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tsarisfanfiction · 2 months ago

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Truth Comes Out of His Well (Chapter 3)

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Lee Fletcher, Kronos, Apollo, Apollo Cabin (and many more) If I keep apologising to Lee at the start of each chapter, I think I'm going to be apologising for a while... As always, @stereden is responsible for the accompanying podfic! << Chapter 2 Listen to chapter 3 on AO3

"Good morning, Lee!"

Lee jerked awake. He didn't remember falling asleep, but Kronos was squatting in front of him, a twisted grin on Luke's face. It was a familiar one, almost, just a hint too dark to ever be something Luke had worn, and Lee was abruptly reminded of his former friend's fate.

"Breakfast time," the titan said, in the same rise and shine tone Lee used on his cabin, although he never needed to use it to wake his siblings up – just to get them dressed and out the cabin. Being morning people didn't stop a lot of them from wanting to laze around in their pyjamas rather than get dressed. Those were two very different things.

A hand loosely brushed over his palm, setting the nerves on fire , and Lee couldn't hold back the gasp. "I see Reuben wasn't happy with you yesterday," Kronos said conversationally. "Far it be from me to quell his aggressive nature, but this would be so much more pleasant if you were in one piece. I'm a busy titan, so I can't spend the time to feed you the way Aquila did, but you're no good to anybody starved."

Fingers trickled from his palm to his wrist, and with a movement and a click that was too loud in the cavern, the metal cracked open. Lee's hand immediately fell limply to his side. Kronos did the same on the other side, and pins and needles erupted in both hands as blood started to circulate again. Clumsily, Lee started to rub at his wrists, wincing where they were bruised and chafed. A bowl of soup and some bread – notably less stale-looking than the previous affair – clinked as it was set on the stone next to him.

"Eat up," Kronos told him. "If it's not all eaten by the time I return, I will make you eat it all. Do you understand?"

That was a threat, and the searing absence of a lie told Lee it was one he would follow through without hesitation. Lee nodded.

"Good boy." Kronos ruffled his hair again in a painfully Luke-like action, and fluidly rose to his feet again. "I will be back soon."

He swept from the room without a single ominous remark about how Lee wouldn't be able to escape, but despite undoing the manacles around his wrists, he still didn't close the door behind him, and that said it loud and clear all the same.

Lee sighed, and hissed as rubbing his wrists provoked friction on a rawer patch of skin. He grimaced and inspected his wrists; both of them were ringed with the colour of fresh bruises, small patches rubbed red. There wasn't any blood yet, but it was only a matter of time.

He cradled the hand with the scratched palm awkwardly in the other, and sang a low healing hymn under his breath. It closed up the thin line, and eased the aching in his wrist. He wasn't powerful enough to vanish the bruises entirely, but even a little relief was something, and he repeated it with the other wrist.

Part of him hoped Apollo would also notice the hymns. He'd never been sure exactly how in tune with his children's healing his father was, but as they were hymns to him, surely he had to at least notice whenever they used them?

Kronos hadn't left him with any cutlery. The bowl was roughly hewn out of stone so there was no chance of breaking it and turning it into a makeshift weapon, either. The thought briefly crossed Lee's mind that it was poisoned, or drugged, but Kronos wanted him alive and if he wanted to use him as a lie detector then he needed him coherent enough to hear something.

Then Lee's stomach grumbled, reminding him that aside from some stale bread, he'd had nothing to eat since the morning of the battle – and he had no idea how many days had passed since then. Probably not many, because his body would be far more broken down by now if he'd missed that many meals.

He took the risk and grasped the bread in one still slightly trembling hand, dunking it into the liquid. It still wasn't fresh bread, but it soaked up enough of the thin liquid. After the previous meal, if Lee could even call it that, it even tasted decent. It wasn't amazing, or even anything close to the food back at camp, but it was edible.

It didn't take him long to finish the bread, and he cradled the stone bowl in his still unsteady hands to drink the rest of it, clamping down on it hard enough that he wouldn't let it shake and spill. He still felt some of it dribble down his chin, and hurriedly set the bowl down so he could catch it.

Wiping it with his wrist was instinct, but the bruises protested and forced a wince out of him as he licked them clean of soup droplets. His skin had the faint tang of iron, which he hoped was only from the manacles.

With the soup bowl drained dry, Lee set it aside and started to look at the restraints still clamped around his ankles. There were enough links of chain between them that he could, in theory, walk, although it would be awkward and the trip hazard was high. The other chains, securing both of them to the wall, stopped any chance he had of simply walking out of the open door.

He still shifted, pulling his knees up towards him and poking at the metal. He hadn't even realised how numb he'd got until he moved and his butt made itself known with a vengeance. Suddenly the bones that usually never bothered him when he sat were complaining and refused to settle into anything comfortable on the stone floor. He winced and stretched, arching his back to try and alleviate cramping muscles, before returning to his inspection of the restraints.

There wasn't any obvious way to open them. The chains that lead back towards the walls looped through hoops on the outside of the manacles, but each one led to a separate section of wall – Lee couldn't reach either one without being pulled short by the other. That seemed to be the obvious weak point; the other, shorter, chain seemed to be welded firmly to the cuffs, and if there was a hinge in them, it wasn't obvious.

With a sinking feeling, Lee recognised the work of a cabin nine smith. Short of cutting off his own feet, he wasn't getting himself out of them – and Kronos hadn't left him anything remotely capable of drastic self-mutilation even if he was that desperate.

He was desperate, but not that desperate.

Turning his head to give the cuffs embedded in the walls their own cursory inspection, he realised that they were the same. Kronos hadn't had any difficulty opening them, but he was in the body of a son of Hermes, and Luke had always been good at opening locks.

Lee wrapped his arms around his knees, and propped his chin on them. He wasn't going to get free as long as he was manacled; there was no point wasting energy. If he was going to have any chance of getting out, he was going to have to wait until he actually had a chance.

Kronos took longer than Lee expected to come back, although Lee wasn't complaining. The less he saw of the titan, the better. Kronos couldn't use him if he wasn't there . Unfortunately, eventually Luke's face reappeared, with the wrong eyes and expressions that weren't quite right.

He didn't acknowledge Lee as he swept into the room as though it was his palace, heading straight for the discarded bowl and lifting it up. Molten gold eyes surveyed the floor, as though checking that Lee hadn't just tipped it all out. Lee didn't doubt that if he had done that, Kronos would have found a way to force him to eat it anyway. The titan was not known for being merciful.

"Good boy," Kronos grinned. He knelt down next to Lee, a facsimile of Luke's easy-going, caring self. The gleam in his eyes was all wrong, though, and Lee shuffled away. Like a striking viper, Kronos's arm snatched out and gripped Lee's arm like a vice, tugging him back towards him.

Lee struggled, trying to break his grip, but while he and Luke were of similar builds and strength, despite being in Luke's body, Kronos seemed to still have access to the immovable strength of an immortal. He didn't show any signs of effort as he forced Lee's arm to extend, holding it until his wrist was clearly visible.

"You healed yourself," he commented. "I expected as such."

"Let go ," Lee insisted, not giving up. He wasn't desperate enough to find a way to hack off parts of his body, but he was desperate enough to throw up as much of a fight as he possibly could.

Kronos grinned at him, showing too many teeth. "No." He pushed Lee's arm back, applying more and more pressure until Lee was forced to cave or have the limb snap, and forced it back inside the manacle.

Lee thrashed, clawing at the imprisoning hand with his currently free one. His nails raked white lines on Luke's skin, but Kronos didn't even glance at them as he closed the cuff with no apparent effort, the loud click signifying his returning restraint.

He was even more helpless to stop the second wrist being re-restrained, until he was back in his original position, wrists cuffed to the wall and ankles never released in the first place, and breathing hard from his attempts to not be re-secured. Kronos didn't even have a hair out of place.

"Now that you're fed, I think it's time we began," the titan said, straightening up and stepping back. "Let's start with a game you must be very familiar with, and no doubt the reigning champion of." He snapped the fingers of his free hand, and several figures ambled into the room.

Some, Lee recognised. Near the front, sneering, were the trio that had already visited him. Others were faces from camp, faces that had been steadily disappearing for the past two years, and he'd known that they'd gone to join Kronos, but it hurt to see the proof in front of him. Worse were the adults, ones he vaguely remembered from years gone by, who he'd never known had a problem with the gods, or certainly not enough of one to rejoin the demigod world when they'd made it to adulthood and cohabiting in the world with mortals without a problem.

There was also a handful that he didn't recognise, both adults and teenagers. Almost all of them had some sort of thick lines on their forearm, like Reuben's SPQR and dove.

"Two truths and a lie," Kronos announced, and Lee's heart sank. He'd known that Kronos wanted him for his ability, but he'd still hoped that, somehow, it wouldn't get involved. "Each one of my volunteers is going to tell you two truths and a lie. Your job is to tell me which one is the lie."

Volunteers. The thought that any of the gathered demigods had volunteered to take part in tormenting Lee made him ill. Part of him hoped that they had been pressganged into it, that they hadn't willingly put their hand up to be complicit in all this, but another part of him didn't want that, because it meant that Kronos was forcing them.

He looked away from Kronos and his piercing, heartless golden eyes, and scanned the faces of the demigods in front of him. The ones he didn't recognise, and the trio, met his gaze in a clear challenge; none of them cared about Lee at all. He didn't want to wonder how many of them had been close to Marcus, but his mind started to wander in that direction anyway.

Reuben grinned at him, but it was a vicious thing, like a predator eyeing its prey. Lee didn't meet his gaze for long, skipping over to instead lock eyes with Alana, a blank-faced daughter of Demeter who had simply never come back to camp after leaving the same summer as Luke. He remembered her as a fair, gentle enough girl, although she had a wicked sharp tongue when she was angry.

He'd always thought they'd got on well enough, but there was nothing in her gaze to suggest that she hadn't truly volunteered herself to take part in what Lee was certain was going to be a very personalised degree of torture. There wasn't even a hint of remorse in her eyes as she met his eyes evenly.

Lee wasn't prepared for how much that hurt.

Kronos waved one hand, a sharp gesture that dragged Lee's attention unwillingly back towards him. "Aquila," he announced. "You go first."

The demigod from earlier, who'd fed him and threatened to force it down his throat, took a step forwards, towering over Lee from where he was trapped on the ground and looking down at him disdainfully.

"My pronouns are they/them," they said, with no fanfare. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Lee figured that was good to know, even if they didn't seem to have any friendly intentions towards him at all. "I'm a legacy of Vulcan." Lie ran down his back, cool and prickly, and Lee carefully didn't react, even if he didn't know what they even meant by legacy, and why would they call Hephaestus Vulcan? "I'm seventeen years old."

He could feel all the eyes on him, like a bug under a microscope.

All of these people now knew about his ability, even the campers he'd known for years and carefully never let on to. They knew and now they were scrutinising him, waiting for him to admit it.

Kronos' eyes had never left him. "The lie?" he prompted.

Lee was not being used that easily. Despite his misgivings, he met Kronos' eyes directly and refused to look away, even when the molten gold burned out of Luke's face. "No."

One of Luke's eyebrow's raised, a look of sarcastic disbelief that would have been heart-achingly familiar if it was actually Luke doing it. As it was, it was more like heart- breakingly familiar, because it looked like Luke but it wasn't, it was Kronos, and there was no disguised fondness peeking out from blue eyes. "No?" Kronos repeated, a dangerous note in his voice. "It wasn't a yes or no question, Lee. Which one was the lie?"

Lee set his jaw, drawing every ounce of stubbornness he could eke out of his body and when that wasn't enough, copied more from younger siblings when they dug their heels in and refused to do as they were told.

"I'm not saying," he said firmly, and hoped his voice didn't shake.

If it angered Kronos, the titan didn't show it. "We'll see," he said instead, and it was a dark promise that left Lee in no doubt that he had every intention of pushing until Lee broke.

Lee hoped he could take more than the titan could push. He knew it wasn't likely, but he had to, because if he didn't… He couldn't help Kronos hurt his family and friends. He couldn't.

Chapter 4>>>

#percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson fanfiction #riordanverse #riordanverse fanfic #tsari writes fanfiction #stereden #lee fletcher #pjo kronos #cabin seven #apollo cabin #luke castellan #original character #truth comes out of his well

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lemurlord · 4 months ago

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Many people who are quicker writers than me probably already said things I'll say below, but as the guy who started the debacle in the first place, I felt the need to chime in. I apologise in advance, for this will not be a kind post.

You say that MHA has better characters. Yet I found that even the Parahumans we really see for a handful of chapters, like Bakuda or Marquis, have more compexity and work put into them than a good half of class 1A. Sometimes combined. In fact, someone like Marquis or Lung has almost as many moving parts to him as Midoriya, the protagonist. Worm's characters are alive, with thoughts, drives and contradictions. MHA mostly has a bunch of tried shounen tropes with maybe a tiny twist thrown in here and there.

Speaking of contradictions. You say that authorial intent in regards to Taylor "oscillates wildly between being directed to think of her as a misunderstood victim of circumstance, or history's greatest monster." But why not both? Or neither? This binary is utterly reductive, because Skitter is intended to be a controvertial character. She does wrong things for the right reasons, and right things for the wrong reasons. She sacrifices everyone, including herself, in her hubris and trauma-induced inability to trust anyone. That's an arc, that's complexity, that's an actual, real character flaw that's something beyond "he's a bit dorky."

You say MHA has a better plot and messages. Let me ask you, what the hell is MHA's themes? I couldn't answer this question myself, so I asked a friend, who formulated two: "even the most ordinary person can make a difference", or "the world and its systems aren't perfect, but it's possible to make them better with effort". Sounds about right, albeit generic, but that may be a poor argument. Except guess what, MHA barely delivers on either of these. The first is infamously invalidated by Izuku receiving one of the strongest quirks in the world. The narrative tries to rectify this, but it also almost instinctively almost always says that Deku couldn't be where he is without OFA. The second one is no better. Sure, the big bad AFO got Aster Blastered. But what about the descrimination of the quirkless, the monstrous, the eugenics programs ran by people like Endeavor, the corruption among the celebrity-hero culture that Stain talked about? The answer is "eh, something happened, probably." There are some signs here and there of things improving, but they are barely coherent even after the eight-year timeskip, and they also only very tangentially tie into the main antagonist's defeat.

Worm has a clear main message, spoken clearly through Taylor's arc. "The strength of humanity is in cooperation, but not one achived through terror and authoritarianism". Themes of friendship, loneliness, control of others and oneself are repeated again and again through Taylor herself, Masters like the Heartbroken and Jack Slash, Bakuda, Case 53s, the Dallon family and of course, Scion himself. The Gold Morning is the culmination of all of this, both of Khepri's fallacies and humanity's final perseverance. Make no mistake, Worm isn't really a story about saving the world in the same way as MHA is, but I still find it hopeful, despite the darkness. Funnily enough, this is one of the few works I've seen that treats the topics of "power of friendship" and "murder is not a good thing" like a mature adult. It is also the only story so far that really sold me on these.

And because it actually has a theme and a message, Worm's worldbuilding trumps Academia's every day of the week. It's timeline is consistent, its Hero Organisation developed a threat system to effectively combat parahumans with just more or less regular SWAT (which couldn't be said about MHAs police, but that's neither here nor there), the powers themselves tie into the theme of mental health and loneliness. It's not flawless by any means, but it is coherent and purposeful, unlike MHA, that did a thing kind of for the sake of doing things. The fact that it's set 500 years into the future, Nezu's status as quirked animal, the Quirk Singularity. At least Worm, due to being laser focused on a single protagonist, has an excuse to not show things because they are outside of Taylor's POV, or really needed for her arc. MHA's things just feel like Horikoshi, indeed, had no idea what he was doing. Merely reproducing the tropes of superhero and shounen, instead of examining and reimagining them like Wildbow did.

And this is why I also never bought into "Worm is grimderp" argument. It's dark and depressive as shit, no lie here, but it is so precisely because it tackles dark and depressive as shit topics. No one 1984 or 451 Farenheit "edgy for the sake of being edgy". Though they are shorter stories, in all fairness.

And let's not kid ourselves here, MHA doesn't have "body horror". Frankly, saying this would be an insult to the genre. The main villain growing a few extra limbs for the final fight isn't horror, it's just the generic "monstrous form" shounen power-up. The downward spiral of Amy Dallon resulting in her own sister becoming and suffering as the Wretch is body horror. Bonesaw turning people into outward copies of the worst people on planet Earth is body horror. The inevitable absorption of Noelle Meinhardt into Echidna is body horror. Sveta Karelia at the Asylum is body horror. Shadow Stalker in Regent's interlude is body horror. They are so because the atmosphere, the fear, the horrible realization is given the time to grow, to fester. The MHA's "horror" is perhaps only slightly more technically complex than me jumping out of the corner at you and yelling "Boo!" loudly. And because of this fact, Worm can actually use its horror to reinforce its themes (loss of autonomy in particular) and character work. It serves a bigger purpose. Shigaraki just gets a moderately freaky Fortnight skin. Credit where credit is due, though, the artwork is appropriately gruesome.

In conclusion, MHA is to Worm is what a median MCU movie is to the Watchmen graphic novel. It's okay to enjoy, it's okay to enjoy both, even. But one clearly operates on a different level, and you failed to recognise that. And so I leave you with a quote from another mangaka, one who actually knows how to write long stories with good themes and shiz:

what if I made a post telling macadamia hero fans sad that their thing is over to read worm. Would that be funny? Could they handle amy?

#worm #wormblr #worm parahumans #worm web serial #parahumans #wildbow #mha #my hero academia

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mrs-march-ahs · 4 years ago

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The Evans Drunk

Enjoy:)

Tate

-On Halloween he’d go out and buy some alcohol and save it for when you’re having a tough day and need cheering up -Either that or you’d take some alcohol from your parents -You’d sit together and drink, not taking shots or anything because you probably only have a few beers or spirits each -Even more into deep talks than usual -But also super easily distracted - “Oh I definitely think that there’s alien life out the- hey reckon I can balance that vase on my forehead?” -Incredibly awkward and white dad dancing to music -Super touchy, would want you on his lap so that he can take a drink and then put it to your lips until you drink it

Kit

-Kit’s a responsible dad and not the type of person to get drunk, but occasionally he will have a beer or two

-Or twelve

-It’d be a barbeque for the whole family and you’d have lots of friends around, joking around, everybody’s kids playing together running around

-Then after everybody ate, you’d all talk and have a few light drinks, and then once the kids went to bed and some of the guests left, Kit, you and a few friends would play beer pong

-He’s be very loud and silly

-Would find jokes 10x funnier and would keep laughing quietly long after everybody else

-Unintentionally pull silly faces, like pretending to be serious if somebody starts talking about something serious

-But then he’d remember that thing he laughed at and snort

-After everybody’s gone, he’d go into the kitchen and want to make cupcakes

- “Kit we can’t make cupcakes at 2am and drunk”

- “We can’t, or we shouldn’t? Two very different things Y/N” he giggles

-You two would pour all the ingredients in the bowl and then you’d stir it

-Kit would come up behind you and put his arms around you, helping you stir, kissing you occasionally

-He would get distracted and you two would go to sleep, leaving the raw cupcakes in the oven without it being turned on

-In the morning, despite Kit having a ridiculous hangover, when he’d see the baking mess, he’d clean it all up

- “Kitten if you told me, I would’ve helped you”

- “No no I made the mess, I’ll clean it”

-Very responsible dad, until next time

Franken Kyle

-You’d be sat together, celebrating New Year’s Eve and you’d of course have some alcohol

-Because you were scared and cautious popping open the champagne in front of Kyle, worried it may scare him, you tried to bribe him a little

- “This bottle cork is going to fly open, with a very loud pop, but try and stay calm and you can drink the champagne first, okay?”

- “From b-bottle?”, he said smiling, knowing that you never let him drink milk or juice straight from the carton

-You say sure, and pop it open, and when it pours out bubbling, Kyle kneels down and sits under it with his mouth open, the alcohol pouring all over his face and shirt

-He’d love it and drink loads

-Covered in sticky champagne, when he hugged you and you tried to change his shirt, he just rubbed his sticky chest over you even more

-Dancing with you, which meant putting his head on your shoulder and swaying

-Drunk, he’d have an even bigger obsession with copying noise

-When he sees the fireworks, “kaboom” or “pew” or “poof”

-When you cheers the glasses, “clink” or maybe even “clinky dink”

Jimmy

-As we saw, a hot mess

-Not aggressive but willing to fight

-Would swing his arms around even not meaning to hit anybody seriously

-Sex drive increases by 40%

-But would probably have a harder time finishing if he was super drunk

-Slurs his word much more than anybody else

-Would act like a child trying to get what he wants from you

- “C’mon Y/N just one more little sippy sip”

- “No Jimmy, you’ve had more than enough”, you say and take the beer bottle away from him, leaving Jimmy to make puckering and make slurping noises, watching you throw the bottle away

-You’d try to put him to bed, so that you could put a backpack on him to avoid him choking on his own vomit

-But after a while of him being annoying, constantly getting up, etc, you’d give up

- “Jimmy I’m not gonna be constantly fighting with you, you either go to bed now or you leave the caravan and end up passing out somewhere on the field”

-He’d get upset and try to apologise, but you’d end up just throwing a blanket over him and sleeping on the couch

-He’d probably wake up still slightly drunk the next morning

-In the evening, a full 24 hours after drinking, he’d come and apologise to you about how he acted, and promise he’d never drink again

-Definitely read this cool fanfic I saw earlier about

drunk Jimmy

James

-Tries to remain classy but sometimes forgets the right words

- “Darling, remember when how the night we met and how you said to me those things and then we danced?”

- “That didn’t make sense, Jimmy”

- “Clearly you weren’t listening carefully enough, darling”

-Super touchy, especially in public

-Arm around your waist, giving your shoulder and neck kisses

-Bite your earlobe just to see your reaction

-He’s very slow

-Has to furrow his eyebrows and open his mouth when listening to you talk, lets him hear better

-This is very specific but if he’s drinking anything out of a straw, he would sit and chew it

-When you got back to your room he would kiss and lick your neck and mumble gibberish against it

-He’d want to give you genuine compliments but being too drunk to have coherent thoughts, he would just mumble

- “mmm…your skin�� my darling”

- “What about it, James?”

- “It is so… mmmm”

Kai

-Probably aggressive -If he’s in the mood to start an argument, he’ll find a reason to start one -Would make you feel guilty and upset about something just to hear you apologise -Would be completely in denial about how drunk he is -Very loud and obnoxious -The only time he would slap your ass not possessively but for fun -The scene would be having the cult over to celebrate something, all sitting in the kitchen drinking -He’d keep doing cheers for the most random things - “Pass me some crackers” - “We don’t have crackers Kai, we finished them” - a few second pause… before Kai lifts his glass “wheyyy!” - “Get me another beer babe”, before slapping your ass -Slurs his words a little, but focuses and tries really hard not to -After everybody’s gone home, he’d try to act as sober as possible around you, as if he suddenly doesn’t want you to see him drunk - “Okay, go upstairs, brush your teeth and put your pjs on Y/N” -You laugh slightly and put Kai’s arm around your shoulder, “Let’s get you to bed Kai, I don’t think you’ll make it down those stairs alone” -He takes his arm off and turns you to face him, trying to keep strong eye contact - “What did I just say? Go upstairs… uhm… pjs… brush your teeth… go”, you’d smile in amusement and he would try to put on a stern expression “Now” -You’d obey him, and when he eventually makes it down the stairs and gets to the basement, he’ll look over at you in pjs in bed, and walk over to you -He looks at you up and down, and mumbles “good”, before sitting down panting slightly, not making eye contact - “We have a lot of stairs Y/N”

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mmvalentine · 3 years ago

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You're Home | Jurdan

Canon divergent. Scene lift from TWK. The smut I wanted but was not given...

I slip into Cardan's room. Though it is not yet dawn, I am lucky. The room is empty of revelry. No courtiers doze on the cushions or in his bed. I walk to where he sleeps and press my hand over his mouth.

He wakes, fighting against my grip. I press down hard enough that I can feel his teeth against my skin. He grabs for my throat, and for a moment, I'm scared that I'm not strong enough, that my training isn't good enough. Then his body relaxes utterly, as though realising who I am.

He shouldn't relax like that. "He sent me to kill you," I whisper against his ear.

A shiver goes through his body, and his hand goes to my waist, but instead of pushing me away, he pulls me into the bed with him, rolling my body across him onto the heavily embroidered coverlets.

My hand slips from his mouth, and I am unnerved to find myself here, in the new High King's new bed- one I am still too human to lie in, beside someone who terrifies me the more I feel for him.

"Balekin and Orlagh are planning your murder," I say, flustered.

"Yes," he says lazily. "So why did I wake up at all?"

I am awkwardly conscious of his physicality, of the moment when he was half awake and pulled me against him. "Because I am difficult to charm," I say.

That makes him give a soft laugh. He reaches out and touches my hair, traces the hollow of my cheekbone. "I could have told my brother that," he says, with a softness in his voice that I am utterly unprepared for. "Where have you been?" he asks me. I don't know how to answer.

"Madoc says you've been ill," Cardan goes on, when I say nothing. His fingers still move lightly over my face. "Must you take your convalescence so far from me?"

"I must," I say stiffly, "since you've allowed Madoc to bar me from seeing you. I have information that cannot wait."

Cardan shakes his head. "I know not of what you speak. Madoc told me you were resting and that we should let you heal."

I frown. "I see. And in the interim, Madoc would no doubt take my place as your advisor," I tell Cardan. "He gave your guards orders to keep me out of the palace."

"I will give them different orders," Cardan says.

"See that you do," I say. "Now, I need to tell you about the plans from the Undersea."

But Cardan just tugs me closer, moves the cover over me so I am under it with him. "I don't care," he says.

"You need to care," I tell him. "Your life is in danger, and we need to make a plan."

"Later," Cardan says. "We have all the time in the world for planning. There's only one thing I've learned tonight that has been worthy of note."

"And, what, pray tell, is that?" I ask him impatiently. I am all too aware that the warmth now enveloping me is Cardan's own body heat, that I'm here in the cocoon of his sleep and his breath. That he is completely naked beneath the sheets, and is not at all shy about it.

"You're home," he says simply. "You're home and that's all that matters." And then he draws me into his arms, and just holds me to him, and I am so surprised that I don't move at all for a moment.

And then my arms are moving, quite without me telling them to, to wrap around his shoulders and to hug him back. His hands stroke at my back and my fingers curl in the hair at the back of his neck. He tangles his legs in mine.

I've been so focused on plotting and scheming and keeping ahead of the enemy, that it only now occurs to me what a relief it is to actually be here, with Cardan, in the silent hours of the early morning.

My arms tighten around his neck and before I know it I'm clinging onto him for dear life, and the horror of the days and weeks I spent under water figuring out how I was going to get back to him, if I was ever going to get back to him starts streaming in from whatever small corner of my mind I had crammed it into. I start shaking in Cardan's arms, and he just smooths circles between my shoulder blades and says "Shhh, you're home now." And that gentleness just freaks me out more, and it is minutes before I can relax.

When I am finally still again, Cardan pulls back just enough to study my face.

"What's this?" he asks gently, and wipes his thumbs across my face. They come away wet, and I realise I've been crying. I'm mortified, and I start to pull away from him, but Cardan put his hands on my face and stops me.

"I'm so sorry I let you get taken," he whispers. "I'm sorry I did not keep you safe." He leans forward and kisses the tears from my face. "And I've been wanting to tell you for so long now that I'm sorry I've always been unkind to you. I realised, when you were gone, truly gone beneath the waves and I hated myself as I never have before, that I've never apologised to you for that. For any of it."

He is so unlike himself in this moment that I cannot help but look for the trick in his words. I am aware that I am just gaping at him like an idiot, but I can't for the life of me conjure coherent words to say. Cardan laughs, his bed-warmed hand going to my shoulder.

"Either I've surprised you or you are as ill as Madoc claimed. Perhaps I am foolish, but I am not a fool. You like something about me," he says, mischief lighting his face, making its planes more familiar. "The challenge? My pretty eyes? No matter, because there is more you do not like and I know it."

And although this Cardan is the Cardan I know, I feel sorry to break the moment. So I shoot back at him, "Not your eyes. It's your lips. You have a cruel but lovely mouth. That's the reason I like you."

Cardan's eyes light. "So you admit you do like me," he says. His hand strokes down my side now. "If only for my beautiful features. I suppose I cannot blame you, for I am a sight to behold."

I go to smack his arm then, but he catches my hand and links his fingers through mine.

"Still," he murmurs, face only inches from mine. "Whatever you like me for. I'll take it. And if it's my lips you like, you can have them."

And then he leans in and presses his mouth to mine.

Desire floods instantly through me, and I am shocked by the strength of it. My lips part for him, and his tongue is hot and lush against mine. And as we kiss I realise that I've missed him, so much, and his kisses are like the piles of food I devoured after starving so long.

Cardan's hands slide beneath my shirt- his own doublet, it occurs to me, stolen only hours ago from his old bedroom. They find the shape of me, and tell my skin secret things that only our bodies know. Soon I'm sliding out of the jacket, and he's tugging off my hose, and although I am very warm in Cardan's bed, I shiver under his fingers.

Yet my skin knows his touch. I am still inexperienced, but we've been here before and this time, my body knows where to expect him. Arches up to meet him as he gets there. This time, my hands know better what to do.

This time, it is both of us breathing raggedly as we spin closer and closer together.

Kissing Cardan has always felt vaguely horrifying but he's right. I just don't care anymore. I'm home, and he's here, and all that's in my mind is chasing the pleasure that he's trailing along my lips, down my throat, across my belly, and between my legs. It's a molten heat that travels wherever Cardan's silvery skin touches mine.

And now his tongue is moving under my ear as he rolls to cage me in his long limbs. His lips descend down my sternum and his teeth catch under my navel. He kisses across my hips and I think I might die from the pleasure. I reach forward and run my hands through the curls of his hair, and he makes a pleased murmuring sounds that vibrates across my skin. I'm so comfortable here that I'm utterly unprepared when he dips his head and licks his tongue between my thighs.

My hips buck off the bed and stars burst before my eyes. I gasp, and see nothing, and my fingers tighten involuntarily against Cardan's scalp. He repeats the motion, over and over and I'm too overwhelmed to be self-conscious about the moans that he's pulling from my lips. Then he slides his fingers into me and I'm dead. I'm sure I'm dead because the world has ceased to exist and I float in boundless rapture. I couldn't say how long for.

Cardan moves back up my body like a wave of heat. He settles over me and his naked cock presses against me where his tongue was moments ago, and I still can't move.

"Jude," he whispers. I don't recognise my name. "Jude." He kisses my lips and still I float. "Are you alright?" I manage to nod. Cardan slides himself against me, wet from his mouth, and asks, "Do you want me to keep going?"

It's enough to bring me back, to meet his eyes as I nod again, and now he's nudging at my entrance. My legs slide up and curl around his hips. His tail coils around my lower leg, and my hands tangle in his hair once more. I can't stop touching it, it's soft like nothing else.

And then he's sliding inside me, incredibly slowly, and the world drops away once more.

In this moment, there's only me and Cardan and the sweetest ache between us, and he's whispering my name like a mantra. "Jude," he says, letting his head drop on my shoulder. "Jude," and this time it's a moan as his fingers interlace with mine and hold them against the mattress. "Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude..."

After that I stop hearing him, because blood is rushing in my ears as his hips start to speed up, and although I feel full to breaking with him inside me, I find all I want is more and more and more.

In that moment I wonder briefly if lust and power and love and hate might all be the same thing after all.

Cardan pulls out of me, and for a second I'm empty and dismayed. Then he's rolling me onto my side, curving his body around mine and pulling my hips back toward him. All I want is to have him back inside me, and I am gratified a second later when he pushes into me from behind.

Cardan has his mouth on my neck, and his hand is pulling my top leg over his hip so he can reach my clit with his fingers. Before I know it, I'm coming undone there in the High King's bed, my fingers grabbing at nothing.

I start to scream and Cardan leans up to cover my mouth with his, kissing me over and over until he, too, is shaking and coming and gripping my hip so hard I'm sure the marks of his fingers will be there for days to come.

We lie there, curled together in the dark and for the first time I'm not at all angry at the command he has over my body.

In fact I'm not angry at anything, and I don't know when else that has ever been true. I just have this bone-deep calm, and it's never, ever been like this with Cardan. It would scare me, if I wasn't so damn calm.

Cardan wipes my legs down and then kisses the back of my neck, and seems to settle back to sleep with ease.

I lie awake for a little longer, wondering what Cardan will be like in the morning, and how we will scheme ourselves out of the Undersea danger.

But Cardan is so warm around me that I do not scheme for long.

****

Soft jurdan, for once in their lives 🥺🥺🥺 My babies.

@asteria-of-mars and @swankii-art-teacher!

JURDAN MASTERLIST

#jurdan #jurdan fic #smut #mine #tfota #if i want to wrap them in fluff I will!

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sentakushimasu · 3 years ago

Text

if i can't taste your lips just let me taste blood

pairing: bakugou katsuki/kirishima eijirou summary: work studies are meant to be educational, not fatal, but bakugou and kirishima are trapped with a growing puddle of blood and no way to get out genre: hurt/comfort, whump word count: 2.6k warnings: blood, hospitals, bakugou trying to articulate emotions title from: we are the dirt - it's never enough AO3

When Kirishima came to it was with a lot of confusion and pain. The first thing he noticed was the searing pain emanating from his abdomen that blurred and subdued his other senses. The second thing he noticed was that it was really dark.

Dark to the point where he wasn’t sure if he was opening his eyes at all, unable to figure out where the hell he was or how he got there.

The pain, however, was very clearly not a fixture of his foggy and disoriented brain. It kept getting worse, the burning sensation reaching all the way down to his feet. In the haze of pain he couldn’t pinpoint any actual injury, only able to tell that there was something really heavy pressing down on his midsection.

The whine he let out was involuntary, but if he was alone he was going to make as many pathetic noises as he wanted.

Only, he wasn’t alone.

“Kirishima? Kirishima, are you awake?”

That was Bakugou’s voice, but Bakugou never called him by his name, and especially not with the worry that currently saturated his tone.

Kirishima grumbled and tried to push the weight off him. It was so heavy, borderline crushing him but he couldn’t get it to move. What he assumed were Bakugou’s hands swatted his away from whatever was pinning him down.

“Fucking hell, would you stop that?”

Kirishima squirmed again, trying desperately to get even a little bit of the weight off him. “There’s something on top of me-”

“Yeah, that’s me. You’re bleeding.”

“Hmm? Sorry,” Kirishima floundered until his fingers connected with Bakugou’s wrist, looping around the limb. “You can stop, I’m alright.”

“What the fuck? No. You’re fucking bleeding everywhere.”

Bakugou’s face came slightly more into focus as Kirishima’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. He kept looking between Kirishima’s abdomen and his face. He looked worried, and if Kirishima didn’t value his life he would dare say that Bakugou was scared. He was still in his hero gear, the stupid theatric spikes framing his head, a distinct trail of blood marring his features as it trailed down his face from his hairline.

“Are you hurt?” Kirishima couldn’t help but ask.

“What? No.”

“You’re bleeding,” Kirishima supplied helpfully.

Bakugou narrowed his eyes and turned back to the wound, applying more pressure. “Not as much as you.”

Swallowing the whine in the back of his throat, Kirishima decided to actually start a conversation with his friend. He had no idea how long they would be there and he wasn’t into spending that uncertain length of time in tense silence with Bakugou. “What happened?”

“Work study. Big villain attack so Endeavour sent us out as backup. One of ‘em cornered you in here so I came to tell ‘em to fuck off but you were on the ground and when I exploded the asshole, the fucking ceiling caved in.”

“At least I’m not stuck in here by myself, hmm? That would be unfortunate.”

It was supposed to have been a joke, something to lighten the mood between them but Bakugou’s expression remained firm as he offered no reply.

“How bad is it?”

Bakugou paused, the silence hanging heavily between them. “It’s fine, you’re gonna be fine.”

Kirishima just hummed. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Dark spots peppered his vision and he was beginning to realise how tired he felt. He knew Bakugou was fighting a losing battle.

“I’m not fucking lying, okay? You’re going to be fine.”

“It’s okay, Bakugou. Can I just ask you to do something before I die?”

“You’re not going to die, you asshole. Fat Gum is going to come for you, you know he’d never leave you here.”

The exhaustion was creeping in with the tingling sensation in his arms and legs. He was so cold. He had half a mind to ask Bakugou to set off some explosions and hopefully warm the air. But they were trapped with potentially limited oxygen and Bakugou was too smart to ever risk that. “Is he going to be fast enough? You said there was a villain, he’s probably too busy.”

“Shut up!” Bakugou snapped, his expression and tone immediately softening as the harshness registered. “You’re not dying today. Or tomorrow. Or any day that I’m alive to see. I won't let you.”

Kirishima closed his eyes, letting himself imagine what it would be like to die with Bakugou by his side. A cruel part of his chest tightened as he imagined asking Bakugou to hold him before he passed out.

The taste of blissful unconsciousness lay heavy on the back of his tongue as he spoke. “Will you stay? I don’t wanna go alone.”

“You’re not going fucking anywhere, and I’m not gonna leave you.”

“I think I’m dying, Katsu.”

Kirishima could see the way Bakugou flinched at the use of the nickname. He would have apologised for being so informal but he was tired and he didn’t have the energy to be sorry for trying to feel close to Bakugou in his last moments.

Perhaps the reaction had been to the idea of Kirishima dying, but that seemed less likely. Bakugou was persistent in reminding everyone that he didn’t care about anything or anyone other than becoming number one. Kirishima had always admired his determination but right now he just wanted to pretend that Bakugou cared about him.

Falling in love with Bakugou Katsuki was probably the dumbest decision of Kirishima’s life but he would never live to regret it. Not while Bakugou stayed with him, trying to staunch the flow of blood from a wound that was likely severe enough to render Bakugou’s efforts useless.

The older boy didn’t look at him. “You’re just delirious from the blood loss, you’ll be okay.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because you’re fucking bleeding out!”

“Yeah,” Kirishima mumbled with the limited energy he had left, “but why is it suddenly a big deal? You've said repeatedly that you don’t care about anyone else.”

“I lied,” Bakugou hissed through his teeth, his jaw clenched with such force that Kirishima was worried the bone would shatter under the pressure.

Kirishima’s eyebrows pinched together in confusion. Well that made no sense.“Why would you lie?”

“Because I love you, goddamnit! So you’re going to stay awake and we’re going to get out of this and go on a date or some shit, but we can only do that if you stay awake, okay?”

Oh. Kirishima tried to speak, but his tongue felt like a lead weight in his mouth that he couldn’t lift no matter how hard he tried. The fog was pressing in on him much harder now.

Bakugou’s voice was muffled by the fog as he spoke again. “Fucking say something. I just confessed my feelings for you, you don’t get to fucking ignore me now.”

Kirishima was aware that he should be worried by the way it was taking more and more of his energy to keep his eyes open, but he couldn’t find the strength to care about anything other than the fact that Bakugou just said he loves him.

“Kirishima?”

“No- No, fuck, no, Kirishima you have to keep your eyes open!” Kirishima hadn’t even noticed they’d fallen shut, but he couldn’t seem to open them again, despite how much he wanted to stare into Bakugou’s red eyes forever.

Kirishima could feel something tapping on his cheek, shaking his shoulder. Bakugou’s voice was so broken and raw when he spoke his plea. “Kiri, please.”

That’s weird, Bakugou never says please.

As the last shreds of consciousness left him, Kirishima swore he could hear muffled yelling somewhere close to his head, he couldn’t make out the words.

But it didn’t hurt anymore.

Kirishima didn’t expect to wake up.

It was as simple as that.

He had been bleeding badly enough that Bakugou hadn’t even let him look, and had seemed genuinely worried and afraid for his friend’s wellbeing. So at that point, waking up was a feat on its own.

Waking up without being in excruciating pain was something else entirely. He just felt floaty and not real. But he definitely wasn’t dead because he was uncomfortable and the lights behind his close eyelids were way too bright.

“I would try to send you back to the dorms but I know you won’t listen to me even if I erase your quirk and drag you kicking and screaming out of here,” Aizawa’s gruff voice said from a place Kirishima couldn’t pinpoint. There was a lot of aural input that just dissolved into directionless static.

“I’m not leaving him.”

That was Bakugou’s voice, with its hard edge and underlying fire. It cut through the haze of Kirishima’s lingering unconsciousness, it didn’t have the same fuzzy edge to the syllables that Aizawa’s voice had.

Aizawa must have clicked his tongue before speaking again in his monotonous drawl. “You need to rest too. That concussion isn’t going to go away on its own.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bakugou bit back.

“Then, pray tell, what matters more than your health?”

“He does.”

He wanted to fight against the stupor, to reach out and smack Bakugou upside the head. His friend was concussed, and chose not to rest, in favour of keeping a bedside vigil. At this point, it was the only thing that was convincing Kirishima that he didn’t hallucinate what Bakugou said before he passed out.

Not that it made much sense.

“Kirishima would want you to take care of yourself.” Kirishima is going to shake Aizawa’s hand the second he can muster up the energy to do so.

“Kirishima also wanted to die of blood loss and traumatise me instead of just staying awake, so I’m not going to listen to what that asshole wants.”

“You know as well as I do that the doctor said he probably won’t be coherent until tomorrow morning even if he does wake up tonight. I can drive you back to the dorm and pick you up before visiting hours.”

Kirishima could practically hear Bakugou shaking his head. “I’m not leaving him alone.”

“He won’t be alone. Fat Gum and I will be here all night.”

Bakugou’s next words were haunted, hollowed out to fit an emotion Kirishima had never heard from the older boy. “He asked me to stay with him.”

“And you did, you saved his life,” a third voice added. Kirishima was cognizant enough to be able to recognise it as being his mentor.

“Go to bed, Bakugou,” Kirishima mumbled, scrunching his eyes up tightly as consciousness fully came back to him. He wished someone would turn the light off.

“Kirishima?” There was too much noise in that moment for Kirishima to figure out who had spoken, but he suspected that all of them had something to say about his return to wakefulness.

He tried to lift his hand, hoping to cover his eyes from the bright lights of what was undoubtedly a hospital room, only to find it pinned in place.

Opening his eyes to the onslaught of light revealed that his hand was being firmly held in Bakugou’s. Okay, forget his previous claims, he was definitely dead. Or, at the very least, having the best dream of his life.

Kirishima groaned. “You guys are loud.”

“Sorry, kid,” Aizawa said in his usual grumble. His chair was the furthest away from Kirishima, sitting all the way in the corner of the room. He looked the same amount of disheveled as he usually did but his posture held a weird tension that Kirishima wasn’t sure he had ever seen before.

“How are you feeling?” Fat Gum asked, he was out of his hero suit which, to Kirishima, looked very odd.

“Pretty okay, all things considered,” Kirishima said, directing his gaze towards his friend.

Bakugou was the most noticeably different. His hair was scruffy and matted with blood, a stark white rectangle of gauze taped to his forehead, a few little strips holding a cut on his eyebrow together. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t let go of Kirishima’s hand either.

Feeling particularly spontaneous, probably due to the bucket full of pain meds that were undoubtedly currently in his system, Kirishima gave Bakugou’s hand an experimental squeeze.

Bakugou stiffened but the tension quickly left his body as he squeezed back, turning to meet Kirishima’s eyes and give him a soft smile.

Their exchange was silent but they said all they needed to.

I heard you.

I love you too.

Kirishima tried to adjust himself, to get a better look at Bakugou’s injuries. Only to promptly collapse back onto the hospital bed as pain blasted through all of his senses.

“Idiot,” Bakugou hissed.

“Take it easy,” Fat Gum said, “you were in surgery for a long time, you don’t need to be pushing yourself.”

Still trying to breathe through the pain, Kirishima opened one eye to look at the pro hero.

“Surgery?” he managed to grit out from between his clenched teeth.

Fat Gum’s eyes softened as he looked at his mentee. “We found you both not long after you lost consciousness, but you were in rough shape. You’re going to need to take it easy for a while.”

Kirishima groaned. “That sounds boring.”

“Not as boring as an extended recovery period because you refused to take care of yourself,” Aizawa chided.

“True,” Kirishima said. “What time is it?”

Fat Gum was the one to speak this time. Bakugou stayed remarkably silent. “A little past midnight, you spent six hours in surgery and we’ve been waiting for you to wake up for about two hours now.”

“And Bakugou isn’t in bed?”

“Nope. We tried but he won’t budge. Better to let it happen at this point.”

Kirishima rolled his head to the other side, narrowing his eyes at Bakugou and the older boy’s stony expression. “Go to sleep.”

Bakugou met his gaze with his usual stubborn fire. “You first.”

“If you stay, will you sleep?”

Bakugou nodded.

“Aizawa-sensei, can he stay?”

Kirishima had expected Aizawa to argue, but he was just met with a soft “okay”.

Whether it was the cocktail of medication or the trauma his body had suffered, tiredness hit Kirishima like a wave. As his blinking slowed down, he swore he saw a soft smile grace Bakugou’s lips before his other hand reached up to brush Kirishima’s hair out of his face.

“Goodnight, Kirishima.”

Kirishima just hummed, too tired to speak.

Kirishima woke up the next morning with Bakugou wrapped around his arm that was free of tubes and wires, snoring softly.

Carefully picking up his other hand and ignoring the presence of the IV in the crook of his elbow, he began to thread his fingers through Bakugou’s messy hair. The older boy didn’t stir, a true testament to how exhausted he really was, especially considering on any other day Kirishima could breathe sideways and Bakugou would all but leap to his feet.

Instead, Bakugou’s hold just tightened slightly as he mumbled something in his sleep.

A quick glance around the room told Kirishima that Aizawa was asleep in his chair in the corner, his face buried in his capture scarf, surprisingly sans his usual yellow sleeping bag. Fat Gum was nowhere to be seen but judging by the empty chair with a blanket on the seat and jacket draped over the back, he couldn’t be far away.

There was a weird bliss to the quiet atmosphere of the hospital room. The soft morning light filtered in through the window as opposed to the harsh lights of the night before.

The pain meds took away from the discomfort of being in a hospital, and with Bakugou clinging to him like he was the most important thing in the world was something Kirishima could easily be convinced was a dream, a fantasy conjured by his unconscious mind.

He could get used to this.

#mha #bnha #my hero academia #kiribaku #bakugou x kirishima #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #mha fanfiction #mha fic #bnha fic #bnha fanfiction #kiribaku fanfic #max.doc #boku no hero academia

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

Text

Long Lost Love // Part One (D.M.)

Summary: Two piles of twelve letters, hidden away in the bottom of a trunk, browning with age. Twenty-four letters in total, all addressed to him.

A/N: This is my entry into @teheharrypotter‘s two weeks of angst! I just really want to take a moment and say that I am so proud of this fic and how it has come out, like ridiculously proud of it. I would really appreciate some feedback on this - reblogs and comments are so important. There is going to be a second part where all the love letters will be compiled into one long post. However, I think not giving too much away only adds to the suspense and angst. Also, the ending... I love it and I think you’ll all hate me for it.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: this is a lot of angst combined with hurt/comfort but there’s a lot of growth in Draco (I think?)

Word count: 5.4k

It had been fifteen years since the end of the second wizarding war; it had been fifteen years of healing and working on himself, of repenting for his family’s crimes during the war. Draco Malfoy had aged in that time; his hair had grown past his shoulders, tied back with a black leather hair tie, and there were lines on his face that had not been there when he was an eighteen year old running away from the castle he classed as his home.

He had lived a lifetime in those fifteen years. He had seen the world before training as a Healer; working his way up the ranks to become head of the emergency department of the only wizarding hospital within Britain. He had trained Healer after Healer; many of them going off to establish clinics in their own community, all of them sending cards at Christmas, regaling him of their successes.

Draco had lived a lifetime. He lost his father first. Lucius had never truly recovered from his time in Azkaban, and though Draco had tried his hardest to form some semblance of a relationship with his father, Lucius had remained cruel until the end. Truthfully, Draco doesn’t want to think about what it was that killed him in the end. Whether it was the spite that had poisoned him for years, or whether it was something else. Draco doesn’t dwell on it; instead, he leaves white roses on his father’s grave every Sunday like any loving son would.

Narcissa hadn’t lasted long after Lucius passed. She had been distraught. Whilst Lucius was not a doting father, he was a doting husband and he adored Narcissa until his very last breath on this earth. To Draco, her tears started that day and didn’t stop until she passed away in her asleep. Her heart, the coroner said. She had died of a broken heart.

A feeling Draco knew only too well.

Despite achieving so much and traveling so far, he had only ever been in love once. There had only ever been one moment in his whole life that had been filled with the kind of love read about in books, sang about in songs, and played out in films. Draco had fallen in love with you when he was sixteen years old and entering what would be the darkest period of his life. To him, you had been the light in the dark. The answer to his constantly asked question: will there ever be a happy ending?

Nothing had ever happened; nothing could happen. You were the epitome of goodness; the very incarnate of its definition, and he… he was the opposite. In those days, his self-hatred ran so deep that he would argue he was the Hades of the story. Doomed forever to the underworld only to fall in love with the Goddess of Spring and hope for retribution that would never come.

However, in this version of their well-told myth, Hades and Persephone never fall into a relationship. In this version of events, feelings were known and reciprocated, but letters that pleaded for a chance either never arrived or were never answered.

So for fifteen years, Draco Malfoy has been working hard on repairing his family’s tattered reputation whilst coping with the depth-defying grief that comes with losing both parents within the span of a year as well as never truly dealing with the heart wrenching grief that accompanies a relationship that was never given the chance to bloom.

--------

It was a bright, clear day in the middle of March when Draco decided to clean out the attic. He had woken with the urge to clean; with the urge to organise his life and start to work through the piles of his parent’s belongings. He hadn’t been able to touch them in the beginning; the most he had been able to do was relocate everything to the attic and then shove the very thought to the back of his mind where it began to fester like an open wound.

Bright and clear was the day when Draco chose to enter the long forgotten attic in the Manor. Bright and clear was the day when he had to hold a handkerchief to his face to stave off the inevitable sneezes from the dust floating in the air.

Looking around the old and dusty attic, Draco takes in the first of the mess. Trunks line the wall; some ancient – locks worn down with time, almost rusted from their exile to the attic; others are much newer such as his parent’s belongings. Their trunks remain almost new; their initials still painted onto the lids in bright gold paint.

The majority of the morning is spent creating two piles; one to be thrown away, one to be donated. Expensive gowns and suits were to be donated. Anything that reminded Draco of his allegiance in the Second Wizarding War was to be thrown.

As he goes through the belongings of not just his parent’s, but also his grandparents, Draco begins to feel conflicted. With each addition to the bin pile, he feels lighter, he feels one less burden. However, he cannot help the guilt that unfurls in his stomach as he thinks of his mother’s kind face and her forever painted red lip.

By the time Draco makes it to his mother’s final trunk, he feels as if he has been in battle once more. Weariness hangs heavy over in shoulders, settling in his bones. His body slumped, not just from the tiredness from lifting heavy trunks and boxes, but from the emotional weight of memories freshly unleashed upon him.

Draco’s movements are slower as he opens the lid to this final trunk. He thinks back to the day he filled it; piling his mother’s correspondence and personal effects in here – separate from the clothes he knew he would one day get rid of. He slides his hands over the emerald green lid – a Slytherin till the day she died, Draco thinks as he smiles to himself.

At some point, he lets a few tears fall. It’s the sight of Narcissa’s handwriting, he realises. He hadn’t seen it in so long – not having received a birthday card or a Christmas present this year due to her death. Seeing her strong cursive brought tears to his eyes; he remembers being a child, sitting by her desk, watching her write away and wondering who on earth she could be talking to. If Draco focuses hard enough, he swears he can still smell the fresh ink drying on the parchment and the melted wax being pressed with Narcissa’s signet ring.

At the bottom of the trunk, Draco notices a latch. Frowning, he flips it open to reveal a false bottom hidden away. Uneasiness spreads through him, turning his stomach to lead as he reaches inside to feel two distinct piles.

The uneasiness turns to heavy anguish when Draco realises just what he is holding in his hands.

------

Two piles of twelve letters, hidden away in the bottom of a trunk, browning with age.

Twenty-four letters in total, all addressed to him.

They now sit on his kitchen counter; the ageing paper a stark contrast to the obsidian black of his counter top. Draco leans back in his chair, huffing out a long sigh, running a hand down his face as he does so. It had been fifteen years, but he would recognise your handwriting anywhere.

It had been fifteen years and he hadn’t had any contact with you. He wondered for so long why his letters had gone unanswered to the point where he stopped writing altogether, feeling the keen sting of rejection.

Fifteen years and he now had his answer.

Hidden away in a trunk; squirreled away in the hopes that he would never find them. The hope that he would forget about you and move on. He never had; he just kept his feelings silent, caging them up in his heart along with everything else he kept from his parents.

Anger surges through him. The first emotion he has felt since he opened that damned trunk.

He lets out a choked scream; the intensity of his anger surprising him as he slams a fist onto the counter top, wincing slightly from the pain now radiating up his right arm.

How dare they, he roars. How dare they keep this from him? How dare they keep you from him? Did you not fit their ideal – a pureblood from a well off family? Did you not meet their needs visually? Your hair perfect, your face just the same.

There was no good reason he could think of. Draco pads over to the bar, tucked away in the corner of the kitchen. There, he pours himself a knuckle’s length of the amber liquid, knocking it back with a hiss. The whiskey burns as it goes down; burns just like his emotions, like his anger.

Draco’s lip curls in distaste as he hears his father’s voice: a distraction, Draco, that’s all.

Lucius Malfoy had never uttered such words in Draco’s presence, but Draco was well aware of his father’s distaste of you.

Reading over his home address once again, Draco is hit with a sense of helplessness. He doesn’t know where to go from or what to do. He reads over your home address, neatly written in the top left hand corner of the envelope.

Sighing, he runs a hand down his face, still uncertain what his next move is going to be. He runs through the options in his head once, and out loud after.

To no-one in particular, he argues:

“I could reply. I could write a letter back, apologising for the absence of replies with a brief sentence or two about meeting up after so much time has passed.”

Draco waves that option away; his tongue too tied up to even think about coherently writing a letter out now. He moves onto option two:

“I could show up. I could apparate to the address right now, knock on the door and ask to speak to them.”

He shakes his head; immediately ridding himself of the idea. For starters, what if you had moved, and he finds himself knocking on the door of an unknown family? However, what if you still live there, and you answer the door? What is Draco to say to you then after such a long time apart?

He imagines the situation; forces himself into shoes that he could possibly be wearing in the near future. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Not a word, not a whisper, not an apology.

So he ignores option two.

Draco knows its cowardice that drives him to the third option, but to go fifteen years without a reply to a letter declaring love… it is too long of a time to expect any form of forgiveness, and he supposes that is what he is most afraid of. Draco’s terrified of not being worthy enough for your forgiveness.

So he goes with option three:

Do nothing.

------

Draco does the only thing that makes sense.

He takes the letters to work.

Draco slides the letters into his satchel, latching the buckle afterwards and taking a deep breath. Already, Draco feels the twenty four envelopes burning a hole through the soft, worn leather of his bag.

Their presence continues to haunt him: placing his bag in his locker and grabbing his lab coat, walking towards the admit desk where Martha – the head nurse – smiles at him before handing him a cup of coffee.

The emergency room is swamped. It is full to capacity with even more waiting in triage. They work as hard and as fast as they can, but it takes time to cure burns from potions and injuries from spells gone wrong.

It gets to the point where Draco needs to take a step back. He has to take a step back and re-evaluate. His personal life is shot; the love he had found at sixteen a dead end until this last weekend. His professional life is all that he has going for him, but on days like this, when he isn’t feeling entirely himself for the shock from the weekend, Draco does find himself being short with patients.

He escapes to the break room; the familiar bitter scent of coffee already relaxing the tense muscles in his shoulders. He settles into a chair at the rickety table, head in his hands as he takes a deep breath.

Draco represses the urge to cry. He pushes it down; deep, deep down inside him where he can deal with it another day. At this moment, all he wants is a hug from his mother and the age old promise that everything is going to be okay. It’s her fault’ it is Narcissa’s fault that he is like this.

That he is a husk of a man.

He feels like a therapist’s wet dream. Blaming his mother, his parents as the source of his problems, but he cannot help imagining how different his life would be if those letters had been delivered to his hands.

He would be with you. He would have given it all up for you.

His lineage; his inheritance; his name; the pureblood mania that infected his parents.

He would give it all up for you.

Fifteen years later and he would still give up every aspect of his life, every part of him that makes him him.

Draco would drop it all in a heartbeat for you.

“What’s gotten into you?” A feminine voice questions. Draco turns in his seat to see his closest friend and confidant, Alexandria Delphi, leaning against the door with a smile on her face.

He cannot help the smile that grows on his face at her presence. He shrugs, hoping he appears nonchalant, “What do you mean?”

Alexandria pushes herself off the door, coming to sit next to Draco at the old rickety table that has been at home in the break room since before time itself. She raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow at his obvious aversion. She gestures to his entire being, “I mean this. You’ve been off all day – not as attentive to patients, not your usual flirtatious self with the nurses which I know they are missing very much. What’s gotten into you, Draco?”

Draco sighs, knowing very well he could never hide anything from her. Alexandria and Draco had known each other since their first year of training; an unlikely friendship forming between them, but a friendship nonetheless. Thirteen years later, they had been working in the emergency department of St Mungo’s the longest – second only to Martha, the Head Nurse.

“I was cleaning out the attic over the weekend. Getting rid of some of my parent’s things.”

Alexandria frowns, reaching for Draco’s hand over the table. “You should have called me. I would have come and helped you; you shouldn’t have had to that alone.”

“I know,” Draco starts, running a hand down his face, “I know you would have but I think I needed to do it alone.”

Alexandria nods, releasing his hand at last and bringing it to the coffee mug sitting in front of her. Draco smiles at her before standing, opening his locker and grabbing the letters that call to him from his bag.

Sitting back down, he slides the two piles of letters in Alexandria’s direction, all the while saying, “I found these in my mother’s trunk. It had a false bottom, and they were sitting there.”

Her deep brown eyes widen, “How scandalous! They’re addressed to you?”

Draco nods, “When I was at Hogwarts, there was a girl.”

“Isn’t there always?” Alexandria quips, rolling her eyes at the dramatics of her colleague.

“Anyway,” Draco comments pointedly, “I was in love, or at least, I was as much in love as you can be when you’re sixteen years old. I still am, I think.

“Anyway, my parents didn’t approve of her; they never would so when war started brewing and I went home, I never imagined I would get letters. I never got letters. Turns out, she had been sending me letters all along and my parents had kept them hidden until now.”

“Bastards,” Alexandria spits; furious at people long dead.

“What do you think I should do?” Draco asks earnestly, his eyes never leaving the pile of letters.

“Have you read them?” Alexandria asks; her eyes fixed on the two sets of letters placed between them on the rickety table.

He shakes his head, refusing to meet Alexandria’s eyes, “I think I’m too scared.”

Alexandria smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She sighs, “You aren’t going to know what to do until you read them. Reading the letters should give you the answer you are looking for.”

“When did you get so wise?”

“When you made me Attending,” She quips, yet there is still no heart behind it – none of her usual heat that tends to come out when Draco baits her slightly. She shakes her head, standing from her seat with her coffee in her hand, “I want to see you back out there soon. I don’t care whether you’re the head of the department.”

He raise an eyebrow at her in challenge; she simply smirks. He shakes his head at her antics, already rising from his seat, “I’m on my way.”

“Good, I have plenty of patients for you to see.”

Draco doesn’t reply, he watches her leave with a fond smile on his face.

Alexandria leaves the break room. She leaves as it is the only way that Draco will not see the sorrow and the longing reflected in her eyes. Alexandria doesn’t let him see the jealousy over the letters; the very emotion gnawing away at the ever growing pit in her stomach, only making it deeper as she replays the story of Draco’s first and only love.

She remembers when she used to look forward to coming into work; to help those in need and be a source of comfort for those she couldn’t help. Now, she struggles to make it through the door with the knowledge that she has been in love with the same man for years and nothing had happened.

That’s the thing about loving someone who doesn’t love you back – it turns you into a ghost of your former self.

------

Draco finds himself reaching for the first letter in the pile on a Friday night in the middle of April. If he had to be honest with himself, it had taken him a whole month to work up the nerve to read them. Draco had come home after the conversation with Alexandria and dropped the letters on the side table where they have taunted him ever since.

He knows he isn’t in the right frame of mind to be reading them; a bad shift with too many deaths combined with the two half full tumblers of whiskey consumed creates the equation of self-destruction. However, Draco reminds himself, he’s had fifteen years of internal self-destruction – what’s one more night when you tear yourself down so regularly despite the accolades attached to your name?

Draco hesitates, holding the first of the twenty four letters in his hand. He hesitates; unsure as to whether he is ready to read the handwriting of someone whose notes through class not only made him happy, but hopeful.

Releasing a shuddering breath, he tears open the seal and begins to read.

------

The letters are not long. They aren’t pages and pages of eloquent syntax over your feelings for the blonde haired, cocky teenager he once was. The closer he gets to the end of the pile, the less is written as if you had grown tired of such an act and not getting a reply.

Draco keeps his favourite close to him. It’s tucked away in his inner coat pocket, on the left hand side close to his heart.

The letter has been with him a month now. A month of one letter being read and reread too many times a day; to the point where Draco is reciting it in his sleep. It’s creased beyond recognition, but he still takes the risk every day to take it out and read it.

He misses you. He misses you. He misses you.

Now, Draco unfolds the paper. He unfolds the paper and reads the opening line: do you remember that night in the greenhouse? Writes your neat handwriting; the letters perfectly formed on the now browning parchment.

How could he forget? Draco closes his eyes, letting himself fall into the memory perfumed with compost and night blooming evening primrose.

*****

“Name two purposes of Valerian Root.”

“To help someone sleep as well as to ease anxiety.”

“Very good,” You laugh, moving quietly between the rows and rows of plants. You turn to him suddenly, “What is one danger of Black Henbane?”

Draco pauses, eyes already searching for papery flower with spidery black veins. He finds it nestled towards the back of the greenhouse, hidden away from sight and away from the wandering hands of children. Draco follows you closely; remaining near you as he says, “As a member of the nightshade family, the plant can be toxic if used in large quantities.”

The sight of your smile takes his breath away. You rush to him; toothy grin and loud laughter as you nod your head. “Madame Pomfrey was right,” You splutter, “You’re going to make an incredible Healer, Draco Malfoy.”

He doesn’t need to see the blush to know it’s there; he can feel the heat creeping its way up his neck to his cheeks. “I don’t think I’ll get there if I don’t have you.”

A satisfied smile replaces the happy grin that was on your face only moments ago. It was as if you were waiting for those words to fall from his lips; the reassurance within those words spreading over your worry like a balm over a wound.

How many more nights would they get like this? How many more nights would they have together?

Somewhat foolishly, Draco hopes he has forever. He hopes he has an eternity and a day with you, but he can feel the changes in the air, and he knows it isn’t good. Draco can see the tension at home; more and more people arriving, each just as secretive as the last, and Draco suddenly knows he only has a short amount of time before he’s inducted into the same fanatic group as his parents.

He’s on limited days with you so he’ll take the nights.

He’ll take all the nights.

-------

The shoebox had remained untouched under his bed for years now. Draco had shoved it there in a fit of anger and despair and he hadn’t looked since.

Reaching for it now, Draco represses the growing anger directed at his parents. He ignores the growing resentment surrounding the fact that they hid your letters for years and never thought to whisper a word of it – not even on their death beds.

The shoebox has aged; not unlike himself, he thinks as he wipes the dust from the top. The thick layer drawing a sneeze from him before he can open the box.

It doesn’t matter how many years it has laid unwanted under his bed; it doesn’t matter how long it has remained there, untouched and not thought of – Draco, to this day, can still recount for every little thing in there.

Notes that have now turned brown with age; old photos where youthful faces glance up at him; a chocolate bar wrapper from Honeyduke’s.

They each line the bottom of the shoebox. Draco’s memories of you out there for him to finally confront, to see. He sinks down onto his childhood bed; almost blinded by the force of the wave of nostalgia washing over him, threatening to drown him with the strength of his memories.

The memories hadn’t plagued him for some time though you played on his mind constantly – even more so since the letters.

They’re silly memories, but memories, nonetheless. Ones that he adores; ones that he cherishes.

It was the letters that triggered this. The letters that have brought the ghosts back from where they had been hidden, haunting him quietly until now.

Draco runs a hand through the trinkets in the box. He smiles at them, thinking of Hogsmeade and how he had surprised you with a bar of your favourite chocolate. The grin on your face worth all the jibes from Crabbe and Goyle when he got back to the Slytherin common room that evening.

Draco falls back onto his childhood bed with a huff.

He has a decision to make, and he doesn’t know where to begin. He has a decision to make, and he doesn’t have the guidance he so desperately needs.

Draco wants to see you; he needs to see you, but what if you don’t want to see him?

----

“I heard you handed in your notice,” Draco states as a way of breaking the ice.

Her notice of leave had landed in his hands not even three hours ago. He had spent the time since in a panic; rushing about the hospital to find Alexandria and to question her, to find out why she would leave after so long.

Why she would leave him.

Alexandria nods, “I have. I leave in two weeks.”

“Why?” Draco all but demands, “You love this place.”

“You’re right,” Alexandria sighs, “I do.”

“Then why are you leaving?”

“Because I can’t do this anymore, Draco. I can’t sit here and listen to you talk about those letters and sigh dreamily, or date someone else. I can’t do it,” Her voice breaks, “So I won’t. I want a fresh start, so I’m going to get one.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

“If I had known…”

“What? You’d have loved me?” Alexandria laughs mirthlessly, “Love me, Draco! Love me.”

“I can’t,” He whispers; the words the death knell to any scrap of friendship remaining.

Tears fall down her face, “And that’s why I have to go.”

She presses a kiss to his cheek; lingering for longer than what was probably good for her. When she pulls away, she can see the wetness of her tears on Draco’s cheek. “I hope you find her, Draco. You deserve a love story.”

-----

The cottage is small, but it is perfect. Ivy covered walls with a neat front garden; every inch showing the love and attention being paid to it. From the red roses that makes Draco think of his beloved mother to the intense scent of lavender that reminds Draco of the perfume you wore through Hogwarts. Looking up at the cottage, Draco realises that he had never seen a house look so much like a home.

He pauses at the gate; eyes focused on the bricks of the cottage and nowhere else. He doesn’t let the hope grow; he doesn’t let himself dream of what could happen. He’s thankful he has made it this far.

That he’s made it back to you.

The black gate creaks when Draco pushes it open. He winces at the noise, praying it doesn’t give him away and that you answer the door unexpectedly.

He needs this.

He needs the time.

It’s been fifteen years and since he found your letters months ago, he thought he would be ready by the time he found you.

Now Draco is thinking, perhaps he isn’t ready.

Will he ever be ready? He asks himself. Will he ever be ready to confront the very person he has been in love with since he was sixteen years old?

Draco doesn’t know; he doesn’t think he’ll ever know until he steps through the gate.

Draco’s hands shake as he rushes down the well-worn footpath to your dark brown front door. His hands continue to shake as he raises a single fist to knock on the door, three times.

He’s about to turn away; he’s about to walk away and never enter your life again. He will go away and never think of you again; of what could have been.

But then the lock clicks, and the handle moves.

“Hello?” A sweet voice calls out; your voice calls out.

“(Y/N)…” He breathes, and suddenly his nerves are gone and so is his worry. Suddenly, Draco is back at Hogwarts, the feel of your hand in his as he presses you into walls and steals kisses behind statues. He’s back to being sixteen years old and feeling the unrelenting agony of teenage love for the first time along with the merciless fear to do with the rising tensions.

“Draco,” You whisper, bringing a hand up to your mouth. Shock reflects in your eyes; your eyes that show no signs of aging other than the lines that are now forming in the corners.

Draco can’t help himself; he runs his eyes over your body, taking in the changes that becoming an adult has brought. It means nothing; he would love you regardless, but he cannot seem to help himself from drinking it all in.

From the realisation that he in fact stood in front of you.

You are there, and he is here with you.

“How have you been?” He asks; more out of politeness than anything else.

You shift awkwardly, “I’ve been good, Draco. How have you been?”

Draco nods, “I’ve been good too. I know you’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

You laugh, tucking yourself slightly behind the door, “That did cross my mind.”

He smiles; a large grin that he hasn’t felt on his face in a long, long time. Less than five minutes with you, and you’re already bringing out a side of him that Draco had long thought was extinct. He reaches into his coat, grabbing some of the letters that he keeps there. He holds them out to you, “I’ve only just found them.”

Audibly gasping, you instinctively reach for the letters. Your fingers brush Draco’s and he swears his heart skips a beat at the small touch. “I sent these years ago.”

Draco closes his eyes, “I know, and I cannot apologise enough to you for how long it has taken. I thought a reply in person would be better.”

Tears line your eyes as your fingers brush the worn paper; the crease marks more than evident from where Draco has folded and refolded the letter to read. “I always wondered what had happened…” You trail off, lifting your gaze from the letters to meet his eyes.

“My parents,” He whispers; voice pained. He takes a moment to collect himself, but you put a hand up to stop from saying anything else.

“I understand. You don’t need to explain more, Draco.”

“Thank you,” He replies, smiling softly. Then he launches into his tale, “I was cleaning out their belongings; cleaning in general really when I found a false bottom in my mother’s trunk. When I took it out, I found your letters… and I read them and reread them. I practically memorised them. I don’t think there are enough words in the English language to convey just how sorry I am.”

“Draco…”

“No, let me say this… please,” He whispers, adding on the last word for politeness. You fall silent, your eyes begging him not to say out loud what you know he is going to confess.

“Until the last star fades and we succumb to darkness, I shall love you. I have always loved you; from being a scared teenager to being a just as scared adult. My feelings haven’t changed. I’ve thought of nothing but you for fifteen years,” He pauses, drawing in a shuddering breath, “I love you.”

Silence falls over you both. Draco’s heart pounds in his chest as he watches the emotions flicker over your face in a pace he didn’t think was humanly possible. Acceptance, happiness, relief and then finally, sadness.

He furrows his brows; surely this would be a happy event no? Draco has tracked you down after a fifteen year absence. He has found his one true love at last, and now he stands before you wondering the cause of such sadness on your face and in your eyes.

“Draco…” You trail off, holding up your left hand, “I’m married.”

******

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @theweasleysredhair @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @idont-knowrn @lunalovegxxd @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @acciotwinz @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @kylosleftbuttcheek @remmyswritings @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @ithilwen-lionheart @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ilovejjmaybank @phuvioqhile @moatsnow @storyisnotover

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey @kashishwrites @justmesadgirl @detroitobsessed @reaganwonders @aspiringsloth20 @just-a-belgian-girl @lahoete @minty-malfoy @fallinallinmendes @ravenclawbitch426 @ochrythum @beiahadid @gryffindors-weasley @dracosathenaeum

#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagines

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heytherejulietx · 3 years ago

Note

Im gonna combine. Bughead + Hogwarts and Soulmates

Never Had Enough Time - Bughead

Masterlists

Requests open!

Read on AO3 here!

Notes - So uh, I apologise in advance for this. It was way sadder than I originally intended it to be - I think I went a bit overboard since I haven’t written anything Hogwarts related since Christmas. But enjoy. And I’m sorry Sara. :)

Prompts - Hogwarts / Soulmate AU.

Warnings - Major character death, death, brief mention of suicidal thoughts, battle.

Word count - 3.5k.

Riverdale tag list - @bucky-j-barnes @adorably-sweet-hufflepuff @kpopgirlbtssvt @booksmusicteaandanimals @happy-puff @cheryllclayton @jesso80 @dietbreadloaf @thebluetint @lilireinhartsimp @camiczzzz @bitchy-broken @crazyninjalight @luella-cane @literarygetaway21 @hopeversusillusions @bc-jh22 @happygmc8

To join my tag list fill out this form.

From the moment he’d started being friends with Betty, Jughead knew that she was his soulmate. There was no way that she couldn’t be. The sweet Hufflepuff girl who had woven her way into his heart by the middle of their first year was his absolute favourite person; she meant the world to him. The way that Soulmates had been taught to them in class matched up with everything he felt with Betty. The adoration, the comfort, the longing to always be with her. It was a way that he had never imagined he could feel about someone before he had met her.

So when it was nearing his sixteenth birthday he knew his theory about them being soulmates would be proven with the timer that would appear on his wrist. He wasn’t so fussed about the timer itself; the countdown to when his soulmate would die hadn’t even crossed his mind as he couldn’t ever imagine losing Betty. He could picture them somewhere away from Hogwarts married and living together; happy. She couldn’t die before they were grey haired and had grandchildren and had lived an amazing life together. No, he wasn’t worried about that. He was just excited to see the timer on his wrist, the timer that would only appear if he had met his soulmate.

He had waited for it the whole of September before his birthday, excitedly talking with Betty about how it could finally be confirmed that they were soulmates. He could picture her excited smile perfectly as he thought about it; the way her giant green eyes lit up as she looked up at him with her huge beautiful smile. She was perfect.

When he woke up on the morning of his birthday, after Sweet Pea had hit him with his pillow on his way out of the dormitories with a shout of “happy birthday, Jones”, as soon as he was coherent enough to do so he sat up and looked down at his wrist.

And his heart fell into his stomach as the air was knocked out of his lungs.

Betty Cooper - 1 year, 238 days.

He didn’t even realise he was shaking until his arm was moving so much that he could barely read the writing embedded into his wrist. It had to be wrong, there was no way that it could be true. Betty couldn’t die, she just couldn’t. It was impossible that someone so perfect and sweet and angelic could just die. There had to be a mistake with the timer, it had to be wrong.

With his eyes blurring with tears he lifted up his hand and harshly rubbed the skin of his wrist, as if he could rub away some sort of mistake. He rubbed the skin until it was red and sore, though nothing changed.

Betty had a year left of her life.

It took him almost an hour before he could show his face from his dorm and head down to the Great Hall. He’d managed to convince himself that the timer was wrong, and later in the day he’d find a book about it in the library. But he had to show his face at some point, aside from Christmas his birthday was one of Betty’s favourite days, and he had to see her. Especially since he might not have that much time left with her.

When she spotted him walking into the Great Hall she immediately sat up with a smile, and it caused his chest to ache to see her so happy now that he knew the time she had left.

Jughead had decided that Betty couldn’t know. He didn’t want her to live the last of her life in fear of when and how she would die. He wanted her to be happy and to enjoy herself. She only deserved to be happy from that moment onwards.

“Hey, what took you so long?” Betty asked as he walked towards the Hufflepuff table as usual, taking his normal seat beside her with a false smile so she wouldn’t know something was wrong.

“Sorry, slept in.” Jughead somehow managed to fake a smile as he put his arm around her once he was seated, dropping a kiss to her forehead which caused her to blush pink and smile bashfully at the action.

“Happy Birthday!” Betty smiled fondly as she moved her arms around his waist, and he smiled a little genuinely as he felt the warmth coming from her body. “So, what does it say?” She gestured to his wrist and he almost blanched.

Nobody but him could see the timer, to make it that much worse, so he had to keep it to himself.

“We’re definitely soulmates.” He smiled slightly, and Betty grinned as she hugged him that much tighter, giggling into his robe as he tried to hug her back.

“I knew it! That’s great! It’s official!” Betty grinned, and he had to try not to break down as he hugged her back, resting his chin on the top of her head as he closed his eyes.

In the time from his birthday to Betty’s, Jughead had done everything to try to figure out what could be wrong with his tattoo. With every book he read and every wizard or witch he spoke to, the answer was always the same; the timer was never wrong. After a few days of looking at it he couldn’t bare it anymore, so he constantly kept a black band covering his timer so he could never see it. It hurt too much to even think about.

As her birthday grew closer, Jughead was hoping for another option. If she was going to die so soon, he wanted to as well. He couldn’t live when she wasn’t around. It physically hurt him to think about having to live through her death and carry on while she was gone. If she was going to die, so would he.

Jughead was almost more nervous for her birthday than he had been for his own. Every time her timer was brought up he only had one thought.

Please let mine be the same as hers. Please let me die too.

But on her birthday morning when he walked into the great hall and met her beaming smile from the Hufflepuff table, his heart fell again and he knew that he wouldn’t get the luxury of dying with her.

“Seventy-six years!” Betty had assured his worst thought as he sat down, and he almost threw up. Seventy five years without her was like his own personal hell.

Jughead did everything he could to make Betty happy.

He took her to Hogsmeade, he stayed with her and her family at Christmas, and during school was always found by her side. And with every day that passed it ended with his terrible thoughts reminding him that it was all just leading one day closer to her death.

During summer at the end of his sixth year, he knew that he couldn’t go any longer without letting Betty know how he truly felt. All of the love he had for her, that of course she shared as they were soulmates - he had to act on it.

They always had a booth to themselves on the Hogwarts Express at the back of the train; away from loud students and loose pets and Weasley Wizard Wheezes pranks that could probably set them on fire (he’d seen it happen to Sweet Pea once). He always gave Betty the window seat because he knew that she liked to watch the scenery blur by when she wasn’t looking at him.

They’d been on the train for ten minutes and he was a nervous wreck. His palms were sweating and suddenly his tie felt too tight around his neck and he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. It shouldn’t be that hard; they were soulmates for Merlin’s sake, of course she wasn’t going to not like him.

Taking in a deep breath he turned to face Betty, meeting her wide green eyes with his blue ones.

“Betts?” He asked, and she smiled as she hummed and tilted her head a little in questioning.

He swallowed and paused. He physically couldn’t make himself say anything, it was like his lips were glued shut. Instead of trying to force out some words, which he knew would just end in a bunch of word vomit which wouldn’t seem very lovely at all, he lifted his hand up and placed it on her cheek, giving her time to pull away if she wanted, before he leaned in and kissed her. And she kissed him back.

It was like bliss. The air almost completely left his lungs when she felt her smile pressed against his lips, and her hands against his neck as she pulled herself closer to him. She tasted like strawberry lip balm and lemon sherbet and she was so close he could smell her vanilla perfume. It was all making him light-headed.

He pulled away after a moment, and sighed softly as his forehead just pressed against hers. She was warm against his skin as her hand grasped his, and he had to smile as he let his lips press to her temple before he mumbled against her skin quietly in a hushed tone.

“I love you.”

Her dainty hand squeezed his back, and he looked down to meet her eyes and soft smile. “I love you too, Juggie.”

After that, he couldn’t be separated from her. He spent practically all summer with the Coopers - a weird experience on his end as Betty was a muggleborn, and Jughead was a pureblood so he had only ever known magical households - and when they were back at school he spent all of his possible time with her. He only wanted to make her happy; to make sure that she would have the best possible year of her life.

With each day that passed he felt more and more sick at the thought of losing her, and the thought of being left without her. He found himself getting more and more upset as the days passed, and often cried himself to sleep every night at the thought of what was to come the following May. Though he never once let Betty see - he didn’t want her to find out and ruin the last few months she had left of her life.

“I really need to get going to bed, if I get caught out after hours I’ll be in trouble.” Betty giggled as Jughead tried to kiss her again, and wriggled out from his arms so she could stand up from the couch in the Slytherin common room. If she was caught out after hours she would be more than just in trouble - with Professor Snape taking the place of Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts had been all but miserable, and even dangerous for students who went out of line. Though Jughead had given Betty every single secret passage and shortcut through Hogwarts that he knew so she could get back to the Hufflepuff dormitories safely.

Jughead pouted playfully and Betty laughed softly again, a sound that marked him smile.

“I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” Betty smiled, and Jughead nodded as he reached forwards to take her hands, using them to pull her down just enough so that he could kiss her for a long moment.

By the time he pulled away her cheeks were flushed pink and she was smiling a little flustered, and he couldn’t help but be stunned by how beautiful she was.

“Okay. Goodnight Betty. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Betty smiled and gently squeezed his hand before she walked towards the exit of the common room, blowing him a kiss before she left.

And then he was alone. Things were so much worse when he was alone.

Jughead didn’t move from his place on the couch, and just let his head fall into his hands as his eyes closed. Another day passed, one closer until the twenty-eighth of May, when Betty was going to die.

He didn’t even realise he was crying until his throat was thick and his palms were wet against his face. Jughead wasn’t even sure he could make it to May. It was killing him on the inside knowing that Betty was going to die. Part of him still wanted to believe it wasn’t true, but deep down he knew it couldn’t be stopped.

“Jones?”

Jughead looked up through his fingers at the voice, taking in a deep breath to calm himself, though just sighed when he saw Toni hovering by the couch.

Slytherin’s head girl Toni Topaz was probably one of his closest friends. And she was the only other person who knew about Betty’s timer.

“Are you here to kick me up to bed?” Jughead mumbled into his hands with a quiet sniffle, and let his head drop back down into his hands as he heard Toni sigh.

He felt the couch dip beside him before her arm wrapped around him, and he started crying again. Toni didn’t say anything as she rubbed his back, and Jughead appreciated the silent comfort she gave. There was no point in talking about it, because nothing was going to change. Nothing that anybody could say would change what would happen. Betty was going to die and nothing would change it.

The rest of the year came and went all too quickly. And as time passed, life at Hogwarts only got worse under the new headmaster. Though even in the darkest of times, Betty still managed to stay positive and happy. Jughead made sure to be with her as often as he could, and one thing he had to credit her for was how she was always so optimistic, even in the darkest of times. Even when they had experienced the most awful day, Betty still managed to make him smile. And it made him fall in love with her even more.

May came too quick, and Jughead spent every second with her. He even resorted to staying in the Hufflepuff dorms with her (after everyone had gone to sleep so he wouldn’t be caught) and even willingly went through his punishment of the Cruciatus Curse when he got caught. Twice. He didn’t tell Betty about that, though, because he would go through it a hundred times just to spend the last month or her life with her.

He walked and met her from every class, ate meals with her, slept with her; he made sure she would be happy.

And then everything went to hell.

Jughead hadn’t even remembered how it had all started, he had been so focused on watching the timer on his wrist go to just hours left, but Hogwarts was being attacked. Severely.

Everything was a mess. Teachers and advanced students were heading out to fight the Death Eaters and countless evil creatures that were breaking into the castle. But none of that mattered to Jughead, as the timer on his wrist changed from hours to minutes; he couldn’t find Betty.

He ran through the castle, avoiding blasts and curses being shot his way that he quickly deflected, despite some injury that came to his way. He met with Toni at the top of the staircase, and after a conversation with her, she told him she had seen Betty in the courtyard.

His legs had never moved so fast as they did in that moment, rushing against the clock to be with her as the timer scrolled down to just ten minutes. Jughead felt sick to his stomach as he ran, pushing past the ache in his body just to be with her. He knew what he had to do.

He caught a sight of blonde hair in the courtyard as five minutes and yelled her name, catching her in his arms as soon as he had reached her.

Betty was sobbing into his robes as she gripped onto him and he held her tightly, promising that it would all be okay. She leaned back from his chest, with tear-stained cheeks and a cut along her eyebrow, and gripped his collar tightly as she leaned up to kiss him. Their last kiss.

Two minutes came around and his hand gripped hers tightly as they ran inside, both of them deflecting any curses that came their way. He didn’t once let go of her hand as he pulled her through the castle, stopping underneath one of the staircase where they couldn’t be seen from one angle.

One minute came and Jughead dropped his wand as he pulled Betty into her arms, kissing her at least five times as he held her tightly, tears in his own eyes. “I love you so much.” He whispered into her hair, and she gripped onto him tightly.

“I love you too Juggie.” Betty whimpered, her eyes meeting his, before they widened as she looked past him at a Death Eater that was stood there, his wand pointed right at her.

Everything went too quick, a blur of colours and actions. The green curse blasted out from his wand right towards Betty, and Jughead held his breath as he moved quickly; pushing Betty out of the way right in time for the green curse to hit him instead.

“Jughead!” Toni yelled as she grabbed his arm, stopping him from where he was running to.

His eyes were wide and panicked as he stumbled a little, stopping as her smaller hand grabbed his arm. He didn’t have time for this, he needed to find Betty before it was too late.

“Toni I can’t- Betty-“

“That’s what I need to talk to you about!” Toni rushed, pulling him behind a wall so they could have some safety. “I know it’s today, Jughead, I’ve been trying to find you all day! I found a book in the restricted section that spoke about soulmates and the timer, and it says that someone can take the place of their soulmate and swap their timers if they die instead of them!”

Jughead felt all the air leave his lungs at the news. Betty could live instead of him. Betty could live.

“You have to be with her! I saw her in the courtyard!”

Jughead quickly pulled Toni into a hug, knowing it would be the last time she ever saw him. He mumbled a goodbye against her head and tried to ignore the way she was crying as he pulled back from the hug and ran towards the courtyard to find Betty.

His body dropped to the floor and Betty screamed. She didn’t see the spell cast towards the Death Eater that killed them so she didn’t die too, all she could see was Jughead crumpled on the floor.

“No no no, Jug!” Betty screamed as she fell on her knees by his side, her hands cupping his cheeks. He couldn’t die. He still had so many years left. He wasn’t dead.

But when she glanced at her arm the timer had changed. It had one number - zero.

She was shaking as she gripped onto his robes, tears flooding down her cheeks as she cried his name. The battle around her was far from her mind as she shook his body, his limp body not moving no matter how hard she shook him.

Once the battle was over, and his body had been moved to the Great Hall with all of the other bodies, Toni found Betty kneeling by his body. The head girl took a seat beside the Hufflepuff and told her everything; about Jughead’s timer, how badly he had felt for the past year, how she had told him he could die instead. Betty didn’t know what to say in response - she couldn’t say anything. It all hurt too much to try to even talk about it. Toni held her as she started crying again, allowing the blonde to sob into her shoulder as she continued gripping onto Jughead’s now cold hand.

Betty had imagined their lives one day in the future. They would have a house in the English countryside with two boys that looked just like Jughead and a ginger cat that slept on the end of their bed. Their house would always be full of laughter and joy, and they would both love each other as much then as they did when they were teenagers.

But that would never happen, Betty realised with a pain in her chest that was worse than any of those curses that she could have been hit with. They never had enough time.

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concernedbrownbread · 3 years ago

Text

A Boy and His Cat

Day 1 for @adrienaugust: Bad Luck

In which Adrien finds a kitten, his charm gets stolen, and the universe is a meanie.

Oh, and Plagg is ... Plagg.

Read here or under the cut

Running away from school is becoming an unhealthy obsession of his.

Of course, Adrien waited until school let out for the morning to run away. He just didn’t want to have to drive all the way back to the Manor, eat in an empty dining hall, and then come back. It was a waste of petrol. Bad for the environment - and for his soul.

So he ran away from school, his beloved bodyguard chasing him half-heartedly for a while before waving goodbye and giving him a lecture on general safety.

After leaving school, he usually met up with Nino and the others, but today they were doing a group project he wasn’t part of. Which left him to wander the streets like a stray cat.

Speaking of -

A quiet mewl caught his attention. Adrien paused, ears perking up.

Definitely a cat, somewhere in the alley. Adrien loved cats, and had no sense of self-preservation, so he didn’t hesitate to check it out.

“Oh look Plagg, it’s you,” Adrien said dryly as his eyes caught on a little orange kitten, curled up against the wall.

“I’m way more personable,” Plagg protested.

Adrien gave him a look. Plagg huffed, crossing his arms and turning away.

The little cat mewed softly again, making Adrien soften immediately.

“Hey there little guy,” he cooed, “What’s your name?”

No collar or nametag. Maybe it really was a stray? Should he take it to the shelter? Or to a classmate? Subconsciously, Adrien reached out, slow enough to let the kitten come to him. Eventually, it did.

Adrien picked it up, delighted, “Aren’t you a cutie? Maybe I should keep you! I’ll name you - “

That’s when it noticed Plagg.

It’s ears flattened, pupils narrowing as it let out a hiss. Adrien yelped as it’s claws dug into the flesh of his hands, and he toppled backwards, something falling out of his pocket.

He barely had time to orientate himself when he realised what had fallen out.

His lucky charm, the one he’d gotten from Marinette.

His lucky charm, that kept all his bad luck away.

His lucky charm, which was being carried away in the cat’s mouth .

Adrien tried to give chase, but he slipped on wet cement, scratching his already injured hands in the process. When he looked up, the cat was gone, the lucky charm with it.

“This is all your fault Plagg.”

“I blame your bleeding heart.”

---

Adrien wasn’t superstitious by any means.

But he was. Right now. Without his favourite charm.

Adrien sniffled in his arms as he lay his head on them against the table. Nino slid into the seat beside him.

“You okay, bro?”

Adrien groaned.

“Aw, that sucks dude.”

Adrien whined.

“It’ll be okay.”

Alya looked between them, “You understood any of that?”

Nino shook his head solemnly, “Not a word, but a bros gotta do what a bros gotta do.”

Adrien un-buried his head for long enough to look up, “Thanks man.”

Alya shook her head, “Boys are strange,” and then turned to Marinette, who was stammering so hard she hadn’t gotten a single coherent word out. Alya nodded sympathetically, “I know exactly what you mean, girl.”

The sight of Marinette made Adrien’s gut churn with guilt. He decided right then and there to never let her know he lost the precious gift she had given him.

“Adrien,” Ms Bustier said, drawing his attention, “Did you turn in your homework?”

“I’m sure that I did.”

“I thought so too, but I couldn’t find it.”

Adrien buried his head back in his arms.

So it began.

---

“This is sad.” Plagg said.

Adrien had taken shelter from the universe in the bathroom. So far, he had tripped countless times (once into Rose’s art project, which he still wanted to apologise for), said something embarrassing at least thrice and ended up drenched in honey-and-feather twice.

Twice didn’t seem like a lot, but it was strange that it had happened at all.

He was currently removing the last of his feathers under Plagg’s scrutiny.

“How do you even become chicken-man?” Plagg asked, “I looked away for two seconds.”

“I need my lucky charm back,” Adrien said in lieu of a response.

“Maybe Chat Noir will have better luck.”

---

“Maybe Chat Noir will have better luck,” Chat Noir mocked, “Stupid Plagg. You can’t let the universe know your plans!”

Plagg grumbled somewhere in the back of Adrien’s mind, which he dutifully ignored. He continued his fruitless search, the sky darkening with angry clouds that reflected his mood well.

“I feel ridiculous,” he mumbled as he waved to passing fans who were cooing at him.

“That’s how the cat felt,” Plagg responded in his mind.

Adrien pouted. The cat was so cute, he couldn’t stop himself from cooing.

He sighed, ducking under a ladder that was wobbling dangerously. He steadied it, getting a thanks from the guy at the top in return, who was holding a brush with dripping white, a tub of paint balanced precariously on the edge of a ledge.

“I think I’ll have better luck as - as - “ dammit, he couldn’t let the universe know, “Whatever. Let’s just detransform some- “

That was when Chat Noir got drenched in white paint.

Which was what he got for walking under a ladder.

“I am so sorry, Chat Noir,” the guy on top of the ladder said, “Uh, it’s a nice look on you?”

Chat wiped paint from his eyes and promised the universe vengeance.

(Somewhere, Marinette shivered at the remembrance of Chat Blanc.)

---

“Here kitty kitty.”

“You know cats don’t understand English - “

“HERE KITTY KITTY!”

Plagg pouted, “Don’t ignore me Adrien.”

“I will ignore you all I like until you stop sitting around and actually help me.”

“I’m but a poor kwami,” Plagg yawned, “Do it yourself.”

Adrien huffed, poking his head into another alley, “I don’t even know where to start .”

“Maybe with an umbrella?”

“What - “

Now, Adrien was a Good Boy™. He hugged all his friends, kissed his plushies goodnight and tried to be Very Nice.

But he really, really wanted to break something when the first rain droplet hit his nose.

The ensuing downpour had him seeking shelter in yet another alley way. He was shivering from the cold, miserably getting ready to call it a day when Plagg drifted past him lazily.

“Oh hey, what’s that?”

Adrien whipped around, nearly tripping in the process.

“It’s -”

“A her.”

“It’s her!” Adrien hopped forward happily, ignoring the orange cat’s hiss. He picked her up.

“Aren’t you a cutie?” Adrien cooed, rubbing his cheek against hers, “Why’d you run away? Did big bad Plagg scare you? I can give you all of Plagg’s cheese - “

“EXCUSE ME?”

“And you can live with me forever and ever - “

Plagg groaned, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Adrien reluctantly pulled himself out of showering the cutie with affection, “What?”

“What you came here looking for?”

Plagg pointed towards the little box that the cat had been hiding in. Adrien adjusted the kitten so that the claws were safely pointed away from him and peered into the carton.

Little trinkets decorated the box, from blankets to little toys. Adrien reached out, grabbing his lucky charm and gently sorting through the rest.

“What a little thief,” Plagg said snootily, “You should leave it to its thieving ways.”

Adrien gasped, “How could you say that!” he cuddled the cat closer, “She just wanted a home.”

Plagg narrowed his eyes, “I hate her.”

“You’re just jealous. Isn’t Plagg a meanie?” Adrien crooned, “Yes he is, yes he is .”

Plagg glared at the cat, “I hate you.”

The cat hissed back.

---

Chat Noir dropped by the shelter, happy to let the cat scratch away violently at his indestructible suit. He was sad to see her go, but knew he couldn’t keep her.

“Does she have a name?” the girl at the counter asked.

“Uh …” Adrien thought about it, “Lucky.”

“We have at least ten cats with that name.”

Plagg snickered. Adrien sighed.

“Charm.”

The girl shrugged, clearly very over that fact that one of Paris’ heroes was here. Adrien gently handed Charm over, and got a wonderful scratch in return.

“I think she likes me,” Adrien purred.

The girl gave him a look that was eerily reminiscent of a kwami he knew.

Once they were outside, Adrien found a place to be alone to detransform. Plagg sighed dramatically, stretching.

“Glad that’s over. I’m hungry.”

“Hey, Plagg,” Adrien said contemplatively, “How did we just happen to come across that cat after so long searching?”

Plagg settled into his hair sleepily, “You forget I’m a god, kit.”

Adrien paused at the implication.

Then shrugged.

“Want to get cheesecake on the way back?”

“Bribery,” Plagg nodded in approval, “The universe doesn’t stand a chance.”

Lucky charm tucked safely into his pocket, Adrien found himself agreeing.

---

Author's Note: Decided to start with a super chill fic because I write too much angst for this boy

#adrienaugust #adrienaugreste #slice of life #attempted humour #honestly I'm not sure what I wrote #adrien gets scratched #fluff #adrien agreste #plagg #plagg is a little shit #cats #lucky charms #mlb #miraculous ladybug #fanfics #ao3 fanfic #mlb fanfic

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x-lipstickstain-x · 4 years ago

Text

Studying - Daniel Ricciardo

I wrote this when I was supposed to be studying and then finished it off when I was tipsy so enjoy this quick read. Happy Friday! 😘

My eyes ached from staring at the blazing screen all day, it was safe to say that trying to concentrate was like being at war with my own mind at this point. I typed out a sentence, then stared at it for another five minutes trying to understand what I just wrote, it wasn’t working so I angrily held down the backspace, almost breaking the button.

The front door closed, the sound echoing throughout the building, telling me that Daniel had returned back from training and some interviews he had planned for today.

“Babe, I’m home!”

“I know.” I mumbled, attempting once more to type the same sentence, rather coherently this time.

The door to my study room creaked open, but I didn’t hear further footsteps, urging me to glance back over my shoulder to see my boyfriend leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. “What?”

“You haven’t moved from here since I left this morning.” He noticed.

I scoffed and shrugged my shoulders. “Well it’s not my fault I have so much to do.” I turned back to my laptop, deciding to ignore his presence.

“Have you at least eaten?”

I nodded to dismiss his question, glancing at the unfinished sandwich on the side once I heard him leave, it had been there since breakfast. I started to type again, immersing myself in some theory I didn’t understand.

Lately I hadn't been able to concentrate on any uni work, so I had to force myself to catch up, which is why I’ve been spending the past few days studying and writing my paper. It was exhausting for me and I could imagine it was for Daniel too, as I haven’t exactly been the kindest to him.

It was about an hour later when the door creaked open again, the light switching on this time. I turned around in my chair, ready to attack him for disturbing me and having the audacity to flick the light on, but he stood there with his hand extended out to me, his face serious.

My gaze flicked between his hand and his face, but after a brief moment I shook my head. “I can’t, I still have a lot to do.” I sighed, ready to turn away from him, but I was swiftly lifted off of my seat, automatically wrapping my arms around his neck so that I wouldn’t land flat on the floor. “Daniel no!” I protested though it was useless, his arms held me tightly and there was no way for me to wiggle out, showing just how much stronger than me he was.

“You’re going down a very dangerous route, you know that?” He was talking about my latest habits. He looked me straight in the eyes and that’s when I realised how exhausted he looked and how he wasn’t smiling like he usually would. I closed my eyes, burying my face into his neck as he held me close, a sigh of defeat escaping my lips. I felt terrible, I was selfish, only caring about my own issues, while he was always here to support me, but all I did was try to push him away and be cold to him, he didn’t deserve any of this. He took care of me on his days off, as much as he could, always making sure I was fed and had everything I needed, while I just snapped at him when he tried to help.

“Are you okay?” I whispered, lifting my head up to look at him. I was glad to see the corners of his lips curve up slightly.

“Not until you are.” He pressed a single kiss to my lips before placing me down on a seat at the dinner table.

I chuckled at the sight in front of me. “My favourite.” I smiled looking down at the pizza, suddenly becoming aware of how hungry I really was.

“Why do you think I got it?” He mocked my usual snappy tone. I rolled my eyes and pulled him down to sit beside me. I kicked my legs over his lap, letting him rest his free hand on my thigh as he took a slice of pizza in the other. Surprisingly, he lifted it to my lips instead of his own. I smiled gratefully at him, taking a bite before taking the whole slice from him.

“So good.” I let my head rest back, enjoying the taste of food way too much.

"Nice to see you finally enjoy something again." His hand rubbed my thigh comfortingly, he was looking at me with loving eyes, though when I had my eyes on him of course his dorky side kicked in, he shoved the big chunk of pizza in his mouth, his cheeks filling up like a chipmunk, he smiled with wide eyes and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Ah man I've missed that sound." He spoke when he finally managed to swallow down the pizza.

I raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out what he meant. "What, me almost choking on my food because you're an idiot?" I used my finger to wipe away some tomato sauce from his chin and placed my finger in between my lips, not breaking the eye contact.

"You’re gross." He laughed, gently squeezing my thigh and continuing to enjoy the pizza. “I know exactly what you’re trying to do…” He shook his head, the smile evident on his face but he tried his best to avoid my gaze.

I eventually lost count of which slice of pizza I was on. I wanted to remain in shape, but I tried to convince myself that I needed all those calories.The two of us sat in silence when we were done eating, my fingers in his dark curls, playing with his hair was weirdly soothing. “I’m sorry.” I finally managed to speak out the words I was thinking about for the past hour.

Daniel took my hand in his and pressed his lips to the back of my palm. “Don’t apologise, I just want you to understand I’m here for you.”

“I know you are and I appreciate that so much.” I admitted with a smile, squeezing his hand. I sat up and pulled him closer, pressing my lips to his.

“Are you done eating princess?”

I nodded in response, not expecting him to pick me up again.

“Okay, are you just going to carry me everywhere now?” I laughed, the tips of my fingers playing with the curls on the back of his neck as my arms wrapped around him once again.

“You’d love that, huh?” He laughed, kissing me before focusing on where he was walking. My eyebrows furrowed when he sat me down on the counter next to the bathroom sink.

“Is this your way of telling me I smell?” I asked amused, parting my legs and wrapping them around him to pull him close.

“If anything it’s my way of telling you it’s been too long since I fucked you in the shower.” He grinned, already pulling off my shirt.

#I'm not sorry #it's very simple but oh well #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo one shot #daniel ricciardo fanfiction #f1 #f1 one shot #f1 fanfiction #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine

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aestheticsfandomsandmore · 4 years ago

Text

In vino (beer) veritas

HE TIAN X MO GUAN SHAN FAN FIC.

Don't expect too much, really: I’m Italian, so I probably made a lot of mistakes (you can report them, I would be glad). There are few descriptions for the same reason and so this story could be a bit repetitive. There is not a proper ending. Maybe I’ll just leave it like this, maybe I’ll continue the fic some other day.

I posted it on AO3 if you want to read it there.

________________________________________

Mo Guan Shan hasn't heard from He Tian since the previous evening. Almost twenty hours have passed and he hasn't come to school. He's a bit worried, if he has to be honest with himself. The damn guy hasn't even texted to annoy him with random stuff, while he usually doesn't let him breath without interfering.

So Mo goes to his house. He's embarrassed, he's mad at himself for his dumb choice, he has no idea how to justify that choice to He Tian, especially when he's so damn sure the guy will give him a smirk and start assuming things, like that he cares about him. Whether it is true or not, Mo would always deny it until the end of times.

Still, the door of his loft is right there in front of him and he knocks, hoping for an answer so that he can stop worrying for that asshole.

However, the moment He Tian opens it, he only worries more and more.

The tall boy, always so handsome, with fucking perfect hair and fancy clothes, is now looking like he just jumped out of a hurricane: his shirt is wrinkled, the zip of his jeans is down (don't look, don't look, don't look), his dark hair are disheveled and his eyes are red and wide open.

“Ehy little Mo~ Wha-What ya doing here?” he asks him, so visibly confused that Mo wouldn't be surprised if he just fainted, right where he was.

“Stupid, what... what are you up to, what's goin' on?”

“Little Mo is worried about me?” even in that state he still manages to grin and to sound annoying.

“Move” Mo orders and the moment he gets in the loft he feels a bit shocked: a bunch of empty bottles of beer (at least five or six) are lying on the floor. He Tian is drunk. He turns back and looks at him. “Ohi, what is all of this about?”

He Tian closes the door and chaoticly walks toward the table before sitting on a chair. He laughs. “What do you mean?”

Is he fucking with me or what? Mo thinks, almost getting agry. “Why did you drink so much? Are you okay?”

“Suuure thing.”

Mo sighs. How much patience must he have with this guy?

“Okay. Let’s go to bed, shall we?” Mo Guan Shan reminds himself of how the doctors spoke to him when he happened to be in a hospital: like the things he was about to do were going to be a group thing or shit like that. He tries the same with He Tian, hoping it will work.

He Tian lets Mo putting his arm under his own armpit and then puts his around his neck, but it’s more like he’s grabbing it, like he’s trying to hold on to him.

“Okay, we’re moving.” Mo says and meanwhile counts more carefully the bottles of beer the idiot has drunk: eight. Eight fucking bottles. What the hell was wrong with him?

He carries He Tian to his bedroom and puts him under his sheets, but the right moment he tries to walk away the other boy clutches his wrists and pushes him to the bed as well.

“Ohi, the fuck-”

“Stay here for a while, c’mon~ You came all the way to my flat juuuust...” he seems to be struggling with making a coherent phrase. “... just to leave immediately?”

He can’t really say he is wrong, but he doesn’t want to stay either. “You’re wasted. I didn’t certainly come to babysit you.”

“You don’t have... to do... anything... just stay.”

He looks so weak and vulnerable, so different from his usual self.

He won’t remember anything anyway tomorrow, Mo thinks. “Whatever.”

He stays. He lays down on his right side and stares at He Tian. His eyes are closed but he is smiling. “Nice” he says, clearly happy he is going to stay.

“Why... why were you drinking so much?”

He Tian doesn’t answer. Mo almost thinks he fell asleep, but then he says: “I really want to kiss you.”

Mo winces. “What the bloody hell-”

“I won’t kiss you. Don’t you worry.” He Tian promises, his eyes still closed.

“Of course you won’t you chicken-”

“I don’t want you to cry again.”

Mo baffles. His heart starts ricing faster and faster. “What...?”

He Tian opens his eyes and looks at him with no smile of any sort. “You freaked out last time I kissed you.”

Mo blushes and gets furious. “Yeah - and whose fault is that?”

“Mine.” He Tian answers immediately. “I know it’s mine. I- I know.”

“Good.” Guan Shan says, but he’s actually pretty surprised He Tian admitted it so easily. He expected him to mock him and start making jokes about how he reacted back then.

They stay silent for a while. Then He Tian asks: “Am I... still... disgusting to you?” His voice is so low and depressed Mo could almost burst into tears.

“I-” he swallows, super nervous. That was uncertain territory for him. Such honesty from He Tian demanded just as much from him as well. “No. You are not.”

He Tian looks relieved. “Really?”

“Yeah. Actually... you never were.”

Now he looks shocked. “You didn’t mean it?”

“I meant it when I said it” Mo replies. “I was fucking infuriated, He Tian.” Now he’s getting angry again, just by the thought of that moment. He felt so ashamed he just wanted to disappear from the face of the Earth. “But... I never really thought you were a disgusting person, I just thought you did a disgusting thing.”

“I get that” He Tian says. “I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have forced you. Sorry.”

An apology, Mo thinks. He Tian apologised before, but always with a smart smirk on his face or his hands on Mo’s body - never sounded very convincing. Now he is talking from the bottom of his heart and Mo believes him. “Okay. Apologies accepted.”

He Tian smiles.

Mo smiles as well. He won’t remember any of this. He caresses his cheek with his thumb and He Tian shudders, almost as he punched him in the face. He stops immediatly, realizing what he was doing. “Okay. Now get some sleep, idiot.”

“Will you wait for me to fall asleep?”

He sounds like a kid. He was never good with kids. Way easier to go along with their insanity rather than question it. “Whatever. Now sleep.”

The morning after, the hangover is right there waiting for him to wake up in the most embarrassing way possible. His knees are pushing against his arms, his toes are crisscrossed, he smells like shit and he probably looks even worst. But none of this matters the moment he understands Mo is sleeping right next to him.

His first thought is that he’s still dreaming. It has to be a dream. Mo never stayed over the night and even if he managed to make him do that Mo would have never slept in his bed. Too risky.

But it takes him just a few moments to realize he’s not dreaming at all. He gets up, way too quickly - his head hurts. “Shit”. He goes to the bathroom and takes a cold shower. He wears something clean and takes his time to get back in the bedroom, scared that he just imagined things and he won’t find Mo in his sheets just where he left him. But he does. He’s still there.

He Tian smiles and takes a moment to appreciate that scenario, wishing it would happen again and again, every morning, preferably after a night of rough sex and sweet cuddles. Or just sex. Or just cuddles. Anything, literally anything to have Little Mo in his bed as often as possible.

“Ehy, Sleeping Beauty, rise and shine~” he pats his head and ruffles his hair, foreshadowing a bad reaction coming from the boy.

It comes. Guan Shan slaps his hand and gets up, a bit uncomfortable, and then rubs his eyes, still sleepy. “’Morning dick head.”

He Tian grins. “Is there an actual explanation for which you slept in my bed? Not that I’m complaining.”

“I see you went back to yourself” Mo replies, annoyed.

He Tian doesn’t say anything. Went back to himself? What did that mean? “Uhm... what?” he asks, trying to sound entertained.

“You don’t remember, do you?”

Okay, now he’s feeling a bit scared. What did he do? What did he say? “What should I remember? Did we have fun last night?”

“If you find funny getting wasted and unable to walk on your own towards your fucking bedroom, then yes, it was massive fun.”

He Tian laughs. He expected way worst. “Okay, so you took care of me, Little Mo~?”

He draws closer to him, but Mo stops his approach by grabbing his wrists and says: “I didn’t plan to stay the night, but since I did... I guess we should talk.”

Talk? Like, a proper chat? Offered by Mo? Was the world about to end? “Uhm, okay? What do you want to talk about? Our future together?”

“Can you be serious for one fucking second?”

He Tian blinks. What the fuck happened last night? “Sure.”

He lays down on the bed waiting for Mo Guan Shan to do the same. He stares at him and then sits. “I- I have some questions for you. And then, if you have any questions... for me... I’ll answer. I mean, I’ll try, at least.”

He is palpably nervous and the way he’s speaking is a total surprise: things like that never happen between the two of them; it’s always He Tian the one who brings up more weighty topics for them to discuss. “Okay. Go ahead.”

“Last night you told me...” Mo lowers his head, “that you’d like to kiss me.” He blushes.

He Tian is not surprised at all. “Well, is that a brand new information for you?”

“Cut the sarcastic crap out, thanks.”

“I’m not being sarcastic! I mean it: was it honestly shocking for you?”

Mo still doesn’t look at him in the eye, but he shakes his head.

“So what’s the question?”

“I was going to ask you if that were true, since you were drank, but apparently it was.”

“Yeah. What else?”

“You also told me that you won’t kiss me, even if you want to, because you’re... basically scared of my reaction. Is this true?”

Okay, he didn’t see this coming. “I-” he needs to think before answering. “I... kinda.”

“Kinda?”

“It’s just- I want to be sure you want that too.” He really means that. He never said that aloud. He never admitted that truth to himself. Heʼs waiting for someone’s permission to do what he wants. It is a weird and new concept for him. He knows that, being a kiss something that involves two people, it should just be normal to ask before doing anything. But he isn’t used to, anyway.

“You never seemed particularly interested in what I wanted.”

Now, that sentence gets him mad. “Look at me.” he orders.

Mo does that and he looks more confident than ever. He’s almost proud to see him like that.

“What’s the point of this?”

“Wait. I have another question.”

He Tian rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

“You apologised. For what you did. And... you asked me if I still thought you were disgusting.”

He Tian would blush if he wasn’t the way he is. “And what did you answer?”

“I- Wait, did you mean it?”

“Uhm?”

“Do you actually feel sorry for what you did?”

“I apologised to you when I was sober as well, did you forget?”

“You never apologised for something specific.”

He Tian is getting impatient, but he still says: “I’m not sorry to have kissed you, I’m sorry I made you cry.”

That answer makes Mo mad - well, of course it does. “I cried because you kissed me. Because you’re a piece of shit.”

“Call me what you want” he is getting heated as well, “but you didn’t cry because I kissed you: you cried because I didn’t ask you and you were surprised and you didn’t want to accept that you liked me. You still don’t, by the way.”

Mo tries to punch him but He Tian’s faster and blocks him right away, switching positions and standing onto him on the bed.

“You have no idea what’s going on inside my head! You shit head, you have no right to tell me why I was crying!”

Mo screams, trying to free himself, but He Tian is holding his wrists with his hand and impeding his movements with his legs.

“Okay, hey, chill, calm down, please.”

It takes a while for Mo to actually stop moving. He grumbles and bites his lips. He Tian lets go of his right wrist to make him stop, touching his mouth very gently. “Don’t ruin it” he whispers.

Mo blushes and turns his head.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you like that - I’m sorry.”

Mo blinks and looks at him doubtful and hesitant.

“But now let me ask you a question.”

“Shoot it.”

“Why are you doing this? You could have just made up an excuse for staying here the night, as always, relying on the fact that I forgot everything. Why didn’t you?”

Mo observed him for a while and then said: “I- I wanted to know the truth.”

“The truth?“

“Yeah.”

“Little Mo, you asked him if I wanted to kiss you, which you already know I do, you asked me if I was sorry, which I had already said I am, and you wanted me to confirm a sentence which I pronounced when I was drunk - and so, completely honest.”

Mo looks pissed. “Listen, it wasn’t all this clear to me when I decided to talk to you, okay? You don’t have to play Mister I know-it-all, you’re already annoying enough.”

He Tian laughs. “Whatever.” He lets go of the other wrist and moves his legs away, still remaining on top of him. “You haven’t answered my question yet.”

Mo seems confused. “Which one?”

“Am I still disgusting to you?” he asks this with a tiny grin, but he’s actually desperate for an honest answer. He knows Mo doesn’t find him disgusting, but to hear him saying it is a totally different story.

Guan Shan snorts. “No, you are not. Happy now?”

He Tian smiles. “Very.”

“Asshole.”

They stay like this for some time. He Tian is almost leaning towards his lips, when Mo interrupts the silence. “Oh, right! Why the fuck did you drink eight bottles of beer?”

#19 days #fan fiction #19 days fic #19 days fan fiction #he tian x mo guanshan #he tian x mo guan shan #mo guan shan #he tian #tianshan #tianshan fanfic #old xian #my fic #i'm italian so please forgive me #i know this probably sucks

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jos-corner-of-the-world · 3 years ago

Text

Last House on the Left {36}

{Thirty five}

You’d ended up staying a few hours after the initial, awkward, conversation. You were sitting at the kitchen table the next day, thinking over everything you and Shownu had talked about. Night had turned to morning and you’d not left your spot you were sitting since coming home.

“You’re up awfully early.” Minghao noted when he saw you.

“Couldn’t sleep. I went out with Shownu last night.” you said.

“How’s it going with Shownu?” Minghao asked you as he came into the kitchen to get his morning coffee.

“I’m not seeing him anymore. Well, I am, but not as a potential boyfriend.” you told him as you picked at the table in front of you.

“Why’s that? Just not working out?” Minghao asked, hating that idea.

He could tell that you really got along with Shownu and enjoyed his company a lot, so this news was quite surprising to him. As much as he kind of hated the idea of you dating, he knew Shownu would be really good to you. Something he thought you deserved more than anyone.

“We get along really well, but he said it just wasn’t going to work.” you admitted. You didn’t tell Minghao that you also knew it wasn’t going to work. Your brain was still processing that part of it.

“Why wasn’t it going to work? Aw man, I liked this dude. Do I have to go and kick his ass?”

“No. It’s not like that. He said...He said he was doing it for me.”

Shownu had been very candid in the conversation much later in the night. He’d said that he knew he wasn’t the person who could make you happy. There were just too many differences and neither of you would really ever be comfortable, or happy, in a relationship with each other.

“How is breaking up with someone doing it for them? What kind of shit is that?” Minghao asked, growing mad.

“I don’t know, but it makes sense. I just...wasn’t all in. Or even...halfway in. Plus, we weren't dating so we didn't break up.” you told him, not making eye contact.

“Why weren’t you halfway in? Are you okay?” he asked, anger ebbing away to concern.

“It’s...complicated.”

“It’s always complicated babe. Tell me what happened.”

He had moved from his spot in front of the coffee pot to come over and sit next to you on the other side of the table.

“Nothing really happened. We hung out a few times and it was really fun. But it was just different. We both realized that it just wasn’t going anywhere other than friendship. He was the one to really put it out there though. I'm still not even sure about it to be honest.”

“Realized what? That you weren't all in? It's been like 10 minutes. I'd be concerned if you were all in.”

“That's not...it's more than that. It's just different… it's …” you cut yourself off. You didn't even know what to say or what you were feeling.

“Hey, I'm sorry. We don't have to talk about it. I'm sorry for bringing it up. I'm more sorry it didn't work out.”

“I want to talk about it.” You said, getting up from the table.

“But I'm confused. I don't know…”

Minghao watched with guarded eyes as you were pacing in front of him. He stood up, ready to hold you in place if needed so you could talk it out.

You knew that you would get nowhere if you just bottled it up. But you also weren’t sure you had everything in order in your head to even have a coherent conversation, even if you desperately needed to.

“Just start anywhere. What did Shownu realize to know you weren't in?” He asked.

“He just knew my heart was somewhere else. Or at least...my head was. It was never in the moment with him.” you said honestly, repeating Shownu’s words from the night before.

“Where was your head?” He asked, concern growing as your pacing just increased.

He watched surprised as you stopped pacing and stood right in front of him, but never looked up to meet his eyes.

“It was here. At home. My head was always here. It's confusing.” You admitted quietly.

“That kind of makes sense. A lot of your time is spent here.” Minghao said, failing to follow your narrative.

“I don’t know, I just feel really close to you. I always have.” you finally freely admitted, changing the conversation with just one out of place sentence.

“Okay...and why does that have you so confused?” Minghao asked you, genuinely not understanding your anxious demeanor.

“Because...Minghao, I really don’t know if we should talk about this.” you said suddenly.

“What? Why not?”

“Because what if I spill my heart out and I’m wrong about what I was feeling? Or it gets weird? That would be really horrible.”

“When have things ever been like that with us? Yeah we’ve had our moments and we bicker sometimes, but things are rarely ever weird between us.”

“But Minghao... this is different, this is so much different. I’m feeling...things and I don’t know how to process them or what they even are. To be completely honest I wasn’t even fully aware of the feelings until last night and this morning.”

“So just talk to me...please.” He all but begged you.

“I think I like you.”

“Okay….?” Minghao said, still not understanding. “I like you too. We established this literally a long time ago.”

“Damnit Minghao, it’s more than that! I look forward to having breakfast with you in the morning. I like the stupid conversations we have everyday. You drive me absolutely fucking nuts, but in a great way. I love the routine of you being late to work everyday so I can bring you coffee and spend a bit more time with you. I love that you let me wallow in troubles without actually letting me drown. We fight, but we also laugh together and have fun.” you said, voice raised slightly.

“I really don’t even know when it started.” you said, before cutting yourself off. “Wait, that’s a lie. It really started on Halloween.”

“Halloween?” Minghao asked, brain still trying to catch up with the situation.

“Well it was really the day after. When we talked outside. It was the first time you were really honest and pushed me to talk to you. It showed me that you cared.”

“Of course I do. I've cared about you for a long time.”

“I know and that's why this sucks. It fucking sucks. I'm so sorry.” You said, finally looking up to meet his eyes.

“Why are you sorry, and why are you crying?” He asked frantically, trying to wipe the tears from your face.

“I'm sorry because of this, and how I feel. It's gonna ruin everything.” The sadness was thick in your voice.

“Even though I still don't one hundred percent know what we're talking about, please don't apologise. You're not going to ruin anything.”

You were exhausted. And quite frankly confused that Minghao had not yet caught up to the conversation.

Without thinking it through fully, you took another step towards him.

He instinctively took a step back.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“Would you just hold still?” You asked.

Without giving him a chance to respond, you quickly bounced on your tiptoes and kissed him.

It was a short, chaste kiss, but your mind was going absolutely crazy.

But then your brain caught up to the fact Minghao was still standing stock still.

Embarrassed, you took a step back. You put your hand over your mouth in both surprise that you'd actually done it, and the tingling your lips were feeling from the contact.

It took everything in you to look up and meet Minghaos eyes.

His face seemed to be in a permanent state of shock and bewilderment.

“Fuck. I'm sorry. I thought you were starting to understand. I'm sorry for doing that. I told you, I would ruin things, ruin us. I just...my brain has been telling me for a long time and I just ignored it because I thought I was confusing my feelings. But I don't think I was, and then I go and do this and…” you stopped when Minghao took a step towards you.

His face was still a stone image of the shock.

“What are you doing?” You asked him.

“Would you just stand still?”

And just like that you were in Minghaos arms, him kissing you this time.

Your head was still confused. And in this moment going a million miles an hour. But it also just felt right. It felt like a piece had been missing but was put in its place.

You both took a step back at the same time. Minghaos hands still rested on your hips while yours came up to rest on his shoulders.

As you looked up at him you saw the stone face had gone. But now he was looking at you, you could see all the questions written plainly on his face and in his eyes.

But you didn't get a chance to ask any questions. At that moment the two of you came together again. It was like a magnetic force was pulling the two of you together, and neither of you were going to fight that pull.

The third kiss was deep. You had your body so close to his, but you clung on, holding on to him as tightly as you could.

If this was a one time thing. If you went back to just being Y/n and Minghao; best friends, partners in crime, this moment was a moment you wanted to remember forever.

This moment was one that could possibly change your whole life, good or bad, and you weren't ready to let go just yet.

{thirty seven}

#minghao #seventeen #svt #fic #series #imagine #scenario #last house #ltotl #36 #jos corner of the world

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mmvalentine · 4 years ago

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Home is Where You Are pt 5 | Feysand

Girl next door AU. CW: Tamlin DV times under the cut. It gets better though, there's HEAPS of fluff that follows I promise!! Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6

Rhys and Feyre stayed up talking for a little bit, Rhys poured her a glass of brandy and tried not to say too much as she recounted the night's events.

They had gotten into a fight. Tamlin had gotten angry. He was always angry, these days. Tamlin threw a desk, and knocked Feyre to the ground. An accident, just an accident.

"And... him controlling your food intake?" "Not an accident," Feyre admitted. "It started out as meal plans, when he was my personal trainer. And then we were dieting together, because he had done all this research. Then it was just me. I don't know where I lost control of it, I just stopped having opinions one day." She laughed, bitterly. "Not like me at all." "It's hard to form coherent thoughts when you're starving all the time," Rhys said.

Bottom line, Feyre had done it. Gave him back the ring and everything. There was a part of Rhys that was relieved but he also felt awful for having let it get this far. For not stepping in earlier.

"I should have said something," he told her. "You did," Feyre said. "I didn't listen." She pulled her feet up under her.

"It's just, I never had anyone look after me, you know? Not since I was thirteen. So, when Tamlin came along, and he dictated my exercise schedule and cooked my meals, it was nice. For once I wasn't the one running after everyone else. I guess I became afraid to leave.

"Until he threw a table and I remembered telling you that Tamlin wasn't your father. I was sort of right. Tamlin didn't even have to be drunk to start throwing furniture. I shouldn't have stayed so long."

Rhys slid a little closer to her and made sure she was looking into his eyes. "It is not your fault that this happened," he said. "This is no one's fault but Tamlin's."

In the weeks that followed, Feyre bounced back at a rate that had Rhys marveling at the strength of her. She was quiet the first couple of days, and mostly stayed in her room. But Rhys would come invite her to taste what he was cooking, or watch what was on Netflix, or give an opinion on the magazine piece he was working on. The bruise on her cheek faded, she gained weight back little by little, and then one day Rhys came home to find her humming in the kitchen while she made spaghetti and he wanted to pick her up in his arms and spin her around the room.

Instead, he settled for sitting on a bar stool and letting her bring a spoonful of sauce to his lips, while wearing the biggest, goofiest grin he had ever had. "Good?" Feyre asked. "Amazing," Rhys said, and when she beamed at him it knocked the breath out of him. "Excellent. Give me like, ten minutes and then come eat." Rhys raised his eyebrows. "You're cooking me dinner?" he asked. "I am. Now go take a shower and put on your comfy pants, because I made so much garlic bread."

Rhys didn't move. Feyre put the ladle back in the pot, wiped her hands on a tea towel, then realised he was staring at her. "What?" she asked. Her blue-gray eyes went wide, and a wisp of hair fell into her face. She had her curls piled on top her her head, beautiful and shiny again now that she was eating, and she was wearing a knitted, over-sized sweated that was rolled up at the sleeves and somehow looked incredible on her.

"Feyre Archeron you are a wonder," Rhys said. Feyre grinned. "Why thank you, Rhysie darling." She flicked the tea towel at him. "Now get, my garlic bread is burning." Ten minutes later, Rhys sat at a small, round table in sweat pants and a black sweater. It was the table from his balcony, but since it was raining out, Feyre had dragged it inside and draped a table cloth over it. She fussed around him, setting everything on the table and slapping his hands when he tried to help. Finally, she sat down opposite him, and the table was so small their knees knocked together.

"And just what is the occasion here?" Rhys asked. Feyre's cheeks were rosy from standing over the stove, and then rushing around the table. She smiled at him, and then took a deep breath.

"I just wanted to say, thank you. For giving me a place no one could find me. For seeing me. For reminding me that carbs exist!" She grinned. "For-" "Don't," Rhys cut her off. "Don't thank me for doing the bare minimum for you. After everything you've been though, you amaze me every day with how strong you are." "Well," Feyre said, "if you can survive after your dad..." Her face changed then. Her mouth got sad, but her eyes were bright. "I can survive after Tamlin." She raised her wine glass.

"Fuck those abusive shit heads," she said. Rhys picked up his glass. "Fuck yeah."

Then Feyre smiled again, and Rhys had no idea how he was going to get through dinner if she kept doing that.

"Okay eat up!" she said, and he laughed into his wine as he watched her twirl and then devour an enormous mouthful of spaghetti. A fucking wonder indeed.

Over the next six months they settled into an easy routine. Feyre was at the studio three days a week, and also started a kick boxing class with another woman she had met in her therapy group. Rhys started to wish his days away so he could get home and watch Feyre bounce around the apartment. He had never particularly enjoyed being there, but these days he couldn't wait to get home.

They cooked together on the weekends, and watched TV on the couch on week nights. At first, Rhys had been very careful about being in her personal space, since he remembered hating to be touched for years after his father had died. But Feyre seemed so comfortable around him. She would grab his arm when she thought of something funny to tell him, or smack him when he teased her, or lean against him when she started to doze in front of the television. After she started her class, she would practice her kick-boxing moves on him, and once accidentally hurt him more than she had meant to. It had been utterly, completely worth it.

They never outright discussed how long she would stay. Early on, Feyre had mentioned apartment hunting. But Rhys had just shrugged. "It's rent controlled here," he said. "And I'm paying for that room whether you're in it or not. Stay as long as you like."

So little pieces of Feyre started to appear all around the house. Her toiletries in the kitchen cabinet, stray hair ties on the bench top, her favourite biscuits in the cupboard. Once, he had come home and she had a row of underwear hanging up over the balcony. He had almost had a conniption at the thought of her in lace.

It was a thought he buried, hard. The last thing he wanted was to have told Feyre that she could come and be safe here, and then make a move less than a year after her broken engagement. If she wanted a quiet life here with him, that would absolutely be enough.

Although, some days were harder than others. The thoughts could be shoved aside, but he had no control over the way his body reacted to her. To her barefoot in the morning and rubbing sleep from her eyes. To her stretching in the living room before a run. God, one time the washing machine broke and she had nothing to wear, so she borrowed one of his shirts to wear to bed. It was almost cruel.

One day, Rhys had worked late and by the time he was home, Feyre had fallen asleep in front of the TV. He turned the screen off, then squatted down and gazed at her resting face. Her perfect, rose petal lips were slightly parted, she had a frown, and was muttering under her breath.

"Feyre," he whispered. "Feyre we've got to get you to bed." "Rhys," she murmured. He thought she was waking up. "Yes honey, it's just me." Then she moaned his name. "Rhys, don't stop." What? "Mm, right there, don't stop."

Rhys stood up so fast he nearly tripped over the coffee table. The sound of his heel kicking the wood had Feyre startling awake.

"Rhys?" she asked. He had to double check her eyes were actually open this time. When he was sure, he sat down carefully on the table.

"Hello," he said. "I'm sorry to wake you." "It's okay," Feyre frowned. "We were just... I was dreaming." Rhys chuckled. "I know. You fell asleep on the couch. Do you want to go to bed?" Feyre's eyes popped open wide. "What?!" Then she relaxed. "Oh. Right. Yes, I should, ah..." she looked at him then, and blushed. Very deeply. "I should go to bed."

And with that, she wandered off, leaving Rhys completely dazed and not just a little turned on.

Two days later, Rhys woke up on a Saturday and had trudged out to make some coffee. Feyre was already up, sitting at the counter reading a book. He turned on the machine, yawned, and stretched while waiting for it to do its thing. He hadn't worn a shirt to bed, and the morning chill sent shivers along his bare skin.

Then he glanced over, and found Feyre staring at him. Glassy eyed, parted lips, naked staring. And not at his face, either. A feline grin stretched itself over Rhys' lips.

"Good book, Feyre darling?" She jumped sightly. "Ah, yes," she said. "Very... very good." She slid off her stool. "I'd better get ready, kick boxing, you know." "Sure," Rhys said, still grinning. She slipped away, without making eye contact. Rhys poured his coffee.

Five minutes later, Feyre emerged wearing the tiniest pair of exercise shorts he had ever seen. He almost spat his drink.

"Well," she said brightly. "I'm headed off. Might go by the shops later, do you need anything?"

Now it was Rhys' turn to struggle. He shook his head. "Have fun," he managed. Feyre flashed him a dazzling smile. "Thanks!" she said, and bounced out the door.

Oh. Oh he was in trouble.

****

That's right folks, you have made it through the angst and I am now burying you in fluff. Nothing brings me greater joy except smut.

I apologise for the length and for squishing 6 months into this one chapter. It was originally two separate chapters, but I felt like I was undercutting you in the fluff department and I didn't want to break my promise. I kept the original pacing on my ao3.

As always please let me know what you think!!

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @asteria-of-mars@booksmusicandgoodvibes @burritowithfeels

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #acosf #angst #rhysand #mine

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years ago

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falling feels like flying

Guess whose back into writing! This is a gift for @minky-for-short who has just been an invaluable friend while I’ve been having a bad mental health time lately and this is her AU- a betrothal AU!

Please reblog and comment over on Ao3!

-------

The papers are signed, the agreement has been made, the ball has been thrown. Prince Zagreus and Prince Thanatos are officially engaged after a long betrothal and now everyone in their kingdoms can breathe a sigh of relief.

Everyone but the princes themselves.

-------

There had been a pause. There had definitely been a pause.

Zagreus leaned back against the door he’d just closed and worried his lip as he thought, a very unprincely habit he’d had since he was a child and would never have done if he wasn’t alone. But he was alone, his chambers empty and silent apart from the humming, flickering candle beside the bed that some servant had helpfully lit for him and the whistling night air beyond the window. He couldn’t really still hear the dregs of the ball going on downstairs, his apartments were too far away, but the music and laughter and pouring wine still echoed in Zag’s head enough that it felt as though he could, lingering like the taste of alcohol on his tongue.

Though none of that concerned Zagreus. He was fixated on the pause, the slight, two second hesitation he’d definitely heard in Thanatos’ voice before he’d bid him goodnight, the way his golden eyes had flickered slightly and a different set of words had seemed to build on his tongue. It had only been for a moment but Zagreus was certain he wasn’t imagining things or thinking wishfully. Not this time.

Of course they’d left the ball together, it was only right, seeing as it was thrown to celebrate their official engagement, their step from betrothal into full, willing commitment of this marriage contract their parents had devised. They’d been sitting together all night, side by side, sharing their usual, comfortable conversation, even taking the first dance. More than once Zag had marvelled to himself at how far they’d come from gazing distrustfully at each other from opposite ends of a long table while Nyx and Hades dickered over dowries, from trying and failing to find a future in each other's faces. Now they laughed easily, now Zag teased Than for the stiff way he danced, made him chuckle and fire back with a dry comment about how his footwork wasn’t too stiff to knock him on his ass in the training yard. Now Zag rested easily against Than as they chatted amongst their friends when the ball wound down into a loose, easy knot of godlings happy to go long into the evening. Now everything felt so easy.

But as soon as they’d walked into the hall, heard the now slightly listing music and lilting laughter muffled, a kind of tension had settled between them. Like a held breath. Like Than was worrying something between his teeth, not one of his usual puzzles he did as a hobby or thought experiments to improve the running of his mother’s kingdom. He’d had a little too much wine and dancing to be really thinking about any of that, he’d been relaxed and smiling through the whole party, armour discarded and guard down. The way he only got sometimes but Zag looked forward to immensely.

It was a different kind of tension, a strange kind of waiting. Zag had let it lie, certain his new fiance would confide in him when he was ready, simply humming the last song Orpheus had been playing coherently before the wine really got to him, as they walked through the palace’s grand corridors up to the royal apartments. But it had never happened, his fellow prince had stayed closed mouthed and brooding up until the hallway split, Zag needing to go one way towards the crown prince’s suite and Than the other, to the rooms he and the rest of his entourage had been occupying for months.

Zag had turned. He’d waited. He’d fidgeted, hiking the shoulder of his robe up higher where it was starting to slip. He’d scuffed his heel into the thick red carpet.

And then Thanatos had simply inclined his head, wished him goodnight and turned away.

And that would have been it if not for that goddamn pause.

Zagreus sighed in frustration and began pulling away his finery, throwing aside the skull clasps and the gold bangles and cuffs, slipping off the silks, letting it all rattle into bowls and fall to the floor without thought. This was just like Thanatos, throwing goddamned spanners into the works when everything was going great. After they’d finally managed to become friends, grow closer, after he’d actually started to look forward to marrying him and maybe thinking it wouldn’t be so bad to see that face when he woke up every day, to maybe wondering about their wedding night...now he had to bloody pause.

Perhaps he’d had a little too much wine, though he only remembered a few cups. His heart was beating hard in his chest as if he’d just come from the practise yard, his face hot and his mouth dry. Zagreus knew what the sensible decision was, what his mother would gently counsel and his father would command. He knew he should slide between his silken sheets and go to sleep, forget all of this and make sure he didn’t look too hungover for their official engagement portraits in the morning. He should write it off as his own imagination, his brain making space for something it wanted to see.

Perhaps he’d wanted to see it for longer than he’d like to admit.

Zagreus dropped that thought like it was a metal sword that had been sitting in the sun too long. Frustration was easier. Annoyance even, a desire to take those surprisingly broad shoulders that could swing a scythe well enough to knock him on his ass in the training yard, glare into those eyes that had once seemed like cold, hard gold but had softened into honey over time, and demand to know what the fuck his problem was. Why in his father’s name, after everything they’d been through and how hard they’d worked to build something, whatever that something was, why he was pausing now.

Mouth now firmly set in the stubborn scowl he was practically famous for, Zag abandoned his passing acquaintance with good sense and crossed his chambers to yank on a red silk robe. He deserved an explanation and he was bloody well going to get one.

He had plans to storm out of the door with all the princely righteousness he could muster, march down the hallway and hammer on his betrothed’s door to wring some answers out of that statue of a man he would be calling husband in half a year.

Plans that fell apart completely when he threw back his chamber door to see Thanatos standing there, hand raised midway to knock, eyes wide and alarmed. Zag froze, all his frustration evaporating to be replaced by simple bewilderment. Than was still in his ball attire, all flowing black robes and gold jewellery, though rather more rumpled and flustered than he usually was. He had the look he got in his eyes when they’d be sparring together and Zag would surprise him with some move you only got to know from training with the great Achilles, in the split second before he went sprawling back in the dust.

But this time Zag was equally caught off guard.

“Good evening Zagreus,” Than eventually cleared his throat, his courtly politeness a little thin.

“Morning,” Zag corrected, rankling at the formality, Thanatos hadn’t talked to him like that in months, “It’s past midnight.”

A light blush dusted Than’s cheekbones, “Of course. A ridiculous time to come calling, I know but...I wanted to speak with you, if you didn’t mind. Or...were you going somewhere?”

Zag bit his lip then quickly stopped himself, stepping aside, “Nothing important. You can come in.”

Thanatos inclined his head and moved into the dark chambers and its flickering shadows, the candlelight catching on his finery. He moved with uncertainty, like he didn’t know where to put himself or how to exist inside of the one place in the castle that belonged to Zagreus alone. It made Zag’s stomach knot, hadn’t they spent hours here talking together? Hadn’t Thanatos fallen asleep on his bed just last week as they’d sat and read in companionable silence?

Why did Thanatos feel like a stranger to him all over again?

“You can sit,” he grunted, just to stop his betrothed’s awkward rocking on his heels.

Than seemed abashed at least, sinking down onto the expansive bed, making the ropes creak. He left room but Zag made no move to follow, standing and leaning against the black stone wall instead, folding his arms.

“Zagreus…”

Zag. You call me Zag. “What is it, Thanatos? Just say whatever it is you’re here to say.”

The perfectly carved face turned crestfallen, “I’ve upset you.” It wasn’t a question.

Zag just shrugged, wishing he could summon back his anger but it would be impossible. Not with Than sitting right here, looking at him like that.

“I need to apologise, Zagreus,” he sighed, pushing a hand through his white hair, ruining it’s usual perfect sweep, “I...I’ve never been good at talking about sensitive topics.”

“You’re the personification of death?” Zag couldn’t help the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement.

Than seemed relieved at the smile, relaxing a little, “Well, not that particular sensitive topic. But all the rest leave me feeling quite helpless and...and if I’ve seemed distant or closed off to you tonight, I’m very sorry.”

“Look, just tell me what sensitive topic you want to talk about,” Zag tilted his head, “Help me understand it. I mean, we’re officially about to be married now, we should probably start getting more comfortable with each other.”

Something in Than’s eyes flickered, “Well...that’s just it, Zag.”

Real fear settled with a heavy thunk in his stomach. Please don’t break the betrothal, please don’t go. Only later would he wonder why that had been his first thought and not ‘please don’t break the betrothal, my father will kill me’.

Than saw his expression and scrambled, panicked, “Not that I regret it. Not one bit, Zagreus, I promise. Oh gods, I’m making such a mess of this…”

Zag sighed and found himself twisting the ring Than had given him around on his finger, “Than, look it’s okay…”

“It’s not,” his betrothed shook his head, lips tight, “It’s not, I’m sorry. It’s just it made everything seem so real and it made me...it made me realise how big this all is.”

Now he was just surprised. The idea that anything, even marriage, could scare the unflappable Prince Thanatos really was a revelation. Feeling something of a fool, Zag quickly moved to sit beside him, taking one of the hands that was clutching miserably at his hair, holding it in his own.

“It is alright, Than,” he kept his voice steady, even if reversing their positions like this was disconcerting. Usually he was the one raving or panicking and Than would be calmly talking sense into him, “I understand exactly how you feel.”

Than have a long, ragged exhale, clutching his friend’s fingers tightly, “It was just them all looking at us tonight and it just made me realise that...that this is it. This is my home now and you’re my husband and...and it's all real. It's not just words on some agreement from years ago anymore and as happy as I am to spend the rest of my life with you, it's just...it's not how I would have wanted to do it.”

“Me neither,” Zag admitted, smiling a little sadly, “It feels all out of order, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” the relief on Than’s face was plain, “And I mean, gods Zagreus, I’ve not even kissed you, we won’t be having sex until we’re already bound for life…”

He snapped his jaw shut, hard enough that it must have hurt his perfect teeth. A dark blush stained his skin like spilled wine and he looked as though he was fighting every urge to vanish himself to the next room over. Possibly the next country over.

Zag managed to keep it to a mild smile, though his heart was hammering, “You’ve...thought about that?”

“I...I don’t want to give the impression it’s been my only concern…” Than’s voice became very clipped and polished in his embarrassment, “But...it’s crossed my mind, yes.”

“Well then…” Zag shrugged, voice casual and easy, “If you were amenable to it, why don’t we get that out of the way?”

There was a long pause as what he’d said sank in for Thanatos. If he wasn’t waiting with so much tension roiling in his stomach, Zag would have found it comical, how his eyes widened and his jaw went slack in slow motion.

“It’s...it’s not exactly proper…” he said slowly, though there was clear interest in his expression, in the way he was leaning closer to Zag.

“No,” Zag admitted, “And if you’d rather wait, I’d respect that entirely. Gods, if you don’t even want to do it on our wedding night, I’d respect that too. Betrothed or married, Thanatos, I will never make any demands of you in that regard.”

“I never believed you would,” Than murmured gently but he did look reassured.

Zag smiled, “But if you were open to it, maybe this could be a way to make this very big thing a little smaller? Give ourselves one less thing to worry about when that day comes? And you’d certainly know the man you’re marrying a little better.”

Than laughed, the sound not as nervous as it might have been, “True...I rather think this could work, Zag. No pressure, no expectations, no matter if it was good or bad because...well, because we’d have time to try again?”

“As much time as you wanted,” Zag nodded, his smile growing, “On our own terms.”

“Our own terms,” Than repeated, looking like those words were the last anathema his anxiety needed.

Zag couldn’t blame him, the last few months had been a flurry of decisions about their lives, all ones other people had made. It was good to seize one for their own.

“And you’d hardly be dishonouring me,” Zag chuckled lightly, “I’m to be your husband, after all. I have no intentions of being anyone else’s.”

“Neither do I,” Than gave a soft laugh, “Though you may change your mind when you see how, ah...inexperienced I am at this.”

“Oh come off it,” Zag elbowed him lightly, “Everyone is at the start, you know it doesn’t bother me, just like how I am pretty experienced doesn’t bother you.”

Than nodded his confirmation, though his eyes wandered back into nervousness after, “So...um, where do we start?”

“You want to go now?” Zag couldn’t help a bemused little laugh though his body answered with it’s own eagerness.

“I do,” Than nodded, now barely an inch from Zag’s face, when had he moved so close? And when had Zag moved to match it?

“Then, if I may have this dance, my prince?” he grinned rakishly, throwing the last of his reservations out of the window.

They had kissed before, chaste pecks on the cheek at balls and for the cheers of the crowd then the light, playful kisses to the forehead Zag gave all his close friends. But immediately, as their lips met, they knew this was different. This was shifting ground underneath their feet, a definition that wouldn’t form until they asked it to. And Zag let Thanatos ask first.

He did, after a moment, tilting his head so their mouths fit together better, opening his lips slightly, inviting Zag to lick into his mouth. When he obliged, the stoic, self assured emissary of death actually whimpered, a shudder running through his body as he pressed closer. Suddenly he was kissing him with such abandon that Zag was forced to break it, just so Thanatos would realise how much he needed air.

It was impossible to not laugh at the flush on his cheeks or the shine in his eyes, like a man who’d been starving tasting his first bite of food. Judging him ready and willing, Zag let his robe fall from his shoulders, untying it at the waist and letting it drop away entirely. He let Than’s eyes travel over all of him, let him have far more than any glances as they’d changed after sparring.

“Oh…” was all Than could seem to say but the look in his eyes filled in the gaps, “Zagreus…”

Zag grinned, reaching out and teasingly flicking one of Than’s dangling earrings, “Now you?”

His betrothed undressed a little more awkwardly, more clasps and buttons and layers to be dealt with, to be tossed over the side of the bed to tangle with Zag’s. But gods was it worth it, every last inch of smooth, dark skin, every angle of his lean, wiry muscles, the dusting of pale hair leading down to the silky thicket around a cock that was everything Zag had imagined it might be.

“So?” Than asked, voice edged with nerves again, eyes more vulnerable than Zag had ever seen them.

Zag spoke plainly so Than’s own mind couldn’t help but believe it, leaning forward and putting his hand gently against one cheek, “You are an incredibly beautiful man, Thanatos. I did really get very lucky.”

From the bright eyed way he smiled, his words had struck home.

This time, as they kissed, Zag rolled them gently, guiding Than onto his back with his legs apart. Already his cock was responding with endearing enthusiasm, Zag’s fingers helped it the last few steps of the way, only needing a few light strokes until he was hard. From the way Than moaned and arched under those gentle brushes of his fingers, Zag was already deliriously excited to show him what more he could do.

“Listen,” he murmured, tapping his aquiline nose lightly, “Just lie back and let me take care of you. The second something you don't like happens, just say the word and it stops.”

“Yes Zag,” Thanatos breathed, eyes fixed on him with a kind of trust he was rarely gifted.

To see it shining there in those golden eyes, dancing with the firelight in them, Zag almost faltered. Almost. Barely a pause.

He bracketed Thanatos’ hips with his knees, guiding his cock into him slowly. Than’s head tipped back with each inch, his jaw slackening and breath coming in short gasps.

“Zag...fuck, Zagreus…”

“You sound so cute when you swear,” Zag laughed breathlessly, bracing himself for the last few inches, shuddering as his hips pressed against Than’s narrower ones.

Seemingly with a mind of their own, Than’s hands skated over every part of Zagreus they could reach, determined to explore. His thumbs traced the thin scars under his nipples, his fingers traced the hollows of his collarbone, he grabbed generous handfuls of his ass as he started to rock slowly. Zag would never have thought his betrothed would be so tactile, his distant, reserved Thanatos would be so eager with his hands.

It seemed Than wasn’t the only one learning things tonight.

He focused on the task at hand, working his hips, leaning back to take as much of his betrothed as he could. Gods but it had been a long time and perhaps even longer since it had felt this good with anyone. Something instinctive seemed to be working between them, something that reminded him of when they fought side by side, how Thanatos would always know exactly how to match him and fill the gaps he left, how they felt unstoppable.

Something that made Zagreus think this was going to work.

“Zag,” Than’s voice, strained and thin, snapped him back to the here and now, “Zag, I’m gonna…”

“Good,” he leaned down to press their foreheads together, brushing Than’s lips lightly with his own, “That’s alright, just let go. I’m there with you.”

Permission granted to him, Thanatos gave a strangled cry, hips lifting up enough that Zag found himself having to hold on. There was the snap of released tension, a sensation of heat flooding into him, sharp contrast to the rest of the cool skin pressed against him. It was enough to send Zag tumbling over the edge with him with a sigh of release.

In the moments after it broke, after the rushing waters had settled and all that was left was the ragged, panting breaths, Zagreus waited. He waited to see the realisation dawn on Thanatos’ face, to see the shame flood in to replace the hollow left behind, to watch him decide they had made a terrible mistake. He hadn’t realised that fear had still been lurking in a quiet corner of his mind or perhaps he simply hadn’t cared, it had stood in the shadow of his own desire and the need to help Thanatos.

Zagreus waited for the pause.

But all that happened was a smile. A smile that spread over Thanatos’ face like a sunrise, tired and shy and satisfied.

“Oh yes. I could do that for the rest of my life.”

Zag burst out laughing, the sound raw from his strained voice, he’d been louder than he’d realised.

“Glad to hear it, Than,” he chuckled, gently extracting Than from himself so he could roll onto his back, “I...I’m glad we did this. This was a good idea.”

“It was,” Thanatos hummed, closing his eyes and tipping his head back in satisfaction, “Now this is always going to be ours, whatever else happens.”

“Ours…” Zag repeated, finding his mismatched eyes lingering on Than’s face, watching the shadows find all its angles and hollows. He rather liked the sound of that.

He wouldn’t ask Thanatos to return to his own room. If anyone saw him leave in the morning, they’d just say the princes had drunk too much wine and collapsed into bed still fully clothed. The fact that Than would be creeping along the corridor still in his finery would help the illusion, after all. They could have this night together, the night that was only theirs.

And all the nights after that, well, they’d find excuses for those too.

Zag smiled as he pulled Than close, let him rest against him as he drifted into the kind of peaceful sleep you could only have after a great weight of worry had been lifted from you. The kind of sleep where you felt completely safe.

There had most definitely been a pause. And Zagreus was so glad of it.

#hades #thanzag #betrothal au #smut #hades fic #zagreus #trans zag #thanatos #please reblog and comment!

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chris-evans-indian-fanfic · 4 years ago

Text

Voice

One-Shot

Description: When Mr Freezy enters your life, your peaceful world is destroyed.

Warnings: Non-consensual, voyeurism, masturbation, verbal abuses, harsh language and hints of necrophilia

DO NOT PROCEED IF THESE THINGS UPSET YOU. THIS IS A VERY DARK STORY. ONLY PROCEED IF YOU ARE 18+

This one-shot is my entry for Week 5 of @donutloverxo 's superfun writing challenge. This time, the challenge was based on GIFs. The one I selected will appear in the story below. Click here to participate in their weekly challenges

A/N- I blame @jtargaryen18 for making me an unholy hoe for Mr Freezy!

My Main Masterlist

I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but Tumblr and AO3, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

…

You were living the best life in 1969. Working part-time at the ice-cream parlor in the mornings, hanging out with your friends in the evening and sneaking out for parties at night, you loved your routine, carefree life in New Jersey.

Your foot bobbed along the tunes of Honky Tonk Woman by The Rolling Stones as you read that month's fashion magazine, sitting by the new, shiny cassette player. Taking pride in the fact that your family was the first in the neighborhood to buy the expensive cassette player, latest in the technology of playing music, you smirked as you delicately, almost teasingly fondled the device.

*beep beep*

The annoying horn of the filthy ice-cream truck broke you out of your reverie. Scowling, you turned to look at the abomination on 4 wheels parked right in front of your house. The long-haired driver, who called himself Mr Freezy, always gave you creepy vibes. Maybe he thought his wide smile would lure in more children, but it never failed to make your skin crawl with disgust.

You tried your best to ignore him and his irritating horn, hoping that he would drive away soon enough. Unfortunately, it was a hot summer's day and there was a long, winding line of customers.

After yet another *beep beep* you slammed down the magazine on the table. Walking out in your pinkish-red knee-length skirt and long-sleeved top, you had a good mind to tell Mr Freezy off.

Standing in front of his ice-cream truck window, you stomped your foot and placed your hands on your hips. "How can I help you Ms Jello Mould?" his disgusting attempt at comparing you to a dessert sent a chill down your spine.

"You have a long line of customers! Stop pressing your horn every 5 seconds!" you exclaimed, gesturing your hands towards the waiting people.

Mr Freezy chuckled, but the mirth didn't reach his eyes behind the glasses, "Now now. That is no way to talk to someone who is older than you Raspberry Ripple," he said in a friendly tone, "Not everybody can afford to buy a cassette player."

"Maybe you can if you cleaned your ice-cream truck once in a while," you spat, purposefully covering your nose, "I work in an ice-cream parlor, and no establishment dealing with ice-creams should stink like this!"

"My customers don't seem to mind it Sugar," his sweet tongue rolling the last word as if he was drooling.

You huffed, "I mind it! And stop with the horn! Or I will have daddy make sure you are never seen here again." And with that hardly intimidating threat, you walked towards your house. Mr Freezy licked his lips as he saw your silhouette disappear behind the front door. He could put your bratty nature to good use. Very good use indeed.

🍦

Dressed in a brown checkered dress, you sauntered home after your shift ended, your spirits high as you looked forward to being Ricky's date tonight at the party.

As you entered your home, your eyes fell upon the new cassette sitting besides your beloved player. Squealing with excitement, you rushed and grabbed the plastic box, hurriedly prying it open. To your surprise, a few photographs of you and Ricky fell out of the case with the words "Does daddy know about him?" scribbled on the back of every photograph.

No no no. OH GOD NO! you panicked as you rifled through the images. Your parents had no idea about your nightlife, let alone your boyfriend! These lovey-dovey photographs threatened to reveal your secret and ruin your life.

You found another note in the box behind the cassette, "There are plenty where these came from. Now be a good girl and play the cassette." Just beneath the sentence, a chocolate bar was roughly drawn in the corner and the words “My Chocolate Fudge” were written in small letters.

Your hands trembled as you hit play. A raspy voice greeted you from the device.

"Hey baby." You knew this voice, who was he? "Has daddy's little princess recognised me?" You were pretty shaken up, your mind refused to let go of the terror and think straight for a moment as your thumbs rubbed against one another.

"Oohh Sugar, what am I going to do with you?" the voice chuckled. That sentence brought you to a complete halt. It was Mr Freezy! How dare he threaten you like this?

Before you could form any coherent thought, he tut-tutted in annoyance, "How can an ordinary ice-cream man like me trouble a beautiful young woman such as yourself? What will Daddy say? Let's call Daddy shall we? I am sure he would enjoy looking at how well Ricky can fondle his daughter's breasts."

You felt numb as his words sank in. If your father found out, he would have you sent to the country, to his relatives who lived on a farm! Eww!! You shuddered, overcome with disgust as the cassette continued.

"Now Sugar, we don't need to tell Daddy about us. Do we?" You shook your head in response. "Very good," Mr Freezy continued, "Open the curtains to your right, and look at the house across the street."

You followed the instructions, and nearly choked on your spit. There he was, in your neighbour's house, smiling and waving from their first-floor window. "Follow my next instructions very carefully, or I will make sure that your entire neighborhood comes to know about the wonderful kisser that Ricky is."

You could only nod in response. No matter what, you could not afford to let your family be humiliated because of your actions.

"From now on, hit pause after you finish every command. And hurry, we haven't got all day Sugar. Your mother will be home soon. And if she is home before I am done with you, then let's just say tonight there wouldn't be any dessert for you," you gulped in agreement.

"Pull up a chair near the window and place the player near you." Your fear slowed you down and the recorder kept on playing, "Face the window, and strip." After a pause, you heard, "Sit on the chair and spread your legs wide. Keep your feet on the windowsill."

The rest of the commands fell on deaf ears as your body was stunned in shock. Did this man… really? You couldn't. You wouldn't. Maybe you could still apologise…

Tears brimmed in your eyes as you realised what this man wanted you to do. It was almost 4:30pm and people would soon fill the street in front of your house. If anybody decided to even look towards the window, they would surely see your body on full display.

As if reading your thoughts, Mr Freezy shook his head and pointed to his wristwatch.

You knew your mother would be home before 5:30pm. Whatever you had to do, you would have to do it quickly.

With trembling hands, you paused the cassette, and obeyed his first two commands, the upholstery on the chair feeling warm against your naked bottom. From this angle, you couldn't see him, but you were sure he was keeping an eye on you.

You were correct.

Mr Freezy sucked on his ice-cream bar as he watched the scene unfold. His tongue working the cold dessert as if it were your core. A small bite here, a suck there, and his length was already aching in his pants.

"Oooo look at that slutty pussy! Just waiting for a man's touch," his voice cooed from the recorder, "Play with your clit with one hand, and bring your other hand to your breast."

You begrudgingly relented, wanting to get it all over with soon. Heat flooded to your face as the indignity of your actions set in.

Across the street, Mr Freezy unzipped his pants, and started rubbing the neighbor's panty on his shaft, his touch fleetingly light as he sucked on the bar. He bit into the ice-cream when you rubbed your clit, the cold going straight to his length.

"I love how your plump breasts bounce everytime you take a step. A man can get lost in those curves of yours," his raspy voice continued, "Squeeze your breast lightly. Feel it's roundness. Tease your nipple too. Fondle it with one finger."

You bit your lips as you followed his instructions. You had masturbated a few times and had even reached third base with Ricky, but it had never felt like this. You knew this was humiliation in answer to your rude behaviour. But this… it felt… good. You were ashamed to admit it, but as the teasing prolonged, you started feeling the familiar and ever elusive knot building up in your stomach.

"Yes yes yes baby. Rub that clit harder. Make that pussy wet for me. But don't you dare enter a finger in your cumhole."

He watched as your hips thrust upwards, desperate for friction, as he started pumping himself faster.

"Slap that boob," he commanded as another moan escaped your lips, "slap harder!" and you did. "Pinch your nipple and pull it. Pull it you cock sucking bitch."

More wetness pooled at your core as you continued to play with your body.

"Stop," said Mr Freezy's voice. At first you thought you misheard him and so you didn't.

"I said STOP YOU FUCKING BITCH," his shouts from the player sounded as clear as a bell.

Startled, you brought yourself to a complete stop. Despite yourself, the sudden cessation left you feeling disappointed and hungry for more. "Pause this recording. Go to the full-length mirror in your room and have a good look at yourself," his voice urged you.

Meanwhile, Mr Freezy had come undone across the street, his thick release coating the neighbor's cotton panties. He sighed as he used the neighbor's brassiere to wipe himself clean. He was longing to get a taste of you. Too bad he had other things planned for you instead.

You ran towards your room, trying to hide your nakedness as much as you could. You didn't recognise the woman in the reflection. Hair astray, lips and cheeks slightly flushed, puffed breath, eyes wide and the hair on your mound glistening with your arousal. You couldn't bring yourself to meet your eyes reflected in the mirror.

You carefully went downstairs, and resumed the cassette.

"Saw the slut in the mirror? That's who you are bitch. A whore for a man's cock. Don't let Ricky touch that filthy pussy again, or I will fill you with my cum infront of your Daddy while he watches," the cassette ended with the heavy threat.

🍦

You were living the worst life in 1969. Quite often, you came home to a new cassette with new instructions recorded on them. Everytime, the plastic box was filled with naked photographs of your previous lewd acts. Up until now, you had jumped naked in front of the window, placed ice on different parts of your body, deep-throated an ice-cream bar and stripped to a vulgar song.

Tonight however, it was different. He had asked you to carry a bottle of wine (that he kept on your bed while you were gone) and go to a hotel at midnight. Mr Freezy had explicitly mentioned that you were to wear only your bra and panty. Still, you covered yourself with a long coat as you snuck out of the house.

The hotel, if you could call an almost crumbling building that, was in the notorious part of town. With your heart pounding in your throat, you shed your coat and knocked on the door. A large man answered, his smirk widening as he took in your appearance. "You Buffy's girl?" you nodded just as you had been instructed. The stranger pulled your breast and dragged you into the room.

He smacked your ass as he grabbed the wine bottle with another, "Buffy always sends the best stuff."

He was swift in opening the bottle, chugging the liquid down as if it was water. You shuddered at the thoughts of what this man was capable of doing to you. Tears filled your eyes at the realisation.

The man looked at you and, without warning, shoved the glass bottle in your mouth. "Drink. I like it when my prostitutes are drunk." His gaze swept over your entire body. One second you were gulping down the foul liquid, the next you were gasping for breath as he pulled the cups of your bra and poured the liquid down your torso, "Let these girls drink too! Lets get hammered baby!" he exclaimed as he pulled the elastic band of your panty and poured the wine on your mound.

He laughed maniacally as you squirmed in his grip. Drinking the last of the drops, he pulled you into his lap, licking and sucking at the wine currently following down your figure.

Your protests only spurred him on, but it all lasted only for a few seconds.

You felt the stranger's body seize with yours. Breath coming in harsh rasps, you felt your throat constricting as sharp pain shot in every nerve of your body. Your agony, along with the stranger's, lasted only for a few minutes as your shallow breaths became few, finally coming to a raggedy stop.

Mr Freezy smiled a lopsided grin into his binoculars. He hurried across the street, grabbing the girl's dead body and dumping it into his ice-cream truck.

He happily hummed when he saw the ice slowly creep up your skin. You see, this profession had turned Mr Freezy cold, inside out. To an extent where he despised the warmth of a pussy around his cock. He craved the cold. He craved you.

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e-m-christina · 4 years ago

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Hi, um... I've never really done a request before. But I was wondering could you write for Sigurd falling for a childhood friend and eventually proposing to her? Thank you!

No problem, I hope you like it!

Hanging in the sky above Kattegat, was the aurora borealis. Like a brilliant pink road, it snaked through the air and disappeared behind the trees, a darker purple aura clinging to one side of it. The lights shimmered and stretched, growing and receding, striving and shrinking. One moment the light was a singular thing, a path to Valhalla, the next moment it was a collection of many, an army made of light marching ever northward.

I was helping my father, Floki, sand down the few remaining planks of wood for his next project. We had started the sanding at dawn, and now the sky was a velvet black. Every now and then, I would get distracted by the show of lights that danced across the sky. Father used to tell me that when a warrior died, the Valkyries would take them in chariots to Odin and the reflection of their armour would cause the light show in the sky.

“Y/N?” I looked up to see my mother rush out of our house, with a piece of parchment in her hands.

“Yes mother?” I asked as she got closer. She handed me the parchment, and gestured for me to read it.

“I think it may be of importance.” She said. My eyes flicked down to the messy writing, recognising it almost immediately as Sigurds hand.

“He wants me to meet him at full moon.” I blurt out. All week he had been ignoring me. If he would see me in the streets of Kattegat, he would turn on his heel and walk the other way, or he would ignore my existence completely. Though I would not admit it, his actions did make my heart sting. Afterall, I had grown up with him since I was ten years years old. And now? Well, I do not know my feelings for Sigurd anymore. Every time he is near me, my heart would pick up it’s pace and I would get flustered. Though, I usually put the feeling down to being hungry, sick, or dizzy. I could never like my friend like that. No. It would be wrong. He was the son of Ragnar Lothbrok, the greatest man who ever lived, and then there was me; just the boatbuilders daughter. He would never like me back. I would have to ignore my feelings.

“Tell him to come here himself. He has not treated you right all week.” Floki said, spitting at the ground with a look of disdain on his face. I bit my lip, a part of me agreed with my father, afterall, Sigurd has treated me like dirt the past few days, but the other part of me wanted see him again. What if he wanted to apologise?

“But the boy is reaching out himself Floki, it might be important.” Helga said, putting her hand on my shoulder. My eyes were fixed on my father as his decision crashed around his head like great waves; one wrong move and it is over, and in this case, if he does not let me go, I might miss out on fixing my friendship, but if he does let me go, Sigurd might hurt me again.

“Very well. Go. But if he hurts you, if he puts a foot out of line, I sear by the Gods that I will blood eagle him.” My father said finally. A smile made it onto my face as I leaned over and hugged my father.

“Thank you father,” I said, pulling back from the embrace, to be greeted with one of his ‘giggles.’

“Y/N, you better go, it is almost midnight.” My mother said, giving me one last hug.

I wrapped my cloak closer to my body, trying to fend of the biting air that clawed at my chilly skin. The closer I got to ‘our secret place,’ the more the nerves in my stomach grew. What did he want? Was he going to apologise, or was he going to tell me that he did not want to be friends with me anymore? Come to think of it, why did he stop talking to me in the first case? Did I upset him?

Thoughts whirled around my head as I came closer to our secret spot. The trees around me seemed to glow in the darkness, illuminated by the dancing sky above. I came into a clearing, a patch of grass encircled by thick forestry. Sigurd and I had found that place when we were children, we would hide there when we got into trouble so that our mothers could not find us, and sometimes, we would just go there just to spend time together.

“Y/N, I thought you were not going to come.” Sigurd appeared in the clearing, only a few meters from where I was standing. My heart instantly skipped a beat when I saw him, but that feeling of fleeting joy was replaced with annoyance.

“I almost did not come. Why have you been ignoring me Sigurd? And don’t lie, I always know when you are lying.” I folded my arms across my chest, watching as he took a seat on the grass, and patted the spot beside him.

“Come, sit.” He said, looking at the ground. I raised an eyebrow. Sit? I want to know why he was ignoring me! If he was going to be his usual self, he would not tell me why he wanted me here unless I sat down. With a sigh, I took a seat beside him in the damp grass.

“Happy now? Now tell me, why have you been ignoring me? Did I do something to offend you? Did I say something?” I asked, but he only looked back to the ground with a small smile. Between his long fingers, he had plucked a small daisy, and twirled it in his hand, his eyes trained on the plucked flower.

“No Y/N, you did not offend or upset me. The reason I have not been able to speak to you is because...” He trailed off. My eyes softened slightly, noticing the slight tremble in his fingers as he played with the flower, I was relieved that I had not upset him, though I was still concerned why he would not tell me the reason for ignoring me. Frowning, I placed my hand on his am, causing him to freeze and look at my hand, then to my face.

“Sigurd, you know that you can tell me anything?” I said, looking into his eyes. I was going to say something else, but the words were caught in my throat. That same feeling of butterflies built in my stomach as his eyes flicked to my lips, before returning to my eyes. Within seconds, his lips crashed onto mine, freezing me in place.The moment our lips touched, the world vanished instantly. My eyes fell closed, and all I could feel was him. His warm lips moving in sync with mine, gentle at first, and then it got deeper. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer as I tangled my fingers in his hair. A few moments later, we broke apart, panting for breath, still wrapped up in eachothers arms. Did he just kiss me? Sigurd just kissed me. I sat there dumbstruck as Sigurd smiled lightly at me.

“That is why I could not be around you. I love you Y/N, and I could not function around you. I am sorry if I upset you.” He said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. I did not realise until now how hot my face felt and how hard my heart was beating against my rib cage. Love me? I was at a loss for words, but I knew exactly how I felt, even if I could not form it into a coherent sentence at that point in time.

“But if you do not feel the same, I understand.” He said, a trace of worry evident on his face. I laughed lightly, resting my forehead against his.

“I love you too, Sigurd.”

From that night on, our relationship had flourished, even Floki began to warm up to the idea of it after a while. I had felt the happiest I had ever been with Sigurd, even though we had only been together four months. When I woke up this morning, I had found note on the shelf beside my bed. It was from Sigurd, asking me to meet at our special spot at noon. And that was exactly where I was heading.

“I am over here my love.” I heard Sigurd call from the clearing, I smiled as I approached him. Sigurd bent down and pecked me on the lips before grabbing my hand.

“You might be wondering why I asked you here.” He said, staring me in the eyes.

“Well, yes?” I said, almost as a question. Sigurd smiled, interlocking his fingers with mine and took in a deep breathe.

“I know we have not been together long, but I feel as though it has been years. I love you more than you could imagine, you are the light of my life.” He paused, looking at me nervously. “May I take your hand, Y/N, daughter of Floki, and make you my wife?” Sigurd said, his face glowing red. My heart sprang out of my chest as my eyes widened. Sigurd looked at me for a moment, worried that I might say ‘no.’ Before he could say another word, a grin flashed across my face as I flung my arms around his neck.

“Yes, of course I will marry you Sigurd!” I said as he wrapped his arms around my waist, spinning me around.

“I thought you were going to say ‘no’ for a moment.” Sigurd said, placing me down. A grin was plastered onto his face as he pulled me into an embrace.

“Now why would I do a thing like that?” I said, before pulling him into another kiss.

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