#this came to me in a moment of delirium and I already regret it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years ago

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Here to Misbehave (Pt. 23 | S.R.)

Summary: Spencer’s birthday plans get interrupted by a case. Frustrated by Reader’s busy schedule, Spencer finds a unique way to spend time with her. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Mild exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, Dom/sub, light choking, degradation/praise, sub space Word Count: 7.3k

MASTERLIST

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Waiting for Spencer Reid was an interesting position to be in. It was also, unfortunately, very, very common. You would think the IQ points would translate to efficiency, but you’d be very wrong. The only thing that boy does fast is read, and even that didn’t follow through to text messages, considering he’d read none of the six I’d sent him in the past hour.

So, naturally, as one does in an emergency, I called him. Unsurprisingly, the phone barely rang a second time before he picked up. Talking was, as we were both aware, his forte. Without even waiting for my greeting, his groggy voice came through the receiver with a song-like sound.

“Hello, little girl.”

But it wasn’t his turn to sing, and he knew damn well why I was calling. I could hear the smirk on his face so well that I could also envision exactly what he looked like in that moment, with his fluffy hair sticking up from constantly running his hands through it and his eyes only half-open as he tried to finish reading whatever horrible thing that he had in front of him.

It wasn’t how anyone should be spending their birthday. Especially not him. There wasn’t really anything I could do about it, though that didn’t make it any easier to hear the exhaustion and sadness behind that scratchy voice.

“What’re you doing up late? It’s past your bedtime, you know,” he chastised before I even had a chance to speak. He wasn’t wrong — It was 3AM where I was. But where he was, it’d just hit midnight.

“I just wanted to wish a happy birthday to my favorite old man,” I purred back once I’d managed to calm my fast-beating heart. I wondered if I’d ever get used to the brief rush of adrenaline and relief when I heard his voice for the first time after some time away.

I hoped not.

Spencer didn’t seem impressed by my reasoning, though. “You’re sweet. Go to sleep.”

“You’re up, too,” I whined, still picturing the way he would undoubtedly pull the phone further away to lessen the noise. I almost asked if he was also picturing me but stopped when I realized that whatever he had in mind was probably a lot more exciting than reality. Then again, he often told me that moments like this were his favorite. When we’re both too tired to keep our eyes open but too happy to be with each other to let them close all the way.

“Barely,” he corrected.

“Besides, I had to stay up. It’s your birthday.”

I’d meant to lift his spirits, but the long pause after I finished made it evident that my efforts were for naught. He almost seemed even more upset than when he’d answered, and I tried to convince myself that it had nothing to do with me. It wasn’t that hard, considering he was probably staring at images or words of dead people.

“Yeah, sure feels like it.”

His tone alone ensured me it was worse than my imagination.

“Put your work down and pay attention to me instead,” I suggested as softly as I could with the neediness bleeding through, “That’s the first part of your present.”

“You’re my present?” he asked through a gruff laugh that made my heart skip a beat, “I like that present.”

He was trying. I could feel it in his voice, and I wished more than anything that I could teleport to where he was and hold him until it was too difficult for his mouth to form a frown.

“You already have me. That’d be like regifting,” I pointed out with only a pinch of self-deprecation. It was still too much for Spencer, though, who swiftly shot back the ever cheesy, “Every day with you is a gift.”

“Gross, don’t get all sentimental with me,” I ordered playfully.

He returned the energy with all the sass I always knew he was capable of. Once his whining ceased, he mumbled, “Do you come with a gift receipt?”

“No returns or exchanges allowed, I’m afraid.”

Spencer just let out a strained sigh, and in my head, I imagined how it would feel to climb onto his lap as he leaned back in his chair. I could almost feel his arms wrapping around my waist and his lips peppering kisses wherever he could reach. I could feel his love for me flowing across the country, persisting past the cell tower obstacles to make its way back to me.

“I can’t wait to see you again,” he whispered, his first purely sincere statement of the night.

It was an unfortunate choice, too, because it also reminded me of the biggest bummer that I unfortunately had to share.

“Oh, I meant to tell you, it’s midterm season, so…”

He was, thankfully, not as bummed as I was expecting. He was almost certainly thrilled to have a chance to sleep spread out on his bed without having to satisfy the very needy girl beside him, but he still managed to come up with enough bratty energy to scoff, “Are you telling me that I don’t get my gift when I get home?”

“It’ll just be a few days. Promise,” I spoke through the biggest, cheesiest smile I’d had yet. “You’re very distracting, Dr. Reid.”

“When are your exams?” His enthusiasm gave away just how disappointed he was with the news, but any frustration was clearly aimed at my poor professors.

“My last one is on Wednesday.”

The gasp that left him was too funny not to laugh, followed by exasperated, blubbered nonsense that didn’t ever get much clearer. I barely managed to understand him when he cried, “Don’t they know Halloween should be a national holiday?!”

“You should call my professors and yell at them.”

He actually considered it for a moment, but then returned the same silly intonation, “Maybe I will.”

“Do it. You’re probably more qualified than them to teach me, anyway.”

After a short silence that was filled with more sexual tension than I’d expected considering how the phone call started, I heard Spencer gruffly comment, “You’re a cocky little brat tonight.”

It was so familiar to me that I jumped on the opportunity, giggling through my sleep deprived delirium, “I’m in rare form for your birthday.”

The explanation earned me a chuckle, but not much else. At least, not that I could see. The static on the other end of the phone sounded a lot like the way it looked when Spencer leaned his face against his palm and tried to see something that wasn’t there.

But I was there. Sort of. We’d done a lot more with a lot less, after all. So, that’s what I offered him.

“You know… we could have a redo of the last time I called you late at night on a case.”

“That did not end well for me last time,” he droned. I tried not to laugh at the manufactured memory of Spencer holed up in a hotel bathroom because he just had to have me in whatever way he could.

“Only happy endings for your birthday. I promise.”

But then, as it always did, work got in the way. Filled with only the greatest sadness and regret, Spencer quietly but honestly replied, “As much as I would love to, I don’t think it’ll be possible on this case.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Unfortunately.”

I bit my lip because there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t help Spencer with his work any more than I could fix the distance. All I could offer him was a safe home to return to. He would always find that with me.

“Well, in that case, I will be equipped with cartoons and kisses upon your return,” I offered with grace.

But I wasn’t the only one in rare form. Without skipping a beat, Spencer corrected with a smug sadness, “You mean your return. Considering you’re abandoning me on my birthday.”

“Oh my god, the drama!” I cried before remembering that it was, still, in fact, 3AM. The light grimace I gave after remembering would be the only apology my neighbors would get from me. I was too busy building a narrative happy enough to drown out the horrors in front of him. “You’d think I was the one who was away all the time.”

“I’m allowed to be selfish; it’s my birthday,” he sang, and I soaked in the sound, storing it away for any rainy days.

“Fine. What do you want, brat?” I asked in the worst attempt at an impression I’d ever given.

He was just waiting for the question. Drawing out the first couple of syllables, he laughed through the stupidest birthday wish of all time.

“I want… you to go to bed.”

“Ugh!” I yelled again, not even bothering to feel bad about it that time. My exasperation fell on deaf ears, both from a willful desire to ignore my suffering and a literal ringing from the constant yelling.

Still, that impossible man drummed up enough compassion to gloat with a simple, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, jerk,” I grumbled, only to be swiftly corrected with a playful, “Try that again.”

“I love you, too, old man.”

He was satisfied enough with that answer, despite the sarcasm dripping from it. He still knew that the words were true, and that was all that mattered. Any punishments that might be necessary for my broken promise to behave for his birthday could always be doled out later. When the distance between us was narrowed to inches and clothes could be removed like cheap wrapping paper.

“Thank you, little girl. Sweet dreams,” he whispered, reminding me once more of just how empty my bed felt without him. I stared at his pillow for just one second before I threw myself into it. He chuckled at the sound of rustling sheets over the receiver but said nothing else.

“You get some sleep tonight, too, okay?” I asked, uncharacteristically and openly vulnerable in a way that used to scare me.

Spencer’s voice was filled with pride and love as he answered, “You can’t see it, but I am giving you a pinky promise.”

“Good.” Burying my face in his pillow again made it easier to remember that it wouldn’t be forever when I said, “Bye, Spencer.”

“Goodnight, little girl.”

—————————————————

Autumn on campus felt pretty similar to the rest of the year. I wished that it were different, a little more exciting, to reflect how I felt about the impending holiday. But no, it was just students stumbling into their usual classes and hectically scheduled midterms with hangovers and a total lack of holiday cheer.

It was, in a few words, a complete bummer. The only thing that kept me going through the last of my exams was the knowledge that I’d be seeing Spencer. Unfortunately, he was still doing that rather annoying thing where he refused to answer my text messages. It wasn’t until he ignored even my most ridiculous threats that I realized something was going on.

The ‘Read’ notification sat menacingly on my screen, and I was so fixated on it that I almost didn’t notice the familiar mop of brown curls visible in the front row of the auditorium. But once I saw it, the phone was forgotten faster than ever before. I ran down the steps at a ridiculously dangerous pace, dodging the others still grumbling from their previous exams.

I landed in front of him with only enough breath left to sneer, “You’re in my seat.”

“Surprise,” he said with my favorite smug, self-assured smile.

“Adorable. Now move,” I ordered with a wave of my hand. As much as I loved the guy, I wasn’t about to change my seating arrangement for him. It was beginning to make sense, though, why my friend told me that she wouldn’t be sitting with me today.

“Fine,” he sighed, taking his sweet time moving seats and watching me happily bounce on my feet in the meantime. I snuck behind him into the seat before he’d even fully stood up. That little amount of friction between our bodies seemed to be enough to cause the tension to mount. It’d only been seconds, but I was already seriously considering abandoning the class. To hell with the professor who’d already seen me.

But Spencer’s eyes locked on mine, and he leaned onto the armrest with that same silly smirk.

“It’s a workday, Dr. Reid,” I whispered, forcing my arm next to his and watching the way his pupils grew as I came closer.

“I might have pulled a few strings,” he replied just as quietly, keeping the illusion of secrecy despite many prying eyes around us, “Might’ve told Hotch I was invited.”

“But you weren’t,” I snorted.

Spencer’s head hung in just a little bit of shame, but his wide smile never waned. It was still there, bright and pure in its simplicity as he softly admitted, “Yeah. I lied. But I’m here now.”

There were no complaints about that fact, either. His pinky reached out to mine, twining together in the dim light of the auditorium. Somehow, for a brief second, I forgot about everything else. The noisy chatter meant nothing to me, the two of us lost in some alternate pocket universe that felt safe and warm from the cold air outside.

But time resumed, and I watched as Spencer took his eyes off of me first, turning instead to the lecturer watching us with a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Good morning everyone! We have a special guest with us today.”

I wanted to pay attention to his little introduction, but I couldn’t. Every word that was said about him sounded so clinical. It felt so empty compared to the truth I knew about him. He was so much more than a collection of publications and PhDs.

He was… indescribable. Even as his mouth formed a flat line and his awkward handshake was granted to the crowds of disinterested students, all I saw was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Even if it was only from the shadows of his greatness. Then again, I don’t think he’d ever let me feel that way.

Speaking of…

"Dr. Reid, the only thing I ask is for you to give these wonderful students a chance to show you what they know,” my professor started with a laugh before he so kindly continued, “So go easy on them."

In any other situation, I might have let it slide. I would have accepted the fact that Spencer was far beyond my intellect and not stand up for myself. But this time, Spencer was on my turf.

"All due respect to Dr. Reid, I don't think he needs to go easy on us,” I called from the front row, only audible to the other dutiful students that cared enough to sit up front. I heard Spencer laugh beside me, shaking his head just a little bit at the challenge. He didn’t say anything though, and I returned my eyes to the professor who was already familiar with my antics as I boasted, "At least not on me."

While Spencer caught on to the fairly obvious double entendre, shifting his crossed legs closer, the professor just wrote it off as my usual academic pride.

“I did try to warn you that that one might get competitive,” he commented. At this point, everyone had definitely figured out my relation to the man next to me. It was kind of hard to hide a bullet wound from your school. But again, I was so caught up in the man beside me that I didn’t even feel a little shame at their playful teasing.

Spencer’s commentary was the only thing that mattered, and he gave it with a dreamy sigh. "I'm not offended at all. I'm sure she's very clever."

The little bit of light left in the room started to fade, and once I was shrouded by the shadows, I felt confident enough in my plan to dig through the bag at my feet to pull out probably the nerdiest item in it.

A fucking back-up clicker. Which, I promptly handed to the man beside me.

“You’re in seat B4,” I whispered gruffly, earning yet another snarky chuckle from my boyfriend.

“Is that a challenge?”

I didn’t answer. Not him, anyway. What I did answer was the question that had appeared on the screen.

“Ms. (Y/n)?” My professor called, recognizing my seat number without even looking up.

Luckily for me, today was nothing but a review day of the midterm I’d already taken. While I knew all of the questions and, what I’d hoped were the right answers, Spencer had to read the questions from scratch. Really, it didn’t give me an edge. It just put us on equal playing ground.

As I gave my answer, I watched in my peripherals as Spencer’s eyes narrowed and tongue peeked out from lips that I still hadn’t gotten the chance to kiss today.

It was a bad thing to think about, because my brief reverie of the things that mouth was capable of reminded me of another one. I didn’t even notice another question had appeared on the screen, and when I heard the familiar buzz of an attempted answer, I shared my Professor’s temporary confusion.

“Ah, Dr. Reid,” he laughed, probably already regretting welcoming the bastard here, “Please explain the answer.”

But there was another thing working in my favor: My boyfriend’s giant fucking ego. Really, it should be impossible that someone who was normally super insecure could enjoy showing off as much as he did. My professor didn’t mind, because Spencer’s long-winded answer was a wonderful review of… basically the entire course, and I didn’t mind because it granted me the one thing I needed.

Time. Time to slowly remove my jacket and reveal the sweater underneath. Spencer’s eyes caught the motion, glancing over only a couple of times while he managed to give his answer. It wasn’t until I started to remove the sweater that he cut his answer short.

His throat clearing told me he wanted my attention, but I was still just too distracted for him. I fanned my chest that felt warm for reasons other than the temperature of the room, guaranteeing his eyes would stay there long enough for me to catch the next question before he had a chance.

Or so I thought. Because before the question appeared, I made the positively stupid mistake of meeting his gaze. As soon as I did, my mind was stuck there, drowning in molasses and honey and—

“Dr. Reid, please feel free to continue to do my job for me. Lord knows I would love a break,” the professor joked, and I almost felt guilty for just how genuine he sounded. Not like Spencer would have noticed passive aggression if it existed.

Not like either of us would have cared. Per usual, we were so lost in the space of B4 and B5 that we didn’t care about the rest of the alphabet. All we cared about was winning. It was growing more and more obvious to me, though, that I would have to become a little more ruthless if I wanted to bring down the bona fide genius.

The sound of his voice rang through the auditorium loud, clear, and confident. He didn’t need to worry if he was right or not, because he knew he was. The smugness was grating to my ears. I knew I couldn’t trick him into making a mistake, but there was one thing I could do.

I’d learned one thing very well in my time with Spencer, and that was how to manipulate that pretty little voice of his.

For example, if I wanted to hear it catch in his throat and come out a few pitches higher, all I would have to do is touch him. The riskier the touch, the higher his voice would go. Which was why I spread out the jacket over my lap, making sure that our legs were close enough that it covered him, too. Then I waited, calmly and kindly listening to him drone along until there was a natural enough inflection to hide evidence of any nefarious actions. Just as his voice started to rise, I slid my hand over his knee.

Spencer barely stuttered, just enough for me to know he was affected, but not enough for anyone else to notice. He took the loss with grace, quickly ending his answer with a summary that contained only half as many words as he would have normally provided.

He kept a few for me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, shifting close enough to me that I could feel his breath on my ear.

“All’s fair in love and war,” I hummed. His breath caught again when I began stroking my thumb over his leg that had just started to bounce.

“This is wildly inappropriate.”

“How perceptive,” I returned with my own little smirk. The interaction caught us both, trapping us in the alternate dimension that existed when we held each other. His hand found its way to mine, and his thumb brushed over the back and sent goosebumps shooting over my skin.

I’d practically abandoned our pursuits altogether when I heard my friend’s voice as she took the question that we’d both missed. I should’ve been upset for losing after all that I’d gone through for my strategy to succeed, but it was hard to feel anything other than butterflies when Spencer was still looking at me like that.

Even when I looked away, he stayed, patiently waiting for me to take the final question in the review. I granted him a chance to take it, but he just shook his head, implicitly asking me to take the win for the both of us. Even when we were competing, we were always on the same team.

There were no more distractions as I explained the answer as simply as I could. I was positive the rest of the class was tired of hearing our voices, but Spencer never stopped smiling. I could feel the pride rolling off of him, his hand growing tighter around mine as he took in a deep breath.

“Very good, (y/n),” my professor announced, signaling the end and initiating a large sigh of relief from everyone else.

Spencer sighed too, although his was with a different kind of relief; a dreamy, soft sound as he muttered under his breath, “Just like I said. Very clever.”

The air felt positively electric, and I never hated my class more than I did in that moment. The rest of the period ticked by so slowly that I almost swore the clocks were broken. Once we were allowed to leave, Spencer insisted on sticking around to thank the professor for his hospitality.

I knew it was necessary, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I tried to be as patient as possible, even though it seemed pointless. Spencer’s little grin told me he knew very well what he was doing. The conversation had dragged on for practically five minutes of agony while I idled by the door.

But then my professor passed, and I felt the adrenaline course through my veins in seconds. As anticipated, we didn’t even make it out of the building before the tension broke. We’d barely even made it down the goddamn hallway before I shoved his scrawny ass into the first empty classroom I found. Once the door clicked shut behind us, the roles were quickly reversed.

I hadn’t seen him that excited in so long that I’d almost forgotten how easy it was to get swept up in his undertow. I couldn’t keep track of his hands or his mouth as they marked any bare skin they could find. But no matter how frantic and uncoordinated the movements were, they never ceased to send chills down my spine.

“This is wildly inappropriate, Dr. Reid,” I managed to slur between sloppy, heated kisses. It was barely comprehensible through the pent-up lust that had driven us there in the first place, but it still felt worth saying.

Spencer, however, made his feelings very clear with a gruff, forceful, “I don’t care.”

His hands were already roaming over my hips, pulling me so close to the edge that I nearly fell off the counter entirely. While I was laughing at his haste, he was busy leaving angry marks on my collarbone, pulling the top of my shirt down to grant him more access. And despite how badly my body burned with desire and need, I drummed up just enough self-preservation to force out a few, regrettable words.

“Take me home.”

Even though I tried to make it sound more seductive than a normal request to stop, it brought the momentum to a halt. Spencer immediately stopped his kisses, but let his hands continue to stroke loving patterns over the sides of my thighs.

“Don’t you have other classes?” he asked. The feeling of his breath against my ears making me second-guess my already voiced decision. But as enticing as the idea was of having him now, having already waited over a week, I knew we could have so much more fun with a little bit of privacy.

“Don’t you have work?” I teased, hoping that it would spur him to take the action we both knew was safer. At the same time, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to poke fun at the academic in him.

“Unless this is your way of telling me you've always wanted to fuck a girl in a lab because, I must admit I'd be more than happy to oblige."

Spencer’s whole body tensed as he imagined just what it would feel like to take me in such a public place. After a couple seconds that I can only imagine were filled with fantasies and a reasonable fear, he pulled me from my seat on the counter and placed me back on the ground.

“Let’s go,” he said, pulling me by my wrist towards the door.

I only barely managed to stop him with both hands on his arm. He turned back to look at me like I’d done some horrible thing, but I was too busy trying to stop the laughter that was spilling from my chest.

“You’re uh—” I cleared my throat, pointing to the very noticeable tent in his slacks before I keened through the giggles, “You’re gonna have to do something about that.”

With a quick glance down, Spencer remembered the very unfortunately obvious trait of the male anatomy. “Fuck,” he stated plainly.

I couldn’t resist.

“I mean, I’m down,” I joked one final time.

“Shut up!” Spencer laughed, too, trying and failing to adjust himself in his pants while I just enjoyed the show.

After all, we both knew that once we were alone, he would get a reprieve from my ridicule. He would get whatever he wanted.

—————————————————

The chaotic clashing of hands and mouths continued seconds after we’d reached our destination. The empty apartment had all of the sounds of our desperation echoing back to us, and after soaking in the melodious noise for a few seconds, I snapped back to reality.

“Okay, she doesn’t get home for another 30 minutes at the earliest so, we’d better hurry,” I urged, trying to shove Spencer off of me to convince him to move. It barely worked, with his arms clutching tighter the harder I struggled to get away.

Wrapped together just like that, the two of us barely made it a few feet before we almost tumbled to the ground. That was just enough of a reminder of our lack of coordination for Spencer to finally, begrudgingly, release me. Kind of. His hand still held tight to mine, and our laughter still combined the whole way to our bed.

From there, Spencer felt confident in our privacy to answer, “That’s fine. I usually tear open my gifts pretty quickly.”

It was a very good metaphor for the way his hands worked over my clothes. I didn’t even try to pinpoint the moment where being naked no longer made me feel nervous. I let the scar tissue show because neither of us were going to look at it, anyway. We were too caught up in the slight shifts and nuances of our faces as we rushed towards our one mutual goal.

“I missed you,” I mumbled, the words feeling as natural as breathing itself.

“I missed you, too,” he returned, and I felt the raw emotion, the sincerity and desire in every syllable. But once it was over and he had finally managed to remove everything but my underwear, all that was left was an all-encompassing, mind-altering level of lust.

“God, watching you in class was so fucking frustrating,” he strained, his upper lip curling with disdain as he watched my body squirm against the sheets.

“Why’s that?”

“I wanted you so badly.”

There was no denying that it was the honest truth, and I didn’t even want to try. I wanted to gloat and bask in the confirmation that his presence was dangerous for my academic career. Not to mention my sanity.

“Like I said. You’re very distracting.”

Then, to prove my point, that brilliant bastard shoved his hand under the band of my underwear. He only held me softly for one second before he slid his fingers through the slickness and thrust them roughly into me. It hadn’t been that long, but the emptiness I felt before was even more apparent now that I had any part of him inside of me again.

“Am I?” he chimed with a smile.

I wanted to be bratty, to fight the tension that was building and appear unfazed by his ministrations, but there was simply no pretending. Not when my body was already on the verge of spasming around his fingers that seemed to stroke the perfect place within me with every movement.

“Jesus Christ,” I sighed. I should’ve known better than to give him ammunition.

“You’ve resorted to blasphemy already?”

Spencer partnered the tease with a ruthless thrust, burying his fingers to the knuckle inside of me and holding them there. He waited until I ran out of breath and struggled to take another while also trying not to scream in a mixture of frustration and devastating need for more.

“I thought I told you we had to hurry?”

“We’ve got time,” he shot back without pause, “You’re just being a needy little brat.”

“Yes, I am,” I whined just as quickly, “I’m a fucking brat and I need you.”

He almost seemed disappointed in my compliance. His fingers began moving again, eliciting noises that were louder, higher, and sweeter after the anticipation. He tried to draw the attitude out of me by stopping again, waiting for a quip that didn’t come.

“Awww, no fight?” he cooed.

“I can’t. It’s your birthday,” I grumbled before biting my tongue. The pressure was becoming so unbearable I thought I might honestly draw blood. But after another few seconds of torture that felt like a lifetime, Spencer withdrew his hand completely.

He was testing the limits, watching how far I would let him go before begging. But even when he took the same soaked fingers and began rubbing me from the outside of my underwear, I only opened my mouth to steal quick, soft breaths and give pitiful whines.

“Oh, I like this…” he laughed, apparently having gotten past his concern about my sudden compliance, “I could get used to you behaving.”

The song-like cadence got to me, threatening to spark and ignite everything I was holding back. I almost bit back. I almost let the desire scorch my throat with a few choice words for the very rude genius, but I didn’t. The only thing that stopped me was the feel of cotton sliding down my thighs as he removed the final barrier between us.

“You’d miss my misbehaving,” I said with a chuckle. The sound mixed with another, a deep moan that filled my chest when I felt him press himself against my entrance. My back arched, causing him to slip inside of me just enough for us to both lose our words.

“I don’t know…”

If I’d wanted to say anything, my mouth wouldn’t have let me. It was too busy singing his praise while simultaneously begging him to silence it. My lips floundered for a kiss that he hung just far enough away from me to deny. Satisfaction was painted over every feature as he started to enter me, brushing his lips against my mouth every few seconds just to pull away before I was granted the intimacy I sought.

“You do look rather cute when you’re begging.”

It was strange, the way my body started to predict his movements. I met him in the middle of every motion, and I swore even our breath became synchronized in its rapid firing. It wasn’t until his hand rested over my throat we broke the rhythm. I wasn’t going to complain, letting the energy flow down my spine that arched towards him on instinct. His hips never stopped, and I could tell by the way his breath hitched and his fingers grew tighter around my neck that the new angle was as wonderful for him as it was for me.

“You look so sweet when you let go of every ounce of self-preservation and dignity you have and put your life in my hands,” he whispered with an affection that almost seemed odd considering the context. But then there was something else in his moans, a genuine gentleness that made my already arrhythmic heart beat faster.

“You know I’ll take care of you, don’t you?” he asked as his movements stayed calm and careful. Loving and safe.

I didn’t even notice my eyes had closed, but it ultimately didn’t matter. Because when I opened them, I saw the same man that existed in every image behind my eyelids. The only indication he got that I was still capable of communication was the gentle curve of my lips that dropped open in a pleased sigh as his hips continued a slow, tender pace.

It still felt like too much, but not in a bad way. It was too much in the sense that I was reminded once again just how ruined he’d made me. And the smug little shit knew it, too.

“You don’t have a single thought in that pretty little head, do you?” he cooed, dragging his hand up the column of my throat to force his fingers against my tongue. True to my word, I didn’t try to fight back. I soaked the digits that still tasted like me with my jaw left open. His pupils dilated as he watched the spit pool in my mouth that awaited his instruction.

“You just want to be used. Like the perfect little doll you are.”

Unlike my own, his smile was more of a smirk. A crooked, ever so slightly wicked quirk that made my muscles tense around him in their own version of an affirmative answer. He took it, happily. His body crashed into mine, but it merely felt like an extension of myself returning home like the waves meeting the shore. I could feel him claiming his rightful place at the deepest parts of me, making his home with every powerful motion of his hips.

I could hardly breathe, let alone think. I didn’t want to. It felt unnecessary.

“My sweet little girl,” he muttered with an unbelievably chaste kiss in the center of my forehead, “You’d do anything to make your daddy happy.”

I felt detached from myself in a way that didn’t feel me with fear or pain. I could feel myself through his hands, strong and working the pliable flesh of my thighs as he held them up so that he could drive into me harder.

His eyes, also only half open, burned with intensity. I could feel the determination, the undying desire to grant me a serenity that no one else could. His need for me to feel safe and loved with the seemingly contradictory brutality.

But it wasn’t contradictory. The power behind every movement, the insistence on being as close to me as he possibly could, might have caused some physical pain, but it was nothing compared to the pleasure of sharing this space with him. Of sharing my body with him just to see what he would do with it. I already knew, but I wanted to feel it again and again. Because with each stroke of his hand and thrust of his hips, I felt it.

Spencer had free rein to do whatever he wanted, and he chose to love me.

“I’m so close. You know what I want,” he pleaded despite holding all of the power. He handed it to me with a low groan, trying to kiss my lips while he commanded, “Do it. Come for me.”

My body obeyed his command, falling to pieces around him with shockwaves breaking over every inch of me. My vision went white, crafting a halo of light around him as he also found himself reaching a peak that seemed different than the times we’d shared before.

I tried to figure out what had changed, what about this time made it unique. But as the euphoria faded, all I saw staring back at me was the same face as always, radiating a joy and understanding that warmed damp, chilly skin. Spencer’s release provided a similar warmth within me, and my body clung to him even tighter despite the exhaustion.

My breathing took its time to even out, but I was in no rush to leave him. I would have stayed like that forever, with Spencer covering me like the silliest, boniest blanket. If it wasn’t for the dead weight he eventually dropped on me, we probably would’ve spent the whole day lost in the covers. But he could thank the scars for me being a little less forgiving.

Of course, thankful is not the word to describe him at all. Whiny was more like it. Even as I turned our bodies together so that I would still be sitting on his lap, he did nothing but groan and bitch about it. That is, until I silenced him with a kiss that barely brushed over his lips.

That was enough to turn his frown back to the dopey smile I loved so much.

“Happy birthday, old man,” I purred, enjoying the way his hands grabbed me tighter at the loving nickname. But age wasn’t what was on his mind. I could see it in the way his eyes tore past my defenses and he held me closer like we could actually become one if he tried hard enough.

“I’m so in love with you, it’s infuriating,” he whispered.

“I’ve heard that one before.”

Spencer wasn’t in a joking mood, though. All of his humor seemed to be expended earlier in the day, and now he was just left with all the mushy, romantic innards that I normally kept at bay.

It wasn’t that bad, though, I thought as his hands framed my face so our foreheads would touch. There were worse things to be trapped with.

“It’s true,” he mumbled with his voice still high and slurred together, “I look at you and there is just… nothing that can be said that would ever explain the way it feels.”

“Gross,” I joked.

“Get used to it,” he returned. And if that wasn’t enough to make me laugh, he stuck his tongue out in the most childish display I’d seen from him since he’d fucking licked my hand on our picnic. It was also just charming enough that I was willing to let the sappy stuff slide.

“I’ll be nice to you this time,” I grumbled. “But also, speaking of time, you’d better hurry up if you don’t want to do the walk of shame with an audience.”

Spencer’s arms fell limp with a dramatic cry before he used them to cover his face once more.

“Ugh. Go,” he ordered. Despite his words, he still made me fight against greedy hands to wrestle my way out of bed. It would have been smarter to let me go quickly. I really don’t know what he was thinking, but he would learn his mistake soon enough. Because as I was finishing up in the bathroom, I heard a very amused voice chiming down the hall on the other side of the door.

“Good afternoon, Spencer.”

I debated not opening the door and freeing Spencer from the unbelievably uncomfortable position he’d just found himself in, but ultimately decided it was too cruel. Still, the stalling had taken up enough time that the poor guy felt compelled to reply.

And, of course, the only thing he could think to say was a pathetic, high pitched, “Hi.”

Somehow managing to contain the absolutely riotous laughter I felt in my gut, I opened the door with the straightest face I could muster.

It wasn’t enough. Spencer saw the pleasure I took in his humiliation and practically shoved me out of the bathroom to take my place behind the doors. While I found the action endearing in the most awkward way, my roommate was mostly just confused about how the fuck I’d managed to find someone as stupid as me.

“I didn’t know he was coming,” she said once she managed to smile at the silly situation.

Clearing my throat, I tried to sound sincere in my bullshit apology. “Me either, sorry.”

In a way, I think the fact I couldn’t pull myself together worked in my favor. Normally, she would have scolded me (albeit playfully) for not alerting her of what she might be walking in on, but this time, she just tried to withhold the smile that still stretched over her cheeks despite her best efforts.

“You’re fine,” she sighed, giving in to the desire to go against her usual grumpy demeanor before retreating to her own room. “Have fun, you hooligans.”

Once her door clicked shut, I heard shuffling on the other side of the door next to me. Spencer’s shadow was visible from the light peeking out underneath, and I waited a few more restless seconds before I announced, “You can come out now, Spencer.”

Cautiously, the door creaked open just enough for his head to poke out and confirm that I wasn’t trying to trick him.

“I’ve never been a hooligan before,” he said with a bounce in his step and his eyebrows halfway up his face. To think that he was the same man who threatened to arrest me for existing at a nightclub was, in a word, hilarious.

“Well, good news for you,” I purred, and the sound must have reminded him of my more devilish nature, because his jubilance quickly shifted back to an obvious anxiety. I wrapped my arms around him even when it meant that his muscles tensed, dragging him down so I could whisper in his ear, “I was just about to ask if you wanted to help me play hooky.”

“And do what?”

It felt strange to say that I hadn’t really thought about it. That the second I’d seen him I knew that the day would be good and free and fun. That everything felt so perfectly fine that I didn’t even want to challenge it with a schedule.

Spencer looked at me, his answer apparent in the way he started to relax the longer we stayed wrapped up in a shitty apartment hallway. It didn’t matter what I said. Spencer would have followed me, just like I would have done for him.

And without the angst or uncertainty of what could go wrong, there was only one thing left for us to do. With a shrug and pout, I proposed the riskiest plan we’d had yet.

“Whatever we want.”

—————————————————

| Finale |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #here to misbehave #h2m #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid series #reid series #spencer reid request #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds smut #dr spencer reid #reid request

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onthecrosslook · 3 years ago

Text

Reverse, esreveR

Tw: S*ic*de Attempt, Dr*g Abuse

Sherlock Holmes was an arsehole. He knew that he was, he felt it- deep inside, a sort of gut emotion that clenched and twisted and made him feel all the more wretched. He really couldn’t control it at this point. It was a habit that had formed from years of keeping every awful thing that had happened to him pent up in his mind. So many years of abuse, so many bruises and scars, and so, so much hurt that left no marks on anywhere but the mind. He knew it was wrong to take it out on those he loved- and even those he didn’t- but it kept resurfacing in the forms of snide comments and manic volatility.

It started one quiet night at Baker Street. It was nothing much, a snappish comment too far, perhaps? Whatever it was, it was the last straw for a livid John Watson, who stood up and kicked over the coffee table in fury. Words bounced off of Sherlock, who heard without listening. Eyes closed, chest feeling empty, Sherlock felt John’s innate rage. Until he didn’t.

When Sherlock opened a single eye, he saw John holding a small box that had been concealed under the table. Sherlock heard a roar in his ears, he could hardly breathe, he was crushed by an overwhelming feeling of guilt- it all just hurt.

John’s steady fingers brushed over the syringe that the box contained. The flat was silent, except for the pounding of Sherlock’s heart- or was he the only one who could hear that?

Glass shattered at his feet. John was yelling, now. Sherlock was pretending to listen.

Sociopath. Liar. Machine.

John was saying those words as if they held no value to Sherlock. Of course, that had been the impression Sherlock had made, so why wouldn’t he say those things?

Sherlock was used to feeling hopeless, but this? This was it. This was all he could take and more. And worst of all? It was cowardly, and Sherlock couldn’t even have the decency to properly listen to John.

Possibly in the middle of John’s sentence, he stood up and mumbled some sort of excuse- that he had to use the loo, maybe? He wasn’t sure.

Dazed, Sherlock walked to the loo and left John alone in the living room. Thoughts were rushing through his head. He couldn’t take this. Not anymore.

He clicked the lock and slid down the door onto the cold, hard tile floor. His hands were shaking, his vision blurry with held-back tears. He didn’t want to do this. Yes, he did. No, he didn’t. Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he?

Trembling fingers pulled open the medicine cabinet. They pulled out a bottle of painkillers. They opened the cap. They poured precisely ten in Sherlock’s other hand.

Ten, because Sherlock had measured the dosage during a particularly bad night. He knew that each pill had 500mg of acetaminophen in them. Over 5000 in one go would certainly kill a man. It had to.

Shaking, crying- although he didn’t realise it, and he never would have admitted it otherwise- Sherlock popped a pill into his mouth one at a time. It was hard to swallow. His throat was rejecting it, so each pill took longer to take. He was shaking his head, not wanting to finish, but knowing he had already taken at least six.

After number ten, Sherlock broke. The tears came freely, now. He mumbled a shattered apology to his mum and dad, to Mycroft, even, and most definitely to John, whom he didn’t want to leave.

With each whispered name, Sherlock popped another pill between his lips. Now he had taken…what, fourteen? Fifteen? He didn’t really care, even though he did. A small part of him was screaming for someone to care, to stop him, to save him- but to no avail.

After a few choked-out sobs, Sherlock regained some of his composure. He wiped his eyes, which were shamefully red, and stood up. He was going to go about this bravely. The toxic shock wouldn’t kick in for at least a few hours, and by then, he would be asleep. A peaceful death. An easy one.

Sherlock unlocked the door and walked back out to the living room, where John was pacing furiously. He looked pale and frightened.

John must have asked something along the lines of “what did you take?” in a worried tone of voice, but Sherlock shook his head. He probably told him that he took nothing. John still looked concerned. He asked him again. Still, Sherlock shook his head. He felt guilty for lying to John.

John relaxed. He nodded, he sat down. He offered Sherlock dinner, but Sherlock politely refused.

Sherlock lied about something or other and said he had a stomachache, that he wanted to go to bed. John reluctantly allowed him to.

At approximately nine o’clock, Sherlock laid down in bed and wrote a short note in his pocketbook. It told whom he wanted his things left to, even though he knew it wasn’t entirely legal. He trusted Mycroft to sort all that out.

His stomach was already starting to ache. He needed to fall asleep.

And so he did, praying that he would never wake up.

Unfortunately, life was decidedly quite cruel.

By the time the clock read midnight, Sherlock realised he had made a terrible mistake. He woke up gasping for breath as his stomach burned. His face felt hot, and his head was pounding. It was as though his insides were tearing themselves apart.

Dazed, he tried to move, but instead fell out of his bed and hit the floor with a groan. Sherlock was so weak that he could not find the strength to move. He threw up, even though he didn’t want to. It meant that the drugs might not work. Mind racing, chest heaving in mild panic, Sherlock wondered if this was how he would die- suffocating on his own vomit and in horrible agony.

Spirits broken, Sherlock whispered John’s name. It hurt too much. He needed John to save him, or else he was going to die.

Sherlock kept whispering it- his lungs wouldn’t allow him to speak up. But John was already upstairs. He couldn’t hear him. Maybe Sherlock didn’t want him to.

He choked out something along the lines of “I don’t want to die”, but slowly, agonisingly, his eyes closed and he faded into unconsciousness.

You could imagine his surprise when he woke up the next morning, every inch of his body aching. His chest burned, and he kept needing to throw up every few minutes, but he was unmistakably alive.

And in some of the worst pain of his life.

He staggered to his feet and made his way to the loo. He threw up again.

For a brief moment, he felt better. He dreaded another racking dry heave that would take hold of his body.

No dice.

After typing a few things onto his laptop- perhaps updating his website with a few unintelligible entries about the side effects of acetaminophen overdose- he went back to the loo and threw up. He hadn’t eaten anything, so it was just stomach acid that burned his oesophagus and made him nauseous. The pain was growing steadily worse, and John wasn’t even awake yet.

For the next hour, Sherlock allowed the poison to simmer in his body, silently attacking his liver and slowly killing him.

John eventually woke up. Of course he did.

When he saw Sherlock’s pale face, he said nothing. When Sherlock nearly tripped down the steps in delirium, John was concerned, but said nothing.

When Sherlock’s knees buckled beneath him, he said something.

What did you take?

Sherlock slurred a half-hearted response, his head aching and his stomach twisting itself inside out. He felt like he was dying. It was probably because his organs were failing.

He clung onto the banister of the staircase as John desperately shook his shoulders. He couldn’t breathe. His brain was shutting down but his eyes and ears still worked. Everything hurt.

Sherlock saw John pull out his mobile and dial Mrs. Hudson’s number before swearing and pulling him outside.

Sherlock faded in and out of consciousness.

He was in a car.

Then a waiting room.

Then an urgent care.

Disappointed, disapproving, and endlessly pitying. Nobody would stop staring.

A nurse said he would be out of their care the same day.

His liver began to fail.

And then he was in an ambulance. He made a hazily rude comment to the EMT.

They stuck a needle in his arm. They did it wrong. It hurt like hell.

I’m clean, he wanted to tell them. Saying he didn’t do drugs anymore would be a flat-out lie.

They put him in a hospital.

His liver reached critical condition. The levels of acetaminophen in his bloodstream were lethal, yet he was somehow still alive. (It would be a case study for months and months to come.)

Sherlock was in the worst pain of his life.

They gave him morphine.

John sat by his bed during the entire ordeal.

He didn’t say a thing.

He didn’t know what to say.

Sherlock almost died.

John looked like he’d aged many years.

Sherlock felt regret.

John held his hand.

Sherlock wished he could turn back time.

John did, too.

༺═──────────────═༻

(Author’s Note: Based on a true story, sad enough to say. It’s sort of my way of giving past experiences a bit of closure. Imbuing writing with pain and anguish is rather cathartic. To tell you the truth, the fact that I’m alive now puzzles doctors and professionals alike. A case study was written on me. I am one of only eleven cases to have ever survived several doses of acetaminophen- enough to kill multiple grown men- at the age of twelve. I’m an anomaly and the fact that I’m here today writing this only proves how strange I am. I can’t say I’m better now. But I’ve learned my lesson. I’m sorry if it was so intense. If you or a loved one are having suicidal thoughts, please tell someone. Don’t make my mistake. And please, for the love of God, if you’re considering it, don’t kill yourself. It would be the biggest and final mistake of your life. People care about you so much. Much love, - AE.)

#sherlock #bbc #sherlock holmes #john watson #johnlock #benedict cumberbatch #post reichenbach #angst #sad ending #ambiguous ending #angsty #based on a true story #jalexandria #writing #fics #fanfiction #tw suicide i guess?#drug addiction #writing angst to make people suffer

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kannra21 · 4 years ago

Text

Not Weak

Geten found herself in a tricky situation and she doesn't want Re-Destro to find out. How can a certain fire-user help her by making things even more complicated?

characters: dabi (todoroki touya) x f!geten

word count: 3.2k

warnings: angst, past memories, scars, abuse mention, foul language, comfort, making out

notes: I'd like to thank @seenalready13 for proofreading this work since I can be v clumsy with grammar haha. I'm v grateful for the help! And also, the picture above belongs to 九わん (@91qwn), here's the link to the artwork. Please support their work!

✂-------------------------------------------------------

Geten, as the keystone of the entire army, had the task of leading her group and ensuring that anyone within their ranks followed her instructions. The loyalty of their people was unquestionable as everyone adhered to Destro's teachings, and she was immensely proud of her Cryokinesis.

The ice-user was grateful to their grand commander for granting her this amazing opportunity of making up for all the great things that he's done for her. She wore an honorable title, and her reputation has risen a lot since the hooning of her meta ability for years. However, she did experience all sorts of things their organization had to offer from the moment Re-Destro promoted her to his right-hand woman, believing that she'd be strong enough to take on the responsibility and he was right. It wasn't like she was bothered too much, especially since dealing with a couple of thugs on her own was no big deal for her. Still, this didn't mean that after performing their duties the soldiers couldn't relax and show their true colors.

This was the case with one guy in particular, who was casually hitting on her and calling her pet names which were utterly gross and humiliating. She had the utmost need to wipe the fucker out of the face of the Earth, but she also knew damn well that Re-Destro would disapprove of such actions considering that the army must avoid inner conflicts at all costs. Of course, she wanted to take matters into her own hands, to prove to the commander that she was deserving of her title, but the jerk simply wouldn't take her seriously as she wanted to be through with whatever problem she had without necessarily dragging Re-Destro into it. That's why she decided to take the easier route and use someone to her own advantage.

"What's in there for me?" Dabi asked, uninterested as he fixed the staples on his burnt skin.

It's true that they were partnered up to share their leading spot at the Vanguard Action Guerilla Warfare Regiment: Violet, but this didn't mean that they had to play nice with each other. Especially after Geten's offensive speech of power and people's place in this world.

She clenched her fists in her pockets; of course, she should've known that he'd ask for something in return. "I don't have much to offer,” she said through greeted teeth.

She looked almost pitiful if it weren't for her leading position; she felt stupid to even ask for help when she could've just ended the whole mess with one swift motion of her ice, and bam, the fool's dead. Well, if things could be that easy.

"I... I'M THE TOP LIEUTENANT AND THEREFORE I DEMAND OBEDIENCE! LIKE I NEED TO CONFIDE IN YOU, BURNT CHICKEN NUGGET SCUM!"

"THE FUCK-" Dabi stood up, fire flaring up in his hand and ready to strike as he saw Geten backing off with ice covering her right arm, bracing herself for the upcoming attack.

And then he saw it, at this very moment, the look of hesitation and unease covering her blue eyes. She... didn't want to fight? Was she defending herself? It reminded Dabi of something else from his past, or rather someone, defending themselves from his flames, wearing the exact same expression on their face while protecting his youngest brother. The dripping water from her ice washed over his memories as he obtained one after another in a frantic blur. Nostalgia soon followed the guilt, and it tore him apart, except he didn't want to show it, but Geten already noticed his anger faltering which was her cue to relax.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered under his breath, barely for her to hear.

"What?" as the question rolled out of her mouth, she internally lost herself in delirium "BLUEFLAME CRISPY MCBACON JUST APOLOGIZED WTFWTFWTFWTFWTWTF-"

"Geten?"

"YES?" she snapped, too loud for what she initially intended.

"I'll help you, and there's actually something you can do for me in return."

She crossed her arms and smirked confidently at him from her previous ego boost, much to his frowning expression.

"Whatcha suggestin'?"

"I'll scare the fucker off, and you'll then... cool down my skin from using my flames. Deal?"

Geten looked at him for a moment to determine if he was joking about the offer but from the looks of it and his deep husky voice that she got used to oh so many times during the past week of working with him, she concluded that he was, indeed, not messing around. Dabi expected her to laugh it off or straight up refuse whatever suggestion he had on mind, but from the manner she weighed her choices in her head and the way she looked at him, with those bright, beautiful eyes and long lashes fixated to his own... Wait, when did they get this close?

The two backed off and cleared their throats in embarrassment. They were freaking staring at each other, and for fucking what?

"I... It's a deal then."

"Good."

…

"Just... don't hurt yourself too much while dealing with the idiot."

Dabi turned his head so fast his neck hurt.

"WHY ARE YOU ACTING SO WEIRD?!"

"SHUT UP AND MOVE YOUR FUCKING ASS!"

As they reached the place where their target was supposed to be, the man soon showed up by Geten's side and started pestering her with all kinds of bull he made her deal with on a daily basis. And just as she felt sick enough, Dabi put his hot hand on the guy's shoulder, making his skin sting in the first-degree burns. The guy then backed off and glared at the fire-user with utmost disdain.

"THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?"

"Listen up freak", Dabi took Geten for the waist and gently pulled her towards himself, her body leaning on his own and fitting perfectly under his larger frame, "I saw what you did there. You’d better stop messing with my girlfriend, or else you'll burn to ashes."

Geten internally screamed and pinched him on the side for being a fucking idiot. "HIS GIRLFRIEND!? THIS WASN'T SUPPOSED TO PLAY OUT LIKE THAT!"

"You sound too confident, guess I should give you a nice beating to teach you a lesson."

He soon regretted his decision because Dabi was entirely down to realize his threat, and after a couple of burns, the moron retreated while he still could and left Geten alone.

And while she hated that they needed to make a scene in front of the other soldiers who were whispering to each other and exchanged who knows what kinds of things, she couldn't leave Dabi alone like this so she put his hand over her shoulder and helped him reach a more secluded area. They entered his room because he said that he kept the first aid kit in a drawer. It was also the first time that Geten came by but it didn't look at all exciting either; the room had a very plain interior, darkened space with the shutters down, piles of dirty clothes creased to the side probably waiting to be washed, the bed left unmade since this morning, a bunch of disinfectants sitting on the nightstand and some used medical gaze forgotten to be thrown away. Geten almost felt sorry for him. It's not like she was doing any better but at least she knew how to take care of herself.

She seated him carefully on the bed, and he started digging through drawers until he found what he needed. When he was all set, he began to take his jacket and shirt off but then Geten panicked and lowered his shirt.

Dabi's confusion mixed with annoyance was now directed towards the ice gremlin's pretty face. "Aren't you going to cool me down?"

"I THOUGHT YOU ONLY MEANT HANDS AND THINGS LIKE THAT! WHY DO YOU HAVE TO TAKE YOUR SHIRT OFF!?" she shouted with blushing cheeks covering her face with her hands.

Dabi soon understood what she meant and closed his eyes, wearing a disheartened smile.

"It's not like you'll see much. Just a bunch of patched-up skin and bruises. It's not even that hot."

"THAT'S NOT WHAT-,” but then she noticed that his expression never actually faltered, he looked to the front and waited patiently for her next move, sadness surrounding his wounded features. It's not like it was his first time reconciling with the facts, but still, being this burnt and knowing that it wasn't entirely his fault, but his father was also to blame, which made him remember the days when he wasn't in such a fucked up condition as he was now. It made him feel a bit of regret too. But he needed to acknowledge that the path he took was the one with no return, and he needed to accomplish his mission. Endeavor needed to be brought down at all costs; maybe then he'd gain a sense of worth and show him, prove to him, that he was deserving of more incredible things. The ice-user sighed in defeat and gave up on her embarrassment, "just show me what you got.”

Dabi was brought out of his train of thought, and he took off his shirt. It turns out that he was right, some of his scarred skin was sizzling slightly, and his wounds looked terrible because they were situated further on the back where he couldn't reach. She took the disinfectant from the nightstand and tapped it lightly on the freshly made scars. He made a slight grimace, but didn't flinch, didn't wince, like he was afraid of showing his weaknesses by putting on a tough act. It'll all pay off, he assured himself, once he gets rid of his dad.

When she finished, he allowed Geten to scoot closer to make her do her thing. Her icy hands on his skin felt so good that suddenly he forgot about all of his problems. He turned his face to the side so she wouldn't notice, but the goosebumps on his skin told her otherwise.

She made a sly smile and cocked her head to look at him from the corner.

"What's up, tough guy? Can't hide the way I make you feel good?"

He laughed under his breath. He liked when she was this flirty. It made the situation less awkward. But he also felt uncomfortable with how he needed to depend on someone, just like her, when she asked for his help. Were they that similar?

"I need to ask you something,” Dabi asked quietly like he was probing the waters.

"Yea?"

"Do you still think that I'm weak?"

The silence filled the room, and he had the need to explain himself.

"You said that there's no worth living if the user doesn't possess a strong meta ability. Hooning your power was the only thing worth your time as you didn't wish for anything else. You always thought that our Quirks defined us, that they're things we identify with for life. Now that you've taken a closer look at my condition, tell me, what do you think?"

Geten suddenly grew interested in the laminate floor under their feet as she couldn't look anywhere else, her eyes deep in thought.

"That was very mean of me, and I'm sorry, especially since you risked your own health for my reputation."

"... by calling you, my girlfriend?"

"WHY DID YOU DO THAT IT DIDN'T MAKE ANY ACTUAL SENSE!?, her teeth grew sharp, and her eyes furrowed like some rabid cartoon character.

"It did, actually. Because of my threat, the fool is now afraid of looking at your general direction, knowing that I'd kick his ass whenever he says something stupid again."

Unbothered, he drank his painkillers from the glass of water.

"... Wait. You'd really repeat all of this... for me?"

Just as he drank, so did he spit, coughing and wiping his chin with his forearm.

"Of course I would, but don't get the wrong idea."

""WRONG IDEA"? YOU LITERALLY CALLED ME YOUR GIRLFRIEND IN FRONT OF EVERYONE!"

"IT WAS JUST TO CONFUSE THE FUCKER!"

"THEN WHY WOULD YOU REPEAT IT?"

"IT'S NOT ABOUT YOU REALLY!"

"THEN WHY'S IT!?"

"I JUST NEED YOU FOR YOUR STUPID ICE FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

The room fell in complete silence once again, and the tension became so thick one could almost cut it with a knife.

Her expression grew cold, and her eyes bore nothing but pure disgust. "So that's what this was all about."

"WHY ARE YOU ACTING SO SURPRISED NOW? IT WAS OUR DEAL, REMEMBER?"

She sat up from her seat and went straight to the door, readying herself to leave.

"Wait."

Just as she was about to step out, she turned around, his tone of voice catching her off guard only to see him sitting miserably on his bed, head hanging and elbows leaning on his knees, grieving.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

Geten stood at the doorway for a minute and then slowly entered again, closing the door behind her. Dabi continued.

"I say things that I don't mean and push the people I care about away."

The white-hair watched his back in silence until she decided to speak up again "... So you actually meant it... the other way?"

"I'm such a sick fuck."

She sensed the crack in his voice and came closer, undoing his hands only to see blood trailing down his face.

"Whoa, what's going on with your scars?" she tried to wipe it off only to smear it across his cheeks, and Dabi smiled a little.

"Aren't you disgusted by it? Now all of your fingers are red."

She didn't mind his words but created an ice cube to wash it with the water.

"I should call Sceptic. He’s much better at this medical shit than I am."

"No one can help me with it. My tear ducts are all burnt out, and I can't really tear up much."

"Wait, you're crying?"

Dabi refused to say anything as she tried to wipe the rest of the blood off, pressing gentle circles on his now iced skin.

"Blueflame…"

"Hah, actually, you're right. Maybe I really am as weak as you told me back then. I literally am falling apart. How pitiful."

Without a second thought, she slapped him across the face, and he took his stinging cheek in his hand.

"YOU FUCKING IDIOT!"

"Thanks...."

"I'm sorry. Look, you're everything but weak, so don't you dare call yourself that. You endured so much pain, your skin is the proof of the things you've gone through in life, and you freaking survived. No one would be able to do this but you. You're not weak, Blueflame, far from it."

"You think so?"

"Of course I do! If it weren't for your help today, I would have talked to Re-Destro, and he'd think that I was too weak for my leadership role. I never actually thanked you for this, thank you."

"You're not weak either, doll. I'm pretty sure that you've beat my ass the week before."

She just smiled at him, and then they looked at each other the same way they did when they made their offer, except they didn't back off this time. They leaned into the kiss that was slow at first, but then they applied more pressure, and it grew more passionate. It was also their first time, so they couldn't really make fun of each other's clumsiness. Whenever their teeth collided, they laughed a little but continued until it felt right. She melted against him, her lips working in tandem with his and his hand slid up her outer thigh as he leaned forward to deepen it. She grasped his lower lip with her teeth before pulling away for some air, and he groaned.

"God, this felt good..." his chest heaved, his words a gravelly whisper.

She stood up and widened her stance, legs bracketing his own as she reached out to grab the back of his neck. She leaned over, forehead resting against his.

"You're not so bad yourself, gorgeous-eyes."

"I differ, yours are much more gorgeous."

"Really? Kinda sappy coming from your side." she grinned, but this didn't discourage him in the slightest.

"I could get lost in them, I mean it."

He caught her face in his palms, drawing her in deeper as his tongue slipped between their lips and slid against hers. His Quirk activated, his kiss is fierce and sweet all at once, and her head spins as his hands slid up her thighs, warming her up. Her mouth became much cooler now, and it sent shivers down his spine. She planted her icy hands on his shoulders and pushed them both backward, landing on the comfort of his bedsheets.

He drew circles over her back and waist, taking in her beautiful features as her head hovered over his own, hair tickling the skin on his face. She gave him a little peck that made him smile, and she cupped his face, thumbs stroking the side of his cheeks.

"So we're official now?" she didn't know why she asked. It was kind of obvious now, but she wanted to hear it coming from his lips.

His expression became serious again as he looked to the side concerningly. He really didn't want to spoil whatever they had going on with his fucked up story about his family, hero society, his mission that could possibly cost him his life for the sake of achieving greater good. Now the last thing he needed was to fall in love with someone and die when he finally found his reason. Life was such a bitch sometimes.

"I'm currently dealing with a very unfortunate situation. I'm afraid that you'd get affected, and I don't want to endanger you by it."

She tilted her head questionably, "And I thought that we'd overcome everything as long as we're fighting together."

He looked at her worryingly, but his words bore a tad bit of curiosity in them, "You want to fight by my side?"

"Of course, you have my full support." she grinned widely, and he smiled, shaking his head in disbelief. It was amazing how much optimism, or rather confidence, could be stored in one single ice gremlin. But he loved her more than everything.

"Very well then." he turned them over and planted a kiss on her forehead before getting on his feet and pulling her up towards himself. "Boss told me about some business we need to take care of in the neighborhood. Cocktail hours?"

"FUCK WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY EARLIER!?"

"Relax, we'll arrive on time." he took his shirt and jacket and put them on.

As they walked towards their location, Dabi took her hand in his while some of the soldiers watched them in confusion, remembering when the two fought against each other.

He couldn't care less. She was the first person who ever supported him, so if his days were outnumbered, then he'd as well spend them with the only person worth his time.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #dabi #geten #dabiten #dabi x femgeten #f!geten #fanfic #paranormal liberation front #meta liberation army #league of villains #plf #mla #lov

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realtacuardach · 4 years ago

Text

Anger and Release

Here's my entry for Match 2 of Obiyuki Madness 2021 @snowwhite-andtheknight : Roaring Rampage of Rescue. Many thanks to @jhalya for her beta reading. I hope y'all enjoy!

...

Steam curled out from Shirayuki's mouth as she peered through the frigid dimness of the morning towards the fortress. In her current frame of mind, she could almost imagine that the steam was actually smoke pouring from the maw of an enraged dragon who had had treasure stolen from her.

She didn't like being angry. Anger clouded the mind, affected the senses, and she liked to be in control and sensible at all times, especially in times where a cool head was needed.

On the other hand, though, the anger that was not at all going away was fuelling the adrenaline coursing through her blood, and she would need that adrenaline for what she was about to do.

So, she let herself be angry.

Angry at the renegade soldiers for capturing her and Obi in the middle of the night without provocation. Angry at how they savagely beat Obi after they'd already mobbed him and restrained him when he tried to rescue her. Angry at how they had been thrown into the back of the wagon like sacks of potatoes, the pain of his fresh, brutal wounds showing through his bruised eyes and stabbing her in the heart. Angry at how he managed to undo only his hands before removing her bonds instead of untying himself totally. Angry that, instead of saving himself, he'd given her an apologetic look before pushing her out of the cart and then collapsing himself.

The apology frustrated her almost more than anything else, because she was certain he was not apologetic for the right reasons.

"When we get back," she muttered to herself in the lessening gloom, "we're going to have a long talk about not sacrificing yourself for me. Again."

Truthfully, she didn't have much faith that this talk would stick any better than any of their previous similar ones, but that wouldn't prevent her from trying.

You idiot, she choked back a sob, don't you know how much it hurts when you do this?

She forced the tears away. There would be time for tears later, when he was home and safe and so bound up by her healing that he would have to stop and listen to her.

And he'll smile up at me and shrug and say he couldn't make any promises...

She shook her head. Focus.

Squinting, Shirayuki looked around the fortress and saw only one sentinel standing guard at the entrance. That seemed a little lackluster as far as security went, but she wasn't complaining.

A murmur like Obi's echoed through her brain. Miss, you can never be too careful. The ground's not the only place the enemy can be.

As though on cue, she heard a slight crackling of tinder above her as though a squirrel was making its way through the limbs. She craned her head upwards to see a man in the tree besides the one where she was hiding, well camouflaged against the gnarled bark.

That wouldn't do.

Looking around surreptitiously, Shirayuki saw a jagged stone on the ground. She reached out and took it, its roughness grounding her and steeling her resolve. After a quick glance towards the sentinel at the door, Shirayuki crept a few trees away from her hiding place and looked up towards her target.

Practice with both Kiki and Obi had served her well; the rock slammed into the back of the tree dwelling soldier's knee as she'd planned, forcing his knee to bend and for him to lose his balance. He fell to the ground with a heavy thud amidst all the dead leaves.

Even in her haze of adrenaline, she could see his chest rise and fall, and felt a traitorous sense of relief.

The sentinel ran over to check his fallen comrade, his face showing first alarm, then irritation. He nudged the fallen man none too gently in the ribs and cursed. Shirayuki reached into her satchel, the glass jar solid in her hand.

"Fool," the guard grumbled, "falling asleep in a -"

The glass jar cracked across the back of his head, the potent herbs smearing across his skin and hair ensuring that the blow would knock him out. There were a few beads of blood where the glass scratched him, but she recognized him as one of Obi's attackers and couldn't bring herself to care much.

She stalked across the grass quietly and quickly, her ears attuned for any small sound, but heard and saw no one as she made her way to the door. Despite herself, her hand trembled a moment as she grabbed the door handle but she swallowed it down. She couldn't hesitate.

Obi needed her.

…

Years of having to deaden old soldier's wounds and to temporarily incapacitate stubborn, hardy patients who would not listen to her and stay in bed were serving her well. It meant that she knew just the right herbs to use, even if she had to grab them on the fly from the surrounding forest and unattended cupboards. It also meant she knew just where to dig and press her fingers to weaken muscles and render others unconscious.

She moved through the halls with almost clinical efficiency. Guard in west wing, herbs. Guard in east wing, pinch at the neck. Guard on the staircase, jar of herbs to the back of the head.

For once, she was grateful for her small size, it allowed her to creep and duck around the shadows. Because she had to take everyone out on the way to Obi, otherwise she knew their chances of escape were slim.

Especially with Obi as injured as he is.

Shirayuki gritted her teeth, forcing her feelings to fuel her rage. This was not the time to falter.

It was best to be quiet, the element of surprise was key. But she noted with alarm that her attacks were getting more reckless the deeper she went into the fortress, whether that was due to her desperation and anger, she didn't know.

She didn't care.

As she crept past the guard who had been watching the dungeon door, she heard voices and scowled.

A dull slap of something against flesh. "Where is the girl?"

A hollow chuckle. "What girl?"

Wind whistled as something was swung through the air, ending with a muffled thud and a deep groan. "You know what girl we're talking about!"

"Can't say I do," Obi groaned in response.

There was a sound that sounded sickeningly like a blade being drawn from a scabbard. "I won't ask again."

"Good, because I won't answer again." Obi clicked his tongue, the sound strangely garbled. "Not good at taking no for an answer, no wonder you can't get a girl-"

Don't provoke them, Obi!

Usually, if Obi was still being snarky and insolent, things were okay; it was only when he reverted to death glares that things were serious. However, that was when others, especially Shirayuku and Ryuu, were at stake. He was annoyingly flippant when it came to his well-being, so Shirayuki had no way of telling how bad it was without seeing him. She pushed up on her toes and stared through the bars.

Her blood ran cold, then hot, then boiling.

Her knight was shackled to the wall, looking even more bruised and battered then she had seen him before. Blood ran in a stream from the corner of his mouth, his limbs were contorted where they were shackled with blood plastering the material to his skin, and his glare was lessening to a slit of golden, blood-shot eyes as his face swelled from all the bruising.

And there was a blade held to his neck.

Rage filled Shirayuki like a beaker overflowing with viscous, corrosive liquid and she felt herself grabbing a rusty bar that had fallen in days past from the door. There were two people with him, the element of surprise would be almost useless here.

And it was overrated anyway.

She only made one sound before she dropped her cover entirely, just enough to surprise the brute holding the blade to Obi's neck and have him facing her.

With that, she cast aside all secrecy, let out an unholy shriek that she hadn't known herself capable of, and pounced.

…

"That," Obi huffed besides her as they struggled into the clearing, him leaning heavily on her shoulder, "was something, Miss."

Shirayuki gave something like a nod in response, but kept going. Her adrenaline was just about running out, and she could feel all the aches in her body starting to emerge. Just a little further.

"Miss?"

Along with the aches, the reality of what she had just done was beginning to sink into her thoughts as well. All those guards slumped unconscious, their wheezing both reassuring and terrifying. The bruises and scabs forming on the backs of heads and necks. The pained groans of Obi's tormentors as they faded into delirium, clutching most likely broken legs or arms. It looked terrible and daunting in her mind.

And she couldn't really bring herself to regret it.

"Miss, are you okay?"

It wasn't until she felt his fingers brush the dampness of her cheek that she realized she'd been crying. "I'll be fine."

"Miss."

He had no right to sound admonishing right now. None at all.

"Miss." He sounded gentler, although the admonishing tone still lingered in the back of his voice. "You're bleeding."

"Sure it's mine and not yours?" She shot back, and immediately regretted it at his wince.

"Miss, we're far enough. You need to rest a minute."

Acquiescing, Shirayuki maneuvered them to a small cave. She lay him down and sat beside him, hugging her knees to her chest, the fear and fatigue and anger and anxiety all curdling at once in her gut. She was doing a poor job of hiding it, given that Obi reached up to brush his fingers against her face again. "Miss, please…"

Something about the touch and tone undid her, and she began weeping. "Don't," she choked, "don't ever do that again."

Obi frowned. "You know I can't promise that."

"Why?" She demanded, "Why can't you? Don't you realize how much you matter? Don't you realize how much it would kill me if something happened to you?"

He swallowed hard. "Not as much as you-"

Shirayuki glared down at him. "Don't. Just, don't."

Obi sighed and forced himself into a seated position. With a slight noise of distaste at his bloodied clothes, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. She hugged him back fiercely and cried into his shoulder. He rubbed her back soothingly. "Thank you, Miss. I'm so sorry."

"Not as half as you'll be if you scare me like that again," she sniffled.

"Yes, Miss," she could feel his smile in the breath against her neck, warm and close and reassuringly alive.

She would need to talk with him more about this later, they were both well aware. But for now, they were both alive and safe.

And for now, that would have to be enough.

#obiyukimadness21 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #Roaring Rampage of Revenge #Spitfire!Shirayuki #Obi's self-sacrificial nature is still going strong #much to Shirayuki's frustration

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 4 years ago

Text

Empires on the Horizon XVI

Jason is a CEO: Part XVI

okay wow it has been a hooottt minute since i’ve updated a multi-chap fic and an even hotter minute since i’ve updated this one. so here’s a recap:

jase and zoe broke up, because she is being forced by her father to marry someone else (who that may be is yet to be revealed). jason has finally had enough and at the insistence of his friends he packs up on a holiday to Panarea (in italy) where he is delightedly shocked to discover Percy Jackson is currently working, and oh no.....would you look at that......the hotel messed up their reservations and now they have to share the same room, and the same bed. lmao they’re dorks.

here’s how the last chapter ended:

“Let’s just stay together? We’re friends. We know each other, we trust each other, and it’ll be less hassle than trying to find a room for either of us.”

“But there’s only one bed?” His brain was short-circuiting.

It shut down altogether when the man before him smirked. “Well i can keep my hands to myself, if you promise to.”

“I-” What is stopping him from saying yes? Why should he say no?

“It’s totally okay if you don’t want to.” Percy’s expression was so gentle, and it turned every weathered rock in Jason to gemstone.

“Yes.” He said firmly. “Let’s share the room.”

It was only when they got back to the hotel did Jason realise they were still holding hands. He wondered if they’d find each other like that in their dreams too. They did.

masterlist; my links

Jason awoke to an arm slung over his waist and soft breaths fanning the bare skin of his back. Bright sunlight streamed through the windows, bringing with it the heat that was sure to get unbearable. He thought he’d feel uncomfortable with someone touching him in weather like this but Percy seemed to be cool, and gods did he look cute with his messy black curls, and brown skin that absorbed rays of light and turned it into magic.

They had promised each other that they’d keep to their sides of the bed and refrain from mauling one another in the night, but it seemed like they had gravitated together anyhow. And Percy was certainly a cuddler.

A knock sounded and with groaning realisation he saw the clock on the wall read ten am. They were out later than either of them had realised.

“Jackson,” He nudged the man gently, “I think you need to get up.”

A mumbled response sunk into his skin as soft lips brush against his back. Jason went completely still, the sensation running along his nerves like hot wires.

“You okay?” Another mumble filtered through his delirium.

“I’m fine,” He managed to choke out, “I think we need to get up though. Room service is already here.”

That sparked movement. Suddenly green eyes were wide open, and cheeks, streaked with the creases of the pillow, were red with panic. “What is the time?”

“It’s ten am,” He pointed to the clock.

“Fuck!” Percy practically leaped out of bed and slammed his shoulder into the door frame as he skidded into the bathroom.

Jason heard the shower go on, and an electric toothbrush whirr to life, and then he heard a multitude of curse words, a loud bang and some groans of pain.

“Er,” He should go in there and make sure his friend was still alive. “Jackson?” He stepped into the bathroom and was not at all prepared for the sight that greeted him.

There, tangled in his pants, toothpaste stains on his face, and the shower soaking the bathroom floor was Dr. Percy Jackson.

“Do you need help?”

“This is not how this morning was supposed to go,” The dark-haired man garbled, looking hopelessly at the mess he had created.

Jason hid a smile as he bent down to help tug Percy’s pants off him, “And how was the morning supposed to go.”

Green eyes clashed with his, the toothbrush still whirring in his mouth. “I was supposed to wake up early and order a buffet for breakfast and then as we stuffed ourselves-” he cut off, choking on the toothpaste.

Jason couldn’t hide his amusement, and burst out laughing at Percy’s subsequent glare. Standing up and tossing the pants in the wash basket, he offered his hand to his friend, who took it gratefully before heading to the sink to finish brushing his teeth.

“What were we going to do while we ate?” He asked, leaning against the basin, one leg crossed over the other.

“I was going to feed you maple-covered waffles and answer some emails, and you were going to read that book I know you brought.”

“Are we an old married couple in this scenario?” He quirked a brow, lips twitching.

Percy frowned, stripping off his underwear and stepping into the heat of the shower. “I’m just trying to start our future early.”

Jason watched those glorious back muscles ripple, as water streaked down, but he refused to follow its path, not daring to go lower than the small dip of that spine. He didn’t even know why he was still in the bathroom, why he was being such a creeper, but his feet were superglued to the floor. He couldn’t move even if a crowbar tried to pry him away.

“Are you not agreeing with my vision?” A muffled voice drifted around him.

He attempted to come back to reality but it was proving near impossible. “Uh no-” He stuttered, “I think it’s a solid plan.” His eyes traced the sharp angles of that jaw, and the strong-bridged nose, and black hair matted to beautiful brown skin. He was sure he was dreaming. There could be no other explanation for the surrealness of the moment.

“Jase?” Percy touched his arm gently, skin hot from the shower. “You okay?”

He startled into the world so fast he felt dizzy. Where on earth had he gone? To another dimension it seemed. “Oh gods i’m so sorry,” He groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “I just watched you shower like a complete pervert.”

His friend smirked, and then he was laughing. “Who says i didn’t enjoy it?”

The blush that raced across his skin was enough to dull rubies. He didn’t know where to look, or how to breathe, or what he was made of. He was simply an untied balloon barreling towards the nearest thorn bush. “You,” He managed to choke, “Are going to be the death of me doctor.”

“Good,” He heard the smirk like violins, “Maybe then I won't feel like I'm falling straight to the bottom of the ocean all by myself.”

Jason peeked through his fingers, watching as Percy finished up and flitted around the room, trying to still the heart that threatened to beat out his rib cage and into a drum set. It was an ache in his chest, how much he felt for this man. How much he wanted him.

“So i’m going to be in and out for the next few days but i’m going to work my butt off so i can have Thursday and Friday off. I’m sorry for being a terrible roommate but i don’t think i’ll make meals until then.” He could see the regret in the doctor’s eyes, turning that vibrant green a shade like dying leaves.

“No,” He shook his head, “Seriously it’s not a problem. You do what you have to.” He couldn’t believe his friend felt bad for leaving him, when they hadn’t even known they’d be here together. It said enough about Percy's character that Jason was trying very hard not to bundle the man up in blankets and kiss his cheeks until the guilt of the past stopped carving valleys between his brows. Instead he hugged him, accidentally letting his lips brush against Percy's neck, just above his collar as he pulled away. Accidentally. The squeeze at his waist let him know his accident was well received.

“Goodbye Jackson.” He smiled as he watched the doctor race down the hall. A ringed wave was the response before he disappeared around the corner.

Jason closed the door, leaning against it with an expression made from coffee foam and whipped cream. He couldn't imagine a morning as peaceful as that one, not in days, months, years? With a satisfied sigh he flopped back into bed, inhaling the ocean scent of Percy that lingered across the sheets like cool waters on a summer evening. The plan for the day was that there was no plan. Thalia had chosen well by booking this little place. He wouldn’t be distracted by touristy things ergo he couldn’t possibly do anything else but relax. So he snuggled into the pillows and stared at the ceiling and fell half asleep and listened to the wind and felt the heat creep across his skin and he just let himself be.

His thoughts were as wild as the tides and sometimes they spilled like ocean water across his cheeks. But then he’d drift off to a dream and wake up to the sound of people laughing and cars sputtering and footsteps stomping past his door and all of a sudden nothing felt too far away.

He was sad. He was sad enough to wonder if sadness was all he knew. His ex boyfriend, who he had loved like stars loved darkness, had broken down his dream and rebuilt it as a nightmare. He managed to wake up. His girlfriend, who he could have loved given time, had tied all the fraying parts of his heart to the wheel of a car and pressed accelerate. He managed to cut himself free. His girlfriend, who he had loved outright and bold, had danced him to the edge of a cliff and left him with one foot already going over. Had he managed to catch himself before reaching the bottom?

It was a question that kept him occupied through the day. Through the breakfast he ate slowly. Through the sleep he found restlessly when his mind wouldn’t focus on the book he’d brought. Through the very late lunch he gobbled down like his stomach would start a rebellion if it didn’t get it’s due. Through the golden sunset he sat at the window and watched.

But it was finally when he sunk to the floor of the shower, letting the water hit his back like welcome rain, that he had an answer; and with it the question of “What came next?” That answer, he knew, would come later. Clear and bright and ready to be grabbed with teeth and hands and love.

So he finished his shower, and changed into loose cotton pants and a shirt that he didn’t bother to button. A walk on the beach didn’t require formality.

The sand was soft on his feet, different to the way New York beaches felt. And the ocean was a richer blue, as if he were being introduced to colour for the first time and this was how water was supposed to look. He supposed places like this weren’t called paradise on earth for nothing. The last dregs of sunlight skittered across the water, as if playing with it. His fingers itched to paint the scene but with nothing but the sand at his fingertips he simply took in the view, and let his mind form the painting he couldn’t.

The air was cooler here, not as sticky, but that didn’t mean the heat wasn’t ever present, scorching the sand like coal hearths. His feet would be blistered if it weren’t so late into the evening. Any earlier and he may have been hopping around like a scared crab. The image was enough to make him giggle to himself. It’s a sound he misses, and one he loved enough to leave him smiling.

“Care to share, comedian?” A smooth voice called from behind him.

He turned around, whipped faster than the wind, to see Percy walking towards him, a grin on his handsome face.

“I was picturing myself as a scared crab.”

Dark eyebrows raised in confusion, before rich laughter burst into the air. Jason swore it turned the night into magic. “Maybe I should have left you in peace.” The doctor shook his head.

“Who says you’re disrupting it?” He tilted his head, before starting on his walk once more.

He didn’t see the look that crossed his friend’s face, like comfort turned to being.

“What did you do today?”

“Self reflection,” He said into the air, into the world, into himself. “How about you?”

“Oh you know, a little lab work here, a little analysis there.” Percy shrugged.

“Tell me more,” He prompted.

The look of surprise on his friend’s face made him want to throttle anyone who’s ever stopped this man from talking.

“You sure?” It was hesitant, it was heartbreaking.

“I can’t promise to understand everything so I may have questions but if you’re willing to indulge me I want to hear all about it.”

With a look that spoke of worlds beyond their comprehension Percy launched into a detailed play-by-play of his day. He answered every question with patience and sparkling eyes, and there were many questions. By the time they got back to their hotel the crescent moon was their only source of light in the inky blackness of the sky and his stomach was growling enough that he knew he couldn’t afford to snack for supper.

“Want to go to the restaurant for dinner?” He tilted his head to the opposite side of the lobby where grand doors opened and closed periodically.

“I uh,” His friend winced, “I have some work today so i’m going to head to the room.”

“Okay,” He shrugged smiling, “I’ll meet you up there later.”

“Uh yea,” Percy’s face held an expression he didn’t quite know how to interpret. “See you then.”

“Want me to bring something up for you?”

“No, no, don’t worry about me.” Black curls bounced as he shook his head.

They parted ways, Jason only slightly confused by the weird turn his friend’s mood took, and decided he’d bring back a chocolate brownie if nothing else.

As he sat down at a table, observing the grand balustrades and curtained windows he felt suddenly alone. It wasn’t a feeling he let himself be consumed by but just the fact that it was there had him reaching for his phone. With a few taps he was calling Leo, knowing it’d be early morning for them.

“Hello,” A cheery voice crackled through his earphone. It was enough to settle all the worried nerves hidden between his ribcage.

Their conversation was bright and energetic, Leo being a morning person; he even got a few grunts out of Annabeth, who was decidedly not. Everything was okay with his company and more importantly his friends were fine.

“I found a person we know here,” He mumbled, trying to keep his voice and excitement quiet.

“Who?” Leo was practically vibrating. Even Annabeth looked at the camera with blurry eyed curiosity.

“Uh Percy.” He scratched the back of his neck, shyness crawling across his skin.

“Oh,” His friend’s eyes widened. “What is he doing there?”

“Work,” This was fine. This was safe. Nobody was jumping to any conclusions.

“Are you sure you didn’t run away to get married?”

And there went all his hope of having reasonable friends. “No!” He hissed. “And besides I didn't run away, you guys forced me to go.”

“Well it’s done you good. I can finally see some colour in those pasty cheeks.” Brown eyes sparkled with mischief.

Before Jason could respond another call was interrupting. “Zoe Nightshade” flashed across the screen.

“Uh Leo,” He frowned at his phone. “I’ll call you back.”

“Everything okay?” He heard the worry like tv static.

“I hope so.” The furrow between his brows didn’t disappear.

And then he hung up on his best friend and answered the other call.

“Oh Jason,” Relief flooded in his ear like water in a drought. “Thank you for answering.” The smooth voice of his ex-girlfriend reached him.

“Zoe,” His nerves were bow-string taught. “What’s wrong? Why are you calling me?”

“I need your help.” She answered. She sounded desperate. “I can’t marry Octavian.”

Jason Grace nearly falls off the cliff.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Tags (if you want to be added/taken off the tag list just let me know. All my channels of communication are open):

@lesbian-peanuts

@leyontheway

@queen-of-demons-and-hell

@msdrpreist

@sparkythunderstorm

@nishlicious-01

@lucyisblue

@legendary-cupcake

@larrikin-is-a-himbo

#empires on the horizon #part 16 #pjjg fanfic #pjjg series #jercy #jercy fanfic #jason grace #percy jackson #grace #percy #jackson #jason #i loved searching for moodboard images for this one #i got to stare at muscles and hands for hooouurrrssss

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ironmandeficiency · 4 years ago

Text

refreshing

pairing: hardcase / jedi!reader

word count: 4122

summary: you’re able to convince (read: blackmail) anakin into letting the troops take a pit stop on your home planet of naboo for a couple days of morale boost.

request: hi i’d like to order a hardcase combo with a side of smooching (u write him so well i’m a mess!!!)

warnings: unprotected sex, outdoor sex, slight exhibitionist kink?

a/n: my first time writing a full-length fic with smut!! always remember, wrap it before you tap it.

“we are not stopping there, y/n. there’s no time.”

“just like there wasn’t time for you to make a ‘very important call’ to someone that wasn’t even a jedi right before our last battle.”

“how did you-“

“i have more than two brain cells, anakin. now next time you speak to the senator, make sure you tell her i said hi.”

silence. then he tersely orders the pilot to set the coordinates to naboo, silently beginning to contemplate a way to get payback.

you entered the clones’ barracks by anakin’s side, a wild grin still crossing your face at the success of your plan. heads turned to the sudden entrance of two generals and several shinies abruptly stood at attention before being relaxed by older brothers. neither you nor anakin enjoyed the idea of your men dropping everything for something as time-consuming as a salute.

“good news men,” anakin begins while barely stifling a groan. “before we return to coruscant, we’ll be making a brief pit stop.”

that was a poor way to explain it. several groans filled the air, thinking that there was yet another mission to be completed. the men hadn’t been on leave for several long and testing weeks and the idea of such overworking was rather repulsive.

“boys, don’t look so glum! we’re going on vacation!” your giddy shout shocks several of them and confounds many others. why the kriff would they go on vacation? they were soldiers fighting a war, there was no time for something so trivial. even if there were, they were clones. clones weren’t given vacations.

anakin takes a moment to enjoy the bafflement before clarifying your statement. “on paper we’re touching base with the local government to ensure friendly republic relations. once we’re there, however, we will have two days of pre-leave leave. a vacation, if you will.”

rex was dubious. “are you sure this is allowed, sir?”

oh rex, always dependable when it came to the book. his sense of duty was unrivaled, and moments like this made it clear. “anakin and i have both done far worse things without the council’s approval. surely an impromptu morale boost wouldn’t even hit the top ten.” your grin disarmed several troopers, them finally beginning to accept that they were indeed getting a small vacation.

“as long as you’re sure, general,” a small smile graced the captain’s face as he turned to speak to his brothers. “men, we’re going on vacation.”

“but sir,” dogma spoke up. you turned to him and took in the way his eyebrows and tattoo were twisted in concern, finding it very fitting for the trooper. “what planet are we going to?”

“good question, dogma. we’re going to naboo.”

after a few hours spent at the palace, you and anakin were free to join your men. you had to at least make your twist of the truth convincing by actually visiting the naboo palace, even though queen jamillia wasn’t expecting any sort of jedi visit. didn’t need anyone finding loopholes in your future cover story in case they went to looking.

the five-oh-first was currently stationed in a wooded meadow dotted by several tiny ponds and vibrant wildflowers. some were swimming, others were wrestling in the daisy patches, and there were a few napping on moss-covered rocks or logs. everyone was smiling and/or laughing, though, and that was the best part.

the speeder anakin drove you back in skirted to a stop at the edge of the clearing. he offered you a hand to help you off, his driving being the kind that would quite easily disorient someone not used to his methods, and you took it with a smile. there was no way you would be letting him drive again, that was for certain.

it took seconds before your arrival was noticed. “hey everyone, the generals are back!” fives shouted to his brothers that were in one of the small ponds with him. the information spread like wildfire and soon you were both surrounded by men competing for yours and anakin’s company.

“come swim with us, general!”

“no, come join us for sabacc!”

“we’re wrestling in the flowers over there and need an unbiased ref!”

“our pond has a better view!”

“no it doesn’t!”

anakin laughed before bringing about a compromise. “we have two days, guys. we’ll both try to spend as much time with you all as we can, but i’m going to start by judging a few fights. y/n, you know where to find me.”

jesse and spears were excited to have won general skywalker’s attention, neither containing the whoops as they pulled anakin toward the match continuing on without them. from the looks of it appo was winning against jude, which was an interesting turn of events.

now you were left with a choice. you could go play sabacc with kix or go swimming in either hardcase’s pond or tup’s, both of which had spectacular views of the countryside. the decision was a bit biased (which you would tell no one) but you had to put effort into making it look like you spent more than two seconds making a choice.

hardcase was shirtless in front of you, clad only in his soaked briefs that left very little of his body to your vivid imagination. geometric lines decorated his chest, beads of water sliding down or beginning to dry against him in the sun pulling you in. it was hypnotic and quickly becoming a fuel source to your less jedi-like dreams.

you already had plenty of sources to draw from but it never hurt to add more. there was the wild gleam in his eye when taking down clankers with his z-6 and the way he’d comfort his younger brothers when they struggled with anything from night terrors to painting their armor. this wasn’t even mentioning the time you’d gotten a nasty blaster wound to the thigh and he had to carry you to kix and coric, the strong arms a cocoon of safety (kix told you later that you had called hardcase honey in your blood loss delirium and he flushed redder than a tatooine sunset).

he hollered in victory when you slung an arm around his shoulder, letting him guide you to the pond that he was sharing with queen and daze.

hardcase had to be frank with himself when he examined his motives behind wanting you to join him. it did have a lot to do with how he enjoyed you as a person, but he selfishly wanted to bear witness to the way you’d look with the pond water clinging to your skin and underclothes.

but that isn’t to say he only wanted you for your body, maker that couldn’t be farther from the truth. to hardcase, you were more than a general or jedi, and far more than a beautiful body. there was a selflessness he got to see when you interacted with civilians and compassion you showed to him and his brothers that endeared you to him. you were fun and wild and adventurous, and he couldn’t get enough of you, he wanted more.

you spent a few hours playing games in the pond, chicken and marco polo being the favorites. the guys banned you from being it during marco polo, realizing early on that the force was the reason you were finding them so easily and it was most definitely not hardcase splashing you like a child every chance he got. nope, that was not it at all.

the company rotated throughout the time you spent in the pond, the only constant being hardcase. it was pleasant being able to spend so much time with the heavy gunner without having to worry about protocols or codes. you got to just be yourself and spend time with hardcase while doing it, the recipe for a perfect day.

the sun was setting and campfires were built around nearly every pond, both flames and night stars reflecting off the water beautifully. ration bars seemed to taste better on naboo, and dinner was spent singing drinking songs and telling stories of brotherly shenanigans.

you were recounting one of the occasions anakin reprogrammed temple mouse droids to hit people in the ankles on purpose when you noticed it. hardcase’s eyes hadn’t left you for a while, and right now they felt as if they were dissecting you on a laboratory table with their intensity. you wanted to know why but that wasn’t your information to know right then. if he felt comfortable telling you then he would do so in his own time.

nearly everyone was tuckered out by the excessive fun of the day, quickly falling into a peaceful slumber in their bedrolls the likes of which they hadn’t had in a long time. but hardcase, he was far from tired. he was far more awake now than he had been when you were on his shoulders during games of chicken played with fives and tup.

you were enjoying the crackling of the fire paired with the occasional snoring from troopers on all sides when hardcase stood and moved next to you. he had set his roll down on the opposite side of the fire, a decision he now was regretting as he had to maneuver himself carefully around the bodies of sleeping vode.

he eventually made it to your side without waking anyone and let out a sigh of relief as he plopped down next to you. his shoulder lightly bumped yours as he scooted closer and you couldn’t help but be glad he hadn’t put a shirt back on after getting out of the pond for ration dinner.

peaceful silence was achieved (outside of snoring) as you enjoyed each other’s company. you weren’t expecting him to break the silence so soon, but you especially couldn’t predict the way he broke it. “i had a good time today,” he spoke quietly (a true feat for the man) and moved a hand to rest on your knee. “thank you for convincing general skywalker to let us stay here for a couple days.”

the crackling fire illuminated his face just enough for you to see the patches of red on his cheeks and tips of his ears as he continued. his eyes held your captive with their sincerity, emotions swirling wildly just below the surface. “i really enjoyed spending time with you, gen-“

“call me y/n, hardcase. please, it makes everything so much easier.” you had come to a decision a couple hours earlier about how you felt about the man next to you and what you would do about it. there was nothing in you that could maintain the semi-distance you had with him prior to today, not with the way his laughter quickened your pulse and sent waves of joy over you. even his force signature was intoxicating under the nubian sky, you couldn’t get enough.

perplexion overtook his features. he had no idea what you were talking about, silently hoping that you hadn’t lost your mind to fun. “makes what easier-mmm-“

you cut him off with your lips, silencing his question before he could finish. he responded in kind, hands pulling you into his lap without breaking the kiss. it started all tongue and teeth, the adrenaline and arousal beginning to flow through your veins as steady as your blood.

“gen- y/n,” he broke the kiss to catch his breath, quick to correct himself to using your first name instead of rank. his chocolate eyes were blown out with desire, his hands had ventured toward your ass, cradling it with the utmost care. “i-is this what you want? do you really want me?”

your answer was first given with legs wrapped around his waist, mouth meeting his for another breath-stealing kiss. but then you sensed hesitation as his hands gripped your waist and slowly began to detach you from him. he was worried and you had to reassure him, make sure he knew how you cared about him. “more than anything in the galaxy, my dear.”

your eyes conveyed this truth to him the very same way your words did, and the answer given satisfied him. he returned his hands to your backside and gripped the flesh hard before continuing the kiss. you opened your mouth to invite him in and he obliged, his tongue swirling around yours and maker did he taste good.

kissing hardcase was euphoria unlike anything you’ve ever encountered. there wasn’t a single part of you that wasn’t aflame where your body met with his, the burn being one you’d relish in for as long as you lived.

one hand left you for a moment before coming back with a loud smack! that produced a whine from your throat. hardcase would do anything to hear that sound again, so he brought his hand down harder and groaned when his ears caught the mewl he ripped from you.

you slid a hand between your bodies and palmed his cock, giving it sweet resistance when his hips thrust into your hand. he felt thick and hot even through his blacks and you could only imagine how he’d feel inside you.

then a grumble from nearby harshly reminded you both that if you weren’t quiet, there would be an audience. hardcase grinned like a loth-cat before rising to his knees, arms holding you up and against him. “let’s take this somewhere a lil’ quieter, sweetheart.”

with the change in position you could feel his member press deliciously against where you wanted him, grinning in triumph when you wiggled your hips against him and wrestled a groan from the back of his throat. he was standing in seconds and barely bothering to avoid stepping on sleeping vode in his haste to get you as alone as he could.

he walked you both to the edge of the meadow, one of the tiniest ponds being only mere feet away from where he set you down on the ground. you pulled him down to you by his hips, not wanting any space between you as he nipped at your neck and jaw. he sucked hard at a sweet spot just above your collarbone and he nearly ascended to the stars at how beautiful his name sounded from your parted lips.

you tugged at your tunics desperately, wanting hardcase to take the hint and rip them off you. he was smarter than some gave him credit for because it took seconds for him to work them off you, tossing the fabric to the side with abandon. callused hands ran across your chest like the flowing rivers this planet was known for, learning the terrain of your breasts and stomach like battle plans.

his mouth descends lower and latches onto your nipple, tongue swirling around the bud before biting it gently. you’d never felt anything like it before and it drove you wild, his name stumbling through your lips.

“you say my name so pretty, y/n,” he smiles against your breast, lustful chocolate eyes looking at yours under long lashes. you reached your arms around his back and let your hands wander the waistband of his blacks, trying to tell him he was wearing too much but most of the words left you. the resulting sentence was fragmented and flooded with desperation that you didn’t bother trying to hide.

“‘case,” you breathed, “g’t ‘em off, please,” the offending fabric was hiding him from you and you weren’t going to put up with it any longer. he chuckled against your skin before moving back to remove his blacks. his boxers had long since dried from swimming and through the light grey fabric you could see spots of precome.

the boxers were peeled off seconds later and once they were low enough on his legs, he kicked them off to leave him completely exposed to you. his naked body rivaled those of marble sculptures kept in the elite coruscanti museums of art, and exceeded the expectations of the artists that had never been blessed to see such beauty in a man before. the tip of his cock was littered with pearlescent droplets you wanted to both taste and have inside you at that very second; you weren’t picky, either one would have you reaching nirvana in record time.

you sat up and brought him into a bruising kiss. he slithered a hand into your underwear and slid it between your folds, eyebrows raised when he felt how wet you were for him. his hand left soon after and, after breaking the kiss, let your lips wrap around the slick-soaked digit. you swirl your tongue around it and sucked lightly, hardcase loving the way you eagerly tasted yourself around him.

pushing him backward into his back, you straddle his lap and slide yourself across his length. hardcase growls at the contact and his fingers move to grip your hips and move you faster. but you wanted more, you wanted him to split you open and fill you up the way only he could. so you raised your hips up slightly and took his cock in one hand, steadily lowering yourself onto it with a moan.

once he was fully sheathed inside of you, your walls clenched around him and for a millisecond you thought you’d killed the heavy gunner with the way his eyes rolled back at the sensation. it was almost painful for hardcase to keep his hips from fucking up into you but he wanted you comfortable; not to brag but he was thicker and longer than average, and he didn’t want to hurt you by going too fast.

the stillness was sending you up a creek. you wanted him to move, to take what you were offering to him, yet he was resting while buried inside you. you were impatient and decided to take initiative, rising halfway off him before sinking back down. it was divine, the way he stretched you out as you went back down on him, and you could tell he was thinking the same when your name was emitted from hardcase with a primal grunt.

it took only a couple more movements on your part before he had you in a bruising grip, holding you up and pistoning his hips into yours recklessly. it was rough and wild and feral, the only goals being release and staking a claim into the other.

your head was thrown back, neck bared to him as he pounded you. in a moment you didn’t expect, he had you on your back and his head buried in the juncture between your neck and shoulder, continuing to bite and suck at the skin in a way you were positive would leave delicious evidence of the night’s activities.

the new angle aided him in finding your g spot, which you were both immensely grateful for. you were seeing stars that weren’t the ones above you when he found it, a choked whine indicating to hardcase the specific way to thrust to continue hitting it with precision only a soldier could have. his forehead pressed against yours as he fucked you, maintaining eye contact no matter how fast he went.

“fuck, hardcase!” his balls were slapping your ass as he went harder and faster, the man holding nothing back. he pressed a finger against your mouth before panting, “gotta be quiet for me, sugar,” he paused to give you a particularly hard thrust that threw you closer to the brink. “don’t want anyone findin’ us, do we?” the rasp and growl of his voice was unreal but he kept talking, and you buried your head into his neck to ground you.

he smelled of a smoky battlefield and fertile earth and honey sweeter than you’d ever tasted. a delicate lick at the sweaty sheen coating his skin had your tastebuds in paralysis and hardcase grunting mando’a curses as his pace grew erratic. he was close.

your walls began to flutter around him, you telling him that you were close with a moan.

“that’s it mesh’la, i want ya to come for me, you can do it beautiful,” he gripped your thigh and pulled it up his waist, spreading you further open for him and oh force it was unbelievable.

“come with me, please!”

“i’m about to, i’m gonna- where do you want it?” images ran through your head of him unloading onto your tongue or your chest and it nearly made you one with the force, but there was plenty of time in the future to experiment with that. you wanted him in you, to fill you up in every sense of the word.

“cum inside me, hardcase!” suffice to say, hardcase was not expecting that reply, shuddering in ecstasy at the thought of his seed leaking out of you.

“sugar, you’re killin’ me, i- holy kriff!” he thrusted a few more times before slamming into you balls deep, making sure that not a drop of him spilled out of you in that moment. you flexed around his cock and milked him for everything he had as the sensation brought you over the edge with him, his name repeated like a prayer.

he braced himself as much as he could before collapsing partly on top of you, sweaty skin mingling against sweaty skin. he was still inside you and the slightest movement ran the risk of overstimulation, but you didn’t want him to leave you empty yet. so you wrapped your arms around him and rolled you both on your sides, facing each other while still keeping him inside you.

you brought your hand to cup his cheek, running your fingers feather light across the lines and dots that decorated his face. he hummed in pleasure, eyes shutting in bliss. his hand not supporting his side was gently stroking the crook of your hip. neither of you spoke for several minutes, just letting yourselves bask in the afterglow.

then hardcase has an idea.

“hey sweetheart,” he begins softly, still hesitant to speak but just as badly wanting you to hear what he has to say. your hum of acknowledgement spurs him on. “wanna go for a swim?”

this man was sent by the gods.

that’s what you told yourself as he slowly slid out of you and helped guide you to the edge of the closest pond. you slid in and he was right behind you, immediately pulling you as close as he could. he didn’t try to continue the prior activities, just simply leaned against the edge of the pond and held you close.

you couldn’t remember the last time you were held for a reason outside of warmth and self-preservation. it was bliss, so comforting and peaceful and safe. you floated and let hardcase anchor you to him, fully trusting him to keep you above the surface as he held you and talked about anything and everything.

the conversation was easy and the touches soft as you talked away the night. you eventually wrapped your arms around his neck and used his chest as a pillow, taking comfort from the way his hands smoothed over the bruises he made in your skin a few hours earlier. his heartbeat was steady against your, the thumping strong and true.

“hey sugar,” he whispered into your hair before slowly unwrapping your arms from his neck. you let him and the water move your body, your back pressed against his chest and his arms holding you in place once again. “look over here.” he pointed to the sky where the sun was beginning to rise, the sky painted in pastel pink and lavender and marigold.

it’s been too long since you’ve gotten to watch the sun rise on your home planet. sharing the moment with hardcase made it all the more a beautiful. “hardcase, it’s gorgeous.”

he smiled and kissed your crown. “it doesn’t compare to a certain jedi i know, don’t even come close.”

“i didn’t know you had a thing for anakin, dear. i’ll be sure to let him know.”

he sputtered in indignation, laughing at the insinuation but taking it as a challenge as well. “you know that’s not who i’m talking about, beautiful.” one hand slides down through the water and comes to rest between your thighs, his index and middle fingers teasing your clit. you push your ass against his dick in retaliation and reeling as you feel him stiffen against you.

you spent the sunrise w in ith hardcase slowly thrusting into you, lips locked together and hands caressing your bodies gently. your legs were wrapped around his waist as he pressed you against the pond’s edge, taking his time with you as the stars faded from view.

#hardcase #clone trooper hardcase #hardcase is precious #hardcase x reader #clone trooper hardcase x reader #star wars reader insert #star wars fanfic #star wars imagines #star wars the clone wars #star wars #jj writes things

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veliseraptor · 4 years ago

Text

meet me where we are

[READ ON AO3]

so @deadeyellentigh mentioned wanting a sequel to my silence as a weapon (well. said that a fic was being held hostage and also wrote me another one) and I wanted a distraction from my long projects that are hurting me, so I went and wrote this instead! 2.3k of self indulgent fix-it (maybe! I believe in these boys. I mean I don’t but I want to.)

[brushes those fierce corpses under the rug] we’ll deal with that later. or never. what’s a few dead body secrets between boyfriends

---

“The man here with you,” Zichen said, and his voice trembled slightly, and Xiao Xingchen felt a sudden cold fear drop into his stomach thinking did he see you, did you fight, is he-

Unfair, he knew. Zichen had a right to his vengeance, or he should, only - only.

“Xingchen,” Zichen said, strained and careful, believing, Xiao Xingchen thought, that he was going to reveal a dreadful secret. “It’s Xue Yang.”

Xiao Xingchen folded his hands together so they didn’t shake. Cast his face down as though he were capable of avoiding Zichen’s eyes.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I know.”

It was a betrayal. He had known that, since the beginning, and though he had never expected to have to face it he had made a kind of peace with that knowledge.

Still, Xiao Xingchen was grateful in this moment that he didn’t have to see the expression on Zichen’s face.

“You-” Zichen sounded like he was choking on the words. “You know?”

“Yes,” Xiao Xingchen said. “I’ve...known for some time, now. He isn’t aware of that - as far as he’s concerned his secret remains safe.” There were reasons he had said nothing. Reasons that he had allowed Xue Yang’s charade to continue. Suddenly none of them seemed compelling enough justification.

“Xingchen…” He didn’t need to see the betrayed expression. He could hear it, and tried very hard not to flinch from it. “You’ve - and you’ve done nothing? Why? What were you thinking?”

He’d convinced himself that his choice had been the right one. That certainty was withering now. But he kept thinking, too, if Xue Yang returned now, he and Zichen would fight. If he and Zichen fought, one of them would most likely die.

He couldn’t bear that. Perhaps, if he were a better and less selfish person, he would be able to.

But he knew himself too well.

“Three years,” Xiao Xingchen said. His hands twisted with each other and he made them still. “He has lived here with me and a-Qing for three years, and through most of that time I have listened, I have stayed close, I have been attentive to his every move. And through all that time, despite opportunity...I cannot say he is kind, or virtuous.”

“My temple,” Zichen said, his voice trembling. “My shifu - what he did to them - Xingchen, you are blind because of him!”

I am blind because of you, Xiao Xingchen thought, but he was not so cruel as to say it and never would, and anyway he did not begrudge the gift. He had given it out of grief and guilt, but he would not regret it.

“I know.”

“And you have let him live - lived with him, knowing what he is-”

The brief pulse of anger Xiao Xingchen felt took him by surprise. He let it pass, only saying, “who he is, Zichen. However monstrous his deeds, Xue Yang is a person as much as you and I.”

“So you acknowledge his deeds as monstrous,” Zichen said, not quite snapped though his anger was clear. Xiao Xingchen did not let himself flinch from that, either.

“I do. Of course.”

“But that doesn’t matter?”

Again there was that thought at the back of his mind that said you are justifying a selfish choice because you are afraid to be alone. He tried to push it aside. He had thought about this, he had thought about it a great deal, and he needed to - hold true to his convictions.

“Yes,” he said. “It matters. But-” He swallowed hard. “People can change.”

“Not all of them,” Zichen said, his voice still hard and angry, so angry, and Xiao Xingchen’s heart beat in his stomach thinking he could walk away, he could leave you again, what are you doing. “The wolf changes hair, it doesn’t change habits. And how can you possibly know? How can you be certain he has not just been waiting, biding his time? Taking advantage of you, using you-”

Xiao Xingchen sat up straight, stung. “Do you think I’m so foolish I wouldn’t be aware of that possibility? That I wouldn’t notice?”

Zichen was quiet, briefly.

“I cannot say he is kind or virtuous,” he said, quieter. “But I can say that he has not done me or a-Qing harm. Nor the people in this city.”

“As far as you know.”

Xiao Xingchen paused, but he did have to allow, reluctantly, “as far as I know.”

“Xingchen,” Zichen said, and his voice was agonized in a way that cut Xiao Xingchen to the core. “Even if you are right - even if that - creature has somehow turned from active violence - don’t his previous victims still deserve justice? The Chang Clan, my temple, heavens know how many others…”

“Would his death be vengeance or justice?” Xiao Xingchen asked. His hands wrung together so hard it was almost painful.

Zichen was silent for a long time. Xiao Xingchen wavered, on the verge of saying Zichen, I’m sorry-

He made himself say, forcing the words out through his closing throat, “whatever you do, Zichen, I...will not stand in your way.”

“You mean,” Zichen said, his voice cold in a way that Xiao Xingchen had heard before but seldom directed at him, “if I decide to kill Xue Yang, you won’t stop me.”

“No,” Xiao Xingchen made himself say, though he felt sick. Imagined Xue Yang returning, basket in hand, humming the way he did when he was in a good mood. He wouldn’t see it coming. Was that better or worse?

He imagined, deliriously, Xue Yang realizing that Zichen was here and leaving. Escaping somewhere else. Xiao Xingchen knew even as he thought it that Xue Yang never would. Not without a fight that he would almost certainly lose. And if he didn’t lose - if Zichen was in danger-

What would he do then?

“But you don’t want me to,” Zichen said, and Xiao Xingchen almost curled into himself at the pain in his voice. “It would hurt you, Xingchen. Wouldn’t it. His death - would hurt you.”

He sounded so achingly, crushingly disappointed. But Xiao Xingchen couldn’t lie.

“Yes,” he said, voice hoarse, no more than a whisper as though that would ameliorate his shame.

He will leave now, said a harsh, cruel voice in his mind. He will walk away from you. Or he will kill Xue Yang and walk away from you. He would still have a-Qing, would not be wholly alone, but…

“Then what,” Zichen said heavily, “would you have me do?”

A lump swelled in Xiao Xingchen’s throat. I don’t deserve you, he thought.

“Give me a chance,” he said. “To talk to him. Can we begin there?”

“I won’t leave you alone with him,” Zichen said immediately.

“Then - you can go inside,” Xiao Xingchen said. “Somewhere out of sight. If he sees you I doubt I’d get a chance to say a word.” And if it came to blows-

He couldn’t let it get that far.

“Xingchen,” Zichen said. “The risk-”

“Please,” Xiao Xingchen said. “Just - give me a chance.”

I don’t want to leave, Xue Yang had said, in the throes of delirium that had seemingly made him honest. I don’t want you to leave.

Oh, Daozhang. I think I like you.

He wanted, so badly, to be right.

Xue Yang was humming when he came back. Zichen was inside, no doubt with his hand at least on Fuxue’s hilt if not with it already drawn. He tried not to think about that; tried to project calm where he sat, waiting.

“Daozhang,” he sang out, voice getting closer. “Give you three guesses what I found. You won’t believe-”

He cut off, sharp and sudden, footsteps and voice both stopping. For a moment Xiao Xingchen thought maybe he’d seen Zichen. Or knew, somehow. He wished that he could see, wished he knew what the expression on Xue Yang’s face looked like.

“Come sit with me,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm, even.

He did not hear him coming closer.

“Where’s a-Qing,” Xue Yang said, and the ease was gone from his tone. He sounded tense, alert, wary. No, he thought. No, please. Stay calm. I need…

“Not here at the moment,” Xiao Xingchen said. “What did you find?”

“Oranges,” Xue Yang said after a moment. He still hadn’t moved.

“That sounds nice,” Xiao Xingchen said. He felt a little as though he was coaxing an animal into a trap. His stomach twisted. “I hope you got enough for all of us.”

“Uh huh,” Xue Yang said. The wariness in his voice was clearer now. “Obviously. I don’t want to listen to Qingqing whine about not getting hers.”

Xiao Xingchen tried to smile. “Is there a reason you’re not coming to join me?”

“You tell me.”

Xiao Xingchen took a breath in and said, “please, Chengmei.”

Silence. Finally, he heard slow, light steps approaching. He held carefully still, again thinking of luring some kind of wild animal in close enough to capture it, but that wasn’t what he was doing, it wasn’t.

“Daozhang,” Xue Yang said, voice a little lower. Xiao Xingchen could imagine him looking around the courtyard, searching, watchful. He kept his breathing steady and even. “Something happened while I was gone. You going to tell me what?”

Xiao Xingchen reached out, seeking Xue Yang’s arm to pull him down, but he seemed to be just out of reach. His stomach went cold and his mouth was dry.

He let his hand fall and said, as calmly as he could, “Xue Yang.”

Xiao Xingchen was listening closely enough to hear his breathing stop. And then start again, but faster.

“Please,” he said again. Calm, calm, calm. “Sit. I want to talk with you.”

“Talk,” Xue Yang said, the beginnings of a snarl in his voice but Xiao Xingchen thought he could hear the fear underneath. “Is that what you want to do?”

“Yes,” Xiao Xingchen said. “It is.”

He could hear Xue Yang’s breathing getting quicker. Almost feel his growing agitation. “Took you long enough to put it together,” he said with a nasty kind of laugh. Xiao Xingchen wondered if Xue Yang thought he wouldn’t hear the brittleness in his voice.

“I’ve known for a while,” Xiao Xingchen said. “The flower elemental poisoned you and while you were delirious you...said some things. I put it together from there.”

A brief silence and then a humorless sort of ha. He hadn’t moved, not closer or further away, not to draw a sword. “That long,” Xue Yang said, voice flat. “Did you think it was funny-”

“Did you?” Xiao Xingchen interrupted, quietly, and Xue Yang’s voice cut off like it’d been severed.

Xiao Xingchen folded his hands together so that they wouldn’t shake and said, “I don’t think you want to hurt me. I think - you did. But not anymore.”

Silence. Unlike with Zichen Xiao Xingchen wished he could see Xue Yang’s face. Wished he could get some kind of hint what he was thinking other than the too quick and slightly harsh sound of his breathing, and the fact that he still hadn’t moved, that he knew Xiao Xingchen knew and hadn’t taken any immediate action.

He paused, and took another risk. “I hope that’s so,” he said. “Because I don’t want you hurt either.”

Xue Yang’s exhale shuddered out of him.

“The fuck game are you playing, Daozhang,” he said after a moment, rough and ever so slightly unsteady. “What do you want?”

“I want you to sit with me and listen,” Xiao Xingchen said. “And do nothing rash.”

Still no movement. “If you’ve known that long,” Xue Yang said, “why are you just saying something now, huh? What changed?”

Xiao Xingchen swallowed hard. He’d hoped to be holding onto Xue Yang for this. To have a grip on him to make it harder for him to react immediately, or violently.

“If I tell you,” he said, and his voice sounded horribly thin, weak, “will you promise me not to take any impulsive action?”

This time he did hear movement, but it was a step back, not toward. Light and quiet and Xiao Xingchen could almost picture how he looked, poised, a fox either about to spring or turn and run. He could imagine Zichen, poised the same behind him, only he wouldn’t run.

He stood and moved where he would be - he hoped - between them.

“Please,” he said, almost begged. “Xue Yang. Trust me. Just for a few moments.”

“Trust you?”

“I’ve given you a chance.” One you didn’t deserve, he didn’t say.

Another long, long, silence. “It’s him, isn’t it,” Xue Yang said. His voice was flat and strangely dull. “Your Zichen. Come back for you, after he kicked you out of his life.”

Xiao Xingchen didn’t let himself flinch. He didn’t speak, either.

“How nice,” Xue Yang said, with growing venom. “So, what. Is this you giving me a chance to leave before you let him kill me, Daozhang? Because if I get a choice I’d rather you did the honors.”

He wouldn’t know, Xiao Xingchen realized, if Xue Yang went for his sword. Not until it was too late.

“No,” he made himself say. “This is - as I said. I just want to talk.”

Nothing.

“Three years, Xue Yang,” Xiao Xingchen said. His voice was soft, and a little hoarse, and not quite a plea. “Don’t throw it away.”

He took a step forward toward where he’d heard Xue Yang’s voice, where he could hear his too-quick, slightly unsteady breathing, and this time when he reached out he found his hand, folded his fingers around his wrist in a gentle tether.

Not a closing trap, he thought. An open hand.

“Trust me,” he said again. “Xue Yang,” his name, used like an invocation.

The moment quivered on a cliff’s edge, teetering, but Xiao Xingchen was suddenly, inescapably certain it wouldn’t fall.

#a wild fic appeared #song lan #xue yang #xiao xingchen #drops fic and runs #the sad queer cultivators show

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nordleuchten · 4 years ago

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The Death of Adrienne de La Fayette

In January of 1808, shortly after the death of his wife Adrienne on December 24, 1807, La Fayette wrote a lengthy letter to his dear friend César de la Tour Maubourg. In this letter he described Adrienne’s final illnesses, several conversations they had towards her end and how he felt losing her. The letter is very long and just so, so heart-breaking …

I have not yet written to you, my dear friend, from the depth sees of misery in which I am plunged. You have already heard of the angelic end of that incomparable woman.

I feel I must again speak of it to you. My grieved heart loves to open itself to the most constant, the dearest confident of all its thoughts. As yet you have always found me stronger than circumstances, but now this event is stronger than me. Never shall I recover from it. During the thirty - four years of an union in which her tenderness, her goodness, the elevation of her mind, charmed, adorned, honoured my life, I felt myself so used to all that she was to me, that I could not distinguish it from my own existence. She was fourteen, and I was sixteen, when her heart amalgamated itself with everything that could interest me. I knew I loved her, I knew I needed her, but it is only now that I can distinguish what life which I had thought was to have been entirely devoted to worldly matters. The foreboding of her loss had never crossed my mind before, when, on leaving Chavaniac with George, I received a note from Mme de Tessé. I was struck to the heart. On arriving in Paris after a rapid journey, we found her very ill; there was a slight improvement the next day, which I attributed to the pleasure of seeing us; but soon afterwards her head was affected. She said to Mme de Simiane: "I was going to have a malignant fever, but I shall be well attended to, and shall get the better of it.” Unhappily it was not a malignant fever, it was something still worse. One day only Corvisart had great hopes. Our dear invalid was already beginning to wander, when her confessor came to see her. In the evening, she told me: “If I go to another dwelling, you know how much I shall think of you there. Although I shall leave you with reluctance, the sacrifice of my life would be little, if it could ensure your eternal happiness.” The day she received the sacrament, she was anxious to see me near her. Delirium came on afterwards; you never saw anything so extraordinary and so touching. Imagine, my dear friend, a mind completely disordered, thinking itself in Egypt, in Syria, amongst the events of the reign of Athalie, which Celestine' s lessons had left in her imagination, strangely blending every idea that was not from the heart, in short the most constant delirium, and withal that kindness which always seeks for something pleasing to say. There was also a refinement in the way she expressed herself, a loftiness of thought, which astonished every one. But what was admirable above all, was that tenderness of heart which she was incessantly showing to her six children, to her sister, to her aunt, to M. de Tessé; she thought she was with them at Memphis, for, by a miracle of feeling, her mind was never invariably fixed but where I was concerned. It seemed as if that impression was too deep to be obliterated, was stronger than sickness, stronger than death itself. Life had already fled; feeling, warmth, existence, all had taken refuge in the hand which pressed mine.

Perhaps did she even yield to her affection and her tenderness more completely than if she had had the full possession of her faculties. Do not imagine that the dear angel was alar med at the thought of a future world. Her religion was all love and confidence; the fear of hell never came near her mind. She did not believe in it for beings good, sincere and virtuous, whatever their opinions might be. “I do not know what will happen at the moment of their death, she would say, but God will enlighten them.” However, had her mind been clear, she would have thought of what she called her péchés, though she did not believe in any other di vine punishment than that of being deprived of the sight of the Supreme heard me joking her about her aimables hérésies ! Who knows whether the fear of increasing my regret would not have partly restrained the outpouring of her feelings, in the same manner as when, during our married life, her utter unselfishness prevented her from yielding to what was most empassioned in her nature ? «There was a period, she said a few months ago, when, after one of your returns from America, I felt myself so forcibly attracted to you, that I thought I should faint every time you came into the room. I was possessed with the fear of annoying you, and tried to moderate my feelings. You can scarcely be dissatisfied with what remains.”

“What gratitude I owe to God, she would repeat during her illness, that such passionate feelings should have been a duty! How happy I have been! she said the day of her death. What a lot to be your wife!” And when I spoke to her of my tenderness, she answered in a touching tone: “Is it true ? Is it indeed true? How good you are! Repeat it again, it does me so much good to hear you. If you do not find yourself sufficiently loved, lay the fault upon God: He has not given me more faculties than that I love you, she said in the midst of her delirium, christianly, humanly, passionately."

When she was pitied for her sufferings, the fear of exaggerating them to herself and to others would come up on her. One day, as I was watching her with a look of pity: “ Oh! I kind look."

She often begged of me to remain in the room because my presence calmed her. Sometimes, however, she would ask me to go and attend to my business, and when I answered that I had nothing else to do than to take care of her: “How good you are, she would exclaim with her feeble though pénétrante voice, you are too kind, you spoil me, I do not deserve all that; I am too happy.”

…. Her delirium was intense. It bore principally on the reign of Athalie, on the family of Jacob in which she liked to persuade herself that I was tenderly beloved, on the contentions of Israël and Judah. “Would it not be strange? she said, if, being your wife, I was obliged to sacrifice myself for at king."

She was in fear of troubles, of proscriptions, and prepared herself to meet them with the fortitude which characterized her in real dangers. She thought there was to be a persecution against christians and reckoned upon me to protect the oppressed. “It appears to me, she said, that the world is beginning over again;. nothing but fresh experiments. Why are not all things going on according to your wishes?” All these thoughts were confused in her head; she believed we were in Egypt and Syria. We thought once her ravings would cease. “Am I not mad? she exclaimed. Come nearer, tell me if I have lost my reason ? ” I answered that I should kind things she had said to me for absurdities. “ Have I said anything kind ? But I have also said many silly things; have we not acted the tragedy of Athalie? What ! I am married to the sincerest of men, and I cannot know the truth. It is still your kindness; you want to spare my head. Do speak; I am resigned to the disgrace of being mad.” We succeeded at length in calming her. I told her she was valued and loved. “Ah! she answered, I do not care to be valued, so that I am loved.” Another time she said: “Fancy what a state my poor head is in; what an odd thing it is that I cannot remember whether Virginie and M. de Lasteyrie are betrothed or united. Help me to collect my thoughts."

Sometimes we could hear her praving in her bed. She made her daughters read prayers to her. There was something heavenly in the manner she twice repeated Tobit's prayers applicable to her state, the same she had recited to her daughters on seeing the steeples of Olmütz for the first time. I approached her. “It is from the book of Tobit, she said. I sing badly, that is why I recite it.” Another time she composed a most beautiful prayer which lasted full an hour. She only once or twice seemed in error about me, persuading herself that I was a fervent Christian. “You are not a Christian,” she said one day? And as I did not answer: “Oh! I know what you are, you are a Fayettiste. -- Do you think me so presumptuous, I replied? But are you not a little Fayettiste yourself? – Oh” yes, she exclaimed, with all my soul; I feel I could die for that sect.”

One day I was speaking to her of her angelic gentleness. “Yes, she said, God has made me gentle; though my gentleness is not like yours; I have not such high pretensions. You are so strong as well as so gentle; you see things from so high, but I will allow that I am gentle, and you are very good to me. - It is you who are good, I answered, and generous above all. Do you remember my first departure for America? Everybody against me; and you hiding your tears at M. de Ségur's marriage. You tried not to appear in grief for fear of bringing down more blame upon me -- True, she said, it was rather nice for a child. But how kind of you to remember so far back!” She spoke very sensibly of her daughters' happiness, of the good and noble character of her sons - in - law. “Nevertheless, I have not been able to make them as happy as I am. It would have required all God's power to have brought about that again.” It is not to boast, my dear friend, that I tell you all this, although one might well be proud of it, but I find comfort in repeating to you and to myself how tender and how happy she was. How happy she would have been this winter! all her children near her, the war finished for George and Louis, the birth of Virginie's child, and, I may add, after an illness which, owing to the last, the kindness of thinking of my amusements at Lagrange, of my farm, of all that was of daily interest to me! When I spoke to her of returning home: “Ah! she said, that would be too delicious. My God, my God, she exclaimed, six more poor years of La grange! ” She wanted to return there with me, and begged of me to start before her. I entreated her to allow me to stay, and asked her to rest a little. She promised to do her best, and as she became calmer, “Well, she said, remain, wait a little; I shall go quietly to sleep.”

The disordered state of her brain did not prevent her having misgivings as to her approaching end. The night which preceded the last, I heard her saying to her nurse : “Do not leave me, tell me when I am to die.” At my approach, her fears subsided; but when I spoke to her of recovery, of returning to Lagrange: “Oh! no, I am going to die. Have you any cause of complaint against me? — For what, my dear? you have always been so good and so loving. — Have I then been a gentle companion to you? — Yes assuredly. - Well then, give me your blessing.” On all these last evenings, when she thought I was going to leave her, she would ask me for my blessing. I spoke to her of the happiness of our union, of my tenderness; she took pleasure in hearing me repeat the assurance of my love. “Promise me, she said, to preserve that affection well believe that I promised. “Are you satisfied with your children?” she added. I told her how completely they satisfied me. “They are very good, she said. Support them with all your love for me.” Then delirium coming on again: “How do you think they feel with respect to the house of Jacob.” I assured her that they entered into all her own feelings. “Ah! she replied, my feelings are very moderate, except those I have for you.” Twice only her excitement became intense. It was then the wanderings of maternal love. One day George, to prevent her speaking too much, had, for several hours, kept away from her room. When he came in again, she evidently thought he had just returned from the army. The wildness of her joy on seeing him made her heart beat in a fearful manner. Another time she fell into an ecstasy of joy at the thought of an anniversary dear to our hearts, of the day when, twenty eight years before, she had given me George. That anniversary was the day of her death. «One cannot admire sufficiently the meekness, the patience, the un changing kindness of that angelic wo man during this long and cruel malady. In her delirium, which lasted a whole month, she was always thin king of us and fearing to importune her friends. “I am very troublesome, she would often say; my children, she one day added, must make up their mind to have a silly mother, a silly wife.” But never the slightest sign of impatience nor of ill humour. Even when it was most repugnant to her to drink anything, a word from me or from her children, or, in our absence, the idea that the nurses might be blamed, sufficed to decide her, and, up to the last, each service was acknowledged by a kind word, a motion of the head or of the hand. “Never, the doctor said, have I seen in the course of a long practice, anything to be compared to that adorable disposition and to a delirium. so extraordinary. No, never have I seen anything which could give me the idea that human perfection could go so far.” A few moments before she breathed her last, she murmured to us that she was not suffering. “No doubt she does not suffer, exclaimed the nurse; she is an angel.” It was very remarkable to what a degree her wanderings corresponded with the different shades of her affection. When I was concerned, her judgment was always sound. Though placing us all in the most fantastic situations, her mind was never at fault with respect to my principles and fee lings. She would exclaim : “Decide, you are leader; it is our happy lot to obey you. ” One day I was attempting to calm her; she gaily repeated this verse:

“À vos sages conseils, Seigneur, je m'abandonne.”

With respect to our children, I speak of all six, whom she always recognised spoke to in the kindest and most loving manner, and whose various characters and dispositions ever remained clearly pre sent to her mind, there was still some thing less lucid in her thoughts than with regard to me. As for her grand - children, she spoke of them several times to me with charming details; but more frequently her ideas were confused with respect to their number, their sex and even to the existence of the two last. She was most affectionate throughout to her sister Mme de Montagu; she frequently inquired from us both how my mother was, fancying we had seen her lately. We shuddered on hearing her calmly say on the morning of her death: «To - day I shall see my mother.”

“Our dear Mme de Tessé, who had been ill during the last weeks, and obliged to keep her room, wished to see her during her sleep. A! my friend, in what a state was that poor Mme de Tessé on leaving the room ! Her niece, knowing that she was ill, thought in her delirium that she was in a fit state to be carried near her bed. She spoke of M. de Tessé's health (he also was unwell) as if she had been in full possession of her faculties; she told me to go and take care of him. I am sure my uncle is pleased to have us all around him. Is it not troublesome for my aunt, she said one day, to have us all here? -- Certainly not, I answered laughing, we are only sixteen in number. -- It is true, she added, that my aunt must be as much pleased to have us, as we are to enjoy her hospitality.” The last day she told me: “When you see Mme de Simiane, give her my love.” Thus her heart was all life when - her poor limbs were already numbed by approaching death. I have already told you without any particulars that she had received the sacraments. I was present during the ceremony, which was more painful to us than to herself, for she had already taken the sacrament in her bed a short time previously. The next day, before she became quite speechless, Mme de Montagu and my daughters, fearing that my presence might prevent her from praying at her ease, asked me to leave them. My first impulse was to refuse their request, however tenderly and timidly made; I had a passionate de sire to occupy her thoughts exclusively. However, I repressed my feelings, and gave up my place to her sister. I was scarcely gone, when she called me back. So soon as I got nearer, she again took my hand in hers, saying: “Je suis toute à vous”. These were her last words. It has been said that she had often lectured me. That was not her way; she frequently expressed, in the course of her delirium, the idea that she would go to heaven. She told me several times: “This life is short and full of troubles; let us unite in God, and depart together for eternity.” She wished us all, and me in particular, the peace of the Lord. Such is the man well as in the will she had made a few years ago, and which is a model of refinement, of elevation of mind, and of eloquence from the heart. It seems as if, by dwelling on these details, I was trying to defer that last period, when, on seeing the doctor giving up all hopes of her recovery , and only thinking of prolonging life, we felt that for her there was to be no morrow. Until then we had only appeared before her two or three at a time, but that day, as she seemed to be seeking for us, we saw no harm in admitting all the members of the family, who seated themselves in a semi-cercle before her, so that she could see every one. “What a pleasant sight!” she said while looking on us with complacency. She called for her daughters in turn, and had a charming word for each of them. She gave them each her blessing. I feel confident that she was happy during that morning. And how could the last moments be otherwise than calm for her whose piety, far from being troubled by terrors and scruples, never ceased to be, all the time of her illness, before and during her delirium, all love and gratitude for the blessings, to use her own words, which God had bestowed and was still bestowing on her; for her who, notwithstanding the state of her brain, never lost a single jouissance which a heart such as hers could feel? Her delirium even became much less de Montagu how my mother was, she told her: “I look upon you as having succeeded to her.” No doubt she felt that the last moment was approaching, when, after having told me in so touching a manner: “Have you been happy with me? are you kind enough to love me? well then, give me your blessing;” and when I answered: “You love me also, you will give me your blessing ” she gave me hers for the first and last time in a solemn and loving manner . Then her six children, each in turn, kissed her hand and face. She looked at them with inexpressible tenderness, Still more surely had she the idea of her approaching end, when, fearing a convulsion, as I believe, she made me a sign to step bac; and, as I remained near her, she laid my hand on her eyes with a look of tender gratitude, thus giving me to understand what was the last duty she expected from me. We felt during these hours of gentle agony a struggle between the want of expressing our love, which she enjoyed so much, and the belief that these emotions wore out the little that was left in her of life. I kept in my words with nearly as much care as I repressed my sobs, when the touching expression of her eyes, a few scarcely uttered words, tore from my lips the expression of the feelings with which my heart was bursting. She revived, and found strength to exclai: “Is it then true! you have loved me. She raised her poor arms which were al most lifeless with wonderful animation. She passed one round my neck; and drawing my head towards hers, she pressed me to her heart, repeating: “What a blessing! how happy I am to be yours!” Until her right hand became motionless, she carried mine successively to her lips and to her heart. My left hand did not leave hers, and as long as she breathed I could feel that pressure which seemed still to mean: “Je suis toute à vous.” We all surrounded her bed which had been drawn into the middle of the room. She motioned to her sister to sit down by her. Her three daughters were continually applying hot towels to her hands and arms to preserve the last remnant of warmth. We knelt down, following the slow motion of her breath. There was no appearance of pain, the smile of benevolence was playing upon her lips, my hand was still within hers, and thus this angel of goodness and love breathed her last. We bathed with tears the lifeless remains of that adorable being. I felt myself dragged away by M. de Mun and M. de Tracy, and so bade my last farewell to her and to all happiness on earth …

“On Monday that angelic woman was borne to the spot near which repose her grand - mother, her mother and her sister amongst sixteen hundred other victims.

We found in her writing book a several injunctions made in 1792, and an official will of 1804. This memorandum, which was only a rough copy, was nevertheless a masterpiece of tenderness, of refinement and of heart - felt eloquence. It speaks of religion with simple and touching sublimity. I love my dear friend, to confide to your bosom all these recollections of the past, for what else now remains, save recollections, of that adorable woman to whom I have owed, during thirty - four years, an ever - enduring and unclouded happiness? She was attached to me, I may say, by the most ardent feelings, yet never did I perceive in her the slightest shade of selfishness, of displeasure or of jealousy. If I look back to the days of our youth, how many unexampled proofs of delicacy and generosity come across my mind! She was associated heart and soul with all my political wishes and opinions, and Mme de Tessé might well say that her devotion was a mixture of the catechism and of the déclaration des droits. I must again refer to an expression of her aunt's who said to me yesterday: “I never could have believed that it was possible to be so fanatic of your opinions, and at the same time so devoid of party spirit.” You know as well as I do all she was and all she did during the Revolution. It is not for having come to Olmütz, as Charles Fox so elegantly expressed it, on the wings of duty and of love, that I mean to praise her now, France until she had secured, so far as laid in her power, the material comforts of my aunt and the rights of my creditors; it is for having had the courage to send George to America. What noble imprudence to remain the only woman in France endangered by the name she bore, but who always refused to change it! Each of her petitions and declarations began by these words: La femme Lafayette. Indulgent as she was with respect to calumny and party hatred, never did she allow, even at the foot of the scaffold, a reflection upon me to pass without protesting against it. She had prepared herself to speak in that spirit before the tribunal, and we have all seen how good, simple and easy in common life was that lofty minded and courageous woman. Her piety was also of a peculiar nature. I may say that during thirty - four years I never once experienced from it the slightest shadow of inconvenience. No affectation in her religious practices, which were always subordinate to my convenience. I have had the satisfaction of seeing the least pious of my friends as well received, as much esteemed, and their virtues as fully acknowledged by her, as if there had been no difference of religious opinions between her and them. Never did she express to me anything but hope, even conviction, that upon mature reflection, with the uprightness of heart she knew I possessed, I should end by being convinced. The recommendations which she has left me are books which certainly I shall examine again with the most solemn attention. She used to call religion sovereign liberty, to make me appreciate it more, and often repeated to me with pleasure these words of abbé Fauchet: “Jesus - Christ, my only master (Jésus Christ, mon seul maitre).” This letter would never come to an end, my dear friend, if I gave way to the feelings which inspire it. I shall only add that that angelic woman has, at least, been surrounded with love and regret well worthy of her ….

“Adieu, my dear friend; with your help I have borne sorrows great and hard to endure, to which the name of misfortune might have been given until the greatest of all misfortunes had been experienced. But, though absorbed in the deepest grief, though given up to one thought, one devotion not of this world, though still more than ever I feel the want to believe that all does not die with us, I still appreciate the pleasures of friendship; and what a friendship is yours, my dear Maubourg!“ I embrace you in her name, in my own, in the name of all you have been to me, since we have known each other. “Adieu, my dear friend.

“Lafayette.”

#marquis de lafayette #lafayette #la fayette #letter #Adrienne #César de la Tour Maubourg #january #1808 #death #heart breaking #so sad

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years ago

Text

Whether It Works Out Or Not: Winter’s Cold, Part Two

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: High Honor!Arthur Morgan/Named OFC

Rating: Holy shit T.

AN: Thank you all so much for being here! Enjoy!

[Spoiler warning for the epilogue!]

Tag List: @huliabitch @cookiethewriter @pedrosbigdorkenergy @thirstworldproblemss @anonymouscosmos @culturalrebel @karmezii @teaofpeach @crookedmoonsaultpunk @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @nelba @scribblenotes76 @toxiicpop @mstgsmy @misty-possum @gallowsjoker @midnightbeauty35 @lackofhonor @renegademustelid @missfronkensteen @newplanetshine

Part One: Strangers

Part Two: Friends

Part Three: More

Bonus One: A Brief Diversion

Bonus Two: Back In The Cage

Winter’s Cold, Part One

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains emotional distress and self-loathing. Stay safe!]

The first time Arthur really felt...aware, like he was actually inhabiting his body instead of floating above and slightly to the right of it, he realized that he could hear chirping birds. A breeze stirred his hair; there must be a window open nearby.

It dawned on him after several moments that he could breathe. It still hurt, it pained him, but he wasn't hacking and wheezing every second. Dread flooded his soul then; either he was dead, or the law was in the process of meting out the rope for his noose. Bit of a raw deal for all those hellfire preachers if eternal damnation was only some downright mild discomfort (at least after everything else) and a lazy little breeze.

His whole body still felt like it weighed too much to move. The idea of opening his eyes was a distant, faint notion; barely a fledgling consideration in the back of his mind. Arthur was more than content to lay just wherever it was that he had fallen, sunshine wavering in dappled patches across the insides of his eyelids.

He dimly noticed that fabric was covering his mouth and nose. A bandanna, or some kind of mask? To keep him from spreading the infection, he surmised pragmatically. Through the material wafted a scent from his childhood, the alive smell of freshly-cured hay. Beneath it was the ever-present odor of manure, the crisp tingle of pine. So he must be in the mountains somewhere.

Odd. Last he knew, he was being shipped off to the city to be read his last rites. Had they decided to let him convalesce in the wilderness, drag him back from the clutches of death and then set his backside afore the law?

Very odd indeed. But then again, justice had always been more of a performance than a true enforcement of moral integrity.

I sound like Dutch.

He drifted off again. Just thinking was exhausting, like wading through swamp mud.

More medicine. Balm for his chest. A stew, lip of the bowl pressed to his mouth so he could slowly slurp it up. Rich, meaty broth, soothing his throat. How many days had it been?

He couldn't even bring himself to move when he felt the familiar press of a flat blade against his neck. Hot water soaking into his skin, a warm cloth moving in circles to scrub away whatever grime was around his nose and mouth. The person was meticulous, sure strokes carefully ridding the man of the stubble he harbored on his face. How long had it been since he shaved?

Christ alive, Arthur was tired. He couldn't decide whether he wanted to live or not. This caretaker, whoever they were, clearly wasn't letting him go without a fight. But he was so tired.

He wavered for what felt like a lifetime, hovering at the edge of eternity in the green fragrance of curing hay. It was safe here, at any rate. Nothing would harm him in this peaceful tomb. He could rest until he began to feel like he was in control of his body again, and one fateful day, Arthur Morgan finally realized that he wanted to see how much worse living could manage to be.

His eyes opened slowly, squinting against the near-blinding illumination of sunset that played pink against the unfinished beams over his head. Lord, just doing that much had taken the wind out of his sails. Maybe he was already dead.

His eyes rolled shut wearily, blinking open again what felt like moments later to find the place dark. Night had fallen. Time was slipping past him, it would seem. There was a faint taste in his mouth: venison stew with wild carrots, if he had to guess. He didn't even remember eating.

He squinted in the blackness, trying to force his eyes to adjust so he could at least take in his surroundings before he lost consciousness again.

Hay. Everywhere. He appeared to be in a loft of some kind, bales stacked neatly all around the tick he laid on. Night sounds filtered in through the open window, bats squeaking and the booming call of an owl telling him that the hour must indeed be late.

Arthur lapsed back into senselessness once more. He dreamed of hearing violin music and catching sight of a massive, pale buck through the window. It watched him from a far-off hillside, ears flicking back and forth to catch every sound.

He dreamed of Irene. Her smile, her eyes, the kisses in the tent that they had shared...

Maybe, maybe sat like a block of lead in his gut. 'Maybe' was all he had ever had. A chance, a mirage. Pretty words from men and women who had made him feel useful, needed.

So he had poured from himself until he was empty and it still hadn't been enough.

He was a fool. What was it that Irene had said to Jamie? "I'm not letting anyone else dig my grave and usher me into it."

Arthur, in contrast, had practically handed Dutch the shovel on a silver platter.

I gave you all I had.

…

He was aware that someone was nearby, and he managed to open his eyes again for a brief moment. Long enough for him to hallucinate that it was Irene tending to him, Irene giving him whatever horrendous medicine it was and washing away the bitter taste with hot soup and small sips of tea. He must truly be long gone, mad with delirium or fever or the consumption that had wracked his chest until he felt paper-thin.

How would she even be here? How would that have even happened? There was no way.

Arthur almost loathed himself for choosing to live at that moment, because he was clearly missing a few more screws. He knew that some agues raged so strong they could burn the brain right out of a man and he feared that was the case with him.

Not that he'd had much brain to lose in the first place.

Christ, he did wish she was here. He wished he could take her hand and never let her go again.

Allowing her leave that final time was a regret that had haunted him even more prominently than his bitter failure with Mary, for all that he knew there was nothing he could have done to make her stay with him. Irene had been on her own too long, flown too far and high to ever be tied down to some old, miserable bastard again.

Mary had come to know him under false pretenses, and she had never truly reconciled herself with it. In a way, Arthur hadn't either. He had known she wasn't his from the very beginning, had known that he was playing a part or living a lie whenever he was with her. It never would have worked out, and it never did.

But Irene, despite their deceptive start, came to him with a certain honesty. The haphazard performance of masculinity had done little to hide her true nature, the kindness that she claimed to see in him so freely displayed in her as well. It also didn't hide the burdens she carried, though he hadn't understood the sadness in 'Frank's' eyes when they had spoken.

The trials she had gone through...he at least had the gang, but she was wholly alone. She had endured, like a pine tree rooted on a crumbling and wind-whipped bluff. Storms of life howling all around and yet…

And yet, when he had last seen her, she had held herself proudly in Lemieux's mansion, unshaken. The guts and wherewithal that had seen her thus far would continue, and Arthur had wished her nothing but the finest of luck even as he had sent her on her way.

…

There were folded clothes on the floor beside him when next he stirred, and on top of them was a note. Arthur had no idea how long it took him to sit up, never mind move his arm, manipulate his fingers into picking the note up, unfold the note to read it…

Lord, living certainly seemed to require a lot of steps.

Arthur,

Not sure if you'll really be awake today, but I've noticed you moving around a bit of your own volition. Left the clothes in case you feel up to getting dressed. I am uncertain if you'll recall, so I'll remind you that the waste bucket is in the far corner.

The note was unsigned.

Arthur huffed out a breath, clearing his throat experimentally. He reached for the union suit on the top of the pile, planting his face in the article of clothing with a groan as his head suddenly felt too heavy to support. "C'mon Morgan." He encouraged himself, the words thick in his mouth. Shit, how long had he been out for? It was like he had forgotten how to speak.

Just pulling the suit up and over his legs was a task of Herculean proportions. Arthur doggedly kept fighting the urge to pass out, the desire to lay back down and let time zip by again. He had made the choice to live and by God, he would follow through with it even if it killed him.

The longer he worked at getting dressed, the easier it became to keep his eyes open. Socks on over the suit, shirt, pants. His suspenders hung limp at his sides, but he did tuck in his shirt as best as he could after he relieved himself.

Boots. Boots, one tipped over on the space beside the ladder, the other within reach of the bed.

Next, climbing down the ladder. Mercifully the loft was not particularly high. The whole barn seemed rather small as far as barns went, obviously originally built with one stall. A second one appeared to have been hastily grafted onto the building at a later time.

Arthur had to take a breather at the base of the ladder, clinging to it just to keep his balance. His knees felt like they were made out of jelly. Had his boots always been this damn heavy?!

He floundered onward after a moment, grateful for his hat as he emerged into the blinding sunlight of the outside world.

Arthur rubbed his eyes, nearly losing his footing as he did so. He had already been uncertain of the reality of his current situation, and this idyllic scene in front of him wasn't helping matters!

A small paddock stretched out on the left, and a cozy-looking cabin was nestled into the green, flower-dappled glen alongside the barn he had just emerged from. Arthur staggered to the paddock fence for support, draping himself over it. From the shadow by the barn, a shape stirred. He forced himself to focus on it, his eyes widening when the horse meandered lazily out into the sunlight to graze.

"Chase!" Arthur rasped, his voice rough and cracking from disuse. The mare's head jerked up and she looked around. His heart leaped in his chest when she whinnied excitedly at him, trotting across the paddock and bumping her nose against his chest. Arthur held her tightly, cupping her muzzle and scratching beneath her jaw. "That's my sweet girl, my good girl." He murmured, feeling foolish for getting choked up.

There was an explosive snort to his right and a familiar pink nose snuffled over his shoulder. Arthur squinted, turning his head to the side and realizing that it was Bluster. The horse whickered, mouthing at the sleeve of his shirt.

Arthur Morgan was speechless. He must be dead. How else could he have his horse, and Irene's horse besides? He sat there mutely for God only knew how long, just petting Chase with his eyes closed to luxuriate in the sensation of sun on his skin.

Behind him, the wind carried faint sounds to his ears, and he flinched when he caught a child's high-pitched squeal of laughter. Just where the hell was he, if he was indeed alive? What buffoon would nurse someone like him back to health, yet leave him unbound and unguarded? Something was very odd about this whole scenario.

Arthur turned and leaned back on the fence, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the sun as he looked up at the ridge of the glen. There was an abrupt flash of motion to the left on the edge of the gully, and he watched a woman that he desperately wanted to recognize chase after a child. The little one was fairly shrieking with mirth, scurrying away from their pursuer until they flopped down dramatically and allowed themselves to be caught.

It felt like his heart had left his body, the damn thing soaring and shattering all at once. A girl, it was a little girl, her hair the color of a pale buck. Irene scooped the child up, laughing breathlessly and tossing her into the air before spinning the two of them in a dizzying circle.

Irene.

Arthur swallowed hard. Fate was indeed a cruel mistress if this was the vision he was greeted with upon making his decision to live! He continued to just slouch against the fence, silently observing the duo as they frolicked at the top of the ridge. Irene had flowers in her hair just like she had at the Mayor's little soiree, and he realized dimly that her dark brown curls were much longer. Just how much time had he lost?

He finally mustered up the strength to wave at them and he liked to think that Irene went still out of happiness. In a moment she caught the child up and fairly bolted down the hillside, her skirt hiked around her knees as she ran.

"Arthur!"

Christ, Christ he wasn't ready for this. He wasn't ready for the sight of her with a babe on her hip, the agony of maybe, maybe that ripped at his insides. In another life, it might have been his child that she had been playing with. In another life, this might have been the home that they had built together.

But instead, she had gone on and made a fruitful existence without him. He couldn't, wouldn't blame her for it. He had cut her loose, after all.

Irene came to a halt inches away, her chest rising and falling from the effort of her sprint. "Y-You--you're up!" She panted, her smile burying itself in his ribs like a blade. Christ, his heart was too weak for this.

The child in Irene's arms gawked up at him with crystal blue eyes and he tried to muster up a smile, startled when Irene embraced him tightly. He felt her fingers dig into his back, and then her shoulders quivered while she buried her face in his chest. "Oh no, c'mon now Miss Irene." Arthur said hoarsely. "I ain't worth all that fuss, it's okay."

...

"Mama?" Anna asked tentatively. "Mama okay?"

"Mama's fine, love." Irene managed to say, kissing her child's forehead. "Just very happy is all. You remember my friend Mister Arthur, right?"

"Sick." Anna replied, her attempt at a fake cough making Arthur chuckle. "Better now?"

"I'd reckon so, little miss." The man drawled hoarsely. God, that voice. Irene hadn't realized just how much she had missed him. She had seen him every day, of course, nursing him back to health, but he hadn't been conscious for most of it. "S'pose I have your mama to thank for that."

Irene noticed him glancing over her shoulder, like he was expecting someone else to show up. "Your friend, Mister Trelawny--"

Arthur chuffed out a breath through his nose, making Anna giggle. "Friend? Man's a cockroach in a waistcoat." He groused.

"Yes, he mentioned that the two of you may not be as close as he posited. Nonetheless, it's thanks to him that you're here now, alive."

"Really. Huh. So I am alive, then. I wasn't shoah. This place is…" Arthur gestured vaguely around. "S'beautiful, Miss Irene." His tone was melancholy. "Like a dream."

"I'd like to think I chose well, Mister Arthur. It hasn't been easy, but the two of us have made it work." Irene said proudly, nuzzling her nose against Anna's. "My tough little frontierwoman."

"Just...what, you an' the baby?" Arthur asked, his confusion evident.

"Yes. Who else would there be?" Irene replied with her own question, brow furrowed. Arthur blinked down at her. His eyes darted momentarily to Anna, and Irene bit her lip, wondering whether he would put it together immediately.

"I-I jus'...I figured there might be a third person, is all." Arthur stammered.

Irene couldn't help her sad smile, shaking her head at him and extending an arm. "Come inside, Arthur. It's nearly suppertime anyways."

It was so strange, finally having him in the main room of her little house. She had thought about this scenario more times than she could count. Just the walk across the front yard thoroughly tired him out, and the man seemed more than content to doze in one of the kitchen chairs while she put the finishing touches on the evening meal. Obviously it would take time and care for him to regain even a fraction of his former strength. He had been bedridden, or something close to it, for nearly five months!

Anna played noisily on the floor with a few carved horses that Irene had made for her when she was teething, their forms scored with scrapes and marks from the event. The child didn't seem apprehensive about the large man currently nodding off in the chair by the table, which had Irene feeling hopeful. Maybe, just maybe…

"Dinnertime." She said softly, "put away your toys, love."

Anna pouted, holding up a finger. "One?" She bargained, clutching her 'favorite' horse to her chest. "One for Art'ur."

"Oh it's for Arthur now, is it?" Irene teased, wiping her hands off on her apron. "Go on then, you scallywag."

The little girl fairly beamed, placing the horse with a laughable amount of care alongside Arthur's arm. Then, she impatiently bounced in place as Irene fetched the riser for her chair so she would be level with the table when she sat.

"Ah ah, go wash up! You know the rules." Irene instructed the eager child, sending her on her way to the porch.

"She is just the cutest damn thing." Arthur mumbled, almost like he was talking to himself. His fingers idly played along the curves of the little horse by his fork. "How old is she?"

"A touch over two. She was born during the winter." Irene watched Arthur nod absently, and what she was about to say got caught in her throat as Anna toddled back inside.

Arthur accepted the coffee Irene poured him with all the gratitude in the world, his eyes closing in enjoyment as he took his first sip. "Ah, that's good," he sighed. "Ain't nothin' like a decent cup of coffee. Feel like life is comin' back to me."

"Well, don't forget to save room for dinner." Irene buttered Anna a little piece of bread and scooted it across the table to keep her occupied while she loaded two plates with corn, mashed potatoes and a spoonful of precious pork gravy from tomorrow's slow-cooking dinner. "Corn is Anna's favorite, right love?"

Anna nodded, blue eyes wide as she munched on her bread. "Mine!" She announced sharply, scrunching up her nose when Arthur chuckled at her.

"Sweeting, be polite. There's more than enough for all of us, you know that!" Irene chided her daughter, rumpling the little girl's hair fondly after she placed Arthur's plate in front of him. "Always enough here."

Anna's plate, as usual, required a bit more preparing, so she brought it along with her own to her chair beside the child. Anna immediately started digging into the mashed potatoes as her mother carefully shucked the kernels off the cob in neat rows. "Th'nk y'Mama." Anna said through a mouthful of food.

"You're welcome Anna, but slow down. No one will take it from you." With a touch of amusement Irene noticed Arthur visibly slow his pace in response, the man obviously used to wolfing his food. "Drink your water, Anna."

Arthur ate mainly in silence, aside from a few appreciative grunts. He couldn't contain his laughter when Anna started to imitate his sounds, the man apologizing for his poor table manners. "Forgive me, Miss Irene, I've always been awful at eatin' in the presence of polite company."

"Mama says I'm a little piggy." Anna informed Arthur, seeming confused when he burst out laughing again.

"If you're a li'l piggy, Miss Anna, then I must be the biggest boar alive." He said once he managed to rein himself in.

…

Arthur lingered on the front steps, the lantern in his hand ready to light his way back across the yard. He felt exhausted, stuffed with good food and more than ready to get a full night's rest.

So what was he waiting for?

Many thoughts had gone through his head during dinner. How beautiful Irene still looked, how good of a mother she clearly was. Anna was a precocious little thing, those blue eyes bright with the possibility of mischief.

Her eyes…

Arthur didn't dare to hope that one of he and Irene's little diversions had borne fruit, if only because it would throw into question his oh-so-noble attempts at prevention. Had he truly tried as hard as he could to be safe, or was there always that selfish desire in the back of his mind waiting to be acted upon?

He jumped guiltily when the door opened and Irene stepped out, half-turning to face her with a brittle grin. "Howdy ma'am. Little one safely abed, I take it?"

"After a bit of deliberation, yes." Irene sighed, her posture weary. "She's very opinionated for someone who cannot manage eating a carrot unless it has been sliced into wheels. I do fear for the future, Arthur."

The future.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Irene, is...did we…?"

She put a hand on his shoulder, silencing his stammering with a sad little smile. "Later, Arthur. Right now, rest is what you need."

He wanted to deny that, but it was fairly impossible to do so. He was nearly asleep standing up as it was. "Tomorrow?" He bargained through a yawn.

"Tomorrow. I promise."

Summer’s Warmth, Part One

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x original female character #high honor arthur #arthur morgan imagine #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 epilogue #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 spoilers #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 epilogue #rdr2

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im-not-looking-for-forgiveness · 4 years ago

Note

Anything with John or Tommy. Filth is good. Fluff is too!

Safety - John Shelby x Reader

Possible TW: assault, violence, graphic depictions

A/N: Okay so I just realized I haven't written a single goddamn John Shelby request on this wHOLE BLOG????? I know there's a need for smut out there, but I'm allowed to go fluffy for this one and I think my first one of our sweet John has to be just that!

Taglist: @sweetiekokkiri @haphazardhufflepuff @tarafaithe @mrsstevenbuchananstark @imagine-richards @hxnky-cat

*****

"Hey."

You rolled your eyes at your drink before looking up. At least it wouldn't hit on you.

"I'm not interested."

"All I said was hey. Give me a chance!" the man, sloshing his booze all over the counter, sat down hard on the stool beside you.

"I'm not interested." you repeated, starting a dangerous game by then looking away from him.

You were a woman alone at the bar and had been turning down men for a while now as you just tried to forget your past. You didn't think it was some extraordinary beauty you had, but rather it was that the men of Birmingham had become more brazen with their lack of control.

"You like to play hard to get, huh? I bet those other guys didn't see that in you, did they? Come on, a woman only sits at a bar alone when she wants a man to bring her home." he continued as if you'd said nothing, and moved into your personal space.

His hand went to your knee, and you immediately had to restrain the urge to vomit. Of the men who'd come on to you tonight, he was the first one to touch you that inappropriately. You shoved his hand away, and then wiped yours on your skirt. Anger began to boil in your chest.

"I said no. If you touch me again, you'll regret it." you snapped, hand subconsciously sliding to your gin glass.

"You like it." he slurred, grinning. The man grabbed the back of your head as if to force you to kiss him.

You immediately slammed the glass into his head before his mouth could get anywhere near yours, spraying glass everywhere and cutting your hand. Body racing with adrenaline and fear, you jumped off the stool and ran for the doors.

"Fuck!" you got out, pushing open the gilded door of The Garrison and going out into the cool night. The crisp air did nothing to ease your panic or the pain in your palm.

"Hey!" the creep yelled furiously behind you. Blood was running down his cheek, which gave you a small kick of satisfaction.

"Leave me alone!" you yelled back, placing all your bets on a group of well dressed men standing around a Bentley. Last time you ran from a man like him, you had never stopped running.

"You just came outta the Garrison?" the tallest of the three asked. He ran the back of his hand over his mouth and mustache and then cracked his knuckles.

"Here we go." the one with his hat pulled low muttered.

Recognition blossomed in your head. These were the infamous Shelby brothers. What were their names again?

"Yes. He tried to kiss me so I broke a glass over his head." you got out, breathless. You shook your hand as if it would help ease the pain. It just splattered more blood onto the gravel.

"You're gonna let her come with me if you know what's good for you." the asshole from the bar growled, pulling out a knife as he finally got near.

"Arthur." the man still leaning against the car warned as the taller brother inched forward.

"She's my date. We just had a disagreement is all. She's coming with me." the man continued, lunging forward and grabbing you by the arm. You yelped in pain as his fingers pressed hard enough to bruise.

Before anyone else could move, he held the blade to your neck. He ordered, "Stay back. I don't want trouble with you lot."

"You're talking to the Peaky fuckin' Blinders." the third man finally spoke up. He took the toothpick from the corner of his mouth and flicked it away. In the next moment, he pulled a gun and cocked it.

"You can't shoot me fast enough to save her." the man sneered, shifting so his body was behind yours and out of the line of fire. You pulled futilely at his arm to try and keep the knife away.

Anger resurfacing at the sheer audacity this man had, you realized that only you could get yourself out of this. The Blinders had been a good gamble, your only gamble, but now it wasn't going to pay off. You didn't want to run any more. At least, not from him.

With one hand, you shoved his arm as hard as you could. With the other, you reached behind you and mashed your fingers against the cuts you'd made on his face.

He started screaming. The gun went off. You were falling.

"No." you rasped out, curling up as soon as you hit the gravel. You pressed a hand to your side and it came away sticky with blood.

The loud thudding you thought was in your head was in fact Arthur and the third brother kicking the shit out of your attacker. You were vaguely aware that the quiet one was at your side.

"I'll bring her to the hospital. Deal with him." the man ordered, gently pulling you up.

You pleaded, "No! No hospital. Please! He'll find me."

"Alright. John, give me a hand. We're bringing her inside." he corrected.

The one called John immediately broke away and scooped you into his arms. You whimpered into his shoulder, "You shot me."

He snorted, but said nothing as he carried you right back inside the Garrison. You groaned as every step pulled on your wound. Your fingers clutched hard at his previously pristine suit jacket. Knowing your luck, you'd probably have to pay him for it if you survived this night.

Suddenly, you found yourself lying flat on a table in some back room. What the hell? Did you black out?

"Hey! Stay awake, alright? What's your name?" the brother whose name you didn't know was trying to hold your attention. His hat had come off at some point and you were struck by how blue his eyes were.

"Y/N." you said, realizing he was expecting you to answer.

"Alright, Y/N, you're going to talk to John while I sew you shut. How does that sound?" he told you, switching places with his brother.

You nodded as he went to get thread and a needle, "Okay."

"Hello, lovely. I'm John." the man said, giving you a small smile. You weren't sure if it was the pain driving you crazy, but he seemed to be the most beautiful man you'd ever seen. Maybe you'd already died?

"You shot me." you got out again, figuring you couldn't be dead if you were in this much pain.

He smirked as he propped you up slightly, "Come on, I'm a better shot than that. The fucker just stuck you on the way down. Don't worry, it's not that deep. And he missed anything important."

"Except for me." you grumbled, trembling as John put a bottle to your lips and had you drink. He laughed as you coughed on whatever booze was in the bottle, and laid you back down.

"This is going to hurt. Unfortunately we don't have any morphine, so try not to pass out." the unnamed brother spoke up, taking the alcohol from John.

John pressed a roll of cloth between your teeth, "Bite down on this. Focus on me, sweetheart. It'll only take a minute but it'll hurt like hell. Tommy is good at this sort of thing, so don't you worry."

At least he was honest. As soon as the alcohol touched the wound, a scream erupted from your throat. You bit down as hard as you could on the cloth as tears sprung to your eyes.

"Hey, look at me. When this is all over, I'll buy you a proper drink alright? No one like that will ever come near you again if you're seen with me. Okay? Does that sound nice?" John spoke gently, taking your good hand in his.

You nodded tearfully as Tommy tediously stitched you up. You latched onto what he said about no man coming near you like that again. That was all you ever wanted.

Sooner than you hoped, Tommy was done. Your side still burned, but it seemed to be leveling out. Maybe you'd make it after all.

"When you can get up, drinks are on the house. I'm sorry you had this experience in our pub." Tommy said, cleaning up the supplies he'd used.

"Thanks. I owe you a debt, now." you told him sincerely, knowing he didn't have to do this. He could have taken you to a hospital anyway, despite your wishes.

He nodded, then left the room.

"Why didn't you want to go to the hospital?" John asked curiously, shedding his jacket. He grabbed fresh gauze and then gestured for your hand.

Something told you to trust him. It was probably delirium, but you wanted to think it was fate. You chose not to run for the first time, and that had to mean something.

You let him take your hand in his, "The first boyfriend I ever had became my stalker. He wouldn't leave me alone even after I dumped his ass, so I've been on the run since. Moved from my whole life in America just to be rid of him. I know he probably didn't think to look for me outside the country, but I can't risk it."

John just listened intently as he wrapped your hand, and you watched his jaw clench in anger. Some distant part of your mind wanted to trace his jaw with your fingers.

"I meant what I said."

"About what?"

"You stick with me, and you'll be safe from men like them. I know what it's like to never relax." he admitted, finishing with your hand. He didn't let go.

For once, you weren't afraid of the unknown. For once, you felt a spark of hope. A man was offering you solace instead of fear. You asked, "You do?"

"Yeah. Us Shelbys are always at war with someone." he said, smirking.

You gently put your fingers through his as you thought of the reputation the Peaky Blinders had, "Sounds dangerous."

"Absolutely."

"How would I know you could keep me safe?" you wondered. Maybe to fend off a predator, you had to be a bigger one. A stronger one, with a pack.

"Because we're the Peaky Blinders. No one messes with us unless we give 'em permission." he told you, his chin tilting up with pride.

"I like the sound of that." you told him, a weak smile coming onto your face for the first time in years.

"Good. Now, get some rest. We'll tell Tommy tomorrow that you're staying. We could always use some help in the office, anyway. Can't say no to that." he said, placing his jacket over you for some warmth.

"Will you stay?" you wondered, trying not to sound as desperate as you felt.

He pulled up a chair, "Yeah. Yeah, I will. Johnny's got you."

You finally drifted off to sleep. And despite having been stabbed, you slept better than you had in years.

#john shelby #john shelby x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #arthur shelby #the garrison #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders #request #imagine

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zealouswerewolfcollector · 4 years ago

Text

Never Say Goodbye

Another part of my Canon Divergence AU

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 or start reading the entire series on Ao3

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, implied past torture, chronic pain, self-harm, lots and lots of angst

On Ao3

Maedhros was an immobile, dark stain against the green forest. He hadn’t moved since Maglor spotted him. Fingon was nowhere to be seen, and Maglor’s stomach twisted anxiously. He quickened his pace but slowed down again as a wave of agony went from his palm up to his shoulder. Maedhros looked up only when Maglor was almost right in front of him. He focused his gaze on his brother with difficulty.

“Well?” he asked.

Maglor thought that in the few days of his absence, his brother had gotten gaunter, weaker. He didn’t answer the question.

“Where is Fingon?” he asked instead.

“Fishing,” Maedhros said impatiently. “Did she agree?”

“Yes.”

Instead of relaxing, Maedhros tensed even more if possible. He inclined his head in a nod and seemingly forgot to raise it again.

Maglor sat in front of him. “We don’t have to do this,” he said gently, hopefully.

“Yes, we do.”

“But he wants to stay. Would you make a decision for him against his wishes?”

“Once he made a decision for me against my wishes. I have come to regret it, as he would too if he were in his right mind, but I will not regret this one. I am allowed to answer in kind, to save his life after I led him to torment and abandoned him to it twice.”

It was useless to argue that point with Maedhros, so Maglor tried another approach. “Fingon is better. He has even gone fishing. He will get better.” He hesitated for a moment. “I will not help you do it. It will destroy you.”

“How many days have you been away? Five? Six? Ten?” Maedhros said as if he hadn’t heard Maglor. “He has spent over half the time in terrible pain. He couldn’t move, didn’t know where he was, couldn’t remember anything, neither his name nor mine. And I could not do a thing, could do nothing except sitting there and telling him things he didn’t understand, I could not even damp a rag and put it on his head. Do you know how it feels to see someone you hold so dear in so much pain and be powerless to do anything to help?”

Maglor stared at Maedhros, swallowing down a biting reply. Maedhros’s eyes darted away for a moment, then returned to his brother.

“It will be done,” he said. “If it destroys me, let it be so.”

“No,” Maglor said through gritted teeth. “I won’t let it happen. I won’t let you send him away, so you can die. You will not leave me alone. I will help you only if you promise me that.”

Maedhros looked at him, and for a moment, Maglor was afraid his brother would either strike him or start weeping. But instead, his shoulders slumped, and he suddenly seemed smaller, insubstantial.

“Are you really doing this to me?” he asked in a low voice.

He already sounded defeated, so Maglor didn’t answer.

“I promise,” Maedhros said. “I promise I will live.”

Maglor felt no satisfaction for getting what he wanted because he saw how Maedhros’s eyes dimmed as if what life still remained inside of him took a step closer to the abyss.

“It’s a five-day walk,” Maglor said, looking away from his brother. “Maybe longer with Fingon. She guarantees our safety and freedom. Her husband won’t be there.”

Maedhros said nothing, didn’t nod, didn’t move.

“What are we going to tell him?” Maglor asked.

Not receiving an answer, he lapsed into silence too until Fingon returned.

“Makalaurë!” he exclaimed. “You are back.”

Maglor stood and hugged him carefully. Fingon, too, looked worse than before. He seemed more brittle, his eyes were sunken, his limp more pronounced, even the burn scar that stretched around his throat seemed darker. His hands were shaking so badly that he kept dropping the two small fish he had caught when trying to clean them. But he was smiling, his mood clearly improved after Maglor’s return.

“Did you find our cousin?” he asked after he was done with the fish.

Maglor nodded. “She is expecting us. We will be on our way as soon as we have eaten.”

Fingon’s smile disappeared. “She is… Whose daughter was she?”

“Uncle Arafinwë’s.”

“Oh, right. I met him. In the camp.”

Maglor was silent for a moment. “I know, Fingon. You told us.”

“Right.” He looked at Maedhros and asked quietly: “Why do we have to meet her?”

Maglor waited, but Maedhros didn’t look like he intended to answer. Seething, Maglor said: “She is our cousin, after all. She will be glad to see you. And… she might help you-us. With your ailments and ours.”

Fingon still looked unsure. “Is that the only reason?”

“Of course. What other reason could there be?” Maglor said, not without bitterness.

Fingon shrugged. “Is it true, Russandol?” he asked.

Maglor bit his lip, irritated. As if Russandol would tell him the truth. Maedhros didn’t answer for a long time, but Fingon waited patiently.

“Yes,” Maedhros said finally.

Fingon smiled. “Oh, wonderful. I would love to meet her.”

Maedhros turned away, and no matter how much Fingon insisted, he didn’t eat.

---

In the end, the journey took them over ten days between Maedhros walking as if in a dream, Fingon losing himself in pain, and Maglor exhausting all his strength to sing healing songs for his cousin.

When Fingon was asleep, Maglor tried to argue with his brother. It was the anger and the desire to do something, rather than hope, that forced him to hiss alternatives to Maedhros’s plan under his breath, while he changed the damp cloth on Fingon’s forehead or stroked his hair with nervous but gentle movements. Maedhros didn't answer. He spoke very little and never to Maglor. Sometimes Maglor thought his brother didn’t even hear him, but he would flinch and walk away whenever in his pain-filled delirium Fingon cried out things that were incomprehensible for Maglor. Maedhros often stayed silent, even when Fingon asked him something, but their cousin was relentless, repeating the question until Maedhros would say a few words. Fingon would smile to him but then send a concerned look to Maglor, to which he would answer with a helpless shrug.

Approaching Galadriel’s camp, Maglor had the same feeling as the last time. It was reminiscent of what he had felt while crossing the border of Doriath. Judging by Maedhros’s grimace, he felt the same. Fingon seemed wary. He rolled his shoulders as if trying to shake off the enchantment.

All three of them started when Galadriel appeared out of nowhere. She didn’t spare even a glance to Maedhros and Maglor, instead walked to Fingon with a smile.

“Cousin,” she said. “Welcome! I was glad to hear the news of your survival and gladder now that I can see you with my own eyes.”

“I am… glad to meet you,” Fingon says. “I…”

He looked furtively at Maedhros and Maglor, asking them for help. Maglor could tell from his eyes that he hadn’t remembered Galadriel.

“I have been told your memories aren’t complete,” Galadriel said, as though reading his mind. “Don’t worry, I don’t take offense if you cannot remember me yet. But surely you remember my brothers?” She linked her arm around Fingon’s, walking him away. Fingon tensed but followed her. “Angrod and Aegnor,” Galadriel said with a distant look. “They were your friends. You used to ride together in Aman and here, in Ard-galen-that-was.”

“I think…” Fingon glanced back at Maedhros and Maglor, who hadn’t moved, aware that there were others between the trees, so many eyes trained on them. “Aren’t Russandol and Makalaurë coming?”

Maglor saw the panic in his look and smiled a strained smile. “Of course we are,” he said.

Maedhros was already walking to him. Galadriel let go of Fingon’s arm and approached them. “I am doing this only for Fingon,” she said very quietly so that only they could hear. “Try to be invisible. I am barely holding back my people from slaughtering you.”

“We will not disturb you,” Maedhros said. The first words that he had spoken in a couple of days came out shakily.

Galadriel looked him over. Her gaze stopped for a few seconds at his bandaged left hand, then at his face, his dimmed eyes. She nodded.

When Maglor turned to Fingon, he seemed a little more at ease.

“I think I remember your brothers,” he said with a faint smile, which quickly faltered. “But they-they were angry with me?”

Maglor froze. They hadn’t talked with Fingon about Alqualondë yet and didn’t know how much he remembered.

Galadriel took his arm again. “It is all in the past, Fingon,” she said. “Let’s go.”

---

Someone was singing far away. Or maybe not too far away. Maedhros couldn’t tell anymore. It had become so difficult to process what was going on around him. His thoughts were slow. Voices reached him from a deep well. The last few days had all blended together, and if asked he couldn’t answer how long they had walked, in what direction; couldn’t tell when the day had changed into the night; was surprised to find himself sitting against a tree. He knew he was losing touch with reality at an alarming rate, but he was too tired to be concerned about it. He saved the remnants of his strength for Fingon, for making sure he would be safe. He had to do it and then… And then he couldn’t even die. Maglor wouldn’t let him.

The spike of anger died as quickly as it had risen. No strength to spare. His mind felt untethered. He wondered vaguely where his brother was. Not at the feast, surely, but probably not too far from it, keeping an eye on Fingon, repeating the new songs he heard under his breath to find a way to improve them. The thought almost brought a smile. He leaned back and felt life coursing under the bark of the tree. It grounded him enough to be able to hear someone approaching.

He would recognize Fingon’s footsteps, even if it weren’t for the distinct limp. He had missed those steps for the last hundred years, and now that they were back, he was doing everything to never hear them again.

“Russandol, here you are,” Fingon said, sitting next to him.

Maedhros noticed his wince and frowned.

“I am fine,” Fingon said, smiling. “Nothing hurts too much. I’ve brought you something to eat. Will you let me?”

Maedhros nodded just because he knew it would make Fingon smile again. He didn’t feel the taste of whatever it was Fingon was feeding him, focused on Fingon’s movements, on the minute changes in his expression as he strained to keep his hands steady.

“I like our cousin,” Fingon said, once Maedhros had eaten and drunk everything he had brought. “Although she is…” He paused, looking for the word. “Intimidating. And she doesn’t like you very much. But I think she can be convinced to help you. How long are we going to stay with her and her people?”

Maedhros could only raise his right shoulder. He didn’t trust himself to speak, didn’t trust himself to even breathe, afraid that he would give himself away, would confess the lie, and ruin everything.

“I know it is hard for you, Russandol,” Fingon said softly. “I know that feeling. Back there, I was constantly afraid that I would forget how to speak, so I kept talking to myself in the dark, but it got harder and harder to do until I forgot why I wanted to remember. But you helped me, you helped me remember, and I will help you too.”

He moved a little forward as he spoke. His eyes were so bright, and Maedhros’s entire being longed for a touch, for a moment, just a moment of oblivion. He strained all his muscles deliberately, to stop himself, to lock himself up in his invisible prison. Then he looked at Fingon again and in a moment of weakness, decided to give in to the temptation, just this one time, as an apology, as a farewell. He inclined his head and rested his forehead against Fingon’s.

Fingon's lips twitched in that half-smile that Maedhros knew so well, that he had been gifted with so often, that he hadn’t seen for so long. He found himself smiling in return, letting himself forget for a moment everything that had happened and was going to happen.

Fingon raised his hand to Maedhros’s face with a gentleness that even Angband hadn’t been able to beat out of him. Maedhros could feel the tremble in his fingers. He wished desperately to reciprocate the gesture but trying to move his left hand resulted in a gasp and a wince.

Fingon cupped his face, frowning a little in concern. Maedhros’s eyes closed of their own volition. His lips moved, forming words he didn’t dare to say out loud.

“Forgive me,” he whispered.

“There is nothing to forgive, Russandol,” Fingon said.

Maedhros shook his head, tried to find a way to tell him but couldn’t. Words were eluding him, hiding in the mist that was threatening to invade his mind. Another slight against his father’s legacy. The thought made him laugh soundlessly, only his shoulders moving.

“Findekáno,” he said finally. “More than anything in the world, I want you to be safe, I want you to heal, I want you to be happy.”

“I know that,” Fingon said, puzzled.

“Forgive me,” Maedhros repeated in despair.

“Of course,” Fingon said readily.

Maedhros winced again and pulled away. He turned his back to Fingon. “They will miss you there,” he said.

“Did I do something wrong?” Fingon didn’t sound hurt, but there was worry in his voice and a note of fear.

Maedhros turned to him. “No! No, you did nothing wrong.”

He ached with the need to touch him, to reassure him. For a moment, he regretted breaking skin contact, but no, that had to be done. He had no right. No right to seek comfort with Fingon when he was lying to him, betraying him, even if it was for his own good.

“Nothing wrong,” he said. “I only wish to be alone.”

Fingon nodded. He didn’t smile as he stood and walked away. Maedhros leaned back against the tree, drained. He knew Fingon hadn’t gone far. He could feel his eyes on him from somewhere between the trees. He took a breath and curled his fingers. Pain, piercing and all-consuming, shot up his arm, went like a lightning bolt through his entire body. He opened his mouth in a silent scream, then fell forward, dizzy, breathless, biting his lip, feeling the blood trickle down his chin. He gave himself a few moments to breathe. Then he did it again.

---

Maglor didn’t sleep the night, wandering along the outskirts of Galadriel’s camp to avoid suspicious and sometimes outright hostile stares. He thought he was the first to see Finarfin approaching with a few of his chosen warriors. No, not the first. His cousin appeared suddenly, way ahead of him, and threw her arms around her father. Maglor found it prudent to draw back.

He saw Maedhros sitting on the ground and Fingon behind him, trying to braid his hair. Maedhros face was twisted horrifically, as though he was being put through the worst torture. Fingon broke his concentration to raise his head and smile at Maglor, who forced himself to smile back. He knew now the answer to his question. Maedhros hadn’t told Fingon. Not that Maglor thought his brother would have the courage.

He walked away and found a good spot to hide just in time to see Galadriel approach Maedhros and Fingon. She said something very quietly. Fingon tied Maedhros’s braid with a narrow piece of cloth and got to his feet, closing his eyes tightly for a moment and swaying. Maglor sighed. Dizziness usually preceded Fingon’s debilitating headaches, which would definitely make this whole deal a lot harder.

“Would you like to come with us, Russandol?” Fingon asked.

Maedhros stood with his help but shook his head. Galadriel took Fingon’s arm and led him away. Maedhros stared after them for a moment, then forcefully tore his gaze away and curled his fingers, quivering. Maglor flinched and almost ran to his brother, but Fingon’s cry distracted him. Maglor turned his head and saw through the trees Finarfin’s armor glinting dully. He had one hand on Fingon’s shoulder, the other one raised to his nephew’s face but not touching. Galadriel was gripping his arm. Even from that distance, Maglor could see that Fingon was trembling.

“Let me go,” he said, pulling away from Finarfin.

“Listen to me,” Finarfin said. “Findekáno, please, just listen—”

But Fingon was shaking his head. “I am not-don’t want to— Please, let me go!” His voice was louder now, frantic. Maglor’s wanted to stop listening, wanted Finarfin to leave, wanted Fingon gone already, so this would be over. He glanced at Maedhros, who had thrown his right arm over his eyes. Maglor wanted to go to him, to shake him, to make him put an end to this.

“Russandol!” Fingon called.

Maedhros jolted and pressed his back to the great tree he was hiding behind.

Go to him, you coward, Maglor found himself thinking.

“Russandol, you said you would never lie to me!” Fingon’s voice was getting more and more distraught. “Why are you doing this to me?” Soft murmurs tried in vain to placate him. “Russandol, please!” he cried. “Please don’t do this to me.”

Fingon’s words hit Maedhros like a boulder. His eyes glazed over. He slid down the tree and sat there, dazed, his look empty. It seemed like all the threads tying him to life had snapped all at once.

“Makalaurë!” Fingon called in despair. “Please help me!”

I am helping you; I chose you over my own brother. Maglor himself was surprised by how bitter and even vicious the thought was. He was angry, angry with himself, with Maedhros, with Galadriel, angry even with Fingon, who was blameless in this.

He closed his ears, hid deeper in the shadows, but when Fingon desperately called his name again, he walked to his cousin almost against his will.

Finarfin was holding him by the shoulders, both he and Galadriel were whispering, but Fingon kept shaking his head, trying to twist away. When he saw Maglor, his eyes lit up with hope.

“Makalaurë,” he said, his voice breaking. “Tell them I am not leaving. Where—” His face was distorted in pain. “Where is Russandol?”

“He doesn’t feel well.”

He hated how concerned Fingon suddenly looked, forgetting about his ordeal, hated that he could not hate him.

Fingon tried to say something, but it turned into a sharp hiss of pain.

“Let’s go sit somewhere and talk, all right?” Maglor said.

He looked at Finarfin, who reluctantly let go of his nephew’s shoulders. Fingon’s knees buckled, but Maglor caught him with one arm, steadied him, then took his hand and pulled him away. Fingon sat carefully under a tree and hid his head in his hands.

“Is it a bad one?” Maglor asked.

Fingon didn’t answer, focused on controlling his breathing. “Why—” he started, then closed his eyes tightly and pressed his fingertips to his temples. “Why would you do this? I don’t-don’t want to— Take me to Russandol.”

“Later,” Maglor said. “When you both recover a little. You cannot talk to him like this, can you?”

“I told him—” Fingon gasped and clutched at the knee of his bad leg. Maglor knew it meant the pain had spread through his entire body, inflaming every injury, old and new. “Told him— Why wouldn’t he listen? Tell them—”

Fingon grabbed Maglor’s uninjured hand, squeezing it hard enough to hurt. He doubled over, keening thinly. Maglor realized what he had to do, but it took him a few moments to cross that line.

“How about I sing a song of healing, and we will talk when you feel better?” he offered.

Fingon squeezed his hand again, lightly this time, to signify his consent.

Maglor started an ancient slow song. Galadriel and Finarfin, who had followed them at a distance, joined him. Fingon’s pain was great enough that he didn’t even question it, didn’t question that this wasn’t similar to the healing songs Maglor had sung for him before. As the song went on, the purple flowers peeking through the grass bowed their heads, the branches of the tree above them lowered, and Fingon fell into a deep sleep, leaning against his cousin.

When Maglor fell silent, Galadriel and Finarfin approached.

“You have days. Get him to the ship before he wakes,” Maglor said, struggling to get the words out through the haze of weariness and grief. He rested his head against Fingon’s, murmuring an apology.

“Thank you,” Finarfin said, his voice strangled.

He picked up Fingon, nodded at Maglor, and walked away. Galadriel said something, but Maglor was already past the brink of consciousness.

When he woke up, there was no sign of Galadriel’s or Finarfin’s people. His hand was newly bandaged and seemed to hurt a little less. There were a few pouches in his lap with what he assumed was food. Maedhros was sitting next to him, awake but motionless. He, too, had new bandages and food.

Maglor didn’t know what to say or what to do now. All the words on his tongue were bitter and angry, so he swallowed them down because they were of no use. He just sat in silence, waiting for Maedhros to take the first step and knowing that he wouldn’t. As he expected, Maedhros neither moved nor spoke. When Maglor, restless and eager to leave, pulled him to his feet and offered to start walking, Maedhros followed him, but he didn’t make a sound, and Maglor knew that he would not speak again. All the threads tying him to life had indeed snapped all at once, leaving only one, his promise to his brother.

#silmarillion #maglor #maedhros #fingon #some others too #is there anything more intimate than a forehead touch #maybe hair-braiding #canon divergence #zwc fic

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chocolate-parfait · 4 years ago

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Oooh i love the halloween prompts! May i request 43 and 48 for Dazai? Thank you so much :)

The Devil's temptation - Ikemen Vampire (Dazai)

Pureblood!Dazai AU :)

I didn't exactly insist on it as it's not what I wanted to focus on, it's pretty subtle actually, but if we want to make more sense of his request then we'd have to consider him as a being able to turn his love interest into a vampire

43. “Do you know what I am?”

48. “Would you like to join me?”

How scandalous for a lady to wander the streets at such a late hour. It certainly wasn't the most recommended pastime, and definitely not one suitable for one of the worst neighborhoods in the city, where neither the electrical halo from the richer districts nor the sun rays could reach past the dark, thick clouds of pollution. Not that it was her personal choice to do such a thing, the fast paced rhythm of her heels against the cold and wet stone pavement spoke loud enough for anyone to hear.

Her labored, loud breaths were muffled by the sound of the heavy rain, and despite the fact that running in such conditions was a ridiculously risky thing to do, she was grateful for the thick curtain the sky had sent down on her as she hoped it served as some kind of protection from her pursuers. She felt eyes on her with each step she took, and she was pretty sure she saw a pair of glowing eyes blinking at her from the end of the road. Despite the fear she couldn't turn back on her steps now, they were following her. They were stronger and faster, and they fed on terror and human lives, sometimes even turning you in one of their own kind, at least that's what she had heard from the gossips in the city market. She had dismissed those ridiculous voices as fruits of the irrational human mind, a childish trick by the horror-loving subconcious of humans.

But oh, did she take it all back now. Now that her heart was so close to popping out of her heaving chest, she didn't have the arrogance to refuse the reality behind what the newspapers and rumors had tried to warn her about.

She realized that tears were freely flowing down her rain-stained face the moment something tepid caressed her cheek following repetitive, vertical paths, but there was no use in trying to dry them, she was already drenched to her very core anyways.

In spite of the fatigue creeping up her numb limbs, she shivered in her damp, frigid clothes. She was definitely going to catch one of the worst colds ever, if she made it out alive, that is, but the thought, for some unkown reason to her, brought her back to the warm memories of her days at her father's shop. The remembrance of the addicting smell of books, the refreshing one of newly imported exotic teas, her father's deep voice coming from behind the counter and the chime of clients happily chatting about the newest entries in the catalogue. These were all faimiliar images she was extremely fond of, but the dissonance between the past and the present plunged her mind into an seemingly endless maze of chaos and near delirium.

As her lucidity slipped away further away from her grasp, a face came to her mind, casting light on her heart like a beacon and chasing the darkness away, slowly melting the paralysis that had freezed her brain in a state of utter fright. It was the visage of a man that had recently become part of her everyday life, a necessary ingredient for the formula of her happiness. With his amber orbs and calm smile, he had charmed his way deep into her heart in a matter of just a couple days and regular visits. He'd come to the shop almost every day, leisurely walk between the shelves in search of a new book and then take a look at the imported goods. It was a pretty small business but they had signed deals that let them have first quality products from the far oriental continent. That's probably the reason why he became one of their best buyers. He came from a land far, far away, and his facial features made that much clear to anyone who looked at him, but what she cared about the most wasn't his face nor the thickness of his wallet, she cherished his voice, his laugh, the way he moved and the way he looked at her; deep in her heart she hoped to be able to voice her feelings sooner or later, yet she feared the traces of affections in his golden orbs would transform into disgust and hatred.

Oh, the way the poor thing's core fluttered with anticipation whenever she thought of him! So immersed in her own fantasies that she didn't realize the grave mistake she had made... To fall in love with a monster, that was a sin the Heavens weren't too keen on forgiving.

A loud thud coming from the end of the path teared her from the rose gardens of her mind. She had been running for who knows how long, but now her escape had brought her to a dead-end. She felt a piercing shiver run down her spine, making her hair stand up like a scared animal's, and then again, once again she felt that pair of eyes on her back. She turned on her heels but was met with the dark void of an empty, unfamiliar street. She had thrown herself into an even bigger mess, for thus she knew that no scream, no matter how loud or pleading, would get someone to bother coming to rescue her, not in that part of the city. An imposing sense of dread filled her whole being to the brim, preceding that fake ray of salvation that was coming her way.

A hand suddenly grasped her wrist, pulling her back against something akin to a wall, yet warm and breathing, even in that glacial rain. Something soft tickled her neck from behind, and a voice spoke into her ear.

"What are you doing here, Kazuko-san?" It was his voice, she would recognize it everywhere. That subtle accent, the smooth and pleasant tone, it was the voice she had so longed to hear in those moments of deep despair that chased her the whole escape. She turned her body to face him, and threw her arms around the man's neck.

"I'm so glad you're here! I-...I was so scared-" she whined, feeling her voice finally crack, letting the adrenaline dissipate through her strangled sobs. In the midst of her delight she didn't even question where he came from nor what he was doing there, and he knew that.

Dazai smiled a wicked grin, one too twisted to be recognized as his. His pupils flew to her trembling form and narrowed like that of a cat's, though almost glowing with a supernatural light. "My dear, don't you know that all men are wolves?" He chuckled and pulled slightly away. By closing once more the gap between their faces, he could now get an even better view of the confusion and fear forming in the clear jewels that were her eyes.

"Do you know what I am?" At the sound of those words he felt her shiver against him. How addicting of a feeling that was, he could never seem to get enough of her. Those pearly eyes full of innocence that gleamed with joy and delight whenever they met his, that warm voice that shyly singed his name at the sight of him, those small, delicate hands that fidgeted with a rebel strand of hair when he knew all they wanted was lose themselves in his violet locks. She smelled amazingly appetizing, and her pure, chaste feelings only made him want to gobble her up right then and there, but something was telling him that just once wouldn't have been enough. Whether that something was his own vampiric instincts or his inner demons, he didn't know, nor did he have the time to care.

"Don't tell me you still haven't realized?" He teased her, grazing her smooth skin with his fangs. She wasn't dumb, and he was sure the answer to that question was already swirling around her pretty little head.

Another shiver. Was it from the insistent rain or the influence those canines had on their victim? She was scared, throughoutly frightened, and the way her insides twisted with pleasure at the closure between their bodies made her want to beat herself up. A monster was about to turn her into its next meal, and even if it was the man she loved she should have been running away, she should have been kicking and screaming her lungs out, but precisely because it was Dazai she couldn't bring herself to move. A small moan left her lips, a product of the interior conflict that was taking place in her core, and when she felt him tighten his hold because of it, she felt the Devil tempt her harder and harder, until she couldn't stand it no more.

"Oh, I have an idea!"

"Would you like to join me? ” he whispered loud enough for her to hear despite the rain and, perhaps, joking. If she refused he would've gladly let her go with no problem, playing off the whole incident as a mere joke, but the sarcasm flew right over her head, and appealing to her determination, she made a decision.

If making this sacrifice meant becoming his for eternity, if it meant having her feelings corresponded, if it meant feeling those lips touch her body and sweet words grace her ears, then she was ready to sign the contract to reserve her own personal seat in Hell, right next to his'.

"P-please-" she breathed in his ear. "Please, make me yours..."

All his life, he couldn't be satisfied unless he tainted whatever he touched with his own dirty colors, and although he was aware of how much he tried to resist his overwhelming thirst - a clear sign of his attraction and true feelings - for her these past few weeks, his patience had run thin. If before he was on the verge of snapping, after hearing that desperate plea he felt all his self control suddenly slip away from his grasp.

He bit down on her neck, teeth piercing its soft flesh, and a wave of euphoric pleasure came crashing down on both of them. The more he feasted on her red essence, the more she tightened her frantic hands around the drenched fabric of his clothes in search of support as her knees grew weaker by the second.

There was no going back now, and in the last moments of conciousness, the warmth of a soft kiss and words of appreciation made their way through her hazy mind. This was something she wasn't going to regret, and no angel nor devil could change her mind.

#my writing #halloween prompts #osamu dazai #ikemen vampire #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp scenarios #ikevamp imagines #ikevamp headcanons #answered

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