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not-me-simping-for-blasty · 4 years ago

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Wrong Number, Asshole - A Bakugou Katsuki Soulmate AU

All Parts:

Epilogue:

--/--

6 Months Later

“Stop- Katsuki, stop it!” You huff a frustrated sigh, shooting him an unimpressed glare. “Why can’t you just sit still?”

“Because this is takin’ too goddamn long! Waste of fuckin’ minutes.”

“Well this is important to me, so you’re gonna sit back and shut up and-“ You nearly scream when he shifts again, almost dislodging the measuring tape you’d wrapped around his wrist. “Sit still! Jesus, angry man, it’ll literally take two seconds if you just stop fighting me!”

He grumbles, something low and petulant under his breath, but then falls back against the couch fully. Bakugou finally relents, hand going slack in your hold as he shuts his eyes.

You were gonna kill him, no seriously, you were gonna murder him. He was being so difficult, way more difficult than usual, and you had a sneaking suspiscion it was because he was tired- because, as you’d quickly found out, from only a few months of dating, Katsuki was an absolute toddler about sleep. You’d come to understand that him being tired led to him being cranky, and him being cranky led to him being so goddamn annoying and combative that it made you want to tear your hair out.

He was lucky you loved him so much- not that you told him that yet.

You’d known you loved him for months now, could feel it the way your body heated if you thought of him, the way your blood sang if you so much as heard his name. It was a full body sensation for you- the way you loved him. There was just no escaping it; no escaping the way he’d carved himself a spot in every single part of you. You couldn’t imagine life without him, didn’t even want to try- but you couldn’t tell him so.

Every time you’d tried you were tongue-tied and stuttering and red in the face. The words were thick in your mouth, clogging up the back of your throat. You just couldn’t figure out how to say them; no matter how many times you’d tried.

You flip his arm over, measuring the space between his thumb and his wrist. You’re trying to be delicate and gentle, but truthfully you really just wanted to get this done quickly.

With the deadline for your last college project quickly approaching, you’d spent the last few weeks doing nothing but devoting all your time and losing sleep over it. It seemed like no matter what support item you’d devised, it didn’t seem perfect- didn’t seem inspired enough to turn in for your final grade. So you dedicated yourself to watching clips and looked at hero rankings and pretty much sacrificed your social life entirely, just to stew over it. It took watching Bakugou’s own hero highlights with him to snap you out of your funk. You wanted to smack yourself; he’d been in front of you the entire time! Of course, it had to be an item for him. So you got to building and designing with renewed spirit.

Katsuki was an amazing fighter, you knew this, and his prowess in battle and raw power alone was quite literally unmatched by almost every opponent- but, the only thing holding him back was that he didn’t do so well with civilians. Try as he might, Bakugou’s loud, flashy, quirk just didn’t paint him as particularly friendly, and his brash personality didn’t help either. And, since you’d long ago given up trying to soften his character, but maybe you could help with his quirk. You figured that was pretty much your degree right?

So, for the past month or so, you’d been secretly working on a gauntlet attachment for him. You’d designed it to quiet his explosions, similar to a silencer on a gun, in hopes that civilians would stop reporting hearing loss after being saved by your very loud boyfriend. Truthfully, you knew it wouldn’t fix all his problems, but maybe then his ratings would go up a tiny bit. And, you figured, if you then just built the prototype you designed, then it could serve as a birthday present for him too. Two birds with one stone, right?

If only it was that simple.

It wasn’t. You were a perfectionist and you’d been pouring your blood, sweat, and tears for weeks now, but it still didn’t feel like enough. It felt like you were running out of time. Even now, while actively taking measurements for said project, you felt uneasy spending time with Bakugou.

“You done yet, woman?” He peeks an eye open.

“Almost.” You grab your phone, typing the measurements into your notes. “See how easy and quick this went when you stopped being annoying?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to be so fuckin’ annoying if you’d just tell me what you’re makin’ already.”

“Nope. Already talked about this, Katsu,” You let go of his hand. “It’s a surprise! You don’t wanna spoil your birthday surprise, do you?”

You’re joking, smiling widely at him and fluttering your eyelashes. He doesn’t look very amused. Katsuki just squints at you for a moment before poking your side.

“That’s fuckin’ stupid. You’re being annoying. Stop it.”

“Fine. Well I guess since you don’t want it, maybe I just won’t give it to you then.” You tease, moving to leave the couch. “Maybe I just won’t give you any of the gifts I was planning to.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, huffs like he is very inconvienced, and grabs your wrist. He pulls until you’re falling into him, crashing into his chest and settling on his lap.

“I didn’t fuckin’ say that, idiot.” He grumbles, hands falling around your sides. “Stop putting shitty words in my mouth already.”

“I can’t. Pretty sure that’s my job actually.” You laugh, bracing your hands on his chest as you straighten. “Besides, you say like 3 words and all of them are swears, angry man. Someone’s gotta be the talker out of the two of us.”

“It shouldn’t be you. You’re better quiet.” His words were cold, but he was rubbing warm circles into your lower back. “Fuckin’ silent.”

“Wow- we sure are cranky tonight, huh, angry man? Is it bedtime for baby, already?”

“You’re not funny.”

“No, I’m pretty funny.” You laugh, brushing the the wild hair away from his forehead with a gentle hand. “But seriously though, if you’re tired, I don’t have to stay. I don’t mind, I can leave if you just want to sleep.”

He screws his face up at that, comically offended and dramatic as he drops his face into your shoulder. Katsuki’s arms wrap around your sides, pulling you close until you’re flush against his chest. He tightens his grip and doesn’t seem like he plans to let go any time soon.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, angry man, I get it. I won’t leave right now- but I can’t stay for too long.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“That project, remember? I’m nearly done.”

He huffs again, arms curling tighter around you. You’re a little confused- truthfully, he usually is more physical than verbal, especially when he’s tired, but he’s never this physically affectionate. His voice is a near snarl when he speaks again.

“I fuckin’ hate that stupid as shit assignment.”

“Yeah, well, you hate pretty much everything; so I can’t say I’m exactly suprised, Katsuki.”

“No. Seriously.” He gruffs, fingers twitching at your sides. Katsuki takes a deep breath, biting out his next words quickly. “Haven’t seen you in fuckin’ days.”

“Aww-”

“Say another goddamn word and I’ll take it back, woman. Try me.”

“Okay. I won’t.” You giggle. “But I really am serious, I can’t stay over tonight. Got work to do still.”

“That’s stupid.” Bakugou says and then he’s squeezing you once again, keeping you trapped tight against his chest. “You’re being stupid.”

“Wow. Thanks.” You snort, looking up at him. His mouth is pressed into a tense grimace, so you try patting his cheek playfully. “You know though, one of these days you’re actually gonna have to start using your nice words- can’t just continue insulting me or I might just disappear forever.”

He doesn’t seem to like your joke. Not at all.

“I’m kidding. I’m not going anywhere.” You console. “I’m only picking on you, you know, so don’t be so sensitive, angry man. You insult me all the time.”

“When the fuck did I insult ya?”

“Katsuki-“ You utter in disbelief, your hand moving to play with the hairs on the back of his neck. “You literally just called me stupid! And you said you liked me better silent! Like 2 minutes ago!”

He shrugs, and you can feel his face heat against your neck, but he doesn’t say anything.

“You’re awfully lucky I like you so much.” You sigh. “Because otherwise I’d have to kick your teeth in every time you opened your mouth.”

“Like you could even get that close to me, shitty woman.”

“Strong words for a man currently making a home in my collarbone, Katsuki.”

“That’s-I- You know what,” He starts, extending an arm and pushing against your shoulders to create distance. “Say shit like that again and I swear to god I’ll...”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll- I’ll fuckin-“ He stutters, face red and fists clenched. “I’ll-“

You think he looks adorable- all huffy and red and embarrassed where he sits. Katsuki’s eyebrows are pinched together in that competitive crease you’d come to know so well, his mouth curled around a familiar snarl. You were sure it must’ve looked terrfying to anyone else- but you weren’t just anyone else. You were his soulmate and you knew exactly how to get him to calm down.

You caught his face in both of your hands, crossing the distance until your lips met his. Bakugou tried to set the pace, because he always tried at first, armed with bruising pressure and dominance and uncoordinated aggression. You weren’t new here though- you had a lot more tricks of your sleeve than he did.

You ran a hand up his spine, your nails just barely catching on to the fabric of shirt, trailing the back of his neck until they landed in his hair. He damn near melted into you at that, and he pretty much dissolved when your other hand ran under the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re gonna what now?” You asked, pulling away slowly. You’re breathless and blushing yourself but that never stopped you before. “C’mon, Katsuki, tell me. What you were gonna do?”

“I-huh?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot?” You giggled. Unable to help yourself, you pecked his lips again. “You seemed so determined though!”

He’s still dazed- red and embarrassed as he looks at you through half-lidded eyes. You can’t stop the victorious smirk that rolls across your face.

“You’re an evil fucking woman.” He finally says, breathless. “Shitty too.”

“Mhm, I know.”

“Shouldn’t sound so fuckin’ happy about it. ‘S not a compliment, idiot.”

“I know.” You pat his chest, pushing away from him until you’re standing on your own. “Now, c’mon, up. Sleep time, right?”

You see the look on his face, and it almost kills you to crush it.

“No, that doesn’t mean I’m staying, angry man. I’ll take a nap with you and then I’m going home.” You offer your hand out to him. “Sound good?”

"Whatever.” He doesn’t seem all that pleased and he bats your hand away lightly, standing on his own. He starts down the hallway towards his bedroom with stomping steps and you follow. “You better actually go to sleep though- ya got ugly fuckin’ bags under your eyes, woman.”

You stop in your tracks, a wheeze escaping you. It didn’t matter how many conversations you’d had with him, how many times he’d accidentally insulted you with his blunt words, it still surprised you every time. And maybe it was your tired state, all the sleep lost over the past few weeks finally piling up, but his words hurt a little this time- hit a nerve and made you angry.

“Alright, well, on that note. Maybe I will go home!” You huff, thumping a fist against his back. “That was so mean! What the hell, angry man! I’m literally busting my ass right now and that’s what you have to say to me? That I’m ugly to you? That’s fucking rude! I didn’t- I’m leaving. I don’t even have enough time for this anyway and I-”

He spins around quickly, pressing you into the wall as he grabs your arm. You can’t hit him anymore, not with the sturdy grip he has on your wrist, but the look on Katsuki’s face really makes you want to. He looks insulted, tired, but mostly just annoyed by your reaction. You swear you could kill him that moment, but then he’s gathering you into his chest and you’re melting against him. He’s still your soulmate- no matter how angry he makes you.

“N-not like that. Idiot. Not ugly.” He mumbles against your hair, voice tight and shy. You didn’t have to see his face to know he was blushing furiously. “I meant- I- you’re not fuckin’ sleeping. I can see it. So you have to sleep.”

“I-what?”

“I’m not fucking stupid. You’re tired- it’s obvious. Have been for weeks.”

“You noticed?”

“Course I fuckin’ did.” He shifts on feet anxiously, swaying you a bit in your arms. “See your stupid face all the time- I can tell that shit about you.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.” You pull back a bit in surprise, trying catch his eyes. He won’t let you, eyes zeroed on the wall, just behind your head. His face is a violent shade of red. You roll your eyes fondly, gently guiding him to look at you with your hands on his burning cheeks. “I shouldn’t have flipped, but that still wasn’t very nice. You really should’ve just said what you meant the first time around, but it’s fine. I understand. School’s just been tough with final assignments and stuff, you know? I’m alright though- just a little tired. Like you said.”

Katsuki doesn’t seem pleased with your answer, his eyebrows creasing as he grumbles something under his breath.

“What? Couldn’t hear you, angry man.”

“I said-” He starts strong, nearly confident until his tone quickly falls off. Then he’s mumbling again and crushing you to his chest so he doesn’t have to meet your eyes.

“W-what are you trying to say?”

“God, you always make me say such embarrassing shit!” He growls, voice loud next to your ear. “I said- I said- you’re doing too much, idiot! You haven’t been around much and it’s fuckin’ makin’ me mad and worryin’ me and all that stupid, disgusting, annoying, shit! So just give yourself a fuckin’ break, already!”

You’re pressed close to Katsuki, and when you press you hand flat against his chest, you can feel his heart racing wildly under your fingertips. He must’ve been upset about this for a while, you realize- to be expending this much energy, when usually he’d be dead on his feet at this time of night. You feel a little guilty for it, but more than anything you’re gooey and warm all over.

“I-I’m sorry. For worrying you.” You soothe, pressing a chaste kiss to his chest. “And I know you tell me not to apologize to you, but I mean it this time. I didn’t mean to worry you. I’ll take better care of myself. I promise.”

“Good. I-”

“Hmm?”

“N-nothing.” He stutters, flushing violently all of the sudden. He spins on his heels quickly, dragging you down the hallway and into his bedroom. “You have to stay now.”

“No- I can’t. I told you.”

“And I fuckin’ told you to chill the hell out and take a break.” He barks, digging through his dresser and throwing a pair of sweats at you. “Stop being fuckin’ difficult. You’re staying.”

Truly, you want to fight him. Your brain is running wildly, a million different ideas and worries battering around inside your skull- but he’s right. You are tired. Have been tired for weeks now. If you went home now, you knew you’d just talk yourself into working some more. So maybe a tiny, tiny little break wouldn’t hurt, right? Just something small. A single night.

“Fine. But I’m leaving early tomorrow morning.”

You knew you made the right decision when he smiles at you; a small, tiny, pleased, little thing that just barely curls the edges of his mouth. It seems like it’d be hardly noticeable, but you’d been dreaming of that smile for months now. He very rarely graced you with it, very rarely shared something so delicate and uncharacteristically soft but it winded you every time.

Katsuki fell asleep almost immediately after pulling your down into bed with him. He’d barely curled around you, hardly even let his head hit the pillow before beginning to snore. That smile stayed though. He kept it even as his breathing slowed and his grip on you loosened.

That same overwhelming warmth you’d been feeling for weeks overtook you again- that same blistering, endless affection rendering your limbs shaky and your breaths unsteady as you stared at him.

I love him. You realized. More than anything.

--/--

As it turns out, letting Bakugou drag you into some much needed rest is exactly what you needed.

The next morning you’d left his place, mind refreshed and completely reinvigorated to once again start working on the gauntlet attachment. You’d love to say it was just the sleep that fixed you up- but you knew the truth. It was him- him and increasingly strange ways of showing affection.

Settling down into your desk chair, you pulled the schematics you’d drawn up once more. There wasn’t much left to build, only a few more parts you’d need to fabricate with your quirk, and then you’d be ready to put it all together.

Using past records of his costumes, and studying various clips of him in his current costume, you’d finally felt certain that you’d gotten it right. It was a pain conducting the research, especially because you’d had to contact the support companies personally, but in the end you were happy you did it. You wanted this to be a possible improvement for him, but you also wanted it to fit in with his current arsenal. It was a risk for sure, giving your prototype as a gift, and you’d be totally crushed if decided to not use it, but you’d take the chance.

Bakugou had only mentioned the problem a single time in the past, and even then it was a passing comment, but you couldn’t seem to let it go.

I’m sick of kid’s always fuckin’ cryin’ when I save them. My explosions aren’t that fuckin’ scary, are they?

He’d said it in the middle of a rant, his eyes pressed tightly together as he paced angrily, but something about his tone struck you. When he said it, he didn’t sound angry. Bakugou sounded upset and frustrated and almost hopeless. You knew it bothered him more than he let on, and from then you wanted to help him- but you couldn’t imagine stripping him of his quirk.

It, his explosions, were important to him. They were his power and his pride and they helped him save people. He was so, so proud of them, and it broke your heart to think that they were the only thing left holding him back. So, you figured, what if he kept the force but lost the sound? Kid’s normally liked bright lights a lot more than loud sounds, after all.

Grunting with effort, you began fabricating gears and wires and screws between your hands. It took hours and nearly all of your energy, but you’d finally done it. You had everything you needed to finish his gift.

The next few weeks flew by in a flurry of construction, and deadlines, and sleeplessness but by the time his birthday rolled around, you were ready. Your schematics had been turned in and approved by your professors, you’d passed your final project, and you were finally finished building the prototype. Everything was going great- but you knew why you were really happy.

The last few weeks had been packed for you, and you’d hardly had time for anybody. You felt guilty about it, of course, and you only felt worse when you only heard Bakugou’s voice over the phone each night, but there was no helping it.

Or, at least, there wasn’t- but it wasn’t crunch time anymore. You’d suddenly found yourself with an wealth of free-time, and you knew exactly who you were gonna spend it on.

--/--

Using the key he’d given you, you slipped into the apartment, closing the door quietly. It was difficult in the dark, stumbling slightly with the gifts and cake currently held in your hands, but you’d managed it. Everything had gone smoothly on the way there, you’d just put the cake safely in the fridge, and now you could wake your soulmate up to the best birthday of his life.

What shame he had to go and ruin it.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

You jumped, heart seizing in your chest.

“Jesus- fuck.” You yelled in the dark. You blindly felt your way out of the kitchen and into the living room, towards the sound of his voice. “Bakugou! What the fuck, man?”

“What the- no! Me! I should be the one fuckin’ saying that!” His voice was raised, and you couldn’t see his fists but you knew they were probably clenched tightly into fists. “Almost blew you up, idiot! What the hell are you doing here?”

“Oh my god.” You huffed, hands rubbing at your tired eyes. “I was going to wake you up! Surprise you! Because it’s your birthday and it’s- wait, what the fuck are you even doing up? It’s like 6:30 AM, on a Saturday!”

“What the hell are you even on about? I’m always fuckin’ awake right now!”

“Yeah! On a work day! When you’re working!” You can’t help but be frustrated; you wanted to be cute and sweet and Bakugou had ruined it entirely. As he so often did. “But you’re not even working today! It’s your day off! And I know you sleep in on those, so why?”

“Couldn’t fuckin’ slee-”

“What do you mean?” You interrupt, finally flipping the light switch and flooding the room with light. “Swear to god you’re dead to the world the second you hit the pillow! Literally happens every time I stay over. You’re out by 8:30! Why is today of all days the day you choose not to sleep?”

He doesn’t say anything in response to your outburst, and that’s when you finally look at him. It had been almost 3 weeks since you’d last visited, and he didn’t look like you remembered him. It wasn’t anything super obvious at first, but upon closer inspection you could see the deep bags under his eyes, and the pale, lifelessness of his skin. He was telling the truth; apparently, he really hadn’t be able to sleep- and it didn’t start just last night either.

“Hey. Katsuki,” Your irritation from earlier faded. Suddenly filled with concern, you stepped towards him, taking his face in your hands. Bakugou tried to turn away, but you didn’t let him. “What’s up, huh? You alright?”

“Fine.”

“No. You’re not. You look tired. Are you sick?”

“No.” He mumbled, his hands falling on your waist as you stood in front of him. “I’m fine. Workin’ a lot or whatever. I’m fuckin’ fine.”

You nod, eyebrows rising in surprise as he suddenly pulls you in. He presses his face into your stomach, arms around your sides as he shuts his eyes. There it is again- that unusual physicality. This strange behavior had stopped for a while recently, but now it seemed to be back in full-force.

“Do you wanna try sleeping again?” You ask after a beat. “I’ve got birthday stuff for you, but we can do always do it later. We’ve got the whole day, right?”

“What- you plannin’ to actually be here or some shit?” He grumbles, with a lot more intentional bite than you’re used to hearing from him. “I’m surprised. Didn’t know an idiot like you still had the fuckin’ brain cells to remember.”

You’re shocked, rendered completely still and stiff in his hold. Was he- was he mad at you?

“What?” You try to push away from him, to get a look at his face, but he doesn’t let you. Bakugou’s arms only tighten and you’re left even more confused. “Are you upset with me? Are you tired? What’s wrong?”

“You really fuckin’ piss me off.”

“What?”

He only growls under his breath, voice raspy and deep. “Whatever. You don’t fuckin’ get it. Let’s just go to sleep.”

“No- but I-” You stutter, feeling out of place. Katsuki sounded so frustrated and angry and you couldn’t figure out what was wrong. “If you’re upset with me we need to talk about it. What happened? What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t respond to your question, only knocks your feet out from under you and stands with you in his arms. You’re dumbfounded. He has never, not ever, carried you anywhere. He’s never even made an attempted to lift you! Something was seriously off with him today- and you couldn’t for the life of you figure out what it was.

Katsuki was mad at you. You knew that, he’d said it himself. But then why was he carrying you down the hall to his bedroom? Why wasn’t he kicking you out?

He kicks open the door, pushing it shut loudly behind him. He looks pissed when you look up at him, his eyebrow’s creased together in an agitated line, but even so, Katsuki sets you down on the bed gently. You’re hardly able to catch your breath when he’s climbing in on the other side, pulling you close and lying practically on top of you.

“What? I- Katsuki?” You asked desperately, brain reeling. “What’s wrong? I don’t understand?”

“I’m fuckin’ tired, woman. Go to sleep.”

“I can’t! Not when you’re upset like this- seriously, what’s wrong?”

“You. You’re what’s fuckin’ wrong!”

“What?”

“God, you’re so fucking dense!” He growls, angry voice vibrating against the skin of your neck. “Fuckin’ showin’ up in the mornin’ like nothin’s wrong? Been avoiding me for weeks now!”

“What- no! We literally called last night! What are you talking about?”

“We called for 2 fuckin’ minutes before you fell asleep! And you-” His voice drops suddenly, and then he’s pressing even closer to you, starting up once again. “You piss me the hell off, you know! Sayin’ shit about how you’re gonna do better and then leavin’ for weeks? Not talkin’ to me? What the fuck is that? And then you sneak in here and scare the shit out of me! And you’re running your stupid fucking mouth about the whole day when you’re not even gonna be her-”

Oh. Oh.

He was mad because you’d been busy; because the last time you’d seen him, Bakugou had told he was worried about you, and you blew him off. The last time you’d seen him, you’d promised that you’d take better care of yourself and then you didn’t. All you did was continue working yourself to death, and while you didn’t regret it for even a second, you hadn’t kept him in the loop. You’d barely even managed to call him each night, and even then you’d fall asleep half-way through every conversation.

“Have you been worried this whole time?” You asked quietly.

Bakugou takes a deep, shaky breath, and you can feel his eyelashes flutter against your neck.

“You were worried.” You whisper. “Weren’t you?”

He nods minutely.

“I-I didn’t realize. I told you- but I didn’t realize. I was so focused on school, so busy, I’m so sorry.” You press a kiss into his hair, your heart sinking when his shoulders tremble. “I missed you too.”

“I didn’t fuckin’- I didn’t-”

“I know. I said it. I’m saying it. I’m sorry, Katsu. I missed you.” You sigh, tightening your arms around him. “Is that why you’re not sleeping well?”

Bakugou is silent but he tenses, going completely rigid under your hands. Your stomach drops.

“It’s-I’m good. Really, this time. Everything’s done. I’m completely finished and everything is gonna go back to normal.” You cradle his face, making him look into your eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. We’re good.”

“Are we?”

“What?”

Bakugou shakes your hold, tucking his head until you can’t see his eyes anymore. You can hardly see any of his features, but you see the wobbly line of his mouth. Can feel the shaking of his fingers. When he speaks again, it’s quiet. Barely there.

“Didn’t mean it, last time, when I said your eyebags were ugly. You’re not ugly.”

You blink, hardly able to recall the conversation. Wasn’t that the last time you had visited? Weeks ago? Why was he still thinking about it?

Bakugou huffs again, apparently frustrated by your silence.

“So I’m s-sorry. For insulting you. So now you don’t have to disappear again.”

Your eyes widened.

“You know though, one of these days you’re actually gonna have to start using your nice words- can’t just continue insulting me or I might just disappear forever.”

You remember how upset he’d been when you’d made the joke- how his shoulder’s dropped and his eyebrows caved and his mouth smoothed out into a thin line. Was that really the last time you’d visited? Did he think you were mad at him this whole time?

Guilt flooded you, awful and thick and viscous as it tore through your stomach. You had to make him understand. You just had to.

“No. I- Katsuki. Look at me. Look at me.” You insist until he’s looking at you. His eyes are the dullest you’ve ever seen them- more vulnerable than ever before. “I didn’t- I was just busy, I promise! Not upset. I didn’t mean to ice you out like that. It’s fine! I know you didn’t mean it.”

Katsuki growls, grasping for your hand and hiding his face behind it. “I didn’t- I’m sick of stupid angry shit I say ruinin’ stuff for me. So don’t just fuckin’ say it’s fine if it’s not.”

“It is. I promise. We’re good.” You soothe, caressing his burning cheeks with your knuckle. “That was a bad joke, okay- I didn’t mean it. I wouldn’t have said it if I knew it was gonna make you worry so much. I promise I was just busy these last few weeks. Nothing you say is ever gonna get rid of me, alright? Not even if you tried! Because I love you and I-”

“You what?”

You freeze, shifting uncomfortably as your cheeks heated up. This was not how you wanted to tell him. You wanted to tell him like you meant it, not just tacked onto the back of a bunch of other statements. He’d heard though, and no matter what you wanted, you couldn’t run from it.

“You what?” He asks again.

“I-I love you. Katsuki, I love you.”

Bakugou jolts, nearly jumps out of his skin and then he’s digging his face into your neck. He’s hot, his skin nearly burning, and there’s a strangled, clipped noise leaving his mouth. You’re filled with so much adoration in that moment that it nearly chokes you, but it’s freeing too, because you’ve said it. Finally. After waiting your entire life for him, after knowing him for so many months, after loving him for so long, he knew.

“I love you.” You repeated again, giggling breathlessly. “I love you, you dummy.”

He finally lifts his head, expression so full of awe and disbelief and childlike confusion. It’s just like the first time you’d really kissed him; like he couldn’t figure out why you loved him. It was like those first few days all over again and you couldn’t help it. You loved him so much.

Grabbing his chin, you pulled him in, guiding until his lips met yours. You felt him smile as you kissed him, and you realized you were wrong. That first real kiss might’ve been nice; but it wasn’t heaven- itwas only the gateway to paradise. But this? This was the real Elysium.

His body moved against yours, so close and warm and pliant. He was letting you set the pace, without resistance or force or argument for the very first time. There had been a lot of past kisses, you had hardly been able to keep yourself off of him, but none of them had never felt like this before. He’d never trusted you like this before. You got to be the one taking and taking and taking where’d you spent so long giving.

It was consummation. Finality. Your perfect ending.

You pull away, panting for breath. He follows, resting on his forearms and dropping his forehead to yours.

“I-I- I love you. Too. Idiot woman.”

You laugh under him, cackling loudly as you turn to press a kiss into his forearms. Of course he’d said it like that. It’s tough love or not at all with Bakugou Katsuki- and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Stop laughing!” He orders, face screwed up uncomfortably. “You’re always fuckin’ laughing at me! You fuckin’ witch! Stop it! It’s- I’m not- I take it back! I don’t- stop makin’ fun of me, shitty wom-”

“Hey, Katsuki?”

“Oh my fucking god! You laugh at me and then you go thinkin’ your just gonna interrupt me while I’m yellin’ at you? No fuckin’ way! I’m not gonna allow that shit in my own fuckin’ house and I-”

“Katsuki.”

“Jesus christ! What?”

“I love you.”

He freezes entirely, collasping his entire weight directly on top of you. He’s so hot it’s like his skin is burning. You wrap your arms around him with a happy giggle, burrowing your own blushing face into his hair.

“I love you.” You whisper, slow and earnest against the shell of his ear. “I really, really, really love you, angry man.”

He startles again, jumps in your arms and only seems to run hotter. He groans something strangled and defeated, until he’s sinking into you again, pressing you against the mattress.

“S-s-stop fuckin’ saying it. You’re doing it on fuckin’ purpose.”

“Doing what?”

“You fuckin’ know, you witch woman.”

“No, I really, really, dont.” You say indulgently, laughing as you drop kisses into his hair. “Care to share?”

“No. Fuck no. I’m fuckin’ done sharing. Forever.”

You rolls your eyes, once again enduring his very familiar dramatics. “I wasn’t laughing at you, Katsuki. I was just happy to hear it- that you love me too.”

“Well, remember it, because I’m never fuckin’ saying it again.”

“Not even if I say it to you?”

“Especially not fucking then.”

“You’re so difficult sometimes, I swear. You’re really lucky I love you so much.” You say softly, before scratching idly at the back of his head. “Now, c’mon. Get off me. I didn’t forget- you need to go to sleep.”

“I’m sleeping here.”

“No you’re not, you man-child. You’re gonna crush me.”

“Good.”

“No, not good. You wanna celebrate your birthday with a murder charge?”

“Yes.”

“Katsuki.” You laugh, pressing against his chest. “Seriously. Up. You’re supposed to use those muscles to save people not kill them.”

He just groans loudly, flopping backwards gracelessly. Katsuki is pulling the blanket up and shutting his eyes, and you think everything is finally okay. Until he clears his throat. Until keeps clearing his throat.

“Oh my god,” You huff, opening your eyes. “What’s wrong now?”

“Say it again, idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t be fuckin’ stupid. You know what I’m asking you.”

When you look at him, he’s got his eyes screwed shut, his cheeks red. You thought he was adorable- just the cutest man in all of Japan. You knew what he was asking, of course you did, and if he hadn’t been so upset earlier you would’ve made him work a lot harder for it. As it stood now though, you just scooted closer to him; shifting until you were right next to his blushing face and sharing the same pillow.

“I love you.” You say, running a gentle thumb over his heated cheek. “Now go to sleep, okay?”

You can see the smile he’s fighting, the way his lip twitches and he raises a hand to cover it. Then he’s pulling you close and digging his head into the pillow.

All is quiet, and finally, finally, he gets some sleep.

—/—

Katsuki, on a good day, was an absolute beast to wake up- on a day off however? The man was damn near impossible to stir.

You were squatted next to the bed, trying to pull the pillow out from under his head as he held it in his grip. It was absolutely unfair- even at his groggiest your soulmate had the strength of a one man army. It was seriously pissing you off.

“Are you kidding me right now?” You’re grabbing at his wrist, trying to pry his fingers away from the pillow but he’s not budging. Katsuki’s got his eyes shut tight, and he’s dutifully ignoring your every word. “I’m serious! It’s noon! Get up already!”

He finally peaks one eye open, just barely enough to see your irritated expression. Katsuki huffs, rips his pillow away from you completely, and flops on his other side. His back was to you, and normally you’d be thrilled about the free chance to drool over the planes of muscle- but this wasn’t a normal occasion. It was his birthday and you’d already made him breakfast and he was refusing to get up and eat it.

“Bakugou Katsuki, I swear to god, if you’re not up in two seconds, I’m not gonna kiss you for a fucking week!”

This does seem to illicit a response from him, because then he’s flipping back over, mouth pulled into a snarl.

“You think I care? You starved me out for fuckin’ weeks already!”

You want to roll your eyes. You thought he was being awfully dramatic and you knew you really shouldn’t stand for it- but he wasn’t technically wrong. However inadvertently, you had been neglecting him, and maybe it was time to treat him instead. Just this once.

“Oh my god, you silly man, come here.” You relent, climbing onto the bed and hovering over him. “If you wanted a kiss you should’ve just asked.”

“I-didn’t! When the fuck did I say that because I-”

You pressed your lips to his, effectively shutting him up. It was a trick you’d learned early on, but damn if it wasn’t still useful. You pulled away right when he started to get handsy.

“No. Bad.” You say, batting his hands away from slipping under your shirt. “I didn’t just waste all that time trying to get you out of bed just to be pulled in. Now, c’mon, you have breakfast to eat and presents to open- it’s your big day, birthday boy.”

“Fuckin’ exactly. Let me do what I want.”

“No, because if I let you do what you wanted you’d sleep all day and only wake to go blow something up.”

“Sounds like fucking bliss.”

“Alright, well then I guess you’re gonna have to experience nirvana all by yourself because I’m going to eat.” You pat his chest, climbing off the bed and standing straight.

Bakugou grumbles under his breath, but then the blankets are rustling and he’s rising to follow you out the door. He tears into the breakfast you’d made him, shoveling eggs and bacon and pancakes down his throat at an almost inhuman pace. You would cringe, but you’d seen this scene already many times before.

“You ready for presents, now?” You ask, putting the dishes in the sink.

“Sure. ‘m not a fuckin’ kid though, you didn’t have t-”

“I wanted to. Seriously. So be quiet and be a little selfish for once. Please.”

He nods tightly, following you into the living room. He’s settling on the couch, once again rubbing at his eyes when you bring the gifts over. There’s three of them in total and he chooses to open the smallest one first.

“Fuck- this a new watch?”

“Yep.” You nod. “To replace the one you blew up last month.”

“When the- how the hell did you-”

“I have my ways. Now, seriously, promise me you’re gonna be careful with this one.”

“Okay.”

“Katsuki, that’s not a promise.”

“I’m not gonna just fuckin-”

“Say it.”

“No! Why the hell should I have to fuckin’ say shit just because you were spyin’ on me, you freak!”

“Katsuki.” You glare him down. “Promise me.”

“Jesus fuck, woman. Fine. I promise I won’t blast this one to pieces, alright?” He rolls his eyes. “Ya all happy and cheery now?”

“Very.” You smile brightly, moving to grab the second gift and place it in his hands. “Here’s the next one, open it.”

You watched him set the watch aside carefully, before taking the second gift. He might’ve been grumbling, but he couldn’t completely hide the smile trying to stretch across his face. You were glad you made the effort- he deserved every good thing and more.

“This is a jar.” He says flatly, looking down at the unwrapped gift. “What the hell?”

“It’s a swear jar. You know, for practicing how not to offend everyone within a .2 mile radius.” You deapan, taking the excess wrapping paper from him to throw it out. “You gotta work on it, Katsu- news has to censor you so much that your public appearances sound like EDM music.”

“I’m gonna blow this up.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

“No. You’re not.” You laugh. Then you lean towards him, sidling up close and lowering your voice as you run thumb across his jaw. “And, hey, if you figure out how to make it through the week without filling it up, I’ll give you something really, really nice as a reward.”

“Reward?” He’s asks, quickly putting down the jar. You know the look in his eyes, and you’re not surprised when his hands wander to your waist. “’s empty now, right? Think I fuckin’ deserve it. Huh, sunshine?”

“Nope. Sorry, Katsu.” You smile sweetly, dodging as he leans in for a kiss. “It’s saturday- week doesn’t start until tomorrow!”

He groans, loudly, falling boneless against the couch and tugging you with him.

“You make me want to blow my fuckin’ self up. You know that, you shitty woman?”

“Aw, thanks. Now, cheer up- you’ve still got one left to open.” You say, patting his grimacing face.

You shake his hold, just barely avoiding when he tries to pull you back as you grab the last present. This box is a little different from the last two, you’d spent extra time trying to make sure it was wrapped nicely and you’d even tied a ribbon around it. You hoped he’d like the gauntlet attachment- you didn’t think you’d be able to hide your disappointment if he didn’t.

“Yeah, so this next one,” You start, placing the box in his hand delicately. “I made it for you myself. Designed it too.”

He pulls the ribbon on the box, tearing away the paper. It’s like time stops for a moment, rolling nerves arresting you and choking your breath. You’re nervous and you feel like shaking and you so desperately want him to like the gift. Want him understand just how much work you’d put in for him and just how easily you’d do it all over again.

“Yeah so it’s an attachment for your grenade gauntlets, right?” You start, right when he’s pulling the device from the box and holding it in his hands. “I was thinking- wouldn’t it be nice if you could quiet your explosions sometimes? You know, for when you’re saving civilians and kids and stuff so they’re not so scared. Basically it works kind of similar to a suppressor on a gun, dispersing and slowing down the blast just a little to muffle the sound, but it’s just a little more high-tech and way more powerful- to match your quirk. Obviously. And it’s adjustable so, if, for whatever reason, you needed to wear it outside of your costume, you can collapse it slip it on like a bracelet and-”

Bakugou is silent. He’s almost frozen as he stares down at the gift, only twisting the gift around in his hands to get a better look. His eyebrows crease, and your stomach drops.

“No- it’s- please don’t get mad! It’s not supposed to offend you or anything! I-I know you don’t need my help to save people, you can do it all on your own, I know that.” You rub your arm anxiously, eyes averted to the floor. “I’m just trying to help- you know, because you always talk about your ratings going up, and I’m sure you could totally do it on your own, I know you could, but I just wanted to help you cause that’s what I do, support, and I can’t help you out on the field and I-”

Pop.

Pop pop pop pop pop

When you finally look up at him, you’re blinded by the smile on his face. It’s bright, and beaming, and brilliant as he fires off explosions. You can see the light dancing on his hands, the force of combustion shooting his arm back, but it’s quiet. It sounds like pop rocks and bacon grease and popcorn instead of cracking thunder and collapsing buildings and then he’s laughing- he’s laughing something full and joyful as he stands, holding his hands up right next to his ears and setting off more explosions.

“You hear this shit?” He yells, that wide smile dazzling you all over again. “Fuckin’ works!”

The nerves disappeared, the tension seeping from your body entirely as he grinned at you. It was worth it. Entirely worth it- you’d give anything, start all over and do it all again from the start just to see that smile.

“You wanna hear?” He asks suddenly, nearing you with his hands raised. “Listen!”

“No! No- I’m- I’m good, Katsuki.” You laugh, batting his hands away from your head. “I can hear it just fine from here, no need to singe my hair.”

“I wouldn’t-”

“I know.” You smile up at him, poking his broad chest. “So you like it? Right? Because it’s just a prototype, first draft, you know, so if there’s anything you want to change about it, let me know. Or if you just don’t want it I-”

“I’m fuckin’ keepin’ it.”

“Huh?”

“I’m keepin’ it. It’s cool as shit.” He smiles down at you, eyes crinkled at the edges. “Besides, stealth, right? Could blow a fucker up in the next room and you wouldn’t even know it!”

“But I- I made them for you to save people? Like to help them?”

“And they could be used to blow shit up more effectively too. Win fucking win.” Katsuki pulls you in suddenly, arms falling familiarly around your waist. “Good shit, sunshine. Thanks.”

“Of course.” You sigh, looking down at your feet. “That’s what I was doing- when I was gone. Designing it for my project grade and then building it for you. Sorry I got so carried away, I didn’t realize I was gone so long, you know?”

“You’re still stupid for it, but it’s fine. Fuckin’ get it.” He grumbles. “You’re done now or whatever, right?”

“With school? Yeah I mean, I’ve still got graduation and stuff but otherwise I’m pretty much-

“Move in with me.”

“Huh?”

“God, you always make me fuckin’ say it again!” He flusters, voice loud and raspy. “I said- move in! Here! You’re fuckin’ disappearin’ all the goddamn time to wherever the fuck and I’m sick of it!”

“Y-you want me to move in?

“That’s what I just fuckin’ said! Idiot!” He thunders, face a violent red when you look up at him. “And I’m not gonna fuckin’ say it again so you either have to say yes or no because I-”

“Yes. Obviously. Of course I’ll move in!” You say, warmth filling your chest as you throw your arms around his neck. “I love you, of course I will!”

You see the smile he can’t contain- one so dazzling and arresting, as he looks at you. One exactly similar to the brilliant one from earlier. You couldn’t believe that sentiment made you emotional- the thought that you made him just as happy as explosions did, of all things. But it did make you emotional. It really, really, did.

“What’re you- stop cryin’.” He says suddenly, calloused fingers catching your tears. “Why’re you cryin’? I didn’t even say anythin’ rude this time!”

“No, it’s not that.” You sniffle, grabbing his hand and kissing his knuckles. “I’m just happy. Really, really happy. I love you, you angry fucking man.”

Katsuki leans in for another kiss, and you don’t dodge it this time. You meet him in the middle and melt into him just as much as he melts into you. You can feel his hand under your chin, the other on your back, and you don’t think you’ve ever been warmer than in that moment.

You’d been waiting your entire life for him. For all of this. You were warm and loved and so very, very happy that it nearly knocked you off your feet.

Or it would’ve- but when your knees weakened he just held you closer, righting you without missing a beat. You suddenly loved him for that, and for everything else too. You loved him for all that he was and his angry words and his subtle gestures. He was sizzling gunpowder and sharp steel and seared ashes, but he was the softest landing you’d ever known too. There was no hitting the ground with him, and he’d never let you fall alone.

You’d know Katsuki was forever since the day your tattoo appeared, but it didn’t truly sink in until you’d learned to love him. Until you’d known him. Now you knew him like the back of your hand; you saw his face behind your eyelids, heard his voice in your dreams, and thought about his touch every waking moment. He was your other-half, as scary and loud and intense as he was, and you wouldn’t change a single thing about him.

He pulls away suddenly, and when you glance up at him he’s staring right at you.

“I love you.”

Your breath catches. You thought you were thrilled to hear the words last night- but it was nothing in comparison to now. Bakugou was finally looking at you, catching your gaze and holding eye-contact and his voice was soft like you’d never heard it before. His tone was bare, no anger or attitude or bite- just him and three little words that took your breath away.

In that moment, Katsuki is the only person in the entire world. There was no one else and no other conclusion, and of course you ended up here. He was the only ending you’d ever surrender to. The only finality that could ever possibly taste so sweet.

And suddenly, all at once, you loved him all over again.

//-//

i- sob. plS this was so much fun to write and im gonna miss it sm !!

once again, thank u to everyone who liked and commented and reblogged any part of this! this is the first ever multi-chapter fanfic i’ve ever written , and i really really was nervous about my characterization and writing and stuff, but you all made me feel so welcome here. i appreciate it sm. way more than any of you know.

anyways, thank u once again for reading lovelies and i hope u all stay safe. i love y’all. <333

#bnha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou katsuki x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #bakugou x self insert #bakugou x y #bakugou soulmate au #bakugou soulmate textfic #bnha fic #mha series #mha soulmate au #soulmate au #bakugou imagine #bakugou series #bakugou fic

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shyficwriter · 3 years ago

Text

Temporary Home: Chapter 15

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!)

Summary: Peter and you have started another prank war. Who will come out on top?

Previous Chapter here | Next Chapter Here Or click here to: Start From Beginning

Author’s Note: Thanks to anon for submitting this idea for a cute fluffy scene to include in the story! Also, for my records this chapter ends on day 29 of the Guardians living with reader. Enjoy!

Word Count: 6,812

It soon became clear that the prank war was back on.

Just as you had resolved to the previous night, you squirted lemon juice in Peter's coffee when he wasn't looking.

He made a face upon tasting his ruined coffee, but just gave you a look of sleepy contempt as he dumped it in the sink rather than complaining. He knew what he had done to deserve it. However, that didn't mean he wasn't going to get you back.

He had his revenge later in the sitting room. He called you over, stating he had a question about a book. When you got closer to him, he then asked, "Hey, do you smell popcorn?"

You raised an eyebrow, and of course took in a big whiff. Big mistake.

You immediately gagged, your nostrils having been assaulted by the rankest smelling fart you think could have ever been expelled from a human body. It even rivaled Yondu's incident with dairy.

Peter lost it, doubling over with laughter as you backed away with your mouth and nose covered.

"Ugh! You nasty fecker! Oh my god!" you cried out, still backing away. "What's wrong with you!"

Kraglin, Drax, and Rocket were now also laughing from their places near the television. Drax laughed the loudest, saying, "Quill! That was brilliant! I'm not even mad that I lost the bet! HAHAHA! I'm going to try that!"

The bet he was referencing had happened moments prior, when Peter saw you in the hall and hurried into the sitting room whispering to his friends that he bet 20 units he could make you willingly smell his farts. Ah, what an immature lot they are.

You would have smacked Peter, but that would mean getting closer to him and the smell and you thought better of it, instead turning with the intent to leave the room completely, leaving them still laughing in your wake with only revenge on your mind.

You tried to think about what you had at your disposal, and remembered that you still had the whoopee cushion after you had snatched it back from Kraglin during the last prank war. You kind of wish you knew where your spider went though. It proved marvelously effective last time. After Peter threw it at you and it resulted in your arm getting injured, you hadn't really thought about what happened to it afterwards until now. You obviously hadn't taken it, so you just assumed that it must still be with Peter. You momentarily considered looking in his room for it, but the thought of searching through his stuff felt strange to you, even if you would be looking for your own toy.

You remembered the sticky notes in your desk up stairs and thought if worse came to worse, you could always pull a classic "Kick me" sign.

You decided a walk might help you consider your options better and so you collected your earbuds from the hall table and made your way towards the back door. You noticed Gamora in the kitchen on your way, and realized she might actually have the answer to one of your questions.

"Um, hey, Gamora?"

She turned to give you her attention. "Yes?"

"I was wondering..." You suddenly felt ridiculous for asking, but pushed it down, "if maybe you had seen if Peter still had that toy spider of mine? I was wondering if I might have it ba-"

"Nuh-uh. That ain't happening."

You raised an eyebrow in surprise, but not at her, for she hadn't been the one to answer, and she was just as surprised by this sudden third-party interjection.

It had been Yondu who had spoken, and he spoke again. "I'm the one that's got it, and I ain't givin' it back." He sat at the table looking at you with his arms crossed and wearing a smirk, as if daring you to complain about it. He had snatched it the night you dislocated your elbow, around the time he was scolding Peter and Kraglin and calling an end to that prank war himself after it had resulted in an injury.

You raised both eyebrows in surprise now. "Excuse you?" you say, surprised at his boldness and a bit irritated at how he now seemed like a scolding teacher who had confiscated contraband from a naughty child.

"Yondu, you can't just steal her property." Gamora chided.

"Ya heard me. Last time she and Quill had it that happened," he gestured to your arm. "So I'm keeping it since clearly neither of the two of 'em seem to have any sense. She wouldn't be askin' for it back if they weren't gettin' into it again."

You exchanged a look with Gamora. Her expression told you that she seemed to agree with his argument, but didn't want to risk saying so, and that she now seemingly regretted being involved in this situation.

Deciding you were on your own you opened your mouth to tell him off, but before you could he spoke again.

"Don't try denyin' it either. I saw ya putting that sour juice stuff in his coffee. I know the two of ya are back at it again with that prank war stuff," he said almost smugly. "Ya ain't getting it back." He didn't want another prank war to result in more injuries, and if he was honest, he was still slightly salty about having been caught in the crossfire of one of your pranks that had been meant for Peter. He thought outright admitting to confiscating your spider toy would hopefully send the message to you to knock it off before you got started.

You bit your lips and narrowed your eyes at him, half embarrassed at being called out like that. You then shook your head. You were not about to demand or beg for the return of a rubber spider like a child. You straightened your back slightly and said, "Whatever. Keep it then. Don't care." in your best flippant tone. You turned away, putting in your earbuds and added, "Going for a walk. Try not to burn the house down," as you exited out the back door and left the two of them in the kitchen.

You didn't need that spider anyways.

***

It was a cooler day out, overcast in a way that made you think it might rain that night, and you were glad you thought to grab a jacket before you left for your walk. You thought you might visit your old tree, and assess that old door while you were out there. There wasn't a whole lot you could do with your arm still in a brace, but you knew you could still at least open it and give it a general look to see what you might need to build a new door for it.

However, when you got there you quickly realized that the door was simply too awkwardly big and slightly too flimsy due to decay from the elements to risk trying to open it with just one arm. You didn't want to risk falling in it and either causing further injury and/or not be able to climb back out if it turned out the ladder rungs descending into the tunnel were bad too. You were now kicking yourself for not having fixed it months ago when you first noticed how bad it had gotten. At least at that period of time your arm wasn't in a brace and you didn't have eight houseguests to worry about.

You sighed. For now you settled on making a list in your phone of the different materials you'd need to make a sturdier door in the future when you were less... indisposed. No big deal. The world wasn't going to end if you couldn't fix it immediately, and honestly it was probably dumb of you to come out there right now in the first place. Sure, maybe you could get the door built in your current state. Maybe. If no one was around to see you breaking the doctor's orders on the weight restriction and then tell on you to Fury. But that didn't change the fact that you'd then need to carry it out there somehow. Something you definitely couldn't do in your current state. There was perhaps the option to bring the materials out there and assemble them on-sight, but you knew you couldn't carry them out there in a timely fashion either. Could you if you asked for help? Absolutely. Were you going to? Not a chance.

You hung out around the tree for a bit, just listening to music before deciding to head back, and that's when you noticed some pine cones littering the ground.

This gave you an idea. You remembered once when you were little and your dad took you and your brother camping. Your brother had hidden pinecones in the bottom of your sleeping bag. Your feet came in contact with the foreign objects, and being met with weird almost scaly feeling forms instead of the softness of your sleeping bag made you jump right out of said bag with a shriek.

You grinned. You had found your revenge prank. You only hoped that it would have the same effect on a grown man finding these at the foot of his bed as it did on seven-year-old you finding them in your sleeping bag.

Now you had another reason to be glad you wore a jacket. You could hide the pinecones in the pockets as well as hiding them inside the jacket itself and zip them inside.

You loaded up several pinecones. Enough to be sure he'd notice when crawling into bed, but not so many that they'd be noticed as you snuck them into the house.

You arrive back at the house to find the house mostly quiet, and it made you worry that Peter might be in his room and you wouldn't be able to place the pinecones.

However, just to your luck, you managed to catch a glimpse of him and a few others out front through the kitchen window. Perfect.

You quickly make your way upstairs and headed towards Peter's room. The upstairs seemed to be empty and you were just about to congratulate yourself on your good fortune as you already started pulling pinecones out of your pockets, until you noticed Rocket standing in Peter and Gamora's room.

Seeing him caused you to start and you dropped a couple of your pinecones on the ground due to your arm brace hampering your ability to reflexively catch them before they fell. The sound of the pinecones hitting the floor caused Rocket to startle in turn.

"Uh..." you said awkwardly, stepping into the room and picking up your pinecones, "What you doing?"

Rocket, who had been digging through a dresser drawer, responded with, "...Nuttin. What are you doing?" He eyed the pinecones in your hands.

"Nothing." You responded.

An awkward silence fell for a moment. You both knew the other wasn't really supposed to be there, that the only reason for being there right then was mischief of some sort, and you both knew that the other knew that you knew. There was only one thing for it.

Rocket spoke again. "Right..."

You nod. "Yes... good. So... carry on then?"

Rocket nodded slowly. "Yeah..." He turned back to looking for whatever it was he was snooping for.

Taking the hint, the unspoken 'I won't tell if you won't," you carried out your plan, removing the pinecones from your jacket and placing them at the foot of Peter's bed under the blankets.

You finished quickly, catching Rocket's gaze again before you left. A silent nod was all that was exchanged and you were on your way.

***

The rest of the day was mostly uneventful. You read, you listened to music, you got roped into a game of Monopoly that went on far too long because Mantis kept needing reminded of the rules. You didn't entire blame her. It was pretty obvious that it was everyone but Peter's first time playing.

Speaking of Peter, you were surprised he hadn't tried to mess with you the entire game, and you wondered if Gamora might have got on him after hearing Yondu say he could tell that the two of you were starting in on another prank war, or if Yondu had scolded him himself.

Sometime after the game had finished- Gamora won, and Peter pouted- you went to get a drink from the kitchen. When you returned to the sitting room to grab another book to bring upstairs to read you saw Drax approach Yondu and ask, "Yondu, do you smell popcorn?"

Not wanting to sit through another round of what Peter had done to you that morning, you quickly grab a random Sci-Fi/Fantasy book from the shelf and turn to get out of there just in time to hear Yondu reply with, "What the hell is popcorn?"

This was immediately followed by the sound of a very loud fart along with Drax's booming laughter.

In startled surprise you sharply turned in their direction to see Drax laughing and Yondu's face scrunched in both confusion and what was likely disgust.

Peter was laughing too, but at Drax rather than Yondu's misfortunate proximity to his offender. "Drax! Buddy, the fart's supposed to be silent."

Drax didn't seem to mind his mistake, just simply responded with "Ohhh!" and continued to laugh while Yondu shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

Taking in the sight you couldn't help but giggle too at just how ridiculous the situation was. You brought a hand up to your mouth to suppress it, but the sound caught the attention of Yondu and Peter anyway. Yondu's eyes narrowed and Peter was pleasantly surprised that you found the situation funny as well.

You broke their gaze and retreated to your room. Better to escape before you risked smelling anything awful.

***

It wasn't hard to tell when Peter found what was waiting in his bed that night. However, instead of girlish screams like the night he found the spider, he let out a cry of, "Gah! What the hell!?"

You grinned as you sat on your bed reading your book. Mantis was already fast asleep in her bed, and she stirred at the sound of Peter's cries just on the other side of the wall. After looking toward you and seeing you sitting calmly she determined there must not be any danger and soon fell back to sleep.

A few minutes later, though, you were surprised to see Peter walking into your room.

Startled at the sudden intrusion you jolted and as he approached you, rather quickly at that, you said, "Hey- what are you doing?"

He stopped in front of you with a smirk and raised his arms. It was then you realized he had been carrying a shirt bunched up as if it were being used as a sack.

Unceremoniously he emptied the shirt/sack over your head, showering you with all the pinecones you had hid in his bed.

"Hey!" you complain, raising your good arm to shield your head from the coniferous onslaught.

Mantis stirred again, lifting her head to see what was going on.

"This is for leaving those in my bed." he laughed, turning to leave. "And don't think that counts as me getting you back!" he added as he stepped out the door.

Mantis yet again laid back down to rest upon seeing the disturbance was just Peter's shenanigans. You got the feeling that she must be used to it.

***

The next couple days were mostly spent with you and Peter battling back and forth via small pranks.

Yondu obviously noticed, and despite him acting like he didn't want the two of you to get started again, he didn't say or do anything to stop it. It was clear it was keeping your mind off what what had been bothering you, so he just let the two of you be. Especially as it seemed to be harmless.

Kraglin mostly stayed out of it this time. Sure, he helped Peter some, but he was still more likely to bend to Yondu's orders of "This prank war is over!" from last time. That, and he still felt bad about what happened with the incident with the spider, even if it had been mostly Peter's idea.

Peter got you with the old 'shoulder tap misdirection' a couple times, where he'd tap one shoulder and either be on the other side when you turned to look, or have walked away completely.

You hit back by turning the batteries backwards in the remote, knowing he'd likely be the first to use it that morning.

After he finally figured that one out, he decided he'd retaliate by turning all your books backwards on the shelf. When you walked in that evening to see him mid-prank, you simply sighed and rolled your eyes. Seemingly embarrassed to have been caught mid-prank he laughed nervously and straightened up, rubbing the back of his head.

You rolled your eyes and left the room, hoping that since he'd been caught he'd then turn them back right way round. Knowing it was unlikely, you decided to shove some newspaper in his shoes. You could hear Drax in the background laughing at Peter for getting caught as you walked away to retrieve an old newspaper from the table in the hall.

He clearly must have found it at some point the next morning because he got you back around lunchtime by pouring just a little bit of water in your seat right before you sat down to eat.

You jumped from your seat the moment you felt the cold water soak the left side of your ass and after a few seconds of reaching back to feel the wet spot and checking the chair you looked over to where he was sitting and narrowed your eyes.

He simply grinned at you like he had pulled the best prank ever.

Taking a breath, you straightened and just shook your head, warning him that he shouldn't escalate unless he wanted you to do the same.

He didn't seem to take your warning seriously.

***

The next morning when getting ready you saw that Peter had struck again. You didn't know when, or how he had managed to find the time to both sew a pair of your socks shut halfway down with sloppy grey stitches and place them back in your dresser (on top so they'd be first picked, of course) without you noticing, but you did know that this meant double war.

He had pranked you twice in a row, without waiting for you to have retaliated against his last prank first. Or, more likely, he had set this prank and then pulled another without waiting for you to find the first one. Tsk, Tsk, Peter. Bad form.

You found another pair of socks, luckily he had only bothered to adulterate one pair, and then went to confront him.

"You're really asking for it." you say, thrusting the socks towards him in the hall.

"What?" he asked. Trying to act innocent, no doubt.

"You sewed my socks shut. I warned you, don't escalate unless you want me to do the same."

There wasn't really any anger in your voice despite your warning tone, which Peter took as a good sign. "I didn't escalate-"

"Oh-ho! Don't try that with me! You double pranked!" As the words left your mouth you internally cringed. This reminded you of how the two of you had bickered like children in the grocery store. You pushed the feeling that you sounded like a teenager in a Disney sitcom aside for now.

Peter eyed you for a moment before crossing his arms and smugly replying, "Technically no. You interrupted my book prank and then stuffed paper in my shoes. So, because I technically didn't finish my prank, you double pranked."

"No-" you started.

"Yes." He laughed. "So if anyone escalated, it was you." He said in a teasing voice, aiming a couple pokes to your abdomen and making you flinch back at the touch.

"I did not!" you argued, smacking his hand away.

"Eh... ya kinda did..." he drawled out with a grin. "So, I think that means you gave permission for all unwritten rules of pranking to just be thrown out the window." He chuckled, a mischievous glint to his eyes.

"No-" you said warningly. "I did not." You could tell he was just trying to piss you off, but you weren't going to let him win.

"Yeah, I think you did..." He lightly laughed. "So anything else that happens... you'll only have yourself to blame." He said the last bit in a sing-songy voice and went to walk into the kitchen. He stopped momentarily and turned back to you with a grin. "However, you can always avoid any further annoyance by just declaring me the prank master..."

You blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Declare I'm the prank master and you won't have to worry about what I'll do next."

You scoffed at him. "You're dreaming."

Peter grinned wider. "Nope. I'm just 'The Prank Master.'"

You narrowed your eyes and walked past him into the kitchen. "You're gonna regret that," you warned, earning only a chuckle from him. There was no way you were going to declare him master of anything.

You made your way to the pantry to find something quick for breakfast and Peter went to pour himself some coffee.

That's when you found it. Your next prank idea. And boy, was it going to be good.

While grabbing a pop-tart from the pantry, you happened to notice a certain box of gel food dye sitting next to your spices. Your eyes lit up, knowing exactly what you would do with it. You quickly pocketed the blue vile and hid the rest of the box behind the spices where it couldn't be seen for security purposes, just in case Peter would happen to have the same idea. You weren't going to do it right away, but knew it couldn't hurt to have the little bottle on hand just in case...

***

After breakfast you decided to head out to the shed to survey the pile of spare wood you had.

In the shed you found Rocket. This wasn't surprising as he spent a decent amount of time tinkering in the shed since you showed him the workshop. You still hadn't gotten around to finding the spare key for him, just letting him continue to use yours since there wasn't a lot you could do out there anyway until you got the brace off anyway.

You greeted him with a simple, "Hey," that Rocket returned as you made your way back to the spare wood to look over what you had on hand as far as repairing the old tunnel door to get an idea of what might you need to pick up from town.

Was it useful to look now seeing as you likely wouldn't get the brace off for at least a couple more weeks? No, but you were restless and you were really just looking for an excuse for something to do until that night when you could enact your prank.

"Whatcha doing?" Rocket asked, barely looking up from whatever plans he was drafting up on the old pad of paper you left out in the workshop.

"Nuttin," you reply, finishing up your shifting around of the wood and determining that you might have just enough of the right cuts already out there to make a full door, but you might need to pick up some more wood for it, as well as some brackets, later.

Rocket grunted in response and you start to walk back out when something caught your eye over by the long workbench.

You looked down to examine it, and a slight smile played on your lips.

"Did you fix my stool?" you asked, turning to him.

He didn't look up. "Nope."

You raise an eyebrow, mouth twitching upwards in humor. "Oh really? Then who did, if not you? Other than me, you're the only one who comes out here."

Rocket's gaze remained on the notebook. "Dunno. Must have been a 'stool fairy.'" Those last two words were laced with sarcasm.

You smirked. "Ah. I see. Well if you happen to see this 'stool faery,' be sure to tell him I said thank you." You turn and begin to walk out of the shed.

Rocket's ears twitched back for just a second and he grunted out in response, "Uh huh. Sure thing."

***

Unfortunately the stars didn't align that night for you to use the gel coloring on Peter. You had to time it just right to both make sure no one got caught in the crossfire and to not make it obvious you were up to something.

This, however, was probably for the best because Fury's visit the next day caught you off guard. You had been so busy pranking and being pranked and researching door construction and tunnel maintenance that you had managed to lose track of the days and didn't realize it was time for another weekly check-in until you heard him knock at the door that late afternoon. The sound actually startled you at first, and you mentally cursed him for insisting on keeping the times he'd show up a surprise.

Again, probably for the best you weren't able to pull that prank. You weren't sure how pleased Fury would be with you if he saw what you had planned to do to Peter if you had succeeded in going through with it.

The visit was brief. Same old news about the Guardian's situation; nothing changed, little to no progress made. It was time to re-stock the rations again and the guys helped Maria with that like last time. The doctor also accompanied them, and of course he ignored your case for removing the brace and instead just set the hinge to a slightly increased range of movement. He did say that as long as you continued your 'good behavior' it might be ready to come off the next week. You weren't going to hold your breath. Oh, and he also increased your weight restriction to ten pounds. Yay...

At one point Agent Hill pulled you aside like last time, wanting to check in to see if matters regarding your mental health had improved since the last visit.

You answered honestly that they had, but didn't bother to mention that the reason why was likely because Peter had managed to keep you annoyed enough that you didn't have time to dedicate enough thought to what had previously been bothering you.

She tried to pry more, but you weren't really giving her anything, so she just resigned that what she had been able to garner was good enough and the two of you rejoined the group just before Fury announced they would be leaving.

***

It didn't take long after they left for Peter to resume being his annoying self.

You were in the sitting room trying to read, but Peter kept singing along to a song on his Zune that he had come to realize you absolutely hated. To make matters worse, it seemed that he was intentionally singing as poorly as he could just to annoy you. He even got Kraglin to join in with him.

How could you tell it was just to annoy you? Well it didn't start with the singing. It started with tapping. Constant tapping. With his foot on the floor. With his knuckles on the coffee table. He even came up behind you at one point after you refused to react and started tapping you on the head as you sat curled on the sofa attempting to read. That one finally got you to react and scold him to knock it off, and that's when he switched to singing.

Of course, you told him to take it somewhere else. Did he listen? No. He instead moved to sit right next to you and sang louder.

You threatened to chop him in the throat if he didn't take his annoying self somewhere else, and while that got him to stand up, he didn't leave. Instead that's when he recruited Kraglin, who had walked in just a few moments prior to see what all the racket was, and who also didn't hesitate to accept an earbud from Peter and follow his lead.

You tossed your head back on the sofa in frustration and let out a growl as you gritted your teeth.

Peter broke his singing to laugh and tell you that he warned you, all you had to do to make it stop was admit his was the master.

And that's when you threw the pillow at him.

Well, you had been aiming for him, at least. You would have hit him too, had he not dodged at the last second, allowing for the pillow to instead smack Yondu, who no one had noticed had walked into the room, right in the face.

Your eyes widen, as do Peter's and Kraglin's. Only they're trying not to laugh as Yondu's stony face stares at you.

In your startled shock you stammer as you attempt to make an apology, but as he picks the pillow up from the floor all you are actually able to get out is, "I- Uh- I didn't mean-" and a nervous giggle.

Yondu stands back up, pillow now in his hands, and cocks his head at you. "Oh so ya think that's funny, huh?" He starts to walk towards you.

You of course deny it, trying to set the record straight that it had been meant for Peter, but the glint of a playful grin mixed with his grouchy façade made you unable to suppress a nervous grin as he approached. He then tossed the pillow back at you and you deflected it back onto the sofa.

"Nah, I think ya thought that was funny, even if it was meant for my boy." He was standing over you now and Peter and Kraglin were snickering as Peter encouraged him, saying that he thought you definitely thought it was funny to have hit Yondu with the pillow.

"Looks like someone needs to teach ya a lesson in manners, missy." Yondu said as he reached out and squeezed rapidly right above your knee.

Caught off guard you instantly throw back your head and cackle, your hands instinctively reaching for his as you kicked out. "No! Stop it!" you cry out between giggles before managing to free yourself and stand up from the sofa.

Abandoning your book you attempt to escape, but Yondu just grabs you by your good arm and pulls you back, effortlessly succeeding in securing you in a headlock and purposely arranging it so that your good arm was between the two of you and your braced arm was out to the open. He knew with the limited range of motion the braced arm had available you wouldn't really be able to use it to help free yourself in any meaningful way. He then proceeded to give you a noogie.

"Hey! Cut it out!" you complain, uselessly pushing against his shoulder from behind with your good arm. You cursed your arm brace. Without it you could have gotten out of this hold in 3 seconds tops. You still technically could, but didn't want to use that method unless you had to. You didn't want to risk hurting the older man, after all.

Yondu paused a moment and pretended to think. "...Nah. I didn't get an apology yet."

"Ugh! Fine! I'm sorry about the pillow! Happy? I already told you I meant it for Pe-TER!" You squeaked when Kraglin cheekily couldn't resist coming up to pinch your ribs in your current vulnerable state. "Knock that off!" you ordered. It of course only earned you another tickly squeeze from the first mate and the three men to laugh as you commanded Yondu to let you go before you made him.

"Ya ain't gonna make me do nuttin, missy." Yondu laughed, clearly believing he could take you in a fight any day even if your arm wasn't injured. "Where's my apology for when ya pranked the sink and it sprayed all over me?" Yondu asked with a mischievous chuckle. He then pinched your nose shut just to mess with you further. This prompted you to smack his shoulder with your good hand, but he did let go, laughing about how you were a 'feisty one.'

"Yeah," Peter egged on for the sink comment, laughing. "He yelled at me for that!"

You huff out a sigh. "Fine. Sorry for that too. Now this is your last warning to let me go!"

This only made Yondu and the other two laugh and Yondu went to noogie you again. Clearly they were underestimating you. Well, you did try to give him a warning...

In one quick motion you positioned your foot between his so that your leg was locked behind his thigh, reached your good arm up to rest your hand on his forehead, and threw your weight backwards, sending you both to the floor.

Yondu went easily, clearly having been caught off guard and landed on his back with an "oof!" and subsequently released you. Surprisingly though, he didn't seem angry about landing on the floor.

As you both sit up he was actually chuckling, to your surprise.

"Damn, didn't think ya had that in ya." Yondu laughed as he stood up.

Peter and Kraglin, who had went momentarily silent when the two of you fell, were now laughing again. Kraglin made a joke about how he didn't know you could actually fight.

You just grumbled and grabbed your book, deciding you would retreat to your room to finish reading for the night where you were less likely to be annoyed.

Ironically, the whole ordeal actually caused you to forget about the prank you had intended to pull on Peter until you again missed your chance to do it. Oh well, there was always tomorrow, right?

***

The next day you announced to those in the kitchen that you were making a run into town and told them if there was anything they needed to let you know now while you were making a list.

They didn't list-off much. Again, SHIELD provided them with pretty much everything they needed. Some razors, hair conditioner, lotion, and a couple requests for some Earth snacks they had come to enjoy were among the items requested. Simple stuff.

Then Yondu decided to be cheeky and claim his request was for you to take Peter with you again.

"No way," you say flatly, remembering the last run into town. "Not happening."

Yondu just grinned and leaned against his chair. "Fury said ya got to. Ya can't leave without a buddy 'til yer arm is healed up." He elbowed Kraglin and added, "Didn't he, Krags?"

Kraglin, clearly not expecting to be suddenly roped into the conversation said, "Uh, yeah. When you was in the other room talking to that Miss Agent Hill lady when they was here yesterday. He-uh- he told us then." He wasn't exactly the best liar.

You narrowed your eyes. "He did not." You looked to Gamora, who seemingly then immediately realized she had anywhere else to be before you could ask her to confirm.

"Ya can always ask him yerself." Yondu smirked, sure that like last time you wouldn't dare call Fury to confirm.

"Or I can not do that because I know he didn't," you countered.

"I wouldn't be too hasty girl," Yondu drawled. "'Cause what if I'm right? Ya leave without a buddy, and we can just call him and tell him ya broke his rules... and well, we all know what he said he'd do with ya if ya did that."

"You know, I didn't really take you to be such a snitch." You say, irritation clear in your voice. You knew it was at best childish, and at worst fighting words, but you were too frustrated to care.

Instead of being offended, Yondu just laughed and leaned back with his hands folded behind his head. "Gotta do something to pass the time. 'Sides, I think 'blackmail' has a nicer ring to it than 'snitchin'."

You glare at him, not giving him the satisfaction of telling him that he was technically right. This wasn't him being a snitch. This was blackmail. You just didn't understand why this was the hill he decided to die on.

He continued. "Yer better off to just save yerself the trouble and take Peter."

You eye him for a bit before deciding this time you would call his bluff. Partially because you knew he was lying, but also because a tiny part of you was afraid he wasn't, and you knew what would happen if he wasn't.

You dialed up Fury, knowing that the consequences for possibly annoying him with a dumb phone call were vastly less than what they'd be if you disobeyed an order, especially since you were already skating on thin ice. He also seemed to be less upset with you lately due to your 'good behavior,' so at least you had that going fo you. You almost thought you saw Yondu's smirk falter when you started dialing. Almost.

To your surprise, Fury answered after only a couple rings. You put the phone on speaker, and inform him your reason for calling was to confirm something that had been said.

"They're trying to tell me that when Agent Hill pulled me aside yesterday you instructed them to tell me that, under your orders, I am not allowed to drive into town without taking someone with me until my arm heals. Is that correct?"

Fury was quiet a moment before he answered, his voice seeming neutral. "I did not say that."

Yondu and Kraglin's faces fell slightly, and like a child you made a quiet, "Ha!" noise and stuck your tongue out at them, but before you could thank him, Fury spoke again.

"But I am now."

Your eyes widened and shot back to the phone, as if you'd be able to see your director in there. "I'm sorry, what?"

Yondu burst out laughing at your expression, and Kraglin joined in with a grin.

"Effective immediately I'm requiring you to bring a companion on any trips you make into town. Mr. Quill would be the safest choice, but as long as they pass for human, I don't care who it is."

You tried not to sputter. "Sir-... that-... Why-??"

"It's not a bad idea," he said cooly, adding, "and if you're gonna call me to settle a petty squabble then you better be prepared to get an outcome you aren't going to like." He didn't sound angry, more just matter-of-fact.

You blinked. Did he really just imply he was doing this just to annoy you? "Sir, I ask you to reconsid-"

"If you want to keep going, Agent, I can easily make this decision permanent."

This set off another round of laughter from the guys, including Peter from behind you who had walked into the kitchen with Gamora at some point. You didn't know how long they were standing there, but it seemed he had also heard Fury's decision.

With slight heat in your cheeks, you respond to your director. "No, sir."

"Good. Have a good day, Agent." Fury replied, and then hung up. If you didn't know better, you'd say his tone sounded almost amused.

You put the phone back in your pocket and rubbed your hand over your eyes while the others teased you.

"That's what ya get for not just listenin' to me in the first place, girl. Now ya really do have to do it!" Yondu laughed.

"I hate you," you say bluntly.

He only grinned in response and called over to Peter. "Ya heard the man, boy! Looks like yer takin' a trip!"

Peter grinned cheekily at you and you roll your eyes. "Fine. Get ready," you order as you walk past him and out of the kitchen. Then, seeing an opportunity to let out some frustration (probably misplaced in this instance, honestly) you turned back with a smirk and added, "This time don't forget to go potty before we leave!"

You turned away again, but not before being able to see the cheeky grin fall from his face and hear him yell back, "Not cool, dude!" along with some snickering from the others in the background.

Little did you know, though you probably should have, that decision to embarrass him would seal the fate of your nerves, and possibly your sanity as well, on the trip to come.

#gotg #guardians of the galaxy #gotg fanfic #gotg fanfiction #x reader #yondu udonta #peter quill #kraglin obfonteri #nick fury #rocket raccoon

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

Text

Haven

Breach Masterlist

Warnings: non/dubcon sex (series), general angst

This is dark!Winter Soldier/Bucky and explicit. 18+ only.

Note: This was already posted on ao3 last week so I’m just putting it here too.

A few familiar characters show up and as for the timeline, as mentioned we're right after it was announced the Berlin Wall would come down, so we're in about 1990 atm. That means certain events in the MCU timeline have changed or haven't even happened!

I won’t demand but do ask for feedback; likes, reblogs, replies, comments, asks, especially on this series, but again, enjoy in your own way! <3 Love you!

Steve asked James, rather this man he called ‘Bucky, if he had a car. You thought it odd since James had sought the man out for help but you trusted that he was cautious enough for the both of you.

You’d left the car a few streets over. You sat in the back with Luka as he began to nod off and James drove as Steve gave directions. You hugged your son anxiously and inhaled the scent of his unwashed hair. You hoped you would have a bed for the night, if you were fortunate, a shower.

The street lights cast shadows on the men in the front as the New York streets passed by. Even a soviet-born Russian like yourself marveled at the infamous city. Never in all your life had you expected to end up there.

“You don’t live in Brooklyn?” James asked as his gripped the steering wheel.

“I do. Bought mom’s old place,” Steve answered, “But I can’t take you there, Buck.”

James was silent. He sighed as you pondered this friend’s name for him. ‘Bucky’. It sounded odd and didn’t seem to fit the man you knew. And yet, like much of his character, it confounded you. Perhaps it suited him after all.

“Not because of you, but to protect you,” Steve intoned. “Same reason we didn’t take my car.”

“Protect me?” James peeked in the rear view mirror as you stared at his silhouette.

“I’ll explain when we’re standing still,” Steve said curtly as he brushed back his hair with his fingers.

“Right,” James said grimly. “How ya doin’ back there?”

“Fine,” You answered in Russian without thinking. He nodded and continued on.

Silence pervaded the cramped space of the Chrysler as Steve pointed James down the next street. Luka’s soft snores floated around you and warmed your chest as he leaned against you. You dared to hope that you might sleep that night.

James pulled into an underground garage next to a high rise. The two men climbed out of the front seat and James opened the door for you and took Luka gently into his arms. The boy didn’t stir as he was cradled against his father. You stepped out into the smelly garage and Steve waved you onward.

He led you up a staircase and past several business housed in the building above. He stopped at an unmarked metal door one would assume was a utility closet and shoved a key in the slot. He opened it carefully and ushered you inside. The door closed heavily behind him as he flipped the lights on.

Within was a small living space that surprised you. There was a sofa, chair, a single bed in the corner, and a smaller door just beside the narrow counter along the wall. There was a square table at the far end with a boxy computer and an old telephone. James’s eyes scanned the room as if searching for some trap.

“A safehouse for now,” Steve explained. “This is my Plan B but haven’t had to use it so far.”

“Plan B for what?” James hissed.

“Just in case,” Steve shrugged. “It’s safe here, besides.” He strode past the couch and turned back. “This folds out.”

James nodded and crossed to the small bed in the corner. He sat as he laid Luka down and slipped him beneath the quilt. He touched his cheek before he parted and stood to face his old friend. Steve looked between the two of you.

“So, I take it you two met in Russia?” Steve chuckled. “You know, that’s a long way to go for a wife, Buck.”

James said nothing as he tucked his hands in his jeans pockets. The phone rang and Steve flinched as he grabbed it before the second chime. He put it to his ear and listened. He replied with two short words; “Eagle. Demo.”

The line clicked loudly from the mouthpiece and Steve replaced the phone in its cradle.

“We have tonight,” Steve stated as he leaned against the table and crossed his arms. “You can rest. Get clean up in the shower,” He nodded towards the other door, “There’s food in the cupboard. Basic rations but we’ll get better tomorrow.”

“Then what?” James asked sharply. “We go to S.H.I.E.L.D.? That’s who you’re with, right?”

“I am and I’m not,” Steve answered. “But the important thing is I know people who can keep you safe.”

“Safe? Do you even know what we’re running from?” Bucky sneered.

“Not hard to guess,,” Steve tilted his head and sniffed. “Buck, do you have any idea how unbelievable this is? That you’re still alive? How much of a relief it is?” He dropped his arms and pushed himself away from the table. He crossed to James and clapped his shoulder, “Bucky.”

The other man winced and grabbed Steve’s hand. He pushed it away and held up his own. He slowly rolled his glove up his palm and slid free his fingers. He turned his metal hand in show and lowered it in shame.

“Can’t say they never gave me any gifts,” James uttered, “Though I would say I paid for it.”

Steve frowned as he watched James’ hand then looked him in the eye.

“Well, good thing I didn’t say anything about finding you in one piece,” Steve scoffed.

“Ha,” James snorted and shook his head. “You promise your friends are gonna play nice?”

“You trust me?” Steve challenged.

“Always,” James avowed.

“They’ll play nice.” Steve assured him, “But you know it’s not that simple.”

“I know,” James grumbled as Steve brushed by him and went to the door, “But I’m not worried about me.” He paused and looked at you, then Luka, “You understand?”

“I do. You know we’ve always been as good as family, Buck.”

“That was a long time ago,” James insisted. “A different life.”

“Yeah,” Steve rested his hand on the door handle. “But we’re not so different.” Steve smiled and peered past James, “It was nice to meet you.” He opened the door slowly as he spoke. “You two have a good night. Get some sleep. You look like you need it.”

Steve shut the door behind him as he stepped out into the hallway. The door locked from the other side and James stared at the metal barrier. You stood behind him, still, silent, watching as he hung his head. You neared the couch and sat.

“James,” You said gently, “You are going to sit and tell me who Bucky is and how he knows Steve Rogers.”

James turned and swallowed as he looked at you. He approached reluctantly and sat beside you. He leaned back and gripped his thighs as if to brace himself. His fingers danced on his knee anxiously and he nodded.

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes and Steve Rogers is my best friend. We served together in Europe. We grew up together in Brooklyn. He was this kid, used to wear newspapers in his shoes, built like a toothpick. His mother, Sarah, was his only family besides me. But that was before I died in the war; before I was the Soldat…”

✰

James let you have the foldout couch to yourself. You were unused to the emptiness beside you but you hadn’t the heart to move Luka as he dozed soundly. James took his usual spot on the floor. He slept with his back against the door though you doubted he actually got much rest. You woke often and looked at him, sometimes his head slumped down, and others he seemed to stare endlessly into the dark.

James roused first and you sat up as you heard him open the cupboard. You grumbled and stripped the thin mattress before folding it away. You left the thin blankets in the chair as James turned on the single burner on the counter. He set the kettle atop it and turned to face you.

“Tea?” He asked. You nodded as he leaned against the counter.

Luka slept on and you let him until a knock came at the door and woke him. As James set out two mugs of steaming tea, three short raps came and had him frozen. He motioned for you to stay back as he neared the door and you went to Luka as he rubbed his eyes and sat up in confusion.

James unlocked the door and inched it open. His shoulders dropped and he stepped back to let Steve in. Another man followed him and James quickly stiffened. The man strode haughtily inside, his silver hair combed back neatly, as he wore a tailored suit that bespoke of money.

“Howard,” James greeted the strange man with a grimace. The door closed heavily and pierced the tension between them. “Why’s he here?”

“He’s a friend. A real friend.” Steve said.

You helped Luka out of bed and sat him at the table with the box of tea biscuits you found in the cupboard.

“Don’t be rude, James,” You managed in your best English, “You ask if they want tea.”

“James,” The man he called Howard chuckled.

James sighed. “Do you want tea?” He asked tersely.

“We’re good,” Howard answered with a smirk. “So, I think my first question is where they came from?” He pointed at you and Luka. “Lucky the kid looks like his mom.”

“Really, Steve? This jackass.”

“Buck, you don’t understand. S.H.I.E.L.D., it’s not… not safe. There're approximately three people you can trust in this country and we’re two of them.” Steve insisted.

“Three? Who’s the third?”

“Peggy,” Steve replied curtly. “Everyone else, well, we’ve figured there hand-in-hand with the bastards who chased you here.”

“Hydra?” James asked, Steve nodded. “They’re here? Where?”

“Calm down,” Howard strolled around the room as he felt around in his jacket. “We’ll fill you in once you do the same for us.” The man stopped beside Luka and pulled out a bill. “Here, kid, maybe later you’re mother can take you out to buy some candy.”

Luka’s eyes rounded at the money and you nodded to him. “What do you say, mishka?”

“Thank you, sir,” He smiled and accepted the money.

“You didn’t have to--” You said as Howard grinned.

“Got a boy myself. Bit older but I miss when he was smaller. Easier to handle.” He said. “And I’m fairly sure those cookies are well past stale.”

“So it’s just the three of you? Against Hydra?” James interjected. “You really think you can help me?”

“We have safeguards,” Howard turned back. “And it’s better to keep enemies close.”

“Not Hydra,” James’ hands balled into fists. “You don’t understand--”

“No, but we want to try.” Howard neared him. “Look, I’d say that kid is what? Four? Five? And there was a certain Soviet assassin that just up and disappeared as many years ago. A certain experiment abandoned after its perpetrators were slaughtered… think maybe you can fill in the details?”

James paled and looked to you. His eyes fell to Luka and he blinked. “Not in front of the kid.” He glanced at Steve pleadingly. “I’ll talk,” James snarled, “Just… the boy. He can’t--” He took a breath. “Come on, Howard. You said you had a son, too. Please.”

“It’s early, we don’t have to get into it right now,” He raised his hand defensively. “I just needed to know that I was right.”

“And I need to know that you’re gonna keep them safe. I don’t care about me, but they didn’t do anything.” James stepped closer to the man until they were chest to chest. “You swear to me that they’re safe and I will tell you everything.”

“Mother knows something too, she must,” Howard said.

“I tell you,” You stood and squeezed Luka’s shoulder before you left him. “But as James say, not in front of boy.”

Howard considered you then turned back to James. “We’ll move you tonight. Bigger place, much nicer too. Then, we’ll have a long debriefing.” He turned to Steve and checked his watch. “You keep them here until I can get it sorted out. You know the rules.”

“Got it,” Steve said. “And Peggy?”

“One thing at a time,” Howard said as he went to the door, “As far as she’s concerned, you took the day off.”

#bucky barnes #Winter Soldier #dark winter soldier #dark!wintersoldier #bucky barnes x reader #fic #series #breach #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #Steve Rogers

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someonestolemyshoes · 4 years ago

Text

Stuck

My entry for @levihan-drabbles Smut Sunday event! My prompt this time was "Hange, why are you stuck there?". I might have gotten a little carried away, so this is uh...on the long side, but please enjoy anyway!

Warnings: dubious consent, if you squint. Explicit consent talks, too, but if that kind of thing makes you uncomfortable please be careful!

Her toes barely scraped the floor. The ladder had fallen too far away for her to reach, and without the use of her legs, Hange couldn't find purchase on anything to pull herself out of the loop.

She was stuck. In a trap for titans.

By all counts, Hange was having a terrible day.

She had been late to the morning's budget report, too wrapped up in her research notes and the blueprints for her new titan trap to notice the time. Erwin had chewed her out thoroughly for her tardiness, and, to add insult to injury, had denied her request for new materials to build the trap. She had argued as vehemently as she dared that the materials were a necessity in ensuring the sturdiness of the improved design and that, built correctly, the new apparatus would reduce risk to their soldiers by over 50%. Despite her best efforts, Erwin had been resolute in his rejection.

She had also missed breakfast. After the meeting, incensed by Erwin's refusal, she had taken straight to her lab to revamp the design, ignorant of the time until well past 10am. Breakfast had been cleared long before the growling of her stomach pulled her out of her focused scribbling.

And then she had spilled a cold mug of tea, who knows how old, onto her research notes from the last experiments. The dark liquid sank into the fabric and blurred the ink faster than Hange could react, leaving every scrawled graph and table and footnote completely illegible.

Hange should have known, then, with her run of luck, that today was not a day to take risks. She should have anticipated that more would go wrong, that something disastrous might happen. But each instance had only served to anger her further, and Hange felt resolved to solve something. To get one thing right.

Starting with the titan trap was evidently a mistake.

It was a risk to try toying with the thing all alone at the best of times. Clunky chains and thick, heavy ropes, intricately looped and knotted for strength, cross-hatched to make them more structurally sound. Hange was up on her ladder with her torso threaded through one of the giant loops, stomach braced on the rope as she leaned over to adjust the bolts in one of the chains, when part of the structure gave an ominous creak. Something, somewhere, snapped with a crack, and Hange's foot slipped off the ladder.

The ground rushed up to meet her. Hange braced herself for impact, but a few feet from the floor, she jerked abruptly to a stop. The rope punched roughly into her stomach, knocking the air out of her. She took a second, gasping, to catch her breath.

In a stroke of uncharacteristic luck, Hange had chosen to wear her goggles while working. Her glasses, she knew, would have fallen from her face and shattered to pieces. Another expense for Erwin to pay. Luckily, her goggles held firm--no extra cost for the Scouts, and wonderfully clear vision to take in the remains of the trap.

As it stands, she'd gotten very lucky indeed. A section of rope had snagged on one of the hooks on the wall, breaking her fall. Her stomach felt tender, and would no doubt bruise horribly, but she could only be thankful that it wasn't worse.

Now, though, she had a problem.

Her toes barely scraped the floor. The ladder had fallen too far away for her to reach, and without the use of her legs, Hange couldn't find purchase on anything to pull herself out of the loop.

She was stuck. In a trap for titans.

Hange let herself hang over the rope and puffed her hair out of his face. The lab was out of the way, no chance of anyone incidentally passing by—it would be a waste of energy to try calling for help. All she could do was hang here and wait until someone—Moblit, probably—came searching for her.

She hung there for what felt like a lifetime. The rope had been plenty uncomfortable in the beginning, but had long since become painful. She was desperately considering her possibilities for the millionth time, when she heard the sound of feet stomping in the corridor outside, and the door abruptly burst open.

"Oi, shitty glasses, you missed lu—"

Levi stopped short. The click of his boots scuffed to a halt. His fingers slipped off the door handle, the hinges squeaking loud in the otherwise silence. The click of the latch rang as loud as a gunshot.

Hange waved a hand. "Yo, Levi. A little help?"

"The hell are you doing?"

"There was an incident. It's not important—can you help me down?"

Levi, overcoming his surprise, managed to take a few more slow steps into the room. He walked a full circle around her, ducking rope and stepping over loose chains, taking in the sight with the same scrutiny he examines bookshelves for dust.

"This," he announced, after completing his examination, "is fucking ridiculous."

"It's not my finest moment," she conceded.

"What even is this shit?" Levi touched the rope, running his palm over it. His voice sounded a little distant, contemplative. Hange didn't for one second entertain the idea that he was curious about the mechanics of her titan trap, but she couldn't quite figure out what it was that intrigued him.

"Does it matter? As you can well see, I need some help."

Levi hummed. He gripped the rope a little harder, followed it down to where it was digging into her waist. He gave it a little tug; Hange coughed out a breath when the movement jostled her. She suspected that Levi was trying to figure out how exactly she had gotten stuck. When his gaze travelled up to the hook, she assumed she was correct, and hoped that, armed with this knowledge, he might try freeing her. He stepped a little further behind her, out her direct line of sight. Hange waited impatiently for him to help get her out of the trap.

But then, he did something Hange hadn't expected him to do at all.

He touched her leg.

To an outsider, it might have been an innocent thing. Something designed to soothe, maybe; nothing more or less than the simple touch of one's palm to another's thigh.

But Hange knew Levi. Hange knew that Levi was not one for casual touch. There were very few instances in which Levi touched anyone, and most were unfavourable--upon grievous injury, commonly, or else holding a comrades hand when death comes calling. But there is one other occasion in which Levi will touch her, at least. One other scenario where his hand might find itself on her leg, or her hip, or her waist. Up her shirt. Down her pants.

It's not all that often. Maybe a dozen times, give or take, over the years they've known one another. But it follows a very strict pattern: they have a shitty day. They drink. They get too close. They drink some more. Smoke, maybe, if they've ventured to a bar where they can snag a cigarette to share. Drink again, though at some point they give up ordering their own, and start passing the same goblet back and forth. Levi's leg will nudge up against hers. Hange leans heavily into him. She blames it on the drink, giggles a half assed apology into his ear. He lets her. They search for somewhere private—their quarters, if they're patient enough. Close enough. A back alley has done fine on more than one occasion.

And then, they fuck.

Sex, Hange had once thought, was a rather romantic notion. Two becoming one and all that. Something couples did, an act of feeling so absolute, so all-encompassing, that making love was the only way to truly express it. Older, and wiser, Hange knows now that sex can be many different things. Sex can be romantic, but it can also be rough, animalistic. Sex can come from frustration, from desperation, from an itchy beneath the skin that nothing else will scratch. Sex with Levi, more often than not comes from anger and sadness and manifests in a clash of lips, grabbing, yanking hands, the sharp bite of teeth. It comes from a desire to do something, anything, to relieve the helpless, hopeless feeling when they've done all that they could and somehow, it still isn't enough. A guilty, sordid undertaking, high on fumes with the dark of the night to hide them.

Sex with Levi has never begun like this, with Hange hanging from a makeshift harness in her lab in broad daylight.

It's not that she's against the idea, per se. There are times when Hange feels that restless ache without the weight of grief sagging her bones—times when she thinks it might be nice to find Levi in his room, or invite him into hers, close the doors and let loose. Enjoy the pleasure of it without the bite of pain.

But now, she thought, shivering when Levi's hand slid around to the inside of her thigh, was not the time.

Levi seemed to have other ideas.

His thumb brushed back and forth over her leg.

"Not that this isn't nice," she said slowly, "but is now really the best time?"

Levi, standing behind her now, gave a noncommittal hum. His other hand came to rest rather boldly on her ass, thumb running lightly up the centre seam of her trousers. Hange sucked in a sharp breath.

"Can it wait? I'm a little uncomfortable here."

Levi acted as though he hadn't heard her. It made Hange huff. Either he was deliberately ignoring her, or he was too preoccupied to listen and respond appropriately. Hange suspected the former, though when she shot him a look rather awkwardly over her shoulder, she did find him gazing quite intently at his own hand on her backside.

Hange had never really considered that Levi might be receptive to the idea of sex outside their current, unofficial arrangement. He never seemed all that interested—in her or in anyone else. His disinterest was so pronounced, that it had shocked her the first time he had touched her—she had reciprocated with equal ferocity, but the initial hunger of his touch had surprised her. Even then, when she had grown accustomed to the uninhibited way he would touch her during their meetings, he had seemed perfectly indifferent whenever they were together in any other circumstance. He retained his perpetual, bored expression, and gave her no indication that he even found her attractive, let alone had any interest.

And yet, here he was. Eyes flitting over his view of her ass and legs, his hands roving almost reverently over her. Hange blew out a loud breath.

"My legs are going dead, Levi. Help me down."

Levi ticked his tongue at her. "Oi, all trussed up like that and you expect me not to look?"

For a second, shock quieted her pleading. Her mouth snapped shut and her cheeks grew uncomfortably hot. Levi's tone had been low, gravelly. The kind of voice he used when he hissed filth in her ear, hand at her throat and cock driving into her fast and hard. To hear something so calm from him, in that voice, sent a rush of warmth straight to her crotch.

"You've looked plenty," Hange said. She squirmed when his hand slipped higher still between her legs, finger running back and forth along the seam of her pants. The pressure against her clit made her writhe, forced a groan from her. She shifted her legs restlessly, searching desperately for some purchase, but found nothing. Levi, face inexpressive, cupped her fully, letting his thumb push against where he knew her opening was. Hange choked.

"Levi," she gasped, toes scrabbling at the floor. "Levi, c'mon—at least—nngh—at least let me d-down first." It was embarrassing, the way her voice grew higher with each word, until she was almost squealing.

"You look good here," he said plainly.

"Well, that's swell," she wheezed. "But I—ah—am a little uncomfortable."

Levi's hand was still cupping her. Her fingers rubbing lazily at her clit, his thumb threatening to press into her through the thick fabric. Hange let out a high whine and wriggled.

"Levi," she implored. "It hurts—the rope, its—digging in." She finished with an embarrassingly loud moan, because Levi chose that moment to let his mouth replace his thumb, pressing over her. Hot air bled straight through her trousers, right onto her cunt.

"It's painful?" He asked. Hange felt his words vibrate against her. For one incredibly stupid moment, she considered telling to forget about that, to keep his mouth on her instead—but it did hurt, and as good as Levi's every puff of breath felt, as the pressure of his tongue poking out to rub at her felt, she needed to get down.

"Yeah," she breathed. Hange suspected then that Levi truly hadn't considered that her position would hurt. They were used persistent press of the 3DMG belts, all held scars and bruises from the leather where it took the brunt of their weight during use—Levi likely hadn't expected the rope to be too different. But it was much bigger, and Hange had slammed down onto it with enough force to wind her. She told him so with great difficulty, for he was seemingly fixated on touching her with his fingers and his mouth. At length, however, he pulled away.

"Fine, hold on."

With an arm hooked around her upper thighs, Levi hefted Hange up a little higher, taking her weight off the ropes. Hange let out a relieved sigh as the pressure on her waist eased—blood rushed to the flesh where the rope had pinched and dug into her, making the tender skin throb. Levi used his other hand to yank at the restraints until the section that had been snagged to the hook came loose, then steadied Hange with a palm pressed flush to the flat of her stomach, and lowered her to the ground.

Hange knew Levi was strong. Humanities strongest, after all. But that title was in awe of his titan killing abilities. It spoke nothing of his brute strength. The ropes and chains were heavy, moving them usually took a couple of people at least. Levi had managed to hold her up and shake the ropes loose like they weighed nothing at all. The thought sent an embarrassing thrill of heat through her.

Hange's toes hit the ground first, but she made no effort to get her feet firmly beneath her. They sank down together until Hange's knees hit the floor. She straightened her torso up, spine popping in several places as she did.

"That's better," she breathed. Levi only hummed as he helped her disentangle herself from the mess of rope and chain. He heaved it aside once she was free, and crouched behind her. Her shirt had ridden up during their manoeuvring, revealing a thin strip of pale flesh at the bottom of her back. Hange could feel a cool draught blowing over the exposed skin, but it was followed swiftly by something a hair more solid, the ghost of a touch that made goosebumps pinch at the back of her neck. Levi's fingertip, trailing featherlight above the waistband of her pants.

Hange sucked in a quick breath. She'd thought that Levi was done tormenting her, now that he'd freed her from her confines; she'd expected to be left flustered and frustrated on the lab floor, but Levi, it seemed, wasn't finished with her yet. He hooked his finger into one of her belt loops and yanked up and back. Hange jerked forward, slapping her palms into the ground to keep her balance as Levi raised her hips up. The fabric of her trousers, already a little tight, pulled taut—the seam pressed painfully against her sensitive clit. She whimpered through clenched teeth and gathered her knees more solidly under her in an effort to relieve the pressure.

"Fuck, Levi," she hissed. She glared over her shoulder at him to find his gaze sweeping over her. The thing with Levi was, he never looked impressed. It was impossible to tell, in moments like this, with his sharp eyes travelling over her, whether he was pleased with what he saw or simply satisfied that his view wasn't terrible. "Do you have to be so rough?"

"You've never complained before."

Hange flushed. She tried to form a suitable response, something biting to retort with, but her mind could focus only on one thing; Levi's hand, gliding up the length of her spine now, pushing the fabric of her shirt until it bunched beneath her shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

Levi said nothing. He skimmed both palms, this time, from her upper back to her hips, and back up again, fingers curving to follow the contour of her waist, her ribs. With her breath held, it was quiet enough for Hange to hear the way Levi's callouses caught the bandage binding her chest. His thumbnail scratched lightly at one point where the wrappings met her skin, hooking beneath it. Hange tensed, and Levi's movements ceased abruptly.

"Can I take this off?"

Hange shook her head. "Not today," she said. And then, quiet and a little guilty, "sorry."

"It's fine."

He withdrew his hands from near her chest. One hit the ground beside her, while the other sunk to her hip, fingers digging into her groin. He pulled her back towards him until her ass was flush to his hips, and at the same time, Hange felt his torso rest against her back, the buttons of his shirt pressing cool into her heated skin. His mouth settled open and hot at the base of her neck. Hange shivered as his tongue laved over the skin there, a choked out little sigh stuttering out of her—she felt hot, trapped; prey pinned by a hungry predator. It sent a tremulous thrill zipping up her spine.

Levi's teeth sunk into the back of her neck. "Down."

Hange obliged without thought. Arms folding, back arching, she sunk low until her chest met the hard floor.

"Good," Levi hummed, pleased. His voice was deep, hoarse, and barely loud enough to register, but Hange could feel the rumble of it shudder right up her spine. The change in her position made it harder for him to reach the bare skin of her neck, but she could feel, acutely, the heat of his breath billowing through the layers covering her upper back. He always had an aura of calm about him, and an unreadable expression that bordered on indifference, but there was something in the heavy pant of his breath that exposed his excitement. It was gratifying to know she wasn't the only one.

When she was settled, Levi straightened up. Hange could feel his eyes roving over her, but flat to the ground as she was, with her face tucked into her folded arms, she could see nothing. She jumped when his hands cupped her waist, almost tenderly; he stroked his thumbs over the skin where the rope had been. It hurt, aching in the way heavy bruises do, but when Levi's fingertips pressed a touch deeper into the welts stretching over her stomach, she squirmed, and not altogether from discomfort.

"Is it painful?" He asked, almost absently.

"A little," Hange wheezed. Levi made a thoughtful little sound, brushing his thumb and fingers back and forth over the wounds, and then he shifted back—cool air flooded into the space between their hips, and Hange almost cried out in disappointment—but before she could complain about the absence of his touch, she felt instead his impossibly soft lips, smoothing over the spot his hands had been. First one side, then over to the other.

Hange's muscles flexed and twitched beneath her skin as Levi kissed her. In the handful of times they had fucked before, tender kisses had never been a part of the equation. Everything was rough, biting, scratching, choking, gripping so hard they left fingerprint bruises on each others skin. Hange had never walked away without a limp in her step and a satisfying ache in her hips, the kind that lingered for days on end, as a reminder of what they had done. In their handful of whirlwind encounters, Levi had never kissed any part of her like that. As though she were something fragile. Something precious.

Hange almost straightened herself up to look at him. He lingered so long with his gentle ministrations that Hange thought, for a moment, he might have abandoned their romp in favour of laving her in his silent apologies. But then he shifted, lips dragging to the centre of her spine and down, down, until he found her waistband, and his hands looped around to the front of her pants, finding the buckle and deftly unfastening it.

He was in no particular hurry. He took his time, running his tongue across the bottom of her back as his fingers worked open the buttons on her fly, and explored the newly exposed skin at his leisure. The tips of his fingers, at first, dipping just beneath the elastic of her underwear, running from hip to hip and eliciting shivers and huffed out breaths from Hange as he went. And then he pressed lower, until his fingers found coarse hair. He took his time here, too, allowing his touch to stray near to where she wanted it before dancing away again. Hange grit her teeth in frustration, her hips swaying of their own accord, curling and wriggling, trying desperately to meet his idle fingers. His spare hand brushed up the outside of her thigh, soothing at first, and then he gripped her tight, limiting her motion.

She could feel his smile press against the bottom of her back.

Hange hadn't wanted to give him the satisfaction of begging. She tried what she could to keep her mouth shut; bit her lip, bit her knuckles, bit into the sleeve of her jacket, huffing panting, needy breaths through her nose in an effort to stifle the whines and pleading moans that threatened to spill out. And she had thought, for a moment, that she had succeeded—Levi finally graced her with the touch she desired, rough fingertips grazing over her clit, swollen and aching now, desperate for attention. Her hips bucked and she moaned, knees instinctively spreading wider. But then, the touch passed. Levi's fingers brushed along her groin instead, withdrawing. Hange's throat tightened, a frustrated lump forming, choking her.

"Levi." She had hoped to sound more angry, but her voice came out high and tight. Desperate. She bit hard at her lip.

"Hm? What?"

"You know what," she hissed. It was absurd, how badly she felt like crying. Her need was bordering on painful; a throbbing, pulsating kind of desire, hot and heavy between her legs. She felt almost dizzy with it.

Levi had never teased her before. Sex was perfunctory; a means to an end. A quick, rough fuck, just another way to burn off steam, like sparring, or running. Feeding a specific hunger; scratching a persistent itch. Drawing things out was never a part of the equation. Hange didn't know how to handle the building tension—her body screamed for relief, release, anything, but Levi seemed perfectly at his leisure. Unhurried.

"Touch me," she grit out, splaying her legs wider still. Levi rubbed his hand against her lower belly. "Please."

"You said now was a bad time, before," he said. He must have anticipated Hange's indignance, for he closed over her and pinned her chest down with a hand between her shoulder blades before she had a chance to straighten up.

"That was before," Hange ground out. "You've started something now. Finish it."

Levi made a quiet, thoughtful sound. Hange twisted her face to one side, flushed cheek pressed to the cool floor, and tried to gauge his expression. It was as unreadable as ever. He looked down at her with hooded eyes, face impassive.

And then, without preamble, he sunk his hand deeper into her pants, and pinched her clit between thumb and forefinger.

Hange swore loudly. Her hips jerked at the sudden touch. It was bordering on painful. Usually, rough was fine. Rough was good. Sex for them was often something like fighting, so Hange was no stranger to these aggressive touches. Usually, she delighted in it. Levi had learned her body well, toed the line between pain and pleasure with the same innate expertise he had for killing titans. Quick and efficient.

But this, for some reason, was too much. Hange twitched painfully and gasped his name, freeing one of her arms and reaching beneath herself, gripping tightly to Levi's wrist.

"Levi—too much."

Levi's touch stopped. His fingers splayed over her lower belly again, thumb rubbing back and forth as Hange released a shuddering breath.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked plainly. He sounded unbothered, almost bored, but Hange knew him better; the fact that he had even asked spoke volumes of his concern.

"A little," she said. Levi curled over her and dropped a kiss to the middle of her back. He mumbled a sorry so quiet Hange barely heard him.

"It's fine," she said. "Just...not so rough, next time? I'm too sensitive."

Levi ran his tongue up the trench of her spine, between the hard ridges of muscle, and hummed quietly. He let his fingers wander back to her clit again, but they settled over her far more gently. She gasped, and moaned quietly. Levi rubbed light circles over her, eliciting more soft little sounds. Hange was used to being vocal, and Levi was used to trying to shut her up, with a hand clamped over her mouth or his fingers depressing her tongue, but he made no move to quiet her this time. She bit her lip and breathed, harsh and uneven, through her nose as Levi's strokes found a rhythm. The weight of his chest rested fully on her back.

Hange could easily imagine the same weight pressed against her as he fucked her, pinned her down and buried himself deep within her. She could imagine the way he'd grind into her, barely withdrawing an inch but still punching the air from her lungs when he pushed all the way back in.

He was shifting over her now, his body twitching in quick, jerky motions that didn't match up with the way his fingers were rubbing her. Belatedly, Hange realised that the hand not playing with her clit was nowhere to be found; he wasn't bracing on the ground, nor touching any part of her body. Raising herself up a little, Hange turned to look behind her, and let out a low, guttural moan.

Levi's spare hand was down the front of his own pants. He stroked himself off with quick, uneven strokes, his face pressed against her back. Hange could feel his hitching, panted breaths against her skin.

She breathed his name and pushed her hips back, seeking him. Searching for the pressure of his cock against her cunt, something to ease the heavy need there. She bumped against him once, twice, before Levi withdrew his hand from his pants to grip at her hip, pulling her back.

"Fuck, Hange," he rasped. He pressed his forehead into her back and ground his hips forward, pressing desperately against her. He must be able to feel her, how wet she was, even through the layers she still wore, for she could easily feel the heat radiating from his cock as it strained against her trousers. Hange whimpered, resisting every urge to shove back onto him. She wanted him to inside her, wanted to feel the stretch as he fucked her open; wanted the delicious ache as he buried himself to the hilt within her, the satisfaction of being full.

Levi curved himself over her, craning until his lips and teeth nipped at the back of her neck. The head of his cock nudged right at her opening and Hange let out a quiet, needy moan, pushing her hips back towards him.

"Hange," he said. Hange gave a shaky hum in acknowledgement. "When did you last bleed?"

Disappointment and a deep, loathing kind of frustration washed over her. Her face twisted in a grimace and her hands, balled into fists, smacked against the stone. She dropped her forehead to the floor, swearing under her breath, and mumbling her response. Levi pinched her hip, brushed his lips over her skin.

"I can't hear you, stupid."

Louder, she moaned, "Last week."

"Ah."

Too recent. Hange could hear the pang of disappointment in Levi's tone, too. He was just as worked up as she was, hard and straining, and it must be torture for him to feel Hange so ready for him, wet, tight, eager. Inviting. But the timing was off. Too soon after her last bleed. Not worth the risk. Levi knew it, and Hange knew it too, but that didn't stop her from wriggling against him, hips easing back, searching for him, desperate for his length to split her open.

Levi let out a low growl and ground against her. Hange half wanted to resign herself to an unsatisfying release, to guide Levi's attention back to her neglected clit and get off quickly, but before she could regain his attention, Levi withdrew his hand from her pants completely, and instead yanked them over her ass, and worked them a little way down her thighs. His breath felt hot and fast gainst the back of her neck as he tugged at the tight fabric. Hange felt his cock bare against her. She shivered and sucked in a quivering breath.

"What are you doing?"

"I wanna fuck you," he said simply. Hange whimpered. She wanted to spread her legs wider, make room for him between them, but her trousers, wrapped around her thighs now, prevented her from opening them, and besides—

"We shouldn't—Levi, we can't."

He made a gruff sound against her. Hange could feel his fingers trembling as he gripped the outside of one thigh, pushed her legs closer together. Hange shuffled the other further in to keep her balance, head spinning. Levi shifted so his knees, either side of hers, kept her thighs pinned together.

They couldn't—it wasn't worth the risk, she knew, and every logical part of her screamed that they should stop now, before they made a mistake. Levi dug his face between her shoulder blades and his hand reached between them, wrapping around his cock and giving it a few jerky pumps. He guided it close; Hange felt the smooth head nudge against her dripping entrance.

"We can't," she said again, weakly. "Levi, we—"

Her breath hitched as Levi applied a little pressure. She could feel herself beginning to stretch for him, opening up as he pressed a little into her. She gasped, groaned, shifted her weight; she meant to move forward, away, but her hips sank helplessly back instead. She almost sobbed in relief as the stretch increased, the sensation dizzying, delicious. She tried again to spread her legs, but Levi's legs locked her in place.

"Levi—Levi, please—" Hange wasn't wasn't sure what she was pleading for. For him to stop, before they went too far, or for him to drive into her, fuck her until she couldn't stand. She felt him hiss against her back.

"Wanna be inside you," he breathed. "Fuck, Hange—you feel so good."

Hange could barely keep herself still. It took every ounce of strength to keep some presence of mind, to hold her trembling hips in place, but it felt like a losing battle. She wanted to feel full, fucked out and satiated. She wanted to feel every inch of him spreading her open, wanted him to fuck and fill her until he was spent, until he had nothing left to give. They shouldn't, they couldn't—but Hange had never wanted anything more in her entire life. To deprive herself was the cruellest thing.

Levi came to his senses before she did. He growled loudly, teeth bared, frustration evident, but he pulled his cock away from her opening and drove instead between her legs, right up against the apex of her thighs. The head of his cock bumped her clit and Hange let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a wail. He tightened his knees against hers, wedging her legs as tight together as he could. He let out a low moan, pulling back slowly, savouring the tightness of her thighs pressed around him. Hange squirmed and squeezed her legs together, desperate to keep his cock pressed up against her. She ground her brow into the ground and let out a harsh, ragged breath. Levi brushed his lips against the edge of the coarse bandage, over the nearest patch of skin.

"What I'd fucking give to be inside you now," Levi breathed, strained. He drove his hips forward at a slow, building pace. Hange squeezed her eyes closed and pushed her hips back to meet him. "Fuck you just like this."

Hange whimpered out her yes, and reached down to pull one of Levi's hands from her hips, guiding it to her clit. He applied a dizzying pressure there, pressing down and rolling his fingertips against her, and the combination of that, plus the length of his cock gliding so temptingly against her, was enough to make her thighs tremble.

"Next time," he grunted. Once or twice he pulled back a little too far and for a moment the head of his cock nestled back against her entrance before popping free and sliding between her thighs again. Each time, Hange guiltily hoped he would slip inside, that they would ignore the consequences, leave it as a problem for another time. It made her twitch, and whine, and fuck her hips back harder against him.

His fingers rubbed rougher circles over her. Hips bucked harder. Hange felt the tension winding low in her gut, in her thighs--her breathing, already ragged, began to hitch and hold, punching out short little mewls and sucking in quick, uneven gasps.

"Close—Levi, I—hah—I'm gonna come—"

Levi gave an affirming grunt against her shoulder blade and fought to keep his pace even. Levi wasn't much of a gentleman in any common sense of the term, but no matter what they did, how quick and harsh sex was between them, Levi always made sure Hange finished first. It was chivalrous, in a way. She might have laughed at the thought if her orgasm didn't cut her off, choking the sound in her throat. Her mouth opened in a silent moan as her body drew impossibly tight, impossibly tense—and then the tension broke, and she was left shuddering, incoherent, disjointed sounds bleeding out of her, eyes watering with relief. Levi rode her through it, and then followed after her, with a few hard, jarring thrusts and a grunt muffled against her back. Hange felt him spill up her belly and onto the floor beneath them.

Without his hands to hold her hips up, Hange sank down to lie flat on the floor. Levi followed her down, pressed to her back, and together they lay there, gathering their senses and catching their breaths.

After a moment, Levi rolled off of her, and sat up. Hange pushed herself upright on shaking arms. She took in the mess—on her front, on the floor, between her legs. Heat rushed through her, sweeping into her stomach. In her lab, of all places.

"Stupid Levi," Hange said. She tugged up her pants and sat on her backside, levelling a kick at Levi's knee. He had already tucked himself into his pants with a grimace, but he was too sluggish post-orgasm to dodge her. "Anyone could have walked in here!"

"They didn't."

"They could have! What if Erwin had come looking for me, huh? Or Mike? What about poor Moblit!"

For a second, Levi looked like he might smile. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Hange flushed hot at the memory. Poor Moblit, she thought, guiltily recalling their first needy fumbling in Hange's office. She had been drunk—they both were, probably too drunk to reasonably consider the consequences of their actions—and Moblit, ever the loyal sidekick, had only come to check Hange had made it to bed. He'd hoped to find her sleeping soundly. He certainly hadn't expected to find her sprawled back on the desk with Levi's face between her thighs.

"You wanna scar the poor bastard again?" Hange hissed. Levi shrugged. Hange narrowed her eyes at him; perhaps she was imagining it, but she could have sworn she saw something in his expression that looked almost smug. Hange huffed at him.

They fell into a strange silence. Hange busied herself kicking and dragging the remains of the titan trap to the side of the room. She piled the ropes up as neatly as she could manage, while Levi used a napkin to wipe up the mess on the floor. Then he simply sat back and watched her. After a moment, he spoke.

"Did you mind? Me touching you like that."

Hange looked over at him. His face gave nothing away, no hint of guilt or trepidation at all, but there had been something in his tone; a hesitance to voice the question out loud.

"You're asking me that now?"

Levi turned his eyes away from her.

"I figured you'd let me know. If you really hadn't wanted to."

"Most people just ask before they start feeling someone up, you know. Saves all the confusion."

Hange had meant it in a teasing way, with her tone light and her lips turned up in a wry smile, but Levi paled after she'd spoken, eyes a fraction wider than normal.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Screwed up his face, then said, "I don't—I never want to—" He let out an annoyed huff, and ran a hand back through his hair. It was perhaps the most flustered Hange had ever seen him. "I'm not into that shit. I don't get off on making people do shit they don't wanna do."

There was something imploring about the way he looked at her, after that, as though he needed her to listen. As though it were important to him that she understand.

"I know," Hange said, struck by the sudden need to soothe him. He had lost all colour, and looked oddly distressed. "I know. And you're right, I'd have let you know if I didn't like any of it."

It took a long moment, but the tension in Levi's shoulders relaxed a fraction. Hange plopped down to sit next to him and nudged her shoulder to his.

"Maybe we should get a safe word for next time." She grinned, then laughed when Levi weakly elbowed her. "How do you feel about titans."

Levi scowled at her. His eyes looked dark and broody as ever, but there was a pinch to his cheeks, as though he was trying not to smile. "How do you feel about fuck off."

"Nah, you say that too much. What about Erwin's toupee."

"I don't wanna think about Erwin when I'm fucking you."

Hange's face heated a little at the brazenness in which he said it. She laughed, and said, "how about eyebrows?"

Levi grimaced. "Still Erwin."

Hange laughed a little harder. She leaned into him, so close that when he twisted his head to look at her, his fringe tickled her face.

"I kinda like it. Nice and snappy."

Levi tipped closer to her. His nose brushed against hers.

"How about stop talking shit," he said. Hange felt his breath blow hot over her lips, smelled the rich, perfume scent of the tea he'd drunk at lunch. Their brows bumped clumsily together. Levi pressed closer, more solidly to her.

"Too long," she breathed. Levi hummed quietly, tilting his face up so his nose nudged along hers. "Can we go back to titans?"

"Whatever. Use whatever shitty word you want." His voice had gone strangely low, and just a touch breathless. Hange felt her own breath catch somewhere in her chest.

"Titans it is," she said. Levi's lips were so close, Hange could feel them brushing against hers when she spoke. She and Levi had kissed a few times. The sloppy, biting kind of kiss, hot and furious. It was always part of the process—A to B, kissing to fucking. It was never something sweet, or gentle. They never kissed for the simple sake of kissing.

Hange found herself wanting to, now. She wanted to close the breath of distance between them and feel Levi's soft lips against her own. It was an outrageous thing to want, really. Kissing without the promise of something more, it strayed into unfamiliar territory for them. Dangerous territory. Hange had sworn her heart to humanity, same as Levi had—but right now, hers was beating out of her chest for him.

Levi let his mouth touch barely against hers. Hange's eyes fluttered closed and she waited, heart pounding, for him to make some kind of move. To pull away or press closer, either, something.

Instead, he said, quiet and rasping, "this safe word. How does it work?"

Hange rolled her brow against his. "You just say it, if there's something you don't want to do, or if you want to stop."

Levi made a thoughtful sound. Hange felt his fingers graze over hers where her hand was braced on the floor.

"So you'd say titans, if you didn't want me to kiss you now?"

Hange let out a long breath. She nodded, but said nothing more. Levi waited. Hange made no noise at all, and after a moment, Levi tipped his face up and kissed her sweetly. Simple, chaste, his lips pressed against hers. He sighed out a trembling breath through his nose.

They stayed like that for too long, for a kiss so simple, but Hange hadn't wanted to pull away. It was warm, comfortable. She felt pleasantly content. Levi was the first to move, and when Hange opened her eyes she caught sight of his own eyelids fluttering, blinking rapidly, as though he had just awoken from a dream. He licked his lips.

"Not bad," he said. Hange rolled her eyes and shoved his shoulder.

"I'll take whatever compliment I can get, coming from you," she said. She dragged herself to her feet, dusting the back of her pants. She grimaced at the tacky, drying wetness in her underwear. "C'mon. I need a shower. And you said I missed lunch, right? No wonder I'm starving!"

Hange held out her hand for him. Levi took it, climbing to his feet while Hange hefted him off the floor. He looked equally uncomfortable with the situation in his own clothing, tugging at the sticky fabric with an angry frown. Hange hooked her arm through his and pulled him out of the lab, pausing only to lock the door behind them. Levi kept step with her as they walked down the corridor. If her closeness, or her happy, out of tune humming bothered him, he didn't show it. They were approaching the end of the hallway when Hange dug her elbow into his ribs lightly.

"Next time," she said, "if you insist on fucking me somewhere inappropriate, we're doing it in Erwin's office. I don't want to put poor Moblit at risk again."

Levi pulled a disgusted face, shoving at her. Hange teetered out of his reach, gleeful.

"On his desk, maybe. Or in his chair. His room is attached, right? Maybe even in his bed—”

"Titans, Hange. For fucks sake, titans."

#levihan #snk #side note: titans is a bad safe word for Levihan!!#my writing #ahahaha I haven't written smut in a hot minute BOY

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nestable · 4 years ago

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BRING IT ON HOME NESSIAN ONESHOT

Bring it on Home to me by Sam Cooke is on of my favorite songs in the word and I highly recommend you go have a listen if you havent heard it, I promise you wont regret it. I was listening to it the other day and instantly thought of how these lyrics resonated with nessian, cassian more especially and couldn't resist writing this fic. Just a little soft, SFW, domestic Nessian. 🥺😭

"Nes." Cassian groaned as he rolled closer to her side of the bed. "Nesta?"

After being met with stark silence, Cassian outstretched his hand only for it to collapse onto cold sheets.

No Nesta, he realized with a start.

Though he and his Nesta have been mated for some months now, all of which have been without an incident, he can't help but worry.

Each night he reassures himself with the knowledge of their bond, the heat of her body pressed against his own, the words of love and loyalty she ensures he hears everyday, that she is safe and finally happy.

Not miserable and balancing on the cusp of oblivion where he found her last year. Juggling between drowning her sorrows and indulging in sub-par sex just to feel something, just to deny the connection they share because she felt that she wasnt worthy of him. No, that was all over now, but he can't help when the memories resurface.

The memory of Nesta writhing and arched in her bed as silver flames wreathed her body like a shroud. The screams of pain and anguish that left her lips only to be swallowed by starless night and Deaths flames. How the very mountain trembled beneath their feet, bracing itself for the potential explotion that Cassian could sense building up. Somehow he knew that Velaris would've been crumpled to dust that night and become a fond memory. He felt it in his gut. Just the same way he felt her night terrors take hold of her for her powers to bask in centre stage. And in the same breath, he also felt that he could stop it. Whether that was pure male arrogance or the suspicion of the bond that lay between them, that was yet to be found. And it was...the moment her powers seized in intensity when he said her name. Once, twice, just enough for Rhys to gain control and save them all.

No, he would never forget that and he'd be damned if it were to happen again and catch him in a helpless position as the first time he witnessed the extent of her power. A power that mostly returned back to the Cauldron, only to be replaced by 3 Dread troves and the Mothers favour. A different sort of threat perhaps. One sweeter, kinder, even benign from what he's witnessed.

Nesta barely speaks about the power the same way she did with her Cauldron gifts. She reassures him that these were different, these she understands and smiled every time he enquired about her connection with the Mother. He wishes to know more, his body yearns for it, but his mate has always loved surprises.

Cassian threw on a pair of his undershorts before leaving his and Nestas new room. Though the House of Wind has become their shared abode, its ill advised to walk around naked with the possibility of Azriel becoming an unwilling spectator with his prowling around the halls in the dead of night like he's been doing for the past year.

Cassian loves his brother, sometimes more than kin normally do, he believes sometimes, but he'll never forgive him for that night he ruined his birthday night when he walked in on Nesta modelling her new negligee in the library. He's never jumped from one intense emotion to another so quickly. Blinded by the red lace of her silk garments only to see red of a different kind when the blue of Azriels siphon opened the door.

The territorial male part of him nearly took over that night and he was inclined to let it ride him had Nesta not winnowed them to their room and pushed him onto the bed. The anger, the curiosity he had as to how Nesta was able to winnow around the House when no one else could were obscured then turned insignificant by the view of Nesta sitting astride on his thighs.

Cassian followed the music swimming through the hall which brought him to a new lounge area that didn't present itself in the centuries that he's been living here until Nesta inherited the place.

Many new things have made their presence known and sprung to life since Nestas made the House her home. Hidden rooms have materialized, troves have opened and a gorgeous garden has flourished on the top of the mountain. As if in preparation of someone, or little someone's who might need it.

Cassian isn't blind to the fact that the House makes things available according to Nestas hopes, dreams and wishes. All of which make Cassian excited for the future and a forever with his mate even more.

Nesta was leaning against the cream white wall that she and Cassian painted just last night, holding an A2 canvas painting in both hands. He couldn't decipher her facial expression or read some of the wild thoughts that were evidently bouncing around her head as Nesta was inclined to raising her mental walls to him when she was stressed. He'd once asked why and she told him that she didnt want to plague him with her problems. Didnt want to bother him. Little did she know that Cassian was built for her, problems and all. Nothing about Nesta could bother him. Not even the parts that bothered her.

"Hi." He whispered which startled Nesta before she composed herself. For her to be so drawn into her thoughts that she didnt notice him approaching, instantly put him on edge him.

"Hi." She said, plastering a lazy smile onto her face.

Cassian took that as an invitation to enter. His eyes swept across the room, taking in the organized clutter. From the closed boxes filling the lounge, the half hung snow white gossamer curtains blowing in from the open balcony, to the slightly dusty white marble tiles that were installed just last week.

Cassian was a bit skeptical when Nesta told him of her plans to decorate this room in all white. White cushions, white couches, white walls, white flower arrangements, white chandeliers and white fur carpets felt like a fever dream to Cassian, but now that it's all coming to life, he can see the vision of beauty that Nesta had in mind. A vision not only limited to this lounge but the entire House of Wind that Nesta will decorate herself with the input of the House itself to revitalize the place. All of which will be paid for by Rhys.

How the Cauldron matched him to such a female, not mere female but god, he'll never know. All he can do is be grateful and work to be worthy and deserve the gift to draw breath in her presence.

Now that Nestas accepted her Human emissary role and is the courts newly appointed courtier, she's recieving the same fat salary like the rest of the IC, but Cassian doubts that Rhysand will ever let Nesta access her funds because he insists on paying for everything for her. Which goes to show that Rhys' gratitude for Nesta runs very far. Or guilt, or both.

What Nesta did for Feyre, Nyx and Rhys was something that couldnt be described with words. She saved their lives and in doing so the entire court. Rhys failed to tell his family about him and Feyres decision and never left a plan of action to follow after his death. Had he died, the role of High Lord could've fallen to anyone. Probably Keir or one of Mors detestable brothers because they are Rhys closest male blood relatives. What they would've done to Velaris, done to the entire court....Cassian seldom contemplates that. Nestas sacrifice and mercy saved them all and in doing so, opened herself to a higher form of being that is yet to be seen.

"What are you doing up so late?"

"I had a lot on my mind. I couldn't sleep so I decided to come and get this room in order." She explained, flipping her golden brown hair over her shoulder.

"What's been on your mind?" Cassian asked casually, taking a step closer.

He'd have embraced her and held her against his chest if it weren't for the massive painting in her hands. A painting that he can feel is the source of all her trepidation.

Nesta bit her lip before turning the canvas toward him and placing it in his hands. "Feyre finally finished that and it was delivered yesterday afternoon. I was too afraid to open it then- but I figured that I wouldn't be able to sleep until I saw it."

At first glance, anyone would assume that the muse was Nesta. From the steel eyes to the clear skin and poise in the pose. But upon further inspection, the age of the woman, the beauty spot beneath her right eye and slight darker tresses reveals the truth.

"This is your mother..." Cassian said lowly. The weight of the image, not the canvas itself but the obvious memories, pain and loss the painting held settled on him.

"Was." She uttered a bit sharply. Her throat bobbing up and down.

Cassians eyes darted between Nesta and the painting. Surprise and admiration pouring into him in droves. Her sisters did mention more than once that Nesta is their mothers spitting image, but this...it was as though the same person had been born twice.

"You stole her whole face." He chuckled, bringing a sweet curve to Nestas lip.

"I know...I know." She shrugged.

Cassian lay the painting carefully against the wall then wrapped his arms around his mates shoulders. Her own found their home around his waist as she rested her chin atop his chest so that their eyes could meet.

If it were a few months ago, a year, she would've furiously blinked away the tears that have settled in her eyes, or rejected their proximity entirely. Only to retain a semblance of control that shes strived so hard to maintain. But now shes opened herself to him entirely. Made him a part of both her happiness and pain, loss and gain, victories and failure. Just as their mating vows ordered.

"Talk to me." He whispered, dragging his fingers through her hair.

"I- I just...I know that my mother was not the best of mothers, nor did she love us in the ways that a mother should but....but that doesn't make me love her any less. She might've trained me instead of raised me, saw me as a ticket to wealth and leisure or lived vicariously through me but she was still my mother." Her tears fell down her cheeks as if a damn had been broken. "There were good moments as well as bad and I'm not going to pretend that she was never loving or good to me. Elain and Feyre might've forgotten her, but I can't... I wont."

Cassian lowered his head to press soft kisses to her cheeks where her tears left stains. "I know." He murmured. "You dont share the same memories as Elain and Feyre, it's only natural that you saw her much differently and remember her in a better light than they do." He rubbed feather light circles on the back of her neck in an attempt to assuage her from her pain.

"It broke my heart when I walked through Feyres house that day and didn't see a piece of myself or her. It felt like I was being erased, forgotten. Now I've found my place in that hall but she hasn't. I couldn't allow that to happen. I couldn't let her be erased just like that."

"And she wont be, not if you will it. I'll remember her with you." Cassians lips found Nestas and before they knew it, the couple found themselves descending into a deep kiss that only a mating bond could conjure.

"You know that's one of the reasons I love you?" He stated, to which Nesta replied with a raised brow. "Your compassion, your massive heart, your loyalty... these are all qualities that you motivate me to pursue everyday. You've kept your soft side hidden for a long time and now we're starting to see it." She smiled. By far the most beautiful sight he's ever seen. "That sweet love. Just bring it on home to me."

A giggle was shared between them as soon as the words left his mouth. The lyrics of a song, their song, that came on the day of their mating ceremony that they had on repeat for 2 hours straight. Cassian had never heard a song that spoke to him and his experience with love the way that one did. One that Nesta knew would speak to his very marrow and chose not to warn him in advance, only to see his reaction.

"You're insufferable." She said, only to hug him tighter and lay her head on his chest.

"Well then you're going to have to get used to it, Nes. We only have forever left together."

Just when Cassian expected Nesta to respond, the soft melody of a piano begun in the corner of the room from Nesta symphoniam, followed by the ever true lyrics that might've been written for them, that might as well have been their wedding and mating vows.

If you ever change your mind

About leaving, leaving me behind

Baby, bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

Nesta begun the dance. Cassian followed with no hesitation. Though it was a far cry from the pulsating waltz they'd done in Hewn city or other court events thereafter. It was far more intimate, passionate. Just a sway of the hips and foot movements that reforged and strengthened the golden bond that surged through them on Winter Solstice and polished it to a shimmer. Their bond was not a mere tether, not a chain. It was a rainbow. Shimmering through storms and sunny days. It didnt only make its presence known or surge when they were in the throes of passion, it became more sentient when they were upset with each other. It was the musical and colourful road that led mate back to mate. Self back to self.

I know I laughed when you left

But now I know I only hurt myself

Baby, bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

His heart cracked at the words and the truth they carry. The memories when they were so at odds with each other that they could barely be in the same room longer than necessary. The nights when he thought the immense sadness and grief at the prospect of losing her entirely would drown him and suffocate him. When he wished that he could rip his heart out of his chest only to get a reprieve from his anguish. Anguish he attempted to expunge with throwing himself into work and training only to realize that the further they moved from one another, the further they moved from themselves.

As if Nesta could hear and feel those memories, she held onto him tighter. This female, his tether to reality, his anchor, the tree that was able to weather a thunderstorm that left the land decimated only to come back and continue to grow with fruits and flowers on display for all to see.

I'll give you jewellery and money, too

That ain't all, that ain't all I'll do for you

Oh, if you bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

Cassian knew that from the moment he met Nesta, there was nothing in the world that he wouldn't do for her. Nothing too out of reach that if she should request, he would give. He was already hers in mind, body and soul. Their bond might've snapped into being after she emerged from the cauldeon, but the draw he felt toward her was infinite. Like their souls were made from the same essence but placed on earth in different time periods so that they know life without the other, to appreciate being together more.

You know I'll always be your slave

'Til I'm buried, buried in my grave

Oh honey, bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

Cassian held up Nestas hand so that he may look upon the wedding and mating band. She requested that she have both and went to the best jeweler in Velaris to fuse both choices so that they sit as one on her finger. Both were made of rose gold, the slimmer wedding ring was imbued with three tanzanite diamonds and the larger mating band sports just one giant diamond that would need it's own security team. Cassian knew his mate loved nice things and made him pay a pretty penny to get it. He'd do again if only to see the stars that twinkled in her eyes when they chose the bands at the jeweler.

He looked at his own jeweled finger. A simple silver band that stood out more than he expected it to. He wanted to get black carbon fiber but Nesta threatened not to speak to him again if he had. Now he can't stop looking at it. He loves how it makes an appearance even though he's bedecked in full illyrian armour. He'll never forget the swell of pride he felt when his soldiers eyes zoned in on the piece of metal that could've easily been obscured by the red siphon that rests atop his hand, but chose to stand out and make its presence known. A symbol of his immature bachelorhood dead and gone, giving life to a new stage in his life. A stage he's waited for longer than he cares to admit.

He remembers using the word 'shackled' when describing his mating bond with Nesta when he was upset with her, but now that word seems appropriate. If the pieces of metal sitting on their matching fingers are the shackles of which he spoke, then he'd wear his shackles with pride.

One more thing

I tried to treat you right

But you stayed out, stayed out at night

But I forgive you, bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

Cassian rarely thinks about the time they spent apart. When resentment, self punishment and grief pulled them apart only because those memories are nothing in comparison to the centuries he spent without her.

Living life believing the words of the ignorant and seeing oneself as a inferior and undeserving of the love that he relishes in now. The love that has somehow wiped away centuries of self hate and lack of self awareness. He figures that the reason why he used to be the first to throw himself into deadly missions were all desperate plea to prove himself, to put it into stone that he isn't a mere worthless bastard but is someone worthy of respect. But now his outlook has completely shifted. He is no longer living only for himself, but for another. He remembers the blind terror he felt when he thought that Nesta was swallowed by the black water in the Bog, or how she screamed when she thought that she lost him on Mount Ramiel.

He doesnt want either of them to go through that again. To be without the other. To feel that their very heart was ripped out of their chest, when both had taken permanent residence in the other.

He saw how Feyre reacted when Rhys died, and heard when Rhys screamed when Feyre was on deaths doorstop. The mere thought of Nesta experiencing that pain or him has softened his daring heart.

He will live, he will love and he will do it with Nesta in his arms.

As the song drew to a close, Nesta shifted from her position on his chest, too look upon him again. She brought her slim fingers to his cheeks and smiled. "Forever."

He could offer nothing but the same. A truth that had been both a promise and a prayer from the moment they met, "Forever."

Tag: @bakingandbooks3 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @arinbelle @silvernesta @darklobe @haepaw @carlieg20 @illyrianshadowhunter

#acsf spoiler #nessian oneshot #nessian #bring it on home to me

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mintseesaw · 5 years ago

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Aurora | 2

aurora - n. dawn Pairing: general!jungkook x princess!reader Genre: angst, smut, historical au, joseon dynasty au, established relationship au, secret love affair au Word count: 7.9k Warnings: smut, outdoor sex, rough sex, details of struggles due to war, manifestation and mentions of hallucinations, lewd dreams, manifestation of character dynamic Summary: A story that centers on a forbidden love affair amidst the centuries-long war of greed and power. Rating: explicit mature content Disclaimer: based on King Sejong’s time, yet is fictional and not historically accurate note: uhm,,, I’m sorry?? yfasksksdkh song recs for this chapter: still with you (jungkook) and through the night (IU)

With your back facing the front lawn of the house kneeling as you lay the fresh mint leaves onto the fabric covered bamboo mat, you scramble in your feet when you hear the distinct sound of the wicket opening to reveal the person you have been expecting home for an hour ago. That was what Jungkook had caught you up in, drying some greens for his daily dose of tea he has grown fond of over the course of months of your marriage.

“Jungkook, you’re back. What did the king want from you?” You asked, expectantly. Of course, he had anticipated your curiosity when the king, whom you have no contact with since your marriage, suddenly summoned him. Your husband. Jungkook did not respond as he greets you with an embrace and a soft peck on top of your head. “Seobang-nim,” you call, however, Jungkook has other intentions rather than entertain your curiosity. “I miss you, wife.” He mumbles against your temple. Your mouth slowly curves into a smile. His sweet, little remarks always win a reaction from you. “You saw me before you went to the palace.” “Still…” Jungkook trails, proceeding with his very intention through the tiny prurient squeezes of his palms on your hips. Adamant to know more about his itinerary, you lightly pull back to peer at your indifferent husband. His grip intentionally loosens, but not enough to let you go. Yet, it was an opportunity for you to increase your proximity. “Tell me, what was the purpose of your visit? Why would His Majesty suddenly summon you?” With your tilted head and focused, expectant eyes, waiting for him to supply you an answer, he draws a heavy sigh. “He wants me back in the service. Did it answer your curiosity, wife? Now, can I indulge my breakfast? I did not have a proper meal last night, wife.” He sentiments, with a trickle of provocative tone in his whisper. He sees you peeking from your eyelashes, giving him a glare, as if silently scolding him for obnoxiously lying through his teeth. However, before you could accuse him of anything, a small yelp instead broke out from your throat as Jungkook lunges forward, using his obvious advantage to make his lewd thoughts a reality. Given your unsuspecting mind and feeble-like strength due to last night’s steamy activities, Jungkook is well aware you had not regain your stamina just yet to oppose his advances. With the evidence of his arousal pressing deliciously against your stomach, your protests were swallowed as he devours your mouth whole. His hands on your nape controlling his ministration and on the small of your back maneuvering your length right against his towering built. Contentious with his early carnal needs, you try to keep your heavy-lidded eyes open as the warmth of his mouth spreads so heavenly on the length of your neck.

“Jungkook,” He hears you mewl. His mouth twitched, just by your weakening grip onto the fabric of his robe and your soft, breathless call of his name tell him your supposed defiance is slowly disappearing into bubbles of vapor. As his constricting arousal longs for your tight, warm sheath, he wasted no more time, hoisting you up in his embrace and strutted effortlessly towards the terrace. Carefully, he laid you flat against the timber-made floor, then swiftly hovers your body in between your thighs with his arms supporting his weight above you. With urgency, he shuffles through the multi-layered articles of your skirt, lifting them up until your undergarments are visible enough for him to be able to pull the strings to remove the tiny piece of fabric hiding his hidden gem. In other times, he would show you just how much he loves worshipping every inch of your body through his mouth and fingers without losing the momentum, if not inflaming his desire more. But right now, he just needs to fill you up good, fast and hard. As he proceeds to open his robe, pulling the strings of his baji to free his length, he felt the warm squeeze of your hand in his arm. His dark, lustful eyes squinted to yours. “Jungkook, someone might come in.” You attempted to argue in between your rapid intake of breaths. With an arch of his eyebrow, he manage to make a point to ease your worry, “We have not had a visitor since our marriage, Jagi. Do not worry about it. Have you not seen me locked the door when I arrived?” You shook your head, not trusting your voice. But as he releases his aroused member, he caught your pellucid eyes as hunger slowly replaces your supposed hesitation. Knowing he has gained all your focus now, specifically in his bare lower region, Jungkook pumps his sleek length. Your loose grip in his arm gradually closes tightly, your teeth piercing through the suppleness of your lip. He couldn’t wait any moment longer, he nudges his head on the curve of your neck to counter the tremors of lust coursing through his body, giving you a second more before he loses it all. With his skillful fingers, he uncovers your dripping core. His awaiting steel hard cock coming in contact on your warm, fully aroused center as his sensitive head pokes in your warm entrance. “Forgive me for taking you this way my love, I just need to be inside you now.” And just as he utters those words, he jerks his hips against your pelvis so forcefully that his balls slam right at your other hole from the impact, as his tip touching the undiscovered depths in your sheath. “J-Jungkook!” Your screams pierced through your throat uncontrollably as he builds an incredibly unforgiving pace. “I’ll make it up to you tonight, jagi.” He promises in between pleasurable groans. The tightness of your hot walls around his thickness indicates his intrusion must be painful for you—a stark contrast to the blissful grip of your tight pussy around his shaft. But the way you cling onto him, the way you meet his powerful thrusts halfway through, and the way your back arches when he rams so deep inside, indicate a different story. “Do you like it, my love? Tell me. Tell me how I make you feel, Jagi.” He demands, wanting to wring something from you just to validate the endless strings of pleasure trailing in his lower region. “It feels good, Jungkook please… Don’t stop, don’t—” another cry rips through you as your walls spasm involuntarily at the intense surge of sparks spreading from your core. He knows, you’re close just as he is. In most instances, he would prolong his pleasure, delivering you to the end several times, yet not chasing his own, and only reaching for his orgasm only when you’re too exhausted to take him yet again. However, this moment is not among those cases. Right now, he wouldn't deprive himself from chasing his release as it becomes too powerful, too addicting to prolong. “Yes, yes. Fuck!” He hisses onto your neck, endlessly pummeling through you. And just about another inch of moment where he reaches the seventh heaven, he feels his shoulder shook. With a flick of a finger, his world came in a painful halt. Then everything turns black, and into evanescence, he arduously returns into the real world. Particularly, in the depths of the woods where he'd wasted himself in the dead of the night along with his subordinates. As his smoky vision briefly skims through his surroundings, he immediately concluded his fate last night. He failed to make it inside his tent, and the only thing he could blame it for is the alcohol his subordinates had provided the night prior. He was too intoxicated, and the spirit of alcohol still lingers in his head as he felt it faintly pounds. At least he had the decency to sleep against a tree. The army had camped here to rest for the night, but the intended rest turned into a chaotic, wasted moment of their lives.

He lifted his death glare to whoever dared cut off his dream, ready to slice their head off of their shoulders. Jungkook was met with an anguish looking soldier. “My lord, forgive me for disturbing your rest but our comrades— they are trying to kill each other. One of them is already severely wounded.” The soldier exclaimed frighteningly, his face is covered with beads of sweat. Why did these soldiers even partook the army only to be such wimps dealing with their violent comrades? The commotion could be heard from his spot, the clashing sounds of sword against sword could be heard through the peaceful silence in the forest. Dismayed, Jungkook collected himself. He dismisses the soldier through a wave in his hand then disgruntledly rub his palms on his face to wear off his hazy vision and stood, bracing himself for another long day of journey. He must remind his subordinates who is in-charge of this army. However, with his head lowered, he notices the effect his dream had caused a mere second before he had recognized the pain. There it was, a tent of his own arousal. Groaning, he deliberately bumps his head against the uneven surface of the trunk of the indigenous tree he had slept against at. Dozing off in the oddest, most incoherent positions and places is not something foreign for him, for the soldiers. At some point, they had to spend nights stuck inside manholes in the middle of the forest to catch the rebels— who like them, have manmade caves to keep their tracks untraceable.

The ache in his back and neck he undoubtedly obtained from spending the night leaning against the hard bark of the tree in is nothing compared to the constricting pain in the expanse of his lower region. His lewd dreams had frequented in his nights these past few months—years even. They not only consist of his dirty little fantasies with you, but figments of how he'd imagine his future to be. They are almost real, and a story on their own. He‘s certain he’s gone crazy by the manner his dreams are able to create the images his heart had coveted, how his thoughts hone his dreams and stir something feral from his body, his impure needs. Perhaps, that’s how he had cope with your absence. Time had passed by a blur, but his feelings had not. It’s not so surprising to ponder over it for you are his other half, the soulmate the gods have bestowed upon him. He only needs to fulfill his mission, and it won’t be too long until he completes it. He misses you just as his soul longs to hear your delicate voice, your sweet laughter. He covets to be blessed upon your elegant beauty, and your bright smiles.

He had considered writing letters for you to ease the longingness in his bereft heart. However, the risks are too high for him to act upon his wish. Being an enemy in the unclaimed territory, foreign rebels would not think twice of hurting someone on his behalf. And that includes you. The adversity the two of you had caused four years ago left an ugly wound on your reputation, that was what he had gathered from his messenger. Despite the hierarchy of your status, noble families in the capital refuse to offer their unmarried sons to the princess for fear of being inflicted with misfortune tailing from the sin you had committed. The thought of you having to endure the pain from the gratuitous judgement of the people became his nightmare. No. It used to be his nightmare, as convinced by his selfish instincts. A blessing in disguise. In the midst of the predicament both of you have endured for years, your situation had only amplified his hope and eagerness to survive the uncertainty living in the battlefield. If no one would want to have your untouched, pure soul, he will gladly have you in his arms. With the military power he had acquired, the significant impact the army under his leadership had contributed over the years, and the loyalty of the army to him, the king would not refuse to his bidding. Even with a promised prince at your disposal. Still, the fear of losing you for someone else had cogently crossed his mind. Rare is when he dwells into solitude. And it is fortunate to be the case for him as he would not have to deal with the overwhelming plethora of emotions his heart carries every sane second of his life in the north. Mayhaps, his traitor mind chooses to play fool of him through an endless series of dreams. Of you. With you. It was a tricky game that he willingly succumbs himself into. Through the years, he had lost count how many lives he had ended, how much enemies had his sword touched their blood in order to survive the truculent situation in the borders. He knows, despite having his foot buried deep in the ground, he would survive in the death trap alive or, at least, breathing. But he realized, the longer he endures the uncertainty in the north, the higher the possibility of him losing in another battle. That, or he’d have to have you as soon as he arrives in the capital. That was his final consolation before he proceeds to slice through the disturbing sound of commotion, cheers of encouragement rather than peace. It was not only him who had gone insane from the years worth of ordeal they had braved through, it seems. The mere sight of a brawl now entertain his army. If these pieces of shit do not stop killing each other off just by the presence of their general, Jungkook might as well do the job, himself.

Since the deployment of the extensive military presence at the borders of Joseon, neighboring empires have adopted similar strategy to protect their own lands from possible foreign invasions. In Joseon empire, threats of rebellion were already ceased some months ago. But the war didn’t dissipate in Joseon. Now bearing enemies inside the territory. Among the endless reasons why the king had out of nowhere summoned one of his trusted allies, is to seek perspective over these matters from someone as wise as he is. Perhaps, wiser than he could have ever been. Since his ascension to the throne, his brother had completely extended his loyalty to him. With his brother on his side, he was able to see the situations on the outside palace. Corrupt officials from isolated states are seized, stripped off their positions, and arrested for the rest of their lifetime. The only thing they have not agreed so far is the forthcoming marriage of the princess with a Ming royalty. The former prince considers it an unwise judgment to arrange the princess’ marriage with a foreign ally, arguing foreign empires, an ally or not, will inevitably shift partisan as the need arises. If war stirs between them in the future, the princess may be used as a token of weakness against the Joseon empire. “Rumor has it that Councillor Kang is plotting to stir a commotion regarding the first born son’s title, Your Majesty.” He supplies to the King before taking a graceful sip from his tea cup. Perhaps, if there is one thing he misses in his previous life, it’s the refreshment teas and the sumptuous serving of meals in the palace that are exclusively served for the royal family. His resources are now limited, despite the constant help the Queen Dowager sends in his behalf, he cannot rely on anyone for his survival. King Namjoon made a sound of agreement, deeply in thought of his current predicament. “I have anticipated that even before Consort Li gave birth to my son. The opposition will always find a way to seek for my weakness.” “They cannot use the prince against you or the queen. The customs favor your wife in this matter. For a concubine’s son to qualify as the crown prince, he must be taken under the care of the queen. But in this case, no existing law would support the Southern Party’s agenda if the queen is already carrying the next king.” King Namjoon heaves a long sigh, viisibly relaxing, despite the creases present on his forehead. He had thought the same thing. “You are right. Clearly, they have nowhere to go but to follow the process. However, something portent tells me this does not conclude their plan to destroy our family. I need to gather enough proof of their misdeeds before they come chasing for my dethronement.” Namjoon discloses the last remnants of his worries. Yoongi’s lips curve into a dark smug, disgusted by the audacity of those greedy snakes to even attempt to disrespect the throne of the monarch with their lousy lives. "You mean, you are thinking of the possibility that they may attempt to challenge your throne, Your Majesty?” Yoongi echoes. As the thought crosses his mind, he agrees with the king. There is a possibility. However, would the favored faction risk their positions over a poorly, indecisive move?

As if the monarch heard his thoughts, King Namjoon proceeds to speak, "The Southern Party will not dare lose their only chance to be in government. They know of my capabilities. I could turn and replace the government if they insist against my will. This is why I need your help, Hyung-nim. I need to know what the people think of my first born son. They might consider using my people for their selfish interests.” Yoongi studies the king’s face for a moment, recognizing something he only ever had witnessed once when their father had succumbed to his illness, vulnerability. “Of course, Your Majesty. Expect my letters in the coming days. I will envoy a different messenger to avoid raising suspicions from the state council.” He immediately bid a farewell to the monarch, before leaving the royal quarters of the study. Discreetly, he saunters across the length of the endless maze-like hallways in the royal residence. No one must have recognized him for even the court ladies who run into his way did not stop to pay respect to the king’s brother. It did not matter to him, because his unrecognizable identity allowed him to live peacefully outside the palace. As he scurries past the series of familiar quarters, his mind wanders back to the discussion he had exchanged with the king.

Yoongi did not willingly lose his title, in favor of his younger brother just for the throne to be snatched away by these corrupt officials. He knew. He already had the realization at a young age that the throne, his birthright, was not for him. It was not his right, not only because he despises the tremendous responsibility that the title carries but he perceives his skills are not equally meant to rule the nation his father had cherished all his life. Despite inherently having the highest title a prince could acquire, he believed the third born prince, his prodigy brother, deserved to be the next in line in the throne. With this in mind, he did the simplest form of deviation, committing ungracious and inappropriate acts inside the court. His misbehavior acts lasted for months until the state council had had enough of it. Yoongi succeeded, he was stripped off his title. But he paid the lasting price of his deviance. Being banished in the palace as the court perceives his presence as a threat to the next heir.

It was an ironic thought. He deliberately lose his title only to be seen as a threat to the throne. Following this predicament, frightened by ascending to the highest title of a prince, the second born prince abandoned his title in pursuit of his dreams.

The assumption of crown prince was then passed to the third born prince. His feet continued to take him to the right paths. Never relenting, mindlessly scanning the nostalgic, extravagant constructions in the royal residence. Not until he heard a familiar feminine voice that he abruptly stops and peers behind his back. Catching a glimpse of his sister, his stoic expression slowly softens. You quickly strutted forward without losing the grace you had mastered from being taught since you were tiny when the top of your head barely reached his hips. Excitement bubbled up inside you at the sight of your eldest brother. You lower your head, and instead of hearing a proper greeting from your brother, he scolds you just like the old times. "Stop the formalities, Princess. I am no longer of title.” Your eyebrows form a line while a smile ghosts on your expression. “But you are still a Grand Prince for me.” He leans closer and ruffles the side of your perfectly braided hair, to which earns a protest from you. His smile widens, revealing the sets of his pearly white teeth. “I have missed you. It’s been a while since you’ve showed up here. What brings you here? Have you visited mother? What about the King?” He bursts into series of soft chuckles. “Slow down, little flower. No one is chasing you down here, is there?” Your face stretches in a frown, "You seemed to be already going out of the palace, Orabeoni. Do you not wish to see us before you go?” "I apologize, Your Highness, I have matters to attend to. I will come back to visit you and Her Majesty in the future." You sigh, but nod in understanding of the situation. His life now revolves outside the palace, you realized. "I hope you have been living well?" “You don’t have to worry about me. Perhaps, it would not be wise to tell you in detail the beautiful things I have witnessed during my travels.” He regards, meaningfully. You understood what he meant.

The bright smile your face adorns slowly fading, “You have heard, haven’t you? That was a long time ago...” The least for him to do to fill the void of the loss of his family is through gathering news about them. It was the safest means for him to remain knowledgable of his family’s matters rather than exchanging letters with them. Despite losing his royal status, living outside has given him the wholly overview of the nation. He had learned a lot of things for his survival and for his scholarly works. With his brother’s permission to delve into the records in the Bureau of State Records for his scholarly works, he stumbled upon the history of his ancestors, and the untold secrets of the old royal families. Even the undiscovered edicts, one of which would soon reverberate through the empty halls of the palace.

“I always know what goes on in here even when I’m not around.” A small smile rests on the corner of his lips in the hopes of lessening your sudden uneasiness. Somehow, it did. “What about Prince Hoseok? Have you heard of him? Since his disappearance, the queen dowager and Prince Taehyung refused to talk about his whereabouts.” “Do not worry about Hoseok. He is, like I am, in the best condition of his life.” He prompts with collected patience. Living far from the extravagant lifestyle was difficult to get used to. But as the beauty of life slowly unravels for his eyes to admire on, he realizes he had no regrets giving up everything his previous life had offered before him. For you to navigate the same onerous path he took to endure the new, yet simple living, he’d rather have you revolved your life around the good side of the world, somewhere where nobility surrounds you. Life outside the palace is cruel and filled with misfortunes and unsaid miseries. “I’m relieved to hear that. Please take this before you go,” You say, reaching out to your braided hair, unclasping the gold pin and placing it in his unwilling palm. He arches an eyebrow, questioningly. "It’s the only thing I have right now—“ “I should take my leave now, Your Highness.” “Right, then please accept my gift, brother. I believe it carries luck as well as my prayers… for your security.” Yoongi draws a long breath, closing his palm around the metallic piece of accessory, wondering what he would it use for. Crouching forward, he places an affectionate kiss on the top of your head, dropping a promise, “I will come see you when you get married.” Your brother swiftly pulls back and turns away without sparing a single glance from your direction, heading off towards the secret passage that only you and your siblings knew. The same path you crossed when you took off years ago. His sudden disappearance made your apprehension profound, and at the mention of a forthcoming marriage, it left a disturbing, unwarranted feeling at the pit of your stomach. You have been faithfully loyal to your promise, despite the uncertainty. You tirelessly waited for his return. But, it does not mean you would only vain while you remain unmarried. You have aged a couple years since he left the capital. While you age more, your royal duty becomes inescapable. Years without him have not been forgiving, but there was nothing you could hope for as you remained out of the attention of the government, avoiding an inevitable marriage— something that should have happened several years ago. As much as the queen dowager worries for your future, the situation seems to be more a blessing than curse for you. You have no power to control an arrangement that only the queen and the king have, and the only way for you to stay unmarried is to avoid the marriage itself. However, you know, as time ticks off, the life of a lighted candle decreases. So are your chances. You wish to see him, at least, at the break of dawn.

On the east side of the grand palace, unbeknownst to the rest of the royal family, the queen had met with the queen dowager in the garden of Huwon, at the similar period of time while the king and his brother were at the royal residence. A couple of servants and royal guards were awaiting on behalf on the foot of the pavilion. More than a year ago, the queen dowager had descended from the throne when the first ranking lady in the Selection whose father governs a remote state in a distant province assumed the highest position a female of title can acquire. From then on, the king's mother had learned to trust the queen for her genuine efforts in regulating the palace women's affairs. With her faith on the queen's fair judgement to the matters in the inner court, she bestowed her blessing to arrange the princess' marriage with a suitable man of nobility. It was the purpose of their vigilant meeting in the secluded royal garden of the East Palace. But the profound carefulness in addressing the matter had soon reached the prying ears of the government officials through their scattered watchful spies disguised as servants inside the grand palace. Rumors of your betrothal rapidly spread through the halls of the palaces and into the capital. Your forthcoming marriage had been expected years ago, but as you had remained unmarried for a long time, the society had already concluded your future. Being a lonely maiden for lifetime, as your punishment for painting damages to your virtue and disobeying the gods’ laws. When the news reaches Yoongi, he immediately decided to return to the capital.

Several days later, half of the army from the northern border had finally returned to the capital, and into the East Palace’s throne hall, they had paid a respect to the king of the nation. The couple hundreds of soldiers in a full view from the king's throne, it was a display of the king’s military power from the watchful eyes of the prospective enemies. While the army stood outside, across the king’s throne hall, General Jeon entered the royal throne to present himself as the leader’s army which he had led for the past four years. His left arm holds his head armor, the other hand securing two scrolls as he takes long powerful strides across the length of the hall towards the awaiting monarch on the throne. With his head high, he stopped in front of the throne, before he crouches on his bended knee, and lowered his head in front of the King. It was not long before he rose back from his feet. The authoritative voice of the contented king resonates inside the throne hall. “I am glad you have survived the war, Jeon. I have not missed a reading on all your accomplishments. Although your army have lost a great amount of soldiers in the past four years, I am immensely impressed by your skills and leadership for you have not only captured the rebel leaders but also conquered parts of the outside north.” King Namjoon could perhaps be in an ephemeral peace. With the influence and loyalty of the army the general has come to acquire, General Jeon would make a great ally for his empire. He needs to keep it that way. “It is the only way I see fit to end the war against the rebels. If we have not conquered the North, they will not surrender on their own.” General Jeon proceeds, with the boldness of him to return the stare of the king. King Namjoon did not mind, in fact, the fearlessness that the General emits through his mere stature impresses him. The same general couldn’t even risk lifting a gaze in front of the ruler a few years ago. But the young general before is nowhere near recognizable from the man standing in front of him. The battlefield had honed the general into a real soldier. Tracing his stubble on his jaw, he continues to praise the general, “I commend you, Jeon. I must say, you are wiser than the late general. What have you brought for your king in your return, May I ask?” Jungkook didn’t waste any second longer, handing out one of the scrolls to the king’s eunuch. He waited until the eunuch places it on the king’s table before concluding the content of the scroll. “That record accounts for the extension of the lands outside the northern border. The peasants and commoners who reside in these areas now recognize you as their king. With this piece of record, no other ruling monarch would question your ownership to the conquered lands. Unless, they want to seek war against your kingdom.” “I am beyond impressed, Jeon.” King Namjoon asserted, clearly showing his utter astonishment. As he skims over the sloppy, almost unillegible calligraphy, Jungkook decides to prompt another matter, a significant one. “Perhaps, Your Majesty, you have heard that the Ming empire had sent an ally troop for us in the north.” Showing too little interest over the subject, King Namjoon's attention stills on the scroll’s content. “I am aware, General Jeon. What matters with it?” “Commander Park, the leader of the Ming army, is the 13th prince of the Ming empire, full blooded brother of Emperor Kim. One of his brothers had warned him about the traitors in the Joseon court. It is Councilor Kang who attempted to seek alliance with the Ming princes against your ascension, Your Majesty.” At the mere mention of the Southern Party's leader, the attention of the king immediately shifted to the general. Perplexed, the heat of anger rushes in him. If this is the truth, he would make the Southern Party receive an unforgiving punishment for threatening his throne. “You don’t say…” The king dangerously trails, “Do you understand what your allegation could mean if it bears no truth?” King Namjoon couldn’t seem to perceive the credibility of his claim. There was nothing he could read from the general. Nothing but the dead in his eyes. “I am merely relaying the words of Commander Park to you, Your Majesty. It is not an accusation from me but a warning not to trust Kang’s pretense intent of peace.” With the dark grin ghosting on the general's face, King Namjoon scrutinized his expression. What is his motive? “You are not telling me this out of concern for my throne, Jeon.” He warily prompts, testing the waters. He has no doubts of his loyalty. If there is one thing the king is certain, Jungkook honors his words. But with the sudden shift of the discussion, King Namjoon is suddenly holed up with utter confusion. The slight curve of Jungkook’s lips twitches more as his eyes remain black. Empty. “You are right, Your Majesty.” Jungkook has been keeping it long enough, after fulfilling his duty and his unspoken promise to his father, it’s about time to fulfill the most important one in his lifetime. “What is it that you wish in exchange for this giving me this information?” “I have not yet told you that Commander Park and Prince Jimin are the same person. It is the same prince you have arranged betrothal with Princess ______, is it not Your Majesty?” His eyes narrowed. So this is about the princess all along? “That matter is not of your concern, Jeon Jungkook. You must know where your position would account for your regard. I would not wish for you to be among my enemies, Jeon. Stay away from the princess.” admonishes the monarch. “I do not wish to start a war against you, Your Majesty. I am merely seeking for your blessing to grant me this decree.” Jungkook raises the scroll before holding it forward towards the Eunuch’s reach. He spoke no more and waited for the King to read the decree. Once King Namjoon got hold of it, he urgently opened the scroll, eyes eagerly skimming over the texts written in familiar calligraphy. Jungkook watches the shock slowly uncovers from the face of the King. The control and power crumbling into pieces as the riffles his eyes through him pellucidly, throwing the scroll on his table. Whatever it is that was in the decree has discomfited the king as the darkness of his eyes now matches the general's lifeless eyes.

“This couldn’t be possible…” He calmly concluded amidst the fury his expression is giving away. Did he think he had outsmarted me? King Namjoon silently thought. He turns to his side, the glower in his face effortlessly made his Eunuch tremble in fear. “Call the Chief Secretary!” He ordered. Despite the king's anger, Jungkook remains passive, anticipating the worst that may blew up by revealing the undisclosed edict. If this is the his ploy in order to have the king capitulated on his terms, he has to pay for the inexorable price of his crime, a military official or not.

On the other side of the capital, there you were in the market, enjoying your time outside the palace. This day is one of the few instances you are allowed to wander off in the capital. The Queen has reasonably permitted for your gratuitous trips. You are grateful for she did not perceive your royal status as a threat to her ascension for you want to sustain a peaceful relationship with the royal family. Years ago when Jungkook brought you in this particular shop, you have frequented here since. The lady merchant has grown a liking to you for you have always been one among her generous customers. The pieces of accessories they sell, you have learned, were crafted by individuals of no noble descents. Your fondness of buying illegally published literally books was replaced by adding up pieces by pieces of jewelry and hair accessories to your collection. After a moment of eclectic selection, you finally have made up your mind which pieces you would purchase this time. Instead of making your way back to the palace after purchasing these items, you decided to stay a little longer, absentmindedly surveying the variety of inexpensive goods aside from the luxurious pieces the shop sell.

A few feet away from your stance, a rugged looking man of seemingly from a noble trace with the dark, elegant shade of his robe approaches the same merchant. And even without a gay atop his head, the rarity of his robe’s colors colors could already be speaking of power. This man is not just one among those government officials that commoners frequently see in the daylight.

The eager shop owner beams, noticing the indifference of the noble man’s eyes as they bore over the pool of jewelry pieces and accessories. Perhaps, another prospected customer who is merely buying for their lover, “My Lord, do you wish to buy something for your wife?” It was then the lips stretch in an endearing smile, “Yes, I’d like to purchase something for my lady. Do you have something to recommend for me?”

The shop owner surveys the official for a brief moment, before an idea pops into her mind. “Oh, I have been keeping this one of a kind piece for a long time, now. If you are interested, My Lord, I’ll show it to you.” The shop owner regards in a mysterious, lingering tone, as if to pique his curiosity. Why did she not offer you this piece? You pondered, without lifting your gaze upon them. “Go on.” He encourages. The seller holds out a small intricately designed box, opening it in front of him to reveal a pair of plain yet immaculately crafted gold rings. "This was brought to a temple for five days in order to bring good fate for lovers. The shaman said to sell this to lovers who are willing to pay generously in exchange for a good future.” In a heartbeat, the man curtly nodded. "Consider it sold.” He says in a certain tone. The shop owner’s eyes widened in surprise, immediately collecting the box, allowing no opportunity for the man seemingly in a high-ranking position to afford such to change his mind. “Your lover is lucky to have you, My Lord.” The lady dreamily remarked. He only smiled and didn’t speak further as he hands out a generous amount of currency in exchange of the content of the small box.

You were there all along, listening closely to the interaction. The strange man caught your unsolicited attention with his mere voice. That’s what it seems. You're as puzzled as overwhelmed from unintentionally hearing the interaction. But you’re certain, he’s not the one you think he is. The man only sounded like him. Too late, for your heart already started pounding loudly on its own accord. Your state frozen, seemingly lost in your thoughts to have your body move as you wish. It was not your nerves but your doubts that is stopping you from looking at him to rest your judgment. It took you a while. And you regret not taking the chance when you had it because before you could gather your pittance of a strength to gaze upon the man, he was already out of sight. In desperation, your eyes eagerly search through the sea of people, mentally sifting through the layers and layers of passers-by as if your eyes will magically blur everything else to locate his figure. He was already gone. This has happened before. For several instances. Your mind always creates an imagery of him whenever he crosses your mind, wherever you are— seeing someone bearing his familiarity. But every time you do, you’re always unable to see their actual face. It was not him. That’s what you’re sure of.

He couldn’t be omniscient in nature, he couldn’t be in the north while grazing your presence here every now and then. He just couldn’t be here.

This is just one of them. Would your heart not mind if you see his home, at least, for the last time? Would it matter more to you to see his lifeless household, or would it just a waste of time and a heartache?

With your lurking mind, you scurried the path where your heart is taking you.

You didn’t really noticed the long, arduous walk you had gone through. The sun is about to set when you arrived. Your feet like a mind of their own, stopping in front of the wooden barricade. His mother has lived with his relatives in a distant town somewhere after Jungkook left.

There’s nothing else to see other than the barnished wooden gate. You cannot even open it for your own perusal. But you kept on coming back here for it was the only thing in the present that connects you with that memory, reliving them in the present. He spent his last moments here with you. But however beautiful your memories here had been, the contrited pieces always linger elsewhere in your mind as you relinquish the past. Fate is a mere imaginary force, perhaps, created by entities living in this world, as fictitious as happiness, as treacherous as love. While hope brings you a strong faith of anticipation to the uncertain, the endless cycle of waiting only gives you the bittersweet acceptance in return. There was no regret behind the years of your wasted youth amidst the inescapable obligation of being an object of possession under a political truce— the truth that you have to live from the guise of a royal birth. You kept your promise, and until time and your royal duty comes in between, you will stay faithful to your words. Your fingers quickly shed the moisture threatening to spill from your eyes. And as you emotionally gather yourself up, you turn away in bereft. Not knowing that someone from behind is going towards the opposite direction. With your occupied mind and your sudden move, it was too late for the stranger to step sideways to avoid your approaching figure. The impact left you immobile for a second, losing your balance as your legs gave away. However, they caught you just in time.

Ambivalently speechless, you were unable to scramble off to your feet away from them and utter words of apologies to the stranger you have caused a burden of. When you have recovered, you softly gasp in embarrassment, mumbling series of apologies without prying your bashful eyes up towards them. Scared that they will lash out at your carelessness. Not until you hear the voice of the stranger. “_______?” Your rapid breaths stutter, you felt like everything else around you stops but the loud thumping of your heart. Was it your mind one again creating a hallucination of him? Slowly, you lift your head up. But you swallowed the urge to gasp as your eyes eagerly rake through the rugged looking man in front of you. It was your first time to see their face, to see him fully. The face your mind has created for years. Unfortunately, nothing resembles him of Jungkook but his eyes. And his voice. Stupid of you to think he’s real. You immediately turn away, gathering the strength to go as far away as you can. “______ wait!” You hear them call, your mind is pretty adamant, because the farther you walk, the louder his voice gets to you. It was not long when they had caught up with you as you felt the force in your arm, yanking you back around to face him. “What are you doing here?” He asks the same question he uttered to you years ago when he saw you in front of his house. You clenched your eyes shut, disturbed with your evil mind’s tricks to play with your heart dangerously. How could it possible for him to be here, coincidentally when you’re mourning, when you had just imagined him at the capital? As much as you‘re convinced he’s not real, the warmth from his hands seeping through the fabric covering your arms as they keep you locked on their hold tell you the person isn’t just a figment or your imagination. He’s real? “Jungkook?” It took him a second before he realizes the tone of your affirmation. “You didn’t recognize me, Jagi? It’s me.” Lips quivering, you clasp his face in between your palms with your collected strength, silently wishing none of this is a part of your imagination like it has been in the past years. “Is it really you? Am I not just dreaming?” You whisper in grief, as your sorrowful eyes pierces through his soul. Something twists in his gut, catching your efforts as you control the faint sobs threatening to break out from you throat.

It was too late for you to swallow them as tears pooled out of your eyes. The calloused pads of his thumbs feather lightly brush against your tear stained cheeks.your efforts to control the faint sobs.

“I’m here. I came back for you. Haven’t I promised you that?” He wants to prove it to you, just so you would believe it is real. That he’s here before your eyes. His face was mere inches to yours, but he stilled, almost losing his control if not reminded by the fact that the two of you are out for the world to see. You blinked, hiding the dejection when he steps back just as you were anticipating something else. With a heavy heart, you prodded. “When did you come back?” Jungkook deliberately didn’t answer. You have all the time to ask him later. Right now, he needs you. Swallowing a big lump in his throat, his fingers entwine tightly with yours, gently tugging you forward.

“Come with me.” He says. “Jungkook, what...“ Your voice faltered, panting from the distance you had walked through. Your curious eyes follow his free hand as it swiftly unlocked the hidden bar of the wicket.

Just as he has pulled you inside the vicinity of his household, he pushed the door shut along with your body, pressing you flat against the hard surface. Jungkook cages you in between with his hands glued on the sides of your head. He used to dream about this happening. With you, in an arm’s reach. He stays still for a while, savoring the moment. His leering eyes quietly memorizing every detail on your face. You have not aged a year older. Jungkook thinks he was looking at your younger self. Except for your hollowed cheeks, and dulled pair of orbs, you still look mesmerizingly breathtaking, beautiful, pure and only his. He inches closer, invading your mouth with much controlled passion. The faint sting of his stubble as it made contact against your skin creates another foreign sensation, sparking desire within you as tremors run down your spine.

“Gods, I miss you.” He groans against your mouth. For a moment, you were stiff, shocked by the boldness of his advances. Jungkook had kissed you before, you had felt the wetness of his lips pressing against yours before, as he expressed his affection for you.

But not like this, not with the way he was lewdly nipping your lips, not with the way his tongue is chasing your own. Not with the way his hands are exploring the untouched parts of your body.

Jungkook nudges his head south, on the crook of your neck. He moves closer, flushing his huge body against yours. Your eyes clenched shut at the feel of his need on his lower region pressing on your clothed stomach. A soft cry resonates through the quietness of the household at the feel of his teeth and stubble piercing simultaneously through your skin. Bound speechless under your clouded mind, unable to discern the right and wrong when Jungkook plotted the hole that you have willingly allowed yourself to be buried into its depths.

As he captures your lips once more, your fingers corded beneath his long knotted hair. There was no turning back now. He will have you one way or another.

a/n: what do you guys think? im curious to know what your thoughts are pls share them with me :(( it’s rushed i know and as expected this is unedited so forgive me for grammar issues and typos

mintseesaw ©️ 2020

credits to the rightful owner (Jeesung Kim) of the image edited as a banner

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softboywriting · 4 years ago

Text

Gravitation | Nathan Bateman | Ex Machina

Summary: Twin Flames; a single soul that is split into two bodies. You and Nathan have a connection like none other. He has an idea why, and you’re about to find out. [Soft!Nathan] [Soulmates Trope] [No Use Of Y/N] [Assistant!Reader] [F!ReaderxNathan] [Swearing] [Pet Name] [Invasion of Privacy - Mentioned] [Drunk Nathan]

Word Count: 5k

|Masterlist in Bio|

The moment you met Nathan you knew there was something about him that was unlike any other person you had met up until that point. It wasn't his massive ego, his minor God complex, or his genius intellect that got your attention. It was his eyes. Something in his eyes held more than his big mouth could ever express, something familiar like you've known him since the day you were born and even before that. You doubt he knows it, that his gaze tells you every truth, every lie, every moment of his history leading up to the moment you met. He feels it though. That you can confirm. He feels something when you stare at him as he speaks and you know that it makes him uncomfortable in a way he doesn't know how to explain because he gives you looks as if you're something he's never seen, something he can't quite figure out. You are an enigma to him some days and it keeps him on his toes.

Two months pass as you live out your days with Nathan in his sprawling complex of a home slash research facility. It was strange how you came to be here, a memory almost it seems. You had been receiving emails for weeks from an unknown sender, something about a research assistant position. You didn't pay much mind, as you weren't looking for an assistant position. You wanted to land a job doing website building for Blue Book. That is what you applied for and that is what you have skill in doing. So when your phone rang in the dead of night and you found out it was the CEO, Nathan, calling you directly about the emails and the assistant position, you were shocked. One thing lead to another and you found yourself living with Nathan while he began building AI.

Being Nathan's assistant isn't exactly what you hoped for, but it's not bad. You get to see how he works, what makes that genius tick. He's not as bad as you had heard, not as full of himself, but maybe that's just because he likes you. Working with him consists of observing him, helping him document things, getting tools and equipment while his hands are full, doing facial tracking studies, talking out loud in long sequences while he records your speech patterns. Some days it feels like he studies you more than he works on the AI. Not that you mind, his gaze is undeniably attracting, so much fascination and wonder behind those wire frame glasses. He leaves you with butterflies and longing for more than casual touches.

______________________

"Nathan?" You call softly from across the lab table he is sitting at, pushing wires into the gel mass brain unit to hook it up to his laptop. "I have a question."

"Shoot."

"Why did you choose me?"

He looks over his glasses as his hands still against the gel mass. He's going to lie, you know this look. It's so easy to tell. "I didn't choose you, it was random, I needed an assistant and you were a good fit."

"That's not like you. You wouldn't have some random mediocre website builder be your lab assistant."

"It's not like me? How would you know?"

"Well, I've been here for two months and I've worked and lived with you nearly every day for all hours except for when I'm sleeping. You're too calculated, precise, and prideful of your work to allow some random person into your life like this. So again, why did you choose me?"

Nathan sits up, folding his arms over his chest as he looks at you with a small smile on his lips. His eyes meet yours and you can tell he's intrigued. He has that look, like you're something shiny and new that he has yet to figure out. God you love that look.

"Well?" You push insistently. He sucks at lying to you and he looks as if he's going to try again.

"I chose you because I studied you. For weeks I went through your data, your work, your photos and posts on social media. I selected you because I could see something in you that terrified me."

You raise your eyebrows. That was not the response you expected. The data thing did not surprise you, it's Nathan and he can do almost anything on the internet with the software Blue Book is built from. You expected an answer regarding your physical appearance, reducing you to the beautiful assistant, eye candy. Not that you terrified Nathan, which in turn terrifies you because you're not sure what about yourself would ever be deemed as such.

"Cat got your tongue?"

"Yes." You smile softly, turning your head away to break his gaze. It's too much. Too intense. "You've thrown me for a loop."

Nathan pushes away from the table and walks around it to sit beside you. He turns on the stool and tilts your head to look at him, fleeting fingers careful against your jaw, eyes meeting, faces only a few feet away from each other. "I chose you because I see myself staring back at me."

"What?"

"The eyes are the window to the soul. When I saw your photo I knew I had to meet you in person. I would have done anything to meet you, to see you face to face because I wanted to be right."

"Right about what?"

He gathers your hands into his and your heart beat picks up, cold sweat prickling at the back of your neck. "There is a theory that a human soul can be split into two people. It's interesting to consider, not that I believe it entirely. It's a bit of a fairytale and all. I'm curious though and I wanted to study it."

"So you brought me here to study me?" You swallow harshly. This whole time you've been part of an experiment it seems. Wonderful.

"I did."

"So I'm not your assistant. I'm your specimen."

Nathan drops your hands and stands up, walking around the lab slowly, pacing almost. He has never seemed so nervous. "You're still my assistant. You assist me do you not?"

"Yes."

"Then you're an assistant."

"Nathan. You know that isn't what I mean."

He chuckles. "Don't worry about it too much."

"I'm going to worry. You're studying me!"

Nathan sighs and walks back over to you, cupping your face in his palms as if to make you listen to him better and your heart threatens to explode. He has never been this physically affectionate with you ever yet his touch is so familiar. "I would be studying you anyway. You're my assistant, my little poseable doll, my muse which I collect data from."

"This isn't making me feel any better. Actually, I feel insulted."

"I'm not insulting you."

"Doll?"

"Fine." He says harshly. It's as close to an apology as you will ever get.

"Thank you."

Nathan drops your face and walks away again. He seems anxious now. He strides along the length of the brightly lit lab tables, hands in his pockets. The silence that fills the room is stifling, awkward, and increasingly thick with unsaid thoughts.

You slide off of your stool and wander toward the table in the enclosed chamber at the back of the room. There are mechanical body parts on the table, like a person laid out for an exam or a surgery. It's strange to think that eventually these parts will be a working form, these wires and plastic and metal plates will be an artificial life form that looks and sounds like a real human. You turn suddenly and look back at Nathan. He's staring, your fingers touching the shoulder of the body before you. It's as if you could feel his eyes on you, as if you could see yourself through them actually.

"What're you doing?" Nathan asks as he leans against the entryway, his tone far calmer than his eyes would portray.

"I don't know."

"You don't know? Let me tell you." He steps in the room and around to the opposite side of the exam table. "You're breaking my rules."

You pull your hand away and curl it against your side. "Am I?"

"Yes." He leans on the table, arms open, hands pressed to the cold top. "You're touching my work."

"Nathan I touch your work all the fucking time. I literally carried a leg across the lab for you earlier. What the hell are you talking about?"

"With permission. I gave you permission to carry that leg."

"Okay?"

"Did I tell you that you could come in here and touch this?" He gestures to the parts on the table. "Did you consider that it might not be a good idea to do that?"

"It's just laying here Nathan."

"But do you know that? Maybe I have something going on that requires these to be perfectly still."

"I put these in here yesterday. I laid them down and you haven't moved them since." You cross your arms and stare him down. "You're just trying to start a fight because you don't like the awkward tension in the room and a fight will change the subject off of why you hired me."

Nathan's head snaps up and he glares. Oh how he glares daggers right through your soul. You know you're right and he knows you're right. It's killing him not to have a comeback ready. He was so ready to fight about the AI parts that your breakdown of his thought process has destroyed all means of retaliation. It's satisfying, watching him flounder for a second.

"Cat got your tongue?" You say with the biggest smirk. His own words, his own choice of phrasing thrown back at him.

"See this is why you terrify me."

"Because I called you on your bullshit?"

"Yes." He turns and heads for the entryway. "You call me out before I even realize what I'm doing."

"So you didn't plan on coming in here and trying to start something?"

"No, I mean I did I guess but it wasn't a coherent thought. I didn't go "oh I'm going to start an argument now because I want to deflect this awkwardness", I just did it because....well I guess it was my instinct." He runs a hand over his head and braces it against the back of his neck. "I need to go for a run."

"It's raining."

"So?"

"Wear a coat."

"Are you my mother now?"

"You're doing it again." You point at him and he scowls.

"I'm leaving."

"I'll run a hot bath."

"For what?"

"For you when you get back inevitably cold and sore because you over do it on the trail."

Nathan growls, literally growls and looks pissed. "Stop! Just stop! Get out of my head!"

You walk out of the chamber and past him toward the hall door. "You'd like that wouldn't you?"

"Don't."

"Didn't do anything."

"You will."

"Maybe. Go run."

"Fuck."

______________________

You decide to do some research of your own while Nathan is gone. You're not supposed to get on his computer, or really contact anyone in the outside world as per your non disclosure agreement. There are exceptions though. You technically cannot discuss anything that happens in the complex but you can discuss everything else. You could call your parents but you've not had the best relationship with them since you took the job with Nathan. They didn't understand, thought you were being coerced by him and they never wanted you to be in the tech field. They wanted you to be a doctor or a nurse. If only they knew how much Nathan paid you. They would forget about that medical field shit so fast. Unfortunately your pay is related to the job so you're not able to discuss it.

You take a seat at Nathan's desk and bring up the center screen. You can see him on the security camera on the backside of the house. He's sitting on the open air deck, rain pouring down on him. Not running. This is actually perfect, you can make sure to get off the computer as soon as he leaves the camera view.

You pull up Blue Book and search "split soul theories". Tons of information pops up. You wade through the crap. Book titles, movies, songs and stuff. The only information you want is about the actual theory itself. Finally you find it, some spiritual website has the explanation you're looking for.

"Twin flames?" You mutter, skimming through the paragraphs of text.

The pages tell you about the theory that a soul can be split in two and those people are drawn together and are like two sides of the same coin. Kind of like soulmates but deeper, more connected, lives spanning every reincarnation. You shake your head. There is no way this is what Nathan is interested in investigating. It's too wild. He's a man of logic and science and biology. Not spiritual at all. Besides, you're not like him. At least you don't think so. Maybe you are...in some ways you can see how you're similar. That's disturbing and you're not going down that road.

The screen on the left is empty, the camera showing just a feed of the empty deck. Shit. You scramble to close the tab but it's too late.

"Oh dear, what are you doing?"

"Fuck," you whisper and turn around slowly to see Nathan standing in the doorway to the office. He's changed into his favorite white long sleeve and some sweatpants.

"Should I pretend you aren't on my computer with the browser open or should I just fire you now?"

"I wasn't doing anything against my NDA." You stand up and he gives you a look over his glasses.

He moves past you and sinks into his chair, turning abruptly to pull up your closed tab on the browser. "Twin flames huh?"

"Yep. Just looking shit up."

"Uh huh."

"Is that what you think we are?"

"No."

"Then what do you-"

"It's what I know we are." He turns back and raises his eyebrows. "You were watching me on the cams?"

You shrug. "Maybe."

"You're a little shit."

"As if you don't watch me when we aren't together."

"Touché." He stands and circles around to grab a book off the shelf behind you. He flips it open and starts scribbling something down.

You lean over trying to see and he tilts the book up. "What is that?"

"A notebook."

"Smart ass."

"I am." He gives his butt a smack and grins at you cheekily. "Don't worry what this book is."

"Secrets make enemies, don't you know?"

"Yes," he puts the book away on the shelf in plain sight. He knows you won't try to get it. You wouldn't disrespect his things like that, even though the lack of respect for your own is considerable in this house. "I have lots of enemies."

You roll your eyes. "That's because you're insufferable, Nathan."

"No it's because I have secrets."

"Wait, you just changed the subject...circle back here. What do you mean you know we're twin flames? How did I miss that?"

Nathan chuckles and puts his arm around your back. "You'll see, one day."

"What? That doesn't make any sense."

"Oh no it does." He guides you into the hall and closes the door behind him. "Once you think about it long and hard you'll realize it."

You walk ahead of him. "I don't get what that means and you're talking in riddles. I'm going to bed."

"I'm going to make dinner."

"And you're going to eat alone. Goodnight Nathan."

___________________

"I know you're awake." Nathan's voice floats through the door to your room. It's some time after midnight, days since you got into it with him about the twin flame nonsense. Yet it's been playing on your mind nonetheless. "Mi luna, can I come in?"

Mi Luna? What the hell is that about? He must be shit faced drunk. You know if you open that door you won't get any sleep. You also know he could just open it since his card is all access, but he is still asking. It's the little things.

"The door is open!"

Nathan peeks in, just his face appearing around the heavy glass door. "Mi luna, it's so bright in here."

"Yeah? I've got the lamps on. It's subterranean, remember? No windows."

He slides in and closes the door. As if someone were ever going to interrupt the two of you. "Lights off."

The lights go down to just the night lights under the vanity and in the bathroom remain on. You raise your eyebrows at the man walking so carefully across your bedroom. He doesn't seem to be stumbling. That's a good sign.

"What is mi luna all about?"

"Do you like it?"

"I don't know?"

"It means My Moon."

"Okay?"

Nathan flops down on the bed and crushes your feet under his butt. "I was thinking about pet names earlier. I hate them all." He's definitely drunk.

"But you like mi luna?"

"Yeah. Mi Luna y mi sol." He extends his arm up as if to touch something out of reach on the ceiling. "My moon and my sun. Sounds romantic."

"Romantic? Since when do you like anything romantic?"

He turns his head to look at you. You're glad you can't make his face out clearly in the darkened room. You fear his eyes will tell you more than you wish to know. "You make me soft."

"I make you soft? How?"

He lets his arm go limp, falling behind him on the bed. "You're so pretty, and you're smart too. So smart." He sighs heavily like a man with much on his mind. "I've had too much tequila."

You chuckle softly. "Oh boy."

"What?"

"I've never seen you drink it, tequila makes you a different kind of drunk."

"Yeah." He reaches out to you and you take his hand. He wiggles his finger tips against yours and makes a little do-do-do noise to go with it. "I wanna marry you."

"What?" Your heart stops and his hand goes limp under yours. "Nathan, what did you just say?"

"Nothing?"

"No you said you wanna marry me."

"If you heard it then why did you ask?"

"Because I wanted to see if you'd lie."

He scoffs and sits up. "I didn't say that."

"Yes you did!"

"No I didn't. You misheard me. I don't even believe in marriage."

"Nathan."

"I'm going to the lab." He pushes off the bed and wobbles on his feet.

You kick his butt and he stumbles forward. "You're an asshole."

He looks back and even in the darkened room you can see his smile. "Am I?"

"Yes! Now get out of here. I want to sleep a few hours before you inevitably wake me up at an ungodly time despite having slept about three hours yourself."

He chuckles as he pads softly to the door.

"What's so funny?"

"I like waking you up early." He leans on the door frame, allowing it to support his body entirely. "It's my favorite part of the day. Your sleepy little yawns, heavy lidded eyes, they way your voice sounds so soft."

You ball your fists in the comforter and force down the butterflies that stir in your stomach. This isn't Nathan. This is a drunk lonely idiot. You can't catch feelings for him, he's your boss. It's honestly too late but that's not any of his business. "Go!"

"You like meeee!"

"Nathan please just go away!"

"It's my house. I don't have to." He teases and you throw a pillow at him. He laughs and slips out the door to avoid further projectiles.

You pull a pillow over your face and scream into it. He's frustrating, whiplash embodied. Fuck him and fuck how he makes you have butterflies in your stomach.

______________________

"Can I ask you something about the AI?"

"Any time." Nathan says as he punches at the bag hanging on the deck. He's been going at it for about an hour now.

You've been sitting and watching him, curled up on the bench wearing his white long sleeve shirt because it's cool out and you didn't want to go get something of your own. You've been sketching the scene of him boxing as if to preserve the memory. As if you won't be here again in a few days doing the same thing.

"Is this your first? The one on the table that we- you are building?"

He stops, steadying the bag a moment and giving you a troublesome smile. "No."

"What was the first one like?"

He returns to punching the bag in a steady rhythm. "She's human like. A little taller than me. I didn't get to make a head before the body malfunctioned."

You raise your eyebrows. "It was a woman?"

"Is. She is a woman, yes."

"She's still in around?"

"Yes." Nathan hugs the bag and looks at you almost lovingly, clearly excited to show you this AI he's kept a secret. "Do you want to see her?"

You stand from the bench you've been watching him on and he starts unwrapping his hands. You take note how his fingers look a little bruised, as if he were going too hard on the bag. "She's here?"

"Mmhmm."

"Why haven't you shown me?"

"You haven't asked."

"But we've been building a new one for this long. Why wouldn't you tell me you had another?"

Nathan grabs his glasses from the counter in the dining room as you pass through, following close behind him. He chuckles. "This new one is not going to be like the others."

"Others?"

"Yeah, the others."

"Nathan, how many are there?"

"Five?" He glances back and does a little hand motion to signify that he wasn't sure. "No, six."

You stop dead in your tracks outside the lab door. "Six? You've made six?"

He turns at the end of the hall and puts his hands on his hips. "I've been here for three years. Of course I've made six. Come on, do you wanna see them or not?"

You hurry ahead and step into where he's leading you. A lounge with big rock walls and built in cupboards. He scans his badge at the first cupboard door and opens it. Inside is half of a bot, no head, just a mechanical body with legs and no arms.

Nathan opens the next one. It has a head with a face, no legs but a torso and an arm. He opens the rest and you walk down the line. The closer you get to the end you realize they look more and more human. They have skin, and unique features, hair and everything. It's when you reach the last one that your heart stops.

Before you is a spitting image of yourself. It's as if you were made of wax. Not quite right but not off the mark. She's complete, no missing parts, but only her face is skin, the rest is the robot base model.

"Do you understand now?"

"I don't understand anything. What the hell is this?" You step back, hands clinging to your sweater at your stomach. "Nathan what is going on?"

"I built her last year. This is part of the reason why you terrify me."

"But you said...you said that you saw yourself in me and that's what terrified you?"

Nathan closes the door and stands in front of you. "You're freaked out, I get it. When I said I saw myself I meant my mind, my vision. Not like me, obviously you don't look like me. I see my soul reflected back at me."

You stumble back onto the futon and stare up at the man before you. "You brought me here because of that? Because you made a bot that looks like me?"

He steps forward and sinks down, squatting in front of you, hands landing on your thighs. "I saw you in a dream, a very vivid dream like I was in another life all together and I modeled her after what I saw because I couldn't forget. I had no idea you were real until I came across the twin flame theory while researching dreams and I decided to try and find you."

"But how did you find me?"

"Blue Book. Once I made her I scanned her face for recognition and found hundreds of matches. I cross referenced her specific features, rough age estimate, a few other things and then I found you."

You shake your head in disbelief. "I was trying to work for Blue Book. I put in dozens of applications. I was gravitating toward you all along."

"Yeah." He says breathily. "Yeah you were."

"You're my soulmate?"

"Mmmhmm." He rubs your thighs comfortingly. "It's more than that. Soulmate is a pretty blanket term but what we are is twin flames. A soul split in two that rejoins in every lifetime. I never believed in something like that, but that dream was so unlike anything I've experienced it changed my mind. I'm a man of logic and science not fairy tales and fantasies. It tore me up for a long time."

You let out a little bubble of laughter and you quickly cover it up because it's not funny, it's disbelief. "You? Nathan Bateman is my other half?"

"Don't say it like that. It's not funny."

"This is a gag right? You made that mold of my face and slapped it on the AI for this. You're fucking with me." You push him and he falls back onto his ass. "You're an asshole."

"What?!" He gets to his feet as you stand from the futon. "You think I'm lying to you about this?!"

"Yes! Why would a man like you ever believe in that stuff? You don't even believe in marriage. You're lying to get me to sleep with you or something. You're playing into my feelings and fantasies and hopes of someday finding someone to share my life with forever." You head for the doorway and Nathan grabs your hand to stop you. "Let me go. This is cruel. I never thought you would go this fucking far as to-"

"I would never do that to you." In one fluid motion he pulls you close, cradles your face and presses his lips to yours. Fireworks explode behind your eyes as they fall closed. Your heart races, body frozen against his as the world comes crashing down around you. All at once you're dizzy, breathless, excited. You're overloaded, overwhelmed and you don't know what is happening.

"Do you feel it?" He asks and you open your eyes to find him only inches away. The moment your gaze meets his you know he isn't lying. "You're the only person who I've ever felt this connection with. You know how picky I am."

"You're not lying." You mutter, remembering all the times you couldn't stop staring at him. The times when you couldn't remove your eyes from his once they met. The way you move seamlessly around each other, as if you knew each other's next move every step of the way. And most of all how you can't imagine being away from him, how you never get tired of being in his company. "Since we met I've had this feeling, and when our eyes meet-"

"We can't look away."

"Yeah." You lay a hand on his cheek, fingers fanning out over his beard. It's a strange feeling, foreign under your touch. "What do we do now?"

"We keep going."

"Keep going? Going where?"

"Ahead, with the AI, with our relationship." Nathan presses his head to yours. "Together we're going to make a perfect AI. If I hadn't started this, gotten this far into it and made the AI I based off of the dream I had of you, we wouldn't be here right now. You wouldn't be here, we wouldn't have met. I wouldn't be able to make the newest model without you."

"Yes you could. This isn't like you to say you need someone. Have you slept?"

He chuckles. "Yes I've slept."

"You could make this AI without me. You don't need me."

"But I do." He steps back, cradling your face in his hands, thumbs on your cheeks stroking softly. "You've been the key to everything. I can study your features, your expressions, your eyes...fuck your eyes, man. Sure I can get all the data from Blue Book like I did before but you're different. You make me think differently about everything."

You lean into his hand on your cheek. "Kiss me again."

"Don't have to tell me twice." He slides his arms around your back and pulls you flush against him. His mouth covers yours, a sweet kiss turning hungry quickly. He backs you against the wall, arms caging you in as he licks into your mouth. He lets out the softest moan as your hand explores his chest. It's the most vulnerable you've ever seen him.

You arch against him and he lifts your leg up as you hook it around his. You run your hand over his back and stop at his shoulders, cradling the back of his neck. "This is what Nathan in love looks like?"

He kisses along your jaw and pulls back, glasses a little askew. He looks wrecked, completely gone. Like he's drunk but on you instead of liquor. He smiles, pressing another kiss to your lips.

"You're damn right it is."

End

______

Thank you for reading. Please reblog if you enjoyed! - A

Header by delicate-venus

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted works.*****

#ex machina #ex machina fic #ex machina fanfic #nathan bateman #nathan bateman fic #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman fanfic #oscar issac #oscar isaac #oscar isaac fic #oscar isaac character

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levihantrash · 3 years ago

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new chapter update!

Summary:

Levi’s pragmatism pulled the brakes. “I’m not about to dedicate my life to become a broke comic artist.”

Levi Ackerman, a gruff cleaner with an appetite for toilet humour meets the unabashedly friendly creative writing professor, Hange Zoë, who somehow ropes Levi into working on a comic with them. While the comic’s title remains undecided, Hange knows that it’s going to be set in a world where giant, human-like creatures devour other humans. Erwin Smith, the comic’s self-appointed editor, unironically thinks it’s going to be a hit. All Levi knows is that he wants to indulge in drawing this comic while hanging out with a certain writer who just won’t stop talking to him.

Where Hange, Levi, and Erwin are the creators of Attack on Titan.

Chapter 1: Free Bread

Chapter 2: New Friends

Like routine, Levi found himself waiting for a certain professor to show up. When Erwin called out to him, he couldn’t help but search behind the tall, imposing figure.

“I haven’t seen Hange this morning either,” Erwin said. Levi found himself irritated by Erwin’s discernment and by his own discrete uneasiness.

“Good morning, Erwin,” Levi greeted, nonetheless.

Hange was late, which Levi figured wouldn’t be out of the ordinary.

The morning passed without a single sign of Hange.

“Sorry, are you Mr. Levi?” A nervous-looking person approached him, holding on to a well-wrapped steamed bun. A twinge of hope stirred in Levi.

“Levi will do,” he said.

“Dr. Hange said I should pass you this,” the bread-holder blurted out.

Levi’s gaze softened. “Where’s Hange?”

“Oh! She’s rushing a deadline and insisted that I pass you this bread.”

The inexplicable rush of relief made Levi dizzy as he grasped the bread limply. “Huh. Sorry that you have to be an errand boy today.”

“It’s no trouble!”

“Who are you?”

“Sorry! I didn’t introduce myself! I’m Moblit, their teaching assistant! Dr. Hange helps me out with my master’s thesis because they’re my advisor. This is just my way of saying thanks. Dr. Hange also treats me to meals, gives me detailed comments for my work… though they might go overboard when it comes to giving speeches about the importance of world-building and honing your craft, it’s inspiring how dedicated they are in what they do.”

Moblit took a deep breath, making up for lost air in between the lengthy, whole-hearted sentences.

“Is that so…” Levi said, suddenly contemplative. “Do you want some tea?”

“Are you getting it from the staff pantry?”

“No, that stuff’s stale as shit. I have better tea, wait here.”

Levi recalled Erwin asking him in front of everyone in the staffroom if he wanted the staffroom snacks. Hange followed up, speaking at a volume that was clear enough for most of the staff to overhear, orchestrating a deliberate conversation with Erwin.

“Since there are no hard rules as to who the snacks and drinks are catered for, and technically, Levi is a staff member, he should have access to the snacks!”

None of the professors objected. It was probably because open prejudice would be socially unacceptable, Levi thought.

Begrudgingly, he accepted Erwin’s offer, and in full view of everyone, took a candy bar.

Hange gasped. “Just one?” Levi glared at them.

“Aren’t the snacks for your little sister?” Hange asked. He nodded, sensing the collective spike in sympathy for him in the staffroom.

After the whole stage, the trio huddled conspicuously in a corner outside the staffroom.

Hange whispered to Levi, “You could have played along better!”

“Erwin’s tired of your skit,” Levi said, overwhelmed and annoyed at the turn of events.

“No he’s not!” Hange said sternly, before gulping down half a bottle of water.

Erwin, standing in between them, told Hange to keep it down.

“Thanks, you two.” Levi found himself staring at the floor, embarrassed that his two friends had to construe him as a pitiful character for him to get a few snacks, even though he had been informed of the plan prior.

“I’m sorry, Levi,” Hange said, their lips compressed into a hard, grim line. “It’s ridiculous that you can’t even get snacks and refreshments as part of the staff.”

“I’m used to it.”

“If anyone’s giving you a hard time, you have us,” Hange said, still put off.

They squared their shoulders impressively. “Right Erwin?”

“You can rely on us, Levi,” Erwin surmised, equally sombre.

Growing more ruffled by their declarations, Levi hissed, “I don’t need two bodyguards.”

“No, you definitely don’t,” Hange joked. “Some people have told me about the deathly aura you emit that I must have missed…”

Fixing their attention at a vague distance, Hange’s playful jibes dwindled into an idle pondering, “I wonder if you found some joy in our companionship at least.”

They’re talking about joy and friendship again… Levi thought.

He found himself back in the present, handing a cup of black tea to Moblit, guiding him towards a bench.

Moblit squeaked out, “Thank you!”

“How did you find me?” Levi asked, betraying none of his real curiosity.

“Hange gave me a description…” Moblit began, not making eye contact with Levi.

“Did they? What’s the description?” Knowing Hange’s brand of humour, Levi braced himself.

Moblit shuffled in his seat, terribly reluctant. “They said to look out for a cold, black-haired man with an undercut, wearing an apron, gloves and brandishing a mop while scolding people to not step on wet floors.” Levi made a mental note to strangle Hange.

Moblit quickly supplemented, “You’re not actually cold though!”

“How would you know that?”

“Um… you’re offering me tea?”

Levi clicked his tongue. “That’s a low bar for human decency. You should have higher standards.”

“You’re right, Mr. Levi… I mean Levi.”

Levi noted Moblit’s jittery manner when he briefly checked his phone for a message and let out a small groan.

“Hey, you look worried sick. You didn’t receive a death threat, did you?”

Moblit laughed weakly, running his hand through his hair. “Uh, you see, I’m one of the editors for the bi-annual literary magazine and we’ve been looking for illustrators…”

“I take it that you haven’t been successful?”

“Yes… I just received someone’s rejection. It’s okay, we’ll find one,” Moblit said, although his panicked lip-biting ran contradictory to his optimistic statement. Levi’s hands twitched again. He folded them promptly into his apron pockets.

Upon finishing the tea, Moblit stood up and gave a tiny, polite bow. “It was nice meeting you Levi. Thanks for listening and for the tea!”

“Good luck,” Levi said, in time before Moblit rushed off.

Bagging up the rubbish, Levi heaved the load on his shoulder easily, only to be startled by the appearance of Hange.

“Fuck! Can you stop jumping out of nowhere?” Though momentarily disconcerted, the tension built up from the day unwound instantaneously, leaving his body loose and feeble.

“Levi! Did you shit yourself?” Hange sang. They accidentally bumped into the gigantic rubbish bag, falling butt-first onto the ground, phone in hand.

“Be careful,” Levi said, in the same monotonous voice he used regardless of the situation. Unless the situation involved Hange leaping out of nowhere. He looped his free arm under their armpit to pull them back up. Hange, flushed from running, placed their phone in his hands with ill-contained excitement.

“Look at what I found!”

“Oi, what’s this—” Levi scanned the phone, his mouth running dry.

“I’m going to recruit this artist. For my comic.”

It was a sketch of a cat being patted by a person with messy, tied-up hair, their hands stroking its head.

“Don’t you think the person looks familiar? Isn’t the cat cute… remember how I told you I have one at home?” Hange released their brown hair from a voluminous ponytail, biting the rubber band in their mouth.

He swallowed. “I drew that.”

Hange’s mouth hung open. “You’re kidding!”

“Do I look like I make such shit jokes?”

“Personally, I find your shitty jokes very funny. This is exciting news! Why didn’t you tell me you’re an artist when I was trying to find one for my comic?”

Levi found her question preposterous. “You could easily find a better one. I’m inexperienced.”

“I’m also an inexperienced writer. I barely wrote one book and a few articles!”

“You’re a professor. You have the title for a reason. I just draw for fun.”

Hange spared him a baffled look. “Please. You have no idea how many great writers never become professors. And how some professors never write great books. I thought you of all people would know that a title doesn’t mean anything.”

“I thought you of all people would know that titles hold their value here, even if we think they’re stupid and don’t mean shit.”

“I know that, Levi. I’m saying, drawing for fun doesn’t make you inexperienced or unworthy of being the artist for my comic. Besides, I chose you before I even knew it was you!” Hange said triumphantly.

Locking the phone screen, Levi reiterated, “I draw for fun.”

“Then this will be our fun project!”

Levi’s pragmatism pulled the brakes. “I’m not about to dedicate my life to become a broke comic artist.”

“You won’t be broke.” Erwin slipped into their conversation as though he had always been there. It was uncanny.

“What do you mean?” Levi stared questioningly at Erwin.

“You’ll be paid for your work, Levi. Hange as well,” Erwin said simply.

“You’re paying us?” Hange and Levi asked, in unison. One, in disbelief, and the other, in delight.

“A publisher will be paying you. I’ve secured funding.”

Levi gritted his teeth. “A publisher wants to sponsor a comic that hasn’t even been written?”

“I told you, Levi,” Hange interrupted. “I’ve already submitted a draft!”

“Yes,” Erwin said.

Levi had so many questions. “How?”

“Because it’s a good story.”

“Did you bribe them? Threaten them?”

“It is a risk,” Erwin admitted.

“It’s a fucking gamble,” Levi emphasised. “Don’t know why you’re so invested in this comic.”

Hange had other worries. “Levi, did you think I wasn’t going to pay you?”

Levi hesitated. “I don’t know. Isn’t this just a fun side-project?”

Hange’s face came closer to his. With the enhanced proximity, Levi stopped breathing altogether. Their face was deadly solemn.

“Listen, Levi, creating art is hard work. Your hard work. Any artist deserves to be paid. It’s not because our relationship is transactional. It’s because it’s only right.”

Erwin added, “We’re not going to accept your art for free.”

Pushing Hange back firmly with his hands on their shoulders, Levi argued, “Plenty of people have access to my art online for free.”

“That’s your choice. We insist.” Hange grinned. “And we think we deserve to be paid too. Even I’m surprised that my project has early compensation.”

Part of Levi’s resolve ebbed away. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good enough for me!”

“First, you have to tell me what your story is.” Levi gathered up the last of his self-respect. “And if we’re going to be working together, I’ll need your number.”

Erwin raised an innocent eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you need mine too?”

“Stop teasing him, Erwin,” Hange said, grabbing the rubbish bag from Levi, struggling to balance its weight over their shoulders.

Just as Levi felt a shred of gratitude, Hange remarked, “What if he doesn’t agree to do the comic together?”

Patience running thin, Levi stomped on both their feet in a fit of unrestraint that diverged from his unaffected demeanour.

Eyes twinkling, Hange couldn’t help but feel immense glee at the prospect of working with Levi. What was probably Levi’s withheld strength made them certain that he only wanted to dirty their shoes, not bruise their toes. Like Hange would care about the cleanliness of their battered sneakers.

In front of an ordinary apartment door, Hange dug into the depths of their bag to fish out a ring of keys. The size of the ring was unprecedentedly big; the choice of keychain most definitely random, a freebie handed out to new staff that blatantly displayed the university’s name.

Without that much bribery of tea, bread, and friendship, Levi found himself standing beside Hange as they busied themselves in finding the key to their apartment. Erwin had bailed due to having another Important Meeting with Important People, even during a weekend, but encouraged Hange and Levi to take time to discuss the comic.

Hange hadn’t expected Levi to agree so readily to kickstarting the project, and with the generous reception Levi gave (a curt nod and a follow-up question), they thought it’d be best if they invited him over to their apartment. Just so he wouldn’t mistake Hange as a mere business partner. Now that would be upsetting.

Hange pushed the ludicrous speculation out of their head. Levi was first and foremost, a good friend. His bored appearance revealed glimpses of surprise, satisfaction, moodiness, and suspicion. Hange held on to these pieces with the determination to collect them all. Surely, Levi must have figured them out by now. This endless, unabashed interest Hange had taken in him.

“Why are we meeting at your place? Do you need to take a huge shit? Does the toilet at home have a better flush?”

Although Levi had no qualms about visiting Hange’s apartment, he found it unnerving to have a work discussion in someone’s living quarters. It felt too intimate, too casual. He wasn’t sure if he could handle being sucked in further into Hange’s life. They asked so many questions, yet barely answered any about themselves.

Whether intentionally or not, Hange was someone shrouded in mystery to Levi. He couldn’t ask questions either—he wouldn’t—because he was unaccustomed to expressing himself in front of people. More than that, he could envision Hange’s sharp wit poking a clean hole through his muted facade. “You’re interested in my life, Levi?” Damn that four-eyes for being so perceptive. Or was he so easy to read?

“It’s more fun,” Hange said, eventually stuffing the correct key into the keyhole, a smooth click welcoming them. “Plus, I want to introduce you to my friends! Part of the reason why I took up the position at this university.”

“Friends?” Levi asked, slipping out of his shoes to step into the apartment.

“Hange!” A voice rang, and Hange was wrapped in a hug.

“Onyankopon! I saw you yesterday—”

“Three days ago, to be exact, since you always sleep over on the lovely desk at the university.” A smooth voice entered, coming from a woman standing comfortably against the wall.

As the tallest body let go of Hange, it allowed Levi to take in the congenial features of a man whose shoulders rivalled Erwin’s towering, well-built stature. While Erwin’s smile was measuredly cordial, Onyankopon’s was candidly sincere. Watching Hange and Onyankopon, Levi felt as though he were intruding into a family reunion that had invited the entire neighbourhood. Here, he was the guest who came for the free flow of food and drinks.

“I’ve missed you too Pieck!” The woman named Pieck ruffled Hange’s hair, offering them an embrace.

Hange pulled Levi by the elbow, pointing to the new people. “Meet my roommates and college friends, Onyankopon and Pieck!”

“Hi,” Levi said, uncertain as to what else he could affix his terse greeting with. Hange resolved that predicament for him, going into further details about their friends.

“Onyankopon is a researcher and engineer! I can’t tell you the technical specifics of what he does, though, I always get them wrong. Oh, and he’s religious, but he won’t try to convert you.” Onyankopon nodded, affirming Hange’s unflattering introduction.

“Pieck… Pieck is a gardener, florist, and avid gamer! That’s why she’s always bent over, whether it’s tending to her plants or her high score in front of the monitor.”

“It’s not why I need the crutches though,” Pieck said. Hange squeezed her shoulders in response.

“Seems like my friends are all nerdy. Maybe that’s why I like them?” A sheepish smile graced Hange’s lips.

Onyankopon gestured towards Hange, imitating their dramatic flourish. “And this is Hange Zoe, the nerdiest of them all. Obsessed with words. Recently obsessed with science fiction. They’re always reading or writing, and once they start on something, their butt doesn’t leave the chair.”

Levi’s eyes flitted around the apartment—it was relatively tidy, with a couple of framed photos and artworks. A blanket on the couch made it homely enough. His inspection didn’t miss Hange’s notice.

“Like what you see?”

“It’s neat,” he replied.

“That’s a compliment!” Hange took care to disclose this to their two friends.

“All your previous partners don’t take off their shoes, Hange. I hope he isn’t one of those.” Pieck said, using their crutch to relocate Hange’s haphazard shoes to a corner, flipping them the right side up. Levi liked her already.

“That’s gross,” Levi said apathetically, wiping away the horrifying image of dirt-smeared carpets and tiles creeping into his consciousness.

“He’s very clean, don’t worry,” Hange said easily. “Some might even say it’s his obsession.”

“I’m the cleaner at the university.” Onyankopon and Pieck turned towards Hange with patented disapproval.

“Levi, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“I think we’ll make good friends,” Pieck said, bemused.

Hange beamed at Levi. “You’ll love Pieck! She’s really quiet most of the time, just like you. Not to mention she pretends that she hates me. Just like you.”

“Good to know,” Levi said, enjoying the banter a bit too much.

“Hange says she’s going to get you to draw me, as a titan,” Pieck said, evidently sceptical.

“What’s a titan?”

“The giant, naked people I told you about, Levi! They’re called titans!”

“Why are they called titans?”

Hange landed on the sofa with a plop, patting the seat beside them for Levi to sit. “In Greek mythology, titans are immortal giant gods who were banished to the underground.”

Levi, who had little knowledge of Greek mythology, made a mental note to search for references online.

“Therefore, the titans are kind of like vengeful giant gods from the underground who have come to earth to wreak havoc on what the gods have built, which is human civilisation, basically.”

“Basically, I am wonderful enough to be titan-material,” Pieck drawled, propping their crutch at the side of the couch, sliding onto the cushions.

“A special titan that walks on all fours! Um, that’s the plan for now,” Hange said brightly.

Onyankopon, who had been content with listening, clapped his hands together in sudden realisation. “Hange, now that you’re finally home, you can take a shower.”

“I should, right?” Hange scratched their head, feeling the slickness of unwashed neglect.

Levi crinkled his nose as Hange reluctantly made their way to the bathroom. “That’s disgusting.”

“And here you are, still.” Pieck’s amiable statement prickled at his skin like a light warning before impending exposure.

“Hange must really want to make a good impression if they’re showering now,” Onyankopon said, chuckling to himself.

“It’s good to finally meet you.” Onyankopon pushed a newly made cup of tea towards Levi, with the steady confidence that could only come from having known prior that it was the beverage that Levi would desire. “Make yourself at home.”

Levi said his thanks, to the hospitality of two people he scarcely knew, and to Hange, who likely told them about the tea.

Cold water blasted them in the face, as Hange became cognizant of the necessity of showering more regularly. It wasn’t like they thrived in the dirt. Hypothetically, showering wasn’t that troublesome. The shower kept forgetting itself until it was three days later and Hange stank with regret and mild self-loathing. Still, the shower felt good, giving them new clarity about the fact that they had invited Levi into their inner social circle. How would he fare? Would he be uncomfortable? Hange massaged shampoo into their hair, recalling their conversation with Pieck and Onyankopon.

After much elaboration on adapting to a new university, their visits to an amazing bakery, and the fostering of daily encounters with new friends, Pieck had caught on that every other sentence from Hange contained a sliver of Levi-sized anecdotes. The new university was so much bigger than the one Pieck, Onyankopon, and Hange had attended together; it stretched endlessly, and Hange estimated that Levi would have walked 393700.7874 steps to clean just the faculty building. The bakery near the university was fragrant, its selection marvellous, and choosing a new bread for Levi every day was a tremendously delightful task. Moreover, Hange had met so many unique characters since getting to know the people in their faculty, people like Levi whose abhorrence for social etiquette was admirable, and with whom she was eager to share their mornings and lunches. Together with Erwin, of course.

Pieck let out a tinkle of a laugh at Hange’s obliviousness. “Why are you friends with Levi?”

Thinking hard, Hange answered, “I don’t know if he thinks of us as friends.”

“Well, friendship status aside, how’s he like?”

“He’s kind. He doesn’t sound like it, but he’s kind.”

“That’s nice. How’s he kind?”

Confusion coloured Hange’s usual confidence. “Hmm. It’s gut-feeling, I guess.”

“That’s unlike you, to rely solely on instincts,” Onyankopon said, stroking his chin. Hange was a person with an abundance of rationale, a reason for everything, with justification for any ideas. Their reasoning this time fell flat.

Pieck prodded on. “You said that he doesn’t sound kind. Then what does he sound like?”

“Grumpy, sarcastic, serious. He looks like he’s annoyed with everyone. Most people find him scary, I suppose? It’s like he wants people to think he’s an asshole.”

Pieck perked up. “Oh, so you’ve become enamoured with broody, misunderstood people who’re rough around the edges?”

“Pieck, come on, I’m not writing my own romantic trope! I don’t know… he’s a good person. I can tell. He doesn’t say much though.”

“You’re a mind-reader now?”

Hange ignored her. “His art… it’s so evocative. Melancholic. Hopeful. Angry.”

“What was the artwork you last saw of his?”

“A cat,” Hange said immediately.

Onyankopon brought Hange back to reality. “What about him? What do you like about him? Not his art.”

Hange pursed their lips. “Do good people need to prove themselves to show that they’re good?”

“There could be reasons as to why you’re so adamant about his golden character,” Onyankopon said.

“He’s reliable. And his shit jokes aren’t so bad once you get used to it.” Hange surprised themselves with that comment—Levi’s relentless toilet humour was infecting their brain. The corrosive force of the word “shitty” had already moulded itself permanently into their vocabulary.

Gazing up at the ceiling, Hange bent their arms behind their head. “It’s hard to find people to truly get along with.”

Onyankopon and Pieck shared a knowing look.

With their eyes trained to the white ceiling plaster, Hange mumbled on, “it would be nice if he’d talk more openly about what he’s feeling. It’s all guesswork and I’m afraid I’m constantly reading him wrong.”

“Maybe you should take your own advice…” Onyankopon said gently.

“But I do talk about my feelings!”

“Monologuing in your room and reposting vague lines of poetry and sending us memes to cope with your avoidance is not the same as talking about your feelings,” Pieck said, spending the subsequently long moment of silence to snip off a yellowed leaf from the potted Monstera deliciosa next to the kitchen counter.

“Wow.” Hange, for once, had nothing to muster.

Onyankopon’s approach was less incisive than Pieck’s. “You know, I don’t think you need a reason to be friends with someone. If he’s making you happy, I think it’s a good sign.”

“Thanks, Onyankopon,” Hange said gratefully.

“But Pieck’s right about you being deliberately evasive with your own emotions. Introspection shouldn’t be so strenuous, right? Don’t you write about your characters’ internal turmoil often?”

“It’s different when you’re reflecting for yourself,” Hange contended.

“We’ll see how Levi’s like anyway, when we meet him,” Pieck said, grabbing the scissors, going towards another deadened leaf.

“Don’t bully him!”

Another snip. Another leaf fell. “Isn’t he supposed to be scary?”

Hange smiled wryly. “But you two are scarier.”

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anoutlandishfanfic · 4 years ago

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Metamorphosis Chapter 27: Nesting

Huzzah!! I’m so excited to finally bring you Chapter 27!! You can catch up on where we left off in Ch26 HERE (since its been awhile), or head on over to the master list. Metamorphosis is also up to date at AO3!

The Premise: What if Claire had conceived on her wedding night with Jamie? How would that change the plot points we all know and love?

Ch27 fits in the Season One finale episode of the show, or towards the end of the book timeline. Claire and Jamie have OFFICIALLY left Scotland’s shores and are on their way to safety in France!

Claire. Midday, February 21st, 1744; Somewhere in the English Channel

I shifted cautiously on the outrageously uncomfortable crate my husband had deposited me on, trying not to make any noise, but it creaked and groaned just as much as my aching joints were at present — tattling my discomfort to Jamie, who I swore had batlike hearing.

“I have the bucket jus’ here,” Jamie commented cautiously from somewhere behind me, alluding to the fact that I had absolutely nothing left in my stomach after several bouts with the receptacle.

“Do ye need it again?”

“No,” I bit out as the muscles in my lower back spasmed, a band tightening around my waist with an increasingly bothersome intensity.

What I needed was to move around… to be able to stretch my stiff limbs and appease my offended muscles. I voiced this suggestion — a slow turn about the room with assistance — and a sudden, Scottish noise of amused non-committance sounded from my left.

Snapping my head in Murtagh’s direction, I found him bracing his weight casually against a post, one arm raised as he held onto a beam just above his head. The ship heaved just then and I could see the tendons in his wrist tighten as he steadied himself.

He caught my gaze and lifted brow as if to say ye’d fall on yer arse in a moment, lass.

I sighed, abandoning his support and craned my neck in search of my husband. The room was dim and stacked high with crates and bundles, easy enough to lose track of a bored yet always curious Jamie.

He’d made no comment in support or negation of my request, but was currently choosing to remain out of sight.

“What are you up to over there, anyway?” I eventually huffed when it became clear that neither of them had any intention of helping me.

“Ach, tis nothin’,” he tried to dismiss my attention, which piqued Murtagh’s in turn and drew the older man to his side like a magnet.

“Just a wee bit of putterin’ to pass the time is all.”

An amused sound of delight came from the elder of my two companions and I heard him slap Jamie on the back… hard.

Making no effort to hide my amusement, I heard my husband begin to protest the joyful abuse befallen him but his words were interrupted by Murtagh’s enthusiastic, “Now how’d ye manage that, ye wee fiend?!”

There was an exchange of heated Gaelic conversation — so overlapped that I was confident I’d have a hard time following even if they were speaking English — and then I quite suddenly found myself being lifted by my elbows and carted off to the other side of the room!

I objected strongly as my hips screamed in protest at their pace and was about to dig my heels in and balk completely when we came to a screeching halt before what looked remarkably like a bed.

“How the bloody fucking hell—“ my voice broke and I stared down at my husband’s miracle in disbelief, then turned to look up at him in awe.

“God, I love you, James Fraser.”

Murtagh cackled with glee at this and Jamie bent his head to kiss me in support of my declaration. I expected a quick peck on the cheek or a rather brief smooch on the lips — we didn’t exactly have the room to ourselves — but was taken aback by a kiss that made a thrumming warmth begin to grow between my legs. The heat spread across my hips and up my spine, loosening my muscles and made me feel quite suddenly completely and utterly exhausted.

I sighed as he pulled away, inquiring, “When can I crawl in?”

“Now if ye like,” one shoulder rose in a shrug and Jamie explained his construction plans. “That is, if ye dinna mind us building a wee fence around ye.”

“A fence?” I stared up at him incredulously.

“Oh, aye!” This came from Murtagh. “We canna have ye rollin’ aboot, now can we?”

Jamie caught the glare that his godfather missed entirely — being that he stood between the two of us — and bit his lip in a failed effort not to betray the mirth that clearly bubbled up inside him.

“Think of it more as a wee nest than a paddock, Sassenach,” he chose his words more carefully, then realized he quite liked them and patted my arm rather patronizingly. “A wee nest for my mother hennie, aye?”

“As long as I’m not a wallowing sow,” I grumbled, making Jamie choke in an effort to conceal a laugh.

This assuaged me a good deal and I felt myself smile a bit as I prodded him in the ribs, “Are you going to help me with my shoes or am I to track mud all over your beautiful nest?”

Jamie perched me on a nearby crate and knelt to shed me of my shoes. There wasn’t much to the flimsy things and what they were composed of was now completely sodden in mud and sea water that they all but fell off my feet with his guidance. He set them neatly aside and began to rub my aching feet, bringing warmth and a rush of blood back into the extremities with a burning pins and needles sensation.

I winced and his face contorted in contrition.

“Christ, I’m sorry, a leannan,” he crooned, keeping up his blessed work. “Ye deserve a proper bed and a fire ragin’ in the hearth… no’ this lumpy mess wi’ barely even a plaid to keep ye warm.”

Reaching out my hand, I brushed the curls from his brow and cupped his cheek in my palm, “You know I’m not above sleeping on the ground.”

Though I thanked my lucky stars it wouldn’t come to that just now.

“And I have you to keep me warm,” I nudged him with my toe, making Murtagh cough behind me.

Jamie gave him a look, but his gaze softened as it returned to me, “Aye, well, I only wish I could give ye more.”

My hand moved to the place where one of the baby's heels pressed sharply against my side and I reached for him. His hand moved to mine, slipping beneath it to feel the life within.

“You’ve given me more than I could ever dream,” I whispered hoarsely.

…

Jamie.

“Lay with me?”

The flicker of uncertainty in Claire’s eyes cut me to the quick.

Did she really think I wouldn’t?

Nodding, I made quick work of my own filthy shoon and dropped them beside the entrance to the cove of safety Murtagh and I had built for her.

Her wee nest.

The thought warmed me and brought a smile to my lips as I gingerly crawled in beside my wife.

“Always, mo nighean donn,” I assured her, arranging the plaid around us both as I curved my form around hers.

It dawned on me in an instant that it wasn’t my presence she doubted… it was her ability to fall asleep. She looked dog tired and pale as any winter’s snow, but now that I had her in my arms, her restless spirit was made clear.

Claire shifted her hips, first this way then another, always finding it unsuitable and moving back… then tried adjusting her head and shoulders, first moving closer to me — I received a an accidental elbow to the ribs but didn’t comment — then away again, all without success until she was left completely spent and utterly exhausted.

I had loosened my arms around her, giving her full range of motion to seek the best position for sleep, but now that I knew this was an impossible task — I thought I might have a try.

Pulling her close without ceremony, I tucked her head neatly beneath my chin and curled my knees up to surround her completely. I felt the taut muscles of her back and shoulders begin to loosen against my chest as I twined my fingers between hers, our clasped hands resting gently atop the swell of our children.

A deep, shuddering sigh left her and I knew she’d not last much longer. I squeezed her hand gently, whispering, “I’ve got you, Sorcha… you can rest now, all is well.”

Another ripple of fatigue ran down her spine, her muscles slowly succumbing to the heavy weight of slumber and becoming limp. The vice grip on my forearm loosened, her head slipping back and resting fully against my arm. Her lips parted softly in that first sigh of sleep — in the way of hers that I found so irresistible — and I knew she’d not wake for anything save the second coming of Christ Himself.

I tucked a stray curl back into place behind her ear, brushing a kiss across her cheek, and settled myself more comfortably beside her.

My eyelids were growing heavier and heavier as I caught sight of my godfather. He’d positioned himself between us and the door, far enough away as to give us a measure of privacy but close enough to respond to a call for assistance at the drop of a hat. Everything about his rigid posture made me lose my resolve to stay alert beside my wife and sleep came crashing down around my ears.

It was a shallow, dreamless slumber — the sort where you know you mustn’t drift too far, should you need to be fully wakeful again — and I didn’t think I’d been out long before Claire began to stir in my arms.

She curled inwards, her knees tucking up tight against the swell of our children as a low groan escaped her lips.

The nightmare.

We were each cursed with our own nocturnal demons, but my wife found hers to manifest themselves in reoccurring dreams... the most prominent and prevalent being the one born in the depths of Crainsmuir’s Thieves Hole. It hadn’t stopped twisting and turning in these many months and I would be lying if I said my blood didn’t run cold when she’d tell me of the night’s latest development, sobbing into my chest as though both the bairns and I were truly gone.

“Shh, mo chridhe,” I murmured low, curving myself around her. “Tis but a dream… I’ve got ye.”

Her entire body tensed and her eyelids flickered, but she didn’t wake.

Sweeping away the curls from her brow, I gently brushed my finger along the curve of her cheek, intoning, “Ye’re safe, Sorcha.”

Claire’s eyes opened at her name, yet stared ahead unseeing. The muscles of her jaw worked as she clenched it tight and a short burst of air left her nose in a decided snort. Her hands moved restlessly, reaching for me but then drifting back to her stomach, only to roam up and down and nearly every direction at once.

I covered one hand with my own, twining my fingers through hers — not speaking again, but letting her know I was aware of her turmoil.

Her head snapped towards me at my touch, her eyes widening as wheezed, “Jamie!”

“Aye,” I shifted onto one elbow, bringing my face directly above hers as I hovered above her. “I’m right here… I’ve got you.”

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut again without comment.

Was she fully conscious?

“Claire?” I tested, gazing down at her in concern as her jaw clenched tight.

She didn’t open her eyes so much as a crack but let out a grumbled fuck from between persed lips. I dropped her hand, my own flying to her face. Her eyes did open then at my touch, ever so slightly, and she peered up at me in agony.

Something was terribly wrong.

“Talk to me, Claire,” I begged, my heart racing.

Shoving me away, she thumped the narrow space in front of her and groaned, “Move over here.”

I scrambled around her, careful not to jostle her from her current position but finding it near impossible to wedge myself between her knees and the wall of crates behind me. Somehow managing to accomplish it, I lay nose to nose with her and could now see her flushed face in startling clarity in our deeply shadowed cocoon.

Her breathing remained ragged, with drops of sweat gathering at her temples as she lay rigid in my arms.

“Tell me wha’ to do, mo nighean donn.”

“Make it stop,” her voice cracked, the jagged edge of her supplication knifing across my heart and flaying me wide before her.

My mind spun as my thumb caressed her cheek, wiping away the sudden dampness that I found there. Skimming my hand along her neck and down her spine, I found the fastenings of her skirts and had them free in a moment. I bunched them loosely around her, keeping her warm, but no longer restricting her. I moved to do the same for her stays, but found she’d already started the process.

Pulling the strings completely free, I flung the constricting thing to the side and took her face in my hands.

“A wee bit better?” I tentatively asked, knowing it was nothing compared to the turmoil inside her.

She didn’t respond, having instead retreated miles within herself in the time it took me to undress her, and I did the only thing I could think of to retrieve her.

Kissing her softly to begin with — not wanting to jar her and giving her full opportunity to refuse me — I cupped her cheek in my palm. She shifted, seeking more of me, and I grew more confident in my ministrations.

I slid my fingers into her hair and slowly gathered each pin, intently undoing the neatly coiffed style she’d worked so hard on this morn as I worked to rid the tension from her body. Setting my bounty aside, my hands traveled back down to her hips, digging my thumbs into the muscles that I knew continually plagued her.

A moan bubbled up from deep within her and I knew I was moving in the right direction.

“Aye, tha’s the way,” I crooned as her arms slipped around my neck, her nose nuzzling my cheek.

“Damn it, Jamie,” she sobbed against me. “It hurts.”

I didn’t comment, but nodded and kissed her again, keeping my hands moving as well. A shudder ran down her spine as she nearly swallowed me whole, finding suddenly a respite — an ability to draw from me that which she needed.

And I was only too eager to give it.

Slowly, ever so slowly, her arms loosened around my neck...the taut muscles beneath my fingertips became lax and Claire became limp once more in my arms.

“A dhia, mo chridhe,” I sighed, my lips moving against her neck, “ye scared the life near out of me.”

I felt her groan, her voice dry as she quipped, “Well, it was no picnic for me either, you bloody Scot.”

A measure of relief washed over me, hearing her vocal jab, but reality still hung heavy in the air.

“Tha’ was different, Sorcha,” I whispered hoarsely, my good fingers splaying wide across the curve of her children. “The other pains ye had at the Abbey… they were’na like that.”

Her grip on my arm tightened as she tipped her head back, needing to see my face as much as I needed to see hers. Lifting one hand to my face, her fingers deftly traced my cheek bone, her eyes gazing deep into mine. They were now free from the fog of pain, but instead of clarity, I found agonized turmoil.

I covered her hand with my own, curling my fingers around it as I turned my face to place a kiss in her palm.

…

Claire.

How I longed to close my eyes and slip back into that blessed, deep slumber in my husband’s arms… but every inch of me was now wide awake, whether I liked it or not.

I was now having bonafide contractions… whether I liked it or not.

Swallowing hard, I felt a shudder run down my spine and Jamie instinctively pulled me closer. I did close my eyes then, turning and burying my face in his neck as I hid from his gaze for a moment.

He knew — damn him — without me having to say it out loud. I was rather glad, for I wasn’t entirely sure I could say the word ‘labor’ aloud just now without dissolving into hysterics.

What the bloody hell are you going to do, Beauchamp? I mentally sighed against Jamie’s chest.

Was I really going to have to do this without a midwife? Twice? And while bobbing along in a dingy at sea?!

“Jamie?” my voice cracked, betraying my abject terror.

His hand traveled up my back, lifting to gently curve around the back of my head, “Mo chridhe?”

My mouth opened and shut like a floundering fish, no longer suffocating from the strength of my contraction but the size of my fear. A low rumble started up within him and I knew in an instant he’d heard my unspoken thoughts.

“Aye,” he acknowledged, softly kissed my brow. “But ye canna change things any more than I can make this ship sail faster… although, I’d get out and swim it to France if I thought t’would get ye there faster.”

I couldn't help but smile at that particular image and Jamie must have taken great comfort in it, for he continued.

“Tis my fault, ye ken… I should no’ have taken ye in such a manner last night.”

I snorted, finally moving to look at him once more, “If you recall, James Fraser, I brought you to that pool with the exact purpose of taking you in such a manner… so don’t you dare apologize for it.”

His shoulders began to shake in suppressed laughter and I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Care to share what’s so funny?” I poked him in the ribs.

“You are Sassenach,” he grinned, easily taking hold of both my hands to prevent future attacks and squeezed them gently. “Ye’ve never wanted me so badly… or so openly as ye did last night.”

“Oh,” I commented quite lamely, finding myself blushing for the first time in quite a while.

This made my husband laugh all the harder and I resorted to kicking him in the shins as he currently had possession of my hands.

“Will you help me sit up or are you just going to lie there and find humor in my depraved state?” I quipped, raising a brow.

Jamie eagerly agreed to this and dropped my hands, easily moving himself into a seated position before guiding me into the same. I sat beside him, swaying slightly, and realized a half a moment later that we were completely alone in the captain’s quarters.

“Where’s Murtagh?” an uneasy feeling began to grow in the pit of my stomach as I asked.

“Tis nothin, Sassenach,” Jamie tried to reassure me, but it was clear that he wasn’t overly comfortable with his godfather’s absence either. “Jus checkin’ in wi’ the Captain is all… he’ll ken how long til we reach Le Havre when he gets back.”

The urgent, persistent twinge started up again at the base of my spine and I swore under my breath.

“Too long,” I pronounced, reaching for Jamie’s arm and taking a firm hold of it.

He studied me for a moment, then nodded and took a deep breath.

“Then we’ll take it one step at a time… aye?” His hand covered mine, “Together.”

...

Murtagh. A Good Deal Later.

The door swung closed behind me with a solid bang, shutting out a snowy stramash unlike any I’d ever seen. The warmth of the Captain’s quarters rolled over me like the tumultuous sea outside its walls and I sagged against the door for a moment, letting it thaw my fingers and tip of my nose.

Hrmph, I snorted, wiping the dripping appendage on my sleeve and ridding myself of near an inch of snow and ice.

“Tis jus’ me,” I greeted, unable to see them from the room’s one and only entrance.

I heard movement and subdued voices, but no answer to my call. Frowning, I quickly navigated my way around boxes and crates until I reached them — and stopped dead in my tracks.

“Iffrin,” I muttered as I took in the pile of Claire’s discarded clothes and found her in nothing but her shift and Jamie’s plaid, clinging to him as if life itself depended on it.

Her time had come.

I raked a hand across my face and sank down onto the closest crate. It was lower to the floor than I thought, making it seem as though it weren’t there at all, and a wheezing oof left my lips as my hind end finally found it.

When I looked up, both Jamie and Claire were gazing at me with no small amount of amusement. I disregarded my godson’s jesting smile with ease and instead turned my attention to the young woman who had stolen both our hearts.

Her face was pale, with furrows etched deep in the usually smooth plane of her brow. The spark of amusement in her eyes was dwindling quickly and in its place grew a consuming agony that I couldn’t bear to see.

“Yer pains have begun, then, mo leannan?” I asked unnecessarily, my voice hitching at the endearment she’d earned in our time together.

Claire nodded, trying to give me her best attempt at a smile. It wobbled and faded as she pressed her forehead against Jamie’s, her eyes sliding shut as she commented hoarsely, “They seem to be in a hurry.”

My heart turned over, skipping a beat before clattering on again as I heard the Captain’s words echo in my mind.

We’ll be lucky to find Le Havre at all in this storm… twould be another day a’ least on fair seas, but now? Best be prayin tha’ my men dinna toss yer lady overboard to appease Neptune himself.

Jamie’s gaze found mine again, this time much more subdued, and asked, “What’d ye learn, then?”

I lifted one shoulder and tried to wave him off. It was nothing I wanted to share while Claire was in such a state.

“A goistidh?” he insisted, lifting a brow.

Taking his cue, I slipped into the Gaelic, telling him of my conversations with the Captain and his superstitious men. He took it about as well as I had, working to keep his frustrations in check as Claire seemed to regain some composure and alertness.

“I dinna think we’ll make it in time,” Jamie kept his voice even, but his unease was palpable. “We’ll have to help her deliver the bairns.”

While I’d expected as much, his second pronouncement took me completely by surprise and I burst, “We?! Ye canna be serious, lad! She needs a midwife, not a couple of numpties wi’ no idea what they’re about!”

Claire sighed heavily and I realized too late that I’d said that in English. I began to apologize, but she waved me off, interrupting me.

“You may have no idea what you’re about, my dear Murtagh,” she muttered, seeking a comfortable seated position, “but Jamie does because I’ve told him what will need doing… and you’ll listen to him and do as he says, is that clear?”

She’d stopped shifting to spear me with a look that had me agreeing in an instant.

The look of relief on her face was nearly my undoing and I assured her, “I’ll do whatever ye need, mo rùinean beag... I promise it.”

Claire reached out her hand to me and I plucked it up, brushing a kiss across her knuckles.

“I know you will,” she whispered hoarsely, squeezing my hand. “You always do.”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #Metamorphosis AU #chapter 27 #nesting

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haloud · 4 years ago

Text

an overture bold and beyond

for the Roswell New Mexico Big Bang (@rnmbb)

[AO3 link]

Jesse is dead, and Alex is left standing in the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions left behind by the events of Crashdown and the days leading up to it. With the dust settled, Alex and Michael pick through the debris--they've argued many times before, but the last one, in Michael's workshop, lingers over them, demanding...something, demanding to be seen, to be spoken, to be soothed. Through three conversations, they search for an understanding they've never found before, one that brings them closer together. (An episode 2x10 fix-it fic)

with art by @bisexualalienblast!

The shed is as it always was and at the same time something else entirely. Small and dusty, smelling of wood, at night it would throw weird, spiked shadows from the tools and trophies adorning the walls, but during the day the light is pale yellow and pleasant against the pine. Ten years of light and absence have faded the posters that still shroud the walls. The floor is clean and swept and no amount of scalded memory could make Alex recall exactly where the blood used to be.

Dad is dead, and that means there is a life’s worth of unloading and sorting and dispersing to do of the things he possessed and left a mark on, and Greg has done enough, which means it falls to Alex. And it’s only fitting that the shed go first.

Still, where to begin? Should he get a dumpster for the antlers or a box to collect the tools for donation? Should he be cold and unfeeling, or should he pore over the cracks of his soul and salvage some sentimentality, some silver lining for the toolbox that built his treehouse, or the low bench that served as his bed on the safe and hidden nights, or.

For so long, this tiny, old, unused building loomed so large in his mind it blotted out any light that could shine on anything else. And then, through sheer stubbornness, he told himself it was just a building with such intensity that now, here, with the boogeyman six feet deep for good, it’s shocking all over again to find out that he was right.

It’s just a building. There are cobwebs so thick one corner is entirely grayish-white. The windows are grimy; the floorboards creak. Alex stands in the middle with his hands in his pockets. Somehow, he always thought there would be more screaming, like the soft and sweet-smelling pine might have captured the echo. It’s almost as unsettling as seeing a ghost, to stand at the center of his nightmares and not be haunted at all.

Greg would have come out here with him if he’d asked—but he didn’t ask. Greg would have hovered, looked at him all full of concern, like he thought Alex was being some sort of martyr for tackling this alone. Hell, maybe Alex thought that too, just a bit. Maybe that’s why it’s so bizarre to stand here and be...fine.

He’s fine. He’s too fine. He’s so weirdly, blissfully, mind-numbingly fine.

No grief. No celebration. Just a fineness so complete and immaculate it could be mistaken for emptiness if his head were a little clearer.

Alex takes in a deep, woodsy breath and blows it out slowly, making dust motes scatter and dance.

He left the door open intentionally, to hear if Greg shouted for him, for a quick escape, just in case, for a breath of fresh air. When a shadow falls across it Alex freezes, braces for impact, until he jerks his head up and sees the reason.

“Hey,” Michael says. A smile flickers across his face and then it’s gone, and Alex breathes through the blow of it.

“Hey.”

A beat passes. Alex chews on the inside of his cheek. They’ve been alone together once since their fight, and that was a hostage situation.

“Maria made me bring food over. I gave it to Gregory. Seems to be holding up okay.”

Was that true? That Maria made him? Or was it a cover, a thin, defensive veneer protecting him from—well, if he was really just here on an errand of respectability at the behest of someone more respectable, he could have—it would have been easy, the easiest thing in the world, to leave the food and slip back out without Alex ever having even known he was there.

Yet here he is, having sought Alex out. Should Alex let himself hope that this means something, that everything they were building, all closeness and understanding, wasn’t set aflame and burned to ashes in a furious, impulsive whirlwind?

He’s here. It’s something.

Alex has been practicing, since that last night they were alone together, since the bunker. He had a lot of time to think and could only hum the melody he found for his song so many times. So he’s been practicing what he’d say next time he saw Michael, what he’d say to make it right. To stretch out an open hand and not snatch it back, to allow himself to be reached for and not snap at it, all teeth. It all feels like a ridiculous fantasy now, looking at Michael’s quiet, expressionless face. He’s never known what to say. Maybe he never will.

Clearing his throat, Alex says, “Yeah, he’s, uh, made his peace, I guess. Still, we’re keeping each other company for now. How’s Maria doing?”

“Hanging in there. If it wasn’t for Liz…” Michael swallows and glances away.

“Yeah,” Alex replies hoarsely. Yeah. If it wasn’t for Liz, Flint’s body count would be up by one, and it would be Alex’s fault. Should have secured him better. Should have made sure there wasn’t a second key. Should have warned Charlie instead of going out the back. Shouldn’t have been distracted by his father. Should do something to stop him from acting again. Disaster struck. Justice done. Should…

“Hey. Alex,” Michael says, and Alex snaps out of his head to see him hovering closer, concern all over his face.

“Just,” Alex waves his hand, waves him off. “Just thinking about where we’d be without Liz. Not a pretty picture.”

“Yeah.”

Michael retreats just a pace or two back to the door. For a moment, Alex jolts like he could stop him from leaving, but then Michael turns to talk again.

“And…how are you?”

“What?”

“I mean. I’m not sad the bastard’s dead, but.” Michael leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms. “I’m not gonna break out the champagne until I know it’s cool with you, I guess.”

“Ha. I…I think the feeling’s a little more ‘lazy Sunday’ than ‘wild party.’”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like…I can breathe easier now. I’m not ready to celebrate, I just want to drink it in, you know?”

“Sure. We can make it mimosas instead.”

At that, Alex laughs, a short and underused thing. He runs out of stamina quickly. Part of him aches to invite Michael in, to sit beside him on the bench and talk about all the things they aren’t saying. But how would Michael take that? Here, now? Alex needs more time to consider all the pieces on the board.

“And physically?” Michael steps back toward him, nearly pacing for the number of times he’s walked those three feet of floor. He touches his own forehead where Alex is cut in two jerky movements, one forward, one up. “No concussion or anything?”

Alex shakes his head. “Clean bill of health.”

“Good. That’s good.”

The awkwardness dances between them like the dust does, and Alex measures his breaths to keep calm. The light should make things easier; it couldn’t be more different from the dark underground of Michael’s workshop, but the tension between them is the same.

“You were right,” Alex blurts.

“I should go,” Michael blurts at the same time, and then the two of them are frozen again until Alex breaks the ice.

“No, don’t. Please. I didn’t get a chance to really say this when you found me, but I need to.”

Michael hesitates. Alex holds his breath. But then Michael sighs, shoulders lifting and falling, and nods.

Bracing himself, Alex continues.

“You were right.”

Michael makes another aborted noise of protest, but Alex barrels on.

“My father was lying and manipulating the way he always has, and I was so ready to think that he was defeated that I stopped trying to see through him. I wanted to be right so badly that I convinced myself I was, and I hurt you, and I could have hurt so many more people if Liz hadn’t been able to—if Isobel wasn’t there to hold off the fire—”

His voice falters and he closes his eyes, then forces them open. No hiding.

Michael works his jaw for a minute or so like he might respond, might get angry, but he takes so long to start talking Alex almost continues his speech.

But then Michael says, “You don’t have to do this. You’ve got no obligation to make me feel better or whatever. We both had a hand in making bombs this weekend, and I’m the one who knew what he was doing.”

“For me. You made a bomb for me.”

Michael levels him with a golden look.

“Yeah. I did.”

“To save me. And maybe I didn’t know what my father would use that piece for, but it was never going to be anything good. I just wanted answers, it didn’t have to be life or death. I’m—sorry.”

Alex hates apologies. Always has. After growing up the way he did, they always felt like a test, a test of his own commitment to forgiveness, to the value he chose for himself, the value his father never would have tried to beat into him. Or like an exertion of that same pressure on someone else, a desperate, pathetic cry for acceptance, for absolution.

And apologies were always particularly difficult between the two of them. Like each one granted might rip the bandage off all the old wounds that were never treated at all. But it was time, long past time, however, that they began to face these things.

Michael sucks in a breath and blows it back out in a huge sigh.

“Look,” he says. “It doesn’t make me feel any better to listen to you beat yourself up, okay? It’s not like you were entirely wrong; it’s not like I was making any strong effort to see things from your perspective. I…”

Michael flexes his left hand, then shoves it in his pocket, and another wave of guilt drags at Alex like quicksand. He can’t look away from that pocket even as Michael starts talking again.

“I still don’t understand. Why you would want him to change, why you would want anything from him after all this time and…everything. But there’s a lot I don’t get about family. And I probably would have told you giving up the piece was a bad idea no matter what, but I shouldn’t have to understand everything perfectly to listen when you’re telling me something’s important to you. I’ve been talking to Maria…” He pauses.

“It’s okay,” Alex prompts. It’s been months; there’s no point in pretending like what’s happening isn’t happening.

It would be easier if any of their endings felt like the end. If he could shake off the certainty of old habit that time would pass and gravity would bring them back together. Michael and Maria have a good thing. Alex is taking steps, trying new things. And yet…

Neither of them would ever say it. They’ll both push it to the back of their minds, paper over longing with something new.

Yet.

Michael says, “Maria isn’t sure if suppressing her powers her entire life is what she wants. And I feel like an asshole because we both know that I’m asking her to do something I might not be able to do myself in her shoes. So I’m trying to understand where she’s coming from, no matter how much it hurts. I’m putting in the work. In every part of my life, okay?”

Alex nods, not knowing what to say.

And Michael carries on, like he’s trying to lighten the mood. “Anyway, I figure I might at least try and earn those second chances you keep giving me, right?”

His tone is light and weightless, but it sends Alex’s heart plummeting into his stomach.

“What does that mean?” He asks, even though he already knows.

Michael shrugs. “Look, I should really get back to the hospital. Text me if anything comes up, okay?”

“Michael!”

“What, Alex?”

His voice spikes, then his lips press together in a harsh line, but Alex doesn’t wait for any attempt at an apology. No amount of yelling ever made him scared of Michael.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, “And it may be out of line for me to say this outright. But. You’re nothing like my father. Never have been. Giving you second chances—I mean, letting anyone make mistakes and work past them—it’s nothing you have to earn any more than, I mean, I have to earn them, which isn’t to say I don’t know I have things to work on—”

“Alex, stop.”

Michael mercy-kills his rambling, and Alex inhales deeply and bobs his head once in a nod, and Michael drops his eyes to the floor.

“Gonna tell you something I’ve never said to someone who wasn’t comatose, so, uh. Be honored, or something.”

Alex nods to tell him to go on, even if Michael can’t see it.

“Look, I know you know what it’s like to grow up under shitty circumstances, so I won’t waste your time getting into it, but. Growin’ up, and then even when I was older, in high school and after, all my relationships had always been…transactional. Except you never saw the price tag and you just had to guess.”

A soft noise escapes Alex’s mouth, and Michael glances up then lets his eyes slide away again. Alex doesn’t say a word to interrupt him. Alex is tense with a strange mix, gratitude and regret at how little he knew, how little he still knows, about how Michael the boy makes up Michael the man, and how little Michael knows in return. How much he still has to learn.

All he wants is for them to be in each other’s lives to keep that learning going. But how to say that in a way that isn’t begging Michael to be pinned down by him?

Michael continues, “That’s why I didn’t believe you at first when you said people could just be nice for no reason. You were the first person who showed me there was another way, and then after you, I…stopped believing in it again. Partially ‘cause I knew I’d fucked up with you, so I didn’t deserve you anymore. That’s a kid’s way of thinking at it, but yeah. With Max and Iz, with Sanders, with Maria, and yeah, with you, trading favors is what I default to, and I’m trying to stop thinkin’ of it like that. I am. But trying to earn things, people, second chances...it’s the kind of habit that’s stubborn to break.”

“I’m trying, too.” Alex measures his breath again and wonders if Michael can tell he’s doing it, how obvious he is. Does he owe Michael at least as much vulnerability and courage as that took, or is that transactional thinking too? “I’m trying to remember that my morality isn’t always universal. I thought I was doing what was right, and in some ways I was, but I was acting in a world where everyone thinks exactly like myself, and that’s just not the real one.”

Michael stands up a little, then. His eyes sharpen. Alex doesn’t know what he’s going to say, so he keeps talking.

“I subsumed my moral compass in work, in mission for so long, that the second I started recapturing it…I lost sight of so many other things.”

“No. No, Alex,” Michael says firmly. Outside, the sun is beginning to set, the light deepening, the blurriness of early dusk. It smudges Michael’s edges; it softens him. It’s reminiscent of how he looks at dawn, a sight Alex may never see again, and his chest aches. And he aches for the fine, furious tremble, the certainty in that fixed jaw.

“Yes,” Alex disagrees. “Your faith in me is…” So many words are so loaded. Unearned? Undeserved? “It’s, um, an honor. But…I think I know who I am now. And I’m learning more every day.”

He winces as his own cheesiness, but Michael just softens, slouching back against the door, a flicker of a smile on his face.

The light is truly dying, now, and Alex looks around the shed. He didn’t get anything done he intended to tonight, but it can wait for another day.

He looks back at Michael and asks, “Is it hard for you? Being here again. I should have asked earlier, I…”

His voice dies off as Michael takes a step inside, looking all around himself before his eyes settle on Alex again. He’d stayed so close to the doorway and the open air the whole time they were talking. Inside, with the broad shoulders and strong hands that had been budding and awkward on his seventeen year old self, he takes up so much room there’s none left for the last of the ghosts.

“I’m okay,” Michael says. “He’s gone. Never gonna hurt me again. Never gonna hurt you again.”

“I know it’s just a building, but it seems like it should be more. It was the only place I felt safe, and then in one moment he tore that away. It’s hard to process that someone like that is just…gone. You know he used to tell us all about how his grandfather built this place with his own two hands? I just…”

Michael looks at him, then, and it’s the same like the shed is the same. Ten years of safety, ten years of hiding and neglect. He looks at him like he always has, the careful, creative study of men who named constellations.

He has a hammer in his hands. He holds it out to Alex handle-first.

“Yeah. This place sucks.”

Michael looks like shit. His eyes are ringed with purple shadows, both from sitting by Maria’s bed and from the sleepless nights present and future, his hair rough from where he’s been running his hands through it. Isobel rests a hand in the crook of his arm, close enough to him that he can physically feel her comfort. If it were Alex, he’d chafe at the pity, but at the same time he’d do anything to be in Isobel’s place, to be allowed that closeness, to be that part of Michael’s life where he knew how to provide any comfort but silent presence.

Isobel, however, doesn’t stick around long after they read Tripp’s journal, leaving them with a tousle of Michael’s hair. They’re left to the bustle of a busy diner, but the world seems to shrink all the same. Alex fiddles with the loose vinyl strings at the edge of the booth and searches for the right thing to say.

“So do you think they were? Cosmic?” He asks, watching the cover of the journal like it could tell him anything more than it already has.

“Does it matter? They’re both dead.”

“I. Yeah. They are,” Alex says, then leans back in the booth and lets out a carefully measured sigh, working his fingertips into the muscle of his right thigh, hoping to ease the persistent ache.

His head hurts, too, and he closes his eyes to give himself a break from the pressure and strain behind them. It blots out the journal in front of him. It blots out Michael’s weary, troubled face; it blots out his strong, whole hands folded on the table.

Tripp must have closed his eyes too. For decades, as the woman he loved was tortured and imprisoned and experimented on and left to die, to die in front of her son’s screaming eyes as Alex held him back from joining her.

When he opens his eyes again, he almost expects Michael to be gone, but he isn’t.

“How are you holding up?” Alex asks, tentatively. His hand inches across the tabletop like he might take Michael’s, soothe him where he’s begun picking at the skin around his nails, but he forces it back before Michael even notices his approach.

“Fine. I’m…ha.” Michael shakes his head. “Gotta be fine, right? Been here before.”

“Michael…”

“It’s true.”

“I know.”

Alex doesn’t apologize. It wouldn’t mean anything anyway, not here and now with all that’s gone between them. Michael’s eyes flicker up to him as if checking his reaction; his shoulders curl inward, making himself small.

“Don’t know why I thought this time would be different. But now I know, I guess. Common denominator. Should’ve already known, but I’m a dumbass like that.”

“No, you’re not, you’re—”

Michael ruthlessly cuts him off. “Shouldn’t you be asking how Maria is, anyway? I thought you were her friend.”

Alex blinks at him, cocks his head. But it doesn’t take a genius, or an expert in Michael Guerin, to see that for the deflection that it is.

He has been to the hospital to see Maria, plenty of times. It’s basically only hospitalization that’s kept him from bringing it up, from asking what she’s thinking. Michael and he are here, now, only feet between them once again like the feet between them in the tiny shed as they tore it down around them. No closer. Alex wants to get closer, but denial is the reliable companion comfort is not. So Alex focuses on his body and filling it, staying within it, staying present, while Michael bleeds the love of two people and ten years and one into the space between them, walking wounded.

“I am, but I’m your friend too. And to hear her tell it, she’s the one who broke up with you. So I think my priorities are okay for now.”

“Oh, we’re friends now, are we?”

That one hurts, but Alex just shrugs. It’s true that friends might not be the right word for what they are to each other. What they are has to be a word that doesn’t quite exist, at least not in the only language either of them knows how to speak. If Alex lingers too long on the potential of the languages either of them could know if it weren’t for the confluence of violence and neglect, he would be lost.

Michael flattens his palms and leans over. “Nothing to say? Really?”

Alex replies, “I don’t want to fight again.”

“Why?” Michael snaps. “Because you don’t want anything from me right now?”

At that, Alex can’t help but flinch, muscles locked up and frozen like a wolf inches from the teeth of a trap, and Michael flinches as well.

“I—I didn’t mean that. I—” Michael shakes his head. His face twists into something awful, something grieving, something inward. He rocks back, muted colors all but disappearing against the bright vinyl cushion behind him. God, Alex just wants to touch him. A hand on his shoulder, a hand on his hand. It’s the only way they’ve ever been able to communicate. But just because it’s familiar doesn’t mean it’s enough.

“No, you’re right,” Alex reassures. “You’re right. In your lab, I was wrong to come at you like that, and not just that, I was completely out of line not taking no for an answer—”

“No, Alex, no. You might have been wrong about your father changing, but we already talked about this, and I should—I should be able to control myself by now.”

A prickle of unease trickles cold across the back of Alex’s neck. He lowers his voice, though it’s probably too late to prevent any eavesdropping. “What do you mean? Control yourself? Michael, you’re one of the most controlled people I know. I hate that you’ve had to be, but from what you’ve said, the control you have over your powers is amazing. Admirable.”

Michael barks out a dry laugh. “My powers. But it’s more than that, it’s always been. You know that better than anyone; you said it yourself, and you were right. Fucking wasting my life, right? And now here I am, wasting this chance to be there for you because I can’t just get over some hurt feelings.”

There for him. Michael is the one with the freshly broken heart, and he’s coming down on himself for not comforting Alex about the death of a great-uncle he never met, a great-uncle who abandoned his mother when she needed him. A great-uncle who should have died somewhere his brother never could have buried him on family land, should have died where he stood, like Alex would, like Alex would if it was Michael, if it was his—

Alex shakes his head frantically at that, at Michael’s cold shutting down of his own pain as just hurt feelings. What a screw-up. Michael isn’t perfect either, but Alex was never taught to pull punches, neither with fists nor with words.

“Michael, do you want to know why I said those things to you last time we fought?”

“Because I wasn’t listening! ‘Cause you were pissed at me, I don’t know—”

“Because the change in my father had me confused and scared, and I was floundering for control.”

Michael opens his mouth, eyebrows scrunching together like he’s ready to argue, but Alex barrels on, staring straight into Michael’s eyes, knowing in his core that Michael isn’t going to look away from him.

“I thought that piece could be leveraged against him, and I didn’t care how you felt about it. I was hurting, and I took it out on you because you were an easy target. A safe target. I know in every part of my being that you would never hurt me.”

“No!” Michael protests.

“So when I tell you some garbage about you not deserving my faith in you, it’s gospel, but when I tell you I was wrong, it’s too much?” Alex demands.

To that, Michael has no answer. His mouth falls open, but nothing comes out, so it snaps shut again and he shakes his head.

“I’m the last person who’s gonna get on your case for not watching your mouth when you’re pissed,” he says with a casual shrug.

The ache in Alex’s thigh has radiated all the way up into his hips and lower back. In the kitchen, something clatters to the ground, the sound bringing the setting back in harsh relief, the very public diner loud and living all around them. Michael takes notice too, leaning back self-consciously, pulling his jacket tighter around himself.

Alex doesn’t know how to argue anymore; he knows he doesn’t want to. He can’t undo a lifetime of evidence built up inside Michael that he’s worthless with a few pretty words, no more than Michael could do for him over ten years. Trying is how they got here, at least in part. A good strategist knows when to retreat and try again another day.

Michael hasn’t said anything more, hasn’t probed farther for a fight, so sensing they’re done here, Alex takes the journal from the table to put it in his jacket pocket. But when his fingers touch leather something about the sensation makes him stop.

“Do…do you want to take it? I mean, he wrote about your mom, I…” He swallows, and continues, “I can’t give any part of her back to you, but if it gives you any comfort at all to read about her…”

“He was your ancestor. A Manes man. One who wasn’t a bloodthirsty bag of dicks. You should give it back to Maria or keep it if she doesn’t want it,” Michael says gruffly.

Not bloodthirsty, perhaps, but Alex is less sure that he was any sort of hero or any sort of comfort to Alex now. Tripp’s dog tags hang around his neck, warmed to the temperature of his skin but still palpably there, the feeling strange in a way his own never were. A reminder of what can happen if you believe in something but fail to act upon it.

“Yeah, it belongs to the Delucas. I wish Patricia had gotten to read it. I don’t know why Tripp didn’t...”

“And we never will. I’ll leave returning it to you. Can’t imagine Maria’s eager to see me at the moment.”

“You might be surprised.”

Michael just shrugs again and slides out of the booth, shoving his hands in his pockets when he stands.

Alex does a calculus at this point grown familiar, of whether he should nurse his drink for a little while longer so Michael doesn’t see how hard it is for him to stand, how painful to walk. So Michael doesn’t see him as weak. So they don’t have to have the awkward moment where Michael drives off while Alex calls an Uber or something because he walked here from the coffeeshop when Michael and Isobel texted him and now he can’t make the return trip. So—

“I got street parking,” Michael says.

“What?”

“My car’s right outside. Let me give you a lift home? We can stop by and grab whatever you need from your car and I’ll come back and get it, give it a tow or something.”

His eyes flick to Alex’s, briefly, then dance away. He doesn’t say it out loud, that he’s been able to notice that Alex is hurting.

“Or you can call Greg or Forrest or Kyle or something and I’ll get out of your hair,” he continues. “I know you don’t need my help—”

Alex grabs his wrist. He gets half cuff, half skin.

“Michael. I’d appreciate it, actually.”

The smile he gets is a half-bitten thing, brighter than the sun itself.

The sun sets in their eyes as they turn onto Alex’s street, and after ten minutes of silence, Michael speaks.

“I was out of line, spoiling for a fight with you back there. I won’t do it again.”

Alex doesn’t need to look at him to know that he’s golden, pure gold.

“We’re both on the remedial track for emotions and handling conflict. I understand, Michael.” He curls his fingers around the truck’s bench seat like he did when he was seventeen and they couldn’t hold hands in public. He can almost imagine there are grooves there that fit just him. “It isn’t second chances, or third, or fourth. It’s proof we’re learning how to make mistakes without ending the whole world over it.”

If he stole some of that from his therapist, so be it.

Michael’s voice is a little thick when he replies.

“That...that sounds pretty good to me.”

When they pull up to Alex’s driveway, he doesn’t get out right away, though he picks up his crutch and settles it over his lap, partially for a quick escape if he loses his nerve, partially for something to do with his hands.

Alex watches the lavender-gold sky and says, “It’s okay, you know. To be angry. I know I said the opposite, before, but…” he swallows harshly. “But it was hypocritical, and I regret it, and.” Horribly, tears prick at his eyes, but he has to get through this. “You deserve to feel safe. I don’t want to make you feel unsafe, ever. I walk around saying I’m doing the opposite like I deserve some kind of medal, but then I attack you, and I put you in danger—”

He chances a glance Michael’s way, only for the crack in his heart to widen at his hunched, defensive posture, curled around the steering wheel like it’s a shield to protect him where he’s most vulnerable.

Michael says, “You were the first person. The only person. Who ever made me feel safe. Who ever cared enough to make sure I had a place to go even if I didn’t trust you or if I pushed back on it. Who didn’t ask anything in return. We share a lot of the same pain from those days. But I don’t know if you know what that meant to me. I don’t know if you know how fucking hard it is for me to hear you talk like this now. I don’t know what you want from me.”

Horror creeps in at the edges of Alex’s vision. His lips are numb, but they still form, “Michael, you...you haven’t thought that you owe me for that for all these years, right? Please, please tell me you haven’t…”

“No! God, no.”

Michael looks at him, the sunlight turning his eyes to honey. His mouth is chapped, but it just makes Alex want to feel that roughness with his thumb, cup his jaw and feel the stubble against his fingertips.

Those instincts may never go away, but that doesn’t mean they have to suffer, even if they can never make being in love good for the both of them. A life where their jagged edges align in the way only they can for each other, where they find that perfect angle where nothing, nothing hurts at all when they sit beside each other...that’s all they need.

Michael turns away before he says anything more. The sun doesn’t turn, though, just limns his eyelashes in gold, casts his cheekbones in dramatic shadow, and Alex lets out a soft sigh from somewhere deep in his soul that Michael can be, from every angle, this unchanged.

“I don’t want to owe anyone anything. I’m tired of it,” Michael says, voice low and rough. “And I found out recently that some people in my life I thought I was racking up debt to I’d die without repaying had wiped my slate clean long ago. I can be wrong about stuff sometimes. I’m pretty smart, but I’m a big boy.”

He flashes a quick morning-mist smile, eyes quirking sideways to look at Alex as he does it, and Alex smiles back, shoulders dropping as some tension leaves him. Michael’s eyes flick down and away before he speaks again.

“But where do we go from here? You and me, I mean. We keep tripping over ourselves to make up for the last fight out of too many to count in our lives, but there’s gonna be an after, too. What’s that look like for us?”

Alex rests his hand on the bench seat between them, just so it’s there, in case Michael wants to take it. And Michael glances down, and the apple of his throat bobs, but his hand doesn’t inch any closer.

That’s okay.

“Do you want to come inside?” Alex asks.

“Huh?”

“Friends hang out, right? No starting over. Let’s start from right here. Still got a guitar you can use, if you’re into that. Or we can crack open some beers and watch Netflix or something. Anything you want.”

Michael faces him for real for the first time, his generous mouth parted in shock, but then his face goes soft.

“Sure, yeah. I’d like that.”

Alex meets Michael’s eyes from across a crowded room. His cultural knowledge suffered significantly while he was active duty, but throughout his life he’s watched enough rom-coms curled up on the carpet with Liz, Rosa, and Maria to know how that’s supposed to feel, and to know now that the movies never did the feeling justice. Michael slowly removes his hat, and Alex’s heart swells so much he can hardly stand it.

And then Michael is gone, somewhere and sometime before Alex has lanced himself of all the words that have built up inside his skull, pounding against his temples, spilling out his eyes and ears and mouth. Only Isobel remains, and she gives him a sympathetic look and two thumbs up, whatever that means.

Well, not just Isobel. Greg is here, and Forrest, and some coworkers Alex turned Maria’s way to keep traffic up at the bar. But the space Michael left is vast and empty, and for all Alex didn’t ask him to come, it hurts a little like rejection would have hurt if he had asked and Michael told him no or hated the song.

At least he can hope that Michael heard something of what he’s trying to say and will carry that with him, whatever happens next.

The song ends. His fingers stutter and linger over the keys; the spell shatters around him and the world rushes back in with applause. Forrest beams at him from the front row, and he smiles back a little awkwardly. Being so vulnerable so publicly…not really his thing. But maybe not all bad, not when it brings tears to his brother’s eyes and he kisses a man in the open, his father’s voice drowned out by ivories and drunkards and his own heartbeat echoing off his bones.

Forrest squeezes his hips and smiles up at him as the next person takes the stage and the night goes on around them. “I’m proud of you,” he says, just for the two of them to hear. “How do you feel?”

“I feel…good.”

He does. He does feel good, in a way that’s refreshingly distinct from the haze of okay he’s been drifting in for weeks.

“Buy you a drink?” Forrest offers, raising his eyebrows, hooking his thumb back at the bar. Maria is still at home resting, so she isn’t there to support and/or lightly judge him.

“Uh…”

Say yes. He probably should, right? Just see what it’s like dating someone in the open. But would it be fair to use Forrest like that, as an experiment?

“…Can I take a rain check? This,” he gestures back at the stage, “Was kind of a lot for me, believe it or not, so I’m not in a chatty mood. Is that okay?”

Forrest’s smile doesn’t budge. “Okay, man, sure. See ya around.” And he heads to the bar alone.

Alex’s shoulders drop, feeling a little disappointed, feeling a little like he isn’t as disappointed as he should be. Hands in his pockets, he makes his way over to the door, only to stop short when he sees Kyle at a table in the back. Sheepishly, Kyle lifts his beer at him in a salute—but that isn’t an explanation, so Alex beelines for him anyway.

“I thought you hated this shit,” he says mildly, without preamble.

“Oh, I do. The second someone starts in on some amateur poetry, I’m out. But I was just being a dick earlier, and that’s not what I do these days so…”

“Apology accepted.”

Alex glances around before sliding in across from Kyle. It’ll get awkward if Forrest sees him, but oh well.

“Hell of a performance,” Kyle says, going to flag down a waiter until Alex stops him.

“I’m not sticking around for long. But, uh, thanks.”

Kyle takes another long pull of his beer, and Alex raises an eyebrow at him.

He says, “You know, if I was so bad you have to drink to forget, you can just say so. My delicate feelings have been through worse, actually.”

“Ha! No, it’s…” Kyle trails off, staring at his beer instead of anywhere near Alex. “Eh. It’s part of the deal, but sometimes it still sucks to get slapped with reality. No matter how much you change, the people you’ve hurt don’t have to forgive you.”

“I…”

“No, don’t apologize. I get it. I was a big part of the reason you never would have sung that song in this town without the people that support you now. It’s okay that you still hesitate sometimes about me. Just, you know,” he shrugs with a small smile. “Sometimes I’m gonna drink about it.”

Alex leans across the table. “Kyle. You’re a good man. And my friend. Okay?”

Kyle’s shoulders drop an inch or so, and his face shifts with a more genuine, soft smile. “Okay.” Then he turns serious again, and continues, “But you know it’s going to be the same for Flint, right? First, that you can’t redeem someone who has no remorse—I had to make my own choice to be a better guy, to live by a better code, and no one could have done that for me. Second, that even if he does make that choice, the people he’s hurt have no obligation to forgive him. Michael has no obligation to forgive him, and you can’t force him to. You have to make peace with that now, before you start down this road.”

“I know. But thank you, for the reminder.” Alex lets out a long breath. “I don’t know if I can forgive Flint. But he’s a part of my father’s legacy, too. I can’t undo all the harm, but if I can reduce any harm in the future, if I can even do that much…”

“I wish you luck. But, man, just...don’t try and bear too many other people’s sins, okay? You’re not responsible for what Flint does. You gotta look out for yourself, too, you know.”

“Thanks,” Alex says. What else is there to say? He might disagree with Kyle both on what makes someone responsible and also the degree to which he’s already acting in his own self-interest. A truly selfless person would focus on what’s already within control in order to do the most good, not on trying to control everything they could. But if Alex doesn’t know how to live with himself and his choices at this point, he’s already lost. There’s a certain comfort and strength in that.

“Any time,” Kyle replies, saluting him again.

Alex leaves the table and leaves Kyle to it, making for the door and for fresh air. He’ll go home and have a beer there, maybe. Look at his keyboard and think of other songs to write, now that he’s gotten Michael’s song out of his skull.

Like all songs won’t be about Michael, somehow, always.

That thought might have been depressing six months ago, six years ago, in the middle of all the missing they’ve done. But now Alex lets the nostalgia wash over him, welcomes it as an old friend. As a part of him, natural, not something that needs to be fixed or cut away. Every song is about Michael because Michael is a part of him. Nothing wrong with that, no matter how their relationship keeps changing, even if Alex never gets what he wants. He can live with that.

He steps out onto the Pony’s empty patio. Most likely everyone is either still inside watching other performers go on or has already left in disgust at the whole affair. The glow of the string bulbs softens the night, turns the bar into a welcoming place, an oasis of light, makes it hard to take that last step off the porch and into the parking lot. That’s probably the idea. Maria’s savvy like that.

According to Max, Michael helped her hang these a few years back, and somehow he always comes up with replacement bulbs when they’re needed, always knows just what the fix is. It’s so easy to imagine him up on a ladder, deft hands weaving the cords around the wooden lattice, winding a perfect web, not too bright or harsh, just right. Alex sighs, and if it’s overly wistful, well, that’s a secret between him and the night.

“Everything okay?”

Alex jerks around at that voice. He’s heard it from nowhere before, but this probably isn’t one of those times, and sure enough, Michael lifts his head to give Alex a look of concern, head tilted to the side. That dramatic black hat, along with his dark clothes and curled-in posture, it makes him blend into the background, no matter how large he looms in Alex’s eye. He’s always been good at diminishing, at blending. Alex wishes he’d never had to learn to do that.

Alex forces his shoulders to lower, forces a smile to his face. “Yeah, you just startled me. Didn’t think anyone was out here, and, um, I thought you left. During the song.”

The silence stretches too long, too awkward as Michael rolls his shoulders in a shrug, does a familiar old nervous gesture of taking off his hat, running his hand through his hair, and settling his hat back down. Alex spent two weeks trying to find the chords right for that memory, the quiet yearning it awakes in him.

“Yeah, I—I don’t know,” Michael says.

He doesn’t lean against the wall; he doesn’t fold his arms in front of him. He has nothing in his hands. Alex can’t remember the last time he saw him so without a shield, and it takes his breath away.

Michael continues, “I know I wasn’t invited. I mean, uh, I think you didn’t mind seeing me too much, if I can read your face half as well now as I used to, but I wanted to respect that.”

“I didn’t! I didn’t mind.”

Silence falls again. Alex should say something more, should explain himself, shouldn’t let Michael walk away from this thinking he wasn’t wanted.

He blurts, “I thought about inviting you, but I—well, you heard the song, and with things with Maria still so recent and up in the air, I didn’t want to put you in a tough spot. I understand.”

Michael smiles at him, a look so soft Alex can hardly stand it. He licks his lips as if to check if he can still feel, still taste Forrest there, like that might be some sort of reminder that there are other things in life than Michael. He feels nothing, tastes nothing—but how much of the way Michael has always lingered on his skin and on his senses has been psychosomatic all along, because of how much he wished Michael would stay? No one could ever compare. It’s wrong of him to even try.

“You could have asked,” Michael says. “Let me know what it was about. I would have been here. I would have come. I’m happy—proud of you. For doing that, in there. I hope it was everything you wanted it to be. The moment you needed.”

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t. I want to say I was doing it for me, but...it’s hard to tell. Something else I’m working on.” Alex shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets just for something to do with them. “It...it definitely meant something, though. I’m happy.”

“Then I’m happy, too.”

Alex shakes his head. “You don’t have to say that. You wanted so badly to be open with me, but I was never ready, and now that I am, it’s…” Too late. But he doesn’t say it, like filling the air with it might make it even more real than it already is.

“Alex. I lived in this town with your father for ten years. I got it. It hurt, and that hurt might have been screaming louder than the fear we both shared, but I did feel it too.”

The silence that follows has a hole in it where another apology might fit, but if they get started they’ll be here all night.

“Look, um,” Michael says, “Were you looking to get out of here or do you want to sit for a while? It’s a pretty nice night.”

What had previously been the truth—that the show had him feeling good but wanting privacy after willingly divesting it so dramatically—goes right up in smoke, and in its place is just the clean, simple desire to be in Michael’s company, close enough for their knees to brush under the small table, under the fairy lights, under the sky.

“I’m sorry,” Michael says. Alex sucks in a sharp breath.

He hadn’t expected the apology to actually reach the air. Hadn’t even wanted it to.

Alex has never liked apologies. What good is an apology? Greg used to apologize, sometimes, in hushed words when their father wasn’t listening. Flint and Clay never bothered, and Alex preferred it to empty words. Greg’s apology is easier to accept now, with the advantage of hindsight, coupled with action, but Alex doesn’t know how to react to Michael’s sorry.

Jesse Manes never apologized. Not for anything. And now he’s dead. Alex sits across from Michael. The slam of the Pony’s door as someone leaves, the slam of a car door as someone arrives, it all just sounds like hammers falling one after another.

How long did it take for Alex to stop flinching at the sound of military-issue boots approaching? At the shape a man’s shoulders made in uniform towering over him? At the snap and bark of a sergeant’s voice?

Michael’s shoulders are rounded. He always slouches so much.

Alex misses flinching, sometimes. He misses simple, unconditioned, weak prey instincts, universal signals of the vulnerable, of the frightened, so someone capable of comforting him might know how badly he’s in need of comforting—

“Alex?”

Michael’s hand rests in the middle of the small table, bare, his palm upturned like it’s just waiting for the weight of Alex’s hand to settle on top of it. It’s his left hand. Over ten years and one hundred hoarded golden hours, Alex loved the way that hand touched him, like it was all of Michael contained in one small limb. Hurt and hopeful, with a necessary tender lightness, with a shape that sometimes made his throat ache to look at it. Some days he couldn’t use it at all. But he never hid, never tried to cover that part of himself to make Alex comfortable. Maybe that’s why Alex reacted so poorly to the bandana he wore these past months. He made the mistake for so long of thinking that a baring of scars was the same as a baring of souls, and then he learned he was wrong. And then Michael’s scars were gone…

But the hurt still lingered.

Alex puts his hand in Michael’s.

“What are you sorry for?”

“Hearing you sing in there…you’ve got me thinking about how much time we missed. The part I played in all that, pushing you away time and again. Not trusting you, not talking to you.”

“We were just kids.”

“I know. Still. Kids hurt each other all the time, and worse than adults do, most of it. And I’ve done my fair share of that, too.”

Oh, Michael.

“The hurt kids do to each other, it’s not the same,” Alex says softly, as gently as he can muster. “I’m thirty years old. If I can’t look back and forgive the kids we were over the past ten years, what hope is there for me now?”

Michael shakes his head stubbornly. “I was old enough to know better. To be better. To use my words instead of just lashing out when I was hurt. Maybe you don’t remember some of the shit I said, when we used to fight over you leaving, but I do. If we’re turning over a new leaf now, sayin’ sorry just feels like the right thing to do.”

He makes himself look so small. The table forces the barest necessary space between them, but not so little Alex can gracefully lean across it to press their foreheads together, or to rest his hand against Michael’s heart, no matter how much he wants to, no matter how tightly he presses their hands together to make up for it. He wants to feel that heartbeat, let Michael feel his own, match themselves to the same vital rhythm.

But this is about new leaves, like Michael said. So Alex takes a deep breath and lets the words stretch and burn and breathe between them, strengthening the muscles that he let grow so weak for so long.

“Michael. Listen to me. When you were seventeen, homeless, and vulnerable in ways I couldn’t even comprehend, you threw yourself onto my rich, homophobic, military father to protect me. That takes more courage and goodness than it takes to throw yourself on a grenade. Trust me, I know.”

“But—”

Alex leans in, the table biting into his stomach, close enough now to feel Michael’s breath on his cheek and smell rain off the collar of his shirt. “I refuse to blame us—to blame you—for the way it broke us afterward. Okay? No more keeping score. We have the pieces—we can, maybe we can work together to put them back together. No matter what the final picture turns out to look like, even if it’s something completely different than we thought it would be at seventeen. Is that—would that be okay?”

Michael’s thumb passes over the back of Alex’s hand, a simple gesture that makes the hair stand up on his arms. All static, all electric. Alex aches, but it’s a good one.

“I don’t know if it’s too late for us. And you weren’t wrong when you said that things are still rough with Maria. It doesn’t even feel real that things could be over between me and her. And I saw the way Forrest Long looked at you.” Michael’s voice goes so soft Alex can hardly stand it. “If that’s something, you should let it be something.”

“I don’t know if it’s something. I don’t know if I want it to be.”

Alex’s words are distant even to his own ears.

Michael says, “That’s okay too. I’m just tired of pushing, tired of pulling. I want us both to be free, to, to just follow our hearts and see where we end up. I guess that’s my version of not keeping score. ‘Cause I know that you’re in here,” he puts his other hand over his heart, “No matter what our relationship is like. Fighting that just hurts us worse.”

Hope is such a painful thing. Michael told him that for years and years and Alex never quite believed him. But now that he’s asked to hold true to his own beliefs—that hope is necessary, that hope is a tool against yesterday, a compass pointed firmly in the direction of tomorrow—he wavers.

“It shouldn’t have had to be a fight,” he says. “You tried to tell me that you just needed space months ago, and I didn’t—couldn’t—didn’t want to listen. I wanted us to be okay; I thought if I atoned or whatever, we would be okay. But I wasn’t doing it for you. Digging for information, turning over every rock to find the ugliness underneath, that’s what I needed, not you.”

“But you were trying. I recognize that now, I do.”

“I—” Inches from arguing, Alex stops himself short. Patterns, it’s all patterns. They both have to get better at recognizing them, and that means Alex can’t do the same thing he’s told Michael is wrong, where he believes Michael’s assessment of him only when it suits the ugliest voices in his head.

So he says, “Yes. I was. I wanted to empower you the way I feel empowered when I have all the information at my fingertips, but I didn’t ask you what you needed.”

Michael leans forward. “And I should have told you outright that I needed space instead of trying to make you leave so it would make sense when you did—or just trying to hurt you for staying this time and not any other time when I really needed you to.”

Alex swallows hard and nods. He leans forward too. Michael’s hand is so, so warm in his. The two of them walk the same tightrope toward solid ground.

“I’m glad,” Michael says. “I’m glad that you stayed this time. You deserve to know that. I’ve been fighting to get free of the past; I know it’s unchangeable, but it’s always there, telling me all the ways I should have been better, and. Right now, in the present. Thank you. For being there this year.”

Michael smiles at him, a real smile, the kind of look Alex thought he might have imagined from across the bar, with music in his lungs. His eyes crinkle up, sparkling, face utterly transformed with what can only be utterly consuming fondness.

I love you. I love you. I love you. How could he not? How could he have ever convinced himself he was capable of stopping? Michael’s laughter is the joy of knowing someone. Alex hasn’t felt so seen and so unafraid since he was seventeen years old.

Maria and Michael just broke up a few days ago, and it wasn’t mutual. There are so many leaps Alex wants to take now that he’s taken this one, to see how they feel, to reshape and reaffirm his comfort zone now that some of his ghosts have been put to rest. There are so many reasons to wait, to make sure that this time they can get this right.

But what if Michael doesn’t know? Even at this stage down the long road of getting to know the man he loves, Alex knows how easily he doubts his own worth

He and Maria understand each other, as ever. He would give up his brain to see the future, too.

Michael’s face has gone soft and concerned the longer Alex hasn’t responded. Tingling spreads up Alex’s arm when Michael’s warm, rough hand tightens around his own, and the softness he feels helps unloosen his chest and let the words come out.

“No, thank you,” he says, fitting his other hand around Michael’s knuckles so Michael’s healed hand is cradled between his.

That touch lingers for a long moment. For most of their lives, Alex hasn’t been able to read Michael’s face, has second-guessed what he thought each little flicker meant, has held back from acting on what he thought Michael was telling him, no matter how achingly open Michael’s face was. Now, though, Alex just has no idea what is going through Michael’s head as he watches their joined hands, Alex’s fingers against Michael’s bare skin, the bandana abandoned somewhere before Michael even came to the Pony tonight.

“Should we...should we talk about this?” Alex asks, letting his finger draw gently against Michael’s middle knuckle. Michael’s fingers flex in his grip.

“Don’t know what there is to talk about.”

“I don’t know.” Alex shifts and clears his throat. “Just...anything you want to say. Anything you’re feeling. Anything you want to say to me specifically.”

Michael glances around. They’re alone on the patio, but Alex understands. The silence of the night and the muffled clamor of the bar on the other side of the wall give the illusion the whole world is listening.

Then, bluntly, he says, “It hurt. What you said. That you so obviously didn’t understand I might have a hard time looking at it for personal reasons, since I never asked for it to be healed. I thought if anyone understood that, you would.”

Alex’s knee twinges in concert. He itches to rub it, but his hands stay still wrapped around Michael’s.

Michael continues, “Hiding the healing had nothing to do with you, and if I was still pissed at your dad for causing it or at Max for healing it, that wasn’t really any of your business, either. That’s all.”

Deep breaths. Having all that out in the open is a clean thing, a necessary thing. Alex nods. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Michael nods back and lets his shoulders drop. “But Max is the person I need to get into it with, not you. Then he was dead when I really needed to, so it got all twisted up and stuck inside of me, and I didn’t say anything to anyone. I don’t blame you for not being a mind reader and coming to some wrong conclusions.”

It’s that—it’s that that leaves Alex floundering for a moment, that instant of Michael seeing his guilt and cutting through it with a few words. He leaves a vacuum in its place and all of Alex’s other feelings, so carefully compartmentalized, have to rush to fill it in. Michael lets the silence linger, but Alex can feel the quickness of his heartbeat in the small of his wrist.

“What about you? Anything you want to say to me?” Michael says. “‘Cause we’ve fought before, but for some reason we keep coming back to the bunker. Feels like maybe there’s something there.”

“I…”

That...yeah. He was right. So many times, they’d fought. When they were kids and everything was falling apart. Over ten years, among the pieces. The argument they had in the bunker was practically a level-headed disagreement compared to the fight they had before Alex’s last deployment, the worst one, the one that cut them apart for almost two years without a word to each other. Even that one had scattered like mist under the morning sun when they were in each other’s arms again.

And maybe that’s part of it. That their physical relationship has changed, that without the language of touch everything feels harsher and harder to forget. But the other reason lurks behind the walls in his mind.

He’s supposed to be better now. More peaceful, more understanding, more balanced. To preach forgiveness then lash out at Michael, the one person it’s always been safe to be angry with—it’s an ugly thing. Alex doesn’t want to hold it. Doesn’t want to be that. He’s supposed to be better now. It doesn’t matter how often a therapist tells him progress isn’t a straight line. It shouldn’t matter.

If he can fix this, make it like it never happened, maybe he can fix them.

Alex doesn’t want to look that feeling in the eyes. Has avoided it, so far. And how to say it? He doesn’t even know if Michael wants them fixed. Not the same way Alex does. And now’s not the time to ask that question.

“I just want us to be okay,” he says. Simple. Weak. He hates the sound of pleading inside his own skull. He isn’t used to it. It’s just Michael. Michael won’t use it against him, won’t hurt him, he knows this, but inside something turns and hides and covers its head with its arms waiting for the blow. To buy it time, he babbles, “Not talking about it feels like hiding. All the times we let arguments go in the past—I want to do things differently, to actually say I know what I did wrong and say that I know we, I, can do better, I don’t know, I just want things to be different, to change for good—”

“Okay.”

Michael’s voice is soft. So soft Alex wants to whimper.

“Okay, Alex,” he repeats. Now his other hand, hesitating just slightly, comes up to rest against Alex’s, so they’re holding onto each other as fast as they can with the distance and objects between them.

That’s it? Just okay?

Michael shifts their hands, slides their fingers together slowly, and gives them a squeeze.

Oh.

Okay.

“Were you wanting to get out of here?” Michael asks suddenly, dipping his head slightly so his hat hides his eyes.

“No, um. Actually, I think I’ll stay a while. It’s a nice night.”

He’s exhausted, but nothing could tear him away. Not now. And it is a nice night, clear and cool, the sky wide and velvet above them, in their little bubble of light.

“Cool,” Michael says. He leans back in his chair, though he leaves their hands connected, and he looks up at Alex again, eyes glimmering with a smile. “‘Cause I want to hear more about how you got into songwriting for real. You didn’t tell me about it when we hung out the other day.”

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Alex replies, but his heart sings at the interest.

“Ok, sure, uh-huh. Well I’m going to go get us drinks, and when I get back maybe you can distract me and pull a rabbit out of a hat.”

“Between the two of us, you’re the one with the magic hands,” Alex says, only for his mouth to drop open when he realizes what he’s just said.

But Michael is already cackling, and the sound is so soothing to Alex’s soul he can’t interrupt, and he’s standing up to go inside, and it’s impossible not to notice how he doesn’t let their hands drop until the last possible moment, and then he’s sweeping his hat off his head with a dramatic bow and a cheeky smirk, and Alex can’t help but smile back at him.

He turns to head back into the Pony, and as Alex watches and mirrors the motion, he flexes his hands, rubs them together, then slides them into his pockets as if to hide the lingering feeling of touch for safekeeping.

And then Alex is alone, still smiling, knowing Michael will be back soon.

#rnm bb #roswell nm big bang #my fic #malex #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin

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elriell · 5 years ago

Note

i love your meta posts and would really like to see your thoughts on nessian and maybe the next book in detail?? thanks

Thank you, I enjoy doing them. As usual this will be rather long especially with quotes but there is so much Nessian goodness to discuss so bare with me.

[MY FULL THOUGHTS ON NESTA]

We will get in to the good, the bad, and everything in between but let’s start with their future and them being mates. This is not an unpopular belief to my knowledge but let’s talk about it because I feel this will be a part of their arc next book, especially since ACOFAS was kind of setting up the bridge for the spin off.

So take a look at these quotes from ACOFAS,

“Cassian’s face turned uncharacteristically solemn, and he remained quiet for a moment before he said, “I get jealous sometimes. I’d never begrudge you for your happiness, but what you two have, Rhys …” He dragged a hand through his hair, his crimson Siphon glinting in the light streaming through the window. “It’s the legends, the lies, they spin us when we’re children. About the glory and wonder of the mating bond. I thought it was all bullshit. Then you two came along.”

“What about you?” I asked, pulling away after a moment. “Are you … happy?” Shadows darkened his hazel eyes. “I’m getting there.” A halfhearted answer.”

I believe this is just a little teaser for his future with her, there is so much foreshadowing about both of them being mates but also becoming something powerful, especially Nesta.

“What if I tell you what the rock and darkness and sea beyond whispered to me, Lord of Bloodshed? How they shuddered in fear, on that island across the sea. How they trembled when she emerged. She took something—something precious. She ripped it out with her teeth.”

Cassian’s golden-brown face had drained of color, his wings tucking in tight. “What did you wake that day in Hybern, Prince of Bastards?”

He is described as a leader, a prince and a god a few times but the foreshadowing for Nesta becoming a Queen/Leader is unparalleled. I know quite a few people are not fond of the idea but to be honest with all the written breadcrumbs I cannot imagine it going any other way... It is mentioned so often.

“Nesta was waiting at the head of the table, a queen ready to hold court. ”

“But she turned to Cassian, looked him over as if she were a queen on a throne, and then declared to all of us,”

“How lovely she is—new as a fawn and yet ancient as the sea. How she calls to you. A queen, as my sister once was. Terrible and proud; beautiful as a winter sunrise.”

“And proud as any queen, Nesta took Elain’s arm and led her from the guardhouse. Mor trailed behind,”

“A queen without a throne. That was what I’d call the painting that swept into my mind.”

“She kept her chin high, the portrait of queenly arrogance. “I’m not.”

“Talk to me. Nesta. Tell me—” She ripped her hand out of his grip. Stared him down. A mighty, vengeful queen.”

And I feel it will obviously be something to do with the Illyrians, as that is what is being set up. I believe they will become leaders of the Illyrians in a new way not currently present.

Mates

“And what about Cassian? He’s entangled—and enabling this nonsense.” A wry smile. “Cassian is going to have to decide some things, too. In the near future, I think.” “Are he and Nesta …?” “I don’t know. Until the bond snaps into place, it can be hard to detect.”

At this rate I do not even think it is questionable but let’s pretend we have to prove it, here are some key pieces of evidence,

Exhibit A)

Feyre painting the stars for her Mate, and her painting flames for Nesta.

“Nesta,” I said, starting on the other wing, “I painted flames for her. She was always angry, always burning. I think she and Amren would be fast friends. ”

“There was something rough-hewn about his features—like he’d been made of wind and earth and flame and all these civilized trappings were little more than an inconvenience.”

“A matching one lay atop his left hand; and twin red stones adorned Cassian’s gauntlets, their color like the slumbering heart of a flame.”

“So at odds from the male who had gone head to head with my sister, unable to resist matching himself against Nesta’s spirit of steel and flame.”

Exhibit B)

First potential scenting of it/Paralleling Rhys.

“He bowed at the waist, those wings vanishing entirely, and had begun to fade into the nearest shadow when he went rigid. His eyes locked on mine, wide and wild, and his nostrils flared. Shock—pure shock flashed across his features at whatever he saw on my face, and he stumbled back a step. Actually stumbled. “What is—” I began.” [Rhys] “But he did take a step closer, bracing a hand on the mantel, and leaned in close enough to breathe in that scent of hers. It hit him in the gut so hard her could barely focus, and it took five centuries of training to make himself meet her eyes rather than let his own roll back in his head, to keep himself poised there instead of burying his face in the crook between her neck and shoulder, to keep from moving closer, from… touching.”

“Yes, devastating was a good word for how lovely she’d become as High Fae. And in a long-sleeved, dark blue gown that clung to her curves before falling gracefully to the ground in a spill of fabric …

Cassian looked like someone had punched him in the gut.”

Exhibit C)

Feeling each others pain/worry without being there.

“He’d followed. She’d known it in her bones, her blood. He’d kept high in the skies, but he’d followed until she’d entered the building.”

“CASSIAN.” Amren reached for her, but Nesta roared, “CASSIAN!”

“Nesta had known. She gaped up at me, terror and agony on her face, then scanned the sky for Cassian, who flapped in place, as if torn between coming for us and charging back to the scattering Illyrian and Peregryn ranks. She’d known where that blast was about to hit. Cassian had been right in the center of it. Or would have been, if she hadn’t called him away.”

The door opened, and Cassian stalked in, face grave. The sight of the wings, the Illyrian armor in this opulent, pink-filled room planted itself in my mind, the painting already taking form, as he said, “What’s wrong.” [...] But I said, “She senses something is off—says we need to leave right away.” I waited for the dismissal, but Cassian angled his head. “What, precisely, feels wrong?”

“Nesta’s screaming was the only sound. Cassian blindly lurched toward it—toward her, moaning in pain.”

“I whipped my head to Nesta as she went silent. The Cauldron righted itself. Cassian again stirred, slumping on the floor—but his hand twitched. Toward Nesta.”

“You’re hurt.” Rhys snapped to attention at that. [...] Cassian seemed to hesitate, but offered it to her, tapping the Siphon atop his palm. The armor slid back a fraction over his forearm, revealing— “You know better than to walk around with an injury,” Rhys said a bit tensely. “I was busy,” Cassian said, not taking his focus off Nesta as she studied the swollen wrist. How she’d detected it through the armor … She must have read it in his eyes, his stance. I hadn’t realized she’d been observing the Illyrian general enough to notice his tells.”

Underrated Moments?

“Eat or bed?” Cassian had asked Nesta, and I honestly couldn’t tell if he’d meant it as some invitation. I debated telling him he was in no shape.

Nesta only said, “Bed.” And there was certainly no invitation in the exhausted reply.”

I feel like this is such an underrated moment between them, there is so much care and comfort in these moments I love it.

“Is she a witch.”

“She may act like one sometimes,” Cassian clarified, “but no—she is High Fae.” LOL

“Nesta listened to the low-level Illyrian soldiers whispering about how Cassian had thrown that spear, how he’d cut down soldiers like stalks of wheat, how he’d fought like Enalius—their most ancient warrior-god and the first of the Illyrians. [...]

Nesta watched, and listened to it all, while the camp was built around us.”

This part of ACOWAR when she is settling in, helping out and listening to the tales of Cassian I think will come to parallel in ACOTAR 4. I love the idea that she just sat around listening to the legend of warrior gods...

Parallels

“Why do you bother, Cassian?”

His hazel eyes shuttered as we smoothly landed. And I thought he wouldn’t answer, especially not as we heard the others already in the dining room beyond the veranda,[...] But Cassian said quietly as we headed for the dining room, “Because I can’t stay away.”

Nesta gritted her teeth, trying to haul Cassian up once more. A broken sound of pain ripped from him. “Go! ” he barked at her. “I can’t,” she breathed, voice breaking. “I can’t.”

*cries*

“But Nesta was glancing between us all, her back still stiff, mouth a thin line. “Where is he?” “Who?” Rhys crooned. “Cassian.”

I didn’t think I’d ever heard his name from her lips. Cassian had always been him or that one. And Nesta had been … pacing in the foyer. As if she was worried.

“I was almost at the door when Cassian said, “Is …” He swallowed. I spared him the discomfort of trying to mask his interest. “Both sisters will be at the house. Whether they want to or not.” Cassian’s eyes flickered. “How is she?”

Rhysand just stuck in the middle probably thinking these fucking idiots ahaha

“Are you … happy?” Shadows darkened his hazel eyes. “I’m getting there.”A halfhearted answer. I’d have to work on that, too. Perhaps there were threads to be pulled, woven together.”

“Perhaps you should get a place of your own, then.” “I have one in Illyria.” “I meant here.” Cassian lifted a brow. “I don’t need a house here. I need a room.” [...] I chuckled again, but held in my retort. My suggestion that he might want a place of his own. Soon. Not that anything was happening on that front. Not anytime soon. Nesta had made it clear enough she had no interest in Cassian—not even in being in the same room as him. I knew why. I’d seen it happen, had felt that way plenty.”

had felt that way plenty

HAD FELT THAT WAY PLENTY.

HaD FElt tHAt wAY PLenTY

Perhaps this is really why they sent her to Illyria? Is this them weaving? Not sure how I feel about that really, but we shall see.

She only said, “Go home, Cassian.” He could count on one hand the number of times she’d used his name. Called him anything other than you or that one.”

“Cassian.” I didn’t think I’d ever heard his name from her lips. Cassian had always been him or that one.”

Their reactions to each other currently.

“No matter that she could scarcely stand to be around him. No matter that she had once, long ago, in a mortal body and in a house that no longer existed, let him kiss her throat. Being near him made her want to shatter things. As her power sometimes did, unbidden. Secretly.”

“But from the moment he’d met Nesta, the cold fire in her blue-gray eyes had been a temptation of a different sort. And now that she was High Fae, that inherent dominance, the aggression—and that piss-poor attitude … There was a reason he avoided her as much as possible. Even after the war, things were still too volatile, both within the Night Court’s borders and in the world beyond. And the female before him had always made him feel like he was standing in quicksand.”

Training

Quite a few people do not want her to become a epic warrior, and while I understand that especially after her quote in the books about there being other ways to be strong... but after SJM interviews and so forth I definitely think they will go in that direction...

“You’ll what?” Cassian crooned, trailing her at a casual pace as she stopped perhaps five feet from me. He lifted a brow as she whirled on him. “You won’t join me for practice, so you sure as hell aren’t going to hold your own in a fight. You won’t talk about your powers, so you certainly aren’t going to be able to wield them. And you—”

“Something drew Cassian’s attention behind me. And even as his body remained casual, a predatory gleam flickered in his eyes. I didn’t need to turn to know who was standing there. “Care to join?” Cassian purred. Nesta said, “It doesn’t look like you’re exercising anything other than your mouths.”

“Cassian pressed one of his knives into Nesta’s hand. “Ash can kill you now,” he said with lethal quiet as she stared down at the blade. “A scratch can make you queasy enough to be vulnerable. Remember where the exits are in every room, every fence and courtyard—mark them when you go in, and mark how many men are around you. Mark where Rhys and the others are. Don’t forget that you’re stronger and faster. Aim for the soft parts,” he added, folding her fingers around the hilt. “And if someone gets you into a hold …”

Morrigan

Alright let’s move on to Mor, I am sure there are a lot of opinions on her/and her relationship with Cassian. I am going to try not to get in to detail about her personally and keep it too Nessian because I feel like that is a whole other can of worms...

“And then there would be the matter of explaining it to everyone.

To Mor. His blood chilled.”

This is a big reason for why I need both of their own POV’s because there is so much we are limited to being inside of Feyre’s head. But one thing is clear and that is that there is something wrong here, ^^^ that response is not normal for a “friend” to find out you like/whatever someone.

It is not a healthy dynamic at all, I am sorry.

I believe it also alters and changes the way Nesta perceives things, we as readers may know nothing is currently going on between them but as an outside party she would not know that and some of their scenes have got to raise alarms.

“You’re hurt?”

At the sound of Mor’s voice, Cassian snatched his hand back and pivoted toward Mor with a lazy smile. “Nothing for you to cry over, don’t worry.”

Nesta dragged her stare from his face—down to her now-empty hand, her fingers still curled as if his palm lay there. Cassian didn’t look at Nesta as she rose, snatching up the pitcher, and muttered something about getting more water from inside the tent.

Case and point, this was a rather cold and heartless thing to do especially given that she is finally trying to help him and open up. Imagine being Nesta in this situation, it is sure to raise some alarm bells...

“Rhys chuckled. Cassian, however, didn’t smile, every pore of him seemingly fixed on Nesta and Mor.”

I really hope they expand on why he is so afraid of her reaction.

“Just what I always wanted.” He held up a pair of what seemed to be red silk undershorts. The perfect match to her negligee. With Nesta pointedly preoccupied with flipping through her new books,”

“Cassian and Mor fell into their banter, laughing and taunting each other about the battle and the ones ahead. Nesta didn’t come back out again for some time.”

“The general of the High Lord’s armies stuck out his tongue. Mor returned the gesture. Amren scowled at Rhys. “You’d be wise to leave both of them at home for the meeting with the others, Rhysand. They’ll cause nothing but trouble.” His face was indeed controlled, but—a hint of surprise twinkled there. Wariness, too, but … surprise. I risked another glance at Nesta, but she was watching her plate, dutifully ignoring the others.”

I think it is very interesting that SJM put these scenes in here because as readers again we might laugh and enjoy the banter between the circle but she is making it a point to show that Nesta is bothered/has a reaction to these moments. I wouldn’t even call it jealousy per-say but rather wariness over someone she considers a player flirting around, raising red flags.

Especially getting matching underwear with someone, as an outsider how would you perceive that?

“Mor’s lips pressed into a thin line, as if she was trying her best not to say anything. Azriel was trying his best to shoot a warning stare at Mor to remind her to indeed keep her mouth shut. As if they’d already discussed this. Many times.”

I opened my mouth, but Mor beat me to it.

“He’s busy.” I’d never heard her voice so … sharp. Icy.

Mor said flatly, “When he gets back, keep your forked tongue behind your teeth.”

“I tried not to look too obvious as I glanced at Cassian.They had not seen each other since Adriata.But the warrior only gave her a cursory once-over and turned toward Azriel to say something. Mor was watching both carefully—the warning she’d given my sister ringing silently between them. And Nesta, Mother damn it all, seemed to remember. Seemed to rein in whatever words she’d been about to spit and just approached me.”

“So you’re alive.”Cassian bared his teeth in a feral grin, wings flaring slightly. “Were you hoping otherwise?”

Mor was watching—watching so closely, every muscle tense. She again reached for his arm, but Cassian angled out of reach, not tearing his eyes from Nesta’s blazing gaze.

I don’t agree with her at all, especially since she is a hypocrite because if anyone brings up her relationship with Azriel it is unacceptable and not their business. You can be a friend, you can be protective, as I am sure Az also is but you can keep it to yourself, or Cassian.

Her not wanting to loose her buffer is not only selfish but cruel to him.

“Your Solstice present.” “I don’t want one.” Cassian continued past her, tossing the present in his hands. “You’ll want this one.” He prayed she would. It had taken him months to find it. He hadn’t wanted to give it to her in front of the others. Hadn’t even known she’d be there tonight.”

This isn’t directly linked to Mor but it kind of falls under the same theme of him being shy/embarrassed(?) in regards to her, for whatever reason it doesn’t put things in the best light. We can only speculate about what was inside it, and boy do we, so we can’t say if it was personal or private but the idea that he didn’t want to display any... sentiment towards her publicly must rub her the wrong way especially since only Elain got her a present.

Touch

Not much to analyse here I just want to quote and appreciate these moments.

His voice was rough as he said, “Five hundred years ago, I fought on battlefields not far from this house. I fought beside human and faerie alike, bled beside them. I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this house—your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most.”

I watched a tear slide down Nesta’s cheek. And I watched as Cassian reached up a hand to wipe it away. She did not flinch from his touch.”

“Nesta was standing there, arms around herself, eyes wide. Cassian only stretched out an arm for her. As if in a trance, she walked right to his side. His arms tightened around both of us, Siphons flaring, gilding the darkness with bloodred light.”

“She let out a small, animal sound—like some wounded stag—as she saw him. As he landed so hard his knees popped. He said nothing as Nesta launched herself toward him, her dress filthy and disheveled, her arms stretching for him. He opened his own for her, unable to stop his approach, his reaching—”

“Cassian said to her, “Nothing can harm you here.” He sucked in a breath, groaning softly, and rose to his feet. Azriel tried to stop him, but Cassian brushed him off and strode for my sister’s side. He braced a hand on the desk when he at last stopped. “Nothing can harm you,” he repeated. Nesta was still looking at him when she finally shut her eyes. I shifted, and the angle allowed me to see what I hadn’t detected before. Nesta stood before the map, a fist of bones and stones clenched over it. Cassian remained at her side—his other hand on her lower back. And I marveled at the touch she allowed—marveled at it as much as I did the mud-splattered hand she held out. The concentration that settled over her face.”

“Cassian seemed too weary to speak as well while she wrapped bandages around his wrist, only grunting to confirm if it was too tight or too loose, if it helped at all. But he watched her—didn’t take his eyes off her face, the brows bunched and lips pursed in concentration.

And when she’d tied it neatly, his wrist wrapped in white, when Nesta made to pull back, Cassian gripped her fingers in his good hand. She lifted her gaze to his. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. Nesta did not yank her hand away. Did not open her mouth for some barbed retort.”

“Cassian brushed a thumb down the back of her hand. “You’re welcome,” Cassian called after her, more than a bite to his voice. His hands clenched and slackened at his sides—as if he were trying to loosen the feel of her from his palms.”

“Her gloved fingers scraped against his calluses, but he held firm. “Talk to me. Nesta. Tell me—” She ripped her hand out of his grip. Stared him down. A mighty, vengeful queen.”

Watching

“He studied every inch of her. As if there were nothing and no one else here, anywhere.”

“When I looked ahead, I found Cassian staring back at Nesta as well. I wondered why no one had yet mentioned what now shone in Cassian’s eyes as he gazed at my sister. The sorrow. And the longing.”

“Cassian watched every bite she took, every bob of her throat as she swallowed.”

“Cassian had named about two dozen poses for Nesta at this point. Ranging from I Will Eat Your Eyes for Breakfast to I Don’t Want Cassian to Know I’m Reading Smut. The latter was his particular favorite. Suppressing his smile, Cassian gestured to the pretty piles”

“But Mor waved him off and moved to pass Cassian his gift; but the warrior didn’t take it. Or take his eyes off Nesta as she undid the brown paper wrapping on the box and revealed a set of five novels in a leather box. She read the titles, then lifted her head to Elain.”

“What are you?” Cassian didn’t seem to dare take his focus off Nesta. But my sister slowly looked at Lucien.”

“Good,” Cassian said, glancing at Nesta. “If I end my life defending those who need it most, then I will consider it a death well spent.” Lord Devlon, for once, nodded his approval. I wondered if Cassian noticed it—if he cared. His face revealed nothing, not as his focus remained wholly on my sister.”

“She looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering—impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them. I didn’t have the words in me—to convey what was in my heart. Cassian seemed the same.”

“I do not want to be remembered as a coward.” “No one would say that,” I offered quietly. “I would.” Nesta surveyed us all, her gaze jumping past Cassian. Not to slight him, but … avoid answering the look he was giving her. Approval—more. ”

“Nesta’s eyes shot right to his face. She spoke quietly to me, to all of us, even as she held Cassian’s gaze as if he were the only one in the room.”

“Nesta had been beautiful as a human woman. As High Fae, she was devastating. From the utter stillness with which Cassian stood beside me, I wondered if he thought the same thing.”

Nesta blurted, “You didn’t come to—” She stopped herself. The world seemed to go utterly still at that interrupted sentence, nothing and no one more so than Cassian. He scanned her face as if furiously reading some battle report. Mor just watched as Cassian took Nesta’s slim hand in his own, interlacing their fingers. As he folded in his wings and blindly reached his other hand back toward Mor in a silent order to transport them. Cassian’s eyes did not leave Nesta’s; nor did hers leave his. There was no warmth, no tenderness on either of their faces. Only that raging intensity, that blend of contempt and understanding and fire.”

Can someone tell them both there are other people in the room? I don’t think they know...

Protect

“Tamlin snarled at her. Cassian snarled right back, “Watch it.” Tamlin looked between my sister and Cassian—his gaze lingering on Cassian’s wings, tucked in behind him. Snorted. “Seems like other preferences run in the Archeron family, too.”

“Cassian had stationed himself by the doorway, I realized, to be closer to Nesta. To grab her if Amren decided she didn’t particularly care for where this conversation was headed[...] Cassian was staring at Nesta—hard enough that my sister at last twisted toward him. Met his gaze. His head tilted—slightly. A silent order. Nesta, to my shock, obeyed. Drifted over to Cassian’s side as Amren replied to Rhys, “No.”

“Cassian casually slid Nesta behind him, his fingers snagging in the skirts of her black gown. As if to reassure himself that she wasn’t in Amren’s direct path. Nesta only rose onto her toes to peer over his shoulder.”

This is a personal favourite of mine because when it is truly dangerous she trusts and relies on Cassian completely. Also just the imagery of her peering over his shoulder is golden.

“Something …” The word was cut off by a low groan. She sagged, and Mor caught her fully, scanning Nesta’s face. Cassian was instantly there, his hand at her back, teeth bared at the invisible threat.”

“I don’t think even the Carver knows what Nesta is. But I wanted to see—just in case.”

“Why?”

“I want to help.”

“How do I fix it?” she asked. Her hair had been tied in a loose knot atop her head earlier in the day, and in the hours that we’d worked to ready and distribute supplies to the healers, through the heat and humidity, stray tendrils had come free to curl about her temple, her nape. Faint color had stained her cheeks from the sun, and her forearms, bare beneath the sleeves she’d rolled up, were flecked with mud.”

Despite any vicious words or silly mistakes they both care for each other, the second anyone becomes a threat or a problem to their counterpart a deeper more hidden feeling emerges. A protective instinct.

Brooding

“He very rarely allowed himself to think of her, anyway. It usually didn’t end well for whoever was in the sparring ring with him.”

“He was grateful the streets were empty when he hurled that box into the Sidra. Hurled it hard enough that the splash echoed off the buildings flanking the river, ice cracking from the impact. Ice instantly re-formed over the hole he’d blown open. As if it, and the present. had never been.”

“Cassian shut out the words. Shut out the image that chased him from his dreams, night after night: not Nesta holding up the King of Hybern’s head like a trophy; not the way her father’s neck had twisted in Hybern’s hands. But the image of her leaning over him, covering Cassian’s body with her own, ready to take the full brunt of the king’s power for him. To die for him—with him. That slender, beautiful body, arching over him, shaking in terror, willing to face that end. He hadn’t seen a glimpse of that person in months. Had not seen her smile or laugh.”

Understanding/Compassion

He may have his slip ups but thus far he has proven to be rather compassionate when it comes to Nesta and understanding where she comes from.

“Mother’s tits, Rhys,” Cassian cut in, wings flaring wide enough to nearly knock over the ceramic vase on the side table next to him. “You think we can just take over her family’s house, demand that of them?”

From before they even met he showed understanding to their beliefs about the fae.

“I don’t blame her,” Cassian said, shrugging despite his words. “She was—violated. Her body stopped belonging wholly to her.” His jaw clenched. Even Amren didn’t dare say anything. “And I am going to peel the King of Hybern’s skin off his bones the next time I see him.”

I think they both have their positive and negative attributes to face but overall they genuinely try their best for each other.

“Dresses aren’t good for flying, ladies.” Nesta didn’t reply.

He lifted a brow. “No barking and biting today?” But Nesta didn’t rise to meet him, her face still drained and sallow. “I’ve never worn pants,” was all she said. I could have sworn concern flashed across Cassian’s features. But he brushed it aside and drawled, “I have no doubt you’d start a riot if you did.”

No reaction. Had the Cauldron— Cassian stepped in Nesta’s path when she tried to walk past him. Put a tan, callused hand on her forehead. She shook off the touch, but he gripped her wrist, forcing her to meet his stare. “Any one of those human pricks makes a move to hurt you,” he breathed, “and you kill them.”

The beautiful thing I love about Cassian is that he loves her wholly and without concern of her abilities, her walls.

“Would you be frightened of her, if Nesta was—Death? Or if her power came from it?” Cassian was quiet for a long moment.

He said at last, “I’m a warrior. I’ve walked beside Death my entire life. I would be more afraid for her, to have that power. But not afraid of her.” He considered, and added after a heartbeat, “Nothing about Nesta could frighten me.”

I swallowed, and squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

These idiots are both as stubborn and silly as each other, “oh you didn’t say anythign to me!” “well neither did you” honestly, these donuts will be the death of me but I love them anyways.

“And you didn’t say one gods-damned word to me the entire night.

Not that he’d said a word to her. She’d made it clear enough in those initial days after that last battle that she wanted nothing to do with him. With any of them.

He understood. He really did. It had taken him months—years—after his first battles to readjust. To cope. Hell, he was still reeling from what had happened in that final battle with Hybern, too.”

But again he acknowledges her pain, her inability to cope and return to normal after her trauma. Which I dive in to a lot more in my Nesta post, but in short my frustration lies with him saying he understands but then in moments she is suffering he seems to forget occasionally and snap.

Funny/Little moments

“I’d asked what, exactly, Nesta had said to him to get under his skin so easily. But Cassian had only snarled and told me to mind my own business, and that my family was full of bossy, know-it-all females.”

“What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” He stalked past me to the ring. “Is it Nesta?” “Not everything in my life is about your sister, you know.”

“Why should I be scared of an oversized bat who likes to throw temper tantrums?”

“Neither of us missed Cassian’s barked, filthy curse, though we didn’t deign to comment. Cassian was a general—the general of the Night Court. Surely Nesta wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.”

“Ready for some flying, Nes?” “Don’t call me that.” The wrong thing to say, from the way Cassian’s eyes lit up.”

“Nesta in a pale gray gown that brought out the steel in her eyes, Elain in dusty pink. Both males went a bit still. But Azriel sketched a bow—while Cassian stalked for the dining table, reached right over Nesta’s shoulder, and grabbed a muffin from its little basket. “Morning, Nesta,” he said around a mouth of blueberry-lemon. “Elain.”

“Cassian took a step away, but looked back at Nesta. Her face was hard as granite. He opened his mouth, but seemed to decide against whatever he was about to say.”

“He knew about the drinking, about the males. He told himself he didn’t care. He told himself he didn’t want to know who the bastard was who had taken her maidenhead. Told himself he didn’t want to know if the males meant anything—if he meant anything.”

Ownership

“His eyes widened, but the scent of his fear remained—not at her, but at who he’d heard at the front door. As he remembered who she was, both in the court, and to Cassian. She chucked his white shirt to him. “You can use the front door now.”

I think this is a big rub for Nesta, this feeling of ownership. I truly belive she knows and has felt the bond for a little while, for sure after ACOWAR. As we saw with her reaction to Lucien “claiming” Elain as his mate she is not here for this sense of entitlement fae males have.

It doesn’t further help when those around her and in Velaris all treat her as if she is his now. And she is most certainly not.

“Starting with the first male she’d taken here, who had no idea that her maidenhead was intact until he’d spied the speckled blood on the sheets. His face had gone white with terror—pure, ghastly white. Not for fear of Feyre and Rhysand’s wrath. But the wrath of that insufferable Illyrian brute.”

Is this Cassian’s fault? NO. But it probably will not help the situation for her.

“Yet as far as anyone was now concerned, the events of that last battle had bound them. Her and Cassian.”

Promises & Mistakes

“Cassian shook his dark hair out of his eyes, slightly longer than the last time I’d seen it. “I don’t think Nesta will ever forgive me for what happened in Hybern. To her—but mostly to Elain.”

“Your wings were shredded. You were barely alive.”

For that was guilt—ravaging and poisonous—in each of Cassian’s words. What the others had been fighting against in the loft. “You were in no position to save anyone.”“I made her a promise.” The wind ruffled Cassian’s hair as he squinted at the sky. “And when it mattered, I didn’t keep it.”

It is so sad that he feels that way when it clearly was far beyond his control, but I am glad that Nesta doesn’t really hold it against him and when it comes to it later on she trusts him yet again to protect her.

“It goes both ways,” Nesta murmured, as if my mate’s words moments before had triggered the idea. “He doesn’t know how much I took. And if … if I make it seem like I’m about to use his power … He’ll come running. Just to kill me.”

“He will kill you,” Cassian snarled. Her hand clenched on his arm. “That’s—that’s where you come in.”

noooow for the scene we probably all equally cringe over...

“Stop following me. Stop trying to haul me into your happy little circle. Stop doing all of it.”

He knew a wounded animal when he saw one. Knew the teeth they could bare, the viciousness they displayed. But it couldn’t keep him from saying, “Your sisters love you. I can’t for the life of me understand why, but they do. If you can’t be bothered to try for my happy little circle’s sake, then at least try for them.”

A void seemed to enter those eyes. An endless, depthless void.

Other than simply being hurt and frustrated I cannot for the life of me understand why he would say that of all things, it is such a hurtful but also random thing to say especially since he seemed to find plenty to like about her prior.

But again they are both akin to make mistakes, saying things they shouldn’t, Nesta certainly cannot complain as she can be very bad for it.

ICONIC.

“Nesta surged to her feet, staggering across the clearing, blood at her mouth from where he’d hit her, and threw herself to her knees before Cassian. “Get up,” she sobbed, hauling at his shoulder. “Get up.” He tried—and failed. “You’re too heavy,” she pleaded, but still tried to raise him, fingers scrabbling in his black, bloodied armor. “I can’t—he’s coming—” “Go,” Cassian groaned. Cassian grunted in pain, but lifted his bloodied hands—to cup her face. “I have no regrets in my life, but this.” His voice shook with every word. “That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta.” She didn’t stop him as he leaned up and kissed her—lightly. As much as he could[…]”

“And even the Cauldron seemed to pause in surprise—surprise or some … feeling as Nesta looked at the king with death twining around his hands, then down at Cassian. And covered Cassian’s body with her own. Cassian went still—then his hand slid over her back. Together. They’d go together.”

“Cassian was sizing up Nesta, a gleam in his eyes that I could only interpret as a warrior finding himself faced with a new, interesting opponent.

Then, Mother above, Nesta shifted her attention to Cassian, noticing that gleam—what it meant. She snarled softly, “What are you looking at?”

Cassian’s brows rose—little amusement to be found now. “Someone who let her youngest sister risk her life every day in the woods while she did nothing. Someone who let a fourteen-year-old child go out into that forest, so close to the wall.” My face began heating, and I opened my mouth. To say what, I didn’t know. “Your sister died—died to save my people. She is willing to do so again to protect you from war. So don’t expect me to sit here with my mouth shut while you sneer at her for a choice she did not get to make—and insult my people in the process.”

Nesta didn’t bat an eyelash as she studied the handsome features, the muscled torso. Then turned to me. Dismissing him entirely. Cassian’s face went almost feral. A wolf who had been circling a doe … only to find a mountain cat wearing its hide instead.”

Nesta

“Nesta is different from most people,” I explained. “She comes across as rigid and vicious, but I think it’s a wall. A shield—like the ones Rhys has in his mind.”

“Against what?”

“Feeling. I think Nesta feels everything—sees too much; sees and feels it all. And she burns with it. Keeping that wall up helps from being overwhelmed, from caring too greatly.”

And I think that is what makes one of the last things we hear from her in ACOFAS where she admits she isn’t feeling anything at all, a stark contrast from before the war. She is traumatised. Unfeeling,

“Until she drew her knees to her chest and stared into the dimness. Still the silence raged and echoed around her. Still she felt nothing.”

"Nesta struggles a lot with her mental health, with facing her past, with healing herself and learning to love herself and open herself up to other people." -Sarah J Maas

As for the next book I think it will be about both of them learning to heal, to grow, and face all the unspoken things between them. I personally cannot wait for both of them to do so, I love them both equally.

They are both flawed and complicated characters but that is precisely what I love about them.

As usual I say, I am always open to discussions and opinions, I love to chat but lets keep it calm and respectful. Everyones opinion is valid ♥️

#nessian #nesta archeron #ACOTAR #ACOTAR 4 #Cassian #Nesta x Cassian #A court of thorns and roses #mine #nessian meta #cassian x nesta #Anonymous

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mariamermaid · 4 years ago

Text

The witches wrath (2/3)

Tommy Shelby X fem witch reader

Summary: You meet Thomas when you were just a little girl travelling as a gypsy…

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: mentions of blood, death, violence

Halloween Masterlist

“I love you, Y/N.” A sob escaped your lips again. “And I love you, Thomas Shelby and if you don´t come back, I´ll come and get you myself.”

Time was a funny thing, without time things were put out of perspective and eternal thinking turned to dust. As Tommy stepped back into his city, his home, he inhaled the scent deeply. Oh, how he missed the dirty ol´ city, but there was nothing he kept looking for more than you. The thought of being only minutes, hell only seconds away from you, send endorphins through his body and an exhilarating a thrill of anticipation. Things had changed, shops were closed, new ones opened, people died and people were born. It felt like ages since Tommy had wandered through the streets he knew so merely; he could tell them apart by the gravel on the ground. Finally, he turned the last corner and he braced for the sight of the small herb shop with the hand painted sign, but his smile just as the eagerness in his eyes, vanished. Your shop was gone.

Tommy furrowed his brows and with quick and hectic steps, he hurried to Shelby Company Limited. In the pit of his stomach, there was an unwell growling. On the way, he lit himself a cigarette and without knocking or ringing the bell, he entered through the backdoor. Arthur, who had gone to their home before, was sitting at the table in the kitchen. Polly, Ada and John gathered around and they all looked surprised and somehow anxious when Thomas practically stormed inside. “Where is she?”

“God fucking dammit!” Tommy let out another cursed as the horse just didn´t want it his way. He felt so out of place in his own home and even the animal in front of him, sensed his inner turmoil. When he managed to find his seat in the saddle, he pulled the reins closer. Polly, who had followed her nephew to the stables, sighed audible.

“Tommy, things changed and it wasn´t as easy as it might seem to you”, she explained with sadness in her voice. He was angry. Angry at her, angry at you and angry at him, but most importantly angry at war. If he hadn´t gone, things would be different, he knew it.

“She isn´t here, is she?” Tommy replied infuriated, starring down at Polly. Behind her eyes laid a dark filter, she knew what happened.

“She came back to see if you´d come home, but then she came less and less. She said she had a vision.” Tommy huffed, nonsense, it was all bullshit to him. But dear Thomas only looked at a fraction of the truth, intrigue and hatred grew its roots deeper than trees.

The horse was tall and strong as it made its way through the city and then over the roads. It was almost fifteen minutes later when he reached the junction Polly told him about. The road split, but right in front him he saw the faint hint of a trail into the woods. He was warned, that it wouldn´t be easy to find your cabin, to which you had moved about a year ago, but he was determined. While the horse continued to surge ahead, he started wondering what he was expecting. Would you fall into his arms, relieved to find him alive? Would you recognize him? Or would he recognize you? Nonsense, Tommy would always know you. At least that´s what he told himself…

It was almost another twenty minutes later, the horse had to slow down since the thicket seemed to be unbreakable and Tommy left the saddle to guide his companion. Your cabin laid on a small glade, even though it was a foggy day. A small river with ice cold water ran down the trail and a wooden table with tools was build outside. The horse became unsettled as Thomas noticed the two Doberman hounds as well. They didn’t have a leash and as he stepped closer, they quickly started growling and barking echoed through the forest. No light was on inside the cabin, but then he watched as you came running out of the woods, alarmed by the dogs. A long dark robe hiding your figure and face, a shotgun in your grip and you aimed it right at Tommy. Slowly you stepped closer, Thomas was frozen in place. He didn´t yield or hold up his hands, he just starred at you. You came closer, he realized you were limping with your left foot and when you were close enough to recognize him, he saw the face underneath the cape. A scar from your eyebrow down to your eye, skin pale and you had lost weight. You lowered the shotgun, starring thunderstruck at the dark-haired man in front of you.

“Tommy?” The dogs had lowered their howling and watched now as their owner seemed to know the unknown man. But Thomas had realized that they would listen perfectly at your command and he was truly scared. The woman in front of him wasn´t you, she had changed. Your voice was almost a whisper, so raspy, he wondered when the last time was, when you had talked.

Both of you just starred at each other, time passing; seconds and even minutes. You didn´t know how to move, your muscles didn´t react.

The was a longing to jump into his arms and there was pain holding you back. “What happened?” Tommy asked into the silence. The two Dobermans, who had settled next to you, looked back and forth, their ears pointed up. “Come in, I´ll make some tea.” You answered reluctant and made a head gesture for him to follow you. The Dobermans were first to enter the cabin, then you. Tommy tied the horse up, you didn´t even wait for him. He sensed you feared him, or at least his arrival.

As he entered the cabin, his eyes wandered around. It was completely built out of wood; he was sure you had built it yourself and a small fire was crackling. A string hung from one end to the other, herbs drying in the air. A bed, a small kitchen isle and a table, which you used more for writing then eating. Papers were spread across it, and a single shelve was filled with books. He recognized some of the symbols on the books from the gypsy, other were foreign to him. You avoided his glance, but you still felt it. You hastily put away the papers and the books on the table, by the handwriting Thomas knew they were written by yourself. You clearly didn´t want him to get a closer look. Placing the kettle from the fire on the table and taking two cups, you poured in steaming hot tea. As you finally sat down at the table as well, you pulled down the cape from your face. Your hair had gotten long, but it was beautifully braided and he eyed the scar, wondering how much luck you had, that you hadn´t become blind.

“It started out small, incidents I didn´t pay much attention to really.” It was your voice talking, yet Tommy knew nothing about the woman sitting at the table with him. But you knew that he wanted answers, it was his right.

“Comments and remarks about me and the shop.” You paused, your glance on the mug in front of you. “But it became quickly worse. About six months after you had left, they started boycotting the shop. Spreading word that I sold poison, painting the glass panel and driving away customers.” You swallowed, he felt how hard the story felt against your chest. But he didn´t push you. “One night, I had closed the shop early, knowing nobody would care at this point. I was attacked in a back alley. Luckily, John found me, anyway I would´ve bled to death.” A sharp pain in his stomach dropped as the words settled in Thomas, the image of you bleeding on the dirty ground in a dark alley with no one caring, anger grew like a bushfire in him. His jaw was tensed and his high cheekbones stiff. “I slept for an entire week, dreaming only of you, Thomas Shelby. Buried in a tunnel system with Arthur and your dad, with no air to breath. With no one searching for your body. I couldn´t stay afterwards.”

He didn´t know what to say; Thomas Shelby was speechless. For a long time, the two of you had sit at the table, time passing like leaves falling in autumn. Tommy opened his mouth, but you immediately shook your head. You knew what he would imply. “I´m not coming back with you. This town doesn´t want me and I don´t want it either.”

“What about our promise?”

“It didn´t change now, did it?” You asked instead and started tidying up the kitchen. “You´re back, I still love you.” His eyes shot up to you, he was angry.

“How can you just say that? Like it meant nothing!” The silence and the quiet that had settled before was gone, you spun around filled with hatred. Hatred that really just hid the fear in you. “They tried to kill me, purposely! I almost died and for what?!”

You never, not once, had yelled at him and he flinched in response, too numb suddenly to answer with any words. “Do you know what happens when I move back? With you? They´ll do the same with you, Tommy! With your family! The company!” Tears had started forming in your eyes, you felt so angry you were already shaking. Your two dogs, Apollo and Cerberus, cocked their ears, clearly interested in how the situation was involving. After their initial calmness when Tommy had entered your house, they now started growling at him again. Tommy on the other hand knew, that you wouldn´t release them on him, but what if the dogs decided on their own? They were loyal to you, only to you and as of right now, he was a risk in their eyes.

Suddenly he realized how the room had become warmer, hotter to be honest. He glanced to the fire, then back to you; was your anger awakening the fire? It couldn´t be! The cups in the cupboard had started clattering and he knew, that it was your power moving them. After all these years knowing you, he forgot that you were born into a witch´s family of gypsies. He had forgotten that there were things no one could explain and a terrible thought crossed his mind; what if the people were right to feel threatened by you?

He left after that.

He continued with life in Birmingham.

But there wasn´t a day, hour or even second, where he didn´t think about you.

It was two weeks after Tommy had come back, two weeks after your first encounter when he saw you again. The nights were truly the worst; either his sleep was filled with nightmares of being buried alive and screams from war, or he laid awoke with nothing but pictures of you wandering through his mind.

It was an early Sunday morning, half of Birmingham was trying to sleep off their hangover, the other one was enjoying the luxury of sleeping in before the work week was starting again. Like so often, Thomas was awakened by a nightmare, he starred at the clock; 5.37 a.m. He sighed annoyed and brushed away the sleep in his eyes while sitting up on the bed. The sun wasn´t out yet, but it wasn´t fully dark out either. He was just about to lit himself a cigarette, when he heard something from downstairs. Who else was awake? Or was it an intruder perhaps?

He threw an old shirt over his bare chest, and started slipping down the stairs, careful to not make any noise. He realized voices coming from the kitchen and for a second, he held in listening.

“Give him this tea, it helps with the sleep.”

“I don´t think he actually sleeps, or eats for any matter.”

The second voice was Polly´s. The first one yours.

The two of you looked up startled when Tommy entered the kitchen, eyes widened and mouth opened. You wore a dark coat, thick and with a big hood and a pair of pants. “There´s nothing in this house that Thomas won´t get wind of”, you sighed and threw the bag, which previously laid on the table, over your shoulder. Polly watched carefully, her eyes wandering back and forth between the two of you. The smallest hint of a smile was on her thin lips, she was a gypsy and she wasn´t dumb.

“I need to head out before the sun starts rising, there´s a full moon coming Polly. I feel it waxing.” Polly let out a chuckled while Tommy observed from the side. The conversation between the two of you was so smooth and he envied Polly for it. “You know the waxing moon brings healing and growth.” You patted Polly lightly on the shoulder. “I know.”

Then you left the kitchen with swift steps and Polly, who had her back turned to her nephew, rolled her eyes at Tommy. “Go after her if you want to talk to her and don´t stand around.”

He stepped outside with slippers on his bare feet and caught sight of you vanishing behind a corner. “Y/n.” He called out your name just before finally reaching you again. You didn´t turn to him and continued making your way out of the city. “Tommy.”

“Why didn´t you tell me?” “Tell you what?”

“That you´d come and visit.” “And how should I tell you that?” He sighed and grabbed your wrist to stop you from walking. “You have your ways, ravens or something.” You huffed.

“Yeah I´ll send a raven, maybe a dragon just to make sure you´ll get the message.”

“I missed your remarks.” Taken back by his honesty you stepped a little back to bring distance between the two of you.

“I missed you”, he continued quietly. Carefully, as if he was afraid, he raised his hand to caress your cheek. “Have I told you, that you´re still as beautiful as ever?” You swallowed the lump in your throat and grabbed his hand. “Tommy don´t.”

“What?” It was his time to play dumb.

“This won´t change anything.” “I know.”

And then he leaned forward and kissed you and everything felt in place again. It felt like in the old times, where you were young and stupid and so dearly in love with him, nothing mattered but him. For a few seconds, the world was okay and it didn´t feel lonely and cold around your heart.

“I´m sorry it has to be like this, I truly am”, you explained whispering when his lips left yours. He nodded. “Make sure you´ll get safely home, Apollo and Cerberus will watch out for you.”

You chuckled. “How do you know their names?”

“You always loved the Greek mythology.” He smiled as well. “And their names are on their bowls in your kitchen.”

It wasn´t a raven he received a few days later, it was a pigeon. Tommy sat in the office of the Shelby Company, late at night, calculating numbers, when the grey pigeon picked against the window. A smile immediately grew on his face, he took the letter from the pigeon and gave the bird some water.

“Dear Tommy,

I saw a wild horse this morning at sunrise, it was beautiful.

How are the nightmares? Does the tea help?

Be careful, there is a blood moon coming. Things tend to shift then.”

The letter was simple signed with your initials. But it was enough for now, it sparked something that had been in Thomas since he met you; hope.

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

tags: @octaviareina @theamuz

#tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder #tommy shelby fanfic #cilian murphy #mariamermaidimagine

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tundrainafrica · 4 years ago

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I’m so scared that the Hanji’s shard was actually her coming back to life!I’m not talking about the beast titan theory.I kinda think that for some reason the rumbling victims will be brought back to life (Zeke style with the titan carcass) and since I feel like Levi’s gonna sacrifice himself next chapter to detonate the bomb,he wont be back because they can only bring back the ones who died from the actual rumbling.I hope I’m making some sense right now.That promo photo of the vets where Hange was the only one looking directly at us was scaring me.Is that a hint of some sort?Don’t get me wrong,I truly want her back but at what cost?

Thanks for the ask anon! This is a pretty interesting take on the ending.

To be honest, I kinda avoided making predictions about AOT at first because recently, every time I try to predict what happens next in a show, I imagine game of thrones and I imagine all the people who made predictions about game of thrones only to get that sorry excuse for slapstick humor that is season 8. The disappointment the fans of GOT is unfathomable and I don’t think I want to experience the same thing with AOT.

But... Since you’re bringing up predictions about the final chapters of AOT, might as well unearth my own thoughts about what will happen based on patterns I see from Yams and the general theme of the story.

yolo coz this answer is gonna be obsolete in like a week anyway.

I don’t believe Hange’s coming back to life. She’s my favorite character, I would have wanted her to get a better ending that what she did but I don’t think that’s where the story is going thematically. So I think Hange will stay dead.

The main saviors of this show were set up to be Armin, Mikasa, Gaby and Falco and possibly the 104th cadets so I think generally vets like Pieck, Zeke, Hange and Levi are gonna end up dying (which they are already doing) to give space to the main cast to shine and step up.

And I don’t think Yams would be the type of person to pull some Naruto Pain Arc shit and would magically bring everyone back to life. This show just never approached death similarly to other shows. The only time the show has ever brought someone back to life was with Armin (and okay fine to a degree Eren) but those two were never dead. With Hange, I think there was some finality to her death because although Hange did amazing stuff in the story, a lot of parts of her were not as fleshed out as that of EMA or FG so it would be odd for Hange to suddenly get revived and take the spot light when it was FG and EMA who were set up for something greater.

(Now that I think about it though, with what’s happening now, I kinda have trouble understanding what type of message Yams wants to give so I might still be completely wrong)

As Levi mentioned in his own monologue though in the latest chapter, the vets job ended when they lead the kids to the sea and I think there should be a thematic reason behind that and that line really is giving hints to what Yams has in store for them.

I feel like Levi’s gonna sacrifice himself next chapter to detonate the bomb, he wont be back because they can only bring back the ones who died from the actual rumbling.

I am really bracing myself for Levi’s death. I really don’t think Levi will survive until the end of the manga. Although, I am praying he does, at this point, I think I’m praying more that I’m gonna have the strength to handle it if he does die.

Levi has been getting a lot of death flags lately. I mean if you notice how the main characters have been dying lately, it’s usually like they get a really horrible injury or a permanent injury then within a few chapters, they die. That same thing happened with Erwin with his arm, then Sasha (Her injury in Shiganshina was bad) then Hange with her eye.

And Levi got the brunt of all of those injuries. If Levi does survive he’s gonna be bedridden for months but I don’t think he’s even gonna make it back, his knee is fucked, his innards are fucked but to a degree, I feel like Levi was built for something, Yams didn’t let him survive being blown off then being bitten for no reason so whatever he dies doing is going to be incredibly important to the plot.

Maybe, he’ll be the one who detonates the bomb like you said. But I don’t know I’m having trouble imagining how detonating the bomb would be the most crucial piece of bringing Eren back. Although they have been talking about it for a while, the fact that its taking them 2 chapters to even decide on detonating it? With Pieck trying and with Mikasa hesitating? I don’t think it will be that easy. There must be another crucial piece they will be considering and whatever that crucial piece will be, Levi might just lose his life making it possible.

I hope I’m making some sense right now. That promo photo of the vets where Hange was the only one looking directly at us was scaring me. Is that a hint of some sort? Don’t get me wrong, I truly want her back but at what cost?

That promo art was beautiful and Hange is beautiful. It might be a long shot considering the relationship between promo art and the ending. Her promo art was unsettling but I think one big reason for that type of art could be a hint to her development in season 4 and the fact that she’s a lot more subdued this season. We all have seen how she talked in the last two episodes. I feel even Romi Park was coached on Hange’s traumas and her insecurities because with Romi Park’s work with hange in the last two episodes, it almost felt like Hange was a different person which is reasonable given her development the past 4 years after becoming commander. I do have a meta on Hange’s psych which you can check out here.

I want Hange back too but I kinda don’t want Hange back in exchange for some asspull. If she is built up for some return then that would be great but really, how often has Yams brought a character back to life and would he really bring her back side with only three chapters left and with EMA and FG still not completely developed?

There’s a word for this in Tagalog with no English equivalent which summarizes my thoughts on Hange’s fate. HAHA. So for my filipino followers who end up reading this.

Oo nabibitin pa rin sa naging buhay at naging kamatayan ni Hange.

Roughly speaking, Hange’s life and death seemed incomplete to me. Maybe because personally I was so fixated with her, I am so in love with her that I just couldn’t believe that she would end up meeting that type of faith. Because to me, she was always built for a greatness larger than she experienced then. But maybe it was all in my head, maybe that was just my own personal perspective as the audience.

Yams gave us enough crumbs to get us to understand that Hange is great. Hange was an amazing character. Just like he gave us enough crumbs to understand that Erwin was a great character too. Sasha was an amazing character too.

But Yams made sure to remind us too that everyone dies and so many amazing people are fated to meet unsatisfying deaths and he’s been saying that same thing since the first chapter with the fall of Wall Maria with that comparison between humans and cattle and let us all remember how horrifying the deaths of many of our other favorite characters were.

And in the grand scheme of things with the themes Yams was building, slowly transferring the fate of the world to the younger generations, where do Levi and Hange fit?

At this rate, I’m probably gonna end up getting my fix from fanfiction so I’m really just bracing myself for this.

(I really hope I’m wrong though)

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adowbaldwin · 4 years ago

Text

Oasis

requested by @madwriterscorner :) The title made me giggle, so i hope the reference is not missed on anyone!!!

Ps. i kind of suck at time frames, so it’s ‘roughly’ ahahaha

510…ish…

Lucius and Hugh sat tall and proud atop their stallion’s, and the small thing blocking their road had to crane his neck to reach their full heights. He thought them to be out of this world, Gods he could not quiet reach.

“Boy move before you are trampled” the dark haired one barked, he knew him to be Sieur only and could not find the words for his response. He was almost starstruck

“Are you deaf” the other copper one growled, slightly huffing "or stupid”. He eyed the thing with disgust ridden on his face, and encouraged his horse to step closer to the boy with a small kick “Perhaps you wish to be trampled on” he growled

“LUCIUS!” Hugh berated his temperamental brother “do not dare, you are not in Rome any longer” his voice had shot out half as a command, and half in jest.

Lucius smirked over his shoulder “You are right brother, if we were in Rome he would have no head” the boy skated back on his heels, hoping to avoid certain death

“I was here first” his brows furrowed as he looked down kicking a stone out of the path

Lucius had been circling the boy on his horse as if to torment him, though this comment stopped him in his tracks and he shot down from his horse grabbing the child by the shoulders “what did you say” his jaw was clenched, teeth rattling under the pressure and he knelt down to the boys level

“i-“ he stuttered, then regained his composure looking him square in the face “I was here first. You interrupted my path. I was getting wood an-“

His story had been cut off when he felt leather connect to his rear, and he yelped in shock “you best learn manners boy or ill beat them into you” Lucius rose from his couched position, and when the boy looked up he fell back onto his now saw bottom

“Lucius, stop toying with the child and get a move on” Hugh knew better then to interrupt his little brother when he had prey in his sights and wished that he would just hurry up and either kill it or leave it. He wanted to drink the day away, not spend it in the forest.

“what is your name boy” the last word came out as almost a threat, though it was not usually formed in that way

The boys self-preservation had been launched out of the window some years ago and he did not take kindly to men whom used their influence to belittle others. He had not yet been a mature age, but he would not be pushed around by them “what is your name, Sieur” he tried with might to spit the last word out as venomous as the devil in front of him had, and in a decades to come he would manage. Not today, though.

Hugh sucked in the air around him, bracing himself for the impact he would not feel himself. He winced when he saw Lucius draw his hand back and deliver a harsh slap to the boys bum, and had closed his eyes by the time Lucius reached 10.

He was sniffling, though not crying. Not even his own father had punished him so hard, and he had caused far greater mischief at home then he had thar day.

Lucius grabbed his skinny arm and threw him on his horse, and the boy lay on his stomach over the saddle “Next time boy tell me your name” he growled, and aimed back towards the village to return it to which way it came from.

520…ish…

Lucius’ sword scraped along the ground and the stone bit out an ear piercing screech at the contact “Matthaeus, keep slipping the wood from your shoulders and I will tan your rear” he smirked “no matter how you’ve aged”

Matthews shoulder ached from the constant, unrelenting work he had been subjected to for the past three months. The De Clermonts had demanded requested another part to their stone tower, and his craftsmanship had been sought after. He welcomed the work, and begrudged the barbarian whom had been overseeing the build.

Matthew huffed, disgruntled at the sheer lack of decency by this muck-spouted, quisby fopdoodle. Matthew used every derogatory word in his capability to describe Lucius, and he chuckled thinking of the wonderous foul language

“You jest, please share” Lucius growled, becoming impatient with the runt

“You wish to distract me from my important work, Sieur” He smirked back, using his free hand to wipe a stray bead of sweat “your father will not be pleased”

“speak less of my father and more of what thoughts ensued such joyous laughter” his arms stretched out to emphasize his speech as his voice became mocking

Hugh looked over nervously and had secured his blade within it’s sheath knowing within all of three minutes be would referee his brother and the human. They had yet to come to physical blows, and Hugh knew it would occur soon and hoped his home would be built before his brother murdered the towns best stonemason.

“I cannot speak such thoughts as they bare ill towards my Sieur, and I fear he may redden my ass” he quipped back, tipping his chin higher “perhaps though he looks for an excuse to darken my rear” he chuckled, and the men around let a small laughter escape

Lucius face fell at the insinuation and Hughs eye’s popped out of his skull. His brother was known in every city for being a woman loving, bed hopping whore and this suggestiveness would anger him.

Lucius took slow, purposeful steps toward in the impotent swine and the light of day shuddered in response “What did you say” he growled

Matthew, having been one of two men who dared challenge Lucius (the other only being Sieur Philippe) dropped the wood he was holding and met the man in the middle of the stoned courtyard “I said, perhaps you endeavour to redden my ass as an excuse to see it in all its glory” he bit out. He had grown to an impossible human height, and now matched the vampire in length. Where he did lack though, was the brawn the Roman possessed.

Lucius thought better of satisfying the runt with a reply, and simply patted him on the shoulder. He leant in to whisper to him “you will learn to regret that, boy”

Everyone had been shocked at the calm, collectiveness of Sieur Lucius that day and thought he may have changed.

He had not.

Three weeks later

It had been a difficult few weeks, and his work never seemed to end. The days had gotten longer and the work excruciating. One solace had been his unrelenting ruler Lucius had not made much comment since the day some weeks ago. He had kept out of Matthews way, and managed to be as polite as he could. That was unsettling.

Matthew made the short walk to his home, dreaming of his awaiting cot and he could practically smell the stew wafting through the streets awaiting for him to return home.

His ears picked up an odd sound coming through his stone walls, and tentatively stepped inside his home. He had almost vomited at the unsightly thing he had been subjected to; his loving, wonderful mother whom he doted on had been ontop of their dining table being entertained by the devil.

He had seen enough; the copper haired bastard had sarded with his mother.

His slammed the door with an ominous thunk, and sank down on the stone wall out of earshot. He would have stern words with his mother, and a sharp knife for him.

The door creaked open and Lucius had looked proud of himself. He thought he had done a good deed, the woman was widowed and short of this months tax payments. Her sons efforts to keep a roof over their heads had been noticed but he felt entitled to ensure she made up the rest of the payments. The added bonus being her impertinent son had seen, and he could not doubt his intentions again.

He made good measure to ensure Matthew had seen him jostling his trousers and tucking in his unruly clothing before approaching him on the stone wall. Matthew rose from his seat, his face riddled with hatred “You utter bastard” his sent a dissatisfying week shove to him, and this ensued hysterics from the blood sucker

He grinned “I was collecting your taxes” he could not manage any anger, he had released his frustrations on the boys mother (and she had accepted them happily and satisfied) “Do not fear boy, you will not have to call me father” he tipped his head back roaring with laughter as he retreated.

As he had gotten further away, Matthew had hoped staring a hole through his head would result in him dying.

It did not.

530…ish?...

Ysabaeu had almost looked sad at the sorrowful state lying crumpled on the floor. Matthew, the bright boy from the village laid broken on the cobbles. She had sensed his bones were no longer in tact and knew if she did not act quick, the world would lose a bright spark.

Lucius grumbled loudly looking at his stepmother whom had a doe-eyed expression. She was about to make it her child. “Perhaps he will be fine” he tried to reason, and gave his leg a quick tap for good measure “see, hardly broken”

Ysabaeu growled, stepping over the broken body to his side “if you do not wish to be in the same sorrowful state, I suggest you leave”

“Now, there is no such need for dramatics” Philippes voice boomed unnecessarily loud and the world almost stood still everytime he spoke “Come Lucius, leave Ysabaeu to her own devices”

He looked to the pitiful sight on the floor and shrugged “all over a woman” he spat “pathetic”. Lucius could not fathom a love so deep a man would fling himself from a bell tower and thought him week to do so. Perhaps he could sympathise the loss of a child, but he could not care for it. He sneered, and left awaiting the arrival of his pitiful new brother.

Matthews transformation had been far from easy, and with his sickened blood Lucius had found new reason to hate him. He had known Ysabeaus was tainted, but he had to feign a care for her since she was mated to his father. This thing he did not care to like.

He saw an opportunity now Matthew had turned and took great satisfaction in knowing the next time they shared words he could beat him in every way he had dreamed of. No longer a frail human, he would choke him till his heart exploded with joy.

He had been known for a shortened temper, but it was something about this oozing sack of self-pitying puss that truly angered him. As a boy he was self-entitled, in puberty he was utterly impudent and in adulthood he has acted like a degenerate. If it were not for his skills in building, his head would be nicely mounted to a stick in Lucius room.

As the days drew to a close, Ysabaeu proudly presented her son to her family. The celebratory dinner saw him welcomed, though it truly was just an opportunity for Philippe to be centre of everyone’s attention.

Matthew had not liked the crowded feel and had been grateful for his now ‘step-father’ taking up the role of entertainer, host and joker. His mind still burned from the memory of his wife and child and his heart bled in pain thinking of his loss. How he could go on, why he had agreed to go on wounded his thoughts as he betrayed his love and his God.

His eyes met Lucius across the dining table, his own dark orbs to his golden, fiery ones. He could feel the hate burn his veins, and did not once avert his gaze as he would have done as a human.

“Lucius” Philippes melodic voice broke the trance “Come, lets walk our grounds” His arm swung over the shoulder of his favourite son and goaded him into leaving the table

The sweltering, humid air had reflected the conversation at hand hot and stifling. Atleast, that is how Lucius felt “Come now Son, I trust no other with this” Philippe tried to reason. His most trusted, favoured son had a wicked temper but he could not place this into the hands of another.

“I do not understand, why of everyone you burden me with such a task” he growled, though it were more of a petulant child grumble then of a genuine challenging nature

“Ysabaeu’s sickened bloodline cannot be uncovered, nor Matthews affliction. I need you to be his guardian. To ensure he is kept in check” Phillipe tightened the grip on his shoulder and sighed deeply “Please”

He was not one for begging, but his relationship with this boy had been different. In some respects, despite the age gap he saw Lucius as his equal, someone he could admire for his sharp mind. He thought paces ahead of anyone around and even sometimes himself.

Lucius regarded this request, and thought of no other way to make this tolerable “if you expect I take Matthew as my charge, expect I shall not refrain from relentlessly making his life a misery, and beating him” he folded his arms across his broad chest and stood in front of his father holding the upper ground “and so help me God, if he ever does something to jeopardise the family, I will put him down”

Philippe nodded, knowing better to argue once he had set his mind “do try to atleast be friendly with him”

“I attempted so once, I allowed his mother to slip on taxes” he tipped his chin upward patronisingly “he was ungrateful”

Philippe gave his boy a stern look “Sarding his mother is not attempting to be friendly. It is antagonising”

“How does the corpse of his dead wife fair?” He smirked maliciously as his father’s face fell

“You are a very sick boy, Lucius” he shook his head in disbelief. He had known this was said in jest, but the depths of his bleak imagination had been one of the few thigs still to surprise the ancient being.

“No father, Matthew is the sick one. I am perfectly well, perhaps you are losing your mind”.

The clip around the earlobe Lucius received from that comment could still be felt almost 2000 years later.

#fic #adow #a discovery of witches #matthew clairmont #baldwin montclair #philipe de clairmont #hugh #ysabeau de clermont

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