#and then first place depends on the day but i think twelve has pulled ahead of nine just barely. like damn. capaldi Gets It man. eccleston | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fruitcoops · 4 years ago

Note

I love your babysitting jules fic and the tell me how you know your boyfriend won't cheat on you fic. I was thinking, like remus and sirius have a day off and spend it with jules, and sirius goes somewhere and comes back to find remus and jules sleeping on the flour and they look similar and he just smiles.

Idk, hope this makes sense, I love all your fics.

It totally makes sense and it’s super cute! Thanks for such a wonderful suggestion <3 This is Part 4 of Adventures in Babysitting (1 2 3)

Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

As much as Sirius loved hockey, he had to admit break days were his favorite part of the week. Most weekends, he and Remus would roll out of bed sometime around eleven, have lunch, go for a walk, and then turn into total couch potatoes if they didn’t have anything important to do.

But they had a kid now, so that plan had to change.

They managed to stay in bed until nine before soft rustling sounds began in Jules’ room—Remus’ aggressive cuddling delayed them for a bit longer, which Sirius did not have any complaints about, but eventually they knew it was time to move.

“Dinner’s at six, right?” Sirius asked as he washed his face while Remus tracked down a t-shirt. Shirtless mornings were another tragic sacrifice while Jules was around.

“Yep. Dumo said we could get there at five-thirty, though. Apparently, Katie’s been dying to see Jules again.” Remus kissed the back of his shoulder as he reached for a toothbrush. “I was thinking we could just let him choose what we do today.”

“Makes it a lot easier on us.”

“And it makes it extra special for him,” Remus mumbled around a mouthful of toothpaste. “We still get veto power, though.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

Jules was still in his bedroom when they went downstairs and for a fleeting moment, Sirius wondered if they had woken up early for nothing. “He’ll be down soon,” Remus said as if he could read his mind, pressing two coffee cups into Sirius’ hands. “All those cool knickknacks in the guest room will keep him distracted for a bit.”

Sure enough, excited footsteps followed a sharp gasp less than ten minutes later. Remus smiled over the rim of his coffee cup and walked over to the pantry to pull out the pancake mix. “Morning—"

“Is it true you won the regional All-Stars when you were in high school?” Jules blurted as he skidded into the kitchen and shoved a small trophy into Sirius’ hands, panting like he had run a mile.

Sirius squinted down at the little figurine; in all honesty, he had forgotten he even had it. “Where did you find this?”

“In the nightstand. Is it true?”

“Uh, yeah, it is.” He set it on the counter with their other random items. “Thanks for finding it, bud.”

Jules glowed under his approval and Remus bit his lip to stifle laughter. “Re, can we have chocolate pancakes?”

“We don’t have any chocolate chips, sorry,” Remus said as he mixed the batter. Liar. Sirius shot him a look, and he stuck out his tongue playfully behind Jules’ back. “We’ve got some fun news, though.”

“What?”

“There’s no practice today and you get to decide what we do.”

Jules’ jaw dropped. “Really?”

“Mhmm.”

“Awesome! Mom and Dad never want to see the cool stuff because they’re busy with museums and games and friends but there are so many places I wanna go,” Jules said in one rushing breath. Sirius blinked in shock, but Remus seemed unfazed as he handed the spatula over. “Thanks!”

“Sure thing.”

“Sirius, what are your favorite places?” Jules turned to him, still licking the spatula like his life depended on it.

Sirius took a moment to think and suppress a smile. “I like the roller rink, and the aquarium, and the park.”

“We already went to the park.”

“We can go again if you want,” he laughed. “You made friends, right?”

“Yeah, but I probably won’t see them again.” Oh, to have a child’s nonchalance when it comes to friends. “The aquarium sounds really neat!”

“It’s pretty cool,” Remus agreed as he ladled out batter into the pan. “They put in a new exhibit recently.”

“Sweet! Can we go now?”

“Don’t you want pancakes?” Sirius asked. “I know I do.”

Jules nodded rapidly. “I do, too. Can I ride on your shoulders?”

“Now?”

“At the aquarium.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“How tall are you?”

Sirius paused, then gave him a conspiratorial look. “Eleven feet tall.”

Remus burst out laughing and nearly burned himself on the pan; Jules rolled his eyes. “Come on. I’m ten, that doesn’t work on me anymore.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Sirius took a sip of coffee. “I’m 191 centimeters tall.”

“Huh?”

“Almost two meters.”

Jules looked over to Remus, who shook his head with a smile. “He’s six foot three, Jules, and he’s messing with you by being fancy and Canadian.”

“How tall are you?” Jules asked, folding his knees under himself to reach the butter with his fork as Remus passed him a plate of pancakes.

Remus sighed. “Five foot eleven and a half.”

“Ha! Short.”

“Shut up, you’re still an Oompa Loompa.”

“I’m more than a foot taller than Oompa Loopmas,” Jules said haughtily, shoveling pancake into his mouth. “I looked it up the last time you called me that.”

“Look at you go! Gold star!”

Sirius cheeks were starting to hurt from holding down his laughter and Remus winked as he passed another plate over. “Thanks, love.”

“Why do couples have nicknames?” Jules asked. “I always thought it was a little weird. Mom and Dad have actual names, but they never really use them. It’s always honey, darling, other sappy stuff.”

Remus shrugged as he sat down with them. “Why do you call me Re? That’s not my full name.”

Jules thought for a second. “Partly because ‘Remus’ sounds like a stuffy old museum name.”

“Oh, and ‘Julian’ doesn’t?” Remus teased. “Usually, people give nicknames because they care about each other. Couples just have an extra level to that.”

“I don’t really like it when people call me by my full name, either,�� Sirius added.

Jules frowned. “But people call you by your first name all the time.”

“They do. But my friends usually don’t. There’s Cap, Padfoot, whatever your brother comes up with that day…”

“I call you Sirius.”

“I don’t mind as much when you say it.” Because you’re adorable and I would literally do anything for you. “You can call me whatever you want.”

Jules seemed satisfied by that answer and turned back to his pancakes; Sirius caught Remus quickly looking away when he glanced back up and smiled, giving him a quick nudge with his foot. Baby, Remus mouthed with a slight smirk. Sirius rolled his eyes.

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

The aquarium was busy, but it was a weekend, after all. They only had to wait in line for ten minutes; during that time, Jules made three new friends and every single one of the parents thought he was their son. Even the ticket salesman offered them a family discount that Remus politely declined.

But…it wasn’t a bad thought. Sirius let it ruminate in the back of his mind as he helped Jules onto his shoulders and Remus grabbed a map from the kiosk for when they inevitably got turned around. Definitely not this year, or the next, but someday Sirius did want to say ‘yes’ to the parents and kids discount, though he couldn’t place his finger on why.

And then they reached the whale exhibit. A huge humpback skeleton hung from the ceiling in a smooth curve, its mouth open to reveal perfectly preserved baleen. Jules reached up and trailed his fingers through the space below its massive ribcage—he was too short to touch it still, but the pure awe on his face took Sirius’ breath away more than any deep-sea creature could.

“Baby, can you get a picture of us by the glass?” Remus asked. Ahead of them, a huge tank stretched into a tunnel that lead to the tropical exhibit; Sirius nodded and bent to let Jules down.

“Race you there!” he called, running across the well-worn blue carpet at full tilt. Remus followed him with a laugh and caught him just before they reached the glass, swinging him off his feet by the armpits and turning to face Sirius.

His throat tightened a bit as he took his phone out for the picture. They beamed at him with almost-identical smiles, right down to the dimples. That. That right there, he thought. That’s what I want. “Got it.”

“Awesome, your turn.” Remus put Jules down and began walking over, but an older man motioned to Sirius just before he put his phone away.

“Excuse me, would you like me to get a picture of all three of you?” he asked. A little girl—his granddaughter, perhaps—watched them shyly from behind his legs.

“Oh. Yes, thank you.” Sirius handed him his cell phone and went over to the glass, wrapping one arm around Remus’ waist and draping the other over Jules’ shoulder. They smiled, backlit with blues and greens and aquamarine.

“Alright, I took a few.” The man gave Sirius’ phone back and patted him on the arm as the little girl tugged his sleeve. “You have a beautiful family. Have a good day!”

Sirius didn’t fully snap out of his daze until they were in the tropical tunnel, where fish in colors he could never dream of darted back and forth and fascinated Jules. The aquarium used to be his favorite place in Gryffindor; now, it was probably his favorite place in the world.

Remus led them through a series of corridors, pausing every now and then when Jules scampered toward the next tank, though he seemed to have something on his mind. When Sirius shot him a questioning look, he kissed his cheek and held his hand instead of answering. They wandered past the sting rays, the turtles, and the sharks, until Sirius recognized the multicolored lights from the next room over and stopped in his tracks. “No.”

Remus grinned. “Yeah.”

Jules looked between them in clear confusion. “What?”

“I gotta show you something, c’mere.” Sirius crouched down and helped him back onto his shoulders, then ducked into the adjacent exhibit. Immediately, he heard Jules gasp as jellyfish surrounded them.

“Woah.”

“Isn’t it cool?” His smile was staring to hurt his cheeks. “Here, this in my favorite part.”

Sirius walked to the twelve-foot arch near the middle of the room and stood beneath it, basking in the warmth of the bright lights below as jellyfish of a billion sizes floated overhead. He sighed and leaned his head back slightly to get a better look.

Jules stretched his arms up, trying to touch the glass. “Wow,” he breathed.

When Sirius looked back down, he saw Remus lowering his phone with a small smile. “Had to get a good one,” he said as he stepped under the arch with them and leaned into Sirius’ side. Jules reached down and flipped his baseball cap backwards. “Thanks, buddy.”

“I’ve been waiting to do that for ages.”

“Good to know,” Remus laughed. “Ready to move on?”

“Just a second,” Sirius said, pulling Remus’ arm around his waist. “Just a bit longer. We’ve got nowhere to be but here.”

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

They did, in fact, have somewhere to be, though Sirius didn’t remember that until 3:30 pm. He also remembered that they were supposed to bring dessert that night and unless Remus wanted to out himself as a liar by busting out the chocolate chips in the cupboard, they needed a plan B.

The grocery store was blessedly empty when he arrived, which meant he could use self-checkout for the two containers of cookies he bought—thank god. As much fun as the aquarium was, there were so many people, and they were everywhere.

I need a nap, he thought as he walked back out to the car and watched his breath steam in the December air. And, like, half an hour by myself to listen to music.

The first thing he noticed was that the house was quiet. Hattie didn’t bark when he got out of the car, or when he unlocked the front door, or called out a hesitant “hello?” while he took his shoes off. Nothing seemed amiss, other than the fact that Jules had been bouncing off the walls when he left.

The living room held the answers to all his questions. Hattie was passed out on the couch, splayed with her belly to the ceiling. Jules and Remus were asleep on the carpet with The Fellowship of the Ring between them; clearly, they had been mid-chapter when they dozed off. Sirius set the cookies on the counter and carefully slid the book out of Remus’ hands, setting it on the coffee table before pulling the thick knitted blanket off the couch.

Hattie grumbled at him and cracked an eye open. “Shhh,” he said softly, kissing her forehead before laying the blanket over the other two. They looked so alike—their hair was nearly the same shade, and Jules’ jaw was only slightly narrower than Remus’. Sirius bet that in ten years, it would be hard to tell them apart in photos.

He crept upstairs and set a timer for 4:30. James had recommended a new band ten minutes before midnight, and Sirius figured he should at least give it a shot if it was so important. He grabbed his headphones, pressed play, and let out a deep breath as he sank back into the pillows.

Half an hour went by too fast, and before he knew it the alarm was ringing instead of the steady bass of the new song. He squinted at the clock, praying it would be wrong, and sighed when he saw that technology had won out once again.

Remus and Jules were still asleep on the floor, though they had cuddled closer at some point and the blanket nearly covered Jules entirely. Sirius crouched down next to Remus and brushed his hair off his forehead before gently shaking his shoulder. “Re. Sweetheart, it’s time to get up.”

“No,” Remus murmured.

“Come on, mon loup, dinner’s in an hour.”

“ ‘m tired. C’mere.”

“I would love to, but we promised Dumo we’d be there.”

“Sirius?” Jules blinked up at him sleepily.

“Hey, buddy.”

“We hafta get up?”

“Don’t listen to him,” Remus said without opening his eyes.

“Love you, too,” Sirius laughed quietly. “I got cookies.”

“Cookies?” Jules sat up fully at that and rubbed his eyes; Remus groaned and rolled onto his back.

“Technically, they’re for after dinner, but an exception can be made.”

Remus stared at him for a moment, then sighed and held his hands up as Jules hurried into the kitchen. “Alright, fine.”

Sirius pulled him to his feet and kissed his forehead. “We’ve got about forty-five minutes before we need to head out, okay?”

“So we could’ve napped for thirty more.”

“You could, but then you’d both be cranky.” Sirius leaned back to look into the kitchen. “Just one, Jules! Save some for Katie and the others!”

There was a beat of silence, then a heavy sigh. “Okay.”

“Thank you.”

Remus wrapped his arms around Sirius’ waist and leaned his forehead against his chest, nuzzling into his sweatshirt. “You’re so soft. And warm.”

“It’s a gift.”

“Perfect place to take a nap.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Sirius carefully detached Remus’ grip and he exhaled slowly.

“Thank you for picking up cookies, baby. Was there anything else we needed to bring?”

“Just ourselves.” He placed another kiss to his cheek and Remus stretched his arms over his head.

“Oof. Okay. I’ll go get a different shirt on and wrangle the kid if you want to find a plate to pretend the cookies are ours.”

“You read my mind,” Sirius said, earning himself a proper kiss before Remus turned and headed into the kitchen.

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

They pulled into Dumo’s driveway at 5:40, which wasn’t bad, all things considered. Jules and Katie disappeared in a hurricane of excited rambling as soon as the door opened and Dumo burst out laughing the second he saw them. “Welcome to parenthood,” he said, pulling them each in for a hug. “How are you liking your free trial?”

“I’ve never been more exhausted in my life.” Remus shook his head as he took his coat off. “But I love it, for some reason.”

“That sums it up.” Celeste stood on her tiptoes to kiss each of Sirius’ cheeks. “Did you bring dessert?” He wordlessly held the plate out and she raised an eyebrow. “You remembered at…4 pm.”

“3:30.”

“You’re getting better, mon fils. Marc, Adele, come set the table!” Upstairs, two different sets of footsteps tumbled over each other as they came running down the stairs; both crashed into Sirius for hugs, just like they had when he first moved in.

“Bonjour,” he laughed, squeezing them tight and planting kisses to the tops of their heads. “I hope Regulus hasn’t been driving you too crazy.”

“I think he’s still asleep,” Adele said as she stepped back. Celeste shooed them both toward the dining room as Sirius raised his eyebrows.

“Un moment, s’il vous plait.” Dumo and Remus wandered off to supervise the kids while Sirius headed for the basement door. Regulus was nearly twenty years old—it wasn’t like he needed those blankets at six in the evening, anyway, and Sirius was only too happy to give him a rousing wake-up call. It was his right as an older brother.

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katnissmellarkkk · 5 years ago

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Angst #9

Hahahaha, so uh... you wanted angst? You got it. It may not be exactly what you wanted but it’s what came to mind when you sent this prompt.

This turned out wayyyyy longer than I intended but 🤷🏼‍♀️. I always overwrite 😂💁🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️.

Context I think necessary to know for this prompt is that it’s set four years Post-Mockingjay, three years post “so after”, and I think that’s all you need to know?

Oh yeah, and I should also mention that I definitely took creative liberties here. And also, trigger warning for choking.

Prompt: Angst “Did it mean anything to you? Did I mean anything to you?”

"Peeta," I yelp as he playfully splashes me. "Stop."

"Get in here," he demands, pointing to the water his whole body is immersed in.

"No," I refuse, laying on my back, maybe a little teasingly. "I just dried off."

Today was a particularly sunny day, with the bright light from outside our windows rousing us from bed even before our usual wake up time. I know the people of Twelve will be disappointed they can't get their bread and pastries today--especially seeing that Sunday is the most popular day at the Mellark Bakery--but I just couldn't pass up a lazy day at the lake with Peeta.

Still though, I didn't get as much sleep as I've grown accustomed to and after hours of swimming in the lake—and, jokingly, teaching Peeta to find katniss roots—I'm lethargic. My exhausted body is perfectly happy to lay in the grass with the sun beating down on me, either darkening or burning my skin.

But Peeta, it would seem, has other plans.

"Don't you dare," I hiss as his cacophonous footsteps approach. Even without the noise he still makes when he moves, the sound of dripping water would have given him away.

Not listening to me and definitely not heeding my warning—either he's grown fearless in the four years since the war or I've lost my bite and grown soft on him—Peeta reaches down and grabs me up by the waist, easily hoisting me up into his arms.

"Did you say you dared me?"

"Peeta," I try to command, as a last ditch effort, before bracing myself for what I know is coming.

Like clockwork, just as I have my eyes shut and sucked in a breath, Peeta tosses me in the deepest part of the lake before jumping back in himself.

I easily push my head above the surface just as he creates a massive splash of water with his impact.

"You're going to drain the lake," I complain as his hands find themselves on my hips, pulling me in closer. I go without resistance, but remain annoyed he just tossed me back in the water.

His lips find residence on my cheek, trailing lower and lower, underneath my jaw and down my neck, a non-verbal apology.

"Is all this water really good for your prosthetic?" I murmur after a long moment, some of the irritation fading from my body as he kisses down my shoulder softly.

"My leg is waterproof, Katniss," he reminds, chuckling a little.

"Oh yeah," I try to respond but his lips trail down to my chest, pushing me up higher against him, and speaking becomes difficult. "Generous of them," is all I can manage.

He lets out a real laugh this time. "Can always depend on the generosity of the Capitol, can’t we?" He quips just as I capture his lips with my own.

I don't know if in the last three years that we’ve been together I've become a better kisser—I've definitely become more experienced—and I can't say for certain if our kisses feel any different now to him, but I do know for a fact that Peeta has grown leaps and bounds with time. His lips, which were always soft and warm, now move with expertise, now hold a confidence I didn't realize was missing all that time we were putting on a show. Kissing Peeta now is another kind of experience and one I never knew I needed, one I never thought to ask for, before I had it.

Of course, I get some credit here. I am the one who's lips have given him the practice, who's tongue has freely wrestled with his, the one who he's gained all his expertise from.

As we pull apart for air, my face lolling down into his shoulder, burrowing there, I hear a peculiar sound. One I don't cognitively recognize at first but my sense memory captures instantly. It's a sound that makes my stomach twist and lurch before I can comprehend exactly why.

Peeta tenses too, rather abruptly. I feel his hands grip my thighs tighter to him, almost wrapping me around him, as if to keep me protected from whatever is buzzing above us.

The buzzing only gets stronger—so much stronger, in only a matter of seconds—and I have to consciously force myself to breathe as it hits me where that sound is coming from.

Tracker jackers. A whole lot of them.

Someone, somewhere, must have knocked over a nest. Someone must have been both unlucky and careless and somehow expelled an entire hive by mistake.

That's what I tell myself, at least. That this was purely a mistake. That this isn't an attack, set out to hurt us, to endanger us for deadly entertainment labeled a game.

Because unleashing a whole hive of tracker jackers on us, while we're out alone, secluded, in the middle of the woods, is the exact kind of thing the Gamemakers would do.

"Katniss," Peeta whispers, his voice close to my ear now. I can tell instantly that he's petrified.

Of course he's petrified. Tracker jacker venom is exactly what he was injected with, over and over again, in an attempt to destroy his memory, his mind, the very essence of his being.

"Katniss?" He says again, a little louder and a little rougher. But I'm still too shocked to move. I'm useless, completely frozen in place while the horrible creatures, that are deadly in large quantities—just ask Glimmer—finally come into view, circulating above us.

"We need to run," he urges, and I don't have to look at him to know his blue eyes are desperate.

Nodding blankly, I don't take my eyes off of the venomous creatures flying over our heads. Somehow, a very sore, exhausted part of my brain wakes back up and I feel myself go into survival mode.

A mode in which I had wished to never transition into again.

My legs unwrap from Peeta's waist and I interlock our fingers, squeezing his hand as tightly as I can. I swim to the edge of the lake, towing him behind me, and climb onto the grass just as I hear the buzzing grow closer.

Peeta is only inches, if even that, behind me, and we both grab our shirts and pants from the blanket we set out and dress ourselves while moving through the trees. Our soaked skin makes this more challenging but not altogether impossible, and soon I feel Peeta's hand yanking on mine, propelling me forward.

I know he's even more afraid than I am when I realize he's running ahead of me, dragging me behind him. Peeta is by far a slower runner than I am. The idea that there's enough fear in him to compensate for a naturally slower gait and a fake leg makes my heart ache.

I hear the tracker jackers still getting closer though, no matter how fast we move. It's not a surprising, really, as when these creatures were designed, they were made to lock in on a target and chase it down until it died. After all, they were made to be a weapon in the first war.

And they were used as one in both.

I feel myself let out a loud sigh of relief as the sound of the wasps begins to fade away, as we come closer and closer to the edge of the woods.

Still, it isn't enough. It's never enough.

Peeta's prosthetic does better than I cynically imagined but in the end, it gives out just as I knew it would and he goes tumbling face-first down into the dirt and branches. I didn’t see it but I can tell by the way his leg, his only real leg, is scraped up, that it must have gotten caught on the fallen branches strewed across the ground.

"Peeta!" I scream, louder than I intend to. Louder than I know I should.

I kneel down beside him, adrenaline still pumping through my veins like red, hot blood, and I yank and tug at his arm, trying to force him to stand and run again, as my wail evidently alerted a few stray wasps that hadn't entirely disappeared yet.

"Peeta," I cry out now, desperation taking over my entire being. "We have to move." I try to push him to stand, to move forward, but he's shaking his head with a sad, defeated expression.

"Katniss, just run," he orders firmly, his voice surprisingly strong. "Leave me here, I'll be okay."

I give him an incredulous look, so shocked by his statement that I completely ignore the small growing buzz flying closer and closer by the second. "Peeta, I'm not leaving you!" I exclaim, as if the thought is outright offensive. Because to me, it is. "You can't honestly think I'm going to abandon you-"

"Katniss, please!" He snaps now, his eyes getting desolate. "Please, just go! I'll be home as soon as I can-"

"No! You're coming with me!" I demand furiously. Just as I am preparing to quickly stand and drag him by force out of these woods, his baby blue eyes widen fiercely and he envelopes me into his arms, shoving my body underneath his.

It all happens in a matter of seconds. Peeta holds me down the way he used to hold his opponents down in a wrestling match, paralyzing me into place, and I can't move to escape, to try and run and drag him with me.

I don't understand what he's doing though, what his true intent may be, until I feel through him, through his body that is sheltering mine, the vibrations of the tracker jackers' stingers.

I don't know how many times he gets stung but it's not enough to kill him—especially not him, who has such a high tolerance after the abuse he was subjected to—but enough to hurt him. Enough to have an effect.

Enough that only seconds after the creatures fly away, he flings himself upwards, attempting to get as far away from me as humanly possible. Attempting to put as much distance between us as his distorting mind will allow.

"Peeta!" I cry out again, plainly reaching for him. It doesn't click in my head what could be happening. It doesn't seem even real anymore, after four years home without a single episode, after three years of bliss together, that he could ever again become that dark, twisted shell of a person he was in Thirteen.

"Stay away from me!" He hisses and I recoil instinctively into a tree trunk behind me. His stumbles backward and snaps a branch with his prosthetic leg. The sound is enough to set him off and he practically snarls down towards the ground.

I don't know what he's seeing, what terrifying hallucination is taking over his psyche. I can't even imagine where his mind is right now, but I know that’s horrifying.

"Peeta, it's okay," I try again, but my voice is breaking and I must have started crying at some point and my eyes are wide and displaying just how blatantly unnerved I feel and I know I'm of no comfort right now. Still, I can't stop myself from saying, "it's just a tree branch, Peeta. Nothing is going to hurt you out here, I swear."

"Except you," he states, so blankly, so matter-of-fact, that I visibly flinch as he turns the gaze of his cold, dark eyes on me.

The sweet blue sky that live inside his irises are long gone and in their place is a blackened night and I haven't seen it in so long, I actually forgot what it looked like.

"Peeta," I whisper now, knowing it's fruitless to say anything, to try and get through. But I just can't leave him here, alone, when he's been hurt, when he's still suffering from what Snow did to him to destroy me.

His hands shake and he clutches the roots of the tree beside him to the point of pain. As if the wood can keep him in place. As if the wood can stop him from reacting to the venom like his every impulse is surely screaming to.

"Go away," he spats at me, his teeth clenching together so tight I'm afraid he'll chip them. "Would you just go!"

"No!" I yell stubbornly. My legs suddenly find a way to work and the shock must be wearing off because I find myself manically crawling through the dirt and leaves towards Peeta, where he's practically locked himself against a tree.

"You're a stupid mutt," he snarls as I come closer—closer enough to touch. "A mutt created by the Capitol to trick me. Don't touch me!"

I ignore his words and lay my hand on his forearm. "Peeta, please-stop!" I order desperately as he swings his arm in my direction. "Listen to me, please! This isn't real! I swear, this is just a bunch of lies the Capitol told you!"

"The only lies that I've been told were from you, sweetheart," he practically spits at me. "And I'm tired of your lies. In fact, I think I'm tired of you altogether-" He cuts himself off, one of his hands flying up from the branch and smacking him in the face. "Run!" He abruptly exclaims in a different voice. A voice that gives me hope. Hope that he can mentally fight this off. "Katniss, go!"

"No!" I refuse still, my jaw clenching and my eyes locking in on his furiously. "I won't leave you here!"

He squeezes his eyes shut at my words, and when he reopens them, my every hope he would be able to pull himself out of this evaporates. "I hate you! I absolutely hate you! Why won't you ever leave?"

"Because I love you," I hoarsely shout, not caring that he's in no position to listen to me. "I love you, Peeta. I love you and I'm not going to leave you."

I never say these things, even now. Even after the years since the war, I rarely offer sentiments. In words at least. Peeta knows I love him. I know I love him. But there's little need for me to proclaim it every single day and night.

Until now, until right now in these woods, with Peeta and all that he is nearly evaporated, do I wish I had showered him in verbal sentiments over and over again. No matter how unnatural words as opposed to actions are to me, I should have forced myself to speak up more, to say how I feel, to overdose him in it until he's tired of hearing my voice.

Maybe if I had been more vocal, he wouldn't still be so fast to believe the worst. Maybe then he wouldn’t be susceptible to these dark thoughts when the venom enters his system.

I shake that idea off as soon as it comes. This isn't my fault and it definitely isn't his. The tracker jacker venom isn't something we could have seen coming and it isn't permanent, I force myself to remember. This will wear off.

I just have to make sure Peeta doesn't hurt himself before that happens.

"Peeta," I whisper now, seeing his eyes squeezing shut again. I don't dare to let myself hope again he's fighting the hallucinations off. Cautiously, like I'm about to pet a tiger, I lean my hand in to touch his cheek.

He doesn't relax into it but he doesn't snap at me either and I take it as progress.

At least, I do until he opens his eyes.

They're still black as coal and my heart sinks at the realization. But before I can think to do anything else, his mouth opens again, his voice now slow and quiet and pleading. "You're the worst thing that ever happened to me. I loved you so much and you cost me everything."

I feel myself let out an involuntary sob at that, my chest heaving before I can swallow it down. Because it's true. If it weren't for me, if I'd just eaten those stupid berries myself, he wouldn't have been tortured and hijacked. Millions of people wouldn't be dead from the war. Finnick would be playing with his son right now, probably teaching him to swim or fish or tie a knot.

Prim would still be alive.

As if reading my mind, his next sentiment matches my line of thinking. "You destroyed me, just like you destroy everyone. My family is dead because of you. You killed them. You killed millions of people and laughed about it. You even killed your little sister."

And I know he's not in his right mind, but his words still ring true to me and all I can say, while trying to suppress the overflow of tears gathering behind my lids is, "I know."

"But it never meant anything to you, did it? No matter who you hurt or how much pain you inflicted, it never mattered to you."

I shake my head automatically, not even registering that I'm about as good as arguing with a wall here. "That's not true. I do care. I've always cared."

"Liar," he hisses again but it's under his breath, through clenched teeth and I can't respond to it. "You never cared about anyone besides yourself."

"Not real, Peeta!" I frantically try to get through to him. "Not real, not real, not real!"

He acts as if I hadn't spoken. "I always, always loved you. So much." He says it, not as a compliment or endearment, but as a dark fact, as a burden to bear. As if it were a heavy load he was forced to carry. "Did that mean anything you? Did I mean anything to you? Or was I just second best to him?"

"Peeta," I whimper out desperately, wiping my eyes with one hand and reaching out to grip his palm with my other. "You mean everything to me. You're my whole world."

Something flickers in his eyes and he snaps like the branches beneath our feet. "Liar!" He screams again, and shoves my hand off his. "You're a mutt! You're a liar! You’re not going to kill me like you did everyone else!"

"Not real!" I scream on the top of my lungs, giving up every other defense I have, just for the insane hope of getting through to him.

I remember how I got him to cooperate, to see reason, to fight, in the middle of the war. How I kissed him desperately, knowing I rationally should kill him, knowing there was a likely chance he'd kill me for even trying to save him, but how I did it anyway, in the face of all that.

It was different then. He wasn't freshly full of venom. He was already beginning to overcome his hijacking on his own. He was already starting to fight his way back to me.

But that doesn't mean the same methods couldn't be repurposed here. That doesn't mean they wouldn't work again, under different circumstances.

Somehow, in the seconds I considered this method, my eyes had traveled to his lips and my plan was foiled before it could be put into action.

"Don't you dare," he threatens, his voice dripping with fury. Even more deadly than I heard only a moment ago. "You're not going manipulate me like you always do, mutt."

Before I can gather my bearings or even process what he's implying, he forces both his hands to let go of the roots he's managed to maintain an iron tight grip on. His hands come flying at me, knocking me back against the forest floor, knocking the wind out of me painfully.

I feel my shoulder blade take the impact and fight back a wince, just as two large hands wrap themselves around my throat.

They squeeze tight, effectively cutting off my air supply, giving me the same horrible sensation I still remember from his rescue. The horrible day I still sometimes have nightmares about.

This whole entire thing is a nightmare come to life. Just as much as it was back in Thirteen four years ago.

I stare up at him, my vision swirling, my eyes stuck on his. And, in spite of how angry I should be—at Snow or Coin or the Capitol or just life in general—I find myself uncharacteristically hoping. Not hoping that he won't kill me. But rather hoping that when he comes back to his senses, he is able to forgive himself for this. That he is able to forgive himself for all of it.

I stare into his eyes, because if this is my end, I want the last thing I see to be the person I love, even if he isn't himself. I want him to somehow retain the memory of me right now, at this moment. So he can know that I'm not angry with him, that I don't hate him. That I love him. In spite of every reason anyone has tried to create for me not to.

I'm so focused on his eyes that I don't even notice that his grip is weakening. I don't even register his stance changing. All I see, all I register, is his eyes suddenly changing from black to blue and then black again. It's haunting to see up close, like a demon is stuck inside of him and he's having to fight it off from the inside out.

"Peeta," I whisper hoarsely, reaching my hand up to cup his cheek as his irises become a blue ocean again.

But his body language remains stiff, even as he clumsily pulls himself upwards and off of me. He trips backwards once again, and I watch in a frozen stupor as his eyes change once more to ebony.

"Go!" He shouts abruptly, his features wild and downcast and tormented. "Katniss, go!"

And I don't know if it's the fact that he's seemingly fighting off the darkness now or if the tracker jacker venom may be growing weaker inside him or if it's just the plain fact that he sounds like my Peeta again, but I listen this time. I roll over gracelessly and cough and sputter and grapple for a breath before finding my footing and blindly racing out of the trees. Blindly leaving Peeta behind, hoping he'll be able to find his way back to me.

Hoping that he'll come back to me at all.

I crash onto the couch as soon as I step foot into the living room, lying down on my stomach, burrowing my face into the cushions beneath me.

I mindlessly ran from the woods, tripping and falling and unable to catch my breath, my heart racing a thousand beats per second. I didn't stop when Thom waved at me or when Haymitch barked to ask what I was up to now. I didn't even stop to lock the front door.

I wasn't worried about Peeta coming home to harm me. He was in enough control in the woods to hold himself against the tree, to stop himself from strangling me, to yell at me to run. If he was going to chase me down and hurt me, he would have done so in the woods when I refused to leave.

No, I wasn't worried about Peeta coming home to harm me. I was worried he wouldn't come home at all. I was worried that this is going to push him to the edge, that he won't trust himself, that he will insist he has to go back to the Capitol for hospitalization. I was worried that this will cost me him and our life together and everything we've worked so hard to build.

I squeeze my eyes shut to hold in my tears, terrified that the tracker jackers are going to cost me him, even after all this time. That what Snow did to take Peeta from me will finally succeed, even after his death.

Me and Peeta don't see eye to eye on this topic. This topic is one of the few things we can't agree on.

Peeta still gets flashback, on a fairly regular basis. He still grips the back of a chair or clutches a wall, hides in the back of the bakery when a customer triggers some atrocious memory by mistake. He still has insomnia some nights and still paints his nightmares.

Some of those paintings consist of things I never could stand to know. Some of his paintings, so haunting and gut-wrenching, display things that have brought me to tears more than once.

I was looking at them one morning over a year ago when I blurted out the worst possible thing I could have.

"What would happen if you ever were hijacked again? If you ever became the way you were in Thirteen again?"

I honestly expected him to say that Dr. Aurelius has warned him that there is a possibility of that happening and that he has a plan in place and he would have to go to the Capitol again and just about a million things I don't want to hear but I as much as expected.

But instead he caught me entirely off-guard and simply said, "I'd leave. Go out to the woods and probably never come back."

It's only now that I realize his wording, that I realize I left him out in the exact place he specified disappearing and I feel my blood run cold as I process this.

I don't know what I intend to do, as I stand up off the couch. I don’t know if I intend to go to Haymitch and see if he's too drunk to be of any help, to go maybe to Delly or Thom or anyone in the district who cares for Peeta, or if I even intended to just go searching for him myself in the woods, but in the end it all becomes irrelevant.

Because as soon as I stand, frantically trying to stop my shaking and figure out how I planned to find him, Peeta walks in through the front door.

His eyes are blue again and they've lost the cloudy look that have always appeared in his episodes. I don't know why I forgot that until now.

Probably because I black out the things that really hurt me. The things that hurt my heart too much to fully process.

Peeta, the sweetest boy I've ever known, being tortured and destroyed to pay for my acts of rebellion is at the top of that list.

I just stare at him, taking him in now, here, alive, relatively unharmed aside from some scratches. His eyes are clear but they're so sad and so desolate and I open my mouth to speak. To say just about anything that'll convey to him that I'm not angry with him, not in the least. That I just don't want him to leave, that I can't take losing him again.

But all that comes out are choking noises and I don't know if it's the cries I fought off or if it's because his hands were wrapped around my throat not long ago, or if it's just plainly that I don't put my feelings into words well. By any stretch of the imagination.

Either way, it doesn't seem to matter. Peeta just shakes his head slowly, the skin around his eyes already wet and swollen and pink and before I can utter another sound, he's walking forward towards me and falling down onto his knees, wrapping his arms around my waist. His face buries itself into my stomach and suddenly, the most painful, the most wretched sobs fill the room and if I wasn't right here with him, if I couldn't physically see Peeta, the cries would almost be unrecognizable as him.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I try to resist it, I try to hold it back, I do everything I can to fight it, knowing it'll only make him feel that much worse, but in the end it's a lost effort and it's all I can do to raise my head up to the ceiling just as the tears come pouring from my own eyes. If they're out of shock or fear or pain--or a combination of all three--I don't know, but I do everything I can to hide them from Peeta.

It becomes just one more thing I fail at, as he somehow instinctively notices and squeezes me tighter to him, clutches me like Prim used to clutch her baby blanket.

"Please forgive me, Katniss. Please, please, please forgive me."

I open my mouth to say there's nothing to forgive but once again, the words won't form. All that comes out is a simple sob, quiet but strong, and I feel Peeta squeeze me again.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"Roll over for me," Peeta whispers softly, his hand as tender as his voice, stroking my hair back attentively.

I do what he asks, rolling onto my stomach, but still manage to say, "this isn't necessary."

He ignores me, his eyes no longer wet but still swollen and bloodshot from the hours he cried. Lifting up my shirt—technically his shirt originally, but we repurposed it as my sleep attire months ago—he slides a cold cloth onto my back, holding it in place for a long moment of time.

There's now a particularly large bruise already forming on my back from where he knocked me to the forest floor. I couldn't care less. I got worse bruises than that from hunting on a regular basis.

But the look in Peeta's eyes when he saw the mark, almost--but not quite--rivaled the look in his eyes when he stood upright and saw my neck. I hadn't even seen at it yet, I hadn't even given any thought to checking for red handprints, but when Peeta stood upwards, when he'd calmed down enough to look me in the eye, his gaze flew there instantly and words can't convey how awful he must have felt.

If there were a way to verbally say how wretched and sick he felt inside, Peeta would be the first one to do it.

Telling him it wasn't his fault didn’t work. Telling him he couldn't have known about the tracker jackers nearby, he couldn't have known what would happen, did absolutely nothing to convince him that he shouldn't feel responsible. Especially not when I'm speaking in a hoarse tone of voice.

Of course, I knew he'd feel this way. I would feel this way. But somehow I just can't stop trying to alleviate his remorse, no matter how useless it may be to attempt. Somehow I just can't stop trying to remove that tragically sad look from his eyes.

As soon as he lets go of the cold cloth, I spin around in the bed and snuggle myself tight into him.

He takes me into his arms willing, wrapping his every limb around mine, burying his face in my hair. His lips press repeated kisses to my forehead, his hands rubbing up and down my spine, massaging my back.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, probably for the twentieth time.

"Peeta," I all but groan, leaning my head back slightly to peer up into his heartbroken eyes. "Stop. There's nothing you could have done."

He looks like he wishes to argue but nothing comes out of his mouth. Instead he rubs my back again and squeezes me tighter. I shut my eyes against him, breathing him in, a part of me finally relaxing for the first time in hours.

Even after he returned home, even after his breakdown, I remained cautious at first. The last thing I wanted was to let my guard down too soon and have the venom—that is surely still working it's way out of his bloodstream—cause him to snap again, to lash out at me or attack.

Just like the last thing I wanted was to make him feel worse, make him feel remorse for something that was done to him, something he didn't ask for and he'd worked so hard and made so much progress in controlling.

But when he'd noticed the tears I’d tried to hold in, down in the living room, the remorse was inevitable.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He whispers now, moving my hair aside carefully, pressing his lips gently to the red marks where his hands had left their imprint.

This isn't the first time he's asked though and despite the fact that I rather enjoy his lips on my neck typically, I can't help but respond with ire. "Peeta, I already told you my neck and back are just fine. Please stop worrying," I say tensely, my voice tired and worn thin.

He says nothing in response, instead placing more kisses against my throat and collarbone. I let out a sigh I didn't even know I was holding in and reach out to stroke the back of his head, massaging where his skull and neck met, where his blonde curls touch his skin.

"You scared me," I whisper finally, the words easier now that I can't see his eyes and he can't see mine.

"I know," is all he can say.

"Not physically," I immediately correct before he can take that and internalize it. "I don’t mean you scared me physically. You... you..." Speaking becomes a challenge all over again, the syllables not wanting to form intelligibly on my lips. But when he pulls back and looks me deep in the eye, his gaze full of love and sorrow, I force myself to just say how I feel. "I was scared I was going to lose you," I whisper, leaving whether I meant lose him physically or mentally up in the air.

Still, he doesn't seem surprised by the confession, whatever way he took it. "I know."

I have to bite my lip to keep an awful choking sob inside, as one is doing it's best to escape from the back of my throat. Almost as a distraction I bury my face into his chest again, shutting my eyes, and I allow myself to be thankful that Peeta's still here and he's my Peeta again.

When he doesn't fill the silence though, I realize I have to or else the tension in the room will continue to linger. "I was so scared," I admit, so quietly it's almost inaudible.

"I know, baby."

I scrub my face against his cotton-made shirt before rubbing my nose with the neckline of my own sleepwear, just as something hits to me. Peeta's words in the woods, even while hijacked, still sting inside my head. Not the cruel things he said, because even though I know they're true, I also know he doesn't truly believe any of them himself. He doesn't think I murdered his family or am an evil person who laughs at the misery of others, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, he doesn't think I'm in any way responsible for Prim's death.

But originally, his hijacking was predicated upon his insecurity and uncertainty in our relationship and in my feelings for him. In the last three years I know I've made my feelings clear. At least, in my mind I have.

But a quietly violent voice whispers, and I ache deep inside as it questions, what if I haven't expressed how I feel enough to him? What if he truly still feels unsure of my love for him?

"Peeta?"

"Yeah?"

"I just... I want you to know-" His finger presses against my lips now and he's shaking his head, his eyes forlorn.

"Katniss, if this is about anything I said, just don't. Okay, I meant none of it. I hate that those words even-"

"Peeta, you mean everything to me," I blurt out then, clumsily cutting him off. "You're the only thing that really matters to me an-and," I stop myself then, having spoken too fast, rushed my words and now am stuttering. There's so many things I want to say, so many things I want him to know. So many they all become jumbled up and confused in my head, and it's all I can do to say the simplest, plainest thing that comes to my mind. No matter how unnatural it feels for me. No matter how painful it is to rip down your walls and to physically have to force away an armor you spent years of your young life building up. It's so hard and so painful and I don't even recognize my own voice when I speak again, when I force myself to spit out how I actually feel. How, until today, I told myself he knew I felt. "I love you so much," I try to say but it comes out choked and raw. "I love you and you were never second best. To anyone. You're everything to me and I don't know-I don't know how to convey this right or say the right thing-"

He cuts me off—finally—then and moves his fingers against my cheek comfortingly. "You've conveyed it perfectly," he promises, his lips moving then to press lightly against mine, in a grateful but simple and sweet gesture. "I know you love me, Katniss," he assures again as he pulls back and breaks our kiss. "I've known it for a long time."

As his finger traces the outline of my mouth, I whisper, almost to myself, "So have I."

He gives me a smile, that is full of guilt and devastation, but still somehow warm and hopeful and kind. "Oh, have you?" I know he's feeling better when he teases me.

But my reply isn't sarcastic or cunning or anything but simple and small. Just like me in general.

"Longer than I could ever admit."

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6peaches · 4 years ago

Text

Richard Siken - You Are Jeff

2 There are two twins on motorbikes but one is farther up the road. Let’s call them Jeff. And because the first Jeff is in front we’ll consider him the older, and therefore responsible for lending money and the occa- sional punch in the shoulder. World-wise, world-weary, and not his mother’s favorite, this Jeff will always win when it all comes down to fisticuffs. Unfortunately for him, it doesn’t always all come down to fisticuffs. Jeff is thinking about his brother down the winding road be- hind him. He is thinking that if only he could cut him open and peel him back and crawl inside this second skin, then he could relive that last mile again: reborn, wild-eyed, free.

3 There are two twins on motorbikes but one is farther up the road, beyond the hairpin turn, or just before it, depending on which Jeff you are. It could have been so beautiful—you scout out the road ahead and I will watch your back, how it was and how it will be, memory and fantasy— but each Jeff wants to be the other one. My name is Jeff and I’m tired of looking at the back of your head. My name is Jeff and I’m tired of seeing my hand me down clothes. Look, Jeff, I’m telling you, for the last time, I mean it, etcetera. They are the same and they are not the same. They are the same and they hate each other for it.

4 Your name is Jeff and somewhere up ahead of you your brother has pulled to the side of the road and he is waiting for you with a lug wrench clutched in his greasy fist. O how he loves you, darling boy. O how, like always, he invents the monsters underneath the bed to get you to sleep next to him, chest to chest or chest to back, the covers drawn around you in an act of faith against the night. When he throws the wrench into the air it will catch the light as it spins toward you. Look—it looks like a star. You had expected something else, anything else, but the wrench never reaches you. It hangs in the air like that, spinning in the air like that. It’s beautiful.

5 Let’s say God in his High Heaven is hungry and has decided to make himself some tuna fish sandwiches. He’s already finished making two of them, on sourdough, before he realizes that the fish is bad. What is he going to do with these sandwiches? They’re already made, but he doesn’t want to eat them.

Let’s say the Devil is played by two men. We’ll call them Jeff. Dark hair, green eyes, white teeth, pink tongues—they’re twins. The one on the left has gone bad in the middle, and the other one on the left is about to. As they wrestle, you can tell that they have forgotten about God, and they are very hungry.

6 You are playing cards with three men named Jeff. Two of the Jeffs seem somewhat familiar, but the Jeff across from you keeps staring at your hands, your mouth, and you’re certain that you’ve never seen this Jeff before. But he’s on your team, and you’re ahead, you’re winning big, and yet the other Jeffs keep smiling at you like there’s no tomorrow. They all have perfect teeth: white, square, clean, even. And, for some reason, the lighting in the room makes their teeth seem closer than they should be, as if each mouth was a place, a living room with pink carpet and the window’s open. Come back from the window, Jefferson. Take off those wet clothes and come over here, by the fire.

7 You are playing cards with three Jeffs. One is your father, one is your brother, and the other is your current boyfriend. All of them have seen you naked and heard you talking in your sleep. Your boyfriend Jeff gets up to answer the phone. To them he is a mirror, but to you he is a room. Phone’s for you, Jeff says. Hey! It’s Uncle Jeff, who isn’t really your uncle, but you can’t talk right now, one of the Jeffs has put his tongue in your mouth. Please let it be the right one.

8 Two brothers are fighting by the side of the road. Two motorbikes have fallen over on the shoulder, leaking oil into the dirt, while the interlocking brothers grapple and swing. You see them through the backseat window as you and your parents drive past. You are twelve years old. You do not have a brother. You have never experienced anything this ferocious or intentional with another person. Your mother is pretending that she hasn’t seen anything. Your father is fiddling with the knobs of the radio. There is an empty space next to you in the backseat of the station wagon. Make it the shape of everything you need. Now say hello.

9 You are in an ordinary suburban bedroom with bunk beds, a bookshelf, two wooden desks and chairs. You are lying on your back, on the top bunk, very close to the textured ceiling, staring straight at it in fact, and the room is still dark except for a wedge of powdery light that spills in from the adjoining bathroom. The bathroom is covered in mint green tile and someone is in there, singing very softly. Is he singing to you? For you? Black cherries in chocolate, the ring around the moon, a bee- tle underneath a glass—you cannot make out all the words, but you’re sure he knows you’re in there, and he’s singing to you, even though you don’t know who he is.

10 You see it as a room, a tabernacle, the dark hotel. You’re in the hallway again, and you open the door, and if you’re ready you’ll see it, but maybe one part of your mind decides that the other parts aren’t ready, and then you don’t remember where you’ve been, and you find yourself down the hall again, the lights gone dim as the left hand sings the right hand back to sleep. It’s a puzzle: each piece, each room, each time you put your hand to the knob, your mouth to the hand, your ear to the wound that whispers.

You’re in the hallway again. The radio is playing your favorite song. You’re in the hallway. Open the door again. Open the door.

11 Suppose for a moment that the heart has two heads, that the heart has been chained and dunked in a glass booth filled with river water. The heart is monologing about hesitation and fulfillment while behind the red brocade the heart is drowning. Can the heart escape? Does love even care? Snow falls as we dump the booth in the bay.

Suppose for a moment we are crowded around a pier, waiting for something to ripple the water. We believe in you. There is no danger. It is not getting dark, we want to say.

12 Consider the hairpin turn. It is waiting for you like a red door or the broken leg of a dog. The sun is shining, O how the sun shines down! Your speedometer and your handgrips and the feel of the road below you, how it knows you, the black ribbon spread out on the greens be- tween these lines that suddenly don’t reach to the horizon. It is waiting, like a broken door, like the red dog that chases its tail and eats your rose- bushes and then must be forgiven. Who do you love, Jeff? Who do you love? You were driving toward something and then, well, then you found yourself driving the other way. The dog is asleep. The road is be- hind you. O how the sun shines down.

13 This time everyone has the best intentions. You have cancer. Let’s say you have cancer. Let’s say you’ve swallowed a bad thing and now it’s got its hands inside you. This is the essence of love and failure. You see what I mean but you’re happy anyway, and that’s okay, it’s a love story after all, a lasting love, a wonderful adventure with lots of action, where the mirror says mirror and the hand says hand and the front door never says Sorry Charlie. So the doctor says you need more stitches and the bruise cream isn’t working. So much for the facts. Let’s say you’re still completely in the dark but we love you anyway. We love you. We really do.

14 After work you go to the grocery store to get some milk and a carton of cigarettes. Where did you get those bruises? You don’t remember. Work was boring. You find a jar of bruise cream and a can of stewed tomatoes. Maybe a salad? Spinach, walnuts, blue cheese, apples, and you can’t decide between the Extra Large or Jumbo black olives. Which is bigger anyway? Extra Large has a blue label, Jumbo has a purple label. Both cans cost $1.29. While you’re deciding, the afternoon light is streaming through the windows behind the bank of checkout coun- ters. Take the light inside you like a blessing, like a knee in the chest, holding onto it and not letting it go. Now let it go.

15 Like sandpaper, the light, or a blessing, or a bruise. Blood everywhere, he said, the red light hemorrhaging from everywhere at once. The train station blue, your lips blue, hands cold and the blue wind. Or a horse, your favorite horse now raised up again out of the mud and galloping galloping always toward you. In your ruined shirt, on the last day, while the bruise won’t heal, and the stain stays put, the red light streaming in from everywhere at once. Your broken ribs, the back of your head, your hand to mouth or hand to now, right now, like you mean it, like it’s split- ting you in two. Now look at the lights, the lights.

16 You and your lover are making out in the corner booth of a seedy bar. The booths are plush and the drinks are cheap and in this dim and smoky light you can barely tell whose hands are whose. Someone raises their glass for a toast. Is that the Hand of Judgment or the Hand of Mercy? The bartender smiles, running a rag across the burnished wood of the bar. The drink in front of you has already been paid for. Drink it, the bartender says. It’s yours, you deserve it. It’s already been paid for. Somebody’s paid for it already. There’s no mistake, he says. It’s your drink, the one you asked for, just the way you like it. How can you refuse Hands of fire, hands of air, hands of water, hands of dirt. Someone’s doing all the talking but no one’s lips move. Consider the hairpin turn.

17 The motorbikes are neck and neck but where’s the checkered flag we all expected, waving in the distance, telling you you’re home again, home? He’s next to you, right next to you in fact, so close, or. . . he isn’t. Imagine a room. Yes, imagine a room: two chairs facing the window but nobody moves. Don’t move. Keep staring straight into my eyes. It feels like you’re not moving, the way when, dancing, the room will suddenly fall away. You’re dancing: you’re neck and neck or cheek to cheek, he’s there or he isn’t, the open road. Imagine a room. Imagine you’re danc- ing. Imagine the room now falling away. Don’t move.

18 Two brothers: one of them wants to take you apart. Two brothers: one of them wants to put you back together. It’s time to choose sides now. The stitches or the devouring mouth? You want an alibi? You don’t get an alibi, you get two brothers. Here are two Jeffs. Pick one. This is how you make the meaning, you take two things and try to define the space between them. Jeff or Jeff? Who do you want to be? You just wanted to play in your own backyard, but you don’t know where your own yard is, exactly. You just wanted to prove there was one safe place, just one safe place where you could love him. You have not found that place yet. You have not made that place yet. You are here. You are here. You’re still right here.

19 Here are your names and here is the list and here are the things you left behind: The mark on the floor from pushing your chair back, your un- derwear, one half brick of cheese, the kind I don’t like, wrapped up, and poorly, and abandoned on the second shelf next to the poppyseed dress- ing, which is also yours. Here’s the champagne on the floor, and here are your house keys, and here are the curtains that your cat peed on. And here is your cat, who keeps eating grass and vomiting in the hall- way. Here is the list with all of your names, Jeff. They’re not the same name, Jeff. They’re not the same at all.

20 There are two twins on motorbikes but they are not on motorbikes, they’re in a garden where the flowers are as big as thumbs. Imagine you are in a field of daisies. What are you doing in a field of daisies? Get up! Let’s say you’re not in the field anymore. Let’s say they’re not brothers anymore. That’s right, they’re not brothers, they’re just one guy, and he knows you, and he’s talking to you, but you’re in pain and you can- not understand him. What are you still doing in this field? Get out of the field! You should be in the hotel room! You should, at least, be try- ing to get back into the hotel room. Ah! Now the field is empty.

21 Hold onto your voice. Hold onto your breath. Don’t make a noise, don’t leave the room until I come back from the dead for you. I will come back from the dead for you. This could be a city. This could be a graveyard. This could be the basket of a big balloon. Leave the lights on. Leave a trail of letters like those little knots of bread we used to dream about. We used to dream about them. We used to do a lot of things. Put your hand to the knob, your mouth to the hand, pick up the bread and devour it. I’m in the hallway again, I’m in the hallway. The radio’s playing my favorite song. Leave the lights on. Keep talking. I’ll keep walking toward the sound of your voice.

22 Someone had a party while you were sleeping but you weren’t really sleeping, you were sick, and parts of you were burning, and you couldn’t move. Perhaps the party was in your honor. You can’t remem- ber. It seems the phone was ringing in the dream you were having but there’s no proof. A dish in the sink that might be yours, some clothes on the floor that might belong to someone else. When was the last time you found yourself looking out of this window. Hey! This is a beautiful window! This is a beautiful view! Those trees lined up like that, and the way the stars are spinning over them like that, spinning in the air like that, like wrenches.

23 Let’s say that God is the space between two men and the Devil is the space between two men. Here: I’ll be all of them-Jeff and Jeff and Jeff and Jeff are standing on the shoulder of the highway, four motorbikes knocked over, two wrenches spinning in the ordinary air. Two of these Jeffs are windows, and two of these Jeffs are doors, and all of these Jeffs are trying to tell you something. Come closer. We’ll whisper it in your ear. It’s like seeing your face in a bowl of soup, cream of potato, and the eyes shining back like spoons. If we wanted to tell you everything, we would leave more footprints in the snow or kiss you harder. One thing. Come closer. Listen . . .

24 You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terr- ible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for.

- You Are Jeff by Richard Siken

#poem #poet #Richard Siken #You Are Jeff

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 5 years ago

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*slaps roof of fanfiction* this baby can fit so much self-projection in there ~ @rauko-is-a-free-elf s wise words. enjoy <3

Dean's the one who can't get out of bed without coffee. The one who thinks sunday brunches are a thing just because real people aren't supposed to be up by breakfast time on the weekend. The one who'll crash face first into the couch, first thing he's back from college, because screw consciousness, that's why.

And yet, it's Cas who stumbles out of the shower on seven-am-biochem-Thursday, and proceeds to trip over the carpet and land in Dean's arms.

"I'm so fucking tired."

"Of the — carpet?" Dean frowns, looking over Cas's bedhead to examine the Queen lyrics-filled specimen. He's rather fond of it.

"Of being," Cas mutters, heaving himself upright and swatting at Dean's hand when he reaches to smooth his tie. "Whoever the fuck I'm supposed to be."

Dean tries to get to his tie again, and receives a particularly pissed-off glare for his efforts.

"And who is that?" Dean throws back, playful because why not; he's expecting a sarcastic comeback, a suffering eyeroll, or even to be annoyedly swore at — which he definitely wouldn't mind, coming from his best friend slash boyfriend slash dude with the literal sexiest voice Dean's ever heard — but he's definitely not expecting Cas to launch himself at him, purposefully this time, also gentler, and bury his face in Dean's shirt.

Dean waits, worried, but hands coming up involuntarily to hug back.

Cas doesn't budge.

"Babe?"

All the reaction that induces is for Cas to cling harder. And for words to get muttered — and reasonably muffled, into Dean's shirt.

"I hate that guy."

Dean raises his eyebrows, belatedly realizing Cas can't see them. "Huh?"

"The guy I'm supposed to be." Cas goes on, gritting his teeth. "Dean, I hate him. He makes my life miserable. And I — I'm just so tired."

And at that, Cas decides the point's been made, and stops talking entirely, leaving Dean with little more to do than hold on.

And think.

He knows Cas never got a chance to make the choices most people take for granted. The guy never got to choose his major, choose his hobbies. Hell, hardly even his friends. Private schooled and isolated until his parents up and shipped him off to Princeton pre-med, Dean's always believed Cas had the right to be mad.

Even though he's now in actual med-school, a year from becoming Doctor Novak — Dean gets a secret thrill every time he imagines that, and Cas knows, so it's not a very well-kept secret — and no longer in touch with his parents (who turned out, unsurprisingly, to be assholes who cut him off when they found out Cas is gay. Well, pansexual, but they didn't really care about labels once they'd met Cas's boyfriend. Dean. Who likes to take some of the credit for his boyfriend's relatively new disowned status, even though it had mostly been Cas being a badass, and finally, finally standing up for himself.)

So one might say things turned out fine, and there's no reason to hold grudges, but if Cas wanted to, Dean would have a hundred percent declared it valid.

But that's where Cas came in. That's where who he was, came in. A thinker, a dreamer, but grounded enough to not hold onto the anger. Independent, but rarely reckless. Plus, aware enough to work hard and reap well, while at the same time, searching for reasons to find the good in things.

Dean loves him, and admires him. Admires his intelligence, and tenacity, and courage. But this had never happened before.

Dean may have been the initiator of most hugs, but that could usually be traced down to Cas's nonexistent social skills, and Dean's embarrassing dependency on touch, in lieu of words. This, was one of the most passionately Dean had seen Cas feel something, outside of love.

And it was rattling.

If being this way — this ideal everything; top of his class, tireless, always in control — was burning Cas out, it couldn't go on. Dean would take a less 'functional' Cas over the wrecked-sounding prodigy in his arms anyday.

And god knew Dean Winchester was far from perfect himself.

There was only one way ahead.

Dean holds on quietly, and a couple minutes pass. Clearly Cas needs it, seeing as how he dissolves more into Dean as the seconds pass, the frustration leaving him vacant and devoid of energy.

"Cas?"

Cas shifts in his arm, tenses a bit. "I'm sorry, I —" He starts, sounding too obviously disappointed for some reason, and Dean hates it.

"Dude." Dean cuts him off, somehow not cheerful, but still bright. It's always easier talking someone down like this, and Cas has always, strangely, drawn from Dean's moods. "You're going to apologize for needing a hug?"

Cas remains quiet.

They both know it was more than that. Cas has calmed considerably, but he wasn't himself before. Or he was. Now, he's almost normal — but it feels like he's being who he's normally supposed to be again, and that's not good.

"Also," Dean continues, undeterred by the lack of response. "That guy? Sounds like a real piece of work. Ever thought of cutting him off?"

"It doesn't work that way."

"Don't see why not."

"Dean —"

"So it won't happen in a day." Dean realizes Cas is shifting again, and a little uncertainly, lets him pull away. Thankfully, he stays in Dean's space, albeit carrying his weight on his own two feet. Dean doesn't know what to do with his hands anymore, so he takes Cas's in them. Cas lets him. "It'll take time, be a process and whatnot, and you'll have me with you, you'll have all our friends really. Plus, isn't college about experimenting?"

Cas makes a sound which sounds like a chuckle he couldn't exactly help, and Dean preens, encouraged by it.

"And it's not like I'm about to let you go try and play for the other side," He adds, lightly. "You're stuck with me. But this could be your adventure."

There's a more comfortable silence.

Cas breaks it this time, clearing his throat. "You don't think I'm too young for a midlife crisis?"

"Take it from someone who raised Sam fucking Winchester, babe. This is way more of a teenage crisis." Cas cringes visibly at that, but that just means it's working. "Breaking out of your barriers, discovering who you really are? Netflix's coming-of-age producers are coming for your twenty seven year old ass."

Cas shakes his head, grumbling at him, but he's already sounding more like himself, and Dean can work with this. "You're mean to me sometimes."

"You tackle me like a mascot scoring a touchdown-hug sometimes."

Cas snorts. "That hardly makes sense."

"Your face hardly makes sense." Dean wastes no time in hurtling the first response in his head, and it earns him a less reluctant laugh. The weariness in Cas's voice remains, but the upset is wearing off.

"Great comeback, wasn't that?"

"Your face is a great comeback." Dean informs him with a huff, as he leans in to kiss the smug look off his boyfriend's face. Cas meets him halfways, tilting his head, and sliding a hand up Dean's arm and shoulder until it's around his neck. His fingers stroke the short hairs at the back of Dean's head, and he tugs just the way Dean likes it, earning a full shudder from the latter as he pulls back breathlessly.

"Are you trying to distract me?" Dean accuses dramatically, hand on his heart.

Cas shrugs, pulling on a nonchalant look, and almost succeeding. "You were making my dilemma sound too solvable. A man is excused some defense mechanisms, isn't he?"

"Not when I'm making progress, sunshine." Dean throws back. "Just, hear me out, okay? You want to do this, you're going to be making changes. Doing things, and more importantly, giving up things that don't feel like you. It doesn't even have to be a big deal. Unless you want it to be. I mean, you're a sucker for planning, making lists, that sorta thing, right?"

The easy smile has started returning to Cas's features again, and he nods. A little. (As if he appreciates Dean's rambling, and because he's Cas, he probably does.)

"So that's where we start. Hell, I could buy you a binder. There's this stationary place Charlie does not shut up about, and they might have those huge, black, spiralbound binders. Which I figure you're secretly obsessed with, you know, since you're secretly a nerd." Dean reasons, satisfiedly.

"It's hardly a secret."

"Oh, it is." He beams. "And I, your awesome, hot boyfriend, am your cover."

Cas rolls his eyes with feeling, leaving Dean basking in a momentary sense of accomplishment. But it's not the time. And it may have been him rambling, but it's not about him.

"So," He raises his eyebrows. "What do you say?"

Cas draws in a breath. "I say," he swallows. "Yes. Okay, I mean. Yeah. You — you make it sound doable. Plausible, somehow." Cas bites his lip. "Come to think of it, I haven't thought of a particular something I want to change, and I know I'll probably rethink everything six more times, and I know you'll still be patient with me, even when I don't change what doesn't feel right, just because I'm too used to it, and truthfully, maybe it's too soon to be thinking of changes, and we should slow down, especially you, because you're wonderful, but I don't think I can change myself as efficiently — and I don't think we can, either. But I'm grateful, and I agree, and I want to change things as well, and I'd like a binder, really, and you —" Cas scrubs his face with a hand. "I just know, that I - I feel different."

Dean grins. "Yeah?"

Cas breathes in again, slower. On the exhale, he sighs. "I love you."

"That ain't exactly a 'different' anymore, babe." Dean reminds, and it's all the motivation Cas needed to wrap his arms around Dean again, and plant a firm, telling kiss on his lips.

"I know. But it's easier to say, and I know you understand."

"Yeah, I do."

Dean smiles, and Cas mirrors it, crinkled eyes and showing gums, and an uncharacteristic dampness in his eyes in spite of the breathtaking smile, and it's too damn beautiful a sight to not kiss again.

So Dean does, and Cas only smiles wider, more beautiful.

In around twelve minutes, Cas's alarm for six forty-five goes off, and he pulls back in a frenzy — as dazed as Dean from the makeout, but senses just enough present to realize he's going to be late for his lecture.

They figure it out though, like they figure out most things — Dean puts together a sandwich while Cas gets dressed, and later drives him to class in his Baby, since he's obviously missed the bus. Cas ends up only three minutes late, and it's a good thing Dr. Harvelle is in a good mood, because she at least pretends to believe their unbelievably trite excuse, delivered in Dean's most earnest voice. ("Traffic.")

Later that evening, when Dean's back from his shift at the autoshop — it helps pay bills, and he gets to add 'experience' under engineering on his resume — and Cas is back from the hospital, and they're piled on the couch in front of the TV watching reruns of Doctor Sexy, tangled in each other, Dean remembers something he's been meaning to ask since the moment he gave what happened that morning, some thought.

"Hey, babe." he begins, as a by-the-way. "What exactly happened this morning?"

"I believe I tackled you like a mascot scoring a touchdown-hug." Cas answers, in the straightest of voices because he's hilarious like that.

"Yeah, I mean — you did." Dean snorts at the callback. "But like, what triggered it?"

"Oh." Cas pauses. "I believe we ran out of shaving foam."

"Shaving foam." Dean repeats, incredulously.

"Yes." Cas doesn't even have the courtesy to grin, when Dean snickers. "And usually, we have a spare bottle. I — I tend to make sure of it. But I checked, and we didn't, and I was supposed to make sure we don't completely run out of these things, and I didn't, and I —" He shrugs. "I just hated that I forgot, so much, in that one minute of staring at the mirror, and I was agitated, until —" Dean blinks, and Cas affords a tiny smile. "I realized I couldn't do this anymore. I had a revelation, it would seem, at how pointless all of that self-loathing was, and how I've tired entirely of being that person."

"So you got mad that you got mad?"

"I — kind of. But it was mostly the shaving foam." Cas points out, now deadpanning on purpose because Dean can't hold back the laugh. Nobody in the universe could have an identity crisis over shaving foam except for Castiel fucking Novak, and Dean gets to live with this ridiculous sonuvabitch, the adorable fucker, and watch him get more unbelievably perfect by the day.

"Cas?" He lets out, still laughing. "Proud as I am of your moment of truth, and you deciding to go easy on your expectations of you and all that, can I just say something?"

"Of course." Cas responds, immediately.

"I think I like you better with the peach fuzz."

And so it's Cas's turn to burst into a laugh, and it's not like Dean's stopped anyways, so eventually it's just the both of them laughing through the evening, and laughing through dinner, still tangled in each other, still piled on the couch, and Doctor Sexy still playing in the background, because some things change, and other things don't, and some things won't, and that's that.

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thisisawonderfulusername · 5 years ago

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let's save the world

season two, episode four

five hargreeves x reader

summary: you may not be able to get five’s family on your side, but at least diego is willing to help at the gala

trigger warnings: cursing, violence

word count: 3k

a/n: i don’t really know what to say here, so i’ll just tell you to enjoy this chapter (that’s not a request, it’s a command :)) and if you don’t already know, i take requests! the rules are linked in my bio and i have prompts pinned on my page, so check that out if you want 😳

you stood outside of the plano street rooming house for solitary men, leaning against the car as you wait for vanya, who had decided it would be a good idea to make sure luther was okay after the fight last night. he had taken quite a beating when he just stopped fighting back, so it was at least a little understandable.

leaning against the car, you stare at your shoes while absentmindedly pick at your nails. you were starting to get a bit worried. only two of five’s siblings were working with you, one was refusing to do anything to help, and you still didn’t know where klaus and allison were. you were running out of time just trying to get them all together, and all you had was one invitation for an event that reginald may be attending.

sighing heavily, you look up at the brick building, crossing your arms over your chest. “this is taking too long.” you mutter, grabbing five’s attention as he turns his head to you. “it’s been what, four days? all we have is the invitation to that gala. your family won’t even help us.”

“the invitation should be enough for now. if we go to that gala and find dad, we might be able to get something out of him.” he sticks his hands in his pockets, and you glance at him. this gala reminded you of what had happened the first time around with the eye from meritech.

days were wasted on that glass eye and it while it would have lead to something, you weren’t able to figure out where it was from until the day of the apocalypse, due to the destruction of the building.

before you can respond, you see some of the bricks of the building fall and others around it crumble. you press your lips together as luther peers through the hole he had created, rolling your eyes.

“are you aware that your brother has anger issues?” you look to five with narrowed eyes, tilting your head to the side as you drop your arms to your sides.

he looks at luther, chuckling at what he had done as he turns to look at you. “i wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.” you grin, shaking your head as you push away from the car.

a few moments later, vanya comes out of the rooming house, both you and five moving to meet her. “well, that clearly went well.” the woman walks straight past you as five speaks, her hard gaze set straight on the vehicle. “you ready to go?”

“i’m going back to the farm.” she states clearly, and you quickly catch up to her quick pace.

“what? you can’t!” you can’t believe his siblings and how many problems they carry with them that make them so unwilling to cooperate. it would be easier to just do this by yourself, maybe with the help of diego since he was the only one you had found who agreed to help. “we all need to stick together.”

she stops in front of the car, turning on her heel to look at you. “oh, why, so i don’t end the world again?” you cringe slightly at her words. it probably wasn’t the best idea to keep that from her. “were you even going to tell me?”

five scoffs, looking away for a moment, back up to the hole in the side of the building with his eyes squinted in irritation. “you know what? in my defense, no, alright?” he leans forward slightly, his hands folded together behind his back, “can you blame me? when you get angry- shit blows up!”

she pulls the car door open, “great. are there any other family secrets you failed to mention?” she gets into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut.

“a boatload, vanya,” he looks through the window which was closed, his voice raising slightly as she started the engine, “which i don’t have the luxury of sharing with the-” he cuts himself off, his jaw clenching as he glances at you before knocking on the glass.

she doesn’t even look at him as she rolls the window down, and he lets out a soft sigh. “the clock is ticking on doomsday. just tell me that, when we need you, you’ll be ready.”

vanya finally looks away from the road ahead of her at him, as well as you who stood behind him. “i can’t help you guys.” you nearly scream right then and there, done with all of this. “i don’t even know who i am.”

“you’re a part of the umbrella academy,” he tells her, also annoyed (apparently not as much as you, though), “you’re a part of the family. like it or not, that’s who you are.”

“look, that’s who i was, okay?” she shifts the gear into drive, but holds her foot on the break. “new timeline, new me.”

she hits the gas, “that’s not how it works!” you shout after her before letting out a loud groan, walking to the sidewalk and collapsing to the ground. “i’m done with this shit.” you grumble, your knees pulled to your chest as you look up at five, who stands in front of you. “why is your family full of selfish assholes?”

he sighs as he sits down next to you. “trust me, i wish i could be un-adopted. i wonder if it’s too late for that.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, trying to control your anger. when you were younger and your emotions got the best of you, your powers would spiral out of control, and you were glad you had gotten past that. you would definitely be surrounded by flames if you didn’t.

looking at the hole in the building one last time, luther is once again looking through, and as he sticks his middle finger up at the two of you, you get up as fast as you can, “that motherfu-” you return the favor in anger, finally letting your anger show as your hands burst into flames.

“let’s just go.” five grabs your arms, where your irritation can’t singe his uniform, quickly pulling you away so as to keep your anger from turning into rage that causes you to do something that wouldn’t end well. “they’ll come around.”

you sat in elliott’s rolling chair, your jaw tightened as you stare at your feet propped up on the desk in front of you. you were still furious, but you had to try your hardest to keep your feelings at bay, or you would never sort any of this out and the world would end for the second time, only a few months after the first.

“so what, you just let her go?” diego questions, leaning back into the cushions of the couch as lila changed the bandage over his wound.

five paced back and forth behind them, “well, vanya had a lot to process.” he reasons, and you scrunch your nose up, “she’ll come around. i know she will.”

“if she doesn’t, i’ll be paying her a little visit and making her.” you seethe, picking at your nail and pursing your lips as the boy pauses to send a pointed look at you. “sorry.” you mutter, holding your hands up in the air as a surrender, “i’m just mad.”

the three of them look at you for a moment before diego speaks up again. “what about the guys that went after her?”

“the swedes?”

“yeah, i mean how do you know they won’t go after her again?” diego questions, and you mutter a quiet thanks to elliott as he passes you a mug filled with coffee.

you take a sip before placing the steaming drink on the desk. “we don’t.”

lila hums, “any idea who sent them?”

“we have our suspicions.” five grabs the mug that elliott had set on the coffee table in front of the couch, “but right now, our priority is finding dad and getting answers, ‘cause everything else depends on it.” he sits down in one of the armchairs.

“which, for the record, i found him already.” diego tries to say, and you shake your head.

“then you let him go.” you state, raising an eyebrow, “before we could have a meaningful conversation. you thought with your knives, not your tiny brain.” you grin as he glares at you.

“he stabbed me.”

“i’m surprised he waited this long, diego,” five places his coffee back on the table, “we’ve all had the urge.”

lila and elliott laugh, and she holds her hand up for a high five, which he completely ignores. “good thing we know where reggie’s going to be tonight.” you stand from your seat at the desk, holding your drink and leaning against five’s chair, who pulls the invitation out of his pocket to show to the two.

“where’d you get this?”

“found it at his office while he was busy stabbing you.” five grins mockingly, and you chuckle as you take a sip.

he sighs softly, starting to read out the writing. “hoyt hillenkoetter and the consulate general of mexico in dallas cordially invite you to a gala.”

“woah, wait.” you turn your attention to elliott as he speaks, “hoyt hillenkoetter? are you serious?”

five raises an eyebrow, “you know him?”

"no, hillenkoetter is- he’s one of the majestic twelve.”

you squint slightly, “what the hell is that?”

“what?” the man breathes out, seemingly not being able to believe that you didn’t know what the heck a majestic twelve was. “it’s a... a secret committee.” he explains, “scientists, military, deep state.” he moves to the desk that you had been sitting at and you watch as he searches through the many papers littering it, “no one knows what they really do.”

diego sits up, wincing slightly from his wound. “wait, so they’re government?”

“shadow government.” he quickly corrects, moving to another pile on another table, “kennedy was the first president to try to push them into the light, but these guys... they’re not to be trifled with.” he pulls some papers out, “here.”

he puts a picture down on the coffee table and you quickly move closer to examine it as he points out hoyt. after a second, lila takes a quick breath. “i only count eleven.”

“that’s because they’ve only identified eleven, so far.” elliott informs, and you hum slightly as you down the rest of the coffee.

“who’s the twelfth?” diego questions, and you look between him and five as they share a look. you think they know who it is.

reginald hargreeves.

you peek over the stone wall that surrounds the perimeter of the property, seeing all of the people getting out of their cars and walking inside of the large building. it was definitely a fancy setting, as it was a gala, and the men wore suits, the women wearing dresses.

lila had managed to force you into a dress, claiming that you needed to to blend in. you hated it. it was a fit-and-flare style, which fell just above your knees, and the waist was tight with a bow tied around it, contrasting the color of the rest of the dress.

you were uncomfortable, knowing that if you had to fight someone, it would be harder to move with the tight fit above your waist and the heels that you were compelled (once again, by lila) to wear.

diego was the first to hop over the wall, and after the other two went over, you quickly jumped over the stone, quickly crouching behind one of the parked cars with them.

“so, what’s the plan?” lila questions in a hushed voice as diego looks past the rear of the vehicle, examining all of the people who went inside of the consulate, all couples who had their arms locked.

he looks back at all of you, “we infiltrate, we identify, we extract. double time.” he tells her, and you sigh at his need to make everything sound more complicated then it is.

as he looks back to the entrance, lila looks to you and five in confusion. “what the hell is he talking about?”

“find the old man and get out fast.” five simplifies it, also trying to get a good look at everyone filtering in.

diego looks at him, “that’s what i said.” you roll your eyes, “on me.”

he quickly moves from behind the car to another just a few feet away, and lila looks back at five. “after you.”

the boy is silent as he motions for you to go, and you furrow your eyebrows slightly in confusion but move past them quickly. it takes a minute, but they follow after, and all of you manage to get past everyone and go in through one of the other doors.

slow mariachi music plays and chatter fills the room as you enter, grabbing a drink as a waiter walks by with a tray. you all look around for a moment before diego speaks up. “i don’t see dad anywhere.”

“well, just keep an eye out for the majestic twelve.” you tell him, taking a sip from the drink before setting it down on the table behind you, “we’ve got upstairs?” you look to five and he nods.

“try not to do anything stupid, diego.” you grin as the man looks far from amused by five’s comment, before quickly following the boy through an archway and past a bunch of chattering men, up the staircase that slowly spiraled.

when you get to the second floor, there’s a group of men who file into one of the rooms, and you watch from behind five as the door is shut. slowly moving from behind the wall you had been hiding behind, you glance at five. “the majestic twelve?” you suggest, to which he shrugs.

“could be. you keep an eye out, i’ll be right back.” before you can argue, he’s already disappeared, and you sigh heavily.

after looking down the staircase and deciding nobody would be coming up any time soon, you slip your heels off and take slow steps towards to door, before pressing your ear to it to see if you would be able to pick up on any of the conversation.

when all you hear is the muffled speaking, you curse under your breath, stepping away from the door. suddenly, you bump into someone, and you whirl around to see one of the waiters- or, you supposed, someone dressed as one of the waiters.

“i assume you didn’t come up here to serve drinks?” you raise an eyebrow at him.

he doesn’t say anything and before you know it, he’s grabbed onto you, pulling you forward as you try not to make any noise that would raise suspicion in the room.

before he can swing you into the wall, you manage to grab onto his arms, lighting his sleeves on fire as your hands burst into flames, and he’s caught off guard as he tries to step away and extinguish the fire. you use the distraction to your advantage, the fire burning against your skin quickly dying as you undo the bow around your waist, jumping onto his back and wrapping the ribbon around his neck to pull as hard as you can and choke him.

five blinks back into the hallway a moment late as the man manages to grabs onto your arms, flipping you over onto the floor and effectively knocking the air out of you for a moment.

the boy blinks behind the man, kicking the backs of his knees and causing him to fall to the ground before putting him in a choke hold as you regain your breath and hop up from the ground.

as he pulls five off of himself and gets up, you land a kick on his chest and knock him backward a few steps, before he begins to throw punches, a few of them landing with a harsh impact that makes you groan in pain, both you and five trying to take him down.

you see diego appear from the stairway, but before he can try to help you, he’s dragged back by another man who had wrapped something around his neck. you had been distracted, and the man in front of you managed to land a hard hit on your jaw, causing you to step back with curses flying out of your mouth.

when five starts fighting him off, you see another man show up, starting to punch diego as he’s held back by the other. you take in a sharp breath, “can you handle him?” you yell in question to the boy, who nods while taking punches that make you cringe.

quickly running past the man before he can beat you up more, you sweep the third man’s legs from beneath him, and as he lands on his back you get on top of him, choking him while he tries to swing at you. “it’s not fair to double up on a man, asshole.” you seethe, tightening your grip as diego manages to get out of the other’s hold.

just before you can knock him out, the man beneath you lands a hit to your side, and you lose your hold on his neck as you’re knocked into the wall from the punch. you hold your side as he stands up, and you quickly follow suit.

your attention is caught by the sound of glass shattering, and you see that five had pushed the guy out of the window. a sudden blow to your stomach has you keeling, wrapping your arms around yourself as you curse loudly.

diego had knocked the other swede out and was able to grab onto the man in front of you before he could hit you again. “i got this!” he yells, swinging the guy into the window before starting to land hits on him. “you go with five!”

you’re hesitant, but after a second, you grab your heels from where you left them and run down the stairs, quickly slipping them on as you get to the bottom and you’re surrounded by people again. clearing your throat, you make your way through the crowd and out the door you came in through, managing to find five just as he’s shouting- something you definitely don’t understand- to his dad.

standing next to him as reginald looks to him for a moment, you catch your breath, leaning over and resting your hands on your knees. those guys packed a lot in their punch, and you would definitely be feeling the pain later in the form of bruises.

“okay,” you breathe out once you regain yourself, “you’ve got to teach me whatever the hell that was.”

he looks to you as the car his father had gotten into drove away. “it’s ancient greek.” you raise an eyebrow, nodding slightly.

diego and lila come running out of the building, stopping next to you. “was that him?”

sighing softly, five nods. “yeah.”

taglists

main: @horrorklaus

tua: @rasberrymay @noodlextrash

five taglist: @anapocalypseinmymind @five-hargreeves-official @insatiable-ivy @coffee-e-addict @xplrreylo @fandomfreakff @colie-babi @flowertoty

let’s save the world: @aspiringwriter1 @thetrashypanda423 @lilacs-lavender @wow-lookit-all-the-fandoms @ohmyitsfaith @xplrreylo @fandomfreakff @onedollarduck @sleepygal124 @faith-quake @stripedchickens @youcandalekmyballs @pettyjayy @libidinexx @bts-chub @theoriginalkat @flowertoty @whenyouwantdeath @ot7purple @purblerain

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #tua #five hargreeves #hargreeves #number five #five #the umbrella academy x reader #umbrella academy x reader #tua x reader #five hargreeves x reader #hargreeves x reader #number five x reader #five x reader #lstw #let's save the world

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royallyprincesslilly · 5 years ago

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Title: Kismet {5}

Henry Cavill x Famous OFC Aliya Taylor

Warning: Plot Heavy, Slow Burn, Mild Cursing, Flirtation

Words: 4.5k

Summary: Aliya is a singer turned model turned actress. Since she was fifteen, she’s been creating her empire in the entertainment world. As the daughter of a famous fashion model/designer and Hollywood director, you’d think life is easy for her, but her past has been anything but easy. Due to past trauma, she’s forever changed and no longer trusts any man that is not in her family and a select few in her team. She’s sworn off love and serious relationships and has planned never to fall again, but love isn’t something that can be planned. It just happens when it’s meant to. Can Aliya outrun a love that seems hellbent on holding tight to her, a love that is Kismet?

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

-Aliya-

By the time you left the restaurant, it was midnight. Henry opened the door for you to walk through, finishing up a childhood story.

“And that is why my brother refuses to sleep in the guesthouse anymore,” he finished.

You released a loud laugh, throwing your head back. “Wow. So the guesthouse is haunted.”

“He sure thinks so,” Henry said with a smile.

“A lot of outsiders think everywhere in Ireland is haunted,” you informed.

“Same with outsiders and Scotland.”

“Funny.”

“How often do you go to Ireland?”

“I try at least once a year. Whenever I have an album that comes out, I either go there or Australia to unplug from the world,” you explained as you leaned on the window of the restaurant, facing him.

“Why?”

“Releasing an album is weird. It’s all so personal, and keeping track of it’s standing is nerve-wracking. I like to go away, ignore my phone, and just chill for a few days.”

“That’s an interesting strategy.”

Silence fell between you, a comfortable one.

“Feels like a nice night. Can I take you somewhere?”

“Depends. Where is this somewhere?”

“You’re going to have to trust me.”

With the mention of the T-word, you sucked in a breath.

“I don’t know you,” you piped up.

Henry took a step closer to you, leaving only a few inches between you. “Get to know me.”

“Isn’t that what I’m going?” He smiled again and bit his bottom lip. Your eyes dropped to them and stayed there.

“Is it? Kinda feels like you’re searching for reasons,” he whispered.

“Reasons for what?”

He was so close. All you had to do was tip onto your toes, and your lips would touch. He studied you, but you had no idea what he was thinking. You watched him lick his lips and quickly got lost in how he did it.

“Can I take you somewhere?”

His voice was so deep, so husky that your belly quivered.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Henry’s eyes dropped to your lips as he spoke. “You’ll like it, don’t worry.” Then he backed away, allowing the air around you to cool.

“I bet I will,” you whispered, but he heard it and chuckled.

“Where’d you park?”

“I didn’t drive tonight.”

“Chauffeured?”

“The only way for a lady to travel,” you joked with a small curtsy.

“Are you all right taking my car then?”

“I’ve been taught not to get in the car of anyone whose character I’m unsure of. They could kill me or rape me.

Henry scoffed then laughed into the night air.

“Well, you’ve been taught correctly.”

“Ah, see.”

Again he leaned closer to you. “Luckily, I’m not interested in killing or raping you.”

“Oh no? then what are you interested in when it comes to me?”

The way he stared at you had you feeling a way you’d never felt before. It was something you couldn’t put your finger on, something you didn’t quite understand.

“All shall reveal itself in due time,” Henry whispered.

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed. “Spoken like a true brit.”

Henry shrugged and led you to his car, which was parked across the lot. As you got closer, your jaw dropped.

“Wow. A Porsche 911 GT1 Turbo?”

“You know cars?”

“Are you kidding? This baby is one sexy beast. 3.8L 6-cylinder engine, zero to sixty in just over three seconds, top speed at two hundred and five miles per hour which was dethroned as the fastest when the Spyder came around,” you boasted.

Henry’s mouth was wide as he gaped at you.

“I think that is the sexiest thing a woman has ever said to me.”

The two of you laughed together as he opened the passenger door for you to slide in. You marveled at the interior beginning at the stunning dash and the stick shift and ending on the smooth expensive leather finish. It was a gorgeous car.

“This is so gorgeous. Wow.” You looked at him, and he still looked shocked. “Did I freak you out now?”

“No, far from it,” Henry answered as he turned on the engine, which excited you more than it should have.

“Hold on, I like to go fast,” he warned, staring into your eyes. That was an innuendo if you’d ever heard one, and it did the trick to set your nether regions on fire.

As he drove, you paid close attention to how he handled the wheel and commanded the car to do as he wished. It was sexy how he switched lanes and easily handled LA traffic. After barely ten minutes of driving, your legs were crossed and clenched tightly with your hand squeezing your knee, begging it to remain closed.

When Henry turned off the engine, you saw he’d pulled up to the beach.

“The beach.”

“Not just the beach. Let me show you.”

He was the first to get out and come around for you. When he opened the door, he held his hand out for you to take. When you stepped out, you looked around expecting to see a carnival or something extraordinary. All you saw was an empty parking lot and an abandoned beach.

“Ready?

“Where are we going?”

Henry pointed out to the sand, and that was when our eyes widened.

“Oh, I’m not really wearing the right shoes.”

“So it would seem.”

You leaned on the side of his car only to bolt upright again. “I mean no disrespect putting my ass on your car.”

Henry snorted. “It’s the most action it’s seen.”

You giggled, something you’d been doing a lot of since meeting him.

“Can you?” You held your clutch out to him, silently asking if he could hold it. When he took it, you bent down and unzipped the back of your heels, taking them off one at a time. When you stood again, you were several inches shorter than you were before.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you exasperated.

“You’re short. Aww, it’s so cute,” Henry teased.

“Stop.”

“It’s adorable and sprite-like,” he continued.

You tried to stifle your laugh but couldn’t. “It’s not my fault you’re freakishly tall.”

“I’m a freak now?”

“You’re really tall. How tall?”

“Six-one-ish, more six-two.”

“Wow. That is a whole twelve inches more than me.”

“I bet it’s not hard for most people to be taller than you,” he teased some more.

You gasped, pressing your hand to your chest. “Wow, you have jokes.”

His smile was adorkable, and you loved it. “Would you like to leave them behind?”

You nodded, and Henry opened the car and placed them on the floor of the passenger side. “Never knew how women could stand to walk in these things.”

“It’s a craft,” you responded. He held up your clutch nonverbally asking if you wanted to leave it as well. With your nod, he put it on the seat, then shut and locked the door again.

“Cold?”

“I’ll be okay.”

As if not liking the answer, he slipped off his blazer and draped it over your shoulders.

“Thank you.”

“Ready?”

You nodded and followed him to the rope to the beach. The two of you stepped over it and followed the path as it led toward the rocks of the beach.

“Rock climbing too? Goody.”

“If you’re from Australia, I’m sure you’ve done some climbing on rocks,” Henry teased.

You shrugged, “A bit.”

Henry’s smile showed off his perfectly imperfect teeth. You loved that he looked so put together and perfect in theory, but once you took a closer look, he really wasn’t. The two of you continued climbing the rocky peaks. Every move you made, Henry’s hand was there to help you along the way. The perfect gentleman, you thought. You could tell by the way he moved that he was used to strenuous physical activity. With the thought of strenuous activities, your head immediately dropped to his crotch. As soon as your eyes dipped, you brought them back up to find Henry’s eyes on yours. You’d been caught. He didn’t speak though. He just kept the soft smile on his lips.

You watched him take a giant step up one of the boulders and marveled at how strong his legs looked. When he turned, he held his hand out to you. Without hesitating, you took it, and your knees nearly buckled when he effortlessly pulled you up to stand beside him. You knew what you expected, especially seeing how colossal his biceps were through his suit jacket, but when he really demonstrated that strength, it boggled your mind. He was strong, strong.

“Down we go,” Henry said before he jumped down to the sand behind the boulder. You stood there, staring down at him like he was insane. This was not what you had in mind when you agreed to dinner.

“Are you sure you don’t want to kill me? This looks like the perfect place to hide a body.”

Henry lifted his hands into the air in surrender and spoke with that sly, adorable grin. “I promise.” He held out his hands, indicating he intended to lift you down.

You scoffed, looked around, and sighed, deciding to just go with it. As he slowly lifted you down, you didn’t know whether to stare into his impossibly deep eyes or at his bulging biceps. They were both equally appealing options. When he lowered you to the sand, your bodies were close but not touching. The urge to step into him overwhelmed you, especially the longer his hands lingered on your waist. The look on Henry’s face was one you couldn’t decipher. He looked as if he were in deep thought, but he also looked like he was conflicted over something.

“Eh-em, thank you,” you stuttered, taking a step back from him.

“Right this way.”

Henry walked ahead toward a cave. The black woman in you stopped and watched in caution. He wanted you to follow him this late at night, into a dark cave on a part of the beach no one seemed to know about. Henry glanced back at you, and warmly smiled. It was good enough for one part of you, and that was the part that controlled your legs. As you walked inside, your jaw dropped seeing it was lite up. All around the cave walls and ceiling, there were lights similar to Christmas tree lights. In the center of the cave, there was an opening that showed the perfect glowing moon. It was breathtaking.

“Wow.”

You aimlessly wandered around the cave looking closely at the walls; being unable to not touch, you grazed your fingers along the walls taking in every little detail.

“How did you find this place?”

“When I’m in town, I like to keep my normal routine, so I jog. I prefer the beach; it reminds me of Jersey early in the morning with the fog rolling . I like to be down this side of the beach because there are not really a lot of people, so no one recognizes me. I found it one day, and ever since, I’ve been coming whenever I am in town.”

“This is beautiful,” you continued to marvel.

“It is.”

You walked toward the center of the cave and gazed up at the moon. “Especially the moon shining down. That’s probably my favorite part.”

“Mine too.” His words had you looking to him. Meeting his eyes, the two of you stared at each other for several moments.

“So, you’re a jogger.”

“I am.”

“Which means you don’t do the gym?”

You began wandering around the cave again.

“I do. I have a personal trainer who helps me stay in Superman and Witcher shape,” Henry confirmed as he also began wandering around the cave in the opposite direction that you were.

The two of you were now circling each other in a completely non-threatening way, but though it wasn’t threatening, the tension around you increased with every step the two of you took.

“Do you work out?”

“I do. Not a lot or a crazy amount, though.”

Henry passed you, and you could feel his eyes on you. “Guess it’s natural.”

That was all it took for goosebumps to break out all across your skin and butterflies to flutter in your belly. The man was effortlessly charming. You walked toward a small puddle of water, stepped into it, and began swirling it around with your feet. You desperately needed something to channel your anxious energy into.

“So living in Jersey must mean you like the beach.”

Henry nodded, “I do. When I go home, I go a lot.”

“I like the beach too. It might be because I grew up near water, but whatever reason it calms me.”

When you looked back to him, he was already staring at you. The more he stared, the more you swirled the water around. He made you nervous, but it wasn’t a bad nervous where you were worried about his next move. It was more nervousness from anxiety of his effect on you. with your eyes turned downward, you could still feel his eyes on you.

“What? Why are you staring at me?”

Though you didn’t hear his footsteps, you felt the distance between you closing. Swallowing the butterflies that were increasing their flight, you looked to him and watched him approach. He looked like Mr. Darcy did when he was crossing the open field at dawn, trying to make his way to Elizabeth. Your palm itched to touch.

“How can I not stare?”

Your soft gasp echoed in the cave as he closed the remaining few feet between you.

“You’re breathtaking. The moment I bumped into you, I felt something I’d never felt before. It was like I’d been shot with a taser. I’d never experienced anything like that before,” Henry spoke.

It wasn’t verbatim Jane Austen, but it was close enough. Your breathing betrayed you and gave away your anxiousness. You were quickly becoming lost in his eyes, lost in the tension of the moment.

“Tell me you don’t feel the same way.”

Henry’s eyes dropped to your mouth, and that had you licking your lips before you bit down onto your bottom one.

“I’ve never been tased before.” It was the only thing that you could think of to say.

A soft smile teased his lips, and he took yet another step to you. He was not mere inches from you. If you took a step forward, your bodies would touch, and from there, you could imagine where that would lead.

“Well, I have,” Henry began with a heart-pounding deepness in his voice. “It’s like a billion currents of electricity running through your body continuously for a long period of time. It feels as if these currents of electricity are charging your cells, enlarging them, and minimizing them over and over. You feel like you’re going to die, to be honest. It’s excruciating,” Henry finished.

The depth of his voice was having an effect and the fact that every few words he spoke, he spoke in a whisper which gave you the scent of the drink he’d had at dinner an hour ago. He was not only devastatingly handsome, charming, and sexy, but the chemistry between you was so palpable that you too felt like you could die from it alone.

“So you felt pain,” you stated.

“I did, but it was mixed with something else entirely.”

It was your turn to look at his mouth. When you did, you quickly realized it was a huge mistake. Your lips tingled. They wanted to know the feel of him. That was a first, you thought.

“What else?” It was a whisper, and it was all you could muster.

“I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it.”

Meeting his eyes, your gazes lingered. “Was it pleasure?”

Henry’s breathing mimicked yours. The quick rise and fall of his chest told you his heart might have been racing as quickly as yours.

“Was that what you felt?”

You couldn’t answer him. You really didn’t know what the answer to that question was right now. Your head was clouded, your heart racing and your hormones were bouncing around like haywire tennis balls that were just released from their containers. You felt your body drift back, but felt Henry’s arms wrap around you to hold you firmly against his body. Again, your eyes met. You saw the question in them.

“I don’t know—I don’t know what I felt,” you admitted.

Henry searched your eyes for several moments, but he didn’t release you.

“I think you do, and it was as new and different for you as it was for me.”

The urge to kiss him overcame you, and your knees nearly buckled from it. It had been years since you’d thought about anything like this apart from work. The last time you romantically kissed someone because you felt something for them rather than a lingering expectation or needed distraction was so long ago. You’d vowed to keep it that way. Not to mention you never kissed anyone on the second date. It was a rule.

You bit your bottom lip and loved that his eyes were glued to your mouth. It increased the desire you had to lay one on him and find out just how soft his lips really were. At that moment, Henry lifted his hand and slowly brushed back your hair to softly caress your cheek. You felt your nipples bead and prayed to God that he couldn’t feel them. Lowering your eyes to the sliver of exposed skin right under his collar, you used the time to try to gather your senses.

Henry nudged your face back to his with his finger underneath your chin.

“You have incredible eyes,” Henry whispered.

“Says the pot to the kettle.” His smile was genuine, and with it, you were a goner.

When he lowered his face to yours, you didn’t move. Truth be told, you wanted this, so you inched closer to his descending lips. Once you were just centimeters from each other, your senses returned. You pressed your eyes closed then placed your hands on his chest to keep him at bay. Without protest, Henry stopped.

“I don’t kiss on the first date.”

“It’s a good thing it’s our second,” Henry replied.

“I don’t kiss on the second either,” you added with your eyes still closed. It wasn’t that you were afraid of his reaction. You were desperately trying to get a grip so you could finish out the rest of this night the way you’d intended. You didn’t want to be pressed against the wall of this cave as he fucked you till you couldn’t walk back to the car. That was not what this was. That was not who you were. Not anymore.

When you did open your eyes and looked into those hypnotizing ocean blue eyes, you knew you hadn’t gotten a grip at all. You flexed your fingers against his chest and realized just how muscular he was. Dropping your eyes to his chest, your fingers continued to move of their own volition. You understood. This was all him. He was all muscle.

“Oh, crap.”

Realizing just what you were doing, you stepped away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize I was—I’m sorry.”

Henry nodded, “It’s all right. Nothing to be sorry for. I respect your boundaries.”

Your stomach fell. You turned your back to him, pretending to look more at the lit walls, but you weren’t looking at them. You’d hoped he wouldn��t have been understanding about your boundaries. It would have made it easier to leave without feeling the steady pangs of temptation.

“Do you?”

“Of course. No matter how much I want to kiss you, I respect you and your boundaries. I will not force myself on you. You can trust me on that. I give you my word,” Henry boldly avowed.

The more he spoke, the lower those said boundaries fell.

“You can trust me in that, Aliya,” he softly finished.

With those final words, what you’d said barely two minutes ago was out the window.

“Oh, screw it!”

You quickly turned and rushed to him, practically pouncing him like an in heat Puma. Henry welcomingly wrapped his arms around you and stared into your eyes. Another question rested there.

“I don’t want this if this isn’t what you want,” he assured.

“I thought you go after what you want; no questions asked,” you partly teased.

His smile prompted yours. “And you always get what you want.”

“I do,” you confirmed.

Henry smiled again before your lips touched. From the moment they did, you felt that electrical current feeling he spoke of. It was intense, exhilarating, and excruciating. Slowly Henry teased your tongue with his by coiling around it to retreat and do it again. By the third time, you’d moaned on him. His grip around your waist and back tightened, and the kiss deepened. He looked like a passionate man, but if you were going by his kiss, you’d greatly underestimated how passionate. The way he kissed you increased the pull you’d felt to him since bumping into him a few weeks ago. To your shock, you wanted more. Henry’s moan reverberated off your chest and sparked your arousal so much that your nipples pulsated, begging for his touch.

This was insanely unexpected; you thought before you slowly pulled back, an action Henry did along with you. Keeping your eyes closed, you allowed the feels to sink in and wrap around you. They were feels that were new, feels that felt had your hand shaking.

“We should go,” you whispered.

“We should,” Henry quickly agreed.

~~~~~~~~

On the drive, you tried to keep your freak out at bay. You tried to push away thoughts of rehashing just what happened in the cave. It was next to impossible because the entire drive was silent. He must have been lost in his thoughts as well. When you did think about it, you couldn’t find an ounce of regret. Oppositely you loved it and only regretted stopping. That was what tripped you up. It was insane to think about because you’d broken a rule and were in the middle of breaking yet another one as he drove you home.

Your eyes continued to glance over to his hands on the steering wheel before they dropped to his spread thighs. He had the perfect thighs for straddling. The thought of the size of them and the amount of space you’d already calculated would fit you nicely easily set you off. The man’s lap was meant to be sat on and without clothes. Thankfully before you got way too lost in your sinful thoughts, you saw Henry pulling toward your gated entrance. You pulled out your phone and entered the code to your gate on the security app. Once you did, the wrought iron gates opened for him to pull into your driveway.

Henry’s whistle brought your attention to his face.

“Wow, doing really well for yourself, I see.”

You snorted then shrugged. “I try.”

Once the car rolled to a stop, Henry tapped on the steering wheel as he stared at your house. You wondered what he was thinking and worried he thought you were bougie. After about a minute of silence, Henry unbuckled his seat belt.

“I’ll get your door,” he blurted out before he hopped out the car and walked around to the passenger side. He held his hand out for yours, which you took without hesitation.

“Thank you.”

He nodded, then the two of you walked toward your front door in silence with the flowers he brought you in hand.

“Thank you for the flowers.”

“You’re welcome.”

Once in front of the door, you both stood there staring at each other. The butterflies in your stomach still had yet to dissipate; they’d only picked up. You wondered what he was thinking to look at you the way he was. You noticed him he was rocking back and forth with his hands stuffed into his pockets. It was adorable.

“Oh, I fly out tomorrow,” Henry blurted out.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I’ll be gone for four weeks, and then it’s time for some much-needed downtime,” he explained.

The butterflies began to die down, but only a small amount. “Lucky you.”

He shrugged and gave an indifferent expression. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

You returned his shrug. “I had a good time. I just might steal that spot seeing that I live here.”

His laugh was boisterous and echoed over the front of your property. You liked the sound of his laugh and liked the laugh lines that decorated around his mouth and eyes even more. It showed he was a happy man.

“It’s fine as long as you don’t mind sharing it with me,” Henry countered.

You leaned on the pillar behind you and held tighter to the flowers.

“I’m not much of a sharer. I like what’s mine—mine.”

Henry smirked in a way that had those butterflies take flight yet again.

“We’ll have to work on that. Sharing is caring.”

A scoff escaped you as you shook your head. You dug your hand into your hair and gently tousled it, again thankful you’d decided to go the extra step with straightening it. When you looked back to Henry, the fire in his eyes could not be missed, and that fire sparked one in you. A few seconds later, he was closing the space between you and clasping you at the nape of your neck before his lips pressed to yours.

While the first kiss in the cave was slow, sensual, and passionate, this one was urgent, greedy, and controlling, and it set you on fire instantly. Henry’s free hand connected to your hip and gently held you, barley touching his hardened frame. When you heard him moan, you softly nibbled his bottom lip, which had him returning the favor. Good lord, you thought before you placed your hand on his chest and took advantage of his closeness. You swore you could feel his heart pounding underneath your palm, but you weren’t sure. When you moaned, Henry was the one to pull away this time, but his body was still close, tempting you with its heat and size.

When he spoke, his voice was temptingly deep. “Use those pictures so you don’t forget what I look like.”

You smiled again. He was becoming very good at it.

“Goodnight, Aliya.” You gazed into his eyes, bit your bottom lip, and nodded.

“Goodbye, Henry.”

His body broke out in a shiver that shook you due to his proximity. You couldn’t help but smirk. You watched him back away and walk to his car.

“Have a safe flight and trip.”

When he turned to look at you again once he was at his door. “Thank you.”

He got into his car and watched you. It took you a few moments to realize he was waiting for you to go inside before he pulled off. Another gentlemanly trait was ticked off on the pros side of your list that was steadily growing. When you got inside, you armed the house and leaned against the door with the flowers clutched to your chest.

“What in the holy hell are you doing, Aliya?”

You hit your head back onto the glass of the door a few times, trying to find your chill—a chill that had continuously evaded you all night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#kismet fic #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x black reader #henry cavill x ofc #slow burn fanfic #angst fanfic

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siken-archive · 4 years ago

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You Are Jeff

1 There are two twins on motorbikes but one is farther up the road, beyond the hairpin turn, or just before it, depending on which twin you are in love with at the time. Do not choose sides yet. It is still to your advan- tage to remain impartial. Both motorbikes are shiny red and both boys have perfect teeth, dark hair, soft hands. The one in front will want to take you apart, and slowly. His deft and stubby fingers searching every shank and lock for weaknesses. You could love this boy with all your heart. The other brother only wants to stitch you back together. The sun shines down. It's a beautiful day. Consider the hairpin turn. Do not choose sides yet. 2 There are two twins on motorbikes but one is farther up the road. Let's call them Jeff. And because the first Jeff is in front we'll consider him the older, and therefore responsible for lending money and the occa- sional punch in the shoulder. World-wise, world-weary, and not his mother's favorite, this Jeff will always win when it all comes down to fisticuffs. Unfortunately for him, it doesn't always all come down to fisticuffs. Jeff is thinking about his brother down the winding road be- hind him. He is thinking that if only he could cut him open and peel him back and crawl inside this second skin, then he could relive that last mile again: reborn, wild-eyed, free. 3 There are two twins on motorbikes but one is farther up the road, beyond the hairpin turn, or just before it, depending on which Jeff you are. It could have been so beautiful—you scout out the road ahead and I will watch your back, how it was and how it will be, memory and fantasy— but each Jeff wants to be the other one. My name is Jeff and I'm tired of looking at the back of your head. My name is Jeff and I'm tired of seeing my hand me down clothes. Look, Jeff, I'm telling you, for the last time, I mean it, etcetera. They are the same and they are not the same. They are the same and they hate each other for it. 4 Your name is Jeff and somewhere up ahead of you your brother has pulled to the side of the road and he is waiting for you with a lug wrench clutched in his greasy fist. 0 how he loves you, darling boy. 0 how, like always, he invents the monsters underneath the bed to get you to sleep next to him, chest to chest or chest to back, the covers drawn around you in an act of faith against the night. When he throws the wrench into the air it will catch the light as it spins toward you. Look—it looks like a star. You had expected something else, anything else, but the wrench never reaches you. It hangs in the air like that, spinning in the air like that. It's beautiful. 5 Let's say God in his High Heaven is hungry and has decided to make himself some tuna fish sandwiches. He's already finished making two of them, on sourdough, before he realizes that the fish is bad. What is he going to do with these sandwiches? They're already made, but he doesn't want to eat them. Let's say the Devil is played by two men. We'll call them Jeff. Dark hair, green eyes, white teeth, pink tongues—they're twins. The one on the left has gone bad in the middle, and the other one on the left is about to. As they wrestle, you can tell that they have forgotten about God, and they are very hungry. 6 You are playing cards with three men named Jeff. Two of the Jeffs seem somewhat familiar, but the Jeff across from you keeps staring at your hands, your mouth, and you're certain that you've never seen this Jeff before. But he's on your team, and you're ahead, you're winning big, and yet the other Jeffs keep smiling at you like there's no tomorrow. They all have perfect teeth: white, square, clean, even. And, for some reason, the lighting in the room makes their teeth seem closer than they should be, as if each mouth was a place, a living room with pink carpet and the window's open. Come back from the window, Jefferson. Take off those wet clothes and come over here, by the fire. 7 You are playing cards with three Jeffs. One is your father, one is your brother, and the other is your current boyfriend. All of them have seen you naked and heard you talking in your sleep. Your boyfriend Jeff gets up to answer the phone. To them he is a mirror, but to you he is a room. Phone's for you, Jeff says. Hey! It's Uncle Jeff, who isn't really your uncle, but you can't talk right now, one of the Jeffs has put his tongue in your mouth. Please let it be the right one. 8 Two brothers are fighting by the side of the road. Two motorbikes have fallen over on the shoulder, leaking oil into the dirt, while the interlocking brothers grapple and swing. You see them through the backseat window as you and your parents drive past. You are twelve years old. You do not have a brother. You have never experienced anything this ferocious or intentional with another person. Your mother is pretending that she hasn't seen anything. Your father is fiddling with the knobs of the radio. There is an empty space next to you in the backseat of the station wagon. Make it the shape of everything you need. Now say hello. 9 You are in an ordinary suburban bedroom with bunk beds, a bookshelf, two wooden desks and chairs. You are lying on your back, on the top bunk, very close to the textured ceiling, staring straight at it in fact, and the room is still dark except for a wedge of powdery light that spills in from the adjoining bathroom. The bathroom is covered in mint green tile and someone is in there, singing very softly. Is he singing to you? For you? Black cherries in chocolate, the ring around the moon, a bee- tle underneath a glass—you cannot make out all the words, but you're sure he knows you're in there, and he's singing to you, even though you don't know who he is. 10 You see it as a room, a tabernacle, the dark hotel. You're in the hallway again, and you open the door, and if you're ready you'll see it, but maybe one part of your mind decides that the other parts aren't ready, and then you don't remember where you've been, and you find yourself down the hall again, the lights gone dim as the left hand sings the right hand back to sleep. It's a puzzle: each piece, each room, each time you put your hand to the knob, your mouth to the hand, your ear to the wound that whispers. You're in the hallway again. The radio is playing your favorite song. You're in the hallway. Open the door again. Open the door. 11 Suppose for a moment that the heart has two heads, that the heart has been chained and dunked in a glass booth filled with river water. The heart is monologing about hesitation and fulfillment while behind the red brocade the heart is drowning. Can the heart escape? Does love even care? Snow falls as we dump the booth in the bay. Suppose for a moment we are crowded around a pier, waiting for something to ripple the water. We believe in you. There is no danger. It is not getting dark, we want to say. 12 Consider the hairpin turn. It is waiting for you like a red door or the broken leg of a dog. The sun is shining, O how the sun shines down! Your speedometer and your handgrips and the feel of the road below you, how it knows you, the black ribbon spread out on the greens be- tween these lines that suddenly don't reach to the horizon. It is waiting, like a broken door, like the red dog that chases its tail and eats your rose- bushes and then must be forgiven. Who do you love, Jeff? Who do you love? You were driving toward something and then, well, then you found yourself driving the other way. The dog is asleep. The road is be- hind you. O how the sun shines down. 13 This time everyone has the best intentions. You have cancer. Let's say you have cancer. Let's say you've swallowed a bad thing and now it's got its hands inside you. This is the essence of love and failure. You see what I mean but you're happy anyway, and that's okay, it's a love story after all, a lasting love, a wonderful adventure with lots of action, where the mirror says mirror and the hand says hand and the front door never says Sorry Charlie. So the doctor says you need more stitches and the bruise cream isn't working. So much for the facts. Let's say you're still completely in the dark but we love you anyway. We love you. We really do. 14 After work you go to the grocery store to get some milk and a carton of cigarettes. Where did you get those bruises? You don't remember. Work was boring. You find a jar of bruise cream and a can of stewed tomatoes. Maybe a salad? Spinach, walnuts, blue cheese, apples, and you can't decide between the Extra Large or Jumbo black olives. Which is bigger anyway? Extra Large has a blue label, Jumbo has a purple label. Both cans cost $1.29. While you're deciding, the afternoon light is streaming through the windows behind the bank of checkout coun- ters. Take the light inside you like a blessing, like a knee in the chest, holding onto it and not letting it go. Now let it go. 15 Like sandpaper, the light, or a blessing, or a bruise. Blood everywhere, he said, the red light hemorrhaging from everywhere at once. The train station blue, your lips blue, hands cold and the blue wind. Or a horse, your favorite horse now raised up again out of the mud and galloping galloping always toward you. In your ruined shirt, on the last day, while the bruise won't heal, and the stain stays put, the red light streaming in from everywhere at once. Your broken ribs, the back of your head, your hand to mouth or hand to now, right now, like you mean it, like it's split- ting you in two. Now look at the lights, the lights. 16 You and your lover are making out in the corner booth of a seedy bar. The booths are plush and the drinks are cheap and in this dim and smoky light you can barely tell whose hands are whose. Someone raises their glass for a toast. Is that the Hand of Judgment or the Hand of Mercy? The bartender smiles, running a rag across the burnished wood of the bar. The drink in front of you has already been paid for. Drink it, the bartender says. It's yours, you deserve it. It's already been paid for. Somebody's paid for it already. There's no mistake, he says. It's your drink, the one you asked for, just the way you like it. How can you refuse Hands of fire, hands of air, hands of water, hands of dirt. Someone's doing all the talking but no one's lips move. Consider the hairpin turn. 17 The motorbikes are neck and neck but where's the checkered flag we all expected, waving in the distance, telling you you're home again, home? He's next to you, right next to you in fact, so close, or. . . he isn't. Imagine a room. Yes, imagine a room: two chairs facing the window but nobody moves. Don't move. Keep staring straight into my eyes. It feels like you're not moving, the way when, dancing, the room will suddenly fall away. You're dancing: you're neck and neck or cheek to cheek, he's there or he isn't, the open road. Imagine a room. Imagine you're danc- ing. Imagine the room now falling away. Don't move. 18 Two brothers: one of them wants to take you apart. Two brothers: one of them wants to put you back together. It's time to choose sides now. The stitches or the devouring mouth? You want an alibi? You don't get an alibi, you get two brothers. Here are two Jeffs. Pick one. This is how you make the meaning, you take two things and try to define the space between them. Jeff or Jeff? Who do you want to be? You just wanted to play in your own backyard, but you don't know where your own yard is, exactly. You just wanted to prove there was one safe place, just one safe place where you could love him. You have not found that place yet. You have not made that place yet. You are here. You are here. You're still right here. 19 Here are your names and here is the list and here are the things you left behind: The mark on the floor from pushing your chair back, your un- derwear, one half brick of cheese, the kind I don't like, wrapped up, and poorly, and abandoned on the second shelf next to the poppyseed dress- ing, which is also yours. Here's the champagne on the floor, and here are your house keys, and here are the curtains that your cat peed on. And here is your cat, who keeps eating grass and vomiting in the hall- way. Here is the list with all of your names, Jeff. They're not the same name, Jeff. They're not the same at all. 20 There are two twins on motorbikes but they are not on motorbikes, they're in a garden where the flowers are as big as thumbs. Imagine you are in a field of daisies. What are you doing in a field of daisies? Get up! Let's say you're not in the field anymore. Let's say they're not brothers anymore. That's right, they're not brothers, they're just one guy, and he knows you, and he's talking to you, but you're in pain and you can- not understand him. What are you still doing in this field? Get out of the field! You should be in the hotel room! You should, at least, be try- ing to get back into the hotel room. Ah! Now the field is empty. 21 Hold onto your voice. Hold onto your breath. Don't make a noise, don't leave the room until I come back from the dead for you. I will come back from the dead for you. This could be a city. This could be a graveyard. This could be the basket of a big balloon. Leave the lights on. Leave a trail of letters like those little knots of bread we used to dream about. We used to dream about them. We used to do a lot of things. Put your hand to the knob, your mouth to the hand, pick up the bread and devour it. I'm in the hallway again, I'm in the hallway. The radio's playing my favorite song. Leave the lights on. Keep talking. I'll keep walking toward the sound of your voice. 22 Someone had a party while you were sleeping but you weren't really sleeping, you were sick, and parts of you were burning, and you couldn't move. Perhaps the party was in your honor. You can't remem- ber. It seems the phone was ringing in the dream you were having but there's no proof. A dish in the sink that might be yours, some clothes on the floor that might belong to someone else. When was the last time you found yourself looking out of this window. Hey! This is a beautiful window! This is a beautiful view! 1 hose trees lined up like that, and the way the stars are spinning over them like that, spinning in the air like that, like wrenches. 23 Let's say that God is the space between two men and the Devil is the space between two men. Here: I'll be all of them-Jeff and Jeff and Jeff and Jeff are standing on the shoulder of the highway, four motorbikes knocked over, two wrenches spinning in the ordinary air. Two of these Jeffs are windows, and two of these Jeffs are doors, and all of these Jeffs are trying to tell you something. Come closer. We'll whisper it in your ear. It's like seeing your face in a bowl of soup, cream of potato, and the eyes shining back like spoons. If we wanted to tell you everything, we would leave more footprints in the snow or kiss you harder. One thing. Come closer. Listen . . . 24 You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you've done something terr- ible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you're tired. You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and you're trying not to tell him that you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for.

#richard siken #you are jeff #crush

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vs-redemption · 5 years ago

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Crime is Common. Logic is Rare. (Ch 12)

Chapter Twelve: Lab Work (HawksxGN!Reader)

Plot summary: You thought your hands were full as a regular quirk geneticist, but then you meet Hawks and things get even more exciting!

Warnings:

⚠️This story contains spoilers from the manga.

⚠️Some events and plot points have been altered from the original manga

Next Chapter : Chapter Guide

“Thanks for coming out to meet with me again,” Dr. Garaki smiles pleasantly at you as you take a seat across from him in his office. His chair was much taller than yours to make up for his short stature. The expensive microscope and box of blood samples from your previous visit were nowhere in sight. The only thing on top of the desk was a copy of the proposal you had emailed him a few days before. The doctor puts a hand on top of the papers. “I’d like to talk about this.” You nod your head, trying to read the man’s face to predict how the conversation might go. You had to be ready for anything.

“I’ve never read a proposal quite like this before,” Dr. Garaki taps a finger on top of the document. “You made a lot of bold assumptions.”

You keep a look of confidence on your face as you reply. He still hadn’t made any indication about how he felt about the wild hypotheses you’d written for him. He just had the same cheerful smile on his face. "What you showed me the last time I was here was several steps ahead of any of the current research I could find,” you explain calmly. “Without knowing what was in that mystery fluid you used, I had to fill in some blanks.”

The doctor stayed silent for a moment and you hoped that he wasn’t about to throw you out for ignoring basic scientific standards and stepping into the realm of mad science. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d ever submit such an absurd proposal, but Dr. Garaki seemed like an odd enough man to actually appreciate it.

“You believe I have access to samples of All For One’s DNA.” The doctor finally speaks.

“No,” you still manage to keep your voice level. “Well, I honestly don’t know. It’s just something I’ve been thinking about for a while. All For One is the only true example of a person possessing multiple quirks. Because of that, it stands to reason that his ability to give and receive quirks, and therefore his actual DNA, could be the key to creating Nomus.”

The doctor continues to stare you down. “And if I DID have access to All For One’s DNA, you think the next logical step…”

“…is to try and create a Nomu ourselves, yes.” You finish the sentence for him, praying that it would make the statement sound less insane if you were the one to say it. The doctor raises his eyebrows, the unreadable smile still on his face.

“I obviously made a lot of assumptions about how to accomplish that task too. Plus, it would definitely be unethical to do human trials,” you press on. “But besides the most recent attack in Kyushu, the Nomus themselves hardly seem human anyway. Perhaps the human component is small enough that simply using All For One’s quirk to splice human DNA samples together is enough. We would just need to create some sort of vessel to hold all that power”

“And the applications for such research?” The doctor continues to question you even though you must sound like you’re out of your mind by now.

“Limitless,” you declare. “If we can understand the way in which quirks mutate or combine over time, we can eliminate the weaknesses and drawbacks of certain quirks. Take the number one hero for example. Endeavor’s body clearly has a heat threshold. I noticed it in his fight with that high-end Nomu. He’d be unstoppable if he also had a quirk of heat-resistance or something. And the way things are going now, quirks are getting stronger and more complicated. The number of people born with quirks that cause damage to their body or affect their quality of life is increasing. We could solve that problem completely if we understood quirk inheritance on a microscopic level.”

“You sound like a true advocate of science,” the doctor nods. “Some people might question the morality of genetically modifying, enhancing, or manipulating quirks though.”

“I’m just saying what would be possible,” you shrug, “What people are able to legally do with that information would be up for debate when the time comes, but that’s nothing new in the field of science”

“True, true!” The doctor nods his head in agreement. “And like you mentioned, there are a lot of assumptions we need to address before actually going through with a proposal like this.” He slaps his hand on top of the document again before hopping out of his chair. “I’ve been thinking of how we can utilize YOUR quirk in my lab,” he beckons for you to get up and follow him. “I understand you can observe information about your surroundings in extreme detail.”

“Yeah,” you confirm the information while following him out of his office and through the halls of his hospital. He stops at what appears to be a supply closet and unlocks the door with a key he pulls from his pocket. You were surprised to see the small room contained a hidden elevator.

“This is for employees only,” the doctor explains once you’re both inside. He pushes the single unmarked button and the doors slide close. You assumed the elevator went down because when the doors opened back up, you were in a dimly lit basement laboratory. It was set up like most of the other labs you’d been in before, but there was just something a little creepier about it that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“Nobody else is down here?” You ask as you continue to look around.

“This is actually a secondary lab,” Dr. Garaki tells you. “My main lab is in a different location.” The strangeness of the situation continued to build, but you kept your feelings to yourself. There’d been something off about the doctor since the first time you’d met him, and now you were committed to figuring out what it was.

“I don’t mind using my quirk,” you tell him, “but the length of time I’m able to use it is pretty limited.”

“Limitations can be overcome,” the doctor chuckles before hurrying over to one of the work stations where a microscope was set up next to a giant monitor. “A lot of people don’t realize their quirks can work harder and longer with a certain type of fuel to keep them going.”

“What like Popeye and his spinach?” you joke.

“Exactly like that!” the doctor nods enthusiastically, his large glasses making his eyes look bigger than they actually are. “If we monitor your brain activity while you use your quirk, and take blood samples before and after, we could learn a lot. You should also try to use your quirk every day. Make a note if there’s a difference when you use your quirk in the morning or in the evening, or if anything changes depending on what you eat or the type of weather.” You can’t help but laugh.

“You actually want me to do that?” you ask.

“Just a suggestion,” he shrugs. “I would like to try a couple things today though, if you’re up to it.”

“Depends on the couple things, I guess,” you say hesitantly. He explained that he wanted you to use your quirk to watch videos on one of the computer monitors in one minute intervals. Each minute long session would be under a different condition and there would be a short test between each condition to record how much information you’d observed with your quirk. As your quirk only lasted about 5 minutes, he decided to do four tests in order to have the best results. The first test would be the control. The second test would be taken with noise canceling headphones in order to see if the number of visual details increased if sound was taken away. The third test would be taken while standing between two heaters to see if temperature made a difference. The fourth test would be taken while jogging on a treadmill to see if physical exertion effected the results. The doctor sat you in a chair in front of the monitor for the first test and pressed play. Next thing you knew you were being shaken awake by the doctor. You open your eyes and realize that you’re on the ground.

“Oh thank goodness! You’re awake!” The doctor sighs in relief. “You must’ve overexerted yourself. You had a dizzy spell and passed out after the last test.” You blink a few times and glance around the lab, trying to remember what happened, but of course you couldn’t. You’d just lost consciousness after using your quirk, so all the information you’d gathered had been wiped from your mind. You’d always been a bit apprehensive of the doctor, but now you were honestly feeling scared. Never in your life had something like this happened, so why would it happen now?

“Are you feeling better now?” the doctor asks, “Can you stand up?” You take a deep breath and nod your head. You felt perfectly fine aside from the memory loss which you were used to.

“Well, I guess I hit my limit for today,” you laugh even though you were still creeped out. “Was there at least any interesting results from the tests?”

“You observed a lot more than I imagined!” The doctor nods his head enthusiastically. “Although the amount of information you recalled from each test was about the same.”

“Would you mind if I look at the notes?” you ask as casually as you can. The doctor frowns.

“Unfortunately I didn’t take notes,” he tells you. “I used a timer to record how long it took you to describe everything you observed.”

“I see,” you say calmly before shrugging. “Oh well. Was there anything else you wanted to do with me today?”

“No, no!” The doctor waves his hands, “Of course not. You should get some rest. Are you going to be all right getting all the way home? Perhaps one of the doctors upstairs can take a look at you.”

“That’s okay,” you smile appreciatively. “I’m actually staying at a friend’s place in the city today. I can rest there and go home in the morning.” The doctor nods in understanding as you both head to the elevator and go back up to the main hospital. He walks you to the door and waves goodbye, promising to keep in touch so that you can make plans to meet again soon. As soon as you’re outside, you reach into your bag to get your phone only to find that it wasn’t in the pocket you normally kept it in. Where you just being paranoid now? You open up your messages and type one to Hawks that asked “Where are you?” Once he answers, you hail a taxi, not caring that a bus or train would be cheaper. You wanted to get to your boyfriend as fast as possible.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #Keigo Takami X Reader #Hawks x reader #Keigo takami #hawks #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #my writing

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quicksilversquared · 6 years ago

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Luka and the Jewelry Heist

S3 Finale AU

In a timeline where Hawkmoth didn't lose the Miracle Box almost immediately after getting it, Marinette has to get the Miraculous back some other way, even if that means stealing them back one at a time. Her first target is Chloe, Hawkmoth's one known ally.

....Luka really doesn't know how he got involved in this.

links in the reblog

When Marinette had invited Luka to hang out for the evening, he had expected that they would do something chill, maybe hanging out in a park together for a couple hours, or spending some time at a cafe or the movies (probably not the latter, honestly, that seemed a bit more date-like than Marinette seemed to be ready for), or maybe grabbing a sandwich for dinner and just wandering around for a bit. The most excitement they would have would maybe be someone recognizing him from Kitty Section or Marinette from her work with Jagged Stone, surely, and they could just enjoy their time together.

As it turned out, Marinette had other ideas. Or, rather, one other idea. As it turned out, she had somehow managed to find out that Hawkmoth would be giving Chloe Bourgeois the Bee Miraculous permanently that evening, and she needed backup while she stole the Miraculous.

Luka had not signed up for this, but apparently Marinette didn't have anyone else that was available or willing to be backup for her and he wasn't exactly willing to let her go on her own, so he reluctantly trotted along after her anyway. Maybe he would be able to talk Marinette out of it as they headed for the hotel, or pick out holes in her plan so that she would decide against it, or, or...

Luka was used to crazy. He lived on a houseboat with an anarchist mom and a sister who had gone through several less-than-typical hobbies, after all. He went to an arts-focused school, where free thinking was encouraged and odd ideas were common. But magical jewelry theft?

This was new, and even though he had been a superhero a couple times, it wasn't exactly something that he wanted to do on a regular basis. Not without superpowers and an experienced superhero on his side, at least.

"I'm already seeing a problem here," Luka commented as he jogged to keep up with Marinette, who, by the way, walked crazy fast for someone who was so much shorter than he was. Maybe he was no regular powerwalker- unless there was an akuma nearby or he was running late, Luka much preferred a relaxed stroll- but this was insane. "How are we meant to get into the hotel? I've heard that they're pretty picky about who comes in. And if the doorman sees us come in and then Chloe pitches a fit about her Miraculous getting stole- or just some jewelry getting stolen, I suppose she can't tell anyone about the Miraculous now- he'll be able to tell her exactly who took it."

"Oh, that's easy," Marinette said nonchalantly, as though breaking into the Grand Paris unnoticed was something she did regularly. She dug in the bulging delivery bag at her side, pulling out two motorcycle helmets and matching jackets. "We dress up as delivery people and tell the doorman that we're bringing a delivery for Chloe. It worked just fine last time, and I actually know what she normally orders now, too, which helps. The helmets hide our faces, and the jackets hide our shirts. And I wore my biking outfit instead of my normal clothes today, too, so that clue is gone, too."

"Last time," Luka echoed faintly, because apparently this was a regular thing. "Uh."

"And the delivery people always park their bikes on the same side of the hotel, so we'll come from that angle," Marinette continued, still not even remotely out of breath. "And I have a delivery bag for you, too. It would be a little odd for there to be two delivery people for just Chloe, but Jagged Stone is here, too. We'll say one order is for Chloe and the other is for Jagged-"

"And he won't get upset about that?" Luka asked. Maybe the rocker and his mom didn't get on very well anymore, but, uh, Luka was still not interested in getting on Jagged's bad side. "'Cause, like..."

Marinette waved that off. "Nah, he knows that I'm using him as an excuse to get in. He just texted me that Chloe's already down in the restaurant with her father." She passed a jacket and helmet over to Luka, then dug a second delivery bag out of hers and passed that over, too. "We can put these on in the next alleyway. The camera has been broken for months, and even when it wasn't broken it only covered the back half of the alley."

Why did she know that? Why did Marinette know any of this? While Luka couldn't deny that it was probably better to be with someone who wasn't going into a magical jewelry heist completely unprepared, the degree of preparedness was a little disconcerting.

A lot disconcerting. Like, he was starting to feel like he didn't know Marinette at all disconcerting. How much was he missing if he thought that something like this was totally out of character when it clearly wasn't?

When they got to the next alleyway, Marinette shimmed into the jacket and pulled on her helmet, slinging the delivery bag over her shoulders and filling it with a couple boxes salvaged from the top of the trash so that it wouldn't look empty. She looked completely relaxed, which was the complete opposite of how Luka felt.

Sure, he could believe that she could saunter past the doorman without causing an ounce of suspicion. She didn't look suspicious. But Luka, normally the picture of cool, calm, and collected?

His blood pressure was starting to inch up, he was sure of it. Still, Luka followed Marinette as she headed confidently down the street, her hair and face completely covered by the helmet. Most delivery people that he had seen didn't hide their faces, but other than that she completely looked the part. Still, Luka had his doubts. Surely the Grand Paris had better security than that?

"Sushi delivery for a Chloe Bourgeois," Marinette announced as she strode up to the door. Her voice was pitched slightly lower, making her sound older without sounding fake. Clearly Adrien wasn't the only one in her friend group who could probably go into voice acting. "And an order for Jagged Stone?"

"Of course," the doorman agreed at once, stepping aside and waving them in. "You know the room numbers?"

"Yes, of course. Thank you."

And just like that, they were in.

"Keep your helmet on," Marinette warned Luka as she led the way towards the stairs. "We'll be going up to Chloe's room first, and I'll get some stuff set up. Then Jagged Stone has to leave to do some recording work at his studio in twelve minutes, so I'm going to have you play lookout down in the restaurant and tell me when Chloe's coming up so I don't get taken off guard. I can pay you back for whatever you order."

Luka blinked, a realization finally sinking in past his (apparently permanent) shock. "Wait, did you say that Jagged Stone knows what you're up to? And he's supporting it?"

"Of course. Hawkmoth is totally not rock 'n roll, you know." Marinette led the way towards the stairs, and Luka scrambled after her. "I have a button-up and a wig in your bag for you to use while you're in the restaurant. You can change in the bathroom- there's one without a working camera in the hallway on the third floor. But we'll go up to Chloe's room first."

...there was literally no part of this that should be of course.

Luka was out of breath by the time they got up to the top floor. Ahead of him, Marinette didn't seem winded at all as she pushed open the door carefully before stepping into the hallway. With a confident bounce to her step, Marinette headed for one of the doors, slipping a white card down between door and frame until the lock popped open with a small click. Luka stared.

"That should not have worked."

Marinette shrugged, pulling the door open and tucking the card- a hotel key card, he could see now, when had she picked that up?- into her pocket. "Everything here looks fancy and top-of-the-line, but I've been here enough to know that looks can be deceiving. Mr. Bourgeois cut corners where he could, and he depends too much on security downstairs keeping out anyone who might want to break into the rooms."

"...the security that just let in two people who had their faces covered because they claimed that they were delivering food?" Luka asked, unimpressed. He had seen better security at the budget hotels that he and Juleka and their mom sometimes stayed at when their houseboat needed repairs or when they went on vacations to places that weren't along bodies of water. "Lovely. And, uh, what about cameras in this hallway?"

"They exist, but they never have anyone monitoring the feed during the day, only once the front desk shuts down for the night." Marinette ushered him in, then quietly shut the door. She checked her phone quickly, then led the way into Chloe's room. Or, rather, the middle room of Chloe's three rooms. That was needlessly excessive. "I assume that they'll meet in Chloe's main room, rather than her bedroom. Near her balcony door is most likely, because he and Mayura will want to have a fast escape route, but far enough in that they can't be seen from the outside since they don't want anyone to get confirmation that Chloe is still Queen Bee."

"I can't believe that anyone is actually buying her excuse that Queen Bee is actually just someone else impersonating her to try to get her in trouble. That's, like, the world's most paper-thin excuse." It was infuriating, actually, to see Chloe getting away again with behaving terribly, and this time with something as serious as cooperating with a terrorist. From what Juleka had told him, Chloe had been insufferably smug at school, though she refused to tell anyone why even though they all knew. "And apparently Ladybug and Chat Noir believe her, which- I thought they were smarter than that!"

Much to his surprise, Marinette snorted in what sounded suspiciously like amusement as she continued her scoping out of Chloe's room. "Do you really think that Hawkmoth would let his guard down enough to give Chloe the Miraculous permanently if the superheroes still publically suspected her? And if they kept insisting that the current Queen Bee was actually Chloe without, like, video proof of her transforming, I bet the mayor would cause some problems for them, and that is the last thing they probably need right now."

...that was very true and also very strategic. Luka was going to count himself impressed. It was also very logical, now that he was thinking about it- the mayor had thrown a big public fuss about Ladybug going over his head to talk the president of France into passing a law about arresting people who willingly worked with Hawkmoth, and while he had tried to pass it off as concern about the police using the law to go after akuma victims, Luka seriously doubted that. It was far more likely that he knew that his daughter was lying and he wouldn't be able to do anything about the law or stop the police from arresting Chloe when she messed up and confirmed her identity.

Again.

"Anyway, if they're probably going to be in here, I'll want my camera set up...mmm, about here." Marinette tapped at a side table, then tugged up the side of her jacket to get at what looked like a fully-stocked tool belt that had somehow materialized around her waist. At this point, Luka wasn't even going to question that. "It might not be a perfect angle and I might decide to move it later, but I need to be able to grab it quickly and I don't think Chloe will notice it-"

"Wait, that's a camera?" Luka demanded, staring at the thing in Marinette's hand. It was about as thick as one of his fingers, and the same length, with a cord dangling off of the end and ending in something the size of a small remote. "Is that meant to be some crazy spy equipment? Where did you even get that?"

"It's a wildlife camera," Marinette said with a laugh. "Meant to stick into very small holes, like woodpecker cavities. And I borrowed it from the zoo- and yes, I got permission to borrow it. They use it when they have birds nesting during the spring, to spy on the nests and see what's going on. It can record a couple hours of footage and can stream to phones, too, if you're close enough." She reached out, palm up. "I can set it up on your phone so that you can see what's going on in here, if you want. It would probably be easier than trying to text back and forth all the time."

Luka handed his phone over at once. He still thought this entire attempt was pretty much a suicide mission, but Marinette seemed determined and the most he could do was make sure to do anything that would make it less dangerous for her.

"Once Chloe comes up, I want you to linger up here in the stairwell and give me a heads-up if her butler or her father comes up," Marinette told him once his phone was connected to the camera. "Just look like you were heading up to the rooftop or back down if they come, but you just paused to check your phone. Then I can try to hide better and won't get caught by someone coming in her door. And you should be able to hear the elevator from the stairwell, too- it's not exactly quiet."

"I hope you know that all of this is killing my stress levels" Luka informed her. "I was perfectly chill this morning. This afternoon, even. Now, I'm going to be too anxious to eat."

Marinette considered that for a second, and for a moment, Luka hoped that maybe, just maybe, he had finally gotten through to her and she would leave the retrieval of the Miraculous to the superheroes, who also had magic powers and could fight and didn't just have a motorcycle helmet and a flimsy biking suit as protection. And then Marinette shrugged.

"Maybe you could get some tea instead?"

Chloe was definitely acting twitchy, Luka noted from where he sat with his steaming cup of tea. She was glancing out the window regularly, and when she wasn't doing that, she was checking her phone. She seemed snappy with her father, too, who looked concerned but clearly wasn't willing to question her at all in such a public setting.

He didn't know where Marinette had gotten her information about Hawkmoth swinging by the Grand Paris today, but it looked like she was right.

The ball of nerves in his stomach got worse, and Luka picked up his phone to check it again. Marinette hadn't sent anything yet, which he had to assume was a good thing. To kill some time, he opened his chat thread with Juleka and typed out a quick message.

Luka: If I don't come home later, tell Mom the jewelry heist wasn't my idea.

It was a joke, mostly, but that didn't stop him from feeling nervous. Maybe he was going to be in the stairwell, not close to the supervillains like Marinette, but if Hawkmoth really lashed out and destroyed a large part of the building in the process...

His phone lit up again with a response, and Luka scrambled to pick it up. Juleka had already responded and, well, she wasn't taking him seriously.

Juleka: LOL have fun!

...Luka was not having fun. Seriously, he hadn't had nerves this bad since he was younger, and he had not missed them. It was an absolute miracle that he hadn't gotten sick yet.

(Luka would give anything to have the Snake Miraculous right now. Having the option for almost endless resets... that would give him at least some peace of mind, even if he still had to put on a brave face just like he had all of the other times that he had transformed. A superhero couldn't let on how nervous he felt, even if it was just to other superheroes.)

(Also, this really seemed like something that Ladybug and Chat Noir should be dealing with instead of Marinette. They had powers and protection and were used to doing dangerous stuff.)

Across the room, Chloe finally finished her meal and stood, saying something to her father as she left. He didn't try to stop her as she headed across the room, simply watching her go with a slightly concerned look before shaking his head and standing himself, heading in the opposite direction. Luka downed the rest of his tea- it had not helped him relax, unfortunately- and then stood as well, thankful that he had already paid so that he could follow Chloe at a distance, texting Marinette as he did.

Luka: Chloe is leaving the dining area now&is headed back upstairs.

This was real now. Marinette wouldn't be able to leave Chloe's room easily once Chloe returned. She could still decide against trying to swipe the Miraculous, of course, or at least decide to delay until after Chloe took the Miraculous off for a shower or to go to bed or something. Even then, she would still have to spend time in the same room as not one, but two or even three supervillains, all without alerting them to her presence.

Luka wasn't going to be able to sleep for a week once this was over, he was so stressed.

(He had thought that being around Marinette would be relaxing, once. That time was starting to feel eons ago.)

It didn't take long for Chloe to get upstairs, and it didn't take long for Luka to get situated in his lookout spot, either. He leaned against the wall of the staircase, one foot propped up, and kept his attention on his phone as he navigated to the app that Marinette had installed earlier and popped one earbud in so that he could listen to the feed. If anyone passed by him, they would think that he was just a regular teenager, hanging out and trying to get some peace and quiet away from his family or something. The wig- mousy brown, about as far away from Luka's normal teal as they could get- and the rest of his borrowed outfit would ensure that.

On his phone screen, the picture hung for a few seconds as the connection established, and then started moving. Chloe was pacing back and forth anxiously, her eyes flashing to her window every so often. Marinette was nowhere to be seen, but that was probably a good thing. Nothing looked out of place yet, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Marinette was smart enough to not leave any indication that she was there- or at least Luka assumed that she was. He was starting to reconsider his initial impression of Marinette, after all, because no one sane would try what she was doing.

(She- she did remember that she was dealing with a supervillain who could detect emotions, right? There was no way to know if he would be able to pick up the fact that there was more than one other person in the room, and that- that was dangerous.)

Marinette: No sign of Hawkmoth yet, but Chloe keeps muttering something about five minutes to go.

Luka let out a long breath, flipping back from his text messages to the video stream and dropping his head back to rest against the wall for a long moment. Normally, five minutes seemed like not a long time at all, flying by in a flash. Now, he suspected that it was going to stretch out into an anxious eternity.

A family tumbled by to go up to the pool for an evening swim, despite the lingering chill in the spring air. An older couple came down the stairs, nodding politely to Luka as they passed. There was a tense thirty seconds when Luka heard the elevator, but it whirred up past the top floor and up to the rooftop instead. On his screen, Luka watched as Chloe finally stopped pacing and spun around to face the window, peering out into the dark sky. Seconds later, the tall, forbidding silhouettes of Hawkmoth and Mayura appeared, stepping inside of Chloe's room.

"We're going to make this fast," Hawkmoth told Chloe as they came to stand in the middle of the room. He glanced around briefly, as though checking for anything out of place, and Luka's heart jumped up into his throat, but apparently nothing stood out. "We have one more person to stop by after this yet, but we want to make sure that you understand the rules first."

Chloe's expression turned sour. "I know the rules. This is hardly the first time that I've worn a Miraculous, and I'm not dumb."

Luka snorted at that. That was...debatable, honestly.

"Yes, I think the entire city is aware of your time spent as a superhero," Mayura commented cuttingly, one eyebrow raised in clear derision. "And you decided to go with the exact same transformation again despite that."

Chloe stomped a foot and yeah, Luka could definitely see why Hawkmoth had decided to trust her with a Miraculous. Not. "I didn't know that I could change it! You could have told me that. And anyway, it doesn't matter now because everyone's bought my story about it being someone else who's just jealous and trying to make me look bad. I got myself out of that problem, easy as pie. Everyone was dumb enough to believe me."

"Yes, well, we would like to avoid any more problems like that," Hawkmoth said, cutting off whatever Mayura was about to say. He took something out from under his arm- an octangular box, with a red design on the top and little golden circles on the side- and set it on a small side table. "So first of all, no wearing the Miraculous around. People will be on the lookout for it and even disguised, I think people will notice if you're wearing a comb. So have it in your purse, not in your hair. And do not leave during class to transform, that'll be too obvious."

"I know that."

The look Hawkmoth gave Chloe was dark, and shut her up quickly. "I can still change my mind, you know. Maybe it's inconvenient, but we can go back to just bringing you the Bee when we have a particularly promising akuma. That, of course, carries more risk to you, as someone could take a picture of you with us and prove that you're still the one behind Queen Bee."

Chloe went pale at that. Evidently she was smart enough to realize that even her father wouldn't be able to fully shield her from the fallout of something like that happening. "Right. I- I can be careful."

"Very good. And if you aren't, I will reclaim the Miraculous." Hawkmoth gave Chloe another long look, and she nodded quickly. "All right. If you can keep the Miraculous hidden and be subtle about joining fights- only ones when people won't notice you leaving- then we'll give you the Miraculous." He popped open the lid and- oh. Oh god. That was an entire chest of Miraculous. The fact that Hawkmoth had that...

Not good. Luka worried his lip, now more positive than ever that Marinette shouldn't be trying to steal the Bee. It was dangerous enough by itself, but when Hawkmoth had so many other Miraculous at his fingertips- sure, every Miraculous on the superheroes' side was a good thing, but was it worth it? It would just put a tiny dent in Hawkmoth's reserves. He probably wouldn't even care.

On-screen, Chloe had perked up. "You brought all of the Miraculous with you? You have all of them?"

"Most of them, but not the ones I need," Hawkmoth confirmed, passing over the Bee and then immediately shutting the box again and pushing it back a bit before Chloe could start rummaging through it. "As I said, we have someone else to visit today, and we have to figure out what Miraculous they might work best with."

"One Miraculous or more than one?" Chloe demanded, and Luka could see the greed in her eyes. "Can I have another Miraculous? That's more powers to use!"

Hawkmoth subtly nudged the Miracle Box back a bit more. "Not quite yet. I want the other person to have a full choice of the Miraculous. Besides, I want to see how you do with keeping the Bee secret first. We'll see later."

Chloe didn't look thrilled by that, but she clearly wasn't willing to push any more. "Right."

Wait. Hawkmoth had said he was going to be giving a Miraculous to another person, someone besides Chloe. Was there seriously another person in Paris selfish enough to want to side with the supervillain for- what? Their own gain? Revenge? Some other reason?

Whatever it was, Luka was willing to bet that it wasn't good.

"You haven't told anyone that you're still Queen Bee, correct?" Mayura demanded. "Anyone at all, even your friends?"

"No!" Chloe denied at once, but Luka could pick up the slight quiver to her voice. It was a lie, more likely than not. "I'm not going to tell anyone!"

Not going to tell and haven't told were two different things, but the supervillains seemed content.

"Very well. See that you keep it secret, then. If not..." Hawkmoth let the threat hang in the air. Chloe nodded frantically, shoving the comb into her hair with shaking hands.

And then behind them, the TV clicked on and Madam Chamack's voice filled the room, the volume turned way up. Marinette's distraction.

"-we continue covering the story of a local pet shelter-"

The supervillains both whirled around in surprise, followed by Chloe. There was a split-second of shock, and then Hawkmoth pulled a sword from his cane and lunged at the TV. Behind them, faster than lightning, Marinette popped up from behind the couch, swapped out the Bee Miraculous in Chloe's hair for a plain comb, and flung herself soundlessly back over the couch and into hiding again before anybody could turn around.

It was absolutely seamless, and very effectively covered by the sound of Chloe shrieking at Hawkmoth for destroying her giant TV. Marinette still was wearing the helmet and her dark, formfitting biking suit, but apparently had ditched the delivery jacket for the time being.

Considering that that was bright red, that was probably a smart move. Also, that was crazy smooth.

"Somebody has to be in here," Hawkmoth was saying onscreen, his voice carrying over Chloe's shrieks. There was a dark scowl on his face as he stepped forward, eyes scanning the room. Luka's heart jumped into his throat. "TVs do not just turn themselves on-"

"They do here!" Chloe shouted at him angrily, and, uh, had Marinette been sneaking into the Grand Paris on a regular basis to do that? There was no way that Chloe's TV just happened to have a problem that would provide the perfect excuse. "Mine has been doing that for the past week, and Daddy was going to have an electrician come in tomorrow to fix whatever the problem is, but now you've destroyed it! How am I meant to explain that?"

Hawkmoth paused, glancing over at Chloe. "This...is a known issue?"

"Ugh! I just said that, weren't you listening? It woke me up two nights ago at three in the morning! I had to unplug it last night so that I could get my beauty sleep!" Chloe stomped a foot, clearly unhappy. "And just because you're paranoid, you've destroyed it!"

"I think that you'll find that in this business, paranoia is better than letting your guard down," Hawkmoth told her, voice practically dripping with ice as he sheathed his sword. Clearly he wasn't going to spend any time trying to placate Chloe. "Perhaps you should have kept your TV unplugged, if you knew that it might turn on while we were here. Consider it a lesson. It'll give you practice in coming up with cover stories."

Chloe opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again, clearly fuming. For once, things weren't going Chloe's way and she had to accept that. Luka tried not to snicker at the expression on her face as his phone buzzed with an incoming text.

Marinette: Head out. Now.

"Wait, what?" Luka asked his phone, frowning, but he pushed away from the wall and started down the stairs regardless. Marinette was the boss of this operation, so he would listen to her. "Why?"

Marinette's grab of the Bee had gone smoothly- there was no reason for him to have to leave! All she had to do now was wait for the supervillains to leave and for Chloe to go to bed, and then Marinette could just stroll out of the room. Simple, and not- well, it was still a bit risky, but not nearly as much as before.

"Wait- Luka, is that you?"

Startled, Luka glanced away from his phone and came face-to-face with Adrien coming up the stairs and behind him, Kagami. She looked openly exasperated, which was odd. "Adrien?"

"It is you! What happened to your hair?" Adrien leaned closer. "Is that your natural color? Why are you wearing sunglasses at night?"

"It's a disguise," Luka admitted, honestly too surprised that Adrien had even recognized him to try to deny it. "What are you guys doing? I wasn't expecting to see you here."

Adrien's lips quirked up. "I could say the same to you, honestly. But, uh..." He glanced around, suddenly shifty. "We're here for, uh..."

"Oh, you might as well tell him instead of beating around the bush," Kagami cut across, exasperation clear in her voice. She elbowed Adrien, making him stumble to the side with an oof. "Adrien somehow found out that Chloe was getting the Bee Miraculous from Hawkmoth for good tonight, and he had the idea that he might actually be able to persuade Little Miss Selfish to turn back over to the good side, or at least return the Bee to Ladybug. I came to make sure that she wouldn't just skewer him and drop him in the Seine."

"I was also considering just trying to steal it from her," Adrien protested. "I mean, persuasion would have been my first step, but I don't think she would have expected stealing-"

Luka tried not to groan at that. What was this, Magical Jewelry Thievery Night and no one had told him? "You're too late. Marinette's already done that."

Adrien blinked, looking rather as though he had just been clobbered over the head with a codfish. "She- what?"

"Yeah, I've been playing lookout," Luka told them, holding up his phone. He could still hear Hawkmoth's voice in one ear, quizzing Chloe on his instructions. "And watching- Marinette has this camera-"

A loud FWOOOSH over his earbud cut Luka off, and he glanced back at his screen and promptly yelped. "There's fire! Why is there fire? Where did the fire come from? Oh my god-"

"We're leaving," Kagami decided for them when Adrien made to dash up the stairs and Luka had half-turned to follow him. She grabbed their hands and yanked, stopping them in their tracks. "Stop trying to play the hero, Marinette is fully capable of taking care of herself and getting out of there. Come on, let's go!"

Marinette caught up to them several blocks away, after Luka, Kagami, and Adrien had finally stopped. It was far enough away from the evacuated hotel crowds that they could talk without being overheard, but still within seeing distance of the Grand Paris. The fire in Chloe's room was still going, but not nearly as strong as before.

"Oh my gosh, you startled me," Luka said with a half-laugh, handing back his delivery bag- with his outfit and wig stuffed inside, since he hadn't wasted any time in shucking them once they were out of sight of the panicking crowd of guests. "And you somehow changed again? How?"

Marinette just shrugged, looking very put-together and not at all like someone who had just stolen magical jewelry and then committed arson. A dark blue jacket and long, swirling black skirt covered almost all of the bike suit, and her hair was pulled back in a low bun with a sprig of flowers tucked into it. If he ignored the rather strong smell of gunpowder and smoke lingering around her, Luka would think that she had just come from a date. "I hid more clothes in the alleyway that we changed in before. I thought it would be a good idea."

"You are absolutely insane," Kagami informed Marinette. Out of all of them, she seemed to be the only one to share Luka's opinion that the whole ordeal had been crazy and asking for trouble. "Insane. You and Adrien both, thinking that you could steal a Miraculous-"

"I did steal a Miraculous," Marinette pointed out, tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear. "More than one, in fact. The Bee and the Peacock and- wait, did you say that Adrien had the same idea?"

Luka's jaw dropped, staring at Marinette. She had done what now? "You got the Peacock? I- just- how? What?"

Seriously, he had thought that Marinette was just a relatively normal girl, celebrity connections aside. But this- had she gone to spy school or something to be able to pull a heist like that off by herself?

Marinette looked confused by his confusion, which, just. What. She hadn't told him that stealing a Miraculous from a transformed, experienced supervillain was part of the plan! Why would he not be confused?"Yeah? That was why I set the fire, so that they wouldn't be able to see me coming. I would have preferred to get Hawkmoth's Miraculous, but he was already more on edge and in a bad spot and it would have been harder." She shrugged. "Better to get a small fish and be able to eat than to go for a large fish instead and go hungry."

What.

"That's smart, Marinette!" Adrien said eagerly, apparently completely oblivious to how crazy all of this was and apparently either missing or ignoring the implication that Marinette thought that she could have potentially gotten Hawkmoth's Miraculous at all. "The superheroes might be able to use the Peacock create sentimonsters that are tailored to defeat Hawkmoth's akumas so that they can deal with Hawkmoth directly when he comes out! That's a really good Miraculous for them to have!"

...okay, seriously, was there something in the water at Adrien and Marinette's school? Luka wouldn't have been able to come up with an idea like that on the fly, without some serious outside influence. Unless he was actively fighting an akuma as a superhero, Luka wouldn't consider what the superheroes could do to fix it, just because- well, it wasn't his problem.

(That sounded bad, maybe, but it was true.)

"But Hawkmoth still has a number of other Miraculous on his side, does he not?" Kagami questioned. Her expression suggested that she, too, was choosing to ignore the absolute astronomical levels of crazy coming from their friends, at least for the time being. "I mean, I can recognize that any progress is good progress when it comes to getting Miraculous back, and that's a nice point that Adrien made about how they can use the Peacock to counter the akumas, but..."

Luka nodded, remembering what Hawkmoth had said. "Yeah, he had a giant box of Miraculous with him today. Apparently they were going to go visit another ally after giving Chloe the Bee."

Kagami startled at that bit of information and let out a string of words that, considering the context, Luka was assuming was rather colorful swearing in Japanese.

Marinette's lips quirked up into a little smirk that rather reminded Luka of Ladybug when one of her plans worked perfectly and she had taken down a particularly difficult akuma. "Well, about that..."

All three of them turned as one, gaping as Marinette opened the bag at her side and rotated the motorcycle helmet inside to reveal the Miracle Box jammed inside of it.

There- there was no way. How?

"Hawkmoth was too distracted by Mayura's Miraculous getting stolen and the fire to guard the box, too," Marinette explained, looking rather pleased with herself as she rotated the helmet back to hide the box and zipped her bag shut, holding it in front of her where she could keep an eye on it. "He was rushing to get her hidden and akumatized so that her identity wouldn't get revealed. So I grabbed the box on the way out."

"Did you use the Bee?" Adrien asked curiously. "I mean, to get out fast..."

"Yup!" Marinette grinned. "I used the light and distraction from my hairspray firebomb to transform with the Bee, and then I activated Sting pretty fast and got Mayura. Hawkmoth is a big scaredy-cat who would rather turn and run than fight when things aren't going his way, so he wasn't willing to get close."

...was Marinette human? All signs were starting to point to no. Luka was starting to think that if Marinette and Ladybug ever teamed up, Hawkmoth would be flattened in the time span of about an hour. Despite having never actually fought him before, Marinette didn't seem at all scared by Hawkmoth.

And that was honestly pretty unnerving.

"How was your evening, Luka?" Anarka asked as soon as Luka returned to their boat, absolutely exhausted and still smelling very faintly of smoke and gunpowder from the hotel and from standing next to Marinette. "Did it go well?"

Juleka grinned over at him from where she was working on her homework at their table. "How did the jewelry heist go? Did Alya catch you guys?"

Luka paused halfway through rummaging through their fridge for leftovers and turned to Juleka, frowning. "Wait, Alya? Why would Marinette try to steal something from Alya?"

"It was a dare- wait, you mean you weren't trying to get Alya's new bracelet?"

He wished. Not that retrieving Miraculous from a supervillain wasn't more productive or helpful, because it was, but just getting a bracelet for a dare would have been more fun and less worry. Knowing what he did, though, Marinette had probably been able to pull off that particular dare by herself and in the time span of about two minutes. "Uh, no?"

"Well, either way, you weren't the only one to have an exciting evening," Anarka told Luka, handing him a plate of food. "Have you heard yet? There was a huge fire at the top of the Grand Paris! They've gotten it put out now and the only person hurt at all was the mayor's daughter and it wasn't terribly serious, but it broke out really suddenly, it sounds like."

"Yeah, I know, I was there. That was Marinette," Luka told her, resigned to this apparently being his life now. He accepted the plate, striding across the room in a few quick steps before flopping down on the bench next to Juleka. Now that the adrenaline was gone and his heart rate was slowly inching back to normal, he was exhausted. All of his energy had just drained out of him, it seemed, and it wasn't a particularly good feeling. "Somehow she found out that Hawkmoth was going to bring Chloe the Bee Miraculous for good tonight- and she never did explain that- so she decided that she was going to steal it, and then while she was there, she decided to just, like, steal the Peacock and the entire box of inactive Miraculous Hawkmoth had with a can of hairspray and a lighter while she was at it. There might have been the contents of a firework or two too, Marinette wasn't entirely clear on that bit."

For the first time in a long while, his mom was left speechless. Juleka looked impressed.

"Rad."

"She wanted me to play lookout, so that she didn't have to worry about people coming in from the hallway unexpectedly, and I don't think I've ever been so stressed in my entire time." Luka let out a long breath, and yeah, his fingers were still shaking. Even if he had wanted to play guitar to try to relax, he wouldn't be able to. "And Marinette was completely calm, like this was something she did every day! Like, she rejoined us- oh, and by the way, Adrien also showed up to try to steal the Bee from Chloe, with Kagami as his backup, because that was apparently just the thing to do tonight- and she was just all, like, oh, by the way, I didn't JUST get the Bee, I also got the Peacock, and then just grabbed this entire box of Miraculous as a bonus on the way out, AND got footage of Chloe cooperating with Hawkmoth-"

"Oh, she did?" Juleka asked, perking up. "Sweet. Everyone knew that Chloe was lying, we just couldn't prove it."

Luka nodded. It had just been yet another absolutely unbelievable achievement of Marinette's. He had figured that, to get the Peacock and the Miracle Box, Marinette had to have cut her losses somewhere. Apparently not. "She said that she flung it away towards the door and out of reach of the flames before going for the Peacock, then circled back around to grab it after Hawkmoth ran off. She and Adrien were going back to her house to go over the footage and see if they could get any clues about who Mayura might have been."

"You didn't go with them?" Anarka asked, clearly disappointed. "That would have been so cool! Fire and fireworks and rebellion against supervillains- that sounds fantastic!"

"Adrien seemed excited about the idea and I had had enough excitement for one day, so I waited with Kagami until her driver came, and they gave me a ride back." It sounded like an underwhelming end to the night, Luka had to admit, but he had appreciated the opportunity to relax and talk with someone sane and not get roped into any more insane schemes.

Not, of course, that he didn't think that Marinette wasn't sane, but he hadn't expected her to come along with so much excitement.

And stress. Also stress. So much stress.

(Marinette was fantastic and creative and brave and all that, but Luka was starting to think that they might be better as friends, if that evening was any indication of what a relationship with Marinette might be like. His blood pressure wouldn't survive and, well, Marinette would probably do better with a partner who was fully willing to follow her into anything and be more than just a stressed-out lookout.)

"It would be really rad if they figured out who Hawkmoth is," Juleka said, clearly still fascinated. "Alya has been trying to figure that out for months. I bet that she would have loved to come along!"

Luka frowned. Yeah, that was true... and also very odd that Marinette apparently hadn't asked her best friend to play backup for her. The Ladyblogger seemed to thrive on danger and thrills, always taking risks during battles-

-and actually, that was probably why Marinette had decided against bringing Alya. Bravery was important, but so was restraint and common sense. Having someone who could very well decide to go rogue and burst into the room to try to get a scoop would be less than ideal. Besides, from what Luka had seen, Alya seemed to vastly overestimate her best friend's clumsiness and underestimate her frankly superhuman ability to get things done.

"Yes, I'm sure she would have," Anarka said, but her voice came out strange. Luka glanced up from his dinner with a frown, glancing over at his mom, but she was frowning down at her phone. "Luka, you said that Adrien was definitely going to the bakery with Marinette, right? There was no chance at all of him going straight to his house instead, right?"

"Yeah, he was going to Marinette's place," Luka confirmed, frowning. That seemed like a strange thing to suddenly focus on. "Why?"

Anarka hesitated, clearly deliberating for a moment, and Luka's frown deepened. He hadn't ever seen his mom like this before. Normally, she just told them whatever was on her mind, even if it was something that most parents would keep from their kids. Whatever she was seeing on her phone was bound to be serious.

"Mom?"

"I just hope you're right," Anarka finally said after another pause. "Because, well..." She crossed the room and held up her phone, and Luka's heart dropped into his stomach. Next to him, Juleka gasped.

Because there, on the screen, was the Agreste mansion, smoke wafting gently out of the smoking crater where the center of the house had previously been.

This is a one-shot and is complete, but there will be a companion piece coming up on how, exactly, Marinette managed to pull everything off. One hint: magic :)

#Miraculous Ladybug #My writing #Arson for the Greater Good #marinette dupain cheng #luka couffaine

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fatefulfaerie · 5 years ago

Text

Priority (Part 1/2)

Wind Waker Link and milk for @chocolit-mxlk.

He silently begrudged his height as he crossed his arms over the wood of the counter, his shoulders popping up. He knew this was normally a place for adults but he had to get taller sometime.

Right?

“Hey Link,” Gillian said. “What can I get for you today?”

“Four deku nut cakes,” Link ordered.

“Those pirates have you running errands again?” She said with a smile, adoring the boy.

“Yeah,” Link replied with a shrug.

“Anything else?” She prompted.

“Do you have the Lon Lon Milk in yet?” Link asked.

“Sorry, Link,” Gilllian said. “The island we get it from still hasn’t sent any shipments. I’d go ask myself but my pop is still sick. I can’t leave him alone and if I leave the cafe, I lose business. All we can do is practice patience and wait for them to sort themselves out. Everyone got hit by what has been happening on these oceans recently. It’s only a matter of time before they recover.”

Link nodded as Gillian placed a stack of four individually boxed deku nut cakes. Link looked forward to having something sweet on the ship, but doubted Tetra would let him have all he wanted.

“That comes to forty rupees,” Gillian prompted, Link pulling a purple gem from his pocket, to which Gillian furrowed her brow. She thought upon the oddity of a youth like him having so much money on him, but didn’t remark at it.

“Do you need change?” She asked.

“No, I…” Link started. “Can you tell me where that island is? I want to check for you.”

“You’re tipping me ten rupees for information?” She questioned. “Shouldn’t I be paying you for helping me get to the bottom of it all?”

Link shrugged.

“I...I don’t know,” Link said. “Is that normal? I just want to help.”

Gillian smiled. What a strange boy.

“It’s not far,” she said. “Straight north of Crescent Island. It’s hard to miss.”

“Thanks,” Link said with a nod and smile before taking the stack of cakes into his hands.

He started towards the door.

“Link,” Gillian prompted, Link looking behind him.

She tossed the purple rupee, Link catching it with nothing but surprise as he held the cakes with one arm.

“Humility is rare,” she said. “And so is selflessness. Do me a second favor and don’t grow out of them.”

Link nodded in acknowledgement before departing.

“You want to do what now?”

“It’s an island to the north,” Link explained. “It’s where the cows are, where their milk supply comes from.”

“Yeah, you’re on your own,” Tetra said, her head hung over the map. Their ship was docked at Windfall, yet it still was rocked by the waves of the ocean. “You have a lot to learn about pirates if you think milk is of any priority. This isn’t a cargo ship. Actually, it took quite a while to convince the boys that you weren’t cargo yourself. If you want to go off on your own, go ahead.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call it that,” Link tried to explain, but she was already walking away.

“I would come back!” He called after her.

But she had already closed the door to the innards of the ship, Link huffing a sigh of impatience before following in.

He looked from his right to left before seeing the burly pirate Nudge.

“Can’t allow you to go further, scrub,” Nudge said. “Miss Tetra’s cabin is private to her and her only.”

Tetra stood with a smirk and crossed arms just behind him.

“She’s right there!” Link said with a gesture pointing at her. “Can you just step aside?”

He didn’t budge. Link shook his head, forgetting about convincing this pirate out of his duty.

“Will you at least wait for me?” He asked Tetra, meeting her eyes past Nudge.

“Wait for you?” She retorted with a slight laugh.

“To get back from the island.”

“I suppose my boys can spend a few extra days here in Windfall,” Tetra said. “If they feel like it.”

“We’re staying longer?!” Niko asked from below the stairs, among the many pirates who were loading supplies. “That sounds great!”

Tetra’s eyes burned with frustration at his stupidity, her eyelids twitching.

“If we feel like staying,” she continued nonetheless. “Then maybe we’ll see you again. But you’re not in charge of anything. If we get a tip on a good loot, we’re gone. Not exactly part of our code to wait for people, especially people like you. We would get on without you fine.”

Link peered at her stoicism. He knew her better than her current demeanor. This ship hadn’t pirated anyone for as long as he’d been in the picture. Perhaps her main concern at one point, it wasn’t anymore.

“Right,” he said slowly.

They were both there when the King of Hyrule instructed them to find new land together. He knew her better than the front she put up. Perhaps cold on the outside, he had seen her vulnerability clear as day when she assumed her identity as Princess Zelda.

Link copied Tetra’s smirk.

“Well, I guess I’ll be going then,” Link said, walking off. “See ya later, Princess.”

Her face fumed red with anger at that one word. Tetra pushed herself past Nudge only to see the door to the outside latching closed.

She pursed her lips.

“Remind me again why he joined our crew?” Nudge asked.

“He’s good with a sword,” Tetra reasoned. “Better than any of you. Besides, he bested Niko. Anyone that can put that sniveling sailor in his place is welcome on this ship.”

“But he’s so small,” argued the pirate.

“He’s as tall as I am,” Tetra said, looking behind her to Nudge. “Is there a problem with that?”

“N-no,” he stammered. “O-of course not, Miss. No problem at all.”

“Thought so,” Tetra said, facing the door again.

Her eyes scanned the door and thought about chasing after Link with what she wanted to say. A good luck or a goodbye that came from a place within her that was hard to dig for. Only when she wore that dress or when she saw him come face to face with death was her sincerity easy to access.

Here, she was the pirate Tetra, the orphan, the successor to her mother. Her crew saw her a certain way but Link saw that side of her that her mother’s death had hidden. In fact, it was him and his adventures that pulled it out of her, proved it existed. Maybe someday she would learn to show it again.

“Don’t die, Link,” she said quietly, apparently to no one. “You’re good at not dying. Keep it up.”

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

The small red boat creaked as the sail folded down, the wind that had caught upon the sail now whizzing past the boat instead, the speed of the boat slowing considerably.

His brown boots sank into the sand as soon as they could, Link hopping down from the soulless form of the King of Red Lions.

The island was larger than Windfall as he peered with wide eyes. The ground was flat and, after a stretch of sand, had green grass that spread for at least a mile. If this island were on his map, it likely would have taken up most of its designated square.

Link saw the cows in the distance as he walked towards the first house, as well as other animals like pigs and sheep and cuccos. He knocked on the door with the courage he could always depend on.

“Come in,” he heard a voice holler.

The man Link opened the door to was surprised, his eyebrows moving upwards with a twinge.

“Well, hello young man,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “What can I do for you today?”

“I’m here on behalf of the Cafe Bar on Windfall Island.”

“Yes, I expected someone would come eventually,” he said with a couple nods. “Although I expected it to be that Gillian. My son actually fancies her quite a bit.”

Link’s expression was unchanged, only blinking in his unamusement.

The man cleared his throat.

“Yes, well,” he said. “I suppose you’ll understand when you’re older. If you’re here about the milk shipments, there’s nothing I can do. You see, there were rumors of a Ghost Ship around these parts. I didn’t believe it and sent shipments anyway, but none of them ever came back. I lost two ships, two men, and about four dozen boxes of goods. I’m not risking it again.”

“But the Ghost Ship is gone,” Link said with a creased brow. “I got rid of it myself.”

“You?” The man said with a slight chuckle. “You expect me to believe some nine-year-old got rid of a ship that haunts the seas?”

“I’m twelve,” Link corrected.

“Still.”

“Send me to Windfall with a shipment of milk,” Link insisted with a step forward. “If I make it there and back in one piece with the rupees I receive from Gillian, then you will start sending shipments again. If I die, you can keep the rupees I leave here, as well as anything you’d like from the pirates of these seas.”

“How do you know them?” The man asked.

Link held his hand in offering without answering the question.

“Deal?” Link prompted with a tip of his head.

The man hesitated.

“How much money are we talking about?”

Keeping his hand right where it was, Link pulled out his entire wallet and threw it to the man, who caught it with a visible surprise.

He looked inside and his eyes immediately widened before scrunching it closed.

“For Farore’s sake, how does a twelve year old kid get so much money?” He whispered.

“Deal?” Link repeated.

The man let out a chuckle. All this just for some milk? This kid must have known he was getting the short end of the stick.

But, if he’s going to profit off of some kid and his death wish, then he may as well profit from it. The deal literally ended in either business with Windfall that would set him and his family for life or an amount of rupees that would set him and his family for life.

“Deal,” he said, shaking Link’s hand.

#tloz #Wind Waker #windwaker #link #tetra #zelda #the legend of zelda

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revisionaryhistory · 5 years ago

Text

Three Days ~ 59

~*~Emma~*~

The lake had been fun. It was initially awkward, but after we loaded into the boat and were underway it got better. I snagged a spot up front in the bow. I was joined by three girls, now women, I’d known well in high school. We started by talking about our current lives and by the time we'd found a spot to anchor we were telling old stories and laughing through our memories. Once the four of us had reconnected the others were easy with conversations and groupings overlapping. An hour later it felt like old times. There were lots of pictures taken and we were texting them to each other immediately. I posted some on Instagram and sent some directly to Sebastian. I had no problem posting bikini-clad pictures of me in a group, but solo went only to him. I've never been one for posting me. It's usually an activity with people.

There was a dock near the southeast border of the lake for gassing up and they had a sandwich shop. Sandwich included hot dogs, hamburgers, french fries, and onion rings. We decided to eat at the picnic tables. Stowing food was more to pack up and could stink. We were relaxing and waiting for the last ones to finish when my notification went off. Chris Evans was asking permission to follow my account. Interesting. Approved. Not a minute later so was Chace Crawford. Also approved, but with a snarky DM about his pickup lines. He'd hit on me at Kirk's wedding. Very unsuccessfully.

Emma ~ Tell Chris hi and nice to meet him.

Sebastian ~ We’re not talking about you. Much. Ok, we are. Sebastian ~ We're mostly looking at pictures.

Emma ~ The ones on your phone are much better than IG

Sebastian ~ Chace will be the one to figure that out.

Chris DM'd me, “Can't wait to meet you in person. Hearing very sweet things.”

I sent back, "A few are true. He exaggerates."

"Yeah, he's got a huge crush on you."

"Nice to know."

We watched sunset out on the water. It was beautiful. The haze and clouds made for muted pinks, purples, blues, and grays. I took a dozen of those hoping to catch the perfect one. I was in a group of people, but the sunset had me feeling lonely. It was fleeting and I was back into the party spirit quickly.

Amy thought it was a good idea to take everyone back to our house for a pool party. I did not agree. Our parents were home babysitting their granddaughter and we were about to invade with a hoard of drunk friends. All of whom were inviting more and asking them to pick up booze. It felt very high school and in need of at least a phone call. However, it was Amy’s idea and no one wanted to hear from me last night. I wouldn’t be calling ahead.

I went inside to go to the bathroom and ran into dad. "What's all that noise we just got Katie in bed?"

"Amy invited some friends back to the pool."

"You’re teenagers again."

"Seems like it."

"Try and keep it down."

"I will tell her." Not my party. Not my crowd control. I did my business and went back outside. Amy was making out with Max in the pool. I tapped on her head, breaking their kiss, "Dad said to keep it down."

They went back to kissing. I'd deemed my message delivered and headed to the bar, putting in the code and retrieving a bottle of tequila. When I stood up, I was surprised to see Kai on the other side of the bar. Kai was the boyfriend who broke up with me after rehab. Kai's hands were shoved in the pockets of his swim shorts. He nodded toward the group, "Amy said you'd be ok with me coming. I wanted to check."

My current plan for Amy’s death was drowning. She was already in the pool after all. I pasted a less than genuine smile on my face, "It's fine, Kai. It was a long time ago. How are you?"

Kai was very southern lawyer attractive. Thinking back, he always had been. "I’m good. I did become a lawyer. Work for a firm here in Alpharetta. I got married three years ago. Her name is Melanie. We're expecting a baby in January."

"Congratulations. That’s wonderful."

He nodded, "Thank you. What are you up to?"

"I teach first grade, love it. I play in a volleyball rec league. My best friend's in a band so I go into the city and visit. My boyfriend lives there too."

Kai laughed, "I might have heard about him."

"I bet. He's a good guy. Lots of fun and good to me.”

"Better than I was, I’m sure."

Ah! This was going to be some sort of apology. I cringed and pulled up my shades for a second, "Well Kai, you did break up will me three days after I got back from rehab. You kinda failed at supportive boyfriend."

"Yeah, I did. Sorry. In hindsight, it was a shitty thing to do. Bad timing and a lie of a reason."

"I knew that."

"Sorry. I’ve always felt guilty."

I smiled, "It was a long time ago, Kai. We've grown up. We're both doing well."

"I wish we could go back to friends again. We were friends since middle school."

I don't think he realized that made it worse. We’d been friends before we were anything else and none of that mattered when he left me. It didn’t matter to me now. “I stopped being angry with you a very, very long time ago, Kai. Forgave you for leaving me when I needed you. But there’s no reason for us to be friends now. I come back a couple of times a year. You and I are strangers now. And while I have forgiven you, I’d never trust you again.” His guilt is not a reason for me to welcome him back into my life.

“Wow.” He looked surprised.

I smiled, “I wish nothing but the best for you.” I leaned back to see under the bar and brought up a couple of glasses. “Drink to old times?”

He looked surprised again. “Yeah, Em.”

“Good.” I poured the tequila and tapped my glass against his. “To happy memories and years of fun times.”

We both drank and he walked around to my side of the bar. It was my turn to be surprised when he hugged me, “I wish nothing but the best for you too, Emma.”

I patted his back, “Thank you.”

Kai let go and walked back toward the pool.

I tell you what, this has been the strangest visit I’ve ever had and that’s saying a lot. I’m starting to get paranoid about what the next three days are going to bring. I poured another tequila and questioned my decision to not hop back on a plane last night. I could be home in my bed or in the city tucked into Sebastian’s bed waiting for him to get home or out with Eli and Angie. All preferable to this mixed bag of what the fuck.

I hung out for another hour before letting Amy I was heading to bed. Family day was supposed to start at about noon. That gave me time to sleep in a little, go for a run, and shower before arrivals started. Of course, because I had time to sleep in, I woke up at my normal time. I texted Sebastian, saying good morning, and was pleasantly surprised when his face showed up on my phone.

“It’s morning, but good is a stretch.”

He looked a little rough, but still handsome. “Good night with the boys?”

Sebastian nodded then winced, “Very.” He filled me in on his night. There’d been lots of laughs and he gave me back story on any conversations. I liked watching him talk. In his hungover state, he was less animated than usual, but his expressions and eyes still conveyed a range of emotions. I laughed at the late-night stories. My favorite was Chris edging between Chace and Sebastian in the bathroom, sharing a urinal with Seb because he couldn’t wait.

My stories weren’t nearly as funny. It’s possible things got out of hand after I’d gone to bed. I’m sure Amy would fill me in. I told him about the conversation with Kai.

“Ouch, you’re tough.”

I rolled to my side, putting the phone against the pillow, “It’s not my responsibility to ease his guilt.”

“True.”

“If we were going to be around each other my response might have been different, but there’s no reason. Haven’t seen him in twelve years, likely won’t for at least that long. We talked at the party, laughed. We’re just not going to be friends.”

“No, no, I get it.” He was shaking his head. “I think you might still be a little angry.”

I laughed, “Maybe I should have been less direct. I wasn’t expecting to see him. More indifferent than angry.”

“I don’t know if you should have. I just don’t want to be on the receiving end of your directness. The indifferent version.” He smiled with his using my word instead of his “angry”. “You were pretty direct with Drew in the bar too. I like you having a little bite.” He looked like he was thinking and I stayed quiet. “You are incredibly kind until you’re not. I mean, I think you give everyone the benefit of the doubt, but once they cross over the line where you don’t trust them you have no problem putting them in their place. That’s a good thing. Sometimes people don’t deserve the benefit of the doubt.”

“Ed tells me I let people get away with too much.”

“Do you think so?”

“Sometimes. I can give too many chances. It all depends on how much I care about someone and the size of the bad behavior. I think I’m usually direct and kind at the same time, but when I’ve had enough, I’ve had enough.”

“I tend to sugar coat too much. Then get pissy when nothing changes and sometimes it’s because I wasn’t clear.”

Now I had a question. “Are you sugar-coating and think I was mean to Kai?”

“I was imagining being on the receiving end. I wouldn’t have liked it, but, no, I don’t think you were mean.”

“You’d have to fuck up a lot.” Sebastian’s opinion was important. “I’m direct with the good stuff too.”

“I know you are.” His blue eyes lit up with his smile. “I always know where I stand, how you feel.”

Not always. Not right now. “You read me bedtime stories when I’m sad.”

“And you ask me what I need when I’m anxious.”

“Quite the pair.”

“Yes, we are.”

We just looked at each other for a long time. “Your flight is at three.”

“Twelve, moved up to squeeze in a dinner tonight.”

I looked at the time on my phone, “You need to get to the airport.”

“Yeah.” He turned the camera where I could see his bags. “All packed. I’ll call you when I get back to the hotel for our date.”

Our phone sex date. I smiled and kissed my screen, “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Definitely.”

I laid in bed for a few more minutes, just enjoying being happy, before I got up and got dressed to go for a run. Mom and dad were already downstairs having coffee. I walked around the table, kissing both of their cheeks, “I’m going for a run before everyone gets here.”

Mom nodded over her cup, “How late was everyone here last night?”

I shrugged, “I went to bed about ten. Long day in the sun and then old friends showing up. I was done. Kai showed up. That was less than fun.”

“You left your sister to manage all your friends?”

Notice how they failed to ask how I was after an unexpected visit from my ex-boyfriend. I know I did. I thought about the conversation with Sebastian and what he’d said about some people not deserving the benefit of the doubt. The other night was the first time I’d been so confrontational with my parents in a very long time. Like since I was sixteen right before I moved to Seattle. I took a deep breath and tried to pull in some of the calmness I’d had upstairs in bed. “Guys, we’re almost thirty, not thirteen. Hopefully, we’ve grown out of getting so drunk we knock over patio furniture and throw up in the pool. If not, they are Amy’s problem. They are her friends, not mine. She invited them over. I haven’t seen most of these people for over ten years. And are you telling me in addition to not talking too much about my boyfriend or anything else that makes me happy, I am also expected to babysit my sister?”

“Emma, you’re overreacting.”

Again, with the fucking overreacting. I’m not an overreactor. If anything, I’m an underreactor. I’m positive I’m not overeating here. I guess it’s nice to know it’s not they don’t like Sebastian and don’t want to talk about him. They don’t want to talk about Kai either and I know they liked him. I muttered, “Unbelievable”, as I headed for the front door.

I ran far longer than I'd planned.

It took a long time to calm my mind and get into the zone. What often happens once I let go of my thoughts and get into a rhythm is that the thoughts organize themselves. When I stopped or during cool down I could see things more clearly. What I saw when I slowed my pace to a walk wasn't pretty. It had been my choice to leave rehab when it was no longer good for me. It had been my choice to call Ed to get me away from here when it was no longer good for me. I don't remember my parents favoriting Amy before that summer. Twenty-three days that strengthened me and weakened Amy. Broke my family and gave me a new one.

Choices, even ones that are good for you, have consequences. A tangled web of choices and consequences have led to now. This isn't my home. My parents' focus, as it had been since I went to Seattle or before, was Amy. I didn't agree with how they sheltered her, but I hadn't been here. In their view I was strong, I was fine, and they didn't have to worry about me. I had another family to worry about me. When I thought about it like this, it made sense. I'd left because being here was a threat to me. Now me being here was a threat to Amy. The situation was fucked. We'd all done the best we could. We still were. If what I'd told Sebastian was true, I wouldn't change anything if it meant I didn't know Ed, Jill, Olivia, and Harper. I had to accept the negatives too. I don't know what that means for the future, but as Ed tells me I put up with things too long sometimes.

I arrived back at the house as everyone was finishing breakfast. I'd separated myself from family time by taking a run. Or maybe I'd taken a run because I was separate from my family. I poured a cup of coffee and joined them at the table, helping myself to the container of Greek yogurt and covering it with berries. Blueberries for Sebastian and raspberries for me. That made me smile.

After I showered Amy and I went to pick up my grandparents. Amy told me what happened after I'd gone to bed, including her and Max having sex on the big round double lounger. I told her... nothing. I didn’t tell her about my fights with our parents, I didn’t tell her about the conversation with Kai. I most certainly didn't tell her about my phone sex date later with Sebastian, the early morning just woke up FaceTime, or how he'd read me Winnie the Pooh until I fell asleep. I hated it. I hated how yesterday we were back to talking like sisters and today it was not. Again, my choice, but I knew she’d tell our parents, which under any other circumstance would be fine, but I could not take any more. I could, but I didn’t want to.

The back yard easily held the gathering of aunts, uncles, and cousins. Kids played in the pool while adults talked with glasses of sangria and bottles of beer. The last stragglers were finishing their drinks when Katie crawled into my lap. She wanted me to take her to bed and read her a story. When the book was done, she curled up next to me, looked up, and said, "I love you, Emma."

I kissed her nose, "I love you, too.”

I joined my parents and sister in the family room. Amy explained they hadn't known how long I'd be with Katie and had started a movie without me. I lied and said it was fine, I'd seen it. There couldn't have been much left when “Dancing Queen” started playing from my phone. I stood up, "That’s Sebastian. He's in Canada. I'm going to take it upstairs. See you in the morning."

Mom yelled after me, "We need to leave at nine-thirty."

"OK." I connected the call, "Hey, baby, how was your flight and dinner?"

"Bumpy."

"Which one?"

"Both." His laughter was a balm that smoothed away the roughness of the day. "How was the barbeque and why can't I see you?"

I shut the door behind me and switched the call to video. "I was waiting until I could get you alone."

Sebastian put his arms across his chest, "What kind of a boy do you think I am?"

"A very handsome one." The top three buttons of his white dress shirt were unbuttoned and his tie hung loosely around his neck. "Damn, you look good."

"So do you."

I was in a plain peach t-shirt. He didn't care. To him, I looked good. I went back to his question, "It was fun. Caught up with lots of family. Watched kids in the pool. Mostly sat with my grandparents. Granny was happy to hold my hand and tell me I’m beautiful."

Sebastian's mouth dropped open in a gasp, "I like doing that too." He turned his head to the side looking over my face, "You don't look sad, but you don't look happy either. What's going on with you?"

I looked up for an answer, "I am accepting the reality of the situation. This isn't really home or really my family anymore. Their priority is Amy."

His face fell, "I’m sorry, baby. What can I do? What do you need?"

I smiled a real smile, "Nothing I don't already have." I could see he was struggling to believe me. "Since we were sixteen, they took care of Amy and Ed took care of me. I didn't realize exactly what that meant. Amy is doing better than she ever has. I always thought that when Amy was better." I stopped myself to figure out how I wanted to say this. "It took me coming home while things are good to realize it doesn't matter. Even if she is fine it's all a house of cards. I expected at some time things would be normal, but it won't be. I am changing my expectations."

"How do stop expecting your parents to support you?"

Good question. "You know why Jimmy and I broke up."

"He cheated."

"My parents do not. Amy didn't until Friday."

"Why not?" Sebastian's sadness for me was tinged with anger.

The list of things my parents didn’t know was long. "Just telling them we'd split. I felt like I might drown. The way they wanted to baby and take care of me felt like an anchor around my neck, like I was incapable of surviving a breakup. When I came here for Christmas, they had all these ideas for my life, but they never asked what I wanted. I knew if I told them he'd cheated it would be ten times worse. Does this make any sense?" It wasn't completely clear to me so how could it be to him.

Sebastian rubbed his fingers over his beard, pulling at the grey patch. "I hurt my knee once. They told me to take it easy for twenty-four hours, ice it, stay off it. Then I had exercises and had to move. Walking hurt like hell but it was the best thing if I wanted to heal. Your parents wanted you on bed rest when what you needed was PT. Support to get on your feet. Support should help, not cripple you."

"Exactly!" I smiled and ran my fingers over the video version of his face. "So not having their support isn’t new. I am working on accepting that's not going to change." I watched Sebastian bite his lip and let it slip free. "What's that about?"

"I feel lucky to know you. I'm so fucking proud of you. You don't get stuck in self-pity; you dig yourself out. It's the difference between seeing yourself as a victim or just someone who had something bad happen. They keep Amy stuck and Ed taught you resilience."

My heart stopped and I forgot how to breathe. Not in the good way. In the almost a panic attack way.

"I can do that with work, most things. Relationships." He scrunched up his face and rocked his head from side to side. "I'm learning."

"I'm not always good at it either." Sometimes I needed my ass kicked.

"That’s ok. I'll be here to help. You're still learning too."

I felt a slow smile form across my face and Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you supposed to be teaching me something tonight?"

I fought back the laugh at the way he squeezed his eyes shut and scrunched up his face. It took a good ten seconds for him to come back to me. I let go of the lip I was biting, "You ok there?"

"You cause me physical pain." He chuckled and smiled looking at me.

I don't think he minds all that much. "Where's it hurt, baby?" I dropped the tone and volume of my voice.

He made the face again and pointed his finger at me. "Turn off the camera."

My eyes went wide, "Why?"

"The first time I watch you get yourself off is going to be live."

"You have a lot of phone sex rules, Bastian." Still, I switched the phone to voice only. My screen went dark. I pouted. Not that he could see.

"Stop pouting and tell me what you're wearing."

I resisted the urge to tell him if he let me turn the damned camera back on, I'd show him. I didn't need to be taught how to do this. I was confident I could wing it just fine. What I didn’t know was if this was to be purely descriptive, giving each other instructions, or a role-play. It didn't matter. Any would be fun.

"I have on a peach t-shirt. It's not tight, but it fits against my body. Soft. My shorts are white. If you listen close, I bet you can hear me unzip them," I moved my phone lower to make sure he could. I left the phone by my hip, "I'm going to go ahead and take them off. My legs are smooth against my fingers."

"Take off your shirt too. Tell me about your bra and panties." His voice had taken on the timbre it gets when he's turned on.

"Nothing special. No one to see them. Simple white cotton. They do look nice against my tan."

"Next time we're together I’m licking those tan lines."

"Mmm, I'm looking forward to that. Tell me about you."

"Dressed from dinner. Black pants, long sleeve white shirt, black tie. You saw. Tie undone. A couple of buttons open and sleeves rolled up."

"Unbutton them all, but leave your shirt on. I like you undone. What’s going on with your pants?"

"They're tight. I’m not completely hard."

"Take them off. Rub yourself over your boxers. I love feeling you grow in my hand or my mouth. Your skin is so soft."

"Spread your legs. Touch yourself. Over your panties. I want them wet.” I heard a change in his breathing. Subtle. “I’m hard. Had to adjust my boxers. My cock's up toward my stomach where I can rub the underside. Feels good." He let out a little moan and I could easily imagine the little smile on his face.

"Take your cock out. I've got my hand over my pussy. Massaging myself. Warm. Panties are a little damp. I can tell I'm wet though. I can feel it."

"What's it like, Emma?"

"All the blood’s rushed between my legs. There's an ache, a throbbing, almost like I can feel my heart beating. An itch I need to scratch."

"My hand's around my cock. Slow strokes along the whole length. I flip my thumb over the tip every so often." His breath caught. "Hits the spot, you know the one, sends a jolt, like a shock through me. Feels even better when it's your tongue."

"Fuck. Your talking has me squirming. My hand is in my panties. My middle finger sliding from my clit to inside me. So slippery. How tight is your grip?"

"Tight. Not stroking my length anymore. Turned my hand around where my thumbs against the vein. Holding tight above the middle to the edge of the head. Feels good. Thinking about you touching your clit."

"Moving up and down, kind of slow. Tightening my muscles like you're inside me."

Words stopped, but it wasn't quiet.

Our breathing had synced up and there were these little catches, sighs, and soft moans.

"Faster and firmer now."

"Me too. I'm close."

I might not be able to see him, but I knew exactly what he looked like. His face, his body, were starting to tense.

"Feels good. Not as good as you touching me. Not even close."

"If I was there, I'd put my hand over yours. Feel how you like to be touched. So, I can match it. I'd kiss along your neck, taste you. My other hand, my fingers, barely touching your side, over your hip, across your thigh." The last word was interrupted.

" Em... fuck... yes..." Then a few seconds of silence followed by a long sigh.

"Where are you, baby?"

"Unhooked my bra. Nipples so tight."

"Perfect for me to suck on. I'd use my teeth. Run my hand up your inner thigh. Touching close. I can look down and see you touching yourself. God, how much I want to shove your hand away and taste you. Make you come."

"Oh fuck... Bastian." Everything tightened up then let go.

His voice was in my ear, "Turn your camera back on."

When I picked the phone up off my chest his face was already there. I hit the button and saw my face appear in the small rectangle. "Now you want to see me." I stretched with a contented sigh.

"I always want to see you after you come. The way your mouth is open and you lick your lips. Beautiful."

I rolled to my side, "What's an orgasm feel like for you?"

"Tonight. Mmm, for a while it just felt good. Like any touch, nothing special, except the where. Only more. Then it's like a switch. Goes from feels good to oh shit this is amazing. Starts where I’m touching and spreads down to my balls and lower stomach, base of my spine. It's like tightening a spring until it can't anymore and just let’s go."

"Is sex different? The orgasm."

"Oh yeah." His smile and eyes told me he drifted away a little. "I'll tell you all about it next time we have sex." Sebastian raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Similar. Like you said just feels good. More of a building for me though. Sometimes it's a slow steady increase. Other times like stair steps. I have to remind myself to relax or I clench my butt and thighs too much."

"I've noticed this. You start to rise off the bed and I have to hold you down." He was clearly enjoying the memory. "Does it change how it feels?"

I nodded, "Tightening up takes the focus away. Eventually, everything gets warm, tingly, and tightens up. Finally, it's like a wave breaking on the shore with muscle contractions."

"I feel those."

"I like the resistance of having something to hold onto." His eyes had questions. I had to search for a workable metaphor. "If you're sitting in a chair and lift your foot you can feel your thigh tighten, but if you're on a leg machine with weights you feel that muscle more."

Awareness hit him, "Really?" I nodded again. "I knew you liked, but I like knowing the why." He laughed, "I love these talks."

I joined in his laughter, "It is fun."

"Hang on a sec." He laid his phone next to him and I could hear him moving around.

"What are you doing?"

Sebastian picked his phone back up, "There was a mess to clean up."

It is so sexy that he told me this. The whole conversation is sexy. Lying in bed a thousand miles apart having a casual chat about a not at all casual topic is sexy as fuck.

"What did you use?" I was amused.

He looked at me with disbelief. Not sure if it was the question or that he was going to answer. "My underwear. They were nearby." He stood up and lifted the tie as he walked. "Can I get rid of this now?"

"Do I get to see your bare chest?"

"Do I get... ok well, there we go. Thank you."

I'd shifted my camera lower and flashed him naked breasts before he finished asking. I moved back to my face, "You're welcome."

He held his phone out where I could watch him free his arm and be shirtless. I made an appreciative noise and he asked, "Enjoying yourself?"

"I am." I hadn’t intended to lick my lips. "I'd like to lay by a pool with you. Or a beach."

"Easily arranged." He stretched out on the bed. "What haven't we done that you want to do?"

"In general, or sex."

He shrugged, "Sex is the topic. Tonight anyway."

"I want you to give me a full body massage that veers off track to a happy ending."

"That will be just as much fun for me." His face showed his interest. "I want you to tie me to the bed, blindfold me, and do whatever you want to me."

I sat up enough to take my bra off, giving him another peek "We're going to need a weekend locked in one of our bedrooms."

"My weekend is free. I think I have company coming Thursday."

"My departure time keeps creeping up to get to you sooner.”

He sang, "Oh what a lucky boy."

“Pretty soon I’ll get there before you, waiting on the floor outside your apartment.” I got hit with a memory, "We need to talk about your birthday. What do you want?"

"Well, that depends on how you feel about birthday sex? I like birthday sex. Not a deal-breaker, not my preference, but fun for a change."

He stretched out on the bed and stuck his phone to his leg. I could see chest up. I propped my head upon my hand and adjusted my phone. "I'm speaking from limited experience here." Sebastian tried very hard not to smile. He failed, but he tried. "You're such a man."

He stopped trying, "You're such a woman." His laughter was a wonderful sound.

"Less than good experience the first time because neither of us realized the amount of prep work required." He winced. I shrugged. "Next time I’d researched. I liked it, he didn't. He was too in his head, worried about being dirty. Then there's you. I knew what I was doing more in theory than practice."

"You should feel free to practice on me anytime you want." He cocked his head to the side. "You can come in and brush your teeth while I pee, but that's as far as I want to go there."

"Women have complete conversations while trading places in a bathroom."

"The group bathroom break cracks me up."

"We don't want to stop talking or want to talk about a cute guy in private."

"Mostly the last one." He wasn't wrong. "Oh..." he shook his head and pulled his eyebrows down, "not into period sex. But you've got an IUD. Do you even have a period?"

"Nope, happy side effect." Condoms eliminated the need for the birth control talk. "How do you know I have an IUD? Can you feel the strings?"

"My fingers are up there a lot."

I smirked, "You're dirty."

"About to be dirtier. Turn off your camera."

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #fanfiction #sebastian stan X ofc #marvel actor fanfiction

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syrenki · 5 years ago

Text

current mood is There are two twins on motorbikes but one is farther up the road, beyond

the hairpin turn, or just before it, depending on which twin you are in

love with at the time. Do not choose sides yet. It is still to your advan-

tage to remain impartial. Both motorbikes are shiny red and both boys

have perfect teeth, dark hair, soft hands. The one in front will want to

take you apart, and slowly. His deft and stubby fingers searching every

shank and lock for weaknesses. You could love this boy with all your

heart. The other brother only wants to stitch you back together. The

sun shines down. It’s a beautiful day. Consider the hairpin turn. Do not

choose sides yet.

There are two twins on motorbikes but one is farther up the road. Let’s

call them Jeff. And because the first Jeff is in front we’ll consider him

the older, and therefore responsible for lending money and the occa-

sional punch in the shoulder. World-wise, world-weary, and not his

mother’s favorite, this Jeff will always win when it all comes down to

fisticuffs. Unfortunately for him, it doesn’t always all come down to

fisticuffs. Jeff is thinking about his brother down the winding road be-

hind him. He is thinking that if only he could cut him open and peel him

back and crawl inside this second skin, then he could relive that last mile

again: reborn, wild-eyed, free.

There are two twins on motorbikes but one is farther up the road, beyond

the hairpin turn, or just before it, depending on which Jeff you are. It

could have been so beautiful—you scout out the road ahead and I will

watch your back, how it was and how it will be, memory and fantasy—

but each Jeff wants to be the other one. My name is Jeff and I’m tired

of looking at the back of your head. My name is Jeff and I’m tired of

seeing my hand me down clothes. Look, Jeff, I’m telling you, for the

last time, I mean it, etcetera. They are the same and they are not the

same. They are the same and they hate each other for it.

Your name is Jeff and somewhere up ahead of you your brother has

pulled to the side of the road and he is waiting for you with a lug wrench

clutched in his greasy fist. 0 how he loves you, darling boy. 0 how, like

always, he invents the monsters underneath the bed to get you to sleep

next to him, chest to chest or chest to back, the covers drawn around

you in an act of faith against the night. When he throws the wrench into

the air it will catch the light as it spins toward you. Look—it looks like

a star. You had expected something else, anything else, but the wrench

never reaches you. It hangs in the air like that, spinning in the air like

that. It’s beautiful.

Let’s say God in his High Heaven is hungry and has decided to make

himself some tuna fish sandwiches. He’s already finished making two

of them, on sourdough, before he realizes that the fish is bad. What is

he going to do with these sandwiches? They’re already made, but he

doesn’t want to eat them.

Let’s say the Devil is played by two men. We’ll call them Jeff. Dark

hair, green eyes, white teeth, pink tongues—they’re twins. The one on

the left has gone bad in the middle, and the other one on the left is about

to. As they wrestle, you can tell that they have forgotten about God, and

they are very hungry.

You are playing cards with three men named Jeff. Two of the Jeffs seem

somewhat familiar, but the Jeff across from you keeps staring at your

hands, your mouth, and you’re certain that you’ve never seen this Jeff

before. But he’s on your team, and you’re ahead, you’re winning big,

and yet the other Jeffs keep smiling at you like there’s no tomorrow.

They all have perfect teeth: white, square, clean, even. And, for some

reason, the lighting in the room makes their teeth seem closer than they

should be, as if each mouth was a place, a living room with pink carpet

and the window’s open. Come back from the window, Jefferson. Take off

those wet clothes and come over here, by the fire.

You are playing cards with three Jeffs. One is your father, one is your

brother, and the other is your current boyfriend. All of them have seen

you naked and heard you talking in your sleep. Your boyfriend Jeff gets

up to answer the phone. To them he is a mirror, but to you he is a room.

Phone’s for you, Jeff says. Hey! It’s Uncle Jeff, who isn’t really your

uncle, but you can’t talk right now, one of the Jeffs has put his tongue

in your mouth. Please let it be the right one.

Two brothers are fighting by the side of the road. Two motorbikes have

fallen over on the shoulder, leaking oil into the dirt, while the interlocking

brothers grapple and swing. You see them through the backseat

window as you and your parents drive past. You are twelve years old.

You do not have a brother. You have never experienced anything this

ferocious or intentional with another person. Your mother is pretending

that she hasn’t seen anything. Your father is fiddling with the knobs

of the radio. There is an empty space next to you in the backseat of the

station wagon. Make it the shape of everything you need. Now say

hello.

You are in an ordinary suburban bedroom with bunk beds, a bookshelf,

two wooden desks and chairs. You are lying on your back, on the top

bunk, very close to the textured ceiling, staring straight at it in fact, and

the room is still dark except for a wedge of powdery light that spills in

from the adjoining bathroom. The bathroom is covered in mint green

tile and someone is in there, singing very softly. Is he singing to you?

For you? Black cherries in chocolate, the ring around the moon, a bee-

tle underneath a glass—you cannot make out all the words, but you’re

sure he knows you’re in there, and he’s singing to you, even though you

don’t know who he is.

You see it as a room, a tabernacle, the dark hotel. You’re in the hallway

again, and you open the door, and if you’re ready you’ll see it, but

maybe one part of your mind decides that the other parts aren’t ready,

and then you don’t remember where you’ve been, and you find yourself

down the hall again, the lights gone dim as the left hand sings the right

hand back to sleep. It’s a puzzle: each piece, each room, each time you

put your hand to the knob, your mouth to the hand, your ear to the

wound that whispers.

You’re in the hallway again. The radio is playing your favorite song.

You’re in the hallway. Open the door again. Open the door.

Suppose for a moment that the heart has two heads, that the heart has

been chained and dunked in a glass booth filled with river water. The

heart is monologing about hesitation and fulfillment while behind the

red brocade the heart is drowning. Can the heart escape? Does love

even care? Snow falls as we dump the booth in the bay.

Suppose for a moment we are crowded around a pier, waiting for something

to ripple the water. We believe in you. There is no danger. It is not

getting dark, we want to say.

Consider the hairpin turn. It is waiting for you like a red door or the

broken leg of a dog. The sun is shining, O how the sun shines down!

Your speedometer and your handgrips and the feel of the road below

you, how it knows you, the black ribbon spread out on the greens be-

tween these lines that suddenly don’t reach to the horizon. It is waiting,

like a broken door, like the red dog that chases its tail and eats your rose-

bushes and then must be forgiven. Who do you love, Jeff? Who do you

love? You were driving toward something and then, well, then you

found yourself driving the other way. The dog is asleep. The road is be-

hind you. O how the sun shines down.

This time everyone has the best intentions. You have cancer. Let’s say

you have cancer. Let’s say you’ve swallowed a bad thing and now it’s

got its hands inside you. This is the essence of love and failure. You see

what I mean but you’re happy anyway, and that’s okay, it’s a love story

after all, a lasting love, a wonderful adventure with lots of action,

where the mirror says mirror and the hand says hand and the front

door never says Sorry Charlie. So the doctor says you need more

stitches and the bruise cream isn’t working. So much for the facts. Let’s

say you’re still completely in the dark but we love you anyway. We

love you. We really do.

After work you go to the grocery store to get some milk and a carton of

cigarettes. Where did you get those bruises? You don’t remember.

Work was boring. You find a jar of bruise cream and a can of stewed

tomatoes. Maybe a salad? Spinach, walnuts, blue cheese, apples, and

you can’t decide between the Extra Large or Jumbo black olives. Which

is bigger anyway? Extra Large has a blue label, Jumbo has a purple

label. Both cans cost $1.29. While you’re deciding, the afternoon light

is streaming through the windows behind the bank of checkout coun-

ters. Take the light inside you like a blessing, like a knee in the chest,

holding onto it and not letting it go. Now let it go.

Like sandpaper, the light, or a blessing, or a bruise. Blood everywhere,

he said, the red light hemorrhaging from everywhere at once. The train

station blue, your lips blue, hands cold and the blue wind. Or a horse,

your favorite horse now raised up again out of the mud and galloping

galloping always toward you. In your ruined shirt, on the last day, while

the bruise won’t heal, and the stain stays put, the red light streaming in

from everywhere at once. Your broken ribs, the back of your head, your

hand to mouth or hand to now, right now, like you mean it, like it’s split-

ting you in two. Now look at the lights, the lights.

You and your lover are making out in the corner booth of a seedy bar.

The booths are plush and the drinks are cheap and in this dim and

smoky light you can barely tell whose hands are whose. Someone raises

their glass for a toast. Is that the Hand of Judgment or the Hand of

Mercy? The bartender smiles, running a rag across the burnished wood

of the bar. The drink in front of you has already been paid for. Drink it,

the bartender says. It’s yours, you deserve it. It’s already been paid for.

Somebody’s paid for it already. There’s no mistake, he says. It’s your drink,

the one you asked for, just the way you like it. How can you refuse Hands

of fire, hands of air, hands of water, hands of dirt. Someone’s doing all

the talking but no one’s lips move. Consider the hairpin turn.

The motorbikes are neck and neck but where’s the checkered flag we

all expected, waving in the distance, telling you you’re home again,

home? He’s next to you, right next to you in fact, so close, or. . . he isn’t.

Imagine a room. Yes, imagine a room: two chairs facing the window but

nobody moves. Don’t move. Keep staring straight into my eyes. It feels

like you’re not moving, the way when, dancing, the room will suddenly

fall away. You’re dancing: you’re neck and neck or cheek to cheek, he’s

there or he isn’t, the open road. Imagine a room. Imagine you’re danc-

ing. Imagine the room now falling away. Don’t move.

Two brothers: one of them wants to take you apart. Two brothers: one

of them wants to put you back together. It’s time to choose sides now.

The stitches or the devouring mouth? You want an alibi? You don’t get

an alibi, you get two brothers. Here are two Jeffs. Pick one. This is how

you make the meaning, you take two things and try to define the space

between them. Jeff or Jeff? Who do you want to be? You just wanted

to play in your own backyard, but you don’t know where your own yard

is, exactly. You just wanted to prove there was one safe place, just one

safe place where you could love him. You have not found that place yet.

You have not made that place yet. You are here. You are here. You’re

still right here.

Here are your names and here is the list and here are the things you left

behind: The mark on the floor from pushing your chair back, your un-

derwear, one half brick of cheese, the kind I don’t like, wrapped up, and

poorly, and abandoned on the second shelf next to the poppyseed dress-

ing, which is also yours. Here’s the champagne on the floor, and here

are your house keys, and here are the curtains that your cat peed on.

And here is your cat, who keeps eating grass and vomiting in the hall-

way. Here is the list with all of your names, Jeff. They’re not the same

name, Jeff. They’re not the same at all.

There are two twins on motorbikes but they are not on motorbikes,

they’re in a garden where the flowers are as big as thumbs. Imagine you

are in a field of daisies. What are you doing in a field of daisies? Get up!

Let’s say you’re not in the field anymore. Let’s say they’re not brothers

anymore. That’s right, they’re not brothers, they’re just one guy, and

he knows you, and he’s talking to you, but you’re in pain and you can-

not understand him. What are you still doing in this field? Get out of

the field! You should be in the hotel room! You should, at least, be try-

ing to get back into the hotel room. Ah! Now the field is empty.

Hold onto your voice. Hold onto your breath. Don’t make a noise,

don’t leave the room until I come back from the dead for you. I will

come back from the dead for you. This could be a city. This could be a

graveyard. This could be the basket of a big balloon. Leave the lights

on. Leave a trail of letters like those little knots of bread we used to

dream about. We used to dream about them. We used to do a lot of

things. Put your hand to the knob, your mouth to the hand, pick up the

bread and devour it. I’m in the hallway again, I’m in the hallway. The

radio’s playing my favorite song. Leave the lights on. Keep talking. I’ll

keep walking toward the sound of your voice.

Someone had a party while you were sleeping but you weren’t really

sleeping, you were sick, and parts of you were burning, and you

#literally ran out of characters allowed for a tumblr post #</3 #but yeah.#mine

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hallie-fics · 5 years ago

Text

author spotlight - still_i_fall

He wants to forget how it felt to be hers for just one second.

- remember it’s all pretend @in-my-head-i-do-everything-right

one of the most prolific writers in the hallie fandom, @in-my-head-i-do-everything-right (still_i_fall) has graced us with classic after classic. i had an absolute blast talking with her, and hope you all enjoy the interview!

q&a

Hey! Thanks again for including me in this! Very excited to answer the questions. I love talking about myself.

Favorite of your stories (and why)

I almost got stuck on this question. I really want to say remember it’s all pretend because I am so incredibly proud of that one. It was the first multi chapter fic that I ever properly finished and I feel like that really means something to me. I also really love that concept, and how it was able to fit in slowburn and enemies to friends to lovers and mutual pining plus a million other little tropes. And, most of all, it was really fun to write. It happened really easily. It’s something I’ll go back to sometimes if I’m ever in the mood to reread my own work.

But I also love this new thing that I just wrote called i just wanna dance with you. I think if I can pull it off, it could be something really amazing. I was able to write the first chapter in about a week and had a ton of fun doing it. And I really love writing Harry’s pov and just switching things up a little. Ugh, I really love the idea of hallie meeting/knowing each other as little kids and I think that’s pretty apparent in these two fics.

Easiest story to write

I’ll stop the world (and melt with you) happened really quickly which I guess qualifies it as easy to write. I thought it’d be more difficult just because so much of it is dependent on canon which is something I’m not entirely used to, but it ended up going to fast. I think somewhere I still have a page of notes on that Prom episode and everything that happens to Allie and Harry. I really wanted to include pieces of dialogue from the show.

I also think it was because I used to do this thing when I was bored where I’d think about who I’d want to be trapped in a Groundhog day like loop with and what’d I’d do. It was just this recurring thought/ daydream I had when I was younger so it’s definitely a situation that I’ve thought through a little.

Hardest story to write

The taste, the touch, the way we love has been a pain in the ass to write right from the start. Sometimes it’s really fun, but I think I’ve been sticking way too close to the outline I drew at the very start and have been avoiding writing it for too long. Sometimes I absolutely love to write it and have the time of my life, and other times I hate it. There’s not much of an in between. Still definitely want to finish it. Just waiting on that final bit of inspiration.

Pre-writing process

I’m all about doing a full outline. Usually. With most longer fics (anything I think will be over 6,000 words), I do a full outline where I plan out the progression of the fic and specific scenes and pieces of dialogue. Usually, the plot hits me all at once and is usually the easiest part of the writing process for me. From that original outline, I usually have at least a few specific scenes fully planned out with pieces of dialogue and/or exposition. For example, for i’ll stop the world I started out the planning process with the introduction piece of the fic. That first paragraph is straight out of the note apps on my phone. A lot of the time it’ll end up being a bullet point list of main bits. I’ll use parentheses to specify the tone of a scene or little details and then use brackets for things that I want verbatim in the fic.

But sometimes I end up with very little pre-planning. The skating au is kinda the only good example of this. I only had the roughest of outlines for that one (how i wanted the first chapter to start and end) and everything else just came together as I tried to get from point A to point B.

What drew you to Hallie

The potential. They could have a really great story and I think that’s fun. There’s a lot of chemistry there and their dynamic is fun and, yeah, I think I’m a little too far in to get out now.

Favorite line (or lines)/ section you’re proud of

God, I have so many. Hope you don’t mind me going through them. It’s incredibly self indulgent but also gives me an excuse to go through my old works.

From the very first hallie fic I ever wrote, how you wish it would be all the time:

“And Harry's not perfect. He's not what she wanted before this all started or even really after, but everything's different now.”

Sometimes I forget about this fic, but I really shouldn’t cause there is a solid chance that this was my peak. And this line is really fun.

From we kiss and we keep busy:

“The stars may have moved a little bit, but they’re still there, and they still look the same, and that’s good enough for her.”

I promise I’m not going through every hallie fic I’ve ever written but god I love this line.

From i saved a picture where your hair was braided:

“It’s late nights and long talks and video games and cookie dough. It’s almost kisses, then definite kisses, and then not wanting to wake up anywhere but his bed. That’s how she starts to fall in love with Harry Bingham.”

Just that last part. That last line. The rest is just there for some fun context. Fun fact: this entire little mini fic was a desperate attempt to stave off writer's block and is based entirely around that single line in the song Donna by the lumineers. Still had a lot of fun with it, though.

From remember it’s all pretend:

“He wonders when she’ll realise that this hasn’t been pretend for him in years. Probably never. (He’d still run away with her.)”

“In the back of her mind, Allie wonders why she didn’t try harder to stay with Harry, why now she can only seem to fall in love in front of a camera where there’s the promise of pretend.”

“She likes to think that they’re still friends, that they’re just friends who don’t talk anymore, two people who drifted because one couldn’t handle the idea of change.”

This fic has a million little bits that I love. I could literally go on forever. It’s just full of that mutual pining angst that I live for.

From but i close my eyes and i’m somewhere else:

“She did not mention this earlier because she was trying desperately hard to ignore it, but fuck, she’s really missed him calling her Pressman.”

“She wonders if Cassandra has any travel sized neck pillows.”

This fic is surprisingly good seeing as I don’t remember writing it at all. I was very much high on some sort of flu medication while writing this and I think that explains a lot about this fic. It’s fun, though. I really love the tone.

From the taste, the touch, the way we love:

“She starts to feel like she couldn’t avoid Harry if she wanted to (and somehow, as the days turn into weeks, she finds herself not wanting to more and more).”

“There’s saltwater in her eyes, hair, and mouth. Harry’s leaning back in it, floating. She is too. The water is blue, and warm, and the sky is clear. Sometimes his hand will grab hers just to pull her closer. When she thinks of calm, of happiness, and vacation, she’ll think of this moment.”

“They’re quiet for a moment. Maggie Rogers can be heard in the background, faded and slow. Harry’s tapping his fingers along to it on the wheel, eyes staring straight ahead. The road is lined with trees, and it all feels like home.”

“For a half a second, she thinks she loves him. She pushes that away and watches him throw wrapping paper behind him dramatically. She pushes it away and she smiles and she laughs and she tries not to think too hard about what all of this means.”

This fic definitely has its moments. I’m really excited to get the last part done and out, though. I just feel like I’ve spent too long on this fic. I want it done.

From i just wanna dance with you:

“Allie met Harry the same day Cassandra did. It was early in the morning and she was four and now, when she looks back, all she can remember from the moment is the vague outline of wild hair and a smile so bright and wide and carefree that it really can’t be anyone else’s.”

“She tries to remember that she likes skating with Will, that there’s no point in wondering what it’d be like if things were just a little bit different.”

“She lied earlier; gold, silver, bronze, doesn’t matter. Harry always looks good.”

“The first time he ever placed first in a competition, she was skating with him. He wonders how long he’ll associate the feeling of a gold medal around his neck with her hand in his. He hopes it’s not long. “

I’m so excited to finish this fic like you guys don’t even understand. It’s really fun and it feels easy to write (so far; knock on wood) and I love the concept.

What type of Hallie stories do you like to write/read?

I only write au’s just because I think the rules are little different, everything’s just a little bit more relaxed. You’re allowed so much freedom when it’s a completely different universe and I really love that. I went through a phase recently where I was obsessed with canon divergence and this whole idea of a history of contingency. Just there being these points or moments where if one thing was just a little different, everything would’ve changed. I love that and I think that’s really apparent in my drafts/ unreleased wips.

I’ll read anything, though. Especially with the Hallie ao3 page being so small. I do definitely have a preference still towards au’s, though.

How long have you been writing

For forever. As a kid, I’d fill up entire notebooks with story ideas. It was my favorite thing to do. When I was twelve, a teacher complimented my writing, and I think that really stuck with me. It’s just something I’ve always enjoyed doing.

Do you ever worry about how your stories are received

Not really. A little bit with multi chapter stories just because I really want every chapter to be better than the last. I just really don’t want to disappoint anyone.

What’s the hardest part of writing for you

The middle bits. I usually have a very clear idea of the beginning and end so it’s everything in between that I have trouble with. I think that’s why I’m so big on outlining.

Do you ever get writer's block and how do you deal with it

Oh my god all the fucking time! Right now, for example. Usually, I just try to work through it, especially if I have a project in progress. I also do a lot of reading to try to force some sort of inspiration. A lot of what I write is based on what I’m reading. I’ll also listen to music. And, recently, I’ve been making mood boards for my fics which has been so much fun. I really like looking at pretty pictures.

Biggest risk you’ve taken as a writer

Lol I don’t really take risks. I think the riskiest thing I do is post the first chapter of a story with none of the second chapter started. I do that a lot.

Favorite Hallie trope

Reluctant friends to very good friends to lovers. Also, living together without establishing a clear relationship. I write that a lot. Mutual pining is always fun too.

Favorite Hallie headcanon

That Harry calls Allie ‘Pressman’ which forces Allie to call him ‘Bingham’. I just think there’s something so fun about calling someone by their last name. Plus, then you get that moment when the first name is used and that gets to be significant. Oh, also that they both swear like sailors, but that’s mostly self-insert on my part.

This felt very self indulgent, but I hope it was at least somewhat enjoyable for someone.

I am forever waiting to read whatever @in-my-head-i-do-everything-right writes next. It was great to see some of the behind the scenes and I would definitely recommend her latest release cities you’ll never see on screen.

#the society #hallie #author spotlight #in-my-head-i-do-everything-right #still_i_fall

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antiquecompass · 6 years ago

Text

Another Wen Ning/Aidan fic, this one set a few years after this others, for Untamed Winter Fest Day 19: Snow

“SNOW DAY!”

Wen Ning shot up in bed, woken not by his alarm but by Finn Delaney’s best example of his outdoor voice.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Aidan muttered into his pillow.

Wen Ning patted his boyfriend’s back with one hand and reached over to check his phone with the other. The text he found there showed that it was, in fact, a rare Lan Academy snow day. He wasn’t entirely surprised. It was six in the morning, Aidan had only been home for two hours. He’d just finished a 48-hour shift, having spent the night responding to emergency calls, helping out all the other First Responders in their own and the surrounding counties. Even hard born and bred Massholes had to bow down to Mother Nature on the rare occasion. Even Lan Academy had to as well.

“Go back to sleep,” he said as he slipped out of bed.

“I’m awake now,” Aidan said.

Wen Ning forcibly pushed Aidan back into bed. “You spent the night responding to accidents and helping dig cars out of snowbanks. You’re exhausted. Go back to sleep.”

“But--”

“Sleep,” he said. He pulled the blankets up and tucked them tight around Aidan. “You know you have to sleep while you can. You should’ve stayed at the station.”

“I wanted to see you,” Aidan said.

So sweet and so sincere. Wen Ning kissed his forehead. “I love you and I appreciate it, but now I’m going to have to dig your truck out so you can get back on the road.”

“Did you just politely call me a dumbass?” Aidan asked.

Wen Ning kissed his forehead again and started towards the hallway.

“Ning!”

He laughed as he closed the door behind him and stopped Finn’s latest attempt to announce to the entirely of Western Massachusetts that it was a snow day.

“Since you’re up, you can help me dig out your brother’s car.”

“Coach!” Finn whined. “It’s a snow day!”

“I’ll make you pancakes after,” he said.

Finn eyed him with that typical Delaney ‘I Smell Bullshit’ face, but Wen Ning knew his pancakes were a worthy bribe.

“With chocolate chips?” Finn asked.

Wen Ning pretended to think about it. “I’ll consider it. Depends on how well you work. Good work gets chocolate chips. Half-assing gets you frozen waffles.”

“Deal,” Finn said.

Una opened her bedroom door, hair still wet from her shower, voice still stuffy from her current cold. “How can I get pancakes?”

“Start gathering all the supplies to make chilli for the station,” he said.

He knocked on Aisling’s door. She opened it, already in her winter gear, minus her boots.

“I’m preparing for the snow battle that will commence at Noon,” she said. “Though I am willing to help dig the cars out if it gets me pancakes.”

“Go forth, Conquering Hero,” he said.

Una shook her head. “Poor Jasmine Lan is about to get her ass handed to her.”

Wen Ning laughed. “You’ve heard of the Lan Arm Strength, yes?”

Una scoffed. “You’ve heard of the Delaney Sheer Stubbornness, yes?”

She had a point there. It was partly responsible for how he'd ended up here, in this house, far ahead of what he’d considered his own personal move-in schedule.

It was going to be an interesting day.

The crews at the station usually took care of their own food, stopping by the grocery store to buy what they needed for the shared meals. On days like today, they didn’t always have the time and while normally one of the local places would provide sandwiches, even they were closed down. They usually had leftovers to tide them over, but Wen Ning had gotten used to making batches of chilli large enough to feed a small army.

He also knew Aidan wasn’t supposed to go in today, since he just had his shift day, but blizzards didn’t care about scheduled days off and as long as Aidan had twelve hours away from the station, he’d be back.

So as Noon came, and the chilli was in the pot, and Chris Delaney emerged from his part of the house, mumbled something about deadlines, grabbed an entire bowl of coffee and disappeared back into his room, and the battle between Lan Jasmine and Aisling Delaney commenced, Wen Ning sat on their back porch and recorded it all, letting Aidan sleep on.

“My money’s on Aisling,” Una said. “She’s got that accuracy going.”

“Jasmine all the way,” Finn said. “I’ve seen her throw knives.”

Wen Ning’s money was on a draw. Either way, it was cute to see the girls trying to out-impress each other in feats of strength and physical accuracy as a method of flirting. It reminded him of a more than a few of his friends.

He quietly sipped his hot chocolate as Una whistled to signal the start of the next match.

The living room was full of passed out teenagers, exhausted from acting like little kids in the snow and gorging themselves on food and hot drinks. Wen Ning was in the middle of finishing the dishes when he heard Aidan stumble down the stairs, punchdrunk from hours of uninterrupted sleep.

He had maybe, possibly, definitely stolen Aidan’s phone in order to achieve this rare feat of much-needed rest.

Aidan emerged with some adorable bedhead and Mr. Tumnus in his arms.

He placed their cat down and pulled Wen Ning into his arms, resting against him.

“What time is it?” he asked, voice raspy.

“Nearly three,” Wen Ning said.

“Fuck me, that’s late,” Aidan muttered into Wen Ning’s shoulder.

“You needed the rest,” Wen Ning insisted as he drew Aidan over to their breakfast nook. “And the dispatchers knew it because no one has tried to call before now.”

“Hmm,” Aidan agreed.

He wrapped his arms around Wen Ning, resting his head on his chest. Wen Ning ran his fingers through Aidan’s curls. It was a cherished quiet, peaceful moment. Chris still busy with work, the sound of his music muffled as he worked on the lineart for his current comic. The Trio and their friends napping off their snow battle. The snow still falling outside. Mr. Tumnus quietly purring as he ate his food. And Aidan in his arms, still lax and loopy from sleep.

“I can’t wait for our vacation,” Aidan said. “You. Me. A nice, private hotel room. No snow. No interruptions.”

Wen Ning tilted his chin up and met his lips in a soft kiss.

“We’ll get there,” he promised. “We just have to get through the New Year first.”

Headmaster Lan had been very understanding about why Wen Ning needed an additional week of vacation. He’d somehow convinced both Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen to be substitute teachers for a week. Wen Ning was sure he’d come back to entire classes converted into fencing or dance students.

They just needed to get through the New Year. He was counting down the days. They even had a back-up plan if their flight got canceled or delayed. Either they’d be in the Caribbean or they’d be staying at home. Either way, they’d be together.

Aidan’s phone started going off and their little bubble broke. Aidan’s shoulders dropped even as he reached for his phone.

Wen Ning stepped out of his arms and went to start another pot of coffee and to get the chilli ready for transport.

There were a lot of unique stressors to dating a firefighter. And Aidan had been upfront about it from the start, warned him, made him understand that while it wasn’t as busy as Boston, he’d had less crewmembers here to help cover shifts. The hours were horrible, Wen Ning had never realized how bad until after they’d been dating long enough and he had to witness Aidan trying to act like a normal, functioning human being after a 24-hour shift and three hours of uninterrupted rest. There was the fact that work came home with them, how could it not, some of the things they saw. And plans, life, everything had to be flexible, because days off suddenly disappeared and everyone else’s holidays were not your own.

But Wen Ning couldn’t imagine loving anyone else as he loved the man currently giving the dispatcher an earful as he tried to head towards the door, still barely awake.

“Aidan,” he called after him.

“Yeah, babe?” Aidan asked.

“As much as I’m sure our neighbors will delight in you going out in nothing but your boxers and boots, you might want to get dressed first.”

“Shit,” Aidan said. He pulled his phone away from his ear where the loud laughter could be heard. “I’m never going to live this one down.”

Wen Ning poured a mug of coffee, shoved it in Aidan’s hands and took the phone.

“Orlando?” he asked.

“Ning! My man! How’s my favorite archer?”

“Asking you to please not give Aidan any more shit. He just woke-up. You know how he is when his brain is still offline.”

“Only for you Coach Ning. Only for you. Hey, any chance you can send any--”

“He’ll be bringing a pot of chilli with him,” Wen Ning said.

“I will?” Aidan asked.

“You will,” Wen Ning said as he pushed him towards the stairs. “Go get dressed before I text Orlando a picture to put up on the bulletin board.”

“Please do!” Orlando said.

“Fuck no,” Aidan said as he grabbed his phone back. He kissed Wen Ning. “Love you,” he said, low.

Orlando still heard him.

“When are you going to marry him?” Orlando asked. “Come on, betting pool’s getting large and I need a new phone. Give me a hint. Just one.”

“How about fuck off,” Aidan said as he climbed the stairs.

Wen Ning shook his head as he watched him go, then went back to the kitchen, just in time to hear the Trio wake-up.

His life was overcome with Delaneys these days, but he loved it.

#long post #my ridic writing #verse: lahl #fic: river deep mountain high #fandom: the untamed #untamed winter fest #wen ning

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today-we-will-survive · 6 years ago

Photo

moodboard made by me

Title: Perfect

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader ft. Dragonite

Genre: Pokemon!au, fluff, crack

Word Count: 1.9K

The sound of your phone receiving a text message cuts through the dark silence of the early morning. You groan, peeling one eye open to glare at your nightstand. Really? You reach over because your curiosity is too strong even in your three-quarters still asleep state. Luckily, “pre-sleep you” was smart enough to dim your screen before going to bed so the dulled brightness is only a little assaulting to your retinas when you push the home button. Immediately, a tired smile spreads your mouth wide, all animosity felt toward the sender diminishing when you see that it’s none other than the boy you’ve been texting nonstop for the past two weeks.

Joonie: hey, r u awake?

Y/N: I am now :)

Joonie: shoot Im sorry …

Y/N: no its okay. I would hav been mad if it was anyone else.

Joonie: well, I promise I hav a reason for texting u this early.

Y/N: yea, u do realize its still dark outside, right?

Joonie: thats actually why I texted u. R u busy?

Y/N: …what do u think?

Joonie: right. duh. sleeping. well…

Joonie: do u want to go for a ride with me?

Y/N: a ride? like a car ride?

Joonie: um…not exactly…how quickly could u get ready?

Y/N: depends on what “ready” means.

Joonie: hmm dress for cold weather.

Y/N: its the middle of summer, joon. Even at 4 in the morning its already prolly 60 degrees out. How cold r we talking here?

Joonie: really cold.

Y/N: Im confused.

Joonie: just trust me.

It feels so wrong to be shrugging on the winter coat you had to dig out of the back of your closet as you head out of your apartment. Luckily, no one else is out at this ungodly hour which saves you from having to endure the confused looks. Though if you did run into someone, they’d see that you’re just as confused. That is, until you make it outside where Namjoon said he’d be to meet you. You expected him to be waiting for you in his car. Even on foot wouldn’t be as surprising as the scene you step into once you’re out the front door of your apartment.

Your eyes settle on the giant, orange dragon standing in the middle of the road. The thing is massive. You’ve seen a few Dragonite in your lifetime but never one as big as this thing. It has to be at least twelve feet tall. And while initially it’s terrifying to see such a giant Pokémon just standing there right outside of your apartment—and staring at you, nonetheless—the fear melts away as you meet its eyes. There’s something gentle about the way it looks at you curiously. Its rounded nose and crinkling eyes almost make it look like the thing is smiling.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You only just now realize that the Dragonite isn’t here by itself and you tear your gaze away from its own to look further back at the boy sitting just above its wings.

“Namjoon?” His own eyes lift along with his mouth into a bright smile and even though it’s dark out—the only light being that from the streetlamp across the street and down a bit—you can still see those deep dimples that had you captivated in the first place. “What are you doing here?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to go for a ride,” he says and reaches up to pat his Dragonite on the head. The Pokémon lets out a contented noise, the sound echoing down the block and you take an intimidated step backward.

“Uh, is it safe?” you ask. That was a dumb question. Obviously it is or Namjoon wouldn’t be offering, right?

“Completely,” he replies then swings his leg out from over its wing and slides down off its back. He holds out a hand to you and smiles wider, those dimples growing impossibly deeper. “I have a surprise for you.”

You look down at his offered hand. You haven’t known Namjoon for very long. You met him only about a month ago when he first started volunteering at the Pokémon Center you work at.

You remember his first day there, how you couldn’t seem to keep your eyes from wandering over to him whenever the two of you were in the same room. How you couldn’t help but go a bit soft when you saw the way he handled each Pokémon with such care and tenderness, how he’d speak so gently to them, how they would visibly relax at his soothing words.

He was nice to you from the get-go. The two of you would exchange playful banter and joke around quite a bit. It was obvious you liked each other and you wanted to address it, but at the same time you were so worried that he was just one of those guys that’s nice to everyone and to say anything would just make things awkward. It was a relief when he finally broke down and asked for your number. You gave it to him maybe a little too eagerly but luckily for you, he thought your excitement was cute—and you blushed when he said as much.

But here he is now, that gentle smile on his handsome face, his eyes sparkling, his hand held out to you and you can’t help but feel intrigue and excitement bubbling up inside you. Even if it weren’t for your overpowering curiosity, what kind of person would pass up the opportunity to ride on the back of a Dragonite? And a giant one nonetheless. These are your last thoughts as you shyly reach up to place your hand in his and smile back at him. His hand is so warm wrapped around yours and so solid as he tugs you toward the giant Pokémon behind him.

You watch as Namjoon climbs back up onto it then he reaches down and you wrap your fingers around his wrist. He grips your own wrist and pulls hard. You can’t help the squeal that escapes as he pulls you up so easily with just his one arm. You scramble up, being careful where you place your feet so you don’t accidentally step on the joint where the wings connect to the dragon Pokémon’s back as you settle down behind Namjoon. He still has ahold of your one hand and now you reach around with the other to join it with the first.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Dragonite as big as this one,” you say. He feels so warm and solid in your arms even through both of your coats.

“I rescued it when it was still just a Dratini from that lab on Cinnabar Island.”

“I’ve heard of that place,” you say. “They do some pretty awful stuff there to Pokémon, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon utters and you can hear the anger in his voice. “I’m not sure what they did to it but it was already bigger than any Dratini I’d ever seen before. And I knew that wasn’t normal and that I needed to get it out of there. Luckily, there doesn’t seem to be any other negative effects from whatever they did to it.” Namjoon pats the Pokémon on the head again, eliciting another happy, echoing moan from it.

“You’re amazing,” you utter and immediately feel your cheeks turn red. Did you really just say that out loud?

Namjoon turns his head so he can see you out of the corner of his eye and his cheek lifts in another dimpled grin. “Nah,” he says. “I just try to be a good person, you know?”

You nod and the two of you sit in silence atop the Pokémon for several more moments.

“So, uh,” you finally say. “Is this what you wanted to show me?”

Namjoon perks up. “Oh right,” he says and gives his Dragonite two firm pats on its neck. The Dragonite shifts, dipping its head low and unfolding its wings from either side of you. Then with a hard push against the ground, it kicks up into the air and you squeal, clutching onto the boy in front of you for dear life.

He lets out a chuckle. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he assures you. “Just keep ahold of me and you won’t fall.”

“Will do,” you reply though you don’t think he can hear you over the wind whistling past your ears.

It’s a good thing you’re holding onto him so tightly because as soon as the Dragonite reaches an incredibly terrifying height—the city lights below you now looking more like stars than the actual ones above you—you remember reading that Dragonite can actually fly faster than the speed of sound. And just as you tighten your grip even more on Namjoon’s waist, the dragon Pokémon shoots forward, cutting through the night sky like a bullet. You grit your teeth and press your cheek against Namjoon’s back to keep the wind from stealing your breath away.

Much to your relief, it’s not long before you feel the Dragonite begin to slow down again and when it’s at last going at a more comfortable pace, you lift your head and peer around. It’s still kind of dark out but now the sky is more of a medium blue and the stars have disappeared. Nothing but ocean stretches for miles below you.

“Where are we?” you ask looking around confusedly.

“Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean,” Namjoon replies nonchalantly.

You nod slowly. “And why, exactly are we somewhere over the Pacific Ocean?”

The boy places his hands over your own. They’re much warmer than yours and suddenly you’re glad he told you to dress warmly because it is freaking freezing up there over the ocean. “Because I wanted to show you that,” he says then nods at the horizon in front of him.

You focus farther ahead, past Namjoon’s shoulders and over Dragonite’s head until your eyes land on the line where the ocean ends and the sky begins. At first, you can’t see much of a separation between the two similar shades of blue, but then a sliver of bright orange appears, awakening the sky, shooting streaks of lavender upward. Your breath catches as you watch in silent awe.

The sun rises faster than you thought it would, every inch it gains throwing different colors like buckets of paint across the sky. From dazzling pink to sherbet orange to marigold, and the ocean reflects them all back, the rising sun at the epicenter of this incredible masterpiece being created before you.

You feel tears spring to your eyes and you immediately feel like an absolute dork for being moved to tears by something like a sunrise but the sight along with the feeling of Namjoon’s thumbs rubbing circles across the back of your hand just sends your emotions into overdrive.

This is perfect.

This is perfect and you never want it to end. In a moment of impulsivity, you lean forward and rest your chin on Namjoon’s shoulder. The simple gesture feels so intimate in this silence and maybe he sees it as that too because you hear his breath hitch and his thumb freezes on your skin for a split second before continuing the motion. His own cheek rests against the side of your head and you sigh.

Too perfect.

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