyan’s outstretched hand in his own. He can feel the shudder that goes through Jingyan then, and he watches as Jingyan’s eyes squeeze shut, tears finally spilling over his cheeks. His hand moves without thinking, cupping Jingyan’s cheek, wiping away his tears, and for a moment Jingyan flinches away, before he leans into the touch. The hand under his closes, clinging tightly.

He reaches for something, anything, to say, but finds his tongue bound and still. They sit together in silence, unmoving but for Jingyan’s quiet sobs. At long last, Jingyan opens his eyes and takes a breath.

“How?” he gasps. His voice is hoarse and raw.

Mei Changsu feels a rueful smile spread across his face. “I’m not really sure. Lin Chen says I’m not completely mortal anymore.”

“Who?” Jingyan’s expression is puzzled now, and Mei Changsu realizes with a jolt that though Lin Chen knows every detail of Jingyan’s life, Jingyan has met him only twice, and never been introduced.

“Death. He and I are—“ he reaches for some way of explaining Lin Chen and finds, once again, that his words have failed him entirely. Even worse, he’s blushing, which Jingyan has noticed.

Jingyan’s face grows incredulous. “You’ve become lovers with the god of death, Xiao-Shu?”

He has a half-formed protest at the label on his tongue, but really, he has no better explanation. His blush intensifies, which Jingyan apparently takes as an answer. He chuckles.

“Only you, Xiao-Shu. Only you.” After a moment, his face softens. “And he sent you back?”

Mei Changsu finds his tongue. “He did. He knew that I missed you.” The orange segments lie forgotten on the floor by his hip. He retrieves them. “These will let me walk in the living world unharmed.”

Jingyan traces reverential fingers across the taut skin of the fruit, before raising his eyes again to Mei Changsu’s face. There is determination in the line of his mouth. “How long do you have?”

“Six months. I go back at the start of winter.”

Jingyan nods. “I suppose we had best make use of the time we have, then.”

Mei Changsu feels a smile spread across his face. He leans in close, and Jingyan follows. His mouth is hot under Mei Changsu’s own. He tastes like living. When Jingyan pulls him back to the floor, he follows.

Spring turns to summer, and Jinling hums with life. Da Liang has entered a golden age, and the capital rings with the sounds of living, easy and joyful. The days stretch long and honey sweet, and Mei Changsu takes equal delight in assisting Jingyan in his work and coaxing him away from it. He’s not sure quite what explanation Jingyan gave to the ministers and eunuchs, to give him such free run of the palace, but he feels little compunction making full use of his privileges. The sly glances of the servants carry their own message, unlooked-for approval from the palace’s many residents. Jingyan carries himself with a new lightness these days, and it seems that everyone has noticed.

Mei Changsu lets the sun follow him as much as he can, drinks his fill of work and leisure. If he misses Lin Chen’s biting wit from time to time, well, winter is coming on faster every day. Autumn arrives, and the court sets out once again for Jiuan mountain, this time with Jingyan at the head of the column.

Mei Changsu will never be as he was before, the young general who has never known pain or limitation, but with the final orange section still bright on his tongue and the ache of living no longer clawing at his bones, he is well enough to ride at Jingyan’s side, even to accompany him on short excursions into the forests. The outdoors suit Jingyan, and beneath the trees he has never looked more alive, vital and awake, brimming with joy and good humor.

They stay the whole month on Jiuan mountain, surrounded by fresh air and sunlight. The morning they are set to return dawns cold and sharp, the first frost of the year thick on the ground. Jingyan is in high spirits still, riding at his side, but his eyes stray perhaps once to often towards the grass, before the rising sun chases the chill away.

It is not long after that he wakes in the night to a biting chill in the air and the echo of a familiar ache in his bones. Jingyan is warm beside him, still and solid in his arms under silk and furs, but even here in the bedroom he can see his breath. Something calls him to the doorway, and he looks out to see snow falling, thick white flakes glowing in the moonlight. The still night carries the sharp, clean taste of ice.

He hears Jingyan stirring behind him, and he turns away from the night, returning to bed just as Jingyan wakes. His hands are gentle as he reaches for Mei Changsu, but as he opens his eyes he draws back suddenly. Mei Changsu does not need to look. He can feel Lin Chen’s presence, just over his shoulder, following him in with the cold. It’s time.

Jingyan takes a single ragged breath, but is cut off when Lin Chen shoulders past Mei Changsu to sit on the edge of the bed. “Your highness,” he says, inclining his head in a manner that is absolutely not a bow. Jingyan recovers himself and closes his mouth. “My lord,” he replies, his voice only a little hoarse. “Thank you for the time you—“

Lin Chen cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “Think nothing of it.” He turns a wry smile on Mei Changsu. “Time is of very little concern to me, and I would not dare deny one who wields such power as this one in my own realms. Who knows what sort of bizarre inconveniences the divine talent might dream up if left unsupervised.”

There are tears in his eyes, but Jingyan’s chest hitches in a single, soft laugh. His eyes turn towards Mei Changsu, and he reaches out with a hesitant hand. His fingers are growing cold in the night air. Mei Changsu presses his hand between his own, searching for words that he cannot quite find.

Lin Chen prods his shoulder with a single sharp finger. “Don’t look so morose. It’s only for the winter. You’ll be back here harassing ministers before you know it.”

He feels Jingyan’s hand jerk in his own, matched by the way his own breath catches in his chest. He swallows. “I will?”

Lin Chen draws his fan from his sleeve, flicking it open. “Of course. I can hardly let you run wild through my realm all year. When would I enjoy the peace of my gardens, then?” The fan waves lazily in front of his face, but there is something soft in his eyes.

“Well I wouldn’t want to inconvenience one so powerful as yourself.” Even behind the fan, he can see Lin Chen’s silent laugh. “Perhaps his highness could offer me a more permanent place here.” Jingyan would, he knows, but he can feel the cold beginning to take its toll on his borrowed body. He watches as Lin Chen relents.

“Well, Fei Liu would miss you. He’s nearly unmanageable these days as it is.” Lin Chen shifts, and Mei Changsu is rather suddenly desperate to find his way back to the garden, with its timeless blooming warmth.

He turns to Jingyan, who is already smiling at him gently, the shadows gone from his eyes. Jingyan catches his jaw in his hand, pulls him into a long, slow kiss. As he pulls back, he knocks their foreheads together momentarily. “I’ll see you in the spring, Xiao-Shu.”

Lin Chen’s hand finds his own, tender and inexorable as his touch always is. Jingyan’s fingers trace his jaw as he releases him. Jingyan’s bedroom is already fading. He thinks of the spring, when he will walk these halls again, when Jingyan will be waiting. He thinks of the underworld opening its arms to him, his family waiting, the mercy and the respite. He turns to Lin Chen, steady by his side, and he steps into the dark.

#nirvana in fire #langya bang #lin chen #xiao jingyan #mei changsu #lin shu #and it's finished!#the last ever #new chapter sunday!#If you've been waiting for the complete story #this is your week #waaaaaaaaa

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qhostqizmo · 4 years ago

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Little Slice of Heaven

“I would like to be left alone, Theophilus.”

“Come now Lord Amon, no one likes to be left alone.”

A quiet growl rumbled in the nobleman’s throat. His head whipped around, turning a piercing gaze towards the statesman. The corner of his lip peeled back in a snarl nearly feral in nature, prompting the gentleman to hastily take a step back.

“Well I do,” he opposed in a thick tone.

The mousy broad-bellied man shifted sheepishly before him, trying to shrink their figure inward. “P-Please m’lord- you will be rejoining after recess, won’t you?”

“I will need a moment to consider if I shall; or if your wingbagged alias has the ability to be silent and allow someone else to speak at these proceedings, before I pass judgment on that matter.”

“You’re being fatuous, m’lord-”

Amon exhaled sharply. His nostrils flared, the shape of his shoulders growing broader as his spine stiffened. The nobleman peered down at the politician as he spoke in an ominous whisper: “I am being sensible, Master Theophilus. If I waste my time any longer in a room full of arrogant rambling administrators, then I am wasting the time of my territory and those who seek my authority and guidance to protect and serve it. I do not have the hour to sit and be spoken over by the likes of Roulf Boude or Claudia Fulvianus, or any of the like with their hubris and tactless greed. I have other obligations that demand my attention, and when everyone has finally settled into peaceful discussion and respectably appropriate delegations, I would be happy to seek audience again.”

“But for now,” he rumbled, taking a step forward, “I suggest that you go, Theo. I need space to think, and I have responsibilities to attend to and contracts to review and sign. So if you do not mind getting off of my property, and allowing me to go undisturbed into my home-”

Nodding vigorously, the short and stout Theo began to retreat in a backwards scuttle off the Briarton Estate’s pathway. “Yes sir, of course sir, I hope we’ll see you s-soon sir-”

Amon grunted to himself, turning away with a dramatic flick of his cloak. Unlikely.

Bricks laid out the foundation of the walkway to the manor. Within the cracks along some of the blocks; squeezing with determination between slots, a few common wild violets had taken root. He took care not to step on any of them as the tenacious little flowers guided him to the threshold. A strong scent from the house-hugging flora greeted him as he breathed in deeply, opening the heavy oak door. The geranium’s and hydrangea were in bloom, competing each other for dominance in the landscape. They also had a delightful calming effect before stepping in; taking in the range of colors and relaxing scents they provided in the mellow summer breeze.

“Lord Amon?”

“Yes, it’s me,” he called out, shutting the door softly behind.

A young maid stepped around the corner, offering a bow. “Would you like an afternoon snack, my lord?”

“Not at the moment, thank you.”

She curtsied. “Very well milord. Call if you need anything.”

He nodded shortly, sliding the dense mantle from his shoulders to drape over his arm. The nobleman watched the young woman retreat as he stepped further into the foyer, the sound of claws scrambling hastily coming from the east side of the house.

Sighing, he anchored his boots to the floor just as Caesar came barreling from the gallery room. The great mastiff skidded into his knees, letting out one of his tremendous bellowing barks that filled the entire space with his eagerness. He gave a butt wiggle that shook in tandem with his tail, leaving Amon to chuckle as he reached down to scratch the hunting dog’s ears.

“A very dignified entry Caesar,” he reported as the pooch groaned with pleasure. “How’s my good boy?”

“Arf.”

“Excellent. Have you been out recently?”

The hairy beast of a creature gave a mighty shake, sitting upon his hunches. He tilted his head, panting heavily up at his master.

“Outside?” Amon asked, patting his head.

A simple whine answered him as Caesar stood up, circling his legs eagerly.

He pat his thigh, signaling for the mastiff to follow. The duo made their way into the gallery room; no longer a dull space of gray stone with only the taxidermy stuffed game to bare their teeth in greeting. Paintings lined the wall; and the new throw rug added a splash of color and pattern to the otherwise uninspiring space. A few seating arrangements had been added, along with a card table and sculptures. There were still a few bare spaces, particularly near the south-side of the room, but that was Part D of a rather extensive project to liven various areas of the house.

Crossing through the identified ‘man cave’ of the lower level, Amon entered the kitchen with Caesar fast at his heels. He propped open the door to the backyard with his foot, allowing the dog to bolt through with a delighted series of yelps as he chased off the closest songbirds rooting the grass for insects.

“Afternoon, milord.”

“Afternoon-” he barely managed to utter, catching just a glimpse of the houseaid before she disappeared into the extended pantry. He cleared his throat: “Would you mind listening to let Caesar in? I’m going to head upstairs.”

“Certainly milord; not a problem.”

“Thank you Carla.”

He took the way back in which he came, passing through the dark-lit interior of the ‘men’s sanctuary’ and into the gallery. His gaze passed the portrait of Fontane to his right; no longer lonely with canvas work added of loved one’s now passed. It was a small memorial space; with pressed lily flowers in frames and a few plaques quoting heartfelt quotes. A large branch had been recently anchored to the wall, with hollow holes allowing small metal dishes to sit sustaining candles. There were even some recent additions he hadn’t seen until this moment: peace lilies added to the vase at the corner nook table, and a new ivy plant along the bottom of the branch.

A twinge of pain radiated through his chest. Pressing his fingers to his lips, Amon blew a kiss to the beaming expression of Marie looking back at him before he moved on.

The Illiad heir hopped up the stairs with a spring in his step, meeting the second landing. Sunlight cascaded past the curtains, the smell of the central courtyard garden entering the open windows. He picked up on the rustling coming from the sitting room just ahead before he saw a figure moving quickly into the doorway.

“M’lord- Oh… Do you want to talk about what happened? You look stressed my love.”

Amon absorbed her appearance; soaking her in like flora to sunshine. The smile that graced her face upon first glance faded quickly with a knit of her worried brow. Shadows fell over her golden eyes like clouds blocking rays of the sun. She fiddled her fingers in front of the pale blush off-the-shoulder shirt she wore; cinched at the waist, with ruffled short-length sleeves. It was a pleasant rosy hue, making the shade of her skintone appear deeper, more a rich brown.

She was a breath of fresh air, deep in the depths of his lungs. He slid his feet forward slowly, finding her arms instantly open to welcome him into her embrace.

He inhaled the faded aroma of soap in her loose black curls, pulling her in close to rock from side to side. The shape of her was a familiarity to him; warm and soft, curving into his frame with the same shade of longing he felt beneath his ribcage.

His wife pressed her lips to the ticklish skin below his ear, and he chuckled.

“Rough day, beloved?”

“Vexing,” he agreed heavily, “but it’s already feeling a bit better.”

“Well I’m happy to hear that,” she hummed. “Can I get you anything? Was the summit dreadful?”

“A mockery Essie; truly. I’ve rarely dealt with such immature individuals. Would you care to join me when we reconvene? I could use your sharp tongue.”

Essätha pulled her head back to arch her brow, a playful smile on her face. “That depends; am I kissing you with it or spearing someone else?”

Amon’s eyes widened with surprise. “Quite the spirited tease today, darling.”

“I do enjoy a good game,” she admitted, reaching back around to pat his chest. “While you were out I went ahead and assessed the contracts Edger sent us; triple-checked them a few times. Our ledges and estimates all seemed in order and correct, but I didn’t sign anything until you oversaw it just in case.”

“You could have, you know I trust you.”

“I know, but I love hearing you read contracts aloud in that sexy deep droning voice of yours.” She winked at him as he chuckled, venturing onward, “besides, it’s a team effort. I would rather you catch my mistakes now than later down the road.”

The nobleman grinned, staring down into her smiling face. He leaned forward, basking in the glory of the way her breath hitched expectedly, and how her lashes fluttered low. She slid her arms around his neck to dig her fingers through his air as his lips brushed hers. A shaky exhale escaped her, waiting patiently, until he pressed closer for a more earnest kiss.

They separated slowly, with her eyes peering up at him beneath dark lashes. The sorcereress dropped her hands from around him, and grabbed gently at his bicep.

“Come, sit with me.”

Amon let go of his noblewoman, allowing her to take his hands instead. She guided him back into the sitting area where she had come from, walking at an angle so her eyes could remain holding his. It was a holy experience, following someone cut from the heart of divinity. He would follow her blindly anywhere, anywhere at all. She was in his blood, in his heart, the sun in his eyes glistening so brilliantly; she was everywhere he wanted to be, the only longing he could not live without.

“You’ve had a long enough day already,” Essie urged sweetly, taking a seat upon the sofa. She pat the spot beside her with her free hand. “Rest.”

He obeyed her willingly, obliging by sinking gently into the cushion beside hers.

She carefully detangled her hand from his. Her fingers brushed against the side of his face and up, pushing stray hairs away from his forehead. His eyes darted over her, watching as she indicated a sweeping gesture over her lap. An invitation.

Once more, loyal and willing, he began to drift towards her. Bunching his knees in, Amon kept his boots mostly off the clean couch by dangling his ankles off to the side as he rolled inward. Scooting and wriggling, he steadied himself to flat on his back, head in her lap, looking up into the vibrant joyful expression peaking down at him. Her smile was stunning; making an already beautiful woman ethereal in ways that slackened his jaw. It was a small gesture, but it softened around her eyes as the edges of her cheeks rounded.

“Wow,” he cooed, “you look incredible from every view.”

Essätha scoofed at him, the bridge of her nose wrinkling in disagreement. “Hussssshh…”

Leaning forward, she grazed her fingertips through his locks. She combed hair back from his forehead, stroked along his eyes, and rubbed the pads of her fingers near his temples.

A groan rose up in his throat, his eyelids falling to half-mast in bliss.

Softly, Essie began to hum. It almost felt as though it was filling his chest; radiating into his ribcage and bouncing around like an orchestra in a cathedral. Amon sighed heavily, allowing the heaviness in his body to drift away as he succumbed to her touch more and more.

She began to whisper slowly a hymn. He understood none of it, but he didn’t have to. Whatever the lyrics were, they were words of an angel, and of love. The words fell into a melody as her voice higher; louder, sweeter. It was not just the celestial tongue that had him so smitten, or the nature of the words. It was her body language that captivated him; the tenderness that poured out of her, the enormity of her compassion and unbridled will of strength.

Gods themselves would weep, hearing something so precious.

He melted; enamored and adoringly staring up into the halo of the sun that was wreathing her head. It was all so dreamy; so beyond what mortals could be capable of. Her touch was a saint’s blessing, carding through mane of fading-black. Her nails scrapped against his hairline; her palms rubbed metric gestures that seemed to coordinate with the rise and fall of her chorus against the side of his head. He imagined he could close his eyes and drift away to sleep; the most comfortable slumber he’d ever have, if he wasn’t so stubbornly enticed to being aware and there in the waking world with her. No fantasy’s ever did justice on the fascination and depth that resided in her soul. Nothing compared to the reality that was being beside her.

Clearing his throat, he reached up to cup the side of her face, sweeping his thumb against her jawline. “I’m in awe of you a little more every day,” he mouthed, breathing deeply.

Essie laughed shyly. “People are going to think I’m charming you with talk like that,” she teased.

“You are quite charming.”

“M’lord Amon.”

“Even when you say my name with disapproval, it’s still the most enchanting thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You’re love-drunk,” the sorceress murmured, ghosting her lips intimately along his palm, and down to his wrist.

“I have been,” he agreed in a lulled hush. “I have been for a long time, and I couldn’t be happier.”

“Do you not want a cure?” she mused, massaging her fingertips from behind his ears down to his neck.

A shiver rushed over him. “You are my cure. I love being intoxicated by you. You relax me, and you challenge me. You make me stronger, and you bring me to my knees. Your wit and charm make me feel invincible and intelligent, while also humbling me that I still can always learn more from you. I am in a constant state of balance and bliss, when you are by my side.”

Her eyelids dropped a little lower as he spoke, while her smile grew broader. Essie skimmed her touch from his forehead through his hair and back, making his groan again.

“I love you.”

“I love you too Essie, so much.”

“I love you just as much,” she whispered, huddling over to give him a peck on the cheek.

Amon tilted his head a few degrees, allowing her hands to comb through a different section of his hair. His eyelids drifted a bit lower as she began to pick up the tune to the song she had been singing, the angelic lines floating through the air, giving harmony to his heartbeat.

Sighing, the nobleman nuzzled his face into her thighs, reaching around to wrap an arm around her waist. She half-giggled, continuing to sing as he peaked up at her from her abdomen, admiring the most gorgeous woman in all of the world. His home, his heart, the entire pillar of his contentment hindered on that soft, private smile made just for him. This moment alone with her reminded him of the true meaning of life: at the end of the day, love was all that mattered, and it would conquer all else… Even if all it had to overcome was the brief stormcloud of his sour mood. It never stood a chance against Essätha Illiad; vanquisher of darkness, and keeper of his heart.

#OTP: Essamon #Essatha Meduza #Amon Illiad #softly written #qhost story

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brooklyn-1918 · 5 years ago

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Down With the Ship

OK, I have done something along these lines before, but I personally thought it was horrible. So I re worked it and got a little carried away, as it has just over 10k words. Way longer than I normally write. Any-who... I saw @jtargaryen18 ‘s 30 days of Chris challenge, and I wanted to hop on the train, participate in my first writing challenge.

SO! Without further ado..

Characters: Steve Rogers, OFC Sarah Russell, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, and a few other real and fictional characters scattered into the mix.

Pairings: Steve RogersxOFC

Words: 10,025

Summary: April 12, 1912, was the night when everything for Sarah Russell would change. But as the cold water loomed nearer, she only had one thought on her mind. Steve.

Warnings: Brief mentions of Smut, but nothing is actually written. Angsty-fluff. Character deaths, as with anything about the Titanic can be expected.

A/N: Honestly, I had no idea where I was going with this. I tried not to have it be too similar to the 1993 movie, Titanic, but there are some things that are undoubtedly similar. I have major problems with that movie anyway.

The bow rose high above the crowd, her black paint reflecting sunlight from the choppy waters. Resting on top of the black paint, was a layer of white, concealing the deck just below the railing. Sarah watched as two crew members scrambled up the foremast, climbing into the crows nest, tugging their White Star line caps lower over their eyes.

She clasped her hands together, giving the bustling port a once over. Passengers of every class waited to board the massive ship, from first class, to the third class passengers in steerage. Small children clutched their mothers’ hands, while fathers and brothers, husbands, hoisted luggage over their shoulders.

“Sarah.” She flinched as her mother called her name. She turned with a polite smile on her face, taking a small breath to steady herself.

“Yes, mother?”

“Come here, we wouldn’t want you to be anywhere near these--” Her mother wiggled her fingers, then drew her hand in close to her chest with a disgusted look on her face. She quickly waved out to the lower class passengers, like it was too much of a burden to give them any more attention than she already had. She took a breath before she continued.

“Regardless, we must board soon.” She held out the ticket for Sarah to take. With a small smile, she gripped the slip of paper, then turned back outward.

Sarah tilted her nose up, letting the sun light up her face, enjoying the feeling of land under her feet while it lasted. A commotion a few yards away startled her out of her thoughts.

She glanced over to where a trio of young men, men who appeared to be third class, were arguing with the medical attendants. Well, where two of them were trying to hold back the third.

The one who was arguing, a tall man with dirty blonde hair and a thin shirt, finally gave up with a throw up of his hands. He shrugged the hands of his two traveling companions off his shoulders and moved along the line. He held his hand over the handle of his bag, slung around his shoulder, and glared intently at the floor.

Sarah watched him curiously, and nearly lept out of her skin when he looked up and made eye contact with her. He narrowed his eyes, the color of the sky, daring her to say something, do something. She sucked in her bottom lip to chew briefly, then looked away quickly. The passenger smirked as he continued on with the line.

“Sarah!” She jumped as she turned back around, this time to her brother’s call. He faced her, placing both hands on her shoulders and squeezing tightly. His brow was knitted together with a disdainful expression resting on his face.

“Mother said to stay close.” Sarah looked at her brother with a frown, sighing with relief as their gate was called to board. She let out a huff of air as she rounded to walk to the entrance.

_____

Walking along the halls of B deck, it felt cold, unwelcoming. Yes, the lush red carpet and beautiful white walls were warm to anyone else’s standards, but not to Sarah. She was ushered into her suite quickly, her brother trying to defend her from the world. It was annoying, really.

The room was… Nice.

Oak paneling was accented with gold, leafs carved into the mantle looked strangely realistic. Rich maroon carpet lightened the floor, pussing up to the walls. A velvet sofa sat angled in the corner, an end table next to it.

Sarah trailed her fingers over the marble of the mantle as her mother and brother bustled around the room, in and out of the bedchambers and the washroom. She opened the door after a knock startled her. One of the stewards stood in the doorway, loaded down with boxes and luggage. Sarah laughed and pulled two off the top of his pile, to which he sighed his thanks.

“Sarah, what on earth are you doing?” Her mother sounded scandalized as she rushed over, trying to knock the luggage out of her daughter’s hands.

“Do you want to end up a maid?” Sarah placed the luggage on the sofa and threw an apologetic look at the family server walking behind her, a scowl on her face. Sarah took a breath and looked back to her mother.

“No. But if I hadn't--” “No, not another word out of you.” Her brother rounded the sofa to clamp a hand on her upper arm. Sarah frowned and nodded, looking away from her mother and overprotective brother.

_____

Dinner was a bore. They had the pleasure of dining in the company of Mr. Stark, Mr. Andrews, and Captain Smith. Mr. Stark was alright, full of interesting stories and recounts of the adventures he had in Europe, explaining new ideas he had in mind. Mr. Andrews and Captain Smith were only interested in the ship. Explaining how she worked, what it was like building her, gloating over her.

Sarah tried not to slouch over in boredom, refrain from pushing her food around her plate with one of her many forks. Instead, she placed her utensils back and ate nothing, concentrating on the electric voice of Tony Stark.

“Are you alright, my dear?” Sarah nodded politely at Tony’s question, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

“Yes, thank you. Only a little light headed.” Tony frowned, and placed a gentile hand over her own.

“Perhaps you should excuse yourself and lie down?” He dropped his voice down into a whisper, his brown eyes connecting with her pale blue ones. In all honesty, Sarah knew why she was light headed. It was her god awful corset that had been cinched one too many times.

“Perhaps.” She smiled and pushed her seat back, turning to speak to her mother and brother.

“If you will excuse me, I am feeling suddenly ill. Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure dining with you.” She stood and smiled at the three guests, mouthing Tony a small thanks. Before she could get any retaliation out of her family, she pushed her chair in and left the first class dining area.

On her way out, she momentarily stopped where she would be seen by no one. She slipped her fingers between her dress and popped her corset open a little, reveling in the flood of fresh air into her lungs. She fixed her dress and carried on to the deck.

_____

Sarah walked around the deck, unwilling to return to her stuffy room. She wanted to explore it all, find hiding places if ever she needed. Eventually, her wander brought her to the very back of the ship, the stern high above the black water. She ran her fingers lightly over the rail, pressing her front firmly to the cold metal bars.

She leaned forward, not enough that she was in any real danger, but just enough to see the Atlantic water where it churned by the propellers. She laughed lightly, pushing up to her toes.

“Careful, don’t want to fall over the edge, do you?” Sarah dropped back to her feet and whipped around, swallowing as she looked up into his eyes. The man had an oily sneer, his eyes were bloodshot and his breath smelled foully of alcohol. The third class passenger was too close for comfort, Sarah let her eyes widen and pressed back further into the railing.

“Please back up, sir.” She tried to keep her voice even, her nose held high. The black haired man grinned wickedly, taking another step closer. He reached one finger up to caress her jaw, Sarah shivered at the tough, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up.

“Why should I do that?” Sarah let her eyes go wider still, and she tried to duck under his arm, shove past him, do anything to try to get away.

“Stop!” She tried to sound commanding, but her voice came out as barely more than a quivering cry. She placed her hand on the man’s shoulder, trying to push him away, but he locked his fingers around her wrist.

She yelped as he brought his head down and started kissing her throat, tears springing to her eyes. The man’s head snapped up and he let go, Sarah struggling for breath, confused as to what was happening.

“She said to stop. Maybe you should listen.” A rumbling voice came from behind the man in front of her. Only then did Sarah notice the fingers clamped around her attacker's shoulder. Clamped so tight that his knuckles were turning white, causing the black haired man to buckle under the pressure.

The man was pulled away, stumbling until he hit the floor, letting out a grunt. Her savior, a tall blonde, had his back facing her with his shoulders squared to try to ward off the man on the floor. It worked. He scrambled up and away from the two of them, headed for the stairwell.

Her savior finally turned to her, his entire physique softening. Sarah instantly recognized him as the same man that she had seen on the pier earlier that day.

“Are you OK? Did he hurt you?” The man sounded soft, and sincere, so unlike what she had seen earlier on. She managed to nod, placing one hand on her chest to steady her breathing.

He smiled reassuringly, pointing to one of the benches, hovering his hand near her arm, asking without speaking if she would let him lead her to sit.

She gave him another small nod, his hand resting lightly on the back of her arm, guiding her to sit down. She sat and crossed her ankles, stiff backed. The stranger sat down next to her, leaning back and pressing himself more to the corner of the bench, casting worried looks to her.

“Thank you, Sir.” She pushed herself to look at him, an unsure smile forming on her lips. He chuckled softly and sat up, elbows propped on his knees.

“Steve. Steve Rogers.” He held out his hand, and she took it gently. He had strong, warm hands, rough from years of physical work that showed in the muscles in his forearms, and Sarah could only imagine, flowing up under his shirt to his chest.

“Sarah Russel.”

_____

The next night, she wandered the deck after dinner. She had her gaze fixed over the railing, watching the waves roll against the hull of Titanic, not to where she was going. She yelped as her foot slipped out from under her, the stairs missed. She shut her eyes, waiting to hit the hard deck, but instead fell into something soft and warm.

She opened her eyes and looked up to the chuckleing Steve Rogers. She pulled herself out of his arms and straightened her dress, then fixed her hair.

“Mr. Rogers, what a pleasant surprise to see you here.” Steve chuckled harder, the hand rolled cigarette clamped between his teeth nearly falling to the deck.

“I told you, call me Steve. Please.” She nodded and her face softened, a smile crawling up. She leaned her back against the railing as Steve crossed his arms over it, looking out to the cold black ocean.

He dug in his pocket for a few seconds, then extracted a small tin case to which he popped open and offered to her. She hesitantly took one of the cigarettes, then the matchbook he offered her.

Although she had never had a hand rolled cigarette before, she found it strangely more appealing than the ones that had been factory rolled. They remained in silence for some time, much like the night before. Steve extracted a little silver pocket watch, clicking it open, the small tic tic tic resonating through the air before he snapped it closed.

“Do you first class folk go to parties?” Steve angled his head to her, his eyebrows raised in question. Sarah opened her mouth to speak, then closed it and stood up straight.

“How do you mean?” She questioned back. She pulled the smoking paper stick away from her lips, blowing the cloud away from them. Steve turned to face her, one arm still on the rail.

“You know, music, dancing, drinks?” “Ah, right. Horrible slow dancing to equally horrible music. Disgusting glasses of champagne. Food too small for even a mouse.” Steve laughed louder, his joyous sound making her feel happy inside. He shook his head with a wide grin, waving her off.

“No, no-- I mean a real party. With loud music, good dancing, and good drinks.” Sarah quirked her brow, then shook her head at him. He had to have a point? Didn’t he? He held out his hand, palm to the dark sky, moving his fingers in a gesture to ask if she would take his hand.

“Come with me then. I will show you a better time.” Steve promised, patiently waiting with his pal still open. She slowly reached out, hovering over his palm. With a confident intake of breath, she placed her hand down, Steve’s fingers almost automatically curling over the back of her hand.

He smiled and began walking backwards, pulling her along with him. He only looked back long enough to find and place his foot on the first step down to the lower decks. His cigarette still hung from his lips, sending a wreath of grey smoke curling around his head.

She giggled lightly as he descended the stairwell backwards, deeper and deeper into the massive ship.

_____

Once they reached E deck, she could hear the thumping music wafting down the halls. They were halls that looked barely different than her own. Red floors, white walls, dull electric lighting. The only difference was, it was all made of iron, not soft carpeting and plaster and wood. She liked this so much better.

Steve guided her into the third class dining area, where most of the tables had been pushed to the side, making way to a large space where 50 people danced to the loud, joyful music. Smoke from cigarettes had accumulated in the rafters, making its way to the one popped open window. The entire room smelled like spilled beer, smoke, and warm bodies.

She laughed as she looked around, her mouth broken into a huge grin. Steve stopped them just inside the doorway, dropping her hand so he could grab a couple drinks. A he handed one to her, he spoke, loud so he could be heard over the music. “I’m going to take it that you are enjoying this?” He handed one of the drinks, as he took a sip of his own, the froth on top bumping against his lip. She accepted the amber liquid with a nod, taking a test drink. She giggled and took another drink, the cool beer tasting so good as it rushed over her tongue and down her throat.

Steve shook his head and led her over to a table populated by three others. They gave her odd looks as they sat, her dress standing out in the crowd. She recognized two of them as the people that Steve had been traveling with, the other she had no idea.

“Sarah, this is Bucky and Sam,” He pointed to the two he had been traveling with.

“And this is Clint.” He motioned to the last man at the table. She reached to shake each of their hands, each feeling much like Steve’s.

“It's very nice to meet you all. I’m Sarah.” Bucky raised his eyebrows and turned to Steve.

“Sarah? As in the gal you rescued on the deck?” Steve nodded and the table erupted into laughter and shouts, babbling on and trading stories. Sarah didn’t once feel unincluded.

After a little while, Sarah noticed Bucky staring at someone. She followed his gaze to where a red headed woman was dancing with two small children, a girl with reddish orange locks, and a boy with silvery white locks.

“Are they yours?” Sarah raised her voice over teh roar of the music and people. The table looked to where the two of them were watching the woman. Bucky flushed a scarlet color, Clint effectively lost his arm wrestle with Sam, and Steve nearly choked on his beer as he snickered.

“You’re funny, but no. That's Natallia Romanova, Russian immigrant. She rescued the two kids on her way to America.” Sarah nodded, then smiled and lightly socked him on the arm.

“Go ask her to dance.” Bucky looked at her with a mortified expression, and the table erupted back into laughter. Bucky turned to glare at all of them, then back to Sarah who shrugged at him. He squared his shoulders and stood.

“You know what? I will ask her to dance. And pray she doesn't kill me.” He set a determined expression on his face. Sarah laughed as Steve spoke up behind her.

“You laugh, but he isn’t kidding.” Sarah looked back to where he was walking up to her, shock and concern riddled her face. She held her breath as she watched Bucky speak, letting it out as the red headed woman smiled and accepted his hand.

“He’s right. Just last night I saw her flip someone over her shoulder and put him in a headlock when he touched her without her permission.” Sam took a sip of his drink, brow raised over the rim. Sarah laughed nervously as she turned away from the now dancing Bucky and Natalia.

“Speaking of dancing, care for a dance?” She looked to Steve, a hopeful look on his face, outstretched hand. She slipped her own in without hesitation, letting him lead her to the dance floor.

_____

Sarah was laughing so hard, she could barely breathe. Steve held her close as they moved around the dance floor, trying to avoid bumping into anyone else. She was pressed into his chest as they swung around to move to the left.

Steve had a permanent cheeky grin as he gave his partner a twirl, her skirts flowing out to the side as she spun. Their feet moved wildly as they moved right, left, then back again only to repeat it but slightly more to the left.

When the song stopped, they swung back into their seats. Sarah took a few small sips of her drink, then placed it down. Steve tilted his head back a bit as he chugged his beer down, when he nearly slammed the glass back down with triumph, it had only about an inch left in the bottom of the glass.

“What? You didn’t think the Irish could drink?” He laughed, and Sarah took it as a challange. She picked up her own glass, and with a small breath through her nose, raised it to her lips and drank, long and hard until she had about an inch and a half left. She slammed it down with a mocking laugh, grinning at Steve’s shocked expression.

“And I can’t?”

Sam laughed and lightly clapped her on the shoulder as she swept sweat slicked hair out of her face.

_____

The music was dieing down, people were returning to their bunks, glasses were being put away and tables were being shoved back into place. Sarah said her goodbyes to her newfound friends, arguably better friends after just one night than any friends she had in the past.

She walked up to B deck with her arm twisted through Steve’s, head resting on his shoulder. The cold night air was so refreshing after the stuffy room below deck, and it was hard to believe that only a few hours ago, she had been standing so awkwardly next to Steve, just a few feet away.

“I’m going to be in so much trouble with my mother.” She groaned, but snapped her head up to look at Steve, a mischievous grin on her face.

“It was worth it though.” He chuckled as they walked on in silence. Steve stopped when they reached the stairs up to the first class deck, Sarah already one step up.

“You’re not coming?” She asked, a small frown on her face. He sighed, and shook his head, untwisting his arm from her, letting his hand slip down so their fingers intertwined.

“I can’t. I’m only a steerage passenger, remember?” He added the last bit with a dramatic flare, and Sarah chuckled softly. She smiled in contemplation.

“OK.” She whispered softly. She reached out with her free hand, laying it gently on his cheek, her thumb brushing away a bit of imaginary dirt. She leaned forward and placed a kiss to his other cheek, his light stubble scratching her lips softly.

As she drew back, she felt her belly drop at his shocked expression, anxiety taking root and flushing through her body, making her heart pound. He shook his head quickly and smiled, his eyes bright and reflecting the stars above.

He reached up to her shoulder, bringing her back down to him, pressing his lips to her own, soft and sweet. He could feel her smile into the kiss, gently sucking at his bottom lip as she pulled away.

“Tomorrow, eight o’clock. Meet me at the very front of the ship.” She smiled sweetly at his proposition, nodding and backing up the stairs.

“Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight dalrin’.”

_____

Sarah tried to sneak into the suite, but failed miserably. The second she opened the door, her mother and brother were on her like a starving dog to a scrap of meat. Gripping her arm as if she would run away again.

“Where have you been?!” Her mother tried so hard to keep her voice to a respectable level. Her brother merely scowled at her. He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, taking in a subtle whiff.

“Cigarette smoke, and alcohol. I can smell the sweat on you.” He hissed at her, his grip tightening. With a newfound stroke of courage, she tugged her arm out of his and her mother’s grip. She took a step back towards her door. With her nose in the air, she spoke.

“Where I have been is none of your buisness. You are no longer able to dictate my life. Goodnight.” And with that, she opened the door, slipping inside and bolting it. She walked to the bed, sitting with a hand over her mouth, containing the laughter that was bubbling up.

Outside in the foyer, her family stood shocked, looking at the door where she had dissapeared.

_____

The morning arrived soon enough, Sarah rising and foregoing breakfast to draw herself a bath. She wanted to stay in her room the entire day, just long enough until she had to leave to meet Steve. But she decided against it when her stomach grumbled from hunger.

So she rose, got dressed in something simple, something she knew her mother would despise, and left to walk to lunch. As she exited her suite, she collided with someone walking in the same direction she was going. She blinked and apologized quickly, smiling as she recognized who she had bumped into.

“Mr. Stark, headed to lunch?” He smiled and bounced on the balls of his feet.

“I am. Care to join me?” He held out his arm for her to take. She wrapped her own around and placed it over his, smiling as she pulled the door the rest of the way closed.

They sat at a table together, Tony having the ability to tell that she was not all that thrilled about sitting with her family. They chatted for a while, Tony recounting more adventures and inventions. But as she didn’t say much aside from the occasional comment or question, he sat back in his chair with a small smile.

“Someone has their mind preoccupied elsewhere.” He observed.

“Hmm, yes. Wait-- oh I’m sorry.” She grinned sheepishly, twisting her fingers in her lap as Tony chuckled. He shook his head and sat up again, narrowing his eyes with a knowing smile.

“I know that look. It’s not me you are looking like that for, and your family certainly couldn’t make you look like that. So, who is it?” She could feel the color rising in her cheeks, and she bit her bottom lip. “You must not tell.” She begged, knitting her brow in concern. Tony shook his head and laughed quietly.

“Oh, I wouldn’t. I have been exactly where you are, my dear.”

“His name is Steve. He’s-- not first class.” Tony grinned at her, leaning back once more. He nodded, and tapped his finger twice on the table.

“That third class boy? Big, blonde?” Tony asked, puffing his chest up and swinging his arms wider, a smile on his face as he imitated Steve. Sarah forgot all upper class manners as she slumped back in her chair, fingers dangling over the arm rests, mouth agape. Tony laughed harder, drawing the attention of a few other passengers.

“How did you--? What?” He grinned wider.

“I do enjoy midnight strolls.” He said in a way of an explanation. Sarah’s mind automatically went to the previous night. Mr. Stark must have been walking along the deck and spotted her and Steve at the stairs.

“Oh.” Was all Sarah could manage as she fixed her posture. Tony patted her hand from across the table, sitting back again. She laughed suddenly, quietly, her features lighting up.

“Was it only you who saw?”

_____

Sarah was back in her room, splashing some water on her face, and taking off some of her excess jewelry. She put on her simplest dress, hoping to not stand out. She exerted her room at 7:40, crossing to the door to exit the suite.

“Sarah. Where do you think you’re going?” She turned to face her brother, a defiant look on her face. Her mother exited her bedroom, standing beside her oldest child, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I will once again give you this answer… It is none of your business. Good evening to you.” She opened the door, but before she could exit, her brother gripped her wrist.

“You will not leave. I forbid it.” She scoffed as she faced him down.

“I will leave. You have no control over me, you are not father. I choose my own life, and I choose to live it away from you.” She said cooly, yanking her arm out of his grip. She gave him a murderous glare, whipping around and leaving, smacking him in the face with her hair as she did so.

As she left her family in a perpetual state of confusion, she made her way to the bow of the ship. She smiled as she approached Steve, wrapping her arms around his middle. He bent down to capture her mouth in a kiss, bringing his hands to cup both sides of her jaw.

Once they broke apart, she placed her chin on his chest and looked up.

“Can I go with you when we get to New York? I can’t take my life anymore.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and her fingers twisted into the back of his shirt. Steve moved his hands down to rub up and down her arms, face twisted into confusion.

“Just up and leave?” Steve asked, eyebrows pulled together. Sarah concentrated on the blue of his eyes, trying to have her own speak something words could not. Steve’s face softened, his heart pounding in his chest.

He knew that look. It was the same one he had given Bucky when he had left New York to go to Europe. It was the same one that both Bucky and Sam had given him when they thought it was time to go home. It was the look of someone who could truly, absolutely, no longer take the life they were living. If they stayed, they would combust.

Steve sucked in a breath, God only knew what that look did to him. He leaned his head down to rest his forehead against hers.

“Sure, darlin’. But I can’t give you what you deserve.” Their noses pressed together as Sarah tilted her head up to encase his lips with her own. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she huffed a laugh and grinned.

“You honestly think I like living like this?” Steve chuckled with his own wide smile. His blue eyes sparkled in the orange light of the setting sun.

“Last night was the most fun I have ever had. Your friends have become better friends to me in one night than anyone else I have ever known. Sure, maybe first class looks a little nicer, but trust me, it’s a lot worse.” Steve smiled at her analysis, wrapping his arms around her tighter.

“Then we can get to New York, and we can get you away from the first class life.”

“Good.”

“OK then, come with me, I have to show you something.”

_____

Steve led her through hallways, down lower and lower, dodging crew members, ducking around other passengers. He eventually came to a door that he pushed open to reveal a large storage area, full of boxes, and trunks, cars and other assorted pieces of furniture. The whole area was dimly lit, only a few electric bulbs lining the walls.

Steve pulled her to a lavish couch, red velvet over polished oak. Steve gave one gentle tug and they both collapsed to the soft surface with a laugh.

“How did you find this?” Sarah asked with a large grin, resting her head on his shoulder. Steve slung his arm around her, tugging her close to his side, letting her take in his heat.

“A magician never reveals his secrets.” Steve chuckled, an air of mock superiority to his voice. Sarah squawked, flicking his side as she playfully frowned. Steve snorted out a laugh, toothy grin on his face.

“I did a lot of exploring when I got on the ship. And I may have followed one of the crew.”

“You sneaky cat.” She reached out a finger to poke his nose playfully, to which he captured in his free hand and pressed to his lips. He then tilted his head down to capture her lips, then shifted to use his free hand to pull her closer.

Sarah briefly fought with her constricting dress, just enough to get her leg up and over, so that she was straddling him. He reached his hands around to rest on her lower back, fingers playing at one of the buttons.

“May I?” He asked, a flirty grin on his face. She retaliated by placing her own hands on his stomach, thumbs tapping against his belt buckle.

“Only if I can as well.” Steve grinned and popped the buttons, leading up her back. Sarah quickly undid his belt buckle, sliding it out one loop at a time. Steve slid the dress off her shoulders as she hooked her fingers under his shirt, pulling it up.

“Well, this isn’t fair.” She laughed. Steve made a shocked face at her corset, and she remarked on his ability to only wear a shirt.

“How do you breathe in this thing?” He tried to wiggle a finger under it, but was unable to make it past the tight fabric. Sarah cuckold.

“Oh, it’s funny that you think I can breath.” She quickly showed him how to undo the strings as she ran her fingers against his chest, absolutely rippling with muscles. They both had smiles on their faces, heating the air around them with their growing passion.

_____

Tony Stark watched as Sarah and her partner, Steve, she had called him, disappeared below deck. He leaned against the railing, playing with his watch, the red and gold metal glinting in the dying sunlight.

He chuckled, looking straight out at the smooth water. He was happy for them. Truely. He turned to watch as two crew members went to the crows nest, relieving the two members already on duty. “Mr.Stark.” The call of his name dragged the attention away from the crew, and he gave his watch face a slight twist, showing him the time, instead of the temperature he had previously been looking at.

“Ah, Mr.Russell, what can I do for you?” Sarah’s brother came up to him, standing directly in front of him, hands shoved in his pockets and a fowl look on his face. Tony leaned his backside against the wood of the railing, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Where is my sister?” His tone was accusatory, and Tony put one eyebrow up.

“No idea.” He bluffed.

“I saw you eating with her at lunch.” Tony chuckled again.

“And? How should I know where she is now?”

“Let me make this clear, I saw you, just the two of you. At lunch.” Now it was really hard for Tony to resist laughing. So he did. His laugh was loud, boisterous. It drew the attention of a few other passerbys.

“I have a wife back in the states, Mr.Russell. Pepper. You should meet her sometime. Sarah and I bumped into each other in the hall, that's all.” Tony stood up straight, coming eye to eye with the younger man. He faltered, and backed off, hands pulled from his pockets.

“My apologies.” He muttered. Tony started walking past him, patting him on the shoulder as he made his way to his suite.

_____

Sarah slumped against the wall, breathless and laughing, hair going in every direction, clutching her dress around her shoulders, unable to button it back up. Steve crouched by the intersection, hiding from the crew members as he tucked his shirt back in. His grin was blinding,

They turned to race down the hall, Steve fumbling with Sarah’s buttons with each bouncing footstep. They swung onto the nearest staircase, climbing higher and higher. They stopped at the very top of one of the stairwells, right behind a door that would lead to the dark deck.

Sarah wrapped her fingers in his thin shirt, pushing him against the wall as she kissed him silly. She planted her lips over every square inch of his face, while he pulled her as close as possible, hands rubbing up and down her back.

They both knew it was late, but neither of them were tired. They were just a couple with not a care in the world. They didn’t care what was going on on around them. Nothing but smooth sailing.

Until it wasn’t.

The entire ship groaned, it shuddered, the floorboards vibrating and the metal emitting a low hum. The pair broke apart, Steve gripping onto her arm as she nearly toppled down the stairs. Frowns had stitched themselves onto their faces, concern etching lines on their foreheads.

Steve pushed the door open, and they both stepped outside. Sarah looked to the deck.

Ice chunks littered the floor, blue and silver and white in the moonlight. Some people, second and third class, were kicking around the ice, laughing as if they hadn’t just experienced that feeling.

Next, Sarah looked to where Steve was looking. She took in a sharp gasp as she watched the massive iceberg make its way to the stern of the ship. The pair walked up to the rail, leaning over to watch the massive tower of ice float away.

“Mr.Andrews said this ship was unsinkable, right?” Sarah asked, dread settling into her stomach.

“Right.” Steve had let all traces of joy leave his shoulders, his eyes. His voice was low, and serious.

“So what do we have to worry about?” She could hear the wobble in her own voice. She took a breath to steady herself, and turned to find something else other than the ice.

Her gaze landed first on the two people in the crows nest. They were standing still, hands gripping the edge of their platform’s railing. Their faces were pale against their dark White Star uniforms.

Sarah was quick to look at something else, dread settling deeper into her bones. She found a few bridge members running around. She spotted Mr.Andrews, charts tucked under his arms, trotting up to a man with snow white hair, trotting up to the captain,

This was not good. And it was about to get worse.

_____

Steve and Sarah stood at the railing, watching the iceberg float away for quite some time. Maybe half an hour they stood there. The engines had stopped, and the only noise came from the tiny waves lapping against the hull, and the murmur of voices on the deck.

“Sarah!” She jumped at the sound of her brother’s voice. She turned around to see her mother and brother walking up to her, matching angry looks, looks that could kill. Steve looked over his shoulder, then to Sarah, who desperately tried to fix her hair.

“Where have you been?” Her brother flailed his arms into the air, coming to stand right in front of her. Meanwhile, her mother busied herself with making sure all of the other passengers went away. Steve merely moved back to the door where they had come up earlier. Her mother seemed satisfied.

“You have been gone for hours!” Her brother nearly shouted, then ran his hands over his face and up through his hair. She side eyed her mother, who was standing rim rod straight, fury in her eyes. She chanced a glance at Steve, who was pulling out a cigarette to clamp between his teeth.

“Like I said before, it’s none of your business, now get that through your thick skull.” She laughed at him, standing straight. Her brother was shocked for the briefest of moments, then his shock turned to white hot fury.

He lashed out, gripping one of her wrists and then using his other hand to strike her across the cheek. Her whole field of vision went white, then faded back with a few dark spots before she could see properly again. She whimpered and bumped back to the rail.

A hand clamped on her brother’s shoulder, fingers digging into his skin.

“I wouldn’t think about doing that again.” Steve growled. Her brother let go of her wrists, turning to face his challenger. All kindness had gone from Steve’s eyes, his jaw was clenched tight, the muscle giving a little twitch.

“I’m her brother.”

“I don’t care who you are. Don’t touch her again.” Sarah watched the fear flicker through her brother’s eyes, shrinking down to a smaller size against Steve’s enormity. Steve’s face softened as he looked to her, giving her a small smile. Steve let go of his shoulder and took a step back, hands going into his pockets.

Sarah’s mother looked from both his to her daughter and back, the gears in her head almost audible as she was struck with realization.

“Oh.” Was all she said. Her face fell to a disgusted look. Her brother caught on a moment later. He had a bit more to say.

“You, you filthy animal!” He proceeded to advance towards Steve, giving him a hard poke in the shoulder. His anger radiated off of him, and he shoved both Steve’s broad shoulders. With a sigh, Steve stripped his jacket off and tossed it to the deck, handing the unlit cigarette to Sarah, who put it between her own teeth. Steve knew where this was going, Sarah knew where it was going, so did her mother and brother.

Sarah dug through Steve’s coat to find the matches, watching the incoming brawl with interest, ignoring the protests from her mother.

“Did you think it was OK to even think about someone of her status? Is that it?” Her brother asked, disbelief in his tone. He put his fists up in a boxers stance, and Steve rolled out the kinks in his shoulders, choosing to stay silent.

“You belong with the rats. You belong in the mud, just like everyone else from steerage.” He spat out the words. Steve rolled his eyes and clenched his fists.

“No one did ever teach you how to fight? Did they?” Steve flashed a cocky grin as he easily dodged the first swing. He dodged two more, one aimed at his gut, the other to his jaw, before he looked to Sarah. He was asking silent permission.

“Go ahead. Teach him a lesson.” She shrugged, puffing smoke into her mother’s face with a sly grin. Steve nodded.

With the next swing, Steve caught his fist, swinging him around so he went crashing to the deck. Steve pressed his knee down so he was pinned, and kept his arm raised in the air. Her brother let out a whimper, and Steve let him up.

“That’s dirty.” He tried to defend himself, putting his fists back up.

“No one ever said we were boxing.” Steve pushed back, putting his own fists up. It was laughable how much bigger than her brother Steve was. Another jab from her brother was blocked by Steve’s arms, and instead of jabbing with his fists, Steve brought his knee up and into his opponent’s gut.

Her brother doubled over, coughing his guts up. He regained his composure, and started blindly swinging at the blond, in a rage. Steve managed to either block or avoid most of them, but he still was hit twice. Once to the stomach, and once to the shoulder. Steve shoved his opponent sideways, knocking his elbow into his nose.

Her brother pulled back, hands on his nose, trying as he might to stop the flow of blood streaming out. Her mother yelped and went to her son. Sarah gripped Steve’s hand, interlacing their fingers.

“Goodbye, mother.” And she ran, taking Steve along with her.

_____

People were emerging onto the deck all around them, life belts in hand with confused looks on their faces. Some were telling their servers to go back to their rooms and turn on the heat, others were standing around and drinking. Crew members were loading some onto the lifeboats, shouting for only women and children.

“OK, time for you to get on a boat.” Steve said as he pulled her to one. She dug her heels into the deck, placing one hand over his wrist.

“No. I’m not leaving yet. I’m not leaving you.”

“This isn’t an argument. Get on the boat.”

Sarah set her face to a stubborn scowl, twisting her arm so her hand popped out of Steve’s. He shook his head in disbelief, and walked forward, placing his hands over her shoulders.

“Sarah, I may be poor, but I am smart. I can do math. There aren't enough boats.” Steve gave her shoulders a squeeze, trying to mask his panic, but he feared his racing heart would give him away. Sarah reached her hands up to rest on his jaw, smoothing her thumbs over his cheekbones.

“Exactly my point. I’m not leaving until we can both get into a boat.” He smiled, almost shyly. Then he nodded, pulling her into a tight hug.

White light erupted above them, followed shortly by a loud bang. They both looked up in time to see another rocket being fired off, illuminating the world around them in a brilliant light. Things were getting serious. But no one seemed to get that.

That was the problem with boarding an unsinkable ship. People tend to believe what they hear, and hearing the ship that you were on was unsinkable, people tended to believe that. But it doesn't matter if the ship has a reinforced hull, or watertight doors. It doesn't matter if it has some of the best technology of the era. If it’s made of iron, it can sink.

_____

Sarah pulled Steve along the corridors of B deck, passing through the residential area, then to the restaurant and lounge areas. Finally they made their way to the grand staircase. The entire stairwell was full of people. Arrogant people, who even with the floor slanting under them, were directing crew members to go get them more drinks.

She frantically looked around, searching for the one person from her own class who showed her kindness. Steve was getting odd looks thrown his way, but paid them no mind as he looked up and around, at the ornate glass roof and polished oak and gold fixtures.

Finally, Sarah spotted who she was looking for, and darted forward, her partner in tow.

“Mr.Stark!” She was able to grab the millionaire’s attention through the haggle of people she was forcing her way through unapologetically. The dark haired man trotted up to meet her, moving away from the other man he was talking to.

“Sarah, where is your life belt?” He placed a hand on her shoulder. His hair was a wild mess, his suit looked like it was thrown on on his way out the door, buttons misaligned. His face was pale, and he was trying hard to keep his breathing under control.

“I don’t have one. I haven’t been to my room at all.”

“I noticed.” He nodded to Steve, still clutching Sarah’s hand, but standing behind her. Tony turned to grab a spare life belt that was hanging over the bannister of the staircase, handing it to her.

“No, you need one too. We can find our own.” Sarah tried to push the white floaty back, but Steve grabbed her arm from behind.

“Sarah, put it on.” Steve commanded softly, holding her hand closed over the life belt. His hand rested on the small of her back, giving him leverage to push her arm towards herself.

“Thank you, Mr.Stark.” Steve addressed the inventor, nodding his head sincerely.

“If we make it off this death trap, you can call me Tony.” Steve shook his outstretched hand with a small smile.

“Steve Rogers.” Tony returned his polite nod, and they let go of each other's hands. Steve focused on helping Sarah into her vest, tying the cords tightly. Once she was all settled in, they said goodbye to Tony so they could make their way back to deck.

“Be safe, Tony.” Sarah gave him a quick hug, then let him go so they could both leave.

_____

One hour, and 22 minutes after the Titanic hit the iceberg:

The deck was turning into pandemonium. The ship was tilting, the bow almost completely underwater, the stern rising up into the air.

“Time to go.” Steve said, leading her up the deck and closing into the back of the ship. They passed empty lifeboat hook, after empty lifeboat hook.

“Steve, there is nowhere to go!” Sarah shouted over the noise rising up from the deck. Another white rocket burst overhead as Steve looked at her. It illuminated the fear on her face, her eyes sparkling with tears.

Steve faltered momentarily, then shook his head to pop up to look over the crowd running around the deck. He pointed, then led her away.

“I see one up there.” He began pulling her away, just as a door burst open and a group of third class passengers came racing onto the deck, knocking Sarah and Steve apart. Steve looked around frantically as the crowd dissipated, calling out her name. He looked back to the door, and sucked in a breath.

Sarah had slumped against the wall, eyes closed and knocked out. She must have been thrown into the wall as the group had passed. Steve knelt beside her, quickly scooping her up bridal style.

Pushing his way further to the back of the ship, he stopped in front of the lifeboat.

“Do you have room for one more?” He asked, nodding down to the unconscious Sarah in his arms. The crew member looked a little hesitant, taking a quick glance to the nearly full boat. He nodded and flicked his fingers forward.

Steve gently loaded her into the boat, two other women helping to keep her from tipping over.

“Thank you.” Steve said to them, and they nodded. Steve backed away from the boat so more people could get in, catching a sympathetic look from one of the ladies.

_____

One hour, and 47 minutes after the Titanic hit the iceberg:

Sarah woke up just as the Titanic started to lose power, the lights flickering wildly before they shut off, plunging the entire area into darkness, the only light was that from the moon. The ship had most of its stern suspended in the air, the propellers standing still.

She looked around, unsure of how she had gotten in a boat, but she was certain that Steve wasn’t with her. A hand rested on her shoulder, causing her to jump. She turned to face a woman, who introduced herself as Molly Brown.

“Where is Steve?” She asked in a panic. The woman, Molly, placed a gloved hand on her shoulder.

“Big, blond? Looked like he was third class?” Sarah nodded, tears welling in her eyes.

“He dropped you in her and then made sure a few others got in. Then he left.” Another woman sitting next to her spoke up. Sarah turned back to the ship, hand covering her mouth. She wanted to jump out of the boat and swim back. She would never make it.

_____

One hour, and 52 minutes after the Titanic hit the iceberg:

Steve pushed his way along the deck, all the boats were gone, the ship was almost vertical. Still, hundreds of people remained on the ship or in the water around it. By the end of the night, all but seven of them would be dead.

Steve gripped the rail by the Union Jack flag, at the furthest point he could go. His feet were slipping out from under him, the ship groaning under the stress of holding itself up. Steve wove his arms and legs around the bars, hoping wherever Sarah, and Sam, and Bucky, wherever everyone on this ship that he cared about, he hoped that they were safe. But for the time being, he was alone.

An unearthly scream ripped through the air. It sounded like a thousand people all at once, but higher pitched and with more of a groaning undertone. Sparks flew and metal twisted, wood splintered and glass shattered.

Steve looked down just long enough to see the ship break in half, then shut his eyes tight as the stern came crashing down into the water again. Huge waves spread out, shoving the people that were in the water. Steve slipped from the rail, crashing down into the deck.

He scrambled back to the rail, helping up another man who had fallen. He climbed up and over, gripping the flagpole as the ship was beginning to pull itself back down again, the deck slanting rapidly.

People slid down the deck, screaming like it was some sort of deadly slide. Which it was. A slide that led to the dark waters and broken metal.

Steve pulled himself to stand straight up as the stern went completely vertical. He looked around, his mind blocking out all the noise as the ship bobbed there. He found the lifeboats, some barely half full. There was no way to tell which one Sarah was on, but he tried to pick her out anyway.

He would survive this. He had to. He had to make it back to her.

The ship began to progress towards the water, the black sheet bubbling up around the sinking metal. He took a few steadying breaths. Twenty feet, ten, five, he sucked in as much air as his lungs would hold as he was enveloped in the water.

He kicked his legs furiously, following the air bubbles to the surface, all the while being dragged down by the current of the sinking hull. His head broke above the water, and he desperately gulped in air. The water around him was shockingly cold, like nails digging into his skin. It was so cold, it burned.

He looked around, and found his best bet was to swim out towards the lifeboats, try to keep his body warm and make it to safety. But it was getting harder to move, both the people dragging him back, and the cold stiffening his muscles.

He spotted a portion of the deck, bobbing gently in the waves created by the swimming mass. He clambered on top, teeth chattering and lips blue. He rolled to his back, listening to the chaos around him. Screams. That was all the night was filled with. Screams for help, screams for loved ones, people trying to find someone. Screams to no one, just shouted into the night, one long wail of hopelessness and despair.

Steve had to cover his ears, trying desperately not to believe that any one of those voices could be Bucky, or Sam, Clint, Natasha, or god forbid, Sarah.

_____

Seven minutes after Titanic sank:

Steve still had his hands clamped over his ears, even though the screams had stopped. It was eerily quiet, the only sound was the low wind and the lapping of waves against bodies.

He rolled to his back, trying desperately to keep whatever warmth he had left. The stars above him were bright, beautiful. They twinkled in the cloudless sky, like pinpricks in a sheet of black.

A new sound rose in the silence. It started out quiet, and disembodied. Then a light passed over him.

“Is-- out--” Steve could barely make out the words. But he forced himself to sit up. Through blurry eyes, he spotted an empty boat paddling around the corpse field.

“Is anyone-- there?” Through a fuzzy brain, it slowly registered to him that rescue had come. Too late for hundreds, but maybe not for him.

“Yes!” His voice cracked, the sound not traveling far.

“Is anyone alive out there?” The boat seemed to call out again, unable to hear him. Steve coughed, clearing his throat.

“Yes!” he tried again, this time throwing his arm up, waving it around. By some stroke of luck, the flashlight passed back over him. With a small, frozen smile, he collapsed back to the decking, too tired to move any further.

_____

Three hours and 28 minutes after Titanic sank:

The brigade of lifeboats rowed their way to the Carpathia, their savior. She was a smaller version of the Titanic. One smoke stack instead of four, barely a third of the length.

Steve gazed up from his spot on the bench, swaddled in a blanket. His mind was foggy, and blank. It didn’t register as he was able to make his way up to the deck.

Nothing registered until he saw all the people up there. Crying, pleading, praying. Some with blank expressions, others were angry, or sobbing.

His heart dropped as a crew member walked up to him.

“Can I have your name please?” He asked, his entire physique tired. He held a clipboard and a pencil, writing down a list of survivors.

“Steve Rogers.” The crew member wrote his name down, then turned to leave.

“Wait! Can you look to see if there is a Sarah Russell on your list?” The man scanned down his paper, and shook his head.

“Not that I can see, but we still haven’t gotten everyone yet.” The crew member turned away again, walking to the next group. Steve scanned around the deck, and began walking, conducting his own search.

As he was looking behind him, he collided with someone. Turning around to apologize, he stopped.

“Sam.” The two men nearly collapsed into each other, shaking with relief. As they broke apart, they gripped each other's shoulders.

“Do you know where Buck went? Clint? Any of them?” Steve asked, finding himself dreading the answers. Sam shook his head.

“We made it up on deck, but I got separated. I don't know where they went.” Steve didn’t know what to say. He could feel his chest constricting, grief flooding over him. He raked his fingers through his hair, trying to steady the shake in his hands.

“Steve!” He twisted around to the voice of a man, hoping that it would be one of his missing friends. No, it was Tony Stark.

The first class man approached the two cautiously, hoping that he would be recognized. He knew that Steve had been high on adrenaline earlier that morning, possibly didn’t fully take in the situation at hand. To his relief, the blond recognized him straight away.

“Tony. Are you OK?” Steve seemed worried, even for someone he met only in passing. He even reached out a hand to give a gentle squeeze to the millionaire’s shoulder. Steve Rogers, ever the mother hen.

“Shaken, but I’m ok. I came to tell you, I saw her. Sarah.” Tony watched as his entire face lit up, then fell into a state of relief, then finally settled on concern, all in a timespan of .12 seconds. Steve looked to Sam, who nodded for him to go. He then looked to Tony, who pointed towards the bow of the Carpathia.

Steve was off faster than either man could comprehend, racing along the wooden deck with his blanket still draped over his shoulder like a cape.

_____

Steve nearly vaulted down the staircase, startling a few passerbys. He landed heavily on his feet, then frantically looked around. The ship wasn’t all that big, so it should have been easy to see her, right? Wrong. He had to look for 15 minutes before he found her.

She was shrouded in her own blanket, huddled into a small ball. She stared down at the floor, eyes red from tears. She was pale, her dark hair plastered to her head from the light spattering of rain that had begun to fall.

“Sarah.” He sighed with relief, dropping down to one knee in front of her. She looked over, looked his face over once or twice, like she was trying to figure out who this was next to her. Realization hit her like a train, and she gasped, covering her mouth.

She flung her arms around his neck, sobbing into the crook of his shoulder. One hand on her back, the other on the back of her head, they stayed locked in their embrace for a long time. Long enough that the sun had come up.

“Can I take your names?”

The couple broke apart, looking up at the tired face of the crew member. A different one than before. He was poised to write their names, looking at them expectantly.

“My name was already taken down.” Steve said, sliding his hand down to interlace his fingers with Sarah. She was quiet for a moment, you could almost see the wheels turning in her head. She looked away, then back up at the crew.

“Sarah.” She answered. He jotted it down, but slowed to pause with an expectant look to her.

“Do you have a last name, miss?” Sarah looked to Steve for the briefest of moments.

“Rogers.” She spewed out. Steve raised his brow, but otherwise stayed silent. The crew, too tired to question or argue any further, nodded and wrote it down as he walked away.

“What was that?” he asked, trailing his thumb over her knuckles.

“Like I said, I don’t want to live my life the same way anymore. I don’t want to be Sarah Russell anymore.”

“You still want to come with me?” Steve asked, planting a gentle kiss to her nose. She nodded, returning his with one of her own, straight on his lips.

“Of course.”

_____

The Carpathia docked in New York only a few days later. Only a third of the passengers that had left from Europe barely a week before made it to their final destination. Many drowned, many died of hypothermia. Hundreds of bodies were never returned to their families.

Wives, husbands, sisters, brothers, sons, daughters, all torn away from their families. Human arrogance was a major factor in the ship even encountering the ice in the first place. Arrogance and pride.

To this day, the sinking of the Titanic is one of the biggest man-made disasters in history. Over 1500 people lost their lives, 700 more lost, in many cases, everything they owned, and then some.

Just something to think about.

#30DaysofChris2020 #Steve Rogers #OFC #steve rogers x oc #titanic au #marvel #captain america #captain america x ofc

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