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vannahfanfics · 4 years ago

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Stereo Hearts

Category: Romantic Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Denki Kaminari, Kyoka Jiro

Hello, everyone! It is my pleasure to present my story for the @kmjr-mini-bang! A super big thanks to my partner @chiztec who drew an absolutely stunning piece to accompany my story, as well as Amii and nish, who were kind enough to beta my story. I hope you all enjoy the finished product!

Denki sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that night. He laid on his bed, thumbs twiddling as his hands were clasped over his stomach. His worried gaze could have bored holes into the ceiling if he had the right Quirk. He felt a little silly, fretting so relentlessly over something as simple as a high school graduation. For most students, it was a time of excitement, a chapter of transition in their lives as they went bungling on into adulthood. Denki was eagerly looking forward to getting out there and showing the world what Chargebolt could do. Adulthood wasn’t exactly what he was worried about.

He hadn’t told Kyoka that he loved her yet.

“Jeez, that sounds right out of some corny chick flick,” he groaned and rubbed his palms over his eyes. He grimaced as nervous sweat smeared across his face. He flopped his arms back down against the bed with another forlorn exhale, eyes lidded as he envisioned the beautiful, talented girl he’d fallen head-over-heels for their first year. Everything had seemed to get in the way of professing his feelings for her, and also, he felt a little… unworthy. He was a great big massive dork, not nearly cool enough to even be seen with someone as pretty and sophisticated as Kyoka.

He’d probably short-circuit and go into “yay” mode when tried to confess to her.

Groaning, he rolled onto his side to grab his phone off the charger. It wasn’t like he was sleeping anyway. As he unlocked it, his thumb came to rest over the screen, and his golden eyes stared at the time burning in white numbers in the center of the display. The time was inching closer to midnight. Soon, it would officially be the day of his graduation. The realization sent a sinking feeling spiraling into the pit of his stomach.

He was running out of time. Everyone made well-intentioned promises to keep in touch after high school, but everyone knew that almost never panned out. You went on, to college or to a career, you got insanely busy, and next thing you know you haven’t talked to anyone you know in years and made new friendships. Denki swallowed thickly, mindlessly bringing up his favorite picture of Kyoka in his gallery. She was smiling brightly, so hard her eyes were scrunched up into little half-moons. She’d made that face for Denki when he’d surprised her for her birthday with an expensive album she’d been eyeing since its release. When she’d smiled at him like that, he’d almost electrocuted everyone in the room because he’d been so damn in love.

He was still so damn in love.

He pulled up Kyoka’s contact information. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. Would she even be awake right now? He wondered with a tiny sigh. Probably not. It was the middle of the night. Still, he found himself texting out a message.

Hey, are you awake?

He rolled back over and set the phone down on his chest to stare up at the ceiling again. He fully expected his message to go unanswered, so he began losing himself in the confusing stream of “what ifs” and regretting every moment he never chose to tell Kyoka how he felt. He was so lost in thought that he nearly jumped out of his skin when the message alert rang through his quiet bedroom. He fumbled with his sweaty hands to pull up Kyoka’s response.

Yeah, I’m awake. What’s up?

A sappy smile bloomed on his lips, and he rolled over, snuggling into his mattress while typing out his reply.

Just thinking. What about you?

Three dots popped up on the message screen, quickly followed by a simple, Same.

Denki ruminated on his thoughts for a moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard. He didn’t even really know what he wanted to say, or what he wanted to do. He wasn’t enough of an ass to confess to Kyoka over text, no… It had to be more special than that, something that she was deserving of.

A cheesy grin slowly appeared on his face as he recounted a conversation he’d overheard— Kyoka talking to Mina about her favorite romance movie tropes. Believe it or not, Kyoka secretly adored them and often requested them for the girls’ movie nights. He’d always stored that information in the back of his mind, just in case it would ever become useful…

Yeah… he thought deviously. He threw off his covers and scrambled over to his closet to throw on something halfway-decent. He couldn’t profess his undying love in a pair of All Might pajama pants, after all. He inspected himself in the mirror after wiggling into a pair of skinny jeans and a band tee-shirt that Kyoka had bought for his last birthday. He licked the palm of his hand to slick down the flyaways in his blond hair, turned his face left and right, and then gave his reflection finger-guns.

“You got this. You’re a stud. Ladies love ya!” He grinned encouragingly. He held the expression until his face hurt, trying to will the confidence into existence. Then, he flopped his arms and hung his head in defeat. “She’s probably gonna laugh,” he snorted. “But,” he added, peeking through his bangs at the mirror. “I still gotta try!”

Before his courage could fail him, Denki snatched up the vintage stereo sitting on his desk— another birthday present from Kyoka— and scurried out of the room, hopping on one foot down the hall trying to slip on his Converse. He slowly tip-toed past Tenya’s dorm clutching his stereo to his chest; their class representative had a nose for trouble, especially Denki’s shenanigans, and had caught the blond many a night trying to sneak away and get up to no good. It seemed that luck was on Denki’s side this evening, as he made it to the stairwell without inciting a peep for the tall bespectacled boy’s room. He breathed a sigh of relief and gathered himself for a moment before proceeding downstairs.

He treaded carefully, having long since memorized the creaky spots in the wood in his many misadventures. The tip of his tongue peeked out of his lips as he used the sparse moonlight to guide his steps down to the first floor. It was slow going, but the even best-laid plans were ruined by haste. He could feel his cell phone vibrating in his back pocket, probably Kyoka wondering why he suddenly stopped texting her.

All in due time, my dear Kyoka! <3

When Denki reached the first-floor landing, he cautiously peered out into the gloom. It wouldn’t be the first time he surprised another student who had fallen asleep in the lounge, or worse, Mr. Aizawa, who had relocated to the common room to stay up late grading assignments. Thankfully, Lady Luck was generous and granted him passage through his second trial; the lounge was empty.

Denki stole away through the darkness, like a thief in the night, to the back door. He grimaced as it creaked loudly and looked over his shoulder. After an agonizing half-minute of silence, no one emerged from the dark to scold him, so he elected that the coast was clear. He slipped outside, and the warm wind immediately enveloped him, clouding him with a cologne of night-blooming flowers and dew. He stared out into the side alley, the concrete path that led him to the space just beneath Kyoka’s balcony— and began to doubt.

I’m really going out on a limb here, he gulped and clutched the stereo to his chest until the metal creaked. His absolute worst nightmare wasn’t Kyoka rejecting him… but laughing at him. He tried to tell himself that Kyoka would never do something so callous, but he worried all the same. It was such a frightening thing, putting yourself out there. The mind tried to worm its way out of it whenever possible.

But it’s now or never! Even if she laughs at me… If I don’t do this now, I’ll regret not doing it for the rest of my life!

Denki was going to go out on this limb, even if it broke underneath him and he plummeted headlong into bitter heartbreak. He could always put himself back together again. Resolute, he tromped down the small alleyway to the rows of balconies jutting out from the dorm.

He counted under his breath until he found Kyoka’s sliding glass doors and fluttering curtains. He set the stereo down by his feet and finally pulled out his phone to discover a series of confused messages from Kyoka.

Hello? You text me first, and then don’t answer me? What’s up with that?

He smiled, sensing that playful bite in her tone that he’d fallen head-over-heels in love with.

Come out onto your balcony, he answered. Before he could stow his cellphone, it buzzed with a quick reply.

What? Why?

Just do it! He insisted in mild panic. He’d failed to consider that Kyoka would just tell him to shove off and go to bed. As nervous sweat condensed on his forehead, he heard the faint click of the door. He jerked in shock, inadvertently dropping his phone face-down on the concrete. He cringed, already imagining the crack spiderwebbing across the glass screen.

“Denki?” he heard Kyoka call suspiciously as he ducked down to hit the power button on the stereo. It automatically started up a CD of Kyoka’s favorite songs that he’d burned on the off-chance that he would need it. Just as she came to the edge of the balcony, he straightened up and swept his hand through his hair, smiling bashfully. Her eyes widened, refracting the moonlight as her ears drank in the pretty tune streaming from the stereo’s large speakers. “Denki?” she repeated perplexedly. “What are you doing?”

He nudged down the volume with his toe while a blush rose to his cheeks.

“Look, I know this is corny as hell, and you probably don’t appreciate being called out at three in the morning, but I’m kinda desperate here,” he admitted, nervously rubbing at the back of his neck and chuckling. “You know how I told you I was thinking? I was thinking about you. How your smile lights up my whole life, and when you sing it sounds like an angel walking this Earth, and how damn lucky I feel to have shared these last three years with you. How cute you are when you laugh, and gush about romance movies when you think nobody notices, and how badass you are that it leaves me breathless.”

As he rambled on and on about everything he absolutely adored about her, Kyoka’s face glowed like a pink opal in the moonlight and her wide eyes glimmered like gems. By this time, the noise had attracted the other girls from their dorm rooms, and they sleepily peered out at Denki pouring out his heart and soul to their startled classmate. His cheeks darkened with embarrassment, but he’d already said so much; there was no going back now.

“I was thinking about how stupidly in love I am with you, and how if I don’t tell you now that I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. So I love you, Kyoka, and I’d be really stoked if you’d go out with me.”

A ripple of gasps rang out from the girls’ mouths, and they all looked expectantly at Kyoka. The girl gulped audibly and pawed at her dark hair, which was sticking up in odd places and tousled with sleep. Her earjacks nervously writhed above her shoulders and her eyes cast down as she considered Denki’s confession. All the while, he stood there holding his breath, waiting and listening to the love song serenade the silence.

He was beginning to feel a bit faint and like he was going to start sparking when her eyes finally flickered up to meet his own.

“I’d be really stoked to go out with you, too.”

The girls erupted into cheers and squeals, jumping up and down while clapping their hands. Kyoka blushed under their ecstatic congratulations. Their whoops and hollers attracted the boys from across their halls, meandering out onto the girls’ balconies to investigate what all the fuss was about. Denki shrunk under all the attention, twiddling his fingers and turning as red as a tomato.

“Aw, congratulations, you two!” Izuku called with a big smile.

“It’s about damn time,” Katsuki grumped from beside Eijirou and Ochako. “I was getting sick and damn tired about him mooning over her like a lovesick sap.”

“Hey, bro! Don’t you have a nicer way to say congrats?” the redhead scolded, making Katsuki snarl.

“Denki Kaminari!” came the expected chastising. Denki flinched and grinned apologetically at Tenya, who was gestating emphatically on Tooru’s balcony with his nightcap flapping. “What is the meaning of this? I understand the romanticism, but it is the eve of our graduation ceremony! It is imperative that we be rested to do justice to our prestigious institution, not straggle in like zombies! Have you no sense of decorum?”

“Oh, can it, class rep,” Mina chided. Tenya leaned down over the balcony railing with an affronted gasp. The pink girl’s smile was wide as she winked at Denki. “So, stud. Are you gonna just stand there, or are you gonna come give your new girlfriend a kiss?”

“Mina!” Kyoka hissed, turning her head so hard and fast that Denki swore he heard her bones snap. Denki jumped, stuttering nonsensities, and dipped down to retrieve his stereo. It was still blaring as he sprinted back into the dorm and up the stairs. Kyoka was standing in her doorway as he came barreling up the steps, tripping over the laces of his Converse and nearly plowing headfirst into the wall. The rest of the students watched with bated breath, crowding in the other doorways and on the steps behind him.

“Hey, Kyoka,” Denki swallowed, holding the stereo to his chest as he timidly approached her. His breaths came in ragged gasps from his rapid staircase sprint, and a sheen of sweat stuck his hair to his forehead. He doubted that he looked the picture of handsome— but Kyoka still smiled coyly as he approached, tucking her hair behind her ears and staring at him like he was her knight in shining armor. His golden eyes never left hers as he set the stereo on the floor and rubbed his palms on the denim fabric of his jeans.

“Hey, Denki,” she smiled shyly. His heart fluttered just at the sweet sound of her voice, and he swore he fell in love all over again in that moment. His body moved instinctively as his mind was ensnared by her unconscious charm, stepping close to her and using his index finger to slowly tip up her chin. He sucked in a breath, enchanted by her shy little gaze and slightly parted lips.

“You’re so beautiful.”

“Just kiss her already, you asshole, I’m tired!” Katsuki yelled from down the hall, making both of them jump. He heard Eijirou scold him under his breath and elbow him in the ribs, making Katsuki unleash a string of unflattering curses. After the fiery blond’s grumbles had died down, Denki smiled bashfully at the pink-cheeked Kyoka. She fluttered her eyelashes demurely, then flickered her gaze down to his lips.

Well, if he was waiting for an invitation, that damn sure was it.

Without further ado, Denki leaned in to gently capture her in a sweet kiss. His heart sung as she hummed slightly, making his hair stand on end. He almost wondered if he’d strayed into a dream, that his fantastical whimsies had come to fruition only in his subconscious. However, when he pulled back and opened his eyes, he knew he was awake. He could never dream the way she looked at him then, with such utter adoration that it made his heart ache.

“All right. Show’s over,” Katsuki grumbled, skulking off toward his room. Denki rolled his eyes but leaned down to finally switch off the stereo. When he straightened back up, their classmates had retreated into their rooms— leaving them alone. Kyoka shyly swung from side-to-side, hugging herself with a sheepish grin.

“That was pretty smooth,” she admitted.

“Really?” he asked excitedly. Her cheeks darkened a shade of pink, and then she nodded. Denki suppressed the wild urge to embarrass himself with a happy jig. Kyoka would probably find it charming, but he wanted to hang on to some sense of decorum, as Tenya had put it. After several minutes of staring adoringly at one another, Denki finally drawled dreamily, “Well… We should probably get back to bed… Tenya’ll be mad if we’re tired at the ceremony tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” she said, sounding just as enthused about ending the moment as he was. Neither of them moved for several seconds. “You should go, Denki,” she reminded him, finally prompting his sluggish body to move. He scooped up his stereo, never breaking eye contact, before rising to clutch it to his chest. “I’ll see you later,” she reassured him with a light laugh, before retreating into her room. She didn’t close the door, just gazed at him like he’d hung the moon in the sky— and he would, for her.

“Yeah,” he said as he began backing away towards the end of the hall. When she finally shut the door, he risked his happy dance, jitterbugging back to his room. Just as he flopped onto his bed, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out with furrowed brows, and then broke into a stupid smile.

I’m looking forward to our date.

His thumbs flew across the screen to type up a reply as he rolled on his side and snuggled into bed.

Me too. Goodnight, Kyoka.

She must have drifted off, because there was no reply. That was all right. After a minute of goofily admiring her contact picture, he finally put his phone on the charger and settled into bed. Sleep took him easily this time, gifting him dreams of what was to come.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#kamijiro #kamijirou #jirokami #jiroukami #kaminari x jiro #jiro x kaminari #denki kaminari #kaminari denki #kyoka jiro #jiro kyoka #my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha fanfic #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfic #bnha fanfiction

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joonclouds · 4 years ago

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The Price Of A Wish | 2

The third time you meet Jung Hoseok, you realise the last ten years has done nothing to the way you were drawn to him, with a force as sure and inescapable as gravity.

CHAPTER INDEX

Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Idol!Hoseok, Chaebol!Reader, OT7 bangtan show up too, Slow Burn, Unrequited feelings, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Fluff, (we might include some other things later let’s see)

_________________

You’re into the last leg of this evening. Between having to skip dinner, make small talk with businessmen who make it their life’s work to mansplain the workings of this country’s economy to you, and Jung Hoseok upending your world on it’s ass, you’ve almost made it through the night.

With an arm resting in the crook of Taehyung’s elbow, the two of you take a slow walk around the less occupied parts of the gallery before you have to be at the main foyer to see off the guests. It’s not hidden from everyone’s eyes, but it’s a little ways from the crowd and you’re glad for the small breather. The two of you stop in front of one of your favourite pieces in the new collection - a massive triptych that takes up almost the whole wall at the far end of the exhibition hall.

“So, Jung Hoseok, huh.”

Taehyung is speaking softer now and he tilts his head closer to your ear, like he’s telling you a secret. Even while you’re wearing heels, he’s taller than you by half a head.

“It’s nothing.”

“You left me hanging“ - he emphasises the me by pressing an offended hand to his chest - “to greet him. That’s not nothing.”

“Well, he’s an important guest.”

You think back to the fleeting hello, which really was more for the attending press than the two of you. It was like something out of a bad romance anime, complete with the slow motion and sparkly shit, just shy of having a few rose petals fly across the screen. You weren’t seventeen, you were twenty eight, for crying out loud. You could be a mature adult about this.

While your idiot of a heart had gone and betrayed you, as soon as the fluttery feeling had subsided, a tinge of bitterness and anger were quick to make themselves known. Very slight, but there, nonetheless. It made the single moment seem stupid and unwarranted, and that was exactly how you felt about Jung Hoseok.

You play it off coolly, but as you know by now, no matters of the heart (well, your heart, specifically) got past Kim Taehyung.

“Always knew you had high standards.”

“He’s not on the standard.”

“So… is it a celebrity fan crush or is it like…” Taehyung gives your arm that’s hooked in his elbow an enthusiastic shake. Whatever that meant. “Because in my entire nine years of knowing you, you’ve not mentioned his name even once.”

“It just didn’t come up, I guess. ”

“Oh, it didn’t come up.”

“He’s just a friend, okay?”

“Oh, so now he’s just a friend.”

“Did you like, lose your brain halfway through the small talk?”

He groans. “I had to talk to duck face selfie girl at one point so maybe a good chunk of it just slid right out of my ears.”

Despite yourself, you’re amused, but you tuck the smile away behind your teeth.

“Come on, ____. Your definition of making friends is holding people at arms length until they’ve all but signed a blood oath and sworn their firstborn to you in fealty.”

“Ugh. Go back and talk to selfie girl.” You shrug your arm out of Taehyung’s elbow, but he’s quick to tuck it back in place affectionately, and you let him.

“So friends… with benefits?” He presses after a moment, nudging your shoulder with his.

“Academic benefits,” you scowl. “I helped him pass math class.”

Your friend turns to you with a look on his face.

“Oh no.” You groan.

“Oh yes.” Taehyung beams at you with a smile that is way too cheeky to mean anything good. “A crush, but not just any crush, ____, a highschool crush.”

“We were close in highschool. Then he left to be a trainee when he graduated and we lost touch. That’s it, okay? Now can we please drop it?”

“If you think I’m going to be satisfied without the juicy det- ow, fuck! Stop!“

You pinch Taehyung’s arm and he yelps. To anyone not privy to this conversation, you and he are director and curator, finding time during the bustling evening to appraise the opening collection. It looks like he’s made an amusing comment when you nudge him and he laughs amicably.

You elbow him in the ribs to make a point. Hard.

“I’m running on 3 hours sleep, I can’t breathe in this dress, and these heels make me want to strangle something. So help me god I will not hesitate to throw them, and you, off the top floor balcony to christen this new gallery.”

It’s not really a surprise, but the threat does nothing to deter Taehyung. He’s a dog with a bone and not about to let it go anytime soon.

“I haven’t seen you that starry eyed since you watched Bocelli live.”

“That’s different,” you gripe. “Would you be starry eyed if you met god?”

“My point exactly.”

“Ugh.” You throw your hands up in frustration. “So I was seventeen, I had a crush, he moved away after graduation, now we’re here, nothing is going to hap- “

“Shut up.” Taehyung hisses.

“Wow, you know, that’s pretty rich for someone who - “

“Do you want to look like an idiot? Shut up, ____. Shut up right now.”

“What?” You demand, turning to him, confused and annoyed (more so the latter because he’d been the one trying to pull this story out of you). He’s smiling at something over your shoulder, so smug you just know it in your bones it can’t be anything good. You know that look and it makes the blood drain from your face when you guess the worst possible reason for it.

Your voice is a whisper. “He’s coming over, isn’t he.”

“Yep.”

“Fuck.”

Turning around, Hoseok is right there and you pray to any benevolent god for enough functioning braincells to hold a conversation. Actually, just even one braincell would be fine, because that’s more than you had going for you right now.

“Hey, Hoseok.” You breathe.

“Hey, ____.”

Hoseok offers his hand to Taehyung and smiles. “Jung Hoseok.”

“Pleasure. Kim Taehyung.”

As Taehyung accepts the handshake, he can see why you were so mesmerised. He can imagine Hoseok to be quite the looker, even when he was younger and hadn’t necessarily grown into all his features yet. The guy exuded an easy charm about him that many had fallen victim to. Many, including you (still falling, Taehyung was sure of this).

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“No, perfect timing, actually.” Taehyung replies easily. “I was just telling ____ that I should head back out to see if everything’s running smoothly.”

One of his hands comes to the middle of your back and gives it a firm nudge. Just enough for you to be slightly off balance, making you take a tiny step in Hoseok’s direction.

Horrified, you open your mouth to say something, but again, Taehyung beats you to it.

“It was great to meet you, Hoseok. You two catch up alright, bye!”

And with that, he’s turning on his heel with a tiny wave and scuttling away. When this evening was over, you were going to find that guy and burn his entire silk pyjama collection, designer or not. Even better, if they were designer.

“Just thought I’d come say hi. Properly, this time.”

Hoseok’s voice is lower now, and there’s a relaxed way about how he’s got one hand in his pocket that definitely wasn’t there before. He’d grown out of his teenage chub into elegant cheekbones, a high nosebridge, and a sharp jawline. It’s with a little twinge that you note how painfully handsome he is now - a reminder that this isn’t your Hoseok - he’s older, different.

“I hope you enjoyed the evening?” It feels formal - too formal, but you don’t know how to talk to this version of him yet, so you take the safe small talk route. He gives the room an approving once over, raising his glass to it and takes a sip.

“I did. The space looks wonderful, and it’s a really commendable initiative. I think a lot of artists will benefit from it. I’m proud of you, ____. I’m glad I came.”

“I’m glad you found the time.”

You really hadn’t intended for your tone to be quite so sharp, but the bitterness leaks, no matter your efforts to patch up the cracks.

“I guess I deserved that.” He sighs. “Look. I just wanted to say I - I’m sorry.“

“Yes, I agr- wait. What?” The apology is unexpected, and makes you draw a blank mid- small talk script.“Wait. What for?”

Hoseok hooks a finger under his neck scarf, pulls at it a little to loosen it.

“Like. For.” He gestures vaguely in the air. “The last time we spoke.. Or didn’t.”

Oh.

The bitterness rises very close to the surface now, you can almost taste it at the back of your throat, bubbling and indignant. With lips tightly pressed together, you swallow it back down.

“It’s okay. I didn’t need you to apologise for anything.” Your voice is surprisingly level.

“Well. “Hoseok looks a little lost, like he wasn’t the only one being caught off guard this evening. “I needed to say it anyway.”

“For who? For me, or you?” You’re still pretending like you’re having this conversation with the art piece on the wall instead of him.

“Well. It’s alright. Thank you for your apology,” you continue when he doesn’t reply, calm but curt. “I’ve heard it, and I hope that resolved any residual misunderstandings.”

Hoseok huffs a chuckle but it’s more like a sharp exhale. “You haven’t changed one bit, have you?”

This pricks your temper. If he wanted your attention, he certainly has it now.

“No,” you deadpan. “Not really.”

“Why do you -“ he pauses, gestures to you frustratedly, head to toe, “ - always cut people off when they try and reach out to you, run away when - “

“If we’re really going to be digging up the past, Hoseok, it’s more like you ran away from me.”

He runs a hand through his hair, disturbing the way it was styled.

“ ___, If you could just hear me out, I - “

The bitterness - it rises, bubbles, boils over.

“I’ve heard you out, Hoseok, listened to your apology.”

“Look, I just want us to start over again - “

“Start over?” You let out a snort, not caring that it’s terribly unprofessional and cameras might be watching. “Newsflash, your insufferable persistence is ten years too late.”

Your annoyed outburst hangs in the air as you finally turn to face him properly.

His apology angers and softens you in equal measure. You can’t figure out what his deal is - why he’d never bothered to cross paths with or even reach out to you all these years, though you both ran in overlapping circles of art and entertainment. Until today.

You allow yourself one tiny moment of honesty, dropping all the bells and whistles that came with the persona you had created for tonight.

“Why didn’t you call me back, Hoseok?”

You’ve said it so quietly that he barely catches it.

When Hyunmin, his manager, had insisted he come to this event because his next project, it was a bit of a reluctant agreement on Hoseok’s part when he found out you were the main hostess. Since leaving town, he’d packed up all its memories, shoved them into a metaphorical basement, locked them up with a key and tossed that key to the bottom of a river called Not Dealing With Things. That included you. The whirlwind of the past ten years had done a good job of making sure that basement stayed locked.

So in his confidence he’d been prepared to show up, greet you, apologise, get over some initial awkwardness, make small talk - he’s handled worse. But he wasn’t prepared for you to be even more beautiful than he remembered. Doe eyed and glowing, lips curved into a charming smile, and dressed in a long silver gown that made it look like you were walking in a puddle of moonlight.

Maybe, even that he could handle, if all you offered him was that warm facade that you showed to everyone. But he certainly was not prepared for you looking at him with eyes as soft as the first time he met you.

He opens his mouth to explain himself, but then shuts it again, like he can’t find the right words or bring himself to spin up an excuse. You see his hesitation and suddenly your eyes are cold again and the shutters are up - he’s back to square one.

“Nevermind. Don’t tell me. I don’t care. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

Before he knows it, you’re spinning away in your moonlight dress, leaving him there alone.

He lets out a deep sigh and rubs a hand over his face. Stalks a straight line to the valet, taps his shoe impatiently as the driver gets his car, slides in without tipping anyone, and floors the pedal, heading for the highway.

He needs to get away.

__________________

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#joonclouds #POAW #hoseok #jung hoseok #hoseok fic #bts fic #hobi #hoseok fanfic #bts x reader

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snarkythewoecrow · 5 years ago

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Colors of the Soul

by: Snarkymuch

Rating: T

Characters: Tony Stark (Female Tony), Edwin Jarvis, Howard Stark, James Rhodes, Steve Rogers

Relationships: Tony & Edwin Jarvis, Tony & Rhodey, and Steve & Tony (can be read as pre-relationship)

Summary: Toni Stark's wings told the story of her life, just like everyone's did, but few lived a life like hers. The smallest action from the most unlikely person showed that there was always room for something better.

It was a Friday night when Antonia came into the world, her entrance unexpected and on her own terms, setting a precedent for the rest of her life. Though tiny and frail, her lungs were strong, her shrill cries loud and piercing, bringing everyone to attention around her.

Like every child born, she had beautiful white wings lying against her back, blank canvases that life would write upon, telling her story through colored feathers.

Wings were the windows to the soul, tapestries of life's lessons learned, both good and bad. Parents taught their children young how read a person’s feathers; each color and pattern had its own meaning. It was a universal language, spoken by all those with wings.

Within the first few moments of her life, it was clear Antonia would be burdened by hers, because as soon as the nurse told Howard that he had a daughter, deep blue feathers with flecks of black danced across the tops of her wings, following the lines of her lesser coverts—rejection settling over her like blanket she could never shed.

The nurses exchanged looks of concern, shielding the crying bundle from her father's hardened gaze as he stormed from the room.

Antonia Margaret Stark wasn’t going to let that stop her, though. She had determination in her soul, and it would soon show on her wings.

Rejected by her father, and with a mother that drank to cope, her care fell to the butler and his wife. Edwin and Ana Jarvis welcomed her with open arms, doing their best to guide her curious mind and give her the love she so desperately needed. It wasn't more than a day after meeting Toni that their devotion and love made itself known on her wings, the deepest of forest greens brushing against her father's rejection.

The shimmering gray of intelligence that crept across her plumage before she even learned to toddle came as no surprise. She may have been nothing like her father in spirit, but she had his mind.

She was four when she created her first circuit board, presenting it to her father only to be turned away—a few more feathers of rejection spread across her wings that day, but something else, too. A few yellow feathers of hope appeared as well. Because despite it all, she dreamed of her father's love and approval.

When she was seven, she built her first engine. She beamed with pride, so keen to impress her father that a few more brilliant yellow feathers weaved their way against the mass of rejection that already painted her wings.

She waited, watching timidly as he circled her creation. Her father's massive wings were on rare display, golden tipped black primaries shimmering in the light—a testimony to his narcissism.

Shaking his head, Howard nudged the spark plug wires, a biting smile twisting his face. "You should stick to your dolls—the placement of these is all wrong. You'll never be worth the Stark name."

She ran to her room, stretching her arms behind her, clawing at her wings, wanting to tear every last hopeful feather out.

Ana found her curled up on the floor of her room hours later, wings bloodied where she'd stripped the feathers. They'd regrow, but Toni would never let herself hope again. Around the raw wounds, feathers the color of blood, for righteous anger and resolve, spread outwards. Even when her wings healed, evidence of her misplaced hope would always remain.

The older woman knelt in front of her, ducking her head to try to see Toni's face. "Oh, sweet child, what have you done?"

Toni's tucked her chin to her chest and drew her wings tighter around herself, feathers twitching at the movement. "He'll never care, Ana—no matter what I do."

Ana rested a hand on Toni's head, thumb stroking her hair. "Your father isn't a kind man—life has hardened him. You can see it in his wings."

"Like the bad in mine?"

"Darling, your wings aren't bad."

Toni looked up through her lashes, meeting Ana's green eyes. "I don't want them. I hate my wings."

The woman sighed heavily and cupped Toni’s cheeks. “They are hard to look at sometimes, aren’t they? They show the truth—even if it’s painful to see. You know, I would pluck my feathers, too—during the war.”

Toni sniffed and looked up at her. “Really?”

Ana nodded. “Yes. It showed my sympathy for the oppressed, and that was a dangerous thing. I would rip them out in fear. Do you know what happened?”

Toni was silent for a moment before shaking her head.

“Nothing but pain. It hurts to pluck them, and doing so did nothing to stop the Nazis. It was a day much like today, my wings bleeding and stripped, tears on my face, that I decided to do something—to make a change, so I joined the war effort. What will you do?”

Toni glanced at the bloodied feathers scattered on the floor. Unseen to her, a new color blossomed along the edges of Ana's love—a vibrant purple, marking her with the deepest of determinations.

"I'm going to get back up—like Aunt Peggy taught me to do."

After that, Toni threw herself into studying, not letting her father's refusal to teach her stand in the way.

As time went by, the feathers of hope she'd plucked were slowly replaced. The ones that grew in their place were smaller, a little misshapen, but the message they conveyed was clear. The acidic green edged by lines of black flashed to the world the spite that fueled her.

When she turned eight, she walked into her father's workshop with a small robotic dog. She left with pieces and a stinging handprint on her cheek. Her mother caught her in the hallway, her eyes falling to the reddened mark. The woman pursed her lips, hand making an aborted gesture before it dropped back to her side.

Toni set her jaw, and even though there were tears in her eyes, she held her mother's gaze. The woman blinked, looking away and hurrying down the hall. Toni stood there, staring at the spot her mother had just been. She felt more empty and alone than she had in a long time.

Toni didn't check her wings that night—or the next. She didn't care. She didn't need to check to know that the red and black feathers of her mother’s betrayal had found a home on her wings.

The house was quiet after that, her father continuing his search for Captain America, her mother drinking alone in her room.

Toni spent most of her father's absence alone. She'd considered sneaking into his workshop but didn't dare. Even though she knew he was gone, his presence still seemed to lurk in the empty space.

Jarvis found her early on a Sunday, two weeks after her father had left. She was outside, throwing rocks at her mother's roses, knocking the blossoms free.

"May I ask what the flowers have done to deserve this?"

Toni's brow wrinkled as she turned the jagged stone in her hand, feeling its rough edges. She squinted up at him. "It's not like she ever leaves her room to see them."

Jarvis hummed knowingly, hands clasped in front of him. "You're angry with her."

Toni shrugged then drew her arm back, taking aim at another one of her mother's prize flowers. It was a direct hit, a few petals falling to the ground, joining the corpses of her earlier victims in the grass.

Jarvis squatted down, picking up a stone and weighing it in his hand before offering it to her.

Toni eyed the rock then looked to Jarvis's face. "What are you giving me that? Aren't you mad that I've destroyed them?"

"I won't deny that the flowers are beautiful and deserve the chance to bloom, but if this helps you, then take the stone."

Frowning, she looked between the stone and the bushes before settling her gaze back on Jarvis. It felt like a trick, him offering the rock, she considered for a moment before shaking her head. If she really thought about it, she knew that the flowers weren't at fault. "Please don't tell my mom."

Jarvis nodded, his fingers closing around the stone. "Would never think of it."

He never told her mother the truth of the flowers, even when his livelihood was threatened. Toni had heard her mother screeching at him, demanding answers, as Jarvis calmly explained that the local wildlife must have developed a taste for roses. Trust found a place in her lesser primaries that day, delicate pinks with edges of blue. They were feathers she would wear with pride.

Weeks passed before her father came home, and when he did, Toni knew enough to hide. He was always angry when he came back from his searches empty-handed and quick to lash out.

Toni was sneaking past the entrance to his study when she heard him snarl her name. She froze in her tracks, turning to see him through the open door. His wings loomed over his back, primaries nearly touching the floor. They were full of anger and vengeance, of death and regret. The dark colors and massive size made it feel like he owned the very air you breathed.

Toni's heart slammed against her ribcage as she met her father's eyes. It took all her courage to keep from averting her gaze.

"How much more of an invitation do you need? Get in here."

She watched as he finished his drink, turning to grab another and set it on the desk. All she could see were his huge wings, the gold edging on his primaries catching the light. His left wing twitched, feathers ruffling as he reached for another glass, turning it over and placing it beside his own.

Hands tightly balled in fists, she nudged the door open with her elbow and stepped inside. She moved to the middle of the room, keeping her distance from her father.

He picked up the decanter and filled each glass halfway. Picking them up, he turned and faced her. There was a tension in his features that spoke to his anger. He offered one of the glasses to her, holding it out expectantly. When she didn't move to take it, his mouth twitched, pulling tight, and he narrowed his eyes.

"It's time you learn what it means to be a Stark," he said, nodding to the glass. "Take the damn drink."

She tried to wet her lips, but her mouth was too dry. She eyed the drink then stepped forward, taking the glass from her father's hand. Drawing it close to her chest, she wrapped her fingers around beveled glass. The sharp and familiar smell made her nose twitch.

Her father kept his gaze on her as she held the glass. He raised a challenging brow, so she lifted it to her lips. The liquid burned her tongue as it entered her mouth, but she didn’t want to appear weak, so she suppressed a grimace and continued drinking, forcing it down. It made her stomach ache in a way she’d never felt before. It was warm but burned, too.

He nodded when she finished the glass. “Maybe there's hope for you yet.”

Jarvis found her later that night lying sick on her bed. When he'd gotten close enough to feel her head for fever, he'd drawn back, a frown on his face.

“Why don't you get under the covers, little miss. You'll feel better after some sleep," he said, helping her climb between the sheets.

She looked up at him with bleary eyes as she settled her head against the pillow. "Do you think he's proud of me?"

Jarvis brushed the hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. He smiled at her, but it didn't touch his eyes. He looked sad, and Toni didn't like it. She wondered what she’d done wrong.

He sighed. "I can’t speak for him, but I will always be proud of you, little miss.”

Toni's ninth birthday arrived, and with it, a ticket to boarding school. She finally had an escape, a place far away from her father's reach. Even Jarvis and Ana seemed relieved at the news, though it was clear they would miss her.

Time flew by quickly there, only occasionally coming home for visits. She was younger than the other students, but she thought of Ana and Jarvis and held her head high.

It wasn't until the crisp air of fall began to shift to the biting cold of winter a few years later that her world came crashing down.

The headmaster called her to the office. He was a portly man who took his job seriously. The conversation was short between them. Apparently, her mother had sent a message. Toni was to pack her things. She was coming home for a family emergency, but the message didn’t give any clue as to what the crisis was. It felt as though a dark shadow had wrapped around her, weighing her down with dread.

It didn’t take long to gather her things and arrive home. When she reached the door, her mother didn't greet her—Jarvis did. One look at his face and Toni knew something terrible had happened. Emotional, her control over her wings slipped, and they arched up, instinctively flexing as if warding off whatever awful thing was about to come.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “What’s happened?”

There were tears in Jarvis’s eyes as he knelt before her, hand brushing back her hair. "I wish I had better news, little miss, but it's Ana.” He paused. “She's passed."

The air felt too thin, and her chest heaved. It felt like great claws were tearing her ribcage apart. It couldn’t be true. Her head began to spin, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the dizziness. Ana promised to be there. She couldn’t be gone.

Tears pricked her eyes, and she furiously wiped away her tears. "No! No! She's not gone!"

Jarvis shook his head, a tear slipping down his cheek. He placed his hands on her shoulders. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

Her hands balled into fists. "You're lying! You said you'd never lie to me!"

He reached out and pulled her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm so sorry. I wish it wasn’t true."

As he held her, the grief and loss painted her wings in speckled gray feathers, a permanent reminder of the first person she’d ever lost.

xXx

Another year found her in college, accelerating through the grades. It was more isolating than high school had been, all her peers older by years. It wasn’t all bad, though. It was in the halls on her second day that she met someone who would become the best friend she never had. Toni was walking to a lecture when an older student cat-called her. It made her immediately stiffen and clench her fists, but before she could spin around and give him a piece of her mind, another voice intervened. “Watch your mouth!”

She turned and looked to see a man taller than her with dark skin pinning the guy to the wall.

“Chill, I was only having a little fun,” the guy said, struggling.

Her unknown knight tightened his hold and leaned in closer, eyes narrowing and face twisting in a snarl. “She’s just a kid, you fuck. I see you around her again, and you can kiss having your own kids goodbye.”

The guy nodded, and her rescuer let him go, eyeing him as he scurried down the hall. When he a distance away, the man turned to Toni and nodded, a small smile touching his lips. “Hey, sorry about that. Some guys can be jerks.”

Toni bit her lip, chewing it for a moment. She could have handled it, but it was nice that this guy had helped. No one other than Jarvis and Ana had looked after her before. “Thanks, so do you have a name, or would you rather something like Lancelot since you came in like a knight in shining armor to protect me?”

He snorted and walked up to her, extending a hand. “Name’s James Rhodes, and I know who you are. I think everyone does.”

The corner of her mouth tugged up in a smirk. “Nice to meet you, Rhodey.”

He raised a brow. “Rhodey?”

She shrugged, shifting her bag on her shoulder. “James is too formal, and you don’t look like a Jim. Rhodey seemed like a good compromise.”

He shook his head, scratching at the barely-there stubble on his cheek. “Okay,” he chuckled. “How about I walk you to class? Keep the fair maiden safe.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t need any help keeping safe.”

It wasn’t long before their friendship grew, and soon it showed on her feathers. A few soft pink feathers touched by blue, like those she carried for Jarvis, peppered in amongst the other colors.

“Do you ever show your wings?” Rhodey asked one night as they took a break from studying. “I mean, you always keep them tight to your back like your ashamed or something.”

Toni tapped her pen against the open book in front of her and shrugged a shoulder.

“People already say a lot about me. I don’t need to give them more ammunition.”

Rhodey's brow wrinkled as he studied. “You know I wouldn’t care, right?”

She pressed her lips together, considering his words. “The first thing most people see is my father’s rejection. I can’t hide that.”

“Just means Howard’s a dick.”

She snorted. “I guess it does.”

They didn't talk anymore about wings again that night.

xXx

It wasn't until years later that death would touch her wings, just not in the way most would imagine. She was home, visiting Jarvis, when the call came. There had been an accident, and her parents were dead. Drunk driving. Like she ever expected anything different from her father.

Unlike when Ana passed, Toni's wings didn't gain the speckled gray feathers of loss. Instead, betrayal and anger flitted across the edges of her wings. The loss of her parents caused a storm of emotion that she couldn’t control. To ease the pain, she turned to the one thing she learned from her father—how to drink. She buried her twisted feelings under the numbing balm of alcohol.

xXx

The universe was cruel, and soon after her parent’s death, Jarvis passed in his sleep. It felt like her heart was torn from his ribcage, much like it had when Ana had died. New gray and black feathers fit in beside those of Ana's passing, nestled together, a reminder of those that had helped shape who she was. They were forever a reminder to be better.

Except she didn’t do better—not always.

The world was a blur after she lost Jarvis, drowned in alcohol and drugs. Obadiah guided her, putting her degrees to use. She created the weapons the world wanted and partied any chance she got. It was easiest to not connect, to pretend not to care. Other than Rhodey, no one got too close.

At twenty-one, she stood with Obadiah and took her place at Stark Industries. Some thought it would be a mistake, and their uncertainty showed in the stocks, but her genius proved them wrong. When it came to creating, she was unparalleled, creating weapons that left carnage in their wake, a true Merchant of Death.

Obadiah insisted she get an assistant. After many false starts, Toni met her match, a no-nonsense redhead that put her in her place. The woman’s wings shouted that she bowed to no man. Pepper took no bullshit and cut off all of her advances. The woman pushed when others would pull. It was precisely what Toni needed.

When Toni stood in the desert of Afghanistan, arms held high as the hills exploded behind her, something in her wings changed. As she demonstrated her weapons, a cocky smirk on her face, her primaries changed. Just like her father, gold-tipped black feathers of narcissism colored her wings.

The Fun-Vee didn’t turn out that fun, and she as she lay there on the ground, blood blossoming from wounds on her chest, she wasn’t afraid. Her thoughts went to Ana and Jarvis, and she smiled as she closed her eyes.

Death didn’t take her, though. Flashes of pain and glimpses of faces, the sound of someone screaming, it passed in a blur. When she awoke with a battery attached to her chest and a man named Yinsen at her side, she was angry, and it showed on her wings. Colors no one wanted blurred into her feathers, contrasting sharply with the love, faith, and determination.

“You will build us our missile,” said one of the men, a rifle on his shoulder.

Toni narrowed her eyes at him. Her mouth tasted like dirt and copper, and she spat on the ground. Ropes tied her wrists in front of her, and her wings were bound behind her back. Blood dripped from them, and the acrid smell of burnt feathers and flesh filled the air.

Most of the torture had taken place on her wings and back, burning away skin and feathers alike. Toni didn’t even want to imagine what they’d look like if she survived. The feathers would never regrow the same through the scars, and as for the colors—she didn’t want to think what her plumage would say now.

She gritted her teeth as they tore her primaries out, throwing them at the ground where she knelt. When her eyes caught the gold and black of narcissism, laughter bubbled up inside her. They didn’t know it, but they were doing her a favor. The last thing she wanted was to die with the same colors as her father.

She had almost given up, almost thrown in the towel and let the pain win, when something changed her mind. Maybe it was her determination that shone so bright or the righteous anger that covered her feathers, but when one of the men laughed, calling her a just another pretty face with no mind, something solidified in her. She might not be her father, and she didn’t want to be her mother, but she sure as hell was not some girl who was going to let them win.

Slamming her weight against the ropes that held her wings, she snapped at the men. “You want a weapon? I’ll build you your weapon.”

The men considered her for a moment before the leader nodded.

“Take her to the doctor, have him see to her wounds.” He turned to her, his face dirty and sweaty. His smell bit her nose. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

Toni blew her falling bangs from her face and smirked. “You have no idea.”

The took her back to Yinsen, who saw to her wounds. Each dab against the raw wounds made her grit her teeth. Thankfully, it didn’t take long, not because the damage was light, but because there was just little to do. The burns were severe and would leave scars behind. The worst of the damage was over the first color she ever gained. The speckled blue of her father’s rejection. Toni didn’t know how to feel about that. In a way, it made the ugly even worse to look at, but in another, at least the love of Ana and Jarvis had been spared.

“I have cleaned the burns, but they will scar,” Yinsen said.” The feathers—the feathers will never regrow the same.”

Toni’s face hardened. “That’s fine. It wasn’t like they were a reminder of good things.”

“Can I ask who?” Yinsen said, taking his supplies and putting them back on the table.

Toni knew what he meant. Everyone wondered how someone so young had wings like hers.

“My father mostly. There was never any doubt he didn’t want me.”

Yinsen was quiet as he wiped his hands on a dirty cloth. “I’m sorry to hear that. Family is a precious thing—or it should be.”

“I’ll get you back to your family,” Toni said. “I promise you I will.”

And amongst all the scars and pain, for the first time since she was a child, yellow bloomed across her wings, hope in the darkest of places.

xXx

Her wings were draped over her back when she fell to her knees in the desert, throwing up a peace sign to Rhodey. If he was shocked to see her wings so damaged, he never said. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

“Next time you ride with me, princess.”

She snorted, fingers clutching the fabric of his uniform, her head resting on his shoulder. “You always were my knight in shining armor.”

He pressed a kiss to her head and helped her to the chopper. After a whirlwind of doctors and nurses, Toni covered her wings with a shroud and went home, looking ahead as she remembered Yinsen’s dying words to not waste her life.

xXx

Obadiah turned on her, and she killed him. Betrayal clustered around the spite on his wings.

xXx

Despite not being recommended, the Avengers were formed, and Toni kept her wings shrouded, though curious eyes watched her. The Captain didn’t like her from the start, but she didn’t care. She’d met people like him before, people stuck in the past. It was clear what he thought of her. He could take his pristine wings and shove it.

She flew the nuke into the wormhole, proving them all wrong.

The suit covered her wings, so there was no chance anyone would see them. Even if she left her suit, she still kept them wrapped and shrouded. It wasn’t that she was ashamed. She just didn’t want the pitying looks. Though the world had come a long way, people still read your feathers and made snap judgments. She didn’t want to think what someone would think after reading hers. There was so much betrayal and rejection, so much anger. And the scars from Afghanistan littered her wings. Highlighting what a mess she was.

The Avengers had settled into the tower after Loki was returned to Asgard with Thor. She wasn’t sure why she offered them a place to live, maybe deep down she felt alone.

Bruce, with his massive onyx wings, settled into the room he gave him and thanked her for the lab. If there was anyone she could relate to, it was Bruce. His wings shouted death. Ever since the accident that turned him into the Hulk, his wings had been black as night. It set most people on edge, but it didn’t bother Toni. She knew what it was like to have wings you wanted to hide.

Clint and Natasha both accepted their rooms but made themselves scarce. Clint��s wings were a picture of rejection, anger, and pain, not that different than her own. Natasha’s were hard to look at it. It was clear that from a young age, she never felt the love of a family.

Then there was Steve, and his enormous wings, wings painted with warmth and love, except for the grief that laid like a blanket over them, dripping down the feathers. The grief wasn’t there in his early pictures from the war. It was new, something that had changed after he was thawed from the ice. Toni supposed she could understand. He’d lost everything he knew, but that didn’t give him an excuse for being such a dick.

Toni was in her workshop, working on calibrating the suit, when the door to her lab opened. The music dimmed, and she looked up, huffing when she saw it was Steve.

His wings twitched, arching up slightly before settling back down.

Shaking her head, Toni returned to her calibrations.

“Toni, can we talk?” Steve asked.

Toni slapped her hands onto the workbench, dropping her head as she sighed. A few stray strands of hair fell into her eyes, and she blew them out of the way. Turning, she leaned against the workbench and appraised Steve.

“What’s up, Capsicle?”

Steve face soured at the nickname, and his wings ruffled. “I feel like we should clear the air. It’s been months since we all moved in, but we rarely see you. Is it something I’ve done? Something we’ve done?”

Toni rolled her eyes, turning back to her project. She waved a hand at him. “Everything’s peachy keen, Cap. I’m just a busy woman. Got a lot on my plate.”

“Oh, so it’s not—I mean, I know we didn’t start off on the best of terms.”

Toni thought back to their confrontation on the carrier and snorted. Maybe she was bitter about things. Her father had spent his life searching for Steve. She lived in his shadow. It almost seemed fitting in some cruel way that Steve wouldn’t judge her worthy.

“Water under the bridge,” Toni said.

Steve left soon after, and Toni slumped against the workbench. What was she doing, letting them all move in with her? Pepper had warned her it wasn’t a good idea, but Toni was feeling magnanimous, and maybe the brush with death had changed something in her, though it didn’t show on her wings.

Over the next few weeks, Steve stopped by her workshop a few times, each time bringing something with him, usually a snack, and once dinner. It was nice, but she didn’t know what to make of it. It was easier when people kept their distance. She had enough people in her circle, and she didn’t want to add more. But over the weeks, she found herself softening to his approach. Instead of greeting with a grunt and a scowl, she offered a small smile. Steve’s face seemed to light up at the gesture, and Toni found herself chasing that little high.

They’d just gotten back from a rough mission, fighting some terrorist cell, and Toni had spent way too long in the suit. Her wings itched, needing to be stretched and preened. She retreated down to her workshop and unwrapped her wings, letting them stretch. A few stray feathers fell to the floor. Rhodey was the only one that Toni trusted to preen her wings, but he was busy, so she was just going to have to do it herself.

Sitting on one of the stools with her back to the door, she reached around and tried to pull her wing out. She worked on the left one first, where most of the damage from Afghanistan lay. She ran her fingers through the downy under feathers, trying to unknot them. They were tangled and damp with sweat from being wrapped for so long.

She didn’t hear the door to her workshop open, but she heard the suck of breath behind her.

She nearly toppled out of the chair as she got to her feet, turning to hide her wings.

It was Steve. Of course, it was.

Her jaw tightened, and her wings arched up against her will. “Ever heard of knocking?”

“Your wings.” He seemed to be struggling for words. “Who—who did that to you?”

“The scars? Those were courtesy of my stay in the cave. I’m sure you’ve read my file.”

Steve shook his head. “Not the scars, everything else.”

Toni ruffled her wings, and she looked away. “I wasn’t Howard’s favorite. Guess you could say he never wanted a daughter.”

She heard Steve let out a controlled breath, and she glanced over. His hands were flexing in and out of fists. “I’m sorry—I know people can change, but he wasn’t like that when I knew him.”

“Lucky you.”

Steve nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His eyes fell to the feathers on the floor and then flicked back to Toni. He was quiet from a moment while he seemed to consider something. “Do you have anyone to help you? Pepper maybe?”

Toni frowned. “No—I mean, I have Rhodey, but he’s busy. It’s not a big deal.”

“No offense, Toni, but I saw your wings.”

“Unless you’re offering, there isn’t any else for us to talk about. You know the way out.”

Steve’s head tilted just a hair. “Maybe I am offering.”

Toni drew back a bit, not expecting the reply. “To be clear we're talking about the same thing, what exactly are you saying?”

Steve's expression softened. “I want to help you, Toni. I’m offering to preen your wings.”

Toni nodded a few times, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Right, I guess you’ve already seen them and haven’t run for the hills.”

“I would never.”

“They’re even worse up close. The scarring is nasty.”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

Tony nodded again. “Right, yeah, well, I’ll just sit then.”

Steve smiled, and it unfurled something in her heart. She sat back down on the stool and turned, so her wings were facing him. A moment later, Toni heard a chair being dragged across the floor, and she felt someone brush her wings, making her jump.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked. “Can I start?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine—do this kind of thing all the time. Perfectly normal. Doing great.”

“Breathe, Toni. I won’t start until you’re ready.”

She adjusted her wings, letting the tension drop from her shoulders. Taking a steadying breath, she said, “I’m good, really, go ahead. Just be careful around the left wing. You can probably see—the scarring is bad. The feathers grow wrong and get sore.”

“I’ll be careful.”

And then Toni felt the first light touch, up high near the rejection from her father. Wasn’t that something? The man that her father had spent his life searching for was preening the wings of the daughter he’d loathed.

Toni waited for Steve to ask questions, to comment on her feathers, but he stayed quiet, fingers slowly working over her plumage. She could feel the light tug as he zipped the feathers between his fingers, sealing them back up. He got a sore spot on her left wing, and she winced as he tugged a feather free, rubbing the spot after.

“Sorry, it needed to come out,” Steve explained. “It looked infected. When was the last time someone preened your wings?”

Toni shrugged, keeping her gaze on the floor. “Rhodey’s been busy. I didn’t have anyone else.”

“Well, you do now.”

Steve smoothed the feathers, and then his hands came to a stop, resting near the lesser coverts. Toni frowned, wondering why he’d pause over the rejection that rested there. Her wings twitched up as she felt his fingers tracing down.

“I’ve never seen it happen before,” Steve said in awe.

Toni sat up straighter, turning to look over her shoulder but unable to see what Steve saw. “What?”

Steve was smiling, his fingers still tracing the feathers. “They just appeared.” He pressed so she could feel it. “They’re the softest blue and pink I’ve ever seen.”

Trust. Tony sucked in a breath, realizing that somewhere along the line, she’d grown to trust Steve. She’d let another person into her small circle.

“They’re yours,” Toni said, then cleared her throat. “I mean, I trust you.”

Steve’s fingers traced over the feathers again. “I’m glad.”

#female tony stark #tony stark #steve rogers #wingfic #snark writes

30 notes · View notes

iamthegaysmurf · 5 years ago

Note

18. walking home, for the soft™ prompts :)

36. giggling during sex

—–

Well, well, well. If it isn’t two months later, and I finally finished this last remaining set of prompts. I have no excuse for myself. Only apologies to @tinygay-haught and this anon, who have been waiting for this prompt fill for way too long.

I am so very sorry. :(

The good news is, my Angst-O-Meter apparently had enough time to reset, so your angst scale is set to zero for this one. It is 100% soft and gooey fluff.

((And also some, uh… other stuff… *clears throat* Let’s just say that this one is definitely not suitable for being read in the workplace setting. So, uh… Have fun with that.))

ANYWAY…….

I really am sorry it took so long, but I hope you’re still able to enjoy it anyway.

—–

Set during the nineteen-week time jump between the end of S2 and the beginning of S3. (On the 8th of September, to be exact.)

—–

“I can’t believe we already have snow by my birthday.”

“One of the perks of living in Canada.”

Technically, Nicole will admit that getting this much snow so early in September is a little out of the ordinary, even by Canadian standards. But she doesn’t really care. She still considers it a perk, anyway. She’s always felt like the first snow of the year seemed to hold some sort of magic.

And now that she lives in Purgatory…

Well. You never know.

Maybe it actually is magical.

“Ugh. It is not a perk,” Waverly whines, shivering a little when they leave Shorty’s behind and step out into the crisp night air.

Nicole instinctively lifts her arm, allowing Waverly to snuggle underneath it as they begin to walk along the deserted sidewalk. It may be the first snow of the season, but it’s certainly making an entrance, acting like it has something to prove. It hasn’t let up since it started yesterday morning, and there are places where the drifts are already halfway up the buildings.

The municipal workers have done their best to try and keep up with it, but truth be told, none of the departments were quite prepared for such dramatic weather to hit seemingly out of nowhere. With everyone in leaf-raking mode, they were still busy making sure the various burning ordinances were plainly marked around town.

Needless to say, there are several roads and sidewalks that haven’t been plowed and salted yet. Nicole makes a mental note to start working on a more advanced action plan so that they’re better prepared before the next time.

But in the meantime, she closes her eyes and listens to the untouched snow crunching under her boots and tries to fight the giddiness that creeps into her chest with every step she takes.

“Most definitely a perk,” she says with a grin, leaning down to kiss the tip of Waverly’s nose, barely visible beneath the giant scarf she has wrapped around her neck.

“Give me a hot summer afternoon any day over this,” Waverly grumbles, kicking out at a snowdrift that’s settled against one of the buildings they’re walking past. It explodes in a cloud of soft white powder, glinting in the streetlight like a wintery glitterbomb.

Nicole can’t help but giggle as it blows back in their faces, something warm spiking through her ribs when Waverly looks up at her, nose crinkled and freshly fallen flakes caught in her long lashes. She loses the ability to take another step for a moment as she stands there watching Waverly, the silvery moonlightcatching the flakes in her hair and her lashes and the soft wool of her coat, making her glow with an almost ethereal light, as though she just stepped straight out of heaven, halo and all.

“What?” Waverly finally asks, tilting her head slightly.

“Nothing,” Nicole mumbles, shaking herself out of her stupor. “You only like the summertime because ninety percent of your wardrobe is made up of crop tops and miniskirts,” she jokes as they begin walking again.

“Are you complaining?” Waverly asks, raising an eyebrow that tells Nicole she’d better be careful when choosing her next words.

“N-no…” she stutters, the red in her cheeks having nothing to do with the sharp cold in the air.

“Mmhmm.” Wavelry smirks and nudges Nicole in the ribs with her elbow. “Why do you like the snow so much, anyway? It’s so cold.” She shivers again, for good measure.

“It’s not about being cold,” Nicole laughs, bundling Waverly a little closer into her side. “Though, that certainly doesn’t hurt.”

Waverly swats at her again, but Nicole just catches her hand and uses it to twirl her around before pulling her back in.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Nicole says, closing her eyes and turning her face up into the falling snow while she thinks. “I guess it’s like…” She looks back down at Waverly again. “Like a clean slate. Sort of a fresh start.”

Confusion knits Waverly’s brow as she waits for Nicole to continue.

“When there’s a fresh snow on the ground, still untouched by animals and footprints and salt trucks, everything just seems so… pure and white.” She shrugs one shoulder, a little embarrassed, but Waverly is listening intently, so she tries to keep explaining. “Everything is so… muted. And it’s like… It’s like the world is standing still. Like there’s no monsters or curses or shitty childhoods. Just… everything is calm and peaceful, and for just that one moment, the world is a better place.”

Nicole is about to ask if that makes any kind of sense, but before she can get a word out, Waverly grabs her by the scarf and drags her down into a heated kiss. It lasts long enough that they end up against the nearby wall, Nicole’s hands flat on the bricks with Waverly bracketed between her arms, clutching tightly at the lapels of Nicole’s navy blue peacoat to keep her close.

Nicole finally pulls away, her chest heaving, thick puffs of white smoke curling up around her face like some kind of ice dragon.

“What was that for?” she asks, breathless.

“Just for being you,” Waverly whispers back, struggling a bit with her own breath.

Nicole leans in and kisses her again, both of them lost in their own little world as the snow falls silently around them, completely forgetting that Nicole is pinning Waverly to a brick wall right out on the main street.

That is, until a voice rings out from a few blocks down, echoing through the empty night.

“Can’t you horndogs even wait ‘til you get home?”

They jump apart, like a couple of teenagers who just got caught by a teacher while making out behind the gym, both of them stuttering in unison.

“It’s not what it–”

“We were just–”

“Yeah, I know what you were just…” Wynonna cuts them off, cackling. Her words are slurred, but her tone is playful rather than harsh, clearly drawing enjoyment from their discomfort.

“Okay, Earp. That’s enough,” another, deeper voice joins hers. “Let’s leave them alone now,” Dolls says, stepping out through the doorway of the saloon.

“Awww…” Wynonna pouts, sticking her bottom lip out like a petulant child. “But it’s so fun to watch ‘em squirm!”

“I know.” Dolls smirks and looks up at Nicole with a wink. Her blush deepens, and she wonders if there is actual steam rising off of her face in the cold night air. “But it’s time to get you home now.”

He begins trying to herd her toward his massive SUV, parked across the street, but she twirls away out of his reach and starts heading down the sidewalk in the opposite direction, stomping her feet through the deep snow like a kid pretending to be an abominable snowman.

“Earp. What. Are you doing.” Dolls lets out an exasperated sigh and trudges after her.

“I’m walkin’ home!” she replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the goddamn world. “Flatfoot over there can’t arrest me for DUI if I’m not drivin’ anything!”

“No, but I could still get you for public intoxication!” Nicole calls after her with a grin, finally finding her voice again.

Waverly laughs brightly, watching Dolls try to wrangle Wynonna while she continues to weave and totter just out of his reach. She rests her head against Nicole’s shoulder and slips her hand into Nicole’s. It’s more like a paw than a hand, really. A giant woolen paw. Nicole has wondered many times how Waverly is able to pick up or hold anything with her hands inside those ridiculously huge woolen mittens.

Dolls eventually catches Wynonna, wrapping his thick arms around her middle and trapping her arms against her waist. He lifts her entirely off the ground frombehind and starts hauling her toward the cab of his vehicle, while she kicks her legs and curses at him through intermittent bouts of giggles.

“Happy Birthday, Little Earp,” he calls back over his shoulder once he has her safely inside, and then climbs up into the driver’s seat next to her. Waverly raises one of her woolen paws and waves as he pulls the door shut.

He pulls away, his powerful four-wheel drive churning through the ice and snow of the unplowed street with no trouble at all, and the two of them stand there and watch until the red of the taillights finally fades in the distance.

“So,” Nicole breathes, turning to face Waverly. There’s a smile on her face that lights up the entire street. “Where were we, Miss Earp?”

“I believe you were taking me home, Officer Haught.” Waverly waggles her eyebrows playfully and begins tugging Nicole forward again.

“It is pretty cold out here,” Nicole says, her feet remaining planted. “I think Coop is on dispatch tonight. Do you want me to call him and have him send one of the boys to come and give us a ride?”

Waverly stops pulling on Nicole’s arm and seems to consider this.

“As nice as the party for my birthday was that you and Wynonna insisted on planning…” Waverly pauses for a moment, and Nicole notices a shadow of something pass over her face. But then it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, and Waverly is focused on Nicole again. “I think I’d rather just enjoy the peace andquiet with you after all of that, instead of dealing with Lonnie right now.”

“You sure?” Nicole asks, running her hands up and down Waverly’s arms, trying to make sure she’s warm enough.

“As long as you don’t mind walking me home.” Waverly smiles up at her and loops her arm through Nicole’s. “And if you promise to be my bonus blanket when we get there.”

Home.

Nicole knows that the homestead will always be Waverly’s true home. As it should be, considering the protection the ammolite bedrock provides. Nicolehas been spending more and more time at the homestead, and there’s even been some recent talk – most surprisingly from Wynonna – of Nicole moving some of her things over there after what happened with Widow Mercedes at her house just over three months ago.

But every time Waverly casually refers to Nicole’s place as home, whether she realizes she’s doing it or not, Nicole can’t help the warmth that spreads through her limbs.

Waverly considers it her space, too.

She thinks of me as home.

Nicole shakes her head when she realizes Waverly is staring at her with an amused look on her face. She must have been zoning out for a few seconds, and failed to respond to Waverly’s question. Her cheeks burn, and she feels the falling snowflakes melt against them as they fall.

“I’ll be your bonus blanket any time you want.”

I’ll be your bonus blanket for the rest of our lives.

Waverly beams and squeezes her arm, and together, they start off down the street again.

“So, you’re twenty-two now. How do you feel? Any different?” Nicole asks as they walk down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace, kicking at piles of snow as they go and ignoring the cold, focusing instead on the warmth that they draw from each other.

“Not really,” Waverly snorts, shrugging.

She’s quiet for a few minutes after that, and Nicole can tell that she’s contemplating something, so she gives her the time to work through it, just continuing to hold on to her arm like a steadfast escort.

“It’s weird,” Waverly says, apropos of nothing.

“What is?” Nicole asks, curious to see where this will go.

“Last year, I was just a girl working in a bar, obsessed with a curse that may or may not have been the figment of a six-year-old’s imagination. My family was dead, my sister was gone, Shorty and Curtis – and Gus, of course – were the closest thing to family I had left. I was stuck in a loop of living the same routine day in and day out, dating a boy-man, and wondering if anyone would ever truly see me.”

Nicole stops and turns to face Waverly, her gloved hand coming up to cup Waverly’s cheek gently.

“And now?”

Waverly leans into Nicole’s touch and huffs out a short laugh.

“A year ago, I was blowing out a candle on a cupcake that I made for myself, up in my apartment above the bar. Alone.” She reaches out and bats absentmindedly at the end of Nicole’s scarf with her mitten-paw. “But tonight, I had a birthday party – the first real one I’ve ever had in my entire life – and everyone came.”

Nicole strokes her cheek and waits for her to continue.

“Shorty and Curtis may be gone, and Gus may be away with Alice, but now I have a new family. Jeremy and Dolls and Doc. Wynonna is back home, and we’re a team, and we’re the kind of sisters I always used to dream about being when I was little.”

Waverly’s paws climb up the front of Nicole’s coat and over her shoulders, until they’re draped behind her neck.

“And you,” Waverly says, tugging Nicole down until she can reach her face. “Now I have you, and I never want to be without you again.”

Nicole sinks forward into the kiss that Waverly pulls her into, but her mind spirals off in a thousand different directions. She knows Waverly isn’t ready to say theactual words yet, but she’s also smart enough to know what these words mean. Waverly is telling Nicole that she loves her in the only way she knows how to right now, and Nicole will never get tired of hearing it.

“I may not know what I am…” Waverly whispers, ducking her head a little when she pulls out of the kiss. She swallows hard a couple of times and then finally looks back up at Nicole. “But I think I finally know who I am. And that’s thanks to you and Wynonna.”

Her expression goes softer, and Nicole melts a little at the earnest look in her eyes.

“So, even though we’ve had to deal with a bunch of shit-tickets and… and a bunch of other crappy stuff…” A bit of sheepishness creeps into her voice,but she ignores it and pushes up on her toes to press a quick kiss to Nicole’scheek. “I think it’s still been a pretty fudging good year.”

Nicole can’t contain herself any longer. She sweeps Waverly up into her arms and twirls her around, kissing the snowflakes off of her nose and cheeks andeyelashes.

“I think it’s been a pretty fudging good year, too,” she says, setting Waverly down carefully and then kissing her properly. It lingers, turning into something deeper and more urgent, until they both pull away, panting in the cold air.

“Nicole,” Waverly whispers, hot against her ear, still a little breathless. “Take me home.”

“As you wish,” she whispers back, and Waverly’s eyes shine. Nicole never gets tired of seeing this kind of reaction any time she quotes Waverly’s favorite movie.

The final few blocks to Nicole’s house pass by in a haze of longing looks and roaming hands and stolen kisses that have no trouble warding off the winter chill. The falling snow continues to blanket the ground around them, and Nicole feels a little bit like one of those picturesque happy couples destined to live an eternity inside the happiest moment of their lives, captured inside the safety of a snow globe’s protective bubble forever.

Waverly waits impatiently behind her as Nicole fumbles with the keys at her front door. Her hands are cold, but her insides are burning, and there are too many sensations at once for her to keep her fingers steady. She pauses and takes a deep breath before tugging her gloves off and trying again without their bulkiness adding to the difficulty.

Just as the key turns in the lock and she’s about to push the door open, something thumps against the back of her head, exploding in a cloud of white powder around her face. Less than a second later, clumps of slushy snow begin to slip beneath her collar, slithering down the bare skin of her back. She yelps and wiggles clumsily, trying to get it out, but it’s no use; the ice is trapped underseveral layers of clothing, and Nicole has no choice but to tough it out.

The giggles coming from behind her cause her to spin around on her heel, but before she can even take a single step, another snowball hits her right in the chest, splattering flecks of snow across her cheeks and nose. She squints through the flakes caught in her eyelashes and spots Waverly, doubled over with laughter, about ten feet away, in the middle of her front yard.

Leaping off the front porch, Nicole skips over the steps entirely and lands in the knee-deep snow beneath, weighing her options in the moment. She could easily retaliate by scooping up handfuls of snow and hurling it back at her girlfriend, but then her eyes land on the snowdrift that’s piled up around the nearby tree – several feet deep and only a few steps away from where Waverly now stands.

Waverly immediately freezes, her eyes going wide and her lips parting with an audible gasp.

A deer caught in the headlights.

Prey.

A positively wicked grin curls Nicole’s lips as she begins to stalk forward, and Waverly throws up her bare hands in exaggerated surrender. She must have shed her woolen paws in favor of packing a more perfect snowball.

Nicole continues to advance, and Waverly stumbles backward a couple of steps, the quiet of the night broken by a shrill litany of no, no, please, no muffling out through her bunched up scarf.

But it’s too late. Her fate is already sealed.

Nicole lunges forward, and Waverly doesn’t even come close to dodging in time. She wraps her arms around Waverly’s body, giant puffy coat and all, and then gravity seems to shift, tipping them both sideways as they topple into the mountain of powder with a soft squelch.

It’s almost drowned out by the squeals and peals of laughter.

Almost.

Waverly twists and bucks, but Nicole allows the length of her body to work to her advantage, keeping Waverly pinned easily despite the amount of snow she’s flinging about with her flailing arms.

She can feel the cold soaking in through her jeans, and her gloveless hands are numb, but Nicole doesn’t care, because Waverly Earp is beneath her and her laughter sounds like angels singing and she can see her entire future reflected back at her in those gleaming hazel eyes.

Overcome with a swell of emotion, Nicole dips her head and finds Waverly’s lips, cold and wet and eager to meld with hers. Waverly’s squirming stills, and her flailing arms come to rest around Nicole’s neck, desperately pulling her in closer.

Nicole gets so lost in the kiss – and all of the thoughts racing through her head that involve far fewer layers of clothing between them – that when Waverly arches up against her, Nicole willingly allows her to flip them over in the soft bank of snow. Waverly continues to kiss her for a few moments, deliberately grinding down against her hip, but then the next thing Nicole knows, two giant handfuls of snow have been scooped up over her face and Waverly’s weight hasdisappeared.

She sputters for a second, spitting out mouthfuls of snow, and wipes at her face as she hears Waverly’s boots thumping across the wooden planks of the front porch before disappearing into the house, her giggles still echoing in the night.

Big, fat flakes continue to fall overhead, coming to rest on her peacoat and her scarf and her jeans that are soaked through. Nicole watches them gather for a few moments, thinking about everything that has happened since the last time she experienced a “first snow of the year.” Before learning about the Curse. Before finding herself a new family. Before she had Waverly.

It feels like a lifetime ago, and Nicole doesn’t know how she ever thought she was alive without all of these things in her life – both the good and the bad.

She wouldn’t give it up for all of the normal in the world.

Once she feels like she’s given Waverly a big enough head start, Nicole pulls herself up out of the snow and begins making her way into the house, unsure of what she might find there.

To her delight, she’s greeted by a trail that starts with snow-packed boots that were discarded on the rug by the door and continues all the way up the stairs, one article of clothing at a time.

Nicole grins and pulls off her own boots after making sure the door is locked and the keys are safely on the hook that hangs next to the coatrack.

Two can play at this game.

By the time she makes it to the top of the stairs, she’s lost her coat and scarf and hat and sweater and socks along the way. She reaches the door to her bedroom wearing only her damp jeans and bra, and she’s about to stroll inside with a swagger in her hips and a quip on her tongue, but what she finds waiting for her steals the breath right out of her lungs instead.

Waverly is completely naked.

Sprawled out on her bed, propped up on her elbow with her head resting in one of her hands and the other hand trailing up and down her hip and thigh, her fingers dancing over the goosebumps left in the wake of the light touch.

Completely naked.

Nicole can’t do anything but stare.

“Finally decided to join me?” Waverly practically purrs. Her voice is low and warm and filled with the promise of so many things to come.

When Nicole remains frozen in place, her mouth hanging open dumbly, Waverly chuckles softly and rolls off of her elbow, sprawling more fully across the rest of the bed. With fire in her eyes and a deliberate motion, she crooks a finger at Nicole, summoning her to the bed like some kind of siren’s song.

The spinning gears in Nicole’s brain finally catch and click into place, sending it whirring into overdrive. She hastily unhooks her bra and yanks it down her arms, not paying attention to where it lands. Her jeans prove to be more of a challenge, still soaked from the snow and clinging to her damp skin. It’s all she can do to keep her balance as she struggles to peel them down her legs until she can eventually kick them the rest of the way off.

Finally bare, a shiver works its way out through her limbs and all the way down to her numb fingertips. It could be the chill in her bones working its way out as her clammy skin tries to catch up to the soft warmth of the room around her, though Nicole thinks it’s far more likely the result of the smoldering look being leveled in her direction.

But the reason isn’t important because the only thing that matters right now is Waverly.

Waverly, Waverly, Waverly.

Muscles pulled taut with anticipation, rippling slightly beneath smooth bronze skin. Wavy hair cascading around her shoulders and across her chest, rising and falling rapidly, her breasts swaying with each breath, nipples tight and standing proud. Spread open before her, glistening with need, desire hanging thickly in the air between them.

Truly a vision to behold.

Nicole tries to say so, but her mouth is so dry, the words stick in her throat. She licks her lips and tries again, but her tongue is too thick and too clumsy and the words trip over it on the way out, falling from her mouth in a jumble.

Before Nicole can remember how to take another step closer to the bed, Waverly’s hands begin to roam over her own body.

“Well, if you’re just gonna stand there and watch all night…” she trails off with a smirk as her fingertips dance lower and lower down her abdomen. She gasps softly when they finally dip into slick folds, and Nicole feels so lightheaded she actually stumbles forward to steady herself against the footboard.

This time when Waverly invites her to join in, Nicole’s limbs remember how to move on their own, and she crawls up the bed until she’s hovering over Waverly on her hands and knees. Just as she dips her head to find Waverly’s lips, Waverly lets her hands slide up Nicole’s ribs toward her breasts.

Nicole immediately yelps and jumps backward, unfortunately forgetting just how close to the edge of the bed they were to begin with. The world is suspended for a brief moment in which Nicole suddenly understands what the coyote must feel like when he holds up his sign that says “$#!+” – she half expects to hear a smug *meep meep* coming from Waverly – followed by a loud thump as she hits the ground in a heap of tangled up limbs.

“Oh, my god! Are you okay?” Waverly scrambles to the edge of the bed, peering down at Nicole with wide eyes and a creased brow.

One of Nicole’s feet is still up on the mattress and the other leg is folded awkwardly, half under her body and half under the bed. There’s an arm thrown up over her head, covering part of her face, and the other is bent at the elbow where she tried to break her fall.

“Nicole…?” Waverly calls again.

Nicole groans in response, choosing to stare at the ceiling instead of looking at Waverly.

“What the hell, Nicole…” Waverly demands, now that she knows Nicole is okay.

“Your hands,” Nicole groans again, still staring at the ceiling, dramatic and forlorn. “Are so cold.”

The silence stretches out long enough that Nicole begins to wonder if she’d actually answered out loud, or if it had only been in her head. Swallowing down her pride, she risks a glance in Waverly’s direction.

Waverly is gaping at her almost comically. She looks down at her hands where they’re curled around the edge of the bed, her fingers still glowing red after handling the snow without her mitten-paws on, and then back at Nicole.

Their eyes are locked as the seconds tick away, and then the tension abruptly and definitively breaks when Waverly snorts so loudly that Nicole actually jumps a little. The embarrassment of her predicament slowly ebbs as mirth begins to dance in Waverly’s eyes, the amusement contagious.

Before long, they’re both overcome with a fit of giggles so strong that Waverly has to flop over onto her back in order to breathe. Nicole tries to untangle herself, but with her foot still up by Waverly’s head, it’s not exactly the easiest of tasks. Especially while she’s laughing so hard that there are actual tears in her eyes.

Waverly eventually takes pity on her, helping Nicole ease her leg down from the bed without it getting caught on her other knee. They’re both still hiccupping with giggles, despite Waverly making a comment about mourning the loss of the view Nicole had inadvertently gifted her with. That makes Nicole’s face burn, the heat radiating out to the tips of her ears and down her neck where it blooms across her bare chest.

Nicole finally pushes herself up off of the floor, crawling over to the bed on her knees and grabbing Waverly’s radiant face in her hands. She pulls Waverly forward until she can swallow her laughter directly from her lips. They both continue to giggle for a few seconds, but they quickly settle into the kiss until it becomes something more, Nicole’s hands beginning to drift down from Waverly’s cheeks to play across the warm skin of her shoulders and her back and her hips. Waverly twitches and jerks and eventually pulls away from the kiss with a squeak.

“Your hands aren’t exactly hot and fresh out of the oven either, Officer,” Waverly pouts when Nicole raises an eyebrow.

She laughs and kisses her again, and this time when Waverly pulls away, it’s to whisper hotly in Nicole’s ear.

“How about if I help you warm your fingers up?”

Nicole swallows hard and nods, rising to her feet so she can crawl back onto the bed and drape herself over Waverly’s naked form, but Waverly stops her with a hand to chest. Nicole pauses, frowning with confusion, but Waverly just shakes her head and scoots over before directing Nicole to lie down next to her.

“Like this,” she whispers and then climbs on top, straddling Nicole’s hips with her own.

“Anything you want, baby,” Nicole breathes, her temperature instantly rising as Waverly takes her hand and raises it to her chest, directing it down between her breasts and over her stomach and past the line of her hipbones. She never takes her eyes off of Waverly’s face as she guides Nicole’s hand further down, hissing slightly as Nicole’s cold fingers finally make contact with wet warmth.

Nicole would normally take her time. Tease a little and work Waverly up, building to the moment when she finally gives in to Waverly’s desperate pleas. But Waverly clearly knows what she wants tonight, and Nicole would never deny her that, so when Waverly pulls at the back of her hand, Nicole doesn’t hesitate to bury two fingers deep inside of the scorching heat that’s so ready for her.

Waverly’s head falls back, moaning Nicole’s name into the suddenly warm room, and it echoes in Nicole’s chest before settling someplace a little lower.

Time nearly stops, slowing down until it can be measured in their heartbeats.

Three heartbeats. Waverly opens her eyes, looking down to meet Nicole’s, and the amount of pure want she finds there makes Nicole’s head spin.

Eight heartbeats. The arch of Waverly’s spine eases as she loses her grip on Nicole’s hand and leans forward, her own hands falling to Nicole’s hips to steady herself.

Twelve heartbeats. Nicole flexes her fingers inside Waverly, testing, and watches as her breath trips and stutters, her fingers digging deeper into Nicole’s hips.

Fifteen heartbeats. Waverly knows exactly what she wants, and she’s ready to take it.

Waverly gasps Nicole’s name again – a plea, a prayer, a promise – and the spell is broken, the world rushing in around them as time catches back up to their overwhelming need. Waverly begins to roll her hips, setting a greedy, deliberate pace, and Nicole curls her fingers against the walls that clench around them, matching her timing with Waverly’s movements.

Planting her feet against the mattress, Nicole uses the extra leverage to add the strength of her hips behind every thrust, long, deep, determined strokes that cause Waverly to shudder and gasp, her rhythm briefly faltering until they fall back into sync again. The need in Waverly’s eyes smolders, and Nicole can feel it burning through her, every place that their bodies touch.

Her arms begin to shake with the exertion of holding herself up, and Waverly eventually falls forward until she’s hovering just above Nicole, her elbows bracketing Nicole’s head around the pillow. The pace never slows, but the change in angle causes her to cry out, her clit dragging roughly across Nicole’s palm now as Nicole’s fingers reach new depths with every thrust.

She moans her pleasure loudly, directly into Nicole’s mouth, and Nicole thinks it’s the sweetest thing she’s ever tasted. She can tell Waverly is getting close by the way her movements are becoming more and more erratic, the desperation sharp on her tongue.

“Don’t stop,” she pleads in Nicole’s ear, breathless. Before Nicole can assure that she’ll never stop, Waverly lifts her head just enough to look Nicole in the eye, her hair falling around them, forming a curtain between the two of them and the rest of the world. “Don’t stop fucking me, Nicole,” she pants.

Waverly very rarely swears, especially like that, but something has lit a fire inside her tonight, and Nicole is more than happy to let the flames consume heruntil she’s nothing more than ashes at Waverly’s feet.

“I won’t,” she promises when Waverly’s eyes continue to bore into hers.

As if to prove her dedication to the task at hand, the fingers of Nicole’s free hand dig into the flexing muscles of Waverly’s ass. With every buck of her hips, her fingers push into Waverly with more and more force, and she uses the tighter grip to help pull Waverly down against each thrust with increased strength. Waverly wails her approval, followed by a hissed yesss and so close.

Nicole’s wrist aches and the muscles in her thighs and ass burn from pushing up off of the mattress so rapidly for so long, but none of that registers right now. The only thing Nicole can focus on is Waverly.

Waverly, Waverly, Waverly.

The way Waverly’s breath is hot and ragged against her ear and her cheek and her lips. The way Waverly’s eyes are bright and lustful and wild. The way Waverly’s breasts drag against her own with every bounce.

The way Waverly’s walls ripple and flutter around her fingers, and the way Waverly’s hips jerk out of rhythm every time she curls them forward at the apex of a stroke.

This is it.

On the next thrust, Waverly’s entire body seizes up, clenching down around Nicole so tightly that she’s forced to leave her fingers buried deep for the time being. Her eyes are squeezed shut and her face contorted in concentration, almost giving off the appearance of pain, but Nicole knows better.

She counts the silent heartbeats she feels pounding against her fingertips, and then Waverly’s eyes snap open, her jaw going slack as a violent tremor wracks her entire body. Her hips begin to stutter again, and Nicole makes sure to press harder with her palm, applying extra pressure directly to Waverly’s throbbing clit.

A strangled sort of whine builds in the back of Waverly’s throat, until eventually, variations of Nicole’s name fall from her lips in a series of sobs and sighs as she shudders and shakes her way through her powerful orgasm. Nicole continues towork her through it until the trembling subsides, and Waverly collapsesforward, mumbling strings of nonsense against Nicole’s chest.

Nicole draws lazy shapes on Waverly’s back while she catches her breath again, and then playfully flexes the fingers still buried deep, causing Waverly to jerk and swat at her shoulder with a groan.

“What’s gotten into you tonight?” Nicole asks, grinning happily when Waverly finally tilts her head to look up at her, cheek still pressed to her chest, just over her racing heart.

“Last time I checked,” Waverly says, deliberately squeezing down around Nicole’s fingers, “it was you.” Nicole huffs out a laugh, surprised –and delighted – by Waverly’s boldness. “At least your fingers aren’t cold anymore,” Waverly adds, waggling her eyebrows.

Nicole rolls her eyes with a snort as she carefully withdraws, easing Waverly through the loss and kissing her nose to chase away the pout that follows. She wipes her hand on the blanket before bringing it up to cup Waverly’s cheek and draw her in for a proper kiss.

Waverly sinks into it immediately, and Nicole can taste the desire, still thick and heavy on her tongue. She’s quickly reminded that her own body is still tense and sensitive, muscles twitching under Waverly’s fingertips as they begin to roam – down her side, over her hip, and back up again.

“Waverly…” Nicole mumbles, voice broken, as Waverly’s lips trail away from her mouth and down her throat. Her tongue traces random patterns against Nicole’s heated skin, along her sternum and across her breast, until it eventually swirls around a tight nipple. Nicole’s hips buck involuntarily, despite the fact that Waverly is still straddling them, pinning them to the bed.

“Easy, baby,” Waverly coos, smirking up at her before taking the nipple back into her mouth again. Her hands continue to dance over the exposed planes of Nicole’s abdomen and ribs and pelvis, but where her touch may have been meant to soothe, instead it leaves a molten trail in its wake.

Shifting above her, Waverly settles between Nicole’s legs rather than straddling them, and Nicole can instantly feel her arousal hot and wet against Waverly’s stomach. She moans loudly as the slick friction ramps her up even further, her pulse thundering wildly between her thighs. She wonders if Waverly can actually feel it against the toned muscles she’s rolling against Nicole’s heat as her kisses begin to trail lower and lower.

“Wave…” she groans out, her brow furrowing. “Waverly… Baby, wait…” Nicole pushes up on her elbows as Waverly’s tongue dips briefly into her navel and then continues its descent.

She looks down, trying to force her hazy eyes to focus, but that proves to be a mistake when she finds Waverly nestled further between her legs, peering up at her from beneath her lashes as her mouth hovers dangerously close to Nicole’s folds, spread open and swollen with her need.

Nicole’s brain short-circuits, completely derailing the train of thought she was trying to follow.

With a devious grin, Waverly drops her head to place a single, chaste kiss right on the tip of Nicole’s aching clit, never once breaking eye contact in the process.

“Baby…” Nicole whimpers, her entire body trembling with desperation for release. “You don’t have to do that. Let– let me take care of you,” she manages, her voice thin and strained. “Tonight is supposed to be all about you.”

“This is about me, baby.” The smirk spreads wider across her face as she continues to look Nicole in the eye. “It’s my birthday. And this…” she drags her tongue, broad and thick, in a deliberate stroke from Nicole’s entrance all the way up to her clit, collecting as much arousal as she can along the way, “…is the present that I want.”

Nicole chokes on her own tongue.

She fists the sheets in a death-grip to keep from pushing herself up into Waverly’s face.

Jesus fucking Christ, Haught. Show some goddamned restraint.

Swallowing thickly, Nicole searches Waverly’s eyes for a moment. When she’s met with nothing but burning desire, determined and hungry, she nods once and then squeezes her eyes shut tight and lets her head fall back against the pillow.

Before she can even draw a full breath, the warmth of Waverly’s lips and tongue envelopes her, and this time she can’t stop herself from pushing further into Waverly’s mouth. She feels Waverly snake an arm up over her hips, holding her down against the mattress while Waverly licks and sucks her way into oblivion.

They’re always enthusiastic about doing this for each other, but tonight, it’s as though Waverly is starving and Nicole is the only thing that can sustain her. She tries to focus on the movements of Waverly’s tongue, flicking at her clit and pushing inside her and dragging along the length in between, but the sensations are too overwhelming and everything narrows to one single thought.

Waverly, Waverly, Waverly.

She must be calling her name out loud, because the hand that’s not holding her hips down reaches up and pries her fingers loose from the sheets, lacing their fingers together instead, offering an anchor to the here and now.

I’m here, it says.

I’ve got you, it tells her.

You can let go with me, it promises.

Nicole squeezes Waverly’s hand in response, grateful that they’re so in tune with each other that Waverly always knows what she needs and when she needs it. Because she sure as shit can’t ask for it right now. Not with the things Waverly’s mouth is doing to her at the moment.

The muscles in her thighs and abdomen, and even across her shoulders, begin to quiver and quake as the fire in her belly threatens to spill over.

“I’m–” Nicole stutters, struggling to suck air into her burning lungs. “I’m gonna–”

Waverly squeezes Nicole’s hand tighter and focuses the point of her tongue directly over Nicole’s clit, indicating that is exactly what she wants to happen.

Nicole’s head sinks deeper into the pillow, her back arching high off the bed, stiff and curved and displaying her breasts beautifully for Waverly’s pleasure as she works to push Nicole the rest of the way over the ledge.

She remains suspended there, a marionette of her own making, while Waverly expertly manipulates the wires, easily bending Nicole to her will. Waverly continues to tug at them, stretching and pulling until the wires eventually snap, and Nicole tumbles back to the bed, a trembling mess wrought with incoherent babbling.

Her hunger seems to fade into something a little more tender, and Waverly eases Nicole through her aftershocks, never once letting go of her hand. When Nicole finally remembers how to breathe again, her body heavy and still, she feels Waverly pressing soft kisses along the insides of her thighs and across the dip in her pelvis.

“Wave…” she rasps, hoarse, as she reaches out with her free hand to gently touch the top of Waverly’s head. She strokes her fingers through the loose strands of hair and urges Waverly up. “C’mere,” she mumbles.

Waverly wipes at her mouth and chin haphazardly with the back of her hand and then crawls up the length of Nicole’s body, settling on top of her and tucking a flyaway lock behind Nicole’s ear with a pleased grin.

Nicole knows she should be sated and satisfied after the ecstasy Waverly just put her through, but there’s something about seeing Waverly gazing down at her like this – with flushed skin and glistening lips – that leaves Nicole’s blood still boiling just beneath the surface.

When she tastes herself on Waverly’s kiss, the slow simmer hits a flashpoint, flaring up until it overtakes her.

She flips them over in the blink of an eye, her body easily covering Waverly’s smaller frame beneath her, carefully slotting one of her thighs between Waverly’s, and making sure that one of Waverly’s also rests precariously between her own.

“Tell me you want this,” she murmurs against Waverly’s lips, rocking down into her with purpose. It doesn’t matter how deep in the throes of her own lust she is, the sexiest thing Nicole will ever experience is still Waverly’s consent.

“Yes,” Waverly groans, sucking Nicole’s bottom lip between her teeth. “I want it. I want you.”

Nicole slides her hands up Waverly’s arms until their fingers lock together, and then she raises them above Waverly’s head, pinning them in place against the bed. Waverly gasps and arches up against Nicole, squeezing her hands tighter, but doesn’t make a move to fight against being held down by her lover.

“Okay?” Nicole checks again, sucking on the spot just beneath Waverly’s ear.

“God, Nicole.” She rolls her own hips up to meet Nicole’s. “Please.”

Dropping any remaining pretense of teasing, Nicole begins to grind against Waverly in earnest. The sound Waverly makes in response echoes against the roof of Nicole’s mouth, and she swallows it down, chasing after the source with her tongue. Waverly lifts her thigh just enough to match Nicole’s pace with her own hips, and soon, they’re both chasing after their pleasure in a mess of slick heat and muscle.

It doesn’t take long until they’re dangerously close, both of them high on lust and need and pure, unadulterated want. Nicole breaks the kiss to lick and nibble her way along Waverly’s jawline, and Waverly pants encouragement in her ear, a breathless string of don’t stop and oh, fuck and just like that.

Nicole’s grip on Waverly’s hands tightens as their crescendo builds, and Waverly squeezes back, walking the same razor’s edge.

“Are you…?” Nicole grunts, knowing she won’t be able to hold out for much longer.

“Yesss,” Waverly hisses, her eyes screwed shut. “Keep going. I’m– I’m–”

Waverly spreads her wings and leaps off of the cliff they’ve been barreling toward, pulling Nicole over with her at the last minute. It’s more like smoldering embers rather than the consuming flames from before, but it’s still every bit as intense, knowing that they’re sharing it this time.

Nicole releases Waverly’s hands, sliding her arms under Waverly’s shoulders instead, and Waverly’s arms immediately move to wrap around Nicole, clutching desperately at her back. They ride out the waves together, holding each other close and sighing soft affections into the warm spaces between them, until all that’s left is sated bodies and muted breaths and two hearts beating in time as one.

“Nicole…” Waverly eventually whispers after several long minutes of silence broken only by their rhythmic breathing.

When she doesn’t follow it up with anything after a few seconds, Nicole raises her head from where it’s been resting in the crook of Waverly’s neck. Waverly’s eyes are bright, brimming with unsaid words, but the fear creeping in around the edges doesn’t allow them to spill over.

Not yet.

But that’s okay.

She knows it will happen when Waverly is ready.

And until then?

Well.

Nicole certainly isn’t going anywhere.

“I know, baby,” Nicole whispers back, wrestling one of her hands free from underneath Waverly and bringing it up to stroke her cheek gently. “It’s okay. I know.”

Waverly searches Nicole’s face earnestly for a moment and then breathes out a quiet sigh of relief, nodding once and then tipping her chin up toward Nicole as her eyes flutter shut. Nicole doesn’t hesitate to cover Waverly’s lips with her own, and Waverly kisses her like a lazy Sunday morning, soft and slow and unhurried.

The kiss finally breaks, and Nicole rests her forehead against Waverly’s, lost in the feeling of their bodies still pressed together, limbs entangled and hearts entwined.

It startles her enough that she actually flinches when Waverly starts giggling out of nowhere a few minutes later.

“What?” she asks, frowning down at Waverly, confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Happy. Birthday. To. ME.” She waggles her eyebrows dramatically.

Nicole snorts, amused by Waverly’s brazen smugness.

“You’re insufferable, Waverly Earp.” Waverly’s giddy mood is infectious, and Nicole can’t help but catch a case of the giggles right along with her.

Waverly pinches at Nicole’s side, and Nicole rolls off of her in a huff, flopping over onto her back and swatting at Waverly’s hands. The playful wrestling continues until Waverly yawns widely, swallowing up her laughter.

“C’mon, birthday girl,” Nicole chuckles. “Let’s get cleaned up and tuck you into bed.”

She grumbles and pouts, but crawls to the edge of the bed and takes the hand that Nicole holds out to help her to her feet. She stumbles into Nicole’s arms, where she fits like she was made to belong there, and they stay that way for a few minutes, Nicole swaying them gently and stroking her fingers through Waverly’s hair.

“You can go first,” she finally says with a kiss to the top of Waverly’s head, and then shoos her off toward the bathroom door on the other side of the bedroom.

Waverly only closes the door part of the way, and Nicole can hear her humming something softly while she stands at the sink. It’s too muffled for Nicole to pick out the individual notes, but it makes her smile just the same as she rummages through the closet until she finds a clean set of flannel sheets.

The evidence of their love is painted all over the bed, and Nicole’s cheeks redden as she strips the old sheets off to replace them with the new ones. The room smells like sex and happiness and the future, and it kindles something warm inside her chest that winds up past her ribs and through her spine and settles around her heart.

She hears the toilet flushing just as she’s gathering up all of the clothing from the floor to deposit in the nearby hamper, and soon Waverly emerges, still naked and still gorgeous in the soft lamplight infusing the room. Nicole’s heart stuttersdespite itself, and Waverly smirks as she saunters over to take Nicole’s facein her hands and kiss her senseless.

“Wow…” Nicole breathes. Her lips and tongue tingle from the minty toothpaste Waverly had just used.

“Youuur tuuurn,” Waverly sing-songs, pulling Nicole out of her stupor. She takes the bundle of sheets and clothes out of Nicole’s arms and pushes her toward the bathroom.

Nicole handles her business quickly, moving through her nightly routine on auto-pilot, and when she returns, Waverly is flitting around the room, blowing out the candles she had apparently let burn for a few minutes, filling the room with a warm lavender and vanilla scent.

“I think there’s still a pair of your pajamas in the top drawer of the dresser,” Nicole says, handing Waverly a scrunchie so she can try and tame the wild mane that’s definitely screaming Sex Hair right now. “If not, you can wear something of mine,” she adds with a dreamy look in her eyes.

“No need,” Waverly says airily, waving a dismissive hand after pulling her hair up into a messy ponytail. “I’ve already got my birthday suit on.” She grins over her shoulder and crawls into bed defiantly, stretching her exhausted muscles like a cat before curling up on the fresh, warm flannel sheets.

Nicole nearly chokes at the blatant display.

“W-won’t y-you…” she stutters. She blinks a couple of times and clears herthroat and tries again. “Won’t you be cold?”

“You’re the only bonus blanket I need,” Waverly says softly, patting the space in the bed next to her.

“Yes, ma’am,” Nicole murmurs, scrambling over to the edge of the bed. She clicks the lamp off and slips in behind Waverly, reaching down to pull the covers up around them, tucking them carefully under Waverly’s chin.

Waverly immediately settles back into her with adorable little grunting noises until she’s situated just right to be Nicole’s little spoon. Nicole wraps herself around the warm body pressed tightly against her front, her arm moving protectively over Waverly’s waist. Waverly immediately laces their fingers together, pulling their hands up to rest securely against her chest.

Silence settles over them like an extra blanket, and Nicole watches the snow still falling against the window, enormous flakes almost glowing with the silvery light of the moon behind them.

For just this one night, they’ve been free of the burdens weighing all of them down like shackles. No sorrow over missing Alice. No betrayal over Rosita turning on them at the last minute. No anxiety over the lack of leads on Bulshar’s whereabouts. They can worry about all of that again tomorrow, but tonight, there had only been room for family and joy and love.

She thinks again of the power a first snowfall holds; the fresh start and the childlike wonder and the promise of hope.

It truly is magic.

Just as the lassitude of sleep is about to overtake her, Nicole ghosts her lips across Waverly’s bare shoulder.

“I love you, Waverly Earp,” she whispers into the night.

She’s not expecting a response, Waverly’s breathing having already evened out into a slow, steady rhythm. When one comes, it’s mumbled so softly Nicole has to strain her ears just to make it out.

“Best birthday ever.”

#prompt fill #wayhaught #wynonna earp #my fiction #ask and answer #tinygay-haught #anon #writing #mine

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whipped4woosung · 5 years ago

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they don’t know about us // chapter one

masterlist.

summary: secretly dating your best friend shouldn’t be so hard right? especially when you’re spending your first week of summer with all your friends cooped up in a beach house. yeah, a piece of cake. oh, and said best friend’s ex-girlfriend is tagging along.

warnings: heated make-out sesh, alcohol & swearing

word count: 1.6k

a/n: wow look who finally decided to sit down and start writing. i was having trouble trying to write a beginning so i hope it’s okay :)) also!! comment to be on the tag list so you don’t miss out on the new chapters:) love you baes mwah

Time seemed to move in slow motion as y/n waited eagerly for her night shift to end. The fact that she’d been rostered on to work on her first night of summer was already a burden in itself and now time itself seemed to tease her by moving extremely slow. y/n sighed softly as her eyes flitted over to the clock above the bar, proving that only five minutes had passed since she last checked it.

y/n collected the half-eaten plates of steak and beef from the table she’d been cleaning, balancing all plates skilfully on her arms. It was quite the task to navigate through the dimly lit bar, consequently, the girl had been working there long enough that she could do it in her sleep. y/n spent almost five nights a week here in order to afford both her college tuition and rent for her small apartment.

Eventually, the clock struck eleven p.m. and y/n raced toward the changing rooms, changing from her forest green and black uniform into a yellow plaid skirt paired with a black cropped top. Her boyfriend and best friend, Bang Chan, always threw massive parties at his house at the end of every term. They were always one of the most anticipated events and everybody talked about it for weeks in advance.

With a timid wave to her boss, y/n exited the establishment and dragged herself to the staff parking area. She climbed into her measly, rundown looking car and tossed her backpack onto the passenger seat. A sense of relief flushed any remaining feeling of tension from her limbs as y/n pulled out of the car park, feeling as though summer had finally begun. The drive from her job to Chan’s house was short and quiet, just enough time for the girl to mentally prepare herself for the abundance of drunk friends and peers.

y/n’s car rolled to a stop in front of Chan’s driveway, already littered with empty beer cans and used napkins. The girl scrambled from the front seat of her car, locking it twice before climbing up the elevated driveway and onto the porch. A strong stench of vodka and whiskey burned her eyes as y/n pulled the door open to Chan’s house. Chan’s house was enormous, his bedroom alone was already half the size of y/n’s own apartment. This was because Chan’s parents were both incredibly famous and talented actors, who’d evidently racked a few extra dollars compared to y/n’s parents.

Groups of wasted young adults were scattered across Chan’s foyer and living room, either dancing or looking as if they were halfway to hell. The obnoxious thumping of muffled music had quickly turned into a loud, painful headache. Nonetheless, y/n stepped further into the house, desperate to find somebody she recognised, or more importantly, her boyfriend. After a full two minutes of aimless searching, she found a particular golden-haired boy squished between two of his closest friends on a tiny leather couch, a red cup gripped between his fingers.

Chan’s face immediately lit up at the sight of his girlfriend approaching, resulting in the boy to jump up from his spot on the couch. He outstretched his arms and quickly engulfed y/n in a hug, squeezing her middle tightly before whispering in a low voice. “I’m so glad you made it, you look beautiful.”

The comment was enough for the girl to turn cherry red and hide her face behind her silky locks. Chan just laughed, refraining from pulling y/n by her hand and pressing a kiss to her soft, pink lips. It had been decided early on in their relationship that it would have to be kept a secret. As much as both y/n and Chan disapproved of this, it was the only way they could be together. Chan’s parents had never been fond of y/n or her relationship with their son. They had an image to uphold and they couldn’t have their son just hanging out with anybody. Especially someone like y/n. Someone who’d come from a poor family, a family that struggled to make ends meet most of the time. Not to mention the countless dating scandals she’d caused from simply hanging out with her best friend.

“Of course, I came, you think I’d miss out on the party of the year?” y/n asked with a mocking tone, raising her eyebrows as she gingerly took the cup from Chan’s grasp, taking a quick sip of the liquor.

“Yes, I do,” Chan teased, which resulted in a gentle shove from his girl.

The blond-haired boy only laughed before leaning back towards her ear. y/n could smell liquor on his hot breath as he whispered, “Want to go upstairs?”

“Won’t people think that’s a little suspicious?” y/n questioned, glancing over at her group of her closest friends only a few steps away.

“Okay, do you want me to make out with you in front of everyone?” He teased, knowing how red if would make y/n.

“I hate you,” she shook her head with a grin, holding her closed fist against her mouth to hopefully hide her grin.

Before anybody could notice, Chan gently grabbed her wrist and pulled her in the direction of the stairs. Their group of friends shouted at the two of them, making jokes that they most likely didn’t know were about to become completely true. Chan disregarded them, knowing they were too drunk to remember such a small detail of dragging his best friend upstairs. y/n wasn’t so sure.

It was already a lot quieter upstairs, even more so when Chan shut his bedroom door behind them. Instantly, his hand slid from y/n’s wrist and interlocked their hands. y/n had almost forgotten how large his bedroom was, it could easily fit two parallel swimming pools. Chan sat on the end of his queen-sized bed, gently pulling his girlfriend into his lap. He moved his hands to support y/n by her waist, drumming her fingers against her skin.

His starry eyes seemed to smile with his mouth as he took in the sight of not only his best friend but his girlfriend. It had almost seemed like a miracle that the pair had gotten together, after years and years of hopeless pining and wishing. A comfortable silence filled the room, despite the loud screaming and music thumping from down below them. y/n felt at peace, finally being able to relax after a long, tiring day.

“How was work?” Chan queried, lifting a hand to brush her hair away from her face.

The action gave y/n small goose bumps and she sighed at the feeling, resting her palms on Chan’s shoulders. “Long. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, but my manager offered that I could stay longer and I’m behind on rent.”

“If you’re behind on rent, you know I can always help out,” Chan offered.

“Chan, your mum already hates me, you really think she’ll let you lend me money?” y/n countered, and Chan only rolled his eyes.

“She doesn’t… hate you,” he weakly objected, knowing it was no point arguing that. She really didn’t not like y/n. “Please let me help you.”

“Channie, don’t worry about me, okay? I’m okay. Promise.”

Chan let a soft sigh fall through his mouth as he reluctantly agreed. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her lips and y/n sighed softly through her nose. y/n ran her fingers up his neck to thread her fingers through the hairs at his nape. Chan let out a soft moan at the feeling and strengthen his grip on her waist. The boy found the hem of y/n’s shirt and slid his fingers under the fabric, running them along y/n’s cold skin.

This earned a soft moan from y/n and Chan used this as an opportunity to bite softly on her lower lip. y/n tugged on Chan’s locked as he trailed soft kisses along her neck. y/n felt her heart thump loudly in her chest, it was still an odd feeling to make out with your childhood best friend in such a way. Even after three months of official dating, Chan still managed to give y/n butterflies and a racing heart.

Just as Chan’s lips found their way back to y/n’s mouth, the door swung open. The couple jumped, y/n falling from Chan’s lap and onto the off-white carpet. Jisung stood with his knuckled still wrapped around the metal doorknob, mouth hung open. Some could say it had reached the floor.

“We- I, was just going to…” Chan sputtered, already reaching down to help y/n up from the floor.

“You two…” Jisung trailed, pointing his index finger between the two flustered young adults. “You were…”

“Reading,” y/n said, doing absolutely nothing for their case.

“WITH YOUR MOUTHS?” Jisung exclaimed.

“Shhh!” Chan warned, “C-Close the door.”

Jisung hesitated for a moment, before turning to close the door. “So you guys are…”

“Dating. We’re dating,” Chan finished, glancing in the direction of y/n who was looking at the floor as if it was the most important thing in the world.

“How long?” Jisung was smiling now, knowing both sides of the pair being helplessly in love.

“Three months,” Chan explained, his hand moving to support y/n’s lower back.

“THREE MONTHS?” Jisung shouted. “AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ANYONE?”

“Yes, because my parents would kill me,” Chan explained, rubbing soft circles into y/n’s back. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

Jisung nodded slowly and stroked his chin as if in deep thought before his eyes went wide and he suddenly didn’t seem so drunk. “Well, shit.”

“What? What’s shit?” Chan straightened his back, worry seeping into his stomach.

“The whole reason I tried to find you was because I wanted to let you know that we invited Gyuri on the trip.” Jisung drawled, hopefully softening the blow.

“Gyuri? Like Chan’s Gyuri? Like Chan’s Gyuri that hates me more than anything?” y/n asked, her heart thumping for all the wrong reasons.

#they don't know about us chan #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #stray kids #chan fluff #chan fanfic #bang chan fluff #bang chan fanfic

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zacharybosch · 5 years ago

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Playing Dead - chapter 7 (final)

here we are, at the end of the road. it's been real.

optional end credits music: The Big Unknown by Sade, or The Spoils by Massive Attack

chapter 1: tumblr / ao3

chapter 2: tumblr / ao3

chapter 3: tumblr / ao3

chapter 4: tumblr / ao3

chapter 5: tumblr / ao3

chapter 6: tumblr / ao3

read chapter 7 of Playing Dead below or on ao3!

Bev found sleeping on a train to be near impossible, despite the exhaustion she felt in every bone and muscle of her body. Miriam seemed to have no such troubles, but perhaps it was just that she’d pushed herself to the limit and had no option but to immediately pass out in their little cabin. The carriage rocked back and forth as the train hurtled along the tracks and through the night, and coupled with the frantic whir of Bev’s thoughts, she knew that she was not going to get any rest.

She got up and went to sit in the tiny chair by the window. They would be arriving in Avignon tomorrow. Miriam had identified it as one of a few likely stopping points for Will and Hannibal on their race out of Italy. Bev didn’t know how she had come to this conclusion, and she didn’t want to know. It was as if they’d never left home, Miriam with her nose buried in her laptop and Bev stuck on the outside looking in. She no longer had the strength to try and talk Miriam out of it. She knew in her heart that they were breaking apart at the seams. All she could do was sit and wait to see if they would make it to Avignon in one piece.

It quickly became too much to be shut up in the tiny cabin with only her own anxious thoughts for company, so Bev left the cabin as quietly as she could and headed for the back of the train. There was a small balcony there, open to the air and deserted at this hour, and Bev breathed deeply as she stepped out onto it. The tendrils of her hair were immediately picked up by the wind, and for a long moment she just stood there, eyes closed, letting the coolness of the night sink into her skin.

The door behind her clicked gently, and then Will was standing with her on the balcony.

Bev waited for the cold, sick feeling to arrive, or the boiling anger, or the impetus to fight or flee. But there was nothing left for her to feel beyond the hollowness of exhaustion.

“Have you come to kill us?” she asked.

“I thought about it,” Will said. “I was of two minds walking through the train. Trying to decide if it would be a kindness.”

“Did you come to a conclusion?”

“I don’t know. Do you want to die, Beverly?” There was no threat in Will’s voice, just a quiet curiosity. It was almost worse, somehow.

“No, I-- I don’t want to die. But sometimes I wish I was already dead.”

“I’ll take it away, if you ask me to.”

Bev turned from Will to lean her elbows against the railing, and stared out into the dark. “Why didn’t you do it when Miriam first asked? You could’ve saved us all so much pain.”

Will moved to lean next her, careful inches between them. “I thought she was my friend, and she thought I was a particularly clever pet. I felt betrayed by her. But I suppose I wasn’t thinking too clearly about a lot of things at that point in time.”

“Almost sounds like human feelings,” Bev said, with a humourless half-smile.

“Almost,” Will agreed.

They stood in silence for a while, side by side, as the train bore them on through the night. Bev wondered how she had never noticed before that Will looked so profoundly un-human. It was easy to blend him in with everyone else when he was in a crowd, when she could subconsciously take their human characteristics and apply them to Will, give him warm skin and a breathing chest and reflexive little twitches. Now, on the balcony in the middle of the night, he looked like a marble statue that had been standing out there for centuries.

“I really hoped this could be it, you know. That clean break that Miriam kept talking about. She was so deep inside her own head, suffocating… If we could just cut through all the bullshit and let her breathe again…” Bev picked at a slim splinter of wood on the railing, and flicked it out into the night. “Guess I misjudged.”

“I’ve found that clean breaks rarely live up to the hopes of the people pursuing them. No matter how brutally you cut it out, you will always carry a piece of trauma with you. Miriam did a good job of pretending like she was past it.”

“I wish she hadn’t,” Bev said. “How did Hannibal react? When you first told him what you are.”

Will stared at the train tracks, at the bright flash of metal quickly disappearing into the dark. “He blinked, twice. Then he just accepted it.”

“Must’ve been nice.”

“Yeah. It was.”

Beverly was silent for a long while. She was lovely in the moonlight, her dark hair tangling in the wind and her skin touched with the blue glow of the stars. Will could see it easily enough, what could’ve been were he the human that Beverly had believed in: a friendship, stuttering at first but becoming more comfortable by the day; pancakes and bacon at an early-morning diner, case files spread over the table, black coffee and black humour to help wake them up; cookouts in the summertime, and maybe a drunken kiss, once, twice, but nothing would really come of it, and he would encourage her to pursue Miriam because he knows they would be good together.

But it was someone else’s life. Impossible to hold on to, unthinkable to have.

“Is there any way forward?” Beverly asked.

“You could let us stay dead. We would disappear into the world somewhere, and we wouldn’t try to find you. We could avoid America entirely, until you’ve both passed on from this life. It can be easy.”

“It’s never easy.”

“No, it’s not.” Will covered Beverly’s hand with his own. It was the first time they’d ever touched, and she flinched. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“You and Hannibal have sucked so much of the joy out of my life. You take and take from everyone around you whether you mean to or not. Your presence is like a black hole. I feel so hollow.” She turned her hand in Will’s grip, and clasped his fingers with her own. “Make it stop now. Please.”

Will drew Beverly into his arms. He had given up apologising a long time ago, and couldn’t fathom it now as something that he might ever reasonably do again, but he understood in that moment what moved people to apologise over and over as they repeated the same mistakes throughout their lives. For such short-lived creatures, words were important; the world was so harsh, and humans were so tender and small. There was no time between birth and death for them to thicken their skin. Apologies were all they had.

They remained there, on the dark little balcony at the back of the train, for a long time. Eventually Bev took Will’s hand again, and led him back inside the train.

In the cabin, Miriam stirred in her sleep, the spill of her hair shifting pale across the pillow. Will perched gently on the edge of her bunk, and laid a cool hand on her cheek.

“Miriam,” he whispered, soft as anything.

She made a small irritated noise, and her brow creased slightly, and then her eyes fluttered halfway open. “Will?” she said, still mostly asleep.

“Yes. You’re having a dream, Miriam. Can you open your eyes further?”

“I don’t… I’m asleep…”

“Yes, you are. But you can open your eyes. Try it.” Miriam’s eyelids were heavy and kept falling shut, until eventually she managed to open them and keep them open. Her eyes were unfocused and wandering, but then Will delicately tilted her head and caught her gaze with his own, and her eyes didn’t stray any further. “That’s good. You’re still asleep, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Miriam said, and her voice was small and far away.

“I’ve come to say goodbye. And… to say thank you, for taking care of me, in the best way you were able. Keep your eyes on me, now.”

Will leaned very close to Miriam’s face, speaking softly against her skin for what felt like an eternity. And then it was done, and her eyes drifted closed, and she turned beneath the sheets and slept on.

Will turned to Bev, who was sitting on the tiny armchair that was the only other seat in the cabin. She’d raised the blind to gaze out of the small window at the dark rushing trees, not wanting to see Will do whatever it was that he had to do.

“Are you ready?” he asked, and Bev just nodded. Will came to stand before her, and tilted her head just as he had with Miriam.

“Will it hurt?” Bev asked, and felt immediately foolish for doing so.

Will smiled. “No. There’s no pain, and it will be over very quickly.” He knelt down, so his eyeline was level with Beverly’s, and then began to speak in a low, hypnotic tone. “You’re on a train, Beverly, heading out of Italy. You’re on holiday with your girlfriend. You both work so hard, and you needed a break…”

Quietly, carefully, Will rewrote Beverly’s life.

There was a brief disturbance in the air, as if someone had suddenly left the room, and Bev looked up from her aimless gaze through the window. She hadn’t realised how difficult it would be to sleep on a train, the constant rocking and rumbling of the wheels jolting her awake so many times throughout the night. Miriam seemed to have no problem with it; she was sound asleep, fingers curling in contentment against the sheets.

Bev sighed and got up to cross the small cabin. If she was going to be awake, she might as well be awake in bed instead of awake in a small and not-particularly-comfortable chair. She climbed carefully beneath the sheets of the narrow bunk, and drew Miriam close with an arm around her waist. They would arrive in Avignon tomorrow. Bev thought of the ancient city streets she wanted to walk down, the lazy flow of the Rhône glittering in the sunlight, and the café where they might stop and drink wine at lunchtime. It was a good thought, and she found herself smiling as she slipped imperceptibly into sleep.

***

Several carriages along, Will returned to his own cabin.

“It’s done?” Hannibal asked. He was sitting in almost exactly the same position that Beverly had been, in the tiny chair by the tiny window, moonlight spilling across his face just as it had spilled across hers.

“It’s done,” Will said.

“Then we’re free to move onwards as we see fit.”

“For the most part. I think it would be prudent to avoid America for a while.”

Hannibal smiled, eyes and teeth flashing in the dark. “As you say. We have all the time in the world, after all.”

#hannibal #hannigram #hannibal lecter #will graham #vampire au #my fic

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raendown · 5 years ago

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The first day of @madatobiweek 2019! I am so excited!

Day 1 prompt: Arranged Marriage.

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 3475 Chapter: 1/? Rated: M Summary: Not all wars are fought on the battlefield. Some are fought at the conference table, with whispers in the shadows, or even in the bedroom.

In a world where the Senju and Uchiha traditional lands were too far apart to have ever made them enemies, Butsuma and Tajima are the ones who come together and sign a treaty of peace. Madara isn't happy to have his life signed away for him in a political marriage to strengthen the bond between their clans. He is even less happy to have Tobirama make assumptions of him from their very first night together. What follows from there is a journey of healing, of learning, and finding the places to belong in the places least expected.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 1

Wizened hands straightened the pages of notes scattered across the table, clearing away the detritus so that a massive scroll covered with neatly printed letters and carefully straight lines could be unrolled for all present to see.

“So it’s decided then; the terms are agreed upon?”

Madara had never been very fond of the elders in his own clan. Not that any of them had ever done him some kind of personal wrong but he was unashamed to say that they were a bunch of dusty old codgers who should have retired and sat down to play quietly with their grandchildren years ago. After the torture of the past few weeks, however, he was ready to kill them all with his own two hands just to make them shut up. He wasn’t a patient person at the best of times. This was not the best of times.

The serene line of aging Senju on the other side of the pavilion all nodded in eerie unison, dangerous smiles on every one of their faces. Madara hated them more than his own elders. At least he always knew what the Uchiha coots were thinking. These wrinkled old biddies were impossible to read.

“They are,” one of the Senju said in a warbling voice. “Let us review. The accords are thus…”

Madara was born of the Uchiha clan, whose enviable strength could be rivalled only by the Senju clan. The two peoples had long lived far enough apart that they were not often called to fight each other – but territories were shifting. As they began to clash more and more often on the battlefield over the last few years both clans recognized the danger posed. It was clear that they were each the only real threat to the other and to eliminate that threat a simple solution had been proposed: an alliance.

Messengers ran back and forth for several months carrying proposals and counter proposals almost without end until finally a meeting was set up to hash out the finals details of the most momentous peace treaty in living memory. The council of elders from both clans had been the ones to do most of the talking. Both Heads were always present, of course, along with the eldest heir of each, but mostly they communicated through the elders who were used to carrying a certain amount of gravitas. Madara had never wished so hard for an older sibling. He was so bored by it all and if that idiot Senju Hashirama didn’t stop fidgeting across the pavilion then Madara could not be blamed for burning the whole tent to the ground out of simple irritation.

It took quite some time to read out each and every one of the articles in their new treaty, pausing for the collective audience to agree to all of them one by one. Madara didn’t listen much. His main interest was in the two most important points and those were saved for last.

First of those was that the two clans had agreed to band together and build a village in the unclaimed territory almost exactly halfway between their two compounds. They had plans to invite many of the other clans in Hi no Kuni to make this a venture of peace and prosperity for all who would have it, a place where children could grow without having to worry about being sent to the battlefield before they lost their first tooth. The whole idea had actually been Madara’s big contribution, his suggestion. The location had been proposed by Hashirama. It was the first sign of an actual working brain inside the idiot’s skull.

The second article he cared about was the more concerning one. To build a village together and declare peace was one thing but the elders felt that an incentive to keep that peace was needed as well; not only for the cohesiveness of their own peoples but also as a show of unity to any other clans who may choose to join them. The Uchiha and Senju must be seen as moving together. It was decided rather late in the negotiations that binding their clans together by marriage was the best way to do that, a marriage between the eldest unmarried child of each head family. Madara had not taken well to being offered up like a sacrificial piece of meat – especially when he heard that there were no female Senju heirs. He was being married off to a boy. He wasn’t even sure if he liked boys! A couple of really strange dreams did not mean anything definite.

There was no need to be surreptitious when eyeing the oaf across the tent from him now. Hashirama was drumming his fingers on his thighs, listening to his elders speak with a broad smile and a surprising amount of attention. Madara took in the long brown hair and the deeply tanned skin, his dark brown eyes and too wide mouth. Miraculously, he’d never met his unwitting bridegroom on the battlefield and Madara wondered if he looked very much like his older brother. Sage but he hoped not. It would be like getting married to Hashirama and the very thought made him shudder. Just because the fool had a few redeeming qualities that made for easy conversation during the recesses between talks did not mean Madara had any desire for him.

Even more disturbing was the fear that they might act like him. He wasn’t sure he would survive even a single month bonded to someone who bounced in their seat like a child whenever they were excited or drooped with over-dramatic misery when their ideas were rejected. Hashirama was close to the same age as him and yet he acted as though he were half that. Madara certainly would not have a peaceful life if he had to share his home with someone like that idiot.

Finally, finally, the wizened Senju read out the last of the accords and received unanimous agreement from everyone present. Madara breathed a sigh of relief that the final day of this was finally over as he and his father stepped forward to sign the treaty laid out on the table. There were two copies for them to mark and they would take one with them for the perusal of their clansmen back home, to keep in their records should it ever be necessary to scrutinize the precise wording of each line to find loopholes – Madara knew his father, after all, and he knew the man was very fond of loopholes. It felt a bit like agreeing to sell his soul to the devil but Madara forced both hands to stay steady and produce his most elegant calligraphy as he took the brush to sign. The name Uchiha Madara had never looked more beautiful – nor felt so heavy.

They left the next day, returning to their traditional home with the date of Madara’s nuptials already picked out. Each clan had been given tasks to fulfill in preparation of the wedding and the building of their village as well. Madara’s task was to show up at the altar on the right day and try not to look like he wished death or destruction upon either himself or his groom. At least, that was how his father had put it. Tajima had been nearly as furious as Madara was at the first mention of an arranged marriage for his son just as most of the Uchiha delegation had. It was the worst sort of culture shock to discover such practices were actually commonplace among the Senju.

But that anger hadn’t lasted long, quickly fading to calm acceptance, and Madara wished he knew what could have made Tajima change his mind so easily in the face of something so completely against everything their people believed in. He wished he could be so confident in this path that had been chosen for him.

He also wished he had been allowed to express the emotions he truly felt about this whole fiasco. He wanted to rail against those Senju windbags, scream in their faces and demand to know what in the world was wrong with them. Arranged marriages were absolutely barbaric! Marriage was supposed to be a sacred covenant of love not a business transaction. Madara felt cold and used; he felt like prospects which should be his to choose from had been ripped away without his consultation. Like the rest of his family, he was a creature of emotion. He believed in love, true love, and that every person should have the opportunity to find it. Now he would never have that and he wasn’t sure he would ever forgive his father or any of the elders for voting to take it all away from him.

Madara was granted one full year of freedom after the Uchiha and the Senju made peace. He would have had less than half that but it was extended out of necessity as members of both clans were kept busy constructing the village where they would come together. He, on the other hand, spent nearly every second he could breathing deeply of the air around his home, rubbing at his wrists as if he could already feel the shackles there. He ran unchecked through the forests he’d grown up in, sparring with Izuna in violent clashes that only barely helped expel his tumultuous emotions.

“You could always run away,” his brother told him cheekily one afternoon as they lay panting in a field of burnt grass. He scowled and tossed a handful of ash, making Izuna squeal as he hurried to claw the grainy substance out of his long dark hair.

“And shame both myself and the entire clan?” he retorted. “Besides, where would I go? What would I do? I wouldn’t have a clan to find missions to earn my meals. I wouldn’t have you. You’re a Class-A idiot but I would miss you. For some reason.”

Izuna had only laughed, continuing to clean out his hair while Madara brooded. He’d been trying the entire time to think of a way out of this without bringing shame to himself or his family. In the end there had been nothing. He couldn’t even step down as heir because what kind of big brother would he be to force Izuna in to the same position he wanted so desperately to escape? No, the only path for him to take was to follow the demands of the treaty as his elders and supposed betters had agreed. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. He was very free to hate his new groom as much as he wanted; especially if he looked and acted like Hashirama.

All he had to do was keep that hatred to himself so no one would suspect how unhappy he was. They were being married for a purpose, after all.

The day of the wedding saw Madara nearly sick with anxiety when it finally came. The ceremony was to be held in the village once those who still remained in the compounds made the final move to Konohagakure, as it had been named. Madara stepped through the gates for the first time in mid-morning with Izuna at his side, both of them taking in the sites with wide eyes. He found himself more impressed than he wanted to be. He wanted to hate this place and was a little disappointed to find that he couldn’t, not when it was so magnificent, so full of promise.

Before he could get too carried away with sightseeing he was whisked away to the part of the village set aside for members of his own clan. There he was primped and prodding, dressed and decorated, made up for an event which should have had his heart feeling light with joy. Instead all he felt was dread heavy in his chest. It took more than an hour for his kimono alone to be properly put on, each layer pinned in place to accentuate his shape and the elaborate obi of the head family tied just so. His wild mane of hair was brushed until it gleamed and some of it caught up in an elegant top knot, adorned with the same kanzashi that had been worn by each of his predecessors for innumerable generations. When his attendants declared him ready and bowed out of the room, Madara turned to the mirror that he had avoided looking at since arriving.

In a word he looked beautiful. Certainly it was obvious that he was a man – and a rather strong one at that – but the traditional wedding outfit also showcased the beauty in him which he rarely bothered to play up. He usually preferred to let his hair fall wild, obscuring his face. With it out of the way all the focus was on his shapely eyes and the miraculously clear skin that remained free of scars or blemishes. He wished he could have taken more pleasure in what he saw there. Still, one is never sure what memories one will wish to look back on some day. Madara made a point of activating his Sharingan and committing to memory the sight of himself on his wedding day. He really did look good.

An hour later Izuna was sent to fetch him for the ceremony. The moment it finally sank in a year before that he was to be married Madara had asked his brother to stand with him, a subtle snub he was sure his father merely chose to ignore. He should have asked his father as the head of their family but instead he chose the one he was closest to, the one who had no blame on his shoulders for this sham of a union. Izuna’s voice sounded a little choked when he first laid eyes on him and Madara made a show of rolling his eyes.

“If you cry on me I will never forgive you,” he said. His brother laughed and took a moment to deliberately look him over with admiring eyes before opening the door wider, indicating that Madara should follow him out. The older of the two swallowed. It was time.

And he wasn’t ready.

No matter what he felt inside Madara was the picture of calm as he approached the orchard in which his wedding was to be held. It was a unique idea and he was loathe to admit to it but he liked it. The apple trees were in blossom, sending pink and white petals drifting on a gentle breeze to land in the hair of each guest seated among them. He was led through a cozy little community building and out the back to reach the orchard, drawing the eyes of the congregation with his arrival. They stood to receive him, of course, but he refused to look at any of the people gathered to send him to his doom. He looked only straight ahead, walking placidly down one of two aisles that had been cleared between the guests.

When he reached the dais set up at the end of his short walk he caught movement in the corner of his eye. His groom had arrived, keeping pace with him down the second aisle so neither of them arrived before the other. He tilted his head ever so slightly to peek sideways but found Hashirama standing between him and the man he was to wed. Madara only barely resisted the urge to huff in annoyance. The oaf was standing on the wrong side. Of course he was. Before he could say anything himself a new voice murmured low in a scolding tone and then Hashirama was blushing lightly with a sheepish grin.

“Sorry brother! Sorry!” he chirped, dashing around to the other side of his companion.

Madara’s breath left his body with a hard rush, leaving his lungs empty and quite unable to draw another. A face even more pale than his own turned just enough for a pair of deep red eyes to catch his, a brief moment that lasted forever as they took each other in for the first time. Senju Tobirama had cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, each adorned with slashing red marks that were matched to a third one running down his chin. His hair was the color of untouched snow, cut short and ruffled by the wind. Startlingly, he was taller than Madara by several inches and the expression on his face was perfectly smooth, almost nonexistent.

Madara’s gaze flickered between the two men next to him rapidly, trying not to let his jaw drop. How the hell was this Hashirama’s brother? They looked nothing alike! Tobirama raised one pale eyebrow just a bit, asking wordlessly what was wrong with him, and Madara puffed up a bit with instinctual defense. He was allowed to be shocked! No one had prepared him for this – this gorgeous vision who was just as much of a sacrifice as him yet seemed entirely unbothered by it at all.

The priest cleared his throat, snapping Madara’s attention back towards the dais. He was an ancient man who had spent his life tending to the oldest temple in the Land of Fire. It was actually Hashirama's idea that he travel here to perform the ceremony as a neutral party so no one now or in the future could say that either the Senju or the Uchiha had more influence in this bonding. Much of the ceremony and the reception to take place afterwards had been designed to show equal influence from both clans so that neither was more prominent than the other, a visual declaration that they all intended to live together in harmony. As much as Madara understood the necessity and the intelligence behind it all there was still a small voice in the back of his mind that was sad to see the glaring absences where Uchiha tradition had given way to compromise, small things like the colors of the flowers and the placement of the banners. It just wasn’t how he had pictured his wedding.

With a dusty clearing of his throat their priest began the ceremony by reciting a traditional prayer for prosperity and love between the couple to be joined. Madara tried very hard to pay attention but he found his eyes sliding sideways as much as he could without being obvious, drinking in the sight of his surprisingly attractive groom. He couldn’t say he was happy about the situation he’d been forced in to but he was selfish enough to admit that such a handsome face certainly did make everything look just that much brighter. At the very least he would have something nice to look at as the days passed them by. Now all he had to worry about was whether the personality was half as pretty as the face was.

After what felt like a never-ending prayer came the sermon. Then the vows and the exchanging of rings and an odd little mini-ceremony where the priest asked them to hold hands and knotted a band of silk around their clasped fingers, declaring it symbolic of the way their hearts and fates were now bound together. As Madara understood it, that was a Senju tradition. Or at least he hoped so. If not it was just the crazy ramblings of an ancient priest.

Finally came the moment he was dreading when the priest asked them to seal their union with a kiss. He didn’t quite gulp because they were being watched by important members of both clans and it would not do to look so weak in front of them. He did, however, feel his heart beating erratically as they leaned in towards each other, eyes wide open and unblinking. It was unnerving the way those red eyes seemed to stare right through him. It took more concentration than it should have to stop himself from jumping when surprisingly soft lifts pressed against his own with a gentle, fleeting pressure. Then they were gone in the next instant leaving him feeling oddly bereft until he was distracted by the thunderous cheers of their audience.

The priest unwound the ribbon from their hands and they turned to face their peoples, no longer touching each other but standing shoulder to shoulder in a preplanned show of solidarity. The rest of Madara’s life was to be a deliberate show of solidarity, he realized. He would spend the rest of his days playing husband, acting a part, consciously choosing his actions to appear to be in good relations with a man he did not love. As he stood on the dais and watched the happy faces of those looking back at him, Madara wondered how long it would take before he started questioning if this was all worth it. Perhaps he already was.

#rae writes #madatobiweek2019 #madatobi #madara #tobirama #izuna #hashirama #butsuma #tajima #fanfiction #arranged marriage

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spn-ficfanatic · 6 years ago

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Halo- Chapter 2

SPN-FICFANATIC MASTERLIST

“HALO” MASTERLIST - CHAPTER ONE - CHAPTER THREE

Fic Summary: You’ve lived next door to Jensen and Jared for a year and have had a somewhat strained relationship. After a recent and massive change in your life your paths cross again and they discover the cause of that, and bridges start to mend in unexpected ways.

Characters: Jensen x Reader, Jared x Platonic!Reader

Chapter Word Count: 2989

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Quick but Sweet Smut

Warnings: Very short NSFW (no GIFS), my first attempt at smut (which is a warning in itself), swearing again

Trigger Warning: Descriptions of domestic violence.

A/N: I wasn’t planning to post this so soon but I’ve been blown away by its popularity, and everyone has been so kind, so I wanted to post this quickly as a thank you xx

—————————————————————————

A few hours later you had successfully proved to Jensen that he was indeed a suck shot, and that there was only one Queen of Halo in the World. He couldn’t help but steal glances at you from time to time, your smile as you gamed was intoxicating and he didn’t feel like he could ever get enough. This Y/N was a stark contrast to the one from only a few hours prior, it was like you were a new person the second you stepped into his apartment.

“Dude, you’re looking at me again,” you said bluntly as you stared at the screen with your controller right at your chest, concentrating on the shot. You felt Jensen shift next to you nervously and you giggled.

“Sorry, it’s just nice. To see you smiling,” he replied blushing.

“I hope to do THAT more often,” you replied, hitting pause and turning to grin at him. Your eyes caught movement behind the curtain and Jensen saw a flash of fear across your face before you realised it was Jared returning home. You relaxed as he opened the door, and he looked at you in surprise.

“Y/N! Hey, it’s good to see you! I see you took Jay up on his offer to hang out?” he said with a smile.

“Yer but you didn’t tell me how bad he is at this game. A little warning next time Jared,” you scoffed.

“OK OK, enough with the beat down. I’m a good shot and you can’t convince me otherwise,” he told you, taking a sip of his beer.

“Um Y/N? A taxi pulled up to your driveway as I came in. Are you expecting someone?” Jared asked, putting his bag down. You looked at him with wide eyes.

“Oh shit, I forgot I had a doctor’s appointment!” you gasped, standing up quickly holding your side to avoiding jostling your stomach around. Jensen made to help you stand but you brushed him off. “I gotta run, thanks for the game Jay!”

“Do you need me to go with you?” he asked concerned. Jared flashed him a confused glance while you smiled back.

“It’s ok, thank you though. Gotta get used to this independence thing. Catch you later though?”

“Absolutely, come over whenever you get back.”

You waved at them both as you walked out the door and closed it behind you, and once Jared was sure you were in the taxi he spoke up.

“Dude, I’ve been gone for 5 hours and suddenly you’re offering to take her to doctors’ appointments?” Jared asked incredulously. Jensen sighed and threw him a beer from the fridge.

“Sit down, I’ll catch you up.”

2 hours later you stepped gingerly out of the taxi, holding your side as you walked to your apartment. After having your wound poked and prodded you were feeling a bit sore and sorry for yourself, and looking forward to lying on your couch with something binge-worthy. As you unlocked your door you heard your neighbours’ door open, and were surprised to turn and see Jared standing there and not Jensen as you expected.

“Hey Jared, how’s it going?” you asked tiredly, holding onto the door handle for support.

“Yer fine, I just wanted to make sure you were ok. Jay filled me in while you were gone,” he replied, looking downcast. You nodded with a frown.

“I’m ok. Well, I’m not like fabulous or anything but I’m doing fine, and I know you guys are right next door which feels nice. The paper-thin walls I hated so much over the last year are suddenly making me feel so much safer,” you laughed half-heartedly. “Anyway, I’m gonna head inside and watch something trashy, see ya.”

“Well actually, speaking of trashy, that was the other reason I came over,” he said, handing a box set over to you. You raised an eyebrow as you saw the front cover, and grinned when his face stared back at you.

“Season One of Supernatural? This is brilliant,” you laughed. “And not at all trashy.”

“Have you seen it? I just thought, with Michael being like he was…”

“No no, I haven’t. I mean, I knew you guys did the show because I’ve seen the ads… I always thought it looked pretty awesome. And you’re right, I’d never get to watch this in a million years before.”

“Well, maybe you can now,” he said with a smile. You looked up into his eyes and were suddenly overcome with a strange urge. Pushing yourself forward, you reached out and wrapped your arms around his waist and rest your head against his chest, experiencing your first genuine hug in about a year. He happily returned it, being careful not to hurt you by squeezing too hard.

“Thanks Jare, really,” you told him, feeling a little emotional over the contact.

“Anytime. Consider it part of my penance for being a crappy neighbour,” he replied, to receive a slap on the arm.

“Don’t be daft. You have nothing to feel bad about, either of you,” you told him firmly, and he put his palms up in surrender.

“OK OK, don’t take my arm off,” he replied jokingly. You started to go inside when a thought occurred to you.

“Hey, if you want to watch yourselves killing bad guys come on over, my couch is big enough for three,” you told him with a wink. He laughed and waved you off, letting you go instead and get comfortable with your new favourite TV show.

For the next couple of days the guys would listen to their voices floating through the walls. You really knew how to binge they thought impressed, and pretty soon you were halfway through the season. They opted not to watch it with you, giving you a bit of space and allowing you to watch without the running commentary from them that they knew they’d have trouble biting back. A couple of times you came by for a beer and to ask questions. Another time they were interrupted by pounding on the wall followed with “You’re not gonna die, right Jay? Sam’s gonna fix ya… RIGHT?” to which all they could respond with was laughter.

Your scream of “WHAT!!!” signalled the end of the season, and they prepared a beer for your entrance. Two seconds later you bolted through the door looking dishevelled.

“How could they leave it there? You get hit by a damn truck? You survive right? Well, I guess you must, you’re still going to work but what about John? Gah! I hate this show,” you complained, catching the drink as it was thrown to you and taking a swig.

“And of course, by hate you mean you want to marry it and have little Supernatural babies right?” Jensen asked with a smirk. You glowered at him before swearing.

“You know me too well Ackles.”

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

Months passed and you seemed to be doing well. You and the guys had developed a real lasting friendship, though you definitely had a greater connection with Jensen. To say you had a little crush was an understatement but being certain he’d never feel the same about you you pushed those feelings down to the deepest depths of your soul. The day your mother turned up at your doorstep however threatened to change everything.

“Mom, what are you doing here?” you asked meekly. She was always a powerful woman, which you surmised was probably why you’d fallen in with Michael in the first place.

“I’m here to bring you home Y/N,” she announced, barging in and standing in the middle of your living room. You closed the door, silently praying no-one was home next door to hear this exchange.

“Enough is enough, you’ve been living on your own now for months without a job, without a husband, without support of any kind and I’ve had enough. I can only take so many phone calls listening to your pathetic lies about those horrid actors before coming down here and straightening you out myself. I mean honestly Y/N, you’ve burrowed yourself into a little hole here and made up this ridiculous fantasy life filled with Hollywood heartthrobs and I’m tired of it. This is Vancouver for goodness sake, not California. Now Michael wasn’t perfect but at least he was real and he provided for you. You’re coming home and I’m getting you some help. NOW!”

You cowered at her tone, unable to help yourself. With the help of the guys you had come completely out of your shell but her behaviour was giving you flashbacks to your previous life. You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and before you could nod your head in acceptance you heard your door knock. There was literally only one of two people this could be, and with a resigned sigh you opened the door a couple of inches.

“Get rid of them Y/N, we have work to do,” your Mother stated firmly from behind you as she started to inspect the living room.

You looked up to see Jensen’s angry face looking back at you. “Now’s not a good time Jay,” you told him, moving to shut the door. He put his foot in the way however and reached out to take your hand.

“Play along alright?” he whispered, low enough for only you to hear, before pushing the door open wide and entering. “Sweetheart, you didn’t mention your mother was coming to visit!” He exclaimed loudly, grabbing the attention of your mother who was currently throwing your Dean and Sam bobbleheads in the bin. She stared at him with her mouth open wide, before holding out her hand to offer a handshake.

“Hello, and you are?” she replied, taking in his height and appearance. “You just called my daughter ‘sweetheart’, however she’s yet to mention to me that she has a partner.”

She retreated her hand at this point, noting with disdain his refusal to shake it.

“Are you sure about that? Because I’m almost certain I overheard you say just now that you HAD heard of those ‘horrid actors’.”

The colour drained from your mother’s face at this point as realisation hit that you’d been telling her the truth this entire time, though she kept her composure. Standing as tall as she could she clutched her bag to her side, simply for something to hold onto.

“So, you ARE real. I would have expected any actor with the brains to rise to star in his own television show to be smart enough to know when he’s too good for my daughter. So, you’ll have to excuse my disbelief at Y/N’s wild stories.”

You looked to the ground, tears falling quietly at her words. They cut deep because you knew they were true, and you felt Jensen’s grip tighten around your hand.

“Now you listen here. Y/N is an intelligent, funny and incredibly generous human being. Meeting you I have to wonder where on God’s green Earth she picked that up because she certainly didn’t learn them from you. But, however it happened, I am eternally grateful to call her my fiancée. I am supporting her in every way possible and will be sure to cross you off the guest list, because we’ll only be inviting friends and family to our wedding. Hollywood weddings and all; I’m sure you understand.”

You had barely heard anything after the word fiancée, but based on your mother’s expression it can’t have been good. You held Jensen’s hand tighter as you watched her face go from a bright red to a light purple, and without a word she stomped out of your apartment and slammed the door behind her. You were shaking and you felt Jensen’s arms wrap around you tightly.

“It’s ok, you’re safe I promise,” he told you gently, stroking your hair. You burrowed your face into his chest and let the tears come, not even caring that you were sobbing by this point. He carefully pulled you toward the couch and sat you down next to him as you wept.

10 minutes later you felt you had cried all the tears you could. To his credit he hadn’t moved an inch the entire time, stroking your hair and muttering the odd word of affection here and there.

“How’re you doing?” he asked concerned as you pulled away. You wiped your wet cheeks with the palm of your hand and huffed out a laugh.

“Dude, you essentially told my mother to fuck off. I’m better than I’ve been in ages.”

“Are you sure?” he asked with a frown. “I’m so sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have but hearing her speak to you like that just made me so angry and I couldn’t-“

“Shush,” you told him sternly. “That woman... she may have given birth to me but she was never a mother. I could never stand up to her but you did it for me and I’m beyond grateful. I can’t even begin to think what might have happened to me if I’d gone with her. Jay... I’m pretty sure you just saved my life.”

You looked up into his eyes so he could see the sincerity in them, and he too stared back at you before his gaze fell to your lips. You noticed his breathing quicken as he leaned forward, and before you realised what was happening his lips were on yours. You sharply inhaled through your nose in surprise, and quickly returned the kiss with a low moan at the back of your throat. He lifted you from your place on the couch so you were sitting in his lap, while you ran your hands through his hair as your pace quickened, your tongues sliding in and out of each other’s mouths without hesitation. You could feel the bulge in his jeans growing, which in turn caused your own tingles in places you didn’t know could do that anymore. With one swift motion you unbuttoned your top to expose your bare chest, and Jensen pulled back unexpectedly.

“Y/N,” he panted, wetting his lips as he took you in. A look of concern flashed across his face and he opened his mouth to speak but you quickly placed your palm against his mouth and looked into his eyes with a smile.

“Yes, I want this. Yes, I’m on the pill. No, I don’t care about what I’ve been through anymore. All I want is to feel you pressed up against my naked body... preferably in the bedroom as the couch is quite sma-“

You let out a happy squeal as Jensen immediately stood and held you straddled on his hips, supporting you by holding his hands under your ass. You started sucking his neck as he carried you, and he let out a low groan of approval before you felt yourself being gently thrown onto the bed. He ripped off his top, and you giggled as you heard a few buttons tinkle as they hit your bedroom wall and floor. He shrugged with a grin before throwing himself on top of you, straddling each leg on either side of yours as he grinded himself against you. Your lips found each other and you proceeded to unbutton his pants and slide them down his legs with your feet. The skirt you were wearing had now ridden up so far it was on your belly, giving Jensen easy access to reach down and touch your now wet clit. It took you by surprise and the moan that escaped your lips was almost animalistic, as your back arched off the mattress unconsciously.

“Please,” you begged quietly. “Jay, I need you inside me. It’s been so long...”

You felt your underwear being pushed aside, and his tip pressed against you before you sensed his hesitation. You looked to find him watching for your reaction, and when you leaned up to kiss him harder before pulling him back down onto the mattress with you, he slid himself in. You let out a little gasp, and he whipped his head up to look at you concerned.

“Y/N? Are you ok?”

You nodded with a smile as a tear escaped from the corner of your eye. Jensen didn’t look at all convinced, and pulled himself up on his arms to see you properly.

“I swear Jay, I promise I’m fine. It’s just... this is the first time in a long time that it hasn’t hurt. This is incredible,” you whispered, running your hand through his hair and smiling as a grin spread across his face.

“I’m going to make you feel so good babe, I swear it,” he replied, leaning back down to kiss your neck as he started to pull himself back and forth inside you. Your bodies rocked together on the bed as you quickly neared climax, the unspoken understanding between you that while the feeling was sensational, this wasn’t the right time to draw it out. You could feel the pressure building inside you and your cries became louder and closer together. He thrust harder and faster, his eyes squeezed shut tightly.

“Cum for me baby, I’m right there, fuck,” he swore, and as you felt yourself tip over the edge his body shuddered as he came inside you. You swore loudly as he continued to thrust and pulled yourself closer against his body as you rode out the waves which felt never-ending. When they finally did Jensen pulled out and laid himself across your body with a content sigh. You lay underneath him, not giving an ounce of care to the sheets on the bed as you chose to just snuggle in his embrace rather than jump straight into the shower like you used to. It was a foreign concept to you and you quickly fell asleep with a smile on your face, comforted by the knowledge that your old life was now officially 100% behind you.

Chapter Three (final) coming soon

SPN-FICFANATIC MASTERLIST

"HALO” MASTERLIST - CHAPTER ONE - CHAPTER THREE

Tag Lists (Open) Halo Series taglist: @ocean-waves-that-misbehave, @flamencodiva @krys198478, @lostnnot2befound, @deansyahtzee, @gloriousartisanfancreator, @anathewierdo , @darkswanordie , @ravenesque, @mirandaaustin93 , @thekatherinewinchester (won’t tag *SOB*), @letmebeyoursforever “Dean/Jensen” taglist: @lilydarcy (won’t tag *SOB*) “Everything” taglist: @angelsandwinchesters, @grace-for-sale, @growningupgeek, @iamnotsaneatall, @nanie5, @waywardasfudge, @ronja-uebrick, @im-dead-inside05, @julzdec, @adoptdontshoppets, @meghanbeinghappy, @sleepylunarwolf , @sammysgirl1997

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mrshiddleston-uk · 6 years ago

Text

The Secret

Pairing: Loki/Reader || Word Count: 1.7k ||

A/N: Soooo I wrote a little something for the lovely @fadingcoast and @fandom-and-feminism’s MCUvsBSB fic challenge! My song prompt was ‘All I have to give’ and Loki.

—————

Another day, another argument. You kicked frustratedly at a loose stone on the path as you made your way back towards the Avengers compound. Tonight had been your last night off before the big mission that was planned for this weekend and you’d been hoping for a nice chilled night with your boyfriend, takeaway pizza and Netflix. But instead, you and he had argued again. You had a pretty volatile relationship, and just lately the bad times had started to massively outweigh the good. Ever since you’d been promoted to Mission Director and started working longer hours. You knew he got frustrated that you couldn’t talk to him about it, as obviously Missions were classified information but you’d hoped he would be happy for you, that you’d finally got the job you’d been desperate for for years. Instead, he was bitter and almost jealous of how much time you spent at work, and with the Avengers. Making your way through the corridors, you shuffled into the common room to get a drink. As you entered, Loki looked up from the table with a look of surprise. You half smiled at him as you opened the fridge and grabbed a beer, flipping the top off and taking a large gulp before leaning back against the counter and turning to Loki, who was still watching you with one eyebrow raised in curiosity. Eventually he spoke,

“You’re back early?”

You took another swig of beer before you replied, looking down to the floor, “My evening didn’t exactly go to plan”

“Did you have another argument?”

You sighed, “I don’t wanna talk about it, Loki”

You rounded the counter and walked towards the table, pulling out a chair and sitting down opposite him, looking at the paper that was strewn across the table, “whatcha doing?”

“Nothing” Loki mumbled, frantically gathering up the papers before you got a chance to look at them and you watched him as he turned them face down and moved them to the other side of the table, out of your reach. Was he blushing? He cleared his throat and turned back to you, his cool exterior re intact,

“I think Wanda left some ice cream in the fridge. Shall we see what’s on the television? I’m sure there’s some awful, predictable, midgardian sitcom on that would cheer you up”

You laughed as Loki stood and held out his hands for you to take, helping you to your feet, “Thank you, Loki” you whispered, sliding your hands around his back and hugging him. You felt his body tense momentarily like it always did before he gently wrapped his arms around you too, rubbing your back gently,

“Go, sit” he ordered.

You spent the next couple of hours watching re runs of ‘Friends’, passing the tub of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream backwards and forwards between you. However, your eyes kept wandering back to the pile of papers still laying on the table.

“Loki?”

“Hmmmm?” He replied without even looking at you as he scraped the spoon around the inside of the now empty ice cream tub, trying to collect the last of it.

“What were you writing earlier?”

You watched as he froze with the spoon mid way between the container and his mouth, and his cheeks started to flush again,

“I told you…..nothing”

He licked the spoon clean and hurriedly picked up the lid, putting it back on the tub and standing up.

“What’s the big secret?” You pressed, curious to know what had got him so flustered and why he wouldn’t tell you. You watched as he moved quickly into the kitchen, throwing the ice cream tub in the bin and rinsing off the spoon before going to the table and gathering up the papers.

“I’m going to bed” he mumbled, heading towards the door. As he reached it, he turned back to you,

“You know, you could do so much better than that uncivilised lout that you choose to call your boyfriend”

Without waiting for you to reply, he pulled the door open and disappeared.

—————

You could still remember the first time you met Loki. You’d been scared, but equally attracted to him at the same time. For the first few weeks he was at the compound, he’d barely left his room as he struggled to adapt to a whole new way of life, only emerging for food and drink. But even then he wouldn’t eat with everyone else in the communal area, instead choosing to take it back to his room and resume his solitary lifestyle. You would watch as he prepared his meal in silence, avoiding eye contact or conversation with anyone. You’d soon realised that the only way you were were going to get to know the God of Mischief was if you made the first move. So you’d summoned every last ounce of courage you had, and knocked in his door, arms full of books that Thor had suggested to you that he might like. After that you and Loki had struck up a close friendship, and with your encouragement he’d also started to interact with the other Avengers too. Some of them started to question just how close you and Loki really were, but you’d both always dismissed it. You were just friends. You had a boyfriend. The thing was, Loki was everything your boyfriend wasn’t.

One night, after everyone else had gone to bed and you’d had one too many glasses of wine, Steve got it out of you. You finally confessed that you were ridiculously attracted to Loki, and had been since the moment you set eyes on him. You’d sworn Steve to secrecy, telling him that Loki would never be interested in you. He was a God after all, and you were just a normal, boring human. To Loki, you were just a friend.

—————

Halfway through the mission, the Comms system broke. You didn’t know anything. You didn’t know if the mission had succeeded or failed. You didn’t know if they were alive or dead. All you could do was wait to see if they came back. You’d been pacing the length of mission control for nearly three hours when the call came - the Quinjet was coming in to land. You ran as fast as you could up to the landing deck, getting there just as the jets engines shut down. Shuffling from leg to leg, you huffed impatiently as you waited for the doors to open. Then slowly, figures started to emerge. Tony, Bruce, Natasha, Clint, Bucky…….they were all pretty beaten up, but they were alive. Your heart races as you started to panic…...where were the others? Then two more people appeared, and at that point, you knew. As Steve helped a bloodied and upset Thor down the ramp, you knew. Loki was dead.

You stood frozen to the spot as Thor was helped away by Bruce and Tony, and Steve walked slowly towards you, looking at the ground. Your eyes filled with tears as he stopped in front of you and sighed, finally lifted his head to look at you.

“I’m sorry”

You collapsed forwards into Steve’s arms as you broke down. He held you tight as you cried, burying your face in his neck.

“We got separated. Loki called for backup but then comms went down so we didn’t know where he was. We couldn’t find him…….i’m so, so sorry”

—————

You were angry. With yourself for failing as Mission Director, with the tech department for whatever had made the comms system fail, with the other Avengers for not trying harder to get to him, even with Loki for not staying closer to the others. But mostly, you were just heartbroken. As soon as the mission debriefing was over you fled from the room, just needing to be alone. Passing your own quarters, you carried on along the corridors until you arrived outside the door to Loki’s room. You opened it and slipped in quietly, taking a deep, shaky breath as you looked around. Your eyes were drawn to something laying on the bed, and you walked over, picking up the envelope with your name written on the front in Loki’s immaculate handwriting. You sunk down onto the edge of the bed as you turned the envelope over and read the note on the back,

Should I not return, this is for you.

Frowning, you tore it open and pulled out the sheet of paper and started to read,

I don’t know what he does to make you cry,

but I’ll be there to make you smile

Tears blurred your vision as you read the poem Loki had written for you. The words shattered what small part of your heart wasn’t already broken.

But my love is all I have to give,

Without you I don’t think I can live.

I wish I could give the world to you,

But love is all I have to give.

The piece of paper fluttered to the floor as you lay down on Loki’s bed, curling yourself into a ball as you sobbed. This is what he had been writing last night. Now you realised why he’d been so defensive, and so secretive about it. You had no idea he felt this way about you too, but now it was too late. Loki was gone and you would never get a chance to tell him that you felt the same. Reaching for his pillow, you hugged it to your chest and cried yourself to sleep.

—————

You woke the next morning to a knock on the door,

“C’min” you croaked, blinking sleepily and sitting up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed.

The door opened slightly and Steve appeared,

“I thought I might find you here”

He stopped as you reached down to pick up the poem, starting to read it again,

“Loki-“ he began, but you cut him off, holding your hand up,

“I can’t do this now, Steve”

You sighed as you traced your fingers over the words on the page,

“He wrote me a poem. A love poem. But it’s too late….”

“But..” Steve started again, sounding impatient

You buried your face in your hands as you whispered, “I wish he was still here so I could tell him I love him too”

After a moment of silence a familiar voice, a voice you never thought you would hear again, replied,

“I’m here”

You whipped your head around to see Steve had stepped to one side of the doorway and there stood a bruised and battered Loki, smiling at you.

“I’m here” he repeated, as you launched yourself off the bed and into his waiting arms.

#MCUvsBSB

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irenewendywode · 5 years ago

Text

Tabitha, Chapter One

Tabitha’s body lay curled up at the bottom of the lake for most of the night.

It didn’t settle her the way it usually did.

The water was blind. It had no eyes to gawk at her, the way the rest of the world sometimes could. That was usually a comfort. She usually needed the escape. But—and this went against everything she’d ever known about survival—lately, Tabitha had just wanted to be seen.

She got no shortage of attention in Sunflower, when it came down to it. She was considered something of a character in the small, country college town. But that character, that was an act. That was a façade to cover up who she was down here in the dark.

She’d left the sunfish of the shallows behind at this depth, and the bigger fish stayed away. They could taste her, smell her, tell that she was predatory. Perhaps they’d adapted to her kind a long time ago. If they’d been curious, it would have been so easy to consume them and make the lake truly empty.

There was nothing to see at the bottom of the lake. Little to feel but the steady pressure of water. Little to hear but the faint, rhythmic shifts in the lake’s surface. The sensory deprivation left Tabitha alone with herself. Alone, she could be anything and anyone she wished.

Tonight, it only brought home the differences between wish and reality and made her miss all the things she denied herself by the light of day. She wished that she could be truly herself for once, out in the open, in the light.

When she’d had enough of that cradling nothingness, she got up and walked across the lake bottom, up its uneven slope and through the surface, to the little patch of beach by the lake where she’d set her things on a rock. Her internal time sense told her it was around 3:30 A.M.

She dried and dressed quickly in her plain work clothes. She was careful to brush away her footprints in the sand before leaving.

The gravel drive was rough under her bare feet, but it didn’t bother her—in fact, it was friendly, familiar, like the lack of breath under the surface of the water. Like her ability to see in crystalline detail in the darkness of the night. But it was another thing separating her from everyone else.

She pushed that thought aside in favor of the practicalities of the day. Milking was next, she reminded herself, and then she’d bake fresh bread. She always sold a lot of bread and sandwiches on days when the local college had a term just beginning and the new students were figuring out how to feed themselves.

Tabitha dried her short hair as she walked home in the darkness then quickly settled one of her older wigs onto her head, clipping it fast. She didn’t like to be without one for too long, even when she was by herself. It was one thing to not be presentable. It was another thing to know she looked so entirely unlike herself as she did without her wigs.

With her wig on, Tabitha was herself again, though she certainly wasn’t presentable. She still smelled of the lake, for one thing, but the sheep and goats wouldn’t care—they smelled of sheep and goats, after all. She’d shower properly once bread was in the oven.

In the middle of the night, at the bottom of the lake, with her sheep and goats, these were the parts of her life no one saw. No one ever could. It could compromise everything: her business, her place here, and her very life.

Silent on her bare feet, Tabitha slipped into the barn, put on her heavy leather milking apron, and greeted the first sleepy animal of the day with a scratch behind the ears.

She’d be lost without these creatures. They gave her what she needed to live. She had so much to be grateful for.

But some mornings, that just wasn’t enough.

Nights and mornings, those were the worst times. When everyone else was sleeping. When everyone else could be vulnerable beside their lovers and families. Unguarded.

Running the shop during business hours was good, she reminded herself. Evenings were better, often, between the classes she took at the college, Blue’s social invitations, and sewing club in the library twice a week.

Tabitha showered thoroughly, washing the smell of the lake off, and began donning her armor in layers. Thick, structured undergarments, petticoats, and padding. Some ruffled confection of a dress over top. An apron to coordinate, if she were manning the store, or a parasol for outdoors.

Her shoes really did need to be practical, but there she paid the money saved from making everything else herself to have sturdy shoes in styles that went with her dresses and in enough colors to match. High, laced boots, cowboy boots, and Mary Janes were her favorites.

Makeup, of course; one of her good wigs; hair accessories; and just a piece or two of jewelry. She loved ribbon chokers for more than just the fact that they obscured the line of her throat. She always wore one on a day when she felt the need to be put-together, extra-shiny and invulnerable.

She was going to need one today. She was already unbalanced and the crowds were going to be fierce.

The fantastic cowboy boots with sunflowers embroidered on them were the basis of today’s outfit. Yellow and blue: a yellow dress and classic blue gingham apron, a blue-ribbon choker with a tiny sun pendant, and blue bows in her curled and pulled-back hair.

She looked at herself in the mirror, cheerful and radiant. The way she wished she felt. At least the clothes got her in the right frame of mind.

She smiled, closed the door on her tiny, half-bare apartment, and went downstairs to open the shop.

Every morning, the shop smelled like the baking and like the wood of the building and like coffee and tea, like the night before had been scrubbed away. As the day wore on and people came in and out, it got messy and full of life.

There were advantages to the noise, as well as the clean quiet. She lost herself to the flow of it. Things were busy, and before she knew it, half the day was gone.

In the afternoon light, sun shone on the bright white window frames, on the twinkling wind chimes and bright porch railings outside, on the odd sliver of wall, making the space bright and cheerful. But no sunlight fell anywhere near the counter, the chairs, or the tables.

Two very familiar women were next in line: Blue, with her masses of curly black hair falling over an equally massive fuzzy magenta sweater, and Ellie, with her sleek blonde ponytail, peach button-down, and the patchwork bag hung over her shoulder. Tabitha still remembered how Blue had agonized over each scrap of fabric on its crazy-quilt surface.

“It’s lively in here today!” Blue commented with a grin, gesturing to two college boys who seemed to be starting an impromptu wrestling match in one corner.

Tabitha shrugged. “The shop’s seen worse.”

“What does it even take to ruffle your feathers, Tazz?” Blue asked.

Not as much as you think. “I hope you never have to find out.”

“But I wanna know!” Blue whined.

Tabitha shook her head. “What is your obsession with getting under calm people’s skin?”

Blue reached over to tickle Ellie. “Someone’s gotta do it,” she said.

Ellie swatted her, but she was smiling.

“If you say so,” Tabitha replied. “What’s your next play, then?”

Blue looked at her thoughtfully. “I’ve got your number,” she said. “I’m halfway to knowing all your secrets. I’ll figure it out.”

Tabitha didn’t let her smile slip as she insisted, “I have no secrets.”

“Oh,” Blue said, “everyone’s got secrets. And you’ve got some doozies. I can tell.”

“Ignore her,” said Ellie with casual good humor, elbowing Blue gently in the side. “She doesn’t know anything, not for sure.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, rat me out, why don’t you?” Blue said. “You can pay for the grilled cheese today.”

“You can’t alienate Tazz.” Ellie’s hands were folded primly in front of her as she stood next to Blue, showing no sign of being the type to throw an elbow someone’s way. “She makes the only interesting food in town.”

Ellie was going to school for nursing, and it was a good fit, too, because she seemed to be almost all solid sensible brains and charming bedside manner. Blue, beside her, was the quintessential theater major—although, officially, she was still undecided.

“Fine.” Blue sighed and dug out her wallet. She turned puppy eyes on Tabitha. “You know we love you deeply and would never stick our noses too far in your personal business, right, Tazz?”

Tabitha graced them with a small smile. “I know that about at least one of you.”

Blue, of course, just winked in response.

Internally, Tazz sighed. They had wits and determination enough for ten girls, and they would eventually figure her out.

Some days, Tazz was deeply worried about herself that she considered these girls her friends.

~❁~

Tabitha’s hands were large, knobby, and work-hardened, and sometimes it seemed they always had been. Most days she didn’t mind. Her hands could do the tasks she put before them, and that was what mattered. They were good hands that way.

Some days she envied the slim, delicate fingers of the girls who came to her shop after school. She watched them, wishing her hands had that same grace. Wishing they didn’t look so alien beside feminine things like lace and the intricate silver charm bracelets that were all the rage with the young girls of the town.

Things were busy that day, with the start of the new school year; college kids newly moved to campus and out exploring the town came into her little shop in a near-constant stream. She didn’t have time to register much detail about any of them. So when a pair of hands passed her a credit card over the counter, long and graceful but sturdy, with the twinkle of purple nail polish standing boldly on them, she almost didn’t see that the card bore the name Benedict Rollins.

When her brain caught up, her head snapped up to look at them, but they were halfway out the door with their purchases, long black hair sweeping across their shoulders.

Tazz knew most everybody in town, except for the new students. But they were just usually… small-town people, local people. People embedded in the same kind of culture that had been growing here for years, like the Birch farmhouse. Sunflower Community College didn’t have much to attract people from far away.

This person, they were something new.

She couldn’t help probing her memory for the details that made her think so: the style of their clothes, mostly black and possibly practical for a life entirely different than one lived on a farm. An accent that was more like what she heard on TV than those of the people around her, missing the familiar hint of Northern Appalachian twang.

It was a small thing, but throughout the day it slowly ate at Tazz’s mind. She watched her parade of usuals come through the café, and she milked the goats as she did every evening. But all the while, the line of their jaw and the swish of their hair replayed themselves in her mind over and over. The sparkle of their fingernails haunted her field of vision.

Were they—was he he? Something in her gut told her that that pronoun was right, and that the name Benedict was right. That frame of reference suited him. She didn’t like to assume his appearance could tell his story, but for now, in the privacy of her own head, she thought of him as male and she used the name from the card, Benedict.

His frame had been wide and somewhat lanky, his walk more swagger than sway, and every sparkle and the refinement of his appearance sat opposed to that but didn’t overwhelm it. It fascinated Tabitha, in a way her own appearance never had. And she’d only caught a glimpse today.

Part of her hoped she got a chance to see more, but then, he might have just been passing through. There was no reason to think that there might be more to their paths crossing.

Either way, the small silver bracelet she’d seen around his wrist worried her. She didn’t know what it said, but she’d seen enough to know what it meant. Something was wrong with his body, something serious enough that anyone caring for him would need to know about it immediately so as not to hurt him further.

He fascinated her, but she knew it was a terrible idea for her to get close to anyone as fragile as that.

Why was she even thinking about it? The hot summer air of the past months must have been baking her brain. Fall, and heavier business, would eventually bring her back down to Earth.

~❁~

Making human friends was a dangerous prospect, and she tried to keep things in the realm of casual acquaintances. Of course, she failed. Tabitha liked people. She didn’t know any other vampires, not anymore, but some of them, she suspected, were hunters by nature. Not Tabitha. Tabitha bred goats.

She liked to think she was like any other farmer with livestock. She took what she needed from them. The only real difference was that what she needed was blood.

She also milked them, made artisanal cheeses, and sold those along with baked goods and teas in her café. And she tried her utmost to remember that there was a great deal of difference between the rich but quiet social lives of the goat herds in her barns and the deeper, more important lives of the herds of college students tromping through Tabitha’s Tea House.

Occasionally, one of the new students ordered something containing an earthier cheese, spat it out, and said it tasted like goat guts. Occasionally, she had the desire to eat something herself that, for once, didn’t taste of goat guts. Like a mouthy college student.

But fortunately, not very often.

Given the options, goat guts really weren’t so bad.

~❁~

The next day, she found that Ellie and Blue were smirking at her from their usual table.

“What?” she asked them, in lieu of taking their order.

“You seem… different today,” Blue commented, her smile only widening.

“Different how?” A little nervousness shot through her.

“A little distracted,” Ellie said.

“And you’ve got these little smiles at odd times,” continued Blue. “Did you meet someone, Tazz?”

Damn them and their perceptiveness. But then, they wouldn’t have wiggled their way into their status as her friends without a lot of perceptiveness and persistence. Tabitha certainly hadn’t been looking for friends. Friends were dangerous. Friends got under your skin and learned all your secrets and made you feel things.

But here she was, distracted, dwelling on the simple memory of a man’s hands. It was distinctly possible that isolation was just as dangerous.

“No?” Tazz said unconvincingly.

“Ooh, was it one of the new students?” Blue asked, heedless of her answer. “You should come to the party tomorrow night. Everyone’s invited. I put flyers up at the dorms. Should go on for most of the night.” Blue winked. “So if you’re looking for someone who likes the night life…”

Damn their perceptiveness to the depths. Even if they knew nothing for certain, they knew too much. “Bluebell, you know I’m a morning girl. Got to be up to milk the goats and bake the bread and mind the store. When’s a girl expected to sleep?”

“Don’t you call me that, Tazz! You know I hate it!”

Tabitha just gave her a pointed look.

“All right, okay, I’ll stop! You are a perfectly normal girl with a perfectly normal sleep schedule. Just… think about the party? We’d love to see you there.”

Tabitha sighed, considering them. “Okay, I’ll think about it, but don’t hold your breath. Now are you going to order, or are you just in my shop to look decorative?”

~❁~

That night was sewing club.

Sewing club was always interesting. Not all the old ladies of the core group had welcomed her when she’d joined, with her over-the-top ruffled dresses and ever-present parasols. They seemed to take her style as an affront, some kind of mockery. They weren’t outright rude about it, but they were cold. But Cynthia, the sweet owner of the town’s only florist’s shop, had always seemed to see that Tabitha made and wore the clothes she did because she genuinely loved them. And so Cynthia was always ready with a little help or advice any time Tabitha asked.

Things had gotten better when Blue had joined the club—one other girl making dramatic dresses and costumes for the pure fun of it (although Bluebell tended to change styles every day rather than stick with one favorite theme, as Tabitha did). It had gotten even better when Blue had dragged Mira along. With the three of them and Cynthia forming their own little knot, it didn’t matter so much how often there was a dirty look shot their way from the other side of the room.

Blue always had something complimentary to say about Tabitha’s latest dress or skirt, and Mira often brought interesting problems to them for help: how to make a bathrobe that would be easy to put on even from her wheelchair, but still look like a bathrobe and not a blanket with arms, or how to make bags mimicking her favorite styles from magazines that were also practical to hang from the back of her chair.

Tabitha had joined the sewing club because she’d needed help with her projects, when she’d first moved back to Sunflower, but over time it had become something dangerously like having friends.

She didn’t want to give it up. That initial reason to stay was still there. She needed all the help she could get with these elaborate projects. And they weren’t just for fun—after all, one advantage of dressing the way she did, being what she was, was that it gave her an excuse to carry a parasol everywhere. But she made the clothes her own, loved them for all they had become a necessity.

Her dresses were her armor. They kept the world away from her secrets and her vulnerabilities.

Of course, letting Blue help her construct it all meant that Blue knew where the chinks were. And today Blue kept giving her looks.

Tabitha ignored them. She had enough trouble going on inside her head without Blue poking at the mess.

~❁~

Bluebell’s parents had bought their land in Sunflower as a vacation home, a place to go to get away from Harrisburg, but Blue had always loved it. She was one of the few city girls who’d come to Sunflower College in all the time Tabitha’s Tea Shop had been in business. Blue mostly had the house to herself, vacant barn and large pond included. And there was nothing she loved more than gathering large groups of young people to make a mess of her barn and splash around in her pond. So long as she kept the house locked and didn’t provide alcohol, it never ended up being too much effort to put everything right in the morning.

Tabitha, a part-time student at the college, had occasionally been known to attend these parties. She carefully cultivated an appearance as a friendly and sociable person. And she did enjoy the dressing up, watching people, and especially swimming in the moonlit pond.

But today was the first time she’d actually felt excited to go to a party in a long time, and that scared her.

She always took great care with her appearance—she had a lot of waking hours to make use of, and really, any excuse to use them was good. Anything to distract from the long nights. A lot of thought, a lot of labor, and a great deal of her money went into her clothes. Bathing suits were especially challenging on her unchanging figure, but if she wore a one-piece with a skirt, she could just about make it work. It wasn’t exactly the hottest style, but then, the newest fashion wasn’t always what Tabitha wanted to achieve. Modern American culture had a lot going for it, but she would always miss some things about her childhood—her heartbeat among them.

She put up her hair, piling her vivid orange-red curls on top of her head and tying them with a red ribbon. Her red-and-white bathing suit looked like a halter dress, drawing the eye away from too-broad shoulders to her face and lightly padded chest. Her skirt flared out, obscuring narrow hips. And today, somehow, it mattered more that she genuinely liked the way she looked.

She shouldn’t even be letting herself think about him. It was too dangerous to get close to him. But it didn’t matter. Just the chance to see him again buoyed her spirits in a way she wasn’t used to at all. She wanted to know who he was, why he was here, what kind of person might choose to sparkle like that amid Sunflower’s dusty, earthy landscape.

And if she didn’t go, the girls would notice. They’d worry. They’d talk. And that would be dangerous for Tabitha as well. So she drove her truck out to the party in the empty barn, sternly scolding the butterflies in her belly.

The music in the barn was pounding, but she smiled through it and greeted the people she knew, especially the regulars from the tea house. Her eyes roamed, sorting through the faces, heads, shoulders, hands, looking for a familiar glimpse of long black hair and long, delicate, painted fingers. But he wasn’t in the barn.

Tazz tried not to let her face fall.

“Did you find him?” asked Ellie, now at her elbow, her bright pink racerback top and shorts immediately recognizable. “Or her?”

Tazz narrowed her eyes.

“No?” Ellie pouted. “Have you been out to the pond yet? If they’re anything like your type, they’ll head straight for the water. You know that.”

Tabitha sighed. Those two could see through her far too well. Far too well for their own good.

“Go swim.” Ellie patted her shoulder. “If it’s meant to be? You’ll find them.”

Tazz had more than once wondered how Ellie could have so much faith, so much trust in the pattern of things, when everything her family and her town said about God stood so starkly against what she and Blue were to each other.

Tabitha didn’t have much in the way of faith herself, but she stayed away from the church, from crosses and holy water, just on principle, to be safe. Because if she existed, a vampire, the dark side of the supernatural coin, then who was to say the light side wasn’t out there as well?

But she didn’t pray, because it didn’t seem like proper form to be asking favors from an organization that seemed determined to stamp out not just those like her, but also those like her friends, the inseparable Blue and Ellie.

Tabitha stepped outside into the dark, friendly night, where people and light were sparser and the noise of music didn’t press against her quite so much. The lapping of the water against the shore of the pond was all the rhythm she needed.

The tiny beach was full, but there was no sign of the person she remembered. Maybe she’d imagined him. Maybe he wasn’t here. Maybe he was ill. She wandered along the lakeshore and thought.

He was sitting on the dock.

Lit only by candle lanterns on each corner and the barely waning moon above, he was magnificent. His hair was inky and seemed to blend with the black of his clothes, the shadows of the dock, and the invisible depths of the water. But the light glinted on jewelry, rings and necklaces, the hardware of his boots, those midnight-purple glittering fingernails, and—and his eyes. Piercing and intense.

And, of course, that terrible bracelet. A warning, a talisman that should, by all rights, keep her away.

“Hello.” She smiled at him just a moment too late to be natural. “I’m Tazz. Of Tabitha’s. I’ve seen you at the shop, but I wasn’t sure if I would again. Are you starting at the college?”

He shrugged.

“You’re Benedict, right?”

He laughed dryly. “God, call me Ben, if you have to call me anything.”

Ben didn’t say anything further. He didn’t seem like the type to enter into the kind of casual acquaintanceship that she had with so many of the students. Despite herself, Tazz liked that about him.

He hadn’t seemed disturbed by the use of his full name, just amused. “What if I think you look like a Benedict?”

He snorted and spread his arms wide. “This is what a Benedict looks like now?”

She noticed for the first time that he was wearing eyeliner.

“Definitely,” she said. “Definitely a Benedict.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “So, Tabitha, are you going to stand there all night, or are you going to sit down?” He patted the wood of the dock beside him.

“I’m going to swim,” she told him primly, and then began wading her way into the water.

He smiled back a little wistfully.

She wanted to know what that was about. Tazz loved the water, and some days she didn’t understand why not everybody was the fish that she was.

Maybe it had something to do with their need to breathe.

“You’re a little overdressed for a pond-hopping party,” she noted as the water inched up her thighs. She faked a shudder at the coolness of it.

“Well, I can’t, really,” he told her, jingling that little silver bracelet. “Not when I can’t see what’s in there. I could cut my toe on something, bleed out. That would be the end of Ben. Hemophilia.”

Now, Tazz really did shiver.

This was bad. One slip and he’d never stop bleeding. It was like a nightmare, playing out before her mind’s eye. Marina, all over again, but even more impossible to stop.

She couldn’t move. She froze in place, the shine off his bracelet the only thing in her vision.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Ben said, a hand reaching out. “It’s okay, really. I’m on medication and everything. But why take a chance, right?”

“No, of course,” said Tabitha, shaking herself back to the moment. “You’re right. You shouldn’t. I’m sorry.” She retreated further into the water.

“Well, maybe I will swim,” he told her. “As long as you’re here to save me, right?”

“Don’t,” she pleaded, her voice startled into an unpleasant croak that she usually hated, but tonight she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Damn it. Damn it all. Damn everything. How could she be so attached already?

“You’re really worried, aren’t you? You don’t even know me.”

“I worry about everyone.” She blew out a breath. “Besides, Blue would be devastated if someone got hurt at her party.”

“She’s the one with all that curly, dark hair, right? And the cute girlfriend?”

Tazz’s jaw tightened.

“Okay, I get it,” Ben said, holding up his hands. “No mentioning the irlfriend-gays.”

“Do you always head right for the most dangerous possible spot for you?” Tabitha asked, voice steely.

“Not the most dangerous,” Benedict said. “I just like being honest about what I see.”

Tabitha frowned. She’d known too many people for whom ‘honesty’ meant ‘judgment.’ “And what do you see when you look at me?”

As he looked her over, Tabitha tried very hard not to listen to the reaction his heartbeat had to her. Whatever it was, whatever it meant.

“A very graceful, very beautiful woman… who tries very hard to look like she’s seen less of the dark side of life than she has.”

She sighed in relief. “That’s all?”

“Well, I haven’t seen as much of you as I’d like to yet. A few minutes in the moonlight can only get me so far.”

Tazz smiled despite herself. Despite the bracelet. Despite everything. And she had the sudden and bizarre thought that she didn’t know what to do with her hands or her eyes.

She was in so much trouble.

“So I’ve been asking around about who knows the local caves the best,” he told her, “and your name came up.”

She froze again, just for a moment this time. “You?” she asked. “Want to visit the caves?”

He smiled at her, a smile that meant no good. “I’m an artist. A photographer. They’re kind of why I came. I like beautiful things.” That devastating smile flashed once again. “Think I came to the right place for that, just from what I’ve seen so far. But yeah, I still want to visit the caves. And I shouldn’t be going down there myself, and definitely not without someone who knows the safest ways in and out and what parts are the most dangerous.”

His eyes were wide and pleading now. This guy wasn’t kidding. He’d moved all the way out here just for this, wanted this. She studied him. This wasn’t a joke for him. He knew the dangers… some of them, at least.

“You aren’t afraid of anything, are you?”

He shrugged. “I’m not afraid to die, if that’s what you mean,” he told her. “I’ve kind of had a lot of time to contemplate that, since I first found out that it could happen pretty much any time.”

Isn’t that all humans? she found herself thinking. But how different it must be for him, his skin that much thinner, his blood that much more easily shed. No, it wasn’t the same, not at all. What he was asking for was impossible.

She shook her head. “There’s no way I’m taking you down into the caves, not with your condition.”

“I’m not going to let that stop me,” he said with a sly smirk. But his eyes were hard enough that she believed him profoundly.

“You’re kind of a bastard, you know that?”

He sighed, leaning toward her and propping his chin in his hands. “Tazz, I have a policy. I’ve had it for a long time. I don’t let anyone stop me from living my life.”

That hit her hard. She wished, sometimes, that she could live like that. So freely. So courageously. Quiet words escaped her: “Not even yourself?”

Their gazes met and held. The only sound was the rippling of the water against the dock.

“That’s the hardest,” he said, “but no. Not even me.”

He reached out to her, and she almost couldn’t help but take his hand, those graceful fingers that mesmerized her, the sparkle to them that appealed to her so much. She could feel the warmth of it, the pulse of blood in his fingers.

No.

“I can’t.” She almost yanked her hand back, but she remembered to be careful, remembered to be sure not to hurt him.

“You can,” he called after her as she slogged her way back to shore. “I don’t know what it is, but I’m sure you can.”

The water dripping from her hands and body felt like the memory of blood.

~❁~

Tabitha spent nearly the entirety of Thursday’s business hours watching the customers to see if any of them were Ben.

It was ridiculous. She clearly had too much time on her hands still, if she had become this preoccupied by a man with whom she’d only ever had a single, short conversation.

Blue, of course, was insufferable about the whole thing and stayed until past closing to help her clean up, just to get the chance to prod her about it. She asked Tabitha whether she’d found him at the party, how it had gone, what he was like. If she’d gotten a date out of it.

“No,” Tabitha finally snapped. “I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not a good idea,” Tazz said.

“But why not?”

“That’s none of your business, Bluebell Jones,” Tabitha said.

“Harsh,” Blue replied and took to pouting. But Tabitha knew from experience that the quiet wouldn’t last long.

When all else failed, she could always derail Blue’s freight train of nosiness with talk of new clothes. And she was expecting a package today, new fabric in two new prints she’d been especially charmed with, along with ribbons and lace and various notions.

“Want to come down to the post office with me?” she asked Blue. “I’ve got a package arriving from the fabric store.”

“Are you kidding?” Blue’s eyes bugged out. “Like you have to ask. Always.” She hooked her arm through Tabitha’s. “Let’s go! What are we waiting for?”

“Let me get my umbrella,” Tabitha said, laughing despite herself. “It looks like rain.”

It began to drizzle about halfway there, and the two women huddled together under Tazz’s umbrella, talking. Blue, as always, pushed.

“You should go out more. Whether it’s with him or not. Do more social things. I know you like people.”

“I do things,” she responded. “I do classes, and sewing club. And I always talk to plenty of people, running the shop.”

“Yeah, and you’re all business, all the time. I know. I’m usually there. So are you afraid of fun, or what?”

Yes, Tabitha didn’t say. “Maybe that’s just what I’m like when I’m having fun.”

“Sure, Tazz.” Blue jostled their shoulders together as they came inside and Tabitha closed her umbrella.

She’d forgotten it was Thursday, the day Anne was usually behind the counter by herself.

Anne, among other things, always wore a largish crucifix around her neck and always peered at Tabitha suspiciously when she came in for a package on a drizzly day.

Tabitha usually just tried her best to ignore her but kept her distance, just in case there was some truth to the myth about the power the cross had over vampires.

Tazz went to her post box first, found the expected package slip, and brought it to the desk. Anne had the package ready and looked vaguely impatient.

Blue grabbed up the box before Tazz could decide what to do. “Can I, can I, can I?” she asked, practically bouncing.

“Oh, all right,” Tazz said with a show of reluctance. In truth, this was exactly why she’d even brought Blue.

Blue ripped the box open and sank down on the floor right there to paw through it. “Ohh,” she said, pulling out a roll of cornflower-blue silk ribbon. “It’s so soft.” She set it aside gently to look at the rest. “Oh, look at the sweet little rabbits!” she cried, finding the printed material. “That suits you so well. The dress will look amazing on you!”

Anne seemed to have had enough, because she cleared her throat, and when that didn’t budge Blue, she said, “Okay, pack it up, take this somewhere else.” She turned back, vanishing further into the office, but not far enough to stop them from hearing her mutter, “Dirty dykes.”

That made Blue’s back straighten, made her face go tight. Tabitha and Blue took the large box between them and scrambled out, rain dripping on their shocked heads and on the open box before Blue pulled the package fully into her own grip and nudged Tazz’s hand to put up the umbrella.

She lifted it over them both and glanced up and down the deserted street before speaking. “I’m sorry, I should have thought harder about what that would have looked like.”

Blue waved a hand, brushing it aside. “It’s fine,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I don’t. I’m not ashamed of what I am. And I wasn’t exactly the most discreet, either.”

“Why do you mind when people suspect that you’re with Ellie,” Tabitha asked her, frowning, “but not when people suspect that you’re with me?”

“You can handle yourself,” Blue replied.

“I’m sure you know Ellie can, too.”

“Yes, but…” Blue twisted a curl of her springy black hair around her finger. “You always seem like you know how bad things can get. I’m always going to be a source of drama, no one in this town expects anything less of me by now, but Ellie… she’s a good, wholesome girl. The ladies in the sewing club, the ones who glare at us, they like her. Everyone here likes her. She doesn’t need that to change.”

“Does she know that you think like this?” Tabitha asked.

“We’ve… kinda talked about it,” Blue evaded.

“Let me guess,” Tabitha said. “She doesn’t like it any more than I do.”

Blue twirled her hair and looked away. “No, not really.”

“Blue.” Tazz looked her in the eye. “You can’t tell me to go out and live my life, be myself, and not be afraid and then turn around and stop Ellie from making her own choices about how to present herself to people. It’s not fair, to either of us.”

Blue sighed deeply. “I know. But it’s hard to want to be part of the story of Ellie losing everything she has here.”

“You know I have a lot here that I don’t want to lose either, right?” Tabitha asked, nudging her shoulder this time. “I like my life.”

“Yeah,” said Blue. “But do you love it?”

Tazz couldn’t think how to answer, but she steadfastly maintained to herself that Blue had not won the argument.

~❁~

Tabitha could spend hours listing the reasons she shouldn’t form attachments like that. She was dangerous. Maybe not as dangerous as she had been those first few weeks, those first few years, but she knew from experience that her own viciousness could shock her. That years of control might suddenly come to nothing.

There were also hunters to worry about. She’d never encountered any directly, but she’d come far too close for comfort. Only her predator’s honed senses had warned her in time to stop a violent confrontation.

Tabitha knew that she would do whatever she had to for survival, when it came down to it, but she’d rather not get herself or any others of her species into trouble. When she heard the hunters before they heard her, she was cold enough to be gladder more for her own sake than for theirs. She felt hollow for that lack of kinship towards humans, and Tazz tried all the harder to think in terms of protecting humans, even if it was something she didn’t care about as much as she thought she ought to. She remembered being human, but it all got further away and more abstract every year. And the decades were starting to pile up.

It was a delicate balance, letting people close enough to remind her to care, but not the kind of close that had worked so badly for her before.

(x)

#book #writing #excerpt #first chapter #tabitha #sunflowers blooming

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hphoneysuckle · 6 years ago

Text

Harry Potter and the Honeysuckle Vine. Chapter 1: Reparo

Chapter 1: Reparo

“I think Harry’s right,” said Hermione quietly.

“That wand’s more trouble than it’s worth,” said Harry. “And quite honestly,” he turned away from the painted portraits, thinking now only of the four poster bed lying waiting for him in gryffindor tower, and wondering whether kreacher might bring him a sandwich there, “ I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime.”

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

May 2, 1998

As those words escaped his lips, it dawned on him through the exhaustion. His role - the boy who lived, the chosen one, the prophecy - it was over. Voldemort was over. He could just be Harry. He could be normal. But first he needed some serious sleep, considering he, ron and hermione had been awake for about 48 hours.

The trio turned towards the stone gargoyle and were met by professor mcgonagall. Her hair unkempt, all over the place, and her robe torn and scattered with blood stains.

“ hello you three.” she said, surprised to find them here.

“Hello, professor, I just wanted to speak to dumbledore”

“Oh, yes of course, I’ll come back”

“no we’re finished, we’re going to head up to the gryffindor tower to sleep, but in the next few days I would like for us to talk, if thats ok”

Harry had said it before he knew what he was thinking. He wasn’t ready in this moment but he would tell them all what happened. All of it, and he knew deep down he couldn't do it more than once and so he would tell them all at once.

“Of course Mr Potter, now I need to contact the school governors and certain folks at the ministry, with so much damage to the castle I’m not sure hogwarts will remain open. But that's for another day. Goodnight you three”

As the three of them reached the gargoyle, Harry heard McGonagall speak,

“he’s come so far since we dropped him at 4 privet drive”

“Yes,” the portrait replied softly but with an overtone of pride, “At extraordinary cost, the three of them have done more than any of us could have hoped for.”

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

May 4, 1998

Harry didn’t remember getting into bed, or walking back to gryffindor tower. But by the feel of the sheets and the way the sun felt through the bed hangings he knew that's where he was. He sat up slowly feeling the side table for his glasses. As the room came into focus, so did the weight of the previous days, of Fred, Lupin, tonks, and in some ways himself.

He absentmindedly put his hand to his scar while Ron entered the room.

“Your awake finally” Ron said, half smiling, though it was evident he had been crying.

“Ron, I… I’m so sorry”

Ron stopped and sat on the bed and weakly nodded. “You realize you've been asleep for two days. Everyone’s been getting worried. Ginny is practically besides herself”

“Ginny…” Harry repeated, trailing off, he had no idea what he wanted to say to her, all he knew is he wanted her back and would do just about anything she wanted.

“So its about to be lunch time, and Professor McGonagall was going to give us an update on if the castle can be repaired.”

The two grabbed clean robes from the foot of the bed and headed towards the great hall. Harry stopped about halfway down the stairs when he could hear the murmurs of all the survivors gathering for a meal.

“Ron, I need to do something outside, let them all know that I’ll be there in about 10 minutes, well it might be less if this doesn’t work, but then I need to see everyone together. You, Hermione, all your family, the order, the ministry, the DA, all of them. I’m telling you all what happened.”

Ron looked at him worried, “ you sure your ready mate?”

“Yes, I want it over with as soon as possible.”

“Ok then, I’ll save you a seat”

Harry headed out through what used to be the entrance hall onto the grounds. In turning around, in the full late morning sun, Harry could see just how devastated the castle was.

He pulled the Elder Wand out of his pocket. The idea came to him after repairing his own wand with it. It was a big job, and he doubted it would work. But somehow, Harry knew dumbledore would approve of this last use of the thing. To make it’s last deed one of healing and repair before it was placed back in Dumbledore's tomb.

He held the wand aloft thinking of all the times he had taken this building in, all the memories of being with his friends around the grounds, of going into the forest with Ron and Hermione, of going into the chamber to save Ginny, all the quidditch practices, the DA meetings, kissing Ginny, studying in the library, he even briefly thought of Dobby in the kitchens with Winky.

A lump the size of a football ended up coming up his throat. He thought of how the blood soaked stone and dirt cann’t be the last thing this place sees. He thought of Fred and firecrackers he and George set off on Umbridge, He thought of Lupin and Tonks, and now Teddy - Harry knew this is where his godson was going to be educated.

With the tears now in full stream, Harry steadied himself looking at the massive wreck in front of him. He looked up at the owlery and astronomy tower thinking of Hedwig and Buckbeak and the night they saved Sirius.

He closed his water filled eyes as he felt his heart fill with memories and he said softly but surely,

“Reparo”

Nothing happened. He sighed, he thought it would work, he needed it to work.

“Potter!” He heard McGonagall call from the doorway, and as he opened his eyes. He heard it. And from the look on McGonagall’s face so did she.

It was like hearing the Hogwarts Express from off in the distance a slow rumble of a sound. The ground began to shake slightly and as Harry looked around he could see things stirring.

Slowly as the rumble grew louder, small stones in the heaps of crumbled walls started to chatter. Some began to rise.

Harry’s heart swelled and more stones rose, now accompanied by bigger stones, roof tiles and statues. McGonagall had walked out the door now and was standing next to Harry staring at the debris rising all around open mouthed. People were coming out of the great hall now surrounded by banisters and tapestries gliding back to their rightful places above them.

Harry saw Mr Weasley put an arm around Mrs Weasley as she cried at the sight. He saw Ron holding Hermione‘s hand and point at books flying towards the library.

And then it happened. The air was filled with color as millions of small stained glass shards rose glittering. It was as if rain of every color was falling in reverse.

“It’s beautiful” McGonagall breathed.

“No, she’s beautiful” Harry replied. Because there among the streams of color and the last remnants of battlements flying into place, was Ginny turning around in wonder. And suddenly her eyes met his, and for the briefest moment he knew, everything would be ok.

But before that feeling could sink in, a booming voice - not unlike a Mrs. Weasley howler broke the moment.

HARRY JAMES POTTER! How DARE you! You leave me, broken hearted, and in the dark for a YEAR! You just leave! You LEFT me for a year with the Carrows and Snape, not knowing a THING about your whereabouts! For all I knew, you could be DEAD! Along with Ron and Hermione, and I wouldn't know a thing!" Ginny was yelling at Harry, oblivious to everyone staring. "And then you come back! You go and YOU disappear on me once AGAIN not knowing where you were! Then we go outside to find you DEAD!" Ginny was nearing hysteria now. "Do you know how it FEELS, Harry, to have the love of your life DEAD AT YOUR FEET? Do you Harry? To have your world crashing down before you? Ginny had tears streaming down her face, and she was shaking from her sobs.

Voldemort had KILLED YOU! But of course you were NOT DEAD! You were faking it! But the scare you gave me was NOT FAKE! I was crushed, NO, I was far beyond crushed! And now you come BACK! And you think that everything's OK? Well it's NOT Mr. Potter! It’s not!

But before he could think to say sorry she was off, running across the lawn towards the trees encircling the lake. He knew where she was going.

“I’ll go get her” Harry heard Hermione say behind him as he watched her run.

“No, I need to be the one.” He told Hermione. Then turning to Professor McGonagall, Harry said “Did Ron mention to you I wanted to talk to everyone?

She nodded, still staring at the repairing castle.

“How about everyone eat, and then we can talk, I’ll get Ginny.”

—————-

He knew where he would find her the moment she started running.

All that time staring at her dot on the marauders map while away, he knew her favorite spot.

“Ginny?” He said softly approaching a cluster of three trees at the shore of the lake.

“I don’t want to speak to you. I can’t speak to you. God harry I’m so angry”

“I know, Ginny, but I’m just going to say some things and you don’t have to say anything. I just…. could you listen…”

He couldn’t tell if she nodded or if her shoulders moved from crying but she wasn’t yelling so it was a good sign to go on.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving and disappearing, out of all the screaming when Hagrid carried me to the castle it was yours that was the hardest to hear. I love you Ginny“

At this she turned around quickly and faced him. He kept talking to ward off another howler

“I have loved you for a long time but couldn’t allow myself to think about a future. I had one goal one single thing, a prophecy to fulfill, and so I couldn’t, it was… how did you put it some stupid noble reason”

He thought he saw the flash of a smile, or maybe it was the light

“I told you then that our time spent together was like out of someone else’s life, well now it doesn’t have to be. It’s over. Voldemort’s over, and you don’t have to answer me now but I do not want us to be over. I have missed you more than I thought humanly possible and I’m about to go inside and tell everyone how this all happened. And well…. if I’m being honest it’s really you I need to hear it.”

He was out of breath. She stood there arms crossed, hard to read. A good five seconds of silence

He could feel the slump happen, like a withering plant.

“Ginny, I … “ he said softly “I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore but can you at least come up to the castle and listen to what happened.”

She paused and then slowly walked towards him, her eyes were glittering with tears,

“Harry…”

She flung her arms around his neck and said “I love you too” before kissing him like she never had and with all the fury and fire that felt for him.

And she literally knocked him over.

#harry potter #harry potter postwar #harry potter and the honeysuckle vine #ron weasley #hp fanfic #hinny fanfic #fanfic

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words-writ-in-starlight · 7 years ago

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things laid down

Hey y’all, for 600 followers here is some weird urban magic.

He blinked at the tiled ceiling, crossing into wakefulness from something…not. There was a clamor of noise buffeting him, just outside the half-drawn curtain hiding him—a tiny besieged encampment against a hurricane in the hall. The sheets crackled hard against his hands, more like paper than cloth, a sharp smell making the bone between his eyes ache, and it took a long moment before he could sort out the overload and look around. From where he sat, he could see two more beds, one in the room across the hall, curtain half-closed like his own, and one in his own room—a hospital, maybe. He didn’t entirely recall what the word entailed. Didn’t recall much of anything, now that he thought about it. He blinked away the concern and propped himself up on one hand to get a look around at the other residents. Kids, he noted. Very young. Younger than him? He wasn’t sure.

Across the hall was a boy, smooth-cheeked and round-eyed. He had one arm exposed to the shoulder, one sleeve cut away entirely, and halfway down his upper arm, the flesh turned abruptly into brass. The metal threaded itself into the higher tissue, and the boy clutched his arm across his chest in numb shock. The girl in the next bed over was sobbing, the blank sound of someone crying in an effort to soothe themselves, tears leaving glistening trails down the glossy porcelain of her cheeks. Her eyes, when she blinked, were bright and lively, her black hair tumbling in thin dreadlocks around her face, but there was a chink as a bracelet knocked against porcelain—her hand, rubbing across her eyes.

He raised his fingers to touch his own face, but there was no metal or porcelain there, only the warm give of skin. A touch of stubble on his jaw—older than these soft, scared children, then, but no lines, so still young enough—and chapped lips, but all living, perfectly human. He looked down at his arms, sweeping fingers up from the thin skin at his wrists to the curve of his shoulders where they met the paper of a hospital gown. He kicked away the sheet and performed a similar check, up the sinew-and-bone line of his legs, then tugged the hospital gown away from his neck and looked down. All skin over muscle, blood racing at the crease of his elbow and the hollow of his throat.

Far from simply being entirely human, there didn’t seem to be a mark on him. He wondered why he was here. Hospitals were places for the terribly ill or grievously injured, that much he was sure of, and he didn’t seem to be either one. If the noise outside was any indication, they hardly had the staff to spare for him.

He was still pushing his fingers through his hair—dark, curly, overlong, didn’t he ever cut it?—when the curtain was tucked back and a nurse, looking harried, strode into the room.

She paused by the little girl, crouching down to wipe away the tears from the porcelain and murmur something reassuring. Only when the little girl had hiccupped out a laugh, nodding, did the nurse turn away and cross the room to his side.

“Hey,” she said, a slow smile creasing her tired eyes. She wore blue scrubs, fresh and clean in a way that suggested she had recently had to change, and her hair was scooped haphazardly away from her face into a bun, but her hands were quick and confident when she reached out to take his wrist. “Sleeping Beauty wakes.”

“Have I been asleep?” he asked vaguely, watching the movement of her lips as she counted his pulse. The machine beside him beeped in time, wires tugging gently at the electrodes on his chest. “Doesn’t the machine do that?”

“Yeah, but I get a better feel for it if I do it by hand,” the nurse said, as if it was a common question. “Can you tell me your name?”

“I, uh.” He frowned. He was reasonably sure that he should be able to answer that question, firmly and without doubt, but there didn’t seem to be anything there. His head was empty, ringing like a bell with each thought that passed through it. “No,” he said slowly. “I can’t.”

“Okay,” she said, releasing his wrist. Her eye-creasing smile was gone, now, lips thinner and turned down, and she picked up a chart from the end of his bed, flicking a look over the first page. “How about your age?”

“Older than them,” he offered, halfway serious, “and younger than you.”

“Do you know where we are?”

“A hospital?”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling at him again, but it didn’t make her eyes crinkle this time. “Do you remember anything at all?”

“Never raise anything up that you can’t lay down again,” he said at once, as if the words had been hidden under his tongue, waiting for him to open his mouth and set them loose. They were chalky on his tongue, sour—the taste of panic, he thought. He didn’t remember what panic should feel like, save for a vague impression of tight muscles and smoke-thickness in his throat, but something deep in his chest knew the flavor, and laughed.

“Do you know what that means?” He shook his head, the muscles protesting as if the admission took tremendous effort, and she nodded, still steady and professional. “All right. Can I leave you alone for a minute to bring back the doctor?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, and she left, hooking the chart over the foot of his bed as she passed. It left him alone in the room, with the quiet sniffing of the porcelain-faced girl and the ringing terror of the inside of his own head. He closed his eyes, trying to find some trace of information in his memory, and opened them almost at once, recoiling. There was nothing, only darkness as complete as a sky without stars—or, more accurately, a sky past the edge of stars. Cold and—hungry—empty, with shadow-on-shadow movement that he didn’t want to see.

It was a relief when the doctor walked in, escorted by the same nurse as before. She offered him a small smile and left to check on the boy with the brass arm, and the doctor walked inside.

“My name is Doctor Hamada,” she said, looking almost as weary as the nurse had. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m--” hungry “—fine.” Nothing hurt, and he didn’t seem to have any strangeness like the boy with the brass arm or the girl with the porcelain face. He was—hungry—just sort of hollow, as if something scooped out all the soft parts from his belly and chest and left his ribcage empty. He couldn’t hear his heartbeat, but he could see the green line on the monitor as it kept track. Spike-drop-pause, spike-drop-pause, steady and hypnotic, up and down. Watching it, he found himself mouthing the sentence, the only words he could find in his echoing empty skull—it seemed to fit well with the beat of the heart on the screen. Never raise anything up that you can’t lay down again.

“Melissa, the nurse you spoke to, she said that you don’t remember anything?” Doctor Hamada asked, leaning close and producing a penlight from her pocket. “I’m just going to check your pupils,” she said, soothing, and he let her, shining the light into his eyes and leaving blue spots in his vision. “Do you remember anything at all?”

“Never raise anything up that you can’t lay down again,” he said, and she nodded, picking up his chart. “But I don’t know what it means.”

“We usually call it Faust’s Law of Magic—you know, never summon power you can’t control,” she said, frowning. “Every kid learns it in school. Is that all you know?”

“Yeah.” He paused, swallowed, forced himself to open his mouth again. “Do you know my name? Why am I here?”

She sighed, setting the chart down, and rested a hand on the rail of the bed, looking at him. “We know your first name—it’s Jake. Jacob. A little boy recognized you and told us.”

“Someone here knows me?” he asked, starting to push himself up, and she caught his shoulder—kill her.

“No,” she said. “I’m sorry.” She sounded sincere, her voice heavy and her eyes sad. “He passed away—over eighty percent of his lung tissue was transmuted into asphalt. He didn’t survive long after telling us.”

He dropped back onto the bed with a thud, something heavy settling in the hollow arch of his ribcage as he shut his eyes and felt tears catch on his lashes. “What’s happening?”

He felt Doctor Hamada shift—the darkness behind his eyes stretched and muttered hungry, and he opened his eyes.

“There was an explosion,” she said, soft and serious. “Foreign magic. We’ve never seen anything like it. Everyone who was caught in the blast seems to have been transmuted by the shrapnel—we have a boy whose heart is made of steel, and a woman whose hands are made of glass, and a man whose skin is nothing but paper. You were at the center, but at first we thought you were fine.”

“I’m not fine?” He didn’t think he was hurt, he was just—hungry—hallucinating. He gave his head a shake, hoping to clear the dark voice from the emptiness of his skull. It wasn’t a knife in the dark, it was worse, a knife in an empty room without doors, where there were no options besides the blade. It was a black thought.

“You seemed to be, when the paramedics found you,” Doctor Hamada said, an encouraging note in her voice. Then it faded and she was solemn again. “But you didn’t seem to understand what anyone was saying to you. You were responsive, engaged with the world, someone would speak and you would look at them, someone would point and you could follow, but you didn’t seem to actually comprehend. The paras assumed you had suffered a head injury, justified given the size of the explosion��it even destroyed your clothes. It’s a near-miracle you’re even alive, a little brain damage wouldn’t have been a shock.”

“So I don’t have brain damage,” he said, skeptical. “I just, what, set my memory down somewhere and walked away from it?”

That won him a small smile, a quick flash of teeth between thin lips, before she continued, quiet and serious. “You suffered a massive seizure in the ambulance. Five full minutes of convulsions, and you didn’t regain consciousness—nothing to sneeze at,” she added when he didn’t react. “We performed an MRI when you arrived. We expected to find a subdural bleed, which would have been manageable.”

The long pause made something in his chest seize up. Panic, maybe. The dark voice grumbled, unsatisfied. “But?”

“We didn’t find anything,” Doctor Hamada said. “Your brain was lit up like a Christmas tree, don’t get me wrong, far more active than we usually see in unconscious patients, but there’s no damage. We’ve kept you under observation until something changed, hoping we’d get answers when you improved or worsened, but you weren’t in any evident distress. You’ve been more or less comatose for the best part of an hour, and we’re not sure what the cause is.”

“So you…you have no idea why I can’t remember,” he said, pressing his lips together and trying not to let his hands shake. He took a deep breath, pressing down the—hunger—fear. He needed to focus, he needed answers—he needed the dark voice to leave him alone. He was reasonably sure that the emptiness in his head would be less concerning if he was the only one there.

My body, my mind, the dark voice said, almost bemused, and he scowled.

“We don’t know yet,” Doctor Hamada was saying kindly when he returned to reality from the cold and starless black, leaving the voice to mutter in the darkest corners. “We’re trying to find your family, but without a last name, that’s proving difficult in our current chaos. With your consent, we’d like to run some more tests—a blood test, to see if we can find any medications or drugs in your system, and another MRI, to see if anything’s changed.”

“Sure,” he said. “I don’t know what it’ll help, but whatever you want.”

“Jake,” she said, and reached out to take his hand in hers. The point of contact was warm, her palm dry and slightly powdery from exam gloves, and he closed his eyes as a brief war raged through his body. Part of him—all of him, really—wanted to clutch her hand until his knuckles ached, and maybe cry, cling to the point of human contact like it was all that was holding him to earth. But in the black of his mind, the dark voice coiled forward, hungry hungry hungry, kill her, scare her, feed us, and the hollowness in his chest ached like an open wound.

He pulled his hand back, and the black voice snarled. On the wall, in the corner of his eye, his shadow splintered into a thing, all long arms and tentacle and writhing motion—when he looked straight on, it was solid, tame.

“Jake,” Doctor Hamada repeated, gentle, unoffended by his retreat. The girl with the porcelain face was watching them, her eyes wide, and they flickered nervously to the wall behind his shoulder. He tried not to notice, tried to put it out of his mind—my mind. “I know this must be terrifying for you. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. But we’re going to help you, and we’ll find someone who knows you. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said—barely a murmur. He tugged his hands closer and balled them into fists, until pain sparkled up his nerves from where his nails bit into the skin. It reminded him that his body was his own, even if he didn’t particularly remember it.

It is not, the dark voice parried, calm and cold. He was pretty sure it was a bad sign that the voice was becoming clearer, that the press of the starless black was becoming a headache as the hollowness in his chest dragged at his ribs and heart. Mine, my body, my mind, hungry.

“This body is mine,” he snapped aloud. Doctor Hamada didn’t bat an eye, merely arched an eyebrow as if asking if he was done. His cheeks burned—he must be an easy blusher, he thought dimly, filing the information away—and he stared down at his fists so that he didn’t have to look at her. He hadn’t meant to answer the voice aloud, hadn’t meant to give it the satisfaction.

Across the room, the girl’s face wasn’t very expressive—logical reasons humans weren’t meant to be made from porcelain, he supposed—but he could almost feel the fear coiling off her skin. He could feel it, like something that clung to his fingers and cloyed on his tongue, sweet and bitter. It eased the hollowness, drove back the blackness minutely, and the voice moaned—not enough. In the corner of his eye, he could see his shadow. Shatter, freeze, shatter, freeze, in time with the beeping of his heart rate.

“I’ll send Melissa, the nurse from before, to take some blood, all right?” Doctor Hamada asked, and he nodded. He didn’t watch her leave the room, looking down at the tendons standing out on the backs of his hands and trying not to see his shadow or the little girl in his periphery.

Then she spoke, and he looked up automatically. “Your shadow is moving, and you’re not,” she said, voice thin and faint. It vibrated strangely between porcelain lips. “What are you doing to it?”

He tried to find something reassuring to say, but all he could do was whisper back, “I don’t know.” Shatter, freeze. Spike-drop-pause. “I’m not doing it.”

Hungry.

The nurse—Melissa, he reminded himself—returned almost at once, the same worn smile on her face as before. She carried a small tray, arrayed with a syringe, a rubber tie, and a contained needle, and set it down beside his bed with businesslike efficiency.

“Hi, Jake,” she said. “Normally we’d send you to the lab to get blood drawn, but given the givens, we thought it might be better to keep you here in the ICU until we know you won’t seize again.”

“Wouldn’t want to scare the lab techs,” he muttered, distracted, and eyed the needle, expecting to feel some trepidation at the look of it. There wasn’t a flicker of nerves, just a feeling of…condescension. It was the voice, he thought, amused at the idea that a needle could be a genuine threat.

“Exactly,” Melissa said with a laugh, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves and tying the rubber strip around his arm a few inches above the elbow. That part was a little nervewracking, the foreign feeling of rubber on skin, of—how dare she restrain us—compression too tight for comfort. “Can you make a fist for me a few times?” He did, feeling the ache of trapped blood set in almost immediately as the vessels in his forearm stood out, and she nodded, approving.

Never raise anything up that you can’t lay down again, he repeated to himself, reciting the rule like a mantra as the voice pressed forward. Something to think about, that was what he needed, something that would let him focus and hold back the tide of starless black.

Never raise anything up that you can’t lay down again.

Spike-drop-pause. Shatter, freeze.

Melissa carefully affixed the needle to the syringe and tore open a packet that smelled strongly of alcohol, astringent and sharp in his nose.

Never raise anything up that you can’t lay down again.

Spike-drop-pause. Shatter, freeze.

The alcohol wipe was freezing against his skin, but nothing in comparison to the pressing, crushing weight of the cold presence behind his eyes.

Never raise anything up that you can’t lay down again.

Spike-drop-pause. Shatter, freeze.

“This shouldn’t hurt much,” Melissa said quietly. She smiled at him, trying to coax one out of him in return. “I’m good at this part.” He didn’t dare twitch, just in case the focus it would take to smile through the roar of the voice was the last straw.

Melissa touched the needle to his skin, a point of cold pressure.

His shadow fractured, exploding up the wall like splashing black paint, and took the whole world with it.

Never raise anything up—

The needle pressing at his skin—

Hungry, hungry, HUNGRY—

He blinked up at cloud-striped blue sky, and stood up without a thought, joints popping stiffly but not giving him any real trouble. There was a clatter, and he—Jake, his name was Jake—looked down for the source of the sound. Bits of plaster rained down from his shoulders and hair, a fine white dust coating his hands and drifting around his feet like a miniature blizzard.

His chest wasn’t hollow anymore. In fact, he felt…sparkling, like he’d drunk four espressos and was standing on a mountain top, energized and clear and fresh.

Jake looked around at the rubble surrounding him, bemused, and froze.

There she was. The little girl from his room. Half the ceiling had come down on her, and she hadn’t been nearly so fortunate as he was. Her porcelain face had a fault line cracking from the forehead all the way to the jaw, down through her eye and cheek, shards broken out of her lips and chin. Blood seeped from the crack, deep enough to pass through to the tissue still left under the transmuted skin, blazing red against the smooth white. The eye within the crack stared, with no eyelid to cover it, and the other was closed. What was left intact of her face was twisted into genuine terror, so blindingly obvious that even the inexpressive porcelain couldn’t hide it.

There was a precarious moment where Jake thought he might be sick on the spot. His vision wavered, a desperate lurch of nausea as his stomach hurled itself at his ribs and tried to crawl up his throat.

He looked down to steady himself and saw, sprawled at his feet, Melissa. She was mostly clear of rubble—impressive, he thought numbly, it looked like two stories of hospital and patients had been brought down wholesale—but she was broken, joints yanked apart until they had dislocated altogether. She looked like she’d been put on the rack, or toyed with by something immensely strong and enormous. The needle was jammed into the soft skin at the hollow of her throat, blood spilled across her skin, and the rubber tie had fluttered down to cover her dead eyes like a blindfold.

Whirling away, Jake retched, doubling over and coughing up thin, sour bile. There was nothing in his system to be thrown up, but the convulsions left him with tears on his cheeks and shakes in his hands. Or maybe that was the destroyed hospital. Maybe it was everything.

In the corner of his eye as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, Jake could see Doctor Hamada, killed by a falling steel beam. He hoped it had been quick.

His shadow, sprawled on the ground, was quiescent, his own shape rather than the tentacle-laden nightmare that had exploded across the wall. His mind was still cold and dark, but the cold was distant, and the dark manageable. The voice was quiet, nearly purring with satisfaction—feast, what a feast, all their fear—and Jake was alone in the wreck of a hospital that had been destroyed by the monster that shared his body.

This was nothing a human could do, even the most deranged magic user. There was something else in his mind, a demon—rude—or an old god—better—something that fed on terror and was under the impression that Jake shouldn’t be in his own head anymore. That did explain a few things about the magical explosion, he supposed. Jake, or whoever he had been before, had bitten off more than he could chew and invited that…thing into his head. By mistake or design, it hardly mattered.

“Never raise anything up that you can’t lay down again,” he said aloud, his abused throat turning his voice raspy.

Lay me down, then, human, the voice said, almost chortled, ice touching Jake’s spine at the dare.

“Go to hell.” He didn’t get a response that time, only another cruel wave of sensation not unlike a dismissive sneer.

Jake stood there for another long moment, trying not to see the brass arm flung out from under a pile of debris, before a realization rose up through the fog filling his brain. He couldn’t stand here forever. More to the point, he was a danger to anyone who tried to take him in by force. He didn’t know what the voice, the monster—old god—could do if pressed. It had annihilated a hospital along with everyone inside just for a meal. He was pretty sure the single most dangerous thing the police could do was try to imprison him, and that meant he needed to not be here when they arrived.

That meant he needed clothes. Real clothes, not the tattered paper hospital gown.

Jake found what he could, jackets and scrubs without bloodstains, and tried not to be sick again at the idea of wearing the clothes of people he’d killed. Once he was dressed—for a given value thereof—he tugged the hood of his stolen jacket up over his face and shoved both hands deep into his pockets, pretending that it would let him hide.

The sirens arrived just as Jake picked his way out of the last of the debris and slipped into the gathering crowd.

Good, the voice mused. Find more people, more fear, more power.

Jake hunched his shoulders and walked faster, leaving the ruined hospital behind him.

#things laid down #original work #starlight writes stuff #yes in theory this is the first part of a longer work #but then i had an insecurity attack and idk where to go from here #but i still kinda like it #i feel like jake and the monster have a really weird relationship #like on the one hand jake and the monster hate each other a lot #'i hunger' 'too goddamn bad no human flambe today' 'fuck you too mortal' 'fuck you more' 'this is all your fault' '...touche'#but on the other hand the monster is very protective of his squishy human shell #'this is my mortal and no one else can have it and no one else can touch it and now you're going to die for touching it'#jake is stressed #definitely the next plot point is one of the kids in the hospital following jake and trying to kill him #probably the little boy with the metal arm #and that's an even weirder relationship tbqh #'this is my adopted big brother jake he tried to summon an elder god and then i tried to kill him'#or rather #'this is my adopted big brother jake. and this is his eldritch cohabitating monster.'#'i love jake and he's human for me but he's a monster for the elder god who's really a monster and i hate the elder god'#incidentally i think i'm hilarious #relatedly #has literally anyone read monstress because that is some good shit #a different take on the possessed-by-eldritch-god than this but g o o d s h i t #idiot teenagers with a queue

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a-moment-in-time-blog · 8 years ago

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Newt x reader :: Melody of the Heart

Request: Hey, I saw requests were open! I love your blog and I've been harboring this idea for a long time... Could you write a oneshot where you are friends with Newt but lost touch after his expulsion? You were an extremely talented witch but to everyone's surprise, you became a classical pianist in the muggle and wizarding world. Newt showed up to a concert out of curiosity and saw you and the two of you confessed and kissed? Sorry if that made no sense and thank you!!

Notes: I’m baaaaaack, haha. Please enjoy this little story featuring an extraordinary piece of music, an extraordinary feeling, and an extraordinary person...you! (Please excuse the awfully cheesy title...it sounds like a high-school romance anime, hah.)

WC: 2,016

youtube

Music is a powerful form of magic. It forces the soul to feel and draws the heart out to dance.

Coming from one of those pure-blood families whose line stretched far into the fog of the past, whose pride sometimes bordered on arrogance, and whose expectations felt like a boulder carved perfectly to rest on your shoulders didn’t make your career choice smooth by any means.

You had sacrificed in nearly every aspect in your life to get to where you were now: backstage in a large concert hall. After an illustrious career at Hogwarts, where you excelled in nearly every class and became a prefect, you decided to become a concert pianist. Everyone had expected you to continue the family tradition of working in the Ministry. Your father, mother, and two elder brothers all enjoyed very high positions that demanded responsibility and intelligence and a very, very large amount of paperwork. You fell in love with the piano instead.

You could sometimes tell when wizards and witches would come to your shows. They’d wear their dress robes and throw you proud grins that said, “Yes, we know you. We know what you are.” They’d clap enthusiastically and hand you bouquets of flowers so large you could barely wrap your arms around them. For all the support you got from other magic folk, one group that never showed up was your family.

You peeked behind the thick, red curtain to the audience. Among today’s group magic folk sat a small cluster you recognized as Hogwarts alumni. There were three or four witches in velvety purple robes, a retired professor, and a lanky man who looked rather awkward in a worn, patchy emerald green cloak. As if on cue, the man in the green cloak looked up at the part in the curtain and you could have sworn met your eyes. Your heart gave a small leap. It looked like one of your good friends from your school days, Newt Scamander, who you hadn’t seen in years. You’d learn to suppress your hope, though, after numerous occasions when you thought you saw your mother and father in the audience only to be immensely disappointed.

Soon, it was time for you to walk out on stage, bow, and take your seat in front of the massive, black lacquered grand piano that had a presence large enough to be a living creature itself. You took one last glance, squinting to try and see the Hogwarts group, but your mind quickly returned to the task at hand--Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2: a crowd favorite, as well as a personal one. You loved the spaciousness of the piece; how it was grand enough to be a powerful army march yet intimate enough to be the anthem of two lovers in a tiny bedroom. Somewhere in-between was you, both the colonel and the romantic. You peeled away the piece, note by note, exposing its most bare and sensitive core. No magic had ever felt as satisfying as this. For the next quarter of an hour, you vanished into the melody.

As quickly as it had begun, it was over, and you walked off stage to a thunderous applause, the flash of camera bulbs, and loud shouts of “BRAVA!” sailing through the air like gunfire. You walked backstage again and the mob of people had begun to clump around you and the conductor. The conductor patted you on the shoulder with a smile and walked off to chat with some patrons, leaving you to be pecked over by fans.

The group of velvet-clad witches you saw earlier ran up to you with armfuls of purple belladonna tied up in satin ribbons. The bundles of deadly nightshade had become something of an inside joke among your magical fans and the fat, poisonous, black berries were glossy in the light. You thanked them profusely, hugging each politely and accepted their compliments with an endearing humility. As they waved goodbye and the next stream of people approached you, you noticed the man in the green robe watching, but lingering towards the back.

Your mouth went dry. It had to be Newt. You suddenly became very uncomfortable talking to everyone as adrenaline pin-pricked your brain. Was Newt going to leave without saying anything? Could this be your only chance? You managed to break away from the gushing crowd and bowed. More anxious than you had been before the concert, you slowly approached Newt.

“Erm...Newt Scamander?”

“Yes!” he seemed terribly pleased you remembered him. His eyes were slightly watery at the edges as if he had been crying during the performance. It made them sparkle like green sea glass.

“Newt, I--I don’t know what to say. Thank you. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course,” he said, his voice shaking slightly, but smiling.

“I just didn’t expect to see you here of all places!”

“Me neither,” Newt laughed.

Suddenly a flash of white hot light blinded you. Fuzzy circles danced across your vision.

“For the ‘Mail’!” the photographer cheerily said, snapping another impromptu photo. Newt looked vaguely annoyed but you grabbed him by the sleeve and tugged him further backstage towards the staff entrance door.

“Sorry, sometimes I just get a bit overwhelmed by the attention,” you said walking down an empty hallway together.

“I can understand why. You’re very popular, reminds me of school days.”

“Ah, Hogwarts. Too bad I was popular for all the wrong reasons. Everyone wanted to be my friend so I could help them with their homework,” you shrugged and laughed.

“I was quite invisible until…” Newt trailed off though you knew what incident he was talking about.

“You were never invisible to me, though.” You realized you were still holding his coat sleeve though you both were still. You let go quickly.

“Down here! That way! We need a good cover photo!”

You heard the click of dress shoes coming towards you down the hall and pushed the door open motioning for Newt to follow you silently. You didn’t realize how stiflingly hot the concert hall was until the gust of cold wind blew into your face from outside. Shutting the door quietly, you both crept out into the alleyway. Newt seemed unusually good at sneaking about unheard, placing his feet deliberately and delicately apart. You both threw glances at each other and stifled giggles until you reached a small side street where you let out a sigh of relief.

“It’s so good to be out of there! I hardly have time to digest a performance when I’m done,” you admitted.

“It’s not too far from what I do for a living.”

“That is?”

“Creeping silently around magical creatures. Observing them, sketching them, all while making sure they don’t wake up and rip me to shreds.”

“So you did go into work with animals!”

Newt nodded and radiated a shy sort of pride. His eyes were alight again. There was the clang of something metal, probably a furnace, but you grabbed Newt’s arm again and began strolling down the street. Both of you kept looking back and Newt’s face was open in a sort of amusement. He never did exactly like playing by the rules.

Once you determined the coast was clear, you broke the silence.

“Ah...Newt?”

“Mmm?”

“Where have you been all these years?” You couldn’t hide the trembling tone of hurt in your voice. Newt stopped walking and took a breath.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N).”

“No, I don’t mean--”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...I shouldn’t have let us lose touch. I shouldn’t have let things get in the way.”

“Newt, don’t feel bad. Things happen, that’s just life. Life happens.”

“Still,” he looked away from you, down to the dirty snow on the sidewalk.

“Really. Life happens,” you took a step towards him offering a timid smile, “I mean look where I am. I was supposed to be Assistant to the Minister of Magic by now, right?”

“I must admit, I was a bit surprised when I saw your face all over the Muggle papers.”

“Oh, that’s how you found out?” You laughed as Newt dug into one of his pockets. He pulled out a small square of newsprint that had the headline: “(Y/N) (L/N) LIVE AND IN CONCERT! See one of the world’s greatest living pianists perform the stirring Piano Concerto No. 2 by Rachmaninoff. Seats sell out quickly! Get your tickets today!”

“By the time I got to the box office, the line was halfway down the street,” Newt admitted as you read the advertisement.

Your smile was uncontrollable. Newt stared rather intently at the letter in your hands, even after you looked up from it.

“What?” you asked.

“Your hands.”

“My hands?”

“They’re just, well, they created so much. So much beauty,” he stiffened at the word as if he regretted letting it tumble from his mouth, “Sorry, that’s an odd thing to say.”

“No, no...not at all.” You held up your hands to him and then balled them into fists. You scrunched up your face, “These hands create and destroy! I’m all-powerful!”

Newt let out a chuckle as small as a breath and something in him seemed to relax. It really did feel like your old school days, teasing each other like this.

“You should have seen me crush everyone at the ‘International Tchaikovsky Competition’!”

Newt’s smile faded slightly again, “I wish I had been there.”

“Newt, I told you, don’t worry about it.”

“I want to be there. I mean, for future competitions. And concerts.”

“You know? I’d really, really like that Newt.”

There was another silence as your mind ran. He’d enjoyed the concert that much? He would actually come see it again?

“Of all the things I’ve done, and things I’ve seen, the one thing I could never shake my regret of is losing contact with you,” he said, drawing you back out of your mind. Everything shifted and you felt slightly dizzy at his words. Newt’s frankness took you by surprise.

“I’ve--I’ve thought about you often, too,” you admitted, growing quieter, “I spent many nights wondering where in the world you had gone.” A few, wispy snowflakes had begun to swirl around you.

“Nigeria, Calcutta, Perth…” Newt began listing.

“I mean in general!” you laughed loudly, taking his hands. “Anywhere away from me is ‘gone’! Even if it’s just to Manchester!”

“Anywhere away from you is gone,” he agreed solemnly.

A flush of color had risen up just under his eyes and the tip of his nose. Snowflakes had begun to rest atop his hair and coat in small clusters, making him look sprinkled in sugar. The few that hit his warm cheeks melted and dripped from his chin. You reached up instinctively to wipe them away and at the touch of your hand his eyes flicked closed. It was a momentary reaction, but it trapped your breath in your throat.

Now. Now. Whatever happened, you had to do this now. You stepped in, your toes hitting Newt’s own boots, tilted your head up, and pressed your lips to his gently. He staggered backwards, obviously shocked, and you lost your balance.

“I’m sorry,” he placed his hands on your arms to steady you.

“Why are you sorry? I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry that I made you...stop.”

“You liked it?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

You held his face still with both hands, “Ready this time?”

He gave a tight nod as if he were trying to concentrate and you leaned in again. This time the kiss was long. It was deliberate. And it made you feel how Rach’s Piano Concerto felt, a mix of regret and hope and something even more powerful. Like you should have done this a long time ago, but somehow the space apart didn’t matter at this moment, it just made room for more feeling to pour in all at once.

At that moment, you knew that no matter who showed up or didn’t at a concert, you would be playing to Newt. Thinking of him as your hands danced across the keys. What anyone else thought of your choices suddenly didn’t matter at al.

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tags: @ladytevans07 @frankthethunderbird @allnewtsbeasts @danisaurus-rexx @hardcore-ravenclaw @storyofmemory@needlesinacandybox @confused17yold @astronomicaldun @orangepumpkinpen @meka-meow @prodigal-books @see-the-thestrals @newton-scamander-lover @legit-trash-bro @kawaiiusagichansan @cutedictionary @itsleviosa14

#newt scamander #newt #newt x reader #newt Scamander x reader #newton scamander #newt x reader fic #newt x reader imagine #newt Scamander x reader imagine #newt Scamander x reader fic #fbawtft #fbawtft fic #fbawtft imagine #fantastic beasts #fantastic beasts fic #fantastic beasts imagine #fantastic beasts and where to find them

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