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waitimcomingtoo · 4 years

Text

In Case You Don’t Live Forever

~sixth chapter rewritten~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!reader

Synopsis: you are Peters greatest love and Spider-Man’s greatest enemy

Series Masterlist

Two months later, you sat outside The Daily Bugle and impatiently bounced your leg. While waiting to see if your boss liked your first draft of the Cleatus Kassidy article, you reflected on your past two months in New York.

It was now June. You and Venom had fallen into a routine. You’d work on the Cletus article by day and go patrolling at night. Of course, being Venom wasn’t a nightly occurrence. You’d only go out eating once or twice a week. Still, you managed to have 11 run ins with Spider-Man.

You and Peter had become significantly closer in that past two months as well. You’d help him with his homework, though you secretly thought he was smarter than you, and he helped me with your story. Some nights, he’d visit you on your fire escape and watch the sun go down. You had no idea how he got there, but you didn’t care.

You’d send him science puns while he was at school and he’d bring you food and keep you company when You had writers block. Your favorite was the long talks on the roof. You would sit there for hours and tell each other everything. You knew all his secrets and he knew yours.

Well, not all.

But the best part of all was that every now and then, you’d catch the other staring. Then, the other would stare back until someone, usually Peter, started to lean in. Every time you thought you were finally going to take the next step, something would interrupt you. Whether it was May knocking or Ned barging in or Peters phone ringing. That was another thing about Peter. His damn phone was always ringing and then he’d have to dash off somewhere, leaving you with a random excuse or something about an internship. Sometimes, you’d wish he’d just throw his phone aside and kiss you already.

“Great work so far, L/n.” Your boss tore you away from your thoughts. “I knew you’d be right for the job.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jameson.” You stammered as you stood up. “I really appreciate you giving me this job. I was kinda blackballed back in San Francisco.”

“I know.” He shrugged. “But you ask the hard hitting questions that people want to hear. Once this article is out, I want you to write one on Venom.”

“Venom?” You gulped at her name.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “You know that scary black monster that’s been fighting Spiderman? I’m thinking an exposé on that menace webhead and his latest enemy, and I think you’d be perfect for the job.”

 “I would love to.” You said quickly. “I’ll start researching right away.”

With that, you turned on your heel and left the building before Venom caused a scene.

“Monster?” Venom roared once you got in your car. “Scary?”

“I know.” You whined. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was gonna call you that.”

“His whole job is reading about the most dangerous criminals in New York. If he thinks we’re scary, what’s Peter gonna think?” Venom asked. You laughed in dismissal until you thought about what he said.

What would Peter think? What if you told Peter who you really were and he ran away? He was sweet and understanding, but how understanding could he possibly be when you tell him you can turn into a flesh eating monster?

That’s when you realized you were scared. You were scared of letting Peter in and him letting himself right out. You were scared of repeating the mistakes you made with Andy. No, not scared.

Petrified.

What if Peter didn’t like what he saw? What if he realized you were too messy to be with? Or had too much baggage? Peter deserved a nice girl. One with a normal family and friends. One without depression. One without a flesh eating symbiote attached to their immune system.

“What’s wrong baby?” Venom asked with concern. She cuddled around your neck and nuzzled into your cheek.

“I can never be with Peter.” You whispered, mostly to yourself. Hot tears of frustration filled your eyes so you looked up to keep them from falling. Admitting it felt like a fatal blow to the stomach. Venom tied your hair up with one of her arms and wiped the tears from your face.

“Why do you say that?”

You thought about it for a moment before answering. You didn’t want to tell Venom that you were feeling insecure. She freaked out on you whenever you said something negative about yourself. You didn’t wanna another 100 slide PowerPoint titled “why Y/N L/N is the baddest bitch in the galaxy”. Especially since forty of those slides were just pictures of your butt. You appreciated Venom wanting to help but you were feeling the kind of insecure that a pep talk couldn’t fix. You needed to figure it out on your own. So instead, you told her a different fear you had.

“Because. Look at us. We’re the only thing keeping each other alive.” You reasoned. “What if we get separated and die? I can’t become one of those people in Peters life who loved him and then left him. His mom, his dad, his Uncle Ben. I don’t want to die and leave Peter behind. He’s been through enough. He’d be so much better off without me.”

“We’re not gonna die. You protect me and I protect you. Nothing will hurt us as long as we have each other.” Venom assured you.

“I can’t protect you like you protect me.” You said softly. “I’m just a human. What if something happens to me and you die because of it?”

“Nothing will happen to you, Y/N. I promise. I won’t let it.” Venom swore. You looked at her and gave her a sad smile.

“I won’t let anything happen to you either.” You said, but you didn’t promise it. You knew you couldn’t promise it.

“And you can be with Peter.” Venom insisted. “On Klyntar, we mate for life. And we think you’ve found your mate in Peter.”

“What does that mean?” You wondered.

“It means we’ve become attached to him and will never be happy with anyone else.” Venom said. You let out a shaky breath as that wasn’t what you wanted to hear. You needed a reason to shut your feelings for Peter down.

“Like soulmates?” You asked.

“Exactly like soulmates.” Venom answered.

“Well what happens on Klyntar if someone is your soulmate but you’re not theirs?”

“Then we go into a cave and mourn until we die alone of heartbreak.” Venom said simply.

“That sounds about right.” You laughed sadly as you took a second to think.

“I’m gonna call that guy back.” You said suddenly.

“What guy?” She asked.

“They guy who asked me out at the coffee shop this morning.” You reminded her.

“The one with the stupid hair? Why would you call him?” Venom asked angrily.

“What was wrong with his hair?” You laughed.

“It was blonde. We like brunette.” Venom said with a devilish grin.

“His hair was fine.” You rolled your eyes. “And I’m gonna call him to say yes to the date.”

“Why would we do that when we like Peter?” Venom whined.

“Because if Peter doesn’t like us, I don’t want to die of heartbreak alone in a cave.” You admitted.

“He does love you.” Venom protested.

“We don’t know that.” You shook your head. “It’s just one date. I need to get back out there anyway. I haven’t gone on a date Andy and I broke up.”

“Fine.” Venom grumbled. “But this is a terrible idea and I’m going to complain the whole time and sing the Les Mis soundtrack in your head.” This was one of those moments where she felt more like your toddler than your symbiote.

You gave the guy a call before driving back to your apartment. As fate would have it, you ran into Peter in the hallway on your way to your room.

“Hey Y/n!” Peter greeted you. “You want to come over later and help me with spanish? I’ll amo you mucho.”

You wanted so badly to say yes but you had to stick to the plan to squash your feelings for Peter.

“Aw, I’m sorry Pete. I wish I could but I have a date tonight.” You frowned, instantly regretting it when you saw the look on his face.

Peter’s heart sank to the floor as he emotions went from feeling devastated to feeling white hot anger in a matter of seconds

“A date?” He sputtered. “With who?”

“Some boy I met at the coffee shop.” You said weakly, knowing you were hurting him.

“Oh.” He said dully.

“Some boy.” He thought angrily. “Some freaking dirty ass sissy coffee boy asked my girl out.”

Peter felt like hunting the man down and smacking the shit out of him. Or at the very least, webbing him to a wall leaving him there until he missed the date.

“What’s his name?” Peter asked suddenly, wanting to put a name to his new mortal enemy.

“Matt.” You nodded slowly.

“Freaking Matt.” Peter thought. “Freaking dirty ass bitch ass Matt. Was Matt Spider-Man? No. Could Matt treat you as well as I could? Probably. But did he like you as much? No. Did he have inside jokes with you? No. Could he make you laugh your beautiful laugh just by doing a Captain America impression? No. He wasn’t good enough for you. He couldn’t do the things I could do. He was trash. He was a trashy dirty ass rat boy.”

“Interesting.” Peter said, keeping his thoughts to himself.

“I’ll text you when it’s over and maybe I can help you then.” You offered. That sound okay, guapo?”

Peter nodded sadly, not even acknowledging that you called him handsome. Actually, he probably had no idea that you did. He was smart, but only in English.

“That’s fine.” He nodded glumly. “I’ll see you later.”

You watched Peter trudge into his apartment and felt a pain in your heart. He seemed so upset all the sudden. It couldn’t be from your date, could it? It’s not like you told him you got engaged or something. It was one little date. And it’s not like Peter even made a move. He had no reason to be upset. You brushed it off and went into your apartment to get ready.

Just as Venom predicted, the date went horribly wrong. You drove back to the apartment in silence afterwards, leaving Matt to clean himself off back at the restaurant.

“Why did that happen?” You asked her after a long drive in silence. You were mortified from the events of the night but you needed to know why they happened.

“Because he wasn’t your soulmate.” Venom said simply.

“We defiled that boy.”

“It happens.” Venom stated.

“It shouldn’t.” You said, shocked at how nonchalantly she was being.

“But it does.”

You rode the rest of the way in silence, shooting Peter a text before asleep on your couch. You woke up a few hours later in a cold sweat and in tears. You didn’t know it, but Peter was listening to your breathing from his apartment. He had picked up the small cries of his name in your sleep with his superhearing and stayed up to see if you were okay.

You weren’t, by the way. You had had a nightmare that shook you deeply and left you shaking. It was about Peter, but not in a good way. In this dream, he laid injured on the ground after a fight. You were separated from Venom and bleeding out near Peter. You couldn’t do anything to save him. You couldn’t scream for help. And worse, you couldn’t protect him. It caused you great agony to not be able to reach him.

Without giving it another thought, you got off your couch and made your way to the door. You needed to see Peter and tell him how you felt.

You didn’t care about your insecurities anymore. You didn’t care about all the things keeping you apart. You only cared about him, and that was enough. He needed to know that and you couldn’t wait another second.

You swung open your front door, only to find Peter Parker outside it in pink Hello Kitty pajama bottoms and a tight white t-shirt. His hand was raised, like he was about to knock.

“Hey.” you breathed. His hair was tousled and sticking up in random places. He looked heavenly.

“Hi.” He said shyly.

“I was just about to go to your door. I had a bad dream.” You told him. You were anxious to skip the semantics and cut right to the chase.

The chase being, “I love you and I’m yours if you’ll have me.”

“Yeah, I heard. That’s why I’m here.” Peter explained. That’s not what he wanted to say. What he wanted to say was, “I’m always here if you need me. I’d go to the ends of the earth for you. I love you. It’ll be okay.”

Peter looked at you funny for a moment, like he was seeing something beneath the surface.

“She looks so beautiful.” He thought. Makeup free, hair a little messy, and nothing but an oversized sweatshirt to cover you. Peter recognized the sweatshirt as his own, one you had swiped from his laundry basket because you had been freezing while watching Alien in his room. He felt so honored to know that you slept in it. Peter wondered how many times he could fall in love with you in a short span of time. In the past few seconds, he’d fallen about 15 times. Once for every breath you took. And you were breathing quite heavily.

“You heard?” You asked, wondering how he

had possible heard from his apartment.

“My hearing is excellent.” He said quickly. “Are you alright?”

“Please be alright.” He thought. “I’d stop anything that tried to hurt you. I’ll protect you from the storm. Don’t shut me out. Don’t turn me away. Let me love you.”

“Um…” You trailed off and looked behind you at your empty apartment. The darkness looked anything but inviting. You couldn’t go back in there just yet.

“No?” It came out as more of a question.

“No? Do you want to talk about it-“ Peter was cut off when you rushed into his arm and hugged him tightly. He seemed taken aback, seeing as you nearly knocked the wind out of him. But as soon as he found his footing, he wrapped his strong arms around you and held you close. You relaxed in Peters embrace and let out a sigh.

“I had a nightmare.” You croaked. “You died and I couldn’t save you.”

“I know. It’s okay. You’re awake now. I’m here.” Peter said soothingly.

“I’ve been here the whole time.” He thought. “I will never abandon you. You are safe in my arms. Nothing can hurt you now. I won’t let it.”

You pulled away a little and looked at his face, seeing how tired it was.

“Would you stay with me?” You asked timidly. You didn’t want him to go. Not now, not ever.

“Always.” Peter answered with a smile. “As if I could ever leave you.”

Your lips lit up in a smile as your eyes fell to his lips. They lingered there for too long, or maybe just long enough. Peter took the hint and slipped his hand behind your neck and began to pull you closer. As your lips were about to touch, your door slammed, causing you to jump out of each other’s embrace.

“Shit balls.” You said immediately, letting out an annoyed sigh.

“What?” Peter asked, giggling a little at your choice of profanity.

“I just locked myself out.” You realized as you jiggled through door handle. Peter laughed louder this time and put a hand on your shoulder.

“Come on. You’re sleeping over.” He said, leading you back to his apartment with his hand on the small of his back.

You entered Peters room for the millionth time, but it felt the first time. Sure, you’d become good friends in the time you’ve lived in the building, but bedrooms were intimate places. The context of you being in Peters bedroom after going to him for comfort changes how you saw the place. After all, bedrooms were windows into the soul. Oh wait, that’s eyes. Still, the room was different. You didn’t feel like you were entering it. You felt like you were returning.

You looked around with a content smile on your face. He still had his academic decathlon posters on his wall, along with a few Avengers posters. Peter was pretty neat, but he was still a teenage boy. Socks and sweaters were strewn across the room. You saw him kicking a pair of boxers under his desk out of the corner of you eye. His room was so cute. It was so…Peter. You noticed a first aid kit on his desk next to his chemistry textbook and wondered what on earth he could be using it for.

“I’ve always liked your room.” You complimented as you touched a decathlon trophy on his dresser.

“Oh thank God.” Peter sighed in relief. “I thought you’d take one look at my nerdy ambiance and run.”

“Star Wars bedsheets?” You asked when you noticed the Death Star poking out under his duvet. You definitely hadn’t seen those before and found them endearing. Peters ears reddened and he fixed his duvet to cover them up.

“Those aren’t mine.” He said quickly.

“Are they Mays? As in May the force be with you?” You played along and he gave you a defeated smile.

“That was the worst thing anyone has ever said. Ever.” Peter joked. You laughed and he gave you a shy smile.

“Fine. They’re my bedsheets. Star Wars is cool, okay?” Peter defended. You took a seat on his bed and shrugged.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me Peter. I just didn’t know you were a loser, is all.”You said simply. Peter sat down on the bed next to you and rolled his eyes.

“Very funny. You’re the funniest person I know.” He said sarcastically. You nudged him with your elbow and he and hit you with a Yoda printed pillow.

“Mm. Good with the force you are.” You commented. Peter groaned loudly and told you to shut up.

“Enough playing around. How was your date?” Peter asked as he turned to face you. You could hear the pain in his voice and regretted ever telling him about the date.

“Oh, you know.” You shrugged. “Terrible.”

You weren’t going to let him off the hook that easy. If Peter really did like you and want to be with you, he needed to say it. He couldn’t just grumble and wallow in self pity when you were with another boy. You wanted to test him to see if he’d ever actually admit his feelings, but a part of you was still scared there were no feelings to admit to.

“Really?” He said excitedly. He cleared his throat to cover it up and grunted. “I mean, really?” He asked calmly.

“Yeah it was awful. I definitely won’t be seeing him again.” You sighed sadly, but you weren’t actually sad. You were just putting on a show for Peter. Peter bit the inside of his cheek to stop the smile from emerging.

“That’s terrible.” Peter lied. “What went wrong?”

His acting was equally as bad as your own. He had a shit eating grin on his face, pretending to be sad when he was clearly over the moon.

“It was going fine all night until the kiss.” You sighed dramatically, looking longingly out the window. You might as well have thrown yourself onto the balcony and cried out for Romeo. Peter, however, was buying every second of it.

“You guys kissed?” He asked, his voice heavy with disappointment. He looked miserable. All you wanted to do was throw your arms around his neck and tell him he was the only one for you. Instead, you kept your feelings to yourself and nodded slowly.

“Almost. He leaned in and…” instead of finishing your sentence, you just shrugged. You could tell Peter was on the edge of his seat so you dragged it as long as you could.

“And?” Peter practically begged. You let out another long, dramatic sigh as Peter took a slow sip of his water bottle.

“And I threw up on him.” You said simply. Peter spat out the water in his mouth and burst out laughing, doing his best to cover it up. You gave him a fake angry look but ended up laughing as well.

“What?” Peter laughed.

“He was such a tool.” You whined. “He talked down to me the entire night and then had the audacity to try and kiss me. I don’t know what happened but all the sudden he was leaning in and I was throwing up. He deserved it though. He treated me like was an idiot. I’m almost glad I threw up on him.”

Peters was overjoyed. He was about to say something when we heard a straggled cry of your name.

You and Peter rushed to his peephole and saw a familiar blonde haired boy standing in the hallway.

There he was, Matt, outside your apartment door with his phone on full volume playing “Hungry Eyes” from Dirty Dancing.

“What the actual hell?” You wondered out loud. “I better get rid of him.”

“Y/nnnnnn. I’m sorry I was a jerk.” Matt slurred. “Please talk to me. I told the doorman we were cousins. Then I told the elevator guy that I was your husband. You may need to move now. Y/nnnn.”

“You definitely can’t go out there.” Peter shook his head. “He could have a knife.”

“Or worse.” You whispered, making Peter looked at you fearfully. “He could have the same loser bedsheets you do.”

Peter scrunched his nose at you and picked up you swiftly to threw you onto the couch.

“Since when are you so strong?” You laughed in shock. Peter shrugged and held out a hand.

“Let’s go to bed.” He said. You raised an eyebrow and he quickly added, “In a non-sexual, platonic way.”

He was always so cautious of offending you or making you uncomfortable. You appreciated how much of a gentleman he was and knew Aunt May had implemented those qualities in him.

“You can take the bed.” He offered. “I’ll sleep on the couch. Let me know if you need anything.”

You nodded and climbed into his bed, patting the the space next to you.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You told him. “Get in.”

Peter looked at you with wide eyes, looking very unsure of himself as he toyed with the hem of his shirt.

He was torn. He wanted to get into the bed, but he also knew you were vulnerable right now and he didn’t want to take advantage of you. He didn’t want to do anything you’d end up regretting in the morning.

“Get in, in a non-sexual, platonic way.” You added. Peter relaxed but stayed standing. You pretended to splash Peter and twirled your hand around the bedsheets as if they were water.

“Come on in Parker. The waters warm.” You said in a low voice.

“I am…repulsed.” Peter deadpanned. In reality, he was dying to get in the bed. He wasn’t gonna try anything, he just wanted to feel you close. He wanted to comfort you and take the pain of the night away. Finally, he got into the bed and pulled the covers up. He shut off his lamp and we fell into comfortable silence.

“Good night, Peter.” You whispered, turning your back to him and cuddling into his pillow.

“Night, Y/n.” He whispered back. You felt his eyes on the back of your neck still. He didn’t want to close them and fall asleep. He wanted to stay in this moment as long as he could.

You soon felt hesitant arms wrap around your waist. Peter was very unsure of himself and kept his hands loosely on your hips, barely touching. You turned your neck around and looked at him quizzically.

“What the hell are you doing?” You demanded. His hands flew off your waist and his eyes widened with fear. He looked so apologetic, you thought he might cry.

“Do you not know how to cuddle?” You asked before he could blurt out an apology. You grabbed his arms and pulled them tightly around your body. You held his hands in your own, flush against your chest. Peter felt really tense at first and a bit stiff, but he soon relaxed and nestled into your hair.

“You smell really good.” He muttered. You laughed softly against his body, prompting Peter to hold you even tighter.

“I’ve wanted this for so long, Y/N.” He whispered. He said it so quietly, you figured he thought you had fallen asleep. “Sweet dreams.”

You woke up the next morning in Peter Parker’s arms. Subsequently, you wanted to wake up every morning for the rest of your life in Peter Parker’s arms. You were a mess of tangled limbs and hair but you found yourself firmly in his embrace, inhaling his cologne.

Peters eyes fluttered open suddenly and you were nose to nose.

“Hi.” You said softly, a playful smile resting on your lips. He was so pretty in the morning. He didn’t even have to try.

“Hey.” He chuckled. “This is new.”

“It is new. Is it okay?” You asked him, not wanting to overstep his boundaries.

“Is waking up next to the actual sun okay?” He teased. “Uh yea, Y/n. It’s okay. You can sleep over anytime you like if it means more mornings like this.”

Of course he said that. He held all your strings and knew just how to tug them.

“Did you really not enjoy that date?” He whispered, but in his head thought, “Do you want to be with anyone else?”

You didn’t know why he was whispering, but the look in his eyes told you he was dead serious.

“Not in the slightest.” You answered honestly. What you wanted to say was, “Because it wasn’t with you.”, but you didn’t.

“Would you…would you want to go out with me sometime?” He asked shyly. “I promise I won’t throw up on you.”

He said the second part as if it was the only way you’d say yes to the date, which made you laugh.

“Peter Parker, I have waited exactly 64 days for you to ask me that question and you just had to ruin it by promising you won’t throw up on me?” You playfully scolded as Peters eyes lit up.

“Is that a yes?” He asked excitedly.

“It’s a yes.” You nodded, holding his nearest hand. “It’s always been a yes.”

“Can I-“ He began.

“Don’t ask.” You whispered. “Just do it.”

Peter leaned in slowly and you did the same. His lips had just ghosted yours when Aunt May knocked on the door. He bolted out of bed as you sat up.

“Breakfast is ready. Did you clean your room?” Aunt May called from the other side of the door.

“Yes.” Peter called back. You looked around. No he didn’t

“No you didn’t.” She said knowingly. She didn’t even have to see his room to know it wasn’t clean.

“I’ll clean it after.” He groaned.

“I’m coming in.” She said suddenly, making you and Peter look at each other in fear.

“Don’t! I’m naked.” He screamed.

“Fine. But it better be clean after breakfast. And put some clothes on. You should not be naked at 7 am.” Aunt May said. You heard her footsteps walking away and knew it was safe to speak. You got out of Peters bed as he got up to lock the door, his back still to you as he did it.

“Alright.” He sighed. “That should buy us some ti-“

The second he turned around, he was met with your lips on his. You had your hands on the sides of his face and your head tilted to the left. You felt Peters eyes flutter shut as his eyelashes tickled your cheeks. He was frozen at first, but slowly wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer. You melted into him and he melted right back into you. The kiss was short and sweet, but absolutely perfect.

When you pulled away, Peter gave you the softest eyes ever. A grateful smile was on his lips.

“I am so over these interrupted moments.” You laughed softly as you shook your head. Peters eyes twinkled in agreement. The sun was coming through the window and made his brown eyes look like pots of honey. You could stare at them forever.

And then he kissed you again, with confidence this time. He wasn’t ready for the last one since you caught him off guard. You let your fingers tangle in the messy curls at the back of his neck, something you thought you’d only get to dream of doing. Peter groaned slightly into your mouth as you tugged on his hair, indicating that he liked it. He put his hand under your neck and slipped his toungue in your mouth. Who knew Peter Parker knew how to kiss? He tasted like morning breath, spearmint chapstick, and something you could only identify as being exclusively Peter. When you pulled apart, he looked up at the sky and sighed.

“If I wake up and this is all a dream I’m going to fight you.” He said menacingly.

“Did you just threaten God?” You laughed.

“For you? Anthing. I’ll fight anyone for your honor. Our Lord and Savior can catch these hands can square up.” He promised.

“You’ve gone to far.” You joked. “We need to break up.”

“Don’t even joke. I’ve waited too long for this.” Peter said as he wrapped his arms around you.

“I’m only teasing. I’ve waited my whole life for you Parker. I’m never letting you go.” You told him. He burst out in a smile and kissed you swiftly, then promptly got down on one knee.

“Will you please be mine, darling? Officially?” He pleaded softly. There was so much hope in his eyes so you pretended to think about it.

“Sorry.” You shrugged. “I’m pretty busy with Matt.”

Peter stood up and gripped your hips, pulling you closer while you let out a small gasp.

“I never want to hear his name again. He had the privilege of taking my girl on a date and treated her poorly?” He raised an eyebrow. “He’s a deadman if I ever see him around here. Now, I need you to tell me you’re my girlfriend before my heart explodes. Tell me you’re mine. I won’t believe it until you say it. ”

You nodded yes as you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his lips.

“Peter Parker, I always have, and always will be, yours.”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker x venom!reader #venom!reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #iron man #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction

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quickspinner · 3 years

Text

Neighborly

I had a bad case of writers block and rabbit brain trying to work on my wips yesterday, so I went and dug through my prompt lists, sat down with the sprint timer, and scrawled out this little bit of nonsense. I'm not sure about the final result but it broke the block, and I figured I might as well share it, so I hope you enjoy!

AO3

Rating: T

Marinette's been crushing on her cute neighbor for weeks, but she's never gotten the courage to speak more than a few flustered words to him. Now it might be too late--he's at her door begging for the use of her shower to get ready for his big date.

Marinette stared at the man standing at her door.

“I’m sorry?” she said faintly, and the man smiled at her. That didn’t help the situation at all, as it made her knees wobbly.

“Weird ask, I know,” he said, ruffling a hand through his blue-tinted hair. “It’s just that I’m supposed to have a date tonight and my shower’s been out for two days. Maintenance has quit answering my calls and I’m getting desperate. I really like this girl and I don’t want to give the wrong impression.”

“Oh,” Marinette said, voice still weak, and then she plastered a plastic smile on her face. “O-of course you can! What are neighbors for, right? Um—”

“Luka,” he supplied, still smiling. Marinette already knew that, of course. She knew an embarrassing amount of information about this man, considering they had only spoken in passing. The first time, he’d caught her when her shoe had broken in the hallway, and she’d pitched straight into him somehow managing to stop her fall and haul her back upright against him with only one strong arm. He hadn’t even lost the groceries he’d been carrying in the other. He’d smiled at her and told her to be careful with that soft velvet voice and she’d looked up into blue eyes that seemed far too gentle for his handsome, angular face and—

Marinette suddenly realized it was her turn to talk and that she was taking too long. “Um M-Marinette, I’m. I’m Marinette,” she stammered.

“Nice to finally officially meet you Marinette,” Luka said easily, as if she wasn’t the most awkward person he’d ever spoken to, as if she hadn’t run away from him after a few awkward words every time they’d bumped into each other—literally or otherwise. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll pop back over and grab my things, and be back in a few minutes?”

“Oh, um. Y-yeah, yeah, of course,” she babbled, and he turned away, raising a hand slightly.

“Great, I’ll be back in a few then.”

Marinette shut the door numbly, and then walked over to her couch and buried her face in a pillow. She screamed, kicking her feet, and then tossed the pillow away, moaning as she dragged her hands down her face.

It wasn’t enough that the super hot musician with gorgeous shoulders and dreamy eyes was coming over to use her shower. He had to need her shower because he had a date . Marinette wanted to be his date! She’d been half-stalking him trying to work up the courage—well. Not really stalking him, just...observing. She just noticed things, that was all, like how he had a smile and a question for everybody, the way he fed the stray cats that lived behind the building, and always held open doors no matter who was behind him, and how hard his chest was beneath the baggy layers he wore, and—oh, that chest was going to be in her bathroom and—her bathroom!

Marinette’s eyes flew wide and she nearly tripped over her own feet, flinging herself off the couch, running to the bathroom to grab anything too girly or potentially embarrassing and shove it under the sink. Fortunately her bathroom wasn’t dirty (she wasn’t an animal after all), just cluttered, and she frantically grabbed the underthings she’d draped over the shower rod to dry and ran them to her room, shoving them frantically under her pillow before going back to make absolutely sure she hadn’t missed any or left anything embarrassing. She put a clean towel on the rack and threw the dirty one over her arm and triple-checked to make sure there was no hair in the shower drain. She heard the knock on the door and jerked up, banging her head on the faucet of the tub. She yelped, dizzy with the pain for a moment.

“Marinette?” Luka called, as she tried to extract herself from the bathtub with one hand clutched to her scalp. She couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her; that hurt.

“Are you all right?” Luka asked, and Marinette whirled around wide-eyed to find him standing in the bathroom doorway. “I heard you yell and I let myself in, I hope that’s okay. Did you hurt yourself? Are you bleeding?” He dropped the backpack slung over his shoulder onto the floor and came over to her, gently tugging her hand away from her head.

“I don’t think so,” Marinette gritted. “I was just...trying to clean up a bit, and…” She gestured at the faucet and Luka winced in sympathy.

“Ouch,” he muttered as he parted her hair with gentle fingers. He was so nice, Marinette mourned. Although...he did smell like he needed that shower. She held her breath and tried not to make a face. “It looks okay,” he said, stepping back away from her. “You didn’t have to clean for me.”

Marinette gave an embarrassed shrug. “Wouldn’t you?” she asked dryly, and blushed when Luka laughed.

“Probably,” he conceded with a grin. “Thanks. I really didn’t mean to put you to inconvenience.”

“It’s no big deal,” Marinette said, finally mustering a smile. “Besides, how could I leave you in the lurch? Big date and all. I don’t need any more bad karma on my dating life.”

Luka’s eyebrows rose, and Marinette flushed, cursing her stupid mouth that never shut up when it should. “So I’ll, um—” she gestured behind Luka to the door, “get out of here, so you can. You know.”

“Oh, sorry.” Luka moved out of her way, pressing himself against the sink, and Marinette squeezed past him and out of the door. “Thanks again, I really appreciate it.”

“This girl must be something special,” Marinette smiled as she backed into the small hallway. “For you to go to all this trouble instead of rescheduling.”

“She is,” Luka grinned. “She’s amazing. I think so, anyway. I don’t know her very well yet, but she’s awfully sweet and super cute.” The grin on his face turned a little goofy. “I’ve been smitten since I met her, honestly.”

“Oh,” Marinette kept her smile in place, trying to ignore the cold feeling in her stomach. “Oh, that’s really sweet. Um, well I don’t want to make you late, so I’ll just...music! I’ll go turn on some music.” That way she wouldn’t hear the incredibly cute soon-to-be-naked boy in her bathroom. “Um, take your time, let me know if you need anything.”

Luka’s grin widened a little. “Thanks Marinette.” He shut the door, and Marinette marched herself back to the living room to scream into another pillow.

After a few deep breaths and a lot of nervous fumbling, she got her music player running. Jagged Stone should be enough, right? Loud enough to cover—she heard the curtain rings slide across the rod. The shower started running and Luka’s deep sigh of relief. Poor guy , she thought, he must have been miserable . She put the music player on and sat for a moment, chewing her thumbnail nervously.

After a few minutes she sat up straighter, listening. Was that—over the sound of the running water and Jagged Stone wailing through her sound system, she heard another voice. Luka was...singing? He was singing along with the song that was playing. Marinette giggled, and moved to the other end of the couch, listening. He had a nice voice, she thought wistfully. She’d seen him with a guitar on his back in the halls. She wondered if some of the music she occasionally heard through his door in the hall was music he made, rather than the radio as she’d assumed.

She flopped on the arm of the couch and groaned. He was so cool, and she was such a disaster. She would have never been brave enough to ask to use a stranger’s shower, no matter how miserable and disgusting she was.

Poor guy , she thought again. He must have been really desperate.

She sat up, and picked up her phone, looking at it in her hands. Maybe she could...well, it might be stupid but it couldn’t hurt to just ask, right?

Marinette dialed the building maintenance number. “Hi Pierre,” she chirped brightly when the grumpy old technician picked up the phone. “It’s Marinette in 34 B? How are you doing?

“Miss Marinette!” The gruff tone softened. “I’m doing well, doing well. Tickets lined up like crazy, though. Everything seems to be breaking at once these days.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Marinette said, putting on a tone of great sympathy. “Maybe I shouldn’t bother you then—”

“Now, now, none of that. What can I do for you?”

“It’s not actually me,” Marinette said, “It’s my neighbor across the hall, Luka? His shower’s been out for a while now and he came over tonight to see if he could use mine—”

“What?” barked old Pierre, and Marinette grinned to herself. “That punk with the piercings? You shouldn’t be letting him traipse through your apartment Miss Marinette. Guys like that always try to take advantage.”

“Oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t do that,” Marinette said innocently. “I’m sure he wouldn’t do anything like that. I was calling to see when his shower might be fixed, but if you’re so busy, maybe I should just give him my spare key so he can—”

“No, no,” Pierre said quickly. “I’ve got his ticket right here, see, he was next on the list. His shower will be fixed tomorrow, so don’t be making any foolish offers Miss Marinette. You’re too nice for your own good, you know.”

“Oh, it never hurts to be nice, Pierre,” Marinette giggled. “I’m planning on making some chocolate chip scones tomorrow to take to a friend, so if you do come to fix Luka’s shower, stop on by, I’ll save a few of them for you.”

“Well, I’ll stop by if I have time,” Pierre said gruffly. “Not that sweets are much to a man my age, but if you made them…”

“Great, I hope I’ll see you!” Marinette giggled. “Thanks so much Pierre, you’re an angel.” She hung up, grinning to herself.

“I can’t believe it. You’re magic.”

Marinette jumped half out of her skin and whirled around. Luka grinned at her sheepishly, but she hardly noticed, because while he was wearing pants—a different, more fitted pair than what he’d had on when he arrived—his torso was bare, and her fluffy pink towel hung around his shoulders, catching only most of the drips falling from his blue hair. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, and I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. I just wanted to ask if you had a hair dryer I can borrow. I forgot to grab mine.”

“Oh, um, sure,” Marinette said, jumping up. “I’ll just...I’ll get it, if that’s okay.” She blushed, thinking of all the things she had shoved in the cabinet before he came.

“Sure.” Luka moved back out of her way, and she shimmied past him into the bathroom. She blinked a moment at the amount of paraphernalia spread on her counter. She’d never thought guys used that much product, but she shook herself and bent over to dig in the cabinet, trying to block it with her body so Luka couldn’t see inside. It took some effort to find the hair dryer, which had been shoved against the back of the cabinet in her frenzied tidying, but by some miracle she extracted it without dumping all of the piled up junk onto the floor. Sighing in relief, she straightened and turned. “Got it!”

Luka was looking at the ceiling. His darkly tanned skin was flushed from the hot shower and the line of his neck made her swallow. “Luka?” she repeated, trying not to squeak.

His dropped his gaze back to her, and she froze under the intensity in that look for a moment. Then he blinked and smiled, softening, and Marinette felt she could move again. She offered him the hair dryer and he took it. “Thanks, Marinette,” he said. “And thanks for getting Pierre’s ass in gear. He hates me, so I figured it’d be a week at least before I could get him to come out.”

“Oh, that.” Marinette shrugged, and grinned mischievously. “I have a lot of experience dealing with grouchy old men.” She winked, and to her mild surprise, the color in Luka’s cheeks deepened. He cleared his throat.

“Well, thanks for making the effort, I really appreciate it.”

“Why does he hate you?” Marinette frowned, as Luka’s words caught up to her.

Luka nodded vaguely in the direction of the back of the building. “We got into it over me feeding the strays. He was nattering on about disease and just breeding more and blah, blah, blah.” Luka rolled his eyes. “If he’d actually listen for five minutes...anyway, I have a friend, the blond that was with me that one time, you remember? He runs a trap-and-release program for feral cats, gets them vaccinated and fixed and all that and then lets them back out into their home territory. The cats behind our building are probably as safe as your average indoor cat, in terms of disease.”

“Oh,” Marinette gasped, awed. “That’s really cool.”

Luka grinned. “He’s pretty passionate about it. He did all the real work, trapping and transport and all that. I just make sure they have a good meal. May I?” He gestured towards the sink, and Marinette jumped.

“Oh, of course, please. I’m sorry, I’m going to make you late with all this chattering—” Marinette babbled as she and Luka did a slightly awkward dance to let him in and her out of the bathroom. He smelled much better now, she noticed giddily as they had to squeeze together. She only barely managed not to squeal when he took her arm lightly to guide her around him.

“By the way,” he called once she was out, and she glanced back to see him unscrewing the lid on one of the sink jars. “Do you have any suggestions for good places to eat close by?” He looked over his shoulder at her and grinned. “I’m always looking to try new things.”

“U-um—” Finding it hard to think while staring at his bare back, Marinette turned away and tapped a finger to her lips in thought. “What kind of food do you like?”

“Anything,” Luka replied, running fingers coated in some kind of gel through his hair. “I like all kinds of things.”

“What does she like?”

“I don’t know yet,” Luka admitted.

Marinette considered. “Well, my favorite is this Italian place about two blocks down, but Italian is chancy on a first date. Messy, you know. She might not be comfortable.” Marinette raised her voice as Luka turned on the hair dryer. “There’s an Indian place that’s a little farther away, and there’s a really cute little patisserie right next to it, that could be romantic. Oh, and there’s a park right there, if you feel like a nighttime stroll.” She frowned. “You didn’t already figure this stuff out?”

“I’m not really a planner,” Luka laughed, his deep voice carrying easily even over the noise of the dryer. “I had some ideas, but sometimes the universe throws you an Indian place and a cute patisserie, with a moonlight stroll in the bargain.” He winked at Marinette. “It pays to keep an open mind.”

Marinette started to smile, and then remembered she was helping him plan a date with someone else, and turned away again. “Okay, well, you’ll have to let me know how it goes,” she said quickly as she went down the hallway. Her eyes were stinging and she took a deep breath as she blinked. Stupid , she scolded herself. She didn’t even know him, because just like always she’d never found the guts to actually talk to him, besides a hello and good night! and one very rushed um, cat food was on sale and I noticed it was the brand you buy so...here! SEEYOULATERBYE! He was her neighbor and she hadn’t even asked his name before today, only seen it on the mail that had been misdelivered to her box instead of his. All she had was little stolen scraps, because she hadn’t been brave enough to ask for more.

Ugh she was such a loser, it was no wonder Luka had never even—well, he had said a word to her, actually. Words like Are you all right? and Can I help you with that? and Wow, thanks, that’s so cool of you . Because he was sweet and nice as well as good looking, and if she’d had any guts at all maybe she could have—

“Marinette?”

She whirled, and Luka was standing there, his bag at his feet, closing the last two buttons of a black dress shirt. “Are you all right?” he asked as he began rolling the sleeves up to bare his forearms. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“What? No, of course not.” Marinette clamped her teeth down on her tongue before she could blurt something like I have shirtless men in my home all the time . Luka was looking at her with a slightly furrowed brow.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I should have gone back to my place to finish up, I wasn’t—I mean I didn’t mean to impose or anything.”

Marinette took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and then gave him a genuine smile. “You didn’t. Really, Luka, I wasn’t bothered. I just, um. I got emotional about something for a moment there, but it wasn’t your fault.”

Luka nodded. “Something about bad dating karma?” he guessed, voice so gentle it made her ache.

“More or less.” Marinette tried to smile.

“Well,” Luka sighed, finishing the second sleeve. “Honestly I haven’t been too lucky in that department myself. I was hoping tonight would change that, but...maybe...maybe it isn’t the best time after all.”

“What?” Marinette cried, staring at him. “Why? Luka, you seemed like you liked this girl so much, and you’re all dressed up.” She stepped to him and adjusted the set of his collar without thinking. “You look so good, it’ll be great. She won’t be able to resist you. Believe me, I know it’s scary to put yourself out there, but won’t you regret it if you don’t?” I do .

Luka caught her wrists gently. “Yeah, I really think I would.” He grinned. “Now I just need to ask her.”

Marinette blinked up at him. “You didn’t ask her?” she asked, bewildered. “Isn’t it going to be kind of short notice?” She frowned. “You said you had a date tonight.”

Luka dipped his head in a kinda-sorta motion. “I said I was supposed to have a date tonight,” he chuckled. “And I would have—or at least I hope so—if I’d asked you out two days ago when I planned. But then I got home from work and of course I was sweaty and gross and then my shower wouldn’t work, and I couldn’t talk to you while I was disgusting. Not when you’re always so pretty and neat and put together.”

Marinette’s cheeks flushed.

“And then Pierre didn’t show and he didn’t show and he didn’t show,” Luka rolled his eyes. “And if I didn’t ask you out today, I’d owe my buddy that runs the cat rescue my favorite signed Jagged Stone album. He’s been bugging me about asking you out for like a month.” He grinned. “Ever since you brought me the cat food? He could see how much I liked you and he decided then and there we were meant to be, and somehow I let him talk me into this stupid—bet or dare or whatever, that if I didn’t man up by today...well. I would’ve asked you anyway one way or another.”

Marinette’s mouth dropped open, and she was sure her face must be on fire.

“So, now that I’m presentable,” Luka grinned slowly. “Will you go out to dinner with me tonight? I heard about this really good Indian place. Maybe afterwards we could grab dessert and take a walk in the park? I’d really like to get to know you better.”

Marinette gasped, and then her lips pursed into a pout. Luka laughed. “You’re mean,” she told him, kicking his shin lightly.

Luka’s shoulders hunched a little, and he looked guilty. “I didn’t mean to be. I’m sorry for teasing.” He blushed. “I guess I was nerving myself up a bit, telling you how much I liked you without you knowing, but I didn’t think about how it would come across. I didn’t mean to upset you. No pressure, okay?” He slid his hands from her wrists to her hands and lowered them between them. “If you don’t want to, no hard feelings. Just, like you said. I’d regret it if I didn’t try.”

“But—” Marinette let go of his hands as her own flew to her hair. “I’m not dressed for a date!”

Luka chuckled. “You look gorgeous to me. But I can wait if you want to change.”

Marinette reddened. “I—w-well, I mean...I mean I guess we could—” Luka laid a finger on her lips.

“Breathe,” he told her, clearly trying not to laugh. “You’re really cute, you know that?”

That didn’t help her efforts to calm down, but she did manage to breathe, despite the very distracting slide of his finger as it left her lips. “Fine,” she said finally. “But you better be prepared because I’m going all out for our second date.”

Luka’s grin went wide and bright and more than a little silly. “I can’t wait.”

ETA: Okay, yes, I know this was a bit mean for Marinette. I did actually really waffle about it while I was writing it and I almost scrapped it a couple times, but the whole point of the timer is to keep me on task and stop the second guessing and overthinking that was sabotaging me, so I ran with it. I did ultimately decide to keep it because really, they haven't had a chance to really talk or anything here, and so Luka doesn't really know that Marinette's into him. He's aware there's some attraction between them, but he doesn't know how hard she's crushing. So really, he's just a bit insecure himself and psyching himself up a bit for The Moment. So I justify it to myself anyway. As soon as he's able to actually take in her mood he's aware he's messed up. If you can't forgive him, that's okay. Mari will get him back later.

Fiction Master Post

#quickspins #neighborly #i'll never not know you #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #ml fics #pro lukamari

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Associates - Part 4 - ao3, pt 1, pt 2, pt 3

There was a loud bird outside Lan Xichen’s window.

This was primarily notable because Lan Xichen’s window was currently set with an array designed to support his seclusion, designed to block out the noises of the outside world. As a result, the bird in question must have deliberately broken through several high-level arrays set down by Lan Wangji’s ancestors in order to make a racket outside his window.

It also didn’t sound much like a bird.

Lan Xichen was staring at his wall as the bird shifted from tweeting sounds to whistling to, eventually, a tired-sounding voice mournfully saying, “Tweet. Tweet. Shit. Tweet.”

Lan Xichen was not laughing.

He was in seclusion. It was one of the most sacred rituals of his sect – one of the most serious, the most respected. His own father…

No, he couldn’t even finish that thought.

With a resigned sigh, Lan Xichen stood up and went to the window, where the ‘bird’ had taken to mumbling curses more than anything else.

He opened it a very small crack.

“Nie Huaisang,” he said. “Go away.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the ‘bird’ said. “I’m a bird.”

Lan Xichen was not laughing.

Nie Huaisang had ruined his life. He was not – it wasn’t –

Okay, it was a little funny.

(Lan Xichen had always had an excessive sense of humor, finding all sorts of things funny. His uncle had been mystified by it, telling him that it would eventually get him into trouble, and in the end, he’d been right, hadn’t he?)

“Very eloquent for a bird,” he remarked, and did not smile when Nie Huaisang cursed, although it was a close thing. “You can go away now.”

“Listen,” Nie Huaisang said. “I don’t need you to forgive me or anything, but you cannot miss Lan Wangji’s wedding.”

Lan Xichen had been reaching for the windowsill, but his fingers stopped in mid-air.

Lan Wangji’s…wedding.

He’d thought – he’d assumed –

“I know, I would have thought they’d be long since married! They were being idiots and pining from a distance, apparently,” Nie Huaisang said, correctly reading Lan Xichen’s thoughts. “They’re finally getting around to it, though, and if you’re not there, Lan Zhan will bite me.”

Lan Xichen pressed his lips together.

“He will. Don’t you remember what a bite-y little brat he was as a child?” A mournful sigh. “He’s gotten back in the habit, it seems. Whether through letters to others or even in person, if you want to judge by the state of Wei-xiong’s neck…”

Lan Xichen involuntarily snorted.

“Anyway, the main point I’m making is: they’re getting married. It’s going to happen soon. You have to attend, or else Lan Zhan will never forgive me, and obviously that’s more important than anything else.”

There was really no need for Nie Huaisang to engaged in these sorts of dramatics, Lan Xichen thought. It wasn’t as if there was any chance of Lan Xichen underestimating him ever again.

Did that mean that, just maybe, this sort of behavior really was what Nie Huaisang was like? That the overdramatic little shithead (there was really no other way to put it) that Lan Xichen had liked so much over the years was still there – that it hadn’t all been a lie, the way Jin Guangyao’s façade of kindness and compassion had been?

“Well? Can I confirm that you’re coming?”

“I’m in seclusion, Nie Huaisang,” Lan Xichen said, and he felt tired all of a sudden. Seclusion, and Nie Huaisang knew why. What he’d done…

“Uh, no you’re not. Not sure if you’ve noticed, but you’re talking to me, aren’t you? Seclusion broken. Problem solved!”

Some cruel god or goddess must have been behind making Nie Huaisang so funny, and Lan Xichen so susceptible to exactly that type of humor.

“That’s not how that works and you know it.”

There was a moment of silence.

Lan Xichen thought to himself that if Nie Huaisang said ‘I don’t know’ in response to that, he really would break seclusion but it would be for the sole purpose of hitting him, and then he’d never agree to see him again in this life.

Luckily, that was not what Nie Huaisang chose to say.

“Listen,” he said, and his tone was no longer exaggerated or emotional but simple and straightforward – the Nie sect way of things, as Lan Xichen was abruptly and painfully reminded. Nie Mingjue had been like that, too. “I’m not expecting any miracles here. I don’t see this as a way to make up with you or get your forgiveness; I don’t think that you’ll suddenly feel better once you’ve come out of seclusion or that you’ll see the light and stop being upset all at once. All I’m saying is…this is your brother. This is the rest of his life, his lifetime happiness, his marriage. Are you really going to pick yourself over him for this, too?”

Lan Xichen had to put his hand on the wall to stop himself from staggering. Whoever thought that Nie Huaisang didn’t know how to stab a man had only ever seen him on the practice field, he thought; they had never seen him in conversation, where his words were sharper and more accurate than any saber.

He wasn’t – he didn’t mean to be selfish, to be picking himself. He didn’t want to do to Lan Wangji what his father had done to their uncle, trapping him in the Cloud Recesses and a million obligations he’d never wanted, even though Lan Wangji was coming to the work far older than either Lan Xichen or Lan Qiren had done.

On the contrary, he had retreated because he knew he could not trust himself. If his judgment was so bad that he had permitted – not only permitted, but in his willful blindness all but endorsed – so many of Jin Guangyao’s vile actions…if he had then turned his hand so quickly against Jin Guangyao once he had learned the truth…Lan Xichen had demonstrated that he lacked either principles of honor or of friendship, and given all that, how could he trust his judgment going forward? Wouldn’t it be better for all of them if he just wasn’t there -?

“If you’re really all that set on mourning san-ge, I’m not going to stop you,” Nie Huaisang said. “But I’m asking you to reconsider, for Lan Zhan’s sake.”

Lan Xichen froze. “You think I’m in here mourning?”

“Why else?” Nie Huaisang’s voice was still ruthlessly practical. His brother’s voice, and as much as he had loved Nie Mingjue in life, suddenly Lan Xichen hated hearing it from Nie Huaisang’s mouth. “You picked him over the rest of us a million times over when he was alive; what’s this seclusion of yours anything other than picking him over us again?”

Lan Xichen didn’t even realize what he intended to do until he was already moving: going away from the window and to the door, opening it and stepping outside – breaking seclusion in truth, the way a few words through a window were insufficient to do – and walking around over to where Nie Huaisang was sitting with his back against the hanshi wall.

“How dare you,” he said, and Nie Huaisang looked up at him, startled. “That’s not it at all.”

Nie Huaisang wasn’t playing with a fan, for once, and looking down at him, sitting there in the dirt and mud in his sect leader’s clothes, Lan Xichen thought he looked small.

Not – pathetic, the way that he’d come to secretly think of him in his heart of hearts these past few years. Just small.

Young. Tired.

Like the lost little boy he’d been when he’d first come to the Cloud Recesses, all those years ago; the one who had inadvertently gotten Lan Wangji to return to himself after their mother’s death, all unknowing – Nie Huaisang hadn’t ever realized that Lan Wangji hadn’t merely been quiet back then but truly mute, nor that the first word he had said since the announcement of the death of their mother over two years before had been a long-suffering “Please” in response to Nie Huaisang’s childish demand that Lan Wangji mind his manners when asking him to pass the salt. By the time Nie Huaisang had been there a month, Lan Wangji had bitten three children and four adults for having said something rude about his new friend, rather than standing there staring at them vacantly the way he had in the past, and Lan Xichen thought he’d never seen his uncle happier about a violation of the rules.

Nie Huaisang looked like the boy who’d nearly paced a hole into the floor during the war, worrying about his brother and pestering Lan Xichen about Lan Wangji very nearly as much, if not more – his brother he’d worried about in an abstract way, in his not-so-secret belief that Nie Mingjue was truly immortal, but Lan Wangji was ‘just a kid’, in his words, as if he himself weren’t a year younger.

He looked like the boy whose heart had shattered into a thousand pieces upon the realization that his brother – the immortal, the all-powerful – was really gone.

“I killed him,” Lan Xichen said, staring down at Nie Huaisang. “Don’t you understand? I killed him.”

“I know,” Nie Huaisang said, the opposite of all his ‘I don’t know’s over the years. “I was there, remember? In the temple – I saw you do it, it was my fault, I instigated –”

“Not Jin Guangyao,” Lan Xichen said. “Nie Mingjue.”

Nie Huaisang fell silent.

“I had them for about the same amount of time, you know,” Lan Xichen said. “Nearly two decades: Mingjue-xiong throughout my childhood, and A-Yao my adulthood, and I killed them both. How can I live with that?”

“I don’t know,” Nie Huaisang said, and his voice was bitter. “For once, for real, I really don’t know. But it’s been over a year. Surely you’ve had time to figure some of that out?”

Lan Xichen hadn’t realized that it had been so longer. It had been forever in there, and also no time at all.

“Do you know,” Nie Huaisang said abruptly, “that right after it all happened, Wei Wuxian said to me ‘don’t associate with evil’?”

Lan Xichen blinked, and then he processed it and stared. “Wei Wuxian said that to you? Wei Wuxian?”

And Wangji accepted it? He wanted to ask. Did Lan Wangji agree with him – did he think that you were too far gone to be saved, that it wasn’t worth associating with you any longer? Your crimes were all in pursuit of justice, and mine done blindly, and yet if he can’t bring himself to forgive you, what hope do I have?

“Lan Zhan has been helping me fend off challenges to my position,” Nie Huaisang said. “And Wei Wuxian apologized for what he said, eventually. He said that he trusted Lan Zhan’s judgment, and if he didn’t think of me as evil, then as far as he was concerned, I wasn’t.”

That seemed like a fairly good standard to use, actually.

“Lan Zhan doesn’t think you’re evil, either,” Nie Huaisang said, and pulled his knees up to his chest. “Even if you don’t trust yourself, why not trust him?”

“…is that what you did?” Lan Xichen asked, and his throat felt sore. All that speaking for the first time in months was wearing on him.

“Yes,” Nie Huaisang said plainly. “After everything I did to avenge da-ge, I’d started to think of myself as willing to do anything, heedless of the collateral damage, another person just like san-ge – a smile to your face and a knife to your back. I still think that, sometimes. But every time I do, I just remind myself that that’s not the sort of person Lan Wangji, Hanguang-jun, would be friends with, and that means it can’t be me. You see?”

Lan Xichen did.

He did see.

He reached up and wiped at his eyes with his sleeve – his eyes had started flowing with tears at some point, he wasn’t sure when. “I’ll come out,” he whispered. “I’ll go to the wedding. I’ll help with – with everything, even if it will take me time. I promise.”

“Good,” Nie Huaisang said, and suddenly smiled up at him, bright and cheerful as a bird once more. “Because I’m serious, you have no idea, he will bite us both –”

Lan Xichen felt a laugh bubbling in his chest and thought that, with time, that he might even be able to let it out.

#mdzs #nie huaisang #lan xichen #my fic #my fics #associates

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mochegato · 3 years

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Shut Up and Dance

“Gotta keep your eyes on me,” Ladybug taunted as she launched herself at Red X.

“Not a problem, Pixie,” he answered quickly, jumping just out of her reach so her fingers only grazed his sides. But, while they missed his body, they were close enough to grab his cape and yank. He yelped as he fell backwards towards her. He recovered enough at the last second to kick back, forcing her to jump away to avoid him.

“You sure? Because you’re looking around an awful lot for someone who has no problem keeping their eyes on me.” She smirked at him.

He examined his partially ripped off cape and looked back at her. If she could see his disappointed glare, he was sure she would feel at least a little guilty. “Just making sure we were alone.” He jumped to deliver a roundhouse kick that she easily dodged by leaning back into a back flip.

“Why? You embarrassed to get your ass kicked in front of others?” She gave him a fake sympathetic look.

“Naw, I’m always looking to show off my moves.”

“I can’t wait to see how you dance.” She swiped at his leg to knock him off balance. She followed up with a kick to his chest, but the kick was just short of enough force to knock him off the roof without his grappling hook.

He landed in a fighting stance. He warily eyed the ground from the skyscraper they were on, that he almost fell off of. He’d survive it, probably, but she had no way of knowing that and it would take more resources than he wanted to use. Thankfully, she hadn’t actually knocked him over. She was damn close though. If she had just moved her leg a fraction faster, she would have done it. And she could do it too. He’s been watching her… for research on his enemies... and she could definitely move faster. He suddenly cocked his head to the side. After a second he straightened up, his arms relaxed at his side. “You’re holding back.”

She furrowed her brow and jumped at him. “Shut up and dance.”

Her feet connected with his chest. The force from the impact knocked him to the side, away from the edge he had almost fallen over before. It had definitely cracked at least two ribs and breathing was already a bit harder, but he could tell she was pulling it. “Why are you holding back?”

“What makes you think I am?” she asked while throwing a punch he was able to easily deflect.

He trapped her arm between his arm and his chest. “I’ve studied you. You can fight better than this.”

“So you’ve been watching me for a while,” she smirked at him before twirling quickly to elbow him in the neck. He instantly released her. His hands flew up to his throat as he gasped for breath.

As soon as he was able to catch his breath, he faced back toward her. “I study all my… enemies.” The last word came out awkwardly.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Is that what we are?” She gave him a condescending smile and shrugged. “Maybe I don’t think you’re that much of a threat.”

Red X let out an offended scoff. “I think you’ve forgotten who the villain is here.”

“Villain,” she scoffed back. “I’ve fought megalomaniacs who tortured babies and turned them into weapons to terrorize millions of people.”

“What the fuck,” he sputtered, rising out of his fighting stance.

“So, you’ll understand how someone stealing secrets from corrupt corporations doesn’t inspire my need to cause more damage than necessary to stop you, like say killing you, even if their entire goal in life appears to be to embarrass me and my team.”

He stared at her uncertain how to react to that so he went with his default; deflect. He launched at her. He looked down as he moved. Ladybug jumped to flip over him, but he straightened up and caught her arms instead. He slammed her into the wall, pinning her hands above her head. “Don’t let the other Titans hear you being soft on me,” he said thickly.

She groaned in annoyance. “Can’t believe I fell for that.” She banged her head lightly against the wall and gave him an annoyed glare. “Bold of you to assume they haven’t heard this entire conversation, and they aren’t on their way now.”

He looked her up and down and hummed in appreciation. “Thanks for the warning. Guess we better wrap this up then. I’m leaving. You going to finally put effort into this?”

“Make no mistake, if I wasn’t holding back? You’d be splattered all over that building over there.” She nodded toward a skyscraper a few miles away. “But don’t worry. I’ll put in enough effort to impress you.”

“I’d love to see it, Cupcake. But later.” He ripped off the rest of his cape off and threw it in her face as he pushed off against her and rushed toward the edge of the building.

Did he really think she didn’t know how to get out from under fabric that had fallen on her? That was her specialty. She ripped the cape off in 1.7 seconds flat. “Does that mean we won’t be dancing, Sweetheart?” she asked as she threw her yoyo at him. The yoyo wrapped around him, pinning his arms at his sides and tying his legs together. He fell with an inelegant thud. “Shame. I was looking forward to it.” She gave him a mock pout.

“Not today, Pixie.” He worked his hands slowly up to his belt as he spoke. He angled his head to look up at her. “And you’re wrong, I’ve never tried to embarrass you.” He pushed the switch on his belt, allowing him to teleport out of her yoyo string and disappear.

Ladybug cursed under her breath. Clearly not enough effort after all. She had just started to pull her yoyo back when the rest of the Titans arrived.

“Red X?” Robin growled.

“Can teleport, so that’s good to know,” Ladybug noted with a hint of annoyance. “Note for future interactions, don’t let him touch his belt buckle.”

“Planning on interacting with him in the future, are you?” Beast Boy asked with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Ladybug narrowed her eyes at him and grabbed his discarded cape as she turned to get on the jet. “Hopefully,” she whispered just loud enough for her own ears.

<><><><><>

“Well look at that. It’s our friendly neighborhood Red Hood. Except you’re not so friendly, are you?” Ladybug observed mockingly with a pout as she landed in front of Red Hood, blocking his path forward.

“Oh, I’m more than willing to be friendly to you,” he waggled his eyebrows at her, which admittedly would have been more effective without the helmet.

She cocked her head to the side and raised an amused eyebrow at him. “And I don’t really live in this neighborhood either,” she noted casually. “And, you know, I never did ask, why do you call yourself Red Hood if you don’t have a hood?”

Red Hood made a facial expression she couldn’t see under his helmet, but his pause and cocked head let her know he was thinking about his answer. “The Joker used to call himself the Red Hood.”

Ladybug stopped and stared at him. “Why would you call yourself after the Joker?”

“Because I took it away from him. I’m planning on taking so many things away from him, but the name is just the first. It’s my name now. It doesn’t represent him anymore. When people think of Red Hood, they think of me, not him,” Red Hood announced. His voice was fragile and determined at the same time.

“Razing his legacy to the ground. Nice.” She nodded in understanding. Her eyes softened at him for a few moments before sharpening again. “But, I can’t let you do this.”

“You can’t stop me,�� Red Hood scoffed.

“That sounds like a challenge.” She cricked her neck to the side to stretch. “Something you should know about me, I am extremely competitive.”

Red Hood let out an annoyed sigh and got into a fighting position. “Something you should know about me, I don’t back down from a fight.”

“It’s only backing down if there’s already a fight. There doesn’t have to be,” she said softly, her eyes almost pleading.

“If you’re standing between me and him, there does.” His eyes had taken on a harsh edge, determined and cold.

“I can’t let you go in there. You won’t survive. I know you’re good, but there’s more going on in there than you know.”

“Oh Pixie, I have moves you haven’t even seen yet.”

Ladybug’s brow furrowed at him. “You don’t get to call me that.”

“Special name, is it?” His voice was mocking, but there was something more behind it that Ladybug couldn’t quite define.

She scowled at him and started swinging her yoyo around. “You know what, show me. Show me your moves. Show me I’m wrong.”

“Or we can do it together,” he offered. He relaxed his pose slightly to show her he was sincere. “Come on, working as partners to take out the Joker. Think of how many people it would help. Think how much better Gotham would be with him gone. And we could do it… together.”

Ladybug stared at him contemplatively for a few seconds. Red Hood’s heart started racing. She was considering it, they could work together to clean up Gotham’s streets. His hope was short-lived. It died as soon as she shook her head. “I won’t mourn the death of the Joker, but I can’t. I just… I can’t go in intending to kill.”

“Fine,” he huffed and settled back into his fight stance. “Let’s do this.”

Ladybug pursed her lips and pulled her yoyo out. She swung it around in preparation. “That’s cheating, don’t you think?” he deadpanned.

“Oh?” she raised an eyebrow at him. “You think they’re not going to use weapons?” He cocked his head to the side and stared at her. “Fiiiine,” she groaned. “Keep your eyes on me.” She made a show of reeling her yoyo back in and placing it on the half wall running around the roof. “Happy now, you big baby?”

“Ecstatic,” Red Hood nodded. He launched at her, reaching out at the same time to grab her around the midsection. She jumped over his arm, landing in a summersault. He moved to kick her in the chest, but she bent back twisting just under his leg; the advantages of fighting a significantly bigger opponent. She could dodge his kicks without much effort. It was harder for him to kick low enough to make it difficult for her to dodge.

She elbowed him from behind, catching him in his side. He grunted and elbowed her back, catching her in the back of the head; the disadvantage of fighting a significantly bigger opponent. If they were closer in size, it would have hit her shoulder instead of her head. She fell forward from the impact, but kicked back as she fell, catching the back of his knee. She turned and waited for him to stand and face her again.

“You’re holding back,” he tutted, a smirk on his lips she couldn’t see.

“You’re the one that said you had new moves,” she shrugged.

“So?”

“So, shut up and dance,” she grunted as she lunged at him. He easily sidestepped her, twisting as he moved so he was facing her back. He kicked at her, intending to send her sprawling on the ground, but she twisted at the last second and shoved his leg hard enough to set him off balance.

She kicked him in the back of the helmet hard enough to knock him off center. She jumped on his shoulders and threw herself back, twisting and squeezing as she did, bringing him down with her. She summersaulted off of him as soon as she touched ground. He jumped back up and punched before his feet landed. She braced against the hit, redirecting it, but he grabbed her hand instead and used it to twist her arm behind her. She twisted with the arm and swung her other arm wildly attempting to connect with his chin, but he grabbed it too. He wrapped both arms in front of her, trapping her against his chest. He lowered his head to whisper into her ear. “Not the kind of dancing I’d like to do with you, gotta be honest.”

She turned her head just enough to look at him. The helmet made it impossible to tell if he was teasing her or if he meant it, or if it was both. She furrowed her brow and reeled her head back to head-butt him. She braced herself for the impact, vaguely wondering how well her magic would protect her head against slamming into the helmet designed to withstand getting shot. But before she could make contact they felt a rumble below them. Red Hood let go of her to let them both brace themselves.

She stumbled over to the edge of the building so she could look over the side. She let out a surprised cry as the wall started collapsing on itself. She didn’t have time to move before the ground she was standing on followed suit, crumbling down at the loss of support. She scrambled to get above the wreckage, but couldn’t get above it. She reached for her yoyo and let out a frustrated groan as the realization that she had set it on the other side of the roof earlier set in.

Red Hood staggered toward her, but fell backward as his side of the building started to collapse too. He grabbed his grappling hook and tried to run toward where Ladybug had fallen, grabbing her yoyo as he ran, but the ground fell through under him and the grappling hook fell away somewhere. He crashed through the roof, landing two floors down with an unceremonious thump. He groaned and tried to push himself back up. He rubbed the spot where he had landed on the yoyo. That bruise was going to last for weeks.

He pocketed the yoyo and limped to the window to assess the damage. His heart stuttered at the sight. The side of the building Ladybug had been on was completely destroyed and he couldn’t see any sign of her. He moved to a different window and looked again. He felt an ice cold blast surge through his veins. The Joker’s henchmen had dragged her out of the wreckage and were dragging her to a waiting van.

“Son of a b…” Red Hood ran toward the stairs only to find them gone. “Oh, fuck you,” he grumbled. He ran back to the window and gauged the fall. He was eight stories up. He couldn’t just make that fall. He pulled out the yoyo and examined it. It was essentially a magic grappling hook, right? He threw it out and gaped when it hooked on a roof a block away. He gave an experimental tug and let out a surprised scream when it pulled him in toward the connection point and momentum allowed him to continue, sending him in an arc that lasted another half a block before he started to fall.

He quickly tugged on the yoyo again, already seeing where this was going; if he didn’t get another connection point quick he was going to hit the ground at a deadly velocity. The yoyo retracted quickly. He threw it again and vowed to never return it to Ladybug. It was a hundred times better than a grappling hook. He felt like Spiderman. He looked for the van and was finally able to spot it a few blocks ahead. It was only outpacing him by a little. At this rate, he should be able to at least keep eyes on them even if he couldn’t keep up.

He was proved right when the van pulled into a warehouse about twenty minutes later. He took a breath and sent a message to Dick, the first message he’d sent him in over five years. ‘You might want to check your little bird’s tracker. Joker’s not going to wait until you finally realize she’s gone before he starts torturing her.’ Dick might not recognize the number, but he would check. That should be enough to tell him he needed to act.

Red Hood took his guns off safety in preparation. He wound up the yoyo again and threw it at the warehouse above the window he’d chosen to crash through. He flew through the air and braced to crash through the glass. He landed on a metal walkway near Joker who was holding a rope with a barely conscious Ladybug tied up on the other end, hovering above a vat of acid.

“Oh come on. You couldn’t have given me five more minutes to get this set up? That’s the problem with you new rogues, no patience. No respect for your superiors,” the Joker chastised him.

Red Hood scoffed. “The only thing you’re superior to is Egghead and that’s only because your puns aren’t egg related.”

The Joker growled at him. “Well, Red Hood, it seems like you have a choice to make don’t you? Because if you shoot me, I drop the rope and she dies. You get closer to me, I drop the rope and she dies. The only way to save her is to grab her,” he gave him a mock sympathetic pout, “but then you don’t get to shoot me.” He shrugged emotionlessly, letting Ladybug’s rope slip down a bit as he did. “But then again, maybe you’d get the shot off. I don’t know Robin, how good is your aim?

“So,” he continued without waiting for Red Hood to answer, “what are you going to choose? Well, I say choose. It isn’t much of a choice is it? If you kill me, you not only get me dead, you get to be directly responsible for the death of one of Batman’s little birds. You get to hurt the big, bad Bat in a way nobody else can. And let’s be honest, that’s the real prize isn’t it? Hurting the Bat.”

Red Hood growled at him, but waited where he was. If they could hold out for Batman to get there, one of his little sidekicks could save her and he could get the Joker. He tightened and loosened his grip on the yoyo, trying to come up with contingency plans. He couldn’t let the Joker get away. He was right there. He was so close he could almost smell his bad breath. He couldn’t just let him get away.

The Joker suddenly groaned in frustration and hummed as if in thought. “I’m already bored of this. Time to make your decision.” He let go of the rope and backed away, a malicious look in his eyes. His mouth widened into a revolting smile as he waited for Red Hood to act. He frowned and let out a disappointed snarl when Red Hood immediately threw out the yoyo and dove for Ladybug. He caught her a few inches above the acid.

They crashed onto the metal walkway on the other side. Red Hood checked to see where the Joker was, but he had escaped during the rescue. Red Hood growled, but focused back on Ladybug and started checking her over for injuries and freeing her from the ropes. Ladybug let him check her over, focusing on staying awake. She tried to bring her hand to her head, but it dropped midway there falling on her chest instead. “Easy there, tiger. Don’t know how you managed to get a concussion in your magic suit, but I think it’s a pretty safe assumption that’s what you got. Little worried about what happens when you get out of it actually. Make sure you’re careful when you take it off.”

Ladybug stared at him intently, or as intently as she could. Finally speaking after he had removed the last of the ropes. “Why did you choose me?”

“I’ll always choose you,” he said gently. He brushed her hair out of her eyes and cupped her face. He stared into her eyes for a few seconds before looking away. “You said that to me before, you know.”

“What?” she asked hazily. She leaned into his touch more than she probably should considering he was their enemy.

“Shut up and dance,” he elaborated as he lightly traced her jaw. “You said that to me once before, Pixie.”

She froze at his words, suddenly considerably more awake. There was only one person she’d said that to. The same person who called her Pixie. “Red X?” she breathed out, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the bats and police arriving on the scene.

He cocked his head to the side marginally and started backing away from her, but kept his eyes on her until the sounds were coming from the next room. He gave her a two finger salute and jumped through the window. She watched the spot frozen. It was Red X. Red X became Red Hood. Was that comforting? Or terrifying? She laid her head back down to let it rest and smiled as she closed her eyes. One thing was for certain, he was alive, which is more than she knew five minutes ago.

<><><><><>

This was exactly what Marinette needed. She could admit that, even if it meant admitting Alya was right, which she was loathe to do considering she had teamed up with Artemis and Cissie to trick Marinette into it. But feeling the rhythm of the salsa that was almost finished and the eyes of the ungodly handsome man that had asked her to dance immediately after getting to the club and the several drinks the four of them had before going out, she couldn’t deny how good it all felt.

Even the depraved jerks that had just tried to feel her up could ruin her night. She kneed one in the balls and Hot Dance Partner… she should maybe find out his name, but then again, she didn’t plan on seeing him again once they left this club… had glared the other man into running away with his tail tucked firmly between his legs.

Even after the two had disappeared, he continued to glare after them. “Hey,” she whispered. She cupped his cheek to redirect his face back to her. “Ignore them. I came here to dance. Just keep your eyes on me.”

His eyes immediately snapped to hers. He smiled at her. “My pleasure, Pixie.”

She cocked her head to the side for a second and gave him a strange look until another dancer bumped into her, knocking her out of her stupor. She gave him a hesitant smile and a nod before she started dancing with him again. She twirled away from him and grabbed his hand to twirl back into him. He guided her through a few more turns until the end of the song. He dipped her into a low dip, but her body was stiff, like she was unsure about him.

“You’re holding back,” he chuckled. She stared at him with curiosity that turned into surprise when he pulled her back up, her face close enough to feel his breath. “This is where you tell me shut up and dance,” he whispered to her.

“What?” She looked up at him wide eyed.

He smirked at her. “That’s what you usually tell me.”

Her eyes darted over his face. Her hand reached up to touch his uncovered face. Her fingers traced his cheekbones before moving lightly along his jaw. “Red X,” she whispered out. “It’s you.”

“Not anymore,” he whispered back. He cradled her face. He’d seen her out of costume from a distance before, but this was his first time seeing her civilian self out of costume up close. The first time she’d let him get this close. He really had no idea how she was going to react now that she knew who he was, so if this was the last time he’d have the opportunity, he was going to take it. He was going to relish finally being able to feel her skin free from gloves, feel how soft her skin felt, how his fingers tingled after each touch.

“Red Hood,” she said a bit more gravitas in her voice. She swiped her thumb over his lips. It was the first time she’d seen them. They were as soft as she had always imagined they would be.

He looked at her for a few seconds. “Not right now.”

“And who are you right now?”

“Jason Todd.” He took a breath before continuing. “And you’re Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. She should have figured out he knew who she was considering everything he had said so far, but she had been too caught up in seeing his face for the first time to connect those dots. “How did you know?”

“Because of your affiliation with Bruce,” he admitted. “I think I can count on one hand the number of people in his life that aren’t associated with this life in some way.”

“How did you…” She moved away from him, her expression morphing into a hurt scowl. “So this is your way to get back at him? By seducing and betraying one of his allies?”

“No, this isn’t about him. This has nothing to do with him.” She scoffed at the apparent lie. “I think this might be one of the few things in my life that has nothing to do with him,” he growled. He moved closer to her again. “This is just for me. I want you just for me.”

He rested his hands back on her hips, waiting to see how she reacted. When she didn’t pull away, he pulled her closer to him, wrapping his arms around her and keeping her close with a grip strong enough to hold her in place, but not keep her there if she didn’t want to stay. “And I promise you, if you give me a chance, I’ll never betray you.”

She shook her head unsure. “Why? If not to stick it to Bruce, why?”

“Have you really not noticed?” His voice was gentle as he searched her eyes. “I’ve been watching you since before you started working with Bruce, since the Teen Titan days. Since the first time I saw you.”

“Why? I need to know why.” She was searching his eyes almost desperately.

He sighed and lowered his forehead to hers. “Because you’re good. Because you’re kind. Because you’re strong and fierce. Because you’re brave. Because you genuinely want to help, but don’t get stuck on rigid right or wrong. Things aren’t wrong because they’re illegal. They’re wrong if they hurt people. Because you look at the big picture, but don’t forget about the details. Most heroes can’t do that. They focus on one or the other, but you keep your eye on both.”

He took her hand and brought it to his lips, slowly kissing each knuckle and looking at her from under his lashes. “Because you’re beautiful and graceful. Because your smile blinds me. Because even when I was your enemy, you still treated me with respect, you still saw me. Because that’s who you are.”

“You forgot funny.” He looked at her questioningly. “I’m funny too.” She smirked at him. “I’m hilarious.”

He grinned at her and brushed a strand of hair over her shoulder before returning his hand around her waist. “I’d really love to find out for myself.”

She looked at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You once told me you have amazing dance moves.”

“Yes?”

“So… shut up and dance,” she whispered next to his lips. He grinned and pushed down to kiss her, but she moved just out of his range. She smiled up at him and giggled. She pulled his arm back toward the music, swaying her hips to the beat as she walked. He growled lightly and pulled her back against him and moved his hips in rhythm with hers. He wrapped his arms around her to keep as much contact between them as possible as they danced.

He lowered his head to run his nose along her neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. She moaned lightly and reached up behind her to wrap her arms around his neck. He took advantage of the newly exposed skin to run his hands over her sides.

She ran her hands into his hair and he was gone. He turned her around and leaned down until his lips were a few centimeters away from hers. “May I?” His voice was husky and deep like he was barely able to stop himself but would if she asked and the sound alone was enough to cause shivers up and down her spine. She nodded and pushed up to close the gap.

Their lips slid against each other in an electric symphony. She could feel the current all the way down to her toes. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders for support when her knees suddenly weren’t strong enough to support her any longer. He wrapped an arm around her waist to hold her closer. His other hand cupped her face, his fingers wound into her hair. The symphony continued until they reluctantly pulled away, gasping for breath.

“Why don’t we move this somewhere else?” he whispered into her ear.

She shivered from the sensation of his breath against her neck and ear. She looked up at him and bit her lip shyly. She examined his eyes for a second before nodding.

Jason beamed back at her, relief and excitement pushing through. He wrapped his arm protectively around her waist as he guided her out of the club.

<><><><><>

The roses were in full bloom and their fragrance drifted across the garden with the breeze. It was almost like Marinette had planned it that way, made sure the roses bloomed in full force the day before and invited the breeze to gently blow as they gathered. And maybe she had. She did have miniature gods at her disposal. But then again, they could have done it on their own to make her day perfect. God knows she deserved it, not only for all she does for everyone around her, but for being able to deal with him. And she agreed to be with him until death. She deserved a goddamned parade in celebration of her patience and determination.

Jason smiled down at Marinette as she laughed and gushed with their best friends, a mix of Parisian and American heroes, vigilantes, and antiheroes. He ran his fingers over her back, exposed in her white, backless dress. He would never not relish the sensation of feeling her skin with his after years of only touching her with gloves on. He would never not relish the small, intimate, delicate touches after the years of punches and strikes and kicks. And while he did enjoy sparring with her, he lived for these touches, the touches only he was allowed, the touches she only wanted him to feel.

He chuckled as her friends pulled her onto the dancefloor with them. She leaned close to him and whispered, “Keep your eyes on me.”

“Nothing else I’d rather watch,” he whispered back. He gave her a chaste peck on the lips before she disappeared.

He watched her in a peaceful quiet for a few moments before he felt a pat on his shoulder. “You look happy, Jaylad. I’m happy for you.” Bruce stood next to him and watched the group dancing rather than looking in Jason’s eyes. “And… I’m proud of you, Jason.”

Jason scoffed. “Managing to get someone like her to look at me, let alone marry me is definitely deserving of praise.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed slightly but he quickly smoothed it out. “I wasn’t talking about this. You… It took a lot of strength to decide to change, to not let it consume you. You were always stronger than me like that.” A ghost of a smile passed onto his lips. “But yeah, you did good today.”

Jason turned to stare at him, unsure how to respond. He was saved from having to respond by Marinette bouncing over and collapsing into Jason and wrapping her arms around his waist. “Hey, Love. How are you doing?”

Bruce smiled at her and kissed her on the cheek. “Congratulations again to you both.” He gave them one last smile before moving back to speak with her parents.

Jason watched him walk away for a second before returning his gaze to Marinette. A bright smile made its way onto his face and he wrapped an arm around her waist. With his other hand, he traced the edge of her face with his fingers. “Did I ever tell you I knew we were bound to be together the first time I saw you?”

Marinette scoffed. “The first time you saw me you tried to throat punch me.”

Jason shrugged. “It was easy to avoid and I knew you would. I wanted to see you dodge. Watching you fight is like watching a ballet, but a much more interesting one with blood and black eyes and broken bones. And I could usually taunt you into a smirk or into getting that playful look in your eyes. It was worth the bruises.” He smiled when Marinette let out a peel of poorly concealed laughter. “You know, some of the break-ins and thefts were just so you would come to fight me.”

Marinette blinked at him. “No way.”

“Sometimes I would watch the fights you had with other rogues.”

She gave him a dubious look. “I think I’d remember seeing Red X watching us. One of us would have noticed.”

“I’d watch as a civilian and not out in the open, obviously. Couldn’t have Dick seeing me or Batman when we were in Gotham. I liked watching you, especially after the fights, after helping someone. Seeing the way you treated everyone, the way you help. You’ve always had the biggest heart I’ve ever seen.”

Marinette smiled lovingly at him. “That’s extremely creepy. You realize that, right?”

Jason barked out a laugh and pressed his forehead into her neck for a second until he stopped laughing. “Villain, remember?” He shrugged. Marinette rolled her eyes at him. “You never smiled like that with anyone else. Your eyes never lit up like that, not even with your teammates. I could see the future in your eyes. I knew then it wasn’t just me. I knew then you were my destiny.”

He stroked her cheek and she nuzzled into his touch. “Those were always my most and least hated fights. I knew you had a good heart. I liked playing with you, but I hated hurting you when one of my hits landed.” She cuddled in closer to him. “Felt even worse about it after I saw your face.” She grinned up at him and patted his cheek.

Jason gave her a smug smile. “I would sometimes do it when I knew Dick was out of town so he wouldn’t interfere because I knew he liked to and I wanted to have you all to myself.”

“I knew it!” she exclaimed and slapped his shoulder. “I knew you were doing it when Robin wasn’t around.” Jason grinned proudly. Marinette shrugged casually, but her eyes sparkled with mirth. “I thought it was because you were afraid of Robin.” Jason gasped dramatically. “We all did.”

Jason narrowed his eyes playfully. He leveled a warning finger at her. “Bullshit and slander.” Marinette laughed and hugged him closer. “I take it all back.,” he groused. “I was wrong about everything.”

“Jason,” she interrupted.

“Yeah, Pixie?”

She pulled him down for a passionate kiss. They heard a round of cat calls rise up around them and decidedly ignored them. “Shut up and dance with me,” she whispered against his lips.

He grinned down at her. “Whatever you want, wife.”

@jasonette-july-event @maribatserver

#maribat #Jasonette #Jasonette July #Jasonette July 2021 #prompt - Pixie

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creativeashproductions · 4 years

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Suddenly Stuck With You // Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Twenty-one years ago Owen Patrick Joyner was born into a life with a bright future and career bringing him two best friends. His best friends Charlie and Jeremy drag the blonde actor to Vegas to celebrate his first legal drink in America. What was supposed to be a weekend for the boys quickly changed all because a certain Canadian met a girl and drank a ton. Now they have to deal with the consequences of their actions.

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, allusion to sex, heartbreak, angst and fluff

Words: 7.1k

A/N: Originally this was going to be a mini series but I can’t be bothered to stretch out this idea. I’m sorry, I just feel like this is shit already and I haven’t felt that happy with my writing lately.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist

Fox and Hound Pub, Las Vegas July 2021

“Happy birthday man!” The voice of his castmate, work roommate and best friend announced.

Owen’s eyes found Charlie’s glittering viridescent eyes meeting Owen’s bright blue.

“Why did we have to celebrate my twenty-first in Las Vegas, Charlie?” Owen questioned with one hand, cupped around his first legal drink in America.

Owen had had his fair share of beers in his life both in America and his visits in Germany after he turned sixteen. Charlie and Jeremy had been the ones to drag the actor to Vegas to celebrate. Owen didn’t see the significance of celebrating in a different state than Los Angeles.

“C’mon! You’re twenty-one!” Charlie exclaimed pushing a beer across the table in the bar they had found. Relatively lowkey the boys hadn’t been stopped for pictures by JATP fans thankfully.

Owen nabbed the mug from Charlie’s calloused hand to take a swig of the drink to Charlie’s delight with a sigh. The tall actor scanning the moderately filled bar, the world was coming back to terms after the pandemic officially ended.

“There you go!” The Canadian adventurer spoke nodding his head to the live music a local band was playing.

Owen’s eyes found someone he recognized from a show on the History Channel his dad was incredibly into for several years. Two men sat in a booth next to the bar with food in front of them with the dark-haired one wearing a shirt with a logo. It was hard to make out, but he believed it was for a famous pawn shop in Vegas.

“Drink up. I got the tab tonight.” Charlie informed his distracted best friend, “This is gonna be an incredible year. Shooting for season two with the gang back together.”

“Hey, sorry about that. Care and I had a scheduled live on Insta to do. Happy birthday, man.” Jeremy sat in the booth next to Charlie, still living on the high of seeing his wife.

“This is gonna be a trip to remember,” Charlie announced tapping mugs with his two fellow castmates and best friends.

Oh, how right Charlie was.

Your best friend lifted the wineglass to her red lips with a mischievous look in her eye that concerned you as usual. Cherry, nicknamed for her fierce love of cherries, had a wild streak that had mellowed after graduating college last year. Cherry had invited you to stay with her for a month to recover from a devastating loss. The offer hadn’t entirely left her lips before you bought a plane ticket from Heathrow Airport in England to Las Vegas.

You had met Cherry in your teens through an exchange program set up between your schools a few years back. Even since you two met at sixteen, you had been best friends and unable to get rid of the other.

“Why are we here?” You asked, tapping a manicured nail freshly done at a spa courtesy of Cherry. Of course Cherry chose a shade of red as per usual while you had chosen a traditional white tip French Manicure.

“I know the breakup was tough, but you need to let loose.” Cherry’s hand reached over to squeeze yours. The sympathetic smile irritating you for god knows what number of time it was.

Averting your eyes, you found yourself scanning the pub with barely any attention but you wanted to escape the warm amber brown of your friend. You loved Cherry, but you wanted to mourn the loss of your relationship within your own time and way.

“I need another drink!” You called over the loud music before pushing away from the table to head to the bar.

Ordering your favourite drink, you leaned against the dark wood with your arms crossed and a faraway gaze. Unaware of the man waiting next to you for his own drink.

“Hey!” The male spoke, bringing your attention to his soft hazel gaze.

Your e/c eyes finding the man speaking with a kind and absolutely breathtaking smile framed by the scruff his face sported. Facial hair sometimes turned you off if it wasn’t worn styled for the individual. This guy, however, pulled it off with the brunette moustache matching the medium-length head of hair.

“Hi.” You softly replied gracefully grabbing the drink when the barkeep set it down before hustling down the counter to another customer, “Am I in your way?”

“No. I already got my drink. You looked lost, and I saw the bartender coming. I didn’t want anyone slipping you something.”

“Thank you…”

“Charlie.” The man spoke, holding out his hand to you with his smile still on his cheerful expression. Your hand slid into his warm grip.

“Y/N.”

You and Charlie retreated to an empty table deep in conversation with such ease it felt like you had known each other for years. You learnt he was living in LA, but originally from Canada, a province called New Brunswick.

Charlie was enthralled as you told him how you had been born and raised in America for the first ten years of your life. After age ten, you moved to England for your mom’s job offer and settled in your father’s childhood hometown; he was originally from England but met your mother on vacation in California.

While you conversed, Cherry found you entirely focused on the male with an expression she hadn’t seen in ages. Her eyes floated by to you periodically for your safety until you sent her a text.

You: Sorry, I ditched you. I got caught up talking with Charlie.

Cherry sent a response back before paying your tabs and heading to her apartment a few blocks away from Fox and Hound Pub. Her heart was excited for how the night would pan out because the sexual tension could be felt across the duo’s room. She was confident you wouldn’t make any stupid decisions.

Oh, how wrong she was.

A hiss preceded the deep groan as a group of construction workers pounded away in your skull painfully. The back of your eyelids painted red from the sunlight pouring into the room from the open blinds.

Scrubbing one hand over your eyes, you slowly sat up with a satisfying stretch after a well-rested sleep. The cool air from the air conditioner raising goosebumps on your bare skin…wait a minute bare skin? The slightest sound of the sheet rustling together, freezing you in place. Firstly, you glanced down at your bare chest before sliding your eyes over to the left of the bed.

Eyes equally large the man from last night, Charlie, cried out when he sat up too quickly. The sheets pooled around his bare waist.

“Okay. Definitely didn’t wake up in my own bed.” You muttered leaning over to find your abandoned shirt on the floor.

Pulling it on despite the stare from Charlie’s hazel eyes, you scoured the room for the rest of your clothes. The room was silent as Charlie slid on his clothing like you did before you stood covered up in the hotel room.

“So, obviously, we slept together. Do you remember if we used-“Charlie started to ask. Your mouth opening to end his sentence.

“I’m on the pill. We used a condom.” You informed him equally as relieved you hadn’t made a stupid decision, “Thankfully even fully sloshed we used protection. We didn’t make a stupid decision.”

At least you hooked up with a really nice guy instead of a scummy guy only in it for his own pleasure and disregarding yours. Vague memories from the night in the sheets swayed you into believing the charming man was more of a giver than a receiver.

Charlie’s mouth opened he felt a new weight barely discernable, but he felt it, “Uh…guess again.”

Eyes furrowing you found the ring on his finger with shame, “Oh my god, you’re married?!”

Holy shit, you slept with a married man. You’re a homewrecker you thought to yourself getting further worked up. What if this guy had kids. Not noticing your feet had started pacing the room.

“I wasn’t yesterday morning.” Charlie faltered keeping his eyes on the cheap ring he definitely hadn’t been wearing yesterday. His eyes moving to look at the matching wedding band on your left hand, bringing you attention to it as well.

“Well, fuck.” The deep sigh guiding awareness from the male to the weary posture that came with the heartbreak.

When Cherry invited you to visit and take solace in your best friend, you never expected to wake up from a one night stand turned more. Tears built with the embarrassment of crying in front of his stranger that hadn’t asked for a morning with a hangover and a new wife.

“Whoa! Hey, we can get it annulled.” Charlie stuttered rushing over to draw you into his strong arms with such gentle care it melted your heart. The leftovers that hadn’t shattered to your toes from the failed relationship you escaped the UK for.

“This is a mess.” You sighed birthing an unintentional word vomit, “I left the UK to visit my best friend, Cherry. She brought me to the bar to cheer me up and instead of attempting the ‘to get over someone you have to get under someone’ I fuck that up as well. I get married.”

Charlie’s hazel gaze widened at the revelation, “You broke up with someone?”

“More cliché. He’s a rich frat boy in his fifth year of college, he’s brilliant but chose to stay for the frat house. He got a girl pregnant, and now he’s in a forced engagement.” The smile you hoped was strong came out wobbling, “Then he asked me to be his ‘official’ real relationship. An embellished way of being the secret girlfriend/mistress.”

Charlie winced, leaning back to stare down, “How long ago was this?”

“Around seven months? I kept it quiet for a while. No one knew until last month. I’ve gotten a lot of pity even if I’m over him but not the betrayal.” Charlie whistled lowly with a nod and a particular look in his eyes.

“This is gonna come out of the left-field entirely, but what if we check out the laws on Vegas weddings? See if we fit the annulment or if we need a divorce? If we need a divorce, we can play it out to make his regret his decision and get everyone off your back?”

The refusal just about dropped from your tongue before something changed, “Let’s do it.”

As Charlie quickly get ready, he nabbed his phone from the charger by the bed before he slipped his hand in yours. He answered your confusion with the excuse of getting used to each other. Instead of fighting the blatant denial, you followed him to his rented car for the week to give him directions to Cherry’s apartment.

“So, what’s our story?” You asked the man, “We don’t know each other that well.”

“My full name is Charlie Jeffrey Gillespie. I’m Canadian but living in Los Angeles for work, I’m here for my best friend Owen’s twenty-first birthday with our other best friend, Jeremy. I’m twenty-two turning twenty-three in August.” Charlie spitfire navigating the streets of Vegas with practised ease.

“You already know my full name. I’m twenty-three as of a few months prior. You already know I moved from America to England over a decade ago.” The hesitation came from telling Charlie the career you had had since you turned twenty.

The topic of jobs was evaded as you learnt about each other’s likes and dislikes in a crash course to convince Cherry. Just as Charlie started to list his siblings, his phone rang through the car’s Bluetooth.

“I’m guessing that’s the Owen you came to Vegas with?” You questioned flicking your gaze between the Caller ID and your husband. God even thinking of having a husband was incredibly odd.

“Yeah. I have to answer.” Charlie’s exuded nerves with his fingers tapping the steering wheel, “Can you play along?”

He didn’t wait for an answer before clicking the accept.

“Dude, where are you? We were supposed to get food together? I have a wicked hangover.” The voice of this Owen spoke with a tinge of annoyance you only caught with your training.

“I met Y/N.” Charlie infused his voice with the nerves and a slight change to his voice that impressed you as he stepped into a set of shoes in his chest of roles.

“Who? Is that the girl from last night? The one you had that drinking challenge with?” Owen questioned from his side of the phone settled at a table with Jeremy nursing a coffee for his hangover.

“I haven’t told anyone, but after Jeremy’s wedding, it made me feel like I was missing something? I signed up for a dating app, and with filming, I forgot about it. About six months ago, I met someone, and we’ve constantly been talking.”

“That’s why you refused the blind dates from Sav and me? Not that you wanted to focus on work.” Jeremy interjected, “You should have told us, man. We wouldn’t judge you.”

“I know that, but we all blew up after the show. I just wanted to keep this between us until we knew for sure but guys…this girl is the One.” Charlie chuckled, shaking his head at the irony of already being married to you.

“We’re happy. So, did you want to take me to Vegas so you could meet her?” Owen questioned with a pit in his stomach of Charlie’s motives not being only for him.

“I’m in the car with her. She’s sending a few emails for work and blasting music. I can hear it from the driver’s seat.” Charlie joked to the boys with the lie slipping quickly, “Hey! Y/N, sweetheart.”

“Hm?” You interject with such ease, Charlie wondered if you were an actor as well. The practised and on beat performance, “Oh! Hi, sorry. I’m Y/n, you must be Owen and Jeremy? Charlie’s talked about you guys. Congratulations on your wedding Jeremy.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Jeremy lightly laughed, shaking his head at the voice coming from Owen’s phone on speaker.

“Happy birthday Owen. I wish I could have met you in person to wish you a happy birthday, but Charlie and I tend to forget to tell each other where our trips happen! It was such a shock to see him last night.” Just as Charlie had used affected nerves, you played up the loved up role, “My best friend and I almost chose a different pub than Fox and Hound.”

Owen and Jeremy’s grins grew at the genuine care in your voice as you continued speaking before Charlie interrupted you.

“Sweetheart I think they get it!” Charlie laughed with a glittering of stars in his eyes, “It was shocking to see Y/n in Las Vegas of all the 50 states. This week has been the best. Getting to bring my best friend to Vegas for his big twenty-one and meeting the love of my life in person?”

“Charlie’s dropping me off at my best friends. You’ll have him again in an hour. I hope you have a wonderful weekend Owen.” You finished unknowingly winning them over at the care in your voice and the happiness you brought out in Charlie.

Owen ended the call with a quick goodbye, leaving the rented car quiet between the new husband and wife.

“That went better than I expected.” Charlie admitted with a soft smile on his lips only to drop at your expression, “What?”

“Our next obstacle in convincing my best friend this relationship is real.”

“I’m sure it will go-“

“She’s an extremely successful criminal prosecutor who graduated high school a year early and fast-tracked through college.”

“Well, shit,” Charlie stated, leaning back in his seat as the entire situation hit him that he had married a stranger.

Charlie may be able to fool his friends but his family? His mother to be specific would immediately know what was up. The young Canadian had always been open on one day getting married surrounded by his family and have his parents there. Dropping this bomb on his family could only go one way: terrible.

“I’m a good actor. I’m sure we can convince her. We’ll get together with her tomor-“

“Unfortunately, I’m meeting with her in a few hours.” You revealed with a sheepish smile on your pretty features. Charlie could feel his heart drop in dread and fear at how the hand given wasn’t in his favour.

The drive was quiet as dread filled the two individuals as the distance was eaten up between the car and the apartment that housed an intelligent woman. Cherry Parker had only been working at the firm for a year with a clear future as a partner within ten years. Cherry with perfect grades in high school and high percentages in college and a perfect smile. A natural at finding people’s ticks she would be near impossible to deceive.

“We could turn around. Make an excuse to be introduced through the phone.” Charlie supplied, biting his lip, “Oh my god. She’s not gonna kill me, is she?”

“No.” You swiftly told the spiralling man, “She’d kill me and frame you.”

Maybe that wasn’t the best to calm the man down as he freaked out more, “Oh my god. What are we gonna do!?”

The apartment loomed as the car came to a stop outside just as the individual wearing seafoam green peacoat stepped to the entrance. Her blunt bob of caramel brown hair and unique earrings screaming that it was Cherry.

“That’s her.” You breathed as Charlie parallel parked in between a compact car and an SUV in front. Jerry, the doorman, waved with his beaming smile that reminded you of a jolly man just as he had since you had first visited Cherry in her apartment.

Jerry mumbled towards Cherry before she turned swiftly on her black pumps notorious to her work attire. Since her first year of law school, she had gone through two pairs and adored them with her new income.

The woman rushed over as your door opened with the help of Charlie, how you didn’t notice he had turned the car off and walked to your side, appalled you. The 5’8 male was shoved to the side as Cherry tugged you into her arms with a scathing glare at Charlie.

“I don’t know who you are or how much you rocked her world, but it’s been hours. I thought you kidnapped her.” Cherry hissed at the male with her brown eyes flaring with anger that made both you and Charlie flinch.

“Whoa! We got stuck in traffic, and Charlie’s friend called.” Your hands raised in defence at the pointed glare now directed at you. The amber-brown eyes scanned your form and other than the apparent walk of shame appearance, you looked fine.

Cherry’s red lips parted for the usual questions she gave to all her friends after one-night stands. With a subtle shake of your head, Cherry tabled the questions for later before locking her eyes on the newcomer.

“Cherry Parker. And what’s the name of the guy that plastered a smile on her face?” Cherry questioned, holding out her hand to him.

“Charlie Gillespie. It’s nice to meet you.” Charlie replied with that charming smile that melted your heart. It didn’t appear to melt Cherry with the thick skin she developed first in her family and then as a lawyer.

“Likewise. Well, thank you for delivering her safe.” Cherry spoke hand, reaching for your own impatient for all the details she would demand. Her words failed when her amber gaze peered at the near-identical faces, “What did you do?”

The demand startled the two individuals before the attorney began ushering the duo in the building you had been staying at. Her red nail stabbing the golden-hued elevator surrounded by emerald green displaying a vintage colour scheme.

“Please tell me it’s not as bad as senior year?” Cherry pleaded massaging the bridge of her nose with her free hand. The other clenching her briefcase so tight the knuckles had turned bleach bone white.

“What happened senior year?” Charlie asked following the two best friends into a spacious apartment that could fit two of his in it. His hazel eyes catching the unspoken conversation between the two best friends.

“Not important.” Cherry sighed eyes, lowering to your fingers, “Of course. Vegas. You eloped. Jesus Y/N, you know how your family is.”

Catching the confusion from Charlie, you elaborated for Cherry, “My family is incredibly strict and old fashioned. Divorce isn’t accepted in my family for anything less than the most serious scenarios.”

“Drunk eloping in Vegas? Practically get prepared for silent judgemental stares from Nana and drowning disappointment.” Cherry sighed, pushing a strand of her caramel brown locks behind her ear.

“I have a plan for that. We can pretend to be married before amicably divorcing later. We can figure out the details for a reason later in future. We already started the ruse.” Charlie admitted seating himself at the island in the spacious kitchen his mother would dream of cooking in.

Charlie could already tell just how successful Cherry was with her apartment and her outfit that dripped money. Her kindness, however, set her on a different level to the people Charlie had encountered with the same dollar signs.

“Of course,” Cherry grumbled digging around for drinks. Charlie fully anticipated it to be some kind of fancy wine, but he was proven wrong.

Cherry had taken out two different kinds of beer from the fridge, along with cold mugs straight from the freezer.

“What just because I’m dolled up you think I drink strictly wine? I have that for my mother and sister when they visit.” Charlie barely caught the eyeroll at Cherry’s mention of her family as she turned to you.

“Besides, I’m my father’s daughter.” You cheered cracking open your choice into the mug with skilled ease. The foam perfectly dealt with it brought a smile to Charlie’s face.

“Okay, so this ruse. What did you do so far?”

“My friends think she and I met on a dating app seven months ago and coincidently ran into each other last night at the bar. We’ve kept it private because of my job-“

“-along with Y/N’s job.” Cherry simply spoke raising the rim of her mug to her lips, “Okay, there’s no way you’d sign up on an app after Harvey. So, I went behind your back and made one for you.”

“Then Charlie messaged me after I found out. It started off as apologizing that he chose my profile. It started a friendship that turned into a relationship.”

“We did Facetime dates before becoming exclusive, and you wanted to ensure it was something that would last longer than a fling.” Charlie inserted with a beaming grin as he felt into ease with the two girls before him.

“I think we got a story for you two. Just two rules: One, don’t go falling in love with each other and two, don’t get pregnant.” Cherry joked sitting in the barstool across from you and Charlie. Her red lips revealing white teeth, one tooth with a tiny chip out of it from high school.

The rest of the days’ Charlie was in Las Vegas he alternated between his friends and you with the odd time he invited you to dinner with them. There was such ease between Charlie and you that hadn’t be there even with your ex Harvey. Unfortunately, the time in Las Vegas dwindled down until you were dropping the boys off at the airport.

“I’ll call you when I get home.” Charlie mumbled in the earshot of his friends, “Whirlwind wedding-“

“Married.” Owen scoffed in disbelief once more having found out at dinner last night that included colourful words. Jeremy had been placed in silent shock seeing the real matching wedding bands.

“In a month, you’ll fly out to England to help me pack up the flat and then we’ll fly to see your family for your cousin’s wedding.” You finished for the man with a beaming grin that had steadily lost its fake appeal. It quite literally felt like you had known Charlie for longer than a few days.

“It was really nice meeting you. I hope Charlie can convince you to come visit my wife and me. You and Carolynn would hit it off.”

“Could I bring Bindi?” Owen joked as he tugged you into a hug as soon as Jeremy had released you. Charlie was quick to drag you back into his embrace, even adding a kiss to your forehead.

The airport speakers announced the second warning of their flight number boarding rather suddenly in which the trio frantically rushed. The feeling of your stomach dropped took you by surprise just as much as the manicured hand of Cherry.

“You okay?” Cherry asked softly sliding her hand down your arm to clutch yours in hers. It was an act of comfort you both had done throughout your friendship, whether it be uncomfortable situations or heartbreak.

“I feel like I’ve known him years instead of days. Cherry, I think I’m in danger of falling for him.” You fully admitted turning your head to meet her concerned brown orbs.

“Sweetheart, you’ve never been good at doing no feelings.” Cherry replied with a squeeze of your hand, “He feels the same. Now we need you to get to your gate since you’re ditching me.”

“As much as I would adore staying here. I need to get back to England to finish packing my flat.” You informed Cherry with a small grin as her red lips parted in a gasp at your announcement.

You had temporarily relocated back to the US at eighteen when you were recruited into the CIA, and then you were sent to England for work. It was very under the cover, and Cherry knew the basics but not the entirety of your career.

“You’re coming back!” Cherry cheered grinning at what could be the best news of the week for the lawyer. No more fumbling of time zones and long distances between phone calls leading to relying on messaging.

“I am!” You beamed right back, “I’ll move to Washington for a year and then hopefully I can be transferred to Los Angeles. As much as I love Las Vegas, it isn’t the place I want to live.”

“It would make sense to move to LA since Charlie is there. You could even use the marriage being the reason you’re moving instead.” Cherry offered with her lips turned up, yet her brown eyes didn’t glitter.

Cherry missed having you around like back in high school. Living apart sucked for the two best friends but at least you would be in the same country.

“This is insane. I still can’t believe I’m married.” You whispered, staring up at the high ceiling of the airport. You relied on your instincts to walk in the busy airport to your gate.

“I wasn’t even there.” Cherry snorted walking in complete sync until you both came to a stop at your gate. Her eyes saddened further after so many days spent together when she wasn’t working, “I’m gonna miss you.”

“Knowing my mother. She’ll be planning, and as she’ll say it, a real wedding for Charlie and I.”

Another lingering hug with the caramel brunette was the last for a while as more and more distance came between you. Metres changed to different continents within hours, and suddenly you felt more alone than ever.

The rain was drizzling in London, a welcome change to the blistering heat Vegas had given you in the days you had been there. However, the most welcome sight was the six-foot-one lean frame of your father leaning against his pride and joy. The bright metallic blue with two very wide vertical stripes up the hood of it had been a staple in your family since you were twenty.

The blue Shelby Cobra had been challenging to find, but it was worth the massive grin on Theodore Y/L/N’s face. You and your mother had joined forces with your uncles to get it for your Dad, and one of them was a mechanic that did most of the work.

“Dad!” You yelled, jumping into his arms. Dad’s grip tightened around your shoulders with his face smushed into your neck.

“Darling!” He exclaimed just as he did no matter how long it had been since you saw each other. You were closest with him from father-daughter days watching football (the European version of soccer).

“Mum at home?” You questioned as he placed the small amount of luggage in the tiny boot of the car. His e/c eyes, the ones you inherited from him, twinkled with mischief and a wink.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but there’s a surprise.” He spoke ushering you into the passenger seat on the left side of the car. It was still jarring driving on the opposite side of the road in America.

“Another one to sway me from moving to Washington?” You retorted to the tall male in the driver’s seat. At the mention of moving his smile dimmed like it did when you flew to see Cherry for a while.

As he drove down the streets, your eyes scoured his features as if it had been years instead of mere weeks. He had been in Germany for business for a week when you flew out to Las Vegas. His hair still had the dark locks with grey mixed throughout as if had been since he was in his late twenties. The laugh lines still the same as they had been previously, but the most important thing was that he was still healthy.

Ted Y/L/N had beaten a severe bout of sickness a few years ago that had taken months of recovery. It was just second nature to check him before anything else.

“How’s Cherry.”

“Living happily with her success story.” You piped up, finding it would be the perfect place to start planting Charlie’s existence. Your father glanced over slightly confused as you continued, “After Harvey, Cherry signed me up for a dating app. I hit it off with someone, and I’ve been dating them ever since.”

“A dating app.” He questioned glancing over, “Aren’t those what people use to sleep around? Nothing wrong with having sex but isn’t that what the apps are predominantly used for?”

Your lip was taken between your teeth, “Some of them are. The one that Cherry did was surprisingly more about human connection. He’s originally from Canada but moved to Los Angeles for work.”

“Hm.” Ted hummed keeping his entire focus on the road, “And are you okay with this so soon after-“

“I never acknowledged this, but I waited a few months before I told you that Harvey and I broke up. I hit it off with Charlie, and well I’ve never been so in love before.”

“I sense there’s a chapter in this new love that I’m not going to be thrilled about. Out with it.” He ordered momentarily glancing over to see you sheepishly grinning, “Are you preg-“

“I married Charlie-“

To both your father’s and your horror the sound of the Shelby’s tires screeching reached your ears. The car skidded to a stop in the middle of the street with yelps coming straight from your surprised mouth. Dad’s eyes blinking owlishly at the road.

“You’re married? To someone, I’ve never even met?” The question was croaked from the middle-aged man staring straight ahead. The car slowly moved down the road as Dad applied less pressure to the pedal.

“It was so fast, but I swear you’ll meet him. He’s flying out to help me pack, and we’ll fly out to Washington. You’ll love him.” You gushed ignoring the smart of guilt at lying to the first man that had ever truly loved you.

The father that had learnt how to do your hair and supported you in everything you did; for the first few years, he had been a stay at home dad. Your mother was the one that worked and then when you got to the right age, your father returned to work. He had taught you how to ride a bike and drive, the police didn’t need to know you were driving��years before you legally could.

“Your Nan is going to be pissed.” He snorted, shaking his head, “You’ll be throwing him to the wolves at the reunion.”

The reunion you had completely forgotten about. Shit.

A month later brought Charlie to your small half-packed flat in London and then straight to your parents’ house in the country. The country home had been in your family for years before your parents moved out of the city full time.

“Okay. So, your five-year-old cousin is adamant he be called Agent Jack because he works for James Bond. Don’t mention football, which is soccer in the US, or else World War III between your Nan and great-aunt Dottie will happen.”

“Oh! My mom loves ice hockey! She grew up playing until she was in high school!” You gasped glancing over at Charlie in the passenger seat of the car. He’d arrived two days ago ahead of schedule to get rested for the reunion.

This morning he had spent longer getting ready with his hair meticulously styled and his clothes chosen to fit the weather and the event. No matter how much you had soothed him, the nerves still flared. This wasn’t meeting your SO’s parents, this meeting his wife’s family who had no clue about him.

“Do I call your Dad, Mr. Y/L/N or Sir?” Charlie questioned as the country zipped by in the clear window of the car. His fingers tapped the beat to the JATP song ‘Now or Never’ on the black denim of his jeans.

“Go with Sir.” You replied, reaching one hand over to grasp his in your hand, “My Nan will interrogate you about where we would have kids. Aunt Dottie will ask if you got me pregnant and that’s I’ve never said anything about us.”

“I…really? They’ll ask that?” Charlie choked turning to face you entirely with a face pale as bleached bone. The wince you offered was enough for him to relax into the leather of the car.

“Their old ladies that live on gossip and personal questions. But don’t underestimate Nan if she gets plastered and demands an arm wrestle. You won’t win.”

The car rolled to a stop on the rocky drive filled with other vehicles of all colours and types. The house was the background feature of the menagerie of cars. It was a gorgeous colour your mom had spent weeks trying to find in countless shops before she saw it three hours away. Flowers were strategically placed for viewing pleasure.

“Your house is beautiful.” Charlie breathed circling the car to open your door without prompt just it had become second nature to him. His hazel eyes moved across the parcel of land your parents owned.

Before your lips could even part to respond, you were attacked in a hug by two little pairs of arms. The sandy coloured hair, one set of curls hitting past their shoulders and the other a mop on his head. You knew immediately it was your little cousin Jack and his twin JJ from the strength of the hug.

“Y/N!” The twins squealed jumping in their spots as their father, your uncle Seth, corralled them. His eyes crinkled with the grin that matched your father and other uncles. It was the signature L/N smile your family carried.

“Hey! It’s Agent Jack and-“

“Doctor JJ! I’m Jack’s doctor!” JJ clapped her small hands together, displaying her cute little dimples. Charlie’s quiet awe melted your traitor heart entirely, “Is he your boyfriend?”

The three adults’ all had a deep chuckle at her cute little scrunched nose as she saw Charlie’s hand grasp yours.

“Not exactly. You know how Dad and I are married?” Seth asked, crouching in front of his little girl. Her eyes blinked in confusion, “Y/N and Charlie are married. Y/N is his wife, and he’s Y/N’s husband.”

In his usual tornado-esque style, Jack had already taken off around the side of the house to the family gathered. JJ’s hand had slid into her father’s familiar grip.

“But Daddy you and Dad are husbands? How can they be married if she’s a girl?” JJ pouted with her green eyes twinkling in suspicion.

“Well, JJ. When two boys get married, they are husbands, if two girls get married, they are wives, but if a boy and girl get married, they become husband and wife. Or maybe depending on the genders they prefer to be called partners.” Seth told his little girl as his husband Fred rested his hand on his shoulder. While Seth was fair-haired and blue eyes, his husband Fred was the example of tall, dark and handsome with green eyes.

“Okay.” JJ simply spoke, skipping over to grab Charlie’s hand in her left and yours in her right. The little girl dragging you two in the direction her brother had disappeared around where the noise grew louder.

“Relax.” You whispered to the wide-eyed Canadian steadily becoming quieter and more nervous. As soon as you rounded the corner of the house, JJ released your hands to chase after Jack and your other cousins.

“You have a big family,” Charlie mumbled, looking over the adults and the young children set away. His eyes found your parents wrapped in each other’s arms talking with a woman confidently wearing the marks of time and wisdom, “You have your father’s smile.”

“I know.” You spoke tugging him to your parents, “Dad! Mum!”

The couple glanced over to see the man that had snuck into their family without a hint. Your father was quick to tug you in a bear hug with a resounding kiss on your forehead. Mum had yanked Charlie into a hug as well that relaxed him with the words she whispered in his ear.

“This is Charlie Gillespie. Charlie this is my mum and dad Theodore and Amelia.” You swiftly introduced the three people in your life.

It was tense for a moment before it melted away, “He’s a lot better than Harvey.”

“Ted!” Mum spoke slapping his arm, “It’s not his fault he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth-“

“-and a boob in his hand.” Dad chortled, dodging the slap from your mortified Mum. Her dark eyes wide open in shock, she really shouldn’t be surprised with your father, at how he had spoken.

Charlie’s lips parted in a strong of impish laughter bringing a grin to your little party’s faces. All the nerves from before melted from the Canadian as he found he fit in perfectly with your parents. His hand never felt yours the rest of the night, and with it, you wished you didn’t have to live with the ruse. You had fallen swiftly for the Canadian and wished this was marriage was real.

It wouldn’t be until Charlie, and you had devoured the food and two mugs of beer that the truth comes out in the upstairs bathroom. You couldn’t be sure who made the first move, but two hours upon arriving at the reunion Charlie had you pinned against the bathroom door. Lips moving against each other like you’d been made for each other.

“Mhm.” Charlie moaned, gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. The vision of seeing your bruises hips had a flutter in your stomach.

Heat rose from your stomach to your chest as your fingers slid into his once perfectly groomed hair. His lips parting yours with a warmth that washed over your entire body like the sun brushing skin after peeking behind a fluffy cloud. If Heaven was a feeling, this would be it.

Charlie’s hands slid under your shirt to rest on the warmth of your hips, a fire flared at his mere touch. He only parted from your lips at the sound of the floorboards outside the bathroom.

“Call me crazy, or the beer is making me say this. I’ve never felt this way for someone like I do for you,” Charlie whispered brushing your temple with his lips. The words created a shiver down your spine, “We have this connection and ease between us. I see you in the sunlight when I first wake up, and all I ever want to do is cuddle you close.”

“Char-“

“I know we’ve gone about this out of order, but I’d really like to be more than what we are. I want to be more than a guy making your ex regret hurting you. I want to be more than just your accidental husband. I want to do this the right way.”

“Me too.” You fully admitted, “Watching you geek out over my dad’s car with me. I want to keep seeing that. There’s something I’ve been keeping from you that I need to say before this goes further.”

“What’s wrong?” Charlie murmured cupping your cheeks in his warm hands. His hazel eyes lingered on your swollen lips that no doubt matched his own.

Your bright e/c eyes flickered between his hazel orbs with something he couldn’t quite decipher.

“If we do this, there are things I won’t be able to talk to you about when it comes to my job. It’s sensitive information, and no matter how much I trust you, I won’t be able to say anything. Charlie, the reason I’m moving to Washington is because I finished my tasks.”

Your hands moved around as you spoke to the silent Canadian just staring at you, “So what kept you in England for so long?”

“I work for the CIA. I have since I was recruited on a college campus a few years ago.” You revealed to the flabbergasted actor blinking rapidly. His mouth hung open, and his eyes widened more than you thought possible.

“So, we’re both in the business of deceit and pretending.” He grumbled, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, “I’m an actor by the way. It doesn’t matter what your job is, all I care about is trying to make this work.”

That was the moment that turned your relationship around, a year later, you had traditionally renewed your vows. Your wedding in the backyard of your parents’ house with friends and family watching as you walked down the aisle in your white wedding dress. Charlie waiting with the officiant unaware of the tiny gift of a little bean inside your belly growing.

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#charlie gillespie imagines #charlie gillespie fanfiction #charlie gillespie x reader #luke patterson imagines #jatp fanfic #charlie gillespie #charlie gillespie imagine #caitsy and ash productions

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wutroows · 4 years

Text

am i allowed (captain rex x reader)

pairing: captain rex x fem!reader (romantic), anakin x fem!reader (friendly) warnings: pining. a lot of it. rex talking bad about himself a/n: this idea came to my mind a few days ago and i thought it fit perfectly with rex, i just had to write something like this for him.

it was just a mission. a normal mission, he went on missions all the time with other jedi generals and their battalions, but as rex’s eyes finally met yours and your hand extended out to him with a kind smile on your lips, he felt a pang in his chest. your touch was so gentle, though he couldn’t feel your skin against the palm of his hand through the gloves he had on, the way you looked into his eyes said everything the touch would’ve.

this mission wasn’t going to be normal.

it was supposed to be. it was just a trip to another suffering world, meant to aid the people living their and to push the separatists out, like any other mission would be, but now you were there, giving him friendly glances and gentle touches whenever you’d put your hand on his shoulder as a form of encouragement.

“you’re doing great, rex!” you said to him once. he felt his cheeks flush, but he quickly gathered himself and said “thank you” back to you, before finally letting himself indulge in how he was feeling.

was it love? it shouldn’t be. it was forbidden for you, and even if it wasn’t, why would you want to be with a clone? a man with a million copies of himself walking around. it didn’t make sense to him, so he never thought on his feelings.

until you saved him.

it was expected for grievous to show up, his presence on the world wasn’t going unnoticed. though, he would’ve never expected for a lightsaber to be swung at him at full speed, he shut his eyes, preparing for the end.

until.

he heard a clash, “you okay, rex?” it was your voice, and somehow through the ringing he heard through his ears, your voice was loud and clear to him in his mind. “i’m.. okay.” as he opened his eyes, your (f/c) lightsaber was blocking the way of grievous’. if you hadn’t shown up in time, rex’s head would’ve come clean off of his body. he couldn’t help but shudder in disgust, but as you led grievous away, he felt his heart speed up.

you saved him. him. out of thousands of others, you saved him. he felt his face warm, but as he turned around to find anakin, he couldn’t help but spare one last glance back at you.

that was just when the feelings started.

was he allowed to look at you the way he was? to stare at you with unconditional love in his eyes, to want nothing more than to hold your hands and run his thumbs over your cheeks. was it wrong? he was just a soldier. you were a jedi. a soldier who had no future for him. he was born and bred for war. for dying. that’s what he was meant to do, to die for the republic.

but if he didn’t?

if the war ended, and you actually returned the feelings he had for you. would it be okay to look at you the way he was then?

after the mission you did with the 501st, you regularly started talking to rex. he was fun to be around, he was kind, and intelligent. and you loved the way he’d awkwardly scratch the back of his neck when he didn’t know what to say, and the way his face would flush whenever he was embarrassed. he was truly the cutest person you ever met, and you had planned to tell him just that.

the door to the high council meeting room slid open, and you nudged your shoulder against anakin’s. “excited to go on another mission with me, ani?” you teased, and you watched him as he rolled his eyes. “sure, as long as you don’t mess it up again.” you gasped, smacking his arm playfully, “hey! i didn’t mess it up, that was.. totally intentional.” you said, “i’m not even going on this mission for you, i’m going for your boys! i missed them!”

“all of them?” anakin chided, and you nodded. “all of em.” he raised an eyebrow, as if he didn’t believe you. you pursed your lips as you stared at him, “what’s that look for?” you could hear him laugh under his breath, until he stopped in his tracks. “everyone can see how close you and rex are. just say you’re in it for him and move on.” anakin said, and you felt your eyes widen. “see!” he pointed out, “shut up, skywalker. i love all of them, not just rex.”

“you love him! ha, he’s gonna love hearing that.”

“what?”

“oh— nothing. listen, i gotta go,” he pointed his thumb down the hallway that turned to the left, and you rolled your eyes, “i’m being completely serious!” anakin exclaimed, “yeah whatever, just go!” he turned on his heel with a mock salute towards you and ran off in the direction of the barracks.

‘he’s gonna love hearing that’

hearing what?

sighing softly, you stopped. this would not be a normal mission.

—

it wasn’t a normal mission. it never was with the 501st, the plan usually always went wrong with them and anakin or rex would make something up on the spot, and that’s exactly what had happened. the gunship shook at it lifted off the ground of the planet you were just fighting on. losses weren’t too heavy, but as the clone troopers around you took off their helmets, you could see the sorrow in their eyes as they mourned their fallen brothers.

rex had sat across from you, and on the other side of him sat fives, talking to him about something, and then occasionally glancing up at you then back at him. you didn’t think much of it, and as the ship finally made it’s way back to the venator that had been orbiting the planet, you hopped out.

as the clones followed after you, you gave them all pats on their shoulders meant for reassurance. smiles developed on their faces, and you couldn’t help but smile back. rex stepped out of the gunship last, and your eyes met his through the helmet he wore. “hey, rex.”

“general.”

“how many times have i told you, call me y/n. we’re friends, rex.”

“okay, general.”

you rolled your eyes, but you could hear the smile in his voice from under the helmet. his hands reached up, and pulled it off of his head. he held it under his arm, and you smiled as your eyes landed on the brown ones of his you cared for so much. his eyes seemed as if they had stars in them, or the whole galaxy, even. “come with me.” you told him, and he only nodded.

you led him between troopers and fellow jedi alike, into the hallways of the venator and up to your personal barracks. the walk there was mainly silent, other than simple conversation. you had no idea if this would backfire on you or not, but if it did, your friendship with rex would go straight down the drain. the door opened, and you took a deep breath.

clad in your jedi robes, you turned around. rex had sat his helmet on a table by your bed, and his head was tilted, almost like a loth-cat you’d seen before on a planet in the other rim, called lothal. his armor was covered in scratches and bullet holes from previous battles, but somehow, no matter how many times he’d get it fixed, it would end up looking the same as it did before.

“i know this is.. probably out of the blue, but i just can’t keep this a secret from you anymore.” every ounce of confidence you had before suddenly slipped out of you as you said those words, your fingers awkwardly messing with each other in front of you. he stared at you, eyebrows furrowed. was he really that oblivious? “listen, i.. we’re pretty good friends, right? uh.. well, i just.. i really-” you stopped mid sentence, and pursed your lips.

“general, are you okay?” you heard rex’s voice say, and you could only nod, afraid that if you spoke you’d embarrass yourself further. “this is.. uh, a lot harder than i thought it was going to be. listen, rex, i just.. ithinkihavefeelingsforyou.” you blurted out, squeezing your eyes shut, preparing for rejection. when nothing came, you opened your eyes.

his mouth was opened, as if he were staring at the most beautiful thing in the galaxy. his eyes softened as he looked at you, and as he processed your words, a smile appeared across his lips. “me?” he asked, pointing a finger at himself hopelessly. “yes, rex.. you. it’s always been you.” you watched as his cheeks flushed a soft pink, contrasting against the tan of his skin.

for a moment, the two of you stood, admiring each other. you admired how the sunlight came through the window and hit him perfectly, like it always did. you admired the brown eyes you’d found yourself staring at too often, and the smile he had on his lips, as he stared back at you.

“why me?” he broke the silence.

“because you’re.. you.”

“there are millions.. of people who look like me.”

“but none of them are you.”

he went silent, and rushed forwards, scooping you up into his arms. his arms were wrapped around your waist and he lifted you off the ground a bit, squeezing you tightly. as he sat you down, you looked into his eyes.

“it’s against my code, my life.. but for you, rex.. i’d do anything.” you muttered, and as his hand came up to cup your cheek, you felt yourself melt into his touch.

you could get used to this.

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goblinkingdomsblog · 3 years

Note

Hello I hope you are doing well !! I was wondering if it okay to request the mafia universe where they meet the agent y/n have a moment but then the agent smile and go away in like we will meet again kinda way I’m sorry if it’s too much you don’t have to do it I appreciate your writing and love it thank you for your hard work 💕

They get hurt while running away from the police, but agent y/n helps them - part 1

Members: hyung line.

Genre: mafia!AU, reaction.

Premise: during a police chase, one of the mobsters ends up getting injured. Suddenly, you appear when he least expected it, willing to help him. You say you will see each other again in the future. With complete certainty: after all, you will guarantee it yourself.

TW: (V) = Violence.

Mafia Series Masterlist

Mafia Series Plot

Hii!! I hope you enjoy this post, and that it meets well your request!

I'm really happy to know that you like the things that I write! Thank youu!!! 💜❤😁

+ Sorry for the delay, I wanted to make a long version of this reaction. The part 2 is already posted!

"We'll see each other again, don't worry."

Namjoon:

The damn right leg. It was always that damn leg.

Namjoon gasped, lowering himself against the wall of the dark alley. The smell there was not at all pleasant, and the humidity certainly wouldn't leave his expensive suit unpunished, but he was too busy to care about that at the moment.

Everything happened in a flash: one hour, he was sitting comfortably on a soft leather sofa, talking to the leaders of the other two most important gangs in Seoul (maintaining good relations between partner companies was essential); on the other, he was running down the wet sidewalk, after escaping from the building through a side door. The damned police had somehow discovered the secret meeting, probably through a traitor, and had invaded the place, trying to kill three birds with one stone.

Even his security guards had stayed behind, exchanging shots with the police to give him enough time to escape. He hated having to escape, looking like a coward, but he knew it was necessary.

Another thing he hated: he couldn't run fast without dropping at least one of his weapons, or himself. It was in a fall on the wet street that he had injured his leg, the same one that had broken twice before, and that now was hurting again thanks to his shitty motor coordination. He knew he was being chased, so he got up and forced himself to run for several more blocks, until the pain became too unbearable to walk. It was at that moment that he hid in the alley, where he was until now.

Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed in the wet darkness. Without a gun, he could do nothing but watch, hoping his bad luck wasn’t that glaring that day.

When you turned into the alley with your weapon in your fists, using its wall for protection, you saw him immediately.

The mafia boss, sitting on the floor, with an empty expression.

Frowning, you checked if that was a trap and if there was someone around, but he seemed completely alone. Raising your voice, you announced your presence, and the first thing he saw was your well-equipped uniform.

- Hands up. Put them behind your head. - you said, with controlled calm.

Namjoon sighed, obeying slowly.

- I'm unarmed. You don't need to be alarmed.

- Get up and come over here. - you ordered, ignoring his words.

The mobster started to get up, but then he slid back down the wall. He tried a couple more times, until he gave up and lay motionless on the floor.

- Hurry up.

- I am unable. I think I broke my leg again. - he murmured, almost as if admitting it was a shame.

Suspicious, you didn't move forward initially. You checked the alley again, but no one was in sight. So, you decided to use a different strategy: you approached with the gun pointed at his head, after all, none of the henchmen would dare threaten the life of their leader (or at least that was what you hoped to be true).

- If you try anything "funny", I swear I'll kill you, okay? - you hissed, bending down in front of him.

The man's legs were stretched out in front of him, and the right was in an ugly position, proving that he was telling the truth. The bone must have torn the flesh, because a bloody wheel was beginning to form in his pants. It would be disgusting to anyone who was not used to brutality.

- How did you get hurt like that?

- Let's say that this specific bone is not the strongest. It is already the third incident that occurs with the poor thing. - he tried to laugh, perhaps to feel better about himself, but the pain prevented him.

You then took a deep breath. You couldn't leave the man bleeding there, even if he wasn't the best of people. It went against your values.

By slowly lowering the weapon (but keeping it within immediate reach), you began to roll up your uniform sleeves. The basic first aid classes you took when you joined the police would have to do.

- What will you do? - he asked, lost in hesitation and fear, as he noticed your approach.

- I will help you not to bleed a river. But it will really hurt, and it will be a really temporary solution. - you answered, seriously.

Without saying anything more, the man just fell silent, a thoughtful expression appearing on his face.

You put your hands firmly on his leg and, using the techniques you had learned, started to push. The pain was absurd, but he preferred to bite his lip until it bled rather than scream. Of course, being a fugitive from the police should be part of the motivation for not making too much noise.

The cracking of bones when they went back to place was hollow and dark, but at least the meat stopped being kept open. Taking a serious look at him, you noticed that the man was pale with pain, looking like he was about to pass out.

- Breathe in. The worst is over. - you replied, rummaging through your belt until you found the bandages you always carried along, in case of personal emergencies.

Carefully but firmly, you started to bandage his leg, just to stop the bleeding and keep the leg in place for as long as possible.

- Don't move too much, or you could make your situation even worse.

The man remained silent for a few minutes, just watching your serious expression and your nimble hands as you bandaged his leg. He wasn't sure about how to react, after all, that kind of situation was not quite what a mobster would expect from a police agent.

- Uh... why are you helping me?

You lifted your head, facing him directly.

- One of the most important parts of doing justice involves not letting anyone bleed to death. And even if your wound is not that deadly, I believe that waiting for a long time in a wet alley is not the most ideal healing scenario. - letting go and wiping your hands on the leftover gauze, you took your gun out of your belt and stood up - I'll give you the advantage of not immediately telling them where you are. But hope your henchmen find you fast.

He watched you walk away, going back cautiously to the exit of the alley.

- But... I... - unable to formulate a coherent sentence and not wanting to look like an idiot, Namjoon just gave up asking questions - I suppose that's what it means to be on the good side. Thank you anyway.

Surprisingly, you turned around one last time. The smile that shone on your face exposing all your teeth and lifting the corners of your mouth, giving you an air of extreme cleverness, took away the little breath that was left to Namjoon.

- Oh, but you don't need thank me now, because we will meet again. And next time, I'm not going to be that good. - clicking your tongue, you took a step towards the darkness - You better be well prepared.

So, you're gone, leaving him alone in the alley until the moment he would be found by the other gang members (which took a little longer than it should have).

Seokjin:

Shit!

That whole day was being terrible. First, Jin had started by clashing with members of a rival gang. Then the police arrived, shooting anyone they saw ahead. It was in the middle of so many fights that he ended up being shot in the palm of his hand, and his dominant hand!

Pressing his hand against his now-stained shirt chest, he continued walking through the seemingly empty industrial quarter, unsure of how to hold his revolver straight.

Everything should have been a simple negotiation, but things got off track too quickly.

His palm had already bled so badly that the entire front of his shirt was red. In addition, he could no longer move his fingers, which was a really bad signal. Containing a sob, he let a few tears roll down his face.

He was concerned with his own hand, but his biggest concern was if it would lose its usefulness forever. How would he be a hacker after that, without being able to type?

It was at that moment that you found him wandering alone and desperate. You had been looking for the fugitives in the more distant streets, to make sure they didn't get far. However, when you found the boy crying, a part of the adrenaline that dominated your mind dissipated. He barely held a gun, after all.

With patience, you announced your presence. When he saw you, he threw his head back in mourning, as if he were indignant at the heavens.

- I can't handle it right now! - he whimpered.

Rolling your eyes, you approached, your gun in hand.

- Don't worry, I won't shoot if you don't do anything stupid.

Eyes widening, he pulled his hand away from the body, in a strangled cry.

- How would I do it if there's a hole in my hand?!

Even a few feet away, the fact that it was possible to see through his hand was disturbing. The bullet had gone in and out, leaving a hole with color of blood, bones and nerves showing. Yes, the boy's despair was justified. You just kept calm because you've seen a lot of complicated situations like that before.

- You have to stop the bleeding!

- How am I going to do this with one hand?! - the silent tears continued to run down his face.

Sighing, you finally approached, scaring him by holding his hand.

- What is this?!

- A basic aid, considering that the nearest hospital is two kilometers from here. - you replied simply, taking improvised bandages from inside the jacket of your uniform.

There was not much to do about that hand other than to stop the bleeding. Avoiding looking at his blood-soaked shirt (which was not a pleasant sight at all), you began to wrap the wound with the fabric, covering the hole and tightening the bandage tightly.

He let out a sob of pain, but he didn't back down, knowing he needed to put up with it.

- Take good care of this wound.

He wiped his wet face with his healthy hand, sniffling.

- I don't even know if I'll have a hand after this! - the reaction would be comical if it weren't tragic. The panic in his voice was real.

So, you closed your expression, getting completely serious.

- You will take care of your hand and you will stop being pessimistic. It'll be there the next time we meet. - so, you gave a smile of certainty, small but absolute.

Then, moving away, you raised your weapon again, passing by him.

It took a few seconds for Seokjin to understand what you had said. The pain left him with slow thinking.

- Hey, next time?! - he exclaimed, turning in your direction.

Unfortunately, you were too far away to be stopped. He watched you leave for a much longer time than the expected.

Yoongi:

He was no longer able to walk, so he didn't force himself anymore. It didn't matter that he was inside the same building that the police were still in: he just couldn't get away anymore.

Limping painfully for a few more steps, he sat down in the narrow hall, resting his back against one of the walls. He and his two customers had been caught during the delivery of a shipment of heroin, and one of the damned customers had stabbed him to have time to escape. Literally.

With a small knife stuck in his thigh, Yoongi was actually slower than the others, easier to be captured. He was just lucky to be in the company of his most trusted friends, who came into conflict with the police just so he could run. He was worried about them now, of course, and he couldn't even repay their sacrifice and really escape. The pain was so much, and the blood on his clothes was so much, that his veins seemed to be filled with acid, which caused a burning sensation in his entire body.

Closing his mouth to try to hold his breath and feeling the sweat on his forehead, he leaned his head against the wall, looking at the ceiling for a few moments. The knife was still stuck in his leg and needed to be pulled out. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and counted to three. Then, lifting his trembling hands, he put them on the handle of the knife. That gesture alone was enough to make more cold sweat run down the back of his neck.

Then, as he prepared to pull the knife out, you appeared at the end of the hall. Wide-eyed, you observed the injured man and what he intended to do.

- Wait! Don't pull it! - you exclaimed, startling him.

I mean, Yoongi got scared, but the only thing he did was to turn his head slowly towards you, without really expressing fear.

You turned the other way, knowing that your colleagues were close. Specifically, a colleague who hated mobsters, and who would certainly have no mercy when shooting a man who was already injured. There was even a trail of drops of blood on the carpet, which went as far as the dealer was left.

- Why not? Sometime it will have to go. - he said, in a weak voice, with the tone of someone who no longer cared.

You slowly lowered your weapon when you realized that he was not carrying any gun. Then you looked at him again, snorting when you realized that you would need to act quickly.

Too many people had been hurt that day. You needed to fix the situation. Then, running up to him, you bent down in front of the man.

- You were stabbed in your thigh, that is full of important blood vessels. In addition, you are already bleeding too much. - you said, scolding him with some anger - If you pull the knife, it can make the situation worse and cause a much worse bleeding. Even though it hurts, the knife seems to be stopping the wound.

Too impressed by how straightforward you were, he just remained silent, nodding his head to signal that he would obey. In the distance, you heard your angered colleague's voice. Then you faced the mobster again, running your hands over his shoulders.

- I'm going to get you out of here and put you in a place where you're not in the immediate sight of a gun. But I can't do anything else. You will need hospital care.

Yoongi opened his eyes wide when you started to help him up, shocked by the situation as a whole.

- Why are you doing this? - he asked, his voice low and strangled with pain.

With effort, you managed to get him upright, but you were practically carrying his full weight.

- Because I think people should go through a fair trial, and not just get shot in the head like will happen if I leave you here. - striving to walk, you started down the corridor, towards the basement of the building - And make sure that your leg does not leave a trail of blood behind us, even if you have to tighten the fabric of your pants around the wound.

Again, he obeyed without protest, containing a cry of pain as he prevented the blood from dripping on the floor. He was shaking and sweaty, and the pain he was enduring must have been scary. Still, that was better than leaving him to die.

You followed as quickly as possible to the staircase, and each step was a sacrifice for Yoongi. The black mask you were wearing, part of the uniform, prevented him from seeing your face, but your eyebrows were frown at the smell of blood and the man in agony.

When you reached the basement, you hid the man behind a tall and heavy closet. The place was small, dusty and probably untouched for months. Still, you left him on the floor, sitting.

Stretching your aching back, you searched for the bad and cheap phone you used when you went to work, for emergencies. You turned it on and handed it over to the injured man, just before standing.

- Use this to call someone who can help you. It's the most I can do for you. - you said, as soon as he held the little electronic device.

Pale but with lively eyes, Yoongi took another deep breath to be able to speak through the pain.

- Thanks. - he said simply, closing his eyes when a flash of pain passed through his body. Then, he opened his eyes again - Isn't this phone tapped? It would be pretty easy to track me, then.

With a mysterious expression, you walked away. Even though you were wearing a mask, he could see the corners of your mouth going up to form a mysterious smile.

- You will have to find it out until the next time we meet. - you replied, taking your weapon from the belt just before leaving by the same staircase you had traveled before - Do not expect me to help you again.

Hoseok:

Hoseok was crying, something he hated to do. However, getting shot in the chest was not something that happened every day, and it was okay to cry in a situation like that.

With his hands pressed to the bleeding wound, he staggered down a deserted road in the hot dry night. The road was flanked by plantations, since it was located in the countryside, and the only noises there were that of the plants moving with the wind and that of the nocturnal animals.

He was afraid of those animals, after all, he smelled of blood. Still, nothing too dangerous should be there, as farmers would exterminate any creature. Even the "creature" himself, probably, if he appeared bleeding and wanted by the police in one of the houses far from the road.

He stumbled forward, needing to lean on one of the wooden fences. The pain in his chest was so strong that he had no idea where he was running to.

Suddenly, he felt the cold muzzle of a gun at the back of his head. As he bent over the fence, he stopped paying attention to the environment, and didn't notice when you approached silently.

- Hands up! - you hissed between teeth.

With a high-pitched cry, he remained in place.

- I'm using my hands to stop the bleeding from the shot your colleague gave me in the chest! - he exclaimed, his voice exuding real pain.

Swallowing hard, you wondered if it was true, and ordered him to turn around. When he did it, weak, the front of the shirt soaked in blood was proof enough.

The man's luck was that the shot had hit the right side of his chest and not the heart. The bullet was still lodged in his chest, but the bleeding was not aggressive enough to had hit an artery. That man was very, very lucky.

- Give me your gun. - you said, forcing the man to hand over his revolver. As soon as you made sure he was unarmed, you lowered your own weapon - Let me see.

By taking the man's hands away and looking more closely at the wound hole, you were sure that no very important veins had been hit. Then you started to take off the man's coat.

- Hey, what are you doing?! Isn't it enough that you invaded our place and killed 4 people?! - he exclaimed, irritated and scared.

Hearing those words was not pleasant, but they were true. So you didn't answer, just folding the jacket efficiently and wrapping it diagonally around his body, tying it tightly on his back.

- I'm helping you, you bastard.

Arching his eyebrows, he realized you were telling the truth.

- Why? - he asked, confused.

- Because nobody else is going to die today. I'll make sure of that. - you answered seriously - Now tighten the wound again. Prevent too much blood from being lost.

The man was already pale, but when he heard of blood, he became even more so. He swallowed hard, his face still wet with tears.

- Are you sure that I will not die?

You started to smile wryly, wanting to laugh at his crybaby face. However, as you watched his expression, you realized that his panic was real. You then changed your expression, smiling without showing your teeth but confidently.

- I am sure. We will meet in the future, because I will keep you alive. - you said, walking away - Now, run to the house after this plantation behind you and ask for help. I have to go back to the mission.

He wanted to say something else, but you were already walking away. The courage you gave him through your steady smile was enough.

He had the strength to run to the nearest house and ask for help.

Maknae line here.

The images used on this post are not mine, credits to the owners!

Kisses from the Goblin Kingdom! :)

#fanfiction #writing #bts #bts mafia au #bts mafia fic #kpop imagines #kpop mafia #imagines #books and libraries #goblin king #hyung line #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #bts x reader #agent reader

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superealme · 2 years

Text

a walk in the moonlight

part 2: drawing our memories from our goodbyes

read part 1 here

Not so silent anymore. They talk animatedly of their days and nights that had passed without each other, sudden remembered memories and forgotten ones, their new favorite songs and moments of nostalgia. Favorite poems and newly picked flowers. “I swore I’d never get another pet, she was the best companion,” he reminisces sadly. “After her death, I couldn’t bear to raise another cat because of how broken it left me.” A low tug on their conjoined hand and immediately she’s crouched down by his side next to him, sympathy shining in her eyes. The effervescently smiling boy of hers was now silently weeping into his knees, mourning the loss of his beloved black cat of 12 full, precious years. Cupping his face, the girl reaches a hand out to wipe away the stray tear that had escaped and ran down his cold cheek. “Let’s not talk about these sad stories, hm?” assuring him in a soothing tone barely above a whisper. “It’s such a beautiful night, why are we talking about our painful pasts and all these stories about death?”

“I mean, it’s because you’re dead. But then you’re standing here alive and well…..I can’t remember. With the amount of universes we’ve been written into, it’s hard keeping track.” answering her as he sniffles. “Oh yeah. I forgot. Maybe the universe’s just emotionally attached to us,” she offers hopefully. He lets out a hum in agreement, but with his blocked nose it sounds like a hybrid between some kind of honk and grunt. She laughs. They walk.

Leisurely her eyes drift away from the boy that she was enamored with over to the skyscraper that had magically appeared at the forefront of the street. A car horn blares in the distance, and she feels as if she’s back in the streets of New York City.

“Jungwon, look at this. Do you remember this place?” she turns her towards him, tugging at his sleeve, eagerly awaiting for the answer she’d hoped. He stops rubbing his puffy eyes, opening them to survey the scenery that had unfurled. “This is where we used to walk together,” he realizes slowly, nodding his head as the memories flood in.

“Now you remember?”

“I remember. You flirted with me here,”

“I did?”

“Yeah, super unexpectedly.”

“No I did not, I was just expressing my affection for you!” she glowers lovingly at him, crossing her arms. They stare at each other in tender silence as the remembering of it all rushes over them like billowing ocean waves. Moments pass and they let it.

“You smelled really good that day.” He mentions dreamily. “Just like you do today,” Jungwon mumbles the final words.

She only chuckles.

“It’s weird how even in a dream, smells are so vivid.”

“Now you realize that this is all a dream?” She presses as the streetlamps suddenly dim to reveal their shadows. Jungwon remains silent in contemplation.

So much sound, so little noise.

“Then are you not real?”

“No. I am. Well, I’m not alive so maybe I’m not.” Her smile drops and she begins again dejectedly, “But I’m sad, because I can feel that I’m slowly disappearing, as if I’m slipping away into a place against time. I don’t know where I am, but I wanted to come to see you before I completely disappear. So….. I decided to visit you in your dream,” she finishes tiredly with a hint of regret in her voice.

Jungwon considers her proposition.

“Is this what it’s like for a loved one to visit you in your dreams?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been dead for very long. And I’ve never had anyone visit me in my dream when I was alive either.” She answers wistfully.

Glinting in the light of the stars.

“But I heard that once you wake up from this dream, you’d barely remember anything.” She declares at him.

Monotonous blink.

“Then what’s the point of this dream if I can’t remember anything? And plus, you’re dead.” Jungwon wails at her like a child whose balloon had run away.

“I-Jungwon. For all I know we’re both just alive and healthy and well and dreaming of each other. Anyways, remembering isn’t important,” she explains exasperatedly, patting his shoulder. “The important thing,…” she mumbles in soft hushed tones, “is that we can be together again… like this. Right now.” Her expression forms one of affection as she cups his face, holding it within her small hands and makes her lips touch his. Embracing in the silvers of moonlight, and the shivers that arise in the aftermath.

#enhypen x reader #enhypen #enhypen ff #enhypen au #enha jungwon #jungwon

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chaseatinydream · 4 years

Text

pirate king (21) || atz

“Run!” Wooyoung grabs you by the arm and yanks you out of the room, but once you’re out of the door you see a squadron of armed guards making their way towards the commotion. They see the two of you from opposite the building.

“Get them!” The man you presume to be the leader shouts and you wince.

Wooyoung curses under his breath and yanks you back down the corridor, both of your feet thundering on the floorboards. Your heart is hammering in your chest like you’re about to die, which you do think you might, actually. Adrenaline speeds through your veins, setting your limbs on fire, and the two of you round the corner only to meet the two guards from the courtyard with swords drawn.

You and Wooyoung manage to unsheathe your cutlasses just in time to block the overhead swings and your joined hands tear apart.

Dodging the point of the guard’s sword, you kick him in the center of the chest, sending him sprawling back against the balustrade. He manages to knock your cutlass from your hands, sending it tumbling over the railing onto the ground below, but you don’t have the time to mourn its loss. You take the opportunity to side stamp his knee, immobilizing him with a broken leg and turn back to look at Wooyoung.

To your horror, he’s struggling with his guard, a massively built man with bulging muscles. The guard has Wooyoung pinned against the wall, and all the gunner can do is to keep the point of the sword from piercing his neck, arms trembling from the strain.

You don’t have time to think.

Dashing forward, you reach for your belt and draw the next most lethal thing you have, before jumping and clinging onto the man’s back with your arms around his neck. He roars in fury and tries to throw you off, but before he can, you raise the silver hairpin and jab it into the back of his neck.

The man screams in agony, crumpling to his knees, and Wooyoung takes a second to be impressed.

“Damn, that was not what I had in mind when I gave it to you.”

You give him an incredulous look as you shove the hairpin back in your belt. The other group of guards are getting closer and closer. Luckily for you, the hallway is rather narrow so it’s difficult for the guards to make their way through, but this isn’t going to hold them off for long. “This isn’t the time for that! Let’s go!”

He takes you by the hand again and the two of you continue your mad dash for safety. Then you hear the captain shout a command that freezes the blood in your veins.

“Fire!”

Wooyoung throws you to the side, diving for cover, but you’re not lucky enough. Shot slams into the pillar you and Wooyoung are crouched behind, but a musket ball smashes into your ankle.

In that single moment, you’re in hell. Pain shoots across your leg like raw fire licking at your skin, and for a second, you just wonder how on earth anything can hurt this bad. A whimper leaves your mouth.

“Chin Hae!” Wooyoung cries in horror, rushing over to help you, but the moment he sees your foot, his face goes ashen in worry. “Oh, mother of gods…”

You immediately stop yourself from looking at it lest you throw up at the sight.

Even through the blinding agony, you understand what needs to happen. Your leg is absolutely wrecked, and there is no way you’ll be able to run to the harbour, even if you did make it down the grappling rope somehow. If you remain with Wooyoung, you’ll only be a burden to him.

And this mess is all your fault.

You glare at him through the pain. “Go, idiot! Run!”

Wooyoung ignores you, slinging your arm over his shoulder as he pulls you upright, forcing himself to ignore your low cry of anguish. “Yeah, fat chance. If I get back to the ship without you, captain will shoot me himself anyway, so I might as well die here with you. At least the navy will kill me faster.”

You groan, both in pain and at his stupid sense of humor despite your near death experience. “This isn’t the time for your dumb jokes!”

He has the gall to look offended. “My jokes are greatly beloved by all people-”

“Approach cautiously, they might be armed!” You hear the captain call to his men, and in this second Wooyoung acts, tossing a soft cased smoke bomb to the ground.

The explosive detonates with a bang, sending the soldiers into a panicked frenzy. Wooyoung takes this opportunity to grab you and run, slamming the door to Mr Ludovico Robertt’s room shut and barring it with the heavy oak desk.

The man continues snoring despite the commotion.

“How are you going to get me down?” You demand furiously, completely unable to understand why Wooyoung just won’t leave you be. “Just go and tell Captain to get out of here!”

“Not happening.” Wooyoung unwinds the rope around his waist, doing tight knots around your shoulders and under your arms. Your eyes widen as you realise what he intends to do and terror claws at your throat, adrenaline swirling in your blood.

“Are you crazy? I’d rather get shot to death than fall to it!”

“You’ll be fine!” Wooyoung reassures you as he secures the rope to the official’s four poster bed. You hear the guards at the door, pounding on it when they realise that it can’t be opened. “Mr Robertt! Mr Robertt! Are you inside?”

The man sleeps like the dead.

Wooyoung then grabs you bridal style, arms hooking you beneath the knees as he grins breathlessly at you. “You know, you should really lose some weight, Chin Hae.” You baulk at his words, attempting to punch him in the shoulder. Suddenly, you realise the two of you are way too lighthearted, as if you aren’t really in trouble.

Yup, you’re probably completely drunk on fear.

“Don’t tell me how to live my life.” You grumble, then Wooyoung holds you over the window ledge. Your arms instinctively tighten around his neck as you look at the very painful, one way drop to the ground.

“Mr Robertt! We’re coming in!” You hear the captain outside shouting as they get ready to smash the door down. Your heart leaps into your chest.

The gunner smiles broadly at you, eyes twinkling, but when he speaks, his words are honest.

“Do you trust me?”

You’re almost comforted by the genuine determination in his eyes, and you remember his vow to protect you and keep you safe. This man, your friend, crewmate and partner in crime, won’t ever leave you behind. You somehow laugh even with a mutilated leg, hanging over certain death, and with less than zero prospects of survival.

“Not at all.”

Wooyoung laughs at your answer, grin turning slightly maniacal. “Good, because I don’t trust myself in the least either.”

With that, he drops you out of the window.

You manage to hold in your scream, but Wooyoung is careful to lower you slowly to the ground and you sink onto the stone cobbles without much issue, aside from the amount of blood you can feel trickling from the wound.

The gunner drops down onto the ground next to you lightly, and without another word, you hobble down the alley with your arm slung over his shoulder. But to the mounting fear growing in you, you hear the same captain shouting from behind you.

“Fan out and search! One of them is wounded, they can’t have gotten far.”

Wooyoung makes a choice.

Turning to one of the doors, he rams it open with his shoulder and pulls you inside, much to your surprise, before slamming the door shut behind you. Your mouth falls open in shock.

“I can’t believe you just broke into someone’s house.”

He gives you a flat look as he helps you over to a small chair in the room. The two of you seem to have forced your way into a small house, and from the way that there is two of everything in the small kitchen you are in, you assume that you are in a married couple’s house.

“You just broke into an official’s estate.”

You ignore his logic and sag against the wall in relief, your aching body and battered bones aching. But the real problem is your ankle. You can feel the adrenaline begin to fade away, leaving agonizing pain steadily growing in your left foot, and for a moment, you nearly keel over from the sensation of it. You can feel that the bone of your ankle was completely smashed upon the musket ball’s impact, but you don’t know the extent of the injury yet.

“How bad is it?” You ask Wooyoung. The gunner swallows as he takes in the wound.

“Not the worse I’ve seen?” He tries to supply unhelpfully.

You groan. Asking Wooyoung about your injury isn’t going to help at all, so you swallow the bile in your throat and glance at your foot.

And oh boy is it in terrible shape.

It isn’t as bad as it could have been. The musket ball must have merely glanced of your ankle, the force of it causing the bone of your ankle to smash into pieces, but at least the lead shot hasn’t punched through your leg, leaving a gaping hole there like in the stories San used to tell you.

What the ball has done, however, is to carve a bleeding gash across your ankle and foot, and if you don’t stop the bleeding and treat it now, it’ll definitely get infected like the first musket wound you had gotten when you’d been escaping from Raguza. You have no wish to repeat the process.

“Can you get me some water, some cloth and a piece of leather?”

Wooyoung seems confused by your last odd request, but then the two of you are interrupted by a little choking noise from the side.

You turn to see a young woman standing there, dressed in a white nightgown. She’s standing in the doorway that most likely leads from the kitchen to the rest of the house with a lamp in hand, and she looks terrified.

You and Wooyoung exchange glances, before you raise your hand in an attempt at a friendly wave.

Her eyes dilate in fear and you realise how the two of you must look. Two shady men dressed completely in black, with masks over their faces, casually sitting at her kitchen table. You don’t begrudge her when she finally lets out a scream and bolts in fear, calling for her husband.

“Well, shit.” Wooyoung sighs, shaking his head as he rises to his feet. “I wonder if I can charm her into letting us hiding here-”

“You can’t seduce a married woman!” You hiss under your breath, but then the woman returns, this time with a tall, lean man at the side, with an axe. There’s a soft click of Wooyoung’s musket being primed at your side, but you lay a hand over his, shaking your head urgently. You don’t want to hurt innocents who you’ve dragged into your mess.

To your surprise, the man looks completely calm, as if he’s used to dark, shady men bursting into his house at the crack of dawn. He hefts the ax in hand, a woodcutter’s ax, you realise, and levels it at the two of you. “Who are you?”

Wooyoung steps protectively in front of you, shielding you from the man’s sight with his own body. “I won’t let you touch my friend. Put the ax down and I’ll answer your questions.” His voice is completely even, not a trace of doubt in his words.

The young man snorts, keeping his eyes locked on Wooyoung’s. They look like they could be around the same age, you realise. “Don’t tell me what to do in my own house, intruder. Take off your mask, put down that gun you’re holding, then I’ll put down my ax and maybe listen to your high tales about how you ended up here doing something completely not illegal.”

The two are locked in tense silence for a moment. Then Wooyoung’s shoulders relax slightly.

“Fair enough.” He pulls down the black scarf around his face, revealing his well defined features, before setting the gun down. “If you help treat my friend, I might even throw in an extra high tale about how he got shot. It’s a pretty interesting story.”

The man eyes you for a moment, but Wooyoung instinctively moves to protect you, shielding you from his sight. Then he lowers his ax, sighing with a reluctant smile on his lips. Your eyes widen as you realise that he’s missing two fingers on his left hand. “I hate this, but I doubt anyone so protective of his friend could be such a terrible person. Seohyun, you go back to bed for now, I’ll handle this.”

The young woman glances at her husband in worry. “Honey, will you be alright?”

He smiles at her reassuringly, kissing her lightly on the cheek. “Of course. Now go back to bed, the baby needs their sleep.”

Your eyes widen with awe. “She’s pregnant?”

Seohyun’s eyes widen as you speak and a hand comes up to protect her belly, as if afraid you might somehow attack her. You raise your hands in surrender, peeling off your mask as well. “I’m sorry… I’m a healer but I’ve never seen anything to do with childbirth before so…”

The man gestures for her to leave and she does, padding lightly out of the room. You can still hear soldiers searching for you outside.

“What are your names?” The man seats himself at the opposite end of the room, ax still in hand. Wooyoung glances at you, and you nod at him.

Be honest. This man seems like a sharp one.

“I’m Wooyoung. This is Chin Hae.” Wooyoung answers, and he looks back at you in worry at the blood still seeping from your leg. “If you don’t mind postponing this little talk, do you mind letting me treat my friend first?”

The man nods. “Go ahead.” But then his eyes darken slightly. “But any funny business, and I’m chopping the two of you up.” The ease with which he wields the massive ax lets you know this is no joke.

You shiver a little, but Wooyoung moves to get water from the bucket in the corner of the kitchen and tears a strip of cloth from his cloak. He douses the cloth in water and kneels in front of you, passing you his glove. It is made from leather, after all.

“Will this do?”

You nod, opening your mouth.

Wooyoung frowns in confusion. “What do you want me to do?”

“Put it in my mouth so I don’t wake the whole town when you clean my wound.” You tell him and you can see the pain in his eyes at what you’re going to have to endure. Wooyoung gently places the glove in your mouth and you bite down hard on it.

“I’m sorry.” Wooyoung whispers, raising the rag to your wound. “I’ll be gentle.”

You simply press your face into his shoulder in consent.

The first drag of the cloth against your wound and you feel like you want to die. Your hands come up to grip Wooyoung’s forearms, squeezing so tightly you’re sure there will be finger shaped bruises on his skin. He doesn’t make a sound, however, intently swiping the wound clean as possible, and your tears soak into the sleeve of his shirt in silence.

Finally he pulls away, putting the bloodied rag aside and you slump against the wall, panting for air as the glove falls from your mouth. Your hair sticks to the back of your neck with the cold sweat, and Wooyoung bustles to wrap a strip of cloth around your ankle.

“That didn’t hurt at all.” You manage to croak out, your throat raw from screaming into the glove. You feel boneless, as frail and weak as a newborn baby. Wooyoung’s eyes are soft with worry and concern as he leans you against the wall in a more comfortable position.

“Are you alright?”

“I will be.” Your eyes are so heavy, as if you’re physically incapable of keeping them open. You can see the woodcutter watching the two of you quietly, respectfully not making a sound. “Wooyoung-hyung?”

“Yeah, Chin Hae?” He seats himself next to you, putting an arm around your shoulder for you to lean against. You settle against him, every muscle in your body sagging from complete exhaustion. He’s soft and warm, like a pillow. You snuggle into his side, too far gone to actually register what you’re doing.

“I’m sorry about the trouble I caused.” He stiffens at your words, before one hand comes to rest in your hair, gentle and warm.

“Don’t worry about it.” He whispers back, stroking your head. “Get some rest.”

That’s the last thing you hear before darkness swallows you.

When you do wake up, there’s something warm surrounding you.

You blink the sleep from your eyes. There’s a freshness to your limbs that wasn’t there the night before, and your back is cushioned on something soft that is definitely not the wall that you fell asleep against.

Something soft… that is moving?

Then you realise you’re sitting in a chair, not the bed that you normally sleep in, nor your hammock in the rigging that you’ve learned to sleep tangled in since Seonghwa chose to bed down in the sickbay. There’s something resting on your shoulder.

You turn your head.

The first thing you see is Wooyoung’s face, slack in sleep and breathing quietly through his mouth, which is lolling open just a little. Something about him softens in his sleep, the usual confidence in his face replaced with gentleness and warmth. He looks years younger than he really is, not a battle hardened pirate but just a boy, still in the process of growing up. He’s so close you can literally count every eyelash, feel the warm puff of his breath in the crook of your neck.

You stay that way for a moment, taking in every detail on his face and basking in the warmth of his hold, because when are you going to get an opportunity to have such an intimate moment with him?

Thank you, you want to breath. Thank you for not leaving me behind.

Then your eyes fly open as the memories of what happened last night flood through your mind. The book. The gunshot. The man with the ax.

You glance around the kitchen, but it’s empty except for the two of you.

“Wooyoung-hyung.” You shake his shoulder and he stirs just a little, mumbling into the back of your neck. You can feel the leather of his collar pressing into your skin, and you suddenly want to ask him why he wears it, but you suppose it will have to wait for another time.

“Five more minutes, San.” He rasps, voice still rough from sleep and the night before. You don’t know whether to be insulted by the fact that he’s just mistaken you for your master.

“Wooyoung-hyung, it’s me, Chin Hae.”

At that, Wooyoung straightens up blearily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes like a cat stretching after a nap.

“What’s going on?”

“Where’s the man from yesterday?” You ask, searching the room for him. It looks like it’s late morning already, from the way the living room is illuminated. Wooyoung blinks sleepily and for a moment, he looks like a lost child looking for his favorite stuffed toy.

“Ahh, him? We had a good talk yesterday and bonded over what it was like to run from the Royal Navy.” He yawns, running a hand through his hair. The chains of his shackles jingle a little. “Apparently when he was younger he had a run in with them and helped his friend escape them too, but he lost a couple of fingers in the process.”

Your eyebrows raise as Wooyoung untangles himself from you, moving over to pick up a plate of bread rolls on the table. “I can’t believe we were lucky enough to get the one person along this entire row of houses who wasn’t going to rat us out to the guards the second they saw us.”

“Such little faith you have in me.” Wooyoung sighs in mock disappointment, passing you a croissant. You dig into it hungrily, your stomach grumbling from lack of food. “You should know I seduced my way out of capture situation with Yunho before, but that’s a story for a different time.”

A sad smile crosses your face uncomfortably as you take another bite. “You’re really good at seducing women, huh? You seem to have a lot of female friends.”

Wooyoung’s face darkens just a second, an unreadable expression crossing his face. “Yeah… but I’ll never trust myself with any of them.”

Your heart breaks for a moment as you realise what that means for you. “Why?”

The gunner inhales a little as he sits on the kitchen table, head resting against the wall with a forlorn expression on his face. “Before I came to the Treasure, when I was younger… I was sold to women for such… pleasures. The only relationship I know how to share with them is one of lust, not one of friendship or actual love.”

You feel something heavy in your chest, like a stone sinking to the bottom of the sea. You can’t let the bond you’ve built with Wooyoung just break, simply because of this. No, how could anyone do this to Wooyoung as a child? How could they scar him like that?

You make your decision.

If you can keep Wooyoung, the one who was willing to risk his life for yours, as a friend, you don’t mind masquerading as a man for the rest of your life.

Wooyoung looks so lost in his past that you’re desperate to wrench him out of it.

“Hey, hyung?”

He snaps out of his little reverie to look at you in surprise. “Yeah?”

You undo the bandage he’s done around your leg, pointing at it. The wound has started to heal slightly, the scab over the wound having formed, but you know of a way to speed it up. You’ve been practicing again and again for days now, and San says you’ve gotten a pretty good hang of it already, but this is the first time you’re going to do it without your master at your side.

“Look.” You say.

You focus on your body, the blood that rushes through every vein, the energy that lives in every part of you, that gives you strength to move and live. You gather it and channel it down to your injury, and a gentle pulse runs down your leg.

Wooyoung’s eyes widen at the sight. “That’s so cool! I didn’t know you could do it too!”

You nod as you feel the pieces of bone moving and shifting, joining back to form one, single piece. The torn flesh weaves itself together and skin crawls over the wound, before the entire injury simply vanishes, as if it’s never existed.

What should have taken weeks to heal, done in a single minute.

Wooyoung frowns a little. “Won’t that have negative repercussions, though?”

“Yeah. I’ll probably sleep like the dead once we’re back on ship.” You tell him as you stand, testing out your foot. It still feels a little achy, but it’s better than yesterday. “Doing this with too severe wounds will drain you of too much stored energy and you might even die, so master told me to do this only with small wounds and in cases of great need.”

“Why didn’t you do it last night, then?” The gunner asks as he passes you the last bun. You take it gratefully.

“I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate enough with the pain. I probably would have exploded some small bit of me, and I really didn’t want that.”

Wooyoung is about to nod agreement, but then someone appears at the door.

“Wooyoung-ah.” It’s the man from yesterday and they’re already addressing each other informally. Your partner rises to incline his head.

“Thanks for the food and letting us stay the night.”

The man shakes his head. “No problem. It’s the least I could do for someone so dedicated to his friend.” He glances at you. “You have a good friend, Chin Hae. Do avoid getting shot sometime.”

Your cheeks flush a little, but you nod.

“I will.”

The man turns back to Wooyoung. “You two should leave now before the morning guard begins their patrol.”

The two of you exchange glances. You need to get back to captain and report what you’d found out. The man ushers you to the front door, holding it open for the two of you.

“I wish you the best of luck, mate. Anytime you need to invade the official’s building again, just drop by. But don’t make too much trouble for them. They’ve done this town good.”

Wooyoung turns to him as you leave the building into the busy street. “Thank you, Soobin.”

The man waves and the door shuts before him.

“Well, that was a pretty eventful night.” Wooyoung stretches his arms above his head, cracking his back as the two of you make your way back to ship. Soobin’s house is surprisingly close to where the Treasure is moored. You nod.

“I can’t wait to take a long, long nap.”

The gangplank creaks under your feet like a welcome home, your footsteps echoing together. It’s surprisingly quiet, peaceful and you don’t hear the normal ruckus you usually would this late in the morning. You frown. Are they that tired today?

Wooyoung detects it too and pauses, sniffing the air. Then he turns to look at you in worry.

“Something isn’t quite right-”

“Seize them!”

You jerk around in horror, only to be caught around the middle by an arm. You struggle but it’s useless, the man holding you is simply too strong for you to fight off. The first thing you see is Wooyoung being torn from you by two guards as they strip him of his weapons, forcing him to his knees.

The next thing you feel is the cold steel of a musket being pressed against your temple and a smirk against your ear.

“Got you.”

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #jongho #wooyoung #ateez pirate king #w; ot8 #w; pirate king #w; fanfiction

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apolloloki97 · 3 years

Text

"Solid as Stone" Ian Gallagher x Mickey Milkovich

Summary: What if when Monica came back, Ian went to find Mandy that day, but found Mickey. Instead of going right to the store for a hookup, Ian runs away distraught after not finding his best friend. Mickey can't help but follow and comfort the redhead he has clearly fallen for.

Or when Ian is freaking out, Mickey is there to comfort him.

Word Count: 2679

Warning: Swearing

Song I Wrote To: “Stone" by Jaymes Young

Note: This is just a bit of an AU what if kind of thing. I just liked it and I love comforting and soft Mickey and I know that day he could tell that Ian was torn.

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Monica was back and Ian didn’t know how to deal with any of it.

As soon as she rolled back into town, Ian felt as if he was suffocating and he had to get out. He didn’t even care if Terry was home at that moment, he needed to see Mandy.

His thoughts kept flicking to Mickey but he knew that regardless of the kind of situation they were in, Mickey would throttle him before he even considered offering Ian a comforting hand. Mickey had been very clear about the nature of their relationship if you could even call it that. Ian knew that there was more to them just random hookups, but he didn’t have time to unpack any of it at the moment.

Mandy had to be the one and he needed her now.

Ian arrived at the front of the Milkovich house and barrelled up the steps, his breathing still labored. His fist made contact with the wooden door, frantically begging someone to open up. It took a moment before the front door was wrenched open and it wasn’t the Milkovich sibling Ian had wanted to see right then, but one he was always wishing to see no matter what. Mickey, who had a cigarette in his mouth, seemed surprised at Ian’s frantic look. “Gallagher?” he asked.

“Mandy, is she here?” Ian breathed out, trying to see behind Mickey and into the house.

“What?”

“Is Mandy here?” Ian asked again, his breathing still sporadic. “I need to see her.” Mickey frowned as he took in the state of Ian as the younger boy seemed to be running off pure anxiety. Something was definitely wrong with him and it surprised Mickey as he realized he was incredibly concerned about Ian Gallagher. However, after all the time he had spent around the kid, he had come to pick up on all of Ian’s idiosyncrasies.

“She’s not here,” Mickey told him, glancing over his shoulder where Terry was passed out on the couch. “She went away with Iggy for a couple of days.” Ian let out a breath, still very jumpy, as he looked back and forth, trying to figure out what he was going to do. “Gallagher, the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he rushed out as he glanced behind him, almost as if he expected Monica to be running after him, but the street remained silent. “I… I gotta go,” he stammered before nodding to himself, turning around, and half-stumbling down the steps. Mickey watched after him for a few seconds, still very confused at Ian’s behaviors. Ian shuffled out into the street and then Mickey nearly jumped out of his skin as a car screeched to a halt right in front of the redhead. Honking blared through the neighborhood as the man behind the wheel cursed at Ian who was raising his hands in apologies.

As soon as Ian was out of the street, the car sped off, leaving Ian to stare at it for only a second before he moved to run down an alley in between the houses, still somewhat out of it. Mickey glanced back inside his house for a second before swearing, “Fucking Gallagher.” Grabbing his coat, he shut the door behind him and took off after the redhead.

It didn’t take long for Mickey to pick up on Ian’s trail as the kid had the loudest footsteps on the Southside. Mickey kept telling himself that the only reason he was doing this was that he wanted to know if Ian was on something and if he could get a hit. However, behind the denial, he knew the truth. He did care about Gallagher and he could tell Ian was going through something.

It was only another block that Mickey finally found him. Ian was on the ground, his back against the wall of the empty alleyway and he was breathing harder than he was when he had shown up on Mickey’s porch. Slowly, Mickey approached him, keeping an eye on the redhead’s hands. He knew Ian well enough to know that the kid could punch just as well as anyone on the Southside and he wasn’t looking forward to being on the other side of one of those freckled fists if he startled him.

“Gallagher?” Mickey tried, but Ian remained frozen, his eyes only on the cold asphalt. “Gallagher,” he tried again, but still, Ian remained oblivious to his presence. With a sigh, Mickey ran a hand through his hair before finally stepping right into the other boy’s view. “Ian?” he asked, softer this time. Ian’s breath stuttered for a second before his eyes flicked to the worried blue ones above him.

“What do you want?” Ian asked and while the words sent a dagger to Mickey’s heart, it was a valid question. Why had he followed him? Ian had no reason to trust that Mickey Milkovich cared for him. Mickey hated that he had led him to believe that he was only using him for sex, but he understood. Mickey was never one for affection, but it wasn’t as if he had any role models to learn from. Colin had tried to somewhat raise his younger siblings, but there was only so much he could do. Mickey was on his own in this department, but he was hoping Ian could be the beginning of his effort to show the compassion he clearly felt.

“What happened?” Mickey asked, finally crouching down to get on Ian’s level. The boy in front of him looked frailer than Mickey had ever seen him. The Gallaghers were known to be tough sons of bitches, but everyone had their breaking point, Mickey supposed.

“My mom,” Ian said. “My mom came home and just fucked it all up.” Mickey nodded, understanding immediately. If you knew about the Gallaghers and especially if you knew about Frank, you knew about Monica. Terry hated the woman and Mickey finally could see why. If the way Ian was acting was evidence of how her kids felt when she came back, she definitely should have stayed gone.

“Hurricane Monica,” Mickey simply said. Ian looked at him in surprise. Mickey sank to the ground next to Ian, their shoulders almost touching. “Fiona’s mentioned her a few times at the Alibi, Frank, too. I think we all get the picture enough to know she ain’t exactly mother of the fucking year.”

“That’s an understatement,” Ian said and Mickey was glad to hear that his breathing was sounding a little better. Ian let his head fall back to rest on the bricks behind him. “She always does this, Mickey,” Ian began and Mickey remained quiet, just letting Ian talk. “She comes into town and makes it seem like she’s going to stay. Debbie and Carl don’t deserve that shit.”

“Neither do you,” Mickey said automatically. Ian’s eyes flickered to Mickey’s who was just staring in front of him, his hands playing with the cigarette he still held.

“She’s my mom,” Ian tried to rationalize.

“So?” Mickey said, finally looking at him again. “Frank is your dad and he’s a piece of shit. Terry is my dad and he’s...he’s… fuck he’s the fucking worse.” Ian could hear the hesitancy in Mickey’s voice. Everyone knew how horrible Terry was, but Ian was starting to think there was more to the racist asshole than nobody else knew. “My father hates me,” Mickey finally continued. “He hates me and he doesn’t even know that…”

“That you hook up with guys?” Ian offered, not wanting to push Mickey by slapping the “gay” label on him. He had learned his lesson with that before.

“He’d kill me if he knew,” Mickey said. “And if I had the chance to get the hell out of dodge to be away from him, I would. I don’t care if they’re our parents, they don’t owe us shit if they’ve never been parents, you know?” Ian was quiet for a minute before he nodded, letting out a shaky breath.

“I don’t know what to do, Mick,” Ian said, casually dropping the nickname he had been trying out for a while. If it was any other time, Mickey would have made a comment about it, but he just enjoyed the rush that went through him at Ian saying his name.

“What do you want to do?” Mickey asked. “Cause that’s all up to you, man.”

“I want her to get the fuck out,” Ian said. “If she’s leaving again, it’s gonna be on our terms this time, not hers.” Ian struggled to keep his hands still and his emotions in check. The last thing he wanted to do was cry in front of Mickey. This was why he needed Mandy.

However, Mickey Milkovich surprised him as he always did.

Tattooed fingers suddenly covered freckled ones and Ian’s hand was enveloped in a warm and firm grip. Ian looked up at Mickey who was looking at him with actual concern.

“Don’t let her ruin you,” Mickey said firmly.

“She’s already done that,” Ian said, trying not to focus too much on the hand in his.

“Says who, huh?” Mickey countered. “Who says you’re fucking ruined? You’re not. You’re…” Mickey trailed off for a second. His eyes flickered from Ian’s lips and then back to his face. “You’re damn solid, Gallagher. A fucking tower of stone, so don’t think that some woman can just come back and fuck with you just because she’s your blood. Blood don’t mean shit when it comes to family anyways.”

Ian was looking at him with wonder in his eyes. He had never seen this side of Mickey and he was already mourning the fact that he may never again for a while once they left that alley. In case he was right, Ian clutched onto Mickey’s hand tighter, letting him feel the other boy’s pulse beneath his fingers.

“Thanks,” he breathed, almost afraid to speak any louder in case it shattered whatever peace they had built.

“Still wish Mandy was here instead?” Mickey asked and there was no malice behind it.

“Absolutely not,” Ian admitted as he glanced down at Mickey’s mouth. They were silent for a moment before Ian asked about something Mickey had just said. “Would you really leave to get away from Terry?”

“I wouldn’t go far,” Mickey admitted, looking at him through hooded eyes. “I could never go too far from you, could I? Who’d run after you when you’re going out of your fucking mind?” Ian smiled, trying not to laugh.

“I don’t know, I’m sure I could find someone,” he said and then boldly continued, “maybe Kash has a friend around his age.”

That did it.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Mickey growled as he grabbed onto Ian’s neck and slammed his lips against the other boy's mouth. Ian reacted immediately, tugging Mickey closer to him. Mickey’s heart was slamming in his chest and he knew it was risky to kiss Ian out in the open, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He had been wanting to kiss him since the first time he had seen Ian smile. It wasn’t until they had sex for the first time that that need to kiss him had intensified tenfold. Mickey grabbed at Ian’s coat, trying to make the distance between them nonexistent.

When Ian slipped his tongue into Mickey’s mouth, Mickey was done for. He could never go back to just having sex after this. This was...indescribable and he needed it all. Mickey was as inexperienced as it got when it came to kissing men, but Ian seemed to be a master according to Milkovich. Ian ran his hands up Mickey’s arms and then up to his neck where his large hands took hold of Mickey’s face as he continued to devour the other boy’s mouth.

Eventually, they both needed to breathe and Mickey was the first to pull back, though he didn’t go far. “That was…” Ian began, his breathing heavy but this time for a completely different reason.

“Long overdue,” Mickey finished, his breath matching pace with Ian’s. “I didn’t mean to do that like this. You know in a shithole,” he said, gesturing to the disgusting alley.

“Our whole neighborhood is a shithole,” Ian pointed out causing Mickey to smile slightly. Ian couldn’t help himself as he pressed another kiss to Mickey’s lips before leaning back again. “Don’t think I’m not going to take advantage of being allowed to do that now.”

“Who says this ain’t a one-time thing, firecrotch?” Mickey asked, raising one of his very expressive eyebrows.

“Me,” Ian said simply and Mickey rolled his eyes, but didn’t move away from Ian. His expression then turned concerned once again.

“Feeling better?” Mickey asked and Ian nodded.

“Getting there,” Ian admitted, referring back to his Monica meltdown. “You helped quite a bit,” he said cheekily and Mickey just snorted. “Thanks, Mick,” Ian said and Mickey could hear all the sincerity behind his words. Mickey nodded and then sat back beside Ian, their shoulders pressed together as if they were afraid to not be touching each other.

“Don’t think you can’t come to me when you’re in trouble, Gallagher,” Mickey said. “I ain’t gonna fucking turn you away. Not you.” Ian nodded again and then leaned his head on Mickey’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to go home,” Ian admitted. Mickey leaned into Ian and nodded.

“Me either,” said Mickey as he thought about his father back on their worn-out couch.

“Monica has to go,” Ian whispered.

“I could make that happen, you know?” Mickey said casually. “I still have that uncle down at the foundry.” Ian jabbed him in the ribs, but Mickey knew he was smiling.

“No thanks,” Ian said with a sigh. “Murder wouldn’t look good on you.”

“Please,” Mickey scoffed, “everything looks good on me.”

“And off, too,” Ian added and that got Mickey’s attention. Ian was looking up at him and when Mickey met his eyes, he could see just a hint of mischief in his green eyes.

“Are you coming onto me, Gallagher,” Mickey said.

“Always,” Ian said as his hands pushed into Mickey’s dark hair.

“I ain’t havin’ you get on me in some back alley,” Mickey said. “I have standards, asshole.”

“Then it’s a good thing I have keys to the store,” Ian said with a lower voice. Mickey chewed on that thought for a second before jumping to his feet and dragging Ian with him.

“You are a fucking menace,” Mickey whispered to Ian who just beamed at him, and then Ian’s smile turned softer.

“So, I’m solid huh?” Ian asked, looking at Mickey who wasn’t running away for once.

“As stone,” Mickey agreed. “You’re gonna be just fine, Red. Monica issues or not, you,” he said, poking Ian in the chest, “are gonna be fine.” Ian could have cried then, but he settled on grabbing Mickey by his coat and kissing him hard. Mickey kissed him back, still trying to get used to the feel, but he figured he’d get the hang of it soon.

Ian pulled back first this time and smiled at Mickey, grateful that he had been the Milkovich sibling to answer the damn door. “Thanks,” he whispered.

“You already said that,” Mickey reminded him.

“And I’ll keep saying it, dumbass,” Ian teased and then began walking backward, gesturing to Mickey to follow him.

Mickey just smiled and jogged to catch up with Ian. As the two of them headed to the store, Mickey forced himself to watch where he was going because all he could focus on was that Ian was back to being Ian and he, Mickey, had helped bring that smile back. Cautiously, he took Ian’s hand for just a fraction of a second before letting go. It was brief, but Ian knew what it meant. Sure, he was solid, unmoving, but to Mickey, Ian was his rock, the one that kept him grounded when everything else was trying to pull him away and if he’d let him, Mickey also wanted to be that for Ian.

#Ian x Mickey #Ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #gallavich #shameless #shameless fics #shameless fanfiction #Ian and Mickey fics #Gallavich fanfic

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starculler · 3 years

Text

Whumptober 2021: Day 3

Word Count: 6341 || Read on Ao3

Tags/Warnings: Star Wars, Anakin Skywalker, Boba Fett, Time Travel, Alternating POV, Violence, Injury, Blood, Slavery/Tatooine Slave Culture, Death Mention, Hopeful Ending

Inspiration: Family is more than Blood by Quillfeet

Got this one in by the skin of my teeth lmao. Did my best to handle any sensitive topics as carefully as I could under a time constraint, but feel free to let me know if any issues crop up.

Anakin bounced on his toes, eager to see the stranger who’d drawn so big a crowd long after the suns had set, but unwilling to leave his mom’s side. Not when he could practically feel the tension in the air, thick enough to cut through with even the dullest, poorly-made shiv. Still, impatience and curiosity burned through him and his admittedly small well of patience had already been wrung dry after an unbearably long day of having to behave in front of Watto, his customers, and the other masters in the market.

He tugged on his mom’s warm, calloused hand and she squeezed his, her grip tight but not painful as she peered over another slave’s shoulder. She frowned at whatever she saw, brow pinched and her mouth pursed in the way it sometimes did when she tried not to look worried in front of him. Anything that worried his mom like that should have made him nervous. It didn’t. He practically vibrated out of his skin at her side instead, his need to know turning to a prickling itch that crawled up his arms and down his back.

“Mom,” he said, low and in the tongue only Tatooine’s slaves knew, the word drawled out into an almost-whine he was nearly too old for.

His mom only squeezed his hand briefly, a reprimand and warning, and Anakin’s shut his mouth before any of a dozen question slipped through his chapped lips.

One of the slaves, a twi’lek near his mom’s age, on his other side turned their head just enough to make it obvious they’d heard him. He flushed, embarrassed until they winked and shifted so there was a a small gap to see through between them and the human blocking most of Anakin’s view. He wasted no time leaning over, putting most of his negligible weight on one foot so he wouldn’t pull his mom’s hand while he snuck a glance and give himself a away. Not that it mattered.

He gasped, all the breath stolen from his lungs when he caught his first glimpse of a scene seemingly pried free from some of his worst nightmares. Funny enough, the first thing he saw wasn’t the stranger body, but the sand beneath them: wet like someone had spilled water on it and dark red, almost black in the low light of old, flickering lamps made of more rust than metal — most of which he’d helped his mom fix more than once. Eyes wide, his gaze trailed up from there, from the soles of the stranger’s ratty boots to the top of their head for just long enough that the image of them burned itself into his memory.

Too soon and not soon enough, his mom pulled roughly on his arm, tugging him close against her side and hiding his face in her skirt. He clung to the dull, brown fabric and soaked in her familiar warmth even though it did nothing to stop the way his body shook. She squeezed his shoulders, but did nothing to scold him for looking. There was no sheltering a slave from horrible things. Not really.

Anakin had seen a lot of bad things in his terribly long eight years. He’d seen slaves beaten bloody and others blown up, some so violently that there was almost nothing to give back to the sands when they were mourned. He’d watched his mom scream and bleed and, once, beg to take his punishment when he’d been even younger and taking it himself might have killed him. He’d seen slaves in chains marched across the market and put up for auction. Others he’d watched be chased out of Mos Espa entirely, out into the sea of sand never to be heard from again.

This, however, was new. A cruelty his mom had so far kept him safe from, laid out on the sands of the slave’s quarters for all of them to see. The stranger’s face had been the most visible without any of the tattered bodysuit in the way. It almost looked like some master had at least taken a vibroblade to their face, carved him up bad enough that they were missing a good amount of dark, curly hair on one side of their head. The rest of them, he thought, looked a bit like a krayt dragon tried to chew them up only to spit them out halfway, leaving them worse for wear but just functional enough that they hadn’t just left them out on the sands to die.

Whoever they belonged to, Anakin hoped he never found out if only because not knowing might keep him and his mom safe from being sold to them too.

By the time he’d calmed down enough to pry his hands free from his mom’s skirt and shuffle back around to see, the bulk of the crowd had drifted away — off to sleep or work or wallow until the suns rose on another grueling day. The only ones left were him and his mom, a few adults rushing soiled and new strips of cloth back and forth, and the three grandmothers kneeled beside and working on the stranger. His mom squeezed his shoulders again, half distracted by a conversation with another mother about infection and recovery and the fact that they had no water to spare for the stranger bleeding on the sands as aged but experienced, sun-weathered hands stitched the worst of their wounds closed.

Anakin leaned back against his mom, watching. Without anyone to block his view, he could see more of the picture than his first glimpse had allowed. A red and tan bodysuit torn to shreds that might have been white before the blood and the sand had gotten to it. Strips of cloth ripped by experienced hands to be used as bandages. Green armor whose paint looks like it had been half-dissolved rather than properly stripped off, carefully pried away from the body and set aside with all the gentleness something so obviously expensive deserved. A not-so-small arsenal of blasters, grenades, a rocket and rifle, and more knives than Anakin cared to count all set just as carefully aside with well-deserved fear rather than reverence.

And pain. He saw it in the twitch of the stranger’s lips and the furrow in their brow. In the way they seemed to flinch at the grandmothers’ not-quite-gentle touch despite how he was sure they couldn’t be awake. He saw it in the ragged, uneven way their chest rose and fell, like just breathing was so hard it might as well have been crossing the dunes in a sandstorm.

He frowned. He remembered being so sick once he could hardly breathe — how much his chest had hurt and how his mom had helped soothe it by rubbing something gooey and awful-smelling into his skin. Remembered being punished, ten stinging, throbbing, bleeding lashes on his back, and how he’d cried while his mom held his hands, whispering in his ear to comfort him while another slave had stitched the worst of them closed. He wondered if the stranger had someone like his mom to hold their hand and help them breathe before they’d wound up with whatever awful master had done this.

It made his stomach twist itself into knots to know that they had only the grandmothers to help fix him and an audience to watch and fetch supplies, but no one to help make the worst of the hurt go away. And Anakin…

Anakin felt a tug, deep in his stomach and behind his navel. The kind that urged him to be silent, to run, what people to avoid, or what he needed to do to fix up a droid or appliance just right. He didn’t think before he moved, ducking out of his mom’s loose grip and ignoring her startled cry of “Ani!” as he trotted forward until he stood next to the stranger, deliberately slotting himself into place where he knew he wouldn’t get in anyone’s way.

One of the grandmothers, Amiya who Anakin knew his mom still called auntie even if she’d only ever been grandmother to him, looked up at him as he approached. She slanted a glance at his mom and for a second after she looked back at him, he thought she was going to send him away. Instead, and to his surprise, she only pursed her lips and waited, her work paused mid-stitch and her one scar-split brow arched as she waited. Anakin complied hastily, though the words come out tongue-tied and clumsy despite how he’d spoken the slave’s language just as long as — longer than, even — he had Huttese or Basic.

“They need someone,” he said, soft and suddenly too aware of how quiet the quarter was at night. “To help. Like mom does when I’m sick or hurt.” He stopped, floundered for a moment before adding, so low he almost doubted she heard him: “There’s not a mom to help them, but I can. I want to.”

Amiya watched him, her gaunt, wrinkled face the even and placid mask most of the adults like her and his mom wore where they might catch a master’s eye — a mask Anakin would also wear one day when he was older and had to hide his feelings from whoever would own him. After a long, almost uncomfortable moment she nodded. He flashed her a bright smile and kneeled in a patch of night-cooled, mostly blood-free sand. For a long time after Amiya turned her attention back to the stranger, Anakin just stared. The damage looked so much worse up close and the smell of the gore alone was nearly enough to make him sick. He didn’t realize he’d started to shake until a gentle hand pressed against his back, slick with blood that would stain his shirt as it rubbed comforting circles between his shoulder blades. The white-haired grandmother the hand belonged to smiled, thin and sad, when he turned to her, and he offered his own much wobblier one back.

“Breathe through your nose,” she advised, voice cracked and croaking from long-healed damage, and he did. It helped, but not much. Still, she patted him twice more on the back and offered up a firm “good boy” that sounded prouder than he thought was warranted.

Anakin sucked in three bracing breaths, shallower than he would have preferred, before carefully — more carefully than he’d ever done anything else — picked up the stranger’s larger, brown hand to cradle between his own smaller palms. He didn’t squeeze. Didn’t pull. Barely even breathed. He just rubbed his thumb over their split, scabbed knuckles and pushed safety and comfort and the other warm things he felt when his mom chased away his pains and nightmares at them. Imagined them flowing down from his thoughts to his arms, pooling in his hands to be poured out from his palms and into the stranger’s rough hands, absorbed through the skin like the first sip of soothing water on the worst days.

Whether it worked or not, he wasn’t sure, but he thought that maybe some of the tension in the stranger’s brow and the stutter in their chest eased just a little bit. He stayed there, holding their hand and sometimes babbling, soft enough it almost counted as a whisper, switching between all three of the languages he spoke and even into brief bouts of untrained Bocce in the hopes that they knew at least one and would find it comforting. It could have been minutes or hours before his mom came to collect him, his head bobbing and eyes threatening to close as exhaustion swept over him. She crouched behind him and ran her fingers through his hair a few times before she spoke.

“Time to sleep, Ani.”

“But mom—” he started, voice more of a brief mumbling slur for all that he didn’t get to say more than those two words before Amiya cut in.

“Mind your mother, Anakin.” He ducked his head, chastened. “You’ve done good tonight, but it’s past time for little ones to rest. This one’ll be here come the suns’ rise and you can sit with them then until you and your mom are off to your master’s.”

Anakin nodded, mumbled a tired “Yes grandmother Amiya,” and patted the stranger’s hand twice before setting it down with a quiet promise that he’d be back as soon as he’d woken up. He stumbled when he stood, grateful for his mom when she put her hands back on his shoulders and steered him back home all the way to his flat pallet. Sleep claimed him easily that night, too tired to even dream.

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

The world was pain. Burning, stinging, cutting pain day after night after day for what might as well have been a small eternity trapped in the wet, writhing darkness where only his own nightmares provided grim relief until he clawed and rent and tore his way out of that hell and into another. He gasped and dragged himself forward, burning from the heat of the suns above and the sands below until he felt he’d boil away entirely.

Death would have been a mercy, but mercies had never existed for men like him.

He crawled and shoved and pried his way through the sand with the same desperate, all-consuming determination he’d relied on all his life. A legacy left to him by his father. A curse when giving up would have been a kindness to his battered body.

Time was nonexistent. Unimportant to him in his struggle. Day or night mattered little in the suffocating, sweltering heat when he knew the desert would swallow him whole at any moment. Should have swallowed him whole, but didn’t. The desert, for once, was kind and he hated it for that.

He hated it for letting him live, tortured and weak and pitiful enough that no one he knew would have looked twice at him. There were voices and hands, reaching and gentle and alarmed. He hated this one act of kindness — not mercy, this could never be mercy — the desert had granted him and he fought, battered and bit and snarled in the vain hope they’d leave him for dead when he proved too much trouble. They took it as challenge instead and won.

Defeated, he let himself fall into his exhaustion wondering if he might slip away in his sleep instead and prove their efforts useless.

His nightmares weren’t welcome, but they were familiar to him by then.

He watched his father’s head fall from his shoulders a half dozen times as his body was dragged, unconscious, through the desert.

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

Anakin sat with stranger the next morning like he’d promised, all but sprinting out the door of their tiny home as soon as his mom had told him he could go. He stayed until his mom called him back and worked with her in Watto’s shop until the toydarian let them leave just as the first of Tatooine’s suns had touched the horizon. When they returned, the stranger had been moved into one of the few empty homes in the quarter — the slave who’d lived there recently sold and a replacement yet to be found — to avoid the worst of the day’s heat. He sat with them again after late-meal, holding their hand and talking, helping with any small task he could until they shooed him off to bed.

His mom stayed with him, longer sometimes and well into the night. She helped whoever else was there keeping an eye on the stranger teach him how to change bandages, spot the signs of infection in a wound, to decide which remedies and medicines were critical and which could be spared and saved for later, as well as how to make a few of the most basic ones.

“There isn’t much we can do for them,” Amiya had told him, grave but gentle, on the third night, “except wait and watch, and ease some of the pain if we can.”

He’d nodded, feeling tears prick at his eyes even as he bit his lower lip to help keep them from falling. His mom brushed her fingers through his hair, pulling him close to her side while he worked to breathe through the tangled knot of emotion pressing on his throat.

“It’s not fair,” he said, voice thick, and his mom clucked her tongue, not unsympathetically.

“Life rarely is, Ani.” She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, then leaned her cheek there like she could drape herself over him — a blanket to blot out the world’s cruelties. “Sometimes, your feelings won’t matter,” she said, sounding wretched as the words settled heavy in the air between them. “Sometimes — most times — all we can do is live in reality and accept that it might be cruel no matter what we do, knowing that denying it will do us no favors.” Anakin sniffed, pulling his knees in towards his chest. “And we will live, knowing this and knowing that being kind in the face of this cruelty is the bravest choice we can make.”

“Are we?” he asked after a long stretch of silence, feeling small and miserable. His mom hummed a question against his hair while Amiya stared at him, dark eyes seeming to peer right through and into the core of him. “Kind, I mean. Is. I mean. I heard some of the other adults — I didn’t mean to listen, really, but they were talking about. About…” He trailed off, but Amiya picked up the thread as seamlessly as if she’d read his mind.

“About a mercy.”

He nodded. His mom stiffened, hugging him tighter. He knew there was mercy in death on Tatooine. He’d heard slaves beg for it before, beaten half to death and left, bleeding and wheezing on the ground. He’d watched one new mother walk out into the sands with her baby one night and come back alone in the morning. He’d even seen a grandmother, withered hands bloody and holding a shiv as she walked out of the house of a slave who’d lost most of their arm when their chip detonated and survived, only for the wound to grow infected and the slave so weak they could hardly drink a sip of water.

He didn’t like it, but he knew.

Amiya sighed, leaned back against the night-chilled stone, and looked at the ceiling.

“Let me tell you a story, Anakin,” she said, and he thought she sounded older then than she ever had before.

“Okay.”

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

The nightmares had no end. They played on loop — his worst and his best memories twisted together with things that had never happened at all until he couldn’t tell where one ended and another began. He lived them. Was them. Played his part in them until he was sure he really had died out there on the sands and this was hell.

If it was, he wouldn’t give it the satisfaction of seeing him beg even if all he wanted in the worst of it was to wake up, ten years old again before everything had gone to shit.

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

The stranger woke with a groan on the fifth morning, just as Anakin had turned his back to follow his mom to Watto’s shop. He gasped, nearly tripping over his own feet as he rushed to spin back around.

“You’re awake!”

They blinked up at the ceiling, stiff as a board the second Anakin had practically shouted the words before slowly, probably painfully, turning their head to look at him. Anakin rocked back on his heels, mouth open and the words just about ready to burst out of him when they beat him to it.

“What?” they asked in Basic, voice a rough, crackling growl that could have been natural as much as it might have been from a parched throat or their injuries.

It was Anakin’s turn to blink then, uncomprehending for a moment before he realized he’d spoken to them like he would have any of the other slaves in the quarter. He flushed, fumbling for a moment from embarrassment before managing to wrangle together the right words.

“I said: you’re awake. You’ve been asleep for five days! Well, four, but today makes five. So, five days.”

“Oh.”

They stared at him, blank except for the obvious signs they were in pain — their pinched brow, their thinned lips, the pallor of their skin, better than it had been but still noticeable — and Anakin fidgeted in place until his mom called his name. He looked back at her, to the stranger, and briefly to his own feet before turning a bright grin on them.

“I have to go now, but Mom and I’ll let someone else know you’re awake. They’ll give you some of the water we all helped save up just in case you did really wake up. Which you did!” he added, too excited to keep himself from pointing out the obvious.

“What?” they asked again, but Anakin had already turned back to his mom with a cheerful “bye” thrown over his shoulder.

The day passed in an agonizingly slow haze of nerves and excitement that had cooled briefly after Watto yelled at him some time close to midday, and reignited when he and his mom started the walk home under the violet-orange lit sky of late-evening-nearly-night. She steered him home and forced him to eat his late-meal before setting him loose with a small smile and a firm warning to be careful. He grinned at her, nodding even as he practically tumbled through the door and back out into the quarter to make his way to where they’d been keeping the stranger.

“Hi,” he said, peeking through the tattered fabric hung up in place of a proper door.

The room was almost empty, lit mostly thanks to the three moons peeking up over the horizon and the last traces of the twin suns falling on the other side spilling through two windows, little more than a pair of squares cut out of solid rock, and the open, arched entrance. The stranger was the only person inside, propped up to sit against the wall furthest from the door, and mostly hidden in shadow except for the light cast from a neat little device about as big around as the palm of Anakin’s hand that they’d put down next to them. On their other side was a pile of their green armor, all but a pauldron which they’d been turning over in their hands until Anakin had poked his head in.

Their small arsenal of weapons, however, had been moved to the corner of the room furthest from them. Not that he faulted anyone for that. Every slave in the quarter would be in trouble if anyone found them, whether they’d actually helped the stranger or not.

“Hi,” they replied, suspicion all but dripping from the word as they slowly lowered the pauldron down to rest in their lap.

Anakin smiled and took the attention as permission to step inside, settled down with his legs crossed on the room’s sandy floor. Even from a few feet away, he could tell they looked better than even that morning — still battered and bandaged and a little paler than they probably should be, but whole and alive in a way they hadn’t been while asleep. Unconscious, technically, but technicalities rarely mattered to an eight-year-old. The silence stretched between them, both of them staring at each other until he chose to break it.

“How do you feel?” It was only polite to ask, even if it wasn’t what he really wanted to know. A dozen questions burned his tongue, but his mom hadn’t wasted time teaching him to be rude so he kept a tight leash on them and waited. Thankfully, not for long this time.

“Fine,” they said, curt if not a bit gruff. They sounded better, he noted, than they had earlier. “You’re the kid from this morning.” They furrowed their brows, speaking slowly like they weren’t quite confident about being right. Anakin nodded even though it hadn’t quite been a question. He knew that feeling well, after all. “What’s your name?”

“Anakin. What’s yours?”

“Boba.”

Anakin cocked his head to one side and asked, shameless: “Just Boba?”

“Just Anakin?” they drawled in return, their unbandaged brow arched. Anakin grinned, all teeth and excitement. He liked Boba.

“Anakin Skywalker,” he offered, expecting to get Boba’s surname in response only to be disappointed when all got instead was a a slow blink and a huff of breath that could’ve meant anything and nothing at all.

“What’re you doing here, kid?”

He pouted, watched Boba’s lips twitch up into a smirk, and pouted harder. He wondered, somewhere in the very back of his mind, if it was smart to be there, alone with someone who wore armor and had weapons and as much muscle and healthy bulk as Boba did. There was a danger to them, in the way their eyes never quite settled on Anakin in favor of scanning their surroundings again and again. It was there in the way they sat, too. At ease, like even injured and newly-woken they knew they could fight their way out if needed. Anakin wondered, but stayed, knowing his mom wouldn’t have let him come if anyone had mentioned they were dangerous.

“Rude,” he said, still pouting but also a little joking. Testing. Boba rolled his eyes and waited for a proper answer. “I come here every day. I even did the bandages on your arm.” He gestured to Boba’s left arm where they’d been sliced from elbow to shoulder, jagged and sloppy. It had needed stitches in three different places where the cut ran extra deep — the wound too long to spare enough thread for the whole thing. “Mom had to fix it the first three times, but I got it right this morning. Before you woke up.”

“Shouldn’t you be out doing … kid … things? Fun things?” Boba asked, sounding suddenly awkward, their gaze sliding away from Anakin after the clumsy question and looking for all the world like they hadn’t really meant to ask it.

“Maybe.” Anakin shrugged. “Watto’s been in a bad mood though, so mom and I have been getting home really late all week. Even if I wanted to, all the other kids would’ve gone home by the time he let us go.”

Boba’s gaze snapped back to him as he talked, focused instead of awkward, and only offered a low hum in response. He felt a little like a piece of meat in front of a starved massif, but did his best to channel a bit of his mom’s unwavering calm. Not the mask she used in front of the masters so much as the air she adopted in front of some of the new slaves brought to the quarter, scared and alone.

“Any siblings?” They sounded almost hopeful when they asked, only to scowl when he shook his head.

“Nope,” he said, popping the p. “It’s just mom and me. Do you? Have siblings, I mean.”

“No.” Boba sighed. “Sort of, but not really.” Anakin wrinkled his nose.

“How’s that work?”

Boba didn’t answer, only waved a hand at him in a vague gesture he took to mean it was complicated. He nodded, understanding. Slave families were always complicated, and he’d learned not to ask about complicated things when they didn’t want to be talked about. Instead, he changed tracks and poked at one of the many other threads he’d wanted to pick at since Boba had woken up earlier.

“How long have you been on Tatooine? I’ve been here my whole life, but my mom wasn’t. She got sold to Gardulla a long time ago before she lost a bet to Watto and he won both of us.” Anakin’s lips tugged up into a grin and he leaned forward, excited despite himself. “Before that she said she was in space, on a real ship and everything. I’m gonna go up into space one day! Get on a ship and fly right off Tatooine and see all the stars up close.”

Boba leaned back, drawing one of their legs up so they could rest their left arm against the knee as they listened. It made it harder for him to read their face, but not impossible. And Anakin was nothing if not good at figuring out how people felt if he concentrated hard enough.

“Sounds like a good goal,” they said, amused. When they said nothing else, Anakin frowned.

“Aren’t you gonna answer?” Boba tipped his head just slightly to one side, and he huffed, shoving as much exasperation into the breathy sound as he could. “My question? About how long you’ve been here.”

“Long enough.”

He nodded, humming a little in response. It made sense, he mused, that someone with a master as mean as Boba’s might not want to keep track of how long they’d been with them. That thought, though, brought up another very important question that Anakin wasn’t sure anyone else had thought to ask them yet. He hesitated, mouth suddenly dry as he shifted in place, and picked at the hem of his tan shirt to buy himself a few seconds more.

“Have you—” He stopped. Pressed his lips into a thin line so he wouldn’t give in to the urge to lick them. “Terrin and Bhan found you out in the sands behind the quarter,” he said, carefully picking his words. “Mom said they brought you back here. And. Well, uh.”

“Spit it out kid,” Boba said, not unknindly but not kindly either.

“It’s just, five days is a lot y’know? And-and some masters’ll wait a few, yeah, if they hurt you bad enough, but. But five is a lot, ‘specially for a slave, even if you look really well fed and have cool armor and get to actually hold weapons. But five is a lot of days! And I was really scared I’d wake up or-or come back from Watto’s and you’d be blown up ‘cause your master didn’t wanna wait anymore and—”

Boba moved, faster than someone that hurt should have been able to, and leaned forward, almost crouched, with his hands up, palms out. Anakin’s mouth snapped shut on instinct and he sucked in a huge breath of air, relieving the ache in his lungs he hadn’t noticed in his rush to get all the words out even as the rest of him tensed. They waited until he wasn’t practically gasping, their already dark eyes almost black in the shadows.

He’d thought Boba felt like danger before, but now they looked it, balanced on the balls of their feet with their hands out in front of them. For a moment, it was like seeing double: Boba as they were, bandaged and hurt, and another Boba clad in green, well cared for armor, crouched much like they were now except they held a blaster in one hand and a vibroblade as long as Anakin’s forearm in the other.

Just then, Anakin thought, a little hysterical, they looked like the predator they could be.

As quickly as it had come, the moment passed and he was left with only Boba as he knew them: unarmored, unarmed, dressed half in the remains of his once-white undersuit and the ratty strips of cloth they’d used to dress their wounds. He breathed, long and slow, until his heart felt a little less like it wanted to beat its way out of his chest, and forced the rest of his body to loosen up at least a little, not wanting to look too much like an animal about to run.

“You think I’m a slave,” Boba said, almost a whisper, but Anakin couldn’t find it in himself to nod or speak. Not yet. “Thank you,” they added, a lot like they were trying not to spook him, “for the concern, misplaced as it is.”

It took a few tries, but Anakin finally found his voice for long enough to ask, soft as he could: “If it wasn’t a master, then —” He swallowed even though his mouth felt drier than the desert. “Then who did this to you?”

They didn’t answer right away, taking a moment to lower themself back down with a groan half-muffled behind gritted teeth. Anakin felt small under their gaze if not quite scared, but did his best to keep himself upright rather than cowed.

“I did,” Boba answered, strained, with a weight to the words Anakin didn’t understand. They did nothing to make him feel any less small, no bigger than a single grain of sand. “I was stupid. Wound up in—” They paused, squinted at Anakin, and then quickly amended what they’d meant to say. “Wound up in trouble with no backup.” They shrugged, the dark circles under their eyes looking suddenly so much bigger. Heavier. “I remember a little of how I got out, but not how I wound up here in … Mos Espa I think someone said.”

Anakin opened his mouth, not sure at all what he wanted to say, if anything, until his mom’s voice at the entrance startled him.

“Anakin, time to sleep.” She didn’t look at him as she spoke, eyes firmly set on Boba, but Anakin nodded anyway.

He stood, brushing sand off his pants for a moment before looking back at Boba. He smiled, dimmer than before, and said: “Goodnight, Boba. See you tomorrow,” he added and waited until Boba’s lips twitched up again — not quite a smile, not quite a smirk, but an invitation back all the same. He did grin then, offering up a little wave before turning on his heel to follow his mom.

“ ‘Night, Skywalker,” he heard Boba say, as the cloth in the doorway settled back in place.

Anakin took his mom’s hand when she held hers out. She squeezed his fingers briefly, then tugged him close. He breathed in. Out. And listened for the little notes he sometimes heard on the wind — the tug in his gut and the pull in his bones that sometimes pulled him closer to one decision or another. He felt it, faint but there. A warmth like good, hot food in his belly or his mom’s hugs after an awful dream, and for a single second, the scrape of fingers on metal ringing in a way he’d never heard before but made him think of Boba regardless.

He let his mom hold him all the way to his room until he kissed her goodnight. His last thought before he fell asleep, curled up on his pallet and tucked under his thin, scratchy blanket, was of the stranger named Boba and the pleasant notes plucking a tune inside and around him, whispering to him even on the edge of his dreams.

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

Boba watched Skywalker — Anakin Skywalker — leave, nothing but a kid smaller than Boba ever remembered being: naive and vulnerable and dressed in all the inadequate trappings of a slave and so damnably bright that it hurt to look at his little, hopeful face. Not so much as a hint of the Jedi knight he remembered from his youth — most of it propaganda he’d caught glimpses of in prison and a few jobs before the Empire erased everything — remained in the child except maybe in the edges of that smile, confident if not yet cocky, but innocent. Painfully innocent.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, the skin on his palm still a little raw from the acid in the sarlacc’s stomach. Maybe, he thought desperately, he was still there, being slowly digested to death because surely, surely, that made more sense than what every other conclusion he reached for pointed to. He had to be dead or dying, not—

Not 36 years in the kriffing past, if the date the woman who’d told him where on this godsforsaken planet he was had given him was right. It made no sense. He wasn’t a Jedi — little gods no — and he had no connection to their Force or any other magic. He didn’t think the sarlacc had anything to do with it either, but that still left him with no answers and a galaxy’s-worth of questions.

“Fuck,” he growled, as much a helpless sound as it was a curse to whatever or whoever had caused this. He’d wring their neck as soon as he found out, even if it meant figuring out a way to strangle some magical cosmic thing that a dead order of damned wizards had believed in. For now, though, he was stuck. Injured and healing, without a ship or a credit to his name, no reputation to speak of, and Anakin fucking Skywalker who apparently helped nurse him back to health and had promised to come back in the morning.

And a father who was alive somewhere in the wider galaxy.

The realization came slow and with all the strength of an imperial star cruiser hurtling forward at full speed. He swallowed, blinking back a wave of stinging tears as something thick and pitiful welled up in his throat. He breathed, deep and slow, and forced himself back into order by sheer force of will. He was still stuck on Tatooine, tucked away in the slave’s quarter by some idiotic sense of communal good-will that would do nothing for their self-preservation, but he had time. He had time, if not a lot, to find his father and… Do something.

“Fuck,” he said again, but it was tired. A thick and bone-deep weariness that threatened to suffocate him if he thought about it for too long.

He sighed and wondered, for just a moment before he let sleep drag him back down into the darkness and nightmares, if his father was the man who’d raised Boba already, or someone else entirely. He hated that he didn’t know which one he’d prefer if he woke again tomorrow and found that time travel really was the answer to where — when — he was.

#whumptober2021 #no.3 #who did this to you?#star wars #anakin skywalker #boba fett #fic #blood #injury #death mention #my fanfic

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iwantutobehapppier · 4 years

Text

Rough Ridin’

Pairing: Bucky Rogers

Summary: Being away from Bucky was never easy for you, and it wasn’t easy for Bucky either. Idle thoughts and such.

Warnings: Smut! SMUT SMUT! 18+ Only! Male oral, some toys can’t say without spoiling, light choking, daddy kink. If any of these situations bother you please read no further.

Word Count: 3,083

A/N: This is for my beautiful Tumblr wife @sagechanoafterdark it is her Birthday today! AAAHH!! Go wish her a happy birthday. I offer to you my goddess wife Bucky Smuts.

Pulling the covers over your head you attempt to block out the rising sun. It was the eighth day you woke up alone in your bed, spreading your fingers over the cold sheet to your side you mourn the missing body.

Bucky had been away on a mission for far too long and while you were updated on his safety, you two had not spoken or texted each other in over a week now. The feelings of detachment were setting in, you weren’t sure how much longer you’d make it. You and Bucky were anchors for each other, both so torn in unique and often tragic ways.

Determined to spend the rest of the day in bed, because what was the point in leaving, you bundled up under a ridiculous amount of layers you had to use without your Super-Soldier. Just as your lids felt heavy with sleep Friday’s voice pulls you from your descent into slumber.

“There’s a package at the front awaiting a signature from Bucky Ma’am.” You flipped the covers from your head looking up perplexed. “Could you please sign for it?”

“Uh, sure?” You rush to get dressed in something other than underwear and Bucky’s shirt, but you leave said shirt on the bed knowing you’ll put it back on once you return.

Huffing and puffing you carry the cumbersome box into your shared living quarters with Bucky. After setting it down your return to your room to change when your phone goes off from the bedside table. Pulling your shirt and yoga pants off to slip Bucky’s shirt back on, you unlock your phone and squeal at the sight of Bucky’s name.

Don’t open the package. I’ll be home tonight. 😘

You chew on your bottom lip a little upset at the sudden communication after radio silence to be instructions for you like you’re a child but he was coming home. Tonight. Deciding to push the insecurities about the abrupt tone you felt from the text to focus on the positive you look in the mirror.

Oh, you were not looking at your best. Between, pizza binging, podcasts, reading and occasional adventure to talk with a fellow Avenger you hadn’t really been doing much upkeep. Looking at the clock you nod your head, plenty of time to shapen up for your boy.

~~*~~

A hot shower, face mask, shaving, epilator, blow dryer and some good skincare routine you feel not only human but sexy. You could feel your pent up sexual needs blooming at the prospect of Bucky being home soon. The way he knew how to take care of you made your blood boil just at the thought. Pulling a worn but clean Henley from Bucky’s drawer you drag it over your head to pair with your black bikini strap panties. Pulling up your phone your lips spread into a wide smile at missed texts from Bucky.

I can’t wait to see you. 😍 Been thinking about you every day. Thinking about how sexy you look spread out for me. I know you’ve been so patient and good 😉 Can’t wait to hold you in my arms Then hold you down. 😈 See you soon babe.

You felt warmth bloom over your face at how quickly he flipped from your sweet boyfriend to sexy daddy. Your thighs clenched together as your fingers typed an equally sexy and sweet reply. The thoughts spinning through your head at what could unravel tonight would not be good for the countdown of his return. You need a distraction.

You skip your way into the living room, posting up on the couch and pulling your latest book into your lap hoping it’ll help you pass the time. You last awhile, well at least three hours, before needing something to drink and a snack. Leaning against the kitchen island you pop your snack into your mouth, whatever Bucky’s latest snack craving was. It varied from a new health food he wanted to try out all the way to him coming home with boxes and boxes of Oreos.

Speaking of boxes.

Your eyes caught the sight of that heavy box you brought in sitting by the door. Bucky had been so specific in telling you not to open it. Clearly, he was waiting for the notification of it being delivered as the time between your digital signature to his text was brief. What was in there that you couldn’t see? Or maybe he wanted to be the first one to open it?

Your phone goes off again and you rush to the couch anticipating some more sexting from Bucky but frown at the message being from a friend. Reading and replying you set your phone back down to return to your snack, downtrodden at the dashed possibility of more sexts from your boyfriend.

You pause next to the box, your finger in your mouth in contemplation you chew on your cuticle. A habit that could only happen if Bucky wasn’t around, else he’d whisper “You better stop or I’m going to put something much bigger between those lips.” Only to walk off as if nothing was lewd about his suggestion.

Walking up to the box you pay attention to the shipping label this time. You frown at the PO BOX, of course, though you’re perplexed at the lack of company name with returning shipping address. Oh, you were curious, a box you couldn’t open with no clear indication as to why?

What if you peeked into the box? Maybe some tape comes up and you just get a lookie? Flipping your nails over the edges where the cardboard was worn from travel, you contemplate the best way to get a peek of what’s inside.

Shaking your head you pulled yourself out of a ridiculous rabbit trail. He’d be home soon, then he’d open it and the mystery would be over. Though in your personal experience boxes without any company indication or label branding were illicit fun types of packages. You needed to know what was in there.

“Friday?”

“Yes, ma’am?” The delightful Irish AI pleasant to your ears now that you were fully awake.

“Can you scan the package for me?”

“It was scanned before entering the building ma’am for safety protocol.” An evil grin fell over your face, safety protocols being in your favor today.

“Show me the scan.” Without missing a beat the digital display in the living room lights up with a view of the contents inside the box. Moving towards the couch for a better look at the image you tilt your head to the side.

It wasn’t… It couldn’t be what you think it is. Fishing for your phone blindly on the couch as you continue to stare at the box’s contents until your phone is in front of your face. Taking a picture you attach it with a text to Bucky. “Is that what I think it is?”

I told you not to look inside.

Your phone starts ringing in your hands after you read the text from Bucky, without a second thought you answer.

“Hey doll,” the warm richness of his voice hits your ears, you can feel your entire body relax from head to toe.

“Hey,” Bucky gives a sigh of content, your voice doing the same for him.

“You know that’s a technicality right?” The warmth in his voice laced with authority. Oh, you were toeing a line.

“Your text said do not open it,” you justify once more. “I simply used technology to my advantage.”

“Open it.” You blinked at his command, and it was indeed a command.

“Open it, and you better be on it until I get home.” You look at the box then away. You weren’t sure you could do that, but if Bucky told you to do it then you would try.

“Okay,” he grunts displeased with your response.

“Yes, daddy.” You can hear him stifle a groan. It suddenly occurs to you that Steve could be by him, or even Sam. “I miss you, daddy,” you lay it on thick.

“I know what you’re trying to do.” his breaths quicken. “You better stop it.”

“Make me,” you hang up the phone well aware you had pushed your boyfriend but giddy at the outcome. Looking at the now looming box you square your shoulders determined to do what was asked of you. Your phone goes off for a text.

You’ve got two hours.

You shoulder sag, this would be torture, another text came through.

Do NOT cum. 😈😘

Opening the box you pull out the large bulky object covered in plastic wrap. Taking a deep breath you lifted the object up and brought it into the bedroom. Muttering under your breath about lack of super-soldier strength. Pulling it out of the wrapping you unveiled the solid black saddle mount with lifted rectangle on top with a small raised area.

He had bought a fucking Sybian.

After you’ve cleaned it off with the provided cleansing wipes you plug it in, taking the black setting box with you as you straddle the Sybian. Keeping your underwear on for now you were going to start at the lowest setting and see how it goes. Turning the vibrations on you release a soft gasp at the sensation against your clit.

Feeling rather adventurous given the whole debacle leading up to this you turn the vibrations up two more notches.

Dropping the control, you place your hands on the front of the saddle and begin to rock against the vibrations slowly. Throwing your head back and arching your back at the sensations you bit your lower lip, your body tingling all over with need.

You’re not sure how long you were rotating your hips against the vibrations, but as you feel your body start to key up your hands blindly search for the discarded controls. Turning it off you slump down, holding yourself up on your elbows on the edge of the black cushioning. It was comfortable and very effective.

Taking a few minutes you catch your breath and let the fire you had started fizzle out before turning it back on with the lowest vibrations. Your hips rock back and forth without you realizing it. Hands slipping under the henley you pinch your nipples, whimpering out into the empty bedroom.

It’s slower this time, the pleasure rolling through you with gentleness but still raising the hair along your body. The curl in your toes as it slowly climbs. You start to feel yourself key up, eyes closed as the blood pumps through your veins so loud it deafens the sound of the vibrating motor. Without opening your eyes you reach for the control, a small frown marring your face as you open your eyes to look for it where you set it last.

Boots are the first thing you see. Whipping your head up you see Bucky cupping his growing erection while his metal hand holds the controller.

“Bucky,” You whine reaching for the controls. He steps forward, his crotch right at your eye level. He turns the device off and you sigh in remorse, you were hoping since he was there he would let you finish.

His flesh hand caresses your face, trailing down to cup your chin. Leaning down to slants his lips against yours a sigh of relief washes over him, how he had missed your lips, your face, your eyes, your everything. But he’d take stock of that later. Standing up he feels himself falter when you mewl from the loss of his kiss.

“I love you,” are the first words he says to you before he cranks the vibration control to the max. You cry out turning your head down as your thighs clenched around the saddle quivering against the plastic nylon. Bucky unzips his pants, removing his hardening cock from its confines.

When you lift your head up to moan, his right-hand grips the back of your head pushing his cock into your open mouth. Your moan vibrates along his shaft as he pushes himself down your throat.

He turns the vibrations to half power, pulling your head back and forth down his shaft. A moan falls from his lips as your soft tongue rolls around his pulsing cock. Your eyes water as he holds himself down your throat, your nose pressing into pubes.

“Been thinking about this every day.” His words garbled in your ears at the rushing blood but you can make out just enough of his words.

“Eight fucking days just doing recon,” he pulls your head back and you gasp out loud, his metal hand cranks the vibrations back up to max and you cry out. Your hips jerking back and forth on the machine, your voice raspy as you try to mutter out his name but can’t get past the B.

“Then I found this toy on Amazon and had the same-day delivery,” a cruel smile forms on his lips, watching you pant, drool trailing down your chin and dripping onto his henley. Letting go of your head he rips the henley up and off of you. The cool air making your nipples pucker, he trails his tongue over his lips at the sight.

Wrapping his hand in your hair forming a make-shift ponytail you look up at him, those soft blues all you can see as your orgasm starts to climb.

“That’s my girl. Cum for me,” He drops the controller, his metal hand gripping the base of his cock to tap the head against your outstretched tongue. Your soft whines and moans heat his entire body with need. Your eyes scrunch shut, lips encasing the head of his cock, your body rocking against the saddle as a sweeping sensation of pleasure overtakes you. The elusive orgasm finally taking over your body, if it hadn’t been for Bucky holding your hair you were certain you’d fall forward.

As you bask in the euphoria Bucky lifts you up by your armpits. His pliant blissed-out doll, he kisses your sweaty forehead before placing you on the bed face down. Turning around he turns the Sybian off then faces your twitching body. He slips your panties down your body, discarding his clothes as well.

By the time you are coming around you feel him lift your hips up in the air, a soft coo falls from your lips when you feel him nudge your folds with his cock.

“Daddy,” You whimper. That’s all Bucky can take, his pushing through your wetness and bottoming out, his hips flushed to your ass.

“Fuck,” He chants trying to regain his composure, but the way your walls flutter around him leaves him breathless. He cants his hips back slamming back in, your moans muffled into the bed.

Bucky knows he won’t last long, not with how good you feel. He lets go of your hips with one hand, curling in front to rub your clit in tight quick circles to match his thrusts. The clapping of your skin meeting with each thrust echoes off the walls. The force he uses makes your back dip down further until you're almost flat with the bed save where he holds your hips up.

You rub your face into the comforter, your body never fully coming down from ecstasy. You feel yourself begin to build up to the precipice but it feels overwhelming, so quick. His cock dragging along your walls, a particularly rough angled thrust pushes against your g-spot. Crying out you lift your head up.

“Too much!” He growls, only to rebound his efforts.

“No,” his hand on your clit snakes up your body between the valley of your breast to wrap around your neck, pulling your upper half up by his grip. Your walls tighten around him and flutter. Salacious sound of wet flesh hitting, your gushing juices running down your thighs as they tremble, your voice cracking with a moan. It jarring how quickly you cum again.

Bucky can’t hold off, the way you squeeze him, your noises, the shine of sweat down your back. He grunts his hips stuttering in their pace, he lets your upper body down gently as he can manage whilst his orgasm overtakes him. The hot spurts rushing into you pushes a soft mewl from your chapped lips.

He leans over your body, panting hot breath against your shoulder, followed by a kiss to sweat-slick flesh. Then another, between his heavy breaths he kisses along your shoulder blade, down your spine, a soft bite to your plump behind you swat at him and he chuckles at your hand missing him.

Slowly turning you over he crawls up the bed laying next to you. Pulling you to him, his arms wrap around you, soft gentle words pour from his mouth.

“You’re such a good girl,” he kisses your cheek. “I’m so proud of you,” than the other cheek. “I’m so happy you are mine,” he kisses your nose.

“I love you,” his lips press gently to yours, arms keeping you tight against him. When he pulls his lips from yours he notches your head below his, chin resting on the crown of your head.

“I love you too,” exhaustion evident in your soft tones.

“And I’m so lucky that you do.” He gently rocks you against him, relishing having his girl with him again. Sorely tempted to tell Steve to suck it next time he asked him to do a long recon.

You pull away from him after a little bit, finally coming down you need a bit of breathing room. Feeling safe enough to leave your side Bucky hops out of bed to the bathroom to grab a wet washcloth, set on cleaning you up.

As he walks back into the bedroom with a washcloth with a blissful smile.

“Hey,” you call out Bucky hm’s as he gets between your legs cleaning you up.

“That was less than two hours.” You state a matter of fact.

“I kicked Sam out of the pilot seat and got us home faster.” You cover your mouth suffocating the laugh that bubbles up from his response.

“So impatient,” you tease.

“Eight fucking days doll.” He tosses the washcloth near or in the clothing bin he can’t be sure and crawls up your body, holding himself above you.

“Oh, I know.”

“Good, let me help you forget.” He leans down to capture your lips once more, intent on using that new toy a few more times tonight.

#bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x female reader #james bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x You #james bucky barnes x you #james buchanan barnes x reader #Steven grant Rogers x James Buchanan Barnes #smut #bucky smut #marvel smut #sage birthday gif

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captainkurosolaire · 3 years

Text

Deadly Scheme

Suddenly after tasting victory for an ilm in facial features, the younger Keeper began fearfully pausing at distraught, unable to continue or use the function of his limbs, against his own design, administering a hold on his own throat and choking violently, squeezing the pressure with white-gloved hands. Choking and trying his mightiest to retrain, Silva's unrelenting power seemed unstoppable. Captain ripped off his shirt to block getting electrified and to safely rush back into the fray only to see the same scenery. “What ar’ you doing, Shiro! You’ve got him finished! Don’t beat yerself up.” Not recognizing that he was being bent against his will and hostage and also the Keeper unable to hear. Struggling under his choke, “I--can--’t con-tr-ol” Shiro’s other hand meticulously aiming at the imbecile scoundrel. Who took in resolve still containing the ice-sword he’d break through and shatter this enemy and give him complete decimation. Only when he got close, the possessed Shiro, manipulated the scimitar into reshaping into a self-impaling halberd that pierced through the pirate. Then combusted in a cryogenic explosion that sent Captain repelling and catapulting back into a harsh thud of defeat a side of his ribs fractured or shattered. Looking bewildered at the Seeker’s palms was surprisingly warm but only in his own sanguine nectar. Shiro forcefully pushed as he was being compelled to release Silv’a from the imprisonment. Otherwise choking and dying for nothing, this attempt was unsuccessful to claim victory. Unable to contest with the wrath no matter how many his backtracking leg’s stunted and relented, his need for oxygen demanded it, instincts kicking in with betrayal. He dissolved and freed his terrible evil from his own encasing and finally found his lung’s catching up. Silv’a cracked out stiffness and bone sores before mercilessly summoning a bundle of shards of ice and puncturing his own son and impaled him to the flooring with nails to his extremities. The injurie’s carried over into the Elder but unlike his son, had complete regeneration and recuperated every harmful effect as if indestructible. The soul-link faded from it’s duration at knick, unfortunately, disappointment continued to follow with his son. If only he endured a little longer, if his resolve of hatred for Silv’a soared higher. Towering over the two fallen moon and sun. He was their eclipse on this doomsday. A mighty debonair voice echoed over in a lecture of supremacy. “You can’t possibly think you’ll win. Even if you managed to kill me, another me will achieve where I failed. Evil, Good. It’ll always exist. None of their definitive methods matter by the end. Both forces believe they’re right.” “I am saving the world from the scar’s of calamity. If we all become immortal. Another catastrophe can’t slaughter us to extinction. We’ll be prepared by any interspiece traveler this time.The survivors won’t have to mourn! Our born mortal flesh is inferior! An imperfect design with an expiration date. Why clamour to be less?” “Those who survive the tormented soul’s who seek to bless every living thing on this Realm, will be the undefined STRONG. We’ll become a unified mutual structure. The hierarchy will shift drastically. Wealth will not be a determining factor. What you were distinctly racially born as, won’t matter! Don’t you see!” “Haven’t you ever questioned why these deities abandoned this realm after the recorded First Era? This world was studied once as an unimaginable beauty. But as creation’s came into, warring Beast Tribes and more race’s began migrating, our flaws served a catalyst corrupting and consuming with wedged separations. We became a lost cause.”

Twitching an angry wavy brow, Captain weakly unleashed an uproar, “SHUT TH’ HELL UP!” He’d begin lifting himself up and rummage a salving herb that bandaged his wound used by his other soul-half that roamed wilds, after wincing out, “I don’t give a shite. You wouldn’t possibly UNDERSTAND what we’ve done to survive while you were gone and hiding like a rat in a gutter inside your own son, by the way. Disgusting. That’s even immoral for me… I never needed the validation of’ the Twelve. Or my many betters. If I made it. So did many others, in a way we struggle more than any predated heroes, innocent’s still finding a reason to smile, t’ still find harmony, they create harboring hope and to endure, that’s strength! They’re th’ attraction! World hasn’t lost its radiance. We’ve only incorporated it into our lifeforms, after having my shared venture’s... If peace was an option, I would pick it! Building our massive societies and cultures, that’s why we pirate’s sailed! Not all forget history, we build and advance continuously, It’s also why the relics you even hold, were found, because of the Scour. We might be a doom cause, but by it all we restore with us joining as one! Many race’s loathe each other from old wounds, now, because of Realm defining Wars we’re getting closer to accepting one another, because this is our ship we share!” Pausing before catching his lungs up then gently, calmly, soothing continuing. A powerful retort was passionately conveyed by the seafarer. “The mortals.” “Dying is ever important for th’ next phase ov’ Living.” “What’ll happen when everyone becomes an immortal demon that eats and devours all living-sources and we run out? Think of that! You preach about invaders that caused Calamities. We’d eventually do it to another Realm n’ be th’ invader and eventually we’ll go back to fighting each other internally. Yer perfect hierarchy is still a BROKEN system! Becoming all equal isn’t th’ answer. Wondrous diversities, that's knowing true treasure.” Shiro was stunned and staggered that Captain even managed to deductively vent at that point, something that would’ve fit his own retort as he regained his hearing to rise with the aspiring pirate. “...Well said.” Breaking his binding ice that rooted him with a howling defiance. Highlighting a visage with an impressed but still grumbling as the polar-pair resisted and fought as warriors even with their extensive wounds only gathering more, even if they died ultimately here, at least they fought the devil instead of hid. Silv’a crossed his arms before cackling his head back, “As I said. We’ll never agree. You’ll see once it all transpires, I’m right. You’ll all be mended… Well, except you boys, I don’t think you’ll survive. You’ve caused me enough headaches! In Fact… I think you should return to your nursery.” Reading off the Voidal Relic the Scroll of the Twelve with a finger rub over the spell, he’d unleash a terrifying curse. “What now?” Captain wouldn’t like this, Shiro more sensible, “Come on stop gawking, Solaire, we’ve got to stop him!” Silv’a uttered, <”Unvalued flowed time is constantly to be set-back until before they prospered.>!” Empowering it with an old Mhachi tongue. As Shiro and Kuro rushed their next barrage they noticed the world getting larger... or, well, them getting smaller. They began shrinking into their child forms being toddlers but retaining their wisdom, least temporarily. Their bodies however were once again pesky chibi-like kids. Completely harmless and so fragile. “I feel like my balls were reversed from dropping, so painfully unpleasant.” Captain’s first thing he noticed as his pitch became predated with puberty. Turning to Shiro who was overlooking his own form, “Argh! We've been transformed into runts.” Silv’a laughing gallantly, succeeding in disposing of them. “Precisely you spoiled pest, now sit tight and observe.” He’d create a kid’s play-pen they couldn’t even climb out from their heights being insignificant. See-through fenced with an ice wall barricading them in. Only so they could bewilder failure. A dangerous curse that would constantly become even more potent as time durated as shortly even their own actual age would be reversed until they were drooling infants and slobbering messes who could only crawl, then eventually they’d cease of existence. Shiro and Kuro looked in complete disarray and despair. The sorcerer conducted his actual plan by aligning the Voidal Relics; they were keys for something of a grander scheme beyond their forbidden usages. The more drawn together they could be conduit’s to open up a gateway even more terrifying than that of the Void alone. A teared rift that could endanger all if it came to pass a place deemed of no escape was beginning to be drawn forth with Mhachi blood and the unity of demon’s. The Tormented Plane’s laid to open, so came certain Oblivion. The worst of the worst sinners and tortured would eventually find escape when the Rift fully opened, unleashed after a phase of time and by continuing draining each relic independently. (Previous) << (Voidal Relics) >> (Next)

#Tales of the Goldbrand #Dark Fantasy #Lord Shiro Elune #Allies Rivals #Silv'a #Big Bad vs Big Bads #Noble #Pirate #The Immortal Age Saga #creative writing

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theheartsmistakes · 4 years

Text

The Last Night Part XXIV

Parts I-XXII:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

Part XVII

Part XVIII

Part XIX

Part XX

Part XXI

Part XXII

Part XXIII

XXIV.

(Author’s Notes: I noticed a slight mistake in my last post. Thomas would be Lucie’s second cousin, not first cousin, because he’s the cousin of her cousin. They are not in fact related at all, only Anna and Christopher would be related to Lucie, James, and Thomas. Ugh, it’s all very confusing. Anyway, Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays! I hope whatever you and your family celebrates, it was wonderful and special. Thank you for being patient for this update. Next update is coming Jan 3.)

James pushed their horse and carriage through the streets at a blinding speed, taking corners on two wheels at times that had Cordelia gripping the sides of the carriage and bracing herself at the velocity; filled with too much concern for Lucie that fear for herself could not fit. Once Magnus had successfully removed the block on her memories, a flood of terrifying images filled her mind.

The demon that had attacked their carriage.

Alastair bleeding on the brick pavement.

Lucie running towards her through a cloud of orange sand and Belial greeting her with a malicious grin.

Lucie could see ghosts. No, not only see them. She could command them. Conjure them. And he wanted to use that ability to command an ultimately unbeatable army.

James took a turn up on the sidewalk, nearly removing a postal box in the process. Luck be it, Magnus glamoured the carriage so that as they flew by and around the crowds of people moving through the congested streets of London, all the pedestrians felt was a harsh gust of wind that gently scooted them out of the way or immediately stopping them so that James could maneuver around in time. When James had begged him to come along, Magnus insisted that he needed to find James’s parents and tell them of Belial’s interest in their youngest child. It was imperative that they find Lucie and bring her back to Magnus’s cottage where he could form guards around her.

Somehow Cordelia knew that if Belial wanted access to her, he would find it. For he had somehow found Cordelia in the middle of London and held her life and her brother’s in his hands.

Alastair. The warmth evaporated from Cordelia’s face as she reached for James’s wrist to look at his watch. She cursed when she found that it was already thirty minutes past three. Alastair would be on his way to look for her now. This would not help James’s standing with him, but she didn’t have enough time to concern herself with her brother at the moment. She’d deal with him once Lucie was safe.

James had barely brought their horse to a slow trot before he jumped from the driver’s seat of the carriage at the front of his Aunt Cecily’s manner.

He ran around the carriage to assist Cordelia, but she was already on the ground and ahead of him.

The garden door was open. There was a chill in the air that was usually absent in the presence of Cecily Lightwood’s quaint cottage. It felt as if it’d been cloaked in darkness- the way she felt when she’d been dragged to the shadow realm by Belial. She wouldn’t allow herself to think of it. Perhaps it was just fear for Lucie that she was allowing her worst thoughts to enter her mind.

James stayed beside her, taking the stair two at a time in a way her skirts wouldn’t allow her. She heard a terrible rip and suddenly her legs had more room to stretch. She didn’t slow or care even as her hair spilled from the delicate coronet her maid had done her hair in as she kept pace with James.

They barreled down the hallway just as two figures stepped out from the room at the end of the hallway.

“Thomas!” James yelled as he skid to a stop. Cordelia behind him reached out for the figure beside Thomas.

“Alastair!” She screeched, nearly colliding with him when she noticed a dark patch across the front of his shirt. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” said Alastair and glanced between her and James. “I was, but I’m not anymore.”

“What happened?” asked Cordelia as James pushed his way past Thomas into the bedroom. “Where is Lucie?”

Thomas and Alastair looked between each other and before either one of them could say a word, Cordelia felt the warmth drain from her body. “No.”

“He was going to kill Alastair,” said Thomas, shame filled his voice. “She gave me no other choice. She nearly broke my nose escaping.”

“He has her?” asked Cordelia as she moved past them into the bedroom to see for herself.

James stood in the center of the room staring wildly at Grace and a boy, no older than the rest of them, kneeling on the ground besides Tatiana Blackthorn. Cordelia’s hand went to her mouth as she realized the woman was dead.

“What did you do?” James demanded of Grace who hunched over her dead mother. “What did you do!?”

“Don’t speak to her in that way,” said the boy.

“Who are you?” asked Cordelia, coming beside James.

The boy slowly rose to his feet. He stood nearly as tall as James, with dark hair and eyes the most beautiful shade of green. “My name is Jesse. Jesse Blackthorn.”

“Impossible,” said Alastair with a hand still clutching his chest. “Jesse Blackthorn died a long time ago.”

Grace sobbed into her mother’s corset. “Yes,” said Jesse, “I was— I was brought back through a bargain my mother had with Belial. An exchange of sorts. My mother thought she was only bringing him the items he needed to resurrect me, and she was so desperate to achieve it she never suspecte what she was actually doing was collecting exactly what Belial needed to create himself a temporary physical form. It didn’t last long, just long enough for him to take Lucy and leave.”

“Why bring you back to life then?” asked Alastair. “If he got what he wanted then why bring you back?”

“To keep Lucie compliant, I suppose,” said Jesse.

“Why would you keep Lucie compliant?” asked James, tightening his grip on a knife Cordelia hadn’t seen him draw. “Did you have something to do with this? Were you working with Belial too?”

“No,” said Jesse. “No, I was trying to protect her. She— she was the only one that could see me; could talk to me.”

“And you took advantage of that,” said Alastair.

“No,” insisted Jesse. “We formed a friendship. We helped each other. I saved your life James, I gave away my last breath after the first attack with Belial, and because of that Lucie made it her mission to bring me back to life. I didn’t realize until it was too late that she had formed an alliance with my sister who was under the control of my mother and Belial.”

James looked down at Grace.“Do you know where he’s gone?”

“There is no getting to him,” said Jesse.

“I’m not asking you,” whispered James in a way that sent a chill down Cordelia’s spine and fear that if he were to ever use that tone on her, even she might cower. “Where can I find him?”

Cordelia felt as if she might faint. She took several steps backward until her back hit the wall.

“I don’t know,” shuttered Grace, still clutching her mother’s mink coat.

James stood straight and dragged his hands through his hair until tuffs of it were sticking out from between his fingers. He turned to Thomas and the two began whispering to one another in low voices. Cordelia felt Alastair come to stand beside her, but couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge him. The memories of him lying on the brick ground bleeding were too fresh in her mind, confusing the way that she felt about him when she left the Institute earlier that day. She’d been so angry with him; she hadn’t known that they were moments away from losing each other.

She couldn’t think about that now. There’d be time for forgiveness later, for now, she needed to help find her friend.

Grace pressed her mother’s hand against her cheek. Her tears poured over her mother’s rings, one on nearly every finger. A memory flashed before Cordelia’s mind of Belial twisting a ring around his finger while he spoke to her. A thick, silver one on his boney thumb.

“Grace,” said Cordelia, pushing herself away from the wall and stepped towards the mourning girl who looked so much like a child curled up on the floor. She dropped onto her knees and brushed Grace’s lovely soft curls that she’d once envied away from her face. “I am so terribly sorry for the loss you’ve suffered.” Grace closed her eyes as more tears rolled down her cheeks. “I cannot pretend to imagine how you feel, nor will I, and I want you to know that no one blames you.”

She heard a scoff over her shoulder.

“They’re going to blame her,” said Grace. “She was just trying to save me and my brother. She didn’t want to be alone, and they’re all going to vilify her for it— and me.”

Cordelia understood all too well wearing the sins of one’s parents. Her father tainted their family name long ago. A stain that she’d have to shoulder and battle everyday.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” said Cordelia patting her gently on her back. “Your mother trusted you over everyone else. Did she ever tell you how she conversed with Belial? There had to be some way that she contacted him or he contacted her and if you can help us learn this information and save Lucie, perhaps we can restore some honor back to your mother. Perhaps she can leave this earth having saved your brother and helped to defeat Belial.”

The room grew quiet around her and Grace sniffled. “She never told me directly.” Cordelia held her breath and Grace lowered her mother’s hand and held index finger. “One day, I saw her playing with this ring and thought it peculiar because I’d never seen it on her hand before nor have I ever noticed her playing with it. She dismissed herself from the room and went to her study. I heard her talking rather loudly with someone inside, but when I tried to open the door it was locked. When I mentioned it later, she suggested that I must have been hearing things, but I know that I heard a voice with hers. A male voice. The kind of voice that you do not forget.”

They all stared down at the ring on Tatiana’s finger; everyone too fearful to touch it.

Thomas was the first to speak. “Should one of us put it on?”

“No,” said Alastair. “No one touch it. We should wrap it up and bring it to the adults.”

“We don’t have time for that,” said James and reached for the ring, but Cordelia slapped his hand away.

“Alastair is right,” said Cordelia. “We don’t know what this ring could do if one of us puts it on. It could kill us or something worse.”

“But Lucie,” insisted James.

“Lucie would not be much better if the ring kills one of us and our one chance of finding her is ruined,” said Cordelia as she ripped a piece of her skirt and used it to carefully remove the ring from Tatiana’s stiffening finger. “We’re taking it to Magnus and we’re going to pray he knows what to do with it.”

#The Last Night #the last hours #chain of gold #chain of gold fanfic #jordelia fanfiction #james x cordelia #Lucie x Jesse

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deathduty · 3 years

Text

Know Your Onions || Deirdre & Orion

PARTIES: @3starsquinn & @deathduty (and Nic’s ghost) TIMING: Current (?) LOCATION: Rio’s house CONTENT: Deirdre calls Rio ugly a lot SUMMARY: Rio meets his landlord, Deirdre misses Nic’s muscles

The house Deirdre had gotten for Nic sat deep in the back of her mind. She thought of it rarely, and only remembered when passing the neighborhood that it existed at all. With time to spare, and Nic and Skylar seemingly gone, it seemed right to ready the house for sale. Or, at least, to use as a second location to store her bones. She’d figure it out. Using her copy of the key, she entered slowly, eyeing a place she’d never really seen. She found it odd that the furniture hadn’t really been taken, or the bits and bobbles of decoration. For what it looked like, it was as if someone was still living here. Deirdre sighed, throwing herself on the couch and kicking her feet up. She could put a skull there, by the window, and a bigger skeleton could hang over there. But did she really need another house in the same town? It was so far out of her usual way that it hardly made sense. Then again, the windows were large, and she wondered what it might be like to push someone out of them. As Deirdre pondered these questions of great importance, a scrawny boy entered her vision. He appeared sad, and pathetic in that way young humans were. Most of all, though, she didn’t recognize him. Deirdre sat up. “If you’re here to rob the place, child. I’m the most valuable thing here and...if we’re being honest, I think a strong enough breeze would send you into the next city.” Deirdre eyed the boy, and then the window, and then the boy again. He would do nicely.

Orion hadn’t been in the best state mentally since Skye had left. He had found himself alone in another house with too many memories and too much space for Rio alone. But still, it beat moving back into the empty shell of a home that his dead parents had left behind. Besides, how could he beat the opportunity to stay in a house that had apparently already been paid for in full? He didn’t understand much about adulthood, moving out of his parent’s house only to move in with a guy that wouldn’t even consider charging Rio rent. Here, things weren’t much different. There was no rent to pay, just utilities or whatever. He had been left with instructions on how to make the payments, and as far as he was aware he hadn’t been evicted yet. But he had been crying. A lot of crying. Enough crying that very morning even that his senses never picked up on the front door opening. He was lying on the floor next to his bed, slowly coming down from an episode when he finally heard the movement downstairs. He froze, focusing his senses out to try to confirm the source of the noise. But the more he listened, the more he was convinced that there was somebody downstairs right now. He rose slowly, his head peaking out from behind the bed as he glanced over at the open bedroom door. He half expected someone, or something to be standing there waiting for him. Luckily that hadn’t been the case. Rio rose slowly, taking light steps, just as his hunter mentor had been teaching him, out into the hallway and down the stairs. He slowly crept towards the source of the noise, finally turning a corner into the living room and taking in the view of a woman casually spread out across his couch. He wiped at his eyes quickly, trying uselessly to hide the evidence of red eyes and tear streaks. “What? No. I’m not here to rob the place. I’m here to live the place.” Rio paused, clearly flustered and trying to speak normally, “No. Wait. I mean I live the place. Er- I live here. This is my place!” Rio finally clarified a bit too passionately. He chose not to comment on her second statement. He knew exactly how he looked. “Uh… who are you?”

The more Deirdre looked at the boy, the more sad he seemed. He looked like he either had been crying, or had one of those faces that made him look like he was always one mean comment away from bursting into tears. As he spoke, her eyes narrowed. The only people who lived here were Skylar and Nic. The child clearly wasn’t Skylar and…. Deirdre rose from the couch with a gasp, hands clasped over her mouth. Poor Nic. Tears welled in her eyes. Somehow, he had been turned into a sad, pathetic, muscle-less little boy. Like someone had zapped all of his hotness away. If that had been her, well, she would’ve been crying too. And she was, now, for the loss of Nic’s muscles. Truthfully, she couldn’t remember what Nic looked like aside from his biceps, which were the only place she looked. He was barely recognizable now, in this cursed state. “I’m so sorry you’re so ugly,” she drew closer to him, clutching her chest. “It’s me, Deirdre. Your landlord. Oh, I know it must be hard to remember me, when we met you were much more….” She gestured in the air, miming his muscles. “I’m so sorry.” She drew the child-Nic into a hug. “I’m going to help you get through this, okay? No one should ever have to look like you do.” She drew back, “have you eaten anything today? You’re going to need lots of protein, okay? It’ll help.”

The woman was staring at Orion. An intense but vacant stare that made Rio convinced that she was clearly thinking through something in her head. Rio wasn’t sure what to expect from the woman. Was she there to kill him? Rio really wasn’t prepared to fight for his life. Or particularly motivated too either. But instead, the woman jumped from his couch and shot over to him with… were those tears in her eyes? Rio wasn’t just confused now, he was a bit worried. But any sense of sorrow he felt the woman quickly vanished when she spoke again. Suddenly, there was a lot less fear and most a healthy mix of confusion and confusion. His face dropped into a flatline, all emotion wiped from his face as he processed what the woman was saying to him. “I’m sorry I- don’t think we’ve ever met before.” Rio tried, trying to maintain pleasantries despite being absolutely sure that he had never met this woman before. “Get through what?” Rio questioned, his body immediately tensing at the hug that Deirdre had pulled him into. Who the heck was this woman? “I- uh. Of course I’ve eaten today. I’m really not as skinny as everyone says you know? Have you been talking to the Doctor? She always sends me protein shake recipes.”

“Oh you’re in denial…” Deirdre tutted, letting the child go. “You should listen to your doctor, she’s right about the protein shakes. But you need to lift weights too, or else there’s no real point to the protein.” Perhaps it was some solemn acceptance that Nic had been reduced to this form. He must have come to terms with the fact that he was more noodle than man--with a face like a distressed baby. Nic always was a man of inner strength, as she could tell, which she really couldn’t given how distracting his outer strength was. But to be turned into a child? The mere thought made her shiver. “It’s okay if you don’t remember me,” she smiled, “your brain must be blocking everything out. How long have you been living like this?”

“I am not in denial.” Orion doubled down, crossing his arms like a pouting child and narrowing his eyes in her direction. “But the protein shakes were good. And I do lift weights sometimes!” Why was this woman so convinced that they knew each other? More importantly, why was she so obsessed with his accused frailness? He resisted the urge to try to point that he had gained a lot of muscle since training with Adam and Kaden. But that muscle went mostly unnoticed due to the baggy clothes he always wore. Besides, she didn’t seem entirely interested in his argument anyways. “Okay, that’s a lie. But I do exercise!” She wouldn’t stop looking at him with this face of mourning. As if Rio, or whoever she was convinced that Rio was, had died or something. He wasn’t a fan of the look at all. “It’s not that I don’t remember you. I’m pretty sure that we’ve never met! I didn’t know there was a landlord. I just paid Skye my cut of the utilities.” The last question baffled him a bit, and he paused and looked towards the ceiling as he considered his answer. “Uh- I’m 21. So 21 years?”

Deirdre’s frown grew deeper; how sad was it that Nic had to lie about lifting weights? He must’ve been demoralized after seeing the sorry state of his muscles. If he hadn’t blocked that from his memory at all. “You made Skylar handle your finances?” A look of disgust passed over her features--Skylar was also a child, and Nic was an adult. An adult of...21 years of age? Her face scrunched together in confusion. Nic was older, but even being transformed into a child would still mean he was just as old as he was before. Surely he was older than 21, wasn’t he? Deirdre crossed her arms over her chest, grumbling to herself as her mind tried to figure it out. It was true that she had a hard time telling the age of humans. This child here looked about 12, and Nic appeared adult-aged, whatever that meant. Maybe he truly was only 21? But she knew a handful of 21 year-olds and none looked like Nic. Was this Nic? No, of course it was. Who else would be living here? She’d only ever heard of Nic and Skylar. “You’ve been sad for 21 years?” She asked the boy, sighing, “you look like an abandoned puppy who was taken in and then abandoned again. And you’ve been that way for 21 years, child?” She paused, “are you sad because you have no muscles?”

“What? No. That sounds mean.” Orion defended immediately, but started to wonder if he had been putting too much stress on Skye. He had never known much responsibility financially when he lived with his parents. And in Ricky’s house he was lucky to get the man to accept money for groceries. “I mean, Skylar had everything under control when I moved in. Probably after Nic left.” Rio spoke absentmindedly, now trying to convince himself more than this woman who claimed to be his landlord. Rio actually chuckled at Deirdre’s question. You’ve been sad for 21 years? Clearly they had never met before, despite her believing otherwise. “Um. Yeah, just about. Give or take a couple.” Maybe the first few before he had any memories. “Thanks?” Rio didn’t actually take her surprisingly relatable comparison as a compliment, but when faced by someone as blunt as this woman seemed to be Rio didn’t actually know how to respond to what she was saying. “I’ve been sad about a lot of things but muscles hasn’t really-” Rio began explaining before he realized that diving into his childhood trauma was not productive to this conversation at all. He shook his head and scratched at the back of his neck, “Actually I don’t know what this has to do with anything? I always assumed that Nic owned the house. So uh… who are you? Besides Deirdre the landlord. Like- how did they end up living in your house?”

“Nic….left…?” Deirdre eyed the boy, suspicious. If this was Nic, it seemed strange that he would have a recollection of Nic, yet no awareness that he was the very man he spoke of. “....what is your name, skinny child?” Possibly, though Deirdre would admit it was an honest mistake, this kid wasn’t Nic. But again, possibly he was. It was hard to tell with White Crest. Gone were the simple days of raining fish, now there were curses and ghosts and skinny boys. If Nic had been turned into a sad child, who else would notice it but her? At any rate, she wouldn’t be able to tell unless someone could verify that this child had truly lived for 21 years and wasn’t actually from the swamp, or wherever Nic said he was from. “Yes, well I bought him the house because he saved someone’s life, and I felt he deserved a reward, as humans often do. You give a dog a treat and a human a house. I didn’t think much of it, but it was nice being a landlord. For one thing, lord is in the title–as it ought. And for another, it’s nice to have a buff man give you money every month. Although we never saw each other, it was nice to know that behind the money drops was a buff man. You know…” Deirdre snapped, “maybe that’s the answer to your sadness. If we got a buff man in here to do all your chores, you’d feel much better. It works for me.” Or would his muscles remind the boy all of what he was missing out on?

“Uh yeah? Like, quite a while ago. Were you not aware that Nic left?” Orion was so confused. There was nothing about this woman or scenario that had not completely baffled him since the moment he heard her in his home. Or her home he supposed. “Orion. Well, most people call me Rio. Either one, really.” Rio answered on instinct, only later realizing what she had called him, “Hey! I’m… slightly less skinny than I used to be.” In his head, that had been a much better defense than it sounded out loud. So this woman was clearly incredibly wealthy, buying houses for men on a whim and- Did she just say humans? Rio’s face settled into a curious squint, studying the woman. Was she just completely lunatic or supernatural? Rio shrugged to himself as he considered the possibility that she might be both. “Right. Right. Well that was uh, super nice of you. To buy Nic a house and all.” Most importantly, he wondered how Nic had ended up in a situation where a supernatural woman bought a hunter a ginormous house for saving some random person’s life. It was altruistic sure, Rio felt bad admitting to himself that he didn’t think altruism seemed like this woman’s strongest attribute. She had barely known him for five minutes and had spent four and a half of them insulting him. “All great points that I never considered. Nic did have very buff arms. Not that I ever really noticed them. I mean I noticed them because like, they were right there and I have eyes. But I never like, noticed them noticed them, y’know? I mean he was basically my dad. He wasn’t my dad for record. I just kinda wished he had been my dad.” Oh god that was a train wreck. Rio needed to find a way to recover from that volcano of embarrassment, “My real dad’s dead.” He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut and wishing he could disappear into a void. Nailed it. “I uh- you have buff men do all your chores? That’s kinda cool.”

"No, I knew he left, I just didn't know he had...other children in his house." Maybe Deirdre didn't have any room to judge the man, she did have her own influx of young people at her house. Maybe this child really wasn't Nic then? She'd have to ask Morgan about it. "Sorry, you'll have to speak up--" Lost in her thoughts, she missed what he'd said and found herself leaning in to hear better. "Your name is Onion?" She leaned back, frowning. No wonder why he was said, his name was Onion. He was skinny and named after a vegetable. "No," she waved her hand in the air, "don't call me nice. I don't like that word being used for me." And then, as though the child wasn't sad enough, he continued to speak. So he was sad because he was skinny, named after a vegetable and had a dead father. Perhaps it was that last thing that was most important. Deirdre shifted her weight. "Onion child," she proclaimed, "you are sad because your father is dead and Nic, who was like your father, is now gone, yes? Would you be less sad if I was your father? I could wear a fake mustache. Just remember that tears stain the hardwood, and I'd like this house to maintain its value." And perhaps she ought to be kinder to him? Deirdre clapped her hand on his skinny, skinny, shoulder. "Buff men don't do my chores anymore--you could say I've become the buff man in my own life--but I do employ a few to make deliveries for me." Bind was the more accurate word, but she felt that employ would do. "I will get you a buff man to do some housework. You may call him 'daddy' like the youth seem so inclined to. And you can forward your payments through Venmo, if that's easier, Onion. How does that sound?"

“I’m actually 21.” Orion mentioned in passing after Deirdre called him a child, but it seemed she mostly glossed over it as she continued talking. Rio just nodded to himself solemnly and continued listening. This experience was repeated when he tried to correct her when she called him onion. “Oh. Uh- sorry for calling you nice?” That was an odd thing to be dismissive about, but to each their own. This was probably the strangest he had ever had with another human being. Or, he supposed that based on what she had said earlier Dierdre may not be human at all. She called him onion and a child again and Rio only had the capacity to once again briefly chime in and correct, “Orion.” It was once again ignored. “Uh. Yeah, I mean I guess I’m pretty sad about Nic leaving” Rio had no interest in touching on the topic of his dead father. He wasn’t sure talking with a stranger about his lack of remorse over his dad dying would make her feel great about potentially letting him stay in this house she had not so nicely bought. “But it’s really okay and-” He cut himself off. Did she just offer to wear a fake mustache and be his new dad? The suggestion was so outrageously wild that Rio genuinely didn’t know whether to laugh or be very, very worried. He coughed slightly to avoid a nervous laugh and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Oh uh. That’s not necessary. But yeah. No damages, for sure.” Was she actually going to let him stay here? He winced at her hand on his shoulder but didn’t react any further, choosing instead to listen to her compare herself to her former buff men, “That’s uh… deep.” But as confused as he wanted to be, he was mostly surprised to hear that the woman actually planned on letting him stay. “Oh a buff man really isn’t necessary. Especially the daddy part. But seriously? You’re letting me stay? That’s amazing, oh my god. I’m really inclined to call you nice right now, but I’m going to resist.” Rio didn't, however, resist jumping up and down in excitement. He had his own qualms about staying along in this large house, but he definitely hated the idea of having to move his stuff again anymore. “Also uh- it’s Orion.”

There was something peculiar about Onion. Well, most things, it seemed, were peculiar about him. But he seemed, in addition to being scrawny, sad and pathetic, to also want to insist that his name was Orion instead. Deirdre refused. She had been wrong once (debatably; she still needed to ask Morgan about this) and that was already too many times for her to be wrong in a day. Whether the kid liked it or not, he was Onion. Deirdre shifted her weight and quirked a brow up at the boy, “why wouldn’t I let you stay? No, don’t answer that. You’re sure to have some sad response like…’everyone kicks me out because I weep uncontrollably in the night’.” Deirdre looked around. The house she purchased was never meant to be any one’s home. Strange as it was, Nic struck her as the type that couldn’t settle in one place. And Skylar…. Deirdre shook her head. It was this sad child’s home now, and Deirdre had no intentions of taking it away. “Onion,” she began, “I suspect I must’ve been a bad landlord to Nic and Skylar.” She has been a normal one, truly, having never attended to any of their housely needs. “But I want you to know that that changes now. If you need anything–a father, protein, more tissues for your tears–you may contact me. And my offer to be your father remains. No child should be sad or ugly, and least of all not both.” In her head, her words felt like a grand speech of emotional proportions. She was sure Onion would think of this later and cry. “And with that, I believe I should leave you alone to cry…?”

It was quickly dawning on Orion that talking to his new landlord wasn’t so much possible as talking at her while she spoke over him. It wasn’t exactly a huge issue aside from her insistence that his name was onion and her repeated mentions of what a sad boy he was. Despite this, he figured he could look past all of that if it meant that he had a place to live. He almost chimed in with potential reasons why she wouldn’t let him stay at the house until she kept him off, filling in the gaps for him with mentions of stories and crying. “I wouldn’t call it uncontrollable…” Rio rattled off absentmindedly, more to convince himself than his landlord since clearly she wasn’t listening to much of what Rio was saying. “Right. Um well, I really appreciate this. I will be sure to reach out if I need anything, but really I think you’ll find me to be a very quiet tenant. Just paying what I owe and probably not any of those other mentioned things. Especially the dad thing.” Because the dad thing was definitely weird, even by Rio’s messed up standards. She managed to get one more double insult off and Rio just nodded his head solemnly, resigned to his own fate. Was this how every reaction with the woman going to go? “Won’t be crying, but will be enjoying having a house to live in!” Rio gave the girl a thumbs up and a smile, “It was… nice to meet you?” It came out as more of a question than anything else, mostly because he hadn’t convinced himself it was true before saying it.

“Yes it was nice to meet me…” Deirdre trailed off, nose high to the ceiling and, with what she imagined to be great humility, lowered her head slowly to meet the child’s gaze. “And, I suppose, not so terrible to meet you, sad child.” She had a feeling he wasn’t the sort to bother others with his problems, and she imagined she really wouldn’t be hearing much from him. At the idea, a peculiar stab of something (an emotion quite like that of dropping ice cream on the ground) struck her slow-beating heart. She shook her head, and moved to the door. Whatever the child would do, wherever he would go, he was nothing but a speck on the earth and a drop in time’s fast-flowing river. But to her, he was her tenant. And she, his landlord. And perhaps business bred fondness, or perhaps she truly was more sentimental than she imagined, but she considered for a moment that he ought to have his little water drop of a life feel special. And this house, a home. “Orion,” she corrected, her hand pressed to the door frame as she turned her head only half towards him, watching from the corner of her eye. “Don’t live a life you’ll regret.” She turned her head back. “And stop being so ugly.” And with that, she shut the door behind her.

#wickedswriting #know your onions #c: orion #chatzy #// this was very fun all the shouts out to cody #cody is-as the kids say-the best #also i guess deirdre shames rio for being a twink ?

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