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iclaimedtobethebetterbard · 3 years ago

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snakes & silliness

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: Janus, Remus, Patton Rating: Teen & up Relationships: Intrualiceit, with a focus on Dukeceit Warnings: Language, some innuendo, both mostly courtesy of Remus. Word count: 2297

Read on AO3!

My writing masterpost

Starlight Universe masterpost

Dukeceit Week 2021 start - previous - here - next - masterpost

Summary: The selecting of a first family pet is a very important matter. Almost as important as making Janus grin and blush in the middle of the reptile section. Luckily, Remus and Patton take both of these tasks as seriously as they should.

Notes: Day 3 of Dukeceit Week 2021! @dukeceitweek��Takes place in my Starlight Universe, where each piece can be read without any context. Takes place 4 or 5 years post-college. Remus, Janus, and Patton all use he/they pronouns.

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Remus locked the car doors behind them as he, Janus, and Patton began to make their way across the parking lot towards the pet store. “What shall we name it?” he inquired, offering one hand to each of his partners.

Patton lit up. “I don’t know… Snakey!”

Remus pursed his lips. “Sure, but I was thinking, like, something cool. Like… Mouse Killer.”

“No, that’s sad!” Patton shook his head. “What about Scaley?”

Remus grinned. “Janus Jr.”

“Danger Noodle!”

“Janice, but spelled the other way.”

“Snoot Boopsie!”

“Janus, but pronounced like anus.”

“You are both terrible at naming snakes,” Janus cut in, breaking the amused silence they had maintained until now as their eyebrows rose higher and higher with each of Remus and Patton’s suggestions.

“Oh, really?” Remus rounded on them with a grin. “And what would you name it, then, if you’re so much cleverer than us?”

Janus froze, mouth open, clearly caught off-guard by the question. “…Jake,” they said weakly after a pause.

Remus snickered. “Oh, really?” He let go of Patton’s hand and moved closer to Janus, leaning into their personal space. “Is that your genius idea for Best Snake Name of All Time? You’re sure?”

Janus, being Janus, stood their ground. “Yes,” they mumbled, sounding only a little sheepish.

Remus traded a mischievous glance with Patton. “And you didn’t make it up on the spot because you were making fun of our ideas when you had none of your own?”

“Of… of course not,” Janus said, tone almost perfectly even and cheeks very red.

“Well,” Patton chirped, the picture of innocence standing there at his full height of 5’2” and dressed all in pastels, speaking in that particular syrupy sweet tone that was the surest sign that his partners were in an excellent kind of danger, “I think that’s a great name, honey!” He raised his eyebrows at Remus in a meaningful way.

Janus blinked. “…What?”

“Oh, definitely,” Remus agreed with a wide grin, catching Patton’s drift at once. Teaming up with Patton to tease Janus was, pretty much universally, an excellent idea. Remus hooked their chin over Janus’s shoulder from behind, wrapping his arm around their waist. “I mean, it really sums up the essence of what we desire in a pet snake, you know?” He held up a hand in front of them both, palm out and fingers spread, drawing a line as if to illuminate the word in the air. “Jake. Now there’s a name that really says dangerous. Intimidating. Cool.”

“I hate you,” Janus mumbled, tilting their head to press their temple against his in a fond little gesture that belied their words.

“Nah, you don’t.” Remus kissed his cheek. “Besides, sugar, if you don’t like it, all you gotta do is say so.” He drew Janus closer by the waist until they were pressed together, his tone turning to a teasing sing-song. “Just let us know you don’t like it. That you were pulling it out of your ass and that you think it’s silly. That you were wrong and you changed your mind.” He leaned closer so his breath fanned against their ear and lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. “Just say it. That’s all you gotta do.” He pulled away, putting on his best bright, innocent air. “Up to you, though! Pat and I clearly love it, so if you don’t say anything, we do have a unanimous winner.” He grinned at Janus.

“You are so mean,” Janus whined.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Remus asked innocently. “Don’t wanna admit you’re wrong?”

“I’m not,” Janus protested at once, “I just….”

“Yes?” Patton said sweetly. “You just what, honey?”

Janus let out a sigh. “You two are going to be the death of me, you know?”

“Why?” Remus inquired. “Because you like it when we make you squirm?”

Janus made a small strangled sound. “Oh, my god.”

“That definitely wasn’t a no, baby,” Remus purred.

Janus flushed pink once again. “I—you—let’s go look at the snakes.” They pulled free of Remus’s grasp and moved towards the door of the pet store.

“Damn. We really are those, like, super obnoxious people who just stand in the parking lot flirting for ten minutes,” Remus commented, putting his hands in the pockets of his green-blue-yellow colorblock jacket, as Janus disappeared into the store.

“Have we ever been anything else?” Patton pointed out in a practical tone. “Come on, now, sweetie, we’d better catch up before Jan buys out half the reptile section.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Remus retorted easily, but allowed Patton to tug him into the store by the hand in search of their other partner.

They found Janus in the reptile section, staring with wide eyes and a soft, open expression into one of the glass tanks. They had a tiny grin on their face as they watched the snake flick its tongue out, and after a second, the tip of their own tongue appeared in an answering blep to mirror the snake. Their expression was far less guarded—and far more happy—than they normally allowed it to be in public, and Remus was hit in the gut with an overpowering wave of remembering-just-how-gooshy-Jan-made-him emotions.

Patton cooed softly, phone at the ready in a flash; Remus leaned over, resting their chin on Patton’s shoulder, and adjusted the angle of the camera just slightly to one he knew Janus would like better. Patton clicked the shutter.

“I can see you, you know,” Janus commented quietly, eyes not leaving the snake.

“It’s not our fault you’re so pretty,” Remus responded, backed up by an emphatic nod from Patton. He moved over to stand at Janus’s side, sliding his hand possessively around their waist. “Is this Jake?” he inquired innocently.

“Oh my god,” Janus mumbled, rolling their eyes.

“What? I thought you liked that name,” Remus teased with his best evil grin. “You know, it being your idea, and you being so much better at coming up with names than us, and all.”

“You really aren’t going to let that one go, are you?” Janus sighed.

Remus put one finger under Janus’s chin and tilted their face towards himself. “Not unless you tell us exactly what you want, baby,” he breathed, letting his tone go dark.

Janus visibly swallowed, cheeks staining red. “I—” Their eyes flitted away from him, glancing around. “Remus, we’re in public.”

“Why, what did I do?” Remus asked sweetly, grinning.

“You know perfectly well what you did.”

Remus grinned wider. “Hell yeah I do,” they acknowledged. “C’mon, there’s no kids over here, I can be a little naughty.” However, having made their point, he did ease off the teasing, just for the moment. “Now, introduce me to our snakey pal here. Are we liking this one?”

Janus looked over Remus’s shoulder, and Patton was by their side at once. “I—I do like this one, I think,” Janus said, indicating the snake that had been engrossing them when Remus and Patton arrived. “But we can look around first, and talk about it.”

Patton dug in their pocket and produced the scrap of paper with the list of species they’d agreed upon as options, after several nights’ worth of internet research and heated discussion. They’d needed to find a pet that would do well in the apartment the three of them had just moved into—their first home together. It was one that would allow pets, which had been important to them, and choosing a snake as the inaugural pet of the family had been an easy decision for Remus and Patton after the way Janus lit up talking about it.

“Let’s take a look, shall we?” Patton said, unfolding the list.

While there were, frankly, a surprising number of snakes available for purchase—Remus counted at least ten—only two or three met the criteria that the three of them had put together.

“So?” Remus asked, looking at Janus expectantly when they had whittled down the options before them thus far. “What’s it gonna be, babe?”

Janus hesitated. “It’s going to be our snake. Not mine. We should all choose.”

“Yeah, but Pat and I have only been waiting for it for a few months. You’ve been waiting since you were eight. It’s important to all of us, but it’s most important to you.” Remus glanced at Patton. “Isn’t that right?”

Patton nodded. “I like all of the options, honey,” they told Janus. “I wanna know which one makes you most happy.”

Janus was silent, looking back and forth between two glass tanks and quietly stimming with their hands—rubbing their thumbs back and forth along all their other fingertips, a stim Remus recognized as one of their go-tos when thinking hard or overwhelmed. “I….” They bit their lip, looking beseechingly over at their partners, voice trailing off in what seemed like mild distress.

Remus put his arm around their waist again, drumming his fingers against their side. “Problem?” he asked, gently pushing Janus’s hair out of their face.

Janus hesitated. “I’m… stuck,” they said by way of explanation. They gestured vaguely towards their forehead. “Up here.”

Remus nodded and placed his free hand delicately on Janus’s chest, right over their heart, his fingertips barely pressing against the soft, clingy lace fabric of their long black dress. “How about here?” he asked.

Janus chewed on the inside of their mouth for a beat and shook his head. “Not stuck there.”

“Do you want to go home and come back later?” Patton asked.

Janus shook their head again, head bent and hair falling about their face as they stared into one of the snake tanks. “I know which one. I’m only second guessing myself.”

Remus wrapped both his hands around their slim waist. “Do you know what you need?” he said, the words coming easily to his tongue. He’d struck on that particular phrasing back in college; it helped when Janus was feeling stuck, usually due to either sensory overload or a disconnect between their feelings and rational thoughts. It was simple and, more importantly, it cut past the issue of explaining what the problem was, which could be hard for Janus to articulate.

Janus hesitated. “Not exactly.”

“Any ideas?” Remus prompted when they did not go on.

Janus rested one hand over Remus’s, still clasped about their side, and drummed their slim fingers on the back of his hand. “I… don’t know how I feel about the name ideas anymore,” they said slowly, as if trying to shape the thoughts in their head into words.

“Oh, that’s no problem, I was mostly just being silly,” Remus assured them at once, absently signing the word “silly” in ASL as he spoke—one of a handful of words he’d retained in his vocabulary since he spent a stint learning the language in middle school. He glanced over at Patton. “Right?”

Patton nodded. “Of course not, honey. We don’t need to pick a name right now. We can always work that out some other time.”

Janus let out a long breath. “Okay. That—that’s good. Yes.”

“Better?” Remus asked, feeling the way they had untensed against him.

Janus inclined their head once. “Less things in my head now.”

“That’s good,” Remus said. “Also,” he added, in a less serious tone, “can I just point out that I am being really good about how many times we are saying the word snake and how many dirty jokes I am not making, and you should both give me lots of attention about it?”

Janus let out a huff of laughter. “What exactly am I doing right now, pray tell?” he inquired, gesturing to where he and Remus were pressed together all down their side, and to Remus��s hand about their waist.

“Breathing, in that very sexy way you do,” Remus retorted at once with a grin.

Janus half smiled. “I’m flattered, darling.” They pressed their temple to Remus’s. “However, I was referring to the way we are practically cuddling in broad daylight. Is that not giving you attention?”

“True,” Remus agreed, giving Janus’s side an appreciative squeeze, “but you’re also giving some of your attention to these reptiles.” He gestured at the wall of tanks before them. “Let it be known that I am terribly jealous. And Pat is all the way over there, which is too far.” They pouted at Patton, standing all of twelve inches away from the pair of them.

“Yes, you’re being very good, sweetie,” Patton said, patting Remus on the cheek. “You get lots of kisses later.”

Remus beamed, catching Patton’s hand in their free hand. “Much better,” they said with a pleased chuckle, and looked back to Janus. “Are you ready to tell us which snake is coming home with us, baby?” He hooked his finger in one of Janus’s belt loops and ran his thumb back and forth along their side just above it.

Janus pursed their lips, clearly considering this. “Yes,” they said. “I really like this one.” He indicated a tank with a golden-brown, spotted snake inside; a corn snake, the same one they had been so interested in when Remus and Patton arrived.

Patton made an excited noise, and Janus’s face melted into a soft little grin at once. “I love that one!” Patton said. “That one is the best one.”

“Good.” Janus looked at Remus, the barest hint of nerves almost perfectly hidden in their face.

Remus leaned up and pecked their lips. “’S perfect, baby,” he said easily.

Janus relaxed the rest of the way, leaning into Remus’s touch and raising one hand to their mouth to cover the smile on their face. “Of course it is,” they said primly, reaching around Remus’s back to rest a hand on Patton’s shoulder. “It’s ours, after all.”

Taglist (ask to be added/removed!): @theimprobabledreamersworld

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judylicious · 4 years ago

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And When He Smiles I Swear I Can’t Breathe

Alan Rubin x fem!Reader

Word count: 1,897

Fandom: Blues Brothers

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Blues Brothers characters or movies. This refers to Alan Rubin as a character in the movie, not the real Alan (although he obvsly played himself but you know what I mean)

I’d like to add that I made everyone of the band a few years younger (so the age gap between the reader and Alan isn’t that big), so he’s approx. in his early 30s.

Warnings: !!! IMPORTANT trigger warning mentions of physical abuse !!! also smut

Chapter VIII

It was already late and Alan was behind the wheel of his Mercedes, on his way home. He couldn’t stop thinking about Charlotte in so many ways and he was wondering if she’d be telling her parents about him right now or if she already had or maybe wouldn’t at all. He thought back about her father at the Chez Paul, not only about how he offended Alan but about the way he was with his family, which grew some serious concerns in Alan whether he shouldn’t have talked her into having that conversation. Maybe he should check on her?

Driving by, just to see if she was doing okay? He sighed, running his hand through his dark hair. He tried to distract himself and thought about today’s rehearsal and the new songs the boys were working on, when he realised he had forgotten some sheet music at the rehearsal room. It wasn’t any music for the band but for him privately that’s why he was keen on getting the sheets back as soon as possible. He turned right at the next junction to take a slight detour to catch the papers, which would also give him some extra time to decide whether he should pay Charlotte a visit or not. As he entered the rehearsal room he did so without turning on the lights. Since he knew where he had left the sheets, the light from the corridor was enough for him. He grabbed the slips of paper and was already on his way out again, when he saw something moving in the corner. He slowly approached and felt relief but also concern, realising it was Charlotte. She was asleep, huddling, her small jacket covering her body. He got down on his hunches and stroke her forehead and hair carefully in order to wake her up. “Charlotte? Hey hun…” The girl slowly started to wake up and was surprised to see the trumpet player. “Alan? What are you doing here?”, she asked him, still sleepy. “I could ask you the same thing.” “I was sleeping.” “Why aren’t you home?” He rubbed his fingers, feeling some kind of dirt on them. He moved them to the small beam of light coming through the door and gasped. “Charlotte!” Alan immediately grabbed the girl and pulled her into the light to take a look at her. “What happened?” She had a raw wound on her temple, the blood not completely dry yet and a bruise on the other cheek. “Nothing, I-” “You’re calling this nothing?” “I fell down the stairs.” He took a moment to look into her eyes. “Was this your father?” Charlotte dropped her gaze. “C’mon hun, I’m taking you to the hospital.” “NO! No, please, it’s not that bad.” Alan pressed his lips together, “Alright but you’re not spending the night here, you will get some rest at my place. But me, no buts!” He carefully helped her up and got her into his car and to his flat, where she took place on his sofa. She looked tired and weary, her eyes red from crying, her mascara entirely smudged, she looked like a picture of misery. Alan got her glass of water and a wet towel to wash off the blood and smudge of her face. “That should do it for now.” He gave her a warm smile. “You can have the bed,” and nodded to the room next door. “I will take the sofa. And if you like you can change into this shirt, should be a lot more comfortable than…” Alan paused as Charlotte got up vacantly, grabbed the shirt and went next door. In the meanwhile he made out the sofa and got a blanket and a pillow for himself. He softly knocked at the door frame of the bed room and peeped his head in. “Do you need anything else?” “No, I’m fine, thanks Alan.” Charlotte sat on the bed. “Okay, I’ll be next door if you need me.” “Alan? Could you… would you, stay with me? I don’t wanna be alone.” “Of course.” He smiled at her again, and for the first time that night he got a smile back from her. The musician quickly turned off the lights in the living room and laid next to her in bed. Alan wasn’t exactly sure on how close she wanted him to be but eased as Charlotte moved herself close to him, resting her head on his chest. She nestled against him, squeezed him hard, so he put his arm around her in response. “I can’t help myself but think this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have talked you into this. Or at least be with you.”, tensed up he waited for a response but could only hear Charlotte’s soft breathing, the girl in is arm already asleep.

The next morning Charlotte woke up to the smell of coffee. Alan sat at her side with a mug in his hand. “Good morning”, he greeted her. “Did you sleep well?” Charlotte hummed satisfied, stretching herself. “Haven’t had a rest like this in months.” She looks absolutely gorgeous Alan thought to himself, even with those bruises. She had been wearing her hair up last night but the hair tie must have been slipped off over night, her beautiful curls now down to her shoulders. He hold the coffee out to her. “How are you feeling?” “Better actually. Thanks for looking after me. Would you mind if I took a shower?” “Of course not, towels are in the bath. How about breakfast after you’re done?” “Sounds great.”, she smiled and with that Charlotte hopped out of the bed and hurried to the bath.

After she turned off the tap, she could hear Alan was playing his trumpet. She wrapped a towel around herself and tiptoed to the living room. He didn’t noticed her, so she leaned against the door frame and watched him. Charlotte didn’t know the song he played but I sounded like heaven. Alan was so talented. How can he make a brass instrument sound so soft and mellow? Charlotte got lost in the lovely sounds and the sight of watching Alan. He looked so hot, his sexy lips interacting with his instrument and him being in total control. “Why did you stop?” “I didn’t see you standing there.”, he turned his head to face Charlotte. “Not absolutely happy with the way I played.” “You’re kidding? This was extraordinary. What is it called?” “It’s part of the solo in “You Don’t Know What Love Is”.” “It was beautiful.” “Yeah, I’m not sure.” Charlotte walked over to him and sat down on his lap. “What happened to the presumptuous Mr. Fabulous I met at the concert, who bursts with self-confidence?” She caressed his chest and planted a lingering kiss on his lips before she moved down, kissing his neck. Alan closed his eyes, savouring the moment, his hands slowly moving over her thigh to the towel wrapped around her desirable body. “I thought you’d like if I hold myself back, get out sweet Alan, lock away Mr. Fabulous.”, he chuckled about his own remark and couldn’t believe he just said that. “Mhm, nonsense.”, Charlotte whispered. “Let him out.” She started to kiss him on the lips again and pushed his hand under the towel. He let her have the lead for a moment before he kissed her back eagerly. He nibbled on her lower lip, then deepened the kiss, his tongue demanding entrance. Until he ripped away the towel, grabbed both of her legs and lowered her on the table a few steps away. She laid back while he started to kiss her neck and moved on on to her shoulder and her breasts. He let his tongue flick over her hard and sensible nipple, a soft moan leaving her lips. Alan made his way down to her core, planting a kiss on her naked body every few inches. Charlotte shut her eyes until she felt his hot breath again her inner thigh and lady parts. She looked down and caught Alan’s eyes, which were staring intensely into hers. He kept watching her as his tongue slid against her fold and they hold eye contact as he buried his face between her legs. Charlotte bucked her hips when she felt his finger thrust inside her pussy, which was wet and dripping with their mixed juices. He added another finger and began curling them up so he could feel her warm walls. “You want me?”, Alan purred, “Yes, I do.”, Charlotte gasped. “I want you to say it.” “Mhm, I want you Alan, now. I want you to take me, please.” The trumpet player only grunted in response and quickly got rid of his trousers while Charlotte sat up and undid his shirt, running her hands over his chest. It was exactly like she imagined it. There was a bit of soft hair going down to his navel, broad and muscular shoulders and well defined pecs, he looked absolutely perfect. She hungrily looked at his length while giving it a few good pumps and strokes. He grabbed her cheek buts and positioned her in front of his throbbing cock, right at the edge of the table. The handsome musician crushed his lips on hers again, passionately, her arms encircling his neck and drawing him closer. In the heat he lined up his cock in front of her clit and pushed hard into her, catching Charlotte by surprise, causing her to whine. A deep moan left his mouth but he didn’t waste any time and started to thrust inside her. Holding her close, her ass in his hands he increased his tempo and Charlotte buried her head into shoulder. Both were a moaning mess and he could feel her walls clinching and become tighter around his thick cock, telling him she was close to climax. “Don’t come yet.”, he groaned, and grabbed one of her breasts, playing and pinching her nipples but Charlotte couldn’t hold it back anymore. “I-I can’t...”, she whined and her moans filled the air, they sounded heavenly to him, her walls pulsing because of the friction as she came hard on his cock. Coming down from her high, she tried to catch her breath “I’m so sorry.”, she panted. She quickly removed herself from his member and pushed him a few steps back to the chair, causing confusion in him. Her mouth met his dick, intending to finish him off orally. Charlotte ran her tongue along his shaft, then taking all of him into her mouth. She bobbed up her head up and down, swirling her tongue around his tip every time she went up. “Fuck.” he growled. “Wasn’t expecting this.” A little smirk escaping his lips. His moans became briefer and heavier as his cock twitched insider her mouth and he released his cum into her mouth. Charlotte eagerly swallowing his big load and licking off what was left on his length. “You’re amazing you know that?”, he smiled down at her and quickly pulled her up into his lap again and into a tight hug, planting soft kisses on her shoulder. He picked up the towel and put it around her gently. “You still up for breakfast?” “I need it now more than ever.”, he laughed and they both got dressed before heading into the kitchen.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

#Alan Rubin x Reader #Alan Rubin x fem!Reader #Blues Brothers #blues brothers fanfiction #blues brothers fandom #Alan Rubibn

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hungryflowers · 4 years ago

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Sensing Lamentation

Title: Sensing Lamentation

Rating: General Audience

Fandom/Continuity: Balan Wonderworld

Character Relationship(s): Leo Craig/Balan

Character(s): Leo, Balan, Past Character (Unnamed), Lance (Only Mentioned)

A/N: I’ve been in a funk for quite awhile, so I decided to do this to hopefully make me feel better. 2020 was a rough year and these last few days have torn out my soul. I want to write this as a small means of healing myself. Also, I’m a slight out of practice with my writing craft, so if any errors, I apologize.

Other: This isn’t a ship! Regardless of what the ‘Character Relationship’ part says, keep in mind that Leo is fifteen years old and Balan is potentially eldritch aged. He’s seen all sides of humanity, so he gets it. He’s not attracted to the boy, nor will I write him to be. Just putting that out there before y’all get to thinking that he a ‘cradle robber’ who lures in heartbroken kids.

He was more than content with sitting in the whist, luminescent room. Parchment on one end, tar-like ink on the other, the Maestro had made a day for himself to just... create. A tune swirled in his mind, the musings of the melody playing on repeat as he etched time out of his day to put it to paper. The endeavor was not a failed one, yet it hardly yielded the desired results. Feather to temple, Balan stretched his elongated back. Sunlight had eluded him in the short time he sat. Eyes glanced for the nearest time telling device in the room; eight forty-five. He had been at the same table, staying finicky over the same paper for the same tune for nearly four hours. Not a new reaction, yet he was normally more productive. Sighing, he adjusted his wide-brimmed top hat as he moved around to restock, stock, or keep tabs on anything necessary for anymore acts.

The little tims peeped and scuttle along, following the maestro as if he’d been a pied piper. Playful eyes shimmered with glee as he picked up the few that straddled his lanky legs. Placing them on a crate, he kept at his inventory. They still peeped and chimed, more frequent and annoyed.

“None of that...” A quiescent quip from the maestro had them calmed. It seemed that have to find another opportunity to have Balan’s attention.

In the after math of busying himself with caring for little things, the maestro had failed to notice, or hear the subtle steps of a child passing by. The shock of hearing another breathing individual was enough to make him pause. Standing to his full height Balan went around looking for the soul whom had trespassed without him acknowledgement. He was quite forthcoming with introductions or having someone speaking to him before departing. It was in good manner to appear respectful to those around you.

The steps he had neglected to hear before ventured up the stairs to the next floor. Which was quite odd, as only guests that Balan himself invited, or staff that convened there, were allowed upstairs. He had to rectify this immediately. Snooping was not tolerated under the maestro’s gaze. He kept his eyes on a sleeping chamber that was lit behind the sturdy mahogany door as he crept up the spiral staircase. On a normal day, he’d just float up and push open the door, however he still had enough respect to announce his presence before coming in.

Standing in front of the door, his hand went to jiggle the handle, only to stop at the softest sounds of what he knew as sorrow. Eyes widened, his hand came off the knob as if he had been burned by it. There was a little one... softly sobbing in the chambers. He fought against an unusual impulse to shove himself inside, yet the longer he listened, the harder it became to ignore. He reminded himself to adhere to the rules and guidelines he had made for himself and Lance: do not interfere unless the justification is absolute. For some unspoken reason he felt the need to disregard his rule this only time. And with that impactful instinct hammering into him, he gave in.

He knocked loud enough for the little soul to hear yet did not speak, waiting for someone to answer or reply. There was one solid minute without noise, the little one seeming to buck up after hearing the knock. When Balan knocked again, he earned a response, “Who is it? What do you want?”

Balan recognized the young man’s voice instantly. A shadow of sadness glazing his stare as he leant on the door a bit. What was making Leo so upset? Who could have caused such an unrest in the boy’s spirit?

“Leo... It’s Balan. May I come in?” He slid to his knees, in case the boy would open for him. After a moment, the heavy door slowly crept open, for Balan to view the young visitor’s face; that now appears wet from tears.

Instead of asking too many questions, Balan just slid a bit closer to Leo, arms stretched enough to reach but not touch. A simple gesture to show he’d be there for him.

Leo glanced at the gesture, measuring it to see what he’d want to do. His shoeless feet pawed the hardwood as he contemplated what he would do. He thought it would be best for the maestro to disregard the idea of comforting him. He’d remain a soldier fighting a battle on his own. Yet at the same time, he didn’t want that. And that juggle of care and carelessness caused more tears to well in his eyes before he opened his mouth. He barely caught a sniffle before he felt his feet leaving the floor. Blue eyes scanned his surroundings before he gauged that he was in Balan’s arms, embrace pulling him softly to his chest. Agony gripped the young boy as he sobbed into the maestro’s shoulder, tiny hands gripping him as if he’d disappear.

Balan remained on his knees as the boy broke down, sun-yellow eyes closing as he allowed him the ability to let go. To let it hurt... if only for a while. The boy continued to sob as he motioned to stand, going into the chambers as his hands patted Leo’s back, slowing going into his hair to bring him closer. That hymn, the song Balan could not put to sheet, or find the right words to, came back. Only this time, the humming bled into words,

“When there is light, a shadow appears the cause and effect, when life interferes the same rule applies to goodness and grief; for in our great sorrow, we learn what joy means,”

His little visitor opened his eyes in an attempt to look at Balan as he sang aloud. While he could see his smile, the wide brim of his hat obscured the rest of his face. He wanted to look at the maestro fully as he hummed the rest of the tune, rocking and hugging him as a mother would do for a babe.

The maestro himself continued to hum the melody while pressing in as close as allowed. Softening his grip, he brought the little one to look at him. And became overwhelmed with the glowing vision of the boy staring back at him. Trusting him in this way. Words were not required to be exchanged while the maestro strode slowly to the large bed to lay him down. While Leo calmed down, Balan brought a chair over to sit near the bed’s end.

“Leo, what troubles you little one? You can tell me. This place,” he moved his arms around the chambers, “is completely safe. Nothing leaves here. Your sacred words are for my ears only. Words that I will keep close to me. I promise.” He placed his immense hand on Leo’s shoulder as the boy relaxed into it. Taking a breath, he soothed over his raked nerves while he thought of the right thing to say. His chest appeared tighter than normal, fingers lacing together and fidgeting. In spite of his bravery to show his emotions to Balan, he still felt like a wounded, stubborn soldier; unable to admit that his wounds were draining him. His eyes strewn about the room instead of interacting with the tall, lanky figure.

Balan did nothing to prompt the boy to say anything quickly. No means to force him to confess to what was ailing him in this way without volition. So he waited. Patient and understanding. He’d talk when it is time. He watched him take a few short breaths then they locked eyes once more. The fragility was nearly enough to break the maestro’s heart.

“I...I was just really upset about someone I used to know. We were real close. I loved them... they were like a sibling to me,” Leo sniffled as he pulled his hair back, “But then I said something wrong... and so did they. And then we never saw each other again. I didn’t... mean what I said, but I-I was just so-”

“Angry,” Balan stated, “You lashed out at them and now you’re feeling extreme guilt for it.”

“I guess I’m madder at myself because I left without giving them a reason, but what could I say?,” The young teen looked at the bed sheets as he rubbed his nose, “Have you ever been in my situation before?” Leo inquired after a second of thought.

Balan blinked rapidly, the small smile he kept fading in surprise. It was an emboldened inquiry. Aureate eyes slid closed, reminiscing to the time he and Lance fell out. Harshly. Only, it was not Balan who attacked with scathing words. Nothing more could be said between as the maestro departed from the other with bolide of tears streaking the cosmos in his wake. Lance never created the courage to apologize for those words, no matter how many times Balan imagined that he would. It came as an acceptance of bad pride on both ends that kept the healing away from the two of them. Even if Balan was no longer in need of the healing. The words were said, there could be nothing in Wonderworld or in the actual world to change that.

“Yes... but it was at a time I no longer remember.” Balan did not meet Leo’s eyes this time. His words were satisfying enough for Leo but he knew there was more to the story.

“All I want to do is say sorry. But it’s too late.” The young boy put his head in his hands, a miserable whimper coming forth.

“Maybe... maybe not. Leo, I may not be able to give the proper answer about how you can ask for your friend’s forgiveness. However, I do know how you can forgive yourself. And that is to accept that friends can genuinely drift apart. Something in the relationship fissures and causes both of you to turn away from each other. You can accept the blame, Leo. That’s okay. But you shouldn’t be hurting yourself with that blame.” Balan’s gloved hand pressed to Leo’s cheek, making the teen look at him. The way that Balan smiled made Leo’s lip curl in sweet smile as well.

“Thank you... so much. I really needed to hear that. I just felt like it was all my fault.” He pressed himself into the gloved hand, warmth radiating off the limb.

“You’re most welcome, little one. And know that I’m here for you. With any insecurity, I’ll help you in the best way I can,” His head pressed to Leo’s, well not quite. The large hat obscuring leant on the boy’s forehead, which felt annoying for the point he was attempting to make. He half sighed and laughed before standing out of the chair.

“One thing. Remember when I said that sacred secrets do not leave this space?”Balan’s tone hinted at something yet Leo couldn’t find what about it, so instead he stiffly nodded, “Okay good. Because I have a very sacred secret to show you. Only you.” He cooed as his hands went to his hat, the article of fabric coming off his face and head with a slow tug. With a shake, jade colored dreads fell free, his gloved hands fluffing them as he pushed a threaded dread away from his forehead.

“There we go,” He stated mutely as he put the hat on a vanity in the corner, moving to sit back down in front of the awestruck child, “Yes I know. I’m so funny looking.” He grinned cheerily before setting his hands atop the bedsheets.

“No you’re not...”, Leo scooted closer to Balan, the maestro still grinning happily as he did, “You look so beautiful.” The teen breathed whimsically, as if entranced by the sight of him.

The grin was pulled off Balan’s face so quick, Leo felt as if he had offended him. Golden eyes flickering like candlelight in the lucent, yet dark room. For a fraction of a second, the world spun. He could see stars on the brim of his vision. After a great upheaval of air from his lungs, Balan came back.

“Beautiful...? No one’s ever called me that before.” He chuckled sheepishly as he smoothed over his dreads.

“But can I call you beautiful?” Leo became a bit shy, the poor boy looked as if he did something wrong.

“If that helps, then yes. You are more than welcome to call me ‘beautiful’, little one.” The maestro bowed in the chair gracefully. He smiled genuinely while he pulled little Leo in for a hug, the teen leaning into him as he pressed into his shoulder. As they parted, Balan found his moment to press his forehead against Leo’s. Their contact was electric, stunning but completely welcomed as Balan breathed him in softly. Leo reciprocated the gesture, his small hands wrapping around the maestro’s neck affectionately. Oceanic, hope-filled orbs blended with the sunset gold ones in perfection. They stayed like such for a while, neither coming up with any words to justify this moment between them had. When they had to pull apart, Balan was the one who leant forward, as if not wanting the contact to come to an end.

He gets up, still holding the teen, to lay him down on the large bed. Leo relaxes in the maestro’s embrace as he buries his face into his neck. Balan didn’t stop the sweet, light-hearted laugh that bubbled forth as he encompasses the boy, swaddling him in the warmth of his body. They exchange a final look before Leo yawns softly. His eyes, previously stricken with tears of grief, now sparkle with ebullience and peace.

The remainder of the night was of Balan holding the little one as if he were the only thing in the world, his world, to think of at that moment. Surrounded by a jubilant contentment, he lain himself bare in front of this particular visitor for the first time in ages. So long as it was with Leo, he’d do it again.

Over and over again.

#balan wonderworld #balan

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katehuntington · 4 years ago

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Title: In Bad Waters - part eleven Word count: ±4650 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part eleven summary: Now that Laura if after Zoë, the boys have to think fast in order to save her. Will they realize she’s in trouble? Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls! Gif isn’t mine. If you are the creator or know who made it, please tell me so I can credit you.

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

Stunned, Sam stares at the door of room seventeen. Dean walks down the hallway with his suit jacket hanging over his shoulder, not having noticed anything unusual. But when he doesn’t hear his brother’s footsteps in his wake, he turns around. “Comin’ or what?” Sam places his hand flat on the door, trying to detect any sign of movement on the other side. He feels like something is off, and shifts his gaze to his brother. “The door just slammed in my face.” “It’s Zoë; what did you expect?” Dean returns, being smart. The younger Winchester isn’t convinced, however, and he pounds on the wooden surface. “Zo?!”

But the huntress doesn’t hear him. She seems isolated, as if the grand hotel room is soundproof. The wall lights flicker, buzzing as they do, the designer lamp in the corner doing the same. Every hair on the back of her neck elevates, both from anticipation and the freezing temperature, which causes her exhaled breaths to float in the air like miniature clouds.

Zoë swallows apprehensively, her gaze frantically darting across the room for anything she can defend herself with, while the disturbing image of Laura stares up at the only living being in the room. The little girl’s neck is clearly broken, her head oddly tilted to the right. Skin so pale it hints to a shade of blue, black bruises noticeable on her arms, legs and cheek as well. Laura glares at her next victim, her eyes hidden in the infinite darkness of her sockets. Water drips on the ground from the edges of her dress and soaked through hair, leaving puddles on the floor. The constant drip mixes with the sound of static from the television and the running water in the shower.

Slowly, Zoë backs out. “You don’t want to do this, Laura.” “Or what? You will kill me?” she returns, way too clever for her age. Little smartass, Zoë can’t help but to think. The huntress is the one who needs to start with the smart talk, though. It might be her only way out of this clusterfuck. She needs to distract the ghost, and pray to the God she doesn’t believe in to make it out of this predicament.

“Why are you doing this?” Zoë asks, as calmly as she can muster. “They didn’t stop it,” Laura says, anger causing her voice to tremble. “They all knew, but they didn’t stop it.” “Why are you haunting me then?”

Carefully, Zoë glances aside from the corner of her eye, at the backpack on top of the drawer. She knows it contains a bag of salt and it might just be her only way of saving herself, or at least stall long enough for her hunting partners to realize something is wrong. She could use a Winchester shotgun right about now. That rock salt shooting two barrel would be handy. Laura’s response triggers her to snap her gaze back at the ghost.

“I’m haunting you, because you are trying to stop me. You didn’t want me to kill Mrs. Dawlson.” Zoë backs out further until she feels the drawer against her spine. While talking, one hand noticeably tries to find the bag of salt in the backpack. “Mrs. Dawlson was a good person, with a family. Now I know how you feel about the person who did this to you--” “- Yes, you do know how I feel. Don’t you, Miss Sullivan?” The spirit turns her head in an abnormal angle, the bones in her neck snapping. “You know how hating someone for what they did to you feels like. That’s why you became what you are.”

Startled, Zoë stares at the little ghost. How the hell does she know all this? Is she playing mind games here? It’s scary how Laura stays so well mannered, and Zoë has trouble looking her in the eye any longer. “I know what your father did to you was cruel and unforgivable, but this isn’t you, Laura. You need to let go,” Zoë tells her. “I can’t. You understand that. You can’t let go either. Someone hurt you, Miss Sullivan. It didn’t just happen, he knew and still didn't help you. Don’t you want to kill him?” Laura pressures. “Oh, I do,” the huntress replies honestly. “But grown ups realize what consequences there are to murder.”

In a blink of an eye, Zoë throws a hand of salt at Laura’s face, which causes her to scream and flicker on and off, but only for a moment. Zoë hastes for the door and turns the doorknob, but Laura still has control over the environment and the barrier between her and the Winchesters stays shut. Sensing her presence, the huntress turns around and sees Laura coming at her rapidly, as if she’s watching a video on fast forward. Right under her nose, the child stops and stares up at her angrily. “That wasn’t very nice,” she hisses.

Suddenly, Zoë feels herself being lifted off the ground, as light as a feather. There is nothing delightful about it, though, because a second later, she smashes into the wall on the other side of the room. “That made me feel angry,” Laura continues, her chin propped down as she gazes at her next victim from under her brow.

Zoë struggles up, but before she can make an attempt to flee, Laura makes a sideways gesture with her hand, sending her victim flying. With a loud bang, she collides with the hard wall on the other side of the suite, the plaster crumbling as she lands on the drawer which breaks through its leg, causing the huntress to glide off the surface and fall down on the floor. Dizzy, she recovers as she feels blood dripping down her cheek, coming from a laceration above her temple. As soon as the black spots disappear from her vision, she glances back up at the disturbing young girl. She points her little finger at her, as Zoë starts to feel an increasing pain in her chest. “Now I’m going to kill you, nice and slow. Just like Daddy killed me,” Laura sing songs eerily. Frightened, Zoë stares at the girl. Before she can blink, the ghost has a death grip on her neck and works her against the wall.

Her efforts to escape have been hopeless so far and with no weapon to defend herself with, the odds are not in her favor. She tries to back out further, but unfortunately she can’t move through walls just yet. It doesn't happen often, but the huntress is in deep trouble. Images of the murder scenes of Laura’s previous victims flash before her eyes; she might end up just like them. In one last desperate attempt to get out of this situation, she closes her eyes, trying to calm herself. In a split second, she pictures Sam Winchester and concentrates. Then she cries out his name.

“SAM!!!”

“Did you hear that?”, Sam asks, alerted on the other side of the door. Dean walks up to him and listens carefully. “Hear what?”

“SAM!!! Get me out!!!”

“There! You heard that, right?” Stunned he stares at the door, then he hits it with his shoulder. “Zoë!!” “I didn’t hear anything. Did you eat mushrooms for lunch or something?” Dean questions, confused. “Dean, you have to trust me! Laura is in there!” Sam cries out.

Without pausing, his younger brother tries to bust the door with a kick, but the lock will not budge. For a split second Dean watches his brother, who keeps going at the varnished wood with everything he’s got. Apparently, he’s not kidding and it puts Dean in hunter mode instantly. It’s not even instinct, more of a reflex. He would follow his brother blindly, he trusts him without a single doubt in his mind. “What is going on here!”, a member of staff shouts at them from the end of the hallway. “Call 911, now!” Dean turns to him and starts running down the corridor. “Where are you going?!” Sam glances aside, out of breath. “I’m gonna try from the outside! Keep going!” Dean commands before he rushes around the corner.

As fast as he can, Dean sprints back to the main hall of the Hampton Inn. While bolting down the stairs to the first floor, he searches for the car keys in his pocket. Very well aware that every second counts, he crosses the lobby towards the parking lot. Quickly, the hunter opens the trunk of his Chevrolet and takes out a shotgun, loading it skillfully. He doesn’t go back inside, instead the hunter runs down the hotel complex, counting the room windows as he passes them.

For once, the universe is helping him, because under Zoë’s suite a van of maintenance crew is parked on the sidewalk. Agile, Dean hoists himself up by the mirror with one hand, climbing onto the roof of the vehicle. Inside, the child ghost has her hands around Zoë’s neck and forces her all the way up to the ceiling, the huntress’ body slack. Laura is about to snap her neck, but then Dean catches her attention. The spirit tilts her head slowly and looks Dean in the eye, then she opens her mouth further than anatomically possible as her eyes sink back in the back of her head.

Knowing no fear for the entity, Dean aims and releases the slug filled with rock salt. It shatters the glass instantly and flies straight through the ghost’s head. As sudden as she appeared, Laura evaporated into thin air with a scream. Zoë collapses down the wall as Sam busts in right at the same time, the vicious spirit no longer locking him out. He stares at his brother through the broken window for a split second and then notices Zoë on the floor, just a heap of fragility. “Zo!” Sam rushes to her and kneels down. Carefully, he cups her face with both hands and taps her on the cheek gently, after which she slowly comes to, coughing. The hunter breathes out, relieved when she opens her eyes. A groan escapes from her lips and she squints as the pain dawns on her. She leans against the wall, out of breath and clearly experiencing discomfort. Blood runs down her neck from a wound on her head, her nose is also bleeding. Several cuts are spread out over her arms and face; she’s a mess.

No wonder, because when Dean steps through the window, he notices that the entire suite is trashed. The table has shattered somewhere during the struggle, glass is scattered everywhere. The couch has toppled over on its back, the TV ripped from the wall and the screen distorted. He crouches down next to the wounded woman, who clamps her hand at her side and takes a careful breath, which obviously hurts her.

“Hey, take it easy.” He puts his hand on her shoulder as she rests her head against the wall again, biting back the pain. “I think I cracked some ribs,” Zoë moans. “What else hurts?” Sam carefully sweeps away her dark hair to reveal the bleeding cut underneath. “The better question is; what doesn’t?” she comments, as she closes her eyes for a second. “That little fucking brat...” “Cursing and angry already. You’re gonna be fine, I see,” Dean jokes, lighting the mood.

Zoë looks up at him, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. He might say so, but she doesn’t feel so good. Carefully she touches her nose, from which blood still drips to her lips and down her chin. “Broke it?” Dean checks. “I don’t think so.” She sniffs. “I swear, if she kills me, I’ll haunt her sorry ass, ten years old or not.” Dean grins at that comment and looks away, but Sam isn’t set at ease yet. “Where’s that ambulance?” he asks his brother. “Ambulance?” Zoë repeats, annoyed. “Yeah, you know. One of those minivans who hurry injured people like you to a hospital,” Dean nags. The huntress glares at him and then turns back at Sam. “I don’t need no ambulance.” “Nope, you’re absolutely fine. You don’t need our help either,” Dean rubs in with a sarcastic tone. “Shut up,” she mutters.

The oldest of the brothers rights himself, smiling victoriously, because for once the huntress doesn’t have a comeback ready. He moves to the doorway to meet the authorities, sirens already blaring in the distance. As soon as Dean is out of sight, Sam cocks his head at Zoë, astonished, his eyes piercingly demanding answers. “I heard you,” he whispers. “I figured,” Zoë responds, carefully removing the blood from her upper lip. “No, I mean...” He pauses and glares over his shoulder to make sure Dean is really gone. “I heard you in my head. How the hell did you do that?”

Zoë glances at the young hunter. It’s clear as day that he’s intimidated by this bizarre turn of events. Honestly, she was just as surprised when she felt Laura’s grip on her loosen. Why she did it? Instinct perhaps. It was her last attempt to connect with anyone outside this room. How she did it? She’s still trying to wrap her head around that one. “I don't know, I just…” She presses her palm against her forehead, this headache is killing her. “That bad, huh?” Sam sighs sympathetically. “Dude, I feel like I’ve been used as a boxing bag.” She pulls back her hand and is unpleasantly surprised by the crimson on her fingertips.

Sam cannot stop worrying, she can see it. Not just about her, but about this telepathic intermezzo they had just a few minutes ago. “It’s probably nothing, Sam. We’re both sensitive to this psychic stuff. It’s no big deal,” she tries to comfort. But the concerns don’t wear off. Not that he can ponder on it for long, though, because a moment later, paramedics rush in.

Some time later, Zoë is uncomfortably sitting in the back of the ambulance. The police have also arrived; several cars are parked on the sidewalk. Officers and forensics are examining the crime scene for traces of the assaulter, which of course, they will never find. The paramedics took care of her head wound and several other minor injuries the huntress suffered. Her face feels like Mohammed Ali himself threw a few punches at her, and to top it all, Detective Lee is standing right in front of her for the third time this day.

“Are you sure you didn’t see anything?” Lee checks, after he wrote something down in his notebook. “Not a thing. It attacked me from behind and knocked me unconscious,” she lies, without batting an eye. “It?” The officer looks up at her, a bit indignant by her choice of words. “You know, he, she, whatever,” Zoë mutters, pretending to be casual. Lee watches her for a moment and puts away his notebook. “Off the record,” he starts. “Do we need to put a lot of effort in this case or can I tell my sheriff that the FBI is taking over?”

A little surprised by the new direction of the detective, she looks back up into his eyes, then chuckles. He has a point; right now they are busy questioning each other instead of actually solving the case. They are working the same terrain here and neither of them are helped by that matter. “I’ll spare you some trouble. We’ll take over,” Zoë states. He nods as a sign of agreement, realizing that this is probably for the best. They have no sense of direction on this bizarre case and every lead they do have runs directly towards a dead end. The FBI has more experience with this kind of abnormal. “We’ll be at your service if needed. I hope you’ll catch our killer, this town can’t afford more crimes like these,” the officer ponders. “Neither can I,” Zoë half jokes with a huff, rubbing at the dried up blood on her chin, which is starting to itch. “Good luck,” he wishes her. “We’ll keep in touch.”

Zoë watches him head back for his car as he gestures to his partner to follow him, who was asking Dean some questions. After all, he did demolish a hotel window with a shotgun, but it seems like he’s cutting him some slack. Good for him, because even though she doesn’t like the idea, he did save her ass.

The oldest of the Winchester boys remains standing on the sidewalk. He takes a moment as he looks around. The PPD start to gather their belongings and the first police car leaves the scene. Sam is in the room, looking for leads. Then Dean spots Zoë inside the ambulance and saunters over. “Hate those damn interrogations,” he mumbles as he leans against the left door of the van. “Right there with ya, but they won’t bother us anymore,” she states. “Good riddance,” he comments as he watches the cars leave, then he turns to Zoë, observing her for a moment. “How do you feel?” “I got my ass kicked by a ten year old. How do you think I feel?” she returns snarky.

Dean nods in agreement, being able to imagine that, a smirk adorning his features. “At least you didn’t get killed,” he argues. “You’re the first to survive an attack like that.” “True enough,” Zoë agrees.

Silence follows, the huntress taking the opportunity to take in the guy in his mid twenties. The suit he’s still wearing looks good on him. At first sight you would think he’s comfortable in one, but the loosened tie gives him away. The warmth of midday plus the action, caused beads of sweat to form a trail along his hairline, his skin shimmers. His strong features stand out against the blue sky. With his lips slightly purged, he watches the scene, the sun catching the apple green of his irises. Zoë might not be able to stand the older Winchester brother, but he certainly is handsome.

She isn’t the type of person to apologize, but does realize that his quick thinking saved her life. Strangely enough, that never happened to her before. She never needed to be saved, she was always able to take care of herself. Or is it that there never was anyone there to save her, and she had a little luck with getting out of sticky situations?

“Hey, Dean?” She hesitates. He turns his head to face her, waiting for what she was about to say. “I just wanna say, uh...” she speaks with difficulty. “You kinda saved my ass out there, so--” “Don’t mention it,” he responds before she finishes her sentence.

Dean watches her and smiles slightly when she averts her gaze. Seems like she might start to realize that she can’t always make it on her own. He relieves her from the confronting words, though, he knows it’s difficult to say them out loud.

As the huntress slips off the gurney, she flinches and puts her arm around her side when her ribs ache. Dean tries to make eye contact. “Sure you can hunt like this?” “Of course I can. I had worse,” she snaps, the peaceful moment gone in an instance. Dean shows his hand in innocence, burying the other in his pocket. “Just askin’.”

At that moment, Sam walks up to them, hopefully with some new information. His identification hangs from his neck, so that the police still at the scene know who he pretends to be without asking. “Smart move, Zo,” he compliments, crumbling salt between his finger and thumb. “Where did you find that?” Dean asks, curiously. “On the windowsill. I always salt every entrance of a place where I dare to close my eyes”, Zoë explains before Sam can. “No idea how she got inside in the first place, though.” “She could have come in through the vents,” Sam considers. “I’ll just sleep in a circle of salt next time then,” the huntress mutters. “What did you find?” “Nothing. Same situation as the other three incidents, only you survived.” Sam claims. “I keep wondering, though; how is she able to relocate? I’ve never seen a ghost jump houses like that before, unless they are tied to an object, but you didn’t bring back anything from the crime scene, did you?” Zoë shakes her head. “No, I didn’t. The only explanation I can think of is that she latches onto the person who was there when she manifests, but even that doesn’t add up. “Did Laura say anything?” Dean wonders.

The huntress breaks eye contact with the older Winchester brother. Oh, Laura said something, alright. Something she will not forget anytime soon. Ghosts have the ability to see right through people, sometimes even read their thoughts and memories. The deepest secrets aren’t safe when the afterlife sets in. It scares her that Laura knows about her, about the demon. About John.

“She mentioned something,” she brings up, leaving the personal stuff out. “She kept saying ��they didn’t stop it’.” “I heard her say that too,” Sam admits. “In your vision?” Dean checks. Sam confirms with a nod and turns back to Zoë. “Did you see anything else?” Sam questions.

The young woman looks away while she ponders. What other details could be of importance? By replaying the moment in her head, she tries to remember every particular detail. “Her hair was drenched,” she recalls with closed eyes. “Water was dripping on the floor. She was wet through.” Both boys frown at that. How does that fit their theories? “That doesn’t make any sense,” Dean comments. “Ghosts look like that when they went for a swim and didn’t come back up, not when they got killed in a beating. Water had nothing to do with her death, she broke her neck.” “I know, another clue of which we have no idea of what the hell it means,” Zoë sighs.

All three fall quiet, trying to figure out what they are missing. Before they can brainstorm further, one of the two paramedics approaches them. The hunters keep their mouths shut when he gets close enough to pick up on any conversation, careful not to talk about the supernatural when unknowing people are around. “Mrs. Evans? I’m afraid we have to take you to the St. Bernards Medical Center in Jonesboro,” he tells her. “What? Why? The AMMC is right around the corner,” Sam jumps in before Zoë refuses to go to any hospital at all. “The ER has been closed down, Sir,” the paramedic answers politely. “For what?” Dean likes to know.

Then two police cars rush by. A bit startled, Zoë glances around the van to see what’s going on, as another car stops. She’s surprised to see that Detective Lee rolls down his window. “Federal agents,” he greets them with a nod. “We have another one at the Medical Center.” Their eyes widen and Zoë’s jaw drops. Another one? How did that happen so fast? Dean is the first to recover from the unexpected news. “We’ll be right there,” he states.

Lee rolls up his window and accelerates. Sirens scream through the street as they drive up the road. The hunters watch the convoy take off, still taken aback. They don’t need a name, they already know who Laura killed. “Hughes,” Dean knows. “Yep,” Zoë sighs and gets on her feet. “Mrs. Evans,” the paramedic objects. “I don’t need to go to hospital. I’m fine, thank you,” Zoë ensures. The first responder insists, however. “I really recommend you to come with us.” “I’ll sign the AMA, thank you,” she returns, her tone stern yet polite. “We’ll take care of her,” Dean backs her up

Sam eyes him, unpleasantly surprised; how could he agree with that? She almost got killed by a ghost, broke her ribs and now she doesn’t even want to be checked out? When he gets a warning glare from both his brother and the huntress when he is about to object, he closes his mouth again. What’s the use anyway. They are both stubborn as hell.

Moments later, the paramedic returns with the Deny Medical Treatment form, which Zoë signs under her false name. Leaving the paramedics behind, she shuffles across the parking lot of the Hampton Inn, reluctantly accepting a supporting shoulder to lean on offered by Sam when he detects she’s still feeling dizzy. “You’re nuts, you know that?” Sam scoffs. “Completely aware,” she answers, this not being the first time someone calls her crazy. “You’re not alright, Zo,” Sam presses. “You’re talking like I’m halfway dead!” she cries out. “Well, you came pretty damn close!” he snaps. “Dude, chill. I know you’re worried about your little girlfriend here, but she has to stay with us,” Dean brings to mind as they reach his Chevrolet. “Excuse me, dickhead, but I’m not little and I’m certainly not his girlfriend,” Zoë corrects, offended.

Before he can respond, Sam also objects. “Why does she have to stay with us?” “Because if she doesn’t, she’ll be alone and Laura will attack her again. We’re not leaving her out of our sight.” Dean opens the door to the backseat of his precious Impala and makes a gesture to Zoë. “Get in.” he orders. “What, in that?” Zoë chuckles as she glares at Dean’s baby inferiorly, letting go of Sam to stand on her own feet. “No thanks, I’ll take the Dave.” “You’re not getting on a bike,” Dean makes clear before she intends to head over to her black roadrunner, irritated by her tone. “It’s not a bike, it’s a Harley Davidson Road King,” she corrects snobby. “If I ride, I ride my Dave, no way you’ll get me in that car.” “That car is a ’67 Chevrolet Impala”, he counters, his face contorting after her insult. How dare she? Zoë pretends the older Winchester brother is non-existent and walks on, while Sam laughs silently as Dean grinds his teeth and watches her leave. “Wipe that damn smile off your face and get in,” the oldest orders his brother.

Sam doesn’t stop smiling, but he does get into the classic as Dean settles in the driver’s seat. Frustrated, Dean starts the engine and roughly drives up to Zoë, then he brings his car to a stop between her and her motorcycle. By this time he has already rolled down his window and now stares up into Zoë’s dark eyes.

“You know just as well as I do that riding that Harley in your condition would be close to suicide. Quit being so fucking stubborn and get in the fucking car!” he commands. They stare at each other, their eyes battling in silence. Huffing in disbelief, she averts her gaze, shaking her head as she attempts to tame her anger. How dare he speak to her like that? “Zo, c’mon. We just want you to be safe,” Sam offers, taking a more gentle approach.

The huntress shifts her focus to the youngest brother, his warm eyes begging her to just get in and stop acting tough. Of course she knows it wouldn’t be an easy ride on her bike and that being driven in a car is far more responsible than riding down the highway herself on a two-wheel vehicle. It’s admitting this to Dean that she detests. Nevertheless, Zoë lets out a sigh, thick with annoyance. Reluctantly, she reaches for the door-latch, but she’s not willing to give in without having the last word. “I thought you said it was a ’67 Chevrolet Impala,” she recalls, using air quotes, as she sits down in the back seat.

Dean rolls his eyes, ignores her comment with difficulty, biting the inside of his cheek to distract himself. As she slams the door, he accelerates. While they exit the parking lot of the Hampton Inn, Dean once again realizes how badly he wants this case to be over, because if Laura does not succeed, he would like to break Zoë’s little neck himself.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read chapter twelve here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Supernatural fanfiction #Dean fanfiction #Sam fanfiction #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester fanfiction #Dean Winchester #sam winchester #supernatural #SPN #Dean x OFC #Sam x OFC #Dean angst #sam angst #Dark!Supernatural

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candychronicles · 4 years ago

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it’s just me // r. tanaka

A/N: this is my sfw piece for the HQHQ discord secret santa for @ryunosukescutiepie ! hope you enjoy!

CHARACTER PAIRING: Tanaka Ryuunosuke x Reader

WORD COUNT: 1,649

WARNINGS: just pure fluff

SYNOPSIS: what’s supposed to be a lazy day in bed turns out to be so much more.

the morning started out like any other-Tanaka got up early, placed a gentle kiss on your head and made his way to the door, dressed and ready for the day. he wasn’t always a morning person and you often had to wake him up when you first met him in that measly college dorm. a lot had changed since you first laid eyes on the hot headed bald guy with the biggest heart you had ever seen, but what never changed was his pure love for you.

once he graduated with his degree in exercise science and started working as a personal trainer, he got better at getting up earlier and earlier, so early that he now needed to start being quiet so that he wouldn’t wake you up in the morning, not that you truly minded, for any time with your love was time well spent, but sleeping in was really nice too.

when he had finally left and you slowly stretched the sleep from your body, you engaged in your own morning routine, cleaning here and there, taking a nice long shower and pampering yourself with a face mask. since it was your day off and Tanaka had what you presumed was a busy day of training and working on his own goals, you planned to spend your time relaxing, maybe reading a good book, maybe napping the day away, maybe finally going through your closet of clothes that was desperately needing cleaned out, but he had other plans.

babe, sent you some money, go get your nails done for me, yeah? treat yourself on your day off :)

you read the text with a small smile, not minding your lazy plans being ruined at all as you quickly hopped up from your bed to get ready for the day, clapping in excitement. it all became a bit of a blur as you rushed around the house, grabbing shoes, your purse, chapstick, sunglasses, anything you could think of that you might need on your trip out. only once were you satisfied did you finally leave, locking the door behind you as you practically skipped your way to the car, humming to your own tune.

the nail salon had your name down already so you didn’t have to wait as they ushered you into a comfy chair, chatting with you about how lovely it was to have such a good man in your life and how lucky you were to find someone so willing to do sweet things like this for you. you blushed and gushed your way through the story of love, talking about the first time he met you and practically ran you over trying to say hi to the time he first told you he liked you, practically screaming it in your face as he was too nervous to be coy about the whole situation. each and every moment you had relived in your head brought you more and more aware to the fact that you were madly and deeply in love with Tanaka Ryuunosuke and there was nothing you could do about it.

after a fresh set of lilac and periwinkle nails, it was off to a boutique store you frequented, Tanaka claiming he had purchased something for you there that he wanted you to pick up to wear to a date tonight. you weren’t sure where the spontaneity came from but you weren’t going to complain as you made your way into the shop, waving hi to the cashier and picking up your item, a stunning yet simple gold dress made with pinched fabric and a soft satin finish.

it was already almost dinner by the time you finished getting ready, hair set in loose curls, a pretty blush across your face, not only from the makeup but also from the warm giddy feeling that spread from the tips of your toes to across your nose. you had not felt this nervous to see your boyfriend in a long time, preferring to spend your evenings relaxing on the couch, pigging on take out and snuggling in the bed over anything, but this was special and completely out of the blue. you again, weren’t complaining that your relaxing day was getting turned over, but it still made you confused for what prompted such a grandeur adventure.

Tanaka had sent you directions to a quaint restaurant that you two frequented often, saying he had rented out the back gazebo for a private night of wine and dine. your mouth curled up into a smile once again as you had read his text, excited for the night and what was to come as you made your way once again to the car, this time more slow and relaxed as you focused on your breathing and not tripping in your heels.

the gazebo was beautifully lit with twinkling golden lights that matched the color of your dress, flowers blooming in the grass around the enclosure, roses set in an elegant bouquet off to the side of the table and your handsome lover clean shaven and donned in a tux. you chuckled to yourself as you watched him shoot up from the table, clearly just as nervous as you, before he rushed to your side, babbling about how beautiful you were.

“Ryu, it’s just me, yeah?” you soothed, watching him catch his breath, a blush scorched across his skin.

“feeling better?”

when he nodded, you reached forward to place a chaste kiss against his lips, grinning against the kiss as he practically melted in your touch.

he gently guided you to the table, pulled your chair out and scooted you in before rushing to the other side, smiling from ear to ear as he stared at you.

“thanks for coming baby. i-uh, i know this was very last minute but you know i’m spontaneous with my plans sometimes and i just wanted to treat you to a nice dinner so here we are.”

“thank you my love, it’s been a really good day so far. i was surprised and a bit nervous to be honest, but i’m just excited to be able to spend this time with you,” you confessed, twiddling your thumbs under the table to hide your anxiety.

“it’s just me, remember? nothing to be nervous about, at least i hope,” he joked, leaning back against his chair with his own cheeky grin plastered to his face.

the rest of the night went relaxingly, soft music playing from the speakers above, the twinkling lights adding a calm ambience to the scene. food was served hot and fresh, the wine kept flowing and soon you two were just a bit tipsy, not enough to make fools out of yourself but enough that you two felt at ease once more, eased enough that Tanaka felt his confidence flow back into him once again.

“hey, uh, would you stand up? maybe we can dance? i think this is our song.”

you quieted down and perked up, straining to hear the music before you beamed in excitement at recognizing the sweet melody. quickly, you stood up, wobbling on your feet from not only the wine but the heels as well, but Tanaka, steady as ever, grabbed your torso, giving you some purchase in the topsy turvy world.

“you’re always my knight in shining armour, huh?”

“i’m here to save the day, whenever you may need it!” he exclaimed, letting go to give you a thumbs up before placing his hands correctly, one on your waist, the other grasping your own hand to start a gentle sway with you.

you two stood, head against his chest, heartbeat and song blending into one, for what seemed like hours as the song faded away and he pushed you off, just in the slightest. you stared at him in confusion for only a moment before your hands flew to your mouth and tears began glistening in your eyes.

there he kneeled, ring sparkling in the glittery lights, hands outstretched as he looked you square in the eyes, no fear or hesitation to be found.

“i have loved you since the day i first ran into you, and since then, we’ve been running into things head on together. you may think i’m your knight in shining armour but you’re my rock, my home, the person i can go to when nothing in this world seems right because you can and will always keep my safe. i know i can be reckless and people still see me as a punk but you’ve stuck by my side without a single complaint, cleaning me up whenever i get into a mess and setting me straight, forgiving as always. i wish there was more i could say or do to prove that i will always love you, but this is the best i could come up with. so, will you marry me?”

before you had a chance to register what you were doing, you threw yourself down and against him, crying into his arms, telling him ‘yes’ over and over again. he immediately reciprocated, kissing your temple and cradling you, telling you how much he loves you before shakily pulling you back to put the ring on your finger.

“as your knight in shining armour, i promise to protect you from all evil, no matter how big or small.”

“as your rock, i promise to keep you grounded, through thick and thin.”

“does that mean we’re married now?” he asked, grinning from ear to ear.

“not yet, we’ve got to do the whole wedding thing first, Ryu.”

“right, well, lets get on that then! i don’t think i can spend another day not being your husband. what about tomorrow?”

you laughed at his enthusiasm, tears streaming down your face, but as you stared at his own, you realized you didn’t want to spend another day not being his wife either.

#tanaka x reader #tanaka ryuunosuke #tanaka ryunosuke #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu

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neoniverse · 5 years ago

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heal me. | chapter iv

disclaimer: this series is a work of fiction. any businesses, events or incidents are products of my wide imagination. all of the character’s personality does not reflect and has nothing to do in real life.

warnings: smut, angst, usage of strong language, mild violence, mentions of death, alcohol & drugs, degradation, cheating issues and lots of flashbacks

pairings: jung jaehyun x reader

a/n: read at your own risk. unedited.

song association: blinding lights - the weeknd

« CHAPTER III

“I loved you once

and now I must spend

my whole life explaining why.”

"Stop staring at me."

Jaehyun glances at you after noticing that you have been staring for the whole five minutes of him working over something. You watched his veiny hands flip each page of the paper he was holding before jotting down his signature with black ink.

He stopped for a moment and looked at you with his thin gold-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

"Baby, I'm telling you. Don't provoke me."

"What? Did I do something wrong?" then purposely nudged the pencil holder near him. "Oh, right. Maybe I did."

You immediately kneeled down to pick the pencils up, arching your back more; enough for him to see your ass. Just as you were about to stand up, he suddenly lifted up your body and placed you on top of the desk.

"Jaehyun, what the he—" he shut you up with his index finger pressed to your lips and eyed you down with menacing look.

"Bend over," he orders. "Raise that skirt."

You do exactly what he said and faced the large space of his office while biting your lips as nervousness and excitement build upon your body. The trepidatious heat you're feeling is imparable; knowing that someone might widely open that door and see you both in that very sexual and unusual scene.

He slowly trailed up his cold fingers from the back of your knees to the exposed cheeks of your ass. With no words said, his hand harshly landed to your skin.

"I already told you to stop, didn't I? Why defy me?" he leans closer to your ear. "Use that pretty mouth of yours and answer me."

You shook your head sideways and pursued your lips to remain silent. The raging heat of your body weakened your knees as Jaehyun continued leaning closer. You felt his bulge growing behind you.

"My very own naughty dirty girl. You really, really like seeking attention, aren't you? Just because you know I am capable of doing this?"

"Jae, please."

"Why defy me, baby?"

"I did— I didn't!"

"Mhm, sure. I really don't care."

He pulled your black laced panties down and pushed the hem of the beige skirt to your waist. He even did your hair into a ponytail to pull. "Safe word?"

"Red, sir."

"Alright. Count my thrusts and if you get one wrong, I will absolutely sure you’re limping on your way out, whore."

He pulled you closer to him and positioned his member right to your area. He didn't wait for you to speak as he already get a hold of your waist and hair then pushed his fully erected member inside your wet pussy.

"Oh—holy fuck."

"What did I say? Count."

"O-one."

The whole room was filled with gradually speeding sounds of two bodies skin colliding. His hips harshly slamming against your ass made you release loud whimpers. The unholy grating and roughness of his movements by senselessly fucking you behind diminished your grasp to the table.

"Ah, shit, yes."

"Yeah? Like that?" he whispers to your ear then licked your jawline. "Such a big slut, are we? Your tight and wet pussy take my fucking cock so well."

You were on the peak of climax when you woke up to sense sound of a loud clap in front of your face. Everyone was looking at you, especially Johnny who gave you a what-is-happening-to-you look.

"Earth to Y/N. It's supposed to be a fun and special night yet you're spacing out?" Johnny utters before handing a bottle of cold beer. I massaged my temples as this is the fifth time of zoning out and thinking of things that I left buried in the past.

“Happy birthday, Y/N!"

It has been exactly five days ever since I moved out from the project for Neocity Incorporation. I didn’t want to settle in that decision but what are the odds anyway? He wanted me out of his sight just like how he wanted me before; to love and heal him.

You celebrated your not-so-fun birthday in your condominium unit with Johnny, Rosé, and Seolhee. Taeyong was also supposed to be there but he said he’s not available for he’s busy about something important. But he didn't just left you in the air like that for he dropped by earlier to give his very special and extravagant gift to you.

“Come on, just at least have fun,” Rosé spoke while munching on her fried chicken. “And the food tastes so damn good!”

“Rosie, that’s because you’re already finishing the box all by yourself.” Seolhee replies. Rosé gave her a deadly glare before taking another bite to the drumstick she's holding.

I trickled off the rivulet of cold beer on my throat before going out to the balcony to breathe in fresh air. As soon as the sliding door opened, cold breeze of wind embraced my body; making me cross my arms over my chest. I walked towards the metal handrail and placed my arms above it. Then wandered my eyes to the marvelous view. The skycrapers, busy highways of Seoul, and the gradient dark blue to black color sky of shining stars lured my despondent soul in.

I started tearing up as my heart felt a striding thump. "Oh, god. Why am I crying," I let out a small chuckle and wiped the tears that fell down my cheeks and from escaping my eyes.

"You're such a crybaby, just so you know."

The taunting dominant voice from my back halted me from moving. As I turn around, I saw him there, standing before me with a bottle of beer on his right hand. My breath hitched when his chocolate eyes meet mine, especially when that playful smirk is plastered on his lips.

"What are you doing here?" I shot back, giving emphasis to 'you'.

He walked towards my place and stood beside me as if he doesn't feel any tension between us. I rolled my eyes in annoyance. "You told me to stay away, now you're here to mess things up."

"I don't think I should even explain myself, Y/N."

What?

I let out a sarcastic scoff. "Wow, Mr. Jung. Did I step on your ego?" Jaehyun just looked at me as if trying to read me and my feelings. "I just wanted to say sorry, okay? I was intoxicated by alcohol that night."

"You feel sorry for being what, an asshole?” I ask, only to see his smile fade. “Where do you put alcohol, anyway? Down your annoying ass?"

That's for you, fucking jerk.

He chugged down the beer and slumped himself on the floor, his back leaning on the glass pane. I hate him. I really hate his guts. He’s arrogant, who act like my fucking boss, and act like he knows shit.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Jaehyun spoke. Sadness poisons his voice. “I mean it. Truly.”

I remained my eyes down at him, his chocolate like eyes gleam but sad. Is it bad if I feel remorseful? Even for once? I open my mouth to answer him, but nothing comes out. My anger and hate for him is tempered by coldness. I turn around to leave him alone but a warm embrace halted and encaged my body in.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, too low to hear. Something jostles my arms. “For what I did. I’m sorry. I know it’s not that easy to forgive but atleast let me prove myself to you—again.” His voice almost breaks.

With all my might and can, I detached his grip to mine. You are only apologetic whenever you feel like to do so.

“If you're sorry, you should’ve leave me alone,” I stare at him. “What does it feel like to be pushed away? You— you always confuse me.”

The thing with love is, no matter how hard you try to save and fix it, no matter how the two of you sacrifice, it always, in the end, becomes too much. Jaehyun and you was like two shadows playing with fire. No one was capable of winning, no one was capable of losing.

I went back inside and locked myself to my room. My heart fell into a pit of sneer razors, thin and sharp. I fear of being alone more than anything else before. But it was always better to be by oneself.

In the past few days, I’ve kept myself busy with the new project given by the boss. My exhaustion is bone-deep and my heart is another wound entirely, still bleeding from taking all pain and failure.

“Engineer? You have a visitor at the office.”

My brows immediately furrowed to the worker but I just gave him a nod. He then walked away afterwards. I wasn't expecting any visitor for today but maybe it's a surprise?

Right after I swung the door open, Jaehyun in his office attire and my co-worker, Jun, was talking about something. Jaehyun stood up when he saw me enter the room. I gave Jun a notice to go out for a meantime but instead, he gave me a wink and goodluck sign before leaving.

"I just came by to invite you," Jaehyun started. "It's just a party and I assure you I will bring you home after."

In short, a party and his date.

"And that is for what?" I answered. "I'm one of your least concerns, Mr. Jung. I don't think I should comply to that."

He licked his lower lip. "I don't have any one to go with me. So Y/N, please, just this one night?"

You don't know what force pulled you to hell just so you can agree and join him to the said party. You just found yourself wearing a black plunging neckline dress that you saw on your closet earlier. And partnered up with beige heels. A sexy clothing like this wasn't in your thoughts at all, but you wanted to grab Jaehyun's limelight at the party.

"You look so gorgeous tonight."

And that was his cue before sliding his hand to your waist while you both are making your way to the red carpeted hallway.

"Thanks, I guess?" You answered. Jaehyun gave you a sincere smile that revealed his two sets of deep dimples.

When the two of you entered the ballroom, you both were welcomed by media and the other guests that overwhelmed your whole being. Laughter and chattering resonated inside the palatial ballroom and the glimmering theme laced the party, having some resemblance to a renaissance painting.

“Mr. Jung! Good to see you here!”

An old man in black suit approached and shook hands with him. He looked at you surprisingly. “Oh, the great Miss Y/N! How could I forget?”

You replied to him with a smile and polite bow before grabbing a champagne flute from a waiter. Jaehyun ended his talk with the man and proceeded walking with you to the reserved table.

Many people was intrigued to as why you and him, were together in the event; especially the media who even interviewed you two regarding it. I’m just his date for tonight. That was your answer. By the whole time moving, you just got bored and more bored for social gatherings wasn’t really your thing.

“Come with me, I’ll show you something.”

Jaehyun handed you his hand before pulling you to run away from the ballroom. You giggled when you almost tripped on your feet while running to your way out.

“If this isn’t something good, swear to heaven’s saints and angels, I will fucking kick your balls!” You playfully taunt him.

He drove to the airport as soon as the car left the basement parking. The butterflies inside your stomach fluttered when both of you walked towards a private jet at the airport ramp. Your heart raced when you got inside and saw Mark standing at the cockpit.

“Where are we going?” You ask, but instead, he just shot his brow up at you.

The whole flight lasted for 12 hours and you still have zero idea to where Jaehyun is bringing you. Butterflies that flutter inside your stomach grew wild with anticipation when the plane landed safely—sending notice that you have arrived at your destination.

"Good evening. This is Captain Lee, your Pilot for the night. We have safely landed in Rome-Fiumicino Airport. Yo, Jaehyun Jung, use protection later!"

Mark vulgarly announced to the whole craft, making your cheeks flush. Jaehyun just laughed it off as if it's not awkward for him.

"You brought me to Rome freaking Italy?" You exasperated said, eyes widen, to the person beside you. "I already told you before, I will make myself up."

"I hope you know that I am sorry for everything, Y/N."

The soft knocks on your hotel room door woke your senses up. You rubbed your eyes before grabbing the silk robe you bought at a nearby boutique last night before you and Jaehyun check-in at a obviously luxurious hotel.

It's already 9 AM.

You opened the door and saw Jaehyun standing there, wearing a simple white shirt, tucked in his washed blue jeans. He eyed you up and down before greeting.

"Hi."

"Hey."

Silence.

One.

Two.

Three.

"You ready? We're going to our first tourist spot."

When we arrived at the Colosseum— which was my ever since wish, my jaw dropped as to see the beauty. Jaehyun, who is standing beside me kept looking at the old building.

"What's the use of your film camera if you won't open it?" I mocking asked before snatching it from him. "Go there, I'll take a picture of you."

He hesitated first before following your demand. You took two shots of him, standing in front of the beautifully created structure. You were doing boomerangs for your Instagram story when Jaehyun pulled you.

"Mi scusi, puoi farci una foto?" He politely asked to a passerby and gave her his phone. The old lady smiled and took it.

Jaehyun suddenly wrapped his arm on your shoulders, making your heart jump for a second. The woman counted before clicking the shutter of his phone camera.

"You, two, look nice together! Good couple!" She created a heart shaped sign then left us alone. Jaehyun beside you just laughed while you were standing there, dumbfounded.

He took your wrist and pulled you so the both of you started walking again. You also posted an IG story of Jaehyun's back that left a bombarding dm's from Rosé, Seolhee, Johnny, and Mark.

@parkrosies: please bring home some food!

@l_seolhee: NOW I KNOW WHY YOU'RE ABSENT

@seo.johnny: Use protection! ;)

@mark.lee: Have fun, Y/N! I hope you guys will go home with a baby.

Mark's message made you laugh then you closed your phone. The trip in Colosseum ended by eating at a near restaurant that was again, high-end and fancy. Jaehyun insisted walking to a park before going back to the hotel.

"Did you enjoy?" He asked while sipping on his iced americano.

You nodded slowly. "Hmm, I really did."

"We're just here for three days so we should go to a lot more places tomorrow." Your poor heart fell on your stomach as to his word.

"Three days will be enough, then," Jaehyun glanced at you. "I hope it's enough for us."

When the both of you arrived in front of each other's hotel doors, he gave you a small smile and mouthed, 'tomorrow' before going inside his room.

The next day, you woke up late because you slept late for contemplating over things. Jaehyun brought you to the center and major tourist attraction, St. Peter's Basilica. Then to the Pantheon and to a museum. Until the day after next, last day. It was Trevi Fountain; one of the places you wanted to travel to before.

"So this is the end?"

Jaehyun stared deep into your eyes as if enthralling. You nodded slowly when you felt a small pang in your heart. "Jaehyun."

He cocked his head to the side. "Yeah?"

"I'm forgiving you," l stated with a genuine smile on my lips. "And I also mean it. No lies."

"Wait, shit, for real?" He was suddenly jubilant.

The immaculate twinkle in his eyes made your heart even more flutter. He bit his lower lip when he felt his heart pounding in ebullience. Maybe three days were enough to understand and love something good about him.

"Thank you, Y/N. Tha—"

You gave him a smack on the lips before running back to your hotel room. Jaehyun was left there, in his room, still in shocked position. As soon as you closed the door, you leaned back to it and placed your hand to the chest.

You knew what it was.

With your heart into pieces, you try to heal it alone. Not knowing it was him the whole time.

You fell, again.

#nct #nct 127 #nct au #nct fanfic #nct angst #nct smut #jeong jaehyun #nct jaehyun #jaehyun au #jaehyun smut #jung jaehyun au #nct x reader #jaehyun x reader #nct scenarios #nct imagines #jaehyun imagines #nct jaehyun au

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meganshinsou-tm · 5 years ago

Text

Crimson|Ink. (m)

↳ chapter twenty-one: dream in a dream

❧ genre: tattoo-shop/hitmen au | tattoo artist/hitman kirishima

❧ fic warning: major character(s) death; happy ending

❧ chapter warnings: n/a

❧ chapter song: Dream in A Dream by Ten

♬crimson|ink playlist | ♧ character profiles

[multi-chap masterlist] [previous chapter - next chapter]

Cheesy Christmas music and buzzed laughter rang out through the shop. Sero, Deku, Hitoshi and Denki were all occupied with a game of cards. So far Sero was really racking up on wins and crumpled up bills while Denki whined into Hitoshi’s shoulder, a very dramatic pout on his face because out of them all he was the one losing the most.

Hitoshi chuckled and ruffled his blonde hair before kissing the top of his head. That made the pout melt away and Denki looked up at him with a blinding smile. The two were unaware of Deku and Sero rolling their eyes and sticking their tongues out in disgust at the display of affection before both taking sips of their beers and averting their attention back to their cards.

“Get through this last game, win or lose, and you can have your present. Deal?” Hitoshi spoke quietly against Denki’s temple.

An excited gasp left his lips and he nodded eagerly.

“Deal!”

So far the night was going really fucking great for everyone!

Not like these Christmas parties weren’t always a blast but with the addition of you and Hitoshi being there this year just made it that much more wonderful. There was way too much food, games were played, karaoke even happened and there were also gifts passed around from everyone.

The whole night Kirishima was happy to see how much you smiled and enjoyed the party. Knowing that you never celebrated the holiday like this before with anyone let alone a family; he was thrilled being able to change that for you. All of the guys were!

They went so far as making Deku dress up as Santa at one point. When he strolled in after disappearing during presents in the full getup, even the fake beard and a hat, you lit up brighter than any of the lights hanging on the shops tree. Shouto made sure to get pictures of you sitting on Santa Deku’s lap and of course everyone else had to get one as well. Soon that whole fiasco ended up being about how many people Deku could even fit on his lap.

To your shock he was able to hold everyone without even breaking a sweat.

After that, things started to settle down and everyone fell into quiet talking among each other before Shouto, Bakugou and Kirishima went outside to smoke. Leaving you with the others until you felt like going back for another plate of dessert and sneaking off to eat it in silence. When you shut the door to one of the studio’s behind you, Shouto and Bakugou came back inside through the back, having a hushed heated argument with each other.

Bakugou had returned from a hit the night before, more banged up than usual. It wasn’t like he couldn’t handle it of course, but still Shouto didn’t like when anyone came back hurt - especially Bakugou.

The two paused in the dim hallway and Bakugou snorted at how pissed Shouto was becoming.

“That face of yours looks pretty cute when you’re mad IcyHot,” Bakugou tried teasing but it only seemed to make Shouto glare even harder. “Tch, chill the fuck out okay? I’m perfectly fine, you know it takes a hell of a lot more to put me out of commission. Besides, we’ve got our own little healer now and she fixed me up. Get your panties out of a wad!”

Shouto growled quietly and the next thing Bakugou knew he was being shoved against the wall. Grey and blue eyes burned into him and mismatched brows furrowed. Literal steam escaped from between Shouto’s lips when he exhaled and the warm air fanned across Bakugou’s cheek making him smirk. Shouto had him practically pinned, invading every inch of his space and not giving him even the slightest chance of moving.

“You shouldn’t rely on her so fucking much Katsuki,” he hissed through his teeth.

Oh he was mad and Bakugou was thrilled.

“She can heal minor wounds, some stitches and relieve a little bit of pain but she can’t bring your cocky ass back from the grave! She’s a healer not a necromancer! Get your shit together Kats or else!”

A feral grin grew on Bakugou’s face and he tilted his head to the side while leaning in closer. His wild red eyes staying locked on Shouto’s and refusing to break contact.

“Or else what pretty boy? Huh - you gonna punish me?”

“Right now is not the time to be a brat and fucking push me, I’m being serious.”

Yeah, Shouto was definitely pissed off.

He cursed here and there but very rarely did it ever hold the grit and sheer animosity that it did right now. Bakugou only heard this tone from Shouto when one of three things was happening. One, he was occupied with his ‘job’. Two, someone was threatening his loved ones. Or three, when he was on the precipice of losing his control with Bakugou.

Bakugou liked to believe it was the latter and that only fueled his want to push that one last button. And so he did.

In a blur Shouto suddenly found himself being the one against the wall. A small ‘oof’ filled the air from the force Bakugou used in pinning him. Warm palms were pressing his wrists against the surface and cinnamon scented breath danced across his lips.

“Brat huh? Last time I checked I was the oldest here so you need to respect your elders - boy.” Bakugou whispered before capturing Shouto’s lips with his own.

Shouto growled into the kiss, his fingers clenching into fists. His blood was boiling; whether because Bakugou was playing dirty at trying to change the subject by pissing him off further or that he was just extremely horny, he didn’t really know.

A rough bite to Bakugou’s bottom lip managed to break the bruising kiss and Shouto panted.

“Maybe if you stopped acting so fucking reckless out there then I would.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes and went back to kissing Shouto, easing his grip on him and allowing Shouto to push him back. They broke long enough to scan the hallway they were in before escaping into Shouto’s studio and locking the door behind them.

Quickly, Shouto went back to kissing Bakugou, wanting more of the taste of eggnog and nicotine on his lips. His hands found narrow hips before picking Bakugou up with ease and carrying him to the tattoo chair. He dropped him without any gentleness, earning a chuckle from the blonde.

“I take back what I said earlier about you being cute when you’re mad,” Bakugou grinned with a rough tug of Shouto’s shirt, “You’re fucking hot.”

Shouto shook his head and placed himself between Bakugou’s knees. His fingers gripped his chin roughly and Bakugou growled when his face was forced to look up at Shouto.

“Sucking up to me now isn’t going to make things better for you. I said we aren’t done talking and I mean it. When we’re done here, we’re having a serious talk at my place.”

Bakugou went to spew out his usual profanities but Shouto’s hand firmly wrapping around his throat while the other rubbed teasingly at his inner thigh cut that off quick.

“And depending on how good you can be for me right now will decide how long that talk lasts. So it’s your choice - be a good boy and I can fuck you longer later or keep being a fucking brat and I bitch at you for hours before I finally fuck you and more than likely not you let cum.”

The obvious gulp and twitch of Bakugou’s eye was all the surrender Shouto was going to get and he would take it. With that, the two went back to devouring each other’s mouths, hands grasping and pulling at each other desperately like starved men. And they were starved, for each other.

For years now Shouto and Bakugou had been hooking up on and off and it had been just a couple of weeks since the last time they touched like this. It wasn’t because they didn’t want to, there were missions and also the twenty-four hour security on you that occupied most of their waking hours. Neither of them would ever complain about that of course, your safety was priority over their need to get their dicks wet.

Why neither of them ever fought for more than just being fuck buddies was beyond them. They both very obviously cared for and maybe even loved the other but neither Bakugou nor Shouto said anything to possibly change that. In between this weird relationship Shouto never sought out the touch of anyone else, he didn’t care for it. Bakugou fooled around here and there but never went as far as small sexual favors with anyone other than Shouto.

But more and more lately, especially since you and Kirishima finally became an item and Hitoshi and Denki started to pretty much date, they both wondered to themselves if maybe they should give this a shot at being something more.

It wasn’t odd for them to cuddle and spend the night with each other. Shouto called Bakugou by cheesy pet names and Bakugou maybe blushed and secretly loved it. When they were going through one of their flings you would think the two were boyfriends but they weren’t. And the only reason there was no label between them was simply because neither of them asked. They were both aware of their feelings. In fact, it all came out one night after fucking each other’s brains out and snuggling but it was simply left at that.

No one but Sero knew about any of this and that was only because he walked in on them once.

“Hey,” Bakugou managed to say between their heated kisses.

Shouto pulled back enough to look at Bakugou in the dim light and lightly brushed his knuckles along his cheek.

“Something wrong, did I hurt you?”

“Jesus fuck, no Shouto, I’m fine. I just … it’s stupid but … maybe later at your place we can revist that one conversation, you know - uh.”

Bakugou hated how he couldn’t find the words he was searching for. Hated how nervous he was all of a sudden. And he hated how Shouto was always the only one who could literally make him speechless and dumbfounded.

“I know and yes, I’d love to revisit that talk. I’ve been wanting to for a while now.”

A sigh left Bakugou and he nodded before putting back on a cocky grin and pulling Shouto in for another kiss. It was all Shouto needed to know that Bakugou was done talking and wanted to get back to the task at hand. After giving a playful bite and lick to Bakugou’s lip that earned a soft moan, Shouto went about palming over the bulge that was straining in the blonde’s jeans while he sucked a pretty bruise onto his collarbone.

“F-Fucker,” Bakugou breathed out, arching his back and pressing his chest to Shouto’s. “Jumping my ass for coming back looking all busted up only to bruise me even more huh?”

Shouto kissed at the mark he made and squeezed Bakugou’s erection hard enough to make him moan louder and squirm on the chair. He couldn’t help but grind his own crotch against Bakugou’s, pressing his forehead against his shoulder and biting off a groan while Bakugou let out another moan.

“Shh, be quiet Kat, do you want the others to know just how much of a little slut you are?”

The threat did nothing to help Bakugou from losing his fucking mind and his hips bucked up to feel more friction between the two of them because at this point he didn’t care and he was prepared to let the entire god damn world know how gone he was for Shouto if it meant more. But before he could respond there was a strangled choke that didn’t come from either of them.

Shouto and Bakugou both froze and held their breath, looking at the other before turning their heads in the direction the sound came from. When two sets of eyes landed on you pounding your chest with a piece of half eaten cheesecake on a small plate, you let out a weak nervous laugh.

“I uh - was just trying to hog the last piece for myself. Didn’t think I’d get dessert and a show.”

Never in the entire time of knowing him had you seen Bakugou so red all over. A crazed look washed over his face and you knew he was getting ready to blow, no pun intended. Shouto on the other hand was trying not to make the situation worse by laughing and rested a hand on Bakugou’s shoulder to try and calm him but any hope of that was ruined with your next choice of words.

“Mind if I stay and watch?”

There was no warning to Bakugou lunging off the tattoo chair, not giving a single fuck that he was sporting a very obvious boner. You and Shouto both laughed and you ran like hell from the studio, just barely closing the door in Bakugou’s face and holding the doorknob to keep it from turning. On the other side you could hear Shouto doing his best to calm his secret lover while Bakugou made numerous empty threats to obliterate you.

You were in a fit a giggles when Kirishima rounded the corner and sighed before walking your way.

“There you are little one, I’ve been looking for you. What the hell is he going off about now?”

Turning around to face Kirishima, you shook your head with a smile and leaned against the door with your arms crossed. “Nothing, just giving Katsuki a very hard time as usual.”

Kirishima shrugged and moved to stand before you. He leaned in closer and kissed your lips sweetly before unfolding your arms and taking your hands in his.

“Well if you aren’t busy, I need you to come with me now. There’s something I need to show you.”

Without another word, you happily went along with Kirishima to his studio. Once inside he shut the door and locked it. Being the mountain of a man that he was, it only took three long strides for him to be before you again, picking you up by the hips with ease. You squealed at the sudden lift and found yourself being placed on his tattoo chair. After sharing a quick kiss and rubbing your noses together, Kirishima stepped away and went towards the cabinets. You watched closely while he opened one and pulled out a medium sized box that was wrapped in red paper with a gold bow.

“Ei, we said not until in the morning! I don’t have any of your presents here,” you whined and pouted from your spot on the chair.

Kirishima chuckled and gave an apologetic smile, making his way back over to you and holding the box between your bodies.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry little one … I just couldn’t wait for this one. You see, I wanted to give it to you in the exact spot where we met for the first time.”

You offered up a smile to Kirishima and lifted a hand to stroke his cheek.

“Aww, you mean when you were a total asshole to me? Man, those were the days!”

“You’re still as much of a pain in my ass as you were then you know that?” Kirishima teased and nipped at your cheek.

You snapped your teeth back at him when he pulled away and took your hand from his face in exchange for holding it. Together you looked at how small your palm was inside of his and how much space was left between your fingers even when they laced together. It always made your heart flutter when you saw just how much Kirishima’s hand covered yours.

“Would you believe me if I told you I fell in love with you the moment I laid eyes on you, standing there next to me while I tattooed that stupid hand on Denki?”

You giggled and looked up at Kirishima, tilting your head and chewing on your lip.

“Hmm, at the time I wouldn’t believe it but knowing what I do now - one hundred percent. Answer me this though and be honest,” you smirked and tried to sit up as tall as you could to be face level. “Were you jealous that Denki got my number first?”

Kirishima grinned and kissed you with a sense of possession that made your skin feel like it was on fire. Sharp teeth bit at your bottom lip before he broke away and brought you back from the short lived sinful desires and you smiled on each others lips.

“Fucking livid.”

The briefly forgotten box was then being offered to you along with one of Kirishima’s famous sharp toothed smiles that made you melt. You decided that trying to deny the gift would be pointless right now and took a deep breath in and out before letting go of his hand and took the box from him.

“Go ahead little one, open it.”

Not needing to be told twice, your hands started to eagerly unwrap the box. Kirishima chuckled and made sure to take the paper and bow once you discarded them and watched nervously when you started to remove the lid from the box. Your smile slowly started to fall and curiosity took over when you began digging into it.

Inside was what looked like a very worn and well used small tattoo machine. The paint on it was dull in some spots, the metallic sheen of it not as bright and vibrant as what a newer one would be. There were a few knicks and scratches on it but it still looked to be in great condition. It was obviously very loved and taken care of.

Sitting beneath it was another worn object, a sketchbook. On the front of it in bold Japanese letters was a name and it made you gasp quietly before taking your bottom lip between your teeth to chew on nervously.

Yagi Toshinori.

You swallowed the lump in your throat before looking up at Kirishima. He was smiling fondly at you before looking down at the contents of the box.

“They both belonged to him before they were passed on to me when I joined the shop,” Kirishima took the machine out of the box and weighed it in his hand with a grin. “I remember when this thing felt like it weighed fifty pounds and now it feels like a feather.”

The corner of your mouth turned up and you snorted quietly.

“You mean you haven’t always been freakishly large?”

“Compared to Yagi? Nah. I was a dwarf next to him back in the day but damn did I always want to be like him! Out of him and Enji, Yagi was the one that took me and Bakugou under his wing but Bakugou was stronger than I was, always has been, so he didn’t really cling to Yagi as much as I did when we first got here,” a small easy smile dressed Kirishima’s face and he chuckled.

“He also just didn’t have the patience for tattooing. So that meant me and Yagi grew real close, he became my mentor for tattooing and just - in life. I never had a father figure and when he showed up and showed all this interest and pride in me, I just wanted to make him proud. He was my hero.”

You looked down at the machine and the sketchbook in the box, suddenly feeling guilt consume you. The weight of it suddenly felt like a thousand pounds in your lap and you squirmed slightly. You knew how much Yagi meant to everyone, to Kirishima. And no matter how many times they reminded you that what happened wasn’t your fault, it still could never stop those nagging thoughts. The thoughts of what if … what if you tried to stay behind, to help.

Maybe you could’ve changed the outcome of his fate.

“E-Ei … I … I don’t think I should take this. Despite what you say, I already feel like I’ve taken enough of him from you … I can’t take this one last thing -”

Kirishima cut you off quickly by placing the small machine in your hands. You tried to pull them away, to shift it back into his but he was too strong, too big. They fucking caged your own around the machine and he was right.

It did feel heavy, it felt like the weight of the entire fucking world was literally in your hands.

“You didn’t take anything from me, from us. I know it’s going to take some time for you to believe that but baby, I promise it’s true. If Yagi could see you now, see the potential, the skills you have that keep growing, he would literally yank these from my own hands and place them into yours, just like I’m doing now.”

Not once did you take your eyes off of your hands being held by Kirishima’s, not even to try and hide the tears that pricked in the corners of your eyes. But they were disposed of anyway when Kirishima leaned forward to kiss them away before bringing your conjoined hands up to his lips and kissed them.

“Yagi would want you to have them. I want you to have them,” he smiled and pressed his forehead to yours, “So please little one, take them, they’re yours now.”

You nodded slowly, bringing yours and his hands holding the machine close to your chest.

“Okay, I will. Thank you Eijirou - thank you so much, for everything.”

At the same time you both smiled at each other, Kirishima freed your hands in order to let you place the tattoo machine gently back into the box before closing and setting it to the side on the chair. When you looked at him again, he cupped your cheeks and pulled you in close for a long and sweet kiss. You melted into him like you always did, hands bracing his stomach and eyes fluttering shut while your heart fluttered in your chest.

Without a doubt, this Christmas was the most amazing one you’ve had in years.

When the sweet kisses finally broke, Kirishima pulled away and smirked.

“You wanna do it?”

A knowing smile grew on your lips and with excited eyes you nodded.

Not even fifteen minutes later Yagi’s tattoo machine was wrapped and put together with a fresh needle. Two ink cups full of red color sat on the rolling tray along with the rest of the setup for a tattoo. Kirishima sat proudly on the tattoo chair now, watching as you pulled a pair of black latex gloves from the box. You put together the setup all on your own with only his words of guidance to help here and there. When you turned around to face him you smiled wide and snapped the bottom of one glove.

“Alright - strip!”

Kirishima smirked at the jog in memory he had from those words and briefly thought back to the day when he told you the exact same thing. It felt like it was years ago now but it still made both of you chuckle. He then sat back on his palms and tilted his head up at you, a sly look in his red eyes and a pointed tooth puncturing his bottom lip.

“You wanna smash now, while everyone is here? I’m not complaining or anything, but we aren’t exactly quiet, don’t wanna make everyone jealous little one.”

“Eijirou!”

At that Kirishima teased a flash of his stomach by pulling up the hem of his shirt, giving you a playful wink. “That’s right baby, say my name!”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed for an empty ink cup and tossed it at the red-head.

“I hope you get a fucking infection from this!”

A hearty laugh erupted from Kirishima and he finally did as instructed. While he shrugged off his shirt, you quickly printed up the small stencils needed and made your way over to him. Both of you smiled and a comfortable silence settled as you applied the stencil onto the skin of his left pectoral, as close as possible to being over his heart. Your gloved hand smoothed over the paper before slowly peeling it off to reveal the outline of the small tattoo.

“You sure you want it here? It’s right smack dab in the middle of your oni.”

Kirishima smiled, hands moving to rest on your hips and pulled you closer between his legs so he could kiss your cheek.

“It's right where it should be.”

You let out a relieved breath and giggled when he started to pepper your face with more kisses. Kirishima hadn’t even received the tattoo yet but he was so full of pride.

“Okay you overgrown pup, you ready?”

“Let’s get it!”

You pulled away enough to take Yagi’s machine in your hand. Kirishima helped you get the hang of how to hold it correctly and placed his hands back on your hips, letting you take over from there.

You had watched him and the others enough to know how to make the machine buzz to life, practiced on fake pieces of flesh before with their own machines. But when this machine powered up and vibrated in your hand you couldn’t help the surprised sound that fell out of your mouth. It made Kirishima chuckle and kiss your forehead.

“I know little one. Just take a breath and go slow, I know you’ve got this.”

Nodding, you did as he said and took a deep breath, dipped the end of the needle into the dark red ink and brought it up to the purple outline of the stencil. On the exhale out, the needle touched already tattooed skin and Kirishima let out a content breath. His thumbs rubbed gently on your hips and he angled his head enough to watch you work, even if it was uncomfortable as fuck.

“There you go, I told you, you got it,” he praised softly, making you smile and blush.

It didn’t take long for the ink to work into his skin and for the script to take its shape. The tattoo was small so it wasn’t taking you long at all to do and it was simple, perfect for your first time tattooing real human skin. And no matter how small and simple it was, Kirishima couldn’t help but overflow with happiness, with pride and love. It made him grin so big to see you tattooing him and without barely any help needed from him and in no time you were done, cutting off the buzzing noise and setting the machine down on the tray.

“That’s my girl.”

You smiled from ear to ear while applying green soap to a paper towel and wiping it across the small tattoo. When it was fully cleaned, you took off the latex gloves and placed a palm over the fresh tattoo. Heat radiated from it and you could feel the rise of it like braille. Kirishima placed his hand over it and you looked at him.

A warm glow bathed the lower half of his face, making his eyes shimmer when you activated your quirk and healed the tattoo. Kirishima hummed and squeezed your hand gently before you both removed them and looked at the permanent red ink that graced his skin.

Kirishima felt a warmth blossom all throughout his body when he looked upon the Japanese symbols for ‘'little one’ that marked his body.

“How’d I do for my first one?” You asked, placing your finger onto the tattoo to trace it softly.

Your body was pulled closer to Kirishima and he took your chin between his fingers to tilt your face up. A chaste sweet kiss was placed on your lips and you giggled.

“Fucking perfect,” he cooed against your cheek before pulling away to look you over. “Now it’s my turn. You know the drill little one, strip.”

With a cheeky smile, you placed a kiss to the tip of Kirishima’s nose and pushed at his chest in order to gain distance between the two of you. His red eyes watched closely as you took a few steps back, hands gripping the edge of the chair and torso leaning forward like a predator eyeing its prey.

All night Kirishima would steal glances, known and also unknown to you. He couldn’t get enough of you in the red velvet dress you wore. The sleeves and neckline were lace, giving subtle peeks of the pieces of skin he loved to smother in kisses and bites. It was tight in the right places and the hem stopped mid-thigh.

Your hands ran along the spanse of your stomach and to your hips, sliding down to map out the shape of them until your finger-tips gripped at the hem and started to slowly pull the dress up. Kirishima bit at his bottom lip and went to move further but you stopped him with a teasing ‘uh-uh’.

His red eyes had gone from lustful to pissed so fast it made you laugh.

“Patience puppy. Since you gave me a gift early, I guess I can go ahead and give you one of yours that I was planning for later.”

More impatience grew in Kirishima’s eyes and you smirked and continued to pull the dress up your body, over your head and fully off before dropping it on the floor. Kirishima remained where he sat, taking in the red lingerie that remained on your body. The soft lacey edges of it and how it stood out against the bold black ink of your tattoos. His fingers gripped the chair tighter, making the leather squeak and he looked like he was ready to crawl out of his skin.

“Do you like it Ei?”

The balls of his feet touched the floor.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to touch me Ei?”

He slowly stood from the chair. Hands staying put on it.

“Please.”

You smiled and walked closer to stand before Kirishima. He towered over you and you felt like you were staring up at a beast. Not wanting to deny him or yourself any longer, you raised a hand and brushed the back of your knuckles down his cheek.

“You’re such a good boy Eijirou. Go ahead then, you can have me.”

Not needing to be told twice, Kirishima immediately had his hands on you. Your feet left the floor so fast and your legs wrapped around a broad waist. Before you could even process that, you were being placed on the tattoo chair with a desperate massive redhead between your legs, capturing your mouth with his.

Just as you were about to pound on Kirishima’s chest to let him know you needed air, he pulled away and started to kiss down your throat to the tattoo on your sternum. You gasped, a hand running through his spiked red hair and tugged when sharp teeth grazed down the black octopus. Giant hands caged your ribs and you whined looking down at how much skin they covered.

It wasn’t exactly a secret to either of you that the sheer size of Kirishima made you melt.

Kirishima smiled against your skin, tugging at the front of the bra with his teeth then shifting your torso enough to give him your right side. You smiled down at him, petting at his hair when Kirishima pushed the band up to expose the very first tattoo that started it all.

“I’ve been waiting to put my mark on you again little one,” he spoke and kissed the small tattoo.

“Well then, stop drooling on me and get to it!”

Kirishima chuckled and stood straight, stole one last kiss and turned to the tray next to him. While he replaced the needle on the machine and got himself ready, you occupied yourself by running your hands all over his chest and stomach. Placing kisses and nips to his collarbones and pecs. Making sure to be careful, Kirishima would play along and kiss and bite back in-between placing the stencil on the same area of your skin that his tattoo was on.

You gasped and forced down a shiver from the coldness of it, making Kirishima chuckle. You only stopped your playing long enough for him to pull the stencil off and approve of its positioning. He smiled and picked up the machine that he hadn’t used in years, the weight of it feeling familiar and like home. Looking at the stencil and back to your face, Kirishima felt a rush of adrenaline course through him from the thought of being able to brand you once again.

And this time it would mean so much more and would bond the two of you together forever.

“Alright baby, I need you to stay still for me now, okay? You can do that right, be a good girl for me?”

You smirked and let your fingers hang along the waist of Kirshima’s jeans, thumbs brushing along his cut line. It would be a distraction but he told himself mentally that he could do this!

“Yes daddy.”

Shit. He hoped he could do this.

Shaking his head, Kirishima pet your cheek with his gloved free hand and made the machine in his opposite buzz two times. “That’s my little one.”

You smiled at the praise and soon the silence was filled once again with the buzzing of the tattoo machine. The smile on your face didn’t leave when the needle touched down on your skin but it did become a little pained. Kirishima glanced at you and smirked, appreciating how strong you were trying to be through the sting of the tattoo. And thankfully for you, the process didn’t last as long as his did and before you knew it Kirishima was placing the machine back onto the tray and wiping the small piece clean.

For a moment, Kirishima stood there and stared at the permanent ink. His focus broke when you placed your palm over the tattoo and grabbed one of his hands with your opposite one to rest it over yours on your chest.

That familiar golden glow that Kirishima loved appeared under your palm and his red eyes watched in amazement. He always loved the sight of your quirk in use, it was so beautiful to him. After a few times of seeing it work, he realized that if he looked at your eyes, they seemed to faintly glimmer a golden hue as well.

Kirishima could feel thrumming and warmth under your hand while the tattoo healed. You both took a deep breath and pulled both hands away and looked down.

In red ink, his name was now on your skin forever.

After removing his gloves, Kirishima tossed them onto and rolled the tray away from his side. You grinned up at him when his hands came up and held your face. Kirishima didn’t need to pull you in, you were already leaning into him and seeking out his kiss. Your hands moved to hang from his wrists and you hummed happily when he pulled away.

“Now its permanent little one, you belong to me.”

You bit at his cheek and hooked your fingers around the waist of his jeans, tugging him close between your legs with a small grunt.

“And you Eijirou, belong to me.”

“Toshi, please! I was good! Please can I have it!”

Hitoshi grinned smugly, dangling a small box above Denki’s head where they both sat cuddled on the couch.

“Ah but I like when you beg. Maybe I’ll keep it a little longer.”

Denki smirked and playfully punched Hitoshi's chest, “Or give it to me now and we can sneak out of here sooner and go to your place where I’ll beg even prettier for you.”

Now that Hitoshi couldn’t deny.

The box dropped into Denki’s lap and Hitoshi leaned over to kiss his cheek. Denki squealed happily and wasted no time in ripping the wrapping paper off. He pulled a small switchblade from his coat pocket in order to cut the taped sides and Hitoshi snorted.

“You’re fucking adorable with those things.”

Denki skillfully twirled the blade in his fingers before closing and putting it away with a chipper ‘thanks’. His focus went back to opening the box to find a small framed piece of artwork inside of it.

It looked like a tarot card, two characters in suits that were kissing with cloths covering their faces. There were flowers on either side of them and simple stars floated above their heads. At the base of the card there were bold letters.

‘The Lovers’.

Denki examined the piece for a few more moments, letting its meaning saturate him.

Him and Hitoshi truly were polar opposites - light and dark, the sun and the moon.

That's why they worked so well together and balanced each other out. Denki could go on and on explaining it, he does all the time to Hitoshi because he’s just so smitten and god damn in love with him but when it came down to it - they just work.

Hitoshi made this, just for him, it took him time to make and it was priceless. Denki knew Hitoshi wasn’t as direct or forward as he was but he knew that with this piece, it wasHitoshi’s own way of acknowledging what they were. Partners. A couple.

Lovers.

Denki didn’t even realize he had shed a tear or two until he felt a cool knuckle wiping the corner of his eye.

“Is it that terrible?” Hitoshi teased.

Denki shook his head and laughed, wiping the tear from his opposite eye before he tossed himself into Hitoshi’s chest and hugged him. Despite the frame being between them and making the hug somewhat uncomfortable, Hitoshi smiled and wrapped his arms around the smaller male.

“It’s amazing Toshi, really. I - I love it so much!”

Hitoshi hummed and kissed the top of Denki’s head, his hand rubbing his back firmly.

Golden eyes looked up at him with that unconditional adoration that they always held and Hitoshi couldn’t deny how they always made his heart flip. And if you were to tell him that this erratic, very chaotic electric blonde would somehow become the very bane of his existence in every amazing way possible without any fucking warning a few weeks ago, he would’ve laughed. It wasn’t like Hitoshi to fall in love, to fall at all for anyone in such a short amount of time but - Denki Kaminari wasn’t just anyone.

“... I uh, I love you so much.”

The moment the words came out of his mouth Hitoshi felt relieved and terrified at the same time. But that terror was quickly washed away when Denki took his face in his hands and kissed him with a massive smile. Hitoshi melted, removed the frame from between them to sit to the side and pulled him closer into his lap to kiss him back.

Sero and Deku, both still in the same room as the two lovebirds making out, groaned in disgust together as they got up from their seats and went to get more beers. Sero shook his head and patted his friend on the back while they walked away.

After a few more minutes, the need to pee became more obvious to Hitoshi from Denki being in his lap. He placed his hands on his thighs and squeezed them gently, teeth softly biting at his bottom lip before pulling away with a grin.

“Alright cutie, let me up for a sec, I gotta piss.”

Denki pouted and whined but rolled off of Hitoshi and back onto the couch. Hitoshi smirked and playfully tickled his side as he stood up, earning a soft kick to his ass from Denki.

After coming out of the bathroom, Hitoshi decided to go to the kitchen first before returning to Denki to get himself something else to eat. As he was searching through the food, his phone chimed in his pocket and he pulled it out to check it with a roll shoved between his teeth. The text message he received made him still and quirk a brow.

➥Kage: Was in town and decided to stop by the shop to give you something real quick. Come outside.

It stumped Hitoshi as to why or how Kage even knew he was at the shop. Why he was even in town when he knew Kage to live a couple hours away. Before Hitoshi could text back questioning him, another message came in.

➥Kage: NOW!

“What the fuck,” Hitoshi groaned. He walked from the kitchen and back to the front, catching Denki’s attention, “Hey I’m gonna step outside real quick, my buddy Kage is here with something, it’ll only be a sec.”

Denki nodded and smiled. “Alright handsome, also I just realized that I didn’t respond a while ago.”

Hitoshi tilted his head, confusion on his face.

“I love you too Toshi.”

A smile grew on Hitoshi’s face and he rubbed the back of his neck, giving Denki a shrug and waving his hand with a casual ‘yeah, yeah,’ and made his way down the hall. On the walk out Hitoshi ran into Bakugou and Shouto coming out of a room, both looking like a hot mess. He didn’t bother asking any questions, wanting to live through the night and just grinned at them both and walked out the back door.

Sure enough once he was out in the cold, Hitoshi spotted Kage leaning against a van that in all honestly was a little creepy looking. Shaking his head, Hitoshi pulled the hood of his jacket closer around his neck and crossed his arms and walked over to Kage.

“Hey man, uh, what exactly are you doing way the hell out here?”

Kage smirked, “Sorry to crash your party Shinsou but I got orders.”

Hitoshi narrowed his eyes, “What are you -”

With a glimmer of Kage’s silver eyes, Hitoshi suddenly froze.

“Go inside, tell the girl that you found a cat and she needs to come see it then bring her out here to me.”

Acting on its own, Hitoshi’s body turned and he began to walk back inside the shop. Things seemed normal to him, he felt normal. Except his mind felt fuzzy and there was a sense of disassociation floating in his head. His mouth moved and words came out but they felt so foreign to him.

Then you walked out of one of the studios with Kirishima, talking among yourselves, and his focus sharpened quickly on you.

“There you are kitten,” Hitoshi spoke out automatically.

You turned in his direction and smiled before turning back to Kirishima.

“Hey, I’ll meet you up front,” you said to the red-head with a kiss to his cheek.

He nodded and kissed you back, letting go of your hand and turning to walk away from you. Once he was gone and you were before Hitoshi, he pet the top of your head, earning a giggle.

“What’s up Toshi?”

“There’s this, well kitten, that I found outside and I figured you’d wanna see it, maybe sneak it back home in your coat or something.”

Immediately your eyes widened with interest and a giant smile grew on your face. Hitoshi couldn’t help but grin back and feel his heart skip a beat. He always loved your smiles.

“Come on, lets go,” he stage whispered and took your hand in his.

Happily you went along with him, wrapping yourself around his arm and bracing for the cold. Right when the two of you stepped outside of the door, Denki happened to walk down the hall and caught the sound of you giggling together. Piquing his interests, he decided to quietly follow behind with a smile of his own.

Abruptly though those giggles stopped and he swore he could’ve heard a yell, then it was cut off.

He didn’t know why but Denki knew something wasn’t right.

He felt cold all over suddenly and picked up his walking pace towards the door. Once he got closer, Denki could make out the sound of multiple voices. Voices he didn’t recognize. And it wasn’t until he could clearly make out a muffled scream and Hitoshi’s strained ‘let her go,’ that he bolted out of the door and felt his heart drop.

The noise around him suddenly went out and all Denki could hear was ringing. Fear and shock started to grow from the tips of his toes and up to his head.

Through the falling snow Denki watched as you and Hitoshi were both dragged into the back of a white van. Kicking and fighting against your captors. For some reason Denki could only manage moving one foot at a time.

They felt like fucking lead.

When your tearfilled eyes landed on his along with a set of ice blue ones, Denki finally found his voice.

“(Y-Y/N)! Toshi! - wait,” he screamed out, finally moving his feet faster after the van that started to pull out of the area, “Give them back you fucking - g-give them back!”

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ardentprose · 5 years ago

Text

Rain and Ramen

Jimin x Reader

Genre: Domestic Fluff, Slight Angst

Warnings: mentions of sex

Song: Any rain lo-fi mix on youtube like this one

The water hisses as square-shaped noodles are dropped into the depths of the pot, submerging quickly beneath the bubbles. Jimin tears another package open and peels away the plastic wrapping, tossing it in the general direction of the overflowing trash bin. After deciding there was enough boiling noodles for the two of you, he reaches over to the pitiful portion of counter space tucked between the wall and gas stove top. He picks up a cheap all-in-one spice container and with a flick of his wrist adds a few dashes, licking his thumb at the end.

Across the room you lie against the peeling wallpaper decorated with posters collected from various soon-to-be and never-to-be-known artists alike framing your head and shoulders. Jimin could not understand why you insisted on getting the signatures of each and every musician after their set no matter how late you were forced to stay. You tell him if they ever became famous you could sell them on e-bay to pay next month’s rent.

What if they never go anywhere? He would ask holding on to the pole above your hand, chest pressed to your back, as you took the train home.

Then at least we made them feel like they would. You always respond earning an endearing kiss on the forehead from your husband.

You flip a page in your book, coming to the end of the chapter. You squint under the lamp light that has now become more apparent than what your two windows could offer in the wake of a raging night thunderstorm. Heeding your mother’s warning as a child to never read in the dark, you close the book and roll your neck.

Your eyes naturally find your husband, shirtless at the stove a mere twenty feet in front of you. The muscles in his shoulders contract as he tends to dinner, at times stretching so that the ligaments that define his back accentuate his spine. A pair of dimples right above the waistline of his sweatpants - the same ones he’s worn since college - wink at you from time to time. It never fails to draw a smile to your face, even if Jimin swears to you to just wait another month and he’ll get rid of the love handles.

“These are not love handles, Jimin! You’re skinnier than I am. And even if they were, I’d love you all the same.” You would tell him as your fingertips trace the soft skin peeking between his tee and boxers.

“They are though and I would be fine if I could just get rid of them. How will I scare other men away if I look like the chubby side kick rather than the dashing, strong hero?”

He always pouts and even in the dark you know his cheeks are as round as the dumplings you splurge on every weekend. But telling him you want to bite said cheeks like the delectable side dish would be asking him to take it the wrong way.

So you would resort to loving his body the best way you knew how. By using your wandering fingertips to push his hips over, swinging your leg over his at the same time. With his back pressed into the mattress, he has no where to run, no where to look but up at you. You have his full attention now instead of his self-deprecating thoughts.

Instinctively he lays his palms on your hips. Your hands rest over them.

“Feel these? These are real love handles, Jiminie. You are more than ten pounds away from having them.”

He would pinch your skin, finally seeing your way of things as you talked yourself down the way he did, relenting to your unconditional love and the way your hips roll over his. And every flaw, perceived or real, would be kissed and held and adored as love blossomed between your unified bodies and locked lips.

Jimin turns the stove off as the first thunder clap erupts. The tall narrow window that spared your humble one-room apartment some few hours of daylight rattles with the vibrations of the building. On cue, rain assaults the glass with such ferocity Jimin pauses his actions as you draw your eyes from his body to the sky.

“I really hope the glue holds.” Jimin mutters as he runs his fingertips along the crease of the window frame. Last time, water collected in the bricks of your old building and caused water damage that your landlord found all too easy to pin on you.

“Grab a hand towel to be safe and stuff it in the corners.” You suggest. Jimin hums and takes a spare one to do just that.

As night arrives in full, the room is cast in a yellow haze offered by the odd lamps you two had found at the nearest thrift shop. That was what made up most of your apartment. A unique arrangement of cheap but practical furniture, not one item matching another. Maybe once upon a time in high school you had created a dozen Pinterest boards of your aesthetically pleasing home. But now, in reality, you had grown to love the story of the life you and Jimin had created together in this hole-in-the-wall home.

“Chopsticks or fork?” Jimin’s soft voice, subdued with a long day’s fatigue, breaks your constant reminiscing. You spot him holding a bowl in hand, the other resting in the single drawer holding plastic take out utensils available.

“Chopsticks.” You answer, pulling your legs from the tangle of blanket and sheets they had become intertwined with, resetting the bed that acted as the main function of your home.

He rolls his eyes. “You don’t know how to use chopsticks.”

“I do too! And if that was true, then why did you ask me?” You retort, playing along to the nightly argument so routine it felt like saying prayer before dinner.

“Because if I don’t you’ll get mad at me for assuming you wanted a fork.” Jimin scoffs, grabbing two pairs of chopsticks despite his own opinion.

“I do not-”

“Or you’ll just steal mine so you can prove to me how much of a mess you make.”

You grin unabashedly but do your best to look horrified by his accusation.

“You’re lucky I love you, Park Jimin.” You accept the bowl and the kiss he leaves on your lips.

“You’re the lucky one.” Jimin yelps at the swat to his butt as he returns to the stove for his own serving.

You set up your laptop, signing in and opening Netflix to find the TV show Jimin and you binged every night like a true married couple. There weren’t many things you guys could afford, but having the small luxury of escaping reality and daydream of another life with the one you love was a price you were willing to subtract for a sense of sanity. In this case, however, it was daydreaming an affordable home in the suburbs. As such, you were in the middle of season two of House Hunters.

Once everything is settled, Jimin sits crossed-leg beside you, his knee brushing yours and thigh keeping your skin warm. As always, you exchange comments between slurps of noodles, sometimes agreeing and other times arguing over the characters’ choices in the story.

During such an argument you go in for a mouthful of noodles without paying attention. What little noodles you manage to grab splash onto your legs, leaving yellow residue and the sting of failure on your skin.

“Jimin…” You stare at the screen ahead of you, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing your guilty expression.

“‘Ere you go, baby.” He pulls out a fork from seemingly no where and having to spare a glance at him to take it, you see he’s doing his best not to smirk but failing triumphantly.

“I ate half my bowl!” You protest as he reaches over with a napkin again from thin air to wipe down your legs as you hold the bowl over his head. ‘I told you so’ glitters in his eyes as clear as day. But being the sweetheart he is, he says nothing. Even if his shoulders shake with internal laughter. He leaves a kiss on your thigh and tosses away the napkin. Then shovels another pile of ramen between his swollen lips.

The rain grows steady, causing you to turn up the volume on your laptop. Finished with his bowl, Jimin sets it on the nightstand and maneuvers your body against him, careful of your hot soup but wrapped up in you all the same. His breath smells heavily of ramen, hot against your neck, but you have no desire to move him, indulging in his mouth leaving little affectionate sucks and kisses from time to time.

As you finish your bowl he takes it for you, setting it with his to be washed later. He turns your chin for another kiss, hands falling to your stomach to rest comfortably. Your hands settle over his, picking at the hangnails on each finger nail. Then tracing the wedding band that clicks against yours every so often.

The episode ends and the rain has quieted to a steady hum. The paper thin walls of your apartment remain standing, although the edges of the wood paneling round your window frame look a bit warped.

“It’ll dry.” Jimin says against your temple, knowing you worry about the landlord finding any and every reason to accuse you of damages in order to take what little savings Jimin and you had saved since graduating college.

“I hope so.”

“You know so.” He squeezes you making you grunt in warning from a full belly. Jimin releases your body and rolls out of bed, ignoring your whines so he can set the dishes in the sink.

You put the laptop away and spread-eagle out on the bed as Jimin turns out each lamp around the room before stepping into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

“Babe, come brush your teeth!” He mumbles with a mouth full of toothpaste.

“No, I’ll do it in the morning.” you whine, rolling under the covers.

You hear Jimin spit into the sink and rinse it down. Shutting off the light he returns, joining you under the covers.

“You’re gross.” He states. You hum, wiggling closer to him and finding your favorite place, face tucked into his neck and leg slotted between his heated thighs. Warm palms resiliently soft after years of blue collar jobs run down your shirt - well, really his shirt from work today - and back up against your skin. Goosebumps dance down your spine and a shiver pushes you closer into Jimin’s heat. He unclips your bra and convinces you to sit up long enough to slide it off. He’s more concerned than you are about the rumors of bra-sleeping health issues but you’re just thankful to breathe easier without it.

You hum a thanks, offering your lips in a goodnight kiss which he takes no matter what he says. Your hands run up and down his chest, one settling between your heartbeats, the other drapes over his neck. The blanket shifts as he adjusts to a better position and sighs.

The steady beat of rain offers a lullaby and you fall asleep in no time. Jimin can feel the steady exhale of warmth against his pectoral. Even if he wakes up in the morning with drool dried down to his stomach, he doesn’t care, pulling you all the more closer as he plays with the ends of your hair. It helps him fall asleep, twirling it around his fingertips, brushing against his palm and offering the scent of home to him. Sometimes it’ll be tucked away, and even still, Jimin will wait until your sound asleep to find a stray to untuck and twirl again and again. It’s not unusual for you to wake up with Jimin’s hand tangled in your hair forcing you to gently extract his fingers with your head bent at odd angles in order to not wake him up.

Jimin is not particularly proud of the place you two presently call home. The building creaks, the room is claustrophobic, and as his wife, you deserve a home where you’re allowed to paint the walls whatever color you like. Bills, unpaid and overdue constantly occupy him. It seems no matter how many hours you pick up or jobs he fits into the week there’s still not enough to give you everything you want. Jimin sighs and bites his lip.

Everything I want for you. He corrects, knowing that the decision to move into a low-income house was part of the plan you both agreed to. In fact, you had suggested it in order to be able to attack those student loans first. Yet Jimin wanted more for the both of you. He wanted you to decorate room after room of a beautiful house that the two of you would grow old together in. He wanted a safe neighborhood in case you wanted kids - or even pets.

He wanted a stable job, a lifelong career he could take joy in and also provide for his wife with. You assured him every day that a future like that awaited you. He just needed to be patient. But how long could you put up with this? How long before your father’s advice crept back in and reminded you how marrying Jimin so young was unwise.

Then again, how could he forget the way you fought for him in front of your entire family at Thanksgiving? - and won them over. How could he forget the excitement in your eyes as he told you his dreams of dancing and telling stories with every fiber of his being. You were nearly pushing him into the dance academy’s administration office. How could he forget the way you made the best of every situation as if it wasn’t your current lifestyle but a game of pretend?

“It’s just for now. Not always.” The words have become your mantra. Even if all the worries of living a comfortable life plagued Jimin every day, he was thankful that he was here with you. He would never regret proposing to you. He would cherish the nights falling asleep next to you in this tiny little room. No matter how many nights there would be.

#jimin x reader #jimin x y/n #bts #jimin scenarios #jimin fluff #jimin one shot fluff #jimin one shot #jimin imagine fluff #jimin imagine #bts park jimin #bts one shots #bts scenarios #bts angst #jimin angst

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sunlightdances · 6 years ago

Text

Killing the Space in Between

Title: Killing the Space in Between Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Words: 2,514. Rating/Warnings: No real warnings. Rated PG. Summary: The theme for this challenge is “nostalgia”, so here’s my take on it: this takes place after Civil War, but Bucky doesn’t go to Wakanda right away. The gang's all healing together. Enter our Reader. Prompt: “Are we on a date right now?” Author’s Note: Written for @whirlybirbs’ Endgame Fic Challenge! Thanks for hosting, Hope! I love your writing and am so pumped you’re gonna be reading something of mine. Disclaimer: I don’t own Marvel, Bucky Barnes, or any other characters/plots from the MCU. I don't own the song “Closer to You” by Carly Pearce, which inspired the title. I also don’t have any knowledge about Manhattan, so please suspend your disbelief for this fic, please and thanks. Please don’t repost my work on any other sites without my permission! This includes AO3 and Wattpad. Reblogs are fine and encouraged, tbh!

Bucky Barnes has sweaty palms.

Well, one sweaty palm. He would chuckle at his own joke if he wasn’t so nervous, glancing down to where you’re practically pressed against him on the train.

The train lurches as it comes screeching to a stop, and he grits his teeth as you sway against him, sending him an apologetic smile as he automatically wraps an arm around your shoulder, steadying you.

God. He’d be ready to flee if you weren’t so nice and so warm and looking at him-- oh. You’ve been talking, he realizes, and he feels so off kilter. He can’t stand it, but sort of in a good way.

“Sorry,” his voice is gruff even to his own ears. “What did you say?”

“I was just saying thanks for agreeing to come with me. I know you don’t like crowds.”

But I like you, he wants to say. He doesn’t. “Sure, it’s no problem.” He makes a face at himself when you’re not looking. That’s all he could come up with? God. Sam is never going to let him hear the end of this. Steve either, for that matter. If word gets back to them about what an awkward idiot he turns into around you, he’s finished.

He’s still a little unclear on where you’re taking him, but he jumped at the chance to get out of the Tower for a day. It’s a little suffocating there. He knows everyone is trying to help him, but there’s still too much tension between he and Stark, and Steve’s-- he’s trying his best.

It’s hard for Bucky to know he’s disappointing his oldest friend every day he can’t pretend to be the man he was when they were in their twenties. He’s seen too much. He’s not the same person, and he knows part of Steve is always going to wish for that version of Bucky.

When Steve found him in Budapest, he barely had two weeks of being relatively back in his own head before he had to fight for his life, for the life he wanted to have.

You were there too.

A year ago…

Steve is banging on the door, Bucky’s right arm locked in his tight grip. Bucky feels woozy, he feels like his brain is being pulled apart. Steve keeps looking over his shoulder and curses under his breath before knocking again, this time harder.

The door is pulled open. You’re there, hair disheveled, a bruise blooming on your cheek and a cut on your temple. “Sorry- had to check.” You say, and then you’re ushering Steve and Bucky inside.

There are no introductions, not really.

Steve is semi-panicking. Bucky might not have a solid grasp on Steve anymore, but he can read the tension radiating off the other man.

“I need to hide him here. No one knows about this place.”

“Stark?”

“It’s his tech. That’s why I need you to stay here. He shouldn’t look for him here, but that’s the least of our problems. Someone’s tailing him - they think he set off the bomb. I’ll set the alarm when I leave--”

“Leave?!” Your voice is high pitched, “Steve--”

“I have to try.” He steps closer, voice low. It’s clearly not meant for Bucky to hear, but he does anyway. “He saved my life. We took some fire at the apartment -- he wouldn’t have done that if he was still trying to kill me and everyone else.”

You look wary, but nod. “Okay. Okay. I-- Steve, Tony’s serious about this.”

“I know.” His voice is firm, but Bucky can tell Steve’s more upset and rattled than anything else. “I have to go figure out what to do next. The only other person I want you to let through this door is Sam.”

Bucky is overwhelmed. Too many names, too much going on inside his head to make sense of. He feels like he’s going to be sick.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Just-- keep him comfortable.” Another step closer. Definitely not meant for Bucky to hear, “Keep your gun on you always. Don’t go anywhere without it. Don’t let your guard down.”

You swallow hard, but you don’t look scared. Bucky finds himself wanting to smile as he watches you roll your shoulders back and straighten, determined.

“Be safe, Cap.”

A squeeze of your shoulder and an indecipherable look back at Bucky, and then Steve is gone.

A few uncomfortable seconds pass before you look at him, clearly nervous but trying to hide it. “Are you hurt?” You ask, and Bucky’s knees feel weak.

When is the last time someone asked him that?

“I--” His voice is weak, rough with disuse. “I don’t know.”

“I’m a nurse,” you tell him. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, but if something’s hurt, you should let me help. We might be stuck here awhile.”

His heart is hammering. He’s-- he feels fear, and he’s not used to that. He’s used to not feeling much at all. But you’re-- the kindness in your eyes is sending him spiraling. He’s afraid what he might do. He shakes his head, almost violently.

“Okay,” your voice is soft, placating, “Okay. I won’t touch you. We’ll just wait here for Steve, okay?”

Now

Bucky wonders if you’ll ever know how much of a help you were to him that day. You never did anything without his permission, but you stayed close. You respected his boundaries, and you kept an eye out for him, for any sign it was all becoming too much.

When Steve and Sam came back, it was simultaneously the worst and best thing that ever happened to him. They were on the run. There was a rogue Hydra operative trying like hell to unleash the Soldier everywhere they went.

He had to face the truth about the Starks. The fight with Tony.

But in the end, Steve offered him a home, a place to recover. That meant he had to face his past, though. He didn’t want to. He didn’t trust himself, or anyone else, even Steve.

But you were there too. You helped, and Steve’s friendship never wavered. Soon he had a tentative friendship with Natasha too, forged by a shared past that they both never liked to speak about. He had a weird, wonderful new alliance with Sam.

And you. You were-- he doesn’t want to put a name to what he’s feeling, because it’s too much, and he’s not ready for that yet. Not yet.

He forces himself back to the present.

You both walk in comfortable silence down the street, and Bucky’s so, so tempted to let his hand bump into yours, weave your fingers together, hold on tight and just let himself drown in the comfort he feels when he’s with you.

You look lovely in the early winter morning - you’re bundled up in a puffy coat, a scarf wound around your neck, and a knit hat on your head. He wants to memorize all the details of this morning and keep them locked away, so he can revisit them whenever he’s feeling lost.

“I thought we’d check this out-- the exhibit is-- I don’t know. I thought it might help.” You say, bringing his attention to where you are. The New York Historical Society. “Two of Brooklyn’s golden boys… it’s a wonder they didn’t dedicate the entire museum to the both of you.” You say, smiling, talking about him and Steve.

Bucky smiles but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t think he deserves to be remembered like this.

He follows you into the museum, trying not to scowl at everyone who turns and looks in his direction, some with awe on their faces, some with clear trepidation. You insist on paying his admission, even when he protests, but the sparkle in your eyes won’t be denied.

If he wasn’t so anxious, he’d actually be really enjoying this. He’s always liked learning and history in general, and there’s so much he’s missed - he could spend hours here and never know enough.

He can tell when you’re close to the exhibit. You walk a little closer, a little slower, chewing on your bottom lip. “If you get freaked out, just say the word,” you say over your shoulder, leading him on. “We’ll get out of here the minute you say so.”

He clears his throat. “I trust you.” He says. And it’s the truth. You look momentarily surprised, but try to hide it. You’re adorable.

The exhibit is everything he hoped it would be and nothing like he expects all at once. It’s similar to the one Steve’s taken him to in Washington. It’s a little overwhelming - the music, the voiceovers… the photos. His memories come to him in flashes, more now that he’s recovering.

The exhibit with the uniforms is startling. He knows they’re replicas. Whatever happened to his blue coat after he fell… he doesn’t want to know. But seeing it there, seeing all of them there, the Commandos… it’s a lot. He doesn’t know why he’s so emotional. But he misses them. He has flashes of laughing around a fire, of the ear-splitting sound of artillery and the adrenaline of making it out of a fight, the relief of seeing his friends alive and well.

He’s aware of your eyes on him.

You try to act like you’re looking at other exhibits, giving him space and time to take everything in at his own pace, but it’s the opposite of what he wants right now. He wants you right there beside him, he wants to grip your hand, he wants you to tell him that he’s done alright with his life, that none of this is his fault, that--

“Hey.” Your voice interrupts the beginnings of what he suspects would have been a panic attack. “Doing okay?”

He looks down at you. “Yeah.” His voice is thick with unshed tears. “I think this is enough for one day,” he says gently, still not used to saying what he’s feeling or drawing boundaries for himself. “Can we--”

“Let’s get something to eat.” You say immediately, brightly, your enthusiasm drawing the dark clouds away.

“I feel like you had ulterior motives for getting me out of the Tower,” he says, elbowing you gently.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply, prim, and he laughs. It feels-- going from feeling this unavoidable sadness to cracking jokes with you… he can’t put it into words how it makes him feel. Light. Unburdened. Happy.

Bucky Barnes doesn’t think he’s being dramatic when he says this is the best meal he’s ever eaten in his entire life.

He’s got the biggest slice of pizza, and you. You’re across from him, smiling as he tells you about the stupid shit he and Steve used to get up to in their Brooklyn neighborhood, your head propped up in your hand as you hang on his every word.

This is-- it’s a day he never dreamed he would have.

He knows he still has to face the music in terms of his recovery. There’s the trigger words, and whatever other shit they put in his head that he’s got to find a way to get a hold on. But he feels better knowing he actually has people on his side that want to help him.

Steve’s been talking about the Avengers. About Bucky, and having a place for him there, for as long as he wants one. He’s been talking about helping people, saving people… it seems like a dream.

And then there’s you.

You’re always there, eyes shining like diamonds, a bright smile there to greet him whenever he comes into a room. If you were ever afraid of him, you hid it well. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more grateful for anything than he is for meeting you, your friendship, and your gentle affection.

He wants to-- he wants to tell you things. He wants to say things to you that are probably too much, too soon, but he wants to say them anyway. He wants to tell you that his heart beats faster when you’re around. He wants to tell you that he thinks about you all the time.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask, eyes on your plate as you grab another slice.

“Are we on a date right now?” He blurts, and immediately regrets it. Your wide eyes meet his, and god, he wants the Earth to open up and swallow him whole. “You don’t have to answer that. Sorry--”

“Do you-- do you want it to be a date?” You ask, sounding a little nervous yourself, and Bucky can feel the spirit of his mother practically smacking him in the back of the head for being such an idiot.

But the truth? He does want this to be a date. He’s scared as hell. But still, he wants it.

“Can I tell you something embarrassing?” You ask, not waiting for him to answer. Letting him off the hook.

He nods.

“I have the biggest crush on you.” There’s a blush on your cheeks and you duck your head, and Bucky has never wanted to kiss someone so badly in his entire life. “I know this is the worst timing -- you’re still going through so much, and I’m so happy just to be in your life--”

“I--” He interrupts you, not even sure what he wants to say, but knowing he can’t let you think that he doesn’t want you. “I like you.” He admits, and can hear Steve’s snort of amusement in his head. He’s Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. The Fist of HYDRA. And he tells you he likes you?!

That blush is still there on the apples of your cheeks though, so he takes it as a good sign. “I’m not… sure how to do this anymore. It’s been awhile.” He says, wry, and beams at you when you laugh in return. “I just know that I like the way I feel when I’m with you.”

You reach for his hand across the table, slowly, giving him enough time to move away if he wants to. He absolutely doesn’t.

“I feel that way about you, too.” You tell him. “We-- we can go as slow as you want. We don’t even have to do anything else besides this.”

“I can think of a few other things I’d like to do.” Bucky replies quickly, and there he is. The James Buchanan Barnes he thinks he was once, the one who was confident and sure.

“That was terrible,” you say, but the smile on your face is worth it. He thinks he’d do anything to see you smile like that more often. Your face and your voice softens, “Let’s just take it one day at a time, okay?”

On the way home, there’s absolutely no space between the two of you as you walk to the train station, hands clasped tightly together. No space between you on the train either, one of his arms slung around your shoulders as you sit.

He’s going to walk you to your room tonight, but he won’t kiss you. Not yet. He’ll save that for another day.

One day at a time, he thinks. One day at a time.

There's a diamond sky that's waiting for us just outside of town With the moon hanging for me and you, baby We can cut the headlights out when there ain't no one else around Kill the space in between, slide across that leather seat Heart to heart, face to face, you know all I wanna do Is get closer, closer, closer to you

#birbswc2019 #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction

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nymphl · 5 years ago

Text

In the General’s Bed - Regency!Hux x Reader - Ch. 6 - To resent a General

A/N - Hello, sweethearts! Here’s chapter 6 of ITGB. This chapter has a lemony scene, a bit more detailed then the others in this story xD I hope you like this chapter, it’s one of my fav, even more because it entails a bit of shift in this story and what I’m planning for future chapters xD Anyways, thanks for leaving notes and reblogging. I appreciate your feedback very much.

Story Summary: The General is cornered… Upon returning from a successful campaign in Battle of Waterloo, Armitage Hux knows he has no excuses left; he must produce the much-needed heir. The problem is, when the two of you parted five years ago, it was not in the best of terms. Now, he may not find his wife, you, so willing as he first expected, nor keen on taking part in any of his political games. [Hux x Reader – Hux x You – Regency AU].

Warnings for the entire story: Will contain at times; graphic violence, sex, drugs and manipulation, coarse language and OOCness.

AO3 Tags: Regency Era; Alternate Universe; Alternate Story; Alternate Universe - Historical; Arranged Marriage; Politics; War; Napoleonic Wars; England - 1815; Married Couple; OOCness; Smut

Wordcount: 7898

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

“THREE… TWO… ONE… THERE YOU GO, LITTLE LORD.”

You smiled as Lux positioned his chubby hands over the piano keys and played the brief song you had just taught him. He was a smart kid and learned fast. Part of you would rather if he did not catch onto things so quickly, as to delay his imminent parting as much as possible.

“Well done,” you said, before pressing your lips lightly to his forehead. You knew Rae Sloane was watching everything with her attentive eyes as she read a book in the nearby ottoman. “Well done.”

As he continued to play, you let yourself think of Hux’s words. Of his whispered confession last night.

My damned father made sure I will only have access to the total sum of my inheritance only when I have an heir of my own.

You remembered you reacted with a loud What? and that you told yourself there was nothing to be surprised about. Brendol Hux would do anything in his power to undermine his own son — flesh, blood… those were notions the previous General did not give a damn about. If he could jeopardize Armitage’s standing, he certainly would.

The very thought made you bit your bottom lip in anger. You did not know which father was worse, if yours — with his prejudice and blatant disregard of women — or Brendol — with his dubious character and… well, you could also say blatant disregard of women and his own flesh and blood.

There were days in which you were grateful for having barely interacted with the man himself. And in most of them, you pitied Hux for having had to put up with him for almost three decades.

Bad character aside, Brendol’s actions posed a problem for both of you. Armitage had the money, he just could not use it until…

You sighed.

And recalled Rae’s own words to you.

…give him a damned heir…

Well, it seemed now you had no other choice. It was either give him a damned heir or watch him making a deal with Lady Carise — the devil herself. Borrowing money from a banker was completely out of the picture.

“Mama… Mama!”

You were startled as Lux’s voice reached you. He had placed both of his tiny hands on your face, directing your attention to him. The piano keys — his recent fixation — completely forgotten.

“I am terribly sorry, Little Lord. I am…” You stopped yourself before you could lie. Rae cast a glance at you from her book, eyes narrowed. “Very much distracted today.”

He nodded, but his face hid nothing of his disappointment. You chewed your bottom lip; overcome with guilty, but feeling your mind racing with possibilities all the same. You had to find a way to get you out of this situation — to repay for his… understanding. To name it as kindness would be a bit too much.

The fact is… Hux had a meeting with his investors today — one in which he would be accompanied by Lord Mitaka — and only God could know what their reaction would be as soon as they knew how little profit the Arkanis Brewery would give them in the next few months — it is, if Hux found a way to pay for his debts. You admitted that in such devastating scenario, the was the fastest and safest way to get out of this predicament, without leading him to compromise his candidacy for Prime Minister, would be to accept Lady Carise’s money.

Nevertheless, you would have no way out if you did not get pregnant soon. Well, needless to say you were trying, but there had to be something else — something faster and precise — that could be done.

With a defeated sigh, you messed his ginger hair. He ran his fingers through his tresses and stared at you with a scowl — to which you did your best to muffle your laughter. He was just too adorable when he was mad!

“Mama! And Lord Hux?”

“What about Lord Hux, Little Lord?” You pressed a lovingly kiss to his cherub cheeks and watched with amusement as he wiped his face with the back of his hand. He was indeed mad at you.

Rae Sloane cast a glance at you; one that showed that in spite of her disapproval of Lux’s inappropriate behavior, she was still at least a bit amused with his frustration.

“The violin, Mama!”

Ah yes…

He had been talking excitedly for a good few minutes — a few days now — about Hux’s violin — you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact Lux had actually seen his uncle playing the instrument. It had been years since you last saw him near it — and you barely heard anything he said.

You sighed.

“I know you want to play violin, but listen to me, I myself don’t know how to play it and I’m not sure Lord Hux has the time to teach you.”

His face fell.

It was obvious he had developed some sense of… admiration to your husband. He worshiped him — honestly, Lux was a very lonely child and he had the tendency of looking up to anyone who paid him a measly few minutes of attention.

You left the bench and kneeled in front of him, adjusting his clothes and bringing him closer to you by his waistcoat.

“But I can keep teaching you how to play the piano.”

He smiled. Begrudgingly, but he did.

“Now?”

You were ready to answer the both of you should get ready to have lunch and later — after you got some well needed time to send a message to your contact in The Times — you could teach him a thing or two about the piano, but you were interrupted by the sound of someone opening the door of the drawing room.

Looking up, you were surprised to see your husband crossing the threshold. The boy beamed up as he saw Hux and he quickly left your embrace to run towards his new idol.

You rolled your eyes.

“I want your violin.”

“Lux Dameron!” Rae admonished him; her voice was harsh and hid nothing of her disapproval. “That’s no proper way to ask for anything.”

He lowered his head, ashamed and muttering a small, feeble apology. You could barely hear him saying I’m sorry, Lord Hux.

Armitage, however, did not seem to mind the boy’s lack of etiquette. Blue eyes focused on you — and the intensity of his stare made you shiver; it felt as if he could read your thoughts and what you were planning… or thinking about planning… —, he dismissed Lux’s apology, “I’ll teach you how to play it one of these days.”

Lux looked up at him with adoration in his chestnut eyes. Your husband was doing a hell of good job of turning the boy against you and Rae. Firstly, he promised to teach him how to ride a horse and now… he promised violin lessons.

With a sharp intake of breath, Rae fixed her dark eyes on him, making Lux hide behind Hux’s long legs.

“Really?”

Hux nodded, dismissing Rae’s stare as if it meant nothing. You wondered how many times she terrorized him in his childhood — and how many times she did not act on those stares, if Hux treated it so lightly. “Now, you must go with Lady Rae and get ready for lunch.”

“Yes!”

He was so excited at the prospect of spending more time with Hux, he paid Rae little to no attention — a fatal mistake if your memory did not fail you; Rae would probably ground him for the entire week and only you knew how terrible Lux’s mood got whenever he was banned from visiting the stables and his beloved friend horses, but at the moment, he did not seem to even remember how devilish Lady Sloane could be.

Accepting her hand, he followed her out of the drawing room humming to a childish song. You were ready to trail after them, when you felt your husband’s hand enclosing around your wrist.

“I never allowed you to leave, Lady Hux.”

A happy sigh left you as he brought your body closer to his and his lips fell upon yours in a slow, seductive kiss. He entangled his fingers in your hair — and if he did not know how to drive you mad with want, you would have scolded him for undoing your perfect hairdo — and angled your head for his better pleasure; his tongue running enticingly over the rim of your lips.

Placing your hands on his shoulders, and then slowly sliding them into his ginger locks — you almost expected him to trap your hands between his, but this time he did not seem to mind a disheveled appearance —, you gladly let him in, stroking your own tongue boldly against his.

He let you go after what seemed a good few minutes and pressed a kiss to your temples. You fought to reign in your breathing as he lowered his forehead to yours.

“I know what you’re thinking…” You wetted your lips nervously. “He isn’t a Dameron and you dislike seeing him being addressed as such.”

There was a minute of silence as you caressed his face.

“No. He isn’t,” he replied as he put some space between the two of you.

A tired sigh left your lips.

You could have pointed out he could never be a Hux — not if he wanted to become Prime Minister in the near future — and that he once hated his family name, but you understood what he meant. After Brendol passed away, the name Hux gained a new face: his — and later on yours —, and with it a new blank chapter; one he was willing to write differently, for the sake of his new family. And Lux is family.

Part of you wondered if the desire to recognize Lux as family came from the desire to right his father’s — and yours too — wrongs. If not for you and Rae, his fate would be… probably worse than Hux’s.

However, you both knew that if anyone just dreamed about Lux being his nephew and your little brother it would be the end of his aspirations. Your standing in the town would be compromised and no sane King would approve of him as the Head of the Parliament. And that position meant a great deal to Hux.

You walked to him, until you invaded his personal space.

“Would you rather if he were your son?” you whispered against his lips, but as soon as the words were out, you realized how stupid that question was.

He chose silence.

You swallowed.

“How did it go?” you said, trying to change the topic and get some control over the situation. “What did the board say?”

It was all it took for him to break apart. Again.

You pursed your lips, trying not to let his actions get to you so easily. It was obvious he did not like to be further inquired on his meeting with his investors. It must have gone horribly if he was so against talking about it. That… or he did not like to talk about business at all.

Part of you understood where he came from. Most husbands did not talk to their wives about… Well, they simply did not talk. Most wives were there just for the show. Very few of them ran their estates and even fewer understood about business and politics. Even if they were interested in such topics, it was expected of them to shy away from them. Except for the Ton politics, noble ladies… Wealthy families, it is… they did not — should not — waste their precious time with the intricacies of business and income… They just… spent money as if there was no tomorrow and in case they lost it, well… they simply gained it back through marriages.

An accomplished lady knew about dancing, playing the piano, embroidery… but never about income and basic taxation. And the few men who understood the intricacies of the business world, probably came from the lower classes, working class, as Armitage’s family did. Your father, for one, knew nothing of business. He ran his estate with the same regard he showed your mother: which is to say, almost none. When he realized he spent all his wealth on courtesans back in London, he decided to regain it at the gambling table.

But you were no trophy wife. You refused to be. You would not back down. Sitting beside him on the setee, you took his hand between yours. Slowly, you traced the gold band on his finger.

“What did they say, Armitage?”

He narrowed his eyes at you; a clear warning. You should tread carefully when looking for answers, pressing him would not do. You rolled your eyes. You were not scared in the least.

“We’re not having this conversation, Lady Hux.”

You snorted.

“Well then, Lord Hux, perhaps you’d like to tell me what you’ll tell Lady Sindian.”

He inhaled sharply at your words.

“Or you’re not having this conversation with me either?”

“Careful, Lady Hux.”

You knew you were playing with fire, but you were not about to back down. Not now. Not ever. You told him you were in this for real — you told him that if he wanted to be Prime Minister, he would need you and you stood by that. If he wanted to get out of this debt, he would have to start trusting you.

If he thought you would not understand about his business, the least he could do is to tell you about how he would approach Lady Sindian. He would have to be smarter than her with his excuses — a simply refusal would not do.

You knew and he knew Lady Carise was dying to get back at your family — at you — for years now. If not having you pressing your father to let you marry Armitage, she probably would be your stepmother now… A Marquise. Having Lord Hux owing her a large sum of money seemed the right way to go. It did not seem to you she would let such matter go that easily. Unless… Unless she had something else in mind to use against the two of you. Something bigger. Something better.

That’s why he would have to be smooth. Lady Carise was not just any woman. Just like you, she did not bow to other men — she did not take no for answer.

You were ready to inquire him further, when you felt him bringing your wrist to his mouth. Your heart quickened as got a brief taste of your skin. A gasp left you as he pulled you to him, forcing you to straddle his hips. His lips quickly found yours in a searing kiss. You knew what he was doing and even though you thoroughly disliked it, you would let him have his secrets.

For now.

You woke up later with a strong headache.

There was no need to look for Hux’s watch-pocket to know it was late afternoon — he had left you spent, and you slept more than you usually did whenever you took an afternoon nap — and that you had gone by without lunch once more. No wonder your head felt like exploding, yet you felt no hungrier than before. To your surprise, he was still by your side. But, this time, instead of relief, you were disappointed.

You left the comfort of his arms and rolled on your back.

“Ugh… Why is it so clear? And who’s playing Schubert?”

As expected, there was no reply from his part. There was no need to. In spite of Rae’s misgivings about the piano, she was quite proficient at it. She put many of the accomplished ladies of the Ton to shame with her skills — after five years living with you and seeing you practice, she became quite fond of the instrument, even though she would not admit it.

Since the two of you disappeared to your chambers before lunch, you imagined she would take it upon herself to keep Lux busy and out of your hair. By now, you thought the poor boy was probably sleeping in the setee, while Rae played to her heart’s content.

You closed your eyes — as if it could relieve the pain and ease the guilt —, but they quickly snapped open when Armitage moved over you, his nose touching yours and his breath caressing your face.

He kissed you.

Slowly.

Sweetly.

A mere brush of lips.

“You worry too much.”

With a gasp, you let him in, stroking your own tongue against his. He let you dominate it — dominate him —, not caring once more that you had slid your hands between his ginger locks. His fingers traveled the extension of your legs lightly, prying them open, so he could slide between them. He did not stop until he reached your hips, applying the slightest of pressures.

The kiss did not last long. He let go of your lips and moved downwards, placing open-mouthed kisses on every inch of exposed skin. Your breath grew heavier as he paid thorough attention to your throat at the same time his hands traveled upwards, in a quest for your breasts.

“We’ll be late for dinner.”

He paid little no regard to what you said. And in spite of what you said, you, too, could not care less about your lateness. Even the melancholic sound of the piano downstairs did not deter you from your quest for the astounding heights of pleasure you could reach together. A moan left you as you tried to move your hips, seeking the much-needed friction. He was so hard, and you were… so ready to take him, you moved your hand from his shoulders and tried to reach his cock… Just to have your wrists trapped. You grunted in disappointment, but he merely lowered his head to your chest and pressed light kisses to the undersides of your breasts. Quite but never touching you were you needed most.

“I won’t beg.”

His lips tilted in the shadow of a knowing smirk.

A gasp escaped you as he placed a small kiss over your nipples. First, on the right breast and then the left. He did not take his time to worship them, however. He kept on lowering his kisses, going past your ribcages, your belly, your navel, till he reached your hipbone.

You pressed your lids together, waiting anxiously for what was to come. For a man who did not enjoy small talk, he surely knew how to put his mouth to better uses than to those of meaningless discourse.

Squirming in his hold, you tried to get your hands free — to fist the sheets, to grab onto his hair —, but he did not allow you to. His lips ghosted over the insides of your thighs — it was so light you could barely feel it. You arched your back, lifting your hips — offering yourself to him. He ran the tip of his tongue over your clit.

“Yes! Gods, yes!”

With a smirk, he drew away. His lips glistening with your wetness. You bit your own bottom lip, frustrated beyond measure.

“You won’t have me begging.”

He ran his lips over your left calf, letting go of your wrists — to which you checked for marks and thanked the old-fashioned use of gloves; the General had a penchant for leaving you marked. With his left hand he held your leg close to his mouth and lazily pumped himself with his right hand.

You inhaled sharply at the sight. It was indeed a feast to the eyes. Armitage knew how to please your every sense — vision, hearing, smell, taste, touch… none was left unattended for too long.

“Touch yourself.”

You bit your bottom lip, unsure. It is not to say that in the five years you were apart, you never sought to pleasure yourself — but to have him watching you was completely different. The intensity in his eyes made you warm all over. Your lids fluttered closed as you reached down, tracing your own thighs, approaching your center very slowly… outlining your lips… testing your wetness… quite but not entering yourself, as you knew he wanted.

“Look at me,” he whispered against your calf; his lips were almost on your knees, kissing the underside of it. “Keep your eyes open. I want to see them when you come.”

His words had you breathing deeply through your nose.

You opened your eyes, looking at his face and then sliding down… to the path of ginger hair leading to his engorged, beautiful shaft… Your mouth watered — you moaned — at the sight of precum oozing from his head.

Under his attentive gaze, you slid one finger inside of you and then a second; the heel of your hand applied a sweet pleasure to your clit. More than once, you thought about closing your eyes — the intensity in his blue orbs too much for you —, but as you lost yourself to the growing pleasure, you realized you could not shift your attention from how he stroked his shaft, timing it to the rhythm of the music. The feel of his lips, inching closer and closer to your center forced you to keep your eyes wide open and focused on him.

As the piece of music reached a crescendo — and you could swear you would never be able to play or listen to Schubert without reliving this very afternoon —, so did his movements — and yours too. Your breath grew heavier, beads of sweat pooled in the valley of your breasts, sliding down your skin. You were close and he knew it.

Armitage lowered himself on the bed and placed one of your legs over his shoulders; your hands were put aside. His heavenly mouth ghosted over your clit, his warm breath making you clench around nothing. This time, the thought of not begging flew off your mind as you uttered a broken please.

With a smug smirk, he took your clit between his lips, sliding two of his fingers inside you. Losing no time, he looked for that sweet spot that would have you singing for him as he worked you towards an earth-shattering orgasm.

As it hit you — just a marvelous, indescribable feeling that had you arching your back off the bed and your eyes filling with unshed tears —, you sought his hair — to keep him in place or to pull him apart; you were so sensitive you thought you could not take any more stimulation —, instead, you felt the fingers of his left hand entwining with yours as he continued to lap at you; allowing you to ride your orgasm fully.

The piece came to a diminuendo and so did the movement of his fingers and his tongue against you, until they completely stopped. A deep, contented sigh left you as you looked at him through half lidded eyes. Your legs were trembling; you were so weak you thought that if not for being laid over the mattress you would fall on your knees — exactly like last time when he ate you out against the door of his study. The mere remembrance made your face hot.

With the final notes, he entered you without warning.

Both of you gasped.

He took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside your mouth — letting you taste yourself. Part of you expected him to give you a moment to adjust to his size or at least to recuperate from the last orgasm. Instead, he set a punishing rhythm against your hips.

It did not hurt — and even if it did, you learned how to find pleasure in a bit of pain — but you were so sensible, the second wave of pleasure found you without voice. Your nails punctured his flesh as he sought his own release.

He was so worked up, it did not take him long to abandon the timed strokes. His mouth was against your throat, and broken moans and grunts escaped through his opened lips. You brought his hand to your breasts and he kneaded the pearls between his fingers, with his right hand he stroked your clit in a circular movement, to the point you were sobbing.

As your second orgasm came to an end, his own started. He pressed a kiss to your breasts, and you pulled onto his hair till a grimace of pain took over his features — exactly like he enjoyed. He grunted your name; his eyes fell closed as his hips jerked forward one last time.

It felt like ages had gone by as he emptied himself inside you. His lips worshipped the column of your throat and his hand travelled over your thighs in a slow, sensual caress as you both tried to recover.

His breath became normal before yours. He kept on placing small open-mouthed kisses to your glistening skin, whispering words you could not understand — or care less. Your eyes were heavy, and you were so tired all you wanted was to doze off at least a bit. He softened still inside of you, but you were so comfortable in such position, you did not want him to move an inch.

He did not.

“You should get ready.” He captured your lips lightly. You sighed happily. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”

“Thank you, my love,” you whispered against his mouth. You pressed a light kiss to his lips, but he did not kiss you back. Your words had him drawing apart — it was impossible not to be aware that it was all because you addressed him in a novelettish manner.

Armitage slid out of you and sat on his side of the bed.

You bit your bottom lip.

He stared ahead. His mind, however, was distant. You closed your eyes, running your hands over your face, as if it would just erase what you just said; you heavily regretted your form of endearment.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

His impossibly blue eyes snapped back to you. He breathed deeply through his nose.

“Think not of it. My mind is just busy.”

His words — so detached — coupled with his facial expression — so perfectly schooled —, made you flinch. You bit your bottom lip, realizing what you did not want to acknowledge before: whenever the two of you made love, his heart was not into it. He enjoyed the physical act to its fullest — he ensured you did too —, but like he said… his mind — and heart — was elsewhere.

You chewed the inside of your cheek and sat on the bed, wrapping the sheets wrapped around your body. You seized the moment to introduce a topic you were dying to discuss with him a while ago.

“We should sell the estate in Southampton.”

His answer came quicker than you expected; his voice firm — not loud or authoritative, “Absolutely not.”

Coupled with how still his body went, you quickly understood he did not want to talk further about the topic. It did not mean you would concede defeat so easily, though.

“Please.”

You sought his fingers. He caught your wrist, running his thumb over your palm. He brought it to his lips, bestowing upon your knuckles a small kiss.

Biting your bottom lip, you focused your attention on his face. The slight tilt of his lips indicated he knew what he was doing to you and what exactly were your thoughts concerning it.

You snatched your hand away, focusing on the present issue. You spent a great deal of the afternoon being distracted — fooled — by him. You dismissed it before, letting him have his way with you, but now, you could not avoid the politics and the sensitive topics concerning his imminent bankruptcy.

“Hear me out.”

“My answer is final, Lady Hux.”

The fact that he did not call you by your name indicated he really did not — and would not — want to discuss such topic any further. Your shoulders slumped, but you did not concede defeat. Not so quickly.

“That’s my house and therefore my decision to make.”

He pursed his lips into a thin line. It was obvious he was getting tired of it. Getting tired of your insistence — it was clear he was not in the least inclined to share a few things with you. His business was one of them.

And honestly, he was not wrong. Actually, he was — but not legally speaking. According to British law, you were his property to do as he pleased and talking or not about business as his decision to make. Selling your house was his decision to make — not yours.

How you hated being a woman most of times!

“Armitage.”

“(Y/N)”.

You rolled your eyes. He was going to make this hard for you — he could be very difficult when he wanted to. Displeased, you watched as he rose from the bed and slipped inside his robe. Shoulders down, your mind raced with possible arguments as you waited for him to go fetch his cigar and a glass of brandy.

It was needless to ask for him to pour some for yourself. As you were trying to conceive, anything alcoholic was out of the picture. And yet, you could feel your mouth watering at the mere thought of the amber liquid running down your throat.

After a few minutes went by, it became strikingly obvious he chose not to return to the bedroom. You slipped inside your robe, already sure he would admonish you for leaving the bed — the family’s physician had recommended for you to lie down after the two of you engaged in sexual relations; according to him, it would increase the chances of fertilization. Rae had rolled her eyes at the suggestion, but you were not one to disobey doctor’s orders that easily when there was so much at stake.

However…

This was an entirely different situation.

You were no expert when it came to finances, but after managing your father’s estate for five years, it was crystal clear the situation at the brewery was quite complicated — and it was you putting it mildly. He needed money — a large sum of it — and although a pregnancy and an heir would solve the problem easier than making a deal with Lady Carise, you were not so naïve as to think you would get pregnant that quick.

For that, you would have to count on luck and that was not something either could afford right now. That’s why you should convince him to sell your summer manor. That was the fastest way to solve the money problem without recurring to Lady Carise and her… less than adequate intentions towards your husband.

The mere thought of the woman made your entire body shudder.

You did not trust the her. You never did. Not even when she was to marry your father and become your stepmother. Something about her smelled fishy. And, God, it was in no way jealousy.

There was just something about her… that simply did not sit well with you.

And when your guts told you to stay away from something or someone... You would rather pay attention to it.

You dismissed such thoughts as you tightened the knot at your waist and ran your fingers through your messed hair — in case you met a servant in your way. Nevertheless, there was no need to go that far, for he was in the anteroom. Back turned to you, he exhaled the smoke, before bringing the cigar back to his lips.

Carefully, you approached him, encircling your arms around his waist. He stilled in your embrace but did not move away from you. With a relieved sigh, you tightened your hold and leaned your forehead against his back.

For a moment, all you could hear was the cadenced beating of his heart. It was calm and so very comforting. He placed his cigar in the cinder-box and entwined his hand with yours. It did not take him long to turn around in your embrace and face you.

“We’re not selling the Southampton manor, (Y/N).”

You could have asked why, but you were too tired for that. Suddenly, all you wanted as to get some sleep and forget that disastrous afternoon — dinner be damned. Aside the fact he could tell you he had a monetary problem — more likely he did not have a choice to begin with — it was obvious he did not want you having a part in solving it.

“I refuse to be the kind of husband that relies on his wife’s heritage to solve his problems.”

You snorted, ready to pretend you did not hear that. Or ready to ask him how it could be so different to borrow Lady Carise’s money, but not yours. After five years living only with Rae Sloane — a remarkably independent woman — and Lux — and a few servants, of course, but they would not meddle in how you decided to run the house or your life — it was easy to forget how men behaved and how societal expectations weighed heavily on their shoulders. Truth is, Rae taught how much free a woman can be making her own decisions and you were not ready to give up on that.

Instead, you settled on, “I don’t want that heritage. It has brought me nothing but pain.” You realized your mistake as soon as he broke away from you, but now… Now you could not back down. You looked at him, at his impossibly blue eyes as you continued, “The happiest moments I have in that house are related to Lux.” And Rae, of course. But that was a given. Honestly, even if there were happier memories from the house, it was not something you could so selfishly hold onto in times of need. And this very situation configured as such, in your opinion. You just had to make Hux see that.

He nodded…

…and you breathed slowly…

…relieved…

He was finally seeing things your way.

“The manor in Southampton is not to be sold. That’s final.”

Oh, dear God!

With that, he brought the cigar back to his lips, his eyes focused on the quickly darkening sky outside. “Now, go get ready. I’ll wait you downstairs.”

Seething with anger, you bit your bottom lip, but decided not to give him the answer you desperately wanted. He was right, you should get ready. You should leave his presence and stay alone for a while, least you wanted to end up killing him.

“Like this, Mama?”

You pressed a small kiss to Lux’s forehead and nodded. You were a bit distracted, but more focused on him than that morning.

“Yes, exactly like this, Little Lord.” A small smile blossomed on your lips as you ran your fingers through his ginger hair. He was very enthusiastic about you having dinner with him and later keeping him company as he played the piano. You dismissed his tutoress, giving her an earlier respite.

Part of you — the childish part — was dying to know how Hux reacted to your absence. Even though the Lady of the House could indulge in the luxury of having breakfast in her chambers, dinner was an entirely different story. And part of you — the part that was trying to behave like the grown woman you were — just wanted some peace and the opportunity to sort your thoughts.

Spending some time with Lux gave you exactly what you were looking for. Not to mention, you felt bad for neglecting him during a great deal of the last few days.

“Promise me that if you ever get married, you will listen to your partner.”

He stopped playing and removed his chubby hands from the keys. He looked at you with a confused face, as if he had no idea what you were talking about — and how could he? Lux was just four — sometimes it was easy to forget.

“Never mind.” You placed both of his hands back on the keys and instructed, “Keep going, you’re doing great!”

Lux beamed up at your words — a genuine smile curving his lips and highlighting his dimples. You felt tempted to pinch his cheeks, but you knew he would get mad at you. And he was doing so well, you did not want to distract him right now.

“Rae is no fun,” he commented when he got bored of the melody you were teaching him.

You smiled once more.

Yes.

He was right.

Rae is no fun.

“Adults are no fun,” you commented, placing both hands on the piano and inventing another melody just so he could copy you and thus you could extend your time together — even though it was way past his bedtime.

“No! You are fun, Mama!” His vehemence made you laugh a little.

“Lord Hux would probably say I’m no adult at all.”

And with your recent behavior, you could say he was right. And as soon as he knew what you did, he would be even sure of it. You bit your bottom lip, expecting him to chew you alive next day when he read the newspaper tomorrow morning.

No.

You did the right thing.

If he was not willing to see things your way, you just had to force him to. You had done it before, and it worked. There was no way it would not work now.

“You should not speak for myself.”

Both you and Lux looked up to see the figure of your husband leaning against the threshold. He unfolded his arms and approached you in a few, firm strides.

“Lord Hux!” Lux exclaimed, shifting on his seat. He moved closer to you, giving space for Armitage to sit beside him.

“Lord Hux,” you acknowledged his presence with pursed lips. Not keen on talking to him in front of a small child — you still resented him for his behavior earlier —, you moved your fingers over the keys.

He seemed to think of it as an offer, for he, too, accompanied you in the music. After years of watching him playing his violin, you almost forgot how proficient he was at playing the piano.

Biting your bottom lip, you removed your fingers from the keys and rose to your feet. Still playing, Armitage looked at you with could almost pass as a surprised expression. You knew better.

“Let’s go, Lux,” you said, outstretching your hand. “It’s way past your bedtime.”

“But Mama—

“Lux!” You did not let him finish his plea. At some point, you knew you would give in. “Come.”

“But I don’t wanna go,” he pleaded again, his intense chestnut eyes shining with unshed tears. He looked at Armitage, trying to get him on his side.

You sighed.

“Leave him be,” Hux said in an even tone, even if firmly. “I’ll get him to bed later.”

“No.”

If he was not willing to share things with you, you would not share your authority over Lux. Besides your unwillingness to do as your husband said, it was very late, and Lux was tired. If he was irritated at the mere possibility of going to bed, it was because it was way past his time to sleep.

Rubbing his eyes, Lux climbed down the seat and walked to you, not taking your hand, but not completely dismissing it either. As soon as you opened the door, you spotted the governess walking down the corridor.

She stopped as she saw you and subconsciously adjusted her clothes. If you were not so mad at Hux, you would probably have smiled at her gesture.

“May I help you, Your Ladyship?”

You shook your head, but your husband was behind you, a hand on your shoulder as he forced you to step back to his arms. His hand over yours prevented you from breaking apart.

“Take Lux to his room.”

“Yes, my Lord,” she replied, offering Lux a hand. The boy quickly took it, casting a final glance at both of you. “Come, Lord Lux.”

As the two of them disappeared in the dim lighted corridor, you stepped away from Hux’s embrace.

“If you kindly excuse me.”

Before you could even leave the room, he had closed the door and pressed you against it. You inhaled sharply but refused to look at him over your shoulder.

“Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

His imperative tone made you snap. You shifted in his embrace and raised your chin, “Why should I talk to you when you don’t show the same consideration to me?”

He did not reply, not immediately. With the back of his hand, he traced your jawline and with his thumb he traced your bottom lip.

“I hate you.”

“I thought we were past that,” he replied lowering his face to yours. As soon as you felt his breath so close to your mouth, you turned your face away from him, letting his lips brush your cheeks.

“We have never been past that.” You moved from under his arms and put some distance between the two of you. He was ready to follow you when you said, “Don’t touch me without my permission.”

He stopped immediately, his hands falling to his sides.

You looked away, your eyes full of unshed tears.

“I thought we were on talking terms now, but it seems I was mistaken.” You drew in a sharp breath. Pressing your fingers firmly against the fabric of your dress, you raised your chin again, “A word of advice, Lord Hux, if you want to convince the King to appoint you as Prime Minister—

His snort made you stop momentarily. However, there were a few things to be said, and be damned his unwillingness to hear them.

“If you want to be Prime Minister,” you repeated; your eyes narrowed at him. “You should start talking to your wife. Your opponents will constantly do their best to put us against each other and I can’t simply take your side every time if I don’t know what’s going on through your head.”

He approached in purposeful strides. He forced you to release the fabric of your dress and placed both of your hands on his shoulders.

“They will undoubtedly do that,” he said, running his thumb over your cheeks. “And for your and Lux’s sake, you should be ready to turn on me if the time comes.”

You furrowed your brows.

What was he talking about?

“A word of advice, Lady Hux.” He mimicked you, running his thumb over your bottom lip to prevent you from biting it. “Perhaps you should watch whom you make alliances with. Perhaps siding with His Highness won’t bring the expected results.”

Your eyed widened.

“It’s treason.”

He broke apart.

“It’s only treason if I get caught.”

You followed him, your mouth agape. That was a dangerous game — this one he was playing. When you reached him, you put your hand on his face, forcing him to look at you.

“Armitage, hear me out, if you get caught—” You shook your head and lowered your voice. “No. When you get caught, you’ll be hanged.”

He kissed the inside of your hand.

“That’s why you’ll have to make them believe you knew nothing.”

You shook your head.

He was not listening to you.

He was not fucking listening to you.

“There was no meeting this morning with the board, right? You met with the Prince.”

He shrugged.

“The Kings is dying.”

“He isn’t dead yet,” you retorted. “Your personal interests should not interfere with those of the Crown. Listen, I know you want to become Prime Minister, but betraying your King will nev—

He snorted.

…and pulled your head back by your hair, exposing your throat to his lips.

“You don’t fool me, Lady Hux.” He brought his lips to yours. “You pretend your loyalty lies with the King, but I know you want this as much as I do.”

“Yes.” You replied breathless. “I want it, but I am being reasonable here while you are not. You’re loyal to no one, but yourself!”

Placing both hands on his shoulders, you tried to force him to break apart. His hand wrapped around your neck, applying the slightest of pressures to your windpipe.

“Yes… You’re right. I’m loyal only to myself.” He kissed the corner of your lips. “But what about you, Lady Hux? Where your loyalty lies?”

“With—

“Think carefully about your answer.” Your answer had his fingers tightening around your throat — not to the point of hurting you.

You wetted your lips.

“With the Crown, obviously.”

“Why?”

He pried his fingers open a little bit, allowing you to draw in a breath and reply — you were not so sure he would not like to hear it, “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

You bit your bottom lip, relieved that he seemed pleased with your answer. You thought about going on differently about it, but you knew he was talking hypothetically — just in case he was caught in his own game, something he did not plan on happening.

“Exactly, Lady Hux.” He kissed your throat softly. Next, his lips were upon yours in a brief — so very sweet — kiss. After it was over, he pressed his forehead to yours.

“You shouldn’t have to ask it. You know my loyalty lies with you. Because I lo—” You closed your eyes and drew in a breath. It was time you were honest, not only with him, but with yourself. “Because without you I can’t get what I want.”

“And what do you want, Lady Hux?”

Looking into his eyes, you replied, “Power.”

You loved Hux — you really did —, but you also loved the many possibilities a relationship with him represented. Knowing that he coveted — and could possibly be chosen — the position of Prime Minister opened a lot of those possibilities for you. You knew that without him, you would never reach a position of power — at least, not one like this.

“I want power.”

This time, his lips fell upon yours passionately. His hands slithered to your waist as he brought your body closer to his. You gasped, giving him the chance to slide his tongue over yours and deepen the kiss. He walked you back, till you met with the piano bench. He made you sit down, kneeling before you.

Biting your bottom lip, you drew in a sharp breath. He kissed your throat, his hand slithering under your dress to caress your thighs. You watched in awe as he removed your shoes and then your stockings. You knew that as soon as he touched your undergarments, he would find them dripping wet.

“Tell me what you want, Lady Hux.”

You allowed him to remove the offending article of clothing that kept his glorious fingers from you. Arching your back, you offered more of yourself to him.

“You. I want you.”

He removed his lips from your throat and shook his head. His fingers — oh, so close — stopped their caress over your sensible, burning skin.

That was not the answer he wanted to hear.

You drew in a breath…

…and wetted your lips.

“I want power.”

It was all it took to have his fingers caressing you in the way he knew you needed it and to have his lips falling upon yours in an overpowering kiss.

“And you shall have it. Power suits you.”

A/N - And that’s all for today. I’m still working on my stories. I hope you forgive me for taking so much time between updates.

#in the general's bed #in the generals bed #itgb #hux x reader #hux x you #armitage hux #general hux #armitage hux x reader #armitage hux x you #general hux x you #general hux x reader #star wars regency story #regency story #sequels #fanfic #fanfiction

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crqstalite · 5 years ago

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pt. 12, into the lion’s den, pt. 4.

finally added in tri’ama and malavai’s slightly dysfunctional relationship (where their ages difference is more pronounced and their personalities clash harder). and! the sith court. headcanons for that will come soon!

written: 8.25.19. word count: 3,268

tri’ama’s dress <<

kira’s dress <<

naji’s dress <<

mierrio’s dress <<

note: im sorry i really like fashion lol. hence why kept describing their outfits n dresses.

════ ⋆★�� ════ character song: teeth, 5sos

character file: tri'ama amarillis-quinn, the emperor's wrath & naji iresso, barsen'thor of the jedi order.

malavai quinn is a puzzle. and tri'ama is usually relatively good at puzzles when all the pieces are there at her disposal. slowly fitting them together as she finally finds out what makes the person tick. and then usually exploiting those flaws.

however, malavai is still missing pieces, and tri'ama has yet to put them all together. she's never hugely sure how he feels about her on any given day, his true emotions hidden so far beneath his imperial conditioning that she's sometimes afraid he's renounced his feelings for her. they sleep in the same bed, attend the same meetings together. tri'ama has received the most thoughtful gifts she's ever been given from him, and she hopes she's done the same for him. they've been married for four and a half years, if he has any sort of problem with her, she hopes that he'll tell her.

she ponders if she's done something wrong as she fits a silver headband into her golden hair. she tries her best not to be an annoyance, and tri'ama is hoping the seventeen year age difference isn't what's getting to him. while she's barely in her prime, he's gaining grey hairs around his temples. it's handsome, she believes. but, as she runs a brush through what hair she has left, tri'ama realizes it will be years until she reaches the same age malavai was when they first met. she's only twenty-four, and he's coming upon his forty-first birthday. an astronomical age gap that if they met at any younger of an age, it could be considered illegal by imperial standards.

that would remind her to buy a present for him once they returned to dromound kaas.

and then there's the whole matter of the insufferable, childish darth nox that arrived three days late to the court. choking her out hadn't been as much an act of power than one to remind her of her place. a previous slave, stars what was the academy thinking, allowing her grow her power base like this? tri'ama was aware of slaves that became apprentices to other darths, but rarely ever made it above one. not to mention her reckless actions that often nearly foiled tri'ama's missions. she wasn't as all-powerful as she would've liked others to believe, and she was not going to be brought down because one simple inquisitor couldn't make time for her shiny new dark council position. it's enough to give her a headache, one that malavai's aspirin couldn't fix. and because darth nox is relatively new to the council, they others see it fit to put them together.

did she hate darth nox?

possibly.

most definitely.

but, that isn't her main focus tonight. pulling a pair of earrings out of their box, she fastens them onto her earlobes as her pale grey eyes meet in the mirror. tonight, the court occurs. a three night event, the court invites all sith in the known galaxy to mingle and visit with each other, hoping to strengthen ties between all force-sensitives that tune to the dark side. her pureblood adoptive parents have said they met at one such court. chuckling, she hopes she doesn't disappoint them, taking the hand of an intelligence agent instead of a sith.

the thul palace has it's fair share of commodities, and the luxury room she was given for the nights of the peace discussions is beautiful within itself. the duvet cover is thick, but warm during the cool nights. the lights illuminate her face as she paints her lips a striking red, eventually tousling her blonde curls out around her shoulders. recently, she'd received a rather severe hair cut, straight in all dimensions with bangs and corners that could cut on the strands that just barely brush her pale, bare shoulders.

she enjoys how it makes her look oh so powerful. like the galaxy is here for her taking.

her breath hitches once she senses someone come up behind her as she picks up the exquisite necklace she'd received for life day the year prior, a stunning ruby hanging off the golden chain as she turns to see the dark haired male come up behind her. "may i assist, my lord?"

"if you wish." she says calmly, allowing him to take the delicate chain from her and he swiftly fastens it around her neck. it almost seems as if it were made for her, the ruby cut in a diamond as it glints off the room's lights. well, it was made for her, specially cut and enscribed on the jewel with her name and the date of their marriage. her hand brushes his before holding it to her chest as they look at one another in the mirror. it's rather nostalgic, in the same position when they took their marriage photo after the ceremony. however, instead of a strapless maroon gown, she had worn a full white dress and he in his dress uniform. that day, had been one of her most precious. "are you enjoying yourself, malavai?"

he pauses for a moment, considering his answer. "i enjoy every moment i spend with you, my love."

there's no distinct shift in his ice cold blue eyes, so she figures he has little else on his mind. or, that he knows that's how she can tell when he's uneasy these days. his dress uniform is pressed and sharp, as always as she stands from the chair she'd been sitting in, closing her jewelry box and placing it back in one of her bags. "you've never been to a sith court before, have you?" she questions, turning to face her husband as he adjusts one his cuffs.

"not many of intelligence have. those who've returned are tight-lipped about their experiences." malavai responds, turning his attention towards his wife. "it is truly an honor to be here."

"you would say such a thing. i'm curious how long it will take before someone begins a yelling contest with another lord." tri'ama says sarcastically as she picks up her handbag. "i suggest milling around and mingling with the lower lords and their apprentices, but those on the council i can wait to see until tomorrow. with any wine in my system, i can not be responsible for my actions with them. i'd rather they not speak to me in such a vulnerable state."

"understood, my lord." she tries not to grit her teeth at the honorific, and whether malavai picks up on it or, she isn't sure. opening the door for her, she steps out into the hall, locking it behind them once he shuts the light off. "my love." he says, offering her his arm.

she threads her arm through his, lying her head on his shoulder for just a moment as he stiffens before relaxing. "well, i suppose we should get going, yes?"

"it seems that way, yes."

naji is shivering, though felix comments that the open hall is rather warm. she feels as if she's attending a funeral, with all the black clothing that's being worn. her long blonde hair is out and loose around her shoulders, the contacts almost making her weep. she has yet to see a sith without the telltale amber eyes, so while they're uncomfortable, they are necessary to remain undercover.

master delux is with kira, who wears a black gown that trails on the floor (she'd meant to hem it for the older woman, but had run out of time when she'd had to assist with the search). some give them odd stares, due to kiveqil's pale skin in comparison to the ruby red skin of other zabrak sith. however, his story has been convincing enough thus far, as no one has pulled a vibroknife or lightsaber on him just yet.

the other things she's learned, is that sith tend to argue and gossip quite a bit. the black and white clad crowd is hushed, but she can hear the lies and gossip trailing behind her. mostly, they are comments on her clothes (it's rather scanty, a tight floor length midnight black dress with a plunging neckline and straps that she's sure will snap under any sort of stress), but others comments on how healthy her skin looks, and the lack of paleness and corruption to her. they only concern her more to whether they have already sensed her light nature.

"hey." felix's voice is hushed as he leads them to a more desolate corner of the room with only a few sith milling around. "are you going to be okay?"

"i'll be fine." she responds in whisper, as she slips her arm from his to slip her fingers in between his. "it's just...cold."

"sith-ish cold?" she nods, shivering as she tightens her cloak around her arms. "is it better if we stay here, away from them?"

"they'll become suspicious if we do." shaking her head, she stands a bit taller. "look proud, as if you belong here." her voice deepens into an imperial accent, mocking that of those around her without sounding horribly cheesy like the padawans at the temple did.

"i'll try." his impression is surprisingly better than hers, as they continue on around the room. naji declines an offer of champagne from a passing servant, keeping her eyes open for the woman she'd seen on the holo. "have you seen darth nox yet?"

"i haven't. if she's here, she's gotta be short or something." felix says, trying to receive a good-natured laugh from her. she's about to respond her own sarcastic comment when she's interrupted by another voice.

"she is rather short, i'll tell you that." naji panics for a moment, spine straightening to that of a ruler as she hears the voice of a pitch-perfect imperial accent. "why, do you require something from her?"

turning slowly, a blonde sith in a full red strapless dress (one of the few splashes of color she's seen all night, she believes only a select few wear any sort of color. the most common is red.) has come up from their right, arm entwined in a similar fashion as them with an imperial on the other end. the couple is rather imposing (she learned how to read the pins that officers decorate their uniforms with, this is a captain), and she hopes to give off the same air.

thinking of the story she'd told herself every night before her arrival here, she calms her racing heart and presses her lips into a firm line. "she and i were, daresay acquaintances during her time at the academy. i wasn't aware she'd become a darth until now."

"and who might you be?" the blonde questions. "i've never seen you before in her company."

"lord mankael o'vare." she nods. the blonde raises an eyebrow, but says nothing else towards her, her pale grey eyes flickering to her husband. "we were acquaintances during her time at the academy."

"i see you've taken a force-blind as your escort. what is your rank, soldier?" she asks, directing the question towards felix (which they'd meticulously fashioned a stolen uniform into a that representing a lieutenant, the highest rank they could achieve without requiring more pins and questions about his station).

"lieutenant irex fess, my lord." he says, his voice smooth and calm, as she wishes her heart would be. she doesn't look like a sith, the amber eyes not present and without a lightsaber. however, muscles are evident underneath her pale skin and her hair seems to be partaking in a regulation of some sort. the air about her is cold and collected, which sets a fear in her.

"your station?" the male asks, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.

"currently on shore leave. previously on hoth, sir."

they seem to look them both up and down, considering the pair. however, the woman makes a move to leave naji and felix to their own devices. "if i see darth nox, i'll make sure to tell her a certain mankael hopes to speak with her."

"thank you, my lord." however, naji's halfway sure the sith lord didn't hear her as the two walk back into the crowd. and she's thankful. thinking back to her research on who else was attending, they'd just had a run in with a certain emperor's wrath. with the armor and such, she hadn't immediatly recognized the woman, but the scar over her cheek was distinctive enough that naji immediatly remembered who it was.

and she's got a horrid chill about her, the coldest she's felt all night. naji's frightened, how many crimes had this darth committed compared to darth nox? was she worse? if that was the case, she'd need more thermal armor than the skimpy dress provided.

it isn't until much later during the night after the hor d'oeuvres are served that the chilled feeling she'd felt earlier with the wrath invaded her mind and body again, however much, much stronger than she'd originally expected. goosebumps dot her skin as felix slowly leads her off the makeshift dance floor at her request, the feeling still following her as they make a show of him helping her onto a sofa. she only lifts her head from her ankle when she hears yet another sharp imperial accent break through that of the classical music playing for those dancing in the hall.

"lord o'vare, i presume." the woman speaking is a dead ringer to the description given of darth nox, hair shoulder length and pressed straight with a strand of silver jewelry through her dark brown hair. her dress is less decorative than that of the wrath's, but instead of red, it's a deep royal purple strappy evening gown with intricate white lace over her plunging neckline. "what is it you require?"

she pauses for a moment, unsure of how to answer before her nerve runs out, playing with her blonde hair. "to make a bit of conversation is all, my lord. it has been such a long time since i saw you last."

a look of confusion runs through her eyes, not as well hidden as the other sith they'd spoken to tonight. "i have no recollection of you, o'vare."

"possibly you don't remember me from your days at the academy?"

"i do not. if you do not remember, i spent a majority of time searching for relics for a certain deceased lord zash." naji makes note of it, though she has no idea what or who is a lord zash. she'll make sure to research the imperial holonet for any mention of her time alive or dead. "if i did, i would at least make note of a mankael."

"ah, yes." she attempts to seem dejected at this remark, "possibly you'd enjoy spending a bit of time together? take a walk around the palace gardens?"

confusion is imminent now, but at least she doesn't seem angry at the proposal. "i don't typically take walks, mankael. however, because it is insufferably hot here, i suppose i will take you up on that offer. you and i can enjoy what the gardens have to offer, and possibly a bit of champagne will jog my memory of you."

"that would be delightful, my lord." she says, taking felix's hand to rise from her seat and brushing out the folds of her dress. another dark skinned male strides up behind darth nox with a glass of champagne in either hand. he's more disheveled than many other males she'd met tonight (most gossiped about how the dress's neckline was much too low for her cleavage-or lack thereof), with his collar undone and a red tattoo decorating the right side of his face. felix tenses for a moment before turning back to her.

"sith? you goin' somewhere?" the husky voice asks as he plants a kiss on her cheek, one that the other sith woman does not shy away from. "tryin' to leave me behind, huh?"

"never." she says lightly as she takes one glass from him, sipping on it before answering. "an...acquaintance of mine has invited me to walk the gardens with her. i'll return before you even know i'm gone."

his dejection is as clear as day, but she makes note that their rings are rather similar. with how friendly they are with each other, she figures this must her husband. the pirate that the their collected notes had detailed, she edges away from him and closer to felix. he's rather dangerous apparently, and she has no intentions of dying tonight. "alright mier, i'll stick around and have a chat with the soldier."

"and i'm sure you will, nikky. mankael, if you intend to walk with me i suggest we leave now. it will get absolutely freezing when the sun finally sets." the sith woman says, beckoning her in another direction towards the hall doors. lifting the skirt of her dress to hurry after her, she slows to a walk in time with the inquisitor. being alone with a sith lord wasn't in the plans, but it was in her deck now. whether she played her cards right or not, could lead to a disatrous end to their excursion into the lion's den.

"my lord, i'm not sure i've ever met a lord o'vare." malavai says as they dance in the center of the hall. "nor have i ever heard of a lieutenant irex fess."

"i'm fully aware, my love." she says, laying her head on his chest. he smells of after shave and cologne, two smells she's not sure she'll ever get over smelling or hate. her mind flickers back to the nervous energy she expelled, as well as the light, flowing feeling of her aura. it is so much different than the comforting cold of the sith that surround them now that she knows there is something very not right going on. she seems too curious, too bright.

too new.

it does not help that there are other presences here that she does not recognize. they feel similar, but much, much colder. possibly they are in league with her, or they are simply fallen jedi as they admitted to. the zabrak is pale, but clearly corrupted as his red headed friend is. "don't fret."

"what if they are intruders though?" he asks, readjusting his hand on her as they continue along the floor, his gloved hand in hers as she leads, another hand on the small of her back. his brow furrows in thought. "darth nox could be in danger."

"like i said, do not fret, malavai. i have a plan for everything, and this happens to be one of them." lowering her voice, she leans closer to him, careful not to make him trip over her gown as he twirls her, "you may not feel it, but that is a light-sided jedi through and through. i have never felt such blantant light from any sith before."

"are you sure, my love?" he questions, raising an eyebrow. "we could be raising suspicions for no apparent reason."

her eyes catch the long blonde hair of mankael with the only royal purple gown in the room. they're headed off somewhere, and she intends to keep an eye on them for the next few days of court. possibly to prove that mankael is not who she says she is, or possibly disprove nox's reputation.

or both. she'll decide tonight when she's slowly being undressed by her husband. "i am always sure, malavai. that is a jedi, and she is here for reasons other than falling to the dark side."

"i intend to find out who she is, and then crush her as a message to the jedi council."

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anniviech · 6 years ago

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‘Tis the Season

Characters: Donna Noble, Wilfred Mott, Shaun Temple Rating: G Summary: {"And then sometimes I see this look on her face, like she's so sad, but she can't remember why." - Wilfred, The End of Time.} Sometimes even the most ordinary of everyday occurrences throw Donna Noble off balance. [AO3]

"Excuse me? Ma'am?"

Donna blinked, looking at the cashier in front of her in momentary confusion. "Sorry, what was that?"

"Will that be all?" the cashier asked, obviously repeating herself.

"Oh. Yes, thank you," the redhead replied absentmindedly with a weak smile.

Right. She'd been buying a bottle of wine on the occasion of her six month anniversary with Shaun, deciding to treat them to a finer wine than their budget usually allowed, before apparently spacing out again while listening to the faint Christmas music playing in the background.

Getting her wallet out, she paid for the wine and made to leave the shop, trying not not to feel too awkward about the incident as she fished the car keys out of her jacket pocket.

Last night's dream must've caught up with her again. She'd already been a bit lost in thought when entering the shop, the day overshadowed by the brooding and hollow feeling the vague images from it had left her with. (Something about a wedding dress made out of spiderweb, before losing something?)

So Donna Noble once again found herself thrown off balance by a dream she couldn't even really recall – how stupid was that?

And if it wasn't by some strange, vague dream of things she couldn't quite put her finger on after waking, then she'd react to something she'd hear in passing on the telly or radio, or an unassuming sight catching her eye, spacing out and making her feel things she couldn't explain. Fear. Sadness. Loss. Mostly loss, spotlighting a gaping hole inside her soul that nothing seemed to be able to fill, and smothering the fiery attitude people liked to tell her she had in its wake.

It was ridiculous sometimes, really.

Like seriously, who tore up over the sight of a silly old Police Box standing on the side of a street? She'd never forget the embarrassment from the moment she'd spotted one of those after existing the tube station on Earl's Court during an errand for her temping agency, unable to take her mum's car that day; when for some barmy reason she'd been mesmerised by the sight of the tall blue box, finding her feet taking her towards it and her shaking hand reaching out for the door – just to find it locked, of course, and bursting into tears after she'd tried knocking on it, a wave of unimaginable loss crashing over her and threatening to swallow her whole when no reaction had come and the door remained closed.

In the middle of the flipping street! With dozens of people giving her funny looks.

Just thinking back to it made her head throb in a reminder of the splitting headache that had accompanied her for the remainder of the day back then, as if the embarrassment hadn't already been bad enough. (Why the idea to knock on the thing had even crossed her mind in the first place was forever going to be a mystery to her.)

Things had seemed to get better for a while, especially after meeting Shaun, but lately Donna found those odd little moments increasingly occurring again.

Maybe it was the season. A lack of sunlight and more sleep - and thus more chances to dream - due to the shorter days, or something along those lines? Silly how a season that was supposed to create a joyful atmosphere made her melancholic, without any apparent reason.

Getting into the car, she decided to push those thoughts aside and made her way home. A nice hot bath and a cup of that calming tea Mum had given her ought to relax her again; there'd be plenty of time for that before Shaun came home from work.

Entering their small two-room flat, Donna turned on the lights in the living room and placed her handbag and a bag containing some groceries and the wine on the couch, before making her way to the bathroom where she turned on the tap to run a bath and the heating up. Once that was taken care of, she got the grocery bag and took it to the tiny kitchen, putting most of the contents into the fridge, before finally preparing a mug with the desired tea. But as soon as she turned the kettle on, the kitchen went dark, with the sound of the fridge turning off.

Great. Looked like she'd tripped a fuse.

They'd already tripped one not too long ago, after some of their neighbours had put up holiday lights in their windows and likely on trees inside. Looked like the old building they lived in couldn't quite handle the additional strain of the Christmas spirit - something they seemed to have in common, she thought wryly.

Heaving a great sigh, feeling her mood spiralling further downwards, Donna turned the water in the bathroom off before going to the fuse box in the narrow hallway. But once she'd opened the small panel in the wall covering it, she found herself at a loss. Last time Shaun had taken care of it, so she'd never before looked inside the fuse box herself until now, not having any reason to. Which was why she now found herself at a loss as she stared numbly at an unlabelled row of round knobs instead of the tiny switches she had been expecting.

What the hell was she supposed to do with those?

Flicking switches that were on the opposite direction of the other ones was easy enough, but this? She couldn't see any real difference in the knobs, so she couldn't even tell which was the wonky one – and even if she knew, what would she do with it, anyway?

She cautiously tried pulling one of the knobs, but it wouldn't move. Trying to curb rising frustration, she tried pulling at another one, but it it didn't move either. Nor could she press them in, or anything.

Letting her hand fall back down, Donna let out a hollow scoff.

Here she was, not even able to check a fuse.

She had to do something about it, though, because the food in the freezer might start to defreeze before Shaun came home, and then they'd have to throw it away, and they couldn't really afford such a waste with Christmas coming up. And wouldn't that make a lovely anniversary gift.

Swallowing down her pride, Donna went to get her phone out of her handbag, looking through the contacts until she found the number she was looking for.

"Donna! How are you, love?"

"Hey Gramps."

Something in her voice seemed to give her away, because Gramps’ own voice instantly went from joyful to worried.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, just... A stupid fuse at home went off, and I can't seem to fix the bloody thing. I mean, it's not the usual kind, so I don't know what to do with it. And I can't leave it like that until Shaun returns, because the fridge and freezer are without power, and today of all days I really can't afford that. I just–"

A sob cut her off, surprising herself, and she covered her mouth with her free hand as she felt a new load of emotions overcome her.

"Donna, slow down, love, it's all right."

"No it's not all right, Gramps," she retorted in a wobbly voice, feeling an overwhelming urge to let it all out, her mouth running ahead of her. "We can barely afford planning on any presents this year because I can't find a proper job, and the one time I decide to indulge a little to celebrate our anniversary and to cheer myself up because I had a bad day, this happens. And it just–" Cutting herself off to take a breath, she finally added more quietly, "I'm useless, Gramps."

"No, Donna, don't say that."

"I am. I can't even check a fuse. And it makes me angry, because I feel like I should be so past such a little thing, and I don't even understand why! I've never seen these things before, so why do I feel like it should not even be a problem at all, like I'm disappointing myself?!"

"Donna..."

"I don't even feel quite like myself anymore... Like, why is everything about the season making me sad now? There was this song on the radio in the shop today, you know, the one they play every year, what's it called again... 'Merry Xmas Everybody', I think. And I totally spaced out on it? Felt like I should be somewhere else, doing something else, like there should be... more than this. Why can't I be happy with what I have, Gramps?" she asked, voice wavering again. "I have Shaun. We have our own flat, and things are going so well between us – so why do I feel like I'm still missing something important...?"

"Oh sweetheart..."

Her granddad's voice sounded as hollow as she felt, and Donna felt instantly bad for bringing this up and bothering him with her problems.

After a second, he added quietly, "We have to do something about that..."

Frowning in confusion while wiping a tear away, Donna asked, "What do you mean?"

"Oh, just, you know..." Gramps replied, sounding like he hadn't meant to speak out loud, before trailing off into silence.

That happened often lately; he'd start saying something just to change his mind midway and change topics. Or she'd catch him giving her those long and odd looks. Maybe her mood swings had been more obvious than she'd thought.

"You shouldn't feel sad on Christmas," he finally said.

"I know, and I didn't mean to worry you, sorry. It was just a long day and I'm exhausted, my mood ran off with me. I just need that stupid fuse fixed, and then I'll be all right."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Well then, tell me what has you so mystified."

Donna went on to describe the fuse box to him, learning that it contained an old type of fuses, and agreed to pick Gramps up and have him show her how to fix it as they'd likely have to replace a blown one, kissing the idea of having a bath before Shaun came home goodbye.

By the time she arrived at her old home Donna felt a lot calmer, and she quickly picked her granddad up who'd been waiting basically ready to leave so they could cut down the time her mum had to nag. Once they replaced the fuse in her flat with one of several he'd kept at home, he stayed until Shaun arrived, talking with her over a cuppa and some telly, successfully keeping her mind off more brooding.

After driving Gramps back home while Shaun had gone for a quick shower and hugging him goodbye at the door, her granddad's hands lingered on her arms as he looked her over.

"Things are going to be fine, sweetheart."

"I know," she replied, not sure she really believed the sentiment but still appreciating his caring.

"We'll make it fine."

Donna smiled in reply, before getting back into the car. She gave her granddad a small wave from behind the window, watching him return the gesture, before driving off.

Maybe he had the right idea and she just had to make things fine.

She'd start by making sure she and Shaun had a great night celebrating their anniversary – and maybe consider some plans for their shared future.

#Donna Noble #Wilfred Mott #doctor who #oh hey #I noticed I hadn't posted this oneshot here yet #and since it's the season again why not share this jolly piece of melancholic introspection? :D #(I actually wrote it last year during the holidays so I guess the timing now with them nearing again is just fitting :P)#anni fic

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cole-winchester · 7 years ago

Text

I Won’t Run Away

Lethal Weapon Fic

Clayne Crawford - Seasons One and Two based ONLY! Don’t even get me started...

Summary:

A girl from Riggs' past surfaces and they discover they’re both as screwed up as the other. Alcohol, depression, PTSD...You name it, they’ve got it. When feelings develop, will their past trauma stand in the way of healing one another...or will it be their downfall?

Song inspiration for Title and Pic Quote: I Won’t Run Away

Original Characters:

Aiden Gallagher - Main character opposite Martin Riggs (pictured her as me in my head while writing - picture her as you wish with the descriptions given in story)

Robby Anderson - Main character’s ex (Pictured as Stephen Amell)

Mike Callahan - Main character’s friend/co-worker (Pictured as Dominic Purcell)

Warnings:

This is a whump fic. There will be characters beaten to hell and back. Some depression and PTSD flashbacks and suicidal dialog. Read at your own caution.

Tag List: Tags are always open, hit me up if you want on it!

@adorkabletiff91 @garcywinchester @t-rexprincess

Part One

"You good to close up, Mike?" I sighed lightly as I leaned on the doorway to the bar’s office, running my hand absently through my dark brown hair. The metal door frame was cool against my bare arm as I gazed down at the man.

"Yeah I got it." He smiled as he closed the safe and stood, turning to me. His tall broad frame making the office look much smaller than it was. "I'll walk you out."

I nod, grabbing my flannel and small cross-body bag off of the hook and met him at the front doors.

"You know you don't have to walk me out each night." I smirked as I stepped up behind him.

"Oh don't even start, Aiden." Mike chuckled as he opened the door for me. "There's too many psychos around this part of town at night."

"Yeah, but I'm a big girl." I joked and lightly bumped his heavily muscled arm with my shoulder.

He barked out a laugh. "Not as big as me, sweetheart. You're what? All of 130 soaking wet?"

I giggled as my boots scuffed the sidewalk. As much as I wanted to be tough, Mike was right. Any creep on the street would have to think twice with him walking beside me. He was tall, built to the nines with his wide jaw and shaved head...he was intimidating.

Mike had taken me under his wing when I came to LA a while back looking for a job. His bar needed the help and plus, he didn't want me getting caught up in a shitty situation that most pretty girls end up in out here. He was a sweetheart and with two daughters of his own, he couldn't turn away the option of helping a girl like me out.

We headed around the corner to the small parking area next to the bar. The cool air snaking around my legs. Mike's gaze scanned the surrounding streets for any movement in the shadows.

I turned to him as we reached my jeep and smiled. "Thanks, Mike." I embraced him, wrapping my arms around his waist. "You're a good friend."

Mike chuckled and pulled back, ruffling my hair with his large hand. "See ya Sunday, kiddo. Have fun at the barbeque tomorrow."

I smiled as he back stepped, shoving his hands in his pockets. "G'night, Mike."

"Night." He waited until I was safely in my jeep and pulling out of the lot onto the street before he made his way back to the bar.

* * * *

I walked into the house, closing and deadbolting the door behind me. I dropped my bag on the hook in the entry way and tossed my keys onto the small table. I stepped down the hall towards the bedroom when the kitchen light flicked on, stopping me in my tracks. My gaze snapped to the right and landed on the figure in the middle of the kitchen, my heart pounding.

"I missed you, Aiden."

Robby...

"No!" I screamed as I took off down the hallway. How could he be here?! He's in jail! This isn't happening!

I reached for my cell in my shorts, but found nothing. It was gone...as if it disappeared out of my pocket.

Shit!

I neared the corner of the hallway desperately trying to get to the landline in the dining room before he could. A force slammed into my legs, knocking them out from under me as he came around the corner. I crashed to the floor and quickly scrambled to get to my feet when his boot collided with my head, sending me backwards against the wall.

Wake up, Aiden! Wake the fuck up! This isn't happening! My thoughts screamed as my vision spun.

"You should've never opened your mouth!" Robby's hand dug into my hair, pulling me up from the floor and slamming my back against the wall. "You stupid fucking whore!"

"This isn't happening. This isn't happening. Wake up!" I whimpered as his face came into focus. His ice blue eyes glaring at me with pure hatred as an evil grin spread across his face.

"Oh, it's fuckin' happening, sweetheart!" He spat at me and lunged his right hand towards my stomach.

A white hot pain pierced my midsection sending fire throughout my body. My eyes widened in shock as his face was inches from mine. He eased back and I looked down as he pulled a crimson knife from my body.

"I told you I'd kill you for what you did to me. You can't hide from me."

My knees weakened and my body went numb as he lunged forward with the knife again.

* * * *

"No!" I screamed and flailed as I woke from the nightmare, tumbling off the bed in a tangled heap of sweat soaked sheets. I panted frantically as I clutched my stomach where the knife had been in the dream. The dull phantom ache of it still lingering.

I've had the same nightmare at least once a week since I'd testified against Robby, resulting in him being locked up for the next twenty years. My shrink said it's perfectly normal in these type of circumstances...but for three years?

He's locked up in max. He's 3 states away. He can't get to you. You're safe.

I repeat in my head, trying to calm the shaking in my hands. I absently reach up and trace the jagged scar running from my temple down to my jaw in front of my ear. It seems to burn at my touch, bringing back memories I've tried to put behind me. I shake my head, willing the images away. Untangling myself I look over to my alarm clock...the bright red letters blazing back at me...530am. I sigh and flop back against the side of the bed. I'd only had a couple hours of sleep since my shift at the bar. Deciding that it was useless to try and get any more sleep, I hauled myself to my feet.

Well... time for whiskey and some paint therapy.

I head over to the spare bedroom that I'd turned into my art studio. The floors covered with old flat sheets, stacks of fresh canvases tipped against one wall, finished pieces tucked in protective boxes ready to be sold against another and my large easel in the center with a fresh canvas. Aside from the bar, I had a part time afternoon shift at a local coffee shop and in my spare time, I created and sold paintings. Some were hung in the coffee shop advertised for sale, and every few months I did a small showing downtown. That's where I'd first met Trish Murtaugh. Her daughter, Riana, was a regular at the coffee shop in the afternoons when she got out of school. She'd eyed my paintings and had brought her mother to one of my showings. Trish had fallen in love with my art immediately. I was more of an abstract emotional artist. Most of it consisted of blacked out female silhouettes, some profiles, some full body, with bright colors splattered, slashed or dripped down around them. I also dabbled in realistic portraits and some custom commissioned work.

Today? Today called for some paint throwing.

I grabbed my bottle of whiskey and downed a shot, slamming it down on the table. I popped a can of paint open without looking at the color and reached my fingers in, coating them in the bright purple liquid. I stepped about five feet in front of the canvas....and flung my hand toward it like I was throwing a baseball.

I got lost. My mind blank with whiskey buzz and zoned in on the task at hand. Grabbing random colors and splattering them against the sheer white background of the canvas. The paint slightly dripping and mixing together to form its own shade. I was in my element. Lost in my own universe as the world around me ceased to exist.

After a while I stepped back a moment, gazing at the splattered canvas in front of me. The contrasting splotches of neon colors scattered across the face of it. It needed something. I set the can of paint down and stomped the few feet to the canvas. I drug my fingers through the wet paint, creating swirls and spirals in strategic order around the piece. I eyed it for another moment, gauging its story. Satisfied with my work, I wiped my hands clean on a rag and downed another shot of whiskey, plopping down in the corner of the room. I sighed and leaned my head back against the wall and gazed out the side window at the rising sun. A new day had begun.

* * * *

I had managed to catch a few more hours of shut eye thanks to Mr. Daniels, when I was awoken from a text alert.

Shit, what time was it?!

I fumbled for my phone on the nightstand as I sat up against the headboard.

1130AM

Oops, guess I got more than just a few hours..

I rubbed my eyes as I opened my Messages.

Trish: You're still coming today right?

Yes. Wouldn't miss it. You need me to bring anything?

Trish: Just yourself! :) I can't wait for you to meet everyone.

Awesome. I'll see you then!

I locked my phone and tossed it on the bed as I stretched my stiff muscles. I had two hours before I had to be at the Murtaugh's. Thank god Trish had texted me.

* * * *

I eased my Wrangler at the curb across from the Murtaugh residence. I felt weird not bringing anything to the barbecue but Trish insisted, and from what I'd gathered so far in our friendship, you don't argue with her. I glanced around at the few cars in the driveway and along the street as I stepped out onto the pavement. At least I wasn't the first one here...that's always a little awkward. I made my way across the street as I heard laughter coming from the backyard. Assuming everyone was outside, I let myself in the side gate. As I rounded the side of the house I was greeting by a decent sized group. Some teenagers Riana's age but majority were adults that most likely worked with Trish or her husband, Roger.

"Hey! You made it!" Riana bounded off of the deck to me, embracing me in an excited hug. I laughed and hugged her back. "Mom's inside grabbing some more wine. Come on!" She grabbed my hand with a big smile on her face as she led me over to the grill. "Dad!"

A man looked up from the grill at her call and he smiled as he stepped to us. "Ah, this must be the famous Aiden I've heard so much about. Roger." He held out his hand to me. I took his hand and smiled, laughing off his comment. His eyes darted to my scar and quickly back to my gaze, his smile only faltering slightly before he recovered.

"Nice to meet you." I said as I released his hand.

"Likewise. Trish has shown me some of your work. You're really talented."

"Thank you." I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I was never one that accepted praise very well.

"Oh!" Trish's voice sounded from the deck behind us. "I'm so glad you could make it!" She stepped down and handed Roger a plate of burgers before embracing me. "You want something to drink?"

"Sure." I glanced around at the coolers lining the deck.

"There's beer in the coolers and wine inside." She smiled and turned slightly to Roger, dropping her voice to a heated whisper. "Is he coming? Where is he?"

"I don't know he said he'd be here." Roger wasn't as quiet as his wife so I was still able to catch the conversation...and then it hit me.

"Oh, god, Trish. Tell me you're not trying to set me up with someone?" I smirked and crossed my arms over my chest.

Both her and Roger snapped their attention back to me. Roger looked guilty as hell and Trish plastered on a mischievous smile. "I-I wouldn't call it 'setting you up.' More of ... just a friendly introduction."

"Ugh." I sighed and dropped my head back chuckling. "While I appreciate the offer...I'm not looking to date anyone right now." I gave her a small smile.

I hadn't opened up to her yet about my past. This was the first time aside from my art gallery shows that we'd actually hung out. We'd become friends but not to the point yet of sharing our deep secrets. I'd caught her and Riana eyeing my scar each time we'd seen each other, but they both had the respect to not ask about it. I just wasn't ready to share that dark part of my history yet with anyone.

"I'm not asking that you read anything into it. He's a great guy. A little rough around the edges but-"

Trish was cut off by a commotion from the side yard at the corner of the deck.

"Aw, you guys didn't have to wait for me to get here! Let's get this party started!" A loud male voice echoed through the yard.

"Speak of the devil." Roger muttered as Trish threw me a smile before moving behind me towards the man.

"Martin! I'm glad you came! Come here, I'd like you to meet someone." I turned as Trish laced her arm through the man’s and guided him over toward me.

I froze.

Martin stopped abruptly when I’d turned to face them. Trish didn't seem concerned and stopped with him, smiling as she motioned for me to come forward. Martin removed his sunglasses and his shocked amber gaze bore into me. Everything around me seemed to stop as my pulse pounded in my ears as our eyes remained locked with each other.

"Martin, this is my friend-" Trish began.

Martin breathed out in disbelief, cutting her off. “Aiden..?”

#clayne crawford #clayne crawford whump #clayne crawford fan fiction #martin riggs #martin riggs whump #martin riggs fan fiction #lethal weapon #lethal weapon fan fiction #martin riggs x female oc #lethal weapon fanfiction #clayne crawford fanfiction #martin riggs fanfiction

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hannahindie · 7 years ago

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Dreams on Fire

Characters: Reader, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester (brief) Word Count: 3,660 Warnings: There’s some angst. Lots of alcohol use. General shenanigans. A/N: I wrote this for my 800 follower song prompt challenge. My dear, sweet @pinknerdpanda requested the song “Burning House” by Cam. (Linked for your viewing and listening pleasure) It’s a little different than what I’ve written before and I really loved writing it. This song is hauntingly beautiful, and this just popped into my head.

Beta’d by my wonderful waterbear, @trexrambling: “A perfect, raw, beautiful ache in my chest.” Thank you for your support and lovely direction, love.

And @pinknerdpanda (yes, she beta’d her own request. I have no chill and couldn’t wait to share it with her lol) : “I’m just....I can’t.....this is....evdbendbdnnd.” Sorry I have no self control, but thank you for giving it a once over. And thank you for such a wonderful request.

The aesthetic was made by myself.

As usual, tags are at the bottom. If you’d like to be added, please let me know!

Orange and red flames. Black smoke, swirling in choking tendrils. Unbelievable heat caressing my skin. Stinging eyes, burning and blurry.

I know he’s here. He’s always here, and I always arrive thirty seconds too late. Maybe this time will be different.

A long form, lean legs and strong arms melting into the floor. Chestnut hair, burnt ends curling gently around the smooth shell of his ear.

I’m too late. I can’t leave, regardless of the options. I lay beside him and pull him close. I close my eyes and, just like always, the two of us go up in smoke.

I jerk awake and feel the sweat running down my back, cooling quickly in the chill November air. For the third night in a row, I have watched him die. Usually, the dreams change; he’s in a car, passenger seat with the window down, glimpses of what looks like a fortress, a blue eyed man that constantly looks concerned, and a broken hearted one with eyes the color of moss in a sun dappled meadow. Until recently, when the same nightmare began plaguing me over and over again.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed as I drag a shaky hand over my face, palming my sweat damp hair out of my eyes. I blindly reach out for the bottle I keep next to my bed only to find it empty and useless.

Of course.

I stumble from my bed to the kitchenette, and groan as the bright light from the fridge hits my eyes. Empty. I go through the cabinets to find the same nothingness staring back at me. I start to wonder how long I've been on my liquid diet, then realize I probably didn't want to know judging by the amount of bottles strewn around my studio apartment.

I shrug on my jacket and grab my keys; it's time for a milk run.

The high-pitched whine of the liquor store’s fluorescents makes me cringe as the one above me flickers. The light has been like this for weeks, and I keep waiting for the sudden pop of it giving up the ghost. My eyes roam over the selection in front of me before I finally settle on one of the cheaper bottles of whiskey; no need to break the bank since I’m not looking to savor it anyway. The moment my fingers curl around the smooth bottle, the label contrasting roughly with the glass, a blinding pain shoots through my eye sockets. The whiskey hits the floor with a deafening crash, but I barely register it. I press my palms against my temples in an attempt keep my skull together, and suddenly the world is nothing but orange and red.

My skin is on fire, and I can’t do anything but scream, my eyes squeezed shut. I choke on acrid smoke as it burns my esophagus and fills my lungs, and when I’m finally able to open my eyes, I see him. He’s facing away from me, struggling to open a door as the flames surround him. He turns to face me, but he doesn’t see me. He is scared, burning. He falls to the floor, and I’m by his side. I wrap myself around him, my fingers comb through his singed locks. He looks at me, but he’s looking through me, his hazel eyes glassy and terrified. The flames swallow his pupils. I’m too late.

I gasp, the crackling of the fluorescent, annoying before, now comforting after the roar of flames.

The cashier is looking at me, an eyebrow raised, “You alright?”

I uncurl myself and shake out my cramping arms, “I don’t know, Zack, do I look okay?” I glance down at the floor, jagged shards of glass swimming in cheap liquor, glittering like some kind of alcoholic’s version of Starry Night. “Sorry.” I grab two more bottles off the shelf and step over Lake Kentucky Bourbon. I slam the bottles down on the counter and Zack lazily scans each bottle. “Go ahead and scan that again, I’ll pay for the broken one.”

He purposely lays the scanner down and bags the two surviving bottles, “Don’t worry about it. No one drinks that kind anyway, it’s basically rubbing alcohol.” I throw a wad of cash on the counter, grab the bag, and leave without thanking him. He’s used to it.

This is a first. The dreams are an every night thing, but this is the first time I’ve ever experienced one while I was awake. It’s become apparent that whatever it is I’ve been trying to run from, whatever thing has burrowed into my mind for most of my adult life, is trying to tell me something. And all of it has to do with the shaggy haired giant with the sad eyes.

I make it upstairs and pull one of the bottles out of the crumpled paper bag it was so carefully concealed in, then slide the window up and climb out onto the fire escape. It's too early to try to find the bottom of this bottle...or maybe it's just late enough. Time hasn't meant much to me for awhile. I crack the seal and wince down a gulp of liquid fire.

“Little early for that, isn't it?” I glance over and see my neighbor leaning out of his window, and I purposely take another swig, locking eyes with him as I do. “Mature, Y/N. Real mature.”

“I don't recall asking you, Max.” I look down at the street, heads bobbing as they quickly walk to some unimportant destination, their eyes inevitably trained on the ground in an effort to avoid conversation. Same old, same old. I hear the creak of extra bodyweight as Max crawls out of his window and onto the fire escape next to me.

“You had another nightmare.” It isn't a question, just a simply stated fact. I have lived next to Max for a long time, and despite my obvious attempts to push him away, for some reason he's still around. Although exhausting, it's also oddly comforting.

“Yea, but it's entered a whole new level of suck. I had one while I was awake.” I take another deep gulp of whiskey, hoping that it'll burn out whatever is inside me. There's only one explanation for this, especially now that it's leaking into real life, and it isn’t a pleasant one.

“You were awake?” Max’s question is quiet, almost not even a question rather than a repetition of disbelief.

“I didn't stutter,” I grumble, immediately feeling a twinge of guilt. Max doesn't deserve my shit, and yet here we are. I sigh, “Am I going crazy, Max? Is that what this is?”

He shrugs, “You've been crazy. Maybe it's all that turpentine whiskey you drink. It's rotting away your brain.” I flip him off and sit the bottle down with a dull clink as glass meets metal.

“Was it the same nightmare?”

I nod. There are some differences, but in the end it doesn’t matter. The result is the same, and I still don’t even know his name.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try to find him. I mean, I guess I could just let it go, and he’ll eventually die, and then maybe this will stop. But what if it doesn’t? What if the dreams go away and I just have to live with this horror show for the rest of my life? I can’t do it.” I grab the bottle and stand up, my hand on the window frame as I try to steady myself.

“How are you going to do that? Do you even know his name?” His voice is steady, but his eyes look heavy, the only thing holding up his concerned eyebrows being his thick eyelashes. Max is a handsome man, and I often wonder why he wastes his time with me.

“Nope,” I say as I straddle the window, one leg still outside, the other barely holding my weight as I slip back into the apartment, “but I’ve got other ways. Don’t worry about me, Max. I’ll be alright.” I trip over the window ledge and fall into the apartment, not giving him a chance to answer as I slam the worn window shut. It’s better this way; if I don’t come back, and I wager I probably won’t, there isn’t any burning confessions he can cling to until I reappear, healed and healthy, and not out of my mind.

I grab a bag and shove clothes, toiletries, and various other necessities into it. I pause at my desk and slowly slide open the top drawer. There it is; the only thing that will even remotely help me piece this together. If I have any hope of finding the man haunting even my waking moments, it'll be in this journal. I grab it and stow it carefully in my purse. Time to go.

Hazel eyes, wide and sparkling, deep dimples forming as his smile widens. His hair is longer now, his face older, but it's still him. He looks tired, and a little sad, but whoever the green eyed man is makes him laugh, and a beautiful woman with short cropped hair pats him on his arm. I feel a restless kind of jealousy at that innocent gesture, the intimacy of which I will likely never experience. At least not with him. It's a happy scene, a rare one for this hauntingly beautiful man.

His smile starts to fade; his eyes change from hazel to yellow, and then suddenly he is consumed by fire. The man and woman seem unfazed as he screams silently, clawing at his arms, then his face, in an effort to put it out. There’s nothing I can do. I can’t move, I can only watch as he collapses into the floor, melting into it as he ceases to exist.

My eyes snap open, and at first I can’t remember where I am, except that I’m surrounded by darkness and dim, flickering lights. I pull my jacket closer, the leather backseat of my car taking on a chill that I should be accustomed to by now. I look down at the book I’m still clinging to, the binding broken and frayed from how often I open and close it.

The rest stop light makes the pages of my journal look yellow as I flip through them yet again, my fingers tracing over the swirls and crosshatches and shadows, recreations of my addled visions over the years. His face has followed me since I was twenty-two years old, always silent, but ever present. It’s like watching a silent movie; I can see how his lips curl up slowly when he’s trying not to laugh, the dimples that form when he allows himself to actually smile, but I can never hear the sound of his voice. I imagine his voice is deep, his laugh like the low, wooden wind chimes my grandmother used to have.

The first time I saw him, he was young, around my age, both soft and sharp at the same time. The dreams came every night at first, and each one was a different scenario. He wasn’t always happy; I remember seeing something else burn, but that was soon replaced by visions of a shiny black car with a roaring engine, and a cocky green eyed man who seemed to be everywhere. The dreams...visions...whatever they were, would come in waves then recede like a tide, leaving me alone and wandering. Those nights, yellow eyes filled my mind, always searching for me, angry and violent. The eyes terrified me, but he...he was comforting.

I turn the page, my fingers resting gently on the most recent sketch. I’ve always known he was okay, because he ages along with me. I’ve seen him hurt, angry, devastated, happy...but he is always okay. I’ve come to look forward to seeing him; he’s been the only constant in my life for a very long time. These nightmares are a warning: How do I save someone when I don’t even know their name?

I’ve made a decision. I’ve never tried using my...gift...to find him, it always just happens while I’m asleep. But since it has decided to start invading my mind, even when I’m awake, maybe I can use it to find him. I flatten my palm against the last sketch in the book and close my eyes. I focus on him, I think about his broad shoulders and how his hair curls gently around the collar of his shirt. I imagine his hazel eyes and the way he chews on his lip while he thinks. I reach out, and I can almost feel something expand from me. Pain explodes from behind my eyeballs, but I force myself to keep my hand on the picture.

A hotel sign. Whispering Pines Motel and Lounge. A bronze 13. The house, a two story brick with a wrap around porch. A mailbox with the familiar black car as it pulls up to it. 1124. Two well dressed men walking up the sidewalk, pausing at the porch, the taller of the two listening intently to the shorter one before they knock on the door. A jukebox. A flickering neon sign. Hank’s Bar and Grill. Empty beer bottles and a pine tree shaped keyfob.

I gasp, deep and painful, and the vision is gone. It’s not an address, but it will do. I wipe the blood dripping from my nose, which is new and different than my visions from before, and climb into the front seat.

There are more Whispering Pines Motel and Lounges than one would think. Luckily, only one place also has a Hank’s Bar and Grill, not to mention personalized pine tree keyfobs for their motel. It didn’t take much more searching before I was able to find the brick two story at 1124 Maple Street, Livermore Falls, Maine. After debating on whether I should go to the motel to warn him or go straight to the house, I decide to go to the house. He doesn’t know me, and how do I explain to him how I know what’s going to happen? “Oh, sorry to bother you, but I’ve had dreams about you for, like, thirteen years now. It’s not really seemed that important, except I’ve seen you die several times now, and I thought I should maybe warn you.” Yea, no. But if I go to the house, then maybe I can stop it.

It’s a long drive to Maine, and I’ve already wasted too much time researching. I drive through the night, trying to ignore the pull of the whiskey bottle nestled in my bag, and instead opt to mainline coffee. When I finally make it to the house, it’s dark. It doesn’t appear that anyone is home, and I begin to wonder if I should have gone to the motel first. I fiddle with my keys as I fight with myself; stay here and wait, or go there and risk being completely wrong.

My decision is made for me when the black muscle car pulls up to the mailbox and two men climb out. They aren’t wearing suits this time, but it’s them. It’s him. I watch as they circle the house and disappear into the dark back yard. My keys are in my pocket and my car door is open before I realize what I’m doing. My boots hit the ground, and despite my fear of why they’re creeping around a house this late at night, I quietly follow after them. By the time I get to the backyard, they are gone. I notice that the back door is ajar and, despite my better judgement, I find my hand pushing against the rough wood so I can slip inside.

The house is dark, but I know where I need to go. I carefully climb the stairs and head to the bedroom from my dreams. Just as I reach it, I hear a shout, then a crash. I run into the room to see a figure staring down at the shaggy haired giant, and when he looks at me, his eyes glow yellow.

Asmodeus.

I cringe as his voice echoes through my mind, an icepick driven through my brain, and before I can move, he snaps his fingers. The door slams shut behind me and flames begin to lick along the curtains, blocking any escape through the window.

You finally listened, Y/N. You finally came.

I press my palms to my ears, knowing that it isn’t going to block out his voice, but trying anyway.

You are the last one, child. The only one that still embraces the powers my foolish brother gave you. Generally speakin’, I think his ideas were absurd and pointless, but now...seeing you...I could use you. Oh, I could use you.

“What...do you...want?” I ask through gritted teeth, my eyes locked on the still form on the floor.

I want you...to finish him. I can make this torture go away, my dear, but I need you to use your powers to end him. You used your powers to find him, didn’t you? Use them now.

I look at the man that I have seen grow up, and how vulnerable and innocent and tired he looks. My eyes shift back to Asmodeus and I can feel it; the same power I felt when I was trying to find the mysterious man bubbling outward, far more powerful than before. I steady my stance, “I will not.” Laughter, piercing and sharp, echoes. It is taking over every part of me, and I want nothing more than to scream.

You will. You will or more people will die. That blood will be on your hands, will it not? You will have to live with that. So the question you need to ask yourself is if you can handle that.

“I’ll take my chances.” I take a deep breath, then throw my hand out. The blast that comes from me pushes me backwards, and my boots scrape along the hardwood floor. It hits Asmodeus full in the face, and he screams. It’s deep and guttural, and I can feel blood dripping from my ears, but I don’t stop. I will not stop until this man is safe and whoever Asmodeus is is gone.

Suddenly, Asmodeus is gone. I’m not sure where he went, but I’m pretty sure I just succeeded in pissing him off more than I hurt him. I drop to my knees next to the man I had been dreaming of for so long. He’s more beautiful than my dreams have ever conveyed. I can see the worry lines in his forehead, the scattered gray hairs in his soft, chestnut hair. There’s a deep bruise already forming along his jaw and around his eye. I reach out to him, my hand hovering above his hair. I’m afraid to touch him.

I realize that this is the scene from my nightmare, and that it never really mattered if I came to save the day or not. We were both meant to end up in the room and never leave it. I lay down next to him and curl myself around him. I put a hand on his cheek, feel the roughness of stubble, and smile to myself. I can feel the goodness, but I can also feel the kind of darkness that I try to hide every day. It makes me wonder what his secret is, but this isn’t a time for that. The smoke is getting thick, and it’s getting harder to breathe. My eyes are trying to shut, but all I want is to look at him, to memorize every line and scar.

“I’m sorry. I thought I could save you. I guess it wasn’t about that. It was just about not dying alone.” I rest my head on his shoulder and I wonder what it would feel like for him to hold me. Doesn’t really matter now.

I hear a loud banging coming from the bedroom door. Strange, since we’re the only ones here. Another crash and mumbled cursing. I look up and I can see the knob shaking, but not giving in.

“Sam! Are you in there? What’s going on? SAM!”

I look at him, my eyes wide. His name is Sam. His name is Sam. For whatever reason, it gives me an extra boost. I send one more wave out, concentrating on the door opening, and it explodes, wood shards flying everywhere. The green eyed man that is always with Sam runs in, his eyes wide when he sees me.

“What the hell?” He looks confused, which is fair, but he doesn’t have time for that. I can’t tell if Sam is even breathing, and if this man isn’t careful, he’ll be trapped in here, too.

I want to answer, but I can’t. There’s too much smoke in my lungs, and I keep choking. Instead I roll away from him and wave at Green Eyes to help Sam. This part is different, and I feel a sense of relief when I realize I saved him. I saved Sam.

I have not given much thought as to what would happen if I saved him. I haven’t given much thought to anything, lately. But as my eyes slip shut, I see Sam’s eyes open. They widen when they lock with mine, and I swear there’s a flash of recognition. I smile and take one more deep breath.

I changed the story. I find comfort in that, and I let the smoke take over. I’ve heard going this way is like falling asleep, and I can see it. Once you quit fighting it, it eases in, filling the gaps. It’s warm and inviting, and it occurs to me that this is an ending after all.

This is my ending.

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#Han's Sing It With Me! Challenge #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester #reader insert #sam x reader #song prompt challenge #Burning House by Cam

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nighthood · 8 years ago

Text

Hey friends, I posted this originally on ao3 but I just love it to much I decided to post it here too!

A Cruel Symphony (ao3 link) Relationships: Jaydick Warnings: death, suicide (minor character), minor character death, sad themes, getting together, older characters Summary: One night, Nightwing finds he doesn’t want this life anymore. Luckily he finds a shoulder to lean on when he makes the decision.

The moonlight from the crescent shape high in the black abyss shined against blue armor, electrifying like a shock of lightning in a city that drained away so much color. Nights like these brought out the loud chirping of crickets if you were lucky enough to hear their song above the sleepless streets. Neon lights illuminated the roads with pink and blue hues that seemed grayed and faded in the dingy alleyways filled with dirt and huddled bodies searching for comfort as they slept. Sapphire eyes took in the moving cars, the strolling people, the changing street lights, the closing shops. The sounds of car horns and chatter composed Gotham’s symphony, and the blue and black clad hero desperately wished for a new song each night.

Eyes shifted to an open window on the apartment across from him, the bricks crumbling and window rusty. The drapes rustled slightly with the warm breeze that sweetly caressed the hero’s face. But he listened, listened for something he thought he had heard. Suddenly, a horrified shriek was heard, and a gunshot went off, the unfortunate familiar chorus of Gotham’s corrupt composition. Light emitted from the room, and the hero was gone, running off the rooftop and latching himself onto the old fire escape stairs outside the window. Through the open window he leapt in to find a gruesome sight, the unwanted usual visuals that always accompanied the horrific symphony that was a Gotham night.

A woman laid in bed, blood soaking the stark white sheets slowly crawling across the bed from the newly acquired hole to the head. Nightwing held his breath as he looked at the assailant, a terrified expression in his eyes that held a heavy weight, an exhausted look, but with an insane glint. While looking, he felt a piece of himself almost relate to this man. Almost.

The man wore blue boxers, and a t-shirt that was more than likely white at some point. He was balding, a little heavy set. In his left hand he held a gun to his head, the end getting lost in his brown hair. The other hand held a gun to a small boy’s head, tears streaming as his presumable father held a murder weapon to his temple. Shivering like a leaf in the wind, the boy let out a small sob, and locked eyes with the hero. His eyes reflected the world’s biggest fears, and they pleaded for help as they drowned in the current situation.

Holding his hands above his head, Nightwing attempted to communicate that he wasn’t looking to do any harm tonight. He just needed to interrupt the symphony before it got to the next part. “Hey, it’s alright. Let’s put the guns down.” His voice was light, heavily laced with concern.

The man twitched and shook his head, and he began to cry. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” The whisper was barely audible, dripping with pain and desperation. Desperation to leave the orchestra hall and never hear the symphony again.

The gong was hit faster than Nightwing could move, and the flutes flaired as fresh blood swept across the carpet like a tsunami. The hero screamed, screamed for the lives he just saw go, the lives he didn’t save. He moved to the child, couldn’t have been more than ten years old, dressed in baseball themed pajamas. A shaking hand raked through the acrobat’s ebony hair, a shuddery breath escaping his dry lips. Violently ripping off the mask, he let out a yell of despair, anger, failure as his cheeks grew wet, eyes glassy full of the stuff that could easily turn good men into their own worst enemies. He stood, a hand gripping the back of his neck as he turned away from the bodies lying lifeless at his feet.

Out the window he went, leaving a police tracker for the men in blue to find within the next ten minutes. Back to the rooftop he went, sitting at the ledge, eyes never moving from that open window like they were the glue keeping the building standing upright. Trumpets screamed in his ears as the next movement began, blue and red lights reflecting in the despair-filled blue orbs watching from above. Men in blue and white uniforms came out of their respective vehicles, running into the apartment building desperate to save lives that even one of Gotham’s personal angels couldn’t save. The thought made the vigilante scrub at his face, and he had to turn away from the sight.

He stalked toward a metal air-conditioning structure, pulling his fist back and hitting it with all his pent up anger and disappointment. His failure. His arm stung in pain, but he repeated it over and over and over until he couldn’t feel his fingers, until he knew his knuckles were bleeding beneath the black gloves, until the red covered the blue of the finger stripes.

When a hand gripped his wrist before he could make another blow to the metal structure, Dick whipped his head around to see a larger man there, clad in a motorcycle jacket and a red helmet. The hurt in Dick’s eyes, the wild furry and raging sadness fighting for dominance in his facial expression, had to be apparent when the larger man before him hesitated just slightly.

“Are you trying to break your wrist, Dickhead? Because if you are, you’re doing an A+ job.” Jason began, letting go of his wrist. He watched as Jason reached behind his head, opening the latch that allowed him to remove his helmet. Putting it under his arm, the crescent in the sky reflected off the shine of it, the red imagery a painful reminder of the night’s events. The crescent was probably laughing, seeing the futile attempts of a man trying to change a world that doesn’t want to be changed.

Dick just looked at Jason and a choked sob escaped his lips before he turned, giving the younger a glimpse of his back.

Walking toward the edge, it appeared as though Dick was going to jump, leave without a trace until Jason ran into him months in the future. It made Jason’s heart clench in a way that embarrassed him, and thankfully the grip on his ticker loosened as Dick instead sat on the edge, legs dangling over the streets below. Jason sat beside him, making sure to leave a few inches between them.

They sat in silence for a while, and Jason could tell Dick was trying to compose himself. He wasn’t crying, but he could read people well, and knew there was something wrong, deeply wrong.

“Anything you wanna talk about?” He began after several minutes. Dick was quiet for a few moments before he spoke.

“Do you ever,” he paused and began again, “do you ever just ask yourself what we’re doing?”

Jason was a little taken back at the question, expecting something more along the lines of witnessing a puppy being physically abused or something like that, not a sort of philosophical question on their more-than-strange nightly activities.

“Sometimes.” Jason answered honestly. He questioned a lot, Batman’s moral code, the flaws, his own, his impact. But now wasn’t the time for his questions.

“I just don’t think I can do this anymore.” Dick looked away from him, his gaze distant as his eyes overlooked Gotham, sounds of police sirens taking their usual role in the music as the night grew later.

The blue eyes saw gray, only gray as they scanned the city, searching for something, anything, any sign that could help him. When he didn’t find anything but the normal corruption and mannerisms of Gotham that he so loathed, his eyes moved to his left and met shocking green orbs that held a calm look. He wished he could be that calm, but he hasn’t been in a long time.

Starting again, Dick averted his eyes and instead rested them on his hand that throbbed painfully in his lap. “What difference do we truly make? There’s still so much corruption, so much hate in the world. So much that we can’t fix. And I’ve been trying for years to get rid of the evil, but nothing has changed.”

There was a sigh next to him, and he could see a sad smile on Jason’s face. “That’s the thing, Dick. We can’t get rid of it, there’s evil in everything, and it’s up to everyone to fight that evil, whether it be their own inner evil or someone else’s evil. We can only fight it, set an example, and make sure one person’s evil can’t affect anyone else.”

Dick laughed a sadistic laugh at this, his head naturally going to the window where the police were now searching, completing a full investigation on a murderer they could never bring to justice. “And if we fail at that? Because I’ll tell you, I failed spectacularly tonight.”

“Shit happens, we aren’t gods. It’s rough for sure, but we just have to keep pushing on.”

“But what if I’m done pushing? I can’t waste my life anymore on a case that’ll never be wrapped up, never end.” He pushed himself up and began to pace on the rooftop. Jason just turned his head to watch, remaining on the edge of the rooftop. “Jesus Christ, I’m already forty-five years old and I’m still trying to save a world that doesn’t want to be saved. I’ve wasted a good half of my life trying to move an immovable object!”

Dick was starting to get hysterical, hands gripping at his hair and a baffled tone in his voice that brought a nervous laugh at the end of his sentence.

“God, I’ve lived through the deaths of almost every single person I’ve ever cared about, witnessed countless murders, rapes, hate crimes, domestic violence, gone against some the world’s greatest psychopaths, had my life ruined more than once, the list can go on. I’ve worked with a man who’s like a father to me who dressed like a bat at night, and I’m just as bad. And what the hell are we doing? I’m sick and tired of this.”

Jason met Dick’s eyes, and he could see streams of tears cascading down from the sorrow and loss in them. He stood up and walked over to the crying man, gripping his shoulders and squeezing lightly in a sign of comfort.

“I get that, I do. I’ve had the same thoughts before. I have about two people in this entire goddamn world that I know I really care about and they care about me. I go home each night to an empty apartment and ask ‘is this fucking it?’ But I’ve realized we’ve made a difference, Dickie. I realized we’re here for a reason, trained for a reason. When I came back to Gotham after I died I was angry. Mad at the world for bringing me back to this hellhole, mad at Bruce and mad at that fucking clown, but after I calmed down, after I did some self reflecting I realized this was a second chance. People usually don’t get those. And I’m here to help all the people I can. That’s why you’re standing here, Dick, a grown man dressed in full armor ready to save and protect the people that need it.”

“But it never ends! So why should I waste another minute running across rooftops when I could stop and just live my life. For god’s sake I work as a damn police officer and haven’t had a true relationship in years. I can’t even settle down now, it’s too late for me. My open window closed a long time ago because I was too caught up in all of this.” Dick never broke eye contact with Jason as he poured out his heart, the younger doing his best to hold it all together.

“No one is telling you that you need to stay in the field. But I’m telling you that everything you’ve worked for since you were just a dumb kid in green tights wasn’t all for nothing. It was never for nothing.” And suddenly there were violins playing as the wind picked up a little, tousling their hair.

“You’ve inspired a lot of people, me included. Look at all the people you know, you’ve inspired them all in some way, and they’ve gone out and made a difference because of you. Never think anything you’ve done would ever just be forgotten or be in vain. Never.”

Dick sniffled a little, his eyes now looking at the ground, and Jason heard a small, breathy laugh come from him before he looked back up. “Never knew you felt that way, Jaybird.”

And there was a smile, small like the light twinkling sound of wind chimes. A smile that made Jason smile and blush like he was a kid again. He had to avert his eyes before his ears grew red hot, too. “Of course, I’ve always admired you. Always strived to,” a pause, a gulp, “be like you.”

The smile on Dick’s face didn’t fade, and for that Jason was glad. His face held a similar warmth again, one Jason knew well from years of interacting with the emotional man. Dick’s eyes closed slightly, and Jason’s heart lept at the sight of the light crinkles at his eyes, the lines around his mouth from years and years of smiling. Seeing Dick in the depressed state he was in now wasn’t him, it wasn’t natural. It made Jason sick to his stomach.

“Thank you, that’s very flattering.” Dick thanked. He stepped back a little from Jason, and the younger found himself missing the warm he had just held in his hands.

The key changed and a melancholy chord played through the air, enough to make Jason almost petrified to stone as he watched Dick reach for his grappling hook. But he took that step forward, following after the tired acrobat. A sigh was drawn from Dick’s lips as he heard Jason shuffle forward. “I’m going home, Jason. Permanently. You can come if you want, there’s some left over food in my fridge if you want.”

An opening. “Yeah, I’ll come.”

Almost half a century later, and Dick Grayson was still able to make flying look possible. His body fought, fought everything from the gravity vainly trying to pull him down, to the symphony trying to cease his interruptions of the morose masterpiece. Something inside Jason broke a little at the realization that it had worked, something had finally been able to pluck Dick Grayson, trained acrobat, vigilante, and superhero from the skies he once owned. Landing on the rooftop of Dick’s apartment building, Jason knew that’d be the last time he saw Dick fly. The last anyone would see him fly possibly forever.

Dick opened the hatch that led directly to his apartment, Jason following suit. They were in a training room, one that was probably marked as a bathroom or something on the building’s blueprints. Turning off his armor’s security, Dick began peeling off his costume, black and blue shedding to the floor to reveal a man, an adonis if Jason was being honest. Sure, Nightwing was Blüdhaven and Gotham’s hero, but the real hero was Dick. If he was really being honest with himself, Jason knew Dick was the person he admired truly in life. The way he so helplessly fought for half of his life just for the little guy, the way he risked it all for a city that only spit in his face at the end of the day.

It was silent as Dick changed, Jason turning to give him privacy as he threw on a shirt and sweatpants that were laid out for his return home. Jason only turned back when he heard the opening of the wall compartment where Nightwing’s arsenal was.

The lights from the closet illuminated the slightly dark room, and with Dick’s back toward him, Jason could only see the way it reflected off his ebony hair. The blue of the suit looked piercing in the light, like it was fighting, pleading for another night, not to be locked up forever in a shrine for a hero that once was. Only the lightest of sniffles could be heard as Dick finished putting away the suit and weapons. Jason didn’t dare to move as Dick stared at his costume like it was a body in a casket. Many minutes passed before Dick moved. He solemnly pressed the button to close and lock the secret doors, turning to face away as silent tears rolled down his cheeks and another hand raked through his locks.

The high notes of a piano could be heard playing as green eyes locked with blue, and as quick as they locked, they moved. Dick made his way towards the door, and Jason just couldn’t bare it any longer.

All at once time slowed to a crawl. All that could be heard was a thumping loud and hard from the base drum as Jason grabbed for Dick’s arm. Confusion etched across the man’s face, eye brows raising slowly. His slightly long hair swayed toward Jason as he turned, the shine beautiful from just the moonlight coming through the lone window in the room.

And all at once time sped up again, and lips smashed lips as the horns blared. Hands moved to grip faces, and chests grew closer. Fingers lightly stroked cheeks, feeling wetness from tears, stubble from light beards. It was silent as a breath was shared between the two and eyes were acquainted with one another once more.

“You need to know this doesn’t make you weak. This isn’t a choice that would make people see you any different. The fact that you’re able to walk away is more heroic than anything I’ve seen in years.

“Every night people go out on the streets, looking for their next fix. Because in their minds tonight’s the night, maybe they’ll finally catch that dragon, maybe they’ll finally finish this never ending case. But sometimes it’s too much, and while chasing that dragon they get themselves killed. Then it’s just another funeral, another grave, another brave soldier lost in the field. But this, this is different, Dick. You’re going out as more than a soldier, you’re a goddamn general who knows it’s better to walk away than to die.

“And trust me, dying for the cause is a lot less rewarding than it’s cracked up to be.” A sad sigh. “Listen, this isn’t the end. You need to know how many lives you’ve affected, how many people you’ve truly influenced. Every single person you’ve ever met will definitely honor you, carry on your legacy. This may be Nightwing’s last night on the case, but that doesn’t mean his influence ends here, too.

“Dickie, I-” He’s cut off with a kiss, so powerful that it has Jason feeling a familiar pricking at his own eyes as he feels tears from Dick’s fall onto his own cheeks. There was a weak feeling in his chest as he kissed the man he had yearned so long for. After he passed his prime, Jason thought his chance was gone, but this moment, he could tell, meant something. Meant he was wrong to think that years ago.

Dick pulled away first, holding Jason’s head in his hands, foreheads together as he shut his eyes and just breathed. He pecked another kiss to Jason before enveloping him in a bone-crushing hug. There seemed to be no more quiet sobs from the man in Jason’s arms, an observation that put a grin on his tired face.

Arms extended out, holding Jason in place, eyes preventing him from moving a muscle. “Thank you. I needed that. But why now? Why do this all now?”

“Well I’ve always heard that when one door closes, another one opens.” Jason smiled sheepishly, hoping he was reading the situation correctly, hoping those violins that had played in his ears weren’t lying to him.

He received a heart-warming smile, one that knocked any doubtful thoughts clear out of his mind. There was an eager nod before he was pulled into another sweet kiss.

“Well does this ‘open door’ maybe want to stay for a late night dinner?” There was a bit of playfulness in Dick’s remark, but a hint of fear, rejection possibly. “I don’t have much. In all honesty my fridge looks like something you’d find in a college guy’s dorm. Heh, it’s like I never escaped my twenties. You’d think…” And he’s rambling, rambling like when a middle school boy tries to talk to his crush in the hallway to impress his friends. And really, Jason thinks it’s just adorable.

Jason stops him with a chaste kiss. “Yeah, that sounds great.” And Dick just beams, brighter than any of the stars Jason had ever seen, ever wished upon in the early hours of the day when he believed he may be alone in his life forever. But he finally found his light, and if he’s lucky he’s going to hold it tight, and make sure that it never goes out.

And as they exit the room, the piece ends with a melodious chord from the entire orchestra, a decrescendo into sweet silence as the conductor closes his book to open another one.

#jaydick #dickjay #jason todd #dick grayson #getting together #my writing #i like love this #not to be arrogant but this is my favorite thing I've written so far #enjoy!

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