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aerynwrites · 24 days ago

Text

Give

King!John Price x Fem!Reader

A/N: It's FINALLY here holy shit y'all. sorry for the delay, it was just slow going mainly bc i got stuck on the smut lmao. SO, i just decided to post the bulk of the story now and then post a second smutty part later. I hope you all enjoy, and as usual I love to hear what you guys think!! Comments, reblogs and such are greatly appreacited. Also: this fic was inspired by the song Give by Sleep token as well as the song Kingdom of cards by Bad Omens! Word Count: 7.6k (oops) Warnings: Arranged marriage, mentions of past abuse to reader, reader's father is abusive, hurt/comfort, soft john price, mentions of consummation, fluff, just so much fluff.

The room is eerily silent, the complete opposite of what you expected on a day like this.

Your wedding day.

Your mother had stepped out once the handmaid that was provided to you had finished helping you with your dress - panicked when she couldn’t find the veil that she was passing down to you. Your father had entered as soon as your mother had left, and you dared not break the silence first. You know what will happen if you do.

But you can’t stop the way you fidget, wiping your hands down the front of the bodice of your dress, tugging at the fingers of your silk gloves. You hate wearing gloves, they itch and they are too warm - but your father insisted, hand raised threatening above his head when you almost muttered a complaint.

So. You’re wearing the gloves -

“Stop fidgeting,” your father bites, standing abruptly from the armchair in the corner to storm over to you.

The flinch that jolts your body is instantaneous, shying away from the storm of a man approaching you. The only reason you don’t shield yourself is because even you know he won’t do anything. Not today at least.

Can’t risk marking up the wares.

But it doesn’t stop him from gripping your arm like a vice, his nails digging into your skin beneath the delicate fabric of the ornate gown. You choke down the whimper, but fail to hide the fear you know is present in your gaze as you stare up at your oppressor.

“You will not ruin this for us,” he all but hisses. “I understand that decorum is a foreign concept to you, but if you so much as think about sabotaging this - me - I will-”

“I found it!” Your mother calls from the other side of the door, her voice shoving your father away from you like a storm would a willow branch.

She breezes into the room with an elegance you could never hope to match, a beauty you could never achieve - at least according to your father. She smiles at you, and you don’t fail to notice the way she takes in your shrunken appearance, the tense in your shoulders, before her eyes flicker to her husband.

She knows. She’s known the whole time - for she bears the scars too.

Her smile becomes tight, but she doesn’t say anything, just comes to you with the veil raised in her hands. It’s floor length, the back so long it trails even past your dress train, the lace details so intricate you can’t imagine how long it took the original creator to tailor it. it has a front piece as well that drapes in front of your face, falling to just above your collar bone where it will stay until your future husband unveils you.

The king.

You have to fight the shudder that threatens to run through you at the thought. You’ve only met him once, and at the time neither of you knew you would end up wedding one another. The King rules over the land, but there are many territories, many clans - his the most fearsome of all. You’d heard whispers through your childhood of the ruthlessness of the capitol city in which the King resides. Its citizens were born and bred to fight - knights and soldiers trained to kill.

Your father’s words ring in your ears as your mother fixes your veil to your head, fussing with the fabric.

‘If you even think about sabotaging me…’

Any sane person would. They would probably try to run for the hills when they found out they were to wed the ruthless King, a king that has never lost a battle, a King whose Kings-guard have a reputation of gutting those who dare defy him.

But not you. Little did your father know that you would do everything in your power to escape him.

For even death must be a better sentence than your life back home.

——

Every woman you’d spoken to back home always talked about their nerves on their wedding day. Some from fear, some from joy or just pure excitement. Some of them talked of the way they got sick just before walking down the aisle or the way their hands hook or their palms sweat.

You don’t feel anything.

It’s just pure numbness. As if you are outside of your body watching as the doors to the massive temple open wide, all in attendance standing immediately. You can see the King, your future husband standing on the dais in front of a priest, the incense from the thurible curling around them both as your father all but marches you down the aisle.

You can’t feel your feet or your hands, you can’t even register your intakes of breath. The only thing that runs through your panicked mind is that at least your future husband is handsome. You remember having a similar thought when you met him all those years ago at a kingdom wide celebration here in this very city. He was easy to spot, sitting above the jousting ring, crown atop his head, surrounded by his three kings guard.

He takes up the whole room even now, commanding it with his very presence as the priest introduces him to the crowd - to you.

“King Johnathan Price, third of his name, King of…” you zone out again, instead focusing on the very man being heralded.

He lacks the armor he usually wears, exchanging it instead for rich garments of silk and other fine fabrics. A long purple cloak, the collar adorned with fur of what appears to be a wolf, hangs from his shoulders, held together with a heavy golden chain decorated with the sigil of his house.

The crown still sits atop his head, golden and gleaming, each crevice and gemstone polished to perfection and nestled amongst chestnut colored locks. Only when you approach the dais do you notice the grey starting to pepper his temples and beard.

This is also the moment that you seem to come back to yourself, your soul being sucked back into your body as you and your father come to a halt at the bottom of the stairs and piercing blue eyes capture your own despite the veil.

He smiles, a soft gentle thing that makes your lips turn down in a frown, the action only further deepened when the priest says something about your father relinquishing your hand and soon two strong arms wrap around you too tightly for a loving embrace.

“Remember what I said,” he says lowly, and to onlookers it looks like a father telling his beloved daughter goodbye. But you know better.

“Do not disappoint me.”

And then he’s placing a kiss to your glove covered knuckles before placing your hand in the much larger calloused one before you.

The steps up the dais are a blur until you’re standing face to face with your fate. The priest rambles on as the king takes your other hand in his own, holding them between your bodies and all you can think about is how warm his hands are and how much larger he is up close. Your ears are ringing so loud you almost miss the prompt from the priest to say the scripted words, but your father’s threat echoes loudly in your mind and you speak the words automatically, your voice mixing with the rumbling baritone of the man before you as you recite them together.

The priest then sprinkles a fragrant oil on your joined hands, waves the thurible around as the crowd chants some vague prayer to bless your union. And then the words you didn’t realize you were dreading until the moment they are spoken into the air.

“You may kiss your bride.”

A hush falls over the crowd as the king releases your hands to reach for the edges of your veil. He lifts slowly, and you swear you stop breathing as he places it delicately over your head, finally revealing you to him.

And he gives you that soft smile again, the one that’s so contradictory to the stories whispered in your ears. His eyes crinkle gently at the corners as his hands come up to cradle your face, again touching you like delicate porcelain as he dips down to press his lips to your own.

His lips are soft, softer than you ever imagined, and his hands are so warm against the skin of your cheeks, and you feel something jump in your chest and-

It’s over so fast.

The crowd erupts in cheers as he pulls away, giving you one last reassuring smile before you both turn to face the crowd and his hand drops to take your own before raising them both above your heads in rejoice as you both descend the dais.

Rice and flowers and the like are thrown your way as you leave the temple, and once again your body works on it’s own set of instructions, following the kings lead and the attendants ushering you both through a maze of hallways until soon your seated at a large table in an even larger dining hall and the celebration has truly begun.

Food, more than you’ve ever seen in a place at once is piled onto the tables, music floats merrily through the room, entertainers flooding the center of the floor to vie for their King’s attention. Only when the food has been served, the wine poured, and people start eating does anything manage to catch your attention.

And once again, it’s those damned hands.

One comes to settle atop your own that sits rigid in the table, fork held tightly between your fingers as you have yet to even touch the food set before you.

“Are you alright?”

His voice is like a siren song, yet also reminding you of rolling thunder, a comforting lull that soothes the nerves that must have come crashing down upon you as the weight of today’s actions finally catches up with you.

You turn to look at the king - no - your husband, and you have to fight the burn at the back of your eyes.

Bright blue stares back at you, brows creased with worry as he gazes at you, and you’re suddenly aware of another set of eyes on you. You can feel them burning into the back of your head, and you can’t help but steal a quick glance, only to see the seething gaze of your father looking back at you as he gestures silently to your plate.

Oh gods…you look down to your plate, then to the kings, and you’re just now realizing his Kings-guard is also sat at the table with you, two on your side and one on his left, and they’ve all finished at least Half their plates and you haven’t even touched yours-

“Forgive me, my King,” you rush out, sitting up straighter, and immediately moving to pick up a piece of fruit - you think it’s a strawberry but you can’t be sure, not past the buzzing in your head. “I did not intend to appear ungrateful. I’m merely…nervous that’s all.”

His brows furrow further, and that must have been the wrong thing to say.

“I just meant…I’m excited, the nerves stem from joy I assure you-”

Soon the King is abandoning his utensils all together, reaching over to take your hand in both of his own, as that concerned look never leaves his face.

“It’s alright,” he says softly, that smile coming back to his face when he sees you relax slightly at his words. “And please, call me John,” he chuckles a little, “We’re married after all. No need for the formalities.”

You nod, “Of course, my King - John-”

“Aye, dinnae listen to him, lass,” an accented voice speaks from your right, and you startle slightly when the guard next to you leans in ever so slightly, blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “He’s full’o himself, call him ‘my King’ all ye want-”

A rough shove from the man on his right stops him in his tracks, and you can’t stop the way your eyes widen at the pure casualness of the interactions.

“Cut it out MacTavish,” the man grumbles, leaning forward to address you now, “Apologies, your majesty, but this one-” he jerks a thumb towards the one you now know as MacTavish, “never knows when to shut his mouth.”

You go to speak, only to be cut off by John.

“Leave my wife be,” he says sternly before turning back to you. “Sorry about them,” he apologizes needlessly, “they’re…” he trails off and this time it’s you who gives him a smile, a real one.

“It’s alright, I…” you pause, “thank you. For checking in with me and…thank you.”

You turn back to your meal before John can respond, missing the way his brows furrow again at your words as you finally start eating, trying and failing to ignore the way his earlier words made your heart stutter and you can’t tell if it’s good or bad.

My wife.

——

The celebration went on for what feels like days, music and more entertainers and more gifts from more lords and ladies than you could name. They served dessert, and then the dancing began and John had even asked you out to the floor for a dance. It was one you knew the steps to, thank the gods, and by the end of it both of you were smiling so wide even you couldn’t deny the way the earlier trepidation seemed to melt off of you.

That was until the night started to draw to a close. It was slow, but soon guests were retiring, coming up and giving their well wishes and goodbyes before leaving. With every guest that left it felt like a second closer to your perceived doom.

You aren’t a fool - you aren’t some naive maiden - you know what happens on one's wedding night. You know what’s expected of you as a woman - as a queen now. And that thought is made all the more terrifying when your father and mother come up to bid their own farewells.

Your mother is first, and John is chivalrous enough to give you some space, although he never quite leaves your side, just steps a few paces back as your mother envelops you into a hug. You can’t stop the tears in your eyes as her arms wrap around you, as you know this will be the last time you see her for a while, your fathers territory being many months away.

“I love you more than the entire world, my star,” your mother whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek as she pulls away, hands coming up to cradle your face in her gentle grasp. “You will make an excellent queen.”

You pull her into one last hug before your father is impatiently tugging at you, though not in an obviously rough manner - he must keep up appearances after all. Even the large smile he wears as he pulls you into him is fake, full of deep seated hatred and loathing for a daughter he only ever saw a nuisance, a means to an end.

His grip is crushing, and you don’t miss the way his fingers dig into your sides again, his breath disgustingly warm against your ear as he pretends to whisper his goodbyes, but instead whispers words you would never dare repeat.

It feels like an eternity before he lets go, and he only does so because another hand settles on your shoulder, tugging you gently.

“I fear it’s time for us to retire for the evening,” John says, voice tight as he gazes at your father in a way that makes you suspect he isn’t as stupid as all the others your father has fooled in the past.

Your father bows, all reverence and kind smiles and posterity.

“Of course, my King.”

And then you’re gone, being whisked away from the only life you’ve known into an all new and terrifying unknown one.

——

Your footsteps echo loudly in the hallways as you follow John through what feels like a maze. This castle, just like the capitol itself is massive, larger than any you’ve ever been in. If it wasn’t for John, you feel like you might get lost in the twists and turns forever. You try to remember where he’s leading you - this is your new home after all, you will need to learn your way around. But with each turn and door your pass through it just gets more confusing. Did you turn left or right before or after the door-

“Don’t worry,” John speaks up, breaking the tense silence that had befallen you both, “you will learn your way faster than you think.”

You turn to him then, surprised that he caught on to your internal intentions. But he’s perceptive, that’s at least one thing you know about your new husband.

You try to return the small smile he gives you as you nod, looking around once more.

“I have no doubt I will learn my way eventually,” you agree, letting out a small sigh, “It’s just so…big. I’ve never seen a palace so magnificent. I can’t even begin to imagine what all the rooms hold…”

A small chuckle meets your ears, the sound surprising you slightly as you turn to look back at your husband as he speaks.

“Well, I would be happy to give you a proper tour tomorrow. I have a feeling you may enjoy the library the most,” he says, eyes twinkling in the dim light of the sconces lining the hallway.

You do perk up at that. “A library?”

John hums, nodding. “Yes I…” he clears his throat, and if you didn’t know any better you would think that he appears almost…nervous. “I noticed the multiple trunks of books among your things as the servants were bringing it in this morning. I’m almost worried that our selection of books might be too small compared to your own.”

You shake your head, another real smile tugging at your lips. “I highly doubt that,” you say softly, “And I…I will be most happy with anything you deign to show me. You are most kind.”

John only hums again, and another silence envelops you, this one much more pleasant. Only when you take a few more turns does he speak up again.

“Here we are,” he says, gesturing to a large wooden door a few paces away at the end of the hallway. There’s another door that you passed a few steps back, both of them having a guard posted outside of them. The same guards that shared dinner with you earlier.

As you approach the door John directs you too, the guard standing outside stands straighter, nodding gently to you and the John, “your majesties.”

John smiles at him, returning the gesture as he addresses him, “Garrick,” he reaches up placing a hand upon his armored shoulder, “Go join MacTavish will you? Make sure he doesn’t need any help patrolling.”

The guard hesitates for a moment, eyes flicking to something behind you both before John speaks again.

“Don’t worry,” he assures him, “Ghost is back there.”

The guard, Garrick, you try to remember nods, offering a curt bow before taking his leave and walking in the direction you and John came from. The clink of his armor fades until it’s just you and the King again, and you only realize you’d lost yourself again when gentle words greet your ears, this time in the form of your name.

You look up from where your eyes had fallen to the ground to see John standing in the doorway to the room, holding the door open and looking at you gently. A clear invitation to enter. You clear your throat, offering a small apology as you enter, eyes flitting about the space.

It’s a large bedchamber, clearly your own if your things placed neatly about have anything to say about it. The four poster bed is larger than any you’ve ever slept in, gauzy fabric draped prettily from the ceiling and down around the tall wooden posts. Furs, dozens of them adorned what was no doubt a feather mattress, made up to perfection. A fire roars in the fireplace across the room from the bed, a table and two chairs sitting off to the side of it near a stained glass window. A yewer of wine and two glasses sits atop the table, and if your stomach were roiling you’d make a beeline for the substance.

By all accounts the space is warm, welcoming even, leagues better than the single hard mattress in the tiny room of your old home. But all your eyes can seem to focus on is the bed, and the towering presence behind you. And as the solid wood door clicks shut behind you, it feels like the tolling of the bell, the final nail in your coffin as your spirit seems to leave your body once more.

You can hear John talking, voice soft as he rambles about how he tried to have the servants place your things in the best places, have them organized. You think he also mentions something about how the nights here get cold so the fires were always going. He eventually walks over to the table by the fireplace, pouring two glasses of wine, all while you struggle to breath, your eyes only leaving the bed when he calls your name again, somehow even softer this time as he offers you the second glass.

You walk over instinctively, taking the glass in your gloved hand, giving a wobbly smile as he taps his glass with your own before taking a small sip.

You follow his actions before you take a sip of your own. But the wine is good - it’s slightly spiced and warm and if you are to face the coming moments then you need all the courage you can get - and before you know it the wine is gone and you're turning back towards the bed. You notice a small dressing table off to the side of the large armoire and walk to it on unsteady feet.

John is speaking again, but you can’t hear him, not over the rush of blood in your ears or the breath stuttering in and out of your lungs as you reach up to pull the veil from your hair. You drape it across the table delicately, hands trailing over the fine embroidery before your hands fall to the laces of your dress.

Let’s get this over with.

You’re just thankful the dress laces in the front, at least you could do that by yourself. But as you tug at the strings, you find you can’t - your hands shake and the damned gloves…

You yank off the delicate silk, ignoring the raised white scars that glare back up at you as you try and manage to succeed this time in tugging the laces loose. The bodice of the dress loosens around you, the weight of the gown pulling it down slightly, the only thing holding it up being the sleeves on your shoulders. You reach up, still shaking to pull those down next, when warm calloused hands stop you.

He’s calling your name - he’s been calling your name but you couldn’t hear him over your own panic. But you hear him now, and the sound of it falling from his lips along with the grounding warmth of his hands holding your own brings you back to yourself.

“What are you doing?” He asks, and you notice now that he’s standing before you, having turned you away from the dressing table to face him, blue eyes swimming with confusion.

But you’re the confused one, your brows furrow as you look up at him. “What am I…?” You pause, looking down at yourself and then back to the bed behind you. “The…the consummation. I thought-”

Strong hands squeeze your own, and you look back to the man before you. He’s still dressed, you finally notice, and he’s looking at you like a delicate piece of glass, that you might break at the gentlest breeze.

And maybe you would.

“Do you want to?” He asks, question sincere, brows raised slightly as his thumbs brush over your knuckles.

The question startles you. Never had it even occurred to you about wanting this or not. Of course you didn’t want this. You just met this man - this man who is constantly contradicting every horrible thing you’ve heard whispered about him. This man who is a stranger but has been so kind.

You’ve never been asked what you want.

You shake your head, convinced this is a trick. Like one of the cruel ones your father would play on you - asking you a question that only had one right answer and then punishing you when you got it wrong.

“I…” you trail off, fighting with yourself. You want to tell the truth, something screaming inside you that you can trust him while the other, the years of experience tells you otherwise.

The latter wins out.

You swallow thickly, eyes falling to the floor, unable to look him in the eyes as you lie.

“Yes, of course. It’s my duty to-”

He squeezes your hands again, this time dropping one in favor of reaching up to cup your cheek, urging you to look at him once more.

“Love,” he breathes, voice gentle, “You’re shaking like a leaf.”

He takes a deep breath, as if stilling a rage inside of him as he takes in the sight of his broken bride before him.

“I didn’t ask about your duties,” he practically bites the word. “Do you want this?”

Gods, you can’t do it. You can’t look at him and his kind eyes and remember his soft smile and feel the way he holds you so gently and lie to him. Your lower lip wobbles, and tears burn at the back of your eyes as you internally prepare for the consequences of your next words.

“No.”

It’s whispered so softly that if he weren’t standing so close to you, there’s no way he would have heard it. But he does, and his hands are pulled from you so quickly that your eyes slip closed, prepared for a strike or a harsh word or something.

But it never comes.

Instead a tense silence falls over the room before his hand is taking one of yours in his own again, and your eyes open ever so slowly.

“That’s it then,” he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I’ll send for your handmaid, she can help get you ready for the night.”

You can’t stop the shake of your head, mind refusing to accept that this is it. That he is just going to leave you be.

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

John smiles, and you don’t miss the flicker of sadness in his gaze. Pity, maybe?

“I won’t start our marriage off by forcing myself on you. I don’t…” he looks away then, “I’ll wait. until you’re ready.”

You speak the next words before you can think.

“And if I’m never ready?”

John smiles, leaning down to place a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, either ignoring or choosing not to acknowledge the multitude of scars adoring the skin beneath his lips.

“I’ve waited this long,” he says simply, “Forever doesn’t seem like much longer.”

And then he’s gone, slipping from your bedchambers just as a handmaiden takes his place.

——

The same handmaid as the night before is the one to wake you, Ilora if you remember correctly. She says that the King has requested you join him to break your fast, as she’s already searching through the armoire for something for you to wear. It's a somewhat silent affair as she helps you get ready, tying your corset, brushing your hair. She even offered you a pair of gloves when she sees you staring at the ones from yesterday, but you decline.

He’s seen them anyways, and if he hadn’t it was bound to come out at some point.

Maybe the conversation will come easier over tea and sweet rolls.

You follow Ilora as she leads you through the still winding passages of the castle until you eventually come to a door that opens into an open courtyard. It’s still confined by the castle walls but the ceiling is open, allowing sunshine to pour down onto the cobbled pathways that wind between a multitude of flowers and bushes and even fruit trees.

It’s like a tiny paradise hidden within the walls, sequestered away from the grim stone walls of the building itself. Birds chirp happily, flirting from one branch to the next; and you even spot a butterfly, bright blue and fluttering so prettily in the air before you. It makes you halt in your steps, watching the rhythmic beat of its wings as it floats in the gentle breeze around you.

You reach up before you can stop yourself, fingers held poised as you reach for the small creature. It flutters about for a moment before settling onto your offered hand, and you can’t stop the smile that splits your lips as its wings beat lazily against your knuckles.

Soon, another presence joins you, and a familiar hand reaches up to mimic your own, a calloused finger tracing the delicate wing of the insect. Your eyes leave one color of blue only to find another, surrounded by familiar crows feet at the corners of his eyes as John gazes softly at you.

“Pretty as a painting,” he murmurs softly, his words making the butterfly take flight, continuing on its earlier journey.

“It was beautiful,” you agree, watching the winged creature until it’s out of sight.

John only chuckles, reaching over to place a hand lightly on your back.

“I wasn’t talking about the butterfly, love.”

His words and the meaning behind them make heat rush to your cheeks, and you look at him in surprise before dropping your eyes to the floor when you catch his playful grin.

“Come on then,” he says, breaking the tension, “let’s eat,” he turns back to your secret, “Thank you, Ilora.”

Ilora offers a small bow at the dismissal and takes her leave as John leads you a few steps further into the courtyard to reveal a stone table laden with food and only two chairs. Once again you’re slightly taken aback by the abundance of food. Yes, you were a daughter of a noble house, your family was wealthy, your father a lord of some land. But you never saw this side of that life - the life of luxury. Your father made sure of that.

John must take your hesitance for nervousness rather than curiosity, because he smiles that warm smile and places that familiar hand on your back to urge you closer. He doesn’t force though, never pushing you if your feet did not want to go. He merely encourages, like trying to placate a scared animal.

Maybe you are one.

“I figured you may want to break your fast away from the prying eyes in the dining hall,” he says simply, moving to pull out your chair when you finally concede to his invitation.

You nod politely, eyes still scanning the vast array of food before you until John takes his seat in the chair across the table. “Thank you,” you say softly, eyes flitting to the attendants that seem to come from nowhere, pouring your drink, placing silverware, and even placing a napkin in your lap before retreating once more.

A silence befalls you both then, and you can’t help but want to shrink under the awkwardness of it all. It’s as if neither of you know what to say - what do you say to your husband or wife that - until less than a day ago - was a stranger to you.

Thank the gods John speaks first, your throat to dry with anxiety to do so.

“Do you like blueberry tarts?” He asks, hand already reaching for one of the flaky pastries in the center of the table, “they’re our baker’s specialty,” he chuckles as he leans to place one on your plate when you offer no refusal. “If you don’t, I’m sure you will after you try this.”

You snag the olive branch offered to you, smiling as you pick up your fork.

“I do,” you say, cutting into the delicate treat, “They’re…They’re my favorite, actually. But we…”you trail off, remembering how once your father found out your affinity for the tarts, they had all but disappeared from the tables during meals.

You clear your throat, “the ingredients were hard to find where I’m from,” you lie smoothly, avoiding John’s gaze. “So they were a luxury.”

You look up when he doesn’t respond right away, and find the usual upturn of his lips absent in place of a scrutinizing gaze. Not a harsh one, but one that made it clear he was studying you, watching for…something.

But it was gone as quick as it came, that pleasant warmth back in full force.

“Well,” he says, placing a pastry on his own plate, “I’ll make sure there’s never a shortage.”

And on the meal went.

Conversation flowed easier after that, John picking up on when you were unsure of a particular dish or food, explaining it to you and watching in utter amusement for whether you would like or dislike a particular one. He’d let out a particularly hard laugh when you’d tried a rather odd looking dish, promptly trying and failing to spit it out in as ladylike a manner as you could.

Blood pudding he called it - making you let out a disbelieving laugh at the withheld information, playfully tossing your napkin his way.

He’d caught it easily, offering you a much sweeter fruit to wash the acrid taste from your mouth.

It felt like the morning lasted forever, and truthfully, you never wanted it to end. It’s…nice, talking to someone without the fear of reprimand or a strike for saying the wrong thing. And John he…he listens to you. Truly listens and seems to enjoy the things you talk about. He asks you questions about yourself; your favorite food, your favorite color, things you like to do to pass the time, places and things you wish to see.

And he listens to all of it, seemingly absorbing every word as if he’s a man in the desert dying of thirst and you’re the oasis he’s been searching for.

It goes on like this for the rest of the day, the rest of the week, and soon weeks bleed into months and it seems like your past gets further and further behind you as this future you and John start to build gets closer.

He shows you the library like he promised, and it’s where you find yourself spending most of your time when separated from John. The first few weeks you both are nearly inseparable, claiming he wants to spend time getting to know his wife. But a kingdom cannot run itself and eventually he has duties and things to tend to, which you respect.

It doesn’t mean you don’t miss him though.

It’s a shock when the feeling first hits you. It’s the third day in a row of only seeing him in the morning to break your fast together. It’s late, and you are as usual, sitting in the armchair you claimed in the library. You’re reading a romance novel, one that you confessed guilty to John early on that you enjoyed reading. Most people back home (your father) hated them - claimed they were undignified, unfitting for a lady to fill her head with stories that would never come true.

John had hundreds of novels shipped in over the next fortnight.

The one you’re reading now is a short one, a cliche about a knight and a low born woman. But it’s sweet, and when you get to one particular part, you find yourself looking up from the page, chuckling lightly to yourself and wanting to share it with John.

But he isn’t here.

And as you look up and notice the darkness outside the windows, the only light being the fire a few feet in front of you, you feel a pang in your chest. A longing you’ve never felt before, never thought you’d feel in your lifetime.

You miss him.

And on this night, it appears as if he misses you too. Because, like a siren's call, as soon as you stand, marking your place in your book to retire to bed, the door to the library creaks open. You expect one of the guards, probably Kyle, as he too seems to be fond of the library, having found him in here on several occasions when he was off duty.

So, when you look up from where your book sits on the side table, you are surprised to see John slipping into the room, hair tousled, and looking as if he had just come straight from the stables. Riding boots caked in mud, light armor still adorning him. When he spots you, it’s as if the world itself falls from his shoulders, he sags beneath the relief and walks to you with sure even steps until he’s less than an arms length away.

“John, what are you doing?” You ask, looking down at his muddy boots and back up to the weary expression on his face. “What’s…is something wrong?”

He pauses for a moment, a flicker of something flashing in his eyes before it's gone, and those piercing blues are softening and crow's feet appear at the corners as he reaches for you, taking your hands in his own gently.

“Nothing, love,” he says, that nickname that’s become more frequent making your heart flutter. “Just missed you, is all.”

His admission makes warmth spread through you, like warm honey on freshly baked bread. And you can’t help but lean into him, relishing in the way his hands move to wrap around your waist.

“I…I missed you too, John,” you tell him softly, as if the words will scare him away.

But they do the exact opposite, they make the man beam brighter than before, fingers squeezing your sides gently as he steps ever closer, eyes falling from your own down to your lips.

Your breath hitches as he inches closer, and you can feel the heat of his words as he speaks, air brushing over your lips.

“Can I kiss you, love?”

You haven’t kissed since your wedding day. Not other than the chaste ones he’d press against your knuckles or your cheek on occasion. He’d respected the vow he spoke to you on your wedding night, never pushing you, never forcing you. He waited. Waited until you made the decision.

The nod you give him comes quicker than you thought it would, and his lips are on your own in an instant. They’re warm and slightly chapped from the ride he no doubt went on today, but to you it’s…perfect. It’s warm and gentle and all consuming, and even though it isn’t heated or rushed or rough you suddenly understand the passion that all those romance novels wax poetry about.

He doesn’t dominate you or control it in any way, he moves with you - coaxing you at times perhaps, smiling against your lips when you let out a small whimper. His hands never stray far either, only moving to wrap further around your or caressing up and down your spin, maybe toying with the hair at the base of your neck before finally coming to cradle the apple of your cheek in his calloused palm.

Only then does he pull away, and you flush at how breathless you are, the embarrassment only soothed when you see he is just as affected as you are. He rests his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering closed as his thumb brushes softly against your cheek.

“Maybe I’ll have them move my desk in here,” he says after a comfortable silence. “That way even if I have things to tend to, I can still spend some time with you.”

You pull away from him only enough so he can see the smile on your face; and the next day when you come to the library, John is sitting at his desk, right next to your arm chair.

———

Another thing that has changed for the better is your dreams. Nightmares used to be a constant for you before the wedding, waking up in cold sweats, fear making your very bones ache. But after the first few nights in the castle…they disappeared. Once you realize that the danger you used to live amongst each and every day is no longer present, it’s as if your body finally allowed you to rest.

Maybe that’s why this one is so much worse.

You’d been lulled into a false sense of security, your body's survival instincts failing you, telling you that you were safe when you should know better. It’s the very thing he screams at you as he strikes you down in this hellscape. The bitter words he spits upon you as blood splatters across the stone flooring, as the toe of his boot meets your stomach again and again.

You naive, stupid girl - you’re nothing!

You want to scream out at him, tell him that it’s not true, that you are something and that someone loves you and cares for you. But the words are stuck in your throat like tar, and copper floods your tongue and any and all protests crumble like ash in your mouth as you see his guard raise the whip above his head.

You wake up screaming.

Throat raw, the taste of copper still coating your tongue and making you gag as you fight against the furs and blankest tangled around your legs. It’s pitch black, the fire having died out to nothing but embers. So when a pair of hands finds you in the dark you can’t stop the wail that slips from your lips.

He’s come back for you. He’s come to take you away-‘

“It’s me, love stop-” the voice is muddled, far away from your panicked mind.

You fight the grip on your wrists, only stilling when one lets go to cup your cheek. Calloused hands, warm…they speak again.

“You’re safe, it’s me. Love, it’s me…”

“John?”

His name is but a whimper on your lips, and when he assures you that it is him, you fall apart like glass when it meets stone. Shattered into a million little pieces.

But he catches you, he catches and holds each and every piece of you as you sob in his arms, tears soaking the skin of his neck where you hide your face, fingers clutching desperately at the thin cotton of his shirt. He holds you so softly. Always soft, always gentle. His hands run up and down your back, over your shoulders, through your hair as he shushes you softly, cooing reassuring words into your ear.

And when you finally do calm, sobs ebbing away into ugly sniffles and hiccups, he still doesn’t let go, shifting instead to lay back against the pillows with you tucked into his side as he pulls the covers around you - a safe cocoon against the world - against the things that still haunt you. He only stops speaking, stops humming some small random lullaby he had started up, when you begin to speak.

He didn’t pressure you, didn’t ask - he’s never asked. The whole time you’ve spent together, and you know John is a perceptive man - he knows things. You assume he’s worked most of it out himself; yet, he never once asked you. Even now, when your screams no doubt jerked him from his slumber, or when you cried into him like a terrified child. He never once asked.

So you tell him on your own. You tell him of your childhood, of the hatred your father held for you, of the cruelty he subjected you and your mother to. You told him of the scathing words and the nights sent to your room without supper and maybe even days without anything but a simple loaf of bread and some water. You tell him of the things you swore you’d never tell anyone, of the blood and torment and beatings and the whip.

And in the darkness of your bedchamber you pull away from his embrace, slipping your shift from your shoulders as you tell him about the scars. He’s seen the ones on your hands but…as he traces the jagged angry marks on your back, your ribs, your stomach in the darkness…you can practically feel the rage radiating off of him like the sun on a hot summer’s day. His hands shake, fingers trembling as they trace over the evidence of darkness, of pure evil. You tell him everything, until the tears finally prevent you from saying more and he’s tugging your shift back up your arms and turning you back to face him and kissing them away with a reverence you never imagined possible for you.

“You will never come to harm here,” he swears, voice terrifyingly calm and steady. “And if you do, gods help the man to do it, for I’ll hunt him down and slay him where he stands.”

He pulls you tighter then, lips pressing against the crown of your head as arms wrap around your waist, soft words urging you back into slumber.

And despite everything….you sleep, and dream this time of warm hands and kind words and a future worth living for.

#john price x reader #cod x reader #captain price x reader #price x reader #john price #captain john price

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comicgeekscomicgeek · 2 years ago

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The Headmen are such amazing villains. They REALLY should have fought the Agents of ATLAS so we could have had Gorilla Man vs Gorilla Man.

<3 The second best presidential candidate the country has ever had <3

Right after Mr Nobody

#marvel #comics #ruby thursday #shrunken bones #gorilla man #Arthur nagan #headmen

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trashogram · 7 months ago

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He Chose You (End)

Lucifer/Reader: Lucifer chooses you to be the mother of his child. Rated Explicit.

(There will be a short epilogue after this, but we’ve basically reached the end! Thank you so much to everyone who read, liked, commented and reblogged this fic! I had so much fun writing it!!!)

“ADAM!”

Light from below your feet rose, blinding you as the glassy exterior of Heaven’s floor dissolved into nothing.

The collective screaming, gasping, shouting made your ears ring. It was so loud that you had no choice but to drop the ax to muffle the sound with your hands. Lucifer called for you, but you could do nothing as your senses became overloaded with the sights, the sounds — the smell and taste of angel blood that you couldn’t describe, though it fizzled on your tongue and made your lips pucker.

Falling reminded you of diving into the deep end of a pool as everything around you started to dull just as soon as it reached a fever pitch.

Adam’s corpse bled out, gold dripping into the firelight that swallowed you up.

Sera stood head and shoulders above the rest, shrunken pupils flashing upon you.

Thunder rumbled over your skin.

Your sight returned, revealing a billow of darkened clouds above. Lightening rippled through them here and there, but you found yourself unable to do so much as shiver at the close proximity. Something was keeping you paralyzed, hands still clasped over your ears and legs still stuck flexing as they had when you decapitated Adam.

Eyes flitting about, the only things free from the forced stillness, you saw that the light that overtook you had expanded, surrounding you like a forcefield.

This wasn’t a fall. Not really. Whatever this was was yanking you down with a strength that rivaled gravity.

You can never come back!

Sera’s voice was immediately overtaken by your name, shouted out from above you.

Feathers thrown in disarray, raining on and all around you before you caught sight of Lucifer racing toward you. The frightening sound of a boom like the aftermath of a bomb dropping followed his propulsion, rattling your bones and shifting the energy that cocooned you.

He circled round and round the energy field that you could not escape, until he was right beside you.

Lucifer slammed himself against the barrier between him and yourself. Determination set in his eyes that were now completely normal, totally focused on getting through to you.

You tried to communicate the fear you felt with your eyes. It was steadily consuming you as you remained frozen while color and light changed every few seconds. Everything outside of your comet’s tail was growing darker and harder to define.

When darkness swallowed up the Devil, you weren’t able to scream.

“I got ya!”

Lucifer’s voice broke through before you saw him, crashing into the barrier once again. The light shattered like glass, but you felt solid arms wrapped around your body. Familiar hands gripped you around the shoulders and back, beneath your frozen wings.

You gasped, inhaling greedily.

The blond took your desperate bid to wrap your arms around his neck and press him as close to you as possible in stride.

It was a struggle to speak. “I couldn’t breathe!”

“I know! I know, I know, I remember it being like that.” Lucifer said, hand running through your hair. “But it's gonna be okay! The pain won’t last for too long after you hit the ground.”

You looked at him with watery eyes, lungs burning. “Oh god, Lucifer. I’m so sorry!”

You hugged him with renewed vigor, tears streaming upward. He clung onto you with equal if not more fervor.

“You’re sorry?” He asked. “What d’you… why?”

When you pulled away, Lucifer was staring at you in concern.

“I’m sorry you have to experience this again.” You said. “I didn’t even think about it. I-I-I just, I got so desperate and I just wanted out and I wanted to be with you! I didn’t think—”

The devil instantly shook his head, hand cupping your cheek. “No, no, no. It’s okay, don’t apologize. There’s no reason to—hah…”

Lucifer was also in tears, giving you a wobbly smile. “I’d fall every day until the end of time for you.”

You fell into him then, sobbing in earnest as he kept up with you serenely. You were both careening down through the ether, free falling now that your body had been freed from whatever was initially binding you. And you didn’t have a single thought aside from staying with this perfectly wonderful being that had had the audacity to actually love you.

“We’re headed right for the portal.” Lucifer told you eventually. “We’ll pass right through and into Hell.”

He kept his hold on you, but you couldn’t help noticing that Lucifer had maneuvered himself to be beneath your body in the order of your descent.

“Will we hit the ground?” You asked, the image of making an impact on the hard ground coming unbidden.

The image of Lucifer taking the brunt of the trauma set your heart racing. Your wings twitched. You willed them to start flapping as they had in Heaven but there was only the vaguest feeling of their roots flexing.

Fuck’s sake.

You felt panic bleeding back into your body again and you fruitlessly attempted to pull Lucifer ‘up’. The King started to speak, but the adrenaline was filling you up.

“Lou—!”

A sudden shift from black to red (and warmth, sensation, clouds!) and the sound barrier breaking silenced you.

Lucifer’s full set of wings extended before you, arching back to make a powerful sweep upward before he rolled the both of you right side up again.

You were back to clinging onto him, squeaking. You heard him chuckle in your ear at the same time you realized that that powerful force-field of light had disappeared.

“Sorry sweetie.” Lucifer murmured. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”

He hovered in the air with you in his arms, patient as you worked up the courage to pull away and look around.

Hell’s sky was a deep, deep red. Clouds of a softer shade floated past, little pinpoints of light that might be stars pricked the sky, and a large black moon sat adjacent to the teeming mass of light that you and Lucifer had just fallen from.

Below you, slices of angular, beaming light zigzagged in a mildly familiar shape. When your eyes adjusted, it clicked instantly that there was a pentagram poised a little ways from you, and under that…

The pentagram was bright, but through it shone bright lights from the city underneath. Your eyes widened, taking in the chaotic, clashing architecture of the Pride Ring. It was harrowing and strange, the sounds of screaming and laughter somehow audible in spite of the distance.

Amidst the sensory overload you found yourself comparing it to Las Vegas.

Lucifer nuzzled your cheek, bringing you back to the present. Head lifting so that you are able to look at him fully, you couldn’t help but smile.

“Helluva a welcome.” You teased, earning a grin from the blond.

“Ah!” Lucifer startled when you tugged him bodily in your direction. Your wings fluttered quickly with the return of feeling in your muscles, and you glided back with the Devil in your arms.

You spun him round, twirling in mid-air, until Lucifer laughed with you. The two of you danced together over the glowing pentagram as though it were a stage.

——

There was no need to further tire yourselves as Lucifer conjured up a shimmering portal into his castle. You could feel the exhaustion of all that had transpired weighing you down before you were led into what would soon become your new home.

The opulence and splendor of the Devil’s palace could not be understated. It was gargantuan. His personal restroom alone rose higher than high and would have been roomy enough for everyone that had lived on your floor in the Donner apartment.

However, the most you could offer after the day’s events was a drawn-out yawn and a mental note to be amazed at everything later.

Lucifer half-led, half-dragged you toward one of the sinks in his private bath. He left you only long enough to grab a number of towels and washcloths that piled so high in his arms they obstructed his view.

You giggled softly at the sight of rags being rushed over on a pair of short legs, and feebly offered your help.

Ooh. Not rags — these towels were pure silk.

The blond positioned you to face him and began to clean you up, scanning your face for any cuts or bruises. You admired him drowsily, trying to do the same. He simply pecked your fingers when they wandered over his cheek, but otherwise stayed focused to tend to you.

Silk slid over your face, wiping away the stain of angelic blood from your chin and down the side of your throat. Lucifer passed the cloth over you with utmost care, all while you stared at him silently.

It was only when he became aware of your intense staring that you gave into the urge to kiss him again.

The Devil seemed to have the same idea, mouth already parting for you. Your stomach flip-flopped at the telltale slip of his forked tongue against yours. You breathed him in, lips moving against his in between brief inhales, desperate not to part for even one second.

Lucifer whined into your mouth, hands rushing to dig into your hips and pull you in. He ran his hands over you, petting at every inch of your body, heavenly wardrobe catching on your hips, over your breasts, around your thighs. It drove you mad, wishing that the damn clothing was off and away. Memories of Lucifer buried inside you, smothering you into the mattress could not compare to the real thing just within reach.

You bent over to follow him, teeth clicking against each other as you continued to devour him and his noises. Another whine had you gripping the base of his skull, newly-formed claws digging through his hair. The flush that Lucifer inspired under your skin ran hot; so hot that the feeling of his cold hands against your bare skin shocked you.

Glazed-over crimson eyes met yours when you broke away from him abruptly, confused and yearning while you fought to calm yourself down. He too was flushed… in gold. Golden blood.

“Lucifer…” You swallowed. “We need… we need to get Charlotte…”

The King hummed, slow on the uptake. But soon his darkened gaze lit up with recognition.

“Ch… Charlotte!” He exclaimed. “Right! We gotta get our baby!”

You snorted at the theatrics, fondness settling deep down inside your chest.

———

Lucifer let you squeeze his hand as tightly as you pleased while the flames licked over you both. You fought not to manhandle him again, wanting to be brave. At least the change from ornate, colossal palace to inside of the old Donner apartment fireplace was over in a flash.

The firebox had warped, growing in size until it was large enough for you and Lucifer to walk through. Briefly you wondered why you had never noticed such a thing happening during Lucifer’s countless visits, but perhaps it was a trick that humans didn’t pick up on.

Or perhaps Lucifer was short enough that the large fireplace hadn’t had to change so much for him alone.

(You didn’t know how to feel about being at least a head taller than Lucifer now. It was another thing filed under ‘To Address Later’ in your mind.)

Mr. And Mrs. Farrow were not waiting for you when you stepped into their home. They were nowhere to be found.

But a baby’s cry was coming from further back in the apartment.

You dashed toward the noise, with Lucifer at your heels. It led you to the outlet where you’d been only once before, and you were happy for small miracles because so much of this unit was unfamiliar to you, courtesy of your desire to avoid the kooks that had initiated you into their bizarre dealings with the literal Prince of Darkness.

When you arrived at the spare room, it was practically pitch black. Tea candles had been re-lit here and there, but they barely distinguished the silhouettes of two very frantic, knee-high toys-turned-sentient.

The little creatures moved like phantoms in the dark. One was steadily pushing the baby bassinet from side to side, attempting to soothe the crying child within.

The other was levitating at the edge of the bassinet, staring worriedly at the baby, clearly agitated before it realized that someone had entered the room.

Your eyes had already adjusted to the dim little room — purposefully avoiding the cot that lay on the opposite side of Charlotte’s cradle. There was no possible way to prepare for seeing your own corpse, if it was still there. You had chosen to banish the possibility from your mind, and hadn’t dared to bring it up to Lucifer lest he grow agitated if the thought hadn’t already occurred to him.

You focused on the present. On your child. And the goat butlers that your Love had spontaneously breathed life into.

“You really are alive.” You said softly in awe.

The little goat that had been watching Charlotte from above seemed to recognize you. He floated back down, and allowed you to run your hand over his head as you stepped up to the bassinet, momentarily feeling the fuzz of his red fur. His brother followed, and they bowed, both for you and Lucifer as well as out of your way.

Had you been less single-minded in getting to your daughter, you might’ve laughed at the look of relief on their faces. Taking care of a newborn without thumbs couldn’t be easy.

When you pulled back the little curtains of the pram, you felt as if the wind had been knocked out of you.

Your beautiful baby. Your little Charlotte — she was reaching up, crying to be taken out and held.

Without a thought, you obliged her.

“It’s alright. It’s alright now.” You whispered, fingers smoothing over her porcelain forehead. “Mama’s here. Mama’s got you.”

It was stunning to be able to actually touch your child, caress her soft skin and feel her yellow hair on your fingertips. She was truly like a tiny doll, with two dollops of pale red on either side of her cherubic cheeks.

You pushed down the compulsion to cry. Everything has happened so fast that you hadn’t had time to recognize what you would be missing upon your death. If you hadn’t done what you did, you wouldn’t have gotten to hold Charlotte ever again.

You could feel Lucifer’s presence just behind you before he was at your side, solid and comforting. Whatever regrets you may have entertained about leaving Heaven vanished then and there.

Charlotte’s cries were dying down, turning into minute whimpers and hiccups. Her eyes opened in the middle of your slow rocking back and forth, focusing on you.

You beamed. “Hello baby.”

She gurgled, barely a blink before a wide, gummy smile of remembrance animated her formerly tear-stricken face. A laugh stuttered out of you, thick with emotion while Charlotte wiggled in her swaddling blanket. The spade of her tail poked out of the confines and tapped against your forearm with delight.

Charlotte looked from you to Lucifer as he leaned in, having shuffled around so that he was able to embrace you, Charlotte nestled safe and snug between your bodies. She squealed with happiness, eliciting more laughter.

“Let’s go home.”

****

Tag List: @crescent-z, @for-hearthand-home, @undertale-is-sansational, @loslox, @navierkalani, @yaimlight, @ivoryviness, @crystalplays28, @flowerempress, @wally-darling-hyperfixation, @altruisticradiodemon, @moonlight-readings, @halparkebitch, @charliecharlie65, @sockgoblin, @cocomollo, @caniseethefourthsword, @squeegeeclean, @crow-twink, @an-emovision, @marydragneell, @lafy-taffy, @fandom-imagines1, @loquacious-libra, @glowymxxn, @avadakadabra93, @froggybich, @hamthepan, @ukor02, @adaizel, @boogiemansbitch, @vinillies, @lbcreations-blog, @thesoundresoundsecho, @serenity-loves-red, @alientee, @aquaamythest96, @0strawberrysorbet0, @fluffy-koalala, @washeduphazbin, @rebecca-hvnstn, @velvette3, @kermitdafroggy, @wpdarlingpan, @apatcheworkofproblems, @cherry-cola-100, @pink-apples001, @al-of-the-stars, @backinthefkingbuildingagain, @martinys-world, @alastorssimp, @wobblesthewaffle, @shikiribee, @undertale-anomaly20, @asakura-fangirl-stuff, @ringsofpersonti @angelicwillows, @wingoodlilboymyway, @cimadreamer, @museofzealoushope, @oneiric-rotaerc, @call-me-nyxx, @darling-angel222, @elementwind91, @bloody-delusion-expert, @devilslittlebabyxx, @diffidentphantom, @shamblezzz, @ranposanedogawa, @minamilinaqueen, @1-helluva-hazbin, @naniiiii12, @lokis-imaginary-friend, @zoethespiritwolf, @sakuraluna2468, @qardasngan, @wow-im-gay, @saturnalone, @rexnn, @h3art-l3ss, @its-a-dam-blue-brick, @saturnhas82moons, @im-so-tired52, @klallx

#hazbin hotel #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar #Lucifer Morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #Thank you to everyone that stuck around until the end!!!

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mizgnomer · 2 months ago

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Behind the Scenes of The Christmas Invasion (Part 41)

Excerpt from the Radio Times, 17-30 December 2005, interviews by Nick Griffiths

The first alien that Tennant encounters is a killer Santa Claus. Actually, "there's more than one," he says, "and these are not out-of-work actors in Harrods for the Christmas break. They're from another place. There's always something disturbing about the very familiar when it goes off-centre. Like clowns - they can be very scary." Quaking in your Christmas stockings yet? Tennant continues: "That's what's great about the show - it brings the universe to a very domestic level." But the Santas are just a sideshow, it turns out. "They're a kind of trailer for the real big baddie." That'll be the Sycorax Leader. Six and a half feet of towering bone and muscle, dripping the spoils of victory: shrunken heads, victims' kneecaps, that sort of thing. Oh, and clutching a broadsword. And Tennant has to fight him. Gruelling stuff? "I suppose," says Tennant. "Filming for the new series lasts 38 weeks. It's relentless, certainly, but it's not like a real job. Daily, it's incredibly exciting because it's so mind-expanding and bonkers!"

For more, see [ part one ] of the Christmas Invasion Behind-the-scenes posts (although [ part two ] appears to be the most popular one in this set…), or click the [ #whoBtsCi ] tag or the full episode list [ here ]

#david tennant #billie piper #doctor who #the christmas invasion #rtdedit #a special treat for christmas 2024 #one last lingering Christmas Invasion BTS post #I cannot believe this is part 41 #I do love this episode #stuff i posted #whoBts #whoBtsCi

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corysmiles · 2 months ago

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Tiny Viktor shrunken from accidentally plugging in a Rune combination when he’s experimenting w the Hexcore early on in s1 scenario is currently what my brain is cooking.

Jayce coming to the lab later and he thinks Viktor is gone but noticing his walking cane & the knocked over stool doesn’t realize Viktor is teeny tiny size of gemstone under said stool…

Runes and Ruin

Arcane G/T Fic

Notes: YES THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS ASK. This ended up being a whole lot longer than I anticipated but I hope you like to. I’m obsessed with these two fuckasses, and I would love to write more g/t stuff with them. :>

————————————

It had been at least two days since Viktor had last slept properly. Occasionally, he’d nod off, only to snap up again when his head thunked against the desk, but that was only ever for a few minutes at a time. At this point, his hands were starting to shake, and every time he blinked his eyes stayed closed for just a second too long, like his body was trying to force him to bed, but still, he resisted. They had work to do. He had work to do.

And Jayce was gone again, which meant Viktor had to pick up the slack somehow. Even with his body giving out more and more everyday, he had to complete his work. There was no time for rest.

Viktor hummed thoughtfully, fighting back a yawn as he spun through the runes attached to the Hexcore. His vision was starting to get hazy and as he glanced over his notes of the combinations he had tried already, he found it was hard to decipher anything. It felt like he was looking through perpetually dirty glasses that he couldn’t clean off no matter how hard he tried.

With a sigh, he haphazardly plugged in a new set of runes. Probably haven’t don’t these yet, he thought, or at least, he hoped.

Pulling his goggles down, he leaned back into his chair, his pencil twirling between his fingers as he got ready to write down another failure. With a quivering hand he reached out to activate the core, but this time, unlike the past hundred from his previous trials that day, the Hexcore didn’t fizzle out.

Viktor’s eyes widened as a bright bolt of blue-purple light arched out at him, searing hot and blinding. He gasped, heart racing as its power raced through his bones, electrifying the blood in his veins into a fiery molasses. He tried to pull away, jerking back from the light, but its tendrils of glowing heat pulled him back to it.

He was fairly sure that he screamed before he collapsed, the pain too unbearable for the few seconds he was still awake to feel it.

Hours later, when he woke back up his heart was still racing. He half-expected to find himself in a hospital room once again, his partner looking at him with that sad kicked-dog expression. But he was still in the lab…or what looked like the lab.

“Shit,” Viktor groaned as he gripped his head, trying to stop the pounding against his skull.

At least it wasn’t a failure, he supposed, it must have done something to have that much backlash. Instinctively, he went to grab his pencil to jot down notes of the occurrence, but when he finally got a good look at his surroundings his excitement dulled to a dim horror.

He was several feet below his desk. And not only that, while sitting, he was shorter than his chair. With quickened breaths he looked around for his crutch. He wrapped his arms around the leg of his chair to pull himself up, and when he readjusted, he spotted it. Just where he left it.

The crutch was leaned against the desk where it was easily accessible for him… and now it towered over him.

“What…” Viktor groaned as he stared up at it, “This can’t…”

He felt fine, or as fine as he could given his deteriorating state, but as he looked around the lab he was met by a similar sight. Everything towered over him. He couldn’t even see the top of the couch he’d fallen asleep on more times than he could count or the blackboard he and Jayce had used to scribble down new theories. And to his horror, he could see a screw, long forgotten under the desk, that looked to be roughly the same size as himself.

The scientist part of his brain raced through the possibilities- what this could mean for Hextech, what they could do knowing the Hexcore could not only shrink matter but seemingly leave it fully functional. But the much larger, more animal part of his brain was terrified.

He had to fix this.

But the first step would be getting back to the Hexcore, and staring up at the top of his desk, now towering above him like a mountain peak he could never hope to climb, he knew that would be a Herculean effort. Not even to mention the fact that his whole body was still shaking from the effort of staying awake.

“Alright, okay,” Viktor said under his breath, trying to steady himself as he came to terms with the situation. With a deep breath, he reached his arms up the chair leg as far as he could. The adrenaline coursing through him helped as he pulled with all his might, trying to climb it, but even with the mounting panic inside him, he only could get a few inches up before falling back down to the ground. His leg exploded with pain as he collided with the floor, and he doubled over at the new flaring heat in his joints.

“Shit,” Viktor groaned as he reached down to hold his shaking leg, “Shit shit shit.”

He’d just have to wait then, he supposed. He knew the lab like the back of his hand, and he could find somewhere to rest before he had to try again, even though he hated the idea of staying like that any longer.

His head whipped around as he studied his surroundings. He was fairly sure he wouldn’t be able to pull himself far with his leg flaring with pain and his crutch one hundred times his size, so he settled on the space underneath one of their tool drawers. His leg cried out with pain as he shuffled over to it, and once he was fully hidden he leaned back against the wall, his face tight as he grimaced though the sharp heat in his leg.

He’d have to sleep there. He had no choice if he wanted enough strength to even attempt to climb the desk again.

It was difficult to find the will to sleep, with the adrenaline still coursing through him, but his body was so exhausted from several sleepless days, that when he shut his eyes he was out within moments.

When he woke up next he would be able to try again, and everything would be fine. No one had to know.

The only problem was that in his exhausted state he forgot about the one hinge in this plan.

“Viktor?”

Viktor had never woken up faster in his life. His head shot up, smacking against the wall behind him painfully, but luckily the sound didn’t seem to draw Jayce’s attention. The only problem was that his partner was only a few steps away from the drawer he was hiding under. He could feel the vibrations from the man’s now gigantic shoes every time they hit the ground, like small earthquakes against the tile floor.

“You in here?” Jayce called out again, as his feet stopped close to Viktor’s desk.

Meanwhile, Viktor sat frozen. Eyes wide at the sight of Jayce’s boots. He recognized them of course, he’d been there when Jayce had purchased them for a meeting with some potential investors. Then, he had offered them to Jayce, a soft smile at how happy his partner was to dress up.

Now, even the wooden heel of Jayce’s boots was taller than him. His breathing stuttered at the thought.

“Hey, Viktor?” Jayce asked again, his voice pitching up at the last syllable of his name.

Viktor knew that tone, of course he did. Jayce was worried, as he was more often than not nowadays. His voice tightened and raised in barely hidden concern. Ever since the day in the hospital Viktor had come to hate that tone.

Viktor’s brain worked through options of what to do. Best case: Jayce would leave, and he could fix the problem on his own. But as he watched Jayce’s boots from under the drawer he started to fear that wouldn’t be the case. After all, Jayce had gotten into the habit of meeting Viktor late at the lab every night.

Guilt burrowed deep in his chest at the sound of Jayce’s concerned voice as he looked around the lab. He could tell him, he thought for only a second before he shut down that train of thinking. That was dangerous. It didn’t matter if he trusted Jayce, if he’d be careful; he was too small and it was too risky. And he still couldn’t quite calm down his rapidly beating heart at the sight of someone several hundred times his size.

So he waited, barely breathing as to not give his partner any clues to his presence as Jayce leaned over his desk nearby. A few minutes passed with only the sound of ruffling papers above him before Jayce made an odd sound, a small questioning murmur as he reached out to grab something beyond Viktor’s sight- his crutch.

And right as Jayce shifted, something toppled to the ground from the desk above with a loud thunderous crash.

Immediately, Viktor jumped up. His leg ached at the movement as adrenaline roared in his blood. His heart pounded and his whole body tensed up, ready to flee if needed. It took him a moment to even process what had fallen with how loud it had sounded in his ears- a screwdriver, his screwdriver, now easily three times his size.

He didn’t even realize he had made a sound until the boots stopped right in front of the drawers he was under. Jayce mumbled something to himself that Viktor couldn’t quite make out, but he didn’t have any time to think about it before Jayce’s knees hit the ground.

The moment Viktor realized what was happening he froze. Jayce had heard him.

He could try to run, but without his crutch he couldn’t get far, and he’d likely hurt himself even more. Desperately, he shuffled back into the corner, pressed between the wall and the leg of the cabinet, hoping and praying Jayce just wouldn’t notice.

But Jayce was a scientist after all, he didn’t get far without being perceptive.

Viktor held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut as Jayce’s face finally came into view, brows furrowed as he looked under the cabinet. His large hazel eyes glanced around as he grumbled again something about mice, and for a brief moment Viktor thought he was safe before-

“Viktor?”

Viktor’s mouth went dry, his eyes flying open to meet Jayce’s own, now staring intently at him. For a moment the world around him froze. His heart beat so fast he thought it would jump right out of his chest.

Gods, Jayce was massive.

Before he could do anything Jayce’s hand was under the cabinet, reaching for him, and suddenly Viktor couldn’t breath.

“Stop, wait,” Viktor gasped as he held his hands out in front of him, “I…I’m fine.”

Immediately, the gigantic hand in front of him froze. Jayce’s fingers still twitched like he wanted to reach out, but they didn’t move any closer.

“Viktor, what?” Jayce shook his head in confusion, “I…apologies, but you don’t look fine. What happened to you?”

Viktor took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, “The Hexcore…I just… it did something.”

Jayce tilted his head in thought, his lips tightening as they always did when he was presented with a difficult problem. His eyes narrowed like he wanted to ask something before he sighed, the expression dropping from his face completely.

“Well I can see that…How long have you been like this?” Jayce asked, voice much softer than it had been moments before.

Viktor stilled himself, wrapping his arms around his aching leg as he met Jayce’s eyes, “I eh…I’m not sure. I tried to get back up to the Hexcore, but couldn’t make it…so I decided it was likely best for me to uh…stay here for a bit.”

Jayce’s eyes flashed with something again that Viktor couldn’t quite put a name too before he sighed. His hand retracted and before Viktor could stop him or say anything, Jayce was standing again.

“You know you don’t have to hide from me,” Jayce said, his voice booming from somewhere far above, “I can help you.”

Viktor sighed, and shrugged his shoulders even though he knew Jayce couldn’t see him anymore. He knew he was referring to something else…to the rift between them that was growing larger and larger each day, but that argument was the last thing he wanted at the moment. And he was too far away from Jayce to even warrant giving him a response…it wasn’t like he would hear it.

“I’m going to move this okay,” Jayce said, after a few moments, the drawers above Viktor shaking a bit, “Make it a little easier to talk.”

Viktor braced himself against the wall as the world around him shifted. Again, he found himself wishing he could run, to get as far away as he could from Jayce’s gigantic form that could reduce him to nothing with no effort at all. But he couldn’t. So all he could do was sit as the ground underneath him vibrated, and the cabinet was shifted away from Viktor, until he was completely out in the open.

“There you are,” Jayce said with a tilted brow and a small careful smile, “Now do you want help or no?”

Viktor scowled as he looked down at the floor, anything to avoid the dizzying sight of his partner looming above him that was starting to make him feel sick, “I don’t need your help, councillor.”

It was a low blow and Viktor knew it, but staring up at Jayce, the frightened animal-like part of him wanted nothing more than to snap- to prove he wasn’t weak. And thankfully Jayce didn’t seem too hurt. The man sighed and offered Viktor a sad smile as he oh so slowly bent down to sit on the ground next to Viktor.

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want,” Jayce said slowly, “But I also can’t leave you here like this. You know that right?”

Viktor prickled at the man’s tone, “I don’t need your pity or your help, Jayce.”

“Then how exactly did you plan to get back up to the Hexcore?”

Viktor met his words with a scowl, “I would’ve found a way.”

“And how long would that have taken?” Jayce asked, voice firm.

And to that, Viktor had no response.

The adrenaline that had been rushing through him was starting to die off, and he truly didn’t want to argue anymore. The instinctual need to make sure people knew he was able to do things on his own warred against his own logical reasoning. This was different. He really couldn’t do this on his own. This wasn’t Jayce treating him like he was broken like he was so used to from everyone else.

Jayce never did that.

After a few moments of strained silence, Jayce cleared his throat and tilted his head towards Viktor, “Really Vik… just let me help you, it’s no problem. And I don’t want you to get hurt like this.”

A million different emotions warred in Viktor’s head before he finally gave in. His shoulders slumped forward as he let out a sigh and tilted his head up at Jayce, “Fine. Just… get me up to the desk.”

Like a dog, Jayce immediately and visibly perked up. His eyes softened as he bent down closer, his hand slowly reaching out again.

This time Viktor didn’t stop him, although his heart still jackhammered in his chest in fear at just how large Jayce was.

“Can I pick you up?” Jayce asked cautiously, his fingers hovering a mere breath away from Viktor.

Viktor stood frozen as he stared at Jayce’s hand. His eyes widened as he fully took in the size difference. He was maybe the same height as Jayce’s pointer finger, if even. The vast different was enough to make his head spin.

“Yeah, yes. That is fine Jayce.”

A soft approving sound was the only warning Viktor got before the fingers reached forward and gently wrapped around him. Viktor had to hold his breath to not jump at the contact, but after a few moments he relaxed. Jayce always had run warm, and his palm seemed to be the same. It was almost nice in a way Viktor would never admit.

After a moment, the fingers wrapped around him more securely, Jayce’s grip tight but not painful as he lifted Viktor up to his face to get a closer look.

“You’re so small,” Jayce laughed softly as he tilted his partner around in his hands like he was another experiment.

“Jayce!” Viktor grumbled as he hit one of Jayce’s ridiculously massive fingers, “Stop twisting me around like I’m a Hexgem.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jayce apologized quickly, “It’s just so odd. And everything feels okay?”

Viktor shrugged, silently cataloguing his body, “Aside from the usual, yes.”

A nod from Jayce, “Okay…okay. We can work with that. That’s good. We just need to figure out how to reverse the runes and you’ll be fine until that.”

“What do you mean until that,” Viktor frowned, responding a little harsher than he really intended, “We flip the runes and fix it now.”

Jayce swallowed nervously and shook his head like he was thinking, “This isn’t…Viktor…we can’t just wing it. This is your life! We have to try to recreate this first. What if we flip the runes and something worse happens. I- we can’t.”

With his last words, Jayce’s expression hardened as the familiar look of worry filled his eyes. However, as much as Viktor hated it, Jayce was right. They already knew the arcane worked in strange ways, and there wasn’t even a guarantee the same runes would work to change Viktor back.

“Jayce,” Viktor sighed, his head leaning to rest on Jayce’s thumb which was wrapped firmly around his chest, “I can’t walk. I can’t work. I can’t even go home like this.”

Viktor waited for Jayce to understand what he meant- for him to realize just how big of a problem this was- but Jayce’s expression just softened in response.

“You stay with me then.”

“What?” Viktor asked, eyes wide with shock, “Absolutely not. I will not burden you for some mistake I made. And I can’t just…I can’t just sit in your apartment all day until you decide it’s time to come to the lab.”

Jayce’s lips tightened in response, and subconsciously his fingers moved to rub gently across Viktor’s back, “It’s not a burden to have my friend around more often, Viktor. And you won’t. You’ll come with me, I wouldn’t feel right leaving you anywhere like this anyways.”

Meanwhile, Viktor felt like he’d been slapped in the face. Jayce’s expression was earnest, but it made no sense to Viktor no matter how hard he tried to comprehend it.

“You’re my partner Viktor,” Jayce nodded, brows raised at his tiny friend, “I’m not making you go through this in your own. Hextech is both of ours, so its mistakes are too. Besides, it’ll be nice having you around, maybe I can actually make sure you sleep for once.”

At that, Viktor flushed red in embarrassment, wanting nothing more than to hide away from Jayce, but it was nearly impossible when he was firmly stuck in the man’s hand.

Jayce laughed softly at Viktor’s clear embarrassment and brought his other hand on top of Viktor, covering him completely. “I’ll have to hide you while we go to my apartment, but I’ll get something set up for you there. We can rest tonight at least, and start looking into the runes tomorrow.”

It was hard for Viktor to fight the urge to argue that they should start now, but the all-encompassing warmth of Jayce’s hands was making a nap sound really really good.

Before Jayce even got out of the academy building Viktor was asleep. He was worried about his partner, he always was, but the sight of him so small in his hands made something soft bloom in Jayce’s chest. As they reached the cold streets of Piltover, Jayce gently dropped Viktor’s sleeping form into his breast pocket.

It would be difficult dealing with this, but if it meant Jayce could be closer to Viktor then he supposed it wasn’t too bad.

#arcane gt #g/t #corywrites #fluff #hurt/comfort #g!jayce #t!viktor #gammapulse ask #runes and ruin

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