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allegra-writes · 4 years

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“The Devil all the time”

Hunter!Tom x Demon!Reader

Supernatural AU

NSFW

Warnings: Smut

"Break the silence, damn the dark

Damn the light..."

The Chain - Fleetwood Mac

Forget everything you thought you knew, you had every reason to be afraid of the dark when you were a kid. In this world where monsters are real, the Holland brothers hunt them so normal people can continue to live in the bliss of ignorance.

But when something goes terribly wrong, Tom will do anything to save his brother's life, including selling his soul to the devil. Well... Not exactly the devil, but close enough.

You don't need to watch Supernatural to read this AU

MY MASTERLIST

He knew it was you, even before turning. He knew it as soon as he heard your deceptively delicate footsteps break the supernatural silence that had fallen over the forest the moment he had buried the little metal box in the old crossroad. Tom didn't want to think about what it meant, having such an intimate knowledge of you to be able to recognize you by the cadence of your steps, being so in sync with you that he could tell whenever you were in the vicinity.

So he used his favorite deflection technique whenever it came to you.

"Y/n? What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? Sorry, did I say nice girl? I meant evil skank"

The insult didn't phase you. None ever did. It was hard to take them seriously when you knew how many nights he fell asleep with your name on his lips, after pathetically releasing himself into his own hand, or fucking his boring girl-next-door girlfriend, chasing orgasm over unsatisfactory orgasm that would never completely satiate him. Because it wasn't your face the one contorted in pleasure looking up at him from the mattress.

"You called. I came" You batted your lashes, sweetly. "I always come when you call…"

He gulped, the innuendo not lost to his ears. It threw him off guard, like it always did.

"I would have thought this would be… beneath you" Tom cleared his throat, looking away, trying to regain his footing, "collecting a deal, like a vulgar crossroad demon"

There was nothing vulgar about the soul of a Holland. But he didn't need to know that, so you just shrugged,

"Queen Rowena has an interest in you boys. She finds you entertaining. I'm just being a good subdit"

He scoffed,

"Funny. I would have never peg you for a sub"

You took a step closer to him.

"You don't have what it takes to make me submit, Holland" Your hot breath fanned over his skin, setting his skin on fire. Making his blood boil. You had a way of doing that, of bringing out the worst in him. Of making him lose control. And you thoroughly enjoyed it, poking at the bear until the claws came out, laughing at the carnage.

Another step, and you could physically feel it: The hate, radiating from his every pore, his mind screaming with it. He hated you. He hated your kind. He hated your beauty. He hated the pretty white dress you were wearing, so pure and innocent, glowing like a beacon in the dark. A lure, guiding uncountable men before him into perdition.

But above all else, he hated that, even then, he couldn't help but to want you. Fervently. Desperately. Irreversibly.

"I came here to make a deal" He croaked, cursing himself internally for showing weakness.

"Let's negotiate, then," you replied, stepping away, mercifully letting him breath.

"My brother-"

"I know" You interrupted, sounding bored already, "Reapers everywhere are going berserk. Who, oh who, will get to reap the soul of a Holland?"

The wind picked up, making your long dress billow around your legs. You twirled a little, admiring the way it moved. Tom's eyes were glued to you, almost hypnotized. Partly because you were too dangerous to be left unsupervised even for a second, partly because you looked beautiful like that. It had never been more obvious to him that you were an unearthly creature, you didn't belong to this world. There, surrounded by greenery, barefoot, swaying softly under the twilight light, he wondered how could anybody ever mistake you for a human.

"Of course" your apathetic voice took him out of his revery, "being reapers, watching them go wild is rather boring. I swear they are the most uninteresting beings of all creation"

That made him see red.

"Boring? Boring?!" He knew his voice was rising with every word but he just couldn't help it, "They're waiting for my little brother to die!!"

"Which could happen any minute now," You reminded him, all playfulness gone from your demeanor, "so if you wanna strike a deal, I suggest you start making me an offer worth my time"

He was taken aback by that.

"I- My soul in exchange of a wish, and you collect it in ten years" He tried and failed not to think about what that implied: vicious, invisible hounds of hell tearing apart his body and dragging his soul to hell, "Isn't that the usual deal?"

You scoffed,

"After all the things you did in your life, what makes you think your soul doesn't belong in hell already? And if your brother dies, that is one less Holland on earth to worry about. You and your brothers have managed to become a big pain in the ass for us…"

He pulled out a knife, a strange one, with runes in the blade. You arched a brow in recognition

"The Winchesters' knife. Are you threatening me, little hunter?"

Your lack of reaction was another blow. He had hoped you'd be more impressed than that. Nonetheless he turned it in his hands, offering you the handle.

"I'm throwing it into the deal"

To his surprise, you didn't immediately take it from his hands, choosing instead to pace the clearing, deep in thought.

The truth was you couldn't care less about the knife, it wasn't more dangerous to you than a toothpick. And while it was true it could certainly damage your queen, she had a far better weapon to protect herself: You.

But it did confirm your suspicions about the Hollands having access to the old Winchester arsenal, which meant they had access to something way more dangerous than that rustic weapon made of steel and bone. A book, made of ancient dark magic and human skin, written in blood. A book that was precious to queen Rowena and by extension to you: the Book of the Damned.

The Hollands were a family of extremely talented, yes, but old fashioned hunters. The stab first, ask questions later kind. They probably had no idea what they had in their hands… but you did.

"Very well then," you finally declared, "this is my offer: Your soul and that knife in exchange for sweet Harry's life and one year for you to get all your businesses in order"

Tom felt all the blood drain from his face. One year. Just 365 more days to live, before an eternity of torture in hell.

"O-one year?" He breathed.

"One year" You confirmed, "More than enough time to go see the Grand Canyon, eat the world's spiciest burger or whatever you have on your bucket list"

The disdain in your words only made him hate you harder.

"Not nearly enough to live" He replied through clenched teeth. You rolled your eyes,

"You're a hunter. You lead short, violent existences, charging head first towards what most humans run away from. Things faster, stronger, more powerful than you, surviving each encounter out of sheer luck. Killing one monster after another, until that luck runs out. Because the monsters? Unlike you who rely on it everyday, they just need. One. Single. Lucky. Strike." You punctuated every word with one step in his direction, until you were face to face again. Until, for the first time ever, you could see the fear, the desperating hopelessness he kept hidden inside, reflected on the warm coffee of his eyes. You knew a lesser man would be already crying and begging for Mercy.

Tom wasn't like other men though, that was the whole point.

"Or…" You soften your tone and your stance, letting your fingers ghost over the back of his hand, his whole skin erupting in goosebumps. That was the very first time you touched him. Ever.

And it was as if nobody had ever touched him before, the light caress enough to set every nerve ending, every single one of his cells, alight.

He was so distracted by the sensation and his body's response to it, he almost didn't hear your next words over the sound of his own pounding heart.

"Or you could keep your little pocket knife, and even have your ten years if…"

"If?" He struggled to focus.

"You let me borrow a book"

His brows furrowed in confusion,

"A book? What book?"

"Any book of my liking, for as long as I want" You shrugged it off, "Do we have a deal?"

There was a catch there, it was obvious. He knew he was going to regret it but, what choice did he have?

"Deal"

Your smile was blinding, luminous. If he didn't know any better, he would have called it angelical. Now, that was one ridiculous thought.

"What now? We seal it with a kiss?" His eyes fell to your lips, so soft looking and inviting. He wasn't eager to put his mouth on a filthy demon and doom himself. He wasn't.

You chuckled, but there was no humor behind it.

"Oh no, darling. This is big. This is special" You're special, "A simple kiss just won't cut it…"

No. You couldn't mean… could you? Was there no limits to your hatred for him? Did you really want him so defeated, so humiliated?

"What do you want?" He spat through gritted teeth.

"The same thing you want" You put your hands on his chest, rising to your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "The same thing you have wanted ever since we first met . The thing that's obsessing you..."

"I don't know what you're talking about"

You smirked,

"You can lie to your family, you can even lie to yourself, little hunter... But you can't lie to me."

He couldn't hide, you could see every fantasy, hear every single one of his thoughts of you on repeat, like a prayer in your direction. Just like he couldn't hide the way his skin was burning now for you, the way his blood rushed south, the way all logical thought left his brain, his iron grip on his emotions finally breaking as he snapped.

Lightning fast, in just a blink, he twirled you around, your back hitting the rough bark of a tree, as he towered over you, demon blade to your throat, every inch of his body pressed against yours. His eyes were ablazed with rage, and passion, as he surged forward, striking you with his best hit.

He kissed you.

Lips vicious against yours, teeth biting and scraping only to soothe the offense seconds later with his tongue, until he was dizzy, light headed with the lack of oxygen and the taste of you. The hand not holding the knife to your neck fell to your breast, squeezing the pliant flesh with enough force to cause pain on a human woman, merely making you moan. He swallowed the sound, letting his fingers trace your waist, your hips, clawing at your dress until he finally, finally, felt skin under his fingertips.

It was better than anything his mind had conjured in his feverish fantasies in the dead of the night. The skin of your inner thighs velvety soft, as they parted under his touch, the sweetest sounds leaving your lips as his fingers found your naked core. You weren't wearing any underwear, probably never had. The realization that, in all your past encounters and fights you had been standing there, just feet away from him with nothing under that damn dress hit him like a truck, making his head swim.

He searched between your folds, and suddenly his fingers were inside you. He was inside you, a part of him was buried deep within you, within your silky heat, claiming you as his, if only for the night.

And you were so wet for him, and only getting wetter as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, scissoring them, opening you up until he was able to slip a third one in, fucking you with his hand in earnest. You were sobbing, clutching at his biceps, head thrown back in pleasure. He took advantage of that to suck bruises on your neck, only to see them fade before his eyes. Your skin tasted clean, smelled like wild flowers and rain. Ozone. Lightning. Like those coursing through his veins with every cry, every delicious gasp you made.

He found the perfect spot inside you, the one that sent sparks through your nerves with every stroke of his calloused fingers.

"This what you wanted?" To make him lose it? Lose his mind, himself, in you? "For me to make you come on just my fingers, like the little slut you are?"

The floor disappeared from under his feet as you sent him flying away from you, a searing pain exploding at the back of his head as he landed, sprawled at the feet of an old, dying oak. With blurry eyes, he saw you stalk towards him, all power and cold, controlled fury.

"Let's get one thing straight, Holland. I'm not one of your sluts" You sneered, "and I'm definitely not your basic bitch of a girlfriend. So you better start showing me a little respect, are we clear?"

He gulped, sitting up. He had to be seriously fucked up in the head, for his cock to be twitching inside his pants at your threatening tone.

"Crystal"

"Good" You declared, coming to a stop right in front of him, standing between his parted legs, "Now, let's put that mouth of yours to a better use"

He knew that image was going to be forever tattooed on his brain: You standing in front of him, holding the skirt of your dress up, waiting for him to put his mouth on you. Tom took a moment to admire you, before delving in, flattening his tongue over your slit, before drawing tight, precise circles on your clit with the tip. God, you tasted so divine it was messing with his head; something as dark and corrupted and twisted as you, feeling so exquisite, so perfect, so heavenly to his every sense.

He helped you hook your knee over his shoulder, his other arm snaking around your leg, pulling you even closer. You could feel his smirk against your cunt the moment he realized your legs were shaking, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care, not with his wicked talented mouth devouring you like a last meal, rocking your whole world, making you see stars behind your closed eyelids.

You always knew that man would make the stars fall.

Tom kept on, penetrating you with his tongue as far as it would go, his whole face moving against you. The slight burn of his scruff felt delicious against your delicate labia, as he used his fingers to open you up like a flower, separating your petals to get to the delectable nectar inside. You were close, he could feel it, the obscene sounds you were making, the waves of sweetness falling on his lips feeding his ego, filling him up with pride. By the time the night was over, you'd be unable to forget him. He would make sure of that. He would make you come, over and over, until the only thoughts left in your brain were of him, the only word your lips knew how to speak was his name. He would mark you, like a bloodstain, like you had done to him.

Almost there, he almost had you. Your muscles were locking, your walls starting to tremble, when a loud crack resonated over his head, and you stepped away on unstable legs, breathing hard. You didn't even need to breathe, it was just his effect on you. He made you feel human. And it was both exhilarating, and terrifying.

You took another step back, but he took hold of your ankle, tugging hard enough to make you fall on his lap, white skirt covering the place where his hands were fumbling with his zip, with his boxers, aligning himself with your entrance.

"Fuck!" He cursed, as you sank on his rock hard cock, not giving him any time to get used to the feeling of you around him, before starting to move.

"How does it feel" You taunted, "fucking a monster? Is it as good as you dreamed of?"

Better. You felt even better. Tom hadn't thought it was possible, but he loathed you even more for it.

"Shut up" He growled.

You leaned forwards, breath hot against his ear,

"Cause you feel amazing, Tom. Your cock feels like heaven"

His hand tangled in your hair, keeping you in place as he crashed his mouth to yours again, the other fumbling for the buttons at the back of your dress, tugging and pulling, tearing at the fabric, in his haste to feel more. More of your skin against his, more of the body that had been his hyper fixation for far too long.

You sat up, still grinding on his cock, letting the tattered dress fall to your waist, watching in satisfaction as his eyes went wide, zeroing on the way your breasts bounced in sync with your hips.

Reaching up, for a glorious second Tom could feel one perfect pebbled nipple against his palm, the roundness, the weight of your soft flesh on his fingers; before an invisible force pinned his hands to his sides.

You tsked.

"Still don't get it, do you little hunter? This?" You let yourself fall all the way down his thick cock, hard, tearing twin moans from his mouth and yours, "This isn't about you. This is about me."

Leaning back, you braced yourself on his strong thighs, changing the angle, changing your movements to a slower rocking against his pelvis. The friction against your clit was perfect, the feeling of his big, throbbing dick so deep inside you, stretching you like no one before, sending electrical pulses through your spine. It was decadent. It was ecstasy.

It was torture. Underneath you, Tom was sobbing, eyes bright with unshed tears, fighting in vain against his bonds. He needed it faster, harder, anything to help tilt him over the edge you were keeping him on, your sweet cunt too tight, too good around him to allow his cock to soften, your rhythm too leisured to let the tensed, strained coil inside him to snap. You were uncaring, using him remorselessly to get yourself off, your little moans getting higher in pitch the closer you came to your climax. Tom felt himself getting higher just by looking at your beautiful pleasure ridden face. You cried out, and suddenly it was happening, you were coming, pulsating around his cock, falling apart on top of him.

And the ground beneath him quaked. The sky above his head bled, the blue twilight torn open by lightning, and thunder, despite the fact that there wasn't a single cloud marring its diaphaneity. You fell forwards, hand braced on the tree, next to his face, ridding the aftershocks of your orgasm until the end.

"No!" Tom cried when, after a few seconds of catching your breath, you dismounted him, letting his dick slip out of you.

You arched a brow,

"Something you want, Tommy?"

He locked his mouth shut, gritting his teeth. You smiled, amused, knuckles stroking his still iron hard cock.

"Do you need more, little hunter?" You enveloped him in your hand, moving it up and down his member, watching the head disappear under his foreskin, "Do you need to come?"

He banged the back of his head against the bark.

"Yes!" He finally admitted, "So badly…"

"Then beg" You commanded, stilling your hand. He snapped open the eyes he hadn't realized he had closed. Oh, if looks could kill…

"Never" He hissed, livid.

"Very well, then" You picked up your pace, pumping him fast, your grip almost too rough. He gasped for air, feeling the telltale tightening of his balls, the coil inside just about to break under the tension. But you must have felt it too, cause your hand let go of him altogether. Too late, he understood what you were doing.

One beat. And then another, and he was coming all over his t-shirt, orgasm completely ruined.

He cursed, tears escaping through the corner of his eyes, fingers digging into the moist ground under his hands. You chuckled, cruelly, standing up and stepping out of your shredded dress. He could have ganked you with the demon blade in that moment, he really could have, except his hands were still pinned by an invisible force at his sides.

"Let me go, you bitch," Tom growled, tossing, fighting against his restraints to no avail, "aren't you done?!"

"Not quite." You smiled, mockingly sweet, "Just one more thing before I leave. Don't worry, it will only hurt for a minute…"

He renewed his efforts to escape, as you bended over, reaching for his chest, white hot pain burning through his ribs. He almost cried out, but what he saw stole the voice from his throat, turned his blood into ice inside his veins, leaving him shaking, jaw slack and mouth open in a soundless scream:

You, naked and gorgeous and terrible. Transfixed, eyes glowing with a supernatural indigo light, the shadow of two massive, bended, broken wings projected on the trees behind you.

Not a demon, he thought. You're not a demon.

You smiled, and it was terrifying.

"No. I'm the thing demons have nightmares about" You replied out loud to the words he had only said in his mind, "And now, little hunter, you belong to me. Mind, body and soul"

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader smut #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x you #the devil all the time #supernatural #supernatural au #supernatural smut #demons #angels #demon!reader #hunter!tom holland

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barnesbabee · 3 years

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𝓹𝓵𝓪𝔂 𝓭𝓪𝓽𝓮 - 𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓵

|| ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ || ⇜ᴘʀᴇ��ɪᴏᴜꜱ - 21

⟿ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: No sensible person would turn down their boss if they looked good as good as Seonghwa. But maybe they would wish they had…

⟿ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴘᴛ: CEO!Seonghwa x reader, bestfriend!Yunho x reader || Social Media!AU || no gender specified for the reader

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: (send me a DM or an ask to be added) @ateezappreciation @shinyddeonghwa @lilithpooped @cloudyyeonnie@yeosangmystar @wooyoung-a @sanisms @mingismoon @lovelyvitamin @anawwyd @annasbannas @im-just-trying-to-survive-man @uglychildd @oddlittlefandomist @hwahomie @jin-neck-shaft @lovelyvitamin @yeosangmystar @skmoonchild @lovelymultiwrites @sunwooyoung

Panic settled in the room as Seonghwa's words echoed in your heads. Yunho was dead, Mingi disappeared, San wasn't waking up and the body was gone.

And meanwhile, you were getting railed in Seonghwa's office. You felt sick to your stomach, not knowing what to do, or where to even start.

"Someone say something!" Jongho yelled, at the top of his lungs, finally breaking his calm character.

The silence in the room was heavy and you suddenly felt as if you couldn't breathe, as if someone was gripping your throat from the inside. As if on cue, San groaned and his eyes fluttered open.

"What the fuck?..." He groaned, as he sat up straight with the help of one hand.

San rubbed the back of his head with his other hand, hissing as he moved it up and down slowly.

You and Seonghwa ran towards him and knelt beside the man.

"San what happened!?"

San sat against the sofa, feeling too sick and too dizzy to sit up straight on his own. He took a couple of breathsm trying to recollect what happened before he blacked out.

"There really isn't much to say, right after Y/N left Mingi asked me to get him something from the kitchen and when I came back someone, I'm assuming Mingi, hit me with something in the back of the head. Next thing I know I'm waking up next to Jongho."

Seonghwa stood up, visibly stressed and irritated.

"Y/N I- I can't take this anymore. I'm tired, I'm stressed out, I wake up, go to sleep and go through the day stressed but I try to keep calm and be reasobale but I just can't anymore! I need to rest, I need time!" Jongho said.

His voice was shaky, his face was red and his eyes were desperate and tired. He had huge bags under his eyes, and he looked as if he wanted to cry, but was too tired to do so.

"I... I know. I know what you're feeling because I'm feeling it too, but the body is gone, and you know that if the body is found we'll all be questioned by the police and if he turns himself in he will also be questioned by the police and we both know that in either case they will be asking questions. The body is decomposing! They'll start asking why he didn't come right away, what happened between the murder and the confession, and it doesn't take much for Mingi to break! If he goes down he'll bring us with him!"

Your voice was unstable from crying, and you, just like every other person in the group, regretted helping Mingi. You should have stayed mad at him. You shouldn't have babied him and helped him cover up a murder. But it was too late, friendship and compassion won over you as if you were in a kid's cartoon where the power of friendship could overcome anything. But it didn't.

"Each of you get in one of my cars. We're splitting up and looking for him. Keys are in the ignition, let's go. The sooner we find him, the sooner it will all be over."

Seonghwa turned his back and started walking towards the garage, giving them no time to oppose themselves to the plan, or to complain at all.

Four motors roared in the garage as each of them left in their respective car to look around. He couldn't have gone very far, it had only been a couple hours and Mingi had no car and no money for a cab.

It was becoming increasingly hard for San to throw off Wooyoung. They had been spending a lot of time together and these past few days he had barely talked to the younger boy, making the latter suspicious that either San had gotten tired of him, or that he had found someone else. Either way Wooyoung was panicking and constantly blowing up San's phone, which was just the cherry on top. After the 10th ding sounded from his phone, San pulled over for a second and called Wooyoung.

"Heeey Woo." He said, trying to sound as sweet as possible.

"San what's happening? Please tell me if you're getting tired of me... Don't give me any hopes, because I really like you."

"What? No Wooyoung, I like you, like... a lot. Really. But I've just been busy with consoling Y/N, and there was a bunch of issues in some paperwork from my part-time job so I had to work on that as well, it's just been a very tiring couple of days, I'm sorry... Can I get back to you once I'm done? I need a little rest."

As far as Wooyoung knew you were still upset at Mingi.

"Alright fine, but I expect a nice homemade dinner once you're free."

"Of course baby."

San hung up with a sigh, relieved that he bought his excuses, and started the engine once more, resuming his search.

San was driving around the town, searching places with fewer people and hidden spots where rarely anybody went to. He ended up in a couple bad neighborhoods, which in retrospect it wasn't very smart since he was riding a Rolls Royce, but they hadn't been making good choices the past few days. Seonghwa headed back to the cabin where they had found the body, you searched every bridge and police station and Jongho went to his apartment.

It was minute 12 of driving around when you received a call. It was a group call with everyone involved.

"The body is back in the cabin. It's covered with all the leaves and shit we put here."

"Don't touch it, get out of there for now. I'm still trying to get to his house, anyone got anything?"

Jongho's question was met with a bunch of no's.

"Well I'm almost at his house and I can see- oh my God. I found him. I found him he's standing on a balcony and I think he's gonna jump everyone get here!"

Jongho hung up and you told Seonghwa the address. Thankfully you were close by and got there in no time. Jongho sprinted up the stairs and by the time you and San got to the house he was trying to talk Mingi out of it. Mingi was standing on the edge of his balcony, on the other side of the railing, but still holding onto it. Jongho was crying and begging Mingi to come to his senses and to come back inside, as he gripped his arm.

"It's no use Jongho, just let me go! This is not up to you!"

You and San got up to the balcony as well, trying to talk Mingi out of it.

"Mingi please! We'll get through this I'm begging you, we can't lose you too!" You yelled.

You wanted to stay composed but you couldn't help the tears streaming down your face. Even Jongho, who was usually very uncomfortable displaying his emotions, was crying and begging.

When Seonghwa got to the scene, he was terrified. He didn't know what to do, which was a common thing throughout the past few days, and it was killing him.

Everyone was pulling on Mingi's left side, trying to pull him up along with Jongho, so, without anyone noticing, he jumped outside the railing, and slowly walked towards Mingi without him noticing either.

Once he was close enough, he grabbed the man and pulled him up and over the railing, while holding himself stable with one hand on said railing.

However, Mingi's selfishness was bigger, and in the end, he showed that no matter what other people did for him, he was going to put himself first.

Mingi was mad, he thought his friends were being selfish and had no say in the matter, so while being saved, while going over the railing back into his house, he kicked it away with all the strength in his body, making him fall back.

Seonghwa, who was holding onto Mingi, failed to grip the railing harder and fell with Mingi, looking into your sad, panic-filled eyes as he fell to his death.

You bent over and watched the man you loved fall, in what felt like slow motion. His body hit the ground, and with an ugly cracking noise, Seonghwa's head split open.

You sprinted down the stairs, and once you got down to the ground people were circling the two men, taking pictures and gasping at the scene. You shoved away everybody in front of you so you could reach Seonghwa. His face was nearly intact, but the pool of blood surrounding his cracked skull told you there was no way he'd survive. His chest moved up and down quickly, for a couple of seconds, indicating the intense pain he was in.

"Seonghwa I'm sorry- I-I'm so sorry! Please... I love you..."

Just as the last three words left your mouth, you could see his lips twitch, before his chest stopped moving, before his eyes lost all of their color, before his body went limp in your hands. You stayed there, holding the face of the deceased man you once loved, your clothes soaking his blood and you cried out for forgiveness.

You didn't dare look at Mingi, but you sure hoped he was dead.

But he wasn't. And in the end. When the ambulance and the police came, they took Seonghwa to the morgue and Mingi to the hospital. Mingi ended up surviving after intense surgery, but not for long, because you would end up killing him.

"You don't get to live!" You told Mingi, as you stabbed gagged him and stabbed him over, and over, and over.

He died in a slow, agonizing way, just like you wanted him to. After all he put you, San, and Jongho through, after the sleepless nights, the constant stress, after staying the love of your life he still thought he'd get a second chance!?

You made sure he suffered, and you made sure he knew how much you hated him as you pierced your old, blunt, and rusty knife into his body.

San and Wooyoung ended up fleeing the country, and Jongho joined the military, both too afraid to face the reality and their past actions, seeking any refuge outside of their past lives. They did end up hearing about Mingi's death, and neither of them seemed to care. After everything, they just gave up on him completely.

You were arrested for Mingi's murder, but after confessing everything, and giving a couple touch-ups where you removed Seonghwa, Jongho, and San from the story, and after leading them to Yunho's body, the lawyer from your case pleaded not guilty, and blamed your acts on the heavy toll the incidents of helping your best friend, and the death of your lover, had taken on you, and the judge agreed that you should be under house arrest, with a government assigned professional that would assist you, take care of you, and report back to court.

Was that the end? Was that all there was to your life? That seemed to be the case... Sooner or later you'd end up joining Seonghwa however, you knew that much, you just hoped he was somewhere waiting for you.

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alicanta77 · 3 years

Text

Chapter 4: Better Together

Pairing: princess!y/n x prince!Chenle

Themes: royalty au, fluff, angst

Warnings: arranged marriage, violence, war, injury, illness, descriptions of injury and blood

Words: 8.2k

Inspiration: BTS - Blood, Sweat and Tears - orchestral cover

tag list: @hiqhkeybby @jaeshatshop @lebrookestore @honei-n

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Finale

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Chenle gasped as he felt the sword pulled from his shoulder. The pain was overbearing and he vaguely heard Jisung scream out his name as he fell to his knees. The battle surrounding him faded into a blur of hazy noise, his slowing heart beat echoing in his ear being the only thing he could hear, and he tried with everything he could to keep himself upright, pushing his sword into the ground and using it to lean on.

He heard the sword that injured him being scraped along the ground and his attacker made their way around to face him. There was a trail of blood left int he ground when the blade touched it, the sight of the dark red liquid dripping down the sharp steel making him feel sick. Chenle lifted his head up and found himself looking into the sadistic smile of the previous head of the royal guard.

‘I should have guessed.’ Chenle spat, staring distastefully at the man above him.

The head of the royal guard shook his head, the smile never leaving his features.

‘Now this is my kind of ending.’ He laughed, watching as Chenle groaned out in pain. ‘How did you think this day was going to go? You would win the battle, go back to my kingdom victorious, become king?’ His voice turned hard and his eyes narrowed as he lifted his sword again. ‘Think again.’

He swung, his sword angled precisely for Chenle’s neck. Chenle tried to stand, tried to move away from the blow that he knew would be deadly. He couldn’t die like this, not without seeing you one more time, not without telling you the truth about how he felt. Not without telling you he loved you.

Chenle’s strength was leaving him, almost as fast as the blood was pouring out of his shoulder. He knew that if he somehow managed to survive this blow to the head, he was going to bleed out on the field if he didn’t get help fast.

The sword was coming towards him, and Chenle couldn’t move. It would take a miracle for him to get out of this alive.

Suddenly, Chenle heard the familiar clang of metal on metal, and the blow to his head never came. He focused his burring vision on the sight in front of him and, when it came back into focus, he was greeted with the sight of his friend in front of him.

Jisung had deflected the blow that was sure to take his head off, and was now challenging the head of the royal guard in a one on one.

‘You really think you can take me on boy?’ The traitor taunted, trying to throw Jisung off balance by getting into his head. ‘I taught you everything you know, meaning, that I know exactly what you’re going to do. I can see it coming.’

Jisung didn’t reply, instead narrowing his eyes and keeping all his focus on the fight in front of him. His old mentor continued to taunt him, but if it affected the younger boy, he didn’t let it show. Jisung’s eyes remained hard as he regarded the man he once saw as a father figure.

The head of the royal guard swung, sweeping his blade downwards in a curve towards Jisung’s abdomen. The movement had too much momentum to block it so Jisung used that, pushing his blade on the other from behind and trying to continue the movement further round, attempt to sway the head of the royal guard’s balance.

But, as he warned, he saw it coming, and instead turned himself in a graceful circle, ending up facing Jisung again, the smug smile never leaving his face. It continued like this for a while, Chenle couldn’t tell how long, the passing of time was hard enough to keep track of in a battle and the pain in his shoulder was making it even harder. The head of the royal guard would attack, Jisung would deflect and counter attack and every move of his would be expected by his opponent. The head of the royal guard wasn’t lying when he said he knew what Jisung would do.

Chenle could see Jisung was getting tired, and so was he. Chenle could feel his eyes drooping, unable to see the battle around him gradually drawing to a close, unable to see that he had done it, he had led his army to victory. He forced his eyes open one last time, watching as the head of the royal guard managed to get his blade under Jisung’s feet, knocking his balance.

Jisung stumble backwards, away from Chenle as the head of the royal guard circled him. Chenle watched as the man stood in front of Jisung as he scrambled on the ground. The head of the royal guard had his back to Chenle assuming that he was too woozy from the blood loss to pose any threat, and he was mostly right. But Chenle’s adrenaline kicked in, the refusal to leave behind and abandon the men who fought with him overpowered his being and, in his last moments of strength, he swung his own sword out, catching the head of the royal guard by surprise and knocking his off his feet.

Chenle’s pillar of support disappeared and he collapsed face first into the ground, breathing out shallow breaths as he tried not to fade into the darkness. Jisung used this opportunity, swinging himself up to his feet and grabbing his sword quickly. The head of the royal guard barely had enough time to stand before Jisung was on the attack. He knew that every move of his would be expected so he didn’t think about what he was going to do. He plan each next move precisely as he’d been taught to do, he just let his emotions take over and fought for his life, for his friend’s life, for his kingdom.

He knew that he couldn’t match the head of the royal guard in skill, and he was right. It only took a few seconds before the match had evened out again and Jisung felt himself being overpowered again. He blocked and dodged as much as he could, before taking a final spin, ducking under a blow aimed for his head, pulling a small dagger out of a concealed gap in his armour and aiming upwards.

The head of the royal guard gasped as the dagger pierced his heart. He collapsed to his knees his eyes falling to look at the blade protruding from him chest. Chenle’s eyes focused on the familiar dagger, trying to figure out where he knew it from. Then it hit him. Jisung had shown the dagger to him at the beginning of the battle, claiming it was the first blade he had ever been given. And it had been given to him by his trainer, the head of the royal guard.

Jisung blew a small bit of hair out of his face, having lost his helmet a while ago, and stared down at the dying man.

‘See that coming?’ He asked quietly, watching as the man who raised him stared up with blank eyes, his body finally hitting the ground, his chest stilling as he passed.

Jisung hurried towards Chenle and knelt down, rolling him onto his back. He breathed a sigh of relief as the previously unresponsive boy let out a groan.

‘You’re okay...’ He grinned as Chenle opened one eye.

‘You’re pushing down on my stab wound.’ Chenle grunted, huffing as Jisung moved back in panic. Jisung wrapped Chenle’s uninjured arm around his shoulder and helped him stand.

Chenle smiled at his friend.

‘Thank you.’ He said as Jisung nodded back, a smile of his own on his face.

It was only then that Chenle got a look at the battlefield. Bodies lay everywhere, most of them Odin’s men, and he could see that the fighting had finally slowed down. Those of Odin’s men that had survived were kneeling on the ground, dropping their weapons and accepting their fate as war prisoners as Taeyong, Jaemin, Jeno and Jaehyun came up to the two youngest boys.

‘They attempted a retreat, but Jeno and Jaemin were waiting for them.’ Jaehyun informed Chenle.

‘Yeah, they changed their minds pretty quickly.’ Jaemin grinned, nudging his friend who grinned back.

Taeyong stepped forward, taking a quick look at Chenle’s shoulder.

‘It’s just a flesh wound. A deep one, but after some rest and some stitches you should be okay. They’ll be able to treat you once we get home.’

‘Home?’ Jisung asked, looking up at the older by with hope in his eyes.

‘Yes Jisung, home. They’ve surrendered.’ Taeyong broke the news, relief and happiness flooding through Chenle’s system at the realisation.

‘We won.’

---

Four days later and Chenle could see the castle. They had left the battlefield the same day, everyone wanting to get back to the kingdom as soon as they possibly could. They had taken an extra day on the journey back home, as many of the men were injured and the horses were exhausted. Chenle could feel his horse, Aspen, getting tired. He leant down to gently stoke her neck.

‘Almost there girl, we’re almost there.’ He whispered, watching as the gates appeared through the trees.

‘You okay?’ Jisung’s voice came from Chenle’s left, causing him to turn his head towards his friend.

‘Yeah, just nervous.’ He admitted, redirecting his towards the gates to the citadel that were appearing through the trees in front of him.

‘We’ve just been fighting for our lives, literally, for the past week, and this you’re nervous for?’ Jisung question, raising an eyebrow.

‘Yeah. What if things have changed in the time we’ve been away? What does the king’s injury mean for our coronation? I don’t want things to be rushed and it puts strain on our relationship? But then is it selfish for me to want an injured man to run the kingdom just so I can gather the courage to confess? And what-’

‘Ok, breathe.’ Jisung cut off Chenle’s nervous rambling. He heard Chenle sigh, trying to calm himself. ‘Look, I’ve known y/n for a really long time, we grew up together.’ Chenle nodded at Jisung, knowing that the two of had been close, both growing up in the castle at the same time. ‘And I can honestly say that I’ve never seen her look at anyone the way she looks at you. Whatever she feels for you, it isn’t friendship.’

Jisung shrugged after he finished talking, letting his words sink in.

‘Not friendship.’ Chenle muttered to himself, now staring at the gates with a mixed look of disbelief, shock, and most of all, hope.

The gates were now right in front of them, open wide and inviting the knights back home. As Chenle led the knights through them, he noticed people running out their homes as shops to congratulate them on their victory. Chenle couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face as the joyous cried echoed up from his people. He turned back in his seat to look at Jisung and the other knights, and saw similar smiles on all of their faces.

He eventually reached the entrance of the castle, where Chenle had last seen you. He kept his eyes on the doors to the castle, that remained shut tight, and he was praying that they would soon open and he would be able to see you again. He brought Aspen to a stop, siding off her and stretching out his legs slightly, begin careful not to move his shoulder. Jaemin had forged a makeshift bandage out of a couple of shirts and was using it to stop the bleeding and keep his arms in place. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but it was the best they had for the moment.

Chenle swayed on his feet, Jisung suddenly appearing at his side.

‘Whoa, what’s wrong?’ He asked, holding onto Chenle’s arm to make sure he wasn’t falling over.

‘Light headed.’ Chenle explained. ‘I have been ever since the stabbing. I can’t make any sudden movements without getting head rush.’

‘It’s the blood loss. You need rest. We’ll get you to the court physician and then back to your chambers.’ Jisung instructed, making Chenle nod in agreement before quickly shaking his head.

‘I’ve got to see y/n first.’ He argued, refusing to go anywhere without seeing you and making sure you were okay.

At that moment, the doors to the castle opened, the sound grabbing the attention of every knight present. Out walked the Queen first, and finally, you appeared from behind her. The king was no where to be seen, but that wasn’t a surprise. His injury was severe, especially for a man of his age, and there was no way he would have been able to stand up and greet them when they arrived back. But Chenle couldn’t focus on that.

He could only focus on you.

You looked even more beautiful than you had when he’d left. Chenle just stood there, taking in all your features, from your skin to the bridge of your nose and the shape of your lips. His eyes trailed upwards as he looked at your hair gently blowing in the wind, even taking in the delicate gold hair accessory your wore, almost like a crown.

He watched as your eyes scanned the knights before finally coming to focus on him. He forgot how enchanting your eyes were.

Chenle was bewitched. He couldn’t bring himself to look away from you, even when your mother began talking, he continued to hold your gaze.

‘Our honourable knights! The princess and I welcome you home. To congratulate you on your victory, a feast will be held in your honour tomorrow night, but for today, how about you get some rest?’ The queen ended her short speech with a smile on her face as a cheer erupted from both the knights and the people and a group of stable hands came to take some of the horses. Chenle handed Aspen over to the stable boy holding out his hand and turned back to the queen as she spoke again. ‘Not only that, but we will also celebrate the crowning of Chenle, our soon to be Prince!’

Another cheer came from the people, one that made Chenle go bright red in the face. He looked up at you again, only to find you already smiling at him. He took a step forwards, hoping to go towards you but your mother placed a hand on your shoulder and walked you back into the castle. He made to follow but Jisung wrapped his hand around his arm, pulling him back gently.

‘Hey, I know you want to see her, but I really think you should go see the doctor first.’ He admitted and Chenle nodded in defeat, knowing that Jisung was right. He felt as though he was going to pass out any second and he had to see the court physician to make sure that his wound was not infected.

So, with Jisung walking closely behind him, Chenle made his way up the steps and into the castle.

---

You walked through the stone halls of the castle, only focused on the goal you had in mind.

To find Chenle.

From the second you saw him standing at the bottom of those stairs, you couldn’t take your eyes off him. Even though there was dirt on his face and his hair was messy, his clothes were stained red with blood, which made your heart clench in fear, it was still him. His eyes still looked up at you with that childlike innocence and hopefulness that you had come to love. His smile was just as infectious and teasing as it had always been, and you couldn’t stop yourself from grinning every time you thought of it.

You knew that if you didn’t find him soon, you would explode.

You made your way quickly to the court physician’s chambers, knowing from the blood that had stained Chenle’s shoulder that he was injured. You turned the corner, stumbling when you landed straight on someone’s chest.

‘Oh, sorry.’ You gasped out of habit, a similar response coming from the person in front of you.

Your head shot up, immediately recognising the familiar voice that issued you an apology. Your gaze came to settle on the face that you had missed so much over the past two weeks.

Chenle.

You acted without thinking, immediately throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him tight. He caught you instantly, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you close to him. He let his head fall into your neck, breathing in your scent and for the first time since he left two weeks ago, Chenle could feel himself relax.

‘You came back.’ You whispered, not moving from your position.

‘Have I ever broken my promises?’ He replied as you felt the smile on his face grow. You smiled yourself, relieved to have the boy you loved back with you. You pulled away slightly, still keeping your hands on his shoulders as you studied his face. Your eyes drifted downwards, his shirt was hanging slightly open off one shoulder, exposing the white bandage that covered the wounded flesh.

‘What happened?’ You asked, one hand drifting downwards to rest on it gently.

Chenle’s eyes followed yours for a second before they moved back to your face.

‘Oh, I um... I got stabbed.’ He admitted sheepishly, grinning at you.

‘Stabbed!’ You repeated in shock, your gaze quickly shooting back up to his eyes but you instantly relaxed when you saw the smile on his face.

‘Yeah but I’m alright. Jisung had my back and we made it out okay. I was just told to rest it for a short while, but I’m expected to make a full recovery.’ He reassured you, gently squeezing your waist.

‘Thank god, I couldn’t bear to lose anyone else.’ You mumbled under your breath, not meaning for Chenle to hear it but he still did.

‘Anyone else? Who-’ Chenle cut himself off, the confusion melting off his face and being replaced with a sad realisation. ‘Y/n, how’s your father?’

You eyes began to water slightly at Chenle’s question as you choked out a quiet response.

‘Not good.’

---

You pushed open the doors to your father’s chambers, Chenle close behind you. You heard a sharp intake of breath as he surveyed the state your father was in. He was confined to his bed, unable to stand for long periods of time. His face was pale and the dark bags under his eyes were prominent. It was clear as day to anyone that saw him, that he wasn’t in a good way.

He lifted his head as you and Chenle entered, smiling at you both.

‘Ahhhh, my legacy has arrived.’ He croaked as he attempted to pull himself into a sitting position.

The servants around him noticed his movements and quickly moved to pull up the cushions he was lying on to support him. Your father propped himself up, as your mother placed a gentle hand on his arm.

‘Come on in you two.’ He gestured towards you both.

You both took a seat next to the bed, waiting for him to speak again.

‘Chenle, tell me, how did the final day go?’ The king asked, his eyes focused on the boy next to you and he gestures to his shoulder. ‘I see you took a hit.’

Chenle let out a small laugh.

‘Yeah, I couldn’t let everyone get all the glory for their battle wounds without coming back with one myself now could I?’ He joked, prompting a weak laugh out of your father. ‘But overall, I would say that the day was very successful. We lost some good men, which is of course incredibly sad, but we buried them as best we could and brought back trinkets for their families, such pieces of jewellery they wore or a small piece of fabric they kept close to them. I would like to spend the next day or so personally delivering some of these to the families if that would be okay? These men fought bravely alongside me and I’d like to show my respect for them.’ Chenle paused for a minute, waiting for your father’s response.

‘Of course you can Chenle. I’m sure the families would be honoured that you deliver them personally. You will be a great king.’ He nodded, his words sincere.

Chenle smiled at him, before continuing.

‘You were right that we were approaching the final day. Everyone could start to feel it, we were all exhausted and sore, but we knew that Odin’s army were too. Myself and a group of knights devised a plan to catch our opponent off guard...’

You listened as Chenle recounted the incredible tale of his final day in battle. You weren’t sure when your jaw dropped, but you only realised it was hanging open when he had finished. You let out a breath of disbelief, impressed by his quick thinking. You had known that the head of the royal guard had been the one to betray them, considering when your father came home with a stab wound claiming that was where he got it, you would be stupid to not believe him.

But hearing how Jisung stood up to him, how Chenle outwitted him, you gained so much more admiration for the people you were lucky enough to surround yourself with.

By the time Chenle had finished recounting the story of the final day, you, your father and your mother were all staring at him with impressed looks on your faces, none of you saying anything.

Finally, your father spoke.

‘Congratulations Chenle, you have once again proved yourself to be the shining definition of a true knight.’

He paused to call in a servant and the guards outside. As he was doing this you turned to Chenle, pride shining in your eyes and you both smiled at each other. You reached out, gently grabbing his hand and he wasted no time in intertwining your fingers. Neither of you took your eyes off the other, too absorbed in each other’s presence to focus on anything else.

‘Ensure that everything is prepared for tonight. It’s the prince’s coronation!’ Your father instructed as the servant and guards bowed before leaving.

You squeezed Chenle’s hand at the mention of his coronation and watched as the smile on his face grew once again, unable to stop yours from doing the same.

‘Now you kids should head off, relax for a short bit before the feast.’ Your mother told you, watching the two of you fondly. You both nodded, thanking her and wishing your father well before leaving his chambers.

Neither of you noticed the knowing look your parents shared as they took in the two of you leaving, still hand in hand.

---

You made your way towards the royal gardens, Chenle occasionally swinging you hands between you playfully as you laughed at his antics. He looked over at you, unable to stop himself from smiling every time you let out a laugh.

God he’d missed you.

He’d been smiling so much since he’d been back that his face ached but he couldn’t stop himself. And if he was being honest, he didn’t want to stop. Chenle was happier than he had been in a long time, and that was just because he had you next to him.

‘So... the feast will begin in a few hours.’ Chenle began, looking towards you once again.

‘I guess it will. And you will finally be crowned Prince.’ You grinned at him, watching as he nodded in response, his smile faltering slightly. ‘What’s wrong?’

Chenle looked up at the sky at your question, before taking a deep breath and guiding you to sit on a nearby stone bench, removing his hand from yours to do so.

‘I don’t know... I guess I’m nervous? I knew what it was like to be Prince back in Shanghai but here it’s different, and the Head of the Royal Guard kept saying I didn’t belong and I just... I’m just nervous that I’m not going to be good enough for this kingdom. I’m worried I’m going to let people down... let you down.’ He explained, looking down at his hands.

You watched him in silence, your jaw dropping slightly at his blatant honesty. You reached out and gently pulled both his hands back into yours, forcing him to look you in the eye.

‘You could never let me down. Don’t ever think that, it’s not possible.’ You reassured him, your voice steady. ‘The ex Head of the Royal Guard was an insane man who betrayed his kingdom and stabbed the king! I honestly don’t think anybody here is going to be treating his opinions like they’re law! Plus, if my father didn’t trust you, do you think he would have put you in charge when he left? Or, if the knights didn’t trust you do you think they would have followed you on the final day? No. And the people love you, they admire you for bringing so many knights home safely, and saving our kingdom.’

Chenle reached out, untangling his hands from yours and wrapping his arms around your waist. He pulled you into him as your arms made their way around his neck. He buried his head into the crook of your shoulder whispering a small:

‘Thank you.’

You stayed there for a couple of breaths before beginning to pull away slowly. You lifted your head out of his shoulder, pausing your movements when you realised just how close your faces were. Chenle stopped where he was as well, so close to each other that your noses were almost touching. You could feel his breath gently fanning your faces. You were so close you were worried he would be able to hear how hard your heart was beating.

You noticed Chenle’s eyes drift down to your lips before coming back up to meet yours again. You subconsciously did the same, watching as his eyes never left yours once. You noticed him begin to lean in, his gaze drifting down to your lips again. You followed his lead, tilting your head to avoid your noses bumping. You could almost feel his lips on yours, your eyes closed completely and-

‘Your highness!’

The two of you jumped apart as if you had been burnt, your head moved immediately to where the voice came from, just in time for you to see your servant and Jisung appear from around the corner. Your servant sped up when she saw you, calling out as she did so.

‘Your highness, we need to prepare for the feast!’ She told you, her voice slightly urgent making you feel guilty about how long she must have been looking for you.

‘Now?’ You asked confused and she nodded in response.

‘I’m afraid so, your highness. The king and queen would like to see you before you begin, and you need to be ready in the great hall before anyone else as the coronation will be first.’

You nodded at her answer, standing up to leave. You walked off with her, only stopping to quickly turn back to Chenle and send him a smile and a nod in goodbye. Chenle nodded back, watching as you disappeared around the corner your servant had just come from and back into the castle. He faced Jisung before letting out a groan.

‘You really have the worst timing.’ He whined, Jisung’s face morphing into a picture of confusion until the realisation dawned on him.

‘Is that why you looked so awkward when we arrived? Wait- Was something about to happen? Why didn’t you kiss her?’ He asked, frustration now present on his features.

‘I don’t know why I didn’t kiss her, maybe I was about to before I got interrupted.’ Chenle shot back sarcastically as guilt flashed across Jisung’s expression.

‘Oh... sorry...’ Suddenly his head lifted again as he came up with an idea. ‘Do it tonight! It would be the perfect time, a beautiful ballroom, everyone wearing their best clothes, there will be good food and entertainment, plus you’ll have just been crowned and named the official heir to the throne. It’s the perfect setting.’

Chenle nodded at Jisung’s words.

‘Yeah, you’re right.’ He muttered as he felt himself becoming nervous again at the thought of kissing you. Jisung noticed this and leant forward to place a hand on his friend’s shoulder, making sure to grab the uninjured one.

‘Hey... you can do this.’

‘I can do this.’ Chenle repeated. Jisung sent him a wide smile, before squeezing his shoulder gently and turning away. Chenle’s eyes drifted to his shoulder before his head snapped back towards Jisung as he called out for him. ‘Jisung?’

‘Yeah?’ Jisung replied, turning back towards him. Chenle stepped forwards as he spoke.

‘Thank you.’ He paused for a minute in a feeble attempt to plan what he wanted to say but quickly continued when he saw Jisung’s eyebrows furrow in confusion and his mouth open. ‘Thank you, for everything. Not just putting up with me when I’m being annoying, or a bit dramatic or incapable of telling y/n the truth. But thank you for always being by my side, ever since I arrived. And, I guess most importantly, thank you for what you did out on that battlefield, saving my life. I know it can’t have been easy to face him, with your history and the things he said, but you didn’t hesitate or falter once and, it’s only because of you that I made it back. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for that.’

Chenle finished, letting out a long breath, feeling his shoulders drop as they lost a weight he didn’t even know he was holding. Jisung didn’t say anything to begin with, only a small smile on his face. Their friendship didn’t consist of these kinds of moments a lot, in fact this would be the first time since they met that they had spoken to each other in this way.

‘Chenle, you don’t need to thank me for that. I mean, I should probably be the one thanking you for coming up with the plan that won us the battle. Look, without each other, neither of us would be here, so let’s not dwell on it. It feels weird being emotional like this with you.’ Jisung said, nudging Chenle slightly.

‘Yeah I agree.’ Chenle shook his head, as if shaking off the conversation, laughing when he heard Jisung chuckling from beside him.

They two boys began to walk back towards the castle, and Chenle couldn’t help but nudge Jisung back, this time with slightly more force. Jisung narrowed his eyes towards Chenle, pushing him a bit harder, and Chenle decided to retaliate. He shoved Jisung so that he stumbled slightly, almost losing his balance and began to run up the steps towards the castle, ignoring Jisung’s indignant yells and imagining how beautiful he knew you were going to look later tonight.

---

You stood at the top of the great hall, on the raised platforms that held the thrones of your parents. You were on your mother’s right side, watching as the room finished filling with people. Your parents were standing in front of their thrones, just a step further forwards than you, all three of you having your eyes glued to the door.

The musicians in the back left corner picked up their tune, the trumpets sounding the trademark notes of your kingdom’s ballad, and the doors opened.

Chenle walked through, taking each step slowly as all the eyes in the hall turned to him, every person bowing as he passed. He had his royal robes on, complete with a large red cape that was embroidered with gold. He lifted his eyes from the floor in front of him and looked towards the king. He face was calm, a steady confidence rippling through his expression and you watched as his eyes never faltered.

He reached the front of the hall, just before the steps that led to the platform that you were standing on and knelt. He lowered his head, bowing to his king, queen and princess. He stayed in this position as your father began the ceremony.

‘Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of this land according to their respective laws and customs?’ Your father spoke, his voice carrying across the entire hall.

‘I solemnly swear so to do.’ Chenle replied, repeating the responses he had learnt earlier. Even though he was looking towards the floor, his voice was just as clear and just as powerful as your father’s.

‘Will you to your power, cause law and justice, in mercy, to be executed in all your judgements?’ The king spoke again as everyone listened to the Prince promise to protect them as a fair and just ruler.

‘I will.’ Chenle answered.

The questions continued for a short while more and you couldn’t stop yourself from noticing just how calm Chenle was. This wasn’t something he was just prepared to do, this was what he was born to do. He swore and promised to take care of this kingdom with every ounce of his heart and you couldn’t help the happiness that was bursting out of yours. Eventually, the promises came to a close.

Your father turned to his left, where a servant was holding a red, velvet pillow with Chenle’s crown sitting on it. He picked it up before turning back to the boy kneeling in front of him. He raised the crown above his head and spoke one final time.

‘By the power vested in me, I crown you, Prince Chenle.’

He lowered his arms, resting the crown on Chenle’s head. It was a perfect fit. Chenle lifted his head and looked up at your father’s smiling face. He smiled back before standing and stepping up the stairs. He turned around, facing the people as applause burst through the hall.

You watched as Chenle turned around towards you, a massive grin on his face when he found you watching him with a smile, clapping for him as well. You stepped forward so that you were stood next to him, now on the inside of your mother as Chenle stood on the inside of your father. Your own crown was placed on your head, the four royals standing in front of their people, promising to do whatever they could to rule them as best they could.

---

You all sat around the tables, chatting and laughing over good food and entertainment. As when Chenle arrived, there would be a feast then dancing, and would end with a victory procession through the town tomorrow morning.

You and Chenle were sat next to each other, with your parents on your right and the knights and trusted members of the court fanning out around the square formation that the tables were laid out in.

Your father slowly stood in his seat, your mother and Taeyong, who was sat on his right, reaching out a hand to support the injured man. He was shaking on his feet but still stood proud. The entire hall quietened at the sight of their leader preparing to say something.

‘Today marks a great victory. Not only did we defeat Odin’s kingdom again, but we found a traitor in out midst. Although it was a difficult reality for us to accept, we must move forwards an into a brighter future. Moving forwards begins with one actions, choosing the new Head of the Royal Guard. I have been speaking to Taeyong about the days on the battlefield, and we both believe that it could only be one person.’

Taeyong nodded along to the king’s words, standing himself at the mention of his name.

‘The king approached me with a question about who I thought deserved to be the Head of the Royal Guard. And the answer was clear to me. It takes a greater amount of courage than anyone can ever know to stand up to and fight someone close to you. And it’s even harder if that person is like family. But that is exactly what this person did on the battlefield a five days ago.’

Taeyong turned back towards the king, prompting him to finish speaking.

‘We would like to offer the position of Head of the Royal Guard to... Park Jisung.’ He announced, as the whole room burst into applause.

Jisung’s eyes went wide from where he was sitting next to Chenle. Chenle whacked him on the knee, forcing him to stand. You couldn’t help the massive grin that decorated your face at the sight of your friend’s nervous form. You knew how difficult it must have been for him to throw that dagger, having known the ex Head of the Royal Guard for just as long as he had, and if that had been you, you weren’t sure if you would have been able to make that move.

Taeyong grinned at the younger boy as the king continued his announcement.

‘Even though Jisung is young, he has trained his entire life and has proven himself to be a valiant knight time and time again. And he will not be doing this alone, Taeyong will be your second in command.’ Taeyong nodded at Jisung as the king continued. ‘Along with Taeyong, three other knights will fill out the chain of command. Jaehyun, Jeno and Jaemin will be the others to stand by your side when you need them.’ The three named knights also stood when called, pride evident on their features. ‘Will you accept this position?’

‘I will.’ Jaehyun spoke first as the king’s eyes landed on him. Your father nodded before turning his gaze on Jeno and Jaemin, who were sat next to each other.

‘I will.’ Jeno spoke first, Jaemin following.

‘As will I.’

The king’s head then faced towards Taeyong, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Jisung until this moment. his gaze focused on the king, pure sincerity in his eyes.

‘I would be honoured to fight under Jisung’s command.’

The king nodded a smile on his face as he finally turned his eyes towards Jisung. The boy still looked completely shocked and rather scared at all the attention, and he didn’t seem to appreciate you and Chenle laughing at his state in the corner of his vision.

‘It is an honour, your majesty, I will gladly accept this position, and promise to do my very best to protect the people.’ He spoke formally, bowing towards his king as he did.

Your father grinned massively, reaching down for his wine and raising his goblet towards the ceiling.

‘Let the celebrations continue!’

Jisung all but collapsed back into his chair, mortified at the attention and still in a state of complete and utter shock at the promotion he had just received. He ignored your’s and Chenle’s teasing, instead standing up and moving into the ballroom that the dancing was taking place in, leaving the two of you behind, still laughing at his reaction.

---

You had been enjoying dancing around with Chenle, Jisung and a couple of the other knights that you were friends with, but you were starting to catching your eyes frequently wandering towards the door. As beautiful as the scenery was, the music was rather slow and repetitive, and the dances were the pre-rehearsed danced that the entire court knew, the ones that you had been learning ever since you could walk.

You drifted around the hall, looking for the boy that you had lost sight of a little while back. It seemed as though he was looking for you because, when you made eyes contact, he grinned and jogged towards you.

You ignored the butterflies in your stomach that appeared when he reached you, instead channelling your desperation to get out of the hall taking over you.

‘Y/n...’ Chenle began, speaking before you got a chance to. ‘There’s something I want to talk to you about-’ He stopped in his tracks when you put up your hand.

‘Hold that thought.’ You spoke as he paused for a second but nodded anyway. ‘Do you want to get out of here? We could go down to the town! They always have the most amazing lively music and dancing, plus sometimes they put lights along the river and trees and it’s so beautiful.’

You finished your proposal and Chenle nodded eagerly in reply. You knew he had never seen the town during a celebration, and it was something that really couldn’t be missed. Plus, you thought that if you had to listen to one more slow song as people trudged around this great hall, you would pull your hair out.

You grabbed Chenle by the hand, the two of you making your way to the open doors, You prepared to slip out, thinking that nobody would notice you, until you made direct eye contact with your parents. One look at the two of you and there was no way that they didn’t know what you were doing.

You froze for a second, not knowing what to say or do, until your father gave you a slow nod, a smile gracing his ageing features. Your mother did the same, both of your parent’s surprising you with their agreement to allow you to leave the castle. You sent them a thankful nod, relieved when they turned their attention back to the ballroom.

You slipped out fo the door of the ballroom, and the two of you began to run down the halls of the castle.

---

You and Chenle strolled through the streets, catching your breath after enjoying dancing with the people. Chenle realised that you had’t been lying when you told him how much fun it was. He turned his head towards you as you began to speak.

‘Isn’t this beautiful?’ You asked breathlessly, your eyes fixated on the colourful banners that hung from the houses, the paper confetti that littered the streets and the candle light that atmospherically illuminated the streets.

‘Stunning.’ Chenle replied honestly, his eyes never leaving your face. You turned towards him, smiling softly when you found him already looking at you.

He opened his mouth to say something, to tell you the truth about how he felt, to finally admit the feelings that were taking over his entire being, but before he could, he was interrupted by some young voices yelling.

‘Your highnesses!’ Three young children ran up to the two fo you, their voices full of excitement at the sight of their future rulers.

They circled you both, some of their friends coming to join them as they all told you stories and asked you questions. You listened and answered them all as best you could with a massive smile on your face, Chenle doing the same.

Just as their parents called them back, to children stepped forwards. They were both holding a beautiful flower crown in their hands. They seemed to be more nervous than they were before as they shyly asks if you would wear the crowns they had made for you.

You were so glad that you only wore your official gold crown for the ceremony, not anytime after, as you agreed to the children’s request. Both of you knelt down, allowing the children to place the flowers on top of your head. As you stood up, the young children squeal with excitement at the sight of you, before running back to their families. The short but wholesome encounter put you in the best mood possible, and you weren’t sure that there was anything else this night could offer you that would make it any better.

You and Chenle grinned at each other as you continued to walk through the streets. Eventually you found yourselves strolling along the riverbank, admiring the reflection of the candlelight in the waves. You both slowed to a pause, just standing in front of the calm water, enjoying the serenity it provided.

‘I just remembered, you’ve been trying to tell me something all day and you keep getting cut off! Sorry, do you want to talk now?’ You asked him, suddenly remembering just how many times he had attempted to speak to you.

Chenle’s mouth dropped open, his eyes widening slightly at your words as he cleared his throat before turning to face you entirely, his gaze leaving your entwined hands and coming up to your eyes. You could see the fire from the candles reflecting in his brown irises and it was hypnotising. You found yourself unable to take your gaze away from Chenle, instead admiring just how breathtaking he was.

‘Yeah... I have.’ Chenle admitted, his voice softer than you were expecting, and he was looking at you in a way that you didn’t quite recognise. ‘But every time I try and talk about it, something seems to get in the way. So, I’m thinking that maybe I shouldn’t tell you, maybe I should just show you.’

‘Show me what?’ You asked curiously, completely at a loss as to what you should be expecting. He took a step forwards and you became incredibly aware of just how close you were standing to him. The last time you were this close, you had almost kissed him.

God, how you wished there wasn’t an almost in that sentence.

Chenle lifted his hands to cup your cheeks, his eyes never leaving yours as he did so.

‘If I don’t do this now, I’ll never forgive myself.’ His voice was only a whisper, just loud enough to be heard over the gentle noise of the running water from the river to your right.

‘Then do it.’ You whispered back, giving him permission to do the one thing you were praying he was about to do.

So he did it.

Chenle leant in, finally closing the short distance between the two of you and gently pressed his lips to yours. You leant into him slightly, your hands coming up to rest on his waist as he pulled away all too soon.

‘Was that okay?’ He asked, biting his lip nervously.

‘And here I was thinking this night couldn’t get any better.’ You breathed., diverting your eyes in slight embarrassment as you heard him laugh at your response.

‘So I can do that again?’ He asked, looking at you with hope in his eyes.

‘Any time you like.’ You grinned, watching as a huge smile of his own spread across his face before he leant in again.

This time his hands drifted down to your waist, your coming up to wrap around his neck as your lips met again. You pressed yourself into him, him pulling you as close as he possibly could. There was no space in between the two of you, as the emotions and love that had been building up exploded through the kiss.

You eventually pulled away, resting your foreheads together as you caught your breath.

‘I love you.’ Chenle confessed, his whispered words as loud as screams to you as your face split into the largest smile on the planet.

‘I love you too.’ You breathed, feeling so much lighter having finally been able to admit how you were feeling.

Chenle’s smile mirrored yours, the two of you staying as close to each other as possible. He began to sway you from side to side and, before you knew it, you were slow dancing on the riverbank, relishing in the peaceful time you got to spend with the boy you loved.

---

The castle was quiet by the time you arrived back. Chenle had insisted on walking you to your chambers, and you were currently stood outside of your doors, preparing to say goodnight.

The scene reminded you of when he had first arrived, and you were stood in his very position at the end of his second day here, outside your chambers and asking him to drop the formalities. Who knew that, only a short time later, you would be confessing your love for him?

‘Goodnight Chenle.’ You said, your voice quiet as you were aware that many others around you were sleeping. Plus you didn’t really want the guards down the corridor to hear your conversation.

‘Goodnight y/n.’ Chenle replied, neither of you making an effort to move away.

Chenle moved first, taking a step towards you before gently holding your face in his hands and placing another soft kiss on your lips. He pulled away, leaning in once more to place another kiss on your forehead.

‘Sleep well. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He whispered, you nodding in response.

He stepped back as you turned around, opened your chamber doors and disappeared inside. Chenle made his way back to his own room, the smile never leaving his face, not even as he walked back to his chambers, not even as he got prepared for bed, not even as he lay down to go to sleep. You were his, and he was yours. You loved him, and he loved you. And there was nothing more amazing than knowing that.

You both fell asleep, lying in separate rooms, but your hearts irreversibly intertwined forever.

123 notes · View notes

likesomekindofcheese · 3 years

Text

Promised Part Five (The Great Mini-series, Arranged Marriage AU)

A/N: Here it finally is!!!! Sorry it took forever, life happens.

Word Count: 4K

Summary: When the Emperor’s behavior gets your families alliance with Russia in danger, you agree to marry his best friend Grigor in order to make sure the alliance does not fall apart. You’re tossed into the Russian court and into the arms and bed of a Russian count, dodging his jealous ex lover, trying to survive the unpredictability.... but...what about yuou two? Are you and Grigor finally...feeling something for each other?

Warnings: Swearing, drunkeness, mentions of sex and nudity, marriage, and an in universe reference I couldn’t resist.

“Come here Sonya! Come here!” Lady Svenska cooed, wiggling her fingers.

The puppy trotted to her and she squealed in delight.

Tatiana bent her knees, her lime green dress bunching below her like icing on a cake as she did.

“Sonya! Sonya come!” she gestured.

With a happy trot, Sonya waddled over. She reached up, her tiny tail wagging.

“Oooo, good girl! Good girl!”

You had been invited to a tea party with the other ladies. Although you had gotten closer to the empress, you feared if they would see you as an enemy. Especially hearing of Catherine’s last tea party with them. So walking in, you brought your secret weapon. And it worked.

The only woman it seemed who was not having the time of her life with what was happening was Georgiana. Dressed in her purple gown and largest wig, she sat a little slumped on the couch. She was sipping her tea every now and then but crossing her arms. She stared daggers at the dog and how it trotted. She preferred any small circle that came over to obsess over the latest scandalous affair, but even then she kept one eye on Sonya as if the dog was a wolf ready to attack. She didn’t dare say a word to you. And you didn’t say a word to her. But if there was nothing said, then nothing bad could happen.

Smiling, you helped yourself to a red macaroon, delighting in the crunch and cream of it’s taste. Lady Svenska walked over to you and asked.

“Can she do tricks?” she questioned.

“Almost. She’s getting better at walking. She used to pull and run a lot, but she’s better at being obedient.”

“And she doesn’t tear things up?” she asked.

“Only sometimes. I have to watch where my dresses are stored,” you answered.

“Ah! She’s such a good dog! How lovely of you to bring her here, Madame Dymov!”

Georgiana’s eyes went dark.

“Will you come to our ball throwing this evening! It is most fun! Mine might go another inch!”

“I’d be delighted to! And be sure to tell me more about that maid with the baron old enough to be her grandfather too! And with copous details!” you added on.

“Oh! I do like you! And what of the Empress?”

“Well, we read. And we chat…”

“But all that reading!? Isn’t it time consuming!”

“A little. Her books can take time. I reread pages over and over…but in the best way. I suppose. It keeps her happy.”

“If you have any gossip about her, please share!”

“I..I, uh, will!” you promise.

“First of all, have you any plans or gifts to give her on her birthday, it’s coming up in about a month!”

“Hmm, I don’t know…” you mumbled.

At that moment your husband entered the room. He seemed a little uncomfortable with all of the flowers and pastel dresses, eyeing birds singing ditties in shiny cages and macaroons piled to his chest on platters.

“Oh, Y/N…where is Y/N?” he asked to one lady in a pink dress and grey wig.

She pointed in your direction and he smiled.

As he walked by, he passed the couch where Georgiana was sitting. Her shoe tapped his calf and he turned.

“Hello, Grigor…” she said with a faded grin.

“Hello, George,” he replied politely. Somehow, your blood felt hot. But yet, the marriage was over, so what if they even talked? He probably just enjoyed you talking with him and occasionally sleeping with him. But no, they had to be soulmates. And it was better not to disturb them. After all, despite the suddenness of the marriage, it would work. He would be happy.

“How is the party?” he asked, hands placed behind the back.

“Going perfect. We’re being introduced to the loud, hairy creature that lifts her leg when she pisses. Her dog is there too.” She quipped with a surprisingly relieved smile.

You froze. Little Sonya recognized Grigor and ran up to him, oblivious to how white his face was turning. A few fans were spread, and you barely heard feminine whispers of “…quite bitchy…” It got a little quiet. Even with the string quartet in the back was playing at a piano as if they wanted to hear what would happen next to.

Getting up, you turned around to leave them alone. Let them take it out. Let him laugh, Let her smile. Maybe even fuck against the wall like you noticed the odd couple doing on a night of reveling in the palace, no matter who might see or hear.

“George. I can’t control what you do on your own. But when you are with me, you will not speak about my wife in that matter.”

Pausing, you turned around. A couple quiet tears fell down your cheeks.

“You’re an esteemed lady of the court with the world at your fingertips. She’s a poor creature thrown into an arranged marriage, stolen from another country, and little to never to see any of her family or friends again while you just lay down and let Peter put fruit in your pussy and drink champagne.”

Wiping away tears with your hands, you stood still, not sure what to say. Grigor continued, truly angered and passionate.

“I didn’t marry her because of you. And she didn’t marry me so she could have my cock when you couldn’t. I did this so that we all- we all-“ he gestured to the people in the room “won’t be fucking ripped apart by Swede’s in a fortnight thanks to her families army. You will show her what little compassion you have in your tiny heart. You could even show her an ounce of gratitude for the sacrifice she and I made for the safety of everyone here, including yours. Or else I could have said no and let the swedes stab you in your tits when you’re asleep in the emperor’s bed. And I wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep over it too. But I did.”

She froze. There was even a couple of gasps.

Scooping the tiny dog in his arms, he turned ot you promptly.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I…I am…” you answered. “But I’m tired, let’s go home and play cards.”

“I agree.”

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

A week later, Grigor had partied so much with the Emperor last night, wrestling and playing with some man named Leon or whoever. You peaked in the door, and yawning, retired to your own apartments to sleep even if alone.

Waking up briefly in the grey air, you felt him crawling into bed at four in the morning. So you let him sleep in as you took Sonya on her morning walk. Besides, she would pout and whine if you didn’t walk at her certain time.

“Here you go, I know, Papa can’t be there-but I will,” you assured the dog.

You made your way through the halls into the gardens. Sonya was already getting bigger. The collar and leash made for her a while ago was getting snug on her fluffy body.

Enjoying the forest, you heard the rhythmic crunch of the leaves and sticks beneath Sonya’s prancing paws. The cold air stung your lungs in the best way. The sky looked clear and crisp.

Sonya pointed her snout in one direction. She began pulling and barking.

“What is it? Some sort of creature!” you thought, walking forward.

It wasn’t a mouse of squirrel, there was a person slumped against a tree, sitting on the dirt. Walking closer, you made out a dark green skirt and a hat, but a head of dark, curly hair made loose. She reeked of vodka and beer. Her face was pale to where she seemed ill, rather than the lovely cream color of her skin. And beneath her eyes there were several bags.

“G..Georgiana…”

She turned her head to you, squinting.

“Yes…” she grunted.

“What are you doing here?”

She began to laugh a little, bitterly.

“I could ask the same…what are you doing here?”

“I’m walking Sonya…she needs to be exercised so she won’t get into trouble from being bored,” you explained, gripping the leash.

“Huh, I know sometimes…sometimes Grigor goes with you…” her voice was deep and throaty, far from her usual speaking tone. As if every word was choked up.

She seemed so pitiful you didn’t have the heart to chafe her.

“Yes, yes he does…”

Her exhausted eyes wandered forward into the grove of trees. She kept speaking to you.

“Sometimes we’d walk together. Only if it was nice. We did everything together. Walking. Eating. Dancing. Bathing together. Did you know…I even got my portrait painted and he kept it in his room! Right next to his bed…he…he cared for me so much to where I was right there with him every morning even when I wasn’t next to him and now…now he hates me…”

She began to sniffle, and a few tears worked up.

“No. No, I don’t think he hates you at all…”

“Why did he speak to me that way?”

“He just…he got emotional. And he has been emotional because he loves you. He’s every bit as sad as you are for not marrying…”

Sonya walked over to the crying woman. Alerted by the sounds, she walked over and sniffed at her wet face. She broke out a smile.

“But the truth is…in this court, there’s plenty of women who’ve fucked Peter. More than half. That’s just a fact of life. But I… I love it. I love having men want me, being worshipped, loved, is that wrong?”

“It’s normal,” you admitted. “it’s normal to want to be loved.”

“And the things it gives you. It’s not the least bad. I have all sorts of things. Dresses. Hats. A high position in court. Security. Comfort. Occasionally I can change laws and save lives with just a word-imagine that! And jewels. Jewels I used to dream of having. And I get to enjoy making love to a man who’s skilled at it. It might be the only way for a woman here to move up. That’s the way it is, is that wrong? Is it wrong to enjoy fucking and love a man too? For them to be separate men? They do it all the time and no one bats an eye bit when I do…”

She finally fell down into sobs.

“And he just...he couldn’t accept it. He claimed he loved me, and I… I love him, I still do, he just couldn’t accept me as I am and this world as it is…I thought he knew me…and that I knew him…”

She began to cry more; Sonya reached over and began to lick her face. She laughed at the ridiculous feeling of a dog’s tongue right on your nose and you began to laugh too.

“Georgiana…I’m so sorry I yelled at you that first day…I saw you as a threat and didn’t stop to think what you would feel. How I would feel if I was in your shoes…”

“Ugh, you’re…you’re as saccharine as…as…I don’t even know, Y/N. I’d put you in my…my mouth and my blood would rush, and they’d have to let it out with slugs.”

Taking out a handkerchief, you began to wipe her tears from her face.

“I’m not the one in tears…but…he used to keep a portrait of you…” you questioned.

“He did…is it there? Maybe….”

“Not anymore…” you explained flatly.

So that explained the circular area on the wall next to the bed.

“I know you really do love Grigor. And you care for him…but loving someone is hard. I love my family and friends back home, or unless I wanted to make all of them suffer or even get killed, I had to let them go to come here…sometimes, there are things you have to let go and move on from…” you assured her. You aren’t a bad person for wanting those things. You’re a smart person for figuring out how to get them. I admire you for it.”

“I just keep wondering…I keep wondering what would happen if he said yes…if he agreed to the terms…we’d be so happy…”

And he would see you with Peter and be miserable. Then god knows what would happen you thought.

You took her arm and helped her to her shaky legs.

“But there’s no use in that. Here, let’s get you back to the palace. I think after you get some water and some sleep, you might feel better…”

“But Y/N, Grigor I think…he’s in denial how Peter works here. If a woman needs anything in court, and if Peter picks you…he picks you. And, well, there’s nothing you can do about it…”

Your stomach lurched.

“Grigor might want a faithful wife. He might’ve thought he got that with you but…defying the Emperor is a risk. Too huge. Why say no? After all, he’s a genius at fucking so it could be worse…”

“You need water, Georgiana. And you need to clean up. Then you’ll feel better…” you interrupted, trying to mother her away and ignoring the fear in your gut.

But as you were strolling later in the week, returning from another one of the Empresses’s private discussions, you saw a few ladies eye down at the book. Perhaps they judged you. Perhaps they were jealous. But one bespecaled face saw you, smiled, and then hurried up.

“Orlo! How are you?”

“Y/N-er-Madame Dymov! Enough about me already- I heard the Empress gave you a copy of the Rousseau! What do you think!?” he asked excitedly.

His dark eyes glittered at the book in your hands. Holding it up to him you let him inspect it.

“I was…I was shocked at first. His ideas felt like…like a blast of cold wind. But I…he made good points. And I found myself agreeing after some time…” you explained with a shrug.

“He’s one of my favorites, and tehre’s so much…so much inside there. But I…I wish I could explain it all…”

“Let’s go to my place, I’ll call for a plate...” you offered with a shrug and a smile.

Introducing him to the drawing room, he settled down shyly on the seat in front of the fire. You brought in some tea with a strawberry cake and wound up talking for a straight hour. He got his own turn to pet on little Sonya as she licked his fingers from the cake crumbs. You discussed Rousseau, then he went on to talk about Voltaire, Plato, Paine. Ideas stretched you and you found yourself talking about things you could never imagine debating about with anyone. About people. Power. Faith. Life. Death. Purpose, if there was one at all. Your cup became cold and you had to reheat it by pouring some liquid into it.

Orlo glowed as he explained it all. He was not condescending. In fact, it felt like being in school with a good teacher. You understood and appreciated it even more. You were amazed with the depth of knowledge he had. Beneath his mousy exterior, there was a brilliant mind. Perhaps even genius. You were amazed in him. Strands of his hair loosened out and he smiled more, seeming relaxed and confident. Far more confident than you ever knew him to be in public.

“But out of all of them, I think my favorite is…”

The door creaked as it opened.

His head turned and you saw Grigor walking in. His face was pink, and his eyebrows crossed.

“Hello Orlo, what are you doing with my wife?” he asked, his lips tight and his voice firm.

“I, uh…” he found himself blubbering. His posture slouched and his hands retreated.

Standing at once, you walked up to Grigor with as much poise as you could.

“The empress gifted me with a book and Orlo was asking me about it over tea, nothing more…” you explained plainly.

“It’s fascinating. Isn’t it!” you added, throwing back a look.

Orlo nodded shyly, getting out of the seat like it had spikes.

“Very.”

“Oh, alright…” Grigor replied quietly.

Once Orlo thanked you for hosting him and shuffled out, Grigor’s eyes never left his steps.

He was quiet over dinner. You had to ask questions about his day and have Sonya’s begging fill the silence. Later, you changed into your nightgown to see Grigor was already in bed.

You saw him curl up to the other side. Not turning around, holding the blanket over his shoulders and leaving your side disproportionally cold.

With a huff, you placed your hands on your hips.

“What is it?” You had a guess, but you wanted to hear it from him.

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong” he said in a tone that said something was definitely wrong.

“What is it…tell me…” you wheedled, sitting on the bed and leaning closer to him.

He turned around.

“I understand we agreed to follow orders to marry. Not for us. Our countries, the safety of your family and for their workers and tenets to not go hungry, for protection, the alliance, and for Russia to succeed against the Swedes… but I know you didn’t choose to marry me…if you…if you…are in love… then I guess it would make it easier…but you will at least be honest with me and not play around when you fall in love with some man!”

“In love? With Orlo?!” you added.

His head snapped back at the sound of his name.

“If you love the prick, then that’s fine! It will make you bear being here better- it’s all fine!” He if it will make you bear this, bear being married to me…”

“I’m not in love with Orlo!” you laughed, placing a hand on his shoulder. He flinched a little, but didn’t turn away.

“What…you aren’t? Both of you always talk together.”

“I always talk with the empress, and Tatyana and everyone else too. They’re my friends. He’s my friend as well… and…I…I promised you I won’t hurt you. That I will do my best not to hurt you…and you’re obviously hurt…” you reasoned.

The clock chimed the hour in the back.

“I…yes, I was…I had memories of when…you know…” he muttered out, looking down.

You folded your arms and turned away from him.

“Well, have you ever kissed Georgiana since our marriage? I guess you can run back to her, like I’m apparently running to Orlo. Should I be worried about her?”

“Uh-no! Not at all! We’ve barely talked since the betrothal! I talk more to Sonya than I do to her in a fortnight!” he said, pointing to the dog curled asleep on her pillow.

You crossed your arms and started to laugh a little. A smile cracked on his thin face as well.

“If I have no reason to suspect you of anything with George, you have no reason to suspect anything of me and Orlo!” you reasoned with a shrug.

Leaning forward, you pulled more of the cover to your side. He relented.

Both of you were tense. Words left your voice.

“Just dinner and drinks with your friend, nothing more. Perfectly normal.” You assured.

Even if it meant eating in his chambers with large portraits all over the wall and a big green bed on the other side. Peter stood up and greeted you both. His arms were wide, pearls dangling from his neck.

“Ah, hello! Join me!” Peter cheered. “Grigor-make yourself at home! There’s already some food.

You carefully walked in, placing yourself on the couch and folded your hands in front of your lap. Unsure of what to do or say. A finger nudged you.

“Here, Y/N…here’s the seat for you!” your husband said, taking his large hands around your waist and picking you up as you let out a smile.

Grigor placed you on his lap, like he did on your wedding. Smiling, you accepted the feeling of him nearby and settled your weight. The closeness far more natural than ever. Grigor’s arms were warm as they passed dishes around from one man to the Emperor. A serf poured a Kiev vdoka and you enjoyed yourselves.

“I tell you- fucked a horse! It’s just a rumor-but can you believe it!” he said.

Laughing in spite of yourself, you shook your head insisting “no, I don’t!”

Smiling. Laughing. Everything felt normal. You laughed so hard you almost snorted your drinkand covered your mouth, laughing more at the dirtier humor. Years ago, your mother would have become so uncomfortable at such words she would excuse herself and complain about it later. Laughs held back were finally released, you jaw uhrt and your cheeks felt hot.

“And that’s what hapoens when you use the duck whistle on the balcony-“Oh, Grigor! Have I fucked your wife yet?”

The drink you were sipping almost spat out of your mouth and you coughed it out. Both of you froze again. You felt Grigor tense up. His breath quickened. His face turned white and then red and then white again. His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared.

Turning your head back, you began to give a charming smile at the emperor, even giving the little half smile you noticed to do. You decided if the subject came up, you would be prepared.

“Your highness, of yes, of course we’ve fucked. Several times!” you said.

Where he couldn’t see, you kicked Grigor’s leg to alert him.

“Oh, really!” he said.

“Ah! What a Casanova you are, Emperor! Losing track! But…”

You circled the rim of your glass, and then added on.

“I have an eternally dry pussy, can’t suck cock to save my life, and an ass so tight that deflects any object near the hole so it’s been rather disappointing. It’s a miracle my husband tolerates me. He’s hardly been able to finish the job!”

He tilted his head, pondering it with a hmmmm. Glancing at Grigor, you quickly mouthed “play along.” His eyes bright, he nodded at you, and then to the Emperor in agreement.

“Yes! Fucking Y/N is a total disappointment. Remember her place? They’re boring, plain people even when fucking.”

Peter nodded in agreement, his eyes up to the sky as if thinking about the fake experience. Not that it was to think.

“Humph. I…I think you’re right. It was disappointing. Grigor, if you need me to order you a whore, let me know.”

You kept your hand on his and you saw his eyes dart in confusion and realization, his brain thinking a hundred thoughts.

“Please pour me another drink…” you said, holding your cup to a serf.

“Besdies, Catherine…she’s been having all these ideas about art. And I saw a portrait and I…I cried! I fucking cried-can you believe it? I never knew she could..could even make me feel like that!”

As you left the chambers, you squeezed his hand. Both of you let out a breath and continued some nervous laughter until you were both home.

“That was brilliant!” He praised, sinking in relief in the chair. There was already a fire crackling, drawing warmth into the chilly room.

“I knew he would bring it up, soon. So, I might as well. Now you don’t have to worry about anything…at least for now…” you said with a shrug.

“Oh, but the party tomorrow…you’ll be careful. I think people will be very merry and he might…get carried away…”

“Just give him a galloon a vodka then, he’ll won’t be able to stand.”

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

As the party the next night raged on, it struck you that it was Grigor who was well on his way to drinking a gallon of vodka. The rooms glowed yellow orange with all of the candles. Stringed guitars played out dancing tunes with throaty Russian lyrics where although the words were hard to understand, you had to tap your toes. Women walked by with snakes draped over their necks and you stared in frightened awe at the creature, as if in Eden. Your own gown was a pale pink with bows on the stomacher, a ruffled skirt beneath the first one, and you hair done up in flowers and feathers. You even agreed to wear a beauty mark of a small dog on your cheek. Girgor himself had a grey wig and his finest, deep green suit. He eyed plates of vodka, reaching for two small glasses and downing them…and supper would be served in an hour.

You noticed and Empress and Emperor dancing. She swished her pale pink skirt and he twirled in a black skirt, carefree. It was almost like watching a fight, how they were both powerful yet matched each other.”

“Come on, you sad bastards!? Why aren’t you dancing!? Dance! I command you!” Peter cried out in joy.

“Y/N! Y/N- we haven’t danced too much-let’s dance! Dance with me!” Grigor insisted, pulling you further down.

“Grigor, that’s the vodka talking!”

The musicians were warming up for the next piece in the corner.

“I…I don’t know the…” you mumbled in a panic as other couples filled the floor.

“Oh no-just follow me!” He said with a big smile and his face flushed.

Still you ran out with him, mimicking hand movements and your feet trying to keep up with the steps. If you felt him leading you somewhere, you followed. If you sepearted in lines, you kept an eye on him.

“Girgor…do the trick! The trick!” Peter insisted, running up in the middle.

Eyes wide, you saw your husband grab hold of your body.

“Here. Y/N! I can do it- hold on! Jump up.

He lifted you up in his arms and twirled you up, his arms adjusting to hold you up so that he held you up by your legs, your stomach to his face. You could hear him muffling beneath your clothes.

“We need smof practif…”

But Peter laughed and you heard loud applauding as faces turned to look at you. Even George’s own face had a smile, albeit a sad one.

He set you down.

“Let’s try it again, put your leg on my shoulder…now your other leg..ooof! Now, this one is better!”

He lifted you up so high, you realized you were on his shoulders, and emabarrasingly his head was near your crotch. The court applauhded and laughed and huzzahed. It was so fun you almost forgot your fear of being dropped. you laughed as you held onto his shoulders for deaer life, thrilled to see everyone smaller before you. As if they dhrunk or you became a giant. The chandeliers dripping with diamonds were easy to your touch, your fingertips grazed one as Grigor walked in a circle.

“Ha! I knew you could do it good chap!” Peter applauded before asking.

Grigor placed you down with a smile, he placed his hands on your cheeks and for a moment you thought he was going to kiss you, then his eyes wandered to some vodka and he took another shot.

He was singing as the party ended late in the night. You struggled to support him over your shoulders.

“Grigor…be careful…”

Once you got into the room, Sonya woke up from her nap and barked, jumping at your feet. Staggering, you brought him to your bedchambers.

“Let’s get your clothes off…” you said, pulling his coat off and placing it on the floor.

“You wish to see me naked, you could’ve asked, darling…”

Sighing, you poured the hot water into the golden tub.

“If you don’t bathe, then you’re sleeping with Sonya…”

He leaned down in his shift and breeches to the wagging tail beneath him.

“Oh….hello doggie, cute doggie…good doggie…”

“To bath, Grigor!”

Eventually, you got him to bathe enough to where he didn’t reek of alcohol. Once he dried off, you pushed his breeches onto him.

“None of that tonight with you drunk off your head!”

“Can’t I at least kiss you?” he complained childishly.

“Fine, but it stops at kissing!”

Once you finally settled within your own sheets, legs and feet sore from dancing, you barely put the blankets over you when you felt two large arms wrap themselves around you and hug you tight, pulling you close. He laughed a bit before kissing you on top of your head. You smirked and let him obloge. Then you felt him relax.

“Y/N, I love you….”

You froze solid, your stomach dropping.

“What?”

He took a hand and placed it on your cheek again, before it sloppily fell down.

“Y/N, my sweet angel…I love you…”

Shaking your head, you pulled the covers above you both.

“That’s the vodka talking, now go to sleep….”

He went back to holding you, turning you so that your back was turned to him, you felt and smelt his breath as he kept speaking.

“I love you, Y/N. I’m falling in love with you this minute and…I’m fucking terrified…”

You let his arms settle.

“Don’t wanna…get hurt, get shat on…but every day I’m….falling more in love with you…and it makes me both so happy and scared I could fucking scream…that was why Orlo fucking scared me, and Peter, that wonderful, bastard. I love him, but if he lays a hand on you, I swear to god…”

“Grigor…you need to sleep. You’re drunk. Only time will wear it off.”

Besides, it was better to not get your hopes up.

‘I can’t believe I’m fucking falling in fucking love all over again…never thought after George that I would….never would let myself…thought ”

“But Grigor…you….”

“I’d like to see you…see you happy. See your smiling face before I sleep.”

You gave him a small smile and his eyes fluttered shut.

“Grigor…do you…do you love me….do you really love me…”

You gave him a small smile. He then rolled on his belly, spread like a starfish. He was snoring deeply in minutes.

“Because I think I’m falling in love with you too…” you wanted to say.

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98prilla · 4 years

Text

Deathworlder Down

Set in @delimeful 's wonderful WIBAR AU. Virgil gets sick, and the others struggle to help him, not only with his illness, but the clear underlying emotional issues.

AO3

...

It was quiet, on the Mindscape.

Logan was reading, absently twirling his fingers and hands as he studied, recording information, though he was certain most of it would prove false, as it was the little that was reported about humans. Most were comparable to ghost stories or urban legends, but there were a few that seemed more credible, that he hoped would give some more insight into humans in general.

Roman was off working out somewhere, sparring, he insisted it was just to keep sharp, but they all knew it was because he didn’t trust the human on board not to go feral and kill them any second, despite Virgil’s rather shy and withdrawn personality. Still, at least he was getting his aggression out elsewhere, and not by actually fighting or snarking at the true object of his emotions. He was doing better, still, Logan would give him that, but there was a long way to go.

He could hear Patton pitter pattering about in the kitchen, chirping and warbling to himself, making his lips twitch up into a smile. It had been far too quiet, without the little Ampen aboard, too much silence to drown in. It was a comfort he hadn’t realized he’d grown accustomed to, hearing Patton hum and chirp and sing all day. Now it was also a relief, a steady reminder their friend was back home, safe and sound, and he frowned again, thinking of how close they had come to losing him for good. That they would have, had it not been for Virgil.

Speaking of…

“Patton?” He asked, stepping into the kitchen, the Ampen stopping his trilling as he set the kettle on the stove, giving him one of his warm, happy smiles, that seemed to actually light up the room.

“Yeah, Lo? Everything ok?” Patton’s antennae twitched slightly, and he focused back on the present.

“Yes, I believe so, I was simply wondering if you’d seen Virgil today. He is usually awake by now. I was hoping to discuss some… perhaps sensitive topics, that I picked up on during our vidi.”

It was true. He hadn’t seen much, with how fast it had all turned, and spiraled out of hand, and though Virgil and him had been having question and answer sessions, the ones he really wanted to ask seemed more… personal. So, he’d kept them to himself, and simply continued his observations, and studied up on the information available to him.

And what he’d noticed was… concerning, to say the least. He was certain the human wasn’t sleeping enough. Unlike most species, humans could run on limited sleep for an extended period of time, but he was slowly becoming aware that just because humans had the capability to do something, didn’t mean it was natural or good for them to do it. They could survive grievous injuries that would have killed any other species, but it came at great physical and mental cost. They could survive intense radiation, but they would sicken slowly and die. They could imbibe substances that a single sip would be deadly to himself, but even in small amounts, it inhibited a human’s survival instincts and weakened them.

So just because Virgil was running on, at his best guess, four to five hours of sleep a day, didn’t mean that was anywhere near the healthy range of a human’s normal requirements. He’d noticed some of the side effects so commonly, he’d thought they simply were how humans were, until the Vidi gave him glimpses at others, who lacked the bags under their eyes, the deep bruising, that Virgil always had. Virgil was often unsteady on his feet, “light headed” he called it, he often stared out into space for minutes at a time, without registering anything that was said or happening around him, he ran into things, doorframes, corners of furniture, he stumbled and often had to lean against something to regain his balance.

The other issue was his diet. Logan was absolutely certain that Virgil was not eating nor drinking enough. With his permission, he’d taken his heart rate, he’d calculated how many calories his body must burn, at the least, throughout a day. With no physical activity, no exertion, the very base level of sleep, Virgil was missing at least hundreds, if not nearly a thousand, necessary calories, and that was if he were in a relaxed state, which he never was. The human was endlessly jumpy and frightened and twitchy, and he had admitted that his heart rate was much higher than it should be, most of the time, due to his constant state of high alert. But despite this, he ate nearly the least at meals, always pushing food around his place, making excuses to take small portions, at least half the time Logan was certain he hadn’t eaten at all until he was forced to at their daily dinner together, and only then because he didn’t want to upset Patton. Based on his limited understanding, Virgil was immensely underweight and incredibly sleep deprived, both dangerously unhealthy states for humans.

“oh! I peeked in on him a bit ago. He'd just woke up, said he was going to take a shower. I’m kinda surprised he isn’t out here yet.” Patton frowned, his feathers fluffing in distress.

“I see. I'll go check on him, Patton. Save me a cup?” He smiles as Patton’s face lights up again, only half surprised as Patton jumps at him, hugging him. He carefully supports the Ampen, holding him close, allowing his head to rest against Patton's small, fluffy shoulder.

“Thanks, Lo. For looking out for him.” Patton mumbled, as Logan let him go, setting him back down on the counter.

“Of course, Patton. It’s the least I can do. He deserves to not only be safe, but feel safe. I am happy to help make that happen.” Patton's feathers pulsed his trademark light blue, a sign of happiness, that made Logan’s hands flutter, trying to record the warmth in his chest, as he turns away.

…

He woke up with a groan, pushing the cupboard door open, jumping as his door opened, hitting his head against the back of the cupboard at the sudden movement, breath speeding wildly, before he registered Patton’s head poking in, concerned eyes on him.

“Hey, kiddo. Just checking in. Everything ok?” He sighed, but pushed back his exhaustion, summoning a small smile, making it as reassuring and genuine as possible, not difficult, faced with a small ball of fluff.

“I’m alright, Pat. Just catching up on some zee’s. Was gonna go shower.” Patton nodded, hopping into his arms for a quick snuggle, before chirping a happy goodbye and vanishing out the door.

He slumped back against the pylon behind him with another groan, rubbing his hands across his face, then up into his hair, wincing as he felt his hair stick straight up, matted with sweat. He’d stayed in bed far later than usual, but he hadn’t slept more. The night had been plagued with nightmares and sleep paralysis, filling him with terror so deep he couldn’t even scream, could merely panic until he passed out once more, tossing and turning restlessly.

He felt shivery, cold, and his head spun just a bit as he stood, his stomach turning at the motion, vertigo rocking him as he leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to get his bearings.

“fine. I’m fine.” He muttered, taking a few deep breaths in and out, before making his way to the door, listening for a few moments to make sure he couldn’t hear Roman anywhere nearby, he didn’t think he could handle the Crav’n in his current state.

Which was normal and healthy and perfectly fine. He had to be fine.

He made it to the bathroom with minimal stumbling, his vision barely swimming in and out, as he stripped, and turned on the water, hot enough it would probably burn any other members of their little band, but he just sighed in relief as he stepped in, letting the water run over him, soothe the aches building in his muscles. He let out a sigh, halfheartedly scrubbing at his hair, zoning out as he watched the steam.

As he watched, it seemed to form a shape, to swirl into a nebulous form, and his breathing stuttered, heart stopping, as he stared in fear at the suited figure, one of his captors, a needle stabbing down towards him, and he flinched back, the world blurring and swirling and fading out around him, static roaring through his ears, his heart racing as static filled his vision as well. Distantly, he heard knocks, someone maybe calling his name, then he felt his legs give out, his head hit something hard, and the world went black.

…

“Virgil? Are you alright?” He heard a loud thump, a crash, and his eyes widened, knocking again. “Virgil? If you do not answer me, I am going to enter. Virgil!” Nothing. He threw open the door, breath catching, freezing in place at the sight.

Virgil was sprawled across the bathroom floor, unconscious. His breathing seemed somewhat labored and shallow, and he could hear the slight wheeze to it from the doorway. What caught his eye first were the endless collection of scars, all across his body, covering nearly every inch of his skin, and it turned his stomach, it made him sick, the level of trauma and abuse Virgil must have endured. He’d known it wasn’t good, known he’d been a lab rat, an experiment, a being to harvest then sell off the parts once he was drained dry, but knowing it and seeing the scars, the marks of old burns from the stun batons, was something else entirely. And nothing Virgil had said had indicated the violence against him to be to this extent. He felt another surge of appreciation, for Virgil having protected Patton.

The second thing, that finally forced him into motion, was the small pool of red forming around the human’s head, likely where the back of his skull had impacted with the floor. Quickly, he grabbed a towel from off the rack, and rolled Virgil onto his side, wiping away the blood from his neck and hair, to see where to apply the pressure. He breathed a sigh of relief as he located the wound, surprisingly small, given the amount of blood loss, and he was confident a few moments of pressure would easily stop it.

“ROMAN!” He shouted with all his might, voice shaking and unsteady, hearing the crashing footsteps of the Crav’n immediately, the being sliding into the doorway mere moments later, scales raised to their extremes, teeth bared, ready to fight, no doubt hoping for an excuse to fight the human.

“Logan? What’s-“ Patton darts in around Roman’s legs, eyes widening as he instantly is at Virgil’s side, trembling, eyes wide as saucers.

“I need help. Roman, he’s heavy, I need-“

“Ok. Ok, teach, I got you. Let’s get him dressed, then I’ll move him to the couch. What’s… what happened?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I knocked and heard a crash, when I entered, he was like this. I suspect it has something to do with his malnutrition and sleep deprivation.” He answered, focusing on carefully pulling Virgil’s hoodie over his head, hands clenching sharply as one brushes his forehead. “he’s burning up.”

“That’s what happens when he’s… when he’s sick. Humans get all hot and shivery and sometimes their stomach hurts and they can’t eat. But that only happened on the… on the ship. When… when it was really bad.” His voice wavered, feathers flattening.

“I would suspect that he has been feeling ill for a couple of days now, if it’s grown severe enough to make him pass out. His normal temperature is around 98.6 to 99, I would estimate his to be closer to one hundred and three. Has he seemed off to you, Patton?”

“He’s spent less time with me. Less time out of his room. I thought he just needed some space, but… but he was trying to hide he was sick, wasn’t he?”

“Why would he do that? Did he think we’d just abandon him like some deathworlder would an injured comrade?” Roman snorted disdainfully, helping pull pants onto the human, though Patton could see the concern hiding behind his outrage.

“Contrarily, he probably didn’t want to be a burden. To use up more of our resources and time. He constantly sees himself as lesser, as the least important of the group, therefore the one who should take up the least space, least time, least amount of food. Surely, you’ve noticed, Roman.”

“I…hadn’t. I’ll take him now, Pat.” He mumbled softly, gently shooing him back as he scooped Virgil into his arms, surprised at how light the human was, his head lolling limply against his chest, his cheeks flushed, while the rest of his face was even paler than usual. He could feel the frantically rapid beat of his heart, his eyes flicking uneasily under their lids, and his scales flattened in concern. As much as he didn’t trust the human, he didn’t want to see him hurting, either. And if what Logan said was true, Virgil had not only been hurting, but hurting himself, out of, what? Loyalty? Worry? He just couldn’t get a handle on him.

Then again, he hadn’t tried very hard to get to know him, or to give him a chance. But there was something in seeing him so vulnerable, without the usual piercing stare and silent slink, that made him soften a bit, made him remember that despite being one of the most fearsome creatures in the universe, that Virgil was essentially a child, by human standards. He was so thin, too. He could count his bones, under that hoodie. No wonder he was always cold, he had no layer of fat on his bones.

And those scars…

Well. It was enough to almost make him rethink his view on Virgil, at least, as he laid him down on the couch in the common area, Patton immediately taking a seat by his head, brushing his hands soothingly through Virgil’s hair, as the human shook, muttering something in his sleep that was undecipherable, though the tone of fear was impossible to miss, as his hand clenched against the fabric.

“We need to break his fever. Blankets, Roman? I’ll get you a washcloth and water for his forehead, Patton. If he wakes, he is likely to be disoriented or possibly even hallucinate, because of the fever. However, I have no doubt he will calm immensely upon registering your presence. You are… his lifeline, Patton.” Patton nodded, continuing to focus on Virgil, doing the coo chirp pattern used to soothe babies, one of the first things Virgil had mimicked back to him, back on that awful ship.

“He’ll… he’ll be ok, right? He just needs some sleep and he’ll be okay?” His voice trembled, and Logan’s hands clasped behind his back, eyes darting as he looked for the right words to say.

“I don’t know. There’s so little information, Patton, I keep looking and there’s just… not enough, to help him, in any meaningful way. There’s no way of knowing if this is just a ‘flu’ or if it is something more severe. I know his heart rate is high and his breathing rasping, but I don’t know if that’s the result of the illness or simply stress, I would give him medicine, but I don’t know what he can have, what would be helpful, and I don’t know what to do if it’s something we aren’t equipped to handle!” He exploded, pacing the floor somewhat frantically, hands flailing wildly, wincing as one smacked the wall. “I don’t know what to do, but wait.” He said, softer, taking a deep breath and rubbing at his hand, looking up as Roman came to stand before him, gently patting one of his arms.

“It’s ok, Lo. No one expects you to have all the answers. We know you’ll do your best. You always do.” Logan nodded, pulling himself together somewhat, striding off to the kitchen, Roman heading down the hall to raid the extra blankets from the closets.

“you’ll be ok, kiddo. I promise.” Patton murmured, nuzzling against Virgil’s cheek, giggling as Virgil mumbles again, leaning into his touch, hand unclenching, face relaxing minutely. When Logan came back, he huffed fondly, Patton curled up against Virgil’s shoulder, just a ball of puffed up blue feathers, pulsing soothingly.

#wibar #wibar au #sickfic #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #sympathetic virgil #sympathetic roman #sympathetic patton #sympathetic logan #virgil angst #like loads of it #eventual happy ending #flashbacks #anxiety attacks #past trauma #past abuse #minor blood

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Note

I need to know what u think of an AU where JC is the one who dies (sacrificing his life to save WWX) instead of JYL, he’s not as angry with WWX bc JYL is still alive so when he sees his brother about to get murdered he just steps in front of him while JYL and WWX see :) I don’t even know what I want u to do with this? Give me some headcanons? Is it a prompt? Idk I just want u to to see what u make of this (I promise JC is my fav but my mind likes to make me suffer :p)

It wasn’t a matter of conscious thought when Jiang Cheng threw himself between that cultivator’s sword and Wei Wuxian’s unguarded back, all his defenses down in the face of Jiang Yanli’s pleading, same as always; it was just instinct. Wei Wuxian was always the troublemaker, the crazy one, and Jiang Cheng always the one being dragged along; he’d long ago learned to spend all his time watching his shixiong’s back, keeping him away from dogs, away from angry shopkeepers, away from any harm. It was instinct, just as it had been the day he’d thrown himself out into the street to distract the Wens, and he’d always justified that instinct because he knew that Wei Wuxian would do the same for him.

Though – he didn’t know that anymore, not after everything that happened recently. Wei Wuxian had made him all the promises in the world, to stand by his side through wind and lightning, and he’d seemed to have no issue abandoning those promises, picking the remnants of the Wen sect over the remnants of the Jiang sect without a moment’s hesitation and not even the courtesy of an explanation.

The Yiling Patriarch was all but a stranger to him, and Jiang Cheng still didn’t understand why.

So it was probably stupid of him to react as if the person being stabbed at was Wei Wuxian, not the Yiling Patriarch – stupid of him to give up his life for someone who didn’t care about him nearly as much as Jiang Cheng cared for him.

But that’s why it wasn’t a thought. It was instinct.

He heard someone scream “Jiang Cheng!” as if their heart were breaking, and he thought for a moment that it was Wei Wuxian again, the one who loved him best. Wei Wuxian, not the Yiling Patriarch, who threw him to the dogs over and over again, put his sect at risk of utter destruction a second time over, just to indulge himself and his bizarre fixation on saving the Wens at the expense of everyone else. Who didn’t care about their duty to their sect, to their parents - who didn’t care about him at all.

Jiang Cheng’s heart hurt. It was probably just the sword that’d just been driven through it, though.

Hands grasped at his clothing, pulling him back; his sister’s face had lost all blood, and Wei Wuxian looked as if his world had ended – he wasn’t sure why. Jiang Yanli had her son to care for, a new life in Lanling that she refused to abandon even if Jin Zixuan was now gone; Wei Wuxian had his Wens, his new cultivation – perhaps it was some little regret, far too late, for the Jiang sect that would now come to grief, leaderless, the end of their family line and the disappointment of their ancestors. Jiang Cheng’s final and most absolute failure.

Jiang Cheng looked at them both, the ones he loved the most and who had left him without a single glance backwards, and found with his last breath that he had nothing to say to them.

He closed his eyes so they wouldn’t have to.

The battlefield was full of corpses, and Jiang Yanli didn’t care about a single one of them.

“Do you think he can be brought back, the way Wen Ning was?” she asked, holding the corpse in her arms as if it were still the baby brother she sang songs to as a child, the little crybaby who was so fierce on the outside and so soft on the inside. She had been able to lie to herself with Jin Zixuan’s body – he almost looked as though he were sleeping, head on the pillow beside her own – but Jiang Cheng had never slept well in his life, his brow always furrowed as if he was worrying about something even in his dreams, and the blank peace on his face was so wrong that she couldn’t bear to look at him.

She wasn’t asking Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian had only stopped the massacre when Lan Wangji, of all unlikely people, had bodily tackled him; everyone had always said that the Second Jade was like oil and water with her A-Xian, but he’d unexpectedly taken their side in this battle and was even now letting a barely-conscious Wei Wuxian sob Jiang Cheng’s name into his collar. He looked silently at her, his gaze a quiet reminder that her question was inappropriate – one Ghost General had already been enough to cause all of this tragedy, and certainly no one would ever accept another as a sect leader.

She looked steadily back at him, indicating in return that she didn’t give a damn about the standing of the Jiang sect if it meant she wouldn’t have to bury her baby brother.

Lan Wangji hesitated, looking down at Wei Wuxian. “You cannot stay at Yiling,” he finally said. “After this…”

They’d killed people from virtually every sect; no matter who had sympathized with Wei Wuxian before this or how much they felt he was wronged, they would have no choice but to raise up arms against him.

Jiang Yanli understood. They would be fugitives, condemned by all. She didn’t care. “Will you help us?”

He nodded and stood, Wei Wuxian cradled as gently in his arms as she held Jiang Cheng in hers.

“Will you come with us?” she asked. Anyone who loved her brother enough to defy his sect, to stain his untainted blade with the blood of his own kin, deserved a chance to court him properly, if she hadn’t misunderstood his intentions; she didn’t think she had, not with the expression so clear on his silent face.

“I will help you,” he said, and that wasn’t an answer, wasn’t the one she wanted, but it would have to do for now. “Let us go.”

It was Jin Zixuan who figured it out, oddly enough. Perhaps it was because he was an outsider, looking at the situation without affection to blur his eyes.

“You gave him your golden core,” he said, less than a week into his resurrection – Lan Wangji had been very efficient in his help, not only finding a new place to hide Jiang Yanli and the remaining Wens but also returning to Lanling to steal Jin Zixuan’s corpse and little Jin Ling before returning to his own sect at the first sign that Wei Wuxian would awaken from his coma. He hadn’t sent word since that time, whether from regret or other reasons; their only consolation was that there was no news of his death. “That’s why you couldn’t do anything other than demonic cultivation – is that right?”

Wei Wuxian looked at him through blood-red eyes. “Get lost,” he said; the phrase made up the majority of his vocabulary, these days, and because he refused to curse his shijie he mostly ended up not talking to her at all.

“Wen Qing was a famous doctor – she could have figured out a way to do it, and that would explain why you felt so indebted to them,” Jin Zixuan continued. “You never told him because you didn’t want to burden him. But instead you left him without any reason, any explanation: he must have felt that you abandoned him because you didn’t want him.”

“Get lost!”

“You broke his heart,” he said, and looked down at Jiang Cheng’s body – still perfectly preserved, but unmoving. The resurrection spell had already failed three times. “No wonder he doesn’t want to return.”

“I did it for him!” Wei Wuxian screamed, tears of blood dripping down his cheeks. “He didn’t – he wouldn’t – he has to come back!”

Jin Zixuan said nothing.

They ended up back in Yunmeng, rather unexpectedly; the new leadership of the Lotus Pier, a distant branch cousin who’d survived the massacre because he’d been night-hunting elsewhere, had all but begged Jiang Yanli to return. Against all odds her reputation had survived the massacre at the Nightless City; the loving wife, sister, and shijie that nearly sacrificed herself to save what lives she could and to banish the dreadful Yiling Patriarch who was never seen again from that day forth – she was very nearly regarded as an incarnation of the goddess of mercy.

She had no idea where that ridiculous notion came from, but it did mean that she could live in Lotus Pier again, with Jin Ling by her side – she’d told Jin Guangshan to name someone else as his heir, or at minimum as regent; the Jiang sect needed her and her son more. It wouldn’t have worked if Jin Zixuan hadn’t snuck into his mother’s room to convince Madam Jin to throw her support behind it; officially he was still in his tomb, since Lan Wangji had been very subtle, but in fact he lived within shouting distance of the Lotus Pier, spending his days playing with his son.

They all did, actually, the whole lot of them resettled into a tiny adjacent water town populated largely by civilians that relied on the Jiang sect for their prosperity. As long as Wei Wuxian never did anything, which he didn’t, the illusion that he was gone for good in a cloud of self-destruction after his terrible massacre could be maintained; no one expected they could possibly be so daring as to simply go home after all of it.

Lan Wangji was in seclusion, they were eventually told; Wei Wuxian hadn’t believed it for one second, smuggling himself into Gusu to check – he’d come back unconscious, slung over Jin Zixuan’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Struck by the discipline whip,” her husband, the fierce corpse that wasn’t fierce at all, said, and didn’t comment when she instinctively reached out to touch Jiang Cheng’s body, to trace the scar he had; she often spent her days next to the bed that preserved his corpse. “Many times; his body is ruined. It will take years for him to heal – the Lan sect saying he was in seclusion was their way of saving face. Wei Wuxian wants to bring him back to the Lotus Pier to hide him.”

Jiang Yanli rubbed her face, thinking not for the first time that the world would be an easier place if only her two brothers weren’t so stubborn. One who wouldn’t wake up, his spiritual consciousness all in pieces; the other who wouldn’t give up – “The Lan sect wouldn’t accept that.”

“He wasn’t planning on asking. That’s why I knocked him out. Anyway, they’re distracted with the Xue Yang matter now – my father’s still insisting on protecting him, and the Nie sect gets angrier about it by the day; without the Jiang sect, there’s only the Lan to play peacemaker, stop there from being another war.”

Jiang Yanli, who was very nice but also very much not the goddess of mercy, tilted her head to the side; something of her mother was in her eyes. “A war would be a good cover, though, or at least the rumblings of one. If we were going to steal Lan Wangji away from his sect, that is.”

He kissed her forehead. “I’ll sneak into Lanling to talk to my mother, maybe see if I can follow Xue Yang and see what he’s up to. You go talk to the Nie.”

Jiang Yanli’s visit to the Unclean Realm turned out to be more fruitful than anyone had expected. The moment she walked into Nie Mingjue’s receiving room, her Jiang sect bell rang so hard that it shattered, which it definitely hadn’t done during the war – they both stared at it wordlessly for a while.

Eventually, he cleared his throat, averting his eyes. “You know my family history,” he offered as an explanation, embarrassment at the public revelation of his problem already turning to anger but suppressed by his strict adherence to etiquette.

“That’s no family history,” she said, bemused, as she crouched down to poke at the pieces. “The silver bell of the Jiang sect can steady focus and calm the mind, and the ones made for the family are the strongest by far; it would only shatter like this in the effort to resist a spiritual poison…how are you feeling now, Sect Leader Nie?”

He considered for a long moment, and his face grew black with rage. “Better. I feel – like my mind has been filled with fog, and a clear breeze has blown it clear.”

She smiled up at him. “Perhaps you should visit Yunmeng.”

He scowled, and she realized he must know about Wei Wuxian’s presence, though she wasn’t sure how; despite that, in the end, after a roaring argument with Nie Huaisang in another room, he agreed to go, even if the idea of staying willfully blind clearly pained him to the core.

Jiang Yanli quietly approved of his decision to put family over principle.

When they put their mind to it, the Nie sect had an underrated talent for saying ‘I don’t know’ to just about everything. Neither brother blinked an eye at the Wen sect remnants that still teetered every time they went on a boat, very clearly not Yunmeng locals; they politely greeted Jin Zixuan as if he’d only been gone a while and not murdered; much to his older brother’s very evident irritation, Nie Huaisang even leapt over to give Wei Wuxian an enthusiastic hug while Nie Mingjue was still talking with Jin Zixuan about what it meant that Jin Guangshan had hidden away the still intact Wen Ning, who Jin Zixuan had found in a hidden part of Koi Tower during his most recent visit and immediately liberated.

“Definitely a case of spiritual poisoning,” Wei Wuxian said after a short examination, and the most reliable doctor they had left in the Jiang sect concurred. “The silver bell can help a little –”

They’d already shattered seven of them, but Nie Mingjue had actually cracked a smile for the first time in months, to hear a sobbingly relieved Nie Huaisang tell it.

“–but it can only help so much; that technique is really only meant for acute cases. And you really need to figure out what was doing the poisoning; there’s no point in curing you if you’re only going to get poisoned again.”

“A matter for a later time,” Nie Mingjue, who clearly had some suspicions that made him look as though he’d been stabbed in the back, said. “Now that we know it’s a poisoning, and my mind is clearer, I can take some action myself – the Nie have plenty of techniques to stabilize the spirit.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile was full of self-hatred, as it always was these days. “I don’t suppose any of those are designed to work on the dead.”

“Actually,” Nie Huaisang said. “Several are. Why do you ask?”

Jiang Cheng opened his eyes.

#mdzs #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #jiang yanli #lan wangji #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #jin zixuan #my fic #my fics #congrats!#you get a full ficlet #this one just wouldn't stop writing

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darkpoisonouslove · 3 years

Text

Keep You Alive

Summary: An arranged marriage could be the end of the world for a queen whose heart is not her own anymore. It’s when Griffin has to make sure it won’t be the end of her life, that fear truly sets in in the place of trust long gone. Bringing back something dead will be a feat – magic or no magic. And the strongest magic in existence is against her. AU.

This has sat unedited for a long time and now that I felt the Griffin and Valtor feels returning, I finally broke it out of its little prison. What can I say? I'm a sucker for arranged marriages.

CW for some violent descriptions, mentions of blood and murder and sexual content.

Griffin's heartbeat punctuated each of her steps into the cold stone of her bedchamber. Their bedchamber. At least for the night. In the morning things would be different.

Her palm was clammy in Valtor's warm grip that never faltered despite the discomfort that had to bleed through to his end as well. He'd barely let her out of his reach all evening, and not once out of his sight. If he'd chosen to share her life and she'd agreed for her own sake and not that of her kingdom, it would've moved her, would've sent flutters through her heart. She wasn't above romance. It was above and beyond her.

Now the treacherous organ had leapt in her throat beating as if the tremble in her vocal cords wasn't straining her composure and self-control. The door closed behind them – her guards sealed outside to leave only silence in which her pulse pounded against her ears. And his. The quiet couldn't hide her like the celebration had.

Her wedding had been one of great splendor, talked about in the whole of the Magic Dimension. A feast of bread and wine from the rich wheat and grapevines her land bore. Silk and jewels from Valtor's mothers. No parental blessing or a hand to lead her down the isle where he'd waited like death coming to claim her at the end of the line. She should have taken another path but there'd only ever been the one for a queen with the naive heart of a free woman.

Valtor had unveiled the world in front of her only to capture her eyes in the frozen cage of his. He'd whispered a compliment of her beauty on the tail end of his loudly proclaimed vows of emptiness. He'd kissed her hand countless times with his burning lips and her mouth only once. But once had been more than enough to stain like the pouring wine. Spilling red. Dripping blood. The words were spiraling in her mind like the rusty railings of the winded staircase she was tumbling down. Right to where her own bed awaited like a tomb for the coffin of his embrace.

His arms were around her and pressing the smooth fabric of the dress into her skin. Like an ice block sticking to her flesh to rip it off upon removal. She'd bleed to death but her foolish heart only pumped her veins fuller of red too dark to be a precious stone. She could almost smell the smoke rising from the ashes in her lungs where his breath lingered. But fear was good. Fear made you alert and sharpened your senses. Fear kept you alive. And that was her one goal tonight – survive her own wedding night.

Valtor's deft fingers found the laces of her bodice to differentiate from the stillness of his hand back when hers had rested in it. He'd been... not inept–as much as she wanted to call him that, she couldn't afford delusions–but stilted, as if the life had drained from him. And now he'd drain hers instead of working for the creation of a new heir for her kingdom. There'd be no more heirs if she didn't play her role right, no more autonomy... no more peace.

Her lips were swallowed in Valtor's kiss silently slithering over her senses like a starving snake. His fingers threaded in her hair to make the elaborate hairdo–designed to hold the crown on her head–give way like a broken dam with just a few strategical touches. The pull of his power was wringing tears from her soul as her hair spilled down her figure just like his breath flooded her lungs. He had more magic than her, his mothers more still – the only ones to still yield the craft in its full potency. She had to count on their arrogant use of it, on their lack of strategy to defeat them.

The taste of sweet wine and sugar from the buffet of pastries was bitter all the way into her throat with his tongue shoved in her mouth as if to block out her air. Their first kiss had been far less vindictive out there in public and she had to give him credit for his own acting if not anything else. He was at least putting decent effort into her assassination.

It was her own breath assaulting her ears once he let her have a gasp of oxygen. She was panting next to his barely quickened inhales, the puffs of cool air in a jarring contrast with his flushed cheeks. His adrenaline had to be rushing as high as hers. The only thing they had in common was the opposite ends of her murder they stood on.

"You're breathtaking," Valtor lied through his teeth, his facade impeccable with all the magic underneath filling potential cracks. All she had to fight him with was her own wit and skills.

She let a smile crawl on her face despite herself. If it were as breathtaking as he claimed, he'd drop dead from suffocation. And if not, it would be a horror show to haunt him for his crime against her. "Are you sure at least half of it isn't just the dress?" She wanted it gone as much as he did. At least then they could stop pretending this farce had anything to do with love or her happiness. It was all about politics. That was all her life was ever going to be. Funerals over politics.

"To be honest, I haven't even noticed the pattern." That would be hard to believe if not for his keen gaze keeping track of her mannerisms and words in search of telltale signs about her awareness of the truth. "I've been thinking of what's underneath," he sent her stomach lurching at the thought of what would come after the stardust of her wedding crumpled in her feet. After her death.

"Why don't you find out?" her voice tempted, no deception in play. "Or are you afraid?" Challenges were the way into his head. She'd figured as much while he'd been prying around into her heart. He hadn't had one for her to return the favor. "I didn't bite when you pulled off my veil." She hadn't had to. He'd bitten the bait as the wedding ceremony dictated.

"Did you expect me to be bolder?" Of course not. He was no fool despite his arrogance. "We were in public."

"You've been a perfect gentleman all evening." Except for plotting her murder. She was no fool either. "Why don't you drop the act?"

The lightness dropped from his face leaving serious features carved in ice. He'd be the most gorgeous statue she'd seen. Instead, he was the vilest being she'd encountered. A charming prince to her face and a murderous backstabber when she turned away.

His fingers reached under the fabric and she assisted the dress off of her body to spare herself his prints on her skin after the few times she'd let them leave his mark on her being. His gaze was more than unbearable, flaying her alive for him to wear her title as his own once her kingdom was annexed by his mothers' empire to be erased from history. No name would mark her downfall, nor that of her land. No grave would remember her existence. So she wouldn't remember his in her being, wouldn't let him leave traces of it on her body. Not again.

Valtor let her step out of the dress of her own volition–a last courtesy to himself as he devoured the sight of her nakedness after he'd taken her underwear along with the masquerade–before pushing her back on the bed with the roughness of an animal. Something sparked in his eyes that could have singed her with a surge of passion had she chosen him to bed her. Now it was just a dull pain in her lower stomach from the nerves knotting themselves there as she waited to be burned alive.

Instead of his magic it was his scorching skin on top of her pulling a squeak out when his weight pinned her down and her nipples brushed his chest. He was lying on her, naked in the second it'd taken him to climb over her despite the stumbling from the wine or other intoxication. His hot flesh roused goosebumps on her own as her stiff muscles writhed in confusion below.

The hum he stole from her with his kiss carried her unbridled surprise like a charge of magic. She was revealing herself, caught off guard by his naked frame. His cock was pressed into her hip, hard as a rock and bruising her with the pulse of arousal it sent through her despite the cause of it being her own blood in his mind's eye. And his hands grabbed her thighs pulling them apart to open her up to him and fill her with the impulse to give in. His hot mouth on her neck singed her alertness and his muscles pressed into her, crushing her resistance.

He reached between them and a whine tore from her lips. Enough to startle both of them with her genuine desperation and distract him to give her the time to catch herself. All thoughts of his cock emptied from her head. Only the memory of the liplock she'd had on him was left after the wave of his magic, tangible even to someone with much less of it.

She grabbed his wrist with a couple inches to spare between her throat and the razor sharp point of the dagger he'd conjured. "If you kill me, you'll be dead by the next full moon." Her eyes burned into him the same way his skin did under her hand as he drove the blade through the air between them. His strength ate away at hers while his magic scorched her fingers like he'd set them on fire.

The blade stabbed through the bed on her left piercing her ears with the wail the mattress gave. It was like a shriek of death and the cry of a newborn all at once. She was alive. She just had to keep it that way.

"I've poisoned you," she fired out before he could change his mind and slice her throat open anyway. She held his gaze as it flared, the intensity of it licking at her to consume her or melt her skin.

"Wine?" was all he asked as he sat on top of her, his arms trapping her between them like thick steel bars.

"No." That would have been too risky with so many people around. "It was my lipstick." He'd ingested the poison at the wedding ceremony. And she'd ingested it, too, from his tongue stuffing her mouth. "It's a slow poison. Designer. It's tied to the phases of the moon and I'm the only one who knows the antidote." She'd been tempted to use belladonna and be rid of him, watching him struggle as even Belladonna failed to help her son. Even her magic wouldn't be able to counteract extract from the plant. But Griffin didn't want the revenge of the three witches. She wanted them to leave her alone. "It needs to be taken every month. Otherwise, the newest tide of the poison will kill you. So if you want to live, we're stuck together," she had to sell this even without his charm at her disposal. Considering she wasn't entirely convinced of being his only option. He always had tricks up his sleeves. Could she count on him being naked when he'd pulled a dagger on her out of thin air? "No more weapons in my presence. And you can't go to your mothe-"

"I won't." The reply caught her off guard again unlike his mothers' departure in the late hours after the wedding reception. They'd distanced themselves as insurance in case something went wrong. They'd renounce Valtor's actions and have an alibi. He was on his own as well. Under their control.

"You understand that I find that hard to believe after your attempt on my life." She could still see the gleam of the blade – brighter than her eyes and colder than his. It was just her magic suppressing the shaking of her muscles that nearly left her wishing for the fire he hadn't used on her. Or for the heat of his body. His erection still burned against her skin.

"I wasn't going to kill you," Valtor's words had her teeth grinding together before she could swallow the load of crap he was trying to feed her in revenge for the poison.

"Were you planning on keeping a lock from my hair then?" She'd push him off of her but just the thought of any more of him touching her was too much. She couldn't stand the beauty of his appearance and the ugliness of her own attraction to him despite the knowledge in her head.

She'd known his behavior had been an exercise in decorum and his courteousness had been practiced. Yet she'd still fallen for his horrible attempts at jokes that had been too genuine to be anything but, for his sharp mind that couldn't have been an imitation just like the diamonds he'd given her, and the look in his eyes when the sparks had died to leave behind an emptiness begging to be filled. She'd sworn no one could fake that. He'd deceived her and she had to accept it. Sooner if she wanted to be alive for the later.

"I was going to use the dagger, yes," Valtor had her attention pinned to the bed with a knife as well, dissecting it with the emphasis in his voice, the frustration in it. As if she was the traitor between the two of them. "I was going to draw blood from the hollow of your throat to bind us together with magic."

"What?" The hollow of her throat? How was that an explanation? A justification of his actions? Was that supposed to make her feel better? She was a sacrificial lamb in a game of politics, nothing more. She wouldn't be able to look at a chess set ever again even if she got the opportunity, if she survived her wedding to him.

"My mother can read minds."

Lysslis. Then her plan would have been no more than a delay of the inevitable. If Valtor wanted it, she'd die after Lysslis read her mind for the antidote. She was fully dependent on him slicing into her neck like she was a woodcarving.

"I was going to bind us together by mixing our blood. That way when she tried to read one of our minds, she'd see nothing. As if the 'voice' has jumped into the other."

Vocal cords. Her throat. Griffin brushed her fingers over the delicate flesh. He would've given her a fighting chance against his monstrous family and she... She gasped. She'd poisoned him in return.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She'd poisoned him. Poison! She'd thought he was her murderer. She'd swallowed her heart about a thousand times that day alone, the broken pieces slicing through her insides every single one of them. If she'd leaked blood, she would've flooded the whole planet. If she'd let herself cry, she would've shriveled into nothing after the sorrow had spilled from her body. "Why didn't you tell me? You should have told me!"

"I couldn't risk it. I thought she might read your mind."

Her blood froze solid in her veins when she had to move. What good was being safe in the future if she'd betrayed the past to his mothers? She had to warn-

"She didn't deem it necessary," it was the disgust with which Valtor spat out the words rather than their meaning that left her shivering as the ice freed her. "Probably thought it was a waste of efforts since you were to die anyway. They were so secure in their victory. I couldn't risk putting you in more danger. Or myself." His hesitation clenched her heart with her own distrust mirrored in him. "It would've been harder to keep my plan from her if I'd let you in on it. Our interactions always linger on the surface of my mind."

She was flushing again, this time from the warmth of the confession accompanied by that of his skin against hers. She laid her hand on his chest covering his heart, no flinching from him to choke her. "Valtor-"

"I thought you trusted me enough." His gaze stabbed her with the icicles it shed right over her vulnerable flesh. "I would've explained. I wanted to make it as painless as possible and sex magic can be used to a great degree for relieving distress, both emotional and physical."

Oh. Well, she hadn't known that. She had the archives she'd inherited from her mother and knowledge she'd gathered with Ediltrude and Zarathustra and Faragonda and there was still much more. He knew more than her after studying under the only ones that still possessed primal magic. All she'd had in her mind had been the warning she'd gotten and the dagger he'd held above her ready to shatter her skull.

"You were terrified of me," Valtor cupped her cheek and the familiar tenderness had her shaking as the terror oozed from her pores to stick to her skin. So much for her collected facade. "I thought you were just nervous because of our wedding night but you thought I'd kill you? Did I fail that hard at conveying my feelings for you? I know I was being subtle but I was certain we were on the same page."

They had been. They had been and then that page had been torn out of her hands. Her eyes welled up with tears when Zara accidentally tore a hair while braiding her locks but she hadn't even been allowed to cry or scream at his assumed betrayal. She'd had to keep her agony inside where it'd charged at its prison and broken all of her bones.

"I had a source that informed me of the plans for my assassination. A source that I've known longer than you," and that was miraculously still safe thanks to both their unassuming power that was safe in Griffin's mind, "and when you never tried to hint something was wrong or warn me in any way... it sounded reasonable."

They'd said they'd wanted a peace treaty between the Ancestral Empire and the Council's Sovereigns and their allies. Then why pick her as a side in the marriage? She was barely on peaceful terms with the Council, only thanks to her connections and her refusal to bow before Belladonna and her sisters. She'd been the perfect victim to show both sides what happened to anyone who opposed the Empire. Killed. Her kingdom annexed. Her heritage erased like it'd never existed.

"You should have told me before pulling a dagger on me." Even if she hadn't asked before she'd poisoned him. She couldn't have afforded it but he could have explained once in the safety of her bedroom. He'd acted every bit as suspiciously as she'd expected him to.

"Griffin, I'm so sorry you had to go through this," Valtor pulled her into him and she inhaled him. Still, she couldn't nuzzle her head in the crook of his neck, couldn't even hold on. "But poison?" Valtor's wide eyes betrayed his worry. "I never realized your extensive herbal knowledge could be used to such a hostile advantage." The joke fell flat and his chuckle broke its spine with nothing to land on. "Please, tell me there is an antidote that will neutralize it for good."

Griffin nodded. Of course, there was. She wouldn't have put on her lips something that could kill her if she skipped her monthly maintenance. The whole point had been to remain alive. "It will take time to prepare, however."

"Then it will be our second order of business. We still need to bind our blood together." His fingers wrapped around the hilt of the dagger and his muscles met no resistance pulling it out of her poor mattress. She was the one swallowing at the screech the insides of her bed made as the blade slid through them on its way out.

"Do we have to do this right now? Can't it wait? At least until the morning?" Possibly never? The only thing she wanted was to curl up in a ball and sob her eyes out, every shuddering breath a reminder that she was still alive. Though, a knife to the throat was definitely preferable to Lysslis in her head. Or Belladonna's frost and Tharma's lightnings coursing through her veins.

Valtor studied her for a moment, the blade motionless in his hand yet it drew her cautiousness. Her gaze darted to it to return to Valtor just as quickly but the message was clear. "You still don't trust me." No question about it. It was a fact. To both of them now.

"I want to. I really do."

The softness of his hair between her fingers. The warmth of his laughter vibrating in her ears. The hardness of his erection pressed into her. She wanted to feel all of that without flinching every time he lifted his hand to stroke her cheek or slid it down her body to grab at her curves. But it wasn't up to her. They were alone in the bedroom but there was a whole kingdom that she carried on her shoulders. She couldn't stumble and shatter it. Not after she'd refused to bow and let it be taken.

She shook her head. "I know how this game is played." He'd been honest with her but not open. Even his reasons couldn't illuminate the shadows of doubt in her mind where the monsters hid from obliteration. She just couldn't close her eyes and turn their shine on the inside to free herself of the creeping suspicion. She didn't have that power.

"I am not playing a game. And neither are my mothers."

Valtor raised the dagger and Griffin pressed herself into the mattress even though she had nowhere to escape. A jolt shook her when Valtor pierced the headboard with it leaving the blade sticking out. Her headboard. As if ruining her mattress hadn't been enough.

"We don't have to do the spell at all if you're not comfortable with it. But once my mothers learn you're still alive, there will be retribution. Towards both of us. We have to be ready for anything. They knew I was fond of you and thought it a bonus test of my loyalty. It would be in our best interest to get this done as soon as possible." Valtor shuffled down, letting the world loom over her without his body on top of hers to shield her.

"Wait!" Griffin grabbed at him, relieved by the pause that followed even if the silence wound tight around them with nothing more she could say. Everything turned to ash on her dry tongue despite how hard her voice clawed at her parched throat.

"I can't watch you flinch away from me. It's the same as stabbing me with the dagger." His tired eyes skipped into the distance as if to find support of his words in the past. The realization gripped her throat worse than slicing it open would be. "If you can't trust me, then don't cure me from the poison. It will be torture to live when I've finally found someone I could love and then driven them away," he slapped her in the face without even moving. Maybe that was the key to the impact. He was as still as a statue. Cold, hard stone colliding with her fragile flesh.

"I wanted nothing more than to trust you but you never tell me the whole story," she sat up. If he viewed her as an opponent, then she'd be one. "First, it turned out you were their son, then, you showed me you had magic, and now all of this. I try to understand but every time I feel secure in our relationship and in knowing who you are and what I mean to you, you crack in half and there's a whole another person under the crumbling shell... and I need to start again."

"If I wanted you dead, I would've killed you already," Valtor's irises were bursting with flames. A sight very similar to Tharma when she got angry.

Griffin closed her eyes and pushed her frustration out through her clenched teeth. "And I can still kill you." Looking at him hurt with his insistence to follow up on her threat, every step they made leading them closer to that despite their unwillingness. "This is getting us nowhere." She had no strength for more. They had to put an end to all that.

She spun around and grabbed the dagger, pulling it from where he'd wedged it in her headboard. It took up the last of her energy and she was running only on resolve as she pointed the sharp tip towards him. Slowly she inched closer until the edge of the blade was pressed in his chest to no reaction from him. He stood there like he was made of stone but he wasn't. The heat of his skin was tangible on hers and his hot blood would spill if she applied gentle pressure.

"Well? Aren't you scared?" She was putting all her efforts into steadying her hand. One wrong movement would be fatal whether she cut through him or not.

"Afraid of what? Put this into context so I can be fully honest with you. Not leave anything out." He was pushing on purpose and she had to stab him just for that. He was lucky he was her weakness.

"Afraid of pain? Of humiliation?" She'd seen his ego. If it stood between them, he wouldn't see anything over it and if she poked it, he would never forgive her. No matter what he said about his feelings for her. His ego was his weakness and it could be exploited against both of them.

"What humiliation is there in being claimed by a woman?" Claimed? Did he think she was going to cut a brand into him? After he challenged her to kill him? "You are my queen and I vowed to be yours." She leaned forward, falling, the dagger nipping at his peck before she could brace herself against the bed. "I meant that, whether you believe it or not. And I am yours to kill, too."

"What about pain?" her voice trembled with the weakness she couldn't afford in her hand.

"Pain... Pain is a reminder. You can only feel it if you're alive. Breathing is pretty much a guarantee for pain but at least you know you are still in the game." Much too poetic for her. All she got from pain was pain. It was why she'd asked him to be careful with his words.

"What about pleasure?" she lowered her arm, the dagger still clasped between her fingers but now too heavy to hold in vain.

"Pleasure doesn't tell you anything. Not even if it's real or not. But it sure leaves you wishing it was." Valtor looked at her, his gaze clutching hers. "You want the truth? I did consider killing you with this dagger. I was afraid of what defying my mothers would mean. So I considered completing their order. Once again. Like every single time before but I couldn't use my magic. I would take the dagger and carve it into your heart until there was nothing left of it and all your blood was soaking my hands, my skin, all of me. Until your pain soaked all of me so I'd remember–always–that I was alive and you were not. That you'd been alive until I'd spilled all your pain and left you to die to save my own skin." Valtor paused, drawing in a shaky breath. "I can't watch you bleed, Griffin. But I will if it means you're safe. I will cut into your throat and hope the burning reminds you that you're still breathing. I know that's familiar to you, it's real. And you're the most real-"

The dagger clanked against the floor. Somewhere in the far end of the room. Somewhere they wouldn't have to look at it and he'd only be able to look at her.

The sound broke them loose from their respective traps and she lunged at him. Valtor met her halfway, opening his mouth for her tongue to claim him, this time truly. Not like those kisses before that they'd both poisoned. They didn't have to be each other's pain. Only each other's lives. No matter what had been carved on their beings by uncaring hands and pointy words.

Valtor laid her back down on the stabbed mattress. His care morphed smoothly into passion as his hands roamed her body squeezing at her curves and caressing her responsive flesh. She threaded her fingers in his long blond locks to hold his mouth where she could reach it and suck on his lips, trace her teeth over them and nip at his pain receptors.

His hand traveled down her body in lieu of his busy mouth and found its way between her legs to stroke her willing arousal to the surface of her being after the heavy conversation. It didn't take long for her nipples to perk up against the warmth of his chest. His fingers dived in her wetness after a couple pulls on her purple strands once he got the hint of her own tugs on his hair even if some of them had been just passion and not a hidden message.

One last reassurance sought–as if her frantic breathing was not enough confirmation of her craving–and Valtor filled her. Too slowly for the pleasure to explode inside her, her lungs only fully expanding once his whole length was inside her to breathe in their closeness, no fear tainting their joint existence. It was just the thrill of Valtor's touch that set her skin ablaze and sent her heart racing.

The chamber was filled with their shared sounds, a whole concert taking place in private and leaving no room for the stifling silence they'd entered to. The air around them was alive and vibrant with their movements–maybe even some magic–as she met the thrusts of his hips and he left hickeys wherever the hitches in her breath drew him like a map.

Her nails dragged over his back to leave her own traces and hold on as she pressed her cheek to his chest listening to the deep groans he spilled for her. It wasn't the pain that made him tremble like the strings of a harp under her fingers, nor was it fear. It was the mark of her presence that drove his voice inside her mind and if he could trust her pleasure, she could trust his pain, his blade in her throat.

She bit into his shoulder and held on like a bloodthirsty hound while the waves of orgasm shook her. If they took her away, she'd carry a piece of him with herself. His arms around her held her in place, though, held her whole and the confession of her pleasure tipped him over the edge of his own orgasm.

"Griffin," the strained grunt of her name against her ear was like a gunshot missing her body but still carving into her ribcage. Only, it didn't dig into her heart.

It cut it loose from all the strings it sliced itself onto every time it moved, shaken off her throne by the hands grabbing for her crown. She was safe in Valtor's lap, in his arms.

#winx club #winx griffin #winx valtor #griffin x valtor #covenshipping #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #arranged marriage au #2.0

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yunhostinyuyu · 3 years

Text

you‘re gonna make it

pairing: boyfriend!haechan x fem reader

genre: zombie apocalype au, angst, hurt, a little fluff

wc: 1.7k

synopsis: thinking that monsters only existed in movies was a bit naive of you, but since the world is about to end you have no other choice...

warnings: monsters, blood, injuries, implied death

—

seven days. it had been seven days since the world started to end.

Only a week ago at this time, you were laying in bed with your boyfriend, cuddled into loads of blankets and your head rested on his chest. Calming whispers, tangled legs and soothing strokes against your back was everything you felt that moment which seemed to never end. Only source of sound was the TV, were a scary movie played in the background. In these times you felt true happiness - Only the two of you against the world. Little did you know that those words could have an alternate meaning soon...

In the end, that feeling didn’t last long. No more warmth and safety. Now you are both fighting for your life. Only coldness and uncertainty.

It all started so quickly, thousands and thousands of people were reported dead, and not because of war or sickness: it was because of those creatures. You are not sure on what to call them - mutations, zombies, monsters... all that was certain that they were out to kill. And they did just that without mercy. So it was safe to say that it was more than foolish to believe, that those sort of things only existed in books or movies, since this was most certainly the brutal reality everyone had to face now.

Five days ago, the apartment complex were you lived was attacked by those monsters. It seemed like a miracle that you survived, given the circumstances. Everything broke down and got destroyed, and everyone who lived in there was either killed or bitten. Haechan explained from the Informations he was able to get on the dark web, that they used to be human as well, but there was not much left that would let you confirm that fact with your own eyes. Deformed arms and legs, additional tentacles and limbs grow out of thier white and green skin shimmering in slick. Teeth everywhere you looked, some had more, others had less, but they were all dangerous, able to take your life in a second.

Since you left the apartment, you have been wandering around the area, searching for other survivors, but only finding more monsters and corpses. And that’s were you two are at now, looking deschevelled and dirty, legs and arms sore from walking and fighting monsters off with really, anything you found laying around. Haechan was looking like another person now, dark pants ripped with his legs beneath covered in scratches and bruises, his Jacket and Pullover are dirty and sprinkled in blood stains. His hair looking crazy messy and his beautiful face was also covered in dirt and mud. Backpack strapped against his back and a gun resting in the loop his belt. You yourself didn’t look any better in all honesty, but you were just glad you were both alive.

After several hours of walking, you stumbled onto a building that has not been destroyed yet, with no sign of any monsters nearby.

“Should we go in?” You ask the tanned boy, as his eyes continued to scan the area. After a while of comparing the surroundings to the wrinkled map that they had found a while ago in an abondoned building that was also run down and destroyed like everything else. You both look up the building, which had about twenty stories.

Haechan hesitates, “I’m not sure... there could be plenty of mutations inside. It could be dangerous.” You sigh, another shimmer of hope about to extinguish in your grasp, but you didn’t give up so easy. “But what if there are other surviours in there aswell? It would explain why the building is the only one intact! We have to go in and try!”

But he wasn’t as keen about going in to the giant house and tried to keep you from it. Then, like on cue, a flag arose from the top floor, being held by shaky hands out of the window. The dark red letters spelled ‘it’s safe’

“Come on, we have to go inside! The creatures would not be able to make such a sign! Haechan, let’s gooo~” a sudden wave of a relief spurring you into action, dragging your boyfriend with you. Only for him to stop and shrug you off, “Y/N, listen to me...” he pulled you back to face him as he held your hands in his rough ones. He reaches down to the gun, and gently slips it into your grasp.

“I want you to have it. You should be able to defend yourself. If something was to happen in there, and I couldn’t save you, I-... I could never forgive myself. I just can’t let anything bad happen to you.” He stuttered, but still firm enough in his pronounciation to understand the words clearly. You gently take the gun from him and put it into the back of your pants.

“I’m not scared, not when you’re with me.” You whisper and bring your hands back to his, this time without the heavy weapon. Looking up to meet his soft eyes, you just wrap your arms around him and hug him like it’s the last time. Haechan truly cared for you and loved you with his entire heart, always wanting to be by your side to make sure nobody hurt you. Before everything went downhill, it was easier for him to go after the promise he made to himself, but still not letting up on it, even if it was hard. And even if the moment you hugged him tightly, you felt safe and loved, even if one of those things was far from the reality. Thinking about the times you promised to marry each other when you were finished with your school and apprenticeships, the secrets and promises you told each other and things you expierienced and overcome together - they were so tangible in this moment, never wanting to let go of him.

After a minute, you ripped yourself together and decided to finally enter the building, taking the lead with Haechan close on your feet. The interior looking almost untouched, but there was still a lot of sand and dirt on the floor and stairs. Taking a step onto the first section you whipped and turned your heads upwards. You sigh, “better get going, those are a lot of stairs.” he joked and you fell into step with each other as you started walking up.

“Are you clean? Are you bitten?” A new voice called out from above you. “Yes!” Haechan screamed in in reply to the strangers question. “Hurry up, or the zombies are going to find you before you get up here! There’s not much time!” his tone drenched in distress and worry, it transmitted to you both and sped up your steps drastically. You were confident you were going to make it, find other survivors, figure something out. But the only goal right now was to get to that damned floor on top. Safety. Safety was there, just in your reach. You sped up even more, Haechan struggling to keep up with you.

“Y/N, slow down, I’m not that fast!” He argued, but you didn’t slow down, your tired and worn out legs somehow still carrying your at an unnatural speed.

Suddenly, something wrapped around your stomach and chest, and pulled you to the side, away from the stairs. Before you even realised what had happened, you hear a desparate cry from Haechan. The tentacles leaving you again, just to find one of the knives that he has been carrying, is now stuck in the middle of it’s head. You sit up, catching a chance of your boyfriend who was hurrying up the stairs. But there was another problem: a mutation was behind him, and according to his careless movemts, he didn’t know. Quickly grabbing the gun from behind you, you let you a bloody scream “Duck! Something is behind you!” He followed your order quick and let himself fall down the stairs with a loud thud. Half a second later, you shoot the creature three times. As it went down and falling back the stairs until it stopped moving.

Haechan pulled himself up to his feet, and you met his eyes for a brief second, before his focus shifted onto something else, and truly, you had never seen him so scared before. He let out another scream, this time louder more nerve wrecking than before. But right in that moment, it was too late.

The monster that was behind you, took the knife that attacked his head just moments prior, was now ramming its way deep into your back. Letting out a cry of pain at the stabbing feeling, losing grip of the pistol and tumbling to the ground. You heard steps from both infront of you and from further above. Haechan took the gun as soon as he reached the top of the stairway on which you were laying. Shooting the monster five, six, seven times. The sounds of gunshots, quick footsteps were accompanied by your screams and cry’s, slowly failing to composure yourself. Dark spots started to dance around the edges of your vision, before Haechan comes to a rest at your side, kneeling next to your bleeding body. The wound was so deep and fatal, that there was no way of you surviving it. You had to grew accustom to the thought, even before your dear lover did.

“No, no this can’t be happening. Y/N you have to stay with me! You can’t just die on me, come on... you’re gonna make it, you have to make it!” he cried, tears and snot running down his face as he took hold of your numb frame.

You focused and breathing and tried to ignore the throbbing, indescribable pain that is slowly but surely sucking the life out of you. His hands are on your face, shaking you slowly ro keep you awake.

As your breaths grew even more uneven, you took everything that was still left in you to say the following words:

“Make me happy... I know you can make it... don’t be weak... I love you.”

“I love you too. So much it hurts. I don’t know if I can live without you...” he sniffled and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

“You can, Hyuckie...” Tears left both of your eyes, and he pressed a short, last kiss to your lips, before everything went black.

He cried into your lifeless body, shaking “From where ever you are watching me from now on... I will make you proud.”

—

#Haechan #Donghyuck #nct 2020 #nct au #nct fic #nct writing #nct 127 #nct u #nct dream #nct drabble #nct haechan #boyfriend Haechan #apocalypse au #I still don’t know how to tag things please excuse me

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hollyhomburg · 4 years

Note

so y/n can’t conceive anymore in empireverse? how sadddd 😭😭😭

i never said she couldn’t conceive- only that she hasn’t had her heat yet. her heat is connected to her omega- as is her inability to speak- the mental blockage caused by her trauma and the fact that she hasn’t fully healed yet. once she reconnects with her omega- she’ll be able to conceive again.

let me remind you that omegas can’t shift in this au- or at least- they shouldn't be able to. (Also tw: for more implied assault, sexual language, violence, and gore, also murder? but like- y’all will be glad abt it)

I think it’s like a good day for you when it happens- you’ve recently taken to exploring out into the outer compound- tired of being in the same gardens as always. and it’s not like it should be dangerous, because you’re just walking with Jimin through the taller older trees when you happen upon them- they’re the sons of some royal family, not too high up in the social ladder of the city but not far off either. they’re the kind of boisterous Alphas that take first and ask questions later, their status only making them more inclined to do so- because which omegas could say no to them.

the second they see you and jimin they start whistling and saying explicit things that would make most omegas blush. jimin pulls you closer- and tries to ignore them. but when they pass they step in front of you to stop both of you on the woody path- wondering where you’d be going- surely two omegas in the royal compound didn’t have anything better to do than entertain a few high alphas. “you should be honored- pretty things like yourselves” jimin slaps his hand away, “let us pass- or- or I’m warning you”

jimin tries to bow out- tries to bring attention to his priestesses gear but that only makes things worse- then they’re gearing- talking about how jimin should let them show him how a knot feels like- they swear the experience is heavenly- they swear he’d turn into a stupid cum slut the second he had a taste of alpha cum. one of them tries to grab you- and you look up at jimin so scared- and jimin sees red- steps up toe to toe with the alpha and snarls, shoving you behind him- using his body as a sheild between you and the alphas.

because jimin- jimin knows he can survive whatever they could do to him- but you- he knows you’ll never come back if they carry through on their vulgar threats.

he’s deathly calm when he whispers, “I need you to run okay? go back and get the others and make sure you’re safe before they come and find me alright?” Jimin hears you turn, hears the crinkle of leaves as you dash through the woods. one of the alphas snarls “always did like a chase” and tries to run after you but jimin elbows him in the stomach sending him sprawling. The others regroup as he wields his hidden dagger, a tiny thing- ceremonial and dotted with sapphires- but it will have to do- holding it out in front of him to defend himself as the alphas circle him. “you bitch- you’ll pay for that-”

jimin swipes with the dagger- misses, and takes one hit to the stomach before he finds himself sprawled in the autumn leaves, heaving for breath, the wind knocked out of him. He’s scrambling back, the alphas stalking towards him and yanking him closer by his ankle when he hears the sound- a growl that seems to shake the forest floor.

Jimin looks up and his blood runs cold,

The wolf in front of him must be an alpha- there is no other reason for their size. only the strongest betas and alphas can shift- the larger the wolf the more deadly. jimin has only seen namjoon shift once- and even this wolf with it’s white fur wirey and matted with blood- seems larger than the leader of the empire.

The wolf dwarves even some of the trees, rising taller than Jimin's head when he stands. whats more is that it looks mauled- great rents torn in its side. scars lacing over its muzzle. it’s underbelly look like it was shredded at one point- now scared over. it’s missing part of its tail, a black and bloody cavern where one of its eyes should be. Some of its wounds even seem fresh- spilling black blood onto the forest floor.

the wolf shouldn’t even be able to stand with how injured it is- and yet- it growls, and Jimin sees his assailant's faces go pale. One of them tries to take a step backward, and the massive wolf zeroes in on its first prey- pouncing- leaping clean over Jimin who tucks his head and hides in the leaves, keeping one eye open on the carnage.

The wolf bites the head of one of the alphas clean off- felling the other with a quick lunge breaking his spine with a crack and the third- barely gets his knife out- managing to slash once at the wolves face before he’s being shaken like a rag doll in its maw- sending blood splattering everywhere- even over jimin, The warm liquid hitting his face. Only then- only after that does the wolf turn its eyes on jimin, eyes full of furry, chest heaving, panting into the open air.

Jimin starts to hear feet running through the woods and thanks to his lucky stars- you’d made it to safety because the others are coming- Jungkook and his elite assassins can’t help but make noise walking through the leafy forest floor.

The wolf might be bearing down- about to kill him but he knows at least- you’re safe, and an eerie calm hovers over him as the wolf walks close- and jimin closes his eyes- feeling peace settles over him- because at least he’d saved you- even if he’d never been able to tell you how he feels- he’d saved you from this. He waits for the flash of pain, taking in a final breath, the wind whips his robes- carrying Jungkook, Yoongi’s, and Namjoon’s sent on the wind, as the men shout when they see the wolf, swords drawn

but also your scent- it’s so strong- it’s almost like you’d never left.

jimin opens his eyes, and the massive wolf is face to face with him. it licks at his face gently, letting out a low whine, cleaning him of the blood. wet nose nudging his cheek, “Jimin” it’s Jungkook’s voice, “I need you to back up very very slowly okay?” Jimin can see in his periphery- one of his assassins cocking an arrow in his crossbow. “don’t shoot- Jungkook it’s- it’s” you look up- making eye contact with your pack, it’s Yoongi’s voice that punctures the silence, half worry and half disbelief

“Y/n!?”

and in the next breath, you're shifting with a pained whimper, bones, and tendons cracking, more blood spilling onto the forest floor with the force of the shift. jimin is surprised there isn’t more on your clothes when you finally fall forward into Jimin’s arms, he rises despite the pain in his side to catch you. his hands are urgent- little sobs hurling out of his lungs as his hands search in your blood-stained clothes- only to find not a single wound on your body- all except for a small scratch on your cheek.

his body sagging over yours when he realized- you’re not mortally wounded- not like your wolf- that could only have been your omega and now- now that he’s seen your omega face to face- he can’t imagine how you survived your trauma if that's what your soul looks like.

he teeters- unsteady, and namjoon rushes forward to catch you both.

it’s only namjoons hand on the back of his neck shouting jimins name has him looking away from you, the alphas crowding around both of you clinging to each other- “Jimin- are you hurt? did they hurt you anywhere?” and then jimin is shaking his head, tears spilling over his cheeks, his limbs shaking,

“yes- they just- they were going to-” “I know baby I know” jimin barely lets himself shiver at the pet name before he’s pulling back, jimin can’t let go of you- won’t let go of you but that dosent mean Yoongi dosent lean in close cupping your cheeks and checking you for injuries. Jungkook shouting at the warriors as the rest of the pack runs through the woods accompanied by more soldiers, he looks panicked as he cups your cheeks, you rub at your eye (you’d gotten blood in it) “are you hurt my love? are you okay?” “I’m fine my head just hurts” you answer.

and everyone- even Jungkook’s soldiers- turns and looks at you.

“What- what did you just say?” Yoongi says, words stressed, his shoulders slumping, you seem to realize it- your hand reaching up to touch your mouth opening it, tasting the words- eyes wide, “I said-” you giggle at the sound of your own voice- kinda a little rough after so many months- but all the others laugh too, all of them pressing close. Yoongi pressing his nose to your cheek and crying, “Jung-kookie- yoongi- Namjoon” you say, and he honestly starts sobbing, all of them do because- you’re here- you seem more lucid than you’ve been in months. you make eye contact with jimin, a small smile playing on your lips, “Jimin i-”

Jimin almost wants to sigh- your voice- he’d often wondered what it would sound like- if he’d ever hear it- and now he can, and it sounds better than music, better then bird song in the morning, better than hymns spoken on the holiest day of the year.

You make eye contact with jimin, a small smile playing on your lips, “Jimin i-”

they think you’re going to be completely okay- until you suddenly grip your stomach- leaning over and vomiting into the leaves. Your eyes rolling back the next second as you pass out- Yoongi supporting your body, the next few minutes are tense and scary- Jimin too- is a little too in shock to make the walk back to the compound but Namjoon carries him- Jimin's head lolling to look at where you lay in Yoongi’s arms,

the shouts of the others as they join- Namjoon yelling for them to bring the doctor. Seokjin’s panicked words “what happened to my pups” Jimin passes out from stress sometime after namjoon leans down close. “we’ve got you- you’re both going to be okay”

when Jimin blinks open his eyes, he finds you curled up tight close to him and a sharp stabbing pain in his side, The doctor informs him that he’d broken a rib, and is on stiff bedrest for the next few weeks. you’re fine as well- as far as they can tell- you’ve only stirred since you’ve passed out- but the doctor gathers that the shift must have taken a lot of energy out of you. the shift- it barely hits jimin- a shifting omega- he asks the others- and yes- you’ve never shifted before today.

The rest of the pack files in. all of them bowing before jimin, he’s barely sitting up before Seokjin is dashing forward and folding himself in between the two of you- “thank you Minnie- thank you so much- you saved her- you saved her twice and we’re never going to be able to repay you” the older omega is sobbing and all jimin can do is comb his fingers through his hair as he presses close. the elder scent marking him.

namjoon- the leader of the empire- presses his forehead to the floor in front of jimin, “we will forever be in your debt, there is no limit to what we will do for you park jimin” jimin is tired, feels his heartthrob with the knowledge of the day, before jimin can respond, you turn, blinking your eyes up at him, and Jimin’s attention is diverted, glad he has another focus other than the alphas devoted looks that make a blush rise to his face.

“Y/n- are you- can you” you blink your eyes and open your mouth you get out a single syllable before your throat is closing around the words and Taehyung is jumping forward, “don’t strain yourself- they’ll come back when they come back” but it is better- “I want- can we all sleep in here tonight?” jimin asks, looking shyly at namjoon- it’s bold for him to ask, even though he has actually slept in the same room as most of them before- he’d been well on his way to integrating the alphas back into bedtimes with you before today- the only one he hasn’t slept next to is Jungkook and Hoseok. and the others easily agree when you turn, nodding your head up and down rapidly.

“well I guess we don’t have a choice” yoongi giggles, hand coming out to run down your hair and through it- you leaning into his hand, you try to talk again only getting out “yoon-” before you break off again- making a frustrated noise before taehyung is leaning forward to press a finger to your lip. “don’t strain yourself baby, you haven't talked in almost a full year-” taehyungs smile is boxy and happy as he stands up “I’ll get you some tea for your throat- and call for dinner”

dinner is a sleepy affair, somehow, jimin ends up with his back up against jungkook’s shoulder, the young alpha supporting jimin and his broken rib with a thick but gentle arm around his waist. You sit across namjoon’s lap and letting the alpha feed you pieces of sweet meat and hot vegetables. you leaning over sweetly to feed Taehyung and Seokjin and each of them- Hoseok shouting loud when you accidentally drop a piece onto his expensive silk robe, and that night- jimin gets to curl up in the middle of a pack pile, his nose pressed to the nape of your neck, Yoongi’s nose pressed into Jimin's hairline the same as yours, his body in line with jimin hot and steady behind him, your nose pressed into Jungkook’s chest, the hand of the young alpha resting over your body to hold Jimin’s softly.

Jimin wakes late into the night, pain licking up his side, he hears the soft voices, the sound of kissing and dosent shift to listen but hears regardless- it’s Seokjin and namjoon, kissing in the candlelight. jimin hears the shifting of cloth, a low chiding noise, “when you offered that to jimin this afternoon- did you hope he would ask to stay?”

“I did” namjoon sounds like a scolded pup- and Seokjin’s answering giggle makes the fear ease out of Jimin’s chest- he looked like he was about to combust puppy- wolves court for a reason silly alpha” Jimin’s eyes close so quickly as he feels Seokjin’s stiff fingers comb through the curls on the back of his head. “let him rest- before you give him any more anxiety okay? now he’s healed her- I have a feeling we’re going to need to heal him.”

“You really think he’s going to be apart of our pack one-day Jin?”

“I’d bet my life on it Joonie”

Jimin's heart feels like it’s going to jump all the way to the moon.

(only after this happens- can she have her heat again and therefore get pregnant)

#packtan au #bts omegaverse #abo #bts abo #bts werewolf #Anonymous

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devondeal · 3 years

Text

Sneak peek into Ch. 4 of Shadow of the Past.

This is a flashback that is NOT part of the AU of the fic and is meant to be canon compliant. Barriss, trapped in the AU, remembers events that only happened in her reality aka the canon compliant verse.

It includes my view of what may have occured between Barriss and the Grand Inquisitor.

In the message, he revealed his identity to be one of the temple guards and offered, to Barriss’s disgust, to keep Luminara alive so long as she joined him - which he claimed should be an easy choice for her.

All sorts of emotions were seeping through her attempt at a calm demeanor. In her own reality, she never had the chance to say she was sorry for what she did, never got to tell her how much she loved her, never had the chance to say goodbye. Luminara was captured and the Grand Inquisitor sent out a message to lure Barriss into a trap.

He mistakenly believed Barriss’s attack on the temple to be a complete denouncement of the Jedi way. Part of that was caused by her own mistake of how she delivered her message - a regret she would carry forever. With no intention of turning, she agreed to the meeting place where he promised he would bring Luminara.

The Puan did not honor his word, however, and arrived without her. Perhaps because the presence of her master would make his attempt to turn Barriss less likely. Barriss panicked when she saw that her master was not with him, so she pretended that she agreed with him.

It wasn’t hard at first, because he had already believed she was on his side from her speech. She remembered that day on the rocky moon. The sky was bluer than it had any right to be and the high winds chilled her on the cliff where she found the Grand Inquisitor waiting for her.

Barriss: Where is my master?

GI: I thought it would be best if we could have a talk, unhindered by… distractions.

Barriss: Alright. Say what you want to say, but then, you must show me Luminara Unduli.

GI: We are of one mind, you and I. The Jedi believed that they could make harmony from chaos. I once believed that as well. You freed me from their lies and perhaps even saved my life, and for that, I will forever be grateful. There is a place for you in the Inquisitorius if you will take it. The Emperor was most impressed with your accurate vision of the future. Think of what we could accomplish through our common goals. I can do for you what you did for me - give you a new beginning, a chance to not only survive, but finally act on your beliefs. To practice what you preach, if you will.

Barriss, of course, was disgusted at the idea, but she knew that if she said no, with a single communication on his wrist comm, her master could die on the spot wherever she was. She would have to convince him she was on his side and infiltrate the prison where she was being held - meaning she’d have to withhold the urge to vomit from the words she was about to utter.

Barriss: For so long I wondered if my speech fell on deaf ears… until now. You have no idea what it means to me that someone, even only one Jedi, actually listened to me. With the rise of the Empire, I didn’t know where I stood, where I belonged. I’m not a Jedi anymore, yet I’m still hunted like one.

GI: That could end now if you wish.

Barriss: I do.

The Grand Inquisitor smiled in a creepy full toothed display.

Barriss: I have only one condition.

GI: Name it.

Barriss: My master, despite being a hypocrite like the rest of them, must live. She was like a mother to me and even though she is the enemy, I cannot bear the idea of her death.

The Grand Inquisitor’s smile faded into an ugly grimace.

GI: That is the one request I’m afraid I cannot grant. For Unduli will never stray from the Jedi path and no Jedi may survive.

Barriss: But you promised you would bring her here alive! What is the point of the Sith path if you cannot keep that which your heart values?

GI: The Emperor has a great plan which requires sacrifice. Do you not think the screams of the Jedi in the Coruscant Temple haunt me? Every day I guarded that Temple and I knew each of their faces by the thousands. Men, women, and children whom I knew. And I was willing to watch them all die for the cause. I even participated in the massacre and killed many because I was so committed, it didn’t matter how I felt about them.

Barriss tried to keep her emotions in check, but this facade was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep up.

GI: And now you ask for mercy on one Jedi. What happened to the girl who faced a tribunal of Jedi and claimed that they must all be held accountable without exception? What happened to your willingness to sacrifice sheep for a greater cause?

In that moment, Barriss knew it was over. So, without hesitation she grabbed her blaster and shot at his wrist comm, but the Grand Inquisitor was fast and suspended the bolt a full inch away from his arm and sent it back at Barriss who managed to evade it with only a tear in her cape. The GI scowled at her with a look of pure hatred.

GI: Barriss Offee. You disappoint me. I thought we shared a vision.

Barriss: The only thing we share are the nightmares from what we've done. What I said in that trial was only a partial truth obstructed by my own misinterpretations and hateful actions. If I could take it back, I would in a heartbeat!

Her voice cracked on the last word.

GI: So be it… Jedi.

Barriss sensed what he was about to do, but she had no lightsaber to use against him so it was no use trying to charge him. ‘No, no, No!’ she thought to herself and attempted to force hurl rocks at him, causing him to ignite his saber and destroy them. He tried to hit her with an overhead strike but she jumped out of the way, acrobatically avoiding him while distracting him from giving the killing order, using the environment to her advantage.

When he was distracted enough, she took her reserve explosives and threw them at him, but he noticed and allowed the rocks to hit him hard on his shoulder and leg in favor of force hurling the explosives right back at her. She tried to jump out of the way of the explosions, but the force pushed her hard against a sharp rocky wall.

Her side was bruised and bloodied from where a slab of stone had stabbed her. Weakly, she crawled up and saw the Grand Inquisitor, limping toward her with one injured leg. He stared right at her as he clicked the comm and said, “Terminate the prisoner, Luminara Unduli.”

Barriss: “NO!”

She screamed as she felt the certainty of Luminara’s life presence disappear, while the Puan laughed and ignited his red lightsaber to finish the job. Barriss thought she was done for until she saw that near her was a crevice in the ground with a narrow, but deep fall.

Just as he striked, she rolled over and fell in. It was a long fall and she used the force to soften it as much as she could and landed in the rapids. The fast flowing water, while unpleasant, was an advantage as it would bring her in the direction where she had hidden her ship.

It was one of her worst memories. She had tried so hard, but it wasn’t enough. She kept thinking about what she could have done differently. It was Ahsoka who helped to decrease the cycle of helpless scenario replaying - even when she was still angry with her, she understood Barriss’s grief over her master.

Years later, when all was forgiven and they made a life, well the closest thing to a life during the Empire, she heard rumors that Luminara was still alive via a similar transmission with the same footage the Grand Inquisitor had once sent her. She tried her best to dispel that rumor, but to no avail since widespread communications were impossible.

After another few years, Ahsoka had gently informed her that a Rebel cell confirmed what had happened to Luminara’s body and what it was being used for. Apparently, the Grand Inquisitor was inspired by his original plan to bait Barriss into returning. She had lost a piece of her heart the day she lost Luminara and felt more of herself fade after this. And she never even got to say goodbye...

#barrissoka #barrisoka #barriss offee #ahsoka tano #luminara unduli #the grand inquisitor

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pigeontheoneandonly · 3 years

Note

For your WIP list: Childhood Friends AU and Collateral Damage?

Thank you!!

Childhood Friends AU answered here.

Collateral Damage is a one-shot fic about Nathaly’s first real deployment after training, on a planet called Aonia, which was mutually claimed by both the Alliance and the Hegemony. Their two colonies were separated by an open battlefield, and locked in a stalemate. (Laine is her C.O., which is how they got to know each other well, though they met in N1.)

Shepard, who is still enlisted at this point, but working her way towards being admitted to OCS, eventually comes up with an idea to break the stalemate, based on exploiting a tactic the batarians have used to great effect on other battlefronts. The Alliance is victorious, and are in the process of mopping up batarians, when the batarians learn who orchestrated their demise-- and that it was a lowly corporal. Furious, they decide to take revenge.

The story is told after the fact, as Shepard relays it to Anderson. It came out of a challenge to write a story backwards, and became a key part of her backstory.

(It’s also how Nathaly caused Laine to lose his leg, if you remember that little anecdote from one of the early flashbacks in Labyrinth-- he got hit by a grenade during the action, and he playfully blames her because it was her idea.)

Excerpt:

Shepard plunked the cigarette between her lips. Her lighter flared against the twilight. She inhaled, to convince the flame to catch, and blew out smoke. “Where the hell is Cheng?”

Private Brill scratched under the neck of his hardsuit. “Only thing less likely than us getting daylight patrols again is Cheng strutting out on schedule.”

The fourth member of their squad, Kozlow, snorted a laugh and stubbed out his own cigarette, grinding it into the Aonian dust. The trees carpeting the Relagris river valley undulated in the light breeze. The wind was welcome; local high summer at this latitude usually meant steaming flat days that left even the water too hot to offer any relief. Body armor only made it worse.

Shepard took another drag. “Last time we had a daylight, three guys got shipped back to Arcturus with missing bits. The colony brass may be thick but they’d never be that stupid.”

“Never say never. You are talking about the guys who backed the L.T.’s crazy-ass plan to get at the batarian base.” Brill paused. “I’ll grant you it worked, though I don’t know that Lieutenant Laine’s too happy about sitting tight for a few months growing out the new leg.”

Shepard buried the flinch of guilt, and tapped off the cigarette. “Cheng had better get her ass in gear. Bravo Squad left more than ten minutes ago. If I have to order a hold there’ll be hell to pay.”

Private Cheng emerged breathless from the barracks, slapping together the last pieces of her grenade launcher. Shepard rolled her eyes. “If you bothered to oil that thing once in a while, it might not take eons to assemble.”

“Fuck off.”

“I wouldn’t want to encroach on your specialization.”

“At least I’m not some bitch who thinks she’s an officer ‘cause she got some kind of probationary MOS change to N. They give you little spec ops training wheels with that?”

Shepard regarded her evenly. “Keep talking, and I’ll show you just how much of an officer I’m not.”

Cheng held her eyes a brief moment, and glanced off. Shepard drew her rifle. “This patrol won’t walk itself. We’re due for rendezvous at Checkpoint Delta by 2100, so let’s move it.”

At approximately 2015, Shepard ordered a halt. Two months after putting boots on the ground, the navy built a bridge over the river. Since then, the batarians had blown it up three times. The bridge was currently in its “intact” phase, and after the beating their main base recently took, Shepard doubted the batarians had the appetite to try again. But it remained a choke point, albeit one she’d traversed a hundred times, and tonight something about it made her uneasy.

Kozlow’s brow furrowed. “Shepard, what—”

“Shut up.” She took a few steps forward and raised her gun. The wrongness was an itch at the back of her neck. The bridge wasn’t much to look at— a cheap composite span three marines wide, no railing, maybe thirty meters long. Thick shrubs clustered near the riverbank. Further back, where they stood, trees rose up, their roots nibbling at the path and the thick march of trunks obscuring line-of-sight.

Cheng hiked her pack up higher on her shoulders and made a sound of exasperation. “The longer we stand here the more my boots hurt.”

A puddle sat near the edge of the span. This time of year, the river ran low and sluggish. She could smell the algae bloom from here. “Why is the bridge wet?”

Shots exploded out of the bushes on the far bank. There was a pop as her shields collapsed. She dove for the trees and plastered her back to a trunk. A quick scan showed her team likewise positioned, all still standing, returning fire. Her hand pressed to her ear, activating her comm. “Alpha squad taking fire by the bridge! Requesting backup!”

She knew full well this would be over before help arrived. Shepard snuck a look over her shoulder. Batarians pounded across the span. It shook with every step, drumming the water up around their knees. One slipped. His comrades leapt over him and kept charging.

She angled her rifle low and let off a stream of shots at knee-height. There was no aiming, just as many bullets as her weapon could supply, enough to overwhelm their shields and do some damage. They were outnumbered two-to-one. “Cheng!”

“Working on it!” The private couldn’t leave cover for even the few seconds it took to set the grenade launcher and light them up.

Another batarian collapsed, a victim of Shepard’s kneecapping. Her cooling indicator slid towards the red. She cursed, and switched to targeted shots, quick bursts to avoid overheating and losing the weapon entirely. A lucky shot to the head took out a third. Almost at even odds.

Cheng took a breath, swung out of cover, and sunk to one knee to brace herself, bringing the launcher up to her shoulder as she moved. Even this economy of motion was too slow. She fell back with a scream, her grenade launching high into the air.

Shepard never saw it explode. A bag dropped over her head. She whirled in place, wielding the rifle like a club at anything in range, felt it connect and heard a grunt. But then other hands had her arms. Something wet and foul pressed against the bag, over her face. The fight disappeared, and though she started to fall, she never felt the impact of the ground.

Velvet black. Fuzzy pinpricks of white light. Blink. Stars. Sour stench— slime on her face, vomit— and the acrid tang of scorched grass. Murmuring voices. Alien. Batarian.

The urgent realization was a shot of adrenaline. She blinked again, trying to clear her head, trying to ascertain even a little of what was going on.

She came back to herself flat on her back, in a small clearing she didn’t recognize, with no sense of time at all beyond “later”. Much later, judging by the darkness. The bag was gone. Someone had zip-tied her hands and feet. Shadows moved in the meager moonlight, none of them paying her any mind at all. Her translator was useless at these volumes. After eighteen months on this rock, she’d picked up a decent amount Dherak— the Hegemony state language— but not enough to catch much meaning from whispers.

Somewhere to her left, she heard the low hum of a shuttle. Her heart’s pounding accelerated. She wriggled her hands, but found no slack in her bonds. Shepard could get her feet under her and stand, she was certain of it, but hopping away would never work. If she could reach her knife…

She rolled onto her side, ignored the nauseous lurch in her stomach, and curled into a ball so her hands could reach her boot. She could have died of relief when her fingers brushed the haft. But the position was awkward, trying to grip it with her arms lashed behind her, and she fumbled it into the grass. Shepard sucked in a breath and wriggled in a circle, searching.

“Stupid bitch,” said a voice from across the clearing, loud enough for her translator to pick up. Not that she needed it for curses. Everyone learned those first.

She scrabbled at the ground. If she could just get her legs free before he reached her—

Her fingers closed around the handle. She bent backwards, slashing at her bonds, not caring whether she stabbed herself, because that was better than staying here and much better than being packed onto that shuttle. Footsteps stomping towards her. The blade stuck in the dirt. She tried again—

A hand grabbed her wrist, none too gently, and jerked the knife away. Shepard stared up at him with eyes that could burn holes through steel. He turned the knife over in his hands. “Clever. I won’t ask where you hid it.”

She spat at him, but lacked the necessary projection. It fell on her shoulder. He chuckled. “You won’t make a fool of me twice, little girl. You’ll get what’s coming to you.”

“Moon’s just about set,” said a second batarian. “We need to move.”

“First things first.” He shoved her shoulder, hard and without warning, pushing her onto her stomach. Before she could roll any further, his knee crushed into her spine with all his weight behind it. The air went out of her. She couldn’t move.

“Fuck you,” she wheezed.

That he ignored. His burly hand gripped the back of her head, holding it still. “Can’t have your pesky Alliance tracking you.”

She felt cold steel press against her ear and had barely a moment to comprehend what was about to happen before he began to cut. Her body bucked with all its might, as much a reaction to the searing fire engulfing the right side of her head as a fight for survival. He grunted his irritation and increased his grip. “Blame your navy for wiring you with an internal comm.”

Blood spilled down her face, filling her mouth with hot iron. She made a second, feebler attempt to throw him off.

This time, he lifted her head by her scalp and slammed it full force into the ground. Her nose splattered. An odd ringing filled her head, and she found she couldn’t focus her eyes, or string even half a thought together.

“Stop squirming,” he said.

She lay still, too dazed to offer even a curse, as he resumed his work. At some point she blacked out, and the second time she came around, she was bundled on the floor of the shuttle, staring at batarian legs.

They’d wrapped wire about her, an improvised rope to prevent all but the smallest movements. She took some grudging pride in that. Her ear and nose still hurt terribly, but that had gone on awhile now, and she found she could think past it. A similar, less urgent pain in her forearm suggested they took her omni-tool as well. And she was dressed in only her thin undersuit. Her hardsuit, and its biomonitoring suite that was perhaps her last hope of being quickly located, was nowhere to be seen.

The same batarian spoke a few sentences, to general laughter. She caught maybe a third of it, her translator gone with the rest— something about a woman, her, and something about not being dead.

Shepard concentrated on counting her breaths. Once they got wherever they were going, when they had to move her again, she’d find an opportunity. She just had to hold together until then.

#ask me anything #nathaly shepard #wip meme #torture tw #whump #ljandersen

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lobster-tales · 3 years

Text

Dancing - Korrasami

Last day of @winter-atla-femslash week. This work is available here on AO3.

Prompt: Dancing or Fantasy AU or Free Day

Weeks have passed since Korra's ship was wrecked. Good thing she has a mermaid to keep her company. Pirate/Mermaid AU CW: Alcohol

The sea was at war with the sky, and Korra was trapped on the battlefield. Waves buffeted the sides of her wooden dinghy. She struggled just to sit upright amidst the storm, nevermind trying to paddle. Lightning flickered and she caught a brief glimpse of the distant island.

A voice came from below. Another flash of light revealed the pale, wet face of a girl in the water. The girl said something, eyes wide and panicked. She pointed behind the dinghy. Korra turned to see a rearing tower of seawater. The wave seemed to hover for a moment, relishing the attack, before slamming into the boat.

Korra flinched, eyes snapping open. Her back was pressed against the sand, cooled from the shade of the palm grove. Her last memory was of the afternoon sun filtering through the leaves. Now the light came from the west, the sun slowly dipping towards night.

She cursed, annoyed that she had wasted so much of the day. Korra stood and stretched, wiping sand off of her loose white shirt and breeches. She made her way through the trees, towards the lagoon. Her stomach growled, sensing the fading light.

A large boulder rested in the shallow edge of the lagoon, flat on top with smaller offspring at its base. Korra reached beneath the rocks, removing a hidden spear. She yawned and stepped into the still water. Fish darted away from her bare feet, but her stillness would soon bring them back.

Minutes passed in silence, the tip of the spear hovered over the lagoon’s surface. Korra saw fins and thrust downward. The fish disappeared, unscathed.

She muttered to herself, steadying again. Patience was never one of her strong suits, especially when she was hungry.

Eventually, a few more fish returned to her side of the lagoon. One of them came within arm’s reach, but this time, she waited. The kill would need to be closer, surer.

An unknown disturbance scattered the fish. Korra growled in frustration and stabbed at the water frantically, efforts fruitless but satisfying. She looked for the disruption, but instead saw a spout of water aimed for her face.

Splash! Korra sputtered and fell back, landing hard in the shallows. She glared at her assailant from beneath her wet brown hair. A young woman laughed at her from the lagoon, laying on her stomach in the water with shoulders just above the surface.

“Asami, I was hunting!”

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” Asami chuckled. She slightly raised the lower half of her body above the water. Her crimson fish tail glimmered in the dying sunlight.

Korra rose with a string of muttered curses. “I fell asleep and lost the afternoon. I need to get something to eat before the sun-”

“Something like this?” Asami held up a waterlogged basket, filled with three conchs.

***

The moon was half full, casting the island in a silver glow. The only other light came from a small, dying fire, surrounded by empty conch shells. Korra sat between the embers and Asami, plucking at a stringed instrument. Asami propped herself on her elbow, long tail stretching to the sea. In her fingers, she held a sandy bottle of rum.

Pling, pling, pling. Korra continued to tune, knowing that the lingering water damage would prevent a perfect sound. Once she was satisfied with the base notes, she began to pick a melody. “So this one, I learned from this Scotsman during-”

“What’s a Scotsman?” Asami asked.

“It just means he was from Scotland. It’s an island in Europe.”

“Europe.” Asami nodded thoughtfully. “That’s where England is?”

“Yes; Scotland is a little north of England. The man who taught us this one had a big bushy red beard.” Korra nodded towards Asami’s fins. “Almost as red as your tail.”

Asami giggled, gazing at Korra as the latter began to sing.

“There is a young maiden who lives all alone She lives all alone on the shore-o There's nothing she can find to comfort her mind But to roam all alone on the shore shore shore But to roam all alone on the shore…”

Asami smiled and lifted the rum bottle to her lips. She’d found a sunken stash in a shipwreck days ago, so the liquid tasted more of salt and sand than alcohol. Asami wondered if she would prefer it that way once she had her first drink on dry land. If I ever have one, she thought sourly. She shuddered and pushed away the thoughts, focusing on Korra’s rough and often out of tune voice.

“Well your men was not crazy your men was not mad I… don’t quite remember the words-o. Something your sailors... I tricked? No… deluded! Your… self…”

Korra heard Asami’s giggles, feeling the warmth on her cheeks. She grinned, strumming the instrument faster as she punctuated the final notes.

“I'm a maiden again on the shore shore shore I'm a maiden again on the shooooooore.”

Asami applauded, Korra bowing though she remained seated.

“Thank you, thank you.” Korra took a swig of the rum, making a face at the salty taste. “Bleh. Alright, what next?”

“Do you miss it?”

Korra frowned at her. “Miss what?”

“Just… any of it. Sailing, being around other people, other…” Her face fell. “Humans.”

Korra raised an eyebrow, unsure where she was going with this. “I do miss it,” she said slowly, picking her words. “But honestly, I like it here.”

“But you don’t belong.” Asami looked to the sea. “You belong with people.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to be with people. At least, not right now.” Korra took another swig and set the bottle in the sand. “Besides, we had a deal, right? Once you find a way to become human, we’ll sail together for Nassau.”

Asami pressed her lips together, gazing to the horizon. The stars ended abruptly against the black sea. She had swum the route before to ensure they would have enough supplies for the journey, yet doubt still clouded her mind. The one setback to their plan: “What… what if there isn’t a way for me to become human?”

Though she had never spoken the question out loud, both of them had considered the possibility before. Other than what Asami had told her, Korra knew nothing about merfolk or their magic. She just assumed that Asami had a plan, or at least a lead. Now, after seeing the uncertainty flood Asami’s features, Korra realized the truth.

“There will be,” Korra reassured her. Her words sounded empty, but she hated to see Asami so dejected. “Maybe. Probably.”

Asami cast her a playful glare. “What do you mean ‘maybe’?”

“Look, I’m not the one with a tail here.” Asami swiped sand towards her. Korra held up her arms to block the attack, laughing. “But there’s probably a way!”

Asami rolled her eyes. “Right.” Her fingers absently worked at the rim of the bottle.

Korra caught herself staring again, an occurrence that happened more frequently now. When they first met, she told herself over and over that merfolk were notoriously beautiful. Asami was no exception, with her angular features, pear-colored eyes, and black hair that, when dry, fell across her shoulders in soft waves.

However, Korra had learned in the last several weeks that Asami was much more than her face. After the storm, she had carried Korra to the island, given her food, and brought her supplies from shipwrecks. Korra knew she would not have survived this long without her help.

“Korra?”

“Yeah?”

Asami looked at her sheepishly. “Do you think…” She seemed on the precipice of a question, but held back. Instead, she asked, “Do you think you could play that one song? The ‘Oh me, oh my’ song?”

Korra cracked a smile. “Of course.” She began to strum, singing,

“Well it was on this Monday morning And the day be calm and fine To the Harbour Grace excursion With the boys to have a time And just before the sailor Took the gangway from the pier I saw some fella haul me wife Aboard as a volunteer.”

She froze before the chorus, an idea blooming in her mind.

Asami raised an eyebrow at her. “Why’d you stop? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just that… well…” Korra’s lips curled into a wicked smirk. “This is more of a dancing song.”

“Oh,” Asami said, her face falling again. “Sorry… You could play- Eek!”

Korra had tossed the instrument aside, her arms reaching beneath Asami’s back and tail. She hoisted Asami into the air, carrying her bridal style as she charged towards the sea.

“Korra, what are you- put me down!” Asami managed between laughs.

Korra’s feet splashed in the shallow water, the surface rising around them as she ran into the sea. When the water was up to Korra’s chest, she released Asami. “Come on. You’re going to dance with me.”

“What?” Asami flicked her tail so that she was upright. “But… I can’t, I don’t have legs.”

“Then I’ll dance, and you hold on,” Korra said, entwining her fingers with Asami’s. She guided Asami’s left hand to her shoulder, clasping her right just above the surface. Korra gently pressed her other hand to Asami’s waist, and Asami’s breath hitched at the contact. Korra gave her a comforting look, asking, “Are you ready?”

“I suppose so,” Asami said, shaking her head in amusement.

Korra stepped with her right foot, limbs bogged down by the weight of the sea. She sang the chorus at a slower tempo to match her movements.

“Oh me, oh my, I heard me old wife cry Oh me, oh my, I think I'm gonna die! Oh me, oh my, I heard me old wife say, "I wish I'd never taken this excursion around the bay, hey!"

As she continued to dance, Korra adjusted to the water. During the next verse, she tilted her shoulders in time, dipping their clasped hands beneath the surface. At the end of the phrase, she stepped back, holding Asami’s fingers at arm’s length. “Alright, this time, you’re going to spin.”

Asami shot her a look of concern mingled with excitement. “Oh?”

“Here, let’s practice.” Korra lifted one of her hands, still joined with Asami’s. “Now spin.”

Asami twisted her tail beneath the water, sending her into a violent spiral. The area just above her fin whacked against Korra’s calf, and Korra gasped in pain. Asami pulled away, fingers pressed to her nose. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Korra, are you hurt?”

Korra managed a weak smile. She knew a bruise would be waiting for her in the morning. “I’m fine, just startled me.” She took Asami’s hand again. “Let’s try it slower this time.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Asami,” Korra said. “If you’re going to be human, you have to learn to dance.”

Realization illuminated Asami’s features, and she could barely contain the smile that spread across her face. This time, she spun too slow, nearly toppling over. After a few more tries, she finally found a happy medium of speed and grace.

Korra grinned, continuing to sing the song in her off-key and now off-tempo voice. Above them, the half moon glowed, it’s light reflecting off the black waves. Asami spun again, fingers trailing in the water and sending a shower of silver around her body.

The last chorus approached too quickly. Korra considered making up new verses so that she’d have an excuse to keep Asami in her arms. A different plan took form in her head as she sang the last few words.

“Oh me, oh my, I heard me old wife say, "I wish I'd never taken this excursion around the bay, hey!"

They paused, Asami hovering in the water as Korra caught her breath. Asami realized that Korra’s hand was still on her waist, their fingers still intertwined. She cleared her throat. “So um… are there any more steps?”

A jolt raced through Korra. Her eyes wandered to Asami’s mouth, slightly parted from the dance. “Well… traditionally, after a dance, you… well it’s an option, you don’t have to…”

Asami felt a calm wave against her back, like the sea itself was pushing her closer. “What is it?”

“The uh… dance partners will share a… a kiss.”

Their faces were only inches apart. Asami scoffed playfully. “Oh really? Where is this tradition from?”

“Y-you know,” Korra said feebly, leaning closer. Their noses brushed together. “Here… now…”

Asami closed the distance, pressing her lips to Korra’s. She tasted of salt and sand and rum. Asami moved her hands, entwining her arms behind Korra’s neck. Korra reached around her waist, pulling her closer.

A bright light emanated from the seawater beneath them, but both were too enveloped in each other to notice or care. A few moments later, Asami stiffened. She jerked back, gasping.

Korra frowned at her, searching her suddenly pale face. The sight reminded her of a line from the song,

My wife she got no better, she turned a sickly green…

“Asami? What is it?” Korra’s mind raced. Had she done something wrong? Taken things too far too fast?

Asami wordlessly turned and swam towards land. Korra followed, concerned at her slow pace. Asami usually zipped through the water, propelled by her powerful tail.

When the surface came up to Korra’s knees, Asami rolled over so that she was sitting, the lower half of her body still under the black water. Korra knelt beside her. “Please, Asami, speak to me. Is everything okay?” She looked deep into her eyes, but Asami held up a finger and pointed towards the sea. Korra turned her head.

Where Asami’s tail should have been, two white feet poked above the surface.

#winter atla femslash week #korrasami #korra #asami #lok #pirate/mermaid au #my fic #lok fic #sea shanties #cw: alcohol

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liesyousoldme · 4 years

Text

here’s another WIP eddie month fic! this is over 7k words and contains internalized homophobia including the use of slurs, and addiction to prescription drugs (based entirely on eddie’s addiction in the book). i was going to write an exploration of the issues eddie would’ve had to face had he survived but overall it ended up feeling too dark and i’m just not a dark writer so. on a happier note, stan lives in this au.

They stood in the lobby of the Derry Town House, covered in dirt and water from the quarry and who knows what else. Beverly had gone straight for the bar, pouring each of them a generous glass of whiskey.

The silence was deafening, filling every crevice of the otherwise empty hotel and surrounding the Losers like a heavy blanket. No one knew what to say. Their entire lives had been leading up to this, and now it was done. What comes after the happy ending?

“We need to talk about it,” Beverly said finally, her voice soft but solemn. “We can’t just – I mean…”

“Bev’s right,” Ben said from beside her. She shot him a thankful smile. “I mean, where do we go from here? Back to our lives? The lives where only one of us was even remotely happy?”

Stan almost looked ashamed, as though he should feel guilt for being the only happy one in the group. He still hadn’t told anyone how close he’d come…. How lucky they were that he’d made it here to begin with.

“Are you suggesting a fun little group therapy session?” Richie asked, gulping half his glass in one go, only wincing a little.

“I’m not really the share-my-feelings type,” Eddie frowned. He’d already finished his glass and placed it on the bar, and now stood with his arms crossed over his chest. The bandage on his cheek was no longer stark white; the dirt and water had turned it to a pale brown.

“None of us are,” Ben answered. “That’s the point.”

“You’ve lost me, buddy,” Bill said, then looked astonished that he hadn’t stuttered. “Wait, I’m not….”

“RIP to Stuttering Bill,” Richie said solemnly. Eddie hid a laugh behind his hand. Mike clasped Bill on the shoulder, offering him a sincere smile.

“I think talking is a good idea,” Mike announced.

“No offense, Mike, but you officially are not allowed to have ideas. Particularly ones that involve stealing rituals from other cultures and bullshitting your way through them even though you already know they won’t work. But other ideas, too. All of the ideas. Out of the question.”

Richie raised an eyebrow at Eddie, who seemed unable to stop talking.

“Like, we forgive you and everything, but.” Eddie shrugged.

“What if we shower and then go grab dinner?” Bev suggested. Her face was open, perhaps the most open it had been since they’d arrived in Derry. The others agreed with varying degrees of reluctance, Bev offering her shower to Eddie, and Bill telling Mike he could use the one in his room after he was done.

“You guys coming?”

Eddie startled, realizing everyone but he and Richie were already halfway up the stairs. He glanced awkwardly at Richie, who took the opportunity to raise his glass to his lips and sip very slowly. Eddie rolled his eyes.

“I’m waiting on this one to finish his drink,” Eddie told them, ignoring the Looks he received from his friends. He walked around the bar to put his glass into the small sink, just to seem busy.

“Aw, Eds,” Richie grinned, placing his unfinished whiskey on the bar. “You don’t have to wait for me, I’m a big boy.”

Eddie huffed. “I’m not, I’m just fucking nervous about showering.”

“Uh,” Richie said blankly. “Why?”

“I don’t know, Richie,” he began, anger edging into his voice, the way it sometimes did when he felt particularly anxious. “Maybe it’s because the last time I was in a shower I fucking stabbed a guy with a knife I’d just pulled out of my own fucking face!”

Richie’s eyebrows rose. He began to run a finger along the rim of his glass. “Yeah, that makes some sense.”

“You don’t have to stay down here and babysit me,” Eddie said, when Richie seemed like he was just going to stand there and play with his cup. He stuck a hand deep into the pocket of his jeans until his fingers closed around a small cylindrical bottle. He yanked it out, flicked the cap off, and took out two pills. “Go, shower. I’ll make my way up there eventually.”

Richie ignored him. He eyed Eddie, who picked up Richie’s unfinished whiskey to wash down the pills. Once Eddie had placed the now empty glass into the sink next to his own, Richie spoke. “Did you see Mike and Bill?”

“What?”

“Mike and Bill,” he repeated. “They went into Bill’s room together.”

Eddie’s face didn’t change.

“And did you see that little… You know. The forehead thing.”

“Literally what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Mike and Bill are gay for each other.”

Eddie choked, then coughed. Richie waited patiently. “Another gay joke, Rich? It’s fucking 2016, that’s not fucking funny –“

“I’m not joking!” Richie interrupted, holding his hands up in innocence. “There’s absolutely something happening there. The foreheads!”

“Why do you keep saying the word foreheads –“

“You didn’t see? After we killed It, they fucking – they put their foreheads together!”

Eddie opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.

“Look, like this,” Richie said, moving around the bar to stand in front of Eddie. He grabbed the back of Eddie’s head and pulled, leaning down so their foreheads would touch. He overshot, and Eddie groaned.

“Was that just an excuse to headbutt me?”

“No, look, theirs wasn’t so violent, but look man,” Richie said, and Eddie looked. Their eyes met, so close together, and he could feel every one of Richie’s fingers in his hair. He looked down, unable to hold the eye contact. Richie let go, took a step back. “See? They did that.”

“They were celebrating,” Eddie said, willing his heart to stop pounding.

“Uh, yeah, celebrating their gay love,” Richie answered in a ‘duh’ tone.

“Isn’t it just love, not gay love?”

“When did you become the gay police?”

Eddie sighed, putting his elbows on the counter and letting his head rest in his hands.

“Besides,” Richie continued. “I have the best gaydar ever. Or, like, bi-dar. Is that a thing? Bill’s bi. Have you seen his wife? She’s fucking hot. I dunno about Mike, though. He could be –“

“Just because a guy’s got a wife doesn’t mean he’s not gay,” Eddie interrupted. Richie immediately stopped speaking. Neither said anything, and Eddie didn’t lift his head from his hands.

Eventually, Richie cleared his throat and said, “Are you trying to tell me something, Eds?”

Eddie didn’t say anything, his mind racing. Usually when he was this nervous he couldn’t shut up, but now he felt like he didn’t even know how to talk. He willed the pills sitting in his stomach to kick in.

“Eddie?”

“I don’t know.”

His eyes were closed tightly, palms pressing into the sockets. Maybe he could just pretend Richie wasn’t here and he’d go away.

“You don’t know…” Richie exhaled, looking up at the ceiling. “You don’t know if you’re gay?”

“Wouldn’t that just be fucking hilarious?” Eddie said finally, looking up. His eyes were red. The nervous anger had arrived. “The perfect goddamn punchline!”

“Punchline? What are you –“

“You got married? To a woman?” Eddie mocked Richie’s voice, steadily getting louder. “Not like everybody didn’t already think it when we were kids! Not like I wasn’t the fag and the queer to anybody who saw me! Like I don’t notice the guys at work whispering behind their hands. Like I don’t know my mother-in-law has been telling my wife to leave me for someone who actually likes women for the six years we’ve been together!”

“I didn’t –“ Richie’s breath caught in his throat, his hands shaking at his sides. “Eds, I didn’t –“

“Don’t call me that!” Eddie shrieked.

Richie was surprised none of the others had peeked out their hotel room doors to see what the yelling was about.

“Eddie,” Richie corrected, “I didn’t mean anything by –“

“By the gay jokes?” Eddie finished for him. He was facing away from Richie, clutching the edge of the counter. “No, I’m sure you didn’t. God, fuck this. I’m going to shower.”

“No, Eddie, please,” Richie said, grabbing Eddie’s arm as he walked by. Eddie let him, stopping and sighing, but not making eye contact. “Seriously. Can we talk about it? Like actual adults?”

“Are you capable of adult conversation, Trashmouth?”

The corner of Richie’s lips quirked. “I think we both need it.”

Eddie nodded, still staring straight ahead. Richie released the light grip he had on Eddie’s arm.

“After dinner,” Eddie said, and then headed upstairs.

There was an Applebees in Bangor. It was only a 25 minute drive from the Town House and the alcohol was cheap. Eddie had rattled off his list of allergies to the hostess before they even made it to the table.

“Can that be the first thing we talk about?” Richie asked, gesturing to Eddie.

“You want to talk about Eddie?” Bill asked.

“No, Eddie’s fake allergies,” Richie said. Eddie stared blankly at him.

“My allergies aren’t fake,” he said. His head wasn’t spinning so quickly anymore, he’d calmed down, was even a bit tired. When the waitress took their drink order, he ordered a margarita. Richie’s eyebrows rose at that, but he didn’t say anything.

“Eddie, you know all your medication is fake. Your mom was just bullshitting you –“

“That was – It was just the asthma. The inhaler. Because I have anxiety, I get… Panic attacks, you know. And Ma didn’t know what it was, we thought it was asthma, so I got an inhaler, and it just snowballed, I don’t know –“

“That’s bullshit,” Bev muttered. Eddie glared at her. “Seriously, it’s bullshit. And it’s why I wanted us to all talk.”

“To talk about me?”

“No, all of our bullshit! We all have it! I’ll go first: my husband abused me, and I left my ring at home. Well, not home anymore. Point is, I’m leaving him, and I’m taking control of my company. Because my life has been bullshit. I found someone who treats me exactly the way my dad did. And I didn’t – I didn’t even realize how bad it was until Mike called. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized I deserved better!”

They all watched her speak, cheeks flushed red and eyes wet. Eddie could feel his own eyes watering.

“I just – You guys used to be my best friends. I’ve only made one other friend that I really, truly trust, and she lives across the country from me.”

“We’re still best friends, Bev,” Bill said, looking like he wanted to reach out to her but stopping himself at the last moment.

“Are we?” She asked. She looked at each of them. There were no expectations in her eyes.

“We can be,” Stan said quietly. “Do you guys remember… When we were kids, I asked if we’d all still be friends when we grew up. You all promised me we would. Told me I shouldn’t be so sad. That was the first thing I remembered when I got to Derry.”

“We didn’t mean to forget each other,” Ben said. “If we’d remembered… Things would have been different.”

“We can’t know that,” Stan responded, staring down at the table. “We were thirteen when we were friends. I don’t know about anyone else, but I am not the same person I was at thirteen. We might not even – without a common goal, I mean… Who’s to say we’d even be good together?”

Eddie bit his lip. Honestly, Stan was right. Eddie wasn’t the same person he was at thirteen. They’d grown up. Sometimes friendships aren’t meant to last forever.

“We can keep up with each other’s lives on Facebook or whatever,” Stan continued, “but is that really friendship? Friendship like we used to have?”

No one answered.

“We don’t know each other anymore. We may not be compatible and that’s… That’s okay.”

“Stan,” Beverly cried. The words were familiar from her mouth. “You don’t have to be so sad.”

“Yeah,” Stan answered, nodding but still avoiding eye contact.

“Can it be my turn, now?” Richie asked, pulling the attention from Stan to himself. It seemed a selfish move, but Eddie noticed the short eye contact and nod of thanks from Stanley and felt an aching fondness for Richie Tozier. “My bullshit is that I haven’t been happy since college, I can’t hold down a relationship, I don’t write my own jokes, and I’ve been ignoring my attraction to men for like… 27 years.”

Bill, who had a mouthful of beer, snorted, the amber liquid leaking from his mouth and nose. Everyone laughed, and once Bill had calmed himself, he grinned at Richie.

“Warn a guy, dude,” he said, lifting up his drink. “If anybody else is gonna come out, make sure nobody’s got a drink in their mouth!”

Eddie could feel the eyes on him. He stared down at the napkin in his lap, running his fingers along the edges. He wasn’t sure who was looking at him. Surely Richie. Probably Bill, and likely Bev as well. Stan wouldn’t, he wouldn’t be obvious, wouldn’t want to embarrass Eddie. Ben and Mike were on either side of him, probably aware of how blatant it would be if either of them turned to look at him. But still, they all had to be thinking it. Little sissy queerboy Eddie Kaspbrak.

His chest was beginning to tighten, and he squeezed his eyes closed, trying to shut out the sounds and sights and smells of the restaurant around him. He forced himself to draw in a deep breath, but he became dully aware that a whimper escaped his mouth when the air refused to enter his lungs.

“Excuse me,” he choked out, pushing back in his chair and standing before anyone could answer, not caring as his napkin fell to the dirty floor. He had tunnel vision as he pushed his way down the aisle; the double doors at the front of the restaurant getting closer and closer as his breaths became shorter and shorter. He shoved the doors open once he reached them and tried to breathe in the fresh air once he was outside. It was marginally better than the stuffy air inside the restaurant but his chest still hurt, his lungs still wouldn’t open up.

He spotted a bench and sat on it, trying to force himself to take slower breaths. He jumped when a hand touched his back, but when he looked up it was just Richie, who at some point had sat beside him while he was busy trying to breathe.

“Hey, dude,” Richie said, rubbing small circles on his back. “Just breathe in… Breathe out. Breathe in… Breathe out.”

Eddie did his best to breathe in time with Richie’s voice. They sat like that, Richie’s voice quietly soothing and Eddie’s wheezing quieting with each inhale, for what felt like hours. Eddie knew it hadn’t been, had probably only been a few minutes, but he could feel the heat of Richie’s hand through his shirt, could feel the way their thighs pressed together on the bench, and it made every second last longer than he would’ve wanted.

“You good?” Richie asked. Eddie nodded, too embarrassed to look up. His face tended to get blotchy after a panic attack, and he knew his eyes were probably red. He’d always thought he took on the features of a particularly difficult toddler when he got like this, and he didn’t want to subject Richie to that view. He didn’t want Richie to see him like that. “You wanna get a headstart on that talk?”

Eddie exhaled loudly. “Not particularly.”

“Okay,” Richie agreed easily. Comfortable quiet settled between them and Eddie tried not to think about Richie’s hand, still rubbing circles on his back. “I think we should go to the hospital.”

Eddie lifted his head, alarmed. He knew his eyes were wide, jaw dropped, but he couldn’t help the horrified reaction he had when he heard the word hospital.

“Just – Your cheek. It’s bleeding again. You must have irritated it when you –“

“When I lost my shit?” Eddie suggested, wincing. He pressed a hand against the bandage and could tell it was dampening quickly. “I’ll just grab an Uber and meet you guys at the Inn.”

He was already pulling up his Uber app when Richie nudged his shoulder, grabbing at his phone. “I’m not letting you go to the hospital alone, dude.”

“I’m a grown man, Richie,” he argued, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, and you’re a grown man who’s terrified of hospitals and who I don’t trust not to fuckin’ run away the second he’s by himself.”

Eddie bit his lip and looked away. He hadn’t been thinking about escaping, but now he was imagining stopping for a fast food dinner of his own before sneaking back to the Inn, grabbing his things without anyone noticing he’d returned and taking off in his rental.

“I’m gonna let the others know where we’re going,” Richie said, standing. “Don’t go anywhere. Do I need to confiscate your phone?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie muttered, frowning. He winced as it pulled at his cheek.

Richie didn’t answer, just rushed back into the busy building. Eddie saw there was an Uber two minutes away so he ordered it. The blue car pulled up to the curb just as Richie stepped out of the restaurant.

“This is our car,” he told Richie, pointing. Richie nodded, following him. They sat in the backseat, Eddie said hello to the driver, and then the car fell into silence.

Eddie prodded at the inside of his cheek, wincing at the taste of blood and the feeling of split skin against his tongue. It was starting to hurt again, and he pulled his pill bottle out of his pocket. He flicked off the lid and let a multitude of pills fall into his hand, picking out one of the blue oblong ones and swallowing it dry.

“Didn’t you take some of that like, an hour ago?” Richie asked, not bothering to keep his voice down. Eddie glanced at the driver, who was clearly listening but pretending to pay them no mind.

“I took anxiety meds an hour ago,” Eddie said, stuffing the bottle filled with various pills back in his pocket. “That was a pain pill, for my cheek.”

“Dude, you took two pain pills after it happened,” Richie said warily. “Isn’t there a limit? On like, how much you can take in twelve hours or something?”

“Are you my fucking doctor?” Eddie snapped, glancing out the window.

“Just… looking out for you. What the fuck ever, forgive me for fucking trying.”

Eddie sighed loudly, grimacing at the pain it caused in his cheek.

They sat in silence for the last ten minutes of the ride, and Eddie made sure to tip the driver for not saying anything the entire time. The emergency room wasn’t crowded; it was a weekday evening, and there seemed to be no outbreak of any virus causing hoards of kids to take up the seats of the waiting room. Eddie went to the front desk to check in as Richie flopped into a chair at the edge of the room.

“Half an hour,” he told him, sitting a chair away. Richie gave him an amused look but didn’t comment. “Now that you know I’m not going to run away, you can go.”

Richie rolled his eyes. “I’m not leaving, shithead.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re friends?” Richie said, though it sounded like a question he wanted Eddie to answer.

Eddie shook his head. “Stan was right, Rich. We don’t know each other anymore. I’m a different person than I was at 13.”

“Why does that mean we can’t get to know each other again? We were best friends then, who’s to say we can’t be best friends now?”

My wife, Eddie wanted to say, but bit his tongue.

“It doesn’t work like that,” he said instead. His right knee had started bouncing, so he crossed his foot over his left knee. He wished he could take another Valium, but with the way Richie reacted to his pill bottle in the car he wasn’t going to risk it. Richie didn’t understand that he’d been taking these medications since he was 20, he had to take a little more than most people because his body had built up a bit of a resistance, but it was fine. A lot of people have to up their doses over the years.

“Why are you trying so hard not to be my friend?”

“Why are you trying so hard to be my friend?” Eddie countered. He knew he sounded like a little kid but he couldn’t help it. Richie could irritate him like no one else.

“Because whether you think so or not, I still care about you,” Richie said bluntly. “Sorry if that’s a fucking inconvenience to you, but a space demon making me forget you for half my life isn’t going to change that.”

Eddie laughed against his will. “A space demon?”

“Well, what the fuck else could he have been?!”

“A clown?”

“How many clowns do you know that can shapeshift, Eddie?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, biting his lip to keep from smiling. Fuck this guy, honestly. Nobody irritated him the way Richie Tozier did, but nobody made him laugh quite as easily, either. He hated it. Hated how proud Richie got when Eddie laughed at his jokes, the gleam in his eye as he realized that he’d given Eddie a good chuck.

“Seriously, though,” Richie said, holding eye contact. His glasses had a crack in the corner of the left eye, and Eddie focused on that. “Now that we’ve got each other back we can’t just… Drift apart again. You know I’m not serious often and this is physically paining me to say, but –“

“You’re so dramatic,” Eddie sighed. “Just – it’s not logical. Where do you live? LA, right? I live in New York. We’re literally on opposite sides of the country.”

“Hey, Eds,” Richie whispered loudly. “There’s this new invention, it’s called the internet –“

“Beep beep,” Eddie rolled his eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched.

“I could fuckin FaceTime you daily. I could FaceTime you while on stage, show the whole audience your pretty face!”

“I don’t like that.”

“Fine. Not on stage. From my hotel rooms on tour, though,” he said with a waggle of his brows. Eddie glared at him. He shrugged, letting the conversation end. Eddie stared at his foot, crossed over his knee. It was shaking midair. He wasn’t nervous about the stitches, though he wasn’t exactly thrilled about it either, so why did he feel like he was vibrating out of his skin? Like a fist had grabbed his heart and was squeezing and –

He shuddered. Okay, bad metaphor.

But he was nervous. Past nervous. Anxious. It didn’t feel like he’d taken his anxiety pills at all. Richie’s words kept running through his head, telling him how they could be friends now.

He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about FaceTiming Richie or whether they’d all be friends after this because he was resolutely not thinking about After This. He refused to think about the wife he had waiting for him in Queens, who had sent him over a hundred texts since he’d left. His phone had been on do not disturb for a while now – there was no telling how many times she’d called. She’d probably called all his work friends, too, asking where he was. He hated to think what their answers would be.

The work friends that invited him to the bars and then pointed out guys for him, laughing the whole time. The work friends who, when referring to Myra, made sure to add finger quotes over the word “wife”. The work friends who had asked the exact same question Richie had when he’d first started: You’re married? To a woman?

They’d probably tell Myra he was off with some male lover for a vacation, that he’d run away to be with some guy he’d met online, that he went to meet up with an old childhood friend who had always been more than a friend.

Each thought made him more nauseous than the last.

“All patched up?”

Eddie nodded, his prescription clutched tightly in his hand.

“What’s that for?” Richie asked, glancing down at the white paper.

“Prescription,” he said, breathing in deeply as they stepped outside. He noticed Richie on his own phone, calling a car.

“For?”

“Can you get off my dick about medication?” Eddie snapped, heart racing. He wasn’t even sure why he cared so much, why it made him so nervous that Richie seemed so interested in what pills he was taking.

“So it’s more pain meds,” Richie said, ignoring the outburst. “On top of the pain pills that you already happened to have. For what, exactly?”

“None of your fucking business, Richie,” he said. “If you’re trying to convince me to be your friend, you’re doing a really shitty job of it.”

“I think I’m probably doing a better job of being your friend than anyone you’ve been friends with in the last 27 years.”

Eddie turned to him, eyebrows raised. “And why is that?”

“Because whatever assholes you’re friends with now apparently aren’t doing anything about the fact that you take pills with alcohol, or that you have a bottle filled with who-fucking-knows-what in your pocket.”

Eddie didn’t know what to say. Luckily, a black car stopped in front of them and without saying a word, Richie walked to it and got inside. Eddie followed, and they sat in silence again. It was past midnight by the time they returned to the Inn, and when they stepped inside the lobby was empty.

Ignoring Richie’s presence at his side, Eddie began to walk toward the stairs, stopping on the first step when Richie said his name.

“I thought we were gonna talk,” he said.

“Are you kidding?”

“Eddie, come on, man.”

Eddie walked back to Richie, eyes narrowed. “You want me to open up to you after you accused me of – of – fucking… Whatever!?”

“I’m not accusing you of anything, Eds,” Richie said quietly. He was looking directly into Eddie’s eyes. It felt like too much, and Eddie looked down at the floor. “I just wanted to make sure you’re being safe and taking care of yourself.”

“It’s not any of your concern,” Eddie answered after a moment. Somehow they were standing in each other’s space; he could feel Richie’s body heat, was looking at Richie’s shoes as he stared downward.

“I care about you, Eds,” Richie stressed before taking a large step back. “We all do. Even if you don’t talk to me, talk to one of us, please.”

His face felt hot. He closed his eyes tightly against tears that threatened to fall, let his hands ball up into fists.

“Eddie, what’s wrong?” Richie pleaded.

He broke. One hand flew up to cover his mouth, trying to hide the sob that escaped his throat. He could hear Richie moving closer, feel his arms wrap around him and lead them to the couch. He tried to wipe his tears before they reached the bandage on his cheek, but they were coming too quickly. Richie was saying his name but it felt like he was underwater, like a barrier was keeping him from hearing clearly. He sucked in a deep breath and cried harder when his chest burned. He didn’t know what was happening around him, too focused on breathing through his mouth instead of his nose, which had stuffed up since the tears had started coming.

It took a long time for him to calm down. His mind raced with thoughts of Myra and the messages waiting for him on his phone. The dread he felt like a weight in his stomach at the notion of seeing her again, of having to explain why he left, where he’d been, what had happened to his face. He thought about work and the office filled with people he hated, and wondered why he’d spent the last three years pretending to like them. He thought about the way his mind had kept wandering the entire time he’d been in Derry, and how it reminded him of being a kid. He hadn’t been so aware of it when he was a kid, just how much he thought about Richie, but as an adult it was hard to miss. The sign at the pharmacy had large lettering and he thought about how Richie would be able to read it without his glasses. He saw a police car drive by and thought about Richie’s Irish Cop Voice from when they were kids. He saw the way Ben and Beverly looked at each other and he thought about what it would feel like to have Richie’s eyes on him like that. He saw them kiss underwater in the quarry and wondered what Richie’s lips would taste like.

He thought about his mom, how she’d always made comments about how dirty Richie was, and how he was going to get Eddie dirty, too. If only she’d known that it was the other way around. Even if he hadn’t realized it at the time, he knew his crush on Richie began when they were kids. He could remember that urge to always be near him, to always be touching him somehow, to be the one to make him laugh. And being hit with those feelings again now was sickening. He had a wife.

He had a wife that he didn’t love.

How did he not realize that you shouldn’t dread going home to the person you love? How did he ignore the way his mind drifted during sex? How did he convince himself just as much as her that the reason he couldn’t perform was because of his medications? It felt so obvious now, in Derry, that he’d never felt anything but resignation about his marriage. Of course this is who he would end up with. He needed someone to take care of him, someone to make sure he took all his medication, to make sure his inhaler was always filled, to remind him that chewing gum made his jaw pain worse, to make sure he remembered his jacket on chilly mornings and his boots on rainy days. He needed someone to keep him safe, secure, secluded, sedated.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the years he’d wasted; first, the years spent staying by his mother’s side, coming back after he’d left because the guilt was so heavy. Then, those years between her death and meeting Myra, that he’d holed up in a one-bedroom apartment and focused on nothing but his job, being the most efficient risk analyst there was, taking his pills every day and using his inhaler and not letting anyone close. And finally, the years with Myra. From their third date she’d sunk her claws into him and poisoned him with loving kindness. She’d trapped him with medication reminders and rides to each of his doctor’s appointments and weekly pickups from the pharmacy. She’d chained him with understanding and sympathy.

He couldn’t go back. He knew he couldn’t, and he knew that was why his chest had been so tight since the end. He hadn’t expected to survive. When he left Myra, he’d left with the knowledge that he would never return. He had assumed he would never return because he’d be dead, but now… Now he had a choice. He could crawl back home with his tail between his legs, and Myra would make sure he took his pain pills every four hours and his anxiety pills every six. She’d make sure he got his sleeping pill half an hour before bed and his heartburn pill half an hour before dinner. She’d pick up a new inhaler from the pharmacy and cook his favorite meals and cry when he couldn’t answer her questions.

Or.

What would he even do? He had a job, he had a home. Where would he go? Would he have to rent another one-bedroom? Slowly slip back into that lonely existence where nothing happened between work and home?

He hadn’t realized Richie’s arms were wrapped around him until he finally breathed in without a sharp pain racing through his chest. He wasn’t sure how long it had been, but Richie was just silently holding him, hand occasionally running up and down his back. They were rocking back and forth a little.

He brought his hands up to his face, reaching over Richie’s arms, and wiped his tears, grimacing at the moisture that had collected in his bandage. He’d need to replace it before he went to sleep. He began to sit up, pushing against Richie’s chest where his head had fallen, and Richie released his arms. He was surprised to see red-rimmed eyes behind thick glasses.

“You okay?” Richie whispered. No one was around, and Eddie was sure the others were all upstairs asleep, but somehow they both recognized this would be easier to talk about in hushed voices.

“Not really,” he admitted, sniffling. He wasn’t as aware of their closeness now, like his body had gotten used to the feeling of Richie and had decided it was good, that he didn’t need to focus so much on every place they touched. “We can have that talk now.”

“Do you remember when we’d have sleepovers?” Richie asked, though he didn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “We used to have these deep conversations at like, one in the morning, about the future and what we wanted to do and who we wanted to be…”

“At least it worked out for one of us,” Eddie managed, sending Richie a sad smile.

“Maybe career-wise,” Richie shrugged. “Although after the way I bolted offstage I don’t know that I even have that anymore. But I’m not happy. I wanted to get married and have a dog and a cool apartment in the middle of a city with a big wall of windows. Do you remember that? And you wanted a big house with a pool in the backyard and a cat who had a litterbox that never smelled bad.”

Eddie snorted at the memory. “Maybe they’ve come up with the technology for that by now.”

“So no cat?”

“No,” Eddie sighed. “Allergies.”

Richie frowned. Before he could say anything Eddie put a hand up. “Yeah, I know. But I spent the last twenty-something years believing… I mean…”

“I know,” Richie said.

“You know how much medication I take every day?” Eddie asked suddenly, sitting up. “I take Valium every 4 hours as needed, but of course my chest is tight all the time and I always feel nervous so I usually take it every time. I take it so often it doesn’t even make me tired anymore. Then I take a pain pill every six hours because I have a TMJ disorder that makes my jaw hurt, and the pain goes all the way up to my temple and behind my ear and down the back of my neck. And I have to take heartburn pills before I eat, a sleeping pill before I sleep. I take an allergy pill after dinner, I use my inhaler constantly, I take seven different vitamins daily…”

Richie opened his mouth to say something but closed it, looking at Eddie with his own painful expression.

“I don’t want you to – to feel sorry for me, okay? I get enough of that from my wife. I’m not some poor delicate weak damsel in distress who needs protecting, even though that’s what I’ve thought for the last 27 years, and all 13 years minus a few months before that.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” Richie corrected. “And I don’t think you’re weak. In fact, you may recall me telling you just how brave I think you are. But now that you know you don’t need all that stuff…”

“But I do, that’s the point!”

“What?”

“Maybe I don’t need to be waited on hand and foot but I’m still anxious as fuck all the time. I still hurt. I still can’t fall asleep on my own. It’s like my mother willed me into actual sickness, into needing to take all these pills every day.”

“Fuck that,” Richie said, voice increasing in volume. “Seriously. Your mom was an awful person but she’s fucking dead and she can’t control you anymore. You’ve just gotta… I dunno man, go to therapy, stop taking so many Valium, dude, seriously, and get the fuck away from your wife. Maybe your life is never gonna be perfect, and you’ll never be the pinnacle of health, but you can be happy. At least happier than you are now.”

“I’m not happy at all now,” Eddie admitted, biting his lip. “I don’t know if I even know what happiness feels like.”

“I thought I didn’t,” Richie told him. “When I came back to Derry, I realized how empty I’d been for so long without realizing it. I tried to think back to when I was younger, after college, and I realized I wasn’t even happy when I was with Sandy. That was probably the best part of my adult life and even then I was only okay. But the more I remembered that summer, the years before that summer when it was just you, me, Bill, and Stan… I was happy then. I think you were, too. Maybe not all the time, because your mom fucking sucked, but… When it was just us, we were all happy. That’s why I –“

Eddie swallowed thickly. “That’s why you want us to be friends again so badly.”

Richie nodded, wiping beneath his eyes. “I just remember how much I loved you guys, how happy I was with you, and I know we can be like that again.”

Eddie didn’t answer for a moment. He turned his head, looked around the empty hotel lobby and listened to the sound of Richie’s breathing. Finally, he looked straight into bright blue eyes.

“Do you think I should get a divorce?”

Richie made a noise, something between a laugh and a sob, before he spoke. “That’s not up to me, Eds. If you’re – if you –“

“If I’m gay?” Eddie’s voice was barely audible.

“Yeah,” Richie whispered back. “If you are, then… It’s not really fair to either of you. To stay together, I mean. But it’s your choice. I can’t make the decision for you.”

“Do you…” he looked down, unable to see Richie’s reaction to the question. His heart pounded with nerves. “Do you want me to get a divorce?”

It was quiet apart from Richie’s labored breathing. Eddie kept staring at their laps.

“Sorry,” Eddie said. “I shouldn’t have…”

“What I want doesn’t matter, Eds,” Richie answered finally. Eddie wasn’t sure if he’d understood all that Eddie was asking. Eddie wasn’t even sure what he was asking. What would he have done if Richie had said yes? That wouldn’t necessarily mean anything about how he feels for Eddie. It would just mean he wants what’s best for his friend. Besides, Eddie wouldn’t even… If he does get a divorce, if that was what Richie wanted… He doesn’t know if he’d even be able to –

To what? To be in a relationship with Richie? To love him out loud, for anyone to see? Just the thought made him want to run up the stairs, crawl into the bed and never come back out. He couldn’t think about it, maybe one day he would be ready to consider being with a man, but he wasn’t there yet. He couldn’t even imagine the concept of being with a man that wasn’t Richie. Sure, he found others attractive, was attracted to them, but… How was he supposed to fall in love with one when Richie was right there? When he knew Richie existed?

“I guess I have a lot to think about,” Eddie finally said, looking back up at Richie. He looked tired, bruises beneath his eyes, glasses slipping down his nose. His hair was messy, evidence of how much he’d run his hands through it since his shower before dinner. His lips were red, like he’d been biting them throughout the conversation, like he’d been uncomfortable. But he nodded at him, stood up, and offered a hand out to Eddie. He took it, muttered, “thanks,” and followed Richie up the stairs. They said a quick and quiet goodnight and when Eddie entered his room he placed his prescription on the bedside table and went to the bathroom to replace his bandage. He noticed someone had cleaned up the blood from Bowers’ attack, though there still was no curtain in his shower. He sent a silent thanks to whichever of his friends had been there before he quickly replaced his bandage. He grabbed a t-shirt from his suitcase, kicking his jeans off and changing tops. His suitcases sat open on the floor, everything inside folded neatly and placed perfectly. He stared at the endless pill bottles in his toiletries bag and felt sick. His sleeping pill was the third from the right. His allergy pill was to the left of that. It wasn’t time for a pain pill yet, the first bottle in the long line, but normally he would take it anyway since he’d be sleeping when the four-hour mark passed.

He ignored them all, closed the suitcase, and crawled into bed.

He stared at the wall for two hours. Finally, fighting tears, he got back out of bed and reached into his bag. He grabbed the third bottle from the right, popped off the lid, and dry swallowed one tablet. Then he picked up another bottle, the first on the left, and shook two pills out into his hand. He swallowed those, too. With a heavy heart, he placed his head back on the pillow and fell asleep.

#eddie month

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madasthesea · 5 years

Text

AU: Platonic Soulmates

(Warning: blood)

Tony sighs heavily, absently scratching at his wrist. The nanotech is fighting him tonight—everything he tries ending in another failure. He should probably just call it quits and go to bed, really. Pepper’s almost certainly already asleep, having long since given up on him.

Tony scratches his wrist again. Sleep doesn’t sound so bad, actually. Better than the frustration he’s currently experiencing.

Running his fingers through his hair, Tony reaches out to the holo-table, ready to turn it off. Out of habit, he glances at his hand.

The name wrapping around his wrist in royal blue ink had been jarring for the first few months. He would catch it out of the corner of his eye and flinch or forget it was there. Now it’s comforting, though, familiar. Just like the kid that it designated as his soulmate.

In the dim light, it takes a second to register that the color isn’t as strong as it should be, not as bright and solid.

Tony’s stomach drops and then he’s scrambling through the lab, nearly tripping on his stool as he flings himself toward the door.

“FRIDAY, call Peter, push it through. Give me a suit, now,” he gasps. Now, an hour ago, yesterday. How long had he sat there fruitlessly staring at nanobots while Peter had been...?

“Call connected,” FRIDAY announces just as one of the Iron Man suits closes around Tony. He hopes it’s his fastest one.

“Peter?” Tony snaps.

Silence. Tony strains his ears.

“FRI?” he asks, his voice breaking.

“The call is connected, boss.”.

“Peter, buddy, please.” Peter doesn’t answer, and, worse, Tony can’t even hear his breathing.

He can’t see the mark on his wrist while he’s in the suit, but he can feel it, itching and burning and demanding attention.

“What are his vitals?” Tony whispers, zooming over the New York skyline toward the blinking red dot of Peter’s tracker.

“His AI is malfunctioning, I can only get a heartrate. Forty-two beats per minute and slowing.”

So he is alive. Alive and bleeding out, probably in some dingy alley: The life leaching from him just like the color leaching from Tony’s soulmark.

When your soulmate dies the mark goes white. Like a scar. Never to recover.

“Full power to thrusters,” Tony chokes out. “And prep the Medbay or, or an ambulance, or... something. Anything.”

He’s closing in fast. He doesn’t bother slowing down, just crash lands, skidding into a dumpster and sending rats skittering. This is where his kid is, injured and unconscious and dying.

Tony claws at the suit until it opens, falling out gracelessly. He scrambles to the side of the prone figure, ignoring the sticky pool of hot liquid he kneels in. With shaking hands, Tony grasps Peter’s face, turning it toward him. In the dim lamplight, barely reaching the dark recesses of the alley Tony can see the blue around his wrist fading, practically flickering like a weak heartbeat. Like Peter’s heartbeat.

Peter doesn’t even groan, his eyelids don’t even flutter.

“Ambulance, FRIDAY.” The kid wouldn’t survive the flight back to the tower Medbay. He might not even survive the wait for the ambulance.

Tony’s heart is imploding. His vision is fading in and out. He can’t... he can’t...

By sheer instinct from years of running around with the Avengers, Tony finds his hands applying pressure to the gaping wound in Peter’s thigh. It’s deep and wide, but he thinks that by some miracle the femoral artery must have stayed intact, simply by virtue of the fact that Peter isn’t dead yet.

“Peter,” Tony says loudly, putting his entire body weight on the wound. He doesn’t have a belt on or he would do a tourniquet, and he won’t leave Peter long enough to find a suitable replacement.

“Peter,” Tony practically shouts. He presses down hard, almost purposefully digging into the wound just to get some reaction. Finally, finally, Peter whines in the back of his throat, his eyebrows beetling.

“Kid? Kid, you with me?” Peter doesn’t answer, but his face stays creased in pain. As much as Tony hates it, it’s better than the pale lifelessness of before.

“I don’t know if you can hear me, Pete, but you are not allowed to die. Do you understand? You can’t do that to me. You can’t.”

A siren pierces the quiet and tears of relief spring to Tony’s eyes.

“Ok, kiddo, just a little longer,” he murmurs. “Please, buddy, hold on for me.”

The medics arrived in a blur of red lights and shouted questions. They load Peter into the ambulance and Tony scrambles in with him. He sits at Peter’s feet, because that’s the only place an EMT doesn’t need to be. Aching to touch him, to feel that Peter actually is there, getting the help he so desperately needs, Tony reaches out his hand and wraps it around Peter’s ankle.

His soulmark is hard to see through the blood coating him nearly up to his elbows.

In the back of his mind, Tony remembers reading somewhere that the only thing worse than losing your child was losing your soulmate.

How can Tony survive losing both?

Tony sits with Pepper in the waiting room and watches his mark like it was the only thing in the world that matters. Maybe it is.

He cleaned himself up once he got to the hospital and had been forced away from Peter, but the knees of his jeans are stained rust brown and there are streaks of blood on his t-shirt. Pepper had blanched when she’s seen him, but Tony hadn’t managed to force out any words of comfort.

May bursts into the waiting room eventually, looking frantic. Pepper goes to talk with her. Tony’s sitting with his head in his hands, but when they both come over, May reaches out and tugs his right hand into hers. Tony squeezes his eyes shut. She isn’t just offering comfort, she’s checking his mark. It’s the only source of news they’ll have until Peter’s surgery is done.

After a long moment, Tony looks up and meets May’s gaze. Her eyes are red, but she looks stalwartly back at him. On her neck, just above her collarbone, is her own soulmark, Benjamin Parker written in a cramped, messy hand. The letters are white now, like a scar. Like spider webs.

Tony decides then and there that he would rather cut his own hand off than have to face the reminder of losing the most important person in his life every single day.

For so long, Tony had thought he didn’t have a soulmate. If it wasn’t Pepper—or, heck, even Rhodey—it wasn’t anyone. And then the Accords fiasco had happened and he’d found himself sitting in a teenager’s room, clapping him on the shoulder and asking if he’d ever been to Germany.

Soulmarks appeared the first time you touched each other. Tony had felt the burning under the skin of his wrist and done his best to ignore it, grateful his jacket sleeve covered the skin. As soon as he’d left, however, he’d yanked up the fabric to see Peter Parker curving around his wrist like a bracelet in childish handwriting.

He didn’t tell anyone for months. In fact, he did his best to pretend it hadn’t happened. How do you casually say, “Hey, I met my soulmate that I didn’t think I had and, by the way, it’s a fourteen-year-old boy that I made fight Captain America?”

Pepper had been the first person to find out, after they got back together. Tony had tried to brush it off, but she had taken his face in her hands and looked at him for a long time before saying, “I don’t think the universe gets these kinds of things wrong, Tony.”

He’d disagreed, then. In fact, it had taken Peter almost dying (again) for him to wake up. He’d been standing in sickened horror as medics had cut away the Spider-Man suit so they could stitch up a gushing knife wound. And there on his chest, in the exact same place the arc reactor scar was on Tony, was Anthony Stark in blazing red.

It’d been a lot harder to deny after that. He’d sat Peter down and had a very short, awkward, and probably insufficient talk with him about it and somewhere between then and now, Tony realized that the universe had known exactly what it was doing when it decided that Peter Parker and Tony Stark were meant for each other.

Peter is... Peter is everything. He’s his lab partner, his best friend, his hero, his son all in one. He makes Tony more himself than he had ever been, than he had known how to be. He learned that he liked waking up early to dumb texts about people on the subway, he learned he preferred home cooked meals to ordering out, he learned that he liked to teach. He learned a new definition for ‘home,’ and it’s almost entirely centered on Peter’s laugh and the way his eyes look in late afternoon sunlight.

What he wouldn’t give to be there right now, he thinks. If he could click his heels three times and go home, he would be curled up with Peter’s head on his shoulder and Pepper’s feet in his lap and a single blanket draped over all three of them.

As it is, all he can do is stare at his wrist and pray for that familiar royal blue, that beautiful blue, to grow stronger.

It gets paler instead. The blue creeps away from the edges, fading and fading until it is suddenly, brutally gone.

May’s hand is crushingly tight around his.

“No,” Tony breathes, and it’s the only thing he can do, the only word he can think. No. No, no, no nononono.

It hurts. It aches all the way down to his bones and the stabbing, burning pain emanating from his wrist straight to his heart is so sharp Tony cries out.

The blue jolts back and disappears, leaving nothing but thin, gossamer script. It looks so much like spider webs Tony would laugh if he could manage it around the piercing, ripping agony.

He has never thought too much about soulmates, but now he wonders how literal that word is. Are they one spirit in two bodies? Is Tony’s soul, right now, being shredded, torn asunder? It feels like it.

The words light up blue again, flicker, and die.

Tony’s going to vomit.

They’re shocking his kid. His Peter. Trying to restart his heart. Trying to bring him back to life.

The blue fizzes back into existence and this time, this time, it stays that way.

May sobs in relief next to him, unclenching her fingers from around Tony’s so she can lift it to her face and cry.

Pepper, kneeling next to him unnoticed for the last two minutes, yanks Tony up and guides him to a garbage can just in time for Tony to make good on his promise and cough up bile.

A nurse comes and checks on him after that, but Tony ignores her, barely registering her murmur of, “His soulmate? Oh, that can cause very visceral reactions,” as if there was something quantifiable, something normal about having your world balanced on the precipice of complete and utter destruction.

It takes them four hours to finish Peter’s surgery, another hour before he’s in a room. They almost stop Tony from going in, spouting that “family only” line Tony has heard so many times, but Tony’s at the end of his rope, so he just shoves his wrist in the RN’s face, who nods and bashfully steps aside.

Tony collapses in the chair by Peter’s bed, feeling like he’d just run up Mount Everest. He reaches up and takes Peter’s hand. The name around his wrist is a dark, stunning blue. For the first time all night, Tony can breathe.

When Peter wakes up, Tony’s at his side.

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony whispers as Peter scrunches his eyes closed, his nose wrinkling up.

“Tony,” Peter slurs, turning his head toward the sound.

“Right here.” He stands and puts his hand on the center of Peter’s chest, right over his soulmark.

Peter hums, smiling dopily, his eyes still closed. “’Is you.”

Peter’s hand comes up and wraps around Tony’s wrist, his fingers covering his own name on Tony’s skin. As always, a small rush of warmth accompanies the touch.

Tony laughs lightly. “You could see that if you opened your eyes, buddy.”

Peter makes an unhappy noise, but slowly opens his eyes.

“Hi,” he says.

Tony snorts. “Hey, kid. Good to see those eyes open.”

Peter grimaces. He looks around the room, frowning.

“How’d you know?” He asks suddenly, sounding slightly more lucid. “I... the suit was damaged. I passed out before I could call.”

Sighing, Tony sits on the edge of Peter’s bed. He gently adjusts Peter’s grip on his arm so that his mark is showing.

“Luckily, I have a very reliable alarm bell, right here.”

“Oh.” Peter runs his thumb over name again. “It was that bad?”

Tony’s stomach clenches, remember the feeling of desolation as he’d sat in the waiting room, watching as Peter flatlined.

“It was pretty bad,” Tony agrees. “In fact, I uh, had to blow our cover a bit. They wouldn’t let me in until I showed them my wrist.”

It is, technically, a secret. If Tony’s going out, he always wears a watch or suit jacket to cover the mark, knowing a single paparazzi shot is all it would take to change Peter’s life forever.

Peter bites his lip. “Think it’ll be a problem?” he asks, his voice small.

“Nah,” Tony says, leaning forward so he can brush Peter’s hair off his forehead. “Plenty of parents have their kid as their soulmate.”

Peter smiles, that smile that means home to Tony more than any building or city. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Nothing new.”

#Irondad and Spiderson #Tony Stark #Peter Parker #MCU #brotp: speaking of loyalty #my writing #fic #imagine this AU in IW y'all #and then Endgame #oof #and even in a Tony lives AU where he loses his arms it'd be sad cause then his mark would be gone #and Peter would feel even more like he doesn't belong anymore #Irondad Bingo

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aster-aspera · 3 years

Text

Seemed the Better Way

CW's for this chapter: major character death, unsympathetic sides, violence, murder

If you're uncomfortable with any of this, feel free to skip this chapter. This chapter isn’t part of the main story in my superhero AU and isn’t connected to the other chapters.

Relationships: romantic LAMP/DLAMP

The idea for this chapter was given to me by the lovely MizzMarvel on ao3

Chapter title is from 'It seemed the better way' by Leonard Cohen

Masterlist

“V? Virgil? Come on, wake up.” Roman pleaded as Patton cradled Virgil against his chest.

Blood, so much blood was spilling over Roman’s hands, onto the dirty concrete under them.

Logan sat a little distance away, his face a blank slate, his eyes staring past the blood and pain into something only he could see.

Patton sobbed and pressed his face into Virgil hair matted with sweat and blood.

“Come back to us.” He whispered around the tears.

But Virgil didn’t stir, he just stayed there, his chest ripped open, his eyes unseeing.

Roman screamed, a scream filled with agony and loss and Patton felt it echoed in his chest.

This couldn’t be real, not Virgil. Not the strongest, fastest, most experienced of the group. The one who always knew what to do, who had taught Patton how to fight, how to run over rooftops. He couldn’t be so small, so empty. He couldn’t just give up like this, he had survived so many impossible things before, he had to survive this. The duke couldn’t take this from them too.

“I’m going to kill him.” Logan said, his voice flat and robotic, not a trace of human emotion.

“What? You can’t.” Roman protested, his voice wavering.

“He’s taken enough from me. This is the last time.”

“Seriously!” Roman yelled. “Virgil’s just… He just… And you’re already…?” Roman broke off with a choked sob.

“Logan.” Patton tried, but he didn’t know what he wanted to say. Did he really want to stop Logan anymore? Had it been any other day, Patton wouldn’t even have hesitated to stop him but now, with his lover’s body cooling in his arms, what did those rules even mean anymore? The duke had no regard for them. What was the point of following them if this was the price?

“Don’t, Patton.” Logan snapped.

Patton looked around, at the chains on the wall, the instruments that he didn’t want to examine too closely, at the blood pooling at his knees and finally at the fine boned face of his lover. He thought of the fear, the pain he knew Virgil must have felt.

Grief threatened to pull him under, to drown him in her dark, choking waves.

They had been too late, always too late. And the duke had beaten them again, taken the light from their lives yet again. It wasn’t enough that he had killed Logan’s parents, that he had ruined Roman’s life, he wouldn’t rest till he had taken everything good and happy and wholesome from them.

Well, if that was the case, then Patton wouldn’t have mercy anymore. Nobody hurts his family.

“I’m coming with you.” He snarled, anger so unfamiliar to him coursing through his veins.

Emotion broke through Logan’s façade at that, surprise and pain.

“Patton.” He whispered brokenly.

“Save it, you’re right Logan. I’m done with letting him hurt people.”

Patton looked at Roman.

“Roman?” He asked.

Roman stared at the floor, debating with himself.

“Can we bury him first?” He whispered.

Logan finally softened and wrapped his arms around him.

The three heroes sat in the darkening warehouse with their grief.

Roman should feel something, anything at all.

His brother had killed Virgil, his own brother had killed him.

It kept repeating through his head, all through the funeral and night afterwards, while Patton and Logan started planning.

Shouldn’t he be angry or sad? Shouldn’t he feel something? It was all just static, just a fuzzy blur of words and the memories of finding Virgil in that warehouse playing in a loop.

They were going to kill his brother and Roman couldn’t find it in himself to care anymore.

It was over, Roman had tried long enough, his brother was lost to him now.

He watched as Remus smiled at them, made a comment about Virgil. He watched as Patton took out the guards, this time not just blowing out kneecaps.

Roman sidestepped a charging guard and stabbed a knife into his guts. They took down the guards with a scary efficiency, their ruthlessness unexpected.

Remus turned tail and tried to flee and Patton shot two bullets into his legs. He went down with a pained cry.

He smiled up at them as they gathered around him.

“You won’t kill me.” He panted.

Roman looked at his brother, lying there on the ground, still so sure of his victory For the first time, when Roman looked at him, he didn’t see all the memories. The memories of the orphanage, of his brother protecting him, of sneaking out at night to go to the city. He didn’t see the person he had tried to save, the person he had convinced himself was still somewhere deep inside his brother.

He just saw what he really was, a murderer, a criminal. Someone who would never stop hurting and destroying. Roman had enabled him long enough. It was time for it to end.

He nodded at Logan.

Remus’s eyes widened as Logan lifted his dagger and slipped it neatly between his ribs.

Logan squared his shoulders against the rain beating down and the cold curling into his jacket. He clenched the flowers in his hand so tightly the stems had bent.

The graveyard was empty, nobody willing to brave the rain for a few corpses.

He breathed a sigh of relief, the last thing he wanted right now were random onlookers. With their annoying sympathy and their curiosity.

He knelt at the small grave in the corner of the graveyard. He laid the flowers down on the cold, wet marble and traced the letters on the headstone.

“I am the soft stars that shine at night.” It read.

Patton had picked it out.

Such a pretty lie. It was tempting to imagine Virgil looking down on them when he stared at the stars at night. To recognize the sparkling of his eyes in celestial bodies billions of lightyears away.

Logan wished he could believe it true.

“I’m sorry, my love.” He repeated the phrase he had uttered every time he visited the grave. An apology, for being too late, for not being able to save him, for not stopping the villains who had so cruelly ripped his lover away from him.

He had had so many chances, so many opportunities to strike, to end the fight once and for all. And yet he had never been strong enough to do it. Even after he had found his parents in a puddle of their own blood, even after all the atrocities the monsters in this city had committed, he had never broken that golden rule. And this was the result: a cold grave, a snippet of a poem, a cold space in their bed.

He would not be so merciful again. The duke might be gone but the city contained other monsters. Monsters who had taken lovers and brothers and children from other people. He knew more than anyone what that grief felt like and he felt disgusted with the fact that he had let them continue inflicting it. As a hero, wasn’t it his job to protect those people, no matter the cost?

The news broadcast from yesterday flashed through his head. The city rejoicing over the death of the duke. But a note of fear had tainted the celebrations. Were their heroes to be trusted if they could kill so ruthlessly? What separated them from the villains?

Logan found the whole debate ridiculous. The duke was gone and heroes had finally had the guts to stand up to the vile villains that infested their city. Why would the citizens fear them? They were on the good side.

They were going to take down all the people who had hurt and killed and destroyed, regardless of what the people thought. They would be grateful one day.

He walked out of the graveyard, throwing the old flowers in a trash can by the gate.

Janus ran. Ran from the people who were supposed to protect the city. He had looked up to them once, admired them. They brought light into the dark streets, beat out the shadows. Now they were nothing more than dark, washed out versions of themselves.

Whatever had happened to the purple hero must have been terrible. Janus ached for him, wished he’d known the duke’s plans, had found a way to prevent this happening.

The city was falling. With the heroes killing indiscriminately, people were terrified. This would only end in tragedy for everyone. And right now, that tragedy seemed awfully close for Janus.

A shot rang out and a sharp pain exploded in his leg. The light blue hero certainly knew how to aim Janus thought detachedly as the heroes gathered around him.

Sharp fear shot through him. He wasn’t going to get out of this one. He could expect no mercy from these heroes.

“It’s over, snake.” The red one snarled.

“If you do this, the city will burn. Can’t you see you’re destroying it?” He knew it would get him nowhere, but he had to try. As it was, he was the last one standing between these heroes and innocent civilians. Janus had long lost the hope that they would stop at just killing all the criminals.

“We are saving it.” Logos snapped.

“You are no heroes, not anymore.” Janus panted.

“And what would you know about that?” The light blue one asked, pointing his gun at Janus’s head.

“More than you apparently, you can’t save people by killing them.”

The hero paid him no mind and tightened his grip on the trigger.

Janus’s breath hitched.

God, he didn’t want to die. Not yet, not like this.

“Please, just think about what you’re doing.” He begged, staring into that bright blue domino mask, hoping to find a glimpse of humanity.

The gun went off.

Logan stared at the monitors flashing warning signs at him.

“What’s going on?” Roman asked him from where he was draped sideways on the office chair.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, that’s a first.” Roman laughed.

“Ro, don’t be mean.” Patton chastised.

“These readings look similar to Vortex’s teleporting abilities, but I’ve never seen them at this magnitude before.”

“Didn’t we take care of Vortex months ago?” Roman asked, joining him at the monitor.

“It’s unlikely it’s Vortex. It seems unlikely they would magically come back to life and even then, they wouldn’t be able to produce readings of this scale.”

“I guess we’ll have to go check it out.” Patton sighed.

“Shame, I was looking forward to movie night.” Roman sighed.

“There will be enough time for that later.” Logan consoled his boyfriend with a kiss.

They suited up and headed out into the quiet city.

In the alleyway the readings had originated from, five figures argued among themselves.

“I told you we shouldn’t have trusted them.” One griped.

“Well, sorry for trying to save the goddam city.” A familiar voice replied.

Logan couldn’t see them properly, but there was something very familiar about them. He strained to make out their faces in the gloom.

Then, a voice he had thought he would never hear again broke through the arguing. A voice that made his heart beat with happiness and his chest swell with grief.

“Guys, stop arguing, it’s not going to get us anywhere. Lo, do you have any idea what that was?” Virgil’s voice asked as he stepped out of the shadows into the pale light of a distant streetlight.

Next to Logan, Patton’s breath hitched and Roman shifted forward.

He looked the same as the last time Logan had seen him, before the duke had gotten his hands on him, his body all tense and wary lines, his eyes scanning the area, looking for threats. Not that empty, lifeless husk that was all that was left after the Duke was through with him.

I took all of Logan’s willpower not to surge forward and wrap his lost lover in his arms. One of the other figures stepped into the light too, tapping away at a screen. Patton gasped, and when the figure looked up, Logan realized why. That was the face he saw in the mirror every day. The figure was him. But how?

“What the hell?” Roman muttered as someone who looked exactly like him stepped into the light too.

“The readings that portal gave off are similar to the ones Vortex produces.” The other Logan said.

“Vortex teleports to different places, this looks like the exact same alleyway we were in before.”

A figure Logan had last seen begging for their life at their feet stepped into the light.

Deceit, the serpent, the snake, looking at ease surrounded by these alternate versions of them.

“My technology isn’t interacting with anything, I can’t even access satellites.” Other Logan sighed.

“Strange.” Deceit said, looking over Logan’s shoulder at the screen.

“Have you tried turning it off and back on again?” Patton, the other Patton, asked.

Just as other Logan was about to answer that frankly ridiculous comment, Virgil’s eyes snapped upward, focusing on the spot they were crouched.

He motioned for the others to shut up and they obliged, immediately falling into a fighting stance.

“Who’s there?” Virgil called out.

“I guess we should go introduce ourselves.” Patton whispered shakily.

Logan took a deep breath. On one hand, the prospect of seeing Virgil again, of being able to talk to him and hold him, was something he had dreamed of every night. But on the other hand, it all felt wrong.

Virgil stood there, surrounded by alternate versions of them and a villain who had died years ago. This wasn’t their Virgil and Logan was scared of comparing them. It felt too much like chasing after a quickly dissipating dream.

But Roman was moving forward already, swinging off a pipe and landing on the ground in a controlled descent. Logan and Patton followed suit.

“Hello.” Patton greeted them awkwardly.

The others all stared at them for a long moment, dumbfounded, until other Roman muttered. “What the hell?”

“Umm, Lo, what is this?” Other Patton asked.

“Time travel?” The snake suggested.

“They look the same age as us, I must have aged well.” Roman remarked, Deceit rolled the one eye that was visible behind the mask.

Other Logan stuttered for a moment and then managed to compose himself, or appeared to at least, Logan knew himself well enough to recognize the uncertainty in his posture.

“What day is it?” He asked.

“The twenty ninth of october, 2020.” Logan answered.

“Same day.” The snake muttered.

“So not time travel.” Other Logan said.

Logan knew there were dots he should be connecting, theories he should be formulating that could explain this.

But all his thoughts were occupied by the man standing just a few meters from him. Virgil, who was still looking at him like he was a threat. Virgil, who looked healthy and happy and alive.

“So they’re us, or at least, they look like us and it isn’t time travel.” Virgil said, seemingly noticing the way all three of them were staring at him as he shifted awkwardly.

Patton made an aborted motion towards him.

"Alternate universe?" Logan suggested.

The others seemed to become aware of their fascination with Virgil.

“Um, everything alright?” The other Roman asked, shifting so he was positioned in front of Virgil. Virgil glared at him and stepped sideways.

Logan almost laughed, the non verbal conversation the two had was so familiar. He had seen his Virgil and Roman do it so many times.

“Yeah, it’s just…” Patton tried to explain, his voice wavering, on the edge of tears.

The snake connected the dots first. “Where’s their Virgil?” He asked.

Roman’s breath hitched and Patton sobbed. Logan felt the ragged hole in his chest tear open even more as he stared at the other Virgil in front of him. Comprehension was slowly dawning on his face.

“Murdered.” Logan managed to say.

“Oh.” Other Patton gasped sympathetically.

Roman approached Virgil and the other Roman hesitated, making to stop him. Virgil shook his head and the other Roman stepped aside. Logan felt his feet carry him forward too, towards this mirage of their lost lover.

Virgil shifted awkwardly but let them approach. Roman took his hand and Virgil squeezed it.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He whispered.

Roman just smiled tearfully. Virgil drew the three of them into a hug and for a moment, Logan let himself forget. Forget about the fact that they had buried Virgil years ago, that this version wasn’t theirs, that there was no way he would ever choose to stay with them.

He just savoured the feeling of those familiar arms around him. This was home.

They walked back over the rooftops together, an air of awkwardness over the group.

“It’s quiet.” Other Patton remarked.

“There’s a curfew in place, research has shown it reduces crime rates.” Logan explained.

“Research also shows enforced curfew has negative effects on the economy and psychological welfare and increases traffic, not to mention the ethical implications of constraining peoples’ freedom.” The other Logan countered and Logan cursed himself for being such a smartass.

“Well, we judged the pros and cons and judged that the curfew would be beneficial despite the drawbacks.”

“It really helped lower the crime rates. Look how peaceful the city is.” Patton chimed in.

“It’s disconcerting.” Deceit remarked.

“Yes, imagine that, no crime in the city, that must be a nightmare for you.” Roman said snidely.

The snake drew up his shoulders and turned away from them. Other Patton’s face hardened.

“He’s not a criminal anymore.” He snapped.

“Leave it, Pat.” Deceit admonished.

“No. Maybe in your universe it’s different, but you guys need to know that in ours, he’s a part of our family.”

“You just let a villain be part of the team?” Patton asked.

“He proved his trustworthiness.” Other Logan said.

“And he’s a good friend.” Virgil said, looking at him fondly.

Deceit shouldered him. “Sap.” He muttered.

Logan felt a flame of jealousy burn in his gut. Looking at Roman, he saw he felt the same.

“So I gather my counterpart didn’t really do much to land himself in your good graces, judging by the way you look at me.” The snake remarked.

“He’s dead.” Patton reported lightly.

Logan took a small pleasure in the shock on the villain's face.

They made it home and got their counterparts settled, watching with disappointment as Virgil disappeared into their room.

Patton stared in horror at the file laid out in front of him.

“No.” He protested weakly, trying to find an explanation that wasn’t this .

Janus turned away from the file and leant against the table.

“The file is pretty solid evidence, I don’t know why they would fake that.” Logan said, looking at him pityingly.

“They, we wouldn’t do that.” Patton said.

“They’re not us.” Roman protested vehemently.

Logan just sighed.

“I wish I could be so certain of that. Yes, their actions horrify me, but you have to remember that they lost their lover in a very traumatic way. Try to put yourself in their shoes, how would you react if you lost Virgil?”

“I wouldn’t do that.” Patton protested, but he knew how weak it sounded.

He tried to imagine Virgil dying the way the others had described. Tried to imagine the grief, the anger they must have felt. The pain felt worryingly familiar. He found he had almost no trouble placing himself in their shoes.

He stared at the picture of Janus, the other Janus, splayed out on the ground, a dark puddle of blood around him, his eyes open and accusing.

In one day, he had found out about the death of two of his lovers, one at the hands of himself. And he knew they weren’t the same people, he knew it was a different universe, but it still made him feel sick and angry.

Was he truly capable of such horrendous acts?

“Janus, you know I’d never do that, right?” He begged.

Janus smiled weakly at him.

“Not in our universe, mon amour.” He consoled, drawing Patton against his chest.

“We can’t let them continue with this.” Virgil spoke up for the first time.

“What should we do?” Roman asked.

“We take them down, the way we’ve taken down so many villains over the years. They’re not much better.”

Virgil sat on the roof, watching the quiet city from above. He thought about his less fortunate counterpart. He tried to imagine what it would feel like, to lose one of his lovers. It didn’t excuse their actions, he told himself. But maybe it explained them, another part of his brain whispered.

The entrance to the roof opened and Other Patton sat down on the roof next to him. Virgil tensed.

“Hi.” Patton said, his voice wavering and his eyes glistening with tears.

They sat in tense silence for a while. Virgil tried to ignore the quickening breaths coming from the other and the soft sobs.

Eventually, he cracked.

“Patton…” He said gently, turning towards him.

Patton choked on a sob as he looked up at him.

“I’m sorry, I just miss you so much. Well, not you you, the other you, our you.” Patton babbled.

“And you look so much like him and it just…” He sobbed.

“There’s just so many things I wish I could tell him.”

Virgil stared into those bright blue eyes, spilling tears. Those eyes he looked at every morning, that sparkled with joy whenever he made a pun. And he looked at the unmeasurable grief in them. And that was his Patton, staring into his soul, not this dark twisted version.

He wrapped him up into his arms.

“It’s okay, just tell me… Tell me all the things you want to tell him.”

“I… I want to tell him that I’m sorry, I’m sorry for not being there in time, we should have saved him and we were too late. And I want to tell him I love him so, so much. And I want to tell you that I love your laugh and your dimples and your grumpy morning face and… Oh god, I’m so sorry.” He was shaking all over from the force of his sobs.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Virgil tried to console him desperately.

He had no idea what to do. He was torn between sympathy and revulsion. The thought that his lovers could commit acts like that was horrifying. The fact that they did it for him doubly so.

He knew these people weren’t his lovers but beside the fact that he had died, he hadn’t found any notable differences between their timeline and his. Logan had said it was fruitless research but Virgil had to know. He had hoped there would be something, some big past event or even a small change that set these monsters apart from the people he knew.

He settled for drawing the other Patton in closer, resting his head on his curly hair.

“It’ll be okay.” He murmured, hoping he was right.

In the end, it was almost laughably easy.

Janus and Roman went into the city. With their talents for convincing and theatrics, and the general resentment the citizens harboured for their heroes, they managed to gather a sizable army of insurgents.

Logan and Patton worked on coordinating the plan and laying the traps. And Virgil led them in.

The other heroes were suspicious of their counterparts, jealous of the fact that they hadn’t had to suffer the same loss and they seemed to notice the revulsion the heroes had to the way they had taken care of the villains in the city.

But they trusted Virgil blindly. Despite the knowledge he wasn’t their Virgil, they couldn’t help but latch onto him.

The insurgents dismantled the cameras and surveillance systems the heroes had installed.

Virgil brought the others news of a disturbance in a warehouse and they followed him blindly into the traps laid by Logan and Patton.

“It’s over.” Virgil said, looking at the three handcuffed on the floor.

“No, it’s not.” Other Roman snarled. He looked to the others for support. Patton looked away, ashamed. Logan was just staring at the opposite wall, his expression neutral.

“Janus and Roman broke through the barriers around the city. The outside world has been alerted and a specialised force to incarcerate you is underway.” Virgil’s Logan reported.

“We’ve done nothing wrong. We saved this city, you can’t lock us up for that.” Roman said.

“You’re going to prison for at least five counts of murder for each of you, and a whole other laundry list of crimes.” Patton countered. He couldn’t believe that even now, they didn’t see the wrong in their actions.

The heroes watched from the rooftops as their counterparts were led into the van, under the watchful eye of the insurgents who had taken back the city with their help.

“Well, this was fun.” Janus muttered.

Patton shuddered, he didn’t think he would ever be able to get the image of his dead boyfriends out of his mind.

Logan was quiet. He had dreamed of getting his revenge on Remus for years, but was this what it would inevitably lead to? He had always thought he was a good person, maybe not as compassionate and altruistic as the others, but definitely not a cold blooded murderer.

“Let’s never do this again.” Virgil said, his eyes still trained on the van.

“Yeah, good idea.” Roman muttered, his eyes just the slightest bit teary.

They drew closer together, hands finding hands and finding comfort in the solid warmth of their family.

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