#seeing the entire front get turned into a men-only prayer space and watching men take pictures and selfies got to me ok | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

avengers-age-of-fanfics · 3 years

Text

just for you, honeybee (5/?)

pairing: steve rogers x reader (platonic), bucky barnes x reader

warnings: grief, sadness, CA:TFA

words: 2,074

authors note: I am so sorry for posting this late, been a crazy few days! anywho, part 5! slowly working our way into The Avengers & The Winter Soldier. not sure how i'll write the avengers yet but i'll figure something out! thank u for being patient!

Your whole body felt so heavy.

Everything hurt and even with your soft breathing, it was as if all the muscles in your body were screaming at you to stop. Sounds of people cheering were heard but you tried to tune it out, your brain barely able to comprehend why your body hurt so much.

After telling yourself to try to at least open your eyes, you did, and it was so bright. Your eyes fluttered closed once more as you groaned at the light, trying to adjust. Listening to the sound once more, you heard a specific tune – Harry James’ Maria Elena – play on a radio.

You groaned, opening your eyes again as the song continued, hearing Harry’s voice, “Maria Elena, you’re the answer to a prayer…”

God, James loved this song.

Becoming used to the light, you tensed your toes, your legs, your arms, all the way up to your teeth, then untensing. It felt weird, being alive. Wait…were you alive? Maybe?

Before you decided to lay in your cot any longer, you sat up, glancing at your clothes – a plain, white t-shirt with an Eagle in the middle, along with some nice fitting tan pants and some shoes. ‘Odd,’ you thought to yourself, ‘definitely don’t remember changing clothes.’

The room you laid in was relatively plain, nothing was out of the ordinary as Maria Elena continued to play on repeat. “Okay,” you said aloud, “that’s a bit weird.”

With a grumble, you placed your feet on the ground as you held your head in your hands, “ugh, Steve, where the hell are you? ‘Could really use one of Howard’s hangover cures.”

Before you could talk any more nonsense to yourself, the door opened, revealing a beautiful young woman dressed in a nurse’s outfit, “good morning.” She took a quick glance at her watch, “or should I say afternoon.

You eyed her suspiciously as one of your favorite songs quickly grew to be very annoying, “where am I? Where is Steve?”

She seemed a bit nervous as she answered you, “you’re in a recovery room in New York City. Captain Rogers is right beside you, the next room over. He has been informed that you’ve woken up.”

Harry James’ “All or Nothing At All” came on the radio and you felt the urge to roll your eyes, “where am I really?”

The woman chuckled, “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Your eyes narrowed, “the songs. Listen, any person with a stable head on their shoulders loves Harry James, but there is no way in hell Blue Ribbon Town is playin’ his songs all the damn time. Now, where am I – and tell Steve I want him here.”

The ‘nurse’ – well, you didn’t know if you could call her that cause you seemingly caught her bluff – grew worried as you stood up, the bed creaking below you, “just tell me where I am and where Steve is and I’ll-“

You stilled for a moment, recognizing the sounds of two people arguing, and of course, Steve’s voice. He sounded agitated and on edge, but at least you knew he was safe. Now, you just wanted to get the hell out of here. The woman, nurse, whoever she was, grabbed a walkie-talkie and began talking into it, but you paid no mind to her.

The door opened behind her, revealing a man, you guessed an Agent, in a suit, “who the hell are you? I want to get out of this room.”

The man held out his hands, “Agent Y/N, my name is Phil Coulson, we work with S.H.I.E.L.D. There’s no need to stress, you are alright and safe.”

You squinted your eyes at him, “well, Agent Coulson, I’m sure you can tell why I am even remotely hesitant to trust you, so with all due respect, I’m breaking out of here.”

And with that, you sprinted towards the wall opposite you, ramming shoulder first and knocking it down, revealing bright lights and metal flooring – almost like they were keeping something on the inside.

An alarm sounded above you as you stopped in a hallway, people looking at your figure before gasping. “All agents, code 13” echoed above you as you dragged yourself along, unable to take a second and look. You cursed Steve for leaving you alone, for not hearing you fighting with that woman and Coulson guy. Shoving some men down onto the floor, you continued to run until you pushed open the doors, the outside becoming cold very quickly.

You spun in a circle, trying to take in everything around you as you ran into oncoming traffic, the sounds of horns blaring causing more confusion than anything. Running seemed to be the only thing you knew how to do, the rain drizzling down upon you, doing nothing to slow your speed. The more you ran, the more you realized how unfamiliar everything looked. Neon signs, tall buildings, cars you’ve never seen before – if that woman was telling the truth, when the hell did everything change?

You slowed to a stop, huge moving-picture signs changed above you and the unfamiliarity was daunting. You needed someone’s hand to grab, to hold onto something, so you reached towards your chest, holding tightly onto Bucky’s dog tags.

Black cars pulled in front of you and from behind you, a tall, sort-of menacing man stood before you, “at ease, Agent.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as Steve stepped out of the backseat of the car, looking uneasy; the man continued, hands at the side of his black trench coat and eyepatch adding more questions as to who this man was, “look, I’m sorry about that little show back there, but…we thought it best to break it to you slowly.”

Your grip on Bucky’s dog tags tightened as your breathing quickened, “Steve? Break what?”

The somewhat terrifying man took a breath, “you’ve been asleep, L/N. For almost 70 years – same with your friend Captain here.”

Your heart ached and it hurt to breathe all of a sudden. Tears welled up in your eyes as you tried to steady your breathing, looking around at everything around you. Steve stepped forward, hands quickly grabbing yours even as you tried to move away, “honeybee, I know it’s a lot to take in but you gotta breathe. You got this, you got this…”

You nodded, trying to listen as ringing took over your ears.

Steve turned, trying to catch his breath as the man in front of you looked to you both, “you going to be okay?”

Steve nodded, “she’ll be okay, she’s fine.

The man looked to you, “Miss L/N?”

You tried to steady your breathing, “I need…where is…”

The man held out his hands, “we’ll answer all of your questions, starting with who I am – my name is Director Nick Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D. We’ve been taking care of you both since your discovery and anything you need, you let us know. Now, can we get you situated?”

Steve continued to look confused as you glared at Fury, “how do I know I can trust you?”

Fury gestured to the world surrounding you, “you see anyone else trying to make friends, Miss L/N?”

You grumbled, “y/n is fine, really…Cap, what’s going on?”

Steve gripped your hands, “you can trust him, y/n, I promise. He’ll make sense of everything, he’s a good guy.”

With a glare, you looked towards the Director, “where…where would I be headed with you?”

Nick Fury leaned back on the balls of his feet, “Washington D.C, Triskelion, S.H.I.E.L.D, HQ, specifically.”

With a glance to Steve, you knew that broken look too well – a place to rest, to fully digest this news, would be nice. It seems he has somewhat fit in with this new world that you now have to adjust to. You turned to Fury, “I’ll go with you. But will I be staying there permanently?”

Fury shrugged, “you are in charge of your own life. Once we get you settled, you’re free to do what you wish.”

Steve nodded towards you as he recognized your hesitance – you can trust Nick Fury. You’ll be in charge of your own life once you become accustomed to this new world.

The trip to Washington D.C. was not too troublesome, but coming to terms with what era you were living in sure was. You and Steve were silent the entire ride, making sense of what had happened during your final mission. Once you arrived, Nick Fury had no qualms about telling you what had happened; you had completed the mission, saving millions of lives, and you had won the war.

But it just did not feel right.

You knew why; you shouldn’t be here. At this point, you and Bucky, your Jamie, should be in your late 80s, kids, and grandkids living their lives to the fullest. Yet here you were, living in an unknown world without your James, and the worst part – you had no idea if his body was recovered, if he had a funeral, if Becca had something for him.

That was what the first few months of your new life consisted of: doing research on these high-tech computers about Bucky, Rebecca, catching up on the history you missed out on. Unconsciously, you found yourself researching ‘Colonel Chester Phillips’ and found that your broody Colonel lived the rest of his life to the fullest, becoming one of the founders of S.H.I.E.L.D. – you just knew that man was meant for greatness. Next, ‘Howard Stark’ added to your search and your heart ached.

Howard, your Howie Stark, was murdered.

They had known it was murder, or some kind of setup, once the feds realized much of his equipment was stolen from his car. Howard and his beautiful wife Maria were murdered.

You cried that night.

The next day, you brought yourself to visit Colonel Phillips’ grave and laid a bouquet of flowers on his grave; you knew he’d call you ridiculous, that he didn’t need any flowers, but you did it anyway. Shockingly, Howard and Maria’s gravesite weren’t too far and you had laid flowers on their graves as well.

Steve hadn’t joined you.

You weren’t upset with him, no, just…you weren’t sure. You wished he came along, but he figured giving you space was what you needed when in reality, you needed him – you needed your Steve Rogers from Brooklyn. At least when you two went down, Peggy was still alive; your James wasn’t. A part of you hated Steve for that, but it also grieved with him.

Nothing more was done of your research on Jamie; you’d seen the same thing about him over and over, yet you knew all that was said. However, you loved seeing moving pictures of him and Steve, ones you hadn’t seen before that day. He was just as beautiful as the day he left you for war. His smile made your heart race and his nose scrunch, his eyes squinting during his smile…he was breathtaking.

Reaching below the collar of your shirt, you grasped the dog tags around your neck, thankful S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn’t taken them off. Laying a kiss on them, you let them go, hitting your chest before your fingers met the keyboard: “Grover, Newspaper vendor, Brooklyn.”

That man had continued selling newspapers until his final years and right away, you saw an article titled, “LOCAL NEWS VENDOR SHARES PERSONAL EXPERIENCE WITH CAPTAIN AMERICA’S PARTNER, Y/N L/N, AFTER LOSS OF CONTACT.” Of course, that old man had to talk about you.

Reading the article, you realized this was right after Steve and you crashed; you felt Grover’s grief and pain through his words. “That kid was a pain in my side, but y/n l/n is – was, one of the lights in my life. She was like the daughter I’ve always wanted an’ while I wish she coulda stayed here, she always told me she needed ta’ do somethin’ with her life,” Grover had said, the author keeping his Brooklyn accent. “Her relationship with James Barnes meant so much to that girl and if there was any way she’d avenge his death, she’d be doin’ it, and I know she did,” he said, “and even though I gotta live the rest of my life without that girl, I know I couldn’t have kept her from doin’ what she thought was best. I love her and…I’ll miss her.”

Visiting his grave was the most emotionally draining day since you’ve been back.

honeybee taglist: @clownerlyluv

@ginger-swag-rapunzel

@starkleila

81 notes · View notes

marabrosca · 3 years

Text

[REUPLOAD] - What You Seek Will Find You (Cullen x Lavellan)

a commission for @cullenvhenan with her OC immy

words: 3k

summary: Cullen reflects on his heart's desires, and comes to the one thing he wants the most. (Cullen’s pov fic and his falling in love with Imryll Lavellan)

tags: pining, soft, romance, kissing

warning: contains mentions of racism/colorism but is never directly said to any poc

Read it on AO3

It was uncomfortable to see a chantry half full, Cullen decided. He couldn’t remember a time where he and his family would attend a sermon, and be joined by only a dozen people. The chantry in his youth accommodated with every seat and then some, as many late arrivals would continue to listen to the Revered Mother’s litany whilst standing in the back by the front door. Having the room be so scarce, having so many pews be empty, made the ceremony feel far more serious and intimidating than intended.

It was here that Cullen would be fulfilling his dream of joining the Templar Order, taking his vows and swearing to protect Thedas at the behest of the Andraste Herself. He peered over at the towering statue of the prophet, Her pyre burning brightly but expanding no more light into the room than a few candles. He felt himself shrink into his armor, picking nervously at his embroidered skirt as Andraste’s stone eyes bore into him. It was a dull service he had to admit. A withered old chantry Sister recited the Chant Of Light in an almost monotone voice, pausing every few lines to include the sacred blessings given to those joining the Order.

Cullen had practiced his vows more times than he could count. There were formal promises to make, but they came strictly with a list. When he had been given the list, the scroll lay heavy in his hands. The gold ribbon around it had made it seem as resplendent as the Chantry’s interior, and no less important than the impression it made. Each Templar was to choose their own vows, their own honest promises to the Maker.

Everyone is different, and we are all here for different reasons. But now we join as one, and must do what is expected of us. Therefore, it is the responsibility of one who chooses to walk the path of sacrifice, to pave the road they walk on.

It was something that was repeated to him in the upcoming weeks of the ceremony. There were many ways, as it turned out, to prove one’s faithfulness to the Maker. There was fasting, sacrificing of material goods (not that Templars had many personal items to begin with), excessive prayer, public preaching, and at least ten other things that Cullen could remember. There was only one that gave him pause: chastity, and the detachment to romantic relations, even within marriage. Cullen felt weak for admitting it, but the idea of a future in solitude wasn’t exactly appealing. Not that it was supposed to be. The idea was that a Templar-to-be would set aside personal desire and focus solely on duty, devoting themselves entirely to their service.

But Cullen saw no reason why he couldn’t do both. A part of him, a part he hid from others, was enamored with the idea of marriage. He’d caught himself many times dreaming of the day his soul-mate would enter his life, accepting the promise to live in each other’s hearts. It was indulgent and juvenile, but he wondered if perhaps one day he’d be in chantry taking entirely different vows than the ones he would proclaim that day. As far as Cullen could see, there were no obstacles in finding someone who was Andrastian. They’d have to be, wouldn’t they? Followers of the chantry and the Maker filled every space in Ferelden, and certainly he wouldn’t be traveling far from Kinloch Hold after the ceremony. Frankly, there was no reason to worry.

The young man heard his name and he stood, almost too quickly, and shuffled out of the pew, making his way to the Revered Mother. She looked at him with a kind smile, and he bowed his head in response. The woman’s hand hovered above him, pausing.

“Have you prepared your promises to the Maker, accepting His blessing as a holy child and servant of Andraste?” “Yes.” He replied firmly, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

Decades had passed since that day, disappearing like a dream interrupted by daylight. At no point would Cullen expect anything he had experienced, or where he was now. Snow crunched under his boots as he surveyed twenty new recruits to the Inquisitor’s forces- the DalishInquisitor – yet they served just as devout to the chantry as he had once been. An uncomfortable, heavy force weighed on him at the thought; a reminder of his skewed mind from the past. It was a part of him he didn’t want to forget, so that he would never become that man again. He didn’t, however, want it to swallow him whole. That part was harder.

Two of the newest recruits, George and Elliott, were sent to fetch a requisition officer that had been surveying the Storm Coast for some time. The men seemed eager, and promising, and gave off an air of charisma that delivered a boost in morale. Soon enough they returned with the aforementioned officer. She was a tall, lanky elf with pale skin and large, striking emerald eyes. Her black hair fell to her mid-back, lips pink and puffy in the cold. Cullen greeted her politely, taking the missives from her hands as she smiled pleasantly at him. The officer followed Cullen to the desk planked beside the staircase extending from the ramparts. He didn’t miss the almost pungent smell of perfume on her, but made no comment. The commander settled the forms into a neat pile, getting ready to turn to his scouts, when he looked up and noticed that she was still standing there. He cleared his throat when she did not have anything to say. “Thank you, Deanna, for going out of your way.”

“No problem at all, Commander.” The elf smiled at him, folding her hands behind her back.

“Ah…was there something else you needed?” Deanna twirled a finger through a lock of hair, her cheeks turning pinker than before.

“Actually, I was wondering if you were busy tonight.” She replied, eyeing the desk quickly before settling her sights on his face. George and Elliott watched the sight, impressed with their Commander’s obliviousness to her body language.

“As it happens, I am very busy tonight,” Cullen answered, turning and handing the papers over to a scout without pause. “There is still much work to be done if Skyhold is to ever be inhabitable. And I fear the most difficult challenges are yet to come. Why? Does something require my attention?” Deanna’s smile sunk to her knees with her shoulders following suit. “Um, no, it was nothing. Thank for your time, Commander.” “And you, as well.” Cullen responded with a nod, watching the elf turn and make her way up the stairs.

As busy as the ex-Templar seemed to be, he had set some time aside that evening to have a walk down the ramparts with Inquisitor Imryll. Soon the easy stride had turned to a pause, then to a conversation, then to a kiss. It was clearly unplanned and unexpected- quite the opposite of how Cullen had always carried himself- but there was no doubt in the way Imryll held onto his back and caressed his hair, that she didn’t object to it.

Gossip spread like the Blight within Skyhold regarding the Inquisitor’s supposed “dalliance” with the Commander. A couple of messengers and guards that had been making their way by wasted no time sharing the tale of what they had witnessed, or exaggerating it.

“It was a sweep of passion! He grabbed her and they nearly dipped as if they were dancing!” “I wasn’t that close, so I couldn’t really tell, but Ser Rutherford appeared very harsh with our Lady Inquisitor. Do you think he treats all his women that way?” “She hypnotized him with blood magic, I swear!” The only things the tales had in common was that a kiss was involved, anything else could not be answered, much to the disappointment of the staff who were almost growing bored of the mundane. When the news reached Elliott, he was quick to share what he heard over a drink on the grass with George, who turned his nose up in disgust. “See that, I just don’t get.” “What’s not to get? You don’t know what a kiss is? Do you revolt women that much?” “No, smartass.” George took a swig from his flask before continuing. “I don’t get how someone would, ya know, go for an elf. Does he seem like the type? And that elf on top of it- what’s next, a Qunari?”

Elliott let out a cackling laugh, almost catching his lip between his browning teeth. “Not your type, eh?” “Not anybody’s type.” George tried to adjust himself on the ground, reaffirming his seat in the same spot once the dizziness ceased his actions. “At least you got- at least you got some lookers here, right? Like that one from before…that, uh, Deanna. Them ones with the big eyes and the curves and all- and have you ever seen an elf that was so dark?” “Not before the Inquisitor. Her eyes are black, did you notice? Do you think she’s blind?” “I thought all elves were ivory and lanky and- where did she even come from?” “Somewhere up north.” “Up north, bah.” George, not heeding the warning his body gave him before, took another large gulp. “If you asked me, I’d kiss an ogre any day before I’d even think about kissin’ her. She wouldn’t-”

Before he could finish his ramblings, a pair of hands grabbed them both from behind, lifting them by the collars and onto their feet. George almost vomited, feeling the searing burn shoot up his throat at the assault. Both men turned sharply to be met with the fiery eyes of their Commander. The men could feel their faces turn numb and a pulse beat in the back of their skulls. Elliott dropped his mug without thinking, licking his lips in an attempt to speak.

“Commander-”

“I don’t want to hear another word.” “But-” “Not. One. Word.” Cullen’s teeth stuck out starkly against his reddening face.

The recruits gulped, bugged-eyed as George swayed slightly from the alcohol. Cullen’s gaze locked onto the mug spilling yellow liquid onto the grass. “I see that your night of leisure has given you loose tongues.”

Cullen pondered what kind of punishment should bestow them. Perhaps they were to be bound and brought to the Inquisitor on her throne, and beg at her feet for mercy after confessing their crimes? The idea was enticing, but it was likely the display would embarrass Imryll, and he needn’t put more on her shoulders regarding her reputation. Besides, she hadn’t heard the words herself, so why hurt her feelings? No, that simply wouldn’t do. They needed to learn a lesson…a long-term lesson. Without warning Cullen grabbed them by the collar again and pushed them both face-first into the dirt. “You will clean this mess, and then pack your things. At dawn, you will be deployed to the Hissing Wastes, where you will remain until the hole in the sky is welded shut.” The Hissing Wastes was the most miserable landscape in Thedas Imryll had ventured to that he could think of. It was a constant scorching mass of dry air and sand, flipping the coin completely when all was frozen over at night. Only the most hardened travelers could tolerate its climate. It was a long-lasting punishment for a crime that could permanently scar having landed in Imryll’s ears.

Without another word Cullen turned on his heel and walked back to the fortress, ignoring the groaning coming from behind him. As he moved out of sight, Elliott wobbled down to pick his mug off the ground, and George let go of all the liquid courage in his stomach that had sealed their fates.

Days had passed since the new blood of the Inquisition seemingly vanished overnight, but Cullen’s hands still upturned into fists at the memory. He hadn’t been there when they were carted off, but it was reported right before that they wished to beg forgiveness. Cullen dismissed the messenger with a wave of his hand and went back to his business like he was the only one in the room. He scowled, eyeing the ground with intensity as not to scream, a look that caught the eye of the curly-haired elf standing across from him. She walked up to him before he could react, kissing the knot between his eyebrows. All at once he melted, tense muscles going loose for a brief moment as he looked up. Her smile was concerned, and he felt his face relaxing as not to worry her further. “Are you alright?” she asked, grazing the back of her fingers along the side of his face, leaving goose bumps in her wake.

“Yes…I’m fine.” He let out a breath, willing himself to calm down. His hand reached up to grasp hers, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. It made them both blush, and Imryll’s fingers curled in his grasp.

“I had been wondering this for a while,” she started, not pulling away from his hold.

“That day you kissed me on the battlements…how long had you wanted to do that?”

Cullen couldn’t help but let out a laugh, smiling despite the heat in his cheeks. Her tone wasn’t mischievous, merely curious. A part of him advised against telling her; it was unprofessional at the very least to admit that he had wanted his lips on hers not too long after meeting, before Skyhold, even. Despite not being the best of friends at the time, Cullen found himself gravitating towards her, and desired her approval for more than just reasons regarding their duty.

He smiled sheepishly before finally answering her query.

“Longer than I should admit.”

Springtime scarcely differed from winter when it came to living on a mountain. Everyone still wore furs up to their noses and the courtyard was rarely full. Merchant deliverers unloaded their cargo as quickly as they could before ducking into the tavern. Orlesian noblewomen paraded their flower-adorned shifts about, calling attention to their “eye to detail”, modeling their appearance after the Skyhold garden. This, in reality, was meant to turn attention away from their unseemly reddening noses each time they needed to lift their mask and cough into a handkerchief.

Despite this -and despite her own hatred for the cold- Imryll could still be found tending to her plants- the ones that would survive the elements. She frowned as she lifted a limp stem with her finger, disappointed she wouldn’t be able to expand her alchemy skills just yet. Vivienne had warned her it was too early to start studying potions that required foliage, but in an effort to impress her, Imryll had tried it anyway. And now she was thinking of a way to dispose of the dead roots without embarrassing herself.

The sound of familiar footsteps behind her turned her attention away from the frozen soil, lifting her mood in an instant. “There you are. I was worried you’d still be out here.” Cullen sighed.

“Oh, yes. I was seeing how things were going,” she replied, gesturing to the frozen soil “Don’t tell Vivienne.” Cullen chuckled and removed his cloak, draping it over her shoulders.

“You’ll catch cold out here.” His touched his forehead with hers, watching as she scrunched her nose at the tickle of the wind.

“Walk me back?” Imryll guided them the long way around, entwining her arm with Cullen’s. Halfway there her legs had “gone completely numb from the cold”, and their only solution was to duck into an archway that housed a small stone bench. The elf laid her cheek on the part of his armor still covered by cloth, and sighed as his fingers glided down her arm.

“Feeling better?” “Not yet,” she replied, moving ever closer into his arms. Cullen held her tighter, making the Inquisitor smile. Her soft, round cheek was squished up against his chest, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. The atmosphere was too serene to believe. The moon now overshadowed the sun, leaving the walkway empty aside from them. Imryll gazed out at the greenery that still grew around them. But Cullen’s eyes were transfixed on her. In these escaping moments of peace, he found himself wondering what he would do in the future. If she survived- when she survived the impending battle with Corypheus- what would he do? He had been only a child the last time he lead a normal life, even though nothing for him would be truly normal again. Would she go with him? Would she go back to her clan? His stomach coiled at the thought, as selfish as it was. He wouldn’t blame her for returning to her people when this was all over, but surly he could not join her. The Dalish didn’t welcome humans as passersby, let alone a human lover. What if she left him? Did she not feel as strongly about their relationship as he did? Would she have to choose?

And more importantly, how would he declare the choice he’s made?

He couldn’t imagine a life without her. Despite the hardships and horrors he’s endured, having Imryll walk out of his life would be the breaking point. His gaze solemnly drifted to the bare blackness of the sky, subconsciously tightening his grip on Imryll.

“Cullen? Is something wrong?” she asked, lifting her head.

“Oh- I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” “No…” the Inquisitor waited for an answer to her question.

“I think we should go back inside. I’m sure you’d be far more comfortable with warm tea in your bed, wouldn’t you say?” Imryll perked up at the thought and reluctantly sat up to stretch.

“Will you be joining me?” Imryll asked over her shoulder, half flirtatiously. “If my lady wishes so.” Cullen responded, chuckling and standing to join her on the walk back to her quarters.

“I do. But is that what you want?”

What I want… Without warning the commander hoisted her up into his arms, leaning his head down to kiss her lips. She let out a yelp before laughing, slapping lightly at his chest as he carried her through the garden. Wind brushed roughly against the pathway flowers, sending a few white petals into the air, catching onto Imryll’s curls. Their white littered the stone, creating an almost snowy effect as he walked. They went unnoticed by Imryll, who was too distracted reaching up to playfully peck at her lover’s chin.

What he wanted…

He knew now more than ever.

Imryll had taken some time to teach Cullen threads of Dalish before, but nothing like this.

“Sylaise enaste var aravel…”

The sound of her native tongue caressed his ears. Everything in that moment disappeared except for her; and although he couldn’t understand the words, he felt them in his heart. He wanted her promise to be true, and he trusted that it was.

“I swear unto the Maker and The Holy Andraste to love this woman the rest of my days.”

As the words left his lips, they connected with hers. Perhaps he should have waited until Mother Giselle made the official decree, but he couldn’t wait another moment.

The kiss ended with the faint tickle of Cullen’s breath against her lips. His nose stayed atop hers, soft chestnut eyes barely open beneath his lashes. It was their first kiss as a married couple, a term they could barely comprehend. Cullen sighed blissfully, capturing the moment in his mind down to every detail as the setting sun painted them in golden light, as if the world turned just for them. Imryll’s skin blended with the rays. Her eyes reflected, but were not illuminated by the shine, creating a stark clear surrounding of white around the onyx that seduced him so many times.

Imryll took but a single step before she was whisked off her feet. A surprised yelp quickly turned to giggles as her husband hoisted her into his arms in a true bridal-fashion. Mushy bounced excitedly at Cullen’s feet and wagged his tail, attempting to angle himself so that he could leap up to join Imryll.

“Blasted-get down! I can’t hold the both of you.”

Imryll laughed joyously, taking her lover’s face into her hands.

“How long have you wanted to do that?”

Cullen smiled down at her.

“Longer than I should admit.”

#cullen x lavellan #cullen rutherford #cullen x imryll #my fics #asian inquisitor #asian lavellan #reupload #i think the original post is still up on ela's blog but the search bar is trash :T #dai #Imryll Lavellan

26 notes · View notes

ikeromantic · 3 years

Photo

Mad Dogs

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfiction. This scene occurs at the start of Ch. 12 in the romantic route! Approx. 2600 words.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Keeping Secrets

Mitsuhide sat beside his little mouse, sharing space at the desk in their rooms. A packet of letters sat open in front of him, missives from Kyubei and his distant intelligence network. They were closing in on the shogun’s location. Ashikaga’s hiding spot was down to two holes he might have crawled into. Both had features to recommend them.

Nearness to reliable roads, distance from well-maintained lands. Space to accommodate his collected forces. Mitsuhide closed his eyes in thought.

“I’ll ask for some tea,” his little one said, and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“I thought I was the mindreader,” he smiled.

She laughed softly. “Another skill I learned from you, hm?”

Mitsuhide felt a burst of warmth, and would have pulled her into his arms had he not caught the soft chime of bells on the stairs below. His smile turned sharp as he stood, placing himself between the door and his beloved.

“What -” she started to ask, interrupted by the door sliding open and the sound of a harsh, wild laugh.

“Motonari works fast,” Mitsuhide muttered. “This will be our next ally.” He hoped. This meeting was an even bigger risk than Mouri had been.

He heard her whisper under her breath. “I hope we get a cleric. Someone with a lawful alignment, at least.” It was an odd thing to say, but strangely accurate, considering.

“Special delivery,” Motonari called out as he entered the room and presented the figure behind him.

“I assume you’ve called me here to perform your last rites, Mitsuhide Akechi.” Kennyo’s voice was low and smooth. Like an underground river, steadily dissolving the stone. Unstoppable, unchanging. He was as solid as ever, his wide shoulders filled the doorway. His mouth was set in a grim line, and his eyes were twin fires, giving heat but no light.

Mitsuhide met his gaze, acknowledging the shared history of violence between them. “Welcome, Abbot. I have been looking forward to this meeting.”

The chatelaine’s eyes went from Kennyo to Motonari, clearly trying to weigh the greater threat. She lingered on the monk, her eyebrows rising with a flash of recognition.

Mitsuhide wondered what she was thinking. Was it only surprise at seeing the man in person after all the rumors and stories she’d heard about the Abbot? Or did she have yet another secret she hadn’t shared with him? The need to know was a dangerous distraction and he worked to force his attention back to the immediate problem. “My dear, you should wait next door.”

She stubbornly shook her head. “I’m staying right here.”

He wanted to argue with her but Mouri dismissed the problem of her presence. “Forget the girl, kitsune. Let’s get to business, savvy?”

Kennyo’s glare rolled from Mitsuhide to Motonari. “I am not here for business.” He pulled his prayer staff apart, revealing the slim, sharp blade hidden within.

Mitsuhide pulled his own sword the second he caught the reflected lamplight in its metallic sheen. It was a good thing he did as he only barely managed to block the Abbot’s strike. “What a very sensible weapon.” He gave the monk a tight smile.

“I am not here to listen to you talk,” Kennyo growled. “I am here to send you to hell where you belong!” His advance was like a boulder coming down the side of a mountain. Inexorable.

The monk brought the blunt end of his staff up. Mitsuhide caught the blow on the flat of his blade, but the force of it shivered up his arm and left him open. Open to the glistening tip of Kennyo’s sword as it swept toward his throat.

The chatelaine lurched forward, her hands flying up as if to stop the monk’s sword.

Mitsuhide moved back and the strike that would have killed him only left a small pearl of blood at his throat. His attention wasn’t on the wound or even his near-death blow. It was on his little one, who stood awkwardly in the midst of drawn blades, her hands still extended. “Get back, now,” he shouted, his voice cracking with panic held barely in check.

If she was hurt . . . if . . . he couldn’t finish the thought. His little mouse turned her head to look at him but didn’t follow his order. Mitsuhide grabbed her arm and pulled her behind him and into a corner. With a wall on two sides, leaving him a smaller area to guard.

Kennyo’s scar pulled at his face, twisting the grim smile he now wore. “You are afraid, Akechi. Good. May your death bring a measure of peace to your victims.” The Abbot prepared for another strike.

Motonari’s shrill laugh split the tense air. “Come on! Yer not tryin’ ta leave me outta the fun, are ya?” He pulled his sword in one hand and his pistol in the other. His grin was manic and feral as he looked between possible targets.

Mitsuhide felt sick with anxiety. Against one madman, he was sure he could keep his little one safe. Against two? And one armed with a pistol? He would need to disarm or kill Mouri first. Kennyo was a deadly opponent, but predictable. The move would leave him open to the monk, but made it less likely that his beloved would be hurt. He shifted his stance, readying himself.

“Thanks fer gettin’ the party started.” Motonari laughed again. “I was feelin’ lonely over here.”

Mitsuhide leapt at Mouri, giving the pirate no time to move into a better position. But Kennyo wasn’t going to wait for his turn.

The Abbot stepped between Motonari and Mitsuhide, shoving the kitsune warlord back. “I will not be cheated of your death!”

Mouri struck at the monk, forcing Kennyo to turn and block his blade.

Mitsuhide took advantage of the distraction, knocking the pistol from Motonari’s grip. The sharp edge of his sword left the skin of Mouri’s hand split open and weeping redly. He chanced a look back at his beloved. She hadn’t budged from her spot in the corner. “Run!” Mitsuhide kicked Mouri’s pistol further from him. “Run while you can!”

The pirate laughed even louder, moving as quick as an eel to dodge Kennyo and turn his aggression toward Mitsuhide.

The chatelaine shook herself from her shock and darted around the edge of the fray. Mitsuhide felt a spike of worry but in a moment she’d reach the door, and safety. But before she was out of danger, she stopped, turned.

Mitsuhide recognized the expression on her face. Naive resolve. That stubborn streak he loved and hated.

Instead of running, she shoved herself into the middle of the combat. “STOP! Stop fighting this instant!”

Motonari’s cackle rose in volume and pitch as he laughed at her bold - and foolish - move. But Kennyo’s sword armed dropped.

“That’s right! You heard me! Cut it out!”

That was perhaps not the best choice of words, Mitsuhide thought. But it seemed to work. At least, it brought a moment of calm as the monk and the pirate watched her. He calculated his next move should they resume the attack. At this distance, he could easily get his little one out the door, though it would leave him painfully open. Worth it, but he’d take a wound or two. Probably not enough to kill him. Not quickly. Plenty of time to take them both down . . .

The chatelaine put her fists to her hips, staring them down. Even Mouri felt the weight of her disapproval. His laughter died off. “You. Are acting like children. I thought this was a meeting of men.” One hand rose, finger extended like a weapon toward the Abbot. “And you! Aren’t you a monk? Attacking your host?” Her voice was hot with outrage. “Where are your manners?”

Kennyo took a step back, his eyes wide. “Are you . . . rebuking me?”

Her lips were set in a firm line, cheeks red with anger. Hot eyes swept Mitsuhide and Mouri up together. “And you! Don’t think this doesn’t apply to you. Did you want help? Or not?”

Had they not had an audience - and a deadly one at that - Mitsuhide would have kissed her. Battle-lust still sang in his veins and all that energy needed an outlet. He could imagine crushing her against the wall, his lips taking hers while his hands tore open that kimono to . . . he coughed. His little one was . . . entirely . . . too distracting.

She seemed oblivious to his thoughts as she crossed her arms. “Well? You have about three seconds to put up your weapons and prove to me that you are men. Otherwise I’ll - I’ll turn this party right around!”

Motonari’s lips turned up in a muted smile, unusual for him. Mitsuhide did not like the light in Mouri’s eyes as he regarded the chatelain. After a long moment of silence, the pirate sheathed his sword and picked his pistol up.

He put his own blade away and heard Kennyo do the same. He chuckled as she watched them obey her order. “To think, after everything it is you that now lectures me.” He bowed to her and then to his guests.

“Perfect,” she chirped, flashing the three men a tight smile. “I’ll get some tea.”

Mitsuhide could tell by the way she stepped toward the door that she was a breath away from falling over. Her firmness was an act. Convincing, but short-lived. He caught her by the elbow and helped her to the door.

She leaned against him taking strength from his closeness.

He kissed her cheek and whispered. “I am sorry to put you in danger like that. It seems I - I lost my cool.”

“It’s because of me, isn’t it? You never let anything disturb you before.” Her troubled expression broke his heart.

“No,” he shook his head. “I don’t want you to think about that. My actions are mine alone. Only I bear any blame.” He bit at his lip before continuing. “I couldn’t handle seeing someone pull a weapon so close to you.”

Behind them, Kennyo cleared his throat. “Who is this young girl, Akechi?”

Mitsuhide turned, his arm still around his little mouse. “She is a princess of the Oda, the chatelaine of Azuchi castle and my - my fiancee.”

“Your . . .” The Abbot’s expression was one of surprise. His hard eyes focused on the chatelaine. “Young lady. I have a question for you.”

Motonari leaned back on the wall, looking as if this had been the outcome he wanted all along. “Finally ready to talk, eh?”

“Quiet. I’m not speaking to you.” Kennyo’s gaze did not waver. “Why are you here, girl? With Mitsuhide Akechi on the dawn of his march against the shogun?”

With a deep breath, the chatelaine stood up straight, removing herself from the warmth and support Mitsuhide offered. She met the Abbot’s eyes without flinching. “Officially, I’m here to get in Mitsuhide’s way. To stop him from being reckless.” She smiled wistfully. “At least, that’s my job until the battle starts. But up to that moment, I plan to be by his side.”

“I see.” Kennyo’s gravelled voice sounded uncertain, a tone that rarely came from the demon-monk.

“If you’re done talking to my lit - ah, my fiancee, I’d like to speak with you about my proposal,” Mitsuhide interrupted.

The Abbot’s expression hardened. “I have put down my weapon at the request of this young woman. Do not take that for interest in whatever game you play, kitsune.”

Mitsuhide glanced at Mouri in annoyance. “I had hoped your former ally would put a little more effort into persuading you.”

“Pfft. Be thankful I even brought ‘im,” Motonari snorted.

Kennyo’s squared his shoulders. “I am leaving. Be warned that when I see you again, I will not show mercy.”

“Please. A moment more, Abbot Kennyo.” Mitsuhide thought courtesy and respect would buy him just a little more time to soften the monk to his plot. “You have reason to disdain an alliance with me, but you share a need to see the shogun dead.”

The Abbot raised one eyebrow.

“Your follower, the one killed in the Azuchi dungeons?” Mitsuhide assumed Kennyo would remember the recent loss. He saw the Abbot give a slight nod. “He was murdered on Ashikaga’s orders. Yoshiaki used that death to try and make it seem that you and I were connected.”

Kennyo’s low growl sounded more demon than man.

The chatelaine nodded agreement. “Yes, that’s right. He admitted it at Honno-ji.”

Mitsuhide watched the Abbot carefully. This was delicate work. “That death came after days of gruesome torture as he was forced to lie, and falsely confess we were allies.”

“Why . . . why are you telling me what I already know?” The words tore from the Abbot’s throat, a rumble of warning like the snarl of a rabid dog.

This would either win him to their side or provoke a renewed attack. Mitsuhide took a small step forward, just to make sure he could easily push his little one out the door if it came to that. “What other agents of yours might the shogun already know about? Perhaps another spy in the Oda forces? One my informants tell me is currently pursuing the shogun as we speak?” The image of bright, troubled eyes and a sweet smile accompanied the words as Mitsuhide thought on the subject of their discussion.

The Abbot’s expression shifted to one of surprise and barely suppressed rage.

Yes. Now they had him. Mitsuhide kept his expression neutral. “I am right, am I not? Your faithful pet, the one you snuck into Azuchi some time ago . . . he is the one you’ve set to hunt the shogun.”

Mouri chuckled. “Damn. You even know about the kid, huh?”

“You hellspawn,” Kennyo rumbled. He grabbed Mitsuhide by his clothes and lifted him up as if to shake him.

Mitsuhide knew he’d won this round. “Perhaps? But as you may know, my memory is quite poor. I find myself often confused . . . forgetting all kinds of things . . .” The Abbot had only to accept his defeat now. “I suspect that as long as I have proper allies in my fight against the shogun, this little detail will have quite escaped me by the time I return to Azuchi.”

Kennyo did shake him then. Still refusing to see the inevitable conclusion of this meeting.

“Abbot . . . tell me, didn’t you come tonight because your own fight against Ashikaga was going harder than you expected? Didn’t you wish for some assistance? Be honest with yourself, if not with me.”

Motonari straightened. “Come on, Kennyo. It’s not like yer marryin’ the kitsune. This is all just temporary. We can kill Akechi the second we put the shogun down.”

“You are both vile men.” The Abbot lowered Mitsuhide to the ground and released his grip.

“An’ vicious, mad, bloodthirsty,” Mouri went on, his grin widening until his teeth shone.

Mitsuhide straightened his clothes. “Yes. We are all birds of a feather. And to kill a man who barely grants others their place as fellow humans, it falls to monsters like ourselves.”

Kennyo’s nod of agreement was barely a tilt of his chin. “Do not expect camaraderie from me. The moment the shogun’s head leaves his neck, I will again seek Nobunaga’s life. And yours.” The twin fires of his eyes burned like banked coals.

“Your terms are accepted. Now. We have much planning to do.” At that, the three sat on the floor, together, but apart. Hands near weapons, tense shoulders, and terse words.

“I’ll ah, go get that tea then,” the chatelaine mumbled.

Mitsuhide flashed her a small smile. He was so proud of her. And so troubled by her. How could one little mouse leave him such a mess?

Next: Unexpected Gifts

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen motonari #ikesen kennyo #Mitsuhide Akechi #otome boys #otome #fanfiction #fanfic

75 notes · View notes

mchalowitz · 4 years

Text

the woman is the king

summary: a throughline of the matriarchal scullys; be they ethereal, sharp-witted, and ill-omened.

this is a revamped version of my unfinished wip chain reaction. some of it will be familiar but don’t worry, there’s plenty that’s brand new. it’s been a minute and i wanted to give the idea what it deserved. i’m hoping to post a new part every friday for the month of october! so with that we have

part 1: melissa

----------

Her door is barely open enough for a hushed conversation.

“It’s Friday night, Mulder.”

Scully keeps attempting to have a separation between work and home. After the underwhelming experience with Rob, she is sure Mulder is aware of this; that she wants to have a semblance of a personal life, even if she is dedicated to their cases. He is making it prove difficult, with his work and his interests so intertwined. It never ends.

“I know, but these reports just came through,” he insists. “You need to see them before…”

A cacophony of flatware and curse words comes from the kitchen. Scully continues to stare up at him, unperturbed, but Mulder’s eyes flash upward over her head. Behind his eyes, he is creating a story; putting together puzzle pieces that do not exist.

“Got a date in there, Scully?”

A female voice, its volume raising in comparison to the muttered expletives, calls, “Dana, is that the pizza?”

“My sister,” she corrects.

Scully has seen Mulder reserved in the face of criticism, but he seems sheepish, maybe even embarrassed, at the idea that his obsessive nature was exposed to this audience. She finds the bashfulness radiating from him to be endearing in a boyish sort of way.

He gives her the stack of papers held together with a binder clip. Not one of the small ones, no, one of the big ones meant for thick analysis that will take an entire weekend to sift through. “Just look them over when you get a chance,” he tells her.

She nods, and when the door is shut, Melissa appears behind her like a graceful apparition. “Working on a weekend,” she marvels. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

“Shut up.”

“Are you going to ask him out?”

Scully turns away, retrieving her wallet from her purse, and starts counting out bills for their soon-to-arrive dinner. “It isn’t like that with Mulder, our relationship is professional,” she babbles. “I already got caught up dating in the bureau before and people that really matter in the FBI are finally starting to see my value after two years of paying my dues at the Academy, I’m not going to jeopardize my future by consorting with my partner.”

"Consorting?” Melissa retorts. “Come on, Dana, be honest. If he were just a guy on the street, would you?”

She thinks. Mulder is ambitious, brilliant, and has an unrivaled sense of humanity. His dedication is frighteningly thrilling. It gives her an enthusiasm to strive for more.

Scully realizes the list could go on. Mulder’s positive qualities are more than can be said about most of the men she’s been involved with and in only a short amount of time knowing him.

Yes, she probably would. If he were just any guy.

The doorbell rings.

“No.”

Exiting the elevator, Mulder has anticipation in his step. His keys are already out and he hopes he’s beaten Scully to the door. It’s her first day back in the office.

And after interviews, and doctor’s approvals, and signatures, she’s been fully cleared to be back in the field. Fearing desk duty or reassignment, both of them are quietly ecstatic that they can pick up their work.

He nearly jumps when he sees a flash of copper in front of the door. Damn. But then he notices it’s attached to an unfamiliar head on a taller body. It’s Melissa.

“How did you get down here?” he asks, no introductions. Melissa steps aside so he can unlock the door. He invites her in with a wave of his hand.

“You would be surprised how far you can get with some kind words and a good explanation,” Melissa says. She runs his hand over the books on top of a filing cabinet. She looks over her shoulder at him. “Something to consider for the future, Mulder.”

He continues to stare.

“I told security I had an appointment with you. No one argued,” she smiles, almost amused with herself. “Dana tells me we’re very similar. With all of our ‘wild ideas.’ You know what wild ideas I have, Fox? The concept that my sister can go to work and no one has to worry that they’ll never see her again.”

Scully knows the risks of the job, Mulder wants to say. Do you really think I get a vote on the decisions she makes?

“I care about Dana.”

“Then you’ll go easy on her.”

He nods, even though it’s a lie. He wants it to be the truth. The question isn’t whether he’ll go easy on her or not. He already knows, and he believes Melissa does too, that Scully will only push harder if he tries to lighten her load.

When Melissa leaves with a warning glare, Mulder shuffles papers until Scully arrives with Dr. Pierce. He promises himself that he will not be compelled by whatever this guy presents to him. Above all else, they will not take this case.

Listening to the tale of something possibly wandering around in temperatures of 130 degrees, he repeats not interested to himself, even though he is really, really interested.

“I want to work.”

He reminds himself of his conversation less than an hour ago.

Lead investigator is not a title Mulder takes that seriously. He has never been able to successfully sway Scully in her beliefs and pulling the authority card doesn’t seem like a tactic that would go over well. And while it’s a fact he will keep to himself, in her absence, he sees how utterly incompetent he can be without her.

He’s got an angel and a devil on his shoulders, two dueling Scully sisters. He suggests time off anyway.

“I’ve already lost too much time,” she replies. Oh, that guts him. She knows how easily convinced he can be with some good poetic phrasing.

It won’t be a very intense case. Probably just watching that same footage, giving some opinions on the evidence. It’ll end up being something they can toss to another, more equipped agency. The explanation soothes him enough to not block the door when Scully leaves to pack a bag.

Lying in a month-long quarantine, he has a lot of time to wonder by what means Melissa Scully will kill him.

Mulder toes the line between agnosticism and fairweather judaism; a fact that Scully has always respected, and never pushed back against.

He normalizes empty pews and suspicious clergymen. The sea of mourners for Melissa Scully is a foreign sight.

Guilt feels like a target on his back and he hopes no one will shoot the proverbial arrow, hoping for a bullseye. Or maybe he does.

He sits right behind the reserved row and his eyes follow Scully as she walks gracefully up the aisle. She once described her sister as ethereal to him, a gossamer darling, but in her sorrow, it is she, it is Dana, that is the diaphanous messenger of all that is holy and light in the dark.

Scully doesn’t acknowledge him as she sits. He averts his eyes when he briefly meets the eyes of Mrs. Scully. Behind her crow’s feet and unwaveringly maternal gaze, he sees Dana, he sees Melissa.

The priest tells the legend of Melissa Scully that Scully never divulged to him. She studied anthropology at Brown and spent two years on an archeological dig in Peru. In her thirty-three years, she lived in four different countries, but felt a special connection to her teenage years in California. It is possible she cared more for her community than for herself, she appreciated art in all of its forms, and she loved writing letters to her beloved sister, Dana, while she was away at medical school.

Almost imperceptibly, Mulder sees the sharp raise of her shoulders, the sudden intake of breath. Her hand covers her mouth. He reaches forward and places his hand on her shoulder. She lays her hand over his.

“The dynamic presence of Melissa Scully is a gift to the Lord,” the priest finishes. “Let us bow our heads in silent prayer.”

Mulder wonders how Scully even allows his presence in the same space as her, allows him to breath the same air when they both know he is the reason her sister is dead. This stupid, this idiotic pursuit of his, that ruins lives with no remorse, and yet he remains powerless to surrender.

#the x files #xf fic #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #i'm so nervous to post this!!!!#if i'm being totally honest

105 notes · View notes

calligraphist-artemisia · 4 years

Text

Soul of a Lion

Sequel to The Smallest Blade.

Summary: After the Red Lion steals them away from the Marmora base and takes them through a wormhole, Shiro, Keith, Katla, and Lance find themselves in front of a majestic castle with nowhere to go but inside. The events that unfold while they're there will change the fate of the universe.

Also posted on AO3 under the username “kishirokitsune”.

Happy New Year, everyone! I figured there was no better way to start out 2021 than by posting the first chapter of a new fic! I hope everyone enjoys it.

☆ - ☆ - ☆ - ☆ - ☆

1 | The Red Lion

Keith tightly gripped the controls, trying his best to redirect the Red Lion away from the glowing vortex, but she didn't respond no matter what he tried. He sent up a silent prayer that they weren't being dragged into immediate danger and then had to tightly shut his eyes against the intensity of the light. It only took a second and then they broke through the other side and he was able to open his eyes again.

“Where are we?” Katla asked, her voice close to him. He glanced to his left as she released her grasp on the back of his seat so she could step forward and get a better look at the navigation system. “Wait... but this is the Javeeno Star System. It should have taken us movements to get here!”

“Instantaneous transport. I know some of our brightest scientists and engineers have been working on it, but none of them have even come close. Not even the empire has been able to replicate the technology that allowed Alteans to travel so quickly, so how did we manage it?” Shiro asked, mostly to himself.

Katla was quick with a suggestion. “The Lion?”

“You think it could have been storing the energy until the right moment?”

While Shiro and Katla debated exactly how they were able to travel so quickly, Keith took his hands off of the controls and turned his attention to Lance instead. The Altean stood off by himself, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the floor, clearly upset about something. Keith assumed it had something to do with the fact that he tried to take off with the Lion on his own.

He wanted to be angry. Furious. But the fire in his veins ebbed away the longer Keith watched Lance. Even after the years the Altean had spent with them, there were still times when he didn't know what to make of Lance. There was something about him that rubbed Keith the wrong way. He was just... obnoxious.

But Keith couldn't deny that he was a good friend and whatever was happening with the Red Lion wasn't his fault, no matter how much Keith wanted to place the blame on him.

“What do you think about all of this, Lance?” he asked.

Lance looked surprised to be addressed, especially by Keith. “Me? I- I don't know about any of this! I swear, Keith!”

“I wasn't accusing you of anything, I just wanted to know what you think!” Keith snapped back.

“Well, you're the one who bonded with this thing! You'd know better than any of us!” Lance exclaimed.

“Forget it!” Keith grit his teeth and turned away from the Altean. Why did he even bother? He focused instead on the screen and the readouts the Lion was giving them. They were rapidly approaching a small, blue-and-green planet which had breathable air and a plethora of plant and animal life. According to what he read, the name of the planet was Arus and the beings who lived there were simply known as the Arusians.

The only thing that made him worry was the fact that the Javeeno Star System was the territory of a fearsome Galra general named Sendak, who was as ruthless as he was loyal to Emperor Zarkon. If they were caught by him or any of his men, he wasn't sure they would make it out alive.

They would have to tread carefully.

“Why have you brought us here?” Keith quietly asked the Lion.

The Red Lion answered with a roar as they broke the atmosphere, rapidly coming in for a landing on top of some cliffs bordering one of the oceans. As they grew closer, the air rippled in front of them and Keith could make out a grid-like pattern resembling a particle barrier. Before he could shout a warning, the barrier split open and revealed a massive white castle perched on the highest plateau. They easily passed through and it closed behind them.

“They've reworked their particle barrier into adaptive camouflage! How cool is that!” Katla squealed in excitement. “I've always wondered if it would be possible to use the electromagnetic radiation emitted by a barrier in conjunction with metamaterials built into the foundation of a ship in order to achieve some sort of invisibility in flight and this might prove that theory! I have to know how it works!”

“You just might get that chance,” Shiro told her as they landed just outside the massive main door.

The lighting in the cockpit went dim as the Red Lion landed and then went perfectly still, clearly indicating that they should all disembark and go into the castle. Shiro reached out and grabbed Katla's arm when she attempted to be the first one off, gently guiding her back into Keith's arms so he could take her place and lead the younger cubs (plus Lance) out of the Lion and into unfamiliar territory.

Katla calmed once they were on solid ground, her excitement over new tech tempered by the fact that they had no idea what they were about to face once they were inside. She easily fell into step alongside Keith, one hand in his while the other was loose at her side, ready to grab her blade if the situation called for it. Keith was much the same, though he was less subtle about the way his hand kept straying towards his knife.

Lance fell somewhere in the middle of their group, weaponless but no less alert to the potential of danger. He stuck a little closer to Shiro as they walked towards the massive main door. They all slowed as they drew close, unsure of how they would get in.

The Red Lion let out a roar that shook the ground with its intensity, which caused all of them to flinch and look around in suspicion. The only thing that happened was that the door opened to allow them inside.

“What is this place?” Katla wondered out loud, craning her head back to try and take in the entire structure. “The architecture... I've never seen anything like it! I wonder who built it.”

“Alteans,” Lance muttered in a surprisingly bitter tone. As if in response to his emotions, the purple of his disguised appearance shifted to a shade closer to blue, serving to better hide the markings high on his cheeks.

Shiro chanced one curious glance back at the only non-Galra of their group. “Anything we need to worry about?”

Lance shrugged.

“Maybe the Lion disabled any sort of security when it brought us here?” Katla suggested.

“Stay alert anyway,” Shiro instructed. “Basic infiltration protocol. Anything happens, find your way back to the Lion. Lance, stay with me.”

Everyone agreed to his commands and then they walked inside. The tick they stepped through the door, the lights of the grand entryway lit up around them, illuminating white floors and walls, all of which had a thin layer of dust coating it and turning it gray. As they walked farther into the castle, the blue lights of a hallway to the left began to flicker to life as though the castle was trying to guide them to where they were needed.

Shiro followed the lights.

There was no sign of life that any of them could tell, though they passed by a number of closed doors along the way.

“It's strange that there isn't more security,” Keith mentioned.

“I guess they're counting on the barrier to keep out any intruders. And like I said before, it could be that the Lion was able to disable whatever security they did have in place,” Katla said.

Keith vaguely gestured down the long hallway with his free hand. “There aren't any cameras. Nothing to suggest any type of surveillance or space for drones to hide until they're activated. None of the doors are reinforced with pin codes. If we wanted to detour, I bet they'd open just by one of us pressing our hands to the panel.”

“I'd rather not test that theory,” Shiro spoke up.

Keith dropped his hand back to his side. “My point is this ship isn't fortified for battle. I'd argue that the barrier is its sole defense.”

“It must have a way of quickly getting out of range of any attack. Maybe it's really fast?” Katla suggested. “Or... Well, the Red Lion brought us here. Maybe that's part of the castle defense as well.”

“If that were the case, then she should have been here and not back on Venadh,” Keith argued.

Katla inclined her head, conceding to his point. “Okay, so the barrier is the primary defense and there doesn't appear to be any internal security. This definitely isn't an Altean warship, which means it must have been used for exploration or maybe as a headquarters of some sort? I just don't see why the Red Lion brought us here if it wasn't important.”

Lance kept his silence throughout their discussion, adding none of his own thoughts or opinions. No one tried to force him to speak when it was clear there was something about the castle that was bothering him.

The debate ended abruptly when they arrived at the end of the hall and the doors slid open to admit them into a strange round room. There was a podium near the center and six circular indents in the ground.

Shiro took a single step into the room and there was a hissing sound as three of the indents cracked down the middle and then opened. Slowly, three cylindrical pods rose from their hiding spot in the floor until they clicked into place. Through the semi-translucent glass, they could make out three bipedal figures.

“Healing pods,” Keith murmured in recognition. “They're different from the ones back on base.”

Katla tried to walk closer to the pods for a better look, but Keith tugged her back to his side.

“We don't know who's in there,” he admonished.

Katla rolled her eyes but didn't make a second attempt. “We won't find out anything if we don't investigate. Besides, this is an Altean castle which means they're probably Altean.” She paused a moment as her brain caught up with her mouth and she quickly turned to Lance, a new question poised on her lips.

Her words died as Lance stepped forward with an unreadable expression on his face and pressed one palm against the tank.

There was a hissing sound as the pod farthest from them suddenly released a frigid fog, the doors peeling open to reveal a young woman with silvery-white hair. She remained upright for a moment before she lurched forward with a harsh gasp.

“Father!”

She stretched out one hand and stepped down jarringly hard with her right leg, managing to stand for less than a tick before her knees gave out and she folded weakly to the floor.

Shiro, despite all of his warnings of caution to the others, was unable to resist walking over to help someone who was in need of it. He stopped a short distance away from her and held out his hand. “Miss, are you alright?”

The Altean woman tensed and slowly turned to face Shiro, her apparent shock rapidly giving way to fear and then anger. Shiro barely had time to react before she was on her feet and unsheathing a small dagger from the folds of her dress, which she held protectively in front of her.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “How did you get on this ship? What have you done with my father?”

Shiro held up both hands placatingly and took a step back, doing his best to appear as non-threatening as possible. “I'm Shiro and we were all brought here by a Red Lion. We haven't seen anyone else on your ship, but your father could be in one of these pods.”

She didn't take her eyes off of Shiro. “Why should I trust a word that you say? You're Galra!”

“You asked,” Keith muttered barely loud enough for Katla to hear.

And then a second pod cracked open and released a cloud of freezing fog and the mustachioed Altean who sprang forth only added to the tension by attempting to attack Shiro with a loud battle-cry. Shiro side-stepped him with a bemused expression.

When Keith tried to jump in and help, it was Katla's turn to hold him back and stop him from getting into trouble.

“Enough!” Shiro commanded. “We're not any happier to be here than you are in having us here, so if you could stop for a tick maybe we can figure out why the Red Lion brought us here and how we're meant to leave.”

The male Altean froze in the middle of preparing for another attack, his face rapidly paling. “The Red...? You're lying!”

Keith bristled in Shiro's defense. “Why would we lie about that?”

“You're trying to trick us into letting our guard down! Well, I won't fall for it this time!”

“No one is trying to trick anyone,” Shiro loudly cut in, giving Keith a look warning him not to speak again. “Just calm down so we can talk this through. No more arguing. No trying to attack one another. None of us are happy about this situation, so lets take a moment to calm down and try to tackle this reasonably.”

Silence followed in the wake of Shiro's words.

The Altean woman glared at him for a moment, conveying her continued anger without saying a word, before turning so quickly on her heel that her hair fanned out around her and brushed against Shiro's closest arm. She strode over to a podium and began pressing keys on the surface, causing a holographic screen to rise up and illuminate with data in an unfamiliar script.

Shiro could see Katla trying to move so she could get a better look at the tech and was relieved when Keith kept her in place. A quick glanced at Lance let him know that their disguised Altean was behaving himself and appeared to be doing whatever he could to avoid drawing unwanted attention.

The less they aggravated theirs hosts, the better.

It was as the Altean woman let out a loud gasp of shock that the third and final pod opened. The Altean within was heavyset, with dark skin and nearly golden markings painting his upper cheeks. He lurched forward and caught himself on the sides of the pod, closing his eyes as he took a moment to reorient himself.

“...Princess, what is it?” asked the mustachioed Altean after a moment of hesitation, his attention torn between his two companions.

“Coran, I...” She trailed off, her voice trembling as she stared in horror at the screen. “We've been in there for nearly ten-thousand decaphoebs. We've missed so much! Everything... everything is gone! I don't understand how this is possible. What happened to the fail-safes? How were we in the cryo-pods for that long?”

Coran looked uneasy as he joined her at the podium, sharp blue eyes scanning the screen. “I wish I could say, Princess.” He turned his head towards the Altean who was still standing in one of the pods. “Hunk, could you take a look?”

Shiro recognized the exact moment the Altean – evidently named “Hunk” – fully took note of the people around him. Eyes widened, his grip tightened, and breathing quickened.

And then, miraculously, he visibily relaxed.

“You found a Lion?” Hunk asked, his voice a curious whisper.

The Princess whipped her head up. “Impossible. They must be lying.”

“We're not-!” Keith's heated words came to a swift end thanks to Katla's elbow to his side.

Hunk seemed perfectly okay with ignoring his princess and instead continued to speak to Shiro, who was the closest to him. “We wouldn't be awake if you weren't brought here by one of the Lions. It's the only possible way you could have gotten through the barrier without breaking it and setting off a full lockdown. His Majesty made sure of that.”

It was a simple explanation, but more importantly it told Shiro that there was at least one of them who would be willing to hear them out instead of outright dismissing their words.

Shiro figured the best place to start was with introductions.

“I'm Shirotak,” he said, giving Hunk a slight bow. “Those two are Katla and Keith. Behind me is Lance.”

Hunk offered up a tremulous smile and a bow in return, quickly stumbling through his own introductions and finally giving up the name of the princess, who was called Allura. It was to her that he turned when he finished speaking. “Princess, maybe we should go somewhere and talk about this?”

“Yes...” she agreed, clearly reluctant. “I think that would be for the best.”

#voltron #fanfiction #kidge #kidgemas #half galra pidge #half galra keith #galra shiro #altean lance #altean hunk #Soul of a Lion

20 notes · View notes

jenovahh · 3 years

Text

The Honey Pot - Ch. 28 - Sting Operation

The universe must hate you.

To make you see the monstrous form of Varis bear down upon his equally monstrous son, eyes wide as they turn to you in shock. To make you feel the vibrations of the monster's roars as his facility burns and falls around him. To have you hear the sound of Elidibus whisking you away from your love, of dark magic engulfing you, rendering you unable to leap from his arms to let you be buried with him.

Even as you feel Elidibus’ form real and whole and warm against you, you have never felt so cold.

Wondering if there was anything you could have done differently.

Wondering where it all went wrong…

Your heart beats malms a minute in your chest. There was no calming it down it seemed, drumming away furiously to its own beat as you watched Hien’s mercenaries shuffle around Cid’s compound as if they’ve been here before. Armed to the teeth, they were obviously top of the line, trained in the Doman art of the ninja, not one bit of skin exposed saved for openings in their helms to see through.

In truth, you couldn’t help but feel a little out of place. Watching everyone suit up definitely gave you feelings of nostalgia, of being in the academy each morning, baby faced and ready to take on the world. Even though there were a handful of them given that this was to be a small and hopefully quiet operation, you were no less impressed by the obvious skill that rolled off them in waves.

You couldn’t help but wonder at why you weren’t getting suited up with them, granted you had never needed any special armor. Maybe they thought you didn’t really need to, given that you proved nearly invincible against the average man.

Dressed from head to toe in black, you've forgone your usual pantsuit for something a bit more ergonomic. Black leggings engineered by Ironworks, the material has metal fibers woven within, making it hard to rip or tear. Your long sleeved shirt is made of a similar material, rounding out your entirely practical look. Deciding to pack light, your toolbelt only has a small handgun sitting in its holster.

Weaving through the busy space, you step into the connecting room where Cid sits before a wall of screens, several birds eye shots of the Aetherochemical Research Facility lined up as his hands type furiously at the keyboard. Merlwyb stands at his back with her arm resting upon the back of his chair, looking at the monitors with great interest. “We’re positive that Varis is holed up in there, right now?” She asks, fist clenching and unclenching in a show of nerves.

“For the last time, Merlwyb, yes.” Cid sounds as if he barely restrained himself from groaning, still typing at keys. “I have confirmed that he has not left the facility since exactly 21:08 this evening and shows no signs of leaving any time soon. Though I must warn you, Ilberd arrived at about 21:30. I assume they are meeting for whatever reason as the election nears.” he grumbles, dropping his focus for a moment. Swiveling in his chair, he faces the two of you, clearly worried, but ready for the fight to come.

“I will be supporting you with as much intel as possible.” Looking to Merlwyb, he continues, “As we already discussed, I’ve already got it set up to record anything your body suit sees to store back here at the base for us to compile for evidence later. This goes for all of Yugiri’s men as well.” Looking to you, he cannot hide his concern. “Honey…”

“Cid, don’t even think of trying to dissuade me.” You warn, trying your hardest to not give into his distressed expression.

“I know, it’s just,” he growls in frustration, “Are you sure you want to do this? You’re pregnant for Nymeia’s sake--”

“I will avoid combat, as promised. I’m only there to start the shut down sequence, and get out. It should be an easy job now that you’ve figured out where the base is right?” You urge, trying to change the subject.

He sees right through you, but takes your bait anyway. “Yes. With Zenos pinpointing the exact location, it took some overnight crunching, but I was able to work past Varis’ walls and get a rough map of the place using my own seismic sensors. It’s downloaded onto your phone.” Running a hand through his hair, you watch as he stands to his feet and yanks you into a fierce hug, his biceps flexing with the force of how he crushes himself to you.

“Please come back.” he whispers, just for you. In it you can hear the fear of losing another loved one.

You hold him just as tight.

“You know I will.”

Giving one last squeeze, he briskly wipes at tears in the corners of his eyes before sitting back down in his chair. “Best to get started. We don’t want him to get away from us.”

Nodding, you and Merlwyb leave Cid to begin overseeing the logistics of the operation, heading back into the room where all of the ninja are seemingly ready to go. A small auri woman leads them, Yugiri you remember, giving a slight bow to Merlwyb as the two of you come to a stop before her. “We are ready to leave when you are, Chief Merlwyb.”

“Lord Hien is in hiding?” Merlwyb asks, reaching for her pistol, Annihilator, and putting it in her holster.

“Indeed he is. Already we have noticed that what spies Varis uses to keep monitor our lord have begun to realize they cannot find him. No doubt they will let Varis know he has disappeared.” Yugiri continues as she brings her own mask over her face. Nodding, Merlwyb gives one last look around the room, taking a steadying breath.

“Then we move.”

The night only gets darker, and to your luck it is also cloudy. It’s a little uncomfortable due to how muggy it feels outside, summer in full swing and not helping with the humidity at all.

The cars you had taken had been left a great distance away from the facility, the rest of the trip spent trekking on foot, doing your best to not draw any unnecessary attention to yourselves. With Cid’s technology, you remained as cloaked as the facility itself once did.

The ninja didn’t make a single sound as they moved through the forest. Not a single twig breaking, or accidentally having a branch snagged on their clothes. You felt like an amateur in their presence, especially when you finally reached the outside of the compound.

Yugiri uses a series of symbols to dispatch her men, all of them seeming to fade into mist as they disappeared into the shadows. You had heard of Doman legends of the art of the ninja, thinking them only myth and fairy tales, but had no idea it was an art that was still passed down. Granted, after being a literal descendant of ancient beings, you supposed there was nothing that was impossible.

The sounds of the ninjas taking out the guards is silent as they come, not even hearing the guards’ bodies collapse to the ground. Just faintly do you make out the ninja carrying them deeper into the forest surrounding the facility, Yugiri able to communicate orders with nothing more than her hands. You couldn’t deny that you felt in awe at seeing them work, even as Yugiri seemed to materialize beside you.

“The guards around the outer perimeter have been disposed of.” She informs you and Merlwyb, who nods sharply before turning her gaze to the front gate where the remaining security check stands.

“So far, so good.” Merlwyb breathes, losing some of her tension. “Are your men prepared?” She asks, reaching for the gun in her holster.

“More than ready, Chief Bloefhiswyn.” Yugiri responds, vanishing into shadow.

“And you, rookie. Are you ready?” she asks, giving you one last look, almost as if she is hoping you’ll be ready to back out.

“I was born ready, Chief.” you nod, anticipation coursing through your veins. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

With that the ninja quickly take out the security at the main gate, doing away with the guards and taking them to be hidden with the others. As you run toward the entrance, you hear Cid’s voice crackle in your ear piece that he’s got control of the cameras, and to any security inside, nothing looks out of place.

The gate rolls open along the rocky gravel, allowing you and Merlwyb to make a run for it as you are joined by Yugiri and her ninja. Reaching inside your shirt, you begin to pull out the card Zenos had given you, praying that Varis was a little too caught up in his campaign mess to remember to deactivate it. You had no clue if Zenos had tried to speak to his father at all since he had rescued you, or how Varis took his son’s betrayal for that matter. Whispering a silent prayer, you nearly slam the card against the security device against the door, your heart beat stilling in the split second it takes for the device to scan.

A small chirp sounds along with the clicking of the lock. It works.

Breathing an audible sigh of relief, you wrench the door open, once again thankful that Varis really believed a little too much in his own hype. Varis most likely bet on his son not having the gall to try and take him down, and perhaps thought you would want to keep yourself off the front lines.

But there was no way you would not take that asshole down yourself.

The ninja quickly silence the guards at the booth, undoing the lock that opens the door that leads into the facility. You all shuffle inside, whipping out your phone to take a look at your maps. “Cid, we’re inside.”

“Good, good. I’ve got eyes on you all still. They still haven’t noticed you all yet.” comes his voice through your earpiece. “If you can get to the control room, I can get a more detailed map to get a look at every room in the facility. I only have scans from underground sensors I used, but getting access to the mainframe will allow me more detail.” Even through the earpiece you can hear him typing away at the keyboard. “I’ll take control of each camera as you pass by as not to arouse suspicion. From my scans, my guess is the control room for these vats might be nearly two floors down from the main entrance.”

“Thanks, Cid. We’ll keep you posted.” Looking to the rest of the team, you make sure they heard the same thing as you and begin your journey to find the control room. On the surface, the facility does seem to only be two floors deep, and from your one trip here that was all you got to see. As you snuck along the perimeter you could sure enough see cameras blink on and off as you dove past them, Cid keeping you out of sight just long enough to try and make your way to the control room. There were thankfully few guards or even employees around, most likely having gone home for the day leaving only the overnight crew.

Reaching a pair of double doors against the far wall, you press your keycard up to the security device, happy as it still seems to work and allows you all inside. Yugiri quickly silences the two employees working within, two quick chops to the neck knocking them unconscious. Heading over to the array of buttons you pull out a small disc-like object from your pocket, slamming it onto the control board, watching as small, robotic legs sprout from its sides, embedding itself into the board. The Ironworks logo flashes on its top, and you can hear Cid’s laugh in your ear. “Excellent work, Honey. I’m in.”

The relief in the room is palpable, even as Yugiri is shoving the two guards into a broom closet. “Give me a few minutes to find you guys the fastest route to where you need to go.”

“Thanks Cid, just keep us posted,”

Yugiri’s eyes widen as she turns toward the door. “Someone comes this way!”

Just then the doors fly open, the sound of guns cocking freezing you in place. “One traitor helping another...why should I be surprised?”

Turning around, the small high is broken as you turn to the door, finding Livia and Rhitahtyn blocking the way. Dressed in their usual suits, they look upon you scornfully as they point their guns directly at you. “I knew I should’ve killed you when I had the chance.” Livia hisses, her flaming red hair neatly pulled into a bun.

Scoffing, you can’t help but laugh. “Kill me? Wasn’t it Zenos who told you that you didn’t have hopes of beating me, even on your best day?”

Livia’s face twists angrily as she hisses. “I wouldn’t have had to do it honorably. I could’ve easily stabbed you in your sleep.”

Your own face shifts into an angry snarl while you try not to make any sudden moves as you turn to face her fully. “Not surprised a Garlean bitch couldn’t beat me in a fair fight.” You spit back, flexing your knuckles. You were hoping things didn’t have to get dirty. You promised you’d avoid conflict if at all possible. “Listen. I don’t know what you came here hoping to do. I’m guessing you saw us sneak our way in here when we weren’t looking. I know you two have got your heads pretty far up Varis’ ass, but surely even you can see that murdering innocent civilians to help his campaign trail is going too far.”

Both of their faces pinch in confusion, causing you to look back at them in shock. Stupefied, you can’t help but ask them, “...he didn’t tell you?”

“What on earth are you talking about you little liar?” Livia hisses, cocking her gun. “Lord Varis would not murder civilians! It was a failed assassination attempt on Lord Hien by another gang! He couldn’t uphold security at his own rally and got the chief of police killed for it!”

Your guard lowers at the sheer absurdity of the situation. “Are you really going to believe such a fucking, blatant lie?” You nearly shriek, glancing at both of them in disbelief. “Varis slaughtered innocent civilians! Blew up part of a district just so he could smear Lord Hien’s name! There were women and children there!”

“My lord would do no such thing!” Rhitahtyn bellows, reaching for his own gun. “We have no reason to listen to the lies of a traitor, the one who turned even my lord’s own son against him.”

“I didn’t do anything to Zenos. As you can see, he’s not even here!” You genuinely couldn’t believe what you were hearing. At this point if Varis somehow revealed to you that he had secretly hypnotized half of his closest staff, you’d believe him. There was no way that two of his favorite bodyguards were this ignorant of his wrong doings.

Or was Varis worried that even he couldn’t manipulate their moral compass?

You think back to the look on Gaius’ face when he had burst in when Varis was about to force himself on you. From what you knew of Gaius, no one believed in Varis more than he. He genuinely believed that everything Varis was doing was for the better of Kugane.

But even you could see the disbelief on his face when he saw your tear stained face, body pinned beneath Varis. You knew he had heard your screams from down the hall. You could remember the hesitation, the doubt on his face as he saw the true side of his lord, even as he barked orders at him to take you away.

Varis had not gotten away with things as long as he had solely because he was smart.

He was a master manipulator.

And when you refused to be manipulated by his schemes, he forced his will upon you.

“He’s using you.” You laugh bitterly. “He’s using you two. Can’t you see that? Do you really think this is all so he can make Kugane better? Do you really think he’s got any special plans for you? That you’re not disposable to him just like the rest?”

Hesitation shines in their eyes for just a moment, the two of them looking to each other momentarily. Facing you once again, you watch as Livia slowly lowers her gun, letting you release a breath you hadn’t known you were holding.

You think she’s ready to listen until she reaches for her phone, yelling into its speaker. “Intruders! Intruders! Lock down the facility! Alert Lord Varis!”

The fluorescent lights turn a deathly red as alarms blare throughout the whole facility. You can hear doors slamming shut from outside of the control room, the shuffling of feet as surely more security guards are being summoned. Merlwyb curses under her breath behind you, and you fix Livia with a piercing glare. “You idiot.” you seethe, raising your fists to fight.

Just as Livia raises her gun ready to fire, two of Yugiri’s ninjas pounce on her and Rhitahtyn, the two of them barely able to fend them off as they burst through the doors back onto the factory floor. Panic ensues as the lights continue to flash, biting down harshly on your lip as you follow everyone back out the control room.

“Whole place is going on lock down, Honey--” Cid’s voice crackles in your ear, “We’re gonna have to pray that Zenos’ card still works even in lockdown. It’ll take me some time to begin decrypting the code to get access to the facility again.”

“We’ll find a way, Cid.” Merlwyb pipes up, loading her gun as she grabs you by the hand. More security guards burst through the doors, guns raised. Yugiri is on them in a heartbeat, knives drawn as she takes them out one by one while her own ninja deal with Livia and Rhitahtyn. The entire scene is chaotic as Merlwyb fires with the accuracy that landed gave her gun its name.

Disoriented, you barely get to get both feet on the ground long enough as Merlwyb forcibly drags you along. “Chief,”

“No confrontation out of you, remember?” She growls, pushing through an opening through the fighting to a door that leads to the lower levels of the facility. “You made a promise and I’m making sure you’re keeping it. You understand me?” Tugging on the card roughly even though it’s still looped on the chain around your neck, she gets you close enough to unlock the door and shove you through, making sure it slams shut behind you.

“But Yugiri,”

“Is a trained killer, if you haven’t noticed. She understands her role and we have ours to play.” She urges, tugging you along. “Cid, we’re in trouble.”

“I can see that.”

“Got any quick routes down to the bottom of this dump?!” You both duck as you hear gunshots whizz past your heads, breaking into a run as you run down the hall a little faster.

“I’m trying, I’m trying--” his voice sounds as panicked as you feel. “Make a left. You’ll need the keycard again, but there should be a spiral stairwell. It goes down nearly fifteen floors, but if you’ve got some decent balance, you may be able to gain some ground if you slide down the rails.”

“Roger.”

Following his instructions, you make an immediate left, your keycard ready this time as you quickly press it to the device and Merlwyb uses her weight to push the door open, releasing your hand as she once again puts her gun away. “I’m not fond of heights but we need to gain some ground.” She grumbles, swinging one long leg over the rail. “How on earth did they see us? Shouldn’t they have been guarding Varis?”

“No...I’m so stupid.” you mumble, following suit as you swing one leg over the rail, lying on your front and clutching the rail with both hands. “Cid had said Ilberd had arrived at the facility, and Varis trusts Ilberd enough to protect him. They were probably in another part of the upper levels.”

“Pretty sloppy of us,” Merlwyb sighs, but says nothing else.You watch as she finally lets gravity take hold, controlling her descent as best as possible right as the door you had come through bursts open. Wasting no more time you loosen your grip and begin to slide down the rail, wincing as more bullets fly haphazardly past you. Reaching for your own gun, you fire a few rounds back at the guards to help deter them from following you down the stairwell.

“Honey, watch out!”

Before you can turn to Merlwyb, she’s already tossed a live grenade back up the stairwell, the Ironworks logo shining brightly as it clinks upon landing above you. Loosening your grip more, you hasten your descent just as it detonates, cutting off the pursuit of the guards if only for a little while.

Your hands burn from how fast you’re moving, but you’re putting distance between you and your assailants just as you hoped. While outwardly you seem as calm as can be, your heart is thumping in your chest as if it’s trying to free itself from its cage. As usual, thinking on your feet has never been your strong suit and with so much at stake, you can’t help but feel like the walls are closing in on you bit by bit.

“You should slow down, you’ll reach a safe floor soon.” Cid calls in your ear, so you start to slow your descent as the facility grows noticeably cooler now that you’re deeper underground. You have no idea how you’re going to get out of here when you’re several malms below sea level, but even if you’re buried alive, it’ll have been from doing the right thing.

Hands stinging, you and Merlwyb dismount from your makeshift elevator, stepping quietly to the door. She peeks through the single window carefully, checking the hallway to see if the coast is clear. “You’ve still got about two more floors to go down before you reach the main reactor. That’s what Zenos must’ve been talking about. It’s powering the whole facility off aether itself.” Cid speaks again, not sounding any less clearer despite how far underground you are. “If you can turn them off, look at them long enough for me to get some pictures, you guys can get out of there. It seems like the guards haven’t pegged your location yet. There’s a hidden elevator that will take you straight back to the top. Get in, and get out of there.”

Nodding to one another, Merlwyb quietly pushes the door open, gun drawn as she checks both sides of the hallway for any would-be guards. Seeing no one, she motions for you to follow and you stick close behind her, heels clacking against the metal floors as you run past several doors. The halls are cold and unfeeling, and you idly wonder if this was the same place where Zenos was experimented on. If this is where you were held before he came to rescue you.

All the doors are bolted shut, but you have no time to peek inside anyway. Zenos’ words of the horrors of his father’s experiments haunt you, stilling your hand from thinking to unlock one of them for fear of what you might find inside.

“Look, another stairwell.” Merlwyb calls, pressing up against the wall as she checks the corners, once again motioning for you to follow her lead. “We’re almost there, Honey. We’re about to have the bust of the century.”

Racing down the stairs, energy seems to hit you square in the chest, the feel of something otherworldly setting your hairs on edge as the stairwell begins to open wide. Merlwyb seems otherwise unaffected, but you know you’re not crazy.

At the bottom lies a single closed door, bright light cutting through the otherwise dark and dank facility. The air goes from cool to warm in seconds, and the sound of many machines whirring and spinning reach your ears. Swallowing, you hold up the card to the door, relieved as it chirps once more, granting you entrance to the next room.

The energy in the air feels as if it smacks you in the chest, surrounding your very being. A giant reactor that looks as if it were out of a Sci-Fi movie shines brightly with glowing, blue aether, spinning and churning with enough force to be a heat source unto itself. Another walkway surrounds the perimeter, with stairs leading to the floor of the reactor. It all looks so very surreal, that you and Merlwyb can do nothing but stare in awe for a few moments.

“Are you seeing this, Cid?” Merlwyb finally asks, beginning to take steps around the walkway.

“Crystal fucking clear.” He chimes in, resent coating his voice. “My father’s research, powering this hellhole. What I would give to see it burn to the ground.”

You silently examine the swirling aether, something deep within you calling to the mass of energy you see before you. Something about the sight fills you with a deep sadness, of a loss you know you have yet to experience, but feel all the same. Almost against your will, you begin to make your way to the closest staircase, feet carrying you to the mass of energy. Your very soul feels drawn to it, disturbed by how you feel a turbulence within, matching the chaotic flow of aether within the reactor.

Free us…

Gasping, you clap a hand over your mouth as tears spring to your eyes.

“Honey! Get down!”

Turning around, you just barely miss a bullet meant for you, spotting a familiar face by the doorway you had come in. Your eyes narrow into slits as they land on Ilberd, smirking as if he’s got you right where he wants you. “Honey...strange seein’ ya here.” he laughs with a sleazy grin, cocking the gun to load another shot. “Thought to save Lord Varis the trouble of findin’ ya, eh? Awfully considerate of ya.”

“You wouldn’t mind telling me where the old bastard is, would you? I’ve got a bone to pick wit’ him.” You taunt back, turning to slowly face him.

“He’s occupied with other business at the moment,” Ilberd growls, aiming the gun directly for your heart. “Told me to come get you under control so he and you could have a nice chat later.”

Out of the corner of your eye you see Merlwyb move the slightest bit. “I’m afraid I can’t stay too long.” you huff, making sure to hold his attention. Flipping your hair, you cross your arms across your chest you can see him become visibly angrier at how you’re not intimidated by him at all, which is all the distraction you need.

Quick as a whip, Merlwyb fires a round at Ilberd, managing to hit him square in the shoulder. His gun misfires near your feet and you spring into action, quickly climbing back up to the main level of the walkway and catching up with Merlwyb.

“The elevator is just around the bend of the walkway on the wall. Hurry!” Cid yells, in your ear, your legs carrying you as fast as possible along the path. You duck as another shot barely misses you and Merlwyb, Ilberd growling far behind you as the two of you round the bend. Drawing your own gun you fire a few rounds back at him to try and slow him down. You can see the doors housing the elevator straight ahead, yanking the card from your neck ready to throw it at the security device ahead of time if it means the doors will open sooner.

“Get back here!” Ilberd roars behind you, firing another shot.

“Honey, hurry!” Merlwyb yells as you skid to a stop, slamming the card against the security device. The elevator slides open and Merlwyb rushes inside.

Free us…

Before you can enter, you find yourself looking back to that reactor of swirling energy, unable to resist the pull of the aether before you. Of whatever is in there crying out to you for salvation.

Turning to Merlwyb, you purse your lips and step from the elevator.

“Honey?”

Reaching inside, you quickly hit the button that will send her to the top floor.

“Honey!” Giving her one good shove to throw her off balance, you keep her from dragging you back in with her, giving her a grim smile as the doors close.

“See you top side, Chief.” you wave, listening for the elevator to begin its ascent back toward the surface. You take your earpiece out before her or Cid can begin to scream in your ear. Dropping it to the floor, you crush it beneath your heel, turning to face Ilberd as he finally catches up with you, gun still raised.

“Goin’ the noble route, eh? Or have ya changed yer mind about seein’ Lord Varis?” Ilberd questions, gun still in hand.

“I’m staying behind to burn this place to the ground.” Gesturing to the reactor, you let your rage fill you. “As soon as I walked in here, I felt such sorrow. I felt so incredibly disturbed. I could hear people crying out to me,” you nearly choke up, but press forward. “I can feel them. The souls of all those experimented on...of the ancient that gave birth to Zenos. Their souls are not at peace, and neither will mine be if I don’t set this place on fire!”

“Hearin’ voices?” Ilberd balks, edging into a chuckle. “Goin’ mad, huh? I swear you descendants--” he’s not even given the chance to finish the sentence as you deck him in the face, sending him skidding across the walkway. You throw yourself atop him, wrenching his gun from his hand and tossing it elsewhere to where he won’t find it any time soon. “Get off me you bitch!”

“Not until you pay for killing Raubahn!” You snap, socking him in the jaw one more time before he manages to throw you off him, your back slamming into the rails of the walkway. Your own gun flies from your hand from the force of your fall, slipping out of sight. Grunting, you quickly get your feet to dodge his kick for your head, bringing your fists up to guard as he begins to fight.

Ilberd was clearly trained, giving you very few openings to land another hit. With the walkway being narrow, it left you little room to try and get a different angle on him, adding to your mounting frustration. While he was not as big as Zenos, he was still bulky, but made up for it by being insanely quick.

“I don’t have time to do this forever, little girl.” He seethes, throwing another punch toward your head but you block him easily enough. “Shoulda killed you when I had the chance. You still owe me quite a few men.”

Brows furrowed in confusion, you find yourself too curious to ignore his bait. “What are you talking about?”

“You tellin’ me you don’t remember years ago, how you murdered a ton of men in cold blood?” He asks incredulously. “We got wind of a lil’ ancient girl hiding out in some shitty apartment. Lord Varis gave me the clear to try and sniff her out.” Throwing a hard punch, you nearly miss the chance to block it, skidding back on your feet from the force. “Sent some of my best men to ensure they nabbed ya. Only to find that little blonde girl went and hid you somewhere my men couldn’t find.”

“One of ‘em was smart enough to try and not leave empty handed, and took the blonde girl as consolation for Lord Varis. But then you…” he growls, giving you a nasty kick to your stomach, sending you rolling to the floor. “You leapt out your hiding spot and murdered all my men, screaming like a banshee. Every police report said you killed every single one of those men without mercy.”

You dodge his foot as he tries to stomp on your head, rolling under the railing and dropping to the floor below, tucking into a roll so you don’t break your legs. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for men who came with the intent to kidnap me and hand me to their crazy ass boss?! “I was doing the world a favor by killing those men.” You roar as you watch him leap down to the same level as you, his sclera going black, irises going red.

The Resonant.

“You’re gonna regret sayin’ that.” He whispers.

Just like Zenos, he’s insanely fast, too fast for normal eyes to keep up with. However, he’s still slower, lacking Zenos’ incredible speed. For what he lacks in speed, he makes up for in sheer power, blocking one punch of his making you cry out in pain. Backing away from him you clutch your hand, praying that none of the bones within are broken. I’m in trouble, you think. So much for no confrontation.

“You better hope there’s something of you left for me to even give Lord Varis.” Ilberd threatens, cracking his knuckles with a smirk.

“Bullshit,” you scoff, shaking the pain from your hand. You can still feel everything. That’s a good sign at least. “Much as he hates my guts he wouldn’t suffer to lose such good research material...not when I have his lovely grandson growing inside me right now.” You can’t help but taunt. It’s a huge gamble, but you’re hoping he buys it.

“Still holdin’ on to the bastard, are ya?” Ilberd grins, cracking the joints in his neck. “An easy fix. One good punch and it’s good as dead. Then Varis can give Zenos a little brother--”

Snagging him by the hair, you bring his face to your knee, uncaring of the bloody mess of his nose breaking on your shin. Your tattoo glows brightly on the back of your neck as you slam Ilberd into the floor, hard enough to feel the vibrations in your feet. You move to crush his head beneath your foot but he rolls out the way, brushing blood from his face, eyes redder than before.

“I’d rather die than let that monster put his hands on me again.” You snarl, feeling the power of the Echo rush through your veins as you pursue Ilberd, putting yourself on even ground with him at last. You’re both blurs to anyone who would watch with normal eyes, chest heaving as you fight to live, fight for both of you to live.

Even with the Echo’s help, Ilberd is not going down easy. Whatever the Resonant has done to him has made him not just stronger and faster, but somehow extremely resilient. It feels like hitting stone, hurting your hands and wearing you down much faster than intended. Ilberd seems to notice your frustration, grinning as he manages to slam you into the ground. “Thought your lil’ ‘gift’ was gonna give you the upper hand, huh?” He cackles, kicking you roughly in the ribs.

You can feel something crack, whimpering in pain as you try to will the strength in your limbs to stand. “Bet you only fought Zenos’ Resonant, huh?” Ilberd continues, taking measured steps toward you. “Betcha didn’t think Lord Varis could improve on it, didya? That he could make someone stronger, faster, and tougher.” Crouching down, he snags you by the hair, ignoring your cry of pain as he drags you up to his face. “Why, I feel invincible.” He laughs, spitting in your face for good measure.

Dropping you again, he moves to kick your stomach, but you quickly flip to your side, arms protecting your abdomen. You cry out in agony, praying that he won’t follow through on that threat he made earlier. “Makes you wonder, huh? I sure as hell wasn’t a descendant from an ancient, yet through pure science Varis made me stronger than his own son.” he boasts, pausing his abuse of you to run a hand through his hair. “Doesn’t mean we can’t experiment on ya anyway. We learned so much from Zenos’ mother, no reason we can’t do the same to you.”

You don’t dare mask the absolute loathing you feel in this very moment, this complete disregard for life that this monster before you spews. “You’re sick.” you spit, groaning with the effort to even speak.

“Says who?” He laughs, giving you a nudge with his boot.

Fight.

“Says me.” you cough out, eyes falling closed. Would this really be how it ended?

Fight.

“You’re lucky Lord Varis needs ya alive, bitch.” Ilberd growls, shoving you roughly with his boot to roll you onto your stomach. “Let me take care of business, and we’ll get ya on back to the lab.”

Why do you not fight?!

You would not let it end here.

You did not come this far to let pain stop you. Not when so many people were depending on you.

You would fight.

Strength renewed, your tattoo pulses brightly as the pain becomes an afterthought, Echo induced adrenaline coursing through your body as you leap to your feet and deliver a spinning kick to Ilberd, throwing him off balance. Catching him by the collar before he can fall, you hit him with an uppercut, feeling his teeth clack together from the force of your blow, finishing him off a solid right hook.

With a growl he frees himself from your grip and socks you in the jaw, smirking as he does so, fading as he realizes you haven’t even recoiled in pain. Whatever pain receptors you have are blocked off as you give him a sadistic smirk, eyes crazed as you don’t even bother to peel his fist off your face. Using his shock against him, you grab him by the collar again and flip him over your shoulder, taking great satisfaction in the way his body slams into the ground.

You pursue him like a woman possessed, nimbly dodging his punches and fearlessly blocking his kicks, feeling no pain no matter how hard he kicks. Though Ilberd doesn’t give up, he’s clearly unnerved by your reaction to pain, or rather your lack of reaction. His eyes go wide with fear at your manic smile-- when had you started smiling?

“Cat got your tongue, Ilberd?” you giggle even as you throw him into the ground face first, stomping hard on his arm, grinning like a cat as he cries out in pain as you hear the bone break. “I gotta say, you get to have some really fun battles when you can’t feel pain...not that you’d know that.” You stamp down on his leg, hearing that break too, enjoying his cries of pain far more than you should.

“A friend of mine said I should go to therapy, you know. I should’ve listened. Because I’m getting far too much enjoyment out of this than is healthy.” You titter, stepping over his body, picking up an unbroken arm and wrenching it backward. “What do ya say I break a bone in your body for every year you robbed Raubahn of, huh?”

“S-Spare me…” Ilberd begs, even as you twist his arm painfully.

“Why should I?” You hiss, wrenching his arm from its socket. “You took everything from me.”

“On the contrary…”

You don’t turn in time to dodge a dart landing itself in your arm, blue liquid draining into your bloodstream before you can yank it out. Your eyes land on Varis who drops a small dart gun from his hand, a smirk plastered on his ugly face. “I believe I took everything from you.”

You try to fight against it but you collapse to the ground, the destabilizer making quick work of dumping you on the floor.

Once he’s sure you won’t be going anywhere anytime soon, Varis begins his descent down the stairs to the main floor where you and Ilberd lay immobile. “I have to say, you had me worried for a moment, Honey. Your little ragtag group of misfits almost undid years worth of planning in one day.” He muses, complete with a slow clap. “Hiding the assistant chief of police, managing to convince Garlond to have some backbone, even swiping an access card off my son to let you roam the facility like the wild animal you are…” he sighs, coming to a stop at the base of the stairs. “Why, it's something right out of a commoner movie.”

“My lord,” Ilberd coughs, sounding relieved, “you’ve come.”

“Yes…” Varis drones, beginning his walk toward the two of you again. You watch as he reaches inside his suit jacket and pulls out of a syringe of sickly green fluid, something that makes Ilberd go rigid.

“M-My lord,” he stammers, trying to will strength into his limbs. “P-Please,”

“You had served me well up until this point, Ilberd. And from what I observed, the Resonant has shown significant improvement,” Varis praises, though his expression remains disappointed. “...unfortunately, you also know how I feel about failure.” You watch as Varis kneels slightly and sticks Ilberd with the syringe, injecting him with the unknown fluid. “Believe me when I say it’s not personal, Ilberd.” Varis huffs.

“M-My lord,” Ilberd stutters, but his speech grows slurred. Your eyes widen as you realize just what it was he injected him with. “I can still--”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as his body goes deathly still.

Varis continues to look down his nose at Ilberd’s now lifeless body before finally sliding his gaze to you. Surprisingly, he doesn’t look angry or hateful. In fact, he looks rather pleased. “How does it feel, Honey? To have gone through all this trouble only to land yourself in my hands, yet again.”

“Fuck you.” you spit, trying to find the strength to stand up.

Seeing your struggle, he gives a deep laugh, giving you a nudge with his foot. “I’ve learned my lesson this time, my dear. I made sure to make an extra special strain of destabilizer to keep on my person just in case you decided to pay any traitorous visits.”

Stepping around you, he nudges your body once again. “At least you are mostly intact...once your comrades all expelled from my research facility and put on trial to be killed in my new society, I believe I’ll be returning for you and we can pick up where we left off last time.” he grins darkly, kneeling down to brush hair from your face.

“Get away from me!” You scream, tears streaming down your face. He couldn’t win. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Everything had been going so well--

“It’s too late for that now, Honey.” Varis growls, yanking hard on your hair. “Far too late,”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence as he cries out in pain, clutching his shoulder as he staggers back in pain. Blood leaks from the wound, his eyes searching out whoever landed the shot. “Who’s there?!”

“Your son.”

Zenos steps from the shadow, holding the gun Ilberd had been toting earlier. Unlike his father, he lets loose his rage, blue eyes staring his father down. Tossing the gun to the ground, he continues making his way toward you. He’s dressed as if his father had sent him on a hit, sword strapped to his side. “I’d have shot another for good measure, but unfortunately there was only one round left.”

Somehow that statement only makes Varis smirk, backing away as his son advances. “Oh? And you wasted your one round not making a killing shot?” he cackles. “Because you know your place, my son.”

At that, Zenos visibly hesitates.

You’ve never seen this kind of hesitation in Zenos before. Never heard this tone from Varis before. The tone of a parent disappointed with their child. The hesitation of a child who knows they’ve upset their parents.

“Really, my son, I give you the world as you wished it and this is how you repay me?” Varis grunts, barely able to keep himself upright. “You take the side of this savage? When I had given you life, given you a home...anything you asked for, I gave it. And you repay me like this? Do you want to let me down, my beautiful child? Do you want me to hate you?”

Zenos falters a bit more at that, no longer able to meet his father’s gaze, and suddenly it all becomes crystal clear.

“Don’t listen to him, Zenos.” you wheeze, begging silently for him to meet your eyes. “Look at me. Do not listen to him.”

“Silence, wench!” Varis hisses, gaining enough strength to press his foot to your neck.

“Your father is a master manipulator, Zenos,” you continue, staring hard into his blue eyes. “Anytime you told me you never cared for what he did, that you wanted nothing to do with him...you were lying. He had manipulated you into wanting his approval. His love.”

“I said be quiet!” Varis snarls, pressing his foot down harder. You can see the conflict in Zenos’ eyes, looking between you and his father.

“That’s why you let him experiment on you. Why you killed for him. He lied to you didn’t he? He told you that if you did those things for him, he’d love you, didn’t he?” You press on, voice rising with each question.

You whimper as Varis kneels to grab you by the hair, ugly face twisted in a scowl. “Be quiet! Do not listen to her, Zenos!”

“He never loved you!” You roar, ignoring how Varis’ hands wrap around your throat. “You were always just a tool to him! But I love you, Zenos! I’ve always loved you--” You can’t finish as Varis’ grip on your windpipe begins to constrict, unable to even bring your hands up to pry them off. “Zenos...I...love,”

The pressure on your neck is released as Zenos pries his father off you, your lungs dragging in air desperately as Zenos drags you away from Varis. Pulling the dart from your shoulder he tosses it elsewhere, shifting to hold you in his arms. An immediate sense of safety washes over you as he cradles you close, hesitating for one moment longer, but turning his back on his father.

“Zenos. Zenos!” Varis roars at the retreating back of his son. “I will not allow you to disgrace me this way! I am your father!”

“That may be so,” Zenos calls over his shoulder, still moving forward. “But I have someone who actually loves me, now.”

Varis yells in his rage, forcing himself to stand to his feet. “Z-Zenos,” you murmur, watching as Varis reaches into his suit. “Zenos, we need to run,” you try to urge, watching as his father pulls out a shiny, vial full of red liquid. Zenos turns just in time to see Varis jab the vial into his arm, everything going still for a moment until Varis’ eyes bleed black the two of you watching in horror as Varis stands to his feet with renewed strength. Red pupils laser in on the two of you as Varis laughs madly while his sclera grows black.

“I won’t allow you to leave--” he clutches his throat, all in the room confused into stillness at how warped his voice sounds, watching as he tries to clear his throat. Your eyes widen as his hand begins to bulge and become deformed, growing larger and larger until the phenomena begins to travel up the rest of his arm. “What’s happening--”

Whatever is happening seems to cause a chain reaction, Varis’ body bulging all over the place as he transforms into a hideous monster. His skin turns red as he continues to grow in size, black wings sprouting from his back as huge fangs grow from his teeth. His hand transforms into claws large enough to hold your entire body in their grip, his mouth now big enough to swallow you whole as he finishes his transformation.

“Zenos, we need to leave,” you advise quietly as possible, Zenos nodding as he begins to make a break for the exit.

“No!” Varis’ voice booms, shaking the entire room. Before Zenos can even run a few steps, the shadow of Varis’ arm looms over you, Zenos just barely able to stop his momentum before getting crushed by Varis’ fist. “I will not allow you to leave!” his atrocious voice booms, fist curling to try and strike again.

You shriek as Zenos’ eyes glow red as he activates the Resonant, using his enhanced speed to dodge another blow. With you in his arms it’s still hard to maneuver, Zenos clutching you tight as he tries to make it to the exit.

“I’ll kill you!” Varis roars, slamming a fist against the ground, the shockwave jolting the two of you hard enough that Zenos loses his grip on you and you fall from his arms. “I will not allow you to destroy my life’s work!”

It hurts when you land on the metal floor, praying you don’t have a concussion while you’re at it. Everything still feels intact, but gods if you don’t hurt something fierce. You couldn’t move if you wanted and Varis seems to know it, trying to make a dive for you but stopped by his son who’s finally drawn his sword. Zenos slices a deep gash in the monster, your ears ringing as it lets loose a squeal of pain. “You traitor! After I’ve given you everything!”

“You’ve given me nothing!” Zenos snaps back, dodging a swipe of his father’s spiked tail. “You took everything from me! My bodyguards! My mother!” His golden hair flies behind him, whipping wildly with every movement as he lands on the monster’s back, preparing to run him through until he gets shaken off. You cry out as Varis manages to get ahold of Zenos long enough to slam him into the floor, but a quick swipe of his blade at one of the claws crushing him has Varis reeling back again, right into--

“Zenos, watch out!” You scream, but it’s too late to do anything. You can do nothing but watch as Varis’ horrid body slams into the reactor, causing it to become unstable due to his size. The alarms blare louder before as the glass breaks, the aether trapped within bursting out in all directions. You can feel it rush over your skin, sensitive to it as the energy is returned to the life stream. Even as the alarms grow louder and an automated voice warns of impending meltdown, you feel a sense of peace.

“NO!” Varis bellows, picking up shards of his former reactor in his hands. “My life’s work! My dreams!”

Using this window of distraction, Zenos quickly bounds over to you and scoops you up again, though not as easily as before, visibly exhausted. Making a break for the stairs, you shudder as Varis continues to roar in outrage, finally pulling himself out of his mourning long enough to realize you’re on the move. “I will not allow you to escape!” His voice thunders, warped and mangled and no longer his own.

With a single blow, he destroys the stairs, sending the two of you falling back to the ground. Zenos winces as he lands back on the floor, violet eyes still frantically searching for an exit.

“I will see the both of you dead!” Varis booms, swinging his arms wildly throughout the room, tearing at the ceiling and walls. “I will bury you alive and emerge victorious!”

Zenos gives you one last glance before he grits his teeth and puts you down again, drawing his sword as he faces his father. “I’ll get us out of here.” he whispers, even as the world falls down around you. Before you can get a word in edgewise he’s launched himself at Varis, making a clean slice of his blade across Varis’ arm.

Fight!

You cry as you watch Zenos face off against his father, and for once, this is the first time you’ve seen him in a fight where he doesn’t smile.

Fight!

It couldn’t end here.

Why do you not fight?!

“It won’t end here.”

Gasping, a familiar figure in a white robe trimmed in gold appears before you. Fluffy, lavender hair spills over their shoulders, red mask in place with only their lips visible. Turning, Elidibus faces you, quickly picking you up in his arms before turning back to the hellish scene before him. “Young Zenos!” he calls, red eyes flicking to him immediately. “We must leave!”

“Elidibus?” Varis snarls, moving to punch at you but Eldiibus dodges out of the way, brows visibly furrowed even beneath his mask. “You were an Ancient? All along?”

“What I am does not matter to you, vermin.” Elidibus bristles, fluffy hair standing on edge as he dodges another blow. The facility groans and shakes, threatening to fall apart at any second. “Young Zenos,” Elidibus begins again, dodging another of Varis’ punches, “we must hurry--”

“Get Honey out of here.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing.

“Like hell I’m leaving without you!” you shriek as Elidibus dodges another swipe, Zenos quickly gaining his father’s attention by cutting off a chunk of his tail. Varis’ shrill scream rattles the facility, turning his attention back to trying to kill his son.

“Young Zenos,” Elidibus tries again, avoiding bits of falling debris. You had to leave, now.

“Get out of here, Elidibus,” Zenos calls, after giving Varis another stab with his blade. “I need to hold him off so you can escape.” He grunts, pulling his blade free from the beast. “So that my love can escape.”

No.

No, no, no.

Pursing his lips, you feel Elidibus grip you tight as dark magic begins to encircle you. “Elidibus!” You screech, screaming like a mad woman. “Zenos, don’t do this! I love you, please--”

“I could not think of a better way to die, Honey, other than by your hand,” Zenos breathes, giving you one last smile, “but I suppose fighting to save you will suffice.” Through speaking he launches himself at Varis once more, a genuine smile upon his face.

“You idiot!” You yell, wishing you had any strength left. “I need you! Your child needs you!”

The last you see of him is Zenos’ red eyes turning to you in shock before Elidibus whisks you away. Dark magic enfolds you and pulls you from the facility, sending you back to the surface.

“Elidibus! Elidibus! You have to go back,” you beg as Elidibus arrives at the surface, face pinched in regret even if it's only his jaw you can see. “Put me down and save him. Go back in there,”

“Honey!” you hear Merlwyb call, as the facility burns from the outside. Yugiri and her soldiers begin to run over to see what the fuss is about as Merlwyb continues to yell at you. “Gods woman, you scared me,”

“Put me down Elidibus, go save him,”

Just as Elidibus seems to consider it, you see his violet eyes widen from beneath his mask. Shoving you into Merlwyb’s arms, he quickly turns and faces the research facility, arms upraised as blue magic spreads from his fingers, erecting a barrier. “Everyone get down!”

The facility explodes, a shockwave bursting from below all the way up to the surface, sending debris flying. You can feel the heat of fire nearly hot enough to burn on your skin, hear the sound of groaning metal as the structure collapses in on itself.

Everyone shields their eyes as a wellspring of aether bursts forth out of control, sweeping over everything in the vicinity. Uncovering your eyes, you watch as Elidibus marches forward and calms the flow, teeth gnashed together as he tries to redirect the aether back underground. The earth begins to ward as strange shards of aether begin to form, the ground quaking beneath your feet as cracks begin to form. “Not again,” he grunts, hair whipping wildly about his face as his power calms the spring. “These shards will not pay for our mistakes!” he roars, giving one last push to quiet the stream of aether, restoring peace to the area.

The barrier falls, having protected you from the bulk of the explosion, everyone looking around in a mix of awe and shock at what they had seen. Already you hear sirens in the distance. You’re distantly aware of Merlwyb questioning you, on how you could possibly do some thing so wreckless and so stupid.

But you don’t hear her.

“He’s gone.”

Merlwyb stops her tirade long enough to register just what it was you had said. “He? You mean Varis?”

“Yes,” Elidibus cuts in, moving to take you into his arms, “Varis is slain. But only because young Zenos sacrificed himself to allow us to escape.” he whispers, burying his face into your hair in an attempt to comfort you or perhaps needing comfort himself. “The aether that Varis had consumed had warped his body beyond recognition; his toll for messing with things he did not fully understand. Things that we did not fully understand…”

“He’s gone…” you whimper over and over, staining Elidibus’ robes with your tears. Zenos’ shocked expression is imprinted on your mind, and you keep opening and closing your eyes as if you’ll finally wake up from this nightmare. Each time you do, Elidibus is still there holding you tightly, and Merlwyb is rattling off orders through tears at seeing how broken and defeated you look.

Elidibus carries you in his arms as he changes his appearance back to normal as the emergency services show up, denying all questioning until you are properly seen to. He sticks to your side as a silent protector, regret shining in how tightly he clenches his jaw.

Cid arrives in a rush, practically falling over himself to get to you, having heard the worst, ready to give Elidibus a piece of his mind until Merlwyb cuts in and explains all that had occurred in the final moments of the Aetherochemical Research Facility. News vans arrive in record time, Cid and Merlwyb quickly garnering their attention as Elidibus carries you to the closest ambulance.

Kugane is safe.

Varis zos Galvus is no more.

But what does it matter?

Zenos is gone.

#Final Fantasy XIV #ff14 #FFXIV #zenos #zenos yae galvus #THP

2 notes · View notes

arsnovacadenza · 4 years

Text

Day 7- Un Paradis Perdu

Characters: Napoleon, Jean, Duke of Wellington

Words : 2748

Ao3 Link : Here

Made for @kissmetwicekissmedeadly‘s Napoleon Birthday Prompt 2020

fangs

"Fuck!" The emperor spat in Jean's ear. "There's no other way to go is there?"

They were leaning dangerously close over the railing of the platform. The wind whipped furiously, drowning shouts from within the passenger car.

Wellington's men were closing in.

With no weapon in hand, how were they able to fend off their captors? Napoleon was too bold, too bold!— to grab Jean by force and create a commotion on a heavily guarded train. And with the metal beast traveling at breakneck speed, it was a foregone conclusion that whatever Napoleon had in mind would fail.

Jean was too shocked to push the other man off him, instead quietly stuttering words of prayer he hadn't uttered in a very long while.

"There they are!" He could hear Wellington cry above the mayhem. "Close in on them while you can."

Jean didn't have time to flinch when Napoleon's head suddenly pressed against his own.

"Forgive me." The other man whispered, cradling Jean's skull protectively.

Napoleon threw themselves over the railing, plunging them both from the moving train and away from the roar of the engine and the clamor of Wellington's guards—

And to the river down below.

Jean had long stopped believing in miracles.

His mind was devoid of praises of gratitude as he laid on the river bank where he'd been washed ashore. The sun was crawling towards the sky, signifying that some time had passed after their fall.

Or maybe it's the day after. Jean mused. After spending so many days held captive, he couldn't find it in himself to care about the passage of time. He didn't even remember how many months it'd been since he left the mansion to answer Wellington's call, which led to his confinement.

Jean even resigned himself to the possible fate of becoming His Grace's guest for all eternity. At least there was a certainty of permanent disposal once he outlived his usefulness.

But that would also mean spending the rest of his second life with the insufferable loudmouth of a friend.

The man had once been his mentor too. The thought sent him reeling back to the unfortunate circumstances that led him to believe that the dreaded conqueror of Europe was indeed as atrocious as the stories had come.

He promised to show me the new face of France. Jean rolled onto his stomach and took in his surroundings. Well, this is a side of France I've yet to see.

With little difficulty, he rose to look for his missing companion. Although it was tempting to walk away and rid himself of the boisterous ruler's presence, Jean concluded that it would do him more harm than good to traverse this unknown area with an enemy force hot on his trail.

And then there's the fact that Napoleon was a demi-human who could very well die.

I’m not one to abandon my comrades, Jean thought as he began his search.

Jean didn't realize that he had been holding his breath when he found the emperor downstream, alive.

Warily, he checked the other man's pulse and scanned him for cuts and bruises, which thankfully weren't many. The fall ought to hurt him more than me. After all, he shielded my body when we entered the water.

A shiver ran up his spine upon considering that he might have to resuscitate the unconscious man with his mouth. He'd heard of such practices from Sebastian, but now with the opportunity presenting itself, he couldn't bear the thought of locking lips with Napoleon.

Of all the deeds I can do to repay him, and this is what fate has thrust upon me.

In the end, he opted to shake him awake. "Oi," he called.

No response.

Jean's composure was dwindling. He pressed his fingers to Napoleon's shoulder with a little more force. "Bonaparte, Napoleon Bonapa—"

He withdrew his hands as the man roused, coughing and sputtering on his side. Jean moved back to give him some space.

"I—what." Napoleon looked around dazedly until his eyes landed on the other Frenchman. "Jean, you're alive. I'm alive. We made it."

"So it seems."

"Thank the stars! But," Napoleon finally took better notice of their surroundings. "Where are we?"

"I'm just as lost as you are."

"Ah-hem! Shit, this is horrible," Napoleon coughed up some more to clear the water out of his lungs. "We're lucky to escape from Wellington's clutches, but—"

Jean kept his distance as he tore off his drenched shoes and tousled his wet hair, hacking all the while.

"You're in better shape than I am," Napoleon protested. "That's hardly fair."

Jean could go on about how different lesser vampires were in terms of strength and endurance in comparison to a demi-vampire and remind Napoleon that he was still part human. But he decided to let the question drop.

"We need to move."

The sun was high up in the air when the moon decided to sit under a tree not far from the river and let their top and outer garb dry. Jean stared at the coats and shirts Wellington lent out to them, a far cry from the extravagant attire they wore back at the mansion.

"Are you not going to take off that eye patch?"

Beside him, Napoleon leaned back on the trunk, looking the most lethargic Jean had ever seen of him. Momentarily, he took a glimpse of the aged, battle-worn commander buried underneath the boyish facade.

"No." He answered curtly and turned his attention back to the clothes laid out on the nearby fence, wishing that sleep would overcome either of them.

We haven't talked much since that night in Smolensk.

His train of thought was rudely interrupted by a loud growl from his companion. Napoleon grinned at him apologetically.

"Well, it looks like I'm still craving for food after all," he laughed. "At least I'm still human."

Wordlessly, Jean took to his feet and walked towards the river.

"Where are you going?"

"Looking for fish," Jean replied without turning back. "I saw plenty of them."

"You know how to catch fish with your bare hands?"

The eye patched soldier faced Napoleon with a humorless look.

"I was taught by my brother." He retorted without thinking. "In our village, we—"

Jean's words came to a halt. Napoleon sighed, smiling despite the ensuing awkwardness.

"Thank you," his voice was gentle, as it should've been. "I'll be waiting."

Napoleon offered to light them a bonfire in exchange.

The sky was clear that night. The stars above made for a romantic ambiance, but it was clear neither men had the desire to talk. The moon was nowhere in sight.

Jean hugged his knees, contemplating the flame in front of him with subdued emotion. The recent incidents had reduced his long-standing trauma of fire into nothing.

Meanwhile, Napoleon poked at the fire with the sticks he used for cooking dinner. Jean obediently gathered him enough fish to last him the entire day, without partaking in the feast.

While listening to the chirp of crickets, Napoleon quietly pondered the best way to broach the subject that was lingering on his mind without offending Jean.

"Jean, you..." he murmured.

"Yes?"

His one eye bore down heavily on Napoleon, although that didn't deter him from advancing. "There must be a way for me to thank you."

"No need." Jean promptly replied, looking away and showing Napoleon his profile, radiant against the warm glow of the fire.

"I'm saying," the emperor repeated sternly. "You haven't fed at all."

Contrary to his fears, however, Jean merely regarded him with an unreadable gaze. Then, as he did this morning, Jean rose to his feet and slowly walked away.

"Wait, Jean! I didn't mean to—" Napoleon called frantically.

"I was thinking of hunting for small animals." Jean glanced back at him. "They should suffice."

"No, that's no—" It was a sound idea, especially considering Jean's aversion to feeding on humans, but to Napoleon, it was hardly sustainable. "You can't. Assuming you're able to hunt down every animal within this area, it won't sustain you in the long run. Eventually, you'll have to return to feeding on humans."

Jean flinched at the mention of humans, but he continued listening nonetheless.

"We can't walk back to Paris and have you attack some stranger along the way out of hunger," Napoleon argued. "But I know how to prevent you from starving."

"And what do you propose we should do?"

Napoleon's chest heaved as he prepared to make his offer. "Feed on me."

"What?"

"Feed on me."

The emperor's features remained obstinate despite his daring proposal. It was a precarious bid, one that Jean would loath to refuse or accept.

Ignoring the hesitance he sensed from the man, Napoleon pressed on.

"We have no one to rely on but each other," he asserted. "Think of this as an exchange; I'll give you my blood, and you can protect me while I'm resting or help me find food."

"I can rely on you for strength," Napoleon spoke carefully. "And I can get you through any situation where we need to interact with people."

He was correct to lay down his trump card as Jean's lone eye widened in realization.

"If you think I'm hesitating," Napoleon declared once more. "Then believe me when I tell you that I'm willing to do the unspeakable. I'm not, and will never be, afraid of taking whatever lengths to ensure we overcome this."

"So we can go back home to the mansion. Together."

Napoleon watched Jean intently, convinced that he had triumphantly swayed the other man.

"I understand." Jean conceded. "How should we proceed?"

"So," Napoleon rolled his sleeves. "Where do vampires usually do it?"

"I beg your pardon."

"I mean, which parts of the body do you usually sink your teeth into?"

Jean scrutinized his companion, clad in only his pants and thin undershirt, the collar remained unbuttoned, as always.

I can't help but feel unsettled with how much his chest reminds me of a woman's. The soldier squinted. What's the point of parading them?

The man, he thought, must be very proud of this new body he was inhabiting.

"Something the matter, Jean?" Napoleon noticed that he spacing.

"Never mind."

They sat facing each other by the campfire. The proximity allowed Jean to discern the lines of exhaustion etched on Napoleon's visage. His face was no different than the marble statues of his original self, chiseled by misfortune and eroding as time passed by.

When was the last time we had been this close?

That 'last time' had become a distant memory, during their mansion days before the ensuing estrangement. Long before this entire episode with Wellington.

"How about my neck? Or my shoulder? Isn't that where vampires usually bite their victims?"

"Don't be obscene." Jean flatly rejected, imagining himself digging himself into the thick muscles around Napoleon's neck.

"Then, my wrist?" Napoleon rubbed his pulse point.

"Are you sure it won't hurt? My fangs may sink deep."

Napoleon tugged at the white tips of his hair in frustration.

"Where else can I let you feed? My leg? There's plenty of skin for you to bite —oh."

Napoleon cleared his throat awkwardly.

"How about my neck? Or my shoulder? Isn't that where vampires usually bite their victims?"

"Don't be obscene." Jean flatly rejected, imagining himself digging himself into the thick muscles around Napoleon's neck.

"Then, my wrist?" Napoleon rubbed his pulse point.

"Are you sure it won't hurt? My fangs may sink deep."

Napoleon tugged at the white tips of his hair in frustration. "Where else can I let you feed? My leg? There's plenty of skin for you to bite —oh."

He showed the inside of his forearm.

"This part should be safe, I think." He tapped on an area near the bend of his elbow.

Jean was hesitant but grabbed Napoleon's wrist anyway and examined the patch of skin which Napoleon pointed.

"Once you've offered yourself to me, there's no turning back." the lesser vampire warned. "And don't thrash when I bite you."

"I'll be fine," Napoleon reassured him. "Just do what you must."

Jean nodded and dragged Napoleon's arm closer to his mouth.

"I will have to lick you. It's only customary."

"I don't mind. Take your time."

And thus, Jean darted his tongue across that tiny bit of skin. Napoleon could handle the ticklishness, but not the other sensation that was both pleasant and unpleasant at the same time.

"Can I do it now?" Jean inquired one last time.

Napoleon gulped. He knew his nervousness was anything unlike those of prey animals awaiting their death in their predator's jaws. There was no relinquishment of power, and there was no question of who had been stronger and who had been weaker.

As he had done countless times in his previous lifetime, he was gambling his trust in another man. Few put his life as collateral.

"Roll your hand into a fist," Jean instructed, his voice deep and oddly tranquilizing.

Napoleon closed his eyes as he felt sharp teeth piercing his skin. The fangs pushed down further, attempting to extract more blood from his veins.

His fingers grabbed the sand underneath them as he fought not to writhe even as the initial pain receded. His body recoiled as a different sensation invaded his senses.

Heat coursed through his entire being as the lesser vampire continued to suck on broken skin. The sound of Jean slurping and drinking grew distant as he surrendered to the all-encompassing delirium.

Losing himself in the grip of passion, Napoleon let out a stifled moan that ought to reach Jean's sensitive ears. Yet he refused to let go and kept latching onto his benefactor's arm.

Napoleon became acutely aware of Jean's fingerpad pressing on his skin. It would leave bruises the next morning, he knew.

All reason left Napoleon as he imagined the bite scarring, leaving a mark from Jean and this deed that would plunge them both into certain damnation.

The implications of this sick, perverted act were entirely lost to him as his mind screamed more, more more—

Jean withdrew his fangs and loosened his grip on Napoleon.

"I've had enough of my fill," Jean breathed laboriously. The deed drained him as much as it did Napoleon.

But his victim was too deep in his frenzy to notice that he'd stopped feeding. "Napoleon," he called.

At his friend's lack of response, Jean grabbed Napoleon's shoulder and shook it. "Napoleon!"

The man finally jolted and his eyes landed on Jean's still face. It was only centimeters away from his own.

"Are you alright?" the stoic man asked him cautiously. "Your skin is feverish."

"Am I?" Napoleon started, wiping his face. He realized that he was, indeed, sweating profusely.

"Was it too hard on you?" Jean's concerned voice was barely audible to the dazed former emperor. "The wounds will need tending. If we don't stop the bleeding, you might—"

"Jean, I'm fine!" Napoleon snapped, unintentionally shoving the other man away. "I'm a vampire too! They should heal in no time, so if you just leave them that way—"

"You're not a full vampire, unlike us." Jean pulled his arm gingerly. "At the very least, allow me to dress them."

In the end, Napoleon obeyed. The two men silently sat as Jean started to rip some of their outer clothes apart.

"There," Jean patted Napoleon's arm as he finished wrapping the makeshift bandages. "Too tight?"

"No, it's perfect." Napoleon hurriedly replied. "Thank you."

He didn't wait for Jean to respond and retreated to his spot. Napoleon knew his behavior looked strange to the soldier, but he batted such thoughts away and laid down.

Napoleon knew he couldn't urge himself to sleep, especially since the feeding left certain parts of his body excited.

Cazzo. So this is what they mean when they say vampires possess the ability to seduce both men and women, regardless of their sex.

It was made worse by the fact that Jean was one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever encountered in both lifetimes.

Damnelu tuttu. How do I get this down—

"Bonne Nuit."

Jean quietly bid Napoleon good night, saving him from the panicked whirring of his mind.

"...you too." He piped.

Napoleon forcefully shut his eyes and waited for drowsiness to claim him. It had been a long day, and so will be the days ahead.

Both needed their rest before setting out on the road home, enduring the awkwardness and questions yet unspoken between them.

Uhhh thanks for sticking until the end. This long-ass fic is part of my Napoleon & Jean 1860s Tour de France AU, in which Jean kinda replaces the MC in Napoleon's route. There's a lot of kidnapping, violence, man-to-man bonding, and all that good stuff. .

Tagging @kisara-16, @thedollarstoresatan, @delicateikemenmemes, @ikesensrandomninjagirl24, @ashavazesa, @hokkaido-fox, @nuclearwinterexe, @lulu-the-hedgehog, @longingkisses, @weird-profiterole, @nafeary, @thesirenwashere (please notify me through DM if I missed anyone)

#ikemen vampire #ikevam fic #ikevam napoleon #ikevam jean #napo route spoilers #riri tries ikevam

37 notes · View notes

kilyra · 5 years

Text

You Work for Him?

A/N: I’m carrying on with the Eric Northman arc because I love him, and other people are gathering here that love him as well. Yay! So this follows all the other fics. I’m not really doing one long story, but it is all connected one shots I guess?

While you’re unwinding at Merlotte’s Eric shows up to your horror.

Warnings: None. I do have some Swedish between Pam and Eric and I just used Google Translate, so if you know the language and can send me corrections, please do! No spoilers though (I myself am only on S3 or 4, so this is an early Eric style fic…also, please don’t send me any spoilers).

If you want to be on my tag lists, (all or just a character) just let me know! (Credit for this amazing gif goes to @bonniebird. Thank you SO much!)

It was hard not to laugh and spit your drink back into your glass from the look Hoyt shot across the table. “Hey, don't look at me! I don't choose the job sites!”

Glancing between you, a wide, lopsided grin broke across Jason's face before he piled on. “Well, see, you say that, but it's your dispatching what sends us out.”

Chuckling, Hoyt bit half of one of his fries before tossing it back onto his plate and looking up. Truthfully, after such a long, crappy day, you were happy to see them both laughing.

“Well yeah, but I don't control what catastrophes happen that you need to swoop in and fix!”

Grabbing another fry, Hoyt used it to point as he frowned. “An overturned manure truck ain't exactly a catastrophe.”

“Oh come on! It is when it's blocking the heart of downtown.”

“Yeah. All three cars had to go a block over. Almost had to shut down the whole town.” Jason's voice was flat but there was a twinkle in his eye as he kept his laugh in.

“Again...I didn't want to send you guys out to clean up a bunch of cow shit. But it had to be done!” The grin that overtook your lips was so wide your cheeks hurt and you were just a hair away from laughing about it all over again.

And it felt nice.

“You were none too broke up about...” Hoyt jumped in but as you noticed the door to Merlotte's swing open with purpose, his words turned to muffled background noise.

Before you even saw who it was, your heart started beating faster. Although you'd only met her once, you immediately recognized Pam's stiff posture as she stepped in and cast a sightly disgusted glare over the room. Moving to the side and pausing, she made space for the person following. Your blood ran cold as you threw up a prayer that this was a dream. That you had just spontaneously passed out at your table and none of this was real. But the slow hush that crawled over the bar made it all too real.

Eric Northman.

Unlike Pam, he didn't waste time scanning over the room. Turning your direction, his eyes fell directly on you, as though he knew exactly where you'd be sitting. Your heart sank.

Eventually, Hoyt realized you had stopped listening, and both he and Jason turned to follow your stare. His eyebrows furrowed together in a quiet mark of confusion as he peered over the back of the booth, but Jason's forehead smoothed as his face dropped.

Eric stayed zeroed in on you as he and Pam strode toward your table. A feeling of dread grew with every, unhurried step. There wasn't a single soul that you had mentioned any of your Eric-related moments to and sweat started on your palm at the thought of anything happening so publicly.

How could anyone understand? You didn't even understand...

As he arrived, Jason's mouth hung open. “M-Mr. Northman...”

Pausing, Eric seemed to notice Jason for the first time as he eyebrow arched high. You knew Eric was giving him the only chance he'd give for Jason to finish his thought, but your friend fell quiet. Amusement lit Pam's eyes as her gaze darted between Jason and her maker. A small curl tugged at the corner of her mouth, but she stayed quiet.

You couldn't watch the panic grow on Jason's face for long before you stepped in. “Eric? What...are you doing here?”

Jason swallowed as he turned towards you wide-eyed. Hoyt's eyebrows furrowed deeper.

With a long blink, Eric turned his focus back on you before an unnatural smile snaked over his lips. You weren't sure if his attempt to look friendly was sincere, or if he was trying to make you uncomfortable. “I'm here to talk to you, sweetheart.”

Although the entire bar had fallen silent – staff and patrons alike – everything felt loud. It was almost hard to hear Eric over the rushing in your ears and people's stares felt like they were noisy somehow. Even Sam Merlotte stood motionless by the bar, his bar towel hanging from his balled fist.

Your eyes narrowed like that could block everything out and let you think. “W-what?”

“But not here,” he finished simply as his eyes bore into yours. Clearly uninterested in explaining himself, his stare intensified and your cheeks suddenly felt like they were on fire. Between his scrutiny and the attention of everyone in Merlotte's, you just wanted to crawl under the table and take a breath.

And yet, through all of that, your mind raced. What the hell could be so important?

The room stayed frozen until Eric leaned your direction. It may have been to whisper in your ear or grab your arm, but the sudden flurry of motion around him stopped whatever he was about to do.

On his feet, but still in the booth, Jason was already reaching across the table towards you as if he could magically shove himself between you and Eric. “Whoa, hold up there a minute.”

“Hush up, hot stuff. Grown-ups are talking." Taking a smooth step to the side, Pam moved against the edge of the booth, completely blocking in Jason. Her stance was relaxed, lightly leaning her knee along the seat, but she was completely��immovable.

Trapped but still half-standing, Jason's hands clenched tightly as he shot Pam an unnoticed glare. Frustration, confusion, and anger swirled over his features in a quiet dance of emotion as both vampires ignored him.

Meanwhile, Hoyt shuffled next to him, hauling up short when he realized Jason wasn't moving. But, the tension that rippled up his arm proved he was ready to spring into action as soon as shit went down. Swallowing heavily, his eyes trailed back over to you as though he were trying to decide how bad the situation was.

Guilt surged across your chest at how willing they were to help even when they had no idea what was going on.

Pam grinned, her amusement clear as Eric quickly swept a sidelong gaze at the pair. His eyebrows raised as he let out a soft huff through his nose. Looking back at you, the good humour slowly drained from his expression as he nodded towards the door.

Under the table, your knees had turned to jelly. You weren't trying to make it all worse, but the sheer panic of being outed was running its way through your body. Slowly, your lips parted and you softly gasped for air. It was stale in your mouth.

And then Sam was suddenly there. His back visibly bristled as he pushed himself between you and Eric with his hands spread apart. The bar rag still hung from his fingers as he held his palms out. “Whoa...hey...what's uh...what's going on here?”

Not backing up, Eric loomed over the shorter man. His expression remained dispassionate, but there was a harder edge to his tone. “It's none of your concern.”

Squeezing his eyes closed in a pronounced blink, Sam relaxed his hands slightly. The one in front of you, however, remained protectively outstretched. "Well, actually, I get entirely concerned every time you step foot in my bar.”

Tilting his head, Eric cocked his eyebrow and loosely gestured to the rest of the room. “Do you not welcome all patrons here?”

Following his hand, you realized everyone was still staring. Some people dropped their gaze when you caught it but you weren't sure if it was from shame or fear. The one table that matched your look with an open glare was a group of muscle-bound, younger men with short sleeves and suspiciously-clean trucker hats. Quickly, you looked away.

“I do. Right up until they start causing shit. Which, with you, seems to happen almost immediately." The slight shake to the edges of Sam's shaggy hair was the only giveaway that he was full of adrenaline. As he stood toe to toe with the vampire, using a firm but exhausted tone, nothing else hinted that he recognized the danger he was putting himself in.

It was Eric that finally broke the staredown with a faint smile briefly ghosting his lips. The cold look of disinterest he shot Sam seemed to find a heated spark as he put his focus on you. "As entertaining as this is, I don't have time for these games. We need to leave."

Your heart pounded as he fell quiet. Something was wrong. If nothing else, you needed to tell your friends to stand down, but the words were trapped in your throat. Trying to swallow back the lump of sand in your mouth did nothing.

Not being deterred, Sam leaned towards the table, momentarily blocking your view of Eric. “Doesn't look to me like she wants to go anywhere with you.”

“I don't care,” a slight growl entered Eric's tone, betraying his passive features.

Violently, your stomach started to lurch. It was getting hard to see.

“She's...”

Please don't.

“My...”

DON'T

Adrenaline burst through you so fast, you were instantly shaking as you silently screamed for him to stop. The panic was so thorough that it took a moment to realize he had paused.

Risking a glance, you found his expression had grown stony as he captured your eyes.

He could feel your fear.

Lowering his chin, he continued to hold your stare as he finished flatly. “Associate.”

“She's your...?” Sam stopped as he turned to you. His deeply furrowed brow creased even deeper as he blinked at you. “You're his what?”

Associate?

“Uh..." It was all you could get out. Reaching for your drink, you stopped short of trying to lift it to your lips when you saw the tremble in your hands.

Watching you closely, Eric's tone was gentler as he nodded to the table. "Do you always have trouble with glasses, or is it just when I'm around?"

A twitch in the corner of his mouth was all the smile he offered. That, with the sudden softness in his tone, felt like a kick to the gut. Did you actually hurt his feelings?

“You...work for him?” Jason's voice grew higher as he struggled to understand. Frowning at you, he was rooted to his seat, no longer trying to push past Pam. Hoyt stayed quiet as his gaze shifted between you and Eric.

“N-no. I don't. I just...we..." The words trailed off into silence, your mind going blank. How could you explain it? He called you his once but...what did that even mean?

Eric turned his head towards Jason so slowly that you weren't even sure he had heard him at all. The colour drained from Jason's face while the vampire's eyes flickered over him before doing the same to Hoyt. His face did nothing to reveal whatever assessment he made about the tense pair.

Without acknowledging that you even spoke, he smoothly replied. "No. But there is an issue at Fangtasia that requires her attention."

With all the intensity of a confused puppy, Jason looked over at you. “But...she works for the town of Bon Temps, not Shreveport?”

Scoffing loudly, Pam rolled her eyes and shot a pointed look at Eric. His lips pursed together in a tight line in reply.

“I can't argue with that. You keep smart company, Y/n,” he finally replied as he took a step back from the table and nodded towards the door.

“What?” Pam finally broke her silence as her eyebrows shot up in equal parts irritation and surprise.

“More trouble isn't going to help anything.” Eric had dropped his voice, but you picked it up all the same.

Trouble? Although your adrenaline hadn't slowed, your heart pounded even harder. Clutching your hands tightly in your lap, your knuckles turned white.

“Jag trodde att vi var tvungna att få-”

“Vi ska. Senare.” Eric snapped.

Swallowing back whatever she was about to say, Pam clenched her jaw as she stepped away from the booth. Jason didn't make a move to get up, even once he was free.

Moving back from Sam, Eric shot you one more quiet look before Pam flanked him. It twisted the knots in your stomach and if it wasn't for all the eyes on you, cementing you to the spot, you would have dashed after him.

Not sparing another look back, the pair left Merlotte's.

Leaning forward, Jason tilted his head. “Is he why you wanted me to train you?”

Fighting past a layer of stunned numbness, you managed to shake your head. But it wasn't exactly convincing. “N-no...”

Still not convincing.

A firm hand on your arm pulled you out of your shock a little further as you looked up and saw Sam pouring all his concern through his soft blue eyes. When he spoke, there was a surprising gentleness there. “Are you okay?”

Reaching up, you set your hand over his, offering what you hoped was a reassuring squeeze. "Yeah...thank you, Sam."

With a noticeable blink, he nodded before patting your shoulder. As he returned to his place by the bar, he waved his hand dismissively. “Alright, show's over folks. Get back to drinking those looks off your faces.”

You didn't notice it, but the table of trucker hats didn't stop eyeing you.

Still grasping at every attempt to understand what happened, Jason's voice brought you back. “But, how do you even know Mr. Northman?”

Pressing your fingers to your temple, you would have laughed if you weren't so unsettled.

“You...you really don't talk to your sister much, do you?”

Swedish translations according to Google 1) I thought we had to get- 2) We will. Later.

Taglist: @foreverfaeries @flower-two @getlostinyourparadise @selfishkiddo @angelicshinigami @parkersbabey @thatchampagnebitch @mysteryoflovve @edweirdoddlepot @divadinag @crazy-fandom-girl1 @givemeabite @breanime @shondlenoodle @hermionesalvatore84 @dyingformyships @divadinag @dreamers-wonderland @adriellej @bitchader

#eric northman x reader #eric northman #true blood #eric x reader #jason stackhouse

306 notes · View notes

yikeswtfmate · 5 years

Text

Strange Times || Ch. 5

previous part // Strange Times Series Masterlist // next part

Summary: Raymond has to deal with the aftermath and does his best not to lose it again.

Pairing: Raymond (Charlie Hunnam - The Gentlemen, 2020) x Reader

Warnings: language; mentions of violence; mentions and descriptions of blood & bruises and the likes; alcohol consumption; drug consumption

A/N: hello my Ray darlings, I’ve neglected you enough! i know it’s a bit on the short side, but i felt it ended where it should have; part 6 will be the last part, so until then...please enjoy!

There is a small lamp on one of the nightstands that’s doing its best to throw a dim warm light in the dark room. It only reaches a few long strands of hair in the middle of the bed, away from the body that’s curled up in on itself, taking as little space as possible. She looks shrunken, smaller, dimmed down like the last sliver of a setting sun, and the occasional shiver is sometimes accompanied by a heartbreaking whimper.

Raymond is sitting at the bottom of the bed, a hand placed on her feet, watching her breathe under the blankets. He’s been promising himself he’ll go back down in a minute for an hour now, even though the sleeping pills have long since kicked in. He doesn’t want to let her out of his sight, but he knows he’ll eventually have to face the aftermath.

The images of her tightly bound and bloody keep flashing in his mind, and he does his best to keep his rage in check. The rampage he went on has left him drenched in blood, sweat and grime, but he’s not yet been feeling appeased.

He supposes he can let her rest, now that the Oxford house is crawling with nearly every single one of their employees and a vast range of their buddies; even if it weren’t, he’s made sure to be at an arm’s distance from a gun at all times. So he strokes her hair a few times, kisses her forehead – careful not to leave any more blood on her skin, and with a heavy sigh, gets out of the room and closes the door again.

Bunny is sitting in a chair in the corner of the hallway, a grim expression on his own face. He’s lost his jacket sometime during the altercation, and the visible gun tucked in the shoulder holster is an open reminder that Pearson’s men are not playing at the moment. When he sees Raymond, he does nothing more than nod and move his chair closer to the door. He doesn’t have to be told that no one is to enter the room beside Raymond, Mickey or Rosalind. He just prays Y/N will feel better when she wakes up, and hopefully Raymond will have taken a shower by then, because that man is unrecognisable.

Downstairs, Raymond sits down heavily in an armchair. Someone hands him a tumbler of whiskey and there’s a plate of Jaffa cakes on the table in front of him. He stares at the round biscuits, transfixed in another time, wondering how long they’ve been sitting there. Behind him, Rosalind gives someone directions to make tea, before she places a hand on his shoulder and with the other gives him a joint. He takes it out of inertia, but doesn’t light it, suddenly feeling all the adrenaline wearing off, and exhaustion seeping in like a dam breaking loose.

He vaguely registers Mickey taking a seat next to him, already halfway through a blunt of his own, an empty glass on the floor by his foot. He’s just as bloody and dirty, hair mated to one side with sweat, shirt untucked and torn in places. There’s a cut just below his left eyebrow, that might leave a scar, a bruise starting to turn purple on the other side. Raymond supposes he’s not painting a prettier picture.

“You good?” Mickey asks.

Raymond takes a deep breath and drowns the whiskey with a hiss. He lights up his joint and nods. He’s trying to steel himself for the conversation that’s coming, although ironing out the details of what the next steps should be is the last thing he wants to do. He just wants to curl into bed next to Y/N and hold her until the end of time, because he’d be damned if he’ll ever let her go again. Everyone else can go to fucking hell.

Three hours later, when the house is starting to quiet down, Raymond finally manages to slip back up. He tells Bunny to go home and get some rest, and silently enters the room. The lamp is still on, but a creaky board in the floor makes Y/N slowly turn her head towards him. They look at each other for a few seconds, and Raymond can see the tear streaks on her sunken cheeks, even more prominent now. He’s not one to show emotion easily, but she can easily read exactly what is going through his head.

“I want to take a shower.” She whispers before he can say anything.

“There are clean towels in the bathroom.” He nods. “I’ll wait for you here.”

“No.” She says, and this hurts Raymond more than all the times he’s been shot.

He’s about to get out of the room again, intent on taking Bunny’s place on the chair and wait for her, however much would be necessary. But Y/N calls his name, a whisper that holds a shadow of the exasperation she’d show him when he’d act dense, and looks at her again.

“I need you to stay with me.” She explains. “And I think you also need a shower.”

At her pointed finger, he looks down at the tattered suit, destroyed beyond hope. He’s past caring, but he’s grateful Rosalind had the mind to send for a change of clothes for both of them. He takes a few steps forward, keeping his eyes on Y/N, careful not to make any sudden movements. He doesn’t think he can take any more pain right this second, so seeing her cower in front of him again is out of the question.

She follows his movements and finally takes off the blankets when he offers her a hand to stand up. With an arm draped over her shoulder, Raymond helps her into the bathroom, where he has to take in a deep breath before looking at her in the sharp lighting. Her hair is tangled, and there’s dried blood in it, her bottom lip is broken and there’s a shallow cut following her jawline, ending in a yellow bruise on her right cheekbone. Rosalind’s done everything she could with a wet towel, but with Y/N refusing to take her clothes off, no one has yet seen the extent of her bruises.

Raymond raises his hands, whispering soft words, cotton candy sweet nothings, reassurances that he needs just as much as she does, as his fingers grasp the hem of her jumper, once beige when she left home an eternity ago. He has to clench his jaw when he tosses it off, and the rage comes back once he sees the purple bruises on her ribs, the scarlet cuts on her collarbones. Y/N hisses off his attempts at talking, and keeps her eyes downcast, refusing to see the pity in his. She works the buttons of his shirt until that too is thrown to the pile, and her cold fingers trace the bruises left by the bullets that had thankfully been stopped by the vest.

Her hands find his shoulders for balance then, silently allowing him to peel off her cashmere pants. He murmurs a little prayer of gratitude that her skin is still as flawless, her legs still as smooth and heavenly, devoid of any mistreatment. Raymond has to take a moment to breathe, kneeling in front of her, forehead on her knees, palms on her ankles. Her fingers move to his head, slowly dragging her nails through his hair. He came to love her doing that, always bringing him a sense of peace and tranquillity that he’s never experienced before. Raymond looks up at her, tears in his eyes while she’s forcing herself to control her own.

“I was so scared.” He whispers. “I was so scared to lose you.”

“It’s alright. You found me.” She says, hand cupping his cheek, and Raymond leans into it. “I knew you would.”

Y/N helps Raymond back up a few minutes later, when she starts shivering in the cold air. They take off their remaining clothes, in a silence that is only filled with grunts and whispers of reassurance. He needs to keep his eyes on her at all times, he finds, an urgency that has nothing to do with lust, as it did whenever she’d undress, but entirely fuelled by the deep dread that still runs through his veins.

Stepping into the shower, she turns on the hot water and stands under it for a few seconds, while Raymond keeps watching her. An extended hand, blindly looking for him, demanding him to join her and then he’s engulfed by the steam and the spray that’s coming off of her. There’s blood mixing with the water, changing the tiles to a pale scarlet. Y/N refuses to look at her feet, and when she opens her eyes, there he is. The only person that she needs.

It takes them a long time to clean themselves, partially because they are both hurt, but mostly because Y/N would stop to grab at him and beg him to hold her. He’d comply every time, each time stroking her hair or drawing soft patterns on her back. She starts crying at one point, a moment that Raymond will forever have ingrained in his brain.

“I’m sorry.” She keeps whispering, wracked by heart wrenching sobs that reverberate through her entire body.

“It’s ok, baby.” Raymond responds, still stroking her hair. “It’s alright, my love. It’s not your fault. You’re here, you’re ok. You’re safe now. You’re with me. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again, love.”

Y/N quietens down eventually, but Ray is the one who needs to hold her now.

“I love you.” He whispers.

She whimpers again, nails clawing at his back. Her head turns into the crook of his shoulder, his hands wrap tighter around her body. There is no more blood at their feet, and clear water is flowing off of their skin. It’s done, and she’s here, back where she belongs; so he kisses the top of her head, just to remind her once more that she’s safe, and he’s never letting go.

“I love you too.”

***

Strange Times Taglist:

@myfriendmademedothisxd @alainabooks143 @rvmanova @aisling1985 @beautiflow @lollipopdomination @grincheveryday @whovianayesha

142 notes · View notes

thepandapopo · 4 years

Text

Sylvix Week 2020 Day 1: Wedding

Synopsis: No matter what world or what timeline they exist in, Felix and Sylvain will always find each other.

Byleth becomes an omniscient immortal goddess that lists her top three favourite SylVix weddings that span across a variety of alternate universes and worlds.

You gave me a wedding prompt and I gave you a three for one deal.

Written for Sylvix Week 2020

AU in which all the canon stuff happens but Sothis is actually the goddess of multiple universes and when Byleth merges with her, she gets to see Sylvix reincarnated in world after world, but no matter what they always find each other. This is her POV recalling her three favourite weddings.

The pirate one was definitely inspired by Pirates of the Carribean because that scene was so ridiculous and all I could think about was how it was SylVix level dumb.

There are not many things in this existence that Byleth finds beautiful, not anymore at least. After living for centuries upon centuries and in worlds that one could only dream of, it was safe to say that Byleth had pretty much exhausted all there was to see in terms of beautiful things.

But one thing she will always watch over fondly and with such heart rending piety that makes her wonder if perhaps there is a god even greater than her, is the way Felix and Sylvain’s souls always find their way back to each other, regardless of what life, regardless of what world, and regardless of what circumstances shape them.

----

The first world that Byleth has the pleasure of attending their wedding is in her original life. It is the life that she remembers the most vividly and fondly, back when everything was so new and yet not because of the soul of the progenitor god that resides within her.

The cathedral in Garreg Mach is strewn with swathes of teal and maroon fabrics, hanging from the ceilings in graceful arcs interspersed with pristine white. Blue and Red Salvia pepper the towering columns in the empty pockets where the ivy parts way to reveal long expanses of white stone, restored over years of hard work and loving care.

At the base of the altar near the head of the room, Byleth stands tall and proud as the officiant of this historical event, the joining of two territories through marriage in the traditional sense, but also so wholly untraditional in the fact that it is a Duke and Margrave committing to each other in a gesture that has nothing to do with politics and everything to do with building a future free of unspoken rules and obligations.

“Stop fidgeting,” Ingrid hisses at Sylvain from her position as Best Maiden. She is a vision herself in her Gautier red gown that is just practical enough that Hilda and Annette didn’t have to blackmail her too much into wearing.

Across from her, Dimitri – Felix’s Best Man - is also staring at the shifty groom who looks like he is half a minute away from bursting into either hysterical laughter or tears. It’s a bit of an odd sight seeing the King of Fodlan not standing center stage for once, but just for today, he has gladly traded in his royal garments for a simple, but smart looking military style get up (not unlike their old school uniform) in Fraldarius blue.

And in the middle of all of them standing right by Byleth’s side is their very own Sylvain Jose Gautier, dressed in his finest linens with a black jacket lined with crimson fur and golden thread. Draped across his front is an expanse of teal cloth that sweeps back over his shoulders and billows out in a magnificent cape emblazoned with both the Gautier and Fraldarius crests. Although Sylvain has always looked noble in his own way, his roguish grin has always softened the edges of his appearance with a mask of carefree immaturity. Today though, he looks every bit the mature esteemed war general turned Margrave; his shoulders are pulled back and he stands tall even though they all know that there are more than a few individuals in the crowd who oppose this marriage. Standing next to him, Byleth can literally feel the air of assured confidence that a person exudes when they know that they are doing something so fundamentally right, that there is no way that it isn’t fate.

If anyone had told them that Sylvain would be the first person among them to be married, a trip to the infirmary for hallucination would have been the follow up course of action. But here, standing at the altar under the beaming mid afternoon sun streaming through the windows, there is nothing that seems more natural.

Even if Sylvain won’t stop fidgeting.

“Sylvain,” Dimitri’s eyes are wide with suspicion and dread, “you’re not getting cold feet, are you? Goddess, Felix will kill you.”

“Yeah, and not even the pretend kill either. He’s going to really, truly run you through with his favourite sword. That you happened to get him, might I remind you.” Ingrid elbows him again, the sharp pain a gentler reminder of what pain he might be subject to in the near future if he really is considering ditching his own wedding. In the middle of the ceremony. With hundreds of guests around them.

“No, I’m not getting cold feet.” Sylvain rolls his eyes and tenderly rubs his ribs where Ingrid keeps jabbing him. “I’m just… I don’t know. I’m impatient. We’ve been standing up here forever.”

And of course, in typical Felix fashion, he just has to be proven wrong when the massive oaken doors at the entrance of the cathedral open with a groan, just barely audible over the swelling sound of the music changing and the rustling of clothes as their guests stand to welcome in the other groom.

The first time that Byleth gets to witness Sylvain’s entire world fall apart and click back together like two perfect puzzle pieces, is when he catches sight of Felix, led down the aisle by a beaming Annette, and breathtakingly resplendent in all white.

Blown out pupils obscure burnt sienna as they rake over the vision that is Duke Fraldarius walking slowly towards him with what looks to be the most obnoxiously long dress coat ever tailed. It clings to his lithe form sinfully from his shoulders down to his hips in such a way that coax’s Sylvain’s tongue to swipe across his lips, before draping and flaring back in a style reminiscent of a bridal train. The very same golden stitching that weaves through Sylvain’s jacket also glows ethereally in Felix’s clothes, which only serves to emphasize the silky midnight waterfall that has been tamed and woven into a side braid. Atop his crown sits a golden circlet that dips and meets in the center of his brow, adorned with a topaz flanked by two garnet rubies.

It is the first time that Byleth prays to the goddess and thanks Sothis for allowing these two souls, who are just so right for each other, to finally, finally get the happiness they so deserve.

When Felix’s golden gaze finally flutters up beneath inky lashes to meet Sylvain’s, the air in the room charges with tangible electricity and chuckles murmur through the crowd as both Ingrid and Annette reach out simultaneously to stop their respective grooms from bolting towards each other.

By the time Annette hands Felix off to Sylvain, both men are staring at each other with such blatant reverence and awe that Byleth almost feels bad for clearing her throat and ruining the moment.

“Dearly beloved, thank you all for gathering here today to celebrate the union of Duke Felix Hugo Fraldarius and Margrave Sylvain Jose Gautier.”

Somewhere to her right, Annette stifles a happy sob and the couple share a small, amused smile.

“The most remarkable moment in life is when you meet the person who makes you feel complete; the person with whom you share a bond so special that it transcends time and space and is something so pure and so wonderful, that you cannot imagine a life or world without them. For Felix and Sylvain, that moment happened back when they were children and too young to know what love meant, but old enough to know how love felt. Many of you know their story already; some of you have had the privilege to walk along side them as they each wrote their tale. But what we all have in common today is that we get to witness the moment when they begin to write their story together.”

Later in the evening, Sylvain will tease Dimitri about how constipated he looked trying to unsuccessfully supress his tears while also desperately trying not to crush the small pouch in his hands that contained Sylvain’s wedding band.

“Now, I do believe that you two have written your own vows. Sylvain, would you like to go first?”

There is a beat after Byleth asks her question before Sylvain can escape the fogginess of his mind that is filled with thoughts of Fe, Fe, Fe and comprehend what is being asked of him.

“It’s in your breast pocket,” Ingrid hisses behind him.

It’s true. Sylvain can feel the folded piece of parchment tucked snugly against his chest above his heart, but there is something in Felix’s mesmerized gaze that stays his hand and sends it reaching instead for smaller, scarred and callous ones.

“Felix…” his breath escapes him like a prayer. “My darling and dearest Fe.”

Honey brown eyes shimmer with unshed tears and Sylvain feels his chest tighten, squeezing out the lyrics of the song his heart has long been singing, but never aloud.

“For a person who has always had a silver tongue, it’s a wonder how you manage to steal all the words from me every single time. I could still try to wax poetic about how lovely you are or how lethal you look with a blade in your hand, but I feel like if I do either or those, you might just stab me.”

A soft snort and misty glare confirm his suspicion and Sylvain lets out a watery chuckle.

“Do you remember the promise we made as kids? Back then, we didn’t really know what it meant to die together, but we promised each other that anyways because the only thing we knew for certain was that we didn’t want to live without each other.”

Sylvain’s lungs burn with the effort it takes to inhale through the sobs that want to escape him. The rapid thumping of his heart threatens to burst out of his chest, and it nearly overwhelms him before a gentle hand brushes away a stray tear that has managed to escape its confines. Unwittingly, more tears fall even as Sylvain grounds himself with Felix’s touch and forges on.

“Fe, I have loved you for a very long time, even though I may not have known it. I have loved you since we were young children and you would sit in my lap for hours as I read story after story to you. I have loved you since we were old enough to train together and you would trounce me spectacularly even though I had the weapon advantage and you were such a scrawny brat. I loved you even through Glenn’s death when you shoved everyone around you away, building up the walls around your heart that I wanted so desperately to see again. I loved you when we met again at the officer’s academy and I tried to drown my problems in women and empty dalliances, and even through the war where I was so terrified that you would die before I could ever confess my feelings for you.

But Fe… despite how long I’ve loved you, I vow to you today that I will continue to love you for even longer in the years ahead. Dying is easy, but living is so much harder, and so that is why I want to build on our promise and vow to always stand by your side and live the rest of my life with you. I have loved you all my life, Felix Hugo, and I cannot imagine what my life would be without that constant. It grows each and every day, filling my heart more than I ever thought possible. Goddess… I love you Fe. I love you so very much, my beloved, and I hope that one day I’ll find the perfect words to tell you that, but for now, before all these people, I give you my heart and soul because it has always been yours from the start.”

Sylvain’s heart aches with the raw truth and gravity of his words that are so filled with love, bursting from his heart and overflowing from his eyes only to be brushed away gently by the very man who encompasses his thoughts every minute of every day. But despite how shaky his breath is, Sylvain’s hands are steady as he slips the onyx band onto the ring finger of Felix’s left hand.

“Felix? Would you like to read your vows?” It is dead silent in the cathedral, save for the few sniffs and hiccups from their closest friends.

“Sylvain.”

Byleth can see the moment that Felix steels his resolve in the same way he does right before entering battle. Right now, Felix is fighting his own demons, but he is determined to win because he owes it to Sylvain to be just as raw and open as he has laid himself out to be.

“Sylvain. I… we both know that I’m not good at words, but I want to try, for you, because I know that sometimes the voices in your head try to convince you that you’re not worthy of love, and I want to shut them up once and for all by laying everything bare in front of all these people.”

It’s funny and honestly a little bit unfair, Felix thinks to himself, how Sylvain still looks so breathtakingly beautiful even while dripping snot and fully on ugly crying.

“I’m not a good partner, Sylvain. And before you interrupt me, just shut up and listen to the rest of what I have to say. I’m not a good partner because unlike you, I don’t know how to use my words to communicate my feelings. No matter how hard I try, it always comes out sharp and… and wrong. But even though I’m just so fucking awful at it, you somehow always seem to understand me.” Felix pauses to steady his breathing and blink away the tears that are beginning to blur his favourite view.

“I honestly never thought I could have this. I didn’t think there was a future for us because I was so sure that one day you would get fed up with me and leave. But you didn’t. No matter how much I pushed you away, or how many insults I threw your way even though what I really wanted to say was the complete opposite, you always stayed there by my side through thick and thin. And what’s more, you always understood what I was really trying to say.

I hate illogical things. I hate the idea of dying for someone or doing something I hate just because someone else happens to like it. But you… Sylvain, you make me want to do all of those things.”

Felix falters a little, swallowing the lump in his throat that wants to stop his closest guarded secret from slipping out.

“It doesn’t make any sense and it honestly frustrates me just how unwaveringly confident I am that I would die for you in a heartbeat. I would willingly go to those operas that you love so much even though I can’t stand them just so I can see that one smile that makes the world around me fall away. With you, I want to do the things that I’ve always shunned. I want to get married to you. I want to become your husband. I want to adopt children and raise a family with you. I want to grow old with you and spend our days sitting in front of a fire watching our grandchildren run around causing all sorts of mayhem that they probably learned from you.”

“So today, I will vow to you to live with you through whatever bullshit might come our way. I vow to love you until our dying breaths and beyond. But the greatest vow I will make you today, is the vow to lay down my blade and put to rest any lingering thoughts of becoming a mercenary because… because a life with you… loving you… I want that more than anything in the world. I love you, Syl.”

All around them, their friends beam at them through tears and, in Annette and surprisingly Dimitri’s case, elated blubbering. Felix wastes no time grabbing the ring from his king and slipping it onto Sylvain’s ring finger because one minute longer not being married to his favourite idiot is one more minute wasted.

No one cares that Byleth doesn’t even get to say her final line prompting them to kiss because they both lunge at each other at the same time, the crowd around them cheering and whooping, their voices echoing through the halls and much longer in Byleth’s memories.

----

Byleth’s second favourite wedding between Felix and Sylvain is unfortunately not one that she gets to officiate.

Instead, she’s busy parrying the downward strike of a soggy half pirate, half sea creature and returning a blow of her own and painting the floor beneath them a murky ink color as she cuts into its shoulder. Their ship has been boarded by Davy Jones’ and they barely have time to fire an SOS flare into the sky before they are overrun with the cursed pirates.

“Did someone call for backup?”

Sylvain’s hair is plastered to his forehead from the salty spray, but his crimson hair is still more than easy to spot from where it pops up from their starboard side where his own ship has anchored itself to the Aegis. His men let out a mighty battle cry as they dash across the wooden planks connecting their ships while others swing in from above on ropes hanging from the towering mast.

“You’re late, you fucking asshole!” Felix shouts above the sound of his handheld pistol firing straight into the face of an unfortunate pirate. The thick clam like shells around his body is explanation enough of why Felix is using his gun instead of his sword which he favors.

“Aw, Fe. Don’t be like that! You know I’d never ignore a distress call from you!”

“Then next time answer it sooner!”

Felix ducks when Sylvain jumps off the ledge over him and thrusts his own sword into an enemy that had been sneaking up behind him. Despite being rival captains of their own pirate ships, Sylvain and Felix fight like a well-oiled machine, slipping in and out of each other’s space and covering any blind spots that are exposed. It’s a bit odd seeing them fight in such a different style, but Byleth still admires the fierce skill in which Felix takes down his opponents while Sylvain always approaches more cautiously, using tactics and ploys that befit his strategic mind.

Absolute chaos reigns around the two of them and the clashing of swords peppered intermittently with the loud cracks of gunpowder igniting fill the air. The smell of the sea all around them is thick with the lingering smell of burnt sulphur and even more so the irony tint of blood.

“Are the two lovebirds bickering again?” Claude grins at Byleth as he sidesteps a tackle and plunges his blade through the back of the stumbling figure. His Golden Deer cape billows out as he turns and the bright yellow is a beacon of hope to the rest of their crew. Normally, Byleth herself would be wearing one as well, but she has been on loan from Claude and spending the past month or so aboard the Aegis with Felix helping him navigate some truly terrible waters.

“Yes. Although I do wish they would find a better time to do so.” Claude can practically hear her eye roll which just makes it all the more amusing to him.

“Byleth, you wound me! There’s never a better time for… well, anything really, than the present!” Sylvain laughs, but immediately grimaces when the body whose head he lopped off drenches him in black ichor.

Beside him, Felix looks at the new stains on his already disgusting pants and scowls. “Be more careful, you idiot! I can’t save you if you poison yourself by accidentally ingesting some of that toxic shit.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, regret burns through him and ignites his cheeks with flames.

“Oooh. Is Felix Fraldarius actually worried about me?”

“Shut up before I run you through with my sword.”

“You wouldn’t do that, Fe. Because you loooooove me.”

“Sylvain. I swear I’m going to-“

Suddenly a body goes sailing past them and Hilda stomps out from below decks where she has clearly fought her way out of. She points her axe menacingly at the two captains and if Felix didn’t just see her send a full-grown man six flying feet, Felix would have laughed. “If you’re not going to fight, then at least kiss already. We’re all sick and tired of you guys polluting the high seas with your stupid, angsty, rival love.”

“Well just because you’re bitter that your brother chases away all your-“

Sylvain doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before Hilda swings her axe in a side swipe. It’s only from years of fighting that the red haired captain is able to duck in time, letting the blade of the axe connect with a unsuspecting enemy instead.

“Okay, okay! Touchy subject. I get it.”

Thankfully, their squabble fades into the chaos as they double down to repel the ghostly abominations from their ships.

However, like all the other worlds and lives in which Byleth has known Sylvain, he just can’t seem to keep his mouth shut for very long and is calling out for Felix even while more enemies somehow appear from the depths of the sea, truly outnumbering them two to one now.

“Hey Fe! Marry me.”

“What?”

“Marry me!”

There’s an awkward pause, only punctuated with Felix quickly shoving his sword into an oncoming enemy.

“Sylvain, this is not the time!”

“Come on, professor! Things are looking kinda bleak and I don’t really want to die without having married Fe.” Sylvain grins and shoots another enemy over his shoulder without even looking. “and plus it would totally boost morale!”

“I’m not marrying the two of you right now. Felix hasn’t even said yes yet, for crying out loud!”

Seriously, Byleth thinks to herself, she is getting way too old for this shit.

“Claude! If you won’t marry us, then Claude can! He’s a captain too, right?” Sylvain shouts up at the golden garbed leader who is sniping people from the safety of the foretop.

“Consent, Sylvain! Consent is important!” Hilda screams.

Another enemy falls from behind Felix and he turns to face Sylvain who has the biggest shit eating grin on his face. “Well, Fe? What do you say? Wanna get hitched?”

There’s a beat.

And then another.

And then,

“Claude. Marry us.”

Sylvain’s smirk is bigger than the time he struck literal gold.

“Gladly!” Claude laughs and doesn’t even blink as he shoots down enemies left and right. “Deerly beloved, we are gathered here today to-“

“Fuck your deer puns! Just get to the important shit.”

Clearly, Pirate Captain Felix is a lot less patient than Duke Felix. Or perhaps it is more to do with their current circumstance than the actual virtue.

“Jeez, fine fine! Uncultured swine, the lot of you, truly. Do you, Felix Hugo Fraldarius, take Sylvain Jose Gautier to be your lawfully wedded husband? In sickness and in health, in scurvy and even at the bottom of Davy Jones’ locker?”

“I do.” Each word is punctuated by a sword slash and the enemies around their odd band of allies begins to thin.

“And do you, Sylvain Jose Gautier take Felix Hugo Fraldarius to be your lawfully wedded pirate booty husband? To treasure him more than literal treasure? To have him in all his grumpy glory and to hold him even when he threatens to stab you?”

For someone who is very likely to die in the next ten minutes and also covered in guts and ichor, Sylvain is incredibly happy when he chirps back a gleeful “I do!”.

“Then, by the power vested in me by the guy whose ship I stole after I killed him, I now pronounce you husband and husband. So fucking kiss already.”

It’s by no means their most glamourous wedding, but Byleth can’t help but remember fondly on the matching grins on Felix and Sylvain’s faces as they kissed in the middle of that god forsaken hell of a boat, looking for all the world like the two puzzle pieces that have always fit together perfectly no matter what color or shape they may morph into with the crossing of time and dimensions.

It is such a shame really, that their small moment of respite and happiness breaks when a terrified voice pierces through the cacophony of sound.

“KRAKEN!”

----

Byleth’s third favourite Felix and Sylvain wedding is one where she unfortunately doesn’t get to be there with them, no matter how much her heart aches. Instead, she watches them from above, in a space that no mortal (and honestly not even any god) can truly begin to comprehend nor describe.

“Close it, close it. Hurry the fuck up!” Felix’s voice echoes in the dilapidated church even though his voice is hardly louder than a whisper. “We can push the pews up against the door to bar it.”

Sylvain is exhausted and his chest is heaving from being on the run for the past day and a half, but he nods and gets to work anyways, heaving the heavy wooden benches over to where Felix is bracing his shoulder against the door in case any undead try to get in.

It takes a good while before either man feel safe enough to leave the door unattended. In a world overrun by zombies, there aren’t any second chances or lessons learned – one slip up is all it takes for death, or worse yet, turning into the undead.

When Sylvain’s heart and mind finally slow down enough to observe their surroundings, he wants to laugh at the absurd irony of it all. “A church? Seriously, Fe? I’m kinda surprised we didn’t burst into flames as soon as we crossed the threshold.”

“It was the best option. All the other buildings had too many entrances. This one only has the one door and all the windows are boarded up already.”

Felix is already unpacking their travel bag and setting up camp in a far corner away, tucked away from any line of vision from potential cracks in the boards or windows.

“It’s just, I thought you would automatically avoid churches; especially with how our parents tried to raise us.”

It’s a bit of a sore topic between the two of them, both having grown up as close family friend and their parents being extremely religious. Felix more so after his older brother died in the line of duty and Rodrigue fell to religion to cope.

When Felix and Sylvain came out as gay to their families, it was nothing short of awful. The Gautiers had immediately disowned Sylvain, and although he was expecting it – given their track record with Miklan who was also disowned for the same thing – it still hurt and left a large, gaping hole in his heart. Rodrigue on the other hand had only Felix left. Despite their differences, he was reluctant to lose the last family member he had, instead opting to pile brochures after brochures of conversion therapy camps on Felix’s desk until the metaphorical house of cards finally gave way to years of anger and resentment.

If either of them had known that would be the last time they would see their families before the world went to hell in a handbasket, Sylvain likes to think that maybe they would have tried a little harder to keep them in their lives.

“What’s wrong?”

Felix is looking at him with those piercing golden eyes that Sylvain adores so much. Right now, it’s the gaze that Felix uses whenever his curiosity is piqued but he knows not to push any boundaries. It’s because Felix knows when to push and pull, and how to follow the ebb and flow of his mind that Sylvain loves him with every fibre of his being.

“Just thinking,” he hums. He drags a dirt streaked hand through his hair and ignores the grimy feel of the sunset locks. “About how you’re the only family I have. The only family I want.” He clarifies when he sees the strange look on Felix’s face where he is stirring the can of soup over a pitiful fire.

They are silent for a while, letting only the wind whistling through the empty rafters overhead fill the gaps between them. If they were anyone else, the loud echoey hall would have allowed loneliness to slip its way into their space, but they’re not; they’re Felix and Sylvain, the two boys turned men who have always been at each other’s sides from diapers to survivors.

“You’re my family too.”

It’s only a whisper, but Sylvain hears the declaration clear as day and it sends his heart soaring to heights that are only possible whenever Felix is involved. So high, that a random thought manages to worm its way into his head and burrow itself deeper and deeper until Sylvain cannot help but blurt out:

“Have you ever thought about getting married? Us, I mean?”

Felix startles for a moment, staring at him with wide eyes and Sylvain can see the beginnings of a blush sneak its way up his turtleneck collar.

“What?”

“Have you ever thought about us getting married?”

“Where is this coming from? In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of a zombie apocalypse here.”

Felix isn’t wrong, but his flaw was that he could never really see beyond the immediate task. Which is exactly why they worked so well together – Sylvain, admittedly, was all about smelling the flowers and walking wherever his path took him, while Felix had the discipline and determination to focus in one goal and hound it with unwavering precision.

Instead of answer, Sylvain walks up to the altar at the front of the room and lays a hand against the podium, his fingers dragging through the thick layer of dust and debris, leaving behind a trail of shiny wood that peaked at him from below.

“I’ve always dreamed of marrying you, you know.”

The admission slips from his lips like a dew drop off a petal, slowly at first, but then falling to gravity and splattering on the floor between them leaving moisture pooling at the corners of Felix’s eyes.

“You… wanted to marry me?”

It’s unfathomable. It’s outlandish and impossible and all things incomprehensible but God, if Felix doesn’t want it with a burning passion that threatens to disintegrate him from the inside out.

“Want to marry you. Still do.” Sylvain flashes him that crooked grin that he loves oh so much. So much so that his heart rends every time he sees it and fills him with so much love that he finds himself uncharacteristically stepping off the metaphorical ledge and praying that he can fly with his next words.

“Sylvain. Marry me. Right here, right now.”

This time it’s the red head’s turn to gawk and splutter, and damn if it doesn’t fill Felix with a giddy smugness.

“I’m sorry. What?”

“You heard me. Marry me. We’re in a church aren’t we? Isn’t that all churches are good for?”

Sylvain wants to scold him and tell him that churches are also for praying, but bites his tongue on the bitterness that begins to coat it; Sylvain used to pray, but what’s the point when no one really listens?

(Byleth wants to go to them. She really, truly, does. But even a Goddess is not all powerful.)

Instead, Sylvain wordlessly extends his hand towards Felix and pointedly keeps his gaze to the crumbling statue of Mother Mary and the large cross that hangs ominously over their heads. When he finally feels familiar calloused hands in his, he pulls and Felix allows himself to fall into warm arms that have made him feel loved for so many years.

“Felix Hugo Fraldarius. Words cannot describe how much I love you. You’ve always been there by my side, through thick and thin, and honestly, I don’t really deserve you. But I vow to keep striving to become a person who is worthy of your love. I vow to live my life to the fullest everyday to become a better person for you because you make me want to be a better person.”

Each promise is punctuated with a chaste peck on the lips, each filled with more love than the last until Sylvain is murmuring his words against the plushness of Felix’s mouth.

“I vow to love you until the day I die and to protect you with everything that I am. You are my family, Fe. You are my home. And I will always come back to you – no matter where, when, or what world; I swear, I will always find my way back to you.”

Felix buries one hand in the collar of Sylvain’s fur lined jacket while the other tangles in his hair, trying to desperately pull him closer even though they are already pressed up against each other, chest to chest and hip to hip.

“Sylvain Jose Gautier. You’re an absolute idiot if you don’t know how much I love you.”

(“Fe, why are you insulting me during our vows?” “shut up.”)

“We’ve known each other forever and sometimes I take for granted just how much of my life you occupy until you’re suddenly not there, and all I’m left with is loneliness and a giant Sylvain shaped hole where my heart should be. I vow to never take you for granted ever again, because despite what you think, you are worthy of love, Sylvain. And you deserve to be happy.”

Something wet plops onto Felix’s cheek but he pays it no mind and continues with his vows, keeping his temple pressed against Sylvain’s jawline and his eyes closed.

“I vow to live by your side for the rest of my days so that I can remind you of that when the voices in your head become too loud. But above all, I vow to love you in such a way that lets you be the Sylvain that you really are, wholly and unapologetically so that you never have to hide behind a fake smile ever again. You are my home, Sylvain. I’ll always come home to you.”

When Felix raises his gaze to look at Sylvain, he cannot help but smile fondly at the teary, lovestruck expression on his face.

“You don’t have to cry about it, dummy.” He says, even as he raises himself on his tip toes to kiss away the droplets clinging to wispy lashes.

They stay like that for what feels like an eternity, clinging to each other in this space that they have made their vows and tied their lives together in the way that they should have long ago. They continue holding each other even as the night falls and the chill settles in, and into the morning when the tell-tale sound of unearthly groaning arrives at their doorstep.

“You have my back?” Felix asks completely nonchalantly as he unsheathes his katana and falls into a battle stance that he has long since mastered from after school lessons and then polished in real life survival.

Sylvain grins at his husband from his position perched on the highest ground available, his rifle and scope already set up and a variety of other guns, locked and loaded, littered around him.

“Always.”

----

Byleth dreads the day that Felix and Sylvain’s souls reach the end of their life spans and fizzle into nothingness, dissolving back to the void from which all souls are created and returned. But until that day comes, she continues to watch over them as they are born, and as they grow and fall in love over and over again.

Sometimes she will be allowed to step in and take a more active role in their stories, but in the times that she cannot, she knows without a doubt that they’ll be okay.

Because, after all, even if they weren’t soulmates, Byleth knows without a shadow of a doubt that Felix will always choose Sylvain, and Sylvain will always find his way back home.

XxXxXxXxX

Want to get the latest updates on my progress and fic postings? Check out my writing twitter.

#sylvixweek2020 #writing prompt #marriage #sylvix #sylvain x felix #sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius #Fire Emblem Three Houses #fire emblem 3 houses #fe3h #ingrid galatea #hilda goneril #Claude von Riegan #byleth eisner #alternate universe #pirate au #zombie apocalypse au #canon universe

14 notes · View notes

foramomentonly · 4 years

Text

Nail in My Coffin, Part 8b

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

Part Seven

Summary: Alex and Kyle are fashion designers on a Next In Fashion style reality show. Michael is their model. Dom/sub elements. Prompt courtesy of @signoraviolettavalery .

Michael and Alex have semi-public sex. It’s smut, obviously.

TW: Semi-public sex, restraints

Author’s Note: This one got LONG. So this is part B and part A was posted simultaneously; this is a direct continuation. It’s still pretty long, NGL. Shout out to @jocarthage and the rest of my Discord fam for helping through the mechanics of chaise lounge chair sex!

He has a moment of indecision in front of the door to the dressing room, not sure if Alex would have unlocked it for him or would want him to knock. Finally, he raps his knuckles twice on the thin door. It opens swiftly, Michael catching only a flash of Alex’s form before he’s pulled into the room and pressed against the door, Alex reaching past him to turn the lock again as he slides his whole body flush against Michael’s. Michael’s greeting is swallowed by Alex’s mouth hot against his own, kissing him quick and dirty as he snakes a hand into Michael’s curls, makes a fist, and pulls. Michael hisses, head tugged back, and squeezes his eyes shut as he fights the hot pulse of arousal urging him to press back harder, to answer Alex’s desire with his own. He senses that he shouldn’t, not without a direct command from Alex. His eyes flutter open again slowly, and he gazes at Alex from beneath his lashes, view somewhat restricted by the angle at which Alex holds his head. Alex’s dark eyes are on him, deep and unreadable and probing. An impatient whine threatens to escape Michael’s mouth, and he bites down hard on his bottom lip to silence himself.

“Finally,” Alex whispers, “you’re all mine.”

Alex’s firm grip on Michael’s hip and his fist still clenched in Michael’s curls are all that hold him upright, Michael’s knees shaking unsteadily and shoulders slumping under the weight of Alex’s claim.

“Yours,” he breathes. “All yours. Always.”

Alex’s eyes flash blazing hot and he surges forward again, licking into Michael’s mouth and holding him steady in a tight, unforgiving grip. His kiss is biting, all teeth and firm, bruising pressure against Michael’s lips. Alex is less restrained than he’s ever been, bordering on aggressive, and Michael is both overwhelmed by the rough drag of Alex’s hands down his chest and concerned by the restless, frenetic energy he feels rolling off Alex in heavy waves. As if he senses Michael’s thoughts—or maybe he just recognizes that he’s toeing a very fine line—Alex pulls away, stepping back and pressing the pads of his fingers against Michael’s chest to preserve the distance he’s put between them.

“I think I’d like to be—firmer with you today,” Alex says, struggling to steady his breathing, to give them space to negotiate with clear heads. “I won’t hurt you. I will never lay a hand on you that way. Even light spanking is—I don’t do it. Do you understand?”

Michael nods.

“I want to direct you. Restrain you. M-maybe mark you up.” Alex’s eyes roam Michael’s face, searching for a reaction. “Tell me your color. For each.”

“Green,” Michael says steadily, “green, and red.”

Alex’s expression doesn’t change, except for a slight arch of a brow that encourages Michael to continue.

“My body is my job. I have to keep it professional,” he says. “Tell me you wouldn’t flip your shit if a model showed up cover in hickeys and scratches.”

Alex smiles.

“True,” he says. “And you don’t have to explain it to me. A red is a red. End of story.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

“What else do you want or not want right now?” Alex asks.

Michael chews his lip.

“You said restraints—” he begins slowly.

“Go on.”

Michael steadies himself with a deep breath.

“No belts,” he says, voice firm and low. “No leather anything.”

Alex’s mouth twitches, and Michael thinks Alex might understand on a deeper level than he anticipated, but he won’t make space for those thoughts in this moment.

“No belts, no leather,” Alex repeats, nodding his head in agreement. “Thank you for making that clear, sweetheart.”

“Then that’s it,” Michael says, looser already from Alex’s easy acceptance and praise. He catches Alex’s gaze and holds it as he adds in a low, teasing tone, “How do you want me, Captain?”

Alex licks his lips. His eyes are nearly black, dark irises swallowed by pupil, and his chest rises and falls heavily.

"Take off your pants and that fucking ridiculous underwear you were flashing the entire set earlier and sit on that chair," he directs, pointing to a low, armless chaise lounge chair with a cushioned seat pulled into the center of the room. "Don't you dare take off my shirt."

Alex’s eyes track his movements as Michael pulls off his boots and slides his jeans and underwear down in a single movement, stepping around the pile of his discarded clothes and lowering himself onto the chair. It’s designed for comfort and stability, with a tall, reclined back, a deep curve for knee support, and a long leg rest. The cushions are worn, soft on his thighs and calves as he swings his legs up. The arch of the body creates a deep seat that Michael sinks into easily. He rests his head on the back of the chair, curls squashed by the thick cushion, and locks eyes with Alex lazily, waiting.

“Perfect,” Alex breathes, and Michael’s breath hitches.

“Do you know what I’m going to do to you, Michael?”

He shakes his head slowly, cock twitching in anticipation. He knows what the chair’s design lends itself to, but it’s not his place to plan or to plot. Not here, with Alex standing so tall and straight before him, tactical and determined. Here he only has to wait and receive.

“I thought I’d ride you,” Alex says casually, ignoring Michael’s breathless groan. “I thought I’d tie your hands to the legs of that chair and sit on your cock and make you watch me, make you lay there and take it while I get myself off. Would you like that?”

“Fuck, yes, Alex.”

Alex’s smile is all teeth and hunger.

“Drop your arms to your sides,” he commands lightly, and Michael lets his arms hang heavy, even grips the flat, metal curve of the chair’s legs when his fingertips brush against them. Alex pulls two strips of fabric from his bag behind the chair—discarded cuttings, judging by their jagged edges and uneven sizes. He smirks when he turns in his squat and finds Michael already gripping the legs, and makes quick work of tying his wrists tight to the metal base of the chair.

“These okay?” he asks softly, caressing Michael’s skin just above the fabric where it’s looped and tied around his left wrist. “Not too tight?”

“No, no,” Michael replies. “They’re good.”

Alex moves to stand in front of Michael on the side of the chair, looks down at him with dark, shining eyes. Michael tries not to fidget, to be still as Alex’s gaze travels up from Michael’s ankle, catching on the muscles of his thighs, the heavy weight of his hard, leaking cock, and the taut stretch of his arms tied at his sides, before finally meeting his gaze.

“Look at you,” he purrs, and Michael’s eyes widen as he slowly pulls his shirt over his head and reaches for the button on his jeans, stripping himself bare as filth continues to pour from his lips. “All day, Michael. All day you were strutting around like a fucking peacock in your underwear, laughing and flirting, making me watch. All day I thought about this. Been hard since fucking noon for you.”

Michael digs his heels into the cushion to keep his hips from churning needily, head tilted back and practically drooling at Alex naked before him, stroking his thick cock and staring down at Michael.

“I prepped myself for you,” Alex tells him, and Michael whimpers Alex’s name like a prayer. “Three fingers deep thinking about how I was gonna make you mine, all mine when I got you alone. I’m ready for you, sweetheart.”

Alex doesn’t move, and Michael shifts his hips restlessly, begging, “Alex, please. Need you. Come on.”

Alex raises a brow and Michael freezes, bites his lip guiltily. After a beat, Alex slinks over to his bag again, tosses a small bottle of lube on the chair next to Michael and rips open a condom packet with his teeth. He rolls the condom onto Michael easily, squirting lube into his hand and jacking Michael’s neglected cock roughly when he moans at the feel of Alex’s fingers finally on him. Alex leans close, hot breath on Michael’s face, and nibbles on his bottom lip.

“Ready, sweetheart?”

Michael nods frantically and can’t help surging forward to kiss Alex hungrily, chasing him as far as his bound wrists will let him when Alex pulls away. Resting his hands on Michael’s shoulders for balance, Alex swings his prosthesis slowly over the chair to straddle Michael, shifting his weight carefully as he lowers himself down. The head of Michael’s cock catches on his rim and both men gasp, locking eyes as Alex reaches between them to grip Michael at the base and hold him steady as Alex sinks fully onto his lap. The only sounds in the room are their rapid breaths and the soft creak of the chair as Alex shifts, getting comfortable.

The chair is low enough that Alex’s feet are easily planted on either side and he sits snug in Michael’s lap, arms extended to grip the back of the chair on either side of Michael’s head for leverage. The recline of the seat creates more space between their upper bodies than Michael is used to, but as Alex sits tall, arching his back and grinning down at him, Michael realizes that the distance is just another of Alex’s machinations. He can see the full, gorgeous line of Alex’s lithe form, but their bodies touch only where they’re joined together.

The sight of Alex strong and bold before him and the tight heat of Alex clenching around him take Michael’s breath away, and then Alex moves his hips in a slow, languorous circle, dragging Michael’s cock across every inch of him, and Michael’s breath comes back to him in one loud gasp.

“Oh, fuck, that’s good,” Alex breathes, working his hips in the same motion again.

Michael’s knuckles are white from griping the base of the chair, his legs rendered mostly immobile by Alex’s weight on his thighs. He can only lay motionless, arching his back and neck, pressing the crown of his head against the back of the chair desperately and flopping back again against the cushion while Alex sets his own pace, moves exactly the way he wants to, and makes his own body sing. He uses the leverage of his hands on the chair and the strength in his legs to lift himself slowly up, only the head of Michael’s cock still inside him, and drop back down again, over and over as Michael moans and stares transfixed at the sight of Alex’s hole swallowing his cock inch by inch.

“You like that, sweetheart?” Alex asks as he rolls his whole body like a wave in Michael’s lap, moving his hands from the back of the chair to grip Michael’s shoulders, sliding up Michael’s neck and into his hair. Michael groans and turns his head, pushing his face into Alex’s open palm, mouthing and licking at his skin.

“Yeah,” he manages to whine against Alex’s hand. “Please, baby. Please.”

Alex’s steady grinding stutters and starts anew, his mouth dropping open as Michael’s cock brushes against his prostate.

“What do you need?” he pants, taking Michael’s chin in his now soaked hand and turning his head to look him in the eye. Michael groans, overwhelmed, and Alex only rides him harder, squeezes his chin tighter. “Use your words, sweetheart. Come on.”

“J-just fuck me,” Michael babbles, losing coherency as his head swims and his fingers begin to tingle at the wet heat of Alex moving relentlessly up and down on his cock. “Use me, God. Want everyone to know—”

“Scream for me,” Alex says suddenly, voice deep and ragged.

“Yeah,” Michael breathes, then tips his head back and cries, ‘Fuck, yeah. Alex,” as Alex deliberately clenches around him, working his swollen cock in a frenetic rhythm.

Alex is a hot vice around him, and the complete lack of sensation on the rest of his body only heightens the feel of Alex in his lap, riding him relentlessly. He feels the slide of Alex’s ass and thighs against him, the weight of him heavy and warm in his lap, Alex’s nails blunt through his borrowed t-shirt as Alex drags his hand down Michael’s chest.

“Let ‘em hear you,” Alex pants, taking a fistful of his t-shirt in one hand and leaning slightly back to get Michael’s cock against his sweet spot again. He moans and Michael moans louder, tries to take Alex’s cock in his hand and growls when the bindings he somehow managed to forget about completely hold him back.

“Come on, baby,” he begs as Alex drops his head back and whines. He’s close, Michael can tell he’s a few strokes away from coming apart, and he’s hungry for it, desperate to see how good he can be for Alex. He takes a chance and pumps his hips, works them harder when Alex only moans in response. “Touch yourself, come on my cock, please.”

Alex is grinding deep, single-minded now as he chases his orgasm, little moans escaping his lips as Michael’s cock brushes his swollen gland over and over. He takes himself in hand and strokes roughly, squeezing and twisting, and Michael doesn’t know whether to watch his face as he comes apart or stare at his thick cock, head peaking out through his fingers.

“Mine,” Alex growls roughly, gripping Michael’s shirt tighter, and comes with a shout, cock pulsing and thick ropes of cum dripping between them. The squeeze around Michael’s cock and the gravel of Alex’s voice pushes him suddenly and unexpectedly over the edge, and he comes with Alex, groaning long and loud. Alex tips forward, body boneless, and rests his forehead against Michael’s, gazing into his hazy, hooded eyes before kissing him sloppy and off-center.

“Wanna touch you, Alex, please,” Michael whimpers as soon as they pull apart, tugging on the bindings to remind him. Alex nods, pressing his palms into Michael’s shoulders again as he rises slowly and brings his leg over the chair. He pulls a pair of scissors out of his bag and simply cuts Michael free, gently rubbing each wrist where the skin is pink and indented from the squeeze of the fabric. Once he’s out of his restraints, Michael catches Alex’s wrist and tries to pull him toward the chair, rolling onto his side and scooting his body to one edge of the chaise.

“Come ‘ere,” he pleads, and Alex twists his wrist to take Michael’s hand in his, kissing it.

“Give me a minute,” he breathes, and drops the scissors back into his bag, searching inside of it for a moment before pulling out a pack of wipes and rolls Michael briefly onto his back, removing the condom and wiping him clean; he scrubs off his own abdomen, as well, before throwing everything in the trash. Finally, Alex maneuvers himself onto the chair next to Michael, sliding his arm under Michael’s neck and pulling him close, cradling his head in the crook of his elbow. Michael latches onto him, touch-starved and trembling, hitching his leg over Alex’s hip and pressing their bodies together from shin to forehead. He smacks wet kisses to Alex's lips, even as Alex tries to speak.

"How d-"

kiss

"How do you f-umph"

kiss, kiss

"How do you feel?" Alex finally manages to get out.

Michael hums and presses himself impossibly closer, sated and indolent with Alex so close.

“Mmmm, I feel like my boyfriend is a sex god,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against Alex’s as Alex chuckles. “And I feel like I’m totally, completely, publicly his.”

Alex grips his thigh where it rests atop his hip, digging his fingertips into Michael’s flesh as tight as he dares without worrying he’ll leave any type of mark.

“Damn right,” he growls.

Michael groans when Alex pulls him that much closer, pressing Michael’s oversensitive cock against his thigh in the process, the sharp sensation of pleasure mixed with overstimulation shooting up his spine. Alex whispers an apology, running a soothing hand up Michael’s arm.

“Who knew you had such a possession kink,” Michael breathes, leaning in to kiss Alex with a smile, but Alex pulls back, brow furrowing and a frown pulling at his lips.

“I-I’m sorry,” he says, “I really don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

Michael stares at him wordlessly, and Alex looks away, worries his bottom lip between his teeth and stumbles on.

“I need you to know that I’m not—I don’t want that in our relationship. I want you to feel like you can be yourself and be free, and not worry that I’m—I’m not that person.”

Alex meets his eyes, desperate and so sincere, and Michael won’t say he loves him, not here. Alex deserves a grand declaration, an intimate setting with soft lighting and music, not crammed onto a communal lounge chair together, post-coital with their pants off. But Michael feels it, so deeply in this moment he can’t breathe, and he brushes his thumb across Alex’s cheek and thinks, I love you, you idiot.

“Alex, I know that’s not you,” he laughs. “This was a scene. And it was hot as fuck. But it’s not who you are.”

Alex shakes his head.

“Those weren’t just words,” he insists. “I felt that today. I watched you and I felt proud, of course I did, but I also—I was fucking seething all day, Michael, I don’t understand-”

“Alex,” Michael interrupts, lays a finger over his lips. “I wanted you to feel that way. I’m not saying I don’t act like that on a regular basis, but I felt you watching me all day. And I liked it. I was playing it up, playing with you. For you.” He leans in, presses a lingering kiss to Alex’s lips. “I get to be every part of myself with you. You make me feel free and owned.”

Alex’s eyes fall closed and Michael waits as he works through whatever lingering doubts his treacherous mind is holding tight to. He’s perfectly still, Alex’s fingers in his hair scratching at his scalp the only indication he hasn’t fallen asleep. When he opens his eyes, he’s laser focused, searching Michael’s face for any hint of deception.

“You sure?” he breathes, and Michael nods easily. Alex presses his brow to Michael’s gently, breathing out slow and steady, and he smiles.

“You are so good for me,” he whispers, and Michael melts into him, relishing the heat of Alex’s skin and the heady air passing between them as they breathe, neither willing to turn away.

“Just for you,” he replies with the air of a promise, or a vow.

#malex #malex fic #rnm #rnm fic #malex fashion au #d/s elements #alex manes #michael guerin #kyle valenti #rosa ortecho #my fic #malex smut #tw: restraints #tw: semi-public sex

34 notes · View notes

sinemoras09 · 4 years

Text

solatium excerpt: personality

More ficlets: Obito and Kakashi fight over barbecue. Obito deals with Madara, and then zombies. Kakashi makes fun of Obito’s wardrobe. Rin and Obito share an inside joke. Rin helps Obito after a bad day. Fluff and crack. @innovativestruggles

(Series of unrelated ficlets. Obito is Hokage. Rin is resurrected and living with him. Madara is married to fem Hashi and has a boatload of kids. Ficlet #7 references the marriage certificate drabble.)

----

She was Obito’s guardian spirit, but sometimes Kakashi would pray in front of her headstone, and Rin would feel her consciousness being ripped away from him. All at once she'd be in the middle of a bright, grassy field, the sun shining on the graveyard while Kakashi laid flowers and an ero book as an offering. "It's a new volume, Rin," Kakashi would say, because she was the one who read ero books first, and he'd set the book down in front of her grave.

Rin would look around and see blue skies and white clouds, birds singing overhead. And then she'd feel Obito calling to her again, and all at once she'd be transported, find herself in dark spaces, cold air and claustrophobic cliffs, Obito having killed another person, blood dripping down his arm as he looked up at the slate gray sky, the rain sluicing down his mask like tears. She followed him all those years because he always spoke to her - when he felt lonely, when he felt uncertain and overwhelmed - and even if she’d start to fade or drift away, she'd feel her consciousness being called toward him again.

They were transported to the gravity dimension. Rin watched, horror-struck, as Obito and Kakashi both fell to their knees, unable to stand up.

A chakra rod shot through the air, moving as if being dragged through thick molasses. She saw Kakashi and Obito running. At least let me be a shield for them! If I could just make it in time--

Rin could hear their prayers.

Her consciousness spread far, able to reach both Kakashi and Obito from across the gravity field. Her hands clasped both of theirs, and she made contact - her spirit, which was weightless and formless, suddenly had heft in this dimension, and as soon as she grabbed their hands she ran, yanking them toward the center, helping them.

I'm going to see my friends again, Rin thought. The chakra rods were hurtling towards them. I'm going to see my friends again and I could talk to both of them!

But the rod heading toward Kakashi started to swirl, and Rin could hear Obito's thoughts, just like she always did.

Rin. This time, when I get there...let's spend some time alone together, just you and me....

The rod smashed into Obito's stomach.

Kakashi would only be in the way. I'm leaving him here.

*****

The three of them are sitting over barbecue, Kakashi in charge of the meat because Obito kept taking it out too early. "That's not ready to eat, you need to let it cook more," Kakashi says, and Rin giggles as Obito grumbles that Kakashi is being a pain in the ass.

The meat sizzles. Rin picks up her glass, taking a drink of water when Kakashi asks, "Rin. Was that really you back there, in the gravity dimension?"

Obito looks up. Kakashi doesn't look at either of them, concentrating on flipping over the pieces of meat with his chopsticks. "Kaguya had launched chakra rods toward Naruto and Sasuke, and Obito and I were trying to get there in time to block them--"

"I was there, I know," Rin says. Kakashi sits back, surprised.

"Really?" Kakashi says.

"You two weren't going to make it on time, and all of a sudden my spirit had weight. I grabbed you both and pulled you there."

"Amazing." Kakashi looks at Rin, awestruck. "So you really were following him?"

"Mostly. Sometimes I'd hear you talking to me, though, and then I'd find myself back in Konoha again." Rin picks up her chopstick, then turns a piece of meat in front of her. She frowns, thoughtfully. "It was always such a change," Rin says. "Konoha was so bright, every time I'd find myself there, I'd think maybe I was in paradise. But then Obito would call to me, and it'd be like we were underground again, everything was so dark and cold and lonely. I wished I could actually be there with him."

Obito gives her a small smile. Rin rubs his arm, scooting next to him.

"Anyway, yeah," Rin says. She plucks out a piece of meat. "That was me."

"Amazing," Kakashi says again. Obito's eyes widen.

"Oi! The meat's burning!" Obito starts pulling the meat up with his chopsticks. "Bakakashi, this is why you shouldn't be in charge of grilling--"

"Wha- if you were in charge everything we'd eat would be raw!"

"Why does anyone have to be in charge anyway?" Rin says, because she was actually paying attention to the grill, her meat is cooked perfectly.

*****

If people didn't know any better - if they hadn't known Kakashi and Obito when they were kids, like Rin did - they would assume that Kakashi is the laid back one, while Obito is the serious one.

Rin watches, growing more and more amused as they slowly revert back to their old personalities, arguing over something as stupid as barbecue.

"No, Obito, it's not done yet, put it back," Kakashi says. He flips over the menu, showing them. "The rules here say you need to let it cook for at least three minutes--"

"You cook it until it's not red, I don't like eating meat that's turned into jerky," Obito says. Kakashi huffs.

"We listen to you, and we're all going to get food poisoning," Kakashi says. "It even says right here that--"

"That's just a guideline," Obito says.

"What?" Kakashi says.

"It's an approximation. The heat varies. The conductive capabilities of the grill can change. Also, the meat's not red." Obito plucks the piece out with his chopsticks.

Kakashi's eyes widen. "Baka! There's still blood on it!"

"It's medium rare."

"You order steak medium rare, you idiot, you're gonna make yourself sick!"

Rin starts giggling. The two men turn.

"Obito, you see that?" Kakashi says. "Rin is laughing because you're being stupid."

Obito grumbles, "You're the one who's stupid."

"You're both stupid," Rin says. She picks up her chopsticks. "I'm putting meat on the grill."

*****

Even with chaperones, Madara still causes problems.

"We're so sorry, Obito-san! But Madara-ojiichan acted so fast, we couldn't stop him, dattebayo!" Naruto says. Gai hangs his head.

"I am ashamed to say it, but even my Dynamic Entry of Heart-Pounding Love wasn't enough to stop him."

"It's alright, Gai, Naruto," Obito says. He glares at Madara. "This isn't your fault." Madara rolls his eyes extravagantly.

"To think that I have sunk so low as to be lectured by my idiot apprentice. There is nothing to talk about. There were no casualties," Madara says. "The only reason why I've deigned to come here is because of Hashirama."

Hashi elbows him in the ribs. Madara sniffs arrogantly.

"Madara: why the hell would you perform a fire jutsu of that size and magnitude in the middle of an elementary school playground? And then activate your Susanoo and then forcibly draw out and ride around on the Kyuubi?" In fact, there were multiple reports of Madara rampaging at the playground, riding on the Kyuubi with Naruto getting dragged along in the background. Madara shrugs.

"The idiot behind me makes it so easy, you should be talking to him," Madara says.

"Why?" Obito says. Madara crosses his arms.

"Uchiha Madara is not just some house husband."

"Oh god," Hashi says.

"That pissant father needed to be taught a lesson, and so I taught it well. He now knows never to cross me."

Hashi clarifies. "His kids were hogging the swings," Hashi says.

"This was over swings?" Obito says.

"A territorial dispute that could only be solved by a display of force." Madara crosses his arms. "I believe I schooled him thoroughly."

"I'm so sorry. They've been fighting over playground equipment for weeks, I didn't think it'd go this far, otherwise I would have gone with him," Hashi says.

Obito sighs. "At the very least, it appears nothing was damaged--"

"Of course nothing was damaged. I was in complete control at all times. And yet you call me in here like some apprehensive school marm."

*****

"Hokage-sama! We have a problem!"

"What is it?" Obito says. The shinobi rests his hands on his knees, breathless.

"There are zombies that have taken over the civilian quarter!"

"What?" Obito says.

*****

"I'm so sorry!" Hashi says. Their neighbors are cowering in Madara's Susanoo while Hashi tries sequestering the undead nin she tried bringing back. "It worked with Izuna and Rin, I thought I could bring everybody back--"

"Raaaaar!" Zombies burst through the fence, making their neighbors scream. Madara knocks them down with his battle fan.

Obito stares. "How many did you resurrect?" he says. Hashi thinks.

"Um, I think the entire shinobi army? And I tried resurrecting Minato's wife, too."

"Ahhhhh!" another zombie says. Madara kicks him in the throat and punches another one behind him.

*****

"YOSH! Who's ready to kick some zombie ass, dattebayo!"

Ino shrieks. "It's Neji! Naruto-kun! Neji's a zombie!"

Minato pushes Kushina back, his hand flat against her forehead. "This is bad," Minato says. Kushina flails, then bares her teeth at him. "This is really bad."

In the middle of it all, Uchiha Itachi stands in the civilian quarter, cracks in his skin and his sclera blackened, looking thoroughly confused.

Sasuke gasps, "Nii-san! You're not a zombie?!"

"No, I am merely undead." Itachi frowns, looking at the chaos around him. "Is the war still ongoing? Are they attacking the village?"

"RAWR!" a zombie smashes through the glass window of a cake shop, then begins stuffing its face with pastry.

"Nevermind, Little Brother, I think I know the answer."

*****

Obito walks through the village, assessing the damage. What was once the civilian square is now a bombed-out waste, buildings crumbling and the streets covered in detritus and broken glass. "Do we have any casualties?" Obito asks. Shizune flips through her notepad.

"74 people injured, zero fatalities. But reports of missing persons are still trickling in, and the damage to the village's infrastructure is quite immense."

"Tch." Obito rubs his head.

It took a platoon of ANBU nin to herd the zombies into the forest, where Hashi sealed them with her Mokuton prison. There, Itachi showed her how to negate the jutsu, and after weaving a few hand seals, the zombie nin crumbled into dust and ash. ("Won't canceling the Edo Tensei affect you too?" Hashi asked Itachi. Itachi shook his head.

"I released myself from that jutsu awhile ago."

"Oh, okay. Cool.")

"Were any houses in the residential areas affected?" Obito asks. The ANBU nin nods.

"Approximately ten percent of civilian housing got razed by the zombie attack. Most of the damage seems to be confined to the commercial areas, but we have a team already mobilizing an emergency shelter in case any residents are displaced."

"Good," Obito says. "Notify the village council. The villagers will need disaster relief. We'll have to figure out how to re-allocate funds to provide adequate aid."

"Yes, Hokage-sama." And the ANBU nin disappears into the smoke.

Outside, the civilians venture out, cleaning debris and sweeping the dust and detritus. Obito and Kakashi stand in the middle of the civilian town center, looking at the smashed up windows and thick columns of smoke.

"Wow, what a shit show," Kakashi says. He glances at Obito. "They're gonna blame you because you're Hokage, you know."

Above them, a piece of roof falls after catching on fire.

*****

"Madara is Hokage?!" Itachi's eyes widen. His hand grips his sword.

"Worry not, Little Brother," Itachi says, and he pulls out his sword in one fluid motion. "I will do what I should have done a long time ago."

"Wait wait wait wait WAIT Itachi NO!" Naruto and Sasuke have to physically block Itachi from leaving. Itachi whips around.

"What is the matter with you two? Are you under his genjutsu? Let me feel your chakra, he may have disturbed its flow--"

"That's not the real Madara dattebayo, that's the real Madara," and Naruto points to a man with a bunch of kids strapped to him, a baby chewing on his battle fan and a toddler walking on a leash. "The guy you thought was Madara is really a guy named Obito."

"What?" Itachi says. Naruto nods vigorously.

"Yeah! Old Man Madara activated the Moon's Eye, but instead of creating a new reality, he grew this giant tree that cocooned everyone and sucked up all the chakra from all the shinobi! And then this biiiiiig alien lady came and I guess she was some kind of goddess or somethin' and we all thought we were screwed but Obito woke up and was like 'what the heck is happening,' and then he HELPED US, Itachi! An' then we went to a gravity dimension and a fire dimension and Sasuke was trapped in this DESERT dimension but Obito found us and she threw these chakra rods at us but then he jumped in front of us, dattebayo!"

Itachi blinks. He turns to Sasuke.

"Can you genjutsu me with the information?"

"Yeah, sure."

*****

"You should dye your hair," Kakashi says, apropos of nothing. Obito furrows his brow.

"What, why?"

"Because for most people, white hair is distinguished, but on you it just looks weird."

Obito frowns.

*****

"Eh? Dye your hair?" Rin looks up. "Why?"

"Kakashi seems to think I look weird. That maybe I wouldn't scare off the delegates as much if I dyed my hair and used foundation on my neck and hand."

Rin looks. It's true, the patches of cloned skin can look a bit off-putting. His hand and neck are the color of an etiolated egg, translucent and criss-crossed with fine, purplish veins. And that isn't even taking into account the scars on his face, which are jarring even on a good day. Rin frowns at him. "Wouldn't the foundation rub off on your clothes, though?"

"I don't know, would it?"

"Here," she says, and she rummages through her makeup bag.

*****

On a whim, Rin goes to the convenience store to pick up some hair dye.

"I got a couple boxes so you can pick out the best color black," Rin says. Obito frowns at her.

"There's different colors of black?"

"Apparently there is."

"I feel idiotic," Obito says. Rin sets down her bag.

"For the record, I don't think you have to do this. I think your hair looks fine the way it is."

They both look at the box. "This seems complicated," Obito says.

He doesn't dye his hair.

****

Obito doesn't wear the Hokage robes.

He doesn't wear the robes. He doesn't wear the cape. He doesn't even wear the hat, even if ceremonial circumstances dictate it: he'll only hold it gingerly and then pawn it off to Kakashi. Kakashi turns the hat over in his hands, frowning. "Obito. You can't tell me wearing this hat is any worse than wearing those masks."

Obito doesn't look up from his papers. "I don't like things sitting on top of my head."

Kakashi blinks. The boulders. Right.

Kakashi leans back, looking at him. He's wearing the standard green flak jacket, but beneath that he's dressed the way he used to dress when he pretended to be Madara - black pants and a black shirt that covers his neck up to the chin, and he puts on black gloves if there's a visitor. All he would need is his orange mask.

Kakashi knows without asking why he's wearing gloves and a turtleneck - half of Obito's neck and his entire right hand is made of Hashirama's cells, so the color contrast between his face and the rest of his body is jarring.

"Obito. What did you do with all those masks, anyway?"

He turns a page. "I burned them."

"Ah."

There's only the sound of Obito's pen writing on paper.

"You really should dye your hair," Kakashi says. Obito sets his pen down and frowns at him.

*****

"EH?! Kakashi why do you have to keep picking on him?!" Rin says.

Kakashi raises his hands. "Hold on a minute, Rin-chan--"

"You're such a jerk! Obito is working really hard and all you do is make fun of him!"

Obito shakes his head. "This is word for word the same conversation we had as kids," Obito says. Kakashi and Rin turn.

"Really?" Rin says. Obito nods. Rin whirls around toward Kakashi.

"Kakashi you grew up into a jerk!"

A sweatdrop forms on Kakashi's brow "O-oi."

"Picking on Obito just because he looks weird! He can't help it!" Rin says. (She said something similar when they were kids: "Kakashi you're a jerk! Picking on Obito just because he cries a lot! He can't help it!")

"This is making me nostalgic," Minato says.

*****

"Why do you have to keep picking on him? Obito is working really hard! Just because he still can't do basic ninjutsu doesn't mean you can make fun of him!"

*****

"Kakashi be nice! So what if he cries a lot? He can't help it! He's sensitive!"

*****

"Why do you have to be such a jerk, Kakashi?! Just because he lost six times in a row doesn't mean you get to make fun of him!"

*****

"Kakashi this is like making fun of a baby, stop it!"

*****

"I mean, it's okay, not everyone gets it on the first try." A beat. "You've been working on this for a month?"

*****

"Don't apologize, Obito, I don't mind treating your wounds. You're the reason why I'm so good at suturing!"

*****

"Ne, Obito. Do you think Kakashi likes me?" (Proceeds to wax poetic about Kakashi for half an hour).

*****

The genjutsu ends. “Sorry,” Rin says.

*****

They're sitting on the couch, watching a movie, when Rin leans over.

"Ne, Obito?"

"Hm?"

"Please deactivate your ninja eyes!"

Obito starts laughing. Rin giggles and snuggles against his shoulder.

*****

It becomes an inside joke: Rin will be walking past him in the kitchen, or sitting next to him on the couch, when she'll lean over him and say, "Please deactivate your ninja eyes!"

Invariably, it makes Obito crack up, and Rin will give him a mock serious look and tell him, "Sir! Deactivate your ninja eyes! This is no laughing matter!" and it's so stupid they both end up laughing.

It's the only time Rin's seen him laugh.

*****

The Daimyo of the Land of Water is demanding reparations, and so Obito dips into his secret accounts, various Akatsuki holdings that he had disclosed to the Five Nations prior to becoming Hokage. "We demand recompense," a Kirigakure representative says. "Uchiha Obito stole from our country, depleting our wealth and lining the coffers of the Akatsuki with our money. It isn't fair that the Akatsuki's war chest be split up among the five nations at Kirigakure's expense. And lest we forget, he murdered hundreds of shinobi under the guise of being the Mizukage."

Obito stares at them, incredulous. "We already paid everything back with interest," Obito says. He gestures to the other kage. "We already agreed that what is left should go to the other four villages, Konoha included. Tsunade-sama signed the pact."

The Mizukage sniffs. "I see no reason why Konoha should profit."

Obito snaps, "The matter was settled, why is this being brought up again?"

The other kages glance uneasily at each other.

Obito sits heavily on the bed, head in his hands, frustrated. If they don't clinch the trade deal with the civilian village, Konoha will be thrown into debt. Rin sits next to him, touching his arm. "Everything okay?" she says. Wordlessly Obito lists sideways, leaning against her.

He genjutsus her and shows her the whole disastrous meeting, and Rin responds by pursing her lips and resting her hand on his head. "They haven't voted on it yet," Rin says. "Gaara and Darui openly said they'd support you."

"Onoki is still afraid I'm acting as Madara's puppet." Obito sighs, heavily. "There's only four of them and I can't vote on this, we're at a diplomatic standstill."

She rubs his back, and she can feel him start to relax. He plops his head face-first into her shoulder.

Rin lets out a startled laugh, "Obito!"

"Would it be terrible if I just genjutsu them?" His voice is muffled by her shirt. "It would be easy. No one would know."

"I thought you were trying to be a good person?" She rubs soothing circles by the nape of his neck. He moves his head to look up at her.

He reaches up, then tucks back a strand of hair that had fallen by her cheek, the tips of his fingers lightly brushing her temple. His eyes are soft. He smiles at her.

Rin gives him a puzzled smile. "What is it?" she says. Obito searches her eyes quietly.

He rests his head onto her lap, and Rin responds by resting her hand on his head, letting her fingers lightly scratch his scalp as he curls up on his side.

"Rin?"

"Yeah?"

"What would you have done if I did this when we were kids?" Obito says. Rin considers, bowing her head downward to look at him.

"I don't know," Rin says. She cards her fingers through his hair. "Probably freak out."

"Heh. I figured."

"No! I mean, I'd think that you were really injured, like maybe you were too orthostatic to keep sitting up."

Obito laughs. Rin responds by wiggling out from under his head and flopping down next to him.

They rearrange themselves so that Rin is lying on the left side of his chest, resting her head against his shoulder. Obito wraps his arms around her, propping his body slightly to the side so that he's not quite flat on his back. Rin fits her body against his, curling up into the concave hollow of his chest. He feels good and warm and she nuzzles her face against him.

"You know, I thought you'd be more upset about this," Rin says. Obito hugs her.

"I guess I haven't had much time to think about it," Obito says, and Rin realizes she's just brought up painful memories again. She sits up and starts to apologize, but Obito hugs her closer. "I tried negotiating with Onoki one-on-one. The Land of Earth is suffering crop damage from a massive drought, so I offered to open up bilateral trade agreements between their village and ours in return for his vote. He refused, and then he ratted me out to the other kage, claiming I was trying to influence him. I can't even be mad, because I was," Obito says.

"What would you do if you were in the Akatsuki?" Rin asks.

"Genjutsu them. Take I want. Maybe install a subordinate to infiltrate them. Start a whisper campaign in favor of our vote. And if that didn't work, I'd probably send one of the teams to kill them. I'd make it look like an accident, of course," Obito says, and he shifts to look at her. "Onoki would be easy. He's old - all I'd have to do is imply that he needs to do something to protect his legacy. 'Your village is suffering, and on your deathbed you will look back and have nothing but regret. Think about it,' I'd say, and then I'd disappear and let him mull it over."

"So what are you doing now?"

"Trying to convince everyone that I'm harmless and that I'm trying to do the best for the village. Ironic, because the village council doesn't trust me, either." He shifts Rin closer to his chest, then squeezes her fondly. "It's one of the reasons why I'm trying to bring the civilian villages into the fold. They don't know me. Granted, they know I have the Sharingan and they're afraid of me, but it's for an entirely different reason."

Rin feels herself start to drowse. His voice is soothing. He feels comfortable and warm and the entire time he's been talking, he's been absently running his fingertips up and down the skin of her arm. She feels him rest his cheek on her forehead. She smiles and presses a soft kiss against his throat, cuddling him sleepily. "Maybe you should listen to Kakashi," Rin says.

"What about Kakashi?"

"Wear makeup and dye your hair."

Obito scoffs. "Bakakashi is a pain in the ass."

Rin giggles. Obito reaches across her body to switch off the lamp, then shifts her weight, pulling the blankets over the both of them.

Like every night, Obito is the big spoon. Rin curls up on her side and Obito cups his body against hers, his arm draping across her torso and pulling her to his chest. He doesn't say it, but Rin knows he takes comfort in this, being able to hold her and cuddle her the rest of the night. Every so often he'll nuzzle his face into her neck or brush a soft kiss against her nape. Before, he rarely slept, relying on Hashirama's cells and sheer willpower to stay awake. He used to have nightmares, dreams where the walls would suddenly cave in, where the people he killed rose up to accuse him. Frequently he dreamt of Rin's death, and it would be as if he'd witnessed it all over again.

Sleep is comforting now, because he can sleep next to Rin, can feel her move and stir against him.

There is another round of negotiations, and Obito is caught off-guard when an Iwagakure representative asks him about the possibility of a bilateral trade agreement. Obito looks up and sees Onoki scowling, his arms crossed and his face pinched. He sees Obito and looks away dismissively. "I'm doing this for my village," Onoki says. His cape flutters as he floats over, scowling. "That's the only reason you've got my vote."

"Thank you," Obito says, and his face brightens. The other kage look and whisper to themselves. They had never seen the Sixth Hokage crack a smile.

#lol okay that was the last one #sorry for the fic spam #i don't normally post all this stuff here #but since i had the other stuff i thought why not #birdsong #solatium #obirin #uchiha obito #nohara rin #my crappy fic

12 notes · View notes