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akaashisupremacy · 3 years

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Fated

Summary: You’re dating your ex-fiancee Gojo again, but your relationship hits a crucial crossroad. Do you stay or do you go?

Gojo Satoru x reader

Multi-fandom Masterlist || HQ Masterlist || Ao3 version

Genre: fluff, angst, exes to friends to lovers

“You’re hiding something from me.” Gojo Satoru confronts you as you step onto the hallway for spare rooms in Jujutsu Tech.

He is in your way. You try not to get irritated.

“No, I’m not.” you snap. It’s been a long day. You don’t need this. You push him aside and keep walking. Gojo is irritably good at sniffing things out.

He swiftly appears before you again and blocks your way, “What is it?”

“I missed my period.” You stop and cross your arms, “If you really wanna know.”

“Oh.” He mumbles softly. He looks incredulous, as if he is yet to be sure of what he just heard. You walk past him.

“Oh.” he repeats again, eyes widening as the weight of your words dawn. He turns to you.

You leave him standing there, arrested and head to your room. You’re too tired for this.

Gojo watches you enter your room and lie down. He tries to offer you something to eat since you look so pallid under the fluorescent light of the room.

“I’m not hungry. Just sleepy.” you yawn, waving dismissively.

Gojo feels obligated to stay. He looks at you quietly from the door, unable to leave.

“This really isn’t the most opportune of times,” he breathes in, “but are you seeing anyone else?”

“No.” you murmur, “I don’t have the time.”

He walks in to sit beside you, making sure to close the door behind him. You roll over to the other side of the bed away from his gaze.

Gojo knows he is not an easy person to be with. He’s your ex-fiancée for one thing, and he struggles with monogamy for another.

Being able to be intimate with you again was a chance only the gods could’ve intervened. And now that chance is starting to fade. He lies down beside you, his eyes towards the ceiling. At the start of your relationship, it was him who was hesitant. Things are reversed tonight.

“I don’t want to talk. Go away.” you cut in before he says anything, “I’m seeing a doctor soon to make sure.”

He nods understandingly and quietly, but slowly pads out of the room. The weight of the floor lightly creaks under his footsteps. The silence between the two of you dominates the hall.

————————————————————————————

There was a time when you were younger that you would visit Gojo in his family home. After dinner, you’d sneak outside to his family garden to capture fireflies in paper lanterns.

That was a much different time of course. Since then, you’ve been arranged to be married, broken up and begun precariously seeing each other again after ten years.

“Why are you wading around in the darkness?” he asks, sitting on a pile of rocks, his hands inside his pockets.

Neither of you are really kids anymore, but your fondness for fireflies remains. On your occasional stays in Jujutsu Tech for your sorcery job, you like to spend your down time in the gardens at night.

“I need a break from people.” you comment succinctly.

You’re both quiet from a moment. Gojo becomes too impatient for you to start the conversation.

“So what did the doctor say?” Curiosity overcame him.

You lower your lantern by your side, making sure to face away from him as you reply, “She tried to ask if I was married and if my family knew.”

You turn around quickly, waving your hands before he can react, “You don’t need to worry. I’m considering not keeping it...it’s too much time and work…and it made me think about us. I think we should just end things…whatever this is.”

Gojo knew that this day would come. Deep down, he already prepared himself for when your relationship would end. Yet instead of acceptance, indignance rises in his chest.

“How could you let me go so easily? How are you done with us?” he finds himself saying.

He knew his disinterest in monogamy would come to bite him back someday, but he hadn’t imagined himself in a deeply romantic and emotional relationship with you when it happened.

You shake your head. The sounds of crickets and cicadas keep the silences from being too empty.

“Every year I used to wait to see if this was the year we reconciled. If this was the year we would fix things, not necessarily be lovers, but to just be back in each other's lives.” You look to the stars, sitting in a large rock beside him, “I waited maybe 11 years to see it happen even if I didn’t know if it would come at all. And I can wait another lifetime to try again. But I think in this life, our time has to end. This isn’t going to work out, Satoru.”

Gojo feels as if his lungs will collapse. It hurts him even more to know that you do love him but you’d rather he be out of your life.

“Why would you wait another lifetime for me when I’m here now?” he murmurs.

“I can’t have you to myself.” you say simply, “I can’t take this anymore. Even if I’m not pregnant, I want to be the only one in your life.”

“You are the most important person in my life.” he grabs your hand to reassure you. You don’t resist.

You face him, tears running down your eyes, “Then I don’t understand how you can say that and still need someone else.”

Gojo feels his chest crushed with heaviness. The weight spreads to his back, his arms and neck. For the first time in years, he feels helpless.

“We knew this was coming.” you mutter, pulling your hand away to make your exit out of the garden.

Gojo does not chase after you. He notices his bandages are wet.

————————————————————————

Gojo walks around in a daze for the next few days. People always say that he is a man who has everything, but for now he is the man with only questions without answers.

How can he make you stay?

“Gojo,” Utahime nudge, “GOJO!”

She sharply jabs a finger by his side to bring him back to reality. He jerks back, accidentally hitting the wooden walls of the hallway with a resounding thud.

“Are you even listening to me?” she hisses. He hasn’t been paying attention at the school meeting and her temper is rising. How can he go around doing the bare minimum and still be so praised. She was ready to throw a fit.

“Well…we’re kind of expecting…but we might not keep the baby…and ahh…” he uses his full concentration to string together his thoughts.

Utahime stops in her tracks and rubs her temples. Every other conversation she has with him always sends her reeling.

She crosses her arms together, “Let me guess, one of you wants to keep the kid and the other doesn’t?”

“OMIGOSH YES!” Gojo raises his hands as if someone finally gets him, “How did you know?!”

Utahime looks slightly alarmed at his expression. Protective of your privacy, she looks left and right to see if anybody is nearby. She shrugs.

Gojo continues, “These past few days have made me realize how badly I want a family with them. I really want this! Except it made them realize they want a family with someone else…and I’m not sure there’s anything I can do to make them feel the same way.”

His voice softens towards the end of his sentence as he slowly sinks back into his thoughts.

Utahime takes a moment before dispensing her bit of wisdom.

“Having a child with someone is an incredibly huge sacrifice. If you really want this…then you have to make a sacrifice equal in weight. Whatever that will be…” she sighs, adjusting her kimono. “And I have a feeling you haven’t properly explained to her what an open relationship is.”

She peers at him from the side of her eye. His guilty expression confirms her suspicions.

Every now and then, Utahime feels envious of his power. However, today is not one of those days. He has some hard choices to face she would not want to deal with.

—————————————————————— “Hey!”

A week after your last conversation, Gojo spots you in the school and immediately rushes towards you.

In panic, you shove yourself into an empty meeting room and try to shut the door. He jams his foot between the ledge and determinedly peers you from the door crack.

“Oh no, you are not shutting me out. We are going to talk like proper adults.” he insists.

Your instincts kick in. You kick his feet and push him back. You bolt the door shut and slump down behind it. You’re safe for now.

“You can’t keep running away.” he breathes out from the other side, “We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you quickly rebut, “Gojo, I have no family. There’s no one to help me. I’m going to be alone if this kid comes out of me.”

Your voice fades hoarsely as you utter the last few words.

“You have me.” his soothes in a contemplative voice.

You want to laugh. This relationship was doomed from the start. You were such a masochist for even trying. You must have been consumed with your attraction to him.

Gojo was no different though— he couldn’t help himself. You both want each other too much and now you both were paying the price.

You shake your head, “You’ll just leave me when things get tough. I’m tired of cleaning after your mess. Why can’t you just let me have my way?”

Gojo has no time to be taken aback.

“Because I don’t want a family with anyone else. I’m desperate to make this work with you.” he pleads, “ Don’t push me away. I have my own doubts about myself, and I understand where you’re coming from but I wish you believed in me more.”

You pretend not to hear him.

“I’ll be here for you and our baby, even if it's not always romantic.” he adds, his voice pleading, “I know you’re terrified that I’ll just leave you but…”

You interrupt him by opening the door. As if on instinct he hides his vulnerability from you. His posture leans back coolly, waiting on your next move.

“Gojo, I’m just frustrated to always be at the mercy of your choices. Don’t you understand?”

His lips part slowly, “If you’re not ready for a family, it’s fine. But don't you want to make this last longer?”

——————————————————

“Oh, Satoru, what have we done?” you quietly murmur, staring at the ceiling of his room.

It’s your first night in his faculty dormitory. You’ve never really been before. His room is too close to the principal’s for a casual date night visit.

Gojo’s long switched off the lights but neither of you can sleep.

“What do you mean? The baby or the wedding?” he chuckles.

You shrug, “Both?”

You shift around the sheets, the linen ruffling under your movement.

He crosses his arms and turns to you, “Well, we’ve established that the first one was an accident. The wedding—well—it’s mostly so you and the baby will be under the protection of the Gojo clan.”

Gojo promised to close his open relationship status until your kid is one and you take his word for it. It is perplexing that the wedding was his idea too. However there was something about his sincerity that you could not refuse

“How long till we regret all this?” you half-murmur, half-sigh.

“Honestly, probably every time we hit a rough patch. But we’re not meant to always be happy anyways.” he sighs lying on his arm. It’s an honest enough answer.

You sit up and put your arms around your waist, “Such optimism you have there. So tell me, oh all powerful Satoru, why are we here then?”

“For me, it's to be able to find and meet you.” he says simply.

He catches you off guard with the tenderness of his words. You reach out to touch the side of his face and gently rub your thumb on his cheek. He presses your hand on his cheek.

“If things fell apart again and you had to wait another ten years for us to fix it, would you?”

He asks so quietly you almost don’t hear him.

Your face flushes under the cover of darkness.

“…Yes, I love you too much. This was never going to be just an arranged marriage for me even when we were younger…then again, I think you already know that.” you admit in a shaky whisper.

Now that you've married him, you've given yourself permission acknowledge your true feelings to yourself. You have always been in love with him. And being apart did not changed that.

Propping himself up by the elbow, you realize his face is so close to yours. You can almost feel the wisps of his long lashes on your cheek.

“I know this isn’t your ideal wedding, but this is more than just a shotgun marriage for me too. You are my fated. And you are the only being I want to go through this with—sorcerer, curse or otherwise.”

You try not to giggle at the mention of curses.

“Through this life and the next?” you said with a small smile.

“Through this life and the next.” he assures firmly, squeezing your hand.

You smile widely and he looks at you fondly. These are your favorite moments with him, when you’re at the brink of losing each other in your gazes.

Gojo breaks your shared reverie.

“Can you kiss me?” he grins cheekily, “As your new husband…”

You kiss his forehead without skipping a beat. He flips over, still propping himself by his stomach.

“So what shall we do on our wedding night? Try for twins?” he smirks.

You roll your eyes extra hard to make sure he sees it. Gojo only laughs.

He shuffles out of bed and tosses you your coat, “Well if you really can’t sleep, we might as well go out and see the fireflies. They look bright tonight.”

You put on your coat and smile.

Another lifetime is too far away.

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I wrote this as a follow up for another Gojo x reader fic who used to be engaged. Check out the other parts!

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8

A/N: When I first wrote the original four chapters, I had already know that this was how the series would end (even though I didn't plan to write it all the way here). I don't know if I will continue writing. I have some extra material, but I don't really know if I'd like to write it out. If I ever make up my mind to do so, you will see me pop up in your notifs.

If not, I guess this is the end. if you've gone through all 8 chapters, thank you for joining me in this wild, heartfelt ride! Comment or message to be added to the taglist! Or write down some comments about your feelsssss

Series Taglist: @tokyo-love-hotel@samkysnks@herownescape@cherrianne192@shamelessdonutsludgebanana@kageyamakock@shirostrbl@luvang3l@cloudsinthecosmos@httpjungoo @saturnki @itstheee-ha-chan@gucci-froggy@soy1melk @dora-the-grownup @cherryonigiri @fiona782 @a--nonymousse @naturakaashi

If you’d like to continue being part of my taglist (JJK or Haikyuu), please let me know! I also write oneshots for both fandoms and soon I’ll be doing BSD too!

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eirikaanemo · 3 years

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Venti’s a Celebrity (GN)

1) You’re a fellow celebrity and do a lot of collabs with him

You both produce music professionally and work for the same album company. Your styles work well together so they have you do a lot of duets. Or sometimes you’ll play the music and he’ll sing, or vice versa.

Eventually the two of you collab with each other more than you make individual content. Individually content is still made, but your joint performances do incredibly well. So it’s only natural that the two of you would form a group together

In all reality, it’s not very different from what you were doing before. You just get to come up with a group name and generally spend more time together.

The two of you get closer and bond (you have all the inside jokes). It’s honestly a dream come true for you. You’ve always thought he was cute, but the more you get to know him, the more you grow to like him

Starting a romantic relationship with him is just a natural extension of your already existing relationship. When they catch you making out, your staff were more delighted than surprised to see that you’d finally acted on your mutual pining

You gaze in the mirror, admiring the work of your makeup artist as you wait for a stagehand to let you know when it’s time. Tonight’s performance is live, on-stage and you’re a little nervous. You lightly trace your meticulously done hair with your finger, too afraid of messing it up to do anything more. There’s a knock on the door. “Come in,” you call. The door squeaks as someone enters.

A few moments later, two arms wrap around your torso and you hear Venti take a deep breath. You rest your hands on his and manage the courage to give him a little smile. “Hi Venti,” you whisper. “Hello!” He replies. “I see my precious songbird is nervous for our first performance. Would a kiss cheer you up?” You smile a little wider. “It would,” you admit. “But I think Lisa might just kill me if I mess up my makeup.”

2) You were his very first fan

He started out small on YouTube. You were always the same to like the video and leave a comment. And you would always share it with twenty of your closest friends (or really just anyone you could- internet strangers included)

He appreciated your support so much, always responding to your comments and sometimes giving you shoutouts in his videos. Everyone knows that the role of #1 fan is already taken

It took years for him to get big, and you were there for him the whole time. So when he finally did it, he sends you tickets to his first performance with an invitation to meet with him

You’re ecstatic to know that he’s finally getting the attention he deserves, and are thrilled to receive the ticket and invitation. Of course you accept! And if it took begging for a few days off and splurging on an airplane ticket there… well, he didn’t need to know that

When the two of you meet, you really hit it off and become friends. It helps that there’s so much history between the two of you, but you also find that you have some things in common

After a while of staying in contact as friends, he invites you to another event… as his date. While it was a bit of a shock at first, you were happy to attend and had a lovely time with him

You squeeze his hand lightly as the two of you walk back out to the limousine. He’s chatting about how great it was to see so many of his friends and introduce you to them. You are honestly only half listening, as you hum and agree in all the right places. Tonight has been a lot and you’re still processing what happened. He notices that you seem sort of distant once you’re both seated in the limousine and holds one of your hands with both of his.

“Did you enjoy tonight?” He asks. “Oh, yes,” you say kind of distantly as you snap back to focusing on him. “It was wonderful. My brain is just struggling to comprehend that I just met fifty of your closest celebrity friends.” He laughs. “Well, do you think you’d be up to doing it again? There’s another event in a couple weeks that I’d like to bring you too.” You smile warmly. “Sounds like a date!”

3) You randomly meet them in a regular situation and don’t recognize them

You’re sitting at a bar with your friends, sipping your drink and jamming out to the music playing. It’s by your favorite artist, The Bard, and is one of your favorite songs

Said music artist happens to be at that bar that night and notices you jamming out. So, just for fun, he decides to go sit by you

He asks if you really love the music so much, fully expecting you to recognize him on sight. You don’t recognize him and proceed to go on a rant about how awesome he is and how much you love his music.

He’s surprised, but pleasantly so, and the conversation eventually drifts to other topics. You have a great conversation and he really enjoyed spending time with you, so he gives you his number

You think it’s kind of odd, but he asks you to not give other people his number. Of course you agree, but it’s kind of a weird thing to ask. Why would you just randomly give out the number of some guy you met at a bar?

When he leaves your friends all pounce on you and ask about him. You’re really confused about why they’re interested until one of them mentions him actually being your favorite music artist. It takes a while for them to convince you that they’re not joking around

“Just call him!” Amber proposed. “Who better to convince you who he is than him!” You frown, Venti was just a nice, cute guy you met. There’s no way he could be a famous singer and songwriter. But you know they won’t leave you alone until you ask. “Alright,” you sigh, ignoring their cheers and high fives.

Pulling out your phone, you open a new text chain, type a new message and send it. ‘Are you The Bard? Sorry about the weird questions, my friends are making me ask.’ You wait a couple minutes with your friends on the edge of their seats. Ping! Your phone let you know you received a message. ‘Yep!’ The text reads. ‘I didn’t think it would take you this long to figure it out ;)’. Your friends swear, to this day, that your jaw dropped to the ground and your eyes were the size of dinner plates.

4) You somehow show up in many pictures of them, despite being a random bystander

He likes taking a bunch of pictures, including selfies, and putting them up on social media. It’s his way of connecting with his fans, and it works pretty well. A ton of people follow him and like his pictures

That day you happen to be at his performance and every. single. picture. somehow has you in it. You’re even in the backstage ones because you got a backstages tour. He doesn’t even notice until one of his fans points it out in a comment

His fans love you so much already and insist that he get a proper picture with you. They come up with wild theories and have the craziest ideas of why this is happening, when in reality it really is just coincidence (or is it fate?)

One moment you’re just hanging out in the food court waiting for your friends to get back with your food, the other you’re being tugged along by the star of the show himself? You’re really surprised when he asks for a picture with you. Why in the world would he want a picture of you?

But you agree and the picture is taken. The fans love it so much. So he and the crew invite you to a joint interview stream later. You’re pretty sure the sky is falling, pigs are flying, and that hell has frozen over, but you agree

The fans ship you already and can tell from your matching blushes in the picture that you think each other are cute. So they play wingman and get you together with their full support

“This question is from istananon in chat,” the person reading the questions says. “Venti, if you were to take them on a date, where would you go?” Venti blushes harder and laughs nervously. “Wow, you guys are really asking a lot of questions about us dating,” he notes. “Um, I guess I would take them to Angel’s Share and we could just talk and get to know each other more.”

“There’s a follow up question,” they remark, turning to look at you. “If Venti were to ask you on a date, would you accept?” You hide your face in your hands and whatever you say is muffled. “What was that?” Ven asks nervously. “We didn’t quite catch that.” You pull your face out for a second to respond and then hide

#eirika writes #genshin venti #venti #venti x reader #genshin impact x reader #celebrity au

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angstmongertina · 3 years

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The Vision of Lachesis

Spoilers for Artem’s Entwined Fates SSR card story! Also, warning for angst and implied/mentioned character death, because I can only write so much fluff before things get angsty.

I had this idea almost as soon as I played the Entwined Fates card story because I am a sucker for outside POV fics, though the idea for the last scene came later lol. Incidentally, if you want to skip the angst, just stop before the little warning I put in there. Everything before it should be perfectly fluffy.

Cross-posted to AO3.

In his years living at Cloudbreak Temple, Master Lu has already seen many visitors pass through its gate, all with various different hopes and dreams and stories filling their souls. He has seen everyone, from new babies to old grandmothers, from shy young couples to blissful newlyweds and bickering old spouses. And still, the pair he spies entering the temple catch his attention.

He is, as is always the case during the busy festival days, pulled in all directions at once, guiding petitioners through the rituals of prayer and interpreting fortune, but even so, he cannot help but keep an eye on them. A man in front, tall and middle-aged, wearing a solemn expression that does not quite suit the laugh lines on his face, and a boy, not yet fully grown and quiet, shying away slightly from the noise and bustle around him but watching the proceedings with a bright, piercing gaze. The man says something, a gentle hand clapping the boy’s shoulder in a warm, fatherly gesture that brings a faint smile to the small face, before they dive into the crowd, and he turns his attention back to the couple before him.

Thankfully, they do not comment on his preoccupation and he puts the others out of mind as he helps them determine their fortunes.

The next time he sees the pair, they are with old Master Wang, which comes as no great surprise to him. Although Cloudbreak Temple may be most well-known for petitions to the star of wisdom, they accommodate many types of prayers, and while the boy may be of the age where success in learning and exams is important, one glance at the youthful face is enough to tell him that the boy has both intelligence and diligence to spare, and furthermore, a concrete attitude that would likely dismiss the thought of appealing to prayers for school out of hand. No, there is no need for prayers for success. But for safety, on the other hand…

He moves a little closer, still not yet so close as to be truly spying, but near enough to get a better look at the pair. The man is dressed casually, long brown hair pulled out of his face, and stands almost at a slouch, but the eyes that observe the world around him through thin-rimmed glasses are far from relaxed. Instead, their grey depths are cautious, sharp, clearly accustomed to seeking out the truth behind every person, every choice and interaction. It is only when they fall on the young man beside him do they soften with affection and concern. A man of action, of justice and strong morals, though perhaps of some impetuousness and with a fragility under it all.

A man, in short, who likely puts himself into the path of danger for the good of the people around him, but who also might shatter should he be pushed to the brink, should the lives of those he cares about be on the line.

And the boy…

Master Lu frowns, brushing a thoughtful hand over his chin and the faint beginnings of a thick beard as the man ruffles the boy’s hair and he looks up at his companion with a small but adoring smile.

The boy still has a whole entire life in store for him, of that he is certain. And one that will no doubt intersect with the temple again.

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When the couple steps through the gates of the temple, the man sheltering the girl beside him from the crowds, he notices them immediately. Though many years have passed, he has learned to trust his instincts, even beyond what his mind may tell him, and his gut recognizes the man long before his eyes do. The boy has grown, of course, in the ensuing two decades, but the bright intelligence, the thoughtfulness and care, all harken back to the shy child of so long ago.

But rather than his old friend and mentor, this time, the man brings with him a companion of his own. At first glance, she is just as bright-eyed and curious as he once was, though perhaps with more anxiety than he had, focusing immensely on the tasks before her. And the way he watches her…

Before he knows it, he is approaching the pair, standing at a table for the star of wisdom, and offers his assistance. He sees her attention flit away as her partner leaves for his own prayer, following him through the crowd with her eyes and her mind; though she appears to be unaware of it herself, her partner knows, and he knows, that even apart, their hearts, their very lives themselves, are irrevocably entwined, two souls pulled together by an inescapable gravity that he had not seen in decades, if ever.

He cannot help his curiosity about them, about this pair that seems to confirm the very existence of fate itself. These two lawyers, partners, these two halves of a single whole, that the universe has brought together, in an act of perfect balance.

Their marriage fortunes, an offer he makes that is part personal interest, part guiding hand, come as a surprise, though perhaps it should not have been wholly unexpected. He has never been wrong before, not about the couples who have captured his attention, but this…

This is less of a gentle nudge from fate and more of a flashing neon sign.

She reacts to her fortune tag first and he cannot help but smile at the curiosity, at the innocence, in her eyes. “I cannot keep my heart, as it longs to be with you…” A straightforward fortune, as befitting the girl who watches her partner with subconscious adoration, who still does not see his unconditional tenderness, who still does not understand her own constant preoccupation, for what they are. In time, she will realize.

But her partner…

He knows from the moment he sees the man’s face that the meaning of his own fortune is not lost on him. “It is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all.” And it is fitting for him, for the way he turns away from this, his hesitant heart, cautiously hopeful for a sign that the undying flame he carries will not be snuffed out, bruised from this heavy blow from fate, determined to carry its burden alone, to push his feelings aside and pretend that all is well, as he has always done.

It is a cautionary tale, this particular fortune, and he can say nothing, can only look on in weighty silence, as its recipient takes his companion and continues down his ill-fated and forewarned path.

Or, at least, attempts to, but for the efforts of the girl by his side. He does not listen to the conversation not meant for his ears but he does not need to, not when her thoughts are written clear across her face, not when she tugs her partner back to hear his explanation.

Not when she, despite being still oblivious to the depth of their connection, to the direction of her heart, immediately moves to petition, to help, to find some way of reversing the luck, propelled by outward concern and hidden affection.

He gives them directions both to the wishing tree and for the method to improve one’s luck and watches as she leaps at each opportunity, apparently unaware of the implications, in her quest to lessen her companion’s misfortune. But the man, now wearing a near constant smile of stunned helplessness, knows, even if he cannot, or perhaps more likely, will not, let himself, discern the cause of her concern.

Not even when it involves her suggesting that they bind their fortunes together on the wishing tree.

He chuckles, running his fingers over his beard as he watches them, their gentle discussion and animated features, both conveying so much to the world that they are too close, too farsighted, to see. But in this moment, it is not his place to say anything, to interfere any further, and so he doesn’t. Fate has already shown her own interest in their future, one that they have accepted and furthered, without, apparently, even realizing it.

Ah, to be young and in love.

Waving off their thanks, he watches as they leave before shaking his head and letting out the full-bellied laugh that he has been holding back since he first met them. In all of his years working at the temple, he has never been wrong before, and he is certain that he will not be wrong this time.

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The first day of the festival dawns early and bright, with that telltale warmth that foretells another hot August day. Even before the temple is open for visitors, anticipation hums through the air, the faint buzz as everyone prepares for the inevitable rush of petitioners.

Standing before the steps to the main temple, Master Lu looks out over the entire grounds with a smile. While the outside world has changed drastically in the past decades, within the temple, it is like being transported back in time; the same old tables from years past have already been set up, and the decorations, while not entirely the exact same as those used in centuries past, have all been remade in the original style.

In the fast-paced and ever-changing world, it is almost a sanctuary from time itself, where the tags of decades of visitors remain for an eternity and the history and traditions of the ancestors are preserved for future generations.

Well, at least in some ways more than others, if the influx of technology, and not just from forgetful visitors, is any indication.

He shakes his head, chuckling at his own preoccupation as he dodges young Master Zhao, juggling his attention between the pile of fortunes carried in his arms and the phone jammed under his ear. Clearly, he has begun to get overly sentimental in his old age.

Alas, yet another reminder of the inevitability of the passage of time.

The entry of visitors, a veritable tsunami of petitioners all looking to arrive early, interrupts his thoughts and he turns his attention to them, casting an experienced eye over the crowd. As usual, the vast majority make a beeline straight for the table for the star of wisdom, drawn as ever to the promise of good scores and success. Young couples make their way to the table for marriage fortunes, fresh-eyed and smitten with each other. And others still filter towards the other tables, for peace and wealth and…

And safety.

He spots the small family almost as soon as they pass through the gates, though they are admittedly hard to miss. The man and woman walk arm in arm, slow and cautious against the crush of the people around them, his form shifting to act as a barrier to shield her against the worst of the crowd. The height of the man alone would have been enough to catch his attention, but it is accentuated by the tiny pigtailed girl riding on his shoulders, adding another head to their overall height. From her perch, she looks around with bright, curious eyes, a small hand pointing towards the main temple, and him.

Even across the distance, he can see the surprise and recognition flicker in the bright blue eyes that meet his, and he would not have been able to hide his grin even if he had tried. As it is, though, he does not try, instead stepping forward to meet them with a greeting.

“I don’t know if you remember us, but…”

He shakes his head, waving off the woman’s comment with a laugh. “I do.”

And of course he does. How could he not? They have matured, naturally, settling into one combined force rather than two beings still tumbling in each other’s orbits; her hair is longer now, pulled into a neat bun, and his more disheveled than he’s ever seen under the ministrations of toddler hands; but the same spirit, the same keen eyes and entwined fates, shine out from the pair, unique amongst the crowd of other visitors.

He grins. “Of course I do. After all, it’s not every day I draw two fortunes quite so complementary, and even more rare to have them be hung up together on the wishing tree like that.”

At that, she laughs as well, her cheeks reddening slightly, and pauses to shake her bangs out of her face. “Yes, well, you were right, and it all worked out in the end.” She turns to her husband with a playful look, elbowing him gently in the ribs. “Even if it did take the better part of another year.”

“That is on you just as much as it is on me. After all, it took you just as long to realize,” the man retorts, though, to his amusement, his ears flush a faint red, which only deepens when their daughter points them out in a chipper voice, one loud enough that several visitors nearby turn to glance at them.

From the mouth of babes…

“What brings you back? Not just to check on your old tags, no?”

Shooting him a grateful look for the subject change, the man shakes his head, a faint smile curling the edges of his mouth. “No, though it is an added bonus. We’ve come for a new prayer for safety.”

His wife nudges him again, though gentler this time, and with less vigor. “Two, remember?”

He laughs openly, an expression that makes him look years younger, as he drops a hand to the gentle swell of her abdomen. “It may be a little early for that, still. I think he at least needs to have an official name first.”

She wrinkles her nose at him before laughing in turn. “Fine, fine. We will just have to come back again in a year or two.”

“Of course. Anything for you.”

“Daddy!”

A comically dramatic wince flashes across the man’s face when his daughter leans over, her voice projecting with unerring precision directly into his ear, and his wife is left hiding her amusement with some difficulty.

“Too loud, baobei.”

The bright blue eyes widen in distress. “Sorry, Daddy!”

He chuckles, reaching up to clasp her small fist in his hand. “It’s okay, baobei. What is it?”

Squirming from her perch on his shoulders, she points towards the back of the temple, where a few decorated branches of the wishing tree can be seen hanging over the roof. “Big tree! ‘S pretty! Go see?”

He shakes his head. “Later, maybe. First we have to—”

“No! Go see!” She leans over until she is hanging directly in front of his eyes. “Daddy, please?”

The man glances at his wife, who shrugs, mouthing the word “softie” while still wearing that same huge grin, and he finds that he has to struggle to choke back his laugh before anyone notices.

Given the soft snort that reaches his ears, he only partly succeeds.

“All right, then. Let’s go. We can come back for a prayer of safety”—the man glances back down at his wife, a faint but wondering smile dancing on his lips—“or even two, later.” With a solemn expression, the man offers him a deep, respectful nod, one that he is not quick enough to wave away. “Thank you, Master.”

“Bye-bye!”

Laughing, he waves at the trio, watching as they slowly weave their way through the crowd towards the back of the temple. Even across that distance, he can feel the affection and respect they hold for each other, can see the connection they share, which have managed to catch his attention time and time again.

When they finally move out of sight, he turns back to the temple and the flood of other guests, making a mental note to keep an eye out for the little family in future years. Maybe he can take a small break from drawing marriage fortunes in favor of overseeing prayers for safety for a few years…

STOP NOW IF YOU DON’T WANT ANGST.

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The sky is still dark with storm clouds when they first dare venture back outside to examine the state of the temple. In some ways, it is almost a miracle; despite the weeks of heavy storms, accompanied by shrieking gales and large hail, Cloudbreak Temple and its inhabitants have been mostly unharmed, save for superficial damages, just in time for the summer festival. Still, the mood is quiet, solemn, as everyone sets to work, clearing away the fallen branches, discarding the broken shingles, and making room for the stations as best they can in the limited time they have.

Wandering over the grounds, Master Lu shakes his head. Summer storms are not uncommon in the mountains, but even in the many decades that he has spent at Cloudbreak Temple, he has never seen a storm like that one, lightning seeming to rent the sky in two and thunder shaking the foundations of the temple itself, where there was naught to do but to stay indoors and safe. They were truly fortunate that nobody was injured and that most of the damages can be repaired.

Unfortunately, not all of the temple has remained quite so intact.

Stopping at the edge of the courtyard, he sighs, casting his gaze over the mess. It does not come as a complete surprise, given the lashing of the rain or the howling of the wind, but that does not change the sorrow he feels at the destruction that greets his eyes. Where there was once a majestic, venerable camphor tree is now a tired, wizened old thing, bowing under its own weight in the weak hints of daylight. Fortune tags lay strewn amongst the branches that had once held them aloft, once vivid symbols of the future now simply dark red and brown patches against muddy green, that he has to pick his way around as he wanders further in, taking in all of the damage.

But there is no time to clean up the mess, not in his old age and with everything else that will be happening for the day, and the visitors will understand, have to understand. He shakes his head, feeling all of his many years pressing down on his shoulders, almost as though he is fighting the weight of all the fallen wishes themselves.

“Master Lu?”

He looks up at the familiar voice and smiles. Master Chen, arms full of red cords, stands in the entryway of the courtyard, his bright eyes filled with concern, and he suddenly finds himself wondering when they all got so young.

“What is it? Do you need my help with anything?”

The boy shakes his head. “No, we are almost finished. There are enough of us to finish and handle the visitors, since there likely will not be many so soon after the storm. If you want, I could help clean this area…”

He shakes his head again, this time with a more genuine smile. “No, you go on. They’ll be needing you in the main temple, I’m sure. I can work here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Chen nods, putting the new cords on the nearby table before giving him a small, formal bow. “Thank you. Then I leave this to you.”

He waves the kid away, chuckling slightly as he watches him turn and walk back to the main temple before turning his attention back to the courtyard and the scattered fortunes, the remembrances of years, or decades even, of hopes and dreams.

With another heavy sigh, he squats down, tossing some fallen branches aside before picking up the wooden fortune at his feet. It is old, the carved text worn down by the elements, and he runs his fingers over the inscription, a brief statement on the virtues of hard work. A student had hung it there, once upon a time, and he closes his eyes for a moment, hoping that they achieved their goals, before tucking it into his robes and continuing forward.

In some ways, it is almost a walk down memory lane. Prayers to the star of wisdom from students that have long since graduated, who may even be teachers and professors now. Prayers for safety for people who have moved beyond that point, who may have even already passed. Marriage fortunes, ones that he helped distribute and interpret, for young couples that are now parents or even grandparents of their own…

He stumbles to a stop, staring down at the ground by his feet. Lying in the grass, so hidden by mud that he almost missed them, are two wooden cards. Their surfaces are almost entirely obscured by the dirt, but he still recognizes them instantly, the pair of fortunes so opposite to each other, so perfectly complementary. Held to the branch and each other by a red cord that has split and frayed under the years, no doubt hastened by the tempest.

Heaving another sigh, he leans over and…

“Master?”

Caught off-guard he snaps upright, turning around with a polite refusal on the tip of his tongue, but his instincts, ever reliable, stay his reply as the appearance of the visitor sinks in.

Dressed in dark, muted colors, he is easy to overlook, blending into his surroundings, into any crowd, with little effort. His face is drawn, haggard, lines of exhaustion etched into his skin, making him look years older, while his dark hair is disheveled, streaked with gray. Altogether, the man in the entryway, tired and worn, is almost unrecognizable from the young, joyous father of his memory. In just the few years since he last visited, he has aged a decade, his strong, confident form now frail, once bright azure eyes now dimmed, haunted.

And the man approaches, moving forward with slow, hesitant steps, eyes fixed on the tags he holds in his hand.

“That… Is that…?”

The voice nearly breaks around those few words, hoarse and almost inaudible, but he doesn’t need to hear the rest of the question, doesn’t need an explanation to know what the man wants, to know what must have happened.

Closing his eyes, he bows his head. “Yes. It is. They must have fallen during the storm.”

He hears a labored, shuddering breath, one that makes his own chest tighten in sympathy. “I… May I?”

“Of course.” He steps forward, gently placing the tags into his outstretched hands, watching as trembling fingers brush over the faded markings, the broken cord, as the pale face twists with fresh pain. “I…” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“Daddy?”

They both turn at the same time, where a small girl stands in the entryway of the courtyard, holding the hand of an older woman as she cradles a bundle in her other arm. Pulling free of the restraining grasp, she runs forward to join them, grabbing her father’s free hand. “Daddy?”

Something resembling a smile tugs at the corners of the man’s lips as he squats to his daughter’s eye level. “What is it, baobei?”

“Are you sad?”

The sound that leaves the man’s throat is more of a rasp than a chuckle, but neither of them seem to notice. “Yes.” He wraps an arm around the girl, lifting her into the air as he stands back up. “Yes, I am.”

To his surprise, the girl only nods solemnly before looking at the tags in his hand. “What is that?”

The man sighs, holding it up so she can examine it more closely, running her small fingers over the wood as he wipes away the mud. “Mama and I came here years ago and hung it up when we were here. Before you were even born.”

“Oh. It’s pretty.” A slight frown on her face, she studies the fortunes and the cord linking them before raising her gaze. “Do you miss Mama?”

He has to shift his gaze away as the smile on the man’s face crumbles, turning his attention back to the mess of branches and fortune tags, but even so, he cannot escape hearing the slight hitch in the quiet voice. “Every day.”

She sniffles, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face against his shoulder. “Me too.”

“Anthea!” The older woman reaches them, her face a mix of concern and frustration, and he can’t help but turn his attention back to the family. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think she would be so quick.”

The man shakes his head as she reaches for the girl, instead shifting her position in his arms. “It’s fine, Ma. Besides, you have enough on your hands. And you’ve done more than enough for us now.”

“Still…”

“Ma.” The man closes his eyes, gently shaking his head, before meeting her gaze with a determination that even he can feel, that makes him tear his gaze away once more, feeling vaguely like he is eavesdropping. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I…” A sigh that hangs in the air between them. “I need to do this. For her. But thank you for… for everything. And…”

A hand suddenly appears in his vision and he looks up to find the man before him, standing up straighter with a mix of sorrow and resolve dancing on his features. “I don’t know if you remember me, but…”

He shakes his head. “I do. Still.”

“Of course.” A small but genuine smile cracks his mouth as the man draws a deep breath. “I… I remember you said once that fortunes should be returned to the temple once they’ve come true and…” He swallows once, hard. “Can you put these back for me?”

“Yes, certainly.” He reaches for them, hand closing back around the fortunes that the man holds out.

Two little wooden tags have never felt so heavy in his palm before.

For a moment, the man stares at them, as though in his hands, in these fragile pieces of wood, he carries all the weight of the world, before tearing his gaze away to meet his. “Thank you.”

Oddly enough, when he opens his mouth, he finds a sudden lump in his throat and instead of trying to speak, he only inclines his head, but it is enough. The man smiles again, a soft, ephemeral expression, before turning and walking away, still carrying his daughter while his mother paces alongside him with his son in her arms.

As he watches them leave, he brushes his thumb over the worn fortunes he cradles, gently tracing the text that he still remembers like it had been drawn yesterday.

It is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all.

Leaving the courtyard, he silently enters the main temple, ignoring the questioning looks from his fellow masters and visitors alike as he sets the tag, still tied to its partner with muddy red cord, down amongst the various other fortunes of years past, and sits back on his heels, reading it over one last time.

And so it is.

#Tears of Themis #weiding shijian bu #Artem Wing #Zuo Ran #Artem Wing/MC #Zuo Ran/MC #Tina writes stuff.#Tina plays ToT.#sweet awkward lawyer husband #otp: to have and to hold #It's been a Hot Minute since I've written character death angst.#Ho boy that was a lot.

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vanderlindemorgans · 4 years

Text

dark blue tennessee

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: It was one thing being without him while he was alive. It was another to lose him all together

Warnings: Major character death, grief-induced alcoholism, descriptions of blood and injuries, vague allusions to suicide. None of this is beta read so please don’t shoot me for any grammatical errors!

None of this seemed real to you. None of it felt real. It would have brought you some comfort if it wasn’t - that way you could reason with yourself that this was all the result of some horrific nightmare, that’d you’d wake up with a small gasp in his arms, safe and away from whatever dark terror had enveloped your mind. You weren’t one to usually have nightmares but when you did he would always be there, his embrace warm and tight, a single hand running through your hair in a soft pattern, and his unmistakable southern drawl whispering into your ear.

This wasn’t a dream however. No matter how wrong it felt, how surreal and horrific the whole situation was, it was all real. Perched on the edge of a barstool, you glanced over at the almost empty bottle of whiskey beside you. You thought it would take the pain away, dull your senses and let you pretend for two seconds that he wasn’t really gone, but if anything, the whiskey made it worse. Everything reminded you of him, day in and day out, every morning you woke up and all you could notice was that he wasn’t there. His clothes were, his Stetson perched on a hook on the back of your bedroom door, his stupid belt buckle that you’d always mocked him for...but not him. You couldn’t bear to box away any of it. It may bring you pain to see all these items laid out, as if they were expecting their owner to return someday, but shoving it all in the back of a closet seemed so...disrespectful to you. It would be almost the same as forgetting him in your mind, and you refused to.

It had been only two weeks since you first received that fateful call, the one that you prayed to high heavens you would never hear. Thank god you were home when you got the call - if you’d been out with your friends, or heaven forbid at work you don’t know what you would have done. It was a moment that you often replayed over in your mind, if for nothing more than the torture of reminding yourself of the day you had broke like glass shattered on a white cloth.

Trailing the pad of your finger over the edge of your glass, you tossed your head back as you downed yet another glass of liquor. Every detail of that memory stuck out to you, even the most insignificant things that no one else would ever mention. You’d taken the day off work, already feeling shitty straight up from the moment the day had begun. You’d been making something to eat, just some toast because you couldn’t be bothered with anything else, and right when you were searching the fridge for a jar of jam you had heard the phone ring.

Without a second thought you’d scooped it up in your hands and answered it, thinking it would be one of your friends calling to try to get you to come out with them to some bar or something that night. You hadn’t guessed it would be anything important. “Hello?”.

“Hi, am I speaking to Y/N?”. You furrowed your brow at the response, not immediately recognising the voice. You considered hanging up for a brief moment but something in you told you to stay on the line.

“You are. I’m sorry, who is this?”.

“My name is Ginger Ale. I’m a colleague of your partner, Jack Daniels. I’m very sorry to have to inform you this way, but he’s perished in a horrible incident”.

Everything around you seemed to collapse in that moment. The whole world might as well have fallen away around you the minute you heard those words. It was a curious thing, the death of a loved one. It often comes so suddenly, and so unexpected that you feel like you’re climbing the stairs to your room in the dark, thinking there’s just one more step than there actually is, and feeling yourself plummet down into the abyss below. It was nothing like you’d ever experienced before - you might as well have been falling deep into the shadowy chasm right at the moment. Your grip on the phone tightened as you struggled to find the words, or any words really, to say in response as tears started to gather around the corners of your eyes. “W-what? What do you mean...he’s…” you trembled, stumbling on your feet as you fell against the wall in a daze, the world somehow seeming both screaming loud and quiet all at once.

“He was injured badly during his last mission - multiple gunshot wounds from a certain run in with a couple of gangsters. He was...he was barely alive when we brought him in” Ginger explained, trying her best to comfort you but you barely took any notice of her words as the same thought played over in your head. He’s gone. He’s dead. He’s fucking dead, and you could have stopped it. It’s all your fault.

“Aren’t you guys supposed to have that weird gel stuff that heals gunshot wounds? Surely...surely he could have been saved, right?” you asked frantically, your cheeks streaked with tears and flushed with grief. It took everything in you not to fall apart right then and there, dropping the phone to the floor and screaming out in sheer agony of the pain that was ripping through you.

“Not this time, sadly. I’m really sorry, Y/N”. There was a small pause on the other end of the line before Ginger spoke again, her tone indicating her hesitance at divulging such information to you. “He also insisted that we don’t bother, that he knew his time was up with this one. I was watching him on this mission - he went into it all quite recklessly, which isn’t completely new for him but…”.

“But?” you asked, prompting her to finish her sentence but she never did. A heavy silence hung between the both of you, punctured lightly by the sound of your heavy breath which you tried desperately to keep in check. Some small part of you was still in some sort of disbelief, wanting to fervently deny that any of this was happening. This is just a dream right? I’ll wake up back in bed, I’ll get up and call Jack, and he’ll be alive and well. None of this is real. It can’t be real...

“I want to see him. Please, just let me see him. Let me at least say goodbye”.

You hadn’t taken much notice of your surroundings on your way to Statesman Headquarters - everything might as well have been a blur to you from the moment you stepped through the doors to the second you walked off the platform of the elevator towards the medical wing. As soon as you spotted him all sense of decorum and logic was thrown out the window, any sense of composure melting away to nothing the very second his body came into view. Ginger had been beside you, probably as a general gesture to ensure you wouldn’t entirely lose it once you gained a single glimpse of him but alas, as soon as the elevator pulled to a stop and the doors pulled open to reveal a lifeless Agent Whiskey lain across the stretcher, everything you had ever known seemed to fall to pieces from under you. It was as if your entire world had collapsed, had stopped revolving the minute you laid eyes on his lifeless form. Without another seconds hesitation you rushed towards him, tears beginning to cascade down your cheeks as you bore witness to the unfortunate result of the tragedy that had struck.

It was as if the floodgates had opened right then and there - once you started crying, the tears just wouldn’t stop. With every ounce of your being you wished that somehow, by some godforsaken miracle, your touch would bring him back, that his eyes would magically flutter open and would greet you with those enchanting brown eyes that you had come to know every day of your life since the moment you had first met. That he would maybe, if only by the simple wish of your heart, say the one thing you were always angling to hear truthfully, in a way that you could put more than a simple faith in. As if you were a broken record, you couldn’t stop repeating his name over and over, like if by some divine intervention that alone would turn the clock back and have him lying next to you, his hand caressing your cheek and firing one of his signature flirty quips at you as you woke up in bed, catching a whiff of that ever-present scent of whiskey that mixed beautifully with his cologne. If only it were that simple. If only that were possible.

Instead you laid a hand against his cold forehead, now devoid of any warmth of life it once felt. Some would say that the dead looked almost peaceful in a way but you saw none of that: even in death Jack somehow looked anguished, like there was something left behind that he wanted to say but simply couldn’t go back to.

“I can’t feel you anymore…” you murmured, your voice wobbling violently. Leaning down towards him, you cradled his head between your palms, whispering his name softly and feeling your own tears decorate his cheeks. Ginger, or maybe somebody else, said something in the background that you couldn’t take any notice of, your mind fixated only on the man you loved and the unfortunate reality that presented itself to you now.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

The funeral had only been held a week afterwards. From a planning perspective, it was easy to organise his final affairs - for whatever reason you’d been named as the executor of his will, a fact that came as a shock to you once you had been served the information by the attorney. The two of you weren’t ever married, although you had attempted to float the idea once or twice, and his mother was still alive so it seemed odd to you that of all people to be left in charge of his estate Jack chose you. Emotionally, it had been a taxing revelation for you: on top of having to carry the stinging pain of finding out the man you loved had died, you had to be the one organising his affairs. You knew after leaving the medical wing of Statesmans Headquarters that day that you wanted nothing more than to let your own sorrow overcome you and let yourself fade out of existence, his voice haunting your every waking moment until you finally decided to let go entirely and throw yourself off the brink of insanity. That’s what you felt you deserved anyway.

His funeral had been the worst of it. You had silently prayed that maybe you would have numbed yourself out a bit. The most agonising part of it all were the hoards of people coming up to you asking how you were. It took everything in you to stop yourself from confessing everything. If they knew, they’d hate you. They’d blame you. The gossip would start, the theories and rumours flying high, the whispers you could hear in your head as if they were real. Somehow you’d pulled through, despite the inclination to break down at any given moment. But of course, that wasn’t the end. You’d buried him, now you had to face the mortifying reality of living without him.

With every passing day the memories became stronger. You never told any of them what had happened the last time you saw Jack - you couldn’t tell them. It had been eating at you from the inside ever since you picked up the phone that cursed day, tearing apart your mind and leaving nothing in its wake but heartbreaking grief and despair. It’s your fault. You’re the reason this happened. If you two hadn’t fought, if you hadn’t told him to fuck off on the phone that night, he wouldn’t have gone on that mission. You killed him. You’re a murderer.

All of these thoughts and more wormed their way between different glasses of whiskey, letting you lose track of both time and how many glasses you had. No matter how much you drank though it never dulled the grief nor the guilt that you’d been torturing yourself with from the moment you woke up every day to the moment you went to sleep. Actually, even in your sleep you couldn’t escape it, being plagued by nightmares and the like increasing in degrees of terror the longer they went on. It was why you now avoided any sort of conscious effort to sleep, only succumbing when you’d become so drunk that you had bent yourself over the back of the couch and cried as much as your body would let.

You swore to never let anyone know what had happened, that Jack and you had technically broken up a few days before his death. It already ate at you enough that you had to run over the memories in your mind, every last word you spat at him on repeat for your own infinite suffering. “It feels like wherever we go, she’s there. And she’s so beautiful, and perfect, and dead. I can’t compete with a ghost, Jack”. Scowling to yourself, you scooped up your glass and took yet another sip, feeling nothing but regret towards how everything played out. You didn’t regret what you said - on some level, you still felt it was true. You knew Jack would forever hold a candle for his ex-wife, but you’d grown tired of feeling like you were second place to a dead woman, as if the only reason he kept you around at all was to fill a void that could only truly be filled by the one person he could never have back. It had been selfish of you, in some way, but you’d deserved more. You loved Jack with everything you had, and you wanted him to feel the same way back, and although he swore he did you could plainly see that wasn’t the case.

“Darlin’, please, don’t be like this. You’re my only love and you know that. You’re being ridiculous about all this”

“Then why do you still wear your ring? Why do you get dismissive whenever I try to bring up moving in together, or marriage, or anything. It’s been two fucking years of this. You can do whatever you want, Jack but I’ll tell you one thing: you’ll be doing it alone. I’m out”.

“For fucks sake…” you cursed, slamming your glass back down on the table with a loud thud, your words slurred beyond all comprehension. A few drops of whiskey sloshed out of the glass onto the countertop, creating a small puddle on the marbled surface but you didn’t much care. What was the point in caring anyway?

You still had to pack up his home, a reminder that only contributed to your pain. You were supposed to have taken care of that before now, at least a week ago but you couldn’t bring yourself to enter his home. I’ll do it tomorrow...maybe. Yeah, tomorrow. Deciding firmly on that, you sipped the last of the liquor and stumbled off the seat of the barstool, the world spinning around you as you fumbled your way through the dim light of your apartment to where your bedroom was, throwing your intoxicated body amongst the heap of unmade bed sheets and burying yourself within them, crying until you passed out in a deep slumber.

Standing outside the door to Jack’s penthouse apartment, you stared forward with a muted expression upon your face, the key to his place gripped firmly between your fingers as if it would disappear from your hands at any moment. You’d been there for a good five minutes by then, meaning to break out of your state of catatonia to only be stopped again by yourself, kicking off a seemingly endless cycle in which you remained stuck in front of his door. You knew you had to go in there eventually: it wasn’t like everything of his would magically disappear if you just ignored it. It was still hard though, since you knew the moment you stepped through the door you’d be hit by the unmistakable scent of him. Almost like you were crossing a threshold of sorts, only with a feeling of emptiness on the other side instead of anything resembling happiness. Seeing his things would only remind you of how he wasn’t there among them, where he should be, which spiralled onto other thoughts, such as reminiscing on his gorgeous brown eyes and that honeyed southern accent you adored on him, and everything else that once made your heart spark with love. You felt your breath tremble as your knuckles turned white from holding the key with such might. This was a bad idea. You weren’t ready for this. Maybe you should just go home and call it a day.

No. You have to do this now. You might as well rip the bandaid off, lord knows you’ll have to do it eventually anyway.

Keeping your breath paced, you raised your shaking hand to the lock of the day, slowly inserting the key and twisting it until you heard the unmistakable click inside. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you pushed open the double doors and pulled yourself inside, your high heels clicking on the linoleum floors.

Everything was exactly how you’d last seen it, how Jack had last left it. Not that you expected any different of course. The only people who had probably been there in the past two weeks since his death were people from Statesman to collect various bits of the agency's technology and other gadgets Jack had left lying about. You never knew much about his life as part of the secret service: during your relationship Jack had preferred to stay off the subject of his job as much as possible. He even said himself that you shouldn’t have known about his double life in the first place but when it became too obvious that keeping it from you was going to hurt your relationship with him in the long term he’d sought permission from his boss to have you cleared on the most basic of intel. That never bothered you in the slightest - the least you knew about the agency, the better, a view Jack wholeheartedly agreed with you on. You didn’t know him as Agent Whiskey, top agent to Statesman Secret Service trained in espionage. You knew him as Jack Daniels, the cocky womanizer who chased anything in a skirt, the gentleman who had always managed to sweep you off your feet whenever he was around, and the man you had once dreamt of marrying before things went south.

All around you were familiar places and objects, things that brought back so many memories yet felt hollow and empty as you looked upon them now. If things were right, he’d be there too, perhaps in the kitchen preparing dinner for you, knowing that you couldn’t resist coming over again even if it was the third time that week. Or maybe he’d be on the couch, reclining back with a glass of whiskey and a book, turning his head back to take a gander at you, shooting one of his signature smirks and making a remark about how incredibly gorgeous you looked. Without him, the space felt sullen and void of life, the dust settling on every surface from remaining untouched for two whole weeks by then.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward and tried as best you could to sort out your thoughts, detaching it as much as you were able to from the memories being back in that apartment brought. His mother already came to you and asked to have a box of certain things belonging to Jack given to her. You knew she was already going through a hell of a rough time herself, her only son winding up dead. She never knew about his life as an agent, being fed a cover story by Statesmans team in order to maintain their secrecy. A bit of you felt jealous of her for that. She would never know the truth, whereas you had to live every day for the rest of your life knowing what happened, being made aware of your own part to play in his fate every hour, every minute, every second.

The rest of it, well, you had no idea what to do with it. You thought it would be best to box up as much of his personal items as you could, either to keep for yourself or to hand back to his family, and arrange to have the rest of the furniture sold or given away to a charity shop or something. Moving towards the living room, you began to scoop up the different framed photos you found around the apartment. Some were of him as a kid, either on a horse or in different shots with his family, already sporting that heart melting smile of his. A lot of them were of you and him on various dates - one you stopped to pour over was of the two of you at a diner in Brooklyn, you taking the photo and Jack taking a sneaky swipe of your sundae in the background while you were distracted. You remembered that day so well: he’d just come back from a particularly rough mission in Russia, one that he’d had to stake out for weeks, so it was the first time you’d seen each other in about a month. You looked at how happy you were in that picture, the sight of such joy bringing tears to the corners of your eyes. What you wouldn’t give to have those days back, the easier times, before the distance, the fights, the feelings of being second place to a ghost and of course, his own tragic death at the end of it all.

At last you made your way to his bedroom, clutching onto the stack of photo frames as if they were a lifeline. You fought with everything in you the urge to just drop everything and crash down onto his bed, cradling one of his shirts in your hands to try to get a whiff of him, pretending that he was still there for only a few seconds. Rather, you walked over towards his bedside table and set the stack of frames down, crouching to your knees and biting back the teardrops threatening to fall from your eyes. It’s ok. You don’t have to do it all in one go. Just gather together some of his personal stuff, and then you can leave.

Opening the drawer, your eyes flitted between the various trinkets and things he’d accumulated, searching to see if there were anything personal that his family might want back when your gaze was instantly drawn to a stark white letter shoved towards the back of the drawer. Scooping it up in your hands, you furrowed your brow as you inspected it further, only to have your breath catch in your throat once you saw your name written in his unmistakable cursive on the front.

Immediately you stood yourself up from the floor, your mind rushing into overdrive while you stared at the letter in your palms, hesitantly trailing your fingers up to the top of the envelope to tear it open. Out of all the things to find in Jack’s drawer, you definitely weren’t expecting this. You had no clue what it could be, when it was written or even if you should read it at all. Should you just put it back in the drawer and pretend you never found it? Though you supposed it was a bit too late for that, on account of you practically ripping the top of it open. With a hint of uncertainty, you reached into the envelope and lifted the letter out onto your lap, opening it to reveal its contents.

The first thing you noticed was the date in the top right corner - April 22, two weeks ago, a day before he went on that mission and met an unkind fate. That alone was enough to make your heart stop, so when your eyes travelled down the page to read the rest of the letter, you might as well have dropped dead right then and there from the sheer pain that was struck through your heart.

I was a damn fool for letting you get away. You and I both know that my dearly departed wife will always hold a special place in my heart, and I know you understand that. I didn’t want to admit it until now but I had been becoming distant - every time you brought up marriage, or anything more I’d get scared. Scared of...well, a lot of different things. Of repeating the same tragedy with you, in some way. Some part of me was worried marrying you would be dishonoring my late wife’s memory as well. It’s no wonder you walked out when you did. I don’t blame you for your choice, but please allow me to say my piece at least. You never were second to anyone, sweetheart. As much as I will always love Lily, my heart belongs to you here and now. Missing you like this is such sweet sorrow, won’t you come back to me? No matter whether or not you chose to forgive me, or even entertain the idea of givin’ me another chance, I just want you to know that I love you, honeybee. I’ll be waiting for you today, tomorrow, and forever, down in dark blue Tennessee.

- Jack

Every word you read was like another stab to the heart for you, the tears that you had fought so hard to keep in now pouring down your cheeks, small sobs escaping your throat as you collapsed back to the floor with a thud, your heart racing a million miles a minute. There it was, all written down in hasty cursive script - the apology that he never got to give, hidden away in the back of his bedside drawer like an afterthought. Knowing him he’d probably written it out and intended to give it to you before he left for his mission but decided against it for whatever reason. And that final sentence...Tennessee. He mentioned Tennessee. The place where you’d grown up, where you’d lived almost your entire life before moving to New York. The place where you’d met Jack all those years ago, down in a local bar. You’d been visiting your parents for the week, he’d been there meeting with an investor for Statesman. By some stroke of luck you two had crossed paths, hitting it off and becoming infatuated within mere moments, one thing leading to another until eventually you’d woken up in his bed the next morning. The way you’d initially thought it’d only wanted a one night stand but then became something more. It was all flooding back to you now, triggered by only a few sentences written down on a letter that was never sent. You didn’t know what to do, or what to think. The only thing you could do in that moment was lean your head back against the bed and choke on your own sobs, muttering his name over and over for what felt like forever, holding the now crumpled and tear stained letter in your hands.

The hours ticked by, though you took no notice, and when you do eventually move, it’s not to leave the apartment. Your eyes barely leave the ground when you walk, stumbling from room to room in search of a bottle of wine or something stronger to drown your own sorrows in, kicking off your shoes haphazardly and without much care. When you bump against the liquor cabinet, you can hear something fall and shatter off the top, and when you walk back through the shards of glass with the bottles in your hands, you don’t even wince when one pierces your foot. With thin streams of blood trickling from the cut on your sole, you’ll flick the top off the first bottle you reach for, letting the lukewarm liquid slip down your throat, spiralling you down deeper and deeper into a drunken stupor until finally, the moment comes where you can close your eyes and slip into that familiar void of darkness that you greeted with open arms, those last conscious thoughts being an apology of your own that no one ever got to hear. I’m sorry, Jack...

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels #jack daniels x reader #Kingsman #kingsman fanfiction #Kingsman: the golden circle #Pedro Pascal

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paper-n-ashes · 3 years

Text

sparks and embers - chapter 2

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Summary: Alexys is a doctor living a life of exclusivity on Raxus, hoping to survive through a peaceful existence, concealing herself from those she believes would use her, or kill her. When fate intervenes and instigates a perilous journey she’d been desperately trying to avoid, Alex finds herself caught in the middle of two sides in both war and love.

Chapter 2 - Consciousness

Words: 3.4k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: mentions of blood and broken bones, medical procedures

Read on AO3

It was the light of morning that caused my eyes to flutter open, the hardness of the tiled floor beneath slowly recognised in an increasing ache pulsing through my body.

I was slow to move, measured actions helping to bring myself into a seated position, arms shakily holding me up at the sides. Memories of the previous evening flooded back in swift succession, along with the pain of immense fatigue that always followed the act of letting the Force do my healing for me.

Did it even work?

My hand gripped the hospital bed that his body remained slumped on and I pulled myself upwards, feet gliding along the ground under my legs until I could stand. The scene before me was still shocking, even in remembering all that happened. Eventually, I noted the even breaths seeping in and out of the pilot’s chest.

He survived the night. Well done.

The numbers on the monitor confirmed what the voice had said. Heart rate steady. Oxygen levels optimum. Blood pressure higher than it had ever reached the night before. Looking over the battered and broken man, covered in dried blood that had spilled to the bed and floor, I felt a rush of emotion break free from its cage in my chest, unleashing an irrepressible urge to cry.

I sobbed quietly, knowing it was both relief and exhaustion that the tears crawled down my face. I wasn’t really sure why it hit me so hard. I didn’t even know this man, and somehow his survival at my hands was overwhelming, bursting at the seams with a happiness I’d never experienced for a patient before.

But then I recalled what I’d done to make it possible.

Fear struck like a spark in the centre of my chest, rippling its way through my veins.

There’s no way I could explain this as a simple act of medical miracle. He’d know. Then they’d know. And everything I’d built would come crumbling down. I’d have to find a new planet, a new home, build a new clinic, leaving everything behind.

I just wanted to heal people. I didn’t want to be a part of either of their worlds, and I didn’t want to d-

A croaky moan escaped from the pilot’s lips, his eyes moving underneath the lids, struggling to open. He groaned louder, and it became clear all too quickly he was starting to feel his extensive injuries. Panic set in, realising I hadn’t had time to give him any anaesthetic or pain relief.

This was going to be a rough wake up.

A piercing whimper bellowed from his chest, startling me into focus. With the trolley at hand I wrenched open the draws in search of anything with a pain-relieving quality and prepared the med-injector with heavy fluid. He’d already started to move his limbs, presumably in a way to understand what was happening, and another strained yell echoed in the room, sending a shiver rocketing down my spine. I jammed the needle into the IV cannula port, pushing in the medicine without much of a thought to appropriate dosage.

I just needed to stop him moving.

He began hollering even harder, tears welling in his eyes as he started to thrash against the mattress. Snatching at his wrists, I slammed them back down on the bed.

“It’s okay! You’re okay! I know it hurts but you’ve got to give the painkiller time to work. I promise it’s going to be alright!”

His eyes flew open, an obvious distress burning from behind brown irises. They flickered over my blood-stained clothes, then locked into mine, pleading, begging for me to do something to take away the agony.

“I know,” I said softly, a more tender edge to my voice. “I know it hurts. I’m doing all that I can. Please just stay still. It will get better. Please.”

The pilot drew in a deep, haggard breath, his bottom lip trembling. Eventually his jaw clenched as our eyes remained fixed, a silent pact of trust hanging in the air. It took me by surprise, how easy it was to calm him, and I seized the chance to soothe him even further.

“My name is Alex, I’m a doctor,” I explained. “Your ship crashed just outside my clinic. You were hurt, badly. You fell unconscious and I brought you in here to treat your injuries.”

Such a simple explanation for the truly gargantuan effort I had performed.

I wonder if he’ll ever know how close to death he was.

It wasn’t the time to tell him now, not when he seemed so scared. There was some semblance of understanding in his features, dark bushy eyebrows furrowed in thought for a moment, only for his eyes to shut again as he withheld a pained cry. I released my grip from his right wrist, placing my hand in his to squeeze gently. An act of sympathy, something I had done many times for people in distress. Even the small movement was enough to make him yelp.

Kriff. I forgot his arm was broken.

“Sorry!” I squeaked. He was still wincing. “Let me try and fix that.”

It was obvious how wrong the angle appeared in his forearm, beginning to prepare more local anaesthetic into the injector handle. I shot the needle a few centimetres above the fracture, the pilot barely flinching. Compared to the rest of his injuries it would likely have felt like nothing at all.

“I need to set this okay? Your arm is going to feel numb in a minute or two. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

His nod was measured, careful not to move anymore than he had to. I left him for a moment to find my universal cast and a sling, giving the injection a few moments to filter through his tissue and into the nerves. When I returned I could see some of the pain medication had already started to take hold, the sting of discomfort in his eyes beginning to waver, his muscles losing their tension and relaxing ever so slightly into the mattress. I prepared the cast, cutting the shapes out for his fingers and thumb, getting it ready for quick application.

“Poe,” he said slowly, his voice croaky and filled with restraint. “My name is Poe.”

I met his gaze again, trying my hardest to put forward an aura of confidence, even in my exhaustion. “Nice to meet you, Poe,” I smiled. With a lightened touch, a finger trailed softly down his right forearm. “Can you feel this?”

“A little,” he whispered. It was clearly hard for him to find his voice again. “It’s kind of… fuzzy.”

“Do you think I could try and set your arm now? I can wait if you prefer.”

“I can handle it.”

Underneath his lips I could imagine gritted teeth, clenching hard, bracing for the pain. It occurred to me then maybe this wasn’t the first time he’d broken a bone.

Without another word I pulled the X-ray unit’s arm up towards his fracture site, hoping he didn’t notice the splashes of his blood smattering the machine. Pressing down on the image button revealed a better picture in comparison to the absolute mess his femur had been. Only his radius was broken, in an even line, no splintering to be seen.

Finally something easy.

With two hands around his arm on either side of the fracture, I poised myself for a quick pull and twist. Poe’s muscles tensed underneath my grip.

“Just try to relax, it will make it much easier,” I insisted.

He drew in a deep breath, and the tension released from underneath my fingertips. I’d learned in my experience not to tell patients exactly when I was going to perform something painful. Something about the surprise of it somehow made it hurt less. So with one fluid movement I pulled and rotated the bone back into place, knowing even before I shot the X-ray it would be aligned. Poe was crushing his eyelids closed, waiting for me to move again.

“It’s okay, I got it.”

His eyes opened, meeting me with a look of surprise. I’d already begun to position the cast, bending the malleable plastic to the contours of his limb.

“First try?” he marvelled. I nodded, while trying to rein in my ego. “Never had someone get it on the first try.”

I swallowed hard. “I, uh... I wasn’t so lucky with your femur.” I flicked through the previous X-rays, pointing to the multiple shots of my attempts to fix the break. His eyes widened, mouth in a small ‘o’.

“That was my leg?” he gasped, “And you put it back?”

Both of our eyes glanced to the wound on his thigh. It was closed.

But I didn’t put any bacta on it.

Poe’s disbelief distracted him from my own. What I’d done last night with my crude attempt at Force healing had managed to not only mend the life-threatening severing of his artery, but also somehow pulsed enough energy to knit his wound back together, leaving a sealed laceration where the deep hole had been. Dread filled me again, weighing down so forcefully I didn’t want to move.

How am I going to explain this?

“T-thank you. For getting the bacta into it so quickly. Must have some good quality stuff.”

Thank every particle in the universe. He suspected nothing.

I moved slightly to position myself in front of the trolley that stored evidence of the low quality bacta solution and salve I had used for his chest wound and burns, and feigned a smile of appreciation.

“Just doing my job.”

All of a sudden it seemed to hit him, the situation he was in. His questions came out in rapid fire, desperate for clarification.

“Wait, where am I? What happened to my ship? Where’s BB-8?”

He began to rise from the mattress, wincing at the many injury points as he pulled himself into an upright position on the bed. The quick movement evidently made him dizzy, as he pulled his newly casted arm onto the bed railing to stabilise a wobble.

“Woah, just hold on a minute there,” I snipped, doctor mode engaged. “You’ve still got some serious injuries that need time to heal. Nasty burns, a collection of broken bones and the remnants of a punctured lung. Now bacta can be a miracle cure but it still needs more time before you start moving around again, or you’re going to ruin all the progress I made.”

Poe looked as if he was going to argue, but as my eyes bore into his, he recoiled back into the bed, sighing from both the pain of movement and the lack of answers.

“I was in the middle of an important mission okay?” he stressed. “There are people who are waiting on me. I need to get a message back to the Resistance. To tell them I’m out of commission.”

I tensed. The thought of the Resistance coming here to pick up their injured pilot was enough to make my heart beat faster. Sure, maybe Poe didn’t suspect anything, but the likelihood of convincing force sensitive people like Leia Organa, or the scavenger girl….

Attempting to fool them into thinking I’d healed this man with a bit of brute force and bacta would be near on impossible. But I couldn’t prevent Poe from contacting anybody without arousing even more suspicion. I’d just have to go along with whatever he wanted until I could formulate some kind of plan.

“Alright, how about I get you my transmitter and you promise not to try and move until I say so?” I offered, the tone in my voice not really implying that no could be an appropriate answer.

“Sure thing doc,” he agreed.

Maker, I hate when people call me that.

I made my way over to my tech station, using the moment to give him a couple of the answers he’d been so desperate for. “You’re on a remote clinic on Raxus, about 3000 kilometres- uh… klicks, from Raxulon. Your ship… Well, I haven’t been outside since it exploded at my front door. And your droid unit… I haven’t seen.” I realised quickly how insensitive this information came out when I looked up from my rummaging to Poe’s horrified expression. He began to sit upwards again, giving even less care to his wounds, forcing me to rush back to stop him. “I haven’t checked outside yet!”

“Why haven’t you been out there?” he demanded, eyes flaming.

“Maybe because I was stuck in here saving your life? And how was I supposed to know you had an astromech droid with you?”

He huffed, seeing the logic in my question. “Can you please check if BB is okay?”

I raised an eyebrow, curious at how much emotion he was committing to this piece of equipment. All of the medical droids I’d come into contact with over the years were extremely flat personality wise. Intelligent and useful, but I’d never grown any type of attachment to them. Nothing like Poe seemed to have with this BB-8 droid.

“Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll go look for the BB unit. Just please stay in bed. And… prepare for the worst.”

Underpromise, overdeliver. One of the many phrases I’d recited during my medical training. I just really hoped the latter would be the case in this situation.

The latch of the clinic door closed softly behind me, the crisp morning atmosphere somewhat refreshing for a moment or two, until I shook myself into focus to assess the completely destroyed X-wing ship consuming my vision. With sunshine finally illuminating the environment, rolling green hills of the countryside extending beyond the horizon, I scanned the blackened metal skeleton of the ship, ashes smattered all over the ground, glass and electrical wires splayed everywhere.

Well, this doesn’t exactly ignite hope.

Walking around what was left of the X-wing, I examined the surrounding area for any trace of a droid - not just the shine of metal, but the possible tracks left by a robot who was looking for its master. I walked slowly into the field behind the crash site, my eyes surveying every bit of ground, hoping to see any metallic glint that might indicate an intact droid.

Since the clinic was the only building for a few kilometres, there was hardly another structure it could be hiding behind, or lodged in. I almost wanted to keep walking, washing my hands of all of this, so I didn’t have to go back and tell Poe his obviously beloved droid hadn’t survived like he did. But another ruined machine caught my attention.

My comm-tower was flattened into nothing - steel, wiring and black plastic flattened into an artificial pancake.

Kriff, more bad news for Poe.

With my only means of communication squished there was no way any of my tech could send a signal far enough to reach the Resistance, let alone the next village over. And now I would have to make the weeklong trek back to Raxulon to get another one.

This day is kicking my ass.

With a long sigh, I ventured towards the ruined X-wing, assuming if I hadn’t found BB-8 by now, it must have been pulverised by the explosion I narrowly avoided last night. I searched the hollow structure of the ship, hoping for any scrap of metal that could be related to the droid, but it was all so black, covered in soot and melted, everything beginning to mutate into some other portion of the machine. When I skimmed over what was left of one of the wings, there was still a rounded hole I assumed BB-8 would have been housed during flights. An empty hole. There was always a possibility the BB droid could have gone searching for help beyond my clinic, but again, there wasn't a trace of movement in the dirt track leading away to the nearest village.

I think it’s time to be the bearer of bad news.

I extricated myself from the mangled ship, looking back towards the front walls of my clinic, noticing now the remnants of the explosion that had left countless dark stains over the light blue paint, along with a few cracks and impact points where metal had hit the cement. The bushes I’d planted a few months ago in time for this planet’s version of spring had been scorched, most of the green overtaken by grey and black soot. On closer inspection, it became obvious one had been split in half, the edges of leaves opening up to a large gap.

I quickened my pace and kneeled in front of the jumbled shrub, my hands diving in to push burnt leaves out of way, finally discovering a large metal ball of orange and white leaning on the blue concrete wall. A little cracked and dirty, but seemingly intact.

Oh wait, where’s the head?

Scurrying around on my hands and knees, I felt around the bushes once more, moving along the line of the wall. The twigs were scraping against the skin of my arms, but I was too excited for the possibility of some good news that I ignored the sting they caused.

Unexpectedly my hand struck something hard, pushing the stiff lower branches out of my view to find a domed head dug into the ground. Picking it up, I brushed away some of the dirt, surveying for any obvious damage. Its antennae was crooked, a few deep scratches slicing the metal, but it all seemed fairly superficial. With the head in hand, I strode back to the body unit, beaming with the thought I could ease even a little bit of Poe’s worry.

My delight was swiftly dissolved when setting the pieces together. I’d assumed the magnet would hold and the droid would spring back to life. Instead, the head slipped straight off, sinking into the ground once more with a muffled thud.

Yeah, that seems about right.

“I have good news and bad news,” I declared sheepishly as I walked into view of Poe, lugging in a separated BB-8. His face burst into an illustration of relief, then confusion as his brain finally registered the image of his dear friend separated into two pieces, and lifeless.

As I placed the metal components onto the hospital bed at the side of Poe’s leg, he looked up at me. “This is the bad news right?” His hands tentatively checked over the BB unit, attempting what I had done not minutes ago, and watched the head piece slide back over the metal ball and dive into the mattress.

“Um… Actually… This was meant to be the good news,” I grimaced. “The bad news is that my comm-tower was completely flattened by your ship. None of my transmitter tech is going to be able to send out any messages until I can get another one built.”

Poe’s jaw clenched, and I only noticed now the dark stubble that glittered the lower half of his face.

“And when would that be exactly?” he queried sharply. I didn’t like the tone of his voice.

“At least another week if I left now. But I can’t leave you like this, you’re still in critical condition.”

It was obvious he was hiding his frustration, hands scrunched into balls. “They can’t wait that long.”

I scrambled at any answer that might settle him. “I mean, maybe some of the villagers could help, but there’s no guarantee-”

“Then get them to help!” he exploded, making me step back. At seeing the startled look on my face he softened, realising the severity of his demand. “I’m sorry, but this is just… so important. I know you’ve already done more than I could have ever asked of someone, but I still need more of your help. The fate of the galaxy depends on it.” His eyes glistened with hope, a silent plea, sending a cold wave of unease down my spine. He held a bandaged arm out, hand open, reaching toward me.

I didn’t want to be a part of this. It was exactly what I had run from for so long. Even now the immediate urge was to bolt out the front door, leaving behind this stranger who could unravel everything I’d built.

But there was something about the expression on his face, the desperation in his eyes, calling out to me. I was all he had right now. I was his only lifeline to put him back on whatever journey he had been travelling before fate made him, quite literally, crash into me.

“I mean, if the fate of the galaxy depends on it…” I mumbled, placing my hand tentatively in his. “Okay. I’ll help you get back home.”

Next Chapter

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#poe dameron #poe dameron x original female character #kylo ren #kylo ren x original female character #star wars #star wars fanfiction #adcu #adcu fanfiction

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johnnys-coors · 4 years

Note

Could you do one we’re tommy has a crush on the reader and so Johnny helps tommy by giving the reader 10 leaders (1 a day) and he like saying in the letter like how much they like the reader and some stuff abt them so facts etc. so when the last lettter came he tells the reader to meet him at the beach and soooo he standing there and stuff soooo then tommy asks the read out to like a diner and they end up going to a diner just of them and then they end up dating

Letters Made of Hand

Castles Made of Sand -Jimi Hendrix

Characters: Tommy, Johnny, and Y/N

Contains: fluff, kissing, and feelings

Y/N speeds up her walking, she is going to be late to Geometry. Passing by a row of lockers, she narrows her eyes to see '047D'. She rushes to her gray locker, hurriedly calculating her combination. “Ah, shit!” The lock has stopped moving, it's jammed. A few passerby's stares are felt on Y/N's back. The frustrated teenager’s cheeks grow red from the sudden attention. She glances at the clock right above a classroom next to her. Y/N has two minutes.

A raspy voice asks, "Do you need help?" Y/N whips her head to the right in surprise. Fluffy platinum hair reflects the fluorescent school lights hanging from above. The corners of his light blue eyes crinkle in a laugh, as Johnny finds Y/N’s distress hilarious. “Oh, shut up.” Y/N scoffs, frustrated with combination of her lock and the clock quickly running her out of time.

“Say less.” Johnny ushers Y/N out of the way and pulls down on the stuck lock. The shiny metal unlatches with a snap. The boy grins, proud of his accomplishment. “Wow, you’re better than any janitor!” Y/N faux swoons, receiving a snort from her friend. She faces the locker and swings open its thin metal door. A white piece of paper floats down onto the beige tiling. Muttering a ‘What the..’, Y/N leans down to grab the note. Johnny notices this occurrence, becoming intrigued. “Is it a secret admirer?”

Opening the folded material, the letter is a page long. Y/N wouldn’t have enough time to read it now. She folds up the paper while grabbing her math supplies. Shoving two Anatomy books into her unorganized shelf, she slams her locker shut. “I gotta get to class, I’ll let you know what it’s about,” Johnny goes to protest, stating she has plenty of time. “See ya!” Y/N shouts over her shoulder, running to her Geometry class, leaving the tall boy behind.

As soon as Y/N is inside the math class’ doorway, the bell rings. Sighing in relief, Y/N made it! The teacher looks over in disapproval, always expecting her students to be early and ready to learn. Ignoring the glare, Y/N bounces over to her seat, getting a few laughs from her classmates. Elated, and also flattered from a potential love interest, she giggles. Dutch, an aggressive blonde, elbows his desk neighbor. His bushy eyebrows furrow as he tries to keep his voice down. “Don’t tell me Johnny gave you my stash.”

Jimmy grabs a hold of the broken lock at Y/N’s locker. “What’s this?” His tanned hands cradle the metal as he's kneeled on the ground. “Let’s just say I saved the day, Jim,” Johnny gloats, puffing out his chest. A familiar cocky smirk plays on the boy’s face while everyone rolls their eyes. Y/N lightly shoves the teenager, barely budging from his heroic stance. Bobby and Tommy smile playfully at their group of friends. “Let’s get some lunch.”

Cobra Kai saunters into the loud cafeteria. The typical cliques are in their usual spots. The Cheerleaders and Jocks in the center, the Goths in a corner near a large bulletin, the Nerds by the lunch line, and Cobra Kai next to the water fountains. Now don’t get the group wrong, they’re still studs even if they don’t mingle with the Jocks. Tommy just had to get one swing at the football team’s quarterback.

Johnny leads them to the lunch line, reaching forward to snatch a plastic tray for himself. Y/N grabs one along with a shiny spoon and fork. The smell of pizza meets Y/N’s nose. Her stomach grumbles, a hunger rippling through her. “Pizza or salad?” The lunch man grumbles, he'd rather be doing anything else than serving food to rude high schoolers. “Uh, pizza, please.” Y/N requests, waiting for the oven-hot rectangular flatbread to slide onto her tray. And it does, nearly staining the fabric of her white shirt.

Moving her tray to the end of the line, Y/N takes a cup of mandarin oranges and sets it down on her tray. She starts to walk to her seat while her friends pass by her on both sides. The white and gray tiles stick to her shoes as God knows what's been on the floor. Placing down her food, she opens her water bottle she snagged from her locker. The Cobras talk among themselves, laughing about a prank they pulled. Y/N twists her left wrist to open the blue bottle cap. She leans back and begins to take a sip. Cool water hits her parched mouth.

"Y/N, why don't you show us what you found in your locker today?" Johnny questions, more demanding than suggestive. She nearly chokes on her water in excitement. Placing the plastic cap back on, she sets the bottle back down onto the red table. "Sure thing." Y/N reaches her index and middle fingers into her front jean pocket. Her eyes flick up to watch her friend's reactions.

Johnny's eyes glow in anticipation, seemingly more blue then before. Bobby nods her on, his long wispy hair framing his olive complexion. Jimmy leans on Dutch, who could care less, while a small smile is in the making. Tommy fixates on his food, sawing off his pizza with a metal knife. The utensil shines as it reflects the school’s overhead lights. He seems off, really off. Squinting, Y/N makes out a slight hue of pink on the loudmouth's cheeks. He's blushing?

"Are you gonna let us see?" Dutch quips, impatient as ever. Finally pulling out the folded paper, it crinkles as Y/N smoothes it out with her palm. Clearing her throat, she begins to read the letter aloud. "'Dear Y/N, I hope I don't come across as a stalker when I write this. Here goes nothing: You may be surprised when you figure out the person behind this handwriting, maybe even shocked. But let me just say that you are the only person that makes me feel like doing a roundhouse kick to the moon and back'," Tommy laughs, saying how bad ass the scenario sounds. This earns a shove from Bobby to quiet him down.

Y/N continues, "'Yes, I'm that thrilled about you. I guess your smile adds to the feeling. No, I think it's your laugh. I remember when we were at the same showing for a movie and hearing your giggle. What I would do to hear it again! Signing off, Hendrix.'" Silence carries through the group, letting the love letter sink into their minds. Bobby breaks the quietness. "What do they mean by 'Hendrix'?" His forehead creases in thought. "I think it's code." Jimmy pipes, the only Cobra with a decent GPA.

"Well, Jimi Hendrix was a rock artist." Tommy suggests, after being quiet for so long. "Right, but who listens to him anymore? I only have cassettes of Boston and Motley Crue." Johnny's hand comes up to comb through his floppy hair. His mouth full of pizza, Dutch grumbles, "MJ is all the rage now." He imitates Michael Jackson, singing an off key 'Billie Jean'. "Okay, I think we get it," Y/N laughs, as an idea pops into her head. "Does anyone have the last name 'Hendrix' in our school?"

In the library for study hall, Jimmy and Bobby help Y/N flip through yearbooks. A stack of them lay off to the right of the wooden table's edge, about to crash to ground. Her eyes scan the names of people, as her eyes become tired from staring. She closes the book's black cover from 1982, giving up. "I found him!" Jimmy exclaims, as Bobby and Y/N crane their necks to see. The librarian hushes the teenagers, adjusting her glasses that sat on her nose. The fuzzy black and white picture showed an attractive Matthew Hendrix. The glossy page reflected dark hair and a white smile.

"I know this kid! He's by my locker." Y/N pieces together, the puzzle falling into place. Bobby glances up at her yearbook in her hands. "Is he in our grade?" He asks. The teenager doesn't want a guy older than the Cobras, he'll just mess around with them. "No Hendrix is in our grade, he does football." At the mention of the ill-fated sport, Jimmy quickly inquires, "Wait, it's not the guy Tommy punched, right?" Y/N shook her head in confusion. Everyone was either too drunk or high to remember who was in the party's fight.

The next day's events were rather quite interesting. Y/N got another letter from this 'Hendrix'. She opened the note hurriedly. It would be embarrassing for her if any of her friends found out. This second paper gave more details about how much they liked Y/N, but they also gave a reference she picked up on. It mentioned going to a summer camp in '83. Y/N went with the Cobra Kais, but other guys tagged along too.

So far, none of her friends had waltzed up to her, pressing more about the topic. Dutch definitely wouldn't, he scoffs at the slightest mention of romance. It's a wonder that he even dated, let alone lost his virginity. Johnny and Tommy have been far too quiet about these occurrences. Jimmy and Bobby have been the only ones willing to help Y/N find more about this secret lover.

The note only fueled a desire for Y/N to ask Matthew if he was writing her letters. She waits, leaning on her locker, awaiting the moment the said boy would roll around. The beginning of the school hours always dragged slow, as if in mud. Y/N hopes this event would bring her some newfound excitement. The first bell rang, signaling to students they had five minutes till class. A breeze blew on her shoulders as a tall figure slowed down their pace. Matthew slung a dark bag over his right bicep, shoving it into his locker.

"Hey, Matthew, is it?" Y/N's voice inquires, raising in pitch with giddiness. The teenager’s brown hazel eyes sweep over her figure, deciding if he should pick up the conversation. With a light sigh, Matthew nods his head. “Yeah, whatcha want?” Y/N holds up the notes that were slipped into her locker from the past two days. “Have you been writing these to me?” She extends the papers for Matthew to take. A look of curiosity takes over the boy as he accepts the letters. His eyes move back and forth as he scanned the writings.

“I didn’t write these,” Y/N’s heart sank as this encounter did not go as planned. “But the handwriting looks familiar.” Matthew swears he saw this specific printing before, maybe written on his car in red spray paint? Reliving the memory, the red warning scribbled out a ‘NO MERCY’ on his beloved Dodge Turbo’s side. The faraway look in Matthew’s eyes causes Y/N to wave her hand in front of his line of vision. Coming back to his senses, Matthew shakes his head in disbelief.

“Here are your papers.” Matthew presses the letters back to Y/N. She's positive that she nibbled onto the bait of this fishhook. She goes to ask him more questions, but he slammed his locker abruptly. Grumbling something about getting payback, Matthew heads down the hallway, turning the corner. He deserts Y/N, who's left with more questions than answers.

For the next few days, each note gave more and more hints about the writer. So far, with the help of Jimmy and Bobby, she figured out that they like soccer and enjoy running on the beach. It’s not a grand discovery, but Jimmy assured her that every clue counted. Besides, the final note would be delivered today. Y/N is thrilled, she hopes the anonymous lover would reveal who they are.

The Cobra Kai boys have been drifting in and out the letter drama, scrapping up details here and there. She walks into the lunch line by herself, as she chooses a salad today. Y/N decides to walk alone, she's packed with a lot of tests and doesn't have time to wait for the others. “Heya, Y/N.” Johnny greets, changing out his cassette tape in his Walkman. Tommy’s bruised hand covers one of the cassettes nearest to him, its taped title unable to be seen.

“What’re you doing?” Y/N asks, as the boy seems to be moving the tape closer to himself. Caught in the act, Tommy stops moving the cassette. He lifts his head to meet his friend’s eyes. A nasty shiner around his right eye stands out against his smooth skin. The boy mentioned he fell down a flight of stairs at a party and tried to catch himself. Hence his purple knuckles.

“Oh, I was just helping Johnny change out his Walkman.” Tommy comes up with, flipping the cassette so it was standing upright, the tape side away from Y/N. Her narrowed eyes dart between Johnny, who fakes a shit eating smile, and Tommy, who doesn't dare move until Y/N lets go of the subject. She sits down, letting the topic dissipate on its own. Her brain's tired enough as is.

“Do you have the final note?” Bobby leans in, his long hair tickling Y/N’s cheek as he questions her. Y/N reaches into her trapper keeper, laying the letter between her and Bobby, reading silently. ‘Meet me at the beach after school, around eight. Bring your swimsuit!’ She almost jumped out of her seat at the butterflies overtaking her stomach. Bobby pats the back of Y/N, lightly laughing. “Well, there you have it. You’ll meet them after all!”

The purr of the Firebird rumbles Y/N’s passenger side seat. The smell of the seawater fills her nose with her window cracked open. Johnny’s bright headlights gives way that they're traveling down the dark road. The whistle of the wind and the thumping of REO Speedwagon hum her ears. It's surprising that she didn’t bribe Johnny to take her, he usually would grumble about it for a while. This time he acted almost glad to take Y/N.

Johnny pulls the car forward and parks it in the beach’s parking lot. She scans her surroundings ahead of her through the glass. The silhouette of a figure is down in the sand, facing the waves. “I think that’s my person. Thanks, Johnny.” Y/N unbuckles her seatbelt, ready to open the door and greet her writer. A tan arm swung out in front of her, holding a piece of paper. This stops her from continuing her motions. “What’s this?” Grabbing the note, she opens it.

The infamous handwriting is there but another one is visible. A more hurried, scratchy one. ‘You weren’t expecting another letter? Calm your tits, it’s just a note from your letter carrier: Make sure kick ass when you meet ‘Hendrix’. He’s really an amazing dude.’ Johnny laughs, slapping his large hands together in amusement. Y/N mouth drops, the charade coming to a close in front of her eyes.

“Wait, so you were the one dropping off the letters in my locker?” Y/N asked, her eyes shining in amusement. Johnny nods frantically, his hair reflecting the moonlight coming in on the dashboard. “Hey, it wasn’t hard to put superglue on the lock. It was pretty sick!” Laughing, she opens the car door, leaving the paper on her seat. “You jerk!” Y/N slams the door shut, leaving an emphasis on her words.

The grainy white sand slows her walking as she approaches the figure. “Hello?” She calls, anticipating rising. Everything has came to this moment, it better be worth it. Brunette hair gently moves in the breeze, as goosebumps rise on her arms. No answer is given. The person’s ears are covered by a certain black foam, connected with wire. Sighing, she nears even closer.

As if expecting the visitor, or listening intensely, an index finger presses pause on their Walkman. Turning their head, Y/N’s eyes widen and she covers her mouth in surprise. A set of brown eyes watch her reaction while they remove their Walkman, setting it down on their blue towel. A smile forms the longer the person watches Y/N. “It’s me.” The voice was bubbly and unapologetically loud.

“Tommy? Oh my god.” Y/N’s face pales as she sets herself down next to the writer. The male leans over to the left and makes a show of taking out his cassette tape. ‘Jimi Hendrix- Electric Ladyland’ is written on the brown Scotch tape. “I’m ‘Hendrix’, Y/N.” She blushes, her face turning a shade of pink. “I figured that out by now, doofus.” Tommy quietly laughs, turning towards her. Silence commences.

Y/N’s heartbeat bangs loudly against her ribcage as she leans in. She pauses, just short of kissing him. Y/N wants to make sure he is okay with going further. Fortunately, hesitation is not in Tommy’s vocabulary. Her eyes close once she feels his lips on her own. His warm hand cusps her face, gently stroking his thumb on her cheek. His abs contract as he rests his back on his towel, his left arm propping up his head.

She lays to left of him, her face creating contact with his. Her hair falls over to the side, moving slightly with the ocean wind. Tommy’s hand rests on the small of Y/N’s back, as the warmth of his body pulls her in further. Running her hands through his hair, she gently pulls. A small groan is released from Tommy throat, rumbling Y/N’s chest. An innocent gesture but not so innocent reaction.

Tommy smiles warmly when the kisses end, fireworks going off in his stomach. Y/N pulls herself up and sits facing the black waves, turning shy with the shared intimate moment. “Come on, let’s go for a swim.” Tommy proposes, rising to his feet and pulling off his gray sweatshirt. His toned stomach pales in moonlight, his crucifix necklace dangling down over his chest. His orange swim trunks are loosely draped over his prominent hip bones.

“Like what you see?” Tommy teases, flexing his biceps. “As if, loverboy.” Y/N retorts with faux annoyance. She grips the bottom hem of her black top as she reveals her swimsuit, shedding her pants. It’s now Tommy’s turn to gawk. He stands like a little kid, with his hands relaxed at his side, his jaw slack. Y/N takes this as an opportunity to rush into the waves, splashing Tommy with the lukewarm water.

“Hey! Come here!” Y/N giggles as he rushes over to lift her up off the ground. He spins her around once, laughing. Her eyes widen in thrill as he lifts her up even higher, getting ready to toss her into the water. Her legs kick in excitement as she grips onto his shoulders. “Ah, Tommy!” She giggles, not wanting him to let go of her. Her eyes lock with his own once again.

Her laughter fades as they gaze at each other. Tommy’s adam apple bobs when he swallows thickly. He’s nervous. She feels herself being let down by the taller. Y/N stands now confused by the change in mood. “Y/N,” Tommy calls, more declarative than interrogative. “Can you be mine?” The water around her ankles feel colder than before.

She nods, gradually getting faster with her confidence. “Yes, yes, yes,” Wrapping her hands around Tommy’s waist she pulls him in for a quick peck. “A thousand times yes.” She turns to exit the water and put her clothes back on. Her boyfriend follows, now noticing the Firebird that’s been there for over an hour. “Are you kidding me? Johnny’s here?” He whines, falling to his knees, his fists pounding the soft sand.

Y/N giggles, amused by his dramatic ways. “Hey, let’s get some fries downtown? Johnny can take us.” Tommy gets up off the ground, grabbing his towel and Walkman. “Fine, it’s a deal. Race you to the car!”

#fanfic #tommy karate kid #johnny lawrence #cobra kai

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arknights-imagines · 4 years

Note

Exusiai for the Christmas letter and gift prompt with a Male Sarkaz Operator S/O who is a part of Penguin Logistics and acts as her weapon smith making sure her gun is working properly and that she has plenty of ammo when she goes out on Operations. Thank you for answering my request.

From, Exusiai

Christmas Letter and Gift event

Satisfied with your work, Emperor gives you the rest of the day off after you deliver to him your report of weapon and cargo records for the month. The Penguin Logistics base is quiet as you head back to your workshop for the night.

You flick the lights on with a yawn, but your eyes do a double take when they fall to your workbench. There, amongst your tools and papers is a red envelope sealed with a cute cartoonish sticker, sat next to a cute gift bag of the same colour.

Your gaze stares the items down, the glint in your eyes curious; a gift perhaps? It is the Holiday season, but who would be sending you something at such an odd time? Though you feel a little bit cautious, you sit yourself down at your workbench, taking the envelope and turning it in your hands carefully.

The words on the back of the envelope reveal the identity of your sender immediately - in bold, messy handwriting is ‘To my baby, from your Exu! A very Merry Christmas!’ surrounded by playfully drawn hearts and stars.

Exusiai - you told her that you didn't need anything for Christmas, but you aren't surprised that she got you something regardless. You open the letter carefully, pulling from inside the envelope a sheet of Penguin Logistics stationary paper, that smells faintly of apple pie. Even though Exusiai’s hand penmanship is barely legible, from the very first words of the letter, a smile comes to your face.

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

Yo, hi [name]~! I hope my favourite cutie is feeling good today.

I’m not much of a writer, but the boss sent me out on a mission I’m not sure when I’ll be back from, and I wanted to give you your gift ASAP. Don’t worry about me! I’ll be back faster than you can say ‘apple pie’~.

What's up with this letter and gift? Well, it’s Christmas season! That means lots of parties with me and the other girls - Ehehe, I hope you're ready for a Holiday party the Penguin Logistics way. You know, you really do need a break baby~. All that tinkering with weapons all the time looks like it would really poop me out. But I guess that's why we all have our roles, right? Without you, I’m not sure what the other girls and I would do.

Christmas is a big deal pretty much everywhere - from Lungmen to Rhodes Island, everyone celebrates the Holidays.

When it comes to Christmas, I only like the fun parts - that's probably why I like celebrating it my own way, different from how other Sankta do it. Most Lateranos celebrate Christmas seriously, with all these intricate traditions and whatnot. Me? I just like the gifts, the smiles, the lights and the food! And baby, if you ask me, as long as you're having fun, Christmas can be spent anyway you like~. The Holidays came so fast this year! I guess time really does fly when you're having fun~.

Do the Sarkaz celebrate Christmas? Ehehe, sorry, maybe that question is a little too personal. Don't worry baby, now that we’re together, we can celebrate the Holidays together however we want.

That reminds me - what do you want to do for Christmas this year? We’ll have a party with the girls, obviously, but we will need to make plans just for us. We can hang around the base and I can make us apple pie, then we can cuddle or watch a movie. Or if you're feeling adventurous, we can go out into whatever city we’re in by the time Christmas rolls around and see where fate takes us. Ehehe, think about it, okay?

[Name], we’ve run into all types of things, but honestly? I wouldn't really have it any other way. If I had never met you, I don't think waking up for the day would bring me half as much excitement as it does now. Knowing I get to get up in the morning and see you working when I pass by your workshop really makes me smile. Ehehe, is that too cheesy? I’m sorry cutie, my insides really do get all mushy when I think about you.

Y’know...people like to call the Sarkaz ‘devils’, but [name], you're not a devil at all. You protect me by keeping my gun and I in shape and if anything jams, we can trust you to fix it. I might be the one with the wings and halo, but you're the real angel - my guardian angel. The boss and the other girls ought to be super grateful for you~.

Baby, I feel like I really need to repay you for everything you’ve done for me. I know you repair my gun and help the girls and I on missions sometimes, but it’s more than that. You gave me a real shelter, a place where I feel safe and can be myself. I don't really fit in with the other Sankta back at Laterano, Rhodes Island and Penguin Logistics are nice but the people there are my friends and colleagues - not my lover. The one I love, the one I know I can rely on no matter what, is you.

My cutie, my baby, my [name] - what I’m trying to say is that my home is with you. I want to be with you forever.

I wanna do so many things together; eheh, where do I start? I want us to go to Siesta for their Obsidian Festival, I want us to go to Lungmen again so we can properly celebrate the Sauin festival, I even want to bring you to Laterano, my hometown, just to show you where I grew up.

Is this warmth inside my heart the Christmas Spirit everyone keeps talking about? Ehehe, I’m just kidding. Only you have this kind of effect on me, [name]. I wonder - when you think of me, does your stomach do the same summersaults mine does when I think of you~?

But seriously - baby, I love you. So much that I’m basically oozing with affections for you, but that's probably obvious. Someday, I’ll find some better way to say thanks, but for now, take this letter and gift I got for you. Also, it’s Christmastime! Hold your head up and smile big for me~.

Ehehe, boss is gonna start yelling at me if I take too long, so that's all for now! Keep up the hard work [name]! Ehehe, maybe the boss will give us a nice long break for the holiday season if we all blow him away with our amazingness~. Right, Exu out!

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

Exusiai and her antics never fail to make you smile; this time was no different. A small chuckle leaves you and your lips upturn into a warm grin as you read the conclusion to her letter. Exusiai really does mean as much to you as you meant to her - you remind yourself to tell her that when she comes back from her mission.

Your gaze returns to your workbench, more specifically, to the gift bag. Its colour reminds you a little of Exusiai’s hair, and sticking out the top of the bag is tissue paper of all different colours. Your brow lifts as you pick it up; the bag is light, what kind of gift did she get you? You shrug to yourself slightly, ‘Only one way to find out’, and so, you open the little bag up.

Inside of the bag, underneath all that colourful tissue paper is a cute keychain with two chibi figures and a tag with your name hanging off it. You immediately recognize one of the little figurines as Exusiai - the cheeky grin and halo are both pretty unmistakable - and the other figure; confusion paints your face for a few moments as your try and rack your brain for who it might be, and then it dawns you. You almost facepalm; it's clear from the Sarkaz horns that the other chibi is you. Another smile is brought out of you and a light laugh follows. The gift is lighthearted and playful, and at the end of the day, it's just a keychain; but paired with Exusiai’s letter and the thoughts she conveyed with it, to you, it's so much more.

Your eyes go back to the gift bag, and you this time notice the tag hanging off its handle. Gaze curious, you take the tag between your fingers and see that Exusiai’s handwriting is squished onto the little blank space it provides, ‘Merry Christmas cutie! I promise I’ll be home for the holidays, but for now, check out this keychain! It’s mini versions of you and I, pretty cool right? Shoutout to the super awesome craftsman I met during my Operation in Lungmen who made them for us!’ Your heart goes mushy - she had been thinking of spending Christmas with you even during her missions? You can tell you’ll always be in her heart, and you can't wait to tell her that she’ll always be in yours, ‘[Name], carry the keychain around with you everywhere you go - that way, we’ll always be together~.’

#i hope i did exu justice 🥺 ty for the creative request anon!!#arknights #arknights imagines #arknights exusiai #arknights x reader #exusiai arknights #arknights imagine #arknights fanfic #arknights writing #christmas event #imagine #imagines #writing

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raindropsduringthesunset · 3 years

Text

Bubble Baths and Sweet Snacks (TSS Fateful Fae AU)

Ao3 ~~~ Wattpad

First Part, Last Part, Next Part

Characters: Patton, Virgil, Janus, Logan, Roman, Remus

Relationships: Moxiety (Platonic), Moxiety (Eventual Romantic), LAMPDR (Background, Platonic)

TW: Mention of Past Injury, Scars, Brief Implications of Pain, Panic, Knives, Violence (Playful),

cw: Bathing Together, Possessiveness, Fire, Food, Remus (Sympathetic- Mentioned), Janus (Sympathetic), Patton (Sympathetic), Crying (Brief), Embarrassment (Brief), Cursing

Enjoy!

~~~

Patton maybe shouldn’t care for a mortal so much. He didn’t even have dibs on him- J had called it far earlier than any of them, whether he’d admit it or not. It was clear he’d claimed V after they had first met. Now that Patton had taken the time- though he genuinely could say it felt more like it was gifted to them- to learn more about the mortal, he fully understood.

V was just too precious. Though he tried to act tough and walled off, his walls seemed to crumble at the smallest expression of affection. Trained stale looks quickly melted away into soft expressions when Patton ruffled his hair or rubbed his back while passing by. A simple praise seemed enough to make him weak at the knees.

Patton definitely didn’t underestimate V’s ability though. V could take care of himself- as he’d expressed constantly at the endless care that the chorus of fae had to give. V would cook on his own in the dead of night, go foraging, go on walks. Even when V had first arrived, he was fierce and careful to read deeply into what others were saying, searching for hidden meanings behind words that they would say. It took weeks for V to finally allow the others to be gentle with him- a little longer for him to allow the Duke to come anywhere near him.

Duke whined about it every day when he’d find V sitting by one of the others or sharing a tender moment. His whining only earned him a smack upside the head by J and a hearty laugh from Princey.

Patton learned quickly and took note of everything V enjoyed. His favorite drink was a hot chocolate with a small amount of spiced rum. His favorite food was pasta with just a ladle worth of sweet tomato sauce. His favorite smell was lavender and vanilla with just a hint of juniper.

Patton adored how particular V was and was always determined to find out more of his favorite things, find out what he loved, find out what he hated; the faeries actually shared a list of things that V hated as a precaution- none of them wished to make him unhappy. And how could they?

V was their everything. The fun they’d been searching for hundreds of years. The random factor, a common cause for them to come together. The final piece that they always felt was missing but just couldn’t find until now. They would recreate reality just for him; rewrite every story, spin and weave the world until it was perfect for V.

V was theirs and Patton was eternally grateful to the universe for it.

Timeskip

V sighed happily, pushing his head against Patton's hands and he lathered V’s hair. Fingers scratched pleasantly against his scalp as he was washed. His eyes had fallen shut a long time ago, his long lashes fluttering every few moments. Patton smiled gently at the mortal, warmth filling his chest as the boy practically melted under his touch.

“Do you like that little one?” Patton hummed, chuckling slightly when V sighed blearily back and leaned more and more against his hands and the tub. White suds shimmered from the candlelight nearby, the warm glow of the fire making V’s skin glow.

“Lean your head back a bit kiddo, I don’t want to irritate your eyes.” Patton warned, muttering a soft praise when he tilted his head. The fae frowned at the sight of bruises covering V’s neck. Words caught in his throat; it pained him to ignore the possibility that V was in danger, but he also tried so hard to rationalize it. Before he could get too deep into his own head, he realized that V was looking up at him through cloudy eyes.

“Are you tired, little one?” V nodded absentmindedly, blinking slowly with a sleepy smile across his face. Patton ran a hand through his hair and rested another hand on his back, gently leading him to lay back in the water so that he could wash out the soap.

V hummed happily at the feeling of warm water against his scalp and Patton's hands in his hair. Patton scratched the place behind his ear carefully, holding back a cooing sound when V closed his eyes again and leaned into the touch.

“You only have to do this, then you can do whatever you want. Oh! L told me to tell you that you should go stargazing with him tonight. You don't have to if you don't want to though,” Patton pushed some soap away from V’s forehead, “We understand if you’re tired.” V whined sadly when Patton pushed him out of the water.

“Hold on kiddo,” Patton laughed, keeping a hand on his back, “I need to wash you.” V’s eyes opened abruptly, making Patton freeze. A panicked sheen made his eyes shine as he began to bring his hands up to cover his body.

“Would you be more comfortable if I left the room while you washed and I just did your back?” He asked, rubbing his back slowly. V shook his head and stared off for a moment. He brought his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, leaning over to let Patton see his back.

Patton grimaced at the sight of scarring down V’s lower back. Scratching and rashes rested on his hip bone. V winced as Patton poured water down his back and gently rubbed the spots that were still scarring over, cleaning wounds from while muttering little apologies under his breath. Patton froze as V sucked in a sharp breath, freezing where he was sitting.

“Kiddo?” He asked cautiously. V shivered and rubbed at his arms. Patton frowned and ran a hand through V’s hair.

“Does it hurt? Are you cold?” He didn’t respond. Patton let out a sigh and took one of his hands.

“Little one, you have to tell me if it hurts okay? I don’t want you hurting. And if it’s too cold I can heat up the water.” V pursed his lips.

“Doesn’t that take time though?”

“V, sweetheart, I’m a fae. Heating up water is possible in a blink of an eye. I promise it’s fine with me.” Patton rubbed gently at V’s shoulder. “... Yeah, it’s cold. It’s makin’ ‘m sting,” V mumbled, looking away. Patton nodded and dipped a hand in the water stirring with small shimmers of his magic swimming past the bubbles until V nodded that the temperature was good. Carefully, Patton went back to cleaning V’s shoulders.

Patton scratched gently at his back, the pit in his stomach fading away as V began to relax again. Soap gathered and covered his back, the potent smell of lavender filling the small room. V slumped forward slightly, bringing his shoulders up to help Patton reach more.

Gods, Patton loved this boy. He honestly couldn’t tell if he loved him romantically or platonically at this point, but it didn’t really matter to him. The point was that he would tear the world apart for the boy in front of him. He could do no wrong, say no wrong. Patton would barely hesitate to say he was a gift from the gods themselves.

Oh dear, Patton really had fallen far for him. J had warned him and he hadn’t listened. Though, looking at the way V’s eyes closed gently at the feeling of warm hands on his back… He couldn't say he was mad about it.

Timeskip

“Do you know where V is?” Patton asked L the next day.

“Unfortunately I do not. He did not join me last night for stargazing. I imagine he is in his room.” L said, not looking up from his book. Patton frowned and ran a hand through his hair.

“V wasn’t in his room when I checked in on him this morning.”

“Could he possibly be on a morning stroll?”

“After a bath?”

“Hm,” L closed his book, pursing his lips, “Maybe check on the Prince. I overheard that he was planning to spend a day with V sometime.” Patton sighed and looked to the side. He really wanted to spend the day baking with V. L stared blankly at Patton before pushing himself up and gently clasping a hand against his arm.

“I’m sure the Prince would let you spend the day with V if you asked. He may not be too happy or quick to agree but that’s just how he is,” L said with the ghost of smile, “I could accompany you if you would like. I have been meaning to speak to the prince about… something anyway. Patton smiled and sent a knowing look to L.

“Is it about your jam or about V?”

“About V, why would it be about my jam?” Patton’s eyes widened as he cleared his throat.

“Uhh, just forget I said anything.” L squinted and pursed his lips before sighing and relaxing his features,

“I’ll ask him later. Shall we?” L extended an arm to Patton who smiled and looped his arm around.

“We shall.”

Timeskip

When the two had finally arrived in the fae forest, the Prince was sitting on a log with J, the two watching V who was crouched down by the lake playing with one of the fish. Patton had no doubt that the Duke was nearby- most likely in the lake. Pat carefully untangled L and his arms before the two walked forward to their respective people.

“Hey kiddo, whatcha’ up to?” Patton asked, bending down and tilting his head slightly. V looked up at him, slightly dazed, and blinked for a few moments.

“I’m…“ He paused, his brain taking a moment to catch up, “I’m just… relaxing for a bit.” Patton smiled and brought a hand up, scratching Virgil’s head.

“Would you be interested in maybe baking with me? I wanna make angel food cake and I think you might have fun.” V leaned into the touch, slowly closing his eyes while nodding. Pat carefully moved his hand away standing up and offering him a hand.

“Hey, where are you two going?” Prince protested, standing up with a slight form on his face. J also looked upset when V stood up and held Patton’s hand tightly.

“I’m borrowing V to go bake.” Patton explained, looking down and smiling gently at V when he nuzzled into his side. “Did you ask before just taking him?” J hissed with no real bite.

“I asked V, he said he’s fine with it.”

“I didn’t mean V.” Janus rolled his eyes, standing up and fixing his hair to the side before crossing his arms. Pat laughed a bit and moved a hand to start rubbing V’s back.

“V isn’t just a prize for us to pass around, you know that right?” He teased. The Prince huffed and toed at the ground.

“Yes but it’s our turn with him. You got to play with him all night yesterday!” He whined, gesturing lightly to V.

“V and I only took a bath then I sent him to bed, you can play with him tomorrow,” Pat looked at L who was tapping his foot impatiently, “Also, I’m afraid I may have spilled the beans to L about your little… incident.” A bit of panic flashed in the Prince’s eyes as he looked over to L who appeared to be very mad.

“Oh, so you did do something to my jam?” J covered his mouth and looked away, hiding his smile. Patton rolled his eyes and squeezed V’s hand, gently tugging it towards him before walking forward.

“If you need us, we’ll be in the kitchen.” V waved a small goodbye before leaning into Patton’s side.

“The fuck is goin on up here?”

“Go away Duke!”

Timeskip

The kitchen door creaked as Patton pushed it open. He snapped his fingers, the candles in the room imminently being set aflame- their light being a little brighter than normal. V cautiously walks in behind him, stealthily pushing the stool he had forgotten to put back in it’s spot the night before.

“Do you want to stand and help cook or sit and help stir?” Pat asked, opening his recipe book and getting down the ingredients he needed with ease.

“I can do whatever.” V said, attempting to act indifferent. Patton looked through the recipe another time before turning to V.

“Would you be okay chopping the strawberries while I make the honey caramel?” V nodded and opened a lower cabinet, taking out a cutting board. Patton tilted his head slightly before shaking his head and opening the cutlery drawer- all made out of bronze of course. He carefully took out a knife and placed it on the cutting board.

“Be careful, we wouldn’t want you getting hurt now, would we?” Patton teased.

“I can handle myself, Pat.” For some reason, he wanted to disagree. Patton held his tongue in favor of just smiling and shaking his head fondly. Patton opened his

A few minutes passed, the quiet tapping of the knife against the cutting board and soft clinking of Patton’s spoon hitting the side of his pot. Every few moments V would slide the knife across the board and push the excess strawberry pieces into the trash.

The first week V was here, Patton had invited him to cook with him. It was just something simple; a soup with various cheeses and broccoli. What made it unusual was V’s reaction to Patton telling him to throw away the end of the broccoli.

Flashback

“Don’t we need it?” V asked, genuine confusion crossing his face. Patton looked up from where he was grating cheese and smiled.

“Nope! That part’s bitter anyway, too tough for J to eat. The Duke likes it though so if you really want to put it to use. Though, I do think the Duke said he doesn’t like it as much anymore,” Pat paused, “Never mind, just throw it away. It’s no big deal.” V’s eyes were wide. He looked like he wanted to say something but was holding his words back.

He still hadn’t moved to throw it out.

“But… isn’t that wasting food? It’s- it’s still edible, right?” V asked, looking at the bottom, “It’s just a bit tough, can’t we just cook it extra long?”

“No no, it’s fine, it’s just food. We’re eating most of it anyway. No one here likes the bottom-” Patton stopped, raising an eyebrow, “Do you like the bottom? If you do, we can cook it, it'll just take a little extra time.”

“NO!” The two of them flinched, V looking back at the vegetable, panicking slightly.

“I mean- no, I’m fine. S- I regret starting this argument.” V mumbled.

“Oh little one, this wasn’t an argument, it’s fine really,” Pat tried to read V’s face from the side, “Little one, I promise I’m not angry.”

“... You’re not?” Chills ran up Patton’s back as he heard V whisper softly, so scared, so vulnerable. He almost wanted to cry.

“I promise. I don’t think I could ever be mad at you.” Patton reassured. He smiled when V nodded softly, going back to cutting the vegetables.

A pit still sat in his stomach at the realization that V was still tense as can be. He wanted to reach out and hold him when V winced slightly at the knife got a little too close to his hand. Patton just had him stir the pot for him instead.

End Of Flashback

“Okay, now just put it in the box.” Patton explained, helping V move the strawberries.

“Won’t the juice seep into the wood?” He tilted his head, hesitating slightly. “Nope! The container is made out of copper, the Prince just painted it to look like wood. Come here, run a finger down the side.” Pat extended a hand, smiling when V carefully moved to put his hand on his palm. Slowly, Patton moved their hands and rubbed the back of V’s hand on the container, laughing a bit when V’s eyes widened in wonder.

“This- looks really realistic. How?”

“The Prince has been painting for decades, he’s picked up the skill very easily. If you would like, I’m sure he would love to teach you one day.” Patton said. V paused before nodding, moving his hand back to start pushing the strawberries into the jar.

“Why-”

“... What’s wrong?”

“Never mind. I shouldn’t be asking so many questions. So-” V sighed, taking a long blink, “Please excuse me for-”

“Little one, you don’t need to apologize for having questions. It’s good to be curious. Honestly, I’m happy that you’re comfortable enough to ask.” Patton reassured. V finished putting in the strawberries and set the cutting board down.

“Really?”

“Really,” Pat set a gentle gaze oh V, “You can ask any of us anything. If one of us doesn’t know something, another is sure to. If you have any questions that you think are… more complicated, you can go to L. He’s a lot smarter than I am. J is also good for answering questions about the realm if you ever get confused by how something works.”

“... Why are we putting the strawberries in here if we’re just putting them on the cake?”

“We have to macerate them first so that they don’t taste bitter. Do you want to help me with it or do you just want to watch?” Patton got the sugar down and opened the top of the jar. “Could… could you walk me through it while I help?” V asked. Patton almost miss the small whisper of “I don’t want to be useless” but refrained from mentioning anything.

“Of course. Come, stand here for me.” Patton stepped back, smiling as V stood in front of him, “Good,now, take the measuring cup- yes just like that- and get a big scoop of sugar… Great job, now just drop it onto the strawberries.” They repeated the steps a few more times, V growing lightly tense as more and more sugar was added.

“What if we add too much.”

“There’s never enough sugar- plus some of it will burn away and caramelize inside of the cake when it cooks.”

“But what if it doesn’t?”

“I promise it will, and if it doesn’t, what’s the harm in a little more sugar?”

“Okay, that should be enough, no hold on just a moment.” Patton reached carefully around V and took the jar. V watched curiously as Pat stepped away, walking a few feet before stopping.

“Be careful, this is where the workout comes in. If you want, you can start on the cake, the recipe is right on the counter.”

Patton waited for V to turn around to start to shake the jar, his face scrunching up in concentration. After about a minute, he stopped, opening the jar and nodding before moving the jar to the ice box. When he looked back up, V was still reading the recipe, his shoulders tense.

“Are you alright?” Patton asked, walking up and frowning at V’s tear-glazed eyes, “hey, hey, what’s wrong? Come on little one, talk to me.”

V’s shoulders shook, tears starting to fall down his face. He raised his hands to wipe them away angrily, frustration covering his features. Patton slowly reached up, giving V enough time to pull away before he too his hands.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Take a deep breath for me, yeah? Come on, breath in, yes, good. Now breathe out- wonderful. You’re doing perfectly.” Patton rubbed at V’s hands, gently kneading them to keep him grounded, “Are you okay? You can tell me what’s wrong.”

“I- I can’t… fuck…” Patton slowly brought V into a gentle hug.

“Take your time little one, it’s okay. Shhh, shhh, breathe sweetheart.”

V’s tears slowed but he was still hiccuping every few moments. Patton gently rubbed his back, hushing him and murmuring soft reassurances into his ear. The two slowly ricked from side to side, V relishing in the warmth of Patton’s arms.

“I don’t know.” V spoke into Patton’s sweater, causing him to look down.

“You don’t know what little one?”

“I don’t know how to…” V paused and flushed red, attempting to bury himself in Pat’s arms. He thought for a moment, recalling the past few minutes before it clicked.

“You don’t know how to read?”

“No, no, I- I can read it’s just…” V sighed, “It’s hard to read this. The letters don’t look right and I keep- I keep flipping words around.”

Ah, okay.

“Would it be easier for you if I helped and read it out for you?” Patton asked, smiling when V nodded into his chest. “Okay, let’s try this again.”

Timeskip

Later that night at dinner time, all the fae gathered at the pond smiling when V and Patton arrived with two picnic baskets. The twins had set up candles and called for fireflies to light their night time picnic. L had laid out a few blankets and lit a lemon and wood candle to keep bugs away. J had… done nothing really. What? He was working on the gateway that evening, he deserved a break.

That didn’t stop the others from making him have to take food last.

“This is delicious, thank you.”

“Absolutely divine.”

“Thank you darlings, this is wonderful.”

“Holy fuck this is good.”Patton laughed and shook his head, looking over to V who was happily eating a sandwich and snacking on strawberries.

“Do you like it sweetheart?” V nodded happily and bit into another strawberries. Patton smiled. He found V’s favorite fruit.

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cottage-babe · 4 years

Text

Burning Scars part II

Previous | Chapter 2 | Next

Thank you all for the support, it means a lot!!!

I really hope I can keep up with this posting schedule lmao

Summary: Y/n, a werewolf from a hidden village, comes across Zuko and Iroh after being exiled. How has fate intertwined the wolf into the avatar's destiny?

*****TW SEXUAL HARASSMENT NEAR THE END*****

This chapter takes place somewhere between S2 E8 and S2 E11

---

Deciding to rob Lee and Mushi was probably the best decision Y/n had ever made.

After their invitation to bring her to a nearby town, the trio ate a small breakfast, packed up, and started on their journey. And let her just say; the breakfast couldn't even compare to the food she ate as a werewolf. It was like a crumb next to what she normally ate.

Sigh, she really wished she could go out and hunt a quick meal, but that would be really hard to explain to the boys.

Other than that, everything sailed by smoothly. Mushi and Y/n rode on the back of their ostrich-horse while Lee walked beside them. They couldn't all fit on the animal (when they tried, Y/n was almost sitting on Lee's lap and it made him jump off, red faced and set on walking instead). They traveled quite slowly due to this, but the pace seemed faster because of the conversations held by two of the members. They spoke of stories of their past, but never quite revealed enough to show who they really are.

"...I had traveled to many places a long, long time ago. I met with and studied so many people and cultures, that I see myself as a blend of everything." Mushi stated as he looked over his shoulder.

Y/n sat behind him and had both legs on one side of the ostrich-horse. She had trouble bringing one leg over, so she instead sat in this position. It helped that they were moving slowly, so she only had to hold on tightly to the saddle.

"That must be why you're so pleasant to be around!" She laughed. "You're the best part of everyone and everything."

Lee snorted at that. Y/n straightened her back and her eyes turned to slits.

"Maybe you could use some of that enlightenment, Lee." She sneered.

Lee just rolled his eyes and continued to look forward. Y/n huffed with her arms crossed. This boy was so annoying, all of the time. She had tried to make friendly conversation with him before, but he only answered with a single word or with nothing at all. And it definitely didn't help that she found him cute… but that was beside the point. His looks could only get him so far.

Mushi looked between the two children with a knowing smile on his face. It confused Y/n, but she ignored it once the old man started to talk again.

"Now, Y/n, the best place I have ever traveled to is the Spirit World," he began. "It is a realm where only spirits and those with enough purpose can flow through. It is wonderfully calm, and wonderfully dangerous. I am sure you have heard of this?"

The girl nodded her head. She wanted to ask him what his purpose for going was, but decided against it. "Yeah, I have. There was someone in my village that traveled through it frequently; one of our teachers. She told us that there was a werewolf spirit guarding us. Many believe that it is one of our original founders."

She hadn't realized it until Mushi spoke, but she had given away a bit too much information on her people. Even if she was never allowed to go back, she wouldn't knowingly risk their safety.

"A werewolf! I have heard stories of them, but many don't know if they were even real. Have you heard about them, Lee?"

The boy rolled his eyes once again and sighed. "No, Uncle."

Wow, two words, must be some sort of record!

"Well," Mushi cleared his throat, "there was a town called Tayiro a very long time ago. The kind citizens were attacked by a pack of werewolves one night. The village fought hard and came out victorious, but with great losses. The villagers warned nearby towns of the invasion and soon they had figured out that the hybrids were living among them, waiting and planning to attack. The information spread all around the world; all until there was not a single werewolf left.

I am quite surprised to hear that your people think of the wolves as protectors. I have only heard of the species being talked about in fear, but it's relieving to hear a different perspective."

Mushi sent Y/n another smile and she tried to send one back, but her thoughts weighed down the corners of her mouth.

Was this really what humans think happened? That the werewolves were the bad guys?

Hearing this new story silenced Y/n for the rest of the trip. She was so stuck in her head that she didn't even notice when they had made it to town.

"Well, we're here." Lee stated as he turned to look at the duo.

His eyes turned over to the girl as she slid off the saddle. Mushi soon joined her on the floor and Lee took hold of the ostrich-horse's reins.

The boy stood awkwardly in the silence before saying, "I guess this is goodbye then."

She looked to the floor in silence. She didn't want to say it, but this was probably one of the best times she's had. Conversing with an old, wise stranger, being offered food, a place to sleep for the night AND a ride to town. Y/n was so extremely lucky to have fate intertwine her life with these two strangers.; even if one was slightly a nuisance to her.

She looked back up to say her thanks, but paused when she saw a staring match happening between the boys. She chose not to speak until they decided that one was victorious.

"You know, nephew, I think we need to buy some supplies before we leave town." Mushi stated with a satisfied smile on his face.

Lee glared a bit longer, but eventually gave up and groaned out a "fine."

Mushi looked at Y/n with the smile still adorning his face. "If you'd like, we can accompany you for a while longer?"

"Oh! I would love the company!" She said happily.

If she was being honest, Y/n was a little frightened by the size of the town. She had been to human villages before, but never one this big. Every once in a while, she and her siblings would sneak out at night to visit a festival in a nearby town. It was very forbidden in her pack, but they did it anyway.

The four of them would change into their human skins, then into a pair of clothes that they kept hidden from their parents, and leave once the rest of their pack slept. They would spend the night stealing food, then dancing with the humans until the sun began to rise. Then they would rush back home to pretend that they were asleep and be an exhausted mess for the rest of the day. Ahh, those were the good days.

But now she was here, with no family or friends other than the strangers she met with yesterday afternoon. So, if they wanted to "accompany" her while they bought supplies, she would gladly accept their offer. It's going to be terrifying once they leave and she's going to have to fend for herself, in a place where her kind was definitely not welcome.

So the three of them tied their horse to a stable and explored the village. The two men stood on both sides of her and slowly began buying many things. The amount of money they had surprised her; whenever they saw something they wanted, they bought it. When she came to the festivals, she often saw people counting their change to see if they could afford something, but that wasn't the case with these two.

Suddenly, Lee looked over to Y/n.

"Are you not going to buy anything?"

"I-uh," she stammered, "I don't have any money. I lost it all when I was attacked by that animal."

There was some truth in that, but also some lies. Lee, however, couldn't seem to notice as he nodded his head and looked down. Y/n never had any real money, especially since her pack didn't use a currency.

Eventually, the three of them stopped at a cart selling food. Lee talked to the man and bought three... bread things? She had never seen it before.

Lee handed one to his uncle, and, surprisingly, to Y/n. She looked at him in shock. This was probably the nicest thing he's ever intentionally done for her.

Lee rolled his eyes. "You're welcome. Don't get so emotional, I just felt bad for you."

The girl nodded her head and smiled at him before looking at the food in her hand. Lee and Mushi had already begun to eat while she simply stared at it. It was a flat square with ridges on the sides. The center was puffed up like it had something in the middle and a white powder dusted the top of it.

At her village, they never had real foods; they hardly ever cooked anything since they would hunt, eat, and live in their wolf forms. The only time she ever had any specialty foods was when they stole them, but those had always been round, sticky, sugary foods. This was completely different.

"Y/n, are you okay?" Mushi asked her, already halfway done with his.

She glanced around in surprise before realizing how odd she probably looked. She quickly took a large bite and chewed. The flavors hit her hard.

It was a lot harder than the soft dough balls she had at festivals, but not by much. The powder on top was sweet and the square was filled with a fruit jam. All together, it was probably the best cooked food she'd ever had.

"This is so good!" Y/n exclaimed with wide eyes. She continued to take another bite. "What is this?!"

Lee looked at her in confusion.

"It's just a strawberry tart. Have you never had it before?"

Y/n took another bite and shook her head. "Never. My... Town didn't appreciate sweet foods like this! I didn't know what we were missing out on!"

She smiled at Lee and, while he indeed was confused, he gave a small smile back.

"Your town is so different from everything, what did you say the name of it was?" Mushi asked as he finished his dessert.

"Oh. It's uhhh..." Y/n desperately looked around. Luckily (well not really), a rat scurried off in front of her and into a dark alley. "... Ratodo. It's really far from here."

Mushi furrowed his eyebrows and rubbed his chin.

Y/n held her breath as she watched him think. She definitely could've thought of something better.

"Yes, I think I heard of them."

She let out her breath in relief. Ratodo... Really?

After that tense moment, the three of them continued on with their shopping trip. While the boys bought things, Y/n looked around and tried to think of a way to survive. She thought about living out in the woods in her werewolf form, but that would be too risky. Her pack or some random civilian could find her.

The best case scenario would be to live as a human.

That couldn’t be too hard, right?

Everything here was based on a currency, so all she needed to do was find some money and buy necessary things. She could always go out and hunt food, so that wouldn’t be a problem. Maybe one of the cart people would offer her a jo-

“Alright, so we have a little bit of money left, I think Y/n should take it to buy some clothes.” Lee interrupted her thoughts.

“Ahhh! That is just what I was thinking, nephew!” Mushi smiled. “I knew you had some kindness left in you.”

Lee scoffed, “I just want my clothes back, old man.”

While they spoke, Y/n just looked between them in awe. The spirits really handed her these two beings, all for free.

She looked around at the building they were standing in front of. It had the word Tailor painted above the door in a cursive writing. A glance into the windows showed mannequins wearing fancy gowns; something that looked way too expensive, even to a girl who didn’t understand money.

“I’m really sorry I took your clothes, Lee,” she apologized.

The boy raised an eyebrow and looked her in the eyes. She could only hope that he saw sincerity in them.

“It’s fine. It’s not like we wanted to see you running around naked anyway.” Lee looked to the ground. “Let’s hurry up and buy the clothes. We gotta leave town soon.”

He rushed her into the store and towards one of the workers. Y/n sighed, if only she could be apart of their adventure, everything would’ve worked out so much smoother.

Lee and Y/n talked to the seamstress over the price of clothing, materials, colors, everything. They settled for a dress, since it was less fabric and easier to make. The workers pushed her to the backroom; separate from Lee. She spared him one last look before disappearing in confusion.

There were three ladies in the room with her. They guided her to a stand and asked her to remove her clothes so they could get exact measurements. The girl started with her pants, then began to remove her shirt. Before it could even get halfway up her stomach, the ladies had gasped and two turned to look the other way.

“Oh dear,” the one still looking said in confusion, “whatever happened to your... underlings?”

Y/n tilted her head, then realized what she meant. The girl shoved her shirt back down to cover her parts and blushed brightly. Once again, human traditions had slipped her mind.

“I don’t have any. They won’t be too expensive, will they?” She didn’t want to waste all of the kind men’s money.

“You can have them for free, dear. Here, we’ll leave you these and tell us to come back when you’re ready.”

Y/n nodded and watched the woman leave through the door they came. She slipped out of her shirt before quickly grabbed the clothing that the woman had left. She slipped on the underwear before looking at a long fabric.

How does this work?

The girl figured that woman used it to hold their breasts, but how? It was a strap of thin fabric; its length about a few feet long. Maybe she should use it the same way Mushi wrapped her leg. She had a bit of trouble, but eventually she managed to secure it tightly around her breasts.

...

...this is really uncomfortable.

How could women wear this? She felt so constricted and claustrophobic. Y/n tried to wiggle it around so she had more room, but nothing could compare to just not wearing it at all. At least she could breathe and move fine.

Once Y/n calmed down, she went to let the three ladies back inside. They all seemed way more happier to see her partially covered up.

They started to do her measurements fast. Y/n held her breath and kept perfectly still so she wouldn’t bother them. When they finished, the women whispered among themselves. Y/n could hear what they were saying; bits of “she almost has the exact same measurements as...” and so on. Then, they walked back over to the girl.

“We have a dress that was never picked up by a girl your age. Would you like to take it? It’ll be cheaper and a lot faster since we won’t have to personalize a different one. Also it comes with free shoes!” She looked at Y/n with a look on her face that screamed motherly. How could she say no to that?

“Yeah, ok. I’ll take it.”

When she put on the dress and grabbed her old clothes, she didn’t have time to look at her reflection in the mirror before the ladies pushed her back to the room where Lee and Mushi were. It seemed like they were going to be busy with someone else.

She cleared her throat to gain the attention of the two men. They looked up and had very different expressions on their faces.

Mushi looked happy to see that she now has her own clothes. He stood up from where the two were sitting and complimented her.

Lee, on the other hand, had a bright red face and wide eyes; much like when he saw her in his clothes before. Y/n looked down at her dress to finally get a good look at it.

It was a dark, earthly green with black detailing and straps. Its sleeves were long and bell shaped, so it was loose around her wrists. This seems practical; its super easy to move in. Then, her eyes drifted down to the skirt section and she gasped. It was very, very, very, short. She expected to see that it would at least reach her knees, but instead it rested on her mid-thigh and showed her bandages.

Now, don’t get her wrong, she liked the dress a lot. It was comfortable and easy to move in. But shes seen what the ladies around this town wore and it was definitely more covered up than this. The last thing she wanted to do was stand out.

Who knows what the people outside would think. Lee was already giving her a bad feeling on how she looked. Maybe its a cultural thing? Is this disrespectful?

She couldn’t help the sad look on her face. Surviving here was going to be a lot harder than she thought if she was going to stick out like a sore thumb. There goes her life of living in the shadows.

Y/n walked up to Lee and he stood up quickly. She held her hands out.

“Here are your clothes, thank you for letting me use them.”

Lee slowly grabbed the clothes and continued to stare. Does he know that his looks aren’t helping?

“Alright, let’s go then.” Mushi stated as he clapped his hands together. Lee broke his stare and nodded his head.

The three of them walked out the store with Y/n in the back. She kept her eyes down and only focused on the two pairs of feet in front of her. Soon they stopped near the stables that held the ostrich-horse.

Everything was eerily quiet.

The boys finally turned around to face her and Y/n looked up at their faces. Mushi had a solemn look and Lee was unreadable.

“So, this is it, huh?” Y/n whispered.

Lee nodded his head while the older man looked to the floor.

They were still silent. Perhaps they were just waiting for her to leave? Her mind sped up.

Maybe I was way more of a burden than I thought I was. They were probably counting down the hours until we separated.

She really wanted to hug them, but maybe that’s too much? It’s not like they were friends or anything. They were never going to see each other again.

“Well, uhh,” She began, “Goodbye... and thank you for everything?”

Y/n stuck her hand out for a handshake.

It floated in the air for a couple seconds.

Then, Mushi moved her hand out of the way and pulled her into a deep, warm hug.

He whispered quietly, “I am dreadfully sorry that we have to leave you here. If it was up to me, I would ask you to come with us.”

She hugged him back just as enthusiastically and her eyes teared up. Mushi was a wonderful person. She pulled back to look at Lee, but his back had turned and he putting everything they bought onto the saddle. Of course he would be; he never really liked her anyways.

Y/n took a deep breath as she mentally prepared herself for the loneliness that was about to walk into her life. This was the moment she had dreaded.

She smiled one last time at the old man before turning and heading back to the town center. Maybe this won’t be as bad as she thought.

But she was so so so wrong.

She had barely walked a few feet away before a man twice her height and age had walked up behind her and touched her backside. Y/n turned around harshly and yelled, “hey!”

The man simply let out a laugh and made a move to keep walking. The young girl could see that the attention of others were beginning to be gained. She grabbed his arm and turned him back to her.

“Don’t you ever touch me like that again!” She huffed. “If you do I’ll... I’ll..”

“You’ll do what, sweetheart?” The man smirked as his hand reached out to touch her hair.

She wished she could wolf out, right now, and destroy this man, but she couldn’t. Not if she planned to stay here.

She was about the push his hand away from her face and defend herself, but a hand had already grabbed the mans wrist. The girl followed the hand until it met the familiar face of the boy she had been traveling with.

Lee.

“Why don’t you worry less about what she’s going to do, and more about what I will if you touch her one more time.” He sneered.

The man shook himself out of Lee’s grip and raised both hands in surrender.

“Alright, alright. I’ll leave her alone.” He said before walking away and whispering, “But look at what she’s wearing, she was practically begging for it.”

Lee made a move to attack the man, but Y/n and Mushi stopped him. Soon, all of their breathing slowed as the air became less tense.

Lee looked at the young girl.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” He asked worriedly.

“No, I’m fine,” She whispered. Another lie.

Lee nodded his head before silence settled upon them again. Y/n looked down at her shoes. This place just keeps getting worse and worse. It absolutely sucks to be living here with the humans. If you hadn’t gotten yourself banished, then you wouldn’t be in this situation.

It was then that Lee spoke for the final time.

“Its not safe for you here. We’ll give you a ride to the next town over.”

The smile that spread over Y/n’s face was so bright, that it even spread slightly over to the young boy that stood up for her.

___

I am so excited for the next chapter, its going to clear a lot of things up!!

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Masterlist

Taglist: @hopefuloperaangelnerd @simplyfandomish @bucky-blogs

#Zuko #prince zuko #zuko x reader #atla

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overwatchworks · 4 years

Text

That Pretty Face:

Inspired by art done by a good pal, they always draw the Blackwatch boys for me and it keeps my sanity.

It had been weeks. Weeks and weeks and Jesse had not truly thought about him since they had picked him up in pieces back in Hanamura. He had been busy. Mind occupied with other things. Genji Shimada was not the only thing being built from the ground up again.

Red eyes, silver metal covering most of his face, white and black synth skin. The Blackwatch insignia on his chest, outlined in glowing crimson. He looked angry. He looked resigned. Jesse didn’t blame him.

"Your life in return for your services". Jesse had heard the story, knew the drill. He’d had the same talk.

Death or Blackwatch. They were basically the same thing.

Guard duty was taking up his time now. Protecting Dr. Liao while she worked tirelessly on the AI that would, as she said, save the world where she could not. Jesse had seen enough of the world to know it could not be saved, but he was not about to tell her that. This was her life’s work, and who was he to dissuade a little bit of good in a world so riddled with evil. A world where people murdered their brothers in cold blood, left them shattered, left them for dead.

Just a few perks of the job.

The only reason Genji Shimada was back on his radar was because he was standing with them for training. Red eyes, silver metal covering most of his face, white and black synth skin. The Blackwatch insignia on his chest, outlined in glowing crimson. He looked angry. He looked resigned. Jesse didn’t blame him.

Your life in return for your services. Jesse had heard the story, knew the drill. He’d had the same talk. Death or Blackwatch. They were basically the same thing.

He was a cyborg now, wires hanging off the back of his head and whirring with each movement. The only parts of him that were obviously human being his left arm and what little of his face was still showing. Even that was mutilated with scars and marred by tubing. But he was a sight to behold when training. Fast, unbelievably agile. Ruthless. Violent. Every movement calculated and striking to kill.

It was beautiful, in a terrible sense. Clearly, Genji was skilled, but clearly, he was also unhinged. Pushing his body to the breaking point, steam coming up from odd places and eyes gaining dark circles as he overworked the human parts past their limits.

The weeks passed like that, training and missions going the same way. Genji liked to rip things apart. Genji liked to rip himself apart. Coming back with sparking wires sticking out of his arm and chest, blood that was too dark and glistening dribbling from holes in his armour. Covered in it. Some of it was his. Most of it wasn’t.

Jesse was generally assigned to missions with him, and generally they went well. Genji was quiet, the comms hardly ever going off on his end besides to give a general warning or a check in. He knew Jesse’s name, though, which surprised him the first time he used it. They had been caught in a crossfire, Talon ambushing their escape route and bringing in a sniper. Jesse had heard her rifle winding up, saw the laser sight flash to his chest. A single spot of red.

“She’s on you, McCree!” Genji had called, voice sharp and accented. Concerned, even. And then, of course, he had been shot. The bullet was armour piercing, but he had managed to move out of the way enough for it to not hit anything vital. Something he could survive, something Dr. Deorain had healed fairly quickly on the ride back to base. Genji had watched her work on him for a while, gaze boring into Jesse every time he looked up at the ninja.

For the first time, he wondered what was under that mask. If anything even was under the mask.

His eyes were expressive. They were pretty, all long lashes and dark intensity. They could be soft, at times. It was rare, but it happened. Mostly when Genji thought no one was looking, when he thought no one would notice the human parts of him anymore. Jesse did. But he did not let on just yet. They were not quite close enough for that. He didn’t know if they ever could be. Not in this line of work, not with what they had to do and the promise of death at every corner, a mission always a hairsbreadth away from going in the wrong direction, a bullet always missing them by the skin of their teeth.

Jesse loved it.

Jesse hated it.

Genji did too, he had learned, was born and bred for it. Made for it when he was born a second time, unable to escape the fate of a warrior, an assassin. Jesse wondered if he was bothered by that. The fact that his life was nothing but war and blood and death. Had asked him about it when they were stuck in the med bay together, drugs in his system making his lips looser than they already were.

Surprisingly, Genji had answered.

No, I am not bothered by it. I grew up knowing it was my fate, my duty. But I do resent it, and what it has done to me. What I have lost and had stolen away from me.

Jesse had listened raptly, the sound of Genji’s voice soothing in a way. Robotic, accented. Soft. His eyes were soft in that moment too. Lost in memory, perhaps. Jesse did not look too far into it.

Genji had gone quiet again after that, shifting where he could with the wires attached to his neck linked up to a computer behind him, something pumping modified biotics into the tubes in his arms, on the ports of his stomach. Uncomfortable, but not because of everything he was hooked up to.

I don’t know if I quite understand your situation, but never bein’ a normal kid? I get that. Nothin’ was ever normal for us except a weapon in hand and aimin’ it at someone else. Bein’ told to shoot. I guess in the grand scheme of it all, makes us no better than the bad guys, huh?

Genji looked back at him, assessing for a long moment.

We are not bad, we are just doing what we have to in order to survive. Kill or be killed. Join us or die.

I wish it wasn’t like that.

Another long moment passed, Genji gripping the edge of the examination table, eyes downcast.

Me too.

It was a long time before they spoke like that again. Missions kept them busy, and then training when they were not scheduled for them, Jesse occasionally going to meetings with Reyes while Genji went to the med bay with Dr. Ziegler to continue his modifications. They would pass one another in the halls. Jesse gave a tip of his hat and then added a wink until Genji finally began to acknowledge him back with a slight nod or raise of his brows. He liked to imagine there was at least a bemused smile under that faceplate when his eyes scrunched just a bit. Maybe.

They sparred together, started to train together after Reyes saw how well they worked as a team. Genji was good at quick, agile attacks up close while Jesse took on the long distance and range targets. Genji protected Jesse, and Jesse protected Genji in return. They got closer. Near death calls tended to do that to folks.

Genji talked to him more. Jesse told him stories and would get a few in return on the rooftops where the air was crisp and the sky was clear. Genji tried on his hat. Genji laughed. Just a small, quiet chuckle, but it left Jesse staring for a little too long. Genji noticed, Jesse tried to pretend his red cheeks were attributed to the cold as he snatched his hat back and drew it low over his eyes. He did not see the way Genji’s had softened again.

The next morning had them sitting in an airship, waiting to be dropped into a volatile zone overrun by null sector forces. They started out okay, but slowly, everyone got tired. They were only human, they made mistakes, slipped up. Null sector did not.

Genji did not.

Jesse was shouting into the comms for evac after he had to watch their third agent get shot down by a bastion unit, gunfire and static the only thing he was hearing in return. Jammed signals, bad luck. He dragged the corpse of a friend behind a building and had to leave it there, or they would all be one by the end of the day.

“We gotta get to higher ground where these things can’t jam our comms!” he called, Genji turning to him and nodding once before taking off towards the highest building. Jesse did not need an explanation, not between them. He motioned to what was left of their drop team.

“Move outta this hot spot! Stay behind cover, don’t leave one another’s backs unguarded. Get down that alleyway and take the first left, it’ll take you behind that main square, got it? We can find a place to hide out there, there’s just too many of these damn things here when we don’t have a shield!”

Jesse ordered, wishing not for the first time that he had someone like Reinhardt with him. Or at least a fully outfitted team like Overwatch always sent in. That would have been nice.

As it was, they had to run, Jesse getting everyone accounted for that was left before following up on the rear, eyes peeled for any sight of Genji.

He turned, gun spinning in hand and resting at his side as he counted the omnics marching towards him. Fifteen. He could do it. Six shots went of in tandem, six perfect bullet holes steaming through the first line of omnics. Jesse reloaded and did it again. Finished off the last two and ran down the alleyway, catching up with the rest of his team, ignoring the throbbing starting up behind his eyes.

“Bought us a little time. Come on, keep movin’.”

“McCree, we need more medical personnel,” Martinez urged, setting an agent down against the wall.

“Where’d Frazier go?”

“Dead.”

“Dammit.”

“There’s too many wounded right now if we need to make a quick getaway. Did Shimada not make it...?”

“Nah, he’s callin’ in evac for us. Stay here and do your best to patch everyone up, can you do that for me?”

Martinez nodded shakily, pulling out her med kit and going to the worst of the wounded in the group. Jesse made to check on the others, then saw a flash of red above them in his periphery. Genji landed in front of him not a moment later, the sound heavy, blood dripping down his shoulder. He did not seem to notice.

“It was all static, but I was able to find what was jamming them,” he reported, pointing to a building further into the hot spot. “I can get in there and take it out.”

“You ain’t goin’ back in there alone, that’s not how we do things around here. I’ll go with you.”

“I don’t need you slowing me down,” Genji bit out.

“How about we not think about it like that and instead say, ‘wow, thanks McCree for havin’ my back for me in case I get in over my head like I always do’, yeah?”

“I can do this by myself, you will only get hurt following me!”

“And what happens if you get hurt alone and then we all get killed ‘cause you couldn’t stand havin’ to take help from someone?!”

“Hey, boys, how about instead of arguing about it, you both hurry up and get us out of here. McCree’s right about one thing; if we don’t get out of here soon, we’re all toast, alright? We have people dying!” Martinez interrupted, glaring at the two of them as Jesse sighed.

“Come on,” he grumbled, moving in the direction of the building Genji had pointed out. Genji fell in stride with him after a moment, eyes shifting to him. Crimson narrowed darkly.

“If you die, I won’t let you rest peacefully.”

Jesse snorted, gaining a devilish grin.

“Darlin’, I ain’t ever planned on anythin’ but another spot deep in Hell when I die. Peace wasn’t even on the radar.”

Genji did not offer him a reply, simply quickened his pace and took off, leaving Jesse to follow behind with a sharp eye. They slipped past the rows of null sector stationed in the plaza in front of the building quietly, Genji motioning to a window just outside of their surveillance. He climbed into it, leaning over the edge with a hand outstretched. Jesse took it. Hauled himself inside and took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Genji waited. Static was running through the comms this close to the jammer, giving Jesse a headache. It was a large structure, pulses of blue light that shimmered leaving it in intervals.

“Damn...How’re we gonna take that thing out?”

“A detonator,” Genji offered, Jesse frowning.

“You wanna lure one of them in here?”

“It’s the best option we have. I cannot get near that thing, it interferes with my cybernetics.”

“And you were plannin’ on doin’ this alone?”

Genji merely glared, then pointed again. “There are three posted just outside the entrance. It should not be hard getting them inside.”

“But this signal will jam them too, right?”

“Not if we move them manually.”

Jesse stared at the ninja, sitting back on his thighs and pushing his hat up as he faced him fully.

“Lemme get this straight. You wanna shove one of them in here, somehow push them close enough to the jammer so that when they explode, it takes it out, all the while not letting the massive amount of null sector troopers out front know that we’re here?”

“Well, actually, I was thinking we let null sector do it for us. They have more fire power than we do, and if we stay behind the detonator, they will shoot it. They are programmed to neutralize enemies, no matter what is in front of them. We can take advantage of that.”

Jesse blinked. Frowned and ran a hand over his beard, chewing on his lip.

“Is it bad that I think that might actually somehow work?”

“Only if we do it right.”

“Alright. Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

It took some finagling. Genji’s steps were stuttering as if his limbs were not synching with the rest of him when he got too close to the jammer. It was just the two of them. Jesse was sweating. But they got the detonator inside the door, and it was hell unleashed as soon as they did. Genji knocked it in with a kick, Jesse shooting at the null sector omnics running in after him.

“Go! Get behind it now!” he shouted, Jesse ducking towards the jammer. Genji deflected, stumbled, found his feet again. It was close. A lot of cover fire from Jesse’s end needed just to get him behind a wall. He was shaking his head, blinking hard. They needed to get out of there.

Jesse was taking most of the attention from the null sector troops, staying just close enough to the detonator to ensure it was being pushed towards the jammer. And it was working. The detonator’s armour was falling, bright, fiery oranges and reds being revealed, the whole thing starting to shake. Jesse ran from it, back towards the window they entered through.

“Genji! Come on, it’s gonna blow any second!”

Genji looked up, eyes widening a bit, the red in them flickering. He tried to take a step, flesh hand going to his head when his leg buckled.

“Shit...” Jesse muttered, glancing at the detonator. He had time. He could make it. Peacekeeper sang as he ran. Ran for his life, ran to Genji. There was another window by him, they could go out that way. It lasted a lifetime. It lasted a second. Jesse grabbed Genji when he got to him, tugging him back up to stand.

“Come on! Just focus for me a little longer, alright? I need you to get up to that window and help me up, okay?”

“O-okay.”

The stutter was not intentional, Genji’s voice sounding more robotic than usual. Voicebox glitching. He blinked some more, then climbed the wall, reaching down for Jesse. His hand was taken, and they jumped from the window. Jesse jumped from the window.

Genji was not behind him.

“Genji? Genji!”

The detonator went off. Rubble flying, chunks of concrete, dust, fire. Jesse was blown back, arms up to cover his face. He felt debris hit him, his armour bending and cracking. Hit the ground and curled up, covering his head, eyes squeezed shut. When the rumbling stopped and the world was no longer shattering, Jesse finally glanced up. Ears ringing, dust in his lungs. He picked up his hat, blinking hard, coughing. Shook his head and ran into the rubble, calling for Genji but not hearing himself say it. Sound slowly started to come back to him, though, it was eerily quiet. Just the crackling of flames and debris falling.

“Genji! Come on, Shimada, where are you?!”

Jesse paused when he saw Genji’s sword laying toward the centre of the blast and he ran to it. Stumbled a bit, grabbed it from the ground. And there was Genji, lying just ahead of it, cybernetics sparking, blood running off his arm. From his nose. From his lips.

Jesse stared.

Genji’s faceplate was nowhere to be seen, scars littering his cheeks and around where synthetic met human. The bottom half of his jaw was black synthskin and mesh. A bruise was forming around one eye, cuts above it bleeding down his temple. With his eyes closed like this, he could almost be sleeping. Jesse stepped closer, kneeling beside him. Rolled him over and tilted his chin to the side, shaking him gently.

Pretty. Gods, he was so pretty.

“Genji? Hey, come on, do me one last favour and don’t be dead...Come on, bud...”

Genji’s eyelids fluttered, taking a shuddering breath in.

“Oh thank god. Alright, alright I got’cha. I’ll get us outta here.”

Jesse took his arm and hauled him over his shoulders, grabbing his katana once more and standing. Genji was heavier than he looked deadweight. Limp.

“You’ll be alright, we just gotta get back to the team, okay? Just hold on.”

Jesse did not even notice his limp until he was back in the alleyway, ducking behind cover and keeping one arm over Genji’s legs so he would not fall. Eyes peeled for any sign of danger. Three detonators going off all at once, destroying a building and the jammer within it was bound to draw in swarms of null sector. They needed to get out, and fast. Jesse tapped his comm.

“This is Agent McCree callin’ for immediate evac to Blackwatch team A-1207. We got lots of wounded and this place is about to get real hot. Does anyone copy?” Static was his only answer. Genji groaned softly, Jesse glancing at him.

Head hanging just off his shoulder. So close Jesse could see the veins under his eyes, the way his cuts were beginning to tack up. How long his lashes were, the little white scars by his temple that looked too old to be something he got from his brother or the cybernetics. Jesse’s comm crackled, drawing his focus back to the present.

“McCree, this is Fio, I copy. Commander sent me in to pick you all up when comms went down, said it was too risky leaving you like that. Been having to fight my way around null sector’s anti-aircraft weapons. I’ve got your coordinates, ETA five minutes.”

“Fio! You have no idea how happy I am to hear your voice, sweetheart,” Jesse laughed breathlessly, Fio giving a chuckle back.

“Glad to hear you’re not dead, cowboy.”

“Don’t jinx me, now, I still got five minutes to survive.”

“I think you’ll manage. Hang in there.”

Jesse grinned, making it back to the team and setting Genji down gently. Something felt off about letting anyone else see his face, though, so he wrapped his scarf around Genji’s shoulders and neck, his head hanging down into it and covering what normally was hidden. It felt like a violation of privacy, in an odd way. Jesse didn’t think Genji would have wanted to be seen by anyone, not even him.

Fio landed on time as promised, taking what was left of the team back to base. Jesse’s body was beginning to hurt, adrenaline wearing off and leaving him exhausted and throbbing. His foot was messed up, and his shoulder. His armour was torn in some places, but it had done its job for the most part. Bruises were all he would be left with instead of bullet holes and a punctured lung. His nose was bleeding. It took Martinez coming over to him to tilt his head back and press some gauze beneath it for him to notice.

Jesse was too busy looking at Genji to notice much else.

He was patched up, made Martinez move on to someone else after insisting he was alright, that everything else could wait until they got back to the med bay. The ride home was long, and Jesse slept through most of it.

His scarf was returned folded neatly, Genji presenting it to him without a word. His faceplate was back, eyes shifting to look at anything but Jesse. Jesse, who grinned and took it back, leaning against the doorframe when Genji did not immediately run off.

“Lookin’ all shiny and new there, bud. Good to see you up and movin’ again. You saved us back there with that idea of yours, you know.”

Genji stood there for a moment, nodding after another.

“I could not have done it alone. I know I said otherwise, but. I needed you there.”

Jesse tisked and waved his hand goodnaturedly.

“Aw, shucks. Makin’ me feel all special now.”

“Do not get used to it,” Genji huffed, his eyes crinkling just a bit. Jesse could imagine a smile on his face now. How good it would look, how pretty he would be with it.

“But thank you. For pulling me out of there. And for that,” Genji motioned to the scarf, arms settling across his chest.

“Anytime. We’re a team, yeah? I got your back when you need me, alright?” Jesse hesitated only a moment, reaching out and placing a hand on Genji’s bicep, squeezing lightly before letting go.

Genji watched his hand drop. Eyes flicking up to his, stance shifting. He set his shoulders and nodded.

“Alright.”

“I’ll see you at trainin’, then.”

“Yes, see you then.”

Jesse slipped back into his room when Genji turned to leave. Ran a hand over the scarf. Set it on the foot of his bed and went to finish typing up a report, Genji on his mind. Jesse smiled.

#mcgenji #jesse mccree #genji shimada #blackwatch era #as if you have not been force fed enough of this already #WhiskeyWrites #that's all the tagging I'm doing I'm tired #enjoy my friends

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carewyncromwell · 4 years

Note

Now that the Statue Curse has been broken, how's Olivia doing? Did she get freed? How was her reunion with Jacob and Duncan? What's the first thing she's gonna do after being unstonified? Is she gonna help take down R or is she sworn off Vaults because of her trauma? What's her reaction to finding out Duncan died and Jacob was trapped? Since she's still like 15, does this affect the way she and Jacob and Duncan interact because they're both older? How does she like Carey and co?

Heh, well, I admit, I don’t love how Jam City’s written everything to do with the Sunken Vault, so I feel like I’d probably rewrite a lot of it, depending on how year 6 ends. At this rate, I’m just tempted to make the Good!Rakepick AU my canon and be done with it. If I could just finish it already... >>;

To answer your questions in the event of the Statue Curse being broken and Olivia being freed, though...one thing I will say is that I’d want the Statue Curse being broken to basically be at the end of the story. If we have to deal with the remnants of R, fine, but I’d want the Cursed Vaults and their “treasure” to be completely dealt with. Not going into spoilers about how I want the Cetus to be defeated in that AU (for those of you who are still waiting for the finale -- I’m so sorrryyyyyyy DX), this is how I’d see things --

Upon waking up, Olivia was definitely very shaken when she first saw Jacob again, looking a good four years older than she’d last seen him. Duncan being a ghost was even more of a shock, but finding out exactly how much time had really passed was the most devastating. Olivia, who Duncan and Jacob had always known as this very unassuming, level-headed person, burst full-on into tears, screaming in grief and horror, and had trouble letting anyone get near her. Like Jacob and Duncan, her tragic fate played off of her own worst fear -- Jacob’s fear of tight spaces and being unable to move was reflected in being trapped in a Portrait, Duncan’s fear of being insignificant was reflected in dying young before he’d really accomplished anything, and Olivia’s fear of being irrelevant was reflected in her being “left behind” by all of her classmates and even her own younger siblings, who’d all outgrown her. Jacob, who’s never been as empathetic and nurturing as his sister Carewyn, had no idea how to comfort Olivia, and so all he could do was grab her and forcefully squeeze her in his shaking arms until she stopped crying, apologizing over and over through his own flood of tears. Duncan, since he couldn’t touch Olivia that well at all, merely hovered over the two, resting his cold, translucent hands just over their heads.

Because of the defeat of R and Duncan both playing a role in ending the threat of the Cursed Vaults once and for all and in having people who would mourn him when he was gone (Jacob, Olivia, and Carewyn), Duncan was finally able to pass on and rest in peace. Jacob burst into tears, devastated at the thought of losing Duncan all over again, and his boy best friend used all of the focus he could to become just corporeal enough to bring a hand up to Jacob’s face and kiss him on the lips before disappearing. With a bittersweet smirk, he instructed Olivia, Jacob, and Carewyn to “take their dear sweet time in joining him, or else!” Carewyn and Olivia hugged the sobbing, shaking Jacob for almost a half-hour after Duncan vanished, both crying silently themselves.

Olivia’s return to her family was rocky. Her parents, who had never stopped grieving her absence, were just grateful to have her back, but Olivia’s younger siblings -- now all significantly older than her and in some cases even having started families of their own -- couldn’t help but resent her for her risky behavior with the Vaults having put their family through so much heartache and trouble. Plus, since they were Muggles and she was the only magical child in the family, there’d already been a tension point of her being the “special” sibling in contrast to the others, and her return only brought that back in full-force. Olivia’s family relationship never really recovered, even if her parents still clearly loved her, and once Olivia came of age, she moved out and sort of fell out of touch with her siblings all together.

After going through a lot of therapy over the summer, Olivia returns to Hogwarts for her sixth year, one year under Jacob’s sister Carewyn, who of course is in her seventh year and Hogwarts’s new Head Girl. She ends up making good friends with Carewyn’s Ravenclaw friends Badeea Ali and Talbott Winger, as well as fellow Prefect and family black sheep Percy Weasley. Andre also helps poor Olivia a bit with her outdated 70′s fashion sense, because GIRL, we’ve started a new decade, get with the times. Olivia also stays in constant written contact with Jacob, who remains her best friend for the rest of their lives. Fortunately, even if she is still 16 and Jacob’s now 20, Olivia’s always been rather emotionally mature for her age and Jacob’s always been rather immature for his, so they’re still relatively like peers despite the age difference (not unlike how Carewyn and Bill are, actually!), and as the years go on, that age gap isn’t as significant. Olivia fortunately doesn’t have to deal with the Vaults anymore, and she most certainly doesn’t want to deal with either them or R ever again. Her trauma of being locked in the Statue Vault for so long makes it so she has just as little interest in cursebreaking for the rest of her life as Carewyn has, and even less interest in jumping into danger or fighting Dark wizards. Olivia also becomes rather fond of Carewyn, seeing her like a little sister even though Carey’s techically now a year older than her -- Carewyn herself, seeing a lot of similarities between Olivia and her mother Lane, grows to care for Olivia quite a bit too and keeps correspondence with her post-Hogwarts.

Olivia starts her seventh year the year Harry Potter starts his first, after having been chosen as Head Girl. She was one of the first students who sensed there was something “off” about the newly returned Professor Quirrell and discussed it with Snape, who she could tell was also suspicious, and Dumbledore, who rather predictably gave a lukewarm reaction to her concerns despite his own suspicions. When Hermione first came back up from the third floor corridor with the injured Ron to get help, she actually ran into Olivia first, who had taken on night patrol as Head Girl upon catching wind that Dumbledore had left Hogwarts on business. (Hey, after dealing with the Cursed Vaults and R, this girl had more than enough reason to think something bad might happen the instant Dumbledore wasn’t around.) Olivia rushed Hermione and Ron to the Hospital Wing while Hermione anxiously told her everything, only for the two to run into Dumbledore, who’d just returned to the school. Hermione tried to babble everything to Dumbledore too, including her misguided thought that Snape was behind it all, but Olivia had quickly put two-and-two together that it was Quirrell instead and calmly but firmly talked over Hermione, telling Dumbledore very shortly that “Potter has gone off alone to protect the Stone” so that the Headmaster could quickly rush to Harry’s aid. Olivia then brought Ron to the Hospital Wing and escorted Hermione back up to Gryffindor Tower, counseling the poor, terrified girl as best she could on their way back upstairs. Dumbledore later followed up with Hermione and Olivia after Harry was safe, and Olivia sent a letter along to Carewyn about the incident, since she knew Carewyn’s best friend was Ron’s eldest brother.

#ask me #olivia green #hphm #hogwarts mystery #jacob cromwell #jacob #carewyn cromwell #duncan ashe #albus dumbledore #severus snape #harry potter #ron weasley #hermione granger #quirinus quirrell #badeea ali #talbott winger #percy weasley

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starkerforlife6969 · 5 years

Text

Starker - Age of Adeline AU

Prompted by an anonymous genius, this one-shot is starker endgame, with background Harley/Peter, Bucky/Peter, Wade/Peter. Enjoy beautiful people!

many thanks to @darker-soft-starker who helped me every time i got stuck xx

Harley doesn’t bring guys home.

He’s a playboy, he takes after his dad like that, but Peter-

Well, Harley’s not a fool.

He’d scoffed at ideas of love at first sight, but Peter is radiant. He’s perfect and Harley’s determined not to mess it up.

It’s why he’s pulling up now, driving carefully over snow and ice to park next to his dad’s glistening maserati (show off, Harley thinks fondly). It’s why he’s bringing Peter to meet his dad even though they’ve only been dating two months. Even though Harley doesn’t bring guys home and-

“Harley?” Comes the sweet voice of an angel, and Harley’s jerked out of his nervousness to see his boyfriend looking at him from the passenger’s seat- eyebrows furrowed together with concern. “Are you okay?”

“I…” sometimes Peter doesn’t even seem real. Just this perfect thing that’s been created, an angel God forgot to scoop back up into heaven, some sort of fairy creature without wings-

“We don’t have to do this,” Peter whispers, reaching over to lay his small hand over Harley’s where it grips the wheel. “I can meet your dad anytime, really, don’t force yourself.” Peter’s voice is soft, his eyes sparkle with earnestness.

“No.” Harley mutters, lifting Peter’s hand to kiss his fingers. “You’re gonna meet him. He’s going to talk to you for five seconds and then beg you to marry me.”

Peter laughs, cheeks flushed with delight, “we only met a few weeks ago-”

Harley shuts off the engine and pushes open the door, “oh Pete, we have a connection.”

Peter laughs again. It’s blistering outside, snow whips in every direction in the wind, and they both hurry towards the door.

Harley jams his key in the lock, dimly hoping his dad is even home. Maybe he should have called first, but the thought of surprising his dad was so appealing-

The two of them trip over the threshold in their haste to escape the cold, and Harley kicks the door shut behind them, soaking in the warmth.

“If you’re an intruder, you should know I’m only exceptionally wealthy.” Comes a drawl, and Harley grins, looking up to see his dad stroll around the corner into the hallway. At least he’s not wearing something embarrassing like a Hi Hungry, I’m dad t-shirt. Instead, he’s in a plain black sweater, a cup of coffee in hand.

“Dad,” Harley grins, wrapping his arm proudly over Peter’s shoulder, “this is my boyfriend-”

“Peter.” His dad whispers, and the coffee cup slips from his fingers.

Harley’s bright. He’s not as bright as his dad (who is?) but he can feel things. Time, in that moment, feels different. He takes in his dad’s face- his eyes, they’re- struck. Harley’s never seen them look like that before, and when Harley turns to Peter- Peter who’s just looked up from where he was trying to free himself from the tangle of his knitted scarf- snowflakes still perfectly formed and glistening on his eyelashes- looks friendly, if bewildered.

Harley’s bright enough to feel something, but he doesn’t understand what it is.

The coffee cup hits the wooden floor but doesn’t break. The dark liquid sloshes over the side and the white ceramic rolls around noisily for a moment.

“Dad,” Harley mutters, rushing over to hold his dad’s arm, scanning him for signs of injury or fatigue. “Are you okay?”

His dad doesn’t look away from Peter. Doesn’t tear away his gaze.

“Hey,” Harley says, louder, before frowning. His dad knew Peter’s name. “You know each other?” He turns to his boyfriend.

Peter’s cheeks are still a little red from the cold, his curls are messier than usual, and he’s as beautiful as always. His eyes, however, are just confused. He shakes his head.

“Dad?” Harley says again, more worried this time.

“Peter Reilley,” his dad whispers, gaze still fixed.

Something happens then- to Peter, this time- his breath catches, and his honey eyes go wide. He fumbles, speechless, equally struck, before stumbling out: “Peter Reilley’s my- my dad.”

Harley lets out a croak of disbelief. Puzzle pieces slot together. “Oh my god, this is just fate!” He exclaims, grinning. What were the chances? How small is the world? Soulmates are real. The universe and destiny...

“The likeness is-” his dad takes a step forward, stepping right over the coffee, one hand already reaching out to trace over Peter’s cheek in a gesture that’s far too intimate, “-the likeness is- you must hear it all the time-” Harley watches, stunned, as his dad traces his fingers across Peter’s jaw like he’s done it a thousand times before.

There’s something fragile and tender in his dad’s voice that Harley doesn’t understand.

And then he sees that Peter’s crying. Tears slip down his cheeks onto his dad’s fingertips. “Pete!” Harley cries, hurrying over and cradling his boyfriend into his arms, out of his dad’s inappropriate caress (what the hell is happening?) “Hey, hey, shhh, what’s wrong?”

“N-nothing.” Peter hiccups, burying his face into Harley’s neck. His nose is still cold and his hair smells like lavender.

“The resemblance is- your dad- how is he-”

“Dad.” Harley hisses, but Peter gives a shaky smile.

“He- he passed away a-a few years ago, T-M-Mr Stark.”

Harley watches; awed. His dad doesn’t make a sound, but something passes over him. A loss, a grief, it nearly brings Harley to tears.

He doesn't understand what’s happening. His boyfriend is crying in his arms and his dad looks like a wound, decades old, has been ripped open. Something heavy hangs in the air. The smell of coffee is starting to get stronger.

“I’m gonna…” Harley clears his throat, “I’m gonna show Pete to my room, then- then maybe I’ll make us all something to eat. Will you be alright, dad?”

His dad doesn’t look away from Peter, who’s half hidden in Harley’s embrace. He looks like he’s seeing a ghost.

“I’ll make pecan pie.” Harley offers lightly, trying to break the tension.

Peter giggles wetly and says “I love Pecan pie-” just as his dad, in perfect unison, says: “Peter loved pecan pie.”

Peter shuts his mouth.

Harley swallows hard. “Dad,” he mutters, because his dad is staring too hard now. “Dad, can you- I’ll meet you in the kitchen in a few minutes, okay? Dad.”

“Sure,” his dad whispers, unmoving.

Peter shuffles towards the stairs, head down. “It was nice meeting you, Mr Stark.”

Harley frowns when his dad says nothing.

_______

The boy laying out napkins is just a boy.

Tony keeps trying to repeat that to himself, but his fingers won’t stop shaking. He can’t look away. His eyes devour every single inch of Peter Parker. Not Reilley. Not Reilley.

But Reilley.

It’s like he’s gone back thirty years, like he’s eighteen again, like he’s looking at the only person who ever really knew him.

When Pepper had found him, she’d found him broken. Tony had loved Pepper, he did, and he had grieved when she passed away, but it was a candle to the blaze that losing Peter was.

His Peter, which this Peter can’t be…

But Tony can’t look away. From those huge, honey eyes. From the smattering of freckles across delicate cheekbones, from the plush rose bud lips and the thick, tousled curls. He can’t help but watch as Peter flits about the table, arranges the knives and forks for three, as he smoothes down his jeans before he sits down in a gesture that’s really...odd.

Endearing, but odd.

It’s something Tony’s dad used to do. Pinch his slacks and tug them up just a little to avoid creases. Tony hasn’t seen it done in decades. Unless you count the old black and white movies he throws on on a Saturday evening.

“Dad,” Harley murmurs, tugging the casserole dish out of the oven and placing it on the counter. “You’re staring. Still.”

Tony turns his head but not his gaze. Peter’s smoothing out the table cloth when his nose twitches, and those gorgeous, amber eyes are whirling over to them.

“Oh, that smells lovely!”

Tony’s heart is pounding. His palms are damp and his throat is tight.

“Thanks, Pete, wait till you taste it. You know I’m not one to brag, but-”

“You brag all the time,” Peter teases, and Tony snaps out of it.

That’s his son and the boy he’s brought home. This Peter is not his Peter, no matter the resemblance. Tony has to get over these- these feelings because it’s fucking messed up. He just has to get to know Peter Parker and see all the ways he’s not Peter Reilley, and then Tony can keep his head together. “So, Peter,” he cuts in, picking up their plates, now heavy with food, and carrying them over to the table. Harley follows with wine. “What do you do for a living?”

Peter blinks, before smiling shyly. He doesn’t maintain eye contact for very long. “Oh, well, Mr Stark, I’m a- well, I work in a coffee shop.”

Relief, just a little, seeps into Tony’s shoulders. This isn’t his Peter. His Peter had been a genius. He’d dreamt of being a theoretical physicist, of understanding the universe. “Well,” he begins kindly, “I’m sure that’s-”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Pete,” Harley defends, lavishly pouring gravy over his potatoes. “He’s super smart, dad, seriously, you should hear him talk about science- he could give you a run for your money.”

“No, I-” Peter hurries to interject, eyes wide, “-I’m really not-”

“You are.” Harley says fondly. “He wrote the most amazing article on cognizant string theory and let them publish it anonymously! Doesn’t brag or anything. I wouldn't even have known if I hadn’t seen the essay in his apartment. He didn’t get a single cent off royalties, but,” Harley smiles, reaching over to peck Peter’s cheek, “he doesn’t care about money, do you? Peter says that scientific discovery is for all of mankind.”

Tony’s throat is tight again.

“You say that, Pete?” He croaks, and those honey eyes meet his- again, only for a moment- before darting away. “Your dad used to say that.”

“Oh yeah,” Harley nods cluelessly, mouth full, “how’d you even know his dad?”

_________

It was 1990. A blockbusters at three am.

He’d been morosely scanning for a movie, anything to stop thinking about his dad, when he’d turned the aisle to see a boy his age plonked down in the middle of a stack of Ghostbusters and Star Wars. He was wearing leg warmers and big boots and glitter was dusted across his sharp cheekbones.

The boy had looked up, had grinned, a little tipsy and the glitter sparkled in the light. “Empire Strikes Back, right?” He’d said, bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes on the coil of Tony’s shoulders and the bulge of muscle through the tight leather jacket.

Tony had grinned, nudging Ghostbusters with the toe of his shoe. “Drinking and watching Star Wars? Sounds like my kind of night.”

They were making out in the backseat of Tony’s chevy ten minutes later.

__________

“We were friends.” Tony says, a half truth, eyes flickering over Peter’s face. The boy eats his casserole daintily. Focused on the food. “Did your dad ever….did he ever mention me? We were- I thought we were…” he’d thought a lot of things, though. When he’d bought that ring he’d thought things. When he’d rolled over to see an empty bed.

His heart is pounding. He wants to scream.

“Mr Stark,” Peter whispers, voice a little choked, and Tony looks up to see that Peter’s looking at him. Those same eyes, beautiful and transcendent. How are eyes like that passed down? Morgan and Harley don’t look much like Tony, but Peter is the spitting image of his dad. “I don’t know if- my dad used to talk about someone, he never said their name, but he said that he only ever regret one thing and that was walking out on a friend. I don’t- I don’t know if it was you, but he never got over it. He said that the two of them were gonna go to MIT together and-”

Tony lets out a desperate gasp for air. Harley reaches over, alarmed, but Tony shakes him off. He stares, transfixed, drinking in oxygen. “That’s me, that’s me.”

Peter’s eyes are swimming again. “Mr Stark, I’m so- Harley, maybe I should go-”

“Dad,” Harley is there, suddenly, hugging him, and Tony feels a little stronger. “Dad, I didn’t realise that- that there was so much history there. You never talk about your life before MIT, I didn’t…” he pulls back, a son’s love and concern on his face, “maybe Pete and I should go? I’ll come back up myself and visit you in a week, or- or maybe I could call Morgan or Uncle Rhodey and-”

“No.” Tony chokes out, because the thought of Peter leaving is worse than remembering all he’s lost.

His Peter, his Peter regret leaving him. Does it help to know that? His Peter is gone, is dead, but cared about him enough to tell his son that he had one regret in life- something he never got over- leaving Tony stayed with him- haunted him- the way it haunts Tony-

“I loved him so much.” He sobs, chest heaving, and tears start to pour. His son holds him tight and Tony can dimly hear Peter flee the room, but he can’t do anything but cry and cry and cry.

________

“I think Microsoft is gonna loan Apple the money.” Tony says around a yawn, stealing a piece of bacon out of the pan. He hisses as it burns his finger tips, and pops it into his mouth.

“Hey,” Peter warns, brandishing his spatula. “Not yet.”

Tony pouts, holding out his fingers and talking around bacon. “I burnt myself.”

Peter grins, pecking Tony’s fingertips. “That’s cuz you’re a moron who would rather talk about tech companies and steal bacon than get up early to help me make us a delicious breakfast.”

“It is early, Pete,” Tony grins, wrapping his arms around Peter’s waist and nosing at his neck. “It’s seven am, baby, what do you want from me?”

Peter wiggles his hips and his eyebrows. “Lotsa things. I want us to work on our applications. I want Madonna and Vanilla Ice to get married. I want you to carry me back to bed and have your way with me.”

“But then the bacon would burn.”

Peter flicks him.

Tony reaches over, flipping off the stove.

“Hey- woah! Tony!”

Tony grins, hoisting Peter over his shoulder and dancing back towards the bedroom. “Your wish is my command, hot stuff.”

___

In the morning, his eyes are crusty, but he feels better.

He has a long, hot shower, and he doesn’t fight the memories. They come to him easily, wash over him like the hot melt of his high pressure shower head. He remembers Peter’s teasing, their arguments of science vs engineering.

“Building another thingy ma-bob?” Peter would tease, flitting around the apartment in one of Tony’s Highschool jerseys. “That’s cute.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tony would smirk, prodding one of Peter’s thick books. “Plagiarizing Newton? That’s original.”

Peter always wore Tony’s high school jerseys, but Tony never saw Peter’s. Peter had said they moved around a lot, and Tony never met his parents.

Peter had always been such a mystery. An honest, beautiful, mystery.

“I get it, you know,” Tony whispers, dragging his fingertips across Peter’s skin, lit by the moonlight that drenches Peter’s tiny apartment. “Parents they can- suck.”

Peter kisses the underside of his jaw tenderly but doesn’t say a word.

The jeweller in Tiffanys had smiled and accepted the money. He’d said: “she’ll love it, Sir.”

“He will.” Tony had drawled, leaving behind shock and awe, his speciality.

He’d believed it.

Maybe Peter would have loved it. Maybe if Tony had just- had just proposed a day earlier, had just done something differently-

His entire life would have been different then.

He wouldn’t have Morgan or Harley

And he loves Morgan and Harley with his whole heart.

When he heads downstairs, he’s determined to be normal today. It’s a weird, freakish connection that Harley’s newest beau is the son of the man that Tony would have given everything for, but it’s not the end of the world.

He strolls into the kitchen and pauses, because Peter’s whispering to himself and wearing one of Harley’s flannel shirts and looking through the cupboards almost angrily.

It’s so arresting a sight, so beautiful a thing, so breathtaking that even though he should feel like a pervert, Tony just feels swept away.

“Looking for something, Pete?” He quips, biting back a smile as Peter jerks around.

“Oh! Morning, Mr Stark, I was…” his voice drops away, he looks down. “I’m uh...I’m really sorry about-”

“Not your fault, kid.” He promises. “I obviously don’t deal with emotions in the best way and that’s nothing you have to be sorry for. Hell, I’m sorry. Not a great first impression, is it? Don’t let me ruin Harley for you.”

Peter smiles a little, but won’t meet his eyes. “Harley’s great.”

“‘Course he is. Raised him myself.” He tries to coax Peter into looking at him. “What were you looking for? Something to eat?”

“I um- I had a bit of a headache, that’s all. A coconut flat white normally- it was a long shot but-”

“I promise you I have every single type of coffee in the world.” Tony smiles warmly, “One coconut flat white coming up. Sit, sit. Did you not sleep well?”

Peter slowly slides onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar. Tony pulls two mugs out of the cupboard. “No, I couldn’t...I couldn’t sleep.” He admits.

“I get that.” Tony sighs, “it was a long evening. If there’s anything I can do to make it more comfortable you let me know - extra blankets, pillows, you name it.”

“Everything’s perfect,” Peter smiles down at his hands. “You’ve got a really lovely home.”

Tony smiles as he flips on the coffee machine. “Thanks, Pete, it does the job. So, how long have you known Harley?”

Peter shrugs, accepting the hot drink with a pleased thank you. “Seems like forever.”

Tony snorts, fixing himself his own black coffee, sinking into the white noise of the machine whirring. “I’d believe that. Kid has a way of getting under your skin and settling in. He gets that from me, believe it or not.”

Peter smiles. “I have no doubts about that, Mr. Stark.”

“I can’t tell if that’s praise or criticism about my character.”

“I can’t tell if you would accept either one,” Peter counters, sipping his drink with a pleased hum.

Tony bites back the bile in his throat, swallowing it down with too hot coffee. You sound just like him, Tony wants to say. Instead, he says: “So, physics, huh?” He bites back the offer to let Peter call him Tony. He doesn’t think he could bear to hear it. Not in the same tenor, the same lilt.

Peter blushes into his coffee. “It’s just a hobby, my dad was- he was the real physicist.”

“Got that right,” Tony murmurs, “he was- when I knew him, we were- well, about the age you are now, and he was...brilliant.” He snorts softly, “little brat, though. Thought physics was better than everything else. Smug little shit.”

Peter’s smile is tighter. “Sounds like dad.”

Right. “I’m sorry for your loss,” Tony offers weakly, even though he knows saying it doesn’t help. “Is your mom…”

“She died when I was a baby.” Peter murmurs, taking a deep sip. “It’s alright, really.”

“Well, how’d you and my boy meet, then? He come stumbling into the coffee shop, an old barista style meet cute?” Tony can picture that. His son in one of his goofy snapbacks, ordering a black coffee and then looking down from the board to see Peter by the till, all mahogany eyes and cream skin. “Oh god. He didn’t try a pick up line, did he?”

Peter laughs. To Tony, it sounds like pure nostalgia. “He gave me his number when I asked for his name. I didn’t call him, though.”

Tony takes his mug to the breakfast bar and sits opposite him, curious. “Oh?” Harley’s a handsome kid-

“But then he kept coming in every day, kept giving different responses when I asked what his name was for his order. Stuff like: R2D2 and Bill Clinton. I got so curious as to what he was actually called that I offered a trade. A date for a name. It was very Rumpelstiltskin.”

Tony grins, “well, he’s smitten with you. He’s never brought someone home for me to meet before. There must be something about you.”

Peter blushes.

But there is. It’s the same something that Peter Reilley had.

Tony sees it more and more. He can’t help but remember and compare. When Peter takes their mugs to the kitchen sink he actually washes them. He doesn’t rinse them and pop them into the dishwasher. He has a dimple on his left cheek, all the same freckles, and the same gorgeous curls of auburn hair.

When Harley gets up, shirtless and still drowsy, he ambles into the kitchen and tugs Peter into his side and kisses him sweetly.

Tony tries not to let it bother him.

“You guys have breakfast already?” Harley pouts morosely, prodding a plate with a little poached egg left.

“Yes, we did.” Peter teases with a smile, “because you’d rather sleep than get up early.”

“It is early, Pete! It’s 9am that’s still like night.”

Tony and Peter meet each other’s eyes.

For a moment, Tony swears that-

——-

Morgan comes over in the afternoon.

Harley called her, probably worried that Tony’s sick which isn’t an unfair assumption. Still, Tony’s happy to see his girl, and he hugs her tight.

“Well?” Morgan whispers, peeking over Tony’s shoulder, “is he a nightmare, dad? Harley has such shit taste. Is this one a gold digger?”

“No,” Tony croaks, “this one’s the one.”

Morgan raises her eyebrows.

Predictably, Morgan loves Peter. Tony’s pretty sure everyone does.

After they bond over antique cars and the newest season of The Bachelor, Morgan reaches over and clutches Harley’s arm.

“Marry this one, little brother. Or I’ll steal him from you.”

Tony overhears this as he plates up dessert. It should make him happy but it just makes his heart ache.

_______

Peter wakes up gasping.

He sits bolt upright, blankets pooling around his hips, and he tries to breathe.

The dream, however, still pricks at his skin. Pelts against his face like a torrential downpour.

“It’s not gonna be glamorous, baby,” Bucky drawls, their fingers twined, the moon above them.

“Won’t it?” Peter grins, “fighting for our country side by side? It sounds pretty great, Buck.”

“War’s no joke, baby, my dad fought in the first one.”

Peter props up onto his elbow and looks over at his partner. “I’m not letting you go alone.”

“You’re seventeen-”

“I’m your partner.” Peter reaches over, steals a kiss. “You’re it for me, James. Where you go, I’m going.”

He hasn’t thought of James in-

It’s a mistake; being here, Peter thinks, as he slips out of bed. He brushes the tears from his eyes with his knuckles, and doesn’t look at the sleeping figure of Harley as he edges out of the bedroom.

He’s remembering things he doesn’t want to remember. He’s remembering Bucky. He’s remembering war. He’s remembering his naivety. He’s remembering the bolt of lightning that hit him hard when he was down in the trenches and covered in mud- remembers the moment that everything in his body burnt like fire and then he just stopped.

Stopped ageing. Stopped living.

Bucky was gone.

Peter was immortal and with nothing to live for.

Then had come the 50s and the 60s and with it, a brief stint with Wade Wilson, an actor taking Hollywood by storm.

Then the 70s and the 80s and then-

In 1990-

___

“Tony.” Peter sighs, scanning over book titles, “I told you, that was really more of a one night kind of thing.”

“Right, see, normally,” Tony hums, talking to him through the bookshelf, “I’m all about that. Seriously, I’m a huge playboy.”

He snorts a little at that, pulling down a thick book to arch a delicate eyebrow through the library aisle. “Really?”

“I’m serious!” The eighteen year old laughs, “everyone’s always trying to pin me down but there’s something...Pete, we had fun, didn’t we?”

Peter chews on the inside of his mouth, before making a small sound of triumph when he finds the periodical he’s after. It’s the latest publication of New Scientist.

Before he can reach for it, it’s jerked clumsily out through the other side.

He sighs. “Tony-”

“One date.”

“Tony-”

“You know I’m a Stark? My dad is really rich.”

At that, Peter smiles sweetly. “I’m worth more than your dad could even imagine.”

Tony blinks in surprise, before grinning hugely and following Peter as he heads for the check out desk. “You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, you know that?”

The librarian gasps; scandalised.

Peter can’t help but laugh.

“I’m serious- in your fuckin’ 50s jacket and carrying science journals and you’re- don’t make me beg.”

Tony Stark is probably the most handsome guy Peter’s ever seen. Even now, with his dorky aviators and his playboy charm and his unkempt hair. He has dark eyes and a broad chest and lips that curve into a smile that does something to Peter’s heart.

“Tony, I’m really sorry, but I just don’t date.”

“Good lord.” The librarian mutters, “it’s experimentation gone mad.”

Peter frowns at her.

“Hey, bitch?” Tony hums at her, shoving a load of books onto the floor with a clatter, “d’you mind? I’m trying to have a private conversation.”

“Holy shit.” Peter whispers, delighted, jaw dropped, “well, I…”

“One date. Then you never have to see me again, I swear.”

He’s handsome, and sweet and a little lost. The librarian is staring at all the books on the floor; aghast.

Peter says yes.

___

Somethings don’t change.

The moon looks just the same. The way it did that night in 1938 with Bucky Barnes.

The way it did when Peter went on his first boat. When he changed his name. The night he tried his first cigar. It looks the same in Paris and it looks the same in Kentucky.

It looks the same here, sitting on the gorgeous lavender fringe of Tony Stark’s garden.

It’s a huge, silver pebble in the sky.

Peter breathes in the night.

Tony Stark.

It’s been thirty two years and the moon hasn’t changed and Peter hasn’t changed but-

Tony has kids. An eighteen year old named Harley, a twenty one year old named Morgan. Tony’s grown up. He was married- there are photos on the walls with a blonde woman with a thin, satisfied smile.

Tony’s grown up.

Peter looks away from the moon and his tongue feels too big and he lets himself cry.

His Tony had been on the precipice. MIT in the distance, a new convertible in front of him. He’d been a boy and now…

Peter and the moon: distant.

Tony Stark? He’s grown up.

Peter feels like Peter Pan seeing Wendy again after all that time. There’s an adult in her place- with the same eyes and the same smile.

“You lied to me, Wendy.” Peter had said in the story, face screwed up, eyes betrayed. “You promised you wouldn’t change.”

“Oh, but I haven’t, Peter, don’t you see?” She replies, “I’m still me. Look, Tink.”

“Pete?” Comes a voice, and Peter wipes his face hurriedly, but it’s too late.

Tony’s standing there in his pyjamas, a robe on, a small glass of scotch in hand. He stands in the wet grass and stares. “I thought that was you- are you okay?”

Peter nods. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

“Aren’t you cold?”

Oh, right. He’s just in his pyjamas. The bench he’s sitting on is wet and the wood has absorbed all the cold of the night. Peter’s freezing. There’s winter hanging in the air and he feels like the wind is passing right through him. “A little,” he croaks, “I’m just…”

“Couldn’t sleep again?” Tony nods, creeping closer. “Same.”

Here’s Tony Stark, all grown up. He’s just as handsome. Devastatingly handsome, maybe even more so now. With the silvers on the edges of his hair, the beard, the cocky wisdom in his gait.

He comes and sits beside Peter and they both look up at the moon.

“You can talk to me, you know,” Tony offers, “I-I mean, if you need someone to talk to. Judgement free.”

Peter can’t have sex with Harley anymore. Not now that he knows. Harley’s touch makes him shiver- makes him queasy. It’s so much like- but quite enough like-

“Pete, you’re killing me. Please, let me get you a coat or something, it’s the dad inside me. You look like you’re freezing.”

The dad inside him. Tony is a dad. “I....”

“I’ll make us some hot chocolate. I’ve got Never Ending Story on the dvr.”

Peter lets out a wet laugh. “I saw that when it first-” he stumbles, looks away from the moon, “when it was re-released.” He gets to his feet, nodding. “Hot chocolate sounds nice.”

Tony’s looking at him- too clever, too brilliant.

Peter tries so hard not to feel betrayed. Tony grew up. Had a life. Lived. Without him. Which is what he wanted, obviously, but-

“With almond milk, instead of regular, right?” Tony says, getting up, and Peter nods.

“Yes, please.”

They don’t watch The Never Ending Story, they just drink their hot chocolate in silence, looking at one another over the kitchen island. It feels like a mini-world.

It’s only later, when Peter’s back in bed, that he realises that he never mentioned his preference for almond milk.

He can’t see the moon from Harley’s bedroom window, but he knows that it’s there.

______

“I really like him,” Morgan says brightly, stealing Tony’s hashbrowns and looking far too perky for so early in the morning, “but he’s weird sometimes, right?”

Tony nods at the waitress and orders more bacon. Morgan’s too skinny. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

“I mean I told him if he was gunna go to the Trump impeachment rally and he said ‘but he was only just elected’.”

Tony half smiles. “Not everyone is as up to date with politics as you,”

“Mm,” she beams when the bacon is set down and Tony hides his smile into his coffee mug. “Still, and you know what Harley said?”

“What did Harley say?”

“He said that he and Peter haven’t done it since they’ve been here.”

“Morgan, honey,” Tony sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “please. I’m eating.”

She laughs and chugs some orange juice.

That’s totally normal, though, Tony thinks as he drives them both back home. A couple having sex in a parents house, it can be awkward. Peter’s probably just uncomfortable.

The thought of Harley and Peter having sex makes Tony feel weird.

And not the uncomfortable, ‘that’s my son’ kind of way, but in a way that’s starting to get harder and harder to not call jealousy.

That makes sense, though. He was in love with Peter’s father and the likeness is- obscene, quite frankly.

Residual feelings, yadda yadda.

If Pepper were here, she’d tell him to get his ass to a therapist.

When they pull up to the house, Harley and Peter are outside.

They’re arguing.

“Oh shit,” Morgan breathes.

Tony kills the engine, and they both step out into the bright morning.

“If you would just talk to me!” Harley yells, face red and splotchy, hair still damp from a shower, “but you’re so goddamn secretive, Peter!” It takes a lot to get Harley angry. He’s remarkably chilled.

“I’m not allowed secrets?” Peter demands, anger much more controlled. More poised. Tony can only stare.

“Sure, but not when they’re lies.”

“I’ve never lied to you-”

“Bullshit.” Harley sneers, and Peter jerks like he was slapped and there are tears in his eyes and Harley looks suddenly ashamed.

“Hey,” Morgan murmurs, stepping between them. She looks over at Tony, but he can only stand there.

This is all too much.

He’s seen this before.

“C’mon, guys,” she continues, “I don’t know what’s going on, but can’t we go inside and talk?”

“Give me my keys, Harley.” Peter says quietly, lashes wet with tears, “I want to go home.”

“They’re my keys.” Harley replies, stubborn. “It’s my car. You have to stay. We have to talk this out.”

Peter lifts his nose, juts his chin. “I’ll walk back to town.”

“You’d rather leave?” Harley cries, waving his arms, “than have an honest conversation with me? Jesus, Pete, you keep me at arms length all the time. And now- look where we are! We’re at my family home, with my dad and my sister and- and I don’t know anything about you. Where you’re from or where you went to school or-or- you won’t let us take any pictures together and-”

Tony can see Peter shaking. Can see him crying.

He’s seen this before.

“Harley,” he says, using his dad-voice, the one he hasn’t had to use in a long time. “Enough. Peter,” he tosses him his keys, “here. Please do me a favour and come back. This car’s my third baby.”

Peter catches the keys and stares at him.

“Tony.” He sniffles, before getting in the car.

Nobody says anything as it crunches over the gravel and disappears around the corner.

Until:

“Well,” Morgan sighs, hands on hips, looking so much like Pepper that Tony almost can’t believe it. “What the fuck was that about?”

_____

“C’mon,” Tony grins, winding up the polaroid. “It’s cute. We can have a whole scrap book.”

“No, Tony, seriously,” Peter smiles, but his voice is firm, “I don’t want any photos, I don’t like it.” He’s perched on the hood of Tony’s car, a huge gameboy in his lap.

“You also said you didn’t like honey in your porridge but don’t think I don’t see you adding it every morning.” He chirps, slinging his arm over Peter and turning the camera onto them both. He snaps a shot before Peter shoves him: hard. “Hey!”

“I told you I didn’t want you to do that!”

“Jesus, Pete, calm down-”

“You don’t listen to me!” Peter chokes, breath tight, “You never listen to what I want.”

Tony rubs at his arm, eyebrows furrowing together. “What are you talking about? Yes, I do, I listen to everything you say. I buy all your bullshit, too.”

Honey eyes bore into him; hard. “What?”

Tony takes a breath before he sighs. “Your bullshit, Pete, I buy all your bullshit. You never talk about your parents, you lie all the time, I take it and I don’t complain-”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about-”

“I’m guessing it’s like a witness protection thing? Or you did some shady shit in the past and got a new identity- or you’re an immigrant or whatever, I don’t care. I love you.” He reaches out, takes Peter’s hand. “So, I won’t question all your bullshit. I do listen to you.”

Peter’s white like parchment. He pulls out of Tony’s grip. “I have to go.” He whispers coldly.

Tony snorts, leans back on the car. “I’d ask where, but you’ll lie.”

He doesn’t see Peter for over a week after that fight.

He never asks about it again.

_______

There’s a box in the attic that hasn’t been opened in years.

It’s open now, sitting around Tony, his life in pieces and memorabilia, all lain neat around him. Captured perfectly. His diploma, his graduation cap, his marriage certificate, Morgan’s birth certificate, Harley’s birth certificate, Pepper’s death certificate.

There are old research papers and bank accounts. There are a few postcards from friends long forgotten. Embarrassing haircuts and radical fashion choices tucked away.

Tony finds what he wants in a shoe box in the box.

There’s a birthday card in there.

Happy birthday to the most handsome boyfriend in the world - Lots and lots and lots of love, your boyfriend (peter, since I know you have to sooooo many, playboy)

There are photos too.

Well, there are two.

One of the two of them, it’s poor quality, just before a fight, and Peter is blocking his face from the camera as best as he can with a gameboy in his lap.

Those curls are unmissable, though.

The other photo is one Tony had taken before that.

It’s a profile shot, Peter driving his cherry pink chevy, lips parted as he sang along to whatever was on the radio.

Tony brushes his thumb over it.

“Holy shit,” Harley whispers, tugging the photo from his grip. “It’s Peter.”

“It’s his dad.” Morgan persists, the way she has been for the past half hour.

“No.” Harley chokes, “no, it’s not. It’s Peter. Dad, you were telling the truth-”

“It can’t be Peter-”

“Look.” Harley points to the photo, points to a small silver line on Peter’s bare shoulder. “He has that scar. I’ve seen it. I’ve…”

Morgan turns to Tony, eyes huge. “But…”

“I knew it the second I saw him.” He whispers, “it’s my Peter.”

Harley turns to him sharply, but Tony doesn’t say anything. He just reaches into the shoebox and pulls out the ring.

His children look at it.

“Dad.” Harley hiccups, and Morgan trembles as she reaches for it. The gold glints in the dim sunlight that filters into the dusty attic.

“We wouldn’t have been allowed to get married back then, anyway,” Tony whispers, trying to smile, “but I figured we would, even if it was just for us.”

Harley gets up and goes to the window. “Do you think he’ll come back?”

“No.” Tony whispers, pushing the box away. “I don’t think he will.”

_______

“You look nice,” Harley says charmingly, as the two of them take their seats in the restaurant.

Harley cleans up very nicely. It’s a very different look to the Harvard sweater and ripped jeans. Peter picks up the menu and smiles politely. “Thank you, Harley, but please-”

“Hey, no, no,” Harley warns, “you promised me one date, Parker. I’m collecting.”

Peter smiles. “If you want to buy me dinner, I won’t say no.” His eyes drift down the various choices. He’s in the mood for spaghetti. Maybe a glass of wine.

Except they might ask for ID.

Sparkling water it is.

He closes the menu and blushes when he sees Harley staring him. His eyes are a piercing blue, and his blond bangs sweep across his forehead in a way that’s alarmingly appealing.

Harley’s lips twist into a little smirk and there’s something so familiar about it that Peter can’t help grin in response.

“What do you study, Harley?”

“Law.” Harley shrugs, “it’s fine. Not sure if I wanna do it.”

“Harvard law,” Peter hums, “very impressive.” He’s done the course himself, a long time ago now.

“Not in my family.” Harley snorts, “my dad’s like a genius and my sister’s at Cal-Tech. I’m the cool rebel one.”

“Ah,” Peter laughs, shaking his head fondly. “Harley, I-”

“I saw you once,” Harley interjects, like he knows Peter’s about to insist that they can only be friends, “I wasn’t stalking you, I swear, but I saw you in that astronomy museum way down near Ridgeway? It was a-” Harley swallows, and Peter can’t look away, “-a Sunday night and only members are allowed in after a certain time, but a friend of mine snuck me in, we wanted to get drunk and go in that space tunnel thing. I saw you sitting alone in one of the exhibits, you were- you were wearing a purple blazer like- you looked like someone pulled you out of an eighties movie. You were watching the presentation and- I swear, you looked like a piece of art. Not in a- not in a creepy way, but you just- you aren’t like anyone I’ve ever seen before.”

There’s a lump in Peter’s throat, and he looks over Harley again, with new eyes. It’s been so long since he’s felt seen. It’s been so long since he’s even thought there was a chance someone could know him. The last guy he- the last love he-

Love only ends badly, he’s learnt that lesson now.

But there’s something so familiar about Harley. Something disarming. Something sweet.

“Let me pay for dinner.” He says, and when Harley’s shoe slides up against his calf, Peter doesn’t pull away.

______

“Peter,” Howard drawls, and Peter pulls away from the window guiltily, lets the curtain fall and hide the bright half moon.

“Mr Stark,” he greets politely, ducking his head.

Peter’s much older inside but there’s something about Tony’s dad that scares him a little. That intimidates him. That makes him feel like he is actually only eighteen. “Couldn’t sleep, hm, boy?”

Peter stiffens a little. Mr Stark had seemed fine with him and Tony being together, maybe he- “I was just- a little restless, Sir.”

“I can understand.”

Peter watches as Howard walks towards one of the many grand display cases. This one’s filled with pressed butterflies and small medallions. Howard’s still dressed, in a forest green suit and brown polished shoes. Peter’s in his pyjamas. Everyone’s asleep, the house is silent. Jarvis had locked up hours ago.

Peter wishes he’d stayed in bed with Tony.

“Can I share something with you, Peter?” Howard asks, pulling a sleek piece of glass out of the cabinet. There’s a spliced butterfly within it, beautifully preserved.

“Of course, Sir.” Peter doesn’t like calling him Sir. He knows there are people who deserve the title. Like his commander in the trenches. Like his professor at Oxford in the 60s- Charles Xavier, a man so beyond his time.

“Technology is the future, yes? I think we can all agree. But there’s something more. Enhancement. You know I’ve been searching for that missing soldier, well, the results are fruitless. Some myths are myths, but when God closes a door…” he chuckles, and it’s a cruel sound. “I do a lot of work with the FBI, Mr Reilley.”

Peter stills, and then forcibly relaxes.

“It’s funny, isn’t it, disappearing? Reappearing? I suppose it was easier, in the past, when there weren’t as many records. As many pictures.”

His heart is pounding. He hasn’t felt like this since that scare in the 60s. When he’d had to run, when furious shouts of officers yelling commie at him in the dark got too close, when they had wanted to test him, harvest him.

Howard is suddenly right in front of him, looking down at him- admiration and hunger in his eyes.

“All myths are rooted in some truth. Enhanced cells, Peter. Have you ever heard of such a thing?” He whispers.

Peter wants to yell for Tony. For Jarvis. For Maria. For help.

“I don’t-” he stammers, “-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Howard backs off, still smiling. “Neither do I. Not yet. But I will.” He turns on his heel, heads for the door. “Dress pretty tomorrow, Reilley. My son’s planning some idiotic proposal.”

When Tony wakes up in the morning, Peter’s gone.

______

Peter doesn’t come back.

Tony had known he wouldn’t. He understands now. It makes sense now. Whatever Peter is, he doesn’t- he doesn’t age.

Tony’s gone through databases, found dozens of different aliases, he’s found a photo of a scrawny, cocky looking boy from 1939 with a team of other soldiers in the war. He’d zoomed in and stared and sure enough, even in the black and white, honey eyes and curls had stared back at him.

There’s a photo of a Benjamin May in 1970, a little blurry, a paparazzi shot, coming out of a restaurant with the actor Wade Wilson. He’s clearly drunk, and his face is half hidden, but Tony knows.

There’s a record of a Peter Richards graduating Juliards in 1982. A Pierre Reiley buying stocks and setting up a bank account.

Tony goes through it all, gathers and sorts as much of it as he can, tries to piece together the life of something he doesn’t understand.

Peter Parker doesn’t age. He goes back to at least the 30s. Tony’s yet to find a birth certificate.

The secrets, the lack of parents, the lack of past, it makes sense.

“Hey, look,” Morgan calls from where she’s hunched over her laptop. Tony looks over, and she projects what she’s found into thin blue light in the air. “That’s him, right?”

Person of Interest: Peter Parker / Benjamin May / Peter Richards

It’s an FBI casefile. Peter’s photo is there. There’s a description of enhanced cells. There’s a note of a failed attempt to bring him in.

“They were onto him?” Tony breathes, checking the date. 1961.

“Only for a few years.” Morgan whispers, still scrolling. “Looks like after the red scare the new FBI director shut the case down. Declared it nonsense. Thought people were being overly imaginative over what the Russians could actually do.”

Tony feels a little relieved.

“But dad, the file was pulled again. Someone accessed it in 1990. Dad- dad, it was-”

“Don’t say it.” Tony whispers, closing his eyes.

Fuck. He already knows.

______

Bucky’s body isn’t in his grave in the Brooklyn cemetery. Bucky’s body is somewhere in Europe, Peter isn’t sure where.

But Peter had a headstone made in this shrubby little graveyard near Bucky’s mom’s house a very long time ago. She made the best cookies.

James Buchannon Barnes.

Son and Soldier.

1917-1942

Peter sets down his flowers and strokes his thumb over the words. The stone is cold, but the sun beats down onto his back.

“Well fuck a duck, fancy seeing you here.” Comes a voice, that startles Peter so hard he falls flat on his ass into the grass.

There’s an old man leaning on a cane, wearing a red sweater and black slacks.

“Jesus.” Peter gapes, “N- Wade?”

“The very same.” Wade grins, doing a little bow that seems to hurt him immensely. “And look at you, Pete. The very same. Forgive me for prying, but how is it that you don’t look like you’re in your 60s? Like you should? Like me?”

“60s?” Peter grins, still on the ground, still on the grass by Bucky’s grave, looking up at an ageing Hollywood star, “by my calculations, you’re 72. I could probably google it.”

He’s not scared. Not with Wade looking at him, smiling with crooked teeth and wrinkles. Wade knows the truth now.

Peter trusts him with his life.

“I should’ve told you.” He realises aloud, shaking his head. “I should’ve told you.”

“You’re not wrong,” Wade grins, laughing with weak breath. “Then I wouldn’t have had to piece it together in a cemetery fifty years later.” He eases himself to the ground very, very carefully, and looks at the grave. “I coulda helped you through it, Pete. I’ve got money. You coulda had someone to talk to.”

Peter aches. “I should’ve- I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, hell,” Wade shakes his bald head, “I can’t imagine how lonely it’s been. You know, when I saw you, I thought maybe I was dreaming.”

“I’m surprised you recognised me.” Peter sniffles, smiling, “you were so high all the time.”

“How dare you, I am the definition of sobriety-”

“You invented ecstasy.”

“Pretty neat,” Wade grins, wiggling his eyebrows, and he doesn’t look seventy two in that moment. He looks thirty. Looks like the party animal he was when Peter met him. “So, how the fuck has this happened? Where can I get some?”

“Bolt of lightning,” Peter says ruefully, pointing up at the sky. It feels amazing to say it aloud like this. To just admit it. “1942, down in the trenches, thought it was a bomb but…”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“1942? Peter you’re...how old are you?”

“A hundred this year.”

“Holy fuckballs.”

“Wade.”

“Peter…” he reaches out his hand. It’s terribly old and wrinkled, there are dark spots all over. Peter’s so jealous of it. He takes it and twines their fingers together. Wade’s grip isn’t that strong and Peter can feel all the prominent veins, but it’s enough. “I think maybe you should come back with me. Tell me everything. Tell me about this grave. Then we can watch some of my movies.”

Peter helps him up and nods, a little teary. “The blockbusters or the sextapes?”

“You horndog,” Wade grins, “lusting after a seventy two year old man, but I can’t blame you. Look at my ass.”

____

Tony is fifty years old.

He doesn’t feel it. Well, sometimes he feels it. Sometimes he aches in cold weather or he’ll wince at modern music and say something like turn that ruckus down. The kids never let him hear the end of that.

But most of the time, he feels young. He’s one of the sharpest minds of the century, he’s a billionaire, still a playboy, he does a bit of boxing, he looks pretty damn good.

It’s been two months since Peter. It hits him hard, it made him stumble, but there’s a sense of closure that wasn’t there before. No longer is there the hanging burden of uncertainty. He knows now. He understands. Peter loved him and had to leave. It wasn’t about Tony, it was about the mystery that is his life.

Tony hates his dad a little more than he did before, but the uncertainty is gone, and it has taken with it the sense of insecurity that has been rooted deep within him for such a long time he’d almost forgotten what it was like to live without it. It feels like something dark and sad has slowly, and for the first time in a long while, loosened its grip on his heart.

Harley is still a little lost, and Morgan has been determined in tracking Peter down.

“Sweetheart,” Tony sighs, straightening his bowtie and admiring just how dapper he looks in the mirror, “I told you, you won’t find him. He’s been doing this for a very long time.”

She looks at him and she’s beautiful, his little girl, in a slinky gold dress, her hair down to her hips. “But you’re soulmates.”

“Honey-”

“Come on,” Harley calls, his own suit a little dusted with snow, “we’re not going to be late to our own New Years Eve party. Not again.”

Tony chuckles, holding Morgan’s hand and guiding her out. “What? It’s tradition.”

It is a tradition. Tony rents out the top floor of the town’s nicest hotel, invites everyone for a free bar and a spectacular place to watch spectacular fireworks. It’s made him rather popular.

It’s just as gorgeous this year as it is every year. The floor to ceiling windows look out over the town at night, and the city beyond it is just whitening with frost. There are lights and the distant cheering of celebration.

Tony heads over to the bar, where Harley is sipping at a tall glass of orange juice.

“This is ridiculous.” Harley grumbles, “I’m practically an adult.”

Tony pats him on the back. “You can have one glass of champagne at midnight. Because I love you.” He presses a kiss onto the back of Harley’s head.

“And him.” Harley whispers, almost bitterly. So quiet that Tony could try and pretend he hasn’t heard it. Could try and pretend that things between the two of them haven’t been tense for the past two months. It’s there, though, just beneath the surface, an anger and a hurt from his son.

Tony pauses. Closes his eyes. Gathers his breath.

Harley goes on: “You love my boyfriend, Peter was-”

“Have you had something already?” Tony asks warningly, he can smell it on Harley’s breath.

“You should’ve seen the way he looked at you over dinner.” Harley hiccups, “I didn’t understand-”

Tony swallows hard, and signals the bartender for some water. “I would never do anything to hurt you.” He whispers, brutal and true, “you are my son, Harls. You know that I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

“I loved him.”

Tony doesn’t think that’s true. Peter and Harley had only known each other a matter of weeks, but Harley’s always been so head-first diving into everything. The first guy he ever brought home and it turns out his dad-

“I’m sorry, bud,” He murmurs, ruffling Harley’s curls, because he doesn’t know what else he can say.

_____

There’s an angel in the lobby.

Or Harley died on the elevator ride down. Which he might have done, vodka and orange juice aren’t mixing the intoxicating way in his stomach that he thought they might.

There’s an angel in the lobby, looking a little lost.

He has hair of perfect chocolate curls and cuts a sharp, gorgeous figure. He’s in perfectly tailored black trousers, shoes polished like two glistening opals, and a satin shirt of so fine an indigo it almost looks like liquid silk. There are simple diamonds almost hidden in his ears and the silver buckle of his watch around his wrist shines under the soft lights of the lobby.

“Peter,” Harley breathes, and Peter turns, the top buttons of his shirt all undone and tempting and showing that lovely cream skin and those sharp collarbones and the hint of a scar from a photo taken 30 years ago.

____

“I’ll have one double shot espresso with some cream and-” Harley cuts off, stuttering when his eyes land on the boy behind the counter.

The barista smiles, ducking his head a little and hiding his face beneath the navy blue cap that’s part of his uniform.

Harley grins, tensing his muscles a little, and checking his shirt for ketchup stains. “Hi,” he beams, taking in the delicate frame and the pretty lips that he can still see. Now this is a pretty boy he wants in his bed. Maybe they’re both freshmen- The name tag says - “Peter. Can I get a double shot espresso with some cream? Maybe your number?”

One of the girls in the line behind him mumbles oh god, but Harley figures she’s just jealous.

Peter peaks up at him, punching his order into the till. “One double espresso with cream coming up.” He says politely, but there’s still a little blush on his cheeks so Harley hums thoughtfully. When he hands over the money, there’s a fifty dollar bill there.

“As a tip.” He offers winningly, when Peter gives him a look.

The boy laughs. “Is that what I’m worth?”

“Baby, you are priceless.”

Peter laughs again. It’s glorious. Harley can’t take his eyes off him. Jesus, he’s beautiful. “Do you go here?” He asks, nudging his head towards one of the college buildings.

The barista shuffles over to fiddle with the machine for another order and Harley follows. “No, I’m just working here.”

“That’s cool too,” Harley hurries to offer.

He wonders what Peter’s hair is like under that cap. His eyes suggest brown-

Fuck, Harley needs to get laid. How long has it even been?

“Name?” Peter asks, and Harley grins.

“0538 124 212.”

He gets a look.

“I know, right? What were my parents thinking?”

Peter looks like he’s trying very hard not to smile.

Harley’s thrilled. He reaches for a napkin and pulls a pen out of his pocket. It’s leaking a little, but he scribbles down his number and slides it over, black stained on his fingers. “If you ever wanna...get coffee?”

After a long moment of delibration, Peter’s eyes flickering over his face, the barista reaches over and gingerly takes the napkin. “What’s your name?” He asks eventually.

Harley beams. “Guess.”

_______

“Oh, Harls.” Peter gasps, rushing over to him.

Harley wants to be mad. He wants to be angry. The last time he’d seen Peter they’d been fighting, he’d been so hurt. But Peter’s there now, his hands cold from the snow outside, and cradling Harley’s face, looking up at him with concern and love.

Harls. Only his dad calls him that. But he’s never minded Peter doing it, either. He stands there, head bowed, and relishes in Peter’s touch as those fingertips fret over his forehead, brush his bangs out of eyes. “Have you been drinking? Oh, Harley! Let’s get you some coffee.” There’s a steady arm wrapping around his waist, guiding him.

“Coffee,” Harley laughs, feeling carved out. “That’s where we met.”

Peter doesn’t say anything to that, and Harley’s being pushed into a plush seat in the corner of the hotel’s restaurant on the ground floor. It’s empty, everyone’s upstairs at his dad’s party, but somehow, Peter procures a cup of coffee, just the way Harley likes it.

He takes a long, warm sip, and then looks across the table.

Peter is so beautiful. Even now, his expression pinched tight, fingers tapping nervously.

“You haven’t come for me.” Harley whispers; ragged.

Huge honey eyes dart to him in surprise. “Harley,” Peter frowns, “I did come back for you.”

“What? But-”

“I just left you, without any explanation, and...that was a really shitty thing to do. I’m so sorry. You have to know-” Peter’s eyes burn with sincerity, “-it’s all me. I know people say that, but Harley, I’m...you deserve someone so much better for you than me. There’s something wrong with me and-” Peter’s eyes are wet, he’s trembling all over, and Harley realises with a cold sobering thought that-

Peter doesn’t know they know.

Harley watches; awed. For the first time since he’s met him, he can see the pain that radiates off of Peter in waves. It’s something that’s always been there. A sense of being out of place, something just a little bit wrong.

For the first time, Harley thinks about how awful life must be for Peter.

Peter’s always struck him as so wise, so full of guidance, but he’s just lost.

“Pete,” he breathes, inhaling, “we know.”

Peter scrunches his nose up a little, cheeks glistening with tears. “Know what?”

“Dad- he- he figured it out.”

A stillness overcomes Peter, then. He stops trembling. “I-”

“Don’t say you have to go.” Harley whispers in a rush. Everything’s clear to him now. This sadness and this sense of being lost, he’s seen it before- he saw it when his dad dropped his cup of coffee, when he showed them the wedding ring he bought thirty years ago. “Peter, please, you have to go upstairs. You have to talk to my dad-”

Peter flinches hard. He composes himself, gets to his feet. “I have to go now, Harley-”

“You just apologised to me. For leaving.” Harley chokes, his own eyes wet, as he gets to his feet and blocks Peter’s way. “Doesn’t my dad deserve that? Fuck, Pete, he loved you so much-”

Peter’s shaking his head, like he can push the words away, like they cut him too deep to be heard.

“He’s upstairs right now, it’s New Years Eve, just- he’s forgiven you. He’s not mad, I swear,” Harley whispers, words a blur of persuasion, “none of us are mad. We just- we get it, we get it, and-and we all hate grandpa for- we- please, please get in that elevator. Go upstairs, I…” he shakes his head, he feels unsteady on his feet. “When I first saw you in that lobby I thought it was gonna be a big romantic moment, and you know- there is gonna be, but- it’s not gonna be with me. Please.”

Peter walks past him and Harley can’t bear to watch whether he goes to the elevators or the doors.

______

The countdown to New Years brings apprehensive excitement every single year. Every single year, even though Tony knows how it goes. He counts down, he cheers, he sips champagne. Morgan will rush up to kiss his cheek, and then he’ll watch the fireworks and maybe treat himself to a slice of cake.

But still, when everyone starts cheering ten, nine, eight he can’t help the little rush that shoots through him. He looks in vain for his son, but can’t see him.

Everyone’s on five, Morgan’s already kissing a well-dressed man and Tony rolls his eyes fondly, when someone taps him on the shoulder.

It’s so fucking ludicrous to say that time stops when you see that person. The person. Time doesn’t stop or slow, and the countdown continues, but Tony feels a peace in his soul that permeates into every inch of him- that makes him take in every minute detail in a fraction of the time it normally takes him, so it seems like time has slowed.

But time hasn’t slowed. The countdown goes on.

Peter’s there.

He’s crying, he’s smiling, and then he’s pushing onto his tiptoes, and just as the fireworks go off-

Tony gets kissed.

It’s like going back in time. He’s 18 years old again, cramped in the back of his car with Peter in his lap.

Peter’s arched on the very tips of his toes, chest pressed flush to Tony’s, and just like he did 30 years ago, dancing the same beautiful dance, his favourite dance, Tony bows his head and cradles Peter’s neck and eases them into something no less desperate, but a little more comfortable.

Peter tastes of tears and gratitude and love.

Tony can’t believe he’s holding him, that he’s here, that it’s all real.

When they pull away, they’re gasping for air, but Peter stays close, burying his way into Tony’s neck just like- just like-

“You know,” Peter hiccups, as everyone cheers and fireworks bang. “You know I’m all wrong, but- but- I love you.”

Tony holds him so tight he knows he’s hurting him, but he can’t let go. Can’t reel it in. “You’re the most right thing I’ve ever known.” He confesses into Peter’s hair, a promise and a vow.

When he looks up, Morgan is staring at them, jaw dropped- tears in her eyes.

_______

“Well, fuck me slowly,” Wade mumbles, rotating his jaw slowly and feeling around his dentures. “That’s a story, Parker.”

Peter nods, dipping further into the expensive furs and ludicrous rugs that are draped over every single piece of furniture. “What do I do, Wade? It’s all- I can’t keep doing this forever.”

“It’s easy, Petey.” Wade says softly, nodding when Peter turns to him for all the answers. “Bucky was your guy. Most people just get one. Yours died. But then, you got another one. His name is Tony Stark, Pete, and he’s not dead. He’s your guy.”

“My guy?” Peter croaks desperately, searching for truth and seeing it staring him in the face- in the form of liver spots and a crude mouth.

Wade nods sagely. “He’s your guy, Pete.”

“I can’t,” Peter blubbers, burying his face in his hands, “I can’t face him. I- I- with his son.”

“Yeah, that didn’t end brilliantly.” Wade sighs. He’s silent for a long moment, just until Peter’s breathing evens out. “I get if you don’t think you can make it work with Tony. But trust me, Pete, a string of lovers gets old real fast. Especially when you don’t. If you’re not gonna get your guy, I think you probably owe his son an apology.”

Peter looks up, a watery half smile on his face. “When did you get so wise?”

Wade winks, then gestures to the bed. “A quickie for old times sake? I’ll just need to pop a little blue pill.”

“I’d much rather hear your life story.” Peter murmurs, eyes alight with merriment, “I bet it’s been amazing.”

Wade puffs his chest out a little. “It hasn’t been half bad.”

_______

The scruff of Tony’s beard dragging against his neck is not the only thing that’s different.

Tony’s hands are firmer, his touch more knowing, more confident. Not as clumsy or unsure. Peter’s writhing in his lap, hips rocking without his consent, as Tony bites up the column of his throat.

Tony’s hair is just as thick in between Peter’s fingers. He’s broader, Peter’s legs spread wider over his thighs, but he smells just the same. He touches all the same places and that touch makes Peter hot all over.

“You’re like a dream,” Tony whispers, prayer-quiet, into the hollow of Peter’s throat.

Peter clutches him. “All this time-”

“You’re here now.” Tony shushes, gentling, he kisses Peter’s lips, the corners of his mouth, his nose, his eyebrows, until Peter pulls away.

Peter looks down at him, and traces his hands over all those handsome features. “You are loved. I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel otherwise. You are enough.”

Tears slips down Tony’s face and it’s like he doesn’t realise they’re there. “I’m enough?”

“More than.” Peter promises.

______

They don’t leave the bedroom for two days.

Tony knows that Morgan’s probably making fake-vomiting faces downstairs, but she’s only half right.

Being with Peter again is- it’s something he’s wanted for so long and now that he has it, nothing else seems to matter. All the wrongs pale into nothing. He feels like he can handle anything in the world. Anything life could throw at him.

He lies in bed as Peter tells him the story of their missing years. Of the turn of the century, of moving to England and working as a fashion photographer, or coming back home and moving from college to college, soaking in every inch of every culture he could get his hands on.

He talks about it almost like he’s ashamed, and Tony lies beside him, tracing the planes of Peter’s chest, and doesn’t let him feel guilty.

But then it’s Tony’s turn, and guilt bubbles up inside him. The look on Peter’s face is one he can’t school. When Tony talks of his wedding to Pepper, of the joy when Morgan was born, of his technological break-throughs, the money, Harley, seeing graduations and getting his first grey hair-

“I’m sorry,” Tony murmurs, drawing Peter into his embrace as he cries.

“Don’t be,” Peter sniffles, “I’m so happy for you. I’m just so jealous. I’ll never have that- and- and one day you’ll be gone and you’re all I want.”

When Peter talks about the 30s, Tony expects for those memories to be faded and muted, but Peter remembers them with startling, heart-breaking clarity.

James Buchannon Barnes, Tony thinks of the photo he and Morgan found of the soldiers. He reaches for his laptop as Peter talks.

“The training was kicking my ass, Buck kept trying to get me sent home on purpose-”

“Is he in this photo?” He blurts, a little graceless, pulling it up.

Peter stares, stricken by the sight of it, and he reaches out to touch the screen.

There’s Peter, skinny and muddy, painted in black and white and grinning- exhausted. Tony watches as Peter touches another man. He’s tall and stony faced, a few people away, but strappingly handsome.

“It’s Bucky,” Peter whispers, but it seems like he has no tears left to cry. Instead he smiles, and cradles the laptop. “I-he-...”

It’s almost unfathomable. “Did anyone know?”

Peter shakes his head. “I think some people in our regiment guessed, but they were good men. Just boys, we all were. Even Bucky. I think they knew but they didn’t care one bit.”

Tony shuts his eyes and rests his head on Peter’s bare shoulder. “I can’t imagine you, Peter.”

They don’t leave the room. Tony just holds him. Feels their skin press together. He keeps bracing, waiting for Peter to look at him and think he’s old, but he comes apart at Tony’s touches like he’s been waiting for them, craving them all this time.

Tony knows how it feels.

He’s eighteen years old again when Peter settles between his legs and takes his cock into his mouth. He grunts, hands fisting into those impossible curls, and he can feel Peter’s smile.

____

“Jesus, Pete,” Tony pants, even as he bucks his hips a little, “we’re due back in like three minutes-”

Peter pulls off, framed by the thick wool of the coat room, lips sinfully shiny. He arches an eyebrow. “You don’t think I can get you there in 3 minutes?”

Tony laughs breathlessly, “you’re gonna try-”

Peter takes him all the way and Tony thumps his head back against the wall so hard he’s seeing stars.

_____

The winter sun breaks in through the window and Tony blinks slowly, shaking off the lingering slumber. He’s in bed, and Peter is draped over him, snuffling in his sleep and Tony feels so much younger and lighter than he has in years.

Softly, he lays his hands over Peter’s back, and just rests them there.

It took thirty two years but his soulmate is here. Is with him.

And it’s all thanks to Harley.

______

“After all these years,” Tony chokes out, framed by vines and lavender. “After all this time…” the ring he’s had for so long is finally on the person it was always meant for.

From the pews, Wade lets out a little sob.

From behind him, Tony can hear Harley sniffle. Can see Morgan smile.

Before the priest even says “you may kiss-” Peter’s springing onto his tiptoes and kissing Tony like he can’t bear to wait another second.

Tony can taste his smile, and he holds him tight and feels the tickle of petals as they cascade down onto them both.

There are going to be things to work out, science and forged identities and searching for a way to see what exactly happened to Peter.

But all of that is on the backburner.

Tony finally has the love of his life in his arms, a ring on his finger, and all the time he’s waited suddenly feels like no time at all.

He finally has his own slice of forever.

#starker #age of adaline #peter doesn't age #peter x tony #soulmates #peter x harley #peter x bucky #peter x wade #age difference #angst #fluff #happy ending #feels #so many tears #immortality

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