#but I can never turn down the siren call to try to offer advice where I can | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

morganaspendragonss · 3 years

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fall apart when it hurts too much

i had like three ideas for this fic so here’s all of them smashed together! ft. carlos and tk actually not being physically perfectly fine after being trapped in a fire, breakdowns in the shower, and an actual apology for that scene.

It's the smallest thing that breaks him, in the end. Ever since the fire, Carlos has been trying to keep a lid on everything, trying not to shatter even though he's been on the verge for hours now. He makes it to the shower, desperate to scrub the stench of smoke from his body, and then he just—

He drops the soap.

ao3 | 2.9k | 2.12 spoilers

Carlos barely makes it five steps from their house before his knees are hitting the tarmac, falling to all fours as his body heaves and shakes with coughing. He can’t catch his breath, and panic lights up in his chest, fingernails scrabbling at the ground despite the pain. Hands are on him, too big and rough to be TK’s, but Carlos doesn’t have a chance to work out who they belong to before they’re shifting under his arms, dragging him backwards even as their house explodes, a blast of intense heat washing over them.

If he had any breath left in him, Carlos is certain it would have abandoned him in that moment. Everything he’s spent years building for himself, all gone in the blink of an eye. It’s too much, and he collapses back down the second whoever’s holding him lets go. His eyes are streaming, a combination of irritation from the smoke, the tightness in his lungs, and a terror that he suspects won’t leave him for a long, long time.

He gasps, forehead pressed to the concrete, and then hands are on him again, but these—these, he knows. Carlos sags gratefully into TK’s arms, allowing him to pull him close and resting his head on TK’s chest, right above his heart.

He still can’t really breathe, and judging by the ragged gasps from above him, TK isn’t faring much better. But his heart is beating.

They’re alive.

Carlos closes his eyes, drifting away from himself as the fire continues to burn and the wail of sirens cut through the night air. TK curls his body around him and Carlos clings to that security with both hands. It means they made it out; somehow, they made it out.

TK’s lips press against his cheek, then his mouth shifts to his ear, voice rough yet still soothing when he speaks. “Baby, we need to move,” he says. “We gotta — They gotta check us out.”

Carlos feels himself nodding, but it’s the only movement he can manage. His entire body is trembling and his mind is frozen, replaying the last five minutes over and over on repeat.

God, had it only been five minutes?

“Come on.” TK tugs at his arm and, after a few tries, Carlos manages to get his limbs to cooperate long enough to begin to rise. A dizziness comes over him without warning and he stumbles, nearly pulling them both back to the ground; it occurs to Carlos that TK can’t be any more steady than he is. They’d been in there for the same time, after all.

Judd catches Carlos before he falls, and he sees through blurred vision Owen doing the same for TK. They’re led - or, rather, carried - to the ambulance, the flashing lights cutting through Carlos’s already pounding skull, and carefully lowered down onto the step. Unthinkingly, Carlos grabs TK’s hand, unsure if the tremor in the touch is coming from him or TK.

Oxygen masks are secured over both their faces and shock blankets wrapped around their shoulders, the soft material comforting. A kind-looking paramedic kneels in front of them, asking them questions about symptoms as she wraps burns Carlos didn’t even realise he’d acquired. He barely manages a nod or a head shake at the appropriate moments, his brain struggling to catch up with it all.

He’s so tired. All he wants is to be asleep in their bed, in TK’s arms, and for this to be a horrible nightmare he’s yet to wake from.

But their bed is gone. Their home is gone, ashes, only the twisted remnants of metal supporting beams left behind.

He’s shaking again, his chest constricting and causing him to cough despite the oxygen mask. Tears fall hot and fast down his cheeks and he practically falls onto TK, hands fisting in the blanket.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobs when he’s caught his breath enough to speak, pulling the mask down. “I’m so sorry.”

TK shushes him, hands running soothingly up and down his back. “It’s okay. This wasn’t your fault. We’re going to be okay.”

“But we almost weren’t.” He pulls back to meet TK’s eyes, the first time since Owen and Billy came bursting in. “I—I thought we weren’t going to make it. I should have had a fire extinguisher upstairs, this should never have… I...”

He cuts himself off, talking becoming an impossibility. TK cradles him close, kissing his head gently and whispering reassurances into his hair. Carlos hangs onto every word, not really believing them, but wanting to desperately.

By the time the paramedic ushers them into the ambulance, Carlos’s tears have eased, but the gaping pit in his chest has only grown.

He wishes he could wake up now.

They’re at the hospital for a few hours, run through a myriad of tests before they’re both declared fit to leave. A smiling nurse gives them the news, telling them that they’ll be home before they know it.

Neither of them have the energy or the ability to correct her.

Carlos’s parents come to pick them up, his mom producing a bag of fresh clothes for both of them. Where she got them from, Carlos doesn’t know, and he doesn’t ask. He hasn’t said much at all since the fire despite TK’s many attempts to get him to talk, leaning into the doctor’s advice not to do anything that might irritate his throat. He’s not sure what he’s even supposed to say; their house is gone, and that’s… That’s that.

His mom loops her arm through his and walks him through the corridors and out of the hospital. Carlos only half-listens to her talk about fixing up his room for them and what she’s planning on cooking for dinner tonight; he still feels the stench of smoke and ash clinging to his skin, even though they were able to clean up a little at the hospital. He itches with the need to wash it all off, to scrub until his skin cracks and bleeds and the pain eclipses that which lingers in his bones.

TK seems to sense how he’s feeling, constantly providing support in one form or another the entire drive to his parents’ house. Carlos feels guilty for not checking on him, but he’s seconds from shattering. If he tries to focus on anything other than holding himself together, he knows he’ll break.

He realises that makes him a shitty boyfriend, but… But.

His childhood home soon comes into view, a part of Carlos relaxing at the sight. He’s beyond grateful that they came here instead of going to Owen’s; he needs every comfort he can get right now, his mother’s cooking and his abuela’s stitched blanket second only to TK on that list.

He turns to TK as the car comes to a stop, squeezing his hand gently. “This isn’t how I’d imagined bringing you home for the first time,” he jokes, trying for a smile, but it falls flat. TK gives him a token smile anyway, the same weariness Carlos is feeling heavy in his gaze.

“I’m looking forward to seeing what teenage Carlos was like.”

“You already know,” Carlos points out. “I’m pretty sure my mom spilled every story there is the other night when we were… Well, you know.”

TK nods. “Yeah,” he says, his voice a mere whisper. Carlos doesn’t get it, how even the slightest thought of their house can send him spiralling, but he guesses that it’s just another thing he’ll have to deal with now. As if there wasn’t already enough.

He doesn’t get a chance to think on it any longer, his parents calling for them to come inside, his mother practically shoving the two of them upstairs. Carlos leads TK to his old room by the hand, the decorations almost untouched since he moved out.

“You can just…” He waves around, gesturing vaguely to the bed. “Make yourself comfortable, I guess. I’m going to shower, you can go in after me if you want, or I won’t mind if you just want to sleep. Bathroom is the door at the end of the hall.”

TK chews on his lip, not letting go of Carlos’s hand just yet. “I can join you?” he offers, but Carlos shakes his head.

“It’s pretty small in there. Better not.”

TK doesn’t look like he believes him (and why would he? it is a lie, after all) but he nods and lets go. Carlos lingers for a second, then leaves, grabbing the bag of clothes his mom left on his way.

He manages to scrub himself fully once before it happens. There’s still a slight tremble to his hands as he reaches for the soap again, the feeling of being unclean sticking to him, and he just—

He drops the soap.

It shouldn’t be a big deal. Carlos stares at where it’s fallen, willing himself to just pick it up and carry on, because that would be the sensible thing to do, right? The normal thing?

But he can’t. Everything—the fire, the house, the goddamn soap—is suddenly all too much, and Carlos has to brace himself against the tiles as emotions he’s tried so hard to ignore pour out of him in a wave of grief and sorrow and despair. He presses his fist to his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut, cries wrenching from his mouth, so loud that he doesn’t hear the gentle knocking at the door.

“Carlos?”

Carlos gasps, straightening as TK’s voice cuts through the noise. “I’m okay, I’ll just be a second,” he calls, but obviously he’s not convincing enough as the door creaks open, TK’s face falling when he catches sight of him.

“Oh, Carlos.”

TK steps into the room, silently undressing and stepping into the shower with him. He bends and grabs the soap from where it fell and creates a lather on his hands, looking to Carlos for permission before going any further.

Carlos wordlessly nods, so TK begins rubbing the suds over his body, touch soft and feather-light. They don’t say a word, and it’s not… It’s not relaxing, exactly - Carlos doesn’t think he can relax tonight - but it’s… It’s something. It means he’s not alone, which is all Carlos could ask for in this moment.

A slight pressure on his shoulder tells him to turn around, so Carlos puts his back to TK, facing the spray of the showerhead. He doesn’t know why, but not having to look at him makes it easier, somehow, to say the words that have been spinning in his mind since this nightmare began.

“I’m so sorry, TK,” he whispers. “If we had just had an extinguisher, then—”

“Then, nothing,” TK interrupts, not pausing in his motions. “I used to be a firefighter, Carlos; I know from experience that when a fire burns like that, nothing can stop it. My dad, Billy, and Judd all had extinguishers, and they barely made a dent.”

“I still should have done more. You were so calm, and I was just panicking.”

“Firefighter. I’ve been in plenty of burning buildings before; you haven’t. And, trust me, I was scared too.” TK sighs, his hands stilling on Carlos’s shoulders for a brief second before resuming. “Listen to me,” he whispers fiercely, planting a kiss between his shoulder blades. “You have nothing to apologise for, you hear me? Nothing.”

When Carlos wakes the next morning, TK is sitting on the edge of the bed, back to him, his hands twisting together in his lap. The set of his shoulders is tense, and Carlos can imagine the look on his face right now. He pushes himself up onto an elbow and reaches out, intending on comforting TK the way he’s done so many times over the course of their relationship.

What he’s not expecting is for TK to flinch away like his touch burns. Carlos frowns, sitting up fully and crawling over the bed to sit next to him. “Babe?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

TK shakes his head, subtly—though, not subtle enough—shifting away from him until there’s a clear gap between their bodies. It’s so far removed from last night when they could barely stand to let go of each other, and Carlos has no idea what’s causing it.

“TK?” he tries, keeping his hands to himself this time. “Please, TK, talk to me.”

It takes another agonising minute before TK finally, slowly, turns his gaze to Carlos. His eyes are wet and red-rimmed, and he can’t seem to look directly at him for longer than a few seconds. He clears his throat roughly, rubbing the material of his borrowed sweats between his fingers.

“Remember last night?” he says quietly. “When I said you had nothing to apologise for? I meant that—you don’t, but I do.” TK takes a trembling breath, then turns to him with a gasp. “Carlos, I—”

“Stop,” Carlos interrupts, shaking his head. He thought they’d moved past this; he doesn’t want to think about it anymore. “I already told you, it’s okay. You were in shock, you were angry… I get it, okay? You don’t need to be sorry.”

“Yes, I do.”

“TK—”

“Carlos, please.” A couple of tears slip down TK’s cheeks and he doesn’t bother to wipe them away, a desperate look in his eyes. Carlos hesitates, then sighs and nods, gesturing for him to continue. “Thank you. I… If I thought it meant anything, I would say that I’m sorry a thousand times over. I mean, I am, of course I am, but they’re just words, right? The same as saying I wish it had never happened in the first place, because the point is that it did happen and I can’t ever take it back. You had done nothing but support me, and I just—I hit you. There’s no excusing that. I don’t even know if there’s any forgiving that.”

Carlos frowns. “Of course there is.”

“Well, maybe there shouldn’t be.” TK looks down at his lap, shoulders curved inwards. “I wanted to use so badly that night,” he admits. “I was going out of my mind over my dad, and I’d convinced myself that I’d lost you. That I was going to lose you both. It was so tempting to go to the nearest bar or dealer and make it all go away for a while.

“Then I realised that I would only be hurting more people if I did, and I couldn’t do that. I’m not… This isn’t me trying to excuse what I did to you. You don’t deserve that, and I understand completely if you can’t trust me anymore, or even if you want me to leave. I’ll do it, whatever you want, just say the word. I can’t take it back, but I’ll do anything so that you feel safe.”

TK sniffs, his head bowed so low he’s almost folding in half. Carlos hesitates, then slowly reaches out, taking TK’s hands in his own. “TK, look at me?” he asks softly.

TK does, pain written all over his face, and it breaks Carlos’s heart again.

“I forgive you,” he says, squeezing as tight as he dares. “I forgive you. You might not think you deserve it, but I promise you that you do. I won’t pretend that what happened didn’t hurt me, but I understand why you did it.” He pauses, weighing his next words carefully before he speaks, not wanting to say the wrong thing. Not that he thinks TK will react like before again, but he refuses to make him feel any worse about the situation.

He makes sure he has TK’s eyes on him before speaking, keeping his voice as calm as possible. “But,” he starts, sighing heavily, “you are right. It’s not an excuse, and we are going to have to deal with this soon. Maybe not right now, but we need to have a conversation about these defence mechanisms of yours and how we can make sure you don’t feel the need to fall back on them again.”

TK nods. “I’m going to go to a meeting tomorrow, and I’ll talk to my therapist as soon as I can. I’ll… I’ll be better, Carlos, I swear.”

“I know you will.”

Carlos shifts closer so he can wrap an arm around TK. He stiffens at the touch, but slowly leans into it, carefully resting his head on Carlos’s shoulder.

“I don’t deserve this,” he mumbles.

“Everyone deserves a second chance,” Carlos counters.

TK snorts. “I think you’ve given me about thirty.”

“And you’ve deserved every single one.” He kisses the top of TK’s head and strokes his side. “I don’t think you could ever do anything bad enough to drive me away. That’s not who you are, TK. You’ve made mistakes, yes, but I love you and I will keep loving you even if you think I shouldn’t because I know my boyfriend and I know he’s a good man.”

TK sniffles, his arms coming up to wrap around him. He hesitates a second, a palm hovering over Carlos’s chest, trembling in mid-air as the seconds drag out. Carlos holds his breath, waiting, then smiles as TK slowly brings it down, letting it rest just over his heart.

The touch is light, barely there, but it’s something. It’s progress.

They’re both more than a little broken, more than a little hurt, but they can heal. They will heal, as long as they’re together.

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writingsbychlo · 4 years

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smoke and fire (8b)

word count; 9699

summary; following the events of a call, you pick up some out-of-hours work, and thomas comes along for the journey.

notes; y’all are gonna’ love this one.

warnings; arson, heavy drug use references, mild reference to animal abuse.

The firetrucks ahead of you were loud, sirens and flashing lights, the horn going continually as traffic swerved to the side, and Newt did his best to keep up with them, following in their wake as they opened up the traffic into clear paths to move through. Finally getting your seatbelt done up, you huffed a little, pushing strands of hair back out of your face and behind your ears. Luckily for you all, the call was on the edges of the city, not the centre, and so the roads were widening out and weren’t nearly as crowded as you began to near your scene.

Clouds of smoke, thick and grey, rising up from a small warehouse that was on the edges of a house, and there were crowds gathered around, ones that weren’t unfamiliar to you, some faces you vaguely recognised from seeing them briefly pass by in the crowds when you’d first met Aaron. As the truck came to a stop Newt lifted a hand to rub over his jaw, attention on the crowds that had gathered around.

“One of us can go inside, one of us should stay with the truck.” He twisted to look at you, the firemen already gearing up as Thomas assessed the scene, and Gally walked around to the edge of the building, following the wires linking up to the house. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

“Deal.” You placed your palm out flat, matching his, and banging your fist against it for a second, before laying your hand flat, and cursing as he took on a form of only two fingers sticking out. “You always go rock! Screw you!”

He smirked, shrugging a little as you pouted. “You always go paper; I learned and changed tactic.”

“You suck.” You groaned, climbing into the back to retrieve your go-bag from one of the cupboards, taking a look at it, but realising that you were more likely only going to need a roll of bandages and some gauze, quick sources to send them out to Newt, advice on what they were going to need.

You had your suspicions about what you were seeing, and from the second your partner cracked his door open, you knew your thoughts had been confirmed, because the smell of it was enough to make you cough a little, dry and crisp in the air as you inhaled, and you understood now why the firemen were already wearing their masks, even when just standing outside. Blue flashing lights and muted sirens signalled the arrival of the police, beginning to break up the crowds and start backing people away, and you didn’t envy the job that they had going on.

Hopping down from the back of the truck and making sure to lock it up tight to protect Newt, as he stood carefully in the doorway talking to Minho about the procedures that would be taking place, you wandered away toward where Chuck was standing by Gally’s side at the Squad truck, the two Lieutenant’s trying to develop a plan. As you walked, you couldn't help but look over the scenes, searching for that familiar face, and smiling a little when the boy you’d grown fond of was absent from the scene, encouraging you to believe that he was alright, and escaping this lifestyle.

You bumped your elbow into Chuck’s as you arrived at his side, nose wrinkling a little as the strong smell of marijuana was even stronger from here, and he turned to look at you, smoking a little as he saw you.

“Newt figures it’d be best for one of us to go in, and send out anyone inside for quick medical advice, it’ll speed it up, having a van full of drugs parked up here is pretty risky.” You nodded over your shoulder, and Thomas licked over his lower lip, nodding his head as he tried to clear his thoughts.

“That someone you, then?” The man with dirty-blond hair was staring down at you, and you dipped your head in a nod. “Thomas’ll get you all hooked up, and Squad is going on, Truck is going to start trying to put out some of these flames, and cut the power inside.” He patted Chuck on the shoulder, before the young boy was waving at you, and the Lieutenant you were left with turned to the vehicle he commanded, opening up one of the hatches.

“It’s going to be really smoky in there, so try and keep your eyes on me, okay?” you nodded your head, dropping your back to the ground as you accepted the jacket that Thomas was holding out to you, tugging it over your shoulders, but not bothering to fasten it up just yet. A pair of pants followed, and you pulled them on over the top of your uniform trousers, adjusting them around your waist with the little toggle, and zipping up the heavy-duty jacket to protect yourself, already beginning to feel overheated. “If you lose sight of me, just start flashing this torch on your shoulder, and I’ll come find you, alright? You won’t be able to see much more than a few metres in front of yourself.”

He lifted your hand up, palm closing over the top of your own, and making sure you could feel the large button on the side under the tip of your finger, waiting for you to confirm it, before letting go.

Toeing off your shoes, you left them in a mismatched set by one of the wheels, and taking the boots from Thomas that he offered you. Sitting on the floor to put them on, you adjusted them on your feet, gasping a little at the fit.

“These boots fit my feet!”

He glanced down at you, smirking a little, and nodding his head. “I know, I ordered a pair of boots that were the right size for you a few weeks ago, so that you don’t trip as much wearing the men’s boots. Brenda chewed my ear off about you not having any.” You beamed, lacing them up tightly and tucking the laces inside of the shoes securely, before taking the hands Thomas had outstretched to you, and letting him pull you back up to your feet.

“They’re really comfortable. Much better.”

“I’m glad.” He held out a glove for you, letting you slip your fingers into it and fastening it tightly around your wrist at the toggle, before tucking it under the edge of the sleeve. He repeated it with the other hand, tightening it at your wrist and tucking it into the sleeve, and you were almost entirely suited up. “You’re going to have a lot on your back with the oxygen tank and your bag, you gonna’ be okay?”

You took the tank for him, the weight of it straining your arms little, but you adjusted it over your shoulders, a mask following it, and you gripped it in your hand, using the other to retrieve your medkit. “I’ll be alright, as long as we aren’t in there for too long.” It was a struggle for you to get it over the top of the tank, and Thomas chuckled as he watched you go, before finally, you had it adjusted, and you just hoped there was always going to be somewhere near you if you needed something from inside, instead of having to take it on and off.

“It’s my aim to get us in and out as quickly as possible. There’s going to be a lot of flammables in there, and the police are going to need to go in and gather evidence, Minho’s our resident arson expert, so he’ll stay behind and help check whether it’s an accident or not, but we need to sweep for anyone in there.”

“You think there will be?”

“Honestly?” He looked at the building, placing a helmet onto your head as soon as you had adjusted your mask, and he shook his head. “No, I don’t. Normally when this happens, people are more eager to just run, and try to tend to the wounds themselves. They don’t want to stick around and be arrested, but we have to check, in case they’re unconscious.”

He pulled his mask down over his own head, placing a hand on your upper arm once his helmet was on, a loose hold as he guided you toward the house, his grip slipping down to your forearm instead, and once he was approaching the door, the rest of truck already waiting there, he let you go. They positioned themselves on either side of the door, and you copied those motions, moving to stand next to Fry.

Thomas turned his back to the door, looking over the crew, and giving them all a nod. Raising his foot and kicking hard backwards, the wood around the door splintered, flying open into a horror scene of flames and smoke, which rapidly curled out around him as he paced forwards to avoid the heat.

He had been correct, you could barely see inside of the doorway, grey and orange filling your sights, and you paused, watching as the smoke seemed to swallow up every firefighter that walked inside. Thomas was left standing next to you, seeming to sense your hesitation, and he reached across to turn on the torch on your shoulder, lighting it up as his own followed, before he was giving you a nod, and encouraging you into the house.

You followed closely behind him, the sound of your own breathing within the mask filling your ears, heart racing, and you felt as though you were in some kind of sci-fi movie, stepping into an alternate reality as only three feet into the smoke, the light from the outside world was blocked out, darkness taking over, only lit up by the torches. It took you a moment to adjust, admiring how the rest of the Squad team managed to jump straight into action, adjusting to it without restraint.

Much before this house, you had never been inside of a burning building before, the teams you’d worked with never seemed to flow this well, or perhaps they did and you’d just never stuck around long enough to notice, but with your house and crew, it felt like a well-oiled machine, everyone having their place to make things work, and you swelled with pride and being an integral part of the functioning.

You were simply left to follow Thomas around, pausing each time he stopped to speak into the radio on his shoulder as he reported to the other teams, and you bumped into him every time he came to a sudden stop. There was evidence that this room had only recently been in use; phones left behind, mugs of tea and the remnants of charred papers that had been left out.

Melted plastic, warped furniture and charred walls, the fire glowing brightly, even through the clouds of smoke. Glass shattered at the windows around you as the team outside broke them to begin spraying water inside, attempting to cool down the heat inside, and you were sure you’d walked several laps of the downstairs as it finally came up clear. Your eyes were just beginning to adjust, to make out more than just shapes, but to actually come into focus, blurry and controlled mess clearing up to offer you a picture of the room.

Thomas paused, talking into the radio as he told his team to begin backing out, promising to do the final sweep, and you watch the various other dull lights in the room begin to flicker away as they filtered out of the building around you. Glancing around, you scuffled your toes against the floor, kicking at a piece of rubble, and you paused as you watched some of the dust a little further up move.

You blinked, staring at pieces of fallen scrap metal around a table, trying to focus back on it, and there was no movement this time. You were almost ready to give up, turning your head away, before there was a brief hint of movement once again, and you sighed. Thomas was still standing still, his back to you, and you took only a few steps away from him, trying to navigate through the flames to get a clearer look at the ash and dust clouds that were beginning to settle.

The closer you got, the more evident it became, the sound of scuffling and whimpering making you pick up your speed, concern racing through you. It went silent, the flames curling up around you, and you couldn't find the source of the noise again, finding the spot that you swore you’d seen movement going completely empty. Sighing, and shaking yourself down, the ache in your shoulders was becoming unbearable, and you rolled your head from side to side, standing back up from where you were crouched down.

Rubbing a hand at your shoulder to try and loosen it, it did little to help when you had several straps of the bag blocking your movements, and you looked back to where you had been. The spot was empty, and you swallowed thickly, knowing that with all the walking in circles you’d corn, you had no idea which way was left and which was right, or which was to go to get back out, and you couldn't see Thomas’ light anywhere in the room.

You stood back up, walking to where you’d been, and trying to get a sense of any direction he might’ve taken. Wandering forward a few feet from where you were, rows of tables lined with trays of what had once been marijuana plants was evident on either side of you, and there were over ten different ways he could have gone on his final search.

You could try calling for him, but with the noise in the room, you doubted he’d hear you, and it probably wasn’t the best bet to wander off to find him. Instead, you backed up, retracing your steps back to where you had once been, chastising yourself for having been reckless. Reaching up for the torch on your shoulder, you tried to stand as far from the flames around you as possible, flashing it steadily and continually, the heavy button making your finger cramp up after a few minutes.

You sighed, letting go of the torch and flexing your fingers for a minute, curling them and uncurling them from a fist as you tried to ease the aching, and before you could reach for it again, panic beginning to bubble up, there was a figure breaking through the smoke.

“Where the hell did you go?” His hands found your upper arms, twisting you side to side as he checked you over, and you shrugged a little in his touch, enough relief upon seeing him to make your knees buckle a little as your anxiety began to settle, and you could hear the disappointment laced in his tone. “I told you to stick with me, this is a burning building, you can’t just wander off-”

“I’m sorry.” His words died out, fading out on a sigh as his shoulders slumped, his touch falling away from your arms. “I thought I saw movement, I could have sworn that I did, but there was nothing there. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I was just worried. I didn't want you to get hurt, alright?” you nodded, choking back the lump of emotions in your throat, and he glanced over your shoulder. “Where did you see movement?”

You twisted, pointing to the collapsed pile of metal plating and desks. “It was nothing, I checked it out, I couldn't see much.”

“Follow the pathway, alright? Straight ahead, Brenda will come and meet you, alright?” He squeezed at your shoulder, hand sliding down to find your hand, and he squeezed it again, tugging you a little closer. “Just walk straight ahead, and I’ll double-check for you, alright? Straight ahead until you see Bren, you go this.”

You squeezed his hand back, both in acknowledgement and in thanks, knowing he was doing this just to ease your concern, and then, he was brushing past you, and you were following his guidance, cautious steps in a straight line forwards, searching for Brenda.

Her figure made itself known, the smoke thinning near the doorway as the flames surrounding the entrance were being extinguished by the firefighters outside, and she reached a hand out to you. Slipping your gloved hand into hers, a little sigh of relief left you, your entire body aching from stress, and the weight of the equipment you were carrying. As soon as you cleared the wall of smoke, stepping out into bright and burning daylight, you hissed a little as your eyes adjusted, having acclimated to just how dark it had gotten inside of the burning shed.

You stumbled down the steps, gasping a little as you finally reached the bottom, bracing your hands on your knees. Dropping your helmet to the ground, it rolled away a little bit, and your skin felt sticky with sweat, hating how overheated you always felt in the suits, only after you ever left the building. An unusual phenomenon, but it was starting to form a pattern. As it clattered away across the ground, you lifted your helmet up and off of your face, flushed cheeks cooling as soon as the wind swept over them, and the acrid smell of burning and charred wood met your nose.

“You gotta’ work out more.”

“I carry a ten-pound bag and push a stretcher, I’m perfectly in shape for my job.” You muttered, Brenda laughing a little as she patted at your shoulder, before letting you stand up straight. She helped to lift the oxygen tank down from your shoulders, and as the weight slipped away, you swayed a little, catching your balance and sighing out in relief. Your med-kit fell to the floor, and you rubbed a hand at each shoulder to ease tense muscles, already planning the hot bath with muscle soak powder that you’d be taking as soon as you got home.

As you picked it back up, stepping away from the building, you shucked off the oversized jacket you wore too, padding over to where Brenda was unpacking your equipment into the truck, your sock-clad feet pressing to the concrete for a second as you handed over your boots, before pushing your toes back into your sneakers and flexing them a little. Leaning on the side of the truck, you glanced over at the doorway, worrying your lip a little as you waited to see Thomas emerging. It was a few seconds longer, and you filled the time with tying your laces, before he was finally revealing himself to your view.

There was nobody with him, not that you could see, and yet as the floorboards creaked under his weight, you could make out the squirming package in his arms, a charred blanket wrapped around whatever it is, and your breathing seemed to stop entirely. Your feet were moving underneath you as you made your way over to him, his feet carrying him to a stop before you, and you hesitated for only a second as your hands hovered over the smoking fabric, before you were pinching the edge of it, and peeling it back.

You were stuck between relieved and pitying at the little face staring back at you. The immense fear that it had been a baby, was something that had made your entire body stiffen and blood run cold, and you relaxed a little as you looked down at the bundle, but it didn't make you feel any less upset about what you saw. Burned and raw flesh in a few patches, golden fur stained with ash and black soot, and scared eyes as the animal cowered in Thomas’ hold, shaking violently, and your jaw dropped.

You couldn't see Thomas’ face very clearly as you looked up to him, more your own reflection in the ash stained glass of his mask, and you reached up, taking his helmet from his head to free matted brown strands, hands on each side of his face to peel the mask away to follow, dropping both items down to the pavement, and his eyes were just as wide as your own as he stared back, in total shock.

“You were right. There was someone else in there.”

“Who would leave a puppy in there? What kind of monster would do that, Thomas?” Your voice cracked a little as you spoke, reaching a hand out slowly to the animal to let it sniff your hand, and it trembled for a second, face turned away, before giving in. You expected a nip, or a growl, or simply to be ignored, but as you held your hand out for the dog, it leaned in, a dry nose pressing to your hand as you were sniffed, before a dry and rough tongue was following in a weak lick, and you gasped a little as it rubbed the edge of an unharmed face over your fingers. “Oh, you’re just a sweetie, aren’t you?”

“It has some burns and some scratches, but I think it’ll be alright.”

His tone was hopeful, and you nodded your head, trying your best to believe it. “Bring it over to the ambulance, I’ll see what I can do with what we have.” He only nodded, following after you in a slow walk to the back of the truck. The crowd had been cleared, the police keeping the few nosey stranglers back, but Newt was packing away medical equipment as you opened the door.

His eyes went wide, jaw dropping a little as he took in the armful that Thomas was holding, now squirming a little more, and after a moment to process it, his face little up like sunshine. “Is that a puppy?”

“Yes! Someone left it in there, can you believe that?” Newt scowled at the mere idea, his eyes flicking up to glare at the house, before he was hopping down from the ambulance to sit on the edge, and holding his arms out for the bundle. The animal whimpered a little as he was handed from Thomas to Newt, before it was nosing at the spot underneath Newt’s jaw, learning his scent as well, and the blond chuckled, becoming lost in the interactions with the dog. Turning to face Thomas, he had a hint of a smile on his lips as he watched the scene. “You have water bottles in the truck, right?”

“A couple. You want one?”

“Yeah, I can try and get some water into this little guy, and put some cream on those burns, but he’s going to need a vet.” You turned to look at the animal, reaching out to scratch lightly on the top of its head, and it let out a strained yip at the affections, tail wagging slightly. “I’ll take him. By the time we get back, our shift will have finished, and I’ll find a vet still open.”

“Can I come with you?”

Your eyes snapped back to him, brows raising a little bit, and you found yourself at a loss for words. “To the, uh, vets?” He only nodded, and you swallowed thickly, processing the idea, before shrugging. You were certain that you were on better terms with Thomas now, it had been months since you’d last had a real argument, save the bickering over her got the last biscuit or the best seat on the couch every now and then, and you were starting to get along well. It couldn't be that bad, right? “Sure, yeah. That’d be really nice, actually.”

“Yeah?” He raised a brow.

“Some company, I mean. So I’m not alone, I’d like your company. I mean, anyone’s company would be nice, but yours especially.” He grinned, more like a toothy smirk, and you flushed with what from head to toe. “Oh, fuck off, just go and get the water.”

The look on his face didn’t fade, chuckling a little as he stepped back. “You got it, sweetheart, I’ll be right back.”

You scoffed at the pet name, knowing that he was just teasing you further for falling over your words, and you spun on your heel to face Newt again, his eyes already fixed on you, and you glared. “Don’t.”

��I didn’t even say anything!”

“But you were going to.” You mumbled, hearing him cackle a laugh as well, and you clambered past him into the ambulance to find something you could use as a bowl to put some water in. Newt got out, moving to sit on the concrete instead as you search through the containers, the scuffing of boots on the floor signalling that Thomas had returned, and you didn’t bother to look, unscrewing the cap of an unopened jar, and decided that it was deep enough to form a bowl.

You handed it out, the boys fawning over the animal as they filled the tub with water and it dove in eagerly. You searched for your bag, finding the cream, and trying to treat the wounds as best you could without causing it any further pain, before the team was beginning to filter over. Once the job was done, as each person progressively checked off their duties, you were joined, until the entire team was gathered around the puppy, who seemed to be soaking up the attention as it received pets and head scratches, cooing and aww-ing from all of them, until you were surrounded, and there was a due time to start getting the engines back.

You had to say goodbye to the pet temporarily, knowing that it would need to ride back in a firetruck, as none of the firemen were allergic, but it would be unhygienic and unprofessional to have it ride in the ambulance with you.

Your partner spent the ride back smirking, not bothering to say anything but glancing at you every so often for the interaction you’d had, prodding you a little bit with subtle questions about which vet you would go to, and what happened inside of the building, and whether you were going to keep the dog or if Thomas would, all of which you promptly ignored.

The trucks were already back, and a group of the firefighters were out in the main foyer playing with the dog when you pulled up, watching as they backed out of the space for the ambulance to reverse into. Some were in their casual-wear, some had yet to get changed, and yet all of them were full of a renewed glee at the idea of seeing the dog, and you almost felt bad for bringing it to an end.

You let them have a little longer, a symphony of different names flying around in their air as everybody seemed to have an opinion, and you made your way to the changing rooms. Grabbing your hoodie, you swapped out your shirt, unbuttoning it slowly and slipping it down your arms before slipping the baggy material of your hoodie over your head. Your trousers followed, folded neatly on the smooth and smart material to take home, resting on the bench, before kicking off your sneakers and sitting down long enough to tug the cold and stiff denim of your jeans up your legs.

Just as you were buttoning them back up, the door was slamming open, and you jumped a little as a bundle of fur came zooming in ahead of the body to follow, like an entirely new puppy as he had some water in his system, and some leftover meat from the sandwiches that Frypan had been making earlier in the day.

You cursed a little at the shock, a hand resting over your heart, and you sighed as it leapt underneath your palm. Shifting down to the button on your jeans after only a second, and fastening it up, a taller figure leaning against the lockers.

“Damn, did I miss the cute panties again?”

“Oh, shut it, Thomas.” You scowled, and he grinned a little as you avoided his eye, grabbing your bag and packing your work clothes into it, before sitting down to put your shoes back on, and you finally looked back up at him. He had already changed, it seemed, his casual clothes adorning his figure rather than the usual ‘Firehouse 21’ tee, and he’d swapped the heavy-duty pants and suspenders for a pair of skinny khakis. “What’s with the rope?”

He came to sit at the other end of the bench, lifting the aforementioned bundle down from his shoulder, and placing it before you. “This dog is a little erratic, I figured we’d need a little harness for actually getting it to the vets.”

You cocked a brow, smirking a little bit as you finished lacing your shoes, and letting a leg sit on either side as you faced him. “Oh, and you think you can make a whole harness and lead out of a piece of rope?”

“I don’t think I can, I know I can.” He seemed to have taken your challenge, his eyebrows furrowing and eyes squinting a little as he laid out the rope before himself, beginning to shift it and twist it into different sections. You didn’t see anything within it, random knots and a tangled mess seeming to come together, and he worked on it for a few minutes, determination filling him, and your smugness only grew as you prepared for the ‘I told you so’ that you’d be delivering.

That moment never came, however, because as he finished up, laying what looked like a bundle of knots and twists to you, it began to take shape, space for four little legs to slip through, a band running down it’s back and a rope that could be held onto connected at one end to sit over shoulder blades, and your jaw dropped.

“I told you so.” The words were stolen from you, and you glowered a little, a finger coming up to rest under your chin, pressing your lips back closed as he smirked. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. I’m a firehouse lieutenant, it’s my job to be good with knots.” He licked over his lips, your eyes fixed on his as a twinkle flashed through them. “I’m great at tying things up.”

He winked, and you scoffed again, turning away from him and taking the rope from his hands as you moved to find the puppy, he was biting at one of the shoer curtains and pulling it up and down the railing. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you today. You’re so cheeky, cut it out, I’m not used to it.”

Your words were thrown over your shoulder as you made your way over to the dog, trying to navigate little paws through the holes as it squirmed, and his laugh bounced from all of the walls. “Can’t help it, I think it’s kinda’ funny when you blush, and it’s definitely cute. To think, we spent all that time arguing, and all I had to do get you to shut up with your witty comment and stinging insults was flirt with you and throw in a few dirty jokes.”

“You’re the absolute worst.” You grumbled, and he grinned a little more, taking the rope from your hands and wrapping it around his own as the dog pulled on the harness, eager for movement once again. That only seemed to further his amusement, and you grabbed your bag, reaching into the side pocket for your keys, only to remember that you’d been dropped off this morning, and so you lifted the bag onto your shoulder instead. “We’re taking your car.”

“But my seats are leather.” His words were whiny, and you chuckled, holding open the door for them both. Your little group moved through the firehouse, greeting the staff of the other teams that had taken over, trying to be polite, a subtle nod or quiet ‘hello’ as you passed through, before he was leading you over to his car, and holding open the passenger seat door for you. Dropping your bag down on the back seat, you settled in, a soft noise leaving you as the puppy clambered up into your lap. “You better hold onto that dog, because if my seats get all shredded up, I’ll be gutted.”

“Yeah, yeah; fancy leather seats.” You mocked, a grin on your face, and he scowled falsely, slamming the door shut a little as you chuckled as he flipped you off while rounding the car, biting on the inside of his cheek to contain his amusement. Settling in himself, you strapped yourself in, making sure that you adjusted the safety-belt over the dog in your lap too, who had managed to sit down, tail wagging as it panted happily, and you avoided all the sore spots still littering its skin. “You want me to google a vet? I don’t really know anywhere around here like that, but I can search for one?”

“There’s one not far from where I live, so we can head there.”

He started up the engine, hand on the gearstick as he reversed out of the spot and edges slowly towards the road as the car warmed up, and you considered the matter. “We should find one near my place, so you don’t have to drive all the way across town to drop me off afterwards.”

“I don’t mind.” His eyes flicked up to the mirrors, checking everything he was seeing as he left the parking lot and joined the traffic on the road, and you sighed, twisting to face him a little more.

“Yeah, but, it would waste time in your evening, and your fuel, and-”

“I don’t mind.” He turned to look at you, eyes meeting yours for a split second, whiskey-coloured eyes showing only honesty, replacing the cheeky look he’d held moments prior. You sighed, watching him for a moment longer, and he turned back to the road, your eyes sweeping along the defined line of his jaw, the upturned tip of his nose form the side, and the way his eyes flickered over the road before him as he navigated traffic. “Besides, if we go to the veterinarian near me, I can take him for check-ups.”

“They’ll probably have to stay overnight, they’ll want to do tests and heal them up.” You cupped the furry little face in your hands, the thumping of his tail as he wagged picking up again immediately. “Won’t they, huh, cutie? We gotta’ get you all fixed up!”

Thomas chuckled, glancing at the two of you as you kissed its little head, and you were weaving through roads you didn’t recognise, a side of the city you’d never ventured to before, but you weren’t all that surprised by it, because you’d barely adventured anywhere. Now you’d decided to stick around for a while, you should probably learn a little more about where you were living.

“I’ve never been here before.” You looked out of the window, the light in the sky beginning to fade into dusk. “This neighbourhood, I mean. Well, this side of the city, really.”

“You don’t get out much, huh?”

“I moved around a lot, didn’t really seem like it was worth learning an area when I didn’t know how long I was going to stay.” Silence formed between you for a while, the scenery flashing by, streetlights slowly beginning to turn on and warm up, and it wasn’t until the car was pulling to a halt in front of a small veterinary surgery that only had a few people milling around behind the glass windows, quiet and calm. Thomas turned to you upon unclipping his seatbelt, and the silence carried for another second or two, but now with more weight on, as you waited for him to speak.

“I’d be happy to show you around, sometime. If you choose to stick around with us. I can show you some of my favourite places, and I just know Newt would want to tag along and show off his hang-outs too.”

You smiled, watching as he shrugged, getting out of the car and walking around to open your door for you. Standing up, he took the lead, the bouncing puppy sniffing the ground curiously. “I’d like that, maybe I’ll take you up on that offer sometime.”

“I hope you do.” He locked the car, the two of you walking quietly, side by side, up the ramp and through the door, the ball overhead jingling a little as you entered.

There was a blonde behind the desk, curly hair and dark painted lips as she looked up, eyes flicking over the pair of you, before her eyes were moving down to the dog; a single, well-manicured brow lifting in questioning.

You looked between her and the dog as you approached, wondering what brought on the look that was on her face, before realising that you’d grown so accustomed to the state of the dog that the initial shock had worn off, and you gasped a little as you approached the desk, her hand closing over the phone, a scowl forming on her features.

“We didn’t do that to the dog!”

She paused, and Thomas turned to look at you, confusion portrayed on his face, before he was reading the room, his eyes going wide. Neither of you was wearing your official uniforms, you were just a pair of strangers with a dog on a rope, covered in burns and cuts. He panicked, patting down his pockets as she lifted up the phone to her ear, panicking to find his wallet as he flipped it open to show the ID inside.

She took the leather from him, peering it at carefully, a long and tense second that seemed to drag on, your breath held, before her stern expression seemed to relax a little, a softer look on her face as she handed it back, placing the phone down and crossing her arms against the desktop before you both.

“We found this little guy in a house fire about two hours ago, we just finished our shift.”

“Uh-huh.” She squinted, before she was turning to the computer, long and perfectly maintained nails typing on the keyboard as she created a file for the little creature. “Name?”

“Uh, well, we haven’t given it one.” Thomas stuttered, and she smirked a little, turning to look at you both a little clearer.

“I meant your name, for the file.”

He blushed, red twinging his cheeks as his jaw snapped shut, and you tried to contain your laugh. “His name is Thomas Stephens. With a ‘P-H’, not a ‘V’.” She nodded her head, and Thomas nudged you with his elbow gently, a quiet thanks as his cheeks remained heated. He cleared his throat, choking back the lump in his throat.

“Her name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” She paused for only a second, before she was typing that too, and you turned to look at him, one of his shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. “We should both be on file, to look after the little guy. He’s our responsibility now.”

“And you said that you found him in a house fire today?”

You snapped away from Thomas, looking back to the blonde receptionist, who was still typing at her computer as she filled in details, waiting for you to continue. “Oh, yes! Not too bad, a little singed around the edges but that’s all. First-degree skin wounds, nothing deep into muscle tissue, except for a few second-degrees. It was severely dehydrated and a little woozy from the heat, but we gave ‘em some water and got some food in ‘em, and the pup got its energy back.” She stopped her typing, turning to stare at you. “No disorientation or dizziness that I can tell, so I don’t think there’s lasting brain trauma, but the woofing is a little raspy, probably some internal burning from smoke inhalation.”

“I take it you’re the paramedic, then?” It was your turn to be slightly embarrassed now, Thomas staring at you wide-eyed for your spiel, and she was watching you intently, and you only nodded your head in confirmation. “I’m impressed. I’ll let the doc’ know it all. How about you hand me over the dog, I’ll take him into the back, and you two can wait out here. I’ll be back out in a few minutes, alright?”

You were almost reluctant to hand him over, but Thomas gave her the makeshift leash, and she walked him away, the two of you taking a seat on the cushioned chairs in the waiting room, posters up around on the walls to show information and promotions on pet-care.

Sinking down next to him, you let out a sigh, a little achy all over from the stress of the day, and you were looking forward to simply relaxing. Your head rolled to the side, to find Thomas picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of his hoodie, seeming to sense your lingering gaze, his head twisting to catch your eye. He returned the gaze, curiosity unspoken between you both as he waited for you to speak, and it took you a moment to form words.

“What are we gonna’ do with it, Thomas?”

“The dog?” He mumbled dumbly, and you only nodded your head. “I’m sure they know a selection of excellent shelters who would be able to find it a good home and look after it once we sign it over, and it’ll find a great home.” You sighed, not too sure why you were so disappointed by the answer, your sights turning forwards to look over the posters on the walls once again.

A quiet settled over you both, nothing tense or uncomfortable, but simply companionable, and your mind drifted to the excited little animal that was taking over your mind, closed behind a door for its initial examination.

“The team seemed to really like the dog.” You jumped a little at his sudden voice, twisting a little to face him again, hope fluttering through your nerves. “Maybe they’d like a house dog?”

“Really?” You couldn't help the smile that broke out on your features, and he chuckled a little, sights sweeping over your face, before his head was ducking a little, and he grinned, warm cheeks when he lifted his head again.

“Yeah, nobody has an allergy, the kids that visit would love it, and I know Vince would be on board, he’s always talked about a house dog.” He dared to lift a hand, pausing for a second, and you glanced down, his hand settling over yours on the arm of the chair to squeeze lightly. “Plus, you looked so down when you thought you didn’t get to keep him. I didn’t like that.”

You paused, processing his words, and nothing else needed to be said, his attention moving to the tiles in front of his feet as his legs stretched out, getting comfortable for the wait. As you sat here, you couldn't help but be thankful that he was here with you, because this was an experience you wouldn't want to be going through alone, and somehow, it felt right to be here with him of all people. “Thank you, Thomas.”

“It’s not definite, yet, I’d still have to talk to everyone at the house and to Vince, and start a pool of funds, b-”

“No, not for the dog.” His jaw snapped shut, confusion on slightly pouted lips once again as he tried to process his thoughts. “Today, you believed me. There was nothing to suggest there was anyone there, and you put yourself in danger just to check for me.”

“You were right last time, with the woman in the house, trapped under the rubble? The kid who fell? You’ve been right about these things before.”

You shook your head. “This is different. You stayed behind because I insisted on it, you trusted me, you didn’t have to, but you did. Thank you for trusting me, Thomas.”

He only nodded, swallowing thickly, and you turned your hand underneath his, parting your fingers a little. His lips turned up at the edges, the tips of his fingers smoothing over your palm as they straightened out, before his fingers were weaving loosely through your own. “You can call me Tommy, y’know.”

“Huh?”

“You always call me Thomas.” His fingers tightened a little, and you crooked your own to wrap around his hand lightly. “Everyone calls me Tommy. You can too, if you want.”

“Okay.” He hummed, fingers twitching with your own, before he was lifting your hand enough to let his fingers weave with your own entirely, to sit connected on the chair between you both, and you held onto him equally as tightly. “Tommy?”

“Yeah?” There was a slightly higher pitch to his voice, a sweet look on his face at the sound of you using his nickname, and your chest flushed with heat at the idea you’d been able to bring him such a little joy so effortlessly.

“Thanks for being here with me.”

“My pleasure.” You only nodded, gaze remaining connected with his as his smile became fully formed, flashes of white teeth as it became a beam, and you couldn't help but return it. You jumped at the clearing of a throat, eyes closing as you suppressed the urge to curse in shock, having had enough of jump-scares and fear for today.

“Does one of you want to come in with me?” Both your and Thomas’ attention moved to her, and she was standing before you both, hands crossed behind her back as her eyes flicked between you. “We’re going to keep him in overnight, doc’ wants to put him under some anaesthesia so we can properly treat the wounds that are a little more severe and so some stitches, so one of you can go and keep him calm as he goes under. I need one of you to stay here and fill out some forms.”

You turned to look at Thomas, questioning silently, and he gave a smile, squeezing your hand tightly, before letting it go so your fingers could slip free. “You go ahead, I’ll fill out the forms, and I’ll wait right here.”

“You sure?”

“Totally. Go make sure our little puppy goes to sleep comfortably.” You nodded, standing up to follow the girl, and seeking a reassuring glance from Thomas over your shoulder, before you were disappearing around the corner and into an examination room, and he was cut from your views.

The dog was laying across the table, looking calmer now, but he perked up considerably upon seeing you. There was a set of weighing scales out, and a needle filled with a dose already, alongside a clipboard and a pen on a sheet that was half filled out.

The doctor was wearing a set of plastic gloves, slipping one from his wrist as he shook your hand, giving you his name, but you knew your mind was spinning far too much right now to remember it. You moved forward, scratching at the dog's ears to soothe it, it’s head tipping into your hands as it woofed happily, tail thumping against the table.

“What I’m going to do is use a general anaesthetic to put him under, so that I can get these stitches in and disinfect these wounds without him feeling it. I’ve weighed him, and surprisingly for the dogs I’ve seen come from these backgrounds, he’s actually on his target weight.” You nodded, trying to retain the information, and knowing that it was all good news. “I also want to take some blood samples, just to get an idea of what we have going on, since there’s no history, but he seems better than just ‘okay’ to me. We’ll keep him overnight for observations, as I’m sure my nurse has told you.”

“She did.”

“Have you decided what you want to do with him?” You scratched lightly at his hair, heart clenching a little at the whimper he let out as a needle slipped into his skin, but he was relaxing only a second later, the metal slipping free of his flesh, and his eyes growing heavy, ready to knock him out, for the time being, so he could heal properly.

“We’re kinda’ thinking we might have him as a house dog at the fire station.”

“I like that idea, a lot. It’s always motivational. This little guy has a lot of personality; it’ll be good for him to have so much attention, and so many people around him, constantly.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “He is definitely spirited, that's for sure. Only an hour after he’d left the building, he was already getting his energy back at the station. Some water and a snack, and he was bursting at the seams to run.”

“I can tell, he gave me a real struggle to settle him down.” He was growing tired, breathing growing soft and deeper as he calmed a little, his racing heart steadying out, and you hoped that some good sleep was exactly what he needed to heal. “I'll give you a list of his medicines and puppy suitable foods to help him develop, and when you come back for him, I’ll have a schedule made for the house. It can be hard to keep a dog within healthy weight and fitness boundaries with different teams who don’t get to communicate, so I’ll make a rota.”

“That’s great, thank you.”

“You are truly welcome. I’m going to have to shave him in some patches, but it should grow back in a month or so.” You nodded, a few more minutes passing, and you realised that there was nothing else to be added, the dog having drifted off, and the vet was simply giving you a few more minutes to accept it all. “When you’re ready, you can sign off at the desk, and we’ll give you a call in a day or two when he’s ready for collection.”

You nodded, taking a few more seconds yourself brushing your fingers over soft fur, before backing away, tearing your eyes from the dog you’d grown such a sudden attachment to, before you were opening the door, and closing it again.

As you made your way along the corridor, Thomas was standing at the desk, frowning at various paperwork that he was filling out, signing his signature at various spots and filling out any details that were needed. Taking up space by his side, his attention moved to you for just a moment, a soft smile directed your way, before he was moving back to the paperwork, and you leant on the edge of the desk, watching the pen move as he filled it out.

“Have you got a name?”

“I thought we already gave you our names?” Thomas echoed, an adorable confusion to his voice, and the nurse smirked a little.

“I’m talking about the dog.” She clarified, and he blushed a deep red once again, scowling as he went back to the paperwork, a mumble of ‘of course you are’ under his breath, and you bit back your laughter. “I’ll give you a moment to think about it, I’ll go and photocopy your forms.”

She took the paperwork from him as he finished it, and he turned to face you, embarrassment dying down. “How about ‘Champ’?” Your face screwed up at the idea, knowing it was a common name and not something that suited his personality at all, and Thomas seemed to agree, his own face mirroring yours as he thought on it longer. “How about ‘Dexter’?”

“That seems so aggressive. He’s a sweetie, he’s just excited.” He nodded, silence falling between you both again. “What do you think about ‘Scooter’?”

“It’s certainly interesting.” He hummed, and your head tipped to the side, trying to explain why the name had come to you;

“I don’t know, it just felt right. It feels like an energetic but fun name, and that's what he feels like.” Thomas clicked the pen shut, the woman walking back into the room, a brown envelope with the word ‘dog forms’ written across the front sliding to sit on the glass before you both.

“Have we chosen a name, yet?”

She sat down in her seat, bringing the computer back to life and typing in her password to complete the registration. “I think we just settled on ‘Scooter’.”

“We did?” You echoed a little, staring up at Thomas, who only nodded to the blonde nurse, who smiled to herself as she completed the forms. Lifting the card reader up onto the top of the desk, the small registration fee and covering of the original medicines and treatments were completed, and you promised to forward half of the costs to Thomas as soon as you could while he punched his PIN into the device.

She finished it all up, stapling the bundle of receipts to the copy of the forms, and just like that, you were stepping back out into the cold air, minus a dog, but plus a pet.

Sinking down into the passenger seat beside Thomas, he started up the car, and as he pulled out of the parking lot, you couldn't help but notice the darkness that had taken over. What had been a pastel sky when you’d entered the establishment was now deep tones of blue fading into black, the moon string in the sky to be accompanied by an array of twinkling stars.

You offered him your address, the city melting away beside you as the radio played, idle chatter filling the silence between you both on the drive. He would often pause the conversation to point out somewhere he liked; a restaurant, an activity, a shop or simply a building with a memory for him, all following with a list of reasons why he thought you should visit it someday, some even coming with a promise to show it to you himself.

When you finally pulled up in front of your building, Thomas peered up at it, stepping out of the car as you did, and rounding to the backseat to grab your back for you as the car sat on the curb, engine still running to keep warm. “This is me, that third window up on the left.” You pointed up to it, the glass dark in an apartment with all of the lights off, the living room window that looked out onto the street would soon be flooded with lights, only minutes away from finally getting to relax and unwind from a busy day. “Thanks for driving me home, and coming out with me. It was nice to have company.”

“I had fun, I wanted to come. It was really no trouble.” He rocked on the balls of his feet, hands shoved into his pockets, and you weren’t sure what else to say to fill the silence as he simply nodded to your words, hands pushed into his pockets. “I’ll see you soon, on our next shift?”

You could only hum your agreement, mind shifting to remember when it was that you were due on shift again, your mind coming up blank with your exhaustion. You waited longer, his eyes fixed on you, intently, but you couldn't seem to decipher what was laying within them, and after a while you gave up trying to. “Goodnight, Tommy.”

“Goodnight.” He smiles, shoulders slumping a little, and you headed back up towards the door of the main building, pulling your bag around from your side to open the pocket on the front, and fish out the keys, pausing at the top stop as you found them, and tried to find the one for the main building.

Shoes shuffled against the concrete behind you, up the steps, and you turned to face Thomas, unsure of what to say to question him, but something to you he had his own agenda, and not to rush him. He waited for a second longer, the correct key inched between two fingers now as the rest jingled where they hung, and your eyes remained locked with his as you waited.

A hand came up to rest over your cheek, a soft smile on his face as he took a shaky inhale, before your head was being tipped to the side a little. Hot breath washed over your skin, his body stepping in close enough that his own heat was enough to warm you. The tip of his nose dragged over your cheek, enough to make your breath hitch, before soft lips were pressing to your skin. A sweet kiss that a shy blush flood your features, his lips lingering a second longer than you expected, before was pulling back, an equal blush visible on his face, but a bashful expression none the less as he pulled away.

You felt cold as he stepped back, the hand from your waist falling away and you weren’t sure when it had even landed there, as the hand on your other cheek dropped away too, and he licked over his lower lip, nibbling on it to contain the sunny expression threatening to take over as he backed down the steps.

“Now it's a good night. I’ll be seeing you.” He gave a little wave, before he was jogging back to his car, and you watched him go, a little shocked and a little confused, heart racing in your chest as you opened the door to the main building and stepped inside, hearing his engine rev as he pulled away.

It was all too much to handle at the moment, a hot bath and some emotional unwinding from the chaotic day that it had been much needed before you could even think about beginning to unpick whatever it was that was going on now. Kicking off your shoes the second the door was open, the only decision you wanted to make right now was whether you wanted food or your pyjamas first.

#thomas #firefighter!tommy #SAF #smoke and fire #thomas x reader #thomas/reader #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien thomas #dylan obrien the maze runner #dylan obrien x reader smut #dylan obrien/reader smut #thomas x reader smut #thomas/reader smut

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justa-mysticmess · 3 years

Text

mc’s attempted forced engagement

submitted by @manacharlotte

hello!! thank you for your lovely request, and sincere apologies it took so long for it to be posted :) i think i might be getting back into the swing of things now though ^^;;

sorry it’s so long btw! some of it also became repetitive but, i did my best ^^;; hope you like it!! enjoy! xoxo

jaehee

it had been easy for mc to open up to jaehee, likely because their relationship had been based off of strong friendship and respect

also because jaehee was such a quiet person and a great listener

in fact, mc felt they had opened up to the other too soon

however, when they were kidnapped by one of their father’s loyal and unfortunately talented henchmen, jaehee was glad that mc had confided in her about their forced engagement beforehand because otherwise, jaehee wouldn’t have a clue as to where to start looking for mc

she wasn’t surprised that she didn’t even need to convince the other members of the rfa, but what did surprise her was jumin’s investment in finding mc

it made her feel warm that her ex-boss cared about her and her s/o this much despite them having rejected his offers to work for him

with jumin joinining in the search for mc and his many resources which he wasn’t shy to use, they were able to not only track mc’s whereabouts (they were kept locked up in their father’s mansion in a rural setting), but due to 707′s unparalleled research and hacking abilities, they were able to get a lot of info on mc’s father, his business dealings, and family background

707 also went so far as to research all about mc’s fiance and any flaws or shady areas in his family business or background

they all showed up to mc’s father’s mansion, and jumin ensured they did so in style

jaehee was surprised that even v took time out of his busy schedule to join them, and both him and jumin posed as her guardians of sort

with an impressive entourage that included a rising idol, a modern-day prince, a celebrated photographer, and well settled youths, jaehee knew they made heads turn, and she knew she was the envy and desire of many a high-society people

that wasn’t what she was interested in, and she knew neither was mc. however, to sway mc’s father, this was all very important

they were received well enough- rich people had traditions and protocols to stick to after all, if for nothing else then for appearance sake

they weren’t allowed to see mc, and jaehee was seething on the inside, but she kept a calm and professional facade

they were invited to have traditional style tea with mc’s parents, and jumin smartly led the conversation towards business

jaehee, having had more than sufficient experience working with jumin, and then running her own cafe with mc, easily joined the conversation and she could tell how impressed the old man was, although he didn’t outright say anything

mc’s mother on the other hand, looked fondly at jaehee and commented about how smart and experienced jaehee is especially for being so knowledgably at such a young age. jaehee tried not to let it get to her head, but she knew her face was warm

they stayed a week, only seeing mc at dinner time where everyone was to come dressed formally, and mc took every chance to sit next to jaehee and talk to their friends. it warmed jaehee’s heart and also pulled at her heart strings to see that mc had become so lonely in the few days apart that they tried to drag out dinner as much as they could, because as soon as their plate was empty, they were chaperoned back to their room. like a prisoner

it was v and 707 who revealed not only the failing business of mc’s fiance’s family business, but also their overall bad decisions which had led their company to be in debt now. money was the only reason they wanted their son to marry mc

mc’s father was horrified and at first blamed them for trying to ruin his business deal, but v calmly reiterated that even if the wedding happened, only the fiance’s family would benefit from their business and would soon run mc’s father’s business into the ground too

it was 707 who decided to open up about his research into the family business and told mc’s father that his business was struggling too and he needed to be careful with his deals

the engagement was broken off that very day by mc’s father, and they were allowed to at least roam the mansion freely, however, the job wasn’t done

they still ad to convince mc’s father to accept jaehee’s proposal, which they had yet to put forth. mc’s mother overheard some part of their discussion, and she was down for it. she told them a weakness even jumin hadn’t considered yet

just remind him his business, family, and mc would be looked down upon and questions would be raised about the sudden end of the engagement. and remind him that to show their was no weakness on his part, mc needs ot be married off or at least engaged again as soon as possible, she had told them with a knowing smile

they were grateful for the advice and knew what to do after!

touching all his pressure points at the next dinner, where he looked haggard already about the sudden end of a deal which would have sunk his business, jumin put forth jaehee as a candidate for mc to be engaged to

they were expecting for it to take at least a couple days for him to give them a response, so everybody was pleasantly surprised when mc’s father agreed to the proposal by the end of dinner!

jumin

the moment he returned to the penthouse and the staff were in a disarray, his first thought was that elizabeth 3rd had escaped again

he did feel frantic, but not so much as he once would have, assured that his cat wouldn’t have gone too far or for too long

but the moment the butler informed him that mc had left to go get some groceries hours ago and never returned, he heard sirens go off in his hed

he first called 707 to start immediately tracking mc, and secondly called v

he was secure enough in their relationship that he knew what happened to v and rika wasn’t what was happening to him and mc, but he needed his friend’s support

someone had taken mc, and he would find them and make the fools suffer by throwing them in jail

707 had mc’s location within an hour, and the three left immediately

only once on the way did jumin remember to inform jaehee and put her in charge till he returned, feeling some pity for the poor woman because she would be worried too despite being too professional to say anything outright

they tracked mc to a warehouse on their father’s land where mc was being held hostage, according to 707′s deductions probably because they attempted escape again

saying that jumin was livid at the information was an understatement

jumin didn’t waste time in having the warehouse surrounded by his security team and within half an hour, mc’s father came with a team of his own

seeing who it was, mc’s father’s temper immediately calmed down and he became almost jovial with jumin, who remained icy because of the man’s treatment of mc

it was v who turned on his charm, and handled the situation so it wouldn’t get worse

mc’s father invited them for tea to his favourite teahouse, and jumin joined very reluctantly, only after leaving 707 at the warehouse to ensure mc was safe and wel-looked after till he could come back

once at their destination, jumin wasted no time in getting to the point

“break off mc’s engagement with whomever you’ve arranged it. mc and i want to get married, and i want it possible without any... inconveniences,” he said it with a straight face and a controlled tone, trying very hard not to erupt at mc’s father. after all, he would be his father-in-law one day, and mc probably wouldn’t appreciate him disrespecting their father

v just calmly handled the situation as mc’s father spluttered at the sudden declaration and demand

they didn’t have to worry, though- it was clear that out of any bachelor’s mc’s father had been interested in, jumin was on a whole different level and class

jumin, v, and 707 went back home a couple days later, and they took a newly engagement-free mc with them, soon to be engaged to jumin in an extravagant celebration

saeran

it almost doesn’t come as a surprise when mc vanishes on him- after all, how can good things last for him?

however, he’s been working on getting better, thanks to mc, 707, and even rfa, although he still holds an uncalled for grudge against them

fighting the internal negative-talk playing in his head, saeran immediately contacts 707 about the situation and his suspicion that mc might be in danger, right before putting his own hacking skills to use

it’s just something to fall back on at this point and comforts him to know that saeyoung will be looking out for mc too in case his own emotions get the better of him

he finds the general area mc is being held in, but leaves 707 to hack mc’s exact location in favor of hacking their mobile and calling them

their phone has been altered and cut off to prevent calls, but saeran is grateful that the idiots left the device with mc so he is still able to hack past those blockers

707 drives them in one of his racecars, going for speed and stealth, while saeran continues to track the signals and try to call mc

mc’s voice on the other end is a bit confused, and also very hoarse. they must have been crying or screaming

he quickly asks mc if they’re okay and who the hell dared to kidnap them.

mc speaks in a hushed tone but he can hear the relief and excitement in their voice as they tell him that in was their father’s men who kidnapped them in order to force them into an arranged marriage

mc also tells him that the place is well guarded from the outside but that they are locked away alone in some sort of dark room as punishment for breaking off the engagement and not agreeing to marry

saeran’s heart breaks but more than that he is pissed. he wants to make mc’s father and fiance’s family suffer, but mc quickly tells him to not hurt their family or parents

“just get me out and away from here... i never want to come back here but i don’t want anyone harmed either”

it makes him smile to hear that mc didn’t even think twice about asking him to come pick them up from wherever they were, saeyoung seems to have heard it and also looks proud

“don’t worry mc! we’ll get you outta there in no time! you just stay put and ready!, he calls out in a loud and carefree tone, but saeran can see the tightness around his eyes from here. good, he thinks. saeyoung is also angry on behalf of mc

they reach just as the sun sets but wait till midnight, when the guards change shifts all over, to break mc out

having been given the exact of the change, and the general locations of guard placement, and the general layout of their family vacation home (because that is where mc figured out they were being held when saeran told them the general area of their location), both brothers break mc out within 15 minutes, and they are on their way out and away before someone even figures out mc is missing

out of a sudden bout of boldness and a mix of adrenaline, saeran proposes to mc on the drive back tot he city in their get-away car, and mc blushes and splutters and agrees even as saeyoung throws his head back and cackles, proud that his twin finally made this decision

saeyoung/707

it honestly took saeyoung a lot later to even notice mc was missing

it wasn’t that he didn’t pay attention to mc or didn’t care, but mc also generally kept to themselves, especially while he was busy doing his regular work

when he finally got done with his work for the day, the first thing saeyoung noticed was the absolute silence

he checked his texts and saw the last thing mc had texted him was a cat video from last night

saeyoung decided to call mc and see where they were at and if they want to have a midnight snack for dinner

when the call wouldn’t connect, he immediately knew something was wrong and started hacking into their device in order to reach out and track, but before that remembered to shoot off a text in the rfa group chat to see if mc was hanging out with one of the members

when the call connected, he was already anxious because tracking the device showed mc was far away at this point

mc’s voice was hesitant and confused on the other end, but saeyoung still sighed in relief because he knew they were unharmed so far

what he wasn’t prepared for was the knowledge that it was mc’s own family’s bodyguards who had tracked and kidnapped them in order to take mc back and continue on with their forced engagement

hearing this, he froze up for a moment- on the one hand, he couldn’t give mc much and if they were married off to this rich fiance, mc would have an easy life and be taken care of

on the other hand, he knew he loved and cherished mc and fully understood that mc loved him back

before he could think about what to do in this situation- to be selfish or ensure mc’s future, mc’s voice broke him out of his stupor: “saeyoung, come get me right away. i can’t do this... especially now that i’ve found you”

they didn’t sound defeated or frightened, instead, he was proud and happy to hear the note of determination in mc’s voice

thanks to mc’s words, his choice was already made for him

he took v to mc’s family home the veyr next day, both of them arriving in style- v having pulled all the stops for the first time to impress someone with his appearance and wealth

it warmed saeyoung’s heart to know that v did it for him!

with an impressive and reliable person like v posing as his guardian, and saeyoung managing to charm mc’s parents thoroughly with his humor, wit, and success at a young age, it was relatively easier than they’d expected to sway mc’s parents and get their blessing for saeyoung to marry mc

v/jihyun

the whole fiasco with rika and her past role in v’s life meant that mc found an opening to tell v early on in their relationship about the forced engagement they had run away from

v had been nothing but understanding and supportive, even reassuring mc that if it came down to it, or even if mc just wanted to speak to their family, he would arrange it for them and accompany them

mc was thankful for the gesture but hadn’t wanted to reach out to their family yet, still feeling betrayed by their parents for trying to push them into that relationship

so, he immediately noticed when mc went missing, especially because they had a habit of updating him about their whereabouts when mc and v were away from each other

immediately employed 707′s help to contact mc as their mobile was being blocked

v, jumin, and 707 were already on the way to where the tracker was showing mc’s current location when 707 managed to connect the call to mc

despite being worried sick, v talked to mc calmly and ensured they were unharmed and in good health

asked mc if they could stall their parents and the engagement till v got there before mc could tell him what had happened

could feel mc’s instant relief that he understood their position and was on his way to them

when they reached mc’s family manison, they were given vip treatment because of jumin’s status, v’s fame, and seven’s apparent wealth

still, they weren’t able to see mc’s parents till dinner that night, but v did not waste any time

despite mc not being allowed to join them all for dinner, which v assumed was as punishment for running away and not agreeing to the arrangement, v managed to remain civil and pitch his proposal

he straight up confessed to being mc’s lover and wanting to get their parents blessings for marrying mc

their parents were a bit surprised, but didn’t hesitate for long to agree

the four of them left mc’s family mansion a week later, along with the rest of the rfa members, after having just celebrated v’s and mc’s engagement

yoosung

yoosung returned home late, as usual, since he had internship at jumin’s office right after classes

mc was a busy person too but they would always be home when yoosung returned from his internship

he immediately felt something was wrong when he saw all the lights were out and everything seemed untouched

becausse even if mc went out, they would come home from work in order to freshen up before leaving with friends or going out on their own

but there was no sign of them having returned at all

not wanting to panic for no reason, yoosung checked his messages to first see if mc had sent any text telling him they would be coming home late or something

sure enough, there were no texts

BUT there had been a miscall around 3 hours ago!

now a bit worried, yoosung immediately tried calling them back but the call would’t connect

finally panicking, he did thoughtlessly called his boss in a frantic worry

jumin was less than impressed at having been called at this time of night but he understood yoosung’s situation somewhat. he calmly told yoosung to ask seven to track mc’s phone- if the device was with them, it could still be traced even if it was shut off

yoosung thanked him before calling seven

seven had mc’s location under 10 minutes, but when he told yoosung of the area, he felt a bit shocked and scared

he remembered that was mc’s hometown! if mc was there, then something horrible must have happened to theri family, or there must have been some other emergency!

jumin reluctantly allowed yoosung to take jaehee, because he understood this was a delicate situation and did care for mc as a member of the rfa and a friend. hearing of the situation, zen came along for protection and offering any help

when they reached the location, thanks to seven guiding them through call, they were shocked to see that mc came from considerable wealth

they were allowed inside after they introduced themselves as mc’s friends and they were invited into a fancy sitting area and served tea

jaehee commented that the house seemed pretty tranquil so it probably wasn’t an emergency reason that mc had come here, but that it was odd that they hadn’t come to see them yet

almost as if on cue, mc rushed in just then, breathless and looking a bit wild

yoosung froze up seeing them in such a state, but zen was on his feet immediately and steadied mc

upon seeing the three of them, mc calmed down a bit and took a moment to collect themself

it was jaehee who took mc’s hands and held them between hers till mc stopped shaking

“i thought i’d never see you guys again”

it broke yoosung’s heart to hear mc say that, their voice hoarse as if they’d been screaming or crying

then it hit him. “you mean you didn’t come here on your own mc?!”

mc flinched and jaehee told him to lower his volume just as zen grabbed his shoulder in support and warning

mc composed themself and shook their head. after looking about to make sure nobody else was there, they leaned forward and whispered that their family had basically kidnapped them to continue the engagement they had run away from

zen offered to break them out of there, but yoosung was looking livid

before mc could reply, yoosung spoke up instead, “hey, zen? hold that offer”

he got up and headed for the sitting room’s entrance, when jaehee asked him where he was going

“to talk to mc’s parents. if they reject my proposal, we’ll break mc out”

zen laughed, feeling immense pride at yoosung taking such a stance, and jaehee was pleasantly surprised

mc watched yoosung walk out, feeling proud and a bit bad because they knew that the four of them would have to make a run for it after all. but it warmed their heart to see yoosung ready to confront their parents for mc’s sake

zen/hyun

zen and mc had taken the rare opportunity for privacy to spend time together

they went out for a pleasant stroll on a pleasantly chilly evening

they’d actually been about to go home after a lovely night out and were nearing zen’s bike when it happened

they were surrounded and mc dragged away from him

despite being outnumbered, zen got a few hits in, and received the end of a punch, but that didn’t stop him

he was on his bike and chased them to the outskirts of the city, but hsi bike soon ran out of gas and the van drove off with mc trapped inside

he felt frustrated and heartbroken wanted to scream as he picked up mc’s cracked cell phone from the ground

but before anything, he called seven

he couldn’t get used to technology easily and so he normally didn’t like it too much, but he was grateful for seven being on their team especially now

since zen was used to memorizing lines for his roles, he had actually managed to memorize the number plate of the car even in the relative darkness

he gave all that information, trusting that seven would find them, and moved the the side of the road in hopes of an empty taxi

seven told him it was bets to come back, regroup and then leave, but zen wasn’t having it

so, he was pleasantly surprised when seven drove up to him in less than half an hour, with yoosung in tow

“you’re so troublesome you know that?” he said, but zen could tell he didn’t mean it

yoosing was just frantic for mc’s safety and informed zen than jumin was sending a security team to go with them

ever since mc had come into his life, zen had managed to mostly smooth things out with jumin, because mc was also friends with jumin. although he sometimes still thought the man was a jerk.

it wasnice to know that he cared for mc too and sent security

seven moved to the backseat of his car and told zen that he would drive, “since i’ll be tracking those kidnapper’s van” he explained

sure enough, the promised security guards arrived in a black minivan just as zen got into the driver’s seat

they reached the mansion mc was being held hostage at just as the sun started to rise. it was massive, but zen was occupied with thoughts of how he’d mess up the face of whoever plotted this right after he had mc safe and sound with him

seven let out a low whistle before dropping another bomb on them- “this is actually the place mc grew up in!”

zen blanched just as yoonsung exclaimed “but what kind of kidnappers bring you to your house?!”

knowing mc wasn’t really on good terms with their family for some time, zen didn’t feel completely relaxed yet, “let’s find out”

the three of them emerged, immediately flanked by jumin’s security team

they were immediately approached by a stern looking man dressed in a black suit, asking who they were and what was their business there

seven reacted with his usual lack of tact (which surprisingly always worked) and claimed that they should be ecstatic that a famous star was visiting them

although zen appreciated what seven was doing, he didn’t have patience right now. he needed to make sure mc was alright. but before he could demand anything, he felt a sharp pain in his leg and looked down to see yoosung pinching his thigh without even looking at him

by then, the man looked the three of them up and down, his gaze lingering on zen, before taking in the security detail

he let them through, noticing that they were probably important people, and a butler opened the mansion doors before they could even knock, welcoming them inside

they were given vip treatment, and allowed to keep a guard each with them

they were allowed to freshen up before being taken to meet the head of the household, who they knew now would be mc’s father

the man immediately recognized zen, and was further impressed by their obvious wealth and status considering the cars they had arrived in and the security they had brought with them

after chatting with them for a bit, during which zen barely held himself back from demanding mc’s whereabouts, the father asked them, “i am confused as to what business fine, accomplished young men like you came here for”

not being able to wait any longer, zen spoke before seven or yoosung could, “we’re here to get mc”. when mc’s father simply raised a brow, zen continued, “i’m going to marry mc. and i was quite upset when they were kidnapped on our date”

“hm? i did hear the man with mc put up quite a fight”

zen could feel poor yoosung sweating bullets by the now since the turn of the conversation, but he could also feel seven’s resolve from next to him.

“where are you holding mc? they better be unharmed.”

the man scoffed, “i would never harm my child. or let them harm themself,” he added with a look aimed at zen

instead of responding to the jab, zen grit his teeth “i will never let you take away mc’s choice. i won’t let you do this to them”

if the words had any effect on the man, they couldn’t tell,

but the moment he was about to press a button, seven caught him. “if you do that, i will leak all your business weaknesses to your rivals,” he said brightly

zen almost laughed at the man’s face changing colours

before the situation could escalate further, he decided to take a slightly different route- after all, he wanted to be a partner mc could be proud of and make sure he didn’t burn any bridges with mc’s family

“listen. you’re mc’s father. i don’t want to cause you any harm. and if your information gets leaked, it will be hell for you. i actually want to do this peacefully. when mc was first taken, i feared the worst! i was ready to do anything. that still hasn’t changed. i’m not leaving without seeing mc. and if they want to go home with me, i’ll do everything to make that happen”

in the end, zen didn’t know if it was because he was impressed by zen’s earnestness and devotion to mc, or because he believed mc would listen to him, but mc’s father did allow the three of them to meet them

mc hugged him so fiercely that for a moment he forgot everything else. but then he was reminded that mc had missed him and longed for him just as much as he had missed them

after checking for their physical wellness and making sure they hadn’t been crying too much, he asked mc if they wanted to go home

he honestly thought mc’s father would throw a fit or start some drama, but the man actually allowed them to go, even if he looked reluctant

it was a week later, when zen and mc were curled up on their couch back at home, that mc got a text from their father saying that he would like to take care of the expenses for their engagement and that he hoped they had better times ahead

#mysmes #mysmes hcs #mysmes imagines #rfa imagine #mystic messenger rfa #manacharlotte #long post

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thebestpersonherelovesbucky · 4 years

Text

Perchance to Dream

For @whumptober2020

No 8. WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO? “Don’t Say Goodbye” | Abandoned | Isolation

No 30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? Wound Reveal | Ignoring an Injury | Internal Organ Injury

Summary: Steve knows something is very wrong. An outbreak of some sort. Something out of Hollywood’s worst nightmare.

Read on Ao3

Week One

“What’s going on up there?”

Traffic is one thing. Perfectly commonplace in Brooklyn especially, but this is utterly ridiculous, even Steve agrees. This bumper to bumper, stop and go madness is just out of control.

“I dunno,” he answers Bucky’s question. “It looks like they’re making everyone turn back around.”

“But why?” Bucky asks. “Is there something going on today? A parade or something?”

Steve chuckles as he inches the car forward. “You know as much as I do, babe.”

It's unusual but it has happened before. Something big going on that redirects traffic that the neighborhood isn't made aware of. Rare. But then, The City of New York isn't always known for its efficiency.

When the pull up to where traffic is being turned, however, it's not normal traffic cops. It's not even the NYPD. It's the military. National Guard, Steve thinks.

"Turn back that way!" yells the man in front of them. Dressed in full riot gear. "Just follow the detour!"

Rolling down the window, Steve doesn’t intend on giving them a hard time. He’s just curious about whatever’s happening. As a former captain of the army, Steve is familiar with military procedure and now that he’s a paramedic, maybe he can help. He’s sure Bucky, the former sergeant of the 107th, won’t mind lending a hand either, if they need it.

“Is there any way we can help, private?” Steve asks after he explains who they are. “Is anyone hurt?”

Before answering, either to turn them away like everyone else or wave them in through the barricade, he looks over his shoulder. When he glances back at Steve again, he looks rather dismayed. Both Steve and Bucky know damn well that whatever he’s about to say, even if it’s virtually nothing, it’ll be against protocol. He’s supposed to be directing traffic away from the area. Not answering anything.

“We’re not entirely sure,” he says. “We’ve just been told to clear the area. If I were you, I’d get home and get in touch with any officers you might still have an in with.”

That’s all he says on the matter before straightening back up again and waving them along like everyone else. It’s enough for Steve, though. If a soldier, trained not to divulge anything, gave them just that nugget of information, it means something big is about to happen.

They follow the soldier’s advice as soon as they get home. Steve immediately tries calling his contacts. He starts with Peggy who confirms that something really is happening.

“I don’t have the details yet,” she says. “But we’re mobilizing all over the country.”

On the television, Bucky’s turned on the news. There’s nothing out of the ordinary on it right now. The typical stories. The weather. Some crimes. Financial changes. Only a few reports about a possible rabies outbreak throughout a few major cities.

“Do you have any idea what it is?”

“Just that the CDC and WHO have been flooded with calls and reports about an outbreak of some unknown virus.” There are a lot of things happening on Peggy’s end and she lowers her voice. “Keep watching the news,” she says, “but they’re not getting the full report. I’ll call you when I have more information.”

The call goes dead then, and Peggy’s never ended a call so abruptly before. Even when in a rush, she always says her farewell. Just a simple, “Good bye, darling,” and a kissy noise.

The way she hurried now, the stress and worry in her voice, it makes Steve’s stomach flatten.

“What’d she say?”

Bucky, who left the room to grab himself an apple, tosses one to Steve as he plops down on the couch.

“Um…” Steve shakes his head. “I…”

The lack of response has Bucky paying closer attention to him now. The worry is clear on his face.

“What is it?” he asks. “Is it serious?”

“I…dunno. She couldn’t say.”

“Well…that doesn’t sound good.” He glances at the television. Just a story about a woman being found with multiple animal bites this afternoon in Connecticut. “Did you call Rhodey?”

“Um, no. I was about to do that now.”

Steve’s already scrolling through his contacts for the right one. When he gets to the right one, he hits send and lets it ring and ring and ring until he gets the voicemail. Normally, no one bothers with voicemails -- a simple text will suffice -- but things feel off enough that he does.

“H-hey, Rhodes, it’s Steve. I…um, just…call me. When you can.”

But Rhodey doesn’t call back.

And he doesn’t answer when Steve tries again an hour later. Or when he calls again an hour after that. Or the three times after that.

In fact, it’s a little after three in the morning when they hear from anyone.

Both Steve and Bucky are asleep on the couch. They passed out together watching the news. Looking for anything that might clue them in to what’s happening. Nothing helped.

But the phone ringing startles Steve awake, and since Bucky’s lying on top of him, it jerks him awake as well. It takes Steve a moment to realize what’s happening and when he sees who’s calling, his eyes go wide.

“Rhodey?” he answers, hoping to keep the panic from his voice. “Rhodey, is that--”

“Steve, I need you to listen to me and listen closely,” Rhodey says, hurried and low. “Do not interrupt. I can only say this once. Containment didn’t work. This thing is going to spread like a fucking brush fire. You and Bucky pack up bags right now, only what you need, and have them by the door. They’re gonna quarantine in quadrants first and when…if that fails, they’ll try to evacuate the cities. When that happens, just go. Do not wait. Whatever you do, do not let them bite you. I’ll be in touch if I can.”

“Wait, wh…Rhodey…”

“One more thing,” Rhodey says. “Go for the head.”

The line goes dead then and Steve’s heart begins to pound. All that urgency, the god-awful fear in Rhodey’s voice, it makes Steve’s blood run cold.

“Steve?” Bucky places a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong? What is it? What’d he say?”

Steve looks at the phone still clenched in his hand before flicking his gaze to meet Bucky’s.

“He said,” Steve whispers, “we have to pack.”

Week Two

There are two bags by the front door, packed and ready to be grabbed at a moment’s notice. Just like Rhodey said, they’ve been quarantined in a four block radius since two days after they spoke. Steve hasn’t heard a word from either Rhodey or Peggy since.

Martial law has been declared for two weeks now and the military is patrolling in full force. Always in riot gear. On foot or in tanks. Always armed. There’s a strict curfew being enforced. Each zone has been sectioned off with barbed wire blockades that are manned around the clock. There are snipers on every other rooftop. Sirens blare all day and night.

Of course, people are coming up with their own reasons for what happened. Obviously, it has to be terrorism. The number one excuse for more racism. Even with absolutely no evidence to support their claims.

Lots of theories have been floating around. Everything from bioterrorism to some sort of super bug to the start of World War Three. It’s hard to keep track of facts versus conspiracies since the internet keeps crashing. The phone lines keep going in and out as well. Steve doesn’t know if that’s being done in order to cut off communication or if it’s just a side effect of whatever’s happening. He assumes it’s the former and can only hope it’s the latter.

Restrictions are even tighter come sundown. No exceptions. Nobody is even permitted to sit outside on their stoops or in their yards. Once the sun sets, everybody is ordered indoors. Helicopters pointing spotlights down over everything circle all night.

The news is only somewhat helpful and, Steve’s sure, being censored as well. Every hour on the hour there’s an emergency broadcast. All other stations are not in service. Steve keeps in mind what Peggy told him. To keep watching but to remember that they don’t have all the information.

And what little information they’ve been providing is sketchy at best.

“This is Elizabeth Brandt.” Steve can hear the television from the kitchen where he’s making lunch for Bucky and himself. Canned soup. “Coming to you live to bring you this important news bulletin.”

“Hey, Steve!” Bucky calls from the living room. “News is back on!”

“I’m coming,” Steve murmurs as he heads back into the living room where Bucky’s waiting on the couch. “Anything new?”

“Mm-mm.” Bucky gets up to offer Steve help. Takes one of the bowls. “Just something about the hospitals being filled to capacity.”

Every news report that comes on has information scrolling at the bottom of the screen. Today, it’s about insurance rates expecting to spike over seventy-five percent in the next coming weeks.

“We are receiving unconfirmed reports right now,” the newscaster says, “of seemingly random acts of violences and mass murder that have occurred in some major cities. We will continue to bring you live updates as this story unfolds.”

“Jesus,” Bucky whispers. “Mass murder? How did we go from rabies to mass murder?”

“People are scared,” Steve offers. “They might be panicking.”

“The violence I can understand. I mean, I’m fucking scared and we have a little more information.” A tremble flies up Steve’s spine. That’s the first time Bucky’s said anything about being scared. At least Steve’s not the only one. “But mass murder? People being violent because they’re scared and mass murder are two different things. Don’t you think?”

Steve, taking a spoonful of soup and burning his tongue in the process, nods. He knows Bucky’s right, but despite his fear and worry, he’s still trying to stay positive.

“It’s the media,” Steve says. “Maybe they’re exaggerating.”

The look Bucky gives him, slightly amused but also doubtful, makes Steve smile. He knows that Bucky knows he’s just reaching for answers or excuses.

“You’re adorable, Rogers,” he murmurs and presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “I hope you know that.”

Steve chuckles. “Why?”

Head against Steve’s shoulder, Bucky uses his free hand to caress Steve’s thigh.

“Because even during the apocalypse you look for the bright side.” Bucky hums softly. “I love you for that.”

“Well, I think that’s a compliment, so I’ll take it.” Steve grins softly. “And I love you, too.”

If anyone could make Steve smile during this, it’d be Bucky. At least they have each other.

Week Three

The only time either Steve or Bucky sleep in their bed anymore is when they take quick naps during the day. When at least one of them is awake. Always ready to watch the news when the television comes back on the air. If it’s not, there’s just a Please Stand By screen. Sometimes colorbars and a high-pitched ringing.

At night, they sleep on the couch together. When they can both sleep. Which is not that often.

Right now, Bucky is sleeping with his head in Steve’s lap. Steve has been dozing a little, but he can’t fall into a deep slumber. Not with Bucky out like a light. He deserves some sleep and Steve enjoys this little moment of peace when he can just run his hair over Bucky’s head and pretend like nothing else is happening in the world.

Steve’s actually nodding off a bit when Elizabeth Brandt is on the screen again.

“Good evening,” she says, “for those of you who are just tuning in…” Steve wonders if she really needs to say that every time they come back on. He can’t imagine there’s anyone who isn’t at least paying a little attention. “We are going to try to remain on the air for the remainder of this crisis.”

Across the screen, as usual, are mini-stories scrolling by. Steve tries to follow along as they do.

A family of five has been found dead in Jacksonville, Florida. Police have described the victims as having been…”torn apart” by their attackers.

“There have been wide-spread attacks,” Ms. Brandt continues, “all across the country, by what are being described “rabid people” in a “trance-like state”.

Military forces have deployed to every major city to cope with the drastic increase in crime and violence.

“Now, whatever this is, the phenomenon does not appear to be limited to the United States. We’re receiving reports of similar cases coming in from cities all around the world. We still have no specific answers as to why this is happening. Reports range from a germ or a virus with a mind altering effect or possibly some sort of chemical spill causing or a behavioral disorder causing mass hysteria.”

Over a dozen bodies have been found in what police are calling a ‘mass grave’ were found with severe ‘bite marks’ in various parts of the body.

“The president has issued a statement urging all people to stay in their homes and lock their doors until the situation is handled.”

The station reverts back to the stand-by screen and Steve’s stomach hurts. He’s somehow both too hot and too cold at the same time. He briefly considers waking Bucky to tell him these updates, but decides against it.

“Sleep, my love,” he whispers. “We’ll deal with this in the morning.”

Bucky shifts a bit, his nose wiggling and fingers scratching at something on his cheek.

Steve smiles and then checks his phone. All the unanswered messages. He hasn’t heard from Peggy or Rhodey in almost two weeks and what he did get was a few words at most.

Reminders to be ready.

To be alert.

Pay attention.

Sighing, Steve puts the phone down and rests his head on the back of the couch, hoping to get a little rest.

Week Four

Steve jerks awake to a high-pitched ringing. Sun is streaming in through the bedroom windows, the curtains pushed open. It takes him a few moments to realize what the noise is and that he’s actually slept through the night.

Steve flings the blankets away and hurries out of the bedroom to see Bucky seated at the very edge of the couch just staring at the television. There’s no one there. It’s just a message. A message from the Emergency Broadcast System. And it says nothing about this being just a test.

We interrupt our program at the request of local authorities. This is the Emergency Broadcast System. All normal broadcasting has been discontinued during this emergency. This station will continue broadcasting, furnishing news, official information and instructions, as soon as possible for the Extended Operational area.

As Steve approaches the couch, he notices that Bucky’s breaths are hitched. He’s chewing on his nails -- an old nervous habit of his -- and bouncing his knee. There’s a tear rolling down his cheek.

When Steve slips a hand over Bucky’s shoulder, Bucky gasps and spins his way. He clearly tries to wipe those tears away before Steve cans them and fakes a smile.

“Hey,” Steve murmurs. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“N-no. You didn’t. I just…” Bucky shakes his head and huffs a chuckle. “I just didn’t hear you.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost noon.”

Steve nearly topples over at that. He had no idea how late it was. He hasn’t slept that much in weeks.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

Bucky offers a soft grin. This one, Steve believes, is genuine, and that gives him a sense of peace, however small.

“Why don’t you ever wake me?” he asks. “Probably for the same reason.”

Nodding, because Steve can’t really argue with that logic, he comes around to sit with Bucky. As soon as he sits, Bucky scoots a little closer. Steve takes his hand. Bucky squeezes.

“What’s happened?” Steve asks. “Something new?”

“No. They went out about an hour ago.” He gestures to the television. “It’s been like that since.”

Both their cellphones are on the coffee table. Steve reaches for his but figures he already knows the answer to this one.

“They’re still out, too,” Bucky says as Steve clears his screen. They’ve been keeping them charged, of course. Just in case. But the cell service has been out since last week. “Internet, too.”

The no service icon on Steve’s phone still gives him chills. The last time he spoke to someone on it was two weeks ago. When Rhodey called to say that things are going downhill.

That’s when Steve agreed to take out their weapons. While both he and Bucky agree that gun control needs to be better enforced, they’re still armed. A leftover effect from combat, maybe. The need to feel protected and able to protect each other.

They don’t have a militia worth of weapons or anything. Just the standard, really. Things for survival. Dehydrated food. Bottled water. First Aid kits. Really, the two of them can survive for a few months completely off the grid. It’s just that…well, they don’t really want to.

“Hey,” Steve whispers when Bucky starts staring at the television again. “You okay?”

“Mhm.” When Steve covers the top of Bucky’s hand with his, Bucky sighs and shakes his head. “I’m, uh…I’m starting to get really scared.”

“I know.” Steve nods. “So am I.”

“I don’t fuckin’ like this, Steve. They fucking roll up in their armored cars and tanks and start patrolling the streets, claiming it’s for our safety, but they won’t tell us what’s wrong. No wonder people are pissed.”

Pissed is actually a kind way of putting it. More like fucking infuriated. And, honestly, Steve can’t blame people. He’s not exactly overly thrilled that the government, here in this country and clearly in others around the world, are not telling them anything.

Instead, they just send the freaking military into civilian areas and expect everyone to fall in line.

In fact, when Steve lets himself think about it, he’s fucking infuriated as well. If not for having friends in high places, the two of them probably would have split from here a while ago. Possibly when this first started.

It’s too late for that, though.

There’s no way they can get over the bridges to get to the mainland and it’s not as though mass transit is still running. Hell, there isn’t even any cell service or internet. There’s been rolling blackouts and the news keeps going out, but, they’re still expected to just sit in their homes and wait to be told it’s all clear.

Steve has no idea how the fuck they’re expected to trust in…shit, he’s not even sure who anymore.

Week Five

“Widespread panic continues across the country.” Elizabeth Brandt no longer wears make-up. Her hair isn’t done. Every now and then there’s a tremble in her voice. “Many communities are without telephone. Most without power. Some without water.”

Steve wrings his hands together. They still have some power left but it comes in and out. Right now, the only light they have is that of the T.V. Nighttime, they’ve been instructed to keep the lights off and the shades drawn. They haven’t had any way to contact anyone for over a week now. Water went off yesterday.

“Scientists at the CDC have released the following statement,” she says. “This virus is passed through bodily fluid such as blood and saliva. It is most often passed through bites but can be contracted if contaminated blood is absorbed into the body.”

“What the hell?” Bucky breathes, leaning forward and resting his arms over his knees. “What the fuck is this shit?”

Hand on Bucky’s back, Steve rubs it in soft circles trying to offer whatever comfort he can. Hard, that, when he’s just as confused and concerned and afraid.

“The infected exhibit rabid-like symptoms within five to thirty minutes of infection including skin inflammation, flu-like symptoms such a headache, violent coughing, and sore throats, and nausea and vomiting. At two hours, mild paralysis sets in leading to locking of the joints but does not lead to immobility. Finally, severe confusion and aggression.” Ms. Brandt pauses before she continues. “We have some…some footage here of some people who have contracted the virus but we must advise you this may be difficult to watch.”

On the screen now is video footage clearly taken on a cellphone. Somewhere in Europe, Steve thinks, based on the license plates. When they hear people start talking, rushed and panicked, Bucky murmurs that they’re speaking Romanian.

A moment later, screaming. Running. Gunshots. Sheer chaos and pandemonium. Only Steve can’t see what they’re running from. The phone’s camera is shaking violently as its owner runs.

Until a person next to them tumbles and falls to the ground. Whoever’s filming stops to try to help and drops the phone in the process. But the camera is still rolling.

And within seconds, someone…or something comes into view.

A man, or at least what used to be a man. His head is bent nearly all the way to the left and his jaw is clearly broken. He’s dragging his right leg but that doesn’t seem to impede his speed. His right arm is twisted and locked against the side of his body. There’s blood everywhere. Around his mouth. Dripping from his eyes and nose and ears. He lunges for one of the two people there. They both scream.

The video ends there.

When the screen goes back to Elizabeth Brandt, she’s staring blankly. Not at the camera. Just staring out at nothing. Trembling. Until someone off-camera clears their throat.

Her gaze slowly lifts and focuses back on the camera facing her. She sucks in a deep breath and nods.

“The military is mobilizing,” she murmurs, very quiet. Little emotion other than the fear that’s permeating through this living room, “in an attempt to evacuate all major cities.” Ms. Brandt’s breath staggers. “We’re providing a list of rescue stations.” Scrolling on the bottom of the screen. “Please, make your way to the rescue station closest to you. If you are watching this broadcast at this time, please, get to a rescue station immediately.”

The screen starts cutting in and out, and Ms. Brandt is still speaking when it cuts off completely and goes dead. Colorbars with a high-pitched ringing is all that’s left.

“Steve…” Bucky whispers. “Did you…did you…this can’t be happening.”

All Steve can think about is Rhodey’s first call to him.

They’ll try to evacuate the cities, he’d said. When that happens, don’t wait. Go.

“We have to go.”

Steve is already on his feet. First thing he does is grab two of their handguns. Both loaded. The only time Steve’s ever considered bringing a gun outside is when they go to the gun range and they’re always stored in locked cases.

“Where are we going, Steve?” Bucky asks. “It cut out before the list even reached Brooklyn.”

“I don’t care,” Steve replies, shoving one of the guns into Bucky’s hands. “But we need to get out of here. We’ll figure it out.”

Bucky doesn’t question any more than that. Seems he’s already caught up with Steve’s thinking and wants to get the fuck out of there as much as he does. Even more so when they hear gunshots from not all that far away.

They both freeze on the way to the door and stare at each other for a second. They’re leaving everything behind, Steve knows that. The bags they packed a few weeks ago are useless now.

“I love you, Bucky,” Steve says and pulls him in for a kiss. “We’re gonna get through this.”

Strange and horrifying as all this is, Bucky still manages a smile and grabs Steve’s hand. Tight. Unwilling to let go.

“I know.” He nods and adds his own kiss. “I love you, too.”

Steve takes one last, long look at Bucky before he wretches open the door and they dash outside.

It’s already chaotic. People are doing the same as them. Running. With no sense of direction, they just fucking run. Steve runs with Bucky’s hand still tucked securely in his.

The military there is trying to give out instructions. No one’s listening, of course, and even if Steve wanted to, he can’t understand them anyway.

There are people everywhere. Parents carrying children. Lovers clinging to each other. Friends desperate to help each other. Some people trip and fall, and Steve and Bucky do what they can to help them back to their feet. Others aren’t so lucky and are trampled.

Horns are blasting and metal twists around metal and glass shatters. There’re fires. More gunshots. Looting.

They’ve only gone a few blocks when the screaming changes. The panic shifts to outright horror and fear. One glance over his shoulder confirms Steve’s worst fears.

They’re being chased by the infected. Several of them. Lots of them. So many…

“Where the fuck did they come from?!” Bucky shouts as he pulls out his gun. “They’re everywhere.”

Behind them, there’s snarling and growling. Squelching sounds and crunching bones.

Steve is suddenly very aware of the sound of his own breathing. It’s all he can hear over the screams and cries for help. His heart is pounding like it’s never done.

This is all wrong.

Nothing makes sense.

These people need his help and he’s just running. That’s not what he does. That’s not what either of them do. But Steve doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how to help these people. To save them. All he can do is run until his legs feel like jelly and his chest hurts and his head is spinning.

They get a bit of luck when they have a chance to duck into an alleyway that’s not far from a school. The list that had the rescue spots listed a lot of schools and churches in the other boros. Can’t be too different for them.

When they reach the end of the alley, there’s a fence that they need to climb over. A few people, not infected from what Steve can tell, have followed. Them, Steve helps as best he can by assisting them up and over the fence.

Bucky, already on the other side of the fence, helps them over and down. Some of these people seem to know each other. Possibly a family. Three children. Four adults.

They say something about trying to get to the rendezvous point. That they’re evacuating people in trucks and buses and vans not that far from here.

One of the adults climbs over the fence and runs without waiting for anyone else. Steve hopes that means they’re not associated with the rest of them. Another climbs over and waits as Steve and the other two help the three children.

They’ve just made it over, Bucky helping the last one and handing her off to the person next to him, when his eyes go wide.

“Steve…” He’s gone very rigid, staring at something behind Steve. “Hurry.”

Steve glances over his shoulder. Sees what Bucky does. Three people. Growling. Drooling. Their bodies all contorted, and bones cracking when they take a few steps in Steve’s direction.

“Holy shit,” Steve breathes and then whirls back to the last person on this side of the fence with him. He grabs him and shoves him at the fence. “Go! Go, now! Hurry!”

“Steve!” Bucky yells. “Steve, hurry! Come on, please!”

In his rush, Steve slips a time or two as he clambers to the top of the fence. The entire thing shakes and trembles. The young man next to him nearly loses his grip and falls. Steve grabs him by the wrist and keeps a hand on his back to help him.

“God damn it, Steve!” Bucky shouts. “Come on! You need to run!”

They’re at the fence now. Grabbing at Steve and his companions legs. Tearing at their clothes. Trying to pull them back down.

When Steve makes it to the top, he swings one leg over, and just as he goes to bring the other, a sharp, unimaginable pain radiates at his ankle and shoots up his entire leg. He screams as he jerks his knee up and grabs his ankle.

The pain is so agonizing that Steve lets go of the fence and falls the rest of the way, landing with a hard thud on the concrete. Something might break, he isn’t sure. It’s the pain in his ankle that has his attention.

“Steve!” Bucky is at his side the second he hits the ground. “Steve, what happened? Are you all right? Can you get--oh fuck.”

Steve snaps his gaze back to the fence. Where the infected are climbing up it. To make matters worse, there are three coming into this side of the alley on the other end.

“Bucky…” Steve pants and coughs. His ankle throbs and that fall knocked the wind out of him. “Get the…the kids…”

They’re all trapped. If they’re going to get the rest of these people out of here, Steve knows what needs to be done. He and Bucky need to separate.

Gun at the ready, Bucky nods and shoots back up to his feet, stepping in front of the group of people with his weapon aimed. Steve reaches into his holster and pulls out his own gun.

They start shooting.

Steve knows he hits them. One in the arm. One in the leg. One in the chest. But they keep coming. He fires again. Foot. Shoulder. Back. And they still keep coming.

“The heads!” Bucky suddenly yells. “Steve, go for their heads!”

Vision blurry and ears ringing, Steve takes several shots before finally getting one in the head. He manages to get another but the third, right before she’d lunge at Steve, is taken down by Bucky. She falls in a heap right next to Steve.

Once again, Bucky drops by his side. At the same time, he’s waving at the rest of the people there to run. They do, but not before thanking them.

“Come on, Steve,” Bucky says. “You gotta get up.”

That fall did a lot more to him than Steve realized. It shouldn’t be all that surprising. He just fell at least ten feet. His head hurting isn’t very shocking. The sore throat is a little unusual, but Steve figures that’s from all the screaming.

Still, he’s so dazed and disoriented, that when Bucky once again tries to pull him back to his feet, he tries to push him off.

“Just go,” Steve grunts, “get outta here.”

“No,” Bucky growls between his teeth. “Not without you. Now c’mon, Steve. Get. The fuck. Up. Now.”

If they weren’t in the middle of a zombie-like apocalypse, Steve would laugh. That tone, it’s not one to be reckoned with.

Steve nods and accepts Bucky’s help as he brings him back to his feet. The strain makes Steve grunt and he teeters a bit off balance.

“You okay?” Bucky asks. “You with me?”

“Always.”

Even in the midst of a waking, walking nightmare, Bucky scoffs a laugh and, fuck, that smile is worth walking through fire for.

“Don’t get all sappy on me now, Rogers.”

Steve is limping a bit, but after just half a block, he’s able to at least sprint without needing to lean all of his weight against Bucky.

The coughing starts a few minutes later. Uncontrollable fits that have Steve doubled over. His head hurts so bad that he almost wants to bash it against a wall.

That fucking fall. He’s taken hits worse than that, he’s sure of it, yet one tiny fall off a tall fence has him ready to keel over. He can’t, though. He needs to suck it up and keep running to get Bucky out of here.

“Steve?” Bucky asks when Steve is bent over coughing again. “Baby, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He nods and tries to straighten again. “I think…I think I broke a rib or something.”

“Okay. Okay, you’re gonna be okay,” Bucky assures him. “We’re not far now. When we get there, they’ll help you.”

Spitting some blood from his mouth, Steve wipes his arm across his and clears his throat, wincing from the pain of it. He exhales sharply and then lets Bucky wrap his arm around his waist to assist him again.

Only this time, when Steve takes a step with his right foot, white light flashes in front of his eyes and he shrieks as his weight falls out from under him.

“Steve!” Bucky goes down with him. “What is it? What happened?”

Steve shivers from head to toe. It’s too hot out. He has no idea when it got so freaking hot out. It’s only April for god’s sake.

“Stevie…”

Steve can just make out Bucky’s voice through clogged ears. Then it disappears altogether and all Steve can see is Bucky’s lips moving. It’s hard to make out what he’s saying, but Steve can venture a guess. So he nods, assuming Bucky’s asking if he’s all right, and lets Bucky help him back up.

“Come on, baby, we’re almost there.”

Bucky’s right.

They’re not far.

Just another two blocks sees them at the blockade. There are swarms of people being ushered in a few groups at a time.

As Bucky leads Steve there so they can wait their turn, Steve takes a glimpse down at his ankle. It’s covered in blood. He knows it’s his. It’s seeped into his jeans and down into his sock. That's why, he realizes, his foot squishes every time he walks. That’s why it hurts when he walks. That’s why…

Eyes filling with tears, Steve coughs again, his breaths shuddering. Bucky readjusts his grip on him. Helps him as best he can because that’s what they do. They help each other. They save each other. They love each other.

Steve just watches him now. His Bucky. His best friend. The man he’s loved since they were a couple of punk kids running around the streets of Brooklyn. Life had taken them in different directions after middle school but they still found their way back to each other.

“What?” Bucky asks when he notices Steve staring at him. “Are you okay? Do you need to sit?”

“No.” A sense of peace and calm washes over Steve. “I just love you.”

The corners of Bucky’s mouth twitches. Almost a smile. Hard to smile with all this, but it’s almost there.

“I love you, too, Steve.”

Steve coughs more. His throat is on fire. His stomach turns, nausea creeping through.

When they finally reach the entrance through the barricade, Steve hands Bucky his gun just as he walks through.

“Steve, what’re you doing?”

“Take it,” Steve whispers. “You’ll need all the protection you can get.”

“I have my own,” Bucky says. “You need it.”

Steve shakes his head and ignores the officers trying to move them along.

“Just take it. And go.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?! Come on, Steve! Don’t fuck around!”

Those tears almost get the better of Steve, but he manages to hold them back. For now.

He looks down at his ankle and lifts up the bottom of his jeans. Shows Bucky what Steve already knows is there.

A bite.

A big chunk of his skin all red and black and blue and swollen.

It pulses. Throbs. It’s almost unbearable.

“No…” Bucky whimpers. “No, no, no. We can…you’re gonna be fine. You…”

“Go, Bucky.”

“No! No, I’m not leaving you!” Abruptly frantic, like he can’t figure out what’s happening or what to do, Bucky starts to shake all over. “No. No, I’m staying. I’m staying with you. I’m not leaving you!”

The tears finally break through, mirroring those rolling down Bucky’s cheeks. But Steve won’t give in. He won’t be selfish. He’ll save Bucky. Even if that means taking himself out of the picture.

“I’m bitten,” Steve says to the soldiers there. “Take him out of here.”

They don’t wait.

Steve’s actually surprised he and Bucky got this last bit of time together. That doesn’t stop Bucky from screaming. From struggling with all his might against the soldiers dragging him away.

“No! No, Steve! Steve, please! God, no! No, this can’t…you can’t leave me! You can’t!”

Bucky’s reaching over the soldiers. Trying desperately to get back to Steve. Even for just one last touch.

And Steve is selfish enough for that.

He reaches once.

Their fingers graze.

Stomach lurching just as they load Bucky in the back of a military truck and it drives away, taking Steve’s whole life with it, Steve claps a hand over his mouth and pushes out of the crowd. Right at the fringe of it, he leans over to be ill.

Steve doesn’t know what’s going to happen to him now, but he does know that he’s going to be a danger to all these people soon. No matter how much it hurts -- and it does, inside and out, like a red-hot poker shoved between his ribs -- he pushes onward. Gets himself out of there. As far away as possible before his legs give out from under him and he collapses in a gutter not far from where he and Bucky met.

Week ???

The sun beats down on the empty city streets. Sizzles and burns Steve’s skin. He knows it is happening. Feels it happening. Can do nothing about it.

He cannot remember how.

Sometimes, he cannot even remember his own name. He knows he has one. Or did have one. It is not that important.

The ankle that was bit still throbs. It always does. Now, that foot is all twisted. He can’t really bend his right knee and his right arm is clenched to his chest. He has been unable to move it for the longest time.

Sometimes Steve sees people. Real people. The way he used to be. If they see him, they scream and run. If they have weapons, they try to kill him.

He wants to tell them that he does not want to hurt them. And that much is true. Steve doesn’t want to hurt them. But he will. He can’t stop it. The guilt is overwhelming, the screams of the people he has hunted down echoing through his ears.

He is just so very hungry. Always hungry. Or maybe he is thirsty. His tongue and mouth and throat are on fire. The taste of iron has not left his mouth since the first meal he had.

The only other thing he wants to do is sleep. Nothing ever stops, though. Steve can’t sleep. All he ever does is wander.

There is a building he passes from time to time that feels right. Familiar. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows there’s a word for it. It sits at the tip of his tongue. Not that it matters. He cannot speak anything more than grunts and moans and growls.

That’s because of the pain. So much pain that ravages through his entire body, day and night.

Steve can’t stop crying. It is different now. He doesn’t think he is doing it right, but he still cries. Wordless and soundless.

Maybe he has lost something. It feels like that. Very much so. Like he is looking for someone. Someone that left him here. Right? Or…no, that is not right. The others did. They left Steve and the rest of the Wanders to rot.

Things do not make sense so much anymore. They haven’t in a long time.

He hates them. Steve doesn’t know who but he does and he wants to hurt them until they feel as much pain as he does. If he gets the chance he’ll bite into their flesh and tear into through skin and gnaw down to their bones just to hear their screams.

No.

No, no, no, no, no…no.

Why does he want that?

Steve can’t remember.

If he finds them…them…him…then maybe it will be better. The pain won’t go away but that smile. Yes, that smile.

Bucky.

The name pulses through him and for one single second, Steve’s existence makes sense again. That second passes quickly.

Something is behind him. Steve can hear it. Smell it. Fresh meat. Warm. Alive.

Head stuck tilted to the right, Steve turns, his bones creaking and cracking along with the movements. The living. Three of them. From the smell of them, two males and one female.

Steve is hungry. It does not matter that they carry weapons, Steve will try to get food. He opens his mouth. Jaw popping, drool leaking over his teeth. Steve hisses. Tries to warn them. Threaten them. Demand they do not move so he can have his meal.

“I hate it when they make that noise,” one of the males says. “Fucking creepy.”

“Oh, c’mon, Sam,” the female answers, “you’re not losing your nerve, are you?”

Steve runs toward them now. If they do not shoot him first and set him free, he will catch them and he will eat them and for just a few moments he will not be hungry.

“No, Nat, not losing my nerve,” Sam says. “Doesn’t stop that noise from being any less creepy.”

“Yeah.” Nat nods. “I’ll give you that.”

“Stark, what’re you waiting for?” Sam asks the second male. “You wanna be his happy meal?”

“Not today,” Stark replies and Steve is only a few steps away when he raises his weapon and it discharges.

Hits him in the chest. Steve does not stop. A puny weapon as that will not come between him and his food. Except when a new pain spreads from that spot and sparks throughout his entire body, Steve drops to his knees and gasps for air.

They have hurt him more. More pain.

So much more pain.

Pain.

“All right,” Stark says when Steve falls forward, unable to move. “Tag ‘im and bag ‘im.”

Nat crouches down in front of Steve and turns his head so that he’s facing her. She lifts his eyelid up and clicks her tongue.

“You’re right, Stark,” she says. “He’s one of the firsts.”

Sam comes close. Take a good look as well. Must agree because he nods but why will they not kill Steve? It will be better for them…for him…

“Eyes are totally bloodshot,” Sam says. “Poor guy.”

“Well, let’s get ‘im back to the lab,” Stark tells them. “Bruce and Helen will wanna have a look.”

A lab.

Steve cannot remember this word but it makes his insides feel wrong. Afraid. Maybe that is it.

***

Steve feels quite weightless.

Floaty.

No, not floaty. Actually floating.

Perhaps that means he’s finally died. If that’s that case, he’s not sure if he’d feel this good. After everything he’s done as a Wanderer, he deserves damnation, not salvation.

There should be no reward. No easing of his pain. And this dull ache in the back of his head, the heat in his throat, and the aches in his body is the most relief he’s had since…well, it feels like a lifetime ago.

Although, if by some miracle, he’s been let into an eternal paradise, maybe that means he’ll reunite with Bucky someday.

Oh.

Oh, his Bucky.

A tremble flies up his spine.

The last time Steve saw Bucky, he was crying and scared and screaming for him. He could still feel the spot where their fingers last touched.

But it was the right thing to do, it was. If Bucky had stayed with him, he’d’ve died. All this guilt topped with the idea of taking Bucky’s life as well? No, Steve couldn’t handle that.

It occurs to Steve then that he hasn’t fully been able to recall Bucky in quite some time. Now, he’s all Steve can think about.

The pain in his ankle feels so much better.

His head isn’t tilted.

His arm isn’t pinned against his chest.

Steve finally gains enough coherency to open his eyes. When he does, he gasps and thrashes about.

He’s submerged in water. In a vertical tube. There are wires hooked to his naked body and tubes in his mouth and nose. Steve bangs on the glass. He can breathe and he can hear but he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on and he needs to get out of this thing.

“Whoa, whoa! Hey, it’s okay!”

Someone’s voice comes through the thick water and Steve turns that way. He doesn’t know this person but he recognizes him. The man who shot him. With someone. Not a bullet.

Now that Steve’s thinking a bit clearer, he thinks it may have been some type of taser.

“My name is Tony,” he says, pushing closer to Steve on a wheelie chair. “Tony Stark. You’re gonna be okay now.”

Too busy trying to figure out what’s happening and how he got here, Steve looks around at all he can see. It’s a lab, just like they said. They must’ve brought him back here. Brought him…back.

“I know, you’re probably confused, that’s normal,” Tony explains. “The process is a bit disorienting. Is this getting through? Can you nod or something, big guy?”

Tony, Steve realizes, is asking him a question. He’s actually talking to him. Not running and screaming, but talking. Steve can’t talk with the tubs in his mouth so he nods.

“Good, good. Here, I’m gonna pull up a virtual keyboard.” Whatever he does out there makes letters appear on the glass in front of Steve. “Can you type your name in?”

Steve might be achy but he’d also be fucking thrilled to do this. He lifts the arm he hasn’t controlled in so long and types his name.

S-T-E-V-E

R-O-G-E-R-S

When Steve sees his name displayed on the screen, he smiles. For so long, he couldn’t even be sure if that’s who he was and now he knows. He’s him. He’s Steve Rogers.

But Tony just blinks at the name a few times. His mouth opens not once, but twice before he finally answers.

“Steve Rogers?” He says that as if he’s familiar with it. “You…do you know a Bucky Barnes?”

Eyes going wide, Steve would gasp if he wasn’t breathing through a tube and underwater. This guy knows Bucky. He’ll be able to tell Steve if he’s okay. If he’s near. If he’s safe.

“I guess that’s a yes,” Tony mumbles. “Well…shit. He was right. You were too stubborn to die.” He snickers before pushing back over to the lab table he’d been at before Steve started banging on the tube. He picks up the phone and only dials one digit. “Hey, I need you two to bring Barnes down.”

Bring him down. That means Bucky’s here. Oh, god, please, please let this be real.

“Uh…let’s just say he’s been right this whole time,” Tony says. “He always said he was still out there.”

Tony continues with a brief conversation with whoever’s on the phone but Steve doesn’t pay any attention. All he cares about is the fact that Bucky is here. Bucky’s here and they’re bringing him to see Steve.

While he waits, Tony explains a bit of what’s happened and why Steve is in this thing. It’s a bit hard to follow along; not everything is entirely clear yet and Steve’s mind is still a little fuzzy.

Apparently, the weightless environment helps the Wanderers’ limbs to unlock. That, combined with the antibodies speeds up the recovery process. The recovery process that Bucky’s been helping with.

According to Tony, Bucky’s part of some vigilante group. A group that rallied together to go out and look for survivors. Killing Wanderers when they needed. When they could.

“It was your man who thought he saw something in one of them one day,” Tony says. “Saw…what could be. And instead of killing…”

They started bringing Wanderers back to the lab. To their base of operations. Found something of a cure.

“You’ll probably have to stay in there for another forty-eight hours or so and then go through a ton of physical therapy, but, based on our other subjects, you should make a--”

The door swings open, and without even pausing to check the room, Bucky comes running in and right up to the tube where Steve is.

“Steve!” There’re tears streaming down his face. “Oh, god, baby, I knew it. I knew you’d be alive. I did. I told you. I told you, you’d be okay. Oh, fuck, baby, I miss you so much. I love you. I love you, Steve.”

Steve still isn’t entirely sure if this is really happening. It feels real. Maybe not what he deserves but…if he’s allowed a few moments of peace, he’ll gladly accept it.

If it is real, well, they did it again. Somehow, against all odds, they found their way back to each other.

He smiles around the tubes in his mouth and traces a heart along the glass. Still crying, Bucky lets loose a wet laugh and traces a heart over it.

It’s the last thing Steve sees before his eyes close again.

He’s tired.

He’d very much like to sleep.

And maybe dream.

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heli0s-writes · 5 years

Text

Poetry

Summary: If the world was pear shaped, you could be a poet. Pairings: Bucky x Reader A/N: More crack. Word count: roughly 1k

Bag of Tricks Masterlist

You have a special way with words. It’s almost magical, the way you string phrases together so perfectly to describe any situation your brain pleases.

When they escape, it’s almost poetry.

Poetry, if the poet sucked helium from a balloon dog and popped LSD like candy. Poetry, if the poet was an eight-year-old flanked by two empty pints of funfetti ice cream on the cusp of a sugar high. Poetry, if it was the bottom layer of hell and instead of brimstone, sinners were faced with a ball pit full of snakes. Poetry, if the world was pear-shaped and upside down.

No one can ever predict what might come out of your mouth next-- least of all, Bucky Barnes.

When Clint runs face first into the open freezer door because he’s staring too intently at his phone, you snort from the couch. “Dumb, bubblegum.”

When Natasha spins and throws you onto a gym mat with her thighs, you brush yourself off with a chuckle, “Ride my neck like a hobby horse again, ma’am.”

When Sam goes out on a date and pats himself down to make sure he’s got all his belongings, you offer a piece of advice. “Hey! Wrap up that sausage real good before you stick it in the gumbo pot, Wilson.”

Bucky shuts his eyes at the imagery, his head feels like its retreating into his neck as he shudders all over. “Will you fucking shut up.” He groans.

“What?” You ask, closing the door for Sam who has just finished yelling at you for saying another weird and unnecessary thing.

He doesn’t have the energy to entertain another conversation where you get the last word again. There isn’t enough bleach or detergent in the world for Bucky to wash all the crude and mystifying things you’ve said from his mind.

Once, you yelled across a firefight and called someone ugly by describing them as drawn by the left hand of God.

What the fuck does that even mean? Bucky thought.

“You spherical dumbass!” You shrieked later when a bullet split through your bicep.

“What the fuck does that even mean?” He finally voiced, pulling you behind a stack of pallets before you turned into Swiss cheese. He ripped a strip of cloth from his pants and tied it so tightly the fabric screeched.

“Spherical!” You had grunted, inspecting the knot before snarling, “A dumbass from every angle. I’m gonna tear this guy three brand new puckered assholes and stuff ‘em all with bullets.” Another grunt when you cocked the gun in your hand, chuckling lowly, terrifying and livid. “He’s gonna be sooooo stuffed.”

His phone rings and he picks it up to the sound of Steve’s voice slightly annoyed on the other line, “Hey, remind her to finish that report, will ya?”

“Why don’t you tell her?” Bucky asks, glancing side ways at where you tear off a hang nail with your teeth and spit it on the floor. Christ.

“She blocked me. It’s been almost two months.”

“The mission in Seattle?”

You bristle at the mention of Seattle because you had crashed a car there, thanks to Steve. It went sideways across the highway median and wrapped itself around a light pole and by the time you kicked the sunroof open, Bucky was on top of you, holding you back.

“Deaf centurion!” You screamed over the blaring traffic and police sirens. “I told you to back up! Turn the hearing aid on!”

Really, the reason you crashed was because of the gunfire blasting out both front tires. But the guy had barely just gotten away and you needed someone to take it out on. And Steve had been awfully close.

“Tell him!” You grabbed Bucky by the shoulders, “Next time at least buy me dinner before he rides my ass!”

“Fuck that write up.” The phone is out of his hand before he has the chance to get a good grip on it. “I have never crashed a car before you. How dare you.” Then with a rough jab of your pointer finger, you hang up. Bucky watches you fold your arms over your chest, mumbling about how you’d rather be living in Canada if it meant giving Steve any dissatisfaction.

“I’ll do the write up.” Bucky offers, reaching under your elbow to take back his phone.

The way your eyebrows raise in surprise makes him reel back a little. The corner of your mouth tilts up before you press both fists to your cheeks and beam. He squints and steels himself for another thing to pile up and revisit later in his nightmares.

But nothing. You only say thank you and rub a finger in circles on his chin, even poking his dimple with your thumb. “So cute. This little thing.”

Swatting your hand away, Bucky sighs, “You’re half a fruitcake short of Christmas.”

Your head turns ever so slightly to regard him, eyes fluttering back and forth as you try to decode the message. Nothing. The frown you send his way is incredulous, “Come again?” You mutter.

“Nuts.” Bucky confirms. “You’re nuts.”

Your lips part the same time your eyes widen in understanding. He thinks you might retaliate with another one of your cracked out witticisms, but instead you lean forward and place your hand on his shoulder.

Bucky waits patiently, a little scared.

“Barnes.” You sigh, “Marry me. Marry me and have my kids. Let’s populate the Earth with troll children, it’ll be such fantastic chaos.”

He blinks. A smile tugs its way onto his face as he looks down into his lap. Even though you’re certainly on-brand, there’s a slow note in your voice that tells him you could be serious.

“How about dinner first?” He asks.

You grin, “Before you ride my ass to kingdom come?”

Bucky groans and swats your hand away once more. “You ruined it.”

#bucky barnes #marvel #mcu #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #fanfiction #reader insert #one shot #james buchnan barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes

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glorious-blackout · 4 years

Text

Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Part Six

@rock-n-roll-fantasy I should probably warn you that I am definitely back on my angst-junkie bullshit with this one, but I promise there’s more to come after this! 😅 Not sure when I’ll be able to post the next parts but hopefully you enjoy these two in the meantime 😊

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

********************************

There’s something wrong with the Earth.

This isn’t necessarily a surprise. In the week since the quake that never was, the entire world has felt off; tilted on its axis to such a degree that Alex can’t even begin to fix it. The details of the hotel feel muted, the life slowly draining from his surroundings as empty husks are left in the wake of an unseen angel of death. Once pristine white walls look faded and beige beneath flickering lights. The usual buzz of activity emanating throughout scattered hotel rooms has quietened, as though a volume dial has been turned all the way down. Portraits which once hung proudly along the reception walls have tilted, and if Alex studies them closely enough, he can see the colours smudging as the paint melts, removing all nuance in the process. At this point it wouldn’t surprise him to find cracks creeping along the marble columns or dying lilies curling over themselves in neglected pots, although he supposes it’ll only be a matter of time before that sight greets him as well.

It’s not just the hotel itself which has fallen prey to this lack of vitality. The guests have never been particularly fascinating company, but now they appear virtually soulless. Their numbers dwindle with each passing day despite no clear evidence of rockets carrying them towards home, and when scattered patrons do reveal themselves, Alex ends up eavesdropping on the same mundane conversations over and over again. Staff members offer the same monotonous greetings to him regardless of any attempts to lure them into conversation. Even Andrew, who can be quite amenable to a casual conversation over a pint, has little more to offer besides, “How are you enjoying your drink, sir?” when Alex forcibly drags himself to the bar.

On the one occasion where he agrees to play a show, he finds himself gazing at a placid, unmoving crowd who deign to make as little noise as possible. There are no cheers, no attempts to sing along, no murmurs of approval. Alex doesn’t even have the energy to be startled when he notes that several faces in the crowd have been replaced with expressionless masks, as though an artist has erased their features entirely, leaving only a discoloured smudge in their wake.

The world appears to be winding down, crumbling at the seams with no end in sight. And to top it all off, he’s the only person alive who seems to have noticed.

Even his weekly meetings with Murphy have halted without explanation. He’ll sit by the computer for hours on end, waiting for the dreaded ringing to invade his eardrums, but it never does. For the first time in his life, Alex would give anything to face that man and give him a piece of his mind, but God doesn’t appear to be answering his calls right now.

And then there’s Jamie.

“Are you coming down to rehearsals then?”

Alex doesn’t pay him any heed, choosing instead to keep his gaze fixed on the alluring form of Earth above him. He cannot bear to look at Jamie right now; not when doing so will only unveil a lifeless expression marring his friend’s once kind face. He only wishes the man would say something – anything – else. It appears to be lost on Jamie that he’s uttered the same sentence three times in the last fifteen minutes, having said little else since drawing up beside Alex on the balcony. The fact that he never receives an answer doesn’t register with him either. He simply keeps asking, like a children’s toy with only one voice-clip, not realising that every time he asks, he only succeeds in adding a further crack to Alex’s thoroughly abused heart.

Nick and Matt have fared little better. Playing a show with them the other night had been akin to playing with three ghosts who have yet to leave their bodies. All traces of humour and nuance and love have been stripped from them, leaving empty shells where his best friends once stood.

Or rather, where convincing replicas of his friends once stood. Alex can’t pretend to understand how this version of reality works, and he’s still struggling to separate the splintered fragments of Mark’s false memories from his own recollections. The Jamie, Matt and Nick he has been living with are certainly modelled after the people he’s known and loved all his life, but there are enough subtle differences to make him question if they were ever real in the first place. The most glaring marker of all being the fact that when he’d insisted they call him Alex, the only response had been a lack of recognition which had almost broken him.

The only person who has ever referred to him as Alex in all the time he’s been here is Matthew, but even as his mad theories have become more and more plausible, the man himself has remained infuriatingly elusive.

At least Alex knows why he seemed so familiar now. They’d only crossed paths occasionally in the past, exchanging pleasantries and compliments at various awards shows and festivals, but given their similar positions it would be impossible for him not to be familiar with a certain Matthew Bellamy. The man has always been more of a friend-of-a-friend to Alex than a proper acquaintance, but he likes him well enough to believe that Matt’s apparent fondness for him was also genuine. Granted, he doubts he’d ever have pictured the man as a planet-hopping outlaw, but then again, he imagines Matt must have been equally surprised to find him acting as the owner of a four-star establishment on the moon.

A disbelieving giggle erupts from him before he can stop it. He’s been doing that a lot lately. No doubt it’s an unconscious coping mechanism his brain has concocted while processing the impossible situation he’s stumbled into; he supposes his only options at this point are to laugh or sob like a child.

Pointedly ignoring Jamie’s lingering presence, Alex lets the Earth consume his attention once more. She’s as beautiful now as she always has been – her deep shades of greens and blues vibrant against a dense black sky – but that only adds to the sense of wrongness tugging at his heart. He shouldn’t even be capable of standing here, gazing towards home from this angle. Surely without proper protection and oxygen tanks, the air should have been sucked from his lungs and he should be gliding across the ground rather than standing still. Is there a force-field surrounding them, providing them with breathable air and simulated Earth-like gravity? If he concentrates hard enough, will he be able to spot the tell-tale shimmer of a shield embracing his tiny civilisation?

How odd that he’s never questioned such technicalities before.

As for the Earth itself, the more he studies it, the more it looks like someone has merely devised a painting of her against an endless black canvas, basing their work on ancient photographs from age-old Apollo missions. The image is too perfect. Too still and unaffected; a close approximation of how Earth must have appeared millions of years ago, before her surface was warped by humanity’s influence. The more he remembers of his final days on Earth, the less the image before him aligns with the truth. The clouds hovering beneath the atmosphere shouldn’t be a perfect white, they should be blackened by thick smoke. Those vibrant greens should have been burnt away to smouldering brown, as ash falls thick and heavy over once beautiful landscapes. No doubt even the oceans must have turned a grim, murky grey by now, rather than the striking blues he gazes upon now.

Alex gasps as a memory emerges unbidden, hands desperately grasping the balcony railing. These episodes have been coming thick and fast of late, and it takes all of his willpower not to collapse as faint echoes of screams pierce his ears and the foul taste of ash smothers his tastebuds.

He lets the memory carry him away, however, for he knows that stewing in his own ignorance is no longer an option he can indulge in.

The air is thick with acrid smoke as ash gathers on his tongue with every breath. His eyes draw upwards towards a tangerine sky; the sun obscured by thick smog which he can feel clogging his lungs, leaving him lightheaded and weak. Only hours ago the advice had been to stay inside, but the sirens now piercing his eardrums signal a change, and he knows with unexplainable certainty that if he’d stayed behind, he would have been consumed by the flames which lick their way across the landscape without mercy.

He doesn’t recall the events leading up to this moment, try as he might. Can’t recall if he’d been at home, or in the studio, or trapped within the confines of a hotel halfway around the world. The only instinctual memory he retains is that the catastrophe had crept up on them without warning, announcing itself with all the subtlety of an air-raid siren shooting panic into the veins of every human being on Earth. Only it hadn’t been sudden, had it? Not really. Humanity at large had known for years that the world was destined to burn unless something was done to stop it, but the warnings had been largely ignored, right up until the moment the fire was breathing down everyone’s necks.

The crowd surrounding him is desperate and he whimpers as countless bodies shove against him. No doubt he could remain perfectly rigid and yet still find himself pushed forwards by the sheer force of the human wave. The claustrophobia is suffocating, and breathing provides little relief when the air is as poisoned as it is. He can feel his chest heaving and the constant shouts and screams are momentarily drowned out by his pulse pounding a steady rhythm in his ears, and he clings tightly to the hand wrapped securely around his own as he’s guided along the wide street by a steady anchor. He doesn’t need to look to know instinctively whose hand it belongs to. The calming influence as his guide squeezes back and pulls him in closer is unmistakable. He presses himself against the other man’s body as the cacophony is quickly drowned out by gentle reassurances of, “We’re okay Al, just stay close yeah? We’re nearly there, just a little bit further, you’re doing great...”

He must look a state to warrant such a commentary, but he cannot bring himself to care. As he allows himself to narrow his focus entirely onto that soft voice, he can feel his heartrate slowing and his rapid breathing starting to ease. He feels - rather than sees - a worried face turning in his direction, ensuring that he’s still locked in the present rather than lost in the grasp of his panicked mind, and he gives a shaky nod to indicate that he’s okay. The world is burning and there’s no guarantee that safety is as close as his friend insists it is, but he’s not alone and the flames are still far behind him, so for now he’s okay. His hand is caught in another gentle squeeze - it occurs to him that the action might be for the other’s benefit as much as it is his - and they push onwards as best they can through the hulking mass of bodies surrounding them.

There’s a scuffle behind him as someone utters a sharp cry. Perhaps the constant shoving of bodies has finally erupted into a full-blown fight; either that or someone has merely lost their balance and fallen to the ground. Either way it spells the end for him. A desperate hand clings to Alex’s forearm for support and he feels himself being jerked backwards, struggling to maintain his grip on the precious fingers clutching his hand as faceless bodies try to pull him away. Panic seizes his throat, tightening his airway to the point where he cannot so much as scream. As the force of the disorganised crowd pulls him backwards, the people in front keep advancing, still trying to escape the flames and the thick, cloying smog. Concerned brown eyes turn to look at him, having sensed his distress in the crushing grip of his hand, and Alex can only watch those eyes widen with naked fear as their owner is pulled in the opposite direction.

Those pivotal seconds seem endless when replayed in Alex’s mind. The image repeats itself like a broken VHS tape - an unending loop of terror - but it must have taken no time at all for their connection to be severed with surgical precision. He remembers panicked, animalistic screams escaping his throat as he fought and clawed at the terrified masses surrounding him, his hand suddenly grasping nothing but air. He remembers the crowd in front pushing onwards, with one man among their ranks fighting tirelessly to stay behind, screaming Alex’s name over and over to the point where it must surely have torn his throat.

Neither of their efforts work. Their hands never meet again, and Alex can only watch as his salvation is carried off like a life-raft on the ocean, leaving him behind to drown on his sinking ship. And even above the distant sirens and the roar of nearby flames, the frantic, hopeless scream of “Alex!” continues to ring in his ears long after his would-be savior has vanished from sight.

“-ark?”

The crowded street blanketed in a thick, ashen haze vanishes from his mind’s eye and he blinks as Jamie’s voice pulls him back to the present. It takes a moment to fully reorientate himself, even as his eyes settle upon the pleasant mirage of Earth hanging above them. The air still feels unclean and the thick, cloying taste of ash still resides on his tongue. His throat still screams from the frantic cries that had been torn from it and his chest aches with the effort of breathing in filthy smog. His hand feels cold and empty, still grasping nothing but air in the place of warm flesh, and an overpowering sense of loss washes over him like a painful echo. If Jamie notices his distress, he makes no mention of it. His face is as blank and expressionless as it has been since his world became muted, and Alex thinks he would give his right hand in exchange for five minutes of his friend’s smothering concern.

“Where’s Miles?” he croaks out eventually, turning to face Jamie with a damning sense of dread. Part of him suspects that he already knows what the reaction will be and he longs to tear his eyes away in order to spare himself the pain, but he has to look. He needs this final grain of proof.

Jamie barely reacts to the words despite the fact that they’ve come out of nowhere. The only reason Alex even registers the minute furrow of his brow and downwards tug of his lips is because he knows that face better than he knows his own, and even then, the impassive blankness is back within mere seconds.

“Who’s Miles?”

Alex can’t look at him anymore. If he forces himself to look at that emotionless face then he knows his heart will crumble to dust and he’ll never be able to piece it back together. His eyes are drawn skyward and he keeps them there, unblinking, even when the growing sting becomes unbearable. His vision blurs with unshed tears and his chest shudders fitfully with the effort it takes not to break into animalistic sobs, but he forces himself to swallow down his grief before it can consume him. The pain is unbearable. It creeps over his mind like a specter, dragging its scythe wherever it goes without a care for the damage it leaves in its wake. The temptation to laugh as he realises that this has been the reason for his pervading sense of loneliness all along almost overwhelms him. Perhaps that would get a reaction out of the hollow shell that has taken Jamie’s place.

In the end, however, he doesn’t have the energy to make the slightest sound.

Because it’s not just Miles he’s grieving. The Jamie he knows and loves would never have let those two words leave his mouth. He would never stand idly by while Alex falls apart, visibly struggling to piece himself back together despite knowing that his efforts are completely worthless. The Jamie he knows would have pulled him in for a hug and let him sob his heart out without judgement, before gently telling him to tidy himself up so they can go out to thoroughly drown their sorrows. No doubt the Jamie standing beside him now has always been nothing more than a façade; expertly written code and little else. The same applies to Nick and Matt and every other human being he’s interacted with since stepping foot on this godforsaken rock, perhaps with the exception of Matthew. They’d been rather convincing replicas, he’s loath to admit, but that’s all they’ve ever been.

“Doesn’t matter,” he forces out in a choked whisper, in the full knowledge that that couldn’t be further from the truth.

He wonders if his real friends are still out there somewhere. Did they make it to safety while Alex was left behind and imprisoned within this lie? Have they been searching for him all this time, while he allowed his mind to be manipulated to the point where he forgot they existed? Are they mourning for him with the same all-consuming grief he finds himself overwhelmed by now?

Or are they simply ghosts, lost long ago to a world that has become uninhabitable? Perhaps they’re even trapped in the same boat he is; so wrapped up in the blissful ignorance of a beautiful lie that they cannot remember their own names.

“Is it better to exist within a terrible reality or a beautiful lie?”

He recalls Matthew’s burning question with a new sense of clarity. Because it hadn’t been hypothetical had it? Matthew had uncovered their circumstances long before Alex had. In his own infuriating way, Matt had been trying to prepare Alex for the conundrum he would be forced to contend with once the curtain rose. Their entire conversation had been a warning, planting seeds in his head that would eventually result in his world collapsing at the seams.

Had Matt also been crippled by an overwhelming sense of loss prior to stumbling into Alex’s makeshift life? Alex searches his mind for any random details he knows about Matthew Bellamy, but he cannot recall anything with great certainty. Miles had known him much better than Alex had; he vaguely remembers throw-away mentions of a wedding and a new baby, but nothing more concrete than that. For all he knows, Matthew is currently battling his way through an endless, synthetic maze to crawl back to the arms of the people he loves, or at the very least to be reunited with versions of his bandmates who haven’t been programmed to hunt him down and kill him.

“Are you coming down to rehearsals then?” Jamie asks once again, uncaring and toneless, as though trapped in an unending loop.

A huff of laughter escapes Alex’s mouth before he can stop it, and he bows his head as a tear finally slips from the corner of his eye. Rehearsals and playing live was once his only solace amongst the mundane goings-on of his daily life, but now the thought of facing the replicas of his friends and seeing them stripped of all personality is unbearable. Normality is nothing but a distant dream. There is no returning to the life that had been carefully carved out for him here regardless of what Jamie seems to think, and as the details of the hotel slowly fade around him, he doubts there’ll even be a crowd to play for by the time evening rolls around.

Jamie seems utterly unaffected when Alex finally turns to him, a thousand-yard-stare emanating from deep blue eyes as though Alex is a mere phantom standing in his way. A sense of finality takes hold as Alex stares at his friend, memorising the details of his face with a pang of grief, and he offers a small smile which he knows provides little benefit to either of them.

“You go,” he says, in a flat voice he no longer recognises as his own. “I’ll join you in a bit.”

The lie rolls surprisingly easily off his tongue, and despite giving no indication that he intends to follow-through on his promise, Jamie doesn’t question him for an instant. Instead, he simply shrugs before shoving himself away from the barrier and moving in the direction of the hotel. Alex watches his retreating back as he strolls along the cobbled balcony, and it takes all of his willpower not to yell at him to stop. To request a proper farewell, or a hug, or even to run up alongside him and enjoy one last hurrah with the band before everything fades to black.

However, as he watches Jamie vanish behind a set of automatic doors, he knows that running after him would be a mistake. There is no point in embracing the lie anymore. The avatars wearing his friends’ faces like intricate masks no longer have the power to replace the real thing in his heart, and having to reward them with false affection would surely destroy him.

Instead, he bids one final farewell to the Earth above him. For the first time he can remember, the clouds have cleared above the British Isles and he can see the tiny, shrunken form of England resting just above a narrow watery channel. Deep forest greens interspersed with tiny golden pinpricks amongst the well-lit cities are the only details he can make out, but yearning tugs at his heart regardless. He wonders what would happen if he took the initiative and made the trek to the space station now, requesting a ticket for the first flight back to Earth? Would the falsehood adapt around him and expand to include a detailed simulation of his home, from a time when everything was perfect and alive? Or would he simply hit a dead-end and be forever trapped within a tiny radius which encompasses the hotel and casino and little else? He has nothing left to lose by trying, but a nagging suspicion tugging at the back of his mind is enough to inform him what the outcome will be. Whoever designed his current reality didn’t deem Miles of all people to be a necessary addition - no doubt out of intentional cruelty - so the prospect of arriving home and throwing himself into the arms of his mum and dad is surely unthinkable.

It’s impossible to tell how long he spends gazing at the planet above, committing every single detail to memory with a bittersweet smile, but when he finally pulls his eyes away he’s momentarily overcome by a wave of contentment. The yearning for home vanishes and a renewed sense of finality tugs at his heart, only this time he lets himself bask in it. It’s over. The sky above is as much an illusion as everything else within reach, and while he knows he could lose himself staring longingly at the stars like a hopeful child, he finds that he no longer has any desire to do so.

After all, what’s the point in yearning for something that isn’t real?

******************************

Lilting piano notes resound through deserted, crumbling corridors; the echo bouncing off the ballroom walls, causing the delicate glass shards of the chandelier to tremble. All trace of life has vanished, with the exception of the lone musician on his humble stage, playing to a crowd of ghosts.

Alex doesn’t mind. He’d expected to find the hotel empty upon his return – no doubt his mental embrace of that finality had banished all remnants of humanity from its walls – and the uninterrupted stroll to the stage had been an oddly calming one. For the first time in years, a song had popped into his head with little fanfare. There’d been no need to agonise over chords or second-guess lyrics; instead the music had come to him fully formed as though obtained through a dream, and the need to perform it had become his sole objective.

A guitar would have been preferable. He has never felt entirely comfortable on the piano, but the choice seems to have been snatched away from him as all of his stringed instruments have vanished in his absence. Similarly, the lone drumkit and various brass instruments which once rested upon the stage are now missing. Only the piano remains. Each note sounds dissonant beneath his fingers, reverberating through the hall in all directions, and he gets the distinct impression that the instrument hasn’t been turned in years despite it sounding perfect only one week prior. His voice also sounds raw to his ears, but that doesn’t stop him from baring his heart anyway.

It’s a bittersweet song with an emphasis on the sweet, and he latches onto the topics of lost loves and friendships tied up with nostalgia for a golden age that no longer exists. No doubt he would have been proud of this one had he gotten the chance to write and record it on Earth, but at this rate he doubts anyone will hear it besides the ghosts haunting the fractured walls.

That’s okay though. This understated piece of music feels like the only genuine creation he’s produced in all the time he’s lived here, and for that reason alone he’d rather not be singing anything else.

While he refuses to give his surroundings much in the way of scrutiny, it isn’t lost on him that the ballroom is fading away with each passing second. Pristine white walls appear to be melting and cracks trail along the granite columns like lightning bolts stretching to the ceiling. The light from the chandelier is muted, emitting only the faintest golden glow through shards of glass which no longer shimmer, and the deserted dancefloor below has been swallowed whole by drab red carpet. The circular dining tables and bar are cloaked in shadow, their surfaces smothered by a thick layer of dust, and adorning the walls are empty frames where elegant portraits once gazed proudly upon the room.

Only one image remains. A small wooden frame sits on the wall directly within Alex’s eyeline, and though the photograph it displays sends an ache lancing through his heart, he finds it to be a pleasant ache. Captured for eternity is a shot of four young boys, barely out of primary school, with hair cropped short and arms wrapped lazily around each other. One curly-haired lad is looking away from the camera, eyes closed in a mistimed blink, while two others gape at the lens with deliberately widened eyes, baring all of their teeth in exaggerated grins. Only the smallest of the group is smiling in a fashion which can be considered normal, though the crinkling of his large brown eyes implies that he too is mere seconds away from bursting into uncontrollable giggles at his friends’ antics.

Alex can’t remember the photo being taken. The unremarkable brick wall behind them suggests it was taken at his childhood home, but it would not surprise him if the photo itself is yet another falsehood on top of the myriad of illusions he has spent years of his life sleepwalking through. And yet, he cannot bring himself to mind. The photograph may not be real, but the memories of a happy childhood surrounded by friends certainly are, and the sweet nostalgia that warms has heart can never be taken away from him. His real friends may have been lost to him long ago and even the replicas have deserted him now, but so long as he focuses on that image and dedicates this song to them, they can never truly be gone.

A shiver creeps up the back of his neck and he has the distinct impression that a pair of eyes have landed upon him, but he banishes that suspicion before it can take hold. This song is not intended for anyone’s ears but his own. The melody is quickly approaching its coda as he recites the final verse. The piano has grown so soft he barely registers the sound of it, but he carries on with a sense of obligation he doesn’t entirely understand. Perhaps it’s the sense of approaching finality which has made him so determined. His world is fragmenting piece by piece and he cannot comprehend what will happen to him once it fades completely, but he imagines there will be no coming back from it. He should be terrified and desperate, battling with every breath in his lungs to remain solid and whole, but he no longer has the energy to fight. Besides, he has always found contentment in music and performing, even in this godforsaken place. Why fight the inevitable when he can embrace it in peace instead?

The final note sounds abruptly as the last word escapes his lips, but before he can figure out a proper ending, the piano dissolves into atoms beneath his fingertips and the world explodes in a flash of brilliant white, carrying him along with it as his mind goes blank.

#Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino #Simulation Theory #Arctic Monkeys #Muse #my fic #writing

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suitofvibraniumarmor · 4 years

Text

Boston Boys [Part Nineteen]

Summary: Chris and Aurelie take a stand against Downey and Scarlett. Pairing: Chris Evans x OFC, John Krasinski x OFC Word Count: 1692 Chapter Warnings: Angst, language, physical violence, discussion of criminal activity, pregnancy, gun violence. A/N: This story contains a character who lost her hearing as she got older. I do work closely and regularly with the D/deaf community (I’m a sign language interpreter), but my own hearing problems do not involve significant hearing loss. It is not my intention to offend anyone, only to bring in a character with a quality I don’t see often in other fics. If you have questions about her, feel free to ask :)

The rest of this fic gets relatively heavy, my friends – this chapter and the two after it. I’m trying to warn as best I can without giving anything away. If you at any point find yourself uncomfortable finishing it, please just don’t finish it. I’m happy to give you the highlights if you want to DM me instead of reading any chapter!

Boston Boys Masterlist

She could hear voices, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying; her hearing aid had been taken and her processor knocked from her head. Her vision was blurred and her body hurt from head to toe. As she drifted in and out of consciousness, she tried to figure out a way out of this, but her jumbled mind couldn’t manage a coherent thought pattern.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when cool, thin fingers lifted her chin. A familiar face grinned down at her and held up a phone.

“Don’t worry,” the voice said, close enough to her right ear for her to understand the words, “your brother was already on his way here. I have no doubts that he’ll be anxious to save his precious sister. You know, sometimes I wonder if he isn’t in love with you himself.”

Aurelie coughed; she tasted blood. The fingers gripped her chin hard before shoving her face away. Darkness slipped in and out again and silence reigned.

Downey’s place was quiet and dark when Chris approached. Working his way in here wasn’t going to be nearly as easy as it had been to break into Scarlett’s place undetected. Ringing the doorbell was not an option.

Going around to the back of the sizeable house, Chris found a window that he could reach and remove the screen from easily. Using skills he had learned when he was very young, Chris jimmied the locked window open and crawled inside. He kept his footsteps soft and stayed alert -- his doubts were high that Scarlett had kept his visit to herself. Of course, he had planned it that way.

The house was mostly dark, but there was a light coming from under the basement door. The sounds of a baseball game floated up the staircase. With a deep breath and renewed determination to end the way things had been going, Chris slowly and silently opened the door and made his way down the steps.

The television was on, two beers were open on the table, but no one was in sight. Moans and groans from one of the rooms in the basement gave away his target’s location. Chris pulled his gun, clicked off the safety, and kept his weapon at the ready. Licking his lips, he pushed open the door to the room and trained his aim on the one person in the room.

“Aurelie?” Chris lowered his gun before tucking it into his waistband. “Oh my God …”

He rushed to the chair she was tied in; the room was otherwise empty. He removed the gag from her mouth and used the knife that had been sheathed at his ankle to cut the zip tie around her wrists. Once her hands were free, she positioned the processor of her implant in place.

“You have to get out of here,” she breathed, “they’re expecting you. They know you’re coming.”

Chris frowned. “They? You know what, don’t worry about it. We have to get you out of here. My bullshit can wait. I’m sorry, Aurie. This was never supposed to --”

“Never supposed to involve her?”

Still propping Aurelie up against him, Chris turned to the voice behind them. Downey was there, in a crisp, navy blue suit. Scarlett was behind him. He could see the marks on her neck -- marks he had caused. She seemed otherwise unfazed by anything that had gone on that evening.

Downey stepped into the room and continued. “You know, when your father, Chris, wanted Aurelie’s mother, I told him to take what he wanted. To do what he had to do to make it his. I guess that advice stuck a little too well -- he got sloppy there at the end. Got himself caught up in the law … well, we all know how that ended, I suppose.”

Chris pursed his lips. “What’s your point, Downey?”

The older man smirked. “He passed that on to you, didn’t he? Taking what you want. Nevermind that you had already ruined that blonde’s life by taking her hostage. You had to have her in your bed, too. Don’t worry -- Scarlett’s got me caught up to everything. I know all about Aurelie’s fling with Krasinski, too. And about the baby.”

“No,” Aurelie groaned. “The baby has nothing to do with this.”

Downey looked back to Scarlett, who took far too much pleasure in presenting her own gun and training it on the siblings.

Whistling as he entered the ER, John stopped at the triage desk and asked them to page Aurelie. He had a bouquet of flowers in one hand. Whatever love sickness had hit him, John didn’t care. He couldn’t wait until the end of her shift to see her.

The triage nurse hung up the phone and smiled up at him. “Charge nurse says you can go back. Dr. Juneau is with a patient, but she should be out soon.”

John grinned his thank you and meandered over to the doors leading back into the ER. The charge nurse waved and motioned to the room where Aurelie was currently treating a patient, promising that the doctor should be out momentarily.

Ten minutes passed and Aurelie was still a no show. The charge nurse realized John was still waiting and offered to go into the room to check on his fiancee’s status for him. When she came back out, she was wide-eyed.

“They’re gone. Both of them.”

John’s heart dropped to his feet. “Who was the patient?”

“I don’t … it was …”

John took her by the upper arms. “Randi, slow down. The patient, what did the patient look like?”

The nurse took a deep breath. “It was a woman, with red hair. She was -- she was sort of beaten up. She asked for Aurelie by name, wouldn’t let anyone else even touch her. She insisted on Aurelie treating her.”

John had a good idea of who that must have been. “Right. Alert security, okay? They’ll take it from there.”

Randi nodded and went to page the security team. John left the flowers on the counter where they were and rushed out of the hospital. He made one phone call before pulling out of the parking lot, speeding toward Downey’s house.

Chris tucked Aurelie behind him. “She’s right. The baby has nothing to do with this. Aurelie has nothing to do with this. She was dragged into it by my father’s selfishness. She was kept in it by mine. You didn’t need to bring her here since you already knew that I was coming.”

Downey sighed, feigning sadness. “I wish it were that simple, I really do. But, you see, whether Aurelie likes it or not, she’s an Evans by marriage and not only has she agreed to marry a Krasinski, she’s having his child. That’s not how things run, that’s now how I run things. The families stay apart.”

“Why?” Chris asked, narrowing his eyes. “To keep you in your place? Perhaps you’re not quite so high and mighty as the front you put on, huh? If the two families joining are enough of a threat that you have to resort to kidnapping and murder to keep your place, maybe you were never quite so high up as you thought.”

For that, Scarlett stepped forward and used the gun in her hand to hit Chris across the face. He fell to all floors, blood dripping from his mouth. He wiped at it and stood again. He pointed to Aurelie.

“Take all the hits you want on me, but you leave Aurelie out of this. Hell, call John, I’m sure --”

“No!” Aurelie exclaimed. “This is on me. I was the one who came clean to John first, who convinced him we could make this work. Don’t call John. Don’t.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes and stepped toward Chris, putting her gun to his temple. “The tables have certainly turned, old friend. You’re both going to die tonight, so you tell me; do you want to put your sister out of her misery, or do you want to die before you have to see me put a bullet in her head?”

Chris swallowed hard. He held his hands up in surrender as he worked his way to his feet. He tried convincing Downey and Scarlett again that this didn’t have to end in anyone’s death, that something could be worked out.

Aurelie felt as though she might vomit. Between the pain of the hits she had taken and the stress of the situation as a whole, she was overwhelmed. She had to get the both of them out of this, before it went any further. With a surge of courage, she took two long strides toward Chris and pulled the gun from his waistband. She pointed it at Downey. In return, Scarlett kicked Chris behind his knee, sending him back to the ground. She held the gun to his head and ordered Aurelie to lower the gun in her hands.

But the doctor shook her head. “No. This is all because of him. My father died right in front of me. I grew up hiding family secrets and pretending like I knew nothing about the things that Robbie Evans did. I’ve been exiled from the family for years because you taught that man to take what he wanted, and my family believed I was the one who turned him in!”

Downey smirked. “Oh, yeah, no. That was me.”

Angry tears rolled down her cheeks. Aurelie shook her head. She could have screamed she was so angry; this was never what her life was supposed to be. Sirens sounded in the distance, growing louder by the second. The authorities knew what was happening and they were coming to the scene. If she didn’t act now, Downey would smooth talk his way out of things, the way he always did. Her status at MassGen would likely excuse her from any suspicion, but Chris would be locked away, just as his father had been.

“This ends now!” Aurelie yelled.

Seconds later, as police forced their way into Downey’s front door, two gunshots rang out from the basement.

AlloftheThings: @captain-s-rogers @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @hurricanerin @horsesandbandsforlife @im-not-an-armrest-im-short @captain-rogers-beard @shynara51 @sea040561 @pinknerdpanda @xtina2191 @jackryanplz @beakami @heartsaved @fullprunerebelstatesman @blackwidowismyhomegirl @averyrogers83

Boston Boys: @the-murder-strut-murdered-me @becs-bunker @shield-agent78 @patzammit @crazyandanonymous4u @ntlmundy @jennmurawski13 @okay-maybe-i-like-marvel-too

#chris evans #john krasinski #fanfiction #crossover #criminal!au

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thero0ks · 5 years

Text

Complicated Friendships (Haytham or Shay)

This is going to be a three shot, with a choose your own boyfriend ending. :)

The pub was packed with bodies. It was a typical Friday night at the Stag Inn. Amber liquid swirled in her glass as she watched him from across the room, deep in conversation with a beautiful stranger. It was easier in her early twenties to brush her feelings aside. However, the more relationships she went through the less patient she got with his antics. The Irishman was still her best friend, so she tolerated it. Friday nights gave her the opportunity to get well acquainted with the various whiskies on the shelf. Shay usually hung around long enough to share a basket of fish and chips before he was off to flirt with the prettiest woman in the room.

“You’ll get wrinkles looking like that.” An eloquent voice echoed from above her, snapping her attention to steel colored eyes.

“Haytham. You’re off early.” She said sitting back in her seat.

He slung his jacket over the back of his chair before taking a seat. “I decided to take your advice, and let off some steam.” He said setting the glass of brandy on the oak table top. “You can stare at him all night, or you could tell him.” Haytham stated bluntly, taking a pull from his drink.

A scoff passed her lips, “as you can see, I’m not really his type.” She said tilting her glass towards the woman. Haytham’s gaze fluttered over the woman, and then back to her.

“I’d choose you.” Haytham said with a simple shrug of his shoulders. A small blush crept up her cheeks as she tried to focus on anything but the Englishman next to her. “She’s beautiful, but she isn’t my type.” Haytham continued. (Y/N) could feel him staring at her, and she dared to meet his gaze. “I prefer a woman who doesn’t need to tell the whole room she’s beautiful. The woman that every man’s been looking at, but are too afraid to speak to.”

She couldn’t recall when he leaned closer, but she could feel his breath on her neck and shivers raced down her spine. His sultry voice was like music to her ears, and he was the kind of man who radiated power. “Haytham!” An Irish lilt called from above the noise. (Y/N) straightened up caught in an intimate moment with their mutual friend. Haytham seemed content to stay close to her. His arm slung over the back of her chair, and she could feel the brush of his chest as he reached for his drink. “Shay.” Haytham acknowledged with a nod.

“I didn’t think you’d be sticking around for long.” Haytham observed seeing the blonde across the room giggling with her friends.

“Oh her?” Shay asked glancing over his shoulders. “I told her it was my birthday, and she’s a little eager to celebrate.” The dark haired man said with a laugh.

“Well, before you leave us to...celebrate.” (Y/N) said trailing off reaching into her bag. “I have a present for you.”

Shay beamed taking a seat at the table. “What is it?” He shook the wrapped box eyes alight with excitement and wonder. He tore at the paper opening the small box, “(Favorite band) tickets?!” Shay asked excitedly. “You’re the best.” He said giving her a hug, and a kiss on the cheek.

“Happy birthday Shay.” She said softly, the feel of his lips tingling on her skin.

Haytham studied his friend for a moment, "my birthday gift to you is that I won't fuck your best friend. I will however, walk her home." Haytham said downing the rest of his drink.

Shay rubbed the back of his neck nervously, "thanks Haytham your a real mate." Shay's words were clipped at the end.

"We can stay longer Shay…we just assumed you'd want to get to your...celebration with blondie." Her voice was soft touching the Irishman's arm. A comforting gesture he was used to from her.

He shook his head, "I was about to head off too. Now I don’t have to worry about you getting home safely." Shay said offering her a smile. He gave her a quick hug before bounding across the bar to his pretty acquaintance.

Haytham grabbed his jacket before offering her his arm. They walked down the street a comfortable silence settling between the pair.

(Y/N) studied the Englishman a moment trying to figure out how she ever overlooked him. She’d spent more time with Haytham then she had with Shay the past couple of years. The two seemed to get along quite well. "Haytham." She inquired, plucking up unknown courage.

He stopped for a moment, "are you cold?" His voice was laced with concern and he automatically reached for his jacket buttons.

"No, thank you." She said stopping him quickly, before continuing, "tomorrow isn't Shay's birthday."

"Quite intuitive aren't you?" He teased soliciting a playful smack from her.

"I'm trying to be serious." She said a slight smile on her face. It was a crisp evening, and the street was mostly silent. "You told Shay you wouldn’t fuck me tonight, but what about tomorrow night?" She peeked up at him through her lashes too shy to look at him directly.

He stopped walking, bringing her to a halt as well. He gazed down at her studying her features she felt flustered, "I only meant..well at the bar I thought you were dropping hints, and I..I buggered it all up. I'm so oblivious sometime-" she was cut off abruptly by warm lips.

It didn't take her long to get swept up in his earth shattering kiss. She'd kissed many men, but none had ever kissed her like that. One hand pressed into her lower back pulling her closer, and his other gripping the brick wall for support. Her hands clasping his jaw, standing tiptoed to be as close to him as possible. The rest of the world was drowned in his kiss. His tongue tasted of the brandy he'd drank at the bar. When they finally parted Haytham hung his head, eyes fluttered shut coming down from his high. "Since the moment I met you I wanted to kiss you like that." His voice came soft, and his eyes looked silver in the moonlight.

"I should have seen it. I should have realized you'd been there all along." Her fingers gently stroked his face, her (e/c) pools lost in his hypnotizing gaze.

Haytham's lips quirked up, "as you so bluntly put it. You can be completely oblivious my dear."

His arms wrapped around her, and she was enveloped in his sent of tea and brandy. "So is that a yes to tomorrow night?"

"Let's start with dinner, and then see where the night takes us." He said pulling back to kiss her once more.

She shuffled closer to him as they walked. The feel of her pressed against him made him feel light, and happy. When they finally arrived at her door, he was having second thoughts about leaving her. “Do you want to come in?” She asked unlocking her door. “You only promised Shay we wouldn’t hook up, but you never said anything about sleeping with me.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. The soft hallway light from her half open door illuminated her hair, and giving her skin an iridescent glow. “Are you always this forward?” He inquired, taking a step closer to her. She called to him like a siren, and he couldn’t resist holding her in his arms once again.

“Only when I know what I want.” She said simply.

“What is it that you want?” He inquired tilting his head, gazing down into her (e/c) pools.

“You..us..” She said looking down. The possibility of rejection was easier to come to terms with when she wasn’t getting lost in his piercing gaze.

He tilted her chin up, he wanted her to see the sincerity in his eyes, “I’d love to come in.”

He knew the way to her flat like the back of his hand. His head was pounding, but he knew (Y/N) would make a good brunch date. The thud, thud, thud of his hand on the cast iron fence echoed in his head as his feet carried him down the sidewalk. He grabbed the hide-a-key from a flower box in front of her living room window. The house was silent when he entered, which was odd. Usually she was up by eight am. He quickly kicked his shoes off heading up the staircase silent as a mouse. “(Y/N), let’s go get birthday brunch.” Shay’s voice echoed as he stepped into the room.

She snapped awake by his voice. “Shay, you asshole.” She mumbled throwing a pillow at him.

Shay then noticed the other occupant in the bed. “Haytham?” Shay asked his eyes widening at the sight of his friend laying next to his best friend. “What the hell!?!” Shay bellowed angrily.

“Don’t worry, he kept his promise Shay.” (Y/N) said pushing past him to start some coffee. Shay hot on her heels.

“What, so Haytham and you are an item now?” Shay asked scrunching his nose up.

She shrugged, “you always complain about hating my boyfriends. You already like Haytham, so what’s the problem?” She asked pouring coffee grounds into the french press.

“I don’t want to think of my best friends fucking each other!” He said throwing his hands up in the air in frustration, as he started to pace the kitchen floor.

“Oh grow up Shay.” She said with a roll of her eyes. “Every Friday night I watch you grope every attractive woman that walks through the door. Haytham and I could fuck in a booth in the pub and you wouldn’t even notice, so spare me the lecture.”

Shay’s jaw clenched, “you think I don’t notice the way he leans over you all the time, or the way he looks at you like you hung the fucking moon?”

(Y/N) froze turning to look at him, “you’re fucking jealous.” She leaned against the counter folding her arms across her chest.

“I am not jealous!” Shay shot back stopping his pacing to look at her.

“You’re the most insufferable man I’ve met.” She scoffed, shaking her head as she grabbed a mug out of the cabinets.

In a flash Shay crossed the marble tiles to trap her between his arms, “How many times are you going to kiss the wrong person?” He asked dark eye’s heavily lidded as he gazed down at her.

To be continued...

#shay cormac x reader #haytham kenway x reader #Shay Cormac #haytham kenway #haytham x reader #assassins creed #assassins creed oneshot

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lullabieswrappedinlies · 4 years

Text

Boston Boys [Part Nineteen]

Boston Boys Masterlist

She didn’t know how much time had passed when cool, thin fingers lifted her chin. A familiar face grinned down at her and held up a phone.

Aurelie coughed; she tasted blood. The fingers gripped her chin hard before shoving her face away. Darkness slipped in and out again and silence reigned.

“Aurelie?” Chris lowered his gun before tucking it into his waistband. “Oh my God …”

“You have to get out of here,” she breathed, “they’re expecting you. They know you’re coming.”

Chris frowned. “They? You know what, don’t worry about it. We have to get you out of here. My bullshit can wait. I’m sorry, Aurie. This was never supposed to --”

“Never supposed to involve her?”

Chris pursed his lips. “What’s your point, Downey?”

“No,” Aurelie groaned. “The baby has nothing to do with this.”

Downey looked back to Scarlett, who took far too much pleasure in presenting her own gun and training it on the siblings.

The triage nurse hung up the phone and smiled up at him. “Charge nurse says you can go back. Dr. Juneau is with a patient, but she should be out soon.”

“They’re gone. Both of them.”

John’s heart dropped to his feet. “Who was the patient?”

“I don’t … it was …”

John took her by the upper arms. “Randi, slow down. The patient, what did the patient look like?”

John had a good idea of who that must have been. “Right. Alert security, okay? They’ll take it from there.”

“Take all the hits you want on me, but you leave Aurelie out of this. Hell, call John, I’m sure --”

“No!” Aurelie exclaimed. “This is on me. I was the one who came clean to John first, who convinced him we could make this work. Don’t call John. Don’t.”

Downey smirked. “Oh, yeah, no. That was me.”

“This ends now!” Aurelie yelled.

Seconds later, as police forced their way into Downey’s front door, two gunshots rang out from the basement.

Tags: @themtbmbgirl @keithseabrook27 @ulovemelightsout @rosie2801 @professorkrasinski

#john krasinski #chris evans #fanfiction #crossover #criminal!au

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mrspettyferr · 5 years

Text

19 Years Later

Inspired by the epilogue of Harry Potter

No matter how many years had passed, it was strange to see the isolated planet of Ahch-To crowded with so many ships and people. The Lanai did their best to round up the anxious children, many of which were playing with practice sabers or trying to catch a glimpse of the thala-sirens lounging among the jagged cliffs. Some chased after porgs or skipped along the rocky paths. The padawans were more disciplined, chatting in small groups or staying close to their parents.

For Rey Solo, she was caught up in the memories, watching it all with a quiet sense of contentment. The once ruined huts and structures had been rebuilt, made of dilapidated stone and rock. There were even temples now, classrooms for the younglings and padawans, and landing pads made of grey slab had been built offshore to accommodate the incoming ships.

Some of the Masters had made an appearance, floating among the grassy hills and rock-like structures, their pearly glow frightening some of the younger children. Lando Calrissian was among them, grinning wickedly as he always did on this day. He enjoyed watching the disbelieving students as they came to realize that many of their Masters were, in fact, Force ghosts. Luke Skywalker would be among them, but of course he always made his grand entrance at the opening ceremony.

“Oh!”

Rey was pitched forward as Leia bumped into her, the young girl’s knapsack bouncing on her back as she rushed past.

“Leia, don’t wander off too far!” Rey called after her. This was her third year, and she was finally of age to select her Kyber crystal. It was all she talked about these last few months.

Not far behind came the endless arguing that had not stopped since they left Takodana.

“They don’t really eat people,” Anakin said, sounding less confident than his words implied. “That’s just a stupid rumor.”

“Yes, they do,” his twin sister insisted. “And they’re going to eat you if you don’t—”

“Hanna,” Rey warned.

“They won’t eat me, of course,” Hanna went on, tucking back a strand of wavy black hair that never quite managed to stay confined to her braid. “They only eat darksiders.”

“I won’t be a darksider!” Anakin argued, his dark eyes flaring, his cheeks flushing. “Maybe you will be!”

“Maybe you’ll be neither,” she said with a smirk.

“Hanna, that’s enough,” came Ben’s deep voice as he finally emerged. He was wearing his formal Senator robes, which looked out of place among all the green and sunshine.

“What?” Hanna asked innocently. “I’m only repeating what Master Luke said.”

“He didn’t say that. He—” Ben paused, seeming to think it over and coming to the same conclusion as Rey.

“He probably did,” she muttered, shaking her head. She turned to the twins. “Thala-sirens are harmless. Now, grab your bags and we’ll find Uncle Finn and Aunt Rose.”

After the opening ceremony and welcoming feast—which parents were encouraged to attend—they would travel to Naboo, the new seat for the Galactic Senate. Ben was a Senator, and they—along with the kids—often traveled between Takodana and Naboo, where they kept an apartment. Rey, having no desire for politics, ran her own mechanic shop right out of their home on Takodana. It was a castle, after all, and she preferred the smell of oil and rust to the cantina that Maz had established. Maz spent most of her time traveling the galaxy with Chewie. After the war, she had practically forced Ben into restoring the castle to it’s former glory.

“You destroyed it, least you can do is fix it,” she had said. But when they finished, more than a year later, Maz hadn’t moved back in. She only waived them off and said, “Take it, it’s yours. I have no need for it. But the statue stays.”

It didn’t take long to find their friends. Finn was crouched down before his daughter, triple checking her bags and sprouting more advice that Rey was sure Paige did not ask for.

“Stay away from the cliffs. Storms bring in strong currents. Don’t go near the nexus, you know it’s forbidden until seventh year. And don’t listen to Lando, the porgs aren’t venomous. But if they do bite you, just—” His gaze whipped up to Rose, who was watching it all in amusement. “Did you pack enough bandages? What if she—"

“It’s school, not the military, dad,” Paige grumbled.

“I just want you to be prepared,” Finn insisted, reaching out to pat her impossibly curly black hair.

“I think you’re prepared enough for all of us,” Rose teased. She waved when she spotted Rey, Ben, and the twins approaching. Finn followed her gaze; then he bounced up, grinning wide.

“Uncle Finn!” the twins chorused, running forward and half tackling him with a hug.

“Hey! Look at you two. Wow, how tall you’ve grown, Anakin. And Hanna, is that…a blaster?” He looked at Rey with mild alarm.

“Yeah! Want to see how good I am?”

“No, no,” Finn said quickly, throwing up his hands. “Let’s keep that holstered before…anyone…” He was glancing nervously around now. “…sees…a child with a blaster…”

Rey shook her head, a smile tugging at her mouth, and pulled him into a hug as the twins went to Rose and Paige.

“Giving the eleven-year-old a blaster now?” he muttered so only she could hear.

“They should know how to use them properly,” said Rey. Then she amended, “I caught the kids playing with them as toys and figured it was better to instruct properly. Don’t worry, she’s not allowed to keep it here.”

Finn’s body rumbled as he laughed. “It’s been too long.”

“It has,” she agreed, pulling back. “How’s Poe? I missed him at our last trip to Naboo.”

“Ah, the General is always busy.” Finn still gave his friend a hard time about the title, especially when he had to use it in public. His expression faltered slightly as he looked past Rey to Ben, who had approached with quiet stealth.

“Solo,” Finn greeted a little formally. It took him almost a year to break the habit of calling him Ren.

Ben inclined his head. “Soldier.”

Finn coughed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Commander, actually.”

“I fail to notice the difference under Dameron’s command.”

Finn muttered something under his breath, but a reluctant grin tugged at his lips.

Rey and Rose exchanged a look, rolling their eyes. Despite the fact that Ben had worked with the Resistance to defeat Palpatine all those years ago, a bit of tension still remained between the two of them. Rey didn’t know if it would ever truly fade, but they were civil and on occasion, even friendly.

Rose on the other hand was more forgiving, and now she offered Ben a warm smile. “Good to see you, Ben.”

His lips parted slightly—not a smile, but a friendly enough gesture. His smiles were rare, reserved only for his family. “You as well,” he said.

“Mother, I want to find Grandpa Han” said Hanna, tugging on Rey’s arm, a slight whine to her voice.

“Me too,” Anakin chimed in.

“Can I go, too?” Paige asked Rose.

“We need to get you all settled first,” Rey said. “And we need to find your sister…”

Her voice trailed off as she searched for Leia. The girl was a curious thing, disappearing all over the castle when she was a child. She was probably looking for Han, too.

Rey wasn’t sure if it was because of the sacred grounds, or some other unexplained thread of fate, but the Force ghosts could manifest permanently on this island. They could manifest anywhere, if they wanted, but it was more difficult. Here, they were free.

Han refused to call himself a Master, and spent most of his time telling the students stories. But occasionally he would teach them about mechanics and piloting, insisting even Force wielders should learn the basics. Leia on the other hand did insist the students call her General or Master, to both Luke and Han’s amusement.

Rey felt a surge of relief when her eldest finally appeared, panting, as though she had just climbed the steep stairs to the monastery at the top of the island. Her brown hair was straight like Rey’s, her bangs messy and ribbon half undone, as though she had rolled out of bed and done very little to tame her hair. Which was usually the case. She looked sweaty and her ivory robes were already spotted with dirt and earth.

“Where have you been?” Rey demanded. “I told you not to wander off.”

“Everywhere,” Leia answered breathlessly. When she finally caught her breath, she straightened a bit, her eyes widening with some newfound enlightenment. “I’ll say this, though. I’m never drinking that green milk again.”

They all laughed, and Ben finally smiled.

- - -

Once the students were all settled into their lodgings, it was time to head to the Great Temple. Each new student would be called forward and tested, like they were when they first showed signs of being Force-sensitive. But this testing was necessary before entering secondary school here on Ahch-To, to reveal which side of the Force they leaned closer to, if either.

It was still a concept that was met with some reluctance. After Palpatine’s fall, more and more children and even teenagers seemed to become Force-sensitive. Old ties to both the Empire and the Republic, to the First Order and the Resistance, created a rift. This sense of division had been long engraved, a strong reason why peace could never be established for long.

When Rey and Ben had come together to defeat Palpatine and his army, they had done so by uniting factions of the First Order and the Resistance, by embracing the light and the dark side. By achieving balance.

Soon after, both Rey and Ben felt a call to Ahch-To. When they arrived, they found not just Luke, but other former Masters: the great Yoda, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn, and Anakin Skywalker. Among them an idea bloomed, of restoring not the old Jedi Order, but a new order: the Order of the Force.

But it started with an academy, of training, when they became of age. On Ahch-To, Masters—both living and gone—taught light and dark histories and theories. Luke had been right, in a way. It was time for the way of the Jedi to die—not die entirely, but to change and grow.

The Force was the Force, the light and the dark and everything in between.

As they approached the temple, Leia scrambled inside to find her friends, Hanna trailing after her. But Anakin hesitated outside the entrance. Two girls and their parents moved past, trying not to stare. Rey was used to the staring, to the attention of being a war hero.

Frowning, she pulled her son aside, but before she could ask him what was the matter, he blurted, “What if I’m a darksider?”

Rey and Ben shared a glance. Their bond allowed them to communicate telepathically, but they didn’t need to in this moment. Ben crouched down, his huge frame nearly swallowing up Anakin.

“Leia was named after your grandmother,” he said quietly. “And Hanna, after your grandfather. But you…Anakin Ren Solo. You were named for two people. Both of which were powerful in the light side of the Force, and the dark side. They made some mistakes and bad choices, but even when they drifted too far into the dark side, they still found their way back to the light. They found their way home.” His eyes flicked up, meeting Rey’s, and her expression softened. “They are a testament that should you ever fall, no matter how far, you can still rise.”

“But what if—what if I’m neither?”

“Then you will be like me.”

Anakin’s eyes went wide. “What do you mean? No one is more powerful in the Force than you, Dad.” He winced and shot an apologetic look at Rey, whose brows had raised slightly. “Except you, Mom. And High Master Skywalker. Does he count?”

Rey laughed, and Ben smiled a bit. “For many years I was conflicted, torn between the light and the dark,” he said. “I had to learn to find the balance. And maybe someday you’ll learn the same.”

The children knew some of Ben’s past as Kylo Ren, as Rey and Ben knew they could not hide it. He had dedicated the past nineteen years to restoring the galaxy, but some would never forgive him for the role he played among the First Order. And they did not want to lie or bury the past by denying it. But the children knew even less of his involvement with the First Order and the tragic upbringing that tore him apart for so long. Someday, when they were older, he would tell them all of it.

Even with Ben’s admission, Anakin was still insistent. “But if I do lean to the dark side—”

“—then it only shows how passionate you are, Anakin,” Rey said gently, crouching down next to Ben. She reached out and brushed a strand of unruly black hair from Anakin’s eyes. When he made a face at her words, she added, “Passion comes from the heart. It’s part of what makes you human. And we will love and accept you no matter what side, if either, you lean toward.”

“Every student is different,” Ben added. “It’s only an evaluation to help the Masters find the best approach to their teachings. You, and only you, get to choose which path you walk. And you will never walk it alone, son. We promise you that.”

Anakin nodded, finally reassured. He took a deep breath and straightened, then marched into the temple with his chin high.

Rey and Ben stood, and caught Leia’s—Grandmother Leia’s—eye across the temple. She was the most regal of Force ghosts, elegant and noble, and her eyes shone with pride. Then she turned away, greeting a group of students who were demanding her attention.

“He’ll be all right,” Ben murmured, wrapping an arm around Rey.

She thought of Leia, Han, and Luke. She thought of Lando, of Obi-Wan, of Yoda. Of Finn and Rose and Paige. And she thought of herself and Ben, all looking after their family. They would never know the loneliness that Rey and Ben had. Never know what it felt like to be unloved or abandoned, to feel isolated and alone. They would never allow it.

“I know he will,” she said. “They all will.”

She glanced up, and when Ben felt her gaze, he looked down at her. His expression softened, as it only did for her and their children.

“Come on,” she said, “let’s go see what theatrical entrance Luke has in store this time.”

Ben groaned, but allowed her to tug him inside. “I refuse to applaud such dramatics.”

“Of course, you wouldn’t know anything about dramatics, Ben.” They found two empty seats in the back, next to a couple of Twi’lek’s that greeted them warmly.

His mouth twisted. “I would hardly call—”

“Shh, it’s about to begin,” she interrupted as the candles dimmed and the Force ghosts took their places at the front of the temple.

Ben sighed and took her hand in his own. Rey squeezed it, remembering the first time she had touched his hand across the stars on this very island. She felt him looking at her, and when she peered at him, she knew he was remembering the same thing.

So Rey smiled, and Ben smiled back.

All was well in the galaxy, and for the Solo’s, who finally had all they had been searching for.

Connection. Compassion. Family. Love. Acceptance. Belonging.

They would hang on, and never let it go.

#reylo #rey x kylo ren #rey x ben solo #mrs pettyfer writing #reylo babies #reylo family

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evien-stark · 4 years

Text

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 100

Lunch with Steve was nice, as you expected it would be, and ran a little long. Which was also nice. And it quelled the storm inside you if only for a nice few moments. He said he had somewhere he needed to be, and seemed a little lost as he did. You tried to invite him back home- back to New York, anyway, but he seemed made up to stick it out here. If only for a little while longer. With that, the two of you gave each other a nice squeezy hug and then you let him be on his way.

Happy escorted you into the car and then got in front. “Airport?”

“Yes, please. Thank you.” Finally you slipped off the tinted glasses you’d been wearing, perhaps having grown too accustomed to them. They were nice, after all. Rubbing the bridge of your nose with one hand, you brought your phone up in the other. Only one person to call. And he picked up first ring. “You get all that?”

“Still going through all the data.” In fact, you heard a lot of click-clacking going on. He was typing furiously. “And- hey- if you wanna try and sue a shadow organization, I’m all for it, by the way.”

Sinking into the backseat, you heaved a sigh. “I don’t know what to do, to be honest. This is… nuts. Even for SHIELD. What is Fury thinking?”

“He wants to be the biggest guy with the biggest gun. I’ve met a lot of men like him- you have, too. It’s probably why you’ve never liked him. You have fantastic intuition.”

There was a twitch of a smile on your lips, much as you didn’t want to be in a smiling mood. “I had no idea the guns were this big.”

He was the next one to hum out a sigh. “Just… come home. We’ll parse through it all. I might have a good chance at cracking this. We can shut it all down. Downloads are still coming in. It’s gonna be a while.”

“Yeah.” What more could you do? This couldn’t go unpunished. Unanswered. It was a mistake, showing it to you. You still had no idea why he would have. Maybe to invite you to try. Who knew.

The sound of sirens lit up the air, and you watched Happy readjust his mirror as the car came to a stop at a red light. He looked at you first and then cast a look out his window. “Got a lot of cops headed this way.”

“DC’s no stranger to trouble.” You looked out your window, holding the phone to your ear. “We might be stuck in traffic. Looks like there’s a parade of police headed our way.”

“You could always just fly home yourself. Thirty minutes tops, if you really push it-”

A chill hit the air as you saw a black SUV ram through the other line of cars- the reason the police were speeding through the roads- and then when it didn’t stop and swerved as another car clipped it, you drew in a breath that expelled immediately. “HAPPY WATCH OUT!!”

Literally nothing he could do as the SUV rammed the back of your car, sending you in a tilting sideways bank right into another car. No seat belt on, moron that you were, you were thrust all the way to the opposite side of the car right against the door in a crush. Pain flared hot in your lower joints, especially your hips. Tony’s voice was somewhere in the mix as those sirens got louder and then sped past.

Trying to shake some sense back into yourself, you reached a hand forward, grabbing a hold of Happy’s shoulder. “-talk to me, Happy- are you okay?”

“I’m okay- I’m okay- you okay? Hey-”

“Honey, talk to me. I’m set on your location. Paramedics are on the way.” Tony, proactive, coming to get you no matter what and having already called for assistance.

“I’m okay, Tony-” Windows had been shattered and the back and side of the car were wrecked- “LUNA get me police scanner info- what the hell is going on?”

“Scanning now!”

Moving to the opposite side of the car, sweeping the broken glass out of the way, you gripped the handle of the door and shoved it open, climbing out and stumbling a little onto the sidewalk, now shaky with new adrenaline.

“Ma’am there is no reported police activity in the nearby area!”

“What?” You heard both you and Tony ask this. Settling your hand on Happy’s door, you opened it, offering it to him to help him get out of the next. He was rambling about something, trying to check you for wounds but you held him at bay. “I had my phone up- did you get a scan of the car going by us?”

“Assessing!”

“Honey, stay out of it. I’m on my way.”

Your head was pounding.

“The plates on the car are registered to SHIELD headquarters!”

Something in you told you. You just knew. There was no way that wasn’t Fury. In an hour- maybe two (just how long had lunch run, anyway? You suddenly couldn’t remember), he’d gotten himself into something shady. And something serious. If those weren’t cops, then who were they? And why was he running?

...should you care? You’d just said goodbye to that man. And not in a good way. You should really heed Tony’s advice. Stay back. Do not get involved. Yet that wasn’t really how you operated, was it? What sort of person would you be if you just ignored this?

That thought alone broke the fuzz swirling around your brain. “I’m sorry, Tony. I have to.”

“No you don’t!”

But you did. And that was why you unzipped your jacket, double tapping on the Heart Reactor. Suiting up. With comms online, you chucked your phone into the backseat, along with the forgotten specs you’d come in with. Turning to him, “Happy stay here. Tony said the paramedics are on their way.” And then you activated your helmet.

“Where are you going!?”

“I have to deal with this.”

One step into the next and then you jumped, igniting your thrusters to take into the air. “LUNA light the way.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Tony’s face appeared on the left side of your screen. “You just told Fury off and now you’re gonna go get involved in whatever he’s undoubtedly brought on himself?”

“You bet your ass I am. So I can rub his face in it later.” Even without LUNA’s help, you could see the path of pushed aside cars and disgruntled drivers yelling on the road. And then even further still, the over turned cop cars- Fury was doing a number to the guys on his tail, maybe he didn’t need you after all-

But an explosion up ahead told a different story. Rounding the corner of a building you saw the car he’d been driving swerve upside down and then roll to a crash, stopping on its roof. And standing a yard away was a man clad in black, long brown hair, back to you, holding a very large gun. Smoke was pouring out from Fury’s car.

Instincts kicked in. Firing up the jets for an extra boost you sped past him, coming to a heavy land in front of the car. The attacker up ahead stopped moving, presumably sizing you up. You only spared a very quick glance back at the car. “Get out of here.” It made no difference if he couldn’t. You had no idea how hurt he was. Probably very, given the bullet holes lining his car.

“Seems like you can’t trust anyone these days...” His laugh sounded wet. Full of blood. You kept your back turned. “Anyway- thanks for the escape route…” You didn’t see him as he spoke these words, and it didn’t matter. Your attention went in full to the man suddenly advancing. He had a full black face mask on.

“LUNA let’s go full on the defense.” Getting the sense you were going to need some serious protection.

“Defensive mode activated!”

Then, pitching your voice out, “I assume you don’t wanna talk? Fury’s not my favorite person either, but-”

He threw the gun at you, curbing your casual sass (covering for your fear, no doubt), and you brought your hands out to catch it before it landed. With you distracted, he jumped forward, landing a quick blow to pin you back against the car. You dropped the weapon, bringing your knee up once, and then again, and then held a hand in the small space between you to get a shot off.

It knocked him off kilter enough for you to rush him, angled low, sweeping him off his feet and to the ground. Getting off a one-two punch in succession, but then he raised his arm and grabbed your right hand on the next swing- crushing you with ease- even through the armor-

“Ma’am structural damage imminent!” Red lights started flashing on your screen. A moment too late, as you felt your wrist break as he twisted.

So you brought the other one up after the initial cry and shock of pain to blast him right in the face. It got him once, and then he rocked up, forcing you off balance. Getting enough leverage to throw you over his shoulder to the pavement. Too late in your stand as he whacked you in the back of the head- and again-

Fighting through the haze and the fear that had gripped you so suddenly- not to mention all the warnings going off inside the helmet- you jettisoned forward and out of striking range, scraping along the ground until you could curl up and round off in a ball before landing on your feet. You had to be quick to stand, as he ran at you, meeting you one blow for the next. Stopping your kicks and parrying your, now, one-armed punches.

You thought you had him, when you landed one right on his jaw, but after the connect he grabbed your arm on the follow through, twisting you around until another literal bone-shattering crack hit the air, punching another cry from your gut. He held you there too long, as you wound back and jammed your other elbow into his stomach. When he keeled over you grabbed him through the pain to throw him down on his back.

One stomp. Then two. Then three. And then he grabbed your leg and twisted. Thankfully no breaks this time, only serving to rip you from the earth and to the ground. But that wasn’t enough as he rolled to stand and then reached down to heft you up and then throw you back down into the ground.

“LUNA-” Air wheezing from your lungs. Feeling a crack in your ribs as he jumped once, letting gravity bring that fist hard down into your chest. You felt a little electrical flurry- maybe your brain was imagining things- more warnings started going off- he was breaking the Reactor-

You feared he was about to do it again- and perhaps explode your heart- but instead he suddenly became very calm, reaching down to wrap his hand around your throat. Squeezing while you writhed beneath him, trying anything- trying to roll up, to twist- to push up and out- but he just held you there with a force no normal human could own. Just as your vision was going blurry and panic was hitting high, a shot rang off in the air. Unable to move, you could only look sideways, seeing Happy standing there with a gun in his hands. Firing off yet another shot that just seemed to hit- and then ricochet off your attacker’s shoulder. Enhanced for sure- but in what ways? This dude was a menace.

He turned, away from you, and seemed like he was getting ready to run for Happy. So, through the pain, you swung your broken arm forward, grasping his leg. He stopped to barely glance at you, and that was when you held both hands up. In a wheeze- “LUNA give me everything we’ve got!”

The blast that close was so bright it was blinding. The mysterious attacker went flying, several feet in the air, thrown back at least a block, landing on what sounded like a car.

You laid there for a long while. Looking. Looking into Nick’s empty car. Well… you’d told him to run. But… to think he’d really just… left you there… You just needed… a moment to reset…

A smart and careful touch deactivated your helmet, eyes unfocused, but catching the sight of Tony’s face above you. He was talking, but the words weren’t really hitting your ears. You focused on the way his mouth moved, the look in his eyes.

And when finally you made out- “What happened?”

You made use of the few words you had. “I got my ass beat.”

“We’ll call it a draw.” These ones you heard. Very kind of him, even though he was biased, considering you were completely outmatched. “Where’s Fury?”

“Took off.”

“Smart. Because he was next on my list.” He held you steady- you weren’t sure that you’d moved- probably just a reaction- only realizing it when the pain swelled and he started talking again. “Don’t move. What weapons was that guy packing? Your suit is damaged- you’re damaged.”

“I dunno.” It hurt to breathe. “Super strength, maybe…” The only thing that made sense.

“Great. And this is why I told you to stay out of it. Who knows who Fury has pissed off now.” Though he was admonishing you, it was in a worrying way. “Don’t move. Paramedics will be here soon. Like I said before. If you’d just listened.”

“I’ll be okay.” At least there was that, right? You’d heal.

“That doesn’t mean you can just do whatever you want.”

“Look who’s talking.” Brokenly smiling up at him.

He returned the expression, pain in his eyes. “This is definitely a do as I say, not as I do situation, alright?”

Consciousness was fading. You felt a blackness coming on. But before you could go- “You got the guy?”

“Gone before I got here.”

How absolutely unfortunate. Guy like him, going after Fury? You’re sure he had a lot of stories to tell. And probably not an enemy you wanted lurking around.

-------

It was lucky for you that the hospital was not too far away. It was doubly lucky that SHIELD had its own private wing (and triply lucky no one had reported your quitting the force just yet). Less to explain. Doctors more trained on dealing with enhanced individuals and looking the other way on certain things. After resetting your bones (not the most comfortable experience in the world), they set your right arm in a sling and your left wrist in a splint. Things you would not need, hopefully, after the day was through.

But once they cleaned up the rest of the cuts and bruises, of which there were many, you were sent to a quiet small room where it was assumed you’d probably just leave. It was when you stood that the room spun out of balance and Tony put a practiced, gentle arm around you to guide you back down to the bed.

Your brain had been rattled around pretty hard. Healing powers or not- right then… “Do you mind if I just… rest. For a little while.” You felt pretty hard out of sorts and in no condition to be walking around yet.

“Doctors gave the green-light. Take your time. I can work here.” And he was going to have to, because your suit had been wrecked. Whatever punch that dude was packing, it was meant to be lethal. Probably would have been, without LADY and LUNA. And Happy. Lucky you.

You only expected to drift off for an hour, maybe two. But when you came to- to the shrill ring of your phone somewhere- it was pitch black outside. Your room was also… empty. Shifting up, you found it a little easier to move, and reached outside of your sling to grab your phone off the beside table.

“Hello…?” Voice a groggy mess. Disoriented would be putting it mildly.

Steve’s voice was tight and cold on the other end. “Where are you?”

“I never left DC- I’m in a hospital right now. Should’ve called- I’m sorry- I got wrecked- someone attacked Fury-”

“Stop talking. You’re in the SHIELD sector?”

“Yeah-” The line cut. “Nice talking to you, too.” Unable to help the smart remark to nobody, head pounding. Getting up, you found your footing wobbly, the room wasn’t spinning as hard, but still not quite steady yet. Ripping the velcro from your sling, you rounded your arm up and down. Pain was fresh, but at least you could move.

Before you could take off the splint, you heard Happy’s hushed voice in the hallway. “Good to see you, Captain.”

Then your door opened as he let in a very dark looking Steve. Confusion came first- second quickly to his arms opening, scooping you up into an unimaginably tight hug. Then more confusion. “Steve-”

He projected his voice, “You’re not looking so hot.” And then, quieter into your shoulder. “Something’s going on. Fury’s dead.” Dropping these two facts in quick succession like you should just absorb them and not make a big deal about it.

Except- how were you supposed to react to something like that? First by wriggling out of his grip, hands on his biceps, holding him at arm’s length. “No- no- I- he got attacked but I kept the guy busy-” However, that guy had gotten away.

Was this your fault?

He set a hand on your shoulder, bringing you in close again. Voice very low. “Guy with a metal arm? He finished the job. At my apartment. I had no idea you were caught in the middle- look-” He made his voice a little more known. “You should go home.”

“Fuck you- I’m not going home-” Finding your sharp edges quickly, because being demanded to stand down never sat right with you. And- Fury was dead? Was he serious?? “How do you know? Did you-” “I watched them lose him on the table. I saw the body. It’s in the other room. You wanna go look?” Tone hard as he kept you from reeling back any further by two strong hands on your arms. “Listen, this is a lot to take in- and I’m sorry you got hurt- but listen to me when I tell you I need you to go home. Go back to the Tower. Something not right is going on. And I’m gonna find out what it is.”

“Let me help you. Whatever it is, we can figure it out together-”

He startled you with a small shake and a quiver ran up your spine. “Stop.” You’d never seen Steve like this before. Never seen that icy look in his eyes, heard his voice this tight. Like he was barely gripping with his own control and about to snap. “Look at me. Listen to me. Any other mission and I’d be glad to have you watching my back. But not for this one.” You stayed in startled silence, watching him as his head dropped. “I think SHIELD-”

“You mind not rattling her around so much? She already got her martini shook on the freeway a few hours ago.” Tony’s voice was a welcome reprieve, a break in these stormy clouds. Especially when it got Steve to immediately drop his hands away from you, like he’d been burnt. Tony made a point of pushing the door closed. “What’s going on? I step out for coffee for one minute and I got Natasha charging at me down the hallway and now you’re in here pretending you know how to play it cool? I thought we went over this.”

Meaning-

He was easily heard out in the hall.

Steve pressed his lips together, a swelling feeling of anger taking hold of him for a few seconds. But there was more fear there than anything else. Even as his hands balled into tight fists. He looked at you one last time before turning to Tony, finally finding his quiet voice as he leaned in and murmured a string of sentences that had Tony’s expression change from curious to troubled within a matter of moments.

Then they exchanged another long look. And said so much with so little. Tony nodded, and then Steve just left. Without another single word to you.

It left you standing there, shivering you realized, in the middle of the room. What the hell had just happened? What was going on? God knew you and Fury had all the differences between you in the world- but to think he was dead? And- it was because that guy had finished the job- and you’d failed to stop him-

What would happen to SHIELD now? What would happen to- Quieting your shaking, Tony came closer, settling a much more controlled and softer hand on your shoulder. “Honey, I think it’s time we got on a jet and made a b-line for home.”

You couldn’t help your glower. “He said the same thing.” “For once, he’s right.”

“I’m not gonna just sit back and do nothing- if Fury is really-”

“Nobody said anything about doing nothing. Does that sound like me? Like us? You need to rest. And your suit needs more work. I have better tools at home.” Both his hands moved, cupping the sides of your neck. Gazing at you.

Words there. We need to go home. We need to be in private.

Something very bad was happening. Something that reached far beyond the death of Nick Fury. And you had the sinking suspicion it had to do with the very thing you’d quit over just that morning. What had happened in such a short time, between you and Steve, leading to that assassin going after him? And so openly, too. Such a strange thing to do in the world of spies.

You played the role of a wilting flower, leaning into him. “My head is killing me.” True, but really hamming it up for the listening ears that everyone seemed to think lined the walls.

“Steve really shake you that hard? I’ll send him the next hospital bill.” Tony’s arms wound around you. Holding you tightly. “Let’s get you home and into bed.”

“I love you.”

Something terrible was happening. Worst case scenario had finally dawned. You were sure of it. You just didn’t know what it was exactly.

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Chapter One Hundred #one hundred chapters that's nuts!!!

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darthrena · 5 years

Text

I Should Tell You

Part II: I'd Die For One More Day

Part I here

He comes to her in dreams.

Solid beneath her touch. Breath warm against her skin.

She swallows his exhales and whispered declarations and takes him inside her.

"Are you here? Is this real?" she cries after pleasure crashes over her.

Exhilaration bleeds into fear into loneliness into pleasure all over again.

"As real as you need me to be."

o-o-o-o-o-o

50 days after Exolgor, Rey digs out the ancient moisture vaporators.

She finds them buried deep in the sand, corroded by the elements, damaged, some in pieces and others long scavenged for parts. The Force aids her, divulges their locations with the memory of moisture and wind, drags them through the earth and into the light.

The power which had flooded her on Exolgor, imbued with the voices and the wisdom of generations of Jedi, has left her.

It is only Rey that remains.

But that, at least, is nothing new.

There is little to make her smile these days, but it is with fierce satisfaction that she lines them in the courtyard, and buffs them into, if not pristineness, at least presentability. Readying them to this point was a task of two daycycles' hard effort, however the true testament of her hard scrabble skills is to follow.

"This isn't going to work, Rey."

The familiar, gruff tone is both a delight and an irritant. Glowing blue in the guise of a Jedi Master, Luke Skywalker hovers beside her, arms crossed and a look of obvious skepticism as he glances over her scavenging.

"It will." Rey rises to her feet slowly, stretching out kinks and wearied limbs, and pointedly not meeting the Jedi Master's gaze. It is easy to recall the frustrating grump from Ach-to, in moments such as this.

"Rey, the circuits are degraded beyond repair. Even a mechanic as skilled, and resourceful, as you won't be able to get these running. You'd be better off scrapping them for parts, and trading for newer units. Better yet," and now Luke's chiding tone softens somewhat, "go back to your friends. Make a life with the family you chose."

Ignoring Force Ghosts with unhelpful comments and unwanted suggestions, Rey grunts as she pulls open the side paneling of one unit to reveal the inner circuitry. The sight isn't pretty, but she is reluctant to give voice to any dismay before her almost-Master. Still, despite his apparent reservations, Rey remains optimistic. Luke's family had operated several vaporators suitable for moisture farmers. Rey's ambitions are more modest. Two to three working units would provide much needed water reserves and allow her to carve out a kitchen garden from the commercial hydroponics garden she found in the homestead.

After muttering, "Stubborn girl," Luke leaves her alone.

The rest of the day passes in industrious silence as Rey works on the vaporators into the evening.

"Whatcha doing?"

This time she greets the interruption with an upturned mouth. "What does it look like?"

Ben dangles his long legs over a crate of dated provisions, an amused air as he studies her efforts. This time, Ben wears sand colored robes tied with a brown belt, dark hair cropped slightly but for a narrow braid by his ear. They peak out slightly, round and adorably large. Pink colors cheeks as if the thought transferred to him. And maybe it did. If the garb does not warn her, Ben's face would--high cheekbones and pale, smooth, unblemished skin. No faint scar to bisect soft, warm, vulnerable eyes.

"Looks like your scavenging days aren't behind you."

And Rey is grinning now. Why is it only now that those years of hardship and anguish fill her with a fierce pride? She survived, not for any powerful bloodline or great purpose, but through her own determination to live. "Your Uncle was very unhelpful. It would have been nice to have some practical advice from someone who maintained them. But it was not to be."

"I'm afraid I won't be much better help." Ben hops down from the crate, or perhaps more accurately, floats into a standing position, and then materializes at her side to peer into the decrepit vaporator upon which she currently worked. "Is that the power cell?"

Rey glances to where he indicated, then nods. "Backup power cell. Runs primarily on solar energy."

"Well that's about all I know. Learned enough to build my saber, and what not to do from watching my Dad tinker with the Falcon."

Tatooine’s double suns threaten to bleed across the horizon, and take the needed daylight in their passing. Although Rey has already managed to salvage some workable solar panels and rig up the existing lighting grid, her power reserves remain conservative and she has taken to stopping work after the suns have set.

Letting her tools rest on their makeshift tool box, Rey studies her ghostly former nemesis and almost lover as she ponders the sum of her knowledge against the seemingly endless mysteries of the Force. “You look younger. Than I remember you. Or since the other times I’ve seen you.”

“Death becomes me, you mean.” The words come at a deadpan, barely a flicker to ruffle his normally intemperate expression. At last a smirk peaks out.

"No--" Rey aims a smack through a translucent arm that sends a wave of static up her wrist. "That's not funny." But soon she is laughing anyway. If a bit of tears glimmer upon her lashes, Ben is kind enough not to comment. "Can you change your form?"

He glances down over his own body, taking in the robes and the back of his hands. "I'm wearing my padawan robes. I must be a teenager." Incredibly his ears, visible with the shorter cut, flush a darker blue-purple.

Rey gives him a lingering once over, before drawling, "I like it. Very pure." As Ben's blush only intensifies, Rey chuckles and heads toward the 'fresher, Ben trailing her. Although knowing Ben would hear her anyway, while shucking clothes on the fresher floor, Rey calls over her shoulder, "Do you have any control over your appearance?"

"Uh-h, sort of."

At the odd tone, Rey glances up to see Ben pointedly averting his gaze. Reminded suddenly of her own flustered state after glimpsing Ben shirtless in the Force bond, Rey smiles fondly. In a low voice, she calls, "You can look, if you want."

Very slowly, as if afraid she would retract the offer, Ben turns to face her.

And the breath stutters in her chest.

Lust and longing, love and agony. They are written in the depths of soulful eyes and the taut planes of his face. For what could have been theirs. For what should have been theirs. He drinks her in like a man starved of love and denied his greatest desire. The intensity of his longing drives away any levity, and drags the clawed feet of desperation through her chest cavity. Wet trails tracking down her cheeks are reflected in the tears glimmering in Ben's eyes.

"Will I see you?" Later. In my dreams. The longing in her own voice is palpable.

"Yes," he promises with the resolution of his former persona. Then his voice breaks. "I'll try."

o-o-o-o-o-o

She is buffeted by waves.

That day, on Kef Bir, she had jumped into the tempest without hesitation. Kylo on her heels.

She, for whom the water trough in Niima Outpost had once been the most water she had ever seen.

Fear, and a fierce determination, had kept her moving, kept her fighting.

Something is out there. Beyond the waves. She follows it like a siren call, helpless to the instinct for survival.

This time it is not a watery graveyard that awaits her, nor a convergence of Darkness.

The waves part to a grassy plane with a red sun on the horizon. It is here she finds him. It is here he waits.

“Ben.”

A hand trembles as she presses it against the soft black shirt to feel the steady beat of his heart. In disbelief, a soft sound escapes her. “Is it really you?”

“It’s me. I’m here.” Ben speaks the same wonder, the same longing for touch and connection. “Rey,” he pleads, reaching forward to cradle her jaw in his large hands, the same which had gripped her with determination to transfer his lifeforce into her own.

“You’re not alone.” The familiar promise slips her lips earnestly before she brings them in wordless devotions.

Ben leans into her kiss eagerly, sliding his hands from her jaw to cup the back of head, carrying her forward.

The kiss on Exolgor had been sweet, but brief, joyous and awoken to shared passion. To remember those seconds of wholeness was to be reminded of the agony of separation which followed.

Rey pushes those thoughts aside and gives herself to the warm, smooth press of Ben's mouth, his hard, powerful body against her own. She opens to the tentative probe of his tongue, and chases his shy retreat with her own.

In the real world, beyond this reprieve of breathy sighs and intimate pleasures, Rey has never known a lover, and neither, she suspects, has Ben. Perhaps there, noses would have bumped in awkward kisses and fumbling touches would have them laughing as often as sighing.

Minds intertwined in this dreamscape, more so even than the connection of their Force bond, thought translates into feeling. Ben's love, Ben's longing echoes seamlessly with her desire for closeness and answering reassurance.

There is no pain when he enters her. Only ecstasy.

The teasing glimpses of skin and perfect harmony of their bodies in combat were a prelude to this rightness.

There is a wave that is Rey, building to a momentum both frightening and exhilarating, and the shoreline that is Ben, bringing her to greater heights and steadily drawing her in.

"Ben, please--". Don't leave me. Be with me.

The exhale in her ear, the sharp pistoning of Ben's solid thighs, the hot drip of tears upon her shoulder, and his voice breaking a rough command, "Let go, Rey," break and remake her. I'm here. You're not alone.

Be with me.

Passion bleeds into serenity, and Rey loses herself.

Rey is Ben, and Ben is Rey.

Have they always been one? Two broken shapes finding meaning in a whole, that nothing, not even death, could divide.

In this moment of grace, they are together.

Also posted on AO3

#my fic #tros #rise of skywaker spoilers #writing through my feelings #reylo #reylo fanfic #part 2

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jaeminlore · 6 years

Text

Always Return | Jeno

summary: it sparks up the fire, a flame that still burns. Oh, it's to you i'll always return. [inspired by this post by @jenobyeol] words: 13k+ category: pirate!jeno x fem!pirate!reader, fluff, angst, adventure warnings: alcohol, blood, blades, fighting, the word "bastard" appears a lot lol, jealousy, mention of past abuse, minor character death

You are eight years old and your father sets you down in a nunnery just before he and his crew begin their raid. It's a precautionary decision he's made with this town in particular, one that keeps both you and the nuns safe. They protect the only child of the most terrifying pirate on the sea, and in return the crew does not steal from the convent.

You are eight years old when a new crew of pirates trample upon your father's territory. It's frightful, watching so many buildings burn and men slaughtered. You aren't sure how they managed to find your father— he's usually so stealthy. You aren't sure why anyone would try to defeat the great man whose entire reputation was built upon the bodies of the innocent.

Yes, he was a terrible, terrible man, but you were protected from everyone else while under his care.

There's a nun whose name you've forgotten who runs out into the courtyard and pulls you closer to the door. "They could climb the hill," she warns, "it's best we stay out of sight."

The doors lock with a loud click behind you, and as you walk the woman puts out each torch along the way. "We mustn't make a peep. If they've come all the way here then they must want something."

You can't remember where you've landed, but you're too frightened to ask. You wish your father had let you stay on the ship, where your small sword was. Here, you are weaponless and alone, a mere child in the sight of God.

The convent is silent for some time, enough to make you want to fall asleep. However, a terrified shout comes from the east yard, and you watch as a few nuns scurry outside, lighting torches as they do. "It's a child!" One of them call. "Open the doors! Let him in!"

As the west door opens wide against the dark and chilly night, you can easily see the sisters' mistake. There's a crew of men standing on the other side, and it doesn't take long before everyone — including yourself — is tied up and held hostage as the entire convent is looted for its goods and offerings.

One of the women sputter. "You're stealing from God!"

Another prays loudly, an unsteady flow in her voice.

You try to wriggle free.

It takes nearly an hour before your father's crew arrives, and there's great blood shed upon those stone floors. You wonder if the convent is cursed now; filled with the angry spirits of pirates who died far too early. Surely the convent will be removed, or cleansed by the priests that established it here years ago.

Once you are back on your father's ship, safe from harm and out at sea once again, you creep into the captain's quarters. Your sleeping shirt drags across the splintered wood. "Father? Who were those people?"

The captain picks you up and sets you on his knee. You notice the tiredness of his face as he rubs the space between his brows. "Seems this new captain has a son willing to trick innocent nuns. Jeno... a kingly name for a bastard. I'll train you to kill him. You must fight as hard as me now, for two pirates are after our loot; our crew. If they find the siren's treasure before we do, it's over. My life's work is nothing."

You have nightmares of burning crosses and desperate prayers that night.

You are ten years old and Jeno offers you a horse figurine to play with. You've been captured on his father's ship; held for ransom of whatever sum you can't add up yet.

The captain locks you in his quarters with Jeno, and the two of you find yourselves at a loss for how to speak to each other.

"I'm Y/n," you say quietly, wondering if you're even allowed to talk to the boy. "My father says I'm not supposed to be friends with you."

Jeno smiles, and it makes his eyes curl up into little crescents. He doesn't look very scary at all. "I'm Jeno. My father says I'm not supposed to be friends with you, either."

You walk the horse figurine over to him, where he had a wooden knight grasped between his fingers. "We can still play together, though."

Jeno giggles when you make the horse nudge the knight. "Sure!"

You are twelve years old when you have your first proper fight with Jeno.

You are at a marketplace, just a few stalls from the shabby inn you were staying at while your father and his crew traded in a few goods.

You meet Jeno there, practicing his swordsmanship in the courtyard square, away from the curious eyes of merchants and pirates alike. "Your feet should be pointed toward your opponent, not outwards like you have them positioned."

As if to prove your point, Jeno topples over and just barely manages to catch himself before he face plants into the cobblestone. He turns to glare at whoever interrupted him, and then stops and raises his eyebrows once he sees who it is. "Oh. It's you."

"It is me," you say haughtily, "and I'm offering you good advice, so you should take it."

Jeno ignores you and turns back around, jabbing his rapier at an unseen force. His feet have suspiciously been drawn inward, as per your instructions. "Father says I'm not supposed to talk to you."

"Then don't talk," you roll your eyes, "just defeat me."

Jeno grunts in surprise when you leap forward and draw your own sword to match his speed. The sound of steel resounds through the courtyard as you pelt Jeno with blow after blow.

After awhile, you begin to shout instructions at him, and in the heat of the fight, he listens. Suddenly his footwork is better, and he realizes that looking into your eyes will help him catch your next move. It's a proper fight now, you realize with glee, lips drawing into a smile.

Jeno is zealous in his fighting. It matches your enthusiasm evenly, so that the fight goes on for what seems like hours before you are finally disarmed.

You huff. Reaching to pick up your weapon, you address Jeno. "You only won because I'm such a good teacher."

"No way," Jeno relents. He sheaths his own sword and glares at your defiant smirk. "I could've killed you just then."

"Why didn't you?" You say hotly, friendly competition disregarded as blood heats up your ears. "That's what our father's want, huh? For us to try and have at each other? Just kill me if you're so good."

Jeno backs down. His gaze flits to his boots. "I-I can't say I want to take it that far."

There's a gentleness in his voice that makes you angry. He wasn't raised to back down from a fight, and neither were you. "Don't be such a coward," you spit. "One of us will have to do it one of these days, if we want to be in our fathers' good wishes."

You walk back to the inn, angry at yourself for letting him go. Your father would've been so proud of you for bringing him Jeno's sword. For taking away the boy's life.

You'd never admit it to Jeno, afraid of being called a coward yourself, but you didn't want to take it that far either.

You are fourteen years old and have bargained your way to riches. Every month you come back to the trade market with an item worth more than the last, and a spirit that wanes under no pressure.

You are fourteen years old and Jeno argues that he's made more money than you. Often the two of you will see each other, especially at trading posts where your fathers trusted only their children to trade their best goods for all they're worth.

It had become somewhat of a tradition to wait at the trading posts until you saw the lonesome boy. Then the bargaining would begin, and you'd get a secret thrill at the way even Jeno seemed compelled to give you his items.

Today it's a sword; one of old that has a king's seal on it. Your father found it in an abandoned tomb, and told you not to take any less than five thousand shillings for it.

You reckon you can get ten thousand.

You're prideful at the marketplace. It's not hard to figure out that this is where you shine in your adolescence. You know better than anyone here how to cheat a man of his goods.

Only Jeno can compete with your skill, and that's because he often uses his father's name to scare men into forking over Jeno's required amount.

You meet him at the dock, a sack of clanking goods heaved over your shoulder, identical to his. "Jeno."

He gives you no emotion, only staring you down with a straightness in his posture. He should loosen up a bit, you think. "Y/n."

Your laughter rings through the docks as the two of you walk towards the trading grounds. His foot falls heavier than yours, in longer strides, but you manage to keep up with the quickness of your feet. "My father said you had some earrings rumored to be from Atlantis. I want them."

Jeno turns to you, a sardonic reply at the top of his tongue. His own golden earrings catch the glare of the morning sun. "Fat chance. I've got three women from the brothel willing to give up their entire wages for these things."

"The brothel?" You scoff. "What have they? Pieces of eight? Sell to the merchants at least but don't sell yourself short."

"How much do you reckon they're worth?" He says it carefully, like he's trying to keep a secret. But Jeno is as obvious as the great ship his father sails upon, so you know he's trying to get you to admit bargaining secrets.

"I'd pay triple what anyone here offered," you let the lie slip easily off your tongue. "If the pearls are truly from Atlantis as the legends say, they are priceless. Sirens could've worn these as they pulled men to their demise." There's a quick suggestion in your speech that you're sure Jeno doesn't catch.

His eyebrows furrow at the obvious change in tone. "Are you suggesting dragging me to my demise?"

Your smile is quick. "Of course not, sweetheart."

His lips quirk up into a little smile at the name. It seems to have the opposite effect of what you had originally aimed for: to annoy him. Instead, he seems rather pleased at your formality. "Would you like to see them?"

You hold to your intimidating gaze, but Jeno only ignores it as he pulls a small wooden box out of his bag. Upon opening them, you can see the shine of mismatched pearls: one pink and one white. They're beautiful and unique, and even you feel as if they would've once belonged to a siren. To royalty of Atlantis. "How much?" It almost sounds desperate, nothing like your normal bargaining voice, but right now you feel drawn to the treasure.

"It's siren magic," Jeno says in awe, supplying a reason for the way you're feeling. "I'll use that to my advantage and get a ton of money for it."

You wonder if Jeno is playing dumb or if he truly doesn't know that these earrings could bring him closer to the siren's treasure. You need them before he sells them off to some stupid merchant who has no idea what magic that jewelry possesses.

"Or..." he smirks, "You can give me all your earnings today for them."

You feel like he has something up your sleeve, but you can't be bothered to care. Those earrings will get you and your father ahead. They could be your true saving grace. Now it's only a game of outsmarting Jeno. Beating him to your father on the other side of the shore, away from his own rival.

You left him at the docks and began your bargaining with the ugly men of the market. They give in easily, and you use your father's name to get more gold than necessary. Two can play a game of threatening.

By sundown, Jeno is found outside of an inn, his still-high voice bribing the bartender for a sip of rum. "I've got the money."

You drop the noisy bag of coins onto the bar.

Jeno turns his attention to you, and the bartender takes this time to replace his mug of rum with cider. "Great," he grabs the bag and stands up. "Goodnight, Y/n."

Your hand goes to your sword hilt. "You aren't giving me the earrings, are you?"

Jeno leans forward, till his lips are centimeters from your ear. His lips feel warm, as does your stomach, but you can't fathom why. "My father is just upstairs, love. Should I upset him by ruining our best chance at the sirens? And can you risk your own reputation by drawing your weapon at an inn? I doubt it."

You want to scream and yell and fight, for your father won't take this news well. Neither will you. But Jeno is right; even as a known pirate, the marketplace is a place of peace. These people are bandits and thieves just the same, and they'll kill you without a second look for threatening their business. So you walk out and find the place your father told you to stay until his crew can come to get you.

It's a small hut hidden behind the blacksmith's forge. They let you sleep there as long as your father gives them business whenever they visit.

You don't think Jeno knows anything about it.

Which is why you are so surprised to see a small burlap bundle under your pillow. Inside are the two pearl earrings, pink and white.

You are fifteen years old, and Jeno never told you that he had replicas made so that his father would think he had the real earrings.

You've thought about him a lot in the past year. Mostly, every time you put on those pearl earrings. You think of what kind of sacrifice Jeno made, for you of all people. It makes you wonder why. It makes you want to ask him.

There's a pink silk gown covering your body, draped over the petticoat and corset your father coaxed you into wearing. If you can sneak into this royal ball, you can open one of the back entrances for a small raid. You can get some royal memorabilia that would gain trunkfuls of gold from the market.

"Remember," you father says, eyes meeting yours through the dirty looking glass that hangs on the ship's walls. "Be as inconspicuous as possible. But if a noble takes interest in you, don't be afraid to follow them deeper into the castle. You could loot a few bedrooms up there."

You press your tinted lips in a thin line. Your father seems to forget that you are just a child, not a woman fit for a royal party, and certainly not a woman who follows a nobleman up to his room. But you should know better than anyone that your father cares about nothing but collecting and hoarding gold like some sort of dragon elder from the mountains.

He doesn't know about the earrings, because you haven't told him. Something tells you it'd make matters worse, make the fighting worse, make your missions harder and scarier.

Besides, your father had to give someone up to the sirens if he wanted to entire their territory, wouldn't he? You wouldn't put it past him to offer you up.

The crew sneers and whistles at you when you leave the boat. You cover your face with a parasol and keep walking until you blend in with the crowd that moves towards the castle.

You purse your lips anxiously. You aren't even sure where you are, much less the names of any royals here. All you can hope for is that no one asks any questions.

Getting inside the ballroom is easier than you thought it would be. The grandiose of everything is so different in contrast to your father's dirty ship — it makes you imagine a life as a princess with no worries. How they must live life in luxury with their beautiful gowns and delicious foods.

You glance at one of the servers as they walk past you, glasses of champagne balanced on a tray. "Would you care for a drink, Madame?"

His voice is familiar. The accent is not. "Jeno?"

The boy in question looks up, eyes wide like he's been caught red-handed. "Huh. Small world."

You place you hands on your hips and follow him as he offers drinks to random guests. "If you think for a second your father is going to get the loot my father has been planning for then you are sorely mistaken."

Jeno places the tray on a table and steals a silver spoon off of the table in the same movement. He holds it up and glances at his reflection. "Wonder if they'll catch the shine through the window."

You snatch the spoon out of Jeno's hand, placing it back on the table as the boy laughs. "Lee Jeno, this is serious. My father will be angry if he doesn't get this loot."

Jeno scoffs. "You think you're the only one with daddy issues? Think again."

You sigh and look around. The party is in full swing, and the live band is distracting everyone from one of the back entryways. You get an idea. "If we both signal them at the same time, but on opposite sides of the castle, they won't know about each other until they get inside. It won't be our fault."

Jeno's eyebrows lift as he catches on. "We must be docked on different sides of the harbor anyway, considering neither of us knew the other would be here."

"Right!" You say, "So we'll signal them and meet up at a rendezvous spot."

"The balcony? In the left wing? We can wait until they get back to the ship, and pretend we got caught up fighting each other!"

"Yes!" You grab Jeno's wrists in the excitement, only to quickly release them once you realized what had happened. "Uh, sorry."

Jeno licked his lips and smiled that same dumb crescent-eyed smile that he had when you were kids. "It's okay. We aren't fighting until we get to the balcony anyway, right?"

"Right," you say, feeling a tingle in your heart.

Jeno is fifteen years old and he can't figure out why you look so mesmerizing compared to everyone else in the room. It's been a mystery he's been struggling to solve all night, but the more he thinks about it the more stumped he gets.

And then you're standing across from him on the left wing balcony, hands pressed against the railing as you watch the far away sea start with quiet activity. "My father's crew are on their way."

Jeno pulls a pocket watch — albeit rusty and unreliable — out of his pocket and checks the time. "It's nearly midnight. Mine will be on their way too."

The sound of you tapping the railing fills Jeno's ears, and he tries to focus on that instead of the way you look so much more grown up than the last time he saw you.

He's trying to focus on anything but the stray curl that falls onto your forehead, brushing your nose and making you scrunch your face in discontentment.

"Here," he mutters softly, wondering if his touch will scare you away. He's only fifteen after all; he's not exactly sure what he's doing.

He takes the stray curl and tucks it behind your ear. He does it slowly, because he likes how warm your skin feels, and the way you're looking at him makes his own skin feel just as hot. "I- uh- there you go."

"Thank you, Jeno." There seems to be a tone of embarrassment to your voice, and Jeno thinks maybe he isn't the only one affected tonight.

"No problem."

You are sixteen years old and Jeno doesn't tell you that his father is sick, and wants to find the siren's treasure before influenza takes him.

You are sixteen years old and Jeno doesn't know where you are, only that his father intends to kill yours, and there no way of warning you.

He sees your ship, laden with panicked men as they head to the canons. And you, in the crow's best, watching everything with fearful eyes. Your sword is drawn, and when you lock eyes with Jeno, he feels almost compelled to put his sword down.

But Jeno's fear of his father is much stronger than his strange fondness for you, so he covers his relieved sigh with a cough and gestures for his father's men to protect the ship as best they can.

It's the first battle of the many you and Jeno will command. Rain clouds gather in the sky, perhaps to watch a downfall of two great captains — two feared captains — both overcome with natural sickness.

You blame the rats onboard. Jeno blames the wind.

You want more than anything to be with your father, instead of outside in the pouring rain, calling out for orders and throwing fallen crew members overboard. Your heart stings painfully as your sword blade clinks against Jeno's.

He doesn't look like a boy anymore. He looks like a true captain, ready to command his ship at his father's sudden illness.

In return, you feel weak and sick and wonder briefly how on earth you'd ever captain a ship on your own. If mutiny came upon your ship, what would you do? Where would you go?

Jeno grunts as you nick his arm with your rapier, "My father is dying. As is yours. Perhaps this is the day we make peace."

He says it as he jabs his sword at your side.

You dodge the blade and glare at him. "Perhaps. It'd be fruitless though, and I do not wish to be haunted by my own father for not following with postmortem wishes. I doubt even you would like to face the wrath of an angry spirit. No, I'll find the siren's treasure myself and kill your entire crew."

"And me?" Jeno huffs, backing away from your blade. His footwork is quick, almost like a dance. "What will you do with me?"

You think of your father, sick and dying. You wonder what he'd say. "I'll tie you to the prow and let the mermaids have you."

"What?" There's sweat running down Jeno's face. He wipes it off and continues to parry your strikes, looking exhausted but determined, and slightly intrigued.

"Didn't your father tell you? Sirens often require a sacrifice if you want to escape their waters. Once I find the treasure, I'll offer you up to them. They don't take kindly to men anyways."

You say it out loud, but you don't feel it in your chest, only in the pit of your stomach where it sits like fermented cider. It's distasteful and strange.

Jeno almost notices. Instead he smirks. "Then I call a truce for tonight. We have captains to bury and strategies to form."

He doesn't sound very happy about anything he's just said.

You think you know exactly how he feels.

You are seventeen years old, and the siren's treasure is heavy on your mind. Jeno is also heavy on your mind, though it's hard to figure out just why you think about him so much.

In your father's absence, your crew has gotten dirtier and tougher in their way of talk and action. No longer do they fear your father's blade, so they openly talk about him as if his spirit doesn't haunt the ship. You hear angry words shared about him, but also about Jeno.

One of them makes your blood boil far great than the other.

The next time you see Jeno, he's sitting in a tavern. His eyes are bloodshot from what looks like lack of sleep, and his nose crinkles every now and again from the smoke of his mate's pipe.

You're in a trading town, letting your crew take the week off of water to trade their own goods and invest in some homes or businesses. Some have families to visit.

You don't have anything to trade or anyone to visit, so you stay in the tavern, where an inn is located in just the floor above.

Seeing Jeno is sort of a blessing in disguise, and you gesture for him to follow you as soon as he catches your eye.

The room you've bought is small, but the cotton sheets and clean wash bin are certainly welcomed after months at sea.

Jeno follows you in and slumps down onto the bed. His vest slips off his narrow shoulders as he leans his arms back to hold himself up. "Long time, no see."

His voice is quiet, a murmur that spreads through your veins like warm cider on a cold night. You aren't sure why you've missed it so much. Perhaps the familiarity of it all. Yes, that's it.

"How are you fairing?"

Jeno shrugs. "The crew is more or less cooperative with me. Things could be worse. I'm ready to sleep for the night without forty men snoring right beside me, though."

"Haven't you got a captain's quarters?"

Jeno shrugs. "I don't really like sleeping in my father's old room."

"Stay with me," you blurt out, eyes wide at your own daring words. "I mean, it'll save money. And I don't snore, by the way."

Jeno stands up and smiles softly just before walking over to his carpetbag and taking out what looks like nightclothes. "Well, that's a relief. I'd have to kick you off the bed."

You gasp, "But I'm paying for the room!"

Jeno pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it onto the floor. The sudden glimpse at his torso makes your mouth feel dry, so you lick your lips and avert your gaze. "Besides," you continue, ignoring Jeno's knowing smirk. "No one else knows you're in here. If you kicked me off the bed, I'd have a perfectly valid reason to kill you."

When you turn back around, Jeno is fully clothed again. He crawls into bed and burrows himself under the covers until only his forehead is peaking out.

It's quite endearing.

You turn out the light and slip under the covers as well, finding that it's a much tighter fit than it looked before. You can't rest comfortably without your shoulder touching Jeno.

He doesn't seem to mind. Instead, it seems to be the opposite. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close to him, to that your face is against the crook of his neck.

You feel something soft against your forehead, and your mind just registers it to be Jeno's lips before you slip into a deep sleep.

You are eighteen years old, and have shed your fair share of blood. No longer do the screams haunt you at night; no longer are you afraid. You feel like an immortal spirit, shedding blood to protect your youth.

You are eighteen years old, and Jeno mocks you for your unadulterated courage.

He has become more subdued since his father's death: deadly in the most graceful way, while you are unlawful in your charges, unwilling to give anyone a second chance.

Even your crew begins to fear you and your bloodlust. It isn't that you love to kill, but the more you do, the more numb you become to it all.

The crew wouldn't really understand anyway. They can't hear your father's voice like you can; a spirit passing through your soul and leaving nothing but a chill in it's wake. They can't hear him get louder and louder every day until you're begging him to be silent.

They don't see the visions you have at night, not of innocent victims but of your own father, berating you for letting his ship sink; for letting his crew fall; for losing the treasure he gave his life for. They'll never know why you wake up screaming in the night, fear blanketing you in a thin layer of sweat.

And, oh, how you hate the sunrise. You've come to look at it every day, heartbeat still stuttering in panic from your reoccurring dreams. You wonder briefly if any of your crew cares that you seem to be in pain every night.

You already know the answer. It doesn't really come as a surprise when mutiny is declared, and you're suddenly on a rowboat in the middle of the ocean.

You hate the sunrise, but Jeno loves it. That's why he's the first to see you — not that he knows it's you yet — laying low and unnoticeable at the bottom of the rowboat.

You don't stir or move, and it makes Jeno feel fear. "Hey, we got a straggler! Get the ropes!"

The first mate looks down from atop the crow's nest. "I've got eyes. Drop the anchor and get that person onto the deck. Someone bring food and dry clothes!"

Everyone gets into place, and Jeno leans over the side of the ship as a few members of his crew row out to help the stranger.

There's a bit of commotion down at the boat and Jeno finds himself shouting, "What's wrong? Are they dead? Bring them up!"

One of the crew members snort and shout back. "Like hell. That's the cap't of the golden ship. Let the devil rot like her father before her!"

Jeno snaps his head towards the boat and notices for the first time your hair peaking out from under your purple bandana. "There's no threat! Seriously, let Y/n up."

It's difficult to get the entire crew to listen, but Jeno finally manages to get you aboard. Your skin is ashen, lips chapped and pale from dehydration. "We need water!"

The crew all murmur their disagreements before someone finally hands Jeno a leather flask.

"C'mon, Y/n," he whispers. He places the mouth of the flask to your lips. "C'mon, you'll be okay."

You cough once, twice, three times before lulling your head against Jeno's chest. "I... I can't... I'm dead..."

"You aren't dead," Jeno says.

"I am." You blink and look up, eyes catching on his. "Mutiny, you see."

Jeno places his hand over your mouth and hisses, "Don't let my crew hear, okay? We'll figure this out... I'll help you."

You nod, obviously still delirious. "Sure, Jeno."

Jeno tethers you to the base of the mast, because nothing else would appease his crew. Hands tied above your head and torso pressed against the splintered wood, you growl at anyone whose eyes linger too long.

Jeno finds comfort in the fact that you haven't lost your bite. He nurses you back to health himself, ignoring your jests. "You're sunburnt," he mumbles quietly, dipping his fingers in a bowl of aloe vera. "This should help."

"Just let me go at the next port," you say, ignoring the pain that strikes your peeling skin.

"Hush," Jeno chides. He presses his fingers against your lips and brushes the aloe across the expanse of the reddened surface. "The more you talk, the longer it takes to heal."

You sigh through your lips — most likely in frustration — but Jeno only feels your hot breath on his fingers. He glances up, wondering if you can sense what he's feeling. After all, your faces are pretty close, and he can't help but lean in whenever he applies more balm to your skin.

You kick him in the shin. "Are you done or do I have to keep looking at your big nose?"

Jeno balks. "It's not big."

He listens pleasantly when a laugh escapes you. Your shoulders shake and you hide your face in your overhanging arm, wincing at the obvious pain of smiling through your sunburn. "You look like a child, Jeno. Don't get so defensive over cosmetics."

Jeno wants to argue with you. Mostly because it's the only way you'll talk to him. He would gladly let you point out all of his flaws if it made you smile like you are now. He wants to think he could make you smile under other circumstances.

"Are you that offended?" you say tauntingly, noting Jeno's change in behavior.

He could thank Poseidon right now for your poor people-reading skills. After all, if you knew anything about reading people, you'd know that Jeno likes you, and has for years now.

You'd realize that's he's risking mutiny himself for taking you in and taking care of you.

You'd realize that he's been on your side all along.

Jeno is eighteen years old when he decides you're more important than the sea. It makes sense once he sits down and thinks about it — actually thinks about it and doesn't brush his feelings under the rug like his father always told him to.

Once his father left, Jeno was surprised to find that he didn't grieve much at all. If anything, relief filled his chest at the realization that he was finally free to choose his destiny, whether it be the siren's treasure itself... or just you.

You've always been there, in the back of Jeno's mind. Like an immortal song, passed down through the ages and never forgotten— treasured even.

Still you are like that. You're untouchable. Jeno knows that even at eight years old, you knew what you were doing. You knew how to fight. And even now, when years of death and money should be clouding your vision and turning you into your savage father, you were fighting. Perhaps a different fight than your father wanted, but Jeno thinks it's admirable. He's fighting the same fight to somehow keep his morality despite the blood on his hands and demons in his mind. He knows it's hard, and it would be so much easier to give in.

But he doesn't, and neither do you. Jeno is proud of you, and he's proud of himself.

He scratches his wrist and sits up in his bed. The branded P on his arm still hurts sometimes, though he reckons it's more of a phantom pain than anything else. He wonders if he'd ever be free from it; this strange life. The brand wouldn't get him far on land. They'd hang him before he could recount his loyalty to the sea. Not that he would.

You have the brand too. Jeno notices it when he sneaks on deck in the night to relieve your arms for a bit. "It must be hell to have them up for so long."

He's eyeing the stark white P that was pressed into your skin long ago. His eyes trail down your arms, and scan your face. Your lips are pale and chapped, so he tells himself to bring you water.

Your scowl turns into a whimper when you yank your arms down too quickly. "You bastard," the curse escapes you in a cough.

Jeno's lips lift into a smile. "Do you ever worry that your hard feelings towards me will one day backfire? I don't have to help you, you know."

"Ah," you grin, "but you certainly wouldn't leave an old friend to die, so I'll risk it."

"Hold on, and I'll get you water," Jeno mumbles, wondering if he'll ever get anywhere with you and your stubborn heart.

You guzzle the water down quickly, till it escapes the mouth of the canteen and drips down your chin. Jeno wants to tell you to slow down — you'll get a stomachache — but sunlight is only hours away and he needs to talk to you now. "What's this about mutiny? They've let you live?"

You let the canteen fall into your lap and wipe your mouth with the back of your shackled hands. "They told me I was turning into my own father. Which is true, I suppose, and once you're that scared, I reckon leaving the sea to do your job isn't a bad deal."

There are tear trails breaking through the dirt on your cheeks. Jeno doesn't mention it. He pulls a semi-clean handkerchief out of his belt and gently wipes your face. "You think you're like your father?"

"What else can I be?" you whisper, eyes wide. Your lower lip quivers and you bite it, perhaps to still the motion. Jeno can't really look away, no matter the reason.

"His spirit haunts the ship. I know it does, because I've never wanted to fight and raid and pillage so badly. I... more blood has been spilled these few years than ever in my life, Jeno. I'm a monster, alright? I carry my father's memory— I carry his violent traits..."

"No, you—"

You don't seem to hear him as you continue. "He was nice to me, of course, always nice to me. But the crew was never safe. You had to be on your toes around my father, you see. I never had to— I got out scotch free every time. The crew hated me for it then and they still hate me now. Once I became captain it was okay for a bit, but maybe I let his spirit take me. Maybe I became him. That's why they booted me off my own ship. They didn't want another captain like my father."

You're silent after that, so Jeno takes the time to wipe whatever tears escaped through your story. He shushes you when new tears flow. "Hey, you're okay. Your secret is safe here. As far as my crew knows, you escaped from the west port after the townspeople tried to hang you for piracy. Alright? Don't talk to anyone on my crew unless I am with you. We'll get out next trading port."

"Wait," you sniff, "What?"

Jeno tries to smile, he really does. "You know, my father wasn't a good man either. Only he took his frustrations out on me, and he let the crew take their frustrations out on me as well. You think I'm captain of this ship, but in reality my entire crew is trying to find a way to get me killed."

"You have something over their heads," you whisper. "They would've killed you already if you didn't."

Jeno reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ears, so that the glittering pearl earring can catch the light of the moon. "I'm the only one who knows you have the real ones. So, in a way, we're keeping each other alive. How interesting."

"Indeed," you murmur, eyes fluttering shut as Jeno's fingertips trace down your jaw.

Your senses awaken when his calloused thumb presses against your bottom lip. "You're really pretty, Y/n."

You blink. Jeno's face is close to yours now, so your breath catches in your throat. "W-Why would you say that?"

"Because I don't think you've ever been told properly," Jeno says, just an inch away from you, "And you deserve to know."

He mumbles the final word against your lips, and then his fingers are gently threading through your hair, as tangled and dirty as it is. He catches your bottom lip between his own and presses so close that your head is now against the mast. You gasp in surprise, barely registering Jeno's hurried apology before his lips are back on yours again, his warm mouth open in a slow and drawn out kiss that has your mind blanking for a moment.

You realize you aren't moving when he grunts in frustration and begins to pull away. You stop him; your hands pull at his shirt, drawing his body closer to yours, maybe to keep you warm, or maybe just to feel him against you.

He's kissing you in a way that makes you feel like he's wanted this for a long time. It's slow, the way he gently nips at your lips and then runs his tongue along the aggravated surface right after.

You press your palms flat against his taunt stomach and sigh at the feeling. Jeno's always been beautiful, always been wonderful and attentive and sweet, always been just two steps out of reach, but now he's here, and he's giving you all of his attention.

It feels like for once, the two of you can agree on something.

So you kiss him back more fervently and try to memorize the feeling of his hot mouth on yours.

He sighs your name just as your teeth graze his bottom lip. It's less of a sigh and more of a whine, so your cheeks heat up and you feel warmth pool at the bottom of your stomach.

You clear your throat and turn your face to the side. Jeno's lips brush against your cheek and it makes your heartbeat quicken. You want this so badly, but this isn't the time or place. "We shouldn't, Jeno. We're already in danger. Add in... whatever this is, and we'll never get off this ship alive."

Jeno hangs his head. It's silent for a moment, and the waves that lap against the ship seem to roar against your eardrums as you wait for an answer. "I shouldn't have tried anything. That was stupid— sorry."

"Don't be," you say softly, still willing your heartbeat to calm down. "Just... we need to be careful on this ship if we're going to get out alive."

"I have to tie your hands up again," Jeno says apologetically. "It's nearly sunrise."

"I understand." You still wince when your arms go up. "See you tomorrow?"

Jeno chuckles when you kick at his shin. "Yeah. I'll bring you an extra orange around lunch."

The time to escape comes a week later, and it's the middle of the night again. Jeno wakes you up and unties you. "I'm sorry," he says quickly, saddened at the rope burn around your arms.

"'S okay," you say, still half-asleep. "What's wrong?"

"We're leaving now," he says, grabbing your hand. "I don't think they'll go looking for us once they notice we're gone, but we need the distance just in case."

You notice then that Jeno is dressed up. He has an extra layer over his coat despite the warmth of the night. You assume it's for you once you both get on land.

Jeno lets the rowboat sink as soon as the two of you are on the dock. Better no one in the town knows there's any new villagers for the night, especially ones who came from the sea. "Here." He pulls off the second coat and wraps it around your shoulder. "Pull the sleeves over your wrist. Then hold my hand. Our brands will be harder to notice."

The town is dark, lit by lanterns and the scattered guard. You freeze. "They'll notice. Jeno, we'll be hanged."

"Just let me do the talking," he whispers, giving your hand a squeeze. His hand is warm and rough. Then, "Sir!"

The guard turns and looks at the two of you suspiciously, "It's a bit late for a young couple like you, isn't it?"

Jeno smiles at you, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He's acting. "Yes, well, me and my wife thought we'd go for a midnight stroll, you see. We got married just a town over and wished to explore. Only we've gotten lost, and we're hoping there's an inn nearby to wash up and rest. Just before we return in the morning?"

The guard nodded, "Yes, there's an inn just down the way. Go quickly. It's cold out, and there's an unknown ship spotted by our watchmen. Better to stay inside tonight."

"Yes," Jeno nods. He pulls a shilling out of his pocket and hands it to the guard. "Thank you for your time, then."

The two of you walk for a time till eventually you reach the inn. "In here," he whispers, opening the door for you and pushing you in.

It's not a nice inn at all, lit by torches and ruined with the smell of rum and vomit. Jeno pays the keeper for a room close to the back entryway just in case a quick escape is needed.

"Shouldn't we keep traveling?" you hiss, shutting the room door behind you as Jeno lights a candle.

"It's no use right now. With the ship in their sights the entire town will be on high alerts for suspicious activity. We'll have to change our clothes and leave under the same clause from whence we came."

"Married," you say, "Oh, what a turn our lives have given us."

"Yes." Jeno presses his lips together. "Well, it's hard to suspect a young couple in love, isn't it? At most, they'll think us clueless. Stupid, even. It'll protect us. By the way, give no one our names."

"What shall we go by?"

"The Blacks. That's our last name. Any first name is no ones business, but if you give one, let me know. Our lies need to match up or they'll suspect."

"Perfect," you say. You shrug out of your jacket and tighten your belt around your waist. "Then I'll go find us some clothes. There has to be some drunken couple who left their door unlocked."

"Y/n," Jeno calls just before you open the door.

"What?"

"Be safe, please. Come back before the hour's over."

"I will," you say before leaving.

You are eighteen years old when you leave Jeno there in the inn and head out for the open air.

You twist the pearl earrings still secure in your ears and sigh. You're a lot more like your father than Jeno thinks.

You are nineteen years old and you've met a boy named Na Jaemin. He's tall and chatty and seems to fill the entire room with his presence. He owns a shabby tavern that balances between the eastern and southern border. You fled there soon after leaving Jeno, and he was kind enough to give you a job in your emotional state.

He thinks it's cool that you are a pirate, and he makes you promise to add him to your crew once you find a boat. You tell him he'll be outcasted; he says he already is, but that's all he has to say on the matter.

You tell him about the siren's treasure. The two of you could find a new life out on an island somewhere— some port of call where P doesn't mean pirate and no one will give either of you a second look.

You tell him about Jeno too, and how you often wonder where he is. "He probably hates you," Jaemin says casually, wiping down a pint with a rag. "After leaving him and all that. Stupid decision, leaving a pirate friend like that. Who's to say you didn't make a new enemy."

"I don't care, okay? Jeno wanted a different life. He didn't want to be a pirate anymore. I can't settle down like that." You grab a rag and begin to clean a glass.

"You loved him though, yeah?"

The glass in your hand breaks. You curse and wipe the glass off of the counter with your rag. "It's none of your business, really. We've just been through a lot, okay? Let's put it at that."

"Do you regret leaving him?" Jaemin asks, this time with a softer tone to his voice.

You sigh, and your mind goes immediately to the feeling of Jeno's hand in yours, and the adrenaline you felt when he sighed your name against your lips. "Yes, I do. But my story with him is over now. He's probably off and married by now, looking for a job as a sailor. He wouldn't give up the sea for good."

"Maybe we'll see him one day," Jaemin remarks, "At one of our stops."

"You aren't joining my crew, Jaemin."

"I absolutely am! How else do you think you're gonna find enough money to get a ship?"

You give him a long stare. "What do you mean?"

Jaemin always looks like he has something up his sleeve, but now he looks even more mischievous, and it gets on your nerves. "I'm saying we sell the tavern and get out of here. Let's get that siren's treasure."

You ignore it until that night, when you are getting ready for bed.

Jaemin has his face close to a looking glass, drawing a razor-blade down his chin. "Have you thought about what ship you'd like? Personally, I think that the Peribat is a good choice."

"Jaemin, what are you doing?"

Jaemin takes a circular brush and dips it in a white foam. "I'm shaving, Y/n, haven't you ever seen a razor before?"

You try to think back to your crew of men with scratchy beards and dark arm hair. "No..."

Jaemin grins and his eyes meet yours through the looking glass. "Well, here it is! I have to keep a smooth face for all the ladies that visit the tavern."

He wiggles his eyebrows and you find yourself giggling. "None of them are sober enough to care what you look like, Jaemin."

He goes about drying his face, and it leaves you with your thoughts. They drift to Jeno, and you try to remember if he ever had any stubble on his face. You wonder, if you ever saw him again, if he'd have a bit of scruff on his cheeks, just enough for you to feel when you held his face in your hands.

Your skin heats up and you look away. "Let's, uh, go to sleep. We can talk about this tomorrow."

Tomorrow comes drearily, blanketing the town in cold rain and a dark atmosphere. Townsfolk find solace in the lantern light of the tavern, causing you and Jaemin to constantly pour more mead and rum to heat up their chilly bones.

You rub your eyes with your sleeve as you listen to a man — too drunk for mid-afternoon — sing an old shanty that brings back memories of an old crew your father used to vehemently hate. They'd sing the song to alert their enemies of their arrival, mostly to mock them.

Your eyes snap open at the realization. "Jaemin, get down."

Before he can question you, you grab the boy's sleeve, pull him behind the counter and press him against the wooden beam. "Keep quiet," you hiss. "Don't let anyone know you're back here."

Jaemin's eyes widen. His lips tremble, not from fear, but from the cold chill that has just seeped into the tavern thanks to someone swinging the door open. "What's happening?"

"It's a raid," you say.

There are heavy footsteps approaching the counter. With one last warning look towards Jaemin, you shoot up and lean your elbows on the counter. "Gentlemen! Long time no see, aye?"

The captain isn't the same as the one when you were a child. This man is younger, but much bigger, with intimidating muscles and a long black beard strung with beads and braids and what looks like a little dried blood. There's a strange mark under his eye; it looks like an "x", and for some reason it frightens you. You don't know who this man is. The crew is somewhat recognizable; a bunch of drifters you've seen in and out of crews. Irresponsible men who can't stay loyal.

You see a few from Jeno's old crew and your heart jumps. You crane your head around and try to see if he is there. Maybe this is just an intervention. Maybe Jeno's been looking for you.

"Where are they?" The pirate's voice is gruff and almost echoes in the silence of the tavern. Your customers are frozen in fear, hoping to get out unscathed. Knowing that there hasn't been a raid in this town for years, and only now is there danger because of you, makes you feel overprotective of the people.

However, you still have the heart of a pirate, and there's still business to attend to.

Thunder booms overhead. One of the maidens shrieks at the sudden noise. You remain calm. "I don't have them anymore."

"You have to," he says. The sound of steel resounds through the air as he unsheathes his sword and presses it against the center of your neck. "Or tell us who you gave them to."

"I can't remember," you say steely, looking him in the eye. You can't remember feeling so hyped on adrenaline. If only you had your sword; you'd surely start a fight in the middle of the tavern.

The captain swings back his sword. You don't flinch, knowing the tactic well. He'll act like he's going to kill you in the hopes of you blurting out your secret. Your father used the tactic all the time. But you're the only one with knowledge to the whereabouts of the earrings, so you will be kept alive.

You don't flinch.

Jaemin does. He bolts upwards and pushes you out of the way. "Wait! Don't hurt her. I'll do anything."

You close your eyes and sigh. May Davy Jones curse Jaemin and his need to play the savior. "You idiot," you hiss.

The captain only smirks. "Take them both to the ship," he commands his crew. "And hurry, before another crew tries to take what is ours."

You roll your eyes and growl when one of the men grabs your arm too tightly. "I'm going, you bastard."

Jaemin doesn't look too afraid, if anything, he looks curious and almost excited. You feel like punching him.

Your boots are permeated with sludge-filled rainwater. It soils your shoelaces and emits a sound of disgust from your lips as your socks squelch inside your shoes.

Jaemin giggles from his spot beside the porthole. Rainwater belts his clear face for a brief moment, but it doesn't take his joyful expression away. "At least they're good singers."

He's referring to the loud and drunken voices of the crew as they search through whatever loot they've raided from your town. They've been drinking and sifting through chests of junk for hours now, trying to find any remnants of the earrings you refuse to open up about.

They'd never find them; they were hidden in plain sight. Even the holder of them had no idea where they were. He'd never know.

Jaemin shivers and draws his coat closer to him. "So... reckon we can escape while they're drunk?"

You nudge him aside and glance out the porthole. "We're still docked, which means the captain must still be out. The entire ship can't be drunk if there's still the threat of land."

"Well we can't escape at sea," Jaemin says.

"I know," you mumble. "Just... let me think of a plan. And button your coat; it's getting colder down here."

Jaemin does what you say just as a shout is heard overhead. "We're leaving," he guesses.

You groan in frustration and kick the wall of the ship. "New plan. We escape at the next port or try to flee ship if there's a battle. Just be ready. And be careful about your health. It can take weeks or even months to see land again."

The two of you push a few barrels together and sit atop them. You take off your boots and tie them 'round your neck, upside down so the water will drip out as you sleep.

Jaemin does the same and then pulls your body close to him, shivering. "This is quite fun," he whispers teasingly. "Being pirates and all that."

You roll your eyes and elbow him. "Go to sleep."

Secretly, you're quite happy to share a cell with someone, even if it is Na Jaemin.

You awaken to the sound of a cannon firing. This time it's Jaemin who pulls you down to the floor. Your shoulder hits the shallow pool of water from last night's previous storm. Shrapnel flies overhead as a cannonball shoots through the wooden planks.

Jaemin laughs against the shell of your ear. His arms are right around your middle. "That was quick."

You push him away and get on your knees, "We can escape to the other ship. C'mon."

The cell is still intact. The large padlock hasn't moved even with the commotion and attack on the deck above. You curse and shake the bars, hoping to weaken whatever hinges are there. "C'mon," you say, straining, "This boat has got to be old, right?"

When the chains don't budge, you curse and turn around, glaring out the porthole for any sign of the rival ship. "It must be on the other side."

The chain jingles, followed by Jaemin's gasp. "You're letting us go?"

You whip around. There's a man with a key, working his way through the lock. His face is covered by the captain's hat, but he's a lot smaller than the captain, so you balk. Taking a captain's hat is disrespectful. This man must be from the other ship. You walk up to the cell door and hold onto the bars. "Listen, if you think for a second we are going to follow you to your ship just to become your prisoners, you've got another thing coming."

The man looks up and smiles. It's a familiar smile you'd know anywhere. "Still as feisty as ever, I see."

"J-Jeno?" You step back, studying the boy. He looks the same, though maybe a bit older. His eyes are sharper, the brown of them magnified by smudged black kohl under his eyes. There's a cut atop his cheekbones that causes a surge of anger through your veins. Your gaze hardens. "Who are we fighting?"

"He calls himself and his ship Mortem." Jeno says, glancing from you to Jaemin. He stares at Jaemin for a lingering moment and then shakes his head, as if getting rid of a thought. "You have some explaining to do, but we need to get to my ship first."

He sounds upset, but you can't blame him for it— not after the way you left him.

He hands you a dagger and passes a knife to Jaemin. "Find your way to my ship and show them your weapons. They'll take you to my quarters."

You do as Jeno says, and Jaemin surprisingly holds his own as the two of you fight your way to the top. He's a bit clumsy with his knife work, and you know he'll have hell to pay with his sore muscles tomorrow morning, but he isn't useless. That's a good sign.

On the deck of Jeno's ship — a small one you've never seen before named The Amare — the crew is filled with men you've never seen before. Their kind smiles startle you, as does the black cat the suddenly winds itself around your soggy socks. Your boots are still around your neck. You hold out your dagger. "Er, Jen—Captain Jeno said to show you these."

The fight dwindles down until the man called Mortem is left with nothing but his ship in flames. Jeno and a few other men swim to The Amare and are let up on ropes.

You stare at the captain as he walks towards you and the remaining crew.

Jeno eyes Jaemin. "Take the boy below deck and treat his wounds. I need to discuss something with Y/n in the map room."

You follow him to the small room just beside the captain's quarters. "Who is that? The boy with you?"

He says "boy" with such disdain that it makes you think he realizes that Jaemin is around his age, he just doesn't care.

"That's Jaemin. He owns a tavern back ho— in the town I was docked at."

"You were going to say home," Jeno's jaw clenches. He takes off the tattered hat and tosses it onto the old map that stretches along a mahogany table. "So you left me to live on land with someone else? Not even to continue being a pirate?"

"That's not it," you roll your eyes. "Jaemin had offered me work at the tavern so I could save up for a ship."

Jeno licks his lips. "You don't understand how angry I am at you right now."

"I was saving up for a ship!" You argue. "You wanted a life on land and I didn't! What else is there to discuss?"

Jeno steps forward until he meets your eyes. You have to tilt your chin up to look at him, and the defiant fire in your eyes almost makes him back down. You can tell by the way his shoulder flinches.

But his glare only gets darker, and you think he's finally learned something about being out at sea. "You could've talked to me. You know we could've talked about it."

"I didn't want to talk about it," you finally say through gritted teeth. "I knew you'd be a pansy and follow me wherever I wanted to go. I wanted you to make your own decision for once."

Jeno narrows his eyes. "Don't call me that."

You know you're pushing him, you know you're hurting him, but you just want him to finally snap and fight back. You want him to remember that his father is dead. He can finally do what he wants. He doesn't have to be under anyone's command anymore. So you push him a little harder. "Call you what? A pansy?"

Jeno pushes you against the wall and grabs your waist, keeping you in place. Before you can tease him any further, his hot mouth is on yours in an open-mouthed kiss. He's not holding back his anger at all, and it shows in the way he nips at your bottom lip. You feel his hands come up to your hair, and he's twirling the tangled strands through his fingers and tugging them until you're gasping, mouth open just enough for him to press his tongue against the roof of your mouth and out again.

You hold onto his face and pull him closer until the kiss is heated and messy. There's saliva on your jaw but you can't push him away because you haven't been near Jeno in a year, and now that you have him you don't want to let him go.

You can feel the stubble on his cheeks. It's hard and scratchy and nothing like you thought it would feel like, but you find yourself liking the way it scrapes against your own smooth skin.

Jeno takes his lips off of yours to press a kiss just behind your ear. He bites your skin hesitantly; you feel him smirk when you gasp out his name and reach for the strings of his shirt in an effort to untie the knots and feel his skin against your palms.

And then the smirk is gone, and the kisses are gone, and Jeno is standing back. He presses you against the wall still, but this time it feels like he's trying to keep you away from him. "I can't— I cant do this."

"Jeno, I'm back. It's okay." You say, reaching up for his face again.

Jeno flinches and moves back. "No! It's not okay! You left me, Y/n!"

"I was scared," you argue, but it feels wrong coming out of your mouth.

"Scared? Ha!" Jeno steps back and runs his fingers through his hair. He steps towards the table and leans atop his palms so that his back is facing you. You can see the tension in his muscles as he struggles to speak. "You think I wasn't scared the moment I realized you weren't coming back? You think I wasn't scared when I walked out into the village alone and asked around for my "wife"? You think I wasn't scared when I thought that maybe you had tricked me off of my own ship to take it over? How do you think I felt, Y/n, when we promised each other we'd work together and you broke it as soon as you had your doubts? You think I wasn't scared? Terrified, even?" His voice cracks then, "And this is almost worse! You've been in a tavern with a boy, doing exactly what you and I had planned. So what is it? Does he fight better than me? Does he kiss better than me? Does he treat you better?"

"Jeno—"

He doesn't seem to hear you. "And I'm not a pansy. I don't do everything everyone tells me to. You were different because I love you, and I'd give up the sea or the land to be with you, Y/n. I thought you knew that."

He looks angry with himself for revealing so much, but he turns around anyways and waits for your reply.

"Jeno, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay?"

Jeno growls under his breath. "I don't want to hear it. Not anymore. Not until you mean it."

"So what? You're going to ignore me?" You cross your arms over your chest. "That hardly seems productive."

Jeno snaps his gaze to you. The kohl under his eyes is smudged by a few stray tears. "Let's put it this way: until I can talk to you and not feel the pain of heartbreak, yeah, I'm ignoring you."

The door bursts open. "Captain, the boy's injuries have been tended to. Shall I get our guests a change of clothes?"

Jeno sighs. "Yes. Thank you. And put them on belowdeck duties. I want them out of my sight until further notice."

You wrinkle your nose and follow the unnamed man out of the room. "Captain Jeno isn't as nice as the Jeno I used to know."

The man shrugs. "He's a morose man. I wonder what he was like when you knew him?"

"Doesn't matter," you say, and a painful reality hits you. "I stripped that away from him when I left."

So far, Jeno has snapped at three different crew members, and it had only happened when you came on deck for some air. You resolve to stay below deck because of it, as does Jaemin. Though, he has no real problem with it because he's found a friend in the ship's cook and has a great time playing cook's apprentice.

You, however, feel like a prisoner again and find yourself longing to be on deck, where the sea spray can kiss your face. A bigger part of you just wants to see Jeno again.

You know you need to apologize, you just don't know how. How do you tell someone you care about that you thought they could do better? That you thought you'd become like your father, and he'd grow to hate you?

When you talk to Jaemin about it that evening, he pulls out a bottle of rum from who-knows-where and offers it to you.

You don't drink more than a few gulps, but Jaemin is chugging the wood-tinted drink like it's his last day on earth. "Slow down!" you warn, taking the bottle from him.

"Sorry," he whispers, drawing out his words slowly, as if you wouldn't understand them otherwise. "I just feel bad. I didn't mean to make you and Jeno fight."

You have a hard time explaining to him that your fight is much bigger than jealousy, and Jeno knows you weren't lying when you said you weren't in relations with Jaemin.

In the end, you drag the boy up to the deck in the hopes that a few gulps of fresh air will help him sober up enough to sleep soundly. "Here, sit against the mast."

Jaemin ignores you and decides to lay spread eagle on the deck floor. "The sky 's pretty. 've never seen it like this before."

"Yes," you say, "look at the sky, Jaemin. Just for a few minutes and then we'll head back down."

You decide to lay beside him and focus on the sky as well. Your breath catches at the beauty of the twinkling stars. You had almost forgotten how clear they appear to be at sea. The constellations seem to be smiling at you— cheering you on.

"What's going on?" Or maybe not.

You sigh and close your eyes. "Nothing, Jeno. Jaemin is drunk so I brought him out for some fresh air." You crane your head back to see the captain dressed down in a maroon cotton shirt and brown pants. He's rubbing his eyes; maybe you woke him up. "Come look at the stars with us. They're really pretty tonight."

Jeno looks like he wants to go back into his quarters.

"Jeno, please?"

He groans and lays on the deck, shoulder a few inches from yours. "Oh," he says softly, "they are quiet bright tonight, aren't they?"

Jaemin giggles from your other side. "Jeno, you rhymed, like, thrice."

A chuckle escapes Jeno's lips at the younger's words before he turns his head to face you. "He isn't... I mean... not that you can't choose him over me, but just to be clear..."

You slip your fingers in between Jeno's and look straight into his eyes. "Just to be clear, I choose you."

There's a ruddiness to Jeno's complexion that wasn't there before, and it makes you think that maybe things will work out on their own.

Jeno is nineteen years old and he finds it hard to fall out of love with you.

Maybe it's because he's spent every day of the past year hoping and praying that you'd find your way back to him, like you always have before. Maybe it's because he was only angry at himself for making you think you ever had to choose between him and your love for the sea.

Maybe he would've succeeded if you hadn't returned soaked to the bone, in a holding cell with a boy far too pretty to be a pirate.

Jeno knows Jaemin means nothing to you romantically, but he can't forget the surge of fear that shot through his veins when he realized that you might've chosen someone else. He thinks of your shocked but somewhat ecstatic expression when you first saw him. It makes him think you missed him too.

He feels his lips tingle every now and again with the feeling of yours pressed so harshly against his. He remembers the curves of your body and the quietness of your voice as you tried not to give him the satisfaction of making you moan.

He knows you're the one he wants, forever and ever until the sea takes him to his watery grave. He knows that he'd gladly stay beside you on land if you ever chose to settle down. Heck, he'd find a home in the stars if you asked him to.

Jeno's eyes water suddenly, and a sneeze pulls him out of his thoughts. "Is it the cat?" he asks, half-delirious.

He's been sick for days now; fevered dreams pull him in and out of consciousness. He thinks about you mostly, and it's embarrassing to admit when you're the one trying to nurse him back to health.

"You're still sick, Jeno," he hears your voice say. You press a wet rag against his forehead and dab away at the sweat that continues to form. "Go back to sleep, okay? Maybe you can break this fever."

There's a shakiness in your voice, like you're scared. Jeno knows there's something you aren't telling him, but his brain feels foggy and it's hard to concentrate on anything but the feeling of your hand brushing his hair off his sweaty forehead.

"Stay with me for tonight?" he asks, because that's what you do with the person you love, right? He knows the two of you are fighting about something, but he can't quite focus on anything right now other than your body sliding under the covers and pressing against his.

He's almost asleep again when he feels kisses being pressed against his jaw, down his neck, and across his shoulder. Small kisses that make him feel like he should smile, but he's too tired to do it right now. Maybe tomorrow.

"Jeno, I love you," you say, and Jeno wants to say it back, only the words feel heavy on his tongue and sleep feels thick behind his eyes.

He loves you, too.

Jeno's eyelids feel sticky when he wakes up, and it takes a few tries before he can open them fully. He groans at how utterly gross he feels, soaked in sweat that's turning cold the longer he is clothed in it.

"Jeno?" You walk into the room then, and Jeno is surprised to see tears of relief pool in your eyes. "I'm so glad you're okay."

You don't seem to mind that Jeno is covered in sweat because you wrap your arms around his waist and pull him closer to you. "I'll draw you a bath, okay? You'll feel more clean. I'll change your blankets, too. There has to be some spares around this blasted ship—"

Jeno catches your hand in his and successfully stops your rambling. "Y/n, slow down. I'm alive. You aren't getting rid of me that easily, okay?"

You nod, and that smile Jeno loves so much graces your lips. "Okay. Good."

Jeno is let out on deck three days later, after you figure he's definitely not contagious to the rest of the crew anymore. Jeno worries briefly about your own health until you remind him that you're docking soon, and there will be doctors if you come down with anything.

Jaemin asked to be let off at the same port he and you were taken from. Something about a ship called Peribat and a crew to find. Jeno jokes that Jaemin is going to become a better captain than he is. Jaemin shrugs and says he's only in it for the adventure.

You go to the dock with Jaemin and watch him purchase the ship he's lusted after for so long. Jaemin turns to you with a bright smile and hugs you tightly, saying this is all he's ever wanted.

"Go find your adventure," you say, chuckling fondly at the boy. "Oh, and before I forget, don't trade that coat, okay? I have a feeling you'll need it one day."

Jaemin looks confused for a moment, glancing down at his black coat, but nods. "Alright. I won't."

Then you're back on The Amare, eyes locking with Jeno's just before he heads into his quarters.

You follow him to see that he's getting ready for bed, slipping off his leather vest and unstrapping his gun holster.

"It's nice of you to see him off."

"Jealous?" You wrap your arms around his waist and press your face between his shoulder blades. "Because it's you I love."

He turns around in your hold, eyes tracing over the features of your face so fondly that you aren't sure how to bring up the (literal) sorry subject. "Can you stay with me? Just for tonight?"

You agree, and the anxiety is pushed down until you can barely feel it anymore, too occupied by the sound of Jeno's heartbeat against your ear.

The ship is still anchored a week later, and the crew goes out to trade a few items while Jeno convinces you to stay on the ship with him.

He knows you like the back of his hand. He knows you well enough to know that you've been trying to bring up the fight to him for awhile now.

So when you tug on his hand and lead him to the map room where it all happened, he feels a nervous ache in his chest.

"I'm sorry," you blurt out unceremoniously. "I'm sorry I let my own insecurities get the best of me. I'm sorry I ever doubted your affections for me. I'm sorry I broke your heart and then thought coming back would automatically fix everything. I know I have a lot to work on and I want you to know that I'm sorry I never realized any of this sooner. Also, if you want to kick me off the crew and never se me again, I completely understand."

Jeno blinks in disbelief. "Are you kidding? Did you think I didn't mean it when I said you wouldn't get rid of me that easily? You're stuck here forever, darling, or for as long as you'll have me. I love you."

You kiss Jeno then, and the action is so soft compared to your last shared kiss that he almost finds himself melting against your hold. He closes his eyes, furrows his brows, and when his breath hitches he grabs your waist to try and steady himself.

His lips move languidly against yours, and as your tongue licks along the seams of his lips, Jeno whines and pulls you closer against him. Your skin is warm through your thin shirt and Jeno decides he wants to touch it. He bunches up your shirt and lets his fingers explore your skin, feeling satisfaction bloom in his chest when you sigh at his touch.

"Can we be co-captains? Like, together?" He asks rather breathlessly against your lips.

You brush your nose against his and smile softly. "Sure. But we'll have to catch up with Jaemin if we want to get the siren's treasure."

Jeno furrows his eyebrows in confusion. "Wait, why?"

"Because I turned the earrings into cufflinks, and they're on Jaemin's coat as we speak."

"Huh," Jeno marvels. He slowly rocks from side to side, fingers still pressing into your skin absentmindedly. "I don't know. Maybe that's an adventure better fit for a new pirate. Maybe we should just stick to looting like we're used to."

You feel something soft press against your ankles, so you look down and see that same black cat, peering up at you.

Jeno scrunches his nose, "That's—" Sneeze! "Onyx—" Sneeze!

You giggle as Jeno struggles to fight against his allergies and hug him, pressing your nose against his neck. "Hey. Thanks for finding me."

Jeno's arms feel strong around you. Safe. "I have a feeling we'll always return to each other."

#pirate!jeno #always return au #nct fluff #nct angst #nct scenarios #nct au #jeno fluff #jeno angst #jeno scenarios #jeno au #destwrites

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