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wandaromanova · 3 years

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Little Sister

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: one cuss word, minor BW spoilers

A/N: hello! i’d like to note that this takes place sometime before the events in the Black Widow movie! if you haven’t seen the movie yet, please skip over this story and come back later if you’d like! happy reading <3

anon requested: hiii i have a fluff request after seeing bw haha: could you do nat x fem reader where they're laying in bed snuggling, and r asks her about her family and nat tells her and r notices how cute she looks when she's talking about yelena and it's so soft and ahhhh

Summary: Natasha tells her girlfriend about a piece of her past that she never talks about; her sister.

Word Count: 2K

| masterlist | request rules/guidelines | wips |

please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work. reblogs, likes, and comments are always welcome. <3

Natasha Romanoff has lived a lot of lives. She has been through more than most.

Nat had been taken as an infant by an organization that trained little girls to become lethal assassins.

She was psychologically conditioned to become a killer, having taken more lives than she could count.

Eventually, Natasha had managed to break free from the cage she was forced into and was recruited as a S.H.I.E.L.D agent; it was a new start for her, an opportunity to compensate for the red in her ledger.

So, Natasha took her job seriously, saving as many people as she could, even more so when she became an Avenger; one of earth’s mightiest heroes.

Natasha found something in the team that she never really had before; a family. She found a home within the dysfunctional team she had been recruited into.

Not only did Natasha find a family within the Avengers; she also found the love of her life.

Natasha hadn’t even considered the possibility of ever finding love.

For starters, the Red Room had instilled the concept that love was nothing but a distraction; a liability.

She had been taught that love was for children and it was nothing but a weakness that needed to be avoided at all costs.

She was quite literally programmed to be emotionally closed off and to always have her guard up. Letting someone into her heart was a risk she didn’t want to take.

When Natasha gained her independence from the organization, she had to do a lot of self-discovering. She had never been able to be her own person, but now that she could, she quickly learned that she didn’t even know herself.

However, it was Natasha’s insecurities that truly turned her off from the entire idea of love.

How could any ever possibly love her? She thought she was a monster for the things she’d done. She has done the unspeakable since ever she was a child.

What if she wasn’t enough? What if her baggage was too much for someone else to carry? She didn’t want to be a burden. She didn’t want to have to protect someone, just to fail them like she had failed so many others.

Natasha was positive that no one would ever be crazy enough to love her.

Little did she know, she would end up finding someone crazy enough to do so; you.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

When the Avengers were formed, you were extremely nervous about it.

All of the files that you’ve read on your new teammates were unbelievable; they were all phenomenal in their own rights. A super-soldier, a god, a genius, a trained-spy.

You were a spy yourself, so you knew exactly who Natasha Romanoff was. She was a S.H.I.E.L.D legend, the best of the best.

You were more nervous about meeting her than anyone else. What if she judged you? What if she didn’t think you were good enough to be an agent, let alone an Avenger?

Not only was she your superior, but she was also your crush. Yeah, you’d never even met the woman before, but you were crushing on her hard.

She was drop-dead gorgeous, but also quite literally a deadly force. Natasha could easily take down anyone she wanted to, and honestly, you wanted to be one of those lucky people.

When you met Natasha for the first time, you were a flustered mess. The redhead found it amusing, how your cheeks turned a bright shade of red and you stumbled over your words as you praised her work.

Natasha never told you this, but she was immediately smitten the moment she laid eyes on you.

There was a kindness and positivity that just radiated off of you and it was extremely contagious.

You were this beaming ball of light that lit up the darkest parts of her soul.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

You got to know Natasha extremely well while being on the team. From observing her closely and paying very close attention to her actions, you had managed to pick up on little things.

She didn’t put any creamer or sugar in her sugar; opting for strong, black coffee.

She was kind of a clean freak. If she saw something out of place, she would be quick to put it in the correct place or position.

When she was happy, she would let a small smirk cross her features. When she was annoyed, she would raise her eyebrows.

When she was stressed out or angry, three little creases would appear on her forehead as her eyebrows would knit together tightly; a subtle frown on her face.

Of course, when you began dating the redhead, you didn’t really have to survey her so closely anymore because she’d tell you things herself.

No matter the circumstances, Natasha would always come to you and rant about it. Whether it was about how shitty a mission went or how she beat Clint’s ass during training; you were the only person she wanted to tell.

Natasha had opened up to you, something she never did with anyone. She told you all about her past.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

You had some knowledge of Natasha’s previous life, considering it was in her files, but you didn’t realize just how horrible her childhood truly was.

The Red Room, the heavy weight of guilt that rests on her shoulders, the nightmares that forced her to relive the murders she committed, her time as a S.H.I.E.L.D agent, and becoming an Avenger.

She’d go on and on about her road to redemption or ‘clearing the red out of her ledger.’

Natasha was terrified when she told you about her demons. She figured you were going to leave her the second she finished talking, waiting for you to get up and walk out the door, but you didn’t.

So, you completely caught her off guard when you pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, placing a soft kiss onto her temple, the redhead relaxing in your embrace.

“You’re the strongest person I know. It’s not your fault, you were forced and conditioned to do the things you did.”

Natasha focused on the sound of your voice and took in your words as you softly caressed her red locks with one hand.

“Baby, the amount of respect I have for you is immeasurable. I applaud you for turning your life around for the better. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Your words had brought tears to Natasha’s eyes, which was a rare occurrence.

She was expecting you to run for the hills, but you chose to pull her closer instead.

In that moment, Natasha knew she never had to be afraid of love again.

You were the most understanding and accepting person she’d ever met.

You would never judge her for her worst mistakes; Natasha had found the one for her and she wasn’t ever going to let go.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

Now, a few months later and a year into your relationship with the Russian, you were both lying in bed and cuddling.

You were both watching a movie when a particular scene came on. It was of a family gathering around a Christmas tree, children excitedly opening up presents with gleeful smiles across their faces.

“You know, my sister and I got to take pictures with a Christmas tree once.” Natasha spoke, her eyes fixated on the screen.

You looked up at her in shock. You didn’t know that Natasha had a sister. She told you that she didn’t even so much as know her parent’s names.

Natasha looked down and noticed your confused expression. She reached for the remote on the bedside table and paused the movie before returning her gaze to you.

“There was a mission I was assigned to in Ohio, as a kid. I was assigned to play the daughter of two other Russian spies, Alexei and Melina. It wasn’t just me though, there was a little girl who was assigned as my younger sister. Her name is Yelena.”

Natasha had a reminiscent, happy smile on her face as she recalled the brief period time of her childhood. She looked absolutely adorable as she rambled on about this part of her childhood.

“We took photoshoots of various holidays to make our family look more realistic. My favorite one was Christmas. Even though I knew they were just empty boxes, I wanted to rip open every single one.”

Natasha let out a small giggle at the thought. Even though she had a smile on her face, you could feel and hear the underlying tone of sadness in her voice.

“Yelena and I would spend hours outside, just playing together. Swinging on the swing-sets, looking up at the stars, bending over backward, and getting into a ridiculous competition to see who could hold the position the longest… I always let her win.”

You could see the fondness in her eyes, the longing. It warmed your heart that there was a small glimmer of light in Natasha’s past. There was at least a sliver of hope that she clung tightly onto throughout her time in the Red Room.

“After 3 years, the mission ended. Yelena and I were sent back to the Red Room and were torn apart from one another.

Natasha’s breathing grew heavier as she recalled the unfaithful day. The sight of her sister being taken, and not being able to do anything to help her; still haunted the redhead to this day.

“There were so many men with guns and armor, they literally ripped us away from each other. I was eleven and she was only six.”

Your heart sunk at your girlfriend’s words as her smile dropped. She tore her eyes away from yours as she blinked rapidly, fighting back tears, but failed. You reached your hand up to her cheek and wiped away the fallen droplets.

“I haven’t seen her since. I’d like to think that she found a way out and got a life of her own; a nice, happy life.”

Natasha placed her hand on top of yours before looking down at you once more. You sent her a soft smile when she let out a shaky breath.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“I knew that the it was all fake, but it was still the best part of my childhood. It was real to me.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You nodded your head at her words. She took a brief pause, trying to regain her composure, before continuing.

“Even if we have no true relation to one another, and even if I haven’t seen her in years, she is still my little sister.”

Natasha finished off with a big gasp as sobs wracked her body. You sat up from her embrace and pulled her into your arms, just like you had many times before.

You rubbed her back soothingly as she cried into your shoulder, her tears hitting the exposed skin.

“She sounds amazing, baby. I’m really happy that you had some sort of happiness back then and I hope one day you get to see her again.”

You whispered and Natasha pulled away from the hug, still in your arms as her emerald eyes surrounded by a sea of red, a result of her crying.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“I doubt she’d even want to see me. I didn’t even try to find her. I’m a horrible sister! I-“

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You immediately pressed your lips against hers, effectively getting the Russian to calm down. You broke the kiss when her breathing slowed.

“Honey, of course, she’d want to see you again. Like you said, you guys are sisters. I’m positive that it was just as real to her as it was to you.”

You reassured your girlfriend, her eyes a pool of worry and guilt. You rubbed your thumb against her waist, the material of your her hoodie beneath your touch.

“From what you’ve told me about the Red Room, it would’ve been impossible to find her. Stop beating yourself up over it. You’re the best, and I’m totally not biased or anything.”

Natasha let out a small chuckle at that and you smiled at her, wiping away the last of her tears. She collapsed into your hold further, shoving her face into the crook of your neck.

“Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I love you so much.”

Natasha’s words came out muffled as her face pressed further into your skin.

“You never need to thank me for anything. I’ll always be here for you, Natty.”

You hugged her as tight as you possibly could, her cold skin meeting your warmth. Natasha let out a small sigh at the feeling.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“Wherever you go, I go.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

───────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────

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#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader fluff #natasha romanoff fluff #black widow x reader #black widow #request done

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oodlesofsnootles-main · 3 years

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Obitine Week 2021: Day 1 - Outsider POV

Three cadets were lost in their coursework, the glow of datapads illuminating their tired faces. Nothing could break them from their trance, until….

“Lagos, Amis, Soniee, you’re never going to believe what I just saw!”

Korkie Kryze ran in, out of breath and bubbling with excitement. It wasn’t a rare occurrence, though it was enough to grab their attention.

“What is it?” Lagos jumped up, nearly knocking over her chair.

“Calm down, both of you,” Amis yawned. “He probably found another incorrect date at the Peace Museum again.”

“No, I think there’s…right here in Sundari…there’s another….”

“Spit it out, Kork!”

“Jedi!”

“A Jedi?” They all exchanged doubtful glances, then returned their eyes to a gasping Korkie.

“Something must be happening, for another Jedi to visit! My aunt Satine said we’d be unlikely to see them here again.”

“Where? Where did you see the Jedi, Kor?”

“Uh, well, I didn’t actually see a Jedi, but—”

“Now I’m confused,” Amis scratched his head, “you saw one but you didn’t?”

“Let me explain. I went to visit my aunt, and there was a...robe. A genuine Jedi robe. Right there on the floor.”

“But then where was the Jedi?” Soniee impatiently slammed down her datapad.

“Allow me to finish,” Korkie huffed. “There was also a lightsaber. Sitting right on top.”

“How? They aren’t allowed here,” Lagos noted.

“Did you touch it?”

“No, Amis. But I wanted to.”

“You should’ve taken it, to show us. Then brought it back, of course.”

“Steal a lightsaber from a Jedi here on secret business? Are you serious?”

Soniee rolled her eyes. “What makes you think it's a secret? Not everything is a big conspiracy, Korkie. We just got lucky last time.”

“It must be a secret, because they were meeting in private and I heard my aunt speaking to a man…the Jedi, I assume. Whispering, really.”

“What were they saying?”

“I don’t know, it didn’t feel right to spy.”

“You usually don’t have a problem with that,” Amis pointed out. “You should’ve gone and asked this Jedi for food. They carry some in their belts. Did you know that?”

“I was the one who told you!” Korkie sighed. “Do you think I should’ve stayed and listened? Or waited, or even knocked on the door?”

Amis kicked his feet up onto the desk and leaned back, grinning. “What she and a disrobed Jedi do behind closed doors is her business, Kork, heheh.”

It took a while for the insinuation to reach him, but when it did, his face twisted in disgust. ”Don’t talk about my aunt like that!”

“Yeah, laser brain, that’s our Duchess.” Lagos scolded, equally outraged. “Show some respect!”

Korkie’s shoulders slumped and his inherent light seemed to dim. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, don’t feel like you can’t confide in us, Kor. I believe everything you saw and heard.” Lagos stared at the other two. “This won’t leave the room, right?”

Soniee shook her head, then punched Amis in the arm until he did too.

“I just hoped maybe…maybe they were talking about…me.”

“We get it, Kork, you want to be rewarded with a personal tour of the Jedi temple for your bravery.”

“Some recognition would be nice.”

“I’m sure they heard all about it!” Lagos patted his arm, “your aunt must be telling that Jedi how proud she is of you.”

A hopeful smile spread across his face. “What else could they possibly be talking about?”

#obitineweek2021 #is Korkie really even an outsider?#he’s their boy #obitine #korkie kryze #korkie kenobi #the clone wars #satine kryze #obi wan kenobi

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jaembby · 4 years

Text

just a little bit

Pairing: Liu Yangyang x reader

Genre: Fluff? Slightly suggestive

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Kun being a c0ckblock, suggestive

Requested: yes. requested by @nctvroomts. Thank you for requesting this!! It’s my first request so lmk if you like it or what I can improve on!!! ily <3

part 2: here

----------

“Liu Yangyang!! Be quiet!“, you said in a hushed voice as you put your hand around yangyang’s mouth to shut him up.

Yangyang, aka your best friend who apparently doesn’t know how to be quiet, suggested that the two of you should spy on his roommate, Kun. Unfortunately, Yangyang had hit his elbow on a piece of furniture and let out a rather loud whine. Even more unfortunate, Kun had heard. The older quickly turned his neck in your direction at the sudden invasion of his privacy.

“Who’s there?”, Kun had questioned as you quickly pulled your best friend behind the wall and your eyes connected. Yangyang has beautiful eyes. How have you never noticed before? You could stare at those eyes for hours on end if he’d let you. His smile was also stunning. How could someone be so beautiful? To top it off, your best friend had the most amazing personality and gave the best hugs. The two of you would tell each other anything and everything that went on in your lives. Fights were a very rare occurrence and are always small and unimportant. Yangyang was always there for you, tangling his limbs with yours in warming cuddles until the two of you would fall asleep to the sound of the other’s heartbeat. He was there for you during your first heartbreak, reminding you constantly of how amazing, talented and beautiful you are. He never failed to send good morning and good night texts when the two of you are apart and would always make sure you were his first priority. You slowly find yourself thinking about what it’d be like if he was your boyfriend. He was extremely attractive, talented and perfect for you. Your friends have shipped the two of you together multiple times but you would always laugh it off and shake your head at the silly thought. Maybe dating the Yangyang wouldn’t be such a silly idea, after all.

“Ummmm... y/n? We may have a slight problem.” The boy in question’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts as you feel heat rise to your cheeks. You look over to Yangyang, immediately spotting the “problem”.

“I swear to God. Yangyang, y/n, you have three seconds to run.” Kun states coldly, clearly unimpressed after the two of you disrupted his peace.

“Three.”

You look between the two boys, unsure of what to do.

“Two.”

You and Yangyang make eye contact, panicking.

“One.”

You grab the younger boy’s hand and the two of you run to the nearest room and lock yourselves inside before you push Yangyang against the door to prevent Kun from opening it. You stay like that for a few moments before looking up at your best friend, only to see his cheeks a deep shade of crimson at your close proximity.

There’s a glint of mischief and something that you can’t quite work out in Yangyang’s eyes. He quickly looks down to your lips then draws his eyes back up to yours before placing a gentle hand on your cheek and wrapping the other around your waist. Suddenly, he leans in so that your lips are only inches apart now.

“Y/n... can I?” He asks as you sheepishly nod, looking your best friend in the eyes. Yangyang doesn’t wait for a second longer before placing his soft, plump lips to yours. It’s heavenly. He’s heavenly. He tastes like brownies and mint toothpaste, you notice. Yangyang slightly tugs your bottom lip between your teeth, asking for permission to deepen the kiss.

You agree, opening your mouth slightly as his tongue explores you before fighting for dominance with your own. He slowly guides the two of you to the bed where he lightly pushes you down, breaking the kiss for air before sitting atop you and reuniting your needy mouths. Your hands go up to his hair, playing with his soft locks while he bruises your lips before breaking the kiss. You whine at the loss of contact but quickly gasp in pleasure when he starts sucking on your neck. He moans quietly when you massage his head, encouraging you to keep playing with his hair. You do, and he moans again into your neck, the vibrations feeling amazing.

Yangyang pulls away and places a gentle kiss to the deep red mark he’s just created on your exposed flesh before reconnecting your lips with his own as you let out a moan of pleasure.

“Baby, be louder, your sounds are beautiful.” He instructs, rubbing your cheek lovingly as you let out another moan, louder this time.

“That’s it, love, be loud for me.”

A knock at the door interrupts your make-out session and the both of you quickly pull away, blushing messes.

“Who’s there?” Yangyang calls, annoyed at the interruption.

“Me.” The voice of Kun replies, slightly disturbed.

“Dinner’s ready so come and eat. Also if you two break anything, you pay for it.” Kun says and quickly walks away, not wanting to hear what the two of you get up to next.

You and Yangyang blush but let out a laugh as you realize what Kun meant by “break anything”. His laugh is music to your ears. His smile makes your entire day and his eyes sparkle brighter than all of the stars in the sky.

“Yangyang... I have to tell you something.” You say, not meeting his eyes as you take a breath to calm your nerves. He hums, allowing you to continue.

“I kinda maybe sorta... Imightmaybeloveyoujustalittlebit.” You manage to spit out quickly, the butterflies in your stomach now turning into flocks of birds.

“I didn’t quite catch that... what’d you say?” Yangyang asks, an amused smile on his masculine features.

“I might love you... just a little bit.” You say, cheeks reddening as you suddenly find the floor very interesting.

“Well, I might love you too... just a little bit.” He says back before lifting up your chin and bringing you into a gentle loving kiss before pulling away, smiling brighter than you’ve ever seen. The butterflies have gone now and you’re filled with pure happiness, feeling complete.

“I guess we should go and have dinner then.” You say, fixing your hair and collar, failing to hide the hickey that the boy in front of you had made on your neck just minutes before.

“Don’t hide it, baby, let them all know you’re mine,” Yangyang says, fixing his hair too. Your cheeks darken in colour slightly at this but you fix your collar nonetheless, leaving the deep red mark out for everyone in the dorms to see as you head down to the kitchen, hand in hand.

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crazyloststar · 2 years

Text

One of my new brainworms is a CaitVi/Spy Who Dumped Me crossover because i am a mess hi. Have a quick excerpt.

This conversation she absolutely doesn’t want to have here, in this nice bar, when it’s Caitlyn’s birthday and she clearly has other things to do with her time.

Viktor clearly isn’t about to let this die, though. “All I’m saying is, you don’t know what you don’t know.”

“I wish you would pretend you don't know anything.”

Viktor smirks, and taps the bar lightly for another shot. Vi does the same, even though she’s near the point where she should stop. She has to catch herself sooner.

The whole reason Viktor is here next to her is to either get her to say more stupid shit or to make sure sure doesn't. But it's hard to say which. But that's also her own fault, for going out and trying to drink Viktor under the table when it was just the two of them hanging out, a rare occurrence. But Jayce and Caitlyn both had some work or family thing — Vi honestly can’t remember — and so they did.

And then Vi drank more than she is pretty sure she ever has in her life and spilled all her most embarrassing secrets. Like how she thought Caitlyn was the hottest person she’s ever seen, and also the smartest, and the strongest, and her smile was like summer and her hair always smelled like strawberries.

When Vi had stopped talking and then realized what she had just done, Viktor just stared at her, smiling, chin resting on his hand, arm propped on the table. And that knowing smile just made everything worse.

Vi turns to rest her back on the bar. Viktor mimics her, but he doesn’t say anything. The room feels like it's pulsing. Vi keeps watching Caitlyn. The bar is getting crowded as the night wears on, but it never feels unsafe. It’s nice to be somewhere they can relax and enjoy themselves instead of watching their backs. Not that she’s had to do that for years, but growing up in Zaun leaves scars.

#arcane #caitvi #vi x caitlyn #my writing

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marvel-and-mischief · 4 years

Text

Apple Blossom

Part of my Floriography Series

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x GN!Reader Words: 1600 Warnings: fluff, slight angst (but only because we know what happens next), pining Synopsis: A few days before the events of the Dreamstone, you have a late night take out with your boss, Maxwell Lord.

Apple Blossom: ‘fame speaks him great and good’

💐

1st July 1984

You padded barefoot through the empty corridors of the Black Gold building, a bag of Chinese takeout in one hand and your work shoes in the other that had been irritating you after a full day of work. The lights were low and the phones were silent, an all too common occurrence in the past few months. The business was once a bustling ray of money and hope and now it was running out of luck.

You saw the unpaid bills when you picked up Maxwell’s mail, the angry investors that would corner him in his office, demanding their money back. He had to tell you eventually, the company was going under but he had a plan. He couldn’t tell you what, but he had a sure way out of the crippling debt and you found yourself trusting him. There was no reason not to.

You reached Maxwell’s office, tapping on the open door and walking in without waiting for an answer.

Maxwell looked up from behind his desk, a relieved smile growing on his lips as he saw it was you. He placed the magnifying glass that he’d been using in a drawer and gave you his full attention.

“Looking at anything interesting?” you asked, spying pages of a language you couldn’t read and diagrams of rocks you hadn’t seen before.

“No more interesting than the food in that bag,” Maxwell stood and pointed to the takeout in your hand, leading the way to the corner of his office where a comfortable couch was waiting for you. Maxwell moved a cushion for you to sit and took the bag of food from you.

“I am making progress,” Maxwell said excitedly, opening the plastic tubs of various dishes and arranging them on the coffee table.

“Will I get any details today?” Your voice held a teasing edge to it but you wanted to know why he was being so secretive if it meant saving Black Gold.

Maxwell hesitated to answer though, distracting himself with the food before taking a seat next to you on the couch, motioning for you to dig into the takeout.

“Just trust me, all will be revealed soon,” Maxwell spoke around a forkful of noodles and you decided to drop it. He seemed excited and confident about his plans so who were you to question him.

You sat in amiable silence whilst you both ate your food. Times like these were rare a few years back, when you were starting out in the company you would be working well into the late evenings, keeping Maxwell’s mug filled with coffee, answering the phones, signing off on this and that, some days you’d forget to eat.

Now, you found yourself struggling to find something to do. You’d make up work just to fill the time in your day. You weren’t just Maxwell’s PA anymore, you worked general maintenance, dabbled as a cleaning lady, you even drove Raquel home most evenings just to stop yourself chewing your nails down to the skin.

Sometimes you asked yourself why you stuck around. And then you’d take one look at Maxwell, how he brightened up when you entered the room, how much he confided in you about his anxieties about the business and immediately remembered why you had to stay. He needed you and you wanted to be there for him if his plans didn’t work out.

Maxwell would need someone to be his anchor when the ship sunk. And that would be you.

Maxwell gave a sigh of contentment after his last forkful of noodles, placing the empty tub back on the coffee table to rifle through the bag the takeout came in.

“Don’t forget your weekend with Alistair is coming up,” you reminded him, licking sauce from the corner of your lips.

“Huh?” Maxwell was distracted by his new find; a box of fortune cookies at the bottom of the bag, “want to open one? See what our future holds?” he asked with an exaggerated wiggle of his eyebrows. You laughed and nodded, holding out your hand for a cookie.

Maxwell watched as you snapped your cookie in half, pulling the two pieces apart to reveal a slip of paper inside. You carefully pulled it out, placing the cookie pieces on your lap to read the fortune.

“‘Fame speaks him great and good’,” you read, raising an eyebrow to Maxwell who looked surprised, “d’you think that means you?”

Maxwell laughed loudly and ripped the paper out of your hand to check you weren’t making it up.

“It really says that,” Maxwell confirmed, “I keep telling you good things are coming for us.”

You smiled at the look of delight on his face, and thought maybe there truly was nothing to worry about when it came to Maxwell and Black Gold.

“Come on then, open yours,” you nudged his knee with yours, eager to find out what his fortune said.

Maxwell made a show of rolling up his shirt sleeves, making you giggle around a mouthful of your cookie. He cleared his throat and snapped his cookie.

You watched as his eyes widened ever so slightly, before he righted himself and rid his features of anything that resembled what he felt about what he was reading. You frowned, wondering why he was reacting so weirdly. It took too long for Maxwell to read aloud his message, and eventually you had to prompt him by tapping him on the arm.

“Just as I thought, ‘fortune is on the horizon’,” Maxwell laughed but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He pocketed the piece of paper and cleared his lap of crumbs.

“So there’s really nothing to worry about?”

Maxwell looked at you like a deer in headlights, then gave you his award winning smile, his hand reaching over to rest atop yours.

“Absolutely nothing,” he promised, and you believed that he believed that but that didn’t stop you from feeling uneasy about Maxwell’s secretive plans, “we will be okay.”

You mustered up a smile and he tapped your hand before standing.

“I’m going to bathroom,” he stated, and as Maxwell walked through his office a small piece of paper fluttered out of his pocket and fell to the ground.

“Oh, Max-“ but he had already left as you jumped up from the couch to pick it up. You realised it was the fortune he had acted strangely around, and instead of leaving it be, placing it on the table for when he got back, you couldn’t help wanting to look. So that’s exactly what you did.

‘The love of your life is right in front of your eyes’

The breath caught in your throat as you read and re-read the line. It hit you then how badly you wanted it to be true. And suddenly everything made sense. Why you worked so hard for him, why you didn’t entertain the idea of ever leaving Maxwell or Black Gold no matter how much the company was going downhill, you were prepared to ride or die, right to the bitter end. It was because you liked him. And this all but confirmed to you that he didn’t feel the same about you.

You were so busy overthinking your own feelings that you didn’t hear Maxwell returning from the bathroom. He stood over your shoulder, holding his breath as he watched you for your reaction.

“I can’t do anything about it,” Maxwell whispered into the silence of the room, making you spin around in surprise to face him, and you instantly noticed he was a mere couple of feet away from you.

“I knew it,” you sighed, shaking your head. Of course he didn’t like you, you were just his assistant after all.

Just as you were about to turn around and gather your things he grabbed you softly by the arm, making you face him once again.

“That isn’t what I mean,” Maxwell looked lost for words, screwing his eyes shut as he tried to gather his thoughts, “I want to be more than your boss, more than your friend, but this thing I’m doing, that I swear to you will change everything for the better, I need to do that first.”

During his speech Maxwell had stepped closer to you, taking your hands in his and pressing them against his chest, eyes boring into yours. You shouldn’t have been thinking it, not when he was trying to be honest and open with you, but you thought he looked beautiful. You’d always known he was handsome but this close, he had pretty brown eyes and a nose that wouldn’t looked out of place on a marble statue for all to admire.

“I’m doing a big thing for the company, for Alistair, but also for you. So I can be someone you are proud to walk through galas with on your arm, that you are proud to shout about,” Maxwell took a deep breath and slowly rested his forehead against yours, “will you wait for me?”

It was a loaded question, one that stopped you in your tracks but it really shouldn’t have. Waiting is what you’ve been doing, isn’t it? Without even knowing, you’ve been waiting for this moment where you’d wake up to your feelings and be faced with them. You knew you could wait a little longer, especially if Maxwell was promising himself on the other side of whatever he had planned.

“I can wait,” you smiled, leaning forward to place a quick, chaste kiss to his lips, “whatever happens, good or bad, I’ll wait.”

Permanent tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog @phoenixhalliwell @computeringturtle @anu-simps @bts17army

#Floriography Series #Maxwell Lord #Maxwell Lord x Reader #Wonder Woman 1984 #WW1984 #Pedro Pascal

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priory-of-stars · 4 years

Text

“Hope” -A Rowaelin fic

I wrote this because your girl got all nostalgic and reread Thorne of Glass. Also, it’s been a while since I’ve written any fanfiction (I’m a little rusty), and lockdown has left me with little to do other than watch Netflix and eat ice-cream.

Here’s a little Rowaelin finding out a wee surprise. I’m sure you can’t possibly guess. Obviously there are spoilers to the series. I don’t own the characters, just this story.

--------------------------- hehe --------------------------------

Aelin woke to a callused hand softly curling around her flat stomach, caressing the exposed skin. A blissful smile spread across her face as she shifted to face her beloved. That warm, soothing hand tugged her close, now tracing down her smooth tattooed back. Aelin snuggled closer, resting her head on a broad chest and tangling her long lithe legs with powerful male ones. She finally opened her eyes to peer up at her mate, almost nervous to open them in case this really was all a dream. But after three years of blissful peace, Aelin was finally getting used to waking up as Queen.

Her breath caught for a split second, in awe of her mate’s beauty. Every night she went to sleep with his face being the last thing she saw, and every morning, she marvelled at how even more breath-taking he was when she awoke. Those pine green eyes searched her own as their souls spoke to one another, words not doing justice for the love they felt. Her face however must have looked particularly emotional that morning for Rowan reached with his other hand to lightly flick her nose.

“You are looking at me with a rather sentimental expression this morning, Fireheart” he chuckled quietly, for it was still early in the morning. “Even more than usual.”

Drawing her eyes away from his, she remarked innocently “Well it’s just that I can spy a bit of chocolate cake on your nose, and I’m wondering how it got there. I would kill for a slice.”

Looking confused, Rowan’s eyes crossed as he attempted to get a look at the offending article. Not being able to contain herself, Aelin reached up a hand between them and said sweetly “Here, let me get it”, then suddenly flicked him just as he had flicked her.

Rowan’s eyes uncrossed to glare at her as she quietly laughed in his arms. However his glowering could not last long, especially when he beheld her smiling in these early moments of the day, raw and sleepy and entirely his. He still couldn’t quite believe how lucky he was to have such a beautiful and strong mate. Her laugh worth the stars and more.

“Now who looks like the soppy one” Aelin teased, tightening her arms around her mate, as if she couldn’t get close enough to him. As Rowan reached down to kiss that spot where her life thrummed in her neck, he suddenly paused, mouth inches from her skin. Aelin frowned as her anticipation was not met, and looked up to see her deathly pale husband staring back at her.

“Rowan, are you okay?” She inquired, automatically pulling away slightly to survey his body for damage. Just because she was used to being queen didn’t mean her assassin instinct had left her. Rowan continued to stare at her almost blankly, his mouth parted slightly as if his muscles had gone slack with shock. “Rowan” she said more firmly this time, panic now coursing through her.

“Fireheart… Aelin I… This can’t be…” Rowan stammered, something her rarely did. His eyes searched her body, as if he had never seen her before.

“Tell me” Aelin demanded, fear building for the first time in what felt like a long, long time. Her brow furrowed as she ran a list through her head of what could be possibly wrong.

“But it has only been a few months, it couldn’t possibly happen so soon” he whispered, as if he was conversing with himself, trying to understand his own thoughts before he could tell her what they were. His eyes shifted back to hers, silver lined and wide.

“What do you-“ Aelin began, stopping as a thought whispered through mind, a feather on the wind. Her own face slacked to match her mate’s as she stared at him in disbelief. All thought but one left her head as she searched in her mate’s eyes for the answer to her silent question.

“Are you sure?”

A tear ran down Rowans face as he sat up, his wife following his movements. Lost for words, Rowan simply nodded to his wife, knowing in his soul that what he had scented on her was real.

Pregnant. Aelin was pregnant.

Her hand absentmindedly drifted to her stomach as she faced forward, trying to collected her thoughts, collect anything from the swirling of emotion inside her. A gentle hand came to rest on top of her own, both of them cradling the miracle beneath. Fae conception was a rare occurrence, especially between two fae partners. Rowan’s own parents had nearly faded into the Afterworld before they had had him. For Aelin to fall pregnant after mere months of trying was near impossible, a gift from the Gods they would have said, if those same gods hadn’t their world years before.

But Rowan had missed the scent of a pregnant female once before, and vowed to never make that mistake again.

So when he had scented it, that sweet new layer to his mate’s existence, he knew. Tears came flowing down both their cheeks as they looked back to one another, in joy as pure as gold. Unable to contain her magic, Aelin’s skin began to glow, as if the sun itself lived within her.

“No wonder I felt extra soppy this morning, my hormones must be going wild” She rasped, glancing down at her glowing stomach as if she could see the life within.

Rowan’s answering howl of laughter broke quickly into a sob as he clutched Aelin to him, as if he would never let her go. He had yet to speak, words failing to convey the storm of emotions raging in his body. But drawing back once more, Rowan let his heart guide him, knowing Aelin would understand

“In all the years I live, no gift or honour will be as great as this.” He began, tears still flowing freely. “We have faced darkness together, Fireheart, fighting and surviving to see the sun rise again. We have lived though fear, sadness and triumph. But this…” Rowan breathed, his brow meeting hers as it had once done in Doranelle,

“This is hope.”

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kindasadwriter · 4 years

Text

This turned out to be way longer than I expected so I put a cut in. Hope you like this anon!

While he had no clue where you were he knew you were nearby thanks to Hattori’s absence. The bird who had been loyal to him and only him for years developed a weakness for you at your first meeting, irksome at times but he had no right to judge considering his own feelings. Though he couldn’t help but wonder if Hattori would be so enamored if you processed a different devil fruit power or none at all.

He’d never get an absolute answer but he was fairly certain if you were anything other than a bird Hattori would be far less interested.

Turning a corner to cut through a nearby alley Lucci’s frown deepened when he realized there was still no sign or trace of you. If he was searching for anybody else he’d have more patience however this was you and it was very likely you were not only already aware of his presence but knew he was searching for you as well. Which meant you were purposely avoiding him.

Which was beyond infuriating.

Emotions aside, while the two of you have fought in the past he’d never managed to seriously injure you and during your more recent meetings he made no effort to do so. If you noticed the change in nature you kept it to yourself, and if that was the case he was thankful for your silence as it kept his pride completely intact. Regardless of what he told himself or how he looked at it, falling in love with an unaligned informant was embarrassing and dangerous considering his own occupation.

There was nothing he could do though. The government could try to send others but you were very particular with those you interacted with and rather than waste resources to find another lesion to work with you, it was easier to just send him.

Watching him from the sky you chuckled as Lucci continued to search for you. You were well aware he knew you were here however revealing yourself like that was no fun. Well that and it was strategic to remind the house cat that you couldn’t be found that easily, though you would admit thanks to his keen senses and Hattori’s infatuation he was the one that found you with the most ease. Glancing at the bird that’d was peacefully perched on your shoulder, you could admit to yourself that you’d developed a sort of soft spot for the house cat over the past few years. You had a hunch he’d developed something similar for you but he was a difficult man to read.

Wings getting tired you glided down to a nearby building and transformed back to normal. Wings turned back to arms and talons turned back to legs. You’d consumed your devil fruit as a child and so your bird like abilities had become second nature. Wanting to have some fun with him you found a nearby fire escape and stealthy made your way down to the ground. Arguably you were putting yourself at a disadvantage considering Lucci’s power-both physical and devil fruit ability but the opportunity to sneak up on the man or at the very least surprise him was far too good to pass up.

Spying on the spy, you followed him around careful not to make a sound. Every so often Hattori would notice how close you were to Lucci and would try to fly back to the man but you made sure to keep the bird in place by using your left arm to anchor him down onto your shoulder. If he were to return to Lucci no doubt he’d know just how close you were.

Hattori really was a peculiar bird. They had no devil fruit and yet they could find Lucci and yourself as if the two of you had trackers that led the bird to you. At first you believed the bird to be a very realistic robot but an accident between you and Lucci proved otherwise. You still felt a little guilty but time had healed the birds wounded wing and neither Lucci or Hattori seemed to hold a grudge over it.

As Lucci stepped out of an alley way and back into the public you let him get a little further before stepping out to continue your stalking. Humming softly you had to wonder exactly what the man needed this time. It hadn’t been all that long since you’d last met and it was rare for him to need more information so soon. Had you unknowingly come across valuable information or had the house cat docked on the same island as you by chance? If it was the latter there was no guarantee he was actually searching for you right now and even if he was it was of his own will rather than orders.

The possibility brought a small smile to your face. So distracted by the thought your grip on the pigeon loosened and sensing the opportunity to return to Lucci and alert him to your presence Hattori launched himself off your shoulder and was back with Lucci in moments.

“..Ah..” You observed as the man eyed the bird before turning his head slightly to look back and scan the area, “Not great.” You added as the two of you made eye contact.

Well, this was fine too.

Transforming back into your half bird form you gave the man a wink before taking off into the sky. Regardless of where you went he’d be able to track you now so you might as well go somewhere more private to talk or fight. Really you’d prefer the former but every so often he’d ask for information you weren’t willing to give the government and that’d result in a fight between the two of you. Him trying to force the information out of you without killing you(because let’s face it you were a valuable resource) and you trying to push him back and look for a proper means of escape.

Spotting a fairly secluded area you landed but didn’t bother transforming back. It didn’t take much longer for Lucci to arrive.

“Hey house cat.” You greeted with a smile.

His frown deepened at the nickname but he said nothing regarding it, “How long were you following me?”

Innocently humming you tilted your head to the side, “No idea what you’re talking about.” You replied, “I definitely didn’t follow you all the way from that restaurant, through the alley ways for a good hour or so and then through town for a little bit.”

Trying to keep his brow from twitching Lucci took a deep breath before letting out an exasperated sigh. How was it one woman could be so irritating? Not wanting risk playing any of her games, both for professional and personal reasons Lucci cut straight to the point, “What do you know about the country of Dressrosa?”

Now that was a..complicated subject. The country had changed drastically since Doflamingo took it over and getting information about what happened was..difficult if not confusing. You’d visited it on several occasions but talking to people and some of the strange toys had only made things more confusing. Stories seemed to contradict or end without reason. Citizens had blank spaces in their memories, photos they couldn’t explain, and other odd occurrences.

You’d wanted to go back to investigate more, simply to satisfy your own curiosity but the heavenly demon had sent you a very clear warning that if you returned to that country you wouldn’t leave it. While you didn’t doubt your own strength you also weren’t foolish enough to put yourself in a situation where an entire island could be easily turned against you and so you’d taken his warning to heart and never returned.

“Not that I doubt your strength but if you’re planning on taking a trip to Dressrosa I’d advice you to be more cautious than you were today.”

“Care to expand on that?” He questioned.

Not all that protective over Doflamingo or the country of Dressrossa you were happy to tell him a majority of what you knew, which unfortunately wasn’t nearly as much as you’d like. The underground SMILES, green bit, Doflamingo’s odd rise to power, the human like toys, and the citizens odd behavior at times.

Lucci wasn’t surprised by a majority of the information you gave as CP0 had already gathered the same though there were some loose ends that were tied up by what you said. If he thought you were holding out on him he would’ve said something but by the time you finished talking you had an unsatisfied expression, it was the same look you had when he refused to tell you how he loss to straw hat. Actually it was the same look you wore whenever you didn’t know as much as you wanted to, it was amusing and cute and at times it made him wonder if fate had originally intended for the both of you to consume the others devil fruit.

“I thought you’d know more.” He finally said, earning himself a warning glare. Shamefully and painfully aware that you’d probably been stalking him for quite some time before he found you he continued to push your buttons. His words really weren’t all that insulting if you thought about it, the fact you knew anymore than CP0 was beyond amazing especially considering you worked alone for the most part(your only-ally other than himself to a degree-being the media that protected you and had far too much leverage over the government for anything to be done to you without facing a wave of backlash that), well you really were something else.

“Well if it’s not good enough you can always go ask some other world class informant.” You snapped.

“I might have to.” He casually agreed.

Fingers involuntarily twitching, you took a step towards Lucci. Jabbing your index finger directly into his chest you glared daggers as you spoke up, “I know for a fact there isn’t anybody else like me” You paused before adding, “Anywhere, Lucci.”

Were you defending your profession or simply stating a fact? It was true for both but he wouldn’t admit it to you right now. If he did your conversation would be over and the two of you would have to go your own ways. It was impossible to avoid, the two of you really weren’t meant to be close or have any sort of relationship and yet you did. Lucci still recalled the shocked looks and surprised tones when he returned from his first meeting with you. He supposed he was lucky you took an interest in him because he’d gotten more information out of you than anybody else had and since then you’d become a part of his job to the government. And what did you get in return?

Looking up at the sky, or rather the news coo that had been circling above the two of you for some time he really couldn’t help but wonder. He’d tried questioning you before but so far it had been the one thing you refused to answer him about. Never the less, moments like this were more than enough for now. This kept the two of you alive and allowed you to continue meeting and until he could find out exactly what your relationship to the media was, what you were getting and they had over you and you over them-there really was nothing more you could do.

#one piece imagine #rob lucci imagine #rob lucci #CP9 #op imagine #one piece

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littlebookreader · 3 years

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Lunae lumen ipsum

This has two parts: Information and the fic itself. For slightly easier accessibility, I will put both in this post itself.

Some information first:

Summary: Olwin Keller receives a distress call, mush to Margaret’s chagrin. (For the Wednesday prompt ‘Favourite Relationship’ of the Victoriocity Appreciation Week 2021. Takes place a week after ‘SMS Brandenburg’, a day after Ego ne hic quidem.)

Fandoms: Victoriocity(Podcast)

Rating: Teen and Above Audiences

Relationships: F/M, Gen

Word count: 666 words(yes, I know)

Characters: Chief Inspector Olwin Keller/ Margaret Keller, Chief Inspector Olwin Keller, Margaret Keller, Mrs. Pomligan, Timmy Keller, Inspector Archibald Fleet(mentioned).

Additional Tags: Domestic, established relationship, realistically married couple, absolutely adore these two, ghosts aren’t real(are they?), crack treated seriously as crack, can’t really think of much else, author regrets everything, no beta we shout like Mrs. Pomligan, here you go

@victoriocity-appreciation for the Favourite Relationship.

Part 4 of Love, Actually.

This was the information. For the rest of the fic, it’s all under the cut.

Fic:

A locution glass can be a powerful, useful thing, carrying all sorts of messages across while loosely maintaining your facial features, helping to convey the expression of the message. Right then, the Kellers only saw them as a menace, ruining their night’s sleep, which was, already, a rare occurrence.

“Olwin, could you please turn it off?”

��Can’t, Margaret, duty calls.”

“And what about your family?”

“Oh, again with this? I told you-”

As one might expect, the late-night calls grew both in length and in frequency, mostly civilians calling in to claim they’d found a member of the spy network loitering around nearby or ‘watching them’, whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.

The latest one reported a sighting near the coffeehouse, by the owner herself, Mrs. Pomligan, who for whatever godforsaken reason, insisted on staying up the whole night. Well, it wasn’t that he COULDN’t tell what her reasons were, though keeping awake to ‘look for ghosts loitering about near the place that poor man was killed’ wasn’t exactly what he would call ‘a plausible statement’.

“I’ve seen ‘im again, Inspector, and you KNOW that he’s real.”

Keller could tell that Margaret had had just about enough of all this and snarked, “That’s what coffee does to you brain, it does.”

“Could be the stale ‘Archie buns’ they serve too, who knows?” He muttered.

“I will have you know, good sir, my buns are NOT stale!”

He sighed. “Couldn’t you just report your observations to the nearest available constabulary?”

“Inspector-“

“That’s CHIEF Inspector to you, Mrs. Pomligan-“

In the pale, not-quite-accurate image of the glass, it’s looked like she was dismissing it. Keller shrugged, it could just as easily have been a trick of the light. “Right, right. Could you please look into it? He’s scaring off my customers, and you know how much they love my coffee, the poor dears.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, while Margaret remarked: “I’m sure it isn’t the spectre that’s scaring them off, Mrs. Pomligan.”

Keller respected few people, and feared even fewer. Mrs. Pomligan, to no one’s surprise, fell in the latter category, with her booming voice and sudden exclamations. Part of him just wanted to run away screeching like a little girl, and hide under the covers, though whether it was to protect his ear drums, or his dignity, he wasn’t quite sure.

“Very well, but does it have to be done NOW?”

The face in the mercury faltered. “Well, no….But it would be appreciated if you could. There was also something else, though I think little Archie would want to tell you about it.”

“Come morning, I mean, when the sun rises, I mean, I will send my best to look into it.”

“Thank you, Inspector!” With that, the liquid settled back into its traditionally inert stance, while Margaret mimicked. “Thank you, inspector, you know how much they love my coffee, inspector. Ugh, doesn’t she realise the stuff is inedible?”

Keller stood by, lost in thought as his wife rambled. Something else? Ask Fleet about it? Why would she say THAT in the end? Margaret seemed to notice this, as she joked, “I know my impressions aren’t the best, Olwin, but surely they’d get a laugh?”

“You’re absolutely right, dear,” he muttered, still lost in his reverie. What happened at that coffeehouse?

“Olwin, is something the matter?”

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry, it’s just something she said.”

“Ah, yes, about Fleet. You should talk to him, try to find out exactly what she was insinuating.”

“Margaret-”

“But not now. Now, just go back to sleep. Whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait.”

Despite his general mood and growing desire to get back to sleep, Keller knew that it couldn’t be further from the truth. They walked back to their bedroom, only stopping by Timmy’s room once, only to find him sleeping there peacefully.

They smiled at each other, briefly forgetting all their concerns. After all, whatever it was could wait till morning.

Couldn’t it?

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dat-town · 4 years

Text

catch me if you can

Characters: Eric & You

Genre: fluff, comedy

Setting: spy au, gang au

Summary: Eric Sohn got the mission to catch you but you always managed to slip through his fingers. Little does he know: rather than him catching you, he would get stuck into your web.

Words: 3.3k

For @lily-blue. See? I warned you I’d write you something with this Eric. You’re welcome. (Don’t worry he’s cute because I know you’re a sucker for his cuteness.)

Inspired by the Chase promotions and Eric’s rap in The Stealer: “Is it an addiction? You’re not an easy mission. Losin’ my mind. The fire’s ignited and I run to catch you.”

Eric Sohn would have liked to think he was no fool. Yet, you made him feel like one.

He stood flabbergasted at the dead end having no idea where you had gone when he was clearly chasing you close enough, this time almost catching you. But you slipped through his fingers. Again. The boy ruffled his hair in frustration and groaned in his annoyance, knowing all too well the teasing he would get from his team mates for going back to the headquarters empty handed. Again. He had been put on the task of retrieving you for weeks now and the closest he got to you was to see your cheeky smile and triumphant looks before disappearing. He started calling you Black Widow in his head. That way it hurt his pride less. You were just that good.

Eric sighed in defeat and after looking around in the dirty alley he indeed turned back to go back to the HQ where he could already feel Sunwoo’s curious eyes on him as soon as he stepped inside. That meant that Haknyeon, their IT guy who monitored his movements, didn’t tell about his failure yet.

“What’s with the long face?” Sangyeon patted their youngest on the shoulder when he walked past, oblivious to the elephant in the room that Eric didn’t want to be reminded of.

“That girl from Alpha got away again, I guess~” Sunwoo singsonged and grimaced childishly when Eric’s nose scrunched up and lifted a hand threatening to hit him. Friendly competition was an everyday occurrence at their base but sometimes Eric really hated how Sunwoo, only a few (okay, more than like six) months older than him, managed to do everything perfectly on the first try.

“Ah, is this the girl whose know-how would be crucial in order to take Alpha down?” the senior agent asked since he managed a different team with different missions this time around. Eric pouted as he nodded, admitting that his lack of professionalism held back the whole team.

His so-called Black Widow used to be a member of Alpha but a few weeks back, just before he got his newest mission, she went stray. It looked as if she was running away but not from the police but from her own gang. She was considered a traitor which would have come handy for their agency in order to deal with Alpha if they could use her knowledge about her previous team.

“You got this,” Juyeon told him kindly, encouraging but it didn’t really lift the boy’s mood. It was easy for Juyeon to say with his wide shoulders, long legs and piercing look, he was one of Cre.Ker’s top agents. When could he ever?

“Yeah, we still have time. Maybe you should approach her differently? It seems like she knows our usual tactic,” Sangyeon mused out loud and the boy nodded, agreeing. Maybe he should have changed his strategy, he just didn’t know how. But he was determined, so he didn’t give up.

Okay, so Eric’s usual tactic was to lunch onto the scene as soon as Haknyeon let him know that he spotted you somewhere. He wore all black to dissolve into the shadows more easily. He had his earpiece in and everything ready for work, so maybe that was the problem: he was being way too obvious. Aish, of course, you knew you were being tailed. So this time around he tried to take a step forward, to get ahead of you: he wandered around the neighbourhood where you usually hang out hoping to catch a glimpse of you while you wouldn’t spot him. So he didn’t wear his usual baseball cap, nor the black turtleneck, instead he opted for a printed sleeveless shirt, a leather jacket and skinny jeans. Something casual but sexy enough to not be the odd one out in the clubbing area of Itaewon. For someone who was on run you seemed to prefer this neighbourhood, so Eric took his chance and looked around.

Everything seemed ordinary that day: teens whining when bodyguards didn’t let them inside the bars and drunken people being a bit too loud. Nothing really doubtful, so Eric was very much taken aback when he was pushed to the wall in an alley and blinking his surprise away he saw you looking at him with furious eyes.

“You don’t know when to give up, right? Don’t you think you’re being suspicious by walking around the block for the third time?” you scoffed at him and it sounded so scolding that Eric’s ears burnt red.

“Well, I still got lucky, don’t you think?” he grinned, happy that he could lure you out and using this chance, he grabbed on your wrist to turn their position around and pressed your back against the brick wall, holding your hands steady.

“You’re ruining my incognito, you stupid, it’s not luck,” you scrowled, not happy at all, and your words made the boy furrow his eyebrows in confusion.

“What incognito? Is it because of Alpha?” he raised a brow and you rolled your eyes at him as if it should have been obvious. Well, maybe to you. For him, you were a mystery and it should have been his job to get info out of you. If you were hiding because of your ex-team, Cre.Ker’s plan would have come in handy for you, too. Working together could have been a win-win, only if you listened to him! “Look, we are not on opposite sides.”

“You’re seriously telling me that?” you asked pointedly looking at him holding you down which made him momentarily flustered and hesitant whether he should let you go or not.

“If I let you go, you would run away...”

“If you don’t, then we both might end up dead,” you hissed at him and a dumbfounded what? left his mouth before he noticed a shadow towering over you on the wall and turned around just in time to block the attacker. Or at least one of the bunch of gang members who decided to come at you with metal bars and baseball bats.

What the heck? How rude, Eric thought but before he could have joked that it wasn’t a nice way to say hello to a lady a.k.a you, you had already punched a guy in the face, so for a moment he just stood and stared, impressed. Then he realised the seriousness of the situation and that this time there won’t be a team back up, so he got to fight back these bad guys.

The two of you did well on your own but against like seven bulked up guys, it was almost impossible to get away without a scratch, not to mention you were also better at hiding and disappearing than fighting for your life, so you realised pretty quickly that it would have been wiser to break into a run. For a moment, you pondered over the thought of going alone, leaving this random guy who had kept following you in the past weeks behind but you got curious why he said you were on the same side and knowing Alpha, they would have tortured him if he didn’t manage to leave too. So, in the end, you let out a deep sigh and after kicking a guy hard in the stomach, you run to the boy, grabbing his elbow.

“Let’s go,” you panted and ran into a sprint, Eric following you a moment late.

The two of you were running like crazy, chased by the big guys through the Itaewon crowd. In a way it made your job easy because it was easier to blend in but also harder since there was a higher chance someone would tell where you went. You couldn’t run forever though, you needed a hideout, you knew that, so you made the decision in a split second turning unexpectedly right and then instead of running forward, you pulled the boy behind you into the first building that was there, crouching down to hide from the thugs running along.

You waited for a few moments before standing up, straightening your back and looking around only to find curious eyes on your figure. You elbowed the agent in the side to turn around as you awkwardly bowed towards the receptionist of a motel or so it seemed.

“Would you like to get a room? Or do you maybe need me to call the police?” The woman looked at your duo in suspicion already reaching for the phone on the counter.

“No need. We… we will take a room,” Eric stepped forward. He wanted to talk with you anyways, at least this way he would have a proper place to do so, without anyone eavesdropping. He glanced at you, a part of him expecting you to protest but instead you stepped forward.

“Please if my brothers come and ask about me, don’t let them know,” you dropped your voice and slid more than enough cash to the lady at the counter. If she noticed how wide Eric’s eyes had gotten, she didn’t comment on it and just gave you a key for the room in the very back. From the way his muscles get tense, you could tell the boy didn’t expect you to half-hug him to keep on the act but he swung an arm around your shoulder quickly and laughed it off when you shoved him off as soon as the door shut closed behind you.

“The fight you put up back there was impressive,” he hummed and you found it amazing that he was so casual and open about it. You rarely got compliments like this one from guys. They were too busy trying to impress you.

“I just know how to live in this harsh world,” you shrugged and shut the blinds closed after staring out of the window for a short minute.

“Bad childhood?” The agent questioned you which left a bitter taste in your mouth. It wasn’t a fresh wound but still.

“Fucked up life.” A scoff left your throat as you looked him in the eyes. He got pretty ones, like melted chocolate, it made you muse for a moment too long before the cruel words slipped through your lips: “You wanna know why I left Alpha? Well, I didn’t really have a choice. They want me dead. That’s just the cherry on top.”

The laughter that you forced out was a dry one but the guy at least attempted a smile. The gesture froze onto his pale features though when he moved his arm and you heard him hiss when he shrugged his jacket off him. You might have made a comment on not being interested in his biceps if you didn’t notice the huge lilac bruise blooming on one of his shoulders. It looked like he crashed into the wall pretty damn hard.

“You got hurt because of me,” you pointed out, apology in your voice even though you knew he wasn’t your responsibility.

“It was my decision to follow you around,” he shook his head observing the injury like a kid blinking at the torn skin after falling.

“Still,” you huffed and walked into the small motel room’s even smaller fridge and pulled out the ice pack to toss it over the guy. Lucky for him his reflexes were good enough to catch it before landing. After a moment of silence watching him apply pressure on the bruise with a grimace you called for his attention with a question. “What’s your name?”

“Eric,” he answered too quickly, too easy. You clicked your tongue.

“The real one.”

The guy, Eric or whoever, cracked a mischievous smile at that.

“It’s as real as it can get. My Korean name is Sohn Youngjae if that’s what you’re curious about,” he said and the tone of his voice sounded genuine, though it could be a well made up lie that he used for a long time. Sohn Youngjae, codename: Eric, you made a mental note to yourself to not forget it in case you needed the info later on.

“Who are you working for?” you questioned next, another tick in your mental checklist which made the boy chuckle.

“Is it an interrogation?” he raised an eyebrow playfully, his smile lacking any of the previous pain, as if he forgot so quickly that he got hurt. He sounded surprised even though your curiosity was only natural.

“You told me we aren’t on the opposite side,” you explained in a more serious tone and Eric nodded at your words. After seeing what you were capable of, it was a lot more probable that he would convince you to take their side than to take you to the HQ with force or anything like that.

“Right. I can tell you my story if you tell me yours,” he suggested and reached out with his right hand for a handshake, as if it could have sealed your deal. You stared at his calloused fingers for a moment, nibbling on your lower lip before taking his hand in yours.

“Okay,” you said knowing fully well that there was no guarantee either of you told the truth but after all it was a game of trust.

So eventually you ended up sitting on the floor with the pillows stolen from the double bed, taking turns. You learned about Eric’s hometown and the explanation behind his English name, about how he came to Korea for an internship and ended up joining a spy agency. In exchange you told him about your shitty family, the drug and alcohol issues, how you ended up on the street at 17 and stumbled into your troubled ex. You got into Alpha because of him and for a while it wasn’t that bad, just dealing for easy money. But he’s got some serious issues, so you broke up and you wanted to leave but it wasn’t so easy. And about a month ago, you saw one of the uppermen kill someone and as a witness now you were their newest target. Too bad for them: you were too good at hiding. That even Eric admitted.

“We are planning to take them down, you know. With your help, we could,” he spoke up quietly as he turned on his side to look at you from his place on the floor. You stared back at him without blinking or avoiding his intense, honest gaze. With your experience it was hard to put your trust into anyone’s hand. It was nothing personal.

“I’m not sure I trust you enough for that yet,” you told the boy, straightforward as always. He didn’t take it to the heart, based on your observations he never did.

“Well… what can you lose?” he hummed looking you straight in the eyes and his question rendered you speechless.

You in fact didn’t have much to lose. You were on the run anyways, you had no ambition to stay in the gang work but getting involved with a spy agency? What if you ended up in jail even if you helped them? You should have earned mercy at least for your help, shouldn’t you? Or maybe it was just wishful thinking to have a fresh start, a new normal life. Though you weren’t sure what was normal anymore. You liked the adrenalin, you liked the excitement running in your veins, just not the idea of having a target on your head.

So you sealed your lips and turned onto your back, staring up at the dark ceiling as if that could have answered your questions and by the time you glanced sideways at the boy to ask about his agency, you saw him asleep. His eyes closed, pouty lips slightly apart, breathing evenly. Huh, he really trusted you to fall asleep like that. You faced him to keep an eye on him but after a while you felt dreamland pulling you into the dark as well and before you knew you fell asleep on the floor next to a boy whom you barely knew.

It was you who woke up earlier, startled by the closeness and peaceful sleeping expression of Eric. His head fell off the pillow sometime during the night and his hair was quite messy, cheeks having imprints of the carpet. It was kind of cute.

Especially when he eventually woke up and rolled away from you with wide eyes as if he was afraid of you hitting him or something. You just giggled at his antics as you sat up.

“Get up. We need to leave before sunrise,” you told him and Eric reminded you of a kitten as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and stared at you dumbfounded.

“What? We?”

“I’m saying I can help you catch the Alpha guys if I can get amnesty,” you let him know about your ultimatum and you had never seen a guy get up so fast after waking up. Eric seemed super enthusiastic and pretty giddy for a spy talking about getting rid of one of the most dangerous gangs of Seoul.

“I’m pretty sure that can be arranged,” he said, already grabbing at his leather jacket before turning to the bathroom. But before he would have stepped inside, you looked back at you, uncertain.

“Chill, I’m not going to run away,” you rolled your eyes and got ready to leave as well. The new receptionist was basically half asleep when the two of you eventually checked out, blending into the shadows of the pretty empty streets. Only a few early birds were out there which made you more nervous than crowds and it didn’t help that you had no choice but to trust Eric as you followed him through metro stations. Neither of you talked too much but you saw him on the phone texting with someone and when you eventually got into the elevator of a fancy office building, you turned to him, questioning.

“So where are we going?”

“To meet my team leader,” he explained so casually you raised a brow at him, hands on your waist, almost scolding.

“You’re taking me to the HQ? How can you trust me like that?” you called him out on his naivety but Eric had the audacity to laugh at you. His mouth pulled into a laugh as he turned to you and took a calculative step closer as you backed up until the elevator’s wall cautiously eyeing each of his movements.

“Look, you’re pretty deadly but I doubt you can take us all down in the heart of the organization but try your best if that’s your evil intention,” he smirked down at you, tilting his head, trying to seem intimidating in his big boy look with the leather jacket and you had the urge to pinch him on the shoulder just to see him flinch. But actually, you had a better idea.

“Do you want to know my most evil intention, Eric Sohn?” you whispered standing on your toes and you took your time with the pause on purpose, letting your gaze wander to his rosy lips before looking back into his chocolate eyes. “Seeing you blush again.”

Ding.

The elevator’s door opened and you whipped your head towards the office on the other side.

Crash.

Eric was too dumbfounded to see Haknyeon fall off his chair or Sunwoo stare at you with his jaw dropped while the boiling water Changmin was pouring into his mug started to overflow as all eyes were fixated on your duo. Casually as if nothing happened you patted Eric on the cheek, asking sweetly:

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

You pretended not to hear one of the guys yell that Eric brought his crush to the base.

#the boyz x reader #tbz x reader #the boyz eric #tbz eric #eric sohn fluff #stories

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seventfics · 3 years

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Prickly Urchin

Written for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Prompt: Cursed Relationships: Emhyr var Emreis/Sigismund Dijkstra Rating: T (Swearing Language) Content Warnings: None Summary: Few people still alive can say they've met the emperor before his ascension to the Nilfgaardian throne. A young Count Sigismund Dijkstra is one of them. It's just that neither of them knew.

Read on AO3

* * *

“Ah, my friends. Let me introduce you to Count Sigismund.”

Three old gentlemen turn from their muted conversation to look at him—look up at him. Rare to find a man taller than himself, and today is not that day. Dijkstra keeps his smile pleasant as the eldest of the bunch gives him a firm handshake with a not-so-kind side-eye to his build.

This is the first of his ‘courtly’ parties.

In Dijkstra’s mind, the party is merely reconnaissance. In such small and comfortable confines, he can overhear the concerns of the noble elite as they are being spoken aloud, and not from a spy’s penned cipher. He can make note of their political conflicts with each other, their plans for retirement, and if any of it involves the Redanian crown.

He is an agent first. Count is just what the king has chosen him honorable of, and one more weapon to add to his slowly-expanding network.

Of course, attending personally means actually having to mingle and talk with the peacocking arseholes, which is a fucking pain in the bollocks.

He hates the attention his height affords him in times like these. Being noticed means more people bother him with questions and curiosities. But, it also brings whispers to him, names to remember and investigate later.

Adapting is part of a spy's job.

“I’m a humble servant of the king,” he tells the few who look to be snooping too closely at his unfamiliar presence.

“I am a lettered man of Oxenfurt,” he tells the ones who are searching for a status to preen about.

The rest simply get his name, and the evening fest continues.

He doesn’t care about what the evening is about. The important people, the connections, the information—that’s all that matters. Not the distasteful night’s attraction.

"You must stay for midnight, Sigismund. I've a delightful surprise planned for rare auction."

"Is that so?"

The rich love their parties, he knows, and oh how they love a little risqué presentation to end the night.

He is aware of what attending such a fete would also do to his reputation, but that is why, just as they bring out the girls who look too young to be drinking the chilled wine, he slips away into darkened hallways. No one will remember his face among the partying crowd. After a few rounds of drinks, no one will remember the face of the person that sat next to them all night. And he is counting on that.

Most of the guests have been asked to stay confined to the great hall, with servants moving in and out of special doors that connect to the residence’s kitchens. Dijkstra had been tracking the timing of the servant rotations, waiting for the right opportunity to slip through so his evening could start.

The manor is enormous, full of halls and a dozen small rooms, each with their own designated purpose. A book reading room. A letter reading room. A room that appears to be a library, with all of its books covered in dust as if no one’s moved them in a decade. Certainly the lord of the house has too much time in his fucking hands to have a room dedicated to books he won’t read.

Still, Dijkstra makes note of everything in his mental map. Such a place would rarely get visitors, none but a snoop like him on a night like this.

How strange though. A useless, dusty room for a dozen and more servants to ignore. The rest of the house looks so spotless. Smells like secrets get whispered inside these walls.

As he runs fingers through the spine of a book he recognizes from his old Oxenfurt days, he notices the uniform arc of furniture scraping the floor from repeated movement.

He never could resist a secret.

* * *

Of course he also hates musty cellar air worse than dust.

The side of the library’s shortest bookcase gave way to a slim doorway, one he had to squeeze through with effort. “Of–fuckin’–course there’s a bloody fuckin’ cellar under the fuckin’ richman’s house,” he says, mostly under his breath in case there’s someone at the other end of the sconce-lit hall. “It’s practically required decor. Need to make bloody note of that when I hire a mason for my own godsdamned manor...”

He slows at the small cells that emerge between shadows. There is a bear chained against the floor in one of them.

No—not a bear. Dijkstra squints in the lowlight. It’s long-limbed and man-shaped, with a net of spikes, or quills, sprouting out of its head and back.

Well, well. What a curious prize to have stashed away, is his intrigued train of thought.

The lock clicks when he inspects it, but the thing snaps its teeth at his fingers—suddenly close enough to grab him through the bars—and he is forced to push back to avoid losing a healthy digit. He can’t help the angry, “fuck off,” that comes out of reflex.

After its failed lunge, the creature assumes a defensive crouch. Although the chains keep it from scurrying to a dark corner, it still manages to create a significant distance where Dijkstra cannot touch it or its chain.

Strangely sharp eyes never move off of him, even from behind the shield of a wooly arm.

Dijkstra sniffs, and immediately grimaces at the damp, underground smell attacking his senses. “You’re a cursed thing, aren’t you. Smart. Maybe human once. Well,” he scowls harder at the grime and the pitiful secret inside a richman’s cellar, “you’re lucky I've no interest in mangy pets. I’ve also no taste for pointless cruelty and by the look of things upstairs, that's what's going to happen. So if you’re smart enough to understand a single fucking word I’m saying, get your spiney arse over here so I can pick the bloody lock of that chain.”

The creature stares at him for a gobsmacked, godsdamned minute. A minute that he feels inch by with building sweat, dreading an eavesdropper or worse, the lord coming down to poke and prod at its prize before his little midnight 'auction.'

Slowly, the creature slinks closer, the chain rattling as quietly as chains allow.

Dijkstra blinks to himself. So it is smart.

“I was never here,” he starts, turning the picks almost blindly, “I got lost on the way to the fucking loo, did three circles around the central room. I didn’t see or hear anything about a prickly arse man kept in a basement. I’m not a party person, and I hate competition.”

He mutters his alibi uselessly to the mute creature, with no sarcastic input or snappy retort. It's surprisingly trusting and patient, for an overgrown urchin that has no reason to trust a man he’s never met, especially given the circumstance.

“Phil is going to laugh at me,” Dijkstra continues under his breath anyway, “I came for intrigue and left because the most interesting thing in this house will probably get me killed to have discovered.”

“Thank you.”

Dijkstra raises his hands in mock surprise. “So it speaks.”

As if to be contrary, the urchin man keeps his silence again. Now absurdly sardonic of him. He should be kissing Dijkstra’s foot.

“If that's all, scram.”

The urchin man stands to its full height, which is considerably tall among most men, though not even close to Dijkstra’s imposing build. Not that it seems to be intimidated.

“I won't forget this,” it says, voice heavy with gravitas.

Dijkstra snorts. “You should.”

* * *

Years down the line, Karma finally catches up to the great Redanian Spymaster.

It was only a matter of time. It caught up to Radovid first. Now the Black Sun flies over the Redanian capital.

As a self-serving man, Dijkstra worked for and against both sides of the war. He held no regrets, certainly not for any kings whose heads might have rolled and paved way for better allies and stronger ties to him. He is aware of how an emperor might find that threatening. He’s not like Vernon fucking Roche, who is the most loyal, most frustratingly oath-keeping man he's met.

An enemy to the empire’s will, Dijkstra is brought before the emperor himself. In chains, of course. Can’t have an audience without fucking theatrics. He would do the same.

As he is herded through Foltest’s halls—bastard rest in peace—he is brought to a small staircase, one he takes slowly for his bone-aching leg.

“His Imperial Majesty Emhyr var Emreis, Deithwen Addan yn Carn aep Morvudd, Lord of Metinna...”

Dijkstra zones out half through the list. He is the tallest man in the room and still his eyes fix themselves on the ground, weary from being herded around half the damn Continent only to be sentenced to death the proper bureaucratic way. At the marked end of the final title, he bothers to look up and sees an ordinary man emblazoned in black robes, red brocade, and gold chains.

And strangely sharp eyes.

He’s hit with a feeling like he’s seen them before, even though it should be impossible. A faded memory nearly rewritten itself into uneventful obscurity crawls out of the abyss.

The emperor stands. An unusual occurrence, going by the startled attention of the guards.

He looks at the spymaster but doesn’t say anything besides a short, apparently cut off, “you.”

Dijkstra has got to give it to him. The bastard gathers himself to gesture naturally really well. He might have even fallen for it, if he hadn’t already caught the wide look in those familiar eyes.

“You are the infamous Sigismund Dijkstra. Or is it Sigi Reuven now?”

“I like the sound of Reuven better.”

The dead silence tells him he broke protocol by not finishing with the obligatory, ‘your imperial majesty.’ More bureaucratic bullcrap that will get him hanged faster.

But the emperor simply blinks. And rounds the table to stand before him.

Dijkstra carefully keeps still, his back straight as it can be with how his busted knee bothers him. Then the emperor says something in Nilfgaardian, and the guards holding his arms behind his back retreat to the doors. Finally, he can put weight off of his cursed leg.

The room wordlessly clears at the emperor's raised hand.

It’s only in the forced privacy that he is spoken to again, with a very cryptic, “I never forget the favors I owe.”

The memory barrels through his tired brain like a horse-drawn carriage without a rider.

“You don’t owe me shite,” he says with a sniff. That urchin—that fucking urchin man he spared one ounce of pity that night. Became emperor of the godsdamned world.

From rags to riches, he thinks almost hysterically.

Emhyr lifts an eyebrow. “Are you sure you do not want an emperor’s favor?”

Well. When he puts it like that.

"Considering what these fun little trinkets promise," Dijkstra emphasizes with the rattling of chains, "I'm not so sure what I can do with that favor."

Now they're in familiar ground. Deals and offers and counteroffers—and the urchin emperor speaks the language like a fluent native.

Dijkstra keeps his eyes level with Emhyr's as the man circles him round calmly. He doesn't turn his head to follow where he steps. He doesn't need to. It's his ears that must stay alert and attentive to the words chosen for delivery.

“You danced around my agents and my own spymaster like they were children fumbling in the dark." Emhyr pauses to round him again but in the opposite direction. His profile is the very portrait of his imperial likeness painted and sold across the Continent. The artist of those really captured his stare. Respectful and arrogant at the same time. "You made a powerful enemy, Mister Reuven, and you've made yourself quite the competitor in the Redanian scene. But perhaps we can talk and see where our disagreements lie.”

“Disagreements? Light way to put it.” He scoffs, but there is no denying how bloody curious he is to test how far a favor from the emperor will reach. “Sure, I'll be amenable to a talk.”

* * *

When he tells Roche, the fucking vassal lord of Temeria just standing around the corner of the throne room, he laughs at the answering disgruntled, constipated face.

“You saved the emperor when he was a cursed urchin, and now you’re the collared prick at his beck and call?”

“Says the whoreson who gave him Temeria wrapped in a pretty bow.” Dijkstra sighs. Roche sighs too, but his is more soulful. “Ah, fuck it. We both gave him the rest of the world on a silver platter.”

“You don’t sound that angry about that.”

There is a creeping truth to those words. A spy adapts, and he is adapting to the current lay of the land and its rules.

Dijkstra taps his newly acquired cane on the polished floor, remembering a shady party and the cellar with an urchin man with too-sharp eyes. What would have happened, had he not freed the beast? Would the world be under a different iron fist, a crueler fist? Would it have all burned down already, with neither him nor Roche alive to bicker about it? Would it have been peaceful, with no room for spywork like his?

“Maybe I wanna see this through.”

He always did love the challenge of an abstruse, unreadable mind to win over. Kings were one thing, but an emperor?

His thoughts must be written plain as day on his face, as Roche looks at him like he's struggling between throttling him, or diving neck first into a clear bottle of Nilfgaardian Lemon.

#dijkstra x emhyr #pre relationship #rarepair summer bingo #tt #myfics

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lilacs-with-lavender · 4 years

Text

Slip Away Pt. 1

Read it on Ao3 here!

Kaz Brekker x Inej Ghafa

For my lovely six of crows ladies, you all know who you are. Thanks for making the tale end of 2020 a little less of a nightmare. Merry Christmas!

Summary:

After a long year of putting slaver ships at the bottom of the ocean, Captain Inej Ghafa docks in Ketterdam for the first time in a long while. She tells herself she’s come back to take on some new crew, maybe visit a few old friends. But if Inej is being honest with herself Jesper’s last few letters have had her worrying about a certain bastard of the barrel, one she hasn’t heard from in months. One who’s rasping voice and light touches have haunted her dreams since she left.

WC: 2,556

Warnings: Angst, feels, Crooked Kingdom spoilers!

The first thing she noticed was the familiar smell. The salt of the sea mixed with Ketterdam’s smoke and oil to form the scent that used to greet her every morning she slipped out the window of her room in the Slat. Off to collect some information about the Dime Lions’ plans or the Razor Gulls latest recruits, helping to encourage meaningless gang wars over territory. It was hard not to imagine herself as young and naive when looking back at her time spent with the Dregs, even if things had changed after the Ice Court job, even if now she’d found her true calling.

A small part of her still resented that girl who had obeyed Kaz Brekker without question, without thought.

The Wraith came into port, making for that berth he had given her all those years ago, and Inej felt the wind whip at her hair as she took in the sight of her city.

The young woman she was now spent little to no time thinking of Ketterdam’s infamous crime boss, if her thoughts strayed to her past visits to this place she lost her focus. Sailing, looking after her crew, and going after slavers, that’s what mattered.

Now, with her crew eager to take a reprieve from life on the True Sea, Inej had time to think about him. Them. Both now laden with even more titles than they’d had when she had left last year. Even on the sea, she could never escape the odd mention of him, Ketterdam’s king of the Barrel.

The shouts of her crew shook the pirate queen from her thoughts, the melody of her battleship’s sails and ropes forming sweet music as they worked to secure The Wraith to her dock. Once the gangplank had been lowered and she’d seen everyone off, Inej hesitated. No matter how many times she returned to Ketterdam her heart always beat this nervous staccato at the prospect of seeing who awaited her at the docks.

She had thought with the years that had gone by she had matured, lost the naive part of her that hoped, longed for a sight of him waiting to greet her. Cane in hand as if not a day had passed since she last saw him.

Most of the time she was disappointed, this time was no different.

But when her quick scan of the crowd found only Jesper and Wylan waiting for her she stole herself, a smile lighting up her face as she dropped her bags and embraced them, forcing the disappointment down until it was nothing but a memory.

~*~

Dinner at the Van Eck household was always a good time, and tonight was no exception. Drinks were passed around and Wylan dined with his whole household, a now natural occurrence since he had insisted from the beginning that such a ridiculously large dining table be put to good use. Inej enjoyed herself, dazzling the girls in his employment with tales of her adventures. One, in particular, a sweet-tempered Shu girl who cared for the house’s grounds with her father, took to Inej right away.

“After you rescued those Ravkans did they join your crew?” She asked, in awe of one of The Wraith’s latest conquests, a slave ship that had specialized in Grisha.

Inej twirled more pasta around her fork, “Well, we give them a choice, they can rejoin their families in Ravka or join our crew. It’s a harrowing experience being taken, most choose to return home.”

The girl wrinkled her nose slightly, “I’d definitely join your crew.” Then seeming to realize what she had said she blushed, golden eyes darting away from Inej’s amused expression.

“I think that’s a terrific idea,” her face lit up like the sun at that but glimpsing the girl’s father eyeing them warily across the table, Inej added, “for when you’re old enough to sail of course.”

She frowned but nodded after a moment, fixing Inej with a very serious look for a thirteen-year-old and saying solemnly, “that’s probably for the best, I’m not that good of a swimmer.”

Inej laughed but schooled her face into a serious nod as the girl was led to bed by her father, the rest of the household heading home one by one and leaving the three of them alone. It was a comfortable silence, the food finished and their bellies full, Inej opened her mouth to ask how Jes’s father had been when she caught sight of something on his hand that threw the all-knowing Wraith for a loop.

Wylan saw where her eyes were fixed and smiled as the realization dawned on her, “That isn’t a… You two aren’t-”

Apparently unable to contain himself any longer Wylan cut her off mid-stutter, “Engaged?”

Inej blinked at Jesper who for once in his life looked shy as he fingered the carved silver band that now graced his ring finger. “You didn’t tell me?!”

He had the audacity to shrug sheepishly, “I could’ve told you in my last letter but we wanted to tell you in person! Nina and Kaz still don’t know!”

Wylan said smugly under his breath then, “Kuwei does though, and he’s not as happy.”

A shocked breath of laughter escaped her then and she smiled as they glanced at each other, the devotion in their eyes so clear it tugged at her heart. “I assume this means my pirate spoils for you both will have to wait until the wedding then.”

Jesper looked at her, stricken, “Wait what- no pirate spoils until the wedding?”

He turned to Wylan, face somber, “I’m afraid I have to rescind my I do merchling”.

Wylan rolled his eyes and looked to Inej with an expression that said, can you believe this is the idiot I decided to marry?

The conversation quickly turned to Jesper’s outrageous wedding plan involving a releasing of crows instead of doves but as the three of them laughed, she couldn’t help but feel lonely, with just the ship, the sea, and her crew for company it was easy to forget Inej didn’t have what they had. Never permanently. Even though she’d tried…

She blinked back the memories of rare sunny days during the summer when she had docked here, receiving notes inviting her to various high-end bakeries and cafes throughout the financial district that she’d never stepped foot in. Refused to remember stolen kisses in alleyways as they walked back, the barest brush of skin-to-skin contact that had her floating through the rest of the day. But inevitably it had ended how it always did, with tense arguments about who was worthy of who, rainy nights that left her in such a state that she left without saying goodbye…

It was those vivid memories that caused her to mutter, her voice barely above a whisper as she asked, “How’s he been?”

Jesper and Wylan stopped their banter to answer her, bright expressions turning solemn and sad, they pity me, she realized. “We haven’t seen him in two months Inej.”

Her braid swung off her shoulder when she turned to Jesper, brows furrowed, “You promised you’d check on him in your last letter Jes.”

Her old friend sighed, as if weary of dealing with Kaz Brekker’s moods now that he’d found happiness for himself without said bastard of the barrel. “I did, he refused to see us.”

She spluttered slightly, the audacity of this man. “He refused- I’ll go then.”

Wylan and Jesper exchanged a pointed glance and Inej looked between them, “What now?”

Jesper winced as Wylan prodded him, “He sort of told us that he didn’t want to see anyone we brought by… he may have mentioned you specifically.”

Wylan cleared his throat when she opened her mouth to ask why exactly he would say such a thing, explaining quickly. “We, um... we think he was drunk.”

Inej stared at the both of them incredulously, Kaz had done many questionable things while she’d known him but he’d never gotten drunk.

“How on earth could you tell, I thought you didn’t see him.”

There it was again, that shared knowing look between the two of them, it was starting to get on her nerves. Eventually, it was Jes who said, “the orders didn’t really sound like a sober man’s words… we may also have heard some rumors a while back, something about Dirtyhands losing focus on the job.” Inej winced, if that had been because he’d been thinking of her… the Kaz Brekker she knew wouldn’t have forgiven himself very easily. Saints, she had been away for too long.

Rising from the dinner table she lay her napkin down and grabbed her cloak, “I have to go check on him.”

Wylan just sighed and said, “We know.”

~*~

She stuck to the rooftops by habit, their different dips and gullies like old friends as she made for the Slat. Inej was once again struck with the odd feeling of being thrown back in time as she leapt over tiles. Suddenly she was sixteen and heading back to the Slat to report, her day spent eavesdropping and spying for Dirtyhands… for Kaz.

Now she was almost twenty and as she approached the glowing windows of the Slat her old perch outside of Kaz’s office seemed small. The treasured refuge of a barely healing girl and her crows.

Inej slipped through the window, breath sucked in now that she had developed the curves and muscle that came with being a woman her age. Standing in the dimly lit room brought back memories she had kept locked away while at sea. Quite nights spent talking, eating, laughing… sharing hesitant touches whenever she visited Ketterdam. But always that reservation in him, the thought he had voiced on several occasions that rankled her.

Not good enough, not deserving, monster.

Inej still had faith in him, there was no one who held her heart hostage more than Kaz Brekker. Despite all his ridiculous self-loathing that secret part of her still remained. The bit that held onto hopes of a sun drenched future with the bastard of the barrel.

So she felt no small amount of disappointment when she found him face down in papers at his desk, undercut dramatically disheveled. He looked a bit as if he had been tearing at his hair. The mess on his desk made it quite impossible not to guess what he had been doing before passing out.

Splayed across the worn wood were unfinished papers, all with his coarse yet refined handwriting, all addressed to her. Inej shuddered as she happened across one without her name, addressed only to

My Treasure,

Someone had been very drunk indeed.

She turned away before any other words jumped out at her, slipping off her cloak and hanging it on the stand next to his hat. It had only been a few months since she’d last been here but it felt like longer. A quick glance at the rest of her room and it was clear Kaz was still using Per Haskell’s old office for business. This floor was just his rumbled unmade bed and the old desk, on which the letters were splayed.

Sighing, she reached for him, breath hitching when her bare hands shook his shoulders gently. When there was no response she shook harder.

“Kaz.”

His face was still hidden in his arms but a muffled groan had the corners of her mouth perking up. Her voice turned sing-song as she bid him again,“Wake up Kaz.”

He lifted his head and blinked at her blearily, eyes clearing as she fought not to laugh. His voice sounded tougher than usual when he spoke however, and her stomach did a somersault. “I-Inej?”

He looked so confused, so out of his depth, she really couldn’t help herself.

“Hello, my treasure.”

Kaz blinked twice and Inej would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the way his pale skin flushed as the realization hit him. Before she could purr anymore adoring nicknames he buried his face in his bare hands, an audible, “Fuck”, his only response.

Inej laughed, spirits rising as she helped him out of the chair, not trusting him to balance on his own two feet. Kaz made no objections surprisingly, only held onto her shoulder as they made their way to his bed. She glanced at his profile, the scars she had memorized were still there, his fading blush and pained expression all synonymous with the boy she had missed on the True Sea.

Before she could slide out from under his arm to set him on the bed, however, Inej was stopped by a hand at her waist. Her eyes holding his as he leaned towards her, slowly moving both hands up from her hips to her back until they were so close she could tuck her head under his chin if she wanted to.

Instead she held his gaze, the intensity and longing there no doubt mirroring her own as he leaned closer. Inej held her breath now, gaze fixed on the rafters above them as he pressed a kiss to her neck and settled there pulling her closer by the waist until she was encircled by his arms.

“I missed you.” The soft admission was spoken just next to her ear, and she shivered, hands curling against the front of his shirt. She doubted it was the alcohol talking now, it was the most honest thing she’d ever heard him say when she came to visit. It was always the game of “What business?” and “Good to see you back Wraith.” Certainly never this.

Inej couldn’t be happier, in fact, she could die right here in his arms and it would be a wonderful way to greet death. It was only when his kisses resumed that she realized he needed sleep. Kaz never moved this fast sober, the boy she knew could spend hours just playing with her hair and be fulfilled.

Inebriated Kaz, however, didn’t seem to have the same idea and Inej had to push him away. His hands dropped to his sides and when she shoved him further down onto his bed, those bitter coffee eyes that she so loved begining to flutter shut. Before she could turn away from him however he reached a hand for her wrist, not even flinching as he blinked up at her slowly. “Stay… please.”

Now it was her turn to flush, her eyes darting from his bare feet to his loose shirt and rumpled hair. There was no way this would end well, but as always, when it came to Kaz Brekker, Inej’s common sense made itself scarce.

So she toed off her boots and slipped her knife belt under the bed, walking to the window and door to lock both before laying down beside him. They had never dared share a bed over night before, certainly not after any amount of what they considered intimacy. Usually after such intense touching both of them were quite tired out and more than ready to take a break. Now, Inej could only think of how warm he felt next to her, how right.

And as she drifted off with her head tucked into the crook of his neck, she couldn’t help but think that this was better than anything the True Sea had to offer.

~*~

First kanej fic and I’m freaking outtt you guys I hope I did them justice! A ship that gave me the will to live over quarantine deserves only the finest *sobs*

Anyways Merry Christmas all!! Please come say hi on ao3 or reblog this post if you have time & tell me how you liked this!! ~ Love Liles

#kanej #post crooked kingdom #six of crows #soc fanfic #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #kaz x inej #feel good fluff #bed sharing #crooked kingdom

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lesbianlotties · 3 years

Link

the only touchstone of truth - Marla/Fran

Chapters: 7/7 Fandom: I Care A Lot (2020) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fran/Marla Grayson Characters: Marla Grayson, Fran (I Care A Lot) Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Origin Story, Canon Backstory, First Meetings, First Kiss, First Dates, Getting Together, Morally Ambiguous Character, Illegal Activities, Eventual Smut, Flirting, Partners in Crime, crime wives Words: 21010

The American dream. The small business that Marla Grayson built from nothing. And now it's all crumbling down back to... nothing. Marla is left to pick up the pieces of the broken dream, but this time she's determined to start a fire with what she has left. The problem, or rather, the solution, comes in the shape of Fran, a gorgeous woman that, unlikely as it seems, has just as many tricks under her sleeve as Marla. This is how they meet, this is how they fall into each other's dangerous games, and most importantly, this is how they fall in love.

Love, the only honest thing about each other, and the most important part of their story.

Final Chapter:

It was natural, mostly, the way the couple gravitated to spending most of their time in Fran’s home. It was simply much better than Marla’s, and the blonde woman had very clear priorities in her life. One, herself. She wanted to win, she wanted the best of life, she wanted to get everything she desired. And that was a very attractive apartment. And number two… well… it was Fran. So, Marla, never one to half-assing her actions, promptly embraced this new perspective of her life. She stepped into the relationship with all the blazing passion she put into every new project. If in the process Fran managed to reveal an unexpectedly loving side of the ruthless businesswoman, well, that made it all just even better.

Along with their relationship, their newest business adventure was about to begin. This involved a lot of planning, a lot of risks, and also a lot of bright mornings getting ready together in Fran’s house with their best suits. This, of course, very often included some variation of the same incident in which they get distracted with each other and constantly arrive late at important places.

For example, Marla sitting on the bed, leaning back on her hands, waiting for Fran to come out of the bathroom. When the brunette finally strolled out, she smiled at the sight in front of her and said, “You look great.” Her newest suit really fit Marla perfectly.

“I know,” the blonde tilted her head and extended a hand to beckon her girlfriend closer. “And you’re fucking stunning,” she added. In a second, Fran was standing between her legs, leaning down to kiss her, and stifle a laugh when she felt Marla’s hands eagerly move to their favorite destination to cup her ass.

“We could stay home today, you know?” Fran whispered against the other woman’s lips. It seemed they took turns making such a suggestion, and only rarely did they manage to resist the temptation.

Marla let out a small groan. “No. Today’s important,” she bit Fran’s bottom lip, but then genuinely tried to pull away.

“Come on, Marla,” Fran whispered seductively while moving to kiss and nip at Marla’s neck. She was proud to elicit a pleased sigh from the woman in her arms, and even more overjoyed when she pushed Marla onto the bed and she complied. However, she was happily surprised when, not a second later, Marla had switched their positions and pinned Fran to the bed on her back. The following kiss was positively breathtaking, and it got even better, or perhaps even worse.

Marla placed a hand firmly on her girlfriend’s chest to keep her laying still on the bed, and then she pulled away to say, “Have you ever heard about marital tax deduction?”

The thoroughly unexpected question on top of their previous activities had Fran gasping for a breath. “You don’t… pay taxes,” was the only thing she thought of.

“I’m just saying,” Marla replied, giving Fran one of her signature shark-like grins, and taking advantage of the brunette’s shock by stealing one last kiss, and then pulling away completely, standing up, and starting to walk away.

“Marla?” Fran called after her. She couldn’t move the bed. She was blushing and her brain was threatening to short circuit. Was that a proposal? It wasn’t like Marla to joke about something instead of outright stating what she wanted. And yet, she wouldn’t bring it up if she hadn’t thought seriously about it on her own before. “Marla!” Fran repeated, jumping out of bed and chasing after the woman of her dreams.

“There are some great financial advantages to a civil union, that’s all I’m saying!” Marla called out already halfway down the stairs.

Both of them were laughing then. Of course, there would be financial gain. Would Marla really do something if there wasn’t some sort of profit for her? Only time would tell how serious she was about the subject, and how far each of them would go for each other.

“Well, I’m impressed,” Dr. Karen Amos stated as she leaned back on the chair of her office.

In front of her, on the other side of her desk, Marla and Fran waited for her answer, wearing matching sly grins, stylish clothes, and perfectly balanced energy radiating between the two of them that she could tell had a lot of potential. She almost had it in herself to feel a spark of jealousy, or envy, But that was quickly overshadowed by her blatant interest in the business offer in front of her. After all, Marla had chosen her for a reason. Marla knew her well enough to know she’d look past their history and say yes to this.

“Are you in?” Marla asked.

As if anybody could say to her, the doctor thought.

“I’m in,” Karen nodded confidently. “I believe I could even give you a name or two right away.”

While she looked over her files, Fran received a call and excused herself out of the office. With three folders in her hands, Karen returned to her seat and took the opportunity to talk a bit more privately to her ex.

“I have to say,” she started, “I was really surprised by your visit.”

“I hope this is alright,” Marla replied.

It annoyed Karen just the slightest bit, the way Marla was still mostly using her business voice. She shook her head and regarded the other woman silently for another moment. “Of course it is,” she scoffed playfully. They hadn’t been bad for each other, not exactly. Marla had simply made it extremely clear she didn’t want a relationship. That didn’t seem to be the case anymore. “You two look right for each other,” she added, a little more softly, and she meant it. Marla tilted her head and listened attentively.

“Yeah?” the blonde said.

That was better, Karen thought. Marla’s shoulders relaxed. They could be friends after all. “Perfect match,” the doctor grinned.

Marla returned the smile, and she was earnest as she said, “Thank you.” She hadn’t made many friends in her life, for obvious reasons, so this was something she’d come to appreciate deeply.

Just then, Fran walked back into the office, holding her phone. “Sam Rice called,” she told Marla, “He said he would love to meet you.”

“Oh, I know him,” Karen chuckled, “You’ll have him eating off the palm of your hand, Marl.”

Marla and Fran had barely made it out into the parking lot when Fran playfully pushed Marla’s shoulder with hers. “So, Marl, huh?”

“I never liked it when she called me that,” Marla rolled her eyes.

“Cute,” Fran smirked, and delighted in the warning look her girlfriend sent her way.

One more day of work, one more day of the two of them struggling to let themselves walk out the door of the house.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Marla asked, running her hands through Fran’s hair in the way she knew her girlfriend adored.

“I thought you hated the surveillance part of the job,” Fran sighed.

“I do, I get restless,” Marla admitted, and dipped her head to start leaving feather-light kisses on the exposed neck of the woman in her arms. “But you make one hell of a sexy spy.”

That comment made the brunette laugh brightly, and wrap her arms tighter around Marla. She let the embrace last a few more seconds of perfect warmth, and then she begrudgingly pulled away. “I gotta go,” Fran said, and kissed Marla’s cheek. “And you have to find us an office.” She slowly walked away, picked up her keys, her helmet, and then paused at the open front door with carefully planned nonchalance. “Hey, I almost forgot,” Fran reached into the back pocket of her pants and then threw a set of keys that Marla easily caught.

“What’s this?” Marla asked with a small frown.

“Your keys to our house, of course,” Fran replied. She was leaning against the doorway, smiling confidently, as if this were an everyday occurrence. “No offense, baby, but your old place doesn’t do you justice.”

Then, just like that, Fran was out of the door, starting her bike, and driving away to stalk their first victim in the business of legal guardians. Marla, on the other hand, was standing in their hallway, lips parted and heart-racing pleasantly. She took a deep breath and, holding her set of kets tightly in her hand, she walked up the stairs to their living room. She had many calls to make. She had to find them an office and staff, and then arrange the official move from her previous apartment into their home.

It wasn’t the first time that Marla and Fran walked up the steps that lead to court, and it would be far from the last time. But this would likely be an unforgettable occasion. It was their first hearing with Dr. Karen Amos and a gullible judge to get the legal guardianship of a lonely, rich, old woman.

“Are you nervous?” Fran playfully asked her girlfriend.

“Not so much,” Marla easily replied. “But if we lose again you might have to hold me back or there’ll be casualties.”

The two of them shared a laugh. Marla’s worries were completely unnecessary. Karen’s lies about her patient were spot on, the judge did everything but burst into tears for the fabricated story, and a few signatures later, Marla was legally responsible for the wealth of a woman she’d never met. She had a perfectly calculated plan of what all her next moves would be. Her plan, obviously, included pressing Fran against the wall of a secluded spot of the hallways of court and kissing her like both their lives depended on it.

“Is this going to become a tradition?” Fran gasped with a breathy laugh as she grasped Marla’s short blonde hair.

“God, I hope so,” the other woman chuckled, diving back in for another kiss.

Champagne glasses clinked together as Marla and Fran celebrated the success of their first job. An innocent woman locked in a care home, a house sold, everything under Marla’s name, and earning additional money for every overpriced hour they spent stealing from her. It couldn’t be more perfect. Not when Fran is sitting on the chair across from her in the dimly lit restaurant.

“I could get used to this,” Fran smiled. To Marla’s ears, it sounded like something from a dream

“What? Being able to afford this?” she replied. Admittedly, she was a little distracted. The restaurant was colder than expected, so now she was wearing Fran’s jacket over her sleeveless dress, which left the brunette’s arms exposed to Marla’s appreciative blue eyes.

“Winning,” Fran said, “while knowing I’ll be taking you home with me at the end of the night.”

Her words made Marla shake her head fondly. It had been months already. They were living together, and their relationship showed no signs of soothing its fire. In the blink of an eye, Marla could picture an entire life with Fran by her side. It would never stop being exciting, no matter how comfortable and safe they could get with each other.

“What’s on your mind?” Fran asked softly, sipping her champagne.

“You.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Seriously,” Marla chuckled along with her wife. She took a moment to organize her thoughts and then further explained. “Do you have any idea how unexpected you were to me?” she wondered out loud, and without waiting for an answer she went on. “Not a part of any of my plans. Not even in my wildest dreams. Now I can’t even picture my life without you.”

Fran’s smile never wavered. She took a deep breath and let the precious word settle deep within her heart. “I’m not going anywhere,” she promised and raised her glass again as she added, “Ride or die.”

The smile from Marla then was worth absolutely every risk they would ever take for each other in their lives.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Grayson,” Fran playfully said, holding open the door to their offices.

“Oh, come here,” Marla chuckled, grabbing the neck of her girlfriend’s t-shirt and pulling her in for a kiss as they stumbled into the hallway of the place.

It was still empty, and they’d have a lot of work to do, but it was every bit as good as they had imagined it.

“This place is huge,” Fran laughed while they walked around the entire place, stepping into every room and making big plans for the future. “Are you sure this is all necessary?”

“Who cares? We can afford it!” Marla chuckled. Their business of guardianship was taking off, and soon enough she would have these offices filled with employees and clients and victims and power. Then they arrived at the main office, her very own office with the wide windows, big desk, lots of space, and it was all her. “God! It’s gorgeous!” she exclaimed.

“It’s ambitious,” Fran whistled, equally as fascinated with the space.

“Oh, I’ll fill it up, don't worry.” Marla leaned against her desk and sighed contentedly. This was a great step in the right direction, and she was feeling more confident than ever about the path she was following in life.

“With you? I never worry,” Fran swiftly replied.

In a minute, Marla was sitting on her desk, Fran standing between her legs, and they were kissing with all the abandon of being in an office they owned with windows closed and doors closed behind them. The feeling was indescribable, and when Fran expertly started kissing Marla’s neck, the blonde couldn’t help herself anymore, couldn’t hold back a minute longer. She moved her lips close to Fran’s ear and whispered, “Marry me.”

“What?” Fran pulled back instantly, she was shocked and happy in equal measure.

Marla bit her bottom lip and looked deeply into the most perfect pair of brown eyes. A small part of her still believed this was a stupid thing to do, but the greater part of her didn’t even mind being a little stupid for Fran, as long they could do this together for the rest of their lives. “Someday,” Marla said, placing her hand on Fran’s cheek, “When we’re really fucking rich, I’ll marry you, properly. I’ll get you a gorgeous diamond, we’ll travel the world for our honeymoon, everything will be perfect.”

“And right now?” Fran asked breathlessly, although she was nodding already and her voice was trembling.

“Let’s just sign those papers,” Marla smiled, hopelessly in love. “I want to share this with you, completely. The business, the success, the good, and the bad. Partners through and through. Yes?”

“Yes. Yes, absolutely,” Fran replied, without an ounce of hesitation in her body. She pressed their lips together again in a searing kiss. They laughed together, a tear or two might have escaped, and it was only just the beginning.

In their offices, a handful of staff was hard at work managing dozens of clients, properties, sales, court visits. In several care homes across the city, men and women of old age cursed the devil of blonde hair and tailored suits that robbed them of their freedom and their money in a mostly legal manner. In Dr. Karen Amos’s office, her patients walked in willingly and innocently, and more often than not their files were shared with a ruthless businesswoman that could put their lives upside down to her will. In their home, their things waited for their return, the kitchen where they shared their meals, the comfortable living room where they made all their big plans, the bedroom that was witness to the most passionate and the most tender displays of the love the couple felt for each other. Finally, in their car, Marla and Fran drove from one place to the other in complete and confident bliss. Business was good, life was better, and legally, they were married. They felt invincible.

“Who’s the next one?” Fran casually asked from her place behind the wheel.

“Hm. Mrs. Feldstrom. She won’t give us too much trouble, I think,” Marla replied.

“Sounds good,” the brunette nodded. There was a pause then, and Fran couldn’t help the smile that appeared on her lips. She didn’t even need to turn her head to know that Marla had her eyes fixed on her. But she didn’t mind taking her eyes off the road to look at the blonde that stole her heart all those months ago. The expression on Marla’s face was beautiful. “What?” Fran asked her, sounding a little amused.

“You know,” Marla replied, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#me? finishing my wips? it's more likely than you think!#i care a lot #marla grayson #fran #marla x fran #ical #i care a lot fanfic #fran x marla #my fic

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velvetmel0n · 4 years

Text

Sunlight

Summary: You meet a strange man on a strange planet and strangest of all, you decide to help him.

Rating: T for teen???

Word count: 8.4k. Look. I don’t know either.

Warnings: Mentions of death, some fun near death experiences also scattered in, mutual pining, no smut yet but that’s coming in part 2, Ezra saying “pretty bird” instead of little bird at very opportune moments, a dash of angst if you squint? Egregious use of italics and dashes

A/N: Shout out to thesaurus.com

@djjarindin @paniclana @longitud-de-onda @flower-petal-blooming @rzrcrst @poeticandors @hopelikethesun @himbopoes @darksideofclarke @themandjalorian @parkerstan @tintinwrites @tarrevizslas @huliabitch @dindjarindiaries @ah-callie @writefightandflightclub ya’ll gotta let me know if you’re here for Ezra because I have no clue who to tag and if you aren’t I sincerely apologize

“What a serendipitous occurrence,” His voice is unlike anything you’d expected to find all the way out here, some far flung corner of the star system on a planet you think wants to kill you in particular. You hate how much you like it already, the drawl. The way it pours over all the syllables he fills it up with. You try to chalk it up to the fact that you’ve maybe spoken a mouthful of words with anyone in the last two planets and are going through some sort of withdrawal.

“What’s so serendipitous about it?” Your manner of talking is harsher, less eloquent than his and— and honestly it’s a relief. By virtue of your profession you don’t meet people with whole books inside their heads. You don’t meet people with the room for two or three words that all mean the same thing or whole phrases when only a few words would get the idea across.

But you don’t lower your blaster just because he speaks instead of talking and is only raising one hand in the air. Not yet, anyways.

He only smiles and at this distance you can’t tell if the corners of his eyes are crinkling but you imagine they do, with a grin like that. “It appears I woefully misjudged the landing and my ship was swallowed by a most voracious ooze as consequence” He pauses here, the marsh grass swaying around him in the light breeze. It smells sweet and wet in the twilight, a pink moon beginning to rise over his shoulder and turning the sky some dusky purple that you’ve never quite seen before. If anything it makes the tall grass look even greener until it almost seems to throb.

Ah, so that’s it. He’s trying to talk his way onto your ship.

You can’t blame him for not wanting to die out here, stranded and alone on a hostile planet and you want to put the blaster down. You’re not a killer, a fact that no doubt would come back to bite you someday— but there’s something inside of you, some harebrained desire for human company on a carnivorous planet that’s too green for comfort that makes you want to... to trust him.

It’s a bad idea and you know it. “I am cognizant of how I must look but I assure you I am quite dexterous; I intend to pull my weight in exchange for passage aboard your fine vessel next rotation.”

You could use the help for harvest. You could send him in front of you as you make your way towards the mountains that rise up in the distance, capped in fog and covered in jungle, not knowing how many more pits of “voracious ooze” that lay between you and your quarry. You’d almost been swallowed up yourself at least twice since landing just the day before.

“What is your name?” You find yourself lowering your weapon, telling yourself that you can use him and you will because human decency is rare on the Fringe and if it becomes more of a habit than it is already it’ll get you killed.

The moment your blaster stops pointing at him he visibly slumps, releasing all the breath he’d been holding waiting for your answer. “Much obliged, little bird. My name is Ezra,” Even without the threat of possible death he’s no less dramatic, speaking like no one you’ve ever heard before with his voice arcing over the swath of marsh between you and falling at your feet. You can’t help but wonder if he did anything before this, what his other lives must have been like to produce what you see before you.

He makes it maybe three steps closer to you before he falls, crashing face first into the water under the weight of his exhaustion. He’d been walking for two days to get to you after spying your ship, descending from the heavens and shining like salvation. The last thing he sees is your eyes going wide, face swimming in his mind’s eye before everything goes black.

This is not how you expected the rest of the night to go after Ezra’s appearance. As much as you had chided yourself for wanting to help him, wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt and trust that he really did mean you no harm, when he falls you can’t stop yourself.

You drop your blaster and run for it, glad that at least for all its other dangers Sebu has water. Only water. No poisonous or corrosive compounds lurk within it for you to worry about on top of him not being able to breathe as you slosh over to him.

You grab his suit and haul him to his side, pushing him over onto his back and puffing with exertion because he’s heavy, waterlogged and dead weight at your feet. His skin is uncomfortably warm against your hand when you dig it underneath the layers of protective gear he wears to check his pulse, fingers finding the too—rapid beat a moment later. For all the bravado you had earlier, this close to shooting him you promise yourself, you’re relieved that he didn’t just drop dead.

“You’re gonna owe me big time for this,” You mutter into the darkening air, grabbing onto the neck of his suit and starting to pull. It’s slow going, the fact that the water is only ankle deep is both a help and a hindrance but eventually you manage to drag him into the belly of your ship, soaking wet and still passed out.

You just look at him sprawled on your floor for a few seconds, hands on your hips and panting, sweat slicking the back of your neck despite the relatively cool temperatures. He looks objectively bad under the harsh lighting; there’s mud on the skin you can see and his lips look chapped from here and you’re struck with the realization that he’s shriveling up before your eyes.

All of his water had to have gone down with his ship with whatever filters he kept and with how dried out he looks you’re sure he hasn’t been dumb enough to try and drink the marsh water. Safe to touch it may be, but the idea of actually drinking it still makes your skin crawl.

You know you have to get him out of his suit first before you do anything else and you start with his boots, pulling them off his feet and throwing them to the side for now. With that accomplished you begin the arduous task of peeling off the rest of his protective gear, fighting with the slippery zippers and the buckles keeping everything in place.

After you pry him out of it you find yourself sitting beside him, now propped up against the wall, with an open field kit between your legs because you’re too nice for the Fringe, now that you think about it. It’s a small miracle that you haven’t gotten yourself killed already and you know it because you have a cup of water at your side and are digging through the kit for electrolyte tablets.

“What are you doing there?” His voice is tired and scratches the sides of his throat, little more than a mumble, in a kind of daze as he watches you rip the packet open.

“You’re dehydrated.” You don’t know why you’re going through all of this trouble to help him; he’s a stranger. A stranger who, if he hadn’t lost his ship and his weapons and whatever else, would have likely tried to kill you so he wouldn’t have to share the quarry or worry about you trying to kill him for the same reasons.

He doesn’t dispute it— his eyes feel like they’re full of gravel and he doesn’t think his mouth could be any more dry if it tried. He just watches you pour a handful of tablets into a cup of water, dimly noting that he’s now inside your ship and he doesn’t have boots on. You’re not looking at him as you stir up the mix but he’s looking at you— at your furrowed brow, the set of your jaw. The way you’re not looking at him until you have to and then you’re raising the cup to his chapped lips.

He tries to lift his hand to it but he’s dizzy enough that his coordination is suffering and he just lets it fall back into his lap, settling for letting you do it. The water isn’t cold but it’s clear and clean and tastes like the best thing he’s ever had. He keeps his eyes on you as he gulps down as much water as you’ll give him at a time but yours are on his mouth.

When the cup is finished you fill it up again and he thinks that you might be a dream. “You truly are celestial, aren’t you, pretty bird?” He murmurs into the water before he starts drinking again, unsure of what he did to deserve this.

You don’t bother answering him because you don’t know how to, instead trying to focus on how much water you pour into his mouth at once. You keep trying to think of what he could have been before he became a prospector, but you can’t picture him as anything else than what he is now; hair wild with that odd little blonde patch and a curved scar under his eye. You want to ask about it— you want to ask about everything if you’re being honest with yourself.

But you keep your mouth shut. Instead between drinks of water you find yourself just looking at him, taking in the sum of his features from his hawkish nose and the lines set into his forehead to the way his throat works as he swallows. To you he seems to be cobbled together out of leftover parts. Parts that shouldn’t fit together but do, sewn together by threads you can’t see; the thickness of his drawl and the words he stuffs it full of, the blonde patch in his dark hair. What you’ve seen of his mind and what he does for a living. Even the fact that he only has one arm makes sense in a sort of roundabout way that you can’t quite put your finger on.

There’s only the hum of the ship around you, no other noise to distract from the fact that you keep feeding him —Ezra— water and that your fingers keep brushing his chin and the stubble there, feeling his lip against your thumb. Your side of your thigh is pressing against his own with how you’re kneeling beside him and despite him still being damp you can feel his body heat starting to seep through the suit you still wear.

You only start to move away when he’s able to hold the cup without spilling and he’s sipping at it instead of gulping. “Your generosity knows no bounds and for that I am very grateful, I assure you,” His voice sounds better with the cracks filled in.

“Yeah well, you can thank me by splitting the harvest sixty-forty.” You sound put out, as if sharing the water had been some great effort on your part because in some ways it had been because now you had less and less is a very bad thing to have in the Fringe. You would have asked for seventy but you don’t want to overplay your hand— whatever that hand actually is. Yes, he had his life thanks to you but there are a great many things worth more than a life out here.

Ezra’s lips quirk up at the number and a chuckle seeps out before he can stop it while he adjusts himself against the wall, looking at you through shrewd eyes now that the feeling of his head being stuffed with cotton is beginning to fade. “I do love a woman who knows what she wants but may I be so bold as to suggest a counter offer?” You did save him, that much he can’t deny, but he is nothing if not a prospector. A harvester.

“No.”

The smile falls off his face and his jaw sets and you know you should probably be at least wary of him, anxious even, but you aren’t. Not quite. There isn’t a blaster within grabbing distance and he must still be weak from the extent of his dehydration and whatever ordeal he went through before making it to you. You feel bold because of it and are growing bolder by the minute because you’re beginning to realize that you hold the power in this exchange.

“Sixty-forty. I can always put you back in the marsh,” It’s quiet in the ship but there are stories of things that lurk through the grasses at night, things that stalk in the water that made the mud pits look favorable.

He eyes you like he’s seeing you in a different light now and purses his lips. “You’ll have wasted your water.” He says in that syrup voice, choosing to remind you as if spending the precious resource on him would up his value to you. He isn’t used to being the one at the disadvantage with no ship, no blaster. No way of getting off this planet if not for you. At least with Cee he’d had a bargaining chip— with you he has nothing aside from the offer of paltry labor.

“I can make more. You cannot.” You can practically hear the gears turning in his head. Would you throw him back out if he doesn’t agree? You don’t actually know— but he doesn’t either. You raise your eyebrows and wait, congratulating yourself for the fact that you keep your face impassive.

He can’t argue with that and it grates against him.”Fine. We are in accord, little bird,” He agrees at length, slanting his eyes at you and swallowing another mouthful of water. He doesn’t know what to do with you and that thought alone is disconcerting to him, maybe even more so when you smile triumphantly at him. He’s beginning to feel unraveled.

“Glad you can see it my way,” With that settled you toss a bar haphazardly at him, taking just enough care to not hit the cup in his hand and settle into your bunk. You’re not planning on sleeping any time soon, but it’s nice to sit on something a little softer and warmer than your ship’s floor.

It’s hard to look anywhere else when he begins to tear at the wrapping with his teeth, almost biting off more than he can chew in his haste. You wonder again what he might have been before he was this but can’t picture him as anything else than the man on your floor. You can’t picture him with his hair combed and both arms while he stands up in front of a class somewhere and lectures, you can’t picture him in gloves and a gown while he wields a scalpel.

Your blaster is resting beside you but when he pushes himself up it’s not what you reach for. Instead you throw another bar at him, not missing the startled look on his face when it hits him in the chest. He’s looking at you like he doesn’t know what you are anymore, keeping his eyes on you as he slowly reaches to pick the bar up from the floor.

“I must confess that I have never met another creature quite like you, little bird,”

“Likewise, Ezra.” He feels his lips quirk when you said his name, unused to hearing another say it after so long in the Fringe. He thinks he likes the sound of it coming from your lips.

There’s a strange sort of amiability that worms its way into the ship after that, a sort of truce falling into place without so many words. He doubts you would have allowed him inside if he hadn’t lost consciousness though he respects it all the same. With some of his strength regained he begins to regale you with tales about the other times he’s almost died— the subject fits, after all.

You try to stay awake for it all but there's something about his voice that lulls you despite the amount of words he’s throwing at you, picking up steam as he went to the point that you don’t really need to interject at all to keep the conversation going. Instead you’re curled up on your cot and leaning against the wall, long since having changed out of your suit. The blaster is forgotten somewhere near the foot of the bed and your eyes keep trying to slip shut.

You decide that a few seconds won’t hurt, that you only need to rest your eyes for a minute and then you’ll be awake enough to hear the end of his story. Assuming there’s an end in sight at all.

But you don’t wake up.

Instead you end up sleeping through the night despite the stranger across from you and that is the fact disturbs you the most out of everything else that’s happened in the past twenty—four hours when you wake the next morning, curled up on your cot with Ezra snoring against the wall.

You’ve been alone for so long that even his snoring is comforting to you, a frequent, loud reminder that there is someone else here with you.

You try to let him sleep, moving as quietly as you can manage through the ship to start getting things ready for your trek. You pull your suit on over your clothes and check on his, pleased to find that it’s mostly dry. Almost dry. It’s really the best that can be expected for only a few hours and you figure he’ll live through it.

You busy yourself with preparations so you don’t have to think about how soundly you slept with him near you.

You have your back to him when his eyes open, throwing bars and water into a bag for the trip. He grunts as he wakes, stiff all over from sleeping the way he did. He blinks hard at you, almost expecting you and the ship around you to disappear before his eyes and surprised when you don’t. “I must confess, I expected you to be nothing but the hallucination of a dying man,”

He had dreamed about your face. He dreamed about the way you poured water into his mouth and it seems too good to be true. It is almost unfathomable to him that you’re packing for the trek instead of fading into the recesses of his subconscious, conjured by a combination of desperate hope and delirium. He thinks he sees a smile trying to work its way onto your lips but you say nothing.

You try not to look as he works himself into his suit but you’re fascinated by the way he moves. It’s clear that he knows what he’s doing, the way he works through the zippers and the buckles and you have the thought that he really is as dexterous as he claimed to be.

It’s not until he looks around for the helmet that you realize there’s a problem. The jungles of Sebu are poisonous, in part due to what’s found there and in part due the noxious fumes that are belched up by the pits found there. You think the difference has something to do with the sheer amount of toxic plant matter that the jungle contains, whereas in the marsh you just had to worry about getting sucked under.

You pull out the spare helmet and walk over to him, and he fixes you with that look again, eyeing you like the whole situation he’d found himself in is a trap.

“You won’t get very far without one of these,” Your voice comes out softer than intended as you carefully fit the bowl over his head, making sure the comm is in place.

“Singular creature,” His own voice is rounded and fuzzed out over the channel but it makes you smile. “Do you always provide such aid to such piteous drifters?” It’s a valid question. The answer is a resounding no, but you keep that to yourself as you latch the helmet onto his suit.

“I’d like to think you’d do the same for me.” You know he wouldn’t, but you can’t blame him. What you’ve done, what you’re doing now, this just isn’t the way of things. It isn’t how things went along the Fringe on strange moons and distant planets.

Ezra doesn’t attempt to answer right away because, in truth, he doesn’t know anymore. Before perhaps he could be persuaded if the argument was strong enough, but his first reaction had always been to go for his blaster. It’s just the way of things; it is either you or them, and Ezra will always choose himself. But then Cee had come along.

He was so sure he was going to die against that tree but in an act of either incredible mercy or incredible stupidity she had come back for him, half dragging him onto the mercs’ ship and he hasn’t been quite the same since.

“Perhaps I would, pretty bird. Perhaps I would,” You pause for just a moment on the last latch when he murmurs to you, an odd sensation beginning to curl its way around your rib cage. You try to shake it off and resume your work, double checking that the helmet is secure before you finally step back.

“Are you feeling up to the walk?” You ask to cover whatever was starting to brew, the question genuine. Maybe in the months you’ve spent alone you had grown so lonely that you’d imprinted on the first decent seeming human you came across. Ezra could have done anything to you while you slept. But he didn’t.

“I should be able to withstand the pilgrimage, all thanks to your exceptional care,” He smiles at you, his eyes crinkling at the edges. He looks younger when he smiles, you realize, despite the lines spiderwebbing out. He looks worn but not battered, not exactly. He looks worn the same way a good leather jacket wears, soft in some places but sturdy. Secure.

You can’t get the thought out of your head as you begin walking, Ezra talking about everything and nothing. You’d only gotten a taste of it last night but it appears like he was picking up steam the longer he went and you think that this is how he’s intended to be. Soft and safe and taking up enough air for the both of you, rattling off everything between fact and fiction as the sun rises higher in the sky.

“Did you know that there was once a whole language composed of flowers?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder at you. You had been walking side by side when you first started but he slowly migrated to the front, choosing his steps carefully and making sure he took them before you.

“There was?” You haven’t gotten sick of his voice yet. Your focus drifted at times and you couldn’t repeat back to him everything he’d said, but you’ve been basking in the sound of another voice after so long, and it’s such a voice to listen to, too. Somehow he hasn’t exhausted his vocabulary yet and it astounds you. It astounds you just as much as how much you like the sound of his voice, somehow raspy and lilting at the same time.

“Yes indeed,” He hums, sounding almost giddy that you’re engaging with him. “Every flower translated into a precise sentiment, every color representative of a particular emotion.” Of course he knows something as asinine as what the color of a flower means.

“And what does red stand for?” You indulge him, though some part of you is still genuinely curious— even when he chuckles at your first question.

“Red was the color of love, little bird, of the most ardent variety while yellow symbolized friendship.” He pauses here and again you think you can hear his mind turning over. “If you wish to know my thoughts on the matter I believe they should have been reversed,”

“What makes you say that?” You want to see how his brain really works, why he thinks which color should be what emotion. You don’t think you’ve ever had a conversation like this before on the Fringe or not and you hadn’t realized how hungry you’ve been for a puzzle, a puzzle that happens to be named Ezra. You think you might have even been starving for it.

“What color is the sun?”

You blink; this wasn’t what you were expecting but you’ll play along. “Yellow.” You stare at his back, the way his shoulders move as he walks, just now comprehending the breadth of them.

“Precisely. Red is what flows through our veins and may well be suited to lust, I will not attempt to falsify such facts, but I will argue that love is the same color as the sun.” His head tilts in a way that makes you think he’s trying to see through the thick gray clouds that hang over the marsh if he only looks hard enough.

“Perhaps it is only I that believes such allegories, but should not love be like sunlight? Should you not be able to perceive its warmth on your skin? Should it not illuminate what you couldn’t see in its absence?” His voice is soft through the comms as it wraps around you, contemplative and almost...wistful. He spoke of the sun like he’d been without it once upon a time and yearns for it still. You’re reminded about the trips you’ve made in the Drift, how long you’ve languished under artificial light over the years. Starlight is beautiful but cold and you see now how love can be the same color as the sun.

All this talk of the sun is making you realize just how much you miss it. The marsh is dark and wet and you think you’re going to take a vacation after this. You’ll bring in your haul to be broken down for chemical compounds and then you think you’ll take your earnings to Tavi where the sand is warm and soft and the waters are clear and the biggest decision you’ll have to make is what to eat for lunch.

Ezra rattles off more flowers, more meanings, each less important than the first and you have the sense that he’s trying to bury what he said of love and you let him. Philosophy of any sort isn't easy to find in the Fringe and you have the sense that he had never isn’t used to sharing something like this before. You certainly aren’t.

You’re still in the marsh by the time the sun begins to set and thankfully this time you aren’t dragging Ezra into your ship again. Instead you’re setting up your tent with his help, trying to keep a smile off your lips because in the absence of flowers and feelings Ezra’s transitioned into more lighthearted stories.

He’s older than you are but he seems even older, a thousand lifetimes sealed up within him and maybe that’s why he talks so much. To let some air out before he bursts. You gladly drink up every word and idea he gives you, learning him this way. It feels as if you’ve known him for far longer than a day— but that could just be the amount he talked.

The tent is small but there’s enough room in it for two as long as you don’t mind being cramped, and while your hackles would usually raise at such a prospect— they didn’t. Not as you sealed the tent or took your helmet off, not as you reach for a bar.

“Little bird,” Ezra calls to you and you look up, seeing him gesture to his helmet. “If you would be so kind as to assist me once again,” He has an easier time getting it off than on, but he’s greedy. He wants you close again.

You find yourself nodding and sitting the bar down despite your stomach’s protests at having only one bite, closing the small distance between you. Your fingers work the latches easily and you just know that he’s watching you but you refuse to look up. You already feel flushed and the last thing you need is for him to realize it. You tell yourself it’s because you’re not used to being so close to another person is all, you’re not really used to interacting at all beyond the perfunctory greetings and price negotiations when you turn in a haul and that’s why you’re suddenly flustered.

He’s being spoiled by all this attention and he knows he should try to keep you at arm’s length because you’ll go your separate ways after this. He knows. One way or another he always ends up alone— even him and Cee had parted ways after getting off the Green. It was better for her anyways; she deserved actual stability and a chance to do more with her life. A chance to do what she wanted instead of getting dragged across the galaxy.

He’d seen the look in her eyes when she walked into that hospital with him, at all the possibilities it contained. He’d be...he’d be cruel to take that from her for no other reason than he was lonely. If there was one thing Ezra isn’t it’s needlessly cruel, especially to a little girl. Especially to a friend.

He sees a similar situation happening here, believing that this couldn’t last forever— but there isn’t any rule anywhere stating that he can’t enjoy himself while it lasts. He’ll deal with everything else later when he comes to it.

You’re just— you’re just so careful with him. He can’t remember the last time he’s been fussed over with soft touches and gentle hands and suddenly it’s all he wants and he doesn’t know when he’ll ever get the chance again. If he gets the chance again.

So when his helmet is set next to yours and you’re both out of your suits and laying down, only feet between you, he’s thinking about the night before again. He’s thinking about the way your brow furrowed with what he still hopes was concern as you shared your water with him. You could have let him rot and fester in the grass, you could have not wasted the electrolyte tablets, you could have not wasted as much water as you did; there’s a hundred tiny things that you could have done differently to avoid helping him as much as you did.

If he concentrates hard enough he thinks that he might still be able to feel your fingers against his lips, tending to him.

“Sweet dreams, pretty bird,” The tent is dark and he can’t even see the shape of you if he tries, but he wonders if you smile at the words. He’ll worry about the end when he gets there, for now the only thing he wants to think about is how you ask him questions and let him talk and what your laugh might sound like in person instead of through an old speaker.

“Sweet dreams, Ezra.” And you are smiling. You listen to his breathing as you close your eyes, thinking how nice it is to have someone else with you after so long. You feel like you can let down your guard a little because there is another pair of ears to catch any sounds, another pair of eyes to look for anything coming towards you. You didn’t have to be the only one looking out for yourself.

When morning comes you are once again the first to wake— and you’re face to face with Ezra’s. You blink slowly, heat crawling up the back of your neck because realistically there’s probably less than six inches separating the two of you now, one or both of you having drifted to the other sometime during the night. Neither of you have reached for each other though, not yet. Your arms are folded in front of you and his own is curled underneath his head and you aren’t surprised this time when you have the urge to reach out to him.

In your short time of knowing him you had never seen him this calm. This still. Even when he was recovering from the first night, as soon as he was able to stand under his own power he was up and moving and then you hadn’t seen him take a moment’s rest since. He was always moving, always talking. You wonder what it must be like to have a perpetual motion machine for a brain, if it ever gets tiring. Before you can think better of it you tentatively reach out to ghost a fingertip over the half moon on his cheek.

It’s thin and silvery and you think that maybe he got it in a fight, a knife perhaps? The edges looked too clean for an accident. You don’t realize you’ve shuffled closer to him to get a better look at it until he snuffles in his sleep and you jump back as if you’ve been burned. What could you even say— I’m sorry that I touched your scar while you sleep but it fascinates me and you fascinate me and please never stop talking? That will go over well.

But thank Kevva, he doesn’t open his eyes and the breath you let out shakes a little with the sheer amount of relief you feel. The last thing you need is to make a fool out of yourself in front of the only human companion you’ve had in months.

If he was aware of what you were doing he doesn’t mention it when you start breaking down the tent after bars for breakfast and you think you’re in the clear. Outside the sky is lighter than it was yesterday, the sun finally having broken through the clouds to burn everything off. It makes you smile, enjoying the curls of warmth on your back as you finish packing everything up. After a day of walking it makes you want to curl up in it and nap in that gauzy way you do when the world is flooded with yellow, heavy and content and drifting somewhere between complete wakefulness and sleep.

But you can’t. You just woke up and you have flowers to pick, sinkholes to avoid. Thoughts about your new companion to ignore while trying to put his helmet on for him without looking at his face for too long. You figure he must be able to manage this himself. He has to. You don’t know when or what caused him to lose his arm, but he moved with a confidence that said he was used to it by now. You haven’t seen him try to reach with a limb that isn’t there, so you think he’s just taking advantage of your ill-advised kindness.

You can’t find it in yourself to be angry with him though because you’re just touch starved enough that you’d take any excuse to be close to someone. You tell yourself that anyways as you run your hands over the material of the suit, putting on a small show of double checking everything because if you keep the same pace as yesterday you’ll hit the jungle and the last thing you need to think about is...this. Whatever this is.

You try to focus on what he’s saying as you walk towards the treeline— finally, blissfully in sight, but you keep getting distracted. He’s walking in front of you again and for someone whose ship was devoured by the very same marsh you’re walking across now, he seems to be able to pick his steps well. You find yourself following them again without questioning— he hasn’t led you astray yet.

You catch snippets of what he’s talking about —a book, you think— while you think about what happened this morning. You try to pick it apart and dissect every action and thought that swam through your head, looking for reasons behind them that weren’t based in some sort of attraction to him. He was nice to look at, there was no getting around it. Broad shoulders, strong hands. You even like the shape of his nose and that strange little patch of blond in his hair. Beyond that though, you like how he spoke. You like how his mind works, the little details he remembers. He isn’t exactly a paragon of morality but who is this far out?

He’s at least honest about it, and that you can appreciate.

Your mind keeps swimming with thoughts of him, only emptying when the two of you stood before the jungle, a dense wall of green. “Have you ever seen a more exquisite site?” Ezra’s voice slides through the dense air, almost dripping with awe. That’s another thing you lie about him. He may be a morally grey, roughened prospector but he still appreciates beauty where he finds it.

And the jungle is beautiful. It’s a swarm of leaves and tall trees, the color of it all almost violent. Your vision swims because it’s almost too much to focus on, too bright and too loud and too deadly, but feel a smile stretching your lips all the same. This is why you’d started prospecting in the first place; the adventure. The chance to see. You had tried university in the Huloch system what feels like lifetimes ago now, but you had always been too restless for it. You couldn’t wait to get out and just...go. You didn’t necessarily care where you went as long as you had never been there before.

“It’s beautiful,” You breathe, trying to memorize everything about it even as you walk into it, Ezra at your side. There’s color everywhere; pinks and reds and oranges. Purples and yellows and all sorts of different shapes you’ve never seen before. If it wasn’t poisonous and you had a better sense of direction, you can see yourself staying here for hours with no goal in mind other than exploring.

But you have a haul to bring in, and the beauty of Sebu is that it’s all around you. The jungle is a cornucopia, nearly every plant you see has some value to the right person or the right company. The chemical compounds found in the flowers, the very reason you’re wearing helmets and packing extra filters, can be broken down and diluted and mixed with this and that until you have medicines and anesthesias and narcotics. You almost didn’t even have to look as you picked them.

But like most things, certain species are worth more than others and instead of picking every bloom you come across you pass them over, your eyes searching and your trophy case remaining tightly shut. Ezra notices and pays attention, his head tilting to the side while you reach to run a gloved hand along a strip of dry bark on a flower covered tree.

The flowers are ghost-white and shaped like stars, what looks like threads bursting from every edge of the petal and pulled down with their own weight. The strings branch and branch and branch again until they look like a fall of hair, obscuring most of the tree they cover. They’re pretty and parasitic, sapping nutrients from the tree for as long as it could live with such a large colony of adesecula feeding on it.

But still you don’t try to pick any despite the fact that they’re ironically used to treat poisonings and the ingestion of certain toxic materials, the same mechanisms that allow them to literally steal the lifeblood of their hosts also serving to draw these things right out of someone.

“You have a particular quarry in mind, don’t you?” Ezra hums, all sharp eyes and curiosity. There’s too many plants here for even him to name off hand; which one are you looking for?

“Maybe,” You say more out of habit than an actual distrust of him, avoiding an outright answer and Ezra just grins at you.

“If you endeavor to deceive me, you’re going to have to try harder than that,” You can hear the teasing note in his voice, the undercurrent of laughter even through the static and interference caused by the sheer biomass between you messing with the signal. You can’t hear any betrayal or anger in it and something tells you that he’ll let you keep your secrets without protest if you want. And that’s the reason why you decide to tell him. It’s only a small thing, not really much of a concession at all, but it feels like one.

“Cimex.” At the word his eyes almost twinkle with either amusement or intrigue, you can’t tell. Cimex bulbs are small, glossy things that almost look like insects and might be one of the most expensive things on the planet. They had to be transported live so they kept producing the thin layer of a slick, slimy substance that not only makes them unpalatable to anything that happens to try eating them but also what makes them so valuable. Try as it might, science hasn’t been able to figure out a way to engineer it in a lab yet and the scarcity is part of the reason they’re worth so much. A handful of the things could buy you upgrades that your ship sorely needs, could buy you a new suit. Or they could finance that beach vacation you were thinking about earlier.

“An impressive enterprise, pretty bird.” His words don’t come out as mocking though. More like he’s commenting on the precision it takes to first harvest the plant in its entirety and then transport it for however many cycles it may take to get to your destination. Cimex have the reputation for being more temperamental than children.

You feel yourself starting to warm underneath the praise in your ear and you have the strangest sensation of something shifting and clicking into place.

The sensation doesn’t leave as the two of you continue further into the jungle and you can’t help but notice that Ezra is filling his trophy case before you even catch a glimpse of any cimex. And, true to his words before, he is quite dexterous. Helmet situation notwithstanding.

Hours are spent like this, you stubbornly refusing to pick anything and Ezra picking everything. You don’t blame him; you’re starting to think that maybe you should do the same. Yes, you want cimex. You want to turn in a whole case of it, but you also need for this trip to not be a complete bust.

With that in mind you begin to stray from Ezra, towards the mottled purple and white tubular flowers that hang from thick vines just a small ways away. Since Ezra first showed up you’ve been lulled into a false sense of security, two days of crossing the marsh without incident giving you bogus confidence.

You don’t see the green underneath you ripple as you step down from a fallen tree, more focused on not falling on your face than you are with finding solid ground. Your stomach drops out when your foot doesn’t hit the ground, instead being sucked under by a thick, tarry substance that had been obscured with plant growth.

Your weight had been canted forward, anticipating being braced against leaf covered ground and instead it only sends you into your waist before you can blink. Your scream pierces the air as you desperately reach for anything to keep your head above the muck, gloves slipping on the smooth surface of the vines you try to grab, the tree you’d just stepped off of.

“Ezra!” Of course you scream for him, panic filling you up faster than you think is possible. You can feel yourself being pulled under and the more you struggle the harder it becomes to lift your arms. It takes almost all of your focus to keep yourself from kicking your legs, instinct still trying to tell you to tread water.

You’re opening your mouth to scream again when he appears, eyes wide and frantic as he takes in the sight of the same predatory sludge that swallowed his ship trying to do the same to you. He doesn’t think as he grabs for you, catching your hand in his. He digs his heels into the ground, bracing his weight against a half buried rock. He curses the fact that he only has one arm, not for the first time but it hasn’t felt as crucial as it does now. An inconvenience, yes. But this? This is cruel. At least Cee had made the choice to leave him— he can’t allow that same choice to be taken from you.

So he crouches down, lowering his center of gravity and keeps pulling, ignoring the burn that’s begun festering in his bicep from the strain. With him as your lifeline you’re able to reach your other hand out, finally able to get a grip on a root to help pull yourself out. He leans back, grunting with effort but he refuses to let you go.

It seems like ages before you’re able to struggle out and Ezra’s falling back from the sudden release of tension, taking you with him. You land on his chest with how hard he’d been pulling, not that you mind. You’re shaking from adrenaline and the knowledge that could have died just then, really truly died, embedding itself within you and causing hot tears to spring to your eyes.

You’re holding onto his suit so hard the skin over your knuckles starts to lighten, pulled taut over the bone. You take a little solace from the fact that you can feel his arm just as tight around you and his breath is shaking as much as yours is. “It’s over, pretty bird. It’s over,” His voice is low, quivering a little and it makes you want to burrow further into his chest. There’s a thread of embarrassment wound somewhere within you, that you’d pull such a rookie move here of all places, but then he squeezes you just a tiny bit closer to him, as close as your suits would allow.

You wish you could feel him better through his suit, feel the warmth of his skin rather just pressure, but you’d take what you can get.

You don’t break apart for what feels like hours but not nearly enough at the same time, Ezra helping you to your feet with a strong grip. “Ordinarily I would be loath to leave so early, but this time I’m afraid I must insist,” His lips twitch into what you think is supposed to be a smile but his eyes are still a little too wide and his voice is a little too forced.

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” You aren’t much different and your hands are still shaking, but you’re alive and somehow you still have your trophy case. You don’t fill it with cimix— you barely stray three feet from Ezra’s side, but you fill it with the flowers you come across that are within arm’s reach. It’s enough to make your trip not a total loss, but it’s not nearly as much as you were hoping for when you landed.

But you are alive and you did meet Ezra, so you think it’s a fair trade.

He’s quiet for once, even as you emerge from the jungle, and you realize just how much you’ve grown used to hearing his voice chattering away in your ear the short time you’ve known each other. How much you’ve grown to truly enjoy it.

He keeps looking back at you, glancing over his shoulder as you traverse the marsh because he keeps needing to reassure himself that you’re still there. He hadn’t expected something like that to affect him as much as it did but then again he hadn’t expected anything of what’s transpired so far to happen when he first arrived on this greedy, brutal planet. All he knows is that he’s tired. He’s tired and he wants to keep looking at you, keep making sure that you’re really with him now instead of deep down in a pit somewhere. That he’s not deep down in a pit somewhere and this is all some hallucination brought on by oxygen deprivation and a brain that can’t comprehend what is truly happening to it.

You still aren’t speaking by the time you’re far enough out to take your helmets off and set up the tent for the night. He doesn’t have to prompt you this time to help with his helmet and he wants to think it’s simply because you want to. He accepts the bar you offer him afterwards with muttered thanks and you eat in silence.

It isn’t until you’re both bedding down for the night that you speak, your voice small and raw in the dark of the tent and it almost cracks his chest open. “Ezra, do you mind if— could we—”

“Pretty bird, I promise you’re all right,” He tries to soothe, not letting himself hope for what you may be asking.

“I know,” You falter, panic rising in your throat until you can almost taste it on your tongue. Everything still feels so real, like it was only moments instead of hours ago that you were almost…”I know. But could you please just sleep a little closer?” You sound like you’re on the verge of tears and you are but it’s mortifying.

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t answer and you’re starting to shake before you feel it. His arm is sliding around your waist, slow and gently like he’s worried about startling you. “Is this satisfactory?” You can only nod, lasting a whole five seconds before you crumple into his chest. He’s warm and comforting against you, smelling like sweat and grass and water.

He doesn’t say a word, not even when he starts to feel the telltale wetness of tears on his shirt and your shoulders begin to shake in earnest. He gathers you close as best he can and makes shushing noises into your hair. He doesn’t know what he’s doing— he can’t remember if he’s ever comforted anyone like this and all he can do is hold you tight and try to convince you both that neither of you has died yet.

“We’re okay, pretty bird, I promise.”

#ezra x reader #ezra x you #ezra fic #prospect fic #the first thing I post that isn't even a tiny bit smutty is also the longest #I plead the fifth #pedro pascal fic

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