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shirophantomvox · 4 years ago

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How Illumi, Hisoka, and Chrollo would react to their S/O in the hospital

Hi, anon! You are welcome to join my Discord Server if you are a fan of Hxh, Voltron, or both! I promise this is a safe environment! This is an interesting topic for sure! To the other anon(s), I am working on your request! This will contain both fluff and angst. I forgot to include Leorio in this, so I’ll include him in the next HxH post. You’ll have to forgive me, I have 2 more requests in my inbox and I am not feeling the best. I just got my second Covid shot and it is hurting like hell. Nevertheless, I encourage you all to get your shot if you can. I will be on this site one and off and I should be on it for real next week. I have run out of ideas to write and I began to think I was annoying people with my HxH content (no one said this I just assumed). This post has 1974 words. After these requests are finished, I plan on doing a character analysis for Leorio.

Anyway, let’s get into the post!

We’ll start with Hisoka this time.

Hisoka

In all honesty, this man has heard of a hospital (since he sends a lot of people to it after fights) but has never been in one.

The signs, floors, staircase numbers, and elevators all confuse him. He has only been in one once when he was a kid and has never been again.

He isn’t a social butterfly in this setting because this is a professional establishment and not a college party. Asking for directions takes quite a toll on him because of his established pride. You know guys act when they want to find a destination on their own and will go miles out of the way instead of just asking for direction.

He doesn’t talk to anyone; all he wants to do is find you and make sure you are alright.

He is the tallest person in the freight elevator. So tall that everyone at turns to look at him at once for at least 10 seconds and turn back around surprised.

“How tall is he,” one of the nurses ask.

“Tall enough to be my house!”

This annoys him. He takes out the Joker card and lays it against his thigh but realizes he cannot make any hasty decisions. His bloodlust was activated merely out of irritation and not by threat. You were on his mind and destroying these worthless humans wasn’t an option for today.

He approached the guest desk and waited for about 2 minutes before he was acknowledged.

“May I help you,” a smug receptionist asked. Wow, these people do not know who they’re talking to.

“I’m here to see y/n.”

“Y/n is in room 345. Go down the hall and to the right all the way down.”

This man nearly ran with a quickness! His jester shoes somehow made the floor shake as he ran.

You were awake, eating the horrible food the hospital provided and watching TV. It seemed like you were doing ok, but you had just been in a car accident. Your arms and right leg were still sore. It was so bad that you’d be fine with Hisoka carrying you everywhere.

When you two are alone in serious public places, he doesn’t play games or tricks. He is often portrayed as a ruthless man, but in settings like this, he places the jokes and games aside for later. When he enters your room, he is silent for 30 seconds. Much too long. He was shocked; he walked around your hospital bed, pulled up a chair, and stared at your cast. It had many names written on it.

“Yes, I am ok.”

“I apologize for not being there for you,” he began to say.

“Shh… it’s ok. This is life. It hurts like hell, but I’m a trooper!”

Admiring your cast and its multiple fonts of handwriting and messages, he grabbed a sharpie marker, wrote his name, with a heart and spade next to it. Surprisingly, his cursive was very neat and legible.

“I didn’t know you knew how to write in cursive! Why don’t you write me letters?”

“I see you every day and it hurts my hand.”

The doctor wouldn’t be in for another 1 ½ hours, so Hisoka used your thigh as a pillow as he took a nap. He had been up for countless nights thinking about you. He was screwing up so bad, Chrollo let him leave early.

“As soon as your better, we will fight again. I won’t go easy on you. You won’t be in the hospital but you get the jest.”

Illumi

Illumi isn’t the type of man to overreact in these types of situations. When you both agreed to date each other, you knew you all were tough cookies. You were aware of the dangers of dating an assassin and he knew about the dangers of dating a bounty hunter. People hated you both and you targeted.

One night you both were caught in a vulnerable state. While you both enjoyed chocolate milkshakes at a laid-back 1950’s styled diner, two men were previously thrown out for fighting. While your back was turned one of those men shot your arm, causing you to carelessly throw your body to the ground due to impact.

While everyone else was screaming, Illumi jumped to the ground and tied his hair tie around your arm to temporarily stop the bleeding.

“Illu, why does it feel cold in here,” you managed to breathe out.

His heart dropped to his stomach for the first time in history.

“Don’t say things like that!”

Illumi is already horrible at displaying emotions, but all he could do is frown in fear. Once the EMS came barling in, he demanded that he ride with you.

Illumi hadn’t experienced anything like this since Killua had been injured when he fell from a tree.

You and he were separated when you were rushed into surgery leaving him alone in the waiting room.

When Illumi is stressed and cannot properly display how he feels, he tends to act in “odd” ways.

He begins to furiously turn pages in magazines or bother the receptions every 2 minutes about the status of your surgery. When the woman finally says that you’re still alive, he tones it down a little.

Illumi is open to conforming advice from strangers; he has been receiving it secretly from strangers. Since Silva was busy abusing him, he often found comfort from “the streets”.

He has a bad habit of pacing back and forth and fidgeting in his seat while horrific images fill his mind. All he has seen is pain and even though he was used to it, he didn’t want you to go through it as well.

While sitting in his seat (finally!) and head in his lap, doubled over indescribable sorrow, a little girl walks up to him with her hands folded and a doll under her arms. Illumi feels her presence and looks up. The girl’s curly hair covered her endearing eyes and her smile is wide.

“They’ll be alright. I just know they will,” turning around returning to her mother, the girl said with confidence.

On cue, Illumi placed his hand over his heart, smiling just a little.

He walked quickly to your room once you were out of surgery.

His speed walk mimics one of a soldier; his left arm in since with his right leg. His shoes echoed throughout the hall.

As soon as he enters the room, he shuts the door harder than usual and gives you a tight embrace. This surprises you! You’re lucky if he lays his head on your shoulder!

Illumi had been working out lately. He wanted to beat you in the “squish the melon” contest. He is very competitive and even if he lost, that doesn’t hurt his ego. Not in the slightest. Since it was just the both of you alone, he bends down to hug you tight, so tight that your face is squished against his.

This behavior is only surprising because he usually doesn’t coddle you even when you get hurt, but this time he realized that you could have died from the gunshot wound.

After that he kissed your forehead and almost simultaneously the doctor barreled in just missing the sweet moment between you and your beau.

Chrollo

When Chrollo is holding meetings with the Phantom Troupe, he always appears to be neutral. That is very important. A leader has to show strength even through the worst/hurtful times of their lives.

Chrollo had gotten a call from Nobunaga that you had gotten hurt on a mission and had actually gotten captured by the enemy. Phinks was able to get you back but you suffered horrible injuries.

This is protocol; they do this for any of the members. The troupe was oblivious to the fact that you and Chrollo were dating. They thought you were here to replace Uvo.

In situations like this, he is calm on the outside but screaming on the inside. Common sense will tell you if you are startled by the news you’ve just received and you begin to drive, you could cause more harm on the way to your destination.

Chrollo is very silent; he doesn’t call to check on your status or anything; he would rather see it for himself.

You were a trooper! After all, you are dating a dangerous robber.

Chrollo already knew what room you were in so he just went.

“I knew I should have kept y/n by my side. Y/n insisted on doing my dirty work that they almost died! How foolish could I have been?” He constantly cursed himself for letting his guard down with you.

He always gave you room to think and complete your own tasks but he can’t help his protective nature; one he has for the troupe but times 10.

His childhood friends had been shot by law enforcers, his home was horrific, and the last thing he needed was for you to be gone. You were keeping him afloat in society.

When he opened the door, Phinks was sitting in a chair, one leg over the other, laughing at a TikTok video.

Nobunaga on the other hand was watching the world news and seemed invested that he didn’t hear Chrollo enter the room. Once they both saw, they stood to their feet.

“Y/n is ok boss. They suffered a few cuts and burns, but they're breathing.”

Chrollo’s straight face remained as he stared at you.

Chrollo’s silence is something the troupe has internalized as a sign of anger, rage, or both. When he didn’t speak and just stared, everyone knew that their next mission was going to be a brutal one.

Chrollo is a man that isn’t afraid to express how he feels. He could cry right now if he wanted to and no one would dare laugh at him or insult him. After all, Nobunaga cried when he realized Uvo was dead.

Nobunaga and Phinks excused themselves as they saw him place his hand over his mouth.

Once the door closed, He pulled up the chair, grabbed your hand, and gently squeezed it. His warmth woke you up instantly and you turned your head. You winced in pain causing Chrollo to jump from his seat, moving to your right side so you wouldn’t turn your head too much.

“I’m glad you're alive, darling. What were you doing putting yourself in danger? Feitan could have handled the beast!”

He isn’t trying to doubt your ability to fight, he’s just concerned for your safety. Even so, why would he insist that you join the spiders?

A tear dropped from his face as he silently kissed your hand three times. You smiled warmly and placed your right left hand on top of his.

“I am fine, boss. You need not worry. I’m a trooper, remember?”

He placed your hand against his dry cheek and continued to kiss it. You were his lifeline and he wanted to spend every moment with you.

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sunaswife · 4 years ago

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Summary: It’s been five years since you’ve seen your ex, Rin. He’s still not over you and you’re not over him. When he finds out you have children he thought he didn’t have a chance. Then he finds out they’re his? All of a sudden you’re teaching Suna how to be a single dad.

🔪: Y’all my heart 🥺 ngl I kinda cried as I wrote this

Warnings: Fluff, angst I guess, drama, and cuteness twin overload

Previously Up Next Masterlist

Chapter Twelve

“Hi hi are you our grandma?” Rini said with wide eyes, you, Rin and Kauru were outside grabbing the last of the groceries and talking. It was like his mother was frozen in time, they looked exactly like her son when he was a kid, when she was still learning how to raise a tiny human.

She finally realized she was a grandmother because the looks were uncanny. “Yes I’m your grandma.” She replied and she kids ran and hugged her legs. “It’s nice to meet you, we’ve never had a grandma before but we promise to be good grandkids for you.” Rini said and Akira nodded. “What do you mean you never had a grandma before?” She asked the twins, they didn’t see the glint in her eyes. She needs all the information she can get to show her son that she’s not a good mother and he can fight for custody.

“Momma doesn’t talk to her parents. They’re mean and think she’s a dispointment.” Akira chimed in. Obviously the kid met disappointment which made sense. If Rin was a girl she’d probably do the same thing.

“Hey guys guess what grandma got!” Rin walked in, his hands full of groceries. He placed them down and pulled out the pack of the frozen Chuupets. The kids eyes widened and they ran to their dad to hand them a chuupet. “You are only getting one because you haven’t eaten dinner yet.” He said and the kids nodded. After he handed them the chuupet, they ran off. “How’s everything mom.” He looks down to see the shorter woman. “Could be better without your dog and your ex.” She answered and Suna frowned.

“At least try to get along with her? Please. She’s the mother of your grandkids and hopefully we can be together again.” He said hopefully and her eyes widened. “You wanna get back together with her.” She said almost disgusted and Rin sighed. “Yeah mom.” He replied. “You’re gonna regret it.” She hummed and Rin rolled his eyes.

“Excuse me..um...Mrs.Suna..?” You peered from behind the wall you somewhat heard their conversation but that’s a talk for another time, “What.” She raised a brow and Rin facepalmed. “When was the last time you checked the oil of your car? And your brakes?” You asked. “I don’t know. Usually we take it to a mechanic, but we’ve been busy raising someone else’s dog.” She said and eyed her son. “Mechanic? Rin nor Kauru don’t know how to do that?” You asked. “I have a sports car, no way in hell I’m fucking it up.” Rin replied.

“Is it okay for me to change the oil and the brakes? I would hate for you to get into an accident.” You asked. “Accident? You’d probably tinker with my car so I’d crash the next time I use it.” She crossed her arms over her chest. You were beyond confused, “Mom, stop.” Rin scolded and she rolled her eyes.

You left the car as is but made a mental note to ask Kauru for permission to add more oil and fix her brakes.

Other than that conversation you haven’t spoken to her the rest of the day. What bothered you was that she didn’t try to get close to the kids. You sat on the small picnic table in the backyard while Rin was throwing a chew toy across the backyard while his dog, Chewy chased it eagarly. When Rin came to the back yard he whistled causing the dog to turn its head, it stayed frozen as if not believing his owner was truly there. But eventually Rin called him and his ears perked up and he began running and whining at the same time. He tackled Rin and he fell back. Chewy licked his face and Rin was giggling with a big stupid smile on his face, you smiled lightly at the scene and Akira tugged onto your leggings to tell you that Rin was crying.

Your eyebrows scrunched in confusion and turned again to see Rin and then you saw it. The way he held on to his dog and a small tear streamed down. “Who’s a good boy? Are you a good boy?” He talked and Chewy’s tail wagged. “Alright bud, sit.” He commanded and he sat obediently. You could hear a tapping noise but it was because Chewy was so excited to see his owner. “Chewy meet your brother and sister.” Rin introduced and you started laughing. “What do you mean he’s our brother? He’s a dog.” Rini pointed out, “Same difference.” Rin shrugged and you covered your mouth to stop yourself from snorting.

“Okay get close and tell him to shake. Then shake his hand.” He instructed, Rini was first and gasped when Chewy obeyed. Earlier they got around to playing but they didn’t know their dads dog—I mean brother was trained. Akira did the same thing and she giggled. “Alrighty, Chewy. Meet your new mom.” He introduced you and you stepped back. “Nope, not my son.” You waved off, “Are you really gonna leave him motherless.” Rin pressed, “Yeah mama, he’s our brother you can’t be like that.” Akira whined.

“I just never really liked dogs.” You admitted, “Me neither but he’s my best friend.” Rin said softly. You looked down at the brown dog with curly hair. His tail wagged as his tongue sticker out so adorably. Now you understood why Rin named him Chewy, he looks like Chewbacca. “Nice to meet you, Chewy.” You reached your hand out to pet his head but he jump and rested his paws on your stomach, causing you to lose you balance and fall back. Before you could fall and die from embarrassment, No one other than Rin was there to catch you. “I’m sorry he doesn’t really do that. He’s just too excited.” He said from behind and helped you up. “No it’s fine.” You said and you both stayed quiet.

“So are you gonna continue holding on to my waist or..?”

“Fuck..sorry.” He apologized with flushed cheeks and let go. The kids began scolding their dad’s potty mouth and you hated that feeling in your stomach from when he pulled away.

Rin’s mom looked from the kitchen window and gritted her teeth while scrubbing the pan a little too hard. “Good job, Chewy.” Rini and Akira quietly praised and continued to play with their new brother.

****

“Finally we can talk.” Rin’s mom said and sat at the head of the table, you and Rin both gulped and Kauru sighed. He just wanted to nap. “Okay I can tell without a doubt that those children are Rintarou’s. And it’s nice that they don’t look like you.” Rin’s mom spoke up and you gasped. “If you’re here just to fight then don’t even open your mouth.” Kauru told his wife and she gave a glare. “Okay first of all. Why didn’t you tell my son you were pregnant.” She crossed her arms over your chest and you cuddled with your fingers. “Well Mrs.Suna...like I said over the phone. We had just broken up and I was hurt and afraid. I wasn’t sure if he would support me in keeping them—“ “Well how could you know if you didn’t speak up?” She interrupted but you ignored the jabs she threw. “I also wanted him to continue on with his career, stress free. I guess at the time I still loved him a lot that I didn’t want him to suffer with me. Or else I could have easily filed for child support.” You said and Rin frowned slightly.

“That’s not a good excuse. Rintarou has missed out on so much because you were selfish. You just wanted Rin to go pro for the money.” She accused with a pointed finger. “Mom—stop!” Rin immediately said and Kauru raised his finger to stop his son. “Karin do you know that for sure?” He asked his wife. “Yeah. All she does is party and drink. I think the kids are unsafe under her care. All of her money is wasted on her fake breasts.”

“Ma’am I can assure you that these are real. Ask your son.” You waved off and she gasped before she could open her mouth to utter more stupid shit you said. “With all due respect Mrs. Suna, you don’t know me. You don’t know how I raise my children, you don’t know what I do for a living and you don’t know what I’ve been through. Please before judging me, see how I treat my kids and how I treat your son. I have been nothing but respectful and the least you could do is treat me like a proper guest.” You argued back but she just ignored you and went through her iPad.

Why does she have an iPad? She flips the device over so you and the two Suna men could see and Rin almost spit out his drink. Karin told Kauru to look away and your mouth hung open as she swiped photo after photo of you in revealing lingerie. In some photos you’re wearing a gag and in others you’re chained up but it’s all modeling for Jamie and her line. You looked at your stomach and thighs and you could see those stretch marks.

Even though the world has seen these pictures, you can’t help but feel nervous when Rintarou is looking at them. You weren’t the same athletic girl from highschool, you gained weight, developed stretch marks, and you hate working out. You know you’re beautiful, that’s why you asked Jamie to not edit the photos of you she posted on the web. Your stretch marks and tummy were there for the world to see. But their comments or praise didn’t matter. The only person’s opinion that matters is Rintarou’s. Which is ridiculous to say but, some part of you still wants his approval and to be with him.

“Is this a good example to show your daughter? You want her modeling and showing off her body like a filthy wh—“ “Enough!” Rin smacked the table and stood up. You flinched as well as she did and you began to cry. “You make it seem like I should be ashamed of myself...”

“You should be.”

“Have you told them why we broke up?” You turned to Rin and he saw the tears streaming down. He wanted nothing more than to hold you in his arms and say that it’s okay. “No..” he shook his head and you sighed. “You won’t understand unless your son tells you what he did. Everything I did for myself and my children was for a reason. Now if you’d excuse me, I need to go, it’s time for their history lesson.” You wiped your eyes and left the table. Quickly you grabbed your bag with all their supplies and you met them outside. “Come on, time for school!” You called with a fake smile and red eyes. The kids understood to not argue and to just obey.

You sat on the picnic table with your two kids across from you and Chewy was laying on the bench right next to you, with his head on your thighs. “Mama...” Rini interrupted your thoughts, “Yes baby?” You asked and looked up from their lesson plan, “I love you, and you’re the best mom in the world.” He said with a small smile. “I love you more than Rini and you’re the bestest momma in the universe!” Akira chimes in and you chuckled. “I love you guys to infinity and beyond, forever and ever! It’s called unconditional love.” You said and their eyes widened. “Unconditional love...” akira hummed and you nodded.

“Hi Kuroo-san is everything okay?” You asked as you made your way to the patio outside. It was already time for the kids bedtime. “Y/N I’m sorry for informing you last minute but one of the commentators for tomorrow’s game is in the hospital so we were wondering if you could fill in.” He spoke calmly. “I—oh gosh I’m all the way in Hyogo..when does the game start?” You asked.

After going back in forth for tomorrow’s game you hung up after respectfully telling him you weren’t interested in going out on a date. You rubbed your face and looked at the time. The trains have already closed for the day, so you’d have to take your car.

“You good?” Rin asked as soon as you walked back inside. “I need to go in to work tomorrow. Another commentator is in the hospital. Nobody else can fill in.” You said and his eyes widened since it’s a very long drive. “Oh how fantastic, leaving your young children overnight to go work—“

“I’m taking them.” You interrupted the witch and her eyes widened. “What do you mean you’re taking them.” She asked. “They’re my children and I don’t want to leave them with you. I’d rather take them and ask Jamie to watch over them and I’ll come back the day after tomorrow.”

“Y/N...” Suna snapped you out of your rambling and you turned your head to see him. “I’m here now, remember? You don’t have to do this alone anymore. I can take care of them and watch them. I’ve done it before.” He assured. “I’m sorry but I really don’t want them near your mom.” You explained your reasoning. “Tomorrow we’ll be at Kita’s farm all day. They’ll be fine.” He said and patted your head. Without even realizing, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around Suna’s torso, his face flushed and he wrapped his arms around your shoulders. “Thank you. It means a lot.” You mumbled in his chest.

“It’s my job, partner.” He chuckled and you pulled away. “Fist bump?” He asked and presented his closer fist, you giggled and nodded. “Fist bump.” You did the same and your knuckles met. Rin’s mother scoffed and rolled her eyes, walking away to her room.

You took a deep breath as you crossed lanes on the freeway going back home. You wanted nothing more than to stay with your kids or take them with you, but you can’t control everything yourself anymore. You gonna trust Rin.

You made it home by five am since the drive was eight hours but you made it in seven by speeding and automatically fell asleep in Rin’s bed. You decided to take the pull out bed in your office when Rin moved in and he slept in your old master bedroom. But you were too tired to pull it out so you slept in your old bed. You couldn’t help but notice how the pillows smelled like Rin.

His scent definitely changed, he doesn’t use the old spice fragrance from highschool. He now uses something more expensive and more subtle yet manly at the same time. You definitely needed to know what the scent was so you could buy more for him on a birthday or something.

You woke up at around 13:30 to get ready and leave by 15:00. You showered, did your hair and wore the white button up with the green dress pants and a green blazer on top. You slipped on some hot pink heels and some subtle jewelry and made your way. You called your kids and they said they were having a blast, they really missed you and wished you and their grandma were there and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

While Rin’s mom stayed home, her husband worked and Rin took the kids out, she began thinking about the day before.

“You won’t understand unless your son tells you what he did. Everything I did for myself and my children was for a reason.”

Rin’s mom was obviously confused and still annoyed at you. But then Rin sat her down after breakfast, the kids were outside and Kauru was already gone. He explained what he did with his friends and Karin couldn’t help but feel disgusted. If she would have been more involved in his teenage life then she could have prevented this. Prevented minors drinking, prevented her son getting sexually involved with you, and preventing an innocent girl getting hurt.

In reality you should have thrown a full can of coffee at Rin instead of an empty one. You should have cursed him and made him pay child support. That’s what she would do straight up. But you’re not her, and you explained why you did what you did. And she began to understand. “You have a lot of work to do in order to get back in her good grace.” She told her son. “I know I know..” he said softly. “That’s why we’re starting as friends. And eventually I wanna be with her romanticly and marry her. I want to be the man she can rely on and trust again.” He said and her mom smiled.

“I understand, I’ll make sure to apologize when she returns. And I’m rooting for you.” She said and Rin smiled. “Thanks mom.” She stood up and grabbed her bag, “I’m not in the mood to cook. How do burgers sound?” She asked Rin and he nodded. “There’s a place down the street that’s pretty good. I’ll be back in a few.”

Rin’s mother wanted to repent for her actions and she tried thinking of a proper way to apologize. She went into the restaurant to order and everywhere she saw, it explained that the food was made with peanut oil. But that’s what gave it the flavor. That’s why it’s so delicious. She happily payed for the food completely oblivious that her grandson was severely allergic to peanuts.

She arrived home and rounded up the kids. She gave them a kiss on the head and smiled as they showed her their drawings that she could keep. Rin’s mom passed around the burgers so Rin couldn’t see the bag that promoted the peanut oil being a main ingredient and the kids munched.

When Rini took the bite his eyes widened at the deliciousness. Bite after bite and his throat began to feel weird, as well as his stomach. He took a sip of the lemonade and he couldn’t swallow it properly. He began to cough and Rin patted his back confused and he face turned red.

“Rini are you choking?!” Akira asked scared and Rini shook her head. “My stomach hurts—“ he coughed and Rin’s eyes widened. “Oh shit.” He quickly ran upstairs to his old bedroom and looked through the bag with Rini’s inhaler and other vitamins. He saw the epipen and ran back out quickly unscrewing it. Rini’s face was turning purple and he continued to cough. Akira was crying and Karin didn’t know what to do. Rin fell to his knees and slammed the pen on his sons thigh. “Are you okay bud. Stay with me please.” Tears prickled his eyes. He seriously fucked up.

Rini’s chest heaved up in down as he tried to catch his breath. Rintarou instructed his mom to call 119 and an ambulance soon came and took Rini away with Rin in the ambulance. Akira was stuck with her grandma driving to the hospital.

Karin was so confused at the situation. And she was worried for her grandson. She tried her best calming the little girl who held the green pig plush and the fox plush in her arms. “Is Rini gonna die?” Akira pouted with watery eyes. “Of course not. Everything is gonna be alright.” She assured.

While all this was going down, you were talking and laughing as you talked about Sendai frogs and their intimating demeanor. You felt a weird feeling in your chest and felt like something was wrong. Your purse and phone was stuck in the lounge locker so you didn’t see the 20+ phone calls and messages you received from Rin.

He was afraid and didn’t know what to do. He really wished you were here by his side. He couldn’t do this alone and realized this is what it’s like being a single parent.

🏷: @therealwalmartjesus @differentballooncollection @aaesuki @atsunflower @dope-squish @prettysetterboiss @june-phantom @tomo-uwu @austriasmariazelle @xrnia @katsulia @aprettyfruit @shut-your-eyes-kiss-me-goodbye @tvbiio @sun-daddy-yoriichi @kamenoyaki @ppangiiroo @loeyprivvv @kmskj92 @lovinnoya @sarahvvictoria @tris-does-stuff @mokkeguts @sunaluvr6969 @bara-rose-would @sempiternal-amour @volleybloop @leykyuu @bokutoichigo @stfucanunot @iloveanime691 @tpwkatsumu @ohrintarou @shoutosimp @mqrinqcele @bokutosdivineass @anngelllla @toworuu @hidden-otaku-stuff @seijohiselite @caxsthetic @aquariarose @hhwanggu @bakuhoetoedoroki @yoozuku @osamus-onigiri @akaashi-todorki @donica95 @kakaokenma @airheadpillar

#suna rintarou fluff #haikyuu suna #suna rintarō #miya atsumu #miya osamu #suna x reader #haikyuu!! x reader

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zakeklund · 2 years ago

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a journal entry from zak’s time in prison, featuring @bella--johnson and @oskareklund

Prison is meant to be a rehabilitation of sorts. A place to contemplate your crimes and how you plan to change so it will never happen again. I, however, am not regretful of the things I have done to land me in this place. Stealing money from the wealthy is hardly something to cry over when not a single one of them will miss it or suffer because of it. What I regret is the tarnish it has put upon my brother’s reputation in the financial world.

Oskar devotes himself to his work, so much so I think he has forgotten what it is like to have fun. He spends his waking hours pouring over numbers and emails and talking to client after client and going to countless meetings. Meals are missed, sleep is little, and social interaction is only had with those he works with or for. He is good at what he does and should continue to hold that reputation, though I do hope some good comes from his burden of a little brother’s actions. My hope is that he makes some real connections, friendships that he can carry to his grave and fall in love with someone who will treat him well, that he can spoil and will care for him in return.

As much as I love my brother, I have spent very little time thinking of him between these walls. My mind is forever occupied by one person, my dearest Isabella. She haunts my dreams and waking moments like no other. Most of my regrets lay with her and how I have continued to let her down over and over again. There were so many things I could have said, should have said to her and instead, remained silent or filled the air with insecure nonsense - blaming my pain on her when she has been the only one to bring it any relief throughout the years we’ve shared. You see, I never believed in frivolous things like love and souls and devotion before I met her. Things like that were meant for the novels on my shelf. To be read about but never to be felt. I have known for some time now that I was wrong. Undying love does exist and I was a fool for thinking otherwise. Isabella Johnson has devoured me whole and I lay stuck inside her trap until all time runs out. She is the person I love most and perhaps the only person I have ever loved. Yet I choose to fail her time and time again.

Bella, I know you will never see this but I want you to know every hurtful thing I have ever said to you, every jealous remark and heated accusation, is a product of my own insecurity and fear. It does not excuse any of it and I am sorry I have never found a way to admit this to you in person. I have tried so many times to tell you all the things I keep bottled up and shoved away. The thoughts that go through my head that would explain just how much you mean to me. You make me want to be better. I want to be good for you, I want to deserve you. But, I know I do not and I do not think I ever will. Never in my life did I think this obnoxious curly haired brunette would captivate me and turn my world upside down, captivating me so fully I feel like I have gone insane anytime she is not around. My days were numbered and I did not say what just how much you mean to me. I love you Bella, I love you more than life itself. You deserve to be worshipped like a goddess, and I want so much to be the one to do that, but I feel I will only continue to fail you. You are everything to me. You are my happy place and when I am with you, I feel like I can be a better man. I am so very sorry for all the hurt I have caused you and I cannot promise I will not do it again, but I swear I will love you until the end of time. Someday I hope I will deserve you.

#character study.#ft. bella #ft. oskar #journal.

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pucksnsticksnhockeyboys · 5 years ago

Text

reputations part two

part one

summary: you’re determined to make Matt see that you’re not too good for him.

warnings: mentions of alcohol

word count: 3.2k

note from the writer: sorry for everything I put you guys through with the first part, I hope this makes up for it :)

You hated that you were such a good person.

Maybe if you weren’t such a people-pleaser, you would’ve been able to cut Matt out of your life. Maybe you would have been able to call him on his bullshit when he said you couldn’t be happy with him. But instead, you both were acting as if that night on your front lawn never happened.

And you sure as hell weren’t happy without him.

At the end of summer, you ended up going back to Calgary the same time Matt needed to, so with the help of the Tkachuks, minus Brady who went off to Ottawa a week earlier, you moved into your new apartment within a day.

You were certain that your families knew something had happened between you and Matt, you weren’t joking with each other as often and you really weren’t as touchy-feely with each other as before. That was probably the biggest indicator that something was wrong, and your mom pulled you aside halfway through the summer to see if anything was wrong. You forced a smile onto your face, assuring her everything was fine and it was just the stress of getting a new job and moving to a different country that was getting to you.

And if you weren’t such a good person, you probably wouldn’t have found yourself squished between Johnny Gaudreau and Sam Bennett at some dive bar at midnight a few months into the season.

You met his teammates over the years when you would visit with Matt’s family or come up on your own for a weekend when you were still in college, and now that you lived in Calgary, it was decided that you were to be invited out to bars with them whenever they met up. There was an obvious tension between you and Matt, but none of them seemed to care as a group of you shoved into one tiny booth. Noah and Elias had offered to pick up drinks at the bar for the table, leaving you sitting between Johnny and Sam with Matt sitting on the opposite side.

“So have you met any guys since you’ve been here?” Johnny asked you with a smug grin and you wondered if it was intentional because Sam chuckled and Matt made a sound as if he was choking on air.

“Uh, haven’t really been looking.” You told him with a forced smile. You kept the part about how you were waiting for Matt to come to his senses to yourself, but from the way the curly haired boy in question was studying the table intently you gathered he picked up on the hidden meaning of your words.

“Well, when you come to the game tomorrow, I’ve got an extra Bennett jersey you can wear.” Now you knew for a fact that they were doing it on purpose, because as he spoke, Sam’s gaze didn’t leave Matt and he was smirking. Johnny laughed loudly as Matt’s head whipped up, his eyes narrowed at his blonde teammate.

“No!” He said a little too quickly. You raised a brow at him, but he tilted his head back with a groan. “No, she can only wear my jersey, it’s good luck.”

“Because you’re really superstitious.” Noah teased sarcastically as he and Elias reappeared with drinks in hand. You couldn’t help the way the corner of your lips turned up at the fact that his teammates were onto his ridiculous behavior. Matt was never one for intricate rituals before games, but one thing he always made sure of whenever you went to see him play was that you wore one of his jerseys. But if he was going to be childish, then so were you.

“You know what, Sam, I think I just might take you up on that.” You joined in, taking a swig of the drink Elias placed in front of you as you gauged Matt’s reaction. He looked shocked, and you immediately regretted your words as he silently looked down at the bottle of beer Noah had pressed into his hands moments earlier.

Elias changed the topic of conversation soon after, and you were thankful for the distraction. You sipped your drink silently, much quieter than you probably would be and Matt barely said a word. And when he slipped out of the booth to get himself a refill, you followed after, shooting Johnny a sympathetic smile for leaving halfway through his story.

You made a mental note to apologize to him later, but at the moment Matt was your priority. He always was, if you were being honest with yourself.

“Hey, Matty.” You tried, bringing back the nickname that you hadn’t used in a while. It felt different on your tongue all the while feeling the same, like you should have been calling him that this whole time. He glanced at you and quickly returned his attention to the bar, but when you reached a hand out to squeeze his forearm and he turned to face you, you knew you had his attention. “I was just kidding, earlier, you know.”

“I guess.” He huffed, shrugging his shoulders as if it wasn’t a huge deal and that it wasn’t affecting him so blatantly. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what you were talking about, you could see in his eyes and in the slump of his shoulders that he was still thinking about your throwaway comment to Sam about his jersey. You pouted at his response, and took a sip of your drink as you thought about what to say to convince him.

But you didn’t have to, because there was a commotion behind you, and when you turned to see what was going on you were faced with a guy clearly not taking no for an answer, bothering some poor girl. Before you could even think to intercede, Matt’s large frame slid into view and he was shoving the creep off the girl.

You asked her if she was okay, and when her only response was a trembling lip and glassy eyes you grabbed her hand to lead her to the bathroom to get her some space and time to compose herself. On your way through the crowd, you shot a glance over your shoulder to find Matt in the face of the creep, making sure that he didn’t follow you and the girl.

You wondered how he thought he wasn’t a good person.

The boiling point came a few days later.

It was late at night and after a game that hadn’t gone in the favor of the Flames, and you weren’t sure what exactly had set you off, but you stormed into Matt’s apartment building furious and on a mission. Maybe it was that fact that his mom had called you that afternoon to check up on you or the fact that his words from all those months ago when you had kissed him had been bouncing around in your head relentlessly. But it all fell into place somehow and you found yourself knocking on his door without giving him any prior warning that you would be coming over. You knew he would be home sulking after a loss like the one he had just suffered, because you knew him.

You knew he hated the way you made your coffee and that he loved getting under your skin just to hear you whine his name with a smile to try and get him to stop. You knew he was just as much of a romantic as you were but didn’t like to admit it and that he was insecure about his ability to live up to his dad’s legacy. When Danny Baker from three streets up told Matt that he would never be in the NHL, you punched him.

You probably did more damage to your hand than to his face, but the thought was there.

“You don’t get to do this to me, Matthew.” You huffed before he could get a word in as soon as his front door opened. His eyes went wide and you could tell he knew you meant business. You couldn’t remember the last time you had called him by his full name, let alone shown up on his doorstep angry.

“I—” He started, but you shook your head, brushing past him and storming inside his apartment. You were upset, and frustrated, and just needed to vent your feelings to someone. And who better than the person that put you in the situation in the first place?

“You don’t get to decide whether or not you deserve me or whatever bullshit excuse you came up with. I decide. It’s my choice.” You were pacing his kitchen now, and after your initial burst of anger, you were slowing. “Matt, if you don’t like me, just say it. Don’t feed me lines to try and let me down easy. I’ve earned that after all these years.”

“I like you. I really, really, like you. But—” The desperation in your voice spurred him to answer, but it wasn’t the one you wanted. You had a feeling you knew what the answer was. Brady had teased him for years about liking you and neither boy knew the definition of subtle.

“No bullshit, Matthew. Yes or no?” You huffed, wanting a straight answer. You were tired of wondering, tired of spending an hour each night before falling asleep whether or not things could be different. You just needed to know.

“I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.” His quiet words had you pushing off the counter you were leaning against and crossing the kitchen. You shoved aside the warm feeling you got when he said he’s in love with you and instead tried to focus on the moment, knowing that what you said next was crucial towards how your relationship pans out.

“I can’t be happy without you, Matt. I don’t care about your reputation. When are you going to learn that?” Your feet carried you to stand before him, one hand cupping his jaw while the other curved around the back of his neck. His hands came to rest on your waist on instinct, and you hesitated under the vulnerability in his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment earlier. “I know you, the real you. I don’t care what the media says, and I certainly don’t listen to a word that comes out of Doughty or Kassian’s mouths.”

Your comment about his known rivals had him chuckling, and you tentatively smiled as he dropped his head down so his forehead rested against yours. Your heart was racing, and you felt as if you were getting somewhere.

“I was an ass, huh?” He settled on saying with a breathy chuckle. His blue eyes bore into yours, and though you weren’t sure what he was searching for you knew he only found truth and love. You shook your head slightly, the movement only detectable because of your proximity but it was enough to get your message across.

“You were insecure, Matt, which is fine. You’re allowed to be. But you need to talk to me, especially about something like this.” You told him, thumb brushing across his cheek as you spoke. He took a moment to think about your words, and you gave him all the time he needed. You were familiar with the feeling of being uncertain of yourself, and how uncomfortable it was to feel as if you weren’t good enough. You could only hope that Matt was able to seem himself the way you saw him.

“Okay.” He mumbled after a moment, dropping his head to the crook of your neck while pulling you fully into his chest. One of your hands threaded into the curls at the back of his head while the other wrapped around his middle, holding him in place.

“Yeah?” You hummed into his chest, pressing a kiss there through the fabric of his shirt. He nodded, and you felt more than saw the action. You tugged on his hair after a moment, signalling for him to lift his head up. When he did, you pressed a kiss to his jaw, and then the corner of his mouth, before finally landing on his lips with a content sigh.

It was slower than the first time you kissed on your front lawn. Back then you were rushed and excited from landing the job in Calgary and confessing how you felt for him. Now, it was slow and calculated, and you were savoring every moment, trying to convey to him just how much he meant to you.

“Stay the night?” Matt asked, and it was easy for you to say yes. It was late, and you were exhausted from both a hard day at work and your outburst of anger. Matt smiled tiredly when you nodded, pressing one last lazy kiss to your lips before leading you by your hand towards his bedroom.

He kissed you as he handed you one of his shirts to sleep in and kissed once more as you slipped out of his bathroom after changing. You kissed him as soon as he laid down, and again as you climbed in beside him. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but you were sharing lazy and slow kisses like your life depended on it.

“I should have just talked to you.” Matt spoke quietly into the dark a few minutes after you had settled in to sleep. You felt the vibrations of his chest when he talked from where you were laying half draped across him, and it was oddly comforting. You chuckled at his statement, and since you grew up with Matthew and Brady and Keith, you couldn’t help your next comment.

“You’re not getting an argument from me, Matty.”

—

“Matt, your girlfriend is outside.” Brady teased, shoving his brother’s shoulder playfully. Matt shot up from where he was seated at the kitchen island, ignoring his family’s jabs at how eager he was to see you, despite the fact that not only two hours ago you had been in their kitchen helping Chantal make a few dishes for the barbeque the Tkachuks were throwing later in the day.

He really couldn’t argue his family’s comments now.

Matt grinned when he spotted you sunning in your yard like always. He bought you a twelve pack of sunscreen as a joke for your birthday, and you rolled your eyes at him in the way that he found absolutely adorable. He made his way to the fence, cataloging your appearance. Speaker to your left, sunglasses on your nose, and his favorite swimsuit of yours on.

You grinned the moment you heard the Tkachuks back door open and shut, knowing it was Matt. You could feel his eyes on your body, the same way you always did whenever he caught you tanning. You wondered how he ever thought he was being subtle before you got together. Now, he got to openly admire you, and he did often.

“Hey, gorgeous.” Matt called over the fence, making you snort. Over the course of your relationship, you had learned that he was big on complimenting you. And you would be the last person to complain about it.

“Hey, Matty.” You called back, pushing yourself up and leaning back on your hands. For a second, Matt didn’t respond, only watched you with a grin on his face. You raised a brow at him, questioning him silently and that seemed to spur him on.

“C’mere.” Matt nodded with his head in his direction, and that was all it took for you to stand to your feet and cross the short distance to the fence. He was leaning with his forearms across it, head resting on his chin. You pushed yourself up to your tip-toes and pressed a quick kiss to his lips before settling back down on flat feet. Matt hummed in content, his eyes staying closed a second or two longer after the kiss ended and you admired what the summer sun did to your boyfriend.

“I can’t believe that we could have been doing that since middle school.” Matt joked, and you rolled your eyes.

“We could’ve been doing that all last summer, too, if you had just talked to me.” You chirped, unable to let the opportunity pass through your fingertips.

“You’re going to hold that over me until the day I die, huh?” He groaned playfully, pouting his lips for another kiss you couldn’t help but give him. You agreed with a hum and a teasing grin, feeling nothing but love through your whole body under your boyfriend’s gaze. Before you could respond, your phone started ringing from where you left it on your towel.

Matt, ever the gentleman, admired the roses your mom had planted the week before as you bent over to pick up the device, but also was a simple man in love, and couldn’t help it if his gaze landed on you for a moment.

You ignored him, checking the number that was calling you to see a Calgary area code. Matt watched you as you answered, grinning to himself when he saw your wide smile. He listened to you thank whoever was on the line profusely, and after you bid them goodbye and hung up you squealed in excitement. Matt chuckled as you bounded over to him, grabbing his face with both your hands and pulling him over the edge of the fence to connect your lips.

“We got the house.” You mumbled against his lips and Matt pulled back with a surprised look on his face, though he was still smiling because he was with you, and there was no way he could not smile when you were looking at him with the utmost love in your eyes.

“You’re serious?” And though Matt spent nearly his entire life thankful for the fence between his yard and yours, there was nothing more than it that he hated in that moment. He held up one finger, as if to tell you to hold one for a minute, before he took a step back and hopped over the fence.

“Matthew!” You chided, because the fence was just tall enough that he shouldn’t be doing that, but you weren’t given the chance to tell him that because he was sweeping you into his arms for a hug.

“Can you tell my mom we’re moving in together?” He mumbled into the crook of your neck. You pulled back, looking at him with a confused expression. You were certain that he had told Chantal already, but from the sheepish grin he was giving you, you realized he was being serious.

“You haven’t told her?” You sighed, exasperated but in good fun. Instead of responding right away, Matt ducked his head down to press his lips to yours for a quick kiss. Though he was usually a pretty good distraction, this was different. “Matt, we just bought a house.”

“I don’t want her to call me soft.” He was joking, but you rolled your eyes at him nonetheless. Matt closed his eyes in content as you ran your fingers through his curls. The way he was acting was completely contradictory towards what he had just said, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

“You are soft, Matty.” He chuckled, though he couldn’t argue.

He never could argue when it came to you.

#matthew tkachuk #Matthew tkachuk imagine #Matthew tkachuk imagines #Matthew tkachuk x reader #calgary flames #calgary flames imagine #hockey #hockey imagine #nhl #NHL imagine

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mimssides · 4 years ago

Text

Nerver Met You

Chapter 2: First Steps

The hardest steps to take are the first ones. The ones which will take us away from our past, away from our pain but also our love.

“You may stop,” Janus said as the man fell back into a defensive stance to fight off yet another soldier.

The soldiers retreated and the man looked over to Janus, his gaze filled with anticipation and a considerable amount of exhaustion. Janus had had him fight for a good hour after letting him unload the flour carriage, cleaning the stables and run the training course of the military recruits. He had been up since five in the morning and between the chores he had questioned him about his past.

The man, he still had not given him his name, not even an initial, was in his early thirties, born and lived all his life in Theana and knew far too much about their political situation for a usual commoner. Janus had also let his men run a background check over the stranger but there was no one who seemed to know or even recognize him in the slightest. Which was very weird considering how memorable and eccentric the man spoke and presented himself after Janus had gotten him to talk a little more.

With a wave of his hand Janus motioned him to come closer. With light steps, not showing how much his legs must be aching and the straightest posture Janus had ever seen, the man walked towards him and halted right before him with a curious look.

“Yes, you may speak,” Janus said without thinking why he knew that the man wanted to say something.

He wiggled his eyebrows, shimmied his shoulders and said: “What’s next, chief? Wanna see me sweat and bleed some more? I can lose some layers if you'd like.”

“Yes, because you have so many layers to lose,” Janus deadpanned looking at the tunic with no signs of an undershirt beneath it and the loose pants the man was wearing.

The man snickered and let the wooden staff he had been fighting with rest on the ground as he held himself upright with it. The view was oddly endearing even though Janus was a little annoyed.

The mysteries around this odd man really intrigued him at this point but he had no way to find out more. It was not that the man did not want to cooperate, he simply couldn’t. Several times Janus had asked him personal things and he had tried to answer just to begin to cough and hold his throat again. Which most likely meant that this man was cursed.

Which should have been enough. Which should have meant that Janus would send him on his way and not truly consider Logan’s silly request of making this man the king’s personal guard. And yet Janus was looking at this odd man once more and let himself consider it.

The picture of Patton cradled in the man’s arms reappeared in Janus’s mind and he decided to dig one last time in the man’s past for now.

“You were well-versed in calming the boy. Did you work with children in the past or how does it come that you knew exactly what to do with him?” Janus asked hoping that this was vague enough so the man could answer it.

The man’s grin disappeared and he straightened up again. Alerted Janus watched as he for the first time didn’t meet his gaze and looked down to the side. He was biting his lips and clenching and unclenching his fist before he stretched his fingers and looked back at Janus again.

His voice was rather raw as he said: “I didn’t work with children but I was a kid once too and – I've seen some shit as a kid. I’ve been through trauma and I remember how hard it was a s a kid to deal with it, so I tried to help him the way I wished someone would have helped me.”

Janus gulped. Something twisted in his stomach as he forced his expression to remain neutral and told him: “I apologize that I had you revisit those memories. And for the record, I am sorry you had to go through this alone. You might not know it but despite my untrusting nature I do believe that every person deserves support in their times of need.”

The man faintly smiled.

“I did know. And thank you for your compassion but I wasn’t alone. I had my -”

***

Today was a mournful anniversary for Theana. It had been a year since the assassination of the king and queen and Janus was walking towards Crown Prince Roman’s quarters, since he had rung the bell for him. He needed to get there quickly; Roman was not one to send for him or anybody for the matter.

The Crown Prince had been reclusive and antisocial during the year of mourning and had not spoken a single word with anybody since that day. Janus had tried to get him help, had asked █████ to help him with it but █████ had denied him. He insisted to give Roman space and leave him be despite it breaking his heart.

Janus frowned. █████ was suffering under his ███████’s silence. Roman was the only blood family had been left and his previously so sunny and loud personality was lacking immensely within the castle walls. As the Royal Advisor, Janus knew he had to get Roman back to health again, since █████’s psyche would otherwise decline even more. This first year as a child ████ had been so hard on him and he needed some semblance of hope. And he needed it soon.

Janus forced a neutral expression on his face before he knocked on the door and waited for the small bell to chime once which meant one could enter. The bell chimed and Janus entered.

On the cushions on the bay window Roman sat and stared outside. As Janus approached, he turned his face towards him, without meeting his eyes, and slowly got up. Just like █████ he had had a growth spurt and no longer looked like a child but like an adolescent. He was tall for a thirteen-year-old, rather slim and was wearing a black tunic and pants, as every day since his parents’ death.

Patiently, Janus waited. It usually took some time until Roman made known what he wanted and Janus dared to wait as long as needed. Then Roman lifted his hand and brought it up towards his lips with a small gesture. Janus nodded and asked to confirm: “You wish for some water, Your Royal Highness?”

Roman nodded and Janus got the water carafe from the tray in corner of the room. Quietly, he filled it with water and gave it a short once over with his eye of truth to make sure it wasn’t poisoned and then handed it Roman.

Graciously, Roman took it and sipped a few tiny sips as Janus stepped back and watched him intently. The work he did here was not the one of the Royal Advisor but one of a guardian or a servant. But then again, Janus was still a child himself, many of his more complex duties were still taken care of by his father.

Because Janus still had a father to take care of the complicated and dangerous tasks the court had in stall for him. And while Janus felt grateful for it, he also felt guilty the longer he looked at █████ and Roman in their his position. Especially on a day like this. And thinking of the many things he still had to do, he was about to bow in front of his Crown Prince and excuse himself to leave when Roman raised his hand as a sign for him to wait.

And so, Janus waited. He watched as Roman opened his mouth, quietly cleared his throat and took again a sip of water before he at once looked up and for the first time in a year met Janus’s eyes.

A shiver ran down Janus’s spine. There was a force and might behind the gesture that was inexplicable to him.

“I will attend to the speech and the mourning festivities. Tell my ███████ I will stand by his side,” Roman spoke with a voice far stronger and slightly deeper than Janus had remembered him speaking before.

Never had Janus thought that on this terrible day something good, no something so wonderful, could happen. He didn’t even care that tears were rolling over his cheeks and that his whole body was shaking in front of a member of the Royal Family. He especially didn’t care as Roman’s pulled his brows slightly upwards and a faint smile decorated his lips.

Quietly, Roman walked up to Janus and put his hand on his shoulder. A gentle squeeze and a deep breath.

“Am I understood?” Roman said ever so softly.

Eagerly, Janus bowed his head and excused himself as Roman turned towards the window again. The moment Janus had left the room, he began sprinting down the hall towards █████’s quarters. With tears of joy still dripping of his cheeks he passed by the guards and ignored their calls to stop and stormed into █████’s room, where he was preparing his garments for the festivities.

With furrowed brows █████ eyed Janus and stepped away from the tailor who had been making the last adjustments for his outfit. He waited for Janus to catch his breath and the young Royal Advisor sloppily wiped his face and tried to compose himself.

As Janus took his time, █████ grew antsy and eventually asked him before he could stop himself: “What happened?”

Janus looked up. There stood his ████ in a black tunic and black pants just like Roman had worn this morning as well. His hair was just as curly, the eyes just as green, even the face was just the same. And yet Janus had never mistaken him for Roman.

“Your ███████-” Janus panted and saw █████’s face fall and added hastily - “He spoke! He said he would attend to the festivities and be by your side.”

Janus did not complain as █████ simply stormed out of the room. He followed despite his burning lungs and more guards shouting. And he knew it was all worth it when he watched █████ reaching Roman’s room and enter without knocking. He knew it would be alright when █████ flung himself in Roman’s arms and cried into the nape of his neck as Roman quietly told him that it was okay.

***

A coughing fit, far worse than those before overcame the man and Janus stepped to his side to stroke his back in a calming manner. The man quickly put on hand on Janus’s shoulder to steady himself as the coughs slowly subsided and he found himself breathing normally again. As he finally had finished, Janus let one of the guards bring him some water and the two of them walked to the edge of the training ring and sat down on a bench.

The man was breathing heavily and his hands were shaking from the coughing fit. Almost Janus reached over to him and help him drink from the glass so he would not spill the water but stopped himself in the last moment. This was ridiculous. He didn’t know this man, he was a stranger and a potential threat. He was not supposed to care about him and help him out on a whim, Janus reminded himself and shook his head.

“I think this is enough for now,” Janus said and stood up.

The man wanted to follow suit and but Janus stopped with the words: “You have deserved a break after the assessment. I will talk with the king about your position and will let you know what we decided soon after. You may now return to your quarter and wait there for the next orders.”

The man gaped. Janus could imagine why; he was not known to be merciful or kind. He had always been harsh and demanding unlike Roman, who he had supported during all of his life and had always been warm-hearted and forgiving despite the lessons life had taught him. Janus had needed to protect the too pure man and it had made him cynical and cautious. But there was something in this stranger that awoke just the same protective instinct which usually kicked in when Roman was around.

“Seize this moment of my sentimentality, stranger,” Janus said sharply under his breath knowing fully well that his left eye was glowing golden, “for it will not come upon you again. Enjoy your break and make sure that I won’t have to regret this. Otherwise, you will pay for it.”

A nod followed and Janus left the training grounds. The man watched as he instructed a few guards to bring him back to his quarters and he followed as the led him back there. Not that he needed their guidance to find the place.

Quarters was a generous name for a square room with a kitchenette, a table with a chair, a closet and a bed. There was a small bathroom with a toilet and a water faucet where he had freshened up last night. Judging his sweat drenched clothes, he would need to go to the baths for the soldiers which would be an interesting experience for him.

With a sigh he sat down on his chair and ruffled through his curly hair. What was he doing? Why did he come back to the castle? This was torture to him and it wouldn’t do him any good to stick around here any longer. He should leave. He really should leave before the prince would come to the castle. After that he would be hopelessly lost.

Tock, tock.

The man listened up. With furrowed brows he stared at the door.

Tock, tock.

Now it sounded like a question somehow and the man decided to answer and got up.

“Yes?” he asked and opened the door to not see anybody stand in front of it.

A tiny cough sent the man’s eyes looking downwards and there he found Patton standing in front of his door. The little boy looked up at him with a shy smile and before the man knew it, he crouched down to his eye level and returned the smile brightly.

“Hello Patton! It’s so nice to see you again,” the man said softly and Patton giggled a little.

“It’s nice to see you too! I was looking for you in the whooooole outer courtyard! It’s very big, and my legs aren’t very long so it took me a while to search it all,” Patton whispered quickly and leaned forward as if he was telling a secret.

“I see,” the man stage whispered back to Patton’s amusement. “How did you find me?”

“I asked one of the guards! She was very nice and said it was very nice of me to come and thank you for saving me.”

The man’s expression shifted. He looked surprised and Patton furrowed his little brows at that. Why was his saviour surprised? Was it that unusual to ask guards for help? Didn’t grownups ask for directions as well? How did they not get lost all the time?

“You want to thank me?”

Patton was very confused now. Why was this grownup so confused that someone would thank him for helping them? That didn’t make any sense!

“You don’t make any sense! Of course, I want to thank you!” Patton said and put his hands on the man’s knees causing him to look at him with big eyes. “You were very nice to me and saved me and are very cool and I didn’t thank you and you’re supposed to thank people for helping you and I forgot because Sir Will Suffice told Ms Anouilh that we can go and I was still a little scared from suddenly being no longer on the street and that’s why I came now to make it right!”

The man still looked a little surprised but now he seemed more relaxed and he was smiling and Patton really like this man’s smile. He really, really liked him.

“That is very kind of you, Patton. I feel honoured that you came all the way to my tiny quarters just to thank me,” the man said and Patton beamed at him.

Happily, Patton jumped on the spot and told the man: “It’s no problem! And I didn’t even thank you yet!”

The man chuckled as Patton stepped back and bowed before him and said: “Thank you very much for saving me yesterday, Mr …”

Patton looked up and frowned. The man tilted his head in question until he suddenly got what was most likely the problem.

“I have not even asked for your name! That’s very not polite of me!” Patton whined tears forming in his eyes.

Reacting quickly, the man shot forward and put his hand on Patton’s shoulder. He smiled at him and wrecked his brain of how to console him most efficiently and how he would explain to him that he was unable to tell him his name without upsetting the emotional kid any further.

Eventually the man settled: “It’s alright, Patton. I’m not hurt that you didn’t ask for my name. You had other very scary things in your mind and if I was you, I might have forgotten to ask something like that as well.”

Patton calmed a little and rubbed his eyes dry. He didn’t see it but the man gave him a proud look for calming down so quickly. Patiently, he waited for Patton to finish collecting himself until he was ready to finally ask: “So, can you tell me your name now, mister?”

The man bit his bottom lip. He could not lie to this child. He simply couldn’t give him a fake name.

“I really want to,” the man said a bit shaky, “but I can. Like I really, really can’t.”

Patton frowned adorably and shook his head.

“Do you not know your name then?”

“I do know my name.”

“But you cannot say it?”

“No, I cannot say it.”

Patton mused for a second.

“Can you write it down?”

The man thought for a moment as well.

“I don’t think so. Can you already read?”

“Not well, but I can read the letters of my name! There is a P, an A, two T’s, an O and an N! That's six letters because there are two T’s!” Patton explained excitedly and the man giggled.

And as the man giggled Patton had an idea.

“We could make up a name for you! Because everyone should have a name and making up things if fun!” Patton exclaimed and the man’s expression grew even softer.

“That’s a great idea, Patton. What name would you think should I have?”

Patton pressed his pointer finger against his forehead to make the thoughts come faster. With a serious expression he looked all over the man to find his first clue.

“You’ve got curly hair like me but it’s brown, which isn’t super rare though. So, we can’t call you Curly or Brown, I think.”

“Very well deducted.”

“Mhm. Soooo -” Patton looked into the man’s eyes and for the first time noticed their colour - “green! You’ve got very pretty green eyes! I like green second best after pink, so that would be a very good name, I think!”

A smile spread on the grownup’s face and at once he pulled Patton into his arms and quickly jumped to his feet, eliciting a joyful shout from the boy. With a big smile he tickled Patton’s belly and the boy giggled hysterically. Eventually, the man stopped torturing Patton and safely placed his arm under his butt and the other over the little boys back to hold him securely, as Patton slung his legs around the man’s waist and his arms around his neck.

“I really, really like that name, Patton. Thank you so much for giving me such a pretty name,” Green said and watched Patton look at him with stars in his eyes.

“You are welcome,” Patton said proudly. “And thank you for saving me yesterday Mr Green.”

Green pushed some of Patton’s curls out of his face and simply smiled. Something about this little kid in his arms made him inexplicably weak and he wanted nothing more than hold him tight in his arms.

“You don’t smell very nice.”

Green could not help but chuckle as he looked in Patton’s displeased little face and ruffled his hair. With a playful brow wiggle Green shook the boy before he put him back down on the floor.

“Well, apparently you were saved by a stinky old man, huh? What a bad luck you’ve got, kid!” Green joked but Patton did not look very amused.

In fact, Patton looked almost like he was going to chide Green any second now. And then he actually did chide him: “This is not funny Mr Green! You want to smell nice and look nice! It’s very important! You need to look after yourself!”

“Oh, it’s very important?” Green gently said and Patton nodded intently.

“Yes, it is! Mrs Rose, she takes care of us in the orphanage, always says that! It’s because people will like us better when we look proper and take care of ourselves and then we get a new home and maybe a softer bed and maybe, maybe goodnight kisses and hugs, so you need to go to the baths and clean yourself! It’s super important!”

Green blinked. He pressed his lips into a firm line, brows furrowing and inhaled slowly. Then his face relaxed again and he let himself sit down in the door frame while still looking down at Patton. At once Green was very tired and it took a toll on him to keep smiling but he did it anyway.

“I see, but I’m not supposed to leave this room, kid. Also, I haven’t been to a – the bathhouse here, so I don’t know where it is and what rules to follow,” Green explained patiently.

That statement did not seem to satisfy Patton. Before Green could ask what he was thinking, the little boy had turned around and ran towards one of the guards close to the stables and talked with them as he pointed towards Green. And just moments later Patton turned back around and ran to Green with very determined look in those little eyes.

“Get some spare clothes and your towel! Mrs Guard has allowed me to show you the baths because you are stinky and need a bath and because she trusts me because I am very reliable,” Patton announced.

Green gaped. He simply gaped at the audacity from little Patton. From this boy that was looking at him with the biggest eyes and more certainty than Green had felt in the last 48 hours combined. And in his surprise, he went to grab some clothes he had been given, a towel and then took Patton’s hand, who led him happily towards the baths. Idly chattering Patton talked to him and greeted whomever was passing them until they reached the bathhouse.

Green stopped. He didn’t know what to do next. He had seen this place many times from the outside but never from within. Everything was a lot right now and he felt overwhelmingly lonely and clueless in this moment.

“I can come with you if you want.”

The voice he heard came from his side and finally Green remembered Patton who was still holding his hand and looking up at him with these trustworthy eyes. This most likely should be the point where Green should have told Patton that it was fine and that he should go back to Ms Anouilh in the weaving mill. But he didn’t.

Instead, he squeezed Patton’s hand and said quietly: “That would be very nice of you, kid. I’m - I’m a bit lost on my own right now. But you don’t have to if you don’t want.”

Patton smiled and pulled Green behind himself while he answered and led them to the dressing room before the baths.

“Oh, I don’t like bath time a lot, but it’s always much funnier with others around and you are fun and I like to help, so this is fun too!”

The bath was mostly empty as it was early afternoon and most soldiers didn’t shower during that time, so Green and Patton could take their time. And they needed that as Patton explained exactly how Green needed to get in line, when many people wanted a bath and how to put away his dry clothes in one of the lockers so they didn’t get wet. He did all of it with much passion and Green had a good time as the kid and he undressed and went inside. Quietly, he made sure that Patton washed all the soap out of his hair when they had finished and helped him dry himself once they got back to put on their clothes.

Not once Patton stopped talking and not once Green felt alone again. It was no surprise to him anymore, when he asked Patton if he wanted a snack after helping him out, that the little boy agreed with a bright smile. And so, they went back into his little quarter and he found some eggs, salt, milk and pepper in his kitchenette to make them some scrambled eggs. Patton at first insisted that this was only breakfast food but came around quickly, when Green allowed him to turn on the stove and help him make sure that the frying pan got hot enough before they put the eggs inside the pan.

A couple of minutes later Patton and Green could sit down and eat their meal. Patton talked the whole way through, Green not thinking of reminding him to close his mouth when he was chewing. This kid seemed to have so much to talk about and he was more than willing to listen. And Green liked how his words filled the room and his head and his heart. He liked how he didn’t feel so forlorn with Patton around and he hoped that he did a good job of taking care of him in return. He did not want him to get used by him. He just wanted to see this tiny face be happy and the boy being save. It’s all he wanted. At least in that very moment.

As they finished, Green put their plates away and then went to wipe Patton’s face with a napkin he found in one of the drawers. Patton wasn’t that happy about it but soon forgave him, when he scooped him up from his chair and let him sit on the table as he hugged him tightly. For a moment Green was close to cry but it passed and he relished in the embrace Patton clearly enjoyed as well.

Tock, tock.

Green frowned and softly pulled out of their hug which caused Patton to whine a little. He shot him an apologizing look and went to the door. Subconsciously, he fixed his posture and opened it to meet the gaze with the guard, who had let Patton bring him to the bathhouse. He bowed his head and kept his mouth shut waiting for her words.

“I was sent by the Royal Advisor. I am here to inform you that you have passed your evaluation and will be instructed to your new duties first thing in the morning, if you wish to pursue the position,” she said firmly but not unkindly.

It took a moment for the information to settle. Janus and Logan had spoken and agreed to keep him around. It left him feeling so many things at once yet his face remained blank. He licked his lips slowly and nodded his head.

“Thank you for this chance. I will be ready in the morning to receive my instructions,” Green answered dutifully.

The guard raised her eyebrows and angled her head slightly. He mirrored her not quite knowing what her in thoughts were in the hopes he might maybe understand her through mimicking.

But it didn’t help him to anticipate the next thing she said: “So, you accept?”

“I- I don’t have much choice, do I? With no permit in a time where King Gerogy is a real bitch I have to accept any leniency that is shown to me.”

Green’s hand shot in front of his mouth. That was too direct. He shouldn’t have said that. Jan was right, he really needed to watch his words better, this would cost his head. This would mark the end of him.

And then it didn’t.

The guard laughed and she shook her head.

“You were given a choice without any attachments. You can deny or accept and will not face any form of punishment. It’s the king’s will.”

The king’s will.

How had Green ever doubted Logan?

Green bowed his head and felt Patton hold onto his leg as he came from behind. There was so much he needed to protect. So much that meant the world to him.

“Then I will be honoured to accept this position,” Green said and bowed deeply.

___

Link for AO3, Taglist, Masterlist, and next Chapters are in my first reblog!

#intrulogical #romantic roceit #remus sanders #janus sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #Never Met You #fantasy au #eir writes #please reblog

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way-too-short-formysoul-corazon · 3 years ago

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Here’s section 2, all wrapped up for you guys to enjoy!

1: "What is she doing?" Keons asked from the control room.

"I'm not sure, but it seems she's up to something, she's not taking the drone with her. We should go check this out for ourselves," Nico replied.

"But what if she's doing it in order to not look suspicious to the rebels? She's a really smart girl -"

"And I'm not saying she's not, all I'm saying is that it's unusual. If she didn't want them to be suspicious, she could have told the drone to fly in stealth mode, could she not?"

"Well, I guess that's right... But can't we just wait a few more minutes for her to give us some indication if there are rebels in those woods?" Keons replied, starting to feel like he's been betrayed by the one whom he loves the most.

"Alright, we'll have it your way, Keons. I'll give her two minutes. If she doesn't turn up in that time, you will be the one to find her and execute her."

"Yes, sir." Keons replies, deflated, a knot welling up inside his stomach.

2: As I was walking through the thick woods, I began to think of what the people back home were saying about me. Were they proud that I went off in search of these "rebels"? What was my father thinking about behind those palace walls?

Does he even miss me?

A few minutes into my walking around, I heard footsteps. Careful, soft footsteps, and I got excited.

They're here, they're here!!! Real Banditos, I get to finally see them, finally talk to them!!!

"Hello?! I know you're out there, I can hear your footsteps! Come out, please! I promise I won't -"

"Won't what, Savanna? Won't turn them in like you said that you would?" My father said, hurt encompassing his voice.

"Th- that's not what I-! Bu- But Dad! I- I wasn't- !"

"I'm sorry, Savanna, my daughter. I never meant for this to be this way. Just don't fight, and there won't be any pain." My dad said, a tear running down his face.

He's gonna kill me, feed me to the vultures, I thought, adrenaline pumping through my veins, I need to run.

And so I did. I ran at the fastest speed I could go, running through shrubs and prickly bushes, running for my life.

3: When I finally got to where I thought was a safe place, I collapsed.

I'm done running, I can't run anymore. I'm done.

I just sat there, thinking about my life, if I would make it out of this forest alive, and what they would do if they caught me.

Shall I be made to suffer the same fate as that man back in the city? Or will a worse fate await me?

I fell into a reluctant and fear-ridden sleep. A sleep in which I never wanted, yet needed immensely.

4: Suddenly, I awaken from my nightmare sleep to find two people, Banditos, hovering over me. One of them has short, shaven hair while the other has somewhat curly hair and a pair of yellow drumsticks. I attempt to utter out the words "Who are you guys?", but nothing comes out of my mouth, and I'm stuck trying to speak and making no sound.

"It's alright, don't strain yourself. You're safe now," promised the one whose yellow duct tape was around him in an 'X' shape.

I nodded, and they helped me up. We started walking into the camp.

When we got into the camp, the Bandito beside the one with the mask suggested that I should have a tour of the camp, and his friend agreed.

"I'm sorry, we really haven't introduced ourselves, have we. My name is Tyler Joseph, this is my friend and head of the Banditos, Josh Dun," Josh waves and smiles, and Tyler motions towards the camp, "And this is our camp. Make yourself at home, please,"

I nod my head.

"Do you have a name? I mean, if you're able to talk, that is. If not, we can get you something for that," Josh inquired.

Before I was able to try to speak, a flood of Banditos, young and old, came flocking towards me, Tyler, and Josh. All I remember of what happened next is that everything went black and I collapsed.

5: A young Bandito is patrolling the perimeter of the Bandito camp. As he walks, he scans the tops of trees and the edges of the beaten path below. Something catches his eye from the ground, beckoning him to take a closer look. As he stoops down, he finds a stranger's belongings. What lies there is a red robe and an identification card. The red robe smells of death and hurt. The name on the identification card reads Savanna Keons. The face seems familiar to the young Bandito. He knows this woman, but from where? He decides to put the red robe and identification card in his carrying sack and continue patrolling the outskirts of their small camp. He goes home and realizes who the young lady is and how he recognizes her. There will be a time to show this information, but now is not it, the Bandito thinks.

6: When I awaken, I seemed to be in an infirmary of some sort, and all I see in front of me is Tyler and something else. The "something else" was small and round, with a circular head, horns, and long ears. Its eyes were like deep chasms, vast and expansive. Its color was a silvery grey. At first sight, I was frightened. I'd never seen something like this before.

"What is that? What does it do?" I asked Tyler, frightened by the newness of the being.

"Oh, him? This is our little buddy, Ned!", Ned waved at me shyly, "He's a nice companion to have, not really used to new people though. I'm sure he'll grow to like you, though!"

"Oh, ok! Well, hi, Ned!" I said while sticking my hand out towards him.

Ned just takes a couple of steps back, like he’s frightened of me.

Tyler looks confused towards Ned, asking, “What’s wrong, little buddy? What is it?”

He turns to me, saying, “He’s not usually like this, I’m sorry, I just don’t understand why he’d be like this.”

I start to get nervous, “Is there any other times when he’s like this?”

“Yea, actually, he’s usually like this when there are Bishops around, but I don’t see any, and he’s doing it only towards you, oddly”, he says, scratching his head.

I had to make an excuse, and quick, “Uh, well, I got tackled by a Bishop, and I fought him and ran away,”

Tyler looked quite unimpressed, but just said alright and left it at that, “So, how was your day so far?”

“Boring, seeing as I have to stay in this hospital bed til you guys decide what to do with me.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, we’re going to have a meeting tonight, that’s one of the topics we’ll discuss,”

“Alright. Well, stay safe!”

Tyler kind of chuckles and says, “Alright, I will, Logan. You stay alive now, ok?”

“Ok,”

“Promise?”

“Promise”

7: “So, have we all came to a consensus?” leader Josh Dun inquires.

“Wait!” a young bandito exclaims, “I forgot about something important”.

“What is it, Jake?”

“I found this while I was walking the perimeter of our camp. It’s a Bishop’s cloak and a Dema identification card for a Savannah Keons,”

The entire crowd gasps,

“If you look closely at the picture, you’ll see it’s the newcomer”. Jake hands the cloak and card to Ned, who then hands it to Tyler.

Tyler and Josh take a while looking at it and debating what to do with the newcomer at this point, with all the new information that was presented just seconds ago.

“But Josh, she’s one of them! What if she came to spy on us? What if?”

“And, what if she was captured or found out the truth and is coming to start anew?”

“But, But what if-”

Josh puts his hands on Tyler’s shoulders, “Ok, ok, calm down, it’s all alright. Remember, my friend, everyone deserves a second chance, no matter what they’ve done,”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Tyler sighs.

“Now, go tell Logan to meet us at the bonfire tonight,”

“Alright,”

8: I was sitting on a stump fidgeting when Tyler and Josh came out. When I heard the flap of the makeshift tent door, I jumped up, terrified of what would come next. They already know, they already know, I’m gonna get fed to the vultures, or worse!!!

Tyler comes up to me while Josh hangs back, observing.

“Hey, Logan?” Tyler says when he gets closer to me. I start to get nervous and tremble

“Y-yes?”

“Uh, do you know what these are?” he shows me my past belongings: my cloak, badly damaged and worn, and my (former) id card, which insists on keeping me prisoner in my own skin.

I say, trying to keep the twang of fear in my voice at bay, to no avail, “Why are these here?”

“One of our Banditos picked these up patrolling the perimeter of camp. Are these really yours?” he inquired softly.

Terror runs through me as everyone’s eyes lock onto my frail being. I can’t keep it out as I yell, “It was never meant to be this way!!!” I fall onto the ground, my head forcing itself into my hands, curled up like a child.

I hear gasps, then silence.

After a while of this silence, I feel something touching my arm, like a kitten wanting affection. At first, I flinch at this new contact and yank myself up to a cradled sitting position, face wet from the salty tears that have striped patches of oil from my face, leaving them feeling like bandages.

When I look at what or who was touching me, it was Josh. He whispers to me, “It’s alright, we’ve accepted you into our crew. You’re safe from those who wish to do you harm here.”

Baffled by his actions, I say, “But I was one of them. I was sent to harm you guys,” I give a tear-filled inhale and exhale, “Why are you letting me in?”

He just smiles and says, nodding at Tyler at the end, “Because everyone deserves a second chance.” Everyone starts cheering and clapping, and Josh sticks his hand out to me. I grab his hand and he helps me up, “C’mon, we need to get you cleaned up, or else Ned’ll never warm up to you!” Josh says with a laugh. I laugh along, hearing everyone clapping and cheering me on. Me, not that dema kid who supported the murder of all those innocent people. That person was long gone, and I am what remains.

9: After everything goes quiet and all the applause stops, I inquire, “Hey, Josh, where are we going, exactly?”

“East, to where your past wrongs will be righted, to where you can be free to start anew.”

“Alright,” I say, and continue following.

When we finally get to where Josh was taking me, all I can say is wow. The place looked magnificent, like the angels themselves carved this place from the earth and put their hearts and souls into creating it.

There was a shallow, burbling waterfall trickling softly into a pond lined with several light-colored rocks, some sparkling and some not. This wondrous sight was lit by the vivid green lampshade of the trees, the leaves deflecting the sun’s rays here and there. There was greenery and assorted berry bushes and shrubs around the pond, and the entire place looked like it came from the garden of Eden.

After I was done taking in the awe of this mystical and magical place, Josh turned around while I bathed in the healing waters of this pond.

When I was done, there was a towel and a pair of Bandito attire in the tree next to me. I say thanks and josh replies with, “Don’t worry, I didn’t look,”

When we got back to camp, Tyler and Ned were waiting on us. Josh went up to Tyler, did a secret handshake, and introduced me as the new member of the crew.

He started the bonfire, and for the first time in a long time, I was with family, with people who wouldn’t hesitate to die for my sake, and for who I would die for in an instant. I was with people of my own kind. At that very moment, I could care less about what they were saying about me in the city, cause they’re talking about someone who never was.

10: My first week at camp, and I already feel at home. I’ve gotten better acquainted with our leaders, Ned too, and found a couple of friends among the crowd. A couple of notable ones I met early on; one of them happened to be the first Bandito I ever seen, remember him? Well, it turns out his name is Rodney Garron, and he’s an aroace enby who’s in a platonic relationship with his straight adhd counterpart George Evergreen. When I first saw them both in camp, Rodney almost had a heart attack, shouting, “You’re that Bishop kid! Don’t take me back! You can’t take me!!!!” Now that I’m thinking about it, their friend had to calm him down.

Oh! I’m sorry about the confusion, Rodney likes to be referred to as he or they. Anyways, back to it then.

After their friend calmed him down, he explained everything about himself, how he grew up watching Good Day Dema, how they came to the camp in the middle of a snowstorm, and how seeing a Bishop take off their hood and offer their hand took several hours of heavy meditation to get over. I laughed and said sorry to that last one.

On another note, I got to see someone I haven’t seen since I was in training up in the city. he used to be my teacher, he was my teacher for all of my training, and I was wondering what happened to him…

“I thought you were dead, teach?”

“Miracles happen, my young one,”

“But, they said you were exterminated! They said tha-”

“They say, they say, they say. They say one thing, but what does your heart say?”

I hesitate, give him a big hug, and demand him tell me how he escaped.

This is Logan Slife, and this is my story.

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ger-bearofrivia · 4 years ago

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Future Dates and Snapchat Seduction 💌

summary: Henry finally grows a pair and asks the reader out on a date then tease each other over a Snapchat rendezvous.

Part 2 of my Ceo Henry fic series

read part 1 here: Pen Marks and Coffee Cups

AN: sorry this took so long I’ve been a little uninspired lately.

It was the end of the day when you heard a knock on the door. You turn to see Henry leaning against the door frame.

“Mr. Cavill. How can I help you?” you ask while continuing to put your laptop into your bag. Henry pushes himself off the doorframe stepping into your office.

”We need to talk.” he stated closing the door behind him.

”okay. About what?” you put your purse on the lounge couch that sat against the wall. Henry walked over to your desk sitting on it.

”Us." he paused "Um, I want to take our relationship to the next level but I’d like to ask you out on a date first. And if that one goes well maybe some other ones as well. Unless you don't want to then we can continue how we were before.” he stutters. Something you'd never seen him do before. Henry was usually this confident almost cocky man that got what he wanted when he asked, no if and or buts about it. But here he seemed almost nervous as if he has been contemplating on the right words to say. It was cute, he was showing a side of him that he never showed to any of his work colleagues before. Or maybe he has but you've been too oblivious or busy to notice. Either way, you liked it. You rest your hand on his cheek bringing your lips to his in a soft kiss different than the hard passionate ones you usually shared. He kissed back resting a large hand on your hip rubbing the area with his thumb. You pull back smiling.

”Henry I would love to go out on a date with you. ” he lets out a sigh of relief.

”Good. Great actually how about tomorrow night at seven?” he suggests.

”perfect. Oh and Henry I want to take our relationship to the next level too.” You whisper and you could see his eyes light up. God, he’s so cute. “How long have I worked here?”

Like six years.” He answers

“And out of those six I interned under you for two. With the best sex I’ve ever had but that’s not the point. All these years I’ve only dreamed of you saying those words Henry.” He smiles down at you then pecks your lips.

"The sex is great but I’ve come to notice that I want our relationship to be more than work and sex. I want to get to know you personally and build a relationship with you. You're so smart and passionate about your work and I love that about you. But that's all I know of you. I want to know more, you just fascinate me.”

”like what?”

”I don't know. Like what kind of music you dance to while you cook.” he laughs and you laugh with him. You wrap your arms around his neck.

��well it depends on what I'm in the mood for. Some days it's whatever is on the radio or classic rock usually.” he rests his forehead on yours. He opens his mouth as if to ask you something else but you quickly press a finger to his lips to shush him. ”now you don't want to spoil the date by asking me all your questions. Save some for tomorrow, now I must get home to get my beauty sleep if you want me to look beautiful for tomorrow.” you jest

”Honey, you always look beautiful.”

”Well you haven't seen me first thing in the morning love. My hair alone takes me forever to tame, imagine with everything else.” he laughed again pulling you closer until lips meet in a brief kiss. Wow, you could kiss him forever. Henry squeezes your hip before pulling away and standing from your desk.

“ I guess your right. You haven’t seen what a curly mess my hair is in the morning. It doesn’t take as long to style it on a good day. ”

"What your hair is naturally curly?” you asked somewhat shocked. Yes, you could see some curls but your thought that was just from styling it.

”Yeah if I grow out my hair it would be a curly mop on top of my head.”

”Ha, I'd love to see that. Henry Cavill billionaire company owner straitens hair for work. ”

”not straitens just style it. The jell holds it straight after I comb it through. I've tried almost every hairstyle that is work acceptable.” he defends.

”really like what?”

”trust me everything. Buzzcut, long on top shaved on the sides, slicked back, even had a bun when I was younger.” you burst out laughing at the thought of Mr. Henry Cavill in a man bun. ”hey not funny I was young” he defeated himself again.

” so you were that guy.”

”Yeah and I was and still am proud of it.” your laugh dies down to a gentle giggle. He was showing his soft side admitting things that he'd never tell someone before. Fuck it feels like your falling for him all over again. You feel your face heat up. ”you won't be laughing once I find some pictures to show you.”

”oh my gosh, please do” you let out a joyous sigh then said, “We should get going it’s starting to get late.”

“Yeah, we should. May I walk you to your car.” He says holding out an arm for you to hold. You grab your bag before you interlock your arms.”

“Such a gentleman” you lean into his arm not having to worry about anyone seeing the both of you together because you're that last two leave. You turn off all the lights in your office then put your bag on the floor so you could lock the door.

“Here let me hold that for you.” He offered, slinging his bag across his chest first before picking up yours.

“Like I said such a gentleman.”

“I’ll make sure to tell my mom that you said that.”

“I bet that she’ll be glad to hear

that she raised such a sweetheart like you.” You tease.

“She definitely will” he pecks your lips before you both walk to the elevator. You press the button then walk into the elevator then lean back against Henry’s chest. Somehow this feels natural as if you’d been together forever. The doors open and you both walk out and say goodbye to the security guard, Henry’s fingers brush against yours before they intertwined together. That’s new. You never thought of Henry to be much a hand holder but again it felt so natural the way they fit together. He leads you to your car which you unlock while walking towards it. Without letting go of your hand he opens the passenger side and placed your bag gently on the seat. He then guided you to the driver's side and opened the door for you. This couldn’t be the same Henry that would vigorously push you up against a wall and fucked the life out of you. He's breaking down walls for you, you notice making your heart flutter.

“Thank you, good sir”

“Anything for you my lady.” You laugh and he smiles down at you resting a hand on your cheek. He guides your face up and leans down to kiss you.

“Mm,” you hum into to kiss before pulling away. “I could kiss you all night” you peck his lips “but we really should get going.”

“So you're just gonna tease me then leave me kitten. You outta be punished.” He growls in your ear and you can feel a wetness begin to pool in your panties. He notices the change in your expression noticing how flustered you’ve become. He knew what you wanted and he’d not gonna give it to you. “Very well then, have fun at home alone.”

“Oh I won’t be alone I have a date with my vibe and long hot bath. I’ll let the rest to your imagination.” You pat his cheek before kissing it. You pull away and step backward but he grabs hips pinning you against your car. “Fuck Henry. “ you moan against his lips feeling his hard member grind against you letting out an exasperated whine as he steps back.

“I get the word. Goodnight ms. L/N, oh and be ready by the time I get there you know I don’t like it when you keep me waiting.” Without another word, he turns walking over to his car, and drove away. You step into your car groaning as you rest your head on the wheel.

“I hate it when he does that.” Which was a complete lie you loved when he edged you this it always leaves you ten times wetter

at home you strip, putting the dirty clothes in the hamper before going into the bathroom

You open Snapchat to send him a few pics. You both had a separate account specifically for these special conversations, mainly using it for this purpose to keep text messages clean. Once situated in the tub you send him a video of your legs spread out in front of the faucet with the stream hitting your clit and moaning his name. Fuck you hope this relationship works out, he was good at fucking you but damn the thought of him fucking you with a passion that's more than just sex made your legs shake. Him telling you how much he loves you, that you're perfect, and wouldn't want to have anyone else was heaven. The phone buzzed pulling you out of your haze.

Henry: I thought you had a date with your vibrator

You: Oh I do I’m just getting warmed up

Henry: Even, after all, I did in the parking lot

You: Of course, you did a number on me but I have to prepare myself for multiple orgasms.

Henry: I wish I was there to see that

You: Maybe you’ll get to see tomorrow

Henry: Mm sorry love I don’t fuck on the first date

You: You really are an asshole

Henry: You were being a brat so you get to suffer.

You: How do you know if I’m suffering?

Henry: I’m not there to make you feel good. Why else would you be messaging me, my love?

You: Fuck you 😤

Henry: You wish.

You moan as the pressures of the faucet hits your clit in the perfect most sensitive area. You threw your head back and moaned feeling the pressure build-up. You quickly press the button to record your orgasm then sent it to Henry.

You: Well, I think that’s enough for you today.

Henry: excuse me you messaged me first.

You: Bye Henry.

You type interrupting what he was going to write.

Henry: Oh your so going to get punished for this

You: I thought you said you didn’t fuck on the first date.

Henry: I don’t but the extra day gives me time to plan the perfect punishment.

You feel yourself drip.

You: Better make it good then. Really make sure I learn my lesson this time. Now go take care of your self.

Henry: What if I don’t need to

You: Are you having a little problem getting your self up hun? Do I have to send more pictures to help?

Henry: Shut up you brat. You know very well my dick works. If it didn’t why would you come crawling to my office every day, begging me to fuck you.

With that, he sent you a pic then turned off his phone to finish himself off. You get two more orgasms before you call it a night and go to bed.

#the witcher #henry cavill #henry cavill x you #the witcher x reader #my writing💌#💌#henry cavill smut

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niksixx · 4 years ago

Text

Patience

~Welcome to Part 1 of yet another Axl Rose mini series. Since this is merely fanfiction, there will obviously be inaccuracies and things I changed around just because I can hehe. I hope you enjoy! This particular piece was inspired by the GNR song, Patience~

Pairing: Axl Rose/Vince Neil x Female Reader

A/N: R E B L O G AND C O M M E N T

*Picture is not mine; Found on Google. Creds to the owner*

P.S. I have a strong feeling this fic is going to tug on your heart strings.

Tag list: @littlemisscare-all @ginny-baker-sixx @metalheartofgold @madamsixx @curly-hudson

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As a little girl, you were drawn to the little boy who sat on the playground bench alone, head down, hair shielding his eyes, hiding from the world around him. Each day, he was there. Each day, he had fresh tears in his eyes. And each day, he silently prayed for a friend.

The little boy’s prayers were answered the day you skipped over to him, placing yourself in front of him, rocking back and forth on the balls and heels of your feet as your yellow tutu swayed with the soft breeze. You waited for the boy to look up at you and when he did, you smiled, wanting to comfort him.

“Hi there! I’m Y/N. What’s your name?”

His voice was soft, hesitant, like a scared mouse. “Axl.”

“Axl. That’s nice. I like it!” You exclaimed, taking a seat beside him on the bench. Little Axl slid over to give you room, keeping his eyes on the ground. What is she doing? He wondered.

“How old are you?”

“Eight,” Axl said gently, holding up four digits on one hand, four digits on the other. “How old are you?”

“I’m ten!” You answered proudly, swinging your legs. Axl still hadn’t looked up from the ground. “Can I ask you a question?”

Axl nodded, lifting his head just a bit to brush the hair from his eyes. His eyelashes were long and thick, and tiny red freckles dotted the bridge of his nose, down his plump cheeks. “If you want.”

“How come you’re all alone?”

His eyes flickered to the three older boys on the swingset, two blond twins and a brunette friend. They were known for bullying other children off the playground. All Axl wanted to do was play with them. Be friends with them. Why did they have to be so mean? “Those boys,” he points in their direction with a shaky finger, “They were teasing me. I just wanted to be their friend.”

You followed his finger, frowning as the three boys laughed obnoxiously. You recognized them. They looked around your age. “What were they teasing you about?”

Axl shrugged, picking at his fingernails. Why were you so curious? He wasn’t used to anyone caring about him. “They made fun of my hair, my clothes, my teeth. They said I was ugly and that no one would want to be friends with me. And then they pushed me. That’s how I scraped my elbow,” He says, showing off his battle wound proudly. He hadn’t even cried today when they shoved him down.

Standing up, you placed your little hands on your hips, eyebrows scrunched together. Again, you waited for him to look at you. It took him a while, but when he finally looked up at you, with sadness swirling in his eyes, you pulled him off the bench and in the direction of the three boys.

“What are you doing?!” He asked quietly, but harshly. “Y/N!”

You ignored him, focusing on the boys. They needed to be taught a lesson, seeing as their parents had never taught them how to play nice with other children. It was a good thing your parents encouraged you to hit back if a boy ever started the fight. What did your parents call it again? Self defense?

As you approached, they snickered and stood from their respective swings, forming a line, a barrier, to the swingset. Without a second thought, you pushed the one you assumed to be the ringleader.

“Hey! What was that for?” He asked, shooting you a dirty look. His friends helped him to his feet, brushing dirt from the back of his knees. “That wasn't very nice of you.”

“Then why did you do it to my friend?” You challenged, motioning to Axl beside you. As the three boys looked his way, he stepped closer to you, cowering. “I heard you were teasing him. Teasing isn’t nice. So leave him alone!”

“What are you going to do about it?” The second boy asked. As you stepped toward him, he backed up, eyes wide. He held up his hands. “Okay, okay. Fine.”

“Now say you’re sorry,” you instructed, staring each one in the eye. Wrapping an arm around Axl’s shoulders, he relaxed under your touch. He was glad to have you there. Somehow, in a fluffy yellow tutu, a bright pink shirt, and puke green shoes, you intimated the three boys. And you’d come to his defense like a true friend would.

The boys gave each other a look before mumbling an apology. Not wanting to start more drama, they slinked off to the other side of the playground, leaving the swingset empty.

Turning to Axl, your heart softened at the formation of a smile on his face. His body wasn’t so tense anymore. “Want to swing with me?”

He nodded, and you sat next to each other on the swingset, swinging gently and laughing at all the random, silly things little kids laugh at.

“Thank you,” Axl whispered. He was still a bit shy around you, but he managed to look you in the eye once more. “For being my friend.”

You reached out to grab his clammy hand in your own, squeezing it tightly as if you were afraid he’d let go. “We’re going to be friends forever. I won’t let anyone be mean to you. Okay?”

“Promise?” Axl asked, searching for reassurance.

You nodded. “I promise.”

~~~

You had kept the promise for a while. Throughout your teenage years, you acted as Axl’s protector, his guardian angel, the keeper of his childhood troubles and darkest secrets. In school, everyone knew. No one dared to mess with him while you were around. And if they did, you had no problem putting them in their place. You’d done it many times before.

Slowly, Axl’s shell disappeared. He started to talk a bit more, about the abuse he’d suffered at the hand of his stepfather. He found friends of his own, and began to smile more often, which was a sight that melted your heart. He’d answer questions in class and even joined the choir, a place where he truly felt like he belonged. Being in the choir drove him to carry around a tiny blue book, where he’d write down his inner thoughts that he would later go on to develop as lyrics for songs performed by his band, Guns N’ Roses, with his four best friends, Izzy, Duff, Steven, and Slash. Thanks to you, there was a light in his usually dull gray eyes.

And, thanks to you, Axl began to feel things he'd never felt before. At sixteen years old, he started paying more attention to your feelings, whether you were happy, sad, angry, joyful. He would always find excuses to look at you, be around you, put a smile on your face. You infiltrated his thoughts, sometimes in more than a friendly way, and his heart would race whenever you were near him. To make sense of his thoughts, his feelings, he’d write them in his book. The moment Axl realized he was foolishly in love with you was when he found himself writing songs about you.

But he’d never shown you any of the songs, afraid of what you might think of him when you understood the songs were for you. By the time Axl turned eighteen, your friendship began to dwindle. You were twenty years old with no set plans for the future. A wandering soul. A free-spirit. Traveling the world was the only thing on your mind. Axl accompanied you to the airport the morning you planned to leave your old town behind, savoring the feeling of your body wrapped in his arms, before sending you off to start your journey in Los Angeles, California. LA was supposed to be the start of your adventure, but you quickly fell in love with the city, and never stepped foot anywhere else.

And the minute you left is when the bullying started back up again. Only this time though, Axl let the words roll off his shoulders. He adopted a new wardrobe filled with leather jackets, leather pants, hats, and bandanas, hoping his new appearance would keep others away and make them nervous to be around him. When that didn’t work, Axl eventually began to fight back. There was no one to protect him anymore. He had to stand up and do it for himself.

In his early twenties, Axl found himself living in West Hollywood, making friends with the wrong crowd, dropping hundreds of dollars on tattoos every two weeks, and trying his best to avoid jail time. He became somewhat of a rebel, a delinquent, like the biological father he barely remembered, snorting cocaine, not loving it, and then sticking with cigarettes. Instead of shying away from trouble, Axl went looking for it.

The formation of Guns N’ Roses changed everything, kept him grounded. While his time had been spent causing trouble and fighting officers, it was now taken over completely by managing a rock band. He still smoked every now and again, but he’d completely quit the hard drugs and bitter alcohol. Playing gigs, writing lyrics, and touring the world with his bandmates was all he needed. It gave him a purpose. It made him happy.

But, like every rockstar does, Axl made a few enemies on his climb to fame. He’d been in a few bar fights with none other than Skid Row’s lead bass guitarist, Rachel Bolan. Words were exchanged with Stephen Pearcy of Ratt, and he and Poison singer Bret Michaels did not get along. At all.

Now, in his mid twenties, Axl was able to let go of the grudges he’d held. Well, almost all of them. In the music world, it was normal for lead singers of different bands to have bad blood, which is exactly what Axl Rose had with Vince Neil, lead singer, or screecher, as Axl called him, of Mötley Crüe.

Axl couldn’t stand the guy, and for good reasons. Vince was stuck up, conceited, a hotshot. He was always drunk it seemed, unable to hold his liquor. Plus, his vocals weren't even that great. He had no business being as arrogant as he was.

Although Axl and Vince had never been in a physical altercation, (yet) the hatred was mutual between the two singers. The media were constantly pitting them against each other, and instead of fighting it together, they bashed and bad-mouthed each other.

What Axl and the rest of the world wasn’t aware of was your romantic relationship with Vince. Your relationship was purposely kept hidden away from the media, away from the fans. Vince never mentioned you in interviews, nor would he have you on his arm at award ceremonies. And for a while, you understood. The label needed Vince to keep up the bad boy, bachelor image. They were convinced it would generate more attention for the band as a whole. But there were days that you wished Vince would come out to the world and show you off like you, and Mick Mars, his bandmate, believed you deserved.

Of course, Axl didn’t know anything about your current life, your struggles, but that didn’t mean he never tried. He searched everywhere for you, from West Hollywood to Malibu and even Beverly Hills, but after almost a year of searching, he’d finally given up. You’d been away from him for too long. Did you have a job? A family? Where were you living? The last time he had spoken to you was more than seven years ago when he watched you board the plane headed for LA.

Though it’s been years since he’s seen you, his feelings never dissolved. If you were indeed off the market in a happy, loving relationship, then no, Axl wouldn’t dare try and sabotage your relationship, but he had to find a way to show you how much he loved you. What he needed was just a little bit of patience, and all of the pieces would fall into place.

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castielific · 4 years ago

Text

The list

AO3 Link

Tags: Supernatural, Destiel, Alternate Ending, Canon Compliant (up to 15x10), Human!Castiel, First kiss Summary:

Once there are no more monsters, the only thing left to fight for is happiness.

Here is my take on our boys’ happy ending. I hope you’ll enjoy it.

**************************

"I hate you", Dean grumbles into his elbows. His arms are on the table, his head buried into it as he squeezes his hands over his ears.

"I think he’s getting better," Sam lies, hiding his grimace just in time so that Dean doesn’t see it when he raises his head to glare at him.

Dean opens his mouth, but is cut off by a particularly shrill note that makes him feel like someone is drilling right into his tympans. Even Sam can't help but squeeze his fists in pain, crumbling the edge of the book he's trying to read.

"'This would be good for you, Castiel'," Dean says, imitating Sam. "What about us, Sam? This doesn't feel good for us!"

"It's not so bad," Sam offers miserably.

Yes it is. It's even worse than bad. Dean flinches in pain at every horrible noise that resounds all around the bunker as Cas continues to play - or more like, tries to play - what Dean thinks is supposed to be 'Twinkle twinkle little star' on his newly acquired violin.

Truth is, it is all Sam's fault. Dean can't ressent him that much though, because the look on Castiel's face when they went to the music store was worth the torture they've been enduring for the last two days.

Since God has been defeated, they've all been having a serious case of cabin fever. Heaven and Hell have closed up their doors, angels and demons alike running home with their tails between their legs. Even the common monsters have gone into hiding. Apparently the Winchesters killing God has impressed them enough that they've all decided that they better keep quiet. Of course, they're still there, but smart enough not to do anything that might attract the wrath of the hunters. Apparently, they are exceptionally good at hiding when they want to because the only case the brothers have had in the last six months had been a rogue vampire that went on a rampage. He was still young and out of control. It took three hours to take him down, the whole deal was done in less than a day, even counting the drive.

In short, hunting has become boring. All they've had to keep them busy have been some random salt and burn, nothing exciting. The rest of the time, they've stayed cooped up in the Bunker and it didn't take long for them to go crazy. Each in their own personal way.

For his part, Sam has gone a little too far on his healthy lifestyle penchant, to the point that it became borderline unhealthy: Running up to three hours a day and eating nothing but vegetable smoothies. It lasted two months before he realized that all it was doing was giving him diarrhea and making his shins look like basketball. So now he's taken to digitizing and translating every book in their library….which sounds as exciting as getting all your teeth pulled out, if you were to ask Dean, but at least it passes the time.

Dean's way of coping was on the polar opposite as his brother's: he decided it was as good a time as any to learn to cook better. Dean has always loved cooking and has been having a blast since they found the bunker. For the first time of his life, he has a home and a kitchen of his own. Until now, between the Amara, the Men of Letters, and all that crap with God, he never had time to really enjoy it, limiting himself to the few recipes he already knew: burgers, steak, and breakfast food. With the hunting gig slowing down though, he had all the time in the world to try his hand at more ambitious things like roast, chili, lasagna and way too many pies.

His personal wake up call came when he tried to put on clothes one morning and couldn't find any pants that fitted him anymore.They hadn't had a case for three weeks, and he had to admit that he became a little too familiar with sweatpants. When confronted with the terrible truth of his every single one of his jeans being suddenly too small, he had no other choice: he spent the whole day dismantling the dryer to find out why it was shrinking all his clothes. Sam had a blast mocking him and Castiel, with his usual discretion, was quite pointedly avoiding looking at Dean's stomach during that conversation. Dean spent a long time in front of the mirror after that. He regrettably had to admit that his stomach resembled more Father Christmas's belly than David Beckham's abs at this point. He started to follow Sam's health routine the very next day. Or, tried to, at least. It didn't last long before he couldn't take the smoothie torture anymore, and decided that limiting his pie intake to two per week and doing some exercise should be enough.

Sam and him actually came to an agreement on food after that, and while Dean would never ever drink a kale smoothie again, it actually wasn't so bad to add a little more salad to his plate.

All in all, it was a difficult time for everyone, but especially for Castiel.

Castiel used to be an angel with a Godly purpose, a mission grander than anything people could even imagine. Then suddenly Chuck was gone, and the angels were gone too, and he just became a puny human with no real purpose, a soldier of God with no God to serve and no war to fight. Easy to say that he quickly joined Dean in his sweatpants' aficionados club. Except where Dean was happy to indulge in a laziness that he never really had a chance to try out before, Cas soon fell into depression. Even the best pies Dean made seemed tasteless to him after a time. He was lost in a human routine that he could find no pleasure in. It came to a point where he didn't even sleep in his own bed anymore, never leaving the couch except to satisfy the most basic needs. Sadly, on most days, showers didn't seem to be considered as one of those needs.

Once they had their breakthrough about their own miserable situations, the Winchesters decided to tackle their new mission: helping Cas.

It was Sam who proposed that they should all write a list of things they always wanted to do, but never had time for.

They took a trip to the Grand Canyon on the very next day, dragging a reticent Castiel along. Their road trip lasted nearly a month, because they kept getting distracted by new destinations. Sam wanted to see the Harold Washington Library, Dean wanted to go to Baltimore to go to the Dangerously Delicious Pies shop he heard about while searching for new pies recipes, and so on.

Castiel never asked to see anything, pretending gloomily that he used to be able to go anywhere in a flap of his wings, and therefore had seen everything he ever wanted too. Dean dragged him to an amusement park anyway, because he was pretty sure the angel had never been on a rollercoaster before. Dean regretted that pretty fast when Cas became strangely fond of them, saying that it reminded him of flying. They took so many rides that Dean threw up and Sam's nose bled for nearly one hour after.

Still, it seemed like a wake up call for Cas. He spent the rest of the drive home lost in his thoughts or scribbling a list on the back of a gas station's receipt. He even asked them to stop in Utah on the way back to see the largest bee hives in the US. They ended up buying so many types of honey that they now have a cupboard full of it in the kitchen.

They had been back to the bunker for two days when Cas declared he wanted to learn how to play an instrument. They went to a music store, where Castiel tried on every instrument from a harmonica to a full drum set. After the obligatory harps jokes, Dean tries to entice him to buy a guitar, and learn all the best Zep songs. Cas was too polite and knew better than to criticize Dean's taste in music, so he chose the guitar. Dean wasn't oblivious to the way his friend kept lingering in front of a black violin though, so he relented and bought that instead.

He's sorely regretting it now.

It's still totally Sam's fault though, he was the one to come up with the idea of this stupid list in the first place.

**********************

"I've decided what I want," Castiel declares as soon as the movie's credit starts rolling about a month later.

Sam snorts, waking up from the doze he'd fallen into. He blinks at them, wiping his eyes tiredly.

"I said no cat, Cas," Dean reminds. Apparently, one of Cas' item on his stupid list is to get a pet.

"I don't want a cat."

"I'm allergic to animal's hair," Dean reminds him, suspicious. Last night Cas declared he wanted a Camel. A freaking camel.

"Of course, Dean, your health comes first," Cas concedes amicably. "Although, I do wonder if you're not using this as an excuse, and would not have been amenable to adopt a pet anyway, were it not the case."

Dean scratches under his ear. "What? No. Of course, I'd want one. I love animals. Just, no snakes or anything that eats living food. I know you, and you would just end up saving all the mice or something."

"You know, they do make hairless cats and dogs," Sam pipes up, smirking when Dean sends him a side glare.

"Those are majestic creatures, indeed, Sam, but I much prefer the softness of fur. Don't you Dean?"

"What." What kind of question is that?

"Wouldn't you like it if you could have a pet with a soft fur that didn't make you sneeze and suffer so much?"

"Huh. I guess?"

"Good," Cas concludes with a jut of his chin. "His name is Honey," Cas announces, raising the kilt that was on his lap to reveal a…

"What the hell is that thing?" Dean shouts, jumping to his feet.

"Honey is a texel guinea pig," Cas says, cuddling the little beast to his chest. The pet starts emitting a little noise in pleasure as Castiel caresses his fur. It has long curly hair. Its head is black with a white spot on the top while the rest of its body is a mismatch of large black, white and orange spots.

"It looks like a freaking sheep!" Dean exclaims, sending a betrayed look to his brother that is already kneeling next to Cas and petting at the small animal.

"See, Sam, we do have a guinea pig now," Cas says proudly, making Sam chuckle at what is obviously a private joke between them.

"We don't have anything! I'm allergic, Cas, remember? My health…," Dean finishes, faking a cough. Sam rolls his eyes while Cas squints at him.

"I don't think you are, Dean. Honey has been on my lap all night and you haven't shown any signs of allergy. I've looked at you closely to make sure."

"Do you think he likes kale?" Sam asks, taking the little beast on his own lap as he sits on the ground.

"I think he might, Sam. The internet says guinea pigs need to eat a lot of vegetables. Do you want us to go and try to feed him some?"

"Yes!" Sam declares, squeezing delicately the pet against his chest as he gets up.

"But-," Dean tries to protest.

"I bought him a little hammock that he really likes," Cas tells Sam as he gets up too.

"But I haven't-"

"That's cute! I want to see it!" Sam says eagerly.

"My allergies…," Dean finishes lamely as he watches the two other men leave the room without a look in his direction. He scowls, staring at the beer he's still holding. He sulks for all of thirty seconds before he grumbles. "Dammit, I want to see the tiny hammock too. Guys, wait for me!"

**********************

"Oh, that's...that's a nice...tree."

"It's supposed to be Sam," Cas says with a pout, looking at his very first painting.

"Yeah no, I mean, behind him? The big woody thing?"

"That's you," Castiel pouts, looking dejected.

Dean grimaces, inclining his head to try, and identify himself in the glob of paint on the canvas.

"So you're not Van Gogh," Dean finally declares. "Or Mozart. The important thing is that you wanted to give it a try and you did. If you liked doing it, then that's what matters, no matter the end result," Dean tries to reassure, squeezing his friend's shoulder reassuringly. He learned his lesson when his words about Cas' lack of music skill were not so delicate, and the ex-angel ended up giving him the cold shoulder for a whole week.

When he looks back at him, Cas has a small smile on his lips and a look so full of...of something, that Dean can feel his cheeks warming a little. Seconds pass and Cas keeps staring until Dean clears his throat, forcing himself to look back at the ugly painting.

"What's next on your list?"

A hand pulling on his arm makes him turn back toward Castiel. Dean barely has time to react before his friend's lips brush with his. It's so fast and soft that he's left blinking in confusion, wondering if that really happened.

"This was."

Cas is still smiling, even though Dean recognizes the worried line creased between his brows. The hunter opens his mouth, but doesn't know what to say. To say that he wasn't expecting it would be an understatement. To say that he never thought about it, a lie. To say that he regrets it…

"I liked doing it," Cas declares, nodding his head in satisfaction. "Now I want to ride a horse."

"A- a horse?"

"Unless we can still get a camel?" Cas teases, acting hopeful. He sends Dean a wink - a goddamn wink - before he grabs his painting under one arm and leaves the room.

"Ride a...Wait. Cas! We're not getting a horse either! Cas!!"

*************************

When Dean finds him, Castiel is sitting on the bench Dean made from the trunk of one of the trees they had to cut down to make this space into their garden. The sun hasn't set yet, but the end of september's evenings are already colder. The last flowers of the season are blooming, and the vegetables they planted in the spring are starting to wilt, only a few tomatoes popping red among the green and yellowing stems.

Cas is bending forward, forearms resting on his legs. His eyes are closed and for a minute, Dean is worried that something happened, that he's sad or sick. He's reassured when he hears the low murmur of Cas' words, see the slight smile at the corner of his lips, the one Cas always gets when he's trying to be funny.

His friend hasn't heard him approaching yet, so Dean waits, trying not to eavesdrop on a conversation he's not supposed to be a part of.

Dean takes the time to check on the apple trees he planted instead. They're too young yet, too small to give any fruit, but by next year, maybe...He can't wait to bake a pie with his own apples. He rolls his eyes at the thought, that's so domestic. Yet here he is, planning on planting strawberries and raspberries, checking on the squash that is starting to grow and wondering if it'll be ready by Thanksgiving.

Vegetables are Sam's thing. Flowers and the small hive they've built are Cas'. Dean is in charge of the fruits.

They planted their garden over the underground garage, hidden by such a large ply of trees that there is no risk of anyone stumbling upon it by accident. They had to cut down trees, dig out every root, and plow the whole area to prepare the soil. They've spent nearly all spring and a good part of summer working to create that little bit of garden on the Bunker's roof. They've bought so many gardening tools that they're already making plans to build a shed here in the spring.

It's nice. The bunker is feeling more and more like a home, like a place Dean could feel himself growing old in, maybe.

They've talked about buying a house, especially Sam, but somehow they can't see themselves leaving anywhere else than in the bunker. It's their legacy, the place they were always meant to be, and they've come to love it despite all the horrors that happened there in the past.

Maybe it will change someday. Maybe Sam will want to marry someone, to buy a more traditional place with a white picket fence where he can raise kids without fearing that they'll choose a cursed object or weapon laying around as their next toy. Dean has noticed more and more of Eileen's clothes in the laundry, more of her things left behind every time she comes to visit. He hopes it's only a matter of time before he's not surprised to see her at breakfast anymore.

By the time he's checked on the fruit part of the garden, Cas has stopped praying and is observing him. The sun is setting, painting an orange glow behind him, and for a second it nearly looks like Cas has a hallo.

"You told Jack about the horse riding lesson?" Dean asks as he straddles the bench to sit next to his friend. He rubs his hands against the cold, blowing into them to try and warm them up a little.

"Maybe," Cas says with a mocking smile that makes Dean balks.

"Oh, come on, you promise you wouldn't tell anyone about me falling on my ass!"

Cas chuckles at the memory of Dean's horse throwing him into a giant mud puddle. Dean had cursed for a whole ten minutes as he struggled to stand up but kept falling right back on his ass. It made Cas laugh so much that he'd started crying. That's a thing Cas does now, he laughs. He does it more and more, and Dean is amazed by it, every single time.

"Technically, I didn't tell anyone anything," Cas argues with a smirk. He's not wrong. They have no idea if Jack can even hear their prayers now that he's taken charge of and close up Heaven. That doesn't stop them from regularly praying to him, especially Cas.

"You tell Sam and I'll bury your damn guinea pig next to the tomatoes," Dean threatens.

"No you won't," Cas says with a fond smile.

"No, I won't," Dean admits, pouting half-heartedly. He's actually come to like the damn beast. Which no one would actually know if Honey didn't start screeching every time Dean comes near it, calling for the treat that he knows Dean will give him. It was supposed to be their little secret but Honey blew their cover more than once. Dean is still pretending he hates the little ball of fluff, on principle, even though no one is fooled anymore.

"You were right about the horse, I hadn't realized the amount of dejection it actually produces," Cas concedes. "Also, my bottom is sore from the ride," he adds, squirming a little in his seat.

Dean chokes a little on his saliva at the image that brings to mind. Honestly, even without the innuendo, watching Cas ride a horse, hips rising and bending over the saddle, has done quite a number on Dean's libido. If he hadn't been questioning his sexuality before, he would definitely be now. Good thing he already was. Cas kissing him has been the only thing on his mind for days now. They haven't talked about it, and Cas is acting like it didn't even happen, but Dean has barely slept since then, spending his nights thinking about Cas' lips on his, and how he might possibly maybe want to do that again.

"Did you kiss Sam too?" he blurts out. It's not the most subtle or delicate way to bring up the subject, but apparently that's what his brain has chosen to say. Damn you, brain!

"Why would I kiss Sam?" Cas asks, looking genuinely astounded by the question.

"Wasn't that on your list?" Dean asks, scratching the back of his neck.

Cas squints at him like he's the most idiotic thing he's ever seen and, well, Dean probably is.

Dean squirms under the stare, rubbing his hands again, as much against the cold as in nervousness. The ex angel gives a long suffering sigh before he grabs Dean's wrists. He pulls on his hands until they're under his own sweater. Dean is so startled that he just looks at the bulge his hands are making over Cas' stomach with wide eyes, not daring to move his fingers. They're nestled between Cas' tee-shirt and his abdominal muscles. It's so warm under there that his skin is tingling from the temperature difference.

"You're an idiot, Dean Winchester," Cas declares. Dean looks up, and Cas is looking at him so fondly that it makes him blush a little.

"Yeah," he sighs. "I know."

"I must be one too, because I would very much like you to be my idiot for as long as you would have me," Cas confesses, a little shy as he draws patterns on the shape of Dean's fingers over the tissue of his sweater.

"I'm not sure, Cas," Dean says, making the other man tense up. "Are you sure you want to be stuck with me forever?"

It takes a minute for Cas to get his meaning, brow furrows intensely before they relax in realization.

"That was my plan all along," Cas says, his smile so wide it's showing his gums.

And yeah, knowing Cas, it probably was. Cas would have stayed by Dean's side forever whether he was an angel or a human or even a God. Hell, Cas was ready to stay by his side when Dean was turning into a monster bearing the mark of Cain, and when he was a demon. He wanted to stay by Dean's side even when Dean was cruel and screaming at him to go. It was the irony of it all, wasn't it? It always felt like Cas was leaving him, running away for angel business or whatever, but Dean never ever doubted that he would come back. He always knew Cas would come back somehow. After all, even death could never keep Cas away for long.

Dean slides his hands a little higher, making Cas shiver as they travel over his torso under his shirt. Dean's fingers tightens around the cloth, and pulls Cas closer, close enough that their noses are nearly touching.

"And now it's mine too," Dean sworns,resting his forehead against the other man's. He cradles Cas' jaw, passing a thumb under one of his eyes. The stubborn angel refuses to close them, even though they're so close that he's going cross eyed. Still, he keeps looking right into Dean's green orbits and hell, that must mean Dean can't keep his eyes off Cas either

When they kiss, it's sappy and tender and sweet and everything Dean always thought he could never have. The relief he feels makes Dean wonders if it isn't everything he's been waiting for all along, without even realizing it.

Cas is right by his side, as always, and Dean is damn well going to keep him as close as he can for as long as he possibly can. And hey, he knows the guy ruling Heaven now, so that might just be forever.

The End.

#destiel #deancas #dean/cas #dean/castiel #destiel fic #spn fix it #fic #destiel fix it #ao3 fic #Dean/castiel fanfic

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king-finnigan · 4 years ago

Note

I don't know if you're taking requests right now but could I maybe get a drabble about Jaskier and Geralt his pretend boyfriend going to Cidaris and meeting Valdo Marx?

Geralt is very much regretting saying yes to this whole ordeal, as he squeezes himself into a slightly-too-tight doublet the colour of the night sky. Sure, he’s grateful he doesn’t have to wear anything with colour in it, and these clothes fit much better than the last time Jaskier had forced him to attend a party, but still - he prefers his armour, or something he can at least properly move in. He’s not looking forward to having to spend the night in a room full of nobles, either, or to having to pretend he’s Jaskier’s lover.

He sighs. “Why the hell did I agree to this, again?” he mutters to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers.

He hears the door open, and looks up, any and all regrets flying out the window as soon as he sees Jaskier.

“The- the...”

Jaskier looks down at himself, before looking up at Geralt again. “Do you like the dress?” He gives the Witcher a little twirl, the soft, light fabric of the skirts billowing around him. Geralt can see that Jaskier’s back is almost entirely exposed, the cleavage at the front showing off his chest hair. There are tiny, clear gems embroidered in the pale silver fabric of the dress.

If Geralt’s clothes make him look like the night sky, then Jaskier’s make him look like the moon.

He’s gorgeous. Geralt shrugs. “It’s fine.”

Jaskier smiles at him. “You and I both know I look better than ‘fine’, my dear Witcher. What I need to know is: is this going to make Valdo Marx jealous?”

Geralt swallows thickly, and offers Jaskier his arm. The bard takes it, grinning up at the Witcher. “Definitely,” he mutters, and Jaskier’s grin only widens.

The bard gestures to the door. “Let’s go, then. Let’s ruin my ex-boyfriend’s night.”

---

The second they step through the large doors, Geralt already knows he’s going to have a shit night. There’s not a lot of people in the room - and those who are there are all nobility - so their entrance draws everyone’s attention. Jaskier grins at the sudden audience, his presence next to Geralt the only thing keeping the Witcher sane, and bows at the nobles.

Luckily, after a few seconds, people seem to lose interest, and most look away. Jaskier tugs him towards the tables against the wall, filled with food and drinks. “Come on, let’s get some alcohol. I don’t feel like suffering tonight sober,” Jaskier whispers, soft enough that only Geralt’s heightened senses pick it up.

He lets himself be handed a glass of wine, and sips as he stands next to Jaskier, both of them looking around the room. “So which one is Valdo Marx?” he asks the bard.

“None of them,” Jaskier whispers back, and Geralt can’t help but notice how his lips are stained red slightly from the wine. “He always likes arriving way too late cause someone he knows once said that it makes him look better.”

“Whoever told him that lied.”

Jaskier chuckles softly, taking another sip of his wine. “That, I did,” he whispers into his cup, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Geralt makes a mental note to make sure Jaskier never gets angry with him, because his bard sure seems to know how to ruin someone’s life.

Geralt’s attention is drawn away from the bard when a middle-aged man and a slightly younger-looking woman approach them.

“Ah, the Duchess of Iylico, and of course her handsome husband, how lovely seeing you two!” Jaskier exclaims, raising his cup in greeting.

The Duchess and her husband stop in front of them, the woman giving them an appraising look, the man staring blanky ahead. “Master Jaskier, so lovely seeing you here. That is quite a dress, you look absolutely lovely,” the Duchess says.

Jaskier smiles at her. “Why thank you! But of course, one could never be as lovely as the Duchess of Iylico, herself. You look splendid as always, Martha.”

The woman blushes a little at the praise. “Oh, stop it, you. Say, master Jaskier, will you be performing tonight?”

“I will not, unfortunately.” He leans towards her, a bit conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “Of course, I would never arrive so late if I were.”

She nods. “He was supposed to be here an hour ago. Quite a travesty, if you ask me.”

“A disgrace, indeed,” Jaskier agrees, sipping wine from his cup. The Duchess excuses herself, and moves on.

Eventually, a door in the back of the room opens, and a tall, slim man walks in, his curly, blond hair reaching down to his shoulders, his outfit too bright and entirely too pompous, and Geralt quietly blesses Melitele that Jaskier doesn’t dress like that - compared to Valdo Marx’s outfit, Jaskier’s almost looks humble.

“That’s him, that’s Valdo Marx,” Jaskier hisses to Geralt, entirely unnecessary, and the Witcher nods.

The troubadour of Cidaris starts his performance, and though his music isn’t all that bad, it doesn’t hold Geralt’s attention for long - the language too flowery and complicated, the songs too long-winded, his voice only slightly above average. Clearly, he isn’t the only one who gets bored of Valdo Marx, and after half an hour or so, the conversations have picked up again.

Jaskier goes to fetch another cup of wine, and as he goes, Geralt can’t help but be distracted by the way the skirts of the dress billow around him, the way the open back shows his toned muscles and soft skin. The Witcher’s so distracted, in fact, that he doesn’t notice Valdo Marx has stopped playing until the man is right in front of him, drawing his attention away from his own bard.

Valdo makes an exaggerated bow that has Geralt fighting not to roll his eyes. “My, oh, my,” the troubadour says, “am I mistaken or are you Geralt of Rivia, the Witcher?”

Geralt nods curtly. “Hmm.” He notes in the back of his mind that Valdo Marx smells of cheap wine and dust, barely masked with way too much lavender perfume.

“Quite an honour to meet you, Witcher.” He doesn’t say those two syllables the same way Jaskier always says it. It almost sounds hungry, and it makes Geralt’s stomach churn lightly.

“Hmm.”

“So, what brings you here, Geralt of Rivia?”

“I do.” Suddenly Jaskier is back by his side, a new cup of wine in one hand, the other splayed across Geralt’s lower back possessively, and the Witcher feels himself relax slightly. “Lovely seeing you again, Valdo. That performance was quite... something.”

“Why thank you, Julian. And thank you for honouring us with your presence, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you.” He looks Jaskier up and down. “I suppose you got off the road only just now?”

Jaskier smiles broadly, but it looks so fake to Geralt it makes him slightly uncomfortable. “Well, I could ask you the same thing, since you were so horribly late. Did no one ever tell you it’s not polite to be late? You’ve made a bad impression on the Duchess of Iylico.”

Valdo’s cheeks start to redden slightly, and Geralt can hear his heartbeat picking up. “Well, that’s unfortunate. Though I’m glad I at least have a reputation to tarnish. Unlike some bards.”

Jaskier laughs, throwing his head back, though there’s no real mirth in his voice. “Oh, Valdo. I do have a reputation, but it’s mostly outside of the walls of Cidaris. I’m quite well-known both in the smaller towns all across the Continent and in Cintra’s court. I was even invited to play at princess Pavetta’s engagement party, a few years ago, and have been invited back every year since. Of course, you wouldn’t know that if you never leave Cidaris. Maybe it’s time to do so, dear, I don’t think I’ve heard your name in years.” He turns to Geralt. “Have you, my love?”

The Witcher startles slightly, but quickly shakes his head, fighting to hide his smirk at the anger he can smell in the wine-dust-lavender-scent of the troubadour of Cidaris. “Unfortunately, I’d never heard of you until Jaskier told me about you, good sir,” he says to Valdo Marx, who turns even redder.

“Really?” The troubadour says. “I presume you two don’t talk a lot, then.”

“Oh, we do,” Jaskier says, a sly twinkle in his blue eyes. “At least, not unless our mouths are otherwise occupied.” He winks at Valdo, who suddenly turns pale, the redness draining from his cheeks as he looks between Jaskier and Geralt.

“Ah, so you two are...”

“Lovers, yes,” Jaskier fills in for him. He smoothes his hands down his dress, making the gems shimmer in the candlelight. Geralt watches Valdo’s eyes follow the movement, sees him swallow thickly, the anger in his scent making way for slight arousal. “Well,” Jaskier continues. “We must go, don’t we, Geralt, darling?”

Geralt nods, laying a hand on Jaskier’s waist, the fabric of the silver dress soft beneath his fingers. He bends towards his bard’s ear. “As gorgeous as you look in that dress, I can’t wait to tear it off you,” he half-whispers in Jaskier’s ear, way too loud, trying not to grin as the arousal and anger spike in Valdo’s scent again.

Jaskier laughs, slapping his chest lightly. “Geralt! This dress is expensive.” He turns back to Valdo. “Well, it was absolutely lovely to see you, dear. Until the next time?”

He turns around before Valdo can answer, the soft skirts of the dress swishing around him, and Geralt follows him through the large front doors.

---

Jaskier breaks out in giddy giggles as soon as Geralt closes the door to their room at the inn behind them. “Did you see his face? He was so angry.”

He can’t help but grin at Jaskier’s mirth. “He was. I could smell it on him. He’s still attracted to you, too.”

Jaskier gives him a delighted smile. “I knew the dress would work. And I knew our little charade would work, too!” He walks towards Geralt, laying his hands on the Witcher’s shoulders, Geralt’s own hands settling on Jaskier’s hips without a second thought. “You did amazingly, Witcher. Thank you for indulging in my little revenge plan.”

“My pleasure,” Geralt replies. “I can see why you don’t like him.”

Jaskier smiles at him for a little longer, before stepping a bit closer, his smile turning sly. “Did you mean it when you said you couldn’t wait to tear this dress off me?”

Suddenly, he can smell arousal, thick in the air around them, though he’s not sure if it’s from him or Jaskier. He bends forward, nosing at the sensitive spot under Jaskier’s ear, and he figures it’s from both of them, as the scent spikes. “I did. Though you look gorgeous in it as well.”

Jaskier’s heartbeat is rabbit-fast against his lips, and he can’t help but grin. “Well-” the bard swallows thickly. “I would prefer you keep it intact, but I’m sure I would be able to get certain... stains out of it.”

Geralt smiles, moving back a bit, looking into impossibly blue eyes, pupils blown wide, arousal spiking in the air. Jaskier’s lips are still a bit wine-stained, and Geralt can’t stop himself from kissing them, licking away the taste, his bard sighing into his mouth softly, contentedly, slender arms looping around Geralt’s neck.

Eventually, he breaks the kiss off, leaning their foreheads together, hands gently stroking over the soft fabric of the dress. “Sounds like a plan to me,” he whispers.

Jaskier grins back at him.

#dhwty-writes #squish answers #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #drabble #been waiting for an excuse to write jaskier in a dress for a while now #yes it's the same dress as yen wears in ep 5 #i just think he'd look really good in a dress #sue me #valdo marx

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mimik-u · 4 years ago

Text

Flower Child, Chapter 17: Fall

AO3 Link

In defiance of every atom, of every primordial instinct that told her to run, Priyanka Maheswaran found herself in the slaughterhouse as the steel analog clock on the wall dragged her into the next minute.

5:55 PM.

But the hands of time were relentless. They kept moving, kept circling across the swath of smooth white. Seconds and seconds and seconds. Unthinking. Disinterested. Inexorable.

Seconds and seconds and seconds.

They piled upon the altar like dry kindling. One spark, and they would smoke; they would simply burn, and the reek of charnel would suffocate her where she languished and sat in the slaughterhouse, where all dreams crumbled—embers becoming charcoaled dust.

5:56.

In approximately two hundred and forty seconds, in four minutes more, Steven Universe’s guardians would file in through the door directly across from the nephrologist. She would implore them to sit with a terse nod of her head. She would not tell them that the medical staff who worked on the Truman Ward colloquially called the conference room directly across the nurse’s station—this very room—the slaughterhouse, where doctors brought the family members of patients in and didn’t leave them unchanged when they finally came out.

I’m sorry, they would say to someone’s mother, father, sibling, lover, friend, daughter, son.

We did all that we could, but the damage was too extensive.

We’ve tried everything, but your loved one is dead.

Your loved one is going to die.

I’m sorry, she would say.

She would adopt her best patient voice, which had only ever managed to be adequate. It wouldn’t be enough; her throat would strain against the sound, the crease between her eyes betraying that she was afraid.

They would see right through her.

I’m sorry, she would say anyway. She would plead. It would be the last defense against complete dissolution that she had.

She’d bring the cleaver down upon the smiles she’d wrought on their careworn faces only just that morning.

It would be quick and brutal.

Barbaric even.

I’m sorry.

She had not intended to come here—not for any patient if she could help it.

Not for Steven Universe most of all.

But life was perverse, and it was so damn unkind; it knew nothing of intentions and hopes, dreams and childish wishes. It cared little for found families and fourteen-year old boys who needed kidneys.

5:57.

Priyanka sat at the head of the long table, her hands clasped in a rigid temple upon its smooth, gray surface, knuckles white from the simple exertion of clenching them. And then, as the seconds ticked by, as they smoked, as they gathered, as they burned, the room dissolved beneath her, stolen into nothingness by the snatch of a memory, an echo from a ghost who died nearly fifteen years ago…

She had possessed a beatific smile.

Her hair fell across her gowned shoulders in flowing, pink ringlets.

Rose Quartz went into labor two weeks before her due date.

It was a starless August night.

Balmy.

The world outside slept, lulled by the susurrant hush of the wind.

Though her contractions were coming steadily, Dr. Howard’s parenthetically lined mouth grew thinner each time his hawklike eyes slid towards the monitor which registered the twenty-six year old’s increasing blood pressure. She’d been admitted the week prior for severe headaches, a symptom consistent with her kidney disease, sure, but her blood tests indicated that she was hypertensive, too.

They started her on corticosteroids to help the baby’s still-developing lungs.

Dr. Howard took Priyanka off of all her other cases.

Made it her priority to stick to Room 11078 and to page him immediately if Rose’s blood pressure spiked to 140/90 mm/Hg.

“Because we’ll have to deliver the baby right then and there,” he stressed gravely,“if we want any chance of saving them both.”

He was talking obliquely about preeclampsia, a birth condition which began with high blood pressure and often ended with damage to the livers or kidneys.

And Rose Quartz’s kidneys were already shit, so there was that, and here was yet another sordid item to add to the ever growing list of what was wrong with the poor woman’s body.

Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl had all gone back to the hotel room for the night—against their wills, protesting—but Rose had made them, had told them to go on ahead, to get some sleep. She would see them in the morning. She loved them.

Goodnight.

And Greg was in the hallway, making a call to an insurance provider, which left Priyanka alone with Rose, who was propped up against two pillows on her hospital bed, palming her stomach protectively as she idly watched whatever was playing on TV—some offbeat sitcom or another. Frankly, Priyanka neither knew nor care. Scrunched up in one of the hardback chairs off to the left of Rose’s bed, she scratched harsh notes on her chart for the want of something to do.

To combat the growing feeling clambering up the rungs of her constricted throat.

To drown out the laugh track.

Those nameless people, that detached crowd, they laughed and laughed and laughed.

She couldn’t see what was so fucking funny, and she intimated as much without ever realizing it, scoffing just as her pen decided to run out of ink.

(It wasn’t really about the pen.)

“You seem exhausted, Priyanka,” Rose Quartz said softly, and it was with a jolt that the resident realized that she had been caught out.

Discovered.

Seen.

She flushed as she felt rather than saw that familiar, dark eyed gaze settle upon her gently—like a blanket, warm and encompassing. She stared obstinately at her clipboard, trying to will her own scribbles to make sense in a world that had currently lost its ever loving mind.

“I’ve been working overtime all week,” she said shortly, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. The wooden armrest pressed stiffly against her back, an unwelcome hand upon her spine. “Of course I’m exhausted.”

“Then you should go home. Get some rest.”

“Dr. Howard assigned me to your case again.

“Excuses, excuses,” Rose clucked, teasing, fond, amused. “He can’t make you work overtime.”

Priyanka was simply furious with herself.

With a final click of her useless pen, she replaced it in the lapel of her scrubs and finally met her patient’s gaze with a steeliness that she hoped would wound, cut, eviscerate.

But nothing, not even the possibility of her imminent death, seemed to faze the woman, who stared at her evenly, with all the air of someone waiting patiently to explain the turn of the seasons to a child who wondered where the leaves had all gone.

Change was inevitable.

Winter became spring became summer became fall.

I want to leave them with roots, Priyanka, she’d explained in that tiny examination room, so many months ago. She’d taken the resident’s hand and intertwined it with her own. A faint floral scent wreathed her hair. Strawberries, maybe. Wild and sweet. I want them to have the chance to grow…

“It isn’t looking too good, is it?” Rose asked, her voice so casual that they could have merely been discussing a chapter from a really sad book.

And the princess didn’t get to live happily ever after. And the evil forces prevailed in the end. And Rose Quartz’s body was rapidly shutting down. And there was nothing they could do about it, or more accurately still, they were doing everything.

And nothing was entirely working.

Priyanka’s dark eyes flitted to the number she had just recently scrawled on her chart in stuttering ink.

132/90 mm/Hg.

“No,” she said flatly. She felt no need to sugarcoat a bush that was already burning. Her fingers were cold where they gripped the flat of her clipboard. Her entire chest ached. “Your blood pressure is too high. The antihypertensives aren’t working.”

“Oh, well… I figured,” Rose sighed softly, still rubbing her swollen belly. Her forehead was beaded with sweat, curly tendrils of pink hair clinging softly, like gossamer, to her pale temples. “That explains the headaches, doesn’t it?”

Priyanka stared at Rose Quartz incredulously.

Gaped at her wildly.

Like she’d never properly seen before.

(She’d seen her so many times in the past couple of months, flitting in and out of the hospital, Dr. Howard’s office, and then the hospital all over again; she’d done what she swore she would never do with a patient; she became attached; she cared; it would be her own undoing.)

“Of course it does,” she snapped. She didn’t care that she was breaking a hell of a lot of rules, all the studied lines of decorum. She slammed her clipboard onto her lap and couldn't bring herself to bring a shit that it produced such a violent sound. She wanted to shake this woman, wanted to break the calm in her face, wanted her to register the simple fact that she could very well die. “If you’re still suffering from headaches, then, of course , it means the medicines aren’t working. It’s common sense, Rose. Mere logic.”

Her shoulders heaved as though she had only just ran a marathon.

And Rose’s smile—that beatific, perfect, clandestine smile—slid, like melting ice, from her mouth.

Finally, Priyanka thought savagely, and she hated herself for it.

Guilt assaulted her, a new lump in her constricted throat.

“I’m sorry,” she said abruptly, dull color bruising her sharply drawn cheeks. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just… I’m—”

“No, Priyanka.” Rose brought one of her hands from the top of her belly, raising it firmly against the resident’s stammered apologies. If she was injured—if she was hurting—she didn’t very well show it, her expression as impenetrably smooth as the silver face of the moon. “Please don’t say sorry… not if you don’t mean it. You only said what you’ve been thinking, what all my loved ones have been thinking, really… what an entire fool I am.”

Her soft, brown eyes briefly flicked to the multiple IVs stemming from her lifted hand. The tubes swirled all around her arm, spiraling towards a multitude of brightly flickering machines.

“Crazy,” she laughed humorlessly, the sound without familiar melody. “Throwing my life away…”

A little less than nine months had elapsed since she had first announced her pregnancy, and now there was a grayness to her once milk white skin.

A lethargy behind that calm face.

The passion, the vivaciousness, the youth all gone.

Priyanka was scarcely two years older than her.

“Priyanka,” she whispered, the name somber in the movement of that once perpetually smiling mouth, “would you believe me if I said that this ”—she gestured feebly at the hospital bed, at the medical apparatus all around her—“isn’t living? Would you understand if I told you that this isn’t who I am on the inside—all these needles and lines and medicines and awful machines?”

Without waiting for an answer, not seemingly needing one, Rose gently replaced her hand on her stomach, her palm tenderly cupping its curve.

“I know what living is, sweet Priyanka,” she continued, closing her dark eyes against some invisible memory, “and this isn’t it… this isn’t all those days I’ve stood in endless protest for a cause that I so desperately believe in. This isn’t being able to play volleyball on the beach with my loved ones, watching Amethyst and Garnet and Pearl and Greg laugh in the sand. This isn’t the fish fries we’ve hosted, nor the long nights spent planning demonstrations on the deck. This isn’t the thrill of falling in love with so many people. Meeting Pearl. Coming to understand the strange cosmos of Greg Universe. Choosing to have this child with him. Choosing this path which may very well end in my own destruction… because this , Priyanka Maheswaran, from the moment I was first diagnosed at sixteen years old, was already my destruction. And I simply have been borrowing moments of living in the full acknowledgment of that terrible truth.”

Rose did not falter.

So strong, even to the last, she did not break.

But maybe, just maybe, she cracked… just a little, just enough so that Priyanka could see.

A single tear escaped the confines of her closed eyes, slowly slipping down her cheek and into the slightly rumpled collar of her paisley-studded gown.

“So would you believe me, Priyanka?” She asked again.

She begged.

She pleaded.

“Please?”

She was asking a lot of the twenty-eight year old, to whom belief had never come easily. Priyanka was constantly interrogating her own values, checking and double checking them against rationality to ensure that they fit the meticulous schema she had constructed of the empirically observable world.

But just as there was no rationality in a twenty-six year old dying, there was no logicality in belief.

There was only a leap of faith, fingers crossed that she wouldn’t fall into the abyss.

Landing was not a guarantee.

And that was what so unfathomable to her, so cruel and so disgusting.

But what more could Priyanka say? What facts and statistics could she throw in this dying woman’s face to make her see reason that wasn’t exactly there.

The answer was nothing.

Perhaps it had always been nothing.

This student of science had no more protestations.

And in the absence of protestation, all that was left was a single choice: to jump or not to jump.

It was simple, really.

It was so damn hard.

Rose Quartz finally opened her eyes then. They were bright with her tears, and yet, simultaneously, the sheer darkness of them gripped Priyanka like the hands of a drowning sailor. The screen on the wall which measured her blood pressure had incrementally risen since they had started talking.

134/90 mm/Hg.

There was no time to waste anymore.

To pretend like they had ever possessed.

“What…” Priyanka began, her own voice hoarse, tight, strained, on the very verge of the precipice it hesitated to leap.“… what do you need me to do? Name it, and I’ll… I can’t promise anything… but I’ll try. ”

The word felt paltry, insufficient.

Trying was not an assurance, just as landing was not a guarantee.

“I’ll do what I can.”

Rose’s face simply collapsed, tears falling down both sides of her cheeks in gentle lines.

“Thank you, Priyanka,” she whispered, relief in every word, redolent in all the syllables of her spoken name.

But Priyanka did not want gratitude; she wanted an answer, something solid to latch onto, a promise she could keep.

“What you need, Rose?” She asked again, shifting her gaze her away. Her voice was abrupt—it was always abrupt—but somehow, it was not entirely unkind. “Tell me.”

The woman’s answer was immediate, unflinching; she had been obviously been thinking about it for a very long time.

It was the answer she probably would have proffered to anyone who asked.

Who took the time to wonder what exactly it was that Rose Quartz wanted.

What she needed.

What she had kept so carefully concealed behind that calm veneer of a facade.

“Take care of my baby for me, please,” she whispered. “Be their advocate when Dr. Howard and Greg will be mine… I’ll have so many people in the delivery room. I’ll have so many people rooting for me outside of it, too… but, my baby, Priyanka… I need someone in their corner, too… to root for them… to be their voice… please..."

All things considered, it was a pretty damn unreasonable request.

If Rose had to have a c-section, then Dr. Howard would need Priyanka’s steady hands to hold a clamp or provide suction; in the battlefield of surgery, her only allegiance was to the brusque orders that the old man barked to her behind his mask. The obstetrician would handle the delivery. Their own resident would whisk the baby away to the NICU.

And she and Dr. Howard would try to save Rose’s life.

That was Priyanka’s calling.

Her solemn oath.

Her duty.

But...

.... Unreasonable though it was—and it most certainly was so—Priyanka reasoned that it was likely not unkeepable.

She could help keep an eye on the baby’s heart monitor.

She could even lend a hand in the delivery procedure if Dr. Howard didn’t need her.

She could try, dammit.

She could at least promise that.

“You have my word,” she returned tersely, dark eyes still averted. She played a little with her hands on top of her clipboard, twining and untwining them, as Rose seemingly sank back against her pillows, sighing softly.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“Don’t thank me until it’s over—I haven’t done anything yet.”

“You heard me out,” Rose replied evenly. “That’s something.”

“No,” the resident heard herself say aloud. “It isn’t.”

The hands on the clock veered into 6:00 with all the bluntness of a collision and none of its explosiveness.

The door opened.

That was mundane enough.

And Amethyst and Pearl came in first, laughing about something that Garnet had apparently said.

And Greg followed, chuckling, lightly scratching his stomach.

And Garnet made up the rear, grinning, pleased with herself.

Oblivious.

They were all so happy, this extraordinary group of ordinary people—they had no idea where they were or what it all meant or what was about to happen to the smiles on their tired faces.

And Priyanka did not have time to recover her own face, to arrange it into some manner of professional acceptability, her mouth half-open, hands rigid upon the table.

And Amethyst caught her out first.

Because she was smart like that, perceptive.

And the mirth drained from her brown eyes as she perceived the nephrologist’s expression in the semidarkness of the room.

And the two women stared each other across its length.

They called this place the slaughterhouse.

“No,” she simply said. She croaked it. Panic violated the smooth youthfulness of her face, tearing it all asunder. “No, Doc.”

“I’m sorry,” Priyanka Maheswaran whispered.

It wasn’t enough.

It had never been enough.

Garnet only stared at her, disbelieving.

Her mouth hadn’t quite untwisted itself out of the ghost of its last smile.

“I am so, so sorry.”

She said it again anyway, though, like it counted for something, like it meant anything, as tears began to flow down Pearl’s cheeks.

Greg Universe made a sound that was half-horror, half-agony, bracing his hands against the back of a metal chair to steady himself against the blow.

ii.

A doctor, a washed up rockstar, and three Crystal Gems walked out of a conference room.

And the joke, the cruel punchline, was that the boy they all loved wasn’t going to get the kidneys he so desperately needed; he was going to go back on the list, which had always been more of a desperate gamble than a guarantee; he was going to degrade in that hospital bed for however many days, weeks, and months he had more.

Dr. Maheswaran didn’t think he had a year.

She was blunt about it.

Professional.

But her eyes gave her away, the lines beneath them, the consumptive shadows.

(Mere hours ago, her face had been transformed by the simple action of a smile.)

There were no comforting words, nor bracing gestures between the coterie of broken people who limped their way back to Room 11037—injured, defeated, the wounds glistening across their bruised eyes, their shivering mouths. Greg took the lead, the rubber of his sandals snapping harshly against the tiled floor with each step, every guttural, convulsive movement.

They silently decided that he should be the one to actually commit the words aloud, knew that it was for the best. He could be soft where Dr. Maheswaran was brutal. Comprehensive when Garnet couldn’t muster words. Sage when Amethyst’s youthful clumsiness sometimes made it difficult to find the right words.

And he could hold it together long enough to actually say it.

Trailing behind him, pale fingers gripping the fabric of her sweater, Pearl’s horror took the form of sniffling that couldn’t quite be concealed. She was holding herself together—the news had cleaved her apart—and he wondered again, not for the first time since Steven’s diagnosis, whether or not she had been right all those years ago, when she had told him quite plainly, in that incisively logical way of hers, that she was better for Rose.

They’d come a long way since then.

They grudgingly tolerated each other now.

They coparented the best that they could.

Sometimes, he thought that they were even friends, sharing beers together on dusk lit balconies and spending so many sleepless nights side by side at the kitchen table, poring over bills and medicines and more bills because the bills, above all, were endless.

And perhaps in the end, he and Pearl were even family in the way that they loudly and silently and entirely loved the same dying boy.

(That was how they had loved the same woman, too.)

But still, maybe she had had a point.

Pearl always tended to have a point...

The hallway was painfully short; Room 11037 arrived far quicker than any of them had ever anticipated.

His breath coming in hitched gasps, chest seized with a sudden tightening, Greg palmed the wood of the door, splaying his shaking fingers against its smooth grains as though to steady himself against an impossible reckoning. He was minutes away, possibly seconds, from breaking his own son’s heart, and that was on him.

Hell, all failures when it came to his son’s happiness were on him.

He was the kid’s dad.

He was supposed to protect Steven, shelter him, keep him safe from every quantifiable danger that he could.

And here he was, about to deliver another slap to his face and call it kindness.

The contradiction was not lost upon him.

The unfairness of it all stung.

It stung his eyes, and it stung his heart, and it stung all over, simply undid the man. He was a pincushion falling apart in all the places where he had been needled over and over again.

But he felt a hand on the small of his back then—gentle, kind.

He expected it to be Garnet or maybe even Amethyst; that had always been their sort of thing.

But when he looked back behind him, his mouth half-formed in an empty, perfunctory thanks, he saw that it was Pearl, her big, blue eyes still edged with the remnants of her tears.

Her sweater, neatly pressed, seemed to swallow her entirely.

She stood perfectly within the lines of one of the tiles on the floor, feet poised like a ballerina’s. Rose had once told him that she’d been trained to dance—once so disciplined in the art that she could stand upon the tips of her toes for as many minutes as her tutors required.

Even when she was devastated.

Even when she was hurt.

“How… how do I do this?” Greg asked before he could stop himself. The words tumbled out of his mouth in an ungainly rush. “How do I… how can I… I mean… he’s just a boy… a kid, and I—“

And I don’t want to do this, Pearl.

I don’t want to see him go through this.

Pearl swiped delicately at her nose, and she swiped at her leaking eyes, but the carnage still remained. It was unlikely to disappear for a very long time. She wrung her slender fingers together and twisted them apart. She congregated them in a prim temple just above her stomach. She eventually let them fall to her sides. She glanced down. She failed to look back up.

Shoulders shivering.

Feet still in first position.

“I… I don’t think there’s any right way to do this,” she finally said. “Not really… but I—we’re behind you, Greg.”

“Yeah,” Amethyst agreed.

Garnet nodded her silent assent.

“We’re… always behind you.”

The weight of these words, the implicit meaning behind them, was not lost on Greg. He immediately understood how much it must have cost her to say such a thing to him, and yet, he simultaneously knew that she must have meant it—for Pearl rarely ever said things that she didn't mean.

She gave silent treatments, and she evaded tough emotional conversations with all the agility of a dancer; she shot people glares that she thought to be discrete from the corners of her eyes; she kept secrets to herself, kept them tucked away in the same places where she had invisible shrines to the woman they both loved.

But she rarely lied.

Or maybe, more accurately, she wouldn't lie now.

And so, choked, overwhelmed, grateful, he could only muster something like a vague sound of gratitude in the back of his throat that he thought she equally understood because she nodded at him primly.

And then, he turned to face the door again, palming the brass handle.

On the other side, he heard a snatch of laughter.

Steven.

Assuredly.

Perhaps he was watching one of his favorite shows, laughing at something a character had said.

Greg twisted his hand downwards and pushed lightly upon the door.

iii.

The door opened upon a scene that Yellow Diamond had always intended to flee before she could be caught out, but one anecdote led to another, and before she knew it, Steven Universe had started telling her about how he’d met Blue at the cemetery where their dead daughter lay. And the conjured image of her bathrobed wife, holding a hibiscus aloft in her gently curving palm, plucked an dusty chord in her chest.

So this was the flower that had been on the nightstand for a couple of nights now.

This was the story of a boy and a woman and a cemetery and a handful—a lifetime, really—of aching, miserable griefs.

“She told me that she married you so her name would be a pun,” Steven had said, grinning mischievously.

“Something to that effect,” Yellow dryly returned.

And he pressed for more stories, more memories, more chords inside her chest. How did she meet Blue? When did they fall in love? Who proposed?

He asked so many questions, his brown eyes alight with curiosity, that she was reminded so much of Pink that it almost hurt to even look at him. But, just as she had done with her daughter, she sighingly indulged him, groaning and moaning and making it out as thought she was doing him a massive favor by relenting. And he only smiled at her teasingly—like he was in on the secret.

It was the other way around.

She was the one at his mercy.

And so she told him the story of the princess and the knight in less than fantastical terms, laying out the bare bones of her and Blue’s first meeting with a halting voice as the memories slowly came flooding back: Blue Montgomery’s sweeping ball gown, the spidery chandeliers, the waiters swerving in and out of the crowd bearing silver trays loaded with champagne, her ridiculously dramatic mother waltzing through the ballroom with all the radiance of a sun.

God, how many decades ago was that now?

Years and years and years.

“Our daughter used to love this damn story,” Yellow murmured at the end, briefly flicking her eyes downwards. “We told it so many different times to her that she could repeat it word for word.”

“It’s a very good story,” Steven returned, laughing. “Did you really think about punching that guy?”

“Fleetingly, yes,” she almost smiled, “but—”

But then the door opened so abruptly, bringing reality back in with what appeared to be a collection of harried looking people. The businesswoman’s head sharply cocked towards the far side of the room to greet an assemblage of expressions that she was surprised to find in total strangers: anger and disgust.

Complete and total loathing.

Damn, at least buy me a drink first.

“You!” A slight woman in a sweater hissed furiously.

“Uh-oh,” Steven Universe said, shrinking slightly beneath his covers. “Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh...”

But Yellow Diamond wasn’t listening to him anymore, instinctive indignation rising to her aid and defense as she stood up from her chair and mustered as haughty of an expression she could for a woman wearing silk pajamas.

“Excuse me?” She asked venomously, crossing her arms over her chest. “And you are?”

“Pearl…” The balding man standing next to the sweater-wearing accoster tried to plea, placing a big hand on her much smaller shoulder. “Maybe we shouldn’t… uh—?”

“No,” The woman named Pearl snarled, jerking her arm away from him. Yellow could see that her pale eyes were bright with tears, which seemed like an overreaction if she had ever witnessed one. She didn’t know these people from Jack, Jill, or Harry on the sidewalk! “I want to know what she’s doing here! She has no business—“

“Pearl, wait!” Steven tried to interject, jerking upwards from his pillows. “It’s okay! She just wanted to vis—“

But his voice got lost in the shuffle as the taller woman behind Pearl suddenly stepped forward, her powerfully muscled arms clenched into fists by her sides. There was an indefinable air of authority about her that Yellow only recognized because she, too, possessed it. Her bicolored glare was a weapon in and of itself; the harsh florescence of the overheads glinted off the sunglasses folded neatly across the collar of her sweatshirt.

“Leave,” the woman said. “You’re not welcome here.”

“Garnet! No! She wasn’t doing anything wro—“

“Well, frankly,” Yellow shot back before Steven could complete his thought, “I’d perfectly well surmised that without your help. But forgive me if I’m having trouble piecing together the context behind this unwarranted rudeness.”

“You know what you’ve done,” Garnet growled.

“No!” The blood inside her head churned, simply boiled. She had never known when to leave well enough alone. “I damn well don’t!”

“1999—Diamond Electric vs. Hutchings,” Pearl began to tick off names on her fingertips. “2005—Diamond Electric vs. Davis. 2011—Diamond Electric vs. Bach. Are these names ringing a bell? Unsafe factory conditions! Unconstitutional wage gaps! Leaking waste reservoirs!”

“All settled in court!” Yellow returned with a cruel laugh that she did not remotely feel, raking her cold eyes over each and very one of her newfound opponents in turn. It had always been her against the world for as long as she could remember—she the trapped lioness cornered by the angry mob. (But the mob always tended to forget one crucial fact about exchanges between lions and men. Lions had claws and sharp, gleaming teeth; she would devour them and gnaw on their bones for sport.) “What are you all? Lawyers? Reporters? Protestors? Please, spare no sordid detail as to why I’m being read case names for events that happened long ago.”

“Yellow Diamond, please—” Steven’s voice was tiny by her side; she could not hear him; or perhaps, she didn’t want to hear him.

She wanted to fight.

“We’re, like, the Crystal Gems,” the smallest woman to Garnet’s left said emphatically. Her lavender bangs fell over one of her eyes, but she blew them back with a small puff of air.

“Never heard of you,” Yellow replied flippantly and untruthfully.

Because she had heard of them—several times, in fact.

They were some small activist group that had always been a vaguely minor nuisance at her side—especially a few years ago—but they’d never done anything more than force her lawyers to spend some time haggling in appeals courts.

A waste of time and money for everyone, really.

“Never heard of us?” Pearl spluttered wildly, her complexion whitening. “Never heard of—“

“Enough, you all!” The doctor who had been at the back of the group finally seemed to have found her tongue, and a pretty harsh tongue it was because her exasperated voice clearly cut through the melee. “We’re in a hospital for goodness’s—”

But the doctor was drowned out, too, lost in the onslaught of noise suddenly coming from one of the monitors above Steven’s bed—a shrill beeping noise that put an effective end to all the squabbling. The neon green line measuring his heart rate was spiking in short peaks, the numbers climbing, climbing, climbing… and beneath it all, clutching his chest, Steven was struggling to breathe, gulping in shallow bursts of air, his skin paling. Sweat beaded at his pale templed, hid eyes wide with fear.

“STEVEN! Steven!” So many voices yelled his name; it was all a jumble, a blur, a dissonant symphony.

The white coated doctor shoved past Yellow unceremoniously, nearly knocking her to the ground in her haste to get to her patient’s side. She pulled an oxygen mask down from one of the receptacles behind the bed, placing it over Steven’s mouth and nose.

“Breathe, Steven!” She commanded, her voice tight with obvious strain. The man and the woman named Pearl scrabbled over to the child’s bedside. Tears streaming down his ruddy face and into his beard, the man placed an arm around Steven’s back, steadying him. Pearl clasped one of his hands, her shoulders shaking violently.

“In and out,” the doctor continued. “Breathe. One… two… three. That’s it, honey. There you go…”

As Steven’s breathing evened out, the monitor’s beeping died down, nearly becoming regulated once more. Exhausted, overwhelmed, so quickly undone, the boy slumped against the man who was holding him, closing his eyes heavily as the doctor took the opportunity to more securely fasten the oxygenated mask around his face.

But what happened next, if anything happened at all, Yellow Diamond did not stay to find out.

Violently tearing her gaze away, the woman turned around and did what she should have done the moment she made the poor decision to come into this room in the first place.

Shoving past the remaining Crystal Gems, uncaring that she knocked Garnet in the shoulder, Yellow limped away as fast as her sore leg would allow her to go, nausea rushing up the column of her throat, her cheeks burning with shame.

What a pathetic creature she was.

A monster.

A lioness among men.

(The lioness always tended to forget one crucial fact about exchanges between lions and men. Lions had claws and sharp, gleaming teeth; she would end up destroying the people she cared about, too.)

iv.

Pearl only had eyes for one person in the entire world, and his name was Steven Universe. Both in the absence of Rose and in the lingering presence of her, he was the center of her universe, the sun which she orbited day after day after varied, sundry day. Weak, pale, cold, he shivered in his father’s arms, barely able to keep his eyes open as his heartbeat continued to regulate itself after that latest episode.

“Acute stress arrhythmia,” she heard Priyanka explain behind her. The nephrologist had her back turned to them as she read numbers on a nearby computer monitor.

She didn’t elaborate.

She didn’t need to.

Everybody in the room knew exactly who was to blame for his acute stress.

Shame colored them all; shame welled up in the corners of Pearl’s eyes as she continued to hold on to Steven’s hand.

Garnet collapsed into the chair that Yellow Diamond had just vacated, placing both of her hands over her eyes.

What children they had been.

What fools.

Pearl closed her own eyes in a useless attempt to stem the tears that were flowing freely now, unable to hold them back any longer. Shame wrapped a hand around her insides and squeezed.

Steven was… he was—oh, God, the word was too unbearable to even think, much less say aloud—and here they all were—fighting with someone who would never see reason.

How stupid.

How pathetic.

“Steven, wait, honey. You need to put that mask back—” But Priyanka’s soft admonition was apparently ignored; Pearl looked up just in time to see Steven feebly lifting the oxygen mask from his face, dropping it just below his mouth. Each movement looked like it took something from him; he couldn’t even lift his head from Greg’s chest.

So he stared straight at her.

Directly into her eyes.

He had his mother’s eyes.

Her dark and lovely eyes.

“S-she…” She had to lean forward to hear him, for his voice was barely a whisper, an echo, a ghost. “…she really wasn’t being mean.”

“Shh, Shtu-ball. We know,” Greg tried hoarsely, pressing a kiss into his son’s mass of curly hair. “Save up your strength…”

“Steven,” Pearl pleaded, barely able to discern him through her tears. She refused to let go of his hand; it wasn't as much for his sake as she would have liked to kid herself to believe. “I’m so, so sorry. We shouldn’t have squabbled with her like that. We just weren’t… I mean… I wasn’t… I was stressed—I-I wasn’t thinking.”

“Stressed?” Again, his voice was so small that it struggled to be heard over the hissing of the various machines he was hooked up to, and the fact of it nearly undid her right then and there. Salt coated her lips. It lacquered her tongue. “Why… why were you stressed?”

No.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this... the news wasn’t supposed to come from her. It was supposed to be Greg’s job to do this; he was the one who was good at emotions; he was the one who knew how to have these sorts of conversations without completely dissolving into nothingness and rubble.

(He was the better person.)

(The one who Rose chose.)

Pearl could yell at a tyrannical businesswoman for longer than she could hold herself together in front of Steven; she could protest wars; she could hold demonstrations; she could plan fish fries; she could keep herself together on a day to day basis, bound by Scotch tape and glue.

But for him?

For Steven Universe?

Her eyes refilled with fresh tears, and she finally withdrew her hand from his, placing it over her mouth in the quietest sign of her incapacity.

Useless.

Pathetic.

Childish.

Fool.

“Oh,” Steven only rasped, understanding immediately. He was so smart like that; he never missed a beat. “The… the kidneys fell through, didn’t they?”

“I’m so sorry, kiddo,” Greg said, wrapping his arms more tightly around Steven as gently as he could manage as Priyanka took the opportunity to replace the mask over his nose and mouth.

“The kidneys were damaged during the donor’s accident,” she explained dully, “and we couldn’t detect it until we were already in surgery… I’m sorry, Steven. I am.”

But Steven never took his eyes off Pearl, those dark and lovely eyes.

They were wounded eyes.

Bruised eyes.

Goddamn exhausted eyes.

"I'm sorry, Steven," she whispered. "I am so, so sorry."

The mask prevented him from speaking.

In place of his reply, there was only the steady hiss of oxygen and the dark-cloaked presence of grief, the seventh person in an already crowded room. They sat on the edge of Steven’s bed, simply taking up precious air.

Pearl couldn’t breathe.

I'm sorry.

Night descended upon the sky like a heavy curtain, unfurling its black velvet across the horizon with dark finality, the punctuation unmistakable. Sitting atop of the bulky air conditioning unit that stretched the length of the hotel room’s window, Amethyst gazed emptily at the spectacle, knees pulled up to her chest, her still-damp hair pulled over one of her shoulders. If she was back at home, there would be a roof to clamber onto and a vast canvas of stars to behold… but here, there were only skyscrapers that stretched their supplicatory hands upwards to an unhearing god. Here, there were stars made out of lit windows. Here, there was that familiar feeling of suffocation, of being cloistered in...

Cornered.

And unlike in a good alley fight, putting up her fists wouldn’t solve a damn thing.

Three hours had passed since they’d nearly given Steven a heart attack and then told him that he wasn’t going to get those stupid fucking kidneys. And still, the scene haunted her mind’s eye in the absence of anything else to think about, to obsess over, to grieve. When they had all left for the evening—Greg the only one staying behind for the night—he couldn’t even muster enough energy to tell them goodnight, simply blinking at them from over the top of his oxygenated mask before closing his eyes.

Merely twelve hours ago, they’d all been sickeningly happy because they had thought that the nightmare was over… but that sensation had long passed, a relic of time immemorial now.

Now, there was only darkness.

A feeling of falling.

The ground giving way beneath their feet.

Now, there was only Dr. M’s only consolation that wasn’t really a consolation at all.

He’s at the top of the list now.

The door opened and gently closed behind her. Amethyst swung her head around just in time to see Garnet come in, a towel slung around her corded neck, her white tank top damp with sweat. She’d gone to the hotel’s gym to obviously treadmill away from her feelings, which was a way more productive solution than Amethyst’s choice coping mechanism. She raised her half-empty bottle of wine in greeting—reckless, loose—accidentally sloshing a little over the top of the rim.

“Hey.”

“Where’s Pearl?” Garnet studiously avoided her gaze as she lowered herself to the carpeted ground, leaning against the wall. Her shoulders hunched forward, elbows braced on top of her knees, she almost looked like some kinda statue—still, beautiful, tragic.

“Tryin’ to drown herself in the shower, I think,” Amethyst shrugged before taking another hearty swig of Moscato. The tangy notes stung her tongue. “She’s been in there for an hour now, so you might not have hot water later.”

The gym trainer shrugged noncommittally as though this was all the same to her.

And the two of them simply listened to the hissing of the water beyond the thin door to Garnet’s left for a handful of seconds; the serpentine sounds lashed the ground. Lashed their skin. Their ears. Their chests.

Amethyst sniffed and took yet another drag of wine.

There was nothing else better to do...

... but the silence was unbearable now that it was optional.

She turned her bottle upside down again.

Liquid courage.

“I met the old lady, y’know,” she said softly, her consonants a little rushed around their edges, a little tipsy, a little unsure. “Blue Diamond. It was… yesterday, I think? Hell, I think it was yesterday. God, I don’t even know at this point. But she was in the lobby, waitin’ for her valet to pick her up…”

Garnet didn’t say anything, didn’t even look up at her, but Amethyst knew she was listening from the way that every line in her body was rigid with attention.

“She’s kinda snooty, I think. Kinda looks like she’s got a stick up her ass… but she’s got a good heart, I guess. She cares about Steven…” Amethyst remembered the way her accented voice broke when she spoke of him, all of the syllables collapsing upon themselves in the throes of her gentle tongue. And she remembered the woman’s eyes, how startlingly blue they were, haunted underneath by the ravages of grief and time.

“A lot,” she added. “That surprised me.”

“I… I shouldn’t have let Yellow Diamond get to me like that,” Garnet said, reaching up and gingerly holding her head. “I know. I know.”

“No, that’s not what I’m sayin’, G,” Amethyst immediately and fiercely returned, shaking her own head. “I mean, it’s kinda what I’m sayin’, but we all got caught up in her. She got under all of our skins. I’m just, I dunno, I’m trying to—“

But she broke off then, ripping her gaze away from her roommate and back towards the window.

To the darkness.

The absence of stars.

She raised the bottle to her lips once more but stopped short of taking another swill; the sickly sweet perfume nearly gagged her.

“It’s just… it’s difficult,” she continued, setting the drink down between her knees. “That’s all I’m sayin’. God knows why, but he likes the Diamonds, and the Diamonds like him… and we shouldn’t… I mean, we should try our best not to shit on him for that because—“

But Amethyst stopped short again as the natural end to that sentence reared its head off the floor of her stomach, striking just where it hurt.

Sick, ashamed, inconsolable, she covered her eyes with both of her hands.

“Because we love him,” Garnet proffered, her voice quiet, almost inaudible over the noises coming from the shower, “and we want him to be happy.”

That wasn't the end of the sentence.

That wasn't what they had both been thinking anyway.

“Yeah,” she croaked gratefully, wiping roughly at her eyes. “Yeah.”

They resumed their silent vigil together then, mostly because it kept them from commenting upon the fact that it wasn’t just the water they were hearing behind that thin bathroom door.

Garnet reached upwards and grabbed the remote from the edge of the nearest bed, turning the volume up on some stupid sitcom to drown it out.

The water.

The weeping.

And the weeping and the weeping and the weeping.

vi.

Blue Diamond had been on the balcony for hours now, long enough for the sky to bruise from peach to blue to purple, long enough to see the first stars ascend to their storied mounts, glimmering down upon the world in silvery, distant specks.

Long enough that the tear tracks riveting down her cheeks had dried upon her long face in stiff lines.

Long enough that she wondered passively to herself if she had been here forever, a statue carved out of flesh and bone and misery and blood.

Long enough to reflect upon the fact that she wasn't referring to the balcony... but to something more abstract.

Metaphorical.

A state.

A cycle.

A condition of perpetual mourning.

Her phone laid facedown on the tiny table between her chair and Yellow’s empty one.

The last text she had received had been from Steven Universe.

It wasn’t even a sentence.

Just a fragment.

No exclamation points, no abundant elaboration, no joy.

Tuesday, 7:09 PM:

Steven: kidneys fell through

Blue had seen the boy just this morning—dropping by after she had left Yellow’s room—and she could remember, quite distinctly, how radiant his face had been, utterly metamorphosed by its own happiness.

She’d been drawn in by it, magnetized.

Oh, how the two of them laughed and smiled and played.

How many years had it been since she had last played?

It was before Pink died assuredly.

But even then, the details were murky to her; she’d been so wrapped up in her school, that she had forgot what it was to be twenty-one, and that twenty-one year olds were still children in a way, that they loved to have fun.

She’d been so strict with her sometimes.

Forbidding.

Cold.

(Her own mother would have been proud.)

But she and Steven Universe? They played, and they played, imagining all the things that Steven was going to do once he had recovered from the transplant surgery. Some of these plans were simply extraordinary in nature. He was going to run all day just because he would finally feel like it. He was going to make a massive sandcastle on the beach with all of his friends. It would be palatial, obviously, so they could live in it together, making seashell necklaces and seaweed crowns. He was going to eat all the donuts that he wanted—his diet had been so restricted since he’d taken ill—and then some.

“And if I get sick,” he had said proudly, “it’ll just be a normal sick, and that’ll be perfectly okay.”

But it wasn’t the extraordinary inventions which had touched Blue, which had moved her to the quick.

Rather, it was the simple things.

The mundane ones.

He would get to go to school with all the rest of the kids his age. He could go to a theater without worrying that his symptoms might flare up during the movie's climax. He could ride a bike through his charming, little beachside town.

He could simply be a child.

And that would be enough.

That would be perfectly okay.

“And I could come over for tea and cakes on Fridays,” he teased as she had prepared to leave, running one last hand through his curly hair as she stood up from her chair. He smiled at her gently, his mouth tilting crookedly.

“Aye,” she returned warmly, returning the gesture with an almost easiness that still surprised her. “I would love that..."

But just as quickly as these fantasies had risen—entertained, explored, viscerally imagined—they had been wrenched from his hands just as immediately, and so Blue Diamond sat on her balcony for hours on end grieving for the poor boy.

But because she was selfish, because she was predictable, because she was broken, she gripped the arms on both sides of her chair, and grieved, too, for Pink Diamond.

(She was always grieving for Pink Diamond.)

Fingernails digging into the weathered wood, she thought herself a desolate fool for ever kidding herself into believing that she could go a day without being painfully aware of her daughter’s ghost.

She thought herself a masochist for inviting the same pain again in the form of Steven Universe.

She thought herself a coward for not daring to say three words to Yellow Diamond, three words that wouldn’t make everything between them right, but three words that needed to be said nevertheless.

And she couldn’t bring herself to utter them.

Not even when Yellow was in a hospital bed, covered in lacerations and bruises.

Because how could she say such a thing when she hadn’t said it in so many years upon years?

I and love and you.

And she kept thinking these things until they chased each other around her head in circles—dizzying, unceasing, senseless circles that gradually chipped away at the tentative hope she had held aloft in her chest ever since she had met Steven Universe.

Spirals and spirals and spirals.

Fool.

Masochist.

Coward.

Circles and circles and circles.

And somehow, every time, Blue Diamond concluded where she had first begun: alone in her own misery, drowning.

Fool, masochist, coward.

vii.

The walk to the parking deck that night was slow and laborious, one foot dragged after another, the styrofoam cup of shitty coffee in her hand doing little to perk her up for the long drive home. Priyanka couldn’t remember the last time she’d stayed past her shift so long, but she’d wanted to make sure that Steven remained stable… that he didn’t suddenly crash on them after such a long, hard day on his body… that she continued to try (and miserably fail) to keep Rose’s last request.

Take care of my baby for me, please…

Ever since his episode, Steven’s breath sounds had been decreased on the right side of his chest; she instructed the intern on duty for the night to keep him on a steady supply of oxygen and to page her immediately if his stats even shifted by a margin.

“Like, even a number or two?” Dr. Stephens asked, her brow furrowing.

“Yes,” she had snapped rather harshly. “Even a fraction.”

But somehow, even as Priyanka had said it, even as the poor intern had flinched, she had known to herself from the very beginning that she could quantify every little integer and it still all be for nothing.

Chronic kidney disease didn’t care about numbers.

It didn’t care about people.

“Hey! Priyanka! Wait up!"

Oh, hell and shit—she recognized that voice.

Wincing, she tried to arrange her features into an expression that didn’t completely betray her entire disinterest with humanity before she turned to face her colleague Dr. Reed. Maisie Reed, an ER doctor, had been at Empire Regional for about a decade longer than Priyanka.

She was a good woman and good friend, but frankly, she just didn’t know when to shut up, going off on long, rambling tales that were hard for Priyanka to weasel away from once she got rolling.

This was vaguely annoying on most days, but tonight, the nephrologist simply wouldn't be able to bear it.

“Hello, Maisie,” she returned brusquely as the older woman caught up to her. Her curly, flyaway hair was tucked back in a messy bun, her wire-rimmed glasses perched a little crookedly on the bridge of her nose. “How are you?”

“Exhausted,” Maisie rolled her eyes. “Did you hear about my star patient?”

“I think I actually met her,” Priyanka said, resuming her brisk walk. Maybe if she made it to her sedan before Maisie started a story, she could make a narrow escape. “She somehow made it to my patient’s room. Goodness knows for what reason. She and the patient’s family nearly got into a fistfight.”

“Ha! You're kidding! I didn’t think that part was true, but some of the nurses were saying—”

“It’s true,” she affirmed curtly, cutting across the woman. “All of it.”

They lapsed into silence then as they walked side by side on the harshly lit concrete. The nephrologist could see her tiny car near the end of the row. She pulled the key out of one of the pockets of her lab coat, clicked the unlock button, and hoped that Maisie would finally take the hint.

“I think we’re only parked a little ways from each other,” she said cheerfully, dashing all of Priyanka’s dreams.

Joy.

They continued to walk together, the heels of their shoes clicking reliably against the floor.

“I also heard… that you’ve got a bad outcome,” Maisie murmured, her voice soft, empathetic.

Pitying.

It was the pity that Priyanka hated most of all.

Her companion’s hazel eyes raked her over piercingly, like an X-Ray, and there was tenderness in her expression.

Understanding.

“I’m so sorry, honey.”

“It’s not a bad outcome yet,” she snarled, rounding upon the woman fiercely, not bothering with polite pretense anymore. Screw her. Screw everything. Screw this fucking day. “He’s still alive. He’s still got a chance. I’ve just got to find…”

“… kidneys, yes. I’ve heard,” Maisie finished gently.

Priyanka violently turned away again, increasing her pace so that she pulled ahead of the other doctor. Her entire body strained against the sudden burst of energy.

She was tired.

So fucking exhausted.

“Then don’t resign him to the grave yet, Maisie. I’m still fighting for him, dammit.”

“Yes, I know that, too… I’ve always admired that about you, dear. You never give up.”

“Yeah, well”—she didn’t exactly know what to say to that—“that’s what we do.”

“Mm, yes,” Maisie replied. “That’s what we do…”

She finally reached her sedan with no small feeling of relief, proceeding to the driver's side with the expectation that Dr. Reed would continue onwards to her little red Nissan at the end of the row, finally putting an end to this unpleasant conversation.

Infuriatingly, though, Maisie stopped, too, her eyes bright with kindness and warmth and all the other things besides that Priyanka simply couldn’t stomach at the moment.

“Yes, well, goodnight,” she said pointedly, making a motion to open the door of her car. She threw her briefcase in rather unceremoniously. It slammed against the passenger side door and fell feebly to the ground.

“What’s his blood type, Priyanka? I’ll keep an eye out for any patients that fit the description… you know what the ER is like. We get potential donors all the time.”

Yes, this was assuredly true, but Steven’s blood type being what it was, finding a donor so quickly would be a damn near miracle.

Priyanka exhaled harshly through her nose but relented anyway—anything to end this absurd conversation.

What the hell—it wouldn’t hurt.

“It’s a long shot… but O neg, so I need an O neg donor. Had any of those on your docket lately?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

And here was the part where Maisie’s kindly face would undoubtedly fall into dismay because of course she hadn’t seen an O neg patient in a while—only seven percent of the entire population had O negative blood, which was a startlingly rare number. So, of course, she would shake her head profusely and apologize and swear to keep her feelers out…

… but Maisie Reed didn’t exactly follow the quick script that Priyanka had constructed in her head.

In fact, her pink lips wobbled into a radiant smile.

“Honey,” she laughed, “sit down and take a sip of that damn black coffee of yours because you’re not going to believe this.”

#rose quartz #steven universe #blue diamond #yellow diamond #pearl #garnet #amethyst #greg universe #priyanka maheswaran #s: steven universe #mimiku #flower child #holy shit — with this chapter #we've reached 100K words

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