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strawberry-nugget · 3 years ago

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Stargazing [through the five stages of grief] | K. Bakugo

★Pairing: Bakugo Katsuki/ reader

☆Synopsis: after Izukus sudden death you and Bakugo find comfort in each other

★Warnings:18+, minors do not interact, sexual themes(SMUT), aged up characters, grieving and coping mechanisms, depression as part of a stage of grief, language

☆A/N: I wrote this for @starstruckkittensweets 's Summer Romance Collab collab I also cried multiple times while writing this for so many reasons. Dedicated to my friend @aichiin in hopes this is any comforting to her <3

★Word Count: 10.6K

i. denial | 3.28 am Just when you think silence is going to engulf you in lethal restraints, he's got you. Held and embraced, away from all the evil in the world, pouring a fountain of tears in the burgundy of his tank top. The beauty of the seashore is unmatched at this time of the year -end of July- honey colored sand spreading to as far as your eye can see, lining the white foams of the water perfectly. It shines under the moonlight beautifully golden, as if Midas' touch has grazed each and every speck of sand; it's almost a pity to watch some weather away in the soft evening breeze. Not many stars are visible with how bright the moon is and you simply can't stop thinking about it, the numbness in your heart as you're trying to spot the only few constellations that you know, but even them seem unable to shine brighter than the light of the moon. But he- he shoots a hand to the sky with one eye closed as he mutters something under his breath. It makes your heart pause. You don't catch it though -whatever it is he said- ears deaf to the feeling of being pressed too tightly into his broad chest -to an asphyxiating point, even- but you catch your heart fluttering again for the first time in weeks. A good sign, you guess, the little excitement that you feel can overthrow the buzzing void in your heart, or your head. "That's the Hercules one right? You've been trying to find it for years huh?" You feel the humming in his own hollow chest more than you hear the soft muttering that leaves his lips. This heat he usually emits is probably gone by now, from how tight he's holding you and you're not entirely sure why he's putting on that show for you. The soft pretending of searching for the stars when he won't let your face turn to the direction of the sky, or why he just so effortlessly knows all the constellations you've been trying to find. Under any other case you'd call him a show off, a self contrasting asshole and his sloppy hold around your chin and neck proves that you've never been this close, as expected. He doesn't know what you like or how you'd rather be held, or even, how anyone would like to be held and you don't know anything about how to handle someone like him but social expectations don't matter when comfort is needed, or whatever Mina and Ochako said. The air smells like salt and seaweed, musty and a bit heavy, but refreshing at the same time. As refreshing as hot July air could ever be yet you still find the breeze chilly, so you coo into chest even more, throwing a leg over his thighs, and flexing your palm on his ribs. In response he soothes his hand down your shoulder, trying to create some much needed friction for you. "You can drop the act now" You mutter, rubbing your cheek comfortably onto the soft cotton of his tank top

"What act?" "Trying to comfort me, trying to use me to comfort yourself" There's hurt in the way you talk, and it jabs his heart peculiarly, making him push you off his chest just one but so he can meet your gaze. When he does, you realise you've never been met with such a serious look, and your mind vibrates in what your own confrontation towards him should be. "I mean, why be comforted? We're strong. We're heroes, we-" He shushes you, with a gaze and a snake-like lisp sound that rattles out of his teeth. "What's insufferable for me, I'm guessing, is even worse for you" He clears his throat just when his voice gets a bit raspy from laying on his back "and I'm a hero, it's what I should do. He would have wanted this as well you kno-" "He would have wanted you to be yourself not try to become him" You nuzzle your nose deeper into his chest, avoiding his eyes and the prying stars that decorate the sky above, feeling watched, betrayed by how they're able to shine so brightly despite the loss you're feeling. But then again, why wouldn't they shine? Isn't life just supposed to move on even after a loved one isn't with you anymore? Stars aren't supposed to go out, to become more or less as time goes by, they've seen distraction and glory and fall -it's only you who finds

it cruel that they can still shine in times like this. "He would have wanted me to be better. It pains me more than you to admit" Katsuki has never shown such an appreciating side of himself when it comes to your late friend. Or he has and you've just not been there to witness. Or, perhaps, you've chosen to turn a blind eye to anything that's ever brought them close because you weren't the most fond of him since childhood. Yet, a feeling inside your chest commands you to oppose him and his word. Even by the comfort of his own chest. There's no denying that you've wanted to hate the one who's nothing but comforting you, but you find yourself stuck between grief and a burning heart. It leaves you numb, maybe, to think that he so graciously holds you as if nothing else in the world matters. When this shouldn't be the case. "Why, why does this have to happen to us? We're supposed to save people, losing people is-" "The biggest part of the job" He finished your words for you, strobing that little rattle of reluctance he senses in your voice "We didn't-" "Sign up for this?" You nod at his inquiry "in a way I think we did. He always pushed himself and if you say you never saw it coming, you're lying" "I didn't" "There you go" "No, no" You shake your head "he was strong. This shouldn't have happened, it's unfair and it's-" "It fucking damn is unfair but there's no rematch for him. I wholeheartedly agree, it shouldn't have been like this. We shouldn't be here, days after his damn birthday, hollow and mourning. He should have been here, we should be celebrating" He's not going to call him an idiot. Not anymore. Not even because he's hurt you or anyone as a matter of fact, but because he's come to respect his dead, he's come to lose the attitude when it comes to seeking help, or giving it. It's something Izuku has taught him, a strong moral that no longer rests in the back of his head as a possible value to characterise a hero. It's rather a reality, such a strong wave of consciousness and coinsense that washes through his body all the time. You think, qualities of Izuku, wash through your soul in waves too. "But suggestion is oceans away from reality" Katsuki whispers and just then, the tender touch of his fingers lingers in between your locks. Only for a split second, and for the sole reason of flicking some hair on top of your ear, to shield it from the chill of the air. You're not certain if you act on your grief's accord or not when you grab onto his wrist to prolong the soft petting of his hand on your head. But he complies with you wordlessly, sighing out a heavy bubble of air off his lungs. "That's not the hercules one" You whisper "Huh?" "The constellation" It's oddly satisfying how you coo deeper into his chest, even if you can't see him pop one eye open to peak at the sky "that's Ursa Major" "Like fuck it is Ursa Major" "Katsuki, is this your first time stargazing?" You ask quietly and he wraps a hand around your waist to drag you a little closer towards his chin. When he does, he rests his chin onto your hairline. "I can't believe I opened a goddamn map for this and couldn't even distinguish the hercules one from the Big Dipper" You hammer out a little giggle. It sounds mechanical but still, he mimics you, and you can not only feel the vibrations in his chest, but the movements of his chin too, as he mellowy rubs his soft skin on your hair, soothing his lips on your head from time to time. The breaths he lets out of his nose are silent, yet you feel them calming you down, so warm and so calming against you. "The Hercules is a big constellation but it's not bright at all, you have to catch it on a moonless night and it's usually gone too early" Katsuki sighs. The process of taking in your words in analogy with late Izuku is too strong and it's too early for him to touch a subject that even so reminds him of the situation. It's more than enough that you two got to talk about it tonight, or rather, about your feelings, but at one point the line is drawn on what's harmful to his soul. A sole mention of the condition of a constellation should be making his stomach churn, and it definitely shouldn't make him hug you tighter into him. For one, the phenomenon of the constellation's nature has been around for longer than he has been who he is, and will still be when he's not. This small coincidence, even if it rubs salt to the wound, is not the fault of a small mass of stars gathered together to form something human eyes can recognize as a kneeling figure. Izuku's life is probably just a parallel to the greek myth of hercules, or so, he likes to glorify, but when it comes to him, there's noass of stars for anyone to remember him by.

Izuku falls and dies so long as the memories of his friends live, finding shelter behind a myth, a legend, a course change in the history of humankind that lead to this specific moment. Him, mourning with you, on the beach that Izuku cleaned years ago, feeling his heart ache in sync with yours. And maybe, maybe if- "If I close my eyes and fall asleep, will I wake up and realise that this is all a bad dream?" You ask as if you don't know what the answer is going to be and he tries to not indulge in feeding you a void of hopes just to make you feel a bit more sure of your future, or try to convince himself he'll have a good one too. He wants to reply positively, just as much as he wants to wake up too in a reality where Izuku is still alive, and he's got to say everything he's ever wanted. He knows, some nights he'll find himself thinking he would like to go back and change the course of his own history, whatsoever, to never hurt Izuku for naturally having qualities he had to work for, or change the fact that he's been harsh and cruel. The 'why us' inquiry that arises in his chest as he's stroking the slightly greasy hair on your scalp is what's left to bounce in his head for now, eating away every curly corner of his brain, turning any other thought into a wasteland, yet, still his answer to you is what he would rather not hear, bathed in a cruel nature he's tried so hard to lose from his persona. "I wish it were just one bad dream" There's so many questions in his head; are you asleep? Or will he hurt you by trying to force himself into accepting Izuku's death? Are you prone to being hurt and pricked by how raspy and serious his voice sounds? Because you don't make a noise, nor a sniffle, and your hand isn't tightening around the collar of his shirt anymore. He wishes too, it's all a bad dream. For the lover that you lost, and for the person he's known better than anyone, the person that knew him better than anyone. But it's not. And the mellow sound of waves crashing on the shore bears a tune to convince him to forget, but the water won't reflect the stars he can see with his bare eyes. Thus he's asleep before the lurking darkness in sound and sight gets him too. Just for a while, just until it's his own turn to face oblivion. A small part of his brain, though, convinces him he'd face any oblivion so long as he gets to fall asleep in your arms like that, over the soft, warm sand, on a chilly July night.

ii. anger | 9.47 pm If you could only know the reason you're yelling, tears wouldn't be spilling from the corners of your eyes, down your cheeks just to drown on your overly stretched mouth, wetting the lips that are stinging in splits and bruises of dehydration. He's not one to back down while facing the disdain of his own feelings. When that disdain should be directed on how petty the cause for your irritation is, you're both focused on the snap of nerves inside each of your heads, chests heaving as you're staring at each other dead in the eye; you, from the cold seat of your couch, Katsuki, from the numbing howling that seeps through the cracks of your front door. The bags in his hands are heavy with groceries and the weight of this peculiar, unspoken agreement to settle together. It's hidden in the affection behind every piece of vegetable and fruit in the tote bags. Even if the night is young, he's got a look in his eyes that mutters how

willing he actually is to grab a pot and a spoon and cook for the two of you. But you know- he shouldn't put pressure on himself after a late patrol for a chore you were supposed to fulfill. If only he wasn't on your ass about ordering take out. "You can't fucking order again." He speaks, grunting more so than accentuating the words as he probably should. But he's irritated you, so much that you've spent the last ten minutes yelling at each other while standing frozen in your places. Probably, a neighbor has heard and your mere response to the alarming social anxiety that arises from that fact is apathy. You're already directing a big amount of angry spouting at the blond, there's no such room to experience other feelings right now. "Fucking hell, Katsuki just stop! I don't fucking care if you think ordering isn't fucking good. I can't cook right now. I won't cook" You say in a higher pitch "and you won't cook either" When he opens his mouth to speak, you roll your eyes, away from him -you just know what he's going to say- though you instantly regret it. The sight of him frozen, with bags in his hands before your door is upsetting, and begs to stir up your mind in horrid imaginations of him throwing a tantrum at you and leaving you, of him never opening up his door to you ever again. Maybe, just maybe you should have thought this through better before yelling at him. "Fuck you" He says through greeted teeth and scrunched up nose huffs "fuck fuck fuck fuuuuck" He's not a punching bag, he's the only person who's here for you and your heart won't forgive you if you lose him. Your head turns or snaps to his direction, eyes too gooey to meet his gaze properly, but you still do look at him so desperately, you're sure your heart makes a ripping sound at its very seams. And that firm dedication of his to closing himself off is evident again; in that wet anger in the corner of his eyes, seeping like magma just at the tips but never falling down on his cheeks. In his pursed lower lip -and oh, will it be so infuriating to think, you don't wanna fight, you just want him to press those lips against your forehead and forget those arguments that always arise? As he's headed for the kitchen, step after step and upper lip overlapping the bottom one to hide his irritation, his eyes are averted from you and you chase after him with counted movements; a little limp to your left leg by sitting on it for a long time bubbling up inside your bones. Unwillingly, non-eagerly. Regret and remorse for yourself are feelings that rush through you, making your tongue run faster than your mouth, making your head dizzy with guilt and drowning you of a trillion of things you want to say to him. "Katsuki" You plead with half a breath, eyebrows forming an impossible frown above your eyes "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have yelled, i-" "Fucking save it. Order if you want, I don't care" "Katsuki-" He huffs air too harshly out of his scrunched up nostrils again and shuts his eyes closed, hands resting over the groceries as he's leaning over the kitchen table. Not once in the minute he's taking from himself does he spare you a glance, but you can rather listen to him mutter a soft 'be patient' under his own breath. To himself, you realise, but your heart's too heavy as you anxiously suck your upper lip inside your mouth, wondering -will an apology fix this? It may irritate him even more, and taking the risk is probably not worthy of him getting riled up, but you go for it nonetheless, hidden away behind the stall that separates the kitchen from the living room. Your little hiding spot for the moment, a place where you can safely hide behind as you choke on your own spit, trembling at the thought of any possible outcome of your next choice of words. "I'm sorry, I'm just, I'm snappy lately" He won't respond and you notice how he's counting his breathing with eyes still shut, though, ever so slightly; that's your sign to step back, give him space and time as you make your first step to the living room. Though small glimmers of regret

springle inside your heart, landing in small needle-like jabs on every stretchy wall of the overly sensitive organ, your brain begs to be the voice of common sense, just to push you to just give him space. But what if he doesn't want space. What if he wants to be held? Like you do. What if he doesn't want to fight? "I'm sorry" You mutter under your breath, again Your step is almost crippled as you try to approach him, lost and scared at the sight of him still struggling to compose himself still. The guilt in your gut is immense and spreading like a wildfire on rotten land, but you feel like, perhaps, you -and him consequently- soothe down when your hand touches his shoulder, or, when your forehead rests easy on the crook of his neck, just after you out your weight on your toes, You can't help but repeat your previous statement. "I'm sorry, talk to me, tell me if you're good or not" He grunts, letting out a short breath in the form of a sigh. 'I'm not', you translate and your chest tightens Your right hand comes to curl around his chest over his shoulder, your left, mechanically even, cripples around his waist enough so you can press his back into your chest. "Fuck i-" You don't make a move to shush him "I feel so bad, I just. What would he have to say about me if I left his girlfriend on her own, to eat crap everyday. That's not healthy for you. I shouldn't be fucking yelling. I shouldn't-" He's so out of breath, that you consider punching some air into his lungs, with the softest CPR to have ever been performed, but the thought leaves your head immediately, your heart drowning your stomach in guilt at the imagery of your lips on his. The snap to reality after that little moment is so intense, you don't know how you handle yourself and your heart. "I shouldn't be yelling" In all your years, you've never heard him be so sincere while being so furious. When it's true that he's nothing of getting into drama or anything of sort, Katsuki is always too prideful to admit when he's made a mistake. You figure, it's unfair to still judge him as if he's his UA self, or his middle school self even. He's a different person now, having lived through so many events that could crush even the most strong willed person -and that's what he gets from admiring All Might, you think- and all he's ever done is try to be here for you. Understanding each other in such difficult times is mandatory and compromise is a foundation that you both need to work on. You find yourself opening your mouth and shutting it again for several seconds as you're trying to voice it. The dry, chapped feeling of your lips colliding makes you want to shut your eyes and wordlessly communicate your thoughts to him, but it's impossible. For your quirk isn't transmitting your thoughts to others, nor is it keeping track of one's thoughts. Everything you do to comfort him, has to be done by yourself, strictly. "Katsuki, I don't want you to-" You nuzzle your face into his back in hopes that perhaps, it muffles the intensity of your speech "I don't want you to overwork yourself for me. Izuku-" His name is whispered like words of sin or ruthless statements of atrocities, when it shouldn't "-wouldn't let me do that to you." He doesn't talk, or sigh, or even place his hand on yours and a whole minute passes like that. Or two, or three, or an eternity. The clock is ticking so loud that it's unbearable, his heartbeat muffling your ears while his scent is musking your nose. It's a funny thing, that perhaps, everything feels so warm, so comforting like this, you'd like to keep hugging him, if he allows you too. For as long as this minute's eternity can last. "Don't leave me cause I'm angry and snappy" It's so barely audible that you think he's only trying to calm himself down again, but it strikes you like a swift slash of a sword to your chest to realize the weight of his words. You thought you were the only one feeling this way. 'Don't leave me'. As if- as if it's an option that's hunting the depths of his chest, or perhaps as if your situation isn't a granted part in your lives for a little over a month. You're not one to inquire of a person in panic why they said what they said or if there's a cryptic meaning behind his very words. Because, frankly, there isn't. He's pretty clear, even while being tenderly desperate about it. And oh, you feel your heart pull and pinch at the thought of it.

"I'm not leaving" "Good" When he turns to face you, he's gripping onto your palms like it's painted out to be for dear life, a plea to not let him go as he turns his body around; you feel as if he needs you, as if, you're necessary to comfort him as well. You're too far gone in the joy that gathers in your stomach to hear him utter the words "I'm not leaving either" but you find some meaning of this statement in his embrace, when he shoves you into his chest. There's a little awkward cripple to your gaze that causes you to steal a stare outside the window or, perhaps, it's something bigger, or even the drive in your heart to hope for something more as an outcome for this. In the worst case scenario, you're pleading for forgiveness, if, by any chance, Izuku is still out there and can witness this little happening. That's when you find it, and truly, you have to catch a second glance at it to feel certain about what you just saw. Subtle little shimmers of stars, painting a large part of the sky, patiently awaiting to be noticed, in agony and tiredness that only a hero could recognize. And if you're a hero, you can feel it too, the kneeling of the legs, the flexing of the arms -it's all there- drawn by little stars of other galaxies in front of your very eyes, after searching for them for years. That's perhaps what people mean when they say, happiness is found in small things. Katsuki's arms around you, his faint breathing grazing the skin of your nape tenderly as he's calming himself down is more than enough, but the sky tonight has managed to make a compromise for the two of you, shining the diamond colors of the hercules constellation to the two of you. It's a blink and you'll miss it, no reason to break away from his arms, so you coo into his mellowy neck, speaking against his skin. "I found it, the hercules constellation" "What? Where" He's not shook at all as he speaks, and it doesn't surprise you either; there's this dazzling tranquility in the air, so much for getting you to calm down after such rage, but you'll take it over anything else, anytime. When Katsuki seems to detach his resting lips from the crook of your neck, he lays the side of his face on the very spot, inquiring again about the location of the constellation. You're more than happy to provide him with an answer. He drags you to the balcony with slow steps, a million steps away from the lights of your apartment as it seems before snapping his head towards the sky, squinting his eyes to comb through any star he could probably set his gaze on. You help him find it, not because it's before his very eyes, but because something inside you is flickering to rush you. Hurry it up. Look at the pretty stars and embrace him again, because it feels good, and you don't mind that you get mad at yourself for thinking this way. You don't even want to question your morals as thoughts of holding his hand pass through your head. Maybe a finger or two tangled in his like messy strands of hair, too hard to detangle- maybe that'd be comforting. Perfect even. Despite your best efforts to tickle his pointer finger with yours shyly, you come to realise he won't respond -you better behave, or, you should have know, but the insecurities that make you question everything are as evident as they'll ever be- you wonder if you've made him uncomfortable. But he's wrapping an arm around your shoulders, by grabbing that hand you're using to guide his gaze across the constellation and this time you can't help, but tangle all of your fingers through his, like a hair clam, fitting so perfectly, your heart cracks even more than last time. "I can pop some rice in the rice cooker and you can buy some Teriyaki" He sighs, though not once does he pry his eyes away from the stars

And that's where you feel a weight lifting off your shoulders, only to drop to your stomach; it's not a half hearted compromise, rather, it's sincere, something so eerie and far away from the usual 'take it or leave it' Katsuki Bakugo, but… you'll take it. With a broken smile and a coo into his shoulder. You turn to look at the stars as well, and Katsuki cracks a small smile now that you can't see it, because compromising actually feels good, relieving or whatever. He doesn't want to think about whether, in any sense, he's on your mind or not, he'd rather show you a piece of his own mind, a crack opening to see inside his heart -it's almost too painful that he has to be the one to calm things down. He's never been one to do so, but standing on his feet right now is mandatory. For you, him, whatever the two of you have got going on, because if not, coping won't be effective. He likes to think, you have each other in this, and that's enough for him. To keep things peaceful he has to take an occasional step back, and if that's the price to pay, he guesses he will. Izuku may be gone, he may have turned the two of you into what seems an unfixable broken mess, but at least he's left you with each other. Perhaps, he'll once appear again, in the form of new love, or a smile on your face at the sight of an old childhood photo, and things will be fine again. If only he could have been kinder, or better, or not as competitive, he wouldn't be sorry or trying to fix his own self. For now though rice and teriyaki ought to be the only problems he wants to face.

iii. bargaining | 7.30pm "What if I could have prevented this?" His voice is anything but loud, his chest too hollow, bouncing the voice of his concern around the broadness of his muscles, just to graze into your ears in soft vibrations. The statement alone makes you perk up and swoon your face away from him, hands laid flat and firm against his petrocals as you're finally fixing him with a gaze. Saturdays always bite his ass and Sundays are ever so depressing. This weekend is no less easy for the two of you. Katsuki's barely able to slur words without hissing or cursing, seeing as his jaw is bandaged up by being sliced by a villain at work today, and you've both decided that it's best if he gets to have an early night. "You'll be fine by next week, I'll help you change your bandages" He shakes his head before he buries his face behind his palms, as if trying to hide his emotions from you; you give him the right, with a worried face to match the situation "Not that, shit- no 'm taking 'bout Izuku" Oh You can't really place yourself into why but you've been having the same thoughts as of late. It's only natural, you dare say, to convince yourself not to be persistent on guilt tripping that little mellow voice in your head that tried to tell you that everything's going to be fine in the end, but it's in vain- for every time this happens you have to find a new way to occupy yourself to shove the destructive thoughts away. It's probably not right in any sense, to prompt Katsuki to ignore the problem as well, but the thudding of your heart -always matched perfectly by the raindrops that hit on the roof of the house hard enough to make you feel oh so concerned- commands you to find a new coping mechanism to add to your little pile. "I- I just-" A look in his eyes and you're lost in a trance of whether you're going to break his heart by momentarily avoiding talking. It is more than enough to convince you to voice something, anything, but every word that sparks at the back of your brain is washed by astounding waves of anxiety that have your tongue swim in the sea of your mouth. You don't come up with anything to say for as long as a moment lasts. "It's like- I should have been there! I turned down that fucking call because I was sure he could do this on his own" "Katsu" "He fucking- I fucking- I-" "Hey, stop it-" You plea "It doesn't make it any different, I know that but-" He snaps

quicker than you can imagine, prospering away from another call of his name that slips from your lips. Irises turn away from you in wrinkly eyes, furrowed brows and pursed lips. His heart is palpitating so fast, his eyes flicker in what you can read is pain, maybe, you could take some blame to yourself. Not that you have any right trace if thought to come up with comfort, or rather, not like you have it in you to let Katsuki assign this all on himself. "I could-" You start, yet your mouth is dry "I could have been there as well-" It's such an awkward miniscule moment that you share but it's enough to make your heart feel like it's breaking in regret. You're only left to wonder if your friends are feeling that way too, about Izuku's call for reinforcements that Katsuki turned down, that none of them tended to on time. "Don't put this on you" Your stomach, unable to cooperate with any plea of yours to not drown in anxiety, stirs its contents to it's desire, making you sit up; Katsuki's embrace is too void for you right now, your chest is way too hollow for you to not feel alienated. It's in moments like these that you know trying to handle yourself or your life with each other is probably a mistake, a false emotional dependency that should not exist otherwise, and you always hope he gets to prove those intrusive thoughts of yours otherwise. You're taken aback when warm hands find their way around you; it's unexpected and you flinch, but you're soothed the moment your brain processes who it is that's hugging you, bringing you back to reality and breaking your short lived dissociation. He presses his ear onto the crook of your neck, this time, not hissing at the way his wounds ache as his skin tubs on yours. He notices that certain way your breathing's working and he sighs in relief, or sorrow, for he's too scared to ever speak of what's hiding in his chest, or what's adding to him feeling so twisted and evil. "Wanna go for a ride?" He says, unexpectedly, surprising even himself by how absurd it sounds "Where to?" "Niko" He purrs and you let out a giggle "That's too far silly" "I 'on know, heard it's pretty this time of the year" You finally turn around to him, only slightly so as to not disturb his embrace and ruffle a hand through his hair, and pause just before your lips find his forehead. Somewhere deep inside of you it hurts for this to feel so casual, a loving interaction with Katsuki of all people. It feels like some sick trick of betrayal but your eyes are burning onto his skin while your world moves in slow motion. A hand on his cheek isn't as harmful as the addition of another one, yet you still go for that choice, dry lips inevitably set onto pale pink skin, pressing a soft kiss of comfort. "We could go at that spot, near UA, we used to go there a lot when we were high schoolers" Katsuki's words are calm and collected, hidden between gritted teeth so he can appear like his chest is fuller than yours, but what you don't know is that his heart is trying to beat out of his chest, like it's the most secretive, harsh prison. He briefly wonders if by knowing so, you'll hurt as much as him. But your kiss on his forehead, the warm place in which he rests face against your chest it all points to you feeling the same- it's there and he can read every single sign, whether he wants to deny them or not. "Should I get dressed?" A grunt this prolonged means yes. And truth be told the set and scenery of this small driving outlet is almost idyllic; a silent car ride, tainted faces and the gloomy watery corners of one's eyes to match the pouring rain, the slow, mellow music matching in beats with the squeaky wipers. What a perfect, diligent harmony you've got. It feels like a cut to another scene in a slow paced movie. The time is still stuck at 8.15, signifying how it wasn't long ago that you were starting to drown in a pool of bargaining -and voicing it out loud- and a part of you is still sad for thinking that maybe, for Katsuki, you're a coping mechanism. A full rembrandt of what's left of

Izuku's that he doesn't want to give up. You keep wondering if that would be the case had he still been alive. Would he ever have such an attitude stored inside of him for you had you not been dating Izuku on what now counts as ancient history? He parks his car on a narrow little road that splits the woods in half and turns the engine off. Seeing that it's November already, you think about how this is a bad idea, you know how cold he gets, and he's not wearing any jacket but you keep it to yourself. Perhaps, had Izuku been here, he would have brought an extra jacket too. For now, it's foggy windows and died down warm breaths. Thus, with a quivering lip you settle lower into your seat and sigh. "I- I know you like stargazing" He coughs, vermillion eyes pacing back and forth between you and the rain that's clashing on the car's glass "and I got an app and a window on the roof of my car" "But it's raining" "Who caaaares!" He grunts when you pout and turns away from you, something that makes your stomach coil abrasively. You want him to look at you, you want him to- As ridiculous and bitter as it sounds, you're tired of asking yourself if any of this would be happening were Izuku still here. Because he's got a stupid little fucking app on his phone for you. Because you're dying to press your lips onto his skin again. Half an hour ago feels like an eternity has passed already. He cares about you enough to open the app -and switch the location of his phone on- and that's more than enough actually. You glue your eyes to the bright screen and follow it as it pops us with a dark window, asking for confirmation that it's authorized to use the camera of Katsuki's phone. A part of you sinks in the silent death of love at the thought that, yes, he downloaded this just for you. Joy in little things, you figure, is what keeps you grounded, it's what ultimately pushes you to rest your head on his shoulder as he lifts his phone up, facing it on the small opening on the roof of his car. "Can't see past all this water, dammit" "So?" You coo, and the previous small irritation in his voice dies down with a grunt that comes from the depths of his chest. "The app's fine. Feels just like stargazing." You've never done anything similar with Izuku. And there's not even a spec of comparison clouding over your head, despite the guilt that settles in your stomach once again. Looking up to Katsuki, you can see his jaw tensing in the slightest, most probably in pain -you wonder, does his wound still ooze- and you can't help but feel like your eyes are stinging. You sniffle nonetheless. And Katsuki retreats his shoulder, letting your head hang without support as he turns to you. "Maybe, even if we can't see them, they're still there and-" You purse your lips to the side of your cheek, thinking of a reply, anything to say to make his words seem like they've come out of his mouth. "You've turned into quite the poet lately, haven't you?" Your answer should be that no, he hasn't, he's just hurt and confused, numb and afraid, but in turn you're all those things as well, or so he speculates by looking in your eyes. Because he can read people, he can read you, and as much as this has been established, he can't find it in him to speak a word on it. Then again, what's the point in holding anything in if you're going to die one day? The life of a hero is expendable, he's got his rise and fall as number one set in stone, so why should he hold back? He can't bring Izuku back even if he wants to, and he can't possibly stop himself from feeling for you. He remembers finding salvation in holding Izuku down and apologizing. He now finds humility in words that are spoken from his mouth that slip past his consciousness. "I love you- Don't care if it's fucking raining or not- Fuck" There's no time for you to think of a response before he throws a fit; his phone is slammed on the backseat, rocketing to the floor, and the click of his door is heard before he steps out of the car and slams it shut. He's lucky- the rain covers most

of the scream that he let's out and fills the buzzing void in your chest, your head. He said the words first, and your head is pulling you instinctively to your right, just where he was a few moments ago, you want to see if he's facing you, you long to feel your eyes meet his. You manage to collect the only ever courage you have left and push the thought of Izuku away from your mind, click your door open and shoot out of the car. Just like him. Like you're his echo. "Don't say a fucking word" He dismisses your open mouth, as if he can hear your breath clearer than this deafening rain, but you're not having it. "But i- i" "Shut up, as if you know-" "But I feel the same way" You whisper "What" He yells, and you scream at him to get back in the car, so you can talk, clearer. Though when he does, he's burning his eyes on your lips, then your eyes, then he never makes any move towards you, as if everyone and anything is on you. But none of you takes the bigger leap towards each -justified, because there's trembling in your movements and hesitation in your heads. And then your lips meet his. Tenderly, painfully, religiously Your first kiss is cursed by numbing ache, but it feels so right, like the warmest summer evening, or the most hazing bonfire during a cold winter night. Regret can't eat you alive for that one. And Katsuki, even with his lips still pressed against yours knows he will think about this kiss as a sin and a betrayal for far too long, he knows it'll torment him through the darkness of whatever tonight could mean. If only he gets through this night, he'll be fine Tomorrow you'll wake him up with a soft "how'd you sleep'' again and he'll be fine. The void and guilt inside his chest will get filled up with the warmness of being embraced first thing in the morning. Perhaps in time he'll convince himself that Izuku would never mind what's going on between the two of you, if you're meant to be endgame.

iv. depression | 12.07 am

Soft bubbles that smell like carnation and the auburn flicker of the fire that shines on top of a plethora of candles set the atmosphere for this evening. The lack of bright light -being that the whole city has been in a black out for several hours- is gentle to yours and Katsuki's eyes. What should have been matched with some of the artificial warmth the heater next to the bathtub, that should be providing for the two of you. Instead, it's him that keeps the temperature high.

Your muscles hurt and his wounds ache, as always, after a tiring day of hero work. You guess that's your daily nature; after hours and hours of overworking your body and soul, two people like you only get to spend the little time they have together like this. Late at night, curled up against each other, borderline sleeping in a bathtub. You're sure the water has a pinkish red tint to it -somewhere, a wound of his or yours is bleeding more that you'd like to believe is natural.

Katsuki is unbothered to check who's wounds are worse.

For the first time in a while, his mouth isn't dry, or chapped, a killer to his heart, for he can't find the right choice of words to spell to you. He should be fine with having you curled up against his chest, but somewhere along the way he finds it hard to experience the warmth he's trying to emit. And he thinks he finds your response to this unspoken mind trick when he cups your hands with his, checking at your fingers. Not a single prune or puckered line to clasp a non indifferent reaction from the back of his brain.

He's content with the way time seems to have stopped, trapping you in a moment filled with cold granite tiles and blood spoiled water that smells like lavender. In a movement he abandons your hands, watching them float over his. You hum -it's warm and welcoming, as if you're saying you're content too- and rest the back of your head to the crook of his neck.

His only reply is to nuzzle his nose into your neck as well. Placing a tiny kiss to the skin against his lips, tangling his fingers through your wet hair.

Small reassuring acts of

love with nothing special into them help you relax completely into him. "Kinda nice that you can see the stars so bright tonight" If you're looking for a cynical answer, then Katsuki's ever your man. "Of course they'd show when it's pitch black outside. What'd ya expect?" With your eyes glued to the glass ceiling for a long while you wonder, what did you expect really? Words that spiral in your brain are always spoken, leaving you numb and inquiring, searching for an answer in the deepest curves of your brain. When burning your eyes into his will never work, he decides to let his gaze melt holes in the vast of his bathroom windows. The beauty of minimalism leaves him cold and lonely, as if there's facelessness in the black veil of the sky that mimics the inside of his home. He curls into you by pressing you against his chest tighter. You never ask him why his bathroom is built the way it is -with that little corner window in the ceiling, neither does he know what he'd answer to you were you ever in a position to. He doesn't know how to apologize for being who he is, or his that window makes him feel like he used to be assured and secured on what was assigned to him by birth. (His parents’ money, a strong quirk.) He doesn't know how to apologize for still living in traits of his life that could make you feel like he's been everything but fair to Izuku. And all you probably think about, he convinces himself is that It'd be ironic to say that you mind having a view of the stars while having a midnight bath. It's a full moon tonight too -the glowing sky orb floating just above the furthest line of the horizon, illuminating the sky. And you, with your eyes shut by now and facing the glass ceiling, seem like you feel the weight of the moon pulling you in. What Katsuki knows for sure is that you have a terrible migraine that has you frowning horrendously. It's because of the fool moon, you'll say when the blond asks you why you're suffering, it always gives you migraines and he'll sit by you as you're making him his bath, holding your hand while he asks you to join him. He's nothing but a lover of roughness and void, he doesn't know how you're still with him, or how you ever fell for him. He feels slow, like a worn out tire, washed to a shore by the sea. But his hands, calloused and sculpted harshly even only by the -not so many- years of being a pro, aid to your comfort, not in his need to be a hero -more like, in his need to be human, or not feel inadequate, to not feel like his life is a pit of guilt because Izukus is over. And it has been for a long time. And his, is taking turns so abruptly that his gut churns and pleads. Two bulky thumbs run over your eyebrows, smoothing the short coarse hair and soothing the bone, swooning the sore pain away; it feels like custom made heaven, sweet and fluffy, and the water in the bathtub won't get cold, nor will his hands. You're so relaxed into him, bones turned into jelly and skin tingling at his touch. Every circle he's rubbing on your forehead is releasing tension you didn't know you had piled up. The soft splashes of water are merely inaudible when compared to his heartbeat, but you can't feel it. Not yet. It's not tense enough for him to feel like his heart is beating out of his chest. "You any better?" Cold. Brutal. Almost as if his hands belong to someone else, but that's Katsuki for you, or anyone else as a matter. You turn your head to him, wearing a tiny, worn out smile as you lean you mean into him, clashing your lips over his, bumping your nose to his cupid's bow when you're done. Katsuki, you're sure, closes his eyes in a feeling that doesn't seem pleasant and you do the most expected thing -retreat. It hurts; watching you slip away, turn your head to face the stars outside of his window, wiggle your body away from his, to collect your knees and press them against your chest. It's devastating how a small denial to a kiss can harm you in such a way. It's either his fault, or yours. Because somewhere deep inside his head he's convinced

himself he's a rebound. Someone you'll get over when you start getting better. And he's probably convinced himselfhes viewing you in this way, somehow. "You could have at least kissed me back" You whisper, shivering. The water is cold, finally, it was so nice while the warmth washed over your skin. Almost like a lie. "I-" He huffs, buries his head into his wet palms. He can't speak, for if he does, the crack in his voice, the high pitch of it, will snitch on his torment. He tries to shove it away, when he shoots his hands to your direction, trying to pull you into him again. When it doesn't work, you swear you see the corners of his eyes sparkle just a tad. It's alienating, when you've seen him cry and have numerous break downs, more times than you've seen him smile or laugh, you feel like you're foreign to the slight emotion that gathers in his eyes, now forming a pit, never spilling down the harsh lines of his cheeks. The moment a salty streak appears on his skin, you can help but wonder, what would happen if only you could stop your own tears from falling. You can't ask him to talk to you, it's more than obvious. You're deprived of any logical sentence forming mechanism in your brain, knees like jelly, arms heavy as two whole buildings in the verge of collapsing. One word of his and your heart will unleash all the ache that gathers slowly in your throat. "'M not just here cause Izuku died" There you go, not once, but seven times, feeling your heart pierce holes in your body, hanging from his every word, cursing yourself when you grasp his meaning. Wild and unleashed and raw, a plea, an inquiry. A way of masking his insecurity and it's your fault he's feeling this way. "You're not," You start, lost and perplexed "I love y-" But it does down faster than you would have wanted it. You turn your head away from him for a second. With the moon so high, and the city lights non existent, you can distinguish the Taurus constellation, just below the moon, and so very faint. Your throat is tight, your neck is sore, your voice won't come out -you wonder why astrology is right about Taurus controlling the throat- and you don't know how to make him feel good about himself. If only you can show him the constellation he'll be fine, right? Do zodiac constellations make him as excited as they make you? Or is that just a role he's taken upon himself to stick with you? His lips clash with yours, water splashing around you as he shifts, and he hugs you close to him. It's your cue, to close your eyes and move your lips in sync. Its a sullen form of desire, that dangerous one, where you get his lips to bleed from how hard you bite down onto his lip and twist and pull and clash him into you again because you can't get enough. You tell yourselves you have to live for this present, even if the past makes it unbearable. Just when your hearts feel like they'll jump out of your chests and dissolve into the lavender smelling bubbles, this time painting the water in a deep carmine, you clash your chest to his and he feels as if, he's wanted, here and now, even if the feeling won't last for long. And then it's hands that roam bruised skin, fingers than dig into softness or thick muscle, fingernails that dig into scalps painfully, until they draw blood as your teeth clash. It's passion, and only in the way your hips ghost over his, swaying in the water, as he's grunting "see, am kissing you back" and "We'll never be clean at this rate" "I'll massage your head when we're done" You breathe, pulling back for a second, as he sucks a spot on your neck, handling your back just to press your chest to his face. "Fuck, I love yo-" You shush him with your mouth on his, forehead sticking to his when a slit on your nose gets smashed when it scrunches against his cheek. He doesn't have to say it, you don't have to hurt him like this. It almost doesn't matter -the cold- when he pulls you to the edge of the bathtub and buries himself into you, you simply shiver by the way his thumb rubs your clit, thrusting your hips in rhythm to

meet his. And he bites on to your collar bones, eyes teary and heart heavy after he lets you set the pace, occasionally thrashing into your touch, his gut churning more and more as you go. It's only when he takes matters into his own hands -lifting you and pressing your back again the wall, putting out some candles I'm the process- hand on your face to shove some hair away, and legs wrapped securely around him that you both find release. Screaming in agony, crying in what could be mistaken for pain, sticking your foreheads together as your breaths tingle into one hot huff of air that travels up and way from you. You lock eyes with him, just before he lets his body collapse into the water, limbs numb and sore. "Please don't leave too." You whisper, sinking down just behind him, fetching for the shampoo bottle from behind you. He doesn't respond. Instead, he mimics you and rests his head on the crook of your neck, eyeing you backwards, pressing his lips into an upwards line. You're not sure you'll be able to get over this void soon, and you can't help but plead. Later, as you're washing through his hair, you show him the Taurus constellation and his eyes beam like a child's when he says "hey I'm a Taurus" all while tending trying to tend for the bite that he left on your shoulder. He doesn't ask to find the cancer constellation. You don't remember where to find it. The moon is too bright for you to even try.

v. acceptance | 6.59 am

The last rembrand of a star shines in a portrait of purples and oranges. The beautiful afterglow of the previous night, the first ray of sun washes its shine away, almost entirely, before a second can come. To paint the sky in blues, sprinkle the marine shade as to spoil the darkness' leftovers.

The night star, or morning star, tolerates a third, then forth ray of sunlight, and your watery eyes flicker at the scene, your head curling deeper into Katsuki's chest, humming as his hand wraps tighter around you, rubbing frantically over your skin to create some friction. It's only then that you're reminded how beautiful warmth is.

Your ear is cold -after Katsuki's doing while playing with the roots of your hair- and you tuck it under a few strands, instantly noticing the difference in temperature. Katsuki is cold as well, shivering slightly even with the blanket that's wrapped around the two of you. You can't help but wish that you were in bed, curled in a blanket cocoon, sleeping in the most sappy, eerie way.

But spending the night at the beach in early September night's has been a favorite activity of yours for the past few years. Long gone are the July nights spent in agony at the beach in Musutafu, nights that have allowed you to know Katsuki like the back of your hand. You can't take them back, replace them with memories of a happier process of getting to know him. You're not sure he wants to do that too.

He yawns slightly, squishing your head under his elbow to rub his tired eyes, breaking the loudsy inhale to chuckle at your pretend squirming. Avoiding your hair as to not hurt you while scratching the stubble hair on his cheeks -flinching slightly at it- before he moves your hair away from your ear, laughing trumphically at his doing.

"Nooo, I'm cold"

He chuckles again, running the tips of his fingers through your hair and tapping his palm over your ear. "Better now?"

"Katsu!"

You smile into his chest, trying to muffle your giggles, deciding to cook into him further.

His heart might as well burst. He thinks to himself that this is more than something he could have asked for, years of putting the effort in being with you awarding him in moments like this. Moments where he can see Venus shine faintly in the sky, feeling blessed by the planet of love as he places kisses to the top of your head.

I'm times like these, it's hard to look back and remember he used to beat himself over trying to convince himself he was drawn to you only because Izuku died. It feels like there's more behind it. Some karmic pull, some aligned stars, fates arranged in such a way that

you were meant to end up in this moment. Even if none of this is true and he's lost in superstitial bullshit, trying to explain things with something that bears no resemblance to simple logic, he figures there aren't any fresh wounds in his body. Time has flown since the last time he caught himself bathing in his own blood, but he's not reckless any more -neither are you- he doesn't go tormenting himself with wounds that will take long to heal. He can't remember times that have been tougher than this. But he's attached to the warm sand, moist still from the night's angry chill, so much that he slips one hand out of the blanket and sinks it low into the ground. It's so pleasant that he doesn't feel the ground pulling him in, or down. He's got a heart that will withstand his will to get up any time he wants to, and a pair of legs that will at his command, a chest that heaves with breaths while you're showering him with kisses. He won't get to spend an eternity like this, not even as many years as he thinks will be enough for him to enjoy this, but he's figured that there's eternity hinged in every moment, of taking care of yourself before you take care of someone else, so you don't hurt others around you. He's surprised with how much he's changed; he is aware that change is inevitable, through all the compromises that he's had to not condemn, all the soft words he's forced himself to say to you, to himself, to the point he's become softer, mellowed. Knowing he'd never forgive himself if he came to lose you to his grief. "We should get up, I'm sure Mina and Ochaco will be freaking at this point." He chuckles, hiding his tongue in the back of his mouth, as if to fish for a reply. "Kirishima and Denki will-" "Let the fuckers do as they wish, it's my wedding day, I decide when I show up. I can't with this enthusiasm" "Oh my god" You fake gasp, clapping your mouth "this is it? You're not going to marry me? You've lost your spark? Oh me. Oh my, whatever do I do?" You laugh, feeling the vibrations of his chest as he's laughing too, ruffling your hair in the messiest way he can imagine "There, now your hair is unfixable and I get to say it's you who left me at the altar" You burst out in giggles as you're trying to get up -efforts wasted in vain, because he's pulling you back onto him, for a kiss, one that makes your lips feel like cotton candy that slowly melts away, fuzzily yet so watery and with such delicacy. He gets up soon after you, folding the blanket neatly -too neatly- only pausing to take in the moment. Blue blotch after blue blotch is flooding the sky, almost every hint of purple gone, giving in to that warm tangerine light of the early sun. Katsuki sighs and you link your arms around his elbow. Content, happy. And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't much of those himself. There's nothing holding him back. And so, he guesses, this is goodbye. The official one. Not melded with an apology, not fueled by regret. It's a silky woven letting go. There are no tears left for him to shed, there's no more trembling to violently shake your body awake at night. There's nothing but good in the memory of Izuku. Not even the subtle wish for him to be here, and happy with you. As the bright, starry light of Venus is outshone by the sun, he places another kid to the top of your head. "I'll see you at 5" "I'm going to be fashionably late" You argue, turning around to wield your hands around his neck and almost linking your lips to his. "Don't you fucking dare" He kisses you "Or what? You'll blow everyone to pieces?" He kisses you again, then again, then once more. "Might as well" And that's Katsuki for you, even in the calmer, softer version of himself. The personification of the twilight hours, even if he's going to bed at 10pm, wiggling his feet under the covers until you join him. He's the only reason you're still sane and you won't ever lose him. He won't lose you, in return.

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cotton-tails · 4 years ago

Text

So I saw this last night, and the little angsty plot bunny in my head woke up and I just had to write something. Fully intended to be a drabble of sorts, but of course it turned into a four page tear-fest, so grab the tissues and strap in.

Oh, and I haven't edited this, it's just 3am word-vomit, so enjoy the mess!

“So, this hasn’t exactly gone to plan.”

Della snorts cheerlessly at Donald’s deadpan comment, struggling into a sitting position and wincing at a twinge in her elbow. The chains dig into her arms with every movement, a very clear upgrade from the ropes they’d all been able to break out of within several minutes not too long ago. These idiots don’t know who they’re messing with.

Or they do; probably a little too well, hence the plan that fell apart very quickly. And the chains. And the scary looking red lightning below them.

“Shut up!” Heron snaps behind them, cuffing Donald a little too roughly around the head.

He doesn’t react more than a sharp hiss and a dark glare behind him, and Della can’t help the sharp pang of guilt under the surge of anger. She bites back a comment, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground until the villain is out of earshot.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes, keeping her voice low.

“What? Why?” Donald sounds confused but she can’t bring herself to look at him.

“You should be with Daisy right now,” she says, “I’m the one who guilted you into staying, into coming on this stupid trip. And now we’re facing the very real possibility of dying.”

Donald is quiet.

Forcing herself to look up, she frowns at the look on his face. He still doesn’t say anything, but the expression says it all; ‘Della-you-absolute-idiot-what-are-you-blathering-on-about?’

“I came on this stupid trip cause our kids were in trouble,” he hisses eventually, “my family were in trouble! You think I wouldn’t ditch my vacation in a heartbeat for any of you?”

“I-” Della starts, but her voice catches, rendering her utterly speechless. He’s not lying, she knows exactly what he would do for the family, for her. Yet, somehow that knowledge isn’t exactly helping.

She misses her chance to reply, all conversation cut off with the explosive arrival of Scrooge and Bradford through the roof.

Della clenches her fist and almost bites through the inside of her cheek as he slams to the ground. She manages to chime out a ‘Hey Uncle Scrooge,’ with Donald when his pained gaze finds them. Beakley mutters a sarcastic ‘Fantastic,’ from her other side. She can only watch as a now armoured Bradford, armed with the sword, picks him up by the back of his coat and drags him up the stairs. He’s blathering on about something, but she’s stopped listening; too busy focusing on her battered and beaten uncle and how this could have gone so completely and utterly wrong.

It’s the usual spiel anyway, threats to destroy his family, his adventures, everything he had worked for, blah blah blah.

Then the contract is revealed, and her stomach drops to somewhere around her knees. If they don’t find a way out soon, Scrooge will have to either sign his life away or they all die, and frankly, neither option sound particularly appealing.

It’s only when Bradford sacrifices his own agents that the desperateness of the situation really sinks in. It’s one thing to talk about murder, it’s entirely another to actually do it. And if Bradford is willing to throw away his own agents, Della can’t imagine what he would be willing to do to her family if Scrooge doesn’t sign.

He tries to buy some time. Della can almost hear the cogs turning in his head as he tries to figure out how to get out of this one. She huffs out a half-hearted laugh at the sharp quip about the fine-print. He’d figure something out, he always does. Not to mention the kids are bound to have found a way out by now, they’d pick up the rest of their allies and be on their way to disrupt the whole evil plan.

It’s just a matter of-

“Ugh! Enough stalling!”

Never mind.

“You need some incentive.”

Della does not like where this is going.

“Perhaps the life of your most trusted ally?”

The three of them snap their heads forward as Bradford stalks towards them, sword dragging on the concrete threateningly. As the screeching rings in Della’s ears, the only thought racing through her mind is ‘not Donnie, not Donnie, please, don’t take my brother.’

Her heart almost stops when he scoops Donald up by his collar, his cry echoing in her ears.

“Donald!” Three voices scream.

She can barely breathe, crippling panic bubbling up inside. All she wants to do is close her eyes and scream, break these chains and drag him back to safety, but she can’t move, she can’t take her eyes off her twin as he’s dangled over the edge.

“What will it be Scrooge? Adventure? Or your Family?”

‘Just do what he wants!’ She’s not ashamed of the thought. They’ll figure out a way to reverse the contract, there’s always a way, always a loophole. Just do it so she can see her brother safely on solid ground.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

She can’t say she’s surprised at how quickly he gives in.

“No! Don’t!” Donald screams, “find a way out! You can beat him!”

The pen is already in his hand. “It’s not worth the risk lad.”

They can only watch in horror at the golden glow that circles around him, lifting him up and binding him with unbreakable chains that drag him to the ground.

“I did it!” Bradford crows triumphantly. “The great Scrooge McDuck, now only a poor old man!”

Della’s heart breaks just a little at the look of absolute misery on her old uncle’s face, but she doesn’t have time to mourn properly, because Bradford is talking. Again.

“Normally I wouldn’t indulge in such petty villainy,” he says, his gaze turning back to Donald, still dangling over the edge, with a glint in his eye that makes Della’s blood run cold. “But since this is a special occasion.”

He lets go.

Della’s eyes meet Donald’s for an agonising second, and then he’s gone.

There’s a flash of red, and someone is screaming.

She doesn’t even realise it’s her until a rough hand knocks her back.

“Shut it! Or it’ll be you next!”

Hot tears stream down her beak and she presses her forehead into the cold concrete, not even bothering to choke back a sob. Over the pounding of her own taunting heartbeat in her ears, she hears the sound of the machine powering down (‘Too late’ her traitorous mind provides), of her kids voices yelling something, and Scrooge shouting for them to be careful.

And Bradford, confused and angry as her family finally, finally step in to save the day.

His voice sets off something inside that she hadn’t felt since the day Lunaris betrayed her. A raging anger that burns through her, overwhelming any other emotion and completely taking over her mind.

The chains are no longer an obstacle, and even Beakley can’t stop her from launching herself at the buzzard. They tumble down the stairs, fists flying and feet kicking. Everything blurs after that, which may or may not be a side effect of a rather painful bump on the head as they hit the ground at the bottom of the staircase. She’s kicked off, then it’s just a cloud of lights and bodies and a strong arm holding her back from doing anything overly-reckless and potentially stupid.

The kids, her (their) beautiful, wonderful kids, figure out the loophole and the ever-binding contract disintegrates.

It’s done.

The maniacal villain is defeated once more. The world has returned to rights and the sounds of celebration fill the air.

But Della can only stand and watch, her hands trembling and eyes burning. Beakley stands behind her, hands hovering just behind her shoulders, ready to give comfort if needed.

He’s gone.

Her brother, the other half of her soul; just… gone.

And… oh.

Her knees buckle, a wrecked sob forcing its way from her throat. Beakley catches her with a arm round the shoulders and a hand under her elbow, lowering her gently to the ground as she crumples into a ball. She presses her hands to her eyes in a hopeless attempt to stem the tears as everything comes crashing down.

“It’s okay, let it out dear.”

He shouldn’t have been here. He should’ve been on that amazing adventure with Daisy, sailing together on that old houseboat. After everything life had thrown at him, after all the madness they’d been through, he’d finally caught a break, finally found that amazing person who loved him as fiercely as he loved her.

Then Della had come along, crying about lost time and not being ready. She hadn’t wanted to him to leave, even on a stupid vacation that he would very clearly be coming back from.

Now he wouldn’t even get the chance to go.

And it’s all her fault.

“Mom?”

The obvious confusion and concern in Huey’s voice is enough to send her tumbling over the edge all over again, fresh tears springing up at the thought of having to explain what happened to her- to his kids.

Scrooge hurries them away, and she tries not to listen to the hushed explanation, the startled gasps, and she has to cover her ears for the rest. She can’t stand it.

It’s all her fault.

“DELLA!”

‘What?’

There’s no mistaking that voice.

Her head snaps up so fast she’s half sure she’s given herself whiplash. Even through blurred eyesight, she knows that silhouette, that outfit, that stupid hat. She blinks, sniffing and scrubbing at her face with her sleeve, hardly daring to believe.

It shouldn’t be possible, there’s no way it’s possible. She saw it, she saw him fall, saw the flash of lightning, the empty space where he had been only moments before. She watched her own brother die. So how was he standing ten feet in front of her, laughing as he’s tackled by several small and colourful blurs?

A hand appears in front of her face and she looks up into the stunned face of her uncle. He looks almost as much of a mess as she feels, tearstains tracking down his cheeks and spotting on his coat.

“I think it might be best if we just don’t question it,” he says, helping her to her feet.

His hands are shaking as he holds hers tightly, but she doesn’t comment; it can’t be any worse than her own trembling limbs. They turn back to Donald, who’s ended up sat on the floor under the collective weight of the kids. He’s got a tearful Louie on his shoulder and several kids wrapped around his torso as he struggles to his feet, and Della can see him mouthing a headcount as he takes them all in.

“I swear every time we see you, you have more children.”

She hadn’t even noticed Panchito and José just beside him, grins wide and eyes twinkling with amusement and, in José’s case, something else that she can’t quite place. Donald just laughs at Panchito’s observation, the sound sweet as honey and causing even more tears to well up all round. The pure relief that sweeps through her is almost enough to make her knees give way again, but Scrooge’s hand gripping hers and Beakley’s arm still around her shoulders is just enough to keep her grounded.

Then he catches her eye.

“Hey Dells.”

The kids must see something in her face, cause they have to good sense to dart out of the way just moments before Della hurls herself at her brother. They almost topple backwards, but Donald is able to keep them just about upright while Della just focuses on wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder. His arms circle her waist, holding her just as tightly. The tears are streaming freely now, but she’s beyond caring. He can yell at her about ruining his shirt later and she’ll just take it with a grin.

“You idiot!” she yells, her voice muffled by his shoulder, “I thought you were dead!”

“For a minute, so did I,” he says into her hair, “how about we just call it even?”

The soft jibe only makes her laugh, and she holds him just that little bit tighter.

Miracles do happen, and in the end all that matters is love, family and adventure.

But if he thinks she’s going to let him go galivanting off on some adventure without her now, then he’d better think again.

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aminiatureworld · 3 years ago

Text

Hiraeth

From the prompt to celebrate 900 followers.

Word Count: 1,314; Kazuha x gn!reader

It was so hard to think of Inazuma; it was so easy to remember Inazuma.

The claws of nostalgia were waiting in every budding tree in the spring, and in every golden leaf in autumn. Every breeze that brought with it a scent that was unplaceable and yet so familiar, every drop of rain that fell, unforgiving and unstoppable, every piece of slightly burnt fish cooked after a long, cold day at sea. These things were a beautiful sort of torture, keeping a memory alive, cruelly tormenting the exile with things he could no longer touch.

It was hard not to grieve, and Kazuha knew there was a great deal to grieve about. A friend gone forever, a land that had turned its back on him, friends, family, enemies, archons, people Kazuha would never meet again. Sometimes anger rose at these images; anger and spite which threatened to consume Kazuha from the inside. On those days he dreamt of plans to sneak back into Inazuma and find whatever resistance was active at the time. He would rush into battle, regardless of risk, he would find the Raiden Shogun and challenge her to a duel, he would avenge his friend’s death. Other days there would be grief, a waterfall of it. Tears, regrets, sadness, it would come rushing over the cliffs of Kazuha’s memories and then the exile would find himself wishing none of it had happened, wishing that he could’ve lived in blissful ignorance, in the land of his birth. Kazuha didn’t know which of these two mindsets was the most damaging.

It drove a wedge between him and the outside world, and Kazuha knew that. Still, it was difficult to find the energy to break that wall down, to cross the every widening gulf. What did it matter if he was alone. He was an exile after all, was that not to be his fate? Why should he continue to get hurt, continue to hide his sorrow, when he could just as much sit in the crow’s nest, the wind in his face, pretending like he was the only living person in the world. It was rather freeing to be alone after all. You could trust loneliness, it never changed after all.

So why was it then, despite all these promises, these wishes, these cynical proclamations, that people had still managed to worm their way into his heart? First it had been Beidou, that indefatigable captain who laughed despite it all and who never failed to read Kazuha, despite his cryptic poetry and his attempts to eat at the table farthest from the other sailors. Then it had been the sailors themselves, then the traveler, then the traders at whose ports Beidou did business. Slowly, surely, Kazuha began to find something to ease the longing, something to make the pain bearable.

And then he had met you.

How Kazuha loved you, loved with the sort of recklessness that only some sort of intimacy could create. You were a friend, you were more than a friend, you were something even more than that. You were the soulmate that young romantics liked to imagine right before they went to sleep, hoping their perfect half would somehow appear in their dreams. You were the person with whom Kazuha could have utter, total trust, the kind of platonic soulmate that was so few and far between. Yet his love for you also burned in different ways, as if his feelings for you couldn’t concentrate themselves in one aspect, one facet of love. Kazuha loved you utterly. Regardless of flaw, or temper, or good or bad, he loved you.

However if real love is supposed to fix every problem, then perhaps real love is simply overrated. For as much as Kazuha loved you, he could not stop the ache in his heart, the pieces of him that cried out for his homeland. Inazuma, there was always Inazuma. You never begrudged him his moments of loneliness, the fact that he couldn’t simply leave behind the only place that was his true home. You merely sat next to him, hand on his, breath tickling his hair as Kazuha leaned on your shoulder, mourning the homeland he’d surely lost.

It seemed selfish, to dwell so much on something in the past. Like he was dragging you and everyone else down, bringing something up that you surely didn’t care about that much. There were only so many platitudes a person could say after all, until it all became unbearable. Yet the days that he told himself he should no longer complain, the days that he promised to himself he’d keep it all locked away inside, you still managed to coax all the grief out of him. If Kazuha was unfailing in his longing, then you were unfailing in your kindness, your determination to listen, to tell him that he wasn’t being a nuisance. And slowly, things began to feel a little better.

The first time you had to go on a trip for a long period of time was a shock to Kazuha’s system. Who knew that something that looked so close on a map could be so far away? Mondstadt, as much as it shared a land border with Liyue, felt as far away as the moon. Every day was a trial, every night desolate. He missed your presence, your smiles, your warmth, your even breath as the two of you drifted off to sleep together. Kazuha hadn’t expected this to happen, and for two weeks he waited in bated breath, his every thought consumed by your absence, by the strange feeling of having an integral part of one’s life missing. He wondered if you felt the same way, if you lay awake at night in a Mondstadt in, wishing that he were besides you. He wondered if you needed him as much as he needed you.

The day that you came back Kazuha spent in tears. They started the moment your silhouette was spotted on the docks, mixing with the surprised embarrassment, the wonder of whether it was too much to run to greet you. It was as if he was newly in love again, and Kazuha didn’t know whether he relished the feeling or whether it made him uncomfortable. Ultimately he met you halfway, walking slowly, a dopey smile plastered on his face.

“Welcome back,” he declared. Then there was an embrace that no one could sure of who initiated, as the world fell into place again.

“I realized something while you were gone,” he revealed. It was the evening now, and the two of you were cuddling together in bed, relishing the feeling of limbs once more entangled.

“What is that?” There was something in your voice, a sort of excitement that hadn’t faded throughout the entire day.

“I realized that Inazuma isn’t the only place that I long for.”

“Oh?”

“When you were gone, it was like I was grieving two homes. The home that was long gone, and the home that I had just found.”

“That’s very poetic,” you giggled softly. Kazuha could sense the slight shift in your expression, as you continued. “But funnily enough. I also felt that way. I knew you were important to me darling, but I didn’t realize how important.”

“Despite all my, complaining? Despite how self-centered I can be sometimes?”

“Grief isn’t self-centered Kazuha. And you aren’t complaining by talking about it. I’d rather you cry in front of me every day than keep it to yourself. Okay?”

“Are you sure?” Kazuha couldn’t help the question.

“Of course I’m sure! Believe me, I know my feelings about you very well.”

“And they are?” Slowly the confidence, the candidness that Kazuha felt around you was coming back.

“Love, of course.” You leaned over towards Kazuha, kissing his gently on the lips.

There was very little conversation after that for a while.

#genshin impact #kazuha x reader #kazuha #genshin impact fanfiction #900 prompt game #my writing

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karlnapity · 3 years ago

Text

Some Things Live But All Things Die

AO3 link here.

TWs: Major character death, explicit grief, torture.

Sapnap appears on your doorstep on a gloomy day.

Perhaps it’s apt for the occasion. You’re shivering, and so is he, and it’s more alike than you’ve been in months.

It’s raining, and he is too.

You force open the door with more than a little hesitance; you’d ignore it, usually, but there’s something in his gaze, in the way he’s holding himself.

It’s only once he opens the door that you realize he’s crying.

It pulls at you, makes you want to pull him close. You don’t.

He makes no move to talk. You don’t urge him to.

There’s a sinking pit in your stomach.

He sobs, then, sinking to his knees on your porch step. The lights of Las Nevadas twinkle in the background, a cruel mockery of everything you always did for him.

This isn’t right.

“He’s gone,” Sapnap wails, and you immediately know what he means.

Something in you shatters.

Getting the full story is difficult between it all. You fall to your knees in front of him like a man begging forgiveness, and maybe you are.

He tells you the story in stops and starts as the rain tumbles down, in sobs and heaves, and you want to pull him close but he’s so far despite the distance.

You don’t want this story.

It’s not quite a surprise, really, what happened, when you think about it; you were always going to lose him first.

You’re not sure why it surprises you that he was as fragile as you thought.

He disappeared, says Sapnap, for days at a time, and you think you remember witnessing it a few times yourself. He says he couldn’t remember hardly anything.

It stings. Your absence is irrelevant, now, but some part of you is clawing, dying to know whether he chose not to tell you about his country or if it was all the set-aside madness of an already dying man.

You will never know.

He disappeared, Sap explains, and he thought it was normal, one of his casual disappearances, and he didn’t worry until it had been a few weeks.

Sap sobs, apologizes maybe ten times, for not realizing, and your anger flares for a second before the shame comes crashing down.

You didn’t even know. You knew none of it. You have no room to speak.

“It was George who found his body,” Sap says.

You don’t want to see him, but it’s the fucking least you can do.

It doesn’t feel real until you see him. You hardly have time to think about his kingdom as you’re led through for the first time (and that burns in and of itself), the glowing lights dimmed as though the land itself is mourning.

He looks like he’s sleeping, such a difference from the last dead body you saw.

He’s gray, like one of the ghosts, as though he’s coated in soot and ash. You almost want to reach out and try to brush it off, as stupid as it is.

His clothes, even, are as grayscale as the rest of him, like a washed-out film.

“He was like this when we found him,” George says. You don’t point out his use of ‘we.’

And it suddenly feels real. You feel like throwing up.

“I need to leave,” you say, and you ignore the way you’re running away again.

> You don’t want him to come back. You don’t want to see him shaded in gray, not like his death.

He was always meant to be colorful. This isn’t fair.

> “Are you crying?”

“Shut up,” you grumble, despite the way you are.

“Are you crying?” Dream repeats in delight. He found a weakness and he’s weedling it like a boy pulling off the wings of butterflies.

“Shut up!” You scream, despite the way you are. You take his collar and slam his head into the wall with a sickening crack.

“What happened, Quackity?” He sings.

You wish you knew.

His pain feels useless for the first time.

> You visit his kingdom.

It’s beautiful, but empty, and you know it was all him.

He was what made it special, and without his watch it seems decrepit, as though it’s been abandoned for centuries rather than days.

You don’t look around. It deserved his tour.

> You think of Wilbur, in his grand gestures and the beautiful way he destroyed himself, and you think you understand it, just a little.

My grand symphony, he’d said, forever unfinished, or at least that’s what Philza had said.

Forever unfinished.

When it had exploded, you hadn’t understood it, had wanted to ask how a man could be so destroyed that he’d take the life of his own nation.

The slime helps you collect sand for TNT.

You're too cowardly to use it. > Mourning is a funny word.

You’ve mourned enough, really. Your ex-husband, your relationship, your dreams, and now him.

Your last funeral was a celebration, and you sit back, now, wonder if it was a mistake to let him go at all.

“Do you think I made a mistake?” You ask a ghost.

It blows smoke in your face. “I don’t think I’m the one to give you advice on self-destruction, babe.”

You wave it away. “Maybe not.”

There’s a silence in which you observe its cave. It’s a pale imitation of its character, but then again his ghost is anyways. That stings too.

“Is it right to wish it never happened? So I can avoid the mourning?”

It looks at you, then, red horns flashing. “There’s no right to pain.”

> Your husband’s body was all harsh lines and pained twists. His is soft and peaceful.

You can’t stop thinking of it.

He looked like he was sleeping. You don’t know why that hurts so much.

> Dream can bring him back.

This time it’s personal. You will not let him be lost. >

You let him die. This is your fault.

You were petty, and vindictive, and you are to blame.

“We wondered why you didn’t come home,” Sap says, and it grates, feels like nails on a chalkboard, but you have to hear it. You deserve every bit of guilt.

“And George told us, then, that you didn’t want to, and we were so confused.”

“He never told me,” you whisper.

Sap’s hand twitches, as though he’s resisting reaching out to you. You’ve been doing that a lot lately, unsure where you stand. It hurts.

“I know, Q,” he says. The sympathy doesn’t, shouldn’t belong to you.

“I should’ve come home anyways. I’m sorry.”

“I wish you had. We never would’ve left you that easily.”

It’s not much use now. > Dream doesn’t matter.

You’ve been more vicious, lately, as even Sam grows uneasy, but it doesn’t matter.

You hardly feel in control of the violence anymore. > The slime asks you about the abandoned machines, one day, asking about the matching colors, and you crumble.

It doesn’t much know how to help with tears, but its company is welcome.

You’re taking advantage of its kindness like this. It doesn’t understand what you did.

> Meetings are useless. Technoblade doesn’t seem to understand this.

He snaps his fingers in front of your face, repeats his question, but it doesn’t matter. You push your chair, stand up, prepare to leave-

“Are you alright?”

You let out something between a whine and a scream. “You’re not the kind of person to be asking me that.”

“I know. But I’m asking anyways.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

You deserve this guilt. > “I can’t bring him back,” Dream wheezes. “This is useless.”

You push your knife through his shoulder, pin him to the ground. “You’re lying.”

“Stop, stop, stop!” He shrieks, and you let up, only barely.

“Quackity, Quackity, I need a ghost, please.”

You sit up on your heels, scream into your hands. You signal for Sam to raise the lava, leaving Dream pinned. “If you’re lying, I’ll kill you this time, I really will.”

He’s scared of you for the first time, and it’s not satisfying. >

> Sap looks at you like he doesn’t know you.

Did he ever know you? That’s a frightening thought.

If he knew what you were doing, he would hate you.

You don’t care. You just want him back. > And thus begins your search for a ghost. You ask your own. It shrugs.

“But everyone has a ghost,” you plead. “That’s what you told me.”

“That doesn’t mean they want to be seen.” The plumes of smoke obscure its face. “Remember the kid? He hardly showed up at all in the time he was dead.”

“But he’d want to see me,” you whine, and it sounds wrong to your own ears. “So he has to be somewhere around here.”

“Q.” Its voice is surprisingly serious. “If you ever brought me back I’d hate you forever. Don’t force this on him.”

“But-”

“Listen to me. If I came back? My shitty fucking heart would probably give out again immediately. You don’t know why he died, right? Don’t hurt him because you miss him.”

You crumple. “I need to fix this. I need to.”

“There’s no fixing, babe. Just don’t break it more.”

You hate it. > “Q.”

Fuck.

“What, Sap?”

The nicknames are familiar on your tongue, just like the tension in the air.

“Can you tell me what you’re doing?” He comes up behind you, holds your arms like he used to when you got upset.

You never look at people when you’re upset. He’s the one who noticed.

“He was so observant,” you murmur. You’re not sure when the habit started, of needing to tell people about him. As though you’ll forgethimlikeheforgotyou-

No.

“He was,” Sap replies as you curl in on yourself, holding you closer.

“What are you doing?” He whispers. “Just tell me. I can’t lose you too.”

The last part is so quiet you have to strain to hear him. You wish you hadn’t. You let loose a wail, almost a scream.

This isn’t fair. None of this is fair.

“I want him back. I’m going to get him.”

Sap pulls you to the ground, still holding you close. “I know. Me too.”

“Dream has the book.”

You hear him suck in a violent inhale, like he’s been punched in the stomach. “Q. No.”

“He can bring him back!” You exclaim, twisting to look at him.

He looks… sad. It’s an inadequate word, so simple for the expression, for the feeling, that it’s almost useless. He looks like… he looks like you.

“Why don’t you want to? Why wouldn’t you?” You argue. You plead.

“Q, he wouldn’t want to! He told me!”

“That’s fucking bullshit!” You shoot to your feet. “That’s bullshit! Just ‘cause you don’t want to-”

His expression hardens. “I want to see him just as much as you do, Q-”

“No you don’t!” Your hands raise to grip at your beanie. “No you don’t! I need to- I need to apologize I need to tell him-”

“Quackity, shut up for five seconds and listen to me!” He’s sobbing, now, you both are, breathing heavy.

It gets you to shut up.

“He knew. He knew something was wrong, and he told me that if anything happens to leave him alone. And I thought he was joking. I didn’t take him seriously.” He wipes at his eyes, but it’s no use with how hard he’s crying. “And I kick myself for that every single day. We all regret things, Q.”

And when he holds you close this time it feels comforting instead of constricting.

“I thought you left me,” you start. “And I never got to see him or his kingdom or you and I never got to spend time with you because I was too busy being a stubborn asshole.”

“You know he’d forgive you.”

“But I don’t forgive myself.” It hurts to admit. “Because I never got to see him again.”

He holds you tight. “I know.”

> “Were you mad? When I got with Sap and… him?” You can’t say his name.

It shrugs. “I don’t really remember. It doesn’t really matter.”

“I don’t want him to be mad.”

“Don’t let the dead make your choices, sweetheart. We’re past our time.”

You let out a low chuckle. “Isn’t that all the dead do? Make our choices?”

It smiles ruefully. “Only if you let us.”

> “I was scared,” you say, entwining your fingers as you lay on the roof and pulling him down with you, “that it was wrong, to still love you.”

“I know,” Sap does, laying next to you. He looks at the stars. “Me too. But I do. Still love you, I mean.”

“But we’ll always be missing something.”

“That too. But it’s… it’s not okay, but it will be, I think.”

“I hope you’re right. I want you to be.” > And you don’t forgive yourself, but Sap does, but your ex-husband does, and that has to be enough.

You don’t see his ghost. Maybe it’s around, maybe it’s not, and that has to be enough, too.

Grief is awful. Mourning is awful. It hurts, a constriction around your throat.

You grieved your relationship, thought that would kill you, and it was only child’s play. Sometimes you’re certain you’ll die just from the pain of it all.

It’s not fair. Not to any of you. And that has to be enough.

But it will be okay. And that will have to be enough.

#be quiet i'm writing #karlnapity #quackity #sapnap #karl jacobs #georgenotfound #dream #dreamwastaken #jschlatt #dream smp #dsmp #mcyt #las nevadas #kinoko kingdom #myctblr #fanfiction

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years ago

Text

Soft Epilogue

Prompt: Hear ye, hear ye, I humbly request from the fanfic goddess, a merlin fanfic of epic fluff proportions!! Lol I love your writing, can I request an Ace!Merlin and Ace!Arthur platonic love life bond?

Thanks for the request, babe! it seems fitting that on my birthday I get to upload a fic about ace qprs

Read on Ao3

Pairings: merthur qpr, implied morgwen

Warnings: none my dudes

Word Count: 1807

In the end, there’s no big celebrations.

Oh, Camelot has a feast to end all feasts, but that’s not the point.

There’s no big rushing into each other at the end of a hard-won fight, Arthur looking all stupidly heroic with his hair all sweaty or Merlin rippling with otherworldly power that makes men want to fall to their knees.

There’s no kiss after years and years of pining finally being deforested—get it?

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“What, that was a good one!”

“Merlin!”

—alright fine, there’s no big kiss, there’s no music that swells romantically in the background—

“Though not for lack of trying on your part, I’m sure.”

“Will you shut up, you prat, and let me talk?”

“It’s a wonder you ever stop talking.”

—okay, look.

It’s simple.

It’s the end of a fight. Everyone’s exhausted. There are heavy pants and the scrape of steel on steel from the trodden corners of the battlefield, as soldier after soldier, knight after knight, falls to the ground in a heap. Some get back up. Some don’t.

Arthur’s fingers fumble on the pommel of his sword. Huh. He needs to redo the grip on the left side. It’s fraying. His fingers are too clumsy. They won’t hold the damn thing properly. The chain mail keeps snagging where it’s come loose. He really needs to fix the grip.

The sword sings quietly as it slides home, back into the sheath, away, away. His breath leaves him in a rush and he looks up, looking around, counting.

Leon stands, already directing the survivors to start taking care of those they lost. He catches his king’s eye and nods. Once. Arthur nods back.

Gwaine pushes his hair out of his eyes and makes a joke. It’s what he does best. As the desperate chuckles start up again, Arthur’s mouth quirks up in a smile. Gwaine catches it.

Elyan strips the last of the shrapnel from someone’s wound and hauls them to their feet, a man of the people until his last. Arthur watches, paralyzed by the weight of the crown on his shoulders, as Elyan helps in ways he can’t.

Percival stands. Shadows Arthur as they start to move through the field. The weight is a little easier to bear now, as his breath starts to sink back into his chest.

Lancelot turns, smiles. Says ‘it’s good to see you,’ as if they’re just mates, running into each other after a long hard day. As if he’s about to buy Arthur a drink at the tavern and talk about the harvest, the new work from the blacksmith siblings, how much he misses looking up at the moon. Arthur just claps him on the shoulder.

Everyone’s here. Except—

“Arthur?”

So there’s no dramatic turn, no big flourish. Time doesn’t slow to a standstill as they rush into each other’s arms. The bards would be so bored, there’s no dramatic confessions, no infamous realizations, no murmured apologies through the hurried meeting of lips. What would they have to sing about?

Well, perhaps they could sing about this.

Arthur turns, sees Merlin standing there. He smiles. Merlin smiles back. There’s a little cut on Merlin’s shoulder. Barely enough to graze through the tunic, but enough to draw blood. Arthur frowns, stalks forward, gently tips Merlin’s head to the side so he can have a look.

“I’m fine, you prat.”

“You’ve managed to injure yourself.”

“Wasn’t me!”

“Given how clumsy you are, I’d be surprised.”

Arthur presses gently over the cut. It’s nothing more than a scratch, should close by the end of the day. And yet Merlin just rolls his eyes and lays his hand over it. A moment of golden light later and it’s like nothing ever happened.

“There. Happy now?”

“Mm.”

Merlin sighs and moves his head back. Arthur doesn’t. For a moment, their foreheads rest together.

Thank the heavens you didn’t die, I would’ve dragged you back here myself.

Just so you could kill me?

Obviously.

That’s all. Don’t look so disappointed, there needn’t be more.

Oh, alright.

The ride back to Camelot is slow. There’s work to be done along the way, after all. There are people to tend to, knights to bury and mourn, families to tell. There are knights that return to Camelot only for their hands to shake too much, their eyes to go too glassy. These knights leave with the highest honors Arthur can give them, thanked sincerely for their service and the knowledge that the people will forever be in their debt.

There are preparations to be made, hugs to give. Gwen throws herself into Elyan’s arms, Lancelot’s arms, Merlin’s arms, Arthur’s arms. Gaius isn’t far behind. Each of them breathes in the scent of the other. Home.

“So you missed me?”

“Of course I missed you!”

“I’ve got your favorite waiting, Merlin.”

“Thanks, Gaius.”

“Oi! Why don’t I get a hug?”

“Oh, fine, come here.”

Arthur looks up to the top of the steps to see Morgana. No longer is she the intimidating figure cut from Camelot’s noble cloth, dressed up like Uther’s legacy, no. Just a simple dress, one of Gwen’s, her hair down around her shoulders in limp curls. If Arthur were someone else, he’d say she’d never looked better.

“Don’t tell her that.”

“I don’t need to, she knows.”

“Merlin!”

“What? She’s your sister.”

She smiles, a little dimmer, a little warier, as she descends the steps and holds out her arms. Arthur doesn’t hesitate.

His sister is here, finally recovered from her long fight with the magic Morgause wove through that horrid bracelet. Morgana hugs him back, tighter than they can imagine.

“I’m glad to see you,” Arthur mumbles into her shoulder.

“I’m happy you’re back.”

Merlin joins them a moment later and Morgana pulls him in too, laughing at Arthur’s affronted face when Merlin squawks and his elbow digs unceremoniously into his ribs.

“It hurt, you idiot.”

“She pulled me!”

“If you weighed more than a beanpole maybe that would help.”

“My weight is just fine, thank you very much.”

The feast is glorious. Food and wine flow freely out of the castle into the city below. The people dance, sing, yell, live. The city comes alive with the sound of its people. And that’s the end of the story.

They won.

They’re safe.

They’re with the people they love.

“You can’t just leave it there, Merlin.”

“What happened to wanting to keep your privacy?”

“Just—get on with it.”

“Fine, you prat.”

It’s not entirely over. There are still nights where Merlin wakes up and his fingers tingle so much it feels like they’re about to fall off. Nights where he swears he hears a low rumbling voice in the back of his mind, feels giant hands on strings grafted to his arms. Nights where he still feels like Destiny’s puppet, strung along without a second thought.

There are still nights where Arthur can’t stop hearing the singing of steel and the weight of a sword in his hands. Nights when he can’t stop seeing Uther’s face, hearing his voice, seeing Morgana dead and twisted, broken on the ground. Nights when the flames rise high as knights—his knights—slaughter innocent people as part of a meaningless war.

There are still nights when they think they can hear each other screaming.

But Arthur is always there to roll over and wrap his arms tighter around Merlin. He’s here, he’s right here, and he’s warm, and nothing, nothing can take something away from Arthur once he’s decided it’s his. Merlin jolts awake to a cold nose pressed in the crook of his neck, sleepy declarations of ‘mine, my Merlin, go away, leave my Merlin alone, he’s mine, you can’t have him.’ Or it will be to tender words, gentle hands shaking him away, whispered promises of ‘you’re here, it’s alright, I’ll keep you safe, you did it.’

And Merlin is always there when Arthur clenches the pillow so hard he looks like he’s going to break his fingers, there to gentle them away and pull him close, tuck his head under his chin and say ‘it’s over now, it’s safe now, they’re all safe, they’re all safe.’ Arthur wakes up to rough tunics, slim fingers woven through his own, the warmth of someone else who won’t ever leave. Or just the weight of an arm or leg thrown across his middle. It’s just enough to wake him up and realize that there is someone who, even in sleep, wants to hold him close.

In the morning, Merlin will wake before Arthur does. The morning will ruffle along the edge of the curtains and he’ll shiver, hiding a little further under the covers. Arthur will hold him closer, unwilling to give up his heat source just yet. Some days, Merlin will let him, falling back asleep with his fingers carding through Arthur’s hair.

But on most days, he carefully separates himself and tucks Arthur back up, pulling on his clothes and moving to get their breakfast set up. His fingers will brush a vase and a bouquet of flowers will bloom, one of the side effects of training with Morgana. He’ll smile and pick one out to give to Gwen.

Arthur will wake slowly, first reaching out to feel where Merlin’s gone, then sitting up to spot him at the window, or the table, or right next to him, comb in hand. He’ll grumble, saying Merlin gets up too quickly, only for Merlin to laugh and pull him up to eat.

The sun will rise through the curtains as they eat, get dressed, and leave to go about their days. The door will close softly behind them, waiting to open again once the day is over.

There’s no furious declarations of love, no gritting of teeth as they fight to make the world change. Just slow, steady, constant. A touch of a hand here, a brush here. A knowing look or a quick jab. Nothing rough, just soft.

They deserve a soft epilogue.

“Hmm. Should’ve known you’d get all sappy.”

“You like me sappy.”

“I think I should go see Gaius, my teeth are starting to hurt.”

“You love it.”

“…maybe.”

“Did Arthur Pendragon just admit I was right?”

“Shut up.”

“He did! He definitely did!”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Morgana just rolls her eyes and wraps her arms around Gwen to watch the two of them bicker.

“He’s right, though,” Gwen murmurs after a moment, leaning back to look up at her, “they do deserve a soft epilogue.”

Morgana smiles. “I think we all do.”

She’s right and she should say it.

#merthur fic #merthur #merlin #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #arthur pendragon #fic #dragonbabbles #ace

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milo-my-beloved · 4 years ago

Text

I Think We're Alone Now

okay everyone go thank @ghostyboiii who came up with this genius post which inspired this fic. anyway i hope you all enjoy this wesper goodness!

~1000 words // Read on AO3

It has been an hour since Kaz’s little show with Oomen, and Wylan is still vomiting over the side of the boat. It isn’t his fault that all these other people are accustomed to watching gruesome displays like that; surely even Kaz must have been sick when he first saw someone get so brutally murdered. Or perhaps the Bastard of the Barrel had never felt any compassion. Wylan is mostly there for hostage purposes, anyway, but what that says about Dirtyhands’ morality is beyond him.

The only other person in sight is Jesper, who is awkwardly patting his back in an approximation of a comforting gesture. Nina is still looking after a dangerously injured Inej, Matthias is probably skulking just out of her sight while plotting her violent murder, and no one dares go near Kaz, who is standing at the very front of the boat, a murderous expression on his face.

Wylan leans over the side again to let another portion of dinner out, and he feels rather than sees Jesper gag behind him.

“I wish Milo were here,” the lanky sharpshooter says wistfully, and Wylan tenses up a little bit. Between the half-blind corpse and the turbulent sea, however, he doesn’t get time to ask any questions.

The boat ride is even worse on the way back. Wylan can’t exactly describe the trip there as a pleasure cruise, but the heavy weight of an approaching storm follows them the entire way from Fjerda to the more familiar streets of home, and death hangs heavy over the ship.

Wylan doesn’t see Nina or Matthias for the five days it takes to reach the unwelcoming dock of Ketterdam, and he rarely sees Inej either. Since Kaz is off doing whatever he does between jobs - scheming, probably - the only person left to lighten the mood slightly is Jesper, and his incessant complaining isn’t really helping.

It’s late one evening and the two of them are huddled together against the railing at the front of the ship, a shared blanket wrapped around their shoulders. Wylan huddles closer to Jesper, burrowing the tip of his nose in the taller man’s shoulder. The wind is unforgiving and cold tonight, and they should really head inside, but neither of them can quite pluck up the courage to try and sleep while Nina hovers from one world to the next in the room beside them.

Jesper tilts his head slightly, resting his chin on Wylan’s head. “You know what would make this trip better?” he asks, his voice distant.

“Hot cocoa?” Wylan replies, and Jesper laughs. “What, I would kill for some hot cocoa right now.”

Wylan can feel Jesper’s smile against the top of his head. “The little merchling has finally become as violent as the rest of us. This certainly is something worth celebrating!”

Wylan huffs. “I’m not as violent as Kaz.”

Jesper laughs again, a sound akin to music in Wylan’s ear. He thinks that maybe it’s his favourite noise in the whole world.

“What I was going to say,” Jesper continues, still smiling, “is that this ship would be so much better if Milo was here.”

Wylan tenses suddenly, and gently pulls away. Milo. Jesper had mentioned him on the way out as well. There is mourning in his tone; Wylan doesn’t think he can live up to the legacy of a man who can make Jesper sound quite so forlorn, who he wants on what must be one of the most difficult voyages of his life.

“You alright, Wy?” Jesper asks, feeling the warmth of the younger boy disappear from his side.

“I’m going to sleep,” Wylan declares, trying not to sound disappointed, and he leaves before he can see the hurt expression on Jesper’s face.

{o0o}

It’s been six months since their last job; six months since Wylan Van Eck became Wylan Fahey (illegally, unfortunately, but what in their life wasn’t?). He couldn’t be happier. He’s living with the man of his dreams in a house that has actually become home, and together, they are so rich they don’t need to ever work again. Even though he is only eighteen, finally a man, Wylan feels like he can finally get some rest.

They are relaxing in the garden one day, Wylan’s head resting in his husband’s lap as they watch the sunset beyond the line of trees that mark the edge of their property. It’s peaceful - or, at least, as peaceful as one can get in Ketterdam - and Wylan can’t help but get lost in his own thoughts, reminiscing about old days and the many adventures they had been on.

“The garden is pretty big,” Jesper says, and it’s the third time he has mentioned it in as many days.

Wylan opens one eye and squints up at him. “Planning on some gardening? Sounds a bit boring for you.”

Jesper shakes his head, not looking down at Wylan. “You think I would do something relaxing, love? Are you sure you didn’t hit your head this morning?”

Wylan shoves him gently. “Shut up.”

“No,” Jesper continues, his eyes unfocusing into the distance as he gently runs his fingers through Wylan’s hair. “I was just thinking that Milo would like it here.”

Wylan sits up abruptly and Jesper looks up at him in surprise.

“Okay,” Wylan says, fed up. “Who the fuck is Milo?”

Jesper looks at him for a long moment. “A goat?”

They stare at each other for a minute, and then they both burst out laughing. They miss the sunset entirely, too busy giggling and gasping for air and clutching at each other in their mirth.

“I was jealous of a goat?” Wylan chuckles, when they finally manage to calm down enough to breathe properly.

Jesper smirks down at him, the orange sky a halo behind his head. “It’s a good thing I married you for your looks, love.”

Wylan bats at him again, grinning. “Oi!”

They are both still smiling when their lips meet, and they are still smiling late into the night. If a goat miraculously appears on the property in time for Jesper’s birthday, then that’s their business, don’t you think?

#wesper #grishaverse #shadow and bone #six of crows #my writing #my milo collection

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astralaffairs · 4 years ago

Text

voltaire to versace 01 | thomas jefferson

title: voltaire to versace 01

pairing: professor!thomas jefferson x reader

words: 7.3k

warnings: implied sex, heavily suggestive content but nothing explicit, hella teasing, dolley madison payne

desc: from francis bacon to foucault, descartes to dante, your political philosophy seminar doesn’t promise to be a blowout — and yet, one mysterious stranger and a risqué evening later, your burberry-clad professor gives you the feeling it won’t be quite the snoozefest you’d expected.

WASHINGTON D.C. — HOME to the White House, the Lincoln Memorial, a metro that no longer catches on fire, and most importantly, one Y/N L/N's new university. Coming in as a transfer student in the second semester of her junior year wasn't exactly her ideal scenario, but walking across a stage in a cap and gown sixteen months later certainly was — a degree is a degree.

She'd spent the previous two semesters abroad, traveling throughout Europe and trying to figure out her next step. She hadn't yet paid her junior year tuition, and on one fateful night in northern Italy, she transferred to the University of Westphalia on a whim (that whim being a generous financial aid package and a pre-existing housing offer, but that was neither here nor there). It'd been a jarring few months, spending the Christmas season packing up her entire life to not only leave Europe — a process that came with many heartbroken nights of hotboxing a friend's apartment and mourning the loss of her societal nap times — but also finally abandoning her hometown in favor of moving to the east coast.

The change may have left a lump in her throat, but it lifted a weight from her shoulders; she felt light on her feet despite the heavy D.C. snow. Much of the credit for that had to fall to her dearest Dolley Payne, the light of her life, the wind beneath her wings, the old best friend who'd found herself a dirt-cheap apartment just outside of campus and offered that Y/N come be her roommate. How could she resist a proposal like that?

However, that was also how she found herself a drink and a half deep and putting back on her boots at nine o'clock the night before classes started.

"Are you sure going out right before the first day back is a good idea?" Though Y/N was eyeing Dolley skeptically, she just rolled her eyes, pulling on her coat and scarf.

"Relax, it's not like we're going clubbing," she assured her, but when Y/N raised a dubious eyebrow, she continued, "Come on! You literally moved in last night. What kind of best friend would I be if I didn't take you out at least once before everything's back in college mode?"

Dolley nudged Y/N playfully as she pulled on her coat, and the latter sighed. "I'm a new student here, Doll. I don't think showing up hungover to my first class is a particularly good look."

"You don't even have class until 3 PM!" she argued, and though she pursed her lips, Y/N had to admit Dolley had a point. "Relax, I won't even get you drunk. I just need you to come see the cute little speakeasy on fourth street. It's my favorite spot."

"'Speakeasy'?" Y/N questioned, buttoning up the front of her coat, and Dolley nodded enthusiastically.

"Mhm. You've gotta know somebody to know about it," she said. "It's a pretty open secret in this neighborhood, but it's one of the only bars that isn't always crowded."

"It's a Sunday night; how many people are really going out drinking?"

Dolley gave her a tired glance. "You'd be surprised."

———————

AND WHEN THEY stumbled upon the bar not twenty minutes later, surprised she was.

"This is really the place?" Y/N was looking around skeptically, struggling to believe that the dirty, dank alley she'd been led into was was the entrance to Dolley's favorite spot in town. Had Dolley decided to murder her now that her name was on the lease, if only for the insurance payout? Had she been dealing with the mafia? Maybe she'd changed more in the past year or so than Y/N thought.

"Do I ever steer you wrong?" Dolley asked, eliciting a heavy sigh from the other woman.

"Too often to try and count."

"So then it's long overdue that I get it right." She finally stopped in front of a nondescript, weathered metal door in the back of a mildly battered building, and Y/N all but skidded to a halt, having been expecting to keep walking a while longer. She was hesitant to follow when the door Dolley opened revealed a set of stairs going up, but taking a step forward revealed the warm light filtering down toward them, carrying alongside it traces of jazz music and animated chatter. "See? I know what I'm talking about sometimes."

"Sometimes," Y/N repeated, unconvinced.

When they emerged just moments later, Y/N decided fairly quickly that she liked it. It was quaint, old-fashioned, but a warm, charming space.

"So?" Dolley asked, and though she gave a noncommital shrug, Y/N was smiling. "Let's get a drink or two in you and maybe you'll give it the credit it deserves." And maybe, just maybe, Dolley had hit the mark once again.

Two drinks and an hour later, the both of them were seated at the bar, giggling and slumped over one another but far from drunk. As it turned out, a year apart left them with a surprising amount to talk about, from Y/N's hostel horror stories to Dolley's nightmare of a former roommate -- both of which left them endlessly grateful that they were going to be living together from then on. Their coats were draped over the backs of their seats, and the energy spilling over from their spirited conversation was born more of a sugar high than of any real intoxication -- both their drinks were heavy with fruit juice and mixers, if only for the sake of sobriety.

"...but that was when the cops showed up."

Y/N's eyes widened. Dolley had only finished detailing about a semester and a half of her freshman year, and she was still at least fifteen minutes into sharing her first run-in with UW's notorious midterm rager. "You can't just stop the story there!"

"But there's no more to tell! No one stuck around to get arrested. We were on the steps of the library, for heaven's sake."

"So you just left? How'd you get away?"

"Oh," Dolley giggled, a hand resting on Y/N’s knee as she leaned toward her in her short fit of laughter. "Well, I just ran for it, and very nearly got myself hopelessly lost. A grad student ended up letting me hide out in the library until it all cleared up."

"A grad student, huh?" Y/N wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "And you spent the whole night locked in there with them?"

"Oh, you know it's not like that! I was nineteen, don't you start making drama where there isn't any."

"But Doll, you know that's my specialty," Y/N whined, and Dolley laughed. "Anyway, were they cute, though?"

"All I'll say is that if I were trapped in a library with them tomorrow, I'd feel lucky to be on birth control."

Dolley's sly grin made Y/N gasp teasingly, leaning back to eye the other woman as though she'd just instigated a scandal. "Dolley Payne! I am ashamed at your lack of self restraint."

"You wouldn't be if you were on the receiving end of it."

"You offering?" Y/N raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of her drink.

"I mean, my roommate just moved out, so there's no one at my apartment right now," Dolley said mildly, giving a slight shrug. "Any chance you wanna spend the night?"

When she winked, Y/N couldn't help but laugh outright. "Mm, I'll definitely consider it," she said, sarcasm heavy in her voice, and despite her dry tone, Dolley once again burst into a fit of giggles, her hysterics more contagious than Y/N would've liked to admit. Perhaps her roommate couldn't hold her alcohol quite as well as as she thought.

Dolley leaned back toward the bar for a refill, and Y/N's eyes began to wander in her absence. The room was packed with leather furniture, tufted couches and armchairs; it had a fireplace along one wall and a pool table in the corner at which two men seemed to be escalating quite a heated argument. The sight amused her, if only in the least, but she turned away with her small smile, taking another sip of her drink. That was when her gaze landed on the man directly to her left where she sat facing Dolley, his arm draped over the back of the couch and his stare fixed on her friend. Y/N raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, don't look now, but the hottie at your three o'clock is totally checking you out."

"'Three o'clock'?" Dolley repeated, brow furrowed, "Y/N, it's past ten, what are you--"

"Military directions, Doll; just--" Y/N cut herself off with a scowl, glancing back to her side. "Don't be too obvious about it. He's directly to your right." When Dolley's head whipped around toward the man, subtlety be damned, Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. However, the other woman's eyes widening gave her pause. "What, d'you know him, or something?"

With the way Dolley was biting her lip and fiddling with the rim of her glass, it was strikingly obvious that there was more to the story. "...Sort of," she replied vaguely.

"Which means what, exactly?" Despite Y/N's newly uncovered intrigue, Dolley's eyes didn't leave the man in question, and her best friend scowled. "Spill. Now."

"That's James," she finally answered, wearing a wide grin. "He's a friend."

"I need details here!" Y/N demanded. "Based on how he's looking at you, I'm not sure I buy that he's just 'a friend.'"

"He's a PhD candidate. We've crossed paths in the school of economics a couple of times, and he's a big sweetheart. But you didn't hear that last part from me." Y/N raised an eyebrow at her words, and Dolley continued, "And I might've slept with him, like, once or twice."

"How is that the last thing you think to mention? You've been holding out on me," Y/N said, swatting at Dolley's shoulder, but she just shrugged. "So are you gonna go over there and talk to him, or what?"

"Oh, no, I can't leave you alone here!" she protested. "This is our night to celebrate your finally moving here. I wouldn't abandon you like that."

"I can take care of myself; I promise." Y/N gave her a pointed look before nodding back toward James. "Besides, you're stuck with me all the time now. Don't pass up something like him just to spare your conscience. C'mon."

Dolley hesitated, stealing another glance to her right, and when James met her gaze, giving her a small smile, Y/N could see her face light up. "Are you sure?" Despite Dolley's hesitance, her eyes were shining, and Y/N nodded.

"Go. Have fun. Live a little."

"I'll be back for you in a bit, dear." Dolley squeezed Y/N's shoulder affectionately as she stood up, sending her a grateful look before starting off to her right.

Y/N turned back to the bar with a chuckle, finishing off her drink and asking the bartender for a glass of water, musing about what her first few days at the university would look like, her gaze absent as she looked up at the shelves of alcohol across from her. She was still sad to have left her semester of travel behind, but she'd long since decided to embrace the change this year had already begun to bring. She was living at the nation's capitol, paying next to no tuition at a prestigious university. New beginnings were bittersweet, but she was excited for her path forward.

Her thoughts had begun to gravitate toward the semester of actual classes she had before her (because apparently, to get a degree, she had to "get good grades") when she was pulled back to the room before her, the bartender setting a martini down in front of her. It looked tempting, but-- "I'm sorry; I think there's been a mistake?"

Her words seemed to catch the bartender by surprise as he stopped himself in his tracks, returned to where she was sitting. "What seems to be the problem, ma'am?"

"No problem at all, but I think this drink is someone else's," she said, pushing it back toward him with a polite smile. "I've just been having water."

"Actually, it was sent by the gentleman at the end of the bar." Her eyebrows shot up, and when she glanced to her right, she caught the gaze of a well-dressed man whose eyes were already trained on her, wearing a barely-there smile, an expectant eyebrow raised. She hadn't realized she was staring, gaze wandering from the v-neck of his sweater to where it was pulled taut around his dark forearms, until the bartender cleared his throat, and she turned back to him with a start. The man several seats over was now grinning outright, in her opinion overly self-pleased, and she deigned not to acknowledge how the way he was looking at her had her heart pounding against her ribcage. "Take it or leave it, but it's no mistake."

She bit her lip, not daring to turn to her right once more; she could already feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, creeping up her neck. "Would you please send it back to him?" She asked in a small voice. "Tell him that if he wants to talk to me, he can come here and do it himself."

To her relief, he obliged her with a surprised laugh, continuing off with the glass she'd been offered, and she thanked him quietly as he went on his way. It couldn't have been a minute later when a low voice from behind Y/N made her jump.

"Y'know, when I buy women drinks, I don't usually get 'em returned to me with stipulations."

The corners of her lips twitched upward, but she didn't look at him until he came around to stand beside her. "Then maybe you've been buying drinks for the wrong women."

"It's like that, huh?" His soft huff made her smile. "Maybe I bought a drink for the wrong woman just now."

Y/N turned to him with her brow furrowed, already opening her mouth to rebuke him, but when she saw his teasing smile, she stopped herself. "You still decided to come over, didn't you?"

"So, what, you're just too irresistible?" He rose an eyebrow, and she shrugged.

"You said it, not me."

He laughed, drumming his fingers on the back of the chair beside her, and she pursed her lips as she eyed the man. He had a full head of dark, thick curls, and his tight sweater bulged at his biceps, drawing her distracted gaze away from his winning smile. "Mind if I join you, then?"

She was leaning onto the bar, resting on her forearms as she considered him, lips pursed. "I suppose some company couldn't hurt."

"Glad to hear it." Y/N was struggling to pull her eyes away from the wide grin he wore, but as he took a seat beside her, he didn't seem to mind. "So what's a woman like you doin' drinkin' alone on a Sunday?"

"Good question," she started, lips pursed as she considered him -- because really, what was she doing? Playing ghost wingwoman for Dolley? Reminiscing on her shitty flings in Europe? Trying to sober up from the sugar content of her sickeningly sweet cocktails so she didn't throw up from something other than alcohol? "Maybe I've just been waiting for someone to finally approach me."

Her mischievous smile made his eyebrows shoot up, surprised but more than pleasantly so. "'S that right?" The noncommittal tilt of her head gave him little to go on. "Sorry to say it, but if you're lookin' to meet people, this isn't the first place I'd recommend, sweetheart."

"It seems to be working for me so far," she pointed out, raising a smug eyebrow, and the man laughed, eyes shining. "Then again, I don't even know your name. Have we really even formally met?"

"You make an excellent point," he conceded, and when Y/N took another sip of her water, his eyes flickering down to her mouth was the furthest thing from subtle. "But what's the intrigue of a mysterious stranger approachin' you at a bar if I just tell you my name, hm?"

"What, are you going to make me beg for it?" The undertone of her own words certainly wasn't lost on Y/N, not as her voice dropped to a murmur, the corners of her lips curling up into a mischievous smile. He didn't seem thrown off, either; his eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch, a fire blazing behind them that Y/N could've sworn hadn't been there even a minute before.

"Don't you start givin' me ideas," he said quietly, and she could feel her breath catch, her stomach turn, but she paid it little mind, "unless that's what you're really lookin' for."

"I don't think I know what you're implying." The innocent smile Y/N had plastered on made him raise an amused brow, despite that her voice sounded as though she'd been winded. "But it does seem awfully mean to make such a fuss over something so simple. I have to say, I almost feel like I'm being exploited."

"Hey, I came all the way over here. 'S your turn to put in some leg work now." When he bumped his elbow into hers, she hadn't expected to laugh at the brief, teasing action, but whether it was hormones or her excessive consumption of glucose, something about that night had her feeling just a bit lighter than usual.

"Alright, alright," she finally caved, dropping the coy facade. "What can I ever do to make up for the wasted martini and two meters of walking you had to overcome?"

"You can tell me where you're from, for starters." Y/N raised a skeptical eyebrow at the question, folding her arms, but he only shrugged. "What? Haven't seen you around here before; I know I'd remember if I had." She rolled her eyes when he winked but didn't cut him off. "So what's your deal, then? In town visitin' a friend? Here for some kinda election event?"

"I just moved here, actually. I'm new to the neighborhood."

"So you're livin' around here?"

"So you're already trying to stalk me?"

He laughed at her accusatory stare, her lips pursed. "Nah, 'm just from this part of town," he said, but hesitated a moment to continue as he eyed her curiously. "Can you blame me for takin' interest when I hear a pretty face like yours is gonna be out 'n' about here more often?"

"Excuse you, I'm much more than just a pretty face," Y/N said defensively, but the man just shrugged.

"Well, since you're refusin' to tell me anythin' about yourself, how am I supposed to know that?" The look in his eyes was challenging, and she let out an amused huff, trying to bury how endeared she was in a facade of exasperation.

"Alright, smart guy; you win this one," she said with a scowl, but her lips quirked as she continued, "I just settled into an apartment building a block or two over. Now have I earned your name?"

"I'm Thomas," he supplied.

"Y/N."

"Y/N," he repeated quietly, the look in his eyes softening. "So, where'd you move here from?"

"A little bit of everywhere," she responded vaguely, taking another sip of her drink, and Thomas cocked a brow.

"Care to explain?"

"I've been abroad," Y/N laughed, enjoying his look of bemusement. "I'm from Ohio, originally, but I went to Chicago for school, and I've spent the past year or so in Europe."

He nodded, pausing a moment at her words. "Really? Ohio?"

"I spent a year halfway across the world, and that's what you choose to focus on?" Her words were almost indignant, and the disbelief in her narrowed eyes made him laugh.

"'M sorry, I just..." He trailed off, his eyes wandering down her figure, and she gave him a skeptical glance, turned back to her drink. "Wouldn't have pegged you for a Midwesterner."

"There's a reason I ran for the hills the first chance I got." She snorted, taking a sip of her seltzer water as she shook her head. Her gaze was absent, drifting across the wall behind the bar, but before Thomas could question it, she'd turned back to him, eyebrows raised. "So what about you? What's your origin story? Texas? Alabama?"

"Virginia, born and raised," he answered easily, clear pride in it laced through his voice, but he glanced at her suspiciously a moment later. "I really strike you as bein' from Alabama?"

"Listen, the southern accent was all I had to go off of. I did my best," Y/N defended, trying and failing to keep a laugh out of her tone, and he scoffed.

"Sure you did, sweetheart." The sarcastic lilt to his voice came alongside a broad grin, and had his voice not been so playful, she may have written him off right there and then. As it was, though, she couldn't even bring herself to scowl at the words. Instead, she held his warm stare, trying not to concentrate on the fact that she could feel his body heat permeating his sweater just inches to her left, trying to reign in her spiking pulse. Being beyond hyper-aware of just how close Thomas was, though, it shouldn't have startled Y/N when he knocked his knee into hers. When her eyes refocused, having been lost in thought, she could see in his eyes the pleasure he was taking in how skittish he'd made her.

"Anyway, now that I'm not some cryptic intruder," he started -- he didn't seem to notice that Y/N's focus was still fixed on subduing the heat rising in her neck, "can I buy you that drink?"

—————————

THUS BEGAN THE rest of their night. It was nearly eleven when Dolley texted her from the other side of the room, a frantic plea for forgiveness if she went home with James. (She swore, she hadn't meant to leave Y/N alone on their first night out together -- besides, Y/N seemed to have found a nightcap of her own. Forget a tall drink of water; the stranger in burgundy was a daiquiri and a half -- Dolley's words, not mine.)

And really, Y/N didn't mind. She was more than willing to walk home alone if it meant a night of just a little adventure. She ended up staying at the bar with Thomas until the owner nearly had to throw them out -- and Y/N couldn't blame them. Neither of them had had anything to drink in over an hour, so she supposed that as the clock neared midnight, they really weren't making much of a dent in the profit margin.

But it wasn't her fault, really. No one told her when she'd left her apartment that evening that, for once in her life, the person sending her a drink wouldn't be an incel with a god complex. Quite frankly, not only was that bullet dodged, but Thomas quickly proved to be more than a few inches above the low, low bar she'd set.

The night grew colder outside the windows, but the pair of them were preoccupied, busy inching closer, her hand falling upon his arm when she laughed, his legs brushing against hers as he acted as though he hadn't even noticed. They could both tell her demure front was just for show; her skin burned under his touch, layers of fabric be damned, and his gaze was electric. She'd long since thrown caution to the wind, anyway. Where the night was headed was clear only minutes after he'd sat down beside her; the air between them was charged. Sure, she'd only met him a couple hours prior, but any sort of a spark could certainly make a fire to last at least one night -- and last it did.

However, she didn't expect to have to be the one to push it that far. Brazenness seemed to be Thomas's mode of operation, so she was almost surprised when their being herded out onto the street below didn't immediately end in his hands on her skin, her body pulled flush against him. When they reached the musty alleyway, she was struggling to believe the firebrand of a man who'd bought her a drink hours before had suddenly become so mild in the night air.

But he'd bought her a drink. The ball was in her court.

"You cold, sweetheart?" Y/N glanced back over her shoulder, shivering, to see Thomas watching her with concern in his eyes. To be candid, she was fine -- winter in D.C. had nothing on the frigid bite of the air in Finland -- but she couldn't pretend how worried he looked wasn't part of what was tempting her to deal with the devil, heavy shadows clinging to his brow.

"I'm alright," she replied quietly, offering him a reassuring smile, but his creased brow didn't part.

"You sure? That coat doesn't look all that heavy."

"Really. I'm okay," she said with a light laugh, though she didn't think how she'd begun sniffling as her nose started to run was helping her case all that much. "I have a short walk home; it's no biggie."

That, however, made his eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. "You're walkin' home? Y/N, I dunno how safe that is."

"It's hardly snowing."

"I mean for you to be alone in the city in the middle of the night," he said, pausing as he reached where she stood just before the opening of the alleyway. "Can I call you an Uber?"

She turned her head to find him right by her side, perhaps an inch between the pair, his warm breath tickling her neck as he looked down at her. Her smile was hesitant. "I'm not letting you burn up some fossil fuels for a two block car ride. I can take care of myself."

"How 'bout if I walk you home?" he offered, and she let out a light sigh. "C'mon, leavin' you here alone in the middle of the night doesn't sit right with me. If somethin' happened..."

Though he trailed off, the implication in his words was obvious, and Y/N raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying that, because a stranger might follow me home, I should let a different stranger follow me home to prevent it?"

When she put it like that, Thomas couldn't help his quiet laugh at the irony of the situation. "Hey, I thought we'd agreed I'm not a stranger anymore," he protested, but Y/N looked him up and down skeptically.

"What, you paid for my drinks and called me pretty, and suddenly we're besties?"

"Now, we both know 'besties' wasn't exactly what I was goin' for," he said matter-of-factly, his smile sharp but playful, and despite how tilted the whole situation felt, she couldn't hold back her chuckle. She rolled her eyes, stuffed her hands in her pockets as she turned back to the well-lit sidewalk before them, the January snow crunching under her boots, but when she met his eyes, Thomas's expression had softened. He rose an inquiring eyebrow, and finally, she sighed.

"Yeah, you walking me home would be nice."

A grin split his light demeanor. "Alright. Lead the way, sweetheart."

"Follow me."

They took a right out of the alleyway, and as traffic continued to roar by beside them, speeding through the night, as the low buzz of the antiquated streetlights permeated the air, they fell into a comfortable silence, never falling out of step with one another. Snow was flecked across both their coats, and shadows were cast across their features, cycling back with each passing lamp.

Y/N hadn't been exaggerating when she deemed it a short walk home; it couldn't have been more than five minutes before they found themselves nearing the front steps of her building, and she looked up at him.

"Hey, thanks for tonight," she said, voice timid, and he turned to her with a wide smile.

"'S been my pleasure," he replied. "Sorry for keepin' you out so long; your roommate must be startin' to wonder."

When Y/N laughed lightly, Thomas raised an eyebrow, apparently not following whatever she'd taken away from his words. "I have a feeling she's a little too preoccupied to be worrying about me right now," she said dryly. She'd been back in town for not 48 hours, and Dolley was already going out on her own -- as supportive as Y/N was, Dolley had a habit of getting too attached too quickly. She was praying James wouldn't end up another regrettable hookup.

However, Thomas couldn't exactly hear her thoughts, something Y/N hadn't considered before tightly grabbing ahold of the rope to her mental tangent -- it was his fault, really. She couldn't be blamed for his lack of talent in mind-reading. But as he continued to watch her expectantly, as she pulled herself back to the present, she finally said, "She's spending the night with someone else tonight. Make of that what you will."

He shook his head in amusement. "Good for her."

"I'm sure her host thinks so."

A moment passed in quiet under the frigid night sky, Y/N hesitant to act but Thomas hesitant to leave. He was the one to break it.

"It was good to meet you, Y/N," he said softly, and she raised her eyebrows. Her window of opportunity was dwindling. "Hope I'll see you--"

"D'you want to come upstairs?" She hadn't meant to cut him off, but the words were spilling from her tongue before she could lose her nerve. Her heart was pounding; she wasn't fond of having to make the risky move, and the tentativeness in his raised eyebrows wasn't helping.

"Seriously?" Oh, God. Was it really such a ridiculous idea that he was struggling to believe she was asking? "I..." Thomas let out a heavy sigh when he trailed off before pursing his lips, tongue in cheek and looking everywhere but at her. "'S temptin', but... I can't do that to you."

Y/N only stared at him in disbelief. "What?"

"You've been drinkin' all night." His tone left little room for negotiation, but she was on the edge of taking offense. "I know you don’t seem drunk, but if your judgment isn't all the way there, it's not happenin'. G'night, sweetheart."

She was still standing in stunned silence when he turned to walk back the way he came, but when he started retreating in her field of vision, she called after him, "Hang on." To her relief, he looked back at her quizzically, footsteps stalling on the snow-coated sidewalk, and she took a step toward him. "I've been drinking seltzer water and fruit juice all night, Thomas," she said, and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "So if you're not interested, you don't need to make excuses, but I'm asking you while perfectly sober."

Her stomach seemed to be trying to turn itself inside-out as she waited anxiously for him to respond; the calculated way he looked her over only exacerbated the feeling. "Have you had anything to drink tonight?"

"Next to nothing." The pause between them was heavy, both their minds racing but far from in consensus. "Your move, Thomas."

Not three seconds passed before he was striding toward her decisively, and she inhaled sharply when his arm snaked around her waist, his other hand cupping her cheek, thumb sweeping over the expanse of skin. She was flush against his chest, too surprised to even react, her hands resting at his upper chest, and her eyes widened when she felt his cheekbone brush against the crown of her head. He tilted his head down to look at her, his lips hardly a hair away from the top of her ear. She could feel his breath down her neck, setting her nerves alight. "Can I kiss you?"

Her answer was immediate. "Please."

And before she had time to think, his lips were on hers; he was tangling a hand into her hair. He wasted no time in starting to walk her back toward her building, steadying her with a firm grip on her waist as she stumbled backward.

She yelped when her heel hit the bottom step up to her building's door, and she broke the kiss, then clinging to his shoulders in an effort not to fall, struggling to hold her weight on her legs as she lifted one foot onto the first step. Both their chests were heaving, and Thomas wore a wry grin.

"I've been wantin' to do that since I sent you that martini," he murmured, dipping down to kiss along her jawline, and Y/N let out a breathy chuckle.

"So you had to wait, what, three hours?" she retorted, tone dry. "Oh, how you've suffered."

"Had to wait three hours too long," he corrected her, and before she could jab back at him, his mouth again found hers. She moaned against him when he bit down lightly on her bottom lip, responding in kind by rolling her tongue teasingly against his. It was too much and yet still, not enough. His hands were all over her; she couldn't focus on how his body felt pressed into hers as the sensation quickly overwhelmed her, and when his grip on her hip tightened, she gasped into his mouth.

"Thomas, wait, I--" She was cut off before she could get the thought out. "Thom-- Mmh--!" He kissed her ardently, reveling in her response to his touch every bit as much as she was reveling in the feeling of it. Regardless, she pulled back, looking him in the eye, and held him off with a hand on his chest. "Let's go in. I'd rather be somewhere a lot warmer and a little more..." --she traced a finger down the lapel of his designer coat with a sly smile, finally using it to pull him closer-- "...private."

"Don't have to tell me twice." He split from her, tugging her alongside him and up the stairs by her hand, and her eyes widened at his frantic movements. She didn't even flinch at first, stunned by how abrupt the action had been, but when he glanced back over his shoulder at her, her fingers already linked between his, she drew in a shuddering breath.

"Let's go."

From there, their night was a blur of heavy jeans and chunky sweaters being scattered across Y/N's bedroom, their coats discarded and long forgotten not three feet past her apartment door. Whatever gods were above seemed to have smiled on her; she and Dolley both striking it lucky on the same night felt too perfect for it to be coincidental, especially as Y/N's bedroom door slammed loudly behind them, her body pinned against its interior moments later.

Every impatient touch was ablaze, brimming with fireworks and crave as her eager hands found their way up his shirt, his curls bouncing when he pulled it over his head.

It was all reckless, every second of it, but as Y/N saw it, what was the worst that could happen? The occasional uncomfortable run-in with Thomas if they passed on the street? That was beyond worth her evening of adrenaline. She gasped when he pushed her back onto her mattress, climbing on immediately after her.

"Thomas," she moaned, threading her fingers into his curls as his lips worked their way down her neck.

"What is it, sweetheart? Hm?"

She squealed when he nipped at her sensitive skin, nails digging into his upper back, but her tense muscles relaxed as he began sucking a hickey into the same spot a moment later. "I need you. Please."

She could feel his smile against her skin, the vibrations of his light chuckle. "Well, since you asked so nicely..." He pulled back as the pads of his fingers dug into her hips, and she inhaled sharply. His eyes were shining, predatory and smug. "How could I say no?"

——————

COME THE NEXT morning -- or, really, the next afternoon -- Y/N was grateful to have escaped without a hangover, completely absent a headache, the light of day not even a bother as it glared past her curtains. However, the minute she tried to sit up, she realized that she certainly had a backache, and she wasn't entirely convinced her legs would be willing to work when she tried to stand.

Realization struck her a moment later; she winced as she sat bolt upright, ignoring the ache in her shoulders when she lunged for her phone. Oh, shit.

"Thomas," she hissed, shoving his snoring body through her comforter. "Thomas, wake up."

He sniffed as he shifted in her bed, trying to speak through his heavy yawn. "What's goin' on?"

"What's going on is that it's almost two o'clock." Her scowl was deep-set as she shoved the covers off of herself, paying him little mind as she began to root through her drawers for something to wear. "And you need to go. I have somewhere to be."

It hadn't occurred to her to be self-conscious as she paced through her room, but when she turned back to see Thomas's lazy stare following her still-naked body, she could feel her cheeks flare. "Get dressed."

"Alright, alright," he said, sleep still heavy in his voice as he reached for his phone where he'd discarded it on his long-abandoned jeans. She didn't see it, busy pulling on underwear and yanking on a hoodie over her the heavily-marked skin of her chest. "Fuck. I'm gonna be late."

She rolled her eyes when his own panic was finally what kicked him into gear, as he began shoving his legs back into his pants in a frenzy. "Jesus, do I need to get home," he muttered to himself, unsteadily typing something into his phone with one hand as he struggled to buckle his belt with the other. "Sorry for crashin', I--"

"It's fine; it was late as all hell," Y/N cut him off, too preoccupied to concern herself with what'd happened the night prior. She was clinging to the desperate hope that her laptop might not be dead as she dug through he drawers for its charger. "When you find all your stuff, you can just go."

"Alright. I..." He glanced to her hesitantly, pausing in his quest to put himself back together before he could flee with his dignity and whatever plans he had for that afternoon still intact. She glanced at him inquisitively in his silence. "I'll see you around, Y/N."

She offered him a small smile before he returned to trying to dig up his sweater, completely oblivious to where he could've possibly tossed it. "Let's hope so."

Those were all the words exchanged before she ducked into her bathroom, began running the shower, and wiped her smeared mascara from where it'd been running down her cheeks. Thomas left with no more pomp or circumstance.

She hardly had time to fix her appearance after she showered, doing the bare minimum before she rushed back to check on the charge her laptop had left. 74% would be enough to make it through her first lecture, right? She didn't waste a second on dwelling.

Her first class was, to her dismay, halfway across campus from her apartment. She hardly slipped into the lecture hall in time, the clock striking 2:59 PM as she took a seat toward the back, quietly greeting the person in the seat beside her as they glanced up from their phone. Maybe her rolling up less than sixty seconds before the lecture began wasn't exactly the best first impression for her, coming in as a 2nd semester junior at a new college, but she'd managed to beat Professor Jefferson, so it appeared she was safe.

It was 3:03 when he showed up; Y/N had just finished convincing the fan on her laptop to stop shrieking, had found a pen nestled into the deepest depths of her bag. She was scrolling absentmindedly through Twitter when the back doors of the lecture hall were thrown open one final time. She didn't look up at first, but his voice made her eyes widen.

"Afternoon, everybody. Hope you've all been doin' well through the long winter." His voice was upbeat as he padded down the carpeted steps toward the desk at the front of the room.

Y/N was fairly sure she was going to be sick, and unfortunately, she had no hangover to chalk it up to. Disbelief permeated her every shaky breath, the feeling trounced only by dread. Her throat had gone dry.

"For anyone who doesn't know me, I'm Professor Jefferson. I started in the political science department this last fall," he said as he reached the floor, loud voice projected through every corner of the hall, tone joking when he added, "And for anyone who's eventually gonna ask, I promise 'm well aware of how young I am."

When he turned around, Y/N's worst fears were realized -- though, she was certainly surprised at how put-together he looked, having left her apartment just one short hour earlier.

"I've spent the past few years workin' in government, but I'm glad to be back in classrooms, even if I'm on the other side of 'em." He set his briefcase down on his desk, looking the room over as he withdrew his papers, opened his laptop. Y/N was sinking progressively further and further down in her chair. "I trust you've all done the assigned readin'?"

He was met with a scattered chorus of yeses and halfhearted noises of affirmation, and he chuckled. "Well, 'm glad to hear you enjoyed 'em so much."

She wasn't sure whether his words being met with soft laughs dispersed throughout the room was because of the sarcasm sitting heavy in his words, or instead because of how contagious his bright grin was.

"Alright, alright, the enthusiasm'll get there. Feel free to pull up the syllabus on whatever you've got with you, but it'll be projected up here as we go through it." The class sounded slightly more awake by then, and while it surely wasn't everyone, Y/N felt confident enough that a decent fraction of the noise was her classmates murmuring with disbelief about how this was their professor, no doubt interspersed with jokes about suddenly taking an intimate interest in political philosophy, capped off with a wink.

But she was no one to judge. Despite being unsure whether her heart was trying to beat its way through her ribcage or if it'd altogether stopped, when Thomas leaned against the front of the desk, arms folded and ankles crossed, she couldn't bring herself to regret the events of the past sixteen hours -- were she given a chance to turn back time, it was a mistake she'd readily make again.

"I'll take any questions as we go on through it," he continued, but that time, as he scanned the crowd, Y/N's luck seemed to have run out. However, though she'd been given the luxury of a gradual realisation, the inevitable punch in the gut of recognition hit him all at once. His eyes locked onto hers, immediately going wide, his expression dropping to one of alarm, and she held his gaze warily.

His silence was a fraction of a second too long, long enough to raise questions, before his self-awareness kicked in, and he picked his jaw up off the floor. The smile he plastered on was riddled with unease. "Hope everything in the course description was clear. I have no doubt this'll be an... excitin' semester."

He played off his shock easily, falling back into his upbeat persona, but as he went on, Y/N felt lucky she'd already read the syllabus — she didn't process a single word out of his mouth. The class was three hours long, and only five minutes into the first day, she’d apparently already slept with her professor.

If this was the semester she had ahead of her, then, well... 'exciting' was certainly a word for it.

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ilkkawhat · 3 years ago

Text

to fall on deaf ears

[prompted by myself, using "I never ask for help because I'm not sure I know how." + "It's alright to feel broken every once and a while. And it's alright to take time to heal." off of that prompts list to expand on a vague idea I got from a dream a few months ago. read on ao3 here or continue below]

“If you got a callout tomorrow to the restaurant where you got shot and Officer Clark died, could you focus?”

He pretends that it’s just like any other restaurant that serves them up a crime scene. He ignores that even while the name of the restaurant had changed, just as he had changed his exterior style with a buzzed head, the insides were still the same. There’s still the slits of warm, golden yellow light lining the walls, radiating a gentle glow to add to the elegant, intimate atmosphere.

There’s still the brick tunnel that’s overlit with fluorescence, a segue into the kitchen where it all started.

Where it all went so horribly wrong.

He can still see the pool of blood seeping down the corridor. Spreading to the walls under an imposing shadow answering his desperate calls that fall on dead ears.

He can still smell the gunpowder.

“Could you be there for your team?”

Sara puts a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him. She gives him a look and he shrugs her off, eyes fluttering and plastering on a smile to indicate he’s fine.

He gets to work.

“Would you want you backing you up right now?”

He thinks he’s okay, just one step at a time. One breath at a time. There’s no more threat, the restaurant has been cleared so they can investigate the body lying motionless on the floor.

A body lying in a pool of blood. Arms spread, eyes closed.

A discarded weapon just out of reach.

A body that doesn’t just look like him…

It is him.

A shaky laugh mingles with a sharp breath, shaking his head in disbelief, he thinks about pinching himself because he must be dreaming, he’ll wake up in just a minute and get his assignment to an unrelated case that doesn’t have his name written anywhere except for his signature on the field report.

But even as he falls to the floor out of a reflex—the same reflex he had in a house of a hoarder—when there’s a loud crash from the kitchen that sounds not completely, but still close enough to a gunshot, he realizes this isn’t a dream.

It’s a waking nightmare.

“Nick!” Sara calls, reaching out her arms after Nick immediately backs away, shielding his shot arm with his other. An embarrassing whimper mixes with his cry—his plea of “No!” and Sara eventually gives up as he huddles himself under a table, a small table that would seat a couple on a date that he then knocks over to protect himself with the same barricade that Ray and Papa—the real target of the mad doctor who viewed Nick as nothing but a nuisance in his way, and treated him as such when he shot him without any sort of hesitation or bargaining or empty threat of telling him to back off—which he wouldn’t have done anyway, of course, but perhaps in hindsight, in another dimension, perhaps he would find himself behind the safety of the table. Perhaps he would have been able to fire a few more shots to incapacitate the serial killer.

“Nick—” Sara starts again.

“Get down!” Nick warns her, because there’s a shadow approaching from the kitchen—he readies his gun—his finger on the trigger—

“Nick, no!”

Sara bats the gun out of Nick’s hand, but the damage is done. A shot is fired, and it’s fortunately a miss, lodging its way into the cemented wall of bricks, engulfed in the shadow cast by one of the stationed uniforms meant to babysit the CSIs as they conduct their investigation.

“Jesus Christ, Stokes! What, did you think I was a ghost or something?” the officer sneers with a red face, and Sara shoots the man a sharp glare before placing herself in front of Nick.

Any words he may have had to bite back were lost anyway to his hyperventilation, still trapped in the morbidly vivid flashback of the shooting. Clark’s shooting. His shooting.

This wasn’t just any restaurant.

This is where he was shot.

And this is where Nick Stokes almost died.

That’s his reasoning for his unfortunate reaction to what he thought was a real threat, but just as before, his call falls on deaf ears and he’s exiled from the restaurant and stripped of his defenses.

Catherine soon rolls up with the coroner, having been called immediately. Their eyes only just meet as she gets an earful from Brass, who is ranting on about how she should have known better than to send Nick there, especially not after what had happened.

Nick did have to wonder if this was some spiteful attempt to show him that no, he’s not fine. That he needs to go back to therapy. That he has a twisted definition of recovery to the point where he thinks he’s already recovered when really, there’s still blood on his hands and a hole dangerously close to his heart.

And to make matters somehow even worse, the next scene he’s sent to after a brief suspension that’s sugar coated as “mandatory vacation,” is with the good doctor himself, and across the street from the Clark family.

They are among the prying bystanders that flock the perimeter of the crime scene tape. He approaches them, because he feels they are owed an explanation, not just for the horrors that happened on their street, but for the horrors of the past that he never got a chance to testify to. Not to them, at least. They didn’t want to hear him.

And unsurprisingly, they don’t want to hear him now either.

The children hug around their mother, and Clark’s widowed wife spits in Nick’s face before he can even open his mouth. The nearby uniforms don’t stop try to stop the commotion, as murmurs through the crowd then break out, “is that the CSI that killed Clark?”

He knows they wouldn’t listen to the truth even if he told them.

He nods as respectfully as he can, before turning away and coiling his fist as he walks back towards Ray.

“You okay?” Ray asks in a careful voice.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Nick shakes off.

“That was Officer Clark’s family, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah...Ye—” Nick stops mid sentence, losing his breath and his face contorts into a reluctant cry that he pushes back down into his chest, pressurizing the pulsing wound that stings near his heart. He shakes his head and keeps walking, not allowing himself to break down in front of his esteemed colleague, let alone the general public.

He’ll hold it in, as he always does, until he’s safe in the privacy of his own home.

But as he’ll soon come to find out, that privacy is just as much of a facade as the bravado he continues to put on in order to do his job.

So instead, he settles for the brief moments of privacy he gets in the locker room, which has always acted as a sort of sanctuary for him, dating back to his days on the football field in high school, or the baseball field in college. The time to reflect after a long and grueling game, the adrenaline having sweated out of his body and he gets a moment to think to himself before he has to either celebrate a win or mourn a loss with the rest of the team. The rest of his family.

The time to gather himself before he goes to a home that’s not a true home.

It’s a broken one.

A home where monsters spy on him. Where demons attack him.

Where he can’t sleep without fearing that the wrong move will blow it all up.

“Nicky?”

He lifts his head, and drops the shirt that he was holding in his hands.

“Were...you listening to anything I just said?” Catherine asks in a slow voice.

“Yuh-huh,” Nick smiles as he picks up the shirt, quickly putting it on to cover the scars that seem to scream out of his skin.

He hopes that she doesn’t pick it up too, and realize that it’s the same shirt he wore the day Warrick died.

“You seemed like you got lost for a minute,” she smiles sweetly at him, scratching the top of his head. “What’s the matter?”

“What do you mean? Nothing’s the matter.”

“Nick. I’ve known you for over eleven years now,” Catherine sighs. “You may look like you have a healthy body, but that tired look in your eyes tells me...you don’t have a healthy mind.”

He meets her eyes, glistening with the same softness that his mother had on the night that she came home to find him sitting in the dark.

And for once, he tells the truth in a call that falls on listening ears.

“I never ask for help because I’m not sure I know how,” Nick admits, his eyes still transfixed on the shaking hands in front of him. “I just...I still feel so...so…”

Broken.

Catherine sits down next to Nick, taking one of his fidgeting hands and curling her fingers between his. She wraps her other arm around his shoulder, hugs him tight to her body.

“It’s alright to feel broken every once and a while,” she tells him. “And it’s alright to take time to heal.”

Nick nods silently, his lips quivering as he tries to stop the flood of tears by shutting his eyelids, but one still rolls down his cheek on the side of his face and onto the hand that’s holding him.

“And you will heal,” she assures him. “I promise.”

He hasn’t healed from the shooting, no matter how much he pretends that it didn’t affect him.

The ghost of Officer Clark still haunts him, as well as the souls he’s taken by his own bullets.

He hasn’t healed from being buried alive almost six years ago, his newfound claustrophobia and aversion to fire ants in particular conflicting with the longing for solitude and his new passion for entomology.

He still hears Walter Gordon’s voice telling him what’s going to happen every time he’s trapped by a green light.

Even though it was a long time ago, he hasn’t healed from the slow burning terror of being stalked. Before he moved out of the house, he would slowly discover things that Crane had moved, altered or even taken from him.

Yet he still has one of his jackets that Crane had “graciously” picked up from the dry cleaner’s.

And he’s definitely had plenty of guns shoved in his face, and with every new barrel he stares down he feels himself transforming into something hard, something that will take a lot more to damage—but he still hasn’t healed from that very first time outside of the training field.

He wonders, if Holly Gribbs hadn’t died, would he have died in her place?

“It just feels like I never will,” his voice, fully warbled in a sob that tangles his throat. “I-I haven’t f-for years.”

And he will never heal from the childhood trauma that he’s done everything he could to drown with repression, only for it to resurface with the same ease as a beach ball floating in water. Following him. Bumping into him, reminding him of what happened that night and what was taken from him.

“You will, Nicky. You most definitely will. And I’ll be here, we’ll all be here for you until you do.”

She cups his head to her chest and lets him release the tangled web that’s ensnared him, only letting him go when he feels he’s ready, and helps him stand back up and take his first step into a full recovery.

#csi fic #nick stokes #catherine willows #sara sidle #ray langston #csi 10x23 #mk.fic #mk.op #i was gonna cheekily send the prompts as an ask to myself but lol i figured that'd be a bit lame #(you can actually legit send asks to yourself and not on anon)#sorry i like to see you suffer nick #nick and catherine #also i haven't written a lot of nick and cath fics

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grimmjowkurosakidrake · 4 years ago

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Losing

Summary: Part four of my Time travel fic: The end is were we begin

Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke, Uchiha Sasuke & Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Itachi & Uchiha Sasuke

Lenght: 2,118 Words

Warnings: Some angst, mentions of the curse of hatred as well as mentions of Sasuke not feeling good enough for Sakura.

Quick disclaimer: This chapter was commissioned by the always great @birkastan2018 who actually helped me to fix my grammar and turning points on the fics!! on my commissions blog @witcheswritings !

Previous Itachi and Shisui are waiting for them at the gates of Konoha when they come back. Both are genuinely smiling as they prepare to greet Sasuke and his team.

Back in his timeline, Itachi only wore his Anbu uniform or simple training pants coupled with the customary high collared shirt most of their clan wore on a regular basis. Itachi was never carefree about anything and his clothes were no exception.

Sometimes, if he puts his mind to it, Sasuke can remember with vivid clarity how his older brother used to like sweets but didn’t eat them as much as he should; how he liked festivals but rarely attended any; how he enjoyed playing with the cats roaming around the compound but wasn’t able to spend time just wandering around their home.

Now Itachi has his own cat. A fat, old, female cat named Hime that never plays with him but always purrs when he strokes the sides of her face.

Now, Sasuke can always find his brother drinking tea and eating dango at his favorite shop when he’s not at the compound or the police precinct.

Now he wears colorful and comfortable yukatas almost everyday.

Today he’s wearing a silk, bright blue yukata embroidered with beautiful designs of delicately embroidered gold half moons and waves.

By his side, Shisui is wearing his Anbu uniform. But seeing their placid smiles and the way his cousin’s hand rests on Itachi’s shoulders without care, Sasuke can appreciate how happy and free they’ve become ever since they ended the ongoing feud between the Uchiha and the rest of Konoha.

Sasuke smiles at them, but otherwise tries not to overreact at the sight of his beloved brother (he still has his pride after all). The days of following his brother around like a puppy are supposed to be behind him.

Naruto is not quite as prideful.

“Itachi-nii!” screams the blond, eagerly running in the direction of the older Uchiha. He looks small next to the two imposing young adults, though not nearly as malnourished as he looked back in the day. His clothes fit him now and his once bony wrists aren’t as delicate. He’s healthy, not as raggedy looking as before.

A good family can do that to you. And Naruto’s not the only one who is different. Itachi’s eye bags aren’t as prominent even if he still has wrinkles to show for the years of sleep deprivation he suffered in the past. Shisui’s smile is just as cocky as he remembers, even with the black eyepatch he wears now after Danzo stole his eye from him.

Sometimes, even Sasuke can admit that his own smile is different than before. His eyes are softer now; they’re not as sharp and full of hatred. The smiles he can offer now are more genuine than the smiles he could offer to his wife back in his timeline.

Thoughts like this never fail to consume him with guilt when he remembers the brother who put his happiness over his own health, the friend who obsessed over having him near even at the cost of the goals that helped him overcome his neglectful upbringing, and the girl that loved him even when he couldn’t love himself.

Even when he couldn’t return her love like she deserved.

This is why he can’t go back. This is why he can’t ever regret what he did.

This is for the best. This is how they will be happy.

“Naruto!” Shisui excitedly plants both of his hands firmly on the blond’s shoulder. “First mission, huh? Did you grow taller?” Naruto beams proudly at this, straightening his back to try and show off his full height.

Which is ridiculous, because he’s still shorter than even Sakura. His head still doesn’t reach Shisui’s collarbones, but Sasuke can see what his cousin means.

Waves represents a turning point in the life of the boy who will become Hokage one day. The moment he stopped being just a rambunctious orphan child running amok through the village that despised him and started to become an actual shinobi.

One who’s seen death, mourned the loss of a dear friend, and even if it was for just a moment - one who’s been made aware of his own weaknesses.

One who’s witnessed the horrors of the shinobi world firsthand and still decided to come back stronger and as eager as ever to become the leader of an entire shinobi village.

The same could not have been said for Sasuke, back then. Waves for Sasuke was nothing but another point of proof that he was weak. It just gave him another reason to train harder.

The thought of training has him considering their female teammate. Seeing Sakura now, she actually looks smaller. Perhaps she feels shy in the presence of the Uchiha clan heads, maybe uncomfortable at being the only one who doesn’t know Itachi or Shisui. As smart as she always is, he’s sure she’s noticed the familiarity between Naruto, Kakashi and his family.

Or, maybe she’s just ashamed of her lack of growth back in Waves.

After all, she couldn’t do anything other than watch as her teammates risked their lives fighting an S-class missing-nin, standing in the sidelines with the man they were supposed to protect.

Sasuke then decides he can’t hold back when it comes to her growth.

He loves her just as he did back in his timeline and he wants her to be happy. He is planning to become a man worthy of being introduced to her parents as a loving boyfriend, and not the traitor who whisked her away from home one day.

Kizashi didn’t like him, Sakura’s mother didn’t either and Tsunade absolutely loathed him.

According to them, he was cold, cruel and not worth a loving bright girl who would do anything to see him happy. In fact, the only two people who ever supported their blooming relationship were Naruto and Sakura herself.

He’s working on loving her more openly now. But the psychotic, still cursed on love and hatred part of his soul, needs her to become stronger, less vulnerable.

Sasuke is an Uchiha, after all, and a part of his soul still carries the curse of hatred. He knows he couldn’t take it if he lost her somehow.

He wants her to reach her full potential. He needs her to become the woman able to break mountains, to receive a katana to the gut and just regenerate around it.

Her death would destroy him, just like Rin’s death destroyed Obito. He needs to make sure that doesn’t happen.

“Ah, Itachi-sama, Shisui-san” drawls Kakashi, referring to his former Anbu protégés with the formality their titles deserve.

Even when his voice doesn’t sound as respectful, and his eyes planted on his obvious porn book show everything but interest in the two men.

“Kakashi-senpai,” smiles Itachi pleasantly, “Please, just call me Itachi. I’m not the head of the Uchiha right now, just a brother interested in his younger sibling’s first mission.”

“Yeah!” hollers Shisui with enthusiasm. “But who would have thought that little Sasuke would end up on a genin team with his best friend, our former Anbu senpai and…” He stops, gaze falling right on Sakura.

There’s confusion in his eyes. Sasuke understands, as she doesn’t resemble any clan in their village. She could be a foreigner, but no Hokage would allow an outsider to be on a team with the heir of the Uchiha and the Kyuubi child.

So Sasuke makes the introduction. “This is Sakura Haruno. The one who always beat me at written exams back at the academy.”

Itachi smirks knowingly at his words.

Those were some dark days for him. When he thought his experience as a Shinobi back in his own timeline was enough to get him perfect grades and yet he was being bested time and time again by a little civilian girl.

He brooded quite a lot.

Shisui never paid much attention to his childish mood swings though, so he’s not aware of his little cousin’s Academy rival. “Haruno? I’m not quite sure I recognize that clan…”

“It’s a civilian family,” she answers, her small hands holding onto the edges of her dress. “My parents run a bakery. They opened it when dad couldn’t advance any further up the shinobi ranks.”

Sakura blushes from her neck to her ears when the older man’s eyes don’t leave her even after that shameful disclosure.

“The Haruno bakery? Just a few houses down from the Yamanaka flower shop?”

She silently nods.

“Oh!” Shisui grins widely in recognition. “They have great curry bread there!” He sighs dreamily as if thinking of those savory buns, which eases Sakura’s nerves.

“You must be very skilled,” adds Itachi, “to be put on a team under Kakashi Hatake.”

“Not really,” sighs the pink haired girl dejectedly. “I’m just lucky.”

Naruto scoffs. “Don’t say that, Sakura-chan!” he cries, forcefully cradling Sakura’s face. His lack of respect for any kind of personal boundaries are well known to everyone. “Sasuke and Kakashi-sensei are lucky to have us! I mean, look at us, we fought one of the seven swordsmen and we won! We should be celebrating! Right?” He looks between the Uchiha men and his teacher.

“Of course!” agrees Shisui, easily excited and always hungry. “How about we go out to eat something? Our treat, to celebrate little Sasuke’s first mission.”

“I shouldn’t.” Sakura hesitates with uncertainty in her green eyes. “I should be training,” she says as an afterthought, as she peeks at Sasuke. “I couldn’t do anything to help on our mission.”

“That isn’t tru-” Naruto tries to object, but he’s swiftly interrupted.

“She’s right.”

Naruto fumes at their teammate’s sharp response, but Sasuke holds firm with his own cold stare before turning to Sakura. “You need to train more. We may not be there the next time you face enemies as strong as Zabuza and Haku.”

Sasuke knows he’s not planning to leave her. But what comes after the Uchiha massacre was stopped is uncertain terrain.

The Akatsuki, Madara, Obito, even Orochimaru are more of a threat than they were before because now they’re unknown elements. Sasuke doesn’t know how his actions thus far have changed this timeline going forward, and he can’t leave Sakura’s life at fate’s hands.

“Foolish little brother,” sighs Itachi. “Training after a mission, tired and disheartened won’t do her any good.” He moves near the girl to place a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Come on, Haruno-san. Even if you’ve lost, you’re still alive and that’s all that matters. You should eat; you could use the energy.”

“We didn’t lose, though” corrects Naruto, crossing his arms and closing his eyes in confusion.

“Sakura-chan did,” clarifies Shisui, his usually flirtatious expression now serious, “She couldn’t help her teammates, because she wasn’t strong enough,” he states bluntly. “Isn’t that right, Sakura-chan?”

He’s smiling, but it’s not a particularly nice nor friendly smile.

“I did,” she realizes. “I did lose.” But then, with greater resolve, she steels herself and bows to her team. “I’m sorry Naruto, Kakashi-sensei. Sasuke-kun! I won’t fail you next time!”

Naruto grins widely and Kakashi smiles through his mask, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. Probably mourning the misfortune of being assigned such passionate young children as his first genin team.

They always crash and burn after all. Time and time again, both love and passion had only proven to be followed by tragedy.

Sasuke just hides his face behind his bangs, still not sure how to react when it comes to the brilliant, resilient girl he’s only now getting to know.

“But for now we eat,” interrupts Itachi, guiding Sakura and her teammates towards Konoha’s shopping district. “We eat, and afterwards we will assess our weaknesses and our strengths.” He smiles while walking towards a spot they’re all familiar with. “After that, we’ll sleep, make sure to get a good night’s rest, and then tomorrow we train.”

Naruto hoots enthusiastically when they arrive at Ichiraku and enters immediately with Shisui, followed by Itachi and Sakura.

But Kakashi and Sasuke linger outside the curtains of the ramen shop. “That was some wise advice from a former Anbu captain,” he muses, while placing a gentle but firm hand on his student’s shoulder. “We would be equally wise to take it.”

Sasuke considers this as they enter the now crowded shop. He sees Naruto grinning happily as he’s served his first bowl of noodles. At his side, Sakura is smiling at his brother like she used to smile at Ino before their falling out.

Maybe, he thinks, sitting by Naruto’s other side and accepting the pair of chopsticks his best friend offers...

Maybe they’re right.

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

I hope you liked the fic and speacilly hope @birkastan2018 liked it <3

#sasusaku #Sasuke Uchiha #Sakura Haruno #Naruto Uzumaki #Kakashi Hatake #itachi uchiha #shisui uchiha #time travel fic #the end is where we begin #commission #taking commisions #commisionwork

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the-iron-orchid · 3 years ago

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BOOK V - THE HIEROPHANT

Chapter 2: The Stranger (~1810 words)

Warnings: None

Back to table of contents

The town square is so packed with bodies that I can’t even slip between them; I must circle the perimeter, hunting for any gap in the crowd. The mood and energy are strange... but then, public opinion of the Countess is highly mixed. It seems that she herself, if present, is observing from a distance.

Portia’s voice lifts itself above the hubbub, carrying over the crowd. She has an exceptional set of lungs.

“HEAR YE, HEAR YE! I bring an announcement from our Countess Nadia!”

A vague muttering greets this, a shifting of feet, but the crowd’s chattering subsides.

“On the anniversary of the passing of our beloved Count Lucio, The Palace gates will be opened once again! All of Vesuvia is invited - not to mourn his loss, but to celebrate the spirit of our dear departed Count!”

A different sort of ripple goes through the assembled citizens, this one with a tenor of excitement. People start leaning in toward their neighbors to murmur.

“This will be a Masquerade for the ages, one like never before!” comes Portia’s voice. “Come to the Palace for tasty bites, wonderful sights and magical delights!”

A tendril of scent drifts past my nose, over and above the general smell of assembled humans on a warm day. It’s a familiar smell, something I carry in my own shop... but it’s very out of place here.

Myrrh resin.

I follow the trail of scent as Portia continues, something in my brain urging me forward. I lose and rediscover the scent several times... until I nearly bump directly into a massive figure. They are towering over me and everyone around, yet no-one seems to have taken any notice of them.

A memory bobs to the surface of my mind - the large seer, the one who gave me the pouch around my neck. From beneath the shadows of their drawn-up hood, their eyes glitter as they scan the crowd - the excitement of those around seems to affect them not at all, their scarred countenance set and dour.

“Spread the word all around the city!” Portia continues. “Everyone is welcome, don’t miss out!”

As the crowd grows more rambunctious, the large person sidles away. They don’t move especially quickly, and it isn’t hard for me to follow, intensely curious, as they turn down a small side street just off the plaza.

I chance calling out to them. “Don’t you care about the announcement?”

They stop in their tracks, then pivot ponderously about to face me.

“Blindly to the slaughter you go,” comes the deep voice. “Just like the rest.”

“Can you please speak plainly?” I ask. “A warning not understood is no warning at all.”

“My words don’t last,” they say. “So it doesn’t matter. No-one listens anyway.” They begin to move away again, and once again I hear a strange muffled clanking from under their rough robe, like chains.

Why would they even try, then? Why the charm around my neck?

“Wait!” I cry. “Who are you?”

They do not answer, picking up speed. I must scramble on my shorter legs, lest they disappear entirely. But as they reach the stairs that lead to the Market, they pause, back turned to me still.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

The stranger turns about so quickly that the hood falls from their features, a startled look on their face - apparently they didn’t expect me to persist. They start to back away, a cringing sort of progress.

Surely I am not so frightening.

“Go away,” they say, in a low, urgent voice.

“May I ask you one question? Then I’ll leave you alone, if you want.”

Their eyes flick over me, then to the side, clearly considering escape. It’s very odd. They are easily three times my own size; what threat could I possibly represent to them?

“Are you all right?” I ask, slowly drawing closer. They seem so discomfited; perhaps crowds bother them. I don’t much care for crowds myself.

Thick, black brows draw together over their glowering eyes. In the full daylight, I can see that they are brown at their centers, but ringed in a mossy green, very unusual. “What’s that supposed to mean?” they growl.

“It means that I am offering to help you, if I can. If you’ll let me.”

“You can leave,” they answer, scowling.

“OK, but… do you know Asra?” I ask. I had intended to ask something else entirely. But something about this person brings Asra strongly to my mind, and I do not know why.

The giant stops moving away, staring me dead in the eye.

“Better than anyone,” they declare, seemingly annoyed. “And that’s two questions.”

“Did he send you to warn me? To give me this?” I pull the pouch from its place inside my embroidered choli.

“...yes,” they admit, in a rather sullen tone. “He’s… my friend. My only friend.”

“I know what that’s like,” I mutter. For a year, I knew only Asra. Then Heron returned… expanding my trusted circle of friends to two.

“Not really.�� Despite the blunt response, something in their face softens, just a touch.

“Do I know you?” I ask. There’s something… a nagging feeling at the very back of my hindbrain.

“No,” they say, their eyes slipping aside from mine. “You don’t.”

“Watch out!” A shouted warning from behind draws my attention to a poorly-controlled fruit cart, barreling toward me across the cobblestones. On pure trained reflex, I hold up my left hand - and a shield of magical force springs into being before me, diverting the cart to one side. It fetches up against a nearby wall with a crack, and a number of apples go rolling away into the street.

And when I look again, the stranger is gone, the opportunity taken to vanish once more.

I sigh heavily as the owner of the cart stares at me in open-mouthed amazement. “Are - are you all right, ser?”

I blink at him, unused to this form of address… it must be the fancy clothing.

“Uh, fine. You shouldn’t load the cart so much, though.” I examine the front of the cart as the fruit vendor pulls it back from the wall. It has suffered a six-inch crack in the wood, right next to the metal bracket that holds one of the corners together. Muttering a word, I touch the split wood, and it heals itself back together. Not really as good as new… but as good as it was before.

The fruit vendor continues to gape at me as I nod to them and continue on my way; I am preoccupied with thoughts of the stranger.

What a bizarre encounter. Asra has never spoken of this person to me... not that I know of. But then, Asra has mentioned very few people to me in the time that I have known him.

He certainly never mentioned Julian.

I have spent so much time with Asra, especially in the first year of my recovery. But how well do I know him?

There’s no time to ponder it at present; I should find Portia. Returning to the square, I find her and a couple of others casting items into the crowd from the back of a wagon - flower petals, bright paper-wrapped candies. The crowd’s mood is very different now - so jubilant that some are even dancing. I suppose there’s been very little to celebrate in Vesuvia since the decimation caused by the Red Plague.

“There you are!” Portia waves me over. “This crowd is wild!”

I make my way between celebrating citizens to the wagon, accepting her hand to help me up into the back.

“Nothing out of the ordinary back at the shop, I hope? No… weird incidents?” She flutters her lashes at me in a pleading fashion, with a strained smile. But before I can answer, the cart gives a great lurch, and we are in motion.

News is spreading quickly; people are emerging from shops and homes to find out what the fuss is about.

“Jinana?” Portia’s quiet voice by my ear draws my attention back. “You’ll meet with the courtiers as soon as we get back to the Palace. You want to know what you’ll be dealing with?”

“Oh… yes, of course, that would help a great deal.” I manage to smile, though nervousness wells in me. “And… all was quiet around the shop. Thankfully.”

Portia’s own smile relaxes. “Good! Well, the main courtiers are Procurator Volta, Praetor Vlastomil, Pontifex Vulgora, Quaestor Valdemar, and Consul Valerius.” She ticks them off on her fingers.

That is… a large number of Ps, Qs, and Vs to process. Portia pats me on the shoulder with a commiserating smile. “Valerius is the one to remember. Milady minds his counsel much more than the rest. The others are… well, they're a bit… eccentric, but don’t worry! I’m sure they’ll be welcoming.”

She spends the rest of the trip describing the courtiers and their roles to me; I do my best to follow. The Procurator is in charge of the collection and disbursement of Vesuvia’s storehouses of supplies. The Praetor acts in a role of administrating Vesuvia’s laws. The Pontifex is, theoretically, in charge of the Temple District and ensuring that Vesuvia’s prized freedom of religion is maintained... but for reasons unknown, the late Count had placed this one in charge of the army. The Quaestor is generally concerned with financial matters, audits, and the collection of taxes. The Consul, however, is the second highest authority in Vesuvia, next to the Countess herself, and the youngest to ever hold the position.

The way that Portia speaks of them, while respectful, is also tinged with a small amount of judgment, and no wonder. There is much that is in need of attention in Vesuvia, and where have these officials been? I have never seen any of them myself, nor do I know anyone who has. Gossip of them does not reach the Market. Even Heron, with his shop in the Heart District, has never encountered any of them; he would have told me. And in three years, none of them has been able to track down the alleged killer of a Count, someone I’ve encountered three times in the space of as many days.

It’s all rather peculiar, and speaks to a government in decline. No wonder Nadia is so determined to change things.

But then, where was she for those three long years?

We continue to toss handfuls of petals and sweets as the wagon makes its way along the main streets of Center City and the Heart District, heading toward the Palace. The news travels faster than we do, and little wonder. The city is chattering and buzzing around us like a disturbed hive.

When the barrel in the wagon is empty of its bounty, we seat ourselves, and the driver picks up the pace. I check myself over; Portia assures me that I look fine. The courtiers are bound to be impressed by me.

I suppose that we shall see soon enough.

#the arcana rewrite #arcana rewrite: tides of chaos #jinana aditya #portia devorak #the arcana muriel #muriel of the kokhuri

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adonis-koo · 5 years ago

Text

Lust • pjm

↳ Summary: The village of Incúrsio has always said to be plagued by a demon, to keep its evil at bay they must sacrifice a young virgin to its hunger every year. You assumed that was a certain death, by what means? You didn’t know. Becoming the the mate of the Prince of Hell to keep his brother away from you? That was never apart of the folktale.

↳ Genre: demon!au, supernatural, smut, strangers to lovers

↳ Word Count: 11k

↳ Pairing: Jimin/Reader

↳ Tags: MC is thirsty as hell, thigh riding, multiple orgasms and I mean a LOT, eating out, overstimulation, virginal sex, mutual masturbation, sub/dom overtones, finger fucking, creamiepie, unprotected sex, jimin has a big dong

Last installment

Note: Second installment to Halloween!verse !! I this is technically edited but I’m probably still gonna go back and tweak a few things, just a heads up. You don’t have to read the last installment for this series but there is a loosely followed plot :)

Incúrsio was right in the middle of the most used trading route in the whole realm. You’d often met people from many walks of life and there was never a dull day with so much life flooding your village. Incúrsio however, did come with its faults. And now laying in bed sleepless over the past twelve hours, you briefly wondered if those faults were even justifiable.

You see, Incúrsio, was home to the demons curse. An old folktale in your opinion to scare children. Your village, however, took the curse as serious as they came which opened the door to the ceremony held each year to pick the unfortunate virgin girl who’d be used as the Offering.

The virgin girl, had become you.

You believed in a lot of things. But demons were not one of them. At least not until today. Not until you were chosen from the bowl of many names, what would happen to you? You had grown up your whole life watching them drag girls kicking and screaming into the woods only to disappear and never be seen again. Would they just kill you right there?

Thoughts rolled throughout your head as you stared at the ceiling, the wood had begun rotting last year and you were surprised by the last bad storm that had rolled through the village hadn’t caused the roof to cave in on you. Maybe it would right now, you’d prefer it over whatever fate laid ahead.

The door to your room opened wide causing the early morning light to stream inside as your caretaker Grelda opened the door. Twenty two years all to be thrown away on one single piece of note with your name written down. Anger flooded your veins but your mind was numb as you wordlessly rose to your feet as followed her down the small crooked hall.

Most mornings were spent through banter while helping her make breakfast, she had been so kind to take you in when you were nothing but a small helpless child, you filled one another's lives with joy. And yet it was all absent today, the last you’d ever spend together.

Grelda had prepared you a bath, it was the first time all year you had sat down in warm water and she had even helped clean your hair. It was all in name of the celebration of the demon not destroying your village another year. The village would even throw a whole celebration that night after your death. You knew because you had always gone in previous years.

Only now did you realize just how sickening it was.

Your hair had been scrubbed near clean and the dirt from under your nails had been picked, the skin you had long since was used to have a layer of dirt covering it was polished like fine china and standing still in the dainty long white dress. The one you swore you’d wear on your wedding day- you felt as if you didn’t even know who you were any longer.

Hearing the loud knock wrap against the old unsteady door of the entrance made your heart drop into your stomach, it was time.

Grelda quickly finished the long braid in your hair before leading you to the door, stopping in front of it only to turn around and pull you into a tight hug, “I love you, my child, no matter what,” Your eyes were already stinging at the choke in her voice, her own quiet anger quivering before forcing it back, to stay strong for the both of you, “You will be okay.” She pulled away and pressed a chaste kiss on your forehead as a louder, more demanding knock rapped once more.

You could only muster a single nod as your eyes threatened to water before glancing down at your feet.

Grelda quickly opened the door to reveal the head townsmen and a few other volunteers stood stoically, as if anticipating you’d put up a fight as most girls did in the last few minutes of their life. Being sleep deprived and emotionally exhausted from your long night, some hours spent in rage while others spent in tears. You couldn’t muster anymore emotion as you stepped forward. Letting them clasp your upperarms tightly, a man on either side of you as you began to walk forwards.

Incúrsio really was a quaint place, most wouldn’t suspect it of being under such a horrid curse. The fog in the early morning gave it a haunted but enchanted feeling and a single candle stood outside of everyone’s homes, a silent mourning of the one who would be lost today. Your eyes set on the road ahead where you noticed guards were on rotation.

They must’ve arrived last night from the Kingdom up north. The Jeon Dynasty had always been too kind for their own good and you felt a brief surprise fill your face at the sight of them. Hysteria had been setting in with the Offering so close and talk of the town was the Blood Moon pack had been spotted scouting your village not too long ago.

Werewolves, were a fickle kind and often temperamental by nature but the Jeons had just signed a peace treaty with them. Surely they wouldn’t break it, right? Regardless and for whatever reason they had went ahead and sent guards anyways.

Biting against your lip you could only wonder what went through the royals heads.

You were quickly forced from your thoughts as the townsmen suddenly yanked you along forcing you to stumble slightly while attempting to keep in line with their steps into the woods where every other girl before you had also went.

Would they kill you now? Or would they just leave you lost in the woods for a blood starved vampire to find? Or a crazed werewolf to eat? Anxiety began to spike through your mind and briefly, it felt as if your life had flashed before your eyes as you began to approach the odditie ahead.

It looked like a pegan altar of sorts, the stone head like a gateway to nothing and the large black burnt circle free of any tree’s sat at it’s entrance, oh my god you were going to be literally sacrificed weren’t you? Your breath had become hitched and unsteady as you passed through the stone hedge and stood in the middle of the circle, the head townsmen forced you to kneel and then silence set in.

One second went by, then another. And another. What was supposed to happen? You could tell this was an unusual sight as the volunteers began to fidget from side to side their eyes darting to one another and you could see the hysteria getting to them as well. Swallowing you forced your eyes shut once more as your exhale came out shaky and timid.

Another minute had to become five eventually and just when you thought perhaps you'd be spared over this year one of the volunteers finally spoke, “This- This isn’t normal! Let’s just kill her and go! The demon can still feed on her afterwards!”

His words was the only spark needed to cause everyone to snap in anxiety as they began to fight among themselves. Someone determined to keep you alive while others agreeing with him and wanting you dead. Before you could blink blood had been spilled and the hysteria was becoming thick and crazed before a sharp knife was suddenly being hurdled at you in the hands of a volunteer.

You scrambled back onto your bottom before harshly closing your eyes with a whimper as defeated tears finally slid down your face. You waited for the sharp, burning puncture to set in only to timidly open your eyes from the odd silence. A tall, dark figure stood in front of you undisturbed and regal before humming, “That won’t be necessary.”

Your lips had parted as you breathlessly gaped at the figure of a human until he turned around. Dark magenta eyes like you had never seen before, too dark to be a vampire and too pink to be a werewolf. A large, almost demented smirk coiled on his lips wrapping you in a spill of darkness making your head light and your body weak as the void filled around you both leaving everyone behind.

“Don’t worry,” He leaned down, grabbing your chin, “You’re safe now darling.”

Your head was light, and briefly you wondered if the hysteria got to you as well. Your vision was beginning to spot and before you could even speak your body finally collapsed.

Groaning your body felt weak and briefly you could feel a bead of sweat trickle down your forehead, god you were so hot. Did you have a fever? Your mind was hazy and had a dull ache as you forced your eyes open, anticipating the old rotting ceiling of your bedroom.

Instead your eyes were met with a the black silk canopy and the plush bed beneath you sunk against your body brought it’s ache a small relief.

Had you the energy you would’ve shot out of the bed with a scream at where the hell were you.

But your movement was sluggish and forced you to lay there, still and in a dazed wonder, “You’re awake,” His voice was like silk, soft as an angel but the magenta eyes were anything but, “Don’t try to move,” He turned to face you, his face slim and cheekbones chiseled and high, the odd silver hair making him look ironically angelic, “You’re body is still in shock from traversing the first time.”

Closing your eyes you swallowed thickly, trying to keep the whimper from escaping your lips before forcing your timid voice to rasp, “Aren’t you going to kill me? Rape me? You’re a demon.” He was in the perfect position to do as such, you weren’t even sure you could muster a scream right now, your body was so dull and it was difficult to even wiggle your fingers.

His lips curled slightly in amusement as he walked to the bedside, pulling out the chair from his desk as he sat down, “Even demons aren’t as bad as they’re made out to be,” He clacked his tongue, a playful myrth in his eyes as he continued, a little more serious, “A demon must have consent, without it we’ll turn to dust.”

“Oh,” You breathed, glancing up at him wearily before back at the silk canopy hanging above you while muttering, “So you’re going to kill me.” If you had the energy, you’d be interrogating the supposed demon already while wielding a pillow for your defense but instead you just decided to dramatically accept your fate.

He clacked his tongue once more causing your gaze to shift back to him as he replied, “Is it so difficult to assume I’m not going to harm you?”

“...Yes.” You replied after a moment of silence making him chuckle as you frowned, “I was dragged out into the woods and almost killed only to be transported to hell with a demon. Is just killing me too much to ask?” His laugh only continued as he shook his head.

The amused smirk pulling on his lips as he leaned back in his seat, setting his foot against his other knee as he answered, “I’m afraid so darling. I’m in need of a mate, you were getting ready to be killed, it’s all very convenient for the both of us. You’re alive, and now I don’t have to search through the whole realm for a mate.”

Your lips parted and closed several times before your voice rasped in defiance though it only came out cracked and half whispered, “I didn’t agree to that!”

“Yes well…” He shrugged, not looking shocked by your resistance as he continued, “I didn’t agree with that either but here I am. I could always send you off to my brother like originally intended.”

You weren’t sure what that was supposed to mean. But going off any indication of his trailed off words, his brother must’ve not as been such a gentlemen as himself. You huffed, glancing back up to the canopy. When you woke up that morning, you had intended anything but this to happen. But he was right, you were alive and you most definitely would’ve met your untimely fate if it weren’t for him, the last thing you were going to do was pick a fight with the man who had saved your life. Demon or not.

Being his mate? Which in human terms was likened to marriage? Outrageous and you weren’t about to let that happen. But you’d cross that bridge when the time came as he didn’t seem set on genuinely mating you and there was always a chance he was just teasing you, as you quickly found out. For a demon, he seemed awfully light hearted.

“What is your name?” You muttered, glancing up at the soft silk. Was this how the royals slept at night you wondered? You had always tried to imagine falling asleep in such luxury at night only to wake up in the grunge of your bedroom.

But now, if there was anything you could appreciate, it was the aesthetic and pleasure of the room.

“Lust.” Your eyes shot back to his figure in mild panic and horror as his smirk curled into a more seductive one, his eyes brighter than before as he introduced himself before he chuckled, his body relaxing once more making a scowl twitch on your lips at his teasing, “Formally, on the surface I’m simply referred to as Jimin. You may call me as such if it’s more comfortable.”

Jimin laughed once more at the constant twitch of your lips as you fought the scold that continuously tried to twist further onto your face, “Y/n.”

He gave a hum as he plucked your hand up from the bed, your arm felt like a heavy weight but his plump soft lips felt like a caress of clouds against your skin as he kissed the knuckle of your hand, “Well it’s a pleasure to meet you Y/n, circumstances aside.” Jimin set your hand down before standing up, “Now get some sleep darling. The effects of the traversing will wear off soon.” Despite your ruffledness you found yourself listening to him as your lashes heavily fluttered closed, you could barely register the blanket being covered over your body as sleep took you once more.

The next time you woke up your head was clear from it’s pain and your body was as light as a feather. The first thing you noticed were the lights of the room had been gone leaving it dark and you wondered if it was supposedly night? You weren’t actually in Hell, right? You had been overdramatic earlier but surely that wasn’t the case. Hell was, well....Hell, endless torture. You established that this definitely was not it as you turned to face the other wall.

Instead you were faced with the sleeping demon, who had stayed respectfully on his side of the bed, but just registering that you were in his room, of course, had you yelping in surprise as you tumbled out of the bed.

Your body instantly throbbing as it hit the ground making you whine out. The bed aboved shifted as you watched him peer above you with furrowed brows and messy hair, expression twisting with amusement as he asked, “Do you enjoy sitting on the floor? You always seem to end up there.”

Anger brittled through your veins as you gave a huffy indignant whine, fumbling as you stood up while stomping your foot, pointing a finger down at him menacingly as he leaned back against his hands, not looking the least bit threatened, “I…! I demand to be let go! I am not staying here!”

Jimin rose his brows before he let a small smirk curl on his face shrugging as he waved his hand, allowing his upper body to collapse against the bed. His silk black sleep shirt only held together by a single button parting to reveal his warm toned skin beneath, “Then leave.” He said it so easily, not even looking as if he truly cared, making you scold further.

Wanting to get a reaction from him, you assumed he’d at least put up a fight or maybe his eyes would go pitch black and his voice would go demonic telling you to never leave the room. Instead the infuriating man looked as if he already won the battle as he dismissively waved a hand to the door.

Stomping your foot once more you huffed before turning around and going for the door, you weren’t going to question his motives and all you needed to figure out was where to find the exit and how to get back home. Maybe the whole village would burn you at the stake for being a witch? Even if you weren’t alive by magic they didn’t know any better and it had been outlawed punishable by death.

But you’d rather take your chances there, then stay here with such an insufferable person.

Opening the door you felt a vague sense of unsurety run through you, the halls were lit in red and darkened by black silhouettes, the large crystal chandelier above head held by black candles that flickered dimly litting the hall as you stepped outside the room hesitantly.

Frowning you gently shut the door as you glanced around, suddenly swallowed by anxiety, you had never seen so much grandiose in your whole life, what was held in these halls? Were there more demons like Jimin.

Surely not all were as nice as him...Groaning you ran a hand through your hair as you tried to muster the courage to just walk down the hall and find the exit. You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of the door opening not to far down the hall making a gentle whimper escape your lips before fumbling with your own door. Not even realizing what you were doing until you shut it, back into the safety of Jimin’s room.

“That didn’t last long.” He hummed out, eyes still closed with an infuriating smug smile pulling on his lips.

You glared down at his figure with the strong urge to stomp on his pretty throat, you had never met someone so audacious and annoying in your whole life! He sat up finally as he opened his eyes, his smile turning a little more sincere as he raised his brows, “I’ll take you down to the kitchen, I’m sure you’re hungry after everything that’s happened.”

You were demanding to leave and this…! This fiend (literally) was going to act like you hadn't tried to run away and was now going to offer you food!? You were about to snap only to be stopped by the wail of your stomach. You may not have been interested in a late night snack, but your stomach most definitely was.

You could feel the blush began to creep it’s way onto your cheeks as your lips angrily frowned while Jimin laughed, standing up as he walked towards you. Grabbing your hands as he opened the door, “You humans are too cute.”

“I…!” Your nose wrinkled in anger, as you harshly glared at his soft hold on your hand. You would fight this man with your bare fists if he’d only put them up against you, “I don’t want to be here!”

Jimin sighed as he paused, turning to look at you as he raised a brow, “You don’t want to get a snack?” He looked as if he was talking to a toddler making your easily flared temper further as he snickered, always teasing it seemed.

The hallway had only turned into more and Jimin must’ve known his way around here well as he weaved so effortlessly through the...this had to be an estate, or maybe a castle? It was so big, “What is this…? You finally asked, your voice soft and curious as you glanced up towards the ceiling that sat so high up it could surely be mistook for an odd evening sky as the black candles flickered.

Opening the two large doors to the kitchen, Jimin glanced back at you as he encouragingly tugged on your hand, “The palace of course, where else?” His words made you stop in your track as your brows furrowed, parting your lips but now words came out.

This time he tugged you inside before shutting the door and allowing you to sit on the bench at the sturdy wooden table, “You’re in the heart of Hell darling. The Dark Lord resides here in the palace as well as his children. There’s six others but none too pleasant I’m afraid.” He pulled out the roll of leftover bread before cutting into it, “You could try to leave if you’d like but I doubt you’d get anywhere. Except perhaps took by one of my brothers,” Jimin’s shoulders stiffened slightly as he curved a brow, a more annoyed smile twitching on his lips as he finished cutting into the loaf, “Which believe me, for as insufferable as I am, my company is better then there’s.”

You frowned, glancing at the table from his words, still not quite registering the severity of them. Perhaps you assumed hell would be more...hellish. Maybe it was, this was the palace, naturally it took on a regal atmosphere but still, “Can’t you just taking me home…? You didn’t have a problem bringing me here.” You murmured quietly, shoulders sinking slightly as you felt a small quiver in your lips.

Jimin sighed, setting the large chunk of bread in front of you as he pulled out a goblet from the counter, pouring you a cup of water as he replied, “I wish it were that easy darling,” He set it beside the bread before taking a seat across from you, “You’re the yearly sacrifice from Incúrsio. Your kin,” He paused, his brows furrowed and a small odd smile pulled on his lips, “Have an odd perception about us cursing your village. That is not the case. Incúrsio, just so happens to be one of Hell’s transversing portals causing demonic energy to run strong. Virgin sacrifices are, vitally useless given there is no demon interest in destroying your village if they don’t ‘repay’ us once a year.”

Your frown furthered as you tilted your head, now curious more then anything at his words, finally you pulled a piece of bread off as you bit into the soft substance, “But the girls...they never returned afterwards. If a sacrifice isn’t needed, then where do they go?”

Jimin sighed as he ran a hand through his hair, face twisting into mild irritation that wasn’t aimed at you, but more his words, “Well it isn’t needed but it’s still gladly took by one of my brothers. Greed is always looking for another girl to add to his collection, his cardinal nature often gets the better of him. He looks at the yearly sacrifices as his. If I were to take you back, Greed would hunt you down without hesitation given you’ve become- in his mind apart of his harem per say.” He finally concluded as he glanced towards you.

You had parted your lips several times and yet you remained speechless, before ultimately deciding to nibble along the edge of the thick crust of the bread you held. So even if Jimin did take you home, you still wouldn’t be free? Dejection casted over your eyes as your shoulders sank slightly. At least you had a stroke of luck to have Jimin intervene with the Offering when he had then. His brother, Greed, didn’t sound the kindest and while Jimin did annoy you it was nothing more than your childishness coming out. He genuinely wasn’t all that bad of a company.

“So this is it then…” You sighed, finally speaking as you met his gaze, “I’m stuck with you?”

Jimin finally gave you a cheeky smile, tossing a wink your way that forced your lips into an unimpressed quirk, “I make great company after so long I can assure you.”

You clacked your tongue as you curved your brow, “Somehow, I doubt that.” And just as before, he only laughed, never seeming to take your sour words serious.

Jimin’s company, really wasn’t terrible. He teased you constantly and you’d sourly stomp your feet at him while complaining. You had spent most of the day in his bedroom though you’d be lying to say you weren’t curious to go out and explore, Jimin had duties to attend to- as apparently being a Prince of Hell held just as many duties as a regular Prince.

You couldn’t imagine how but you often decided to just not think about it. He promised to take you out and let you explore a little bit of the castle once he returned.

And so you waited, fiddling with the white dress you wore as you’d occasionally pace around the room. You’d poke around his bookshelf and attempted to read- except you never learned how. Furthermore the book must’ve been in latin as none of the wording seemed even familiar.

Eventually you had laid back down on the plush, soft bed of black satin and silks combined, you wrapped your arms around the fairly firm pillow as you sighed.

The smell of cedar and a distinct hint of ash mixed together, but often times this had began to bring you a sense of comfort. You almost jumped out of bed at the door to the room being opened Jimin appearing in the entry as he raised his brows, “You haven’t gotten cabin fever already, have you?”

“A little,” You admitted, feeling a bit sheepish at your words as you glanced away from him. Avoiding his cheeky smile as he gestured you over, laughing at your quick steps as you almost pounced over, excited to finally get out of this stuffy room. You had been a fair bit nervous of a tour. It wasn’t every day you were in the palace of Hell after all.

Jimin offered his arm out to you causing you to pause, glancing at it with a little suspicion as he chuckled, watching your childish weary expression before reluctantly hooking your own arm around him. Jimin instantly tugged you outside the door as he gave you a small smile, “It’s really not as intimidating as it sounds. The palace is beautiful and as long as you stay around it’s realms you’ll be fine. Any further and you’ll start stumbling on the souls here.”

He cringed a little at his words as he guided you through the long hall way that had you sheepish the first time you stepped outside of his room.

It still made you a little fidgety, something about it’s low lit red lights and black candles had your stomach churning, perhaps you’d get used to it eventually.

But this was going to take time, you were already beginning to miss the sun and the smell of the grass after it had just rained. What you’d give to see the blue sky above again rather than the black voidless ceiling of the palace. You’d imagine the outside wasn’t much better, you genuinely were in Hell.

It could be worse, you kept repeating those words to yourself. Because it really could be worse, you could be dead for one. Jimin could’ve killed you with the flick of his wrist, or so you imagined. You had never seen a demon obviously, and therefore had no idea what type of power they held. But you still imagined it was a lot, for a Prince of Hell no less.

You had passed by several people, all with disarrayed facial features and gruesome boils and abnormalities, their skin ashen and horns appeared from their head, just the sight of their black soulless eyes had you almost hiding behind Jimin. It only took one look from him for them to sudden scurry back to whatever they were doing. Jimin had referred to them as mere servants, often times taking their true form here when they were not present on the surface of the earth.

Regardless you weren’t sure you’d ever feel comfortable walking without Jimin by your side as he seemed completely stress free, and you supposed it made sense, he was their Prince after all.

All had been fine until you arrived at the throne room. It was vacant but massive and the large fire roared in its place didn’t need tending too as if it was a natural fire spout, or so Jimin had called it. The large chandelier hung over head in all it’s grandiose, the large iron throne standing on it’s own without a chair beside it. Glancing towards Jimin you could only wonder where his mother was, or if he even had a mother. How could a demon be born?

You had parted your lips, intending to ask instantly gaining Jimin’s attention. The large doors of the throne room however, were shoved open and in a fiery blaze all of the low lit candles roared and the fireplace near exploded sending you into a yelp as Jimin’s arms quickly wrapped around you, pulling you closer.

Contrary to Jimin the man that stalked in was tall and his own magenta eyes were bright and glaring down with hells fury and his black hair wild and dusting over his wrathful gaze, forcing a whimper down your throat as Jimin quickly squeezed against you reassuringly, his eyes as cold as ice in contrast as they stared back.

“You disgusting fiend, why don’t you take something that isn’t already claimed.” The man hissed out, the fire all around you burning darkly and the room at been lit up and the temperature had risen.

Jimin’s brows pressed together as he glared back, not phased at the man before as he replied, “I don’t remember your claim on Incúrsio’s sacrifices, Greed you have several mates, your cardinal sin is showing.”

You swallowed thickly, shrinking closer to him as fear overrode your body. So this was Greed? The man who’d hunt you down personally if you were to ever return to a normal life on the surface of earth unmated. You watched his jaw clench and it’s line sharp enough to cut, his eyes burning dark as he sneered, “And this one will become my mate just as the rest, you can’t hide her forever Lust.”

Jimin’s jaw clenched to match his brothers, his grip on you tightening as they stared one another down. The realization on why it was so important for you to stay with Jimin now finally hitting. It didn’t matter where you went, your soul belonged to Greed now and even if you could go back to normal life he’d still bring you back.

His glare harshened and his eyes suddenly glowed in color matching his brothers as he hissed out, “You can’t mate what’s already mine. Now go before you do something you’ll later regret.” Greed only gave a growl but you watched the flames in the room die down a little as he snarled, “Mark my words Lust, you’ll regret this.” He snapped around and walked out the doors leaving the room a few degrees cooler but it wasn’t the air that was making your body shake.

Jimin’s glare didn’t leave the door until Greed was out of sight, finally he seemed to register your shakiness as his grip on you loosened, thumbs soothing rubbing against your skin as he sighed, “Do you understand why it’s important for us to remain together now?” He asked with a hushed murmur, gently pressing a kiss into your hair, “If I could take you back to your old life I would, and I can. But it will only be a matter of time before Greed finds you there.”

It was silent for a minute and you hadn’t even realized how tight you were gripping his black buttoned shirt until you watched the blood drain from your knuckles, “Do...do we have too?” You could barely manage a whisper, your lips quivering at the thought as you tried to unclench your fists.

“As long as you remain unmated even staying in my room is a danger. Being mated to Greed isn’t necessarily bad,” Jimin sighed, as if realizing perhaps you did want to be someone else's, “But there’s a lot of strife between all of his mates and you’re guaranteed to never leave the lodge of his harem.”

His hands sat on your waist before he murmured, “I’d never do that to you, never to my mate. We could roam the earth together and see it’s every corner, you’d be free to go as you wish as long you returned to me. We’ve only just met now, but I need a mate Y/n, and you need one as well if you value your freedom at all.”

Your lips were quivering as you swallowed once more, you weren’t sure what this meant. But in terms of both Vampires and Werewolves a mate, was the equivalent to marriage and it sounded close to the same for a demon as well. The idea had your head spinning but just the memory of Greed’s fury ridden gaze had you quivering in fear, he was right.

If you wanted your freedom, you’d just have to trust Jimin’s words. They were so soft, and he had given a lot of promise in his words. Could he really take you back to earth, would you truly see the sun and the sky once more?

“Then we shouldn’t wait any longer.” You finally murmured, your gaze still downcast and your lips still quivering until you felt his hand cup your cheek, his fingers tracing along your jawline as he murmured soothingly, “Demon mating isn’t the same as other earthly creatures, it’s an intense but doesn’t require sexuality as most do.” He had already started leading you down the hall and by the familiarity of everything you could tell he was taking you back to his room.

You didn’t understand his reason for needing a mate but you wouldn’t deny him when he was your only option. You had just met Greed but you could tell you didn’t want to be his mate, he had several others and you’d be locked away for eternity.

This was your only option now.

Opening the door to the dark room Jimin seemed to lose his imperative rush as he gently closed it, letting you go to walk further into the room. Your body was still stiff and you were nervous, he said sexuality wasn’t required but...just how would this mating be performed?

You paused as you wearily glanced at Jimin, he had brought a black candle out of his dresser before turning to you, “Go ahead and sit down, this won’t take too long,” His voice was soothing as if noticing how quiet you had become, your banter being replaced by stiffness at the serious situation.

You’d be permanently bonded to him after this, you knew you had a choice. But this was clearly the better one, and he wasn’t terrible company...atleast not completely.

Shuffling you sat down on the edge of the bed, your hands folded meekly as you watched him set down black candles on the floor, forming a circle around the bed. Honestly, you felt like you were about to be sacrificed in a cult ritual, maybe this wasn’t far off…

Seeing Jimin pull out the silver plated knife with what appeared to be a latin incantation on it you couldn’t help the anxiety that shot through your whole body. Holy shit, you were definitely about to die. Was he gonna turn you into a demon? You had to swallow your anxiety as you fiddled with your fingers.

Seeing such a curved, wicked knife in his hands had you nervous though he wielded it so delicately, with a snap of his fingers the candles around the bed suddenly flickered with light, the light however matched the candles with a pure black flame that gave the room an odd silvery glow, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you,” Jimin offered a tiny smile as he kneeled down in front of you, knife still in hand as he continued, “I just need to put a nick in your body so I can place a blood sigal. It’ll just feel like a little pinch.”

“Wh...where are you gonna place it.” You curled slightly in weariness as you kept your gaze steadily on the silver blade that gleamed so beautifully under the lights. You had heard about both vampire and werewolf mating and it all had to do with biting, you supposed it made sense that demon’s would be different but still.

“Anywhere you’d like,” Jimin replied steadily, “Typically most go for the neck as it’s the most common mating mark, but it’s not necessary.” You watched the way his long slim fingers grazed against the edge of the blade, careful to not apply too much pressure or else he’d cut himself.

You swallowed thickly, your fingers unconsciously grazing over your neck before you shook your head. You always had a fear of possibly being drank dry by a vampire, even if you had never knew one well enough before, anything around your neck made you too squeamish.

Hesitantly you held your wrist, feeling a little more comfortable if you’d be able to watch the process take place, “Would my wrist work…?” Your lips quivered slightly and your shoulders sunk as you let your eyes flick away from his gaze.

He took hold of your wrist delicately, stroking over the skin covering your artiary as he nodded, “Perfect,” kneeling down he let the knife graze over your skin, the chill of the metal causing goosebumps to form over your skin as your breath hitched slightly before giving a small whimper at the nick skillfully cut to avoid your artiary. Setting the knife down on the bed Jimin clasped your wrist delicately before glancing up at you, “Just relax, mating is an intense practice but will be easier if you trust me. Okay?” His thumbs gently rubbed against your skin soothingly as you swallowed back another whimper before nodding.

Letting his eyes flutter shut Jimin placed his tongue over the cut, gently lapping up the blood before a bright glow casted over his eyes just as it did earlier when he spoke to his brother, his eyes flicked from you back down at your skin before you yelped, his tongue suddenly burning like fire on your skin as you tried to pull away.

Jimin kept your arm locked in place as he kept his tongue still, tears were beginning to gloss in your eyes and your vision was beginning to spot and darken as your senses became overwhelmed, fire licking at your skin as it felt like it was being melted, “Ow! It-It hurts!” You cried out weakly, the faint smell of ash and cedar filling your scent until you could smell nothing but those two notes.

Jimin said nothing, letting his tongue move gently over the mark, this thumbs rubbing against your skin soothingly as your breathing had become shallow, your vision of the room nearly dark and you couldn’t tell if you were crying anymore, every breath you took was the woody and light, yet smoky smell of cedar and your lungs choked with the burnt smell of ash.

Your senses were beginning to numb and the burn of his tongue was beginning to subside as your body weakly collapsed onto its side as Jimin closed his eyes. Your vision was beginning to go in phases and faintly the glow of his eyes had become red balls of light and you could feel your body beginning to overheat.

An odd wet pool beginning to set between your legs and your hair was beginning to stick to your neck as you let out a soft whine, your body becoming hypersensitive to every lick of his tongue against the soft skin of your wrist.

Opening his eyes he pulled away from your wrist, only letting go of you for a second before a loud whine suddenly escaped your lips, the sudden need for him to be close to taking over your body as you choked out a whimper, “Shhh,” Jimin murmured, gently sitting up on the bed as he pulled you into his chest, “The after effects are what make the process so intense, you take on the demons cardinal sin so it’s going to be a long few hours.”

Your body was burning up and you were rubbing your thighs together, uncomfortable at the stickiness between your legs as he soothingly stroked through your hair.

You couldn’t focus on the soothing gesture though when you sat in his lap, his thick muscular thighs bulging against his thin pants that had arousal soaking through your panties as you let out a breathy whine, “J..Jimin…” You could hardly stay still and your mind was groggy, then encased in his smell and focus was hazy with only one line thought in mind, “Pl-Please…”

“Shhh, that’s just the lust talking. I’m not going to do anything you’ll later regret,” You nearly cried at his gentle words, your body’s need becoming near unbearable, “We’ve become mated without becoming properly acquainted with one another, we have the rest of eternity Y/n.” Those were the words that made soft tears stream down your face as you shifted in his lap to straddle him.

Just the slightest graze of his pants making you jump with a breathy moan, “Please, you- you can’t just do this to me and then make me suffer.” Your hips instantly grinded down over his thigh, your gorged, hypersensitive clit dragging against the material as you moaned once more, pressing your face into his neck almost too overwhelmed by the sensation.

Jimin sighed, his grip on your tightening as if restraining himself before he replied, “You’re so stubborn.” His hands sat on your waist making you jump as you whined, grinding your hips harder on his thigh, a big wet mark forming over his pants as your slick arousal slipped off your folds, an insatiable desire forming in your body.

Noticing he hadn’t stop you your hips quickly beginning ride against his pants with little stifled whines and moans, your fingers tangling in his hair as your clit pressed down, rubbing into the soft fabric as your breath hitched, your body building it’s release at a fast pace that made your head dizzy and vision begin spotting again.

“Are you going to cum so soon?” Jimin murmured against your ear, his voice like honey but darkened a tone making you whine with a nod, his thigh suddenly bouncing against your soaked folds, rubbing into your little nub as you cried out, your release suddenly washing over your body as you cried softly, the wetness of your tears dripping into the crook of his neck as he soothingly rubbed your back, “Is it not enough darling?”

You rapidly shook your head, your hips already wanting to ride against his thigh once more as your hormones spiked once more your body nearly burning in pain at the need for your next release. Jimin suddenly picked you up making you cry out as you struggled to get out of his grip and back on his body as he gave a soft laugh, “Shhh don’t worry darling, I’ll help you just be patient.”

Your mind was hazy at the idea and you were still kicking about as you whined, “You! You made me like this- please!” Your impatience getting the better of you as Jimin sat you down on the bed unbuttoning his shirt, “Undress.” You didn’t need to be told twice as you fumbled with your dress, pulling it over your head and pushing down your panties.

Jimin had let his shirt fall from his shoulders as he rounded the bed, pulling his pants off nearly made your mouth water at the sight of his girthy length.

You had never seen anything so big, his bulbous head was a pretty pink and precum was beading from it’s slit, the slight curve of his cock had your body clenching around nothing as he sat against the headboard, ignoring his massive swollen cock that rested against his chiseled abdomen, hair messy and looking like pure sin, finally with a smirk and glowing eyes he commanded, “Come on little girl, you asked for this.”

Arousal was sliding down your thighs and your body was burning with need as you quickly crawled over, straddling him once more as he caught your hips, “You wanted my thigh that’s what you’ll get.” His eyes were dark and left no room for debate as you whined, settling against the warm skin of his thigh, your wetness dripping down against him as he let a crooked smirk pull on his lips, “You’re making such a big mess on my thigh doesn’t that little clit need relief?” He cooed out making your hips instantly buck against is thigh, your sticky wet pussy parting against his skin as your nub rubbed down making you moan.

Your body already hypersensitive but your mind was clouded by insatiable pleasure as you continued rocking your hips into his thigh. Jimin’s eyes stayed on your body as he licked his plump lips, finally he grabbed his fat cock as he began to stroke it making you whine, “Mmh! Please! Let me ride it! Please- please Jimin- please!” He said nothing in return but the sadistic smirk twisted on his lips, enjoying you suffer as you continued riding his thigh.

Your gorged, sensitive clit continuously rubbing in just the right spot that had your body stiffening and your words babbled and moaned as your next orgasm quickly spiked through your whole body, your hips tremored and a whine escaped your lips as Jimin kept a steady pace on his cock.

As soon as the euphoric feeling passed your body you were already wanting another, your body burning harshly and fresh arousal dripping from your folds and your inner thighs nearly coated, your cheeks were red in embarrassment as Jimin laughed at the sight, letting go of his members before grabbing your thighs. Forcing your back to hit the bed as he pulled your thighs over his shoulders, “So needy, you really are the mate of Lust huh.” His eyes were so pretty, glowing in the dark of the room in that intense color of magenta, his tongue dragged against your thigh, licking up your arousal as you whined, hips quickly lifting towards him as he forced them in place.

His tongue was hot and his own wetness mixed with yours as he sucked up all of the stray arousal on your thighs, licking his lips as he glanced down at you, his face truly that of angel with such a wicked smirk on his lips, you felt like nothing but prey under his gaze, your eyes lidded and timid as you shifted against his shoulders, “Watch.” Jimin commanded as he let his tongue place at the entrance between your slit making you cry out at the odd sensation, his tongue swirling and delicately pressing against your little hole teasing it as you obediently watched.

Your face burning brighter with each moment as he held your gaze so confidently, his tongue dragging up your wet folds before swiping across your sensitive clit making you throw your head back with another small whine. His hands suddenly gripped your ass tightly as he growled, “I said watch, don’t disobey me.” Whimpering you glanced back up, your cheeks on fire as he ate you alive, tongue lapping up your clit as you left out a breathy moan, trying to keep yourself from collapsing your head back against the bed, “Mmm! Feels so good- please! Please Jimin-”

Your hips rocked against his tongue that he stretched past his lips, letting your hips take over as his tongue flattened over your hypersensitive nub, crying out at the pain of your sensitivity, pleasure continued to wave through your body as you let out another moan.

With one more flick against your sweet spot your toes curled at the orgasm washing through your body, letting out a sob at the pain that washed with it, your head becoming dizzy from the pleasure but Jimin ignored your whimper as he coated his fingers along your folds, “Such a pretty girl,” You whined, squeezing your thighs as you watched his middle finger push inside you.

You had been told a first time was painful and yet you could hardly even feel his finger slide inside as he pushed another snug in your walls, “So wet for me, I could just fit my whole cock in this little hole without any preparation couldn’t I?” The effects of his cardinal sin over your body could probably let him do it with zero trouble, your walls clenched immediately at the thought, squeezing around his fingers making him chuckle, “Lust looks so good on you darling.”

Jimin pushed a third finger inside you before he began to drag them into the spongy little spot that had you crying out, head finally dropping against the bed and your back arching as your body rapidly clenched around him, “F-fuck please! Please!” Your legs were shaking and you weren’t sure if your pleas were for him to stop or to keep going, your body was demanding another fill of pleasure though as your hips obediently rocked in sync with the fingers he pumped into you with such ease.

“My little mate, so needy.” Jimin let his tongue flatten back over your clit making you let out a near scream at the electric shock of pleasure he provided, fingers nearly digging into your g-spot as your little walls rapidly clenched and relaxed around him, his tongue dripping spit mixing with your wetness as he lapped over your abused clit.

The lewd sounds spilled throughout the whole room, your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head as the loud relieved moan escaped your lips, a loud squelch of your body clenching roughly around him fingers as the next orgasm washed over your body.

Your hips nearly spazzed as he kept going, your thighs shaking like leaves as he ruthlessly glanced down at you, tongue still rubbing over your clit making tears fall down your face as you cried, the pleasure your body craved so intensely nearly overwhelming you. You were unable to do anything but take what was being given to you as he took your little clit into his mouth, his fingers slowing down as they pumped inside of you, lewd squelching sounding through the room with every thrust of his fingers inside you.

Your voice was rasped but moans wouldn’t stop flooding your lips as the raw feeling of your gorged nub being ate alive and Jimin continuously prodded his fingers against the soft spongy spot against your walls enough to bring fresh tears to your eyes, “Go on, cum again I know you want too.” Jimin instantly attached his lips back to your clit as you cried out the orgasm that had quickly built up obediently released on his command as you sobbed gently your body still hot and aroused as he pulled his fingers out of you, delicately setting your thighs back down.

Your lower body was completely shaking and yet fresh arousal was already beginning to slide down your legs against the bed making you choke out a quiet sob, you were so aroused and yet unsure if your body could even handle anymore. Jimin gently shushed you as he wiped your tears away, “It’ll be over soon darling, do you need my cock?” You couldn’t even form a proper sentence as you nodded, he cooed once more wiping your tears before pressing a kiss against your forehead, “It’s okay my love, I’ll take good care of you.”

Your hips ached dully as he spread your thighs, the cool air of the room hitting your wet slick folds once more as you let out a breathy whimper, the intense hormones washing over you again as Jimin grabbed ahold of his cock pumping it slowly before letting it’s curve fit against your folds, dragging over your clit as he coated himself in your wetness.

Bucking your hips you let out a raspy moan as repeated the motion again, letting his fat girth drag over your gorged bud once more, “You like that sweetheart?” Jimin purred out, his own eyes lidded with pleasure as he dragged his length back down your folds, grabbing ahold of his bulbous head as he circled it over your clit making you mew out as your back arched, “Please! Please Jimin!” You whined making him lick his lips as he guided his head to your entrance.

Carefully he pushed his head in making you tense up for a moment, the horrid first time you had always heard about wasn’t anything you had anticipated. Your cunt was practically split open by his large head and yet all you felt was a mild discomfort, wetness dripping from your stretched hole as he stroked your hips, “Does it hurt?”

“N-no,” You shook your head with a rasp, needily bucking your hips to get him to push further in, “Just- uncomfortable, a little weird?” You fumbled with your words, your cheeks bright red but he only laughed, for a breath moment he looked endeared at his new mates innocence.

Slowly he eased his cock inside you making you both string out moans, pausing as he let his whole cock sit and stretch inside you, your warm velvety walls tight around him as he purred, lips pressing into your neck, “You feel so good sweetheart, so tight and pure just for me to taint.”

Letting out a small whimper your walls clenched around him, legs quickly wrapping around his waist and his words ignited your horniness once more as you tried to bounce your hips against his, “Don’t tease me! Jimin please start moving…!” You whimpered, cheeks becoming hot again and your body craving another release despite it’s hypersensitivity.

On command Jimin quickly began thrusting, his cock stretching your small walls perfectly, shaft rubbing into that soft spot that had you moaning, back arching and eyes fluttering shut, “You’re just too easy to tease though darling,” He leaned down, hips rolling fluidly and the wet sounds your body made filled the room as he dragged his tongue over your neck, “God you feel so good around my cock.”

Feeling his fingers drag down your body back to your clit forced a cry from your lips, walls clenching around him causing a loud embarrassing wet squelch that had him moaning.

Pleasure was thrumming through your body once more as you breathed out cracked moans, his cock throbbing inside you, hitting into your g-spot with every stroke, fingers deftly rubbing over your swollen abused bud as your body twisted and withered, moaning with a cry as you felt your eyes water up, “One more time kitten,” Jimin nipped at your neck encouragingly, “I know you can do it.”

It was all you needed before you let out a loud cry, moaning with it as your body became wrecked with pleasure, you could barely even notice Jimin throwing his head back with a moan at the way your walls tightened around him, eyes burning magenta as he let his cock cream deep inside you, his release nestling inside you and with it the burning of your body began to cool down, suddenly whimpering at the slightest of touch against your skin.

Jimin pulled him softening members from you as he peppered your neck in kisses, “You did so well darling.”

With each little kiss came a stifled whine from you, the full effect of how sensitive your body was beginning to wash over you, Jimin had fully drained the life force from your body and you hadn’t realized how tired you had become until your eyes closed, letting your consciousness take you at the sound of the praise Jimin gave.

Your body was in pain, your hips were stiff even just laying down and the ache between your legs had you wincing as soon as you opened your eyes, you were without a doubt sore from what had taken place. Your face felt hot at the memory and your mind was throbbing in a dull headache as you groaned, shifting a little at the feeling of the warm body tucked against you.

It was then that you noticed the hand that was stroking your hair with a delicate hum, shifting slightly you winced once more before glancing up at Jimin’s wrecked appearance, his neatly styled hair had been wild and ridden with oil, still just as naked as you were though he didn’t appear to care, “Are you okay?” He gave a small smile, tenderly let his hand run down your back as rested your head back against his chest, listening to quiet beat of his heart, “A demons mating ritual can be very taxing for humans.”

“Everything hurts,” You answered dully, making him give a small laugh, hand still comfortingly running down your body. You couldn’t help but wonder as silence took over the room, why did he need a mate? Remembering his words when you first woke up in this bed made you shifted a little before softly speaking up, “Jimin.”

“Hm?” He hummed out, releasing you from his hold as you struggled to sit up, glancing down at his laid out figure as he raised his brows.

You fidgetted a little, feeling an air of self consciousness you didn’t have before under his cardinal sin at the feeling of your nipples perked, crossing your arms shyly to hide yourself you looked away, “Why did you need a mate?”

It was a valid question you had never thought of until this moment, but since you had met, Jimin made it clear this wasn’t out of pity for you or for some sort of twisted goal, he simply needed a mate though you had never asked and he never offered.

Jimin shifted slightly before sitting up as well, letting his back rest against the headboard as he sighed, running a hand through his hair as he answered, “If a demon isn’t mated before their thousand year mark their cardinal sin becomes amplified to the point of no return. I’d be like a starved incubai for the rest of my life, never sated and constantly rutting into someone or something. It could be worse but my time was running out, I have too many important responsibilities both in Hell and on the surface to let my cardinal sin run me. It just worked out that you were in need of a mate as well.”

It became quiet once more as you shifted against the soft mattress, you supposed it made sense, becoming unsated for the rest of your life did sound miserable and with the way he put it, it sounded as if he’d constantly be in a rut, even if this was an unlikely duo.

You’d make it work, Jimin wasn’t bad company and at the very least you could’ve ended up locked away in Hell for eternity mated to Greed or worse, you could be dead.

Jimin reached out, letting his hand brushed the hair over your shoulder, his touch warm and soft making you shudder slightly at the cold nip of the room, unable to resist you could feel a warm bond in your chest tightening as you felt the urge to coil in closer, “For what it’s worth, I think you’re a lovely mate.” Jimin teases lightly, making your cheeks dust pink as he tugged against your arm.

Without any protest you scooted closer to him, allowing his arms to wrap around you as he set his chin again your shoulder.

You felt weird at this new sensation, aware that it was your mating bond but still odd nonetheless on how innate being close to him at suddenly became, “I don’t have a problem with your reasoning, mine wasn’t any better,” You replied dryly before shrugging a little, ignoring the ache that continued to remind you of the event that had taken place earlier, “I was just curious why it was necessary for you.”

Jimin pressed a kiss into your hair, the odd light bond in your chest thrumming happily as you curled into him closer, “Well you have an answer, I just wish we could’ve had more time to properly form a bond before hand and I could explain what would take place. I’m sure taking on my cardinal sin wasn’t pleasant.”

He soothingly let his hand run down to your thigh, the pads of his fingers brushing over the skin delicately, “But at least down we can properly become acquainted without any looming threats, we can even visit your family on the surface as soon as you can properly walk.”

You slapped his arm making him chuckle as you glared down at the mattress, your gaze however softened after a moment and your chest stirred as you sighed, “That would be nice…I’m sure my guardian would love to host for a demon.”

Jimin seemed to notice the way you attempted to keep your voice level and upbeat as he let his hand run back up to your hair, petting against your hair before murmuring the question you had been expecting, “Guardian? Has your family passed on?”

“I don’t know.” You murmured with a sigh, the room had become quiet once more and Jimin was patiently waiting for you to continue, it wasn’t a pleasant memory by any means but your bond was almost making you feel obligated to go ahead and share it.

“I was young when it happened,” You explained while leaning against his chest, his chin resting on top of your head down before you felt a soft peck against your hair once more, “I don’t even remember much of any of it anymore. But…” You paused for a moment, pressing your brows together, “We were in a carriage and it had come to an abrupt stop, I don’t remember what my father had said but the next thing I knew the door had opened and I was the first to be pulled out.”

The memory was vague and brought you nothing but grief your whole life ripped away from you in just mere seconds, Jimin soothingly curled his arms around you listening patiently, “They were like a cult, black robes and faces hidden behind hoods, one had some sort of dagger in his hands, I thought he was gonna kill me but they ended up throwing me off to the side. I had to have bruised or broken something because it hurt to breathe and I could hardly stand.”

Sighing you let your fingers trace a pattern against his warm skin before you gave a small shrug, “And then they took them, my parents, kicking and screaming trying to fight. My sister was left in the carriage, she was just a newborn at the time and I tried going back to her, but…” you could feel guilt fester in your stomach as you sighed, “I ended up passing out and next thing I knew I woke up at my guardians house, she had been out along the rode searching for what herbs hadn’t withered from the cold when she found me. We went back just along the road outside of Incúrsio where our carriage was to find her but we were too late,”

You sighed, guilt would be useless now but still even as a small child you couldn’t help but take on that burden, she was your younger sister and you couldn’t even remember her name anymore, “She was gone, I don’t know if they came back for her, or if something…” You shuddered at the thought making Jimin give you a little squeeze.

“Perhaps she’s still out there, your parents could be alive as well.” Jimin offered softly, his thumbs rubbing into your skin soothingly, a mates touch relaxing you unlike you had ever known despite not even truly knowing the man that held you, “In fact, Incúrsio is right along one of the largest trading routes, I’m sure someone found her.”

You heart felt a little more at ease at the idea of your sister out there somewhere, perhaps living a more normal life then you, maybe she was living in the luxury she deserved, you could only pray she was, “I just hope she’s happy, wherever she is.”

Laughing softly Jimin pressed a kiss against your neck, “Well I’m sure she is, and the same could be said for you as well. Maybe we can find her in the future, we only have the rest of eternity together.”

You couldn’t help the smile that curled on your lips as your nose wrinkled at his words, pulling away as you raised your brows, “I can’t believe I really agreed to something so...indefinite.”

Snorting his own laugh Jimin let the smile quirk on his lips as he replied, “But you’ll come to love me anyways, I’m absolutely confident.” He sent you a wink making you roll your eyes, the bond between you both once more thrumming happily.

Perhaps he was right, maybe, just maybe, you would come to love him, regardless of what may come you doubt you’d ever admit it to him, even for the rest of eternity you refused to give him the satisfaction.

“We’ll see Lust, we’ll see.” You clacked your tongue, both smiling at each other and though mating was always done out of love but he sure did make one hell of a great friend too.

#bts #bangtan #jimin #park jimin #jimin x reader #jimin x y/n #jimin x reader smut #demon!jimin #demon jimin x reader

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astraeal · 4 years ago

Text

Commission for @aciddial! I had a lot of fun writing this; hope you enjoy! Read on AO3 here.

Stardew Valley, and all characters therein, belongs to concernedape.

Leah’s washing her freshly picked blackberries when the birdsong falls silent. Her days are measured by the ebbing and flowing of flora, fauna, and the babbles of the river, and though it’s growing darker, the birds should still be singing. She flicks the water off her hands, drying them against her shirt as she goes to the window.

The sky is darker than it should be for an autumn evening, but rain is common as the seasons begin to change in the valley; less than the thunderstorms of summer, but still something worth celebrating. Perhaps the rain will push out a couple more mushrooms and berries before winter’s chill sets in; that, Leah can get behind.

Rough sketches, surplus canvases and paints, inventory sheets of supplies, and scattered, dulled tools, resting between miniature scale replicas of future projects cover her only table. She’d rather sit and eat than have to wade back into her workspace. Then again, her cabin is so small, the whole structure could be considered her workspace. She likes to think that she keeps her bed free from her work, but even then she makes exceptions to sketch her dreams from time to time, so.

Perhaps not.

She finishes cleaning the berries, setting some aside in the jars the Farmer had kindly given to her, the rest sprinkling on her evening salad. She perches on her stool, the plate held aloft in her hand as she begins her dinner. As she chews over the fall fresh berries, her mind wanders through the pathway of small cabins and creatives who live inside them, and naturally, she begins to think about Elliott.

He insists that he’s fine down in his little beachside shack, but that doesn’t stop her from offering for him to stay with her every autumn and winter. There are some comforts the forest offers that the beach does not, just as there are comforts her cabin offers that Elliott does not. He treats his piano with better care than he treats himself, despite Leah’s best efforts to improve her friend’s state of living.

Sure, Willy doesn’t mind allowing Elliott’s use the bait & tackle shop’s outhouse, and his electricity bill is nonexistent because there’s simply no lights in the shack. But when Leah points out that maybe those things aren’t exactly good, Elliott refuses to see reason. It’s a point of independence and pride, she knows; they both were running away from naysayers when they each came to Pelican Town.

She still feels that relief whenever she sees him walk into the saloon, that balm of finding another artistic spirit in a place of salt-of-the-earth folk. Of course, there are dreamers elsewhere, but aside from Sebastian and Abigail’s infrequent character art commissions, Elliott is the only person with whom she can talk about her craft.

And right now, she’s in her cozy woodland cabin, eating a foraged salad by the fire, and he’s probably freezing his ass off in his drafty shack. She’s talked with Harvey; she knows Elliott goes to the clinic more often than not in the colder months, and beer doesn’t keep a cold away like mead, according to Willy.

She presses a blackberry to the roof of her mouth with her tongue, feeling it slowly crack apart and turn to sweet, seedy mush. Tomorrow, she resolves; tomorrow she’ll talk to him and make him seriously consider moving in for this winter. Even the community center is well under way; perhaps he could temporarily move in there, and take advantage of a proper fireplace instead of a firepit.

Leah clears her plate to the sink, already planning where she could unroll her extra cot if need be. If she did the work ahead of time, maybe Elliott would take advantage of what she was offering. Maybe, just maybe, she could make him dinner, bring him up to the cottage and have him coincidentally stay while the storm rages on.

Yeah; that’ll be what she does.

♢♢♢

She wakes up to a loud cracking sound outside her cabin, and the sound of something large crashing to the ground. Then, the white noise rushing in her ears registers as rain, the ominous rumble of thunder coming from somewhere to the north. Her cabin is dark, save for the firelight, but even that has dwindled down.

Leah swings herself out of bed, first tending to the fire to coax it back up to full brightness, feeding more logs into the heat. As the cabin glows warmer and brighter, she turns to look around. Nothing seems out of place inside, so she goes to the window, pressing her nose to the glass and looking into the darkness.

Two pine trees closer to the river bank have been struck by lightning, split down the middle, still slightly steaming in the rain. She knows she’s lucky they hadn’t caught fire; the forest could have gone up in flames and she could have been stuck in her very flammable, very toxic-if-lit-ablaze cabin full of art supplies and paint. Still, those weren’t small trees, and while she mourns the loss of two of the older companions she’d had since moving to Pelican Town, she also recognizes the severity of the storm. To be able to strike down such trees, old and strong as they were, required no shortage of lightning and chance.

Again, her thoughts drift to Elliott, in his own drafty, cold cabin, surrounded by much flimsier palm trees. If one of them was struck, the tree could easily fall onto his cabin – or worse, fall onto Elliott himself.

She grabs her galoshes and stuffs her braid into a knit hat, dressing quickly. She doesn’t know what time it is, but if the storm woke her up, then it must’ve woken Elliott. He’s a light sleeper, always has been, and she mentally kicks herself for not heading to the Saloon the night prior, not being able to check in with him.

Before she leaves, she pulls out two thick knit sweaters and sweatpants, as warm and neutral as she can. Much of her and Elliott’s personal taste in fashion overlaps, a fact she’s grateful for, but he can be particular regarding loungewear. Better to be safe than sorry.

Armed with a flashlight and a long waterproof jacket, Leah heads out into the storm. Marnie’s cows are all boarded up in the barn, and the path to town is clear of any debris, though Leah’s footsteps squelch deep into the mud. She moves quickly, running parallel to Willow Lane, skirting between the fence line of the sewer entrance and the trees. The river swells with rain water, and she slips a couple times but never completely falls.

The street lamps at the entrance to the beach have halos around them, the light smeared across the buckets of rain pouring down. She jogs into the soaked sand, and from there on every step becomes twice as difficult. She’s has to be particular with how she moves, taking it one step at a time, fighting towards the door of Elliott’s cabin.

His windows are dark, and she feels horrible for letting him continually choose this version of his independence. The stone pathway does little to give her reprieve from the muddy sand, but it gives her just enough to get to the doorway and knock. A loud crack of thunder sounds from over the ocean, the sky briefly bathing her in white light.

She knocks loudly, even as she opens the door, announcing herself. “Elliott! It’s Leah!”

She shines the flashlight around the cabin. Her cubist artwork still hangs on the wall above the piano. But the table that usually resides in the corner has been pulled into the center of the cabin, with a bucket in the corner catching a rather impressive stream of water. The bed itself has been pulled away from the wall, towards the front of the cabin, and huddled in that bed is where Elliott sits, a book held to his chest.

“Leah darling! What are you doing here?”

Leah closes the door, leaning against it. The movement drags the spotlight of the flashlight across the floor, and it’s then that she sees water bubbling up between the panels. “Elliott, your house is filling with water.” Her voice is somehow calm, despite the freezing rain she had to run through to get here, and the predicament her friend keeps putting himself in. “Your house is filling with water and you’re not even at the Saloon?”

“It’s 2am, I left there hours ago.” He at least manages to look a little ashamed. “I didn’t think the storm was going to be as bad as it was.”

“The Farmer told us the weather was going to be getting worse.”

“The Farmer lives between the forest and the mountains, it’s a completely different biome than here on the coast.” Elliott presents his words with a flick of his hand, yet the ambivalence is undermined by the congestion in his nose and the slight tremble in his fingers.

“Oh, did Demetrius tell you that?” Leah rhetorically asks as she walks over, bringing Elliott’s boots from where they had been discarded by the front door. “Come on; you’re spending the night at my place.”

Elliott blinks in surprise. “Leah, that’s…you really don’t have to do that. I’m quite fine here on my own. And I can’t leave without my manuscript.”

“El,” Leah murmurs, holding the boots out to him. She aims the flashlight at the ceiling, the light cascading down around the both of them, giving them enough to see in the pale white light. “You have the story in your mind. You can bring it with you, if you really need to, but I’m not leaving you here, alone, with–”

Her words are covered by the loud crack of thunder. Pointedly, she gestures around the leaky cabin.

She sees a bit of that classic Elliott pride in his eyes, the squaring of his shoulders. He’s older than her, yet she consistently takes on the leading role, the more grounded approach, because she can’t fully lose herself in make believe worlds. Her work is in reality, and the reality of this situation is that she can’t walk away and leave him here alone.

But the next rumble of thunder in the distance lets them both know that this storm isn’t going to pass overnight; it will likely be here until tomorrow, leaving them in much the same predicament. Leah gives him another withering look, and two minutes later the duo make their way back to the forest.

As they pass over the bridge, Leah can hear the water sucking at the lower side of the stone structure. She watches as it spills over, and can hear the soft wheeze with each of Elliott’s breaths as they walk back to the forest. It’s slight for now, but she can only imagine it’ll get worse with time. Harvey will have something to say about it, that’s for sure.

Together, the two arrive, rain soaked and nearly blinded by the darkness, to Leah’s cabin. She pushes the door open, ushering Elliott inside first, then following herself. “Take whatever you want from the bed,” she says, tiredly gesturing to the bed, flinging some water off her hand in the process.

The two kick their boots off and lay their jackets on the coat rack. Leah watches as Elliott carefully spreads the manuscript pages – only slightly crumpled – onto the darkened WIP table. She peels off her wet jeans and socks, casting them in front of the fire to dry out little by little, picking her way to the bed. She takes her hair out of its soaked braid, her hat also needing to dry.

“If you’re hungry, I can whip us up some tea with elderberry syrup,” she offers, brushing her hair out.

Elliott comes over, clumsily putting his hair up into a bun and taking the softer, baggier pair of joggers from the bed. “Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice a little hoarse.

Leah politely looks away when Elliott takes his shirt off, but she is relieved to see a bare back, meaning his binder isn’t on. He tends to keep it on far past the guidelines for expected use, but that’s an argument she’s too tired to have right now. When they’re both dressed in warmer, dry clothes, she pulls back the sheets on her bed and gestures for Elliott to get in.

“What? I can’t possibly put you out of your own bed.”

She points more emphatically at the sheets. “I have a cot I can use, but you need a warm bed. In.”

He throws a pout at her, but which she returns by sticking her tongue out. She feels better – better that he’s good enough to be teasing her, and better that he’s getting in the bed and following her directions with minimal complaining. She goes to the small array of kitchen appliances she has tucked against the wall, and begins to prepare some elderberry syrup tea. Something to warm them both, and she notes the soft sniffles Elliott keeps giving off.

“Do you want something to eat?” she softly asks, the sound of the rain cocooning them in relative safety. Thunder booms every so often, but it’s not as close now, perhaps moving more towards the mountains, or simply a break in the storm.

There’s no response.

She turns to look, and sees him curled up on his side, the blankets pulled so only his eyes are visible, watching her. She furrows her brows a little, though she smiles in response, and softly prompts, “El?”

He hums a little, and she can tell he’s smiling from below the blankets. “Uh huh?”

“I asked if you wanted something to eat. I have some tom kha soup, if you want. With crab.” She watches as his brows furrow a little – now he’s confused.

“I thought you didn’t eat meat.” Leah’s vegetarian, but that doesn’t mean she can’t stock her friend’s favorites.

She simply shrugs. “Yeah, but you do.” At his resulting silence, she blushes a little more, turning back to stir the heating syrup. “What?”

Elliott remains silent, but she hears the soft rustle of sheets. “That’s really very kind of you, Leah. Thank you.”

She feels her cheeks flame a little, then reaches down into the basket of jars. She pulls out the jar of soup and a pot, clicking the flame on the stove and pouring the soup inside to heat up. “Y-yeah, anytime.”

It’s now that she remembers exactly why it would be so difficult for her to have Elliott permanently in her space. If not for their quite different versions of productivity and rhythms of living, there’s also the unmitigated crush that had blossomed over the course of their friendship. She knows he’s aware of her rocky foundations with romance, especially as it intersects with her art career – she’s told Elliott the story of Kel more than once, sometimes after one too many beers at the Saloon. But Elliott was never anything but supportive, and he always made sure to respect her boundaries when it came to romance.

She knows that he’s currently working on some romance novel, though, and that part of that had to do with the Farmer’s influence. Then again, she’s currently working on pieces for the town art show, also at the Farmer’s influence. Maybe they’re all a little starstruck with the newcomer, or maybe the Farmer just makes for good inspiration. Muses come in all shapes and sizes, and the Farmer’s never been anything but helpful.

They’re the reason Leah has leftover tom kha soup in the first place.

She has a spoon in each hand, stirring the pots in circles, before the syrup reveals itself as ready. Her electric kettle has the water primed and ready, and she drizzles the syrup at the bottom of the cups before tossing in some mint tea and pouring the water over it. The rest, she’ll cool to keep on hand as actual syrup, but the freshly made syrup – or sauce, as it really is in this form – is good to go now.

Taking the cups over to the bed, she hands one to the newly resurfaced Elliott. He looks much softer and safer here, tucked in her bed, the sweater a little tight on his arms but still comfortable nonetheless. He takes the cup with gentle, ink stained fingers, green eyes watching her with something she can’t quite name.

“Drink that and tell me how you feel in the morning,” she says, feeling her words slip quietly out of her mouth.

He nods, and she sees his soft freckles across the bridge of his nose, usually long dormant as the shorter days come about in the colder months of the year. “I have some inkling.” The words seem to puzzle him, and Leah tilts her head a little as he hurriedly takes a sip.

What could that mean?

“Let me get the soup. I’ll be the one eating it, it’s the least I can do.” There’s a darkened splotch on his upper lip, leftover from some elderberry syrup. She wants to reach up and wipe the syrup away, but she instead takes a sip of her own tea, nodding in gratefulness. Her legs ache from the struggle through mud and sand, and she hasn’t sat down since they arrived back home.

Isn’t that a thought? To call this a home in regards to them both.

She sits on the bed next to him, watching the fire dance in the brick enclosure. “You could move in here full time,” she offers, her mouth working without full permission from her brain. “Thoreau ran off to the woods for two years, two months, and two days. Think of the beach cabin as a summer home.”

“Thoreau wasn’t writing what I want to write. But I appreciate the comparison.” He laughs a little into his cup, fidgeting with his earring with one hand.

“Just, please think about it. I mean, what is the cabin going to look like when this storm ends? And winter’s coming, all of that’s going to freeze over, and you’re far enough from Harvey’s that going to an appointment is a whole ordeal, and…Look, Elliott, I just don’t feel comfortable letting you stay there.”

Elliott sighs. “…I’ll stay for the next couple days. At least until I can get the water out of my house.”

“And fix it so that the water stops coming into your house. I mean, do you know how unsafe that is?” Leah is aware that she’s perhaps ranting a little, but she feels it’s deserved.

“Yes, darling, I know. It’s all I can afford though, since no one in this town is moving out anytime soon.” He hops out of the bed, going over to address the soup. Wordlessly, she follows, handing him the only bowl she has in her possession. Enough living materials for one, not two, but she would be willing to make the choices to purchase more for him. She’d be willing to make that space in her life and fill it with Elliott, if only he would let her.

Once his soup is poured, she joins him back on the bed, sitting cross legged and clutching her tea. “You pay nothing to live there; I’m sure there’s gotta be room somewhere. Maybe there’s some apartments above Pierre’s? You know he’d love another way to make a quick buck.”

Elliott laughs, sipping the soup directly from the bowl. “Maybe, darling.” He sounds a little cleared up, and Leah hopes that trend continues. Nothing against Elliott, but she knows he can be a bit of a baby when he’s sick. Not that she finds it endearing or anything, or appointed herself Pelican Town’s resident Sick-Elliott-Caretaker despite knowing this. Nothing like that.

“I just, you know. If you don’t want to come here. I know that my sculpting can be kind of loud, and I know you need quiet to work, and there’s not a whole lot of places in town.” She tugs a little at the sweater by her wrist, suddenly shy.

“I…wouldn’t mind living with you, Leah. I’m sure we could come up with an arrangement to suit both of our styles of work.” He’s also blushing, but Leah attributes that to the heat in the cabin. Surely, that just means the warm soup is working its magic.

She nods, and the conversation quietly dies. Rain continues to pummel the roof and siding of the house, but thankfully no more trees fall. They finish their tea, and Elliott finishes his soup, and they’re faced with the exhausting prospect of pulling out a cot and making it with pillows.

“Or you could just sleep in here,” Elliott offers, patting the sheets next to him. “I would sleep better knowing I’ve not displaced you for longer than this storm required.”

Leah rubs her eye, looking at the warm inviting sheets – and man within them – and the empty space where she knows her cot could go. “Would…you be comfortable with that?”

Elliott nods. “I trust you.”

That alone makes Leah’s heart race a double time, and she heads over to the bed. She slips between the sheets, nose to nose with her closest friend, feeling safe in the rain. Just in case he catches anything, she knows she shouldn’t be so close to him. But it’s comfortable, and the moment he slings an arm over her waist she’s out like a light, exhaustion finally catching up with her.

♢♢♢

She wakes with Elliott’s arm still around her, her back pressed to his front, and the rain continuing down. It’s less now than it was in the middle of the night, and she hopes that means the damage to the town is going to be less than the forest. Still, she can hear the rushing of the river, still overly full of rain water, and she knows it’s going to be a while before she feels safe taking her sketching supplies to the pier to draw lake life.

Leah yawns, stretching out a little, feeling her muscles yelling at her for having the audacity to go for a midnight sprint through the rain. Elliott tugs her closer, and she remembers that he hasn’t actually left the bed, nor her house, nor her person. She freezes, eyes wide, staring across her cabin at the whorls in the wood.

Elliott is still asleep, breaths deep and even. She knows that there’s a possibility that he wakes up, shy and embarrassed, about them being so pressed together. Even still, there’s only one bed, and it’s a small bed at that, so maybe they can both be forgiven this moment of weakness. She closes her eyes, resting again in this warm embrace.

She’s unsure of how long passes before she wakes up again, this time because Elliott himself is waking up. He rolls away from her, his shoulder hitting the wall if the dull thud is anything to go by, resulting in a sleepy grumble.

Staying still, Leah waits to see how Elliott responds to their morning position. True to the romantic man he is, he reaches over and resumes holding her closer to him. She feels him sigh, his breath moving over her hair, followed by a soft, “Good morning, darling.”

“Good morning,” she replies, wondering how he knew she was awake. His resulting startle tells her that he did not, in fact, know she was awake. Which meant he wasn’t saying that for her benefit at all.

Interesting.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks, still holding her close to him.

“Good; how about you?”

“Oh, wonderful, thanks. Haven’t been this warm since before the Moonlight Jellies arrived.” She can feel his smile through the words, and it makes her laugh a little bit to herself.

“Well, stick around here and you’ll be as toasty as you like.”

There’s a moment of quiet, and then a soft response. “I’d like that.”

Leah blushes, biting her lower lip. “I can get us some breakfast, if you’d like. It’s not too late, I don’t think.”

“That would be nice.” Elliott turns with a stretch, back cracking a little. “I suppose I should see what the damage is at home.”

The dip in his tone makes Leah feel guilty. Of course her first priority was to get Elliott to a safe place, but after that, what of what he had to leave behind? He claimed to do well in his self-imposed minimalist lifestyle, but to Leah, that meant what little he had was very important. It was something he couldn’t deal without, if he’s to be believed.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “Why don’t we –”

A sneeze interrupts her, and she starts, hopping out of bed. The movement makes her muscles protest, and she winces a little, rubbing a hand down her thighs. “We’ll go to Harvey’s first. Then breakfast, and then…the beach? It’s still raining, so it might not be…done.”

It referring to the slow damage done to the beachside shack. She doesn’t want to be impolite, but she doesn’t want to sugarcoat how bad it could be. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get the image of water bubbling up between the floorboards out of her head.

“Sure,” Elliott says, his breathing a little raspier than before. He clears his throat, brows furrowed, the magic of the morning seeming to fade away. “Yeah, let’s see what he has to say.”

Harvey, of course, was happy to see them both, then contrite at his happiness as if they’d accuse him of being pleased with their misfortune. Luckily, Elliott didn’t seem to have anything serious, besides a growing cold. He sent them home with some medicine, tucked away in a little waxy paper bag folded over, and prescription for rest and hydration. Nothing to do but wait it out, he’d said, and Leah had bitten the inside of her cheek.

Of course.

“Well that sucks,” Elliott mutters as they leave the clinic. The Saloon isn’t open yet, and Leah doesn’t feel great bringing Elliott to a bar first thing in the morning.

“Yeah. Sorry about the sickness, but it could have been worse if you’d stayed.”

Elliott shakes his head. “Not that, darling. That I could have gotten you sick is the real drawback here. I do my best work when left to my own devices, but I know how you like to travel around Pelican Town, gaining inspiration from whatever you can find. I’d hate to be in the way of that.”

Leah frowns a little, biting her lower lip. “Well…thank you.” It’s still strange to have someone care for her when she’s so used to doing the caring for others. It’s not that Elliott is immature, far from; it’s just that he has grand, romantic notions that often leave him far from reality, and that means he acts a little less like one would expect. Then again, only Harvey and Shane seem to be in Elliott’s same age bracket, and each of them is so different from the other, Leah doesn’t know how they begin to compare.

“Here, why don’t we do this? You head home, and I’ll restock on some groceries and healthy stuff. When you’re feeling better, we’ll handle the, uh, Beach Situation.” She gives him a warm, crooked smile, and she’s not imagining the way his face flushes a little, independent of the low grade fever he’s running.

“That could take days, though. Leah, I don’t want to –”

“Please.” She puts her hand on his forearm, ignoring the little look Jodi gives her as she and Sam walk towards Joja Mart. “For me? You’re not going anywhere else for the time being, I won’t let you.”

Elliott raises an eyebrow. “Oh, you won’t let me?”

“Yeah, I won’t let you.” The challenge comes with a bit of familiar sass, and she raises a brow in turn. “There’s nowhere else to go, El, please.”

He sighs. “Fine, fine. You win.” And then a warm smile. “I’ll be waiting.”

♢♢♢

Elliott remains with Leah for four days. It takes two before he starts personally feeling better, but it takes another day before the beach is dry enough for either of them to consider going through the sand. Elliott’s important belongings are salvageable, though bigger pieces like the bed and tables need severe rebuilding to make them serviceable again. The mold and rot creeping up the piano’s legs, however, nearly drives Elliott to tears.

Leah comforts him, passing along contact information she had from when she still lived with Kel in the city and had debated a career in music. It would take a couple months, but the piano could be good as new in no time.

On the fourth day, Elliott and Leah sit in the cozy woodland cabin, each quietly working. Elliott had crafted a space for himself at the table, back to the open windows, writing whatever additional scenes had come together in his feverish state. Leah stations herself at the easel, broad strokes bringing to life a vivid autumnal woodland scene. These quiet moments shared together have the opportunity to become something more profound.

Leah finishes putting the touch on the sunlight coming through the young buck’s antlers before she finally pulls back. “El? Do you wanna go to the fair?” she asks, stretching back and feeling her body thank her after so long of remaining in one position.

Elliott grunts in response, and she looks over her shoulder, seeing him clearly still in the midst of working. She sets her brush down on the paper towel, getting up and going over to him. “Elliott.”

“Huh?” He looks up, brows furrowed, flyaways swaying with the movement of his head. “What’s wrong, darling?”

“The fair. It’s starting soon. Do you want to go?” She comes up beside him, one hand in her pocket of her paint splattered jeans, the other on the table.

“Oh. I’d like that, sure.” He gives her a warm smile, hastily grouping the pages back together. “Sorry about not hearing you. I had a new idea for a story.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes; it takes place in an enchanted forest, where the weather is broken. Snow comes up from the ground, lakes and rivers collect at the bottom of tree branches – very Dalí meets Escher. But there’s one woman who moves forward through time, while the rest of the world moves backwards, and she meets a man who moves only through space but not through time. So everything happens at the same time for him, though he can go to different places to experience other perspectives. And they have to work together to put the forest back to rights, but they each have to rely on the other because while she can see the future, he can see the immediate changes and ripple effects, and they have to communicate that with the other while being completely unable to see what the other can. It’s an exercise in communication, trust, and romance.”

This is the farthest from her understanding as an artist, though she does understand the artistic references. “Wow. That sounds…interesting.”

He gives her a look as he laces his boots up. “…Yeah.” The look on his face is somewhat confused. Or maybe something else.

“What?”

He blushes. “Nothing. Let’s go?”

“No, hey, wait.” She steps between him and the door, looking up at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that it’s a bad premise or anything. I think it’s really cool, it’s just…what are you calling it so far?”

“Sunken Shores,” he murmurs, and she has a small realization, that’s more of an altering of her perspective. Something that was always just slightly to the left, just slightly out of reach, now slotting into the proper place.

“…Really?” That’s not what she means to say, and she watches how his expression shutters. “I mean – Elliott, is that inspired by, uh…”

The pain in his expression shifts a little. “You really didn’t know?”

“I…” There’s no way that she’s going to be able to duck out of this conversation. “I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Get your hopes up,” he repeats in a whisper, as if completely unsure that she actually means that. “Why…you..oh.”

She blushes. “Yeah, oh.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was going to! But then you were here, and then you were sick, and I didn’t want to make things weird while you were houseless. And you really seemed to like living here, and I didn’t want to say something and make you uncomfortable. You’re my best friend, El. I didn’t want to ruin that.” She starts out defiant, voice raised a little in a panic, but it falls to a whisper by the end of it.

“Oh.” He rolls his lips, green eyes looking askance, before searching her face. “I mean, I’ve liked you for quite a while. I knew how things ended with Kel, though, and I didn’t want to press where you were, you know…still healing.”

She winces a little at the mention of her ex. “Yeah…she did a number on me, huh?” A beat, and then, “I’m better. Than I was. And I appreciate that, and…I…do you, um, want to…?”

Elliott blinks for a moment. “Do I want to what?”

Leah’s face flushes, her entire body heating. “Do you want to go out? Maybe?”

He tilts his head, giving her a warm smile. “What do you think going to the fair is?”

“Oh!” The noise is involuntary, a mere vocalization of a series of exclamation points. She’s flustered, and it only gets worse when Elliott takes another step, further into her personal space. He puts his fingertips beneath her chin, delicately tipping her chin upwards so they can lock eyes.

“A gentleman has no reason to withhold his love from the public,” he murmurs, “yet he should also never kiss and tell. So I find myself at odds, with how to proceed.’

This can’t be happening to her. The most romantic man in Pelican Town can’t be asking her in his roundabout way if she wants to kiss. She nods, barely adding pressure to the fingertips at her jaw, not breaking away from his gaze. “I wouldn’t mind,” she whispers.

Despite his obvious charm, Leah knows he’s never really been with anyone for a long period of time. Part of that was due to his discomfort with his perception before coming out, even to himself; once that veil had been lifted, and Elliott established a new relationship with himself, his confidence grew, and with it, his attractiveness. But he’s still new to all of this, and Leah wants to gently push him along, but all of those thoughts of remaining careful melt away the moment his lips touch hers.

She feels herself wrap her arms over his shoulders, pulling him closer to her, going up on her tiptoes and humming into the kiss. It feels electric, like the storm that had forced the two of them together, yet by some miracle they’re able to keep it semi-chaste. When they part, their gazes remain on the other’s mouth, as if waiting for permission for a second kiss. It comes easily, Leah softly pressed against the wood of the doorway, Elliott now cradling her face between his large, writer’s hands, softly tasting the morning coffee from each other’s mouths.

When Elliott pulls back for the second time, Leah realizes they’re both panting. “Maybe…that was overdue,” she says softly, and Elliott laughs.

“One could say that.” He tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear, and gives her a fond look that is familiar – one he gave her from between her sheets on the night of the storm. “Come. Let’s go get some of Gus’ specialty barbecue. And, perhaps, some of Farmer’s wine for the lady.”

Leah hugs him, pressing her face to his chest. They have so much more to talk about – the logistics of Elliott’s winter move, affording the piano repair, how Elliott will work in the cabin when Leah does her winter sculpting, when they should make the relationship public, among other things – but for right now she’s content to be here, in her cabin, much less lonely than either of them had been before.

“Sure. Let’s hit up the fair.” And so they do.

#commissions #stardew valley commission #stardew valley #sdv #sdv elliott #sdv leah #elliot/leah #aciddial #thank you for commissioning me!! this was a lot of fun

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