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mybutcheredtongue · 6 months

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I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER TWENTY (see full series list here)

1993

On the 22nd of November you sit on the floor of your office late at night, watching the flames of your fireplace crackle and pop. Beside you, sits Harry, eyes focused on the fire as well. Sirius had asked him to wait in front of the fire in your office at one o'clock and for you to be there too. You can't say your heart isn't beating faster than the steady tick of the clock on the wall, worried and giddy at the same time.

"I'm sorry about this whole situation, Harry," you say with a sigh, reaching out to stroke Dubh's fur idly as she clambers into your lap. "I know this isn't what you want. I tried everything to get them to change the rules but nothing worked."

"Thanks," he says blankly, like he's used to being disappointed.

"And that article in the paper — "

"I didn't say anything of that. It's a lie," Harry responds quickly.

You nod. "I'm well aware. Rita Skeeter is...difficult." As soon as the words have left your mouth, you grimace, shaking your head. "Actually, she doesn't deserve that nicety. She's a bitch, Harry. A nasty old hag that has nothing better to do with her life than spread rumours and sensationalise everything in sight."

Harry seems slightly taken aback by your words but nods in fierce agreement nonetheless.

"My best advice to you, Harry, is to run for the hills every time you see her — or just wave me over if I'm near. I am well accustomed to small talk with people like her — the trick is to just get them talking about themselves."

He nods. "I don't plan on going anywhere near her ever again."

"Smart decision," you say, sighing. "And look — I know I'm not supposed to get involved but if you need any help whatsoever, just ask. There's plenty of useful spells I can teach you and tips I can give — anything at all."

Just then, the flames move in a peculiar fashion and Sirius' head appears in the fire. Both you and Harry let out a small gasp, and when you look at Harry, his face has broken into the biggest smile you've seen him wear in weeks.

"Sirius!" Harry exclaims immediately.

He looks different from the last time you seen him. His face had looked gaunt and sunken, but now he looks far healthier and his hair, which was long, matted and greasy, is now clean and neat. You're glad to see that though he's trimmed it a tad, he's kept the beard. He looks younger.

"Hello, Harry," he says, before he turns to you, smiling, "and hello to you too, love."

You bring your hand up and give him a tiny little wave, unable to stop the giddy smile taking over your face at the sight of him.

"How're you doing?" Harry asks.

"Never mind me, how are you?" Sirius asks firmly, returning his attention to his godson.

"I'm — " Harry stops himself suddenly, holding himself back. Just when you're about to check if he's alright, he spills. He tells the two of you everything: about how no one believes that he hasn't entered himself into the tournament, how Rita Skeeter had lied about him in the Daily Prophet, how he can't walk down a corridor without getting sneered at, and about the toll it's all taken on his friendship with Ron.

You feel your heart ache for him. He deserves absolutely none of this and you wish you could do more to help.

"Hagrid's just shown me what's coming in the first task, and it's dragons — I'm a goner," he finishes desperately.

Sirius is looking at Harry with deep concern as he says, "Dragons we can deal with, Harry, but we'll get to that in a minute — I haven't got long here...I've broken into a wizarding house to use the fire, but they could be back at any time. There are things I need to warn you about."

"Just break into Moony's house next time," you say simply, shrugging. "Sounds much easier to me."

Sirius gives you a look that suggests he already thought of that, but obviously decided not to as he was already coming north to see you two. You smile cheekily at him and he shakes his head, refocusing his attention on Harry.

"What do you need to warn me about?" Harry asks.

"Karkaroff," Sirius says. "Harry, he was a Death Eater. You know what Death Eaters are, don't you?"

"He's a Death Eater?" You're shocked. Just this morning you picked his fork off the ground for him at breakfast!

"He was caught, he was in Azkaban with me, but he got released. I'd bet that's why Dumbledore wanted an Auror at Hogwarts this year — to keep an eye on him. Moody caught Karkaroff. Put him into Azkaban in the first place."

There already is an Auror at Hogwarts, you think. Or did Dumbly-dorr just forget about me?

"Karkaroff got released?" Harry says slowly. "Why did they release him?"

"He did a deal with the Ministry of Magic," Sirius replies bitterly. "He said he'd seen the error of his ways, and then named names...he put a load of other people into Azkaban in his place...he's not very popular there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from what I can tell, he's been teaching the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his. So watch out for the Durmstrang champion as well."

How do you not remember any of this? Surely you'd have seen this all mentioned in the papers around that time?

"Okay..." Harry says. "But...are you saying that Karkaroff put my name in the goblet? Because if he did, he's a really good actor. He seemed furious about it. He wanted to stop me from competing."

"We know he's a good actor," says Sirius, "because he convinced the Ministry of Magic to set him free, didn't he? Now, I've been keeping an eye on the Daily Prophet, Harry — "

"You and the rest of the world," he says bitterly.

"— and reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman's article last month, Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts. Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm," Sirius says hastily, seeing Harry about to speak, "but I don't think so somehow. I think someone tried to stop him from getting to Hogwarts. I think someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one's going to look into it too closely; Mad-Eye's heard intruders a bit too often. But that doesn't mean he still can't spot the real thing. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry ever had."

"So...what are you saying? Karkaroff's trying to kill me? But — why?"

Sirius hesitates.

"I've been hearing some very strange things," he says apprehensively. "The Death Eaters seem to be a bit more active than usual lately. They showed themselves at the Quidditch World Cup, didn't they? Someone cast the Dark Mark...and then — did you hear about that Ministry witch who's gone missing?"

"Bertha Jorkins?" You say. You recall reading that article about her disappearance not too long ago.

"Exactly...she disappeared to Albania, and that's definitely where Voldemort was rumoured to be last...and she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn't she?"

"Yeah, but...it's not very likely she'd have walked straight into Voldemort, is it?" says Harry.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Sirius says grimly, glancing at you. "Do you remember her at school?"

You nod your head. "She was at Hogwarts when we were, a few years above us," you explain to Harry. "As thick as a board, she was. Very nosey, too. Awful combination."

"Makes her easy to lure into a trap," Sirius finishes.

"So...so Voldemort could have found out about the tournament?" says Harry. "Is that what you mean? You think Karkaroff might be here on his orders?"

"I don’t know," Sirius says with a shake of his head, "I just don’t know...Karkaroff doesn’t strike me as the type who’d go back to Voldemort unless he knew Voldemort was powerful enough to protect him. But whoever put your name in that goblet did it for a reason, and I can’t help thinking the tournament would be a very good way to attack you and make it look like an accident."

"Looks like a really good plan from where I’m standing." Harry grins bleakly. "They'll just have to stand back and let the dragons do their stuff."

"You'll be fine," you reassure firmly, though you're not sure if it's for Harry's sake or your own. "I'll be there, all the rest of the teachers will be there, and there'll be that group of dragon keepers there too."

"Look, about these dragons," Sirius says, speaking quickly now, glancing around him furtively, "There's a way, Harry. Don't be tempted to try a simple Stunning Spell — dragons are too strong and powerfully magical to be knocked out by a single stunner, you need about half a dozen wizards at a time to overcome a dragon — "

"Yeah, I know, I just saw," Harry says.

"But you can do it alone," Sirius tells him, looking him straight in the eye. "There is a way, a simple spell's all you need — "

Knock-knock.

At once, all three of you go dead silent and whip your heads to the closed door.

"Go, Sirius, quickly!" You hiss at him urgently.

You scramble to your feet, grabbing Harry's invisibilty cloak off the desk and launching it at him.

"Quick!"

Harry frantically pulls the cloak over his head and ducks behind your desk as you make you way over to the door, glancing back at the fireplace to see that Sirius' head has disappeared and the flames have returned to normal. You feel a small pang in your heart.

Who could possibly be knocking at your door at one o'clock in the morning? Surely everyone is asleep by now?

You pull the door open and are met with nothing but the quiet, dark corridor.

"Must've been Peeves," you mutter angrily, moving to close the door. Of course that poltergeist would find a way to cut your time with Sirius short.

"Oh, no, mistress, it is Bitsy!"

You look down in search of the voice and sure enough, at the foot of your door, is Bitsy, grinning up widely at you with her ginormous eyes reflecting the flickering light of the candles on the wall. You notice that she's holding a tray of scones in her tiny hands.

"Bitsy?" You say in shock and confusion. "What are you doing here? Is everything alright?"

"Bitsy was cleaning this corridor, mistress, and heard talking coming from mistress's office! And Bitsy thinks 'why is mistress up so late talking?' Perhaps she has a guest and is very hungry! Mistress was not at breakfast this morning, and I isn't seeing mistress in the kitchens either!"

While part of you feels angry and cheated that she's just interrupted your seldom chance to talk to your husband, you can't be mad at Bitsy and her big kind heart.

You chuckle softly. "Oh, Bitsy. You are far too kind to me. You're right, I didn't attend breakfast this morning nor did I go to the kitchens in the afternoon — I had breakfast with a friend of mine in Hogsmeade today. I should have told you."

Bitsy beams at you and holds the tray out for you to take. "Bitsy is glad to know you did not go hungry this morning. For you, mistress!"

You accept the tray with a smile. "Thank you, Bitsy. You are very kind — let me go fetch something to give you as a thank you."

"Oh, no, mistress! I cannot accept anything from you, I is just doing my duty!"

You leave her momentarily, placing the tray of scones down, grabbing a box off your desk and returning to hand it to her. "Film for your camera, Bitsy. So you can take more pictures. "

You don't miss the gleeful smile that spreads over Bitsy's face as she looks at the box in wonder. "Mistress, I must not — "

"I insist, Bitsy. Actually — I order you to accept the film. I know how much you love your camera," you tell her, pushing it into her hands.

"Thank you, mistress," she says gratefully, bowing to you. "I must return to my work now, unless mistress requires Bitsy for anything?"

You shake your head, smiling. "No, but thank you, Bitsy. I think it's time for mistress to get some rest."

Bitsy leaves, clutching the film tightly in her hands and bowing out of your view before Disapparating. You close the door behind you, letting out a sigh as Harry stands up slowly, pulling the cloak off.

"I'm sorry about that, Harry," you say. "I really wish we could have more time with Sirius."

"Yeah, me too. Was that a house elf?"

You nod, chuckling. "Sure was. That's Bitsy. You see, I stay up much later than everyone else — I'm usually up in the tower because of course, the best time to view the stars is at night, so I sleep in the next day and miss breakfast a lot of the time. And when I do, I can go down to the kitchens and Bitsy and all the other house elves will give me something to eat — have done since I was in school myself and did the exact same thing. Bitsy is my saviour, honestly. She's an absolute gem."

"You're able to get into the Hogwarts kitchens?" Harry says curiously.

"Yep. There's a painting of a bowl of fruit down by the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room — just tickle the pear and the door'll open right up for you."

You know that as a teacher you probably shouldn't be telling him this, but you don't really care. You went there countless times as a student so why shouldn't he?

Harry nods thoughtfully before asking, "That spell Sirius mentioned, that could defeat a dragon...have you any idea what it is?"

You bite your lip, drumming your fingers against your hip as you search your brain for anything like that. "I don't, Harry, I'm sorry. Perhaps you could try confundus, and confuse it? I can't say I'm too familiar with dragons...now, you should go to bed, Harry. A good night's sleep for the next few days is what you need before the first task. And in the meantime, I'll have a look and see if I can figure something out for you."

"Thanks, but I doubt I'll find it easy to sleep," Harry remarks, throwing the cloak back over his head.

"Well, if you do find that you can't sleep, come up the Tower," you tell him with a smile, pulling the door open for his invisible figure. "I find stargazing is the best way to relieve stress and solve problems."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

You feel like you're about to get sick. You stare at the Hungarian Horntail, huge and terrifying as she crouches protectively over her eggs, huffing great hot breaths out of her large nostrils. And there, standing across from this fearsome beast as though rooted to the spot, is Harry. The crowd roars around you but you can barely hear them as your stomach knots and twists and flips with sickening worry.

"Accio Firebolt!" Harry yells, raising his wand.

You wait. The crowd waits. Harry waits.

And then you see it. Harry's broomstick, his Firebolt, hurtles towards him and stops in mid-air beside him, waiting for him to mount it. You vaguely register Ludo Bagman roaring something over the crowd in response to this, but you're too focused on praying to whatever great deities you can to protect your godson. You're just so relieved that he managed to figure something out — and something so clever, too! Why hadn't you thought of a Summoning Spell? It's so simple. Sirius will be so proud of Harry when he finds out.

Harry rises into the air, the wind rushing through his hair, surveying the dragon not far below him. A sort of resolve seems to come over him and then he dives, forcing you to bring your hands up to cover your eyes in fear.

"Oh, I can't watch," you breathe. Beside you, Minerva gives you an understanding look as she watches on. You hear the rush of fire, the crowd cheering and screaming, and then —

"Great Scott, he can fly!" Bagman roars. "Are you watching this, Mr Krum?"

You open your eyes just in time to see Harry plummet to the ground once more, just missing the burst of flames that flies from the Horntail's open maw — but not quick enough to completely avoid the whip of her tail and to your horror, one of the long spikes grazes Harry's shoulder, ripping his robes.

"Harry!" You shriek, practically about to chew your finger off with the alarming rate you're biting the tips of your nails as you reluctantly watch on, wishing for it to be over.

He begins to fly this way, then that, not near enough to make the dragon breathe fire at him to stave him off, but still posing a sufficient enough threat to make her keep her eyes focused on him, tracking his every move.

The dragon's head sways with his movements, her eyes unwavering as she followed him, gruesome fangs bared. You can feel your heart palpitating in your chest. Harry rises even higher, the Horntail's head rising with him, her neck now stretched out to its fullest extent.

You jump as the Horntail lets out a deafening roar, her tail thrashing threateningly as she blows another burst of fire at him, which he thankfully dodges.

She opens her mouth and then she finally rears, spreading her great, black, leathery wings at last and Harry seizes the opportunity to dive at an incredible speed. You can barely keep your eyes on him with the rate he's whistling through the air, hurtling towards the nest of eggs.

"Come on, come on, come on..." you chant, hands tapping frantically at the tops of your thighs as you sit on the edge of your seat, watching impatiently.

Harry takes his hands off his broom, seizes the golden egg, and with another huge burst of speed, he's off and soaring out over the stands. He tucks the egg safely under his uninjured arm, and looks out over the stands.

You can't help but jump out your seat, cheering yourself hoarse as you voice your praise and feel relief wash over your body like a tsunami. The noise around you is monumental, drumming in your ears like a jackhammer.

"Look at that!" Bagman yells. "Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is the quickest to get his egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Mr Potter!"

The dragon keepers rush forward to subdue the Horntail and you hurry out of your seat, practically sprinting to the entrance of the enclosure. Minerva is hot on your heels and Moody and Hagrid have already beaten you, waiting with wide smiles for Harry to land.

"That was excellent, Potter!" Minerva cries as the boy hops off his broomstick. She points a shaky hand to his shoulder. "You'll need to see Madam Pomfrey before the judges give out your score...Over there, she's had to mop up Diggory already..."

"Harry, you were brilliant!" You exclaim excitedly, eagerly pulling him in for a hug and beaming at him. Normally, you'd worry about other students thinking you have a favourite — which you do, of course you do — but today you couldn't care less, you're so overwhelmed with relief and swelling with pride for your godson. "Absolutely brilliant, Harry! Just — fantastic, honestly, I can't believe it, I was so worried — I'm so proud — "

"Thanks," Harry says, unable to keep the large smile on his face down, his face red.

"Yeh' did it, Harry!" says Hagrid hoarsely. "Yeh did it! An' agains' the Horntail an' all, an' yeh know Charlie said that was the wors' — "

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry says loudly, so that Hagrid doesn't blather on about how he had shown Harry the dragons beforehand. You give a light chuckle.

Even Moody looks very pleased, the slightest of smiles tugging at his cracked lips. "Nice and easy does the trick, Potter."

"Right then, Potter, the first aid tent, please..." Minerva says, gesturing to the tent with her hand.

He leaves, giving you all a grin before heading into the tent and you just smile proudly after him, rolling on the balls of your feet.

"Oh, he was just excellent, wasn't he?" Minerva says to you, smiling. "The best out of the all the champions, by far!"

You nod enthusiastically. "Easily! Oh, Merlin, I am just so glad he came out alright, I thought I was going to chew my own hand off with worry..."

"He was migh'y," Hagrid says loudly, a sob racking his body as he reaches into his pocket to pull out a large handkerchief, bigger than your face, and blows into it. "Jus' migh'y."

"Oh, Hagrid," you say softly, reaching up to place a comforting hand on his back, smiling sympathetically.

Across the enclosure, the five judges are sitting at the end in raised seats draped in gold. The first judge, Madame Maxime, raises her wand in the air and what looks like a long silver ribbon shoots out of the end of it — forming the shape of a large figure eight.

"Not bad," you remark, clapping along with the crowd. "Must've been the injury that lost him marks..."

Crouch comes next, shooting a number nine into the air.

"Excellent!" Minerva exclaims.

Next, Dumbledore puts up a nine and the crowd yells louder than ever.

Ludo Bagman — ten.

You turn to Minerva in disbelief, matching looks of shock with each other before you eagerly applaud.

Now, Karkaroff raises his wand. He pauses for a moment, and then a number shoots out of his wand — four.

"What?" You yell indignantly, blinking several times to make sure your eyes aren't tricking you. "A four?"

"How shameful, he gave his own student a ten!" Minerva remarks angrily.

Several members of the crowd seem to agree with you, bellowing angrily and booing at Karkaroff's biased marking.

Suddenly, Sirius' words ring in your head.

He's a Death Eater.

You feel your spine chill as you look across the enclosure at Karkaroff's steely expression, steadfast in his decision to reward Harry four marks.

Scumbag.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

"A toast!" Dumbledore announces, raising his glass. "To the completion of the first task of the Triwizard Tournament!"

You grin, raising your glass in tandem. "Cheers!" You clink it against Minerva's, then with Professor Sprout's on your other side.

All the staff have gathered in that small room right of the Great Hall for a little staff-only party, the fire blazing in its place and radiating a pleasant warmth around the room. The house elves have prepared a small spread of finger foods for the lot of you — and you've gone straight for the cupcakes, decorated humorously with little edible dragons. They're delicious — you make a mental note to voice your thanks to Bitsy the next time you see her.

Despite the happiness that's settled in you since Harry's successful task, when your eyes land on Karkaroff, sitting on the opposite side of the room to you, talking with Snape, unease gnaws at your gut.

You're sitting in a room with a Death Eater.

You've been in this situation countless times, of course, back when you were an Auror. But then, you knew what was going on. You knew what you were in for. Here, you don't. At parent-teacher meetings, you don't doubt you've been in the company of some Death Eaters, or former Death Eaters, rather. Some of your Slytherins' parents certainly seem to have a fondness for opaque, long-sleeved shirts...

You can't help but remember that night at the Quidditch World Cup, and your brain starts to picture one of those cruel Death Eaters pulling off his mask and revealing Karkaroff's sharp face.

You grip your champagne glass tightly, downing the contents and taking a deep breath. You should go mingle, the time for investigating Karkaroff can come tomorrow.

It's this little staff party that you finally get acquainted with Madame Maxime properly, trying your hand at your conversational-level French. She seems very impressed at this, delighted that you know at least a little bit of her own language — she says something about the 'arrogance of native English speakers', which you don't disagree with.

"Oh, and look at this pretty diamond on your finger!" Madame Maxime exclaims suddenly, catching sight of your engagement ring, sitting pretty above your wedding band on your left ring finger. She takes your hand in her much larger one so she can inspect it closer. "You are married?"

You look at the sparkling ring, glinting in the candlelight, smiling softly. "Yes, I am."

"How sweet," she remarks, dropping your hand gently. "I was married once."

You raise your eyebrows imploringly and she leans closer, waving her large hand theatrically as she says, "But he was a bastard."

She laughs fiendishly, and you just sort of watch, unsure whether you should laugh or not.

"You can laugh!" she assures when she sees your unsure expression. "Good riddance, is what I say. He thought he could keep the company of some girl while I was at working at Beauxbatons — so I said to him, 'fuck you and the whore you rode in on!'"

You nearly choke on your champagne, shocked at what you've heard come out of Madame Maxime's mouth. She grins proudly, showing rows of pearly white teeth. She seems to be finding your shock very amusing as she laughs again.

"His loss," you tell her, chuckling.

"Absolument." She shrugs nonchalantly, as though it was nothing to her but a stone in the bottom of her shoe. "Et toi? Where is your husband?"

You don't answer her for a moment, sucking on your teeth. "Well, I don't know, actually."

"How do you not know?"

"Oh, because he's just escaped from prison," you answer simply. You don't know what makes you tell her that. It would have been so easy to lie, but you don't. Perhaps it's the two too many glasses of champagne you've had, or perhaps it's the way Madame Maxime doesn't seem to care about anything, really, other than Fleur Delacour and the tournament.

Her mouth drops for a second, before she laughs. "Ah, well, c'est la vie. Marriage is never easy."

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. It feels weirdly relieving to you that she couldn't care less about your personal life. You find a new respect for the woman in front of you. "Certainly not."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

→⁠→ read chapter twenty-one here!

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dronebiscuitbat · 2 months

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Give me a Reason: Chapter 5 - "The Elliots"

N and Tessa made there way through the foyer, decorated with mahogany and antique furniture, the windows adored with velvet curtains and cleaned until you couldn't tell it was glass anymore.

There was a servant waiting for them, dressed to the nines. A clean shaven face, and short black hair with steel colored eyes. A pressed black vest over a white dress shirt and a black bow tie, N didn't know his name, he didn't know any of the servants names.

“Young Master Tessa, Master Louisa requests your presence in her study.” The servant said, monotone, with his hands behind his back.

“Of course she does… ‘ight N, see you at dinner.” She sighed and waved him off, leaving him in the foyer smiling warily at the servant, going up to his room alone it was.

There were two sets of spiral staircases the led upwards, and two hallways either side, one lead to an expansive library, full of every book, magazine and article you could imagine, the other a large dining hall, despite the table being made for twenty people, there were only ever five people sitting there at a time… usually less.

He started his way up the stairs passing hall after closed off hall of doors that lead to the different rooms of the manor, if he was being honest he didn’t know what was in most of them, they'd just moved. And he hadn't had time to actually explore his own home.

Not… that he wanted to, going from living in a modern, sleek, polished marble and right angles to this was a little bit of a culture shock. He didn't mind the rural setting; much preferred it to the foggy, polluted skyline he was used to. It was the manor itself that was… creepy.

If you would have him describe “haunted manor.” Then he'd describe the inside of this place down to the tan walls with wood accents and the ancient, well maintained hardwood underneath his feet. It wasn't just how old the place was either. Mr. And Mrs. Elliot had hired enough servents to keep the place spotless and looking like new.

It was just so big. So empty, so… oppressive.

And lonely…

He shook off those thoughts, it was fine, he'd just have to adjust to it, he was always good at going with anything, surely this would be no different.

“Don't be such a bitch J.”

“Then don't be such a pussy, V.”

Ah, that sounded like his sisters off in the next room over, bickering as per usual and probably about something small or nothing at all.

“I am not letting you anywhere near my room! Not my fault it has a window and your's doesn't, your's is bigger anyway!”

“But I'm the oldest, I deserve the window.”

“By eleven minutes! I want to see the garden, you have access to the library! Which you bitched and moaned about until you got, in case you don't remember.”

“You just want the window because it looks over the garden.”

“And? You just want the window because I enjoy looking over the garden and you have the inability to feel joy and must drag everyone else into the misery pit with you.”

“Give me your room.”

“No. Fuck you, suck my dick.”

N sighed, of all the things that had changed. That didn't, and he doubted it ever would. When he rounded the corner that's when he actually saw them, instead of listening to just their voices bickering.

V was the middle child out of the three, and she was the shortest too, if you call 5'10 short. She had short platinum blonde hair that was styled in a bob, a hairband keeping it in place perched on her head. Right now, she was in grey sweatpants and a black crop top, her arms crossed and amber eyes looking up and irate at her older sibling.

J was looking down at her, hand on her hip and long, similarly platinum hair going all the way down to her waist, she usually wore it up in a dual pair of pigtails or a ponytail, but that was absent for the moment. She wasn't in nearly the same casual clothes as V. With a short, black skirt, black, 4inch heels, and a grey business jacket over a white dress shirt. The sunglasses perched on her head were ever present, only leaving when she was sleeping. She had to have just come home if she was dressed like that.

“Hey guys.” He gave a smile towards the both of them, V gave a half-hearted smile and a wave at him, while J just rolled her eyes and scoffed, sticking her nose up at him.

“Ugh, whatever.” J walked off, heels clicking as she went down the hall towards her room, V let out a long suffering sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose before she looked N over.

“Good first day?” She asked, leaning against the wall and giving him a small smile, he relaxed a little bit, without J around, V tended to be in a better mood.

“Yeah! My teachers all seem nice! And I made a friend… I think.” When he thought about Uzi, she seemed…quiet, but also not? He wasn't entirely sure if he would consider what they had a ‘freindship’ per say. He thought she was cool, and they'd talked a handful of times.

Which was… more then he had with most people honestly, most found him a little… much.

“You think? What's that supposed to mean,” She curled

“It was mostly me talking…” He admitted, rubbing the back of his head and grinning sheepishly. “But! She let me borrow a pencil! That I… forgot to give back… but still!”

“Sounds like you just met someone and they took pity on you.” V replied, a dry sarcastic tone to her voice that gave away that she was teasing… mostly.

“Hey!” He yelped, ears turning pink.

“What? Don't call it a friendship if it's clearly not. Did you guys talk… about anything?”

“Uh… Mrs. Sparks had like animal heads and stuff floating in jars, we talked about that and… she told me she has a pig baby in one of them.”

“Ew. Anything else?”

“I gave her some of my lunch! The cafeteria kinda… completely ruined her food and so I gave her the tuna sandwich.”

“How'd they ruin it? Actually, don't answer that it's public school food.” Still she pondered it for a moment before shrugging. “That's like, an acquaintance, but whatever.”

“It's… the same thing isn't it?”

“Nope. But I gotta get to work, clothes don't model themselves.” She gave him a breif wave before checking her phone and grumbling to herself, walking off and out of sight.

Her and J , being out of school and a bit older then him, had other things to do. J was still going to college, business school of course, V took a different route, said no to more school and put herself on display, literally… she modeled for a few designer brands, and was sometimes stopped on the streets for her picture.

N was the youngest out of the three, being 18 and still in high school, though his last year thankfully, he'd always done decently in school, forgotten homework assignments and disorganization notwithstanding.

He entered his room, the heavy, creaking wooden door snapping shut loudly behind him as he looked around his room.

It was… bland. The bed was huge with crimson blankets made out of the smoothest kind of cashmere silk imaginable, the sheets light pink and light enough to feel like nothing when slept in.

But the walls were bare, his desk clean and devoid of everything but his grey laptop and a cup of pencils. The floor having only a basic rug directly underneath and around the bed. He had two small windows either side it, looking over the front of the manor and the driveway.

The only real thing of note was a well loved golden retriever plush resting on the bed, faded and the fur pressed down from being hugged night after night, he smiled at it, hooking his backpack on the back of his chair.

“Big brother Nathan?”

A small, shy little voice called out to him from behind the door to the connected room and he smiled, kicking off his shoes and taking off his hoodie, showing the basic grey t-shirt underneath.

“It's me!” He called back, opening the door to his little sisters room. Cynthia, or Cyn and everyone affectionately called her. She was reading, though now she looked up at him with big, innocent eyes that matched the rest of the siblings, along with her hair, held in a similar style to Tessa’s; mostly because she was the one who always styled it.

Her legs were covered by the blankets of her bed, and she beamed, sharing her older brother's sunshine of a smile as she made grabby hands at him.

Cyn was 6, the last and true youngest of the siblings. She was sweet… if having a peculiar interest in superstition, and N couldn't ask for a better little sister.

“Welcome back! How was school? Did you meet anyone? Were they cool? Can I meet them?” She immediately asked four questions in quick succession, each one making his smile a little wider.

“Good. Yes, yes. Maybe. In that order.” He replied as he wrapped her in a gentle hug, her arms gripping loosely around his neck. She giggled when he blew a raspberry on her cheek.

“And what did you do today Cyn?”

“Tessa brought up some more books for me to read! And then I got lunch… I heard J screaming at someone!”

“Have you not been out of your room today?”

“Uh. No… haven't felt very well, Tessa was at work and Big Sisters Vanessa and Jessica were busy…” She seemed a little sad, but N was here to make sure that didn't last very long.

“You want to take a stroll around the garden before dinner. I can take you.” He asked gently, and Cyn’s eyes lit up and she beamed.

“Yes! Thank you!”

With that, N leaned down and reached under her bed;

And pulled out a neatly folded wheelchair.

#murder drones #uzi doorman #serial designation n #murder drones tessa #serial designation v #serial designation j #murder drones cyn #meet all of n's siblings #also get to know more about n himself #cyn is a sweet (if slightly weird) little girl

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canirove · 2 months

Text

Rice, Rice, baby | Chapter 14

Previous chapter | Next chapter (coming out on Monday)

Masterlist

“Liv, hi! How are… What the fuck! Why did you slap me?” Declan says, touching his face.

“Do you seriously have to ask?” I laugh.

“Yes?”

“Son of a bitch!” I say, hitting him again. Though this time he manages to grab my arm in time and I barely touch him.

“Why don't you come inside and tell me what happened?” he says, gesturing towards his house.

“I don't want to be anywhere near you ever again, you lying piece of shit!”

“What?”

“Please stop acting, Declan. You know why I'm here.”

“Liv, I… I… ” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair and looking like a lost puppy. But don't let that fool you, Olivia. Don't.

“You've been lying to me for months! For months! You've been telling me that you like me, making me feel special, as if this, us, could be something real. You've made me fall in love with you, and it was all a lie!” I say, not being able to contain my tears anymore. “And in the meantime, you were fucking other girls, probably also lying to them, also making them fall for you before breaking their hearts and have a laugh with your mates.”

“Liv, that's not true. Come inside and let me explain myself.”

“No! I don't want to hear your excuses! I don't want to see you ever again!” I cry.

“Liv… Olivia, please.”

“I said no!” I yell when he tries to touch me. “I hate you, Declan Rice!” I say before walking away.

The moment I get inside my car I start crying in a way I hadn't in years. My whole body is shaking, and I'm pretty sure people can hear me from outside. But I don't care. I don't care about anything anymore.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“May I come in?”

“James?” I say. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to check on you. They told me you didn't go to work today because you were sick.”

“Yeah… Sick” I say, sitting up on my bed.

“How are you?” he asks, taking a chair and sitting next to me.

“I feel as if someone had kicked and punched my heart before tearing it apart in a million pieces.”

“I'm so sorry, Liv” he says, taking my hand on his. “I… This is all my fault.”

“What?”

“I was the one who introduced you to Declan. The one who set you up, who encouraged you to see each other despite everyone saying it was a mistake. And now look at you” he sighs.

“They weren't right, James. They kept saying it was a mistake because of the team he plays for, not because he is a dick. They all actually said the same as you did, that he was one of the good ones, one you could trust. Little did they know about the real Declan…”

“The real Declan isn't like this, Liv.”

“Oh, c'mon” I say, rolling my eyes.

“He isn't. I've known him for years and he isn't a liar or the type of guy who fucks around and is with a different girl every night.”

“I guess he fooled you too, then.”

“No… I mean… No. This is not him. There must be an explanation for his behaviour.”

“Well, I don't care if there is one or not. I don't want to see him or hear about him ever again.”

“Liv…”

“I said no, James. So don't try anything to make me forgive him, because that isn't going to happen.”

“Ok…” he sighs.

“I'm being serious.”

“And so I am” he says. “I will respect your decision.”

“Thank you.”

“But I still am gonna find out what is going on with him.”

“And I still won't care.”

“Ok, ok… Message received” he chuckles. “Anyway, I brought you something that would hopefully make you feel better.”

“My weight on chocolate?”

“There is some chocolate, yes” he smiles. “But if you don't go downstairs, the kids will probably eat it all.”

“The kids are here?”

“Yes, with Kennedy and your mum. Leo misses aunty Liv.”

“Aww… I miss him too. And I could do with some of his cuddles right now, to be honest.”

“They are the best medicine” he smiles. “Why don't you do something with that crazy hair and come downstairs, uh? We will be waiting for you.”

“Ok” I smile back. “And Madders… James…”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Anything for my little sister” he says, kissing my hand and leaving my room.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Well, that's it for today. Don't forget about our meeting next week to discuss the first visit of the national team this season.”

“The princesses are back” I hear Alex say, making some of our coworkers laugh.

“I heard that” my boss says. “Olivia, would you mind staying for a minute?”

“Yes, of course” I reply. Did I do something wrong? Why is she asking me to stay? I've been on time every day since we came back from the holidays, I've stopped hitting the machine when it doesn't work, I've worn my uniform properly, I…

“Thank you for waiting, Olivia” she says once everyone has left, making me stop thinking about all the reasons why she would want to speak with me. “I've asked you to stay because I'm worried about you.”

“What?” That definitely wasn't one of the reasons that had crossed my mind.

“Since the season started you've looked so… sad. And everyone is worried about you, Olivia. Even your dad came to talk to me because he and your mum can't figure out what is going on with you.”

“He did?” That's new. I mean, yes, I haven't been feeling my best. That's the usual when you are heartbroken. But I didn't know it was so bad that my parents were actually worried about me. Shit.

“He did, Olivia. What is going on? We've known each other for a long time, you can trust me. I promise I won't tell anyone if you don't feel comfortable.”

“It's nothing.”

“Isn't it? Because I was told you also left your job at St. George's.”

Oh, yes. That. Did I have to resign from an amazing job opportunity because the thought of having to be 24/7 around Declan made me want to puke? Yes, I did.

“Olivia… Liv” my boss says, taking my hand on hers. “What happened?”

“It's just… I… Men” I sigh, finally giving up.

“Oh… I see. Anything I can do?”

“Not that is legal.”

“Ok” she chuckles. “But is there anything else that is legal and that I can do for you?”

“Keep me busy. If I'm not thinking I'm not feeling sorry for myself.”

“I don't know if that's the healthiest thing to do, Olivia.”

“It is what works right now.” Don't cry in front of your boss, Liv. Don't you dare being that lame.

“Ok, fine. I'll see what I can do.”

“Thank you” I say. “May I go back to work now?”

“Yes, of course. But Olivia…”

“Yes?”

“Please promise me that you will take care of yourself. I've been heartbroken before and I know how it feels, but… It isn't the end of the world even if it feels like it.”

“I know.” Ha!

“Please take care.”

“I will, I promise” I say before leaving the room.

#declan rice #declan rice fanfic #declan rice x reader #declan rice imagine #football fanfic #football imagine

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just-dreaming-marvel · 2 months

Text

Caught In A Web ~ 23

CAUGHT IN A WEB MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,286ish

Summary: You and Tony continue healing after the events of the last mission.

Notes: Surprise! I couldn't help myself!

Getting Tony’s hands peeled off your arms wasn’t easy. Bruce tried his best, but some of Tony’s skin pulled off of his hands. Both your arms and Tony’s hands and to be wrapped. Tony tried his best to get you not to blame yourself, saying something about wanting new callouses anyway.

You weren’t surprised when, later that day, two therapists showed up. Steve explained that he had hired them to work with the Team permanently. You were more willing to go to sessions than Tony was. But Tony promised to go for you. Because Tony was hesitant to leave your side, you simultaneously had sessions with the different therapists.

When your morning sessions were over, Tony and you would go to work in the lab. In the lab, you and Tony, with Bruce occasionally, were solely focused on the projects at hand. It allowed you and Tony not to think about the events that had happened, which was both good and bad.

At night, the two of you would try to sleep. If one of you couldn’t, you’d wake the other up and end up in the lab. You were the one that got woken up the most. Tony would always tell you that you could go back to bed, but you insisted on going with him. He would carry you to the lab and place you on the stool beside him. The two of you would work side-by-side quietly until you got tired and would fall asleep on the couch in the lab. Tony would always kiss your head and place a blanket over you before getting back to work.

This was the routine the two of you had formed that had now been going on for three weeks. The Team was growing worried, finding that some of the habits were unhealthy. Especially since neither of you had left the Tower since being brought back.

“Hey, Tony,” Natasha greeted, entering the lab with coffee. Looking around, she noted Tony working at his desk with you fast asleep on the couch beside it. “Long night?”

“Always,” he muttered. Natasha placed the coffee next to him. “Thanks.” He quickly grabbed a cup and downed it.

Natasha stared at Tony for a long minute. “You two need to get out of the Tower.”

“We’re fine.”

“You need fresh air and a different atmosphere.” You groaned, moving around on the couch. When you stilled, Natasha kept speaking, only quieter. “When was the last time you took Y/N on an actual date?”

Tony’s moments paused for a moment, like even he couldn’t remember. “Too long.”

“Then you need to tonight.”

“Red—“

“No excuses. It’s unhealthy for either of you to be locked up here. Take her out on a date. Anywhere. Stay out for a long time, maybe even spend the night somewhere. Just get out.”

“Fine.”

“Don’t make it sound like this is a bad idea. You and Y/N need some happiness.”

“We are happy.”

“You know what I mean. If you need help planning, just let me know.”

Tony scoffed. “Do you know who you’re talking to? I am Tony Stark, the king of romance.”

“Then prove it.”

~~~

When you woke up, Tony wasn’t in the lab. He left a little note with a cup of coffee on a stool near your bed. You reached over and picked up the scribbled note.

Sorry that I left before you woke. Had a meeting come up. Won’t be long. ~ Tin Man

It stung a little that Tony left without a word, but you were thankful for the note. You got up, got ready, and went to your therapy appointment.

You sat there, not looking at the therapist, playing with a ball of webs in your hands.

“Y/N,” she said, exasperated. “We’ve talked about your past, your powers, your relationship with Tony. We’re working on all of those, and you’re doing well. But we need to talk about Tony’s disappearance and the mission.”

“Can’t,” you whispered, like the word got caught in your throat.

“Why can’t you?” You bit at your lip as the therapist waited for your answer. “Let’s try it from a different point. How did you feel when they told you that Tony went missing?”

“Devastated. Beyond devastated… if that’s even possible.”

“Okay,” she nodded, jotting down notes. “Anything else?”

“My world was falling apart… I felt like I had been lied to… he promised to return… they promised to keep him safe.”

“This profession is dangerous. They cannot always keep their promises, though they try.”

“I know that now.”

“What else about his disappearance and rescue?”

“I wish that I was stronger.”

“Why is that?”

“If I were stronger, more confident, Rumlow wouldn’t have been able to get me or harm me.”

“That’s not you’re fault. From the reports, you did what you could.”

“I could have done more. But I was terrified.”

“It was your first mission.”

“Tony won’t let me go on anymore.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to try again… I want to train more. Train harder… I want to be an Avenger. I want to save my friends and the citizens of this world. But I… But I don’t want the spotlight. I don’t want that.”

“Tony is in the spotlight.”

“I know. And I know that eventually, if we continue, my relationship will be. But I’m not ready; I’m not prepared… And I don’t know if I ever will be…”

“Have you told Tony about how you’re feeling?”

“No… Not yet.”

“How about that be your goal for the week? We’ll slow down your sessions and meet in a week to go over how you did.”

“Okay. I can do that.”

~~~

After your session, you found yourself working alone in the lab. That allowed you to be alone with your thoughts and the revelation you made. You didn’t even know you wanted to be an Avenger until it spilled out of you. You wanted to save people. You wanted to be there by Tony’s side in case anything happened. You could never sit at the Tower and wait for news again. Telling Tony would be the hardest part about it all.

You jumped as an arm wrapped across your waist. Before you even saw who it was, you kicked your leg back, hitting whoever it was in the groin. The arm dropped, and a painful groan sounded from behind you. As you spun around, you flung your wrists out and webbed up the person.

“Tony!” You finally gasped as you realized who had been behind you. He fell to the ground on his knees, hands pinned over his groin. “Tony! I’m so sorry! I didn’t know it was you.”

“Obviously,” he groaned. “You got a mean kick there.”

You knelt down and quickly tore the webs off of him. “I’m going to get an ice pack from the common kitchen.”

“No! No need. There’s one in the freezer against the wall.”

You rushed for the ice pack and came back. Tony took it from you and held it to his groin.

“I least I know you have some self-defense skills,” he forced out a chuckle.

“I am so sorry, Tony,” you said. “I was so caught up in my—“

“Shh, shh, you’re fine, honey. I’m good. We just may have to take it slow tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, I came up here to let you know I’m taking you out tonight. Date night. Then I got a room at the fanciest hotel in the city for the night… maybe a few nights.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “A few nights?”

“Felt like we need some time away.”

You moved closer to him, helping him hold the ice pack. “Who gave you the idea?”

“Why couldn’t I have come up with it?” You gave him a look. “Fine. It was Romanoff. But I planned it all myself.”

“Thank you, Tony. I’m excited.” You kissed him. He moved to get closer but groaned and pulled away. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re fine, honey. I shouldn’t have come up from behind you like that. Why don’t you go pack, and then we can head out?”

“Okay.” You pecked his lips and stood up. “Do you want help?”

“I think I’m going to stay here for another minute.”

~~~

Upon reaching your room, you noted a gift box on your bed with a small card on top of it. Picking up the card, you couldn’t help but smirk at the sight of the same handwriting from the morning note.

Bought this for you. If you hate it, don’t worry about it. I’ll meet you down in the garage at 7. Don’t forget to pack a bag, don’t know how long we’ll be gone. ~ Tin Man

You opened the box to find a dress and a lingerie set. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the gift. The dress was your color and style, and the lingerie was in Iron Man red. You cleaned yourself up and packed a bag. Then you got ready for your outing with Tony. You couldn’t help but be a mix of nervousness and excitement. The two of you needed some alone time away from the rest of the Team and what you both went through.

When the time came, you went to the garage. Tony was already there, nervously wringing his hands together as he leaned against his car. He was dressed in a nice black three-piece suit. It took a minute for Tony to register that you were there, but his jaw dropped when he did. He was speechless. He knew that the dress he bought you would look amazing, but not like this.

“W—wow,” he stumbled through his thoughts as he met you halfway. “You look incredible.”

You looked down bashfully. “Really? This old thing?”

Tony laughed before kissing your cheek. “So you like it?”

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Tony guided you to the car with one hand on your lower back and another taking your bag. He helped you into the car before placing your bag in the trunk and rushing to the driver’s seat.

“You ready?” He looked over at you.

“I don’t know what to be ready for,” you admitted with a smile.

“Good. I enjoy keeping you on your toes.”

~~~

“Tony, this place is really fancy.” Tony took your hand and pulled you from the car before you could do anything. “Like really fancy.”

“It’s the only fancy place I am willing to spend some money on,” he admitted. “They actually have decent portion sizes.”

You glanced around the streets and through the windows. There was no privacy. The two of you had yet to talk about making your relationship public, and this could really do it. Tony began guiding you into the restaurant. His lips came up to your ear like he could read your mind.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, “I booked the back room, completely private. The restaurant isn’t even open yet.”

You nodded and let him take the lead. The hostess took you to the backroom, private as promised, and then Tony helped you into the seat. The menu was full of unfamiliar food items, causing you to get overwhelmed quickly. Tony, always trying to be observant when it came to you, noticed.

“Do you want chicken, pork, fish, or steak?” He asked.

“Um… I’ll have fish,” you answered.

“Okay. Are you good if I order it for you?”

You nodded, grateful that Tony understood where you were at. His life was completely different from how you grew up.

The two of you laughed and chatted throughout the meal. When the two of you were finished eating, Tony helped you out of your seat and held you close.

“What are you doing?” You asked as he began to lead you in a slow circle.

“Holding you,” he answered. “Dancing.”

You followed his lead, allowing yourself to relax more and set your head against his shoulder. “You were right… we needed this.”

Tony kissed the side of your head before resting his own against yours. “Romanoff was right.”

“You gonna tell her that?”

“Not a chance.”

You let out a light laugh before sighing. Tony continued to lead the two of you in a small circle. You were content to stay in his arms like this all night.

“Y/N,” Tony breathed out. You moved your head to look at him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” The two of you shared a kiss.

“Want to take this party somewhere else?”

You nodded. Tony took your hand and guided you out of the private room. Many flashing lights came from the outside windows as soon as you were in the regular restaurant. Tony immediately held your hand tighter and pulled you closer. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see some of the other diners slip their phones out and begin getting footage.

“Tony,” you were clearly scared, alerting Tony.

“I’ll get us out of here,” Tony promised, slipping on his sunglasses. “FRIDAY, pull the car around to the back alley. Now.”

Tony turned you around and hurried you through the kitchen. Your server saw what was happening and helped the two of you through the back door. Unfortunately, photographers were there as well.

“Tony,” you were getting more overwhelmed and frightened with get passing second.

His arm came around you and pulled you impossibly closer. “I know, I know.”

The Stark car zoomed into the alley and stopped in front of the restaurant’s back door. Tony covered you through the swarm of photographers and got you safely into the car. He ran around, got into the driver’s seat, and the two of you sped off.

next chapter >

#tony stark imagine #tony stark x reader #tony stark imagines #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x you #tony stark x female!reader #tony stark x fem!reader #tony stark x f!reader #tony stark x female reader #marvel fanfic #marvel x reader #marvel fanfiction #avengers imagines #avengers imagine #the avengers x reader #avengers x reader #iron man imagine #iron man x reader #iron man fanfiction

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howlinchickhowl · 1 year

Text

It's coffeeshop day! I couldn't possibly miss coffeeshop day. I want you to know I am absolutely working on the next full chapter of Ristretto, but for today's a.u.gust prompt I thought it would be fun to do a little switcheroo, so here is a little Ristretto Mickey POV for while you wait. @gallavichthings as always, thank you :)

edited to add a link for Ristretto, if you have no idea what I'm talking about, this is my coffeeshop au I am already writing! So if you like this little sojourn, you can go read that as well.

Thank you for the extra foam eleven - coffeeshop

Fucking Iggy. Mickey thinks to himself as he barrels down the street, uncaring about the slow moving pedestrians he bumps on the way. Stupid fucking idiot.

They talked about this shit. Last week they talked about this shit. Him and Ig and Mandy they’d sat down at the shitty kitchen table they’d rescued from a dumpster and talked about how things were gonna be. They’d laid it all out, they’d all agreed, they were done with it, the life they’d been raised to lead, drugs and guns and fights and prison and parole and dying shitty violent deaths at the hand of shitty violent assholes who claimed they were your friends.

They were done with it. All three of them. Colin too when he gets out of jail if he wants. They were supposed to be going straight. So why the fuck was he now spending his afternoon scrambling around everywhere he can think of to put together fucking bail money? Because Iggy was a stupid fucking idiot. That much has always been true and Mickey was just as much of an idiot to think that that might have changed.

He’s been to Sandy’s and hit up his buddy Greg at the home, but he’s still a hundred and fifty bucks short and Mandy’s not answering her phone, so now he’s about to do something he and Iggy both had been expressly forbidden to do and visit her at work.

He’s so worked up he pushes the door so hard that it almost bounces off its hinges, and he locks eyes with Mandy almost immediately. Her face is like thunder and she storms over to him like she’s about to pitch a fit. Well she’s not the only fucking one.

“What?” She demands when she reaches him, not quite a whisper but definitely not the volume that he knows she’d be using if they weren’t at her job right now. She looks back over her shoulder at her co-worker, a tall red-head who is clearly watching them and clearly trying not to look like he’s watching them. Mandy grabs him and shoves him out of the way of the door, a little further from the counter, and he gets that she’s not happy to see him but none of this is his fucking fault and he doesn’t appreciate being manhandled.

“You’re not supposed to come here.” She says through gritted teeth, like he doesn’t already know she doesn’t want their family anywhere near her first real on the level employment.

“Yeah no shit Mandy, I look like I wanna be here? Answer your fuckin’ phone in future.”

“I’m not supposed to have my phone out here shitbrain, what the fuck is so important?”

They’ve gotten a bit louder, the heat of their words burning away at their control, but shooting a look back towards the counter he makes a conscious effort to lower his voice again. He’s got to be here but he doesn’t have to let everyone know they got jailbirds in the family.

“Iggy got himself a fuckin’ assault charge and I ain’t got enough for bail.”

“What the fuck Mick?!” Mandy casts furtive glances all around her and leans in closer to him, “Who’d he assault?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, just some bar fight or somethin’, it’s not serious, but because of his record and his last name they’re holdin’ him.”

“Fucking assholes. How much you need?”

It’s a lot, and he hates that he couldn’t put it together. A year ago, he could’ve, easy. That’s barely a morning’s worth of hand-jobs at the rub and tug and even without the actual jobs he could’ve just asked Sasha for a quick loan. Now they’ve gone straight it’s a lot harder to find any serious amount of ready money. He winces.

“Another one-fifty-two.”

“What am I, a stripper? I don’t carry that much cash Mickey!”

“I don’t know what you do, just give me whatever you’ve got and don’t be a fucking bitch about it alright? This is ruining my day just as much as it is yours.”

She heaves a huge great sigh and stomps off behind the counter into whatever staff room they have back there and Mickey is just stood there like a spare prick at a picnic waiting for her to come back.

He locks eyes with the redhead, who is watching him anxiously from his spot behind the counter. Mickey’s not stupid, he knows what people’s first impression of him usually is, he worked hard for that first impression when he was growing up, doing his best to intimidate anyone he ever came into contact with.

It bothers him sometimes, that he worked so hard on it that now he freaks people out without even trying, but today he’s got other shit on his mind and he doesn’t much care if some guy Mandy shills coffee with thinks he’s bad news. He crosses his arms across his chest and stares the guy down, daring him to say something, knowing that he never will.

He’s kind of hot, Mickey realizes while he’s standing there, even if he is a pussy. There’s the hair, for one thing, Mickey’s always kind of had a thing for a redhead, plus he’s built, in a lean kind of way, and his face is like, not unpleasant to look at. And because he learned growing up that if you find something pleasant to look at you shouldn’t look at it for too long, he cuts eye contact and looks away.

Mandy marches back out into the store with a wad of cash and her ratty Sun Times tote bag that she shoves in his hands with a pissed off,

“There.”

The cash he gets, he’s grateful for, it looks like maybe sixty bucks, the tote bag though, he doesn’t know what to do with. He shakes it at her for emphasis.

“What’s this for?”

“My card wallet is in there, get whatever cash there is out of the ATM, I don’t even know what I’ve got in there right now. And there’s a MAC palette I’m selling to Scheana, you know Scheana with the pinkeye?” Yeah, he fuckin’ knows Scheana, dirty fuckin’ skank always trying to come on to him and eating all his pizza rolls. “She lives on Harper, you’ll get forty for that.”

“The fuck’s a MAC palette?”

“It’s fucking eyeshadow dickwad.”

She shoves him, hard in the shoulder, and he stumbles, resents the fuck out of his whole family.

“Take it easy bitchface, I don’t fuckin’ know!”

“Just get out of here, and tell Iggy I’m gonna kick his ass when I see him.”

She’s gone already, heading back to the counter, not even looking at him when he says,

“Yeah yeah, later.”

And he’s gone, out the door and on his way to the ATM, cursing the day any of his siblings were born, and already trying not to think too hard about dark freckles on pale skin and a head of shocking red hair.

He lasts three weeks.

It’s into October when he finally caves and engineers his route to work to take him past Tamp & Grind. And, well, his sister is working, it would be weird not to stop in and say hey, or whatever.

It’s stupid, he’s aware. He’s only seen the guy once, doesn’t even know if he’s gay, doesn’t even know if he’s working. Plus Mandy will probably tear him a new one when she gets home later. All very real and good reasons not to go there.

And yet.

He shoulders open the door, it’s warm inside, the air smells sweet and rich, he’d been in such a frenzy last time he was here he hadn’t really noticed anything about it. Apart from Ian.

That’s his name, Ian. Mandy’s co-worker who has been occupying most of Mickey’s idle thoughts for the last few weeks. He’s tried, surreptitiously, to learn anything about him from Mandy when they’ve both been home at the same time. According to Mandy he’s ‘cool’ and ‘funny’ and ‘doesn’t suck ass’ like some of her other co-workers. She’s not exactly easy to get information out of but he knows she likes coming to work more on days when Ian will be there, so when she breezed out the door this afternoon with half a smile on her face he’d taken a chance on it being a day Ian was working too.

He was right. Mandy is sat up on one of the counters, can’t be fucking sanitary, and Ian is stood just by her, messing with something under the counter.

“Could I be a sexy latte?” He hears Mandy ask, smiling over at Ian, and what a weird and disturbing image.

“What the fuck?” Mickey finds himself asking, getting the attention of the two of them and oh. He’d kind of convinced himself the last couple of weeks that his brain had amplified how good looking Ian was, that he was actually just a regular looking guy and it was just the fantasy of him that Mickey was powerlessly focused on. Boy had he been wrong.

If anything he’s more good looking than Mickey remembers, sculpted face and long lashes and deep green eyes the shade of pondweed, but in like a hot way. Shit.

“What are you doing here?” Mandy asks like he’s a fucking bug she flicked off of her windscreen this morning come back for a second go.

“Was in the neighborhood.” It’s not a good answer, suspicious as fuck, really. Mandy scrunches her nose up at him and raises one eyebrow.

“Why?” She asks. He can’t think of a single good reason.

“None o’your fuckin’ business, that’s why.”

She rings him through a coffee and they bicker back and forth about the price for a minute or two, four bucks for a black coffee seems like daylight fucking robbery to him, maybe they should open a fucking coffee shop, seems like that’s where all the money is these days. Fuck the coke, give ‘em caffeine.

He looks around the shop a little while he waits for his drink, reading the flyers stuck up on the noticeboard, fiddling with the little packets of Splenda and wooden stirrers and shit, all while chancing little glimpses of Ian behind the espresso machine. Not too obvious. Mandy already knows something’s up, she’s not giving him enough shit about being here, she’s definitely gonna get into him later, so he’s not trying to hide his interest from her, exactly. But he doesn’t want to let onto Ian just now, doesn’t want to make the guy uncomfortable if he’s not gay, or if he’s just not into Mickey. He’s shooting his own discreet glances Mickey’s way though so he feels like maybe it’s not a totally one-sided thing.

Mandy calls him over when his drink’s ready and he takes a sip right when he grabs it, suddenly itching for something to do, some purpose after he’s been stood around for five minutes just waiting. They’ve given him a fucking hazelnut latte.

Sometimes he can’t fucking stand his sister.

He always orders black coffee. Everywhere he goes, black coffee. Sure he’s got a bit of a thing for sugar, who in the world doesn’t like something sweet? And when Mandy shows up sometimes with some sort of flavored monstrosity he’ll take a sip or two, it’s no big deal. But now she’s made it seem to Ian like he’s some sort of pussy who not only likes caffeinated syrup drinks like a fourteen year old girl, but also is too much of a pussy to admit he likes them.

She’s a fucking bitch, and he tells her as much, and Ian. Well. Ian doesn’t like that.

Mandy’s probably been called a bitch a thousand times in her life, and no one has ever jumped to her defense before now. But Ian, fucking, knight in shining green apron is right there, hand on Mandy’s back, telling Mickey not to talk to her that way, and what the fuck? Mandy gives as good as she gets and if Ian hasn’t learned that yet he will, and probably soon.

It’s not not hot, him squaring up to Mickey, though the fact that it’s over Mandy’s honor gives him some pause for thought, makes him wonder if he’s got it wrong, if Ian’s actually into Mandy, actually not interested in Mickey at all, actually just a straight guy who Mickey’s been projecting onto. But when he licks his lips and calls him tough guy he can see Ian’s eyes flicker like it did something for him.

He takes off with his sugary drink and spends the rest of his walk to work trying to figure out what exactly is the deal with Ian, and when’s the next time he can go back. Preferably on a day when Mandy isn’t working.

#fic #my fic #my writing #ristretto #howl does a.u.gust #gallavich fic #ian x mickey #mickey pov

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star-girl69 · 1 year

Text

Ultraviolence

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: mentions of hypothermia, mentions of death, swearing, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Twenty Seven - Looking Over My Shoulder

—-

2021-

“I’m getting really worried that you’re not calling me back.”

Misty has been trying to get in contact with Taissa ever since this forsaken car ride started. You’re heading up north, to the purple people, and all you can think about is how much money Walter must be spending on gas right now.

“Either of you. Don’t make me come looking for you,” she chuckles, but you can see her worried reflection in the mirror. “I already found Y/N!”

“Hi!” you shout over her shoulder, and Misty nods, as if Taissa could see it.

“Anyways. Call me back.”

She clicks a button and sets her phone down, sighing softly, her face twisted into worry. She turns to you and Walter.

“If Taissa and Shauna have both been kidnapped, I am going to be very, very annoyed.”

“I’m sure they’re just busy,” Walter comforts, looking back and forth between her and the road.

“Yeah, Misty. The last thing they would wanna do it worry you,” you say, pretending to itch your nose to hide your smile.

“They’re all lucky to have you,” Walter continues, nodding. “It’s pretty rare to have a friend who’s relentlessly got your back.”

Misty smiles.

“Thank you,” she says, a little awkwardly, adjusting her glasses and she faces forward again. You watch, silent, as Walter looks at her. His eyes not anywhere near the road.

“Here,” he says after a moment, digging through the center console and taking something out, putting it in Misty’s lap. “This is actually for you. While you wait for your friend’s imminent replies.”

She opens the box, and you look over her shoulder, finding rows and rows of cassettes marked and labeled neatly.

“You can choose the music for the rest of the trip, and I won’t complain at all.”

When you look at Misty’s reflection, she’s shocked. You can’t help but wonder when’s the last time she felt loved and appreciated like this.

“Well…” she says. “It all makes sense now.”

“Huh?” you say, her face quickly turning annoyed.

“What?” Walter asks.

“Why you sought me out,” she hisses. “Why you’re helping me- us. You certainly did your homework.”

“W-what are you talking about?”

“You can drop the whole thing now, okay? You’re one of those Yellowjackets obsessives.”

You gasp and hit the back of his seat. “Walter!”

“And I’m honored that I seem to be your favorite Yellowjacket. But, I am not gonna tell you anything about what happened out there. So, you can just drop us off at the next town.”

“So much for a free vacation,” you mutter, and Misty gestures towards you, nodding, glaring at Walter.

“Woah, woah. That is not what’s happening here. It’s like I told you. I sought you out from Citizen Detective because I wanted to work with the brilliant, investigative mind that is Agent AfricanGrey. And, because you dropped a Sweeney Todd reference in one of your posts. I-I don’t care. Um, no offense. Because I’m sure it was a significant trauma, but… I don’t care that you’re a Yellowjacket. That either of you are. That was like 30 years ago,” he shrugs.

“Twenty-five,” Misty whispers.

“And, that’s the least interesting thing about you.”

“So, you just… happen… to love musicals?” she says after a moment, flipping through the cassettes, a little more defensive now, but you can still tell she’s still a little flustered. “And it has nothing to do with me?”

“Yep.”

“Well, I don’t really care about musicals. Or what we play.”

“Oh,” Walker shrugs, leaning over and grabbing one. “So then you won’t be bothered if I put on…” he shows her the label.

“Oh, let’s tell the story of Cinderella, except every characters a train? Ugh, enough already,” she says, and puts in her own choice.

She sends him one final glare.

“People of Europe! I send you the Rainbow of Argentina.”

And you swear you’ve heard this song before, but you can’t seem to remember where.

—-

1996-

After Y/N leaves, her words in the air, Natalie slowly pulls on her clothes. Her arms ache from being shoved into the cold water, from banging the axe through the ice so many times she thought her arm would just be stuck in the motion forever. Then… trying to hold on. And failing.

She can hear the door open, a shuffle that sounds distinctively panicked, and she can’t help but bitterly think that, of course, Lottie has brought something back. Not her. Not when she’s been trying so hard.

She steps outside, still zipping up her jacket, only the find the girls clustered around a frozen Lottie. She’s still alive, but her face is twisted into pain, her palm is cut, and she’s turning blue.

No food in sight. But Natalie can’t even bring herself to care.

“Get her back here,” she says, her voice hoarse. Y/N turns around from where she was kneeling in front of Lottie. “We can get her to the tub.”

Y/N looks at her for a moment longer before nodding, getting to her feet, dragging Lottie up with her.

“Come on, let’s get her back there,” Shauna encourages, and Natalie just watches as they all practically drag Lottie to the back, help her get undressed, take a small step into the still-hot tub.

“It’s gonna get better,” Nat says, because she knows the cold Lottie’s feeling right now. She looks up towards Y/N, in the doorway, Lottie’s clothes bundled up in her hands.

Mari and Akilah wait behind her, anxiously looking in on Lottie, and after a moment, Y/N takes a step back.

“Let them have a minute,” she says to Lottie’s followers, and Nat heard the door click shut as she grabs a strip of cloth to wrap around Lottie’s bleeding palm.

She sits at the stool next to the tub, and Lottie holds her hand out, the blood mostly washed away by now.

It’s hard to find her voice. But she’s changed in the wilderness. She’s always been able to speak her mind, call out someone on their shit, but it’s hard to admit that she was the stupid one.

And if they’re going to survive out here, at least for a little longer, they all need to change. And it seems stupid, but they need to be a team.

“This is all my fault.” She wraps the cloth around her cut. “I’m really sorry.”

“Good game,” Lottie says, still shaking slightly. “You fucking loser,” she smiles.

“You talking shit?” Natalie can’t help but laugh, shaking her head. “You little bitch. You ended up with nil. Same as me.”

She lets Lottie’s hand fall, the bandage wrapped tightly around her palm.

“But, fine.”

She sticks out her hand. “Good game.”

Lottie looks up at her and grabs her hand.

—-

These nights, the simple ones, when you can just sit next to the fire and rest your head on Natalie’s shoulder are the easiest.

Doing nothing never hurt anyone.

“Nat,” you murmur, and the cabin is quiet enough that even your whisper seems too loud. “You know… you know that it’s not all on you, right? Just ‘cause you’re the best shot and shit? I… I just want you to know that it’s okay if you’re, like, not the best, I guess.”

“Yeah,” she whispers after a moment. “I know.”

“Okay,” you murmur, not sure if you believe her, too tired to pry.

“We’re a team.”

You lift your head up and look at her, and after a moment, she looks away from the fire. Her eyes soften and she smiles at you the way she always does. The way that makes you feel like the entire world is on fire, except for you and her.

You lean forward and kiss her softly, still scared from seeing her in the water, still so inexplicably intwined with her.

You smile against her lips.

The door slams open, too many footsteps, and swears, sounds of disbelief all spill from the girls.

“No. That’s impossible.” You look over at Shauna, and she’s staring at the door.

And when you turn, Javi stands in the doorway like like a scared deer, his eyes wide, wrapped in a blanket, his lips chapped and slightly blue.

“Javi,” you breathe, as everyone gathers around him.

Travis steps forward, and you share a look with Natalie.

“How the hell are you alive?” Travis asks, before bringing his brother into a tight hug.

How is he alive? How did he survive?

You see the look in his eyes.

What did he survive?

When Travis pulls away, Javi doesn’t speak, just stares at him- through him- unmoving.

“Javi,” Travis says softly. “Hey. It’s me. It’s your brother.”

When Javi doesn’t speak, and no one else does, Travis looks away from his brother and towards you and Natalie. You look away, and she stands up, walking to the other side of the cabin, where the light of the fire can’t reach.

“This means Lottie was right,” Mari says, smiling brightly, newfound belief shining through her. “She’s the one who said Javi was alive.”

Lottie looks shocked and slightly horrified.

“Three cheers for Lottie!” Misty shouts. “Hip, hip-”

Everyone glares at her, and her smile falls and her voice trails off.

“Lottie knew he was alive,” Van pants, pointing towards where two people sit, “But Taissa knew where he was.”

“No,” Tai says, a frown on her face, knees pulled up to her chest. Van kneels in front of her.

“No, Taissa. You can’t deny it anymore,” she breathes. “There is something inside of you that is connected to all of this.”

She stares at Van, confused and scared, to Javi and Travis hugging again. Javi still just stares, not speaking, his eyes wide open.

He survived. The cold, the hunger.

But as he stares blankly forward you know something else happened in the woods.

—-

taglist:

@sweetdayme4427 @dreaming-for-an-escape @peachydoki @happysparklingshadows @zhivaxo @maraudeerrs @karsonromanoff @onlyangel-444 @subastronaut

everything taglist:

@emilynissangtr

#yellowjackets x reader #natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader

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pink-tonic · 8 days

Text

Last One... Right?🔪

All Chapters

Warnings: Mentions of Ayato's injury, but nothing graphic

Text labels:

Bold - Ayato

Red text - Info-Chan

It's Tuesday, and I can immediately hear the vibrations coming from my phone. All I can think of is Info. I'm pissed right now because my plan with Shidesu completely failed. I did all those favors for nothing. I am a bit happy that I did take my anger out on one of the rival delinquents since now I don't have as much of an urge to kill as before. But the urge just might come back if Info is texting me because of a new rival.

But there is a silver lining. I might have ruined his chances with my darling. I blamed all my injuries on him, and I think that it might have worked. My darling will start to think that Shidesu is more violent than he actually is, and he won't want to be anywhere near him.

I grab my phone, and I check the message.

Plan failed?

Interesting. I thought she was going to talk about something else. But there has to be more to this. She wouldn't check up on me just to check up on me.

Yeah.

Sorry to hear that.

You might not like what I'm about to tell you.

New rival?

Yes.

Who is it?

I know that you have tendencies, Aishi, and I don't want you to snap.

Who is it?

Hanako Yamada, the younger sibling of the Yamada siblings.

He goes here?

As of yesterday, he is a student at Akademi.

Do you have any ideas?

I do.

Passive or aggressive?

Passive.

Surprising.

Are you lying?

Leave it to me.

I then close the application. I resist the urge to throw my phone against the wall or on the ground. I grip it tightly, and it feels like I could break it if I just held it a little tighter.

Every time.

Every time I try to have my darling all to myself, someone has to come in and mess it all up! All those bastards have to come in and claim that they are the one for him, but they could never be the one for him! I'm the one for him! We have been together since childhood, and he picked me over everyone else. The same has to happen again.

It has to. He has to pick me.

I'll make him see that I am the prefect and only option for him.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

I go into school with a mission. It's simple, but it needs to be effective. After I switch out my shoes, I go looking for my darling. I walk around the hallways that he usually walks 7 I find him, but with someone else. It's neither of the older Yamada siblings, even though I slightly wished it was them over their younger, more annoying brother.

I see the youngest Yamada sibling clinging to my darlings arm, acting as if my darling is all his. They walk down the hallway where the cooking club is located, and then I see the younger of the two let go and go into the club.

Perfect.

My darling is waiting outside and on his phone. I don't know why he doesn't go inside with Hanako, but it doesn't matter all that much to me. This is the perfect time to go and approach him.

As I approach him, he is completely distracted by his phone. I wonder what he is looking at? I hope he isn't looking at someone else's pictures. I don't know what I would do if I saw him doing that.

I tower over him, and I tap his shoulder. I notice that he jumps, and I can't help to find it cute. I know it's wrong to find his fear cute, but that emotion looks so good on him when he expresses it through his jumpy movements.

He almost drops his phone as he turns around and looks at me. I swear, I heard his voice quiver as he noticed that I was the one standing behind him. He quickly puts his phone away and greets me with a shy tone. I greet him back, but then it's silent. He seems scared to tell me anything, and I'm frozen in place because his attention is all dedicated to me now. I think I will start seeing pink again.

He crosses his arms over his cheat and looks up at me. "So, is everything okay now, Ayato?" He asks me with a soft and gentle tone, I'm sure he doesn't want other people to listen and question what we are talking about.

"A bit better," I answer. Truthfully, I haven't been bothered by the injury. If I move in certain directions, it does hurt, but other than that, it's not bothering me at all. But I could use this to my advantage.

"But I was wondering," I start off, "If you could switch out my bandages?" I try my best to look a bit sheepish when I ask.

"Don't tell me you haven't changed them!" My darling gasps and scolds me. I bask in the feeling of him being worried over me. I love it when he becomes worried over me, I know that once we get married, he will be such a doting husband.

"I have... but it hurts when I do it all by myself," I have changed my bandages over the past day, but like before it hurts when I move in certain directions so putting new bandages on becomes a struggle very quickly.

"We could go to the nurse's office and have her help you, would you like that?" He sounds so gentle when he asks me. The softness of his voice makes my heartbeat faster, I just hope my feelings aren't present on my face.

"I'm just worried," I confess to him, "It's a stab wound, and I'm sure she'll ask what happened." What I'm saying is an actual concern that I have. If it was a minor injury, then I wouldn't care that much, but a knife was shoved into my side, and it will definitely cause her to get worried.

I see my darling start to think for a moment. His thinking face is so cute. His eyelids lower a tiny bit, and it's clear that he is in a daze. After a quick moment, he stops thinking and looks at me with a bright smile.

"I know! How about I get the bandages and all of the supplies, and we go to the bathroom and I help you out there, would that work?" I like his plan a lot. The two of us could be alone together in the bathroom, all while he has his hands on me. I know it won't be anything intimate, but my mind can't help to wonder about the possibility that it could become that.

"Yeah," I simply respond. I see him turn around and go into the Cooking Club. He must have gone to go and talk to Hanako. A small smile appears on my face because he is leaving behind that childish boy for me. My darling didn't even mention to me that he was with him, I wonder if he even cares for that boy that much?

He comes back out quickly and leads the way towards the nurses office. When we make it to the nurse's office, he tells me to stay outside while he goes inside. I wait outside, and he comes out with the bandages, cotton balls, and rubbing alcohol. We make our way to the closest bathroom, and we go inside.

The bathroom is dimly lit by the weak lightbulb. The bathroom looks like it's straight out of some horror movie. It feels like something could jump out of one of the stalls. We walk over to the sink, and my darling places everything inside of one of the sinks. There are no counters, so that's the best he could do.

"Do you want me to help you take off your shirt?" He asks me with a nervous tone. It's clear he knows that the sentence sounds odd, but he still wants to help me nonetheless. How adorable.

I decide to take the opportunity, and I nod my head. He responds with a small 'Okay', and he gets close to me. The closer he gets to me, the more I freeze. He does something to me that I can't explain. It's like I can't get close to him, or else I'll be trapped in a daze.

I can feel his gentle fingers start from the top of my white button-up. He starts to remove the buttons from their holes, and he does it slowly. It almost feels like he's teasing me, like he wants something more.

Eventually, he gets to the last button, and my chest is now fully exposed to him. He can now see the bandaged area more clearly. The new bandages are soaked in a little bit of blood, but it's not as bad as the first set of bandages. He starts to unravel the stained bandages, and once it's all off, he places them in the garbage. He then starts to work on my wound. He cleans it and then places new bandages on me.

To me, it all happens fast, but that could be because I'm still lost in my daze. His soft figures always graze my skin, and it's intoxicating. I wish he could make the lingering feeling last longer. It's all over in five minutes or so, and he buttons my shirt back up. He goes to wash his hand in one of the sinks and then goes to grab the supplies.

We both walk out, and I can't help but follow him like a puppy. I wished it would be the opposite. I want him to be the one to follow me, but this is fine, too. He goes back to the nurse's office and puts everything back. When he comes back out, he jumps at the sight of me.

"What's wrong?" I really couldn't help myself from asking. Did he not know I was behind him the whole time?

"I'm sorry, Ayato! I thought that you left already! Is there something wrong?" He looks so confused, and he looks even cuter with his confused face. But I need to stop myself from staring at him. If I keep staring, he is bound to get creeped out and walk away from me.

"Can we hang out? Just the two of us?" I ask, and I could feel the world stop at my words. It's as if I was never supposed to ask him that again in this lifetime.

"Oh! Um, I wouldn't mind. But I have to tell Hanako," He sounds unsure, and it makes me a bit mad. Why is he so unsure? "Do you want to hang out the whole day?"

"Yes."

#fanfic #yandere #yandere simulator #yansim #male reader #reader insert #x reader #ayato aishi

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spartanguard · 1 year

Text

sons of love and death, 2/13 {CSSNS 23}

Summary: After the Final Battle, Killian Jones had finally settled into his happily ever after with his wife and family. Until a new foe arrived in Storybrooke: the infamous Dorian Gray, who looks rather familiar—one might say identical—to the pirate, and he’s on a mission: to claim the powers of the Dark One for himself. There’s only one problem: the Dark One no longer exists. What follows is a journey of vengeance, revelations, magic, and finally facing down the darkness within himself that Killian thought he’d finally put to rest. [roughly canon divergent from 5B, though set post-canon]

A/N: Time for the next chapter of this year’s @cssns story! (I plan to update every Wednesday :D ) Thank you for the warm reception to the first part; hope you enjoy this next one as well! Also: A shout-out to my writing crew on Discord; thank you for all your support as I've worked on this!!!! (And eternal thanks to the best beta, @optomisticgirl!)

rated M | 2.6k words | AO3 | 1

"That's not Killian."

"Are you sure?" David sounded skeptical of Emma’s statement, but she had no clue why.

"Of course I'm sure; he’s my freaking husband. That's not him," she insisted, pointing to the (admittedly handsome) stranger in the cell.

For starters, Emma had literally just left Killian at the library; there was no way he'd have had the time to start a fight with Leroy at Granny's AND get arrested in the span of 5 minutes. (At least, not anymore.)

Second, she would know him anywhere, any time, in any world. Even the haggard version of Killian she’d met in the Wish Realm was undeniably him.

So while this clearly hungover man looked and sounded like Killian, she knew it wasn't. There was nothing but anger deep in this man's eyes—a look Killian hadn't had in ages. She briefly entertained the possibility he was cursed, or that this was some kind of glamour spell or time travel, but then she took a closer look at his face: the scar was all wrong—it was deeper and cut a jagged line into his left cheek; Killian's was light and curved down the right side. And to top it all off, he had two hands.

But that only raised another question.

"Who are you?"

"Finally, one of you idiots doesn't pretend to know me." A chill went down her spine; it was Killian's voice, alright, but with more venom and spite than his ever had in the time she’d known him. And the accent was ever so slightly different—less of a lilt and more of an edge.

"I'll ask again: who are you?" She'd gotten pretty good at reading Killian, but it was proving near impossible with this guy (further proof that it was not her favorite pirate).

"How about you tell me who everyone thinks I am?" There was a challenge in his tone.

"Nope." No way was she letting him find out about Killian if he didn’t already know. "Why are you here, then?"

"That's my business." His face suddenly turned dark—well, darker—and she grew fearful. Because even though she knew he was a different person, he was starting to remind her an awful lot of the man she found hiding under some bodies in the Enchanted Forest, who was willing to burn heaven and hell to get his revenge.

"You made it our business when you came into this town," David supplied. "Either tell us why you're here, and maybe we can help you, or let us escort you out of town."

A sudden rage came over the man, and he jumped up and grabbed at the cell's bars. "I'm not leaving until I've taken what's mine!" A fire burned in his eyes as he shouted.

No, wait—that was actual fire. His hands began to glow a hot red-orange and she heard a distinct hissing sound. Two jaws dropped as the man melted the metal in his hands and then some, giving him an easy exit.

He angrily stepped through the hole he'd just made and began to stride out of the station. David attempted to grab him, but the man twisted away and turned to give them both a menacing look.

"Stay out of my way and leave the Dark One to me," he warned. A moment later, he appeared to be engulfed in flames, and the next, he was gone. Emma exchanged a look of shock with her father.

"Definitely not Hook."

“Duh,” she deadpanned. But she was stuck on something else. "The Dark One?"

"He must not know."

They didn't get a chance to process the encounter before the station phone was ringing. David answered it and hung up not a minute later, sighing.

"Speaking of."

"Gold?"

"Yeah. Turns out his shop got ransacked last night."

"Shit. And I bet we know who did it."

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

So he had a doppelganger in this town; that was why everyone seemed to know him. He had transported to a spot down the street from the pawn shop and was mulling over this new detail as he made his way there, lighting a fresh cigarette as he went. He relished the fact that he'd made some trouble for his lookalike. And maybe he could use that to his advantage here.

The door still hung ajar at the pawn shop when he arrived and he could hear someone shuffling around inside. He had to pause and take a moment to calm himself down—after centuries, he was finally only feet away from his quarry; he couldn't let his hot temper get in the way right now.

As quietly as he could, he stepped toward the entryway and looked in. A graying man was poking around and muttering, leaning on a cane and inspecting the damage. Why didn’t he just wave his hand and fix it all? Surely the Dark One would have no issue with magic as small as that.

A horrific thought entered his mind: what if the power of the Dark One was void in this realm? And that was why he had a hard time sensing it? He finally got a glimpse of the crippled man’s face: it was definitely Rumpelstiltskin. But he’d yet to pick up any full traces of that dark magic.

“I know you’re there, dearie,” a voice with a distinct brogue called out. Smirking, he stepped through the threshold.

He finally stood to face-to-face with his longtime prey. Rumpelstiltskin stared back; he looked nothing like how a Dark One should appear, though—he was utterly and completely normal.

“Captain, this is highly unusual.” In his reverie, he missed the look of recognition in the Dark One’s eyes.

Captain? Well that was a juicy little tidbit. Perhaps there’d be an adjoining vessel with which to hightail it out of here. “Just seeing how you liked my handiwork.”

Only a few feet of rubble-covered wood floor separated the two. “Are you here about your hand, or is there some other reason you’ve decided to break into and ransack my shop? I thought we were done, for good.”

Hand? He quickly thought back to the appendage in a jar and made sure both of his were out of sight as he meandered across the shop, pausing to lean against the counter. “I think there’s something else you can help me with, Dark One.”

“Really? Still using that title.” Rumpeltstiltskin gave a self-satisfied smirk that looked far too natural on his face.

Careful to use his right hand (the one in the jar was a left, he’d noticed), he took the dying cigarette from his teeth and put it out in the wood of the counter. Anger rose in his chest at his foe's cockiness and lack of fear—that wasn’t something he was used to. “Where is the dagger?” he asked, voice low.

“The dagger?” Rumpelstiltskin bore an incredulous expression, but the confusion only set off his own anger (so much for trying to collect himself). In a flash, he was at the other man’s throat, the beginnings of a ball of fire forming in his palm just inches from the Dark One’s face.

“Where is your dagger?” he growled again, emphasizing each word.

A stream of emotions flitted across the apparent Mr. Gold’s face: confusion, anger, fear, and finally realization.

“Who are you?” he sputtered out.

“The man who’s going to take your power.” His voice was barely more than a rasp at this point; he was too close to back down now.

To his utter shock, the Dark One laughed. It took him by surprise, and the fireball fizzled out before it had even finished forming.

But he regained composure. “You find your demise funny?”

“I know who you are; you've been dogging me for years. But you’re too late, by quite some time. There is no Dark One; not anymore.”

He pulled back, jaw slack. Out of all the scenarios he’d envisioned, he hadn’t even contemplated this. “Impossible.”

“I’ll let the sheriff explain.”

Seemingly on cue, Emma from the station barged through the open door, gun raised and leveled at his chest. As if that would do anything. He was about to knock back the weapon with a wave of his hand, but something in her steely gaze gave him pause.

She didn’t fuck around, he could tell. But he wasn’t about to let some small-town cop spoil his quest. He guessed she had been nothing more than a jailer back in the Enchanted Forest—he knew well enough how the curse worked. So she was certainly no match for him.

"Look, darling, like I said—this doesn’t involve you.” He walked toward her, adopting a softer tone, as if speaking to a pet. “Now, I’d hate to ruin that pretty face of yours. But if you won’t leave me be, sweetheart, then you leave me no choice."

Another fireball appeared in his hand and he shot it toward the sheriff. But she deflected it with a jerk of her arm and a pulse of white light. Of course the law enforcement had magic, he thought with a sigh. Just then, the male sheriff arrived; could he do the same?

"Who the hell are you?" she asked with a confident but stern voice.

"Well ain't that the question of the hour." She was staring daggers at him. "You can read my name when it’s engraved on the Dark One’s dagger," he threw back, gesturing at Rumpelstiltskin. "Run along now; this is between us." He waved her off.

She wasn’t fazed. Instead, she smirked, taking a thick black bracelet her partner offered. "You know what this does?"

"No clue." He didn't have time for games, but before he knew it, she'd slipped it onto his wrist.

He tried to conjure it off—burn through it, melt it, anything—but nothing happened; it was as if his magic was blocked. "What the fuck?" Tugging was no use, either. "What did you do?" he roared.

Smoothly, she cuffed him—with actual handcuffs this time. Before they left, she looked over at the former Dark One. “Is there any way to tell—”

“Yes, indeed.” A yank of his head and a prick of pain on his scalp told him that Rumpelstiltskin had taken some of his hair.

“What the hell do you need that for?” His query fell on deaf ears.

“I’ll require the Captain’s, too,” his foe told the sheriff, who nodded in assent.

He was unceremoniously shoved outside and into the back of the squad car. “Don’t you have to read me my rights in this country?” he protested.

“Yeah. You have the right to shut up.”

Surprising himself, he complied. The weight of what he’d been told moments earlier was just beginning to settle in: there was no more Dark One. As preposterous as it sounded, it made sense: there were no traces of the Darkness, or even magic, on Rumpelstiltskin, and nothing as dark as what he sought anywhere here. A sense of emptiness consumed him as he realized his life's purpose, his lone goal, simply ceased to exist.

What now?

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

The wail of the siren was a rude and somewhat jarring intrusion on the peace and quiet of the library. Killian nearly dropped the book he was reshelving—part of his new role as assistant librarian—and Belle was interrupted from her processing of returned items. Both watched the squad car speed by, then exchanged a concerned look.

"They...they were coming from the direction of the shop," Belle stated, shakily. After everything had been resolved with the Darkness and everyone returned to the land of the living, he and the former Dark One had come to an uneasy peace, mainly for the sake of Belle. She was his closest friend in town, outside of his in-laws, and they would always share a unique bond in their love affairs with the Dark One; hers was far longer than his, although his own dabble with the Darkness made his (and Emma’s) a bit more intense.

And in the varying events of their lives since—Gideon’s (traumatic) birth, his and Emma’s wedding, the fight against the Black Fairy, Henry’s departure, and everything else—they’d been by each other’s sides, even going so far as to work together at the library. (Emma had offered him a position at the station, but was more than understanding when Belle’s counteroffer won out, knowing how it would sate his constant craving for knowledge.) Belle was like the little sister he’d never had, and he felt protective over her.

So that was why, without hesitation, he set the books down and stepped toward the door. "Shall we?"

She quickly joined him and they raced outside and down the street to the shop. He wasn't surprised to see the door hanging open, but the lack of a doorknob altogether was surprising, as well as what looked like puddles of solid metal on the ground.

"Rumple! Are you alright?" Belle shouted as she ran into the arms of the man in question. Glass crunched underfoot and Killian had to admit, it was an impressive mess.

"Who came to exact their revenge this time?" he asked dryly. He never agreed to liking his former adversary—only the barest level of civility.

"Ahh, of course you'd know the signs of vengeance anywhere," Gold snarled back. In a few surprisingly short strides, the man was in front of Killian and reached up to yank a few hairs from his head.

"Rumple!" Belle admonished.

"What the hell was that for, mate? It wasn't me." Killian cursed Gold further internally while rubbing at the now-sore spot on his scalp.

"I know that. But there's something else we have to figure out." Rumpelstiltskin placed the hairs in a vial from his jacket, which had a few others in there already. "Belle, my darling, will you help me with something?"

"Of course," she immediately replied, but Killian could see confusion and a bit of worry on her face. Her husband may have lost his powers and was no longer under the influence of the darkness, but it had still shaped his personality over the centuries and no one but Belle knew if he had any true remaining malevolence.

"Now why don't you run along to the station, Captain. I think there's something there of interest to you." Killian didn't like the threatening tone that came his way, but he nodded his assent and bid Belle goodbye.

As he rushed across town, he felt uneasy about what was waiting at the station; regardless of what he'd been told, his concern was directed at Emma before himself. He couldn't bear the thought of some evil attaching itself to or going after her again, and it was nothing good that melted that doorknob and trashed the store.

By the time he was within a block of the station, he was sprinting, fear consuming him as his imagination ran faster than his feet. "Emma!" he shouted as he threw open the station door and ran in.

To his relief, she seemed untouched, and was deep in conversation with David and whoever was in one of the station's cells.

"Hey, is everything alright?" she asked as he wrapped his arms around her.

"If you're fine, then yes," he sighed into her hair. "Gold told me to come here; I was worried."

She pulled back to study his face, and he could see the trepidation on her face. "Swan, what is it?"

Before she could answer, a familiar voice called out from the cell—perhaps too familiar. "What the actual fuck?"

Killian looked at the prisoner and began to wonder if his eyesight was finally failing him or if there was some kind of magic afoot, because he may as well have been looking in a mirror at the form identical to his behind the bars.

"Bloody hell."

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks for reading! (longer chapters to come!) tagging some peeps (let me know if you do/don’t want a tag!) @kat2609 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @wistfulcynic @pirateherokillian @colinoeyebrows @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @klynn-stormz @resident-of-storybrooke

#cs ff #killian jones ff #cssns 2023 #captain swan supernatural summer #sons of love and death #my ff

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silverdune · 3 months

Text

1978. | the one who caught my likeness

"..is he painting us?"

minors dni. ageless blogs dni. blank blogs dni. you'll be blocked. <- previous | 1978 masterlist | next -> character(s): kim hongjoong, jung wooyoung (ft. park seonghwa, jeong yunho, kang yeosang, choi san, song mingi) tags: explicit language, painter!wy, alcohol, drunk behaviour, hj drunkenly runs across a busy street (he's fine!), awkward moments, slight emotional angst word count: 5.9k summary: the time hongjoong met a painter who was capturing his likeness from across the street.. a/n: so this is somehow the longest chapter i've written so far lmao.. tbh it's more context than anything else but i also think i hold this chapter near and dear to my heart so, i hope you enjoy!

you say i captivated you don’t understand how that could be true when it was you and how your colours bled into my view i don’t know how you did it but you painted me in a way i knew was true

× April, 1974 ×

“Oh, darling, I cannot believe it! When you told me you had a surprise, I never once imagined it would be this!”

Hongjoong could hear his ma’s astonished tone, full of love and pride, and it made tears bubble up in his eyes.

“Aw, thank you, ma. Do you see now why I couldn’t reveal anything?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Certainly! I am just.. I am just so incredibly over the moon for you. You should be incredibly proud of yourself for how far you’ve come.”

Hongjoong blinked back the tears that threatened to fall and sniffled quietly so his ma couldn’t hear. “Thanks, ma. I’ve worked so hard on this album.”

“You’ve worked so hard to get there in the first place! I knew you wouldn’t give up on your passion for anyone.”

There was a hint of melancholy in her tone and it made Hongjoong’s chest feel heavy. Anyone meant his father.

He had never been one for confrontation, and he didn’t want to act smugly in the face of his father. He just didn’t have the heart to be like that.

There was a faint sound of movement on the other end, and Hongjoong could hear another voice talking to her. He straightened his back: speaking of which..

“Oh, Hongjoong, your father wants to talk to you quickly..”

Hongjoong caught the tension in his ma’s voice. She was worried her husband would pick a fight with her son over the phone.

“That’s okay, ma,” he said, an act of reassurance, “you can pass him the phone.”

The waves in between their two receivers seemed to pull taut at the idea. His ma exhaled, and after a few seconds, his pa’s voice rang through the speaker. “Hello?”

“Ah, hello, pa. How are you doing?” Hongjoong scratched the back of his neck.

“I’m not doing too bad. And yourself?”

Hongjoong hated the formal way in which they spoke to one another. It wasn’t cold, it was just still. “I’m doing.. really well, yes.”

His pa gave a faint smile. “That’s good to know. We heard about the release of your first album. It’s quite maniacal to imagine that you’ve actually done it.”

Hongjoong scoffed a laugh in his throat. That was one thing they could agree on. “Indeed. I wake up every morning and still think I’m in a dream.”

Much to Hongjoong’s surprise, his pa laughed a little. “You’ll feel like that for a while, I suspect. Heck, five years down the line you might still feel like that.”

Five years..

Did his father genuinely believe Hongjoong would make it to five years as an artist? Did he really have that level of belief in him?

“Gee, five years would be insane, ha..”

“It would be, absolutely, but I think if you put your mind to it, you’ll make it anywhere.”

Hongjoong drew back in shock. What leaf had his father turned?

“You really believe that?” he wondered, not holding back on the amount of confusion in his voice.

Eventually, his father sighed. “Hongjoong.. I’ve had many months to think about everything that happened before you left for Seoul. I recognise that I wasn’t always the most.. supportive person towards you and your ambitions.”

Hongjoong felt dizzy. He took a seat on the couch.

“I asked myself, ‘what kind of father would I be to continue being so dismissive of my son?’ And so, I will try to be.. more supportive.”

Something churned inside Hongjoong. Initially, he wondered if his father had been prompted by his mother to say something, but in the end, Hongjoong realised he didn’t care.

This was the first step, and he would take anything above his own pa acting like he doesn’t exist.

“Pa.. I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say a word. It’s not you that needs to make up for anything.”

Hongjoong’s heart disintegrated in his chest. He gripped the receiver until his palm hurt and cried quietly into his shirt sleeve.

At that moment, Seonghwa entered the living room.

In an instant, Seonghwa dropped down beside Hongjoong on the couch. Hongjoong was on the verge of tears, and quickly said goodbye to his pa with a promise that they’ll talk again soon.

“Talk to you soon, son. And good luck.”

Once Hongjoong put the receiver down, he fell apart in Seonghwa’s arms.

“Hey, it’s okay.. What happened?” The ease and comfort in Seonghwa’s voice helped calm Hongjoong down fairly quickly, and when he lifted his head, Seonghwa was shocked to see a gleaming smile on his lips. “Um.. You okay?”

Hongjoong sniffed. “Couldn’t be happier,” he said. He put space between the two of them as he mopped up the rest of his tears.

“Right..” said Seonghwa, laughing nervously. “What exactly happened?”

“Pa spoke to me. He said that he thought a lot about what happened before I left for Seoul, the argument we had, and he said that he would try to be more supportive of me going forward.”

Stunned, Seonghwa curtly said, “Wow. So he apologised?”

Hongjoong stopped. He thought back on their conversation. No, he hadn’t. “Um, not exactly..”

“So, he said all of that without an apology?” Seonghwa flexed a brow.

Hongjoong looked over at him. He could understand Seonghwa’s perspective, but at the same time, “I’ll take anything, Hwa. The fact that he even said that to me is huge.”

Seonghwa stared at him for a while until his eyes softened. He recalled how Hongjoong broke down just now. He couldn’t take this moment away from him. “Okay, just.. don’t let him get away without apologising properly,” he said, softly.

Hongjoong smiled. “I won’t, don’t worry.”

Seonghwa mirrored his expression and let out a sigh. “Good. I’m happy that you’ve had this conversation with your father.” Hongjoong looked back at the phone on the side table. He breathed out, a tinge of hope in its wind. “Me too, Seonghwa. Me too.”

×-×

San was the reason the six of them found themselves outside Mountain Top Merlot celebrating the release of Hongjoong’s first album.

So much had happened in the past few months alone, and Hongjoong was struggling to keep up with most of it.

When he saw Yunho from across the way holding a shiny new copy of his first vinyl - not signed, because Hongjoong refused to make a deity of himself - boasting a smile full of immense pride at his best friend’s achievements, Hongjoong felt the world stop around him. Yunho was eager to show it off to anyone who would listen, just so he could spend five minutes waxing lyrical on how talented his lifelong friend was, and how thrilled he was to be holding a tapestry to the blood, sweat and tears said friend had put in to make it happen.

Hongjoong couldn’t run away from the feeling that he hadn’t done a damn thing, and that he had just been extraordinarily lucky.

It was Yeosang who broke him out of these thoughts with a hand on his shoulder. “Staring at your pride and joy, huh?” He was nursing a glass of red wine in his other hand, and took a sip of it before letting go of Hongjoong’s shoulder.

“Hm?” Hongjoong blinked and looked at Yeosang. “Oh- Oh, yes, yeah, uh.. Quite crazy, huh?”

Yeosang immediately detected the light warble of his words and the way they didn’t fully resonate with the level of happiness he had shown before now.

Hongjoong stared at the bottle in his hand and lightly shook the contents before finishing the last few drops. In the split second between emptying the bottle and removing it from his lips, he saw Yunho and the vinyl through the bottom of the glass. Warped and blurry.

Yeosang nudged him. “Feeling out of sorts?”

“You could say that,” replied Hongjoong. He kept staring at the bottle. “One minute I’m over the moon and immensely proud and all of this is a dream and whatnot.. The next I’m tripping over myself, wondering what I even did to make it this far.” He glanced up. Yunho was still brandishing the vinyl as if it were his own. As if Hongjoong’s name wasn’t on the front.

But Hongjoong’s name was the only one coming out of Yunho’s mouth.

The beer swirled in Hongjoong’s stomach and it almost made him feel sick. He put the bottle down on the nearest table.

Yeosang caught Hongjoong staring, and for a brief minute, he physically turned Hongjoong on the spot to look at him.

“Hongjoong, folks may have been kind, but that doesn’t mean you deserve no credit for the work you’ve put in and the determination you’ve had to make this a reality. You came all the way to Seoul to pursue your dream; that takes a hefty amount of courage and a certain confidence. And you have the skill. You’ve connected with people. The reviews on your first album have been glowing. People enjoy your work, and like you for the way you’ve presented yourself. Of course, they’ll never know the full you, not the real real Kim Hongjoong. But the heart you’ve put into your work hasn’t gone unnoticed. And that is something noteworthy.”

Hongjoong stared at him, then glanced over at Yunho. Yunho, full of zeal in his inebriated state, pointed to the vinyl, then pointed at Hongjoong and mouthed you fucking did it.

Hongjoong laughed despite himself, and took a deep breath in.

Yeosang, with a smile on his face, shook his head at Yunho’s antics before looking back at Hongjoong. “Give yourself a bit of credit. Afford yourself the space to be proud of yourself and what you’ve done. Lord knows, we all are.” Hongjoong looked around. He was surrounded by friends. They were all here to celebrate his achievements.

Hongjoong never particularly liked being the centre of attention, he just wanted to do what he was passionate about.

Maybe, just once, he can give himself the time of day.

×-×

An hour had passed, and shockingly, it was Seonghwa who suggested they start playing drinking games.

Sat around a table outside the bar, as they had been since they first arrived two hours prior, they played a few rounds of flick-the-cap. Yunho won twice, San won once and Mingi also won once before they all decided they’d had enough soju to last them a month.

Hongjoong’s mood had picked up, and he was keeling over in laughter at every joke Mingi made.

That was, until, someone caught his eye from a distance.

The second they locked eyes, the stranger glanced back down. He was sitting in front of an easel with a palette in one hand and a paintbrush in the other. He looked to be hard at work. Through the cloudiness of his drunken state, Hongjoong wondered what he could be painting.

Yeosang plucked him and everyone out of their thoughts with an announcement that he was going to get them all a pitcher of water. He’d had the least amount to drink, and one look around the table was enough for him to know that he should get something to sober them all up.

San openly protested this, loudly exclaiming that he hadn’t had that much. Yeosang politely reminded him that not only had he had the most to drink, but that he also had the weakest tolerance. San’s face went bright red, and he folded his arms across his chest. His head was fuzzy with alcohol, so much so his better instinct kicked in. “..Alright,” he muffled under his breath.

Hongjoong for one, welcomed the pitcher of water, and when it arrived he went to gulp down a glass when Seonghwa stopped him.

“Don’t.. drink it all.. down in one..” His voice slurred every syllable. “You need-” He belched, to which the others grimaced. “You need- to- sip it..” He leaned over and brought his hand up to the bottom of Hongjoong’s glass, giggling as Hongjoong took slow, small sips as instructed. “Yeah, see? Baby sips, baby sips.” Seonghwa laughed and took his hand away, then sipped on his own water.

“My God, you are so drunk,” remarked Yunho, equally tipsy.

“Hey! I’m not that drunk, I’m just.. buzzed!” Seonghwa’s head nearly collapsed onto the table and Yunho had to save him. Hongjoong finished sipping his water then put the glass down.

His eyes turned back to the stranger.

The stranger was watching them every so often. There was a smile on his face. He turned back to the easel.

Is.. Is he painting.. us?

Hongjoong was ultimately too curious at this point to leave the question unanswered. He stood up, much to everyone’s discouragement, and told them that he would be back in a few minutes, he just needed to check something.

He stumbled away from the table, past the other people also congregating outside the bar, and towards the edge of the road. It was probably against his better judgement, but he just needed to know if this stranger was painting them.

“Hongjoong!” called a voice from behind him. The stranger’s head snapped up and his face fell in panic.

Hongjoong looked back. Yeosang was standing up straight, beckoning him to come back and not be such an idiot.

“It’s fine! I’m fine!” shouted Hongjoong in response. Yeosang was unconvinced, and set everything aside to join Hongjoong at the curb.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked the instant he was by Hongjoong’s side.

Hongjoong didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself than he already had, so he leaned in close to Yeosang’s ear and whispered, “I think there’s someone across the street painting us.” Yeosang furrowed his eyebrows. He leaned back and looked directly at Hongjoong. “Are you sure?”

Hongjoong nodded fiercely, then turned back to the man on the other side of the street.

The painter, now very flustered and embarrassed, was quickly throwing all of his supplies into his satchel with little care.

“Hey! Wait!” yelled Hongjoong. Talk about not bringing any more attention to yourself.

The man glanced over, then immediately rushed to pack everything away and run. Hongjoong helplessly ran out into the street.

Yeosang let out a yelp at the sight and sound of car horns and vehicles coming to a screeching halt just inches away from the hapless drunk steamrolling across the road. He clutched his chest and took a deep breath in when he realised Hongjoong had somehow made it to the other side in one piece, then turned back to see not only their friends, but the rest of the patrons outside the bar look on in horror. Eventually, the patrons carried on with their conversations. Hongjoong’s friends continued staring.

The painter was seconds away from making a break for it, but was caught by Hongjoong stopping dead in front of him; his long, black hair fell in front of his eyes and his cheeks became a very deep shade of pink.

“Um-” he uttered. The canvas was still precariously leaning against the easel. Hongjoong saw it in his peripheral vision.

His eyes widened. “Holy shit..” he muttered under his breath.

“Uh-” The man eyed the floor in shame. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I- I can-” He tripped over the lump and choked on it. “I can, uh.. I can explain.”

His voice was low and timid. Guilt radiated through every inch of his skin as he held the satchel close to his stomach.

Hongjoong stared at the painting again. Between the drink-induced nature of his curdled brain and the adrenaline in his blood from running what felt like half a marathon, all he could think to say about the painting was, “That’s so fucking good.”

The man glanced over at him. “W-What?”

Hongjoong coughed into his clenched fist then pointed at the canvas. “That. That’s a really good painting.” Hongjoong eyed him. “So you were painting us.”

It was a statement above a question. Less accusatory than expected, but it still made the man look away. “I.. I people-watch and paint,” he shrugged. “It’s what I do.”

The explanation was purposefully vague, owing to Hongjoong’s inebriation, but it was enough at that moment for Hongjoong to say, “Wow. You’re really talented.”

His eyes met Hongjoong’s once more. Ultimately puzzled but nonetheless grateful, he said, “Thanks. Look, I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable by painting you. It was just..” He sighed. “It seemed like a happy occasion. I like to document happy occasions.” Hongjoong’s brain was all over the place. He couldn’t think much about the reason given and instead just said again, “You’re really talented.”

A smile betrayed the man. “Thanks. Again.” He picked up the canvas and set it aside, then disassembled the small easel and tucked it under his free arm.

“Could I have the painting?” blurted Hongjoong. “I think my friends would like to see it.”

His tone of voice wasn’t degrading nor condescending, merely opportunistic. Friendly. The painter wondered if the man were a lot more sober would he be so gracious.

Not wanting to take advantage of such a moment, the man politely declined.

“Um, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” He held the canvas in his free hand. “But thank you for being so interested,” he said, earnestly. “And I hope you enjoy the rest of your night. Your friends seem like great people.”

Hongjoong, a little foggy, watched the painter as he walked past him and into the distance. The air surrounding them seemed to grow much quieter, much darker, the further he walked.

As he prepared himself to head back over to the bar, one thing looped in Hongjoong’s mind incessantly.

Your friends seem like great people.

Hongjoong saw his friends across the way, still looking at him blankly like they’d just seen the dramatic climax of an opera.

They are, stranger, Hongjoong thought to himself, they are.

By the time he looked back in the direction that the painter had gone, he had already disappeared.

Hongjoong hummed. He wondered if they’d ever cross paths again.

Hongjoong would find that he’d think about it a lot over the coming days.

If only to see that painting again.

if only to see that painting again a stroke of luck i think about every now and again you said you like to document happy occasions and now you’re a part of my happiest times

The incident had kept Hongjoong up every night since it happened.

In the wake of his sobriety and incredibly dense headache the following morning, he could remember every second of it in what felt like excruciating detail. None of his friends decided to ask him about it out of respect for his dignity; he did almost risk his life for the sake of talking to a painter.

There was no getting away from it. It circled the back of his mind every day.

He just wasn’t expecting to run into the man again exactly a week later.

Hongjoong stopped in the middle of the street. The stranger was sitting on a stool and looking out towards the Han River. Much like that night outside Moutain Top Merlot, he had an easel in front of him, with a canvas secured tightly to the frame.

From afar, Hongjoong watched as the man dipped his brush in water, then in paint, then in water again, before spreading it quite liberally over the canvas. He noticed that it was a faint wash of blue. For the river, Hongjoong thought.

He didn’t want to disturb him in the middle of his work, but Hongjoong was so curious at the same time. He needed to talk to him and ask him about that night. I like to document happy occasions.

If only to see that painting again.

Step by step, Hongjoong gradually made his way over to the painter, who saw Hongjoong in his peripheral vision and paused.

Hongjoong also froze. He wasn’t close enough to make any kind of comment without raising his voice, but he’d been spotted.

Putting the brush down, the man looked over at Hongjoong. “Can I help you?”

His voice was oddly neutral for someone who should probably be weirded out by this. There was also, if Hongjoong wasn’t imagining it, the soft lilt of genuine curiosity in his voice. Nothing mean or standoffish about him at all.

“Um-” Hongjoong took a careful step forward. “I- I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean to disturb.”

“Nah, it’s alright,” he said, standing up from his stool. His demeanour was as calm as the river they were adjacent to. Hongjoong didn’t know if he should be thankful or freaked out himself. “You’re the guy who ran across the street last Friday, right?”

Hongjoong tried to hold back a fluster at that question. “Yeah.. That was me,” he chuckled nervously.

The man opposite smiled brightly. “I must admit, it was quite scary. I legitimately thought you were gonna get hurt..” He then frowned and swallowed anxiously. “I don’t know if I’d forgiven myself for making you dart across the road like that..”

Hongjoong closed the distance between them some more. “To be honest, I feel like an idiot for doing that. I shouldn’t have been so careless.. But I was also drunk, so..”

“I could tell,” said the man, boldly. He then coughed on his comment and added, “Sorry- It just- You seemed-”

“No, no, it’s okay, it’s fair to point it out.”

The two men smiled at one another. It was strange. Odd. Pleasant, in many ways.

“Wooyoung.” He held out a hand.

Hongjoong stared at it, then looked back up at him. “Wooyoung?” he repeated. Wooyoung nodded. “Hongjoong,” he replied with a grin, shaking his hand.

Wooyoung knitted his brows. He recognised that name. “Ah! Like the singer!” Hongjoong froze solid. Wooyoung dropped his hand and shoved both into his pockets. “I bought his first album the day after it came out ‘cause I heard one of the songs on the radio. It’s so good. Have you heard of him?”

The words got caught in Hongjoong's throat as he stood across from Wooyoung.

Is he talking about me?

“Um-” Hongjoong didn’t mean to stutter. He just had no idea how to respond.

In the seconds before any of them said anything, Hongjoong let the words spin around his head, trying to conceive of any other possibility apart from the one where Wooyoung is indeed talking about him and not some other well-known artist named Hongjoong. Were there any other artists by that name? Hongjoong really had to rack his brains.

“I.. I guess not,” said Wooyoung with a nervous chuckle. Hongjoong became a block of ice. How did he even ask if it was him Wooyoung was referring to? Wooyoung was about to return to his easel when Hongjoong blurted out his name. “..Yeah?”

My face isn’t on the cover art of the album. Hongjoong pondered this for some time.

“You said, um, that you bought the album a few days ago?” Wooyoung nodded. “What does the album cover look like?”

Hongjoong knew it by heart since he had taken the photo for it. It was the view from his bedroom in the apartment he and Seonghwa shared, overlooking the tall skyscrapers of Seoul. If Wooyoung’s description of the cover art matched, it was his album alright.

When Wooyoung described it back to him, the description was identical.

Hongjoong’s jaw dropped.

“..That’s my album,” he uttered shamelessly.

Wooyoung’s head felt like it just grew three sizes.

“I-I’m sorry?” Wooyoung furrowed his brows and took a step closer to Hongjoong.

Hongjoong almost kicked himself for just letting it out like that, but there was no taking it back now. Better to just own it. “That’s my album. I’m Hongjoong.”

The way he said it carried the same level of surprise Wooyoung felt upon hearing this revelation.

“No fucking way..” he muttered under his breath. “No fucking way!” he said again, louder this time. “You’re Hongjoong?” Wooyoung started to fret. He turned this way and that, glancing back and forth between the easel and Hongjoong. He had painted Hongjoong. He had painted Hongjoong. He had painted Hongjoong!

Hongjoong noticed the panic on Wooyoung’s face and closed the distance between them. “Hey, it’s okay! Yes, I’m Hongjoong.” He placed a hand on his chest. “The cover art you described matched the one on the album I released a few days ago: up so high i can’t breathe, but-”

“-i don’t wanna come down,” finished Wooyoung. Hongjoong smiled knowingly. “Holy fuck.” Then his eyes became sceptical. “Wait.. How do I know for a fact you’re really Hongjoong?” He folded his arms.

Hongjoong blinked. “Um- Well-” His mind went blank; he couldn’t think of a way to legitimise his identity.

Then, a lightbulb went off in his head. Wooyoung relaxed his arms.

“Say, have you picked up a copy of Rolling Stone lately?”

×-×

Wooyoung couldn’t believe his eyes.

There he was, standing beside the Hongjoong, and staring at a page of the newest import edition of Rolling Stone. He had a tiny box dedicated to him in the Up-and-Coming Stars section, with a small summary about his first release and a quote from Hongjoong himself about how excited he was to be kickstaring his career. Beside that, a small picture of him holding a copy of his vinyl in the lobby of Kang Arts & Co.

Wooyoung glanced over, his jaw on the ground and his eyes twice the size of his head.

“You really are Hongjoong.” He was practically starstruck.

Hongjoong’s face flushed, and he timidly eyed the ground. “..Yes.”

“I- I can’t believe it.” Wooyoung glanced back at the page. There Hongjoong was, the vinyl nestled in his palms. It reminded Wooyoung of how he would hold his finished paintings. He closed the magazine and placed it back on the shelf, then turned back to Hongjoong. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

“No, don’t apologise, it’s totally fine. I can see why you were sceptical. But, uh- now that we’re here, I guess I should thank you for buying my album and enjoying it so much.”

They turned to leave the shop, standing shoulder to shoulder. Hongjoong was helping Wooyoung carry his supplies around, and had the easel tucked under his arm. It made him think about the painting, and whether he would ever see it again. He needed to admire it in full sobriety.

Wooyoung smiled. “Thank you for releasing it. It’s some of my most favourite music I’ve ever heard.” Hongjoong’s heart spun in his chest. Some of his most favourite? It was completely beyond Hongjoong to even consider it. “It’s so nice to just sit and paint to. It really helps get the creative juices flowing.”

Hongjoong was vibrating with sheer happiness. He’d heard plenty from his friends about how much they enjoyed his music, but to hear from someone else that not only did they enjoy it, it actually helped inspire their creativity? Hongjoong was a damn puddle on the floor. He imagined Wooyoung listening to his album while peacefully painting a new work of art, and it made him feel flustered with elation. So much so, he couldn’t even properly convey it with words. “That makes me so happy to hear. Thank you so much, that’s all I ever wish for when people listen to my music.”

As they left the shop, Wooyoung said, “Your music is really easy to connect to and relate to. It’s.. helped me unpack some of my own feelings of loneliness and not knowing what I want out of the world, or what I want to do in the world. As a painter, I’ve struggled with the realisation I might not be able to make a career out of it. My parents have always told me I should just take up medicine or science, something more substantial, as they put it.” The desolation in his voice made Hongjoong’s stomach churn. It was heavily reminiscent of how he felt over a year ago, how his parents - or more his pa - treated his passion for music. He remembered the conversation he had with his father some time ago, and how much it felt like the tides were finally turning.

He frowned. He found himself wanting the same for Wooyoung.

“Well.. I’m so thankful that you’ve found something to relate to in my music. Trust me when I say that I’ve been there before myself.” Wooyoung looked over at him. “I know exactly how you feel. It’s definitely hard to carry on pursuing your passion when the whole world is against you. But you shouldn’t give up on it. For your sake more than anything.”

Wooyoung gave a faint smile, then turned his eyes back to the ground. He kicked his feet across the pavement and sighed. “Thank you. I’ll definitely keep it in mind.”

Hongjoong then thought of the painting again, and smiled. He wanted to talk to Wooyoung about it, perhaps get some insight on what inspired him to paint their celebration from across the street. Selfishly, he wanted to see the painting again, but that took a backseat for the time being. I like to document happy occasions.

“Hey..” Wooyoung glanced up. “The painting you did of my friends and I last week.” Wooyoung’s cheeks warmed up. He turned away in embarrassment. “I would really like to see it.”

That threw Wooyoung for a loop.

“W-Wait, really?”

“Mhm. I’d love to know what inspired you to paint it. I know you said you like to document happy occasions, but I want to see the painting again. I want to know how you put it together and why you chose to paint it as you did..” Hongjoong recognised he might be getting too far ahead of himself in his proposition and reined it in a bit. “..If you don’t mind.”

Wooyoung beamed, and it was as though the heavens had opened. “I would love to.”

×-×

The minute Hongjoong stepped into Wooyoung’s apartment, his jaw fell to the ground and his eyes sparkled.

“Holy shit..” he mumbled to himself, but Wooyoung managed to catch it, and a whisper of a smile reached his lips.

“Welcome to the abode,” he announced, shutting the front door once Hongjoong entered. “You probably won’t be surprised to find that most of the apartment is filled with supplies. I literally live in one corner and everything else is just.. art,” he chuckled.

Hongjoong couldn’t answer, he was fascinated by everything; he wanted to ask so many questions about each and every painting he saw.

But, that would have to wait. He knew exactly what he came here for, and he was itching to see it again.

Wooyoung led him through the mess of his apartment. Paint pots, palettes, blank canvases and torn bits of newspaper were strewn about the place, the true mark of a creative. Hongjoong likened it to the bits of paper that were scattered across the table in the café where he and Mingi spent hours writing songs. Or his own desk.

Once Wooyoung reached one particular room, he stopped in the doorway and said, “Ah! Here we go.”

Hongjoong trailed behind him, and he realised once he followed Wooyoung into the room that this was supposed to be the lounge. Instead, it had been flipped upside down and turned into a makeshift art studio.

“Mind yourself, there’s lots of shit on the floor I have yet to clear up.”

Hongjoong paid it no mind whatsoever, he liked the fact that it wasn’t so neat and tidy.

Wooyoung made his way over to the other side of the room, and dug around for a few seconds until he found what he was looking for. “Ah- here we are!” He pulled out the canvas and brought it over to an easel that was permanently set up in the corner of the room. Securing it in place, he turned to Hongjoong and said, “Without further ado.. The Happiest Times.”

Wooyoung stood to the side, revealing the artwork behind him.

Hongjoong was floored.

“Oh my God!” His hands flew to his mouth and he leaned in to take a closer look. “Holy shit, this is- This is fantastic!”

Wooyoung cleared his throat. “The Happiest Times: a watercolour painting, filled with washes of mainly warm colours, reds, oranges, yellows, as well as some blues and some greens. The painting focuses on the delight of a group of young men, perhaps in their early 20s, sharing in the joy of a celebratory event or an accomplishment. The setting is a popular jazz bar in downtown Seoul, and the event takes place at night, as shown by the navy of the sky and the blur of streetlights. There is laughter, and joy radiates through the canvas, as the men depicted are clearly elated with whatever or whoever they are celebrating. The wash of colour surrounds this focal point like a vignette, where the men and their happiness take centre stage.” Hongjoong reflexively looked over as Wooyoung finished his explanation. He smiled wholeheartedly at the commitment to illustrating this occasion, and it only widened when Wooyoung added an extra bit of information to his speech. “Much like the singer at the centre of it all.”

Hongjoong straightened his back and applauded. Wooyoung bowed his head, his hands behind his back.

“My God. Fantastic. This is absolutely incredible. I adore this,” said Hongjoong, sincerely.

Wooyoung shrugged a little. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” Hongjoong uttered in complete shock. “This is amazing. Your work needs to be put in galleries, I swear.”

Wooyoung swallowed the lump in his throat. “..Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.”

Hongjoong scoffed. “Please, I’m just a guy from Anyang who likes to write music.”

“Music that captivated me.”

Hongjoong stilled. He glanced back at the painting again.

With fresh eyes, he noticed every detail. Upon an even closer inspection, Hongjoong could make out every single feature on his own face. He had been depicted so brilliantly, so truthfully from such a great distance that it left Hongjoong floored.

Turning back to Wooyoung, “And I say: your work has definitely captivated me.”

Wooyoung froze, then smiled. “Thank you. So much.”

An idea popped into Hongjoong’s mind, and it made his smile grow twice the size. “Hey, when it comes time for me to release a new album.. would you be interested in painting the cover art for it?”

Wooyoung could have fallen through the floor. He was so stunned he could hardly think for a second.

“You’re- You’re serious, like- no- like- you actually- wait a second-”

Hongjoong laughed. “I’ll let you think about it, of course.”

Wooyoung covered his mouth with one hand. “I just- That- That would be amazing, I-”

Hongjoong’s laughter died down to a grin. “And.. If it’s okay with you, I’d really like to show my friends your painting.”

This time, Wooyoung was more than happy to accept.

“Absolutely. The painting’s yours.”

The two men smiled at one another.

Wooyoung wished he could document this happy occasion.

a part of every little vignette you flooded every corner of the page i thank you for the way you knew how to capture everything that was true

taglist: @bikerjongho × @viviixlyy

× silverdune (ave). do not repost. ×

#ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #hongjoong scenarios #hongjoong imagines #ateez au #ateez fanfic #words.(ave)#fic: 1978

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grippingbeskar · 2 years

Text

salt, ice and fire | frank castle

chapter sixteen - talk is cheap

frank castle x fem!reader

warnings: canon typical violence, blood, death, swearing, mention of fire and like burning and stuff, its a bit sad at the end

words count: 6.1k

a/n: this took me a while bc i’ve been writing out so many requests but hopefully you all like it! the pressure is mounting guys the next few chapters shit is going down. hold onto ur hats. also i am so ready to write the next few chapters of this because its all coming together fajfejrnierifaeurngiar. eep.

[series masterlist] [previous chapter]

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Somehow you hear Frank’s phone buzzing somewhere in the room, the vibrating ring echoing on the hardwood floor. You were practically curled up in a ball, back pressed against Frank’s chest while he had his arm wrapped over you. Even while he was asleep you could tell how strong he was, arm still not fully relaxed, his hand almost holding onto you as if you would drift away in any moment. It was exactly the opposite of what you would do— of what you want to do.

I want to stay. Of course you did. Even if it wasn’t like this, the rise and fall of his finally relaxed breathing pressing you even closer - he was the only person who wasn’t afraid of you, who didn’t look at you like you were what you are. He understood— on some level or another. He wouldn’t force your hand, wouldn’t keep you anywhere you didn’t want to be. So, that became exactly the place you wanted most.

The fact that he was also, well, him— you still felt like you were floating even now, long after you had passed out from last night. You couldn’t help the way you shivered a little just thinking about it. He was sweet when you needed and rough when you asked, every part of your body felt like it had been changed permanently. You rolled over, his arm staying tight around you, and your face was nearly pressed to his as you shook him lightly.

“Frank.” You tried to whisper, the phones ringing stopping for a short second, and then picking up again. Clearly, whoever it was needed him now, and being around him long, there’s only one person who calls him period, let alone this early. He still doesn’t budge. “Frank.”

“Shh.” He groans and nearly smothers you as both his arms link around your frame, every sense surrounded by him. “Sleep.”

“Your phone.” He takes in a deep breath, and your face buries into the new space, finding his collarbone. You press your mouth to his skin, getting distracted when he almost moans at the touch.

“S’ Madani. She’ll call back.” He moves his head higher, and your mouth trails up, kissing his neck, just under his jawline. One of his hands finds the back of your neck, threading slowly up through your hair.

“She already has.” He still holds you where you are, teeth and tongue working to give him matching bruises where you are sure you are covered in them. “Might be important. The article. From Karen.”

“Give me one minute, baby. One more minute of you.” Smiling, you make your move and push him onto his back, leg swinging over his torso. Neither of you bothered to put actual clothes on last night— you in one of Franks shirts and him in nothing at all. Both of you sigh a little when you drop your weight on top of him, and you pin his arms up near his head, leaning down to kiss him.

He gives up control easily, letting you take whatever you want from him. You stay slow, sleep still clouding half your brain. He moves a little underneath you and you let him, legs spreading wider. He groans into your mouth and you roll your hips, desperately aware of how he reacts to the small movement. You swear you could still taste yourself on his tongue, and he leans forward as you begin to shuffle down. Maybe more than just a minute…

The phone buzzes again, somehow louder now, the vibrations moving it closer to where you and Frank have claimed a corner of the bed.

“Pass it to me.” He whispers, tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth. Your eyes nearly roll back at the look he gives you, but you bend down and grab the phone, reluctantly handing it to him despite knowing he needs to answer it. “Better be good, Madani.”

“Did you get the paper this morning?” You can hear the agent say through the phone, and Franks free hand falls to your hip, pulling at the hem of the shirt you were wearing.

“I got a good idea what it says.”

“I should of expected you to blow this thing into extreme proportions. It’s seven thirty and I already have four dead Gnucci foot soldiers spread out across 5th Avenue.” Your eyes widen a little at that. Sure, it was part of the plan— turn the two gangs against each other and lighten the load for you and Frank to inevitably tear to pieces. You were just surprised it had happened so soon.

“Karmas a bitch, ain’t it?” His thumb runs circles along your hipbone, goosebumps rising under his touch. You can see him smile when he notices. “I’m a busy man, so unless you got something for me…”

“I know where the brother is.” Franks hand freezes on your hip and your body goes tight. “The men who were killed— one of them had a comm leading through a secure network. I got to it, gave it to someone I trust back at base. There’s a hold out near…” The rest of the conversation fades off, you only getting parts that from where you are, it would take about seven hours to get to where your brother is.

Frank sits up, and it hits you all at once, almost like a punch to the gut. Your brother— the one you had been searching for, fighting for your entire life. The one you had killed for. He was only seven hours away.

“And Frank—“ Madani says as you start to focus back into the conversation. “—there’s going to be a time in this where I have to start connecting dots.” Frank looks at you, a strange emotion on his face somewhere between concern and…

“Just say it, Madani.”

“I’ve already got men breathing down my neck asking about my source for the Silo incident, and now with this article… shits hitting the fan, and all eyes are on me. When her brother is out, I need to bring her in.” His face twitches, nose scrunches almost when she says it. You knew it was inevitable. You were marked as immediate disposal on your file. Back then, you didn’t really give a shit if you got out alive or not, as long as your brother was safe. Looking down at Frank, you think of one more thing you would want to protect.

“I already told you-“

“I know what you told me. I’m not putting her in a bunker, but I need a paper trail. Something I can use to clear all this shit up. And I need more information. You may want to be in and out with as many bodies as possible, but this network runs deeper than you can imagine. I need to think of the bigger picture.” Frank says something like ‘whatever’ and hangs up the phone, tossing it onto the floor.

“Seven hours away.” You say and he nods, his hand still frozen at your hip.

“I won’t let anything happen t’you.” You start to lift yourself off him, but something about the way he looks at you makes you pause. There’s only been a few times when you can’t place the emotion he’s looking at you with. You were pretty good at reading people, and you were practically versed in Frank, but with his wide eyes and furrowed eyebrows, you just paused. Then, lean down to kiss him lightly.

“Thank you.” You feel his free hand hold the back of your neck, pressing your forehead to his. His eyes close, and yours stay open, watching the displaced emotion melt away. He nods again, and lets you go, throwing the covers off himself and finally getting out of bed.

Both of you waste no time, getting dressed with new clothes and restocking with food as best you can with what Karen still has around. You eat whatever you can find, chewing through fruit and the rest of Karen’s honey oats, Frank eating whatever you don’t. After you had practically ransacked the place, Frank wrote a quick note and left the key on the counter, grabbing your bags and heading to the door.

Your hand goes to the door knob, and both of you freeze.

You don’t have to open it to know who’s on the other side. You know those footsteps, the weight of them, how he leans slightly to the left because he got shot when he was 18 and it never really healed right. You know his breathing, laboured now he had made it up the steps to the apartment. You knew the sound of his voice, how he told the two other men with him not to knock the door down. Told them to wait, that he wanted to be the one to talk.

Frank’s artillery was swung over his shoulder, another bag in his hand, while yours was on your back. The cool metal of the barrel of the gun Frank forced you to carry around was a glaring reminder of where you were, and how the man on the other side of the door was far more apt at using it. You also weighed your options. You could kill him now— you knew where your brother was. You just had to make it there before his men could send the order. Not that they would be able to if you could kill them, too—

“Good morning, sunshine.” His voice was rough, mocking as the nickname floated into your ears making you want to hurl. Frank pressed closer, shoving you away from the door a little. “I know you’re in there.”

The shock of him really being here was starting to set in. Bobby Gnucci never got his hands dirty. Never put himself in the firing line. When you’re that rich, you can buy people to stand in front of you. Why the hell was he here, then? And how the hell did he find you?

“Nice place here. I’m sure Ms. Page would be upset if we shot through her lovely oak door. Why don’t you come out and we can talk like adults.” The mention of Karen’s name made you both pull out your weapons. “That is what you are, yes? An adult? You so often reminded me that is what you are now.”

You go to open your mouth to reply, but Frank shakes his head and nods towards the window. The fire escape would lead you right down to the car. Was he suggesting you leave? Now, when Bobby was right there?

“You know, it’s a shame, really. About The Colonel. As pathetic as he was, the man sure had a knack for politics. But a gun shot to the head? That’s not how I raised you, is it sunshine?”

Frank starts to pull you back, further inside the apartment. You try to ask why - why the hell wouldn’t you take them on, take them here? He just shakes his head, jaw clenched. You knew if there was a reason Frank wasn’t killing anyone, it was probably a good one.

“And I did. Raise you. You were so young, when we first met. I guess I was, too. Clearly we’ve both changed. Ms. Page didn’t recognise my voice when I called to meet her, and doesn’t have the slightest clue she’s sitting in a cafe with my best hit man right now.” Fuck. That’s why Frank wasn’t shooting. “Change is for the best sometimes. Even if it comes at a cost.”

“What do we do?” You mouth at Frank. His eyes are trained on you. Before he answers, Bobby speaks again.

“If you don’t open the door, I’ll have my men shoot Ms. Page where she sits. One word from me and they’d tear your brother apart, too.” You squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t see Franks face when you speak.

“What do you want?” You sound cold— a tone of voice you haven’t used in months.

“Ahh. There you are.” He sighs through the door, and you take a step closer. Franks eyes widen, standing in front of you. “What I want. I think I have made that fairly clear, no? You have made things decidedly harder for me with this article, you see. My men question my loyalty, question if I am still in my right mind, chasing a ghost such as yourself.”

You take another step and Franks forearm stops you, pushing you away from the door. You shove him back, instead pushing him towards the window. If he could make it out undetected—

“I want you. I want you by my side.”

“You want me as your weapon.”

“Does one not hold their weapon at their side? Care for it? Tend to it, keep it safe? You would not know, to be fair. I’ve given you no reason to ever need one.” Your grip around the gun tightens. You mouth ‘go’ to Frank, but he just stands there. You do it again, and pull the gun out, training it on the door. Frank finally manages to move, seeing you with the weapon. If he doesn’t get a head start, he won’t make it to the building. “Open the door, and I’ll take you to your brother, and we can go back to how it was.”

“When you locked me up?” Frank had moved, but only towards you, hands coming lightly under your chin. You tell him to go again, and you think he might kiss you. His hand drops and wraps over yours, the one holding the gun. He trains it on the door and angles you so that you are as close the the open window as possible, laying out your exit.

“As soon as that door opens, leave. Come to me. Get him to open the door, and come to me.” He whispers in your ear, lips brushing against the sensitive skin.

“You know why I did that. You disobeyed me.” Bobby’s voice breaks you away from Frank. He needs to open the door. An idea starts to spark.

“I fucked someone else. That’s why you did it.” Frank looks at you one last time before he turns to the window, and he almost looks like he’s smirking.

“That is not why.” Bobby sounds through the door, shakier than before.

“The Colonel told me. That you think I’m some kind of gift to you, from your father-“

“Don’t talk about my father!” He shouts, and Frank has already disappeared, hopefully dropping down the fire escape and in the car already. “He is dead.”

“Clearly. If he were alive, you wouldn’t have lost four men this morning.”

“Open the door.”

“If he were alive, he would have killed me the moment I stepped out of line. But you couldn’t, could you?”

“You are on thin ice. Open this door, now.” He says, angrier. Good. You want him angry. Angry enough that he will burst inside. Or at least, the guards will. Them, you can kill without blinking.

“You couldn’t kill me. That’s why you locked me up in there. You really are obsessed.” You bite out, mocking thick in your voice. All the anger of all those years you spent with him bubbles to the surface. You only wish you could see his face. “It wasn’t that you needed me. It’s that you wanted me. You just didn’t have the balls to do anything about it.”

“I will break this door down-“

“You had all those years to watch me, train me like some prized bull, and build the perfect weapon. Your father knew you couldn’t do it alone, that’s why he started it without you. He died thinking you would at least have the brains to finish it for him, but you just fucked it up again, didn’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up! I will kill him you—“ He was yelling now, screaming. You imagine his face bright red, an ugly vein popping out of his forehead, more prominent now he was older.

“You could only think with your dick! You locked me up because you were jealous and ruined your fathers legacy, and now you need me to fix it for you!” The door burst in and you pulled the trigger, the body of the first guard hitting the floor before the frame of the oak wood did.

The second guard faltered, not expecting you to be armed, and all that training with Frank flooded back to you. As soon as she stutters you fire again, a bullet flying through his throat and ricocheting onto the drywall behind.

Your gun is trained on the door, and you were backing up, feeling the breeze from the open window whip at the back of your legs. It’s close, and you crouch, starting to climb out of it when you see him.

Bobby Gnucci steps into the room, face still read from screaming at you, though now he is calmer, void of emotion. He almost smiles when he sees you, teeth yellowing from years of smoking those disgusting cigars he always smelt of.

“You look better.” His voice was sickly sweet, and the way his eyes roam your body feels nothing like the way it does when Frank does it. “Good.”

“I’m going to get my brother back.” He raises his eyebrows, keeping his composure. The way he stands, confidence oozing out of his jet black suit, you are reminded why his family is so feared. He isn’t tall, and he’s bigger than when you last saw him, but he looks like his father. All dark, oily hair and crumpled features.

“He isn’t yours to take. If your own father had been smarter, perhaps-“

“I’m going to get him back. Then I will come for you.” You step out of the window, gun still trained on him. You had to hope Frank had gotten to Karen by now, because it was your only chance.

“Think about who you are threatening.” He warns, taking a step towards you.

“It’s all I’ve thought about. For three fucking years. I will come for you, and I will burn everything you built to the ground.” Your word choice is purposeful. You want him to know. You want him to know that he will feel what you felt, what he did to you will come for him. Eventually.

You drop from view, throwing yourself off the fire escape and hit the ground running. The wind whistles past yo has you run the distance you drove yesterday to the main building of the Bulletin. If Frank hadn’t made it yet, it would be down to you. Faces pass in a blur and a few cars honk as you cross streets recklessly, and when the building begins to form in sight, you don’t see and blue and red flashing lights, which you take as a good sign.

Then, Frank crashes through the front window of the main lobby, his hands around the throat of a giant looking man.

You run to him, only stopping when you hear Karen inside, ushering someone out of the emergency exit. Frank flips the guy over and pounds his fist into his face, the sound of bone cracking letting you know he has it covered.

“Karen!” You shout and she looks up, relief washing over her face when she sees you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine! We need to go— You. You need to go. The police are on their way. You and Frank—“

“Don’t worry about us. I need to get you out of here. Do you have somewhere you can—“ Another shatter of window sends glass flying into the air, and you cover Karen as best you can. She’s looking at something behind you, and when you focus, you can feel it. Someone, not something.

“Matt?” Karen shouted, one arm covering her forehead where a little blood seeped out from a cut. The man moved past you, taking her face in his hands.

“Are you okay?”

“Jesus! I’m fine! What are you doing here?!” She shouts at him, but you know that kind of shout. She’s not really mad, and you remember a conversation about her and someone called Murdock, and out together the pieces.

“I heard you! You need to-“ He pulls her closer, hand searching her face. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.” She whispers, the lobby now completely empty. The lack of sound also makes you look back, seeing Frank climbing off the mangled body underneath him. Karen looks at you, keeping her hands linked with the man’s. “You both need to get out of here.”

“Do you have somewhere you can go? Bobby, he knows your place.” She nods, eyes flicking to the man. Matt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get- this isn’t what I wanted. I’ll make sure you’re safe, I swear-“

“It’s not your fault. I would of done it anyways. Journalism has its risks. It’s not the first time something like this has happened anyways.” You smile at her, slightly confused as to how anything like this could of happened to her before, but Matt also smiles and it seems like there’s a lot you don’t know about her.

“Get out of here. Please.” You say and she looks past you, to Frank, who was digging through the pockets of the man he’d just killed.

“Thank you. Both of you.” She says, and then she does something that both makes you want to cry and laugh. She hugs you. Tightly, both arms wrapped around you. You don’t think a woman has hugged you since your mother.

When she pulls away you must look confused, or scared because she looks to the floor, smiling.

“Look after him. He needs you.” She says, and Matt moves his head towards you, nodding, before taking her hand and leading her out of the broken lobby.

You turn to Frank, who finally stands and staggers over to you, holding his side. You can hear sirens ringing in the distance, and you know you don’t have long before they reach you here.

“You okay?” He’s swaying a little, and his entire arm is gushing with blood. The hand holding his sight is bright red, too. “Fuck. Where’s the car?”

“S’ that way.” He slurs, and arm swinging over your shoulder.

“What happened?”

“Big guys. Had a lotta…” He sucks in a sharp breath when you step out of the lobby, turning him down the street. “You get out okay?”

“Had my lucky charm with me.” You tap the gun in the waistband of your pants, and even though he’s probably in a lot of pain, he smiles down at you.

“That’s my girl.” More of his weight drops into your shoulder, and your steps start to slow as you see the car approaching. Frank fumbles with the keys, and eventually drops them on the ground. You lean him up against the car as he groans, picking them up. “S’worried.”

“You know I can handle myself better than you can.” He’s lost more blood than he probably realises, and looks pale. You have no idea how many men were inside the lobby before you got there, only catching the end of it. You take the bags off his shoulder and shove them in the car, and when you turn back to him, he’s sliding off the hood and nearly hitting the pavement.

“Frank! Jesus— what the hell did you do to yourself?” He groans when you pull him back up, his arms nearly slipping from your grasp, wet with blood.

“S’okay, baby. Just gotta get…” His head practically rolls to the side, face screwing up in pain when he tries to swing his legs in. “Ah—fuck.”

“What do I do? Frank, I can’t fix this. I don’t know where to—“ There’s so much blood, when you close yourself into the drivers side of the car you can smell it— a mix of metallic sharpness and salt. There’s so much of it, and you half consider driving him to a hospital. Or one of the ambulances that have probably pulled up to the lobby. You couldn’t fix yourself, let alone him. You couldn’t even sew a cut on your leg— “Frank. Please keep your eyes open.”

“Mmm.” His head hangs forward now, and his eyes flick to the side, observing as you slam on the accelerator and drive forward. “Where you goin’?”

“We need help. You. You need help.” He’s slurring his words, and if he passes out you’ll have to— yeah, you’d drive him straight to the hospital. Screw everything, you’d figure it out, but he couldn’t die here. Not in a car, coming out of a fight you pushed him into, one he never would of found if it weren’t for you—

“Right. Turn right.” You hit it hard, your arm coming across Franks chest to keep him from slamming into the door. “Exit on fifth.”

“You need a— I can’t help you like this, Frank. I can take you to a hosptial—“ He’s shaking his head, grunting no before you finish the thought. “—Curtis? Where is he? He can help.” You take the exit, not sure where you’re going but blindly trusting Frank, even though he’s a second away from losing an arm.

“Not here. Pull into the g—“ He groans as you swerve onto the left side of the road. “—It’s okay. We just need a little time…”

“Frank.”

“Garage. One with the green door.” You see it a block away, and pull into it, immediately getting out of the car and helping Frank out.

He’s limping even with you supporting him, and now you can see the bright red marks on his shoes, lines on the pavement carved by the flow of blood from somewhere else under his clothes. He ushers you to a side door that opens to some storage unit sized garage, full of bags and old furniture.

You lay him down on an old couch, and when he huffs finally landing, you stand up and get a good look at him, and nearly puke.

You’ve seen blood before. This is tame— compared to what you’ve seen, what you’ve done before. Blood doesn’t make you sick, but his blood does. And there’s so much of it. His head is soaked, eyes both black, shirt wet— not damp, sopping wet with thick, red liquid. You haven’t even taken his shirt off and you know it’s bad. Bad and you can’t fix it, you couldn’t even fix yourself.

“Hey. Blue bag— trauma kit in there.” Franks hand weakly taps at your leg, and you realise you’d frozen above him. You move, hands shaking as you tear open the blue bag, gauzes and equipment you’ve never seen falling out in front of you. You look back to him, eyes wide. “It’s gonna be fine. Now grab…”

“I can’t do this. We need to take you to a hospital.” He’s sliding his shirt up and there’s so much of his blood that shouldn’t be here, not like this—

“Baby, you can do this. I need you to do this for me, okay? I know you’re scared, but I trust you.” His voice is cracking, but he’s looking at you with urgency and— trust, maybe. Maybe that’s it. The look you’ve been trying to pin, where his eyes go a little soft and he leans closer to you. Whatever it is, it’s enough, and you look back down to the equipment.

“Okay. Okay. Just… tell me. Which ones do I…” He pulls his shirt up and you lean on your knees, seeing what you know to be a gun wound. “Oh, fuck.”

“Tweezers.” He says, and twists to the side. The wound is right in the edge, but it looks like the bullet might still be in there. You can see it, just under the surface of his scarred skin. “You gotta get it out.”

“Okay.” Your voice was cracking but you did what he asked. Grabbing the tweezers, your slightly improved confidence has you moving into position. You remember Frank holding you when he did this to you, how he told you how good you were doing. How he called you sweetheart. You take a breath and put your hands on his side.

“You might need to p-“ He cries out when you shift the wound slightly, and you take your hands off him. “It’s okay. Just keep going. You’ll have to dig around. Get it out.”

“Shit. Shit. Okay, I’m sorry.” You look at Frank, who tries his best to look confident in you, but then groans as you dig the metal into his side and balls his fists into the couch. “I can feel it.”

“Mm.” He grunts out, jaw tight and breathing fast through his nose. If he keeps going like that, he’ll pass out and you need him awake. Frank kept you awake when he did it by talking. You can do that. You can do this.

“You’re doing good, Frank. I’ve almost got it.” He cries out again as you dig in, clamping the bullet around the metal. “You’re a really good teacher.”

“Good to—fuck. Good to know.” His eyes are squeezed shut, but momentary relief floods his face when the bullet leaves the wound. “Needle and the string in the green packet.”

“Alright. Just two or three, right?” He nods once, and you remember how many when he removed them from your skin. As you bring the supplies back to him, you bring gauze as well, gently cleaning the area as best you can. When he did it, he had water, and his skin is so caked with blood you can’t find the edge, so you do your best. He hisses when you get close, and you use the other hand to rub small, soothing circles on his other side. “Sorry.”

“S’okay. Just push is through. Line i—it up straight and pull it together. Fuck.”

“One down.” You follow his instructions, applying one shoddy stitch to his wound.

“That’s it-“ He pauses, eyes fluttering closed. You call his name, shake him a little but all that does is make the wound bleed more.

“Frank.” You move up, yelling in his ear. Nothing. His heart was beating, but your hand was wet with his blood. “Frank!”

He wasn’t awake. He’d passed out. You remembered when you were shot, and how hard he tried to keep you awake. It must be bad, that he’s passed out. A concussion— you knew he couldn’t sleep with a concussion. You needed to wake him up. You tried to think— when he did this for you, even though you wanted to sleep so badly, you heard his voice. Talking. He called you sweetheart.

Okay. You could do that— he always said how he could never get you to shut up. He’d talked you through the first one, you just had to do it over and over again. You had to talk him through it. You adjusted on your knees, replacing the soaked red gauze with a new one and exposed a little more of the wound.

“I can count on one hand how many times you’ve fallen asleep before I did.” You say to the small room. He can’t hear you, head lulled to the side, but you talk anyway. It was his voice that drew you to consciousness, a life ring in the weird fading fuzziness that blood loss tinged your body with. “It’s lazy, really. And do you remember, the first night we were in that really small hotel with the blinking lamp? And I told you that you should of gotten ice for your head? Bet you wished you listened to me.”

You were stabbing painfully at the wound, the slipperiness of his blood making it hard to get a hold on it. You tried to be gentle, but you needed to be safe more. Another few uneven ties eventually pulled his skin together, and you immediately covered the wound, wrapping it in gauze and sticking bandages over it. You grabbed more of the supplies out of the bag, ripping open packages that looked like what you had just used.

“If this is some kind of fucked up lesson like when you made me stay up for five hours with a gun on the door, I’m going to kick your ass.” You tried to tell yourself you were talking to him, but it was more a distraction for you, giving yourself something to focus on other than the gaping wound across his chest that you now had to try and pull back together. “I think I miss that time, though. I didn’t know how good I had it. New York feels so... full. I’ve lived in big cities my whole life, you know. Those shitty motels were always so empty. I liked the open space.”

A part of him flinched under you. Maybe it was just because you were hurting him, or a reflex, but either way it meant he wasn’t dead, and that was encouragement enough. Your hands continued to rectify the cut, now almost completely closed. Looking down his body, there was a lot of superficial wounds that you wouldn't be able to do much with, but there was a gash in his leg that was dripping blood onto the floor, and you grabbed a shirt from one of the bags in the room and tied it over until you could get to it.

“I just liked being outside, I think. Like that place in the woods, where you pulled all those guns out of the floor. If it wasn’t so small, I would have never left. I could breathe out there— I never felt like I could get a real breath in underground. You know, when they kept me down there.” Maybe it was the adrenaline rushing through you, or the fact that this was the chance to talk to someone without having to worry how they would react. Frank wouldn’t even remember it.

“My dad used to have a basement at our house. He did all his research down there, when he wasn’t stuck at the lab. Even there, I hated it. It was so cramped— he could never get enough of it, though. I used to stand at the top of the steps that led down there, playing a song on my phone or something, and he’d sing it with me. Then he’d walk up the steps and scoop me up, carry me out of there.” Everything feels like it’s hot— Frank’s skin under your hands. It felt like infection. You grabbed some of the saline and squeezed it over the wounds, then shuffled down and did the same to the one on his leg before starting to stitch again.

“That’s where he was. When they set the house on fire. My mom could never sleep without him, so she was waiting for him, making a few bottles for my brother in the kitchen.” A slow, shuddering exhale, and a few quick blinks of your eye allows you to see straight again. “I always think about what he was doing. If he was happy— if he struggled. Sometimes he fell asleep down there and mom had to go and drag him to bed. I like to think he was asleep when it happened.”

“My mum was screaming. For him, for me to get out. For my brother. I don’t even remember how I got the door unlocked. I think I dislocated my shoulder breaking it down. Eventually I knew mom was... she stopped screaming. I just kept bashing the door down. I was thinking ‘if I can just get in here, just get him and then I can go and help her’. He was a baby. I had to—“ You saw lines forming in the dry blood on Frank’s chest, and you knew you were crying. You straightened up, not wanting to get anything else on him. “I still remember Bobby. His face, hovering behind his fathers. Coming to collect their prize. My brother had ash on his face, he was sneezing every three seconds and I couldn’t stop him crying.”

Your words were choked, and every sentence came out in a hiccuped string of sobs you knew were hardly coherent. Somewhere in between, you ad sewn him up. You had managed it — somehow, you had tied him together, at least enough so the blood wasn’t dripping like a faucet anymore. There was more to do, so much blood all over him. His head was hanging off the couch, and there was a piece of metal you hadn’t seen sticking out of his right arm.

You grabbed the bottles of water you saw in the corner, along with the saline and remaining gauze. You were running out considering how much you had used on the gun shot wound, but you’d manage. You wiped your tears on the back of your arm and got to work, and you couldn’t seem to stop yourself from talking to him.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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yujinniw · 1 year

Text

MIDNIGHT RAIN — KTR | 03-perfect image

2:11 am, it was cold and rainy surprisingly in the summer. I felt everything crushing down on me. If it was work, family, scandals? It was just too much, I and lots of others are not machines, we cannot do everything perfectly like they want us to. But the only thing I can do is smile and act as if nothing has ever happened, Even if I try there will be so many shits that I don't want other's to handle because of me.

So here I am, finding it amusing how such a big tourist attraction could feel so empty for once. But damn FOR ONCE MAN thank you rain! It was nice taking all that fresh air in, feeling the warm breeze hitting my skin was not too fun but hey it is the summer, unless you live in the UK or something.

I was just minding my own business until, I saw this dude coming closer to where I was. His hair was messy, kinda looked like he just got up from a nightmare, Yikes. But I couldn't see his face, he was wearing a mask. '....masks of course, the people with the hottest hair always wear a mask.' I thought to myself 'How am I supposed to know if you're really hot or not..'

'Should I go talk to him?' 'No chae miyeon, privacy.' I slapped myself to reality. But I think it was kinda too loud considering how he suddenly turned his head my direction. 'great. JUST GREAT.' All those thoughts were gone as soon as I heard a tired voice saying; "Are you okay?" I tilted my head up to looked at him 'SHIT. what am I supposed to reply with. Yea yea I'm fine, no you looked like you fell down from heaven itself. okay.... why was that even an option.'

"Yea, just thought there was a mosquito." WOW such a great answer congratulations. He just nodded before sitting down beside me 'FUCK HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO ACT MORE NORMAL NOW YOU'RE NEXT TO ME.' hold up. act I can act FOR FUCK SAKES.

"Why are you awake and up here so late." He asked me before I could... "Just needed some fresh air. what about you?" "Needed to clear my mind." same bitch, same. "If you don't mind me asking, what's your name?" He asked, which caught me off guard "Oh I do mind." WHAT THE HECK! NO NO THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT!! "Oh... sorry then" he responded while scratching the nape of his neck. Miyeon Chae, This is the result of your action take responsibility

"Depends on what you're going to do with them," "Keep it to yourself? Sell it on the black market. I don't know." I retorted back. Should I tell him my real name? should I lie? Decision making should not be anywhere near me.. BUT back to reality, He chuckled at my words and responded with "Yes... I will sell it on the black market. Now give me your name." "Woww such a creep..." OMG WHAT IF HE IS A CREEP.

"No actually, do you mind if I get your name?" Right... my name... "Miyeon, Chae Miyeon" I said holding my hand out to his "As in the Actor? Or a normal person" Hah.. this bitch. " Don't know whatever you think I guess." He laugh while shaking my hand. "Kim Taerae."

If I'm being honest, His hand was huge. Would probably have me flying from one slap with that hand. But then I looked back to what he said was his name, Kim Taerae. I looked up to meet his covered face. Gorgeous eyes babes. But the hair, face shaped and hand. did match the description of the ZB1 Kim Taerae.

Eyes widened when I come back to my senses that this gorgeous looking dude right here, who still has my hand in his. Could actually be Kim Taerae Zerobaseone.. I took my hand away " I should probably get going..." "It was nice meeting you." I said quickly before running to my car. yes I drove here...

"I'm done for."

sypnosis : One of the many famous actress was spotted at a park holding hands with their boyfriend, which was rumored to be Chae Miyeon, and Kim Taerae of Zerobaseone.

a/n: Really feeling like writing today woke up at 4 am and decided yk what I'm going to write the whole of chapter 3😖 ANYWAYSSS THEY MET or did they ykyk😶

donate to the poor | masterlist | ahah..

tag-list: @sparklingsjy, @xinxinyy,@wtfhyuck

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jiliansky-blog · 1 year

Text

The cat of dreams. Chapter 6

Pairing: Morpheus x FemaleReader

Rating: PG

Words: 2000

The next morning I should decide what to do next. There is still a chance that Corinthian can wait for me somewhere near my work. I would have shown him that Morpheus or simple black cat isn’t here anymore. But I would rather not invite the nightmare murderer to my house. I can take a day off from work, saying that I’m ill. Or even stay home till the end of the week. Or I can go to work today, reassure this nightmare, that I don’t have a cat anymore, if he believes me. And take a vacation for a week or two. And hope, that Morpheus will return during this time. Or maybe I should take work home. I also need to check that Corinthian won’t follow me home or anywhere else. So I had breakfast and went to work. I decided to work today and then take a vacation for a week or two. Fortunately, I didn’t see the nightmare nearby. And my boss noticed my tired statement and concern. “You looked exhausted”, she said with sympathy.

“I didn’t sleep this night”, I sighed. “Family problems”. “Maybe, you should take the day off today then”, she suggested. “Actually I want to take a vacation”, I asked sheepishly. It was a good opportunity. “On a week or two maybe”. “Is everything so bad?” she asked. “Everything is complicated”, I sighed. “You know what, you can take a day off today and a two-week vocation”, she said suddenly. “When you were last time on vacation? A year ago?” “Are you sure?” I asked surprised. “Yes, why not”, she smiled. “In case I feel bored, I can work from home the next week”, I said. “As you wish”, Nora nodded. “You can go home now”. “Is there any chance you drive home now or a little bit later?” I asked. “I will go to the center in an hour”, she said. “Do you want me to drive you home?”

“You can drive me to the center”, I said. “And I can go home from there. Please, if it’s not too much. I just don’t want to go home alone, you know”. “Is everything alright, Olivia?” she looked at me. “Well”, I tried to figure out what to say. “My ex-boyfriend appeared again in my life. I met him twice already not far from here. I don’t want to meet him again”. “Did he do something to you?” she frowned.

“No, he didn’t”, I sighed. “I just don’t want to see him again, and he doesn’t understand it. I’m afraid he will appear again”. “I see”, she nodded. “Okay, you can go with me. I will tell you when I’m ready to leave”. I worked a few more hours till she took me to the center of the city. I feel relief. “Thank you very much”, I smiled. “You are so kind. How can I repay you?” “Just invite me to coffee when you came out of vacation”, she smiled. “And rest so you can be as talented as usual”. “Okay”, I smiled and got out of the car. “See you”.

She drove away. And I head back home in need to sleep. I guessed if I see Morpheus in my dreams. But something tells me that I won’t. It’s been less than a week, but I am used to his presence. And now all that he left for me is his nightmare. Fortunately, I didn’t see Corinthian around the house and could go to sleep after dinner. Perhaps, I was thinking about Morpheus and it explains why I ended up in some fantasy place. I saw a beautiful castle once, now almost ruined. It reminded me of something, but I couldn’t recall it. And I decided to take a closer look.

“Who are you?” suddenly I heard a female voice and saw a woman in a suit with dark skin and pointy ears. “I didn’t see dreamers here for a long time”. “Olivia”, I said. “I don’t know how I get here. Where am I?” “In the Dreaming”, she replied. “It’s the lord’s Morpheus castle. Wait, you are the mortal, who helped him after escape”. “That’s me, yes”, I smiled. “I didn’t know how I appeared here. Probably, I thought too much about it”. “Or you still have a connection with him”, said the woman. “I’m Lucienne, his librarian”.

“Nice to meet you, Lucienne”, I said. “Is Morpheus here?” “No, he is no search of his belongings”, she sighed. “Oh, I see. At least it means that he is alright. Can you please tell him that probably will be in another place in the next two weeks, so Corinthian won’t be able to find me”. “Corinthian is after you?” she looked scared. “Yes, I met him two times after my work”, I said. “He thinks Morpheus is with me. Morpheus said, that I should avoid him at all costs”.

“It would be better, yes”, she nodded. “I will tell him, what you just said. I can’t invite you inside, because…well”. “I understand, the place is not rebuilt after Morpheus's disappearance”, I admitted. “Perhaps, I should leave or wake up then. “Thank you”, Lucienne said suddenly. “For taking care of Lord Morpheus. Not everyone would do the same”. “I was glad to help”, I smiled. “He suffered enough. And he is nice in his own manner. I hope to see him soon”. She looked at me and smiled like she understands something I didn’t know. “Perhaps, we will meet again”, she said. “Yes, see you later, Lucienne”, and I woke up.

I couldn’t understand at first was it a morning or evening? Then I remember that I return home earlier from work. I started to think about where I can go for my vacation. Then I remembered one of my friends invited me to the cabin in the countryside. Perhaps, it would be the perfect solution to rest and avoid nightmares. And maybe there will be quiet enough to work a little. “Hello, Melody”, I called my friend. “How are you?” “Fine, and you?” she asked. “Is something happened?” “I’m fine, I just need a place for vacation”, I said. “Is your offer still valid?” “Of course”, she said. “When can you go?” “I can go tomorrow”, I replied. “Wow, you are fast”, she noticed. “Did something happen?”

“No, just want to clear my head in the new place outside the city”, I said. “You can’t lie, you know”, she admitted. “You have never tried to run away so fast. So are you going to tell me?” “There is…one man who scare the hell out of me”, I replied with a sigh. I didn’t even try to tell her about Morpheus. She won’t believe that part. “I met him twice outside my work. I have a feeling he is following me for some reason”. “Did you call the police?” she asked, concerned. “No, what am I going to say to them?” I asked. “That he seemed suspicions to me because he invited me for a coffee?”

“That he is a stalker”, she said. “No, they wouldn’t believe me”, I said. “Anyway, I’m going to your cabin”. “Alright”, she sighed. “I will call you in the morning and pick you up”. “You shouldn’t do it”, I smiled. “I won’t let you get there alone when some strange guy might follow you”, she said. “Wait for me at ten a.m.” “See you tomorrow then”, I replied and ended the conversation.

It was evening. I didn’t want to go anywhere. No, when this Corinthian might be out there. So I decided to read, have dinner and then go to sleep. I still was tired. And I found myself missing Morpheus. Even though I knew him for a few days. When I fell asleep the next time I didn’t meet him in the dreams. And I didn’t appear in the Dreaming either. I felt disappointed. He could say something that he is alright. I woke up before Melody’s call. I was in the middle of the breakfast. She was going to drive to me in half an hour. So I still have time to finish my breakfast and dress up. “Are you ready?” asked Melody, when she came. “Yes”, I said. “I woke up earlier because I fell asleep earlier yesterday”. “Are you nervous?” she asked. “A little”, I said. “Let’s go”.

I caught myself worrying about that guy. But he was nowhere to be seen and I was relieved. I hope that Morpheus will find me there. “So are you alright?” she asked. “I need more sleep and rest”, I smiled. “But I’m alright. Thank you”. “Do you want me to stay there with you?” she asked. “I don’t know”, I replied. “You can stay for a night or two. I don’t want to steal you from your life entirely”. “I don’t see you often, so I won’t mind staying with you tonight”, she smiled. “Are you sure you’re alright?” “I feel tired”, I sighed. And I wanted to see Morpheus again. This god of dreams doesn’t even know that he doesn’t leave my mind. The cabin was nice. It was small but had two comfortable beds, a modern shower, and a kitchen. You can bring food here or you can go to the café nearby. It was surrounded by forest and lake. So peaceful.

“Wow, it’s so nice here”, I said. “Told you”, smiled Melody. “You can rest here”. “Thank you”, I smiled too. “I don’t know, how I can thank you”. “You don’t”, she smiled. “A bottle of wine is enough”. The day I spent in solitude because my friend should work. She works in a café, that is why she told me about this place. I can sleep a little, but I didn’t appear in the Dreaming again. Then Jodie woke me up with a call. “Where are you now?” she asked. “And how is your cat?” “Long story short, I found his owner and the cat was actually fine, just tired”, I said. “And I’m in the cabin now, not in the town. But please don’t tell anyone”. “Why?” she seemed surprised. “I just don’t want to talk or see anyone”, I said. “Oh, okay”, she said. “Are you alright?” “Yes, I’m just tired”, I said. “See you in two weeks”. In the evening Melody joined me and we drink wine, listen to music, and discus different topics. “You didn’t find a man”, she said. “Why?” “You made it sound so easy”, I smiled, but think about Morpheus. He was mysterious and handsome. And kind in his own manner. I hoped I will see him again. “I know this look”, she said.

“What look?” I asked confused. “You fell in love”, she said. “Who is he?” “Well…”, I smiled. “I can tell you, but you won’t believe me. So, I can say he is mysterious and handsome. And I helped him once”. “Wow”, she said. “Sounds like a novel. Is he a reason behind your escape?” “Partially”, I replied. “There was some other guy who looked for him. And he somehow suspected that I know him”. “Girl, what are you getting yourself into?” she asked. “Are they criminals or what? Because it would explain your fast escape”. “No, at least the man I liked is not a criminal, but he said that another man is dangerous”, I said.” That is why I escaped”. “Oh my god, how did you even can get in these troubles”, she said. “You know, I will stay with you while you’re here”.

“There is no need for that”, I said. “Then call to police”, she insisted. “We talked about this already”, I said. “When I see him again, I will call them”. “Alright”, she sighed. The next day she went to work and returned only in the evening. Meanwhile, I read, write novels, and went to the café. When I fell sleep, I didn’t see Morpheus or the Dreaming and it was a disappointment.

@shadowqueen1318 @mypsychoticlove @justathirstyhoe @ladymoztaza

#sandman x reader #dream x reader #morpheus x reader #sandman fanfiction #The Sandman

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